Tag: compound

Tired and Thursday

There are some days when I can’t imagine living anywhere other than where I do. There was a lot of stuff to take care of Thursday (which made me miss an important phone call, but hopefully, the caller will be in touch on Friday).

One of my errands took me to see John, who works at the office that meets all my mother’s insurance needs. John helps put together Halloween Magic, which raises money to be distributed among HIV/AIDS assistance organizations. John’s wit and enthusiasm never fail to lift my spirits, and it was “Timothy James Beck’s” pleasure to donate two complete sets of signed novels for their charity auction. (And Debby, if you’re reading, John says it’s time for you to come back to Houston! He wants to laugh with you again.)

Back at The Compound, it was tempting to just sit still and appreciate the weather. In the fall, Houston provides some days so stunning that it’s easy to forget the summer. But I wasn’t idle. Tim and I had a good discussion about TJB5. We knew we weren’t going to have our usual Thursday night writers’ meeting because Jim is using that blocked off time to read and edit the manuscript.

Plus we had an important evening planned. Lynne came here after work and we ran a few errands, then Rhonda and Lindsey arrived because Tim, a/k/a The Wedding Bitch, had arranged for them to see and taste a sample of their wedding cake. It was fabulous and will be delicious and beautiful. I can’t believe their wedding is coming up so soon!

Tom had brought lots of pizza home, so we ate, watched Survivor, and devoured wedding cake. Then we just sat and talked and said a lot of things like, “Down, Rex.” “Margot, come in here!” and “No, Guinness, you already ate.” Tim said, “Shoes,” a lot. In fact, that was the first thing he said to me today, because of a video that I can’t link to because YouTube is down. He cracks me up.

Lindsey changed the wallpaper on my cell phone because she’s evil, but later, Rhonda changed it back. Lindsey has finished reading A COVENTRY CHRISTMAS, but since Lynne hasn’t read it yet, and Rhonda still has a chapter or so to go, Lindsey was considerate enough to reassure me that she liked the book without giving away any details. Yay, my first feedback other than from my writing partners or family members!

I loaned Rhonda A LITTLE TWIST OF TEXAS. I really enjoyed reading this book each night before I fell asleep. Since Rhonda has a motorcycle, I know she’ll enjoy it, too. But the book is about so much more than just a road trip. I’ll save more praise and specifics for a review.

You can’t beat a day when you feel like you’ve helped the community, gotten to hang out with great friends, and combined wedding cake with Survivor (right now, I’m all about the Puka tribe).

Oh, and check out these photos, because someone is leaving these in Austin and Houston–mostly all over our neighborhood. I love Montrose.

home again, home again

Back at The Compound and trying to get focused. What would I do without coffee? Today’s coffee cup is brought to you courtesy of Timmy and Paul and their recent vacation to scenic Maine. The Black Moose in Bar Harbor has no Internet presence, so I can’t provide a link.

Looming over the cup is a graphic that was useful in keeping my setting accurate in A COVENTRY CHRISTMAS (my printout has all the businesses, streets, and homes labeled). Coffee helped with that, too.

Thanks for the coffee cup, guys!

More fun with phones

Why do all these women call people so early in the morning? Clearly, they are not related to people who suffer from insomnia and migraines.

As you may recall, when I couldn’t make Elderly Lady understand that she’s calling the wrong cell phone, I programmed in her number as “Wrong Number” and gave her a silent ring so she’d stop waking me up three to four hours after I fell asleep.

Now I have Excitable Mother. Today was the third time that she’s called around 8 a.m.

I never answer these calls. For one thing, I can’t get to the phone before it goes to voice mail when I’m awakened from a sound or drug-induced sleep. For another, I vainly believe that hearing MY VOICE on MY VOICE MAIL repeating MY NUMBER will clue them in that they’re doing something wrong.

I am a stupid optimist. Today, I called her back and asked why she keeps calling my number.

Excitable Mother: Is this (gives me my number)?
Me: Yes. That’s my number.
Excitable Mother: NO, THAT’S MY DAUGHTER’S NUMBER.
Me: Ma’am, this has been my cell phone number for twelve years.
Excitable Mother: NO, THIS HAS BEEN MY DAUGHTER’S NUMBER FOR TEN YEARS. I DIAL IT EVERY DAY.
Me: You dial some number every day. You only dial this one every now and then. Always at eight in the morning. Could you perhaps choose a later hour to misdial?
Excitable Mother: I AM NOT DIALING THE WRONG NUMBER. (repeats number; mine again) THIS IS MY DAUGHTER’S NUMBER. THERE’S SOME MISTAKE HERE. YOU ARE THE ONE WHO’S WRONG.

