Ramblin'

I can't go back there. I have tried and tried. Memories are hell. That's all I got to say about that issue. That's all I can say about it, I can't DO a dam thing about it. But they worry me here all the dam time. Reason I say "here" is because this dam place is haunted with memories. And they ain't all mine!! But I pick up on them. Wish I didn't do that!! The sun shines, the moon comes out in its mysterious glory, and the spirits of times past just float around me as if I am one of them. It doesn't seem to matter that I am a physical entity. I don't call it a "haunting", I just think they don't want to or can't leave. They impress their lives on me in a way that I have the experiences they had. Meanwhile, I cannot live in the present because of it. Now, when you put that in context, and think of my Daddy here on this place for so many years, then understand his drinkin' and his crazy thoughts. Besides, an intelligent mind and a kind spirit could not dispell them.

Meanwhile, here sits ME!! Sitting here like an ole mama hen saving the nest for the babies to come home. And mean more while, they ain't comin'. Might never come back. So I'm sitting tied up in all these past activities, lettin' my own life slip away. Makin' sure my kids gonna be ok when I'm gone. But I guess that's what my Daddy did. Hot dam, I should cash in on two lifetimes of frickin' livin' with this craziness.

Now, there's a cemetary over 'cross the road, just outta sight. I know somea'em come over here occasionally. I got one son that's got his mama's feelin'. He seen 'em before the age of 6, when he had his 6^th sense so well. He, like me and his grandaddy, took them in stride. In the years of my daddy's growin' up, in the woods of rural 1920's and '30's Mississippi, there wasn't so many hangups about spirits as there is in our day. I'm glad my daddy was 48 when I was born. That made him pass on the way of a generation to my generation, which actually skipped one, which I think is cool as shit!

But this kinda stuff will worry the stew out of ye. It does me and my sister. She's a good bit older than me and she got that 6^th sense, too. We discuss how it worries the hell out of us sometime. Seein' things and feelin' things that you can't explain but you know it's real, in another dimension. There's a whole lotta stuff goin' on over there. And I ain't talkin' about the dam cemetary, neither!

Now, you know the cemetary DOES have a dog in this fight. Yea, it does. My daddy,my sister, and I have seen and heard that lil ole boy, keepin on lookin for his mama. "MAMA" he calls when the winds get up before a storm. It's not really an eerie call, even though you can't see who's callin'. It's just a lil ole boy wantin' his mama. I often wonder if that has anything to do with me and my sisters being the mothers to no girls, only little boys. So between us three, we mothered 5 little boys on this place where the little boy can't find his mama. And we lost one. Oh, my God, I really don't want to go there. But it would leave a hole in this ramblin' story I'm tellin'.

I ain't gonna go into the specifics, but yea, all I can say is we lost one, too. He lived in my Daddy's house, and he died there, a victim of suicide. I will always believe the residence itself had its own spoon in that pot. I think it was the plan to just go on and do that in the same room my Daddy died in, which he did. Guess he didn't want to contaminate the other rooms. I don't know. I wish I hadn't been there to see that. Messed me right on up for awhile.

Daddy usta drank a little on Saturday night. He loved music, being a player of several instruments himself. He grew up part of a band made up of his parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. They played southern gospel, country, and folk. He was a good dancer, too, and loved to dance. He was the kind who would break out into song and/or dance at the drop of a hat. So am I and I'm by golly proud of it. You can't stand the heat, gitchee ass out the kitchen.

Mama did. It wouldn't she couldn't stand the heat, just didn't dam want to. That situation was between them and I'll leave that alone. Just because it f'd up my entire frickin' childhood and half the rest of my life don't mean nothin', to nobody but me. And somewhere in this messed up mind of mine is a lil ole girl still hurtin' 'cause she don't understand what's goin' on. Daddy had just put this new house in a pine thicket filled with paranormal activity. Add a steamy pot of unhealthy relationship between said man and woman, and you have some bad energy released and runnin' rampant around the place. This, I believe, in addition to the already unrested spirits that were there in the first place, makes for a crazy existence if you live here. And I do.

