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Sunday, November 28, 2004 You Can Go Home Again, Part I
As Callie eased out of the first night of peaceful slumber she had experienced in quite a long time, even before she opened her eyes, she began to smile as she thought about the Thomas Wolfe book, You Can't Go Home Again. She hated to disagree with such a literary giant but, as she stretched out in her old, familiar, childhood bed, she could sense that the room was already aglow in lovely shades of yellow as the morning sun reflected off of the bedroom walls. She opened her eyes and smiled again, basking in that engulfing cocoon of early morning sunlight that brought the walls to life with a rich, golden hue. Through the door, she could hear her mother's faint humming along with some song that was playing on the radio, and she could smell the aroma of sizzling bacon and baking biscuits. This trip was a journey with myriad possibilities, and she knew that, at least for her, she had come home again. Her room was exactly as she had left it years before – she looked around and was immediately transported back to when she had lived in this house, and she felt the comfort and security that those feelings evoked. A slight tapping at the door jarred her back to the present, and Callie's mother whispered, “Are you awake yet?” “Yes,” she answered, and her mother pushed open the door slightly and said, “Breakfast will be ready in a few more minutes.” “Okay, Mom,” she answered, “I'll be right there.” She lingered a moment more between the cool cotton sheets, and then slipped into a tank and cut-off denims, pulled her blonde hair back into a loose ponytail, and padded, barefoot, down the hall toward the breakfast table. As usual, her mother had outdone herself … there was homemade biscuits, milk gravy, bacon, eggs, hash browns, grits, honey, jam, and freshly squeezed orange juice – enough to feed ten people, not just the three that were sitting down to the table. Callie had definitely missed good, old-fashioned, from-scratch, Southern cooking. Not that she couldn't do it herself; she just didn't have the time, patience or inclination to completely turn a kitchen upside-down for just two people, and it could never taste as good as her mother's cooking always did, and probably wouldn't be appreciated anyway. After grace, her dad asked what her plans were for the day. How could she tell him, when she wasn't really sure herself? What would she say? “Oh, Dad, I'm going to try to recapture a time in my life when I was happy.” How could she admit that to them? She just smiled and said, “I'm going to try to catch up with a few friends, maybe do a little shopping, visit some old spots to get a few photos, and grab a late lunch at my favorite restaurant.” She changed the subject quickly and said, “Mom, breakfast looks wonderful. I'm starving!” And, she was. The drive home the night before had been so long. She had left early enough but didn't anticipate getting caught in so much traffic. Even though she left in 90-degree weather, with perfectly clear blue skies, halfway into the drive, the rains became torrential for hours, which made the miles crawl by as cars slowed their pace for safety. When she finally arrived, all she wanted was a shower and to fall into bed. Between bites, there was idle chit-chat of all the latest small-town gossip – births, deaths, marriages, divorces, and any other minor scandals that might be gossip-worthy. Callie let her Mom and Dad talk, and she nodded in all the appropriate places, and tossed in a few comments here and there. Breakfast was divine, and Callie felt as if she had gorged herself, not only on food, but also on a trip back in time itself. She loved her mother's cooking, and she felt that same sense of comfort and security from her mother's love and care in preparing such a breakfast feast that she had experienced upon waking in her old sunshine-yellow bedroom earlier that morning. Of course, her mother wouldn't let her help clear the table, but ushered her off to get ready for her day. After a languid shower, she did her hair and make-up, unpacked, and then debated on what to wear. She finally settled on navy silk walking shorts, a pale blue and white pinstriped silk shirt, navy belt, navy sandals and minimal jewelry – chic, non-threatening, classic, and comfortable – and, an outfit that had garnered many compliments, not that she was consciously planning to make a special impression, or was she? She picked up her keys and cell phone, grabbed her purse and camera bag, and headed toward the door. Her mother turned from the kitchen sink and smiled. Her dad called from the den, “Be careful. Will you be home for dinner?” Callie answered back, “I'm not sure. I'll call later this afternoon to let you know when I'll be home.” And, with that, she kissed her mother on the cheek, called out “Good-bye,” and was out the door. She got into the car, pulled out of the driveway, started down the street, and reached for her cell phone. Her hands were trembling as she began to dial the number, and then she heard the phone begin to ring. After the third ring, someone picked up the phone and she heard his voice say, “Hello …” [to be continued …] Originally published Tuesday July 15, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 10:52 AM | Thursday, November 18, 2004 And, Now, Heeeeeeere's Jerry!
