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Last login: 6 days agoJunebugn: Becca is a 55 year old married woman from Huntsville, Alabama, USA.; Likes 144 pages, 8 videos, 27 photos • 12 fans • Received 4 reviews; Member since May 18, 2007

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Aug 20, 2007 8:57pm: Latest installment of Our Lady of the Airbrake:

Chapter Three

"Cissy, check the directions for me again, would you?"

Mom was slowing down in a neighborhood of factories and offices. I grabbed the notebook we write the directions in and said,
"It says turn left onto Beecher Street."

"Beecher, Beecher - there's a Beech, could that be it?"

"Maybe - yes, there it is, Consolidated Industries on the right!" I couldn't help it, I high-fived Mom. It was such a victory to actually get to the place we were to deliver to using the kind of directions we usually got. Written by truck drivers trying to be helpful, they were full of bad spelling and all kinds of errors. Mom said it would improve my deductive reasoning.

"Ahh, look at this, another impossible docking situation!" said Mom. I sighed. Like I could do anything about it. I had to just sit in my seat, not get my arm in the way of the mirror, and be quiet, while Mama maneuvered the monster into position. The trailer had to be perfectly lined up to the dock door or the thing couldn't be unloaded. This one was in a row of other trailers, so that Mom had to line the trailer up just right and turn the back end of it just at the right time so that it would go in the space between trailers. Just try it with your little brother's trucks sometime, you'll see what I mean.

I didn't have a little brother or sister. Like I said, I had an older sister, but she was grown up almost and on her own. We didn't have much in common. Everyone was always telling Mom she was lucky to have a quiet child after the wild one. My sister was kinda the type that took up all the air in the room she was in. Every time there was a major blowup with her, I got to go watch TV while my Mom calmed Britney down. After a while, I noticed the similarity between my family life and the Jerry Springer Show, so I started reading instead.

I love my sister, I really do. But she defines "Drama Queen". She's always getting into stuff she can't get out of without help, and then acting like we have to help her or she'll just die.

I got out to walk the dogs after Mom docked the truck. Walking dogs is such a calming thing to do. You can't get impatient, because you can't hurry the process, as many times as you say, "C'mon, now, go poozers!" So you end up just holding the leashes and staring out at the scenery - and thinking.

I thought about my life. When Grandma got sick, Mom said she had no choice but to pack me up and take me out in the truck. It was summer, just about a month ago, and school was out. Grandma's heart attack was bad, but it came at the right time. She was in the hospital for a while, then we got her settled in at home with a nurse to check on her and Brit promising to help. I didn't understand why I couldn't stay and help, too, but Mom said Grandma needed rest, and if I stayed, she'd be trying to take care of me and work too hard.

I sighed. That was the best thing about living with Grandma - she did everything for me. I was the baby granddaughter, and I just about could do anything I wanted. I admit I sat around a lot while Grandma cooked and cleaned - who was I to deprive her of taking care of me? I hoped she'd get better soon - I missed her cookies.

Irish Gaelic Sayings and Phrases (Listen!): Aug 14, 2007 1:01pm 7 reviews linguistics
http://www.irish-sayings.com/; For those, like me, who want to be able to understand ANYone! Not to mention be able to say "Kiss my A#$" in several languages....

Improve your photography with classical art.: Aug 14, 2007 12:50pm 99 reviews photography
http://www.unfocusedbrain.com/projects/match_color/; fascinating techie stuff for photos

Jul 24, 2007 8:31pm: Here's the novel so far. Tentative title is Our Lady of the Airbrakes. I am having way too much fun writing it...

Chapter One

The airbrake whooshed and Fluffernut stepped on my head in her usual rush to be the first dog to the door. She was followed closely by Gracie, who used my stomach as her launching pad.

I sighed. As nice as it was to have the two of them cuddled up next to me on the bunk, there were some major disadvantages. For one thing, everything we owned was lightly dusted with dog fur, which drifted in the sunlight in the small space of the truck cab. For another, well, dog paws in your back in the middle of the night are sharp. Then there was the constant leashing and walking, and trying not to step on them and - well, you see what I mean.

"Rise and shine, sweetie!" Mom's cheerful voice from the driver's seat sent me burrowing under the covers again, though I knew it wouldn't work. "Pit stop!"

I had to get up if I wanted to pee. The truck had no toilet. We had a lot of other stuff -bed, fridge, microwave, even computer and printer - but no toilet. How dumb is that? Male truck drivers have such an advantage.

