Of Gardens and Signs from God

Spring is trying it's best to sneak it's way quietly into the holler. The temperatures range from damn near nipply at night, to nice and warm, bordering on boob sweat weather, during the day. I got up this morning and found the air conditioner running with the heat cutting on.

My body, it is confused.

Speaking of my fertility goddess-like body, it's shrinking ya'll. The Glucerna shakes, cottage cheese and broccoli are paying off. For the record, I'm about sick to death of broccoli. And cauliflower. I've resorted to nuking them with fat free cheese, but that just makes it all form a big wad that sticks to the back of my Melungeon shovel teeth.

Anywho...

I've been using Myfitnesspal.com (totally uncompensated endorsement, thankyouverymuch.) It's free and it does the math for you, keeping track of calories, fat grams, sugar.. whatever you want.

I had to take a break from the belly dance workouts, The Amazon was on days the past two weeks, but she goes back to nights next week, so I'll have "me time" to shimmy, pop and groan. It worked out well because my uterus has been in a state of unrest for the past week anyway. I probably would have dropped some reproductive organs had I attempted a belly roll.

Last weekend I put on my work boots and headed out to the someday-I-swear-to-God-it-will-be-a-garden, grabbed the tater fork and started beating hell out of the soil, trying to break up where crab grass has crept over the surface.

My back has been in a wad ever since.

I'm going to wait until next month and hopefully catch a good sale, then I'm taking my Lowe's card and buying an electric cultivator.. which is a fancy way of saying "tiller you gotta plug into an extension cord." I'm tired of pussy footin' around with this chit. Then? I'm going to buy seeds from this shop on etsy. You can't get 27 different kinds of veggie seeds for $22 from the World o' Wally. I'm sure I'll have way too many seeds for the space, but I'll find someone to take the leftovers. Or, just dig up little mini-gardens all over the yard.

The Amazon doesn't know she's gonna have to can all this chit after I pick it. It'll be our little secret, kay?

Remember when I said I wanted to buy a camper and move out in the yard? I'm dead serious and I spend an unhealthy number of hours each week looking at used campers for sale. Last night I found the perfect one just over in Johnson City:

And look:

PUPZILLA!! IT'S A SIGN!!!

Sorta. Maybe.

Anyhooter, I should probably like.. do some work and crap. Ya'll have an awesome weekend. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!


Tweet

Health Care Reform, Glumdaclitch and Knuckle Dragging Neanderthals

Let's recap this lovely Monday morning thus far, shall we?

I was running a little late on the way in, but I stopped at the campground store for a biscuit, throwing caution to the wind and risking being a few minutes tardy. Their deli has been closed for a couple of weeks for renovations and I was jonesin' for a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit. I walked in and Marty, the tattooed manager with ginormous hooters that excite our GM so much that sometimes he shows up with his little white biscuit bag and his eyes glazed over like a teenybopper, took one look at me and announced, "There will be no more biscuits. It sucks."

"Ever?" I asked, with a twinge of hope in my voice.

"Never, ever," she answered.

I may or may not have made a pouty face as I shuffled over to the rack holding the assortment of packaged pastries.

I made it to the office, only 3.5 minutes late, sat at my desk and, once situated, ripped into my Texas Cinnamon Roll. I sniffed it. I grimaced. When you can SMELL that a pastry is stale, that's pretty bad. I began to pull it apart, realizing it was hard as a rock and sighed as I rolled it up in the packaging and tossed it in the trash. Breakfast ended up being a pack of crackers from the company vending machine.

Next door to my cubey, Cousin Frankie was chatting with Lulu about his latest ailments. He's had the shingles and been down with his back. Now he's dragging his leg behind him. It all seems to be related but no one knows for sure what's going on. He was griping about our worthless health insurance and I chimed in with my two cents worth. It seems we pay every month for the privilege of saying we're covered, but that's about the extent of our benefits.

Except for the noggin' doc. I am thankful that I only have to pay a $30 co-pay to have my head examined.

Anywho..

I was caught off guard, but not really surprised when Cousin Frankie and Lulu's discussion of health insurance made it's way down the darkened path to Obama's health plan helping nobody but "them n*ggers and Mexicans."

I took a deep breath, turned the volume up on the radio and quietly talked myself down from my mental clock tower before I said a whole bunch of stuff I'd regret later.

I don't do politics. I don't know the details of the recently passed health care reform bill, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't specify specific races or nationalities. People, especially ignorant knuckle dragging neanderthal people, will hop on any bandwagon they can twist into a reason to spout hatred and discontent.

Please don't misunderstand. There are perfectly rational individuals without a trace of racism in their blood who oppose specifics of the bill for perfectly logical reasons. My anger isn't due to a difference in opinion over the passing of a bill. My blood boiling, venom spewing pissedoffedness (heh.. I made a new word) is over the gaul of some people to use ANYTHING as an excuse to attack groups other than those they personally identify with.

