And the Worst Texas Critters Are...

They aren't this cute. 

Fire ants. 

Those #(&*$!@ thugs show no mercy while they eat someone alive. 

Ask me how I know.  

One Year

It's been one year since my Daddy died. 

One year since I last held his hand. 

One year since I said good-bye for the last time. 

I've been a a grieving basket case all week, though I've been keeping it mostly to myself, opting to start tearing up during still moments. It still astounds me at how different my grieving is with Dad compared to what a hot mess I continue to be about Bonus Mom's passing--both of whom I dearly miss. 

Even though I probably should be available for my brothers, today I intend to just shut off my phone and see where the day takes me. I just want to listen to the quiet. 

Nope Tenfold

THIS came out in the Texarkana Facebook group yesterday. Look at that proud mama's smile! I would like to also point out there is probably a protective bull gator somewhere that isn't accounted for as well.  

And, THIS is (roughly) how far Bringle Lake is from my home (4.6 miles as the gator walks). 

Marty has a Sinus Infection

I live in a small house. This isn't a complaint. The house is big enough. It is paid off. But the small house is a reality that gets in the way of dealing with Marty's recent freight train snoring my insomnia. Last night, I was awake at 1 a.m. and had nothing to do. My computer and sewing machine are both in the bedroom. The house was clean. It was too wet to go anywhere at that hour. "Anywhere" would be a gym, which I don't have a membership to anyway or the Waffle House across town and I wasn't hungry. Plus, streetlights are kind of a luxury around here, so driving around town in the rain might also mean driving through a puddle I didn't know was the size of a swimming pool. So, I cleaned the garage. 

Then, I started painting the boards for the garden. I'm painting them green because 1) I have green paint and 2) there is no place to buy paint at 1 a.m. even if I did want another color. Here's something I learned since I moved here: painting takes a lot longer to dry in wet weather than it does in the dessert. When I finally called it a night around 4 a.m., the boards were still too wet to move. As I write this, I have 12 more to paint. If the weather holds, I will be planting spinach this weekend. 

Something else I've learned since I moved here is this: the outdoor spigots are inconveniently located in dark corners around my home. In order to wash out my paintbrush, I'd need to traverse--in the dark--to a remote corner of my home and hope there wasn't a critter hanging out there trying to get out of the rain. Don't laugh. I'm not sure I want to take on a giant lizard/possum/armadillo/"occasional copperhead"* armed with a paintbrush and flipflops. So, I didn't wash the paintbrush. I used an old trick my father taught me when in the middle of a painting job, I wrapped the paintbrush in foil and threw it in the freezer for tonight's insomnia marathon.    

*About six months after I moved into the house, I asked my realtor if snakes were an issue. She said, "Other than the occasional copperhead, no."  

Remedial Sewing is Done

Tuesday night was our last remedial sewing class. I brought a zippered pouch I was making with me to work on. That was also supposed to be our final class project.  

Also, because I'd gotten a cryptic e-mail from Val earlier in the day, suggesting she was having a bit of a crazy week, I opted to be a good team player and grabbed a handful of fabric, several zippers and matching thread and threw them in my bag--just in case Val needed them as part of her class. Because nobody else advanced that far, these supplies didn't matter. The rest of the class finished their project from the second week: gift bags. 

Meanwhile, while I worked on every step of my zippered pouch, Val took what I was doing and passed it around the room, demonstrating what the next part of the process should look like. She'd cheerfully say things like: "see how the pinning is done here," or "when you install a zipper, make sure to test it before you top stitch," or "if you don't test your zipper before you top stitch you will be picking out every single stitch and starting over and this is what THAT will look like." 

That evening, as Val and I got into the elevator when class was over, I made some platitude about the class ending. All Val uttered was a "finally" under her breath. That was the most frustration she'd shown about this group of students. But I certainly understood her point. 

Incidentally, Val is offering a canning class next month. But she didn't mention that to her sewing class. 

I'm Not Making This Up

 Ah... life in a smallish town. 

