Friday, September 29, 2006

Devil's Backbone

This is another one from my old blog's archives:

It had been a great night so far. The varsity football team had won again, cementing their place in the playoffs Down State, and Jake had played one of his best games ever. Now he was turning off the highway onto a gravel road that served as the local lover’s lane- with the unlikely name of Devil’s Backbone Road- with Claire Benson sitting right next to him in the pickup. Jake glanced behind him at the cooler and sleeping bag. Oh yeah, it was going to be a great night.
The clear night sky with a thousand stars gave way to a thick tangle of branches overhead. Devil’s Backbone made an L between one highway and another, the road hugging close to a ridge of sandstone that erupted from the ground like the twisted spine of giant unearthly beast. Years before, tales had been told of finding arrowheads and beads at the top of the ridge, that the Indians who had lived there so long ago had viewed this rock as sacred ground. In the dark, though, through the trees, it just looked…menacing.
None of that was on Jake’s mind as he backed his truck into an overgrown driveway. He had heard that there had once been a house at the end of this drive, reputed to be haunted. It was gone now, and the drive gave fairly good cover should any other cars come by. Jake slid a CD in the stereo and Kenny Chesney started singing about no shoes, no shirts. Jake was hoping for a whole lot more coming off before the night was over as Claire snuggled closer. He reached behind his seat to grab a couple of beers and handed one to Claire. As he twisted the top off, his gaze passed over the ditch that ran along the road at the end of the drive. Something-someone? - was rising up from the ditch. Jake grabbed Claire tightly as they both watched in terrified silence at what appeared to be young woman climbing up to the driveway. She looked to be about their age, but neither of them had seen her before. Her summer dress blew lightly in the cold autumn air. Slowly she walked towards the pickup until she stood in front of Jake’s window. Just as slowly, Jake turned his head.
“You need to leave here. Bad things happen here,” she whispered.
Jake tried to speak, but his voice shook badly. “Who are you?”
The girl looked troubled, as if the question was beyond her to answer. She shook her head and said, “I’m…I was…my name is Mary. But please! Go now before he comes.”
Tears might have been in the girl’s eyes as she turned back towards the road; it was too dark to tell. But the sound of a car approaching was unmistakable. It stopped at the end of the drive where the girl now stood. What little light there was showed the profile of a bubble rack on top of the car. A police car, it had to be, Jake thought, but the shape looked odd, and wasn’t the county driving SUV’s now anyway?
Claire clung even more closely to him, softly crying. “Jake, are we in trouble? Are we trespassing? Is it the beer?” she sobbed.
At that moment, a man emerged from the car. The girl just stood there, as if this was a scene that had been played through many times before. The man grabbed her by the shoulder and roughly spun her around. His hand came up and the silhouette of a pistol pointed at the back of the girl’s head. There was a flash of light and a sharp crack as he pulled the trigger. The girl fell and tumbled into the ditch.
Pistol at his side, a glint of metal on his chest, the man looked from the ditch to the pickup.
“I think we’re in a lot more trouble than that, Claire,” Jake whispered.


from this article published August 25, 2005:

OREGON -- They might never discover who killed Mary Jane Reed 57 years ago, but Ogle County authorities said Wednesday that the process to exhume her body quelled long-standing rumors that have bounced around their small town.
Like rumors that her head wasn't buried with her body or that a gun was buried in the casket. Both proved false when her casket was opened Tuesday after it was exhumed from Daysville Cemetery in Oregon.
Officials were surprised to find her body mostly intact. She was buried with all of her bones; organs and flesh still covered her body.
Mary Jane, then 17, was slain in 1948 along with her date, 28-year-old Rockford Navy veteran Stanley Skridla. The killings were never solved.
There's been no talk of exhuming Skridla's body, which is buried in Rockford, and authorities said Wednesday they didn't find any evidence that pointed them toward Mary Jane's potential killer. Many of the people who knew about the case or potential suspects are dead.
"Even if we came up with something positive, I'm not sure we've got any place to go," said Ogle County Sheriff Mel Messer, who noted that he was 11 years old when Mary Jane was killed.
"I would be extremely happy to walk away and say I was the sheriff who solved the 50-year-old murder case. I'm not sure that's gonna happen or if it ever will."

