A Dual in the Swamp

The night was crackling with excitement. Manny "Longlegs" Bribbet was settling to go head to head with Aloysius Croke-McGee in what many thought would be the event of the season.

A line of the expectant formed on the hardened dirt road leading up to the veranda of the only watering hole this side of the Mississippi - that is until you got to Padooka Springs, which was a good one-mile walk away. It's a fact that once the fire-water got into you, a one-mile walk was more like a hundred miles full of gators and such, not to mention the danger of meeting up with one of the rare speeding vehicles that dusted up the fields on it's way to somewhere else. Too many drivers just don't watch where they're going, you know. Take, for example, the tale of when Old Georgie Batrachian was hit - no, it was closer to mashed (so sorry for those with the weak stomach) on his way home from The Swamp in Padooka Springs one moonless night a few years back. His poor lifeless body was found the next morning by a search party when he hadn't returned for his breakfast of soft boiled cajun eggs. The Missus was so worried she rounded up all the males around with the promise of all the soft-boiled cajun eggs they could eat if they found the varmint, but when they came back she got a little emotional, and holed up somewhere for a few days until she took up with that other feller, Sal LeEnchen.

But that's another story.

Anyways, by the time the sun was hitting the water behind the cypress trees, Manny and Aloysius were a glaring at each other like there was no tomorrow and, since one of them was due to lose, tomorrow wouldn't be too high on one of their lists.
The crowd had started to get restless with anticipation by the time Thad Poole came out onto the veranda carrying something.

A ripple of excitement went through the crowd as he brought a worn wooden box over to the table where the combatants were sitting, and gently (nearly reverently if truth be told) placed it in the center of the table.

Aloysius was the first to move and ran his wrinkled finger along the side of the inlaid mahogany chest before he opened it up and took out his first five tiles. Manny, not wanting Aloysius to get all the good ones, grabbed for his tiles a little too greedily for Aloysius' taste and an altercation broke out. There was much fist thumping and hollerin' so loud that many thought those in Padooka Springs could hear, but of course, Padooka Springs, beings its over a mile away, slumbered quietly on.

The two settled down though, when the lightbulb finally went off in Manny's addled head that this here night just might be the most important night of his entire life and fighting was contrary to what was at hand. After some coaching they both sat back down and then quickly commenced to glare over the table at each other again until the signal to start was announced.

It took darn near all night for those two to concede a winner, but as the sun was coming up over the knobby hills to the east, with the score just about even somewhere in the hundreds (that was after the best three-out-of-five went to the best-five-out-of-seven and on up) Aloysius just keeled over and fell into the swamp. And Manny, tickled pink that he was the last one standing, jumped up into the air with all the aplomb of a duck taking off from a blind.

It was what happened after Manny's jubilant leap that had the crowd talking, however. Beings that Manny hadn't had a morsel of food the entire evening, when he saw that grasshopper a scooting down the road behind the old magnolia tree, his leap turned into a ravenous bound towards the escaping insect. Many say that once Manny had that crunchy little thing in his mouth, it was like some great magical net swooped out of the sky and took Manny off.

So's, there wasn't exactly a winner that night when those two stacked them dominoes up against each other, but then again, it sure was fun to watch while it lasted!

Please note that I actually spotted these two fellows in an antique store while shopping with my sister. I was sorely tempted to purchase this unique item but, I suppose for good reason, my sister talked me out of it. Instead, I snapped a photo of it with my cell phone to show my hubby that he had a rational and level-headed sister-in-law and a very whimsical wife!

Sadly, the next time we went into the antique store, the duo was gone...

I Finally Put a Tiger in my Tank

                                

For those of you who are - er - "seasoned" enough, you may remember the little ditty about putting a tiger in your tank from our friends at Esso/Exxon. You may even share my fascination with 1960's commercials (if one were to watch more than an afternoon of cartoons which often spread into evenings with "monkees," genies, and suburban witches, one could - and would - become quite an expert on such intellectually stimulating offers as "put a tiger in your tank," "take it off, take it all off," and "I can't believe I ate the whole thing.")

It was during those long forays into whimsical situations and shows about spies, wild animals, and beauty pageants that I learned a thing or two about " real life." (You do realize that if it was/is on TV, it must be true!)

