About That Black Dress....

I was so excited that my piano teacher knew how to sew and could add some sheer black sleeves to that dress....... so this morning I put the dress on, along with the right shoes and stockings and jewelry.

Then I looked in the mirror.

What on earth was I thinking when I bought that dress?

My cousin was visiting here when I found that dress in SteinMart. I remember trying it on in the dressing room, and my cousin told me it looked so great...... I looked in the SteinMart mirror and thought it was just the cutest thing, except for the spaghetti straps.

Not to worry... my cousin suggested I find a seamstress and have sleeves put on it, so I bought the dress with that in mind.

Well, my cousin is back up in NY now, of course, and when I tried that dress on this morning, there was no one here to tell me how perfectly cute it was. There was only me, looking in the mirror and seeing a black dress with too many ruffles, too much embroidery, too many beads.

I swear, I looked like a mermaid in a Flamenco dancer's costume. Back into the SteinMart bag that dress went. I called my piano teacher and told her not to go searching for sheer black fabric for the sleeves. I told her my mermaid/Flamenco dancer opinion of the dress and she was still laughing when I hung up the phone. Then off I went to SteinMart to return that dress.

Just as I predicted....... when I bring back just one thing to that store, I end up leaving with another SteinMart bag filled with stuff. Not bad, though--- just three things. And I didn't even look at the racks of ruffled, embroidered, beaded black dresses. Been there, done that.

Wednesday Evening....

Piano day this morning..... which is going very well lately. Now that I've stopped making myself crazy with learning all the keys and the notes, Wednesdays have been more pleasant. I don't know why I started trying to memorize all the keys/notes at the same time. Now that I'm just taking them one at a time, one octave at a time, it's been easier to deal with. Which makes me easier to deal with when I'm sitting at the piano.

At noon-time, my friend A and I went into League City to try out one of the new tea rooms there. League City used to have just one tea room; now there are three. And quite possibly more that we just haven't heard about yet.

But the one we tried today was as cute as can be, and for the life of me I can't remember the name. Was it Jubilee? The walls were finished with faux-painting... lots of curlicues and emblems in soft shades of gold and beige and pastel pink. We had the sweetest little girl as our waitress... the daughter of one of the owners..... I don't think she was more than 12 or 13 and she took our order as if she'd been doing so for years.

There wasn't one man in that tea room. All women... most seemed like they hadn't been there before either. There was a table celebrating a birthday, and another table which seemed to have four generations of one family.

The salads were colorful and creative, the little sandwiches were delicious and not over-stuffed, and they have different home-made soups every day. Definitely a place to go back to, but not with the husbands.

After that we went to the antique shop to browse around and see our friend J, who owns the shop. J is already asking about the next party........ I told him about our idea for a Dinner Mystery Theatre for the Halloween party. He seemed disappointed that he has to wait so long to make his debut as one of the actors. I swear, if I told that man that I was having a party tomorrow, the first thing he'd say is "What time and what can I bring?" He will be absolutely perfect for the Theatre party.

Tonight is the TV show called "Dancing With the Stars." I've been watching that since the beginning. Not only do I love to watch the dancing, but just the fact that it's a "live" show makes it all the more interesting. The costumes are outstanding....... the music is beautiful.... and I don't care who wins or loses. I just like to see them dance.

Speaking of costumes.... that dress I have with the spaghetti straps..... I happened to mention that this morning to my piano teacher. Wonder of wonders, the woman also sews. And she sews so much that she has two sewing machines. She told me to bring the dress with me next week and she'll take a look at it. She knew exactly what I meant when I told her that I'd like some ruffle-y little sleeves added to the spaghetti straps so the ruffles would complement the ruffles on the skirt. I hope she can do this. I really don't want to have to take this dress back to SteinMart.

Not only do I want to keep the dress, but every time I take one thing back to SteinMart, I end up finding six more things. And heaven knows, I did enough shopping in that store when my cousin was here a few weeks ago.

Slow Down..........

I went to the post office after lunch today. My usual route-- down El Dorado, up on El Camino. I was driving in the right-hand lane, going a few miles under the speed limit, and so was the car (a mini-van) behind me.

As I got close to the driveway going into the post office parking lot, I put my turn signal on. There was another mini-van waiting to leave the post office driveway. As I put my turn signal on, so did the driver behind me.... and we were both slowing up even more because the driveway leading into the post office parking lot has a slight hump in it, rather than it being level with the street.

Just as I made my right turn into the driveway, the mini-van leaving the parking lot made a left turn...... and at that same second, a small car in back of the mini-van behind me shot out like a bullet--- from the right lane to the left lane.... and smashed right into the mini-van making the left turn.

The crash was so loud.... sounded like an explosion. I parked my car... the mini-van behind me found a parking spot. I turned in the direction of the accident and saw a young mother there with two small children-- one in her arms, the other holding her hand. Both kids were crying, so I started to walk over to see if she needed any help. Other people got to her first, and she clearly had all the help she needed, so I never got that far. The police and an ambulance were called. Thankfully, no one was hurt very badly, which seemed to me to be a miracle, having heard the sound of the crash and having seen the damage to both cars.

My friend A and her husband were also at the post office at the same time, and I was telling them how the smaller car shot out from the right-hand lane into the left-hand lane-- probably because two vehicles (mine being one of them) were going slowly to make the turn into the post office. D and I talked about how we never believe other drivers and their turn-signals.... so many drivers go for miles with a turn-signal blinking. And other drivers turn right and left a thousand times without using their signals at all.

A total of two adults and two children were in the two vehicles involved in that car accident today. All of whom could've been either badly injured or possibly killed had the cars been going just a tiny bit faster or had the point of impact been a tiny bit off to one side or the other. And all because of one driver's impatience: he passed two cars making a right turn even though he couldn't see what was happening in front of those two cars.

Video-game drivers--- that's what I've been calling those types of drivers. They drive their vehicles like they're playing a video game: going quickly from one lane to the other without thinking that one wrong move could be their last move.

I want to shake those drivers and tell them that the public roads aren't like the graphics in their video games. There are no scoreboards, no flashing lights giving you extra points, no rubber-shoulders that will protect your car when it flips over so you'll land on four wheels again and keep on going.

