THIS place

When we moved 500 miles north this January, we packed all of our earthly belongings onto two 18 foot moving trucks, then unpacked them in our new, bizarre house in our new, bizarre town.

During a move like this, it is typical for people to toss all kinds of useful stuff. I had a large box in our front room for a month, and I added things to it daily; things I hadn't used in a while or didn't expect to ever really need. The wine and cheese picnic basket, maternity clothes, baby clothes, fifteen extra bed pillows.. Then there were things that I simply didn't want to decide on, clean, pack or otherwise handle. These things live as the careless disposals in my memory. My huge, blank canvas, my ice cream maker, my garment rack, a gigantic planter; things that I am positive that I would use if I had them right now.

Despite my attempts to be methodical about assessing our belongings, I became careless.

After settling in to our new home in Illinois, I returned focus to my craft instead of the arrangement of our belongings. With my fabric cataloged in the largish closet and iron plugged in, I began to think about what project I was going to begin. That's when I remembered that my machine had broken back in Knoxville, just before our move. I had intended to take it to a local store in K town that I had experience with, and I had even put it in the back of my truck and drove it around for a couple of weeks before the move. It never made it to the fix it place, instead it made it from the back of my truck straight into the back of the moving truck, without having been fixed.

I HAD attempted to fix the machine myself. I took the top off, one of the inner plates, and could see that one of the gears looked suspiciously asymmetrical. That's as far as I got, and I didn't even put the thing back together again. I put all the plates and bolts and screws into a zip lock bag, then duct taped it to the base of the machine. I put the machine into a plastic pepsi crate, and put it into the truck.

Since I do have a couple back up machines, I located the better one and proceeded to get my sew on. I put the busted machine in my car, and somewhere between a month and six weeks later, I took the thing to the sew n vac place in Champaign.

I had seen the place in my exploration of the town and made a mental note of it's location. I recalled there being something "strange" about the place, but I had forgotten what till the day I took the machine in.

While I appreciate salvaging anything that can be, I had never associated the action with that of the lord Jesus Christ. My attitude was "I might as well at least try and repair this thing; what is the worst that could happen? It would wind up in the shit heap anyway. Maybe I'll learn something about these things in the process."

Comparing a man's salvation to that of a vacuum cleaner is hard for me to comprehend. The analogy gets confusing; if Jesus is to mankind as what this guy is to vacuum cleaners and sewing machines, then I have a few questions. First of all, does God direct you in your work on vacuum and sewing machines? Are you a martyr, or do you symbolize a sacrifice to small machines on God's behalf?

Jesus:Mankind

This guy:Vacuum and sewing machines

I decided against asking the man these questions, instead I explained the problem with my machine, and he fiddled around with the baggie of parts.

"Seems like the casing is missing. Do you have any more parts?" He asked.

I blanked, and looked in my pockets and purse for no reason. I went out and looked in the trunk of my car, knowing it wasn't there. If the part wasn't in the baggie, there was no telling where it was. I went back in and explained that we had moved, and that the part was likely in my sewing room. He said that I could leave the machine there and bring the part by when I found it.

In the back of mind I knew there was no way I would ever find that part, but I destroyed my craft room anyway. Every box emptied, every corner swept, every cabinet searched. No part.

When I finally gave up looking, I decided I would take my better back up machine in and get him to spruce it up a little. The tension plates were never very sensitive; it is a Kenmore domestic machine from the early 1990s which has been used and abused, so it could use a thorough once over.

After calling the proprietor of the shop and letting him know the piece was gone with the wind, I drove the other machine there to swap out.

The proprietor's son works in the shop along side him and there's clearly a dominant/submissive type relationship between the two.

When I dropped my Singer off, a man was there purchasing three bags of vacuum cleaner bags and a bottle of cleaning solution. When he was checking out, the son, in an attempt at being James Bond radical, said "That's $14.95, those two are $15.40 each, and the solution is $12.65, so that would be.. ummm let's see, $58.40 plus tax, and for that I'll have to..."
Interrupting, his father said in a low voice "Sixty two oh five. With tax", as he slowly turned his head and torso away from helping me to meet the pleading gaze of his son.

