Family Planting

Most Southern families argue over inheritances, and the battles for prized heirlooms, and family treasures can get pretty nasty. But in my family, instead of fighting it out over dear old  Auntie Battle Axe's silver and china, my peeps will hurt someone when it comes to burial plots in the Young Family Cemetery.

You see, the strong line of Southern aristocracy from which I hail, descended from the Young's, who received a large plot of land in an area north west of Zachary, LA. known as the Plains. This property was granted to the family as part of the Spanish Land Grant, and had never been farmed.Thus it became the family burial ground, and for damn near two hundred years,  it's where we've been planting any and all kin folks who are directly descended from the original Young's.

Over the years, trips to the family burial place weren't always the result of a death. Taking care of loved ones grave sites is important, and nothing will get you talked about like a dog worse than letting a family members plot go to ruin. I can still recall the remarks overheard as a child made by aunts and uncles about relatives who didn't tend to their plots. "Just look at those raggedy flowers on Aunt So&so's grave. Dollar store if I ever saw any!" Or,"Oooh wee! Look at So & so's grave sinking like that. I hope the mean bastard ain't coming back up. I couldn't stand him when he was alive!" The biggest outrages that provoked the most heated discussions and comments occurred when someone NOT of Young family descent got planted, and God forbid they end up in a blood members already spoken for plot. Of course we didn't spend a whole lot of time visiting the dead, and our trips weren't regular. Mama didn't care to see her oldest daughter buried there. Martha's child sized headstone was a painful reminder of mama's deepest loss, and heartache, but she made sure to honor her passing with a poinsettia each Christmas, mums on November 1st, and an Easter Lilly each spring.

It is part of my heritage and my birth right, to make Young Family Cemetery my final resting place, and honestly I take great comfort in that. It's a lovely place, with towering, majestic, Live Oaks, Magnolias, and age old Woodville Red Camellias. I have never found is scary, or daunting, but rather peaceful and welcoming, as some of the people I adored most in my life are resting there. Each individual has a unique story, some can boast a life well lived to a ripe old age, like my Nana. Others were cut too short by tragedy, or illness, like my sister Martha, and most recently, my cousin John Poole. Already, three of  the five plots daddy inherited have been claimed, and soon Moe's ashes will join mama, daddy, and Martha, in the plot I've chosen for us next to them, beneath a massive oak. I suppose most people find the idea of determining their final resting place morbid, but I consider myself lucky, because I've inherited my place among my family, and even in death, I will remain close to those I loved most in life.

WWRJD... What Would Robert Johnson Do.... .

I'm by no means a hot shot guitar picker, I can't even remember a single chord from when I did play years ago, so I have no instrument to bring to the cross roads. I have no guitar for the Devil to tune, nothing to bargain with, just one lonely, no talented white girl waiting at the cross roads in my life. Waiting just like Robert Johnson, except I have to make my own choices, the Devil can't even offer what I want in this life.

I guess some folks would call it my "jumping off place", that time in your life where you have to make tough choices, and hard decisions. The welcome party to the adult world, for some, a "do over" for others, but for me it's a renewal. I suppose the "cross roads" moment comes much earlier for the average individual, but as time, and my experiences seem to prove... I damn sure ain't AVERAGE.

The choices in life I've made up to this point have served me well, even getting married at age sixteen, and divorced by eighteen, taught me some hard life lessons earlier than most, but that experience came in quite handy down the road. (Fodder for another blog) Looking back I have little if any regrets. Oh sure, I wish I'd been kinder, nicer, and not said some hatelful things to loved ones now long gone, but so does everyone else. It's human nature. But now as I face the future at age 45 without the support system I had back then, and after survivng a period of grief for my husband that damn near took me with him, I am truly my own counsel, and that sounds scary.  But, I've screwed up enough in the past 45 years that failure doesn't really scare me. I've picked myself up and dusted off the bull shit of whatever situation or circumstance that created it, and kept on going. So, standing here at Nancy's cross roads of What Do I Want, and Where Can I Go, is much better than where I was standing 18 months ago at the corner of WTF!? and This Can't Be Real. Honestly, there are way worse things to make decisions about... believe me.

Now, I'm making choices and decisions on MY terms, for MY benefit, and I like that. I feel pretty good about it, and I realize the only thing that might stop me is ME. My own doubts, and fears about a major life altering change, which when I think about it is rather stupid on my part, because I've already experienced three of the most tumultous events a person can go through, so why should I let this next phase rattle me? If I haven't sold my soul to the Devil by now, I reckon there's no reason to sit and wait here anymore. Then again... I wonder what happened to my old acoustic guitar......