Two words to all of you...... Slow Down! Unless you're the only brain surgeon left in the world and the "Big Red Button" is in danger of being pushed by the leader of a third-world country who has Parkinson's disease and can't control the tremors in his button-pushing hand and you've got a plane to catch so you can perform the operation that will save the world from exploding into the Twilight Zone--- you have no reason to speed!

So.... slow down. Please.

Books by Joe Coomer......

I've just finished reading "Pocketful of Names," written by one of my favorite authors-- Joe Coomer. This author used to live in Texas, where he restored a vintage wooden boat that he sailed from Texas to Maine every year. Now he lives most of the time in Maine, and that's where this latest book is set.

Wonderful story..... I've been reading it all weekend and haven't been able to keep myself away from it. There are paragraphs written so beautifully that I re-read them three or four times before moving on to the next. As my dear friend Frankie would have said: "His writing doesn't make your eyes hurt and set your teeth on edge."

I believe that Joe Coomer has written ten books. My favorites, which sit on my shelf so I can re-read them, are: Dream House; Sailing in A Spoonful of Water; Apologizing to Dogs; and The Loop.

I will now add Pocketful of Names to that shelf, and start on another Coomer book called "One Vacant Chair." This author was recommended to me years ago by my sister, who found his novels in a bookshop in Maine. Two of his books (Dream House and Sailing in A Spoonful of Water were based on events in his own life--- renovating an old Victorian house, and restoring a vintage wooden boat. When Mr. Coomer lived in Texas, his books were featured in our local bookstores. Now that he's moved up to Maine, I never see his books prominently displayed. I didn't even realize he had written these last two books till I happened upon them on Half.com while searching for the Faulkner books.

Books....... so many great books out there. I don't know what I'd do if I could no longer pick up a book and read it from cover to cover. I cringe when my husband tells me that one of these days, we will have a paper-less, book-less society where every 'printed' word will be on-line instead of on paper. Perish the thought.

Flowers and Weeds.....

The lawn service crew was here today, and I asked the man in charge (Senor Rosales) to weed the flowerbeds in the front of the house. I pointed out to him that the spider plants were multiplying like rabbits and crowding out my impatiens. He nodded his head and told me that he would have to pull up most of the "green spiders." Fine with me.

And off my husband and I went........ out to lunch. Big mistake.

When we came home, there were six plastic trash bags in front of our house. There also wasn't a pink or red bunch of impatiens left on either side of the front walkway. All of the spider plants were gone as well, except for two. We looked closely at the transparent trash bags and I could see hundreds of pink and red blooms pressed up against the bags. My husband and I looked at the bare dirt by the front-door flowerbeds and he asked me "Do you tell them to do that?"

"Of course not.... I just told them to neaten things up a bit and pull up the weeds." It was at that point that I stamped my foot against the sidewalk and wished that I had been more diligent with learning Spanish. (But I'd been planning a party and reading Faulkner!)

The lawn crew were still on our street..... they don't just do our lawn... they take care of five houses on this street. I found Senor Rosales and pointed out the bare flowerbeds by our front walkway and told him that his young man pulled out not only the weeds, but my flowers as well. "Si..... this is his first week with us..... he didn't know......"

Thankfully, because it was so hot today, the young man assigned to my flowerbeds didn't get to the larger flowerbeds in the front of the house... he just mauled the smaller ones by the front door. Senor Rosales said he'd be back on Monday with his wife and together they would finish the job and do it the right way.

After Senor Rosales left with his crew, I went out front and fixed up the small flowerbeds by the front door. No way could I have looked at that bare dirt from now till Monday. I took a shovel and dug up impatiens from the larger flowerbeds and replanted them by the front walkway. I moved around some of the garden ornaments and made a nice little arrangement with the statues and the ceramic bunnies.

The impatiens will come back stronger than ever, and will be knee-high once again in a few weeks' time. As for the spider plants, I won't be planting them by the front door anymore. They grow too quickly and spread out their "babies" faster than the impatiens can drop their seedlings.

Before Senor Rosales left, I asked him to bring a load of mulch when he comes back with his truck. We add mulch to the flowerbeds every year...... I don't know how it all disappears from year to year. Do the birds carry it away? Are the squirrels building mulch-condos up in the Live Oaks? Wouldn't you think that once you put down six inches of cypress mulch that it should just stay put?

The mulch will make the flowerbeds seem less empty till the impatiens start dropping seeds again. And hopefully, the mulch will lessen the growth of weeds in the larger flowerbeds out front. But from now till the trash truck comes by for Monday's pick-up, I will have to look at those transparent trash bags out by the curb. They look beautiful, I might add...... clear plastic bags filled with green leaves and zillions of impatiens. All they need to look spectacular is some bright ribbons tied at the tops of each one.

Faulkner's "As I Lay Dying"

I've just finished reading William Faulkner's "As I Lay Dying." It is the first book in Oprah's three-volume summer reading selection. This was the book for June. There are two other Faulkner books, one for July ("The Sound and The Fury"), another for August ("Light in August"). I found all three books (hardcover!) on Half.com, so I'll be ready for the others. I like to find vintage hardcovers of classic books, rather than new softcover editions. The vintage copies just have more character and I like to "rescue" old books.

I have to say this much about Oprah's Book Club.... she selects books that you might not pick on your own, and I've enjoyed nearly all of her choices so far. "As I Lay Dying" started out slowly, and I had to re-read a couple of chapters to make sure I was following the story correctly, but once I got past a certain point, it was hard to put the book down.

The challenge of the family to get the coffin holding their deceased mother from their home to the spot where she wanted to be buried was a nail-biter. And since I don't bite my nails, I munched on blueberries while I read the pivotal chapters. (A handmade coffin on top of a rickety old wagon which had to cross over a bridge-less river.) I was aware of Faulkner's style of long run-on sentences, so that didn't take me by surprise. (Plus, I'm guilty of run-ons myself at times.) What did surprise me was all the short chapters told in the voices of each character. Some were easier to follow than others, and you couldn't skim over anything because you might miss something important to the story. I hate to skim books anyway..... what's the sense in reading if you're not going to read every word?