A Balanced Week

Woot! The scales of sanity are tipping my direction. This week I have just a few things going on. My last sewing class, dentist and lunch with Leah--been looking forward to that. I may go to Lunch Bunch Thursday. I'm on the fence because I don't really like the restaurant. But I like the people. 

Wait! Polly has a concert today too. But that's just kind of normal around these parts. 

I feel like I can breathe. 

The Great Tree Giveaway

As part of the Master Gardener Trainee program, I am required to serve in the community 50 hours. In the past 10 days, I've blown off two events. So, I made a point to wake up extra-early Saturday morning, scrape the ice off my car in the 28 degree weather and drive the 18 miles out to New Boston, Texas for the Bowie County Great Tree Giveaway. Apparently this is a thing around here. It had been advertised far and wide. 

When I arrived at 8:30, there were fifteen volunteers and cars lined up a half-mile, impatiently waiting for the 9 a.m. start time. Plus--I'm not making this up--this many bags of trees to give away. 

We gave out 4 different kinds of trees: oak, cypress, chinkapin and something else. 

In addition to the 15 volunteers, there were three folks who were paid from the County to help out. And they pretty much took over, not letting the volunteers do much. Not that there was much to do anyway with so few bags of trees. But whatever. I'm so jaded at the moment with volunteering. However, the education has been fantastic. 

All the bags of trees had been handed out by 9:20 and I now have only 48 more hours to go before I can get my Master Gardener Designation. 

Incidentally, one of the volunteers remembered me from the "bless your heart" incident the week before. Though I wish she wouldn't have, the woman told the group how I stood up to that (her words) "bully." Apparently the bully is well-known in the Master Gardener group. 

The best part came at the end. One of the Church of Christ ladies, Cindy, lives out in New Boston. She arrived at the Great Tree Giveaway at 9:21 to say hello. Because our event was over, Cindy and I ran over to Sonic for a diet cherry limeade and a bit of fun conversation.  

I Said It In A Nice Way

I struggle with the concept that I would rather hang out with the ladies from the Church of Christ than the women from my Catholic Church. Honestly, if Marty wasn't willing to go to church with me (and I swear this is the only reason he goes), I'd be spending my Sundays at the local Church of Christ. 

It had been pointed out to me (by Marty) that perhaps I didn't really know many of the Catholic ladies very well and I should get to know them. So, I joined the Lady's Auxiliary Group. At 54, I'm the youngest in this gang of women who seemingly have all been friends since birth. This group exists for the purposes of, well, after several months, I'm still not sure. They conduct a fundraiser once a year for a local charity (the domestic woman's shelter seems to be the recent favorite) complete with door prizes, food and whatever else; clean the church every week; supply pickles and olives for the meals after funerals; and on the second Sunday of the month, they provide the coffee and donuts. And by the way, the Lady's Auxiliary pays for these supplies instead of asking the congregation to help cover the costs--something I did not know when I joined. And more to the point, when I suggested in January's meeting we should ask the congregation to help out with the costs and ask for help cleaning the church all of the women looked at me like I had six heads and had insulted their granddaughters. However, I stand by my comment. 

Don't get me wrong, I really like the LA women and I guess they like me. They are fun too, although everyone seems so serious. The meeting is a meal, a glass of wine and then a laundry list of what needs to be done to keep the Church running and help out Father J. There is no fellowship. In the past, my ideas have been repeatedly shot down because, "that's not how things are done." It reminds me of other committees I've sat on where the same has been said. The difference is I feel like I need this group for access in my small town, but, maybe I don't? 

That brings me to this week's LA meeting. I dreaded going. In another unbalanced week and on a Thursday that already held two other events in my day, the thought of sitting through another, "nobody bothers to help us at the Church" bitch and moan fest was wearing thin. It was even more difficult because hours earlier I was invited to a future event by one of the Church of Christ ladies. When I pointed out to her I don't go to her church, she laughed and said, "It doesn't matter. You are still our Sister."

This past Thursday at the Lady's Auxiliary the topic of, "we can't get anyone to help us," came up. It was about the third time that night they had rounded to this particular narrative. First was about their charity, then about cleaning the church and then about something else. And then I spoke up. 

