Insomnia

 On month three of insomnia. Got five hours of sleep in two chunks yesterday. 

Progress! 

Still No Word from the New President

The writer group I helped form held their first elections. Though being secretary to this volunteer group was an easy task (post an e-mail reminding folks of an upcoming meeting, take notes when necessary, that kind of thing), given I have zero idea what my future holds in the next three weeks much less in the next year, I opted to let someone else have a chance at this fabulous opportunity  

Betzy ran unopposed, as did all the folks running for office. Two existing officers stayed on, but the rest of us tapped out. The October meeting was poorly attended. I have theories behind this. 1) we didn't have a speaker. 2) it was fall break and folks were on vacation with their families. 3) the topic of the night was "bring something you are working on and have others critique it." Not everyone is working on something right now. And not everyone wants a critique of their current work-in-progress mystery by a want-to-be author writing about a dragon king in search of a mythical rose. But those are only my working theories and nobody asked me.

Anyway, as of the October meeting, Betzy is the new secretary. Congratulations to her. My intention was to get with Betzy and give her the folder with the minutes of the meetings we've had. Additionally, I'd pass over the password to the group's Google e-mail account and send her a spreadsheet with the membership info. Given she didn't have much to do, this wasn't an urgent task.

But before I could, Betzy became overly enthusiastic about her new power-play. She grabbed her chance on our Facebook account, announcing she's the new SECRETARY and then wrote several paragraphs chastising folks for not coming to the October meeting. 

Additionally, Betzy sent me a text yesterday, insisting I hand over everything. As she proclaims to be a writer, I think she could have used a different set nouns and verbs. Given she's a Southerner, I suspect she knew how to toss in the word "please" to soften her demand. In her text she explained she "needed" admin privileges to the Facebook group--the same Facebook group someone already gave her admin privileges to so she could write a scathing message to members for not coming to the last meeting. 

Not wanting to be affiliated with any part of this woman, I sent her what I intended on sending her, wished her well and told her the best way to reach me is an old fashioned phone call. 

This morning when I logged on to Facebook, I found Betzy also sent me several messages demanding the information I'd already given her. The time stamp said she'd sent her notes yesterday slightly before her text. 

Dang, this girl is either enthusiastic or has too much time on her hands. 

Also this morning, she sent a note to the rest of the members saying from this day forward the group will be using some new social media app. She demanded we download this app immediately otherwise, one will miss "important updates and meeting notices." 

Oh dear! I suspect Miss Betzy is about to learn a few things about volunteering in a volunteer organization.     

Random Texarkana Sunshine Edition

 

Buckaroo's job fair in Lafayette netted him a few opportunities. I don't think he's all that interested. Instead, he's exploring a different life-path that I'm not at liberty to write about. 

Today Buck left around 7:30 this morning for the courthouse in New Boston. He had been called for jury duty. I took one look at him and knew, dressed in his collared shirt, slacks and nicer shoes, he had a good chance of serving.  As of the time I'm writing this, we haven't heard from him. I'm guessing there were a few attorneys who thought he looked credible. 

Oh wait! As if the Universe knew I was writing this post, Buck just called. He didn't sit on a jury, but was excited to find out he got paid anyway. 

In addition to all of that, Buck is helping with the current election. He is on the set-up/tear-down team, which means he and his team come in the day before the election, bring the election equipment to the judges at the voting sites. On election night, one judge (me) will be waiting at the voting site for Buck and his team to arrive with the U-haul and retrieve the equipment.* 

_____

Polly had a "working interview" today for a new job. Allegedly, this is a second interview. 

Last week, the employment agency she's been working with, called her and asked her to interview for receptionist/social media position. The employment agency, whose policy is to not divulge their clients until the interviewee (Polly) comes to meet, did not tell Polly who she'd be meeting with. What Polly found out when she arrived was that the employment agency was hiring and wanted Polly! 

This morning she buzzed around the kitchen, nervous and thinking of all scenarios that could happen. She rehearsed answering the phones with different inflections in her voice, different scripts ("Good morning, this is Polly Sunshine, how can I help you?" "This is JobsRUS, Polly Sunshine speaking..."). It was adorable, but at the same time, I know how maddening this can be. I remember my early jobs and wanting to make a good impression. 

