Friday Cemetery Blogging

Who's afraid?

Not me.

Precious Moments: Just Plain Evil

We wasted some time at lunch on one of our favorite topics - Precious Moments bashing. We got to discussing what would happen if they suddenly tried to be more relevant and appeal to a younger market. The little buggers would no doubt be wearing t-shirts with pithy slogans.

Such as:

Official Thomas Kinkade Fan Club Member
Wouldn't you like to be a cracker, too?
Born to be White
Vanilla is my favorite flavor
My mom loves me enough to stay home.
Jesus Wants You! (But not in that way.)
Hellman's - Its more than just a sandwich spread.
Soccer Rules
I heart Toby Keith
Virgins for Christ
Jesus was White
Old Skool? No, Home-Schooled!
Hot for Preacher
Red? Yes! Yellow? Yes! Black? Yes! White? Yes! Rainbow? NO!

And my personal favorite: W is my co-pilot.

You need this.

I'm hoping I can get by with putting this on my blog by telling you to GO HERE and BUY THIS SHIRT NOW.

It made me laugh.

Friday Cemetery Blogging

Three graves in the sunlight.

Random Thoughts for Monday

Can't wait for election day tomorrow. Texas rocks the early voting, so unless you are a total purposeless dweeb, you should already have voted. (Well, ok. Maybe if you work out of town somewhere, then you can be excused for waiting until Tuesday, Jackson.) I sort of like the Etch-a-Vote machines, but truthfully, paper ballots were easier and faster and a hell of a lot less trouble.

Don't you love Michael Palin? Seriously. His Himalayan show is really gorgeous.

You know what freaks me out? Yuppies at home improvement stores.

A man sat across the desk from me this morning and told me very matter of factly that he is losing controll of the darkness inside him. The darkness is the loathing and self-hate that is eating him up - literally eating him up. He told me who he is going to kill and why. And I agreed that he a darn good reason for murder. The man he hates has stolen over 20 years of his life already, why give him the rest of it in exchange for a moment's satisfaction?

I really like that guy. But he has planned out the violent death of another human being and is physically struggling with himslef to keep from following through with his plan. Its a very old testament thing to see. Like watching Jacob wrestle the angel. People are absolutley fascinating.

Did anyone check out the moon tonight? Its full, of course.

I'm hungry for meat loaf.

Christmas is coming up. Anybody got any suggestions on what I should give Jackson? He is one of those irritating people who always gives really good gifts, but never asks for anything for himself. Bastard.

I start another drug offender class next week. I'm trying a different schedule and breaking it up into once a week for five weeks, instead of five times in two weeks. I am hoping that will keep me a little more sane.

Matthias the cat loves nothing more than a plastic egg, halved. It entertains him for days on end.

Friday Cemetery Blogging

This is a foot stone. Pearl had a headstone as well, but the footstone really caught my eye. In the early evening sun this stone was impossible not to touch. Once I saw it, I couldn't just stand over it and admire it through a camera lens. I had to get down on the ground and run my fingers over the rounded letters. (Avoiding the bird poo, of course.) It was simple, cool marble. I don't know what the text is made from - perhaps just another color of marble - but I love the look of the letters. Its an interesting name, too.

The whole thing had a special luster for me.

Pearl rocks her footstone. I'm trying to rock along with life. Life is pretty stressful right now, but things will change. Some of the change will be for the better. Some will not. But change is good.

However, I'm beginning to wonder if I've angered the gods. Or maybe I'm just not living right. I could tell you how my day went, but you really wouldn't believe me. I had all kinds of problems and tasks and even a good deed or two to juggle. I managed to keep all the knives in the air, but I think I've got a few cuts.

After much delay this evening, we got supper done and the table cleared. I sat down with my pictures to search for a cemetery view to post, when the phone rang. It was my grandmother.
She has "a stack of papers from the government" that she doesn't understand. "Some of them have deadlines. They're due in November, I think." No other family members are in town for the next few days and could I come help her with them?

Well of course I can.

And then maybe I'll go hang out with Pearl.

Help me, Obi Wan! You're my only hope...

I need your help.

Katies is learning how to differentiate fact from opinion in her reading class. On the way to school Monday I showed her the nifty cool socks I was wearing. They were orange and black and white striped with googly-eyed bats on the sides. I told her everyone loves them and everybody wishes they had some.

She told me that was just an opinion.

Stupid education.

I told her heck, no! It is a fact that everyone in the world loves my socks and wants a pair of their own. A fact, I tell ya!

She told me facts can be proven.

I told her I could prove it.

You see where this is going, don't you? If you would be so kind as to send a note, a postcard, a letter or a scrap of oily paper to Katie and tell her how much you love my socks and how much you wish you had a pair just like them, it would be verrry helpful. Heh heh. There is a link in the sidebar you can click to send me an email and I will provide you with the address for your "Dear Katie" cards and letters. Thank you in advance for helping me to maintain the precarious balance of power in the spooky household.

Rachel's mom said I had to do this.

You should do it too!

1. List two things that are true of you that are not stereotypically true of members of some group that you belong to.

a. I get out of bed at 5:25 a.m. during the week.
b. I am a flamin' liberal.

2. List two unusual talents that you have.

a. I have entered the Ironman Triathlon for the past 7 years. I hold three state championships and set two national records in the swimming portion of the competition.
b. I am a liar.

3. List two unusual weaknesses that you have.

a. I keep buying chocolate brown shirts. I don't know why. (I'm wearing one now!)
b. I hate to read good, thought-provoking books that will lead to personal growth and self-improvement. I have very shallow reading tastes. (Not "romance" shallow, but definitely dead-body-on-the-lawn shallow.)


4. List two unusual things that you aspire to.

a. I want to publish a coffee table book of entertaining cemetery photography.
b. Early retirement followed by a lucrative career as a globetrotting heiress who solves English country house murders. (Dear Mom & Dad: Please win the lottery, so as to help me with that heiress part.)

5. List two words that you use more than most people do.

a. bastards!
b. cool!

6. List two foods that you dislike and most other people like.

a. chocolate without nuts.
b. white or yellow cake.

7. List two strange habits that you have.

a. I rearrange the furniture in the house about once a month. (I can't do this with my office because I only have outlets on one wall and the sameness of the place makes me a little nuts sometimes.)
b. I never iron the back of a shirt. What's the point?

Friday Cemetery Blogging

These are pictures I got from little david. They were taken at a cemtery in Australia on a visit to see their son and daughter-in-law. I really love the angel, so you get three pictures of that!

Um, maybe I should add that the son and daughter aren't, you know, dead or anything. They just enjoyed visiting the cemetery too!

