Tales of the Market

One of my favorite places as of late has been my local Municipal Market.

It's not really a farmer's market, per se. Well I don't consider it such. But maybe it is. I can get fresh fruits, vegetables, meat and seafood, and such there. And they have some great restaurants, including an afro-Caribbean and soul food restaurant. I believe they even have a place serving Venezuelan street food.

Now, I go because there's a great juice place there called Rawesome Juicery. I would get one of their juices through Uber Eats and I was thinking that this place is down in the Sweet Aurburn avenue district and it's the halfway point between my house and my job (I live 4.5 miles from work).  Ain't nothing to just stop by and get some juice and save the delivery charges.

And I am particularly interested in some of their cut-up vegetables.

I've had some of the cut-up greens and they were great.  There's a place that sells fresh cut fruits and that's always convenient.

But what's interesting is that this place was called "The Curb Market" when I was a child. It's the Municipal Market now. But I did find a sign showing it as "The Curb Market".

Anyway, I have some funny memories of this place. It was my Great-grandmother's favorite place.

You read that right. Great-grandmother. So this goes back some 40 years at least.

I remember her saying many a summer morning, "Lisa, get up and get your bath, because we are going down to the curb market today."

My 4-year-old little self did not care for this. It meant getting out and walking a mile to the bus stop and catching TWO Marta buses downtown to the market. And once we got there,  I was a bit horrified by the sight of whole pigs hanging upside down from clothesline.

It was a bustling place with people hurrying to and fro. And at times, there were flies everywhere. This was overwhelming to my little 4-year-old self. There was nothing worse than seeing a dead pig covered in flies.

I don't remember what we bought. I was just ready to go. I just didn't like the long bus rides and the walking to the bus stop. I think about it every time I see the railroad over near my grandmother's house.

We use to take the path and walk way up the street and down a hill and wait for our bus. The bus was only 15 cents back then, and I remember gripping my nickel dime tight in my hand so I wouldn't lose it.

But I just couldn't stand the place. I remember wanting to just be back in house near the house fan. I would rather be playing with my dolls and not on the long journey to and from the farmers market.

I promised myself that when I grew up I would NEVER go back to this place. EVER.

And some 42 years later, I changed my mind. I decided  to go, and I am glad I did.

It's a nice place. No pigs hanging on clothesline. Not a fly in sight. Thank goodness for that.

I am so happy that it is near my house, some 2 miles away. They even have a small vintage book store. I take a bagful of books whenever I go for donation.

So that's my tale of the market. It took me 42 years to get back there. I guess it's okay for us to change our minds, even so many decades later.

A Shorter (and More Visual) Way Home

So...

I've had my current job for fourteen and a half years.

It doesn't feel like that long.

Now, I live less than 5 miles from my job. This has been GREAT over the years because I don't put much mileage on my cars. I might drive around 7000 miles a year... on both cars total.

This is what's interesting, though. I, after all this time, have found a new shortcut home. After all this time.

Now I have about 5 ways to get home. But it helps to find this way, and I may get home a couple of minutes faster than usual. And that's a good thing.

I basically drive through the "touristy" areas. I guess a lot off people don't like driving that way, since it is through the heart of downtown.

I tend to take pictures if I'm sitting at a stop light. Why? Because I see some things... some not so interesting, and some very interesting.

Here's the Fox Theater.

That's part of ANOTHER shortcut I came across last year.

There was no concert that night. But when there is, the traffic is HORRIBLE. Ugh. 

Hard Rock Cafe!

That's been there forever.  I have some interesting memories concerning the space that they rented nearby for the 1996 Olympics. This is a rated PG blog, so I won't tell that story, lol.  Oh to be 25 again!

I'm not sure what the building is with the "200" on it. I just know I've never seen it before.

I could've sworn there was a Macy's there at one time. But that was 25 years ago.

The Westin Hotel!

That's a fixture in the ATL skyline. This is how I've always seen it:

 I've never seen it from below in  my car, though.

I had lunch at the rotating restaurant at the top of the hotel a couple of years ago. We could see the whole city from there. We could even see Stone Mountain. 

There's the Ferris Wheel.

We still haven't jumped on that. Heck man, they built that too fast. I need that ground to settle for a few years before I get on it.

Now, I have to drive through a suspect area. I think everyone thinks it is suspect, as there is NO traffic up through there.

There's a place to buy gold teeth.

I didn't think people still had gold teeth. I thought platinum teeth were the thing now. I guess now.

Once you get your gold teeth, you can get a tattoo right next door.

Alien touch. That sounds a bit suspect. It's unforgettable, too. And it looks like you can get your nails done there too. Wow.

Now this is funny. This guy here in front of me was BLASTING some music. Just blasting it all loud.

He was blasting the bagpipe version of "Amazing Grace".

All the way down Peachtree.

O_o.

Oh my. Patriotic.

Or something like that.

It was enough to make me turn down my radio and listen intently. And it was enough to make  me be happy I found a new way home.

So that's my photo journal of the new way home. I think the only way I can get home faster now is by helicopter. And if I do that, I would assume I would have enough money where I wouldn't have to work every day, lol. That would be awesome!

Repost: A Red Pepper Oldgirl

*Since Ginae wants the recipe, and Laura and Sasha are all O_o, here's an old red pepper ketchup post. Enjoy!