Don't Say What You Don't Mean

We are all guilty of uttering trite remarks and sayings that sound great, but hold little or no value. When you tell someone, "It was great to see you, we need to get together more often," you both know it will be eons before you ever lays eyes on each other again. It's just common decency to tell a friend or relative experiencing rough times, "Call me if you need anything." "Let me know if I can help." Even though it sounds good, and you think it's comforting to show your support, those words are about as useless as tits on a boar hog if you don't sincerely mean them.

I've been made keenly aware of who I can and can't depend on amongst my circle of friends and family since my husband died almost 18 moths ago. I'm not saying that in a mean, or malicious way, I'm just saying, I know who truly means it, and who is just making noise with syllables. I realize each and every situation is different and merits distinctive handling. I totally understand when someone has previous engagements, or obligations of far greater priority and importance, and any effort is very appreciated on my part.  But, after really thinking and deeply reflecting on several events and interactions over the span of this past year, I think I'm going to just have to step up and call some of the worst offenders of saying what you don't mean out, and see what happens.

Alright now, ya'll can't say ya'll weren't fore warned, and if even the idea of what I'm about to say makes you uncomfortable, you are going to be one of the first ones, I bust in the ass with my experiment. See, from now on when you tell me to call you if I need anything, or promise to be there when I'm in trouble or need a favor, I'm going to make sure I need you and I will call you. If you tell me you are going to do something for me, I'm going to bird dog you till it's done.

But wait it gets even better.See, from now on,  when you give me an excuse, or reason why you can't help me, or fulfill your promise, I'm going to write it down, and remind you of it every time you say what you don't mean. Every time I hear you say "Holler if you need me," or " Let me know if I can do anything," I'm going to say out loud in front of God and anybody, "That's a load of crap, he/she doesn't mean a word of it. I called him/her three times when I was in a bind and they didn't do diddly damn to help me." That's right, I'm going to either break some dogs from sucking eggs, or I'm going to have a lot fewer friends. But, in the long run, the friends I will have left will be the ones I KNOW I can call when I really do need some help.

Spider Lillies

Today as I was driving around my home town, I noticed a straggly little patch of spider lillies growing under a tree in someone's front yard, and I was immediately transported back to my childhood, vivd memories of waiting for the school bus on cool autumn mornings, with a fistful of fresh picked spider lillies wrapped in a damp paper towel as a gift for my third grade teacher. I can smell the crisp, clear morning air, and feel the cool dampness in my hand. I can clearly picture mama standing in the front door, watching to make sure I safely boarded the bus. Sometimes I'm just awe struck by how even the simplest, most mundane sights, sounds, and smells, can trigger some obscure, or long forgotten memory, from the deepest confines of the subconscious.

Now that I've decided to sell my house, I'm dealing with the issue of decluttering 37 years worth of family life in this house.  Cleaning out sheds, closets, and the attic has produced an abundance of memory triggers, more than I'm truly able to process at one time. Books, bicycles, and boxes of Barbie accoutrement, stirs up flash backs to hours spent playing Barbies and fighting over who's doll got to wear what with a cousin, or the girl next door, racing down the street on my new three speed I got for Christmas, and curling up next to mama, as she read Grimm's Fairy Tales to us. All those memories, all the material things that bring them to mind, and give them life, are they truly connected? Can a tagible object actually contain one's memories? Can you have one without the other?

Looking back at the last 45 years of my life, and as I begin the process of closing that chapter of my life, I can honestly, and clearly answer those questions. Beyond all shadows of doubt, I realize now that material items, things, possesions, do not bear the burden of our memories, nor store them for us until we want them to pop out, like a jack in the box. So many friends and family members have asked me why I've given away so many things that were once prized possessions, how can I so easily part with my memories? Some of those things may very well be worth something, and have great monetary value. If they do, then I wish the new owner nothing but good will, and perhaps when they are enjoying whatever it is I gave them, or the rewards gained from selling it, they will remember me, and I too will be a fond memory.