 As a wee lass (you believe me, right?), I vaguely remember some of those catchy phrases from my halcyon days of yesteryear. And, one day not too long ago, I finally understood that if I wanted to get my "get up and go" I needed to put an undoubtedly less-than-happy large striped feline into my "gas" tank. (Images of Harry Potter Band-Aids are filling my head at the moment. And not for the feline, in case you were wondering.) (But bless your heart for being concerned about the monster cat and not me.) (Really, it's ok.) (Sniff)

 

                                               

Ideas have been stacking up, waiting for an appointment in my head and my grey matter, and my life, are finally open for business! Stay tuned! 

Shall we all celebrate? RIght now I am raising my glass of Dom Perignon to you! Thanks for waiting for me!

                               

Sometimes We Have to be Pushed Off Our Perch

Some say change is permanent. Others add that security is fleeting. I am finding that the older I get, the more I agree with both.

Approximately one month ago, I was let go from my job at a local community college. Shock and grief immediately set in, and I spent the next week curled up on my couch watching movies and regularly refilling the trash can with tissues. Oh Woe was Me.



Fortunately, I had a splendid support net, and like any faltering trapeze artist, I fell, bounced a few times, and then I crawled out.

Looking back over these past weeks of re-evaluating what was/is really important to me, I have finally admitted to myself that no matter how many times I said, "At least I have a job," my position there had become an exercise of fitting my oval shape into a square mold. Expectations of clericalocity (<-- my new word for the regular pencil pushers of the technology age) left little room for what drove my own passions, and I was left feeling smothered, under-appreciated, and, well, just darned unhappy.




People have often commented on how tranquil I seem to be under stress, and how pleasant I always come across to others. Characteristics that are certainly a plus, no doubt. However, back seat driving those very same traits is the tendency to become complacent while letting things roll off my back. Thus, it was easier to just internalize the challenges I faced (yes, I occasionally had to vent to my most trusted supporters, like any seemingly dormant volcano), than it was to charge head-long into a coup for change. Alas, no rebel am I.



Through this all, I am truly fortunate that my husband has been, and is, my staunchest supporter. Pulling no punches on the present job market, he has offered me quite a tempting proposition. He has suggested that I, at least, take the summer off to regroup, explore some creative ideas I have had rumbling around in my head for years, investigate alternative forms of income (nothing illegal or immoral, of course), and then, if necessary, take a part-time job to cushion our joint income.

This would, unfortunately, mean that we will need to move out of our house and sell it (we are looking at ways we can quickly and efficiently do this) which, in retrospect, isn't a bad thing since he has strongly admitted that he hates being a home-owner, with all of the snow-shoveling/lawn-mowing/unplugging-the-plumbing/etc. et al. With the advent of both of his daughters growing to an age where they no longer live with us part-time, this house has become much too opulent for the two of us.



Gone will be rooms of un-needed furniture, mementos, knick-knacks and general clutter. Sadly, it would also mean that he will be selling his vehicle (which he loved) as well as finding superb homes for our wonderful dogs. One canine has been warmly received at my husband's ex-wife's home, where his youngest daughter lives, and the other is poised to find happiness with a large yard, a cat, and two small children tomorrow.




Achingly, that seems to be the most distressing choice of all. Three months ago we traveled 10 hours to/10 hours back to rescue the dog of our dreams. And, always preferring a cat over a dog, I was surprised at the bond I have formed with my gentle giant these past three months, and will be heart-broken when she leaves.

However, we will be embarking on a new, and exciting adventure. I have always been fascinated with my own downtown, and have always dreamed of living in a loft in the heart of the city. Close to just about anything and everything (except maybe a grocery store, but the lure of having my groceries delivered instead of enduring the mauling I always seem to encounter whilst trolling the aisles of my own market here), the clincher was the mere five-minute walk to work for my husband, instead of the 40 minute commute (plus costs).

Change is, indeed, constant, and getting used to having no discernable schedule each day has been both a pleasure and a pain. I am still struggling with which direction I really want to take, since my mind and my passions, once encumbered by bureaucratic say-so, have been released. I have been given a marvelous opportunity to grow, once again, into the person I have always wanted to be. And how many adults get to explore so many youth-planned paths in their lives?

Being pushed off my perch, while stressful to the "nth degree," has been my liberation too.

Sie la Vie!




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