Monday, November 9, 2009

Glad to Know You

Every Tuesday for the past 15 years, a tall, (6'4") lean man walks into my kitchen and asks,"What you know good?" His nickname is "Bones". His Mama named him Reggie. He is as southern as they get, including the Rebel Flag in his front yard. But to him, that flag represented a symbol of southern pride, not the horrible racist rag it would one day come to symbolize to another generation. Reggie heads up the Kitchen Committee for my Senior Center, meaning he lets me think I am in charge. With a perpetual grin and a quick wit, you'd never suspect he turned 80 in August. He still rides a motorcycle for heavens sake. Someone ran a red light 3 years ago and tried to make him a hood ornament. Broke his collar bone but not his spirit. He may have shed a tear over the bike he loved, but he went out and got a new one. And STILL refused to wear a helmet. You'd think a man who was a Volunteer Fire Fighter for 40 years would be more safety conscious. But no, he like to feel the wind in "what little hair I have left."

If there was an award given for the ability to "Tease with Tongue Planted Firmly in Cheek", it would go to Reggie. I tease him that if he'd strap a coin changer to his belt, he could charge for those shoulder massages he offers to anyone willing to stand still. Stand still...they practically stand in line for his gentle, soothing touch. This Tuesday, however, will be different.

We buried him this afternoon.

It's still hard to think of Reggie in the past tense, as in "he was". Reggie was the kind of guy who walked into the room and it filled with good hearted kindness and joy. And laughter. LOTS of laughter. He'd gone to school with one of the ladies since they were about 8 or 9. Every week she walked in he'd yell, "Hey Buzzard!" and without missing a beat she'd yell back, "Hey ugly!" Then they'd hug heartily as the new people in the group looked to me for an explanation.

Reggie loved to laugh and yet he had that southern gentleman thing going so that if he told a joke, it was one you could tell in mixed company with the preacher standing by. Sure, they were often corny but they were funny. Sometimes you'd groan, sometimes it was a good belly laugh. Always there was a twinkle in his eye.

A couple of months ago, Reggie had gone out to supper with friends that he and his wife ate with weekly. His wife hadn't been feeling well and stayed home. Reggie called me that Monday to let me know he was going to be late for lunch because he had a doctor's appointment. Asking if I had the time, he told me of his "odd episode." After eating dinner with his friends, he explained that he remembered stopping to get gas, but he didn't remember where. Feeling odd, he went inside and asked the Clerk, who was filling up a cigarette machine, where he was. The guy, without looking at Reggie, muttered the name of the city where he'd had dinner. Reggie's a laid back kind of guy so with a smile I'm sure, he admitted to the guy he was a little confused. Turned around. Wondered if he maybe had a mini-stroke. Could the man please tell him exactly where he was?

Without looking up, the man merely repeated the name of the city, as he continued his task. Reggie got disgusted and walked out. He said he didn't really panic until later on, when his truck's side view mirror broke. He was driving down a road which had one lane blocked due to construction. Because he wasn't sure where he was, Reggie was driving slow and the driver behind him began to angrily flash his lights. When he glanced in the rear view mirror, he swerved slightly and hit one of the large, orange parking cones marking the lane. It flew up, hit his rear view mirror and the glass flew inside the truck, across his lap and onto the seat. Reggie said it was as if someone had flipped on a switch in his head. He pulled off the road and looked at the shattered shards on the front seat. He'd said he never rode with his window down but that night he had. The light glinting off the flying glass had, woke him up, as he put it.

Looking around he found himself on an interstate highway, headed north. He lived south. And two hours had passed.

Reggie said he didn't remember even getting on the road but he found his way back home. The doctor wanted to run some tests and he'd try to get to lunch before it was over. I assured him everything was fine.

When he came to lunch the next day, I asked how he was and he replied fine. Then he started with, "The weirdest thing happened to me Sunday." Silly me, I butt in and offered, "Yeah and if we ever figure out what gas station you went to, I will go have a word with that idiot who ignored you!" He looked at me oddly, asking if his wife had told me the story. When I said he'd told me on the phone the day before, he didn't remember calling.

A chill ran down my spine.

Over the next few weeks he'd have one more mini-stroke that put him in the hospital for a couple of days. I'm thinking his crankiness at being in a bed for so long got him discharged early. He said there were no clots in his brain but that a carotid artery was being treated by medication. He grinned, saying he'd won at least one round with his doctor. "She told me I couldn't drive for 6 months. I told her fine, I'd just ride the motorcycle. She shook her head and said, 'No driving!' to which I looked at her and said, 'It's not driving, it's RIDING.'" With a wink, he left the room with me grinning ear to ear.