I haven't heard from her yet, so I'm taking this as a good sign today is her first official day. 

_____

The Overlords have a new hobby. Every morning around 4 a.m., they scurry to the laundry room door, asking me to let them play in the garage. Though they'd rather go outside--and let me tell you! They are great escape artists--the garage is a reasonable substitute. Usually they hang out in there for an hour or so, until I close the door and turn off the light. Five minutes later I can open the garage door and the two will come sashaying in, as if they weren't afraid of the dark. If they don't come, I send Luna in to round them up. 

This new hobby beats their old hobby of running across Marty's and my sleeping faces while they play tag in our bedroom. 

_____

Marty is still looking for a job. He apologized to me today for not finding anything "right away." I never expected him to find anything immediately. It's the fourth quarter of the year! He had two interviews with one company for a job I wasn't thrilled about anyway. And frankly, he wasn't as thrilled about them once he interviewed a second time. I told him to enjoy his time off, take up a hobby and spend time with his family. 

_____

Today is the first day of early voting. I don't work until late next week, which is perfectly fine. I'm in no hurry to sit around 13 hours every day waiting for voters who haven't heard about this particular election. However, Deb the Queen of All Things Texarkana is working this week, so I'll probably go over and cast my vote. 

For early voting, I'm a clerk, which is awesome! Slightly less money and no responsibility. My biggest pet-peeve is that I'm tasked with waiting with a judge for the tear-down team to arrive on Halloween and take away the ballot machine. For the actual election, I'm an "alternate judge" which means I have all the responsibility as the presiding judge and still have to wait for the tear-down team to arrive while the presiding judge high-tails it to the courthouse. 

In addition to working next week, I'm doing the usual: writing, sewing, yoga/Pilates, walking with Leah once a week, Mini-Corona night this Friday and hanging out with Marty and the animals.

*At no time will the voting machines be out of custody of anyone in the voting process. And, by the time the set-up/tear-down team arrives at the voting locations the cast ballots most likely already be at the courthouse.   

Jimmy's Master Garden Talk

 

We had guest speaker, Jimmy the Southern Backwoods, Ultra Country Boy, Master Gardener at our last meeting discussing how to prepare one's garden for winter. Jimmy's accent was so thick that my pal, Joy, and I scratched our heads through half his presentation trying to decipher his talk. Incidentally, "Muskies" are muscadine grapes. "Harvey" is "Hairy Vetch"--a cover crop, which is great for putting nitrogen into the soil. And the list of butchered plant names grew endless. 

Protip for Jimmy and anyone else wanting to put on a presentation: not a good idea to start your talk with, "Y'all can just Google this stuff, that's what I did." Especially when you--or Jimmy--then digress for ninety minutes. 

I'm not making fun of Jimmy, as much as I'm amused by how Southern and country Jimmy truly is. I haven't run into a Jimmy-type since the season of my life when I hung out with people in West Georgia. But that's for another blog... 

Anyway, Jimmy is an amazing gardener who has abundant crops. At this point in his horticultural life, everything is done by instinct. Even though he suggests we Google what he's discussing (even his 789,361 tangents) he does know what he's talking about--even if the Yankees in the room forgot their Southern to English Dictionary.  

However, I take exception to one teensy comment Jimmy was willing to live and die on. He said it will be a colder than average winter. We can expect several feet of snow. Ice storms. Minus zero weather conditions. First, I sure hope he's wrong because I haven't managed to upgrade my wardrobe to that kind of weather just yet. In the almost four years I've been here, I've only upgraded my clothing to a week of 20 degree Fahrenheit weather.  Second, all indications I see from Google, Polly my weather nerd, and other sources I hold near and dear, is that it will be a warmer than average winter. Given it is still in the high 80s in the afternoons right now, I'm not thinking we are having ice storms by Thanksgiving. Plus, with Marty out of work, I'm not buying a generator this year in the event we are without power for a week (that happens around here). But what the heck! Maybe this is the universe's way of directing me back to Arizona after all. 