*I explained that in the year I've been in Texarkana, my group of companions has become the Church of Christ ladies and the reason why is they have gone out of their way to make me feel welcome. It took until November until someone from my church actually took the time to invite me to an event--and that was only because I made an effort to ask if I could join the Lady's Auxiliary. And the event I was invited to was because they were looking to make money off of me, not because anyone wanted to get to know me or my family. I asked them how many other new parishioners have they missed because they have all known each other since they were three and inadvertently formed their clique. In a small town where Catholics are such a minority, why are we not reaching into our own community and seeking others to join us and be a part of what we do? Why is there no welcome committee? Why is there no meals for families in need? No community involvement? Isn't that what the purpose of the Lady's Auxiliary should be? 

And that stopped the wine flowing. 

It is fair to say, I got their attention. The rest of our chat was about what the Lady's Auxiliary could do to increase their impact in our church. Melanie made a note to talk to Father J. about starting a Hospitality Committee (even separate from our group). Adaline has opted to find a few folks who can take meals to homebound seniors--neither of which the Lady's Auxiliary ever thought to help with before. 

When pressed for some "fundraiser" I suggested why not a parish game night where we can all get together and play board games AND GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER. Everyone who comes can bring a dessert to share instead of us baking everything. If there needs to be a "fundraising" element, then fine, pass the hat that night. Don't laugh. This was a successful event at both of the parishes I went to in Mesa. There was one naysayer who gave a, "Well... who would come?" My reply was, "You won't know if you don't bother to try." However three other woman jumped on the idea and thought it had merit. There was even talk about getting the young adults involved to help with the younger kids at this particular event.  

I have no idea what's in store for me in this group. I left Thursday's meeting a lot happier than I arrived. But I must say, I'm more excited about this upcoming Sunday night's Church of Christ prayer meeting. 

  *I said it in a nice way. I swear! 

I'm Glad Business is Plentiful for This Guy

I've been talking to a carpenter for the past day via e-mail. He couldn't be bothered to call me. I didn't realize he was the same yahoo who sent me an unprofessional text message yesterday. If I'd figured that out, perhaps I'd had stopped speaking to him sooner. 

Anyway, the guy I've been chatting with isn't Registrar of Contractors licensed. So, I'm going to pass. I've been burned by non-ROC contractors before. When I explained because I wanted to add an addition to my home which would require changing my roof line, I only wanted to use an ROC contractor, he got ugly. As much as it pains me, I'm taking the high road and not replying to his message. 

Even if this guy had bothered to get a contractor's license, he still wouldn't get the job. My general rule is I don't invite trouble into my home. If he was going to be an ass in an e-mail, I can't imagine what I'd have to deal with for a month or two if I hired him to add an addition to my home. 

Incidentally, after I wrote this blog--even though I did not respond to him--the guy contacted me again. He said he has other businesses. And then he peppered my inbox with advertisements for these businesses. I don't if this was supposed to add credibility or if he expected me to pass along the word in case someone needed their carpets cleaned or new eye glasses. For me, I will just steer clear of the guy.  

Random Texarkana

 If you want to know what's going on in Texarkana, sadly Facebook is a must. Here's the latest. By the way, it's worth reading this first one all the way through. 

San Antonio Photo Dump

 Last weekend three of the four human Sunshines went to San Antonio. 

Buck's souvenir San Antonio t-shirt,
which actually came from the Buc-cees
truck stop in Temple Texas.
 

Before I go any further, let me give a shoutout to Buckaroo, who stayed home, walked Luna, fed the pets, washed and vacuumed my car, wrote his paper for school AND missed out on real Mexican food in the name of holding down the fort. His adulting was rewarded with a Costco pizza, brought back by us and a new Buc-cee's t-shirt. 

Last weekend, Polly's Collegiate All State convention was held in downtown San Antonio. She left on Wednesday with her classmates for several days of intense rehearsal before Saturday's amazing headline performance. They were the main act. The entire concert was fabulous. And that's not just the mom-bias speaking. 

Gonna let you in on a little secret: Polly's teacher composed one of the songs the group sung. That's not exactly true: Polly and her teacher composed one of the songs the group sung. 

