I do so wish I could claim that I devised the following bits of tongue-in-cheek-iness, but, alas, I cannot.
That credit goes to Matt Jones, creator of the weekly crossword puzzle in Connect Savannah.
This particular puzzle was titled "That's the Thinga" - Gotta it?
The puzzle appeared in the issue for 10-17 July. I didn't even pick up a copy of that one until late last night, while waiting for the peace Guy to wrap up his farewells. For whatever reason, Club One had three different issues of that entertainment paper on display.
But I digress.
As I am wont to do.
At times.
(smile)
Just a little earlier today, I was working the puzzle. I like to do those on Sundays, I don't really know why.
I just do.
And I found myself trying to rush through it, just to solve the puns!
Hahaha! Haha!
Now, time to share them with you!
(Remember to read aloud for maximum enjoyment!)
A creature that fire roasts its own pies is Pizza Dragon.
The end of a deep sleep is coma over.
The Dalai Lama is a Lhasa leader.
Jabba interviews are talks that may ask "What's it like having a palace on Tatooine?"
Xhalanque, for instance, is Maya word.
(Yeah, I had to get help for that one about the Mayan Hero Twins.)
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Friday, July 26, 2013
insider information
"Dinner! Here, dinner!"
When I wrote that particular line in February, I should have added a sidebar for its origin. You see, that line - or its kin, "Supper! Here, supper! - has been part of my repertoire for many years. In fact, so much time has elapsed since it first came into being that I cannot recall even an approximation of its birth.
At this point in the game, it simply is.
My ex and I coined it and used it frequently.
Neither of us wanting to cook? "The Line" to the rescue! Out we would go in search of meals prepared by others.
Hungry and can't wait for food to be cooked? "The Line" would point us in the direction of the closest Mexican restaurant (where they feed you chips and salsa NOW) or Chinese buffet (where they allow you immediate access to ready and waiting food).
The food is on the stove and almost done? "The Line" would be trotted out to indicate that something sure was smelling good around here! How much longer until it was done?
The peace Guy and I have our own little insider joke.
We're the "dessert first" people.
Back a while ago, he and I had gone to Fiddler's Seafood with a Valpak coupon. I can't recall the specifics of the coupon, but I think it was a buy-one-entree, get-a-discount-on-another type of deal.
That evening, they were featuring peach cobbler.
Nice! Next to bread pudding, that's my dessert of choice!
One problem: it was served a la mode.
So a lactase would have to be sacrificed... or would it?
Heck no! I could get the ice cream on the side and give it to the peace Guy! Right?
Yeah! Sounded good to him!
Oh, and could we go ahead and start with dessert, instead of getting a more traditional appetizer?
Um, sure, the waiter said. We can do that.
Coolness!
And so it was done.
We had our dessert first, him eating the ice cream, me sharing some of the cobbler with him. And it was good: the food, the company, and life itself.
Later that evening, the peace Guy was at one of the hot spots on River Street with a friend who has some resemblance to me. Suddenly he hears "Hey, there are the dessert first people!" And it's the waiter from Fiddler's!
He had recognized the peace Guy, of course.
Coolness!
And so was born that tale, a tale which resurfaces from time to time, as it did today.
The peace Guy shared it at a going-away luncheon at a restaurant new to both of us. Three friends had joined us there and, as I was perusing the dessert listings, he regaled them with the tale.
Very nice!
I'm so glad we have that special shared memory!
It's so very important to have people who know me.
When I wrote that particular line in February, I should have added a sidebar for its origin. You see, that line - or its kin, "Supper! Here, supper! - has been part of my repertoire for many years. In fact, so much time has elapsed since it first came into being that I cannot recall even an approximation of its birth.
At this point in the game, it simply is.
My ex and I coined it and used it frequently.
Neither of us wanting to cook? "The Line" to the rescue! Out we would go in search of meals prepared by others.
Hungry and can't wait for food to be cooked? "The Line" would point us in the direction of the closest Mexican restaurant (where they feed you chips and salsa NOW) or Chinese buffet (where they allow you immediate access to ready and waiting food).
The food is on the stove and almost done? "The Line" would be trotted out to indicate that something sure was smelling good around here! How much longer until it was done?
The peace Guy and I have our own little insider joke.
We're the "dessert first" people.
Back a while ago, he and I had gone to Fiddler's Seafood with a Valpak coupon. I can't recall the specifics of the coupon, but I think it was a buy-one-entree, get-a-discount-on-another type of deal.
