The Scare

Some of you know about the copperhead that my oldest dau and I discovered in the basement. Turns out that a tree we cut down for firewood and tossed into the basement must've had it in it.
Regardless, I have been terrified of going into the basement. Our shower cubicle is in the basement, so you can see what a dilemma this presents. I had the hubby sit on the stairs and watch the floor as I showered. Well...he said he was watching the floor, but somehow I don't believe him.

Even my kids will go downstairs and shower, but not me. Nope. Not unless someone perches on the stairs with a .22. I'd rather take a ricochet bullet than to deal with an accidental "tourist" snake in my basement, especially in my shower cubicle.

Finally, I got enough ass behind me {looks behind self...yup, there's enough there} to wash clothes. I took the oldest dau downstairs and we began the arduous task of fighting with the wringer washer. I looked over and spotted the biggest damn spider I've seen in a long, long time.

Now, mind you I'm not afraid of bugs...well, save for bees because I'm allergic to them, but spiders, freaky looking things with antenna and so on don't bother me (unless they look slithery, then I squeal). Jade, on the other hand will poke a snake but shoot to the moon over a spider. {heh, what can I say, we're a neurotic family} I point out the spider and she---

FREAKS!

Uhm, okay, I'll kill it.

So, I take off one of my hubby's big steel-toed boots... All right, wait a minute. I have to paint this picture for you: Daisy Duke shorts, oversized tee shirt, and huge black boots that lace up but aren't laced that feel like they weigh 20 pounds apiece. Hey, what can I say. I was prepared for something creepy-crawly on the floor, not something with eight legs with fuzz wearing a spiked collar that said: Don’t Mess with the Arachnid Bitch.

Anyway, I raise the boot, and as I do so, I take a closer look at the spider.

Hold the phone. That sucker's got a body. No, I mean a REAL body. One with meat and taters on its bones.

"Here, Jade. You kill it." And I walk away.

"WHAT???"

"I don't do meat and taters. That sucker might slap me back."

I gotta say the girl's got gonads. She takes my boot and aims...aims...aims again, hesitates, aims....

"Oh hell, Jade. Just whack the shit outta it."

She then starts laughing. "You're telling me to whack the shit out of it and you chickened out?"

"Damn straight. I'm a coward—and I admit it."

She hands me the boot, walks across the basement to the woodstove and picks up the ash shovel. She returns and whacks the hell out of the wall. Not the spider. The wall.

"You missed."

"I got it!"

"You missed that sucker."

"I saw legs go squish!"

I shook my head. "Nope. You missed."

"I didn't...I hit it!"

I crossed my arms. "Well, then wedge your ass in between the wall and the washer and produce a corpse."

She starts feeding clothes into the rinse tub, and I return to feeding clothes through the press, reaching into the water for more clothes, and produce a broken, wriggly rubber band.

I went apeshit.

After I stopped screeching, Jade looks at me and says, "Only you, Mom, and over a stupid rubber band."

"Hey, I'm still traumatized."

A Visit from Elizabeth Walker

Nice Boots!
by Elizabeth Walker

So, I had this pair of boots when I was a kid. They were tall – really tall, and they were ugly – really ugly. Certainly not a pair that you would be proud to wear with a skirt. Not at first anyway. I call them my muckin’ boots. Boots that were made especially for wading through s%#t. I am a firm believer that we were all born with a pair. It’s just that some of us get them out of the closet more often than others.

When I was a young girl my dad died a long and painful death. I was six when his illness began, I was eight when his illness took him. That is when I first discovered that I owned a pair, but I resented having to put them on.

Unfortunately, I didn’t even have time to take the ugly things off before I was handed a new pile to muck through. I became the object of my stepfather’s affections – I’m certain you know what I mean. Only a few more miles down the road, those boots stomped with me to the place where my mother left, with my abuser, to a different country and left me in this one. Those boots grew with me and when I first took them off at around 18, I swore that if I never saw those stinkin’ boots again it would be too soon. I stashed them away in the back of my closet and moved swiftly on with my life, pretending – for a time - that I had never needed them at all.

When I was 28 years old with four children and 10 years of marriage under my belt, I found myself face to face with another steaming heap. This one threatened to swallow my children whole, as my husband was four years and head over heels into a cocaine addiction that was devouring every hope that I had for a future for my sons. I had to make a decision. Was I willing to sacrifice their safety, their childhood, the way that mine had been, in order to continue my futile attempt to save my husband? No! I reluctantly but purposefully reached into that old closet (my heart) and pulled out those ugly old boots (my will to fight circumstance) and slid them back on to my trembling feet. Thing is, once I got those boots back on me I felt strong! Like in them, remained the strength that I had earned during my own childhood. I picked up my babies, told them to hang on tight, and I began my second march in those stinkin’ boots. Funny thing is (if there is anything funny about it) I hadn’t realized until the second journey that those boots were the most comfortable pair I had ever put on.

That last march began almost 7 years ago. Oh my sons and I have been through it, believe me – but that’s the point isn’t it? We’ve been through it! We aren’t in it anymore, and we are together.

So, things are different for them then they were for me. Things are different for me. And, I have this pair of boots. I’m a boots kind of girl. I wear them all the time – even when I wear a skirt. I earned the honor to show them off. Most people don’t notice right away because they’ve been modified slightly and the 3” heel tends to throw them off, but make no mistake, they’re muckin’ boots alright. These boots and I have been through it before, likely we’ll be through it again. But for those of you that have seen them, now you understand why I giggle when you tell me, “nice boots”. If only you could see where they’ve been!

Elizabeth Walker is the author of the memoir, The Tablet of My Heart. You can visit her website at http://www.tabletofmyheart.net/. To read an extended bio, click here!

Pending Today

Hello everyone!

My latest author newsletter will be released today. I've included my info for meetings at the Lori Foster Convention as well as giving away a previously published title of mine--a sizzling-hot one that has two stories tied together--and a nice li'l contest.

If you're not a subscriber, what I'm doing now (Yahell has ticked me off one too many times) is send a PDF of my newsletter as well as a normal one through my newsletter group. Starting with this edition, you can also access newsletters on the group in the FILES section.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bickbrownZHnewsletter