Marty and I stayed in downtown San Antonio. We hung out on the River Walk (eating real Mexican Food), cruised the river and toured the Alamo. On Sunday, we swung by the Costco and the Trader Joes and filled up two ice chests and three freezer bags before heading back to Texarkana.  

Here are the rest of the photos. 

All State Collegiate Choir (Polly's in there)

All State Collegiate Choir Picture (full)

The Alamo Memorial 

A Statue of Jim Bowie 

It seems several of the counties in Texas are named after the men who fought at the Alamo. I live in Bowie County. Actually a great number of streets in Texarkana are named after the men who fought at the Alamo.  

Davey Crockett Statue

The View from our Hotel

Crazy Week, Redux

This is another imbalanced week. However, I have started saying, "no," to what doesn't suit me this week. That includes social events. I'm okay with that. I need some down time. Next week should look really good. 

Volunteering Turf War

When I signed up for the Master Gardener program, I had no idea it required volunteering in the community. I wasn't against such a thing, but perhaps I should have delved a bit deeper. 

Today is the "Bi-States Agri-Fair" put on by Master Gardener program of Bowie (TX) and Miller (AR) Counties. It is a big deal among the growing set. Some professor of plants from Texas A&M is the guest speaker. An attendee can learn about fertilizer use, pest management, seed development, cattle and a host of other exciting topics. There is a trade show, with free logoed pens, pads of papers and whatnot will be given out to all Fairgoers. If that isn't enticing enough, a free hamburger lunch (It's Texas/Arkansas folks, don't expect vegan) will be provided. 

And, that's where I come in. Last year there were 600 people who attended this day-long shindig. Last week there were begs and pleas for volunteers to come out and help cut up the tomatoes, onions and lettuce for lunch. And please! Bring your own knife. Being a foodie, that sounded easy enough. Even though it was pouring torrential rain, and the same forecast is expected for today I signed up to arrive at 11 a.m. with my sharpened knife and enthusiasm at my first experience volunteering with this group.

That changed at 10:45. I was 10 minutes away from the fairground, driving through a horrible rain storm when my phone rang. As I answered (on bluetooth), my all-wheel drive car opted to hydroplane on New Boston Road in several feet of water. The call was from my new "mentor," from the Master Gardener program, making sure I was going to arrive in 15 minutes. And I have to tell you, that set me off. I don't like being micromanaged (or running floating off the road). It took the rest of the drive for me to get my attitude in check, reminding myself: 1) I didn't have to answer the phone, 2) it was (allegedly) a friendly phone call and the timing was bad, and 3) perhaps my new mentor didn't realize she came across as demanding and scolding.  

When I arrived, my mentor was nowhere around. I sought her out to introduce myself in person. She didn't need anything, other than to make sure I was actually coming. Nor did she feel the need to socialize. Though we'd never met and she has no authority, she just wanted to make sure I was going to keep my word. So, I'm still not sure what that was about. 

About 15 of us showed up to help with lunch prep. We were there, milling around, specifically waiting to cut tomatoes, onions and lettuce. Coincidentally enough, the organizer of this event didn't need all of us and had neglected to mention this to the person coordinating the volunteers. They had enough onions already. They only had a handful of tomatoes and, like me, they felt that cutting lettuce was a bad idea. It should always be ripped. 

While everyone was looking for a role in this crazy, I grabbed my knife and a motioned to a few other folks I recognized from my class last week and we went to work cutting tomatoes. Meanwhile, some woman from Miller County, who has been a Master Gardener since 1924, was utterly unhappy with my knife cutting skills. Mind you, she wasn't in charge, wasn't even involved in the food prep and we had never met before today. She was just one of "those" types. 

This lady took the time to walk across the kitchen, grab MY wrist and tell me that I was cutting tomatoes wrong (nobody else, mind you). According to her, I needed to use one of the mandolins that were floating around. Nobody else was using a mandolin. But she didn't care about anyone else.

