The Ladies

When I first moved in, Neighbor Karen* invited me to play cards with a group of women from her church who started meeting during the pandemic. If that sounds familiar, it is because that's how the Coronas were formed. I should also say, I'm not sure why Karen invited me. I can see from the make up of the group, Karen isn't the sort to willy-nilly invite random strangers on a regular basis. So, I am deeply grateful she thought of me. 

One invitation turned into two. Then three. Then last week nothing until Susie showed up on my doorstep Tuesday afternoon, informing me Karen was in the hospital** and she was there to chauffer me to cards. Susie knew I lived "across the street" from Karen, but wasn't sure which house, so she was relieved when she saw a Texas license plate. I expressed my surprise, explaining I had wondered about Karen (I had) and my appreciation for Susie's thoughtfulness in including me. "I wouldn't dare show up without you." Susie said.

And just like that, I'm one of them-adjacent. 

Now then, this is not a Corona group. First, The Ladies play cards for two hours. And two hours only. They play two games, one called, "Swish" (and I swear they made this game up). The other is called "Play Nine" and I suspect it was a game that belonged to someone's son forty years ago. Second--and I mean this with love and kindness--they aren't my peer group. These ladies are spry and fun. But I'm the youngest by 20+ years. Susie is 84. Her older sister is part of The Ladies. I am guessing Karen is over 80. 

Now then, I was one of the youngest in the Corona group too. And lest you think I'm being a snob, this isn't about age, its about world view and companionship. One of my dearest Arizona friends just turned 70. Corona Gail, Deb The Queen of Everything and Tessa are all over 70. But somehow The DeBary Ladies are just different. Maybe its because they don't laugh as much. Or something. Or maybe it is because I wouldn't randomly call any of them at the spur of the moment and ask if they wanted to go blueberry picking/run to Hobby Lobby/drive with me to Hope Arkansas like I would have with anyone in the Coronas. 

This entire experience is a sharp contrast to when I moved to Texarkana and was so lonely for the first year. I have such gratitude for The Ladies. They've taken me into their flock. They are cheerful, sweet and so kind. Cece reminds me of Bonus Mom in many ways. I swear Pauline thinks of me as her daughter. When I left yesterday, she said, "Come give me a hug." And I didn't mind.  

Her Royal Majesty, Deb, ordered me to find a Corona group when I moved to Florida. This isn't a Corona Group. But it is a nice substitute. 

*That's her name, she's a delight with a name that carries an unfortunate connotation. 

**Karen is now out of the hospital, recovering from a massive infection. I talked to her Monday. She's weak but feeling much better.

The Humbled

Because the people at the zoo don't feel Marty, nor I, are fit to take admission or work in a gift shop, we are still looking for employment. Marty is having another interview today, which will bring his total to three in a week an a half. 

Additionally, Buck is also looking for work. He's looking for a job to get him by while he figures out the next steps in his life plan. Discussions have revolved around what this should look like for him, and I'm impressed at his careful consideration as he discerns his future. However, the idea that what he does in his 20s doesn't have to be what he does in his 40s hasn't completely landed for him, as Buck likes to commit for the long term. But it will. Eventually. 

As for me, I'm humbled and humiliated. It turns out being self-employed for 25 + years means I have no quantifiable skills. I've worked with people from all walks of life in many different seasons of their housing. I'd like to think I am moderately smart and I catch on quickly. I've found creative solutions for tenants who have broken this and thats, all while asking me me for counsel (albeit, the thought bubble above my head screamed, "Make better life choices!"). I've written contracts. Heck! I've taught contract law classes to unassuming and new real estate agents who needed to know. I've worked at a call center, answering phones for folks needing to move. I even taught others how to do that job for a season. In addition, I've managed my own offices. I can read people and I can read financial statements. I can handle reasonable technology--though I hate doing so. 

None of this--and I truly mean this--translates to working an entry level job as a hotel desk clerk or being a sales associate for Hobby Lobby. I've dumbed my resume down, hoping I didn't sound over-qualified. Nope, over-qualified isn't the issue. According to the hiring folks twenty years younger than me, I am simply not qualified at all. 

Then there is the issue of references. Hobby Lobby wanted references of people who have supervised me. I fudged and reached out to three folks who worked with me in various capacities (two had also independently been real estate clients).    

Marty and I are fine. Our bills are paid. Life is okay. However, Marty wants to exercise his mind. I need to get out of the house. Plus we'd like to reimburse our savings for our Florida move and the improvements we've made to our new home. And though we have health insurance, I think we could do better if we had money coming in. So, employment isn't dire.  

Imprisoned

Welp, it was to be expected. Our little jailbird didn't last four hours in his first cell. He was found, perched on the toilet, trying to jump to the sink. Given this was a day after his hip surgery, and he was hopped up on fabulous painkillers, Buck decided at the rate Roosevelt was going, he'd loose his other hip in two weeks.

So, despite Roosevelt's protests, he was transferred to cellblock Master Shower, where he's been holed up ever since. His alternative was the dog crate, so--though he doesn't appreciate this--he's winning.

The kettle bell is there because Roosevelt has figured out he can charge the door and open it.

Roosey's visiting hours are quite generous. Leon, Luna, and the Sunshines have all spent time hanging out with our infirmed kitty. For the first few days, Marty, Buck and I cuddled in the shower with him. This caused all sorts of problems for the older generation who prefer not sharing confined spaces with cat boxes (even ones which are cleaned out twice a day). 

Yes, that is a ridiculous orange (fruit) pattern on his new neck pillow.  

We thought our kitty was initially on a hunger strike, but it turns out the cone made it so he could not eat his kibble or drink his water. This caused Roosevelt to bang his tin cup on the shower walls, howling like a crazed asylum inmate during the hours of 11 p.m. to 5 a.m. Buck sleeps on the other side of the house, so he did not hear the plaintive cries from Roosey. However, Marty and I were well aware of the cat's opinion of his cone. A decision was made and with the magic of Amazon, Roosevelt has a new neck pillow--which he hates. But at least he's more comfortable. 

