We May Think Differently But We're All The Same Inside

 I lived (for over fifty six years) in Georgia.  As a little girl, growing up,  it was overwhelmingly Caucasian where we lived. Our racial division was a road named Norman Berry Drive. The whites lived on the north side of it, the blacks lived on the south side of it. We had our schools, they had theirs. We had our parks, tennis courts and ball fields, at least three or four gyms and an Olympic sized swimming pool, complete with a high diving board which always had a line of us waiting.

 The blacks had one small swimming pool, maybe one gym and for the life of me can't remember one ball park or tennis court.

How humiliating (for them) and embarrassing (for me) was that?

It was just the way things were in the fifties and sixties, especially in the south. The high school I attended was the first one to be totally integrated. They closed the blacks only high school and made it a junior high for all eighth graders from both schools. By the time I graduated it was an even racial divide. There were never any problems or tension, we all simply got along. It was my first real exposure to black culture. The students were all bussed over, dropped off  or drove from the south side of Norman Berry to the north side to attend high school in an all white community.


I often wonder why we can't all still get along?

Not just blacks and whites, but every ethnicity, every religion, every gender, culture, political party or even every different mindset of thinking.

One thing is for certain, cut any person open and we're all the same on the inside.

I'm amazed by people, who while claiming to be a Christian, feel it is okay to bash others on social media, often calling them horrific names, posting derogatory comments, memes and personally attacking them and even their family members.

Umm...have you forgotten about that "Golden Rule" to live by?

Jimmy Carter is a man I admire and is wise beyond his ninety something years. I would have to say since I was born in 1960, three men have stood out to me in my life more than most. My own Diddy, Martin Luther King Jr. and Jimmy Carter.

All men, who may have had faults of their own but overwhelmingly had excellent beliefs and visions for a better future.


I feel as if this nation , my nation, is almost polarized beyond the point of redemption.

We live in a society which seems to favor pointing fingers over extending a hand to hold or help.


I'll be honest. I'm not a fan of  Trump. I didn't like him on The Apprentice, or even before that, so certainly knew I wouldn't enjoy him sitting in The Oval, but he is.

I have never bashed him or his family. It is what it is.

He is our elected president and wish him nothing but success. To wish him anything less would be wrong for all concerned.

I've shaken my head often at his Tweets, especially when he spelled Marine Corps 'Core' and back pedalling on Mexico paying for the wall, which seems now like he intends for to come out of our pockets.

The real problem is that over forty percent of eligible voters never bother to vote.

What a true travesty for democracy.

Let's hold hands rather than hold grudges and point fingers.

Let's come to the table of our future existence, sit down and talk about what we want to leave as our mark and contribution to society as life goes on.

I'd much rather be a lover than a hater.

When will this world realize what my own Momma taught me at an early in the deep south of Georgia?

All you can do is hope. All you can do is pray.

Just don't hate.

Worst four letter word ever.

Till next time...COTTON

You're Killing Me Smalls

I just don't get people sometimes. Number one, it kills me when someone constantly gripes about their job...the entire shift...every shift. It's not like you're being forced to work there. If you hate your job, get another one, but don't make everyone else miserable, having to listen to your moaning and groaning the entire time. For Pete's sake, it's called  "work" for a reason.

It's like when servers complain about not making money after they have had two tables. My rule of thumb is to wait until the end...the very end of a shift, and then complain if your shift sucked wind.

Case in point:

A couple of weeks ago I had a lackluster shift. I was a closer...everyone else was cut but me. Only three more tables came in but two of the tables each tipped me thirty dollars and the third one tipped me twenty.

BAM... eighty bucks right in the ole pocket....my pocket!


The older I get, the more 'You're killing me Smalls' moments I tend to observe on an almost daily basis.

This past weekend was one of those moments.

Hundreds of thousands of teen agers across the country stood up together against gun violence.

They almost immediately became the target of social media bashing, photo shopping and many of their statements were taken out of context and used against them.

How sad is that?

I wonder how many of those bashers actually lost a child or loved one during those six minutes and twenty seconds on February fourteenth at MSD high school? I'd venture to guess none.

I, for one, was proud to see youth stand up and demand to be heard after suffering and witnessing a horrific killing spree in the halls they walk every week day of the school year.

When I was in high school, our biggest worries were winning the football games on Friday night or  getting caught rolling peoples yards with toilet paper on Saturday night.

