On dining out

I was at a buffet last Sunday for lunch. I don't particularly care for buffets, but I live in Kilgore, so....

While I was getting my fried rice, this little girl was waiting behind me. When finished, I stepped away and moved to the other side of the island. As, I was getting some Lo Mein, I witnessed this child spoon rice onto her plate then proceed to pick out the peas and carrots (with her dirty little girl fingers!!) and throw them back into the serving basin. I was horrified. I considered telling her to stop, but people are funny about having their children corrected by strangers and I didn't want to have a run in with anybody at that buffet. Trust me, this child couldn't have been raised by any sane, non-violent, respectable person. Instead of saying something, I just gave her the most disapproving look I could muster. She reciprocated with a what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it smirk and walked off. I wanted to smack her. But, I just thanked the Lord I had already gotten my fried rice and told my family to avoid that particular dish. I'm sure there are all kinds of cooties crawling around buffets. I think I will permanently remove them from my list of dining options. They just freak me out. Where's the quality control?

Three-day weekend, sort of

I contracted a demon stomach virus last week – so not by choice I checked out at 3:30 Thursday. I never got sick in the “classic sense” one thinks of when a stomach bug is involved, and for that I am most grateful, though I still begged my mother to give me intravenous drugs of some kind to knock me out. My skin hurt, my stomach hurt, and it sucked. I was awakened at 3 a.m. Friday to the sound of frogs outside my bedroom window. I sat up and listened, listened some more, then realized the sound was not coming from my amphibian friends. It was coming from my stomach. Something dark and unnatural was going on in my intestines, and I was dripping buckets of sweat, so I reached over and reset the alarm to 7:30, just in time to call in sick, or if I happened to be cured within the next five hours, call in to say I would be really late. I stayed home. There are some things you just don’t screw around with, and the risk of, well, I stayed home.

Ordinarily I love couch time. I had couch time on Friday. About 3:00 my brain was tired of couch time, though, but I didn’t feel well enough to walk around and do anything about it. I hadn’t had much to eat because everything my lips touched sent debilitating pain ripping through my abdomen. (Side note: The guy who brought the virus to work, quit on Friday. Chicken. He knew what was coming.) So, I just remained on the couch, in pain, I went to bed, in pain, and I woke up Saturday morning, in pain. But, to alleviate said pain, I went to the boardwalk in Shreveport with the parents, Rebekah and my Aunt Sheri and Uncle Larry. We rounded out the day by going to visit Sheri’s parents. Her mother is awesome. For those of you who think Texas is crazy, you should spend some time in Louisiana. They’re a breed apart, must be the gumbo. Her mom has been in a wheelchair for several years, I’m not sure why, but she is just the sweetest lady. So, we’re all sitting out on the porch and I mentioned the concealed handgun license class and the conversation briefly turned to firearms.

Sheri said, “I’d like to take a class and get that license.”

“Yeah, me, too” I replied. “But. I have to get a semi-automatic first, because - ”

“Oh, I want one of those, like my mama has,” said Sheri, as she pointed to her mother pulling a small pouch out of her wheelchair pocket.

I surveyed the pouch and considered the possible contents - manicure kit? Nope. Collapsible .22.

That’s freakin’ cool. You might think an older lady, confined to a wheelchair, alone during the day in a rural area would be vulnerable to hoodlums and such. Not this lady – she’s shot at people before and she’ll do it again. She also said if she had to shoot someone in the street, she would, then she’d drag them into her front yard and claim the blood trail was arterial spray. She probably has rope in that wheelchair pocket just for the purpose of a wheelchair body tow.

I’m considering writing a blog, shoot I could probably write a whole book, on things you only see and hear in the South. This story would make the cut, as would this observation: Why do people down here use Confederate flags as window treatments?

Rain and whimsical livestock

I live near a miniature donkey farm (save it!). When I drove past it during this morning's drenching, tree-up-rooting downpour, the fields where the donkeys graze (or do what miniature donkeys do) was an OCEAN! I have been worried about those donkeys all day. Did they drown? Can miniature donkeys swim? (Hahaha, there's a mental image for you: miniature donkeys swimming!! Hold on. Let me compose myself.)