Why take advantage of the exercise yard when there's a perfectly good lap?

The warden (Buck) gave the edict this past weekend that if Roosevelt wanted to start moving, he could do so in the exercise yard--the master bathroom. However, precautions were taken to ensure he wouldn't climb, jump or escape. Doors were closed--though Leon shows his regular solidarity by shoving his paw under the bathroom door when his brother is outside of his cell. To his credit, Roosevelt hobbles for a few moments and then perches himself on my lap and purrs, love bombing me and letting me know he'd appreciate my assistance in his planned escape. And just to drive this point home, when it is time to go back into his cell block, he is now strong enough to trip me as I'm trying to leave, so it is taking more than one Sunshine to lock him back in. 

One week to go.   

 

Church Shopping

I think we have kinda sorta settled on a church. We are attending All Souls Catholic Church in Sanford--about 4 miles from my home. For now. My daughter sings in the choir (and they are good!). I suspect Buck has his eye on a long haired beauty in the pews. Marty likes the priest. Mass is generally 60 minutes. 

The jury is out on the priest for me just yet, however, he's interesting enough in his message. And other than today, he isn't normally long winded. Also, I don't find the congregation to be friendly, but they aren't self-righteous, culty-church-lady-sanctimonious either. All that said, I'm just happy my family will go to church, so we are going there. 

However before a decision was made, Buck and I did check out the local Church of Christ (about 5 miles from my home, also in Sanford). I liked the vibe for my first visit. The people were friendly. No electric guitar. The pastor was interesting. Buck seemed to enjoy himself. However, the service went for 90 minutes and Marty isn't interested in coming with us. If All Souls doesn't work out, I'd give this place another shot. 

The Wandering Jew

While on my walk this morning, this followed me home. What was a girl to do? 

A teensy twig from a wandering Jew. Also known as the "purple heart plant."

It was growing off the sidewalk, albeit in someone's yard yards feet inches away. I ask you, should I have left it there for someone with little taste to trample all over it? Should I have left it to the homeowner who would have overlooked it because it was only a small sapling from the larger plant? And if it was already on the sidewalk obviously the homeowner wasn't paying attention to this plant anyway. Right?

Right????? 

By the time I had come inside from rooting this sprig in a pot, my family gathered around me to stage an intervention. They used words like, "crazy plant weirdo," and asked if I'd "lost my mind" and suggested that my "misdeeds" were not in keeping of the values they were raised in, nor was it probably legal to "steal"--they said STEAL!--this twig. Steal my foot! It was just there. On the sidewalk. Possibly attached to the parent plant in someone's yard. But I don't remember. All I know is I tied my shoes and then it was in my hand, begging for soil, water and fertilizer.     

In my own defense, I never trespassed in another yard--unlike the mass of trick or treaters who walked through mine last night. I took found this off the owner's property. And at this point, it looks a lot happier than when the poor sapling followed me home. 

Solitary Confinement

Roosevelt is home. And he is unhappy. If he could walk (softly) and carry a big stick, we'd all be in trouble. To express his sentiment at being let out of the dog cage and upgraded to the bathroom for the next two weeks, he's knocked his food and water bowls over. He's also barricading the door with his body. On the positive side, he isn't sleeping in his litter box right now. 

We'd all love to have Leon visit him, however, Roosey has two open wounds (the other from the IV drip) and Leon would take advantage. Plus, Roosevelt isn't in a mood for visitors at this very moment. 

This fool, laying on his stitched leg and pushing the door shut so nobody can enter. (Picture taken with me standing outside and reaching around door.)

Well, This Happened

 Victoria from book club called me. Me!? To be fair, I was on the phone with my world traveler friend in Arizona when she rang. But, curious and full of trepidation, I called Victoria back. 

It turns out Victoria just had a pacemaker put in and cannot drive. She remembered I liked cats and wanted to know if I knew of a mobile vet or groomer who might be able to come by and clip her kitty's nails. I suggested a scratching post. Turns out, Kitty doesn't do scratching posts. I also offered to drive Victoria to her vet of choice later in the week if she needed to get Kitty taken care of that quickly. 

Victoria obviously wasn't expecting that level of Southern hospitality. That smile I'd been waiting for from her came through over the phone. However, she declined the offer, figuring it was too much work for her and Kitty under the circumstances. Then, Victoria asked if my hand was healing (Hand and wrist yes. Finger, maddingly no.) and said a few other pleasant things about our book club.

We left the call with well-wishes and me offering to help with Kitty if the need arises. I wished her a Happy Halloween and sat down, utterly astonished, and wrote this blog.  

The Thursday Murder club

A couple of weeks ago, we had our first "official" murder mystery book club meeting. Held at the public library in Deltona, a local suburb, about a 20 minute drive from my house, I ended up arriving a bit too early. 

While sitting out of the way, waiting for book club to start, I heard a woman yell--yes, yell!--across the library to the front desk that the room she wanted to use was locked. At the sound of Victoria's voice, I figured it was time to wander over and settle in for our meeting. 

With about ten minute to go before book club started, Victoria and I were the only members. Unsure about how to approach her "we do not visit before the meeting" edict, I sat and waited for her to initiate a conversation. Fortunately, Victoria did as much, demanding to know what happened to my hand, and followed up by telling me about her cat, how much she loves Halloween, and how she decided our murder mystery book club would be called, the "Thursday Murder club." 

I pointed out not only was that the name of our book to discuss that day but the name was already taken. "Sue me," she shrugged.  

Eventually three other participants arrived and I wasted no time inquiring about everyone's well-being. I shared how Victoria just told me she likes cats and whipped out my pictures of the Overlords to let the gang ooh and ahh over, prompting the other pet owners to do the same. Even Victoria joined in. And just like that, the ice was broken and the edict not to visit before the meeting now shattered. 

However, Victoria then threw a curve ball my way. I was to be the leader of that day's discussion. I pointed out I did not sign up for that particular endeavor and a bit of notice that I had been randomly chosen is considered protocol for such things.    