Some of my story is true, some is pure fiction and some is based on rumor. Devil's Backbone Road is pretty much as I have described it. My mom did find Indian beads there when she was little, and my husband swears that when that house was still standing, he saw a skeleton in the closet. Personally, I think he was either drunk or trying to scare the hell out of a date. Mary Jane Reed's body was dumped in the ditch on Devil's Backbone Road. She wasn't found until 3 or 4 days after she was killed. I've never heard any names mentioned in connection with her murder, but it was widely rumored that either someone in law enforement did it or was covering it up for someone else.

Hope you enjoyed that! I peed my pants writing it!

UPDATE: 9/29/06
Nothing was found from Mary Jane's second autopsy that could help identify her killer. Strange details, though. She was buried in her underwear, with a dress, a newspaper containing the story of her murder, and a ring from her mother in the coffin. They reburied her that same day WITHOUT her head or a femur. I think her brother finally got them back.

The bottom line is, someone DID get away with murder, because all of the suspects have now died themselves. Devil's Backbone Road is still a helluva creepy place to be after dark.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Happy Birthday Contagion!

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Wake Up!

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It's been awhile since I've posted a gratuitous baby picture. The Heiress was over for breakfast this past Sunday. What a scamp! Old Sarge tends to fall asleep in his recliner after eating, and The Heiress walked up to him and yelled "WAKE UP!" OS almost fell out of his chair, and The Heiress was giggling, "I say wake up!"

Wow. Sentences. Now if she can just get the hang of that potty training thing...

Monday, September 25, 2006

Ya think?

Do you think you just might be a military family if while searching for a rubber band to close up your powdered sugar bag, all you can find is a blousing rubber?

From the Cemetery Chronicles

I am overjoyed that Eric. is going to start re-posting his ghost stories. The ones I have read before were terrific.

This also seems to signal that, since it is officially Autumn, it's a good time to begin telling Scary Stories. I'm going to start with one from my old blog, when Raging Mom met T1G. Believe me, this is NOT a Harry Met Sally type of post!

With Apologies to the Almighty (Part I)

On occasion I’ve been known to do something sensible, like after stumbling around in the country, in the dark for a few nights looking for something, do it differently. On my third attempt to find Bald Hill cemetery, I, a) went during the day, b) had directions and c) made my beverage of choice Diet Coke. This change of tactics brought me immediate success; the graveyard was right where it was supposed to be.

I parked the Explorer on the shoulder of the road and got out to survey the object of my curiosity. If you’ve never been to Illinois and just imagine it as a flat prairie, well, you’re mostly right. But up in the northwest corner of God’s Country, the scenery is different. From the Rock River Valley on north and west to the Mississippi, it can be very hilly and there’s a lot of trees. Some of the hills are quite steep. I was looking at just such a one when I felt a presence that I had never encountered before.
“Oh Jesus Christ!”, I screamed as I clutched my heart.
JC replied, “Yeah, I didn’t think you were ever going to get this right on your own, so I came out to check on you.”
So who says God doesn’t watch over all of us?
I was glad for the company, especially since it was the Son of, well, You Know. It appeared from the locked gate and the sign from the Ogle County Sheriff’s Office that I really was not supposed to be thinking about climbing that fence. Who better to have with you if you’re about to break the law?
I turned to my companion and said, “Hey, Jes…do you have a nickname? The other is so formal.”
JC said, ”Well, you and I aren’t as well acquainted as we should be.” I blushed, knowing full well how long it had been since I’d been to Mass. “But you can call me Joe.”
“Great, Joe,” I say, “Any ideas on how to get up this hill and over the barbed wire fence?”
“ I was thinking, since you're the Son of, well, You Know, can’t you get us up there any easier?”
Before I know it, I’ve been hit with a bolt of lightening and reduced to a pile of cinders, staring at a pair of biker boots.
Graveyard stalking with Jeebus can be a real bitch!

To be continued…...

With Apologies to the Almighty, Part II

Realizing the error of my ways, I sent a silent prayer upwards and was restored to my very corporeal self.
“Sorry about that, Joe. Won’t happen again.”
“Good. Get climbing.”

