... enough to be a good thing, after several weeks of getting little or none. Thankfully not in the overwhelming amount the news reports and media photos show at catastrophic levels in Texas. It has been weeks since I have felt the necessity to drag garden hoses around and drench plants in pots and things in the yard that were panting from thirst. So the heavy rains from yesterday and slow, thorough soaking water falling today that will replenish lower levels are welcome.
My question is: how could they be caught so completely unprepared? How, after the flooding of an entire city when Hurricane Katrina hit NOLA, could they not have learned any thing at all? How after the mess of Hurricane Sandy when it devastated NYC after raging up the entire eastern coast of North America could the FEMA people not make any effort to prepare for another crisis of five star proportions? How, after Hurricane Andrew blew away an entire Air Force Base in below Miami, could they be so casual about the need to evacuate personnel and valuable property?
What is going on in Washington? Ummm.... don't answer that. I just do not understand how the governmental bodies that depend on our tax money to provide support were so flagrantly, blatantly not ready with plans for monumental rainfall and widespread flooding in south Texas. They have had weather of this sort before, when Galveston on the coast, practically disappeared after a hurricane swept in from the Gulf. But that was years before sonar, radar, computer generated weather maps, satellites orbiting overhead continuously providing up-to-the-minute info. How could they possibly be so ill prepared for a natural disaster of this magnitude when they knew it was coming?
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
the oldest daughter....
... called, as she was heading home through wet, messy, chaotic traffic in late afternoon the hub-bub of city life. Having started into the mode of gainful employment, and getting herself to to work each morning after about a month of being free, and having lots of flexibility with her time. Back To The Real World.
She called earlier in the week, reporting going in to work feeling sort of 'stuffed up' with something possibly related to allergies or sinus misery. Someone in the workplace proceeded to diagnose her symptoms as a 'back to school cold', but she said she choose to be in complete denial. She said she was not going to claim it, determined to not be dealing with the misery of a cold in addition to job stress. But the symptoms have not abated, and sounds like classic summer cold/virus.
But she continues to get her weary groggy self up each morning, and drag her struggling self to work each day. With a Good Attitude! She knows hundreds of people depend on her being there and doing what she agreed to get accomplished. Over and over again, each day, whether she feels like getting out of bed and going to work or not. Taking responsibility, being accountable.
After our conversation, and a minute to ponder, I called her back and said: "Is this what it feels like to be a Grown Up?" and then "Do you feel like an Adult yet?" We had the conversation as I was going to my weekly community group.... So I asked the friends there at the meeting the same question: "Do you feel like an Adult yet?" Ponder on this, think about it and be ready to tell next week, let us all hear about the time you suddenly, unexpectedly, accidentally discovered yourself to be a Grown Up.
She called earlier in the week, reporting going in to work feeling sort of 'stuffed up' with something possibly related to allergies or sinus misery. Someone in the workplace proceeded to diagnose her symptoms as a 'back to school cold', but she said she choose to be in complete denial. She said she was not going to claim it, determined to not be dealing with the misery of a cold in addition to job stress. But the symptoms have not abated, and sounds like classic summer cold/virus.
But she continues to get her weary groggy self up each morning, and drag her struggling self to work each day. With a Good Attitude! She knows hundreds of people depend on her being there and doing what she agreed to get accomplished. Over and over again, each day, whether she feels like getting out of bed and going to work or not. Taking responsibility, being accountable.
After our conversation, and a minute to ponder, I called her back and said: "Is this what it feels like to be a Grown Up?" and then "Do you feel like an Adult yet?" We had the conversation as I was going to my weekly community group.... So I asked the friends there at the meeting the same question: "Do you feel like an Adult yet?" Ponder on this, think about it and be ready to tell next week, let us all hear about the time you suddenly, unexpectedly, accidentally discovered yourself to be a Grown Up.
rooting around...
... in the area under the big sign across the street. At the entrance to Bull Creek Golf Course, where I have been planting various and sundry over recent months. Some big things, like crepe myrtle that will hopefully turn into small trees. Smaller things like rose bushes that actually got much bigger than I expected, as some are over three feet high. The roses out as mini-rose bushes in three inch pots, that have been quite surprising in their durability and constant blooming..
Then there are others: plants I dug up from my yard, that I would unofficially consider heirlooms, as they came from my parents many years ago. Transplanted from south to middle GA, and remarkably surviving lots of neglect and drought over time. Several varieties that have been donated by friends, fellow gardeners who wanted to give things away, or were rearranging their own space, like dwarf nandina and Stoke's aster.
Plus some lily plants that I hope will come back and bloom year after year: Easter lily bulbs in pots purchased the day after the holiday at a huge discount. Beautiful fragrant Asiatic lily plants that have the same history, bought for nearly nothing the day after Mother's Day. A few things I added to the mix like some butterfly bush that pollinators find very attractive, several flowering almonds that will hopefully grow into trees and become beautiful early spring bloomers.
Several days recently in the past week or so, I have been over there digging up 'undesirables': sprouting acorns by the dozens, wee little oak trees that are under three inches tall. Lots of Virginia creeper that is one of the hardiest plants ever. A number of smilax vines that are so resilient, they come up from underground roots years after the mother plant/original tuber was dug up. Grass that has invaded from the lawn the flower beds, as well as misc. and assorted unnamed weeds. And that annoying dang invasive Chinese privet that the guys had to pull up with a tractor and chain, but left roots that will not quit trying to send up new starts.
Unless you could see what it started from, you might not be much impressed. But I know I am making progress. It has been too hot to get much accomplished, unless I go really late in the day: which means shortly before it gets too dark to see, and sadly, dark is coming considerably earlier each day. At summer's peak we had good daylight until after 9 p.m., but now I cannot see to do any digging after about 8:30. But still making headway.
Then there are others: plants I dug up from my yard, that I would unofficially consider heirlooms, as they came from my parents many years ago. Transplanted from south to middle GA, and remarkably surviving lots of neglect and drought over time. Several varieties that have been donated by friends, fellow gardeners who wanted to give things away, or were rearranging their own space, like dwarf nandina and Stoke's aster.
Plus some lily plants that I hope will come back and bloom year after year: Easter lily bulbs in pots purchased the day after the holiday at a huge discount. Beautiful fragrant Asiatic lily plants that have the same history, bought for nearly nothing the day after Mother's Day. A few things I added to the mix like some butterfly bush that pollinators find very attractive, several flowering almonds that will hopefully grow into trees and become beautiful early spring bloomers.
Several days recently in the past week or so, I have been over there digging up 'undesirables': sprouting acorns by the dozens, wee little oak trees that are under three inches tall. Lots of Virginia creeper that is one of the hardiest plants ever. A number of smilax vines that are so resilient, they come up from underground roots years after the mother plant/original tuber was dug up. Grass that has invaded from the lawn the flower beds, as well as misc. and assorted unnamed weeds. And that annoying dang invasive Chinese privet that the guys had to pull up with a tractor and chain, but left roots that will not quit trying to send up new starts.
Unless you could see what it started from, you might not be much impressed. But I know I am making progress. It has been too hot to get much accomplished, unless I go really late in the day: which means shortly before it gets too dark to see, and sadly, dark is coming considerably earlier each day. At summer's peak we had good daylight until after 9 p.m., but now I cannot see to do any digging after about 8:30. But still making headway.
Monday, August 28, 2017
the third one ...
... was relatively painless. I did not intentionally plan it that way, but am thinking making an effort to find those sub. assignments that are half-day fill-ins is the way to go to lower the stress level. After going to my 'regular' part-time, random employment at 5 a.m., so I could leave at 10:00 to get to the school across town where my other part time job was, it was pretty easy.
When I got there, I could not find the students: classroom empty and dark. A passing staffer said they were at lunch, so I tracked them down, and they spent another thirty minutes in the cafeteria. Then there is the usual bathroom break, dawdling in the hall way, poking along to get back to their room, and settling down. The aide I was replacing had lunch room duty, so I spent another 45 minutes, keeping older students in order. Went back to the class, and found the kindergartners readying to go out on the playground for thirty minutes.
I asked the teacher if I could do anything to help her, make myself useful, so she sent me to the teacher's workroom. I spent another thirty minutes slicing big sheets of construction paper in half, so they can make little books, with colored covers, stapled together. When I got back from that, the teacher had them ready to go home. Book bags at the ready, grouped as: bus riders, daycare, parent pick up, after school care. I was out of there in record time.
The teacher has been at that school for ten years, since it was opened in 2007. Likely has more years of experience as well, so she is skilled in management, and capable of helping her students learn appropriate behavior, redirecting those who need to develop self-control. It was a pretty good experience. The school district has a program on line for substitutes to provide evaluations for their 'day labor' work, and I would have to give this teacher a five star rating.
When I got there, I could not find the students: classroom empty and dark. A passing staffer said they were at lunch, so I tracked them down, and they spent another thirty minutes in the cafeteria. Then there is the usual bathroom break, dawdling in the hall way, poking along to get back to their room, and settling down. The aide I was replacing had lunch room duty, so I spent another 45 minutes, keeping older students in order. Went back to the class, and found the kindergartners readying to go out on the playground for thirty minutes.
I asked the teacher if I could do anything to help her, make myself useful, so she sent me to the teacher's workroom. I spent another thirty minutes slicing big sheets of construction paper in half, so they can make little books, with colored covers, stapled together. When I got back from that, the teacher had them ready to go home. Book bags at the ready, grouped as: bus riders, daycare, parent pick up, after school care. I was out of there in record time.
The teacher has been at that school for ten years, since it was opened in 2007. Likely has more years of experience as well, so she is skilled in management, and capable of helping her students learn appropriate behavior, redirecting those who need to develop self-control. It was a pretty good experience. The school district has a program on line for substitutes to provide evaluations for their 'day labor' work, and I would have to give this teacher a five star rating.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
this will be the third...
... towards the requisite ten days of sub. teaching for this semester, when I go to an elementary school on Monday. I found a job for half day replacement, and will go in at 11:00. First I have to get up at four o'clock and go to work at 5:00 a.m., in order to be finished by ten, so I can go on to the next thing.
