Town Drunks

Since moving into our beautiful new house, Jeremy and I have spent many enjoyable evenings talking and relaxing on the front porch, listening to the cicadas whir in the hot summer evenings and watching the wide variety of town drunks wobble by. Now, I know you're wondering how there can actually be a wide variety of town drunks--after all, aren't they all just drunk? But no. Each has their own distinctive variety of actions.

First, there is the peeing drunk. This particular drunk apparently took offense at the county sheriff candidate's sign in the neighbor's yard (or maybe it was the neighbor). As he stumbled past the sign, he had to loop back (this, in itself, is no small feat for a drunk, as a complete 180 degree turn requires for more motor skills than one initially thinks). Arriving back at the offending piece of cardboard, he then undid his pants and proceeded to pee on the sign.

Now, this was not the first drunk to take offense at said campaign sign (or possibly, it's just the fact that a sheriff, in general, would not please any particular town drunk). Earlier in the summer, another town drunk kicked the sign as he weaved down the sidewalk. It seems his anger grew during his amblings, for on the way back, he was audibly mumbling something as he approached the sign. As he drew up (or rather, staggered up) to the sign, he reached down and yanked it out of the ground (again, the motions of a drunk are not nearly as fluid as I just described, so actually grabbing the sign took him several attempts, body swinging somewhat wildly, and a close fall before success occurred). Yet, rather than trashing this "horrendous" sign, he instead proceeded to march wobbly down the sidewalk, carrying it like some sort of odd protester. He made it as far as the church next door before a cop pulled up alongside him. Interestingly enought, the cop did not arrest him, but simply drove beside him, "walking" him back to the yard from which he stole the sign. The cop then made the drunk replace the sign (again, no small feat), then let the drunk peacefully stagger off into the night.

Next, there was the bicycling drunk. I must say, I marvelled at this amazing town drunk. First, I have no idea how he managed to stay on the bicycle. Especially since he was barely pedaling fast enough to keep the bike upright, much less upright the way he swayed from side to side with each pedal. Considering his state of inebriation, the sidewalk was far from wide enough. At one point, I held my breath (well, actually, I was more hopeful and anticipatory, but that seemed a little mean) as I watched him head straight for a tree. On his return trip, he had figured out the sidewalk width problem and was now riding down the street. I had to admire his ingenuity in switching to this wider venue. The only problem is the street isn't so much a traficless little town road, but rather a fairly busy highway. Luckily, traffic slows down at night, so, hopefully, he did have the whole street to himself.

I have to say, I am somewhat baffled as to where these town drunks are headed and what they are doing. They always pass our house headed toward the convenience store. Now, at this time of night, the two convenience stores are the only things open. At first, I assumed they were headed there to buy more beer. They always pass by headed in that direction, returning roughly five minutes later. Time and again, though, I am befuddled, for none of them return carrying more beer. And it's not as if they could hide (or would really want to hide) a quart, a six pack, or any quantity of beer on their person. Thus, I have deduced that our town drunks are, in actuality, health nuts. Once intoxicated, there is some drive in them to get exercise, and they must exit their home (or mobile home) and get their heart rates up before passing out for the night. At least that's my conclusion.

There's also dumbass teenage drunk. This was the drunk who, in late spring, made the mistake of wandering into our house at about 3 am. Dumbass teen drunk got to have Jeremy pull a gun on him and swear at him a lot. I so wanted to open the bedroom door so dumbass teen drunk could also have a "proper" introduction to our dogs who, at the time, were not exactly pleased to have visitors or visitors entering the house in the way dumbass teen drunk did. Instead, I listened to dumbass teen frantically slur that he couldn't seem to get up. Tis a very sad day when the drunk walking into your house cannot do anything but sit on your floor and almost wet himself. I sort of felt bad for him. But not so much. Once he finally made it to his feet, he very quickly exited our house. Occasionally, we see him around town. He avoids looking at us. Hehe.

