Happy Dance

 

Bonus Dad arrives today!!!! 

Ian

 

Well, rats. It looks like Hurricane Ian made landfall at Uncle Sunshine's island. The folks of North Captiva aren't going to be very happy about this. In 2004, Hurricane Charlie made landfall at that same island and tore the island in two. It eventually grew back together. However, the emotional impact for the residents has been long felt. They still talk about "Charlie" and shake their head. 

Last time I was there, I spoke with a woman who rode out Hurricane Charlie and ended up stranded on North Captiva for eight weeks without water and power. That wasn't her plan, of course. Charlie turned at the last minute and those who listened to the National Weather Service thought they had several hours to get to the mainland. Instead, they ended up having 30 minutes--which isn't even enough time to make the boat ride from the island to Pine Island in normal weather. Pine Island, incidentally, is considered "mainland" by the locals, even though it's an island.

In 2019 Marty was offered a job in Fort Myers. Today, Polly and I have been watching the Weather channel, picking out bridges and parks we recognize on Pine Island, Cape Coral and Fort Myers. Marty has been in contact with Uncle Sunshine, who is taking care of his 96 year old mother-in-law. I don't believe they evacuated the area, but they weren't on the North Captiva Island when the storm hit.  

In addition to all of this, my brother is in Boca Raton (north of Miami, on the other side of the state). He's had tornado warnings since 5 a.m. He texted me at 5:37 this morning (his time) to tell me he and his bride were hunkering in a closet waiting out a nearby tornado.  

Update: the news is saying Ian now made landfall at Cayo Costa. That's like saying it made landfall directly across the street. Cayo Costa is less than a half-mile away, across the channel from North Captiva. Think of it this way, the hurricane made landfall at 43rd Avenue and Peoria in Glendale, AZ and the news reporting the hurricane made landfall at 39th Avenue and Peoria, in Phoenix, essentially right next door. I've read Hurricane Charlie could have fit inside the eye of Ian, so I'm guessing Hurricane Ian's eye was bigger than North Captiva or Cayo Costa.   

Bob and the Quilting Club

Back in July, Bob put a notice up on the Nextdoor Ap, saying he wanted to start a quilting club. Were there any takers? Me and about 95 percent of the rest of Texarkana responded with a resounding, "yes!" Bob then took the first 10 folks who had the presence of mind to send him their e-mail address and he invited them to join his quilting club. 

Meanwhile, some biddy in Texarkana started posting on Bob's thread about how she'd been quilting for eleventy-hundred years and she knew the entire quilting community in Northeast Texas. She'd never heard of Bob. And if she didn't know Bob, he couldn't possibly be a legit quilter. 

This stirred up a huge fuss, I guess. While this was going on, I was in Michigan and missed the entire ordeal. But I doubt that would have swayed me. However, it did sway eight others of the first 10 Bob selected. Which is terribly unfortunate, because they missed the first meeting of Bob's Quilting Club. 

Miss Mary and I met at Bob's house a couple of Saturdays ago for our first quilting lesson. Bob, who happens to be a paramedic and is married to a nurse, has been quilting for about 20 years. We saw his beautiful quilts--he has many. We saw pictures of others he's given away or sold. Bob knows what he's doing. Plus, he has all the toys imaginable for his hobby, including his own he-shed in the back yard with a gigantic commercial long-arm quilting machine for the embroidery. 

Bob spent the afternoon teaching us the basics of our first quilt. We went over cutting, ironing and seams. Somewhere in that lesson we actually sewed two pieces of fabric together as well--but there is little sewing involved in the art of sewing. Then, Bob sent us home to try out our newly learned techniques. Our homework was to make all of our quilting squares for our very first quilt before our next meeting.

Last Friday, I finished cutting, measuring, ironing and even sewing together my 46 quilting squares. It is no exaggeration when I tell you I started at 6 a.m. and finished at 11 p.m. All of my seams aren't straight and I improvised (to my detriment) some of the fabric choices--Bob provided our fabric and I added one of my own. However, I am pleased for the most part, given this is a first quilt. 

We meet again in two weeks to start putting the quilt together. There will be plenty of white space in between the quilt squares, so the quilt won't be as busy as the squares make it look in the pictures below. 