The expression on his face when he turned back to me was one of bitter disgust accented by embarrassment.. He was shaking his head very subtly. Bearing a striking resemblance to Lyndon B Johnson, but less healthy, this man didn't possess a certain je ne sais quoi .

These situations used to embarrass me, but for some reason, now-a-days it is just amusing.

Junior had the same demeanor and style as Napoleon Dynamite's brother.

Last time I had the Kenmore machine serviced was over 10 years ago in Boone, NC where I went to college. I recall the shop in Boone charging me $80 for a routine tune up and cleaning, and they removed all my super cool stickers. After a decade the machine accumulated lots of new stickers, one of them being a radical "What Would Wesley Do" sticker designed by my friend, Brad Pope. It is an image of Wesley Willis with "What Would Wesley Do" superimposed across it. I couldn't help but wonder if he considered that sticker; it is ripped and half worn off, but I think the message is clear.

Three weeks after getting the message that the machine was repaired, I went to Champaign to pick it up. The proprietor made a point of bringing up the record of the transaction while both of my children climbed and stood on the same stool. I paraphrased the situation and the transfer of machines, and told him that I already had a check in the amount he quoted on the message. He continued reading from the computer and when he got to the note he had left himself about the message left, he recited it, then turned and looked at me, repeating, "Yes. That message was left September 18th. A full 23 days ago"

I apologized and tried to explain that weekends are better for me to go places without my kids, and that since his store isn't open weekends I had put it off over and over.

He took the check and looked at it at an extreme angle accessing just the right spot on his spectacles. Setting the check back on the counter, the man turned and shuffled into a back room returning with my machine, stickers intact. As intact as they were when I brought the thing in, at least.

The volume of my children was increasing, and with the combination of that and the man's attitude I was starting to loose it.

Sliding the check towards him, I grabbed the machine, and wrangled my kids to the door. He asked if I could manage, and I said that I could.

Settled back in the car, the kids and I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

"That is a really weird store Mom." Fox declared.

"Why do you say so?" I asked

"That grumpy man has a bunch of signs and crazy stuff hung up everywhere and the store looks like it should be shut down"

I agreed with him and we giggled about that guy and his son.

I guess spreading the good word with a "repair shop" metaphor is as good as any evangelical approach.

Lee saged my house

Last weekend Heather, Ella and Josh came to visit for the weekend. We were all really excited since it was the first time they had visited with baby Ella, and we always have lots of fun together regardless of what we do. As an extra bonus our wonderful friend, John was in town too, and he and his lady friend, Amy came over for supper.

Jason spent Saturday working on one of our (many non-functional) lawnmowers over at Lee's house. Lee is a wizard when it comes to small engine repair and always helps us fix stuff; as far as I can tell these times are Lee at his finest.

Heather, Josh, Ella and I were going to go to the store to get preparations for shrimp and grits while Fox was napping, so I walked across the street to ask Jason to come work in our front yard so he would hear if Fox awoke. Lee was watching Jason tighten something while he held his hand which was wrapped in dirty flannel.

"What happened t0 your hand?" I asked

"Aw nuthin! I wuz just helpin Jason get his mower fixed an I cut my hand on 'at bolt" Lee said in a sing-songy tone.

I looked back at Jason and explained our excursion to him, and immediately after the words escaped my mouth Lee assertively asked,"So whater you a-havin fur supper"

I told him shrimp and grits with turnup greens, crowder peas and sweet potato fries.

"An you ain't even gonna invite me when I'm over here a-bleedin fixin YOURE machine?!",
Lee assumed.

Quickly I asked Lee to please join us for supper, and that we would be eating sometime after seven. He accepted my too-late invite with disdain, as if he would be doing me a favor by showing up, and asked if I could pick up a few things while I was out. He ran into his house and came out five minutes later with a grocery list, his government "food stamp" card, and his pin number. Lee gave me explicit directions how to use the EBT/debit card reader, even after I insisted that I understood the functionality of the contraption, and then sent us on our way.

Josh and I prepared our supper and Lee stuck his head in when we were almost finished. I told him that it would be another 45 minutes till it was ready, and he said, "I've done ate, but thanks Jill. I appreciate it n you're a good neighbor. I'll prolly jus come back over here when Dan and John get here"

Great.