The barn was also flooded, along with the house - where are the donkeys???

I sometimes forget that not all of you live in Texas, but if you don't live under a rock and you can at least hear, see and/or read, you know Texas has had a rough, rather wet time of it these past 44 days - hmmmmm, that's eerily biblical...

I woke up at 3:30 this morning, after having a dream I had swallowed a mango whole (that's for another post), to the sound of rain beating on the roof. I knew it was bad news. I stayed awake thinking of how I might have to drive our bass boat to work. I waited to feel the house break away and begin to float. That didn't happen, but I turned on the news at 5 a.m. and found out my area in particular was averaging two inches of rain per hour, and it had been raining (that I knew of) for at least two hours. That's a ridiculous amount of water, and I already live on a lake. "The rains came down and the floods came up (repeat)" has been stuck in my head all day. Oh, and brace yourselves, Longview has (gasp) cancelled the "Great East Texas Balloon Race." My life is forever changed.

The trip to Arkansas was fun. Andee and I arrived safely. The trip wasn't nearly long enough, but at least we got to play in the mountains a little. Rebekah and I got along so well. She was like my BFF all weekend. Things are back to normal now, however.

Does that make me crazy? Or just pathetic?

I am a big, fat chicken. I don’t like being home alone. I slept within five feet of a loaded 357-Magnum last night. Read on – this is a ridiculous story.

My family left yesterday on vacation, leaving me all by my lonesome. There is no conceivable reason for me to be frightened in my home; I AM ALMOST 24 YEARS OLD!! But, still I allow my mind to wander – this resulted in the 357 being placed at my bedside and all other firearms being hidden throughout the house, so no one could get to them before me. Or maybe it was my subconscious’ tactical defense plan. To my knowledge no kind of violent home invasion has ever occurred in our area, it’s rural, but safe. However, since I’m a paranoid lunatic, I went to a preposterous extreme in outfitting myself to handle a very unlikely life-threatening situation. I consider this irrational fear to be similar to how I used to feel about flying and riding roller coasters. The more I did it, the less scared I became until eventually it didn’t bother me at all. I never had a problem being by myself when we lived inside city limits, but the country setting and the woods adjacent to my home just make me a little nervous. I drugged myself last night, because I knew I would never fall asleep. This worked out well until 2:30 this morning when I woke up. I never, repeat never, wake up in the middle of the night naturally, especially after taking a sleep aid. So, I knew a noise was what had disturbed me and adrenaline took over. From that point on there was no stopping my brain. So I watched Fresh Prince re-runs and finally got sleepy again roughly 45 minutes before I had to get up. I will conquer this fear just like all the others.

One fear I will never conquer is my arachnophobia. Oh sweet mercy! When I walked out of my bedroom this morning the largest spider I have ever seen was blocking my entrance to the bathroom. Yet another problem with my family deserting me is, I usually make Rebekah kill spiders for me, they don’t bother her. Rebekah is, in general, cooler and braver than me. But, today she wasn’t there to save me. I considered my options. I could go to work unshowered and just rinse with mouthwash once I got there. My contacts were in the bathroom, but I could wear my glasses (even though they’re too weak of a prescription). The problem was, I went to the gym last night, so I really did need to shower, and also I am driving to join my family today, so I really needed to pack all the stuff in the bathroom. I would have to handle this. I went and got a broom, and from a safe five feet away knocked the spider off the bathroom door. When it hit the floor, it ran under Rebekah’s bedroom door. Good enough for me!

Andee is joining me on my drive into the dark Arkansas night. I’m sure there will be fun stories for next week. Don’t miss out!

