Lottery?

I need to buy a lottery ticket. Today.

Why? Because about 2 months ago, my poor little Subaru was hit by a motorcycle (no injuries except to my Subie and the bike) and after some serious waiting, I finally got my Subie into the collision shop for repairs and I get a new set of wheels to knock around for a few weeks.

Before we continue, let me just say I love my Subies. This is my 3rd and I tend to drive their little wheels off. I got my first one because of the safety and reliability ratings; the next 2 were bought because it's a damn fun car to drive. (Dear Subaru, I anxiously await my referral check.)

That said, I was resigned to accept whatever mid-sized vehicle the rental company allowed me to have. So there I stand at 7:45 am, with an uncaffienated brain, waiting for my rental, only to learn...they are fresh out of mid-sized vehicles. Not only that, they are out of vehicles. Period.

Mind you, this appointment has been 2 months in the making. Mi espouso contacted the shop yesterday and was assured that all was ready for me to waltz in with my poor little Subie and drive away with...something else.

Did I mention I was uncaffienated? For some, this might mean a full-on melt down, but I stand there going "what?". Before the news fully runs the circuit of my disconnected brain cells, the poor child and her manager are hunting me up one mid-sized vehicle.

They must have had a run on mid-sized vehicles, because there be none to be had.

Seriously? But wait! "I'm sorry,  ma'am, we can't get you a mid-sized car, but we can get you a Camaro. Will that be okay?"

Uhm...let me think...Hell yes! Oh, wait. Is it red? Never mind. I'll take it.

So Mr. Manager toodles off to pick up MY Camaro while I sit and wait in the rental office. About 2 seconds before MY Camato arrives, some idiot returns a mid-sized car. "Ma'am, I can let you have this Altima if you prefer."

Are you kidding me?!!? Oh. Hell. No. (I politely declined.)

Subie? What Subie? I am cool. Now all I need is a winning lotto ticket to stay that way.

T

Busted in NYC (or Why T Doesn't Travel)

You know when I said New York or Bust, I didn't mean literally.

We arrived yesterday (as previously reported) with every intention of enjoying a few sights in addition to the All-American High School Film Festival (haven't had a chance to tell y'all about that-very exciting).

First on our agenda was to visit a cemetery (we hunt dead people for kicks) where my great-grandfather's 1st wife is buried. So we figure out the subway and with only minor hiccups, we arrive at said cemetery where Myrtle Mimi displays her vast talent and grace. Short story: the sidewalk won.

Good news-the stories you hear of New Yorkers stepping over your inert body are complete falsehoods. In a matter of seconds, we had cars and pedestrians offering an assortment of assistance. God bless them all. We managed to get Mimi moving again, albeit using me and Myrtle Sue like a walker, and continued the remaining 50 yards into the cemetery. We genealogists have our priorities. (Yes, we found the grave. It and the cemetery are gorgeous.)

At that point, Mimi decided a visit for an x-ray might be in order, so we called for a cab. In the Bronx, taxis aren't on every corner. After calling, waiting, and calling again, the cab option was given up on and we called for some of New York's finest to escort our carcasses to a hospital. They even went above and beyond by choosing a hospital with reasonable bus/subway access for us.

So not only did we add an ambulance ride and an ER visit to our agenda, Mimi has a fractured pelvis for a souvenir and I get to spend the night in a chair. (When I wrote the hospital scenes in If You Touch My Mind, I didn't know I was predicting my future!).

Now to figure out what's in store for us next. Stay tuned!

T

New York or Bust

As noted in previous posts, this Texas girl is NOT a traveler. This Texas girl gets weirded out whenever she crosses the state line (don't you need a passport to go to Oklahoma?).

Seriously, I might drive 80 or 90 mph while in native territory, but cross that line and I drive like my great-grandmother. I'm certain there a all sorts of rules that will get me thrown into some foreign hoosegow.

Take the fine example of NYC (my 1st trip here). I don't think I would last more than a few minutes (and that's being generous). While in the shuttle bus for 48 minutes to go about 5 miles, I learned about honking. It's a code. Maybe Morse, not positive about that, but maybe. Anyway, pick a language, any language, and tap it out in Morse code on your car horn. The long sustained blast is a period. Several sustained blasts is a question mark (let's not get into the exclamation point). Our shuttle driver spoke English but my Morse is pretty limited, but I'm almost positive our bus cursed at several cars along the way (politely, of course).

Then there was the subway. I'll get into that after the Valium wears off.

T

Confession part 2

This is only my second vacation of any length in the past twenty odd years. Probably the only vacation with a majority of my family in forever. I know, I know...it's about damn time. Heaven knows when I'll remember to take another vacation.

So in order to make up for all the missed family vacations, we packed as much as we could into this one. Today's adventures included a boat ride watching dolphins surf in front of a big boat, a tour of most of the U.S.S. Lexington and a dip into the Gulf. The last excursion included an illegally caught fish via Myrtle the Younger's swimsuit (no fishing license and the poor kamakazi fish was way too small-shh, don't tell anyone).

Fun was had by all. There are a few sporting sunburns and generally all of us are making old people noises (we are sucking down Advil like it's going off the market). Getting out of any chair requires an act of Congress and all hands on deck.

Tomorrow we get the privilege of leaving this paradise behind and making the 6-7 hour (or more) trek to reality.

