Random (Unpleasant) Texarkana

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

I want to go home. 

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

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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. 

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

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

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

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

*A fancy name for social anxiety.  

The Tale of Two Polite Churches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Fledglings

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

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

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

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

 

Windshield Wiper Update

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

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

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

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

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

Nope, Because Nancy Isn't a Crazy Weirdo

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

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

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

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

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

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

Update

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

And, the drive wasn't too bad. 

He's a Good Driver

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

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

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

I'm Not Making This Up

 On the ol'e Facebook: 

Sewing Gratitudes

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

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

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

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

A going away table runner for Corona Ginny.

A birthday present for a shut-in neighbor.

This is a Problem

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

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

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

The Rules*

Corona Bylaws

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

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

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

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

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

Pollywog

 This one turns 25 today. 

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

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

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

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

My Day With Buck

Buck walking into campus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've been up two hours

 How it started

How it's going

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Booyah!

 

The cover concept includes a sunflower. daisy.

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

My manuscript is done! The Redeemed. 

It's off for editing. 

And then rewrites. 

And then copy editing. 

And then rewrites. 

And then proofreading. 

And then rewrites. 

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

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