I like Old school things.

And when I say Old school things, I mean Color Purple Celie Oldschool types of things.

I like doing stuff they had to do back in the day just for fun...

Stuff like canning!

I only can one thing: red pepper ketchup. I make it every couple of years, so I got the BRIGHT idea to make it the night before I was due back to work (after being off for 12 days).

I haven't been able to find any organic red peppers for some reason. So I found some the other day at $2.99 a pound. (I saw some for $6.99 a pound here and there, but I didn't want to pay that much).

Here's my recipe!

As you can tell, the recipe is well worn, pages all smudged. It looks like one of my grandmas's recipe books.

Or one of Celie's recipe books.

That's Oldschool right there.

Here are my mason jars, justa sterilizing and boiling away...

Here are my ingredients!

Diced red bell peppers (9 cups), onions (5 cups), garlic and ginger.

Honey, that all took me an hour to cut up. It felt longer than an hour.

Here's my spice mix.

That took about 15 minutes to mix up.  My kitchen stills smells strongly of cloves.

Here's everything cooking and stewing down.

I let that stew for an hour!!

Then I pureed it all in my blender.  I added some light brown sugar and apple cider vinegar and let it cook down for a good hour and I canned it all up.

And here we have it! My red pepper ketchup!

That's good stuff. I didn't finish until one in the morning. My back was on fire from all that standing and stirring. I was not a happy camper the next morning.

But at least I had my ketchup. That's all that matters.

I probably won't make anymore for awhile.

Unless I have another Color Purple Celie moment.

Happy Moments: A Trip Down to Bankhead

So alas...

There was another trip down to the 'hood.

And yes, I live in the 'hood, but this trip was down to the hoodest of the ATL 'hoods, a trip down to Bankhead.

And "Bankhead" is the old name of that street and neighborhood. Streets over thataways these days are named after famous ATL civil rights leaders (I suppose. I have never heard of many of these folks. Maybe I should break out a black history book).

So...

Sam, aka Mzinspiredmind aka "Cinammon Sugar" came down for a some work related test, and she stayed with me. Mind you, I suck at hosting anybody. I am glad she was able to deal with me.

Upon us returning from the test down in the country somewhere (and me also grabbing up new kitten Sister Callie Joe in the process), she decided she wanted to go to Bankhead Seafood.



I looked at the time. And it was around 2 in the afternoon.

Here's the thing with Bankhead seafood: they are only opened Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.  And they close when they run out of fish.

The place is not very far from my home. I would say a little over 5 miles or so. But I told her to call them to see if they'd run out of fish yet. After all, it was a Friday.

Of course the line was busy. I suppose they were frying fish, and nobody had time to be answering phones.

So we drove on over there. It was good for a Friday, because there was no line out the door.

And Sam started with a bunch of questions. I can't even remember them all. I was just looking at her all crazy.

"Do they change the menu daily?"

*blink*blink*

"Man, no. The fish is $5."

Now, I haven't frequented this place much. But I suppose the menu changes when they run out of stuff.

She and I were both fiddling around with our smartphones, texting and what not.

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to have these smartphones out."

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. I just noticed no one else was in the line with their phones out. But we continued texting.

There was one lone booth against the wall.

"Since you asking a ton of questions like this is a bougeios restaurant, do you want to sit down and eat here."

She shook her head no.

We waited less than 30 minutes before it was our turn at the counter. During that time, I'd gone out to check on my car a couple of times since I parked on the side of the building in front of some type of stereo shop. I did not want to get towed. And I also perused various makeshift signs on the wall. Much of it was from "Mama", who I suppose was the owner. And a lot of it was about not coming up in there starting some mess, or to let "Mama" know if the cashier is asking for tips on the orders. All of that was quite entertaining.

So we finally get up to the counter, and Sam orders her fish and this:

I haven't seen a Faygo in a very long time. I MIGHT see some at some of the low end groceries stores in the hood, but you know that I am a Whole Foods type of girl.

And Whole Foods doesn't carry the Faygo line of drinks. No... they do not.

I wanted to take more pictures, but I had to be sly about it. I didn't want any trouble with this "Mama" person.

Interestingly enough, they hadn't completely run out of everything. As you can see in the picture, there were plenty of pieces of pie left on that back counter.

Pie was $1.50 a slice. I didn't want any pie. I didn't want any fish either. They usually have collard greens, but I didn't see that on the menu. (Maybe they DO change it daily). I have never been able to catch the collard greens, as they are out whenever I come up in there.

I do order some hush puppies, which are 5 for a $1. And the hushpuppies are the size of tennis balls at times. So that's a lot of cornbread.

"I don't like hush puppies," Sam said.

"Do you like cornbread?"

"Yes," she said.

I peered at her curiously. "You like cornbread, but you don't like hush puppies."

"No I don't like them."

"Cornbread and hush puppies are the same thing, honey," I said.

"No it's something about them."

*crickets*

Uh okay. I took her word for it.

Sam got her fish.

 That is a good looking plate of fish. There are at least 10 pieces there, or at least enough to feed a family. Not bad for $5.   I've seen people walk out with 3 containers. I always thought "They must be having a party or something!"

I got my hush puppies. Sam didn't like the hush puppy included with her fish, so she gave it to me. GLORY.