Random Thoughts for Wednesday

I had meatloaf at church tonight for supper. It was so freakin' good. Really.

God, I hate going to church on Wednesday nights. Seriously. But Katie still loves it. And its pretty short. Its not so much that church is disagreeable. Home is just so much more agreeable.

Katie shut her finger in a desk drawer and made it bleed rather respectably. She has decided that an episode of Full House will make it all better. I am considering breaking a toe so her daddy will let me change the channel.

Maybe I will just blog instead.

Jackson just told me Annie Potts was his favorite Designing Woman. Mary Jo? Mary JO?! That's so wrong. Everyone knows Julia was the best. I don't know how I managed to marry him not knowing his heretical views in this area. When I asked him to redeem himself by telling me his favorite Golden Girl, he just rolled his eyes. (Dorothy is the correct answer here, people.)

Good lord, he just named all the characters on Beverly Hills 90210. Our marriage is in serious trouble here.

Katie and Jackson are leaving me alone to my own devices this weekend. I think I will go explore a cemetery. I'm about to get desperate about searching for a Christmas card photo.

I want some feety pajamas.

This has been a crazy week at work. All my people are crazy. Full-moon crazy. I am ready for the weekend.

Have I told you we have a new cat? Omar Jones has left the building. So, we adopted a new kitty. His name is Mathias and he's very scruffy. And skittish.

Got us some tickets to see the Transiberian Orchestra the day after Thanksgiving. Yessireebob.

My new rubber band ball is a measly half inch. Sigh...

Jackson wants to know how it is that the kids in his classes can clandestinely text on a tiny illicit cell phone at incredible speeds, yet the pound around on the key board one lousy key at a time. "Little peckers..." he said. (He may well be ready for the weekend too.)

Got a phone call today from a counselor at our local out-patient treatment program. She was doing follow up on a woman I'd referred to their program a few months ago. Bad timing. The woman went to court yesterday on a motion to revoke her probation. She told the judge that of course she kept using drugs - after all everyone knows "relapse is a part of recovery". But the Judge could trust her to stay clean now. She will "never do drugs again" and since she's never said that before, that makes it true.

Did I mention that all my people are crazy this week?

Tigger has left the building.

There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth at the Spooky household last night. It was a solemn and somber scene.

Well, ok. Maybe not really. But I was certainly upset.

Maria has been cleaning my house for lo, these many years. Long before there was a Jackson, or a Katie, or a house outside of town, or an Earl or a motorcycle or wrinkles or tired feet, there was Maria. The only prenuptual agreement that Jackson and I have is that if we split up, Maria comes with me. However, I have been informed that certain parties fully plan to violate said prenup at such time as there is a parting of the ways. The thought of that battle alone may keep our household intact.

I was single and living on my own when Maria and I first hooked up. I was complaining to Rose one day about my house. I am generally a neat person. Clutter and disorder get on my nerves after a while. But I am also a packrat. I told Rose that I was going to have to go through the nice, neat piles that occupied all corners of my house and garage and get rid of stuff. I claim fame as an excellent surface cleaner, but seldom ever think about doing the deep cleaning until it is fairly atrocious.

Rose suggested I get someone to clean my house. I immediately scoffed at that idea. After all, I was single. And middle class. And perfectly capable of cleaning my own damn house. And there were starving children in Africa.

Rose listened to all my excuses and told me to do whatever I wanted. But she was single and she had someone clean her house and the sky hadn't fallen nor the moon turned to blood.

So, after a few days of mulling it over, I started looking for someone. That was about 12 years ago and Maria has been visiting me weekly ever since.

She is from Mexico and barely spoke English when we met. She is married and has twin sons who are now grown. She now has her GED and has been taking some continuing education classes at the junior college. She worked at a loan company and other full-time jobs, but still comes to my house every week. I only actually see her once or twice a year, but I feel like we are growing old together.

I had no idea how to go about hiring a cleaning lady, so the first time we talked she asked me what I wanted her to do. I can't remember what I actually told her, but it was along the lines of "do whatever you want". So, some days when I come home, the house smells clean, everything is shiny and nothing has changed. Other days, the house smells clean, everything is shiny and she has rearranged all the pots and pans in the cabinet. Or she has cleaned out the refrigerator. Or she has organized my closet. Or whatever else takes her fancy.

I love her.

However, like any relationship, we do have our problems. Maria is old school. She has never, ever questioned how my house is decorated. But she tends to break a gargoyle or a skull about once a year. She hasn't broken any of my madonnas or icons. Just skulls and gargoyles. I don't complain. I figure it is a small price to pay and I feel certain she lights a candle for me each week at mass and I can use all the help I can get in that area.

But, then there is the rubber band ball.

I recently started subscribing to the newspaper again. (Like some sort of real adult, which is very depressing.) In addition to the sudoku, my greatest pleasure as a subscriber is rubber band storage. My first rubber band ball reached about an inch and a half in diameter. I bounced it on the side table during boring TV shows. I rubbed it and molded it and painstakingly arranged the bands to optimize the orbital shape.

Then one day after Maria came, it was gone. I was crushed.

I started a new ball - determined that this would be even more impressive than the last. I would hide it before I left for work on Wednesdays so I knew it would be safe when I returned home. It grew and grew. Then one day I forgot.

When I arrived home from work to the sparkly, lemony-fresh house, I remembered. I ran to the end table and there it was! Still in place. I added to it. It got bigger and bigger. It was bigger and better than the first ball. And for the past month it has set on the table, undisturbed by the ministrations of Maria.

Last night I had to teach a class. I got home a little after 8:00. Jackson left the paper and the rubber band for me so I could enjoy my puzzle and play with my ball. I sat down to relax.

I couldn't find the ball. No ball! I searched high and low, but no luck. It is gone.

I am crushed.

Random Thoughts for Monday

I am awash with randomness because I have writer's block and have nothing very interesting to say.

Being child-free this weekend, Jackson and I spent some time roaming around the record store. I bought Rod Stewart's Great American Songbook cd. I've always loved Rod Stewart. But what the heck is the deal with him selling his last two albums on TV commericals? Its like he's Floyd Cramer or something. Makes me feel old.

Also, his hair. In the 80's I thought he had the best damn hair ever. That was 20 years ago. It is so time for him to comb it.

And maybe wash it.

Ok, enough about the hair.

Also, since it was a child-free weekend, we had decided to go to a play in Big Flat City after we visted Jackson's mom in the hospital. We went to the record store and to dinner. Later, while the highway patrolman was running Jackson's license, checking for warrants, we remembered that we'd forgotten the play!

