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buy non prescription drugs generic cytotecConnie Keller passed away October 21, 2014.  What I feel for her goes way beyond simple humor.  Still, she and I had a rap going.  The following was written about four years ago.

FROM AUGUST 9, 2010 – A dear old friend of mine is going through some pretty tough stuff these days.    She’s in her 80s.   She’s a widow.   She has a bit of the dementia thing going on.   And now she has a cancerous tumor on one of her kidneys.

I saw Connie last weekend.   For the first time in over a year and a half.   She is thin and frail.   But she is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen or known.

There was a time when her youngest and most beautiful daughter and I cared for that dear woman.   That time is gone.   But when Connie was here, quite often her daughter would boss me around.   That is her nature.   The daughter would say, “Moon, do this!”   “Moon, do that!”   Her mom would just look at me with those big beautiful eyes and say to me, “Say, ‘yes,’ Moon.”   I would, naturally, look at Connie and say, “Yes Moon,” then do as I was told.   The big and beautiful eyes would always just roll back in her head.

I wasn’t sure how last weekend would go.   I really had some doubt as to whether Connie would even remember me.

Very shortly after we arrived at her new home hundreds of miles away, her youngest daughter told me to do something.   Connie very quickly said, “Say ‘yes,’ Moon.”

She remembered!   So did I.   “Yes Moon,” was my reply.

buy online cytotec 200 mcgAnd.   I got the eye roll.   One more time.

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FROM JUNE 7, 2010

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Most mornings I wake up on the sofa.  With news on the television.  I enjoy falling asleep there.  With the television on.  Maybe I should watch TV in the bedroom.  But it’s just not the same.

 

buy cytotec no prescriptionI used to live in an old one-story farmhouse built in the late ‘20s and situated on 72 acres of rolling hills, woods and open space just south of Hillsborough, NC.  What a great house.  It had a screen porch that stretched across the front of the house.   Just a few feet from the porch were apple and peach trees.  None of the fruit was ever human-edible.  But the deer loved the tiny little hard as bolder peaches.  Many evenings, I would see entire deer families, on their haunches, reaching up to get one more peach to eat.  An unbelievable place to live.

Inside, the floors were slanted.  Most mornings after waking up, because of the floor, I’d stumble into the refrigerator on the way to the bathroom.  But slanted floors weren’t always a bad thing.  If I happened to drop a quarter in that house, I always knew I would find it in the kitchen.

The shower was in the laundry room.  You shower off, dry yourself, and into the washer goes the towel.

And I had no electricity in the bathroom.  Actually, it was a toilet room.  A tiny room with a dysfunctional tub.  Just beyond the laundry room.  Except for the heavy-duty appliance outlets, I had no power in the laundry room either.  But hanging those metallic clamp lamps in those two rooms kind of gave that part of the house its character and charm.  And the heavy-duty orange extension cords all over the house running to the laundry and toilet rooms added delightful accents throughout the house.

The kitchen had a gas stove.  The thermostat never worked.  Maybe the slant in the kitchen floor threw it off or something.  One night, in preparation for the arrival of my son from college, I baked a pound cake in that oven.  He loves pound cake.  I placed an oven thermometer in there.  And I sat.  In front of that oven for 3 hours.  Watching that cake.  Watching that thermometer.  buy real cytotecCranking the oven to high. Reducing the heat to low.  I became a human thermostat.  I must have fallen asleep or something.  Or at least lost interest.  That cake was toast.  On the bottom.  I couldn’t even get it out of the pan.  When my son arrived home, I gave him a spoon and told him to go get a spoonful of pound cake.  He declined. But you know it didn’t taste too bad.  And I didn’t have to dirty a cake knife.

buy misoprostol australiaSo, in that house one night, way into the middle of the night hours, I woke up on the sofa.  Not to the sound of Bill O’Reilly or Anderson Cooper.  buy misoprostol cheap without perscriptionBut to some sort of strange sound coming from my bedroom.  It was a fluttering or buzzing sound.  A rustling kind of thing.  The windows were open.  It was a summer night.  And mice were not an unusual sight in this house.  Slanted floors don’t bother those guys at all.  I stayed awake for a few minutes.

