Displaced at the YMCA

I am a devoted Y patron and am usually there everyday during the week. Child watch is between 10am and 1pm, so I fall in with the lunch break crowd; those bad asses who choose to work out instead of eating. Most faces are familiar, but occasionally I see someone new who impresses me in such a way that I have to wonder;
What the hell brought you to the Y today?

The first encounter I had with the "twins" was early last spring. The two women looked somewhere between 40 and 50 years old and they were identical twins. The same round figure, moon face palmed by thin, dark hair, sloped shoulders, arms hanging by their sides. Both women seemed to have dressed with neither regard to their appearance nor their activity for the day. Polyester slacks, panty hoes, grasshopper type shoes, one in a Travis Tritt shirt with a lacy cardigan on top, the other with a large, spotty sweatshirt. The two of them were on tread mills side by side. Neither of them were going more than 2 mph, and the slow pace seemed to match up with their natural gaits. One disappeared and returned with a bag of Fritos and a Mountain Dew. She returned to the tread mill, snacking through the remaining quarter mile. It had never occurred to me to eat on a tread mill, but there are television sets everywhere and I completely understand the merit of snacking while watching TV.

The twins didn't return for some time. The next time was in August during a really hot week. They found their places a couple rows in front of me and set their bags down beside the tread mills. One had a fountain drink in a Pilot Travel center cup. Once I saw a woman drinking a huge frappuccino-looking drink from Starbucks while using the elliptical machine, complete with whipped cream, so the fountain drink didn't strike me as too strange. Her sister was wearing a pair of cut off sweat pants that seemed to flair out from the hip, and a white v neck undershirt. They were both well into their snail's pace walks when I noticed the one wearing sweat pants was holding an unlit cigarette.

The downtown YMCA is great for a number of reasons. My favorite reason is that the workout room overlooks the major intersection of Henley Street and Clinch Ave, right across the street form the Sunsphere and World's Fair Park. A steady stream of foot and vehicle traffic files through the concrete corridor and there's always something interesting to witness. Yesterday I was using one of the resistance machines close to the window so I could see the parking area and sidewalk. A man crossed the south intersection of clinch, then continued traveling north on the Henley Street sidewalk, stopping periodically to examine the ground. As he approached the area immediately in front of the resistance machines I saw him stop and stoop to his knee. He picked up a few cigarette buts from the ground, pulled a plastic sandwich baggie from his breast pocket, put two inside the baggie, and after rolling the other between his fingers a few times he lit it and continued on his way. I was on the phone with my mom the entire time and gave her a play by play. I had been there the Saturday prior and that parking area was being used for tailgating purposes, so I suppose it would be a good scavenging spot.

There's plenty of other amazing things to see at the downtown Y. A large, musclebound man putting a dip of tobacco in before lifting 400 pounds, a pre-teen walking into the cardio room in short shorts and a string bikini top, a farmer in overalls and muddy boots doing curls with three pound weights, a downtown lawyer cussing her daughter out on the phone after hearing of her latest speeding ticket, two businessmen playing a heated game of ping pong that ended with an injury, a woman with the sweetest helper dog I've ever seen that sits patently beside her elliptical machine till she's done, an 87 year old man who can outlast most of the 20 year olds... It is an amazing place full of wonderful and interesting people. I hope the YMCA in Champaign Illinois is half as awesome as the downtown Knoxville location.

I'm venting

Lee has been 100% reflective of these trying times. A few weeks ago his buddy, T for short, came by and told Lee that his wife was in the hospital for a chronic breathing problem and she had to quit smoking. T is an undaunted, life smoker, and at anytime he has a cigarette in his hand and at least one unopened pack in his breast pocket. He carries a pistol, uses only cash, and went to jail for his involvement in a cock fighting ring. A tough type of man who I was shocked to discover was married.

