Hotel Crazy-fornia

Sing with me now: "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave..." 

For the third... maybe fourth... time I'm back on the Ladies Auxiliary text thread. And for the third... maybe fourth... time I sent a note to the president, explaining that though I love these opportunity to pray for y'all--thank you for that--I haven't been part of this group in more than a year and a half. Therefore, would someone kindly remove me (again) from this text thread. I don't need an additional 37 group texts every hour. I already ignore 67 group texts an hour from people I'm involved with.

Here's a Glimpse into Introvert Hell.

I got a wedding invitation in the mail today for two people I do not know. When I say, I do not know, I mean just that. This cute couple had their pictures plastered all over this invite. I've never seen them before. I don't recognize their names. We aren't Facebook friends. I'm not Facebook friends with anyone in their families--I checked. 

The location (Surprise! Church of Christ), date and time were on the invite. But there is no phone number or way to RSVP. 

What's a girl to do? Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm busy that day. 

Probably. 

Maybe. 

I'm not asking Deb, the Queen of the Coronas, or anyone else affiliated with the Church of Christ about this, because I'm willing to bet they got an invite, are attending AND did I mention I'm probably, maybe,  busy that day? 

This is Why I'm Awake

Sound Asleep

Around 2 a.m., I felt a presence nearby. I opened my eyes to see a figure hovering over me. I did what a normal, sane person would do under the circumstances. I screamed. 

At which point, Luna, who has the emotional maturity of a hungry and sleep-deprived toddler, jumped down from the bed, crying, running in circles, while looking for the closest toy she could find to bring her comfort. 

I opted to appease the dog instead closing my eyes again. So, I went to her, trying to soothe her. After all, as far as she was concerned, I'm the one who scared her. And the fastest way to get her not to wake up the remaining residents of East Texas was to appease her. 

And you know what the dog did then? She jumped in my spot, spread her weight so she was impossible to move and went to sleep. 

Book Club

After two years of book club, I finally drew the short straw and had to host. Hosting itself isn't difficult. We meet at the Church of Christ building. I know how to go to Walmart and purchase snacks. I can send out a friendly reminder, "Hey y'all show up." 

However, the book I ended up with, for reasons which are too long and complicated for this patch of cyber space, happened to be a Vietnam War-era novel. The Women was a fascinating read. However the majority of the ladies in this book club are all ten years or more older than me and lived through the Vietnam War in a way I didn't.

In addition to the anxiety of having to discuss a hot-topic with folks who have emotional attachments I don't have, my biggest ally, Corona Gail--WHO ORIGINALLY GOT ME INTO THE BOOK CLUB--wasn't planning on coming. No matter what I said or offered as a bribe, she wasn't willing to change her plans for a trip out of town with her husband just so she could spend two hours chatting about this book. "But..." I said, my eyes bulging as I stomped my feet. Gail patted my shoulder and gave me a big sister, "You got this." "NO I DON'T!" I wailed. 

Fortunately, Corona Joan heard the exchange, popped her head up and said, "Book club? What book club?" And then, with five days to go, Joan read all 470 pages and showed up as my emotional support human. 

However, Joan is younger than I am, so, there's that.*

Back to book club. Normally we socialize and eat snacks until there's a pause in the conversation. Then, the hostess says something like, "Who all read the book?" From there, the hostess has a list of questions pertaining to the book and our particular thoughts. There are even a few hostesses--doing their everyday disciple best--to relate how our how, as Christians, we identified to the story. (But there's only a few.)

With the advice from my awesome Arizona friend, I started this week's meeting with this statement: I was completely unqualified to lead the discussion. I explained I didn't know the Vietnam War existed in my lifetime until I was around 12. My generation was never taught anything about it in history classes. I asked for each member to share their experiences of living through that time and compare it to how they felt the author handled the main character's journey. Though I had pre-planned questions, they felt trite compared to hearing about the woman whose husband was a fighter pilot. His time was up in 1965. He opted not to reenlist. However, he went to San Diego two years later and found out several members of his squad had been killed in Vietnam. Another shared how someone she knew lost limbs bailing out of a burning helicopter. Another shared how her husband went straight to college from high school--something he hadn't planned on doing originally and he still was drafted. And the stories went on. 

Of all the book clubs, this might have been the most interesting. It certainly was the most impactful I've been to. Though I have zero desire to ever host again, I'd be happy to be Corona Joan's emotional support human even if she ever gets sidled with hosting a book about being a landlord or something equally traumatic. 

*Note to self: One day I simply must write about the age dynamic in the Coronas. It's a thing. 

See! I'm Not Making This Up!

THIS is a typical menu item around these parts. 

On some random Texarkana Facebook post, most of the residents are gushing about this particular restaurant (which will remain anonymous to protect the guilty) and how wonderful this "hamburger" plate is. I don't know it is a hamburger plate, because I don't see hamburger. I see a future call to the cardiologist. 

