Probable Lasts

With Marty's job situation in limbo, I've reflected on a lot of probable lasts. It's too bad, because though there are things I'm not crazy about in Texarkana, I like it better than the idea of leaving. 

Today, while we put away our Christmas decorations, we all sort of took a moment and reflected on the idea this was probably our last Christmas here. I packed away some of the Christmas decorations folks here gave me, feeling sentimental. Corona Joan has given me these amazing Christmas plates for the last two years. Corona Gail gave me this beautiful "Joy" ornament. 

Corona Cindy made a gorgeous table runner a couple of years ago I won in a silent auction by outbidding Deb, by $5. Deb may never forgive me. However, I might give it to her anyway. Maybe not. 

Deb, the Queen of Everything, is taking off next week for her three month stint in warmer weather. Several folks suggested a mini-Corona night before she left. I pushed harder than most. But I didn't want to tell her it was because I wanted one probable last Corona night. She's busy, I didn't want to guilt her into it. Plus, what if I'm still here when she gets back? Would she think I was crying wolf? 

When I head out to my favorite coffee joint to meet Val or Joy, I ruminate along those lines. How many more? At the Master Gardener Christmas party a few weeks ago, I teared up on the way home, wondering if that had been my probable last event with them. I mean, if we are still here when dues come around in March, it means Marty doesn't have a job. The same goes for Golden Quills--but in that case, an anonymous soul paid my membership for 2026--which in some ways is too bad because Betzy is working her level best to turn away good writers.

I was a wreck after the book club Christmas party, knowing my time here is coming to an end. I agreed to host for January, because I wasn't sure how much time I had left. What a lovely group of women. That's all I have to say. 

Very few of these folks are comprehending that Marty is unemployed nor do they fully understand my time here is probably limited. A few, like Joy, get it. I'm pretty sure Corona Joan and Corona Gail figured it out, but neither bring it up. I don't either. Most say silly things like, "Has Marty thought about commuting to Shreveport?" For what job? Plus Shreveport is roughly 75 miles from here. And my favorite, "There's a company with the name, 'tri' in it on the I-30 frontage road that uses computers. He should apply there."  

As soon as my edits are complete, I'm going to start working on getting the house shoveled out--think an early spring cleaning. I need to paint the bathroom and the kitchen. I'd like to get the landscaping around front spiff up. There are a few minor this and thats which need attention. Because--just in case--we are selling our house and taking off to parts unknown. In the meantime, I'm grateful for my time here. And I am absorbing my Probable Lasts with as much grace as I can. 

But then again, perhaps Marty will land a job here. We'll call that an improbable miracle. 

The Writing Process

My current manuscript is almost complete. To be fair, it IS complete. I'm in the line edit stage. Marty swears I haven't slept in a year. He may be right. 

Here's how the book writing process works: 

Write It

Write for days. Weeks. Months.  Let the characters consume your every waking thought. Say random things during social events which make you look crazy because you aren't paying attention to the conversation around you. 

For example, "What are you doing this weekend." Reply: "I wonder if I should have the cat jump from the refrigerator and on to the burglar's head instead of from the second floor balcony."  

Forgive your friends when they look at you like you aren't all there. Because, well, you aren't.

Beta Readers

Find people who like you enough to read your manuscript and who are willing to give you brutal advice. If they say things like, "that was a nice story," they aren't qualified beta readers. Generally these folks are also writers who are expecting you to return the favor.  

Rewrite It

Sort through the Beta Readers' comments and pick out the useful feedback. 

Not useful: I hate that you named your character Meredith instead of Mary.
Useful: Bearer bonds were discontented in 1982 and that negates the premise of your story. 

Not useful: There's no street in Lafayette Louisiana called, "Ashland."
Useful: Your serial killer's name is Hannah-Belle Lecter. You know there's a fictional serial killer named Hannibal Lecter right? 

Once you have everything sorted out, rewrite. Plan on living on almonds and M&Ms. Protip: the best way to stay productive is to keep your phone on do not disturb. 

Developmental Edits

Send your manuscript to your developmental editor who will point out areas to elevate your story. The editor will tell you useful things such as, "Your secondary character isn't likable and here are ways to fix that." And "You have two major plot holes which don't move your narrative and what about having your main character flee from Argentina instead of Uganda because he's South American?"

Rewrite It Again

This time, take all that information the developmental editor sends and squeeze it into your story. Remove irrelevant chapters and add in relevant scenes. Argue with your developmental editor why the rose garden chapter must be in the book and acquiesce to keeping it there when she insists it is absolutely necessary. 

Spend too much time on X (Twitter) with other writers who are also not fixing their edits. Remember you have other people in your life and once in a while and step outside and say hello to the world. 

