I'm Hot

Yesterday the Man and the Girl went to a nursery and bought some plants. Now we have a garden. We have 9 tomatoes, 2 cantaloupes, 2 watermelons, 10 strawberries, 4 red potatoes, and 4 brown potatoes. The potatoes weren't store bought. Well, technically they were, but really they're just some potatoes that were laying around the kitchen long enough to start sprouting.

They also bought some impatiens, about a dozen, but they didn't get planted yet. Maybe later today after the sun goes down we'll plant them. It just got too hot. Too hot for me at least. Lately, if I get too hot I break out in a rash. I just noticed it when I got out of a nice hot soak bath and was covered in red polka dots. By the time the Girl and I had the vegetables planted I had dots all over my arms and neck, so I'll have to put off the flowers. I was going to put them in the front flower bed, but I think I'll put them over Buddy's grave instead. A couple of days ago it must have been arbor day because they gave everybody at work dogwood trees, and that's where I decided to put mine. I didn't really want a dogwood there. I mean, a dogwood tree over a dog's grave just seems too cutesy, but it was free and I couldn't think of any better place to put it.

I was thinking about getting a mulberry tree for Buddy's grave, but I didn't think the Man would appreciate the big mess. I just love mulberries. They are nummy fresh or made into jelly. I like them better than strawberries. When I was real little there was a huge mulberry tree in our yard and I remember how much fun it was to climb all over it stuffing my face with fruit, but I also remember how much of a mess it made, how our hands and feet looked like they were severely bruised.

I have to admit something though. I always thought mulberry colored bird shit was pretty.

Excuse Me?

I had a couple of weird calls today. First, somebody called and asked for Coffinwood Something or Other. At least that's what I heard. They wanted Cottonwood Whatever. I was looking for some sort of funeral home or something, but I think it was a restaurant. Then right after that someone called in and wanted the Johnson Kill Center. WTF? It was the Johnson Care Center.

Now We're Bumming

The Man got some bad news the other day. The man that works on our car, or I should say worked, is currently making license plates for the state somewhere. He got busted with some form of illegal drugs but I'm not sure about the what he had. He's going to be gone for an extended vacation, I think 15 to 20 years. Sucks to be him, but now we have to find a new mechanic. Of course, I know he has it a lot worse than us, but the Man is really unhappy. That's one of the down sides to living in a small town. There aren't many choices.

Sassafras, Part 90

Joan

I stumbled outside and got in Rusty’s truck. It felt strange compared to Jenny's car. This was a huge SUV, black and silver with leather seats and everything but a coffee maker. For all I knew there was one in the glove box. I drove back to the empty house as quickly as I could. I hoped Billy was still there. I told him to stay there after I left, but if I didn't come back by 7 to go to the Kennedy's and call the state police. When I got there I pulled up and ran to the front door. Billy didn't answer the door right away, and I started thinking maybe he already left. Finally he opened the door.

"What happened, Aunt Jo?" he asked when he saw my face.

I ran inside and grabbed my purse and my coat. "Come on, Billy, we've got to go.”

We got in the truck and he looked around. "Who’s is this?"

I just shrugged. I couldn't stop thinking about Rick, wondering if he had already called the hospital or not. I hoped he was okay. I didn't know what I would do if he didn't make it.

"Aunt Jo, what happened?"

"The cops caught me right before I got to the pay phone. They wanted me to tell them where you were, but I wouldn't tell them. I wouldn't have been able to get away if Rick hadn't showed up."

"Where is he?"

"One of the cops shot him.”

"Is he okay?"

"I don’t know. He made me leave before he would call the hospital. I hope he's okay."

"Where did he get shot?"

I touched Billy on the left side, right under his ribs.

"Is he okay?"

"Look, Billy, I don't know!" I would have given anything to know he was okay. While I was at a stop sign I tried to figure out how to turn the wipers on but just kept turning the lights on and off. “Damn it!” I shouted and hit the steering wheel in frustration. "I'm sorry. I don't know if he's going to be okay or not. He looked really bad when I left."

I started driving and we were both silent for a while.

“So, where are we going?”

“We’re going to a friend's house. We need to borrow her car.”

"Then what?"

"I don't know. Rick said to get out of town and not stop until we were out of Missouri, but I don't know where we're going yet." I didn't want to get on the highway because that's where they would be looking for us. I decided to hit the back roads. When I was in school Jenny and our friends would drive all over the gravel roads. I knew a lot of shortcuts. When we got close to the subdivision Deana said she lived in I called the operator and got her number.

"Joan! Where have you been! I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon.”

"What's your address, Deana?"

"What? 160 Cindy Lane."