(The light on my license plate was out.)

I went to the university bookstore this afternoon since it is the only place in town that sells art supplies. I paid waaay too much for some gesso to cover up a really horrible painting. I hope to salvage the canvass for something way less third-graderish. As a painter I am a darn good draw-er.

I just learned that Katie didn't know a vampire can't come into your house unless invited. Tsk, tsk. Her education is sadly lacking.

I'm in the mood to see Nightmare Before Christmas again.

If I were to ever go back to school, which is not something I have any intention of doing, I would do a thesis over the Old Testament morality of horror movies. Wonder what kind of Phd. I could get with that?

Today it finally felt like fall. Fall lasts for about 36 hours total around here. I am ready for some cold weather. I love nothing better than sleeping in a freezing cold room with lots of heavy blankets.

Wonder if I can convince anyone to go camping with me in November...?

Random Thoughts For Thursday

I was sick yesterday and stayed home from work. None of my cats would snuggle up with me. What the hell kind of good-for-nuthin’ pets are they??

Some stupid turd took a gun to our high school this morning. It discharged, possibly accidentally, but no one was hurt. (This turned out later to be totally untrue. No gun, no nothing. Just goes to show how on edge people are.)

One of my guys came in this morning and reported he’d lost his job as a cook. Why? He was supposed to be at work at 9:15. His alarm didn’t go off until 9:30. He called when he woke up. The manager told him he was fired. They held his job while he was in jail on this charge and that was his last chance. They don’t need him anymore. My guy is all “righteous anger” about it and plans to take it up with the general manager. Because This. Is. Unfair.

Told him not to waste their time. They will just laugh at him. Hell, I was laughing at him. (He’s now working at Sonic, which is also funny, because my other two Sonic employees will chew him up and spit him out, then grind him under their grimy heels. He’ll really think that’s unfair.)

David asked if I still have my motorcycle. I do. But it’s broke. I haven’t had it fixed all summer because I am tired of it breaking down and standing me all over the countryside. Therefore, we are selling both motorcycles and buying newer ones. Anybody wanna buy a persnickety motorcycle?

One of my women, who’s been out of work for an eternity and had an extremely tough time getting a job due to a felony theft conviction, got hired! She will make $7.25 at a gas station, which is pretty dang good! There may be hope for her yet.

Finally got our house painted this week. It is still grey and black and white, which makes me very happy. I had no idea it would be so hard to get people to come out and give you an estimate. I even told one company that I would pay a fee for the estimate. Still nothing. We finally found somebody who was hungry for work. He did a good job. He painted more parts grey and fewer parts white. That also made me happy.

The books in my “to be read” pile are mocking me. I think I will kick them out and start over.

I have misplaced my Bill Bryson book, “The Mother Tongue: English and How it Got That Way.” Color me distressed. It is a book I read bits and pieces from over and over again. Bryson is on my list of people I want to be when I grow up.

We are having lunch at Mi Mexico. That will make everything all better.

Look what came in the mail!

My friend Janet volunteers for her church's clothing ministry. The day I posted the desiderata for The Church of the Firstborn of the Holy Flaming Fedora, something cool arrived at their clothing room. It was blue and velvet and she decided it was destined to live at my house.

I thought I would model it for you:

Friday Cemetery Blogging

Yet another Cemetery fence for your viewing pleasure. Note that Fake Cow County spiders make much less daring and intricate webs than do their East Texas cemetery spider counterparts.

The Junior Picaso Club

Last year Jackson was a stay at home dad. He was the world's greatest homeroom mother. This year he is working out of town, so I am the official school-type event attender and transporter.

I am so not good at that, let me tell ya.

A month or so back, we noticed an ad in the newspaper for an after school art class at the university for kids Katie's age. T, who is one of the wackos from work, has kids about Katie's age and they saw the ad too. We worked out a plan whereby we take turns picking up the kids after school each Thursday and dropping them off at the class. That way neither of us has to miss too much work.

The first week, we both had to go so we could register the kids. I picked up Katie from school and we headed to the class where we met T and her kids. The classroom was crowed with rowdy little kids and their mothers.

T and I directed our entourage to park their cheeks in the plastic chairs while we filled out the forms and wrote the checks. We were being all task-orientated and taking care of business. We didn't know we were supposed to ask questions.

We were surrounded by a flurrying gaggle of outfitted mothers who were very concerned that their jewlery matched their capri and cardigan sets. They were also very concerned that their children get the best possible art instruction.

"What sort of mediums will you be working in?"
"How hands on will this be? Allison really prefers to hands on."
"Miss! MISS! Are we just gonna draw in here? Is that all??"
"Brendon wants to know if you will be doing any thing besides drawing. He's not yet sure whether or not he wants to stay."

On and on and on. I wrote my check and tried to back away as quickly as possible. I finally got to the door and made a run for it. I stopped outside the building and sucked in some sunshiny, mother-free air. T was standing beside me. We looked warily back towards the classroom, which was still full of fussy women and bratty kids.

T looked at me and said "I feel so white."

We went back to work and washed the cotillion dust off our hands.

Dang it! I don't wanna be Superman!

There's a reason the URL is Mujer Maravilla. Geeze!

You Are Superman

Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. And pretty cute too. No wonder you're the most popular superhero ever!

What Superhero Are You?

Why the Seal?

Most of my people are apologetic in one way or another. The few who aren't are the most fun - they are the idiots who pitch a fit at the thought that they might somehow be in the wrong. Its actually pretty easy to deal with those folk. I can normally flame hotter and longer than they can. Its a great way for me to release some stress and frustration.

Those die-hards are definitely in the minority. The majority of my people are passively manipulative and say whatever they think you want to hear. A lot of the time they are genuinely sorry, but they are sorry they got caught, not because they did something wrong. Most people expect that if they say they are sorry, that makes everything ok. Their lives cycle through a process of committing evils of various sorts, getting caught and punished, apologizing and going right back to the same behavior. The apology is a magical incantation that cleanses the karmic record and frees them to start the whole process over again.

Then I have a few contritionists who have truely repented.

In the last thirteen years I have had three sex offenders whom I think fell into this category. I talked to one of them this week, before I made that seal. I'll call him Harry.

Harry committed a sexual assault almost 10 years ago. His victim was an adult and drugs and alcohol played a big part in the offense. He was given probation and he completed it about 9 months ago. He is still on probation for a hit and run that happened a year or two after the sex offense. Harry has been through lots of counseling and made some significant changes in his life.

Harry is married with several teenage and grown kids/stepkids. He has a high school diploma and is fairly personable and articulate. He has some construction skills, but nothing particularly special. He has always worked low paying jobs and struggled to get by.