We stopped by the drug store so that I could get some food for Callie Jo.  And then we headed on back to my place.

Callie Jo was so small that she wouldn't eat when I tried to give her a dish of cat food. So I had to scoop it up and let her lick it off my finger. She got the hang of it soon.

We sat there while Sam ate her fish. She had been saying that she was going to eat all of it.

"You sure you gonna eat all that fish?"

"Yes I am."

"Well me and Callie gonna sit here and watch you eat it all."

She, of course didn't eat it all in one sitting. But I think she worked her way through it over the next couple days. If I even go to Bankhead seafood, it is after a financial freedom fighter meeting, which we sometimes hold at the library a few blocks away. I will get a plate and make a stop by grandma or either my sister's house, since they like it so much. I may pinch off a piece or don't have any at all. But I better hit some folks houses with it.

I don't know why don't sell ONE piece of fish. They could charge $1 for a piece of fish. Heck, the fish and wing joint near my house charge $3 for one piece of fish.  Why does it have to be so much that you can't even close the top of the container?

I don't think Sam minded that at all though!

And it was a happy moment, us sitting in my living room watching Judge Judy, and her eating her fish while I fed Callie Jo some friskies salmon delight off the tip of my index finger.

Oh what a happy moment and day it was.

Sweet Potato Cafe, Josephine, and Me

So...

If you've read here for any length of time, you KNOW I love a good book, and when I come across one I like, I will rant and rave about it.

And last summer, I read the book Solomon's Blues by Josephine Garner.

That's the first book I've read on my Kindle, then ordered the hard copy...

... Just so I could hold the book in my hand and smell the pages. And read my favorite passages again.

That's just how much I liked it. I even posted a review of Solomon's Blues.

Anyway, how did I find out about the book? Josephine and I were in a writing class together for 12 weeks last year. And when the instructor asked us to explain our writing experiences, Jo described her book and the sequel she was working on. I quickly scribbled the name of the novel in my notes.

I liked that book. 600 pages long, set back in the 1950s. Black and white relations. Awesome read.

And she and I have kept up with each other. She works at the agency across the way in my city. She works at the agency that folks from my agency look fondly upon... and wished that we worked there.

Hence, she comes up in my work email scroll which contains every government employment under our HHS agency umbrella. And I can email and stalk her however much I please. Really. (But I don't, lol. I check in for time to time).

We'd been wailing about getting together for lunch. She picked a day (Saturday, her writing day). And she was asking me to pick a place halfway between the two of us.

Man... I had no idea. But I remember seeing a little place on my GPS near her, and wondering what it was about. I even planned on seeking it out for a pre-class meal. (This didn't work out. It took me a good hour just to get to class. Humph).

And that place was The Sweet Potato Cafe.

Such a quaint little place, located in the shadow of Stone Mountain in Stone Mountain village. And I couldn't really figure out where it was on my GPS back when class was in. But come to find out it was maybe a block from my class. I wish I would've been more aggressive about finding it, because I was definitely missing out on something special.

(Jo said pick somewhere halfway between us. I am about 30 miles from her house. I picked this place which is a couple miles from her house. She was O_o. "That's not halfway!" LOL)

This is such a niche spot, as the selections are based on sweet potatoes, or contain some sweet potato side dish. Now, I really wanted to take LadyTee there for her birthday... but LadyTee said she doesn't like Sweet Potatoes (Gee, I never knew that during our over 30 years of friendship. Gee. She missing out, with her finicky self).

Back to the lunch with Jo...

I saw Jo walking there on the way, head held high, just enjoying the sunshine on her face. She lives about a mile away. I offered her a ride (We could see the Sweet Potato Cafe from my car). She declined. I imagined she likes to walk like some did in her book in the 1950s.

*ladylee speeds away and parks the car*

This place was so nice. Just right for a late lunch.

Jo had the turkey panini and sweet potato fries.

That looks good. I wanted to snatch one of her sweet potato fries. But that would be a bit ghetto. And Jo is very refined.

Anyway, we did share the sweet potato hummus.

As you could see, we'd already dug in before I remembered to take a picture.

That was some good hummus right there. Real good. Very light, light as air. Perfect take on hummus.
Jo talked about that when we were in class last year.

"That's some good hummus," I said as I dipped another warm toasted pita chip in the hummus.

"I told you," she said.

"I got me some hummus at home," I said. "I'm gonna boil a sweet potato and mix it in with my hummus I have. I wanna make some of this."

Jo shook her head. "Noooo. It won't taste the same."

Maybe she was right. If I took my hummus and mixed it with mashed sweet potato and it didn't taste exactly like the lovely concoction before me, I'd be highly upset.

I craned my head over towards the kitchen. "I wonder if they sell it. I wonder if I could get a container of it to take home."

I also thought about whether I had a container in my car. I am sure I had a random Solo cup in the car. I wondered how much she would charge to fill it up. Hmm.

But I quickly forgot about all this once my lunch came.

I am being mad strict on myself with mainly eating fruit and vegetables. So I zoned in on the vegetable based lunches.

I had the grilled vegetable soup.

Oooooh, that was so good. If the lights would have went out, I would've licked the bowl. Yes indeed.

And I had the Baked Sweet Potato with sauteed arugula and caramelized onions.

