Welcome to June Davidson's Blog!

Saturday's Mail

2009-03-06T08:01:00.000-08:00

My morning started out as usual. Up at 4 am, I staggered to the bathroom and splashed ice cold water on my face. "Leave me alone, face screamed. I'm still asleep." I ignored face and staggered to the kitchen and fumbled for the coffee pot that sat on the counter in full view.
I've been called a walking zombie by my husband more than once in our married life. My cheerful husband chirps like a bird at 4 am but not me, the zombie can only manage a grunt or two and only then if necessary.
Dressed, I drove to the main post office to begin my duties as ruler mail carrier. A five hundred mail box day laid ahead.
After sorting, bundling and loading the days mail into my chevette, I left the post office for my route. My first stop was the only business on my route, I eased next to the mail box, let the red flag down and retrieved the out-going mail inside.
Several mail boxes later I knew I was nearing the home of the Black Beast, I reached over and cranked the window up on the passengers-side, leaving just enough room to push my hand and mail through the window.
I slowed my blue Chevette and eased as close to the mail box as possible, and as if on cue, the Black beast came out of no-where. . . Barking, his black paws clawed at the rear passenger window. Thankful the front mail box cover fell off months before, I reached my hand through the slit of the window and shoved mail into the open box.
"Foiled again, black beast," I yelled as I drove away.
The one place I stopped for a bathroom break was closed on Saturdays and this was Saturday. I felt the urgency to relieve the morning coffee as I neared the home of two school teachers, Pam and Sam.
(names changed to protect their identity)
Pam stood at the back of her car, the open trunk revealed her weekly grocery purchase.
“Pam, I asked, mind if I use your bathroom?” She knew me well, both, she and her husband taught our children.
“Sure,” she said, and instructed her three year old son to show me the way.
Eddie reached up for my hand and led me inside. We walked down a short narrow hall and stopped outside a door.
Eddie reached up and pulled the door lever down and the door swung open.
I stood in the doorway. . . and faced Eddie's father, who sat on the commode naked as the day he was born. His rounded tummy spilled over, resting on his thighs....his face covered with white shaving cream; two large eyes starred into mine . . . His mouth dropped open, his eyes grew wide with a look of dis-belief.
I backed out of the bathroom, leaving the stunned Sam on the commode.
Back at the post office I sorted flats, the images of Sam on the commode sent me into peels of laughter. My Supervisor, a stern fellow who never smiled let his curiosity take hold, he came over to my sorting case.
"What's so funny?" He asked.
I told the story to my laughing supervisor, he in turn repeated to another clerk. Soon, sounds of laughter echoed through the building...
I never told my supervisor the name of the couple, to this day it remains a secret between Sam, his wife, son and myself. :)

Sand In My Shoes

2009-01-25T12:20:00.000-08:00

Stately palms, like a sentinel on watch stood near the train depot and with the slightest of breeze, would wave its frons in greeting to those who passed through the small hamlet where I grew up.

My cousin James and I were the inseparable two-some, forever exploring each nook and cranny of our small community. We roamed the white sandy lanes from the gator infested waters of Lake Hancock to the John S. Barnes packing house, where the familiar hum of machinery dropped oranges into bins, then plucked up by fruit packers and layered into flimsily wood crates to be hauled north by rail.

James and I would gopher hunt in the small white, sandy field, void of vegetation other than stinging nettles and sand spurs that separated my house from the train depot, or we would slip into the Guava grove and crawl beneath a canopy of guava limbs heavy with velvety fruit as we silently crept alone the pine needle strewn ground, ever fearful of Bloody bones who lived just beyond the guava grove.

We walked in groves of citrus as far as the eye could see, then followed our footprints indented in white sand back, toward home. We climbed tangerine or orange trees and dodged the sharp thick thorns as we sat perched in the tree. We reached out and plucked an orange and bit into the soft sweet flesh as sticky juice burst forth and driped from our chin and trickled down our small hand.. Or how the scent of tiny, white petaled orange blossums sprang forth to release heavenly fragrance into the air.

Massive limbs of Live Oak trees branched out, like a garled hand snaking into the unknown. We reached up and pulled from low lying branches arms of red bug, infested moss we would later regret; as we neared the lake in search of arrow heads left decades ago by Seminole Indians.

These are memories of my childhood I hold close to my heart.