Line Editing

Line editing is the fun process of going through a manuscript and finding issues in sentence structure, paragraph formation and word usage. For example, in my particular story, I used the word, "chessboard," three times in one paragraph. 

Generally during this phase, the writer (who is now partially psychotic from a lack of REM sleep) realizes one of their characters managed to go from point A to point B without any logical processes. Voila! They just arrived! And no matter how much they don't want to rewrite an entire chapter or two, the writer knows the story looks contrived unless this matter is resolved. 

Pretend like people still like you. Remember to do laundry, feed the dog and promise yourself you will sleep at some point. Protip: own more than one pair of compression gloves. Also remember nobody cares about your story as much as you do, and bone up on current events so you can talk about something other than what's in your imagination. 

More rewrites. And probably a Beta Reader or two at that point.  

Line Editors

Writers can--and should--have a line editor. However, prior to a line editor looking at their work, writers should have done their own line editing. Why? Because 1) the writer knows the story better and should be able to see if Hannah-Belle's brother is rolling his eyes when that is not an action he takes. He sticks out his tongue--that's his signature behavior. 2) A line editor won't catch everything anyway. 

Protip: keep a list of the manuscript's overused words. Currently my list is four pages long, front and back. I'll eventually dig out a thesaurus. Or rewrite the sentences. Another protip: writing "beside" instead of "next to" is a great way to lower the word count. However, sometimes "next to" is a better way to convey the moment.

Read it Over

And not only read it over, listen to it. More than once. Do this until you hate your story and think it is the stupidest drivel ever written and wonder why would anyone ever buy this garbage. 

Proofreader

Send the manuscript to a proofreader. Of course, you've already proofread it. But, I promise you missed a meaningful comma. There's a big difference between, Let's eat, Grandma and Let's eat Grandma. 

And to be fair, a proofreader won't catch everything. I've read plenty of books published by the big companies as well as books published by indie authors with proofreading errors. It happens. Writers expect it. Readers are outraged. Proof it yourself first anyway and forgive your proofreader. 

Anyway, The Redeemed is slated to be released this spring. Also, mysteries are hard to write. 

Luna's Bump

Luna's bump is back. It is even more visible because her fur is shaved from where she had surgery. Currently the bump is the size and shape of a drink coaster instead of the size and shape of an orange--like last time. We just had a chance to bathe her and get the dried blood off--Doc P wanted us to wait until the stiches were mostly dissolved. And now it looks like we aren't done torturing the poor thing. 

I'm not buying the fungal infection theory. She's been on anti-fungals for weeks. This thing is coming back faster than before. Google isn't any better at diagnosing this than anyone else with a veterinarian degree. However, I just deep-dived into: hygroma, a fluid-filled sac that develops over bony prominences and pressure points, especially in large breeds of dogs. This results in a dense-walled, fluid-filled cavity. 

This isn't exactly what's going on, but honestly, it's as good a theory as anything else at this point. 

She's still spry. In fact, she just came running, her ears flapping and her tail wagging, when I called her inside. This wouldn't be so awful if we could just get to the bottom of what's going on. And--I'm just gonna say it because it is affecting all of us--given she's our biggest monthly expense at the moment, if we could have her healed cheaply, even better.  

Deep in the Heart of Texas

Briggs Texas is in the middle of absolute nowhere. If one made a right triangle and used a point in Austin and another in Temple, TX, the third point might be Briggs. And that's generous. But think of it this way: An hour or more away from anywhere with reasonable medical care. 

When I deep dived into the Briggs Texas vibe, I found out they have feed store, strangely only one Dollar General, and two convenience stores. They also have a "community center," a Church of Christ on Walker Street and a competing Baptist church on Church Street. Oh yes! There's also a cow processing plant (slaughter house) for the local ranchers. 

According to the map, "Briggs State Bank" is an historical landmark. However, after a further review, the building sported overgrown weeds and no parking lot. We decided "historical landmark" is some sort of euphemism for "dilapidated dump." 

The population of Briggs Texas happens to be hovering around 100. Someone on Reddit asked what people do for fun in Briggs. The only reply was "sex." So, I'm not sure the population numbers are completely accurate. 

A job matching Marty's qualifications came up in Briggs Texas, though the company remained a mystery. As much as I would love to stay in a small town, I kyboshed this opportunity. 

Mystery solved.

Another ^!%&*^%$ Open Letter

Dear Betzy, 

I'm just gonna throw this out there. You are an officer of a voluntary writing group. Can we unpack that sentence please? 

Let's start with "officer." Yes, you are the secretary, not the Supreme Empress, Queen of the World. 

Next up, "voluntary." Nobody is paid. Everything is optional--including my participation. If you send me a text and I don't respond for an hour, that's the way it will be. If you need an immediate response, just try the old fashioned way and call.  