Cold, cold-calling

It’s funny how the mind wanders. I have an hour-long commute. I listen to a morning show on the way to work, but it advertises a lot during morning drive time, so I’ve come up with lots of ways to keep myself entertained during commercial breaks. But, sometimes I just let my mind roam free, working through the day ahead, or trying to forget the day shrinking behind me in the rearview mirror – yes, at times I simply prefer to be left in silence with my thoughts

This morning I found myself singing, humming and/or “ooohhhing” all the parts – including guitar – of “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner. It’s a challenge, even for a well-trained musician like myself. Now, the meat of this tale is why I was singing it in the first place – we’ll get to that later. Honestly, it just popped into my head, but I believe there is a reason for everything. I haven’t heard the song in a while, but it was a college favorite. I was a Pi Phi, my best friend was a Kappa. Our sororities intermingled a lot anyway, but Molly and I were generally together at some point on the weekends at one party or another, and of course on all school holidays spent at home in Boise. My house song was “Shook me all night long” by ACDC (one of the reasons I pledged Pi Phi) and Molly’s, or the Kappa’s, was, you guessed it, “Cold as Ice.” Whenever either song came over the speakers at a Frat party or off-campus kegger, all members of the respective sorority were required to run out and shake it while squealing, “Oh my God – that’s our SONG!!!!!” While dancing, every girl sang along and did air-guitar solos. Remarkably, the Kappas, some of them obliterated, could actually organize themselves into a circular chorus line at the end of their song. My girls were not as talented.

Now the reason, I believe, the song was in my head this morning requires even more background. One task associated with my present occupation is traveling to different corners of our region to make contacts. They aren’t sales calls, per se, more like “relationship establishing.” For the most part I enjoy this part of my job, it breaks up the monotony. But, every now and then, someone is just rude, and it slaughters my confidence and sense of purpose. Some of the visits I made were follow-ups, others were cold-calls, meaning the person has never seen me and I’ve never seen them, I’m just walking in off the street with a business card, brochure and a smile, and a really nice pen, which can double as a weapon. Usually, people are cordial, even if they don’t require our services anytime in the next decade. They still say ‘thank you’ and take the pen and literature, promising to call us in the year 2025 when they are ready to embark on a project. Others show promise and tell me they’re planning a project in the next six months and THAT is what keeps me trucking on.

I walked into an establishment yesterday, smiling, approached the receptionist/secretary, made eye contact, and I was met with nothing. I waited for a “Can I help you?” or any kind of simple salutation. None came, and the silence grew more awkward with each passing millisecond. Finally, I introduced myself and explained whom I worked for and the purpose of my visit. She replied with a ‘no’ to every question and explained they had just completed a project. So, I thanked her, was complimentary of their beautiful building and made my exit. It’s not as if I asked to hold her baby or borrow her car. I don’t know, perhaps she was having a bad day. What’s that saying about never judging people because you don’t know what they’re going through? So, it’s not a big deal. I only shared the story to explain why I believed “Cold as Ice” was running through my head this morning – apparently, my brain was still processing yesterday’s events. Funny to me, maybe not to you – maybe I should consider psychology as a future profession.

Scientific Discovery

There was HUGE, BIRD-LIKE DINOSAUR discovered in China, well its fossil anyway. Guess what they named it?

Gigantoraptor.

Enough said.

Anecdote

I have nothing uplifting or even remotely funny to write about, well nothing acceptably funny. I can find humor in just about every situation, but I wonder is it really humor or just some hybrid breed of negativity and cynical sarcasm? I feel as though I’ve been neglecting my blog, but I don’t want to write about things that aren’t entertaining to the general public. I can chuckle myself into a frenzy over some pretty mediocre occurrences, but I doubt anyone else can find the humor in them. Few people join me on the rambling, wooded path that ultimately leads to my "humorous" outlook. When I try to verbally relay these anecdotes, most often they are met with the sound of crickets, so I figure writing them won’t get me much further, but at least I won’t be present for the uncomfortable silence that inevitably will follow – so here goes.

Last week I got a book deal – sort of. I still have to submit the final proposal, but after that, the contract will be faxed for me to sign and return. I set out Saturday to complete the proposal, which is not much more than an outline. I refused the antiquing trip the parents had extended an invitation for, I turned off the TV (wincing a little at missing my traditional Saturday morning movie), and I settled at the dining room table with my drafted outline, pens, reference books and a cup of coffee. I bent over my work with a determined demeanor and began writing, then scratching out, then writing some more, flipping through pages of my reference books, looking to the ceiling for inspiration. After approximately 12 minutes, I was finished. This task (which was not at all complex) I had assumed would take the majority of my Saturday, was completed before my parents even walked out the door. But, I still elected to park it on the couch in my pjs, where I stayed for roughly the next five hours. It was a good day.