I think this must have been named Bald Hill for a very good reason- there was almost nothing to grab onto except a few scraggly sumac twigs. And it was steep! Once we got to the top, Joe and I did a balancing act while he made some “adjustments” to the barbed wire fence. I crawled through first, managing to snag my jeans on the bad knee and nearly falling flat on my face. But I was in! I was so excited to get up to the top that I left Joe to deal with fence himself. I was almost to the first headstone when I heard a noise like a bull being strangled. When I turned around, Joe was halfway through the fence, but seemed to be hung up somewhere.
“Oh Jeez, I mean oh G*d, I mean, uh, can I help you? What happened?”
Joe’s face was turning red, and in a strained voice, said, “Um, no, I’ll get this.”
“No, seriously, let me help.”
“Get away from me!”
Now I’m close enough to see what the problem is, and told Joe, “Honestly, you’d think as much as you talk about them, you’d be careful enough not to get them tangled in barbed wire!”
I hit the ground hard to avoid the lightening bolts shooting out of Joe’s eyes. Him being the Son of, well, You Know.
Eventually Joe got the Holy Family Jewels released from their pricky prison, and we made it to the top of the hill. It wasn’t anything like I had expected. Just several old headstones on a lonely hill, with a few tall pines for company.

To be continued....

With Apologies to the Almighty (Conclusion)

Three of the stones lined the very west edge of the graveyard. The outer two were the larger monument stones, and the one in the middle was very old looking and rectangular. All three had been painted black on their backsides, but had strange scratch marks in the paint. We thought the largest one, the Camling stone, was the most likely candidate for glowing in the dark. As Joe was looking at that one, I checked out the other two, trying to figure what the markings in the paint were.
“Hey, Joe, does this make any sense to you? It looks like NGMO right here. Maybe OURDA below it.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the same thing going on here, but I can’t understand it.”
We were both stumped, and I was feeling a little disappointed that we hadn’t found out as much as I would have liked about the place. Joe asked me what had motivated me to do this in the first place.
“Honestly, Joe,” I said, “since I started writing a journal, I’ve thought about how much I used to write and how much I loved it. I was an English major, believe it or not. I doubt there’s a great American novel lurking in my head, but I love writing stories. And with Halloween coming, I found subject matter that didn’t have anything to do with a sink full of dishes or what my kids are doing to make me crazy or the fact that my “career” is nothing more than making small rocks out of big rocks. I just thought, maybe, MAYBE I could still be a writer.”
At that moment, a tall apparition materialized out of the pines- a woman who I thought I recognized, but had never seen.
“Joe!” I whispered. “That’s not..not..the Holy Virgin, is it?”
“Ssshhh!” Joe whispered back. “Don’t say virgin in front of her, she’s a little testy about the whole dating thing! That’s Tammi, you idiot! We forgot to invite her.”
I thought I would remind him that I hadn’t actually invited anyone, but the whole being turned into cinders thing had me spooked. Then Tammi spoke.
“Don’t talk to this guy about advice on writing or blogging. He’s into it for two things.”
“Really”, I said, “only two?”
“Beer and chicks.”
“Oh you’re kidding me.”
“Nope,” she said. “Well, maybe gin and chicks sometimes.”
I looked at the two of them, and wondered how a simple trip down a country road had ended up like this. But by this time, it was starting to get dark. I suggested we get out of the graveyard and head down the road to see if the headstones really did glow. Tammi went first, and was able to clear the fence AND the hill with one step. Dang, she’s tall!
I went next and started down backwards, deciding I’d rather fall on my ass than my face if it came to that. Joe started down right after me, face first, and I thought to myself, I KNOW the Corps teaches repelling! Just as I reached the bottom-
“Oof! Hey, get off!”
“Sorry about that,” Joe said. “Nice soft landing though.”
I was torn between informing him that stretch marks are the sign of a REAL woman or wishing I had that whole lightning bolt thing going on for me. But it was starting to get very dark, so we drove down the road instead and started aiming headlights.
“Oh my G*d!” was all Tammi could say.
“Holy Shit!” was the best the Son of , well, You Know could muster.
Me? I just stared at the hill with its three glowing headstones, and all of a sudden the scratchings in the paint made all the sense in the world:



Friday, September 22, 2006

For Elisson

Elisson seems pretty amused by Midwestern pastimes. Northern Illinois is so pretty though, especially this time of year, that there is always something going on. This weekend is the Fall Fest in Tammi's town just down the road a piece, and next weekend is my town's annual Autumn On Parade Festival. Hordes of people descend on my little town like the plague. It is always the weekend of my birthday, so I have a good excuse to drink and ignore it for the most part. There is even a Shad Fly Festival in one of the little towns by the Mississippi. Any excuse for party here in God's Country!