The really fun part? Cousin Frankie is, indeed, my distant cousin. We're both descended from a common ancestor, one listed on some census forms as "Glumdaclitch" who was rumored to be Cherokee. I think she was probably Melungeon. I'm still working on finding out how she was named after a character from Gulliver's Travels. In any case, she wasn't "white." That whole side of the family tree is peppered with dark skinned kinfolk of assorted racial backgrounds.

If I had the cajones, I'd point all this out to both Frankie and Lulu, my other distant cousin on that side.

I tried in vain to block it out, as they went on about people getting welfare checks and food stamps (both of which I've had to use in the past.) I think my favorite quote came from Lulu, who was telling Frankie about a girl she knew on assistance, "She's Mexican but she was born here."

I'm pretty sure that makes the girl in question an American.

I'm not really any better than they are, I suppose,  because I sit here, radio blaring, lips clenched, beating the hell out of my keyboard instead of speaking up.

And I'm ashamed.

Forgive me.

Ya'll have a good one, we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.

Save $15.00 when you sign up for FIJI Water delivery with code LS15. Valid March 19-May 9.

No Trespassing and CEO Visits

It's a gray, cloudy day here in the holler. The air is as thick as Grandma's gravy and no where near as tasty. We're all hoping for a giant gullywasher to come through and cool things off.

We're still without air conditioning and although no ones's said a word about getting it fixed, rumor has it that the CEO will be down tomorrow. While everyone else is spit shining their office furniture, I think I'll dress special for the occasion, with britches legs rolled up to my knees, my shirt tied up under my boobs and tossled hair pinned atop my head. I'll greet him, cooling myself with one of those big ass, cardboard funeral fans as he makes his way up the hall.

I might even hock up a little phlegmy surprise for him as I try to say howdy.. the lack of AC is doing a number on my allergies.

Some of ya'll might remember my cousin being arrested back a couple of months ago. His name has been back in the local paper for two weeks now, listed in the arrest reports, for "felony trespass." I keep getting phone calls from people I barely know, asking me where he was trespassing. I'm getting tired of explaining to people that I don't associate with my father's side of the family and that not only do I have no clue what he's done, I couldn't care less.

I am a little curious about the middle name listed for him on the arrest reports. I've always known it as Michael.. after his father, but it's listed as Miguel. Although that side of the family is saturated with Melungeon DNA, they're also almost all hard core racists. Now I wonder if my Uncle Michael isn't really my Uncle Miguel.. which would be kinda cool actually.. to me anyway.

The plot thickens...

Bossman is jacking around with my days off next week. After I agreed to change, he admitted it was because Bubbles wanted to be off on Monday.

Well for gawdsake, let me rearrange my life because we have to make sure Bubbles has anything she wants.

(Yes I'm being totally catty and suffering from an extreme inability to play nice. I'm sure it will pass. But not today.)

Did I mention that she's wearing jeans again today? And a tank top?

"But Mahala, that doesn't have anything to do with you. Why do you care what she wears?" I hear you ask. A valid question, I'll admit.

It's because if I show up in jeans and a tank top, both of which are plainly listed as no-nos on the company dress code, I know I'd be sent home to change clothes.

I really need for her to quit and go home to her goats and her youngins.

Anywho.. I'd better get it in gear and get some work done. It's almost Friday. This week is almost licked.

Later Taters!

Of Melungeons, Second Life and Polyester Pants

Okay ya'll, I'm late, but at least it's with a meme and not like... the kind of late that inspires you to knit booties.

I'm a little past that stage in my life.. although I hate to admit it.

Bobbi over at Almost There tagged me with this one and I'm embarrassingly late, so let's jump right in, kay?

The Rules:

Link to the person who tagged you.
1. Post the rules on your blog.
2. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
3. Tag six random people at the end of your post, by linking to their blogs.
4. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
5. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

Here's my six:

1. As I child, I was forced to take lucky enough to have bowling lessons. That's right... bowling, of the duck pin variety. This was years before the banjo lessons.

See? That I'm such a hopeless geektard is not purely by accident.

2. My mama dressed me funny for my entire childhood. I wore polyester pants (with the seam up the front) with sweat socks and sneakers. The pants were never quite long enough. Yes.. I was that child. The Amazon says my slacks are still too short, but at least no one throws rocks anymore.

3. Ma also liked to give me home perms, lots of them. Oh and those damned Frost and Tip kits. They seldom turned out as they were intended. Once, while in the hospital for surgery, I was left sitting in the hallway, waiting for a test or something. A nurse told me she thought she'd misplaced me, that from the back I didn't look like a 12 year old, she thought I was an old woman, because of my hair.

Thanks Ma.

4. I grew up thinking I was basically of Irish/German decent with a little Cherokee tossed in. My dad was a terrible racist. It tickles the chit out of me that I've since learned that I'm more Melungeon (a dark skinned racial mix of southern hillfolk) than anything else and that it's mostly on dear old Daddy Bigot's side. Someday I'm going to get up the nerve to laugh in his multi-racial, prejudiced face.

5. I really am an honest to goodness inbred hillbilly. My Mamaw's mother and my Papaw's mother (on Dad's side) both had the same maiden name and were from the same isolated mountain community. I am allowed to make jokes about it but I get a little touchy if others do.