A couple of take-aways from Jimmy's talk that I found useful--in case you are preparing your winter garden. Wash out your pots in a dish soap and bleach solution to take out any diseases. Done today. Clean and sanitize your gardening tools. Sand the handles and add a layer of linseed oil to the handles. Remove rust from the blades and sharpen what needs to be sharpened. Monday's project. Any garden beds you aren't planting cover crops (like Hairy Vetch), add at least four inches of mulch. That will be Monday's project. 

A Morning with the Overlords

Not my bathroom.
My bathroom now has wet sewing stuff
scattered about because I'm working on a project in addition to cleaning up a flood. 

One of the Overlords learned how to turn on the bathtub faucet. 

Fortunately, Polly and I were home. 

This time. 

I've been drying towels for two hours. 

Unemployment Update

Marty and I have a rule in our marriage: only one of us is allowed a crisis at a time. It is definitely his turn. However, I loathe to call him "in crisis." I think Marty's more or less "in flux" and has no earthly idea of what to do.  

As of today, Marty has been out of work for one month. Now, to be fair--and I promise even if he recognized this in himself, he wouldn't admit it--the first three weeks of his unemployment he clung to me as if I were a cherished toy he'd discovered in the back of his closet. When I went anywhere, I'd get, "Where are you going? I'll come with you." "When will you be home?" When I was home I'd get, "What are you doing?" "Let me know when you want to go for a walk." "What are you working on?" "Do you want to watch a video with me?" 

I never thought I'd say this, but it was a relief for him to play a video game for an hour. When he wasn't in my business, he was "helping me." He rearranged my kitchen, my linen closet and my dresser drawers. Because I haven't been sleeping, in the middle of the night, I put everything back the way I want it. Only in the past week have I gotten out of the house without causing emotional upheaval--though I ended up having to go on a three mile walk at 1:30 in the afternoon through oppressive humidity when I returned from my errand. 

On the bright side, he's slowly returning back to the man I married. That job had been so toxic he hadn't noticed what the rest of us were screaming from the rooftops. But now he sees how he changed so much in less than four years. Marty smiles again! We laugh as a couple. As a family. Buck said we have "the return of Fun Dad." 

Yesterday, Marty had a second (facetime) interview. From the other room, I could tell it went meh. It wasn't that he did anything wrong, but more like someone on the company's end was trying to figure out how best to use Marty's skill set. When he got off the phone, he said as much. The company has a big customer itching to make changes. and it sounds like Marty might not be the person to scratch that customer's back. 

Also, based on Marty's answers, the hiring manager sounded like an autocratic control-freak. Marty just left a job where this was the case. So, I'm okay if this job opportunity goes nowhere. Or, if this opportunity swerves a different direction perhaps he'll be made an offer which doesn't include working for this autocratic control-freak. Either way, I'm at peace. For now at least. Ask me again if Marty is still in flux come next April. 

Today, he and Buckaroo left for Lafayette, LA (about 5-ish hours from here) to check out an oil worker job fair tomorrow morning. Mostly the job fair is for Buck, but they both brought resumes because one doesn't know what one doesn't know. 

I'm just happy Marty wanted to get out of the house. Polly just came in and said, "Do you hear that? The sound of quiet?" Squee! Yes. Yes I did. 

Little Rock

In honor of the 23rd National Buckaroo Day, yesterday the Sunshine family (and Polly's pal, Sherman) sojourned to Little Rock for the day for an afternoon of Topgolf and dinner at Cheeba Hut. Of all the restaurants the young adults miss in Mesa, Cheeba Hut is probably in the top three. There was a side trip to Bass Pro Shop, a board game shop and Trader Joe's as well--all sanctioned by Buck. I believe he had a good day. I know these moments are soon coming to a close. I'm not ready for it. 

November's Just Around the Corner

There's an election next month here in Bowie County. I've been dutifully doing my online training training so that I can perform my civic duty. While studying for my certification, I ran into this little bit of Texas voter law. 

"Presiding judges at polling places have the same power as district judges to maintain order and peace, including the authority to issue arrest warrants." 

Guess who volunteered to be a clerk at this upcoming election and was volun-told she was going to be a judge? The powers that be really should rethink giving me this much responsibility. 