Cheesecake and whitewater

What a perfect weekend! I could not have asked for a more picturesque getaway. It was an enchanting and exciting fling with the city of Boise.

I got in Thursday night, accompanied by Mormons returning from their mission trips. When I got into the arrivals lobby I had to elbow my way through large reuniting families, searching for my non-Mormon friend - my best friend in the whole flipping world – Rachel. Her tattooed boyfriend of one week was a shining light in the LDS sea I was drowning in. That boyfriend is a keeper - he immediately asked what color my luggage was and went bounding off – making laps around the carousel pulling red suitcases off. I wound up with the wrong ones - my fault, not his. We got it all sorted out, though. It was late when I got in, so when Susan arrived I elected to head to her house and hit the hay.

Friday was awesome. Rachel and I met up early and went to lunch with her visiting friend, Kara, a native of Oregon. Cheesecake Factory good. That was seriously one of the meals I will remember all my life, or at least until I go to New York in August. After lunch, the three of us were doubled over in gluttonous pain and replied with groans and looks of disgust when we were offered pretzel samples at the mall. Poor girl. Rach headed to work, but Kara and I bummed around the mall. I love making new friends. I bought the hottest green dress to wear to the appreciation gala the following night. (Background: I made the trip to Boise in part to attend an appreciation night for my high school choir director. It sounds corny, I know, but he seriously was one of those teachers who changed my life.)

Susan and I met up later and had a 3:30 “dinner” with the “aunts.” They are the two sweetest ladies in the world, and they’re pretty much all the other has. You can imagine after a three-course late lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, I wasn’t ready for a 3:30 buffet-style dinner, but I managed. The rolls were yummy. After dinner Susan, Kristie (that’s my 7-year-old niece) and I went to see Shrek the Third. Afterwards I went to meet Susan’s new beau. He was very nice and I gave my stamp of approval. I even got a hug. Following that, we stopped and got ice cream in Middleton, Idaho. I got French fries, too, only because they have fry sauce in Idaho. I must have asked the girl behind the counter three times if there was fry sauce in the bag when she handed me my order. Love that fry sauce.

Saturday was the day of the appreciation gala. I spent Saturday morning with Rachel. Susan had orientation at BSU. Rach and I went downtown to the Co-op and got veggie sandwiches, fresh raspberries and pears, and freshly made cookies, and ate on the gazebo. It was wonderful. After lunch we hit some downtown shops. The Farmer’s Market was still in full swing and it was just a good, downtown Saturday. My rehearsal for the gala was at one, so I had to split kind of early.

I had some time after the rehearsal to wander about Boise, going to some of my old favorite places. I drove up Bogus Basin Road, and down Warm Springs to look at all the old, big homes. I stopped at Ann Morrison Park and walked along the river. And I started falling in love with the city I abandoned. I left while she was still growing up, and now I want to be a part of her again on some level. It’s strange to go back to a place that used to be your home. It’s not your home anymore, so it’s as if you lose your claim on all your favorite places and activities. I saw people (crazy people) floating in tubes down the still-icy river and I missed the summers I had spent doing just that. I guess a lot of it was my missing a simpler time in my life, not necessarily the city. But, Boise is a place unlike any other. It has so much beauty and class and character. A bustling cosmopolitan city or a mountain escape, it has so many faces. It’s charming and comforting while being sophisticated. Proof that, as humans, we don’t know what we’ve got until it’s gone.

The appreciation gala was spectacular. Again I was reminded of a simpler time. What I wouldn’t give to have a choir director in front of me every day measuring out the rhythm of my life - to have constant guidance, someone to tell me when to be loud, when to be silent, and when to change my pace. Next to my parents, Mr. Totorica was probably the most influential person in my life. Lessons he taught us are still with me. There was a sign hanging on the stage, which read: “You taught us life through music.” So true. I still consider what his opinion might be when I am at a crossroads.