I think Oprah has done more for reading than anyone else who has tried to get people away from electronics. I don't care what anyone says.... there's nothing like holding a book in your hand and getting lost in its pages.

I'm sorry that Oprah doesn't pick books from current writers anymore........ not since the author of "The Corrections" spoiled the spirit of her book club. That author had a hissy-fit when he found out that Oprah's book club logo had been printed on the cover of his book. Stupid man. A book chosen by Oprah sells millions of copies..... and he couldn't live with a logo less than two inches in diameter on the cover of his book? I had that book and was set to read it, but then I heard about the temper-tantrum he had with Oprah and I returned the book. Un-read, I might add. Now I see copies of that book in our local Half-Price bookshop, and they sit there with a one-dollar price tag on them. And still, no one buys them. Moral of that story... don't mess with Oprah.

But on the bright side....... Oprah is picking the classics for her book club, and that's a good thing. Last summer's book was "Anna Karenina" by Tolstoy. What a beautiful, moving, breath-taking story that was. And imagine....... Tolstoy was on the Best-Sellers list because of one woman's dream to get everyone reading. Another of her choices was "The Good Earth," by Pearl S. Buck. When Oprah picked that book, I already had my own copy on my bookshelves.... I've read that book at least four times, but I read it again. Such a beautiful story... timeless and classic... and I know I'll read it again.

It saddens me to know that there isn't enough time in anyone's life to read all the books that should be read. But heaven knows, I'm trying.

Downtown Aquarium

We drove into Houston to see the Downtown Aquarium this morning, and to have lunch at The Aquarium restaurant. Both are right off of I-45, and there's a Ferris Wheel on the grounds, which lets you overlook both the freeway and part of the downtown city-scape. Not exactly my idea of a good Ferris wheel ride-- breathing in fumes from vehicles going 70 miles per hour on I-45. This Downtown Aquarium is not to be confused with the Houston Zoo's Aquarium, or the Aquarium at Galveston's Moody Gardens.

The Downtown Aquarium set-up is the result of one Houston man's quest to buy up empty property and do something with it. This is the same man who turned the quaint, sleepy little village of Kemah into a daily carnival and tourist attraction, with enough traffic to circle the globe at least twice. He's also the same man who's trying to duplicate his Aquarium set-up on Galveston's sea-wall, and has even bought a hotel and casino out in Las Vegas. I guess he's trying to put an aquarium and a Ferris wheel on any piece of land big enough to hold them.

The downtown Aquarium Restaurant was just as nice as the one in Kemah, but the aquarium itself can't compare with the one in Moody Gardens or the one at the zoo. Still, it was a nice thing to do on a sunny morning..... and it cooled down some today. I think the temperature was in the low 90s instead of the low 100s.

I'm still writing the 'script' for our Halloween Mystery Party. I've got all the characters, their names, their descriptions, their props. Now I'm working them all into a story. I read some of it to my husband. He liked some of it, wasn't impressed with other parts of it.... he told me it needed to be funnier. Everyone's a critic.

Well, pardon me....... I think the really funny parts are going to come when our friends take the scripts in their hands and put their own little ad-libs and gestures into it. The Mystery Dinner Theatre we went to the other night had third-grade jokes in it, in my opinion. I've been trying to weave a story that takes place right here on our street, and even makes fun of a woman who keeps planning one party after another. Sound familiar?

I told my husband to give me a break. This is only the first draft, after all. At least wait till it's all done before he tells me it won't be funny enough. At least then I'll have an entire script to throw at him, rather than just a few pages. (Now that's funny.)

Mystery Dessert Theatre

My husband and I went to a "Murder By Chocolate" theatre presentation over in Kemah tonight. There were two choices... the dinner theatre or the dessert theatre. We found their menu on the Internet and weren't impressed with the dinner choices, so we opted to try out the dessert theatre.

There were about 25 people there, and about a dozen of them had speaking parts, myself and my husband included. The staff seemed to be a bit disorganized, as if they hadn't had too much practice with taking dessert orders and serving, plus the director/narrator of the little play took his sweet time in finding and handing out the props. He was very entertaining once he got his act together, however. (Pardon the pun!)

Once the audience-performers all got their scripts and started in with the speaking roles, the little play went along very nicely, very smoothly, with lots of laughs and ad-libs along the way. (The desserts weren't exactly five-star (not even two-star) and we thought the $18-per-person charge was over-priced.) But we ended up having a good time after the slow start of the staff, and that's what counts.

Our reason for going to the mystery theatre was to see how it was all scripted and carried out, because we've been thinking of doing just such a thing for our Halloween party this year. On the drive home, my husband and I both said that we could put together a mystery play ourselves and have it come out better than what we took part in tonight.

As I type, it's nearly 1:30 in the morning...... and I've been busy writing characters for our version of a Mystery Dinner Theatre. So far, my title is "The Cat's Meow Mystery" and I've got ten characters and their outlines all scripted out. (Must be all the sugar in the "Dark Shadow" chocolate cake that I had at the little theatre tonight... I came home with a sugar buzz and quickly grabbed a pen and a notebook and got to writing.)

I've got the characters all named, and I even picked out our friends who would do well with each particular character. Of course, I would call them all way before the party and ask them if they'd like to star in the "play" -- our intent is to have fun and host a great party, not to embarrass anyone.

I still have to write the dialogue for each individual character, but I've got the plot, made notes of the props needed for each "actor," decided on the "crime," and picked the culprit and their motive. My husband can print off all the scripts on his computer, once I get it all written.

Let's see.... Halloween is four months away. Plenty of time to get this all together.

Rule #14: "After having a great party (last night) the only thing to do is start planning the next party.

Saturday Morning.... after Charades Night.

What a great party! Just when you think you've had the best party (Valentine's Day), you have an even better one (last night). This time, instead of playing ladies against the men, we broke up into two "color" teams, the Reds against the Blues. We picked teams using colored swizzle-sticks that I'd found.... I asked everyone to pick a stick without telling them why they were picking.