There's probably mayonnaise on this too. Okay, ick. 

My Christmas Present

With the winter weather (which included mostly teens and 20 degree temps, rain and a little snow), travel to Florida and Arizona, two medical procedures and recovery from those as well as the normal winter flu, it took a while to get the greenhouse up and running. 

This past Sunday, while Marty applied the first snake-away of the season throughout the yard and around the greenhouse, Polly and I planted a few starters. I have more to go--and plenty of land to do it in. Last summer I never bought veggies. I hope I can repeat that this summer. I still have one jar of pickles left too. But in the spirit of full disclosure, the rest of the pickles I made last year were too salty, so nobody is anxious to open these pickles. 

I planted flowers in pots to start them. Last year, I planted them from seed outside and gave the possums, armadillos, and squirrels a feast. I kept finding my spent flower seed casings on top of my mulch. Once they start sprouting, I will transplant them in the front yard. I accidentally sneezed as I was putting out zinnia seed so I am going to have about 287,000 zinnias. 

In order to pollinate blueberries, one needs two different types of blueberry bushes. Last year I brought back blueberry seeds from Michigan (I ate the blueberries and took the seeds). I will buy blueberry plants as well so they will pollinate. Pro-tip, if you want sweeter berries, make sure they are getting full sun. 

Speaking of bringing back seeds. A lot of my seeds I planted were experimental. I harvested seeds from plants I grew last year and the year before. I do also have store-bought seeds. 

Tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, herbs and blueberries (just to see if I can grow a bush). I have garlic ready to go into the ground (those white round things at the bottom left). One clove will take 6-8 months and give me a full bulb. 

It's really warm inside too! Like a sauna. 

The pots in the back are flowers. The ones on the left are my outdoor plants that were brought in for the winter because we have to do that around here. 

Eventually I'll get shelves. But this works for now. 

The idea is to plant around the exterior of the green house. The two front patches are flower beds. Only one has flower seeds in it so far. The orange barrel to the left and the brown barrel to the right are different types of lettuce. The orange barrel in the back is spinach. The white fencing atop the barrels are to keep Luna from digging.  

Speaking of Luna digging, I only have dirt in my front two flower beds because I don't want to put in soil and have it sit, tempting Luna. She will leave it alone once I put in plants. But the outside structure is complete.  

Flower sprouts after two days! 

 

Random Texarkana

 I have writer's block. So, I made these. 

For a woman I know who is battling ovarian cancer. 

For a woman who's about to be a boy-grandma.

________

I came back from Arizona and slept for a week while the illness I brought back with me worked through my system. When I emerged from my pillow and walked outside, I found these daffodils in my yard! 

______

For St. Patrick's Day, a few of us Coronas went to the Banana Club (a 1923 underground speakeasy), to eat really awful corned beef and cabbage and hear a pretty awesome Irish band play. Not only did they play the Irish classics like "Danny Boy," and "When Irish Eyes are Smiling," but they tried their hand at Steve Earle's "Copperhead Road," and CCR's "Bad Moon Rising," along with two hours of other songs, all done with an Irish brouge.  Sorry, the pictures aren't great. I didn't want to use flash. 

They did kind of look like leprechauns. 

Pretty talented band. I can't remember their obscure name.

_____

I speed-dated hairstylists when I first moved here. The first one gave me a mullet. The second wasn't for me. The third wanted to charge me $400 for a hair coloring. Then, my pal Leah, told me about Crystal, who is located in the middle of nowhere, next to Gilly's Liquor Store. She does a great job, is reasonably priced and is a fun conversationalist. 

Welcome to nowhere Arkanasas.

Calvin Is Found!

Wonderful news! Calvin has been found He's a bit tired but otherwise, all right. So far no word about his plight. 

 

Calvin is Lost

Not gonna lie. I said a prayer for Calvin's safety and for him to be reunited with his family. As it turns out from my Facebook feed, most of the area has done something similar. 

But Calvin really does need to come home. After all, what kangaroo wants to hop all over the Southwest Arkansas/Northeast Texas area? There are all sorts of dangers: critters, the Fouke Monster* and poison ivy come to mind. Hopefully Calvin just wandered off and will be back soon. Meanwhile the rest of the community is rallying around this poor family. 

*I really must write about the legendary Fouke Monster, but for now what you need to know is he's sorta like a Bigfoot. 

Stupid Haiku

March in like lion

Been sick since Arizona

Where's the lamb hiding?

The Last Two Weeks

I made it to Arizona and back. 

Buckaroo came with me. I'm fortunate both my young adults are good travel companions. We had long talks about complicated topics. We played road bingo ("Find five animals, bonus if one of them is an armadillo.") We took turns playing songs, where I found out Buckaroo's playlist is very similar to mine. We also listened to Band of Brothers. 

I saw those on my priority list. Bonus Dad is still battling the after-affects of that massive heart attack he had last August. He tells me he has a few years left in him. 

