On the Road to Damascus

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It happened Monday." I replied. 

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

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

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

 

Gratitude

Let me paraphrase Thomas Fuller for a quick sec. September came in like a lion. May it go out like a lamb. 

My mom is healing. Marty Sunshine is happy like I haven't seen him happy in years. 

I'm going to take a moment and enjoy this. 

Mom Non-Drama

Word from Darwin is Mom's brain tumor is benign. However it is inoperable. For now, the doctors are  "watching it"--which I find maddening. She will have another MRI in three months. Additionally, she's had a bout of unrelated Bell's Palsy, which has caused the facial drooping. Darwin said it is clearing up on its own. He also told me she's maneuvering really well with the walker and/or cane while her broken knee cap heals. She will be going home "late next week." 

According to Mom, she's having a monthly MRI to evaluate the tumor. She's walking really well and she's going home Friday. 

Let the Adventure Begin

Marty went to the office this morning around 8 a.m. and arrived home less than a half hour later. He's been the happiest I've seen him in a long time. 

Though we didn't expect unemployment news for a few weeks, this past weekend, we made a Walmart pantry run, stocking up on pet food, peanut butter, rice and and salsa. We also went to the Shreveport Sam's Club because it has a wider selection of items and picked up a bit of meat. With the freezer bulging--it was pretty empty--and the garden's harvest, we are set for a while. 

The Young Adults are looking at Marty's glee with a jaundiced eye. Given Marty and I grew up dirt poor, this isn't too scary for us. Our bills are minimal. Our luxuries are small. I passed on getting my hair colored this morning, opting for the gray to sparkle through. And I doubt I'll be hanging out with the Thursday Lunch Bunch for the next few weeks (if I go, someone will insist on buying my lunch when word gets out and I'm not up for charity). However, Marty told me not to cancel my Branson meet-up with Bliz planned for later this month. But this will be my last trip for a while. 

Meanwhile, Marty is on fire. With the idea of keeping the house and letting the Young Adults hang out here for the next few months while their lives shake out, he's dumping his resume everywhere. Florida where Uncle Sunshine lives? Why not. Arizona? Possibly. Little Rock? Actually, it's a nice city. As an acquiesce to me he's even looking in the cities of Saginaw and Midland Michigan--though I'd prefer he waited until the spring thaw to search that area. And yes, Texas is an option too, but maybe not El Paso please. Of course, Texarkana is on the table and if a job shows up here, that would make the most sense. 

Saturday Harvest

Every Saturday, Marty and I pick the okra. Every single one of them. The following week we pick them again, marveling at how huge they grow in one week. I'm not a fan of okra. There are a few grape tomatoes and a regular tomato in the basket too. 

Marty's Job

Whelp, it's been an interesting time at the O'le Sunshine Manor. Not gonna lie. I bought a mouth guard because I began grinding my teeth. In addition to Mom's issue, there's been another bit of chaos closer to home. 

Marty's company is in trouble. Bigly. He and I discussed it in length during our drive to Florida last summer, so the announcement didn't come as a surprise. However, the company started Hail Mary maneuvers in the past couple of weeks. This week, the Powers That Be actually let Marty and his teammates in on their woes. I heard everyone acted completely astonished--"acted" being the appropriate word here. 

In the interest of cost-saving, the company is now is plucking employees from their desk and escorting them to the door. And even if the company makes a dramatic come-back, Marty's been told to expect to be unemployed "shortly," but hasn't been given a date, What does this mean for us? No idea. We intended to drive to Dallas yesterday to buy a car, but that is now on hold. So, there's that. Our financial advisor gave us advice, which is rather promising, but doesn't change the fact Marty will be looking for work. And yes, Marty's resume is everywhere. 

By the way, Marty is in good spirits about this change. To him, the company is the Titanic and they've given him a lifeboat. As I've pointed out, this job has become soul-crushing. The more the company struggles, the more dictator-type rules come into place. Recently, Marty, though salaried, was directed to clock out before leaving his desk to walk to the company kitchen to grab a drink of water. And don't get me started on the arbitrary rule put into place which made Marty have to work on his vacation.   

I'm not sharing this with the folks in Texarkana because 1) this is a local company and if the business isn't sharing their news, it isn't up to me to let the cat out of the bag and 2) someone might figure out if Marty doesn't have a job with his current company and if Texarkana doesn't have a lot of computer-type positions available we might not be staying--which I already knew but they don't. If this is the case, I'll cross that emotional bridge when I come to it. 

Meanwhile, to assuage the Young Adult's fears, we came up with this. I picked the 19th. Marty picked the 30th. Polly picked the 15th. Buck hasn't picked just yet. 

Mom Drama

In addition to the spot on Mom's brain which hasn't been diagnosed (but Mom swears is benign, and why not?), last week, she walked into a store and face planted into the concrete breaking her knee. She spent five days in the hospital and is currently in a rehab facility. My brother, Darwin, is flying in tonight to visit for the weekend. He hoped Squirrel or I would join him in Nowhere Vermont, but alas, he's on his own. 