Bags

The Coronas are celebrating four birthdays this month. This year, every Corona has gotten a custom zippered bag. Oh yes, my pal Valerie, who taught me to sew a few months after I moved here, is also getting a bag (but she's getting the same fabric as Tessa, but hers has a purple zipper). Her birthday is Sunday. Plus, she taught me how to make these. 

When Krissy texted me Sunday, I told her I was busy working on her "super-secret" birthday present. Her response was, "Yay!!!!!" She knew she was getting a bag, but doesn't know Snoopy is on the outside of it. By the way, Snoopy fabric is not easy to find. 

(Front: Krissy's, Tessa's, Cindy's Back: Valerie's, Joan's)

 

Booyah!

Leon Was Here

Got home from yoga to find the remnants of the tissue box on the floor. Only one Overlord attacks tissue boxes in our house. 

When I started cleaning it up, that beast started attacking me for disposing of his kill. 

All tuckered out from today's shenanigans. 

A Snippet Into the Sunshine Household

Note: I'm not whining, just being present to how life is here on Arizona Avenue. For the most part, we are all in good spirits. In a small-ish Southern town I'm not following the, "life crisis rules" and I think that confuses some people.  

I've been radio silent for the past two weeks. Other than slipping outside for an occasional walk, I've gotten out twice by myself. Once to meet Val for about 30 minutes and once for a dinner party. Edits for the latest book have taken a good portion of my life. Plus, Marty is home. This is a tough season for him and I'm keeping him company--which means watching all sorts of boring intellectually stimulating youtube videos. Our savings has enough to get us by for a few months. However, we aren't spending extraneous money because, well, there's little trickling in. 

As an introvert, staying home hasn't been an issue. As someone who has managed to build a social network, this is a new experience. I remind myself at some point our lives will change and I'll be more social. However, local folks have noticed the radio silence. Yesterday, I got three texts from friends, asking for a proof of life. 

Deb did her, "I missed you at church," which isn't judgy--but her, "are you okay?" 

I was at church. Marty came with me, so we weren't sitting in the middle where everyone might see a new person (Marty) and decide they needed to swarm. Instead, we sat in the back corner, next to this guy who warbled out the hymns, off key, two stanzas ahead of everyone else, like we were singing a campfire round to Blessed Assurance. Given how proud this dude was of his voice, he wanted to make sure everyone around him heard his praise. Honestly, I'm pretty sure Marty was traumatized enough, he'll never be back. (I offered to go to the Catholic church where he could hear his daughter sing, and he said no). 

Deb seems to understand my life is a bit--er, tenuous--and didn't even chastise me about not saying hello before or after service. 

I also heard from Corona Krissy. She said she wished I'd gone to the corn maze last week with the girls. I wished I could have gone too. But, unemployment kind of takes the driver's seat in our lives right now. The corn maze is $30. It's in Shreveport. The gang had dinner prior. I know if I'd gone and passed on food, everyone would have insisted on chipping in for my meal. Nobody would have expected me to pay my cut for gas. I feel like I'd just be a charity case if I went. And honestly, if Marty were working and one of them were in this situation, I wouldn't have thought twice about contributing for their fun. However, I'm not ready to be that girl. 

About 9 last night, I heard from Corona Joan. She just texted to say hi. She also told me that she's crossing her fingers and praying that Marty finds a local job. She wrote, "Though I know I'm supposed to pray for what's best for you, the heck with it. I'm praying for what I want." And that's the text that broke me. 

And So It Begins

 

Roosevelt decided I didn't need to edit.
I needed to hold him for hours on end. At least this way
he wasn't zooming out the door, which he now does regularly. 
 

We got a new roof today. For the record, doggie downers do NOTHING to calm Luna. 

NOTHING!!! 

Because the house was already crowded, Luna was barking every three milliseconds while trying to jump through the window at the roofing crew, and not all of us are tied to a computer optimistically working on edits, I suggested Marty and Buckaroo take a casual jaunt to Little Rock. You know, just to go do something. And what do you know! I managed to remove extra beings to give me a bit of space to work. (Polly is house sitting. Again.)

While Marty was gone, he got his first "Hello Mr. Sunshine, when are you available for a phone call to discuss your qualifications?" communication. Not bad after looking for two and a half weeks.