Lee was upset by the news and vowed to T that he was going to quit smoking. When he was recounting this tale to me he explained that she wasn't going to make it if she couldn't quit smoking, and that the doctors wouldn't even treat her if she continued. I asked if the doc had prescribed patches to help her quit, and Lee said; "Oh yeah, T said he give'er th' reel strong wuns an put 'em all over her back" He motioned helplessly towards the sky, then put his hand to his forehead, shaking his head. Lamenting about how though he had only met her once, she seemed like a nice person and she had a really nice car that she made payments on "ever'month on time" and was real good to T. Then in a defeated kind of voice he said, "so Jill since I'm quittin an'all lemme get a few uh them Camels" I said "But you are quitting, right?" Angrily he boomed back in a condescending draw, "Yeah that's what I'm a'sayin! I'm tryin' t'quit but I've been smoking since I was a kid probably forty years so's I can't just stop! Ya can't just stop when you been smokin that long Jill!"

I reluctantly gave him one cigarette and told him he could get some patches. He tried to be appreciative of the single I had given him and chuckling said "I figure I can get me one [cigarette] here er there an use 'at cigarette money tuh get an extra bag uh gange an uh pint more uh t'at moo moo ever'month!"

The next evening he came over while we were eating dinner. We were having spaghetti and meatballs and I was having a glass of wine. Lee entered carrying a paper package like a pizza and he had a huge knife in his back pocket. The first thing that he said (yelled) was "Oh hell! Jill's already on the alcohol! DAYYAM!" Laughing loudly as his eyes darted around the kitchen, I told him that he could have a glass of it if he wanted and aimed him toward the box that it came in. "naw thanks you know I can't drink 'at red wine. I gotta have my moo moo! (laughter) At'stuff gives me heartburnacid'n'digestion. Caint drink it. What I'gotta have is that good, clean moonshine my cussins make" Lee then brought the paper bag carefully up to face level and said "All right now guess what I've brought chall! Don't chall never say I don't bring yuh nuthin cuz I do. You know I've been helpin' feed them kids" With a Vanna White-esque motion he waved his hand over the package, then inserted it into the bag. With a shaky hand he removed a frozen key lime pie and honked a noise alerting us of a prize being won. Fox immediately asked if it was chocolate, and after learning it wasn't he said; "you can have that icy pie cause I like chocolate pie".

Never being a big fan of non-chocolate desserts myself either, I said "hmm. Thanks Lee" Very animatedly Lee pulled the butcher knife from his back pocket, put the pie on the table in the middle of our supper, and hacked it in two, returning part into the mystical paper bag. Glancing down at my children Lee asked "Hey Jill where you keeping those things?" He then started feeling around above the hutch to the secret place I stash my smokes. I shot him a dirty look as he took a handful of cigarettes and stuffed them into his pocket. Fox said "what was that Lee??? What did you take??" Lee laughed and acted like he was some sort of magician and said something like "Oh hell Foxy you can't get by old Lee, hehehe!! You ain't seen nothin did'ge? You'll NEVER get one by me son!"

I didn't try to hide my annoyance with him; Lee is well aware that I hide my smoking from my children, and that I usually have a pack for a month, smoking only if they're not around. He smokes the shittiest, dirtiest, hand-rolling tobacco available, and he smokes constantly. He has zero tact about taking other people's cigarettes and I've watched him smoke twelve out of a woman's pack while she wasn't paying attention, then take the remaining one when he left. Jason admitted that he had given Lee cigarettes a few times over the past week. He said that the first few times he offered him one which he immediately smoked as he and Jason were talking, then asked for "one more for th'road", which Jason obliged, for some reason. Then later when Lee outright insisted on his giving him 2 Jason refused and tried to explaining that he was smoking more of my stash than I was. Jason said Lee was indignant and insinuated that we were being stingy then tried to recount all of the blessings he had bestowed upon us. Jason stopped him and told him that he had bought that pack two weeks prior for almost six bucks and that I had only smoked three of the whole pack. He then held the pack to show Lee that there were four or five left and clarified that Lee had smoked them all. Then reminded him that he was supposed to be quitting. In honor of T's wife.

