The Last Couple of Days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Road Trip

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

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

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

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

There's No Privacy in the South

I did it to myself. I know it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pressure

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

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

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

Wake Up Call

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

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

 

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

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

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

For example:

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

Eight will respond with some version of "no." 

Three will say "yes." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Random Texarkana

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

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

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

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

_______

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

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

Thawing

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

Winter's Wicked Game

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

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

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

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

Winter is Coming (Maybe)

 

Texarkana Today

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

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

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

Florida Today

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

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

Namiste

The Crow.
Don't try this at home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The After Picture

 Buckaroo approved.