Sticky Notes and Chicken Sandwiches

Shopping for school supplies was rather painless this year.

The only item that tripped me up was the 2 x 2" sticky notes.

I don't think they exist.

And, the other shoppers in that aisle agree with me,
     which made me feel better.

I needed their approval when I made the decision to purchase the
     3 x 3"sticky notes, instead. 

Afterward, my son wanted to have lunch at Chick-fil-A,
     which is across the road.

The place was PACKED.

Traffic - spilling out onto the main road, people honking,
     the drive-thru line - wrapped all the way around the building . . .

     "I don't get it," I said to my son.

     "There is a McDonalds right up the street.
            In my opinion, they sell equally good chicken sandwiches,
               and their fries are better."
 

Personally, I don't care for fries in the shape of a waffle.

     "Is it the Christian thing?"  I asked.

     "Is it the milkshakes?"  I asked.

I wonder . . . 

     "They DO have pretty good milkshakes," said my son.  


We picked up our order (and, I have to admit, they were extremely efficient),
     however, they gave me a sandwich, instead of nuggets,
did not put ketchup on my son's sandwich,
     my sandwich was TOO salty,
and my fries were not salty enough.

I don't allow myself to eat fast food very often and, when I do,
      I want it to be worth every FAT FILLED calorie.  

Oh well.

Live and Learn.

And, as it turns out,
    "2 x 2" sticky notes DO exist.

I just bing(ed) it.

Oh well, again.   

Sometimes, life can get . . .

      STICKY. 

  



  

A Familiar Surprise

I was not expecting my 18 year old daughter to come home from her summer job
     (as a camp counselor) with a new friend.
At first glance, he resembles a monkey, however, he roars like a lion, and his name is Fish.
And, apparently, he has THREE hearts.

Yes.

Brought to life at Build-A-Bear, he is part monkey, part lion, part sea animal, and,
     apparently, part super hero. 

Why should this surprise me?

It shouldn't.

It doesn't.  

This is my Haley.

My daughter, whom I have known since the very first day she was born.


My daughter, who marches to her own beat and stays true to who she is.

My daughter, who, at one time, had not one, but TWO imaginary friends,
     Thumbelina and Dumbelina,
and, she would get quite cross with me if I confused them. 

Well, last week, I dropped my daughter and Fish off at college.

I hope Fish takes good care of her.

But, then, there is so much of Haley in him.

So . . . . . .

     I think they are going to be okay.  

 

Blueberry Cobbler and Jazz on a Hot, Summer Night

Last night, my son, my partner, and I decided to go for one of those spontaneous
      "because it is summertime" drives.   
We landed in one of my favorite neighborhoods, Del Ray, where we paid a visit to
     The Dairy Godmother for some chocolate frozen custard, a sour cherry sundae,
and blueberry cobbler, a la mode.

DG was hopping.

We took our treats outside, enjoying them one spoonful at a time,
   as we walked along the sidewalk that borders the town shops, restaurants, and houses.
We passed by our favorite Mexican eatery,
   where they serve the BEST DAMN MARGARITAS;
we passed by the music store, where the last two employees were packing it up for the night,
and, from atop a set of stairs leading to a grand, covered front porch,
a neighborhood dog barked a friendly "hello".

Making our way back to the car, I heard the sound of music -
     some old-time jazz coming from the nearby coffee shop, St. Elmo's.
As I peaked through the window, sure enough, there was a group of old-timers jamming up a storm,
and a room full of young and old . . . dancing, and swinging. and swaying.
   
Standing there, with my old-fashioned blueberry cobbler,
     I felt as if I had stepped back in time.


 http://stelmoscoffeepub.com/
 http://www.nsmjq.org/
  
  

Swimming Pool . . . Open???

The following is a series of e-mails received, over the course of a few days,
     giving updates about the local swimming pool schedule (and various incidents).



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Saturday, June 30, 2012, 4:01 p.m. 

The pool will close at 4 p.m. on Monday, July 2, because of a swim meet.  

In the meantime, a severe storm knocked out the electricity in the area, 

closing the pool on Saturday and Sunday. . . 

Sunday, July 1, 2012, 1:48 p.m.

The pool is currently closed, but NV Pools is working hard to open sometime after 6 p.m. today.  


Sunday, July 1, 2012, 5:28 p.m. 


The pool will open today at 5:30 until 8p.m.  
Tomorrow, the pool should be back to full operation.
Just a reminder that the pool will close at 4p.m. because of a swim meet.  


Monday, July 2, 2012, 9:33 a.m.

The pool will operate regular hours today.  
The swim meet scheduled for this evening has been canceled.  

Monday, July 2, 2012, 3:45 p.m.

Unfortunately, the pool will be closed immediately until 5:30 p.m.
      because someone was sick in the pool.

Monday, July 2, 2012, 4:39 p.m.


In the course of cleaning the pool after the incident today, the lifeguard found, well, poop.
     We hope to open at 7:30 p.m.  

