Unscrupulous

She always gave herself October and July to go crazy in.  October, because that’s the month she fell in love with him.  July, because it was in that month that he was taken the following year.  It was those two months that the memories seemed to be so closely tied to him.  It was then that the blistering sadness would wash over her. 

If you asked her what she missed the most about him, what would she say?  There was not one single thing about him that she could consciously say that had left the biggest void in her heart.  Maybe it was his clear green eyes that could quicken the beat of her heart while looking directly into hers.  It might just have to be the way the faintest brush of his hand on her arm could send goosebumps across her skin.  Although, his arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her into him, wasn’t the least of what she missed.  Those arms...not too tightly muscled, not too squishy were the perfect texture.  They just brought you comfort, like a cup of tea or warmly, glowing fireplace.  It was in those arms that she had truly felt secure.  Maybe it was his laugh, though.  The deep, growing laughter that came from his belly and resonated out of that perfect smile.  Perhaps it was his devilish grin that he could shoot her way from across a crowded room that would make her knees knock just the teeniest bit.  Maybe it was the fact that he could bring the sparkle back in her eyes on the dreariest of days.  Or, on the other hand, it might’ve been the memory of his lips parting against hers and being able to taste the faintest hint of tobacco and Coca Cola on them.
 
No.  All these wonderful things, these wonderful memories; and yet, she could not pinpoint what she missed most.  Not one characteristic outweighed the others.  It was truly him as a whole, his whole being, that she missed the most.  It was just him.  Her loss, losing him, had turned her into a shell of the person that she once was.  From that, she would never recover.  She was able to muster enough sincerity and graciousness to pacify the world the other ten months...but in October and in July, she just gave in.  She would always surrender herself to the pain.  It was then that she would look at the rest of the world with a glazed, confused look and say "Go to Hell."
--Aleta Kaylee

Oh for the love of Overalls

As a coworker and I were talking today, the subject of overalls came up. She told me that her uncle, who was notorious for always wearing overalls, once strolled into a Cadillac dealership. Now, he had the ability to pay, in cash, for any new Cadillac that he saw fit. The dealership salesman, noting his tattered overalls, and writing him off as some penniless hillbilly, told him that he didn’t think that they had anything that he could afford. Well, he went down the road and purchased a brand new vehicle, paying cash. Needless to say, that Cadillac dealer sure did miss out on some commission.

I really liked that story, but it reminded me of one of my own. My daddy gave me an appreciation for a man in overalls. I don’t think there’s anything sweeter than a little baby boy, or a little rough and tumble boy, or an elderly man dressed in overalls. My dad, a lover of Liberty denim overalls, would wear those everywhere. In fact, for a short while, when one or two of his pair got a little raggedy around the hem, he had Mama cut them off and make them into overall shorts. Well, thank you Jesus that trend didn’t last long. He looked awful funny sportin’ those overall shorts and brogans.

My daddy once told me, when I had big dreams of a wedding, that he was going to walk me down the aisle in his overalls. At the time, I was appalled, and said “You most certainly won’t.” I’ve got to say, what I’d give for that man to walk me down the aisle now. If he were here now, I’d even let him wear his most-favorite tattered pair of Liberty overalls.

One thing that I will always remember about my daddy was the fact that he always made it a point to wear his overalls to church every Easter. He did this as a bit of a protest. See, while all the ladies were gussyin’ up, putting on their very finest new dress, and the men were sprucing up and putting on their Sunday best, Daddy just didn’t see the point. He always felt that it didn’t matter what you wore to the House of the Lord; just as long as you went. You didn’t have to be all done up to go in and worship and pray.

Well about five years ago, there it was…Easter. Mama and Rheba were done up, and there dad was…walking into church in his overalls. Behind him were a group of young women. One of the girls said “Can you believe what that man has on??” Then they all started snickering. Well that just grated Daddy’s nerves. I remember him coming home telling me all about it, as we had drove separately.

“That girl hurt my feelings! It doesn’t matter what you wear to church! You don’t have to be dressed all snazzy to pray!...”

And then he continued with, “And that girl’s sittin’ there talking about my overalls…Look at her! She’s so ugly, you’d have to tie a damn pork chop around her neck to get the dog to play with her!”

Real nice coming from a man that just got out of church, right? I sure did love that man.