It would be a wonderful plan if I could get some more of those half day jobs. That would give the needed credit of 'being there', without having to spend the entire day if it turns out to be more stress than my brain is prepared for. I am pretty sure I do not have the disposition, temperament or discipline skills to be the person who replaces a teacher in a classroom of kids above the age of five. Or at best, possibly six, if there is plenty of administrative support and lots of people nearby who will stick their head in the door periodically to say: 'how's it going?'
The half day assignment tomorrow is in a kindergarten class - just about perfect for me. They have enough experience with being in a classroom, following instructions, knowing about standing in line, cooperating, sharing, general behavior requirements to be manageable. Plus there is always an other person there in the classroom with kids at that age. I think I can do this without loosing my cool.
It would be a wonderful plan if I could get some more of those half day jobs. That would give the needed credit of 'being there', without having to spend the entire day if it turns out to be more stress than my brain is prepared for. I am pretty sure I do not have the disposition, temperament or discipline skills to be the person who replaces a teacher in a classroom of kids above the age of five. Or at best, possibly six, if there is plenty of administrative support and lots of people nearby who will stick their head in the door periodically to say: 'how's it going?'
The half day assignment tomorrow is in a kindergarten class - just about perfect for me. They have enough experience with being in a classroom, following instructions, knowing about standing in line, cooperating, sharing, general behavior requirements to be manageable. Plus there is always an other person there in the classroom with kids at that age. I think I can do this without loosing my cool.
Saturday, August 26, 2017
the only thing...(book review)
...that saved me from wanting to jump off the overpass was a very long talking book. When I was stuck in the worst traffic I have ever experienced in my entire life coming back from The Great Solar Eclipse in South Carolina driving about three miles per hour for excruciating periods of time. Thankfully, I had a talking book to keep me company. Otherwise I would have done something foolish, stupid and possibly deadly.
This is in praise of Talking Books, otherwise known as Recorded Books or back in the 'olden days': Books on Tape, when they were recorded on actual cassettes before the advent of the technology that puts the words on flat plastic discs. The one I had checked out of the library to listen to while I was driving was "Hard Country", by Michael McGarrity. It was published in in 2012 by Dutton Co. It must have been a really thick book when you read the printed version, as there were at least 12 discs.
Set in New Mexico in the period following the American Civil War, a story of three generations of settlers who acquired property and built a ranch, growing and selling cattle and working horses. The family lived a hard scrabble life, and built their holdings up over time, doing everything on the land by hand: felling trees for fences and forming the bones of their buildings. Digging stock tanks for their livestock by hand, erecting windmills to keep cattle watered. Building a house and barns, outbuildings by hand. Rounding up cattle in all seasons, breaking wild ponies to ride and manage the cattle and property. A hard life where only the toughest survived the elements and exhausting days in the saddle.
The characters were well described, with many details about their personalities to make them come alive in your imagination. The views of the harsh landscape were so clearly described, deserts, mountains, lava flows, the reader had a very clear image of the reality of life out on the open range land. As the seasons changed, winter storms raged killing livestock in freezing weather, then spring rains came, bringing raging floods and gradually greening up the valleys and mountain meadows for grazing livestock. Blistering dry summers and dust storms, blistering heat seemed very real, as cattle die from drought conditions. Even for such tough, resourceful men, accustomed to deprivation, it was a difficult way to make a living, often just scraping by from one season, cattle drive to the next.
The characters were will described with many details about their personalities that make them seem to come alive in your imagination. John Kearney, his friend and partner Cal, the young woman they rescue Emma, John's son Patrick and the children of Emma and Patrick: all people I felt I knew. Indian shootouts, outlaws, escapes across the Rio Grande, the things that make for great storytelling.
The reality of hard circumstances and rough living in the early days of settling as Europeans moved into the territory and claimed the New from the Old Mexico brought injury and often early death in accidents, round ups, gun battles. After spending hours listening to their (fictitious) story, I found myself grieving when another one was buried up on the hill overlooking the ranch.
The author had obviously done a great deal of reading the history of the area, and very knowledgeable about the settling of the area. It was a interesting book, the sort of thing that would be purchased for movie rights, having a screenplay adaptation, and a vast cast of grizzled cowpokes in the lead roles.
This is in praise of Talking Books, otherwise known as Recorded Books or back in the 'olden days': Books on Tape, when they were recorded on actual cassettes before the advent of the technology that puts the words on flat plastic discs. The one I had checked out of the library to listen to while I was driving was "Hard Country", by Michael McGarrity. It was published in in 2012 by Dutton Co. It must have been a really thick book when you read the printed version, as there were at least 12 discs.
Set in New Mexico in the period following the American Civil War, a story of three generations of settlers who acquired property and built a ranch, growing and selling cattle and working horses. The family lived a hard scrabble life, and built their holdings up over time, doing everything on the land by hand: felling trees for fences and forming the bones of their buildings. Digging stock tanks for their livestock by hand, erecting windmills to keep cattle watered. Building a house and barns, outbuildings by hand. Rounding up cattle in all seasons, breaking wild ponies to ride and manage the cattle and property. A hard life where only the toughest survived the elements and exhausting days in the saddle.
The characters were well described, with many details about their personalities to make them come alive in your imagination. The views of the harsh landscape were so clearly described, deserts, mountains, lava flows, the reader had a very clear image of the reality of life out on the open range land. As the seasons changed, winter storms raged killing livestock in freezing weather, then spring rains came, bringing raging floods and gradually greening up the valleys and mountain meadows for grazing livestock. Blistering dry summers and dust storms, blistering heat seemed very real, as cattle die from drought conditions. Even for such tough, resourceful men, accustomed to deprivation, it was a difficult way to make a living, often just scraping by from one season, cattle drive to the next.
The characters were will described with many details about their personalities that make them seem to come alive in your imagination. John Kearney, his friend and partner Cal, the young woman they rescue Emma, John's son Patrick and the children of Emma and Patrick: all people I felt I knew. Indian shootouts, outlaws, escapes across the Rio Grande, the things that make for great storytelling.
The reality of hard circumstances and rough living in the early days of settling as Europeans moved into the territory and claimed the New from the Old Mexico brought injury and often early death in accidents, round ups, gun battles. After spending hours listening to their (fictitious) story, I found myself grieving when another one was buried up on the hill overlooking the ranch.
The author had obviously done a great deal of reading the history of the area, and very knowledgeable about the settling of the area. It was a interesting book, the sort of thing that would be purchased for movie rights, having a screenplay adaptation, and a vast cast of grizzled cowpokes in the lead roles.
Friday, August 25, 2017
it's not yet 7:00 a.m....
... and I feel like I have had a very productive day. I don't have anything of any importance on my calendar, and considering looking again for a substitute teaching job. Why would I do that to myself again? Seems like something I would avoid, in the same vein of 'why would you drop a brick on your toe?' Honestly, the jobs working in a classroom with another person are really not so bad, and I do not have any hesitation with going into a pre-K age or kindergarten class room as an aide to the teacher. It does not pay as well as a position as a certified teacher, but is valid as one of those twenty days that have to be accomplished to satisfy the requirements of the school system.
I looked at my kitchen floor last night, while I was preparing our food, and thought: 'how did it get this nasty?' Made the decision to do something about it. But not then, at the end of a long, busy, stressful day, when it was all I could do to get the space cleaned and and drag me to bed..
I got up this morning soon after six o'clock, and immediately started the process. Sweeping, and then mopping. It is oh-so-very gratifying to have a clean kitchen floor. Oddly, something I never, ever noticed as a kid, growing up in my parents' house, but in mine: I find it a delight, absolutely charming to be able to walk into the kitchen and have the floor spotless. Not sticky, not gritty, no spots of spilled stuff, nothing that makes your socks come off your feet, when you step on gummy places around the refrigerator door. Does not last long, but with just the two of us, it is most pleasing to know it is literally clean enough to eat off the floor.
I looked at my kitchen floor last night, while I was preparing our food, and thought: 'how did it get this nasty?' Made the decision to do something about it. But not then, at the end of a long, busy, stressful day, when it was all I could do to get the space cleaned and and drag me to bed..
I got up this morning soon after six o'clock, and immediately started the process. Sweeping, and then mopping. It is oh-so-very gratifying to have a clean kitchen floor. Oddly, something I never, ever noticed as a kid, growing up in my parents' house, but in mine: I find it a delight, absolutely charming to be able to walk into the kitchen and have the floor spotless. Not sticky, not gritty, no spots of spilled stuff, nothing that makes your socks come off your feet, when you step on gummy places around the refrigerator door. Does not last long, but with just the two of us, it is most pleasing to know it is literally clean enough to eat off the floor.
Thursday, August 24, 2017
possibly the ninth....
... most worst day ever when I accidentally found myself with substitute teaching job today. You might recall the school district now requires people who desire to get 'day labor' work to be in the classroom twenty days each year. If you do not accept work for the minimum number of days, you get dropped out of the roster, no longer able to work at all as a replacement. Not sure why this recent requirement has been instituted, but if you fail to meet the parameters, you soon discover: it is enforced.
I was 'fishing around' on the website this morning, hoping to find a half day job, that would allow me to go in and work part of the day and still get credit as 'present and accounted for'. Just wanted to be acknowledged as having been on the scene. When I somehow, unintentionally touched the place on the screen that said 'accept', and found me with a job. Spent the day in a classroom with twenty or so ten year olds. It was not the most fun I have ever had.
I do not spend much time with young people, and am often baffled by their behavior. Why can't they just act normal? Why do they feel like they have to prove something to all their classmates/friends with completely unacceptable behavior? What is the purpose of being disrespectful, denying what they have so obviously just done, and acting like that sort of activity is normal when their teacher is present?
I am thankful that there were other teachers and staff members who came in the classroom. I am not sure I would have lasted all day if there had not been lots of support and encouragement from other adults. I just don't understand why they are so defiant, unwilling to cooperate and put forth an effort to learn? Isn't that what their parents sent them there to do?
