Emily I'm still available to help. I won't take your stinkin' money, but I'll be bringing Emmett and if you pay him he'll be very happy. (He'll work pretty cheap too.)
You're the best. Tonight, I think I'll still be throwing stuff in boxes -- which is too bad because AtH!Teacher wanted to take me on a cable car and out drinking in your neighborhood. But the place is still so unready, and I'm about to take a nap (I have to, as I'm nonfunctional at the moment).
do you have Freecycle? I got rid of a LOT of stuff that way. Also, try Craigslist "free" section.
I tried freecycle for my other furniture and got no takers. I can try, but I really didn't want to just give it away to strangers -- it's nice, and almost new, and it was my mother's Christmas present to me! It's several hundred dollars worth of bed, I just can't take it with me!
One of my BiL's lungs has partially collapsed and he has some broken ribs. My MiL is frantic. They're waiting on a surgeon (or a doctor who can decide on whether a chest tube is needed).
Good lord, Cashmere. My thoughts are with your family.
Fuckity, Cash. Hope they get it fixed straight away.
Thanks, Pete. My MiL keeps phoning with updates. I'm sure he'll be fine but it's scary.
And thanks, Aims.
Much healing~ma to your BiL and calm~ma to your MiL, Cashmere. I hope they decide on a course of action soon.
know! Do you like Mexican food? Or Sal's pizza? Shopping? Bars? Dives or swank? Live music? Hairdos and pedicures?
Um, yes. Really. Let's see, I eat Mexican, we own a pizza shop/restaurant/bar that's neither a dive or swanky that occasionally has live music on Saturday nights (but that can be dive-like if the other bar in town closes early), and I can't live without a good cut and color, and nice looking fingers and toes on a regular basis. Oh, and I shop, therefore I am.
I have a feeling we're going to cause some trouble. Hell yes!
Jeez, it's like the A word is the new "Hi!"
What? Just be glad I didn't say "Hi-dorable!"
Oh Cashmere, what a nightmare.
Oh, Cash! Health~ma to your BIL
My South is cornbread without sugar; biscuits; grits; greens; field peas cooked with a ham end; pulled pork with some outside meat; green beans cooked with ham and topped with chopped raw onions; and muscadines and scuppernogs. It's where "peas" means crowder, black-eyed, field and related peas, and the other peas are English or green peas. It's where people still talk about "sweet milk," as opposed to buttermilk, and iced tea comes sweet unless you ask for unsweetened. It's making eye contact with strangers and smiling. It's also poor schools; crazy liquor laws; an unhealthy obsession with high school and college football; and going from your air conditioned house to your air conditioned car to your air conditioned office.
Ginger's South is an awful lot like mine. It's eating watermelon on the porch in the summertime while staring out at green fields of cotton and soybeans. It's chasing lightning bugs in the cemetery after Sunday night church. It's turning your thumbs purple shelling field peas. It's where I'll always be Kelly's girl and Ervin and Eunice's youngest grandbaby, and where everyone over 70 exclaims over my uncanny resemblance to my dad's Granny Wilder. It sings the old hymns with more of a twang than a drawl. My South's battle cries are "War Damn Eagle" and "Roll Tide Roll." My South is the red clay I'm rooted in no matter how far I travel.