Such laughs, I swear all the neighbors must hear us (the ones on our street who don't play Charades). Just before we started to play, one of our friends reminded me to close the front door--- this way, we only make fools of ourselves in front of the Charades group, not the whole street.

We had some new couples last night... some who hadn't ever played before, but they were great and they loved it. One new couple even searched the Internet for Charades, so they knew how to play before they got here and they were one of the best couples playing.

One of our friends is a master at Tai Chi... he does his exercises every morning in the park. We found out last night that he's much better at Tai Chi than Charades, so I told my husband that he'll be out in the park this morning practicing his moves for Charades instead of doing his Tai Chi. The hardest clues he had to give last night were for "Howdy Doody," and that was a total scream to watch.

The best "clues" last night were given for "The Naked and The Dead." I thought we'd be calling the paramedics because we were nearly falling out of our chairs watching that one acted out.... a sweater came off, then a scarf, then shoes.... then the woman giving the clues played dead on the floor. She was on the other team, and I got the answer before her team did and I had to hold my hand over my mouth so I wouldn't scream out the title.

We had two teenagers here as well last night...... our young friend C came along with her mom, and the granddaughter of our friend K was visiting Houston this week, so we told her to bring her along. We thought the two girls would keep busy in the TV room with board games and the gift-bags of surprises that I had for them, but for most of the night, they watched us play Charades and even joined us in the game (both giving clues and guessing answers). My little C told me "We should do this every Friday night!" (Little..... I keep seeing her as a little girl..... she is 14 now, for goodness sakes.)

The dining room table was filled with food..... and because we had new people last night, we had some different foods on the table. You never know what's going to be here for a pot-luck dinner, but that's part of the fun as well. The eggplant rolls that I made disappeared quickly, as did a tortellini/vegetable salad that C's mom brought over. I stuffed crescent rolls with cheese and pesto, and those were a hit, as were broiled turkey/swiss sandwiches that I cut into finger-size. We had a baked vegetable dish from The Philippines, sushi-sized pinwheels made of sliced meat and cream cheese, a homemade German potato salad, southern-style brown-sugar baked beans, and Greek green beans. There was a delicious carrot cake, an English Trifle, and a homemade chocolate cake.... and I can't remember what else.

A truly great night........ we played for longer than usual, and the party broke up late. By the time my husband and I got everything cleaned up, it was way after one o'clock. By the time we went to bed, you wouldn't have known we'd had a party here. Which is a great way to wake up the next morning, because you can talk about the party all you want without having to deal with the remains of it all around the living room/dining room/kitchen.

So..... when's the next party? I'm ready......

The Bubble Machine

Tonight is Charades night..... I've been getting everything ready all morning long and needed a break. Still some things left to do, but the items on my to-do list not yet checked off are things that I have to do within an hour or so of the party.

I took the bubble machine out of the closet this morning. Great little machine that you fill up with liquid-bubble mix..... it runs on electricity and spews out hundreds of bubbles for a few hours. I usually set it up in the flower bed by the front walkway and it always makes everyone smile--- they all walk in the door smiling and stay smiling. I forgot all about it the night of our last party, and that was the first thing that our friend Bill said when he walked in the door: "Where's the bubbles?"

So tonight we'll have bubbles... but Bill has already moved to Dallas. I doubt very much that these bubbles will find their way from Clear Lake to The Big D.

I cooked up some party foods that I haven't served for Charades before.... those eggplant rolls (filled with ricotta cheese and sun-dried tomato pesto); crescent rolls filled with sliced turkey and swiss, then rolled in grated cheese. I also made a small pot of baked beans, and my husband is going to The Greek Deli for their homemade green beans (wonderful beans cooked with garlic and tomato and olive oil). I'm also going to try making a clam dip.... I have all the ingredients, and that should be easy to mix up. If it doesn't taste right, then it won't find its way to the dining room table tonight.

Back to the kitchen I go....... just two more things to do in there, then I'll walk Gracie before I start getting myself ready. I haven't figured out what I'm wearing tonight, so that means there will be at least three outfits tossed on my bed before I finally decide.

Deliver Me Also from Baby Birds....

At this time of the year, there are countless baby birds chirping in their mama's nests which are scattered throughout the trees all over our neighborhood.

And, at this time of the year, there are also countless bird babies who think they can leave the nest before they're ready to spread their wings as wide as need be in order to fly. Those are the baby birds who somehow find their way to me. I want to ask them: Do I look like a mama bird to you?

I've tried to rescue these orphaned birds. It never works. They will sometimes take a bit of warm water from an eye dropper. Sometimes they will even take some soft bread soaked in milk. Usually, they sit in my hand and just look at me, occasionally opening their tiny beaks to blast out a baby-bird chirp, which is less like a blast and more like a burp.

I keep a wooden birdcage on my porch, just in case a baby bird needs a home. They don't seem to like the cage, and I can't say as I blame them. What they do like is to be held in the palm of my hand. I imagine the warmth of my hand reminds them of their mama's warm body as she sat on the eggs. The baby birds also like the sound of your voice, as long as you're whispering to them. "I'm holding you in my hands, baby bird, so my three cats don't think I've brought them a new toy with real feathers."

So far this season, I've seen a baby blue jay in the middle of Space Center Blvd., two baby birds on the front lawn, one baby bird around the corner, and at least half a dozen near the entrance to the park in our subdivision. I have resisted the urge to rescue any of them. The tiny blue jay in the middle of Space Center Blvd. was a hard one to resist. My immediate reaction was to want to slam on my brakes and jump out of my car and get the bird out of the road. But of course I couldn't do that, because not only would someone else have smashed into my car, but I would've been flat out on the concrete right next to the tiny blue jay. So I just kept on driving, willing myself not to look into the rear-view mirror to see what happened to the baby bird.

In a perfect world, baby birds would stay in their mama's nests till they were fully feathered and grown, till they were expertly able to fly out of harm's way, and able to capture bugs and crawling things for their dinner.

Monday, Monday

Why is it that when you write a word once, it looks just fine. But write it twice or more, and it looks like something is wrong with it. As in the above title......

