Gratitude

Let me paraphrase Thomas Fuller for a quick sec. September came in like a lion. May it go out like a lamb. 

My mom is healing. Marty Sunshine is happy like I haven't seen him happy in years. 

I'm going to take a moment and enjoy this. 

Mom Non-Drama

Word from Darwin is Mom's brain tumor is benign. However it is inoperable. For now, the doctors are  "watching it"--which I find maddening. She will have another MRI in three months. Additionally, she's had a bout of unrelated Bell's Palsy, which has caused the facial drooping. Darwin said it is clearing up on its own. He also told me she's maneuvering really well with the walker and/or cane while her broken knee cap heals. She will be going home "late next week." 

According to Mom, she's having a monthly MRI to evaluate the tumor. She's walking really well and she's going home Friday. 

Let the Adventure Begin

Marty went to the office this morning around 8 a.m. and arrived home less than a half hour later. He's been the happiest I've seen him in a long time. 

Though we didn't expect the news for a few weeks, this past weekend, we made a Walmart pantry run, stocking up on pet food, peanut butter, rice and and salsa. We also went to the Shreveport Sam's Club because it has a wider selection of items and picked up a bit of meat. With the freezer bulging--it was pretty empty--and the garden's harvest, we are set for a while. 

The Young Adults are looking at Marty's glee with a jaundiced eye. Given Marty and I grew up dirt poor, this isn't too scary for us. Our bills are minimal. Our luxuries are small. I passed on getting my hair colored this morning, opting for the gray to sparkle through. And I doubt I'll be hanging out with the Thursday Lunch Bunch for the next few weeks (if I go, someone will insist on buying my lunch when word gets out and I'm not up for charity). However, Marty told me not to cancel my Branson meet-up with Bliz planned for later this month. But this will be my last trip for a while. 

Meanwhile, Marty is on fire. With the idea of keeping the house and letting the Young Adults hang out here for the next few months while their lives shake out, he's dumping his resume everywhere. Florida where Uncle Sunshine lives? Why not. Arizona? Possibly. Little Rock? Actually, it's a nice city. As an acquiesce to me he's even looking in the cities of Saginaw and Midland Michigan--though I'd prefer he waited until the spring thaw to search that area. And yes, Texas is an option too, but maybe not El Paso please. Of course, Texarkana is on the table and if a job shows up here, that would make the most sense. 

Saturday Harvest

Every Saturday, Marty and I pick the okra. Every single one of them. The following week we pick them again, marveling at how huge they grow in one week. I'm not a fan of okra. There are a few grape tomatoes and a regular tomato in the basket too. 

Marty's Job

Whelp, it's been an interesting time at the O'le Sunshine Manor. Not gonna lie. I bought a mouth guard because I began grinding my teeth. In addition to Mom's issue, there's been another bit of chaos closer to home. 

Marty's company is in trouble. Bigly. He and I discussed it in length during our drive to Florida last summer, so the announcement didn't come as a surprise. However, the company started Hail Mary maneuvers in the past couple of weeks. This week, the Powers That Be actually let Marty and his teammates in on their woes. I heard everyone acted completely astonished and surprised--"acted" being the appropriate word here. 

In the interest of cost-saving, the company is now is plucking employees from their desk and escorting them to the door. And even if the company makes a dramatic come-back, Marty's been told to expect to be unemployed "shortly," but hasn't been given a date, What does this mean for us? No idea. We intended to drive to Dallas yesterday to buy a car, but that is now on hold. So, there's that. Our financial advisor gave us advice, which is rather promising, but doesn't change the fact Marty will be looking for work. And yes, Marty's resume is everywhere. 

By the way, Marty is in good spirits about this change. To him, the company is the Titanic and they've given him a lifeboat. As I've pointed out, this job has become soul-crushing. The more the company struggles, the more dictator-type rules come into place. Recently, Marty, though salaried, was directed to clock out before leaving his desk to walk to the company kitchen to grab a drink of water. And don't get me started on the arbitrary rule put into place which made Marty have to work on his vacation.   

I'm not sharing this with the folks in Texarkana because 1) this is a local company and if the business isn't sharing their news, it isn't up to me to let the cat out of the bag and 2) someone might figure out if Marty doesn't have a job with his current company and if Texarkana doesn't have a lot of computer-type positions available we might not be staying--which I already knew but they don't. If this is the case, I'll cross that emotional bridge when I come to it. 

Meanwhile, to assuage the Young Adult's fears, we came up with this. I picked the 19th. Marty picked the 30th. Polly picked the 15th. Buck hasn't picked just yet. 

Mom Drama

In addition to the spot on Mom's brain which hasn't been diagnosed (but Mom swears is benign, and why not?), last week, she walked into a store and face planted into the concrete breaking her knee. She spent five days in the hospital and is currently in a rehab facility. My brother, Darwin, is flying in tonight to visit for the weekend. He hoped Squirrel or I would join him in Nowhere Vermont, but alas, he's on his own. 

Mom is in good spirits. After a week she's walking with some help. She doesn't expect to be in the rehab facility too long. And she promises she isn't being a complete jerk to the staff. If she is, Darwin will will straighten that out. 

Darwin--bless him--is also going to Mom's neurology appointment next week so we can have some accurate information and get an idea of what her treatment plan might be. 

Still Holding Out

Sydney Jean, my 2014 Rav4, hasn't hit the mark just yet. She has 700 miles to go. 

The "Win Big" prize is now a family meal with the rest of the Sunshine family. The winner gets to pick the restaurant and the rest of us can't complain. Buck is promising McDonalds or a Japanese Steak House (None of us know where we'd find one). Polly said she's picking Verona--the fancy Italian restaurant in town where lunch will cost us $175 but it will cost the restaurant $15 in ingredients. I think if I win, we are getting Wingstop and staying home and playing Uno. 

Studying

 

Buckaroo is fortunate enough to have a study partner. 

Roosevelt and Buck

Finn vs. Hempstead

Picture was taken from their Web site, because Marty didn't take pictures of the court proceedings. Not that we really could, because there was zero electricity in the courtroom and our only source of light was 8 oil lamps. Did I mention it is DARK at night? 

Last Saturday night, Marty and I attended a reenactment of the 1856 Arkansas trial of Finn vs. Hempstead (Hempstead County, Arkansas). It was an absolute blast! The dinner theater was held at the Historic Washington State Park, which is about 40 miles from here. 

