Do it yourself

Speaking of grocery carts, Steve and I found ourselves (last) Friday, at the Kroger Pharmacy where I pointed out (with mock accusation) , a sign to him upon which was written:

All grocery carts are the property of the Kroger Co.

He said he thought they might be missing a few.

Also, a guy passed us on a bicycle with half a plastic shopping cart hitched to the back of it. The wheels on the cart had been replaced with bicycle tires. Steve identified it as originally having been "the property of Home Depot".

(Note: Originally, these words were posted on my other blog, with a picture of Barney carrying a giant yard bag full of laundry. This one, his personal laundry/grocery cart, had already been posted. The whole conversation reminded me of the designer chairs being chained together. In fact, I use that imagery sometimes just for a good giggle. )

Sitting

When we all get up to Heaven, St. Peter is going to be on a lunch break. Instead, there's going to be a guy there, that goes by the name of Shorty. He's gonna' be kicked back in one of those collapsible nylon chairs you get at Wal- Mart, with a 40 oz. Natural Ice in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I think a lot of people are going to be very surprised.

My apologies for leaving you all sitting. Lots of things have been happening and first I should say thanks for the kind words and e-mails of late from a wide variety of people. Your thoughts and comments are not only appreciated but many times thought-provoking and educational.

The last three weeks have been something of a blur. There are too many stories to tell and not enough time to sit and write but eventually, I'll have to tell them because there is beauty and humor, even in the worst of it. Also because there are a couple of people who will hound me like a dog, if I don't.

To answer the pressing question of my last post... Yes.

Steve dialed his family from my cellphone that day and although it was an emotional experience for everyone, I believe it went very well. The good thing (and with someone else it might have been very different) was that they were happy to hear from him. It allowed him the chance to reconnect in his own way and it spared them the phone call that for years, they believed would eventually reach them.

Yesterday, Steve returned to the hospital and was admitted once again with another round of complications. At the moment however, he is resting comfortably, in the care of some good nurses on the fifth floor.

A few days back, he saw this photo on my computer screen and announced:

"I know that's in a rich neighborhood."

"Really," I answered, "how can you tell?"

"Well" he said, "them chairs ain't chained together. If they were in my neighborhood, they'd be chained together."

Things we take for granted

I was whining yesterday about how I was going to sell something to buy a digital voice recorder and Steve, who humbles me regularly, in case anyone isn't hip to that yet, just looked up very matter-of-factly and said,

"Aintcha' got a pencil?"

"Well, yeah, fine," I said, feigning aggravation and reaching for the keyboard. Then as if that weren't enough, he agreed with me that it probably would be better hearing him tell it (which was the absolute truth and exactly my point). Here, in his words, is a story about a street dog he once knew called Buddy.

A lotta' people out there knew Buddy dog. I'd go out pickin' up cans and hit them motel dumpsters all along Murfreesboro Road there and he'd go right along with me. He'd go as far as Continental (Motel) with me, get his stomach full and lay down out there in the sunshine. When I got done and it was time to go, he'd look at me like I was crazy. So, I'd just say, I'll see you when you get home Buddy and go on. And he would be, sure enough. He'd be layin' right there in the yard by the time I made it back to camp.

I knowed him since he was a little bitty pup. He started out somebody else's dog. They abandoned him on the creek bank and that's when he took up with me. He wasn't like no regular dog. We go through them dumpsters and he didn't gobble up the bones or just anything because he always knew there was more to come. After everything was gone - then he wasn't shy of that bone but up til then, he'd pick little bites off a chicken or a pork chop and keep going.

Most people remember him because he run up and down the road there a lot of the time, with a quart bottle in his mouth. He was a labordaor retriever and all we had, down there to throw in the creek for him was quart bottles. He'd go out after 'em and then he wouldn't give'em back.

Went down to Spur one Sunday morning, get me some cigarettes and Buddy tagged along. We got there and there was a crackhead standin' in front of the air machine, he told me when I come up, he said,

"Get your dog."

I told him he wasn't my dog.

Then I looked over at Buddy and I told him, I said,

"Watch 'im Buddy."

Dog hunched down and stared in the man's eyes.
I went on in the store. I come out a few minutes later and him and that dude was still looking at each other. I figured it wasn't gonna' be til twelve o'clock I'd get back by and I hated to leave ol' Buddy standing there til' then, so when I got to the corner of the parking lot I looked back and I said,

"C'mon Buddy"

And we went on down the road.


(Note: The dog in the photo is used for illustrative purposes only. He's a lot dog as opposed to a street dog and his name is Chopper. That was terribly amusing three months ago, when he was a puppy. Thanks to Barney, he is occasionally seen sporting a four-dollar rawhide bone.)

Same as it ever was

It's been unusually serious around here over the last month or so. Thanks to you who are still checking in and the newcomers as well. I thought I might let you all know that there may be a short break, not in picture taking but in blogging. It came as no surprise that four days before Christmas with a looming deadline, I managed to burn up a hard drive. This led to one night of CPR, mild panic, an hour's worth of tech support, a trip to the emergency room and pending surgery (for the box, not me). A telephone call yesterday from the Mac doctor said he was able to save the goods (glory hallelujah) and that the part I needed might be in today. I had to fight off a laugh then. We all know these people are standing around a conference and/or a mail room table right now, drinking cheap wine out of a plastic glass and trying to decide what to eat next. I don't blame them a bit.

In any event, this page is due for some festivity but at the moment, I can't say when that'll be. Enjoy the holiday. I wish all of you peace, prosperity, hope, and a comfortable pair of shoes.
Bisy Backson, SA

Christmas window

Unfortunately, sometimes the best picture is completely out of focus. I didn't find the woodcarvers yesterday but I did run up on this scene, where a homeless man does his first bit of Christmas decorating in twenty years. What a production. The first thing that happened was that Barney pulled the rope on that crusty set of blinds in his window and the whole shebang broke out of the brackets. I wasn't there for that part but he marched up to the office and demanded that new ones be installed immediately, which of course, didn't work.

He spent another hour talking about how he was going to have to lie there all weekend, buck naked, in front of the window and did I want to get a picture of that. Eventually, he and Steve hung the lights with little trouble and made a curtain out of wrapping paper, in order to spare his neighbors the unrepentant view. Once it was all finished the two of them went outside and declared it the best decorated window on the street