When she didn't get anywhere with the mandolin, she turned to how I was holding my knife (which was correct). Then I was squeezing the tomatoes too hard. And when neither of those got traction, she pointed out I was doing this and that wrong. One of the other women in the cutting tomato group mouthed to me, "Do you know her?" I shook my head. I know plenty of crazy old people. Now I know another one. 

When it came time to handle the lettuce, she once again came over, and began critiquing my lettuce ripping skills, even going to far as to take a piece I'd ripped off the core, put it back on my cutting board  and tell me it was "too big." I just smiled and threw the piece away. "Why'd you to that?" she demanded. "You aren't wearing gloves," I pointed out. "It can't be served." Then, I went back to work. 

The final time she came over to chastise me over something weird I kind of smiled and threw out the, "Bless your heart," I had chambered. I was standing in the State of Arkansas. I knew exactly what I was saying. The women who were working with me knew too and the kitchen went silent. But at least the drill sergeant left.*

I'm told that today is a great opportunity to volunteer. I can get lots of hours towards my Master Gardener certification. But, you know what? I'm gonna pass and go hang out with the Lunch Bunch.

*Marty pointed out this sounded uglier than it was. It went like this, (with a smile), "I'm new here and doing the best I can. Bless your heart. I guess I'm just not helping out the right way."  The message was received and I didn't have to wield my knife. 

Remedial Sewing

The Easy Bake Ovens of Sewing Machines

I decided when I moved to Texarkana I'd officially learn to sew. Though Bonus Mom taught me the basics and I could hold my own, I didn't have a ton of skill. Texarkana College offered a five-week "Basic Sewing" class last April and I signed up. Unfortunately, the first day of class was four weeks after my father passed away, 5 days after my aunt died and two days before my cousin Eric would pass--though the first day of class I knew his end was near. I left half-way through that first class because I was a bit of a basket case. 

Nevertheless, the course was great. I learned quite a bit. The folks in the class came from all walks of life and we had a blast. Instantly I picked out the homeschool families (there were two of us plus our teacher, Val). All of us students had about the same amount of sewing experience and that sewing class was just what I needed during that crazy time. One of the students even asked me on week three for travel advice because she had a trip to Phoenix lined up. 

The course was so successful that we convinced Val to offer an Advanced Class. Last October we all took her Advanced class and had another blast. 

Val offered another beginning sewing class this past January. Though I've progressed long-past a zippered pouch and a pillowcase, I signed up. I wanted to get out of the house, meet some folks and have an excuse to sew something. 

Sewing Kit Thread

Unfortunately, Val's Basic Sewing class this time is a bit different. Now, don't get me wrong, these are lovely people. Just like I'm not cut out for acting, singing, and a whole litany of competencies, sewing rings true for this bunch. However, I think Val had some expectations for her students that just haven't been met.

 
On the first day of class, Allison brought the equivalent of battery operated Easy Bake Oven Sewing Machine to class as her personal sewing machine. She also insisted her 12 year old son, Seth, come along. The poor kid is now stuck in what I'm sure he considers one of Dante's rings of hell.  

Malory brought her sewing machine in a duffle bag, no thread and no fabric (the last two items were mentioned in several e-mails prior to the first class). Katie brought hers in a box, unopened, with the packing tape still affixed. She also brought thread. However, it was sewing kit thread--you know, those tiny spools you use when you are putting on a button--and not the kind you'd use on a sewing machine. 

It was obvious from the start Val was not expecting this level of incompetence. To keep the class moving, I jumped in and helped her. She tackled Mom and Son, I worked with the other two ladies setting up their machines. When I said, "We need to set up your bobbin," Katie grabbed her bobbin and one of her sewing kit threads and started hand-winding the thread. She marveled when she discovered her machine does this for her. 

On the next class, it appeared Val and I would need to divide and conquer again if we were going to get anything done. This time Malory brought fabric and tried to give me back the scrap of fabric she'd used the week before that I'd given her. No, not necessary. She'd already cut and sewn it. I was good. I took Malory aside to show her how to cut her fabric. Sadly, she just wasn't getting the entire concept of actually scoring the material--you know, to make it the shape she wanted. "You can't cut it like a princess. You need to cut it like a warrior." I said. "Otherwise, the material will fray." 

