Update:

Mrs. Spears, Junie laid down the law! With the use of the law. Maybe now with the attention of Latimer county law and DPS on Wanda, could she be next?

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.

(continued from The Local Malcontent)

I have never done this before, maybe will never do it again. That's the way it is,
with a word like "maybe".

Maybe is it's own opposite. Maybe yes means maybe no.
# # # # # # # #

But for the music I promoted over at LMC earlier, it is true:

This soft, deep music is like no other-- it strikes me, it affects me on a spiritual level, causing my soul to leap up.
For it is not necessary to understand the language sung, to understand the intent of the song, of the chant. It is the language of my spirit, and I suspect of your spirit as well.

But, since there are no English words to direct the thoughts of most people, telling them what to think, how to react to the song-- it is somehow less, somehow inferior. Relegated to the "reservation" of one, maybe two public radio stations across America.

AIROS, "American Indian Radio On Satellite", has a listenership counted in the dozens; not
hundred of thousands or millions, of listeners. The link to AIROS is from Lincoln, Neb.
IT IS YOUR LOSS, NOT TO LISTEN, WHITE AMERICA!~!

White America has proven conclusively, that White radio music is superior-- with it's rap music, rock music and yeah even talk radio- ear pollution. And too many whitefolk would be afraid to listen to Indian music.
there are no commercials for Geico insurance or for Rudy stinkin Giulianinani.

sometime I will speak of the traditional, and accepted racial slaps to my Indian heritage... which I get from some of you on a daily basis... and am expected to benignly accept and laugh with you, at. Since we are only dumb American Indian, or Canadian 'First Peoples', you somehow expect us to roll with your flow(ing gibberish).
Honestly, If I had a nickel for everytime someone ever told me "I've got X-amount of Indian in me, too", I'd be a zillionaire.

"Well, good for you..." TMI, TMI, TMI
********************************

this would not be acceptable or popular reading, over on the Local Malcontent side of my blog. Where I feel I must color my speech, my words for you.

"racist". "separatist".

Ge Keshteh Shaa Chacta Eyh, "America".
Live with it, I'm Choctaw, "America".

Stairway to Heaven, Quick Trip to Krazy Town, Spoonful of Zowie

I've learnt a val. lesson. today. Periods. are. val.

And that if you or I decide to not give applesauce cakes to some friends for Christmas,
it is not right to take a tablespoon to the Duncan-Hines French Vanilla canned Icing.

I tis notasn Ack. BRrrrrrrrrrrrRfrerererererr!~ I asm shiogh! I can play the piano with otut a song at all!

CValories? 12,500 per tablespoon./ My take????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

the whoe lelelele can, nam, namehr4, man! lBZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I am the flashlight

Coincidence? Supernatural? Who cares?

Today is the 26th anniversary of my beloved grandfather's death. I miss him so much. Through my 12+ years of his company, he was my idol and my best friend; he taught me to hunt, to fish, he taught me of my Indian heritage and all it's pride.

I took a short nap yesterday afternoon, during which I drempt of him in a strange way. Before that, I had not dreamed of him, my granddad, my papaw, in years.

It was strange, dreaming that I was thinking of going to see him today, as a 38+ year old, instead of a 12 year old, and wondering if he'd think it strange to see me so much older, so much bigger, fatter, and worrying that he'd think it wrong to be bearhugged by another man.

I drempt of parting his hair on one side of his head, like I used to as a child, so he'd look more like me then.
Now, I pull my hair straight back like his always was, to resemble him. And I so look forward to my hair turning silver like his- I hope I never have to cut my hair short.
I am so happy that despite my weight, I resemble my grandfather; I see some of him each day in my window-mirrors.

Good eats for a week, for less than $ 10.00

Went to the Dollar Store, and got a 30-pack of corn tortillas, for $1.00. Got two cans of clams, two cans of chicken, all for $5.00. Got one box of Zatarains' rice and beans, another $1.25. And with tomatoes and banana pepper chilis from the garden, made a delicious meal (last night I ate only 8 clam tacos!!), with leftovers again for tonight!