Mom is in good spirits. After a week she's walking with some help. She doesn't expect to be in the rehab facility too long. And she promises she isn't being a complete jerk to the staff. If she is, Darwin will will straighten that out. 

Darwin--bless him--is also going to Mom's neurology appointment next week so we can have some accurate information and get an idea of what her treatment plan might be. 

Still Holding Out

Sydney Jean, my 2014 Rav4, hasn't hit the mark just yet. She has 700 miles to go. 

The "Win Big" prize is now a family meal with the rest of the Sunshine family. The winner gets to pick the restaurant and the rest of us can't complain. Buck is promising McDonalds or a Japanese Steak House (None of us know where we'd find one). Polly said she's picking Verona--the fancy Italian restaurant in town where lunch will cost us $175 but it will cost the restaurant $15 in ingredients. I think if I win, we are getting Wingstop and staying home and playing Uno. 

Studying

 

Buckaroo is fortunate enough to have a study partner. 

Roosevelt and Buck

Finn vs. Hempstead

Picture was taken from their Web site, because Marty didn't take pictures of the court proceedings. Not that we really could, because there was zero electricity in the courtroom and our only source of light was 8 oil lamps. Did I mention it is DARK at night? 

Last Saturday night, Marty and I attended a reenactment of the 1856 Arkansas trial of Finn vs. Hempstead (Hempstead County, Arkansas). It was an absolute blast! The dinner theater was held at the Historic Washington State Park, which is about 40 miles from here. 

The town of Old Washington, Arkansas became the de facto state capital during the Civil War when the North took over Little Rock. Fast-forward 150+ years, the State of Arkansas turned the town into a state park. The buildings still exist--several are in use, including the museum-courthouse, tavern and blacksmith shop (ever watch "Forged in Fire" on the History Channel?). Of note, the world's oldest magnolia tree is also in residence and that girl is about 200 years old and still blooms. 

Back to Saturday night. 

This trial by jury event the park runs is so popular, people come from all over. We sat with three delightful folks from Little Rock. A family of 20 from Houston showed up as well. All together, there were about 60 of us who met at the tavern for either a pork loin or chicken fricassee dinner. Both meals came with a "pie" that someone at our table dubbed "chocolate fricassee," because nobody we dined with knew exactly what either the chicken dish or the pie-thing was. By the way, there's a misleading picture of this pie-thing on the Old Washington Historic Park Facebook page. Knock yourself out. 

After dinner, we all convened at the courthouse--which I should point out, one does not walk to from the tavern because Historic Washington State is DARK when the sun goes down because electricity wasn't invented in 1856. But, we didn't think about that when we journeyed the 1/2 mile over to walk off our chocolate fricassee.  

During dinner, the jury summons went out and wouldn't you know? I ended up on the mock jury for this mock trial. I was met at the courthouse by the sheriff, donned in his best 1856 attire, who escorted me to the jury bench to be seated with 11 of my closest peers. All the characters in the trial wore appropriate costumes and stayed in character, even when an audience member from Houston-faction needed assistance with the back door.   

The case was interesting. Mr. Finn hand-wrote a will for Mr. Crosby to sign on his deathbed in 1851. Finn selected his two witnesses. Additionally, he scurried out other folks who happened to be at Crosby's house at the time of the signing, ensuring nobody advocated for Crosby. One of the will's "witnesses" testified he didn't actually didn't see Crosby sign. He'd shown up late to the party because he'd been at the tavern. Plus, all those who testified divulged Crosby had been delusional that day, talking about yellow butterflies, green squirrels and leprechauns. As a jury, we were to decide was Cosby in his right mind at the time the will was signed and was the will valid?

Let me just say, everyone is entitled to their opinion. Even on a jury. 

But there's always one %^@*&^*($&@^* attention-seeking Karen. Our jury's Karen asserted a handwriting analysis needed to be done on the will. Oh yes, a doctor needed to certify Crosby was truly delusional because the three witnesses separately saying under oath the guy had imaginary friends and wanted to slide down rainbows didn't constitute a medical diagnosis. Additionally, it wasn't "fair" to the Finn family to lose all that money five years after Crosby died. 

However, the frustrating part for me was that Karen wouldn't go along with the idea that this was a performance. We were part of the show. The first rule of improv is to go along--not that any of this was truly brought up during our sequestering, but come on! Read the room! 

Whatever. 

A juror is allowed to have their own opinion. 

After ten minutes of deliberation, Karen doubled down and we were a hung jury. Yes, I know that in a civil trial only a majority is needed to render a verdict. This fell on deaf ears, as the actors had their own agenda. Incidentally, the real Finn vs. Hempstead case went to the Arkansas Supreme Court. It turns out, 11 of us had a similar opinion as the Supreme Court and didn't really care how "fair" it was for the Finn family. 

Official-ish Jury Summons