That evening, they were featuring peach cobbler.
Nice! Next to bread pudding, that's my dessert of choice!
One problem: it was served a la mode.
So a lactase would have to be sacrificed... or would it?
Heck no! I could get the ice cream on the side and give it to the peace Guy! Right?
Yeah! Sounded good to him!
Oh, and could we go ahead and start with dessert, instead of getting a more traditional appetizer?
Um, sure, the waiter said. We can do that.
Coolness!
And so it was done.
We had our dessert first, him eating the ice cream, me sharing some of the cobbler with him. And it was good: the food, the company, and life itself.
Later that evening, the peace Guy was at one of the hot spots on River Street with a friend who has some resemblance to me. Suddenly he hears "Hey, there are the dessert first people!" And it's the waiter from Fiddler's!
He had recognized the peace Guy, of course.
Coolness!
And so was born that tale, a tale which resurfaces from time to time, as it did today.
The peace Guy shared it at a going-away luncheon at a restaurant new to both of us. Three friends had joined us there and, as I was perusing the dessert listings, he regaled them with the tale.
Very nice!
I'm so glad we have that special shared memory!
It's so very important to have people who know me.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
you just might find you get what you need
Not necessarily so, you know.
That doesn't negate the result, though.
This gift from a loving student is a perfect example. She had been to my office several times over the past two years and knew I fancied mortar and pestle sets. I wouldn't say I collect them, but I certainly like the two I had displayed on a top shelf.
This past spring, she was taking a pottery class. She had spoken of it several times to me, so I was aware she was working with clay, making some items for family and friends.
She had asked me about my favorite colors and I had responded, as I often do, with "hot pink and dark purple." Why? Well, it goes back to commercials with the furry Pepto-Bismol monster, but I may well be the only person who recals that creature.
She made that mental note of my colors and said no more about it.
Fast-forward to the end of the semester. Final exams are done and my grades are in.
She comes to my office with this mortar and pestle. Made just for me.
She had painted the mortar a lush dark purple, the pestle a hot and loud pink.
Then she had placed the items in the kiln and the colors had transformed.
The results were not what she had envisioned for me, but she knew I would be appreciative of her efforts.
She knew I would value it because she had put a part of herself into this gift for me.
She knew how sentimental I am.
Thank you, LaNesa.
I'm going to miss you.
I do hope you will still come by to visit, wherever my new space may be.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
ATL-bound, man
Every time I leave
You say you won't be there.
And you're always there.
Every time I cry your name at night,
you pull close and say it's alright.
I look in your eyes, just like the rain.
Washing me, rain wash over me.
Touching your face, I feel the heat
of your heartbeat echo in my head like a scream.
What you do to me!
Waited so long I can't wait another day without you.
Jet City Woman.
It's a long way, home to my
Jet City Woman.
I see her face everywhere, can't get her out of my mind.
Whenever I'm alone I'm thinking,
there's a part missing from my life.
Wonder where I'd be without your love
holding me together now I'm
watching the time tick, tick away.
Face grows longer every day.
Fortunes are lost on the women I've seen
but without you I can't breathe.
You're the air to me!
Waited so long, I'm all alone thinking about you.
Jet City Woman.
Got to find my way home to her.
Jet City Woman.
I see her face everywhere I look!
Jet City Woman.
Just a thousand miles and I'll be there
Jet City Woman, to make the clouds go away.
Time for some blue sky!
Waited so long now the plane's delayed
and hour, reminds me of all our days apart.
Hold on, just a little longer.
Jet City Woman.
Wonder where I'd be, you're the air to me.
Jet City Woman.
Eyes like the rain, rain down on me
Jet City, Woman.
No more nights alone I'm almost home now.
Jet City Woman.
Close my eyes, I'm there in my Jet City.
--- written by Chris DeGarmo and Geoff Tate of Queensryche
I sang this at karaoke tonight. I and the peace Guy didn't actually make it home until the place closed, so the time is not quite true on this post, but that's okay.
We had both been at a going-away party for him earlier today. The party was a wonderful gathering of friends at a lovely condo overlooking the Bull River. Spectacular view! Excellent food! Lively conversation!
We even had a nice long dip in the saltwater pool to round out the evening, followed with more conversation and the opening of gifts and the reading of jokes on popsicle sticks.
It was quite a bittersweet time for both of us. Sweet to be with others who know and love him. So very sad that he is having to go away for his job.