Sunday was the big white water day. I have never had so much fun. We were all a little apprehensive at first, especially since I had changed our trip to a more challenging run a few days earlier. The drive up to Banks brought back so many memories. I probably drove that road 500 times, always watching the rafters and kayakers below. I love mountains. Being in the mountains with the wind blowing through the trees – tricking you into thinking there is a waterfall close by. The air is always cool and crisp and clean. The smell of pine, and campfire, and the buzz of insects and the call of birds. Even loud sounds nearby seem to be muffled, absorbed by the mountain air.

It wouldn’t have been a trip to Idaho if I hadn’t used an outhouse. Oh, those scare me so bad. That’s for another post. After sunscreen and life jackets and photo-ops we were in the water getting a 4-minute crash course in white water paddling. Then we were off. Somehow, I managed to get the lead position on the boat. When the fist rapids suddenly appeared around the bend, we all dug our feet into the toe pockets. We went way up, so far that when the guide called out “all forward” I couldn’t even reach the water with my paddle. Then we came surging back down and freezing water came crashing over us. In a few seconds it was over and I immediately wanted to push rewind and go again. There were several III+ rapids “Go left, or you’re fired”, “Bennett’s Rock”, “Mike’s Hole”, “The Mixmaster”, and a few more I can’t remember. I‘ve got the fever now. I will become a River Rat.

After the river, we went back to Boise and had lunch at Smoky Mountain Pizza and Pasta. It was exactly what I wanted. We sat on the patio, which always reminded me of a Midsummer Night’s Dream when I lived in Boise, it was still the same. Later I took a nap before treating Susan to her first sushi experience.

I headed home the next day after a few more stops at favorite places, like Hugo’s Deli (ecstasy on sourdough) where I got some more fry sauce and an awesome sandwich, because “they build sandwiches.” Boy do they.

I seriously considered moving back to Boise over the weekend. I love it so much and it offers the quality of life I am starving for. I never believed I would want to leave Texas or the south again, but the close-mindedness of the region is beginning to take its toll. However, when the plane began to descend over Dallas, my heart swelled. Texas is home, she’s not perfect, but I belong here, somewhere. Boise will remain a place to visit and love – when I left there four years ago, I was disgusted with the state, but now I know I was disgusted with myself and what I had let my life become. Now that I am at peace with me, I can embrace and love from a distance the state that raised me.

Optimism rules

Looking over my recent posts, I realize I’ve been negative as of late. I’m sorry.

This blog site, above all, is supposed to be humorous. I love laughing and I love making others laugh, and I’ve been a downer (both in blog world and in person) these past few weeks, er, months.

Somebody I know was just put on an anti-depressant. When I found that out, it occurred to me it’s been a (if I swore, I would insert foul adjective here) year. So, I guess it’s okay for me to be a little crabby and unpredictable here and there. Still, I am vowing to do better – I have too many wonderful people, and too much general wonderful-ness in my life to be down all the time. Things will work out just as they should, and in the meantime, I need to apply the “be a better grown-up” rule to my attitude. But, please note, my sense of humor is dry and cynical, so don’t take my sarcasm as negativity, it’s merely my way of conjuring up a laugh to go along with the lemonade I attempt to make out of life’s lemons. (That sentence made sense to me, go back and read it slower.)

To my friends, family and loyal fans (both of you), chin up.

Let's talk about Socks, baby

(Disclaimer: I love my grandparents and my uncle, I wrote the following only for its comedic value. I realize the character described in the post has become a companion for my grandparents, and I would never want to rob them of that.)

Not the kind that go on your feet. I am speaking of the feline variety. My grandparents’ cat, inadvertently named for the former First Family’s comrade. This cat, Socks, wandered (more accurately, forced its way) into our lives some time back. My uncle, who lives with my grandparents, discovered him, began feeding him, and before long the cat had a permanent home on the screened-in porch, which has been locked from the inside since the cat took up residence therein. Meanwhile, the rest of us are stuck walking around the side of the house and up a dubious, do-it-yourself ramp to the front door. I have fallen down this ramp twice, and at least one of my cousins has fallen. It’s a dangerous ramp, with splintery handrails. Whenever weight is applied to the ramp, a visible gap appears between it and the porch landing, and the ramp itself sways and buckles like the Bay Bridge in a San Francisco earthquake. In the years I lived prior to knowing Socks, I can count on one hand how many times I remember going to the front door of my grandparents’ house. It just wasn’t done. Using the side door adjacent to the driveway was just a part of life. Not anymore, but I digress.