No matter the value, or monetary worth a piece of furniture, china, or old junk might hold, just like the spider lillies that pop up each September, they too can be plucked up, and later discarded when their beauty fades, and the charm wears off. True enough there are some things that I can never part with, Moe's wedding band, my mother's engagement ring that Moe had re-designed for me, and his Ibanez guitar. I'll keep those things with me until I leave this earth, but even though I'll treasure them always, I can't take them with me when I die, and the memories they evoke are as much a part of me in the here and now,  as breathing in and out. The rest of the stuff in this house... it's all just a spider lillies,

Priorities

I just love it when friends, family, and people in general feel the need to tell you everything you SHOULD do, and everything you OUGHT, or NEED to do, yet never show up, or offer support when you get ready to DO whatever the hell it it they advised you to do. That being said, I'm discovering that people don't like change. They don't like change in their lives, or in anyone else's, especially close friends, and family, and while I can appreciate that, I'm also taken aback at often uncalled for reactions to your decisions that may not suit their needs with no cosideration for what's best for you.

I've recently made the decision to sell my house. The home I've lived in off and on for 37 years. The house I grew up in. The house I shared with my beloved husband, the house that thousands of happy memories are built around, and the house that shares the deepest sorrows of my 45 years. It was not an easy decision, as it creates the need to find my sweet, loyal old Lab, Waylon a new, loving home, and the stress of sorting through 37 years of accumulated crap. I've already told the real estate agent that the big shed in the very back goes with the property as is,  along with Lord knows what kind of junk is in it, possibly including Sasquatch and his brethren. But, in spite of the not so good aspects of selling my home, I"m lookig forward to a new start, in a smaller, more manageable place, with less worry and up keep.

What has suddenly caused me to make this major life altering decision, you ask?  Well, in all honesty, I've been thinking about it since Moe died 17 months ago, but I didn't want to make any decisions based on emotions, so I waited until enough time passed to make a more rational, and practical decision. Once again, I'll be quite honest, and tell you the main reason I'm selling it because I'm tired. I'm tired of the worry and stress of upkeep, and I don't have the financial resources to make major repairs if they are ever needed. At certain stages in life we have to re-evaluate our priorities, and look at life from a different perspective.  So far, I've been blessed and lucky that nothing has broken, or required repairs that cost more than a few hundred bucks, and even that is a stretch for me. I've been truly blessed with genuine friends, and family who never hesitated to step up when I needed a new washer, or help with monetary issues beyond my paltry State pay check. Thus, a real, and major reason I'm putting a for sale sign out front.... if it ain't broke don't fix it, and I'm making the fact that nothing is broken a top priority.

So far, I've really gotten alot of support from those I hold dear, and whose opinions, and insights I actually merit some value. Those are the folks who know me, love me, and have certainly been true to me, especially during this past grief filled year. Some of us have grieved together, others have just been beside me ready to be there when I needed them. They are truly why I've made living here a priority, and even though I'll likely end up 30 minutes away in Baton Rouge, my folks here in Zachary will always be "home" to me.

TMI on FB: The Importance of Taking Discretionary Measures.

Facebook, My Space, Twitter, and reality TV. What do they all have in common? They all provide a forum for anyone and everyone to air their dirty laundry, and act like trailer trash idiots with total abandon, and an abysmal lack of self respect. The truly sad part of it all is not just the fame and notoriety they garner, but they get paid handsomely to behave like rabid monkeys in heat. It's not just the MTV, and Jersey Shore generation who has hit the mainstream sans couth, or class. Indiscretion has become an epidemic, world wide TMI, and it's only going to get worse I fear.

I was raised to always be respectful of others, and to always maintain composure in public. True, I do have a very foul mouth, but I know when and where it's ok, or NOT ok, to drop an F bomb. I try to present a certain image when I'm among my peers. Even though I like to laugh, and joke about the most God awful topics, I still try to behave, not drink too much, or act like a slut. I maintain a certain image not being fake, or to impress anyone, but simply because no one really likes a sloppy drunk slut especially in public.  I know....because I've been one... in public

IN PUBLIC. Perhaps the root cause of this problem of total disregard for discretion, and couth stems from today's society's perception of what encompasses IN PUBLIC. In my younger days, public was anywhere outside the four walls of your house. Of course, that was before the Internet. Before the technological wonder of the information super highway redefined PUBLIC, bringing what was once considered the outside world, into our homes, purses, and pockets, virtually linking us to the global public 24/7.

