Small and Meaningful

Small and Meaningful

The decision has been made and I'm outvoted. We will eventually be moving. Most around here don't know this, but if anyone is paying attention, they can see the small and meaningful actions being taken to for our home to be put on the market.

Where are we going? Don't know. More on that later. 

Anyway, back to small and meaningful actions. Yesterday, Marty and I tackled more of the front yard. Before you smirk, please understand, revamping the front yard is a massive undertaking. So far, we've reseeded the grass and added a flowerbed in the side yard. And now we've managed to rebuild the bed on the North side of the front yard. The one in front of Buck's room. The flowerbed was covered in wild strawberries, dandelion, burweed and--Heaven help me--green briar. For those who aren't familiar with green briar, it is an unpleasant pokey plant that grows 1,000 feet per second. And it takes over whatever it wants to take over. Essentially, it is the Leon of plants. 

Speaking of Leon, while we were working in the front, Marty turned around and found Leon behind him in the grass, hanging out, and staring at at us. When the cat realized he'd been caught outside, he just sat down, purred, and waited for Marty to bring him back inside.

Anyway, significant progress was made on the front flower bed. Eventually I'll add flowers. But right now I'm happy the weeds are gone. We still need to tackle the rest of the front flower beds, but that has to wait until April, when we have money again. 

Before.
Lots o' weeds. 
Note the rusted trellis with the sunflower hanging from it. 

     

After. There's lawn on the grass side of the castle rock. I promise.
It looks better than the picture suggests. 
Oh, and notice Luna.  

 

Remember the rusted trellis? 

Still needs to dry and a
few details will be added before it goes back up. 

Leon's New Hobby

Leon likes to binge watch YouTube. He prefers birds over fish and butterflies. 

Jobbing

A vintage ballot box from the
Rosenberg Library Museum.

Currently, I'm the bread-winner in the Sunshine household. I keep telling Marty I'm supporting him in the fashion he's used to--mind you he grew up one of seven in a one bath, single-wide located in the middle of the desert.

Anyway, I've been hired to help with the Bowie County primary recount. My gig is for two days and pays slightly more than minimum wage. We take a sealed ballot box, unseal it, empty it, sort the ballots into political party and then hand count several of the races. 

Several of us sit in a locked (from the outside) room. There are three at each table. We are given a specific race to audit--like dogcatcher. One person selects a ballot. Calls out the name on the ballot ("Jones"), a second person marks a tally mark next to Jones on their sheet. The third person watches the entire process making sure the person calling out the name and the other who marked the sheet do it correctly. Lather, rinse, repeat. The goal is for our count to match the count that came out on election day. Today our table recounted more than 1,200 ballots in five races. 

Though tedious, I'm working with great folks and the day flew. However, I let it slip I won't be working in the polling places for the next election. I've been told there will be "methods" to change my mind. I offered to work behind the scenes (if I'm available) but the polling place? Nah... 

Someone asked me if I was "afraid" to work the November election. Another woman pointed to me and said, "Not her. The voters are afraid of crossing THAT Yankee." No. I'm not afraid of voters. The voters are great. It is fair to say I have zero interest in standing up for 18 hours and working with an unpleasant co-judge. 

In other news, Marty has been contacted for a potential job. The kind of job that comes with benefits. That doesn't mean an interview but it means a company has told him they are interested in maybe, potentially, possibly talking to him sometime in the near future. Perhaps. Nobody here is holding their breath. But it is nice that someone noticed Marty's talents. 

Around the World in 36 Hours

The Eiffel Tower in Paris Texas

This past week, Marty and I went on a road trip. We went to Dallas, Paris, Reno, Detroit and Boston.* And, we didn't leave Texas. By the way, taking the back roads took no longer in time and distance than taking the Interstate.

Sadly, we didn't make it to Athens, Carthage or Naples. We don't even have to go go as far to see these three places! 

While in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, in addition to buying groceries, checking out an 1860s historic village in McKinney TX and shoe shopping (a bust), we bought a new-to-us car. Marty named it "Stebbins"** because he's is a big believer in unfortunate nicknames. 

*If I understand the lore correctly, Boston is actually a suburb of New Boston. At one time, the area was once made up of Boston, Old Boston and New Boston Texas. Currently, New Boston gets most of the fame and glory, but "Boston," exists within the boundaries of New Boston somewhere. 

**Marty is insisting you know that the car is named after Purley Stebbins from Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe mysteries we both love.  

Tacky. Even in Texas

This past weekend I went to a gender reveal party for Polly's pal, Margo and Margo's husband, Ralph. I hadn't met Ralph before this weekend. But I'd heard a lot about him from various folks who aren't Polly. 

This shin-dig was held in the local Baptist church's all purpose room. I'd like to point out, the attendance included about 30 folk in ages ranging from 6 months to 90, with the younger set playing tag and running around throughout out the room. 

To find out what Margo's latest bundle o'joy was going to be, Ralph was to shoot a toy arrow into a balloon. The balloon was against the wall. He missed from four feet away. So, what did he do? Something reasonable you say, you know... like reshoot the arrow? Nope. Ralph pulled out his firearm and began waving it around.* 

Now then, this isn't a second amendment conversation. This is a: "Don't be a dumbass, it's just a balloon and we can wait until the baby's born if you can't find a reasonable way to let the rest of us know if you are having a boy or a girl," chat. Or if you prefer: "Obviously your frontal lobe isn't fully developed and why are you breeding?" talk. However, Sherman summed it up for the rest of us when he barked: "Put your weapon away!" In the end, someone handed Ralph a knife and he managed to successfully neutralize the balloon to convey they are having another boy. 

I commented to Sherman that I'm apparently a fuddy-duddy and would have been perfectly fine to have just read the news on Facebook. Sherman thought that would have been a better solution than spending an afternoon playing baby bingo. I knew I liked Sherman, but I'm not so sure I'm a fan of Ralph. 