We hardly got home before he was wanting to go for a nightcap.
I was ahead of him on that one, so he drove to the karaoke joint where The Lady sometimes struts her stuff.
I sang this song tonight. I needed to loose some intensity and "Jet City Woman" seemed entirely appropriate.
After all, he's moving to jet city.
I am so going to miss him.
You say you won't be there.
And you're always there.
Every time I cry your name at night,
you pull close and say it's alright.
I look in your eyes, just like the rain.
Washing me, rain wash over me.
Touching your face, I feel the heat
of your heartbeat echo in my head like a scream.
What you do to me!
Waited so long I can't wait another day without you.
Jet City Woman.
It's a long way, home to my
Jet City Woman.
I see her face everywhere, can't get her out of my mind.
Whenever I'm alone I'm thinking,
there's a part missing from my life.
Wonder where I'd be without your love
holding me together now I'm
watching the time tick, tick away.
Face grows longer every day.
Fortunes are lost on the women I've seen
but without you I can't breathe.
You're the air to me!
Waited so long, I'm all alone thinking about you.
Jet City Woman.
Got to find my way home to her.
Jet City Woman.
I see her face everywhere I look!
Jet City Woman.
Just a thousand miles and I'll be there
Jet City Woman, to make the clouds go away.
Time for some blue sky!
Waited so long now the plane's delayed
and hour, reminds me of all our days apart.
Hold on, just a little longer.
Jet City Woman.
Wonder where I'd be, you're the air to me.
Jet City Woman.
Eyes like the rain, rain down on me
Jet City, Woman.
No more nights alone I'm almost home now.
Jet City Woman.
Close my eyes, I'm there in my Jet City.
--- written by Chris DeGarmo and Geoff Tate of Queensryche
I sang this at karaoke tonight. I and the peace Guy didn't actually make it home until the place closed, so the time is not quite true on this post, but that's okay.
We had both been at a going-away party for him earlier today. The party was a wonderful gathering of friends at a lovely condo overlooking the Bull River. Spectacular view! Excellent food! Lively conversation!
We even had a nice long dip in the saltwater pool to round out the evening, followed with more conversation and the opening of gifts and the reading of jokes on popsicle sticks.
It was quite a bittersweet time for both of us. Sweet to be with others who know and love him. So very sad that he is having to go away for his job.
We hardly got home before he was wanting to go for a nightcap.
I was ahead of him on that one, so he drove to the karaoke joint where The Lady sometimes struts her stuff.
I sang this song tonight. I needed to loose some intensity and "Jet City Woman" seemed entirely appropriate.
After all, he's moving to jet city.
I am so going to miss him.
Friday, July 19, 2013
a few of my favorite things
The pinwheel is from Jekyll Island and has already received its fair share of space on my beach.
The view is from my office window. Oops, let me rephrase that! From my former office window. I guess I'll be holding office hours in the department's conference room this semester. Oh, well, that's not how I would have planned it, but that is how it's going to be.
The lower printout on the cabinet door is of the animated character created for the chemical element, Tungsten. The chemical symbol is derived from the name of the source of the element, a mineral known as Wolfram. That, alone, makes it one of my favorite elements. Wolfram. Nice!
The other printout is the schedule at the Fine Arts center on campus. Gotta get your cultural fix, you know? Balance is one of the keys to life. Work hard, play hard, rest hard.
Balance.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
lookin' at my Gucci it's about that time
Dearest Mama,
I think the time has come to release the car.
Wait, let me be more specific. It's time to release the 2nd car your death helped me to buy. True, that first one, the Elantra from the auction yard, wasn't in my possession for very long before it went away. What a terrible decision that purchase had been! But, in my defense, you had only recently died and I truly was not sane.
Not saying I am now sane, but I'm a lot closer to that state. Mostly. Especially if you disregard my writing letters to dead people. (smile)
No blame towards my husband; bless his heart, he was trying to go along with anything I wanted, anything, if it would only make me less sad. And at the time, I wanted that green car.
So, I'm not talking about that vehicle, bought to replace my 18-year-old Subaru which I had driven for thirteen years at the time. Hmmm...that means I drove that Subaru through its terrible teens! Maybe that's why it told me one day, "Get OUT! We're DONE!" The car was all grown-up and wanted me to set it free!
Nah, I don't think that was it. The reason I had to release the Subaru was the screwdriver-in-the-carburetor trick simply wasn't working anymore and no one around this neck of the woods seemed to know how to successfully repair Surefoot's carburetor.
