Happy Halloween

From me and my Bumbles Bee!!

The Uneasy Rider

Me and my buddy got us some wild hair and we figured we wanted to go somewhere, so we loaded up in my ragtop Chevrolet. We had a little bit of money and a whole lot of show, and with Hank Jr. blarin' on the radio we got a tank full of gas and we were on our way. We figured we'd go down to New Orleans, we were barreling down ol' 17 when a man with a blinking red light was on our tail.

He said "You were doing 60 in a 45, but I'm gonna let you go this time, but if I catch you again, I'll put you in the county jail,"

We said "Thank you sir, you've sure been nice, you won't have to tell us twice." and we were southbound with the wind blowing in our faces.

We kept on rolling, and pretty soon the radio was kicking out a haggard tune and we were pulling into Houston and checkin' out all those places. I was feeling dry and I said "I think we ought to stop and get ourselves a drink" And ol' Jim said "yeah, 'cause we've got time to kill."

We kept on rollin' and I seen this spot and we pulled into the parking lot of a place called The Cloud 9 Bar and Grill. We walked through the door and the place was jammed, the lights were low, they had a punk rock band with some orange haired fella singing about suicide. I said "Jim, this ain't our kind of place..." and he said "well, let's just have one round anyways."

So against my better judgement we walked on inside, went up to the bar and we sat down, this fella walked up and said "I'll buy this round" and sat down on the barstool next to Jim. He looked like a girl but talked like a guy; had lipstick on and mascara on his eyes, and everyone in that bar looked just like him.

I said "Jim this ain't our kind of bar, let's just and get back in the car, there's gonna be trouble, no sense in taking a chance." We were getting up, gettig ready to leave when somebody grabbed ol' Jim by the sleeve; it was this good looking girl and she was asking my buddy to dance. I said "Jim don't do, theres something missing, theres fellas dancing and fellas kissing, there's a fella in high heeled shoes wearing pantyhose!"

He said "Partner, I just can't turn this down, you go over and have one more round, I'll dance with the lady and we'll get back on the road."

So he walked away and left me alone, and this funny looking fella kept coming on, and he was making me mad with some of the things he was saying. And then he put his hand on my knee, I said "If you don't get your hands off me, I'm gonna locate your nose on the wrong side of your head."

He said "I love it when you get that fire in your eyes!"

Heh..well, partner, try this on for size...I unloaded on him and he went out like a light. Everybody in that place must've been his friend, they all headed for me I thought 'this is the end,' but where i come from we don't give up without a fight. They were screaming and yelling and punching and pawing, I was punching and hitting and kicking and clawing. I was holding my own (cause I've been in a scrap or two.)

Ol' Jim came running up out of the blue, and the girl he was with came running up to, and proceeded to beat on me with her high heeled shoe. I grabbed her by the hair, it came off in my hand - that beautiful girl was just a beautiful man. Ol' Jim just got sick right there on the floor. He dropped that dude like a shot for a gun, smeared "her" lipstick and made her make up run, and me and O'l Jim started fighting our way to the door.

Man, we let outta there in my Chevrolet, I put it on the floor and it stayed that way we were going down the highway doing about 110. We were headed for home and we were getting near when a red light came up in the rearview mirror. It was that SAME damn cop pulling us over again.

We were sitting there in the county jail, I had to call my Daddy to throw our bail, but i learned me a lesson I never will forget...

I done give drinkin'
I give up bars
And running round the country in suped up cars

I'm going back where the women are women and the men are men

Vive la gloves

Heh...nevermind the fact that I got cashmere gloves for Christmas last year, long live the hippie gloves :)

All my words come back to me, in shades of mediocrity

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at football games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see me?" they could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here."

This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night and can't find their children.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and made them homes.

For all the mothers of the victims of a school shooting, and the mothers of the murderers. For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TV's in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.

What makes a good Mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time? Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to School alone for the very first time? The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?
The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?

This is for all the mothers that sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.

This is for reading "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then reading it again. "Just one more time."

This is for all the mothers who mess up. Who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired two-year old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

For all the mothers who bite their lips -- sometimes until they bleed -- when their 14-year-olds dye their hair green. Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't stop.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's graves.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.

This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomachaches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse and hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away.

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation. And mature mothers learning to let go. For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married mothers. Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all.

"Home" is what catches you when we fall - and we all fall.