Anyway....... hot one today again. Close to 100, or maybe even over it. Same is due for tomorrow. Let's see.......... this heat wave should last till at least the early part of November.

We drove downtown to the Science Museum yesterday, to see an IMAX film on India. Beautiful, breath-taking movie of a country filled with happy people enjoying colorful celebrations in cities rich with magnificent architecture. Sure was a different view of India than the one depicted on The Amazing Race this past season. The couples in the Race weren't anywhere near The Taj Mahal, I'm sure.

On the ride to and from the Museum District, I took some notes while my husband was driving. This way I'll be able to get there by myself, should I ever want to. Up till now, we always go together, and my husband always drives. I normally spend the time talking and looking around, and not really paying attention to where we're going.... unless I'm behind the wheel myself, of course. I keep a little address/notebook in my purse, filled with phone numbers and directions. My husband saw me transcribing my directions to the Museum in my notebook this afternoon, and he said: "Well, if it isn't Christopher Columbus.... sail straight to Spain and take a left......." (Everyone's a comedian.)

Not much doing today, unless you count all the errands: the bank, the cleaners, the dollar store, the supermarket. The drive to and from the supermarket is wonderful. The whole grocery-shopping experience within the store is the pits. Between the crying babies, the people on their cell-phones, and the woman who left her shopping cart right behind my car (when she saw me right next to her putting grocery bags in my car!)........ I swear, some people are just plain rude. Which is the exception to the rule down here. (Rule #4: Transcend other people's stupidity.)

This Friday is our Charades party, so I'm starting to get ready for that. The party to-do list is on the kitchen counter, and I'll be crossing things off the list every day till party day. And, as I always do on our party days, I ask myself: "What if no one shows up?" But they always do.

Another Turtle Story

I have a friend in Pennsylvania who recently moved there from Long Island. "A" reads Sprinkles every day and when she saw yesterday's story about my Uncle Mino's turtle, she was reminded of her friend's pet turtle.

Now, my friend A is over 80 years old, so I'm guessing her friend is more or less the same age. The story goes that A's friend got a pet turtle years ago when she was a little girl. She and her family took extra good care of that turtle, and it kept growing and growing, and soon outgrew its little turtle pool.

What do you do with an ever-growing turtle? Well, into the bathtub it went. But of course, that got to be a problem every time someone had to use the tub for non-turtle activities. The turtle had to come out of the tub, then go back in, then come back out for the next tub-user. Enough to make the poor turtle dizzy, and surely enough for the family to say "Enough!"

The story has a happy ending, however.... that turtle is now "a ward of the state" and has been accepted in their local zoo. No more getting in and out of the family tub, and surely that new-to-the-zoo turtle has made new turtle friends. Possibly the turtle will find a mate and make little baby turtles. (And they all lived happily ever after...)

Of course, now my friend A has started to think "Just how long can a turtle live?"

Which gets me to thinking the same thing about my Uncle Mino's turtle, now being taken care of by my Aunt Dolly since he passed away. I would imagine that living in a controlled climate with no threat of predators would make for a long life. Plus a little homemade spaghetti added to the turtle's vegetarian diet now and then would make for one happy little turtle. No babies, however, since Uncle Mino's turtle never had a mate. (Spaghetti, yes. Sex, no.)

Happy Birthday Aunt Dolly

I telephoned my Aunt Dolly this evening....... today is her 92nd birthday. Aunt Dolly lives in the house built by her father in 1922 (my grandfather-- dad's side). The house has three floors and a full basement. Seven bedrooms, two bathrooms, two kitchens, two pantries, a two car garage, two driveways, small front yard, a super-huge backyard. My Aunt takes care of everything herself.

When Aunt Dolly picked up the phone, I asked her if I was calling at a good time. I always ask her this question right away because she doesn't have a cordless phone. There are a lot of phones in that house, but all of them have the old-fashioned short cords. If she's cooking something on the stove, the phone cord doesn't reach across the kitchen. Come to think of it, all of her phones are the old black bakelite phones that would make telephone collectors start to drool.

Her answer to that question tonight was "No, this is a fine time. I just came up from the basement. I was feeding your uncle's turtle."

My Uncle Mino's turtle. I had forgotten all about that turtle.... and I can't believe the turtle has out-lived my uncle, who passed away about five years ago. My uncle found the turtle in Virginia. He had driven down there with a cousin of mine and saw this turtle in the middle of the road. He made my cousin stop his car so he could get the turtle out of the road.

My cousin pulled over, expecting Uncle Mino to take the turtle from the road and put him in the woods on the side of the road. My uncle had other ideas. He got back into my cousin's pristine car with the turtle. "Do you think you're going to put that thing in my car?"

"Of course," said my uncle... "If I put him in the woods, he'll just find his way back to the middle of the road and someone will run him over."

"What are you going to do with him?" my cousin wanted to know.

"He's coming back home with me. He'll be safer there." And my Uncle Mino held the turtle on his lap all the way back to Queens so my cousin wouldn't have to worry about the turtle messing up his nephew's precious car.

I've long since forgotten what the turtle's name is, but I do remember that my Uncle named him. Or her. I've forgotten that too. (How does one determine the gender of a turtle?) I think my uncle and my cousin made that trip to Virginia in either the late 1970s or early 1980s. So that's how long the turtle has been part of the family.

The last time I was up in NY (last summer) I went to visit my Aunt Dolly, but I never went downstairs to the basement to see the turtle. Nor did we mention the turtle in our conversation.

My uncle made a very comfortable pen for the turtle once he got back to Queens with it. The pen was in a cozy corner of the basement, complete with a little bit of fence or some kind of barrier so the turtle couldn't get out and get lost behind the furnace or the water heater, or wander into my grandfather's wine cellar. Every morning, my uncle would run about three inches of water into the extra-wide laundry sink so the turtle could swim and bathe, and do whatever turtles like to do in the water.

Then my uncle would let the turtle roam around in his indoor pen in the basement, or in the outdoor enclosure in the yard if the weather was turtle-friendly. The turtle's diet consisted of the finest vegetables, with a little spaghetti now and then as a treat. My uncle gave the spaghetti to the turtle one Sunday evening, "just to see if he's got any Italian blood," as my uncle said.