That combination... Who in the world would've thought to put arugula and onions with sweet potatoes?

But what a combination it was. It all balanced out REALLY well. The sweetness of the onions played against the bitterness of the arugula... all atop a perfectly backed sweet potato. Oh it was so good. And I love a good green salad. I didn't even need the butter (I don't have much of a taste or need for it these days since I have ditched the dairy). And the salad is just like I like... the nice baby spring greens.

What a good lunch. I was full without having need for a nap! LOL

There was much artwork around the place to admire.

I have no artwork on the wall. This makes me want to get some.

I wanted to take a picture of the restaurants interior, but there was a big group there. They finally left, and I got a good picture.

Just such a sweet nice little place. Lawd have Mercy, if I lived nearby I would worry them something aweful.

"Here comes LadyLee, yall... Marching up the road like Miss Sophia from The Color Purple."

And the owner, Chef Karen Patton, came out and chit chatted with us.

I really wanted to ask her, "Could I please work in the kitchen for a day? I would gladly work for free. And I would wash up the dishes."

While I'm washing the dishes, I could spy on her making that grilled vegetable soup.

And that sweet potato hummus.

But you know me. I didn't say all that. I just told her how much I enjoyed my meal.

I truly did.

And I enjoyed lunch with Jo.

"This is like having lunch with Oprah Winfrey!" I said, on more than one occasion.

"Stop saying that," she said.

Well it was. Maybe I won't say it anymore. It is so stalker-stannish. It is.

But I enjoy whenever we talk, which has been mostly on email. She has surely gotten an earful from my normally quiet self after class, when I would follow her outside and wail about some climax or point of angst in her book.

But I needed the pep talk about my own writing. I get a little bogged down and stuck with my editing and rewrites, and she is so encouraging. It is such a solitary experience and it has always been good for me to talk to another writer about my feelings. She truly understands the thought and care it takes to write something great. She gave me some great ideas on motivation. And I'm going to implement those ideas.

That was such a nice day. And a nice new place for lunch.

I need more of this. Good food. And good convo. Those things are priceless.

So I hope you have enjoyed my food week. I was looking through my camera and found more pics of places I've been, but I have ran out of time. Maybe they will be posted in the month of May.

The Sweet Potato Cafe was my favorite find, though. I'd never been to a Farm-to-Table establishment. I will definitely be returning!

With that... have a good weekend. On purpose!

Snow Jam 2014... ATLien Style

All I can say is WOW!!!

24 hours ago, the weather was alright. Dry as a bone. Then BOOM.... SNOW.

WOW.

My city is a HOT mess right now. Hot mess. We had one to three inches of snow. And the bad thing is that it is only 12 degrees in my beloved ATL. This means that the snow and ice are not going to melt anytime soon.

Now, this would not be a problem in any other, as a couple of inches of snow is not a big deal. But here in the ATL? Uh, that might as be a couple of feet of snow.

We are not prepared for this type of thing. At all.

As a result we have this:

There's a lot of this going on.

 This actually looks like one of the streets on my commute. I wasn't stuck in all of that.

 This picture below actually looks alright.  But it was a rare thing.

Here's the problem. Folks have been stranded for hours. Many are still stranded.

Let's back up and talk about what has happened.

I have been watching the news for the past couple of days, with particular interest in the weather.  Mind you, it was near 60 degrees this weekend and very nice out.

The weather people had been saying that it was going to be snowing south of Atlanta.  The key word here is SOUTH.  Down on the southside, some 20 miles from here. We were suppose to get rain.

I thought "Hmm, that is odd. It never happens that way. It usually snows in North Georgia. How does it snow in Middle Georgia and not up here in north Georgia and Atlanta?"

These are questions I asked myself. I didn't think anything much else of it. I woke up the next morning and I texted my coworker Sushi. She was already at work. My boss later texted that we were open. And the schools were open. So I made a decision to go to work. My goal was to work from 10:00 am to 2:00 pm.  I usually get off around 6:30 or 7:00 pm, and I was NOT going to stay that late if it had snowed. I didn't want to have to drive on ice.

My boss texted me at 10:52 am that there was liberal leave, and I could stay home if I wanted.

This caused me to have a mini-rant in her office.

"How you gonna text me and I'm standing here looking dead at you? Why come you didn't text me at 9 this morning?"

This ellicited the hard eye roll.

Humph.

So I was at work. Working away... then Play Mama sent me a picture.

O_O

She is in Alabama, in a city a little over 2 hours away And she sent this picture around 11:30 am.

I immediately thought, uh... maybe I should leave and go home.

But I didn't. I was off this past Monday. So I needed to work for half a day at least.

As I passed by the window at work, there were flurries. And a little later, there were plenty flurries.  This didn't look too good.

But I was like everybody else. Bump liberal leave. I wanted some administrative leave. And I was sticking around for at least half a day if I had to leave and use my vacation time.

But at 11:50, our director sent out a message. I didn't read it, but people started leaving in masses.

I was still trying to work. I walked down the hall to one of my coworkers office and she was eating her lunch. She wasn't leaving. She said she didn't have vacation time. Around this time, she opened the email, that the director had sent. It basically said, in a very professional manner... "Get the hell on!"

So that's why people were running like cattle out of there... hmm.