The town of Old Washington, Arkansas became the de facto state capital during the Civil War when the North took over Little Rock. Fast-forward 150+ years, the State of Arkansas turned the town into a state park. The buildings still exist--several are in use, including the museum-courthouse, tavern and blacksmith shop (ever watch "Forged in Fire" on the History Channel?). Of note, the world's oldest magnolia tree is also in residence and that girl is about 200 years old and still blooms. 

Back to Saturday night. 

This trial by jury event the park runs is so popular, people come from all over. We sat with three delightful folks from Little Rock. A family of 20 from Houston showed up as well. All together, there were about 60 of us who met at the tavern for either a pork loin or chicken fricassee dinner. Both meals came with a "pie" that someone at our table dubbed "chocolate fricassee," because nobody we dined with knew exactly what either the chicken dish or the pie-thing was. By the way, there's a misleading picture of this pie-thing on the Old Washington Historic Park Facebook page. Knock yourself out. 

After dinner, we all convened at the courthouse--which I should point out, one does not walk to from the tavern because Historic Washington State is DARK when the sun goes down because electricity wasn't invented in 1856. But, we didn't think about that when we journeyed the 1/2 mile over to walk off our chocolate fricassee.  

During dinner, the jury summons went out and wouldn't you know? I ended up on the mock jury for this mock trial. I was met at the courthouse by the sheriff, donned in his best 1856 attire, who escorted me to the jury bench to be seated with 11 of my closest peers. All the characters in the trial wore appropriate costumes and stayed in character, even when an audience member from Houston-faction needed assistance with the back door.   

The case was interesting. Mr. Finn hand-wrote a will for Mr. Crosby to sign on his deathbed in 1851. Finn selected his two witnesses. Additionally, he scurried out other folks who happened to be at Crosby's house at the time of the signing, ensuring nobody advocated for Crosby. One of the will's "witnesses" testified he didn't actually didn't see Crosby sign. He'd shown up late to the party because he'd been at the tavern. Plus, all those who testified divulged Crosby had been delusional that day, talking about yellow butterflies, green squirrels and leprechauns. As a jury, we were to decide was Cosby in his right mind at the time the will was signed and was the will valid?

Let me just say, everyone is entitled to their opinion. Even on a jury. 

But there's always one %^@*&^*($&@^* attention-seeking Karen. Our jury's Karen asserted a handwriting analysis needed to be done on the will. Oh yes, a doctor needed to certify Crosby was truly delusional because the three witnesses separately saying under oath the guy had imaginary friends and wanted to slide down rainbows didn't constitute a medical diagnosis. Additionally, it wasn't "fair" to the Finn family to lose all that money five years after Crosby died. 

However, the frustrating part for me was that Karen wouldn't go along with the idea that this was a performance. We were part of the show. The first rule of improv is to go along--not that any of this was truly brought up during our sequestering, but come on! Read the room! 

Whatever. 

A juror is allowed to have their own opinion. 

After ten minutes of deliberation, Karen doubled down and we were a hung jury. Yes, I know that in a civil trial only a majority is needed to render a verdict. This fell on deaf ears, as the actors had their own agenda. Incidentally, the real Finn vs. Hempstead case went to the Arkansas Supreme Court. It turns out, 11 of us had a similar opinion as the Supreme Court and didn't really care how "fair" it was for the Finn family. 

Official-ish Jury Summons

Random (Unpleasant) Texarkana

Through a confluence of unfortunate events, I am house-sitting for Tessa this week. She has two aged poodles who make me appreciate the subtle, low-maintenance aspects of Buck's rowdy kittens and Luna. 

I want to go home. 

Yesterday, Tessa had a minor crisis and she needed her outside freezer cleaned out. When I talked to her and explained I had zero room to put her frozen food in her inside freezer, she asked me to take it all to her office. And then she said, "I know that makes you uncomfortable," which was only partially true. First, my anthropophobia* was in high-gear. Second, I had a phone call I was waiting for. But mostly, I'm not "uncomfortable" at her office as much as I don't suffer unpleasant fools. Frankly, my resting-bitch face was already twitching long before I found going to her office was the most reasonable solution to her frozen meat issue. However, I like Tessa. She had a problem. I don't work there. And I can fake it for ten minutes for the sake of this errand. 

_______________________________

My 79 year old mother was rushed to the hospital yesterday afternoon. Her face is drooping and she's having severe headaches. She tells me her tests came back negative for stroke. But they found a mass in her brain. I have zero more information and nobody to really ask. So, I wait. 

Also, this time I'm the conduit for information between my brothers and myself on this particular crisis (Mom changes it up. The last time she only texted my middle brother and bypassed Squirrel and me, nor will she do a group chat). So, I'm feeding them what I know, which is in the form of screen captures of my mother's texts and sending them directly to them so they have the exact wording. We went through this with my father. But at least with Dad, some of us were nearby and we had a better source of data. This time, not so much. 

_______________________________

Last weekend Marty and I found a hiking trail at Millwood Lake (Arkansas), about 30 miles East of here. Sigh... there was a time I'd hike through the desert, with my biggest concerns being stepping on a snake or a cholla cactus spine. Oh yes, one time there was a mountain lion. Another time a sleeping bear. The good old days.  

In this part of the world, hiking is so much more complicated. First, there's poison ivy, poison oak and poison sumac. It's hiding everywhere. My pal Joy is on week two of poison ivy recovery and she sounds miserable. 

And if the plants don't get you, there's always the critters. In addition to the usual suspects--including mountain lions and bears--one needs to know what to do if they happen upon an alligator. Because that's a real concern in these parts. 

Incidentally, the pamphlet on "alligator etiquette" didn't really evoke a sense of peace. According to this work of fiction the ranger handed me, apparently gators are "shy creatures" and are as afraid of me as I am of them. Or some such nonsense. I should also mention nowhere was it documented what I'm supposed to do if run into a situation where I 'm close enough to an alligator to need etiquette. 

*A fancy name for social anxiety.  

The Tale of Two Polite Churches

This past Sunday, Polly sat in a pew next to Sherman* for the second week in a row. Not only was she in the pew, but that meant she wasn't in the choir loft--where everyone she hung out with three days a week could see her. After mass, several women approached Polly, striking up conversations and making a point to introduce themselves to Sherman. By the way, this is considered "polite."