*Even though I am certain it was loaded, at no time did I feel in danger and I don't feel like anyone else felt like it either. Ralph just looked like a fool who doesn't respect his firearm. 

My Latest Catch Phrase

The only phrase I seem capable of uttering in answer to anyone's questions these days is, "I don't know." 

Anyone: "How's Marty's job search?"

Me: "I don't know." 

I do know. The recruiter he spoke with said his resume makes him look, "old." Which is true but there's no way to hide 35 years at the same company. The same recruiter said he gets around one hundred resumes a day from folks who've been replaced by AI--just like Marty. In addition, the Nation's job's numbers just came out, they stink.  

Anyone: "What are you going to do if Marty doesn't get a job?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

The truth is, I do know. It's complicated and we aren't ready to reveal our plan because there are many moving parts that spark more questions and unknowns. I can summarize it by saying I suspect I won't be living Texarkana by September. I guarantee I won't be moving to Yoakum, Texas.  

Anyone: "Has Sherman picked a law school?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

I know Sherman has options. He has to make a decision by the end of the month. He will be gone by July. 

Anyone: "What's going on with Polly and Sherman?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

This is half-true. I have enough life experience to interpret what I'm seeing and hearing. But it isn't my relationship and I'd rather be adjacent than in the middle.  

Anyone: "How's Luna?'

Me: "I don't know." 

Luna is struggling. I've had to lift her onto the bed a couple of times because she isn't always capable of jumping. Other days, she is nuzzling Roosevelt or letting Leon attack her tail. 

Anyone: "How are you doing?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

I'm fine. Tired of being in a holding pattern. Tired of uncertainty. Tired of 20 legs at home all hours of the day. Tired of living without sunshine--I miss vitamin D and UV light--I really need these clouds outside and the ones in my life to go away. 

Yoakum Texas

Hello. And welcome to another edition of, "Are we desperate enough to move here?" 

Today's contestant is Yoakum Texas, which as the song points out, is "1,000 miles from nowhere," and I'd be willing to believe that is highly accurate.  

Seriously, when Marty told me about a job there, I looked up this place. If I agreed to move here--which, for the record, I won't--it is closer to Beeville Texas (Y'all remember Beeville???) than anywhere else. And that's still an hour away, along Texas backroads. It is also about smack-dab between Houston and San Antonio, but to get to either place also requires navigating back Texas roads for a longer amount of time.  

A few details about the (I'm sure) charming metropolis of Yoakum. The population is hovering around 5000, but smaller than Wake Village, TX. There's a Catholic church. And it appears Yoakum is ambitious, because there is a "College Drive," but alas, no institute of higher learning. Lately I've raised the bar on my qualifications for any small Texas town to be in the running as a future Sunshine home. One of them is it must have more than one Dollar General. Bummer. There's just the single location. 

Let's talk about medical for a moment. There is a hospital. Honestly, it looks like a repurposed Baptist church. 

Welcome to Yoakum General Hospital,
where they'll save your life or your soul. 

 But that's not what exactly got me. While searching around, I found this article: Here's How to Spend the Night in a Haunted Texas Hospital.  You're welcome. 

Now then, I'm certain Yoakum has charm. After all, according to the Internet, Yoakum is rooted in deep history. Named after Benjamin Yoakum, the town was formed in 1887. Several notable people claim to be from Yoakum, but they've all fled. 

I told Marty when he mentioned this place, if he felt like he needed to take a job there, fine. I'd be listing our modest Wake Village ranch home for $2 million and stay here and wait for it to sell.  

Random Texarkana

I found out today, as a Texas resident, I can join the Houston Public Library system for free! I am so thrilled! As a resident of Wake Village, I can pay $20 a year to use the Texarkana Library--which has a limited selection of reasonable reading and listening material. This is a game changer! 

_____

Last week I went on a little road trip with Tessa, who needed to get her car serviced. The closest dealership for her car was in Dallas. Marty has new-to-us car fever and wanted a play by play on every vehicle I "looked at" while at the dealership. I saw a blue car and a black car. They both had air conditioning. Because I hate shopping, I invested more time buying my last toaster than I did looking at car's on Marty's behalf. 

By the way, I had a great time with Tessa, who understands I'm dealing with a bit o'cabin fever around here. 

Oh yes! Some time next week Marty and I are limping the minivan to Dallas to buy a new-to-us car. We were going to do this six months ago and decided to wait until Marty got a job. He doesn't have a job yet, but we are in serious need of transportation.   

____

Polly's bestie is having a gender reveal party this weekend. Polly is dragging Sherman along because he has yet to meet the bestie and her ginormous family. I was invited because I know the ginormous family (plus Polly's friend is very sweet). I like Sherman and offered to go as his emotional support human. I like Marty too and told him he could stay home and spend that time surfing Web sites of Dallas car dealerships. 

____

Weird small-town quirks that I just don't get. I get text messages from people our family knows asking if Buckaroo or Polly might be available to help out with something or another. These same people have both young adults' phone numbers, but instead of reaching out to them, they reach out to me--like I'm setting up a playdate on my offsprings' behalf. My adult children are responsible enough to manage their own schedules. 

This past week alone: Bob who owns the quilt shop asked me if Buck could help him move something. I remind Bob I don't know Buck's schedule. Deb, the Queen of the Coronas, asked me if Polly was available for an odd job. She then sent a second text asking if Buck was available for a different odd job. I know she has their number! The head of Bowie County elections sent a reminder text to me, because Buck and Marty* were expected at a meeting the next day. I responded with their phone numbers, saying, "just in case you need to let them know, here's there numbers." But he'd already sent a message to both of them. Sheesh! 

