I don’t have to use a walker to pump my gas.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, humor, life
I have realized, lately, that I am, at best, a third cousin once removed from my own definition of self-awareness. I like to think I'm savvy and a smooth operator, most of the time, but I had a bit of a bitter pill to swallow yesterday, when, on my way back from Scooba (perish the thought!), I had to stop and get gas. This is hardly a new thing for me, but unlike my usual stop-and-gos at the Scooba Junction gas station, I had neglected to look at my gas gauge until I was in Brooksville, about twenty minutes north. I had no choice but to pull...
I’m made of sterner stuff than common sense, I’ll have you know.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, language, life, theatre, writing
I used to get frustrated when I'd be cast in a play, an old one written back, say, in the 1920s, a la Glaspell or O'Neill, and halfway through the play I'd come to one of my lines: "Egads, Helen! Don't do that with your teeth! The zipper's fine." Or... "Eureka! Eureka! I've unlocked the secret code. Now, the children may eat." I hated that type of diction. It was always difficult for me to comprehend who in the world would ever actually say these things. Even harder still when one of the words had a repeat. I had no idea how to even say these words. That is...until today. Today...
She was nothing short of a fire hazard.
I know this girl, we'll call her Melanie because that's her name...and OK, well, I don't really know her. I just saw her on TV the other night, a special that TLC was running on psychological disorders. Melanie had one. She's a hoarder. She hoards things, and I must say, I'd never even heard of such a thing before. It's rather disturbing, actually. My heart went out to her...but not at first. No, at first, I thought: "Come on! Give me a break. You've got to be kidding me! Can't she just clean it up?" I imagine a lot of viewers were thinking the same...
Lazarus and his "Transferring to the Banana."
To be quite honest about it, we'd forgotten about him entirely. We did our civic duty, after Max had attacked him, this poor little kitten, in our backyard. At first, we thought he was dead. But, Amanda, who was the brave one, stepping forward and retrieving him from Max's jaws, saw that he was breathing...barely. Breathing enough, however, that he was more than agile and able enought to bite Amanda solidly on her finger. Not long after, she found herself in the emergency room, receiving a Tetanus shot. You may recall that we were turned away from the Vet School at MSU, and abruptly sent to another Vet's...
How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…
I have been intensely busy, lately. Not just by hand, either. My mind...it often goes into Mach 7 when I attempt to procrastinate (by the way, the word "procrastinate," itself, is ironic - I mean, by the time you write the word out, you could have done something already - it's not a word for the lazy), and the only thing I can physically do to make it stop is to sleep (even though my dreams are usually full of anger when I do that - last night, for instance...ouch!), but if I don't stop it, from time to time, it just runs all...
Part Two: Aunt Lola
When and if I remember a dream it's because it has some potent element to it; I'd like to think I made that point, clearly enough, in yesterday's blog. And certainly, I would think so with the Billie Holiday dream; and those precious and upsetting few that have come true...all of which I've shared with you. But the potency, when it's there, is one that is, that must be, for me, necessarily Fascinating and Disturbing in its minutiae, as it invades my mind, my lobes, with its obsessive and small details; isn't that where God is, according to van der Rohe? I make no bones about...
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