The Road to Dixie

The week started off on quite a tear.  Monday was a nightmare of problems getting a prescription filled, a car that suddenly started leaking fluid in massive quantities in a parking lot, impending wrath-of-God weather, and to top it all off, a headache that robbed me of all cognizance.

I woke up on Tuesday with what I have come to think of as a "migraine hangover," still unable to focus, still processing with a significant lag, and also having the new element of a sore neck to go with it.  It was fabulous beyond words.  I desperately wanted to come back home and fall unconscious, but I had my Comp class to teach, and so instead of being able to leave at the last bell, I had to stay until late into the evening.  I came home and found the beginnings of good news with my car repaired fairly inexpensively and waiting for me to pick it up.

Today, all the clouds both mental and physical had rolled away.  The weather was cold but gorgeously clear.  The sky was that shade of blue that makes me breathe as deeply as I can as if I could somehow inhale some of that bright glory.  The daily schedule was shot to pieces because of an assembly.  It didn't even phase me.  A friend sent me a link to the new Josh Ritter album on NPR First Listen, and I spent what remained of my lunch hour exploring all that new wonder.  My copy is due to be here tomorrow.  Rarely have I watched the progress of a package on my little iPhone app with more anticipation.

The day my car tried to die, I took it through a back street in town to get it to the mechanic who cobbles it back together routinely.  I hadn't been all the way down it in a very long time, and near an overpass I drive across every single day, I found a hidden gem.  Tucked right beside the concrete arch is an old sign for the Dixie Oil Company.  The building that went with it is gone now, but this one incredibly well-kept sign stands sentinel over the mowed emptiness.  I wanted to shoot it the moment I saw it, but I had only my iPhone and a car that was trying to overheat as well as thunder capable of vibrating windows, so I kept driving.  I promised myself I would come back.

It wasn't exactly safe.  There's no question of that.  It's not in a good part of town, and it's rather isolated.  (Does this sound familiar?)  I couldn't not shoot that sign, though.  I kept thinking about it, about the light I'd like to catch on it.  Today, since I was feeling so good, I brought my camera to school and waited.  When the day was finally done, I packed up and ran for it.

The light was perfect when I got there.  There is a golden time in the morning and the afternoon when all the colors are more vivid, when everything seems glossed by wonder.  Even the old neon sign was made something more, something mystical by it.  I shot frame after frame of it, took some with my phone, and scooted back to my car without incident.  The result can be seen above.

So far, the week has been a real mix of things.  Tomorrow is payday, and so it should mark a significant upswing.  As long as it doesn't try to backslide to Monday's fun, I think I will make it out.

Wonder Woman and Fountain Pens

Today, a new iOS update rolled out, and I dutifully upgraded my Apple products.  As the screen returned to functionality on my iPad, I was greeted with the colorful Art Deco Wonder Woman graphic I have on it just now for my lock screen wallpaper.  I put in my passcode, and the home screen full of icons floating above an image of a vintage fountain pen collection filled the screen.  I sort of laughed to myself, thinking, "And now you know everything that's important there is to know about me by looking at those two pictures."

It was a joke, but as I turned it over in my mind, I started thinking about how much truth there is to it.  The things we choose to decorate the things we use every day probably say an incredible amount about what goes on behind the closed doors of our psyches.

I started thinking of the images on my other devices:  the shot of the Old Place at sunset on my iPhone, the READ MORE owl graphic I made into a sticker on the outside of my Kindle, the Jailhouse Rock Elvis currently dancing his way across this wallpaper of this computer.  If you pay attention to the little glimpses of what people decorate with, you can learn something about what they value.

Case in point:  every parent or grandparent who has their children's faces plastered on every single one of those places.  Every pet owner who has ever used his or her dog or cat in a profile picture or as screensaver shot (I've done both, btw.)  Every sentimental soul who has his or her true love as the first thing they see when they activate their phone....

I change out the images I see on my various devices quite frequently, but I think most of them would speak to a listening eye (heh).  Wonder Woman?  She shows up a lot.  I think I have at least three different backgrounds with her in it.  You can find the blog post about why I think she's so super awesome and how long that's been going on.  I guess probably everybody has one superhero kicking around in the upstairs, whether they festoon their surroundings with him/her or not.

The fountain pens?  Now that I think about it, I have at least two vintage advertising images of them in addition to the photo of the collection mentioned earlier.  They represent my love of old-fashioned, graceful, and functional things.  They show my love for writing.  They speak to my love of things that last.