I was 'fishing around' on the website this morning, hoping to find a half day job, that would allow me to go in and work part of the day and still get credit as 'present and accounted for'. Just wanted to be acknowledged as having been on the scene. When I somehow, unintentionally touched the place on the screen that said 'accept', and found me with a job. Spent the day in a classroom with twenty or so ten year olds. It was not the most fun I have ever had.
I do not spend much time with young people, and am often baffled by their behavior. Why can't they just act normal? Why do they feel like they have to prove something to all their classmates/friends with completely unacceptable behavior? What is the purpose of being disrespectful, denying what they have so obviously just done, and acting like that sort of activity is normal when their teacher is present?
I am thankful that there were other teachers and staff members who came in the classroom. I am not sure I would have lasted all day if there had not been lots of support and encouragement from other adults. I just don't understand why they are so defiant, unwilling to cooperate and put forth an effort to learn? Isn't that what their parents sent them there to do?
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
the driving back...
...from Greenville to Decatur was surely one of the Low Points of my life. Making the time invested seem like the longest three hours in the history of the world. And a thought provoking counterpoint to the excursion for viewing The Great Solar Eclipse, meaning: was it worth the effort?
The Rest of the Story:
I laughed heartily when the cousin who lives within the space on the map designated as the 'totality' zone warned me to 'stay away'. Totality: that area in which there would be complete eclipse viewed from a narrow band across the US in a diagonal line from Seattle,WA to Charleston SC. I thought her concerns overwrought. Discounting reports from local news sources.
Thinking: 'Really?' Reminding myself there is so much bogus information presented as factual by media sources that are not always doing the research to assure there facts are truly true. I choose to believe that thousands or millions of people would surely not be so foolish as to travel hundreds of miles in order to be within that zone, and participate in the viewing of the Total Eclipse of the Heart, or Sun. One (me?) maybe, but certainly not thousands upon thousands: enough to cause a major traffic problem.
And they didn't. At least not prior to the disappearing. But afterward is an entirely different story. It was so awful, I am still not sure it happened. I left Greenville soon after the show was over. Actually had a such a good view on the local news that I could have stayed in and watched it all on the tube. Except then I would not be able to say: "I saw it." When what you really saw, standing out there, leaning back, staring overhead in your dark glasses, looking like a simpleton was mostly: nothing.
I planned to get on the road heading back to Decatur by 3:30, hoping that would allow me to avoid most the worst of the traffic leaving the city returning to the suburbs. I noticed as I got in my car to start out that it was 3:37 pm. I had excellent speed and smooth travels for about ten miles. Then came to a complete halt. I never did figure out why traffic slowed to a crawl for one hundred miles. But that is the cold hard truth. I inched along for hours and hours at times driving three mph on the interstate. For hours. And hours.
I looked at my GPS thinking maybe I could get it to divert me, take me on a detour that would circumvent the worst of the stalled/crawling vehicles. Still unsure why we were all going so slow. Assuming there must be a wreck someplace down the highway towards Atlanta. I did get off the four lane for a while, but even that was clogged, slowmoving, barelyinchingalong.
It is about 120 miles, taking not much over two hours, if you do not stop several times as I am prone to do. Which means it took me about seven hours to complete what would normally be a two hour drive. I got to Decatur at 10:37 pm. Averaging about 19 miles per hour for seven hours. Un-believe-able! Frustrating, aggravating, irirtating, baffling, and exhausting.
I would have to say that it was worth going, after the first three hours, then went rapidly downhill from there. If I had known what the return trip to Atlanta would entail, I think I would have invited myself to spend the night in SC. I did not even have solar eclipse on my bucket list to be able to mark it off!
The Rest of the Story:
I laughed heartily when the cousin who lives within the space on the map designated as the 'totality' zone warned me to 'stay away'. Totality: that area in which there would be complete eclipse viewed from a narrow band across the US in a diagonal line from Seattle,WA to Charleston SC. I thought her concerns overwrought. Discounting reports from local news sources.
Thinking: 'Really?' Reminding myself there is so much bogus information presented as factual by media sources that are not always doing the research to assure there facts are truly true. I choose to believe that thousands or millions of people would surely not be so foolish as to travel hundreds of miles in order to be within that zone, and participate in the viewing of the Total Eclipse of the Heart, or Sun. One (me?) maybe, but certainly not thousands upon thousands: enough to cause a major traffic problem.
And they didn't. At least not prior to the disappearing. But afterward is an entirely different story. It was so awful, I am still not sure it happened. I left Greenville soon after the show was over. Actually had a such a good view on the local news that I could have stayed in and watched it all on the tube. Except then I would not be able to say: "I saw it." When what you really saw, standing out there, leaning back, staring overhead in your dark glasses, looking like a simpleton was mostly: nothing.
I planned to get on the road heading back to Decatur by 3:30, hoping that would allow me to avoid most the worst of the traffic leaving the city returning to the suburbs. I noticed as I got in my car to start out that it was 3:37 pm. I had excellent speed and smooth travels for about ten miles. Then came to a complete halt. I never did figure out why traffic slowed to a crawl for one hundred miles. But that is the cold hard truth. I inched along for hours and hours at times driving three mph on the interstate. For hours. And hours.
I looked at my GPS thinking maybe I could get it to divert me, take me on a detour that would circumvent the worst of the stalled/crawling vehicles. Still unsure why we were all going so slow. Assuming there must be a wreck someplace down the highway towards Atlanta. I did get off the four lane for a while, but even that was clogged, slowmoving, barelyinchingalong.
It is about 120 miles, taking not much over two hours, if you do not stop several times as I am prone to do. Which means it took me about seven hours to complete what would normally be a two hour drive. I got to Decatur at 10:37 pm. Averaging about 19 miles per hour for seven hours. Un-believe-able! Frustrating, aggravating, irirtating, baffling, and exhausting.
I would have to say that it was worth going, after the first three hours, then went rapidly downhill from there. If I had known what the return trip to Atlanta would entail, I think I would have invited myself to spend the night in SC. I did not even have solar eclipse on my bucket list to be able to mark it off!
veered off the interstate...
... to visit the Georgia Guidestones, just killing time, trying to not arrive in Greenville while my pal was still in his pajamas. Surprised to see so many people hanging around. Maybe a dozen or so, just milling around the little grassy area around the stones. Some appeared to have been there for quie a while: a couple of small tents had been set up, where they spent the night.Waiting for the eclipse.
Even more surprised to see the sign out on a little stake by the highway, offering to sell the dark-tinted glasses for viewing for $60. I don't know the specifics, but would never consider spending that much cash on a street corner, for anything. Much less cardboard and plastic glasses to wear for 2.7minutes.
I had two of the cheap-o ones from Amazon, and was gave one away to a couple of guys who were hanging around waiting for a friend. Up on top of the hill in a cowpasture on a rural highway, surrounded by woods, pastures, countryside in the middle of nearly Nowhere. Leaving me with one to put on my face, looking like an escapee from a 3-D movie theater, while viewing the eclipse. I was prepared to feel really foolish standing out in the yard, looking straight up in the sky, but decided that all those millions of people who were doing the same thing at the same time would not notice me - so why bother to feel like a goofball?
Even more surprised to see the sign out on a little stake by the highway, offering to sell the dark-tinted glasses for viewing for $60. I don't know the specifics, but would never consider spending that much cash on a street corner, for anything. Much less cardboard and plastic glasses to wear for 2.7minutes.
I had two of the cheap-o ones from Amazon, and was gave one away to a couple of guys who were hanging around waiting for a friend. Up on top of the hill in a cowpasture on a rural highway, surrounded by woods, pastures, countryside in the middle of nearly Nowhere. Leaving me with one to put on my face, looking like an escapee from a 3-D movie theater, while viewing the eclipse. I was prepared to feel really foolish standing out in the yard, looking straight up in the sky, but decided that all those millions of people who were doing the same thing at the same time would not notice me - so why bother to feel like a goofball?
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
driving to see...
...the Great Eclipse in totality in South Carolina on Monday, August 21, 2017. Which also conveniently happened to be Grandparents Day, so it was a true pleasure to spend it with my pen pal who lives in Greenville. He is 93 years old, and sharp, amusing, remarkably spry for a geezer... and would probably be delighted to be called that!
I'd read about the 'GE' in his farmers' almanac back early in the year, and told him I wanted to come and visit, to be a witness to the event on that day. So we marked our calendars and planned to observe. All those months ago, I had not the first inkling it would be such a well publicized occasion, with people coming from all over the world to view the disappearance of the sun. Lots of media coverage: we started looking at the television soon after noon, watching as the shadow of the moon covered the sun from Seattle, Washington to Charleston, South Carolina and and out into the Atlantic Ocean.
I had the proper eye wear, with darkly shaded lens for viewing, and would periodically get up and trot out into the yard to gaze up at the solar disc as it was gradually covered by the lunar shadow. For some reason, as I would tilt my head back to look nearly directly overhead, I would find myself having the sense of loosing my balance, nearly tipping over backwards. After doing this a couple of times, I learned to hold onto the fence, a tree, something to help maintain an even keel, and keep my footing.
My cousin, who lives in SC, within the area that was designated as 'totality' warned me to stay away. Saying the crowds and traffic would be such that I would not care to be in the midst of certain chaos. I had been planning to go for months, and not easily dissuaded. Surprisingly there was not an excessive amount of traffic when I was driving north on the interstate. I generally want to get up early, and leave the congested streets and highways of the metro. area before there is a high volume of traffic. So I was up and driving at 5:30, anxious to be out of town, and well past the dense, high-speed traffic.
I had to stop and buy gas. Wishing I had done that before I left home, as it is always high in the metro, usually twenty cents or more than I would pay closer to home. But anxious to get on the road, and desperate to feel like I was making progress towards my goal. I pulled up to the pump at the curb store, and inserted my plastic card: it was declined. I thought: 'hmmm... maybe me? I will try again', and reinserted the card to have it denied a second time. I went in the store, pulled out cash, and paid for $10 worth of gas. Quickly accessed the interstate, heading north, and made my way towards Carolina. There was really not much traffic that early in the day: hardly anyone up and driving the streets of Decatur. A strange experience to be cruising major thoroughfares that are usually very congested, and not see another vehicle in either direction.