About six months ago, he got a job as a delivery driver for a high-end furniture company. Within a month he'd been promoted to manager of their warehouse. Harry was making more money than he'd ever made. He worked hard and was noticed and rewarded for it. Customers regularly called and thanked the owners for how well they were treated by the Harry and his drivers. They always went the extra mile. The store owners did the right thing and told the employees how much they appreciated them and paid them more money. Harry has been excited and animated everytime I've seen him in the last few months. He had a real future with the company and he was proud of his job and his progress.

Until someone called the boss.

An anonymous caller alerted the owners that Harry is a registered sex offender, complete with a photo on the state sex offender database website. Before the owners even talked to Harry about it, they consulted their attorney and asked what kind of liability they had in the situation and what could be done to keep Harry.

The attorney's answer was that nothing could be done for Harry and they had to drop him like a hot potato. The boss then called Harry in and apologized profusely before firing him. They gave him a month's severance pay (which is unheard of here) and promised him glowing recommendations for all his future endeavors.

Harry came to see me in tears. He is genuinely repentant about his offenses. He has changed his behavior. He is a different person now. He is sincere and wants to live a better life as a better person.

But he can't escape the consequences.

I'm gonna have this tattoo'd somewhere. And not necessarily on me!

English 101

I think I've told you before that I keep a list of what we call probation diseases. There are all sorts of medical terms that our people don't quite get exactly right. We've had people who had "lollipops" in their colon or who were suffering from "amonia". One of my all time favorites is the grandmother who called in one day to say Johnny wouldn't be at community service because he was in the hospital. He'd just had a "peace treaty" put in his heart.

Sometimes they get phrases wrong as well.

Rose told me about a lady who came in to report this week. She is having a tough time dealing with her son. She's at her wits end. He has discovered the temper tantrum and likes to throw himself on the floor and "scream bloody mary".

Sometimes I scream "margarita!"

This was supposed to be an Audioblog...

...Audioblogger will let me record 'till I'm blue in the face, but steadfastly refuses to publish it to my blog. I don't know if that's some sort of editorial comment, or what?

My phone rang yesterday afternoon. When I answered, I heard Larry's voice. I've been working with Larry for a long, long time. Up until about a year ago, I was being pretty well snowed by this guy. Not anymore. Not for a while.

Larry had an appointment to see me yesterday.

He called to tell me that he couldn't make it. He had a job interview and they were going to do a physical and he really thought he had a shot at it and of course, he really needed this job. Nooo problem, Larry. I could certainly reschedule that appointment for such a good reason as this. Why didn't he just plan to come see me Friday afternoon?

He agreed and hung up the phone.

Larry, Larry, Larry... This is the 21st Century! Welcome to the wonderful world of caller ID!

Admittedly, caller ID has made my job harder in a lot of ways. But this time it did me good. I waited a few seconds and redialed the number Larry called from.

"Crossroads," the bartender answered the phone. Crossroads is the new name of the Elbow Bend which is a crummy little bar a couple of blocks from my office. Elbow Bend was a much better name, don't you think?

I gave her my best blonde voice: "Hey, hun. Can I talk to Larry again? This is Rachel."

"Sure, sweetie," she said and hollered for Larry.

When he answered I asked him what the hell he was doing there. He was a bit flustered and said "Uh, where?"

"At the bar, Larry. Why are you at a bar?"

"Uh, who is this?"

When that didn't work, he finally blurted out "I just came in here to use the phone!"

I told Larry he could head straight out the door and walk the two blocks to my office. He was going to have to give me a urine specimen for a drug test. That was at 2:00 p.m. yesterday. As of this morning, Larry hasn't shown up. Evidently he got lost in those two blocks from there to here. I need to get his face on a milk carton, ASAP. Either that or have him arrested.

Guess which one I'm going to do?

Sometimes I feel like Marlin Perkins.

I really like my job because we've all been together so long that we all understand each other perfectly. Communication here takes place on every conceivable level at every conceivable speed at all times. Sometimes that makes for a lot of confusion if you don't really know what's going on.

Take, for example, this conversation I heard last week between Rose and ChevyPickup:

CP: Are you bringing that snot-nosed kid in here again? Ever?

Translation: I haven't yet made the acquaintance of your granddaughter. Will I have an opportunity anytime in the near future?

Rose: Well hell, she's been up here TWICE already! Is it my fault you never come to work anymore?

Translation: I'm sorry you missed her on her previous visits. I know you had to be abscent from work quite a bit lately due to your on-going cancer treatment.

CP: Oh yeah? Well at least I have a good excuse! What's your problem?

Translation: Yes, the cancer treatment has been a long process. I'm certainly glad its completed.

Rose: Don't get smart with me, shorty! I can't help it that you don't have any hair!

Translation: I know you must be relieved to have that behind you. You seem to be recovering nicely, and you haven't had any untoward increases in your physical stature.

CP: Bite me!

Translation: Thank you!

I like to call it people watching, but it's really just snooping.

I took Katie and her friend Monique camping this weekend. That's Mo-neek, emphasis on the Mo. It was a lot of fun, as they entertained themselves and I got to sit around and do nothing, which is something I'm rather accomplished at.

While sitting at the picnic table, enjoying the cool breeze and the cloudy weather, I started watching the older couple in the space next to mine. They weren't old, just older. I stared shamelessly through my sunglasses and out from under the brim of my hat.

They were scared.

I noticed them first because of how they were dressed. They left for a walk not long after we arrived. He was wearing slacks and a three-button, short sleeve knit shirt. For camping. Slacks! Trousers! Dress pants. She was similarly and constrictively clothed.

When they returned from their walk, I studied their RV. It was a small motorhome, pulled directly into the space - not backed in. This meant the door and the un-deployed awning all faced away from their campsite. Away from the picnic table and fire ring. Away from the path down to the creek. That's nothing too unusual. I can't back a vehicle very well either. But...

When the got to their door, the man pulled out a jangly key ring and unlocked the door. They went inside and shut both doors behind them. Nothing stirred, not even a mouse, for a long while.

When they finally did open the door and came out, both were carrying covered dishes. Supper had been cooked inside. On a stove. In an oven. Not outside on an open flame or even a gas grill. That's not a big deal, I understand that's one reason people buy RVs - fire cooking isn't for everyone. But...

The man held the door for his wife. She stepped out and walked around to the other side of the RV to get to the picnic table. He tarried a second or two longer. He took out the jangly keyring and locked the door.