See how those seams come together to form an intersection--the seams on the bottom, not the top ones, yeah... it's harder than it looks. 

I even made the seams straight twice! 

Here, not so much, but I doubt anyone but me will notice. 

This is a sampler of my quilt squares. Imagine this as a blanket with more white space in between.

This is a long-arm quilting machine. It is a good 10 feet or so. 

  

9 To 5

 

The Coronas invited me to lunch and to join them at the local theater's rendition of "9 To 5" today. I passed on lunch--Red Lobster. But I did make it to the theater. 

I must say, for a town as small as Texarkana, I am continually amazed at the theatrical and musical talent that comes out of here. This production was another example of it, though, the choice in musicals seems to be a bold one for East Texas. 

Allergies

Last Saturday, Tessa showed Marty and I an investment home. I warned her ahead of time, we were only marginally interested. To be fair, this part of "We" was the marginally. Marty came along for the ride. 

The house was in Wake Village, right across the street from City Hall. It was one of the original World War 2 homes, used to house soldiers working at the local army depot. The current owner slapped some paint on the walls and rolled vinyl onto the floors. That was good enough for Tessa, who stuck a sign in the yard.   

Here was my original thinking: I could use one bedroom for my sewing and rent out the other two bedrooms Air BnB style (like for $29 a night). I didn't need to make too much off of it, only enough to pay expenses. I'd break even, if between the two rooms, they were rented for 10 days each month. That's it: and should give you an idea of what kind of neighborhood it is in. The rest of the time, I'd have a tax-deductible she-shed. 

However, the house was so bad and the neighbors were so much worse that even Tessa, one of those big-haired, high-heeled agents who always has her phone in her hand trying to make a deal, wasn't trying to sugar-coat this place--not that it mattered. As soon as I walked in, I started sneezing. I didn't stop until Tessa locked the door on our way out. 

It is quite possible I was allergic to something inside the property. It is even more possible I'm allergic to sinking my life savings into that 1941 money pit that's being held together by duct tape and Texas mud. 

Happiness

I just found out Bonus Dad is swinging through on his way home from Michigan. I'm honored. He's heading to Kansas to visit his brother, then turning South East and driving this way. He'll be staying in town for a few days. I've booked the guest house Air BnB a few miles from here and I'm already planning a trip to the air museum.  

Squee!!!

Only In Texarkana

On the Nextdoor ap, someone posted a video of a pig. Walking in the middle of the road. In Wake Village. A suburb of Texarkana. Because, reasons. 

I'll take this any day of the week over that gigantic rattler on the football field of the local high school. 

September's Book Club

The Texarkana Book Club met this week. I would love to be a fly on the wall to understand where they come up with their book ideas. This month was a kid's story that took place during the Great Depression. Though the book was interesting, it was a bit basic for a group of folks whose average age is 79. 

Next month's book seems interesting. It takes place in Korea. I don't currently have the book. You see, the way it works is the woman who runs this is employed by the public library. She orders the book, then orders us readers not to break the spine. We read the book and return it to her, unscathed when we are done. This way she can return the book for a full refund. I guess. Anyway, the book is in transit.  

In addition to a lively discussion*, my new pal Joy was there. Joy actually had been texting me earlier that morning, telling me about her recent trip. I was shocked she was so friendly and forthcoming--like , dare I say, we were actually friends or something. After Book Club we picked up our chat, with her giving me greater details about the passenger on her cruise ship who was eaten by a shark. (I'm not making this up: https://www.cruisehive.com/passenger-from-royal-caribbean-ship-dies-after-shark-attack/80800) 

Anyway, Joy and I will be getting together next week for lunch. When she asked where I wanted to go, I asked if she knew of a decent Mexican restaurant. Joy, also having lived in Phoenix, had a good laugh at that one. So, it looks like we'll be heading to the Cracker Barrel.  

 *Tell me, how can a children's book turn into a political discussion--maybe its an East Texas thing? or a 2022 thing?

The Little Rock Run

Wednesday, ahead of Friday's potential national railroad strike, I snuck away to Little Rock to restock our freezer. I'm not sure it is worth it right now, as the price of meat has gotten so high, that even Costco is getting too pricy for us. Plus, I didn't even buy chicken. They were all out. Tell me, when has Costco ever run out of chicken before?  