In a saucepan, boil 3/4 C. water, and add one-half the Zatarains rice/beans mix, keeping it thicker than usual.
Stir, and cover, according to directions for 20 minutes.

In a small frypan, sautee the clams and chicken in olive oil. Add some purple onion if you like, here.

Make a homemade salsa, of the well chopped tomatoes and pepper-chilis outta the garden. I like lotsa black pepper on this, but knock yerselves out! Less is more, more or less.

Warm well the tortillas 0ver an open flame for authentic flavor, then pile on the ingredients.

JUST FANTASTIC! CHEAP TOO. SLEEP WELL TONIGHT.

This will be one of the songs played at my funeral, much to the dismay (or maybe not) of all 4 mourners.

Saloon

And if I can get away with that, I'll add
The Pine Apple Rag and then, as they wheel me out of church in my squeeky, copper-plated wheelbarrow,
an extra $5.00 will get Mrs. Teasdale to play
My alltime favorite Joplin rag, sort of a tearjerker, at the end of all things.
Except for the big dance, bonfire and cookout,
scheduled for 8 pm, that same night.

Have you ever had a moment like this?
Say you're removing your trousers for bed, and although you checked all your pockets moments before, as you take one leg out, a coin falls from one pocket of the trousers. The coin lands on its rim and begins to roll. At the very same time, you are thinking about a serious choice you have to make very soon, and instantly, you decide that if you can catch that coin before it stops rolling, then your decision will be made for you, one way or the other.

You instantly, silently agree to these terms with yourself. So with one leg in the air, one on the ground, and an empty pants leg somewhere in between, you dive for that coin, confident in your athletic abilities, despite the truth that you've not used any athletic ability since 1999.

As you are reaching for the rolling coin, a fly decides to land on your nose, thoroughly disrupting your aim, reaching for the now tettering coin.
You wipe your face with one hand, and grab at where you last saw the coin with the other....

Neither have I.

Uuggh. Current Score: Krazy Talk from Krazy Town 35, the Local Malcontent 20. And not much time left.
Meaning, only one is gonna win, unless we allow for ties. Upset in the makin'?

Posted by Wendell L. Scotchpoodle, NOT the Local Malcontent

I slept like crap last night. Does crap sleep? I slept like something that doesn't sleep at all, last night. And lucky you, I'm going to tell ya all about it.

Slipped between the sheets at about 2:30 am on this cloudless, moonless night. The stars were very clear out the windows. Amos was happy to just sleep at the foot of the bed, on the floor, as it wasn't a frigid cold night. In fact, I had the wooden door that leads out to the deck opened up, to let in the mild, 45-degree air.

All was set; the situation was perfect; deep, restful sleep was overtaking me in no time.
Until he began barking.

Amos' first bark wasn't the threatening variety, but the second one, the one which got my sudden, 100% attention, WAS. That deep, growly 'grrrr-Barruuk'. He stood there at the screen door with his short fur standing. Looking for the threat.

Funny how, that growly bark is so recognizable from the depths of slumber. I shot up in bed, looked out to the deck, the motion detecting lights were still off... I reached over into the table for my .38, just in case.

Then I heard what made Amos bark, too. Somewhere down the hill, another dog was howling. It sounded like a painful howl, and like I said, there was no moon out last night, so I was able to dismiss both stoned hippies nearby, and a werewolf. It could have been a coyote; having identified the cause of Amos' alarm to my minimal satisfaction, I scolded my friend to keep quiet, and I lay back down.

And listened to the radio, hoping it would perform its function, and lull me back to sleep. But NO, instead it featured a news story about which I couldn't stop thinking, literally. That story was about the bad reviews a new Broadway musical had received earlier that night.

Does anyone else just hate it, like I, when a good idea just will not leave your heads, until you do something about it? Welcome to my world, last night at 3:20am. I just had to rise and post an idiot Local Malcontent blog on Young Frankenstein. The thought of how good a couple of Chocolate cookies might taste about then, didn't help matters. So I got up and rapped out a post and ate two cookies.