Anywho. On the 16th of May of 2001, Jeff and I had both been forced to buy replacement cars for our aging, no longer working models. There we were, at the Saturn dealership, chosen for four reasons. First: his mom, as a retired GM employee, could get us a discount on new vehicles. Very good! Second: Saturn had great pricing going on, with 0.9% as the finance rate. Definitely a plus! Third: we had decided to buy American-made vehicles. Saturn was made right around the corner, practically, in Tennessee. So, that was good, our money would be directly benefiting other citizens of the USA. Fourth, and not necessarily last in our considerations, Jeff knew the man in charge there, Virgil, and had high regard for him and the product. Fine by me.
And it was a very good car-buying experience! I told them I wanted a stick-shift sedan, with roll-down windows and keyed locks. I had expected them to not have any such vehicle in this world of automatics and power-everthing... but they did! And it was this gorgeous "Blue Metallic" color! Excellent!
Jeff came within the hour and found the car of his dreams, the SC3 coupe with the sunroof and the trick door. And, wonder of wonders, it, too, was Blue Metallic and manual transmission! We hadn't planned to having matching cars, but now we did, at least in color. Cool beans! Our very first new cars, ever, and they were the same color!
As you know, that was very short-lived. We drove off the lot around 10 PM on a Wednesday night; by 9 AM on Friday morning, his car was totaled by a late-shift worker driving while sleeping. If Jeff had been driving his old car, with no airbags, he would have been dead. So, thank you to you and all of the angels for that good fortune. Jeff was able to walk away from the wreck with no injuries. What a miracle!
His second brand-new car was not blue, but was still an SC3, so that was all to the good. It had been a little odd to have two blue cars of the same hue.
That was then. Now, he no longer has that car and I've been considering getting a newer model ever since last August, when the gearshift lever had the broken bushing and wouldn't shift. When the physicist and I were returning from o-HI-o and ended up stranded in Macon, Georgia. Which, as it turned out, wasn't so bad since my nephew was able to take us in for the night and had an unexpectedly free Sunday morning (the flooring job had been postponed by the owner) to ferry us to the airport to rent a car. Hmmm. Maybe you and the angels helped arrange for him to be home that night and available the next day? I am, as always, ever so grateful.
Even then, the key was having difficulties with the ignition. Again. Sometimes, it turned easily; other times, not so much. You would have to hold your mouth just right. (smile)
I knew it was having problems, but I went up to Pennsylvania anyway. Melaness had waited all year for me to come and I had promised I would. So, I did, right after the 4th of July. Celebrating my independence, you know. (smile)
That was all fine and good! The car sat in the driveway for almost all of the four days I was there. Then, on the Tuesday, off I went to Virginia, to visit family and friends for a few days. Still, no real problems, but a bit more dicey to turn that key in the ignition. I made it to Historic Powhatan, near Williamsburg, and got checked in and unpacked. I even went to the grocery store that night without mishap.
Wednesday morning, I could not turn the car on. The key would not budge. At all.
Bummer.
Not to fret, though. Tuesday's drive, and the odd visit with the former Marine in Fredericksburg, had been a bit wearing on me, so it was nice to have been forced to take a day off. Amazingly, the resort even had activities I participated in (a Colonial dance party on the front lawn, followed by a live band by the pool) AND provided me with a half-priced dinner, in the form of happy-hour specials at the onsite bar and grill. A platter of chicken tenders, served with mayonnaise, and a platter of yummy, garlicky fries! Good!
The next morning, the key worked like a charm and off I went to the Mariners' Museum for several hours. "Abandon Ship!" was full of life-saving tips and sad tales. "The War of 1812," done in comic-relief style with pop culture references, informed and entertained. "Fragile Waters," with black-and-white documentation of waterways in the western United States, of the ocean, and in the New England states by Adams, Brooks, and Monnelly. What a fabulous way to spend time!
I then left for my visit with Cousin Michelle and her family and Auntie and Uncle in Yorktown. I had a wonderful time with the girls, playing "Mario" something on the wii, then catching up with the grown-ups. I even ate two slices of Domino's pizza - and three lactase pills! - and thoroughly enjoyed it! At the end of the evening, I got back in the car and, thankfully, the key turned with no problem. Yeah!