They never cautioned a glance in my direction, that I know of. My nosiness was not returned or possibly not even noticed. They walked with their heads down, eyes low. I considered going over and speaking to them. Perhaps it would ease their mind, knowing that the scruffy tent dwellers next door were generally law-abiding and good natured. But...

The can of chili I had opened for supper (Frito Pie!) spewed all over the front of my shirt. My legs and feet were speckled with mud from a short walk down what is usually a dry stream bed. My eyes were bloodshot and watery from wearing my contacts too long. My hair was shooting out from under my hat in every conceivable direction. I decided I wouldn't do much to quiesce their fears at that point. Immediately after supper they entombed themselves again. I didn't see them the rest of the evening.

The next morning I walked past their campsite. There was no sign of human habitation. I guess maybe they deeply subscribe to the "leave only footprints" admonition. The RV was there, but nothing else. No hiking stick, no bag of charcoal, no firewood, no lawn chairs, no hat, not even a string of lights or a dog leash. No dog, either. Nothing.

I kept watching. It was surely as much fun as daytime TV. About 10:00 a.m. the door opened and they emerged with cereal bowls in hand. They scurried over to the picnic table, having first locked their door. They ate in what I suppose was silence, staring at the table, barely noticing their surroundings. A short while later I sat watching as they unplugged the motorhome and drove skittishly away.

I sighed, and got up off of my lounge chair. I grabbed a coke out of the cooler and made sure the kids weren't around. Then I poured the leftover bacon grease on the fire and watched it leap and sputter. Fear is sad. Play with fire instead.

Katie and Monique enjoy (?) some ice cream on the way home.

I always talk fast when I'm nervous...why does this make me nervous?

Friday Cemetery Blogging

Here are a couple of photos for your perusal:

They're real purdy, blah, blah, blah. The lesson today, boys and girls, is to take close up photos on cloudy days because the colors are way all spectacularish. Yadda, yadda, yadda, enough of that.

What I really wanted to show you is this:

I've spent the last two days painting my shoes! Aren't they neat?! They started out as $3.50 all-white Wal-Mart crap-shoes. Now they are all better. I'm gonna wear 'em to work on Friday. Do you think anyone will notice?

And speaking of cool stuff, check out the audioblogging meme on little david's site. I'm planning to try it out, too.

It Smells The Same

Annie's comment on my last post started me thinking about names. When it comes to cemeteries, I love names that are common words. Those names keep me in business with the cemetery blogging.

My own last name lends itself to being made sport of. It is a word meaning small. (My grandfather was 6'5" or so. My grandmother was 6'1" and both of my aunts were 6' tall, even though one of them liked to describe herself as "five feet, eleven and one half inches". My dad is 6'7" tall.) I share this name with a famous musician. Remember Tom _____ and the Heartbreakers? And also with a family of Nascar drivers - Richard and Kyle and Adam and... Have you figured it out yet?

Even though I didn't change my name when I got married, there is one time I always use my husband's name. I always use it when I go out to eat. One of my favorite pastimes is eating alone (apologies to Milton) with a good book. I like to go to good restaurants, order a good meal and enjoy my book.

The problem is the hostesses never get my last name right. Or even if they do, the p.a. system garbles it when they announce my table. I can't tell you how many times I've sat in a crowded foyer of a restaurant only to hear "Pity, party of one."

Stick a book under your arm and walk through a crowd alone after that. Ha!

One evening last week, the dinner table conversation turned to names. Katie was curious about where names come from. We told her what little we know about it and that seemed to suffice. Then she asked if we were related to any famous people. Jackson told her what little he knows about his family and I told her what little I know about mine. We reeled off a rather unimpressive list of semi-famous kinfolk. Jackson told her about Sir Roger somebody or other who was a big muckle-de-muck in Wales. I mentioned a few semi-notable folks including my great-grandmother's uncle, James Steven Hogg. (He had a daughter named Ima. Remember them?)

After listening to all that, Katie sat thoughtfully for a few moments then said, "Well, some of my friends are cheerleaders."

Friday Cemetery Blogging

... and probably a complainer, too!

Sacriligious: adjective; grossly irreverent toward the sacred

Mindy and I have a fairly good retirement program through the state, but if we plan to retire early, we will need to move into some kind of a second career. After watching religious broadcasting for lo these many years, we have decided that we are totally cut out to run our own church. Further research has convinced us that rather than pick a currently established McFaith, we should start our own religion. The following is a list of the tenets of our religion, to date:

The Church of the Firstborn of the Holy Flaming Fedora

Church leaders will wear robes and sometimes capes. Capes may be substituted for robes if desired. The idea is to wear something that flows out behind you in a Supermanish manner as you stride purposefully about the church. Or the library. Or Wal-Mart.

We shall revert back to the original plan for communion. No more crackers and grape juice. We’re gonna eat good – chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, hot rolls, salad and chocolate cake.

Fasting is not encouraged and may be ridiculed. If you feel the need to abstain from something, stop watching the news for a while.

No Name-It-and-Claim-It bullshit.

No magic miracle-cure bullshit. Fairy tale-type magic is considered highly desirable, but shall be plainly labeled as magic. Faith healing and seed giving shall be plainly labeled as excrement and will be scoffed. Vociferously.

Toenails must be painted as a gerneral rule, since most church members will be wearing bling-encrusted flip flops or sandals. Pedicures for all on Maundy Thursday.

The cast and crew of What Not to Wear are officially excommunicated and banned from communion.

No binding or constrictive undergarments.

Church service will be on Friday nights, right before suppertime, so as not to muck up a prime chunk of the weekend.

All church holidays will fall on Mondays.

OPI nail polish and comic books will be donated to the less fortunate on a regular basis.

We firmly eschew all record keeping in favor of frequent business meeting updates on the latest and greatest thrift store finds.

Edward Gorey is our patron saint.

The photo directory will be done by Glamour Shots. Costumes will be encouraged. Creepy corpse-like Olan Mills Family Photos will be banned.

Mindy will be allowed to sing choruses as long as spookyrach is allowed to make faces and armpit music during singing of same.

Members will be encouraged to carry swords. Wands may be substituted.

VBS is strictly outlawed. An Adults-Only Craft Night will be considered as a replacement. Childcare not provided.

Church leadership will have veto authority as regards any unruly children. If your child is deemed an annoyance, you must make alternate provisions for the future of its immortal soul and not bring the little snot-monkey within 200 yards of any church function. Please note: Your Little Entitlement Twits Do Not Impress Us.

No committees will be permitted. If something needs doing, do it. If no one does it, it wasn’t really that important anyway. Ask for help if you need it.