Now that this has occurred to me, I will undoubtedly be trying to collect scraps of information about others around me from it.  It's sort of a puzzle, and I have a hard time escaping the lure of those.  I will also probably wonder what it says about me when I switch to the bright orange graphic of a little black cat with librarian glasses on.  Hmm.  Maybe I better not over-analyze too much.  Sometimes, maybe a picture is just a picture is just a picture....

Virtual Welding and Other Internet Activites

I'm trying to get ready to start using the MIG welder I got from my parents for my birthday.  It's been a long time since I took the class, and I am pretty sure that I've forgotten almost everything. Fortunately there isn't as much to refresh myself on as there would be if I were trying to reteach myself arc welding.

Today probably would have been a good day weather-wise to try it, but I keep picturing myself in the emergency room because I didn't take enough care.  Instead, I've been making a mind map of links and resource on Mind42, reading and saving big PDFs to Evernote, and shopping for tools.  You know.  Time-wasting digital prep.

It's nice to do.  It's nice also just because it's so very different from everything else I usually do.   The past few days have been rough, and even though I basically came home and fell down last night, I am still exhausted.  I slept for ten hours, got up, had breakfast and walked the dogs, and went back to sleep for two more hours.  The only problem is that I could go back in there right now and sleep more.  Probably it's just the time of the school year.  If I can get through 11 more days, I will have Italy.

And after that, a few days in which to start welding....

The Little Voice Inside

Yesterday morning, I was getting ready to go see my best friend in Jackson.  My birthday was last week, and while I wasn't able to get to my favorite restaurant, Kismet's, during the week for it, I was darned well going this weekend.

One of the front tires on my Cruiser has been giving me fits.  If you read here often, you will remember that it went totally flat on me one morning last week.  Since then, I've been doing a visual inspection of my tires every time I get in it to make sure it's not low/flat again.

I was running a bit late, and I simply forgot to check the tire.  I didn't remember until I was just about headed down the hill portion of my driveway.  I sighed, stopped, put it in park, and got out to do a quick run-around inspection.  It was low.

I'll admit to saying things that weren't polite at this point.

I grabbed my phone and called my parents, intending to go to their house and use Dad's big air compressor to fill it back up.  When I got there, Mom was already standing by her van pulling various things out of it.  She asked me to take her van instead.

I had already been uneasy about the car and a long trip because of its age as well as because of the tire issue.  However, I didn't want to drive another vehicle.  It's silly how attached we become to things and to routine.  I don't like driving other cars.  I wanted mine.  Silly, silly, silly.

That little voice inside my head stepped in at the point where I would have probably insisted on taking the Cruiser and said, "You should take the van today. Just to be on the safe side."  Dad was going to take the wheel off the Cruiser and check it again, and so I handed over my keys, took hers, moved my junk to the van, and left.

When I was close to home, I called to see what the vehicle status was.  Mom told me something that made my blood run absolutely cold.  The tire had been checked when it ran flat the other day, but no hole had been found.  As the guys at the tire shop my Dad took the wheel to inspected it, they also saw nothing wrong.  Dad decided that to be on the side of caution, he would go ahead and have the tire replaced.  That way, hopefully the issue would be over.  When they pulled it off the wheel, the steel belting inside had somehow become detached.  A bubble had formed on the inner surface.  It was waiting to blow out.

I drive like the proverbial bat out of hell.  I routinely thrash my little car in ways that I am fully aware are pushing its capabilities and safety.  I like to drive, and I enjoy speed.  (That is actually a very serious understatement.  This is why I want a muscle car.)  Something takes hold of me when I get out on the interstate.  The speed limit seems to be more of a speed suggestion to most of the people around me.  Everybody suddenly thinks they're NASCAR or Formula 1 drivers. People driving 45 mph lay claim to the passing lane like it's their homeland.  There's a major split where two interstates diverge, and the out-of-state traffic is always in the wrong lane and suddenly switching.  It's insane.  Add to that potent mixture the fact that I am usually leaving town at about five o'clock, the stupidest of all the stupid traffic hours, and you can probably imagine the type of driving I'm talking about.  You'll understand why I had a chill down my spine.

Just the previous evening, see, I'd been braking hard, dancing through 18-wheelers pulling the big hills between town and here, running all out.  It had been more than enough to blow that tire.  I have a front-wheel drive vehicle.  While I've had a blowout at 70 mph on the interstate before, it was a back tire that went, so I was able to maintain control. Anything I can imagine having happened if one of the front ones blew in that kind of traffic at that speed is not good.

I'm thankful for that tiny voice of reason and caution.  I'm thankful that I listened to it.  Otherwise, this could very well have been a posting from a hospital room or a message from beyond.

