By Patsy R. Brumfield/NEMS Daily Journal
I love the Internet. I also love how stupid some folks must think all the rest of us are, when they want something from us.
Every now and then I get an e-mail message that “somebody” is looking for me on a personal info website. “You’ve caught someone’s eye, Patsy!” the message read. Sure, I have.
You know how it works. You go to check who could possibly be looking for you and you find out that for only $5 a month, you can search for everybody you ever knew.
I think I already know where everybody is I ever knew, that I want to know where they are.
Just for the heck of it, I clicked to see who could desire to know anything about me. Turns out this website says two searches are from a 56-year-old woman in Tupelo and a 56-year-old woman in Virginia.
Boy, that really makes me want to pony up that $60 a year.
I’ve got all I can handle with managing smart remarks on Twitter or making new “friends” from old ones on Facebook.
• • •
Today, my baby sister marks the Big 6-0. That hurts.
I was born in July 1949 and she in June 1950. Yes, for you math majors, we are 11 months apart.
My mother, rest her soul, never really cared to talk about that short interval. It’s a wonder she didn’t go completely mad. My two are 22 months apart, and that was enough to make me to deranged woman I am today. Well, that and a lot of other things.
Suzy, my sister, and I were all cute and blond, and about the same size as small children, so people often asked my mother if we were twins.
No, she’d say. Then, if they happened upon us between June 10 and July 4 and asked our ages, we’d say, “I’m 6. I’m 6” or whatever it was, and they’d look at all of us kind of funny.
So between today and my birthday, technically, we’ll be the same age.
My grandmother, the beautiful and willful Rosalie Dial, while not exactly a woman of the Dark Ages, was utterly appalled when she learned that my poor mother was expecting again so soon after my awesome arrival.
Rosalie, who of course had her very irrational moments, actually held it against my sister through most of their mutual time on this earth. Like it was her fault.
• • •
If you walk past me any time soon and think about dill pickles, please know that I am deeply invested this summer.
My kitchen is a veritable pickle paradise. I’ve pickled cucumbers, of course, zucchini, carrots, green tomatoes, peas and green beans.
I suspect anything else that doesn’t move fast enough will be the same treatment.
Contact Patsy R. Brumfield at (662) 678-1596 or patsy.brumfield @djournal.com.