On the way back, I did find a hidden gem: a Cheeba Hut. Cheeba Hut is a sandwich shop Buckaroo has been mourning since we left Mesa. It turns out it is a franchise and there just happens to be one in Little Rock. I was able to bring back three sandwiches for the gang for dinner. 

I got back just in time for my writer's meeting. This group isn't as cohesive as my other group. But they gave me great feedback. I'm entering my chapter in a contest this week. If I win, I might have the money to make another Costco run some time in the future. 

 

I Did Not Agree To This When I Said I'd Move To Texas

I'm not making this up. 

In the Metro Texarkana News & Report Facebook Group--in case any of all'y'all want to look it up (September 10), you can find a bird, chasing a gigantic rattlesnake. 

On a high school football field. 

Because that's where rattlers apparently hang out.  

In Texarkana.

GIGANTIC

The Token Catholic

I got my second invitation to the Church of Christ prayer group. This group is hosted by Deb, who is also the leader of the Coronas (a group of ladies who get together every few weeks and play cards or board games). From what I can tell, only a few Coronas attend the Church of Christ prayer group, but most of the Coronas are from the Church of Christ, if that makes sense. 

Anyway, I had such a great time at the last Church of Christ prayer group meeting last July, that I came back. Once again, everyone there was warm and welcoming. I remembered several names and managed to find the home school mom in the room (we can always find each other). It was obvious I wasn't one of the Church of Christ members, as they hadn't seen me at that Sunday's service, but nobody suggested it was a problem, including Deb, who invited me. 

And then we began our spiritual discussion. 

Last time, I said a few heart-felt platitudes on my turn. It was last July and that was a tough time in the Sunshine house. Being there then was uplifting. Not knowing these ladies, I certainly didn't want to share our personal struggles. This time the conversation was more centered around the Church of Christ's specific teachings and I am not an expert on their brand of religion. Therefore, I didn't even offer half a platitude. 

All was going well in this discussion until one older woman started bashing the Catholic church. I mean, what she said was absolutely correct: the leaders of the church have often done things that are not in the name of God. I think we all can agree with that (this also goes for other religions as well, but those sects weren't called out). However, the woman didn't stop there. She had her own version of world history that I could not verify. Nor, did I want to ask questions and make this a personal conversation in front of 35 strangers. So, I listened politely and took some mental notes so I could do my own research at a later date. At one point, I caught Deb's mortified eye and gave her a smile, letting her know, I was good. I could see my Southern hostess in her relax. 

I wasn't offended by this woman's words. To each her own. She obviously doesn't know the Catholic faith. And I obviously don't know the Church of Christ's dogma. 

And here is the totally, awesomist cool part. There ended up being an after-party to the Church of Christ prayer group. Deb invited me to stay for a bit (she wanted to clear the air, though I promised I was fine). The only other two ladies who were there who are also part of the Coronas also hung around--wanting to make sure I wasn't offended (the Coronas know I'm Catholic). The four of us chatted for a couple of hours about this, that, and everything else. And we laughed. 

I love laughing. I need to do it more often. 

Plus, one of the women point-blank, asked Deb when the next Corona get-together was happening. Deb looked at me and said, "You free Friday?" 

YES I AM!!! So, it looks like I've got another play date with the Coronas--which is like winning the social lottery for me. Plus--PLUS--I'm now part of the Corona text thread. Oh my goodness. I found a little bit of belonging. 

Though I'm lacking intimate local one-on-one friends at this time, I feel much better about my social life right now. 

And thank you so much to the dear folks back home who make a point of reaching out. You have no idea how much that means to me. I love you all. 

My Best Fiction Writing To-Date

This past week I was asked by one of my fellow writers to give a "quick critique" to a story she was working on. She said it was the best she'd ever written and very proud of it. Her goal was to enter it into a short story contest. Dropping everything, I was absolutely honored she wanted me to read it. 

Until I read it. 

I like to write. I've been told I don't stink at the craft. I have years of proofreading experience. I've been told I am an excellent copy editor. I understand the basics of the English language, story elements, plot points and character development. Those reasons alone make me want to help other writers. 