Turned down the volume on buy cytotec onlineChris Matthews or whoever.  And I listened.  I could have gotten up and checked things out, but I did mention that I have a bit of a lazy streak in me, right?  I heard no more.  Chalked it up to living the country life and went back to sleep.

The next morning, after pulling myself off the sofa, I noticed a dead bee on the floor.  It was huge.  But it was dead, so I really didn’t think much of it.

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The exterior walls of that house had more gaps than the Joe Sestak Obama-Clinton story.  Certainly more than a Rose Mary Woods’ audiotape.  Bugs inside those walls were nothing to worry about.

 

So I stumbled into the refrigerator and took care of things that morning.  The usual.  Then, after making coffee and sweeping up the coffee grounds that fell on the floor after the coffee can rolled off the kitchen counter, I walked to my bedroom.  I notice a few more of those dead bees on the floor of my bedroom.  This troubled me.  A bit.  I looked to the open window, expecting to see a Sestak gap in the screen.  There was no gap.  There were however, about a dozen of the largest dead bees I’ve ever seen.  Wedged somehow in-between the screen and the upper portion of the glass window.  But they were all dead.

This troubled me more than just a bit.  And on many levels.  Did these guys want to get to me so badly that they didn’t even care if they squeezed themselves to death in the process?  Were they that determined to do me in?  Was I facing an attack from Kamikaze bees?  The ones that did make it through the window – the ones dead on the floor?  What killed them?  Was my slanted-floor, rat-infested home toxic?  If it could kill those insects, what the hell was in store for me?  This was very distressing.

So, I did what every full-blooded American lazy boy would do.  I closed that bedroom window.  There.  Problem solved.

Well.  That night, after dark, I was at my computer.  My in-home workstation was directly next to the most amazing bank of old windows.  I loved those windows.  I really loved being able to work there.  Alone.  In my peaceful country home.  With the perfect view of the most serene and pleasant setting imaginable.  As was often the case, that night I looked away from my work, and just sort of gazed with amazement out of those windows.  I didn’t see it at first.  My eyes were trying to focus on the light show of the fireflies.  But suddenly my serenity was broken.  buy cytotec online canadaBy the sight of one of those bees.  Alive this time.  And outside the widow.  Just hovering there in front of me.  Watching me.  Bee eye to man eye.  It was as if he was warning me that he knew who I was and where I lived.  And that he was watching my every move.

buy cytotec online with no perscriptionMy body kind of quivered and shivered.  I shut down the computer.  And called it a night.  Back to the sofa and Peter Jennings or whoever.  But I still felt pretty safe.  I had, after all, closed the bedroom window.  I was definitely relaxed enough to nod off – as usual.  But somewhere between nod and off, from the corner of my eye, I saw something huge flying around near me, or toward me or something.  Something was happening.

Then.  Again.  I saw one of those guys.  Alive and in the house.  This one hovered and stared just like the one outside my kitchen window.  But there was no glass separation this time.  And this one was as big as one of those undeveloped and hard peaches the deer loved so much.  Frightening.  Even for a lazy guy like me.

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But I did my manly duty.  I went to war with the sucker.  I had no insecticide, but I had a newspaper and a basketball shoe.  It took me a while, but I brought the enemy down.  And I closed another window.

I was able to calm myself enough to fall asleep again.  Victory sometimes puts a real man at ease.  I rested.

Accomplishment aided me.  The next morning I awoke refreshed.  And, frankly, happy to be alive.

I sat up from the sofa.  Turned my body and placed my legs on the floor.  Preparing myself again for another fall into the refrigerator.  And there it was.  Another one.  Followed by yet another one.  Several of those giant bees.  I jumped up, mostly to protect myself.  I had to do something.  The gold and black terrorists had broken down my defenses.  There were a couple of dead ones on the floor here and there.  Again, the whole toxic idea reemerged.   But I had no time to waste.  There were other live ones in the open windows, buzzing around, as if they were trying to find a way to let all their scurrilous little friends into my fort.

buy cytotec over the counterI put my shoes on.  You know, one does some pretty odd things during initial stages of crises.  My action had everything to do with all the dead ones I had found on the floor in the days before this infiltration.  Pedi-survival, I called it.  I then armed myself with the trusted rolled up newspaper.  And I did surveillance.

