Just a Day in the Life

What a day! After a master gardener event this morning, I met the Thursday lunch bunch at Jason's Deli. The ladies suggested many ways to make my house not sell, including they'd drive by and throw trash in my front yard. What a way to tell someone they'll be missed. 

When I got home, I stared at my ultra-clean house and sighed. Today is the last day before our home goes on the market. It's clean and all but Roosevelt cares about this. Roosey would rather eat the silk flowers Tessa brought over and knock the vases to the floor in protest. Not that I blame him. 

Anyway, after about thirty minutes of wandering around aimlessly, I convinced Marty to go on a road trip. We ended up in Idabel Oklahoma, which is about an hour away. I'd tell you it was a cultural excursion, but we'd both know I was lying. Idabel is a dump.

For those of you who love-love-love Oklahoma!
This is the "Welcome to Oklahoma" sign taken in Arkansas while driving 70 miles an hour.

Marty and I did find one thrift store, which did not have my 9" mixing bowl I'm trying to replace. I was told by the shop owner, what I'm looking for is "valuable" because it's pyrex (lower case). It isn't. I can replace the entire set of mixing bowls for less than $20 mail order. I only need one bowl. So, the the hunt continues.

We also wandered into a weird convenience store/fast food restaurant called, "Braums." I've heard folks in Texarkana rave about the place, waiting for one to magically appear in our town. However, I didn't understand the appeal with the overpriced groceries and a questionable-looking kitchen to cook a burger.  

I did find a place called "Mia's." Though we didn't stop, I did take a picture of the front and side and sent it to my pal, Mia*, telling her if the whole physician thing doesn't work out, it looks like she has a backup plan and it consists of Jesus and diabetes. 

Mia replied, "I like you, even if you are crazy and watch baseball." 

The side of Mia's Sweet Tooth 

After all our travels, Marty and I stopped by Big Jakes BBQ and bought an order of ribs. We made it home by 5 p.m., made a salad and ate dinner. 

 

*One of these days, I simply should write about my pal Mia, who I spend almost every Wednesday with. But not today. 

Staging

The house is more or less ready to be listed. I guess. Or I thought it was when I told Tessa to order the photographer. 

When I sold houses in Arizona, the rule was less is more. Declutter. Depersonalize. If you have pictures on the wall, it distracts buyers from looking at the features of the house. But, what do I know? 

Our décor style is minimal-eclectic. Most of this has been boxed and stuck in Uboxes. We bought new stuff 28 years ago. Since then we had gifted artist children, whose pictures (and photos) graced our walls. I've refinished several pieces of furniture, which we use. My children have quilts which were hand-made and live on their beds. Plus, my father was an accomplished stained-glass artist, and I have several of his lamps and this beauty that I love, and I would have done a lot of low and dirty things if my brothers even thought about claiming this for themselves when my father died. 

My Daddy made this.

Anyway, Tessa came over yesterday and decided our décor was too white trashy "abrupt" for buyers. "Abrupt" she explained would turn buyers off. For example, the table cloth on our kitchen table "makes the house look like old people live here." Or--hear me out--the table cloth hides the stained and scratched kitchen table. She brought over a table runner and jug to decorate our kitchen table. That table runner will not be on the table before we wake in the morning, because the Overlords LOVE playing under tablecloths when nobody is looking. I'm moving the jug to the counter. Oh yes! She also put an area rug under the kitchen table. Why? I don't know. Something else to vacuum.

Additionally, Tessa told me to buy more fruit for my fruit bowl, because it looks "too empty." I can't eat more fruit! I eat an apple a day, buying enough apples to fill the bowl would be another 10 day's worth of apples. Nope. 

She felt our bedspread needed to be changed out to bring "color" to our bedroom. Because, white and purple aren't colors, I guess. So, she brought us new bedding. Because colorful bedding sells houses. 

This hideous bedspread is being removed exactly
1.3 nanoseconds after the photographer leaves. 

She also insisted that Polly's quilt should be covered up, calling Polly's quilt "old lady" which totally pissed off my daughter. To Tessa's credit, she didn't have any comments about the lamp in her bedroom. 

Colorful but not as unsightly as my bed. But Polly wants her quilt.

To be fair, Tessa is a great agent. She sells more than anyone else in the area. She has great instincts. But I honestly don't think that adding throw pillows to my couch or grouping my lighthouse pictures on my wall and adding a nautical shrine to a corner of my house that never had, needed or wanted a nautical shrine really matters in a starter home in Wake Village. This isn't a Paradise Valley mega mansion. 

I'm not making this up. 
(excuse the paper towel roll)

The housing market is soft. I don't expect this house to sell very quickly. So, maybe adding fake flowers and white rolled up wash cloths in my bathroom (you know, for "color") will be what it takes to bring in a buyer.  

Getting the House Ready

Oh the act of moving is so delightful. We've been packing, cleaning and getting on each other's nerves for the last two weeks. Our steam mop finally decided it had enough and gave out today.

Thank you for your service

Don't Mess with This One

Found this photo when I was cleaning out something this past week. Polly from our trip to Galveston a couple of years ago. 

Packing Update

Not to brag or anything, but today the Sunshines ate take-out chicken wings at the kitchen table. All four of us. On one mostly-cleaned off table. And--get this!--we moved enough boxes out of the way so that Luna could get to her water bowl. Because that's the crazy way we roll. 

In other news, we have three Uboxes completely packed and the master bathroom has been deep cleaned--except the floor, which I'm too tired to do anything about right now. 

In other-other news, with random doors open as we hauled stuff outside, Leon only escaped twice today. The second time I found him by looking into the sky and seeing where the hawk circled. $*%&! cat. 

Oh yes. I want to commemorate our clean garage in posterity. We earned it. 

