Crazy Train

All aboard! ha ha ha! 

He looked fairly normal, meaning average and like a lot of people. He was dressed in a t-shirt and pull on shorts and, except for needing a shave and haircut, wouldn’t have stood out in a crowd. I glanced at him as I sat in the airport waiting for a plane.

I went back to reading my book and looked up again. He was still sitting in the same spot but this time when I looked he appeared to have a bloody nose, tissue hanging from his nostrils. That still didn’t seem too strange because I’d seen it before. I felt sympathetic because I have had a bloody nose in an airport before and felt very self conscious and helpless. Then he started rocking himself.

I am a rocker and always have been. My mother tells a story of us living in a two story apartment when I was a toddler. I had a red rocking chair with a separate foot stool that matched. It was a platform type, meaning it sat flat on the floor and rocked. I would rock in the chair so hard that the platform would come off the ground and bang on the ceiling below. They complained.

Usually if someone rocks in public it’s subtle. He wasn’t. He had his arms crossed tight across his body and rocked himself to where he came out from the seat back, almost touching his knees then moved back to his original position. Over and over he rocked. My first impulse was to see if I could be of some comfort but I decided against and stayed where I was.

He had a backpack and a cell phone and he made a call. But he had the phone on speaker and spoke loudly to the recipient. It was in his lap. I couldn’t hear the whole conversation but did hear him say, “I love you too Papaw.” Again, I went back to my book.

The next time I looked he was gone. I checked my phone and continued reading. Someone came up to the chair beside mine and when I looked up, it was him. He had two pieces of what seemed to be sweet and sour chicken. I came to that conclusion because there was a Chinese food stall across the way. He took one of the pieces of chicken and sat it on the table between the chairs. There was no napkin or paper or anything. He sat it straight on the surface while he prepared to sit in the empty chair.

He settled, then picked up the chicken and popped it into his mouth while wiping his hands down his shirt. He rested quietly but he was fidgeting, twirling his fingers together. I read this was a sign of autism and I wondered if he was on the spectrum. I didn’t know but felt there was some kind of mental problem.

He then started speaking. He was having a full conversation...with himself. I could only hear snatches of the ‘conversation’ but I listened. He quoted bible verses. He spoke of the Jews and the return to Zion. He would begin a sentence and then repeat that sentence. This happened over and over. He mentioned having someone systematically eliminated. It sounded like he was reciting passages of a book or something similar.

After a while he stood and walked in a tight circle in front of his chair while he spoke. The lady across from us was working on a computer but when he started the pacing she noticed. She watched him intently and when she and I made eye contact I shrugged to say I don’t know what is wrong.

I went to the restroom and when I got back someone was in the chair I had occupied. He was still there however, walking and speaking, but had increased the circumference of his pacing. I waited at the end of the row as it was almost time for boarding. The woman who was in the chair directly behind him stood up and looked at me. She asked if he was on the phone as he was speaking loud enough for people to notice. I told her no, that something was wrong. She commented, “And he’s getting on our plane”.

It was time and I boarded the plane. His pass had a number that was after mine and I was thankful that he chose a seat near the front. The flight landed in another location but I was a through passenger and stayed on board. He got off the plane and I didn’t see him again. That was Friday.

Fast forward to Sunday when I traveled again. It was another through flight with a stop midway. I got on the plane and when we landed at the first stop, moved closer to the front like we are allowed to do after a through count. The new board was a full flight and my row had all seats occupied.

I heard someone behind me asking the lady beside him if the book was about Arnold Schwarzenegger. She replied it was and the plane took off. We landed and as we taxied to the gate and people could speak on their phones I heard someone say very loudly, “hello”. Evidently there was no sound from the other side so he spoke again, louder. Then he said, “I love you mom. I’ll see you when I see you”, still speaking loudly, enough to be considered shouting. He repeated, even louder than before, “I said I’ll see you when I see you!” The person on the receiver at the other end still apparently did not hear so he said it again, screaming, “I’ll see you when I see you!” People were looking around and snickering, glancing with embarrassment at the poor guy. I stood to disembark and turned to see who had the difficult phone conference. Guess who it was? Yes, the same sad guy that has conversations with himself in the airport. What were the odds of that?