I soon left, around 12:20 pm.

There were just heavy flurries. I noticed it sticking in my hair.

*ladylee walking faster to car*

There was no gridlock. I was concerned about this. Upon hitting a little traffic, I took a shortcut to a better street through an underground condo parking lot.

I was headed for the freeway, but I decided against it. It didn't look all that promising. So I made a detour and took my usual street way home.

Within 15 minutes, it was looking like this:

And I slid a couple of times... Uh oh.

Snow had fell fast and was beginning to stick. And you see above how far I stay behind folks. No way am I driving like it is bright and sunny and 90 degrees outside.

I slid twice. Once on a street downtown (that was in 5 minutes of the snow falling, which was baffling), and once when stopping for a stop sign.

It took me 30 minutes to get home. Around that time, I was driving extra slow. There was a small pack of us driving extra slow.  My neighborhood is extra hilly, so I made sure to keep it slow.

Here is my house...

Snow on the roof!!

Here's my mailbox.

That doesn't look to bad. You can see my yard here. That doesn't look too bad either.

Pam was on program. There was NO way I was driving Lucy Jr. to work. I didn't think it would really snow, but no need to bust up my lexus, honey. Pam would have to do, and she was a trooper.

And she had a little snow on her by the time I got home.

I thought about parking my car at the top of the driveway. But I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. I'm not leaving until it is bone dry outside, which means I'm in the house until Thursday or Friday. So I parked my car in the usual spot.

I came home and watched the news. I am still shocked at how fast this snow fell.

Ugh.  This all happened so fast. It took me 30 minutes to get home. And I live only 4.5 miles from work, and my usual commute is no longer than 10 minutes, 15 minutes in traffic. But I remember having to use my windshield wipers to wipe away snow. I've never done that before. Snow usually falls slowly and melts on the window. Not this time.

I was fortunate. I lived close and got home expediently with no problems.

Here's a picture taken from my bedroom window just this morning after sunrise.

Uh, no. I won't be leaving anytime soon. Maybe Thursday at the earliest.

I talked to my sister Kentucky who is a school teacher. She told me that she hated to be mean, but she stood up and hollered "No disrespect, but I'm taking it to the house!"  You got that right, Kentucky.

I think it took her a couple of hours to get home, and her commute is usually 20 minutes.

What was sad that the buses were having a hard time getting to the kids. So many kids had to sleep overnight at school. Parents are furious. Someone is going to have to answer some questions.

And then there are the stranded motorists. Jackknifed trucks on the freeway will cause that mess. People have been stranded for 20 hours. Can you imagine that? People have just abandoned their cars on the highways and sleeping in Home Depot and grocery stores.  We caught up in some third world mess.

But it will be 60 degrees this weekend. And this will all be a... memory.

Will my city learn a lesson?

NO.

Same old thing next time.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Repeat Snow Jam.

Mice Tales, Part II

Click here for Mice Tales, Part I

Last week, I posted about a problem I had with mice some 20 years ago while living in a neighborhood less than a mile from my current residence. Thankfully, I haven't had any problems since then. But my best friend had a problem.

This wouldn't normally bother me, but it did this day. This had to be some 13 years ago. I was living in New Orleans at the time, and I would come home to Atlanta, a six hour drive away, to visit during time off. And during this time, I would sleep over at different friends houses just so I could get to hang out with everyone.

This one particular evening, the evening before I was to return to New Orleans, I'd planned on spending the night with my best friend LadyTee. I arrived at her place pretty late in the evening, around 10 at night. She'd already had the sofa made up for me, and we were sitting up watching television and talking.

"Uh, we saw a mouse in the kitchen last night," LadyTee said.
"What?!"
"A mouse."

And she went on to describe what happened. I think she cut on the light and there it was staring at her.

I immediately shuddered, thinking about my run-ins with the mice in my old place. "I can't stay here. Not with no mice."
"It's alright," she said. "I'm just letting you know, just in case you hear something."

O_O

"And I ain't worried about it. I got a trick for his ass."

I don't know what she meant. I didn't even ask, because I was sure I didn't want to know.

I decided instead to get up and go get some of those humane mouse traps that were useful in my own mouse issues. So I left her house and headed for the local Wal-mart. She lived in a neighborhood in the southern suburbs, and it's really dark out there with lots of woods. I had to take back roads to get to the Wal-mart.

And that's when I was spotted by the police.

I noticed in my rear view mirror that a cop was following me. He didn't have his lights on but he was following me.

Eventually he turned his lights on.

Do you think I stopped?

Nope. Not on no dark back roads. I am not a black male, but I'm still black. And one thing you don't do, especially in Georgia, is stop for the police in remote areas. He could've been a fake cop. Or worse, a dirty cop. I wanted no parts of that.

So I slowed way down. And I didn't stop until I reached the Wal-mart parking lot. Up near the front entrance.

The cop walked to my car, hand on his holstered gun. I let down my window.

"You didn't stop back there," he said.

"No I didn't. I was looking for a well lighted area. Sorry."

"You have out of state plates," he said. "Texas."

"That is because this is a rental car."

"Did you dump trash back there on the back road? Some trash bags."

I just looked at him. There was NO way I was going to be jumping out of my car dumping trash on a back road. No way.

