The Blues

     The first thing that popped into my head when I seen this week’s topic was “Nobody leaves this place without singing the blues”. It is what the leader of a blues band tells the kids starring in “Adventures in Babysitting” when they burst onto his stage while being chased by thugs. As I look around my house today, I have the same feeling.

    

      As much as I love snow, looking out the window on dark, gray, January days makes me feel much like the lovable donkey from “Winnie the Pooh”. Ho hum and blah. Where is the giggle in that? Even more depressing, my husband hasn’t been home since the holidays. Just when he is finally on his way home, his truck breaks down and now he is twiddling his thumbs in a hotel in Amarillo, Texas which might as well be on the other side of the world. He has been there 6 days as of today waiting for parts and his truck to be fixed. How do you explain the “why of a truck breakdown” to a 6 year old that fears his Daddy isn’t coming home because he doesn’t like him? A silly fear, but real none the less and one I can remember having when my Daddy was on the road for way to long. Sometimes the life of a trucker’s wife is more complicated and overwhelming than I can bear. Life would brighten up considerably if only he would and could come home.

     Depression sucks, and I will be the first one to admit it. Waking up this morning to discover that my dryer has given up the ghost and no longer is blowing hot air is the icing on the cake, especially with a lot of wet clothes and towels on my hands and no extra money to visit a laundry mat. What’s a girl to do when it is colder than a witch’s tit in the Klondike, plummet further into the depths of despair? Oh hell no! This girl searched the garage for clothes pins and strung the wash up around the house. I have clothes hung on hangers in the bathroom and kitchen. Amazingly enough it works!! Are we having fun yet?? Maybe I can get a hell yeah from the peanut gallery, although all I hear is silence.

     Everyone gets the blues. It is the time when everything turns to $hit and you just have no clue how to make it smell like roses again no matter how much Febreeze you spray on it. $hit still smells and looks like $hit anyway you slice it. It doesn’t make you like it any better.

      In the center of all this I wake up and find myself singing “Beaner!” at the top of my lungs much like Tommy Chong in that old “Cheech and Chongs” movie. Normal people would be near tears. I am sure my kids think I am certifiable and they wouldn’t be too far off the mark. In essence that is part of my charm. At least it started their day off with a laugh and a few rolling eyes.

      Yes, mom is losing it. It is all good, because I have learned to roll with the insanity and even though the blues tend to invade my space more than they are welcome, I always have the ability to eventually find some perverse tidbit like singing “Beaner” for no apparent reason and feeling better. Make sure you strum an air guitar while you do it and you will find it very refreshing. It isn’t the blues, but seriously; I’m not planning on leaving the house until the kiddies come home anyway. 

     There is still plenty of time to slap a smile on my face and a place a song in my heart. Even if I can’t they will understand. So it is all good. It is a good thing my house sees few visitors since my underwear is the home interior décor of choice today until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.