Whine and Cheese

Nothing spectacular happened today. I slept in, got a late lunch, went to Home Depot to look at storm doors, then back home, inked some comic book pages, watched TV.

I'm not sure what sparked my remembering of this, but I remembered a cousin and a location back home.

My great-uncle Matt and his sons had a small shack on a piece of property outside the city limits. Everyone referred to this as "The Shack." Uncle Matt was a moonshiner. The still itself was not at The Shack, its location never revealed to me. The Shack was where Matt and his boys would sell the 'shine and other alcohol (I hear). Matt and his sons were well known to have done this. Eventually, they sold the land to my Uncle Harold who put his house there. When he passed, a friend of his inherited it. My cousin Wade said it was a shame that one of us couldn't buy it since it had been in the family for generations, hinting I think that one of the well-off cousins should buy it (possibly me). Uhh... no, I thought, it's not like we farmed the land, it was a place where Matt and the boys could get wasted and sell booze. This is the setting for the rest of this entry.

William was a cousin to Matt, I think. The family relations get fuzzy as the generations go forward, so I think Matt and William were first cousins. William was known as "Wild Bill." He was a county sheriff or deputy and was called "Wild Bill" because of his unpredictable behavior. Supposedly, in the middle of shoot-out, he would launch forward, not caring about his own welfare, into the thick of it. Some call it bravery, others would describe it as recklessness. Knowing some of the family traits, I would lean toward the latter.

Matt and the boys were known to stay at The Shack late a night, usually passed out. They were loud drunks from what I have been told and would have firearms handy. I have always been told that you didn't go to The Shack at night because you never knew if they'd take a shot at you.

One dark night, Wild Bill eased his police vehicle as quietly up the gravel road to The Shack as he could. Matt and the boys were likely asleep or passed out. As soon as he got close enough, Wild Bill hit the police lights and the siren.

Calamity ensued.

Matt and the boys (and any other relatives and guests) were startled awake, thinking they were being raided, which had happened in the past. Instead of going for their guns, they were going for the woods. Hillbillies leaping out of windows and staggering as quickly as they could for the nearby woods, hoping in vain that the police wouldn't chase them down.

I can only imagine how this must have looked from the front where Wild Bill was standing, laughing his @$$ off at the absolute panic and pandemonium he had created.

I have no idea how this story concluded, as my Aunt Ruth relayed the story to me years ago and ended it at its climax. I imagine that the cousins stayed in the woods until Wild Bill turned the lights off and yelled for them to come back. I suspect there was lots of cursing and temporary hurt feelings

I never met Wild Bill, unless I was REALLY young, but it's nice to remember the fun stories he generated.

When I was growing up, there was a white foot locker with blue and red trim in my room. I suspect it was originally the foot locker my older brother Ron brought back from the air force, with a fancy paint job by Mom. Inside the foot locker was our family identity of sorts -- family photographs, birth certificates, marriage certificates, newspaper clippings, report cards, letters and postcards. I used to look through it all the time and every time I would find something new. I found my parents' marriage certificate, which was dated AFTER my sister's birth, so I knew they weren't hitched before. Mom tried to blow it off as a mistake of the date on the certificate, but I know better.

When Mom and Dad left the house, the twin put the foot locker in un-air conditioned storage building. When I found out, I raced over to the house to get the locker before the summer heat could destroy the family pictures, cursing my twin all the way for his stupidity. Because of the foot locker's size and weight, I bought a plastic tote and transferred everything to it.

The tote has been in my family room for years. I've slowly been organizing the photos whenever the mood strikes. Today, I decided to clean the tote out. With several accordion folders at the ready, I organized photos, school stuff, news clippings, letters, and even my old, OLD artwork. I probably could have done it in an hour, but nostalgia slows things down. I found a school photo that I don't recall. It has an odd greenish tint. My twin had one too, and I suspect that they had to retake the photos because of the color. Even after years of my repeatedly digging through these things, I'd never seen this photo.

One of the odder things I found was letters between my brother Ron and Mom from when Ron was briefly in the military. I also found letters between my mom and past family members and even an old boyfriend (pre-Dad by the date).

After several hours, I finished organizing things and the tote was empty. I have more organizing to do eventually, but they are in a smaller container and I can put the big tote to other uses. Eventually I plan on scanning everything and burning CD's or USB drives for everyone. It's a large undertaking, so it'll have to be after the holidays.