And last Tuesday he was in my kitchen. When he finished his prep work, he'd go and sit in the recliner in my office. We had a deal: he could "exercise" the recliner if he promised not to snore. He always kept up his end of the bargain. He asked what time to put in the biscuits as I tried to co-ordinate another event. I knew that if I wasn't finished by noon, he would carry the food out to our buffet table, say grace and get the troops moving. As always I thanked him and he thanked me for fixing such a good meal. "And anyone who doesn't appreciate your cooking or all you do for us can answer to me!" he added, just loud enough for the complainers to hear. I can honestly say Reggie has often been the reason I haven't thrown my hands up in the air and walked out the door. He was my weekly hug and encouragement. All he charged was a smile.

Friday afternoon there was message on my home answering machine,"Reggie's dead."

Unexpected deaths, even in older folks, are often shocking. In fact, it is THE worst part of my job; getting close to people that begin to feel like extended family, then losing them. Reggie was so full of life, always helping others, that I had to play the message again to make it even begin to feel real. And yet at his funeral there was lots of laughter. I think he planned that somehow, making us laugh so regularly that it's the only sound we associate with him. One lady spoke of all the pranks they'd played on each other over the years. "I loved Biker Week and would ride down when he went down there with his wife. My birthday's then. He bought me a pair of yellow underwear that 10 women could've gotten in at the same time. I took them and ran them up the flag pole in front of his daughter's house. The next year he got me a pink pair....and put my name on them so I couldn't give them away." And with that, she opened a box and pulled out the biggest pair of hot pink panties I've ever seen and the crowd roared with laughter, shaking the rafters of that country church. I swear I could see Reggie sitting in the rafters, smiling.

The kitchen won't seem the same tomorrow. I even went ahead and set the tables today so I won't have to think about him not being there to do that for me. And yet, I'll still hear that ghostly laugh and cheerful greeting,"What you know good?"

My answer will be, "You."


Reggie last year at our annual Halloween Costume Contest.
His mask is laying next to his plate.
The mug is a skeleton one I got him that year to reflect his nickname, "Bones".
He liked it so much he insisted on drinking out of it every week.
He even took it home and "doctored up the eyes" by adding red to them.
I think some of our newer members thought both of us were nuts, but he enjoyed the joke.


Thursday, November 5, 2009

Flash Fiction Friday

You know the drill. Oh, new here? The drill is simple: write a story in only 55 words (yes, really). Then let the G-Man know all about it. Have a great weekend!





“Okay troops. Go!” chanted the leader.

The first one out laughed, “Geronimo!”

One by one they flung themselves into the autumn air.

“Looks fun,” sighed the pine tree as the leaves flew past.

“Yeah, until THEY arrive,” snickered the second pine.

Running toward the leaf pile,
the children flung themselves into the air yelling, “Geronimo!”


Learning Something New

The longest part of my day occurs at the tail end of the After School program. Homework is done. Snacks have been scarfed down, the world's most aggressive game of Hide 'n Go Seek has concluded and they're bored with board games. For the last 20-30 minutes of waiting on a ride to pick them up, they want to be entertained. Yes, when I am most weary my brain is suppose to come up with something "fun" to do to pass that time.

Some days I revert to simple games to mentally challenge their under utilized brains. I try to exercise that grey matter before they head home to computer games and too much Pay-Per-View television. One of their favorites is the "Deserted Island Game".

It's simple. Well, depending on how tired I am. I've been known to shorten up the story leading to HOW they end up on an island, all alone, because their boat was sinking and they had five minutes to grab 5 things. You don't know how long you'll be there, I always warn them. Choose carefully.

There was one kid left yesterday but the "Island" game doesn't need a special number of players. This kid, however, wasn't happy with a quick "and you have to grab stuff before the boat sinks." No, she needed to know WHY the boat was sinking. Wasn't the Captain paying attention? Why was there only one life raft? Where did everyone ELSE go, leaving her to go to the Island alone?

Sigh.

Finally, she compiled her list of five things. The were: a fancy dress, high heels, jewelry, make up, a boy and a bed. Trying not to laugh, I pointed out that was 6 things.

She dumped the bed.

Did I mention she's only SEVEN?!

We discussed what she was going to eat. Don't Deserted Islands have a McDonald's? she inquired. I had to define deserted. So where would she sleep if it rained? How would she make fire to cook any food she might find? Most of her answers boiled down to the boy would take care of things, she would merely sit there and "look good!"

Sigh.

We played again today. At her request. I thought this meant she'd been thinking about this. Today's list was: a fancy dress, high heels, jewelry and make up, but no boy. No, he'd been replaced by...

... pajamas.

I don't know if that's progress or not. However she did inform me that if they kicked her off that boat again, she'd swim back, climb on and tell them who was really in charge. No doubt while reapplying her make up and checking her earrings.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Say What?!