I climbed out of the bunk, over the dogs, and down the steps out of the truck. Mom locked it and we went inside the truck stop. The shelves full of junk food and the usual "tourist grabbers" were very colorful reminders that I was not at home. And where did they put the rest room in this place?

"Make it quick, sugar, we've gotta get down the road," Mom said.

As I washed my hands I couldn't help looking in the mirror. My brown hair was smooshed to one side where I'd slept on it, and my eyes looked a paler blue than usual. I tried to smooth out the hair, gave up and hurried to catch up with Mom.

What was a thirteen year old girl doing in a truck stop, you ask? It's not even a long story. I'm stuck out here riding with my Mom, that's all. Trapped in a rolling box for miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles.
Chapter Two

Stuck in a truck. Stuck in a truck. Stuck in a truck. The words matched the rhythm of the road. I slumped in the jump seat - slump in the jump, slump in the jump - and stared out the window.

Once I had lived in a normal subdivision, with houses that did not move. I had a room of my own, a bathroom I could find even in the dark, and a bike I could ride all over. And school - what was I going to do about school this fall? I'm supposed to be in eighth grade. What if Grandma doesn't get well?

See, it was pretty normal til the factory closed where Mom worked. True, we weren't a "typical" family. Mom said it was "just us girls". That meant dear old Dad skipped out quite a while back. I was just a baby, and my sister Brit was ten. I don't remember him, but Brit does, and she says I'm not missing anything.

Anyway, the factory shut down in our tiny Alabama town and all the workers had to find something to do. A lot of them left. Some got jobs at the fast food places. Mom, who couldn't stand to leave the town she grew up in and leave Grandma as well, heard there was free training in truck driving, and that trucking companies were always hiring. Grandma about had a fit - she said truck driving was for men, and what was Mom going to do with me while she was gallivanting cross country? Mom just looked at her til it dawned on Grandma who was going to take care of me.

Mom said, "Mother, it'll just be til I can get a local driving job. They say you have to go over the road for a while first."

Grandma grunted. "Over the road? Might as well be over the rainbow. You always were a daredevil - you really think you can drive one'a those big things?"

Mom said, " I got to try. There're no jobs here. I'm not fixing to make hamburgers and French fries all day."

Jul 22, 2007 12:38pm: The beginning poem of a series of poems for my grandson Terry

Terry is Born

I remember there were fireworks
The night you were born.
(The festival near the hospital
Was serendipity.)
Little bit of boy, you
Held our heartswell in your hands.
We gazed as we left
Into the spring night sky,
And fireflowers bloomed, burst
For you - of course
They were for you.

Rebecca Allison
April, 2006

The latest one:

Terry is Walking

Just a week ago when you
Fell, you decided that crawling was just fine.
But today you push away the ground and your
Little backside, ducklike, sticks straight up,
The new muscles tense; you are standing again.
Weaving slightly, intoxicated with new,
You take another step into the world.

Rebecca Burke Allison
June, 2007

Life After Coffee & World's Ugliest Dog Contest - Celebrity Counterparts: Jul 22, 2007 12:26pm 1 review
http://www.lifeaftercoffee.com/2006/04/26/worlds-ugliest-dog-contest-celebrit...; World's ugliest dog - Po' baby!

Jul 14, 2007 10:23am: I just wrote this poem for a contest on trucking poetry. I'll post it here by hand, since I don't know how to transfer it from Word yet. It's about team drivers who just happen to be married - gee,could that be us?
Here it is:

This Must Be Love

As the rig pulls in, she is already gathering the shower bags.
He finishes his log page and the coffee she made for him miles ago.
She makes the bed, a habit she just can't quit.
He asks her if the TripPaks are done and she says of course I have them right here.
She tells him not to forget his reading glasses this time.
He asks her to hand him his book and she passes it to him without a word, not even losing his place.
She bundles up the trash bag so the dog won't make a glorious mess.
Speaking of whom, the dog is leashed and led to the small grassy spot,
And encouraged to make a mess of another kind.
She puts the dog up, and gets the bags down.
He shoulders his bag, and as they walk toward the truck stop,
They reach for each other's calloused hand.

Rebecca Burke Allison
Copyright 2oo7, All Rights Reserved

Jul 14, 2007 9:27am: Lemme see how to work this thing - can I transfer my writings to it without having to copy them by hand? I am inspired by Jack to post my stuff, but my technical proficiency is lagging...better call on my savvy friends!