____

Now then, this bit of hypocrisy goes both ways. I once called a doctor Polly (who was 23 at the time) was seeing and I had zero affiliation with. I called and asked for Polly's prescription to be sent to a different pharmacy. They did it without questioning me or confirming with Polly. A few weeks ago I thought about starting our taxes. I needed Buck's interest statements from his investment account (he's a saver!). I just waltzed in to his investment guy's office, asked for it and explained to the receptionist I was Buck's mother and I was getting taxes taken care of. No questions asked. No calls to Buck to see if it was a problem. To be fair, Buck knew I was out running errands and I was heading there. He had his phone on standby in case someone needed Buck's authorization. Apparently they didn't. Try that in a big city. 

*Buck and Marty were hired by Bowie County to set up voting machines for this election. Buck has done it before. It's a real job with procedures and it pays better than being an election judge. I doubt anyone else's spouse was sent a reminder text for their hubby to "remember" to show up. Double sheesh! 

The Day After

We had eleven of these left
at the end of the night.

Yesterday was a long introvert-hell day. Not only did I have to interact pleasantly all that time, I stood from 6 a.m. to11:45 p.m., when I finally collapsed into the minivan at the New Boston* courthouse and let Marty drive me home. Though the polls closed at 7 (our last voter left at 7:45 p.m.), new election guidelines passed down from above say that every unused ballot must be counted at the courthouse. There are 25 precincts in Bowie County. And I got home earlier than most.  

Today, I'm brain dead. I ache from top to bottom. Even with my glasses on right now, my vision is blurry. My phone is off. I'm sitting at my desk, with headphones on, listening to nothing. This is recovery day. 

Our voter turnout was one of the best in the county. I hope I did my part to give them a great experience. That's what I'm committed to. Voters were mostly pleasant. The ones that weren't can live in their own karma. Very few had to be told to get off their phones. We had moms and dads who brought their littles with them to vote. I used to do that when my babies were small. And we had a couple of first-time voters  we celebrated and got the other voters to celebrate with us. 

As promised, Tish handled the paperwork--and I'm thrilled she did. She's good at it and I am not. My clerks were wonderful and good sports. As for Tish, my life will go on quite peacefully if I never work with her again. I wish her a beautiful life. 

I've enjoyed my time working at the polls. Even if I don't leave Texarkana, I think I'm done with elections for now. Perhaps I'll change my mind, someday when I'm willing to take my headphones off. 

Side note: nobody who recently changed their name had trouble voting. Nobody had to produce anything other than a state ID--though we took handgun licenses, passports and military ID. It wasn't a problem. So, no matter what you might hear on the news, please don't believe it. Nobody who was registered to vote was turned away. 

*Bowie County's county seat is New Boston, a town of 4,612--smaller than Wake Village in population, but much larger in land mass. It is 20 minutes either via back country roads or through the construction on I-30. I remind myself when I drive to New Boston, it would be like driving to Chandler or Queen Creek if I lived in Mesa, but with less traffic. Living here, it feels very far.

Primary Day

Today is election day here in Texas. I'm at a voting location having the time of my life. Probably. Maybe. Whatever. I'm working. Most likely this is my last Bowie County election. Even if Marty gets a job locally, I think I'm going to take a break after this election. Burnout is real. 

As a public service, may I just remind you to please leave your campaign slogan hats and shirts at home. Please your firearm in your car. And please!!!! (PLEASE!) Turn off your phone. No. Seriously. TURN OFF YOUR PHONE. 

We election workers are on the job for a fifteen hour day. We run on vending machine food and thank-yous.  So, give your election workers some love. We've been up since o'dark hundred. We don't care who you are voting for. We don't care about your opinion about the Little Miss Rice Patty candidates and why one is better than the other. We just want to check you in, give you a ballot and make the line move. 

And please, TURN OFF YOUR PHONE! 

Tish

Tomorrow is Primary Day in Texas. Once again, I'm working as a judge--though I've begged to be a clerk for years. My usual partner is Ms. Hattie. However, she's sitting this one out--probably at a beach somewhere. Instead, I'm working with Tish. And Tish is none too happy to be my co-judge. 

I've known Tish from the three years of working the elections. I've always liked working with her. A few weeks ago, I sent her a note, telling her I was happy we'd be working together. Tish's response was terse and she didn't mask her displeasure. I sat on her response for a while, letting it simmer. Maybe I read it wrong? Maybe I'm being sensitive? I read it again an hour later. Nope. It wasn't my imagination it was a bitchy and ugly response. 

So, I sent a note, saying if I've done something to offend her, it wasn't intentional. Additionally, I apologized for any misunderstandings. 

And then, Tish doubled down! I let it go. I have zero idea what I've done to upset her, but here we are. 

Now then, I'm no longer 12 years old and I don't expect everyone to like me. I'm totally okay with that. Given I attempted to make the relationship right, I truly feel I've done my part. I don't have an issue with Tish, and if she isn't telling me what I did to (unintentionally) slight her, I'm moving on and letting her live in her drama. 

For the record, I love-love-LOVE this part of adulting. Who knew the, "I don't give a jolly-darn" phase would be so rewarding! However, I don't want tension tomorrow. So, I've decided to let Tish be Tish and I will adjust accordingly. I can learn a lot from her and I get paid the same if she's happy I'm there or if she isn't happy I'm there. We have two clerks who will be there and don't need to work in a tense environment. Therefore, I've let Tish's drama go.

Today Tish and I set up the voting room. She was unfriendly and dismissive, the way a queen bee likes to be when they want to make a point. And trust me, I went to enough preteen slumber parties that I recognized the behaviors! I bit my lip so I didn't laugh at this 60+ year old woman who clearly has a bug lodged in her backside. But I have to tell you, I'm okay if I catch a one day flu and can't make it tomorrow.  

As we set up today, Tish announced she would be handling the election paperwork. I watched her face as she told me this, with her "cross this line and see what happens" face. However, for me, THIS WAS THE BEST NEWS EVER!!!! Ms. Hattie hates paperwork, and I've been stuck with it for the past several elections. So, what Tish wanted to use as some sort of alpha move is a true gift!  I even thanked her! My response was unexpected and I could tell Tish was surprised her proclamation didn't have the gut-punch she wanted.  