Back to bed, I did go to sleep. But then I had one of those dreams! A dream of such clarity and detail, that the ability "to rest" was again a defeated conclusion.
I drempt that I was drafted! Drafted in the army! And though I was drafted, I already had a bad fitting uniform, and I showed up very late at night to the draft center, the army base?, and the two guards on duty were relaxing, eating a meal, kicked back. I ran up to them, with my uniform shirt all unbuttoned, hanging out, and I smack fell down onto the long table behind which these two sat. Ka-thunk.

I stepped back to see that there was an open gap in the floor, just in front of their table, and my feet had slipped into this gap. The guards were not amused. But I was allowed in, and the next stop for me was the barber shop. I stood as the barber shaved my head while I watched in his mirror, with other draftees standing there waiting. Only the guy being shaved in the mirror was not me: This didn't seem in the least way unusual to me, the same guy on the outside of the mirror. I thought he looked like Charlie Brown, and I was more pleased, than alarmed.

Next image was the mess hall for breakfast. There was a sign at the beginning of the chow line, which said that thanks to me, two guards had quit, the night before. Breakfast that morning in my army dream consisted of toast and eggs, mixed with Miracle Grow plant food? Yeah.

And finally, thankfully, the next image of the dream was of us draftees standing at attention, in a straight line, for some kind of inspection. A sergeant or a colonel or whoever came by, looked me up and down, and asked about my uniform. I looked down at it, to see what he was asking about.

And suddenly I was wearing blue. I was in the Air Force instead!
End of adventure. Now for some sleep?

NO. To top it all off, a neighbor who is not a stoned hippie calls me at 8 am sharp, and needs some help with her furnace. She can't get it lighted. She tried different ways, all night long.

So that's who was howling.

Posted by Wendell L. Scotchpoodle, NOT the Local Malcontent

My friend Jon knows what I am feeling. Would he do what I did tonight?
An unqualified yes, to that question. A dear, dear wish for Jon and her.

Four hours on the phone tonight with her, confessing it all, hearing that and more.
Laughing, screaming, doubting, and laughing again.

To the point where fatigue set in, in her, in those wilderness mountains.

"Talk me to sleep," she asked-
"I will, goodnight." I replied.

later, only half an hour in, I'm talking about my home's tin roof, and the sounds of rain and of hail on same.

Drowsily, she comes back to say, "enough".

Reminding me that I can bore even the drowsy to the edge, when I speak.

Ahya`ett`ettohnoyahA`.

Choctaw, for 'Sleep, cherished'. I told her.

But after she had already hung up.

Posted by Wendell L. Scotchpoodle, NOT the Localmalcontent.

Man, I made some good soup tonight, in between rants over on the LoCal side.

Chunky homemade mushroom soup!

1 C. regular Progresso mushroom soup.
1-1/2 pkgs. of chopped white mushrooms.
2 bell peppers
1/2 yellow onion from the garden
2 stalks celery
about 1 C. elbow macaroni
pinch of celery salt
pinch of black pepper

I took my biggest knife and cut up the veggies into 1/2 to 1 inch cubes.
Mixed all of them up, and sauteed about half of them.
Boiled the macaroni, drained it.
added the soup, the sauteed veggies and mushrooms, and a little water, far less than the can of water suggested.
Allowing this mix to boil again, I added the rest of the veggies.

This made for some good eatin', with the flavor of the sauteed vegetables, and the crisper ones too.
Probably about 20000 calories, since I used Land-0-Lakes butter to sautee...
But I can always convince myself that it was a 'lo-cal' dish.

I had some homemade buscuit dough still in the fridge, so I popped three into the oven at the same time.
It was all so tasty that I decided against driving tonight to Tyler Texas to meet my newest friend. Rather, I watched the demise of the New York Yankees. Dessert!~

posted by Wendell L. Scotchpoodle, NOT the LOCALMALCONTENT