Just because you are sitting in the privacy of your own home while you surf the net, and stalk peeps on FB, while tweeting, and texting, doesn't mean you are alone. Technology has taken us beyond the boundaries of basic decency, because we've allowed it to take control of how we communicate with others, and as a society in general. It seems to much easier to vent our angst, frustrations, share our joys and sorrows via social networks, because it removes the possible awkwardnness, and discomfort of face to face interactions, and probable confrontations. While there is nothing wrong with posting prayer requests, or letting the world know what great kids, husbands, wives, etc. you have, or asking friends for advice, and support, inspite of the widespread tolerance and acceptance of anything goes, let it all hang out point of view, some things are best left OFF the world wide web. There are just some things that do NOT need to be made common, public knowledge, and they damn sure don't belong on anyone's Facebook wall.

So, before you click that tab marked "SHARE", stop and ask yourself if it's something you would find appropriate for the majority of your friends and family to read, and consider just how it makes you look to have commnets regarding your sex life, relationship drama, anatomical descriptions, and/or bodily functions splattered across your wall page for God and everybody to view. Just because you find it amusing, or think there is nothing wrong with revealing and sharing the most intimate, gory details of your own, or even a friend or foe's most embarassing blunders, or intesnsely taboo issues, doesn't mean everyone else does too. Most of us don't really care to hear all about anyone else's sexual exploits, drunken debauchery, or random acts of stupidity, unless we know and hate them too, and can relish their embarassment, and shame. Other than that, just use this as your rule of thumb when posting on your wall. If you wouldn't want your kids or mama to read it, nor would you want someone to post those sorts of comments about you, then save it for private, in person discussions, confession, or just take it to your grave. Because in all honestly, obviously you've mistaken me, and who knows who many other people for someone who really give a shit.

Slung Off

Only two men in my life have ever truly understood me, and appreciated me for all my complexities. My daddy, and my deceased husband, Maurice Guillory. Even my long time friend, native Texan, and former boyfriend, Cal, who claims to love me inspite of myself, has never been able to pinpoint, much less accept, just what it is that sets me apart from the average female.
See, I'm the type of woman who defies the norm, and I live my life on my own terms. I'm not alone I count my dearest sister friend, Rosey, as my equal, and at times she's even worse than I am. Even though, until recently, we've spent many years apart, I've always been able to count on Rosey to have my back, and she knows who has hers. We are each unique, and possess our own special brand of qualities the average woman could never manage, or control. Right now, I reckon you are thinking either this bitch is drunk, or she's got super powers, but no, I just want to clear up any confusion, or misunderstanding about women like me and Rosey.
Just like any other girl, we want to be pretty, and we enjoy all things feminine. We wear make-up, fix our hair, get our nails done, and can look smokin friggin hot for our man, to catch a man, or simply because we like to look our best at all times. We can work as hard as any man, nor do we have to depend on them for every little thing. (I can cut my own steak thank you!!) and if we are scared of anything, we either conquer, or kill it.  We can take some hard licks, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and still pull ourselves up by the boot straps and carry on in spite of our pain.  We will fight a buzz saw to right a wrong, or protect our loved ones, and if and when we do get fed up, pissed off, over stressed, or decide to blow off some steam, we take it to a whole other dimension. Terms like "out of sorts", "off-kilter", or even "pissy" don't even come close to describing what happens. As Rosey so aptly puts it, "We get plum damn slung off."  That's right. SLUNG OFF, as in discomfrigginbobulated, (another Roseyism) out the chute, hide the bodies, destroy all evidence, Oh Lordy, make another wrap and hang tight, this aint gonna be pretty...slung off. Yet, we will squall like a baby over a sad movie, or when we feel someone else's pain. We can't stand to see anything, or anyone hurt, and we will stand our ground when it comes to our beliefs. If we like you, we'll do all we can to help you, if we don't, well go back and study my definition of "slung off".
 As for me personally, if I say I"m going to do something, it usually gets done, and my word is my bond.  It's always been hard for me to maintain romantic relationships, mainly because I have more balls than the average guy, and I guess that's just too intimidating. Truthfully, most of my closest friends, other than Rosey, and a few others are men. I'd rather work with men too, because they just want to get the work done without all the yanh-yanh bull shit office drama created by too many women in one group.
You see, we don't behave the way we do, or react so differently from other women because we are crazy, bitches, on the rag, or suffering from some hormonal imbalance. Women like me and my friend are rare breeds, an odd mix of old fashioned values, women's lib, estrogen, and cowgirl...well more like cowboy.  You know, maybe that's the best description for me and Rosey. We're not just like cowboys....we're more like cowboys with vaginas.