100 Happy Days: 6

It’s another present from my three-months-ago birthday! I know how to extend a happy celebration.

Though I make jokes about The Store of My People, I can’t make jokes about the Songs of My People. First, rednecks are not a strictly Southern phenomenon, and second, my people would be rotating in their graves to be called rednecks. Because they weren’t, not even Aunt Jo who scandalized the family by walking downtown barefooted. (I wish I’d known her.)

Rednecks or not, you’ve no doubt known some good ol’ boys, and this poem is in honor of them.

100 Happy Days: 2

Early today, when Tim was leaving the neighborhood, he drove by a yard sale and called me to tell me about something that had caught his eye. So later, I went for a walk and checked out the merchandise. As it turns out, I actually knew one of the people having the yard sale–one of my mother’s pals. So we struck a deal on these cases (circa 1964 and 1968) that Tim had spotted.


Back at home, when I opened them again, a tiny pink transparent slipper had appeared. I’m waiting for frogs to show up later dressed as footmen to deliver me into a coach made from a pumpkin. I’m going to name the footmen Thomas Barrow and James Kent. (Anyone else missing “Downton Abbey?”)

100 Happy Days: 1

I believe I’m going to follow Marika’s lead and the web site 100 Happy Days and post–for a hundred days–a photo (or maybe more than one) of something that makes me happy that day. Because, in fact, every single day, I DO think of things that make me happy–like how I was recently able to have a couple of coffee dates with my friend Amy, which is a rare and wonderful thing.

So I begin today with one of the first things I saw in the early morning–SO STINKING CUTE.


Three RPM litter mates in shirts that say “I ♥ my foster mommy.”