I got out for a bit yesterday evening and met redneck friend and her firefighter darlin' at the kudzu bar where we are kweens, at least until the younguns' show up. Our old asses are usually snorin' away by the time the twenty somethings come in to shoot pool and check each other out. Beer is two and a quarter..cheaper than a gallon of gas. If somebody's feeling generous they buy a round. I can't tell you how many times I've headed for home with footballs sitting in front of me to cash in for the next one. I know my limits, and when it's time to go, I'm history. There's nobody to see me home except myself.

Pulling out onto the Main Street through the south of town I headed for home on Pecan Lane, a route I know by heart. The ancient concrete bridge spans a kudzu covered pit that surrounds the Forked Deere River. On the right, after the bridge, is the chicken and gas place. Back when I was a kid Mr. Pierce had a general store across the road where we bought penny candy and cold drinks. The river was bad to flood in those days, covering up the primary route to downtown Dyersburg and the surrounding neighborhoods. Nowadays, it only happens when there's a rainy spell, which ain't often. Global warming and all that.

Pierce moved into a bigger building a few yards up and passed the business onto his son Danny. I can't tell you how many folks that bunch fed on credit over the years, but Big Ernie knows and has it all written down for St. Peter. The same can be said for Van and Kenny down on the right past the Dairy Queen. It's all right there on the way home, everything you might need from an ice cream cake to a can of hominy or a rib-eye. They're on special pretty often and grill up real nice.

If you turned left at Pierce's store you would end up shortly at Miss Christine's where I spent my time while Mama and Daddy were busy workin' for a living. Her husband's name was Joe and his parents were Mother and Father Morris. There was a big sandbox where we played for hours on end under the mimosa trees that we climbed up and talked in. The boys were mean as snakes and the girls were, well. Just girls. It's funny how boys show affection with the pop of a rubber band or a well timed pat on the back. Not really "haha" but more like "i like u..do u like me?" There was chicken pot pie more often than not for lunch and not the homemade kind. Between meals we would explore the big pasture that fronted on the woods and pretend we were bear hunters or snake handlers. Maybe a pirate or a fairy queen.

The main road to home turns off of this stretch and passes by UPS and a trailer park. The major busy north/south US highway has a crossover that, if you time it just right, you can pass over all four lanes and onto the blacktop without missin' a beat. Once I get by the big pond, I can drive it blindfolded past the cotton and corn fields down to my little lane on the left, right past the golf course road. Almost hit a deer down there once when it was runnin' out of the corn. BabyGirl DID hit a deer. Scared the crap out of her. When she swerved to miss hitting a bunny rabbit on Pecan Lane and ended up in the ditch, it scared the crap out of me!

The mayor of Samaria Bend lives down road a piece from my turnoff. Her name is Mozella and she's a widow woman that I used to work with at the hospital back in the day. I don't recall an election, but she holds the office proudly and with dignity. Her nephew and his brood live across the gravel in a brand spankin' new house and there's another one coming up pretty dang quick close to it. Down past there on the left is where my parents live in the log cabin that I grew up in.

It's been a blessing. Maybe I should write about growing up Poopie.