15 11, 2021

The Wandering Pickleball Paddle

By |2021-11-14T06:10:54-06:00November 15th, 2021|A Writer's Life, Writer's Life|0 Comments

Hubby-dear is a Pickleball addict. He wears his hat all the time which leads to questions.  Because he loves the game, he’s always eager to share. He’s been responsible for growing the sport every place we’ve lived.

Hubby-dear also carries paddles, nets, and balls in his car for a quick demonstration. If someone wants to learn, he offers one of the extra paddles.

During our great Texas Ice Apocalypse remodel last February, Hubby-dear invited one of the workers to join him on our local city park Pickleball courts. The young man didn’t have a paddle, so Hubby-dear lent him my Ol’ Yellow paddle from his stash.

The young man played a couple of times. He loved the game so Hubby-dear let him keep the paddle until he could get his own. He even wrote his phone number on the paddle so the man could call with questions.

Fast forward to two days ago, Hubby-dear received a text from a car dealer in Mississippi. He’d found a yellow Pickleball paddle in a car he bought at a car auction in Texas. Was it Hubby-dear’s?

After an exchange of texts and calls mostly about Pickleball (the car dealer was a Pickleball addict too), Hubby-dear gave the car dealer our address.

The paddle arrived the next day via next-day delivery!

I think I was happier than Hubby-dear. I’d played many a game using Ol’ Yellow until health issues forced me to retire. These days I watch Hubby-dear win local championships with his partner.

I may not play, but Ol’ Yellow is back in Hubby-dear’s supply basket awaiting the next new Pickleball convert. Who knows where the paddle will end up next?

If you haven’t played Pickleball, stop by your neighborhood courts and watch. And, yes there will be a court somewhere close by.

Pickleball is the fastest-growing sport in American.

11 10, 2021

An Alexander Day

By |2021-10-07T08:10:31-05:00October 11th, 2021|A Writer's Life, Writer's Life|1 Comment

It’s been an Alexander morning.

A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad start to the day where nothing’s gone as planned. I’m sure you’ve had those days too, but you may not be familiar with the term Alexander Day.

The phrase is original. The concept of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day isn’t. The idea comes from Judith Viorst’s Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

If you are not familiar with the story, you MUST read this delightful children’s book. Adults will easily relate. Click here to read more about poor Alexander’s day.

I used to read the story to my children and students. The story is a wonderful lesson in attitude adjustment.

My Alexander morning, day one of a 10-week hypoallergenic food trial to determine if an allergy to protein is causing our dog’s constant scratching and resultant bloody sores, began with pumpkin all over the floor, me, and Finnegan, and the pill disguised in the pumpkin on the floor.

I ended up cramming the medication down his throat with my fingers. A very yucky thing to have to do.

A giant mess to start my day. Like Alexander, I had to decide what to do with this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I could grump all day or can change my attitude. I’m choosing to do the latter. The rest of the day can only improve.

Tomorrow has to start better.

30 08, 2021

Poached eggs and Pliers

By |2021-08-31T07:48:07-05:00August 30th, 2021|Make Me Think Monday, Writer's Life|0 Comments

Poached eggs are a frequent treat for breakfast around here.

We could go to a nearby Mickey D’s and buy one, but homemade is so much tastier. I use only half of the English muffin and no cheese so homemade also has fewer calories.

My egg poaching pan is ancient. A wedding gift almost sixty years ago. It’s lightweight aluminum which means it heats quickly and stays hot.

I’ve never understood why the pan has three egg cups. Seems to me, four would make more sense. There are larger pans and smaller ones, but three egg cups work well for us. Two eggs for hubby-dear and one for me.

Besides my egg poacher pan, I also need pliers when I prepare our breakfast.

You see, steam from the boiling water that cooks the eggs to perfection burns my hand and the egg cups get very hot. That little tab you grip to lift the egg cups out is too small to grip barehanded.

A potholder is too large. The egg cup frequently slips from my hand and goes splat on the plate. Not a pretty presentation.

The solution, for me, is to use pliers to lift the egg cup. I can grip securely, slid the egg out, and have a picture-perfect serving.

I do get strange looks whenever anyone watches me use the pliers. Once I explain why most people admit it makes sense.

Okay, not everyone. Some still think poached eggs and pliers are a weird combination. But it works for me.

7 06, 2021

The trees came down

By |2021-06-05T11:04:53-05:00June 7th, 2021|A Writer's Life, Writer's Life|0 Comments

My writing time disappeared too. But who could resist watching tree climbers fell forty-foot leaning pines and trim dead branches from a 200-year-old oak?

Not me. Or hubby-dear who supervised from his perch on the porch.

The entire process was fascinating and very necessary with another hurricane season upon us. Dead branches and leaning pine trees don’t mix well with strong winds.