The whole incident was funny but not in a humorous way. Mental illness isn’t funny. And, we all live with our own bit of crazy. That's how it goes...

Mental wounds not healing 

Several studies have been done recently on the benefits of knitting. The stimulation knitting provides your brain can result in better memory and attention span and also increase your problem-solving abilities. Besides all that, the gentle rhythm of the needles moving with the yarn brings relaxation and causes a drop in heart rate and blood pressure. It’s been said it also helps with the symptoms of depression.

So we continue with the knit-along. Progress is being made but with all of us being so busy it could take a while! It’s funny how Kerri, Miya and I all have our own take on this project. It will be fun to see the finished products.

Huckle Wrap

I doubt any of us will be depressed at the end of this endeavor, for sure. In fact, the feeling will probably be relief. And we will still have our sanity!

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train...

Brush Your Teeth

When you wake up in the morning, it's quarter to one...

The meeting went well and all were gathering their belongings to depart. Goodbyes and thank-yous circulated throughout the room. There were hugs, laughter and many smiles. I loaded supplies on the cart to take back to the closet. While there I took a quick restroom break as well. As I was washing my hands I looked in the mirror and for some reason, smiled. There, big as a dime at least (well maybe not) was a speck of black pepper, right in the crevice between my front and second tooth! OMG!

I know. It happens to everyone. How about you? Have you ever discovered, after much time with many people, that you had something green or brown or even pastel in your teeth? If so, you know the sinking feeling I had in the pit of my stomach! And you wonder how long it was like that and why nobody told you!

It might not seem like such a big deal. Except for the fact that I have a huge smile. I think it came from my mother, but regardless, when I smile, I smile large. So there’s no doubt in my mind everyone saw. Maybe they thought it was a shadow. Maybe they thought it was a cavity. Hmmm….what is worse? Them thinking I had poor dental hygiene or that it was tooth decay, or worse, some dread periodontal disease? I’ll survive and won’t have to see them again or at least not for a while as most were from out of town. But still...OMG!

And you want to have a little fun...

My knitting (and good) friends, Kerri and Miya and I are doing a knit-along. That means we are doing a project together, virtually. That’s how we did the February scarf too. But this project was planned since around May of last year. Finally, we are going to start and now I just have to figure it out so I can show them!

Purple and aqua from Knitpicks

Cast on...and begin!

 It looks fun. I hope it is….for us all!

You brush your teeth, ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch...

Egg Man

I ran to the fridge and pulled out an egg...

Chickens are kind of dumb. They wander around all over and make noises and messes and run if you try to get near them. Or maybe they are lucky that’s all they have to do! That and lay eggs. If there was ever a perfect food I suppose it could be the egg. It’s portable. It doesn’t need refrigeration (although now they say store-bought need to be refrigerated because they have been washed) and it can be prepared in a multitude of ways. It is also a great source of protein!

My husband likes chickens. So for the time being I am wealthy…in eggs! He has several different breeds of hens (they all look like chickens to me!) and they lay different colored eggs. We have brown, light brown, dark brown, green, light green, olive, speckled and, oh yeah, white. It’s like an Easter egg hunt with no dye!

Colored Eggs!

When the Littles visited a couple of weeks ago they loved gathering the eggs. They brought them in and I scrambled them. I fried them. I even boiled them a dozen and a half which they ate them in no time flat! If they remember anything from their time here, they'll remember that “Mamye can boil eggs really good”!

Fresh eggs...scrambled!

We have so many eggs that I’ve started selling them. I had no idea how to price them so I said $5.00 a dozen or $4.00 if you bring a carton. We had to order cartons to start with so there would be enough. Now people bring me cartons all the time!

One day there were so many eggs I had a ‘special’. They were on sale, that day only, for $3.50, carton or not. You wouldn’t think a mere fifty cents would make a difference to people. But it did.