Todays' kids have to worry about someone walking into their school with an assault weapon, and being indiscriminately picked off and killed by the spray of a high capacity magazine of bullets.

So these kids, some not even old enough to drive a car or even vote, did what they could do. They demanded to be heard and made their voices count even if their votes can't count...yet.

I could never imagine having to see seventeen of my friends and teachers at the high school I attended being killed right in front of my eyes. That's a pretty heavy load for any teen ager to bear.

Heck, that's a pretty heavy load for anyone to bear.

Yet as the adults...the ones who can vote (although almost 49% choose not to) are going to speak negatively about, and shake our heads at these kids, who are asking the adults and elected politicians to fix this problem before it happens again?


Once again...

I am embarrassed to say how many people I actually know who have bashed these kids outright on the Facebook Nation. Thank goodness I don't Tweet or Snapchat or Instagram.  I think my head would explode off my tiny shoulders. Every single one of them should be ashamed of their self. They are comparing these children to Hitler, calling them Communists.

I'm calling them what they really are... concerned children who will one day be in charge. Their speeches were eloquent and intelligent.


Not to mention I was also pretty under impressed by our own President not even responding to (or about) the fact that over half a million people stood together asking for change.


My father never owned a gun. My husband has never owned a gun, nor have I, but that's just us. We've never been interesting in hunting or ever been hunting, and luckily have never needed one for protection.

I have no problem with responsible, law abiding citizens wanting or owning a gun, after a proper background check.

The problem I do have is someone being able to have and use an assault weapon capable of firing at the enemy during war times.

                                     This is more than obviously a weapon meant for killing.


The only people who should have access to these deadly weapons are the military or law enforcement.

Keep your guns, if you are entitled to own and want one, but please let's be realistic and get these weapons meant for combat situations off the streets and more importantly out of the hands of people intending to kill as many people as they can in the matter of a few minutes or even seconds. How many more tragedies have to happen until politicians realize this?

And most importantly, don't verbally spit on these children or their agenda. At least they have one.

So we gripe about millennial generation being lazy and feeling entitled yet once they take an interest in political issues and a stand for their own well being and the rest of us as well, we spit on them.

Trust me, these kids are woke now...and going to be a force to be reckoned with once they step into that polling booth for the very first time.

And "No" that wasn't a Nazi salute. For Pete's sake, who doesn't know it is a sign of power?

I went to a high school that was split fifty fifty down the racial line between blacks and whites. Do you know how many fists I saw drawn on notebooks and book covers or the back of lockers?

A lot...and am pretty sure they had absolutely nothing to do with Hitler.


I am proud of these kids while at the same time absolutely horrified of what they have had to go through and lose to be heard.

Anyone who knows or has worked with me in the past ten years know what I'm going to say next...


"I hear ya!!"

And I do.

Till next time,


                               COTTON

Random Observations

I have closed at work the past two nights. Not my favorite shifts but were at least nights when we close at eleven. I'm simply too old to close on weekends anymore, when we are open until one AM. They are extremely profitable shifts but at my age tend to profit more from beauty sleep and a late night glass of wine.

Last night at work I felt exhausted the entire shift. When I'm not perky, everyone notices and more than a few co workers mentioned it to me. Tim had gotten back from his trip to Georgia before eleven AM and I ran errands most of the day, before heading into work at six PM. The storms came rumbling through Orlando around two and were pretty intense. Tim was only home for the day, heading out the next morning to work out of town the rest of the week.

I struggled through the shift and actually made pretty great money using my 'Game Face' but came home (as we say in the south) wore slap out.

I got up when Tim left (six AM) and tumbled back to bed as soon as he shut the front door behind him. I didn't sleep the entire time but never bothered to rise to a vertical position either. Massey left the house around one for work and since our dogs can't tell on me, remained in bed until two.

I blame it partly on Tim, for buying us a king size, dual mattress, adjustable Tempur-Pedic bed with his discount from work. Icing on the cake are the jersey sheets and pillow cases I bought. Trust me, buy jersey (tee shirt material) sheets and you won't want to get out of them either.

So I didn't.

Two o'clock hit but no one was at home, the dogs had been fed and let out and General Hospital  came on the TV.

Why get up now?

I watched GH with my back to the TV. I've been watching it so long I don't need to look at the screen, listening to the (redunkulous) storyline is enough to let me know everything I need to know. It's never watch worthy until Friday's cliffhanger episode.