My grandparents don’t like animals. To this day my grandmother refuses to eat food prepared by someone who has an animal in his or her home. I can remember several instances of the city being called out to squelch barking dogs and expel neighboring cat colonies. Being a pet owner, and especially co-habitating with said pet, earned you a place of scorn in my grandparents’ opinion. But, Socks is different, he’s a clean, smart cat.

The whole ordeal started out innocently enough. The cat stayed on the porch because it wasn’t allowed in the house, and if let outside, it would run off or surely be eaten by wild dogs. Fall arrived and the air grew chilly, so soon heavy plastic had been stapled to the outside of the porch. Fair - Socks has to stay warm. That was the first winter. Then things warmed up, plastic didn’t come down. Want to know why? Because the plastic helps keep in the cool air being blown out by the newly purchased window unit. Yes, the cat has its own AC unit.

Now, I will say that although my grandparents had made special allowances for the cat, they held firm to the no-pets-in-the-house rule that had always presided. But soon, the cat was allowed to come in for “visits.” He watched The Price Is Right with grandpa in the mornings, and football with Uncle J on Monday nights. This is how things carried on for a while.

As winter again began to approach, there was a new addition to the “cat pad.” Suspended from the ceiling by two chains hung an electric space heater. There was also a square cut out of the blinds on the porch door, enabling the cat to peer into the living room whenever it fancied.

Socks now has free reign of the home by day. The door is opened first thing in the morning and the cat has claimed its place on top of the guest bed. I was visiting there a week or so ago when the cat rolled over onto its back. I was ordered to tell the cat how pretty he is, because apparently that is what Socks expects whenever he engages in the strenuous task of rolling over and stretching. So, loyal and obedient granddaughter that I am, I relinquished all pride, surrendered my adult card and said to Socks, the cat: “You’re such a pretty cat.” Brent saw me do it.

Siblings, Struggles and Spies

My younger sister and I have a love/hate relationship. It’s really the relationship of a teenager and her mother. You’d think I would be the cool big sister who lets her borrow my clothes, teaches her how to do her hair and makeup, covers for her when she wants to start dating two years before she’s allowed to. And, I would love to be all those things to her. Every once in a while she lets me, too. I’ve already given her the “I don’t care what time it is and I won’t tell mom and dad, call ME before you try to drive home drunk” talk. That went over fairly well. I try to educate her about the bands that are never played on the station she listens to. Thanks to me she can usually identify AC/DC (she also knows what the letters stand for), Van Halen and Guns ‘n Roses at the very least. I have also tried to enrich her life through film. She’s familiar with many of the most worthy cultural icons ever captured on the screen, like Matthew McConaughey in Dazed and Confused, Matthew Broderick in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, among others. But, for every good day, there are at least five bad ones. You will learn more by studying the following examples.

On Saturday, I was in the bathroom doing my hair. Rebekah refuses to get ready in the same bathroom as me. She comes to the door and, without pointing, hinting, nodding toward or acknowledging any object IN ANY WAY, says,

“Hand me that.”

I take a few moments to look at the bathroom counter where my eyes scan multiple brushes and combs, at least 15 bottles of various shapes and sizes containing all kinds of potions, and an array of hair tools, toothbrushes, bobby pins, etc.

I turn back to her, returning her request with a blank stare.

This infuriates her. My inability to read her mind and decipher which of the 50 or so objects littering the bathroom vanity is the one she requires at that precise moment has lowered me, in her opinion, to the status of social paramecium. I am no longer her intellectual equal. I have failed.

Visibly irritated, but still not conceding any form of helpfulness, she replies: “That!”

Again, blank stare on my part. My facial expression is absent of any understanding for what she is asking. But, out of fear, I begin pointing to random objects.

First, I try hairspray. No, not it. Stupid answer, Rachel! Her hair is straight today – no need for hairspray. Gosh!

Next - hair tie. A look of disgust is shot toward me.

