Friday, September 23, 2011

Have I Ever Told You About Missus Gilgrease?

I'm a walking contradiction. I am a rather loud person, yet I don't like to ruffle feathers of the powers that be. You would think a loud person would be a raucous raiser, but I'm not. I would rather poke out my own eyeballs than break a rule. Nauseating, I know.

The times in my life that I've broken rules or somehow landed in trouble are seared into my memory bank, never to be extracted. Never, ever to be extracted.

I went to kindergarten in a suburb of Dallas. I don't know how I survived school there. A 5 year old in a honkin' huge school. School buses forever. Everyday I prayed I would make it on to the right bus. I still have anxiety over it.

I can remember my first introduction to my now addiction. Books. Library. Books. Our class went to the library for the first time, and I was overwhelmed by it's beauty. There were staircases to other levels of the library and ladders that you had to climb to retrieve your beloved, chosen book. It was wonderful.

Somewhere in this school was Missus Gilcrease. {in my head she was Missus KILL GREASE--much more terrifying} My head has her associated with the library and the office but I'm having trouble giving her a title. Here's her title. Meanie Pants. There.

In our school, we were not allowed to speak during lunch. Is that a rule? You could bet your boots, I was not going to speak.

But Jenny would. Oh, Miss Cool Jenny. She didn't have to mind the rules. So, Miss Cool Jenny was sitting by me as I had my lunch pulled out of my Care Bear lunchbox sipping on orange Hi-C in my matching thermos when she had the audacity to ask if I wanted something out of her lunch. I shook my head no. {shook my head, no speech} Missus Kill Grease pounced. She had heard it. Spinning around with her narrowing eyes, she asked who spoke. My mouth opened in horror. I thought I would be sick right there. "You, on the wall!" She said it to me. Me?

I cried and cried and cried. I was in trouble. On the wall. In trouble! In front of hundreds of students. Every eye on me. {not really, but at that time I was sure they were}

I adamantly denied being the guilty party. I don't think Missus Kill Grease had ever had such a hysterically innocent child on her hands. She changed her mind about making me stay on the wall and sent me out to play with my class. Sure, that fixed it right? My friends wouldn't play with me because "I was supposed to be on the wall"....I had been branded. A giant, scarlet T on my chest for Talker.

I sat on the sidewalk and began to feel sorry for myself. Missus Kill Grease came up and asked why I wasn't playing. I think inside she realized she was being filed away as villain for eternity in my heart. What she had done, she could not undo.

The school day was finally over. I somehow made it through the sea of yellow onto the right bus which delivered me to my mother. I didn't talk, worn out from the day. Momma always checked my lunch to see what I had eaten. She was startled to see that I hadn't eaten anything. I recounted my story and my mother, who is opposite of me and not afraid to raise a raucous, called the school the next day. Missus Kill Grease never bothered me again.

I steered clear of her until our paths met once more. The last day of school. The school gave out awards for an array of reasons. In our kindergarten class, my name was called over the inner com that I had won an award for being a exemplary student and should go to Missus Gilcrease's office to pick up my award.

Instead of feeling anxious about coming face to face with Meanie Pants again, I was thrilled. This woman was going to have to hand over an acceptance that I was amazing. I walked in and she said, "Adelia, there you are. Here you go! You're such a good girl." I took my bag of small toys and candy and gave her a look of told you so and left. Never to see Missus Gilcrease again. Except in my head where she has a permanent residence.

As far as Jenny. She wanted to be my friend. I never let her in my friendship circle. She got me into trouble. Unforgivable.

Here are my wise words of advice. Heed them well, friends don't talk to friends in the lunchroom.

Remember that and you'll live a long and happy life.

{This post inspired by Mama Kat's pretty much world famous writer's workshop}
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Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Tales from the Mountain

Much better. This week is much better than the last. Last week we moved from Small Town. Small Town filled with my very loved friends. Small Town with The Cafe on Broadway with my favorite sandwich with a cilantro ranch dressing. Small Town with Pour Jon's and the best coffee ever. Small Town with the 3 little boys' barbers. Small Town with all our memories. Small Town.

Enough about Small Town, I'm craving a sandwich and a good conversation now. Let's get onto The Mountain. We now live on The Mountain which is 2 hours east of Small Town. (Geez, forget about Small Town) I have made little jokes about The Mountain for years. Things are just different here. I'm slightly astonished to find that some of my jokes are true. (The peanut gallery: Boooooo) Anyway, we are staying in a Tiny House while we remodel our Big Red House. By Tiny House, you may think I'm exaggerating, as a sanguine is prone to do. Rest assured I am not. This house might be 900 sq ft...might be...

Why would any sane family of 6 live in such tiny conditions? Well, we are not sane for one. For two, we are paying such minimal rent that we are able to save a substantial amount of money. That money gets put right into Big Red House and this little family of 6 will have no mortgage. Hello! NO mortgage! Sure, it's probably going to take 2 years to get it to the level of awesome that we want it to be. We'll have it livable by April of next year. So, what is that like 7 months? I think we'll make it. The sacrifice is worth the end result. Financial freedom and an amazing house in the middle of nowhere, I mean, nature.

I had a difficult time last week. It was like living in pioneer days. No phone, no internet, no tv, no vehicle (because my mom hit a deer on the way home from our new house and we let her borrow ours until hers is fixed), no faces....I can do seclusion...If I choose it. Not when it is forced upon me. I grew up rurally. Trust me, this is not rural...this is...desolate. A beautiful desolate, but desolate nonetheless.

Anyway, better this week. I've made no mountain folk friends yet. As a Small Town friend once said, "Maybe if you stopped calling them mountain folk..." I don't think that's really the challenge. These people are a tough group. I've tried for years to get in with them to no avail. I used to think that they did not like me. I think I was wrong in that. I think they just see through me. I'm going to start sporting a hot pink feather boa every time I'm out. They'll have to notice me then!

Perhaps I should give you little snippets of our life here:
The boys go to bed without complaint. They are smooth worn out from their days. They have discovered a sand pit across the road in the church's yard. We went on a walk and discovered dozens and dozens of deer tracks of all sizes. T has caught a lizard, a salamander and 3 snakes. Lady Bug has added 'spider' to words that she can say. The mountain does sun rises well. Deer come to our back window.

A cold spell hit last week and we were unprepared to say the least. Boxes here and there in storage. Some Tiny House boxes didn't make it to their proper destination. Hoot's boots are missing. For those who know Hoot well, you know that this is a catastrophe. Hoot wore all of his Long Pants (aka jeans) during the warm days. Cold arrived and Hoot was Long Pantless. He found some of T's old jeans and this what I overheard:

Hoot: Size 7? Those aren't my size. Oh no! They won't fit me. (Light bulb eyes with a bit of aha!) Wait a minute! These were in my pile. Maybe they WILL fit me.

And he did make them fit. I just love him.

The Prof has had a rough time. Sometimes he loves it here, sometimes he doesn't. We're working through it.

We started homeschooling this week. It seemed to be a welcome sense of normalcy for us all.

Yesterday, I was attempting to give instructions to the Professor for his school work. He cut me off and said, "I know what I'm doing. Don't tell me! I went to kindergarten!" Whew, that just took a load off of me. One less kid to teach. Har, har.

That's the update. We are hillbillies and making it so far.
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Friday, September 2, 2011

Seven a.m.

This is what 7am looks like at my house. What does 7am look like at your house?

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