We stayed with my brother and his wife. That comes with a mixed bag of blessings and childhood trauma--but mostly blessings. For the record, we laugh about the childhood trauma. Patrick, my awesome nephew kept us grinning. I would have let him stow away back to Texas (he tried) however, we weren't going straight home. 

We stopped by and saw Mrs. Meadows in South East Arizona for the night, which, just like Bonus Dad,  turned into another bittersweet visit with an octogenarian. She has a few issues she didn't have last time I saw her and I'm questioning if her living in 10 acres in the middle of nowhere is in her best interests. However, I'm sure her children have been questioning this much longer than I have.

I had purposeful visits with long-time friends, who make me smile and make me think. These are the women who have brought out the best in me and called me out through the years when I wasn't my authentic self. Those visits were wonderful. I wish they would have lasted longer. 

Because Buckaroo was with me, I also saw a few folks I hadn't planned on seeing. However, one of those visits turned out to be one of the highlights of my trip. Buck's Bonus Mama told me about this book she was reading. She said, "You know, the one you liked on your Facebook page. It's really good." When I told her I swore I had no idea (I truly didn't) she said, "The Calling. Have you read it?" At which point, the lightbulb went off and I put two and two together. So, let me just say this: Someone I know was reading my book and didn't know I wrote it! Woot!

On the way home, we made it from Mrs. Meadow's home in nowhere Arizona to Abilene Texas only to find out there were no hotels in a 107 mile range available. NONE! The annual Rattlesnake Roundup happens in the area on the second weekend in March and folks were coming from all over to roundup their fair share of these critters (pro-tip: do this in Cochise County Arizona!) and there was some sort of weight lifting competition happening the same weekend. 

Buck, who had been hacking and coughing for three days, suggested we drive another three hours to Fort Worth. I suggested we sleep in the van. Providence stepped in and the Air B&B owner I'd messaged got back to me and told us to come on over. By the way, if you are ever in Abilene Texas, this Air B&B is the cutest place! Hit me up! I'm never staying in another hotel in Abilene if I can help it. 

My phone is currently on do not disturb--which is unnecessary given the Coronas are on some sort of Jesus retreat at the moment. Luna is at my feet. I'm on the front end of whatever crud Buckaroo has been battling. Today I'm doing laundry, resting and fighting off the deep depression which always comes from visiting Arizona (I'm fine. Really.). I'm glad I went on my trip. But I'm even happier to be home. 

 

Prepare to be Delighted

Oh, do you also need a Rolo recipe? 

Here ya go. 

Aunt Nancy's Rolo Cookies

The things we do for love.

Though February is only 21 days in, I am not exaggerating when I say Polly has baked 20 dozen Rolo Cookies. Texarkana has enjoyed these delicacies in several places--a Super Bowl party, Buck's work, Polly's Choir pals and several other venues I can't seem to remember at this moment. 

The recipe comes from Aunt Nancy, who kindly shared this with my family years ago. I have fond memories of making these gems--and not only with my children. We had a Girl Scout session making and eating these, which garnered several, "Better than Thin Mints!" comments. 

During the lockdown, my nephew Patrick and a few bonus kids hung out at my home. I had a standing mandate with my teenagers: find an activity to do with the spare kids who were wrecking havoc throughout my home. One day, Polly sat the four of them down in an assembly line and they made these cookies. I believe Buck was sent to the store to buy more candy because the littles were sampling the chocolate. Unwrap, sample. Unwrap, put in bowl. Unwrap, put in the bowl. Unwrap, sample... 

So, thank you, Aunt Nancy for these wonderful memories.  

Today, Polly will be making another 10 dozen cookies. And yes, I do mean 10 dozen. Some are going to tomorrow's Corona night. Additionally, because Texarkana collectively can't cook and word of this novelty cookie has gotten around, there have been requests. So, some cookies are going with Polly to a party. Some are going with Buck. The recipe is staying in the vault. 

Last night, knowing I've stopped sleeping again, Polly left two Rolo bags on the counter along with a note for me, asking to please unwrap every single one of these candies. So, around o'dark hundred, I stood at the counter and did my part to help her bring these chocolate cookies to life. 

First-World Desert Girl Dilemmas

With the exception of the years I lived in Vermont* and Flagstaff**, I've never experienced a winter which lasted longer than a month. Until now. This winter appears to be lasting three months. It's supposed to be in the teens overnight this week. Sheesh! 

The struggle is real people! I'm cold. I don't have adequate winter clothes. My blood is still desert-thin. I'm craving activity, vitamin D, and outside. 

Oh goodie! It will be in the 70s next week. However, a jacket will still be required until noon each day. 

And for the locals around here griping about "hot Texas summers." Yeah... y'all don't know what hot summers are. 

*1968-1971, 1982-1983

**1988

Recovery

I'm fine. No lab results just yet, but I doubt there's going to be any earth shattering news. I wish I didn't feel like I've been hit with a baseball bat. That's all. 