Lawsy, I do love a man in overalls.

Summer Reading

Okay. So, it’s after midnight and I’m just fired up. So, tonight I watched The Great Gatsby, and loved it. Here were my thoughts after the movie: “Omg, I LOVED that movie! It was so beautifully made, and followed the book really well. They couldn’t have picked a better cast, and it could not have been made any better.” Next, “I need to have some hair pieces made like the ones in the movie. They were beautiful! And the hats...oh, the hats.” Then, “It makes me really sad when I hear that people haven’t read books like The Great Gatsby.” Finally, “I need to write a blog promoting Summer reading.”  So, y’all, bear with me. 

I nearly had the heart palpitations the night that I was talking about F. Scott Fitzgerald and my sister asked who that was. When I said that he was the author that wrote The Great Gatsby, she replied “I never had to read The Great Gatsby in high school.” Y’all...I nearly fell out. That’s one of the classics...that’s one of my favorite books. I was astounded. I might add here, that my sister loved the first movie made of it, and watching the new version tonight has got her dying to read the book. My heart is happy. 

I was always the girl that could be found in the corner reading a book. I loved to read from an early age, and my mama promoted it. Growing up, it literally pained me that Rheba hated reading for so long. Partially, I’d like to blame the Accelerated Reading program. None of the books that she was “allowed” to read piqued her interest in any way. Finally, she was blessed to have a teacher that said “Rheba, I want to you to find a book that interests you...never mind the reading level.” It was then that she found the Heartland series, and got hooked. Since then, she has enjoyed reading when she had the time. 

I was truly blessed to have great teachers at Chiefland Elementary, Middle, and High School. One of my absolute favorite teachers ever would have to be Mrs. Flemming (I knew her as Mrs. Slade), because she opened our eyes and instilled such a love of the classics in our English Honors class. She is one of the greats, as far as I’m concerned. 

I cannot even express how important I find reading. It provides an outlet. It provides an escape. It gives you an opportunity to travel, to see things you never would...it builds your imagination. So, this Summer...I urge you to read. I urge you to promote reading in your household and encourage your kids to read. If you can’t afford to go into the bookstore and buy a pile of books, I would encourage you to visit Abebooks.com or visit your public library. 

I would like to supply some recommendations, really all across the board. 

For children: Some of my favorites would have to be Little Critter books, Berenstein Bear books, Junie B. Jones, Beverly Cleary books (such as Ramona and Beezus) for the slightly older crowd; and I’ve heard rave reviews for the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series. I think it’s important for kids to find books they’re interested in. Summer is a time where they don’t have to read and test on books, so let them find the things that they WANT to read, which might build their reading skills and be beneficial next school year. 

There are a few books that stick out in my mind for the maybe age 10-12 reader: Summer of my German Soldier--this was one of my favorite books. Not only was it extremely well written, it was also an important book. It opened my eyes to see that not everything is always as it seems. Jacob Have I Loved--a book of sibling rivalry and a coming-of-age. Spectacular. Little Women To Kill a Mockingbird--Such an important book.  

For Adults: 

Classics I recommend: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Scarlett Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, or any of the Jane Austen books 

Modern Classics: Tigers in Red Weather by Liza Klaussmann--This book has a very Fitzgerald feel to it. Very well-written. The Secret History--This book was Donna Tartt’s first novel. Looking at it from the writing perspective, I was amazed that this was her first novel. This book, I felt, had some similarities to The Lord of the Flies, but I loved it. 

Just for Laughs: Jenn Lancaster’s Bitter is the New Black; Bright Lights, Big Ass; or Such a Pretty Fat Stephanie McAfee’s Diary of a Mad Fat Girl, and it’s sequel Happily Ever Madder 

Summer Reads: Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells Mary Kay Andrews: One of my favorite Summer-read authors. Her books include: Spring Fling; The Fixer-Upper; Summer Rental; Little Bitty Lies; and Hissy Fit. Summer in the South by Cathy Holten--Mystery, Ghosts, alcohol-filled parties, and Sweet Tea. Shoot the Moon by Billie Letts 

Before there was Fifty Shades of Gray: My all-time favorite author is without a doubt Grace Metalious. She wrote Peyton Place. I realize that it is frowned upon by my Grandmother’s generation, as it was banned in libraries and bookstores all across the country. Although it was racy and provocative in its time, to read it today it is quite mild. Anyone who enjoys small town life can appreciate its content. I’ll revert to the imagery that Metalious mentioned, (in any small town) sometimes when you turn over a rock, you begin to see all the things that crawl under it. And if you like Peyton Place, you will also enjoy her sequel Return to Peyton Place, The Tight White Collar, and No Adam in Eden. 

