EVERYTIME THE CHOPPER LANDS

I hear blades whooshing in the distance as a glow from the i.v. pole lights my way to the window.  Wrapping myself in the thin hospital blanket I watch through the black city night.   The walls around me endure stories that are haunting my soul, as down the hall a suffering child cries in vain for her momma.  For most their mothers are no where to be found.  I can hardly stand it.  Looking back at Hayley sleeping peaceful in her bed causes tears of frustration to burn my eyes.  I will keep fighting to help her.  No one else will.

IT AINT LOVE THAT IS BLIND

It's a great sex life, that is. 

    When satiated all you see is the person in your arms.  Even when they are not around.  As lust is understood between a man and a woman there is no want or room for any others.  

   Unbridled sexual attraction and the heated lust it imparts defies gravity.  It doesn't look to roam.  There is an incessant desire for more of the same reflecting in your lovers eyes. 

THE BIRDS AND THE BEES

Looks like there were two versions of this story at my house.

   One Christmas night while exercising with my sisters, I discovered something new.  

   This is what happened.  

   After Christmas supper, the abundance of candied yams and sugar cookies always sends my figure conscience clan out for a walk.  Mother usually accompanies us on the two mile loop that winds around our family home.  But this year she stayed back to watch football with the men folk.  At the time five out of the seven of us had teenagers.

     It's nice and cold outside, about fifty degrees.   The sun hasn't set and the warmth feels good in the winter air.  Looking down I am surrounded by my wonderful sisters feet, all clad in exercise shoes.  We turn north and our mouths start running too.

   Lucy as the eldest, always has the rest of us clamoring for her attention.  Witty, sensible and tough describe my parents first born.  Lucy Lea is loyal through and through.  Her classic beauty rivals the depth of her intelligence and the reach of her humor.  Her long wavy hair shines as she purses her lips to speak.  Lorraine is bombarding her with questions as I eagerly wait, to do the same.

   Huddled together while we race walk, the conversation turns to our kids and the dreaded task of informing them where they came from.  After discussing our combined options Polly asks "do y'all remember when Mother talked with us?" 

   Continuing on, the sun starts sinking low as I listen carefully to my sisters recollection of our childhood.   It appears we each got the birds and the bees chat around our eighth birthday.  Sounds about right. 

   As we laugh and walk and jockey for position, neighboring Christmas lights cast a nostalgic glow as the evening grows into night.  With all of my sisters agreeing on the basic facts of mom's story there is one little detail that none of them are repeating.  One by one they reminisce and it confirms what I have thought all these years!  Hello?  I got too much information. 
  
   I remember the summer before I turned eight.   Liquid memories of swirling hula-hoops, private tree forts and roller skates take me back in time.  Endless days of water skiing and barbecue with the smell of pool chlorine in my hair, fill my senses.  Details of how I came into the world and ended up playing in my backyard on thirty-fourth terrace, were not important to me.  I was young and happy, safe and carefree.

   Just about this time Rosemary and Polly notice I am conspicuously quiet.  In fast succession my siblings prod me and slow their pace.  Lorraine speaks up.  "Well Ivey Mae you sure are quiet.  What did mom say to you about 'doin it'?"

Slowly I reply.

  "Yea, looks like I got a little more information on doin the horizontal dance than y'all did."  Lingering the words to tease my sisters, it works.  "What?  What?  Oh my god what did she say!"  Lorraine, Polly, Lucy, Alice, Rosemary and Daisy are all talking at once and no one is walking as they form a circle around me.  Lucy Lea starts groaning and a smile creeps on her face "come on, what did she say?"

  " Well, my version is right on with yours almost verbatim.  She called me inside, sat me down on my bed with a library book and told me the fundamentals of the man with the sperm, the woman with the egg and combined they create conception. Yadda yadda."

  Then getting grossed out even speaking about it, an embarrassed grin creeps on my face causing my sisters to squeal like stuck pigs.  "What? What? Tell us! What did she say?"

   "Mind you, I asked no questions!  I could have cared less.  All I wanted was to go back outside and play."  Then she says "the couple can make love either lying down or......... standing up."   Daisy and Lorraine scream the loudest , in unison, "EEEEWWWwww GROSS!"  Roaring with laughter we start up the long walkway and see our parents rocking side by side, smiling, at the sight in front of them.      

   Adding a final thought to our sisterly secret, I lower my voice. "Hhhhhmmmmm.  No wonder their bedroom door is locked all the time." 

  Then Lucy says in the same muted voice with a wink in her eyes  " And now we understand why she can wear the shower cap and a moo-moo and still look so darned cute to dad!"

  

BARBIE DOLLS CAN GET YOU INTO TROUBLE

I know first hand.  Jaded?  You bet.  But the color is starting to look good on me.

A DREAM IS A WISH YOUR HEART MAKES-Disney

"Do you ever dream about him?"  he softly asks.  "Yes, while I'm sleeping in his arms.    Until now it had always been only you."  I look away so he can't see the tears filling my eyes.

MY COUSIN'S FAVORITE STORY

Southerners like to mind their own business.  It comes natural as common sense.  Yet, feisty will always prevail.  This is what happened.

"Come on y'all lets go for a walk.  Embry will you please put the dog on her leash and girls get the ball."  Summertime and the livin is easy.  No darned school schedules.  Didn't like them when I was a kid and still don't.  Barefoot and fancy free.  Simple.  That's how I like it.

   The baby starts kicking his fat brown legs when he hears the word leash.  "Come here sugar pie" I say while bending over to pick him up.  Nothing like fresh air and exercise to tire young ens out.

   We walk a short distance to the small private park that is in the middle of our piece of suburbia.  About 75 medium size homes weave around the park that centers on a lovely pond.  

   As we reach the water I pick a spot and spread out the blanket.  Giving the girls playdoh and the baby a little bucket of blocks, Embry and I unleash the dog and start throwing her ball.   

    The park is empty.  At a fairly close distance is a woman washing her car on the side of her home, which is adjacent to the park.  A little girl rides her bike back and forth.  Our yellow lab, Gracie Burns
 is thrilled to be free of a leash, galloping after each ball she is thrown.  After about a half an hour I join the kids on the blanket and watch as Embry continues to play and run with our mutt.

  I can't help but notice, the woman, who is now drying her car keeps giving me longer and dirtier looks.  Oh brother, what is her problem.  I admire the baby's blocks as he knocks them down and we start over again.   Now, the woman and her daughter are clearly giving us the evil eye.  I continue to mind my own business. 

  Another fifteen or twenty minutes pass.  Lost in play with my children I am surprised to look up at the little girl who had been riding her bike.  She is standing right next to our blanket.  Smiling, I say hello as she frowns and points her pink polished finger in the direction of our dog.  "My mommie says you should put your dog on a leash."  I'm sincerely shocked at her age, what is coming out of her mouth, and the fact that this grown woman sent her child over to admonish me.  I am floored.  But, she is just a kid and I remain cool.  On the outside.

   "Oh really?" I reply.  "Is our dog bothering you?   "She thinks about it and answers with the honesty of youth.  "No."  "OK, tell your mommie not to worry about it. We live her too."
Shrugging her shoulders she turns to go home.  At this point the woman is now cleaning the inside if her car.  Lucky me.