Aspirations

The best fiction I've written in years came via a text to Tessa: The house will be ready to put on the market next week. 

It looks much better now. Sorta. 

After a full day of sorting, tossing, and packing the mess above doesn't exist any more. Kinda. It is now shoved into boxes, trash bags and donation bins. 

When we left Mesa, 4 and a half years ago, we had five weeks to make the move. The house never hit the real estate market. We were all working. Plus, I was driving about 90 miles round trip about five days a week to take care of my father. And yet, we managed to sort, toss and pack. But I don't remember how. 

We have less stuff now. But we have less storage and so it's all over the place. 

As of today, the majority of the master bedroom is cleared out. There's still a bit in my closet to go. My big dresser can be taken to our Ubox on Buck's next day off. My desk is already there. Polly cleaned out her room as well. We have major furniture to move and the kitchen to sort through. That's most of what's left. However, it feels daunting.  

Today I also sent a group text to the Coronas, telling them the house is going on the market next week and the intention is to move to Florida. I got the sweetest messages in return. And maybe if I wasn't crying through all that, I'd have the energy to finish packing my closet. Tomorrow I'm just turning off my phone. 

The Tale of Two Burned Out Real Estate Professionals

Home, sweet home. (April, 2003) 

Tessa and I have had drive-by texts and chats this week, and it finally reached a point where we just needed to catch up. I understand what's going on with her--and it isn't a desire to not list my house. Probably. She has several horrible clients (she's told me war stories) and they all acted the fool at once. 

Plus, she's ready for vacation. As her friend, I'm ready for her to be on vacation. She needs it. Badly.

Anyway, Tessa generally holds open houses on Sunday afternoons. I cyber-stalked her on Facebook and found out where she was. It was the most amount of uninterrupted time I'd had with her. It was great to catch up with my friend. I'm worried about what I'm getting myself into with my Realtor.  

Let me back up a teensy bit. Saturday night Tessa texted me and said she'd swing by Sunday to "stage" my home. Mind you, it isn't listed yet. No papers have been signed. I sent her a picture of the toxic dump in our living room and told her it was a bit early for such endeavors. 

But can we talk about "staging" please? I live in a 2004 builder spec home. It is 1,800ish* square feet of nofrills. It is a starter home in a starter home neighborhood. When we bought, there was nothing for sale. Nothing! During my chat Sunday with Tessa, she asked I needed area rugs? Lamps? Pictures for the walls? Or--and I'm not making this up--a "vase or two" to brighten the rooms. I live with the Overlords. A "vase or two" sounds like future pottery shards. 

I'm not sure what staging in this case is supposed to look like. The Sunshines are in the process of emptying the house of all extraneous items. We will then move couches and a few other things around so the place looks presentable. I may not be a real estate professional in a metro area of 65,000 ** but I'm thinking "staging" is overkill. 

Which brings me to this conversation. While chatting, I told her I have Alvin the felon handyman coming over this week to do a few things, including removing the non-functioning ceiling fan from the back porch. "You need to replace the ceiling fan." she said. I countered with, "No. We don't. No buyer is going to hang their head and declare, 'That's it! I was so interested in this house but now I just can't buy it because there's no ceiling fan outside'!" To her credit, I could see Tessa itched to reply, but opted not to.

Sunday we talked about showings and open houses. I have two indoor cats and an antisocial dog. I can't do anything about the cats. I will take the dog out for showings. But let's not bother with open houses. Open houses don't sell houses. I know this. She knows this. Open houses are for real estate agents to capture leads and to appease nervous sellers. They are definitely not for houses with cat boxes.  

One area where Marty is on board with Tessa is price. I'm not fighting this because I really hope I'm wrong. Tessa wants to price this place $15,000 more than I think it's worth. There is a house two doors down that's been for sale since February and has an additional bedroom and is much bigger. Our pricing would be $5,000 apart. And honestly, I'd bet once our house goes on the market, their price will come down again--my neighbor is desperate. We aren't. 

That said, the real estate market is very soft. I'm not sure pricing it at Tessa's price or mine will make any difference. Right now we have time and no money, so it doesn't hurt anything. If Marty gets a job and we need to move quickly, I'll push back. Besides, I wouldn't mind getting Tessa's price for my house--but I'm betting it's as unrealistic as adding a couple of vases to make the house more attractive to a potential buyer.  

Update: After talking to our financial advisor, he articulated to Marty what I have been too exhausted to put into words. We gain nothing but time on the market by keeping our price higher than necessary. So, the price is going back to what I originally thought the house was worth. Honestly, it still will probably sit on the market. 

*The county says the home is 1,800 square feet. It feels like 1,500 and either the county is wrong or it is the absolute worst layout ever. Or both. 

**Approximate population of both Texarkanas combined. 

Because, Of Course There Were

Driving down highway 82 today, about 5 miles from my home in a country town of Leary, TX, I ran across this. 

 

A Saturday in Texarkana

Our house looks like this: 

We really don't live this way. Ever. 

Today Marty and Buck worked on the garage--which is a nightmare. We never fully moved into this house and though there's the adage of if one hasn't used it in a year, it needs to go. I don't necessarily agree. My antique books never had a book shelf. My nice dishes never had a cabinet. I don't have an office to put my office goodies in. So, those already packed items where put into different boxes (the old boxes were falling apart) and repacked. 

In addition to all of the above, Marty and I drove 25 miles to almost Louisiana (on the Arkansas side) to meet up with Corona Leah who took three little storage cabinets we had and loaned me her pressure washer. 

Oh! Leah's house isn't on any mapping program. Directions to Leah's house--I'm not making this up--take a right at the Baptist church, follow that road for a quarter mile, keep an eye out for the first barn on the left and turn at the next road and follow it to the end. 

