LARGETONY Blog

T.G.I.H.N.T.

Thank God it’s Half-Nekkid Thursday. Other wise, I might not have posted anything at all.

And I hate it when I leave you guys SOL.

BTW, my next post will be #500,

That’s an important one.  So, I’ll try to make it something that A-OK.

I got an e-mail this evening from another blogger who was curious about the theme template for this blog. That was a surprise to me because I think my blog is so Plain Jane, I never imagined someone would be looking for something similar.

Don’t get me wrong. I like the look of my blog. It’s very orderly. Maybe he has COD, like I do.

Anyway, he introduced himself in the e-mail, so I thought I would tromp over and check out his blog, WELCOME TO EARTH DAVID.

The first post I came across was a video of him dancing. It reminded me of the Jiggy Dances, first made popular by BrettCajun, and picked up by others like Kelly.

I have been challenged to take part in the Jiggy Dance Off, but I would just be terrible. Besides, I have to laugh every time I hear about it, because “Jigging” has a whole different meaning to me from childhood. Now, some of you might like a video or two of that.

David is pretty good at it. So, it seems like BrettCajun and other Jiggers might have a new Jigger to contend with. And you Jigger lovers will have an addition to your viewing schedule.

Hopefully, Brett can handle the competition. I’d hate to see his Jiggy Dancing career go into a downward spiral like I’ve heard his tennis career has.

Allegedly, of course. I don’t know that from Brett. He doesn’t say much when things are not going well. And his blog has been awfully devoid of news from the courts, lately…hmmmmm.

May Day can mean different things, depending on who you are. For some it’s a time to dance around a pole with ribbons (I never understood why). For some it’s a cry of distress. In old Russia, it was a time to celebrate. It still is for the Klan.

I called the Attorney on the way down to Knoxville.

“I’m coming to town.”

He wasn’t expecting it. So. he asked if everything is okay.

“Fine. I’m going to see my mama.”

May Day is the anniversary of my mother’s death. Eighteen years ago, today. I have not had a mother four years more than I had one.

“Do you need some company or is it something private,” he asked me.

“I always go by myself.”

“Oh.” I sensed a little bit of disappointment in his response.

“But, if you want to…” I offered.

He got there much later than I did. I figured it was because he was coming from work. But he said he just wanted to give me some alone time. Plus, it turns out, he stopped on the way to get a little potted plant to leave for mama.

He handed me his jacket and squatted on the balls of his feet, careful to not let the knees of his suit pants hit the grass. He clawed at the ground with his bare hands and used his long fingers to dig out a 2-inch square spot. He plugged the flower into the little hole and mashed the earth around it with the flat of his big hands.

I questioned whether it was allowed that we plant our own things.

His knees popped as he stood up and brushed off his fingertips. “I don’t know. But the plot is paid for, right? Seems to me you can do what you want.”

He made a good point. Plus, it made my mother’s simple little grave seem a little less lonely.

She’s there all by herself. My father was buried someplace else. (Not sure why.) But my granddaddy is someplace else, too. And Granny will joining him when the time comes. There’s room for me. But, I want to be set on fire instead of decaying in the ground.

It makes me worry that I don’t visit more than once a year.

The Attorney says that once a year is acceptable. I don’t know. Acceptable doesn’t mean right.

It was awfully quiet out there on a Thursday evening. About the only sound was the breeze that was bringing the clouds threatening rain.

So we stood there in silence.

I never talk out loud to mama. I always feel a little silly when I do. Because she doesn’t answer back out loud.

Eventually the Attorney came up and bumped his shoulder against mine. It’s his version of PDA. I slipped my arm around his lower back and pulled him a little closer.

“This is him,” I said out loud.

And it didn’t feel silly.

May Day is the day that I introduced the Attorney to my mother.

If i had a hammer…I’d be like the dude on the baking soda box.  Sort of.  I don’t bulge as much, though. Not in the bicep. I’m more suited for Charm & Rammer.

“Christian Boo Sale”

That’s what the sign said. It was outside one of those warehouse places that specializes in coffee table books. I guess the “K” had fallen off or blown away.

Or maybe not.

Mega churches have become major commercial ventures and many sects of Christianity use fear to spread their message. Maybe there really was a “boo sale” going on.

“Buy one hell fire at full price, get a brimstone for free!”

I’ve always been fascinated by how powerful a tool fear can be. (Look at the current White House.) It’s even more fascinating that it works on so many people.

For me, if something is scary, I am more likely to stay away from it, rather than, say…worship it. (Again, look at the current White House.)

I always thought of God as someone to look to for guidance, not orders. (”God is my GPS”). But, maybe guidance is more Jesus’ role. Maybe Jesus and God have worked out a sort of good cop/ bad cop thing. Like Christopher Meloni and Mariska Hargitay on Law and Order SVU. (No doubt many have gazed upon Meloni and seen Heaven.)

After all, the song goes “what a friend we have in Jesus…”

Jesus is the one you don’t want to disappoint. God is the one you don’t want to piss off. Because if you do, he’ll be opening up a Sam’s Club-sized can of Boo.