I urge y’all to read this summer. Find what interests y’all and dive in!

I HATE PANCREATIC CANCER

Y’all read this, and read until the end, because I am asking for everyone’s help. He smelled of Old Spice aftershave and smokeless tobacco. You could spot him in a crowd in his Liberty overalls and his “brogans” typically with dog leash in hand with a big drooling bloodhound on the end of the leash; with a big ol’ smile across his face. He liked to call people by their first and last name, and would often say “This is Jackie Sheffield” when on the phone with friends and even family. He was a simple man, with simple dreams, who wanted to live his life doing the things he loved. I loved that man with all my heart :) --- I was sitting at my desk at the Journal, typing up articles for that weeks paper. It was July 25, 2011. Days before my 25th birthday. My daddy had went to the hospital the night before. He’d had gallbladder surgery around three weeks earlier and he was still experiencing excruciating pain. Sunday night, they’d decided to keep him...acknowledging that that shouldn’t have been happening. My mama called me that morning....around 11 a.m. I remember asking “What’s the latest? What has the doctor said? How’s daddy doing.” And my mama said hesitantly, “Well, they’ve found a mass on his pancreas.” Of course, my mind was going a mile a minute with questions like “What does that mean? Could it just be a cyst? What does that MEAN?” Mama just stated that the doctor’s didn’t seem to think that it was a cyst and she would keep me posted. Doctors came and went. None of their news was positive. 
The next day was one of the few times that Rheba and I didn’t go and visit daddy. Mama called me again on her way home, I could hear the tears in her voice. I will never forget her saying “Aleta, they think it’s pancreatic cancer, and they’ve told your daddy that he only has a year to live.” Words cannot describe what I felt at that very moment. People often ask me, “How did they find it?” Like a majority of cases, they found my daddy’s too late. His had already spread to his liver by the time they found it. At that point, there was nothing that they could do. Chemo would only be a manner in which to prolong his life, it would never cure the cancer. Here is what my daddy experienced: He lost a major amount of weight; he had pain in his right abdominal side; he got very sick when he ate; and I can remember him sitting in his recliner with his shirt off and actually seeing a lump on the right-side of his stomach. All of these can be symptoms of problems with your gallbladder, which is precisely why they didn’t catch it quicker...as daddy said, “Everyone at the hospital, including the janitor, told me it was my gallbladder.” Watching a man that you thought could conquer the world go from being a very robust, active man become a very pained shell of the person that he was is a very hard process. I will say here that pancreatic cancer is a very painful cancer. Dad couldn’t eat, couldn’t even stomach the smell of food, he couldn’t get comfortable sitting. His liver was so swollen that when they went to put in his feeding tube, they said that he wasn’t able to eat because his liver was literally pressing on his stomach. I won’t get into all that we faced, but it was very, very difficult. Nothing...Nothing prepares you to hear your daddy telling the doctors “I just want to live...I just want to live.” I tell y’all this, to tell y’all that on Friday...my heart just broke. I sat at my desk at the ELC, trying to fight back tears and keep it together while at work. I learned last Friday that another great, very loved man, Mr. Tony Cruse, in Trenton has just found out that he has pancreatic cancer. He has a family; has a young, teen daughter. My heart just broke for this family, having walked in those same shoes; having gotten that devastating news. I hated to think of someone having to walk down the same road we did. Then, after asking Chris to send me the articles, I was so proud of how our little community is coming together to honor and support Mr. Tony. This Thursday, May 2, The Cracker Box in Trenton will be donating all the proceeds that they make that day to Mr. Tony and his family. The Cracker Box is open for both breakfast and lunch, and I am PLEADING with y’all to go there at some point that day and either order food or donate. There has been a scholarship fund set up at Capital City Bank for Mr. Tony’s daughter, Grace Cruse. And on May 15th, there will be a luncheon held at the Trenton Community Center to honor Mr. Tony for his service to the community. I beg all of y’all to come out an support this family in their time of need. And please, please, lift them up in prayer.

