Sand

First of all, aren't y'all sweet talking about how young I look?

Here's the deal:  I'm actually only 14.  I just tell people I'm 45 so they will say, "You look really good for your age!" 

Honestly, I don't take great care of my skin or do anything special.  I (GASP!) sleep in my make-up sometimes.  I don't use products made from the placenta of a rainbow colored unicorn or anything like that.  I will say that I have only gone to the beach and purposely sat in the sun to get a tan one weekend in the past 20+ years but it's more because I'm scared of skin cancer since a couple of people in my family have had it rather than to avoid wrinkles.

I use this cleanser:

I buy it at the grocery store when I'm buying cat litter and chicken.

I use this astringent:

I buy it at the grocery store when I'm buying tampons and a box of pasta.

And I use this as my moisturizer:

I buy it at Trader Joe's when I'm buying hummus and a block of rosemary and olive oil asiago cheese.  And you have not lived until you've eaten half a block of that cheese all by yourself with some crackers and said, "Well, that was a nice dinner."

No extra stops at special stores.  No skin care budget that rivals the Pentagon.  Nothing special.  I have to tell y'all I was blessed with great skin genes.  My maternal grandmother started smoking when she was about 14 or 15 and did so until she died at 86.  Yet she had about 3 small wrinkles around each eye and that was it.  My aunt on that side was a sun worshiper, she went through the stress of a physically and emotionally abusive marriage for years, and she had cancer which spread all over her body and she went through surgeries and chemo almost constantly for close to 15 years.  She died at almost 70 with no wrinkles and her hands looked like they belonged to a 20-year-old.

My dad died at 72 and had hardly a wrinkle on his face.  His mom died at 95 (NINETY-FIVE!) and had only a few wrinkles.

Unfortunately I also got the gene from dad's side to have an ass the size of the side of my house.  It could be the rosemary and olive oil asiago cheese too.

I'm still trying to figure out where the gene came from that makes me fall down and break my arm a lot.

Remember when I saw the psychic last weekend?  Did I tell y'all that before I walked over to her booth my brother said, "Hey, why don't you ask her when you're going to break your arm again."  Oh, he's funny that brother of mine.

Last night something happened and I thought, "Well that's super sad but at least I have something to blog about tomorrow."  And then I felt horrible that I thought that.

Then I thought that y'all are going to think I'm trying to be just like June Gardens.  Let's compare here:

1.  I have plantar fasciitis like June Gardens.
c(5).  I have crazy hair like June Gardens and use The Curly Girl Method.
94.  I am divorced with no kids like June Gardens.
g.  I have a cat so I'm 1/4 like June Gardens.
IVIX. I've picked up some June Gardens language such as stampede, going pit on someone's ass, etc. but I did not pick up slapping people with my liver.  
7(g)(3). I work out a lot and am thin like June Gardens.  Oh.  Wait.

Anyway, guess what else I have in common with June Gardens now?

I have my own dead neighbor, y'all.

Remember at some point (I think it was Labor Day weekend when I didn't want to cut my grass) I mentioned that I had a really old lady who lived across the street from me who used a walker and her yard was a mess and she had her house painted really ugly colors?  (Light gray with black and fire engine red trim.)  This was the lady my aunt offered a chicken to and she got turned down.  I'll have to tell y'all that story sometime.

Last night I came home to this:

  

And don't say I didn't warn y'all I live in the 'hood.  I've told y'all that a gazillion times.  Part of the 'hood has transitioned but part of it hasn't (for instance, this ugly house across the street).  This lady has no driveway so these people had to park in her front yard while they piled approximately 2 tons of garbage bags on the sidewalk.  And that dumpster was brought while I was at work yesterday and I'm not sure why the bags weren't put in the dumpster.

Just as I pulled in my driveway, one of my neighbors sent me a message and asked what was going on over there and I told her I had no idea.

A few minutes later I saw a man carrying a couple of more bags to the street so I stampeded over there to get the scoop.

I said, "Excuse me, sir.  I live across the street and I know Mrs. _____ had been taken to the hospital a while back.  Did something happen?"  I asked very hesitantly because I'm not sure how you ask a complete stranger if someone died.  

My mom was visiting me last January when we saw an ambulance come to pick her up.  Her house sits back a little off the street and at night you could not even seen her house because she had her windows all covered with black and there were never any outside lights turned on and with all of those big trees surrounding it, it almost disappeared in the darkness.  The paramedics went to the house next door at first because I'm sure if they did see the house they assumed no one was home or it was abandoned.  (My neighbors were surprised when I told them once that I had talked to the lady because they didn't know anyone lived in the house.)  We saw the paramedics turning on flashlights and we could tell they were a little hesitant to approach the house because they didn't know what might be in store for them.  I honestly had not seen the lady since then.  

When I came home to this mess last night, I sort of assumed she must have passed away and figured it had been in the past few months since they were now cleaning out the house apparently.

The man responded, "Yes.  She passed away.  The funeral is this Thursday, I think.  Her son is inside and I'm a friend of his that came over to help him."

I said, "Oh, she just passed away?  I'm so sorry for your loss."

He told me she died this past Sunday and her funeral will be near Augusta.  And he said he hopes the city picks up the trash soon so that we won't have to look at it for long.  (I hope for that too if I'm being honest.)

I told him I had talked to her a few times and she seemed like a really sweet lady and I was sad to know she had died.  He said he would pass along my condolences to her son. 

I found her obituary online and it said she liked to be called "Sand."  I can assure you she was very clear to me that I was to call her Mrs. _______ since she told me that about 8 times in 2 minutes.  I guess the neighbors were expected to be more formal.  She would have been 92 this December.

I am sad for her sweet little old self. 

R.I.P. Sand.