We had a lively discussion and I made sure everyone had a chance to share. The questions were the basic who, what, where, when and why-type but I guess the way I phrased them sounded like I knew what I was talking about. 

Then came time to pick next month's book. Being proactive, Eileen, one of the sweetest and more timid of the ladies offered to lead the next discussion. She also suggested "Agatha Raisin and the Deadly Quiche." Victoria said she hated the story and Eileen's face fell. However, the rest of the gang mutinied and that's what we are discussing on the first Thursday in November. 

The book was an easy read and I sent Eileen a note last week, telling her I enjoyed the story. She wrote back thanking me, because she had thought about retracting her suggestion, given Victoria's reaction. I reminded her this is HER book club too--she has a say in what we read. Eileen told me that made her feel better. 

Though next month's book isn't great book club fodder, I expect it will be a lively discussion. If not, I will work on my own personal mission of getting Victoria to crack a smile.

Roosevelt Update

After several hours at the local vet, and at the emergency vet hospital in Daytona Beach--where the only orthopedic veterinarian resides in a 100 mile radius--it is official. Our sweet Roosevelt has broken his hip. 

Roosey is a young cat (about 18 months old) and is relatively healthy otherwise. So there's no reason not to perform surgery. We are told he should recover nicely. When Marty and I left the vet hospital and I looked at the astronomical estimate we're committed to. I said to Marty, "That boy owes me grandchildren."*

Our vet said the injury is common in young male cats. The analogy for this type of injury that was created was along the lines of a 22 year old man, out past 11 p.m. in the wilderness with his buddies. Before fate slaps him upside the head, the young man in question utters the words, "hold my beer." Essentially Roosevelt's underdeveloped frontal cortex talked him into doing some dumbassery stunt thinking it would go well. Our theory is this happened when he zoomed out of the house two days ago and tried to jump the fence.   

Currently, Roosey is sleeping in the dog crate, doped up on two different pain meds and curled up dozing in the (unused) litter box instead of his comfy pillow. When Buck wakes up, I have a few ideas on how to modify this arrangement to create more room in his cellblock, but it will take a bit of engineering. 

Looking forward to the day he can do this again.

*Lest you have an opinion about who should pay for Buck's cat's surgery, please keep it to yourself, thankyouverymuch. Marty and I are fully aware of what we are doing and don't need others sharing their thoughts with me about our young adults and their life journey. I've heard from enough people over the summer who offered their unsolicited opinions. I wrote the above because I'm interested in grandchildren. Eventually. 

Arbitrary DeBary

 

Roosevelt in more content times

Just a typical day in the Sunshine house, in the Sunshine state. Oh... how I missed sunlight when I lived in East Texas. Even on a clear day in Texarkana, the sunlight was muted. 

But on to the week's events. 

Roosy has a bum leg. It is bad enough to need vet attention. Buck is fretting about not being employed is beside himself, not only because his cat is hobbling, but because he hates debt. However, life will work itself out, the vet bill will be a thing of the past and our sweet furboy will be all cuddles again. 

And as a side note to Roosevelt: had you not run outside yesterday, you would be jumping into our laps right about now and purring. So, let's call this a life lesson and be an indoor cat. Please--! because there were about five hawks or osprey (though it seems a bit far inland for osprey) circling above your head.

It has been four weeks since I broke my hand. The finger is not healing super-fast. The hand and wrist are about 95 percent and my typing is coming along--as long as nothing I write needs question marks and quotation marks. And there's a lot of backspacing. 

Marty and I haven't heard from the zoo. I'm slightly annoyed we aren't even worth of a rejection letter. I think Marty has opted against the job if they call. I see it as an opportunity to get out of the house, pay the upcoming vet bill and fodder for my next book.  

Karen, my sweet neighbor, invited me over again to visit with the ladies and play cards yesterday. I walked in the door and one of the woman announced "Oh good you came back. Ladies, she's a hoot!" I don't know if anyone has ever referred to me as a "hoot"* before. 

*quotation marks, courtesy of copious editing. 

The K-Mart Group Therapy Session (or, "Job Interview")

I'm not making this up. I swear. 

And I will type this out, even if it takes me a week (stupid broken hand). 

So, I applied for a customer service job at the zoo. I mean, that sounds like something I can do. "Yes, the elephants are this way." "No our zoo doesn't have snakes. Walk 3 feet off the property in any direction and you can see all the snakes you like. And seriously, you just spent money in FLORIDA to see snakes?" "Would you like to buy a hat? Here is our fine selection." 

It also turns out Marty applied for the same job. The ad said they were hiring multiple people. He saw it as a fun, customer service retirement kind of thing. We could work there together. What could go wrong?

Because this is the first interview I've formally had since Bush 1 was in office, I put some thought into the entire thing. Marty and I went back and forth on what to wear. This appeared to be a lower-level job. However, I figured I couldn't go wrong looking more put together, so I shelled out $16 to Amazon for a new skirt. After all, job interview. Marty went with black jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. 

We were overdressed. Of the four women, I was the only one who looked like I hadn't just left my job supervising the daycare playground. Of the four men, Marty was the only one who looked like he hadn't just left his shift at a meatpacking plant. 

Additionally, the three folks on the interviewing panel caught me off guard, mainly because I was expecting something professional. But the three folks started this way: Tiffy wanted to wait an extra 15 minutes to start this group interview so that anyone who hadn't shown wouldn't feel shamed by coming in late. Tiffy also announced she was flying to Ohio in the morning, making me wonder exactly how she'd get through the TSA with three tons of shrapnel coming out of her face. Mykael let us know upfront his bedroom preferences. Now, I don't care about anyone's sexual orientation, but this was supposed to be a job interview. And then there was Jay, who began by giving us a commentary of our current presidential administration. Again, don't care about his politics, and do I need to know any of this in a job interview? 

Essentially, if I were to be hired, these three would be my bosses.