Every morning I listen to the same two radio DJs I've tuned in to for the past 15 years. Or more. They're quite the pair, Brent and George. Brent, a.k.a. "the Boss", is a Georgia boy and son of a preacher man. George is a New Yorker who has an Irish-Italian heritage and possess the same warped sense of humor I hold dear to my own heart. Brent does the best impression I've ever heard of a VERY southern church lady who believes she knows everyone in every car that's had an accident. Well of course she wants to stop and get a good look, to tell the other ladies while they're at the Beauty Parlor. George is great with one liners and has the most contagious laugh! As Brent likes to mispronounce things to get under George's skin, think pronouncing Italian as I-talian, they have the comedic timing of a latter day Abbott and Costello. (And if you're too young to understand that, go look it up! Try "Who's on First". Yes, it's on YouTube).

Brent has a thing about lists; he always has a Top 10 Something or Other list. This morning's was an international polling of "Which Accent Women Find Most Attractive In a Man."

Oh yeah, this is an educational show. :)

The key here is knowing that science has proven men are moved [emotionally and otherwise] by what they see, while women are moved by what they HEAR. So here's as much of the list as I can recall....hey, someone was tailgating while I was driving, my concentration was split. And yes, some of the countries brought immediate men to mind.

1. Irish
Go Pierce Brosnan! 2nd best James Bond on record.

2. Italian
The DeLuise clan in Hollywood, from chubby Dom (RIP) to his actor and director sons.

3. Scottish
(Here the boys made a HORRIBLE mistake, wondering aloud if Irish & Scots were different. I rolled my eyes and yelled back, "YES!"). Well duh, Sean Connery! And in appreciation of my warped sense of humor, I added Craig Ferguson to the list. Although technically, he's switched teams & is now American. [No Susan, I didn't forget "Mr. Scott"].

4. French
[Really?]

5. Australian
[Thank you for the fine specimen which is Hugh Jackman. You may keep Russell Crowe].

6. British
[Hello Hugh Laurie...although I prefer his cranky "Dr. House" American accent].

Every thing's a blur until #10....although SWEDISH was in there somewhere! [And yes, the only Swedish "man" I could think of was the Muppet Cook].

American men, you are number 10. Personally, I think it's because you don't have a single accent. As Brent and George demonstrated. Brent did his version of a southern redneck trying to convince "Baby" that picking stuff up off the lawn was real work. George meanwhile, channeled De Niro in "You talking to me?"

So there is your unscientific study based on the science which is suppose to lend credence to what women like to hear.

Meanwhile, I'll stick to my American hubby, of Michigan lineage, born in Japan.
What?

(Okay, his father was in the Air Force, thus the odd place of birth).

Go forth and have a listen. And ladies, report back. :)



Monday, November 2, 2009

Susan Started It!

Welcome to Microfiction Monday, where a picture only paints 140 characters.

Those are Susan's rules. And I thought 55 WORDS was hard.




Here's today's picture. Below is the story.

He was her last.
Watching tenderly, her eyes searched to see his future,
who he'd become.
Anything, she smiled.
Anything but a politician.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

As the weekend slides toward Monday
and we get even closer to the holiday season,
here's wishing all of you a good week.
Except Dan.
For he has told the truth and
we've all encouraged him to be grumpy out loud.
Hey Dan....
don't be surprised if some of us join you in a Grouch Fest.
;)

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Flash Fiction Time

You know the rules. Write a 55 word story and tell the G-Man all about it. It's fun. It's addictive. Hey, at least it's not fattening. Hey, that leaves room for some Halloween candy.




As the camera appeared, the subject attempted to slink away. Not because he wasn’t photogenic. In fact, he was handsome and quite noble. But he truly hated the whole process.

“Come on,” she coaxed gently. “I can’t help it the calendar became so popular. Besides, it’s only once a year.”

Disgusted, he refused to smile.


Meet "Mr. October".
Needless to say Smokey isn't fond of "calendar season".


It all started out as a joke for Christmas several years ago. Hubby's Archery Shop would not have the usual girlie calendar found in other men's shops. No, I Super Wife would create one just for the out of doors kinda guy. Every month would feature Smokey or Hubby and Smokey with whatever they had found in the field. I thought it was a one time thing.

In November of the following year hubby said, "I can't wait to see this year's calendar!"

Sigh.

So a tradition was born. In fact Hubby keeps all the calendars and new customers often ask to "review" them while they wait. I tried to help Smokey one year by featuring his laid back son Bou as "Mr. October." See for yourself.


He was sleeping when I put the horns on. He slept through the photo process. He was still sleeping when I took them off. I called his name to make sure he was alive. He wagged his tail enthusiastically, but never opened his eyes. Bou loves his naps! [Note: I'm sure Hubby would like me to point out that after this photo was taken, he personally refinished our hardwood floors, so they no longer look like this].

So rather than torture Smokey every year, I just reuse the October shot. I still add the occasional new ones and now I have Bou for a model as well. But I don't want to push my luck. After all, the look Smokey gave me when we finished that shot scared the devil out of me. :)