Studly Doright and I just returned from a trip to Gruene, Texas, for a reunion of the Floydada High School class of 1975.
Always on the lookout for bloggable material, I had the marvelous idea of posting photos of myself on a variety of stops en route to Texas from Tallahassee.
I started out strongly:Milton, FL rest stop
Unfortunately, I quickly forgot all about the idea after the second stop. I might’ve been sidetracked by the quotes on the booths. TA Truck Stop, Grand Bay, Alabama
Notice I was incredibly proud of my toenails. They’d been painted green to commemmorate Floydada’s team colors.
Due to heavy rains and cooler temperatures in Gruene, Texas, not a single person got to see my toes at the event. Their loss, right?
The reunion was incredible, though, even without my toes on display.
One of the greatest inventions of my lifetime is the frost-free refrigerator.
My children will never know the agony of working for an entire day to melt and chip the rock hard accumulation of ice in the freezer compartment of a refrigerator. I only had to tackle this chore as a youngster when Mom got it into her head that it could be put off no longer.
I hated defrosting. I’d slosh hot water on my hands as I carried bowls full between sink and fridge. Then my fingers would stick to the ice and little pieces of skin would be left behind. And the cold, the bitter cold. No wonder I never had aspirations of becoming an arctic explorerer.
In the future there will be those who perform historical reenactments for the entertainment and edification of schoolchildren on field trips. Surely the freezer defrosting demonstration will result in the most oohs and aahs and expressions of outright disbelief.
“How barbaric!” the children will cry.
Of course that’s before they get to the dial-up modem demo.
There are things in my life that I get a little geeky about. I’m already trying to figure out how to justify going to see Star Wars Episode VII on Christmas Day. I have full color action packed dreams about Han Solo and Chewbacca. That’s geeky.
But this post isn’t about Star Wars, it’s about me geeking out over a favorite author retweeting one of my tweets on Twitter. (Sounds a bit like Rockin’ Robin, doesn’t it?)
When I find an author I like I will read any and everything he or she has ever written. One of those authors is CJ Box. Mr. Box doesn’t write scifi or fantasy, my two favorite genres. No, he writes what I’d call modern western novels, set primarily in Wyoming. One of his protagonists is a game warden named Joe Pickett.
I know Joe Pickett better than I do some members of my own family. Joe’s one of the really good guys in this world, but he’s not perfect. I’d like to think Joe and I could be best friends, but he’d think I talk too much. He’d be right.
While driving around Tallahassee today after getting a pedicure:
green and sparkly!
I saw a sticker on a car window that read, “Blind Eye Outfitters” and all my warning bells started ringing. Blind eye, eh? Does that mean the outfitter will ignore violations of game laws? Instantly I wanted to touch base with Joe Pickett, and see if he should investigate.
Of course Joe is fictional, so I did the next best thing and tweeted CJ Box. Imagine my delight when he not only favorited my tweet, but then retweeted it! This geeky fangirl squealed a little, I’m not going to lie.
Outside Doright Manor the temperature is 85 degrees. It’s a warm October day, but not terribly humid. Of course I’m sitting in air conditioned comfort having just enjoyed a Smart Ones spicy chicken and fries meal.
There are two separate shows being played out for my enjoyment. One is a recording of The Walking Dead. The other is the steady procession of roofers hauling bundles of shingles up a ladder to our covered/screened in porch addition.
My cats are fascinated by the roofing show. They want to attack the dangling cords and to pounce on the dropped sacks that seemingly appear from nowhere and float enticingly to the ground. They are both indoor cats, though, so the roofing show is as real to them as The Walking Dead is to me.
Hopefully before too many more days all the work on the porch will be completed, and the cats will be able to venture into the great indoor outdoors. Studly Doright and I are making predictions on their first adventures.
Scout, we feel, will embrace the porch immediately, claiming it as her territory, but Patches fears everything and it may take her awhile to cross the threshold. I give her a week before she takes the plunge, whereas Studly thinks it will take much longer. We live exciting lives, don’t we?