A few days ago Lee walked across the street and threw a filthy laundry basket into my yard. "Here ye go Jill! I thought you cud'use a basket for warshin' all them clothes. I had sum bike motor parts in'thar an that's what that is. Oil. Jus needs tuh be warshed out"

I told him that I owned four (non-oily) laundry baskets and I didn't need that one. He ignored me and walked off so I put it into my recycling bin so the kids didn't touch it and get even oilier. A few days later I noticed Lee had removed the basket from the recycling bin, fashioned it into a basketball goal and attached it to a tree in his yard. He had also taken a few loads of gravel from our parking area and leveled the area beneath the goal, and taken a few loads of mulch from our mulch pile for the surrounding area. When I returned from the YMCA he had dragged an old piece of linoleum to cover the mulch and gravel, and was standing there bouncing a ball, proud as hell.

We got out of the car and Lee said "Look'et whut I done! This is whar' th'NBAs is gonna be yall!" The kids looked at Lee bouncing the ball and shooting for a while. Fox retrieved the ball for Lee a couple of times before it rolled down our road, then said "Look Lee! The ball will roll all the way down the road when you miss"

Later that day Lee had gathered some cable left in the ditch by the telephone company and made a zig-zagged barrier just behind the goal post. When Fox saw it he was thrilled. "Nice halloween decoration Lee!! It needs a big black spider in the middle of it and a mummy!", Fox yelled. By this time Lee had begun to think he was being made fun of by a child and started for the ball. Fox was singing "spider man, spi-der man" to the tune of the A-Team song, and climbing on the cord mesh, tight rope style. "Foxy git'off thare! Aat's all th'wire I could find down thar an if you break it AIT'S IT" At that moment the volleyball sized knot Lee had tied slipped and Fox tumbled onto the cushy linoleum pad. The tension in the web was lost, shitty cords draped lifelessly around the trees.

Lee had began yelling and continued through the course of the spectacle; total devastation crusted on his face, and seemed ruined as Fox pulled his shoe off to free himself of the cable. "Say you're sorry Fox" I ordered. "Sorry Lee. I can help you fix it cause I've got seven bungee cords and some of mom's yarn", Fox offered, then sprinted away. Lee couldn't remain angry.

Here's a super spooky picture:

Creepiest ever

It seemed like a normal estate sale on paper. A "Years of collecting...H&H items....depression glass...vintage hats" type of affair, but upon arrival I knew it was different than all the others.

The neighborhood was a typical suburban microcosm with winding, ranch house lined avenues. There were a number of vehicles in the shady driveway and even more parked along the sides of the road. We stopped the car and pulled our children from their child restraints, then walked toward the house.

My initial impression of the house was the same as the others in that neighborhood. They all appeared to have been built between the late 40s and early 60s and had a minimalist tidiness about them with sparsely landscaped lawns. As I approached the teetering, doorless mailbox I glanced at the ground and stepped over a large, dead blacksnake. The snake was in the level area of the edge of the yard where people were trailing in; smack in the middle of the walkway. I momentarily considered it odd that neither the owners nor the estate liquidation company bothered moving the carcass before customers arrived.
Jason and I figured the snake was hibernating in the house and then got unpacked, and then got dead.
It was freezing cold so we hurried up the slick, moss covered and railing-less front steps and into the house.
Every surface was covered with relics and dust. The floor was spongy beneath my feet and the olive colored carpet was emitting the musty odor of moist decay. Old people were sitting in filthy wingback chairs eating Krispy Kreme doughnuts and wiping their finger tips on the threadbare damask. Discussions of blood sugar and cholesterol levels weighed heavily in the cramped livingroom. For fear of something in that environment mingling into my person I was scarcely breathing through mouth; How the hell were these people eating in that place?
The contents of most estate sales I go to are "mid-century vintage" heavy; probably people who married in the 1960s, started families in the 70s. Lot's of Herb Alpert albums, melamine and golden amber tones. This sale could best be described as "post war". Everything was a wavering hue of brown, and there wasn't a single plastic item anywhere. Crocks, churns, enameled pots, dippers, wooden pipes, a ventriloquist's dummy, an art deco cash register that must of weighed two hundred pounds, four fire place bellows, two cases of flatware, dishes, furniture..
The house was was absolutely packed before any customers showed up, so the scene was a crammed spectrum of all sorts of uncomfortable people.