And finally, let's talk about "writing." You claim to be a writer. May I suggest adding a few more nouns and verbs to your arsenal? Perhaps find a few that are smoother around the edges and might get you further when requesting assistance. 

I'm really trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. I really am. But girl, you are in your 40s and driving me bonkers. Hopefully you aren't doing this to all the members because, if you are, the writing group I was a part of starting is probably destine to fall apart. And nobody wants that.   

And one more quick nugget: this wasn't set up as a social group. We are there to learn the craft of writing. We don't want to be chummy and hang out--you've met writers? Correct? They aren't social, they are introverts who deign to leave their homes once a month and only when there's a really good speaker. Otherwise, they can hang out with their own friends, family, or cats. Your job wasn't set up as the social coordinator. your job was initially set up to take minutes and announce when the meetings are being held. I don't want this role back. I want you to succeed in this role. It isn't difficult to send out an e-mail once a month and posting on social media. Start with the baby steps first. Find some cohesion and go from there.    

I Made It a Mile

Random Under-Decorated East Texas House 

If I recall from 8th grade Earth Science, December 21 has the least amount of daylight in the Northern Hemisphere. I didn't think about this particular tid-bit when I opted to go for my walk today at 4:55 p.m. So there I was, strolling down Arizona Avenue, enjoying the weather and a chance to stretch my legs. I even remember thinking how great it is that, because Marty isn't working, he's doing all the cooking so I didn't have to figure out dinner. 

Sunset today was at 5:13. In East Texas, we don't have the spectacular sunsets I grew up watching. The sun is either up or it is down. There's no such thing as twilight and dusk. And that's a shame the streets in Wake Village are very narrow and there's no sidewalks on Arizona Avenue--and don't even get me started on the old fashion notion of a street light. 

Also, I'm pretty sure the temperature dropped ten degrees as soon as the sun went down. But I could be wrong. It might have dropped 50 degrees. After all, it's East Texas and meteorology is more of a street thug than a true science. 

On the bright side, on my way back, I saw all my neighbors' lit Christmas displays. People around here like to decorate the outsides of their homes as an ode to the Griswolds, so there's was enough light to guide me home.   

Sewing Projects

 When we moved here, I had ample free time and no social life. So, I pursued all the hobbies I always wanted to pursue--including sewing. Here's a sneak peek at the young adults' Christmas presents. If I can figure out what I did with the navy blue ribbing I bought before Sunday, I might also finish the jacket I was planning on making for Buck. I will then make Polly a pair of lounge pants. Otherwise, I'll make those after Christmas along with the lounge pants I want to make Marty. But for now, I'm burned out on sewing. 

For Buck
Protip: don't sew plaid material.
Matching the plaid seams are a nightmare. 

For Polly. 
Disclaimer: The dress doesn't look as
good on the hanger as I think it will on her.
She's petite, so it will hang below her knees.
She hates 3/4 sleeves, so this has long sleeves. 

Four Years on Arizona Avenue

Today is Marty's birthday. 

It also marks the fourth anniversary for the Sunshines living in Texas. 

January 5, 2022

December 17 2025
A new roof and a lot of yard decorations. 

Life with Pets Part 3

Luna has a weird--or "rare" according to Doc P.--fungal infection, which has caused the huge lumps on her. He assures me it is not a snake bite. I'm glad Luna is getting treated, however it might have been cheaper for it to have been a one and done snake bite than another medication for this poor puppy. She's now on 7 pills. However four of them are temporary. 

For the record, the cone of shame is staying on her for another few days so she cannot get to her healing wounds. 

Life with Pets Part 2

Leon doing to a roll of paper
towels what was almost done to him. 

This afternoon, Marty and I went to check on the greenhouse while Luna pranced around the back yard, hoping the dogs next door didn't notice the cone of shame around her head. And then, Marty took her back inside while I picked up Luna's toys. 

I heard and saw two things at the same time. Above me, the screeching sound of a hawk. In front of me, Leon, who had snuck outside. 

Of course, Leon thought his moment of freedom as awesome, as I chased him around the yard, unaware his life was thisclose to ending. Oh jeeze! When I looked up, it wasn't one hawk but two. Not a moment for the faint of heart. Marty must have heard my shouting because he came outside again and helped me corral the fool back inside. 

Life with Pets

Luna came home yesterday, with a few shaved sections and four tubes sticking out of her. The tubes are "leaky," which means blood randomly spurts through the tubes and around the tubes, leaving droplets throughout the house. Additionally, we are told Luna is not to jump on the bed or on furniture. However, nobody told Luna she shouldn't jump. 

This has caused a bit of an issue because: 

1: Luna likes to be with me. Everywhere. Always. This is all sorts of wonderful, but when I'm sewing, I don't need her underfoot in the master bedroom. 

2: The master bedroom is one of the few rooms with carpet. Did I mention Luna bleeds? 