Empty Nesters Club

2009-01-18T01:20:00.000-08:00

Empty Nesters Club
A True Story
By June Davidson

The youngest of our four children married and my husband and I found ourselves empty nesters after almost thirty years.
A new way of life lay before us as we embarked on life beyond children at home. Our first week-end as empty nesters we decided to venture out, test the waters and perhaps discover old friends who had fallen by the way-side in our years of child rearing.
Our big night to the local mall began with my husband's view of our activities. "No window shopping," he said. "We will sit on a bench and watch people go by." Now, all this bench sitting and people watching on our first week-end as empty nesters simply over-powered me with excitement.
We soon became bored as we watched other couples, some like us, stroll up and down the mall like a colorful parade passing by. It didn't take long before we could spot our new found peers. They, like us, wore flashing neon signs that read, "Empty Nesters" that only other nesters could see.
Soon, we chatted with old friends not seen in years. The conversation between my husband and Mrs. Jones quickly turned to her recent surgery.
Not to be out-done, my husband spoke up and said. " When I had my HYSTERECTOMY." Now, any other wife would have fainted or instantly slapped neon colored duct tape on his mouth, but not me.
My words sprang forth as a screaming moan. . .
“Noooo, you had a HYMROIDECTOMY!”
I watched as blood drained from Mrs. Jones face, then suddenly, without warning she burst into peals of laughter as I pulled my husband aside....explaining
"MEN DO NOT HAVE HYSTERECTOMIES!"
So gentlemen, heed my warning and BEWARE...least you become one small, hemorrhoid away from a pain . . . in the you know where.

Max and Wanda

2008-12-31T12:36:00.000-08:00

Max sized Wanda up and decided he wanted nothing to do with her and walked away in a huff. Little did Max know just how deeply he would fall for Wanda.

She was a beauty alright. Her redish coat and sweet expressive face seemed to know exactly what you were saying. Her big brown eyes relayed the message, "Yes ma'am. I understand."

Max, a prideful half breed with a long shaggy coat and bushy tail, lived next door to Wanda, our little red dachshund.

Max seemed to change before our very eyes. It didn't take long before we knew he was devoted to Wanda. She was such a playful pup, and soon a well worn trail was formed from his house to ours.

Each morning Max waited outside our door for Wanda to come out and play. He became very protective of Wanda and was her constant companion outside.

At dusk, I would stand at the back patio door and call Wanda in. Max would follow her to the door and block her way. He used his paw to pull her back toward him. Max wanted Wanda only with him.

I had never considered dogs could love one another, but it was obvious Max and Wanda were devoted.

They spent wonderful days exploring the back yard, always side by side. You never saw one without the other.

Then one warm summer day, I saw Max and Wanda near the driveway. I planned to put Wanda inside the fenced back-yard as I normally do before leaving. She ran to Max and looked up at me with expressive eyes that seemed to beg, "Let me stay and play with Max." I recall telling her, "Stay in the yard Wanda. I'll be right back."

Max's owner glanced out the window just as Max and Wanda scampered toward the road. Wanda never saw the car coming.

Max ran back to Wanda. Very gently he pushed the lifeless body of Wanda from the road. He sat by her side until help arrived.

Each day Max laid in front of my door, heart broken. He grieved and refused to eat. He was mourning the loss of his beloved Wanda.

A few months later, Max and his family moved away, but the memory of Max and our sweet Wanda will always remain with me.

Livin' Fast 'n Loose in '09

2008-12-28T17:52:00.000-08:00

My new years resolution this year is to live fast and loose. After all, I am sixty something and I can't allow grass to grow under my feet, right?

I have stories to write and children to please, so I'm not about to live by the rule Hast makes waste 'cause who knows when I may wake up one morning and look at my husband of forty six years, and ask "Who are you?" or worse yet, "Who am I?"

It could happen you know, just like it did to old Bessie Brown. Bessie loved to bake cakes, she was well known for miles around as Sweet Bessie Brown.

Early one morning Sweet Bessie sent her husband Rudy to the market for cake flour. The hours came and went, Sweet Bessie paced the floor watching the clock, at half past six Sweet Bessie called the law to report Rudy missing.

It turns out Rudy got confused and lost on the way to the market. He was picked up by the widow, May Bell Boles. "May Bell was taken with Rudy and wanted him for her own, she led him on and teased him with her pies." the Sheriff told Sweet Bessie the next morning. "All the while poor confused Rudy was thinking he was home."

The sheriff found Rudy sacked out in the widow Boles bed, white as her sheets. "He was moaning and groaning the sheriff said, poor Old Rudy OD on to many pies."

Well, Sweet Bessie was happy to have Rudy home, but soon after a strange thing happened to Sweet Bessie; she stopped baking cakes... she now bakes pies.
by June Davidson

My EX Best friend Sue

2008-12-25T19:17:00.000-08:00

The back door opened and squeals of laughter drifted toward my small home office, I knew my daughters were home from the last day of our local Art in the Park festival with my best friend Sue.

Before they even entered my office, I could hear screams of "Momma! Momma! You won! you won! It was on the radio and you won Momma!"

"Won, I thought……"I haven’t entered any contest. What are they talking about I won, I won what?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked as they danced around my small office with my best friend Sue, excitedly chanting "Momma won! Momma won!"

"I won what" I asked.

"The pig calling contest Momma! It was broadcast live on the radio. Miss Sue entered in YOUR NAME, Momma and you won!!" They screamed gleefully.

.I sat in total disbelief, stunned but still able to shake my head as I managed to moan "No, No," each time they screamed "Yes, Momma you won!"

The pig calling contest? …..No I moaned as it slowly sank in. I thought how can I ever live this down? Did my friends, did our business acquaintances hear it

The radio? Live broadcast? my name? ….I was mortified!

How could she I thought!