On my agenda now is to figure out a trip to Arizona to see Bonus Dad, because my best guess is the season for his travels to Michigan are now on hold. 

Oh, and to take care of our taxes. 

And my pal Joy is coming over this week and I'm teaching her to sew. 

Plus, there's this whole garden thing to figure out, but IT NEEDS TO STOP RAINING AND THE TEMPERATURES MUST GET OVER 35 DEGREES. It's even too cold to use the greenhouse. 

But first, recovery--which includes a jigsaw puzzle and as little walking as possible. 

Southern Terms

Everyone around here seems to know about my upcoming and insignificant medical procedure, which is really NO BIG DEAL! 

Sigh. What I'd call gossip and a lack of boundaries people in the South refer to as a "prayer circle." 

 

 

Time

Luna and her new toy

Here's how the last two hours of my morning have gone: 

Vet with Luna. 

Took Luna home. 

Went back to the vet to pay (Luna is 70 pounds of uncooperative muscle)

Went to Wake Village City Hall to pay the extortion fee to register Luna and prove she's had her rabies shot. 

Went to Walmart, dropped car off for oil change. 

Took care of the grocery shopping, including buying Luna a new toy which she refuses to let leave her sight. 

Came home, put away groceries, started a pot roast for lunch, visited with Buck and Polly, and paid bills.   

This took slightly less than two hours--only because one doesn't get out of City Hall without visiting with Mr. Burke, the gentleman who works behind the main desk.  

Oh yes! I didn't venture farther than two miles. 

In Mesa, IF the vet would have let me leave without paying and return, this would have been an entire morning of running around. Polly tells me this actually would have taken all day, even without saying hello to Mr. Burke. 

Pre-Playing With Plants

That cardboard box inside
the greenhouse is
full of crepe myrtle branches
which will be used for mulch.
 

It's playing with plants season. Or, it would be if the weather would cooperate. 

Yesterday, I started thinning the crepe myrtles--these fabulous trees that are abundant in my yard. Unfortunately, some of my crepe myrtles have Crepe Myrtle Scale on them, which also needs to be addressed as soon as I can de-winterize the faucets. Oh yes, winterizing faucets is a thing around here. 

I also worked on the exterior of my green house. Marty got me a green house for Christmas. However, there are a few hiccups and it's been too cold to plant out there. Though I do have ideas on how to heat it, they aren't terribly efficient and it's best to start my seedlings in a warmer climate--like the garage. Also, though the greenhouse interior is done, the exterior isn't. I want to put a garden around the outside, to keep critters from burrowing under the floor. It goes without saying--but I'll say it anyway--a liberal amount of SnakeAway will be sprinkled around the exterior as soon as the weather permits.

Today, being Super Bowl Sunday I began trimming the roses until I ran out of room in my trash can. I'll finish this task tomorrow after the trash truck comes by. Did you know every thorn on a rose bush is the beginning of a new branch? Did you also know that rose thorns carry a toxin in them? Now that I've gotten 297,872 thorn pricks THROUGH my garden gloves, my hands look like they are suffering from a terrible outbreak of measles. Oh, why is Super Bowl Sunday important? Because my father always told me to trim rose bushes back on Super Bowl weekend. Of course, back in the day, that was in January. 

Oops paint* bought at Lowe's (huge discount!)
 that I mixed with leftover blue paint I already had.
The boards are more of a light periwinkle.
There's a space heater on in the garage so they can dry
sometime in the next week. 

I plan on having a garden around the exterior of the greenhouse.

*Marty was astounded to find out "oops paint" is a thing.
How have we been married 26+ years? 

Because the weather was wamby today ("wamby" is a word a friend in Kent England told me to describe a cold wet winter day), I stuck with painting the boards for the greenhouse exterior after I finished freezing and poisoning my hands with the rose bushes. Sigh, it looks like the weather will continue to be wamby for the rest of the week, with scattered thunderstorms added into the mix. Oh. Yay. 

One more pre-plant playing tid-bit. I bought a shed today so that all my garden stuff, which monopolizes one side of the garage and half of the current shed we have, can live there. What I really need is a workshop, but one project at a time. Perhaps that's what I'll get for Christmas next year. 

A Cure-All

At the risk of sounding like an ungrateful curmudgeons, I'm wasn't looking forward to Lunch Bunch yesterday. I love these ladies. They are fun. They make me laugh. Sometimes I make them laugh. 

Some of the women in the group are Coronas. Most are not. Topics range from whatever to this and that. Yesterday's topic tended to trend toward medical, with me vacillating between changing the subject and stabbing my salad.  Depending upon where I sit, I can get a word in edgewise. Sometimes I don't want to get a word in at all. Yesterday was a little bit of both. 

I had reasons for not wanting to go. I'm grumpy. My allergies are acting up. I'm frustrated because certain two-legged members of my household will.not.give.me.space, which is a great reason to leave the house, right? When I returned, my allergies didn't subside and I came to certain two legged members of my household having their own existential young adult crisis. However, I noticed when I arrived home, my grumpiness subsided. 