No mid-week service. If you can’t keep the faith for an entire week without a booster shot, then you’ve got more problems than can be cured by a Wednesday night service. If, however, y’all want to meet up at a good restaurant and eat dinner together sometime during the week, then that’s all good.

spookyrach will provide a weekly rant and rave session at each service. (We will have to recruit someone to perform actual meaningful teaching. Perhaps little david will apply.) Mindy will be in charge of the music, even though spookyrach is highly suspicious that this will make for a touchy-feely service. ~gives Mindy the evil eye~

All official church documents shall be produced with Sharpies. Scratch-outs permitted. No Smileys. No LOL.

The church will not have a marquee. The temptation to crumminess is often too great to resist. If thy sign offends thee, pluck it out.

Evangelistic revivals are allowed, but only during only during the week following the first freeze, when a plethora of otherwise unusable tomatoes are available. There will be a celebratory bar-be-que following the revival in any year in which the traveling evangelist and/or musician retires from active ministry following the CFHFF revival.

Church leadership will reference the book of Leviticus frequently. This allows the leadership to basically rewrite the book as suits their purpose, as long as it is used for good and not for evil. It’s not like anybody was reading that book anyway. For example: “And the anti-Christ shall rise in the East of the State, somewhere in the vicinity of Houston, and he shall be called Joel Osteen.” Lev. 21:13. Stuff like that.

As soon as we can secure a meeting place, we'll let you know. In the meantime, we'll be shopping for capes and wands. And maybe hats...

Friday Cemetery Blogging

Little Miss Muffet

Sat on a tombstone...

"K" is my favorite.

Zombie Letters from e-zombie.com


Thanks for the idea, Cowtown Pattie!

Friday Cemetery Blogging

For what shall it proffitt a man...

I thought this was a terribly interesting stone. I've seen crosses, cresents and chrysanthemums. Never a peace symbol. I've got a theory on this. What do you think?

"I really need a pedicure."

El Hell

Yesterday I walked to work.

To be accurate I walked from my office to the new courts building. The county finally finished renovation of an old Sears store and made it a new district courts building. Its about three blocks from my office.

I'm used to hopping across the street to the courthouse a few minutes before I'm supposed to be in court, saying hi to the squirrels and getting into an ancient elevator to make the life-risking trip to the top. Why take the elevator? Because the courthouse was built at a time when ceilings were higher and stairs were steeper. Even the most physically fit among us are breathing heavy by the time they reach the third floor. The least fit among us are beet red and having palpitations by the time they get to the top.

You can imagine the type of impression it makes when you take the stairs and are then the first witness called to testify.

"State your name for the record, please," the lawyer says, then you have to speak into a microphone. "Spo-wheeze-oky wheeze Rach wheeze-gasp."

But that doesn't really have anything to do with my point. Which is, that I walked down the street to the courts building. And not for the first time, either! We never walk any where here. Never. This is a small town, but it sprawls all over everywhere. One of our only natural resources is roominess and we make good use of it. Nothing is within walking distance of anything else and we scoff at the idea of public transportation. Only the most derelict among us don't have access to a vehicle. People don't trust you if you don't have your own ride.

A few years ago, Fake Cow City/County got a grant from the federal government for Rural Public Transportation. They bought a couple of trolley car-shaped buses and published routes for free public transportation. No one would ride them. No one. The trolleys disappeared quietly one day, never to be seen or heard from again.

We did manage to hang on to a subsidized bus service of sorts. You have to call a day in advance to book a ride, but for a couple of dollars they'll take you where you need to go around town. Its like pulling teeth to get people to use it. Basically the service ferrys clientele between social service agencies.

Maybe we have an aversion to riding around in anonymous groups because it reminds us of cattle in trucks on the way to the slaughterhouse. I don't know. But I do know I am jealous of those of you with public transportation. I love to read about Mimi Smartypants' encounters with the drunken masses. It seems so amusing from afar. And the thought of being able to read on the ride to work makes me especially envious.

I guess there's no hope for me. I live a couple of miles out of town and I suppose I will have to continue to endure that eight minute commute. (Nine if I have to stop at the traffic light.)

But I will keep walking to court!

This made me laugh...

Chevy Pickup recently completed treatment for breast cancer. For the second time. She got a new guy on probation a couple of weeks ago. She met with him briefly the day of his court hearing. He came back the next week to complete the paperwork.

This week, he had a hearing on yet another charge, which resulted in yet another probation. He had to meet with CP again following that hearing. About halfway through the meeting, Mr. Sensitivity said:

"How's come every time I see you, you got on a different hat?"

CP glared at him and didn't miss a beat:

"How come every time I see you, you got a new arrest?"

I don't think he asked any more questions.

Hey, Lucy! I'm home!

Its been almost a week. I miss it already.

Jackson went back to work full time this week. First time in nearly five years. I'm not sure I'm happy about it.

Jackson was diagnosed with colon cancer in 2001. It had spread to his lymphnodes and they originally didn't give him much chance. But he had some really outstanding doctors and some pretty aggressive treatment and after five years of recovery and dealing with other health problems he is back at work.

Yippie.

When he first began to realize that he couldn't handle the daily grind and recovery at the same time, he trotted over to the local Social Security office to see what his options were. They said something along the lines of "Oh, you poor thing!" and he received his first disability check less than 30 days later. If you've ever worked with people who are trying to get on disability, you know how insanely rare that is!

Then, last year, when he went back to Social Security and said he wanted to go back to work, you'd have thought he was the second coming of Christ. They really kiss your feet over there when you get back into the workforce.

Unfortunately, a four year gap in your employment history is pretty noticeable on a resume. And when you explain that no, you weren't in prison - you were sick - no one wants to touch you. You'd have a better chance of getting hired with a prison record. Unclean! Unclean!

So, a year and a few more college courses added onto the master's degree later, he is back at work.

And I'm bummed.

Don't get me wrong, I am way all happy that he's healthy again. But I am so going to miss our 1950's domestic arrangement. No wonder the feminist movement caused such a stir! This lifestyle with one person earning the dough and the other one kneading it is to die for!

I haven't been inside a grocery store in years. Years, people! That alone makes this all worthwhile. I go to work and when I get home, there's Jackson slaving over a hot stove and putting dinner on the table. I sit down, read the paper while he's finishing up, then we eat a hot homemade meal. After dinner, being the generous and giving person that I am, I help clear the table. And Jackson does the dishes.

He takes out the trash. He makes sure the cats are fed. He does the laundry. He mows the yard and keeps the cars serviced. He deals with repairmen and the Jehovah's Witnesses.