Mykael asked us to go around the room and introduce ourselves and say what "hospitality" meant to us. Because Marty threw me under the bus, I went first. Marty spoke. Adam--who gave off serious school-shooter vibes gave an answer. Izzy shared she was part of the LBGQABCDEFGHIJK movement and provided her answer. Then Mykael redirected and offered the answer he wanted the remaining applicants to say (something along the lines of what Marty and I said). However, the next person slated to reply was Terehrie (pronounced "Terry." He wanted us to know how it was spelled) who announced he was too shy to talk in front of people and wasn't comfortable answering. Tiffy said that was fine, everyone needed to feel like this was an inclusive space. 

Did I mention this was a job interview? Just making sure that was clear. 

I'll skip over the next 90 minutes of crazy and go straight to Mykael's last getting to know you directive: we job applicants were to walk around the room and find out five bits'o trivia about the other candidates, because I guess, Jay, Tiffy and Mikael didn't want to do anything else. Marty referred to this as a "K-Mart Group Therapy Session."

One part of this Group Therapy session of note: one of the candidates publicly announced they were a gamer and then asked if anyone would be interested in playing some online video game with them that night, while passing along their long list of video game credentials and contact info for the rest of us. And nobody found this to be strange. 

When this madness ended, the three bosses declared they'd be in touch. There was no commitment to a discussion about salary, hours, expectations or even a job description. Just "Bye. Have a nice weekend." 

Marty thinks he and I are too normal to be hired. I'm sure I can deal with the three bosses better than Marty. Buck seems to think if they bring me on, I'll be running the place in six months. However, if hired, my true motive is to get out from under those guys and find a position with the botanical garden division anyway. This is just a stepping stone. But I'm thinking Terehie has a better chance of being hired than we do. 

The Epitome of Fall in Florida

 

Fall in Florida

I never had a colorful front yard in Arizona full of tin doodads. I learned in Texas, a colorful yard attracts pollinators--the type which help farmers and gardeners grow food. I am prepared to live and die on this hill if the HOA wants to quibble. 

Wins

Welcome to another edition of "I've spent more time fixing this post's typos than actually typing it out."  

First, Buckaroo just celebrated another year around the sun. We are making this a month long event because his celebration bucket list is extensive. His birthday present from us was a Saturday martial arts seminar, where he and his sister paid money to channel their inner Bruce Lee. From what I understand, a good time was had by all. Later this week: minigolf and eventually a family trip to the zoo. 

Buckaroo, 20 years ago. 

I am in talks with a small publishing house to work with them in a sales capacity. I am not sure this is a good fit for me. I was approached by them. I'm asking a lot of questions and I think I am making the leadership squirm. I do not know if I am a good fit. I do not know if I am not. I do know that I am not super excited about a sales role. 

Speaking of zoo, this coming Friday I have an interview for a seasonal, part time position at the zoo. It pays very little, but sounds like fun. In fact, as I write this, I am thinking this would be more fun than selling publishing services to independent writers. If I get this zoo job (which isn't mutually exclusive to the publishing gig), I am already counting my hundreds that I will spend creating my garden.  

Let's talk about other's employment. Polly is the first of us who got a job. She's working at a martial arts instructor--a job she once held in Mesa.  

Speaking of wins, today is the first day since we moved here that it hasn't rained. I celebrated by repotting two plants and finding a place for them in the front yard.  

Random DeBary Rain Day Edition

Doc says my hand and wrist are healing nicely. The jury is out on my finger. It will be reevaluated in three weeks, but I've been warned it could be 12 or more weeks for full healing. Sigh. Typing punctuation is coming along, as long as question marks and quotation marks and apostrophes aren't needed. 

No master gardener meeting today because Marty had an interview. That was okay with me because I got to talk to my friend Valerie instead. Plus it is raining. It rains a lot here. A lot. 

Speaking of rain, I've heard from four folks in four different states in the past 24 hours, concerned if I'm prepared for this upcoming storm. News flash: there's a hurricane brewing in the Gulf. 

A word about hurricanes brewing in the Gulf: they tend to be slow moving, storing up energy as they take in more warm water. When they get going, they can be super-powerful. But not always. This one is currently a category 2.  

However: 1) this particular hurricane is scheduled to make landfall around the Florida panhandle and cut through Alabama (oh, what a bummer). 2) I live about 25 miles (ish) from the Atlantic Ocean and about 85 (ish) miles from the Gulf. I think I'm gonna be just fine if this particular storm changes trajectory. 

Things are Growing

I have three (and possibly four) social engagements this week. Though this doesn't seem newsworthy to most, this is NOT how things went for me a month into moving to Texarkana. So, color me surprised and battle worn.

First, neighbor Karen has invited me to her friend's house this afternoon to play cards. Her group of lady friends started getting together during the pandemic. Does this sound the least bit familiar? (cough, cough, my Texas
Coronas!) I'm nervous, but in a slightly different way.  

Last week after book club, I found Sabita before she left and with every bit of courage I had in my soul, invited her to lunch this week. Fortunately, she said yes! She's from Ghana or Toronto. She's mentioned both. She has a lovely, gentle energy which totally does not match mine but reminds me of my friend Bliz (who is chill in all circumstances except when she isn't). Anyway, tomorrow is our lunch. 

Then, there is a Master Gardener chat at the library on Thursday. I am dragging Marty. I won't be joining the Master Gardeners for reasons too annoying for this bit of cyber space, but I can still learn and continue my plant pursuits. By the way, my garden is on hold at the moment, more on that later. 

Now then, I will cancel the Master Gardener talk if I have to because...  SQUEE!!!! Mrs. Meadows happens to be in town!!! Okay, she's an hour away visiting her daughter. But, she's nearbyish and a lot closer in proximity than when I lived in Mesa and her in Cochise County. No date has been set for our visit, but if she wants Thursday, I'm game.   

The Writer's Meeting

My choice:
Robert Ross's Back Yard

Ok, so I am dialed into the writer thing right now. To be fair, peddling my books is the only source of income for my family. So please excuse my Socials. I'm annoying to me as well. I am pleased to say with what I've made so far, I could buy two gallons of ice cream and a tank of gas. Go me. 