When we returned to Texarkana, Marty and I stopped by the best coffee shop/book store in town where my friend Cal was having a book signing. I also ran into two other people I knew at the coffee shop, causing Marty to ask if there was anyone in town I did not know. Plus--PLUS!!! I found out two of my books placed at the coffee shop/book store had sold in the past week. Yay!!! 

Afterwards, Marty and I ran errands and did life together before Deb, the Queen of the Coronas called and asked me for help. She's had her home painted and needed few pieces of furniture put back. I was happy to help, not only to get me out of my disaster of a home but mainly because Deb is all kinds of awesome. What was not awesome was catching Deb, who is six weeks away from a hip replacement, on a ladder without a spotter. 

When I'd spent a few hours at Deb's I headed home and helped Marty pack a few more boxes. The house is going to stay a disaster a bit longer. Our goal is to have a good chunk packed by Wednesday and have the garage cleaned out by Wednesday. You saw those pictures. That's realistic? Right? 

A Sign, Perhaps?

I've dusted off the Big Girl Broker voice (tm). It goes with the resting bitch face, but everyone I'm talking to can't see me. Tessa still hasn't called me back. I have issues with this, but I also don't. My realtor in Florida seems to think "I'll call you tomorrow," has no expiration date. Still waiting to hear from him, but he might get canned anyway if he can't act like he's in sales. 

The the poor loan officer I've been in contact with, got a phone call from me where I asked why my request is now a week old--especially because I need this information to move forward. To the loan officer's credit, he must have recognized the timbre of my voice as more than strained because he stammered, apologized and promised I'd hear from him. Eventually. 

Former real estate agent me would never let this level of bafoonery happen. Also former real estate agent me would have been using multi-syllable words if in this situation. 

Retired real estate agent me is thinking, maybe we shouldn't move and this is just the universe's way of making this happen.  

Life in Texarkana

 From the ole Facebook

I have questions: 

1. "Dangerous" alligator? Are there any other kinds? 

2. Spring Lake Park is an urban park, surrounded by neighborhoods. It isn't like the lakes and rivers surrounding Texarkana, which would be a more natural habitat for such critters. It would be like finding a javelina at Encanto Park in Phoenix. Or maybe like finding a polar bear hanging out in Central Park, NYC.  

3. And this is my biggest concern: That's a small dangerous gator. A baby. Where is mama?? 

In other news, I'm meeting my pal, Joy, for a walk around Spring Lake park in an hour.  

A Random Texarkana Wednesday

Today I met Master Gardener and amazing pal, Joy, for my first Master Gardener event in 2026. Every Wednesday she and a few others meet at a group home for the developmentally disabled and work with the residents in their greenhouse.  

I told Joy my news: the house is going on the market (if Tessa ever calls me back). "What?! This seems sudden!" Joy isn't one for sarcasm. So, I did point out this has been in the works since December and she's known this was a distinct possibility. Though she agreed with my statement, she's still perplexed. 

By the way, this greenhouse is awesome. The fire ant colony I encountered in the planter in front of the greenhouse, not so much. 

 

***

After I finished, I called Corona Gail so that I could return a book she'd lent me for next week's book club. Fortunately, I'd only had this book for a week. Given this is the South, I knew what I'd be in for. It is almost impossible to just "drop off a book." But I adore--ADORE--Corona Gail so I didn't mind that I ended up visiting with her for a couple of hours.

Corona Gail has been the new kid to a new town. She knows I'm struggling with the idea of starting over. We sat on her back porch, while she offered sisterly advice and made me remember how much I love her. I told her about my experience at my first Corona night four years ago and how terrified I'd been just showing up in the throes of grief (my father and my aunt had just died). Looking back, I know I laughed more that first night than I ever had. I left with a sense of gratitude for being included and not anticipating there'd be more Corona nights. I told Corona Gail I want to know I can find friends like that again. She assures me I'll be fine. 

***

When I returned home, I got a text saying our Uboxes were on their way from Shreveport. They arrived a couple of hours later. So far, they are empty and I have no energy to fill them. The weather is promising a reprieve for a few days and we are motivated to get them loaded before the next thunderstorm. I think we've got a week. 

 

The Spirit is Thinking About Being Willing

Yesterday, I cleaned out the bathroom cabinets and took a box of hotel toiletries and free samples I'd accumulated in the last 4.5 years to the domestic violence shelter. Additionally, I managed to pack three totes with blankets and sheets and send others (along with a bag of Marty's t-shirts) thrift stores in town. And given this is East Texas, I've already forged into the packed totes to grab additional blankets--in JUNE. Because the weather here is nuts. 

Speaking of nutty weather... Marty and I made a pinky promise to start working on the garage today. Except it is raining like crazy and when it rains, our garage floor is wet. So, that's on hold. 

And the crazy weather is also making the interior of the house VERY dark. For whatever reason, Marty has gotten to an age where he can't stand overhead lights so I'm tripping over the frightened dog because of the lightening and the fact I can't see where I'm going.  I need to live where there is sunlight. There. I said it. 

Also last night, Tessa replied to my 14 hour-old text, telling me she wasn't ignoring me. She'd had a crazy day and would call me in an hour. I told her we could talk today. What I didn't tell her is tomorrow or Thursday is good too.

 Today I'm going to putter around and do other tasks until the rain stops and we can air out the garage. And then I will go back to my babystep to-do list.  

Update: Nah... it didn't happen. I have zero motivation to pack and move. And when Tessa texted me today, I put that off too. This isn't passive aggressiveness. I swear. It's a lack of interest.  

The Spirit is Willing

This past weekend, we decided to put our house on the market. Our "go" date is July 10, where it will probably sit on the market for months anyway.  

Between now and then, I need to let my realtor know she's listing it. 

Also between now and then I need to get the house ready to sell. 