John, Amy and our friend Frank showed up, and my friend Adrienne from up the street came down. We all talked and caught up with each other. Adrienne went back home to her kids so her husband, Dan could come down, and very soon afterwards Lee appeared. He came in the door with photographs of Dan, John, and I he had taken a few months earlier.

"See them orbs all over you John?!" Lee yelled. "You got them thangs all over your house Jill. See, they ride in on other people even if your house is clean an blessed" Lee remarked with a suspicious look at our previously jovial company.

I told him that everything was fine in my house, and there had been no spiritual disturbances of any kind. Lee produced three sticks of incense and a bundle of sage and insisted that we burn all of it to "smudge" our house. He continued talking about the mysterious orbs on the photographs for the rest of the evening.

I have seen tons of these "mysterious orb photos" that Lee has taken and without a shadow of a doubt they are dust particles. Some of the photos are of people with a big spot on their face or shoulder, some are of empty areas in a bar or someone's house with a spattering of nebulous dots, all are taken with a flash. The first time Lee showed me his collection of pictures I told him that I had had that problem when using a flash, and he said

"That ain't dust!! That place was so clean! There weren't a spot anywhere!",

and then it became a personal attack on the subject's cleanliness. So I dropped it and started accepting whatever he said about these photos, but this was the first time that my complacency had led to a "smudging" of my home.

As the fragrant smoke billowed from one room to the next all of my guests looked around at each other, attempting to communicate non-verbally by making eye contact. One by one I discreetly extinguished the incense, cracked the door to the back porch and turned on the overhead fans. I could hear Lee in the other room demanding to know what Dan thought about his photos. People started dodging Lee and his strange, one sided conversations, and he made his way into the kitchen where I was cleaning up. He started talking at me without any concern of my indifference, and suddenly I realized he was swearing loudly, and the children were in the other room.

"I told that stupid fuck what he could do! I said 'Alright goddammit! Get your shit and go back to your old lady an tell her not to bother me or my family no more! We're sick uh you're shit!"

At that moment Jason burst into the kitchen shushing Lee and telling him that he didn't care if he swore but not to do it when the kids are awake and in the next room. Lee looked at Jason incrediously and slinked out of the room, shrugging.

An hour later I went outside and found Lee smoking on the porch.

Laughing, he asked "Did you hear Jason tell me off in thar? He said I was a-cussin in front uh those babies or somethin. I NEVER cuss in front uh kids, man. I know how it is. He musta thought I was Pope. You know, that big bald dude Jason plays music with? He's always cussing around the kids"

Not knowing what to say, I just stood there and nodded. Why would Lee pick Pope? Brad Pope is great with kids, and super respectful of Fox. It was so freaky for Lee to pretend like he hadn't screamed obscenities in my kitchen while I was standing beside him, just an hour earlier, then try to blame it on a guy who wasn't even there. Then the conversation shifted back to the orbs and Lee proclaimed;

"Whatever they are they're faster than anything we got! I mean military, yaknow; like 747s or F-16s or bombers or WHAT EVER man! Them orbs gottem beat. I know yall're good people an all but I'm jus WARNIN yuh that thares more than this world that'cha see in life. There's the spirit world an yuh don't wanna piss'em off none!"

I told him that I didn't want to aggravate the orbs either, but I wasn't worried about them. He interrupted me by saying "So what do you really think about them Jill; tell me thu truth!"

After a moment's consideration I said that I thought they were interesting. Lee exploded and said that I might as well have slapped him in the face, and that he thought that I thought he was crazy. For some reason Lee was putting people on the spot all that night, demanding that they tell him he's crazy. Of course no one took the bait, as tempting as it was. It felt like Lee was fishing for a fight, which became evident towards the end of the evening.

Everyone started leaving and going to bed, and John and Amy were the last two people left other than Josh and Heather who were staying at our house. Jason and I were hoping that Lee would leave so that we could talk to John and Amy a little bit before they left, but he just wouldn't budge.

Finally Amy and I decided to try and lead him outside, then return inside without letting him back in. Evidently, despite being really drunk and high, Lee was onto our plan because he acquired a sloppily hostile attitude before leaving.

