Breakfast Letters: Cat Lady Despair

Breakfast Letters: Cat Lady Despair: As I was pulling up to the “single person” fruit cup display a very gorgeous man pulls up, I move over and he says “oh no, you are fine ma’...

Cat Lady Despair

As I was pulling up to the “single person” fruit cup display a very gorgeous man pulls up, I move over and he says “oh no, you are fine ma’am” grabs his “single person” fruit cups and moves on. He said it like I was his Mother. Oh, yes, how respectful and sweet….   He was my age!!!

But wait there is more… You have all heard and seen the crazy cat lady jokes and memes and laughed. Me too. However, it is not funny when you are standing in line at the grocery store and you look down and you have a small salad, small bag of flour, sugar, 1 chicken breast, 3 small scallops, a bottle of wine, chips and a bag of cat food and, there is a HOT guy in front of you and one behind you looking at your grocery choices. 

                                   

It is obvious I am single and have at least one cat. Were they giving me the “Hot Damn it’s a Cougar/Jaguar” look? NO, no they were not.  I wanted to cry but I was too busy laughing at this and not laughing as in funny laughing more like hysterical …… this is not my life.

I am going to get my hair dyed grey with silver highlights tomorrow. I am buying all grey cloths and maybe I can disappear or at least be invisible.

                                       

On the brighter side….

I was waiting for the elevator at the retirement facility where Mother lives when a handsome elderly man came around the corner and did a double take. “Well, hello! You don’t live here do you? No, you are much too young.” XXXX those are for you dear man.

In case any of you were wondering about the horse that I said lives above me. Is it a man or woman, it is a Percheron that used to be in the circus? 

                         

                                            Wesley Dennis - Illustrator

My granddaughter was spooked by the noise on her first night here so I told her it was a horse…she got excited and wanted to know what color, could we go see it and how did it get up there. Large, no we could not and it climbed the stairs. She went right on to sleep with visions of horses prancing about.  I am a good Grandmother.

I am having a bowl of strawberries and cream 

with an eclair 

                                    

for breakfast because that is what we “cat Ladies” do.

Enjoy yours!

She Sewed a Book

When I recently moved I donated about 90% of my books. It was difficult, I love books. I would have hundreds if I could. I miss seeing them, touching them but this has enticed me back to the Library. Guess what is in there? Books, hundreds of books and I do not need to store them they are cleverly kept on shelves just for me. I enter and to me it is like walking into a sacred place, the Sistine Chapel, or The Art Institute of Chicago or Warwick Castle. 

It is filled with memories, information, history, and carefully woven tales. The Library contains secrets that beg to be discovered. It was one of my favorite places to go as a child. I knew that there inside I would encounter knowledge and that knowledge would give me power, ideas, dreams, and offer an escape.

Over the years I have developed this ritual. I wonder until I feel compelled to stop. I touch the shelves directly in front of me, stopping at one and then I pick up each book reading the jacket to see if I am enticed to explore further. Yesterday I walked right up to a shelf and there winking at me from a top shelf was a large thick book by my favorite author. I came home and read for hours.

The books I kept were several devotional books. A few cook books (I love to read cook books), Pirate books (they are actually part of my decor, Vampire books (those are decor for my kitchen, you would have to see it) and a few old books that belonged to my grandfather’s mother. One of which is signed with a very mysterious message.

While wistfully flipping through a cookbook 

that belonged to my grandmother a hand written recipe fell out. I stared at it for several moments when the thought occurred that her candy recipes may be secreted inside. The book was well worn and stained not just from age but also from use.  My Grandmother made the most delicious peanut butter candy, caramel candy and chocolate candy. Not fudge candy. Smooth, creamy candy like a Hershey bar.

My grandmother did not have a stapler as I discovered. Recipes were hand written 

onto pages that were designed for that at the end of each chapter and when there was no room she wrote them around the outside edges of another page. There are recipes pinned to pages with straight pins,

 there are recipes that are attached with safety pins

 and there are even a few that are sewn to pages. 

Yes, she actually took thread and needle and sewed recipes to pages. 

I went through the book carefully looking at each recipe she had added and even the ones written on the pages of Sweets. No candy recipe did I find. The experience left me feeling bereft, sad and oddly alone. But as I put the book back on the shelf and saw my hands on the cover I remembered my Grandmother’s hands had touched this book many many times while she planned and created meals for her family.

It was a lovely adventure I took because of that book.

Muffins and my current book adventure now await me.

Enjoy your Breakfast. 

Back - Up Girlfriend

Is anyone else out there the “back-up” girlfriend?  Are you one by choice? Was it thrust upon you? Or did you one day have the curtain torn away and you realized that after 20 years and several different and repeat relationships he never ever ever made you his first choice?

At first I was unaware of what was happening. I had moved on. After several years he found me and attempted to make amends for what he had done. I was gracious and sweet and he moved on. He made contact again after a broken relationship. We lived far apart and I was steady, gracious and kind again and again and again. Not once did he ever ask if I would move closer to him. Not once did he make any attempt to garner, cultivate or rekindle a relationship. I sailed through my life always being there to reassure him, to tell him I still cared for him. Women came and went from him. Some going quietly others wreaking havoc and devastation during and after their departure and each time I was there as a band aid. 