Polly told to me she was surprised at the number of friendly folks. I pointed out that every woman she mentioned has an eligible son and they'd scoped out Polly on their child's behalf. After these women walked away Sunday morning, they immediately rang their single offspring, telling them they just missed their shot at dating Polly and what is wrong with them!? At which point, Polly pointed out that my explanation seemed extreme. I assured her these mothers were using all extreme measures necessary to get their sons married off and it had zero to do with how long she and her fella had been seeing each other (not long) and more to do with their lack of grandchildren. Additionally, the gossip mill prayer circle will be chock-full of requests for their sons to find someone like Polly (and to be fair, I'm also thinking their might be a few uncharitable women who want the freshly-divulged friendship between Polly and Sherman to fail. I haven't met Sherman yet, so I haven't formed an opinion or asked for a prayer request).

Meanwhile, at the same time this was going on Sunday morning, I was saving a seat for Myra at the Church of Christ. I had invited her to join me at the service this past week. Myra was raised Church of Christ, but hasn't gone for her own reasons. When my friend Myra entered, she ran into another acquaintance who recognized her and happily dragged her husband to sit next to us, making sure to introduce Myra to every passing person in the congregation. By the way, this is considered "polite." 

And after the service, the smell of a stranger loomed large. Poor Myra ended up with a receiving line so long that it took me five minutes to get out of the pew because people were swarming. What none of these well-meaning folks understood was Myra's Introvert Face blazed brighter with each handshake and invitation to some other upcoming event. All Myra wanted to do was LEAVE. I wasn't much help because at this point, my face matched hers and I would have jumped over the pews to bolt if Bonus Mom hadn't taught me about decorum. I'm sure the prayer circle gossip mill buzzed for hours about how to get in touch with me or anyone else who might know Myra and invite her to sixteen events this week. (My phone will be off.)**

Anyway, during Sunday lunch with my family I offered to trade churches with Polly next week, just to give us both a break. She declined, figuring she had the better end of the deal. 

*All of my children's special friends end up with unfortunate nicknames. In this case he's a First Lieutenant and Buck--who has met him--says he's built like a tank, hence, Sherman. 

**As I wrote that paragraph, my phone buzzed with . . . you guessed it. 

The Fledglings

Marty and I realized we are starter empty-nesters lately. 

Polly is housesitting out of town right now. I've been able to entice her with home-cooked food. Every few days, she'll arrive, eat a meal, pretend to want to hang out, grab more stuff from her room and dash out the door to visit with friends or go back to New Boston. 

Buck is in school two afternoon/nights a week. Plus, he works. And he has a better social life than any of us. When he arrives home, he plays with his kittens, and then is either studying, on his computer or sleeping. 

I remember being a young adult. This is what life is like. Though I miss them, I'm happy they are happy. 

 

Windshield Wiper Update

 Well now, we've come to another chapter in the Windshield Wiper saga. As you may remember, a couple of weeks ago my wipers stopped working while I was driving on Interstate 49. This caused a bit of an issue because at that moment, I was in the middle of a torrential downpour and visibility with the windshield wipers was low. And without them, impossible. 

Though a bit of research, we discovered the issue wasn't a simple fuse. And today, we brought the car into the mechanic who told us the reason the wipers stopped working was a "varmint's nest" had caused something to jiggle out of place. 

"How does one get a varmint's nest?" I asked Marty. He had no reasonable answers, but promised to put mothballs under my hood to deter future varmints from squatting in my car. "Does that work?" I asked.  Marty didn't know, but thought it sounded reasonable. 

I'd like to tell you my car is back in my possession, but no. You see, when the mechanic put the wiper parts back together, he did it in such a way, that my wipers will no longer go down. No explanation has been given to me as to why this dude thought I'd take the car back with the wipers stuck on top of the window. I stopped asking when I got to someone in the garage's hierarchy who looked as exasperated with the situation as I did. At least that person promised me I'd eventually get my car back without varmints and with windshield wipers which work properly. 

So, the car is still at the mechanic and I'm still waiting for this silly saga to end.  

Nope, Because Nancy Isn't a Crazy Weirdo

Preface: When I told Marty about this incident, he commented the woman's corpse must still be missing because I wasn't in jail.

After a six-month hiatus, I made my way back to the local yoga studio. As I was getting settled, I struck up a conversation with the woman next to me, who said lots of pleasant things. She had the right kind of vibe, laughter and essence, bringing me back to my Phoenix life. I said to her in a wistful and nostalgic  way, "You remind me of my friend Nancy." 

When yoga started, I found myself having to concentrate, focus, and move deliberately, because after six months, I'm not as limber as I used to be. 

So there I was in my down dog, focusing on breathing, not falling on my face, and keeping my back straight. The instructor said in her sing-song tone: "If it is in your practice, extend your left leg," so I did--all while my arms shook. 

That's when the woman who no longer reminded me ANYTHING of my friend Nancy, reached across and--I wish I was making this up--tickled my foot. I'd like to add, I was no longer focusing on breathing, falling on my face, or keeping my back straight, and neither was anyone else in the room.

The woman laughed, as she said to me, "I bet your friend Nancy would have done that too." 

Update

 Buck made it through his first day of class. He's pumped. 

And, the drive wasn't too bad. 

He's a Good Driver

Buckaroo starts the University of Arkansas (Hope, Arkansas campus) today. He's been puttering around for the past few days, nervous. 

I asked him today what is bothering him. He tells me it's the drive--which is 30 miles one way. "Yes I know I've driven in Phoenix!" he said--though I hadn't brought it up. Indeed he has. He's driven farther and in heavier traffic, as he will soon learn. 

In some ways, it's a relief that his biggest fear is the drive and not his course load. But, I'll tell him that in a few weeks when he feels a bit more secure.  

I'm Not Making This Up

 On the ol'e Facebook: 

Sewing Gratitudes

 When I was 13ish, I took home economics where I was "taught" to sew. Except the teacher had one foot into her retirement and zero tolerance for creativity, understanding or compassion. 

Fast forward to the end of the term and she found my sewing project an abysmal mess. It was. I'd asked for guidance from her several times, only to be blown off. The teacher held up my abysmal mess to the class in an effort to shame me and as an example of terrible sewing. I lost it on her and said lots of things I had on my mind. Somewhere after that, the Powers that Be, thought I should be in shop class. They were right. I loved shop and I hated sewing from that moment on. 