Finally, there is the neighbor drunk. Neighbor drunk wanders around at all times of day with a beer. Neighbor drunk is also extremely social and extremely hard to get rid of. So far, neighbor drunk has tried to help Jeremy move large appliances into the house, almost squashing him on the stairs. Neighbor dunk has also tried to slide down the old porch railing on the back porch and broken it off. Most recently, neighbor drunk stumbled over to our back door at 8 p.m. on a Friday night during our dinner. I let Jeremy handle neighbor drunk this time. Apparently, he had what he considred an antique sword or saber, which he was very excited about, and which Jeremy was fairly positive was a piece of junk. After about 10 minutes of pandering to neighbor drunk, Jeremy finally convinced him that he needed to return to his dinner. As Jeremy sat back down at the table, we both silently watched neighbor drunk, swoard and all, totter back home. Then, we just looked at each other.

Halloween

Last week, I made a quick stop by CVS pharmacy on my way home from work. When I got home, I handed Jeremy a Mt. Dew and a Caramello--yes, I was buttering him up. Then, I handed him a sack full of Halloween lights. I emphasized the point that I had gone much more "modestly" with the lights than normal also. And I did! I restrained myself, and only bought two strings of orange lights, a black spiderweb set of lights, and a black light for the porch fixture. He looked inside the bag and groaned.

I set out with all intentions of hanging the lights myself. But as most know, my husband especially, if I'm dealing with anything long that can get tangled, it will end up tangled. After approximately 5 minutes of watching me try to untangle the newly tangled lights, he finally just got frustrated (see, I knew this would happen--a happy side effect of my ineptness), and took over. An hour later, all the lights were hung. Then he made the mistake of saying the porch, which is huge, could actually use of few more strings of lights. Luckily, dollar general also carried Halloween lights, so after a quick trip there, we were armed with 3 more sets of lights. As dusk approached, I excitedly turned on the lights and marveled at the beautiful, orange glow. But wait, there's a balcony upstairs above the porch that just seemed a little too dark. . . Fortunately for Jeremy, it was too late to run get more lights that night.

The next day, coming back from mowing the Warner Robins house, I suggested we swing by dollar general again. Wanting to simply run in, grab more lights, and run back out, Jeremy suggested (well, tried to insist) that I stay in the car. By this time, I'd already started thinking about other decorations that would spruce up the house a bit more. Thus, I insisted I go inside. I would guess we spent approximately half an hour in dollar general. I could feel Jeremy trying to suppress his irritation as I repeatedly scanned the autumn scented candles, trying to find the best valued ones. I could hear him mumbling under his breath as I debated on which rug to get for the front porch: a Halloween rug, or a more multipurpose fall themed rug. I could hear him groaning as I sorted through miscellaneous other Halloween decorations, pondering whether to get the glow in the dark window stickies (I did--3 different sets), the wind sock, or the skeleton or frankenstein wind spinner decoration (I settled on the skeleton). All the while, he is clutching the 5 sets (yes, 5 more sets) of orange lights he grabbed right away when we entered the store, when, in some sort of misguided thought process, he still assumed that was all we were getting.

Two hours later, all my decorations were hung, pasted to windows, and strung. Time to flip on the lights and delight in the beautifully glowing orange house. I stood in the yard in front of the house, I moved over to the side of the house, back to the middle, over to the other side, thrilled with my festive home. Jeremy followed me through the yard, more or less just admiring his handiwork in hanging all 10 (or was it 11?) sets of lights. Then, he turned to me, laughed, and said, "We live in the Amityville Whorehouse." Okay, so it might be a tad flamboyant (we have yet to spot anyone else in town--or surrounding towns for that matter--with Halloween lights), but I love my Amityville Whorehouse. Besides, it now makes it even harder to miss. hehe.