As luck would have it, the turtle loved the spaghetti, which made my uncle very proud. My dad always said the turtle was lucky that my uncle, who was very artistic, didn't paint an Italian flag on his shell.

So there was my Aunt Dolly this evening, at the other end of my long distance call, just coming up from the basement level of the house, after having fed the turtle his dinner, and after letting the turtle swim around in the laundry-sink. Just like my uncle did for so many years.

My Aunt Dolly is 92 today. If anyone can live till 100 or more, Aunt Dolly is the one who will do it. The question, of course, is will that turtle out-live my Aunt, just as it out-lived my uncle? And if so, who will take care of the turtle?

Let's see. We have a dog and three cats. Could there be room on our screen-porch for my Uncle Mino's turtle? I always have fresh vegetables in the fridge, but I don't cook much spaghetti at home. I wonder if my uncle's turtle would like my Greek spinach pie?

Wanted: One Seamstress.

All I want is to have some silky sleeves attached to a dress I bought when my cousin R was here. The dress has "spaghetti straps." I love the dress, hate those straps. When I said that in the store, my cousin said it would be "a snap" for a seamstress to add sleeves to it.

Sounded reasonable to me at the time, so I bought the dress. I've been looking for a seamstress ever since. The first one must no longer be in business because her number is disconnected. The second one, whom I saw this afternoon, told me she "doesn't do sleeves."

Pardon me?

She does hems, buttons, zippers, seams. "No sleeves." And she shook her head from side to side to add an exclamation point to that statement.

Fine. All the while I'm thinking: "And you call yourself a seamstress?"

Back home I came, with the dress. I have one more place to try, but I didn't feel like driving towards League City today. I nearly just drove to the fabric store, with my mind set on doing it myself. I mean, really.... how hard could it be to attach two small pieces of sheer black silk to make a ruffled, drape-y style of three-quarter-length sleeve?

But I didn't drive to the fabric store. Instead, all the way home, I remembered this conversation that I had with my grandmother when I was about 13:

"Come here and I'll teach you how to sew."

"I don't need to learn how to sew. I can just walk up to the Avenue and buy any kind of dress that I want."

"If you DON'T know how to sew, then all you can buy is any kind of dress that they have. If you KNOW how to sew, then you can make any kind of dress that you can imagine."

......... That's the trouble with life: When you're 13, you think you know all the answers. And when you get older and you know the right questions to ask, the people with the right answers aren't with you anymore.

Deliver Me from Homeless Cats & Kittens....

My husband and I took Gracie for a walk yesterday in a near-by park, which backs up to the local nature center and Clear Lake. Gorgeous park with ball fields, picnic tables, BBQ grills, and even a duck pond. Just a short drive away from where we live.... as soon as we get into the car, Gracie gets all excited because she knows where we're going.

So there we were, walking along our usual path.... and Gracie starts to sniff around in the bushes by the Lake. She sniffs, she looks back at us. Sniffs again... looks back at us. My husband called her over to him, and I went to see what she had found: a mama cat and a pair of kittens. There might have been more kittens, but I saw just a couple.

Somehow, the mama cat found a deep hole underneath a honeysuckle bush near the edge of Clear Lake. I know that cats don't dig holes that deep, so it was probably an abandoned hide-away from a large mole or a water-rat, maybe even a rabbit.

When the mama cat saw me coming close to her spot, she jumped out of the hole and walked over to the nearby bushes, keeping an eye on me all the while. Gracie stayed very quiet.... she is used to our three cats and she's extra careful with baby animals of any kind.

As soon as the mama cat walked away from her hiding spot, one of the kittens popped its head out, and I was sure I saw a paw from the second kitten. The first kitten took one look at me and ran back into the hole, however... deep into it so I couldn't see it unless I had gotten down on my knees in the dirt (which I wouldn't think of doing).

My husband noticed that someone had left a paper plate of dry cat food out there under the honeysuckle bush, so that was nice to see. I told my husband to remind me to bring a can of Fancy Feast the next time we go to the park, but I don't think I will.

In fact, I don't think I even want to walk past that spot for a good long while. As it was yesterday, I felt very sad for the rest of the afternoon, to think that the mama cat was out there in the park with her kittens. There are raccoons there, and huge geese and ducks, plus the water-rats. How safe can those tiny kittens be? And female cats are very small.... can the mama cat fend off an attack by a 25-pound goose?

Just makes me sad. Also makes me think that someone brought the mama cat there when they found out she was expecting her kittens. We've been going to that park for years now.... never have seen any stray cats or kittens. There are no subdivisions close enough to the park for the mama cat to have arrived there without getting run over on the way.

Now there will be those kittens. I can't take in another kitten or a full-grown cat. Our inn is full. Besides Gracie, we have one cat (Rusty) whose sole mission in life is to eat, another cat (AngelBoy) whose main mission on this planet is to pretend (and have me believe) that he's the only cat in this house worthy of my attention, and another (ShadowBaby) who plays the part of baby-cat like Marlon Brando (with gusto, with unbridled enthusiasm, with panache).

I have to keep reminding myself of what my friend Frances used to tell me. She was a cat-lover like no other...... and her belief was that a kitten born "in the wild" would forever want to "stay in the wild." Frances had four house-cats and about 30 feral cats that she fed on her property. The wild ones never came into her house, and most of them stayed within a mile of her property line. All of them constantly brought her mice and baby squirrels and birds. "Wild to the bone," she used to say of them.

So.... no can of Fancy Feast the next time we go to the park. Once I start feeding that mama cat and the tiny kittens, I will want to take them home and keep them safe and warm. I can just hear AngelBoy now: "I don't give you enough to do? Well... let me just go find a corner to pee in and let's see how much time you have for those cute little kittens...."

The Devil is Wearing an Overcoat...........

......... because hell has surely frozen over.

Why, you ask?

Because I (Clear Lake City-girl that I am) have (on this gorgeous day) pumped my first tank of gas.

(Pardon me while I check on my husband and make sure his skin is still peachy-pink and not royal blue.)

