Bluegrass, Paleface and Pleasant Memories

The sun is shining bright down upon the holler his morning as the hillfolk, the hikers and the tourists recover from yesterday's music festival. The yearly celebration began a few years ago as an event to raise funds and awareness to stop plans to clear cut one of the mountains that provides a picturesque back drop for Frog Pond Holler. The plan was successful and the festival lives on, filling the spacious lawn fronting the spa with tents, stages, vendors and lots of naked dancing babies.

I didn't go but the Amazon walked down there after work. I stopped and picked her up on the way back from the grocery store. Miss Paleface walks by a picture of the sun and gets burned, even with sunscreen, so she was rolling in aloe gel after she got home last night.

I don't know how the Blackfoot, Cherokee, Basque and Melungeon genes all skipped over her. She seems to have gotten a triple dose of the Scottish, Irish vanilla blend, like Ma. Fair skin and big blue eyes.

Go figure.

Anywho...

I was thankful I was on anti-public-freak out meds when I walked in the grocery store last night. They put in two more rows of freezers, moving everything around in the process and I couldn't find a feckin' thing. Ever since that incident in the parking lot with the sperm donor, six months after facing him at Mamaw's funeral, I break out in a sweat every time I buy groceries there, usually developing the herky jerks by the time I get to the check out and bawling all the way home.

Yeah... there's been alot of crap going on with me that I've not shared with ya'll.

Since visiting the good doc a couple of weeks ago and coming home with the magical brown paper bag, it doesn't happen anymore. I can go to the store without going all ratshit crazy. I can drive by my cousin's big house on the hill with all her horses, Mamaw's little double wide at the bottom and my Aunt Ola's house beside it and not expect the sperm donor to materialize out of thin air and come after me.

Instead, I can remember Mamaw on that front porch, always smiling, breaking beans and talking to her little dog. Memories of me and my cousin when we were little girls, running through that field where her horses now graze, she and her sister laughing at their fat city cousin getting her polyester pants stuck on the barbed wire as she tried to follow them across the hill to Mamaw's old house.

And I might still shed a tear. But it's different. It's okay.

In other news... Bossman will be back this week and I'll be getting off at three every day.. which just pisses him off even more. I'm really not looking forward to his tantrums. My big appointment with the noggin doc is this Wednesday.

I'll let ya'll know how that goes.

Ya'll have a great week. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!