"No I did not," I replied.

"We just had a report of someone dumping trash," he said. "That's why I stopped you."

"Sir," I said. "My friend has a mouse in the house. I was just coming up to Wal-Mart to get some mouse traps and some peanut butter. I am spending the night at her house, and I need to leave early in the morning. I just want to get some sleep without having to worry about a mouse."

He just stared at me.

"That's all I was trying to do," I said.

With that, he told me to have a good evening. I think he could see the fright in my eyes. This Oldgirl was not out illegally dumping trash. This Oldgirl was afraid of a mouse.

I bought the traps and we set them up. I still slept pretty light that evening.

Nothing was caught in the traps. Not sure how I felt about that. All I know I was getting away from there and making the drive back to New Orleans. I hoped she worked it all out.

A few days later I talked to LadyTee. "Did you catch that mouse? He still roaming around?"

"No babes," she said. "I think we got rid of it. I came up with a foolproof method."

"How?"

"This is what I did," she said. "I bought a can of beef stew. Then I mixed in some of that D-Con rat poison.

And then I put it in an aluminum pie plate and placed in the back yard, way back there by all them bushes over by the fence."

"Alright," I said. I had no idea where she was going with that.

"Then I went on back to house and went to bed."

"Uh, alright," I said again.

"When I woke up the next morning, I looked out the kitchen window, and that pie plate was gleaming in the sunlight.  Sun was just reflecting off it. Those mice and rats had licked the plate clean."

"What?"

"Yeah, girl," she continued. "I fixed them rodents. Teach 'em not to mess with me."

"Uh, but, what if a dog or cat got hold of that stew," I asked.

"That's not my problem," she said. "Dog or cat shouldn't have been in my yard. I'm trying to kill some mice here. They should've stayed out of my yard."

O_o.

Her unorthodox methods seem to work.  She didn't have any more mice problems for the couple of years she lived in that house.

We still talk about that 'til this day, the aluminum pie pan licked clean and gleaming in the morning sunlight. It was sort of a badge of honor for LadyTee. She is still proud of her ingenious master plan.

I just found it funny.

I'm not sure I would do the same. Too many stray cats running around my house.

I will let the cats do the dirty work of catching the mice.

That's one heck of a mouse tale.

I am so glad I don't have many to tell. 

Mice Tales, Part I

Shame on me for not posting. I've just been busy as a bee during this Government Hostage Crisis. I figure while I'm a hostage that's allowed to roam freely, I should get a thing or two done. More on that tomorrow.

Anyway, I was watching what is now my favorite all news channel last weekend, Aljazeera America. I like them because it is straight unbiased world news. I can watch and make up my own mind about what's on, without all the opinions.

They ran a story about an epidemic going on in Malaysia right now. Malaysia is overrun with rats.

*ladylee's face twists in horror*

And you could see they were overrun with rats. They filmed a couple running across the street.

Yikes!

It's so bad that the government is offering people 0.60 cents per captured rat. And there are professional rat trappers at work, too.

Well anyway, some professional rat trappers were being interviewed and they were talking about what was going on and how it got so bad. It seems that the street vendors don't dispose of their trash correctly and the rats get in it. And the rat urine gets in the sewer and water system. Many people have become sickened by this "rat urine disease", and close to 30 people have died as a result.

*crickets*

Goodness gracious alive. Could you imagine something like that happening here in the USA?

And they were saying, the ratio of rat to people is 7 to 1.

Wow.

I was thinking about this. Seems like they could put out some type of rat birth control for the pests. Or some D-con rat poison. Simple enough.

But not so simple. Somehow, rat waste is getting in the sewer system and the drinking water. So uh, poison and birth control... that could really mess up the townspeople.

So for now, they just trap the rats. The trappers that night caught three rats in a trap that night at a small open mall. (This in a country where there are estimated to be 200 million rats. I thought they would catch a good 100 rats at least. Sigh)

I don't have mice or rats now, but I have had them in the past. Twenty years ago, while in grad school, I lived in the Grant Park neighborhood of ATL, which is about 1/2 mile from my current P-town neighborhood. I was watching TV one evening and in my peripheral vision, I saw what I thought were 2 waterbugs run across the floor. I thought nothing of it. I didn't have my can of spray handy, and I thought I would just catch them later.

Then they ran back across the room.

And they were looking at me.

And they had big eyes and long tails.

They were gray mice!  Running fast. They ran right into the tall heater/radiator on the wall.

Oh how I hollered and jumped up and down on the couch.

I immediately called my boyfriend at the time and he came over.

And he watched as I packed a duffle bag of clothes. There was no way I was staying in my little duplex. Nope.

He suggested we go to the grocery store and buy rat poison. Then we would go back to my place and put it down. I was leery of this, but I complied. We bought a lot of poison, so much so that the cashier mumbled "Ya'll buying all the poison. Where ever you live, you need to move. I wouldn't stay there if I were you."

Whatever. We mixed the poison with cheese and put it down in my duplex.

So I stayed with my boyfriend for three days.  And when we came back, all the cheese was gone out of the rat poison. That meant that the poison had been eaten too.

I called my landlord, and they found the holes where the mice were coming in (one in the radiator, and one along a pipe under the sink. Those were plugged up.

But, when they were plugged up, a mouse was trapped in the house.