This particular position is not in Texarkana. I'm not doing a deep dive into the company or area at this time. There are lots of reasons for this. First, my head hurts from the hammering above my head for the past 11 hours, mingled with Luna barks. Second, I don't want to become invested until there's a reason. Third, I'm still hoping one of the two jobs in Texarkana comes calling. 

The Fugitive

Roosevelt staring at a bird--which
is what he does when he isn't sleeping.
 

Roosevelt, our adventurous Overlord, likes to to stare at the birds through the window, dreaming of the day Buckaroo agrees to allow him to frolic in the sunshine. That day will come when hungry coyotes, foxes, hawks, owls, or other potential varmints agree others have personal space. And yes, we have a back yard fence but I have yet to see that make a difference in keeping out any critters. 

Welcome to Texas.

Yesterday, while Marty and I were in the back yard picking tomatoes and an additional 587 pounds of (sigh) okra, Luna started barking her "critter bark."  Never a good sign, we rushed over, to find Luna, channeling an ancestral sheepdog, corralling an escaped Roosevelt. 

Our Yoga Cat, tuckered out after his shenanigans.
He really sleeps like that. 

We have no idea how Roosevelt managed to get past the storm door. He'd ventured past the edge of the patio and onto the grass before Luna caught up with him. To his credit, the cat appeared conciliatory. Instead of jumping the fence--because he could--and dashing off toward the woods, he acquiesced to Mama Luna's chastisement. 

Buckaroo immediately scooped up Roosevelt, scolding him for his escapades. I pointed out what Roosevelt heard was, "Hey! Blah blah blah, Roosevelt... blah blah." Buck swears Roosevelt got the message. Perhaps he did. But as I recall, when my son was roughly the same age, that wouldn't have stopped him from trying again.      

Branson with Bliz

Bliz and I met in Branson, MO a couple weekend's past, which is sort of half-way between us (Bliz lives four hours away, I'm about six hours). Branson is a hidden entertainment gem, nestled in the heart of the Ozarks. Given this blog has two readers, the greater Branson Chamber of Commerce isn't going to get any help promoting through me. This was my fourth trip to Branson in less than four years and my second trip with Bliz. 

But, back to this Branson trip. During our weekend, we took the "Top of the Rock" tour, which is a golf cart tour from the top of a mountain, through a cave--with a bar inside--across a bridge and back up the mountain.  

The one picture I took on our Top of the Rock tour.
That's Table Rock Lake. It doesn't look nearly as large as it truly is. 

 

For her birthday present, I'd bought us tickets to Six. Six is an a cappella group, comprised of six brothers (there are ten boys in the family--all from Phoenix). I'd heard them perform last spring and knew Bliz would love them. She did. We stuck around for the meet and greet afterward and had a friendly chat and took a few pictures. As a fun little happenstance, We discovered that I'd gone to high school with two of the brothers, both slightly older than me. I only went to that school one year and didn't know them at the time. Eventually I'll pull out my sophomore yearbook and and find the two boys and send the pictures to Bliz. She'll get a kick out of it. 

A hidden gem in the hidden gem city.

Though the trip was wonderful, because of life circumstances, both of us were in mild funks. I'd like to think I brought out the smiles in her as much as she did in me. The weekend got my mind off of Marty's unemployment and Mom's health issues. Bliz also had her own battles going on. I needed the laughs and the comfortable silence only a long-time friend can offer. I suspect she did too. Hopefully next time we meet up, our hearts will be lighter. 

The Unknown

Marty is searching for a job. I'm trying not to be emotionally invested. It would be significantly easier if he didn't bounce in every ten minutes and tell me about some opportunity in Aurora Wisconsin, Morgantown West Virginia, or Scottsbluff Nebraska. And yes, he's applied for whatever opportunities he's found in this corner of the world too. 

The other day, after Marty learned some out-of-state company looked at his resume several times and he received an e-mail from them asking if he was still interested in employment, I broke out my miner's cap and descended into the rabbit hole. After all, there's only so much this geography nerd can handle without doing a deep-dive into the areas in question.

If we move, it will most likely only be Marty and myself (a forced empty-nest and that's a whole 'nuther blast of emotions I'm not ready for). Our needs are minimal. Costco isn't necessary. Housing can be modest, including an over 55 community. Or not. Right now, I'm more interested in quality medical care than I am the location of the closest Hobby Lobby or Trader Joe's. 