Then three o'clock hit.

I moved my tired legs with all their popping veins across those wonderful sheets and thought to myself, "Let's see (actually listen) what kind of goofballs Steve Harvey  has on the Family Feud today? I still have three hours before work.

I was still the only human in the house, didn't have to be at work until six so what the hey?

The question was "Name something your dog would do with a bone that you might do with your husband?"

Can you believe none of them guessed "Bury it?"

                                                              Total 'bitch please' moment.

I mentally and physically pulled myself out of bed at three thirty...with two and a half hours to spare.

I made some tuna salad, ate some and packed the rest in my trusty lunch box.


I felt like a new woman when I walked into work. I'd done absolutely nothing for over ten hours, and apparently was all I needed to recharge my ole lady battery.


I'm almost fifty eight years old, have been slinging plates full time since 1979 and is enough to make any person feel tired.

You have to pace yourself if you want to win the race yourself.


I told Tim as he left for out of town the other day that I didn't want to work five days a week anymore.

He said "Well then, don't."

I feel okay with this decision and apparently so does he.

It might (will) mean tightening my financial belt but I'm okay with that. Yes I'm a slow learner at a new job but have finally hit my stride after a seventeen month long training period. I actually have people who ask for my table now....who'd a thunk it??

I'm beginning to build up my formerly pitiful savings account again. We are well on the road to recovery and although I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, am sharp enough to know when it is time to kick it down a notch.

It's simply time to realize I'm not a kid anymore...as much as I wish I was.

I'm going to keep working five days a week for a bit more, stash away as much as I can, then begin to stop and smell the roses... working four days a week.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger...and it did. Our road the past five years proved that to be a true fact.

I'm not killing myself anymore... been there done that.

But I feel like working full time is.

Bit by bit, day by day, shift by shift.

It's time for me to catch up with my gray hair, wrinkles, aches and pains...while I still can.

I'm not slowing down, trust me. I'm simply deciding after almost forty years of doing the same thing five , sometimes six and often times seven days a week...it's time to stop and truly smell the roses of life, because they don't bloom forever.

Till next time,

A much contented COTTON

Can I Be A Server On A Rascal?

It's only six hundred bucks but if I had one, could keep serving until my carpal tunnel gets so bad I can't work the hand controls. We'll need to replace the basket in front with a tray and instead attach the basket to the back so I can take their dirty plates to the dish room. I'll back into the dish room with my little reverse beep sounding, to alert the dishwasher to come around and unload me. Of course we'll have to put a little bell on the handle bars to let other servers know when I'm zooming up behind them, aiming to pass.

Talk about the perfect plan!

...And just think about all the 'pity' tips I'll get!! Who cares if they start calling me Flo?

                                                         I've certainly been called worse.

I can still run circles around most servers who are younger than my youngest youngin but age is starting to get in my way. My back starts hurting about four hours into a shift and kills me to have to bend over and pick something up off the floor. I have to hold onto something to get back up. It's borderline embarrassing in front of guests. If I drop something (fork, knife, napkin) in the kitchen or back I never hesitate and ask one of the young servers if they will bend over for me to pick up whatever it is. I'll always say "Thanks for being a Bender for an old lady."

I've gotta get back on the Yoga train, which helps my back more than anything (other than a cold one).

I still enjoy serving and has served me well for almost forty years. I just need modifications now.

I can polish and roll silverware like a ten year old kid from China in a sweatshop, making cheap clothes to ship overseas, but carrying two (huge) buckets of ice from the back of the kitchen to the front of the house leaves me exhausted. I guarantee they weigh more than me.

I always ask the male servers to carry heavy stuff for me, like racks loaded with tons of silverware or the baskets of silverware after I polish and roll them, and they always oblige. They may roll their eyes after they walk off with the load but at least their backs are to me so I don't see it.

I usually say "Why don't you be a Tote(er) for me?" And always ask them when they happen to be just standing there talking, while I am standing there working like they should be doing.

Works every time.

I'm still not used to cooking for just three people, after cooking for a family of five for decades and always end up with tons of leftovers every time I cook at the house. I always pack a huge container of whatever I cooked and take it into work with me. When I heat it up after the rush dies down, the servers will line up in the back with a plate and fork. It looks like a lunch line in the high school cafeteria.

That works out pretty good for me as well. No one likes to bite the hand that feeds them.

