nixtress's Diaryland Diary

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Anticipation...and rainy days and Tuesdays

Like anyone else in the United States tonight, I'm watching, at least with half an eye, to see the results of the many, many elections today. I'm especially curious to see not only the Presidential results, but also the local results of a school levy we really needed passed.
Still up in the air.
I began yet another job today. It's part-time, in addition to taking care of my Gramps, cleaning for old ladies, and working at the law enforcement agency. Lots and lots of customer service experience paying off. Nothing too taxing. What can I say, Christmas is coming upon us faster than I knew. Every little bit helps.
***
Today was rainy, complete with thickly clouded and grey skies. Twilight tonight reminded me of a night once, when I was younger. I was all of about eight (before my baby brother was born) and we were living near Bradford, Pennsylvania. My stepfather had moved my mother and I there in hopes of a fresh start after he got out of prison. He'd grown up in that area, had trained in the oil fields up there and we lived in a trailer on a patch of earth and weeds just down the rural dirt road from his parents. That particular day, it had rained almost steadily, thwarting the plans of my stepfather to get out and work on the drainage ditch in the front yard. He'd borrowed a small Cat digger from his dad, in hopes of getting everything taken care of. Instead of working on widening the ditch, as he'd planned, he spent the day drinking. That, in itself, was nothing new but the frustration of not being able to accomplish what he'd wanted to grated on him and he and my mother got into a doozy of an argument. He finally got good and pissed and went out into the evening, determined to dig out that ditch before it got fully dark. The ground was saturated and nothing but mud and it wasn't long before he got that Cat stuck. Somehow, he managed to get it moving again, only to pivot it right into the ditch on it's side, mired down in the muck. Unfortunately, when it half overturned, his prosthetic left leg got caught underneath somehow. I lay in my bed, in a half-gutted shell of a trailer, listening to my stepfather shouting from the front yard. He just kept hollering my mother's name and I heard her in the living room, muttering. I remember him finally extricating his drunk ass from under the digger and hopping/stumbling his way into the house. They then proceeded into one hell of a knock-down, drag-out fight. If I remember correctly, that was the night our coffee table became a casualty of their oil-and-water-relationship.
Something about the weather today brought that memory back.
***
Happy Tuesday.
N.

8:32 p.m. - 2004-11-02

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