   Curious at my neighbors audacity I look in her direction.  Not a pretty sight.  She is more than a little bit overweight and her clothes have not kept up with her growth spurts.   Each time she leans in, a huge blubbery chunk of butt glops down beneath her shorts and any excess from that, spills over the top of her shorts.  I guess they are her shorts.  But they sure don't fit and quite frankly, anyone that big should not be wearing 'shorts' of any size, in public.

  I turn my head.  Looking at my watch it is still early.    Summer thunder clouds are brewing but they are a distance away.  Opening my book I start to read.  Hayley and Hannah are singing as they swing their legs back and forth against mine.  These are the moments life is made of. 

   Another ten-fifteen minutes pass and sure enough, lookie here.  Two pair of feet now stand poised at the edge of our blanket.  The litttle girl and her mother are waiting for my attention.  Once again I, smile and say hello.  Oh my, a gust of cold wind hits my face as this woman glares down at me  "Your dog has been running loose for the last hour.  He should be on a leash.  You dog lovers should realize not everyone likes dogs."

   That was it.  She should have run.

   Standing up I look her right in the eyes.  "Lets walk over here, shall we?" I cooly respond.  I wanted to set her straight, but away from our children's ears.  
 Then I did. 

    "Yea, you could be right.  But we are on private property.  You and I both pay money for this park and for good reason animals are not prohibited. My dog isn't bothering anybody or anything.  And since you walked all the way over here to tell me what to do after you sent your leash led six year old over here..... let me tell you what I have had to look at the past hour. 

    Your ass.  And it doesn't look good from any angle.  You should have on much bigger shorts and you might want to invest in a mirror.  But do you hear me complainin?  No you don't.  Did I walk over to your house and ask you to put on some clothes?  No I did not.  I was mindin my own business."

       

  

A KISS IS NOT JUST A KISS

And a sigh is not just a sigh; as all these years have gone by.  Wrapped tightly in his arms time doesn't matter.  We kiss on.  Enraptured, I close my eyes.  Then exclaiming what I think makes him smile. "Oh you taste the same!"    

A WHORE IN THE BEDROOM

I have always heard that to keep a man satiated and content there is a simple formula. 

  A wife should be a whore in the bedroom and a lady in the kitchen.  This is only half right.  Men want a whore in the kitchen too.  Don't get me wrong.  You need to know how to cook, and good.  I don't mean opening a can and boiling rice.  Food with its ability to arouse all the senses, is contentment to a man.  Nothin like home cooked gravy and biscuits.

   Except, if the steaming hot biscuits and savory salty gravy is served, while wearing my hair piled high, a long strand of small white pearls falling down my breasts, a nude lace apron and cherry red toe polish against smooth suntanned legs. 

   See, the whore thing is crucial.  

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING FOR THANKSGIVING?

When my family gathers for a holiday this is the question most on mother's mind.  What we will be wearing.  Usually about three or four days before a special occasion each of her daughters, all grown and married women get a phone call.  

   As predicted the phone rings.

   "Hello?"  I say while throwing a look at the calender.  Her cheerful tone reveals this is the call.  She enjoys telling us what to do.
  "Good morning Ivey Mae I am calling about Thanksgiving dinner.  I want you to bring several bottles of diet coke.  Make sure you don't get the cheap stuff."
  Deep breath.
  "OK mother.  Is that it?  You don't want me to cook something or bring chips and dip?"
  "No I'm afraid it will have animal hair in it." 
 My pulse quickens.  "I do not let the animals around the food.  You know that."  

   "Just bring the coke.  What are you wearing for Thanksgiving?"   
   "I'm not sure yet.  Why, what do you have in mind?"
   "Could you please just not have your tits hanging out?"
   "God mother why do you have to talk like that."
   "Well, dear you are the one that insists on cleavage and after nursing those kids until they were half grown I think you should just cover them up.  I'd appreciate it."
   
   Mom explains further.

   "What puzzles me is that I have all these good looking daughters and not a one of you knows how to dress.  Lucy doesn't put on any color and slashes her  lipstick  like she is laying in a coffin.  Rosemary thinks the holidays are a pageant and Elizabeth always looks like she lives in a barn.  The only accessory she needs is a hitching post for her horse.  And you, well good lord knows the problem here.  You refuse to wear underwear and only half a brassiere.  And then of course there is Lorraine.  The fashion expert. 

   Even in the winter time she is naked.  She says she has to dress in layers.  What layers?  A layer has to cover something.  If you put a scarf over lace, over a thong.  That is not a darn layer of anything.   Do you remember what she wore last Christmas Eve?   Her necklace was bigger than her shirt.  She doesn't have any tits to hang out so with her I'd be happy if she would just put on some sleeves."

  

SOMETHING AIN'T GOING RIGHT

So far, one wants to grow up to be a Colombian garbage truck driver and one wants to live at the Playboy mansion. 

I GRADUATED ON FRIDAY

 The whole dental experience is unnerving.  From the looming date that screams at you on the calender to the fleeting relief when your appointment is past.  This peace is short lived because like labor pains, you know there are more coming.

    Last week the dental office called to verify my upcoming appointment.  I confirmed I would be there.  The receptionist becomes suspect with her response  "By the way Dr.White will not be here."  "What do you mean he won't be there?"  Then no explanation at all just  "We have a new dentist." 

  Cold and calculating does not set well with me so I am taken aback by their flippant attitude towards informing me of this consequential move on their part.  A dentist is not selling me plants at Walmart.  He is working in my mouth with a drill.  I would have appreciated a little notice to make an informed decision about putting my teeth in his hands.  None the less I still need to have my tooth fixed.  


  Morning comes bright and early driving rush hour traffic for the excitement of a new dentist.  Something was very odd about this whole situation.  Oh well curiosity keeps me from being quite so nervous about having a needle stuck into my gums, by a total stranger.  Joy.


  Arriving on time I am the only person in the usually filled waiting room.  Hmmmmmm.  My gut reaction is to run.  But I can't feed it because a smiling woman I've never seen before, instantly greets me at the office inner door.  "Good morning please come in."  "Good morning.  That was fast.  Y'all are usually so busy."  My senses heighten as she leads me past the reception area where I observe a couple more women I do not know.  These two looked like they just stepped in the same pile of dog doo doo on the way to work.  OK, now my guard is all the way up.  And my mother isn't even anywhere near me.

   Leading me past a completely desolate chamber of rooms I land in the furthest one back.  Less chance of an escape?   Impending danger slows my quick nature as I stand next to the bigger than life dental chair.  I need to sit down.  But I don't.

   Nervous chatter takes me over.  "So what is the new doctors name?"  I ask the woman who is standing too close and is way too eager to place the chain around my neck.  I'm thinkin back off honey I ain't so sure about this.  "His name is Dr. Aboc.  He is very nice."  "What happened to Dr.White and the staff?  Everyone is new!  "This is a business chain and the owner rotates his staff."  "Oh."  No wonder this place is formidable the employees have no vested interest.  Nimble decision making is not my forte but I delay no further, and plop in the chair.  "Here goes nothin" I say out loud but to no one in particular.

   Almost magically appears a very young, extremely nice looking man at the mere entrance of the doorway.  He is standing off to the side like, let me get out of the way so another one can run out.  Soon he realizes I am staying put.  He smiles with trepidation and says "Hello I am Dr. Aboc" as he extends his hand to greet me then slowly walks my way.  At close range I see he is very very young.  Without a word the assistant lowers my chair and the Dr. tightens his face mask.  My heart is pumping and my palms furiously wet.