There are aspects of Texarkana I don't like. However, one of the biggest factors which outweighs the cons about this place is the genuine positive energy and loving spirit these women have. They hold each other up and strive to bring out the best in each other. Sometimes that's the best kind of medicine. 

Buck and Polly

The young adults don't want me giving updates on this blog about their lives. 

Buck, as Dr. Who 

Polly, just dressed like Polly

I will tell you I commissioned Polly to create videos for me. She did a great job, including the voice acting. I'm encouraging her to branch out and freelance her skills. I hope she will. 

Also, I will mention when I saw my hairstylist today, she talked about how Buckaroo came in earlier this week. He was very specific on how he wanted his hair cut. Our stylist mentioned how lucky the girl Buck is pursuing is to have a thoughtful young man in her life like my son. Buck hasn't mentioned any particular girl he may or may not be currently pursuing. However, Marty and I already had our suspicions.   

Arizona Update

Marty Sunshine has been floating the idea of moving to a larger city once he retires. His reasoning is simply he'd like to be somewhere closer to better medical facilities. As of this week, I'm in agreement. 

I still can't plan a trip to Arizona. I need to tell Bonus Dad when I'm coming, but that would require me to tell him why my trip has been delayed. And I don't want to worry him--truly, this is nothing, and will be resolved shortly. 

This past week I had a defunct medical procedure. As a result, the doctor didn't take care of my issue and I still have to heal from her handiwork. I am now scheduled to have another procedure, which now requires me to go under anesthesia. Honestly, why didn't the doctor just do this to begin with allowing me to bypass all this other crap? 

Hopefully when that's done, my nothing issue will be resolved and I'll be able to get on with my life. The frustrating part is more waiting. That's the worst part. I just want this over with. Once the second medical procedure is completed, I can book plane tickets or figure out a week or two when I can drive to Arizona. Buckaroo wants to come with me. Hopefully I'll arrive before the end of navel orange season. 

Groundhog Day

Feb. 2 has become my least-favorite holiday since moving to Texarkana. I'm sitting here at 4-something a.m. I have a space heater directly pointed at me and it is less than three feet away. 

So far, I expect winter in January. I'm so done with winter. I checked the weather app--a necessity in this part of the world--and we should be in the 70s the remainder of the week. NEXT WEEK the highs will be in the low 50s. Okay... I'll soldier on, as long as it doesn't rain... well, crap! 

When I moved here, several of the locals told me to never plant a garden before Good Friday because one wants to wait for the last freeze. I found that a bit sketchy, as Good Friday changes from year to year.* However, I now believe them.  I guess the jackets, gloves and hats are staying out a bit longer.   

*For those of you who are curious, Easter is always the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. You may thank the Catholic church for this bit of calendar crazy. Frankly, this is a tradition that can go away. Evidence is Christ died on April 3 or 7th. Though a major inconvenience for those of us who celebrate our birthdays around then, I'm an advocate for having Easter the first Sunday in April.     

The Last Couple of Days

I'm back in Texarkana after a whirlwind trip to Little Rock with Deb, The Queen of the Coronas. We arrived Tuesday night, ate Indian food, hung out at the hotel with a glass of wine in our hands and laughed for hours. 

Wednesday poor Deb went in for her necessary reconstructive facial surgery. When I brought her back to the hotel, she kept telling me to "be sure to get some lunch." HAHAHA. Here's a 70+ year old woman who had three holes put into her head, part of her skull bored into, cartilage moved from one place to another, has blood spurting from her face (normal for this procedure) and hopped up on hydrocodone and she's worried I'm not meeting my daily caloric intake. Bless her heart. 

Protip: Leftover Indian food is just as tasty the second day. 

I took my role as nursemaid/prison guard seriously and Deb took her role as Alpha patient just as seriously. Me: "You are three hours post-op and need to lay down." Deb: "I'm fine. I can get my own water." (she really couldn't and I didn't want her to fall.) Me. "If you don't get back in bed, I'm going to take a picture of you and send it to the Coronas." And that reminds me, I was in charge of the group texts--which started at 7 a.m. Wednesday and still haven't ended.  

Thursday morning we I drove Deb's car back in fog, rain and zero visibility. All the while, Deb was applying her imaginary passenger-side break pedal. I can't say I blame her, I was applying the real break pedal. However, the fastest I got along that stretch of Interstate 30 was still twenty miles an hour under the speed limit. After a very long drive, we stopped in Hope Arkansas where we met friends who handed off a weeks' worth of groceries for Deb to nosh on.  

Deb is home and resting. Corona Krissy is keeping her company today. Corona Jilly sent me a text asking if I knew what Deb's favorite candy happened to be. Deb can't drive for a week--the word has gone out and folks are lining up to get her from point A to point B. Next week Corona Gail is taking Deb to her follow up appointment. Hopefully the driving conditions will be better. 