I saw a couple of live ones in the second bedroom.  A couple of dead ones, too.  What was killing these guys?  Man!  I then surveiled my bedroom.  There were dozens of them there.  Dead.  On the floor.  There were even more dead ones wedged again in-between the screen and the glass in the closed window of my bedroom.  Obviously, my room was their main point of attack.  So I closed that bedroom door.  And I newspapered the others in the house.

buy cytotec with no prescriptionNot at all trusting the peace accord the closed bedroom door had initiated, I set my sights on border control.  That’s right.  Duct tape.  I duct taped that door more than an un-sponsored NASCAR crew tapes their car after a crash in turn three.  If an insect in my room could survive the apparent toxicity in there, it would surely not make it into the rest of the house.  That night, it seemed to have worked.  But to assure a good night’s rest, I duct taped myself into the living room.  No bee could enter.  Of course, none could leave either.

buy cytotec without rxThat one detail troubled me, too.  A little bit.  But I did a great tape job.  I felt, for the most part, safe and secure.  Safe and secure enough, at least, to fall asleep to Ted Koppel or whoever.  And.  I had the trusty newspaper, a shoe and a new can of wasp spray beside my night-watch post – the sofa.

At some point during the night, I heard the greatest racket right above me.  The noise woke me dazed and confused and dazed some more.  Could it be?  Could the scurrilous little suckers have broken through border control?  Was this the major attack?  Would I survive it?  I reached for my shoe.  The newspaper.  I accidentally knocked the can of Raid off the coffee table and it rolled toward the kitchen, away from the sofa headquarters.  I was doomed, I thought.

Then I heard the racket again.  I looked around.  But I saw no bees.

buy cytotec next day deliveryIt was the dammed squirrel family that had taken up residence in my attic months before.  Chasing a pecan or something.  Man.

This was my life. For several weeks.  Bees.  Duct tape.  Sleep.  Squirrels.  No sleep.  Panic.  But I survived.  Until the landlord finally sent the Calvalry.  The exterminators.

There were four of them.  I showed them the war front.  buy cytotec online no prescriptionMy bedroom.  I removed the duct tape from the door.  Slowly.  I expected thousands of them to push through the untaped door like a F5 tornado.  The exterminators even stood back a bit.  And these were brave exterminators.  One of them even had a missing finger from a snake extermination gone awry.

Tape removed, I slowly opened my bedroom door.  buying cytotec with no rxThere were hundreds of dead hornets covering every square inch of my bedroom floor.  That gave me the greatest case of heebie-jeebies I have ever had.  There is no better way to describe it.  I looked to the exterminators for reassurance.  When the lead guy took but one step into my room, the sound of dead hornets cracking beneath his right boot, he froze, looked at me and quivered and shivered.

“Dude,” I said.  “You’re the EXTERMINATOR!”

buying cytotec onlineIt seems that some logging that had taken place up the gravel road from my house had forced some hornets and their queen to find new digs.  They chose a space between the attic floor and my bedroom ceiling.  The guy with one finger missing nuked the nest with massive quantities of just ordinary aerosol hornet spray.  He was unable to remove the nest.  He assured me that he took care of the problem.  “But,” he said, “If they come back, just give me a call.”

buying cytotec online without prescriptionI appreciated what that man did for me.  But the next call I made was to an apartment complex a half-mile from the center of downtown Chapel Hill.  I still fall asleep on the sofa while the television news is on.  And I am still, from time to time, awakened by some strange noises.  But usually these days, it’s just a young neighbor throwing a beer can at his roommate.  A much sweeter sound at that time of night than squirrels and hornets.

And.  I don’t even own a roll of duct tape anymore.

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FROM MAY 10, 2010

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I called my Mom yesterday.  We had a good talk.  As she has done often throughout the years, yesterday she took advantage of the opportunity to tell me once again how proud she is of her three children and their children.  As she always says, “None of my kids or grand-kids has ever been in trouble.”  Usually, it ends there.  Yesterday she continued, “Except that one time you were arrested.”

I have a prison record.  There was no conviction.  But I guess I am still on record as having done time in the Duval County, Florida jail.

cheap cytotec no prescriptionMy crime spree began on Airport Road in Chapel Hill, North Carolina in the spring of ’76.  I was living with three other degenerates in a trailer off Highway 54 seven miles west of town.  It was in the “country.”  One of my roommates had a dog.  I wanted one, too.  I found McFee at the animal shelter on Airport Road.