   Searching his eyes I find them kind and a bit scared.  Then I glance at his perfectly new green scrubs.  I see deep creases on the pants as well as the shirt.  These suckers just came out of the package.  Oh boy am I nervous.  I need to know more about him.

  "So Dr.Aboc where did you go to school?"  He answers, buying me time to decide if I'm going to make a run for it or not.  I don't want to hurt his feelings.  But I will do what I have to do, regardless.  As Dr. Aboc continues I am scrutinizing his every move.   The swab of topical is between my lip and gum.  Keep breathing keep breathing.  So far so good.  I have made a deal with myself that if the injection goes without incident I will stay.  If not I am outta here faster than lickity split.
   
   More nervous chatter as we wait for the tissue to numb.  Trying to be thoughtful to this green frightened dentist I put on my rosy glasses.  Even though they are fogged up in fear.  "Well the nice thing about being young and new out of school, is that you are up to date in your field."  My new teenager type dentist responds off the cuff saying,  "True.  The problem is that you don't have any experience" as he reaches for the longest sharpest needle I have ever seen. 

    Stifling road-runner feet and a rebel yell, I ask one last thing.  "So whe-when di-did you graduate from Dental School?"  As he removes the cotton and the needle slowly sinks in, he answers.  "On Friday."  Then I close my eyes and pray, as he starts to earn the crease out of his new Dentist pants, in my mouth. 

COULD YOU LIVE ON AN ISLAND WITH ME?

"Are you asking me to marry you?"  "Yes."

I'VE GOT CORN POPPIN UP IN ROWS

with tomatoes and beans growing round a vine.  But every damn sink is clogged while he sits and watches our vegetable garden grow.

THE BIRD IS NOT FINE!

When the twins were four I came home from the grocery store some Sunday afternoon to a bird cage.  It wasn't a new cage.  It was from the junk yard.  The birds were new.  Petey was green and Sweetie yellow.  Southerners rhyme everything.       

   "Oh, Mommie!  Look what daddy bought us.  Birds!  Aren't they cute?  Petey is Hayley's and Sweetie is mines.  Do you like birds Mommie?  We can get another one for you or I know!  They can have babies!  Daddy made sure one is a girl and one is a boy."  I look over at Chase.  "Nice birds.  Who's gonna clean the cage?" 

   Never been a big fan of birds because they have swooped me for years on my running loop during nesting season, with serious intent to maim.  As a teenager I house sat for a family that let the bird fly loose in the house.  It was disgusting.  And what about the expression 'free as a bird'?  Hello?  But Chase found an empty cage and needed to fill it.  

 Birds, turtles, rabbits, guinea pigs, dogs, cats, my mother down the street.  What the hell.  Come on in and join the party. 

   Two years into the birds Sweetie flew the coop via the back patio.  I didn't see the escape.  Grateful for small favors though the birds never reproduced and so we only had one bird left. 

   One afternoon while doing chores I glance at Petey and it is obvious he has an issue.  A closer look reveals his foot is drooping a bit.  Nothing horrible and he is eating out of his bin like normal.  Hmmmmm.  I have always heard that if an animal is eating he is not sick.  I make a mental note to keep an eye on him.  All is the same.  He is eating with a droopy foot.  I ask Chase what is wrong with the bird.  He says "Aw, nothin he is fine." 

   The following week I pass the bird and notice the dangling foot now has an open wound.  I call Chase at work.  "Hey what is up with the bird's foot?  It looks worse than before.  It is bleeding some.  He needs to go to the vet."   His response is typical.  "Oh relax, he hurt his foot but he is fine." 

   The next day after putting antibiotic on the birds foot I see he is licking it.  The bleeding stopped but it is still droopy and looks worse.  I call Chase.  "OK you gotta deal with this.  What is wrong with the bird?  You need to take him to the vet."  Again no concern.  "The bird hurt his foot on the cage door.  It doesn't look so good but you're over reacting.  He is fine."

   Twenty four hours later I race to the vet with the bird because I realize in horror, he is not cleaning his wound.  He is eating his own foot!

   The twins are sniffling with concern as I balance the baby on my hip and set the cage on the counter.  The handsome vet walks in the room.  He softly picks up the bird.  He swiftly cleans the area and gives the bird medicine.  He makes a little splint and matching cone for his neck so he can't reach his injury.

  The girls watch in suspended quiet as he does everything possible to help the bird.  Then he clips the nails.  Poor bird has a heart attack and goes belly up.  Without going into details of the cpr, may Petey rest in peace.   

   OK two things here.  One, I don't ever want to be in a cage with Chase taking care of me.  Two, appetite or not it doesn't matter what the situation is, if you are eating your own foot you ain't "fine" !

THE SADDEST HOUR

His blonde curls are too still as she pushes the stroller.  He isn't pointing at the seagulls or running along the water's edge.  He doesn't cry.  Her baby is dying.  He has only one moment left.

   She hears his last breath.  A tiny gasp for air.  The sound impales her soul.  Her eyes take in the collar of his little plaid shirt.  But she can look no more.  She keeps walking.  His blue blanket flaps in the breeze, transfixing her stare.

   Life drains from his face with no frantic help to save him.  He no longer cares to suck his thumb as he slips from life on earth.  She rolls on.  Her entire being begs to hear his sweet silenced voice........."Mommy! Ruck!"

   The beach is filled with quietude in an understanding way.   A cherished friend moves to say hello, but this last time she does not stop to visit.  She sees the baby motionless in his stroller.  There are no words to comfort her neighbor, now plunged into deep despair.

  Every day they walk for an hour.  Today will be the same.   Her heart rips as each step reveals her new existence.  Alone is a mother with no child to love.  She grips the handle while tears spill down her face.  And moves on.

  His hands are so still beside him, no longer clutching Thomas the Train.  In death the blue toy lies abandoned in his lap.  Hunter sits in the carriage but he is gone.  His little heart stopped beating.  His innocent life has departed.  His last walk is the saddest hour.  The saddest hour I ever seen.    

"YOU CAN USE MY TOOTHBRUSH"

OK that's sexy,with him.  Padding across the soft floor I feel his eyes on my naked body.  Picking up the toothbrush in slow motion, so I don't knock anything off of the sink as he rolls over to watch me move.  Squeezing the smooth blue gel on the brush, his smiling doll face reflects in the mirror.  "Turn it on" he twangs.  While studying his toothbrush I reply  "Oh I see." 
    I flip the switch.  And yes, the tooth paste flies all over my face.  Every time I use it.  Next time I'm gonna remember to put it in my mouth first.   

IT IS NOT COMPLICATED

He is watching t.v.

FIRST TIME IS FOR LOVE

"Oh no its raining!" I say to Annie as we pull out of the drive.  Sprinkles of water gleam where they land on my car.  Looking over at my best girlfriend in the whole wide world and she doesn't let me down.  In her ever rational attitude towards life, proclaiming confidence is a given.  "So what?  The sun is peeking out.  Not to mention Rhett could care less if you were bald much less having a frizzy hair day.  Besides, I heard rain brings a marriage good luck."  We smile because she is always right.  Then cruise down the street towards my wedding.

  Annie messes with the radio dial. Then hits on the the fateful song.  "Gooooo-ing to the chapel and I'm gooooooo-nna get mar-a-aried" greets us from the dash as we squeal in delight.   My blue beetle bug rolls through the sunny south Florida rain.  Yet my heart is waiting ahead of me, in the gentle hands of the man I love."