When people buy eggs, I open the carton to show them the eggs and to make sure nothing is broken. One day someone came and when I opened the carton one of the eggs had a little silver spot on the end. I picked at the spot, wondering what it was. I lifted the egg and looked closely. It said 1.69 on the bottom. It wasn’t real! It was a glass egg!

Don't eat it! It's not real!!

Ceramic eggs are placed in the egg boxes to encourage the hens to lay. They are also there so the hens will lay where they are supposed to and not out in the yard or under a bush. I’ve found eggs in some strange places! Anyway, when the eggs were gathered one of the ceramic eggs was accidentally picked up too! I told my husband and he said the funny thing is there was another ceramic egg, in addition to the one I found, that was missing. That meant two were accidentally put in the cartons.

I sent out an email to all the people I had sold to letting them know to watch for a fake egg. My husband did the same. To this day nobody has admitted to finding that lost ceramic egg!

You know, I'm the Egg Man 

I’ve been working on a baby blanket for a friend whose baby was born a while back. I was finished except for the border and binding off. There was a little time during spring break so I decided to get it done and take it to her. I knitted six rows to make the border and proceeded to bind off the edge. I worked the ends in and it was good to go. That is until I decided to take a picture.

Right side/wrong side. See it?

That's a lot of mistake!!

When I spread it out I discovered that somehow I had switched so that the front was now the back and vice versa. It wasn’t a little bit. It was about a foot worth. Would the ordinary person have noticed? It’s doubtful. But I did so I had to have a do-over. I 'unworked' the ends (and that’s hard when they are hidden well). I pulled out about 15 inches total. I got it all back on the needles and am finally going forward again. I just hate it when I do that!

It comes from a chicken not a bunny dummy. 
Yeah, I'm the Egg Man...

Lipstick Vogue

It's you, not just another mouth in the lipstick vogue 

When I talked to my daughter the other day I couldn’t help but laugh when she told her story. “Nobody” wound up her new lipsticks then put the lids back on!

A long time ago, “Nobody” lived at our house. I don’t wear a lot of makeup. I’d read an article though, that said if you needed any makeup at all it should be lipstick. So being a fashion maven wannabe, I got a couple of tubes. I just knew I was on the way to becoming beautiful.

Imagine my surprise when I took the lid off one I wanted to try. Instead of a nice firm stick with a point, or even a smooth flat edge, I had a mangled mess. The majority of the makeup was in the lid. I shook it and watched as the pointed end came out on the counter.

There are tricks to save the product should you want to Google and watch a video. But it’s kind of an overall pain. Even picking up the broken part leaves lipstick on the counter, on your fingers, and on your clothes should you forget and wipe your hands. It doesn’t wash off easily, either! It’s a slick, waxy mess.

I gathered the kids and asked just who had broken my new war paint. First, my daughter. "Did you break my lipstick?" She immediately burst into tears, started a tirade ranting how I always blamed her, it wasn’t her but it didn’t matter, I’d think it was and so on. It was a true adolescent female outburst. I listened for a bit then told her it was okay, I didn’t think it was her and the tears and wailing stopped immediately. Okay then. On to the next could be culprit!

It was my baby's turn. I asked my youngest son. He said, “Whut’s a lipstick?” with a goofy grin on his face.

Finally it was time to ask my oldest son. He said, “Wasn’t me!”

If you are an experienced mother or parent, what would you think? Who did it?

Yes, he did!

You say you're sorry for the things that you've done...

I’m still working on that February mood scarf. I won’t have it finished by the end of February, since that is today. But I will finish it.

Sometime last fall or so I ordered some yarn from a place called “Darn Good Yarn.” It’s a unique company that is designed to help the women of India and Nepal become autonomous and self-reliant. You can read about it here: http://www.darngoodyarn.com/

Check out http://www.darngoodyarn.com/

I had some pillows that needed re-vamping so I used some of my yarn, mixed with other yarn I already had and transformed them!

Re-do!

Not bad I guess!

It's you, not just another mouth in the lipstick vogue...

Meet Me in Montana

Won't you meet me in Montana,
I want to see the mountains…

Around about year 2000, with the coming millennium and destruction of the universe, a man in town told a group that if he could only pick three people to go with him into hiding or whatever he thought he could do to save himself, that my husband would be one of those people. Why you ask? Because he can fix just about anything!