So far all I've done is buy a few plastic totes from Dollar General and thought about decluttering. Oh yes! I wrote a bit of my newest story and played Words with Friends. So, there's that. 

 

Former Vocation PTSD

I've had to turn to the layman standard for looking at homes--Zillow. Many listings have superimposed furniture in them for buyers who can't figure out where the couch should go in an empty room. And to be honest, there are a few homes where I understand the virtual staging. I've seen where I can't figure out where the couch would go either. But I'm sure if the previous homeowner figured it out, so would I. 

Though I can see past the virtual staging, I'm having a tough time with stretched pictures. Is that a space for a refrigerator or a king sized bed? I've started counting floor tiles to determine how wide a room might be instead of marveling at the massive bathroom (which, according to the floor tiles is probably less than 5 feet wide). 

But the worst for me is that I apparently can't get the realtor out of my veins. I am barking at the real estate folks who posted the pictures, saying things like, "Could you have put the toilet seat down before you snapped the picture?" and "Nobody cares that your seller keeps a philodendron on the kitchen counter!" 

Or, this view of garage wall. Why? And is that floor tiles?  

Or this? I'm not shaming the sellers here. Perhaps they are stressed and overwhelmed--Heaven knows I am, and my home isn't even on the market! But the agent didn't have to put this picture on the MLS (which directly feeds to all the Zillow-type web sites). I mean? What do you do with this bedroom/dining nook/closet? Alas, if it were only virtually staged. 

Marty commented after my head exploded with my 235th tirade, lovingly suggesting maybe it's time to bring back my Bad MLS photos posts again. Perhaps it is. 

Unemployment Update

It's been nine months since Marty's departure from Dante's fourth ring of eternal damnation. And nobody around here is sad he isn't there any more. We haven't starved. Our bills are mostly paid. Mostly meaning, it wasn't the trip to Florida that sucker punched our credit card--Marty and I are efficient travelers. It was car repairs and a few other unexpected hits which followed. 

Marty has come to the realization there's no work in Texarkana. He can't do what he's done for years and while he's here, Marty doesn't want to do anything else. And unfortunately, I mean that literally, not figuratively. Therefore, a potential move to Florida is back on the table. 

Yesterday, I met with Tessa and drilled her about the state of the real estate market. It's soft. I knew this because I can see what's going on around me. I've also talked with the loan officer in Florida, about options if it takes a few months to sell. The wheels are starting to spin. I even broke down and opened up Zillow to see what's for sale over there.  

At this point it is safe to say we are in the "early stages" of another move. The house is a cluttered disaster. Four adults, one dog and two cats under one roof does not make for good showability. So, that's the next step: declutter, degrease and deep clean. 

When, "Here's Your Book. Thanks." Would be Considered Tacky

I realized I held on to Ms. Cindy's book too long. I found it on my book shelf and remembered I read it about two years ago. And Oh $@*&! I hadn't returned it. 

I live in Texarkana Texas. Residents have a Texan attitude and Southern manners, which meant there was no easy way to return a wayward item--even one that isn't missed--without a long, drawn out apology, which I provided and Ms. Cindy graciously cast aside with the manners of a Bible Belt belle. 

The book in question was returned to her front porch this past week, along with a humble handwritten note and tomatoes from my garden as loan interest. Additionally, I sent a text, telling her where she'd find the book and commenting on her adorable (she is adorable) dog who peeked at me through the window. 

Ms. Cindy responded in kind, thanking me for doing this right. 

Luna Brought a Bit of the Desert With Her

An Exhausted Luna After Being Probed By Doc P.

Luna has been sick since we moved here. Very sick. 

Last winter Doc P figured out what was going on with our poor puppy. She had this disease he'd heard of in Vet school, but never saw in real life: Valley Fever. 

On the remote chance you might read this and not be from Arizona, Valley Fever is a disease anyone who has lived in the Phoenix area for more than a year has contacted. It is caused by spores in the air. Generally there's an initial "outbreak," like a cough, or a strange illness which takes the person down for two weeks, or maybe the outbreak is nothing at all. Sometimes there might be another flair-up if the patient has a crummy immune system. But, for the most part, it just remains dormant in the system and becomes something we live with. However, if you have lived there, you've been exposed. 

And yes, pets can get it too. However, animals in East Texas don't normally have this. So, when Doc P deep dived into Luna's wild health issue, this was the last diagnosis he ever intended to make. 

And I'm glad he did because Luna's health is so much better than a year ago. With her thyroid under control and her fungal infection gone, she's running and even can jump onto the bed. She has more energy than I've seen in a long time. Yes, she's aged terribly (a gray muzzle now), but she's defiantly got some spark left in her. And she's even gained back the majority of the weight she's lost in the past year. 

How does Luna feel about this? Well, as far as she'd concerned. Doc P is the devil. He sticks needles in her. He violates her boundaries without even offering her a treat. He's made her sleep in a cage overnight, away from her kittens and the rest of us. He's a big stinky meany. 

We, however, are grateful Doc P didn't give up on her. 

Red, White, and Clues

Texas Rangers wear cowboy hats.

Yesterday, I made it to the North East Texas Writer Organization's conference: Red, White, and Clues. Held in Mount Pleasant, my Golden Quill writer pal, Karen, and I jaunted the 70 miles to a crowded room full of mystery writers. And wow! You'd think for podunk nowhere, this conference might have been akin to a kiddie carnival. But nope. This was Disneyland. 

The speaker lineup included several prolific, best-selling authors discussing the finer points of mystery and suspense story telling. Lest you think that is wildly dull, you might be right if story crafting and mystery/suspense stories aren't your thing. But let me just say this: mystery/suspense is the hardest of all the genres to write. The writer needs clues and misdirection. The audience needs a satisfying ending. The writer needs compelling characters who have childhood trauma. Okay, that last part is optional (but I used it in The Redeemed--coming soon, I swear), but a backstory on paper or in the writer's head is necessary for a flawed character. As any reader can tell you, a perfect character is a boring character. Okay, my tangent is over. 