                  Basically, I'm a hard working 'Work Mom' and enjoy the title very much.

The great thing about waiting on the public for a living is no matter how hard or long, crazy, unpredictable or unfortunately every once in a while not a very profitable shift...you will laugh about and at many things throughout the process and always have something to smile about, looking back. Most of my funniest memories are restaurant related.

Case in point: Not so long ago it was balls to the walls busy at work. I was told to greet yet another new table and was stopping to tell them I would be right with them as another server walked behind me as I was approaching the table, and asked her to take whatever I had in my hands for me, and she did. I said to her "Thanks. Love you long time" then turned back to my table and saw two Asian people sitting there.

Or the time when I was working at the airport and an older dude took his little sleeping pill a bit too soon before takeoff...

Or the people I used to run into riding MARTA and shuttles to and from the airport when I was too broke to park there. Most amazing woman ever...zipped and unzipped that purse almost a hundred times in under three minutes, as I acted like I was reading something on my phone. Crazy enough, no one else even noticed her.

My older son was working with me at the airport back then and hitching rides with me. He bought a car shortly after this next pic was taken on our way to the world's busiest airport. I embarrassed him on an almost daily basis with my oddball observations.


The shuttles were almost always packed and would sometimes ask employees to get off and give passengers our seats. This particular day was slower than slow and it was just me and my son. One other man finally boarded just as we were leaving and for some strange reason crammed himself into a tiny back corner seat...the seat no one ever wanted on the shuttle bus. We were bumping around Loop Road on the way to the international terminal which sits out in no mans land on the other end of the airport and I started thinking about the line from Dirty Dancing about "Nobody puts Baby in the corner" and started kinda chuckling to myself.

Unfortunately my son asked me what I was laughing about.

I leaned over while trying to whisper in his ear (he says I didn't whisper) but was already so tickled said a tad bit louder than I meant to, "Nobody puts Bobby in the corner."

The good thing about working at international, you rarely see the same people, ever again.

I think my son bought a car the next week.


One last one:

About twenty years ago when I worked for LongHorn, my two younger kids went with me to work one day. The hostess, still a friend of mine to this very day, was at the front door.

                                        That's her on my right side with her arm behind me.


 When she walked off, Zach asked me "Where is she from?" I said she was from China.

                         Zach was totally serious and said "How's she get to work...a boat?"






There is nothing funnier or better or more entertaining than working with the public every day in the service world. Every day you meet different people. Every day you experience something totally different, whether good or bad. I couldn't stand a monotonous job. The same thing, the same people, the same result at the end of every same day. Do it long enough and you will encounter many more wonderful people than horrible ones.

I'd rather take the gamble and be a server. The stories you hear, the people you meet, the connections you make and if you are a good enough server, the appreciation they all shown you on that tip line.

It's kind of like the way I try and live my life.

                                    Be a good person and good things will happen to you.

                      I know I'm crazy. I know I'm loud and I know I sound like a hillbilly.

But I try and be a good person. Not the best person, but a person you would like if you randomly met me or actually knew me.

Last case in point:

Had a customer last night who complained about me to a manager. It was the worst service she had ever had. Not going into details but the manager was totally on my side and told me to forget about it. I worried about it more than my manager and actually worried about it all night. I was on the expo line talking with the cooks. I love our cooks and think they all genuinely like me as well. So many servers don't even bother to know the cook's names, or the dishwasher's names or anything about them.

One of my favorite cooks happened to be there and said to him "I waited on your mother and your entire family on your mother's birthday. What kind of server did she think I was?"

The woman is no slouch either, graduated Rutgers and has an executive job with one of the theme parks here.

This is what her son said to me...and made all the difference.

"My mom thought you were the best server she's ever had. She felt like she wanted to have you as one of her friends."


That is what I strive for as a server, and as a person. I want you to feel like you've made a friend when you've interacted with me.

I'm a pretty simple girl. I got my hair cut today for $12.99. Looks fine to me, couldn't imagine spending more than twenty bucks for a cut these days. Makes me feel stupid for spending thirty five or forty when I was young. No telling what they charge now. I buy cheap makeup because I don't wear a lot of makeup. I still have and wear clothes I've had for well over twenty years. Big Lots is one of my favorite stores. I spend more on stamps and note cards than I do clothes. Buy classic and it'll be good for decades. I'm blind as a bat and far sighted but get my cute little peepers at Michael's for $2.99. People compliment me about them all the time...as well as my hair. Massey does my highlights. One bucket of Kaleidocolors for twenty bucks lasts me over two years.