“Forty-eight ounce cans of Boo: three for $11.99 on aisle seven.”

People will pay $8 to be frightened at the movies. They pay at least four times as much to be scared on a roller coaster. So, would it really be a surprise to see folks forking over a some serious dough for some good old-fashioned God-fearing?

“Price check on pillars of salt.”

I don’t have a camera on my cell phone. I’m probably about the only person left who doesn’t. Besides the fact that I am somewhat of a purist (phones are for contacting someone, not taking pictures, playing games, or surfing the web), I just never saw the point. I’ve gotten through almost 32 years without a camera of any sort. (I don’t take my own pictures). Why would I need one on a phone?

For the snapshots. *click*

A snapshot is a capture *click* of the tiniest most minute moment in time. A moment so unique *click* that it will never happen again. You can try to re-create it. But you can’t. It’s happened. It’s gone by. The snapshot is the only way to revisit it and see it again in exactly the same way.

The brain takes snapshots automatically. And like a camera (digital anyway), the shots are store away in memory. But our personal memory is a little defective and every time you pull out the snapshot, it fades a bit. And eventually it disappears. Either from fading or from being replaced by another snapshot because the memory card is full.

Luckily, I am a writer (or at least attempt to be). So, even though the snap shot eventually fades, having it written down at least helps blow the dust off a little.

The attorney and I spent the afternoon together on Sunday. That’s rare for us because usually it’s a Friday or Saturday. The weather sucked, but it was still a great day for snapshots.

I joined him at a clothing store where he was being fitted for a new suit. It’s dark blue and I swear he already has six just like it. But, he swears they are different. Just like the dozen or so white shirts that he has to go with them.

I know some of my readers are into men in business clothes. You’ve told me so.

It’s never been a fetish for me. I actually get more of a crotch knot seeing the attorney in an old t-shirt and shorts than in uniform.

But, I have to say it was sort of sexy seeing him slip into a coat that was being shaped just for his form. Once it was fitted, there would not be another coat exactly like it. It was sort of a snapshot in itself. A snapshot of the attorney’s torso. His and no one else’s.

I even felt a little tinge of jealousy when the clerk stood behind the attorney in the mirror and smoothed the fresh fabric across his big shoulders then trailed his fingers along his lats to the bottom of the coat, which he gave a small tug, making it fit just so.

Is that typical or did he just cop a feel on my attorney? *click*

After the clerk got his tactile snapshot of the attorney, we stopped in a book store. Neither of us needed anything. It was just there and we had time to spend together. So, naturally we went in and immediately separated. Our choices of reading material are completely different.

On a side note, I had no idea how expensive books from a store have gotten. I had not been in a book store in a couple of years because I have gotten so that I buy books on Amazon. The price difference is staggering. No wonder people don’t read anymore. It just bugs the hell out of me that the things that are most valuable to the quality of life are least accessible to the average person. Our priorities are so fucked up.

After a while, I went to find the attorney. He was sitting at a table near a plate glass window, backlit by the gray rainy day outside. He was pouring over some political book with his reading glasses on the end of his nose. *click* It made me imagine what he would have looked like 25 years ago studying in his law school library.

On the way out of the store, something caught my eye and I stopped to pick it off the shelf and give it a quick once-over. While he waited patiently, he sort of shifted his weight, rocking from side to side. Eventually he rocked enough to touch his shoulder against mine and gave me a little nudge. *click*

To the casual eye, it was just a “let’s go.” So, we did.

We hit a restaurant for dinner. It was a nice place. Not fancy. Just nice. And the food was excellent. I had a pork chop so thick that I thought it was stuffed. I cut into it and it was all meat, baby. And it was grilled perfectly.

I was intrigued by another couple sitting near us. It was a man and a woman probably in their late forties or early fifties. Probably husband and wife. Yet, I doubt they spoke two words to each other the entire time we were there. They barely even looked at each other.

How’s that for a snapshot?

It was like they were there merely for nourishment. “Herb, it’s time to sustain life. Where do you want to go?”

Maybe it’s because I don’t eat out a lot, but for me, going to a sit down restaurant is more about enjoying the people you are with than eating. I couldn’t imagine having a good meal in a nice environment with someone I’m close to and not connect at all. I’ve seen strangers at a lunch counter more connected than that couple.

How did they get that way?

It made me wonder if the attorney and I are together for several years, will we become like that? Neither of us is a big talker to start with and we often spend time together in quiet. But, never are we so detached from each other.

I felt sort of sad for them. And I’m little embarrassed to be so happy when others aren’t.

After dinner, I was invited back to casa de attorney, but I had to get back on the road home. So, before I did, we sat in his car for a few moments and steamed the windows (It was raining, after all).

*click* *click* *click*

I haven’t been posting much lately. I’m not sure why.

If it weren’t for HNT, I might not be at all.

Maybe it’s because the well is dry. Or maybe it’s because it’s spring.

Maybe it’s just that I am preoccupied.

In a good way.

Whatever it is, I’m grinnin’. Hell, I’m practically shittin’ a kitten.

Hakuna matata, ya’ll.