In addition to the speakers who managed to find their way to this little part of East Texas, we had someone come from a search and rescue school who answered all sorts of detailed minutia questions about finding bodies, weapons and even shared a story about he and his other search and rescue colleagues were called out around 3 a.m. this past Thursday morning to rescue a group of boaters who were stranded in the Sabine River and surrounded by gators. Best line of the conference: "They were the type of folks you'd expect to be stranded in the Sabine River in the middle of the night surrounded by gators." 

We also had a Texas Ranger* speak to us about cold case investigations and how forensic operations are conducted. He talked about blood splatters, advances in DNA technology, and stupid criminals. He even disused where he puts his hat when he has to take it off at a restaurant (on his knee). Notes were taken and I'd be willing to bet some of this information will be used in some attendee's future story. Third best line at the conference needs a small set-up. A woman asked our Texas Ranger some sort of semi-personal question. An audience member yelled out, "He's married Jennifer. Give it a rest." 

The second best line of the conference came from our last speaker who had sat through the entire conference. She has 30+ books out and writes under a couple of pen names.** She looked at the crowd and said, "Thank you fellow introverts for not leaving thus far. Y'all are great but just like you, I'm ready to be alone."

*Okay, this deserves a comment: there are only 166 Texas Rangers in the entire state. 166!!!!! Talk about an elite team.  

**I must find this woman and thank her for reassuring me that writing under a pen name is worthy. Why does she have different pen names? One of the genres she writes in is erotica and she doesn't want the folks at her Southern church finding out. 

The Piano Men

 

It's time we discussed the 1923 Banana Club. 

The 1923 Banana Club, or "Banana Club," as the locals call it, is a lounge/bar/music venue in downtown Texarkana Arkansas. The place got its name because it was in the basement of the Central Market back in the day. Produce from the trains (across the street) would come in and be stored down there. There are still the hooks where the bananas hung, lodged into the ceiling. 

Down those steps. If you know the code
(and have reservations) the entertainment is yours. 

The place is fashioned as a speakeasy, with the front entrance down a staircase and a secret code to enter. Allegedly this code is on their Facebook page, but I have yet to find it. Once inside, there's a small lobby--think the size of a modest walk-in closet--with a sliding door, letting patrons into a venue which probably seats 75. 

The vibe is secret hideaway meets frat party. The place is decorated with paraphernalia that might have been found in a speakeasy from 100 years ago, along with a ton of historic explanations. Most nights there's music--and there's a lot of great musical talent in the Ark-La-Tex area, which makes up for the terrible service (it's always terrible). The place is owned by a man I've never seen sober. I've often wondered if this is part of the act or he just has a bionic liver. But like most places around town, terrible service and inebriated owners don't define the experience. Nor does it lessen the fun. 

I took this picture Saturday night. Though you can barely make out anything with the lighting the way it is, there are instruments hanging off the wall. The lighting always looks like this.  

Saturday night a few of us went to see the Two Pianos guys who played for three hours (minus a 15 minute break). The audience sang along while they performed everything from Baby Got Back to the requisite Sweet Caroline. They took requests and nothing stumped them. 

One of the musicians happens to be married to our newest Corona. We sat in the front, which might have been a mistake for poor Debbie*, who was picked on all night by the two. Given this is the Bible Belt and they are part of the Church of Christ music leadership, the pianists were much more lude than I expected. 

Fortunately for them, the audience laughed--even Deb who was a great sport about everything. However at the end of the night, they did offer a public apology, pointing out they would be seeing those of us who sat at our table in church in a few hours. Another private apology followed before we left--this dude was sweating bullets!--along with a third apology the next morning before church. 

I'm still laughing. And honestly, so is everyone else. In fact, Deb was so popular, two guys who were about the age of Buckaroo came up to our table and invited Debbie to Wataburger on Stateline because she seemed like such a good hang. 

"You could be my great grandsons!" she exclaimed. 

"So are you coming?" they asked. 

She didn't. 

*To give you a snippet about what 70+ year old Church lady Debbie the Queen of Everything endured for hours Saturday night, after church yesterday I ran into Deb who wanted me to go to a bible class with her. I never go. She pushed. And then I said, "That song we sang a minute ago, wasn't it in the key of D? As in D for Debbie does Dallas?" 

She gave me a playful swat and said, "Bye. Have a good Sunday." 

Normalcy

With the Sunshine's plans in limbo for the moment, life in these parts has taken to a peaceful stasis. That's such a relief on the ol'e adrenal system. I'm personally hoping the more time goes by, a decision to stay for a few more years can be discussed. But I'm not optimistic as much as I am wistful. Marty could land a job at any time and change the trajectory of this bliss. Whatever the outcome, I'm okay. We are where we are for now. 

Because things are calming down, I'm looking at getting back into the master gardener program. I didn't take a hiatus because of Marty's lack of job, I took one because I felt like I was juggling too much, too often, and with conflicting purpose. I like the master gardeners. I like that they promote plants and understanding in the community. The people are mostly fun and the information is valuable. I'm pleased to bring this back into my life.

Right now as I write this, Marty is cooking pad tai for lunch. Roosevelt is at my feet attacking an elastic hair band from Polly's collection. Leon is attacking Luna's swishing tail. Later this afternoon, the Sunshines have plans for frisbee golf, board games and watching Diamondbacks' baseball. 

I like this level of normal. 

Celebrating Sherman

Sherman's family is in town this weekend and it has been one big party bonanza. Though there's only six of them, their energy feels like 60. Make no mistake about it, they they are wonderful. Even Buckaroo*, who tends to be standoffish (I have no idea where he gets that from) is getting into the action. 

