The Spider And The Fly A Sequel To Camping Out Old memories never die and I love hearing my daughters chatter about life as they knew it before boys were men and girls were women. Here are their responses to my memory of their backyard camp out. Riverdancer, aka Mama Little Blond haired girl comments.."Hey everyone! This is one of the little girls the author has mentioned....yes, the youngest of four that camped with her older sister...the sister that she looked up to for comfort and what did she did do??? Scare her little sister to the point of her needing an oxygen tank JUST so she could go back in the house to sleep the rest of the night away...that' ok...there's still time to pay her baaaccckkk!!! :)" Ada Lee Bryan comments. "Ah my sweet child...what a gift you are. Board up the windows when your sister sees this!!! LOL. Thanks for the comment. 10/22/2005 " Anonymous comments.."I found your post Little Blond Haired Girl...I read...board up your windows is right. Don't forget the spider on the drapes!!!I haven't Tatee." Little Blond haired girl Comments..."Believe me...I haven't forgotten about the spider on the drapes...how could I? A sweet, little girl with blonde curls (the object of a certain jealous WITCH @ Robert Munore) who was merely sleeping the night away (minding her OWN business) when the giggles from her older sister (the one she trusted the MOST in this world) became cackles that were SO loud, they woke the sleeping beauty up....only to have her gaze sleepily over her left shoulder to see the blood-shot, menacing eyes of the 100 legged monster (whose mouth was open and fangs were sharpened, ready to enjoy a juicy vein in the sweet little girl's neck) Oh shit....I'm getting scared all over again! ..... the poor little girl looking for comfort and shelter in her big sister's bed, begged her to let her sleep with her for if she didn't move at that second, she was sure to be a midnight snack for the spider...her sister asked, "What's it worth to ya?"...all the while, she's holding the bedspread tightly against the mattress so the sweet, little blondhaired girl, who was drenched in sweat from fear, (are you feeling sorry for the little blond-haaired girl yet?) had to make a deal with her... 'Ok...you can wear my Liz Clayborne saddle-shoes for the rest of your life and no...you don't have to give them back...Queen Jackleen'....LOL....with that, Queen Jackleen gladly pulled the bedspread back for the little girl to climb in and settle in for the night. Only for Queen Jackleen to say..."oh little giiirrrllll....look over your left shoulder!!!)" Posted by Anonymous to South Of The Dixie Line at 10/25/2005 08:05:20 AM "Oh Little Blond Haired Girl...your memory has dimmed over the ages. Let me refresh it lest you forget and have to answer to God on Judgement day about the lie you have believed. I believed the scenario was much more like this. In the stillness and quiet of that late night years ago, we could hear the hum of cicadas outside and the frequent tinkering of the hotwater heater in the closet next to our bedroom. Mix this is with muffled snore coming through closed doors like alka seltzer in water (it was a comfort knowing that they were asleep only a few yards away from us)and you have the setting for a restful night in bed. But much to my dismay it wasn't to be so. You see I had to be gallant and noble and courageous and not give into my whim of wanting to enjoy the thought of not telling you anything about that spider. My imagination ran wild as I thought of it creeping down the drapes and ontoto you in the middle of the night. Shuddered at the very thought of it! I did, but in my noble response also came the vivid image of you and your response once I told you. Which would be funnier? Going to sleep knowing about what you would experience in the middle of a restful sleep or telling you and watching your expression? The more I pondered the situation the more apparent it became. I couldn't contain my laughter. The more I thought of your reaction to the spider the harder I laughed to the point of CRYING real tears and having a runny nose. Top this off with the fact that I was laughing so hard that I couldn't even talk and respond to your questioning me about what I was laughing about. BP>But the hysteria didn't stop there. The more you asked...the more I laughed until you finally started laughing as hard as I was. You know what makes me laugh now? You didn't even know what you were laughing about then, but you were hee-hawing because you thought it was so funny that I was laughing so hard. Nothing and I mean nothing could match the response on your face when I finally calmed down enough to tell you what was wrong, but mind you I only saw it for a split second because you didn't bargain with me as you recall. It was instantaneous! Without so much as a breath you sprang onto my bed on top of me and began digging a tunnel under my covers like a groundhog needing a burrow. You didn't pause to say excuse me, thank you, please. You made yourself right at home. You even threatened to sleep on top of me if I didn't move over. (I slept next to the closet door...we had the light on...) So I valiantly moved over and let you rest beside me in the sweet bliss and comfort of your sister's bed and with the thought that if the spider crept down the drapes and over to my bed it would get you first! LOLOLOLLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLLOLOI am laughing so hard I can barely type. Tears fill my eyes...give me a moment...my daughter stands here telling me to breathe....I need to blow my nose....I am jiggling all over! My youngest son is telling me not to say any cuss words.Oh well.. aren't you glad we used to sleep with the light on?!?!LOve Me QUEEN BEE" Posted by Anonymous to South Of The Dixie Line at 10/25/2005 08:05:20 AM Posted by River at 11:49 AM No comments:

Goodbye Old Friend

Goodbye old friend. I know you're packing your bags. There has been such a closeness between us that when you cried I tasted the salt. Jes' yesterday I noticed a change in you. I shudda' seen that ramblin' fever coming on. There wuz a snake in the grass, too. I see sheddin his skin signs all over the place.

If you'll stay I'll rub your back and we'll tawk about when you'll be coming back again. I'll get slicked up and dressed up and we'll live life the fullest. Thet devil Fay messed with our state of mind when she stormed through here on her way to Indiana. Ike just blew his nose at us and kept goin'.

Fly away with me Summer. I got money for the juke box, a few rounds of moonshine and we can be drunk by 5:00 sumwhere. I hear Fall will be here tomorrow and she's bringing a whole passle of youngins with one on the way. I hear sheeze gunnin' for Ike. I'd admire the rich if they weren't so miserable.

On Writing

"Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self."

Cyril Connolly(1903 - 1974)

A certain Southern man prefers to rise before dawn, take a warm bath and a long walk down the driveway for the morning paper on an empty stomach. Dawn is when men of reason (depends on your definition of ‘reason’) go to bed. Dawn is also when my husband's year-round yard work and drama at the rabbit saloon begins.

I like watching the breakfast crowd through the kitchen window. A big-hearted saloon bartender, (a rabbit) the villain (a cat) and drunken cowpokes (the squirrels).

When I first saw the rabbit three years ago he was belly deep in green clover. I figured his days were numbered. I did not know his gender but he looked like all other rabbits I'd ever seen. He just hung aound munching grass and other doodads.

One night my husband loaded a china plate with rabbit food he bought from a feed store and placed it near the clover patch. Within two days the rabbit overcame fear and ate his fill.

A village of birds of all colors and sizes swoop down on schedule to hop and peck around their feeder. The Senior Citizens Wal*Mart discount crowd, aka Dove, walk resolutely up the driveway across the front lawn and around the house. There they squat and wait patiently for their turn.

Our neighbor’s cat, a rags-to-riches, testosterone-laden bully slinks around behind shrubbery on his morning porta-potty journey. Hardly visible he inches into a crouch behind a pine tree to rabbit-feeder watch. Once in awhile he bounds toward the little group of gentle diners. His bullying startles the birds into flight but not the rabbit. He only pauses mid-nibble. The furball eventually skeedaddles home empty handed to lay upon a soft pillow; he is the neighbor’s porch thug. Meanwhile, the birds glide back to land softly back at the feeder.

Most rabbit and birdfolk, except hawks and blue-jays, are sober. Some are even polite. But this all changes once the squirrels ride into town.

Suddenly there are wranglers elbowing their way to the food bar for the cheek stuffing competition. They are the ones Willie Nelson said Mamas should not let their babies grow up to be. They have no table manners. They spit at each other: they rush about and kick tails. It’s either ‘Squirrel Hazing’ or ‘Squirrels Gone Wild’. The birds leave for the day when the ruckus starts.

When the interlopers leave all rabbitdom breathes a sigh of relief. My imaginary dog, Tattoo said all along that dadgum rabbit family would cause trouble.

This has become high drama like “Gunfight At The O.K. Corral” because our rabbit obviously loves the breakfast crowd. We told our neighbors. We told our adult children. We told our grandchildren. Even our yard service crew protects the little saloon and its patrons.

But it’s the cat that Homeland Security worries about.