Yes, I’m married to a MacGyver!

It’s pretty handy really. When the dryer is making a funny sound and won’t dry the clothes, he knows what to do. When there’s a puddle of water where water shouldn’t be puddled, he knows what to do. When the car won’t start, the lights won’t come on, the heater won’t heat and the stove won’t cook, he knows just what to do. Granted, oftentimes the fix is some sort of jury-rig to get by, but it does the job. The downfall is that oftentimes the fix stays some sort of jury-rig! And sometimes the solution is ‘creative’ thinking in a different way. For instance when my daughter complained her air-conditioner wasn’t working in her old Bronco, he told her to roll the windows down and drive 55. Hmmmm.

My husband, Alan, has a dear friend named Olen. In fact, had fate not intervened, our first born son might have been known as Alan Olen or Olen Alan. That’s what kind of friend he is. Funny, they met because he was the boyfriend/husband of my best friend at college. That, unfortunately, didn’t work out, but the guys have stayed friends and kept in touch through the years.

Olen is what I would consider a true mountain man. Think of a modern day Daniel Boone. I think he’d just as soon get up in the morning and hunt or fish for breakfast than ever go grocery shopping! He lives in Montana, where there are trees and mountains and lakes and may actually have that choice. We, on the other hand, live in the dessert. If you like jack rabbit for breakfast, you’d be in luck! It had been a while since they’d seen each other so the idea of the road trip was born!

 

Montana splendor...

Because he’s outgoing, Olen knows a lot of people. One of those was someone who, through his ranch or some other source, had a bison for butcher. Alan and Olen decided on a split and would both have meat for the winter. Doesn’t that sound rather mountain-mannish?

Texas to Montana is a pretty far distance, regardless. Crane, Texas, to Kila, Montana is about 1,700 miles. That’s one way. How would one go about getting half a bison delivered in an edible state, 1,700 miles away? Enter a MacGyverism!

I’m not sure who came up with this solution, Alan or Olen, and it may have even been a combination of the two. I do know it worked and it was actually pretty ingenious! It began with placing a simple order to Sears. Alan ordered a smaller size chest type freezer from Sears and had it delivered to Montana. It arrived in a little town about 12 miles from where Olen lives. He picked it up, took it home and plugged it in. The meat, already frozen, was then placed in the cold freezer. In the meantime, Alan prepared for the trip. It took him about two days but he and Junior (our dog son) made the trip safely.

They had an eventful week, with fishing, maybe some impromptu shooting and lots of visiting and sight-seeing. But as all good things, the mini vacation had to come to an end. It was time to get back to reality and bring himself, Junior and the bison safely home, all food poison free.

That's a lot of fish!

The freezer, loaded with meat, was hoisted onto the truck. It was plugged into the generator to keep it running. Did I forget to mention the generator? Never fear! They thought of everything. Alan brought the portable generator from home so that the freezer would have power to ensure the food would stay solid.

Friends...looking the same as always except a little gray...

1700 miles and a lot of hours later, Alan, Junior and the frozen food arrived home safely. He had a great time and I got a new little freezer, complete with food!

Oh, I've had all of this life I can handle,
Meet me underneath that big Montana sky…

On the yarn front, I was working on an autumn cowl. The yarn is pretty, the pattern is pretty but they aren’t right for each other. I finished it but even after MacGyvering, it just wasn’t doing anything for me. So I took it all apart. I’ll do it again, differently. That’s the beauty of yarn!

And back to a ball it goes.

Won't you meet me in Montana 
Meet me underneath that big Montana sky...

Eat It

It doesn't matter if it's fresh or canned, 
Just eat it, eat it, eat it, eat it… 

It was probably the last weekend of the summer for Evan to come over. He starts junior high in a couple of weeks and with that, all the pre-activities associated with the beginning of school. We’d had a great school clothes shopping day (another post sometime), and were back at the house. We did our traditional corny ritual of watching a detective show or two before bed then hit the sack. Both of us were tired, me especially! 