Though Polly had met Sherman's family before, she was beyond nervous for this weekend's festivities. who could blame her when her dear boyfriend sent her a text message with a detailed itinerary, giving times and locations for everything from a group walk around Bringle Lake to Saturday's workout. I was overwhelmed looking at the list, yet marveling at the level of detail he put into his text. Fortunately I'm not his girlfriend and I'm not expected to socialize non-stop for three days straight. 

However, the Sunshine family did have their level of obligations for the hurrah. We joined the Sherman Clan (and Polly) for bowling Friday. Marty doesn't bowl. My high score is 39. Lucky for me, I sprained my wrist earlier in the week** and wasn't ask to defend my title as Worst Bowler Ever--this is a competitive bunch. Buck did partake in a game or two. Mostly, Marty and I sat around chatting with Sherman's delightful folks.

Sherman's younger sister and husband live in Birmingham Alabama. Some sadist let it slip that might know something about Birmingham. Sherm's brother-in-law is hopped up to hear the story. However, I told him I'd need a beer in me and a half-hour to tell the tale. Brother-in-law hoped Friday night's dinner would be the time. Bro-in-law began to sit next to me at the restaurant, but Sherman's mother--God bless her!--shooed him away, deciding SHE would sit next to her new bestie. 

Saturday morning, Marty, Buck and I (Polly is house sitting for Tessa), found our way to the weekend's main event. Lieutenant Sherman received his promotion and is now Captain Sherman! I'm pleased he had a pretty big Texarkana crowd, given it was a holiday weekend. We celebrated with him afterwards on catered Chick-Fil-A minis, chatting with everyone. There were pictures, and I was touched Polly was included in several. Sherman even wanted a pic with the Sunshine family! 

There's a bunch of other events today. But I'm staying home. I've already slipped into my sweats, gone to Lowe's and bought plants, and worked on my latest woodworking project. The Sunshine's presence is requested for dinner tonight. I'm psyching myself up to share the Great Alabama Tale, and looking forward to another evening of laughter and new friendship. 

Captain Sherman's Promotion Ceremony

*This is the first time since Buckaroo got this job 18 months ago, that he took time off from work. On a holiday weekend Saturday, no less! 

**Valerie and I were walking around downtown Wednesday morning and I tripped on the uneven pavement in a grand flourish. I managed to fall in two states because this happened on Stateline Road. Val did what any good friend would do, after figuring out only my dignity and wrist were injured, she laughed. Fortunately I got up before she could capture the moment and post it on all the socials.   

Pivoting

My mood

Well, here's a fine how-do-you-do. The house two doors down from us, which was for sale for $50,000 more than we were planning on listing our house for, just lowered their price to our rock-bottom price sales price. The house two doors down is bigger, has a third garage bay and a fourth bedroom. So, it would be like comparing apples and scissors. 

Marty jokingly suggested we buy the house two doors down, move in so we aren't so crowded, and make ours into a rental. I'm all for it. 

Anyway, we aren't going anywhere right now. We are leaving, just not right away. Of course life can change AGAIN at any time. But, whew!  

Petty Suffering in Introvert Hell

During my time in Texarkana, I'd successfully avoided the Church of Christ's Tuesday morning's lady's Bible class. Until Yesterday. I know my time here is almost over and I wanted to see if maybe, I'd missed out on something. 

I had and I hadn't. 

I knew 99 percent of the attendants by name. One hundred percent of those around me were positive and happy, gracious women. I love that about these people. They are truly beacons of light and joys to be around. 

This week happened to be Deb's turn to lead the class. She started by commenting that I showed up for the first time (because she made me) and knew the Scripture better than most everyone there. She isn't wrong, but I didn't want to show anyone up. Instead, I announced I was only there because Deb said I had to go and today I planned on practicing my best, "Southern Talk." You know, "Oh my!" "My word!" "Dear me!" "Heavens."* 

I should also like to point out that today's topic was Second Timothy Chapter 2, which is the best example of the pious Catholics walking among us who like to declare that proclaiming their personal petty martyrdom for the rest of us to relish in is akin to holiness (it isn't). I promise, a lot of my good story fodder comes from those who take Second Timothy Chapter 2 out of context. But that wasn't the audience for me to share this publicly. 

And to be fair, that's not what the rest of the ladies got out of today's class anyway. 

Here's where it got interesting. I was naïve in thinking that a one hour Bible class ended after one hour. Oh no! That's the warm-up. The Bible class is the gateway drug to fellowship. In this case, all 13 of us heading off to a leisurely lunch. I tried backing out of it (shooting eye daggers at Deb for neglecting this tid-bit, though come to think of it, "If two or more Church of Christ members are gathered, there is food."**). However, fun Corona Suzy nudged me to the restaurant and sweet (non-Corona) Sharon and I bonded over our hatred of mayonnaise and eggs, so I had to make a showing. 

Unfortunately, lunch lasted another two hours and I was ready to kill someone. As an introvert whose day was rearranged, it was best to smile and keep to Southern Talk. Thoughts of putting my pious Catholic suffering into practice came back as I suffocated under the love and fellowship of these great ladies. But honestly, THREE HOURS??? Out of my home! Out of my sweat pants! Away from my garden! This is hell on an introvert, whose biggest plans for the day included working on edits and petting the dog. 

Will I go back? I don't know. There's only a handful of classes before they break for the summer and I doubt I will be here come fall. However, in the event I ever decide to attend another Bible class, I'll be prepared for it to take all day.  

*"Bless your heart," that old reliable saying, would have been taken out of context in this situation. 