Each crew member knew his job and performed it well. The climbers.

Sometimes they crawled so far up or out I had to quit watching and close my eyes.

 

The spotters, who guided the branches and sections to the ground. One for the oak and one for the pines.

I’ve decided a tree cutter will be my hero’s occupation in my next book.

The pines came down in sections. The oak shed in chunks and branches.

 

Our yard looked like a war zone.

The giant logs were hauled away to be ground into pine mulch. The oak branches to the company owner’s burn pile.

Sunlight glows through the oak now. Piles of pine mulch are all that mark the pine trees.

We know we’ll have fewer pine needles dropping and, best of all, these branches and pines won’t fall if we have another major hurricane like Harvey come through.

Win-win…except for the writing time. =)

31 05, 2021

What will you be doing this Memorial Day?

By |2021-05-27T10:41:47-05:00May 31st, 2021|A Writer's Life, Holidays, Writer's Life|0 Comments

Today we’re celebrating Memorial Day.

I find saying “Happy Memorial Day” hard because I believe Memorial Day is a solemn holiday.

I’m not saying going to the beach or having a cookout is wrong. Not at all.

I enjoy a cookout with family and friends and celebrating what signals the start of summer same as anyone else.

I’m just sayin’, Memorial Day has become a long weekend focused on shopping, family gatherings, fireworks, trips to the beach, and national media events more than its original purpose.

A time set aside to remember and honor the men and women who gave their lives while serving this country.

Sometime during our fun, let’s pause to wave an American flag and salute our fallen heroes. That’s what our family will be doing.

24 05, 2021

Warm Weather, Clotheslines, and Me

By |2021-05-16T06:19:28-05:00May 24th, 2021|A Writer's Life, Writer's Life|1 Comment

Warm weather makes me want to dry the wash outside on the clothesline. That was my job growing up. Hang the clothes out and bring them in when they were dry. My sister’s job was to fold.

Back then, we didn’t have a clothes dryer, so everything hung on the line outside on sunny days, inside on the back porch line if it was rainy.

Mother washed every day rain or shine, so we’d always have clean clothes. We didn’t have that many.

Every spring I wash our linens and hang them out to dry. I love bringing the smell of the outdoors inside.

We have a king-size quilted bedspread. Heavy thing. Normally, I’d hauled it to a laundromat.  But we have a large capacity washer that could handle it now. No rain predicted, it’d dry when I hung it on my umbrella clothesline.

What a keystone cop comedy routine that turned into.

I had to enlist hubby-dear to help me lift the wet quilt to hang it. As soon as the last clothespin went on, the whole clothesline tilted from the weight of the wet bedspread. Then toppled over.

I grabbed the pole and pulled it upright while Hubby-dear searched for rope. He tied the rope to the nearby pine tree, wrapped it around the umbrella pole to counterbalance the quilt’s weight.

Worked like a charm. Looked kinda Beverly Hillbillies weird, though.

Lesson learned. Take the heavy stuff to a laundromat if it won’t fit in your dryer.

17 05, 2021

The Bird Mating Saga Rerun

By |2021-05-09T15:49:25-05:00May 17th, 2021|A Writer's Life, Writer's Life|1 Comment

For the last three years, spring has been such a lovely time of year with fresh sprouts popping out of the ground. Birds singing and gathering at the feeders. Our happy time before the Texas heat arrives

But not this year. The same springtime problem we had when we lived in the Rio Grande National Forest has cropped up. The birds see their reflection in glass and fly into the windows and doors thinking they’ve found their mate.

In Colorado, we wrestled the robins, who would spot their images in our windows and crash-dive into the glass. Several killed themselves.

Here in Texas, it’s the cardinals.

And let me tell you, these Texas cardinals are determined birds. They have attack-bombed both hubby-dear and me if we sit on our back porch, obstructing their path.

Having tried all the Google-suggested ways to get rid of the persistent birds when we lived in Colorado, we didn’t bother with any of these suggestions.

Fake Owl – nope, didn’t work

Shiny strips – nope, didn’t work

Pulling the blinds – nope, didn’t work

We went straight for the preventive that did work – cover the windows and doors.

We weren’t going through the constant thud as the cardinal divebombed the glass or see him knock himself crazy or worse, die.

It’s been several weeks now and we’re testing by removing the towels today.

Fingers crossed all the Cardinals have found their life mates and are now focused on building the nest.

In case you missed our 2015 battle with the robins, you can read all about our Colorado robin war here, Wrangling A Persistent Robin

26 04, 2021

Rock Concerts

By |2021-04-24T06:52:50-05:00April 26th, 2021|A Writer's Life, Writer's Life|0 Comments

I recently attended my first ‘rock’ concert recital.