But what got Elisson was this reference to the famous Turkey Testical Festival in Byron. Union St. Station has put this on for 28 years now, and yes, I have partaken in the past. We will be missing it this year since we'll be in Georgia, but it's always a good time.

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There's even a Turkey Testical Festival song!

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Lost In Translation

Since I no longer have an assistant,(thank goodness) I have also lost the ability to succinctly communicate my instructions to those customers who are less than fluent in English. Can anyone help me with "If you go down that one-way road the wrong way one more time, I am going to rip your balls up right through your nostrils" in Spanish? Anyone?

Wednesday, September 20, 2006


There are day when I just beat myself up for being inconsistent and uninteresting in my blogging. And then I am reminded that, being a woman, I can't just devote entire posts about my balls.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

And Yet Another Funeral


This has been a horrible year for losing my friends, my veterans.

Monday, September 18, 2006

My Music Highway Project

Oh dang! I almost forgot!
Shayna had me as her featured blogger this weekend!

My First E-bay Purchase

Art is such a personal thing.
That's a good thing, too, as apparently I have no taste.

Eh. It is what it is. If I had my way and Old Sarge's money, the entire house would be decorated with Terry Redlin prints. Art for the proletariat, I'm all down with that. This is the print that I missed out on last Thursday:

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Nightfire by Kim Norlien

I like it. Yeah, maybe it's commercial, but I really wish I was sitting at that campfire watching the Northern Lights. So...for about $60 less than I would have paid at the banquet, this puppy is now mine, courtesy of Ebay.

Thanks Ebay! This might the start of a beautiful relationship!

REALLY Sour Grapes

Okay guys, I have new batches of cinnamon apple and grape jelly ready! In fact, Old Sarge and I made a dinner of homemade bread and different jellies last night, because I won’t let this stuff go out before making sure it is tasty. I know, I know, the sacrifices I make for you!

I am no novice when it comes to berry picking. Sunday morning, OS and I went out to the farm to pick wild grapes, hoping to use them for jam. After we had gotten a 5 gallon bucket full, we headed for home and I dumped the grapes in a sink full of cold water to wash them. Now, when picking berries, you’re usually going to get a few freeloaders coming along for the ride, i.e. bugs. Washing your berries gets rid of them, you just have to be very thorough. So when the first earwig came crawling out of the sink, it was no big deal, Old Sarge was ready with his Paper Towel of Doom to insure there would be no extra protein in the fruit. But something was looking really strange. The water in the sink was, well, roiling! Either these were Mexican Jumping Grapes, or there was a mass exodus of critters trying to escape the flood. Little black and yellow beetles were swarming in the water, and then to my absolute horror, I see little tiny worms making their out of the grapes. As in the inside of the grapes. Thinking of the ones I had eaten at the farm and ready to hurl, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of- I started screaming at Old Sarge to get those damned things out of my sink, out of my kitchen, out of my damn house NOW!!!!!

Thankfully, I had a plan B, which did not include anything I had lovingly gathered in the wild. So RSM, don’t go all wobbly on me, the grape jelly is awesome!

Friday, September 15, 2006

Guns and ducks

Okay, okay, enough pissiness. My mood is so foul I can't even stand myself. Raving Mom? Got a ring to it?

We went to the Whitetails Unlimited banquet down in Deer Grove (pop. 50) last night. Old Sarge won a shotgun for the third year in a row, and for the gun enthusis, enthusiais, ah crap, gun nuts, it is a Benelli 12 gauge pump action with marsh camo.
I missed out by $5 getting a Kim Norlien print, some asshole outbid me at the last second on the silent auction. I felt much better when I found it on E-bay this morning for half the price.
I also did my yearly ritual of buying at least two duck decoys. No clue why I collect these, except the craftmanship is incredible.
Best part of the evening? Walking into the ladies room and meeting my brother in there.
RM: What are you doing?
Bro: What the fuck are you doing?
RM: Using the ladies room same as you, dumb ass.
Bro: Oh shit!

Piss Off

So now the enlightened Religion of Peace is throwing a grand mal hissy fit again??
Imagine my shock.
This is the quote used by His Holiness, from the 14th century Byzantine Emperor Manuel Paleologos II:
"Show me just what Muhammad brought that was new and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached."

I have no problem with that statement, no matter who made it or when it was made.