3: Our bed is higher than normal beds and she will want to jump on our bed with stitches and the bloody tubes sticking out of her. 

Additionally, the Overlords have been offering their sympathies by stealing her toys and trying to lick her wounds. 

All that is to say, Marty graciously took Luna last night on the couch and I grabbed the Overlords and threw them in the master bedroom and let them wreck chaos throughout the night. Marty and I are disagreeing on who had the raw end of the deal. 

***Bonus Content*** 

Real conversation at the Sunshine home yesterday.

Me: How do you think Luna got that bump on her back to begin with? 

Marty (not looking up from what he's doing): It's a snake bite. 

Me: Doc P never mentioned it being a snake bite!!??? 

Marty (shrugging and ignoring my growing hysterics): Our animals used to get bit by snakes and would have lumps like that. They'd usually go down on their own. Sometimes they didn't if it was especially bad.

Me: Wait? Does that mean there's a snake in our yard? A poisonous snake? 

Marty (now completely zen and totally not the least bit bothered by my shrieking): No, but there probably was one at some point this summer. It probably came under the fence. (From the woods behind our house).  

(Young adults backing out of the room. Buck mouthing to Polly, "Take me with you on your date with Sherman tonight. Please!!!")

Me: You need to put out more snake away. First thing tomorrow morning. 

Marty: It's going to be 40 degrees tomorrow. The snakes are hibernating. 

Anyway, I don't care what the temperature, Marty is throwing more of that stuff down. He can sprinkle it all over the neighborhood for all I care. 

One of Luna's wounds.
We call this one, "Ode to Locutus of Borg."

A Week in the Life

 

Because no battleplan outlives the enemy, life hasn't taken the smooth road I'd like this year month. With Christmas less than two weeks away, and me telling my editor she'd have my latest round of changes by December 15, I got sick. Fun fact: I've slept more this week than I've slept in the past six months. Oh yes, I'm on the mend, thankyouverymuch. 

I missed four events this week--one of which was Krissy's fabulous Christmas party which I look forward to every year. And let me tell you, I have to be VERY ill to miss that one, especially because I may not be living here this time next year and it makes me sad to think I won't be attending another of Krissy's fabulous Christmas parties.  

I've gotten edits done through my first act--and promptly fell asleep earlier this week when I realized I wrote "chessboard" three times in the same paragraph. I haven't had the nerve to look at my current manuscript since. But I should at least send my editor some sort of proof of life. Eventually. I think it is fair to say she isn't getting this manuscript until 2026. 

Because the Sunshine Christmas is a modest affair this year, I'm sewing. I started making a blue jacket for Buckaroo. And what did the kid do? He went out and bought a blue jacket in the exact style of the one I'm making him. He'll have two blue jackets soon. I'm also making a dress for Polly. And, if I am inspired and I have time they are getting lounge pants because I have the fabric. Sherman is getting something too. I just don't know what. 

On top of it all this week, Luna had emergency surgery to remove an I-don't-know-what-to-call-it-and-nor-does-Doc P from her spine. But it was the size of an orange. She now has four drainage tubes in her and she is randomly bleeding because she won't be still. Who can blame her with the Amazon driver coming by to say hello and the random squirrels taking over her back yard. And then there's the overlords who found her new toy duck. Luna is having none of that!  

We were supposed to go to Little Rock. Maybe next week. I was going to clean the house. Maybe I'll find out I have a fairy godmother after all. 

Today Her Highness, Deb, the Queen of the Universe and a force multiplier of positive energy, called me, demanding to know why she was unaware I'd been sick. After we determined, me telling her would have only disturbed me with more group texts, she asked what I needed. I told her I need a time machine that would allow me to get this past week back. 

An Open Letter to Betzy

Dear Betzy, 

Please let me start off by saying you are the perfect person for the role as Communications Officer for our writer group. Though the position is dubbed, "secretary," I think you've elevated it nicely. And for that, I'm excited because I was glad to step back and relinquish this role. East Texas has needed a writer's group. Last year we were getting our feet wet, figuring out what to do with it. Now that the writer's group is established, I see true commitment and leadership in you. What was created will flourish with your passion. Thank you for carrying this torch.  

Now then, a few things about the world outside of East Texas that you should know. And please note, I'm only sharing this with you because you've made me the victim of your shenanigans. There is never a time to send a group text and demanding EVERYONE on the text--whether they are a member or not--respond to said text. Why? Because our phone does not need to blow up 837 times in an hour with, "yes I'm coming," or "no, I'm not available for the party" or "who are you and why do you have my number?" 

Additionally, if you've already broadcasted your message in other mediums, such as e-mail, some sort of weird phone app not everyone uses AND social media sites, there's no reason to duplicate your efforts. Therefore, if not everyone responds to your text, please don't feel the need to send out another group text to the same folks admonishing the people who didn't respond. This is a Christmas party, not a medical procedure where you need everyone to participate.  