Peanut Festival

Saturday, Jeremy and I headed out to Plains, GA for their annual Peanut Festival. We were both particularly excited about this event, as Plains is the town where President Jimmy Carter was born, raised, and still lives. Each year, he does a book signing, so I made sure (probably almost a week in advance) that I had one of Carter's books set out, idealistically thinking it would be no problem to get it signed.

Our first stop was the Georgia Visitor's Center right outside Plains. Not that Jeremy had any desire to stop there, but I have a "slight" addiction to pamphlets and brochures. How can you not love them? They are concise, informative, and have tons of pretty pictures. You just can't go wrong with a pamphlet (at least that's my view). This particular visitor's center was a smorgasboard for me, with a section devoted to all the different regions in Georgia! I was ecstatic--worse than a child on chocolate and caffeine. Unfortunately, I believe I incurred the "ire" (that might be an understatement) of the older, genteel southern lady working there--though, in traditional, southern, lady-like fashion, she tried to tightly conceal her irritation. See, my view is that pamphlets are there for the taking, therefore, I'm going to take all the ones that interest me. And it's not like they will go to waste. I've already read about half, separating them into things to see/do sooner, and things to see/do later. Plus, whenever we have friends and family down, I can quickly produce a brochure on almost anything they would want to do. So, call me a bit obsessive, but yes, I love pamphlets (not quite as much as the weekly shopper, but it's close!). As you can guess, with such a wide and tempting variety of pamphlets, I couldn't resist picking up more and more. It's pretty safe to say that I was carrying around a book sized stack of pamphlets when the lady decided she must intervene. The next thing I know, she's hovering around me, disapproving look on her face, asking "Can I help you?" I think it was pretty obvious I didn't need help and pretty obvious that she really only wanted to help me out the door. Besides, she'd already insisted on helping Jeremy, despite his protestations, circling all the Carter related sites on a map of the town (and lets just say, the town is so small, and everything is so well-marked, it would be impossible to miss anything). I'm fairly certain she was not wanting to provide the same courtesies for me, and that, by this point, Jeremy had disappeared outside to avoid any further embarrassment I might cause.

Once I finally had my fill of pamphlets, we headed back to the car. On the way, I noticed a Bottle Tree. This really surprised me, as I'd never seen any outside of Mississippi before. They are fascinating things to look at. Basically, they are small, living trees with all the foliage stripped away, and bottles are shoved onto the ends of each branch. This one was particularly striking because it was decorated in a beautiful array of antique bottles that had intricate textures and unusual colors, such as pink, aqua blue, emerald green and so on. (I didn't think to get a picture of the actual bottle tree, but this one is a pretty good example of one that I stole from online.) The Bottle Tree's purpose is equally as interesting as its look. It comes from African beliefs/tradition (I forget which particular tribe) brought over during the slavery years. The colorful bottles were thought to attract evil spirits, that, once inside, were then trapped and unable to cause further harm. I've always loved the eccentric look these trees have. I think we should have one on both sides of our front steps at home--talk about a conversation piece as well as low maintenance landscaping! Needless to say, I did not bother mentioning this idea to Jeremy: I'm fairly, okay positively, certain what his response would be (the same response I got about putting a donkey in the hallway and purchasing various items, such as the immobile home made out of a bluebird bus, in our local shopper).

Next on the agenda was downtown Plains. While downtown is exceptionally small, they have done a beautiful job restoring all the buildings. And, since it is a tourist destination, the downtown has many delightful little shops, antique stores, and restaurants serving traditional southern fare such as fried chicken, collard greens, black-eyed peas, and sweet tea. Of course, all the stores were packed, so we very slowly meandered through them. In the first store, it was all I could do to resist buying either a stuffed 'possum or a stuffed armadillo, both of which were at least double or triple the real animal's size. I mean really, who would not want to have a giant stuffed possum or armadillo? In the end, I ruled out the possum. No matter how much they tried, they could not make the possum look cute. I was really debating about the armadillo, but Jeremy took it from me, flipped it on its back with its legs in the air, and pointed out "this is how we normally see them." Which is quite true. I don't think I've ever seen an upright, living armadillo--wait, I saw 2 of them once! Unfortunately, they were mating in the road, and it was right before I accidentally ran them over. So, the armadillo went back on the shelf.