An hour up the road, after the sun came up, I stopped and called the credit card company to see what the problem could be. The response is the computer deciding to put a hold on a card is not unusual, when the cardholder travels outside the normal circuit. If you go someplace beyond your normal activities, they assume your card has been heisted, and will stop it from being used to protect the cardholder. Well... thanks for that. But it is surely inconvenient to not be able to use the card I am so diligent about paying in full each billing cycle. Problem resolved after I answered several questions to the satisfaction of the fraud protection people, telling all the appropriate secrets to a total stranger.
I made a couple of stops, to prevent arriving before my friend was up and ready for guests. Planned to get there around 10, which is the usual time for me to get to his house. Uneventful travels, and surprisingly little traffic. There were a lot of people out there, sitting at the rest area, welcome center after crossing the state line, under the trees, in their folding camp chairs: waiting for something to happen.
I'd read about the 'GE' in his farmers' almanac back early in the year, and told him I wanted to come and visit, to be a witness to the event on that day. So we marked our calendars and planned to observe. All those months ago, I had not the first inkling it would be such a well publicized occasion, with people coming from all over the world to view the disappearance of the sun. Lots of media coverage: we started looking at the television soon after noon, watching as the shadow of the moon covered the sun from Seattle, Washington to Charleston, South Carolina and and out into the Atlantic Ocean.
I had the proper eye wear, with darkly shaded lens for viewing, and would periodically get up and trot out into the yard to gaze up at the solar disc as it was gradually covered by the lunar shadow. For some reason, as I would tilt my head back to look nearly directly overhead, I would find myself having the sense of loosing my balance, nearly tipping over backwards. After doing this a couple of times, I learned to hold onto the fence, a tree, something to help maintain an even keel, and keep my footing.
My cousin, who lives in SC, within the area that was designated as 'totality' warned me to stay away. Saying the crowds and traffic would be such that I would not care to be in the midst of certain chaos. I had been planning to go for months, and not easily dissuaded. Surprisingly there was not an excessive amount of traffic when I was driving north on the interstate. I generally want to get up early, and leave the congested streets and highways of the metro. area before there is a high volume of traffic. So I was up and driving at 5:30, anxious to be out of town, and well past the dense, high-speed traffic.
I had to stop and buy gas. Wishing I had done that before I left home, as it is always high in the metro, usually twenty cents or more than I would pay closer to home. But anxious to get on the road, and desperate to feel like I was making progress towards my goal. I pulled up to the pump at the curb store, and inserted my plastic card: it was declined. I thought: 'hmmm... maybe me? I will try again', and reinserted the card to have it denied a second time. I went in the store, pulled out cash, and paid for $10 worth of gas. Quickly accessed the interstate, heading north, and made my way towards Carolina. There was really not much traffic that early in the day: hardly anyone up and driving the streets of Decatur. A strange experience to be cruising major thoroughfares that are usually very congested, and not see another vehicle in either direction.
An hour up the road, after the sun came up, I stopped and called the credit card company to see what the problem could be. The response is the computer deciding to put a hold on a card is not unusual, when the cardholder travels outside the normal circuit. If you go someplace beyond your normal activities, they assume your card has been heisted, and will stop it from being used to protect the cardholder. Well... thanks for that. But it is surely inconvenient to not be able to use the card I am so diligent about paying in full each billing cycle. Problem resolved after I answered several questions to the satisfaction of the fraud protection people, telling all the appropriate secrets to a total stranger.
I made a couple of stops, to prevent arriving before my friend was up and ready for guests. Planned to get there around 10, which is the usual time for me to get to his house. Uneventful travels, and surprisingly little traffic. There were a lot of people out there, sitting at the rest area, welcome center after crossing the state line, under the trees, in their folding camp chairs: waiting for something to happen.
a little funnie...
...for your amusement. I read it somewhere, and have enjoyed sharing it with several people who rewarded me with a smile. Feel free to pass it along...
A man had a followup appointment with his doctor, and the doctor asked if he had been doing as instructed. The man replied that, yes, he had been eating more fruit and vegetables and had actually eaten eight apples the preceding day. The doctor congratulated him, thinking that was most remarkable, and asked how he managed to consume eight entire apples in one day. The patient responded with: 'that's how many it takes to make a pie'.
A man had a followup appointment with his doctor, and the doctor asked if he had been doing as instructed. The man replied that, yes, he had been eating more fruit and vegetables and had actually eaten eight apples the preceding day. The doctor congratulated him, thinking that was most remarkable, and asked how he managed to consume eight entire apples in one day. The patient responded with: 'that's how many it takes to make a pie'.
Saturday, August 19, 2017
plotting and planning...
...for weeks to go to South Carolina to be there when the solar eclipse occurs. I read about it early in the year, in the Farmer's Almanac, and told my pen pal in Greenville I was planning to come and visit to be there for the complete eclipse that will occur in the upstate. And looking forward to the trip.
Until I talked with my cousin after I got home tonight, who said there it is going to be chaos there. The news reports that thousands and more thousands of people will be swarming into the area to view the oddity. She was warning me to stay away, and stay at home. Keep away as far away as possible.
It is always my plan when I am traveling to SC to spend the night in Decatur and get up really early to get out of town before traffic gets bad. I dislike that high speed, crazy-ness so much I do every thing I can to avoid as much as possible. Like keep to surface streets until absolutely necessary to get on that twelve-lane-wide-screaming-banshee mess. Which is what I had planned to do on Monday. But I am having second thoughts....
The cousin laughed at me when I said: "Wow!" and "Really?" Making her think I am a hopeless bumpkin. Ignorant and completely naive. The kind of person who thinks like a chicken when a solar eclipse occurs and goes right to bed/roost for two and one-half minutes. I have not listened to the radio, or seen any news with reports of those thousands and thousands of people who are flocking to the area of total darkness. I was thoroughly amazed to hear that it will be bedlam in Carolina while the sun disappears in a shadow. For 2 1/2 minutes.
Until I talked with my cousin after I got home tonight, who said there it is going to be chaos there. The news reports that thousands and more thousands of people will be swarming into the area to view the oddity. She was warning me to stay away, and stay at home. Keep away as far away as possible.
It is always my plan when I am traveling to SC to spend the night in Decatur and get up really early to get out of town before traffic gets bad. I dislike that high speed, crazy-ness so much I do every thing I can to avoid as much as possible. Like keep to surface streets until absolutely necessary to get on that twelve-lane-wide-screaming-banshee mess. Which is what I had planned to do on Monday. But I am having second thoughts....
The cousin laughed at me when I said: "Wow!" and "Really?" Making her think I am a hopeless bumpkin. Ignorant and completely naive. The kind of person who thinks like a chicken when a solar eclipse occurs and goes right to bed/roost for two and one-half minutes. I have not listened to the radio, or seen any news with reports of those thousands and thousands of people who are flocking to the area of total darkness. I was thoroughly amazed to hear that it will be bedlam in Carolina while the sun disappears in a shadow. For 2 1/2 minutes.
sitting here typing...
...looked up and out the window. Saw a beautiful sunset, over towards the golf course that is across the street from our house. Sky streaked with clouds that were a gorgeous shade of orange, with the sun lighting them from beneath, so the color was almost golden. It was so striking, brilliantly colored, I hit the save button, immediately got up and walked out into the yard, up to the street to see the end of the day. It is now completely dark. Only nine o'clock. Days ago it would be almost fully daylight until nearly 9:30, so it is obvious the days are getting shorter, and summer is drawing to a close.
When I went in to work this morning, I had to be there at 7:00. I usually go in at 5 or 6 a.m., when it is still pitch black dark. So do not often seen the sunrise, unless I am traveling, on the road and seeing the sky gradually lighten out in the woods, trees slowly become visible across fields of cotton, corn or soybeans. But I did see the early morning sky today: beautifully colored clouds of pink and palest orange, almost looking like watercolor paintings, just a faint wash of color. Pale blue sky, with fluffy clouds up high enough to catch the early rays of the sun, and be an enticing shade of cotton candy pink.
Sadly, I spent the entire day inside, and did not see the world until I left the store at 5 p.m. But I did see the end of the day, with streaked shades of gold and brilliant orange, as the sky faded into gray and black. Thankful for the beauty of creation.
When I went in to work this morning, I had to be there at 7:00. I usually go in at 5 or 6 a.m., when it is still pitch black dark. So do not often seen the sunrise, unless I am traveling, on the road and seeing the sky gradually lighten out in the woods, trees slowly become visible across fields of cotton, corn or soybeans. But I did see the early morning sky today: beautifully colored clouds of pink and palest orange, almost looking like watercolor paintings, just a faint wash of color. Pale blue sky, with fluffy clouds up high enough to catch the early rays of the sun, and be an enticing shade of cotton candy pink.
Sadly, I spent the entire day inside, and did not see the world until I left the store at 5 p.m. But I did see the end of the day, with streaked shades of gold and brilliant orange, as the sky faded into gray and black. Thankful for the beauty of creation.
sounds just like...
...something I would do, so not at all surprising to hear this hilarious tale from the daughter who gave me a good laugh today. I knew she had been in the right frame of mind to do some housecleaning during a break from work. Having heard about sorting through closets and bins of seasonal clothing to decide what to keep and what to donate. The story is about going through a bin of things she was contemplating taking to the thrift store.
She decided to put the dress on one last time to enjoy before adding it to the assortment that she was willing to part with. They were going out to eat, and she slipped it on over a tank top and leggings, before walking out the door to go to the cafe. When they got to their destination, the young woman who was taking the order commented on how much she liked that colorful, flower-strewn dress. Not knowing it was headed for the donations box. When they finished eating, and the woman returned to give them the check for their meal, she was asked if she would like to have the dress. Whereupon the wearer immediately took it off and gave it away. What fun!
I've taken off scarves or hats or pins and given them to someone who admired them, but never a complete outfit. How much fun would that be to make someone's day, have them thrilled with an unexpected gift and smile the rest of the day with delight? Tons! The daughter who gave the dress away is not the one in the photo. But that is the dress - or actually one just like it, that her sister had on when she went to breakfast and left it there in the restaurant with the server.
perverse, yet strangely gratifying...