**Corona Gail says this often enough there's no disputing it. 

Saturday Morning with Tessa

 

100 percent accurate

In my second venture into the real world after this awful illness, I met with Tessa Saturday morning. Tessa, you might remember, was my real estate agent when I moved here. I worked for her for six weeks. As a consolation prize for hanging out in her office and dealing with the unholy shrews totally delightful women who worked there and welcomed me with open arms and didn't sabotage me a teensy bit, Tessa introduced me to the Coronas. 

Tessa also happens to be besties with Her Majesty, Queen of Life, Deb (who really is a true delight, unlike the majority of Tessa's horrible agents). Also for the record, Tessa is also pretty awesome and I really like her. 

Anyway, Saturday morning, Tessa needed to vent about her real estate woes. I listened like the friend I hope she considers me to be. Unfortunately, I understood everything she was talking about. The antics of her clients brought back enough PTSD that I have zero interest in ever thinking about selling houses again. EVER. Every story of clients thinking Tessa was some sort of concierge, lawn service (the woman is in her 70s) or dog babysitter made me laugh as I commiserated with the nuttiness of her situation.* **

When she finally breezed through all that, she looked at her phone and said, "I'm going to have to go in about five minutes." 

I countered with, "That's just enough time to tell you that you are listing my home in early June. And please let me be the one to tell Deb." 

Tessa wasn't surprised, but she was surprised if that makes sense. I've been alluding to this particular thing for months. Even Deb won't be totally surprised. (I did tell Tessa the reason Deb hasn't heard yet is I don't want to deal with the Deb-guilt. Tessa said, "Good luck with that."). Honestly, nobody should be surprised, though my pal Joy--who is my first local friend to get this news--took it pretty hard yesterday. She raised a leery eyebrow and asked, "So, you are saying you are moving in a year or two?" Um... no. 

Anyway, Tessa wanted to come over and "evaluate" what needed to be done. No deal. I told Tessa we have four adults, two cats and a senior dog living under one roof. Our house looks like we have three households and feline chaos living there. Before Tessa comes over and tells me to move a table to the other corner, I need to find the other corner. Unless she's got a buyer wanting a 20 year old starter home in Wake Village and will give us a long escrow, sit tight. We'll meet up again before she lists it. Maybe by then she'll have saner real estate stories to share with me. 

*Note to anyone thinking of buying a house: unless your seven year old is on the mortgage, he doesn't have a say in the property. Thank you very much. 

**Note to anyone thinking of selling a home: if your real estate agent says, "this cash offer is a good deal and you should consider it," please do and don't blame your agent if the next offer is $40,000 lower, takes a month to get, and is in line with the current market prices. 

In Other News

 

We're moving this summer. 

I don't know when or where exactly, though we have a few areas in mind (it will be somewhere in the Orlando area). No. Marty doesn't have a job at this time. But he's now concentrating his search to Orlando area and remote jobs.

It took some convincing that buying was better than renting with two cats and a senior dog, but I've managed. Today I spoke with a loan officer and started the preapproval process. Because of Marty's retirement, this is an option without him having current employment.  

This week, Pete the Painter came by and painted our outside trim. I also had him freshen up the bathrooms and the front door. Those were painted early in our time here  by--I'm not making this up--six meth-heads who camped in our home for four days. 

I plan on breaking the news to Tessa soon. She's going to be listing our home. When? Not sure. We can't list our house until we can get rid of about 60 percent of our personal belongings--some of which will be stored in Uboxes (like everyone's personal desk). After all, the house has to look like four adults, two cats and a dog can comfortably co-exist without tripping over everyone's stuff.  We have another teensy problem, we are expecting thunderstorms for the next two weeks and we can't get Uboxes delivered here (they come from Shreveport) until the rain subsides. This is life in East Texas. 

After I finish my edits for The Redeemed (coming later this year), I'll start working on filling the thrift stores with items to repurpose and posting all over Facebook Marketplace. But, that's next week's issue. 

This is Totally Rational

I've sworn since I moved to Texarkana, that the first snake I saw, I'd be high-tailing it back to Arizona. 

In the last four years, that statement has been amended to the first alive snake I saw on the Texas side. Because, the empirical evidence I currently have is only alive snakes live in Arkansas. I've seen my fair share in Arkansas. I've also seen my fair share of dead snakes on the Texas side.* 

Last week, during our drive back from Florida, somewhere in mid-Louisiana, in the middle of a huge thunderstorm where my phone was alerting me every three seconds of tornado warnings, Polly called Marty. She said, "Hey Dad, I just found a copperhead." After I finished exclaiming my displeasure, Polly said, "Oh... I didn't realize you were on speaker phone." 

Fortunately, Fate decided to riddle my immune system with all sorts of nastiness since we returned, so I haven't been outside in days. Marty swears the snake has now slithered back under two sets of fences and into the woods behind our house. He also swears he's put down sulpher--but it rained, so he will have to do it again. And, he swears he raked the leaves where Polly found the critter and did not find a copperhead, much less any other snake. However, I've noticed a shovel has been strategically placed in the garage. 

Meanwhile, my sister-in-law is on notice that I may be moving in. She's got my room ready. 

*I should add, last fall I found a harmless grass snake in my greenhouse. But: 1) I recognized it as harmless 2) there's currently enough sulphur spread out over the greenhouse floor that I'm pretty sure it isn't coming back. Probably. But my brother and sister-in-law are waiting anyway.  

Gotcha Day

A year ago Buckaroo brought us the Overlords. Leon and Roosevelt have been fun and chaotic additions to the Sunshine family. 

A year later, they are still maniacs. Leon still kills paper. Roosevelt still climbs everything--especially people in the middle of the night. They also extremely sweet. Leon will wrap his front legs in a hug-fashion around an unsuspecting person walking by. Roosevelt is so lovey-dovey and will purr with the smallest amount of attention from anyone, including Luna. 

Though brothers, they are about as different in size and personality as one can expect. However, they are extremely bonded, even to the point of crying for the other (also in the middle of the night). 