The next morning, exactly one week after my departure from Savannah, I was on the road for points south. I was careful to walk from my unit to registration to check out, not wanting to chance burning up too many starts with my key. Even when Australian Nuvi led me to the Jamestown-Scotland Ferry, I was careful to not turn the key all the way off, for fear of being stuck on the ferry.
When I was South of the Border, I stopped to feed the car, again not turning the key off. But I needed to feed me, too, and certainly could not leave my key in the ignition...right? Right. And I was almost stranded there... but the key finally turned and the engine sprang to life. Whew! I successfully, and safely, arrived home, unpacked the car, and headed to a local noodle place with the peace Guy for dinner. And we almost got stranded there. I couldn't turn the key. He reached over and it turned and home we went.
That was it, too. No more turning by that key. Certainly no more turning by the old key.
For a few days, that was fine. There was plenty to do around the house and the housemate has been very generous with taking me to the grocery store or out to karaoke.
Still, after a few days of waiting, waiting, waiting for the GM computer with the key codes to return online, I was starting to get antsy. My sense of independence was definitely threatened.
The GM man had suggested that the key code might be on the original paperwork from buying the car. Twelve years ago. Yeah, I should still have that - probably not! So, yesterday morning, after breakfast, I dug out the car files and started plowing through them. No sales invoice for the car, but I did find the huge sticker decals that had been on my car, as well as both of Jeff's cars. Incredible, right? So, I'm showing them to the peace Guy and talking about how these were the first new cars Jeff and I had ever had. He replies that's he's 49 and has never had a new car and I say I was 43 before I did...and immediately I started falling apart. I could feel the tidal wave of emotion slam into me and drag me under, but I made it to the safety of the shower before the sobs hit full force.
There's no way I could have explained to him that the reason I was able to get a new car was because you had died.
Those words were not possible for me.
He was preoccupied with party preparations, so I considered that as a break for me. I had managed to get out of the dining room without raining on his parade, so to speak. After the shower, I dressed and left the house, saying I was going to the park to sit on a swing. He was busy with brownies for a different party, so I again escaped without having to talk, allowing me to keep a tight rein on my emotional state.
I don't know why I thought the park would be deserted, as many kids as there are in this neighborhood. I didn't even see them at first, under the shelter of the picnic area. Then, the sprays of water at the basketball court caught my gaze and held it.
Water.
Not saltwater, but, still, water.
My path turned toward the gently arching streams, the water glistening in the sun, the drops singing as they hit the pavement. I almost ran to get into it, ditching my shoes and phone, but rushing, fully clad, into the cool water. Such release! Then, a Bob Marley tune started playing in my head and I found myself slowly dancing into and out of and through the continuous rain of fresh water.
I found myself beginning to feel much better. Maybe, indeed, "every little thing gonna be all right." This song was a gift to me - from you? Or, now that I think about it, perhaps from Daddy? The song would certainly be more likely to be one of his favorites.
I am blessed to have y'all as angels to look after my mental health.
I am.
But I'd rather have you still as flesh and blood mortals.
Sigh. Impossible things.
So. As I was saying, I found myself relaxing and the tightly coiled knots of emotion gave way to the gentle pressure of the song and the spray and the dance. And it was all mine for at least thirty minutes.
Incredible.
When a young mother and her children did come to the basketball court shower, I was ready to be sociable again. I pointed out to the children the tiny rainbows and glittering brightness of the drops as they fell. Magical! The little girl asked me to show her how to dance in the glimmer of falling water and I encouraged her to find her own steps, maybe to a song she knew. "Row, row, row your boat" came to mind and soon we were both twirling!
After an hour of water therapy, I took my cue to leave when they did. I went home and started mowing the back yard and the housemate went to work. A little later, the GM man called to say the website was still down, but recommended I call a locksmith that made house calls. So I did. And he came, he saw, he verified what I already knew: the ignition cylinder needed to be replaced. Again.
At least it had worked for seven years this time.
I put in a call to the GM man, leaving my request on his voice mail. Might they have the part in stock? If so, or if not, would he please call me in the morning and let me know?
Then I settled in to wait for the new day, as naught else could be done.
And, after a phone call to my first niece started me crying again, I started looking at cars online. The credit union has a low auto loan rate right now and a long list of cars to finance.
A very long list.
I narrowed it down to just sedans.
Still, a very long list. I spent hours wading through, looking at just those which had manual transmissions, just those available in blues and greens and oranges, just those which had trunks.
I narrowed it down to 22.