THE LID IS OFF

And no way will it fit back on.  There is too much in the jar.

WHO NEEDS ENEMIES

He'd sell my soul for a dollar, and she'd gladly hand paint the 'For Sale' sign.

THE HOT FLASHES AIN'T THE PROBLEM

Girls hear about menopause their whole life.  Youth pays no rightful mind.  The change of life doesn't have a place among Barbie dolls, tree forts and forty-five's, marbles and The Monkees.  The sixties were the best. 
   Still, through the years I heard the words hot flash.    Mother's magazines told of hot flashes.  I remember mention of them in the movies, as a teenager when the seventies brought cool bell bottoms and colorful Hang Ten tees. 
   But no-one, no where, ever mentioned hair growth.  OK this is what happened.
 
   One innocent fall morning I drive to my running loop.  The sun is high beaming down strong and hot through the truck's visor.  Adjusting the mirror to wipe peach lipstick across my lips I notice something.  Huh?  What is that? 

    Moving my arm up again to repeat the same motion I still see it, waving in the air.  What is that?  I brush my arm off thinking it must be a dog hair.  Looking again it is still there.  Whatever it is is stuck to me.

   Sliding my glasses on and holding my arm up to the sunlight the problem is instantly clear.  Oh my, I have long hair on my arms.  Great.  Just great.  Now I'll have to shave my arms on top of everything else.  Goodness I am already going through razors like I groom dogs for a living. Unbelievable.  I am sprouting hair like a thirty year old Cuban man.  Muy malo.
    Speaking about Barbie dolls, when Mattel designed their mature, older Madge Barbie they did not make her real-time.  Definitely a good marketing move.  After all, who would buy a Barbie covered in hair?  And what would her accessories be?  A mini fan, block of ice and a years supply of Nair?  You could throw in some yellow 'do not cross' scene tape for her mood swings.  No wonder Ken is hanging out with Malibu Barbie instead.  

   What was our maker intending with the hair?  Oh, I know, must be to soak up the sweat.

   Putting my rosy glasses back on I will concur with my lovely niece.  She so sweetly pointed out "Auntie, at least it's blonde." 

   Yea, blonde..... like Rapunzel.   On my arms.

WHAT DID I DO?

I walk into the familiar office.  There is one other client and myself.  Each of us has a mutt.   The lovely young staff is absorbed working so I relax to wait my turn.

  The air is cool, the atmosphere quiet.  Standing with my back to the man and his pet I gaze at the clouds through the window.  After a few moments my mind wanders, wishing I were somewhere else.  Then all of a sudden the man behind me starts demanding, in a stern loud voice "LADY! LADY!"   Hmmmm?

  I'm thinking God, what did I do?  But don't move a muscle, because I do not appreciate his tone.  Then he says again with more agitation "LADY! LADY! LADY!"  Now I'm thinkin what is his problem.  And in the next moment while more "LADY!LADY!LADY!" is coming out of his mouth, I flip around.

  And quickly realize, he is speaking to his dog.

I COULDN'T HIT THE FLOOR IF I FELL

A clumsy oaf doesn't any where near cover just how ungraceful, I am. 

   I once dated a man who told me in exasperation after I bounced off some piece of furniture, "Ivey Mae you need to be more deliberate in your movements."  Hhhhhmmmmpf.  I'll make sure to keep that in mind.  

   My parents have lovely daughters but graceful, dainty and soft spoken, we are not.  Let me give you a few examples.

   Lucy brought her high school dance team to the floor in one fell swoop.  The young ladies were dancing in a circle with their arms intertwined. She lost her footing but held on tight.  Then, hollered as she pulled them all down at once.

    We can't just fall.  We have to alert even those who aren't looking when we hit the ground. 

   They don't come any sweeter than my petite sister Rosemary.  Her size made her the perfect choice to portray ET in a school play.  This is what her Drama class thought.  They should have asked one of us.

   So imagine.  The grand finale for the end of the year production.  ET has 'phoned home' and is on his way.  As he takes flight between the bulky costume, klutz gene, and impeded vision, instead of soaring off safe into the horizon...... ET landed in the orchestra pit with a rebel yell. 

    Lorraine was dancing a solo in the junior high Christmas Gala.  This is a yearly event so the auditorium is always full.  Twinkling blue lights swirl the room and Winter wonderland plays in the air.

    The music slowly softens.  A spot light shoots out.  All heads turn to see my sister, an enchanting snowflake.  Her frosted beauty held the crowd spell-bound as she  glided down the center isle of the grand venue.   Then, she slipped and yelled "Oh shit" as she hit the floor.  My mother was thrilled.  Not a good car ride home, for anyone.

    OK I may not have been a straight A student, like all of my sisters.  And it took me twenty eight years to get a two year degree.  But at least I had sense enough not to get on a stage.

IT NEVER ENDS

"Ivey Mae, do you have on underpants?"

  "God mom.  When are you going to stop asking me that?"

  "Well, do you?" 

  "Mom seriously, look at me.  Am I in any way dressed inappropriately?  No cleavage, not even my arms are showing." 

 "But do you have on underwear?" 

 "Not that it is any of your business, I have told you repeatedly I do not like underwear with jeans.  They cut your butt in half."

  "But do you have underwear on now?" 

 "Mother I am not going to answer you." 

 "Well, you know that slut Brittney Spears doesn't wear them, or that Lindsey...."  Stopping her mid-sentence I groan, but continue trying to get my point across.

 "I know mom, I know.  I really don't care who wears underwear or not.  It is private.  And for certain, I don't have to wear them just because you want me to.  I am a grown woman." 

   Well,  any decent grown woman would wear underwear, even if it did cut her butt in half.  Then she pauses a split second, and emphatically continues.  

 "Marilyn Monroe didn't wear underwear either and I read she also likes the smell of her own....."

  "Mom, stop!"

  "Well you are the one who doesn't wear underwear and I was just pointing out the similarities and that she also liked the smell of her own vajayjay.  Isn't that what they are calling it these days?"

  "I gotta go.  I just walked over to ask if you needed anything from the store not to get into the whole underwear deal." 

 "Thank you.  Yes you can pick me up some milk.  Make sure you check the date."  

 My brother then appears at the top of the stairway, looking down at the all too familiar scene, shaking his heard with humor and dismay.  He quickly descends, with his long legs clearing the stairs three at a time.  On the way out the door he throws a glance at my bare feet, and casually adds his two cents.

  "I don't care if you wear any underwear.  Just put on some shoes."

ONE MORE THING

There are certain things you should not do after having a tooth pulled.

   The Oral Surgeon explains in great detail.  No food then soft food.   No gargling, no swishing, no drinking with a straw.  The patient is to do nothing that will disturb the extraction site for prompt and prudent healing.  

   Well, folks there is one more thing you shouldn't do that could suck the clot out of your wound and cause a painful dry socket.

Yea, that's right.  But it was worth it.

YA'LL, JUST COME ON IN

Time for a steamy, hot, shower.  Leaning over, I topple my long hair in a high twist and drop my clothes to the floor.  Pushing the play button, Dean Martin's enchanting voice croons. Singing, as if he is tasting the words.  "Send me the pillow, that you dream on, so darlin, I can dream on it too."  So fine, even with a smoke in his hand.