My Modern Day Mayberry

There was a question posed to me the other day: Do you miss your old job? Now truthfully, this was asked by my new boss as I was showing her the picture my friend Megan had sent of my Hoarders-worthy old office. What a loaded question. Of course I miss my old job. My first thoughts were completely work-related. I missed the creativity of my old job. I enjoyed making up the newspaper; I honestly felt pride in the finished product every week. I loved my coworkers. I loved my Journal babies. I loved that there was a fairly definite schedule to my work week. There were very few things that I didn't like about that job. Then my thoughts began to wander... You know what I really miss? I miss Trenton. Now, I can vividly remember wishing aloud several times that I could leave the town. And granted, I only moved 11 miles down the road...but truthfully, it might as well be on the other side of the planet, as I never seem to get over there anymore. See, Trenton was my modern day Mayberry. I miss having a "hen party" with Mrs. Cindy Jo each week and hearing all the latest gossip; hearing about Carrie's latest thrifty find or about Allie Claire or Whitt's latest funny story. I miss hearing Mr. John say the same phrases over and over again; and Chris telling me something about the episode of South Park that was on the night before. I miss seeing Mr. Mark's newest, beautiful orchid sitting on our Counter. I miss Megan, and being able to laugh with her at the crazies that walked through the doors. I miss playing ball with Gus at the front of our store. I miss walking into the Courthouse and seeing Mrs. Sabre and Lyndsay; and gabbing with Mrs. Cindy Chadwick. Or seeing Lisa Renee or Mrs. Connie Sanchez's smiling face. I miss being able to have lunch with my friend Crystal Rodgers, and getting to hear about the crazies that have crossed her path recently. I miss selling a newspaper to that little, sweet, old black lady that walks all over town, even the heat of Florida summer, with her cane and a dip of snuff tucked in her lip that has kept up with me since my Hitchcocks days. I miss having D. Ray come in, and sit in the chair that I deemed my "D. Ray chair" where he would always have a dirty joke or a comment about me being his "streetwalker." I miss the fiesty Mrs. Diana Harrison. I miss taking a newspaper to Mrs. Dale Bryant at the Courthouse and having her give me an encouraging word. I miss walking into the Cracker Box (or Crack Shack, as I lovingly called it) and seeing the Pine Grove Pastoral Staff to my right, Mr. Thomas Bryant and friends to my left and Mrs. Julie Kincaid smiling at me from the register. Mrs. Julie is gorgeous and her personality is just icing on the cake, she always ready with a compliment to brighten your day and put a little pep in your step. And of course, I miss the Crack Shack's peach cobbler. lol. I miss seeing the old man driving his lawnmower around town in his American Flag pajamas. I miss seeing Mrs. Clara Nell riding her bike. I miss running into Hitchcocks and hearing Ryan Weaver singing or humming down the aisles as he stocks shelves; or hearing a dirty joke from Robyn in the deli and having Mrs. Karen just shake her head. I miss catching up with Ren as I wait to check out. I miss Mr. Gray Schofield walking around with his diet coke bottle. I miss the small town politics. I even miss being asked about my pedigree. The truth is, y'all...I miss Trenton's familiarity. I miss it's warmth that just sucks you in. I miss my Modern-day Mayberry.