Thanks so much for assuming I wanted to hear those nasty ass lyrics booming from your stereo this morning. Who knew that hearing “F*ck you B*tch!” yelled repeatedly to the boom, boom, boom of an overly tuned bass would be such a great way to begin my day, especially after a night of too little sleep and a morning of too much caffeine.
I know it surprised you when I lowered my window and waved sweetly at you. Your jaw dropped as I mouthed, “Hey B*tch! How’d you know that’s my favorite f*cking song?”
Being a sarcastic middle-aged woman has its perks.
Occasionally I have delusions of grandeur, but I’m never fooled into believing they’re anything other than delusions. I’m not a brave woman. Tonight was proof of that.
I returned home to a dark, empty house after an afternoon at the movies and some heavy-duty window shopping. Studly Doright wasn’t yet home, and I didn’t expect him to return for several more hours. As usual I parked my car in the garage and walked around the car to the door.
Before opening the door I heard a beep-beep-beeping sound. Carefully I turned the knob and edged the door open. The entry alarm was going off. We’ve lived at Doright Manor for a year and a half and the alarm has never even peeped. Slowly I backed away, shut the door, and retreated to my car.
I’m not going to lie, my hands were shaking as I dialed 911 while simultaneously backing the car out of the garage. The operator was professional, and thorough, and didn’t sound like she thought I was being a paranoid idiot.
Then I had to wait. Outside. In the dark. Okay, I had my lights on high beam, but the dark outside of that bright halo seemed particularly threatening. I called Studly and told him all that had transpired. As we talked I noticed my phone battery was on the verge of going dead and hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. Signing off, I felt utterly alone.
By the time the officer arrived, a seemingly endless twelve minutes after I initially called 911, I was convinced that I should sleep in my car until Studly got home. Hey, it’s a small SUV, I could get comfy in there. As long as I didn’t have to use the restroom I’d be ok, right?
The second Deputy Perkins appeared I felt immense relief. He and I approached the back door and could hear the incessant beeping. My heart was thumpety-thumping, providing a nice rhythm section for the alarm.
I turned on the light just inside the back door and with trepidation walked to the flashing alarm, expecting it to read something along the lines of “Danger, Danger, Run for Your Life!” Instead, the words Power Outage were displayed in large LED letters.
Sheepishly I grinned at Deputy Perkins, “Honestly, sir, we’ve had disruptions in power before and they’ve never set off the alarms.”
To his credit, and the credit of his entire department, he was so understanding, and if he thought me crazy he had the decency not to say so out loud.
He also insisted on going through Doright Manor room by room to make sure no one was hiding there. Thankfully all he found were the two cats who were both fairly frazzled from having listened to the annoying alarm for heaven knows how long. One had expressed her displeasure by puking on a bathroom rug.
Now I’m sitting here sipping wine and contemplating the excitement of my evening. I’m still fairly filled with adrenaline from the fright. I know I’ll crash soon, but until then I’ll be doing something constructive. Like having more wine.
Patches has assured me she’s ready to serve and protect.
Peace, people!
How is a pariah like a piranha?
Neither are welcome dinner guests.
Give social media credit
where credit is due.
Pariah status becomes easy
for users to accrue.
Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook,
and Instagram, too
Provide pulpits for all
who have hatred to spew.
My youngest brother Brent, or “Brentia” as we used to call him back when we pretended he was a baby sister, was one of only three friends who participated in my first annual “Guess the Arrival Time of the Comcast Cable Installer and Win a Poem in Your Honor” contest.
Amazingly, having given us a window of between 5 and 7 on Saturday evening the cable guy rang our doorbell at 5 p.m., and while none of my guessers came very close to being correct, Brent’s prediction of 6:45 p.m. beat out the others. Brent, I hope you enjoy your poem. I wrote it from the heart. 😉
“Brent’s Poem”
Hey, baby brother
You didn’t know,
but this is true
when you were born
I wasn’t crazy about you.
I was seven;
you were a pain,
too cute for words
while i was plain,
but you grew on me
as the years went by
like moss or mildew
you’re a real fungi.
Praying for Eyebrowz 