Add a demented husband, a dog and some leftover cats from Michael's little world, and here we sit. Kids didn't just leave, they run away like the house was on fire. Or they ass was on fire, one 'er t'other, prolly both, hahaha!! Now are you ar ain'tchee thankin' well, this here woman 'bout dam outta her mind. And you right. You are very right. I gotta cirtificate ta prove it.

I got a chance, an invitation, if you will, ta visit the notorious and infamous(haha) Whitfield in Jackson, MS. Under duress, but with love and support from my family, my kids most importantly, I turned myself in. Starin' at that white concrete block wall that first night, I swore to the hells and heavens I was gonna get even with the ones thought I needed to be there. Had that nurse sittin' there by the bed. She was there to make sure I didn't hurt nobody. For some reason, the initial interview with the main nurse failed to show my best side. Hence, babysitter needed. I didn't give a dam. It wadna me had ta go watch me shit, haha.

So I walked them ole halls with the rest of the "irrationally insane". Picked around on the lunch and supper plates and wished they could find some fresh roadkill and stop feedin' us the dam dayold roadkill. I DID learn to like BEETS! Beets can be quite tasty when served with roadkill. I think much of the intrigue is that the smell of beets overcomes the smell of cooked too long roadkill. I never liked beets much when I was a kid and e'erbody grew 'em in their gardens. I remember once, my kinfolks that never had enough to eat, we'd be visitin' and I'd go out with the other kids and we'd dig 'em and eat 'em out the garden. They wasn't good, we was just hungry.

It's spirit packed down at the 'Field. They everywhere. Walkin' in line by the big lichen and moss covered brick buildings that had been closed for years, I could feel the spirits of those lost there watchin' me. I was scared to look back at first, but curiousity finally killed the cat and I started lookin'. And sure 'nuff, up in the third floor, top floor, of one of the buildings, on the left hand side of the chimney was a tall narrow winda. Well, that's where the face was on most days. Just standin' there lookin' at us. The shadow likened to he was standin' there holdin' a curtain back peerin' down.

Lawd, I seen some strange thangs in my time. That place was full of 'em. I often thought of my ole boyfriend I'd had once being in the Criminally Insane Unit there. He didn't know I was that close to him. I hate it for him. I'd hate to think that place was gonna be my residence for the rest of my life. No wonder them folks is crazy. Shit. But now, it's a good place for folks like me, ones thas done got a little sideways in their ways, a bit antisocial, what the hell ever that means! Just as long as you got a way ta get out the dam place, which I did. You had to be GOOD. I was incarcerated there for a little over a month. For a dam two weeks, I had a nurse followin' my every step for two weeks. All she had ta do is make sure I didn't hurt myself or nobody else, haha, 'specially the lil ole scaredy nurse that run the place. I did, however, ascend into what they felt I should be, obviously, and left the old "Field" and that face in my rearview mirror. My husband came and got me, under the assumption that I was "fixed". Before we got home, he was disappointed, I'm sure.

I met a ole girl that way. We'us both on "one on one". She was responsible for knockin' out the old windows at the entrance of the buildin' on her brave and eventful entry into the mighty "Field". I

was there, locked in the dining room til they could get her tranquilized and under control. She come up to visit me one day, after our liberation, from her south MS backwoods town of Toomsuba(means "dead horse" in Mississippi Indian). Me and her made a video, singin' Dr. Hook's "Cover of the Rollin' Stone" while we was drinkin' beer in my bedroom. Glad she didn't stay too long, 'cause we still ain't far from our old ways and I'm too dam old for any more incarceration. Not to say, if rubber meets the road, I won't have my ass right back where I need to be! Or wherever my kids think I need to be. Ever since I become a mother, they my boss. They my boss.

Well, I think I've rambled on enough now. I believe yall get the idea!!