MaternalLee

Pregnancy does hilarious things to a gal. She gets huge and grouchy; hates things she once loved and is compelled to consume revolting foods like V8 vegetable juice and Spaghetti-os. I experienced the rainbow of conditions and symptoms associated with pregnancy this time around, but never realized that relating with my neighbor, Lee would fall into one of those categories.

Things slow down when a woman becomes pregnant, and life's demands are reassessed. For me, all forms of exercise came to a halt, my otherwise healthy diet took a back seat to whatever garbage I could eat without puking, and my obsession with a clean kitchen became more of a theory. Complications early in the pregnancy prevented me from doing anything involving cardiovascular force. The most exertion I expelled was with my 3 year old; lifting him and kicking the soccer ball around, kicking him and lifting the soccer ball.. That type of thing. Around month 5 I began having dreams about sprinting through a grassy meadow, legs extended with the wind blowing my hair and clothes. As I remembered myself my footing became sludgy, and my sprint soon became more like armless swimming. I awoke feeling sad and heavy, looking forward to birth in a whole new way. It occurred to me that my neighbor, Lee and I had more in common physically than we ever had before.


Lee's physique is a geometric and physical conundrum. The angles created by his belly and his hip/upper thigh area are perplexing. The tight drum that is his stomach has the same qualities as a pregnant belly. Pale, silvery stretch marks around the flattened navel, protuberance at the fundus beyond that which seems possible. The harsh meeting of the lowest part of the belly to the groin... Pants which refuse to suspend themselves at an appropriate level revealing a plumber's crack/gangsta sag in tandem. Shirts that don't quite button over the midsection and won't cover the bottom 3 inches of the stomach. All of this occurred to me one afternoon as we were both engaged in the same activity: sitting in the yard doing nothing.

Months 6-9 of my pregnancy were spent in discomfort. My usual activities of gardening, biking, running, hiking and swimming were replaced with sitting, reclining, waddling, and lifting 3 lb dumbells. I was trapped in my body and the least amount of activity made my uterus contract, my round ligaments ache and my sciatic nerves zap themselves into a frenzy, sending lightning pains through my lower back into my knees. I longed to have my body back and promised to work hard at being healthy and fit as soon as the baby came. I noticed that Lee complained about his back and knees all the time. He has a bike that he rides to the store and the library that is electric, but he still has to pedal it up steep hills. Amazing. How could someone with the weight distribution of a reverse weeble-wobble manage to position them self on a bike AND pedal it uphill? I couldn't even look at my bike when I was pregnant. Just seeing the seat made my pelvis ache. I decided to offer Lee a ride whenever I went out.


The next day Fox and I were leaving the house on our way to the library, and Lee was milling around his yard with a backpack. I asked him if he wanted to come to the library with us and he said yes, as long as I would take him by the tobacco outlet and the grocery store. We left the house and were driving down Island Home Avenue when Lee yelled "HEY SLOW DOWN UP HERE!"

I slammed on the breaks imagining I had either hit an animal or hauled ass past a cop, but Lee continued, "Jus up here one er two more houses... THARE! That house right thare!"

He pointed toward a tiny house with a covered porch and a steep driveway.

"Pull up in thare" He demanded.

I slowly eased the truck into the driveway and wondered what we were doing there when Lee explained; "Back in the 70s I put a new toilet in 'at house. I knew th'man who owned it an he give me a lawnmower t'fix at bathroom up"

As I sat there looking at the house, I realized that Lee was relishing the moment. As strange of a point of interest as it was, I completely understood Lee's motivation. He was including me in his life history with an explanation. He continued the story of the man, and how he knew him through his grandmother who lived in Vestal. The man had a few houses in the area that he rented out, and his grandmother lived in one of his properties. He wanted to drive to Vestal to show me his grandmother's old place, but we didn't have time.

Lee told me that one time, back in the 70s, his friend had a baby that refused to nurse and went 17 days without eating. He ordered her to take that baby "up 'ere an see my grandmother", so they went seeking advice about the starving infant. Within a few minutes of their arrival, Lee's grandmother discovered that the baby's tongue was malformed preventing the child's ability to suck. She gave the baby some sort of sustenance and went with it's mother to the hospital. Lee then told me the name of the baby, and I realized that he was still in communication with the child and his mother. The baby's name is Christian, and he is now 12 or 13 years old. Lee invites him and his mother over to eat supper with him a couple times a week and feels responsible for the kid in some way. He even built the kid a bike. As dangerous as that bike is, how wonderfully touching is it that Lee felt like giving it to this kid. He said that he had to "look after 'em" since his granny saved his life.

