This is me at a little covered-dish party I threw for myself the day I started getting social secruity. That's been a while ago. I don't look that good now.
Are you my daddy? I'm such a cut-up, many's the time I've been accused of being the devil's spawn. Never looked that old as a baby, though. Never had that much hair, either.
This is Santa Claus back in the 1930s. Mama took me when I was little. He asked me what did I want for Christmas and I said "How about a little tin of Tubrose Snuff?"
Me as young gal. Didn't care to have my picture taken. Still don't. And don't look at that cigarette in my left hand.
Here's me and my good friend Esther back in the war days. She's the one I wanted to go see so bad in that book about my life, THE DAYS BETWEEN THE YEARS.
Myself when young. I was way ahead of my time doing the Google.
This might be me cuttin' up back in the 1940s. Or it might not be. Don't know that I ever had that many chins.
This is me funnin' with that preacher Oral Roberts at a tent revival. He was healing me of a gallbladder attack, or thought he was.
Here's the tent where I faked that gallbladder attack. This was before the big crowd gathered, and at that time I had no idea that a while later I'd be flat on a cot bearing false witness and having the time of my life.
I never cared much for regular church-going as a kid, but I sneaked away every chance I got to the Church of God with Signs Following. There's nothing on "reality TV" to match a good, old-time snake handling.
My dear, sweet, great aunt, Ollie Pearl. She always used a saucer with her coffee cup, and tried to make me eat fried chicken with a fork.
Cloris Bell. Hogs all the food at church suppers.
My last living cousin, Dot. Uppity. Always had her butt on her shoulders.
An ancestor of mine. Ollie Pearl wouldn't tell me her name. She always said the woman was nothing but a fast tail, which means a slut.
My husband's Uncle David made a fortune in the monkey business.
I'm worried I'm really kin to these people.
We had a date for next week, then he up and died on me.
My ugliest ancestor. Bless her old ugly heart.
Something about me just cracks up people's cats.
My daughter Lou Ann took this picture of a UFO hovering over her house. Later that night, they abducted her from her bed and took her inside that UFO and gave her diet advice and a makeover. She's going through the menopause, though, so take it with a grain of salt like I do.
My first husband Frank and unidentified hussy. I have this in my Precious Memories album because it's the first good picture I ever took with the Kodak Instamatic camera he gave me for Christmas.
My son Terry Wayne in his Bigfoot costume.
Janitor and groundskeeper at my church. Knows who's buried where in the graveyard. A great resource. Ought to get paid more.
Unidentified man from a foreign country. He wandered into the women's toilet at the mall and opened the stall I was in. A security camera above the commode snapped this photo.
Snapshot from when I died and went to Heaven. Just before St. Peter kicked me out, I said, "Make yourself useful, dam*it, and take a picture so I can prove I was here." He did, then kicked my butt back down to earth. "It's not your time, yet," he said. "Go and sin some more."
Sherry Austin, that gal who helps me out with the Google, my blog, and what not. She's holding THE DAYS BETWEEN THE YEARS, the book about my life. I cut up right much in that book, but it's a real heartwarmer, and has made grown men cry.
This is Rick Austin, he who has made life possible for that gal who helps me out--and for me. I forget the man's name.
