Whew

Preparing for the Ever Dreaded Finals, catching up on things that I missed when I was helping with grandpa, and friends have really sucked up the time.

I promise, it won't be this way forever. Finals are next week, friends, well, I'm keeping them around, cause they're fun.

I.E. Last night when Sparky, SB (you haven't heard about him... he's from the next town over, and while we haven't hung in a while since he's been at the college we have been. It's a taste of home..) and I hung out and had a few beers. I didn't realize how much I missed the people I used to hang out with until SB said something smartassed, I poked him in the ribs and it turned into a battle of epic proportions.

No one has had the guts to try to wrestle with me in a while. I have sharp elbows, and I'm slippery.

Fun was had by all, including Sparky, who stayed out of the line of fire and made comments like "doesn't that hurt?" "how do you bend like that?" and "don't you choke drinking beer when you're upside down?"

Not to mention "Jeez, that looked like it hurt!"

Ahh, memories.

Ugh

Have you ever had one of those times when you just get slapped upside the head with sorrow, or grief, or depression? You know, things have happened, but you're dealing, and then all of a sudden the dumbest thing reminds you and it's like a punch to the gut, and then for a couple of hours, or days, you can't get it out of your head.

Those times suck.

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I have one brewing about Black Friday but today I feel like crap so it'll have to be later than I'd planned.

Say a Prayer

This was the scene across the street from Mamaw's house in the wee hours of Friday morning. A week ago, this building was a Mexican food restaurant, and home to some close friends. Farmdad traded salsa recipes with Rocky, Mamaw and Pam traded entire meals, Jazz provided teenage entertainment for everyone, and everyone traded jokes, stories, and general good times. These people were good friends to many in the community, good people. Rocky and Pam were always willing to help out their neighbors, and they always had a smile for a stranger.

The Volunteer fire departments of five towns and two counties fought for hours, not to save the wooden building, there was no way, but to save the homes around it, including Mamaw's. The local police went door to door waking neighbors and evacuating them, going so far as to move vehicles for them, in conditions that can only be described as hellish.


The fire burned so hot that it broke glass, and melted paint on the fire engines. They say that the fire sucked all the oxygen out of the area to the point that this truck wouldn't start so that they could move it. The firemen had to take a hack saw to the hose to get it off the truck.



People watched this scene Friday night, not knowing if their friends had gotten out. Four people were in the house, one made it out alive. I don't usually ask this kind of stuff, but please, if you pray, say a prayer for the friends and family of Rocky, Pam, and Jazz. And please, say a special prayer for Pam's mother, who survived the fire, but lost her family.

There are few people in this world with the kind of heart and generosity shown by this family, and their deaths mean a true loss to this community.

The FBI Is Looking Out For Me

So, I'm checking my email, minding my own business, when I see an email from none other than the FBI. No, really. The senders name was "Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Because, you know, No one at the FBI has their OWN email address, it's all just generic.

Yet another scam, this one badly put together. Here's the text:

"Anti-Terrorist And Monitory Crime Division.
Federal Bureau Of Investigation.
J.Edgar.Hoover Building Washington Dc

Attn: Beneficiary,

This is to Officially inform you that it has come to our notice and we
have thoroughly Investigated with the help of our Intelligence
Monitoring Network System that you are having an illegal Transaction with
Impostors claiming to be Prof. Charles C. Soludo of the Central Bank Of
Nigeria, Mr. Patrick Aziza, Mr Frank Nweke, Dr. Philip Mogan, none
officials of Oceanic Bank, Zenith Banks, Barr. Derrick Smith, kelvin Young of
HSBC, Ben of FedEx, Ibrahim Sule,Larry Christopher, Dr. Usman
Shamsuddeen, Dr. Philip Mogan, Puppy Scammers are impostors claiming to be the
Federal Bureau Of Investigation. During our Investigation, we noticed
that the reason why you have not received your payment is because you
have not fulfilled your Financial Obligation given to you in respect of
your Contract/Inheritance Payment.

Therefore, we have contacted the Federal Ministry Of Finance on your
behalf and they have brought a solution to your problem by cordinating
your payment intotal USD$11,000.000.00 in an ATM CARD which you can use
to withdraw money from any ATM MACHINE CENTER anywhere in the world with
a maximum of $4000 to $5000 United States Dollars daily. You now have
the lawful right to claim your fund in an ATM CARD.

Since the Federal Bureau of Investigation is involved in this
transaction, you have to be rest assured for this is 100% risk free it is our
duty to protect the American Citizens. All I want you to do is to contact
the ATM CARD CENTER via email for their requirements to proceed and
procure your Approval Slip on your behalf which will cost you $250.00
only and note that your Approval Slip which contains details of the agent
who will process your transaction.

CONTACT INFORMATION
NAME: MR. DANIEL SMITH
EMAIL: smithdanielng@yahoo.cn

Do contact Mr. Daniel Smith of the ATM CARD CENTRE with your details:

FULL NAME:
HOME ADDRESS:
TELL:
CELL:
CURRENT OCCUPATION:
BANK NAME:
AGE:

So your files would be updated after which he will send the payment
information’s which you'll use in making payment of $250.00 via Western
Union Money Transfer or Money Gram Transfer for the procurement of your
Approval Slip after which the delivery of your ATM CARD will be
effected to your designated home address without any further delay.