"Oh, okay, I see Cindy Lane. We'll be there in just a second."

“Joan...” she started but I just hung up.

Oh Good Gracious!

I can't believe I let the chance to patent this little jewel slip through my fingers when Little Dog humped her teddy bears ragged. I'm actually speechless.

New Trend

I'm starting a new trend. Everybody, back me up on this. I'm calling it the crazy homeless person look. So far, I'm just letting my fingernail polish chip off on it's own. Instead of acting like it's the end of the world when I get a chip, I like to think of it as the beginning of the unique decomposition of my manicure. I'm thinking of going one step farther and putting a contrasting coat over the first one and watching the show really begin. I could get a whole kaleidoscope of colors. One thing I'm putting my foot down, or maybe it should be my finger down, on is all the fingers have to match. No alternating colors, or every nail a different color. I have my standards.

Unfortunately, Yes

Sometimes, I wonder if anybody ever reads this but me. Not that it really matters much either way. I don't think I would write better or more often if thousands of people were hanging on my every word. Usually, what I wonder is if anybody that I know reads this. I found out The Girl and The Man both read it. They don't hang on my every word, but at least they get around to it.

They're both mad at me for reading at work. The Girl told me I'm grounded until I quit reading. The Man just ordered me to quit reading. I tried. Oh, how I tried. I decided to take breaks between bits of reading. I would read for 5 minutes and then not read for 5 minutes. It didn't work too well. I kept forgetting if it was time to read or not, so I would go ahead and read. It worked better for me Friday because we were pretty busy and I really didn't have time to read. That's saying a lot coming from me. I barely read 70 pages.

One problem was the book I was reading. It was about a woman who just happened to be one of 7 sisters who are all witches. Things like that are common in romance writing. That way you can make a really good setting and recycle it over and over for each person in the series. The problem with this one was it introduced all 7 sisters right at the beginning and I had to try to keep them all strait, plus I wasn't sure which one of them was supposed to be the main character for that particular book. Then when they started doing hokey things like make hot tea with their mind and then have cups of it fly out of the kitchen, followed by cookies. Well that was just ridiculous.

If I was going to write about a group of witches, I would write about normal witches. People with normal problems and talents using spells and rituals in a more realistic manner, with more realistic results. Making mistakes and having to search for ingredients, nothing exploding or levitating, having to get along with the 'new witch' or deal with family disapproval. Not saving the world from nameless evil, or carrying on a family tradition that stretches all the way back to some tiny Irish village or secret gypsy bloodline. I mean, I know it's fiction, but really, floating teacups?

New Mascot

After dinner tonight we were sitting around congratulating The Girl for graduating from high school. Now she doesn't have to put up with the all the bull-shit and politics at school. I told her now she could go to the games and do anything she wanted. Well, except smoke. She could stir up all the shit she wanted. Then I had a brainstorm.

Start a petition to change the school mascot. The Winfield Warriors offends the Native American community. Winfield is small enough that would be like spitting on the flag. It would drive everybody completely nuts. They would think we were crazy or just plain evil. Then I tried to come up with what the new name would be. At first I thought about all the dead deer on the side of the road. Maybe they could be the Winfield Stags, and the women's teams could all be the Does. Then it hit me.

The Winfield Beavers.

After all, Winfield is a river town. There are actually beavers here, not like The Girl's previous school, the Fort Zumwalt Jaguars. I don't think there have ever been jaguars in the St. Charles area. Bobcats, yes, jaguars, no. Aren't they from South America?

And don't you just love thinking about being the announcer at a game? Calling all those jocks a bunch of beavers would just be too sweet. Look at that Beaver go. Plus, I'm sure there are plenty of ways to torture the cheerleaders. Give me a B, give me an E...

In A Glass House

The other day there was a group of people working near me, but they weren't working. They were just standing around yip-yapping. I was getting irritated at them because I was trying to work and all I could hear was them talking. I thought about telling them to shut up, or complaining to somebody up at the desk, but I didn't want to be a bitch about it. For one major reason.

I cheat at work every day. All day long. Constantly. I try to stop, but I just can't.

How do I cheat? I read while I work. I can read an average romance in a day and a half to two days. That damn Wuthering Heights took about three or four. I think I average about 200 pages a day. That's while I'm taking calls and during my breaks. I don't just sit there with a book in my hand all day or anything, but I can read fast. You would be surprised how quick a sentence here and a sentence there add up to a page, then a chapter.

I didn't want to be a bitch about it because I'm sure out of all the people that were irritating me at least a couple have noticed me reading. They could get me in trouble for reading in retaliation if they wanted to. I decided I'd rather have to listen to them talking and read than have it quiet and get in trouble myself.