For the record, I did find a naval orange. And it was tasty. 

Road Trip

Right now I'm supposed to be on my way to Arizona. Though it is little consolation, and it doesn't make up for navel oranges, this afternoon, I'm heading to Little Rock. 

Actually, I'm driving Deb, the Queen of the Coronas, to her surgery tomorrow morning. She has a follow up appointment on Thursday before we head back. 

Deb makes me laugh. She's easy to be around. Marty says she treats me like a little sister. She's promised me we'd eat Indian food in Little Rock. Other than the pesky surgery part, I suspect we'll have a good time. If the peopling becomes too much, I've got a book I can take out to the lobby. 

And who knows! Maybe I'll find some place selling navel oranges. 

There's No Privacy in the South

I did it to myself. I know it. 

I'm not going to Arizona this week because I have a teensy hiccup which needs to be addressed. However, last week my poker face cracked and Deb, the Queen of Texarkana, guessed something happened to be amiss. I lied and told her I was fine. 

Protip: In situations such as these, it is better to avoid Texarkana royalty at all costs  Lying to Deb is much worse. 

Anyway, Deb, who has better interrogation skills than Bonus Mom, wheedled the info out of me, with me down-playing the entire situation and her repeating, "WHY didn't we know this sooner?" And me saying, "Because of how you are reacting at this exact moment." And her saying, "This is a normal reaction in the South!" And me rolling my eyes, throwing up my hands and saying, "Don't I know it!" 

Since then, my world has exploded with group text messages. Several folks reached out privately telling me how important I am to them and I shouldn't keep news like this to myself. I'm touched and grateful for their kind words and friendship, but I'm starting to disagree about keeping the news to myself. 

Protip: Sometimes it isn't news at this stage. Okay?! 

And though I am super-touched by the love and support, all it is doing is making me anxious about a teensy hiccup which was no big deal until Deb used tactics outlawed by the Geneva Convention to get me to talk. Plus, I'm pretty sure word has gotten out and more than just the Coronas know. I didn't attend the Church of Christ last Sunday because I was terrified--terrified--of strangers offering their words of encouragement. I wasn't prepared to handle everyone else's impression of my potential drama (which, I can't stress enough, isn't drama at this moment). 

I should also say, my situation is a teensy hiccup. Truly. An inconvenience at this point because I can't go see my favorite human (nephew Patrick) and Bonus Dad. As soon as I have more information, it can be determined if the hiccup will subside or turn into acid reflux. But, honestly, it's too soon to tell. And if it turns into anything larger than treatment from a glass of water, I'll share with the REST of the world because they rest of the world respects boundaries and privacy. (sheesh!) Otherwise, I'll book a trip to Arizona. 

The Pressure

Deb, The Queen of the Coronas, sent me a text today. "Mini Corona night Friday. You decide whose coming. Invite a few Coronas." 

Eeep! Does she not know how difficult that is? I have to parse down the list? Um... 

I picked the ones who lived closest to Deb and were likely to stay awake long enough to play Mexican Train. 

Wake Up Call

Good morning. Yes, that says 16 degrees. Yes, that says 3:30 a.m.

Have a beautiful day, y'all. My Master Gardner pal, Maria, is coming over for tea at a more civilized hour. And I'm meeting my pal Joy at a local coffee shop this afternoon to catch up. I'll be going decaf all day. 

 

It was a Horror Flick and Rumor has It Wake Village is Getting a Hobby Lobby

I'm awake at (looks at clock... sheesh) 3:18. And because I'm awake, let me just leave this right here: Group text messages must--MUST--become a thing of the past. Currently sitting on my phone I have 17 unread text messages. 

It isn't that I'm anti-people. Okay, maybe I'm turning into that cranky shut-in. Nor am I anti-text message. But around here it isn't just a group text message. 

For example:

If one person sends out a note to 16 folks with, "Want to see Terror on the Oriental Trading Post at 6:30 tonight?"  

Eight will respond with some version of "no." 

Three will say "yes." 

Of those eleven, ten will add some sort of emoji to the message of EVERY ONE OF THOSE THREE WHO SAID YES. 

And two will change the subject to everything from "Anyone have a cure for an ingrown toenail?" to "What's going in the old K-mart building in Wake Village?"  

At which point, the other thirteen will all respond to the poor woman with the sore tootsies or the one who made the innocent inquiry about the open big-box in Wake Village. There will be prayers and lots of Texarkana history provided to the entire thread. 

Of course, ALL of those responses must then have some sort of emoji. 

The fifteenth person will then ask, "what movie? what time?" And fourteen other people will respond to that note, which will also include more emojis--which continues to blow up the phones. 

The sixteenth person finds the entire ordeal overwhelming and keeps her phone off. She knows if she spends all her time looking at text messages she will never get her next chapter finished. Nor did she really want to go out in the cold weather to watch a movie. So, win-win. 