... stomping on big black grasshoppers that are just asking for death by sitting out on the driveway when I come home. I know it sounds absolutely disgusting and repulsive. I apologize, most sincerely sorry if your sensitivities are cringing at the thought. But chasing them across the concrete apron and finally giving them a good stomp is very satisfying.
Also probably quite amusing to watch if you are standing in the house gazing out the window. Seeing me hopping about in the drive, jumping around as the insects industriously try to escape certain death. I often get tickled myself, thinking of how comical it would be to an onlooker: hop, stomp, hop-stomp, hopstomp.
There are lots of dessicated crispy shells of large insects scattered across the paving and grassy lawn in front of the house. I think they are one of those creatures that have an exoskeleton, so that part you see on the outside is what holds it all together? The most gratifying part of knowing they are deceased is the assurance of preventing their children from hatching next spring to devour plants and flowering things. They are voracious, in a Biblical sense, can completely clean every leaf off a plant in a matter of hours when there are enough of them at work. Plus, when they munch their way through blooms, they are consuming the food I deliberately planted to attract pollinators.
I honestly believe I have stomped upon one or more every single day for the past month. There have been times when I have gotten a double: stomping on a pair as they were mating. So got the guy, who was on the girl (he likely promised to respect as much tomorrow as he did before he talked her into letting him in her pants). Whereupon they met their demise long before she could plant her eggs that would hatch and turn into an eating machine, gobbling my plants next spring. Very satisfying.
Also probably quite amusing to watch if you are standing in the house gazing out the window. Seeing me hopping about in the drive, jumping around as the insects industriously try to escape certain death. I often get tickled myself, thinking of how comical it would be to an onlooker: hop, stomp, hop-stomp, hopstomp.
There are lots of dessicated crispy shells of large insects scattered across the paving and grassy lawn in front of the house. I think they are one of those creatures that have an exoskeleton, so that part you see on the outside is what holds it all together? The most gratifying part of knowing they are deceased is the assurance of preventing their children from hatching next spring to devour plants and flowering things. They are voracious, in a Biblical sense, can completely clean every leaf off a plant in a matter of hours when there are enough of them at work. Plus, when they munch their way through blooms, they are consuming the food I deliberately planted to attract pollinators.
I honestly believe I have stomped upon one or more every single day for the past month. There have been times when I have gotten a double: stomping on a pair as they were mating. So got the guy, who was on the girl (he likely promised to respect as much tomorrow as he did before he talked her into letting him in her pants). Whereupon they met their demise long before she could plant her eggs that would hatch and turn into an eating machine, gobbling my plants next spring. Very satisfying.
Sunday, August 13, 2017
book review: "Miller's Valley"...
...by Anna Quindlen. I read it on seven Cds while driving. The story is told from the point of view of Mary Margaret, called Mimi by her family. Starting when she is a young girl of about ten years of age, throughout her life as she grows, leaves home, starts a career and a family. I enjoyed hearing the tale of a community that changes over time,and of her family as she matures and becomes an adult.
The place she grows up in is a valley that the federal government wants to flood, to use as a reservoir. There is a dam in place as the story begins, though the community is resistant to the idea that their lands will eventually be covered by a lake as the water rises. People age, die, move on over time, homes and land is sold, giving the government an edge to apply more pressure to the families that are still holdouts with land they have farmed for generations. Mimi's family is resistant, but times and people change.
A sweet tale of a young woman learning some of life's hard lessons, as she interacts with family and friends in her community. A few surprises pop up in the course of the story, unexpected plot twists. The reader spends so much time with Mimi, it is difficult to get to the end and let her go, even though she has had a long, full, happy life. At the end it is gratifying to have shared her experiences as you hear her reflect on her history, and successful career as a family practice doctor.
The place she grows up in is a valley that the federal government wants to flood, to use as a reservoir. There is a dam in place as the story begins, though the community is resistant to the idea that their lands will eventually be covered by a lake as the water rises. People age, die, move on over time, homes and land is sold, giving the government an edge to apply more pressure to the families that are still holdouts with land they have farmed for generations. Mimi's family is resistant, but times and people change.
A sweet tale of a young woman learning some of life's hard lessons, as she interacts with family and friends in her community. A few surprises pop up in the course of the story, unexpected plot twists. The reader spends so much time with Mimi, it is difficult to get to the end and let her go, even though she has had a long, full, happy life. At the end it is gratifying to have shared her experiences as you hear her reflect on her history, and successful career as a family practice doctor.
Friday, August 11, 2017
'rest of the story'...
...as things evolved with the deceased battery in the Toyota belonging to the auntie. I did get a key with the chip that was 'original' delivered to the dealership. One that I assume was given to the auntie when it was purchased. The service guy ( if you recall: 'Bubba'?) said that the battery was so thoroughly dead that the computer could not read the chip in that key that was given the new owner when she purchased the vehicle. Making the root of the problem appear to be nothing more serious than a completely dead battery. Which would, as you might guess, cost twice as much when purchased and installed by the service department at the dealership than anyplace else in town.
But: they had the car, sitting there, awaiting service. I would have had to call to get a tow to take it elsewhere. So they did install a brand new battery at twice the price. Which seems to have solved the problem.
Bubba reported that the duplicate key would not communicate with the computer, and seemed to want me to believe it had somehow mysteriously 'de-programmed' itself. Something he wanted me to think was not impossible. When I told him I thought the dealer would be responsible for that problem, he said only if it was under warranty. Then, after more research, he agreed that the duplicate the auntie bought came with a twelve month warranty. Admitting if the unlikely deprogramming had occurred, the dealer would make it good, replace the suspiciously non-working key.
After all that, I am no longer thinking ill of the service department. Provided I receive two working keys when I go to pay for the new battery. And find someone who will drive it back to the house for me next week, to avoid paying for shuttle service.
But: they had the car, sitting there, awaiting service. I would have had to call to get a tow to take it elsewhere. So they did install a brand new battery at twice the price. Which seems to have solved the problem.
Bubba reported that the duplicate key would not communicate with the computer, and seemed to want me to believe it had somehow mysteriously 'de-programmed' itself. Something he wanted me to think was not impossible. When I told him I thought the dealer would be responsible for that problem, he said only if it was under warranty. Then, after more research, he agreed that the duplicate the auntie bought came with a twelve month warranty. Admitting if the unlikely deprogramming had occurred, the dealer would make it good, replace the suspiciously non-working key.
After all that, I am no longer thinking ill of the service department. Provided I receive two working keys when I go to pay for the new battery. And find someone who will drive it back to the house for me next week, to avoid paying for shuttle service.
book reveiw: "In Sunlight or in Shadow"...
... randomly taken off the shelf at the local library. Edited by Lawrence Block, copyright 2016. A collection of short stories written by well known American authors, based on paintings by Edward Hopper. Block reported he has long been an admirer of Hopper's art, and requested a number of writers use specific pieces of Hopper's work as inspiration to provide an accompanying tale to be included in the collection.
The authors of the words in the collection have some standing in American literature, and will be household names. Including people like Stephen King, Joyce Carol Oates, Jeffery Deaver, and a dozen others. I am not a fan of King's style/subject matter, and not even aware of some of the others. We should assume they are all successful writers, in the sense of well paid for their efforts in popular literature. Some of the stories were better than others, and a couple I merely skimmed, in order to move on to the next.
Hopper's works often have a moody, melodramatic feel. Most depict people as if caught in a snapshot, but the lighting is somehow subdued, to give a feel of impending storm or awaiting some unexpected disaster. There is an edginess, a sense of doom, when viewing many of his carefully planned, meticulously arranged paintings. Each short story from the successful professionals, invited to pen words to accompany the illustrations is well-suited to the preceding painting. The tales from these wordsmiths, using their imaginations to generate stories, are as often as unsettling as the scenes Hopper's brushed portrayed.
I have long been an admirer of Hopper's style, and think the idea of dreaming up a 'back story' for a particular piece of art work a great way to develop appreciation for art. Something that would be useful for a teacher in a classroom, as a way to generate interest in fine art and hone writing skills.
The authors of the words in the collection have some standing in American literature, and will be household names. Including people like Stephen King, Joyce Carol Oates, Jeffery Deaver, and a dozen others. I am not a fan of King's style/subject matter, and not even aware of some of the others. We should assume they are all successful writers, in the sense of well paid for their efforts in popular literature. Some of the stories were better than others, and a couple I merely skimmed, in order to move on to the next.
Hopper's works often have a moody, melodramatic feel. Most depict people as if caught in a snapshot, but the lighting is somehow subdued, to give a feel of impending storm or awaiting some unexpected disaster. There is an edginess, a sense of doom, when viewing many of his carefully planned, meticulously arranged paintings. Each short story from the successful professionals, invited to pen words to accompany the illustrations is well-suited to the preceding painting. The tales from these wordsmiths, using their imaginations to generate stories, are as often as unsettling as the scenes Hopper's brushed portrayed.
I have long been an admirer of Hopper's style, and think the idea of dreaming up a 'back story' for a particular piece of art work a great way to develop appreciation for art. Something that would be useful for a teacher in a classroom, as a way to generate interest in fine art and hone writing skills.
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
book reveiw: "The Orphan Mother"...
...written by Robert Hicks, a resident of Tennessee. The story takes place shortly after the Civil War, in Franklin, a small town in TN. The character referred to in the title is Mariah Reddick, who is a mid-wife, respected for her birthing skills by all the women in the community, and thoroughly disliked by the white doctor practicing 'modern' medicine in that post-war village. Mariah has one son, who is a cobbler, self-employed maker of shoes. The son desires to give a speech at a political rally, and is beset by angry white men when he begins to speak. Theo. is severely beaten, then killed, so the story tells of the efforts of Mariah to find the truth: who killed her son, and why it happened.