Some people aren't willing to admit it but, . . . everyone has some member (or members) of their family that they fear might one day end up as a guest on the Jerry Springer show. Even if it is that weird cousin, twice removed, it's too close for comfort for a lot of folks. Or, some won't even admit that they have friends who could make an appearance on the show. Me?!? I think Springer is a riot! Sure, a lot of it is staged, but just the topics of revelation are enough to make you stop flipping through the channels to sit down and watch for a few minutes. None of those "tame" Maury, Montel, or even Jenny topics for Jerry . . . we've got . . . "I'm Sleeping With My Brother," or "I'm In Love With Dad," or the mega-hit shows like "I'm Here To Tell My Boyfriend That I've Been Prostituting, And I'm Leaving Him For My Midget Pimp." Come On, People! -- These are not your typical everyday, run-of-the-mill headlines, even in the tabloid rags! You don't see these headlines while standing on line at the grocer! But, when the semi-legitimate JS staff "fluffer" gets the audience worked up into a frenzied crowd-mentality lather -- chanting . . . "Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry," or Steve and Todd have to pull two lesbian strippers apart, who are brawling like drunken sailors, while the audience chants -- "We Love Lesbians, We Love Lesbians," -- ya just gotta love it! Now, most people would not expect the overly-sheltered only child of an ultra-strict Baptist Minister from the "Buckle-of-the-Bible-Belt," with the juxtaposition of a debutant & cotillion proper Old South Southern Belle persona, to even associate with anyone who might ever end up on a talk show ~~ Heaven-Forbid ~~ one as risqué and totally-trailer-trash, as Jerry Springer. But, in the South (as is the case everywhere, whether you want to admit it or not!), just as you can get any movie star to Kevin Bacon via six degrees of separation, you can find yourself within six degrees of separation of someone who should be sitting in the Green Room as a Jerry Springer guest! As a child of about eight, my pediatric dentist was having an affair with his dental hygienist (I may have been eight, but I wasn't stupid!). He was also heavily into gambling. His wife found out about the affair, contacted his bookie, and they conspired to put out a contract hit on him. He was cut into many small pieces (I'm not sure if that was pre- or post-mortem), and discarded in a garbage dump on a mountain in an area that saw a lot of "disposing" of "evidence" and other things that people wanted to permanently "lose." (I was never very fond of that dentist, anyway!) Also, as a child, our hometown had a local cowboy television star, who had a daily children's show (which also featured his beautiful blonde Swedish wife, a stately palomino horse, and his bad toupee). Small groups from local schools, scout troops, etc. were invited to be guests on the show. There were games, food, cartoons, ring-tosses from the back of the horse, and loads of other interactive fun. A small group from my fourth grade class (including me) was invited to be guests one week on the show. A few years later, his beautiful wife was brutally murdered. His brother was ultimately arrested and convicted of the crime, but always claimed that he was only following the directions of her husband. There was never enough evidence to arrest the husband in the murder, and he is now a behind-the-scenes executive at the same television station where he has always worked. Several years after that, I briefly dated a police officer (imagine that) who purchased a small two-seater convertible from this aging television star (what a great car -- I loved that car!). When he took it in to have it detailed right after buying it, they found an unbelievable amount of pills, roach clips, joints, and assorted drug paraphernalia that had slipped between the cushions of the seats. I would have loved to have seen the luminol and black light testing results on that car! That would have probably been a forensics pot-o-gold! Too gruesome?!? Okay, let's get a little more trashy then, shall we?!? Let's talk about my money-hungry, social-climbing friend who was all about status -- the best clothes, the most expensive cars, houses, cruises -- and, who thought she had snagged the ultimate "Money-bag$" boyfriend. My friend was a knockout -- beautiful face, raven hair, petite, all the right curves in all the right places, and plenty of men falling at her feet. And, this guy -- he could scare small children and pets! Talk about butt-ugly -- he made butt-ugly look attractive! But, he had money, and lots of it, and he was willing to spend it on her. And, that was all she cared about. Or, so she thought. He took her on cruises, bought her diamonds, and showed her off like a trophy (which, to him, she definitely was) at all the "right" parties and high media-coverage social events. He even let her pick out his new house -- a three quarter million dollar house in an exclusive gated community on the waterfront. He let her choose all of the colors, fixtures, etc., leading her to believe that once the house was completed, she would be moving in as his wife, with all the social status, exposure, and A-list privileges that marriage would bring. When her daughter was at her ex's for visitation on