We order you get back to this office after you have contacted the ATM
SWIFT CARD CENTER and we do await your response so we can move on with
our Investigation and make sure your ATM SWIFT CARD gets to you.

Thanks and hope to read from you soon.

ROBERT S. MUELLER, III
DIRECTOR, FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20535

Note: Do disregard any email you get from any impostors or offices
claiming to be in possession of your ATM CARD, you are hereby advice only
to be in contact with Mr. Daniel Smith of the ATM CARD CENTRE who is the
rightful person to deal with in regards to your ATM CARD PAYMENT and
forward any emails you get from impostors to this office so we could act
upon and commence investigation."


Good grief, people. If you're going to pretend to be the FBI, at least try not to spell the British way. Oh, and I love the "Anti-Terrorist and Monitory Crime Division." They're my favorite division, like, ever.

Oh, and the email address... The government has their very own mail servers, so I highly doubt that anyone from the FBI would be sending email from "no-replys@aol.com"

Get a life.

The Dash

One thing that I loved about grandpa's service was this poem, and I decided to share it with all of you. It's a ray of light in what would otherwise be a very bleak world right now.

The Dash
by Linda Ellis


I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend

He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

He noted that first came her date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,

But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.

And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,

What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?

For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real

And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more

And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile

Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash

Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

Well, Hell.

I am in the rather unusual (for me anyway) position of having quite a bit to say.... and having no words.

Bare facts... My aunts and one of my uncles need to disappear. As in, into a hole that will never be found. As a matter of fact, as far as I'm concerned they are no longer related to me. I refuse to acknowledge grasping, bitter slimeballs like them. I've scraped better candidates for human beings off my boots after slipping into a stagnant pond.

Early this morning, a fire claimed the lives of three people back home. They were friends of the whole Farm Family, good people. I'm just... numb. Too much has happened, I just can't process all of it.

Old news for some people now, but Cowboy Mechanic and I are no longer together. He broke it off the night we brought grandpa home from the hospital. Yes, he knew what was going on. No, I don't really want to talk about it.

This morning, I participated in the show, and I still don't know what I scored, because I had to leave right after I did my pattern, to get ready for grandpa's funeral. Etta did really well, though, as far as I'm concerned. I rode for three hours this morning, before the show.

It was enough for Etta, but it wasn't enough for me.

I'm Gonna Miss...

Grandpa's health has been getting fairly steadily worse, and recently, steady has turned to quick.

Tuesday the fourth we found out that the cancer that the urologist had suspected, and Grandpa had refused a biopsy for, in his prostate, had spread. To his liver, and lungs. By then half of his left lung was already tumor, with masses apparent in the right lung as well. That explained the poor breathing that the clinic doc had sent him to the hospital for, under the diagnosis of pneumonia. He had that too, but not near as bad as they thought.

Grandpa decided against treatment, and since then, has been waiting.

Today, I came to my grandpa's, for a meeting with the Hospice nurse. My aunts and one of my uncles were here, as was my cousin C. Shortly after I got here, Grandpa fell, for the fifth time in the last two days. C was in the room, and missed catching him by inches. C immediately started kicking himself over the fall, and he and I had to have a talk about stubborn old men, reaction times, and plain old bad luck.

After that, we got to talking about our memories, and the great times we had with Grandpa. It was the kind of conversation you wish you could have without the underlying sadness, and it made me think of all the things I'll miss, when Grandpa is gone. Which, honestly, shouldn't be long now.

I'm gonna miss playing pool in the basement. I've never been a great player, but what I know, Grandpa taught me in his basement. I even had my own, shortened cue. It's still down there. I looked. To this day I can't look down a cue without hearing Grandpa's voice in my ear, telling me to put a little English on it.

I'm gonna miss days on the lake. That man was a hell of a water skier, and a genius with the water sled. He also had the whitest chest and legs of anyone I've ever seen. How he kept from burning to a crisp every time he took his shirt off is beyond me.

I'm gonna miss our evergreen clubhouse, in the windrow of spruces by the road. When we were kids, all us kids would hide in there when it was time to go home.

I'm gonna miss laying coins on the railroad tracks, and seeing which ones came out the thinnest.

I'm gonna miss the way he would growl when we did something wrong, and then go right back to spoiling us rotten.

I do miss going on the mail route with him. He retired from carrying mail a few years ago, but I still vividly remember going out with him to deliver the mail. It was always exciting, especially since he always had his stash of candy and snacks in the pickup.

I'm gonna miss the stories about growing up on his family's farm, and his favorite "horse tales" that he always shares with me when we're talking about the ponies.

I'm gonna miss the stories about Korea, and the service he gave to his country.

I'm gonna miss the way his eyes twinkle when he's being gruff but doesn't really mean it, and the laugh that always follows after.

I'm gonna miss the squabbles we have, and the talks about books. The way his eyes always light up when I talk about my classes, and the pride I can see there when he asks about my grades.

I'm gonna miss the man who always fed the animals outside his back door, even the cat that ate more than he did.

I'm gonna miss the advice, the life lessons, the laughter and the hugs.

These are just a very few of the things that I'm going to miss about the man in the next room, lying on a hospice bed. I remember him, not young, but vital, always vital. Now, his cheeks are sunken and his physical strength is waning, and all that I can hope for is a peaceful end, for him, and for us.