Anyway, I went to the Volusia County Writer's meeting today. I thought it was sweet that we met at the Art Museum, until I found out I had to pay to enter the art museum. Um... that could have been mentioned. To be fair, even with the $10 price tag (so I'm down to one gallon of ice cream and a tank of gas), I still had high hopes. I met someone else entering, Zoe, who seemed as eager as I was. I wanted to ask her all the questions: what had she written, where was she in her writing journey, what genre did she specialize in, anything published? But we never got that far. 

Instead, we were shuffled to a workroom/closet, where three tables were set up. The woman running the whole show asked us to sign in, grab a pen and take a seat. She then wanted us to give our name and where we were from. I wanted to know everyone's lore, and would have been willing to share mine if that were the assignment. But Madam In Charge (MIC) only wanted our physical location. MIC then told us she's been a fiction writer for four years. She told us in a few moments, after the raffle, we'd mosey out to the art museum and select a painting. We were to stare at the picture for 15 minutes and answer basic questions. 

Basic question--I am not making this up: 

• What do I see. 
• What details do I notice
• What words come to mind when I look at the picture
• What looks out of place
• What would I ask the artist
• Why did I choose the picture
• How does it make me feel

THIS IS A WRITER'S MEETING not a 10th grade art appreciation class. Just saying. 

When our fifteen minutes were up, she then had us come in and (I'm not making this up) "write in the voice of the artwork." MIC said we would not be sharing our writing. She then gave everyone notebooks so we could do this longhand. However MIC had a computer with a keyboard. I looked back at their web site. Nowhere did it say we needed a computer--or a notebook. Did I mention I have a broken hand and cannot write longhand? I can sorta type.* After a bit of this, I decided I wanted to go home. So I did. 

I did not sign up for a creative writing class. There are those who need it. Hopefully this worked out for them. I signed up for writers working with writers. I will stay on the lookout for this. 

I would like to address the raffle. If this is your thing. Go you. No judgement. No judgement to MIC either, cuz this is definitely her thing. But she was raffling off tarot cards. Yep. MIC the fiction writer writes tarot cards for a living. My issue isn't tarot cards exactly--though the Catholic/Church of Christ adjacent girl in me cringed. My issue is that tarot cards as a raffle for a writer's meeting is as appropriate as raffling cat litter as a prize in an upscale Italian restaurant. Why not some cute pen/notebook/bookmark? 

They have another event coming up that is swinging towards the new age vibe. We can share our writing there. However, I can tell this venue would not be the right audience for my "writing." I'm guessing this group isn't for me. At some point, I might stick around and go to something more mainstream and see if I can meet a few others. But not just yet. 

*There was a lot of editing of this blog post today. 

Arbitrary DeBary More Critters and No punctuation

 I can sort of type as long as nobody expects punctuation

Commas, periods, apostrophes require particular hand and finger bones which are not yet up for the task

But I went back and hunted and pecked to insert those commas above because my head was exploding

Those three sentences took me five minutes to type cuz I can sort of type right now

In the mean time

Luna and her new pal

Clayton gets a makeover every month
Personally I think he is killing it in the pink beret

On my window this morning
Yesterday there were 9 of them
The Overlords are losing their minds 

And one for you Freedom

On my fence yesterday

Arbitrary DeBary Critter Edition

 Typing is too hard right now. 

I originally thought this was a joke. Nope. 

This Also Happened

Typing is limited. 

So, This Happened

I probably haven't screamed this loud enough this week. Sorry if you missed the 2,876 shameless self promotions. I promise to go back to being introverted and demure-ish in a week or so. 

New Quilt

 As of late July, Bliz is a new grandma! Unfortunately, in late July I was in no position to sew anything. I know this because I tried. However, with the creative studio set up in our new home, I made this for baby Lala. 

  

Mystery Solved

Karen was the house with the round hedges. Fortunately, she was standing outside in front. Also fortunately she only invited over one other person. 

I had a nice time. And I'm grateful to be included as the "new girl" in town--been in that situation before where it wasn't this social. Instead, it was lonely and depressing. Someday I hope to repay this kindness and be the local Neighbor Karen or Corona Debbie and welcome the new girl with open arms. 

And now I'm off to introvert for the next few days. 

Silly Social Anxiety Problems

I have a dilemma. Neighbor Karen (who is delightful--and I also happen to like the name Karen) has invited me over for coffee today to meet a few of her friends. I suspect I'll be the youngest person there by about 15 years. Plus, I don't drink coffee, but I'll deal with that hurdle later. 

My problem is I don't know where she lives. She's been over three times, each time pointing in the general direction across the street, indicating she lives somewhere that way. I've narrowed it down to four possible places. 

The Sunshines this week have been cautiously peeking outside, looking for signs of Karen or Karen's brown car. None of us are any closer to solving this mystery. "What about that house?" Marty said, pointing to the home with the two palm trees. "I think Karen is the type to have rounded hedges. Maybe?" I counter, gesturing to the one two doors down. 

About 1:25 today, I'm going to have to start knocking on doors and hope she answers. Or hope that the other three neighbors I haven't met are friendly and maybe one of them will help me out. I mean, if I know Karen after less than two weeks of living here, they must know her too, right? 

I Live in the Suburbs

 

So these have been posted in the past twenty-four hours on the ol'e FB neighborhood page. I've spent the last hour researching what plants repel bears. The answer is none. The best I can do is buy copious amounts of wolf and mountain lion urine pellets--the experts suggest both, just to be extra-cautious. Marty is simply being unreasonable and isn't on board with us spending money on gallons of animal urine.  

By the way, I've borrowed these photos. The sightings took place on the next block. Others posted them on social media. This is a public service, even if the pictures have been strategically relocated to this blog.   