McFee was way overdue for being executed. Well, by a couple of weeks anyway.  The really good folks at the shelter just couldn’t bring themselves to put McFee down.  He was a good dog. So I took him.

cheap generic cytotec no prescriptionAfter summer school in Chapel Hill and after I was finished with my schooling, I loaded up my green Pinto.  Stuff in the trunk and back seat.  McFee up front with me.  Together we drove the 470 miles home.  To Jacksonville.  My Dad, ever the comedian, remarked many times, “Yeah, most kids come home from college with high grades, a job and a wife.  Mine comes home with a damn dog.”

McFee and I lived with my parents and sister in Jacksonville for several months.  For a year and a half to be exact.  Then I moved out.  To a modest rental with over sulfarized water on Bishop Estates Road in St. Johns County.  In Mandarin.  Some say I fled to avoid arrest and prosecution in Duval.  They had it all wrong.

When I moved, I took McFee with me.  Truth be told, the entire move had a great deal to do with him.  He was a country dog.  cheap cytotec without a prescriptionMy folks lived in Avondale.  That neighborhood is for city dogs.  I wanted to give the country back to McFee.  What I did not realize was that the 6 months McFee and I lived together in the “country” in North Carolina had pretty much been forgotten by McFee.  He, in fact, had become a “city dog.”

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In Chapel Hill, he got his exercise chasing wild rabbits.  In Avondale, it was bicyclers.  He only knocked a few cyclers to the ground in Avondale.

 

 

After a few days at my new place, I noticed that McFee just wasn’t himself.  He really wasn’t happy at all.  I think he missed good water.  He missed Schwinns.  He missed my parents and sister and napping on the landing upstairs and on the front lawn.  So I took him back to his “home.”  I think my Dad and others missed McFee, too.

Shortly after I returned my dog to the city life, he disappeared.  I looked for him, but I wasn’t too worried.  He still had country dog instincts, so I kind of felt like he would find his way home.  Besides, I knew all about the 72 hour grace period they give dogs at the Jacksonville pound.  I took that grace period to the limit.  I really didn’t want to go there and look for him.  That dog pound was so depressing.  Even to hardened criminals like me.

cheap prices on cytotecBut after a couple of days, I went there.  And there he was.  The Jacksonville pound guys would never have extended the execution date like the Chapel Hill folks did.  I made it just in time.  I was so happy to see him and so anxious to bust him out of there, that I did exactly as I was told and asked no questions.  I paid the $11 fee and signed a couple of forms as quickly as I could.  And I took McFee back home.  To my parents’ house.

Some time then passed.  I don’t know how much.  All I know is that enough time had passed to make McFee pretty much of a fixture on that block in Avondale.  The regular cyclers had even, for the most part, learned to ride on the south side of the street opposite McFee’s yard.  He now belonged to my Mom, Dad and sister.  He loved it there.

But while all that time was passing, my Dad kept finding “business” cards from a Duval County Sheriff’s Deputy wedgd into the front screen door of the house.  On the cards were written notes, asking me to call the deputy.  The last note my Dad found asked that I be at the Deputy’s office at 7:30 the following Friday morning.

My Dad put two and two together.  He suggested very strongly that I go there and deal with the situation.  “Get it over and done with, “ he said.  “To heck with that,” I thought.  “I’m a St. John’s County resident now.  What?  Are they going to extradite me?”  But my Dad’s request had a serious tone about it.  A tone I only recall having heard a few times.  So, mostly out of respect for my Dad, and not the screws, I went to meet with the Deputy that Friday morning.

cheap cytotecIt was a cordial visit.  I remember thinking to myself, “I’ve beaten this rap.  This guy is being too nice for anything bad to happen.”  Then, with a wonderful and warm smile, the deputy said to me, “Now I’m going to have to take you across the street and book you.  But don’t worry, you will probably get out on a signature bond.”

“What?” I thought.  My Dad had told me to just go pay the fine and be done with it.  “Can’t I just pay the fine and be done with it?” I asked.  “This is just a formality,” the deputy said.  “But I parked at a meter in front of the courthouse,” I said.  “You’ll be out in plenty of time to take care of that,” he said.