We wandered through the rest of the stores, and I found a fairly large basket that I thought would be perfect for holding my ever growing cork collection (yes, it's just that--corks from wine bottles that are overflowing another basket. What am I going to do with them? I have no idea. I can't hardly reach my hand in a coat pocket either without pulling out corks. Corks in the car, corks in junk drawers, nightstand drawers. . .). Unluckily for me, I am quite clumsy, so there was no way for me to carry the basket around the antique stores without continually thumping it into things. Also, unluckily for Jeremy, that meant he was stuck carrying a very pretty basket through the rest of the stores, and 2 nicely priced antique vases I picked up later. In the end, the corks are still overflowing, but all my pamphlets fit perfectly into the basket! Jeremy just looks at it overflowing with brochures, shakes his head, and sighs. I just think perfect! I found a basket for my brochures!

As we strolled outside, I continued to embarrass Jeremy at different locations. First, we came across the Planter's Nutmobile (and despite what Jeremy says, that is not the perfect vehicle for me! It's too big :P). Naturally, I had to make him take a picture of it (I also slightly wished I could get a picture of the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile to add to my collection, but alas, I guess I need to find a Weiner Festival for that). Just look at that thing! How could you not want your very own picture off a giant, yellow, peanut looking vehicle with a huge Mr. Peanut sticking out the back? I would so have loved to drive that thing around. Jeremy's probably very glad I didn't try to find whoever owned it so I could! The next picture-worthy item I found was actually a giant peanut! We were headed out of town to find Carter's church (nicely circled on our out of scale Plains map that makes the town look about 4x as big as it is) when I noticed Giant Peanut. Logically, I made Jeremy pull into the gas station where it was located and take a picture. Apparently, whoever designed Mr. Giant Peanut decided it wouldn't be at all creepy to give him and incredibly large grin and no eyes whatsoever. And look! Our picture also came with a complimentary family whom we do not know posing! What more could you ask for in a picture of a giant peanut? Of course, Jeremy had to take more "traditional" pictures. So one that he captured was of the old Plain's train depot, which was the headquarters for Carter's presidential campaign. Okay, so it is definitely a bit more worthwhile of a photo than the ones I had him take, but then again, I do have a very worthwhile agenda. I have decided to start collecting pictures of giant items (there's a coffee pot in Winston-Salem, a chest of drawers near High Point, and a chair in Thomasville that I can think of right offhand). Apparently, when it was announced that Carter had won the election, there were literally thousands of people in this small town (I'm guessing the total population is less than 1000 people). Bands had been playing all night, but the celebration just increased to the point where no one could even get in or out of town.

Near the depot was where Carter's booksigning was to take place. This is when idealism met reality. We arrived there around 1 pm, the book signing was not to start until around 1:45 pm, and already there were blocks and blocks of people waiting to get their books signed. So, sighing, I abandoned my quest for Carter's autograph. I just had no desire to stand in that long of a line for hours, making small talk with other people standing there as we roasted in the hot sun and worried that our deodorant was no longer working and that, if we did get to Carter, he'd get a whiff and pass out (okay, so maybe that was just me). Instead, we headed over to the old high school that's been converted into a museum. They have one of the most striking photographs that I have ever seen on display there--it's not just because it's Carter on the night he won the Nobel Prize, but the picture itself is just beautiful. I couldn't find the one they have on display that is just Carter alone, but this one of he and Rosalynn is equally as visually stunning. The museum itself is divided into different eras in Carter's life, which is wonderful. You basically see what and who influenced his life, politics, and visions from early childhood on. Although, I must say, I could do without the picture of the gigantic worm that infects people through water in Africa (that was in the room exploring the different causes, such as eliminating certain diseases in impoverished nations, that the Carters are devoted to).