Where I am most terrible is finding the right and appropriate words to tell someone what they have written is, at best, a work in process without completely disempowering them. My filter has been broken since birth. I so wish I was like one of my dearest friends of 34 years, who can smooth talk in all circumstances with grace and class. When I'm in these situations I always think what would she do? And hope I'm 1/3 as good, which I rarely am. 

That said, I wrote my own short story in my critique. Her story held great promise. I told her so. Hopefully I also gave her empowering feedback, explaining that I wasn't sure what her plot was and how her elements fit together. I thought with a few "word tweaks" she probably had this down. And, I offered to read another draft again. Any time. 

Hopefully she will feel my feedback was inspiring.  

My Sister-In-Law's Birthday Gift

Ever since my 7th grade home economics teacher told me I had no sewing talent (I may have called her a bad word in response and was instantly put into shop class), I have wanted to learn to sew. Bonus Mom taught me the basics (something the home ec teacher managed to overlook). I've dabbled for years, here and there. But I really didn't have time until we moved here to delve into this hobby. There's so much more to it than putting the fabric between under the needle and pushing the foot pedal. Who knew?! 

Anyway, for Squirrel's wife's birthday, I made this bag for her. I bought the pattern. The directions turned out to be written by someone who does not speak English as their first language. I watched several videos and then modified the pattern. It was more engineering than sewing when the project was done. I was hoping to finish this in one day, but when I realized I took out the wrong seam Saturday night, I opted to make it a two day project. Unfortunately, nothing else around here got done.  

A tote bag is deceptively difficult. Because the bottom fabric was a print, I had to position the pattern on the fabric in such a way that I'd get some floral background and not cut off the actual flowers. It is really easy to miss this step. Additionally, the pattern called for some abnormally skimpy straps. I added an inch of fabric to the straps so they would look a normal size.  

The pattern did not come with a lining. I wanted to make the inside nice (it's a gift) and not show the unsightly seams. So, I engineered an interior lining, which had to be sewed separately and then dropped in once the bag was done. Then, I had to sew the bag and the lining together. Oh, I thought an interior pocket might be nice too. So, there's that. 

The finished product.

The pattern called for a zipper. However the directions were bizarrely unclear as to how to make this work with the pattern. Plus, with the lining, the engineering behind it was beyond my skill level. I couldn't find a YouTube video that showed me a reasonable way to put a zipper in that didn't include summoning a shaman.  

I added a zippered coin purse just because. Yes, the flowers are cut off. It was leftover fabric. 

In Search of a Saxophone

Bleeding Gums Murphy

For reasons that are elusive to me, Buckaroo signed up for a saxophone class at the college. That's all well and good, but Buckaroo doesn't have a saxophone. We live in a moderately small town (35,000 on each side of the state line) and resources aren't readily available. Add to that, up until a couple of days ago, I would have put money on the fact he really didn't know exactly what a saxophone sounded like.

Curious, Marty and I asked some basic questions: What made him decide to play the sax? Was there anything particular he liked about the sound? Had he heard of Clarence Clemmons? (no) Kenny G.? (no) Bleeding Gums Murphy? (no). We thought about explaining to him (as we have it on good authority), it is the drummer who gets the girls, but decided we'd rather hear a woodwind than a percussion instrument. 

At any rate, Buck wanted a saxophone. And he wanted me to go with him on his quest to find one, with the idea that I, "ask the right questions." Whatever those might be. We went to the two places in town. One did not have saxophones. They did tell us what to expect to pay for a reasonable quality sax for a beginning student. The other place offered us payments of $75 a month at 19% interest for 36 months. Not only was Buck not interested in payments, he was not interested in paying anything remotely near that amount.

Out of local options, we started looking around. I had no desire to drive to Dallas. Shreveport has a Guitar Center. Tyler has a music shop. I posted on Facebook's Texarkana Music Scene, but no takers. Buckaroo asked around to his sources. Nothing. Eventually we heard about the Guy. 

The Guy has a music store in Hughes Springs, Texas (population 1,534). Hughes Springs in 57 miles from my house, is three back country roads away. Pro tip: if you drive there in a thunderstorm, you can expect to pull over for about 15 minutes until you have enough visibility to see the road again. Prepare to see lightening strike near you. Twice. If you go on a day that doesn't have thunderstorms, you might be better off. 