One day, Bonus Mom patiently sat with me and taught me the basics of sewing. However, I wasn't in the season of my life to truly make it a hobby. And then I retired and moved to Texas where Val taught me to sew and Bob taught me to quilt in the first ten months I lived here. Every sewing project I work on now is done with gratitude to the three who helped me learn these skills. 

These projects I post here will hopefully, someday, remind my children how important creativity and inspiration is. I'm far from an expert. I want to tackle more complicated projects (clothes) at some point, but for now, I'm happy with what I'm doing. 

A going away table runner for Corona Ginny.

A birthday present for a shut-in neighbor.

This is a Problem

 I'm on day 4 (FOUR, PEOPLE!!!) of not having windshield wipers in East Texas. 

If you live somewhere like, say... Arizona, you might not understand the significance of this. These windshield wiper thingies have two purposes. First, they remove the inevitable bug splatter. But they also push this thing called, "rain" out of the driver's field of view. And though the forecast doesn't call for rain at the moment, wait an hour and it will.  

Oh, it appears the windshield wiper motor went out. It isn't a simple fuse fix, but it will be taken care of some time next week. Probably. 

The Rules*

Corona Bylaws

1. A representative from auxiliary chapters must attend an annual Texarkana Corona night.

2. Auxiliary chapters will host surprise inspections from Texarkana Corona representatives.

3. Members must appreciate potlucks, carb-loaded snacks and be connoisseurs of fruit salad.**

4. Members must love to travel and appreciate the beach.

5. Members must lift each other up in thought, word, and deed—except when they fall on vacation, then pictures must be taken before any, “lifting up.”

6. Members will laugh often, love always and forgive each other after every Uno No Mercy game.

7. Members must carry the burdens of their Corona sisters, while unconditionally trusting each other in all aspects of life, except during an active game. At that time, it is acceptable to take their cards or dominoes with them if they must leave the table.

8. Members must be generous at all costs, including making room in the front pew Sunday morning.

9. Members must be a sister in Christ and port in the storm.

10. Members must take an oath of discretion, because whatever happens at Corona night, must stay at Corona night.

  

* Background: Corona Ginny is moving to Tennessee to be Gigi to her only granddaughter. This is a loss for all of us and a gain for her granddaughter. Ginny has told me the same thing we all say: she's never had a group of friends like the ones she's made here. 

Ginny's going away party is tonight. A group thread went around for two weeks discussing what we should do for a going away present. As with all group texts, there's a lot of dithering, nothing is resolved and there's always a ton of tangents, so the main message is lost. 

When riding with Deb, the Queen of the Coronas to Little Rock this week, I took over the text thread and announced we were making a Corona "Starter Kit" for Ginny, complete with a few games. I said this was Deb's edict, which made it easy, nobody argued. Then, Deb and I bandied around the idea of giving Ginny a "Certificate of Authority" to start a Tennessee Corona Chapter, complete with bylaws. Yesterday we wrote up our bylaws. 

** Drinking appears to be a gray area with the Church of Christ, so wine is euphemistically referred to as "fruit salad." I've suspected that's why they keep me around, so their parties aren't a "Church" event. 

Pollywog

 This one turns 25 today. 

Polly hysterically laughing while we were in Traverse City last year. 

She has the sweetest heart. She sings like a song bird. She is smart, funny and fierce. I suspect this is going to be a banner year for her. 

Unfortunately for Marty and me, Polly has plenty of young adult plans for the next few days which don't involve her fuddy-duddy parents. She's out with friends, soloing at church and going out for sushi with a fella who makes her smile. 

Sigh, perhaps we can kidnap her for the weekend and entice her with Indian food in Little Rock. 

My Day With Buck

Buck walking into campus.

I love that my 22  year old son will spend time with me. Today we went to my hair appointment, where he waited patiently while Ms. Crystal and I chatted. She then turned her attention to Buck, asking all about the girls and whatever else he was willing to disclose in front of me. My best guess is Ms. Crystal wouldn't mind introducing him to one of her daughters.

As I drove back from North Fouke in a rain storm, my windshield wipers suddenly stopped working. So, we hung out under an overpass on Interstate 49, for the rain to sorta clear up for an hour. Buckaroo is good company in frustrating situations. The rain cleared for about 35 seconds, enough to give me a false sense of hope and zero visibility. Meanwhile, Buck googled "where is the interior fuse box" in a 2014 Rav4. The answer: nowhere convenient. 

We left the car at a gas station and my pal Joy drove us back to Wake Village while another thunder cell reigned upon us. Welcome to the South. 

Back to my day. Buck, knowing I had a few things to accomplish took off in his car and ran my errands, including picking up a birthday cake and getting lunch for the family. Meanwhile, the weather cleared enough for Marty to go with me to pick up my stranded car in nowhere Arkansas.  

When Buckaroo returned, the two of us drove through the now sunny skies to Hope, Arkansas where Buck starts school next week. He got his parking permit and chatted up several folks, while I stood around twiddling my thumbs, pleased he wanted me to come in the first place. After we were done with those errands, we high-tailed it back to Texarkana Arkansas where he picked up his student ID (don't know why we couldn't do this in Hope) and his text book. 

All day, my son discussed his life, his job, his future goals and aspirations. This is my child who makes me laugh and calms me when we are stuck under a bridge in a thunderstorm. As a mama, I'm glad to call him mine.

I've been up two hours

 How it started

How it's going

A Random Evening in a Small Town--Stream of Consciousness Version

I met Tessa--my former realtor, former boss, and current friend--for our monthly taco night. Across the restaurant, the girl I picked out the first weekend we lived in Texarkana for my son to marry saw me and sent me a smile and a wave.   

On a side note, Buckaroo has shown zero interest in meeting this wonderful girl. She doesn't know my son exists. But after three and a half years, she and I are now, "wave across a room" kind of pals. So, progress. And before y'all raise an eyebrow, there are two fine young men in this girl's family and I've watched their mama scope out Polly. That Mama has that "look." Polly also has zero interest in getting to know those young men. However, she thinks their sister would be an ideal prospect for Buck. 