Oh? You have just told an Aries that she is wrong, you crazy risk taker, you.

You will never know how much strength it took to keep myself from saying, “You are right. This is your daughter’s number. I, a strange woman you do not know, am answering your daughter’s phone in the early morning in a sleepy voice. Then I pretend that I don’t know her and that you’re dialing the wrong number. Now you put your little mind around that for a while, ‘kay, and see what conclusion you draw.”

But no. I suggested that maybe her daughter and I shared the same number but different area codes. She denied this, but without much force.

If she calls me again, I’m inviting her to our commitment ceremony.

Is it still Monday?

Ever had one of those days when you wake up and you have what you assume is a sinus headache that should go away quickly although coffee would be nice and would probably help and without purpose or reason you open the refrigerator and find out that your lovely new refrigerator is working fine in fact so fine that a caffeine-free Diet Coke that’s probably been around for a couple of years because only your mother drinks them has frozen on the top shelf and exploded and now your lovely new refrigerator and all its contents are covered in brown sticky dried Coke including the ceiling and the light and what’s left of the Coke liquid has pooled in the bottom under the vegetable drawers?

Yes. It’s still Monday.

Visitor

Thursday, we had a visit from the BBQ Frito Fairy, who not only left a box full of goodies, but many cryptic messages on the box. Much in the way of leprechauns, the BBQ Frito Fairy comes and goes in a flash and mere mortals are never sure they spotted her. Sometimes we see her helpers (Greg, Garry, Lynne, Lindsey, Rhonda). But never the actual BBQ Frito Fairy.

Still, we believe.

Especially Margot.

Thanks, BBQ Frito Fairy!

I am Gladys Kravitz

There’s a busy intersection near The Compound with a four-way stop. Sometimes during the day, but more often late at night, someone runs one of the stop signs and I hear the resulting collision. (There have even been occasions when cars have been hit so hard that they overturn, and should anyone be going that freaking fast in a residential neighborhood?)

Last night, I heard a BOOM at about 4 a.m. My standard reaction kicked in: I grabbed my cell phone, put on my shoes, and glanced through the window at Tim’s apartment to see if he was coming out the door. He wasn’t, so I made my solitary trip toward the usual point of collision. What I saw was a car slowly proceeding down a side street making a horrific noise because it had at least one flat tire and heaven only knows what else wrong with its front end.

While I was glad to see the driver was still capable of driving, I was disturbed because: 1. The car was in no condition to BE driven, which implied impaired judgment on the part of the driver. Big surprise. 2. I wondered what the car had hit and if the driver was leaving the scene.

While I really wanted to get in my own car and follow the crippled car to get its tag number, I was more concerned with whether anyone else might need assistance.

Except I couldn’t find a point of impact. My neighbor, awakened by the noise, saw me and came outside so we could go into Nancy Drew mode. We saw dirt and grass in the street, so we knew the car had run off the road, possibly into a ditch. After checking all his property for damage, we finally figured out what had happened. The car hit a concrete curb and somehow ended up in a bit of grass about twenty feet away from the impact. It either turned around or the driver managed to turn it around and keep going. So no other person or car was involved, thank goodness.

But what I really want to know is: How is it that my neighbor’s wife, who came out just after we solved the puzzle, LOOKED SO GREAT?!?! She didn’t hear the noise. She didn’t wake up when he left the house. She woke up right before she came outside, and her hair was in place and her loungewear looked like it had just come out of tissue paper from some upscale boutique and she just generally looked fantastic. That is SO WRONG. She clearly has supernatural powers…

The Great Refrigerator Ordeal, Part 2

Part 1 was the part where my flesh separated from my skull, fire shot out of my eyes, and my throat emitted a keening noise that melted slugs on Tim’s screen door. Aren’t you glad I didn’t journal Part 1?

Part 2 began yesterday, when I bought the second refrigerator–at a different merchant–that I’ve bought in a week. The first refrigerator went back courtesy of Lynne’s truck* when the store would not pick it up. They did, however, refund our money. Slugs everywhere thank them.

So this is Part 2, Day 2, wherein the second refrigerator fills the space in my kitchen and wonders why I continue to eye it with suspicion. It’s simple: Refrigerator One started out okay and went bad. So this one has to prove itself against the failings of its predecessor.

*Thanks for the use of the truck. Does the truck also have a name?