Random Texarkana

I'm up in the middle of the night--once again--because I'm allergic to sleep. Well, that and there's a cat crying outside in the 23 degree night. 

As my brother Darwin observed, I come from a long line of suckers who have a heart for such lost souls. The difference being (as Darwin pointed out) I'm admitting to it. My father would spat, "I'm not feeding that !#&(&^@* stray," right before dumping out a bunch of food and calling me to share how he fed three stray cats. I have memories of my paternal grandmother, cursing in French, while fixing the local neighborhood strays a scrambled egg and then stating, "I'm not feeding the #!#&(&^@* stray cats." 

MY stray had a diet of cheese, a hotdog and chicken over the course of yesterday. Also, Marty and I put out two cardboard boxes with old towels around our exterior, hoping to give any local critters passing through a place to be warm overnight. I'm not saying this will absolutely happen, but I might stop by the store and pick up a bag of kibble on my way home from church today. You know, just in case. 

Incidentally, the stray and Luna aren't seeing eye to eye. Luna is my first priority. So even if we (ahem) "adopt" this potential snake killer outdoor cat, hopefully we can all come to a detante.  

_______

I was going to drive to Phoenix next week. But now that trip is on hold while I get a few things straightened out. Other than hanging out at the Waffle House, there's nothing to do at 2 a.m. So, I spent a bit of time playing on Southwest's Web site. If I can swing it, perhaps I will come at the end of February. I found tickets as low as $90 if I want to travel at specific times of the day, which work well with driving three hours into Dallas and missing their rush hour traffic. Hopefully my brother loves me enough to take me to the airport at 4:30 a.m. 

However, I can't make plans just yet. Nor do I want to put my trip off much longer. Part of this urgency to book my trip is because I've been told Bonus Dad is looking forward to seeing me. Of course, I'm looking forward to seeing him too. I'm just not looking forward to traveling again. 

Thawing

 The HVAC guy who is out of town knows a guy who knows a guy. And THAT guy showed up unannounced this morning and fixed our heater! On a Saturday!

Winter's Wicked Game

We are expecting winter weather this next week. The weather broadcast Polly religiously watches is predicting snow next week for Galveston--Galveston!!!! As for where I live, the jury is out on precipitation. However, we are slated to to drop into the teens every night starting tomorrow. 

Normally I don't mind winter weather staying in January. However, our heater went out this morning with an ozone-induced fizzle, making those who were home scramble to ensure we didn't have a fire burning anywhere. Buck ventured into the attic and nosed around only to find out the strong burning electrical smell just happened to be coming from there. 

The unit is under warranty. However, the guy who put it in is out of town until late Saturday night. The earliest he can come out is Sunday morning, when Marty will greet him at 10 a.m. come hell or high icebergs. Hopefully he has the part on-hand to fix whatever broke. 

As for the Sunshine's, we'll be fine. Polly is house sitting for Tessa this week. So, anyone who has more desert rat attitude than pioneer spirit can lodge with her. I have long underwear, wool blankets and a burning desire to introvert. Plus, someone needs to keep Luna company. 

Winter is Coming (Maybe)

 

Texarkana Today

As I was leaving for my drive to Little Rock yesterday, the storm chasers, the Facebook hysterics and Polly, our weathernerd, were telling us the 7 inches of snow predicted for next week would be arriving precisely Thursday (today) morning sometime. Texarkana already took precautions of running out of French toast basics, having medical providers cancel appointments, banks closing, canceling school for the elusive "snow" day and the like. 

Even Little Rock got into the action. Snow plow drivers meandered through the city, rehearsing for their big moment--and not in the least whatsoever driving like cocaine-addled baboons who do not know how to operate snowplows on Interstate 30. It wasn't much of a problem. Kinda. Maybe. 

Airport officials told us it was fortunate we were all going to our destinations when we were because most likely the airport would be closed on Thursday. Sadly, I wasn't checking a bag, so I left my heavy winter coat inside the car to I make the 2 minute trek from long-term parking to the terminal. It occurred to me once we were in the air and I checked my connecting flight, I had 30 minutes to make my plane. So, if something went wrong, I'd be stuck in Saint Louis without a coat. Fortunately, Bliz lives in Saint Louis. But I didn't get stuck. 

Florida Today

Instead, I'm in Florida introverting with my brother. We've worked on a jigsaw puzzle while he smoked a brisket. We've talked, laughed and laughed some more. This is the first time I've seen him since my father died--and that wasn't a time to laugh. Speaking of Dad, his ashes are at Darwin's house, so we've gotten reacquainted. I'd like to tell you I'm cold, but that hardly seems fair when the temperatures didn't reach 32 degrees today in Texarkana. But it was cold for Florida. 

And Texarkana didn't get snow. They might see snow tomorrow. According to my sources, it will be melted by the weekend.  

Namiste

The Crow.
Don't try this at home.