That said, if you receive some sort of other communication with an RSVP, there is no reason to broadcast everyone else's reply. If Suzy isn't going, we don't need to know--especially if Suzy isn't a member of the writer's group. If Joan is going, awesome! There's no reason to tell us before the party. Let us be pleasantly surprised.  

Also, does it really matter what we are bringing? You said a book for a book exchange. At some point there are folks who might think you have control issues if you must have this information prior to the party. It is true, I have zero idea what book I'm bringing for the book exchange. Please don't feel the need to send out another group text reminding me that I need to get it together by tomorrow. 

Speaking of tomorrow. I'm rethinking going. It isn't you, it's me. Sorry, it's cold. I don't want to drive 20 miles for a party after dark and probably drive in the rain or on ice. I have zero Christmas spirit. I got rid of all the books I didn't want four years ago when I moved. Because we are on a tight budget I don't want to buy a book either. I could throw in one of the books I authored, but no. 

Anyway, these are small wrinkles I'm sure will be ironed out as the group grows. I see great things for this writing group--especially if you target your communication to us with future writing-centered events and stop focusing on crowd control. And as much as I hope your enthusiasm catches on, I also hope you find a way so soften it and spread it out instead of inundating us all at once. 

Sincerely, 

Everyone Else

A Happy Sewing Circle

My sewing pal, Valerie talked me into co-teaching a tote bag class. We were expected to teach how to make this. 

I made this last summer.

However, the only person who signed up for the class was someone who had sewn two pieces of fabric together once before. Our student was my pal Joy--who is an overthinker and task oriented. She isn't used to enjoying the journey and likes to appreciate the end result. I've tried before to teach her to sew and found out that I don't have the right skill set for that. However, I knew Val did. So, once Joy entered the shop and we found out nobody else signed showed up, this became a two-on-one sewing class. 

I can only speak for myself here, I had a great time with these two ladies. It truly is a blessing to laugh for three hours with people I like, while doing something I love. We didn't get through a tote bag, but Val did teach Joy the basics of a straight seam. Perhaps in the beginning of the year, if Joy is up for it, I'll go over and show her how to make the second side of her bag. And if Valerie has some time, maybe I drag her along. 

Joy's first side of her bag.  

As a side note, during the class, Sherman began texting me. He was shopping for Polly's Christmas gift and sending me photos of his options. Joy, Val and I looked at his selections and decided the dude is probably overwhelmed and stuck in some sort of gift-giving hell. Plus, if he took four seconds to channel his inner 13-year old self, surly he'd see the design on the pocket of the jacket he was looking at as a penis. Right? I mean, it seemed obvious to us 50-somethings who couldn't unsee it. To save him from himself, we threw out a few ideas. 

A Normal FB Post

I never used Facebook in AZ and was planning on deleting my account once I moved here. Don't know if I will keep it when I leave Texarkana, but for now, posts like this make me smile. Texarkana Arkansas is in Miller County. 

We Caved

Our money saving measure lasted until late last night. 

The heat is currently on. It is 34 degrees--at 2 in the afternoon. It is the warmest part of the day. My writer's meeting has been canceled tonight because of snow. 

Not sorry.

Keeping Warm

Cheaper to run this thing
than turn on the heater. 

It is 36 degrees outdoors. 

With Marty out of work, we've cut back here and there. Right now that means I'm not turning on the heat. You see, for whatever reason, our gas bill is always higher in the winter than our electric is in the summer. That is, it costs more to heat the house when it is cold outside than to cool the house when it is warm outside. As much as I would prefer a comfy 68 degrees inside, we have space heaters, blankets and sweatshirts. 

Looking at this week's forecast, I might change my mind about the heater. But so far, we are just bundling up.  

Thanksgiving Week

I am currently housesitting for my real estate pal and former boss, Tessa, who is on her way over the river and through the woods. As I write this, one of her puppies is jumping, trying to get my attention. After all, Mama is gone and I am to take pity on the poor pooch and shower her with all sorts of affection--the way I've done for the past several hours. It is nice to have a quiet place to sit and enjoy myself for a few days. I appreciate having this time to introvert. 

The reason I am housesitting is because Tessa's regular housesitter is Polly, who happens to be five states away right now, hanging out with Sherman's family. According to the text she deigned to send me, the Sherman's are all "nice." And she is having a "good time." Oh, and she isn't crazy about Birmingham Alabama, which is where they stopped at some point during their road trip for whatever reason--but they aren't there now. Nonetheless, I can tell she's happy. And that makes me happy.

