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Ahhoooh, that's just great. I've just come from a visit with my neighbor Wanda. Around here, she is known as Crazy Wanda. For real good reason she's called that. But you don't dare ever to cross Crazy Wanda.

No. At best you tolerate Wanda and her non-stop talking. She will literally talk your head off, or she'll make you fantasize about the joy of killing yourself, about that time, usually around an hour or two into her meandering, drop-down stories.
Drop down stories are stories she begins telling, when something in the last story she was telling reminds her of yet another agonizing story. Therefore, no story she tells is ever finished.

But, I like her (I tune her out and interrupt her babble when something important needs to be said). And best of all, she likes me too. I am willing to come work around her house for her, as I did yesterday and today. She told me about her need to add more shelving space in her 64 sq. foot kitchen yesterday, and I went and bought her some nice steel shelves at Wal-Mart in McAlester, intending on assembling them today for her. And I have, and did.

Now, though, I know why she needs them, and it's bad. Very Very Very bad. very Bad Bad Bad.
Wanda has removed her older brother from the nursing home, where he'd lived since October last year... Unhappily. To live with her instead.

That's right, her older brother is Granpappy Spears, who is not crazy himself, maybe soon will be, but not now. He is still married to his wife Junie, Mrs. Spears, who could not deal with his Alzheimers any longer. Till yesterday.

Lordy! Lord, give me strength, because I know who it is who will really actually be taking care of him, of her, them both. My utter and lingering shock at seeing Granpappy there at Wanda's house is one OF THOSE SINGULAR MOMENTS in life. She is 75, he is 84 or 85 if he is a day.

All Wanda does is bitchand complain about everyone in her life, family included. All Granpappy does is sit around with his straw hat and dark green sunglasses on. Yes, inside too.
But he is an elder and commands my respect and my ear when he speaks.
Especially now, IF he can ever get an edge in word-wise, around Wanda.

Unlike his sister, who has told me the same story about some ice cream and Kool-Whip four or five times since last Sunday already. Today in her kitchen she SHOWED me the ice cream in question... as if I had never heard the story... or cared about it after hearing it for the first time.
[You do not want me to go there, believe me]

Did I happen to mention the Birthday gift she "got" me this week?
A serape blanket, that smells like kerosene.
No, I'm unwilling to ask why it smells of kerosene.
Afraid she will tell me, over and over and over and over.

This Is Not Good.