Letter To C Block cont.

I saw a bright shooting star, with a fiery tail. Then, I saw another, smaller shooting star. I figured that a meteor shower may have been going on. I have yet to confirm this, but the event was the evening of 5/23, a Friday.


Then, along came the pickling lady.


Pickling lady; spraying the parking lot; telling me that she was into pickling foods and telling me of some of the fine pickled foods that she would give me if I would accompany her to her abode in the country.


And so, I rode with Becky, 4 miles out into the country which is the outskirts of Bay Minette. We were to the north, I believe.


This was partly for the purpose of waiting out the three hours before Jeff was due to arrive; him coming from Louisiana, where he was taking water samples from the ocean. Oil spill related work, has tapered off, but hasn’t evaporated, (excuse the pun) entirely. I wonder if someone in Jeff’s church turned him on to the job; it's alright to help one another out.


They (his/our church) gave me a brochure for a "Men's Recovery" type of program, which is run out of Pensacola, along with some nice clothing; Pensacola fashions, as a matter of fact.


It is a place to get right with God, and study the bible in a completely sober state, missing all of the deeper mystical references, because of this. I guess one can't have his cake and eat it too.


I think it is nice of them to have given me the information. It is like a 7 month program. They mention that all the "men" are given work assignments and in fact they call this work "therapeutic," and educational.


I would eventually assault someone with the nearest book that weighed at least a pound and a half, if history repeats itself. I would break out in the middle of the night and call someone, begging them to wire me money so I could just go into a bar and get away from the recovery experts.


Until the Press Register runs an article about my indictment being dismissed, this is going to be a hard town to work in. Going somewhere else for a while might be prudent. The recovery program sounds tempting, but, I think I can admit that I'm powerless on my own time.

She (back to Becky) has 2 dogs, which were of the "lap" variety. These are dogs that sit and stare at diners, waiting and hoping a meatball will fall off a fork. Not my favorite kind of dogs; I at least like the breeds that can frighten off a wild turkey, if called upon by a sense of duty to do so.


Her house was full of very old things, from the artwork, to the furniture. It was probably like going back 100 years in time, and smoking weed with an ex-hippie lady.


A philosophical person might say that she is trying to preserve the spirit of a bygone era, through the appointments in her house, the same way she preserves things like green beans by picking them.


Her piano was not TOO out of tune for an 100 year old specimen of that instrument.


I am pretty sure that I could mess with it for about 3 hours and the right tool (called a "hammer" and almost 30 bucks; whereas, if it were a tool made to be used on a car, it would be about 8 bucks)


I wonder if the murderer played a little ditty on the piano before he hacked his victim up. (I'm not sure if there is any truth to the rumors about body parts being pickled)


Her house was done in turn-of-the-century “little girl,” with dolls and paintings and other porcelain renderings, amidst an Old Curiosity Shop backdrop of interesting sundries.


She had a gumball machine, one from like, the 60's.






I was sampling pickled stuff and settling upon the sweet stuff, the candied figs being prominent in my recollections. These were the whole, fresh, ripe figs -the kind that are purple and very soft if found in the right produce department. They were made into some very thick, and fig flavored syrup.


Candied figs rock. You could probably get an item for candied figs in there, especially if they scooped you at least three of the suckers, with a good amount of syrup.


Coming from out of the Bay Minette Federal holding facility, where a bear claw is as close as one can get to a fine confectionary, the figs were almost overkill.

Becky Used To Be A Body Builder

I never cease to wonder at the serendipity of my meeting people like Becky, the lady who likes to pickle; at the times that I do meet them. I saw two shooting stars that night, before the mosquitoes drove me off. I didn't make any tangible wishes, just the usual mantra of 'send me a lady who pickles things...'


And so, now I have her number and I have about a half dozen of her Mason jars; now empty, souvenirs from the wonderful culinary journey that I took. I should try to return them to her.


As stated in a previous post, I thought about getting a bike and then maybe even poking around Bay Minette, helping Becky around her house, out of charity and not just because it would be nice to sleep in an air conditioned house. Air conditioning can't be cheap. I would have to see how much action there is for a street musician in Bay Minette.


Too bad there wasn't a convenience store that would let me sit on a milk crate in the front area of the store on weekend nights. There used to be, in Jacksonville, until the higher-ups decided that the musician might sue if burned beyond recognition by a gas pump explosion, or if hit by a car which came into the Kangaroo parking lot and just never stopped...


I’m not sure that I could contribute enough to pull my weight around Becky’s house, if I can’t make money on music somehow.


I'm going to print this out and send it in. Ray will be the recipient, and then can let the others read, in a certain order, based upon who is in Ray's good graces that day.


I'm sure that anyone wanting to read and see what's going on in the outside world (things are getting put in jars with a lot of vinegar and spices), I'm sure that there will probably be at least one Hertel to get past. BaaHaaaHaaa!!!


I'll be telling my grandchildren that one.


Cook: "What, after you sit them on your lap??"


Well, I've had about enough of this for a day. It has been in the 90's out here and humid enough last night that it seemed like breathing in steam. It made me lazy and I just sat there.


Not helping at all was the fact that I had smoked some botanical incense, and then I rubbed some deodorant on my arms. My deodorant has crumbled and no longer is manageable with the plastic dispenser that it came in. Are you following me!?!


By the way, when I put "Are you following me!?!" It's supposed to be yelled loudly, almost barked, like a dog. It's like a wake up, cold water in the face "Are you following me!?!"


Then, I put on some skintastik mosquito repellant type stuff.


The combination of gasses from the skintastik applicator towelette, which is a repellant to mosquitoes, combined with some of the chemicals from the deodorant, which was all over my fingers, because I had just wiped it all over myself; and had gotten on my cigarette.


It was like some new designer drug, which I had accidentally discovered. I envision a club full of people dancing, while mirror balls spin over their heads, bouncing beams of colorful light everywhere. Each one of them has got a skintastic towelette in one hand, which they periodically huff. A thing of Degree anti perspirant is being passed around. The dancers seem oblivious to everything else...


Here is your one more installment.


Has anyone had the guts to request the partially hydrogenated soybean oil-free diet, and practice the art of pickling?? Don't look at it as giving up your chicken patty,; you can always trade for a chicken patty, especially if you get fat slices of tomatoes. Someone needs to take a bullet for the team and become soy intolerant, or you boys won't be getting your 4 food groups.