   Not two minutes after turning on the faucet, I hear "mommie he is spitting at me" from one of my daughters banging on the bathroom door.   Immediately followed by my son's adamant "what a little liar she is."  Lots of familiar toe shadows are moving under the door.  "Mommie, he's lying.  He spit and me and what are you going to do about it?"  "Mommie you know what a liar she is, I can proove it, she is just being a bitch" 

   At that, I open the shower door.  "Hey, hey, hey, don't cuss!  Why would she say that you spit at her if you didn't.  Were you talking and maybe spit, but didn't realize it?  What are you arguing about to begin with?"

   My attempt is ignored, and it goes on "Mommie, he is spitting at me and it is my turn on the computer.  See you like him better!" 

  Wrapping a towel around myself, I reach for the door.  Opening it, to a bunch of young ens, with green eyes and freckles.  Hannah and her brother have been joined by Hayley, with the baby crawling down the hall as fast, as fat little legs can go.  His diaper is swish swish swishing.  He is serious about not being left out, making me smile. 

  Ten minutes later, still in the towel, I step back into the shower and try again. 

   Yea, you guessed it.  "Mommie!"

   So, not to loose control of the situation, I have a Welcome mat at the front door, and a "Ya'll, Just Come On In" sign on the bathroom door.

PRIME TIME AIN'T READY FOR US

Reality t.v.?  Shoot, we'd run off the camera crew.

THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS-Glen Campbell

Climbing in the truck the humidity is thick and wet against my tanned skin, still flushed from sex.  Good sex.  Mechanical though only grunts no sighs.  He has a great body, full lips and soulful brown eyes.   A very good man, honest and kind.  And just like my Grandmother always advised, he adores me.  

   Driving home in a trance the light switches green and I turn once more.  The night is still young.  Hhhhhumpf, who cares.  The man in the moon is so clear above me.  His light casts a lusty glow that lingers in the air.  Bearing my eyes forward in stubborn resolve, I defer emotion and tighten my grip on the wheel. 

   The thick ficus canopy overhead pulls my attention.  Tropical greens temporarily hide the stars but the moon peeks out as I roll down the dark, jealous street.

 Pleased with myself for feigning not to care, I decide to take refuge in this silent lonely night.  But then what?  WHAT?  My pulse takes off.  A  truck darts from my right, pulling in front of me at a short distance.  Its silhouette looks familiar. Then the thing hauls ass.  It's him.

   It's him, it's him, it's him.  I just know it.  The speed gives him away.  He's gotta go fast to get out of his own way.   Instinctively pressing my foot to the floor, I too take off. 

   The light slides to yellow and slows his butt down with me coming to a stop beside him.  He is turning left I am going straight.  Keeping my gaze forward, I feel him.  Pausing a long moment I turn and look.  And guess who's lookin at me?  Yea, sexy man.  Hes got a toothpick in his hand and mischief on his face. 

   That grin is unmistakable.  It moves slowly up his soft full lips, then captures my attention as a twinkle in his eyes.  We linger at each other.  No one is around.  The streets are empty.  Just us, under the moon.

   He is so cute, so cute, so cute! 

   I've driven this road countless times back and forth to my cousins but now I always feel something.  Mostly I feel like hurling.  But it ain't just a road, anymore.

"MOMMIE, DADDY KISSED HIS TRUCK"

Yes, he did.

TURTLES LIKE TO WATCH

I never knew a darned thing about turtles.  That is until, you know who. 
 
   After the guinea pigs no longer satiated his need for wildlife-suburbia style, he wanted a turtle.

  Always the long-suffering optimist, I thought this would entail a glass bowl, with a rock, plastic palm tree and turtle.

  A turtle could not eat or go to the bathroom that much because, look how big they are, the size of a quarter?  OK, even two turtles would be super easy.  They float and don't make any noise.  Turtles do not bark, chew up your shoes or swat you just for the hell of it.  After the dogs, cats and infamous cage fiasco, this was going to be a piece of cake.  Heck, I probly won't even notice we have turtles.

 Yea, that's right.  I noticed.

   Chase came home with one turtle.  Then curiously rescued another later in the week, so two turtles it is, Ricky and Lucy.

  Turtles swim in a tank of water and use the rock for sunning.  I was correct about the eating and defecating ratio but did not consider algae build up and odor.  What never entered the thought process about owning turtles, is that they would consider, every move I make.  I notice the turtles and they notice me.

  Turtles are voyeurs and living in a glass house makes watching easy to do.  Moving about my busy day any time I turn in the room with the turtles, four steely eyes are staring me down like "yea, here she comes again, what's she gonna do now?"  Reptiles show no emotion.  So the little beady eyes just pivot and dart, whichever way I go.

 And always, without fail, from the moment she landed in the tank, the redback, Lucy, sits on the greenback turtle.  If he swims she swims.  When he suns she suns.  And of course, they share the ever ending watchfulness.  One pair of eyes on top of the other, lookin at me.

   Some Saturday while folding laundry the turtles catch my eye.  With Sting singing "every move you make" in my head, I test them.  Leering back, they are vigilant as my hands move with each fold of the clothes.  Stretching towards a cabinet slightly out of their view, Ricky too angled towards the cabinet, taking Lucy with him.  She is an attentive mate from her attachment on top.

  They watch me walk in.  They watch me walk out.  They oversee everything I do.  Like it is not enough, my mother is watching from down the street.

   Turtles grow, albeit slowly.  The day came when I convinced Chase it was time to set them free, even though they are family.  After four years, I take my visual companions to the small lake on Mother and dad's property.  With freedom in sight, they have no idea how their world is about to change.

  Ricky the turtle has one view in his paradigm.  Until this pending moment, he could swim up twelve inches, down twelve inches and side to side for about the same.

 The four years of his whole life, he had a little girl turtle above him.  The redback was loyal every day, all day, night and day. Miss Lucy never left the top of his shell.  Granted, not much going on in the 'gettin lucky' department for Ricky, since she never got off his back.  Yet, she is dependable just the same.

  Excited for their future, I kneel at the water's edge.  Sun rays slice the gleaming pond as I gently turn the bucket on its side.  In a split second , faster than the blink of my eye, she was gone!  GONE.  I couldn't believe it.  

 As Ricky landed in the water he started to sink slowly and in a literal flash, little Lucy redback was gone.  History.  She simply took off, as if she had been fantasizing this moment for four years.  Her tiny legs flew across the pond's surface to get away.  No swimming was involved.

 So much for the loyal mate.  Nice.  Hell, I thought she liked being up there.  When in fact, she just had nothing better to do.

 Ricky looked up, disoriented for sure.  After several seconds of floating downward, trying to get a grip on the situation, he decided to swim.   Cranking his neck to look at me one last time, his intense eyes spoke loud and clear.

  OK, who the hell moved the bottom?  And where'd the bitch go?

AGING EYES

I now need to carry my reading glasses in public. 

 I bought a shirt I thought was covered in a small continuous print of petite blue flower bunches.  Turns out I was wrong.  I have been wearing this shirt for nearly a year, but just looked at it with my glasses on. 

 It is embodied with a small continuous print of petite blue skulls and crossbones. Not flowers.

WAIT A MINUTE, THE ORDER IS MESSED UP..........

  Most of my family gathers at mother and dad's, for Sunday supper.  One particular week while eating at the large indoor picnic table, the distant front door slams echoing up the vaulted foyer. We don't see her yet, but hear her and brace for her.  My sweet sister Lorraine.  She is as pretty as her name, feisty as the day is long, and there is a good, clear picture of her next to the words "high strung" in the dictionary.  "Mom? Mom? Where are you?"  Before anyone has time to answer, she is flustered in front of us. 