Today, the key turned and I picked up the in-stock part and the fabulously friendly locksmith got it installed and even made two keys for me. He even showed me what was wrong on the old cylinder.
Very nice.
But it may still be time to buy another car.
So, I'll keep the list handy for a while.
Now, I'm going for a ride.
with much love always!
ykw
I think the time has come to release the car.
Wait, let me be more specific. It's time to release the 2nd car your death helped me to buy. True, that first one, the Elantra from the auction yard, wasn't in my possession for very long before it went away. What a terrible decision that purchase had been! But, in my defense, you had only recently died and I truly was not sane.
Not saying I am now sane, but I'm a lot closer to that state. Mostly. Especially if you disregard my writing letters to dead people. (smile)
No blame towards my husband; bless his heart, he was trying to go along with anything I wanted, anything, if it would only make me less sad. And at the time, I wanted that green car.
So, I'm not talking about that vehicle, bought to replace my 18-year-old Subaru which I had driven for thirteen years at the time. Hmmm...that means I drove that Subaru through its terrible teens! Maybe that's why it told me one day, "Get OUT! We're DONE!" The car was all grown-up and wanted me to set it free!
Nah, I don't think that was it. The reason I had to release the Subaru was the screwdriver-in-the-carburetor trick simply wasn't working anymore and no one around this neck of the woods seemed to know how to successfully repair Surefoot's carburetor.
Anywho. On the 16th of May of 2001, Jeff and I had both been forced to buy replacement cars for our aging, no longer working models. There we were, at the Saturn dealership, chosen for four reasons. First: his mom, as a retired GM employee, could get us a discount on new vehicles. Very good! Second: Saturn had great pricing going on, with 0.9% as the finance rate. Definitely a plus! Third: we had decided to buy American-made vehicles. Saturn was made right around the corner, practically, in Tennessee. So, that was good, our money would be directly benefiting other citizens of the USA. Fourth, and not necessarily last in our considerations, Jeff knew the man in charge there, Virgil, and had high regard for him and the product. Fine by me.
And it was a very good car-buying experience! I told them I wanted a stick-shift sedan, with roll-down windows and keyed locks. I had expected them to not have any such vehicle in this world of automatics and power-everthing... but they did! And it was this gorgeous "Blue Metallic" color! Excellent!
Jeff came within the hour and found the car of his dreams, the SC3 coupe with the sunroof and the trick door. And, wonder of wonders, it, too, was Blue Metallic and manual transmission! We hadn't planned to having matching cars, but now we did, at least in color. Cool beans! Our very first new cars, ever, and they were the same color!
As you know, that was very short-lived. We drove off the lot around 10 PM on a Wednesday night; by 9 AM on Friday morning, his car was totaled by a late-shift worker driving while sleeping. If Jeff had been driving his old car, with no airbags, he would have been dead. So, thank you to you and all of the angels for that good fortune. Jeff was able to walk away from the wreck with no injuries. What a miracle!
His second brand-new car was not blue, but was still an SC3, so that was all to the good. It had been a little odd to have two blue cars of the same hue.
That was then. Now, he no longer has that car and I've been considering getting a newer model ever since last August, when the gearshift lever had the broken bushing and wouldn't shift. When the physicist and I were returning from o-HI-o and ended up stranded in Macon, Georgia. Which, as it turned out, wasn't so bad since my nephew was able to take us in for the night and had an unexpectedly free Sunday morning (the flooring job had been postponed by the owner) to ferry us to the airport to rent a car. Hmmm. Maybe you and the angels helped arrange for him to be home that night and available the next day? I am, as always, ever so grateful.
Even then, the key was having difficulties with the ignition. Again. Sometimes, it turned easily; other times, not so much. You would have to hold your mouth just right. (smile)
I knew it was having problems, but I went up to Pennsylvania anyway. Melaness had waited all year for me to come and I had promised I would. So, I did, right after the 4th of July. Celebrating my independence, you know. (smile)
That was all fine and good! The car sat in the driveway for almost all of the four days I was there. Then, on the Tuesday, off I went to Virginia, to visit family and friends for a few days. Still, no real problems, but a bit more dicey to turn that key in the ignition. I made it to Historic Powhatan, near Williamsburg, and got checked in and unpacked. I even went to the grocery store that night without mishap.
Wednesday morning, I could not turn the car on. The key would not budge. At all.
Bummer.