Arbitrary DeBary, Sunday Edition

Last night three of the four Sunshines and three of the three animals were awakened around 3 a.m. when the back yard motion light flickered on and off. Then, there was a terrible screeching that lasted about 20 minutes. Luna growled, revving to get out the door. The Overlords took center stage in front of the sliding door, watching the ruckus. We looked outside a few times but saw nothing. And from the sound of it, none of us wanted to venture into the back yard. 

"Think it is a couple of birds?" Marty asked. No. I did not. First, most birds around here are diurnal and are sleeping at 3 a.m. Second, whatever it was, jumped over our fence into the retention basin behind us, to continue the brawl. So, bigger, meaner, and the creatures had knees.

We never figured it out. But I'm pretty sure it wasn't a human. 

Perhaps a bobcat? 

Do bears jump fences? Asking for a friend. 

***

Another rock and roll church

Buck and I visited another church today. He liked the vibe better. I liked the fact there was less singing--the pastor actually played the electric bass. The folks were nice. There appears to be a young adult group (the reason Buck is coming with me, I'd just find a Catholic church or Church of Christ at this point.) and several family-friendly events. I did not like the fact the pastor's sermon went--and I'm not making this up--37 minutes. We put this one on the "we'll visit again sometime" list. 

***

It's a busy-ish week in the Sunshine house. We are getting a refrigerator delivered tomorrow. The existing one that came with the house... I'm sorry. I just can't. 

Also, we are finally getting our flooring installed on Tuesday. We knew this day would eventually come. The former owner poorly installed peel and stick tile in two rooms. We had budgeted for new flooring. Once we get the flooring in place, we can unpack more boxes. But first! Floors. 

***

Polly and Sherman broke up. I'm sad for them as a couple. I'm sad for them individually. I like Sherman. But, I'm happy Polly made a confident decision about her future.  

Road Trip

A Polliwog on the beach

The Sunshine crew took a minor road trip yesterday. We went to Daytona Beach. As road-trippy as that might sound, Daytona Beach is about 25 miles away. In fact, as the crow flies, I live closer to the ocean than I do to any major theme park. 

     A future beach bag or two. 

While we were in the area, I wanted to check out an upholstery fabric store. I'm looking for water resistant fabric to try my hand at making a beach bag or two. We hit up the Buc-cee's because... reasons. We also made it to Trader Joe's. I must say, it was a great experience to actually go into a Trader Joe's and not stock up on five of everything.* 

Of course, it didn't feel right to go to Daytona Beach without a visit to the ocean. None of us felt like hanging out on the beach too long, but we walked a bit, enjoying the lack of tourists. There are a few galleries, museums and quilt shops I hope to check out in the area. So, I'll be back. And if I can go without the young adults, I can skip the Buc-cees.  

*I'm realizing how differently I shopped in rural Texas and how mainstream it became. A trip to a big city: Little Rock, Dallas or Shreveport once every five-six months and stock up on much better priced meat, spices, and the more unusual items we like. The prices were always much cheaper, leaving us to buy milk and bread locally--which were about $1.00-$2.00 more expensive in Texarkana. The produce at the grocery store wasn't great either, but fortunately, I had connections to better quality veg. I didn't mind the lifestyle and it was nice to go out of town with a family member or a friend for the day to get the shopping done.  

Arbitrary DeBary

Sandhill cranes live across the street. Its fun to see them, not hear them. However, aside from a couple of cottontails, a hawk and an unfortunate snake sighting from late July, that's about all the wildlife I've encountered. I've been told there's a lot more out there--including several neighborhood bear sightings. 

***

We don't have kitchen chairs. I have zero idea what happened to them in the move. They weren't left behind. They didn't arrive in Florida. If you happen to be driving along Interstate 10 and see six farmhouse chairs on the side of the road, hit me up. 

Oh yes, I'm also waiting for the rest of my dishes because they also didn't make it to Florida and I bought half a set last week and got a rain check for the rest of it. 

***

I cannot explain this, but I'm having to sleep under a wool blanket at night. Our AC is set reasonably high, so it isn't that we are freezing ourselves out. It is just cold in the house at night. 

***

Our unpacking is at an impasse. We are waiting on flooring for two rooms before we finish unpacking those rooms. At that point, we'll get furniture for the empty rooms. We are waiting for one cabinet from Amazon AND the hardware for another cabinet (the seller keeps asking which hardware we need and I keep responding, "ALL OF IT.") before we can finish unpacking the kitchen. 

***

The Fur Mafia is having a field day exploring the new house and all of the half-opened boxes ("Any idea where the air fryer/purple towel/Dad's socks/frisbees happen to be?" "Check that box over there."). They both want to go outside, but the hawks are laying in wait. So are the bears. They are making the best of their incarceration. 

The Murder Mystery Book Club

After a bit of tomfoolery, the Murder Mystery Book Club had its first meeting. The tomfoolery was brought to you by Victoria, the group's founder, who did not realize when she told us to meet at the Dunkin Donuts on Howland Boulevard there was more than one location. When the majority of us went to the wrong one, we were unapologetically directed to drive another 15 miles to her location. 

Anyway, Victoria started this entire group. She's a severe woman who just turned 80 and has lots of rules and opinions. One of her edicts was to set the five of us down and explain how book clubs work. 

HOW BOOK CLUBS WORK

• This would be a murder mystery book club. 
• All books must have 300 pages or fewer.*
• There'd be no chit-chatting until after our meeting was over, because we'd be focusing on what we read.** 
• The person "hosting" the book club (location to be determined) would be responsible for finding and distributing the books for the next book club. 

Which brings me to Victoria's opinions. I pushed back on one person finding six copies of next month's book, driving all over the county to hunt down the book club member to ensure the woman received her copy. "That's how book clubs work," she insisted. "I think we are all grown adults. We can find our own book." I countered. This is a hill I'm willing to die on. I won't be responsible for another's participation in a voluntary event.  

Apparently Victoria has never been challenged on anything in her life and did not appreciate my mutiny. But with the other four on board, I won--though, come to think of it, I could have distributed copies of The Redeemed (which is a murder mystery***) and forced them to read that.  