The next day we slept in, Evan til noon! I let him because he’ll be going strong soon. We had another corny ritual, what we call doctor coffee. When they were little I let them drink coffee. Judge me if you must. I would fix theirs, about ¼ coffee in their travel mug, to ¾ milk. I’d sweeten it and they loved it. We’ve since graduated to flavored creamers and it’s still amazing. They think so anyway!

Suppertime was coming and I asked Evan what he wanted. We try to please them by having whatever they want when they are here. He wanted steak. So, steak it was. I fixed some vegetables and creamed onions, avocado and tomato as a salad and we called it good. As we ate we chatted. Because I’m such a good cook (insert applause here), the food was exceptionally tasty! Evan didn’t care for the vegetables because it was a mixture with squash, corn, red and orange bell peppers, onion, green chili and tomatoes. That was what he didn’t like, the tomatoes. Anyway, the vegetables and what the mixture included was what spurred the conversation.

Evan wasn’t sure about squash. It was yellow squash and Alan told him how his mamaw had cooked it when he was a boy. He told him it was fried and he loved it. Evan said he’s never eaten fried squash! From there, Alan reminisced about the okra his mamaw used to cook. It was fresh and she cut it into pieces then battered it in a mixture of cornmeal and flour. Next she fried it until it was crispy and brown. He told us it was his favorite food that she had made.

After a minute I told them the favorite food that my mamaw used to make. It was what we call ‘goulash’. It’s made of hamburger meat, macaroni and tomato juice, and there are many variations. Most families have had it at one time or another. In college, my friend Doreen always wanted to make me American Chop Suey. Finally, one day we had the chance. She prepared the meal and was so proud to serve…goulash! It must be universal!

We sat for a moment more, enjoying the food and each other. Alan told Evan he’d have memories of what Mamye had cooked him when he got older. I asked Evan what his favorite food was that I had made him so far. He thought for a while and finally said, well it’s that noodle stuff. I said spaghetti? Nope, that’s not it. It had an orange sauce. Macaroni and cheese I asked? No, not that. We thought some more and he added that it had meat in it. Alan started to laugh and said Hamburger Helper? Yes Evan exclaimed. That’s it. That stuff’s good! We giggled. One day this summer while they were here I had fixed Hamburger Helper for their lunch. They were hungry, I was in a hurry, and it was there. I never dreamed it would make such an impression!

It’s bittersweet that the kids are getting older. I know the time we’ll have to spend together will get to be less than it is already. He’ll have his activities and his friends and he’ll be busy. He won’t want to come over to sit with Mamye and Pap and watch silly detective shows on TV or eat leisurely suppers. He’ll be starting his journey to adulthood. I just hope that occasionally we can get together.

Maybe someday, when his grandkids are over enjoying the weekend, they will have a conversation at supper. He’ll take a bite of something that will spur a memory about how well his Mamye made Hamburger Helper. He’ll remember the fun times that were had when he stayed over. He might even share his story with them and ask what their favorite thing is that their Mamye makes. I bet it won’t be Hamburger Helper!

Have a big dinner, have a light snack 
If you don't like it, you can't send it back

Remember I told you there was a lot of rain at the beginning of the summer? Apparently that was the allotment for the season because since then all it’s been is hot. Not just summer hot but record breaking temperature hot! For that reason it’s been small knitting projects, things that don’t sit across my lap and finishing things that were already finished except for working in the ends. I might or might not have a whole basket of things like that!

Rainbow Birthday Cake Cowl

Homespun from Ft. Davis, simple cowl

Orange Montego Bay scarf

Dishcloth set, Tribble, Grandma's Favorite, Ballband Dishcloth

I guess in the long run it doesn’t matter what you make or what you cook. What matters is the feelings attached to the action, from both ends. I’m glad Evan likes my Hamburger Helper. But mostly, I’m glad he associates it with good memories.

So eat it, just eat it…

Happy New Year

May we all have a vision now and then 
Of a world where every neighbor is a friend.

Happy New Year!

May we all have our hopes, our will to try...
You and I...

 

Happy New Year!

