The blonde and Julia Burton, one of the great people I’ve ever known (I’ve said that before, but not today) were “out there” early and the clock hadn’t ticked off a Daytona second when ...
“Honey ... would you ...
I turned up the sound track (Merle Haggard was singing "My Momma’s Hungry Eyes") on the computer and did not answer. Fact is, I lifted my eyes toward the heavens with ...
“Dear Lord, please ...”
Didn’t work ...
“George SMITH! ... did YOU hear ME?”
I moaned, shut down Merle, and headed to the patio with ...
“Why me, Dear Lord, why me?”
It is no secret I was born a child of the dirt, didn’t like it from the first time I got behind a turning plow and a little mare mule. I headed for the bright lights of the city as soon as I was legal enough to leave my father’s heavy hand.
Don’t get me wrong here.
I loved my dad and he was a good man, but he’d worked like a dog all his life and saw absolutely nothing wrong in his first born doing the same. Fact is, I was 10 the year I met the little mare mule. And since my dad was a carpenter when he wasn’t sharecropping, I also had been introduced to a 16-ounce Bluegrass hammer.
Anyway, my appearance spread oil on the waters. Now it was ...
“Sweetheart, we need you to do just a couple of things ...”
The first thing was cutting back a perfectly lovely rosemary bush end of the driveway.
“Here’s the shears, George!”
I wondered whatever happened to “Sweetheart.”
To cut a long story short, the rosemary bush now looks as if it has been in a fight, which it has. I had no idea rosemary bushes could be so vicious. You oughta see my arms.
Anyway, bottom line is I mentioned the patio fountain needed to be brought on line, too. So, for the next two hours, I managed to “work” on the fountain. I even spent a lot of time out in the storage building looking for “Something I need.”
By then, it was lunchtime and two tired but stubborn women could find no fault with me making a run to Lenlock for burgers and fries. That took a good while, but other than a nasty look and “Where’ve you been?,” I escaped without bodily harm.
Now into early afternoon, it occurred to me I had some errands to run. Which I did. I also slipped in a 45-minute nap along the way.
All of which had me feeling pretty good ... until I walked out on the patio ...
“We’re through. YOU clean up!”
With that, the blonde announced she was getting a bath, a long one, and Julia Burton got in her car and left. No sweetheart, no darling, no dear. Zilch.
And quite suddenly, there WERE “things I needed.”
A leaf blower.
A garden hose.
A yard rake.
A yard broom.
A house broom.
A big dust pan.
Two plastic garbage bags.
And one other thing ... TWO hours to clean up the mess the blonde and Ms. Burton had left.
However, I think the blonde felt badly at the way her husband at been mistreated.
When I walked in the house “plumb wore out,” she was in the kitchen. I could smell baby limas cooking and she was mixing up cabbage slaw. She also had the cornbread “fixings” on the counter.
All was — and is — forgiven.
I think ... and pray.
George Smith can be reached at 256-239-5286 or email: firstname.lastname@example.org