All this is to say, we held our Thanksgiving this past Saturday before Polly and Sherman took off. The turkey was tasty. The deviled eggs did NOT have sweet pickle relish in them. And there was a lot of laughing and gratitude aplenty around the table. But inside, I was a teensy bit sad. This might be one of the last times I have both my children at home for a holiday meal for a long while. Please understand, I'm not making premature plans or expecting some grand announcement from Polly. Buck has his own designs on his next life steps as well. Both are ready to spread their wings in whatever direction life is sending them, as they should be at their ages. 

Yesterday, the Sunshines went over to the Church of Christ their annual Thanksgiving chili dinner and "devotional service." To be fair, we didn't attend the meal because it was free--though that was a nice perk (no jobs currently on the horizon). Buck, who has been diligently attending the Church of Christ for the past year, ate with his friends. Marty (who knows a few folks and has come on occasion) ate with me and several Coronas. And then Buck ducked out and avoided the entire "devotional service." 

Unfortunately, I didn't adequately prepare Marty for what a "devotional service" might include (because I didn't know). So, we hung out for an hour, letting our food digest while the members of the congregation sang about 487 a capella hymns. The odds of getting Marty to go to another Church of Christ event are probably low at this point, but even he agrees that these are some of the nicest and most positive folks he's ever met. 

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'm going to leave Tessa's puppies for a while and head the three miles back to Arizona Avenue to hang with Marty and Buck. We'd bandied around the idea of splurging by going to the local IHOP for a holiday pancake meal. Marty and I also discussed taking Buck to Shreveport to an exceptional a really good a decent Mexican restaurant we'd discovered. However, in the end we decided we'd get a pizza, play cards, send weird texts to Polly, and be grateful our lives are good--after all, that's what the day is about. 

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. 

Even the Puppies

When taking my walk around Wake Village yesterday, I kept seeing tables in folks' front yards with food on them. When I say "food," I mean bags of pasta, cans of whatever, boxes of cereal, etc. I must have passed about six or seven before curiosity got the better of me. So, I stopped by one of these tables, to find a note which said, "If you need something, please help yourself."  

One of many I passed. 

And then I found this in someone's front yard.  

The Sun is Shining

For the second time in almost four years, Marty has a play date.  He's getting out of the house! He's hanging with someone. Alone. Without me. Without the young adults. He is making a friend! Or maybe two!

This friend is Corona Gail's husband, who is one of the most gregarious and friendly people I know. In better circumstances (like Marty wasn't in an oppressively horrible job), Marty's personality matches Mr. Gail's perfectly. That's probably why the two of them hit it off a while ago. When Marty lost his job, Mr. Gail reached out and invited him out to Whataburger. 

The day they got together, Marty was gone for hours. For days afterwards, he talked of nothing else but his breakfast with his new pal. The kids and I elbowed each other in disbelief. "Dad's smiling," one whispered to me. "I know!" I whispered back. The next time I saw Corona Gail I mentioned Marty had a blast. Turns out, Mr. Gail had a blast too. 

Today, the two are doing it again. This time, Marty reached out. They are meeting at the donut shop. Marty suggested Mr. Gail bring another friend along, who happens to be a mutual acquaintance of the Sunshine's. In honor of Marty's second play date, I made mini loaves of pumpkin bread this morning for him to bring to his pals. 

At the moment, I don't know who is more psyched. Me or him. 

I'm Bringing Guacamole and Chips

I got a text from Corona-Krissy this past Wednesday. "Mini Corona night Friday at Debs." Squee! Mini Corona code for "not everyone is invited" and to keep this bit o' news to myself. 

Here's how Mini night works: One approaches Deb, asks if she'd be willing to house a few Coronas. Deb says "pick the menu and the invite list" and Poof! A Mini Corona night is born. I've approached her myself a couple of times for a Mini night. I know others have as well. I also know I don't always make the cut when others ask for a Mini night. But I'm grateful when I'm invited. 

Mini nights came about because the Corona group now has 16 members. And with 16 women, personalities can be (ahem) diverse. Some in the group are super-competitive when it comes to card games and play by prison rules. Others are more docile and get their feelings hurt when they lose too much. And there are others who talk ALLTHETIME and throughout the game. 

And then there's the newest Corona who does not like me in the least. That's okay, I'm not a fan of hers either. But she's a close relative to another Corona. After selling real estate for a million years, I know how to be super polite to people who detest me. She'll either hang herself eventually or come around. Bless her heart. 

Anyway, Krissy is hosting a Mini night this week. I'm excited to be invited. I'm excited to get out of the house. It is fun to be around positive folks (and Little Miss Hatesme who will also be there). There's always laughter and great conversation. 

A Day in the Life

While jaywalking downtown the other day, I was almost hit. The car stopped, and the driver rolled down the window. I turned around to apologize--as I was obviously in the wrong--and there was my pal and fellow Master Gardener, Jon, saying hello. We caught up in the middle of Broad Street for a moment before deciding we could finish our chat at the next Master Gardener meeting. 