Pearls of Wisdom for Young Adults living in Small, Southern Towns

**Disclaimer—don’t read this if you’re easily offended. This is meant as a funny blog, filled with things that some of us have done, for which we should've thought better.** So, growing up, sometimes adults and friends don’t tell you everything that you need to know. Granted, sometimes they might not think they need to tell you SOME things…when in fact, they might. So, this is a collaborative effort of advice that you will probably never receive from the typical adult: Doing anything to anyone’s mailbox is a federal offense…just so you know…and it’s even worse when it’s the preacher’s and the music minister’s. Along those same lines…never do anything illegal…especially if you’re related to the sheriff. And do NOT make a video of it, you’ll provide your own evidence. Don’t go parking down a back country road in the middle of the afternoon…because it is likely that a slow-moving tractor is bound to drive by and see exactly what base you’ve made it to. Don’t go out with the good, Christian kids, lest your brother get pulled over across the street from whatever local restaurant you’ve patronized that evening, who will then be forced to take field sobriety test. Never write “I love _____” in all of your textbooks, because it will come back to haunt you years later when you walk through Walmart and see all the young hipsters looking your way, and you wonder “do they know??” Everyone knows everyone in this town. Don’t hide your friends in your closet when your parents get home, they’ll have to climb out of the window. Don’t give your friends anything off your plate at Mya’s…you will get kicked out. Don’t learn your “drinking rules” in a “small, little drinking town.” Ex: You can’t get a mixed drink in one bar, and then walk down the street to another bar with it in your hand in EVERY town… Never show up to church hungover. You look like hell; people will probably see you and know; and chances are, the sermon is on partying. Hot tubs are dangerous. Trespassing is never a good plan…especially while inebriated. Even when returning someone's dog, be careful driving up someone's driveway...they might meet you with a loaded gun. Never take part in a sham wedding. Street sign theft is harder than you’d think. You’re never nearly as smooth as you think you are. It’s best to figure out that you’re allergic to latex, before some events take place…if you know what I mean… If you’re going to be out in the middle of East Jesus Nowhere, BYOP. You don’t want to have to buy dusty old pack at the local BP. Have a safe word. And by God, make sure you have people who will do something about it in the event that you scream it. Don’t buy a car at night. And along those lines…be hesitant when your parents say a car is in “immaculate” condition…you might find that your “immaculate” (being a mustang), and their “immaculate” (a Toyota truck with it’s side mirror being held on with a goggle piece) are not quite the same. Don’t buy things online that might be embarrassing for your neighbors to receive by accident. Never believe your friends when they say “you can make it” while trying to park a massive truck. And always, ALWAYS look behind you when backing up. Trust that your neighbors will call and report your driving to your parents...even when you're over 18. Don’t tan and use sunless tanner. You’ll become what we lovingly call “oompa-loompa orange.” If you’ve done something that will most likely make your parents angry, pray you don’t have company when you come home. That really makes it awkward when you come home with mud in your hair and your parents proceed to lecture you in front of said company. If you’re ever involved in an accident in the middle of town, don’t get out and say the f-word. Chances are, all anyone will be able to talk about on Sunday is that you were being a bad witness for Jesus. Be on the lookout for cauliflower. Don’t be surprised when your tire goes flat when you’ve had your radio playing too loud. Don’t drive down a dead-end road while trying to escape cops. Be very careful in relaying a story to your parents. If you’re like me, you’ll get nervous and start talking fast…which will change “and then my pants made me slide off” to “and then my pants slid off” real quick. And you will find yourself in a whole new pile of shit for no good reason. Never show your nipple piercings to customers in your employer’s parking lot…while on the clock. Married men are a bad idea…Married men are a bad idea… And finally, don’t go “parking” in the church parking lot…it’s never a good plan.

The Steel Magnolias

We are the ones that don’t know God’s plan but have faith that He will see us through. We stand beside our father’s bedside, holding his hand, choking back tears, so that we are strong for him in his last hours. We are the ones that stand in a long line of mourners to pass our friend’s casket to give our condolences to her family. We are the ones that step in to help a child facing bullies or hardships. We are the ones that hold our mother’s hand as she faces her first round of chemo. We are the ones that make the extra effort to make sure some of the needy families have their needs met. We are the ones that beg God to loosen the grip of alcoholism that our husbands or boyfriends are facing. We are the ones that stand and receive a folded flag in place of our fiance's safe return. We are the ones that face the defeat of rape and abuse and sexism and harassment and come out of it stronger. We are at our husband's side when he is weak; yet, we can stand on our own. We are the ones that can survive poverty, or bad relationships; we are the ones that thrive despite bad odds. We believe in greatness. We hold our heads high even when our world is crumbling. Yes, we are the ones that smile through our tears. You will not see our worry lines on a daily basis, but you will notice how our laugh lines somehow soften our face. We dream through our despair. We continue to see beauty even when the reality of life knocks us down. We love fiercely through the hate. The only thing that surpases our beauty is our strength. We are tough as nails, and yet somehow tender. We are just as God intended. We are the Steel Magnolias.