Michael,

Thanks for the story.  It evoked the sights and sounds of a lot of well
remembered southern meanderings.  I especially liked the part where you
asked the preacher if dogs were allowed in heaven.  The only fist fight I
ever got into as a child was the result of the baptist kid next door telling
me that animals couldn't go to heaven.  I beat the snot out of him . . .  My
parents didn't exactly punish me for it, but they did encourage me to
refrain from future theological debates.

My best to Belinda, it was great to meet her at IPTW.  I want to meet Peanut
next time!

Lisa


----- Original Message -----
From: <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, August 09, 2002 11:18 AM
Subject: Re: Travels with Peanut


> The following is from my masons journal , it  was written just after the
PTN
> confrence  the best way to enjoy iit is to print and read at your leisure
>
>
> Travels with Peanut
>
>
> My two and one half year old, Mary, blew off the babysitter
>  and said she wanted to spend the day with Da -Da .
>
> Such decisions have a ripple effect in the trickle down economy  of  day
care
> negoation  and are not to be taken lightly.
>
> I positioned my cigar  and with arms folded    took a defensive stand
behind
> my best rock face and screwed it into a  puss.  .
> Nutt-ing doing ;
>  she reads me like a book ,
>
> When  I look into those baby blues... I  am  toast.
>
> I don't know what it is,
>
>  I hold  my own at board meetings ,    leveled teamsters on the take
>  and  backed down rough necks on drilling rigs;
>  but bargaining with the  "Peanut" and those  baby blues..
> .is treachery.,chicanory and piracy on the high seas  of  kids  with
winners
> take all..
>
> With the market down and my portfolio in shambles;
> I punt to the winds of  sanity  and  give in to the therapy
>  of road trip  with Mary; sometimes known as   Peanut..
>
> Playing  hooky from my worldly responsibility and how important I am is a
> necessary elixir  to my financial depression. I let it ride and take a
ride.
> .
>
> I packed peanut  and Louise ;my  hunting dog ,
> up in the old  open air  pick up, and under buttermilk skys take the
cruise
> at 45 mph the  back country roads
> . letting the  air and the smells  of the coutryside permeate  the ol GMC
as
> we ramble down  sunken roads of hardwood and pine
>  where  moo cows nod howdy  and the hay is in  second cutting...
>
> Louise , the Airedale ,rides shotgun and sticks her scruffy  head out the
>  window  and acts the bearded  dowager as the scratchy A.M receiver lets
> Peanut and I sing country Western off key.
>
> Its 97 deg out but we don't care ,
>
> "Peanut"  sports a tiny N.Y Fire dept tank top ; cheap sun glasses    is
> barefoot  with a diaper that has  Minnie Mouse on it.
> As the C&W plays  ,  Mary  bouces along   caterwalling and
>  takes turns putting her sunglasses on Louise who  lets the glasses fit
> lopside and finds  it old hat, .
>
> We tend to like to visit the   little tie rail, cross roads , of  fried
green
> tomatoe cafes.and  two pump filling stations that dot these dirt roads.
>
> We only stop at places where Mary knows the waitresses  and she knows alot
of
> waitreses;
> They make a fuss over her and it usually gets da-da a free cuppa and a
piece
> of pie, which does nothing for the waistline,
> They ply her with suckers and gummy scooby doos which I confiscate with
> complicated  flim flams .
> as she diaper dances past  old jukeboxes and patrons  frozen in time..
>
> Deep woods Mississippi suffers from the benefit of No    50's
modernization ,.
>
> 60's renovation, 70's  restoration , or 80's preservation .Dotted among
vast
> timber tracts are ;
> Little outposts of turn of century store fronts
> Windblown  vernacular oddesseys  of  "last picture show" emporiums where
the
> screen door with the tin sign slams your butt and encapsulates you,
>   helpless in depression era wonders of stacked canned goods alongside
chill
> boxes with bottled  Dr. Pepper .
>
> You pay at the  manual cash register  hung with assorted  moon pies  that
are
> decorated from above with  fly paper ribbon from a tin ceiling .
>  .
> Dogs sleep all over the porch; and you can curl up with "The News of the
> World " or "The Enquirer " on some cane chairs provided you lean back on
them.
>
> If these are Twilight zones l'll take em .
> The East Village has  retro ; this is real deal.
>  Here  you can still find 50's floral patterns on the shoulders  of
country
> girls who prove to you they are more comfortable without shoes ;  (or
bras)
>  as they sweet drawl you   over tail gate produce   in dazziling displays
of
> sweet   melons, garlands of peppers, "mate-rrs, "and white and golden corn
> that can melt in your mouth. ..
>
> As Mary inspects kitchens with young  silver haired Grandmas who push
cookies
>  I get caught up  on local sports and gossip with men in white shirts and
> suspenders who chaw in rocking chairs  and use the red dirt road out front