Yoga in the South isn't what I'm used to as a transplant from the Southwest. My memories of yoga classes included thirty folks in a large room, built into a former grocery store-turned corner gym where there was lots of room to move, breathe and sweat. Well, that is except for the evening classes, which tended to be packed with about 60 people all holding Warrior One. 

Generally, the teacher, a tiny child my daughter's age, made sure to run up to me after class and give me fake platitudes about how great I did--which always bugged me because I was the regular and the teacher was whomever was on rotation. Nor did I need the atta-girl. However, this way they could mark it on their checklist they "encouraged*" a potentially reluctant and uncoordinated fat lady. 

Yoga here is a bit different. First, there are three studios in town. Two are on the Texas side. One is downtown, on the Arkansas side. All are about equal distance from my house, about four miles. Sadly, all are into hot yoga more than I am. All pretty much run the same type of format. I go to the one on the Arkansas side because it offers a wider variety of classes, including "chill flow," which seemed to be just regular yoga without the heat jacked up. 

Each class of about seven, held in a room the size of my master bedroom, starts with--and I'm not making this up--prayer requests. Someone's daughter has a broken toe. Someone has to travel to Dallas and it is supposed to rain. Someone's friend is struggling with cancer. Someone just passed a tough test (also a part of prayer known as a "praise") and then this is added into the warmup. 

The playlist music is the easy-listening Christian variety, found blasting through several local retail establishments. The poses are the same, without the chaturanga dandasana transitioning to the downward dog--not that I miss planking, because if any aspect of yoga could go away, this is what I'd pick. The yoga teachers around here like to emphasize a few harder moves and encourage folks to try them, while at some point during class we all watch some flexible 20-something have a go at the crow, the firefly or the compass.

The class ends with the option of the yoga student wrapping themselves in a studio provided blanket (nope), while we lay in savasana, with the easy-listening Christian music playing in the background. Meanwhile the instructor mills around, plopping a hot towel on folks' head--unless one is quick enough to stop them. (And let me tell you! My reflexes by this point are spot on!) The instructor will then read a small devotional or something inspiring. Right before releasing the class, she says--and I'm not making this up--Jameson, which is Hebrew for "supplants" or Irish for "whiskey." 

For the record, I'm not sure why "Jameson." 

At this point, there's always a random, chipper woman running around trying to hug her fellow participants like we've just struggled through some sort of twenty-four hour team-building exercise and have bonded as sisters. We haven't. However, sometimes I'll hug back.

The classes are intimate and encouraging without the fake platitudes. The instructors know all our names. My biggest complaint is the classes aren't consistent. Because of this, it is hard to plan my exercise week. One week chill flow is offered on Mondays at 9 a.m., the next week that time slot might be hot yoga, pound class, or yogalates and my chill flow class will be at 11 on Thursday. However, even with the different rituals and a maddening schedule, it is still a great workout. And who knows, in time, maybe I will master the crow. 

* I once saw the gym's checklist where the yoga instructor was to mark down that they encouraged someone during class. The fat lady is an easy mark. 

Texarkana Pro-Tip: Buy milk prior to January 13th.

Okay, this needs to be addressed because I feel like I'm in Bizarro World. 

The entire ArkLaTex area has lost its collective minds over the weather. Last week--that would be circa December 2024--some official web site for the Arkansas weather guys posted that it would be "28 degrees colder than normal" in this area around the 14th of January 2025. Yes, they were predicting the weather three weeks in advance. Even if you live some place with consistent January weather, like Phoenix, I'm sure you can see issue with this. Right? 

An hour after this post, the Arkansas weather guys issued a retraction. Oops! Please excuse the typo. The temperatures in the ArkLaTex area during the week of January 14 would hover around 28 degrees. Probably overnight. Just like most every January on record. 

Dang! If I had those kind of prediction skills, I could be a weather guy too! 

But, with too much time to surf Facebook and not enough intellectual curiosity, the masses have turned this into Freezeaccolypse. Even with others correcting them (pst! It was a typo and immediately fixed. And you, know... JANUARY), the wackjobs are running around shouting something about Texarkana being the epicenter for the Second Coming. There are all sorts of old-timer tips to help some of us newcomers cope: Like be sure to get your bread, milk and eggs before the 14th. 

I guess we can serve Jesus French toast if we are lucky enough.  

I should also note, the first January we spent here, it never got above 35 degrees. I didn't own a winter coat until the following December, when, coincidentally, it got down to 7 degrees for a couple of nights and yet, there were no reports of frozen bodies. Last winter, the Facebook complainers kept going on about how warm January was--and it was, right after the snowstorm and follow-up ice storm impeded life for two weeks. 

It seems to me, if you've lived here more than one January, there is no reason to complain that January is cold. It also seems to me there is an entire section of population who completely don't understand the concept of seasons. And yet, they didn't grow up in Phoenix. 

The After Picture

 Buckaroo approved.