Repeatedly, I point, then look to her, hoping to see approval and acceptance in her eyes. Growing weary I motion to her toothbrush. Wrong again!! I can hear Napoleon Dynamite’s voice echoing “idiot.” Bullets of cold sweat begin rolling down my temples.

My final guess - I point to the hand mirror. It seems to take hours as I rotate my head again. There is hope in my heart, but also foreboding.

The moment of truth.

With an inpatient grunt, Rebekah snatches the mirror and disappears into her cave…errrr, room.

Victory is mine.


Example No. 2

I get up at 5:15 and I must be out the door by 7:00 to get to work by 8:00. I have a very demanding haircut, but I also like to have a little downtime before leaving – you know drink my coffee, watch a few minutes of the news, etc. So, an hour and forty-five minutes is just enough time to shower, dress, do hair and makeup, eat breakfast, brush teeth and still have some cushion to catch the weather or accommodate wardrobe malfunctions (I will never be able to express the gratitude I feel for Janet Jackson for giving us that phrase.) However, I still have to run a pretty tight ship.

Rebekah has to be up and getting ready by 6:45, but generally she wanders out about 6:30 to inform the rest of us that we have disturbed her. She then spends 15 minutes or so pouting on the couch or in the recliner, frequently grunting or wincing in agony whenever I open my mouth. (There is something about the sound of my voice she just can’t take in the morning…or ever.) Then she eventually eats breakfast and goes to her room to do her hair. Or, she used to.

After this morning, I believe the grunting and wincing are mere fronts. Today it was obvious she had been studying my schedule and habits for some time. I always assumed she was groggy and unaware in the mornings, but I realize now she’s been gathering intelligence. She is acutely aware of all my actions.

After finishing my coffee in the morning, around 6:40, I take my mug to the kitchen then go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and powder my face. That’s how it goes. Every Morning. Without fail. I’ve noticed for a while now, that when I start toward the kitchen Rebekah catapults off the couch or out of the chair and heads to the bathroom where she stays, with door locked, for approximately twelve minutes. Just enough time to throw me off and get me out the door five minutes late.

Sabotage.

The irritating point is this – she’s been sitting around for ten or fifteen minutes while I drink coffee and eat breakfast, acting repulsed by any sound I make, but she doesn’t take that time to use the restroom and escape my vocal reach. She waits. She waits until I am ready to go back in, then she strikes.

Just wait, Rebekah. I’m on to you now.

Good things to come

Since (I hope) many of you reading this blog haven’t actually met me (clearly this blog is a buzzword in all the major publishing houses by now – I’m expecting a book deal this week) I am starting a series about my past. People who do know me should enjoy them too, as some of these experiences helped turn me into the not-so-well-adjusted adult I am today. Also, I over-analyze EVERYTHING, and I just can’t seem to blame all of my current habits and apprehensions on any of these experiences. Maybe you can. Please – analyze away, leave comments about my unaccounted for mental stability. It’ll make for some lunch hour comedy one day this week. Episode one is in production…stay tuned.

About a turtle

I know all of you have been in torment waiting for the next tantalizing installment in the saga of my exciting, awe-inspiring life. Trust me, this is going to be a letdown.

We have a turtle. The turtle has a name, but I don’t remember what it is. Obviously, the turtle is an integral element of our family’s everyday existence. Said turtle has been with us for over three years now. We never, believe me NEVER, expected it to last this long, but alas, the turtle has fortitude.

Turtles grow and change, and this turtle grew and grew and eventually, the dormant bleeding-heart, animal-rights-activist gene in mom and me started to show through. The turtle needed a new home, a bigger home. You had to feel bad for the turtle; his (or her, we respect the turtle’s privacy) current quarters were so small he couldn’t even swim. In the animal kingdom, we were considered slumlords. However, there is some background involved.