Hopefully we will be so busy tomorrow she will relax. If she doesn't, I'll just live rent-free in her head.  

My (Current) Last Master Gardener Meeting

Earlier this week, after a great deal of discernment, I'd made up my mind to put my master gardener membership on ice. What does that mean? I wouldn't pay my dues and I'm no longer a "certified" master gardener. If I re-join do I have to start over? I don't know. I haven't wanted to explore that yet. But I will.

It wasn't the dues money that made the decision. I can figure out how to scrape up $25 if I need to. The truth is, I'm distracted. Other aspects of life getting the best of us. And, I'm not my best self. I don't want do something else intentionally for the sake of doing it. I love the master gardener community. I love the education. But I don't want to commit to events three months down the line. I just don't. That's where I am. 

I went to Thursday's master gardener meeting as a way to "complete" my time. I wanted to say hello to everyone, one last time. Plus, our past-president had an interesting talk on worm gardening! Truly, a garden is about growing fertile soil and cultivating plants. Worms are good. Mostly. Good stuff. 

My pal, Joy, drove (I hadn't told her this would be my last meeting.) and we arrived a few minutes late. I found a seat in the back and settled in to learn about the different soil preferences between night crawlers and red wigglers. After the presentation, the treasurer stood up to give her report. Instead of her usual report saying, "this is how much money we have," she pointed to ME and waggled her finger. Calling me by name, she said to the group of thirty, "You haven't paid your dues. They are due now." 

I'm pleased to say living in the South for the past four years made a difference. I'm also pleased a bail go fund me wasn't needed because I did not throw out my real thoughts. I did say something along the lines of, "Unless you are going to wag your finger at everyone else and publicly call out the rest of those who haven't paid their dues, I suggest you move on." People laughed that uncomfortable laugh when they see something awkward. To her credit, the treasurer looked astonished, shut up and sat down. 

I know someone else would probably offer to pay my dues. I don't want that. Though it hadn't been about the money, the treasurer's lack of decorum sure did a number on my psyche. Marty's unemployment is taking its toll in many ways. However, I don't want sympathy or charity. I do want dignity. 

I sent a note this morning to our fearless leader. I told him the truth: I'm distracted. I asked how the reinstatement process works because I'd really like to revisit this if Marty decides we'll be staying in Texarkana.  

Azle Texas

We've passed the five month mark for Marty's unemployment. The vibe around here is serene--with the exception of the Overlords' daily escapades. Leon is currently addicted to breaking the rules by zooming outside and jumping into a small patch of poison ivy in the woods on the other side of our fence. But that's for another blog. 

Anyway, once again Marty has applied for another job in an obscure Texas town. Today's winner is Azle Texas. 

Azle Texas is in Tarrant and Parker counties. As someone who lives in an area that straddles two states, I can only imagine the logistics when it comes to managing the municipalities. The city boasts a population of 15000--which is roughly three times as large as Wake Village and two and a half times smaller than Texarkana Texas. However, Azle has the distinct honor of being on the outskirts of Fort Worth. Think of it like being in Gold Canyon, AZ and taking advantage of all that the Valley has to offer while living the small-town dream. So, as far as I'm concerned, though it doesn't have a beach attached, it is major league baseball and trader joe's adjacent and offers clean air.

After a quick dive, I'm seeing that Azle is separated from the Fort Worth area by two man-made lakes (Eagle Mountain--though I see zero mountains on the map--and some other lake that doesn't seem to have a name) and a nature preserve. I'd like to go out on a limb here and say perhaps the gators aren't this far West. Hopefully. 

Well crap. After another deep dive, it appears Eagle Mountain Lake has its fair share of alligators. 

Let's talk about crime. According to the bastion of truth, the internet, crime in Azle Texas is 18 crimes per 1,000 residents--slightly lower than Texarkana. Crime in Mesa AZ is 270 per 1,000 residents. Wake Village has about 10 crimes per 1,000 folks. 

The notable people list was not what I expected. Author James Reasoner stood out. He's written more than 150 books. Jon Shirley, president of Microsoft also came from Azle--but I'm not sure on this one. On Mr. Shirley's bio, it doesn't say anything about Texas. So, maybe he set foot in Azle, saw a gator and high-tailed out. Also of note: James Casey, tight end coach for the Cincinnati Bengals and General Jon T. Walker, World War 1 and II badass. 

As I write this, the company Marty sent his resume to has gotten back to him and asked for more information. Yawn. This happens often. Its a sign he's generated interest--most likely in this case the HR department (which I'm guessing consists of a clerk and decision maker) has glanced at his resume and decided if anyone is willing to apply to live in Azle they must be taken seriously. But it's a long way from getting excited. 

Azle has one Catholic church, a cowboy church (it's a thing!), Church of Christ and about 586 Baptist churches. The city has a Wal-mart and four Dollar Generals, a Target and movie theater are both in the next town about 10 miles away. Oh yes! The Trader Joe's is 20 miles from Azle. I could get used to that. 

Plants Plants Plants

My dues to the Master Gardener are overdue and I'm going to be kicked out come March 1. Marty says pay them--it's only $25. It isn't exactly about the money. I hate paying them and then Marty takes a job three days later in Lincoln Nebraska*. So, it's about the unknown. I hate being in flux. We all do. But I love the Master Gardener group. The people! The knowledge! Serving my community! 

Anyway all that is to say, I'm on the fence about the Master Gardener program. 

What the alyssums should
look like when they sprout.  

Yesterday, I spent the morning playing with plants. I have a garden around the outside of my greenhouse. Last year it was full of veggies. This year, I haven't mapped out what I want to plant. Honestly, if we are moving, I'd rather the greenhouse garden look attractive and inviting, so I'm thinking that garden will focus more on flowers. I did throw out a few seeds: daisies and alyssums. 