A pregnant mouse.

O_O

How did I know this?  By this time, I'd gotten a kitten from my brother, who was 9 years old at the time. He'd found it under the shed behind his house, and was feeding it. I brought the kitten home (my old cat Jeremy).

That's right. I had a cat! That meant no mice. Right?

So one day, I got a call from my boyfriend, who was at my place while I was at school.

"I'm just calling to let you know there's been a massacre!"

"What?" I said.

"Jeremy was in the kitchen trying to get behind the fridge. So I moved it. And all these baby mice ran out. I grabbed the broom and beat them down. Blood's everywhere! I'm gonna clean up everything before you get home, but I'm just letting you know there's been a massacre!"

I was stunned. I couldn't speak.

"And you need a new broom, girl," he added.

Ugh.

I was sleeping extra light many evenings following this mess. The cover hitting my foot the wrong way made me cringe. It was horrible.

I'd bought some humane mouse traps and placed peanut butter in them. I was still catching mice in the house. I wasn't humane about it. I placed the traps in a plastic storage bags and wrapped it with rubber bands and threw it in the trash outside.

"You're suppose to release them outside, LadyLee," my friend Carter had whined.

"The hell you say, girl," I replied. "Let them suffocate out in the trash!"

Jeremy had even caught a baby mouse. But he was just a kitten. He played with it, bouncing it back and forth between his paws. Sigh.

Finally they were gone.

My goodness. It took me a good six months to get over all of that. Anything moving in my peripheral vision whether it's a dropped bottle cap or anything, caused me to jump and yelp. Oh it was such a horrendous time.

And that was just me dealing with a few mice. Malaysia is infested.

An infestation of an entire nation is a whole nother story. I don't know how they are going to deal with it.

All I know, this Oldgirl won't be visiting Malaysia anytime soon.

I have another story about mice...

I'll post that one next week.

Frickin' Ticket! (circa 1999)

Did you read yesterday's post?

About the ticket I got over Memorial Day Weekend?



Ugh.

Well that wasn't the first ticket I ever received. I received another one... way back in 1999.

And it was an expensive ticket. $300.00.

That REALLY hurt. It hurt BAD. I was making half of what I make now. It hurt, honey child.

But the good news is that the timespan between the first ticket and the last ticket stretches 11.5 years. With that said, I christen myself a very good driver.

Yes sir.

But, I did get that first ticket. I've always wanted to blog about it, but there was no good segue into talking about it.

That ticket over Memorial Day weekend gives me a fine, fine excuse to blog about it.

So...

The year was 1999...

December 31, 1999 to be exact.

~~fuzzy wavy lines, fade to black~~~

Yes, yes... New Years Eve.

An all important New Years Eve, to be exact.

For it was the dawn of a new millineum... the Year 2000.

People were happy. "Party like it's 1999" was the anthem that year.

People were scared. For when the clock struck 12, who knew what would happen? The computers hadn't been properly prepared for this. There was talk of some large cyber crash.

Me? I was on the happy side of the scale. I lived in New Orleans at the time, and I'd planned to go back home to Atlanta to celebrate New Years Eve and spend a couple of days with my friends and family.

The plan was for myself and the hubby (who's the ex-hubby now) to drive up to the ATL on New Years Eve... we would go our own ways then meet back up and travel back home.
(Sorry man, but I wanted to hang out with my family and friends. I did NOT want to deal with his people. He was going to visit with my folks but after that he was on our own. I think that just lets you know right there that this marriage was not going to last).

Anyway, I think we left in the afternoon from New Orleans. It was a 6 hour drive. I remember that much. So somehow, that would put us in the Atlanta metropolitan area around nine or ten o'clock. Enough to get there for the New Year.

Sounds like a plan, doesn't it?

A good one indeed.

Anyway, I was going to spend the night at LadyTee's place up in Union City.

And that LadyTee said what she always said:

"Hey girl, be careful rolling through Coweta County. The cops be up through there, and they will pull you over!"

"Coweta County make that money, honey," she said. "Coweta County make that cheese!"

"Whatever, man," I said. "Bump Coweta County. I've never gotten a ticket. And don't plan on getting one now."

"Alright, I'm just saying," she said.

And I didn't plan on getting a ticket.

So we headed out of New Orleans, and headed to Atlanta.

I like to follow other cars when driving long distance. If someone else is speeding, I figure they will get clocked before me. If several of us are flying, then they can't stop everybody. And there's my standby of always making sure someone is going faster than me.

This worked well. And as a matter of fact, that New Years eve of 1999 was a GOOD traveling day. I hadn't seen one cop all the way up into Georgia. How the heck does that happen during a holiday period? I have no idea.

Yeah I was feeling good, rolling hard... and listening to my Erika Badu CD. I started out driving, and Oldboy was suppose to take over. But I was cool. I wasn't sleepy or anything, so he let me continue driving...

... while he slept in the reclined passenger seat of his gray thunderbird with the tinted windows.

Then... I saw the sign.

COWETA COUNTY

I thought about what LadyTee said for a split second. Interestingly enough, I was the only one on the freeway. There were lights way behind me and some way out front.

I was just a singing, eating some chips, rolling hard up a hill and over a hill...

And then I saw them in the darkness in the rearview mirror:

Flashing blue lights.