Actually, my husband was with me this morning at the gas station. We were on our way to the post office and the supermarket, in his car, and he told me that he had to stop for gas on the way. He jokingly asked me if I would like to try pumping the gas on my own (as opposed to the last time we were there, and I just watched him pumping gas into my car).

"Sure!" said I. And my husband let his foot press down on the gas pedal before I changed my mind. As the saying goes-- "be true to your word," and I was. I put the credit card in the machine, touched all those buttons, got the nozzle into the tank (that nozzle-hose thing is heavier than I thought) and I stood there looking like I knew what I was doing while the gas went into my husband's car.

One thing you have to watch out for--- the nozzle can drip, either going into the tank or coming back out, so you have to be careful. I didn't realize that, and one drop of gas barely missed my pink sandals (cute magenta-pink leather sandals with rhinestones, which looked great with my pale pink capris, by the way). That lone drop of gas thankfully landed on the pavement next to my shoes. I don't remember the name of the gas station, or the price of the gas, or even the color of the gas pump, but I do remember every detail when I put an outfit together. (More proof of my city-girl status.)

I must say that I was impressed with myself this morning. Not only that I remembered how to use the gas pump, but that I was able to get the nozzle into the tank without dropping it or scratching the car. When we got back into the car, the first thing I did was take one of those "Wet & Dry" towels out of my purse to clean my hands.

My husband saw me wiping my hands on the moist towel and asked me if I got any gas on my hands. "Absolutely not... but who knows how many people have touched that nozzle-thing and those buttons... and who knows where their hands have been." (More proof....)

When my dad taught me how to drive, he wanted to show me how to check the oil, put air in the tires, pump gas, and change a flat. I was 16 at the time, and I told him that I didn't need to know all those things because the men who worked at the gas stations took care of the first three things, and if I ever got a flat tire, then surely some nice man would pull over and change the tire for me. ("Besides that, daddy, what if I break a nail on the tire?" -- I can still hear myself asking him that.) Little did I know that 37 years later, I'd be living in a town with only one gas station that still offers full-service at the gas pumps.

And hopefully, living where we do, I would think that there really would be a nice man who would stop and help me with a flat tire. (I drove one wheel of my car into a drainage ditch on a country road about six years ago, and two men in a pickup truck stopped to help pull the car out. They wouldn't take more than a thank you for their trouble and they tipped their hats to me before getting back into their truck.)

I should ask my husband to show me how to check the oil, put air in the tires and change a flat on my Thunderbird. But I'll wait a while. He's still recovering from my gas-pumping adventure of this morning.

I should also call my dad and tell him that I've learned how to pump gas. But he's 86 now and if he turns blue up north while we're on the phone, I won't be able to help him. Men.... they just don't react well to change.

Rusty 3 - Mice 0

Rusty was at it again, sometime during the night. When I opened the screen-porch door to put out Rusty's breakfast, I saw that he already had eaten. Mice: The Breakfast of Cat-Champions.

Sometime during the night, or early morning hours, Rusty caught another field mouse. He left it in the grass right next to the wood planking of the deck... his usual spot for his catches. I told him what a great hunter he was, then I looked back at the mouse. Not a pretty sight. The mouse's head was there, and so was his backside and his tail. But that's about it.... everything inbetween was missing.

"Rusty! Yuck and double yuck, Rusty!" (He looked at me seriously and I'll bet he was thinking: "I am a cat. What did you expect to find there-- spinach souffle?") I could not, for the life of me, pick up that mouse (what was left of it) no matter what I used. In my mind, I knew there wasn't a shovel long enough or wide enough in our garage to pick up that mouse without my knees getting weak and giving out. Then I'd be in the grass right along-side the mouse.

I went back in the house and asked my husband to please pick up Rusty's latest prize and take it out to the trash can already on the curb for this morning's pick-up. When he got back inside, I asked him if that mouse had really been eaten. He looked at me and said "Mouse... the other white meat."

I don't know what I'm going to do with this cat. I've been letting him stay out on the back deck so he has full run of the backyard, but not full run of the pet-food dishes inside the house. He just doesn't know when to stop eating, and will eat up every morsel he finds in here... whether it be cat food or dog food. Obviously, he's been eating every morsel he can find out in the yard as well. Now I know why he hasn't lost any weight since he's been out there.

Tonight I will try leaving extra food in his bowl just before I go to bed. But if I know Rusty, he won't save it till he gets a little hunger-pain at three o'clock in the morning. He will eat up that "extra" food as soon as he sees it, then worry about his 3:00 snack when he hears little mice-feet dancing around in the begonias.

Galveston Sand Castles

We drove into Galveston today, for the annual sand castle contest. Not your usual fill-a-pail-with-sand contest.... this competition is serious. The sand designs are original concepts from local architectural firms, and the "castles" are huge.

Not only castles, but every imaginable structure that can be formed with sand and water, using (if necessary) wood forms like those contructed for concrete work. There were a few designs using popular television shows and movies: "Darth Tater" (a science fiction potato hero); "The Ducks of Hazzard;" "The Sandy 500" (a racecar rally); "Desperate Houseflies" (or is that 'houseflys'); and "Wisteria Lane" (the infamous street on "Desperate Housewives").

There was "The Sand Bar" -- a huge bar, complete with swivel-stools and drinks. Also constructed from sand was an enormous American flag, with the stripes of the flag waving on the beach as the stars stood firm in the upper left corner. One firm came up with the "Car-Madillo," which was an auto-sized armadillo with four wheels, a windshield, a trunk and a hood with an engine underneath.

The best entry, in our opinion, was a huge fairy-tale castle, complete with moat. The castle itself was very intricate, with turrets and domes and "wrought-iron" sand-designs around the windows. Totally amazing how it held together, given the height and width of the structure. It looked like something out of DisneyLand and you expected Cinderella and Prince Charming to walk through the door at any minute.

Hot day out there, but there was a breeze blowing constantly on the beach, which made for comfortable viewing of the sand exhibits. There must have been at least 75 of them. The minute we got back into the hot car is when we realized just how hot it really was out there on the beach.