Victoria also stated that "there wasn't enough time" to read a book for September, so therefore, we'd start in October. One of the more timid women whispered to me, "But, there's three weeks left in September." And I pointed this out to the rest of the group, suffering Victoria's glare. But I did acquiesce, perhaps we could meet October 1 if that would give everyone enough "time" to read our first book. 

What I found as the meeting went on was that the other four were whispering to me when they didn't agree with Victoria, expecting me to be the mouthpiece. I didn't mind. It's going to be my book club too (at least that's the current plan). I suspect we'll all find our place. I just didn't want to be responsible for scouring the planet for someone's book when they can go to the library and get their own book club book. 

The Thursday Murder Club is the first book. Oops. It just so happens it has 364 pages.  

Now then, I am making Victoria out to be a bit of a dictator. She was. And me being the youngest in the group did nothing to work into her good graces, but she'll get over it. Or she won't. (I don't know why she made a big deal about my age, but she stopped the conversation and said only to me, "How old are you? 45?" And when I shared my age, she accused me of fibbing.) But she also took feedback from the lovely--LOVELY--group of ladies. Once she calmed down, Victoria was quite pleasant, interesting and funny. I made sure to thank her profusely for putting this together, which seemed to soften her up. I also started a group chat, which wasn't too difficult but the rest of them seemed impressed. 

Lest you think this was an unpleasant experience, it wasn't. It truly was a lot of fun. However, I noticed my social meter was in overdrive and it took more than a quiet hour watching the rest of the Diamondback's game to reset. I've met many Victorias. She moved here in the past year from New Jersey, then lost her husband. She wants friends and connections and doesn't know how to go about doing it. My personal feeling is that the group will form organically and whatever unreasonable expectation Victoria wants will would be mutinied by everyone else over time so that this will be everyone's murder mystery book club. 

*Most murder mysteries are more than 300 pages because of the nature of the genre. 

**Riiiigggghhhhtttt. Tell a group of women they can't "chit-chat" and see what happens?  

***I didn't mention I write books. 

Speed Dating Churches

One of the many aesthetics
at the Alliance Church

Our neighbor, Karen, (that's really her name, and she's delightful!) invited us to her church. She went as far as to call a few folks, and tell them to be on the lookout because it was a holiday weekend and she's out of town. That's okay. I really didn't want to be led by the nose while Karen introduced me to 36 strangers. 

Intricate stained glass
above the stage/pulpit.

So, Buck and I went to the Alliance church. I have mixed reviews. Neither of us are interested in a rock and roll church, which this one is. We found out it was "hymn Sunday" which meant standing for a half hour, singing while electric guitars and a keyboard accompanied us. It was also "Communion Sunday," which, to these two Catholics was unheard of--as Communion should be every Sunday. 

On the plus side, the people were nice and the pastor's message was interesting. They also offer a book club, an active young adult group and a few other interesting community options. So, there's that, but there was no Texarkana Church of Christ energy. 

Buck is looking to make friends. I asked at the Catholic church if there was a young adult group (there is not). So, this is why we ventured out. I'm not sure this is the place for me. Buck's on the fence and said he'd get back to me. However, the rock and roll vibe was a bit much for both of us. Fortunately, about three others around here have also invited us to their churches. 

Settling In

Across the street. And not bears. 

We slept in our own beds in our new house last night. Though we are still tripping over boxes and what-not, it was a fabulous experience to be surrounded by the familiar. In fact, to celebrate our new dwelling, there might have been some cat shenanigans around 2 a.m. that included a race around the master bedroom, ending with the two jumping onto the bed and rolling around my feet until they were summarily removed from the room.

Oh yes! There was also Luna growling and barking at the top of her lungs around 3 a.m. like zombies were attacking. I told her to go back to sleep and hoped there wasn't a snake outside. Today I discovered bears live nearby and like to patrol. They have zero qualms about jumping the fence into the back yards. Bears. BEARS! Somehow snakes aren't as scary. 

So sweet!

So far the neighbors are friendly and fun. I'm told by several folks this is a great street to live on. There are a lot of kids around here--which I love. This past weekend, cute twin boys (probably age 7) brought us chocolate chip cookies. We intend to return the plate and the favor with something homemade--once we get our house up and running. 

Speaking of getting the house up and running--I'm single-handedly keeping Amazon afloat by purchasing cheap storage containers, trash cans and curtains. Lowe's sent out a wellness check expedition because they hadn't seen me in 25 hours and obviously something must be wrong. Surprise! We'd gone to a different Lowe's the day before. This did not bode well for the three folks--all I'm on a first-name basis with--whom missed me terribly. I felt like I was two-timing on my Lowe's location. And let's not forget, Capital One! Their CEO thanked me for my generous contribution to his child's European Study Abroad program this semester. 

I have my first play-date next week. I answered an ad in the Next Door ap from a woman who is starting a murder-mystery book club. We all meet next Monday to discuss how to set this up and what to read. Though I'd love to be self-serving and suggest Elaina Harper's latest book (coming out September 22), I'll let that pass. My last book club didn't even know I wrote books for the first two years I was in it. 

Moving Cross Country Day 47,001,936

Our worldly possessions.

Oh, this has to end soon. Right? RIGHT?!!!

Our Uboxes, which were promised to us for Monday, August 31 arrived today. And that is the most wondefulist of news. However, 7 Uboxes don't fit easily on my driveway and therefore one Ubox is kinda on the sidewalk. So, let's add this to another of the HOA infractions I'm sure are stacking upon us. The earliest these boxes can be picked up is Monday. 

One of the really great parts about living here is that Amazon comes overnight. In Texarkana, "Amazon Prime" meant anywhere from two days to a week. I got used to it. Today I received Luna's ear medicine, shelf paper, a cat box mat and shelves for under the bathroom sink before I even woke up. 

The handyman we hired to paint the black master bedroom is awesome. He has a mildly autistic son who is helping him. Unfortunately, son is extremely meticulous and goes at his own pace. Though I don't mind this too much, I do need to set up my bedroom this weekend. So, I'm not giving too much leeway for the painting. And honestly, if I had a ladder available, I probably could have done this myself. But my time has been better spent, cleaning the place (the former owners are pigs) and running up the credit card. 