I could just see her stepping up on that stage and walking up close to the microphone giving my name. Her long flaming red hair flung back as far as she could manage and with a long, loud high pitch "Soooweeee" coming from deep within her throat "Soooweeee" as her head came forward, "Soooweeeeee!"

At last words escaped my throat. "No, I screamed you didn’t!" As they collapsed in laughter on the floor.

Not one to forget easily, A couple of weeks later I called the teenage daughter of my EX-best friend Sue, who I assigned the task of casually mentioning to her mother my encounter with a famous actor at our local country store.

Once off the phone, I made a quick trip down to the store, a quaint historic building with a single gas pump from decades gone by stood silently in remembrance of eighteen cent a gallon gasoline.

I climbed the three steep steps, walked toward the over-fed sleeping hound that separated me from the door. The moment I opened the door a small silver bell hung from a faded red ribbon, jingled.

Standing behind the old wood counter was my husband’s childhood friend Leslie, the store proprietor. Glancing up from the antique cash register with glasses perched midway on his nose he flashed a warm smile and greeted me as I entered the door. He motioned me over to the old pot bellied stove as he came around the counter.

He sat in the old barber chair and listened to my plan with amusement. Laughing he agreed to help knowing he would be the first one Sue would call and ask if it were true.

Now, all was set, all I had to do was wait…

The next day I received a frantic call from a blabbering incoherent lady, between the bawling and sobbing of incoherent words all I could make out was …"Tom.

"The door bell never rang; she burst into the house with a maniac look, squalling her eyes out, she flung that head of long flaming red hair down on my breakfast bar and bawled her eyes out. "Why, why!" she said between sobs as she pounded my breakfast bar with her fist.

"Why didn’t you call me, she said. You know that Tom Selleck is my favorite actor in the whole world. Why didn’t Leslie call me? What did Tom say, did you talk to him?" She continued to sob uncontrollably. "How could you do this to me?" Over and over like a shrieking badly scratched 45 record on a cheap Hi Fi…

By this time, I am feeling about knee-high to a grasshopper, this "joke" seems to be back firing rapidly, and I was beginning to feel remorse for doing this to her. Heck, I didn’t know she was going to carry on so.

I began to regret the plot for payback on the pig calling Joke. I was beginning to think …..I better neverrrr tell her the truth!

Fifteen years later, she still believes that Tom Selleck was at our local country store and that I met him.

Wink wink!

By June Davidson

I beleive in CHRISTmas

2008-12-10T18:47:00.000-08:00

What Christmas means to me.

It means this is the time of year we celebrate the birth of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. He is the true reason for the season.

It means God loved me so much, he sent his only son to offer salvation and eternal life.

It means I beleive in Merry CHRISTmas

...It means I BELEIVE!

I wish you peace and joy this Christmas.

Tagged as Junie B

2008-12-05T03:06:00.000-08:00

"Mom, why did you name me June?"

The answer was not one I expected, to say the least.

No, my name didn't come from a family name passed down through generations, but from the movie Trail of the Lonesome Pines, a black and white movie made in the nineteen forties. My Dad loved the name of the actress, June. You guessed it, I was tagged June!

Forty five years passed by...then late one night, with remote in hand I scanned a list of tv chanels and spotted a movie title "Trail of the Lonesome Pines." I selected the movie, I wanted to see why my Dad was so taken with this actress he named me June.

I settled back in my chair expecting to see a great movie, after all, why would my daddy name me for her other wise. Not so, take my word for it 'cause ten minutes later the channel was changed!

The imagery of the author conjured up in my mind as he wrote Trail of the Lonesome Pines, he sat hunched over his black manual typewriter in a shady part of town in a smoke filled room.

I watched as he pecked away at the keys over and over...J u n e... J u n e ...J u n e.

"Gee whiz, I thought, why didn't you name her something like Lou Ann or Georgia Anne, Emma Ruth, even Sadie Bell would have worked! But oh-no, that author named her June!"

Back to Junie B...
Growing up, Bug was added...June Bug was not a name I was fond of, but over the years it was changed to Junie Bug then Junie B.
I can live with Junie Bug or Junie B!

Oh, I still get phone calls from my oldest nephew who is eleven years my junior with "What's the Junie Bug up to today?"
I chuckle and say. "Same ole thing!"

Our bond is special, we both know its a love tag from childhood. Our ties are akin to older sister and younger brother rather than aunt and nephew.

Below is the lyrics to the music Trail of the Lonesome Pine

Recorded by Hal "Lone" Pine and his Mountaineers with Betty CodyWriters: MacDonald and Carroll.

In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia On the trail of the lonesome Pine In the pale moonshine our hearts entwine Where you carved your name and I carved mine.
Oh, you - like the mountains are blue Like the pine - I am lonesome for you In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia On the trail of the lonesome Pine.
On a mountain in Virginia stands a lonesome Pine Just below is the little cabin home of a little girl of mine Her name is June and very, very soon she'll belong to me For I know she's waiting there for me 'neath that lone Pine tree.

2008-12-04T01:08:00.000-08:00