See, I added a little protection there in the post title since I didn’t want to spend time explaining to any commenter that when you are in your late 60’s, White Trash was just a part of the vocabulary when you were growing up.

I realized tonight that when I went out and climbed up on a ladder to stomp trash in two containers that I am a self-made white trash gal. I come from respectable parents, grandparents and so forth, and here I am stomping trash before I walk back into a house (cafe) that is an almost solid mass of memorabilia.(Clutter)

The inside of my car is like a messy house trailer. Trash container in the car? Hey, just toss it over my shoulder into the back seat. I think I need a portable fridge with a car charger to ride in the passenger seat with me.

The trick is I can “pass” because I clean up fairly well. And my English diction is impeccable – give or take a smidgen of slang. I can recite poetry, studied Latin, do not appreciate those tawdry shows on television and yet, with very little effort, I can lean back in a chair, prop a booted foot on a table or wall and when really, really pressed, I have used a vinyl table cloth inside.

Yeah, Old AJ is WT. Sorry, ancestors, all you DAR and Daughters of the Union ladies, all you sturdy, upstanding people who went taught Sunday School and kept me from hearing, let alone saying certain words until I got to Bloomington, Indiana. Heck, I’m making myself feel guilty: I may have to redeem myself, but I probably didn’t leave enough time.

One good thing: I don’t crush beer cans with my bare hands – I specialize in those new really thin plastic water bottles, and I don’t bash them on my forehead.