Brave

Say what you wanna say 
And let the words fall out. 
Honestly I wanna see you be brave!

There we were, gathered in the ‘Take a Break’, our version of an employee lounge. It was a birthday celebration and someone brought a delightful cake for all to share. I deposited the half piece on my party plate and placed a luscious bite in my mouth. That’s when she said, “That’s why you look the way you do”.

I jumped on the chair, glared down at her and said, “Yes, people do mistake me for you all the time. Mind your own business, you hateful wench!”

But really, as I choked down that one bite and all joy I’d had from the taste, I quietly put the rest in the trash and left the room. She won.

The meeting was going well. Ideas were being discussed and plans were solidifying. There was a question about a grant. That’s when he said, “I’d rather deal with terrorists and snipers than your program”. Several people smiled and a few even broke into spontaneous laughter.

I didn’t find it funny. But I smiled, like the rest, and sweetly said, “Oh yeah? Well, stick it in your ear or your nose or anywhere else that might be convenient!”

That’s what I said in my head. Actually my feelings were really hurt. And I was embarrassed. But I smiled with the rest and acted like I agreed. He won.

It was supposed to be a pep talk. The door was closed and the right things were being said. Then out came, “Have I ever lied to you?”

Jumping up I screamed, “How the heck should I know? Does ommitance count?” But like the good girl I am, I didn’t mention specifics. Instead, I politely replied with the expected, “No.” She won.

Why is it not acceptable to say what I think, what I want to say? Why can’t I defend myself? It wouldn’t have to be snarky. I could keep it polite, not bringing myself down to their level. But I don’t contradict. I don’t make waves. And sadly, the word bullies win.

I have three little granddaughters. I love them dearly and want the best as they become young ladies. I hope they are able to stand up for themselves and what they think is right without ridicule or insults. I want them to be strong but kind, to be assertive but gracious and to be articulate but polite. I want them to be brave. I want them to defeat the word bullies.

Everybody’s been stared down by the enemy.
Fallen for the fear 
And done some disappearing, 
Bow down to the mighty.
Don’t run, just stop holding your tongue!

Believe it or not there was a yarn bombing, right here in Odessa! Well, sort of anyway. It was at the Museum and it was their interpretation. I didn’t completely agree it was a true yarn bombing but it was fun anyway. Here’s a few pictures.

Wrapped up.

Bikini skater?

Kathy and Pippi Longstocking!

Someone's grandma is  missing an afghan!!

Borrowed from the living room couch?

Strange creatures in skirts!

Pole not dancing.

And here’s my own little yarn bomb on my deck. Because I can.

My own private yarn bomb!

And since your history of silence 
Won’t do you any good, 
Did you think it would? 
Let your words be anything but empty.
Why don’t you tell them the truth?

Friends in Low Places

I'm not big on social graces, think I'll slip on down to the oasis...
Oh, I've got friends in low places...

One time I was in San Antonio with a group of friends. We’d heard about a killer margarita, the specialty of one of the restaurants on the Riverwalk. So the group of us girls, about six in all, decided we’d take a walk down the river to see if we could find the origin of this famous concoction.

The Riverwalk is in downtown San Antonio. It’s a tourist attraction, but not really a river. It’s actually designed for flood control. In 1921 a disastrous flood along the San Antonio River claimed at least 50 lives. The bypass channel was born. An architect named Robert Hugman dreamed up the plans for what eventually became the Riverwalk. Today it’s a mecca of hotels and restaurants, all one level below the street. It’s a winding maze of people and vegetation. There are even ducks, swimming in the murky water.

We walked along until we found what we were looking for. There was no wait and we circled a table, outside, at river’s edge. The waitress brought large baskets of fried tortilla wedges and bowls of spicy, fresh salsa. We watched the people walk by and visited as we snacked and chatted, awaiting our beverages.

Several tables were occupied. Nearby was a romantic couple and in another spot, a family with small children. Another table had a group similar to ours, women together, most likely doing just what we were; enjoying the atmosphere and each other’s company. That’s what we thought anyway.