We started to see months ago, maybe even years ago, that the turtle was unhappy. It’s possible, I suppose, that the connection I fancied was never really there at all. At night we could hear him scratching, trying to climb away, but to no avail. He wouldn’t eat. His favorite hobbies lost all charm. The turtle became despondent and spent more and more time in its shell with each passing day. It seemed he (or she) had lost the will to live altogether, or at least the will to live with us. Our suspicions were confirmed a few months back when we returned from a vacation. While we were away the turtle spent some time with the grandparents. After all the recent disturbing behavior, we felt the turtle didn’t need to be alone for long periods of time. We thought the change would do him good. After picking him up to take home we made a brief stop. In a moment of clumsiness his bowl-thingy was bumped and the resulting slosh of water carried him out of the bowl-thingy, out of the car and onto the pavement 18 horrifying inches below. He landed on his feet and in a flash (or whatever word defines the breakneck, top speed of a turtle) he was off. The turtle charged forward under the mammoth weight of his shell. From somewhere we heard the faint tune of “Born Free.” It’s as if we were moving in slow motion, all seemed lost until Rebekah, in what I know was strenuous effort, bent over, picked the turtle up between thumb and forefinger and replaced him in his bowl-thingy.

After that we knew something had to be done. Something had to change. But we didn’t know what. We thought of counseling. We thought of sending the turtle away, placing him in the lake. But we were afraid. Afraid of the change, of the acute silence coming from the bowl-thingy, afraid of ourselves. If we sent him out with the big turtles, would he be scared, eaten? In desperation we pondered this. And eventually, after what had to be at least four minutes, CSI came back from the commercial break, and like so many of life’s perplexing problems, this too was swept under the rug, unresolved.

Several months later, while we stood in front of PetCo, we were reminded. We couldn’t escape it this time. Sacrifices must be made for a relationship to survive. We purchased a new and larger bowl-thingy (it’s an Olympic-sized swimming pool in comparison to what the turtle previously had) and a few accessories to brighten the place up. We could see the gratefulness in the turtle’s body language as he took his first full-length swim across. We had made the turtle happy. Though now, it’s been a few days and many of the same old problems are resurfacing, some new ones, too. It’s almost like he’s holding it over our heads, my head especially. The turtle must know I’m jealous. I think of him in his big bowl-thingy with his plastic plants and three-tiered AQUAEL Resin rock, and I think, why can’t I have a place to call my own? But, we’ll work through it.

My Favorite Things

Granted, Oprah’s list is probably better than mine, but I’m on a budget here people…

Watching movies in bed on Saturday mornings: I love to wake up on Saturday with nothing on the books. No weddings or showers to go to, no mile-long list of errands or chores, just a blank page of a day. Even when I wake up relatively early, I don’t mind because I take bliss in the knowledge that I have no call to get out of bed. I can stay there as long as I want. Generally, the HBO Gods smile down on me and I am able to find an entertaining, but not too perplexing movie. About thirty minutes after this ritual begins, I scamper to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. What’s a Saturday morning in bed without coffee? Which leads me to favorite thing number two….

Coffee: Otherwise known as sweet and essential nectar from on high. Coffee is so much more than a beverage to me. It’s my morning companion – when no one else is awake at 5:25 on a Monday morning, I’ve got my coffee. It faithfully sits on the bathroom counter in my Luckenbach, Texas, mug while I dry my hair and make ready for the day. Coffee is also a communication platform. It’s the excuse for a first date, a reason to catch up with an old friend. You never hear people say, “Hey, let’s get together for water sometime.” Nope, it’s always the coffee.

Laughing: I’m not talking about the forced chuckles we all muster up for our coworkers’ lame (LAME) jokes. I’m referring to next-day-abdominal-pain, teary-eyed, coke-out-the-nose laughter. It’s the kind of fun you can only have around people you get, and who get you back. There can’t be any shame or reservations or shyness, that would mean you were uncomfortable with the people around you - and you don't want coke coming out your nose around just anyone.

Family & Friends: These two get lumped together because there is a lot of overlap in my life. The only friends I had when I moved to Texas were family. And the friends I’ve made since, are a part of my family now. I don’t say it often enough, but I am blessed, I use the words family and friend interchangeably, because to me they are one and the same. I have such an amazing group of people in my life. There is never a need to worry if I’m bothering them, annoying them, making them mad. It’s a waste of time to try and impress them, because the only reason they loved me in first place is the promise they saw, which I couldn’t see in myself. True friends aren’t exactly the same in every way, but they are perfect complements of one another, which makes the teary-eyed laughter thing all the easier to accomplish.