When taking my walk around Wake Village yesterday, I kept seeing tables in folks' front yards with food on them. When I say "food," I mean bags of pasta, cans of whatever, boxes of cereal, etc. I must have passed about six or seven before curiosity got the better of me. So, I stopped by one of these tables, to find a note which said, "If you need something, please help yourself."
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| One of many I passed. |
For the second time in almost four years, Marty has a play date. He's getting out of the house! He's hanging with someone. Alone. Without me. Without the young adults. He is making a friend! Or maybe two!
This friend is Corona Gail's husband, who is one of the most gregarious and friendly people I know. In better circumstances (like Marty wasn't in an oppressively horrible job), Marty's personality matches Mr. Gail's perfectly. That's probably why the two of them hit it off a while ago. When Marty lost his job, Mr. Gail reached out and invited him out to Whataburger.
The day they got together, Marty was gone for hours. For days afterwards, he talked of nothing else but his breakfast with his new pal. The kids and I elbowed each other in disbelief. "Dad's smiling," one whispered to me. "I know!" I whispered back. The next time I saw Corona Gail I mentioned Marty had a blast. Turns out, Mr. Gail had a blast too.
Today, the two are doing it again. This time, Marty reached out. They are meeting at the donut shop. Marty suggested Mr. Gail bring another friend along, who happens to be a mutual acquaintance of the Sunshine's. In honor of Marty's second play date, I made mini loaves of pumpkin bread this morning for him to bring to his pals.
At the moment, I don't know who is more psyched. Me or him.
I got a text from Corona-Krissy this past Wednesday. "Mini Corona night Friday at Debs." Squee! Mini Corona code for "not everyone is invited" and to keep this bit o' news to myself.
Here's how Mini night works: One approaches Deb, asks if she'd be willing to house a few Coronas. Deb says "pick the menu and the invite list" and Poof! A Mini Corona night is born. I've approached her myself a couple of times for a Mini night. I know others have as well. I also know I don't always make the cut when others ask for a Mini night. But I'm grateful when I'm invited.
Mini nights came about because the Corona group now has 16 members. And with 16 women, personalities can be (ahem) diverse. Some in the group are super-competitive when it comes to card games and play by prison rules. Others are more docile and get their feelings hurt when they lose too much. And there are others who talk ALLTHETIME and throughout the game.
And then there's the newest Corona who does not like me in the least. That's okay, I'm not a fan of hers either. But she's a close relative to another Corona. After selling real estate for a million years, I know how to be super polite to people who detest me. She'll either hang herself eventually or come around. Bless her heart.
Anyway, Krissy is hosting a Mini night this week. I'm excited to be invited. I'm excited to get out of the house. It is fun to be around positive folks (and Little Miss Hatesme who will also be there). There's always laughter and great conversation.
While jaywalking downtown the other day, I was almost hit. The car stopped, and the driver rolled down the window. I turned around to apologize--as I was obviously in the wrong--and there was my pal and fellow Master Gardener, Jon, saying hello. We caught up in the middle of Broad Street for a moment before deciding we could finish our chat at the next Master Gardener meeting.
I'm not sure I've ever almost randomly been runover by someone I know before. And how cool is it that within the four years I've lived here, I've met enough people to know the fellow who almost caused my demise!
I'm just blown away. Over on the ol'e Facebook, someone posted asking where she could find a meal for one on Thanksgiving--as in what restaurants are open. Of the 109 comments, about 95 of them were local folks opening their home to this woman. Most of the comments were like this:
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| I don't even know where Roosy's partner in crime was at that moment. |
What I have been doing is other stuff. For example, edits. They take a long time--even longer when one is distracted by hyper-active scheming kittens, Luna and three other adults living under the same 1500 square feet as me. Plus, I have other things I do. Like... well... laundry and going for three-mile walks around Wake Village to find respite from the additional 18 legs in my home. And truly, I'm not very good company when I am in the middle of edits and life at the Sunshine house is a bit jumbled.
All of the above is not to say we are in some sort of malaise. Not really. But I'm not great company. Who wants to hear how things are not Instagram-quality wonderful? Our lives are in flux with a lot of uncertainties. The young adults are at crossroads (and one's chronic disease is out of remission). It sounds like one big complaint, but it isn't. It is just life. Life happens. Right now life is raining down on us. We are handling it with humor and resilience, but our challenges aren't interesting. Heck! I don't even want to call Bonus Dad and tell him about this.
None of this will satisfy Deb--who has a genuine love and affection for me and my family. My goal is to get her talking about something else. Southern holiday menus come to mind. Me: "Tell me? Why are deviled eggs around these parts made with sugar?" I can already hear her saying, "What do you mean? You DON'T make them with sugar?" Nope. Ew. Gross.
One of my most treasured memories with Bonus Dad is touring small Michigan towns, looking for maritime museums. Generally, these towns consisted of a stop sign, a Subway (where we'd get a sandwich), and maybe a gas station. Oh yes! We were always on the lookout for an ice cream shop. Small Michigan towns know how to do ice cream right.
The museums tended to be one room set-ups inside the local chamber of commerce with paraphernalia about ships sailing along Lakes Huron, Michigan or Superior--depending upon which town we stumbled into. For a token cover fee, visitors had the honor of spending anywhere from twenty minutes to an afternoon learning about the natural resources shipped from the area, the local sailors or any ships that might have launched or sunk nearby. And let me tell you! There are a lot of shipwrecks in the Great Lakes.
Our last outing took us up to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan at the tippy top of the state. That day, we watched the locks where the freighters on Lake Superior transitioned into Lake Huron. Bonus Dad, an engineer by vocation, explained all mechanical ins and out to me. Afterwards, we found our way to the granddaddy of all maritime museums: The Valley Camp, a large freighter, sitting next to in Lake Superior.
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In this particular museum, we stumbled across the lifeboat from the Edmund Fitzgerald. Because Mr. Lightfoot memorialized the Fitz in his song, it is likely the most famous shipwreck. It is also one of the most recent shipwrecks on the Great Lakes.
Today marks the 50th Anniversary of the sinking of the Fitz. The entire crew was lost. Most of the wreckage is still in the bottom of Lake Superior, 500 feet from the surface.
As a desert girl, I really didn't understand until Bonus Dad and I spent those summers exploring Michigan the role the shipping industry plays in the Great Lakes. I encourage you, if you have a bit of time, find a quick rabbit hole and read about Michigan's maritime history.