Feeling teary and sentimental, I told Lee that he was a great friend to Christian and his mother, and to Jason, Fox and I. He looked at me like I had just punched myself in the face and had a bloody nose, then thanked me for the ride and hopped out of the car.

Brand new Baby

I haven't been writing much since the birth of my daughter on March 22nd. Plenty of interesting things have happened, but there's just never a good time. Now, for instance, the baby is screaming her head off. I should go take her from my husband's arms and get her to calm down. That's the thing about being a mother. Maintaining your interests means neglecting your kids to some degree. The thought of going out with friends seems impossible, and if I did have an evening sans children, I would probably spend it sleeping. Isn't that sad?
My son just come in and requested that I accompany him into his room to play with trains.

Don't Fuck with the Natives, or Lee's Rant about 'nam

My Music Media Box

Indo Music Code Generator by musik-live.net

Brace yourselves. This is a bizarre monologue by Lee. Don't read any farther, just listen.


Here's what happened:

Jason walked over to Lee's house the other night to return some plates he had left at our house, and realized he had his his voice recorder in his breast pocket. As soon as he walked in Lee began this explanation of why he never received the millions of dollars which he told everyone about. Those of you who have followed this blog know all about this, those who haven't might enjoy the recording for the sheer drama. Any archived blogs tagged with "wacky neighbor", "crazy neighbor", "lee" or any combination might provide an informed backdrop for those interested, but I'll admit that no amount of information will make this make sense.


The general idea is that while on missions in Afganistan and Vietnam, Lee killed an unstated number of people in a lagoon of some sort, blinded a man-eating, Taliban owned lion with an explosive hen carcass crammed full of "red oak saw dust and broken glass", and was able to manage with the help and direction of an Arapaho Indian Chief.


Because he was committed to the Natives for blessing him with his powers and abilities, he was unable to confront the government regarding the money they owed him for completing this mission. After participating in a Sundance ritual, Lee received a Native Blessing of the "Blue Lights", which have followed him around ever since. Lee has hundreds of these "mystical orb" photographs, and believes them to be Native Spirits protecting him, but when he sees them in photographs of other people, he believes they are negative or otherwise unclean spirits.

He believes that the government has began to realize his connection with the Natives, and that the Native's philosophy of the "circle of life" is preventing the completion of the agreement between the NSA and himself.

Finally, since three of the bodies in the lagoon have been discovered, the success of the mission is clear, prompting the government to finally pay up. Lee mentions that he knows the money is coming since he saw one of the government agents responsible for accounts payable featured in an Olive Garden commercial.

Lee has been biding his time "being secluded and white" and thirty years have passed while he has waited. He is relieved that it's finally over after "[putting] everything on the line for it"

After Lee finished speaking, Jason set down the dishes he was returning, and opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing appropriate. Luckily, Lee's ramble continued, and moved on to other matters. Hopefully Jason will edit the rest of it so I can publish it soon.

"Estate Sale", directed by David Lynch

I've gotten into going to estate sales.

Each weekend Jason and I check the paper and look for interesting, local sales and make a morning of it. We find excitement and wonder in rummaging through the belongings of the recently departed, and there's typically older living folks around to occupy Fox, my three year old son.

Last month on one such morning, Fox, Jason and I set out with a list of addresses of estate sales. We woke up early and wanted to get out as soon as we could because it had snowed a few inches and driving in the snow is so fun, but so rare.

The first sale was really crummy, and the next two didn't seem to be happening due to the snow. The last sale was in an area neither of us were very familiar with. I was navigating with the map, and when we arrived at the address it was a muddy, gravel drive ascending a small hill, topped with a broad, aging barn, surrounded by machinery, ladders and golf cart parts.

We figured it was the right place, though there were no other vehicles in the driveway, and the three of us approached the windowless door.

In an attempt to prevent a gust of cold air, we rushed in through the cracked door and pulled it shut in a single, fluid motion. A moment passed as our eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and we realized that we were in a small corridor, not a vacuous expanse as we had all silently imagined.