I also planted carrots and cut back the oregano and lemon balm that survived the freeze. I'm hesitant to plant lettuce because we can never eat it as quickly as it grows. There's a shade garden at one end of my yard which I'll get to later this week. I want flowers there too. Let me reprhase that. I want flowers to FINALLY grow there this year. 

Inside the greenhouse, I tended to my sprouts. So far I have one yellow squash plant sprouting. This is disturbing because I planted 8 of them. I also planted 8 zucchini plants. None of them are coming up. These seedlings aren't for me. They are for the Master Gardener sale next month. I know enough to know I cannot keep squash and zucchini alive. The bugs get my plants every year. 

I also replanted new tomato seeds. I have a few coming up, but the ones sprouting aren't the variety I wanted to eat. So, those will go to the plant sale and I have a few new ones for me. By the way, these will be in planters because if we move, I'm giving them to someone else. All my herbs are coming up. As are my cucumbers. I'll keep a plant or two and give the rest to the plant sale. 

Some of my seedlings. 

What I hope my hosta
will look like. 

I'm also experimenting with a few different plants. I want to try my hand at grafting, That's another reason why I have so many seedlings starting. And, I found some seeds I'd saved last year in a paper towel (I store these kinds of seeds in a baggie in the freezer). The paper towel got moldy so I planted the whole thing anyway. The mold won't hurt the soil (microbes!). I'm curious if the seeds are viable though.

Speaking of experiments. I planted a blue hosta. That one is in a pot because if I move, I'm taking it with me. Right now I'm on the lookout for a purple one as well. 

Most of my plants are outside right now. I moved them when we stopped getting under 40 degrees at night. However, I still have a couple that are inside. 

A repotted purslane or portulaca. The other one (I transplanted half of it) is outside, enjoying the weather. A pretty flowering plant that tastes great in salads. 

Corona Krissy gave me this. It is a purple heart plant (also called a wandering jew). Too heavy to move and because it's inside in the heat, it's blooming. I love this plant. 

And when I was finished yesterday, I generously sprinkled sulfur all over the greenhouse floor. Last year I found a snake in the greenhouse (you heard the shrieking, I'm sure). It was a garden snake and it slithered out a crack. Sulfur is supposed to deter snakes. It's warm enough now that they aren't hibernating. Hopefully I spread enough so any critters thinking of coming near the greenhouse will change their minds.  

*At this time Marty does not have any prospects in Lincoln Nebraska, nor do I think he's applied for a job in Lincoln. 

Ms. Daisy's Daisy Quilt

Pictures below.

Paramedic Bob called me earlier in the month. He owns the local quilt shop and once in a while Buckaroo does odd jobs for him. I help him out too--mainly by telling everyone where they can find quilting fabric in town. 

Anyway, several weeks ago, a delightful woman drove more than an hour from some small town in Nowhere Arkansas with quilt pieces her mother, Ms. Daisy, hand-sewed together in 1982. The delightful woman wanted someone to make this into a quilt. Bob didn't have time (did I mention in addition to owning a quilt shop he also saves lives?) so he called me. 

Bob and I looked at her quilt blocks--which we both will swear on a stack of Holy Bibles were shaped like rectangles when we first saw them. My best guess is the fabric was once probably once a sheet or a set of curtains Ms. Daisy cut and sewed into hexagons. She added the leftover outgrown clothes of her children to complete these blocks. I only mention this because the color palate Ms. Daisy used is not what is in fashion now and Bob didn't have any reasonable fabric to compliment this. However, we did our best. 

Anyway, I took the job. And then I figured out they weren't rectangles but smashed hexagons. I spent two weeks staring at these things, trying to figure out a pattern that might make a reasonable quilt. Please keep in mind: if you've seen a blanket, you might notice it has four sides. These blocks did not match that and if sewn normally, would render an unusual pattern that wouldn't translate into a rectangular quilt. 

After several renditions of ideas from waves to the abstract, Marty and I sat down with these things. He is the one who came up with the design. However, that didn't get me any closer to figuring out how to piece it together and ultimately make it into a rectangle. So, I spent another week staring at the whole thing until an idea formed. 

I then went to town tearing up my kitchen, piecing the whole thing together. No matter, we all like to stand up and hold our bowls while we eat. 

It took me two and a half weeks of thinking and a week of assembling to come up with my final design. Tonight I dropped it off with Bob, who will longarm quilt the whole thing. Then I have to bind it. But, overall, I think it came out pretty well. And also, a huge shout-out to Bob who donated the fabric and interface backing to this project. Bless him. 

For those who think "skill and craftmanship" went into this, I'd like to set the record straight. I've been sewing for less than four years. I've made about 12 quilts in the last three and a half years. It wasn't skill and craftmanship. It was a seam ripper and a vocabulary of a sailor. However, I learned so much!  And honestly, it was fun to make this. 

The paper model with far too much math involved. 
Modern quilts are assembled in blocks from multiples of four.
This 1982-era block was multiples of six, squeezed into a rectangle. I half-wonder if Ms. Daisy never made it into a quilt because she figured out she was putting hexagons into a square hole and said, "oops!" 

  

Not gonna lie, I was afraid to cut Ms. Daisy's pieces. They were very frail.
I added a backing to them to make them sturdy. 

This looks simple. It isn't. 

Missing from this picture: the ironing board we all walked around. And Luna, who liked to be underfoot when I was cutting. My sewing machine was set up in my bedroom and Marty had to walk around that when he wanted to get to his side of the room. 

Also, see the orange piece on the small table? EVERY PIECE OF MS. DAISY'S HAD THAT SCALLOPED EDGE. So, they all had to be cut. My heart ached cutting into the blocks.
What if I mis-cut and ruined her hand-sewn block? But it had to be done to make this work. Plus, I wasn't sewing scalloped edges.  

That can of air on the table was to deter Leon who thought it was great fun to jump up there and take off with random quilt pieces. 


Ta-Da! 

