SCHOOL STARTS IN HARTS CORNER

This is Bethy Rose again. Here it is the last of August already. I thought I'd jump in here because Mz. Barbara and all the characters in "Aunt Lutie's Blue Moon Cafe" seem to have been hiding from the heat or somethin'. Maybe they are either all stressed out or out of sorts with the world. Anyway, you sure haven't heard from them lately, have you? Pretty soon folks with have forgotten all about Harts Corner, think we just fell off the side of the earth, or gave up this place to become a ghost town. Far from it, let me tell you.

We're still here and just about now I'm wishin' I wasn't. School starts the first Tuesday in September, the day after Labor Day, and I'm not ready. Yes, I love school and, no, there wasn't that much excitement goin' on around here this summer that I regret for it to end. You see, I'm just goin' to be so embarrassed when I go back, and it's all Jacob Harley's fault. With some help of Sam. Yes, the same Sam that owns the Shamrock station, the tow truck, and the ambulance. That man doesn't know when to keep his lip zipped!

I don't think you know Jason. The Harley family bought a couple of acres at the edge of town, pulled in a beautiful triple wide mobile home that looks like a real house, and started a nursery. No, silly, not for kids. It's a nursery for live, green plants, bushes, trees, flowers. I don't know how they make a living but folks say they have some contracts to supply plants for big stores, garden shops, and landscapers. Don't know how many of them we have around here but MM says they do all the selling by word-of-mouth and deliver where necessary. They also set up booths at our street fair. That's where I met Jason.

I saw him selling some pretty flowers, said hello, introduced myself, and asked him if he was going to school here in the fall. He said he was and he'd be in the fifth grade. MM teased me a bit about the older man in my life, but she wouldn't have ever embarrassed me in front of others. Not like Sam did. Anyway, I told him about the Blue Moon having the best rootbeer floats around and on his break he came over. I made it myself and said it was "on the house" as he was a new customer. That started him coming in each time he was in town. He paid for those.

I showed him all the businesses in town, introduced him to the owners, and gave him some insider points about most of them. We liked to go down to the creek and skim rocks across the surface of the water. One day he helped Harold with his bottle collectin'. I enjoyed his company and certainly entertained no other thoughts than the one telling me he'd make a good friend.

But one day we were laughin' and shovin' each other on the sidewalk on Main Street when Sam walked over from his gas station. He opened his big mouth and said, "Hey, Bethy Rose, have you finally found a boyfriend?"

I could feel my face get hot. I saw a matching shade of red creep up Jason's neck and into his face. I told Sam he had rocks in his head. But it was too late. Jason hurried up the street to the flower shop where his mom had started to work partime. Not even a see-you-later or goodbye touched his lips. And he hasn't come into the Blue Moon since, or spoken to me either.

I'm so embarrassed that I'll run into him in the school hallway. I'm afraid he won't speak to me, or he might and I won't like what he has to say. I don't want to go to school. It's too scary.

Why couldn't that Sam have kept his mouth shut.

She Always Gets the Breaks

It's been a while since anyone dared write on this blog. I wonder what they are afraid of; do folks in this town think anyone gives a rat's nest about what little tidbits we offer here? Well, let me tell you, Tillie Tidwell is not afraid to let folks in Harts Corner, or beyond, read what I am about to say. I'll just give it a lick or two, for or against the people in this flyspeck town, and let the chips fall where they may.

Now don't get me wrong. I sure don't know where I'd live if it weren't here. It's not like I have a fortune stashed away somewhere. With my little country band, I do okay but I certainly don't make enough on it or my other "investment" to live the good life. But I have to admit I sure wished that wasn't the case.

Once, long ago when I was younger and married to Rene Benoit, that good lookin', cheatin' snake in the grass who up and died on me before I could get him to change his will to my benefit instead of his smart-ass, debutant brat daughter--anyway, he was one of the New Orlean's Benoits and we actually went to Paris on our honeymoon. That was the most excitin' place I've ever seen--even his snotty cousins couldn't spoil it for me. I never wanted to leave but Rene assured me we would return each year.

He reminded me his large shrimp fleet and processing plant could not run without him for any length of time. What I later found out was what he really meant was that he couldn't stay away from the rich-bitch hussy mistress he had tucked away in his summer house/farm across Lake Ponchartrain from New Orleans--not too far from the small airport where he landed the company plane when he wanted a little alone time with his sweetie--or as he put it, "checking the books on family holdings."

That's in the long-ago past now. I've been tryin' to keep a body alive and well since my loss of Rene. He was my one and only true love; two husbands since then could never take his place. Since none of my choices had two nickels to rub together, I have been scratchin' in all kinds of barnyards, and some fancy gardens, ever since. It's not a sin to be poor but it's not likeable either. When I found out some of the good old boys of Harts Corner were involved in a lucrative little adventure, I demanded to be let in. Lookin' back on it now, it's a wonder I didn't get my head blowed plumb off.

I never have cared for Mary Margaret Butler. She and her mama waltzed in here and sniveled their way into Lutie Mae Lucas' life and inheritance. She has it too good, not that I'd ever let her know that I actually admire what she has managed to do with the Blue Moon Cafe, mind you. Truthfully, there's too much bending over a hot stove for my likin'. But she has a steady income, loyal customers and, in spite of not having any friends as she grew up, MM has just about everyone in town smilin' at her. Well, not Preston Connors or Dan Wheeler, but they are the exception.

Even the Judge seems to be her champion. Look what he did to Dan regarding his precious daughter, Bethy Rose. I know, I know, I'm not supposed to tell the readers what goes on between the covers of the book MM wrote and, if I tried it here, some Blogger.com snoop would do a WW II censure thing and black out what I divulge. And the Woman's Lib group would probably come after me if I happened to mention that she's sharing the bed covers with that handsome sheriff, too.

Darn that Mary Margaret. She always get the breaks. And little ole me is still left to fend for herself.