The sound of muffled conversation and a fading, clinking noise was coming from the dark corner. Before us was a small, folding table covered with cups and statuettes with price tags attached. An old barrel-turned-wood stove blazed just inches away from the backs of our legs, so Fox naturally gravitated towards it. Jason and I exchanged looks of doubt, and we assessed the items on the table, as there were no other tables or display areas in sight. The objects were bizarre and obtusely overpriced; a leather bottle for eighty five bucks, two elephant bookends for forty five dollars each. Gourd drinking vessels painted with mineral paints, hand blown glass bottles shaped like a rainbow.... It was more like an exhibit of worldly artifacts than a Knoxville estate sale.

Suddenly, a woman with thin, white hair pulled onto the top of her head was upon us, and she greeted us in a mechanically high-pitched German accent.

"Good day to you, and this small boy who loves the fire" she said as she gestured towards Fox, quickly repositioning her hand behind the small of her back.

We said hello and introduced ourselves, then commended her table of antiques for their authenticity and quality. She willed her face to rearrange itself into a smile formation, then asked "What is it that interests you"?

Jason and I looked at each other blankly, and he blindly picked up something from the table and began asking questions about it's origins. I pretended to be concerned with Fox's proximity to the stove, and pardoned myself from the sales pitch.

As I knelt down to Fox's level I realized that there were two middle aged men sitting behind a plywood table, drinking whiskey. I smiled up at the men and asked how they were doing, Fox fully hypnotized by the dancing flames in the stove. The men smiled and asked about the roads, and I told them that they were fine and that no one much was out.

I heard the old German lady describing the Italian leather bottle to Jason, expressing her belief in it's superiority to any other vessel due to it's durability, unbreakability, and that it "WILL not leak, not EVER"

Awkwardly, I praised the strange stove's great dimensions, complaining about my own stove's size and it's need for short, little stumps of wood to feed it, while this stove could accommodate huge log sections.

As if an animation button was pressed, the younger man rose and joined Fox and I on the small rug in front of the stove and began describing how he constructed the stove from the interior of an old water heater. He showed us the door mechanism, and the tubes and dampers he inserted into the base of the barrel for air. The man was absolutely thrilled to be discussing the stove, so we continued on topic for what seemed like forever.

Jason and the old woman had made their way through all of the items on the table and had began chatting with the other drinking man, who abruptly disappeared through a back door, then reappeared carrying a small, wooden truck. The man presented it to Fox who was quickly tiring of the fire, and I took a moment to explain to Fox that he wasn't to burn the truck, no matter what.

The man smiled and pointed towards the truck with his sweating, amber-toned drink and said "Old Ricky Melton's daddy used to make them trucks. He give me two or three an they jus been out here since".

His accent was so East Tennessee that I was almost pulled from the strange, German spell cast by the woman. The woman carefully made her way over to the man, stepping gingerly around Fox and I, and putting her arm around him murmured sternly into his ear, "Did you give that truck to the boy? That your friend has made?"

The man drunkenly shrugged and turned his face away from the woman. She continued pressing the question until it became louder and unavoidable to the rest of us.

Feeling an uncomfortable escalation in emotion, I nervously blurted, "Hey! We'll leave the truck here when we leave! We don't want to take it from you"

The two pairs of eyes seemed to snap up at me at the same moment, and the man said, "waail. I'll take five dollar for it", as if he were doing me a great favor.

There was no part of me that wanted to buy the truck. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but I knew that we would bring it home, then Fox would put it with the other million trucks he had and it would soon be forgotten.

"No, I couldn't! It's an heirloom from a family friend! I couldn't take it" I attempted.

"Five dollar's fine" He said without any trace of a smile.

I knew for a fact that we didn't have any money. Typically when you go to an estate sale it is held by an estate-handling company, and they are A-OK with accepting checks. We just don't take cash around much.

The more time elapsed the more I wanted to grab Fox and bolt, leaving the truck on the rug in front of the stove, but Jason began fishing around in his pocket. At that exact moment the barn door swung open and three college students sauntered in carrying suspicious-looking, "go vols orange" insulated cups.

The younger man stood up and welcomed the trio in, and one of the college kids asked about the golf carts he saw out front. Jovially, the man directed the student through the back door and I caught a glimpse of a john boat on a trailer, and another intact golf cart. The drunk man engaged the other two students, one male, one female about the game and who was winning.

I wanted to leave that place so badly. Jason knew it and he bent down to parley with Fox and I. He held out his hand showcasing three one dollar bills, three quarters, two dimes and four nickles. Hmmmmm. Will this be seen as an affront? I wondered. Will this be the gesture that turns this intoxicated man into a kidnapping, killing machine?