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Summary:

A bad storm blew through on Friday night, causing a power outage.
Therefore, the pool was closed until 5:30, Sunday evening.

The previously scheduled swim meet on Monday was canceled, due to unknown reasons,
     so, whereas the pool was scheduled to close early for the meet ( 4:00 ),
it would now remain open, operating at regular business hours.

Until . . . 

someone puked in the pool.

SO, the pool closed immediately, and would reopen around 5:30 p.m.

Until . . . 

they found poop in the pool, too.    

In which case, the pool will now NOT be open until 7:30.  

As usual, always check your e-mail before coming to the pool,
     in case there are any other natural disasters, er . . . uh, I mean "changes".  

Is that YOU, Nora Ephron?

Today, I shall write. 
There have been too many signs pointing me in that direction, lately, 
and I would be a FOOL to ignore them.
                                                   

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This morning, something woke me at a very early hour.

It sounded like some sort of animal on top of the roof, just above my bed.

A bird or a squirrel, maybe . . . hopping around.

But, then, it sounded like someone was repeatedly smacking the palm of her hand
     against the aluminum siding, just outside my window.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was not the woodpecker.

The woodpecker has woken me many times before 

     with that very fast banging sound against the downspout:

Da, da, da, da;  da, da, da, da;  da da, da, da, da.  

The woodpecker used to visit frequently when the kids were little, and, 

     like a mad woman (with no sleep), I  would leap out of my bed to try to scare him away 

before he woke them.     

And, yes, I did say HIM.  

After all, only a male creature would wake a sleeping mother.     

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 "Only teenagers to wake in this house!" I said to the noise.

Not that waking THEM is any less troublesome than waking a baby.     

The noise went away, and the house was quiet.

     But, I could not get back to sleep.

My mind started to wander, and suddenly, a story . . . maybe a possible screenplay . . .
      began to unravel in my mind.  


I reached over for my laptop.

Before I began to type, I checked my e-mail and my Facebook.   

I have to get that out of the way before I can let my creative juices flow,
     and sometimes, something said or seen on Facebook can inspire me.


That's when I was reminded of the news that I had heard, late last night -
              the very last thing that I remember, before I fell asleep:

Author and screenwriter Nora Ephron had died.  

I was very saddened by this news, as I have always admired her, 

     as a person, and for her work, 

and truly feel that she is irreplaceable.  

It makes me sad to realize there will be no more Nora Ephron movies.   

And then, a crazy thought came to my head.

Maybe that was Nora Ephron . . . banging on my house, 

              telling me to "get off my ass, and get back to writing"!

Okay . . . . . . that gave me goosebumps. 

Then, just as I began typing, my battery went out.  

The electrical cord was downstairs.

Is the Universe challenging me???

It was still early - before 6:30, and I could have easily given up, and tried to go back to sleep.

But, I went downstairs to get the cord, brought it back upstairs, and began to write.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A week ago, I saw the movie, "Love, Peace & Misunderstanding".  

There is a scene where Jane Fonda's character says to her inspiring poet granddaughter, 

     "You need a muse." 

And, in that moment, I said to myself, "I need a muse". 

A few days ago, I posted on Facebook about all of the weird dreams that I had been having.

"Friends" told me to write about them.   

While I felt the dreams were too creepy to write about, 

     the message "to write" rang loud and clear. 

My inner voice said, "It has been too long. Get back to what you love."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Do I really believe that was Nora Ephron banging on my house?

Who knows?

A very cool thought, one must admit.

 

A friend of mine recently wrote on Facebook,

    "That's why you are a writer. Insight is the by product of lingering upon ideas".

(Thank you, Rick!)

So, whether it was Nora Ephron, my inner goddess, or something else . . . 

      the important thing is that, for whatever reason, I rose out of bed early this morning, 

and got back to something that I love to do - 

to write.  

Nora Ephron, you will be missed.  

 

Something Small

Sometimes,
     my days and nights pass
without being able to write a single word.

I breathe in,
     I breathe out,

But . . .

I can't write.

Until,
     one day,
I just write about . . . something.

Something meaningless,
     something small.  

A few words
     on a few lines,
taking up space
     on a small page.

And,
     a funny thing happens.

A bottle of salsa turns into a story.

A small story, but a STORY.   

     Giving it breath,
giving it life,
     giving it wings . . .

And,
     even the smallest of wings

                                           can fly.      

 

Bottle of Salsa

Pork and lettuce; 

                            sour cream.

Red and yellow peppers; 

                                   one green lime.  

Tortillas, shredded cheese; 

                                       cilantro, red wine.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Carnitas for dinner?"asked the cashier.

     "You bet!" was my response.  

     "I'm betting you already have salsa," she said.   

     I smiled and replied, "You read my mind.

           My bottle of salsa is waiting at home."     

She smiled, and said, 

"Sounds perfect."  

    And, it was.