After tacos, Tessa took me to her listing where I put on my former Realtor hat. We tore the listing apart, picking at all of the strange things the seller didn't do. Or was planning on doing. Or shouldn't have done. We also played the, "What would we say to our buyers if they were here and we were trying to sell this place?" game. "Open floorplan!" "New build!" "Possibilities and potential!" "Dark avocado green bathroom tile is probably all the rage!"

The seller blames Tessa for not getting the place sold. She and I both know having small details like a space to put a kitchen table, outlet covers and any other color than--I'm not making this up--black exterior paint makes loads of difference, especially if you are selling 1,400 square feet for more money than one can buy most larger homes in that same neighborhood. Unfortunately, the seller doesn't believe Tessa's suggestions and didn't hire her for her expertise.

Oh yes! The seller also wants--and I'm not making this up--a $10,000 earnest deposit from the buyer. 

Afterwards, we drove over to Tessa's place and hung out for a bit. As I was leaving, I saw Tessa's next door neighbors sitting on the front porch, which was fortuitous, because I just happened to have their pie pan in my front seat, ready to return. This gave me a chance to introduce Tessa to Mr. and Mrs. Dakota, who told me that a sweet lady we'd been cheering on, just passed away from ovarian cancer.  

As we are discussing this, Tessa was looking confused. I turned to her and explained that the woman was married to a real estate agent in town. NOW Tessa knows who our friend is.

After leaving the trio to visit, I ran back to Tessa's listing and turned off the water in the front yard, figuring the flowers got enough of a drink (so Tessa didn't need to go back out). I sent a note to Tessa suggesting she might want to consider locking the door at her listing at some point. But maybe that's just my big-city paranoia talking. 

I then drove across town--all three miles--and got home in time to see a couple of innings of Diamondbacks baseball (but fortunately didn't stay awake long enough to see them lose. Again), play with the kittens and tell Marty we are going to a funeral. 

Booyah!

 

The cover concept includes a sunflower. daisy.

I celebrated my big July goal by by going to the movies yesterday and watching Superman. I had the entire theater to myself for the morning show. It was so strange to have three hours without animals and people up in my space. 

My manuscript is done! The Redeemed. 

It's off for editing. 

And then rewrites. 

And then copy editing. 

And then rewrites. 

And then proofreading. 

And then rewrites. 

Want to know how long it takes an indie author to publish? I just booked my proofreader for March.  

I'm spending August not writing (so far). 

Bird Watching

The Overlords have a new hobby. 

For the record, before I went to bed last night, the plant on the right had a lot more leaves. 

That red thing on the bottom of the window (outside) is a bird bath.

 

Very Random Texarkana*

Jesus is everywhere.
He's about an inch
and a half high. 

I uttered, "Hold the mayo" on my Taco Tuesday taco order. 

People who've just met will ask for classifications such as, "Are you part of the Ashdown (Arkansas) Johnsons?" or "Which church do you attend?" or "Where do you like to fish?"

On the Texas-Arkansas state line, the State of Arkansas, in their certifiable wisdom, is changing the Interstate 30 on-ramp with traffic lights and replacing it with--I'm not making this up--a traffic circle. 

It had to be explained to someone in my presence that a Southern accent does not equal a lack of intelligence. I thought everyone knew that. 

I was part of a group text this week asking if anyone had a "spare" half-bag of potting soil.

There's a bunch of tiny and rubberized Jesuses floating around, everywhere. I got mine from Deb, the Queen of the Coronas. 

I've been at Bob's Quilt Shop four times in the past week. I've bought zero fabric in that time. FOUR TIMES. In fact, I'm currently not working on any sewing projects. 

I might have accidentally made the sign of the cross during a prayer at a Baptist church recently.  

I've come to the conclusion that if someone on Facebook calls you out for being, "rude," it's the biggest insult imaginable. And to call out a worker at a business for being, "rude" might get the company boycotted.  

Overheard: "Why is your shower so high?" "Because my wife is tall." 

Me: "Mr. Jerry passed away last month." Other person: "Are you sure?" (I sent a sympathy card, so yes, I'm sure.) 

People quote Bible verses in normal conversation as evidence when argue their point--whether or not the verse applies. AND people defer to Scripture for the last say on topics--also whether or not the verse applies. 

I was talking to a woman who told me picking figs is "harder than picking okra." (It isn't.)  

People freely give canning recipes and directions with the same amount of authority. "Go past the Dollar General on Kings Highway--the one on the South, mind you..." and "Add just a bit of sugar--white, not brown, mind you."

Sometime in the next few days I guess I'm making fig preserves.  

Saying, "be safe," or "take care," is how people around here say good-bye. It's the equivalent to, "you matter to me."  

I don't care what anyone thinks. Sweet tea is just uncarbonated soda. 

If one were to leave their car windows down for any length of time, they'd mostly find zucchini from someone's garden in the front seat and a colony of yellowjackets in the back seat.

*I'm in the middle of a ton of edits. 

Service

I truly believe we are called to serve. 

This is a value I've instilled on my children. They've been known to drop everything, to feed a neighbor's chickens, rake a lawn or help a stranger carry groceries. During the lockdown, when my nephew Patrick stayed with us for days on end while his parents worked, both cousins jumped in without being prodded, engaging Patrick with activities. That's who my children are. To them, this is a part of regular life. 

This past month, Buck has been heading over to a local game store and helping the owner. He's bartering some "game cards" (that's the best I can do) for help with a major project this small business owner doesn't have time to tackle. He's spent hours there helping this dude out. When I asked my son why he's taken this project on, he looked at me like I have six heads. Oh yeah... the guy needs help. Plus, "game cards"--duh--, which apparently have a lot of value. But knowing Buck, he and the guy hit it off and this is no big deal. 

And let me just say, this does my heart good. I may have caused trauma and potential years of therapy in other aspects of my young adults' lives, but when it comes to serving, I'm just fine tooting my own horn.

Praying for Another Pause

Marty and I are part of a Church of Christ "life group," which is a small group of couples who get together once a month to eat barbecue and visit. Generally someone throws in a Jesus conversation--but that isn't necessarily because this is a church sanctioned event, and more because, well... welcome to the South. 