From the Land of Maxalt

I woke up this morning full of good intentions.  Of course, we all know right where they lead....

My head started kicking early, but I ignored it. In the past two weeks, it's been like thunder rumbling in the background, a threat that never quite gets around to materializing.  Today, though, as I worked on scraping the top layer of the debris work-week neglect off my life and my house, it started up again, and I had a feeling this time the storm intended to break.

I emptied and reloaded the dishwasher, cleaned some genuinely toxic things out of my fridge, cleared away the MIG welder and all its accouterments to my office/workshop, washed a couple of loads of clothes, put my feather mattress outside to freshen and fluff in the bright sun.  Around noon, my mother called to see if I wanted to go eat dinner somewhere, and by that point my head was starting to get rather insistent.

We went to our local fish camp.  If you are from a place where you don't have those, you're missing it, buddy.  Everybody goes to the fish camp.  I talked to my great aunt and great uncle, my Granny's brother and sister, and one of my cousins.  It's like a miniature family/community reunion there at times.  Last time we were there, I apologized to our server for my parents disappearing on the way to our seats to talk to other people, and he just laughed, saying, "Oh, I lose people all the time before we get to the table."  Mom and I got a booth, and I sat watching the light on the brown river water flowing a short distance away from the restaurant.  Mom and I talked, and even before the entrees were brought, I took a pill.  Just the motion of the light on the river and the pale sand of the bank was making me nauseous.

After that, I have to say, I don't remember much of the meal, but I do remember the pain stopping.

I came home, staggered out with Mom's help, came in, fell down on my unmade, un-feather-mattressed bed, pulled a quilt and my comforter over me, felt Dillon perch on my hip, and became unconscious.

In about an hour, I have to pull the tattered pieces of myself together well enough to sit on an organ bench and be a musician.  Probably I can do that.  The world isn't in that frustratingly-indescribable state of hyper-reality and disconnection that either the headaches or the drug always brings on just now.  As long as the notes on the pages don't decide to pull a cartoon number and dance around on me, maybe nobody will notice I'm not at my best.

Oh, but I'm so very, very tired of this.

So, Yeah. Thirty-Seven.

One of my students came by and hugged me in the hall today and said, "I won't ask you how old you are.  Women aren't supposed to tell."  I smiled to myself.  I claim every minute of mine.

I woke up this morning draggy and totally preoccupied with an order of 136 dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts that were coming from Columbus today.  After checking Swackett, I saw how cold it was going to be, and I pulled on my new Hamlet sweatshirt from Out of Print.  I finished the outfit with black pants and my new blue Chucks.  Having thus fortified myself, I walked dogs, sacked trash, and headed out.

School rolled in as usual.  Everything was business as usual until 2nd block started.  I noticed that they were all a little twitchy, but I didn't think much about it.  Suddenly, my administrator walked in the door carrying a cake.  They all sang and even had those little blowout party favors.  I was so surprised!  They gave me a wonderful little book of Peanuts "wisdom for life" cartoons and a card that plays the main theme from Star Wars. They dressed me in purple glitter glasses, Mardi Gras beads, a birthday badge, and a pink princess crown.   We ate cake, took pictures, and had a great time.  Fourth block came in, and suddenly, they burst into song, greeting me with a card all of them had signed.  It was all so sweet and so unexpected.  This batch of students is so sweet.

The doughnuts came, and I took my 4th block class down to unload them.  They seemed tickled to meet my mother who was driving the "delivery van" for us.  We got it done quickly and went back upstairs.  After school, several of my NHS members showed up, and we tagged and sorted the doughnuts for distribution tomorrow.

At last, my big day was done.  I sat in the quiet of the empty library waiting for the students to take a load of doughnuts out to their car, and I popped open one of the boxes I bought.  I bit into that fresh Krispy Kreme, and suddenly, all the effort was worth it.

I went by my favorite Thai restaurant on the way home and got my traditional massaman.  Mom and Dad came by and led me out to her empty van.  Only, as it turned out, it wasn't quite empty.  In the back was a MIG welder in a box.  I've wanted one since I took that brief welding course years ago.  It was the only kind of welder I did well with.  I have walked past countless pieces of metal and sorted them into other forms and combinations wishing I had something to make that happen.  Since a MIG welder is a bit like a glue gun for metal (yes, a gross oversimplification, but still), maybe I'll finally be able to make some of those idle fancies come true.

Added to all these things have been the constant notifications from FB filled with well-wishes and kind words from my friends and family.  It has been so good to hear from everyone. It's nice, just sometimes, to be on the receiving end of it.