Bob has this now and is putting it on his longarm machine. The red patch in the middle was from one of the leftover blocks. I originally thought I'd use some of the leftover blocks and make the border. However, that looked too busy. After I put this red piece in I debated pulling it out. But the 44 year old fabric is so frail I was afraid if I pulled it out I'd make a bigger disaster. 

So, Bob is going to sew (with his longarm quilting machine) a heart there and put the letter "D" inside it (for Ms. Daisy). The design on the quilt will be daisies.  

We Didn't Find a Mixing Bowl. Yet.

Every couple of weeks, I drag Marty out of the house and insist he drive somewhere. Anywhere. I don't care. Just GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. After 5 months, the unemployment is taking its toll. He's still happy he took the Texarkana job in the first place. He's still happy he is no longer at his Texarkana job. But his happiness level is beginning to crack with the day-to-day outlook no better than it was during the fourth quarter of 2024. And let's face it, there's only so many videos of medicinal herbs, societal-breakdown, and boot reviews (with the influencer using a table saw to cut the boot in half) Marty can watch. And there's only so many reviews of said videos the rest of us want to listen to. 

Anyway, this week with the blessings of the young adults, Marty and I managed two excursions. The first one was to Fouke and Genoa. Both are little towns on the Arkansas side, which are more or less considered suburbs, but aren't. They are in the country. 

Our hairstylist is in Fouke. When I say she's in the middle of nowhere, it is an understatement. But yeah, she's in the middle of nowhere. 

Afterwards, I drug Marty to Genoa Arkansas, to Three Chicks, a feed store, with the promise that they had medicinal herb seeds (they did. I have cheaper sources.). Three Chicks also has a café with inexpensive lunches and I knew Marty needed to try this place. We also went out into the back patio and hung out with the chickens and goats for a bit. I took a few pictures and by a strange coincidence, the person I was going to send the pictures to, called me the next day.  

You know, life in rural Arkansas. I still get a kick out of how normal this is for folks around here.  

(Sorry forgot to send it) 

When one of the young adults came to me Wednesday night and mentioned that Marty NEEDED another round of "let's get him out of his head," I suggested we go to that fun-fun metropolis, Longview Texas! My reasoning was this: I need a mixing bowl to replace the one gravity took from me. It is part of a set. I'm scouring the thrift stores looking for a replacement bowl. Plus, Marty is into videos about boots and men's fashion so who knows! The Longview resale shops might be a win-win. 

I'll let you y'all sit with that a minute. Take your time. And yes, he still only wears Hawaiian print shirts--which one cannot find here. But the YouTube men's fashion videos!

Longview Texas is about 80,000 people. To get there from Texarkana, it is ninety miles of back roads. Longview has all the basic places and reminds me a lot of Flagstaff AZ with better municipal infrastructure. 

We found a "bistro" which turned out to be a restaurant attached to a gas station. I vetoed it when the menu included tandoori chicken which had "velvety gravy" and the menu boasted tacos with "scrumptious onions." Instead, we found a fast-food joint. We also found a place called--and I'm not making this up--"Food Factory" in a shady part of town. We'd eaten by then, but that didn't stop us from inquiring what the sign meant, while noticing the lack of road-kill at the same time. (Welcome to Texas). 

Just for fun we took a different route home. This was the view there and back, but this photo was taken about forty miles from our home on the drive back. 

East Texas on a sunny day.

They Were Gone in Four Days

I've been toying with driving back to Arizona for one main reason: oranges. I have memories of my ten year old self, hiding in the orange tree in my front yard, reading books my mother's John D. MacDonald* books and living off the sweet valencias. Oh my! 

There's nothing like a fresh orange. Nothing! Y'all don't know how good you have it. Oranges in Texarkana grocery stores aren't even orange. They are a motley green-orangish. So, why bother? A few weeks ago Marty and I went to Dallas and I bought oranges. They were a wonderful fake. Polly and I were burning through the bag. That is, until I got a care package this week from a dear friend in Arizona who sent me fresh citrus from her trees. I did a taste test between the leftover Dallas oranges and the ones from Arizona. Not even close. 

Yesterday, I went to a friend's house for lunch. I brought over soup and oranges for dessert. My friend said, "I really don't care for oranges." Bwhahaha! She'd never had a real Arizona orange before. She's now a fan and gets the hype. 

Oh yes! Polly is making lemon curd. 

*At the age of ten, I read EVERYTHING I could get my hands on--except Judy Blume, stories of preteen girls struggling through preteen girl experiences. I wasn't allowed to read those. My mother considered them too "adult." So, I binged on my mother's John D. MacDonald novels. Judy had nothing "adult" compared to Johnny Mac's pulp.  

Beds

Lots of construction takes place here. 
Side note: this might be on my next book cover.

 One of the amazing ministries the Church of Christ does is making beds for foster care. The man who started this years earlier has managed to expand it to East Texas and parts of Arkansas. 

Last year, I asked for donations for my birthday from the lunch bunch crowd for this ministry. Part of me did it for selfish reasons. I don't need more tea towels and lotion--two staples of Southern gift-giving. But the ministry always needs pillows, sheets and Home Depot gift cards. I'm pleased to say, this started a trend of donating to charity in lieu of Lunch Bunch birthday celebrations.  

Additionally, there is a group of women who get together about once a month and make these beds from raw materials. I've been known to brandish an electric drill and sander on a few occasions in a warehouse across town--come to think of it, I'm probably the youngest woman there. A group of men install these heavy wooden beds in their intended locations. 

But yesterday, the ladies were asked to install five bunkbeds (which is ten beds, stacked) into a domestic violence shelter. There were eight of us and we managed to get this done in three hours. The first few beds weren't heavy. One person could manage a foot piece or a railing. By the end of the day, it took three of us to move a twin mattress. And my arms are so tired today--but not sore. 

We weren't able to take pictures because of the nature of our mission. (I didn't have my phone with me, and I couldn't convince Ruthie to do it on my behalf, that's okay. She has boundaries and she's definitely a rule follower.) You'll just have to take my word for it. It was impressive site to see these beds fully put together--mattress and all. 