We were initially invited by Corona Gail and Her Majesty, Deb, as a way  (in my estimation) to cement Marty as a member of the Church of Christ. It hasn't worked. But we're in. So, there's that. We've been part of this group for about eighteen months. I enjoy these visitsi. [=8???????????????

 ik./g;]7\ 

(Thank you Leon, for yo]ur help typing)}.] 

hh

Leon is now on my shoulder and batting my hair. 

Where was I? Oh yes, our life group. There are about twenty of us. I very much enjoy these afternoons. Marty comes and sits in the corner more or less--but I've noticed he's becoming more social, which is strange because between the two of us, he's the extrovert. 

Anyway, in our life group, there's a real estate broker and his wife. The Mister and I talk shop on occasion. His wife has been battling ovarian cancer. This sweet woman is about my age. She has a wonderful outlook on life and a perpetual smile on her face. 

Ovarian cancer is one of those cancers which doesn't have a cure. It has a pause. And then it doesn't. Unfortunately, last I heard, her pause is over. At this time, the family is asking for privacy and the word, "hospice" is being bandied about.  

What I'm discovering is this is hitting Marty hard. 

Do I have a dress for a hypothetical future funeral? How will his boss react* about him taking time off for a hypothetical funeral? Let's plan on bringing the Mister a meal or two after his wife passes. No! Let's make sure we take him out for a beer once in a while. --All of this is from Marty. 

My friend's cancer has been on my mind too. Dying is always tougher on the living I think. Anyway, today I went to Amazon and bought a black dress because it turns out I don't have one any more. Hopefully the first time I have a chance to wear it, it will be for a happy occasion--like a cocktail party or party and not for a hypothetical funeral. And perhaps my friend will have another pause and we'll be able to laugh with her and her husband some Sunday afternoon during our life group. 

*There will come a time when I will write in greater depth about Mary's boss. She is a work-a-holic who doesn't believe anything less than a 50 hour week is acceptable and vacations mean "being allowed" to leave the office, but take one's laptop with them and log in for at least three hours a day (which happened on our vacation).  

They Like Their Football in These Parts

Please file this under, "things that make you say, 'huh?'." *  

Most of the teens around here are respectful and rarely does some kid's poor choices make the local rounds. Correlation? Coincidence? Random occurrence and I'm trying to extract causality? Yeah... probably that one.  

There are two high schools in Texarkana Texas (plus a handful of others in the outskirts). Of the two high schools:  

Texas High School (Texarkana, TX) is ranked 3rd in Class 5A division for the entire state. (250 5A schools)

Pleasant Grove High School (Texarkana, TX) is ranked 5th in Class 4A division for the entire state. (218 4A schools)

*Because I felt a need for a deeper dive, in comparison, Arizona has 29 5A high schools and 51 4A high schools. One can fit 4.35 Arizonas into Texas. 

Luna Update

A couple of months ago, Luna became ill. She refused to eat. She ignored the kittens. She didn't want to go outside and bark at the dogs next door--Ace and Bobo. She didn't even want her toys. Our poor Luna went from 70 pounds of muscle to 65 pounds and then to 55 pounds as the infection ravaged her and we sat by stroking her head, telling her we love her. 

Doc P was awesome. But even a three day IV drip didn't exactly bring her back. When she returned from the hospital, I'd hide her appetite stimulation pills and medication in hot dogs and spam and she would turn up her nose. I even resorted to lifting her on to our bed--her favorite sleeping place where she could lay in a sunbeam. Among the Sunshine clan, we whispered among ourselves. Was she in pain? Was she suffering? 

And then last week, Leon was playing with her blue bone--one of Luna's favorite toys and the one she earned in obedience school in Mesa. I watched as, much to Leon's astonishment, Luna marched up to her and snatched it away. Luna then walked to her food bowl, sniffed the kibble and ate a couple of morsels. Figuring this was a good sign, I put together a smorgasbord of Luna-centric flavors, chicken, spam, sweet potatoes, canned fish and mixed it with the kibble. Luna ate it all! She then went outside and barked with Ace and Bobo. Afterwards, she took a very long nap. But the switch had been flipped!

Every day we are seeing more life in our dog. We still have a long way to go before we see a 100 percent healthy Luna. She still needs the appetite pill. She still has bladder issues here and there. She's showing signs of playfulness. She greets the Amazon driver. She's patient (mostly) with the Overlords. Her ribs aren't showing. My dog food grocery bill is skyrocketing. 

And we are all pleased to have our Puppers back. 

My Money is Really on September*

Sydney Jean, my 2014 Toyota Rav 4, has about 1,400 more miles before she rolls over to 100,000 miles. I set this up asking the family to place their bets. The winner gets the coffee or iced tea drink of their choice from a local haunt. 

*I'm meeting up with Bliz in Missouri in September.

Tomato Tragedy

The one ravaged survivor

I went to a tomato grafting class. I drove all the way to Mount Pleasant for this class. I learned how and why grafting is good. 

Then I took my three tomato plants home and followed the directions. Keep in total darkness for three days. Day four repot into a bigger container, add soil and fertilizer. Because it's been over 90 degrees, keep them inside instead of in a greenhouse. You know, treat them like the fragile babies they are.

After 10 days the plants can go live in the garden as free range tomato plants. 

After 60 days harvest and eat all the tomatoes my heart desires. 

My heart desires a lot of tomatoes. 

All of that is well and good, but I didn't factor one teensy, tiny issue. The Overlords. 

Random Texarkana

 

After hours of terrorizing the home while we were sleeping, the Overlords finally tuckered themselves out. Now if they could just be this calm at 2 a.m. 

_________

I had a chance to hang out at Tessa's the other night. She and I caught up on all things in our lives. I always enjoy visiting with her. She has no idea how interesting she really is. 

Tessa currently has two awful real estate clients right now. At once. Both needy. Both obnoxious. Not gonna lie, her stories caused a bit of PDSD. I had some truly lovely clients. I also crossed paths with some horrible humans who make me hope Karma gets them. 

_________

I'm currently teaching my pal Joy how to sew. Our first session left me feeling like I have a long way to go in the instruction department. I promise it was me, not her. Next week we'll try it again. 

 

The Town has about 865 People. Maybe

My nephew, Patrick, hanging out
with the Fouke Monster

Fouke Arkansas, the rural town about 15 miles from Texarkana has a Dollar General, Monster Mart (tourist trap convenience store with a room dedicated to Fouke Monster merch) and another convenience store across the street. On the outskirts there's also a liquor store where they sell alcohol for wildly crazy prices.* My hair stylist has a shop right next door. Fouke also probably has at least one Church of Christ and Baptist church--though I'd put money on more than one. There used to be an authentic Mexican restaurant there with amazing street tacos. Sadly, the locals had no appreciation for good food and the place closed.  

