ACROSS THE BAYOU: Much ado about nothing
I think I have what’s commonly known as writer’s block but that makes me sound like I consider myself a writer and I have a sinking suspicion I’d not be considered a real live writer by the likes of all the writers out there.
I guess I could talk about how little I have to do these days and how I can’t seem to fill them with much of anything, especially fun. I haven’t used that word since February 11th when we celebrated favorite Aunt Noonie’s birthday at Jane’s.
After Doctor leaves in the morning the house is still and I’m even stiller and I know that’s not a real word but part of my writing style is to use incorrect grammar. After I clean the house, again, I’m all out of ideas. I guess I could read but I can’t get past the prologue. I’m trying not to be a burden to society but I can’t help it. My apologies to Sr. B, Mrs. Brice, and all the homeroom teachers I’ve loved before.
The one thing allowing me to remain partially sane is a laptop, Ebay, a TV and a stove. So far I’ve watched The Andy Griffith Show, Kennedy Center Honors, and Jacques Pepin so many times I’m thinking about submitting it to Ripley’s Believe It or Not. I’m also catching up on movies and documentaries and re-watched my favorite videos like the Bee Gees One Night Only concert, James Taylor and Carly Simon’s Mockingbird, Kris Kristofferson and Rita Coolidge’s Help Me Make It Through the Night, and Elvis’s Comeback Special. I thought I’d enjoy Barbra Streisand’s documentary but it was mostly about politics and kissing her dog. Jacques can’t stand her because all her movies feature her complaining.
Just a few days ago though I decided I’m going to drop a few Corona Pounds for my son’s wedding in November, hopefully, so I started working out in my bedroom which is exactly like sitting in my den but having to put out so much more energy to be bored. It did give me a needed nudge though and I woke up with a touch of vim and vigor then immediately pulled a muscle in my back. Doctor gave me a non-narcotic pill with no water to ease the pain. Then after catching up on Yellowstone I decided to go to Rouses to get some fish for supper and my car wouldn’t start. When Doctor got home he was unable to jump it and I suggested we back the cars out so we could park the cars closer until I remembered my car was dead, so I crossed the street and borrowed Brother Bo’s cables that were also unable to start the car with. I walked real slow there and back to kill some time. In the middle of the dead car we had a phone conference with a company who handles long-term care insurance. In laymen’s terms that means death is near. After I supervised AAA’s jumping-the-car-skills I came inside and actually heard the Grim Reaper on the other end of the phone say, “and when Phyllis passes away,” as I put a load of clothes washing in a washing machine that wouldn’t start, and then noticed and realized our house phone has been dead since Hurricane Laura which was the only positive part of my day. And to make matters worse I’m trying to eat healthy for the wedding so I had nothing to look forward to for supper. So let me recap. Dead car, dead washing machine, dead phones, a phone call about eventually being dead, and nothing fried, but the tow fella was a breath of fresh air. We tapped elbows when he left.
Now that I’ve written all that I feel silly because we’re at the lake now where Doctor works from 9 o’clock to 6 o’clock’ and I’m outside working on the ending of this writer’s block of an article. My days are long here too but when Doctor knocks off I get to go for a pontoon ride. It’s akin to getting a Fudgsicle from Simoneaud’s on Ashton when I was little. We may drive in to Ferriday. There’s a Jerry Lee Lewis Museum and Drive-Thru Liquor Store there and a restaurant we can’t go to, but I love The Killer and will play his music real loud on our way there and back and we’ll drive real slow to kill some time. Thanks Daddy for loving ole Jerry Lee.
PHYLLIS BELANGER MATA was born at the old Dauterive Hospital and grew up on Wayne Street. She is a 1974 graduate of Mt. Carmel Academy and is a chili dog “without the wiener” aficionado.