I'm not sure I've ever almost randomly been runover by someone I know before. And how cool is it that within the four years I've lived here, I've met enough people to know the fellow who almost caused my demise!

Kindness

I'm just blown away. Over on the ol'e Facebook, someone posted asking where she could find a meal for one on Thanksgiving--as in what restaurants are open. Of the 109 comments, about 95 of them were local folks opening their home to this woman. Most of the comments were like this: 

You can come by & eat with me if you’d like.. There’s always plenty of food 

or

 I am disabled can barely move but I would have you over for dinner anytime   

or 

You are welcome to join us

or 

Come eat with us! I messaged you my number. 

A Messy Life

I don't even know where
Roosy's partner in crime
was at that moment.
 

It is almost 5 a.m. Later this morning, I will drive over to to Her Royal Majesty, Deb, the Queen of everything and the boss of me, and go with her to Little Rock. During our two hour drive, she will drill me incessantly as to why I've been standoffish. I really haven't. Mostly. But being from the South, where one's business is EVERYONE'S business, she doesn't see the thin line between introverting and standoffish. 

What I have been doing is other stuff. For example, edits. They take a long time--even longer when one is distracted by hyper-active scheming kittens, Luna and three other adults living under the same 1500 square feet as me. Plus, I have other things I do. Like... well... laundry and going for three-mile walks around Wake Village to find respite from the additional 18 legs in my home. And truly, I'm not very good company when I am in the middle of edits and life at the Sunshine house is a bit jumbled.

All of the above is not to say we are in some sort of malaise. Not really. But I'm not great company. Who wants to hear how things are not Instagram-quality wonderful? Our lives are in flux with a lot of uncertainties. The young adults are at crossroads (and one's chronic disease is out of remission). It sounds like one big complaint, but it isn't. It is just life. Life happens. Right now life is raining down on us. We are handling it with humor and resilience, but our challenges aren't interesting. Heck! I don't even want to call Bonus Dad and tell him about this. 

None of this will satisfy Deb--who has a genuine love and affection for me and my family. My goal is to get her talking about something else. Southern holiday menus come to mind. Me: "Tell me? Why are deviled eggs around these parts made with sugar?" I can already hear her saying, "What do you mean? You DON'T make them with sugar?"  Nope. Ew. Gross. 

Maritime Memories

 

One of my most treasured memories with Bonus Dad is touring small Michigan towns, looking for maritime museums. Generally, these towns consisted of a stop sign, a Subway (where we'd get a sandwich), and maybe a gas station. Oh yes! We were always on the lookout for an ice cream shop. Small Michigan towns know how to do ice cream right. 

The museums tended to be one room set-ups inside the local chamber of commerce with paraphernalia about ships sailing along Lakes Huron, Michigan or Superior--depending upon which town we stumbled into. For a token cover fee, visitors had the honor of spending anywhere from twenty minutes to an afternoon learning about the natural resources shipped from the area, the local sailors or any ships that might have launched or sunk nearby. And let me tell you! There are a lot of shipwrecks in the Great Lakes. 

Our last outing took us up to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan at the tippy top of the state. That day, we watched the locks where the freighters on Lake Superior transitioned into Lake Huron. Bonus Dad, an engineer by vocation, explained all mechanical ins and out to me. Afterwards, we found our way to the granddaddy of all maritime museums: The Valley Camp, a large freighter, sitting next to in Lake Superior.  

In this particular museum, we stumbled across the lifeboat from the Edmund Fitzgerald. Because Mr. Lightfoot memorialized the Fitz in his song, it is likely the most famous shipwreck. It is also one of the most recent shipwrecks on the Great Lakes. 

Today marks the 50th Anniversary of the sinking of the Fitz. The entire crew was lost. Most of the wreckage is still in the bottom of Lake Superior, 500 feet from the surface. 

As a desert girl, I really didn't understand until Bonus Dad and I spent those summers exploring Michigan the role the shipping industry plays in the Great Lakes. I encourage you, if you have a bit of time, find a quick rabbit hole and read about Michigan's maritime history.  

A Happy Problem

5 bed, 2 bath, 1300 square feet.
Much more than $1500 a month. 
But it has a fenced yard for Luna.

 Marty got a call last week from someone in the human resources department. The gist is he has a promise to possibly have an interview at some unknown time and date. This particular job is located not in Texarkana and the HR person told him this would not be a remote position. She wanted to know if that would that be a problem? Given a potential possible interview which might possibly lead to a potential job sounds better than unemployment, Marty gave the party answer of, "That sounds find to me." 

And it more or less is fine. 