Before the war, Mariah as a young girl, was given as a wedding gift to Carrie, who appears in this book, and is the subject of another book by the same author: "The Widow of the South." Mariah came with Carrie when she married and moved to her husband's home near Franklin, and was thus freed after the end of the war. She continued to live there, and provide birthing services to any who needed her help.
No happy ending here. Just some things to ponder. Think about how life was like for Negroes, after they were uprooted from their culture in Africa,forcibly brought to the US, living in subservience, both before and after the divisive war. Consider the monumental hardships they faced, when they were suddenly 'freed', and had few skills for survival in the society they entered post-war.
The author lives in TN, and apparently does a great deal of research for his books. Another tome, based on the life of Gen. Hood after the war, set in New Orleans is also based on some degree of factual southern history. Titled "A Separate Country", it tells of Hood's struggles to adjust and accept the circumstances of his military failures when the conflict ended.
Before the war, Mariah as a young girl, was given as a wedding gift to Carrie, who appears in this book, and is the subject of another book by the same author: "The Widow of the South." Mariah came with Carrie when she married and moved to her husband's home near Franklin, and was thus freed after the end of the war. She continued to live there, and provide birthing services to any who needed her help.
No happy ending here. Just some things to ponder. Think about how life was like for Negroes, after they were uprooted from their culture in Africa,forcibly brought to the US, living in subservience, both before and after the divisive war. Consider the monumental hardships they faced, when they were suddenly 'freed', and had few skills for survival in the society they entered post-war.
The author lives in TN, and apparently does a great deal of research for his books. Another tome, based on the life of Gen. Hood after the war, set in New Orleans is also based on some degree of factual southern history. Titled "A Separate Country", it tells of Hood's struggles to adjust and accept the circumstances of his military failures when the conflict ended.
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
the other reason for going...
... to Valdosta last week: check on the auntie's car and find someone to jump off a dead battery. It has not been started in months, and does not need to sit and sit and sit without being driven occasionally. I was pretty sure the basic problem would not be complicated, not need any more assistance than someone with a charger to give some juice to get it going. Wrong.
I tried to find that person who would come and plug it in, to get it started, but my few scattered contacts were not helpful. Then I had a light bulb moment: The auntie has a membership in AAA , which is the perfect source for 'roadside service' (or residential, as the case may be.) Then I thought: not only does she pay for membership in Triple A, but she has emergency service with her car insurance. Good ole' State Farm Auto.
I called the toll free number on the insurance card, and the people who have the response contract were very helpful, taking my info. and asking for the best time to come and facilitate starting. I thought it was going to be pretty simple and straight forward. Murphy's Law was invoked instead.
The guy driving the tow truck showed up on time, and tried his best, but it would not start. Using a charger, then with the charger plugged into household current, then trying to jump it with cables attached to his truck: nothing. Not even a peep. I said: Just tow it in to the dealer. He loaded it up and hauled it across town.
I went to the Toyota dealer and gave them my contact info., so they could call me and I could pay for whatever it takes to get it running. Assuming it would include a new starter battery, as I suspect the one under the hood is original, and needs replacing due to age. I went by to see the auntie, then left town.
Before I could get twenty miles away, the service department guy, Roy (more commonly known as Bubba) called. Reporting the 'chip' in the key did not work, so the diagnostics could not be run. Their computer could not read the chip, meaning there is no way to tell what the problem is, and therefore offer no solution. Bubba said the service guys could reprogram the chip in the key for a mere $147. I said: 'Oh? Hmmmm.... I thought she bought the replacement key you have there with the car, from the parts department, so it should be already programmed?' He said: 'Oh,.hmmmm... Yes, you are right. Do you want me to reprogram it for $147?' I said: 'No'.
I think I know where one of the original keys can be found. I told him I would get the key that came with the vehicle to the dealership and see if that will solve the communication problem. Why would I pay them to do something again that they should have already done?
I tried to find that person who would come and plug it in, to get it started, but my few scattered contacts were not helpful. Then I had a light bulb moment: The auntie has a membership in AAA , which is the perfect source for 'roadside service' (or residential, as the case may be.) Then I thought: not only does she pay for membership in Triple A, but she has emergency service with her car insurance. Good ole' State Farm Auto.
I called the toll free number on the insurance card, and the people who have the response contract were very helpful, taking my info. and asking for the best time to come and facilitate starting. I thought it was going to be pretty simple and straight forward. Murphy's Law was invoked instead.
The guy driving the tow truck showed up on time, and tried his best, but it would not start. Using a charger, then with the charger plugged into household current, then trying to jump it with cables attached to his truck: nothing. Not even a peep. I said: Just tow it in to the dealer. He loaded it up and hauled it across town.
I went to the Toyota dealer and gave them my contact info., so they could call me and I could pay for whatever it takes to get it running. Assuming it would include a new starter battery, as I suspect the one under the hood is original, and needs replacing due to age. I went by to see the auntie, then left town.
Before I could get twenty miles away, the service department guy, Roy (more commonly known as Bubba) called. Reporting the 'chip' in the key did not work, so the diagnostics could not be run. Their computer could not read the chip, meaning there is no way to tell what the problem is, and therefore offer no solution. Bubba said the service guys could reprogram the chip in the key for a mere $147. I said: 'Oh? Hmmmm.... I thought she bought the replacement key you have there with the car, from the parts department, so it should be already programmed?' He said: 'Oh,.hmmmm... Yes, you are right. Do you want me to reprogram it for $147?' I said: 'No'.
I think I know where one of the original keys can be found. I told him I would get the key that came with the vehicle to the dealership and see if that will solve the communication problem. Why would I pay them to do something again that they should have already done?
Monday, August 7, 2017
the reason for going...
... to Valdosta last week. There were actually two, other than to go and check on the auntie. Who was packed up and ready to go. Where? Any place but there. She did not know where she wanted to go, only that she was ready to leave. Sadly, I did not 'spring' her from the Big House, only offered to look at my work schedule, and get back with her later.
I have been concerned about the fact that the front door on her house would not lock properly. In reality, it has not worked like it should in all the time she has owned and lived in that house. There are, as with most exterior doors, two locks: one on the door knob, and then a dead bolt. The dead bolt does not align with the small hole cut in the wooden door frame, and surrounded by a little brass plate (that I am sure has a name?), designed to cover the edges of the wee rectangle cut out of the wood. It never has worked properly. And has always bothered me. But apparently not enough to get it fixed.
I am sure it concerned my auntie, but like me, she did not resolve the problem. Well, it has been squared away. I called a friend, who is very handy, and told him what I needed, thinking it would be about a ten minute project. I was right, he got it done and was on his way in no time at all. He said he had to get a little device to grind down the edge of the metal plate to make the dead bolt seat properly into the door frame. In reality, I know that having that additional lock will not keep the house secure. If someone wants in, they will gain entry. Locks only stop honest people, right?
But I do feel better about her house, without someone living there, now that I know the door is really locked. Those flimsy little locks that operated with a button on the inside of the door knob are only a slight improvement over the latch on a screen door. Hardly worth installing, and certainly nothing that would keep anyone interested in entering out. A couple of friends have keys, and will hopefully take the time to occasionally check to be sure the property has not been looted. Doing the best I can.
I have been concerned about the fact that the front door on her house would not lock properly. In reality, it has not worked like it should in all the time she has owned and lived in that house. There are, as with most exterior doors, two locks: one on the door knob, and then a dead bolt. The dead bolt does not align with the small hole cut in the wooden door frame, and surrounded by a little brass plate (that I am sure has a name?), designed to cover the edges of the wee rectangle cut out of the wood. It never has worked properly. And has always bothered me. But apparently not enough to get it fixed.
I am sure it concerned my auntie, but like me, she did not resolve the problem. Well, it has been squared away. I called a friend, who is very handy, and told him what I needed, thinking it would be about a ten minute project. I was right, he got it done and was on his way in no time at all. He said he had to get a little device to grind down the edge of the metal plate to make the dead bolt seat properly into the door frame. In reality, I know that having that additional lock will not keep the house secure. If someone wants in, they will gain entry. Locks only stop honest people, right?
But I do feel better about her house, without someone living there, now that I know the door is really locked. Those flimsy little locks that operated with a button on the inside of the door knob are only a slight improvement over the latch on a screen door. Hardly worth installing, and certainly nothing that would keep anyone interested in entering out. A couple of friends have keys, and will hopefully take the time to occasionally check to be sure the property has not been looted. Doing the best I can.
if it is not yet...
...included someplace in all the mishaps that are part of Murphey's Law, it should be. Came in the mail on a newsletter from an organization I occasionally volunteer with. It was so true and applicable to how life goes, I thought it was worth sharing.
"The shortest measurable interval of time is the time between the moment I put a little extra aside for sudden emergency and the arrival of that emergency."
Like the old joke about the thermos. When the guys were talking about what they thought was the most remarkable invention, one said microwaves, one said automobiles and the third said 'thermos bottles.' When asked what was so special about a thermos, he said: It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold. How do it know?'
So when I have squirreled away some extra funds, there always seems to be an unexpected crisis that will rear it's ugly head. How do it know?
"The shortest measurable interval of time is the time between the moment I put a little extra aside for sudden emergency and the arrival of that emergency."
Like the old joke about the thermos. When the guys were talking about what they thought was the most remarkable invention, one said microwaves, one said automobiles and the third said 'thermos bottles.' When asked what was so special about a thermos, he said: It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold. How do it know?'
So when I have squirreled away some extra funds, there always seems to be an unexpected crisis that will rear it's ugly head. How do it know?
one hatched...
The second one, that is still intact, seems to be lighter in color than it was originally when first noticed. And might be thinner, with the tissue-like covering not as thick as it was when the caterpillar first made it. I noticed them at the same time, when there were still fat, yellow and black striped worms on the plant, industriously munching along. I am guessing that in the next day or so the chrysalis not yet hatched will produce another butterfly. Hopefully I will witness the birth.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
wishing for....
...a bumper sticker that has the wording: "I brake for Boiled Peanuts". Daughter who loves them was laughing when she told me she would happily attach a sticker with those words on the back of her car. Accompanying the dozen or so others that express her philosophy/opinions as she travels. She reports often seeing perplexed expressions on faces of people behind her, when she looks in the rear view mirror as people ponder the hatchback of her car.