Last year, after Katie moved in with us, he was everyone's favorite homeroom mother. He volunteered for everything and was up at the school for at least an hour a day. He took Katie to school. Made sure she had lunch. Picked her up in the afternoon.

This year, I have to accompany them to "Meet Yer Teacher" night. (I suppose the teachers prefer "your".) Katie will have to go to an afterschool program at the YMCA. I'll be the one at the awards ceremonies and taking cookies to the Valentine's party.

Poor Katie. heh.

I'm really proud of Jackson and I'm very glad he is going back to work. That whole second income thing won't be bad either. He's going to be great at his job.

But I am totally going to miss my Ward Cleaver days.

You Are Here

This is where
I work.
For reals.

The top two floors still look the same. The bottom floor, which houses our office and the tax assessors office, has been "modernized". This means that they bricked up all the windows and squared the curved corner sometime along about 1974. Bleh.

My friend Janet, champion lurker, found this postcard on Ebay. The upper two floors are storage for county office documents. I've posted pictures of it before. It is knee-deep in mouse parts, pigeon crap and killer dust bunnies. It's really wonderful up there.







There are spooky staircases.
















And nifty radiators.
















Interesting bathtubs.















And many, many
pigeon carcasses.







If you are in my part of the country, holler and we'll give you the tour. Provided you aren't too worried about the chicken flu. *cough, cough, choke*

Friday Cemetery Blogging

I'm on the road today, looking for more cemeteries. See you next week!

So don't even THINK about asking for a Travel Permit!

QUOTE: "THE STATE OF SOUTH DAKOTA ONCE AGAIN IS RESPECTFULLY REQUESTING THAT PAROLEES AND PROBATIONERS NOT BE ALLOWED TO VISIT
SOUTH DAKOTA OR ATTEND THE STURGIS MOTORCYCLE RALLY DURING THE WEEK OF AUGUST 7TH - 13TH, 2006. YOUR COOPERATION AND ASSISTANCE IN THIS REQUEST WOULD GREATLY ASSIST OUR LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT'S ABILITY TO ENFORCE THE LAW DURING THIS TIME PERIOD WHERE THERE HAVE BEEN UP TO 500 THOUSAND PEOPLE IN ATTENDANCE."

Woo-hoo! Power to the People!

Your Power Level is: 73% Your Power Level is: 73%

You're a very powerful person, and you know that all of your power comes from within. Keep on doing what you're doing, and you'll reach your goals.

How Powerful Are You?

Edited to fix the LINK.

Random bullets for Monday:

• Successfully avoided temptation to smack a curly-headed Napoleon up-side the head today. So far.
• BBQ Chicken for lunch. Left over from actual homecooked meal last night. UMmm!
• My office plants seem to have the Black Death. Sadness.
• I'm really tired.
• Partially because I went to bed at 9:30 last night (exhausted) and woke up at 1:30 this morning (infuriating). The adrenaline high should last me until about 6:00 p.m.
• This week I have learned that people who have a large portion of the right lobe of their brain removed are still fully capable of making damn funny jokes. They are no so capable of comprehending that their daughter-in-law is joking. Heh.
• Also, when you have mostly your left half of your brain intact, you get real peeved by random word lists presented by therapists. Randomness is not tolerated. Logical progression is. It's sort of fascinating.
• I just noticed my Wonder Woman clock has never made it into Daylight Savings Time. Oh, well. Rock on in your own little time warp, WW clock!
• I have Maxwell Smart and Agent 99 action figures hanging on my office wall. They make me happy!
• My Edward Gorey Neglected Murderesses Notecards came in the mail. That also makes me happy!
• I know that there is a difference between magic and miracles. I don't think God is a big ol' David Copperfield up in the sky, picking and choosing who to benefit with bits of devine prestidigitation. 'Expect A Miracle' if you must. But recognize the miracles when you see them and don't hold your breath waiting for magic.
• Remember that tin of Shinola you found at that garage sale that time, Janet? Hee hee. I wish I had that.
• What is your greatest garage sale purchase? Can you beat my parents? They bought their cemetery plots at a garage sale.

Friday Cemetery Blogging

So, we went to a cemetery in Deaf Smith County. Isn't that a great name? Didn't even make it up. We were snarfing about for interesting gravestones and I saw this guy. He gave us some direction.

"Psst, look over there, dudes."

So we did. And we, quite literally, stumbled upon a most interesting find! Not many people know this, but Count Dracula was never really bested by Van Helsing or even those meddling kids from Mystery, Inc. History records that he hung around Transylvania for a few eons before a long series of bad investments and castle taxes caused him to have to moonlight as a hit man for the Mafia.

The mob eventually tired of the expense associated with running an operation like Dracula's castle. The property taxes were outrageous and the cost for the black mold clean-up was absolutely insane, so they began out-sourcing hits to the Asian syndicates. This miffed the Count and he turned mob informant, testifying before several closed-door sessions of Congress, some 15 years before Joe Valachi.

Unfortunately for the Count and his lovely 93rd wife, Helen, the federal Witness Protection Program was not yet fully funded. In addition, the U.S. government had a bit more of a grasp of moral irony back then and the powers that be felt a little iffy about loosing a centuries old vampire into Truman era America to be supported by tax dollars. After several weeks of debate, it was decided that there was really only one place that could become the American version of Soviet Siberia. The Count was banished to West Texas.

The feds set him up with a new identity, although Helen refused to change her first name, and they lived in quiet anonymity for several years. The count subsisted on coyotes and jackrabbits for the most part. Then in 1952 he got ahold of a rattlesnake, for the first and last time.

Helen stayed in Deaf Smith County following the Count's final demise and became active in the local WMU chapter at the Second Baptist Church. She was famous for her green jello salad, the kind with the little marshmallows, a staple at local funerals for 30 years.

867-5309

It started like this: I peered at the caller ID display. "Christ Life A G," I said towards the hallway. "What the hell is that?" *

"I have no idea," Mindy answered from the office next door.

"Well, I ain't answering it. Maybe they'll tell voice mail what they want."

They did tell voice mail. Three times in the 10 minutes before I sucked it up and returned the calls.


Never once has the Catholic priest called me. Nor the Presbyterian minister. Likewise the Lutheran pastor has never felt the need to contact me. My own minister hasn't even called.

And that's a good thing.



I do hereby apologize to evangelical ministers everywhere. We, your congregants, have done you the horrible disservice of measuring your success exclusively by the number of our fellow pew-warmers that you attract to each and every church service. This need for numbers has driven us all to do some pretty dumb things.

