DPM 1 – Old wooden box…

Today kicks off DecPhoMo. Another month of ‘required’ entries. I like requirements. They help me to stay on track; they keep me focused.

 
 

 
 
 
This is a picture I took in Alabama. I used to ride in this old wooden box attached to my Grandpa’s tractor as he’d drive us through the woods down in Florida. This was before my grandmother, Donna, died. I have a lot of memories in that old wooden box… many of which feel tainted now because of recent events.
 
I try to remind myself that he is old. His failing mind and pathetic need for attention, for an audience, is worthy of my pity… not my disdain. She—his wife— is the culprit. But still… I cannot help but blame him. He was a smart man once… and so, I cannot put that conversation completely on her—though, in the time I overheard, she most certainly was the driving force.
My thought is that she is jealous. She is old, stupid, and out of options. She grew up poor, unloved and alone. These are not mean statements…simply facts. And I… I was loved. I was and am privileged. So she strikes out at me. My question is… how long has he allowed this? How long has he agreed with her? Did she start with small rude comments about me, or has she always said such hateful things… and has he always allowed it?
 
He is old… and stuck in his ways, they tell me. And she… ‘They’ make no excuses for her. She is not family. She married in. Even after 13 years, you can tell. Good luck, ML. 13 years and Melba makes the mistake of being overheard once and she is thrown under the bus. She, ‘they’ say, is simple stupid. “Didn’t even know there was a pubic bone and was a nurse,” they say. “Everyone knows she’s ignorant. Why do you think everyone talks about what a great cook she is! It’s all the woman has!”
I’d feel sorry for her, had she not said such hateful things. And the next day… GOD! Friday, Melba was ALL smiles. My grandfather too. Hugs and love and comfort. BULLSHIT! How can you say such incredible things and then pretend to love someone??? LIARS!!
I’ve made pictures just for the occasion…. I hope ‘they’ are not offended, if ‘they’ even bother to read anymore… of which I think I am in little danger.