All these little things leave me with enough money to help others. My kids, co workers, peeps from back home, peeps I've met here and peeps I've never met but seem to need a helping hand.

I'll probably make it into Heaven but be bumped to the south side of it, but that's okay too. I'm used to being a south side girl and will probably meet a lot of of old friends there.


You shouldn't be a "Woe is me person" or a "I can't go on person" because that's simply not true.

You aren't, and you can.

It might not be easy and may take more than a minute, or a month or even a year or two...or more.

But to battle and persevere, to keep going when you simply think you can't make it one more step...is when the good things begin to happen. Maybe not always, but way more often than not.


For all the people (and there are more than many) who helped us reach this point, where we can actually reach out and help others again...Thank You.

I don't want to live without you...and couldn't have. This includes my husband. We've stood together through the good and the bad and finally the best.

    When it seems like there is too much on your plate, maybe you aren't eating enough crow.


Till next time, COTTON

Spring Done Sprung

While the northeast is getting pounded again and again and again with nor'easter and still pretty chilly back in Georgia with snow and freezing temps, Spring has sprung here in Otown. We've had a couple of days when it dropped to the forties overnight but once that sun comes up, so do the temps. I was listening to the news early this morning, the weather dude said "Grab a sweatshirt on your way out the door this morning."

That's all the winter I need anymore.

Living in Georgia for well over half a century, I experienced enough cold weather to last me a life time.

                                   If I want winter now, I simply go back home for a visit.



I like living in the land of eternal flip flop season. Only downside is I have to keep my toenails polished year round. I'm so old the hair on my legs apparently went somewhere else to live.

My chin and upper lip.

One at a time...literally.

Note to post menopausal women everywhere: Keep a pair of tweezers and magnifying mirror handy when you hit your late fifties.

At least I only have to shave my legs once a month now (if that often) and they still look like Massey's, which she shaves daily.

                        I guess what I'm saying is growing old has its good points and bad points.

Heck, life has good points and bad points...with the only actual bad point being not waking up.



The great part about living in central Florida is that you can plant or grow anything pretty much year round.  Even though we're still renting (for now) and had to extend our lease one more time, whoever moves in next will have a terrific yard waiting for them with about twenty different types of perennials blooming almost twelve months out of the year.



One thing I miss is my big yard back in Georgia, especially this time of year.

 I've never been really picky about how my house looks on the inside but am a fanatic  about my yards.

Our front yard here in Orlando is pretty small. The backyard is even smaller. The landlord pays a guy to do the yard work but is never up to my standards. They miss spots, which drives me nuts and aren't the best weed eater operators. I remember one time back home when I used to cut the front of our subdivision twice a month. I was taking the kids to school one morning and was at the stop sign at the end of our street, waiting to turn on to the main road. I put my car in park and got out to pull one tall weed I  had inadvertently missed the day before. I looked back and Massey was sitting in the car, shaking her head, while rolling her eyes.


I don't have my weed eater here with me, it's still in the garage of our old house. If I did have it here, would most certainly go out after the yard guys left and trim all the weeds they missed myself.

Instead I focused on the front yard which was pretty dull when we first moved in. I pulled weeds by hand for two days straight in an overgrown former flower bed and planted a ton of seed packets I had from my nephew's wedding. They had given them as gifts at their wedding and I took home every single packet guests forgot to take with them.

I planted them all about the second week after we moved in (mid October) and two weeks later they were popping up like crazy... in November!


Unfortunately I didn't keep up with the clipping of dying ones, drying them out and replanting the seeds from the center and by this spring once again had an empty flower bed. There was one type flower, totally in the center that did come up again this year. It's the tallest green one in this photo, which blooms red.

I caught bulbs on sale at Big Lots. Three dollars, with three bulbs in each packet!  Gladiolas, Brown Eyed Susan's, Lillie's of the Valley, and about ten other varieties.

 The last time I stopped in they had a roll out, ten foot long organic mat for flowers which attract hummingbirds. That's right...on sale for $3.99.

I went home and dug out the hummingbird feeder from a box in the garage that Massey had given me for Mother's Day a few years back, took it apart, cleaned and washed it and loaded it with homemade nectar. It now hangs outside, over the center of my kitchen window.