Jason sensed my concern, and as he squatted in the cramped area the seam in the seat of his pants tore. Loudly. Alarmed, I looked at him, then casually reclined myself to access the damage, then narrowly avoided a panic attack by visualizing myself back in my car, driving away, eating chocolate.

The two men burst forth through the back door, and Fox got a better look at the boat, then started harping about wanting to go look at it. Hoping for a distracted exit, I said no, but the younger man heard him and said "Aww! He can go take a look at that boat! Come on!" He reached over to direct Fox towards the door and I glanced at Jason, who simultaneously rose and followed, discreetly pulling his sweatshirt over the seat of his pants.

The college threesome were laughing riotously as they left the building, expressing thanks about something unknown.

Fox, Jason and the younger man reemerged from the back room where Fox was running and squealing, clearly over the scene and ready to move on. Jason had a few bills in his hand and explained our lack of funding to the man. The younger man smiled and looked at the other man and the old woman and said "He wants that wooden truck but all he's got is four dollars an fifteen cents"

The drunker man looked at the old woman with a thoughtful look, and she nodded with closed eyes and her lips pressed firmly together. Neither seemed pleased with the deal.

We gave them the wad of money, Fox grabbed the truck, and we got the hell out of that place.

Stupid ass commercials

I hate people in jewelry commercials.

The wives, husbands, even the sleeping children; why don't they all just shut the hell up and rethink their cultivated existences. Get over yourselves! Then go to hell!

The manipulative tone of expectation and praise for choosing a particular store or stone is offensive. The woman's reaction is nothing short of Pavlovian in these scenes. Teary eyed and sentimental, she seems to have reached some sort of goal she set long ago. Life is finally paying off for her, and she repays her husband's "expression of love" with physical affection. You know, like a prostitute.

The notion of a husband giving his wife an expensive piece of jewelry is equivalent to a bribe. Through out the year, most commercials depicting husbands and wives illustrate an intellectually imbalanced relationship, strained by children, responsibility, incompetence, irrational spending or obsessions with sports or technology; never expressions of true compatibility! Are there commercials featuring men and women that doesn't exploit ideas of their personal conflict and miseries? Isn't that the precedent set in these "types" of advertisements? Then WHY during the Christmas season are things so great between husbands and wives? All of the crap of the year seems to fade along with the smelly socks, the chainsaw snore, the "know it all" looks of disapproval; are consumers supposed to just forget all that stuff? All those grilling accidents? Those credit card shopping sprees and broken 52 inch plasma screen TVs cause you did it wrong? Forgetting to pick up the kids? That 30 pounds gained? That nagging depression? That humiliating erectile dysfunction?

Now that it's Christmas we are supposed to believe that we are happy after all, deserving of expensive trinkets made of minerals extracted from illegitimate governments, mined by displaced children. We are suddenly happy with our mates during this season, compelled to reward them with these tokens, knowing that if we continue faking the smile, we will either get one or get some. That's what love is, right?

I really, really hate those bastardly commercials. And almost all others, too. The day that I see myself in one of those "wife" characters is the day I sign up for the Deepak Chopra workshop tour and throw the TV in the sinkhole. I don't want to do that because I really like the new Fox show, Fringe, but it would be worth it.

Leesearch

Ever since we told Lee that I was expecting he has sorta disappeared. I still saw him around, but he was definitely keeping a distance from me and Fox during the day. Peace settled into my yard, and I relished my newfound ability to exit my home without facing an emotionally charged monologue about flying helicopters in Naam. He did flag me down one day as I was pulling out of the driveway; he handed me a change purse full of pennies and asked if I would go to the tobacco shop to get him a pack of Red Cap tobacco. I asked "Red Hat"?, and he turned and yelled;

"CAP, RED CAP, not hat, CAP"

as he pantomimed putting on and removing a hat. Other than that one occasion I hadn't encountered him on a conversational level in weeks. This all ended yesterday.

Fox and I were outside playing in the yard when I noticed smoke billowing into the tree tops around me. Since Fox has really made progress with mastering a bic lighter, and since the smoke was so near I figured Fox was responsible for the fire. I hopped up and assumed my "angry face", heading towards where Fox was huddled, and realized that he hadn't started a fire. I peeked over the shrub and saw Lee fanning a massive pile of leafy brush with a piece of poster board. It was popping and snapping, emitting opaque smoke which spanned the entire street, but was concentrated in Lee's immediate vicinity. It looked like he was in music video.