Whew! I just got home. Overall, Christmas went very well back in my hometown. I'm still a bit wiped out from jumping from house to house as I usually do, but Mom was in fairly good spirits all things considered. What really made me laugh was unwrapping presents last night at the twin's house. My 8-year-old nephew Bradyn has a really smart mouth and it gets him in trouble with his parents. He comes by it honestly as the twin's mouth was (and is) pretty much the same way. Here are the two examples that left me laughing when I shouldn't have been:

The twin was getting irritated when my nephew was acting all hyper and huffy, so he told him to sit down on the couch next him.

The twin: Sit down! You sit down right here and don't you move! (The nephew complies reluctantly)
Twin's wife: (from the kitchen) Bradyn, come in the kitchen for a minute!
Nephew: (sarcastically) Caaaannnn't!

Later, after everyone had eaten and we'd unwrapped presents, I saw my nephew had gone to the kitchen and made himself some pop tarts. I've long learned to shrug my shoulders at anything he does, so I said nothing. His mom came by a moment later and made comment.

Twin's Wife: Bradyn! Why are you eating a pop tart??
Nephew: (insert eye roll here) I'm not eating A pop tart. I'm eating TWO pop tarts!

Yeah, my twin deserves every minute of this.

Merry Christmas everyone! :)

My sister sent me a text message earlier today, giving me some of the details for my nephew's upcoming orientation at Berea College, where he's starting as a freshman in a couple of weeks. I called her and we discussed things. He has his schedule, his roommate is a guy named Jacob from West Virginia who he doesn't know, and he's got his dorm assignment (a fairly decent dorm really).

My brother-in-law asked my sister if she would ask me to go with them next Saturday. As a Berea alumnus, they feel like I know the ropes better than they do. I can tell they are starting to freak a bit. This is my sister's only kid, so she only gets to do this once.

I talked to my sis about making sure he had all the odds and ends -- a fridge for the room, a TV, bed sheets and towels, pillows, garbage can, laundry basket, washing powder, shower shoes, etc. I told her that he needs to call his roommate to see what he's bringing so they don't double dip.

I told my sis that I'd be there Saturday morning to help him get settled. I have a feeling I may be buying his books for the first semester. Just a feeling. We'll get his room situated and I'll take him to lunch at one of my old favorite hangouts. I hope to see my old dorm room if I can.

Before I got off the phone, my sister told me, "This $#!+ is getting REAL!"

Yeah, it is. Her baby is grown and going off to college. I hope she can handle it.

This dream just ended a few minutes ago and I rushed to get to the computer before I forgot the big parts of this, so the writing might be a bit hurried.

I was sitting in my car next to another car. A friend named Tracey was next to me at my window and she and I were laughing about a bachelorette or charity thing where our common friend Jackie was there, playing the drums on stage. The party included several male dancers performing on stage while Jackie was playing the drums. Tracey and I were laughing because the main dancer, a hung and particularly muscled guy sneaked up behind Jackie on stage. Jackie had turned around and saw him, only to freak out. I am guessing she was a fan. Tracey and I were being obnoxiously loud, which resulted in a shush from the car next to mine. The shush was from my paternal grandfather Ted, who we kids referred to as "Papaw." He was watching something, a fireworks show or something and we were disturbing him.

Tracey and I kept receiving the shush from him. I pulled out my clipboard and started writing messages on it to Tracey in an effort to be quiet. Tracey had asked who the man in the other car was, I wrote that it was my grandfather with an arrow pointed to him. She said, "really?" and I wrote down "really!" This prompted another round of laughing.

Papaw had had enough. This short, slender man in a suit got out of his car, opened the passenger car door, and dragged me out. I tore the paper from the clipboard and quickly threw it in my mouth to eat. I'm not sure why, there was nothing incriminating or bad on it, but I didn't want him to see it.

He wanted to know why we were being so loud. I fibbed and told him that we were just being silly and that it was courtship. I told him that if he ever wanted great-grandchildren that this sort of thing needed to happen. It was stupid, I know, because I never had any interest in Tracey this way obviously and I'm feeling strangely guilty now for lying to Papaw, even though it was in a dream.

