Random (Unpleasant) Texarkana

Through a confluence of unfortunate events, I am house-sitting for Tessa this week. She has two aged poodles who make me appreciate the subtle, low-maintenance aspects of Buck's rowdy kittens and Luna. 

I want to go home. 

Yesterday, Tessa had a minor crisis and she needed her outside freezer cleaned out. When I talked to her and explained I had zero room to put her frozen food in her inside freezer, she asked me to take it all to her office. And then she said, "I know that makes you uncomfortable," which was only partially true. First, my anthropophobia* was in high-gear. Second, I had a phone call I was waiting for. But mostly, I'm not "uncomfortable" at her office as much as I don't suffer unpleasant fools. Frankly, my resting-bitch face was already twitching long before I found going to her office and stuffing that freezer was the most reasonable solution to her frozen meat issue. However, I like Tessa. She had a problem. I don't work there. And I can fake it for ten minutes for the sake of this errand. 

_______________________________

My 79 year old mother was rushed to the hospital yesterday afternoon. Her face is drooping and she's having severe headaches. She tells me her tests came back negative for stroke. But they found a mass in her brain. I have zero more information and nobody to really ask. So, I wait. 

Also, this time I'm the conduit for information between my brothers and myself on this particular crisis (Mom changes it up. The last time she only texted my middle brother and bypassed Squirrel and me, nor will she do a group chat). So, I'm feeding them what I know, which is in the form of screen captures of my mother's texts and sending them directly to them so they have the exact wording. We went through this with my father. But at least with Dad, some of us were nearby and we had a better source of data. This time, not so much. 

_______________________________

Last weekend Marty and I found a hiking trail at Millwood Lake (Arkansas), about 30 miles East of here. Sigh... there was a time I'd hike through the desert, with my biggest concerns being stepping on a snake or a cholla cactus spine. Oh yes, one time there was a mountain lion. Another time a sleeping bear. The good old days.  

In this part of the world, hiking is so much more complicated. First, there's poison ivy, poison oak and poison sumac. It's hiding everywhere. My pal Joy is on week two of poison ivy recovery and she sounds miserable. 

And if the plants don't get you, there's always the critters. In addition to the usual suspects--including mountain lions and bears--one needs to know what to do if they happen upon an alligator. Because that's a real concern in these parts. 

Incidentally, the pamphlet on "alligator etiquette" didn't really evoke a sense of peace. According to this work of fiction the ranger handed me, apparently gators are "shy creatures" and are as afraid of me as I am of them. Or some such nonsense. I should also mention nowhere was it documented what I'm supposed to do if run into a situation where I 'm close enough to an alligator to need etiquette. 

*A fancy name for social anxiety.  

The Tale of Two Polite Churches

This past Sunday, Polly sat in a pew next to Sherman* for the second week in a row. Not only was she in the pew, but that meant she wasn't in the choir loft--where everyone she hung out with three days a week could see her. After mass, several women approached Polly, striking up conversations and making a point to introduce themselves to Sherman. By the way, this is considered "polite."

Polly told to me she was surprised at the number of friendly folks. I pointed out that every woman she mentioned has an eligible son and they'd scoped out Polly on their child's behalf. After these women walked away Sunday morning, they immediately rang their single offspring, telling them they just missed their shot at dating Polly and what is wrong with them!? At which point, Polly pointed out that my explanation seemed extreme. I assured her these mothers were using all extreme measures necessary to get their sons married off and it had zero to do with how long she and her fella had been seeing each other (not long) and more to do with their lack of grandchildren. Additionally, the gossip mill prayer circle will be chock-full of requests for their sons to find someone like Polly (and to be fair, I'm also thinking their might be a few uncharitable women who want the freshly-divulged friendship between Polly and Sherman to fail. I haven't met Sherman yet, so I haven't formed an opinion or asked for a prayer request).

Meanwhile, at the same time this was going on Sunday morning, I was saving a seat for Myra at the Church of Christ. I had invited her to join me at the service this past week. Myra was raised Church of Christ, but hasn't gone for her own reasons. When my friend Myra entered, she ran into another acquaintance who recognized her and happily dragged her husband to sit next to us, making sure to introduce Myra to every passing person in the congregation. By the way, this is considered "polite." 