I wasn't real crazy about cleaning out the area underneath the window, I saw a snake back there one time, but put on shoes instead of flip flops and did it anyway.

It's not a fancy house. It's a tiny house. But it's our house, for now. If I have to live there another six months, so be it...but if I have to back out of that (also) tiny garage every day to leave that tiny house, I want to look at an awesomely groomed tiny little yard.

We don't really have a winter season here.We have a dry season. It rains every day (usually for about twenty minutes) all summer long and makes everything lush and beautiful. During the dry spell, wildfire season occurs. Our grass is barely existent now.


BINGO!!

Big Lots also had bags of grass seed on sale for five bucks.

What kind? I don't know.

Oh yeah I do.

The cheap kind!

So I'm also spreading by hand (the push spreader is also in my garage back home in Georgia) two bags of "I don't care what kind of" grass seed and watering the yard and my flower beds twice a day.

Going back for another bag tomorrow to randomly toss  in our back yard. The dogs go to scratch their backs on the grass and get up looking like they rolled in a hay stack. With all their pooping, that grass ought to be well fertilized and green as grass in no time!


Baby steps.

Be happy where ever you are in life.

It could always be worse and sometimes may be, but if you keep on keeping on and give life your best shot...the chances for success always increase.

It took me a long time to feel comfortable enough to call Orlando home but is now...and that's okay too.

                                         Can't wait to post pics when all my planting blooms.



Negativity brings nothing but negativity, so why focus on it?

My husband always says (used to drive me nuts) "You can't go back" but he is exactly right.

You can't.

Move on, press forward, hope for the best, and prepare for the worst.


'Lather, rinse and repeat.'

That  should be life's mantra.

I'm getting old, actually seventy five percent of the way there, but trying and keep a younger mindset...even with all my wrinkles and batttle scars.

Along the way I have learned one very important thing.

As long as you fill your life with family and true friends; they will be warriors who will always have your back...and you will be okay.

And I am.

                                            Older, a little bit wiser and grateful to be both.



I'm not going home again, unless for a visit and will try and do so often. Sometimes you can't get it out of your head...but I've always been a slow learner.

Till next time...COTTON

Handsome Just Not Handy

Tim was a Pretty Boy when I first met him in 1988. I remember one of the delivery guys for Johnny's Pizza, where I worked and met Tim, used to call him Timberly.

When we hit the financial skids, his hair turned totally gray seemingly overnight. At least he still has  hair.

He's always been a good worker and diligent employee. He worked for Hartsfield Warehouse for almost ten years and never missed one day of work. Before that he worked for Engelman's Bakery and never missed day there either.

But here's his thing...

Once he is clocked out from work and home, he remains clocked out. It's pretty much my own fault. When I first met him he had just been through a pretty stressful divorce and I really felt sorry for him. I swooped in, took over and he allowed me to do so. I've always gone a mile a minute and will attempt anything myself, whether I know how to do it or not...usually using a trial and error method.

I've always loved yard work so Tim never had to worry about that. He still doesn't. When I first moved in with him, before we married, it was to help him be financially able to get rid of a deadbeat roommate. I had lived in a tiny but awesome one bedroom upstairs apartment, perfect for me and less than five minutes from work. Total rent, including utilities was $230 a month.

Tim had gotten the house in his divorce and I was all excited to have a yard, front and  back.

No riding mower for me back then, but gladly pushed that mower every single week and pulled weeds by hand.

I trimmed the rose bushes and lined all the flower beds with loose rocks from a lot around the corner where they were clearing land to build a new house. I bet I loaded my tiny Nissan pick up with about fifty loads of rock they had scattered all over the place.

I scrubbed and cleaned the house and brought all my furniture with me to fill his empty home. I was living in heaven but also creating a monster.

I finally had a real house and yard to live and play in and he finally got a free and extremely willing live in maid and yard lady.

It was a win/win for both of us.

When we moved to Coweta County about six years later, we bought our first brand spanking new, recently constructed home. 

I got to play house again but in a brand new house.

That was even more fun! I got to pick out the carpet, the wallpaper (never buy wallpaper) and they installed it all. I had brand appliances in the kitchen, four bedrooms, three baths, a sprawling back yard going beyond a creek (on our property) and a pretty big front yard as well.

We hit the big time!

I still did everything. Tim brought home the bacon, I fried it up and cleaned the kitchen afterward. He didn't have to lift a finger at home except to pick up his fork and eat the plate of food I plopped in front of him every night, and still didn't bother me one bit.