And so 37 has arrived.  I am fairly certain it will have its share of joy and change like its fellows, but at least it has started sweetly.

Sick. Restless. Rain.

I've been sick the past few days, really deeply not-getting-up-long-ish sick.  I'm better today.  Tomorrow, I'll probably be right as rain.

Speaking of which.

I can hear it falling on the metal roof, and it's calling me to bed, but I sort of don't want to give in.  I mean, yeah, the bed sounds all kinds of wonderful.  It's not too cold or too hot tonight, and the thought of putting on my pajamas and sliding my feet in against the cool crisp giraffe-printed cotton of my sheets is a serious enticement.  Like an overtired toddler, though, I am kicking against it, holding out stubbornly.

Why?

I don't know.  Maybe because I'm tired of going to bed at a "respectable" hour.  It seems like I race home, walk dogs, walk dogs, walk dogs, and go to bed.  While I love my dogs, something is missing.

Oh, likely, it's just my gypsy feet acting up.  I have caught myself looking longingly at this gorgeous old silver Airstream a guy down on Main Street in Podunk has and wondering if it's totally ragged out inside, if he might be impelled to part with it for something less than a fortune.  Most of my Pinterest activity for the last little while has been impossible escapes and places that just look to glorious to be real.

Most of the time, I'm okay.  I am working along on plans for things here, projects, school things, and as long as I'm occupied, it's fine.  When I get sick, when it rains, all the need to go and see something else crops up like a dam holding it back is somehow destroyed when the furious motion stops.

Someday.  Someday, I am going to take that 1950s vacation where I load all my crap and some of my animals up into an Airstream,  pull it with a little old truck of some make and model earlier than 1970, and I'm going to drive all the way out to California.  This is a thing I am going to do.  I'm going to take a million pictures, buy the cheesiest souvenirs I can find, and collect state stickers for the Airstream or some such thing.  There is too much of *this* country I haven't seen.

I just wish I could get started on this project tomorrow.  Instead, there is only being sick.  And restless.  And the rain....

Downton Abbey

Bates the Pit Bull

(And if I've blogged it before, I'm blogging it again.  Get over it.)

I resisted it for a long time.  It was one of those things where too many people were talking about it, and I thought it wouldn't be something I'd enjoy.  Last summer sometime, I saw it on Amazon Prime and decided to give it a try.  Oh my God, how I love this show.  Whenever I am sick or sad, I want to watch Downton.  I realize that this is becoming a cliche of a certain type of woman, probably, but I really don't care.

Thomas the Siamese Cat

One of the things I bought for myself for my birthday was the third season on DVD.  I'm watching the season finale right now, and I have to say that this just keeps getting better and better.  I love the lushness of the sets.  I love the changing nature of the characters.  I love the fact that I am frequently surprised by what happens.

It's graceful and elegant.  It's lighthearted and funny.  It's heartbreaking and tragic.  Not every moment in the lives of the characters is happy.  There is real pain, real loss, and also real joy. New characters enter and are every bit as interesting as the ones who have been there from the start.  When it's compared to the tripe that masquerades as storylines in most other shows, or God forbid, reality TV, there is very little else that compares.

Matthew the Australian Shepherd

I don't have a wine party or sit down with a box of Godiva when I watch it.  I don't aspire to Edwardian fashion (except maybe the HATS).  I have to say, though, it's a very pleasant way to spend a hour or two.

All of these Downton characters as animals come from the delightful Etsy shop Toadbriar.  You can get them and see more by clicking here.

Flat Tires and Fake Babies

The past couple of days have been more of a rollercoaster ride than usual.  I got up to go to school yesterday, threw all my crap in my car, got almost across the interstate bridge, and I heard the distinctive thump-thump-thump of a flat tire.  It took just long enough for me to get onto the on ramp to process, and I pulled off on the side of it to get out and check.  The tire was so flat the seal had broken.

I just sat in the car for a minute, trying to think of what the best thing to do would be.  I finally decided to back up the on ramp, praying nobody came speeding down it.  I managed to get turned around and limped slowly home.

The rest of the day was about what you'd expect from such a beginning.  Late arrival at school.  Not having the stuff I needed when I thought it was ready.  Technology stupidity.  A feeling of being rushed and just somehow dull.  An unexpected meeting.  A lack of Diet Mountain Dew everywhere.  The big stuff and the little stuff all went to perdition in a handcart.

Today, I drove another vehicle.  I took an entire 8-pack of Diet MD to my little fridge.  We ordered lunch from a local restaurant.  I wore a new sweater.