And after the service, the smell of a stranger loomed large. Poor Myra ended up with a receiving line so long that it took me five minutes to get out of the pew because people were swarming. What none of these well-meaning folks understood was Myra's Introvert Face blazed brighter with each handshake and invitation to some other upcoming event. All Myra wanted to do was LEAVE. I wasn't much help because at this point, my face matched hers and I would have jumped over the pews to bolt if Bonus Mom hadn't taught me about decorum. I'm sure the prayer circle gossip mill buzzed for hours about how to get in touch with me or anyone else who might know Myra and invite her to sixteen events this week. (My phone will be off.)**

Anyway, during Sunday lunch with my family I offered to trade churches with Polly next week, just to give us both a break. She declined, figuring she had the better end of the deal. 

*All of my children's special friends end up with unfortunate nicknames. In this case he's a First Lieutenant and Buck--who has met him--says he's built like a tank, hence, Sherman. 

**As I wrote that paragraph, my phone buzzed with . . . you guessed it. 

The Fledglings

Marty and I realized we are starter empty-nesters lately. 

Polly is housesitting out of town right now. I've been able to entice her with home-cooked food. Every few days, she'll arrive, eat a meal, pretend to want to hang out, grab more stuff from her room and dash out the door to visit with friends or go back to New Boston. 

Buck is in school two afternoon/nights a week. Plus, he works. And he has a better social life than any of us. When he arrives home, he plays with his kittens, and then is either studying, on his computer or sleeping. 

I remember being a young adult. This is what life is like. Though I miss them, I'm happy they are happy. 

 

Windshield Wiper Update

 Well now, we've come to another chapter in the Windshield Wiper saga. As you may remember, a couple of weeks ago my wipers stopped working while I was driving on Interstate 49. This caused a bit of an issue because at that moment, I was in the middle of a torrential downpour and visibility with the windshield wipers was low. And without them, impossible. 

Though a bit of research, we discovered the issue wasn't a simple fuse. And today, we brought the car into the mechanic who told us the reason the wipers stopped working was a "varmint's nest" had caused something to jiggle out of place. 

"How does one get a varmint's nest?" I asked Marty. He had no reasonable answers, but promised to put mothballs under my hood to deter future varmints from squatting in my car. "Does that work?" I asked.  Marty didn't know, but thought it sounded reasonable. 

I'd like to tell you my car is back in my possession, but no. You see, when the mechanic put the wiper parts back together, he did it in such a way, that my wipers will no longer go down. No explanation has been given to me as to why this dude thought I'd take the car back with the wipers stuck on top of the window. I stopped asking when I got to someone in the garage's hierarchy who looked as exasperated with the situation as I did. At least that person promised me I'd eventually get my car back without varmints and with windshield wipers which work properly. 

So, the car is still at the mechanic and I'm still waiting for this silly saga to end.  

Nope, Because Nancy Isn't a Crazy Weirdo

Preface: When I told Marty about this incident, he commented the woman's corpse must still be missing because I wasn't in jail.

After a six-month hiatus, I made my way back to the local yoga studio. As I was getting settled, I struck up a conversation with the woman next to me, who said lots of pleasant things. She had the right kind of vibe, laughter and essence, bringing me back to my Phoenix life. I said to her in a wistful and nostalgic  way, "You remind me of my friend Nancy." 

When yoga started, I found myself having to concentrate, focus, and move deliberately, because after six months, I'm not as limber as I used to be. 

So there I was in my down dog, focusing on breathing, not falling on my face, and keeping my back straight. The instructor said in her sing-song tone: "If it is in your practice, extend your left leg," so I did--all while my arms shook. 

That's when the woman who no longer reminded me ANYTHING of my friend Nancy, reached across and--I wish I was making this up--tickled my foot. I'd like to add, I was no longer focusing on breathing, falling on my face, or keeping my back straight, and neither was anyone else in the room.

The woman laughed, as she said to me, "I bet your friend Nancy would have done that too." 

Update

 Buck made it through his first day of class. He's pumped. 

And, the drive wasn't too bad. 

He's a Good Driver

Buckaroo starts the University of Arkansas (Hope, Arkansas campus) today. He's been puttering around for the past few days, nervous. 

I asked him today what is bothering him. He tells me it's the drive--which is 30 miles one way. "Yes I know I've driven in Phoenix!" he said--though I hadn't brought it up. Indeed he has. He's driven farther and in heavier traffic, as he will soon learn. 

In some ways, it's a relief that his biggest fear is the drive and not his course load. But, I'll tell him that in a few weeks when he feels a bit more secure.