One of the women stood. Correction; she tried to stand. With a little help from her friends she made it off the chair and staggered inside, one of the others holding her up. The two at the table were left laughing hysterically. To get inside to the restroom two steps needed to be scaled. After a couple of tries the friend got her inside, presumably all the way to the women’s room. After a bit, still supported by the friend, she came back and tried to make her way to her seat. Without the assistance of the other woman she would have slid to the ground. She was smashed.

We watched curiously, to see what happened next. One of the ladies from the table approached the two, while the other stayed seated, still laughing. We thought she had come to help. No. she had her phone out and was taking picture after picture. The poor inebriated lady was cognizant enough to realize what was going on and begged her to stop. They both just laughed at her and said wait until they put the snapshots on Facebook. Finally the trio made their way back to their table where her friends encouraged her to finish the drink she had left. Knowing no better, she continued to sip the poison they fed her.

We shifted our interest back to our visit, paying no attention to the other table. All was going well until one of the girls at our table exclaimed, “Gross. That is disgusting.” Of course we all turned to see what was going on. The intoxicated woman had thrown up all over their table. Did her friends help her? After they laughed and took more pictures.

The group finally got up, dragging their friend, and staggered away. Hopefully they made it to their hotel down the river. The wait staff, young people, seemed to take it in stride. Utensils and dishes were removed from the table. A water hose and mop appeared and disinfectant was sprayed. The table was scrubbed and set up for the next (unsuspecting) guests. It was a routine occurrence we were told.

I was embarrassed for the lady but mostly I felt anger towards her so-called friends. How could they make the entire situation such a joke, laughing at her and taking pictures which probably made it to some form of social media? How could they encourage her, knowing she couldn’t stand alone, to have more alcohol? Those were not friends. They were cruel, uncaring, individuals.

I hope when she was able to function, that she could recall some of the events of the afternoon. I hope she re-evaluates the people she calls friends. I hope she questions their actions and how they reacted when she needed them. Most of all, I hope, if they ask her to go again that she’d have the sense to say no, she was busy. Besides, they weren’t all that much fun.

Well, I guess I was wrong, I just don't belong,
But then, I've been there before...

Speaking of friends, an Internet knitter friend sent me a package the other day. She crocheted (which isn’t the same as knitting but it uses yarn), some really cool coasters! What a nice gesture! Thank you Jo!

A friend is someone you respect and who reciprocates that feeling. It’s someone whose company you enjoy. It’s someone you like to be around. It’s someone who will support you and likes you, even on your bad days. A true friend celebrates your best and would never post stupid pictures of you on social media. Everybody needs a friend. But first you have to be a friend.

These are my friends in high places! Funnest group ever!!

Oh, I've got friends in low places...

You May Be Right

I may be crazy.
But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for...

The story you are about to read is mostly true. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

I wasn’t looking forward to the trip. Two is company and three is a crowd so the odds were stacked against already. But business is business and I can endure anything for a couple of days. It started wrong. I’d waited like I was supposed to, so we could go to the airport. I took a quick bathroom break and Monica was gone. She hadn’t waited. Phoebe was already there and had sent a text saying so. But the routine is for travelers in the building to catch a ride to the airport. Together. It was an omen of what was to come that I didn’t even recognize.

Thankfully the airline had open seating. Because my boarding pass was a little further down the line than the other two there was no chance I’d have to sit with either of them. Farther along in the trip I’d realize I’d meant I didn’t have to sit with any of them because one of the travelers brought company.

The first leg went well. Or maybe the gin and tonic made it seem that way. There was just time for a quick coffee before the next plane. But Monica needed food; chips and dip at the airport restaurant. I went along, sipping my coffee but worried about the time. Monica wasn’t concerned. Finally, desperate, I said I’m going. Monica laughed but settled the check and we all walked out. Spotting the sign above the line I said, girls, they are on the ‘B’ group. They started to run because they had ‘A’ boarding passes. I laughed, but it really wasn’t funny.