as
> a cuspidor.
>
> They love to talk story and  pontificate the finer points  about the .
Braves
> (and their working  mules) both  who seem  indcernable to me   this late
in
> the season.
>
> They complain good naturally  about the next cross roads down the road  as
> "Ticky" or strange. .
> Humanity always amazes me ; no matter how  poor one place is another is
> always worse.
> I must say  down the road is unusual.
> Mary and I like to go there  because because the people are just a little
> more "different"or
> "Diverse" as I like to   kid my wife , Belinda
>
> Geologists like it because it was an impact zone ,for a meteor about the
time
> of the dinosaurs.
> This leads to speculations  that the in habitants  are "walk ins"
> (exterteresstial visitors) trying to act normal but out of sync
>  with their bee hive hair dos; make shift clothing
> and 40's small town
>  quirky simplicity  of  Barney Fifes and red neck geniuses
>  settled around a town square that time has forgot.
>
> We make the town square after a 15 min drive through corn fields.
>
> To pass muster with the extreterrestials   -Da-da  poses  as   the country
> rube  with  an old  upturned "yeller"straw with Jap  shades that sit
crooked
> on my nose  then  let Mary run interference as we  thump mellons and
meander
> through bric -a -brac of old  tail gates full of farm tools and pictures
of
> Jesus.
> No UFO's here
> A gaggle of   Mennonite Women  in white caps and identical house dresses
in
> red checkered cloth eye Mary as if she needs a bath....she dosen't
> but I get the picture
>
> Old farmers with cracked and weathered faces and  necks red from the sun
sit
> by pens of rabbits and squawking fowl talking story and spitting chaw
into
> the red earth.
>
> We pet baby goats and tug on homemade ice lollys
> and listen to their banter on how the miners who were buried alive ;
> requested "chaw"
>  to be sent down the rescue pipe.
> Smiles all around followed by more spitting.
>
> Just then tow head Country children run barefoot through mud and mowed
grass
> followed by yapping puppies..
> .Mary trys  to follow and I catch her by tables of  farm women with broad
> worn work  hands who sell homemade jams and jellys and dried flowers .
> They  laugh at the "Chillun" running   and crow with drawls so  thick you
> need an interpeter to make sense of it..
> We move along after getting jam on our faces near where
> a  gospel station plays out of the chrome dash of one old pick-up that
sits
> in front of a revival tent
>   Mary picks up tempo  and bounces on those little legs mimicking
>  the  tinny  old gospel
> ......."Victory for Jesus ...My savior... fur ever"  ....
>
> With the cheap shades on and dancing while holding   Louise  with   a
> clothesline leash...
>  Im not sure she fits the image of being saved
> ...
> ."He  (jesus) lifted me and saved me "....blares  the radio
> .
> Worse yet
> Im not sure I want to know  the pint sized Lolita  ;
> as she is  bouncing  her "booty" in front of the church ladys
>  who  close in to .... "save "her
>
> " He lifted me and saved me with his sacred blood"...Oh Victory fur
Jesus"...
>
> Push comes to shove, Finally I come to my senses and I  "Save " her.
> ..managing to just escape the impending revival..tent .by a reverend  with
a
> beard that  could double for Mr. Natural ..
>
> 'Have you been saved brother?" he asks
>
> "Are dogs allowed ?" I respond
>  "why No..
>
> "Then  I guess I will stay with the unwashed ...... perhaps next time" ..
>
> Getting saved in Mississippi  is not the same as say when your wife saves
you
> at a cocktail party...
> .the ramifications are much more complicated .;
>  for one you have to give up cocktail partys
>
> not an option as my therapist won't allow it
>
> Too bad; as  there are folks here who get saved every week
> Besides It  looks like fun getting dunked in the river ;
> then going off and falling in sin ( getting drunk) ,or worse.....
> only to get dunked ..
> .and saved again
>
> Up North its different
> you get hosed once a week at the collection box;
> and once you make communion you are perpetually saved
>
> its more expensive that way ,
> but at least you can still share beverages  with your friends  . .. ....
.
> and forgo the pond water once a week
>
> No walk ins today......it must be mid week...but no telling what we would
of
> found in the revival tent.
> Besides its time for Marys nap
> By afternoon we make a job site and Mary lays down with Louise  in the
truck
> under the shade of a grove of peach trees  while I hob nob with the masons
> and contemplate
> the little things .
>
> Michael .
>
> --
> To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
> uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
> <http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>

--
To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
<http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>