Then after twenty years of marriage, twenty two years of living together, the bottom dropped out. He lost his job and I simply picked up every available at LongHorn, where I was working at the time. I worked sometimes almost thirty days in a row. Tim looked and looked and looked for a job. Seems forty something year olds weren't high in demand in the rapidly tanking economy. He fell in to a pretty deep depression and literally found him on his knees several times a day in prayer, searching for an answer.

But I kept on keeping on. Housework, yard work and work work.

"Lather, rinse and repeat."

It got old quick.

Then it got on my nerves. Then he got on my nerves.

Then unbelievably I lost my job as well.

Even before all this happened, he wasn't exactly handy . I remember when our hot water heater quit working. One of my managers at LHorn also had a handyman service on the side. The hot water heater was located in the attic above the third floor of our house. My manager told Tim to go to Home Depot, buy a new one and get our two boys to help him haul the old one out, the new one in and he would come hook it up for free.

My manager came over after that to do his part and climbed his way into the attic with his tool box. Tim was at work so it was just me there. My manager came back downstairs with a puzzled look on his face. I asked him what was wrong? He said the new hot water heater in the attic was a gas one.

That meant nothing to me.

Then he pointed to the old one now sitting in the middle of the garage and said "He took out your  old electric hot water heater but bought a new gas one. You don't have a gas line to the attic."

                                                                        Oh, Jed.

Then again, he is married to me...

                                    What's even worse is this is only one half of who I am.

Bonus points...

                                                     Yeah, ole Jed's a lucky, lucky man! (not)

I gave up trying to get him to do things around the house. He gets easily frustrated and is (usually) the only time his temper surfaces. It's not pleasant to be around.

My kitchen faucet and sprayer needed to be replaced one time so I went to Home Depot and bought a new one. I asked the guy if it was easy to install? He said "Sure, your husband can easily do it."

My reply?

"You can install this from a recliner?"

He chuckled and I asked him if he thought I could do it, he asked if I had any tools? I told him I had a pretty big wrench and a really big bottle of wine.

He said "Sounds like all you need!"

And it was.

Tim and I lived apart from each other for over two years once he started moving up the Haverty's ladder. First he lived and worked in Lubbock, Texas all alone. Then he got promoted again and transferred to Orlando, where my brother was gracious enough to let him stay at his place.

Then after a year working in Orlando we all moved down to join Tim and moved into our tiny temp rental sardine/dog can.

One (the only) good thing about renting is when something quits or breaks you simply call the landlord to fix it. It worked out great for us when Irma hit last year, destroying the privacy fence, ripping off gutters and half the roof tiles.

So the other morning, Tim went to leave for work about five in the morning. He opened our bedroom door, the knob came off in his hand and I heard parts drop onto the ceramic tile floor.

Tim:

"The bedroom door won't shut now, so be careful and keep Ziggy in here because Ham is in the living room."

Me:

"Nope! Just put Ham out back, it's seventy two degrees outside and I'm not risking a dog fight especially with you at work."

Jed: (notice the name change)

"Okay, I'll call the landlord today."

                                                       Was he effin' kidding me?

                                

                                       Total

                                                                                                                         moment.

I got up around ten(ish) and went to Walmart. The door knob cost me eight bucks. I had it replaced in less than five minutes with a  phillips head screwdriver (no wine needed). I immediately sent 'Jed' a text saying the door knob had been replaced... before he called our landlord, who would most probably think of saying to Tim, what the above meme did.

Bless his heart, he just ain't a fixer. He's a good man with a good heart and good intentions. That's enough for me.

For all we have been and gone through, together, at least every step of the way has been accompanied by laughter and lots of it. Sometimes tears and worry but more often than not...laughter.

This was him the day I saw him off to Lubbock from the Atlanta airport before I clocked in for work. He spent over a year living alone in Texas and missed two Thanksgivings, Christmas' and every birthday in the family, including his own. He did it all for us, and would do it again and again if he had to.

                      That is the exact reason I continue and dance with one who brung me.

                         

                                                                 ...and always will.

                     A husband doesn't have to be perfect, he simply has to be perfect for you.

      Love long, ferociously, be accepting and never, ever give up on love, or it will give up on you.

       Instead always remember why you fell in love in the first place and never forget it.

Till next time...COTTON