Maybe I am a trigger for his addictions. Maybe I am a gift to him from GOD. He needed me or someone like me. Maybe I am the addiction, absolution, requiem for him.

I don’t want to appear to be cruel or mean spirited here. I am not being selfish but I am going to let go of you. I am NOT your back up girlfriend. 

This is not fair for her, your current love. How can you possibly fully face her and involve yourself in her if you are partially turned toward me?  

I wish you love with someone else.

 All four of you. 

Jury Summons and the Prospects

I had picked up the mail on Thursday. There were pieces that had gone to the old address, some to the new and a few had come to the new and had been returned back because they crossed paths with the change of address and were going to a box were no resident was listed. I did not give it more than a glance. At 9:30 Monday night I decided to go through the mail and there it was. A jury summons for 8:00 AM Tuesday morning. WHAT!!! 

                                         

I mapped out my route to San Antonio and 2 back up plans for traffic problems, paced around the house in agitation having a heated conversation with GOD. Something along the lines of not my place to judge, die in traffic, clients to care for, judge not lest you be judged (that came up several times on my end) and the stress I was now suffering with. I poured a glass of Scotch and tried to be still. That is when I heard Him tell me He had planned an amazing adventure for me. My entire attitude changed and I decided that if this is where I was going than I might as well have fun, enjoy, be brave, curious, and grasp at what I could learn and observe. This would be people watching in a way that was different than the joy of doing it at an airport.

                                   

I packed a book, a journal, the new colours and coloring book my daughter had given me for Christmas. I always color on the plane ride to adventure so, why not?  Some gum, some cash, several pens for word games and writing, my camera and then I unpacked my camera (my phone would have to do). I was almost eager to start.  

                                

I had been to the courthouse only twice since I have lived here. Once to get a marriage license and the second for a sentencing. I was not sure where I was going or where I was parking but I was armed with “this is what I am supposed to be doing so those things will be provided and shown to me.” As is true of all my adventures my carefully mapped our route showed a left turn which I made a block too early. Panic! Deep breath, I knew I had to cross the cross street I was looking for eventually. Sure enough 1 block up I turned right and there it was the parking garage I was supposed to find right beside the courthouse and a line of traffic waiting to go to that same parking lot. Panic and irritation, another deep breath and a voice whispering turn left into that open Mob run parking lot, this will be fun. So I did.  

I gathered my bag and headed to the payment kiosk which had a few people milling around it looking confused. I observed the payment method or so I thought, and then it was my turn. I looked at the instructions, the crowd now forming around me and the police officer from another county standing behind me. I could not figure it out to save my life. I turned to the line of irritable people and said “uhhhm …. I don’t get?” The officer stepped up and said “May I?” yes please. She inserted my credit card, keyed in some numbers asked me my license plate numbers and keyed in some more numbers that turned out to be letters on the phone style key pad. She explained that it was T3 texting that was required. You mean like in 2002 on a cell phone? Yes. 

                                             

That would not have happened. I thanked her and walked to the crosswalk. There was a herd of us prospects all heading to the corral. Fortunately, I have no problem sharing comments and observations and I started a conversation with a couple people one of whom had been through this 6 month prior. I latched on to her as she knew the ritual. I colored as we waited and made conversation apparently entertaining several people around us who would look back and laugh at me or interject an opinion. I was having a good time, like waiting at an airport.

                                        

35 prospects were called and marched off into the catacombs of the courthouse. It now felt more like The Hunger Games.

        

“Attention everyone!” the court jester announces, “I am going to call the next 37 prospects and please stay in the order in which I call your name and assign you a number.” I continue to color and then I hear “number 4 Tamara Pearis”. I say good bye to my new friend and off I go to line up with other prospects who may or may not be on a team that may or may not include me.

And again we wait…..

Plastic Pink Wine

I had a dream last night that played like a  movie. You know the kind where the action is non stop and all the world falls apart.


 I was casually  driving somewhere to see a a dance recital when BAM  chaos erupts in such bizarre ways. Explosions, I survive and then a giant mound of dirt rises up which creates an obstacle course to maneuver. Traffic is panicked. It just went on and on everywhere I went. Epic, there was me, a man I know who is a Priest, my grand daughter and then a lone male stranger who helps us all out. It was all great until I ended up with a mouth full of broken glass.

I saw the men who "valet away my trash" this morning. Takes away a wee bit of the magic. When I put the trash out last night there was a coke can outside my door.


Those of you who know me know I do not drink soda except occasionally, maybe once or twice a month. It was not mine. I assumed the valet people would pick it up. No they did not and as I was walking back up to my door this morning after my hike I noticed another can sitting on a bit of railing. So to the uncouth lummox(s) who believe mine and your world is their personal waste receptacle. We are NOT here to pick up after you. None of us are. Police yourself or if it is your children who are treating the world like this then you are still at fault. Do you want me and mine to leave our unwanted cans of carbonated syrup on your doorstep? Your porch, backyard, front yard


or anywhere else you may go? Or have you just dropped it wherever for so long you just don not see the trail of filth you leave behind? We do and we (I am sorry to say ) treat you accordingly.