weekends, he would always stay at my friend's house and, after his house was finished, she would stay at his. But, the wedding kept being delayed for this reason or that. One day, her ex picked up her daughter a day early and she thought she would surprise him. Talk about surprised! They were both quite surprised when she drove over, saw the maid's car parked out front, thought nothing of it, let herself in with the key she knew was hidden outside, walked into the bedroom, heard water running, and walked into the bathroom to find him and the maid in the shower together, having wild and kinky sex. It seems the maid not only worked there, but also actually lived there four days each week as his maid and his girlfriend, and only went home on the weekends because he told her that's when he had to be out of town for work. He was having the maid Monday through Thursday, and my friend Friday through Sunday. The maid was getting the better end of the deal, actually -- she was getting the "girlfriend" monetary benefits and a salary for working as a maid. Wait!, or do they call that prostitution?!? Either way, both women were getting screwed, and getting paid for it! My friend realized that, for all the materialistic possessions and prestige that his money had brought, her self-esteem had suffered the consequences more. As I said, she was petite; standing only 5'2" and weighing only 102 pounds, and she began literally, yet uncontrollably, starving herself to death, dropping to 60 pounds in less than four weeks. Every time she tried to eat, she became violently ill. I found her several times, curled up in the middle of her kitchen floor, sobbing hysterically, whimpering about how she loved him and couldn't live without him. Although I love her dearly, I was never a fan of his, and I didn't think there was time for 'hand-holding' and 'there-there's' -- so, I immediately began an unyielding campaign of 'tough-love' to try to snap her out of it! Luckily, she fell for the doctor she met in the emergency room I literally had to drag her into, and they dated for about eight months (before she moved on to someone else with more money and social status). Although, that guy (another doctor) ended up trying to hire a hit man to kill his ex-wife so he could have sole custody of his kids (he went to jail because the "hit-man" he tried to contract with was actually an undercover police officer). She may be a beauty, but she has lousy taste in men! A friend, who was a minister of music and youth leader of our church (No!, not my Father's church!), and who had a long-distance relationship with his long-time girlfriend from seminary, finally proposed and married her, and she moved to our city. I couldn't understand “why” he married this girl that he obviously didn't love -- the only conclusion I could draw was that he needed a strong soprano for the church choir. (???) This is the friend that we saran-wrapped his toilet seat while they were on their honeymoon! Amazingly, the marriage lasted longer than I expected. But, just a couple of years into it, she said or did something that was, as they say, "the-last-straw," and he confessed to her that he was gay, had been in a long-term relationship with a man, had not stopped seeing the man after they married, and was leaving her for this man. That was ten years ago that they divorced, and he is still with his lover. They have been a couple for over seventeen years! Before anyone thinks they can take a "holier-than-thou" attitude, stop and think for a moment . . . about your friends, your relatives, your acquaintances, and your co-workers . . . we ALL know someone with a story . . . a story worthy of a Springer appearance! Even xxxxxxx is not above a little Springer flavor . . . when visitors, members and even columnists choose to hide behind an unregistered moniker to attack columnists with snide remarks, unfounded accusations, and ridiculous posts on message boards, they're simply becoming those nameless audience members who stand up and point an accusing finger at the guests on the show -- attempting to show superiority simply by belittling the person they're aiming their comments at . . . but, what happens when the mirror is turned back on them?!? What's in YOUR past? Or, what's in YOUR life? What makes you any different, any better, any superior in any way to anyone else? The answer to that is NOTHING! We all live in this world . . . together . . . traveling through life, as this spinning globe travels around in our solar system . . . just a minuscule fragment among the billions of stars, planets, galaxies and the unknown beyond . . . 
It's L--I--F--E!
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About Me
"a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma" --- Miss Kitty, an Irish lass, a true Southern Belle; writer, photographer, artist, interior designer, animal-lover, dreamer, stargazer, cop-groupie, 70's junkie, cbc, slightly obsessive iNFp with stories to tell! ... (fascinated by forensics, human behavior, pushing all the right buttons of men she finds interesting, and seeking utterly-sweet revenge without any repercussions. ) --- "Darlin', don't ever take a Southern woman for granted!" [tm] Feeling the uncontrollable urge to shower me with gifts?!? Check out my Amazon 
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