 Throwing a quick glance around the room for me,  Lorraine Lea then looks back at Mom all in a tizzy.  Mother smiles encouraging her vent. " This is insane! Oh my God are you serious?  It's not funny. Tell me she is not doing this again, the second divorce isn't even final yet.  Oh mom!  Have you talked to her?  Where is dad?"

   No, she is not finished. 

 " Not to mention, the order is messed up. It is all messed up! I thought we were supposed to get married in birth order one after the other, you know, like first Lucy then Ivey, then me, then Rosemary, but oh no.  No no no no no!  Our family order is Lucy, Ivey, Ivey, Ivey. This has got to stop. I don't even want to get married now, but if I did there would be no time because we are all tied up, going to Ivey's weddings!  You need to talk to her!"

 Lorraine continues, flipping her long chestnut hair with each wave of her hand, emoting like a cartoon character.  We are so obviously sisters.  But don't tell her that.  It makes her mad.

CHERRY HEARTS AND SHAVING CREAM

Seven o'clock and the summer sun is still high.  Arriving on time, I stop down the street to gather myself and breathe.  I just can't look good enough.  Taking a last peek in the mirror and a spearmint altoid I pull back onto the road and roll towards his house.  There it is. Parking next to his car, it doesn't go unnoticed that even his ride is hot.    
   This is the second time in one week, and I don't even know him.  Well, I sort of know him.  Kind of. 

  My heart is pumping out of control and for heavens sakes, I don't know why. He is just a man.

  Surprised to see the door left ajar, I rap once.  Pushing inward the scent carves an instant memory of apples and spice. "Hello?" I say, passing through.  "Come on in"  I hear, and feel myself grow aroused.  Now I am nervous and excited.  I hope I can catch my breath so he doesn't have to call 911 for an oxygen tank.  That could put an immediate damper on things. 

  Pulling the door closed, I look up to see him rounding the hall wearing nothing but white boxer shorts, scattered with bright cherry hearts.  And shaving cream.  My gaze drops for a moment, scanning his body.  Soft black hair blankets his broad chest and stomach.  He is not real tall, but perfect. 

  Following the curve of his chiseled shoulders makes me weak in the knees.  Mostly, I can't take my eyes off his face.  His gorgeous strong jaw is covered in white foam as he flashes that infamous smile, making his eyes dance.

  He says "I'm shavin" and something else.  But I am distracted by the mere fact he is standing so close to me, and can't hear a word more he is saying.  Smiling in return "no problem, take your time" I tell him, and walk towards the living room. 

  Several framed photos adorn the furniture.  Focusing in on a three by five picture of him standing next to a blonde woman, their opposite body language jumps at me.  She is captivated.  He is not. 

 He likes looking at the ones he loves.  Me too. I wonder what else we have in common.  I wonder why his eyes look deep down sad.

  While staring into the faces of people I don't know, two big hands encircle my waist as he turns me around, locking his lips on mine. " I've been thinking about this all day " he says taking me by the hand and again, down the hall.  Reaching the first wooden bedpost, I stop and push him back so he lands on the soft green comforter, taking me with him.  

  Moving forward on my knees I lean in to hold his hands, pinning them over our heads.  Slowly, kissing his mouth, his neck, his eyes.  My oh my oh my.  I have never met a man I could not resist.  Until now.     
      

HE FORGIVES ME

Moonlight glimmers over his shoulder as he pauses grinning wide........ what? I wonder with my eyes.  "You kiss better than her" he says while tightening his hands around the small of my back and pulling me flat on top of him.  Kissing with no measure of time as in a moment we are gone.  Sigh, he finally forgives me. 

OPEN MY DOOR AND THEY POUR OUT

I really do like animals.
Animals, babies and old people.  The innocent and the wise.  But where in the heck did I sign up for this?  Ah, that's right Chase.

It all started with Guinea pigs. 

  OK, so if you have a boy over the age of five there is an excellent chance you've experienced the rodent on a wheel, in a cage complete with white shredded pine chips scattered about your home - right of passage.  So far nothing out of the ordinary.   As parents we try to stay off the dog walking and kitty litter detail as long as possible, because it is no mystery who will be doing these chores, and it ain't the kids.  Still a family is incomplete without a sweet little beast to love.

  In this case it was my husband who wanted pets, including a snake and chicken farm.  In suburbia.  The chicken plot was thwarted early on in the marriage, "over my dead body".  But I was comfortable with the decision of buying a guinea pig for the household pet.
 
  How bad can it be?  One small furry thing that doesn't even weigh a pound could not be much trouble.  No trouble at all according to Chase.

 Guinea pigs don't have a long disgusting rubbery tail to identify they are indeed a close relative of the rat. Their long fluffy hair reminds me more of my teenage bedroom slippers than an animal.  This selling point made it entirely possible to pretend it was a pet.

  Care is minimal.  Simply fill a bin with pellets and attach a water bottle.   No vet trips no fuss no barking no shedding.  No frontline no walking no boarding no problems.  They are self sufficient in a cage with a handle.  Chase is happy.  The kids are happy, entertained and learning.  All good right?  Wrong. 

  First off you go to buy one critter and always buy two.  You always buy two. Just accept this.  There are so many of these homeless four legged fur balls, and they can look cute in a moment of madness and of course how mean can you be to take only one rodent then put it in a cage by itself for the rest of it's natural born life?  You take two.

 After being assured that both guinea pigs are of the same sex I gather the new family members Barney and Fred to travel home.  I should have noted the foreshadowing of "hamster hell" from their behavior in the car.  They are not two boys and they are not two girls, so........BINGO!

 Barney and Fred became Fred and Ethel and all hell broke loose.

  One afternoon while vacuuming the bedrooms I notice a huge lump on Ethel so as usual, I call my sister Lucy.

  She answers "Hello?"  I jump right in.  "Oh my god Lucy, I think the guinea pig is sick.  It looks like Ethel has a tumor."  I am received in witty silence.  "What.  What do you think?  What do I do?"  I hear her smile with disbelief as she replies" Ivey, I don't think the pig is sick."  How do you know I wonder.  "While we were babysitting a couple weeks ago, every time we looked in there the pigs were on top of one another.  So a tumor would not be my first guess."

   Fine.  Fine.  So the tumor disappeared after giving birth to three little babies.  Fred, Ethel, Slippers, Socks and Shoes now lived with us.  Chase made them a sign for their bigger new cage.  Home Sweet Home.

   More humping.  Humping, humping and humping.
   Yea, the kids are sure learning alright.

   From the beginning I should have realized that a mammal pinned in for life does not have many options to occupy an eternity of time.  Options?  What options?  That wheel looks good for only so long.  Yea, that's right.  They eat, sleep, crap and hump. Hump hump hump.  Think about it.  What would you rather do spin in the wheel or hump?

  Guinea pigs have no idea of incest.  The thought never crosses their mind.  It is all good as everybody and their brother is getting pregnant.  Now the normal person would obviously separate the two sexes, but because of Chase and his views on animal rights we did not do that.  He thinks they are family members and should stay together.  That was fine until thirteen guinea pigs later I said and I quote "family my ass."