Anyway, Buckaroo and I made the trek out to Hughes Springs. We passed three towns with Sonics and spotted several dead armadillos floating down the road. The Guy had three saxophones for Buck to choose from at a much more reasonable price. The Guy was also gracious and gave Buckaroo a starter-lesson, which was great because it gave the rain time to stop.   

Though we were an hour (or more, thanks to the weather) away. I realized, if I had been in Maricopa County, it would have been the equivalent of driving from Mesa to Peoria. Somehow not having municipalities in between made the drive seem so much longer. 

Buckaroo now has a saxophone. He's thrilled. Hopefully when it comes time to pick my nursing home, he will kindly remember that I helped him with this. 

Too Much of a Social Thing

A while ago I wrote about how my goal was to have two "social" events a week. To be fair, I've defined "social events" so loosely that it includes everything from walking over to City Hall to pay the water bill, to commenting on the NextDoor app. I keep wondering if and when I will have a Texarkana friend. I know its coming. Probably. Maybe.   

All that said, I'm having a bit of social anxiety because my schedule for the next couple of weeks is a bit full. I have a painting class, a quilting class and probably a focaccia making class. I'm slated for a bike ride with the Spin Sisters next week. Plus, I have my second book club meeting. There's also something going on at the church Saturday night that Marty and I have toyed with attending, but aren't sure, given it overlaps a little with my first quilting class. In addition to all that, I need to make an appointment to figure out if I can get my ceramics class next semester without having to hunt down high school transcripts and I have doctor's appointment (I'm fine). Add to all that my two writer's groups meet for two hours at a time. 

Then there's the handyman who's coming over to install a light in the garage. The vet appointment to get Luna's flea and tick meds. The pest control company is coming this week to commit geocide on the fire ant colony in my front yard. And sometime this week, I'm hoping to head out to the Happiest Place on Earth--The Farmers' Market. And let's not forget, I need to walk over to City Hall and pay the water bill.  

The Quest for an Extra Room

Marty is aware I am frustrated living in the bedroom 24/7. His solution was to buy me a she-shed. Though it is sweet, it is totally impractical. There are few places to put it in the back yard where I could get electrical hook-up (the shed would have to have air conditioning). We looked at sheds/workshops this last weekend that would afford me enough space for me to refinish furniture, sew and write. Honestly, I can't justify the price tag for something that will not return the value when we sell the house. So, no. 

Another idea that has been bandied about is getting new bedroom furniture to make the bedroom feel a bit bigger. I don't find this solution that wonderful either. I like my bedroom furniture. It took me 17 years of marriage to actually own a dresser, I'm leery about sacrificing what I have now for furniture that makes my room bigger. Because I'M STILL IN THE BEDROOM.

Of course, Polly and Buck won't be with us too much longer, but we are still probably talking a year or two out. Polly is taking a full course load. As much as she would love to move out, she wants to finish her education more. We all agree Buck just isn't ready. I'd rather have stable adults in the world than anxious young adults who feel pressured to leave because Mom wants a place to sew. 

I've thrown out the idea to Marty of buying a bigger house. I just want one more room where I can sit that isn't the bedroom. As of this week, we are five years out of bankruptcy, so I believe we qualify for a conventional loan. If we sold Arizona Avenue and used our equity we'd still have a small mortgage. Or, we could rent out Arizona Avenue and use the rent to pay the mortgage on the new house. But then again, ask me what I think of being a landlord. Either way, Marty and I aren't excited about having a mortgage at today's current interest rates. Plus, I don't want a new house badly enough that it might put me in a position where I have to go back to work. Right now, me being home (even in my &^%%*@ bedroom) is better for my family than me working--though I wouldn't mind getting a part-time job. 

The solution as Marty and I have looked at everything we can think of, is to wait. We are still open to a bigger home--but it has to be the right home. Because I worked at the ol'e brokerage, I still seem to have MLS access--which someday someone will figure out and take away from me. Once in a while I look up houses just to see if I want to upgrade. So far, nothing is speaking to me. Though I'm anxious to get out of the bedroom, I am not willing to make a rash decision.