In other news, Marty has an interview tomorrow. A first interview--which is more like a speed date and doesn't have any significance at this time. However, I thought about his interview as we constructed these beds. I love living purposefully. But I kept thinking throughout the afternoon, would this be another probably last moment here in Texarkana.  

This is not a picture from the domestic shelter.
Just a photo of the beds we constructed in the past. 

Texarkana Crime

 On the ole Facebook this morning. 

A Few NIce Days

View from the front door Monday morning. 

We are sorta thawing. At least during daylight hours. Every night the ice and snow melts and refreezes, humbling us further. The mail hasn't run in days, nor has the trash. Schools and churches are still closed. Grocery stores are open, but the Interstate isn't navigable, so the grocery stores aren't restocked. The greenhouse is warm, but the door is jammed closed by an ice drift which refuses to budge. So the thirsty plants will remain thirsty but warm. That kind of thawing. 

Yesterday, we de-iced a couple of cars, just to make sure we could open the doors. Frozen car doors are a a thing! Then, the young adults, one who loudly proclaimed hours earlier she was "sick" of being stuck inside with us, took a drive in search of somewhere their parents weren't. 

Today we de-iced the cars again--it freezes overnight--and Marty and I took a quick drive to assess the neighborhood. We have friends in their 80s and I'd been a bit concerned about them because according to the outage maps, they were hit. They are fine and they had power. 

We are told another cold front is coming through this weekend. However, this one doesn't have precipitation, so it won't add to the ice layer, but the current ice won't melt either. Right now my walking stick when I venture into the yard is a heavy iron bar Marty bought 27 years ago to break up the caliche in the yard of our first house. The bar is taller than me and I look ridiculous, but I'm not breaking a bone, navigating to check on the greenhouse or corral Roosevelt--who still runs through our legs, zooming outside. Other than returning Bob's sewing machine--I didn't use it--I don't really need to go anywhere anyway. Plus, I have two young adults who are aching to run errands if we decide we need groceries. 

In other news, Marty announced he will not be looking for a job in Michigan. 

A Pretty Picture

Yes I did go outside in socks, flip-flops and no jacket to take this picture.

The desert girl in me loves looking at the snow. Pretty white stuff all over the ground! It is still snowing. We are cozy. Marty is making beef stew. Polly is making homemade marshmallows. Why? I don't know. 

The ice under this snow is a bigger issue. The water freezes to the power lines, causing them to snap. Water freezes to tree limbs, causing them to snap onto power lines. Power is going down all over Bowie County. Friends have already started texting and saying they are in the dark. I'm expecting that will be the case here too by the end of the day. We have blankets and a fireplace. We're fine. 

However, my fantasy backup plan is an airbnb, six hours away in 65 degree Gulfport Mississippi, which will take pets. I'm sure there's one out there that isn't too expensive for our unemployed family. Right? 

Prepping

Don't let his cuteness fool you.
This guy likes to bolt outside at the least convenient times. 

We spent the day:

Making candles, because if the power goes out we can use the same heating method I've been using in the greenhouse to keep us moderately chilly.  

Making multiple trips to the shed, for toilet paper, paper towels, my 1950 copy of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Long Winter, inventorying the board games still out there (Nope. Plenty inside. There's a reason they are there).

Cutting down the prematurely growing iris bulbs--because I didn't think covering them would matter if it's zero degrees. 

Dithering about covering the azaleas, and deciding not to because they lasted through the 2021 freeze. 

Cleaning out the garage and bringing in the glass/plastic bottles we stored in the outside pantry. Don't need frozen Dr. Pepper Zero or cracked jars of salsa.

Making enchiladas. 

Chasing an escape artist cat who thinks he's cute and an adventurer like his namesake. 

Insulating the outdoor spigots. 

Climbing into the attic to ensure the pipes are covered.

Locating the water main and making sure it is easy to turn off if we have a burst pipe.

Having a family meeting on what to do if a pipe bursts and/or the power goes out. Polly's answer: hang out at Sherman's. The rest of us start a game of Settlers of Catan.  

Reassuring the plants in the greenhouse they will be fine--but I brought one inside anyway. 

Sealing the greenhouse roof because Marty opted to bring a space heater out there and ran the extension cord through the roof. 

Loosening the caps on the spare bottles of water we store in the garage, because if they freeze, they will expand. For those who think it is excessive to keep spare bottles of (tap) water, you haven't lived in rural Texas. My family scoffed too until we needed a few gallons. 

Cleaning the house.

Checking e-mails to discover the Church of Christ is having online service. Still no news if the Catholic Church expects their parishioners to drive through ice to show up for an hour on Sunday. 

Chatting with Val, who wanted to meet up and walk the mall. Instead, we had a long text thread and wished each other well.     

All this is to say, we are totally ill-prepared and have zero idea what to expect in the next few days. 

Oh yeah... There's another storm coming next week. 

And Away We Go

 

We are expecting weather. Lots of it. 

Five years ago, Texas had something similar and the entire state shut down. The issue wasn't the two feet of snow, but the ice forming on the trees and power lines, causing both to snap. 

Texarkana was without power for a week. Folks around here still tell the horror stories of trekking to the gas station on those icy roads (on foot mind you) to buy a convenience store burrito for dinner for lunch because the Road Runner Gas Station had a generator and was open. So one can appreciate the level of freak-out. 

Though it was 59 degrees today, Sam's Club's parking lot was filled to the brim when I drove by today. I didn't stop. Our prep took place earlier in the week--though I did fill up my car today, just in case I feel the urge to drive to Phoenix in the next 72 hours. I also bought puppy pads, just in case Luna doesn't feel like venturing into 0 degrees (minus wind chill). 

My level of prep consisted of changing next Monday's book club to the week after. I also stopped by Bob's quilt shop and borrowed his sewing machine (mine is on the fritz) just in case I feel inspired to sew. I doubt I will be, but thanks to Bob I'm prepared. Tomorrow I'm making enchiladas to snack on for the next couple of days. Marty is promising to make stew as well. 