Roosevelt and Leon

Looks Like One (or More) of Those Coronas Must Have a Direct Line

This illness is lingering. It's taken its toll to the point where I accidentally "replied all" to an e-mail today and at some point I probably should care. Right now the best I can do is muster an "oops." 

Being this sick is so awful that, after six days, I broke down and asked the Coronas for their help with some Divine Assistance. Though I'm now answering 17,081 text messages instead of sleeping, the truth is, I'm starting to feel better. Looking back, I probably should have asked for prayers last Wednesday.  

For the record, there is no antibiotic for bronchitis. It just has to run its course. 

If you are looking for a good stock tip: whatever company makes Ricola sugar free cough drops. I'm on my third bag in six days. 

Back Home

Marty and I returned from our trip, on fire for changes to the Sunshine household. And ever since, I've been on fire with a fever and awful sore throat. Today I can sit. So there's that. Roosevelt and Luna are snuggling near me, taking turns giving me their healing love. Leon is busy killing a dust mite in the corner of the room. However, he came by, checked out the action on the couch and then decided the dust mite might have brethren who need conquering. 

Her Royal Majesty (Deb) called me today, wanting to see if I'd be healthy enough to go to tomorrow's funeral and Corona night. Right now, probably not. But I told her yes, anyway. I want to be with Corona Patty (and her family), who is burying her younger sister. Plus, Corona night... But honestly, I need a bit of Divine assistance if I'm going to be well enough to socialize tomorrow. 

Earlier today, Buckaroo called me from the store. He's got a board game afternoon planned at someone's home. The context he presented was that one of the newer members offered to host. He asked me if he should bring flowers for a hostess gift for the young woman hosting. Yes, this would be for board games with college students. I'm guessing he means for the flowers to be a banal gesture and not a romantic advance, so I told him a bottle of Dr Pepper would suffice. 

Before he left for his afternoon adventure, Buck came home and presented me with these, saying "Feel better soon. And, oh yeah... stay out of the garage until Sunday."

  

Perhaps the Divine assistance I needed. 

 

Small Worlds Colliding

I should preface this by saying I'm six states away from home. I should also preface this by saying Deb swears I know everyone. Everyone. I don't. 

So yesterday--six states away from home--I struck up a conversation at the local coffee shop with a woman. She's from Austin and we got to talking and I told her I live in Texarkana. She told me if I haven't found a "church home" in Texarkana, I really should check out the local Church of Christ. They are a dynamic bunch and about three years ago helped her out. She and a friend were coming back from Little Rock on their way to Austin.  They got stranded in Texarkana and called the local Church of Christ for help. "A really great couple" came to their rescue and put them up for the night. 

I finished the story for her, because I remembered when this happened and knew exactly who the couple was: Corona Gail and her husband. They still talk about this delightful woman and her friend who were stranded on their way to Austin. 

Vacation

Marty and I are on a vacation, unwinding and recharging our batteries. As I write this, he's emailing a company who is looking to hire someone with his skills. They reached out and asked some specific questions. 

Yep. We're just a fun couple, hanging out on a Friday night on our separate computers. 

Last Quilt Update for This Week (Probably)

On Thursday, Val, her adorable mother and mama's friend made it to the Event of the Season: Quilt Week. The big show happened in downtown Paducah Kentucky and apparently crazy people who play with fabric and those adjacent all made it to this four day event. We only went one day. But I assure you, there's enough to do and see to last four days. And honestly, one day was plenty for me.

By the way, I had better Mexican food in Kentucky than I ever had in Texarkana. I'm still letting that settle in. 

I'm tired, so y'all are just getting a few pictures. If you are the kind who doesn't look at the photos, I promise a few of these pictures are especially taken keeping in mind the three of you who read this. So, don't skip today. 

Sedona

RBG with the Dissent Collar
Can we please put our differences aside for a moment. Come on, isn't it cool a Supreme Court Justice has a quilt made in her likeness? 

The Paducah Tour

 On Wednesday, Valerie, her adorable mother and I headed to Paducah. Adorable Mama had some shopping to do at all the usual haunts--Hobby Lobby, T.J. Maxx, Home Goods. Valerie and I had another agenda. But first, we found the Wall. 

One of the mural pictures on the Paducah Wall

The Ohio River on the back side of the Wall. 

The Wall is an engineering marvel which spans about three miles along the confluence of the Tennessee and Ohio Rivers. It was put in around 1940 after the 1937 Ohio River Flood destroyed a good portion of Paducah. About thirty-ish years ago, someone painted murals on the wall, telling the story of the area. 

After the Wall, we found our way to our true destination, the National Quilt Museum. Yep. It's a thing.

 The place was interesting--think art pieces on fabric. And though these were lovely to look at, I prefer quilts for their history and journey into greatness (Great-grandmammy made this quilt from leftover dresses and great-granddaddy's dungarees. She wrapped my memaw and her three siblings in it during the blizzard of 1903.). All that said, I'm glad I went this one time. Would I go back? Maybe if opportunity and Fate ever collide. 

When we were done with the Quilt Museum, Valerie and I headed to Hancock Fabrics of Paducah. This is the Mecca for fabric. Known by quilting enthusiasts everywhere, Hancock Fabrics of Paducah is two mega-warehouses worth of every known 100 percent cotton fabric print. I did find fabric for the quilt I want to make my nephew. Our life is about to change and I don't know if I'm going to get this quilt done before his birthday in June or if the fabric is going to live in my bathtub for the time being. 

Oh yes, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the other purchase we made: Valerie introduced me to moonshine. Our flavor: Apple pie. It did not go down smooth, but I sure slept well Wednesday night. 

A few choice Quilt Museum pictures below. And yes, all quilts. 

Cats on a Hot Tin Roof

This was my absolute favorite piece.