6. Although I've downgraded my account, sold all my land and shut down my virtual business, I still log on to Second Life a couple of times a week. It's a nice escape and I have friends I love spending time with. Living in a remote area like Frog Pond Holler, it's kinda cool to be able to log on to a virutal environment, hang out at the beach, go dancing or just loiter with friends. I'm Mahala Roviana on the SL grid, look me up :)

And there you have it. My six random quirky things. I'm going to break the rules a little and not tag anyone. If you want to grab it, go for it and let me know in the comments. I'll give ya a little linky love.

My intention is to come back later and tell ya'll all about my trip last night to Scary Hillbilly Town, but I'm not making any promises. I don't want Bah to worry over my salvation if life gets in the way again (see previous post comments.)

Ya'll enjoy your Saturday.

Later Taters!

PS: Just in case you were wondering, that's my Mamaw on the left in that picture, with her sisters and brother. There were more youngins after the baby you see there.

Melungeons, Lulu and Prayers for Our Cousin

I met Lulu when I first came to work at the Cubicle Asylum about eleven years ago. When we'd get on the subject of family, I'd often joke and tell her that someday I was going to figure out how we were related (because everyone in Frog Pond Holler is related if you dig back far enough.) A few years ago I started discovering my family history and eventually did find that Lulu and I were related. Lulu, half jokingly, began her own research to prove me wrong and as a result found a several more lines where our family trees meet.

That's also when I started to find out about Melungeons, a secretive group of dark skinned, multi racial people who lived separate from the general population up in the North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia mountains. There are several theories on their origins, a lot of which is outlined in Brent Kennedy's book,The Melungeons: The Resurrection of a Proud People : An Untold Story of Ethnic Cleansing in America. My grandmother's "people" came from one of those secluded groups, tucked back into the mountains.

Lulu's father's family also came from the same area of the mountains, but we've never found any absolute Melungeon links in her family. Lulu doesn't have any of the physical traits like the eye fold, the Asian shovel teeth or the Anatolian lump, nor does she have a skin tone that is even the slightest bit tan. Lulu does, however, demonstrate several of the same symptoms that I do and I've often urged her to mention to her rheumatologist the possibility that she could have FMF. She poopoos the idea, although the lines through which we're related are close to my suspected Melungeon lines. She refuses to take a pill every day, so she reasons, it wouldn't matter if that's what they said was wrong with her anyway.

Lulu has been seeing a rheumatologist for two years now for her joint and muscle pain. She's been seen by a cardiologist for her chest pain, which periodically brings her to tears, yet they found nothing wrong with her heart. She's been to a neurologist for her lifetime of migraines and to a gastroenterologist for her "puking spells" and bouts of diarrhea. Last year they removed her gall bladder, but it had no effect.

Lulu just turned forty on her last birthday.

So yesterday, Lulu comes to my office and starts telling me about she and her mother going on their weekly trip to Big City last weekend. They were in the car, Lulu was driving and she was telling her mother how her shoulders were popping and grinding and how nothing seemed to help. She was laughing, telling her how we were both having a "bad spell" yesterday morning at work, hobbling up and down the hall, grunting and groaning like two old women. Her mother asked her if I had arthritis and Lulu explained to her about Melungeons, FMF (Familial Mediterranean Fever) and the physical characteristics associated with the group.

She explained to her about the Anatolian bump and how to find it by running your hand from the spot where your spine meets the back of your head, up the center. The "bump" can vary from a pea sized lump to a wide ridge. Apparently Lulu was driving with one hand and groping the back of her mother's head with the other, to demonstrate. Can you imagine the explanation to law enforcement if she had wrecked?

"I'm sorry officer, I was groping Mom's head to see if she's a Melungeon."

Lulu's mom just had eye surgery about a week ago so any poking of her eye lids would have to wait. She then went on to explain about shovel teeth and how she used to lovingly call me an "Asian shovel toothed mongrel," usually after I'd called her "Gomer the friendly ghost." With shovel teeth, the backside of your two top front teeth is curved, like a cup or shovel.

Lulu's mom looked at her oddly

"What? I'm serious, Mahala's are shaped like that. She said she thought everyone's teeth were the that way until she read that feller's book."

"Aren't yours?" her mother asked.

"No! They're flat..."

"Hmph.. I thought everyone's were curved."

I can not believe that after four years and all the conversations she and I have had, she never thought to mention it to her mother before.

Lulu's mother has shovel teeth, which doesn't necessarily mean she has Melungeon ancestors. It shows up in Native American families too, but it's possible.

She is on vacation this week, so I'll have to wait to find out more, but she's promised to get her mother down on the couch where she can get a good look at those choppers.

For more on Melungeons and our ties to the Turkish people, look for From Anatolia to Appalachia: A Turkish-American Dialogue (Melungeon Series) another book by Brent Kennedy.

I read recently that Mr. Kennedy is going through some personal struggles. I had the pleasure of meeting him at a lecture he gave at a local university a few years ago. He autographed my copy of his book and took a couple of minutes to ask me about my family, where we discovered we share a common link in our Davis line.

You are in my prayers dear cousin :)