My dad taught my daughter to love boiled peanuts. He also took them out in the field, and showed them how the grow, pulled some up (with permission) that belonged to a friend and brought the plants home. Taught them how to sit on the tailgate of the pickup truck and pull the little goobers off the roots of the plant. When your bucket gets full, then you go in the house and wash them in the kitchen sink. Put them in a pot, with water and salt, and wait. When they are done, you drain the dirty, salty water off and sit in the back yard and eat, eat, eat. Where you can throw all the shells on the ground and no one cares.
I guess it is a 'southern thing?' My brother recently emailed to say he had been on a Saturday to a farmers market and bought a bag of goodness, enjoyed every one. I clearly remember one summer when I was in my early teens and ate so many my mom made me go on a diet. I believe the weight gain was due to consumption of the wonderfully fatty, high sodium peanuts, but it lazy could have been a contributing factor. I just recall my mom as the enforcer for some weeks applying discipline to my eating habits. And you know how whine-y a teen can be when pushed into doing some activity not of her choosing... I probably made everyone in the house miserable as I begrudged every ounce.
Yes, they are good. Especially when fresh, cooked in a big pot, under a little shelter on the edge of the road. Where the guy who runs the farm stand also has fresh local peaches, and maybe some home grown tomatoes to sell. But be prepared to pack on the pounds if you get addicted.
My dad taught my daughter to love boiled peanuts. He also took them out in the field, and showed them how the grow, pulled some up (with permission) that belonged to a friend and brought the plants home. Taught them how to sit on the tailgate of the pickup truck and pull the little goobers off the roots of the plant. When your bucket gets full, then you go in the house and wash them in the kitchen sink. Put them in a pot, with water and salt, and wait. When they are done, you drain the dirty, salty water off and sit in the back yard and eat, eat, eat. Where you can throw all the shells on the ground and no one cares.
I guess it is a 'southern thing?' My brother recently emailed to say he had been on a Saturday to a farmers market and bought a bag of goodness, enjoyed every one. I clearly remember one summer when I was in my early teens and ate so many my mom made me go on a diet. I believe the weight gain was due to consumption of the wonderfully fatty, high sodium peanuts, but it lazy could have been a contributing factor. I just recall my mom as the enforcer for some weeks applying discipline to my eating habits. And you know how whine-y a teen can be when pushed into doing some activity not of her choosing... I probably made everyone in the house miserable as I begrudged every ounce.
Yes, they are good. Especially when fresh, cooked in a big pot, under a little shelter on the edge of the road. Where the guy who runs the farm stand also has fresh local peaches, and maybe some home grown tomatoes to sell. But be prepared to pack on the pounds if you get addicted.
Saturday, August 5, 2017
leaving work...
... this morning, after five hours. I was headed east on Macon Road, ready to get back home. I knew before I even got to work I was going to desperately need a nap at the earliest possible opportunity. They do some pretty strange stuff to me as far as scheduling goes - the biggest hazard of being a part-timer is that my work is completely random, and could be a four hour shift if the manager so chooses.
I got my work space cleaned up and headed home about 10:30, and passed a man who really caught my eye. He was on a very small bike, one that could possibly be designed for a six year old, with tires of a very small diameter. The frame was so dimunative, it looked like he must have taken it from a kid and just recently removed the training wheels. This was a full grown man.
And he was wearing a black crash helmet. Not a bike helmet, a crash helmet. Like someone riding a motorcycle would wear. With a full face snap on, plexiglass shield protector. So his head was completely covered. Furiously peddling down the street, as fast as his feet would go and the tires would turn. If he had not been a full size adult on a very small child's bicycle, I probably would not have even glanced his way, to notice the black motorcycle helmet. But it was pretty funny, as well as odd.
I got my work space cleaned up and headed home about 10:30, and passed a man who really caught my eye. He was on a very small bike, one that could possibly be designed for a six year old, with tires of a very small diameter. The frame was so dimunative, it looked like he must have taken it from a kid and just recently removed the training wheels. This was a full grown man.
And he was wearing a black crash helmet. Not a bike helmet, a crash helmet. Like someone riding a motorcycle would wear. With a full face snap on, plexiglass shield protector. So his head was completely covered. Furiously peddling down the street, as fast as his feet would go and the tires would turn. If he had not been a full size adult on a very small child's bicycle, I probably would not have even glanced his way, to notice the black motorcycle helmet. But it was pretty funny, as well as odd.
Friday, August 4, 2017
domestic bliss...
... is what we like to think when we look back on our mothers' lives when it was so common to find them all as 'stay at home' moms. Well before the term was even invented, when women were expected to be the people who ran the household. The ones who did all the shopping and preparing meals, keeping the place sparkling, washing, ironing, mopping the kitchen floor every single day of her life. That's not me.
But I did quite a bit of housework today, enough to make up for several months of benign neglect. Cleaning floors, washing and drying and putting away, standing on my head cleaning the toilets and bathroom maintenance. Running that dratted vacuum. Finding a several generations of dust bunnies that snuck in and multiplied while unsupervised.
Then sucking up that scattering of feathers that leaked out of the comforter when people came to camp out on the futon.So many bits of fluff found their way out of the covering, it looks like the fox has been in the hen house. Indicating I should be motivated enough to find the hole and do some repair work to keep the rest of the stuffing corralled inside. The down is so warm and snugly when the winter winds blow, but so aggravating when the teeny tiny little bits of fluff organize an insurrection and try to break free.
Thankful for that dratted vacuum, as I am aware of how fruitless and frustrating the process of trying to sweep up feathers can be. I do hate to vacuum, probably due to forced labor as a kid, but thankful for modern appliances, electricity and living here in a civilized society. Thankful too that I have filled my quota of housecleaning for several months...
But I did quite a bit of housework today, enough to make up for several months of benign neglect. Cleaning floors, washing and drying and putting away, standing on my head cleaning the toilets and bathroom maintenance. Running that dratted vacuum. Finding a several generations of dust bunnies that snuck in and multiplied while unsupervised.
Then sucking up that scattering of feathers that leaked out of the comforter when people came to camp out on the futon.So many bits of fluff found their way out of the covering, it looks like the fox has been in the hen house. Indicating I should be motivated enough to find the hole and do some repair work to keep the rest of the stuffing corralled inside. The down is so warm and snugly when the winter winds blow, but so aggravating when the teeny tiny little bits of fluff organize an insurrection and try to break free.
Thankful for that dratted vacuum, as I am aware of how fruitless and frustrating the process of trying to sweep up feathers can be. I do hate to vacuum, probably due to forced labor as a kid, but thankful for modern appliances, electricity and living here in a civilized society. Thankful too that I have filled my quota of housecleaning for several months...
book review: "Windigo Island"...
... was the reason I nearly ran out of gas and found myself afoot on the way home in the downpour. Listening to the Cds had me so on edge, anxious for a good outcome, I was not paying attention to my gas gauge. I'm not sure if it qualifies as 'distracted driving', for which I could be stopped and ticketed, but I was certainly immersed in the tale. Written by William Kent Krueger, (copyright 2014), who is obviously very knowledgeable about native culture/history of the Lake Superior area. The title comes from a story in Ojibwa tribal legends about an evil spirit. Pure, undiluted evil: a windigo.
One of the main characters in the book is a "healer", someone our culture would likely term as a 'medicine man': Henry. He is ancient, no one knows his age, but obviously highly respected by his family and friends, all who encounter him. Henry seems to have some internal power, ability to draw on spiritual energy, that we in our highly superficial, trivial culture might compare to a Jedi warrior. As in: "Those are not the droids you are looking for."
A story Henry told based on the legends of his people, natives that were here long before the European invasion, in an effort to remind his friends of their own inner strength: We all have two wolves that live within us. One is love, the other is fear. The strongest one will be the one we feed. If we feed the one the thrives on love, we will be more compassionate and caring, empathetic to others. If we feed the wolf that gains strength from our fears and anxieties, we will become that person, filled with rage and hate, bent on destruction of ourselves and others.
The story line is fast paced, easy to follow, people you feel like you have met, actually know. While the plot is heart-wrenching, about sex trafficking of young girls from the reservation. We all know how teenagers are never satisfied, always at odds with their elders, determined and head-strong. The two under-age girls left with an older female and ended up as prostitutes. The family that wanted them back would stop at nothing to get them away from the pimps/handlers who controlled every facet of their lives. Fiction but embedded with horrible truths.
Great story, fascinating characters, excellent read. I had times when I found myself, just sitting, parked, unwilling to turn the car off. What the folk at NPR call 'driveway moments', where you get to your destination, but don't want to stop. Driving around the block, or sitting in a parking lot, waiting for what a certain age-group will refer to as "Paul Harvey's: 'The Rest of the Story'."
One of the main characters in the book is a "healer", someone our culture would likely term as a 'medicine man': Henry. He is ancient, no one knows his age, but obviously highly respected by his family and friends, all who encounter him. Henry seems to have some internal power, ability to draw on spiritual energy, that we in our highly superficial, trivial culture might compare to a Jedi warrior. As in: "Those are not the droids you are looking for."
A story Henry told based on the legends of his people, natives that were here long before the European invasion, in an effort to remind his friends of their own inner strength: We all have two wolves that live within us. One is love, the other is fear. The strongest one will be the one we feed. If we feed the one the thrives on love, we will be more compassionate and caring, empathetic to others. If we feed the wolf that gains strength from our fears and anxieties, we will become that person, filled with rage and hate, bent on destruction of ourselves and others.
The story line is fast paced, easy to follow, people you feel like you have met, actually know. While the plot is heart-wrenching, about sex trafficking of young girls from the reservation. We all know how teenagers are never satisfied, always at odds with their elders, determined and head-strong. The two under-age girls left with an older female and ended up as prostitutes. The family that wanted them back would stop at nothing to get them away from the pimps/handlers who controlled every facet of their lives. Fiction but embedded with horrible truths.