It was soon obvious that there was nothing we needed in this house. Fox and I were looking at the oldest vacuum cleaner I had ever seen when Jason and Rainer popped into the back bedroom. We were crammed in there with a dozen other people and when they arrived Fox and I were attempting to exit the room. I picked Fox up to facilitate our retreat and as I glanced over at my husband he exclaimed,

"NO SHIT! Look at that!! Crows picking a dead deer carcass RIGHT THERE in this creepy-ass place!! This place is TOO WEIRD!!"

His expression was one of rejoice and pure satisfaction; as if he had won a long sought contest of wits. Just outside the picture window of that bedroom was, in fact a large buck, collapsed in the initial stages of decomposition, covered in crows. A murder of crows, tugging, jerking, slinging, and flapping in the frenzy of feeding.




People tend to behave as if they were in a library while at estate sales. Whispering and tip-toeing, careful foot wiping upon entry, and appreciative courtesies when leaving are not uncommon. When Jason saw the biology in action outside, he forgot these conditions and his words were j-u-s-t short of yelling. Every person in the room stopped perusing and focused on Jason, then looked to the subject of his declaration outside, then looked back at him in utter disgust.

"THAT IS AWESOME! Let's go look at it! Come on Fox!!"
Jason exclaimed as he hustled our 10 month old daughter through the crowd and gestured at my son and I by tossing his head. Eyes rolled. Heads shook. Old ladies sent disapproving looks of pity towards my little family as we rushed out.
As we burst out the front door, Fox reeled as he stumbled towards the edge of the landing and yelled something about there not being a "handle slide thing", and I pulled him to safety before he fell into a murky mound of leaf litter.

Slipping between a moldy mini van and a holly bush we found our way around the side of the house. Passing an open cellar door we continued through a thicket, and climbed up a small bank to the back yard.
We approached the broken carcass and the black birds reluctantly relocated. Fox was quiet (for once) while Jason and I pondered the scenario.

Perhaps the deer had been hit on the busy highway on the other side of the subdivision then finally collapsed here. Or maybe it starved in this thinning, once wooded area. One thing is certain, and that is that something had eaten the deer's hind quarters, and someone had sawed off it's antlers.
Fox made a circle around the body and quietly asked where the deer was. We asked him why he didn't think the deer was lying in front of us, and he mumbled something about the hunter and the deer's eyes. Jason asked Fox if he was ready to go deer hunting, shoot, kill then clean a deer, and Fox smiled and shook his head. We turned to check out the Saw-esque basement and Fox sang a farewell over his shoulder.

This bag wants to party

A couple of weeks ago Lee came over to my house, boisterous and jovial, bearing a pint jar of moonshine and some odd, food pantry items. His cousins had finished another batch of liquor, and life was good again.

After insisting that I try a sip, he explained that he was afraid that Jason was going to poison me with the muscadine wine "he'd mixed up" and that he wanted me to have "sumthin' good-n-safe t'drank on"

As it happened, Jason and I were bottling the wine that very night, and had a few people over to try it in it's youth. We had a total of 10 liters of wine in the house, and no one was interested in mixing wine and moonshine. (again)

Pretending to sip the moonshine, I expressed my approval and thanked Lee for the pantry gifts. (instant mashed potatoes, powdered milk, gravy mix, rice, THREE POUNDS of dried cherries). I was not surprised to find out later that all of the food had been donated by the Methodist church's food pantry to Lee's friend, who then brought it to Lee in exchange for some substance.. and after Lee took the items he was interested in ("sum lederhosen sausages, a couple'uh'em corn cake mixes, an sum beefaroni cans") he passed the rest to us in a care package. Oh yeah, there was also a new dish towel in the box. ?