"I don't want to hurt it. It has feelings," she replied, and meant it. 

"You are making it cry this way," I said, not meaning it. But Malory believed me and sorta cut her fabric with more gusto and slightly more precision. 

The following week, I gave a demonstration to the group (at Val's insistence--I think she needed a moment) on how to pin. Let me explain how to pin. Match up the edges of the fabric. Pin the EDGES of the fabric in place so the fabric won't shift (no Malory, it doesn't hurt the fabric). Keep the pins in as you sew but take them out BEFORE the needle runs over them. For extra credibility, I even whipped out my phone and showed them where they could find a good Youtube resource on pinning. Someone who shall remain nameless heard something along the lines of toss two pieces of fabric into a haphazard pile, only affix one pin in the middle of the fabric, sew and expect everything to come out perfect. 

I also demonstrated how to topstich--a process I'm certain was created by Satan himself. The trick for topstiching is to go slowly. I cannot stress this enough. Otherwise the fabric pulls and the process will be repeated until done correctly. I explained this and demonstrated the "pulling" when sewing too quickly. I took the fabric out of the machine and passed it around, letting everyone examine what happened. Someone else who will remain nameless is apparently a hands-on learner and had to figure it out herself. But first she was introduced to her new tool, the seam ripper.  

Val mostly works with Allison and Seth, but I noticed this past week Seth was a bit tired of Val's instruction. So, I took Seth aside. He was ironing his apron seams. However, as he ironed, he would whip his iron across the fabric, un-ironing another section. Plus, he kept leaving the iron face-down on the fabric. Was it on purpose? Maybe not the first time. I would like to think I speak 12 year old boy, but I'm not sure he truly will grasp the reason to iron seams (to set them in place before you stich--which is what I told him). Seth is also not a fan of sewing in a moderately straight line and I was showing him some tricks to do so (like following the guides on the sewing machine). My true opinion is that Seth would rather be anywhere else than in this class and it didn't matter what anyone said to him. I really feel for the kid. 

On the second week of class, we (well, everyone else) still hadn't completed week one's or week two's projects. This was very different than my classmates and me last April who did our homework (cutting out our fabric, reading the directions and making sure we had what we needed before class) and managed to get through our beginning projects in under three hours. After that second class, Val thanked me for my help and I said I hoped I wasn't out of line. She shook her head and said not at all. That night, I found a $5 gift card in my e-mail for an online pattern company from her and I realized how frustrated she must be as well. 

After four weeks this crowd still hasn't finished one project. None of them are all that hot on reading directions. To compensate for this, Val has changed the curriculum. This past week she had them work on everything we'd started. I brought in something I'm working on from home. I didn't have much to do, but really only came for the social interaction. 

 

The Seedling Class

Thursday morning, I checked the weather and decided the rain wasn't going to let up any time soon. I could probably adult enough and drive the 20 miles to New Boston to my first Master Gardener class. My other option was online, but there had been a request for all of us Seedlings to show up for the initial class in person. Given it was 34 degrees and it's just water, right? I could make the drive. Though, I was dreading my choices: Interstate 30 with crazy tractor trailers and one lane for three miles or the one lane country road (my usual route to New Boston) with a culvert on the side. I opted for the country road, figuring there were less bridges that could freeze. 

My choice really wasn't about going to the in-person meeting in New Boston. My choice came down to this: I needed to go grocery shopping. The place where the Master Gardener program was being held was right next to a Wal-Mart and I knew darn well if I didn't go today, my recluse self wouldn't go out to Wal-Mart (or any grocery store) that was less than a mile away. 

I needed to arrive by 9 a.m., but by 7:30, I was still fiddling around, wondering what was causing my  hesitancy. I'd miss the lunch bunch? I hate driving in general? I have enough social anxiety to live as a recluse for the remainder of my life and this was a new thing with people? All of the above?

