Write a book

A couple of comments yesterday suggested I write a book bout my life. A few years ago (bout a hunnert) I was think'n along those same lines. This was a time when my mind was right and could remember vivid details of my childhood. Close my eyes and see that little "banshee" of a boy run'n barefoot through the woods with a stik in his hand chas'n critters of every shape and size. He was a wild one that Billy Bob was.

Lived on a farm from my first memory up till I was 8 year old. Mom an' dad was divorced. Dad was fight'n in the war. There were 6 of us kids, some orphans, some wayward and some just unwanted. I fit in there somewheres. We called the farmer lady "moms". Moms was my protector. Any time I screamed "MOMS" she came run'n an' beat hell out them bigger boys. I used "MOMS" to my advantage when ever I was backed into a corner. Everbody feared moms and her stik and they feared little Billy as well.

What made Billy Bob what he was back then and what he is today? How could one little boy be so filled with piss an' vinigar, adventure, total disregard for his well being, all rolled up in a little package, still be alive today?  I ain't never feared nuttin in my life that I can remember. Well....maybe one time when me and another guy stoled a boat an' got caught. Look'n down the barrel of a big ol' gun tends to make ya back step an' rethink your situation. I didn't think myself any different from anyone else, but I was different. I thought myself to be "normal", but all through my life, people says I ain't normal. I ain't never done nuttin criminal. Always abide to the laws.....somewhat. So how the hell did Billy Bob come to be?

One my favorite writers was Samuel Clemens. You know "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn". But I didn't read any his books until I was of read'n age. By that time, I was already a rambunctious child, follow'n in the footsteps of Tom and Huck. Cream of the crop scream'n, run a hunnert mile a hour, terror on two bare feets American boy.

I so much loved my younger days. The antics I would pull. The terror I would see in the eyes of the "bigger" boys as they avoided playing "my games" like a plague. When I wanted to ride a cow puppy, the bigger boys was my wranglers.....round up a cow puppy, steady it till I climbed on it's back. When I wanted to play cowboys and Indians, the bigger boys was my Indians. I either got my way, or I would scream "MOMS".

Boy howdy let me tell ya. Them winds yesterday was slap blow'n up a storm. "Cord'n to the weather people, the winds was blow'n 30 mile a hour. Ha.....they wasn't at Billy Bobs house. Out here, it were blow'n more like a hunnert mile a hour....I swear.

Since I were stuck in "da house" all day, I decided to do some housework. Sweeped the floors, shaked out the throw rugs....all for nuttin. They all covered with fine sand an' dust what fount a way in through the tiniest of cracks. Dumped out the stink'n dish water and refilled so's I could finish do'n dishes. Damn....they sit'n there in cold water again this morn'n. It's Ok MsB, I gonna git 'em done....eventually.

Weren't too cold last night like what I was expect'n. This is just a taste of what's to come. But I ain't gonna be here when it happen. Barney done pull out to get away from the dreaded winds of Deming. Said our goodbyes and "see ya down the road a piece". Don't think I'm gonna be too far behind him as we both set our sights on returning to Texas for a warm and delicious winter....catch'n up big ol' 14 pounds bass at Falcon Lake.

Ok....got things to do....mainly dishes. But before I do that, I gonna go out there, sit on "da porch", sip up a cup an' do some think'n. Laters!!!