Pizza Vs Patience

Did our grocery shopping, frozen foods in the cooler with ice,

then picked up a lunch splurge—East of Chicago pepperoni pizza.

Laid it on the back seat, hoping it would stay hot

on the short way home, but

we managed to get behind Moses and the Israelites

wandering through their third year in the wilderness

in the form of a minivan, then it turned off, but

we found the Israelites in their eleventh year

in the form of a rookie grain hauler that beat us at a light.

Eventually, the hauler pulled over, letting a bunch of us pass

and we then got behind the Israelites in their 35th year

in the form of an SUV that must have been lost.

All this time…the large pizza wafted it’s delicious fragrance

into our olfactory senses, driving us insane until finally

the Israelites pulled aside to let a bunch of cars pass and

we made it home, squealed into the garage, shoved all the

cold food in the freezer or fridge, and then

pizza

The Juicer

My sister said, “I thought I had enough juice in my cell-phone not to have to put it in the juicer last night, but this morning I found I was wrong…”

It took me a couple seconds to figure out what “juicer” meant. 

(July 25, 2020, Covid-19 Year)

Terrors for Tutti and Tam

(Friday morning, July 17, 2020)

We haven’t bought paper plates in years, but with the 2020 pandemic virus, we can’t eat in our favorite restaurants, and eating in the car is messy, so, to protect the car, we bought a bag of heavy paper plates.

Now, this morning, the parakeet and I were alone.  I played online tablet games, sitting in the electric easy chair, while Tutti perched fluffy on my free finger and gazed at me adoringly (I assume adoringly).

A shocking crash bang clatter happened and then a heavy thud, thud sound.  Tutti flapped off squawking, while I had to wait idiotically as the electric easy chair slowly. lowered. the. foot. rest.  Still alive, I hopped out of the chair and carefully eyeballed the kitchen, no one.  Hands ready to deal killing blows, I slid over to the basement stairwell, nothing, then down the stairs, no one.  I warily opened the garage door, nothing out of place.  Okay, no Horrible Rioters or Vikings.

Back in the kitchen, I scanned the area again and noticed our bag of bottled water on the floor, like normal, but just beyond it lay the bag of heavy paper plates.  I deduced from the evidence that if it had rolled out of the cabinet (it’s stored on its side due to lack of room), it would have landed on the water bottles and then thudded onto the floor.  I straightened things up, so extremely grateful it hadn’t been vile assailants..

Tam and the Silverfish

Early morning, alone, on the carpeted floor, exercising and stretching

Enjoying the time to do something good for myself when

The corner of my eye noticed swift movement from under the TV

Heading in my direction

Super-human abilities kicked in immediately as I

Popped into the air from a semi-seated position, did a

Twist to face the floor and the flat, silver, leggy bug that

Moved to the spot I had vacated and

WHAM, WHAM, WHAM

The Silverfish will not terrorize earth’s denizens again

 

May 23, 2020

Diary Entry from August 24, 1998

(Still going through this old diary I found.  Still dealing with the quarantine Corona virus time.  Here’s another entry, a month after the last one.  In my diary, about this time I only entered one happening a month, and it gets fewer as time goes.)

Driving my van, I listened to a country radio station, to a song with the words, “I’m thinking about you,” dealing with a father who loves his 8-year-old daughter and wonders about her when he sees how many adult women are treated badly in the world.  It made me think.

I was a little girl once.  My dad’s little first-born girl.  During my first six years, I wanted to be a cowboy.  Didn’t understand the difference between cowgirl and cowboy.  I loved wearing chaps, boots, six shooters, and a hat, and I needed a horse (even make-believe worked).  I desperately wanted to look just like Roy Rogers.  He was my hero.  We didn’t live but a mile or so from him in Phoenix, Arizona.  I played cowboy in the front yard almost every day, hoping beyond hope to see Roy go by on his horse, Trigger.  My child-heart yearned to be near my hero.  I still have a birthday photo of me at 6-years-old, sitting on a real, little pony (borrowed) in my cowboy gear.

Was my wonderful Dad ever jealous?  I hope not.  I believe he was my real hero, I just didn’t know it then.