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.