I’m sorry, Islam, but the truth of the matter is, for all your protestations that you are not a violent religion, guess what happens every single stinkin’ time something happens to offend you? Ya get friggin’ violent!!! Actions speak louder than words, or maybe that particular axiom doesn’t translate so well.

Please, please, please, Pope Benedict, DO NOT APOLOGIZE!

Primal Scream Morning

Can it get worse??? I have only had about 4 hours sleep, on account of a Whitetails Unlimited banquet we went to last night. More about that later, we kept the streak alive! The fog is so horrid I could barely see to get into work this morning. What I WAS able to see was that I had only one diamond earring in. So somewhere between the bed, the shower, the gas station and the car, my Christmas present has gone missing. I had three ASAP orders call in within 5 minutes of being here and not enough trucks to do them with. Much frantic phone calling. One of the drivers I had sent to me had a minimal amount of English, no familiarity with the area, got lost and then when he did finally get to the job, had loaded the wrong material. I fired his ass on the spot before my head could launch into orbit. Fortunately he was able to understand, "You're done."

I am sure there is a reason that we can not drink at work.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Back to Basics

I'm starting to think my future self will be clad in denim jumpers and hiking boots. Honestly, this whole do-it-yourself thing with the gardening and canning, it's out of hand. I made more jelly last night, and while stirring the pot and reading a cookbook, I found even MORE recipes to try. This is a sickness, I'm sure. I am no Earth Mother.

Then there's the calves. We've been raising our own for a couple of years now, so buying beef at the grocery store is unheard of. And now? My brother bought us pigs. Excuse me, hogs. I guess. When I peeked in on them, they looked like piglets to me. And they were cute! Damn it, I must not get attached to consummables! Fortunately, as they get bigger they will reek to high heaven, and by then I will probably be begging to be the one to shoot them.

Barbarians, aren't we?

So, on the agenda for the weekend is apple and grape jellies. Please put your orders in, folks, I have nowhere else to put jars and I can't stop myself!

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Fashion Disaster

That's me, alright. I mean, I have a closet full of formal and business wear, but for day to day in Bedrock, it's a much more casual atmosphere. As in filthy. I bought some jeans and long-sleeved blouses this weekend to tide me over until sweater weather. One blouse is various shades of purple striped, and I was fairly proud of myself for buying something colorful. Unfortunately, I bought it two sizes too big because blouses make me feel really confined, and now I look somewhere between wearing a men's pajama top and a hideous 60's couch cover.

I'll be 48 in a few weeks and I STILL need my mom to dress me.

Sour Grapes

I just couldn't post this yesterday, but I can't contain myself any longer.

From Sunday, at the VF*n*W Border Wars Party....

Old Sarge: Dammit, the Packers should have just stayed home!
RM: Um....
RM: The Packers ARE at home!
Entire Bar: Na na na na
Na na na na
Hey Packers! Good-bye!
Old Sarge: Fucking Bear fans

Monday, September 11, 2006

Damn Photobucket

Hopefully if you click on the pictures below, you can enlarge them. Photofuckingbucket no longer gives the option of how much you can resize your pictures.

A Slice of Americana

There, now that I have my venom post out of the way, let me share something good with you:

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On the way home from the nephews’ football game Saturday, Mom made a detour out in the country to show me this place. Some people plant flowers in their front yards, some set up a General Store and outhouse.
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I had to keep getting closer because everywhere you look, there is some amazing detail. Can you see the ridgerunners hanging up by the outhouse? And the S&H Green Stamp sign?

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In the front window of the “store” is a Schlitz beer sign. My God, I can’t imagine the time, effort and auctions visited to put this place together. It’s definitely given me some ideas for Jackass Acres!

The funny thing is, I have seen places like this up near Council Hills, IL or New Diggings, WI that are for real, if not so nearly maintained. Does it remind you of anything from your past?

Five Years Later

We have a tiny little TV here at work- not more than a 10” screen, I would think- and our reception is pretty bad because of all the rock piles and metal conveyors. Yet five years ago today, I was glued to that tiny, grainy screen, watching in absolute horror as the second plane hit the Twin Towers. Honestly, it felt like my heart would burst right out of my chest, and my first thought was, “Where is my son??!!” My head knew he would still be in Japan, but at that moment and in the days to follow, I could think of nothing but what response we would have to such an atrocity and what role he, as a Marine, would be required to take. It would be two full weeks before I could talk to him.
Rob never deployed to Afghanistan. He served out the rest of his enlistment in Japan, South Korea and Thailand. As soon as he got out, two more sons enlisted, even though the Long War was continuing in Afghanistan and was imminent in Iraq. And then another, the last, enlisted. All three deployed, all three made it home safe, and don’t think I don’t count my blessings everyday for being one of the lucky moms.