Papaw told me that he had learned when a certain tree was going to lose their leaves or blooms and not grow back until the next year. This part I admit I don't recall very well.

We walked back to our cars. I walked up to his car while he sat in the driver's seat. I leaned in and gave him a hug, my head at his chest and I could hear his heartbeat.

"I love you, Papaw," I said.

As I walked back to my car, I started crying.

"I'm sorry, Papaw, I held on to you as long as I could," I said to myself. I think I knew at this point it was a dream, because he was supposed to be dead. Papaw had passed away back in 1984 when I was eleven, long before I was old enough to drive or court or anything.

And I woke up.

My next door neighbor stopped by last night to drop off some cat treats his wife bought and won't use and to let me know that our neighbor Steve across the street had passed away on Thanksgiving night. Steve was an older gent with two teenaged sons. He'd had major health problems over the last few years, but it seemed like they would come and go. This last time, the illness involved brain tumors, but still he was in and out of the hospital until the last time.

Tonight was his visitation and ceremony. While I probably only spoke to Steve a few times over the last 12 years, he was a likeable guy, so I felt I should at least go and pay my respects. I threw on a decent shirt and a tie and drove to the funeral home. It was full of family and friends, which wasn't a surprise as he grew in the Cincinnati area. I signed the guestbook and got in line to meet his widow. I saw his older son in his Naval uniform with his friends and his younger son dressed in a suit with his buddies.

I met up with Steve's wife (sadly her name escaped me). She recognized me and I expressed my condolences. We had probably the most awkward hug felt by both of us. We really are pretty much strangers, our communication usually just a casual wave from across the street. I told her I felt bad for not being a more social person, but she commented that she knew I went to work very early in the morning. So I said my "I'm sorry's" again and left. I probably was there for all of ten minutes.

The 701 Bar was nearby, so I drove over for a beer on Woof Wednesday. The place was not very busy. I got my beer and sat down by myself for a few seconds before I was called over to another table by a young lady and her friend. She was a gregarious young black lady and he was her fun gay escort to the bar. We joked and had a good time discussing things.

She really liked my tie. I told her why I was so dolled up for the night. The ensuing discussion evolved into talk about ghosts and whether we believed they existed. Alcohol was involved, but it was a fun topic. She told me stories of how she feels her long-deceased grandfather still watches over. She can go into her daughter's room why she sleeps and she swears she smells his cologne in the air sometimes in those warm moments.

Her story reminded me of a recent discussion I had with my soon-to-be 18-year-old nephew while I was home for Thanksgiving, which I reiterated to her. When he was four, my mom was living in her mother's house with her sister. My mom often would babysit my nephew and my grandmother (whom we grandkids always referred to as "Mother") adored him. When she passed away unexpectedly in 2000, we were all pretty much devastated. Several days after her funeral, Mom was babysitting my nephew in Mother's home.

"Mamaw, where is Mother?" my nephew asked.

"Honey, Mother isn't here. She's gone to Heaven," my mom responded.

"No she isn't," my nephew replied, "She was in the hallway a second ago."

It's always been a good memory for the family. He had no concept of death really, so the comment threw everyone for a loop. I've had very vivid dreams of Mother since then and I always enjoyed the idea that she checks on me from time to time.

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, my now nearly-adult nephew and I were going to see the movie "Homefront" at the theater. On the drive there, we were discussing the whole ghost visit story again. I asked my nephew what Mother looked like at that time.

"She looked like she always did," he said. He remarked that she was dressed for bed, wearing what looked like a pink nightgown.

This sent a chill down my spine. My grandmother was buried in a pink-ish nightgown and bedjacket. As my nephew was a very small child at the time, he wasn't taken to Mother's funeral and had no knowledge of her burial outfit. I asked him if he had been told what she was buried in and he said no, not until I had told him in the car just then.

Now I'm home, winding down for the evening. I looked out the window and noticed the Steve's house is dark. His family isn't home yet. I feel bad for them as I'm sure things have not been easy.

My sister and her family came up yesterday to hang out. We goofed around the house for a little bit before heading to the softball field. This is the first time in my life that my family has seen me in a gay-friendly setting. I wasn't nervous as my sister has always been supportive, but I always worry about her hubby JB being uncomfortable. My 17-year-old nephew is a modern teen and is always okay with stuff.

