"What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one's self!"

Nathaniel Hawthorne

 

I know a lot of people don't get along with their in-laws but I have got to say I've got the GREATEST mother-in-law anyone could ever have.

If there is any doubt, just look at what she sent to me

 

 

 

I know you are busy... So I am sending you some help!

I was feeling a little guilty, knowing how busy you are lately. Knowing all of the chores you have to get done, work, work, work all the time. So since I do have the extra "Help", I've decided to lend you a few helping hands

 

 

So here they are;

 

Someone to clean the back yard

 

 

Straighten up the gardens

 

 

Sanitize the pool

 

 

Pick up a few things in town

 

 

Rotate your tires

 

 

Change the sheets

 

 

And last but certainly not least, scrub the shower

 

 

I hope this helps ease some of your work load.

Heck , what are friends for!

 

 

I only hope she realizes that now I feel the need to go on a scavenger hunt in my backyard, pull weeds from my garden, take a dip in my pool, roll on my clean sheets, take a ride into town to get my tires rotated, then come home to take a shower

 

Hmm....maybe I should take that shower before I roll on clean sheets

I went to a funeral home last night to pay my respects to a distant family member that passed away the other day. I’m not fond of funeral homes to begin with but the one I was at last night really held a tough spot for me. It happened to be the same one my daddy was at when he died. Last night was the first time I’ve stepped foot in that place in seven years.

Aside from the sight of the building itself bringing back memories, the same smells assaulted me when I walked in the door last night. Horrible clinical smells. When hubby and I walked in the building, the smell was the first thing that registered in my mind. I remembered that smell from seven years ago. Funny how something like that comes back in a flash.

As we walked down the hall, I was silently hoping that this relative wouldn’t be in the same ‘parlor’ that my daddy was in. I figured it would bring unwanted memories. I guess I was thinking that if he was in a different ‘parlor’ then it wouldn’t affect me as bad. Although I don’t think it would’ve made a huge difference.

As it turns out, he was in the same ‘parlor’ that my daddy was in. I dreaded walking through the door. It was one of those times when your mind plays tricks on you or goes into overactive imagination. For a very brief moment I went back seven years and could see my daddy lying in the casket. Extremely fucked up feeling. I’m just glad it didn’t last any longer than it did or I would’ve been balling my eyes out. I almost lost it anyway when my older male cousin got very teary eyed during the prayer. One thing that gets to me is grown men crying. Just give me a box of Kleenex if that happens.

I’m going to switch gears a little here and express my thoughts on the whole funeral, burial thing.

This man was in a VERY nice casket. It was some sort of tan/bronze color with ornate hardware. It had the United States Army emblem embroidered in the top of the casket. The American flag was draped over the bottom half, honoring his time in the military. Which is his due to say the least. There was a small drawer inside the casket for loved ones to put any notes, pictures, etc. This was the first time I had seen the drawer thing. Which I guess is a fairly decent concept in itself. I don’t quite understand why it had a lock on the drawer though. Actually I do know why but it’s still sort of crazy to me. Whatever happened to putting whatever you wanted the person to have actually beside them in the casket? That’s the way it has been done for many, many moons. Why change a good thing?

I think the whole burial thing is a racket. I can’t see spending thousands and thousands of dollars to put my ass in a casket; have people come cry over top of me and my overly made up face and talk about how good I look. How come people don’t tell you how good you look when you’re still alive? All the comments around the dead loved one tend to be along the lines of "Oh..He/she looks really good". Does this mean they never looked good before? You mean it takes dying to look good? Well jeez, I can’t wait to die so I can finally look good.

All jokes aside, aside from not wanting people ogling my dead body, I also don’t want people to feel obligated to visit my grave even when they don’t want to. It can become costly to continuously keep nice flowers on a grave and it’s depressing as hell to keep going back and talking to a grave. It eventually dwindles out anyway through time. Yes, my kids may come once a year to put flowers on my grave or possibly my grandkids would one day but after that, no one would be there to see my name on the plaque or replenish the flowers in the vase so what’s the point. I’ll be long gone and it really isn’t going to matter where my physical body is. My spirit will be where it needs to be.

I’d rather be cremated and have someone take my ashes to a location of my choice and let ‘em fly. I don’t want anyone ‘holding onto’ my ashes. I’m claustrophobic. Don’t keep me bottled up and hidden in a closet. I will haunt your ass!

 

 

 

 

Where Danger looms

By RL Irving

When the darkness falls and danger looms,
werewolves howl at shiny moons
Dogs run scared and bats take flight,
flying off to the still of night
You're walking down deserted streets,
not knowing yet the things you'll meet
Whispers echo from every door,
begging you to come no more
Footsteps heard on the steps of stairs,
taunting you with stench filled air
You start to run, you try to escape,
your heart and breaths just can't keep pace

You run through the streets, screaming in fright,
but no one hears you this Halloween night
Then suddenly, through the mist filled air,
a shape appears with long grey hair
A woman with a crystal ball,
where lightening flashes through it all
Beckoning with her toothless grin,
"Come closer now" and look within
A tiny movement, a careless act,
will take you where you can't come back
But the beauty of the ball wins out,
you move closer now with stinging doubts
Forgetting the danger you look inside,
revealing the secrets it strains to hide


The paperboys scream "Man found dead"
working all day, their feet like lead
The woman listens with a knowing grin,
the secret she holds close within
Waiting for the next full moon,
she walks the streets where danger looms
Humming a song no one can hear,
she clutches a ball she holds so dear.

I had a conversation earlier today about being tarred and feathered. That’s what triggered this post. But I do need to apologize for the inadvertent lie of never being ‘feathered’. As it so happens, I have been.

When hubby and I first moved in together, he had this HUGE feather pillow that I swear had to weigh 50lbs and I’m pretty sure it belonged to his great-great-great-great grandparents or some such shit. It was old as dirt.

Anyway, one night, sometime during the middle of the night, I woke up itching like crazy. Instead of getting up and finding out what was going on, I just lay there and continued to scratch for a few minutes until it got unbearable. It was almost like an allergic reaction where you’re whole body was itching at one time. I must have been tossing and turning in my attempts to ease the itch because hubby finally wakes up asked me what I was doing.

I finally get up and turn the light and hubby busts out laughing. While I’m standing there trying to get my eyes adjusted to the light and trying to scratch my entire body at one time, I finally look down and realize that I’m COVERED in feathers.

I can’t remember what time of year it was but I must have been slightly sweaty or either feathers have a natural magnetism to them. They were STUCK to almost every inch of exposed skin. It wasn’t just a matter of brushing them off. They would move from one spot and attach themselves to a different spot further down. Where ever they happened to land is where they stuck. It took me a while to get all the feathers off of me and cleaned up out of the bed and by the time I was done with all of that I was beyond angry at that damn pillow.

I still don’t understand how it busted on MY side when hubby was the one who used it and how I was the ONLY one covered in feathers? He did not have ONE SINGLE feather on him. What’s up with that????