Phoebe and I waited for luggage while Monica went to check out the rental car. I grabbed the suitcases and we met at the escalator. It was while waiting for the clerk to bring the car that I first saw. Monica had something on her shoulder. A cartoon picture popped into my head. It was a mad little character with a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. I looked at Monica and saw the same thing except there was a devil on both sides. Monica held out the keys and one of the devils climbed down and started shaking them. Devil 2 started shouting how people accused Monica of being aggressive and she wasn’t aggressive or pushy so someone else better drive. Phoebe and I stared, dumbfounded, and finally Phoebe took the keys. The devil went back to her shoulder.

The trip to the hotel was actually pleasant. We talked. We made dinner plans. We checked in and suddenly one of the devils climbed down and said I’m going to my room. What time tomorrow? Another coworker was meeting us so I told them I’d text when he got here.

Phoebe and I were headed towards the restaurant when Chandler arrived. We waited while he parked and he walked over with us. After dinner we set out for our rooms. My phone was on silent and I had missed three texts. There was one from Devil 1, one from Monica and another from Devil 2, all demanding a time for meeting in the morning. Already tired of this, I texted back and the arrangements were made.

Early the next day the six of us squeezed into the rental and headed towards the meeting. Customarily, though not required, the group sits together. Monica and her two personalities went to a table with other people present. They sat down while we sat at the table behind. She turned and said she couldn’t have her back to the speaker so she had to sit at another table. D1 and D2 giggled and waved.

I had plans for dinner since the five of them were going to be together. Nobody objected so I went ahead. The next morning we were gathering in the lobby for the last day of the seminar. Monica was already there with her two personalities. I checked out and sat down beside her. D1 came off her shoulder to tell me how they had to walk to a restaurant and eat alone. I was shocked. The others left you? Oh, no. We didn’t want to go with them. Well, I thought, that makes the situation a little different. I didn’t say it but they didn’t have to eat alone. They chose to.

That day we all sat together like we were supposed to. The speaker presented and sometime that afternoon Phoebe got a message from the airline that our plane would be delayed by about three hours. She shared the information with the rest of us and Monica panicked. She and the Ds were afraid we might get stuck and not make it back home. So we left abruptly. Chandler went to his car and Monica was driving us to the airport. I sat in the backseat and was along for the ride at that time. I was fully prepared to wait at the airport because most of the time I have delays anyway. But D1 and D2 had other ideas. They decided we’d drive home. By that time neither Phoebe nor I cared.

We did, however, want to call to make sure everything would be acceptable since we were traveling for business. Monica and her Ds refused. It’s fine they said. We asked about calling the rental agency to tell them we were keeping the car. No need said the Ds. We asked about calling our boss. Again we were told no. That decision was vetoed and Phoebe made the call. After some negotiation it was decided we could drive the six hours home.

Immediately Monica and her Ds stated they were NOT driving all the way. Fine. Let’s just get this over with I thought. I was settled in the back seat when we stopped for gas. After arguing with Monica, she locked the car and we went inside. She handed Phoebe the keys so she thought, because of the prior comment, that Monica was finished driving and got in the driver’s seat when she went outside. I was paying and glanced out the window. I watched as the Ds began moving all of my belongings from the back to the front seat. I didn’t like it. When I went to the car I told them so. Dammit Monica, why did you do that? They teared up. In a shaky, quiet voice she said I don’t think anyone I work with has ever cussed at me. (Really? Maybe not so loud that she heard but I know it’s happened.) The Ds gave me the stink eye. I didn’t apologize and got in the front seat. They pouted.

The whole way home Monica would say something, and if either Phoebe or I disagreed she’d send one of those devils down. The shaky voice would come back, the crocodile tears would appear and the pouting would commence. That would last a while then she’d return to her obnoxious self, the Ds would go back on her shoulders and the cycle would begin again.

It was a tiring ride with lots of pauses in the conversation. Phoebe and I survived but neither of us wants to travel with a group like that for a long, long time!

I might be as crazy as you say.
If I'm crazy then it's true.

I found the lunatic. Right there in the car. You know, people shouldn’t try my patience when I have two long pointed sticks in my hands. Thank goodness for my yarn and needles. I was knitting so I wouldn’t hurt somebody. Now I need the t-shirt!

Sometimes!!

You may be wrong for all I know.
But you may be right.