Yet still… I sit here, at the same desk, doing the same things I was five years ago, and my heart STILL feels heavy, pounding, I am on the verge of tears. Raging, as it were, that what has happened to us has nearly made me godless, eroded my humanity and my compassion. Because I have found out that there are things about which I just DON’T CARE.

I DON’T CARE that not every Muslim is a terrorist.

I DON’T CARE that terrorist scum hide among civilians.

I DON’T CARE what it takes to kill them.

I hear people saying we don't need this war
I say there's some things worth fighting for
What about our freedom and this piece of ground?
We didn't get to keep 'em by backing down
They say we don't realize the mess we're getting in
Before you start preaching
Let me ask you this my friend

Have you forgotten how it felt that day
To see your homeland under fire
And her people blown away?
Have you forgotten when those towers fell?
We had neighbors still inside
Going through a living hell
And you say we shouldn't worry 'bout Bin Laden
Have you forgotten?

They took all the footage off my T.V.
Said it's too disturbing for you and me
It'll just breed anger that's what the experts say
If it was up to me I'd show it every day
Some say this country's just out looking for a fight
After 9/11 man I'd have to say that's right

Have you forgotten how it felt that day
To see your homeland under fire
And her people blown away?
Have you forgotten when those towers fell?
We had neighbors still inside
Going through a living hell
And we vowed to get the ones behind Bin Laden
Have you forgotten?

I've been there with the soldiers
Who've gone away to war
And you can bet that they remember
Just what they're fighting for

Have you forgotten all the people killed?
Yes, some went down like heroes in that Pennsylvania field
Have you forgotten about our Pentagon?
All the loved ones that we lost
And those left to carry on
Don't you tell me not to worry 'bout Bin Laden
Have you forgotten?

Have you forgotten?
Have you forgotten?

-Darryl Worley

I haven’t forgotten. If I live to be a hundred, I won’t forget, I’ll never forgive and I don’t care what it takes to kill you cocksuckers.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Tribal News

The weekend wrap-up:
Canning- yes!
Nephew’s football game- yes!
Friend’s birthday party- yes! From what I remember!
Fish Fry- yes!
Oldest AND youngest in bar fights!
Trips to the emergency room- 1!

The youngest son and his adolescent bride came up for the weekend, Ft. Campbell being only 7 hours away. I am not sure what to make of the teenager. For an 18 year old she sure wants to wear the pants and is very bossy. Being older and wiser, I let Old Sarge wear the pants. Of course, I tell him which ones to wear. At any rate, he was involved in a fight and I never really got the whole story on that one. Oldest son’s was more interesting. We knew the police were going to be out in force, so everyone that was going out on Saturday night made arrangements to get a ride or walk home. Apparently, my nagging sunk in because Oldest walks home from the party. Breaks his toe on the way. On Sunday he is really limping, and stops into the bar, where someone is foolish enough to call him a pussy. Personally, I never like to call 6’ 4” Marines pussies, they don’t have a sense of humor about it. Events are moved outside, punches are thrown, and then they retire back to the bar to have a beer together. Go figure! On Monday, Oldest decides he really needs an exray and I picked him. His toe is now as purple as…his eye.
RM: What the hell?
Son #1: Oh, I got in a fight. (explains)
RM: Did you win?
Son #1- Oh yeah, the other guy looks like hell. I bought him a beer though.

Did I mention that I can’t wait to have the tribe together again at Son #2’ wedding?

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Ye Gods!

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Those were a couple of tomatoes from my garden. I guess this comes from living so close to a nuke plant or something. 10 quarts of the best spaghetti sauce ever AND 10 half pints of beet jelly. (the offer is still open, AWTM, it is YUMMY!)


Where did all my stuff go??????? No sidebar, no sitemeter...I got nothing!!


Friday, September 01, 2006

Jack Army

One of my Rogues Gallery residents, Jack Army, is on an extended desert vacation getaway, as we like to call it at Jackass Acres. Please stop in and wish him well!