The meeting was what one could expect for a small-town county extension office's first Master Gardener program since 2019. Those who were running it on the local level were unfamiliar with Zoom (turns out the classes are Zoom no matter where I was in the state) and the Bowie County crowd was more interested in making us Seedlings feel comfortable, offering us the best pastries Walmart had to offer and saying Howdy than getting down to business, so we missed the first 15 minutes of Texas A&M's Zoom Master Gardener class. 

The class was an interesting one and gave an overview of Texas plants and watering practices. Given how big the state is, obviously the watering practices in North East Texas--where it hasn't stopped raining in the past two weeks--aren't the same as the watering practices in El Paso. I couldn't help comparing water usage here to what I'm used to in the desert. This will take some getting used to.    

In order to earn my National Master Gardener designation, this year I'm required to put in 50 hours of education and 50 hours of community volunteer time. This was once a huge deal in Bowie County, then with COVID, all bets were off and the program fizzled in the past few years. There were ten of us in the class, which I'm told, once we graduate, will triple the amount of Master Gardeners in Bowie County. So, it doesn't sound like the volunteer time will be that difficult. At any rate, it looks like this Master Gardener program could bloom into something promising. 

  

An Imbalanced Week

The obvious takeaway is I need to be careful what I wish for. 

Last year I was grieving, lonely and lost, walking around Home Depot/Tractor Supply/Hobby Lobby/Lowe's/Sam's Club looking to strike up a conversation with anyone who might want to chit-chat for 30 seconds. 

This week my head is swimming. In addition to the normal chores (laundry, grocery shopping, etc.), I have two Master Gardener events. This does not even include my actual class. I also have a hair appointment, a trip to the vet, a sewing class, a movie date with the Coronas and possibly the Thursday Lunch Bunch if I can sneak out of one of the Master Gardener's Agri-Fair. Plus, I have two zoom dates set up. One with a friend I miss terribly. The other with my nephew, Patrick. Neither of those zoom dates I'd give up for anything. 

I just sent a note to the lady's auxiliary telling them I couldn't make Thursday night's meeting. I doubt it was my influence, but they ended up changing the meeting to next week after my text. I can probably enlist Buck's help in cleaning the house. I can pay him in gas money and Whataburger these days. 

In addition to all that, Marty and I leave on Friday for San Antonio to hear Polly's concert. It is my intention to leave Buck with a few meals before we go. He happens to like my chicken enchiladas. I made them last Saturday night. They were gone by Sunday.

None of this is a complaint. I'm actually grateful to be wanted and find purposeful activities that I enjoy. Most of my weeks are nothing like this. They are generally quiet with time to clean the house, do the laundry and talk to an Arizona friend or two calling to say hello.   

Maybe what I need to do is wish for balance. 

Two Days Apart

 I don't remember my reasoning Wednesday when I took this picture. But it was day five gazillion of rain. This is a street two blocks from my home. 

I took this picture yesterday--the first day of sunshine we've had in five gazillion and two days, because according to the Internet (which is always correct, right?) tomorrow will be the last day of sunshine for the next two weeks. I wanted to remember what sunshine looked liked. 

 

In a Small Town

On the Nextdoor app. 

Negotiations

I'm negotiating with my brother to take Patrick for a couple of weeks this summer. I'm willing to fly (sigh... or drive) to Arizona, spend a few weeks in May and take Patrick home with me. My conditions are simple: Though Patrick doesn't get out of school until the Friday before Memorial Day, the Auntie Express leaves the Tuesday before Memorial Day. I don't want to travel close to a holiday weekend. 

Patrick can stay as long as he wants, or as long as his parents want--which, according to my brother is June 6. June 7 happens to be Patrick's birthday. Little Brother is countering that I could come in early June, stay for Patrick's birthday and then take him back for the summer. Though that sounds like a plan, it includes me being in Arizona in June. 

"It also hits 100 degrees in May, you know," Squirrel said when I pointed out one of the reasons I no longer live in Arizona. Sure it does! My original plan was to come in March but with my Master Gardener class, May is the soonest I can show up. But past May? Why would I voluntarily go to Arizona any later? 

I'm waiting to see what he throws in to sweeten the deal. Diamondbacks tickets? Mexican food? More of my father's stained glass windows? Who knows! Maybe he can change my mind.