Not to fret, though. Tuesday's drive, and the odd visit with the former Marine in Fredericksburg, had been a bit wearing on me, so it was nice to have been forced to take a day off. Amazingly, the resort even had activities I participated in (a Colonial dance party on the front lawn, followed by a live band by the pool) AND provided me with a half-priced dinner, in the form of happy-hour specials at the onsite bar and grill. A platter of chicken tenders, served with mayonnaise, and a platter of yummy, garlicky fries! Good!
The next morning, the key worked like a charm and off I went to the Mariners' Museum for several hours. "Abandon Ship!" was full of life-saving tips and sad tales. "The War of 1812," done in comic-relief style with pop culture references, informed and entertained. "Fragile Waters," with black-and-white documentation of waterways in the western United States, of the ocean, and in the New England states by Adams, Brooks, and Monnelly. What a fabulous way to spend time!
I then left for my visit with Cousin Michelle and her family and Auntie and Uncle in Yorktown. I had a wonderful time with the girls, playing "Mario" something on the wii, then catching up with the grown-ups. I even ate two slices of Domino's pizza - and three lactase pills! - and thoroughly enjoyed it! At the end of the evening, I got back in the car and, thankfully, the key turned with no problem. Yeah!
The next morning, exactly one week after my departure from Savannah, I was on the road for points south. I was careful to walk from my unit to registration to check out, not wanting to chance burning up too many starts with my key. Even when Australian Nuvi led me to the Jamestown-Scotland Ferry, I was careful to not turn the key all the way off, for fear of being stuck on the ferry.
When I was South of the Border, I stopped to feed the car, again not turning the key off. But I needed to feed me, too, and certainly could not leave my key in the ignition...right? Right. And I was almost stranded there... but the key finally turned and the engine sprang to life. Whew! I successfully, and safely, arrived home, unpacked the car, and headed to a local noodle place with the peace Guy for dinner. And we almost got stranded there. I couldn't turn the key. He reached over and it turned and home we went.
That was it, too. No more turning by that key. Certainly no more turning by the old key.
For a few days, that was fine. There was plenty to do around the house and the housemate has been very generous with taking me to the grocery store or out to karaoke.
Still, after a few days of waiting, waiting, waiting for the GM computer with the key codes to return online, I was starting to get antsy. My sense of independence was definitely threatened.
The GM man had suggested that the key code might be on the original paperwork from buying the car. Twelve years ago. Yeah, I should still have that - probably not! So, yesterday morning, after breakfast, I dug out the car files and started plowing through them. No sales invoice for the car, but I did find the huge sticker decals that had been on my car, as well as both of Jeff's cars. Incredible, right? So, I'm showing them to the peace Guy and talking about how these were the first new cars Jeff and I had ever had. He replies that's he's 49 and has never had a new car and I say I was 43 before I did...and immediately I started falling apart. I could feel the tidal wave of emotion slam into me and drag me under, but I made it to the safety of the shower before the sobs hit full force.
There's no way I could have explained to him that the reason I was able to get a new car was because you had died.
Those words were not possible for me.
He was preoccupied with party preparations, so I considered that as a break for me. I had managed to get out of the dining room without raining on his parade, so to speak. After the shower, I dressed and left the house, saying I was going to the park to sit on a swing. He was busy with brownies for a different party, so I again escaped without having to talk, allowing me to keep a tight rein on my emotional state.
I don't know why I thought the park would be deserted, as many kids as there are in this neighborhood. I didn't even see them at first, under the shelter of the picnic area. Then, the sprays of water at the basketball court caught my gaze and held it.
Water.
Not saltwater, but, still, water.
My path turned toward the gently arching streams, the water glistening in the sun, the drops singing as they hit the pavement. I almost ran to get into it, ditching my shoes and phone, but rushing, fully clad, into the cool water. Such release! Then, a Bob Marley tune started playing in my head and I found myself slowly dancing into and out of and through the continuous rain of fresh water.
I found myself beginning to feel much better. Maybe, indeed, "every little thing gonna be all right." This song was a gift to me - from you? Or, now that I think about it, perhaps from Daddy? The song would certainly be more likely to be one of his favorites.
I am blessed to have y'all as angels to look after my mental health.
I am.
But I'd rather have you still as flesh and blood mortals.
Sigh. Impossible things.
So. As I was saying, I found myself relaxing and the tightly coiled knots of emotion gave way to the gentle pressure of the song and the spray and the dance. And it was all mine for at least thirty minutes.
Incredible.