My grandson teaches guitar and drums at School of Rock, which offers lessons, music camps and workshops focused on rock music. Their camps end with a live show performed by the campers. He suggested I should come to their next concert and hear his kids.

All I knew about rock music was it uses amplified instruments and has a strong bass line and driving rhythms. And it’s loud.

Piano recitals, dance, orchestra and band performances are more my forte. I figured why not?

All experiences offer gist for my writer’s mill so Chicken Wrangler Sara, hubby-dear and I went. I’m so glad I did.

I loved watching those kids play their hearts out. The students dressed like and sounded like the famous rock stars I’ve ever seen on television. Clearly, they loved what they were doing. And who knows I might have been listening to the next rock sensation.

So much fun. They even served lunch to benefit the school. Nothing better than music and hot dogs on a sunny day.

Nothing.

Reminded me of another concert I attended many moons ago. Back in the eighties, hubby-dear and I sat on a blanket on a New England hillside and listened to Harry Chapin.

Most people won’t recognize Harry Chapin who was a popular folk/rock singer and songwriter/activist of the seventies and early eighties. His songs are stories set to a blend of rock and folk music. My personal favorites are “Flowers Are Red” and “Cat’s in the Cradle.” You may remember “Taxi” or “30,000 pounds of Bananas.”

I have never forgotten that Harry Chapin concert and still love those songs. This rock concert was totally new music for me, but I won’t forget my grandson’s student rock concert either.

In fact, I can’t wait for the next one.

19 04, 2021

Look Who Came to Visit

By |2021-04-14T15:48:47-05:00April 19th, 2021|A Writer's Life, Writer's Life|4 Comments

Living in a certified habitat for wildlife house means regular interruptions to my writing to check out what’s in the backyard.

Recently Jack and Jill trotted across our backyard and up our fence. No joeys with them, but I suspect they were out prowling for baby food. Of course I had to go see.

Their tails were hairless so not possums with only a p, but opossums. That’s how you tell the difference between the North American marsupial species.

Before you rush to tell me how ugly the critters are, let me say opossums get a bad rap. True, they’re kinda creepy looking, but reality is, opossums are incredibly useful, and greatly misunderstood.

White opossums make great neighbors. They are docile, not likely to threaten pets or carry disease, and, most important, because they help keep pest populations under control. Good reasons to have them around.

Known as Nature’s Little Sanitation Engineers, they eat everything from garbage and dead things to SNAKES and mosquitoes. They can eat up to 5,000 ticks a year. Plus, they aren’t very susceptible to rabies and largely immune to venom from snakes like cottonmouths and rattlesnakes.

They’re fascinating little creatures. Check these opossum facts.

  1. Opossum babies are called joeys. Mom is jill and Poppa is jack. They belong to the same class of animals as kangaroos, wombats, and koalas that raise their young in a pouch. Lifespan is two to four years.
  2. They have sharp claws, opposable thumbs on their hind feet, and a prehensile tail help them scale trunks and hang onto branches. They often nest in tree hollows. Joeys travel on jills’ back or her pouch.
  3. Young opossums make sneezing sounds or a soft choo choo to call their mother, who will respond with clicking noises. Males make those same clicking sounds during mating season. When an opossum is threatened, it may hiss or growl, but Opossums are rarely violent.
  4. “Playing ‘Possum” isn’t pretending. It’s an involuntary reaction that causes the opossum to seize up. Sorta like fainting in humans. In this state, opossums sometimes bare their teeth, foam at the mouth, and produce foul-smelling fluids from anal glands to mimic sickness. An Opossum can remain catatonic for up to four hours.

They demonstrated for me by freezing in “playing possum” mode when I approached.All I wanted was to tell them any animal that eats mosquitoes and snakes is definitely welcome here and please come again.

22 03, 2021

Finding Hope

By |2021-03-21T09:33:09-05:00March 22nd, 2021|A Writer's Life, Writer's Life|1 Comment

The way 2021 began almost made the horrors of 2020 seem like a piece of cake.

Almost.

Last year, about the this time, we were whammed from nowhere and slapped into lock down without much forewarning. The rest of the year focused on sanitizing and hibernating and avoiding people.

This year started much the same way, with the addition of a blizzard in Texas that sent most of the state into darkness for days. No electricity also meant no water. No water meant plants died.

The situation is enough to make me want to stay in bed with the covers over my head in fear of what’s coming next. There seems to be no hope that things are ever going to get better.

Then I forced myself up and out on this cool, crisp first day of Spring to talk to my plants caught between the cold snap and days without water. Last I checked, most were toast, but I keep hoping.

You know what I found…

The dead twigs of my azaleas are beginning to have sprouts.

And, the Jasmine is blooming!

All is not lost as I thought. There is still hope.

The plants have survived and so will we.

 

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