Last week I mentioned that I'm of the mind that there's a six degrees of separation from anyone in Texarkana and Fouke. Incidentally, my hair stylist, Deb, the Queen of the Coronas, Corona Leah and Val my sewing friend are all from Fouke and--I'm not making this up--they are all related somehow.  

Anyway, here's a quick video about Fouke (less than a minute). I don't know this dude, but I'd bet money I know someone who does.  https://www.youtube.com/shorts/hPgqzEfBoHA

*All the liquor stores in Western Arkansas have wildly crazy prices because they can. One cannot buy anything other than Budweiser/Coors/Miller beers or wines in Bowie county. Want to make a margarita, you gotta buy your tequila somewhere. 

 

The Clawsfather

He smiles when he sleeps.

Roosevelt is the more chill of the two Overlords. He was the cuddler until he hit teenagehood. And now Roosevelt is perfectly content to have someone pet him as they stand nearby, worshiping him. In return, he'll purr like he's running a two-stoke engine.

The kitten is also extremely patient with his brother. Every couple of hours, Leon will jump on Roosevelt and start biting him. Roosevelt, when tired of Leon's antics will give him a thwack, generally stopping the fight by using less energy and a lot more power.

For as calm as Roosevelt is, he's also the most adventurous of the duo. He looks at the outside with such wanderlust that I half-suspect there's an owl/fox/snake/hawk looking at him through the backyard storm door, licking it's lips, just waiting for him to escape. He likes to be up high and has managed to climb the walls like a parkour athlete. But, his favorite place to climb is onto my thigh while I'm typing, always surprising me and always--ALWAYS--using his claws. 

Did I Mention He Shredded an Entire Roll of Toilet Paper Last Night?*

I've just renamed one of the Overlords. His new name: Leondontbeamoron Stopthat! 

He's still cute. And he's still the mama's boy between the two and has me wrapped around his little tail. 

Thugs

*I know it was him because he brought me the only remaining inch left of his kill and proof of his affection for me. 

Vintage 1955

My gift to Gail

While in Arizona, I texted Deb, the Queen of the Coronas and asked if anything was happening for Corona Gail's 70th birthday. Her Majesty replied with, "not yet." And then another thread started with all but one Corona on it. And Viola! A surprise party was planned. 

Yesterday the majority of the Coronas met Gail at the lobby of the local Walk Ons restaurant, with walker, tiara and sash. After making her walk the length of the restaurant with the walker we sat in our highly decorated room and said all sorts of loving things like, "35 was half your life ago." and "Do you remember us?" and "How many of your original teeth do you still have?" and (to the server) "Can we get our friend a bib?" 

There was a lot of laughing and a great amount of ribbing for poor Gail, who took the entire thing in stride. The gifts were somewhat 70 years old centric and Gail promised us she'd be showing them off to her sister--who happens to be four years older and tells her life begins at 70. To be honest, Gail, Deb and Tessa make 70 look youthful. 

As we were parting, Gail said a lot of sentimental things including, "I've never had a group of girlfriends like you ladies." I'm pretty sure none of us have. 

Independence Day

During my morning walk yesterday, someone said to me, "Happy Fourth of July." I automatically responded with "Happy Independence Day" because THAT IS WHAT IT IS! And then I felt like a jerk. I wasn't correcting the woman, I was just giving my knee-jerk reply--but it might have sounded a bit pious. Oops. 

Independence Day is a big deal in these parts. I passed on the Corona Fireworks Party(TM) last night because I was obligated somewhere else. And if I skipped both events, there were about 7 others I could have found without much effort. Most folks decorated their interior and exterior of their homes. We just did the exterior and it was low key compared to the other homes in Wake Village. 

And let me just say, The Texarkana Chorale's concert was outstanding, and not just because the Soprano 1s are always amazing. This concert just rocked! As part of the concert, the Chorale sang every military flight song, and the Veterans of each branch stood so they could be acknowledged. Of note, the Vietnam-era Marines (which comprised most of the Vets in the room) stood at attention and sang along to the Marine's Hymn. By the way, did you know "Taps" (which is really called Blades of Grass and Pure White Stones) has lyrics? Now you do and now I do. 

Taps will always bring me to tears. Attend a military funeral and see if you aren't moved every time you hear it from then on. I dare you. 

Polly is in there somewhere--I think she's behind the conductor's arm. 

My Money is on Creepy Weirdo

7.13 Miles as the Crow Flies. 

Tuesday night, I morphed from City Girl to Small-Town Girl in about 15 seconds. While looking for Marty in the Texarkana Airport parking lot (about 20 spaces and I was just blind), a man walked up to me and asked if I knew if there was Uber in Texarkana. 

"Yes. Where are you going?" I asked because folks in this part of the world don't mind their business and well, when in Rome the South...

"The Hilton Garden." The guy replied. 

Without thinking, the following tumbled out of my mouth: "We are heading that way, can we give you a lift?" At the time I had no idea where the Hilton Garden was (I know now), but I knew there's less than eight miles between the airport on the East side of Texarkana and Wake Village on the West side of Texarkana, so how far out of the way could the Hilton Garden be?  

The surprised man declined my offer but we continued chatting for a moment longer.  

When Marty found me, I introduced the two and said good-bye to my new friend. Marty promptly offered him a ride--which the guy also declined. 

Hopefully the man just considered us the Southern Hospitality Welcome Wagon and not creepy weirdos. 

 

There and Back

Somewhere in Pinal County

I'm home from a whirlwind trip--if one can call a week "whirlwind." Girl's weekend in the foothills of Tucson was almost perfect--in case anyone wanted to know what the noise was Saturday morning, it was a scream when I found a nope-on-a-rope hanging out on the sidewalk. Seeing my brother and his family made me smile for days on end. I saw a friend I wanted to see. And, I saw Bonus Dad, who walked without assistance the length of his assisted living apartment. He is still as wonderful as ever. 