One of those dumb things is calling me to explain that even though John Q. Sinner has been screwing up his probation, all is well because you (and Jesus) are intervening in his life. No matter how sincere John Q. Sinner is, never - ever - call the probation officer. And if you must call, please don't tell me how J.Q. Sinner, after you spent five hours with him on Friday afternoon, eventually prayed "the sinner's prayer".

(I also apologize for responding to this grand revelation with a terse "And?")

(Nah, I take that back. I don't apologize. If you spent five hours with me I'd be willing to say whatever it took to get your money and get you out of my hair.)


C'mon y'all! We evangelicals appear to be the only ones falling for this bullshitola. Its getting to be embarrassing. Even if J.Q. Sinner is for real and becomes involved in church, he is likely only going to stick with it for a few months. We have to face the fact that our churches are middle-class institutions. J.Q. probably isn't compatible with a middle-class institution. He doesn't really want to fit that mold. I know it surprises you, because it damn sure floored me, but he'd have to give up a lot of good things to live a middle-class life. Its culture/class-centric of us to think he wants to be us.

I hope J.Q. is sincere. I know that you are. So, kick him in the butt and then work right along side him as he takes care of business. Show him that God isn't going to make life easy. Teach him that God will give him strength and purpose. But stop trying to park him in a pew.

And don't stand between John Q. and I. I've got my butt-kickin' boots on.


*It was Christian Life Assembly of God.

Back In Town

We are back. A good time was had by all.

We went to Dallas, which was a bit of a change in plan. But Love Field was only 45 minutes from a hospital room, if need be. Pray for Jackson's family.

Unfortunately, we didn't have time for any meetups. Bummer. Hell, my own parents were in Dallas at the same time as us and we didn't even see them!

As sort of a substitue meet-up, I've decided to post a picture of myself on the blog - something I've never done before. I'm not all that concerned about anonymity or privacy. And I'm pretty normal looking, not some sort of oozing, plauge-ridden cave-woman. I just never had a picture I wanted to post. You know how it is when you are the family photo-geek. There are no pictures of you in existence.

Anyway, while at Six Flags, Jackson snapped my photo with Wonder Woman and Flash! Here it is:

What? You didn't actually think that I'd post an undoctored photo of myself taken on a day when it was 107 degrees outside, with an ungodly amount of humidity? A photo taken after 4 hours of roller coasters and water rides? Silly readers.

It's Friday Afternoon...

...and I am trying desperately to accomplish a few last minute things before leaving on vacation. However, my brain has fizzled to a complete stop and I decided to play with the site meter.

I'm glad I did. Did you know this site is number one for google searches for anti-alien aluminum foil hats? I am so proud. Really.

I may post again before leaving town. If not, have a great week. We are doing one of the major Texas metropolitan theme-parkish kinds of trips. If you are in one of those areas, and you see some chick with startlingly white legs, a ratty t-shirt, and bozo-ish, semi-red hair poking out from under a slightly weird hat, approach her cautiously and say "the password is Swordfish". It might be me.

Friday Not-So-Cemetery Blogging

Don't worry - it'll be back. As soon as the developing company finds the roll of film they lost!! I have so gotta go digital. Soon.

So, instead, I thought I'd post a letter I sent to NPR. Its not that great, but its something. Oh, and by the way, I'm coming looking for you Jim! I'm gonna kick yer butt after yesterday's comment. Writing about that earworm had finally purged it, until your comment plunked it right back in my head.

Check out this story first:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5554134

Dear NPR,

I’ve always thought that the calls for making English our official language were unnecessary and a complete waste of time. Now, I’ve had to rethink my position. After listing to this morning’s interview with John Yoo, I now completely understand the need for an official language.

Mr. Yoo, a former justice department employee, does not seem to have much of a grasp of the English language. He complains that phrases such as “outrages on personal dignity” and “principles of justice followed by civilized nations” are ambiguous and he’s unable to understand them.

We certainly need people running this country who can understand the language our laws and treaties are written in at least as well as the average American. Maybe we should start some sort of a work program that hires immigrants to read and explain these laws for our administration.

Sincerely,
spookyrach

This morning...

I was outside playing with the camera phone and feeding the birds. It was too hot to be inside. Outside was much prettier, anyway.


All the dark area at the bottom of this photo is corn. It has now reached elephant eye proportions.


Anybody know what these flowers are called? The previous owner planted them.

Jumping on the Bullet Bandwagon

All the cool kids are doing it!


· I bought a new eye shadow called Aubergine Queen. I really like it, but that name has become an ear worm. All week long I’ve been singing a bastardized version of Billy Idol’s Caribbean Queen in my head. Over and over and over…

Aubergine Queen
Now we're sharing a purple dream
And my eyes they blink as one
’Cause my makeup is done.


· Jackson and Jonboy are coaching Katie’s softball team. They are playing in a tournament to end the season this week. Have I mentioned that they’ve occasionally played five games a week? Every freakin’ night? Last night they lost their first game, and had to play a double header. This was their third game in two days. They showed a lot of character and came back to win the second game, which keeps them in the tournament and ensures them a game tonight. Dammit.

· Speaking of Katie – she’s always lived in Big Flat City before coming to live with us full-time. Sheltered little thing is fascinated by our tiny vegetable garden. This year I am only growing 4 tomato plants and 4 pepper plants. I’ve hired her to keep it free of weeds and grass. Now she is also getting to harvest the spoils of her weed war. She. Is. Thrilled. Being a chemical-free gardener, she can pick the cherry tomatoes and pop ‘em in her mouth straight off the plant. I can’t tell you how cool she thinks that is. Actual food on plants right in her own back yard!

· Also speaking of Katie, she came to live with us full time because her mother died last August. We had just had our first consult with an attorney to attempt, for the second time, to get full custody of her, when her mother died from long-term prescription drug abuse. Katie has adjusted wonderfully and we couldn’t have asked for a better situation. Until recently. Now she is finally beginning to progress to some new stages of grief. Stages which involve the need for actually talking about her mother instead of pretending she never existed. Katie is not comfortable with this yet, but she’s trying. As are we. Its kind of hard. I sat down with Katie a couple of weeks ago and tried to talk to her about good memories of her mom. I ended up praising the fact that she always bought Katie really cool school supplies. Yep. That woman could pick out one hell of a good ruler. Heh.

· Does anyone want a really huge and happy tropical plant for their living room? I have grown this plant from a wee bairn of a secretary’s day gift from lo these many years ago into a three foot by four foot monstrosity that has been relegated to the front porch for the summer. I just don’t think I’m gonna bring it back in the house this fall. But I hate to let it die.

· We’re going on vacation next week! Yay for us! I need suggestions for good vacation books. Preferably, but not necessarily, mysteries.