However, Marty is under the impression the housing market is coasting in 1998 prices. He is (currently) adamant he will not be burdened by a mortgage and will rent if he has to. That's fine. It won't take him long to figure out paying a landlord's mortgage isn't the best use for our money. Marty is also adamant that he won't pay $1500 a month for rent. And from what I can see, he won't. He'll be paying much more than that. Even the rents in the questionable neighborhoods of this new city seem to align with the rest of the United States. 

Heck, even Texarkana rents are higher than $1500 a month!

Of course, there are several reasons to rent when one moves to a new city. One being to get to know where one wants to live. When we moved to Texarkana, there were as many houses for rent as there were to buy (about three). Plus, there wasn't much city to choose from anyway. 

But this new city has a population five times as large as Texarkana Texas, so there are more properties available--or hopefully will be more properties available. That is, if Marty gets his potential interview, passes muster, gets his second interview and then is offered a job.  

Those are all future-me problems. Right now I'm just keeping my housing search to myself. 

   

One More Thing About Election Day

This wouldn't be allowed in the voting room.

Look, I don't care who you are voting for. I don't gauge my friendships based on their political or religious affiliations. Be you! However, when I'm working the elections, I need you to follow the rules. You know what? When anyone is working the elections, they need you to follow the rules. 

So, if you come in with a hat sporting the slogan, "Happy Days Are Here Again" or "A Square Deal"* or ANY OTHER CAMPAIGN SLOGAN FOUND ON A RED BALL CAP IN 2025, the person working at the voting place is going to insist you take off your hat, even if your candidate isn't on the ballot. And instead of giving the poor election worker who is not paid enough to smell your stinky breath while you go off spouting about how you are being unfairly called out and your First Amendment rights denied, just take off the damn hat because you aren't going to win this fight. Okay? 

You see, there's this thing called, "electioneering." And essentially it goes like this: if someone sees your red hat they might feel like you are trying to influence their vote. They may feel like they are being threatened if they don't vote the way you want them to. So, in order to keep our elections free and fair, the powers that be at the federal level have said the hat (and any other merch) must be covered up or removed prior to entering the voting location. 

The one self-righteous jerk who gave me an earful last week still didn't get his ballot until his hat was removed. If he is unhappy he can call the Texas Secretary of State's office and can take up his beef with Ms. Nelson in Austin.

So please, just do us all a favor. We have other voters to contend with. Don't make this a big deal. Just remove the merch. You aren't fooling anyone. Plus we are all on Team America.  

Probably the best (though poorly aged) slogan I found.
It wouldn't be allowed either.

*Political slogans attributed to F. Roosevelt's 1932 Presidential campaign and T. Roosevelt's 1904 Presidential campaign.

On a quick side note, Buckaroo named his cat, Roosevelt, after former President Theodore Roosevelt. I named Leon--just because the name Leon came to mind and Buck liked it. 

Ellie's Quilt

 

Corona Joan, my emotional support human and an overall wonderful person is a new Nana to her 5th grand. To celebrate, I made this quilt. It was the most technically difficult of any quilt I've made. Let me tell you, I spent a lot of quality time with my seam ripper matching those corners.  

A Reprieve

Since I've gotten involved in the whole voting process, the week before every election, I question my life choices. Why did I agree to repeatedly get up at 4:30 a.m., spend 14 hours at the local community center where the central HVAC is on the fritz, and deal with people. Though this election was no exception, this time I am glad I'll be getting a paycheck come December. 

The State of Texas held early voting for the past two weeks. Perhaps this election was covered in the local media? If so, I haven't seen any postcards, signs, billboards, or advertisements in real life or on a screen talking about what voters need to know. However, word is getting out. 

Where I worked the past few days has been steady. Most voters were wonderful. Several thanked us for what we are doing. Given there are four elections next year and Bowie County is already cajoling folks to come on board and work, these words of affirmation help my soul. 

We've also had our fair share of Karens. There was the woman who complained she had to "walk too far" because the city community center happened to be holding pickleball and a health fair at the same time she came into vote. When she didn't get the response she was looking for, she informed me she would be talking to the city councilman about this issue. Hopefully the thought bubble above my head didn't match my face.  

Another woman was so downright nasty to our Presiding Judge when the technology picked that moment to run slow--as if it were his fault! "What's taking so long?" "Are you really this incompetent?" He handled it better than I would have. I am not Southern. I don't have a "bless your heart" chambered for those occasions.

And then there was the Karen who called the election office turning in one of the clerks (I'm pretty sure it was me) for asking her to re-sign for her ballot. She had a common name and her signature did not match at all. Maybe it's just me, but I would want someone to check my signature if I'm voting--especially if I have a common name--to make sure my ballot isn't given to another. What if I came in then and found out I'd already voted and was denied a ballot because it went to someone else? This has happened and it is why we check signatures! You know, voter integrity. 

This weekend, I'm catching up on everything I haven't done in the past two days because Tuesday is election day. Monday is set up the voting equipment day. 

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.