In the event Marty finds work elsewhere, I doubt we will have the kind of community that I've grown to love here. However, my goal is to find something like that again. How? Master Gardener group? Garden clubs? Volunteering? Churches? A part-time job? I am not sure but I know that I will need to do something. That's the big lesson I learned my first year in Texarkana. I had nothing to do and the loneliness and grief from Dad's death took its toll. 

What I do know is right now we are in Texarkana. He's found a couple of job prospects here too. Hopefully one of them will pan out and we can stay a bit longer. It makes the most sense for me--but maybe not for Marty. The one big take-away I've learned from moving almost four years ago is if there is another relocation we will be okay--even in Effingham Illinois.  

I'm Still Rewriting Chapter Two

Marty has been unemployed for 10 days. Which means he's been home for the past 10 days. He's been home All. Day. 

In that time he's discovered I don't uses magic pixie dust to get household chores done. Yep. I do stuff around here. So, he's "helping me." For example he washed the sheets. But neglected to change out the pillow cases. And, he spent $150 at the grocery store and bought at least four things we already had--but didn't bother to tell me he was going to the grocery store in the first place. Nor did he buy the one item we still need. But, I'm not going to say anything for fear he'll head on out to the local market and come back with a random bulk purchase of dried banana chips and a gallon jar of kimchi. 

While this is going on, I'm attempting to spend my day slogging through the boatload of changes my editor sent me. Dare I say, it would go much faster without Marty's constant encouragement. "How's it going?" "Are you still rewriting chapter three?" "Do you want lunch?" (at 10:30 in the  morning) "What are you planning on cooking for dinner?" (at 11:30 in the morning) "I wanted to let you know applied for a job in Ottumwa Iowa." And, "Are you working on chapter four yet?" 

Please understand! None of the above is to in any way demean Marty. He's navigating a new season in his life. I'm navigating a new season as well. Plus, he's happier than I've ever seen him. Leaving behind Dante's third circle of hell was a great choice and none of us regret his decision. I think if he'd stayed with that job he'd have had a stroke within a year. However, I want to get my editing done, Therefore, tomorrow morning, I'm hiding the pixie dust and sending him out to weed the front flower bed. 

On the Road to Damascus

Yesterday, Sydney Jean Rav 4 hit her big 100k. I was on the road to Damascus--literally. Damascus being the tiny little hamlet in the Ozarks located in nowhere Arkansas, on my way back from Branson. And to be totally honest, I was in Clinton Arkansas when this event happened, which was 14 miles from Damascus. 

By the way, Marty won, with his prediction of September in Arkansas. His prize is a family dinner at the restaurant of his choice. But that is on hold for the moment. 

 

They Say It Isn't Gossip, But A Prayer Circle.

Yesterday, I brought Deb, The Queen of Texarkana, a care package of Marty's pandemic stew. This bit of vegan yumminess, is a recipe he perfected during the 2020 lockdown. It is still a staple in our home, now with (sigh) okra added to the mix because we will be eating okra for the rest of our lives the way that stuff grows. 

Ok, back to this post. Anyway, Deb mentioned it was rare for her to receive her allotment of fresh pandemic stew on a weekday. And wow! How nice of Marty to have made this in his limited free time. She was referring to the small window of time Marty had between the eight hours he'd been putting in at the office and the additional required two hours at home every night. 

Without thinking, I replied, "He has plenty of time now that's he unemployed."

"WHY am I just now hearing about this?" she demanded. Her bossy big-sister voice crisply hit every syllable. 

I'm going to miss that bossy big-sister voice. 

"It happened Monday." I replied. 

She pointed to the empty chair, indicating I should sit. In her Southern drawl, she scolded me. "Today is Wednesday, Missy!"

"Yes, ma'am," was the best I could muster. 

Anyway, Deb had "Wednesday Church" last night, something I've managed to avoid. I won't be at Lunch Bunch today either. So, I'm guessing most everyone will know about Marty's situation by the end of today.  

 

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 unemployment 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--"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 required Marty 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 and stuffing that freezer 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. 

Afterward, 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.