It was the police.

"Shit," I yelled. I looked down at the speedomometer. It read 85 mph. I hit the steering wheel with my fist. "Shit!"

(excuse the Cuss words. The Good Book of cuss flew open freely so long ago. Not so much now.)

"What's wrong," a snoozing Oldboy mumbled.

"It's the police. I think they clocked me."

"Pull over, then," he said.

"Ugh! I don't believe this," I said as I slowed down and moved over towards the shoulder of the freeway. "Ugh."

Of course he was pulling me over. He pulled up behind me.

I looked over at Oldboy all laid out in the passenger seat like he was in a comfy bed. His hair was all braided up. He had a stocking cap on. He had a tongue ring and multiple earrings in his ears. He had on a white t-shirt and some sweats.

"Ah hell," I yelled. "Look at you, hair all braided up, with your earrings on! Look at you! You look like a criminal! We're going to jail tonight!"

"Girl calm down," he said.

"At least let the seat up," I said.

"No," he shot back. "You need to calm down."

We continued to sit there. I squinted up at the rearview mirror. The blue lights were still swirling. The cop was still in his car. "What's taking so long?"

"He's running the plates," Oldboy said. "Don't worry, he'll be over here soon."

I was still scowling and complaining.

Then I gasped.

"Oldboy," I whispered.

"What?" he said, his voice tinged with irritation.

"The gun. The gun. There's a gun in the car."

I heard a door slam, and saw the cop walking to the car.

"The gun. We got a gun in the car," I said a little louder.


The gun. I suddenly remembered it was there. When Oldboy first got in the car, when we were leaving New orleans, he lifted his shirt and removed it from his waist. He shoved it down between the armrest and the seat. I remember wondering why he needed it. It didn't matter at the time. We had guns all over our apartment and he always carried one.

"What about the gun? We got a gun in the car!!"

"So," Oldboy said. "I have a permit for it."

[Looking back all these years later, I simply don't believe that. We had a TON of guns in the house. He always said he had permits. I never saw one permit].

"You need to calm down," he said.

"They're going to search the car!" I whispered. "And we going to jail!"

"No we're not. You gonna give him your license and the insurance and get your ticket."

He was so calm. I wanted to slap him.

The officer leaned down and shined his BRIGHT flashlight in the window straight into my face.

"Yes, officer?"

"Do you know how fast you were going?" the officer asked.

"Oh, 85 miles per hour," I said.

The officer just stared at me... increduously.

He took my license and insurance information and headed back to his car.

The officer didn't even look at or say anything to Oldboy, who was sitting in the passenger seat looking like the poster child for Thug Life. This was Coweta county. The name "coweta" sounds like some craziness in itself. Maybe nothing was said because it was a black cop.

"Why did you tell him how fast you were going?" Oldboy asked.

"Because he asked me."

"You were supposed to say 'No officer, I had no idea how fast I was going.'"

"Whatever," I said. "He didn't have to stop me."

We waited for what felt like forever.

"I'm ready to go!" I said. "What's taking so long?"

"He's running the information."

The longer we waited the angrier I got.

"Man, we got this gun in this car. I oughta shoot him. That's what I should do. Shoot that fool." I put my hand on the gun wedged between the armrest and the passenger seat.

Oldboy let his seat up then. He was alert then. "You'll do no such thing, girl. If you do, I will be out here on the ground cradling his head hollering, telling the other cops 'her name is LadyLee and she went that way. She at LadyTee's house."

"I oughta shoot this fool," I continued ranting. "Gonna stop me for speeding? I oughta shoot him."

Oldboy put his hand on my arm. "Calm down," he said. "Just calm down."

Another police car pulled up behind the police car that stopped us.

"Wait," I whispered loudly. "It's another police car. They gonna search our car."

"No they aren't. He's checking on the other officer. Just calm down."

I listened to Oldboy. He was a former cop. I suppose he knew what he was talking about, even though he was looking very crazy at the time.

I remained calm and took the ticket from the officer. He wrote me up for doing 90 in a 70 mph zone.

Sigh.

We were THREE exits away from our exit. THREE. I drove there slowly and was knocking on her door some 20 minutes later. I walked in talking much trash."

"Girl, that doggone Coweta County! They stopped me! I got a ticket!"

LadyTee laughed. "I tried to tell you. They be all up and down through there. Coweta County gonna make that cheese. Especially tonight!"

"And she had the nerve to get mad and talk about shooting the police with my gun," Oldboy chimed in. "I told her I would send them right up here to your house, Tee."

"And I would've turned her in," she said. "She my girl, but I ain't going to jail over her taking a cop out."

And I'm sure she wouldn't, either.

LOL.

I had a good time in Atlanta despite my ticket. I checked on the ticket fine later on that week.

$300.00

Ugh. That HURT.

You know what? And I tell people this all the time...

It is like taking $300 in cash and lighting a match and burning it up. That is how it felt.

I had to save that money up. $75 a paycheck.

WOW.

I haven't gotten another ticket since then. Until now. A cheaper ticket, but it still hurts. That is money wasted.

And a lesson learned.

Whenever I see the sign "COWETA COUNTY", I slow down... even to this day.

I don't want any more thoughts of shooting cops flying through my mind.

Ever again.