While thousands of my fellow Americans were engaged in combat with each other, vying for a bargain price on an 85-inch big screen TV or shoving to the front of a long line of like minded people in order to have the best shot at this year’s most asked for toy, I was tucked cozily beneath two layers of blankets on a massage table, enjoying an oh, so soothing facial.
I know it wasn’t a competition, but I’m pretty sure I won the day.
A few days ago my car was rear-ended as I was driving home from the happiest place on earth. No, not Disney World–Target. One second I was singing along with Chris Stapleton on the radio; the next second I had a Toyota Corolla lodged firmly onto my trailer hitch.
I was stopped at a red light behind a small truck and at least one other car. In my rear view mirror I saw the Toyota driver’s face as he realized that traffic in front of him was stopped, and that he could only slow down enough to lessen the impact, but not enough to avoid hitting my car. I firmly believe he’d been texting or looking at his phone, looked up to see a green light, but didn’t realize that traffic hadn’t moved yet. I’d been tapping on my brakes, so if he’d been paying attention, he’d have seen them.
The accident could’ve been much worse had I not been braced for impact and able to keep my own car from ramming into the truck ahead of me when the Toyota hit me. That’s why I NEVER text when I’m the driver, not even when I’m sitting at a stop light.
Since the accident I’ve been waking up in a cold sweat, reliving the moment that he hit me, only in my dreams I’m on my motorcycle instead of in my car. And I die. Smashed between the truck and the Toyota.
I told Studly Doright that I think my motorcycle riding days are over. Distracted drivers, obsessed with getting in one more text or looking at one more photo, are so common that I just don’t want to put myself in that position. Maybe that’s cowardly of me, but I don’t know how else to make those dreams stop.
Peace, and put down the phone, people.
Shared this on Facebook this morning. I still giggle every time I read it.
Does anyone else believe that pecan pies are magic? The first time I baked one, many years ago, I mixed all the ingredients and wondered if I was supposed to arrange a layer of pecans on top. The recipe said to stir them in, but all the pecan pies I’d ever had featured a lovely layer of pecans sitting atop the ooey goodness of the pie filling.
In spite of my misgivings I followed the recipe and didn’t add the extra pecans. Lo and behold, those wonderful nuts rose to the occasion and my first pecan pie was as perfect looking as any I’d ever seen.
Over the years I’ve baked a few pecan pies that weren’t perfect–usually because Studly Doright was supervising and he believes in baking them until they surrender to the heat, shrinking the filling and rendering it almost leather-like in texture.
The trick is always to cook them when he’s otherwise occupied. Tonight I have him running hither and yon on meaningless errands. Oh, and to have a glass of wine or two during the baking process. Then, even if it doesn’t turn out picture perfect, I don’t really care.
Peace, and happy Thanksgiving, people! I’m so thankful for you all!
Update: This pie turned out beautifully; however, Studly found its hiding place and helped himself to a generous slice on Wednesday evening. Sigh.
As I type this I’m sitting under a dryer in a salon. New color and new cut are in the works. I’m hoping for a miracle, but will settle for “she don’t look dead yet” if you know what I mean.
Yesterday Studly bought me a new car. I call her Ruby, and she’s a beauty. This is her twin, she must be a model or something–mine’s parked outside the salon.
When looking at cars I told every salesman that I wanted all the safety bells and whistles, and technology features that weren’t daunting. And I wanted a red exterior. I drove just about every small SUV on the American market, including a Volvo, an Infiniti, and an Acura, but the only car that had everything I asked for was this pretty little Ford Edge. I have a feeling Ruby and I are going to do great things together.
Peace, people.
On Friday my car was rear ended and now the exhaust system is dangling and my rear bumper a mangled mess. I’ve been waiting to talk to an insurance adjuster from the other guy’s insurance company to see if they’ll cover the cost of a rental car until my car can be fixed.
Yesterday I drove Studly’s pickup truck to run errands around Tallahassee. His truck is longer than the car I’m accustomed to driving, and it doesn’t have a backup camera like mine does, and long story short, I dented his bumper while backing out of a tight parking spot.
Now I feel as though I shouldn’t be allowed to drive ever again, unless of course the car I’m in is surrounded in bubble wrap.
I’m feeling pretty low. Anyone want to boost my spirits?
Peace, people.
Do you ever wonder how Pilgrim women managed to plan and prepare a dinner party for 30 guests or more without the benefit of a grocery store and modern appliances? Yeah, me neither. It’s difficult for me to wrap my head around such concepts, so I don’t even try.
Heck, I struggle to plan and execute a big meal for two people, and I’ve got easy access to several grocery stores, a microwave, a double oven, and a refrigerator/freezer. God certainly knew what She was doing by placing me in this century. I’d have made a lousy pioneer woman.
Nevertheless, I have gathered all of the ingredients necessary to have a turkey dinner with each of Studly Doright’s favorite side dishes. The cornbread for our dressing will need to be baked on Wednesday, as will the pecan pie. Then I’ll need to hide the pecan pie for a period not less than 24 hours or Studly will consume it all before Thanksgiving dinner has even been served. I know this from previous experience.
I’ll rise early on Thursday morning to get the turkey in to bake and then try my best to get all of the side dishes ready to serve when the turkey is done. Since it’s just the two of us for dinner this year I expect everything will turn out perfectly. No one will believe I cooked a stellar meal even though Studly will sing my praises for months. They’ll think he doth protest too much. Maybe he doth.
Peace, people.
Patches was intrigued by this guy on television.
I had everything and nothing to write about this morning. The whole world is a story, but I was having difficulty scraping off a little piece for myself.
Should I write about Studly arising before sunrise to play golf and not realizing until he’d already had a second cup of coffee that his clock was wrong and his golf match wasn’t set to start for another two hours? His parting words were, “I’m going to need a nap this afternoon.”
How about my disorganized trip to the grocery store to buy Thanksgiving dinner supplies? My list was sort of complete, but standing in the middle of the dairy aisle I realized I’d forgotten to plan for a dessert. Thank goodness the Karo syrup bottle has my pecan pie recipe printed on the label.
Should I write about how darn cold it is and how I’m curled up on the couch under three blankets with a hot cup of tea in my hand watching the arguably forgettable film, Pacific Rim?
I believe I’ll just write something about not knowing what to write. And then I’m taking a nap with Studly.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 