To reinforce the fact we have zero idea of what we are doing, Marty and I made a list of our next "prepping" steps. Clean the house. Grab extra toilet paper stored in the shed. Make a few extra greenhouse candles. He and Buck are going into the attic to make sure the pipes are covered. We have a few board games stored in the attic or shed or somewhere and we want to find those too. Cover the strawberry patch in the garden. That kind of thing. 

Honestly, if the power goes out, we will all be curling up on the couch with a fire roaring and the greenhouse "heater," reading books, playing board games and munching on cold chicken enchiladas while fretting the probable death of the greenhouse plants. However, I'd appreciate if the power stays on. 

Heating the Greenhouse

 Growing up where I did, I had no idea greenhouses needed an additional heat source. Marty and I have enjoyed playing with the alternate ways to heat up the place. We have three 50 gallon farm tubs filled with water which act like (according to the resident nerd) a "heat battery." Whatever. The greenhouse is warmer and humid. 

But the most useful method has been using my terra cotta space heaters.   

Ugly but functional. 
Oh yes, I had just watered the plants before I took the picture.
Additionally, that brown container to the right is a farm tub.  

The gist is, put a candle under the pot, give a small space for airflow, and the pot will warm up and radiate heat. It works. The greenhouse has stayed over freezing--even last Saturday night when the outside temperatures dipped to around 20 degrees. 

There's a downside. Even used candles from Goodwill aren't cheap. The least expensive candles in town are at Hobby Lobby. After spending enough money buying candles (and eliminating most of their stock) I switched to melting down the old candles, supplementing my stash with paraffin and making my own. However, someone else must have the same idea because Hobby Lobby is now out of paraffin and wicks. 

Protip, put the candle one is making inside a pan to avoid getting wax all over the stove. 

Melting old candles and making a new candle. 

Random Texarkana--The Winter Edition

I'm not buying the -16.
But I do believe the 2 degrees. 

While at the grocery store yesterday, Marty and I watched the crazies hoard milk, eggs and bread. One woman grabbed six gallons of milk. Marveling at the quantity and not completely tuned into the weather forecast, when I asked how many children she had. She said two and Texarkana is expecting snow. 

Yes but, is she planning on selling the milk on the black market for those who are just dying to make French toast and don't feel like hauling their backsides to Walmart on Saturday when three inches of snow cover the ground? Or is she expecting this winter weather weather to paralyze the ArkLaTex area? If she thinks this is a sign of the Second Coming, I've got news for her! That milk will spoil.   

Why was I at the grocery store? I wanted broccoli for part of our dinner.  

_________________

The unemployed Sunshines have been weathering the cold overnights with a bit of creative thrift. We've added a few more blankets to the bed. We have space heaters. The heater is set for 60 degrees. We all have extra socks. I'm not interested in turning on the gas fireplace, given that will skyrocket our gas bill. 

For the greenhouse, which doesn't stay warm on on sunlight alone when it's 25 degrees, I've made a heater using candles and a terra cotta pot, I acquired because someone tossed it to the curb*. 

Candles got expensive and the freezing temperatures have lingered, so I started making my own. Sadly, I've bought up all the paraffin wax at Hobby Lobby, so I started taking the spent candles and melting those down as well. So far it's working. The greenhouse isn't toasty, but its above freezing. 

However, I doubt It will make a difference if the nights go into the single-digits. Marty and I are talking about alternate solutions, including running an extension cord and taking a space heater out there. Alternatively we could bring the plants into the house. I'm of the mind to bring the plants indoors--though the Overlords will think they have a new playground. Leon loves plants. Roosevelt loves dirt.  

*Tossing to the curb is Non-HOA/Southern speak for "free, come take this." I've done this myself on occasion.  

Beeville TX

Marty found a job post in Beeville, TX. And like all weird geographic locations, I jumped into the rabbit hole. Beeville is between San Antonio and Corpus Christi--though closer to "Corpus" (as the Texas say). It's population is about 13,000. Skidmore and Blueberry Hill (both with populations hovering around 800) round out the greater Beeville metroplex.

Though landlocked, Beeville is home to Chase Naval Field. The city also sports a college, two Dollar Generals, three Catholic churches and one hospital which seems to have a second story.  Outshining Texarkana, Beeville also has an H-E-B, which I hear is a wonderful grocery store. And let's not forget the ton of farms and ranches nearby.  

Great news! Lincoln Borglum, the Mount Rushmore sculptor and actor Scott Borland are from Beeville. On top of that, it is rumored baseball great, Nolan Ryan spent his teen summers working at a local dairy farm. I mean, who wouldn't want to spend a summer in Beeville? Right?    

Housing is deceptive. I saw beautiful Queen Anne homes with wraparound porches for sale at 1988 pricing. However, with a closer look, the homes showed a few quirks I'm just not into, such as multiple air conditioning units crammed into multiple windows. Though claw footed tubs are unusual in 2026, it's a strong indicator the home doesn't have a shower.  

"How would you feel about commuting an hour from Corpus?" I asked Marty after closing the tab for Zillow. "How would you feel about another few months of unemployment?" he countered. In truth, this is a job posting. So, this is a non-issue right now. But it's still fun to check out other places in my state.  

The Beeville Courthouse, which looks suspiciously
like it might have been the setting for Back to the Future. 

Random Texarkana Photos

Downtown in December

A wonderful Texarkana Chorale concert.
Polly is hidden behind the conductor. Sorry.

Sherman's birthday present. 

My pal, Joy, holding up her sewing creation. 

The Overlords birdwatching.
Leon: Think you can take that chickadee?
Roosey: Bro, hold my catnip. 

This would be a shameless self-plug if I had more than three blog readers.
In this case, I'm just cleaning out my pictures. 
The Stained Page, a wonderful downtown coffee shop, carries local authors.