I'm sure I'll find yet another bag of snacks under the sofa, but for the moment, here is the list of goodies Mom left behind:
Mustard Pretzel Mix
Pop 'ems powdered donuts
Kettle Cooked Potato Chips
Malted Milk Balls
Hawaiian Style Potato Chips
Chocolate Chip Cookies (home made)
Peanut M&M's
Goldfish
I'll be a hit with the crew at work tomorrow when I dump all this on the lunch room table. They're not getting the Kettle Corn though; that's all mine!
The people-watching at Summerfest was fascinating, sometimes it was also center stage. We were off in a shady secluded corner so the baby could nurse (dappled sunlight, wholesome families) when a woman stumbled over and threw up–big, classic liquid vomit arch. How she remained standing on those hight heel sandals, I don't know. Well, actually, the standing didn't last long. She then passed out in her friends lap. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.
The faithful friend dutifully rubbed the "sick" lady's (remember the presence of children) back, supported her floppy head, and was rather stoic in the face of stares and whispered giggles. With a straight back, she took her free arm, reached over the tanned backside of buddy into a tiny purse, pulled out a lip gloss and applied. 'Atta girl!
Despite the restrictive pinch of the Bible belt, the repetitive nature of rows of corn, and the vast distances traveled to obtain fresh produce; I enjoyed my visit to Nebraska.
Smarties in the kitchen drawer, a stray cat in the sawdust of the wood shop, the card playing buddies with lollies in their front shirt pockets, the rose water aunties and main street one-finger steering wheel waves…Edgar is brimming with childhood memories. Before Starbucks and credit card debt, doc martins and divorce, eating disorders and vitamin D deficiencies.
I roll my eyes and make the usual jokes about Jesus and overalls and pick up trucks. But I wouldn't tease if I didn't love. That little town is dying. One of my great-great aunts arrived there by covered wagon with her parents. I said "..I understand the coming, it's the staying I don't get…". It got a laugh, as intended. But as the fields turned to strip malls and parking lots on the way to the airport, I understood a little about the staying.
A few of my favorite gems from the family gathering last week in Edgar, Nebraska:
"But she's so pretty! I just can't imagine why she's still single" (Yes, I was standing right there).
"So are you bunking with Stella since you're single?" (Stella is my 5 year old niece).
"You seem really comfortable with who you are. You know, you seem ok with it". (That started out good…)
Replies to the "No" after "Do you have kids?" and/or "Are you married?":
-"Don't worry, Jesus must have other plans for you".
-Silence. More silence.
-"But you're so pretty!" (Well, if I'm pretty enough to be married, but not, I must be a total bitch.)
-Pained look, then silence.
-"That's ok". (I hope so–what, is someone rounding up the childless for an internment camp? Are there cocktails?)
The Jetta has been serving me nicely, and has been much more pleasant to live in since I began making small improvements–updating the tape deck, installing bluetooth, new tires, installing headrests, removing the 14lbs of dog hair, etc.
But yesterday, it rebelled against all the gentrification. I went into a shop with a fine, clear windshield. Came back out from the shop to a big-ass crack right up the middle.
He's so frickin' funny, he works like a dog and says it like it is.
The older we get, the more I get to know him, the more I regret not being around more when he was younger. I imagine he had a particularly rough time of it, all alone really when the shit storm hit.
It's strange and wonderful to see all of us on the other side, hopeful and communicating and enjoying each other when we can, usually in Dad's barn. There's nothing like a manure pile to bring family together.
Ever have one of those days when you make mistake after mistake, perhaps beginning with oj in your coffee? And ending with losing a big-bucks business deal?
I'm having one of those years. I'm swimming in a brand new pond, and though it's been precisely a year and I should feel moderately capable, I'm feeling totally incompetent and worst of all…..like an island in a bay of very busy, very successful know-it-all dolphins.
More proof of my ineptitiude? I just misspelled 'incompetent' three different ways and had to google-check it. Did I just misspell ineptitude?
Sometimes the year's motto doesn't make itself known until well into the year….but when it comes, it comes. This year: "Opposite George".
Gotta love eBay! I found replacement headrests for the Jetta's back seat for 20 bucks! I'm not sure I even want to know why two of the three rear headrests were missing in the first place.
But between the serious cleaning, the new antenna and the new headrests, it's looking a lot less ghetto. Next up: doing something about the torn upholstery.
How I'd like to see that goddamn Folger's ad go:
"Really honey, you want to get married this soon? Are you sure? Why don't you get out there and get a job first, and your own place, or at least start paying rent here. Here, have a cup of coffee and think it over…"