Great story, fascinating characters, excellent read. I had times when I found myself, just sitting, parked, unwilling to turn the car off. What the folk at NPR call 'driveway moments', where you get to your destination, but don't want to stop. Driving around the block, or sitting in a parking lot, waiting for what a certain age-group will refer to as "Paul Harvey's: 'The Rest of the Story'."
there is another ...
...story to tell about hitting things in the highway that are too memorable. Heading south from Atlanta towards home on the interstate, this time in the dark. Maybe seven or eight years ago. I was tooling along at a reasonable speed, probably just over 70 mph, and hit something that could have really messed up my car. But at that speed, and on the highway surrounded by other vehicles whizzing past as if you were at a complete stop, it is not possible to pull over and examine the problem.
You have to make an instantaneous decision. If you choose to stop, you are well past the actual scene of the problem, plus in the dark, on a busy interstate. Not likely you will be able to get out of traffic, off the road, find what you hit, and remain alive. So I did what the average red-blooded American motorist would do: hope for the best, and keep driving.
The sound that object made when it hit the underside of my low-slung Toyota made was seriously alarming. It also knocked loose a panel that protects the underside of the engine, and damaged the inner covering of the wheel well. Plus being really scare-y. A person stranded on a dark highway can always find cause for alarm, anxiety and concern: knowing how often bizarre behavior is headline news.
I honestly believe that 'news' is part of the reason they are out there, doing more and more creepy stuff. The publicity puts ideas in their unbalanced brains, whereupon they seek the attention and notoriety. 'Bad' news always sells, right? I am well known for sharing my opinion that 'there are crazy people out there, walking around on the streets, looking perfectly normal.' We just don't know to notice them until they suddenly surprise us by Going Postal.
I got safely home, not knowing what I had encountered. Found someone who would look under there and ascertain no serious damage. Years later - just recently - I conclude that was another incident of big semi-trailers or cargo container trucks loosing tires. The driver often does not know he is missing an entire tire until miles down the road when he gets low on gas. Thereby leaving hazards in the lanes for other motorists to encounter, attempt to avoid. We have all been en route and had to suddenly swerve to avoid furniture, shrubbery, deceased animals abandoned in the lane. And we are all driving 'way too fast....
You have to make an instantaneous decision. If you choose to stop, you are well past the actual scene of the problem, plus in the dark, on a busy interstate. Not likely you will be able to get out of traffic, off the road, find what you hit, and remain alive. So I did what the average red-blooded American motorist would do: hope for the best, and keep driving.
The sound that object made when it hit the underside of my low-slung Toyota made was seriously alarming. It also knocked loose a panel that protects the underside of the engine, and damaged the inner covering of the wheel well. Plus being really scare-y. A person stranded on a dark highway can always find cause for alarm, anxiety and concern: knowing how often bizarre behavior is headline news.
I honestly believe that 'news' is part of the reason they are out there, doing more and more creepy stuff. The publicity puts ideas in their unbalanced brains, whereupon they seek the attention and notoriety. 'Bad' news always sells, right? I am well known for sharing my opinion that 'there are crazy people out there, walking around on the streets, looking perfectly normal.' We just don't know to notice them until they suddenly surprise us by Going Postal.
I got safely home, not knowing what I had encountered. Found someone who would look under there and ascertain no serious damage. Years later - just recently - I conclude that was another incident of big semi-trailers or cargo container trucks loosing tires. The driver often does not know he is missing an entire tire until miles down the road when he gets low on gas. Thereby leaving hazards in the lanes for other motorists to encounter, attempt to avoid. We have all been en route and had to suddenly swerve to avoid furniture, shrubbery, deceased animals abandoned in the lane. And we are all driving 'way too fast....
Thursday, August 3, 2017
stupid, stu-pid, stoopid...
...or maybe stupid dumb and dangerous. Foolish, lame-brained, and dimwitted. None of those things appeal to me in the least, though I was saying them all about myself today. I was driving back from Florida in the pouring rain, immersed in a story on Cds from the library. When I let my gas gauge get down to the place where the last little bar was blinking furiously, warning me I was running on fumes. Or as the cheesy robot in the "Lost in Space" series would announce: "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!!"
Several times along the road, traveling where there are very few residences and vast open fields of cotton, peanuts, soybeans for mile after lonely mile, I passed through rain showers so heavy I could not see. And randomly happened to look at the gas gauge and realized I was in serious trouble. Undecided as to whether to back track or plunge ahead.
I didn't know how far away the next, best, close-est curb store was but felt I would not make it. So I stopped at a house, where there were vehicles parked in front, a little ATV on the porch, and John Deere lawn mower in the carport. Asking if I could buy a couple of gallons of gas out of the can they use for the mower. The people who answered the door did not kill and dismember me. But also did not help with the gas crisis.
Saying the little town of Blakely was only five miles up the road. I was hoping I could limp along on the electric storage batteries for five miles if necessary. It was only about 3 miles. I arrived in the driving rain, beside myself with joy to be sitting in line at the pump, not caring one whit about the price.
Realizing that this is probably the first time I have ever not even looked at the price before pulling up to the pump. And then my credit card was refused. Well, @#$%. I had six one dollar bills in my pocket. Probably enough to get me home, in the little (undernourished) toyo. I pumped all six bucks would get me, and safely back at home. Lived to tell the tale.
So here I am. Confessing. And presently determined to never let that happen again. What was I thinking? Crazy and scarey...
Several times along the road, traveling where there are very few residences and vast open fields of cotton, peanuts, soybeans for mile after lonely mile, I passed through rain showers so heavy I could not see. And randomly happened to look at the gas gauge and realized I was in serious trouble. Undecided as to whether to back track or plunge ahead.
I didn't know how far away the next, best, close-est curb store was but felt I would not make it. So I stopped at a house, where there were vehicles parked in front, a little ATV on the porch, and John Deere lawn mower in the carport. Asking if I could buy a couple of gallons of gas out of the can they use for the mower. The people who answered the door did not kill and dismember me. But also did not help with the gas crisis.
Saying the little town of Blakely was only five miles up the road. I was hoping I could limp along on the electric storage batteries for five miles if necessary. It was only about 3 miles. I arrived in the driving rain, beside myself with joy to be sitting in line at the pump, not caring one whit about the price.
Realizing that this is probably the first time I have ever not even looked at the price before pulling up to the pump. And then my credit card was refused. Well, @#$%. I had six one dollar bills in my pocket. Probably enough to get me home, in the little (undernourished) toyo. I pumped all six bucks would get me, and safely back at home. Lived to tell the tale.
So here I am. Confessing. And presently determined to never let that happen again. What was I thinking? Crazy and scarey...
while driving for hours...
... today when I went half way across the state, then halfway up the state, I was thinking about something that happened years ago. I was driving with my parents and little people from south GA to Tallahassee. We were motoring along a well known road, but one that is seldom traveled due to convenience and high speeds of four lane interstate highways. Out in the country, a good distance from any towns or rural residences. Right-of-way grown up with knee high grass in need of mowing.
I hit something along the edge of the road that seemed to sort of flip off into the overgrown underbrush. I immediately convinced myself it absolutely, positively had to be a small alligator. Swore that the bulky black thing I barely saw must have been an alligator. The kind with big teeth.
Idiot me, stopped, backed up, got out of the car to go back and look. A fully functioning, perfectly capable adult male got out with me, along with two small children that apparently could hardly wait to become the reptiles' lunch. What was I thinking? Why would you chase an alligator after you had just run over his tail?
Looking back, I now conclude it was not hungry or toothy, but only a black re-tread from a blown tire,yet I am thankful we all survived. After recently viewing some hopelessly stupid youtube videos of crazy people dangling food over the mouth of a gaping alligator, I am amazed and thankful we walked away with all our body parts. Glad it was probably a curled up piece of black rubber instead of a very irate 'gator.
I hit something along the edge of the road that seemed to sort of flip off into the overgrown underbrush. I immediately convinced myself it absolutely, positively had to be a small alligator. Swore that the bulky black thing I barely saw must have been an alligator. The kind with big teeth.
Idiot me, stopped, backed up, got out of the car to go back and look. A fully functioning, perfectly capable adult male got out with me, along with two small children that apparently could hardly wait to become the reptiles' lunch. What was I thinking? Why would you chase an alligator after you had just run over his tail?
Looking back, I now conclude it was not hungry or toothy, but only a black re-tread from a blown tire,yet I am thankful we all survived. After recently viewing some hopelessly stupid youtube videos of crazy people dangling food over the mouth of a gaping alligator, I am amazed and thankful we walked away with all our body parts. Glad it was probably a curled up piece of black rubber instead of a very irate 'gator.
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
the people who...
... come to my house and sleep will be much better satisfied with overnight accommodations now. A recent guest reportedly described the bed she was in as 'like sleeping in a canoe'. And her sister said she would rather spend the night on the couch than try to rest on the futon. No one reported it to me, and I never ever sleep there, so how was I to know?
I called someone who I thought would be handy enough to look at it, and just conveniently have the right tools in his truck to resolve the 'canoe' problem. It took several calls over several days, but he came this afternoon. And as I suspected, had everything necessary to provide a quick fix right out there on the driveway. He was in and out in less than an hour.
The futon is back together, and ready for testing. I hope someone will visit soon and take up the challenge: canoe sleeping? Which might not be all that bad anyway, as I know people on boats did it for years when on extended sea voyages. I know the futon is not perfect, and certainly not the same as one's own personal space. But I am guessing probably a better experience than the bouncy-ness of tandem sleeping on an air mattress
I called someone who I thought would be handy enough to look at it, and just conveniently have the right tools in his truck to resolve the 'canoe' problem. It took several calls over several days, but he came this afternoon. And as I suspected, had everything necessary to provide a quick fix right out there on the driveway. He was in and out in less than an hour.
The futon is back together, and ready for testing. I hope someone will visit soon and take up the challenge: canoe sleeping? Which might not be all that bad anyway, as I know people on boats did it for years when on extended sea voyages. I know the futon is not perfect, and certainly not the same as one's own personal space. But I am guessing probably a better experience than the bouncy-ness of tandem sleeping on an air mattress
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