When a young mother and her children did come to the basketball court shower, I was ready to be sociable again. I pointed out to the children the tiny rainbows and glittering brightness of the drops as they fell. Magical! The little girl asked me to show her how to dance in the glimmer of falling water and I encouraged her to find her own steps, maybe to a song she knew. "Row, row, row your boat" came to mind and soon we were both twirling!
After an hour of water therapy, I took my cue to leave when they did. I went home and started mowing the back yard and the housemate went to work. A little later, the GM man called to say the website was still down, but recommended I call a locksmith that made house calls. So I did. And he came, he saw, he verified what I already knew: the ignition cylinder needed to be replaced. Again.
At least it had worked for seven years this time.
I put in a call to the GM man, leaving my request on his voice mail. Might they have the part in stock? If so, or if not, would he please call me in the morning and let me know?
Then I settled in to wait for the new day, as naught else could be done.
And, after a phone call to my first niece started me crying again, I started looking at cars online. The credit union has a low auto loan rate right now and a long list of cars to finance.
A very long list.
I narrowed it down to just sedans.
Still, a very long list. I spent hours wading through, looking at just those which had manual transmissions, just those available in blues and greens and oranges, just those which had trunks.
I narrowed it down to 22.
Today, the key turned and I picked up the in-stock part and the fabulously friendly locksmith got it installed and even made two keys for me. He even showed me what was wrong on the old cylinder.
Very nice.
But it may still be time to buy another car.
So, I'll keep the list handy for a while.
Now, I'm going for a ride.
with much love always!
ykw
Monday, July 15, 2013
bras, from a different perspective
A Chinese guy goes into a Jewish-owned establishment to buy black bras, size 38. The Jewish store keeper, known for his skills as a businessman, says that black bras are rare and that he is finding it very difficult to buy them from his suppliers. Therefore he has to charge $50.00 for them. The Chinese guy buys 25 pairs.
He returns a few days later and this time orders fifty.
The Jewish owner tells him that they have become even harder to get and charges him $60.00 each. The Chinese guy returns
a month later and buys the store's remaining stock of 50, and this time for $75.00 each.
The Jewish owner is somewhat puzzled by the large demand for black size 38 bras and asks the Chinese guy, "...please tell me - What do you do with all these black bras?"
The Chinese guy answers: "I cut them in half and sell them as skull caps to Jewish men for $200.00 each."
The above joke reminds me of a scene in one of my favorite movies, "How To Train Your Dragon". The father, Stoick, is welcoming his son, Hiccup, into the world of dragon slaying and presents him with a helmet, fitted with large horns to either side and an exact copy of the father's own helmet.
"Your mother would have wanted you to have it. It's half of her breastplate."
He adds, as he taps his own helmet, "matching set."
Of course, when you understand that these Vikings are fairly isolated in their island community, then recycling or repurposing of already fashioned goods is a way of life. Nothing should be discarded until it is falling apart, and even then it could be used as fuel.
Having said that, I do wish to add that there was a sentimental reason for reuse of the mother's breastplate as headgear.
"Keeps her... keeps her close, you know."
Yeah. I've always had a soft spot for teddy bear hearts in grizzly bear bodies.
He returns a few days later and this time orders fifty.
The Jewish owner tells him that they have become even harder to get and charges him $60.00 each. The Chinese guy returns
a month later and buys the store's remaining stock of 50, and this time for $75.00 each.
The Jewish owner is somewhat puzzled by the large demand for black size 38 bras and asks the Chinese guy, "...please tell me - What do you do with all these black bras?"
The Chinese guy answers: "I cut them in half and sell them as skull caps to Jewish men for $200.00 each."
The above joke reminds me of a scene in one of my favorite movies, "How To Train Your Dragon". The father, Stoick, is welcoming his son, Hiccup, into the world of dragon slaying and presents him with a helmet, fitted with large horns to either side and an exact copy of the father's own helmet.
"Your mother would have wanted you to have it. It's half of her breastplate."
He adds, as he taps his own helmet, "matching set."
Of course, when you understand that these Vikings are fairly isolated in their island community, then recycling or repurposing of already fashioned goods is a way of life. Nothing should be discarded until it is falling apart, and even then it could be used as fuel.
Having said that, I do wish to add that there was a sentimental reason for reuse of the mother's breastplate as headgear.
"Keeps her... keeps her close, you know."
Yeah. I've always had a soft spot for teddy bear hearts in grizzly bear bodies.
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