Lee crossed the street to his house where his friends had arrived, and we heard every elevated word exchanged between them for the rest of the night.

The next day, Lee didn't emerge till sometime after 3:30pm when he was seen rinsing something in the faucet outside of his house. Fox and I were working in the yard while Rainer napped, and I was glad Lee didn't come explain what was going on. Every time he comes within 10 feet of the house while Rainer is sleeping she wakes up, and most of his "morning-after" stories include an assessment of last night's libations based on his morning bowel movement. Information I could do without.

A few hours later Lee knocked on the door and was clearly drunk. He asked to borrow a can of tomatoes, told me he loved me, then went back to his house where there were four or five cars parked.

Jason and I had dinner, got the kids to bed, and were preparing to go to bed ourselves when I heard noises on the porch and Lee's trademark knock.

Lee bounded into the house as if one Leg was longer than the other, and started speaking in a tongue similar to that of an auctioneer at a barnyard auction. I cringed, imagining the kids were fearing the end of the world, and gestured for Lee to lower his voice.

"Five dollars! Here, take it, take this!!"

Lee was waving a ten dollar bill at me, aiming it towards my hand and jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen.

"Listen! Listen Jeel. Here's five dollar, YOU give ME a five an that moo moo I give yee. Y'hear me? I give you five, YOU give ME five, an at's for the moo moo"

His instructions became more frantic and quantitative; involving on the spot estimates about the cost of a pint of moonshine (based on the $25/a jar figures) and his level of intoxication became evident.

Still unclear about his intentions, I was able to determine that it was the moonshine he had given me in the care package that he wanted. Still untouched, I retrieved it from the freezer and gave it to him, refusing the "five" ten dollar bill in his hand.

His demeanor shifted, and his hands met each other as if in prayer.

"Thank ye Jeel! Man, I dropped my lass jar uh moo moo an I'm in the middle uh partyin! I thought I'd killed it then membered bout th pint I give ye. I giv'ye five dollars for it, but I jus got a ten."

Ah. The $5/$10 conundrum became clear to me. I told him that I didn't have cash and to just keep it, that he had given it to me so it was mine to give away, but he refused. He left the ten on the mantle and returned to his party.

The next day Lee was full of apologies, and I insisted that it was perfectly fine, but he felt guilty about taking the gift back.

"I'll make it up to you Jeel. Somehow".

Sunday Lee came to the door with a huge smile on his face and a wadded bag in his hand. Unable to contain his excitement, he pulled a jar of maraschino cherries from the wad, and handed it to me in the manor of handling the holy grail.
In a hilarious, sarcastic tone Lee exclaimed;

"Check it out Asian Ninenine! I tole you I'd get cha'back! These'll be ready to eat in three days. They'll be RIGHT!"

I thanked him for the moonshine cherries and asked if they go in the fridge or the freezer, and he thanked me again for "spottin him that pint", then headed for the door. Before he left he said;

"One more thing; could'ja do me another favor an write me a letter to the lectric company. I's $29.19 short this month on the light bill cuz I was sick lass month an had to spend money on cough'n cold medicine an I need to tell em I'll pay it back next time. You know, for January's bill. See really I's jus drinkin on that moo moo an spent all my money on it. I can't hardly see or spell to write somethin like at. I don't need it till tomorrow."

I told him that I would.

The letter went something like this:

To Whom it may concern,


Due to sickness and the associated expenses this payment is incomplete by the sum of $29.19. This amount will be paid along with the January 2011 bill as a past due amount.


Regretfully,

The next day he came over for the note. Clearly impressed with the typed letter, Lee said

"Thanks Jeel. Printed an all. Jew eat some uh them cherries?"

I told him that I hadn't since he said they wouldn't be "cured" for another day or so, and he said;

"Well hell, Jeel! You never do what I say till now! I'd been into'em already"

my summer, or summerlee

Thinking back over the past few months is a sweet, hot, quick blur of a memory. My gorgeous daughter was born in March, and that's when everything got crazy. It was actually crazy before that, but having a newborn baby makes every little thing seem like a scene from a movie; a movie you have a major, non-acting role in. Like "Key Grip" or "Best Boy" or "Director" or some crap like that.