Speaking of my door. There was a knock on it Saturday afternoon. I opened it and there stood two, of what I will start out to call young men. He informs me his grandmother lives vaguely (with a wave of his arm) over there. One of them launchs into a speech about public speaking. Somewhere in the back of my mind this is familiar.  He stops after a question that made no sense and I say with a smile "I don't get it," He launches into it again and this time faster and and looking at me with intensity claiming it is for a school project. Ah... the light of memory is coming on.  He tap dances around the real topic with some dull razzle dazzle with the point being to confuse me so I will ask him to continue.  I am shaking my head and I say "No thank you". He whips out the plastic coated proof of his business which is to sell me magazine subscriptions that will never arrive. I say No thank you I am not interested as he his launching into his sales pitch and he stops, puts the card away and leans forward in an aggressive manner and which does not intimidate me and calls me rude. I stare. "You interrupted me, you did not let me finish (all being said in a very aggressive tone) you are rude!" I was starting to close the door. I open it again. Ger ready male creatures.  No, You are rude. Rude and childish. You knock on my door, disrupt my weekend, I gave you several minutes if my time which you have disrespected. You are rude,  incompetent and disrespectful. Your alleged grand mother would die of shame at your behavior. I close the door. They were ceremonially rejected at the next two doors they approached in my hallway.

But to top off my day my daughter brings me over a bottle of wine.


A plastic bottle of wine. A plastic bottle with a pink label of rose wine. Who would do this? I will drink it out of my Buckees wine glass. No it is not plastic.


Later that evening my nephew arrives with some cognac laced cigars and we crack open a nice dry red in a glass bottle and enjoy some tales of his miss-spent youth ( of which there will still be many more stories).

Breakfast with sausage awaits,
Enjoy your day!

What About Love

My devotional was about love today.

I am trying to remember that…      love. 

No…...      nothing.

Shout out to my children, real and imagined, grand children – those I see and those that are being used as weapons and for selfish (he is not your dead son come back to life) reasons, Aunts, Uncles, Sisters, friends. I love you. After that a Great beautiful landscape of …. 

I still have a slightly used cat for sale here. This morning after I return from my morning hike he starts screaming at me. It is 5:28 AM and he is screaming.  I start the kettle for tea and he screams. I put some dishes away he screams. I flutter about doing things all the while with him screaming. I tap his water bowl to be sure there is water. Finally, the kettle whistles and as I am pouring he saunters over to the other side of the kitchen where his two food bowls are located and screams at me. He looks down and in the midst of a scream his purr machine turns on and he starts eating. Both bowls had food in them and had food in them the entire time. This constant screaming without checking thing he does is seriously getting on my last ¼ of nerve. I have discounted his price. Anyone?

Sorry for such a short letter today. I want to get the work load done early, and get to the grocery store before the payday. Weekend crowds get there. I have a ghost hunting mystery to solve. You know I love to dig in and Sherlock and I want to start today.

Cheers!

What You Have in Common with a Duck

Am I the only one who is disturbed by the AFLAC duck smacking on his assistant in the magic commercial.  My first reaction was shock he was hitting her. That quickly changed to downright fury. Then you cut to two people in the audience one a man and the other a woman who are watching this brutal attack and calmly chatting. Get your bloody asses up and stop this!! That bloody duck is attacking a human because he is a bad magician. This is NOT ok AFLAC. EVER!!!! NOT funny!!!

Another thing, why do people in several multimedia venues love to tell us who wore the best dress? 

Best dress for who? You the editor of a magazine? You the talk show host, you the newspaper editor? Just because you like a dress or do not like a dress does not mean it was a bad dress or the actress or celeb in the spotlight of your wrath or praise has bad taste. Why do you publish and broadcast the best and then the worst? 

Who exactly does that help? Why do it? Are people not able to look upon a red carpet dress and say “WOW!!! That is gorgeous!” or “I do not like that dress!” Do they need to be told? This is not an uplifting, positive, helpful, kind or gracious thing you do. Not to them, not to you and not to us. 

You create hate, remorse, anger, sadness, hostility, self-doubt, loathing, and so many more negative feelings. Not only in us, but in the celeb you attack, the designer they are wearing, and in the brutal world of “lets destroy the celebs” you are attacking each other. You imply we are not savvy enough to like something, we have to be told what to like, by you. Just STOP!!!  Describe the dress, tell us who the designer is, anything else positive you want, just stop the negative judgement. We can decide what we like and do not like. 

Your worst may be our favorite and for some reason that had totally escaped your judgement, we see beauty, quirky, feminine, revenge, respect, fun, serious, joy, laughter and even odd just to get your attention so they can laugh at you.

Just be nice.