He did the thing where he just starts talking as if you were already engaged in conversation, and I smiled and nodded to keep up. I realized that he was inviting me to his house to see a clock he made out of a sprocket and beer caps. Fox was going nuts trying to get into the fire, so I pulled him away and into Lee's house to see his creation. Basically, Lee had bought a clock, removed the hands and attached them to the center of a bicycle sprocket. Sorta like this:



First he showed me the sprocket clock, then he called attention to the "parts" clock which he had painted hands onto the face frozen at 4:20. He was equally pleased with that clock.

We left his house and Fox and I returned to playing, and Lee to burning green branches.

A few minutes later Lee returned and asked me if Jason had ordered a book for him. I asked him about the book, and he told me it was written by a woman named Moore, and it was about her pictures of mystical orbs. I told him that I would look it up for him.
I was about to use that as an excuse to go inside for a while when he abruptly asked me another research related question.

"Did'jew listen to that Coast to Coast radio show last week? Tha'n bout th' Trixters?"

I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, so he started telling me about it.

"See they had dis guy on ere as uh guest name Chris O'Connor, or Chris O'Neal er somethin, but he got on the air an started a'makin fun uh me! Back in the 80s he was lookin' for all th' Ghost Dancers an Skin Dancers out west and he ask me t'take em, so I told em that I would do th' Ghost Dance an he could see for himself, but all he wanted t'do was all this decibel stuff with recorders an stuff. Ye'know he was like one uh these professor types not wantin' t'do the work jus wantin' tu write some big book! So I told em that I'd take him to meet some shamens and medicine men an he was givin' me a hard time, a callin' me a shafe shifter an some kinda weekend warrior an got mad an so I said "fuck this" so I went t'town tu that Goodwill store an bought $50 worth uh stuff: I got sum deer antlers an clear packin'tape an plastic wrap, so I put flour in th'plastic wrap an put it over my face real tight, an taped them antlers to my head, and got this piece of blue fabric wrapped'round my shoulders. See, I waz tryin' t'camoflage in with th'storm an fog. Then I got up on his roof with a brick on a rope an started walkin 'round the roof lettin' that brick bounce on the wall, then I stuck my head in his window an scared him so bad he come running naked out into the snow. I figgured that'n needed t'be scared."

I was thoroughly confused as to how this had anything to do with the radio show, and I asked;
"So the guest on the show talked about you on air"?

Lee excitedly replied
"Hell yeah he did! He was callin me all sorts uh shit some kind uh 'shafe shiffer' weekend indian! He was pissed off an all I was tryin t'do was help em out! After we wuz there I took em up Arizona where them people were diggen in walls makin houses, called 'cwiff dellers' er sumthin. Back when I wuz workin in commercials an TV an stuff I did all kinds uh shafe-shiptin' an was turnin into animals an doin photoshoots
an all. Hell! You SEEN one of um when I wus turned to a wolf! Remember that magazine ad I showed you? I done that an I done a car commercial as a bear that breaks in th' car an eats th' doughnuts...I don't like doin' it much though.
But I need you t'get on th'internet, look up google, an punch in Coast to Coast, and Trixters, an see if you can't get that episode loaded on a CD for me cuz I need t'listen to it again."

I was itching to go inside, so I acted real urgent-like about it and told him I'd check it out pronto:
The Tricksters - Shows - Coast to Coast AM

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I haven't had the time to listen to the stream yet, but I'm really looking forward to
putting the pieces together. I looked up the book he was referring to and this is the author, Rochelle Moore:







I'm not sure what it all means, but Lee is definitely into the mystical realm of existence. If I can pin down which book he is interested in, and it's available on Amazon I will definitely get it.

Lee cracks me up so much! He is always asking me to search for bizarre stuff on the internet for him, and he scours the South Knoxville library's adult non-fiction section, which probably consists of fewer than a few thousand books.

the most unfortunate name

Last weekend my sister-in-law came to visit and brought a big bag of VHS movies for Fox to watch. Included in the sack was Walt Disney's Robin Hood, a film that my brother and I watched millions of times during the 80s. Since Robin Hood is portrayed as a Fox, I assumed my son would love it, but I had no idea that he would want to watch the movie twice a day, starting the moment he awoke.

It has been frustrating, but also fun to relive the humor and music. Tons of details emerge which I didn't notice as a child. For instance: the name of the man responsible for the voice of the Sheriff of Nottingham's name is Pat Buttram. What an unfortunate name. What a shame that my brother and I didn't notice that in the credits, as we weren't big credit readers at that time. Buttram. That's just plain awful.