I don't wanna go!!! Wah!!!

T

Confession

Yes, I must confess...I have spent very little of my life at the beach. Now, in my 40+ years on this earth, I have come to realize I might be missing something.

Now to be fair, I live in Texas. We have Galveston and Padre Island. And we have heat. I mean HOT heat. You would think this Texas girl would high tail her hind quarter to one of the above locales at least once a year or so. Not so.  For one, it's about 4-5 hours to Galveston and 6-7 hours to Padre. Long car ride aside, I can count on one foot how many times I have actually been to a beach, most of which were in high school (ugh).

My first excuse lies with the story of my mother and her worst sunburn ever (blisters et al) from sitting on a tailgate while at Padre Island. I don't know about you, but I have spent my life trying to avoid sunburns. Plus, I married a redhead and birthed another.  'Nuf said.

Secondly, did I mention that it's hot in Texas? The thought of playing around in water (relective sunburns are nasty) in the heat of the day in order to "cool off" doesn't make sense to me. That's what air conditioning is for. Or a shade tree with a lovely breeze.  There are no shade trees at the beach. The idea of sitting, standing, walking on a beach all day fills me with the heebie-geebies.

Then there's the whole sand between your toes bit. Yeah...why should I cut my feet to bits with tiny glass shards? Or stub my toe on a jellyfish?

So anyway, Mimi got the bright idea to go dolphin watching. I am on board with watching dolphins. A bonus is seeing a shipwreck. Cool! So Mimi makes arrangements for said boat tour.  Then my baby brudder makes arrangements for a condo near the beach. Still good.

So here we be, on Padre Island for Labor Day weekend to watch dolphins while staying in a condo near the beach. It is only when we gorge ourselves on a Japanese Hibachi dinner that I truly realize the value of beach time. Mi espouso, Myrtle the Younger and I take a quick stroll down to the beach to say we have done so. It was already evening, most of the daytime beach goers were leaving or gone and those left showed me the possibilities I have been missing: evening breeze, warm water, cool sand, beachfront campfires. I'm telling you, this is what noone talks about. I am sold.

The dolphin tour is tomorrow. I'll probably have more to say about that. Maybe I'll have some pictures to post.

T

Getting There

I thought I was ready. I've always been ready. For the first step. For the first day of kindergarten. For high school graduation. All those firsts you envision for your child, I was ready and cheering the girls on to success.

Yeah, I was the mom whose child crawled into the nursery like she owned it (she actually thought she did; it was the church nursery and she called it "my school"). I was the mom proudly watching my daughter walk into kindergarten while the mom next to me sobbed. I turned to the poor woman and said, "They're okay, let's go grab the donuts." (The school was kind enough to offer breakfast and reassurances for grieving parental units.)

There was something exciting about watching the girls move forward in life, meeting goals (required and desired), figuring out who they are and what they want to do. Sure there were things that could have gone better, mistakes were made. We got through and learned from each experience. I couldn't wait to see what was next.

I will admit to not being ready for the hardest part: letting go.

Friday morning, Myrtle the eldest, with a car stuffed the rafters, left for Georgia to follow her dreams. Georgia. As in a long freaking way away from Texas. Sure I sent the girls on mission trips, choir tours, band trips, and let them travel  God's green earth with family and friends. In fact, both girls have been places I have never been and don't expect to see in my lifetime. That was my plan: allow the girls to think of the world as their backyard. For some reason in my preparations for my children growing up, I never really considered them LEAVING Texas. The backyard is a great place to visit, but I don't want my kids to live there.

I guess this is payback for my lack of sympathy for the kindergarten mom.

Myrtle says she'll be back. Eventually. But it will be different. She'll be married and working as a nurse by then, maybe even have a baby or two, and Myrtle the Younger will be moving on with her life. That's hard to think about right now.

I'll get there. Eventually.
T.

This is Texas

I am cold.

Yes, I live in Texas which typically has summer temperatures ten degrees higher than Hell (and Hell doesn't have the humidity). This week will see the first 100 degree temperature streak BEFORE the heat index.

Here I sit, at 10:22 p.m., on July 18, outside temp of 85 (feels like 91), AC set at whatever setting my hot-natured espouso determines necessary for survival, and sitting under a freaking ceiling fan. I should be comfortable, right? Wrong. I sit here in silent misery wearing a crocheted wrap over a 3/4 sleeve cardigan, sipping hot tea with honey (and just a smidge of Crown Maple). And, as soon as I finish this little rant, I will be putting finishing touches on my next crocheted sweater. For dinner, I made Lima Bean Soup (yum!). I keep extra blankies by my bed just in case the comforter doesn't cut it. They're small ones that cover just me, not the espouso. The dog is rather opposed to those as well this time of year.

I tell you, people, I am cold. I go outside to warm up and stay there until the humidity makes me sweat, then I go in. I can appreciate the AC for about 5 minutes after that, but then I'm done. Do not put any AC vent or fan directly on me or you will lose important body parts. (You would think mi espouso would have figured this out after 32 years. No. He hasn't.)

Now could someone please explain how I can be freezing my keister off in July, when I am perfectly comfortable the rest of the year when the temperatures run in the 70s and 80s? It's a good thing I don't live in Montana, or even the Texas panhandle, for that matter.

Rant over. Blankie calling.

T.