Then it was off to Carter's boyhood farm. This really is a beautiful farm. On it, you can tour the house he lived in, the credit store his father owned, the farm buildings, view the farm machinery of the time and tons of information about what life and chores were like for Jimmy growing up as well as see the the different crops and livestock the family had. I will say though, despite the fact they had corn and a corn sheller so you could feed the goats, the horns curling round their heads made me a little trepidatious about actually approaching them. I'm pretty sure one was plotting his escape too, but hadn't made it any farther than wedging his head through the fence.

As we reached the parking lot, at the same time, we both noticed to very large and very black SUVs parked side by side. We looked at each other and instantly knew--Secret Service! Jimmy Carter was somewhere on the farm! I wanted to go back immediately, but Jeremy was a little nervous and embarrassed (I am, somehow, immune from embarrassment--maybe it's because I do so many stupid things, it just doesn't pay anymore). So, first we circled the one way parking lot, staring into the vehicles. Yep, definitely Secret Service. Jeremy was still leery, but as we drove out of the farm, he decided to take a right and head down the road a bit. Sure enough, from the outside front of the farm, we could both see an older man standing in a crowd of people all wearing blue shirts. Somehow, I managed to convince him to turn around and go back. He was a bit paranoid and embarrassed, especially since Secret Service had obviously seen us circle around and come back. I so wanted to take my book with me, on the off chance that I actually would get a chance to talk to him, but I figured this would be pushing it just a little much for Jeremy. Thus, we tried to nonchalantly stroll back into the farm. As soon as we got to the path leading in, there were secret service men. Sure enough, it was Carter and Rosalynn addressing a group of young volunteers (the blue shirts) for one of his organizations. We were probably not more than 30 or 40 feet from him! Plus, there were only about 10 or 15 other people standing back with us--far from what we encountered at the book signing. I felt a little giddy to be that close to him. I knew there was relatively little chance we would actually get to talk to him, but still!

All of a sudden, one of the Secret Service guys was motioning at Jeremy to take his hand out of his pocket. Jeremy hadn't even thought anything of having his hand in his pocket, but this made him even more uneasy. After all, when a man with a machine gun motions at you and has a ton of backup. . . Let's just say, Jeremy was not feeling comfortable at all when he realized the camera was in his pocket and that he needed to reach back in. But, we did get several pictures! In this first one, Carter (in the green t-shirt and jeans) is talking animatedly with the group of volunteers. As Jeremy noted, "great, we got a picture of the President's butt." The rather intimidating man with the white hat and greenish vest in front is one of the many Secret Service agents that were on hand. I can't help but wonder what Secret Service does for fun around Plains, GA. This next lovely picture Jeremy took is of the grass right in front of him. Secret Service had him a bit rattled, so yes, we ended up with a lovely picture of the grass on Carter's boyhood farm, which I'm sure is a major tourist attraction. This final one is probably the best (largely because professional photographers organized it, and it is not a view of President Carter's butt). So, we have this delightful picture of a professional photographer taking the group's picture. But, Jimmy Carter is in a picture we took! I know I sound like a little kid, but it was just so exciting! I was a little starstruck just standing there. It was so much better than standing in line for hours, worrying about how I smelled! And, it was completely coincidence. The icing on the cake was when, as he was leaving, he turned around and waved to all the rest of us standing back behind everything. He even said a few words to those who were standing closest to the exit, which I thought was extremely nice--he could have just had Secret Service rush him out. After the Carters and all the Secret Service left, Jeremy and I silently walked over to the car and go inside. Then we both got extremely giddy for the next half hour or so--we were that close to the President! I have to say, we regressed just a "tiny" bit, exclaiming over our luck. And see, if it weren't for my complete inability to be embarrassed, Jeremy wouldn't have even went back! It does pay off to do stupid things!