Amy and I were standing beside the door forming a chute directing Lee out the door, when he stopped in front of us and said "thanks a lot Jill" charged with sarcasm.

"You ain't gotta do anything! All you do is sit around here sewing in your room back'ere. All you gotta do is watch 'at kid. Yeah you got it made" Lee expressed.

Amy's eyes got huge and angry, and after taking a shocked, sidelong glance towards me she asserted "Being a mother is the hardest job in the world!"

Lee sort of rolled his eyes and continued his strutting progression to the front door.

Amy was horrified with Lee, but I felt like it was comparable to watching a really slow wreck. I can't take offense when I know he's just running off at the mouth. For god's sake; this is a man on disability who drinks moonshine and smokes dope on a daily basis, further disabling himself. It would be a wasted argument.

Despite the Lee-static, it was a great night. My only regret is that I didn't insist Lee leave a little early so I could have talked to my favorite friends about something without him screaming about orbs in the next room.

meat market

Last week while weeding my flower beds my neighbor, Lee approached me with a cup of coffee and a hand rolled cigarette.
Without hesitation he made a proposition;
"how about you drive me downtown to the butcher so I can get one uh them freezer economy packs with my guv-mint card?"
Not knowing what the hell he was referring to, I asked him when he wanted to go, and that I could take him as long as he didn't mind going by Big Lots, too. He said as long as he got there before three it would be fine, so I told him that we could leave as soon as I got fox ready.
We drove straight to the butcher shop in downtown Knoxville, and Lee insisted that I come in and bring Fox. He loves going places with Fox and I. He always acts like he is helping us out in some way, as if I am a poor, single mother without a job or a family... Considering the situation I figure there's no harm in letting Lee pretend some, and it is always interesting to read peoples expressions when we walk into an establishment.
We waited for the butcher to assemble the order, then as Lee was preparing to pay, he asked the clerk to to "sell me a quarter uh 'at souse"
I casually glanced down to the giant souse log in the glass covered cooler, and before the man could lift it onto the slicer I spied the main ingredient. Pig snouts.
The man behind the counter asked him how thick he wanted it cut, and Lee gestured holding a pack of saltines which conveyed everything the man needed to know. He then asked if he wanted it in a "sack", but Lee declined as he planned to eat it in the car.
I gathered Fox back into his car seat and started to pull out of the place, when Lee immediately started directing me to "stay right here in the shoulder!! It ain't really a sidewalk, it's like a drivin' shoulder"
Since I had eyes and could see that it was, in fact a sidewalk; complete with an eight inch elevation above the road, drainage grates and crosswalks, I declined to drive on it and just waited my turn to pull onto the busy city street. Lee tsked in disapproval.
Sitting in the passengers seat, Lee prepared his snack, and holding out a piece of sliced souse, ordered me to take some. He said "here! eat dis!"
As he was holding that thick slice of particle meat so close to my face, I was able to see the sun shining through it's mosiac-like constitution, like a greasy stained glass window for a tiny meat house.
I tactfully declined since I had eaten just before leaving the house.
Lee skeptically asked if I had ever eaten souse before, and I told him that I had plenty of times as I crossed my fingers.
We headed to the produce stand where we purchased a 50lb bag of potatoes and a 25lb bag of onions which I bought since the business no longer accepts "food stamps cards", and Lee insisted that we would split it all up.
So now I have enough onions, potatoes, and various meat cuts to last months. If there is any souse in there I will give it to Jason and tell him it's pate.
My friend Brad is going to pen a comic about Lee.

4/15/2008 Dem Ol' Blooze

I just read Ishoowun of the comic "BLIND DUNHAM DIRTY" entitled "Dem Ole Blooze" by M.B Pope.
Not only are the illustrations rendered with truth and experience, but with an understanding of drunken benders that requires decades of real life experience. Characters are defined by negative space, darkness and gravity, elements which convince me of Dunham's futile quest for the root of his blooze,
and when the pages turn they moan like Screamin Jay Hawkins.

I highly recommend reading it, and it gets a 10 alarm rating on the chili scale.


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