And my students made me laugh.  They came in chatting about babies.  Suddenly, according to them, I was expecting imaginary ones myself.  They started coming up with baby names.  I wound up with imaginary twins:  Shakespeareonte and Shakespeareonce (a boy and a girl).  It made me smile, and I needed it.

It also made me a little sad for all the obvious reasons, but I tried to focus on the sweetness instead of the bitter.  Some days, that is easier to do than others.  I'm lucky with the students I've got right now.  They are a great assistance with it gets difficult.

All the Anniversaries

It seems like all kinds of important things have major landmark anniversaries this year.  Some examples right off the top of my head:

• The Emancipation Proclamation - 150 years
• Pride and Prejudice - 200 years
• James Bond movie series - 50 years
• The Bell Jar - 50 years
• Doctor Who - 50 years
• The London Underground - 150 years
• James Meredith admission to Ole Miss - 50 years
• The Birmingham Bus Boycott - 50 years
• Wagner born - 200 years
• Medgar Evers slain - 50 years
• Valium approved - 50 years
• Kennedy assassinated - 50 years

That's the short list.  Hmm.  I wonder if this year is going to live up to its predecessors.  

Think Happy Thoughts

The following items have gotten me through the day:

1. A big white silly dog waiting to lean on me when I got home
2. Rocky Road ice cream in my freezer
3. My little purring cat who sits on the other pillow of my bed and sings away the nightmares
4. The thought of Italy, and soon
5. Mirror-silver toenail polish
6. "A. Blue" low-quarter Chucks
7. Contemplating an Elvis bust dressed up next to my Shakespeare
8. Watching my students gleefully pillage a basket of prizes and then play with Slinkys and bubbles
9. The new Little Caesar's commercial with the clown in the forest
10. Granny's daffodils starting to bloom in the backyard

Couch Guitar Straps

No.  I haven't taken up the guitar again.  These guys sort of make me wish I could stand the calloused fingertips, though.  Their products are awesome.

I first found them on Etsy.  You can get to their shop here.  I was intrigued by the materials they use.  As you can see to the left, they recycle things, largely automotive textiles, in really fabulous and useful ways.  These are old seatbelts.  Isn't it amazing how lovely they are?

What took my fancy, though, was the range of products they make from automotive vinyl.  They take deadstock vinyl and other fabrics, originally intended to reupholster car and truck seats, and create straps, electronic gadget cases, wallets, passport covers, even messenger bags.  When seen in a different conformation than big swathes of seat, the intricate detail of these old fabrics really stands out.

The first thing I purchased was a Kindle cover.  It's made from seat covering from a 1960s GMC truck.  The bright red is one of my favorite colors, and I love that it is made from something vintage.  Even though the one on Etsy was sized for the Kindle Fire, Couch made a custom version for my Kindle Paperwhite at no extra charge. It is perfect for running around as it adds no extra bulk whatsoever to the Kindle while providing protection.  Also, I mean, look at the thing.  It's gorgeous....

I also found a camera strap made from deadstock for a Volkswagen Beetle.  I have been using it now for a couple of months, and every time I take my camera out of its case, it makes me smile.  The red (see a theme here?) color and the fact that it came out of one of the world's happiest cars just thrills me.  I can't wait to use it in Italy.

For my annual "month of senseless indulgences," I decided to get one of their other pieces that I had been ogling in my Etsy favorites for a long time.  Couch makes several styles of wallets.  I needed one that was small and simple to fit in my larger "string purse"  This one was perfect.  It was also perfect because it's made from 1960s Chrysler vinyl in a lovely emerald green.  It came today, and I cleaned out the pockets of my string purse into it.  It could not be more perfect.  It slips down into the pocket with my checkbook taking up almost no more space than the bunched-up cards did alone.  I now know exactly how much cash I have on-hand because it's not all wadded up in the change pouch like it has been.  Organization and art triumph.

The philosophy behind Couch is admirable.  They make everything themselves, and the pride they take in their products is clear.  Things are hand-stamped, strong-sewn, screen-printed by them.  They use their own products, and professional musicians are also fond of them.  They ship fast, communicate well and with great friendliness.  Heck, they even sent a free pick holder with the wallet.  (I am going to give it to one of my guitar-playing friends.)

I like the fact that they are taking the common, something designed to cover a cushion for your backside, and making it extraordinary.  It is meaningful to me also that they are giving these things a second life.  To me, things that have already had one purpose and find or are given another are just inherently richer, infinitely preferable.  I know I am going to enjoy these items and the history of them for a long time to come.