After two days of cleaning, the house is feeling more like my home. I'm making landscaping plans for the front yard--like removing the rogue palm tree growing in my hedge. I've put in shelf paper and made plans for each drawer. I believe Marty and the Young Adults have opted to install a "coffee bar" by the kitchen table, because I'm not willing to part with counter space. 

Though we are still discovering some of the home's eccentricities, of all the houses we saw, nothing is making me regret this purchase. It was the best of the bunch. Also, we've been told by every stranger with an opinion, that the City of DeBary is the best of the locations around here. 

And even when I start feeling pissy and selfish about the move, our new house and some of our challenges, I look at my text messages and count my blessings. Corona Jenny is currently hospitalized. She's had three heart procedures in four weeks. Now, she's back in the hospital and she's scared. The notes to Jenny going around today were sweet and heartbreaking. Corona Suzy, Little Miss Hates Me (she really does), Corona Cindy and Corona Sherry all went to stay with Jenny. I sent my own private message as well. It puts my life in perspective. 

The eventual office/sewing room.
It's purple! Squee!!!!!!

Great room. Couches are in the Uboxes.

Corona Ruthie gave me that welcome sign. 

Lots of Heavy Sighing

A friend, who is a former ex-pat, once told me when she moved back to the US, every purchase decision she made carried the same weight as if she were buying a toaster. At the time, I found that fascinating. When I moved to Texas, I understood exactly what she meant. And now I'm living it again. 

I'm making buying decisions from ceiling fans to mops. Every decision lasts a maximum of four seconds. The decision consists of a heavy sigh (two of those seconds) and pointing to my preference based on color, style or price.   

Yesterday I picked blue paint for the soon to be not-black bedroom walls. The only white walls to test out the colors were in the closet. I also put the blue paint samples on the black walls. Neither sample looked great in either setting. But I also realize both look better than the black. So, I sighed and pointed to one of them. If I have regret over my choice, I'll change it later. Or I won't.  

I've spent way too much time at Lowe's and WalMart, sighing and shoving stuff into my shopping cart. We spent half of Serbia's GDP on cleaning supplies yesterday--the seller's left us a going away present of a filthy home. I also bought a broken ceiling fan (returned and replaced), a toilet and industrial vinegar for weed control. There are still lots of other decisions to make: dishes--ours were left in Texas--shelf paper, a vet to treat Luna's ear infection, drivers licenses, bank accounts, desk chairs, trash cans, and a toaster. 

Florida Life

The only home
purchase I've made. 

We've been in Florida since Friday and done very little. That's okay. Our nervous systems are shot from the past month. Or, at least mine is. This is down time while we wait for our furniture to arrive. 

Some day I'll write about my last week in East Texas. Or, I won't. Everything from the last Corona night to the card Tessa gave me was extreme in its own way. Plus, I'm shocked at the number of text messages I've gotten since we moved. Folks just saying hello. I appreciate all the kindness. 

But, back to Florida. 

The young adults go out every day, exploring. Yesterday they found an ice cream shop and an Irish Pub. Buck has also found every gym in town and managed to wrangle a trial membership to one of them. Polly and I also breezed through the Hobby Lobby, looking at decorating ideas for her bedroom. We walked through the aisles marveling, like crazed tourists. By the way, I'd forgotten how wonderful a FULL SIZED Hobby Lobby is! Yep, a mini-Hobby Lobby is a thing. And not a good one. 

Yesterday, we had our final walk-through on the new house. The young adults were more excited than I thought they'd be. They agree the master bedroom must be painted asap. I mean, who paints a bedroom black? Yesterday we also brought over a bag of sulphur and Marty liberally sprinkled it around the back yard, while I pointed out inches of space he missed. I'm just doing my part to ensure the snakes go elsewhere. 

Today we close on the house. Afterwards, we'll get to work painting and doing all sorts of things. And this lull will be part of our history. 

Moving Cross Country Day 2,908,671

I'm sitting in an Air B&B in Debary Florida. Or, DeBary. Not sure which spelling yet. After two days of driving, we arrived last night. I'm tired and not ready to process much else. However, I have to read 6 tons of papers that need to be signed for the closing of our new home. That's about all I have right now. 

A Surprise Send-Off

I'm a bit floored by the phone call I received today. It was the pastor of the Church of Christ. I knew he has my number (and e-mail). He knows my name. He knows Marty Sunshine. We've texted before about random things. I think the world of his wife too. But I've always just assumed I'm just someone in the congregation. 

Anyway, the pastor called because he wanted to know if lunch was an option tomorrow. Not just the Sunshines and him, but his wife and a few others who know us. Yes. Lunch sounds great--and not only because every pan here on Arizona Avenue is packed. The gang getting together makes me laugh. 

Then he asked if the Sunshines would like to come up to the front, during Chruch have the elders surround us and pray over Marty and I. His other option was to mention we were leaving from the pulpit, and and wish us well. I went with option two, lest we scare off Marty and Buck, who both plan on coming. And honestly, I am not someone who wants to stand in front of a bunch of folks and be surrounded by elders praying over me anyway. 

Not gonna lie, I broke down during our phone call, overwhelmed by the extension of friendship. This is how amazing this church is. Friendly. Positive. It speaks volumes that three Catholics from the same family attend voluntarily--though only one of the three goes regularly. This isn't a small church. On any given Sunday, there's about 400 people in the pews. I'm not friendly, but I'm not standoffish either. But I honestly never expected anything like this. And I assure you, nothing like this happens in a Catholic church.  

All Grown Up

 

2006

2010

Pollywog is 26 today. Hard to believe this sweet thing is so grown up. At one time she'd discuss the finer points of chocolate candy. Now, she's talking about a restaurant in Florida she heard of where she and I can order chocolate martinis. 

It is also my youngest brother's birthday. He's 53 today.