Saturday, May 19, 2012

Typical Day (For Me)

Had to wake up early to take Massey to a funeral for her friend's step dad who died from cancer. I had to stop off  at B&L tire to drop off Johnny's old tire so his new one could be mounted. I dropped it off and got back in the car looking at  the clock and said "It's only 10:35 we have 25 minutes to get to the church." Massey said quietly "It started at 10:30." (I wondered why she kept rushing me)

NO WAY! I read his obit yesterday and could have sworn it said the service started at 11:00. Massey pulled it up on her iPhone and sure 'nough it started five minutes ago. Luckily we were only five minutes away from the church.

It's not the first funeral I've been late to and  probably won't be the last. We screeched into the parking lot of the church to find four cars in the parking lot.  I remarked it was a good thing "WE" came.  We got out and pulled on the front door...locked! I had Massey pull up the obit again and it even gave the address of the church we were standing in front of locked out .

We went back to the house to look at the newspaper I had read the obit in and Massey called the funeral home.  They informed us it was indeed at that church but was being held in  the "Contemporary Chapel" not the sanctuary. I backed out of our driveway and we headed back to the church to discover a road that led behind the church to the "Con-Chap" where fifty cars were parked.
For Pete's sake!  Now we were over thirty minutes late...a new personal record for me.

Massey was gracious about my goof and as we went in the front door we were met by the dude from  the funeral home who said we could slip in quietly . I asked if we would be entering from the back so no one would notice and he said yes. I've been late to funerals before and pulled open a door and had 200 mourners staring at me...not the best feeling in the world.

He was right and we quietly slipped into the back row to hear the minister giving the closing prayer. I told Massey her friend would never know about our goof but would be happy she had come to support her. Massey was the first person the girl hugged on the way out. I hated we were THAT late but at least we made it in time for this young girl to know  Massey made an effort to be there.

We left and went back by  to see if Johnny's back leg was ready. Not yet, so we bought a bucket of KFC and went home for lunch.  Being the old woman I am I took a hour nap since I couldn't cut grass. We went back and picked up Johnny's hind leg around 2:45.

Here's the an idiot I ordered a new tire yesterday but didn't even think  I needed to take the old one off and drop it by the tire store so they would have the rim to mount the new one on. I spent ten minutes in  the garage this morning (in my nice dress) trying to get the old tire off before we left for the funeral.  One of Zach's buddies recently fixed his hunk of junk car at my house and either hid or took every screwdriver and pair of pliers in my garage. Let me show you what I finally pried the washer off the axle with:

Does this give you  any indication of "How I roll?' I can remember one time when I couldn't get the cotter pin through the front axle , broke it and used floral wire to twist tie the front tire on. It only worked for 30 minutes but I got the front yard cut before the front tire fell off.

I came home with Johnny's new back leg and got Zach to lift his ole carcass up while I slipped on his new "Cinderella slipper." It fit perfectly!  Here was the next  problem:

I have learned to hate these washers. I spent forty five minutes trying to get  this washer back on. Broke two blood vessels with the needle nose pliers I borrowed from Mr. Slow Lee next door, hit my thumb about five times with the hammer I was using to try and knock this "BEE-OTCH" back into place and finally had to quit forty five minutes before I had to clock in at work. My hands looked like I had just replaced an engine, twice. I asked Mr. Slow Lee if he had some GO JO for me to wash my hands with to which he replied "Huh?"  Massey explained it was hand cleaner and he said "Just use gasoline." The thing is I HAD no gasoline. He had left me a two gallon can when they left on their eighteen day cruise but I used that up the first time I cut his yard (and mine) while he was away. After he went in his house and shut the door I sneaked into his garage and found a can of gasoline and poured myself a handful.

No time for shower but I got one yesterday.   I went into work smelling like gasoline with melted funeral makeup touched up and some extra deodorant .  Thank goodness it was slow and I was back home in my garage by 10 PM sitting on the floor in my work skirt with a flashlight and hammer, bound and determined to get  that stinking washer back on. (I was out of floral wire and bread twist ties)

I sat for a hour on the floor banging away at my thumbs more than the washer. I came inside and called my sister to ask if her husband was still up? He came to the phone sounding sleepy and told me to put each side of the needle nose pliers into the hole on either side of the clamp and spread it open while I pushed it into place.  Armed with a Natty Light I went back into the garage. No go!  I thought I was strong but just couldn't make it happen. Instead I put the pliers (which weren't "needle" enough) through the clamp while closed and opened them stretching the clamp open until it was wide open enough to bang onto the axle, then closed the washer shut using the pliers.

"Got'er Done!"

I was exhausted, my back was killing me and felt like it was going out again from sitting on the concrete floor for two hours but at least I had Johnny's hind leg back on.

Now all I have to do is wake up in five hours and vacuum the house before I go to work at 10:30 because Massey is babysitting a seven month old while her mom works the lunch shift with me. I don't usually worry about my floors, they are over five feet below my face but this little girl is crawling and I can't leave without at least getting her "crawling space" semi clean.

Coming home and cranking ole Johnny Boy up!

Why does every  thing have to be so difficult? Of course if it wasn't...I'd know it wasn't MY life. I kinda like my crazy difficult fly by  the seat of my pants throwing it together at  the last minute describes me perfectly.

Til next time...COTTON

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