Everything went well. My sister and brother-in-law were slightly inebriated (I drove) and had a lot of fun at the games. I hit a great shot my first time at bat. At my second time at bat, my sister yelled from the stands, "GO T-BUD!" "T-Bud" was my dad's nickname and he was a horrible athlete. I turned to the stand with the "WTF??" look, my sis laughed, and I ended up hitting a beautiful shot three feet in front of home plate. I hauled ass to first and was luckily safe, turning around and nearly giving my sister the finger for distracting me. She was laughing and her hubby told to her keep her mouth shut when I bat. :D

I sat out the second game as we had other folks who hadn't played, so I spent time with them watching the second game. My family was having a great time and my sister was sad that our hometown doesn't have a co-ed league that she could play in. She even made comment that she might come up and play in the tournament over Labor Day with my team. My team captain actually looked hopeful she would (my sis is a good softball player).

We won both games and then went to Buffalo Wild Wings for a late dinner. We got home and stayed up talking until about 1 AM. I asked my sister if she got hit on at the park. She said no, but she noticed that her hubby got a few looks. I told her that a couple of them came from my dugout, according to what some of my teammates were saying about him. JB took it in stride with a smile. I like a straight guy who can take a complimentary glance from a gay man. :)

Mom's Five Kids, January 2000 (L to R)
Joe, Ronnie, Rhonda, Donnie, and Me

Last night around 1 AM, my older brother Donnie passed away from cancer in a crowded hospital room at the age of 54.

Donnie and his twin Ronnie have always followed each other. If one moved away, the other would soon follow. When one moved home, the other was there in months. Ronnie died in his sleep about two years ago. Donnie almost immediately started going downhill. I can't fathom how losing an identical twin must affect a person, but as in life Donnie followed Ronnie.

At his request, Donnie is being cremated with no funeral. We will have a family get-together to bury his ashes in the coming weeks when all the family can be here.

On Saturday, I drove home to go to the visitation for my sister's father-in-law, who passed away Thursday. It was a surprising lively place at the funeral home. With his five sons, their spouses, and friends of the family, it was a packed place. It was almost like a party, seeing folks you never see regularly, including some of my sister's high school classmates who haven't seen me since graduation. One of them even called me "handsome," which was strange considering she rarely paid me any attention back then. On the other hand, her husband is a stunning blue-collar cubby. It was good to see them both!

I drove Mom back to my brother's, taking a few moments here and there to admire some Christmas lights along the way. Mom loves doing this. This house was my favorite. Afterward, I went back to my sister's house alone and crashed. Driving the three hours to my hometown tends to wear me out. I nearly froze to death in my sister's house because it was cold. I wrote it off as the sudden dip in outside temperature, only to find out the next morning that she had turned the A/C on to combat a hot flash earlier and forgot to turn it back to heat. It's hell getting old, as I keep telling her :)

After lunch with my mom and brother, I drove back today, stopping for a break in Lexington, KY to refill the gas tank and go to the restroom. At this gas station, there was a line forming at the men's room. As I stood in line, there was a smell emitting from the restroom that grew increasingly rank. The guy next to me and I were talking about it, wondering if the guy in there was okay. The guy behind me finally gave up and went to the ladies room instead.

While he was in there, an elderly man poked his head out holding his soiled shirt and said a bit angrily, "Do you want to come in here!!? I have amoebic dysentery! Do you want to come in??" I just shook my head no as he closed the door back. The smell from the room was STAGGERING! I went to the empty ladies room (I'm not ashamed of it) and left. I'm not sure what was going on in the mens, but I have a feeling an ambulance should have been called. Just some lovely Kentucky goings-on...

I went for a run, then decided to stay in for the night. The DVD player has started working again. I watched Tucker & Dale vs Evil tonight. Such a fun movie, and Tyler Labine is adorable.

It's been a rough few days. The short story of it is this: my older brother Ronnie passed away on Wednesday from apparent complications to cancer. Funeral in Dalton, GA on Friday. Burial in Lily, KY today. Home finally just a few hours ago.


Mom's Five Kids in January 2000 -- My brother Ronnie second from left

The rest of it is very long. I'm not sure why I'm typing the rest up, I think as a reference to me.

( The rest of it -- cut for the uninterested )