  Too little too late has landed me in a perpetual petting zoo, complete with fair cages, industrial feeding bins and a bunch of hungry mouths to feed.  And, well you know what happens after we eat.  So imagine several big disgusting litter boxes, not just one, like with a cat that I was trying to avoid.  Oh, and they don't call them pigs for nothing.  The pellet bin is a facade.  They eat vegetables and fruit all day long in between the humping.  I reckon it gives them a healthy appetite.

  Thirteen guinea pigs, seven rabbits (don't ask), two birds,two dogs, two turtles and two cats later............
 It starts as early as I rise.  One foot on the floor and everybody with a tail thinks they are being called for breakfast.  Sometimes it's just a false alarm, if I use the bathroom in the middle of the night.  Hearing the immediate jangle of dog collars and jingling cat bells, I have to firmly whisper "calm down people not time yet."

 Free roaming critters alone are four pairs of eyes lookin at me as if to say "bring on the vittles broad."  This is before my offspring are awake, or I go outside where the beloved cages now stand.

  With the unsullied vision of a Monday morning quarter back, I understand why each of us go through this 'cage' stage with no warning from our family and friends.  While in the midst of inbred rodents, you are far too occupied to have friends or know who your family members are.  Because you are damn busy with the feeding schedule, cleaning up pine bedding chips and emptying the ever ending droppings pan. 

  I know one thing.  Who ever had this scathingly brilliant idea to keep rodents as pets, never won any award.  And I, Ivey Mae McFarland, can tell you exactly why.

"LOOK AT YOU"

Brigg is stretched taunt from head to toe like a cat after a nap but this boy ain't been sleepin.  He his wide awake.

  His soft coarse hair feels so good beneath me. Glancing up his eyes are tightly shut and  head back.  All the way back.  Pausing I can taste him move as every sensation is alive.  We kindle each other setting nerve endings on fire. I linger wanting him to need more.  The room is stifled in passion as our desire consumes us.  Each breath grows louder and my eyes find his as he sits up and whispers  "Look at you."  

Reaching my hands out at the same time he weaves them tight between his fingers.  Hazel eyes are piercing mine.  He is staring into my soul and there is no where to hide.   

MY FATHER HE WALKED ON WATER-Randy Travis

"I loved him and he loved me and lord I cried the day he died because I thought he walked on water.  Although his wings were never seen I thought he walked on water".

   The storm rushes across the Atlantic as a sheet of white water drenching the rustling palm froms on contact.  I miss dad so much it hurts while sitting in the middle of the sounds he loved, without him.  The same waves he heard lap at the rocks lining the shore.  Virile trade winds insist as the morning sun climbs higher in the dusky sky.  Looking in the near distance I see a boat anchored all alone.  Breezy gusts rock the dingy as salty water caresses its sides and the lullaby relaxes my soul.

  The sun starts to crown and is beating out the clouds for existence.  Seagulls squawk as their wings fight the very thing that keeps them afloat.
I know the feeling.

SO DID SHE CALL ME A WHORE OR NOT?

I dig Sunday evenings.  The slow prelude to another week of life.  That  cozy nostalgic feeling of being safe with the ones I love.  Conscious of here and now as pork chops sizzle in the frying pan and the aroma of fresh baked bread fill the walls around me drifting into the family room drawing the attention of my son to holler "what you cookin?" My kids are putting together the puzzle from hell and faint sounds of Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn singing "after the fire is gone" waft from the distant stereo in my bedroom.  Home is where the heart is. As the rain continues down in a light drizzle I feel content.  Even though I am not. 

 Then, I get the bright idea to visit my mother. It would be nice for her to have some bread and she is probably lonely.  She is always lonely.  Swiping my lips golden pink I grab the warm cornbread and some strawberry preserves, glance in the mirror and am out the door.  My sundress swooshing behind me and the soft rubber under my feet feel good landing at the bottom of the porch.

 Going against my better judgement I walk in her direction.

 The sun just dipped below the horizon.  Night has descended but it is not deep dark yet. A slight breeze tries to cut the humidity and fails but I don't mind.  Focusing on nothing but the quiet evening around me I walk the straight distance between my mother's home and mine. 

 Our road is lined with bright dandelions and daisies and abundant Tennessee rain has nurtured green foliage all about the expansive estate.  It is such a lovely walk even in the rain.  Perhaps especially in the rain.

  Mother's front lights twinkle in the distance.  Getting closer, whatever she has on the stove rushes out to greet me.  My mom loves to be in the kitchen and is the epitome of a southern cook.  Sticks of butter in everything, too much salt and she always has an apron on. An apron and a moo moo. I adore aprons but prefer to wear them alone.  Shoot me if I ever want a moo moo.

  The gate squeaks as I open it and slowly slams to the sound of Little Bit her half poodle-pig running to see who it is.  Well not exactly running because of physics. The dog is as wide as long so it looks like she is jogging in place as her feet click click click click click and getting no where fast.  Add in the thrilled whirley bird tail going a mile a minute and I am surprised she doesn't lift off.  Woofing at the top of her lungs here she comes!

  Yea I'm scared.

  Soon enough Mother appears at the screen door not scowling but not smiling. Now I can guaran-damn-tee ya she can ward off an intruder. Uh oh, so much for a pleasant evening. Hey, if I couldn't turn the car around before you know I ain't got many options here.

 Leaning forward as she comes out I gently kiss her cheek. "Hello Ivey where's your umbrella?" "It's only sprinkling it feels good "  I tell her in return. "Lets sit" she responds and I follow her lead to the rocking chairs. Oh brother I have already let her down.  No Umbrella?

 This is from the woman who wears a shower cap out in public on a regular basis to protect her perm.  I mean, she has this thing on her head running errands to the store and dry cleaners.  The grand kids are delighted when she picks them up from school in a shower cap; particularly the teenagers.  My mother always swims in a shower cap.  I realize there is nothing that prohibits her from using the shower cap as a rain bonnet and swim cap but it IS a SHOWER cap.  I have never in my life seen her use an umbrella. Ever! She should be asking me where my shower cap is. 

  "Did you take the kids to church this morning?" she inquires. 

 My pulse quickens.  "Yes."  Then, like slicin butter with a hot knife she continues "Did the roof cave in?"  Boom. A glancing blow. It didn't even leave a mark.  

 Outwardly ignoring the comment I keep talking, but never sit in the rocking chair as she lowers herself, and looks up at me. " You know we don't go every week.  I don't want to go every Sunday but dang it.  Seems like they are literally chasing us down in the parking lot to find out why we don't stay for the meetings afterward. They hound me as to why I don't come every week. It's just too much. The Bishop asked me about a month ago to make plans to visit our home. I think they are just being nosey. The church council wants to find out if I have a husband and where he is.  They don't know what to think about us as a family and on top of all that, sometimes I wear a sleeveless dress. A big no no."
 
 Without the slightest hesitation she replies "Tell them you are a whore, you don't have a husband and you are not coming to church every week."  Her face isn't reflecting humor. I stop still and look at her dead on. Mitigating my words carefully buying time as my brain scrambles for cover.  Then, "Mother do you think I'm a whore?"  Smiling to herself she states ever so sweetly with her rocking chair smoothly creaking along.
"Well if you are a whore honey you are not a very good one.  Or you would have more money."  As an apparent after thought she adds "but if you tell the church people that...... I bet they'll quit askin."   Oh, I think but do not take the bait.  "Good night mother".  Not sure whether to laugh or cry walking through the gate I don't look back, but instead down the dark street towards home.