After my little girl was born it took forever for me to get back on my feet. Following her surgical birth, I got mastitis in both breasts. TMI, I know, but mastitis is no joke! I was on serious pain meds, plus 800mg of motrin every 6 hours, so the fever and pain didn't appear until the middle of the night when I would wake up in a cold sweat. I chalked it up to the healing process and didn't get treated till a month after the horrid bacteria had set up shop in my junk. It was awful. Luckily the antibiotics worked their moldy magic and it cleared up within 10 days. When I began feeling better it was like having a new lease on life. Everything was fun and exciting after looking at the inside of my house for a month. We collected morels and went to gigs; Rainer went on her first camping trip when she was just 2 months old. I was up for anything.


Fox had his 4th birthday in July and we had a last minute party for him. Little kid birthdays are great because you can do whatever you want, invite whomsoever you want, and prepare whatever you want. Later birthdays will likely be full of the weird parents of children your kid happens to know. No kegs. No BB guns. No carnitas with lime and cilantro. We set up the baby pool and let the kids run wild. Lee showed up and decided to take a dip.



Jason's band "CATFISH MERCURY LOAD" played tons: Ijams Fest, Amp Fest, First Friday at Oodles, Bethfest, Kemmer's Annual BBQ Bluegrass Jam... It was great! Every weekend was busy. Amp Fest was a benefit for Mountain Justice in downtown Knoxville. The festival was in the parking lot of a block of bars, nothing but pavement and broken beer bottles. We told Lee about it and he promised that he would come. After a few hours he showed up on his bike with a crumpled paper bag shoved in his pants-pockets. From my face painting table I watched him arrive, take the bag out, open it and start eating M and Ms by the handful. I was relieved that it was chocolate and not pot.

In no time Fox had sensed the presence of candy and found Lee. Fox had been playing in a dusty parking lot at 90 degrees for hours and was filthy. When Lee saw Fox the look on his face was priceless. Pure disgust mixed with disappointment. He wouldn't give Fox any candy and wrapped it back up in the paper bag and put it back in his shorts, scolding him all the way. He forced Fox over to the outdoor bar and removed his bandanna. He flooded it with ice water from the cooler on the bar and proceeded to give Fox a whores bath right there in front of the crowd. I didn't get a picture of the bathing, but I did get this one of Lee's arrival which I thought was artful, what with the satellite dish on the side.





The entire summer was smattered with events like this one. Parties, gigs, weddings, visits; very little work got done, but it was too hot to work outside anyway. The only real work that went on occurred after each of the appliance disasters we experienced. First the TV went, then the heat pump, then the washing machine, then the ice maker, then the hot water heater.. It was a remarkable chronology of bad luck. We fixed the A/C, replaced the heat pump and the washer, and shit-canned the ice maker and the TV. No one got sick or arrested, so we were able to chalk our bad fortune up to poor quality consumer products.





I did manage to do a little sewing last month. Before then I hadn't sewn since early in my pregnancy; probably last October. Except for a little project I did for Lee. He came over one day with his favorite Superman T-shirt, and his "over-hauls". As he walked in the house was filled with the warm aroma of a smoldering cigarette butt.

Lee explained his idea for modifying his garments and asked if I could do it for him. This entailed cutting the "S" Superman emblem from the T-shirt and sewing it onto the bib of his "over-hauls". I told him that I would do it.

He said "Thanks a lot Jill, you know I'll make it up to you somehow. I just need tuh get it done b'fore tonight. I'm gonna ride my bike downtown an go see 'at show"

I wasn't sure what show he was referring to, but I figured an outfit like that is appropriate for any event or occasion.





Fox thought it was the coolest thing he had ever seen and immediately wanted to change his overalls to match Lee's. I said no. Not till he fully outgrew his Superman tank.

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.