Disclaimer: This blog is in no way meant to offend anyone, it is just reality as I, Ira Mae Busybody perceives life, and my personal opinion. Places, names and faces have been changed to protect the cantankerous, mean spirited, nosey, bitchy and innocent.
Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room…
Hello Bloggers and Followers,
Yesterday I left all of you with the “Church People” telling me that I was going to hell!
Trying to bike in Hell Town is taking your life into your own hands. It is difficult to believe since there is only one street, Main, and two bridges to cross over. Of course, there are no bike lanes, this is northern “redneck country” and as you may have guessed I am from the “south”…I am certain that it did not take long for that to get through town. Riding down main with a target on my back was more foolish than brave.
A redheaded woman I would get to know as Ms Laura pulled out of the Crawfish Café in a 1966 baby blue Studebaker, mint condition, the last year they built that funny little car. I wondered if she might have been a member of the Studebaker Club. She pulled out without looking, I put on brakes right before impact! BITCH…
Ms Laura would turn out to be the preacher’s wife, a church located between Crawfish and Clinton the only church within miles, and I would find out that she led the choir, read during service, wrote a local news column for the Clinton Gazette and held a writing class at the Crawfish Café every Monday morning. It was my short-term membership in the “Crawfish/Clinton” writing group where I became acquainted with many in the area, including Ms Laura.
Next on the street came an old red Ford truck, I believe my daddy had one of those back in the ‘40’s, unlike the Studebaker it appeared to be held together with rust and baling wire. This pipe-smoking farmer would become my only friend and ally in Crawfish. He grew pumpkins for Halloween and trees for Christmas, both; he carried to Clinton to sell on an old A&P lot. When he pulled out of his parking place in front of Wilson’s Drug and Hardware store he gave me a toothless smile saying…
“Wanna race”
Off he went like a snail, at the bottom of a hill about a mile out of town I looked back to see the old truck turning onto a side road. I had to go back; the winding road through the pumpkin patch took me in front of a country home out of a Norman Rockwell painting. There he sat, rocking back and forth next to a table with two cups of steaming coffee.
“It’s strong and it’s hot, like I like my women…if I was young enough to still like women”. He winked and continued, “I’m Roy, and you’re that young thing that moved into what I like to call, God’s waiting room, because the next exit is the Pearly Gates”.
He laughed so hard it was infectious. I said to him, “Mr. Roy, I’m no spring chicken, but frankly I don’t think God is ready for me and the devil would not know what to do with me”!
I sat down had the worst cup of coffee in my life and found the best friend that I would probably have in my life.
Well, dear bloggers and followers, I must close the shutters on today’s. Writing… until tomorrow, remember a shot of “Jack” a day will keep the doctor away, and if you are a senior citizen just keep telling yourself… breathe damn’it.
Ira Mae Busybody
Crawfish Creek Manor
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