For the record, I hate flying through DFW. Speaking of records, I think I now hold the record of making it from Terminal A to terminal B in and to my gate in 12 minutes--of which 7 of those minutes I was on the tram. Thank you again, American Airlines for changing my flight without permission and giving me so little time to catch my connection, but more importantly, being so committed to my fitness.

One more tiny thing: happy belated birthday Freedom. I'll call you next week. 

 

 

Small Town Living

Found on the Texarkana FB's site. The man had been pulled over for speeding*. He explained to the officer he was having a "bad day" and was on his way to a funeral. He then commented he couldn't even get his tie tied. 

So, this happened. 

*The article didn't state if the guy still got a speeding ticket. I will tell you, around here, on any given Sunday morning, if a police officer pulls someone over and the motorist says they are late for church, there's a good chance the driver will get off with warning. 

Didn't I Hear It Was 117 Degrees There?

I'm Arizona bound tomorrow--provided my flight takes off at 6 a.m. Otherwise, I'm making a mad-dash to Dallas to catch my 8:30 a.m. flight to Phoenix because, American Airlines changed my flight and "helped" me by giving me an earlier flight. I originally had a 10 a.m. flight which would have been a great continency if the Texarkana flight is nixed. Crossing my fingers and toes this flight isn't cancelled. 

And don't even get me started about how American Airlines "helped" me by changing my flight home by giving me 30 minutes to go from terminal A to terminal B at DFW to catch the last flight of the day back to Texarkana. 

This trip has been nine months in the making. Bliz, Pammy and Bucky and I are staying at an AirBNB in Tucson where we hang out by the pool and sip adult beverages for three days. We are doing this in Arizona because Bliz was already using her vacation to Dad-sit while her mother is gone for a spell, so she was already in the state. Next time I'm holding out for Maine, Greenland or the Southern Hemisphere--anywhere cooler than Arizona. 

Random Texarkana

A lovely and large hospital in Texarkana where
Buckaroo works on Tuesdays.
 

The kids and I are on Blue Cross Blue Shield of Texas for health insurance. As of July 1, the hospital (and its affiliate services and doctors) in Texarkana--which happens to be the only hospital in a 70 mile radius--no longer takes Blue Cross Blue Shield of Texas. 

I'll wait here while you read that again, scratch your head and process what I wrote. Take your time. 

Here's the funner parts of the above paragraph: health insurance companies won't let folks change policies outside of "open enrollment"--which happens to be around November. Therefore, we are stuck with Blue Cross Blue Shield of Texas for our health insurance. 

We can also change insurance next April and be added on to Marty's garbage perfectlywonderfulandhowcouldIhavethoughtanythingotherwise? health insurance when his company has their own open enrollment. 

And the funnest part: the only insurance the local hospital (and its affiliate services and doctors) will take--other than Marty's health insurance happens to the hospital's own in-house insurance (available in November!). Guess what? The price of their own in-house insurance just went through the roof. 

___________________

Luna is home from the hospital. Marty, Polly and Buck all got happy greetings. The Overlords crept in and stared to see if they were welcome. When Luna didn't growl, Roosevelt gave her a nose-boop-hello. Leon (our resident thug) carried away one of Luna's prized toys and didn't look back. 

Luna still isn't speaking to me for abandoning her. Her health is sorta better, but it is relative. Last Sunday night I wasn't holding out much hope. I'm more hopeful right now but right now Luna will eat a few ounces for Polly, and only Polly. 

___________________

This past week--and I swear I'm not making this up--I went hunting for the airport. Why? Because the City of Texarkana (Arkansas) moved it. I'm glad I went searching, because next week my flight leaves at 6 a.m. and given one now has to drive two miles down some winding country road, I might have missed it.  I hear TSA at the Texarkana airport is still ultra-militant and it doesn't matter if I have a Known Traveler Number. TSA Texarkana Arkansas doesn't honor it. Plus, everyone checks their carry-on for the first leg of this flight. I'm curious to find out if the new airport has a  jetway or if the airport is still using the metal staircase in homage to 1954.  

Oh yeah... next week I'm heading to Arizona.   

Luna Update

Too sick to lift her head.

Luna is in the vet hospital, under sedation and being pumped full of antibiotics. She's going to be there until probably Wednesday, when she will walk out with a full and miraculous recovery. Right? 

Right??? 

I think Marty is more worried about me than her. The Overlords are looking around everywhere for her. They are so unnerved by the change in scenery, that they aren't even willing to steal her toys right now. 

Doc. P. said I can call "any time" but I doubt he means it. He also said I could stop by if I needed to, but cautioned it would be harder on Luna if I did--especially if she wasn't ready to go home. 

When I checked yesterday afternoon, she still hadn't eaten anything. Doc is supposed to "reevaluate" her this morning and will give me an update when I call at exactly 8 a.m. for an update. 

Back and Forth

I'm home from my first June vacation--a bittersweet time with Marty and extended family. Yesterday, Marty and I drove through multiple thunderstorms in six states during our eight hour travel, coming home to what Buck and Polly swore was a "clean house." It probably was and I just missed it. We also came home to kittens who have doubled in size but have some unfortunate (but curable) issue that now needs to be addressed by the vet. And, we came home to an ailing Luna, who is only worse for wear. Polly had taken her to the vet last week where she found out Luna had lost 5 pounds in two weeks.

Our travels took us to the East coast of Florida, where we hung out for a few days. We then went to our old stomping grounds, the West side of Florida where we visited Marty's Uncle Sunshine, who though near 80, is still one of the most positive and dynamic people I've ever met. And as much as I loved seeing my brothers, I doubly loved visiting with Uncle Sunshine. 

One of the great (or icky--you decide) aspects about driving is the amount of conversation possible. I'm not gonna lie, I had a few talking points chambered for Marty and I managed to get most of them from we left Texas and finish before we made it to Alabama. Marty and I have a few changes we are implementing. It's long-term plan and requires a lot of moving parts, but the outcome is promising and I recognize necessary and best for the Sunshine family. Sadly, part of that plan means I might giving up a few things, but I'll be okay. More on that when there's more to share. 

It turns out I'm at that age where I take pictures of birds when I'm on vacation. I'll spare you and only post two. 

For the record, that is not an owl.
That's an Anhinga. 

A pelican hanging out on Matlacha Island

My little brothers at a nature preserve
somewhere in Palm Beach County Florida. 

The view from the Airbnb on Matlacha Island