   

OH GOOD

Well, one less thing to worry about.  I thought maybe I had the beginnings of cataracts, glaucoma or magulate degeneration(not sure the spelling) but, not to worry as they say in Utah, it was just my make-up sealer.  Now I know why you are supposed to close your eyes and hold your hand a good distance away, when you spray your face.


  More good news.  The stuff works.  Now that my vision isn't blurred I have ascertained the makeup really stays pretty and it is not that I thought I looked good, but just could not see.  It does look good.  I love breakthroughs.

POCKETS

OK, so I am forty-six years old. A mature woman to be sure, yet far from old and in my case even middle age. You see I am a late bloomer. A very late bloomer encasing an old soul. Anyhow when it comes to our age, mother is neither here nor there. We are her children and it is her right to say whatever she wants.  And she does.  On a regular basis.

   Mother dear has her priorities straight. Always, always always always look your best. Slim is the only acceptable weight and secondly roll your hair. This is a sensitive subject with my sisters but I sure as heck do not have time for that now because I am going to tell you instead about mother's number one fashion rule, the day I bravely broke it and big surprise, surprise, surprise here.  I got caught. 

  A lady should never wear pockets.  And I mean no pockets. Not high pockets not low pockets not dark pockets or light pockets.  No pockets.  Ever.
 Pockets  enhance the proportions of your rear-end. They make your fanny look bigger than it is. She is right they do. Mother wants her daughters to look good coming and going.  Period. Curly hair and a small butt.

  I will give her this one, pockets are not my favorite.  I lived without them for 46 years.  Then last  week I went school shopping for Hayley and Hannah, my adorable 13 year old twin daughters. Hayley was insistent upon me trying and buying a pair of Bermuda style jean shorts WITH POCKETS  She was adamant that if I did not purchase them there was something wrong with me. Heck, what does it mean if I was afraid to even try them on? 

  I must have temporarily lost my mind but as I kept turning and looking I noticed they did look cute. I think.

  Yesterday as we drove the long winding path from the main road, the girls simultaneously noticed mother.  Grannanny was watering her luscious pink roses lining the front fence, white and picketed of course.  We had to drive right past her to get home.  It was make a u-turn or back up to avoid eye to eye contact and they were both viable options, because I had on the shorts. With pockets.

  My palms always start to get wet when I'm rattled or nervous. Clutching the dripping wheel I could feel my pocket buttons nearly penetrating the stupid shorts, as unconsciously I was bearing my butt into the seat.  It was too late to run for the hills as she is waving us over.  And smiling.  I did have on the shorts but I am not that brazen to turn and flee.  Besides, the smile usually means you might not get insulted.

  Pushing in the clutch we stop and the girls jump out to kiss their grandmother as she gently hands them each a flower, and they smile.  I stayed right where I was. 

  I am suspect immediately.  Watching the rear mirror as she slowly walks towards me adjusting the brim of her lovely hat.  There is no denying her graceful beauty.  Now I am focused on her eyes and have decided I am not getting out.  

  "Hello Ivey where have you girls been?"  Guard up.  Ass down.  I answer "Just running errands.  The roses look beautiful come on girls do you want to walk home or jump in the back?"  

  "Don't rush off" as she looks me up and down.  "What are you wearing?" "Nothing mom I'm kind of in a hurry girls lets go."  As the smile starts to descend she repeats herself "What are you wearing, are those new?" 

  Beyond irked, I stand up and turn to face her.   Repeating myself quite insistent this time. "Girls! lets go!"  They run towards us but mother is not to be deterred "walk over there and let me see the shorts....." Just cutting her off mid sentence with my hand in the air to stop, dreadfully I comply.

  Trying to walk so she can't see the pockets she starts "Turn around, turn around, what is wrong?" Taking the path of least resistance, slowly I pivot, apologizing of sorts in antipathy "I know, I know, just don't say anything I have on pockets!" Quickly facing forward again, I start walking to the truck where the girls are taking in the scene, she is not satisfied. 

  "No" she exclaims, "Let me see again?" Completely given up I turn and stand waiting for the onslaught of how big my butt looks, however, noticing a peculiar puzzlement in her now lowered voice. Standing in silence the respite seemed long and curious. I wondered why isn't she saying anything, and then it came. 

  "Well" she exclaims in pure astonishment and thinly veiled disgust as I look over my shoulder at her ..... lingering for the fighting words........ I ask "What mother what??" A smile curls her face and she says "They don't look half bad............ almost cute........now that your ass has dropped." 

SMOOTH AS A STRIPED APE

   His urgency mirrors mine but I can't relax.  My heart is racing and I need to come up for air.  "God you smell good" he tells me.  "So do you" I respond softly, and turn to kiss his neck.  Brigg arches his back and moans out loud like a man.  Then with the impetuous sweep of his big soft hand, gentle as a stroke of cotton, he releases my bra and I laugh.  "What?" he says feigning innocence in a grin he ain't even trying to hide.  I smile back totally amused by his apparent pride in his expertise at removing a woman's bra.  Smooth as a striped ape.

  His eyes twinkle as he grabs my breasts full in each hand.  "Come on" he says in that sweet southern drawl.   Then he takes me out of the kitchen and down the hall to the only sound of our bare feet on the cool tile floor.

WE USED TO THINK SHE IS CRAZY

Anal bleaching?  As if coloring and highlighting my  hair, shaving my legs and anything else in the vicinity of a two block radius, loofahing from head to toe, bleaching my teeth and continual trips to the dermatologist to dispose of sun spots were not enough......  I am reading where one more thing has been added to the grow old gracefully list and that is, to bleach your anus.  You heard me.  Yes, bleach your anus.  And I'll say right off the bat, the aforementioned is alot of bleaching.  Better make darn sure you don't get all those bleaching agents mixed up, or you will really have some damn problems on your hands.
 
Here, I might as well introduce you to my maternal grandmother Lily Mae, who has long gotten a bad rap for being crazy.  For instance, when we were children and spent the night with her bathing time was ridiculos.  She made each one of us fill the tub three times. Her standards for a good bath were so extreme it was comical. 

    We are eight.  So my sisters and brother and I  would line up with fresh p.j's and paperbacks, waiting in unison for our turn to get clean.
First, a pre-rinse to remove any loose dirt.
Second, wash and rinse.
Thirdly, sit in a little bleach.  Not much just a dash.  We were squeaking clean.
 
   Now think about it all these years later.  If we had kept up how Grandmother washed us, not a one of the eight would need any anal bleach.
Hell, she ain't crazy she is cutting edge.   

THE DEVASTATING MAN AND THE DEVASTATING SISTER

He moves forward thrusting his body against mine, pressing my back to the kitchen sink.  There is no slowing him down.  He commands me.  The scent of his polo urges me on.  I want him too.  Reaching my arms around Brigg's strong shoulders I see his perfectly handsome face, as he finds my mouth with his tongue.  We kiss wet and firm while his body stills my scattered energy and pins me in place.  Making out long and hard our lascivious bond is revealed as we smooch in passion and moan a mutual satisfaction.  We are happy to be back in each others arms.   

GOT YOUR DRAWERS ON?

Who knew my underwear or lack of it, would become a life long topic of conversation between my mother and me.  Not me.  I have been busy.  Thinking about men.  My daddy used to call me Will Rogers, the famous American who never met a man he did not like.  My name is Ivey Mae McFarland.