Be out?  Be out of what?  So I was booked.  Into the Duval County jail.cheap cytotec online no prescription  I was photographed.  Finger printed.  Given a medical exam.  Issued a bedroll.  We were served turkey and dressing for lunch.  If my situation hadn’t already caused me to lose my appetite, the sight of cranberry jelly on a metal prison tray certainly did.  There was no “signature bond” opportunity.

I needed a mouthpiece.  I used my one call to phone my Dad.  He sent his company attorney.  We met in a cold and windowless room.  I explained the situation to him.  I told him all I knew about the case.  He seemed satisfied.  He left.  I would see him again in the courtroom that afternoon.

At some point after I gave my tray of turkey and jelly to some old cellmate named Willie, they took me away.  To one holding cell after another.  I was on my way to the courtroom.  Along with others.  Car thieves.  Armed robbers.  Drug dealers.  Each of them was framed.  And each of them, it seemed, asked me, “So, what you in for?”  I told each of them.  They each had a good laugh.  I was glad.  If I could keep my cellmates laughing, they would do me no harm.

Finally we made it to the final holding cell.  “My Dad’s attorney must be a pretty good one,” I thought at first.  He arranged for me to be the second perp into the courtroom that afternoon.  I think one of the car thieves’ attorney’s had slightly more influence.  He was first out.

When my turn came, I entered the courtroom.  I saw my attorney at the defense table.  I saw my Dad.  On the back row of the courtroom.  With his arms folded across his chest.  He usually sat that way when things were serious.

Then the trial began.  Maybe it was just a hearing.  I don’t know.  At the time, to me, it was a trial.  cheapest online indian pharmacy for cytotec or genericIt sure felt like “Perry Mason” to me.  The judge read the charges.   Then he asked me to stand.  And he said, “So how do you plead?”  I looked at my attorney for the answer.  “That’s Perry’s job,” I thought.  “Perry ALWAYS does the plea thing.”  My attorney looked at me and nodded, saying with his body language, “Go ahead.  Tell the judge how you plead.”  I thought I was speaking just as loudly, body-language-wise, “I don’t know the answer!  Help me Perry!”  My mouthpiece clammed up big time.

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I looked at the judge.  I looked at Hamilton Burger, the DA.  This one was female.  And she was licking her chops.  Finally she had a fall guy.  A win.  I gave Perry one more chance.  Nothing.  So I looked at the judge and nervously said, “Not guilty.”  Burger was shocked.  She threw her glasses on her table and called for a courtroom timeout.  I forget the term she used.  But she got the time out.  She rushed to the defense table and asked Perry, “What the hell is going on here?”

Now my Perry was pretty good, I guess, at running the legal affairs of a furniture store like my Dad’s.  He was terrible at discussing or entering pleas in a trial or whatever.  But he was very good at playing the cards I dealt him when I pled innocent.  That poor man was told by my Dad earlier in the day that I just wanted to pay a fine and go home.  We never discussed even the possibility of what would actually take place in that courtroom that afternoon.  But the man stepped to the plate.  And he hit a home run.

Perry: “The dog doesn’t even belong to my client,” he said.  “It’s a family dog. My client lives in another county, and his sister let the dog out.”  Burger:  “Oh for God’s sake.”  The case was thrown out.  I beat the rap! Too bad again, Burger.

It seems that I, or someone, had violated Jacksonville’s new leash law.  When I sprang McFee from his imprisonment, one of the forms I signed was an agreement to appear in court.  Oops.  I missed the court date.  Who reads those things?

At any rate, now you know why all those car thieves, armed robbers and drug dealers laughed so hard when I told them each, “I let my dog run loose.”

And I guess my Mom is right.  Her youngins really never got into that much trouble.  Still, I’m guessing that my Dad, on that one day in the Duval County Courthouse anyway, really was wishing I had brought home from college a wife instead of McFee.  On the other hand, our family has shared many a laugh about all this.

Before their deaths, McFee and my Dad became great friends. And my Dad and I became better friends.  It didn’t seem to matter to my Dad that his dog and his son were both ex-cons.  That’s something to be proud of.