By the way...
On the way home from Galveston, we passed that big computer/electronics store on I-45--- it's called "Fry's" and that's the way it is spelled. I checked the sign as we drove by. I wrote it that way in a blog a couple of weeks ago, and a reader told me the store spelled its name "Frye's." Maybe that's how they spell it in the reader's state, but here in Texas, they don't add that 'e.' So, me being me, I've got to go back and correct it...... I can't stand to see misspelled words.

The Road to Dallas....

As I type this, Bill Cherry and his wife are on their way to Dallas, to their new home. We met them for dinner last night at a little Greek restaurant near the Johnson Space Center. We've all had dinner there before... I've always described it as more "Bohemian" than Greek. The menu is a combination of Turkish and Greek, with a little something else tossed in that I cannot identify. My friend F up in NY would know what the "mystery" spices are and where they come from, but I haven't got a clue.

This little restaurant would be right at home in New York's Greenwich Village.... the waitresses look as if they've just arrived from (New York's) Soho, the Christmas decorations are kept up all year round, tables and chairs have never matched, nor have the plates, flatware, or even the floor surfaces in different parts of the restaurant. They have a deli counter for to-go orders, plus shelves and more shelves lining the perimeter of the rooms, all filled with foods from Greece, Turkey, Italy, Spain--- hundreds of jars and cans and packages with beautiful labels.

When Bill came here to tune my piano this week, I gave him three books for his new Dallas house. One book called Southern Interiors, another titled Laura Ashley Color, and another one called Outdoor Garden Projects. I knew the books would inspire both of them as they decorated their house and made it into their home. Last night at dinner, I gave Bill some dried seeds from the white begonia plants I have growing all over our yard. Every time they've been to our house, either Bill or Patty would ask me about those begonias. Well, now they'll have some for their own home.

I also did a small 4x7" watercolor for Bill....... two large red cherries with green leaves... in the middle of one dark stem, I painted Bill and along the other stem I painted Patty. I thought of that yesterday while I was eating some fresh cherries, and quickly decided it would be fun to try to paint it for them. I showed it to my husband when he got home and he thought it was great, so I wrapped it up for the Cherrys. (If my husband had thought it was silly, I would've just put it into my file of paintings that never see the light of day.) I happened to have a small frame to fit the Cherrys, so in it went and it looked even better. Both Bill and Patty smiled when they opened it, and laughed out loud when they saw their first names incorporated into the stems of the fruit. Perfect gift!

Last night was an early dinner and an early parting.... they had last-minute packing to do and they planned to get an early start this morning. Bill and Patty promised to get their guest room all set up.... we promised to visit.

Galveston has lost one of its famous BOIs. Instead of BOI standing for "Born On the Island," it now means "Bill is Off the Island."

The first of June.... the piano gets tuned....

Our friend Bill Cherry came by this morning to tune our piano. I mention his name because his name is all over the Internet anyway. Bill wrote a book called "Galveston Memories." Wonderful book filled with stories about growing up and living in Galveston. Bill is a BOI, which means "born on the island." The island being Galveston. And Bill has a zillion stories, all of which he tells with warmth and humor. He's just as cute as a button, and everyone who knows him just loves him.

The way Bill and I met was a story in itself, and I fully expect it to be in his next book, if there is indeed a next book of his stories. I had bought a copy of "Galveston Memories" -- I found it in Barnes & Noble, and at that time, I was collecting books about Texas. I read that book from cover to cover and loved it. Then it sat on my shelf for a good long while and I never opened it again.

From time to time, I go through my bookshelves and take out books that I haven't re-read. I either give them away in gift-bags to our friends who come to our parties, or I sell them on eBay. Well, I thought "Galveston Memories" was fine enough to try and sell, and I thought that our friends probably already had their own copies of Bill's book.

So on eBay the book went...... and within 24 hours, I had an eMail from the author himself, asking me "Why in heaven's name are you trying to sell such a worthwhile book that took years of my sweat and tears for every word on every page?!"

Pardon me? I eMailed him right back, telling him that I was selling the book because it was such a good book and I wrote such a fine description of it, and besides, how did I know he really was who he claimed to be in the first place?!

Our eMails went back and forth for over an hour, till he convinced me that he was indeed the author, and he said that if I took his book off of my auction page, he would personally come to my house and personally sign the book for me. Not only that, said he.... "I will take your softcover edition of that fine book and I will give you a hardcover copy that I will autograph right in front of you."

Now.... how could I resist. In all the years I've sold on eBay, I've never stopped an auction. But no one had bid on his book yet, and I stopped that auction and waited for Bill to come by with his promised hardcover edition of "Galveston Memories." While I was waiting for him, I re-read his book and started asking myself why in the world I took it down from my shelf in the first place.

Well, not only did he sign the hardcover edition of his book for me, but he sat with my husband and I for a couple of hours, talking about Texas in general, and Galveston in particular. We've all been friends ever since. And you can ask anyone who knows Bill Cherry: "When Bill takes you as a friend, he never lets you go." As Bill himself says: "I keep a good check on all the little birdies in my nest."

Sadly, Bill and his wife are moving up to Dallas at the end of this week. They've already sold their house here and Bill has been up in Dallas getting the new house ready while his wife finished out the last days of her job here. Bill was here this morning to tune my piano..... which is something he does "on the side," as he says. He's a fabulous piano player..... plays all kinds of music without looking at a note. He's been playing piano for years and years, and tuning them as well. In fact, before we bought our piano, we asked Bill to come with us for a look-see, because we really didn't know what to look for in a second-hand piano. He loved my piano from the first couple of notes, and told us that if we didn't buy it, he would.

Dallas. All the way up to Dallas. Moving from Galveston to the Clear Lake area was one thing. Moving from here to Dallas is quite another. I told Bill that he will miss the water. He will miss the Island. Indeed he will, said he, "... but we'll be here for your Christmas party, and we want to spend New Year's Eve with y'all, so let us know what your plans are as soon as you make them."

Such pressure, I swear. Guess I'll have to find another piano tuner. But there's only one Bill Cherry, that's for sure.... and all of his friends here will miss him and his wife once they start that long drive up to Dallas. Jeez.... Dallas, of all places.