When was the last time I blogged?

Y’all, the world has spun so fast and so far in the past few weeks that I don’t know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt. I feel like a pancake in the road, run over by life’s madness. It’s a bit like a Road Runner cartoon, only I’ve discovered it’s not so funny to be the coyote. Interesting, but not necessarily funny to be the one peeled off the pavement between every act. It makes me wonder why the coyote didn’t just shoot that damn road runner after about the second round of dynamite. Anyhoo, despite the madness, things are settling back into a routine around here, and hopefully, things will be calmer in the weeks to come.


Papa T. is doing fine. He is lonely at times, but his spirits are good, and he’s determined to do as much for himself as possible. Except for the dinner thing. He’s not willing to give up my cooking, which is fine by me. I don’t mind cooking for someone who raves over everything that’s put before him. Besides, he would survive on Coke Zero and peanut butter crackers if left to his own devices, so we’ll keep wheelin’ the meals up the street. In my quest to make sure he gets the appropriate amount of green vegetables and fiber, I have introduced him to dishes he’s never eaten before, and it’s very fun to watch him sample each night’s entree, unless of course, I’ve phoned it in and presented him with a tuna salad sandwich. NO ONE around this place gets excited about tuna salad. Except the cat, which is a good thing because Mama J. left us with eight cans of tuna and twelve cans of chicken.

Mama J. also had thirty cans of green beans and thirteen cans of asparagus in her kitchen cabinets. We have no idea why. She didn’t cook. I continue to be amazed at the things people leave behind when they die. Take it from someone who has cleaned up after two dead folks, if there’s something you don’t want someone to know about you, get rid of it NOW. Somebody will find that mess when you die. If you’re lucky, it’s just green beans and asparagus. If you’re not, you may leave your relatives wondering why you needed so many Fleet enemas. And you know they’ll talk about THAT at family get-togethers for years.

Papa T.’s birthday is Friday, and all he wants it to go out to eat, so we will oblige him with a trip to Cracker Barrel, his favorite restaurant. A restaurant isn’t even on his radar if it doesn’t serve cornbread, so Cracker Barrel it is! I predict he will not order anything that involves green beans, asparagus or tuna. I also predict he will have two slices of cake. I just a man who embraces cake.

The rest of us are back to our normal routine of school and work. The busy season at work is upon me, so I suspect January will be smacking me in the face before I know it. In the meantime, I’m holding on to summer as long as I can. She’s slipping through my fingers, though. We’ve had cooler weather lately, and people have been talking about how nice it is that fall is just around the corner. I’m trying not to panic, but you autumn lovers just don’t understand how hard it is for us summer babies to let go of the shorts and flip flops. It’s not that I don’t WANT to like autumn. It’s just that it reminds me of how soon winter will be here, and THAT my friends, is downright depressing. There’s nothing that ticks me off faster than having to wear a coat, so I’m dragging my feet into September and refusing to give up my sandals or put the cover on the pool until there is frost. I’m also avoiding Hobby Lobby and places that I know are covered in autumn leaves or cheery turkeys. And lest I need any reminders that technically there are still a couple of weeks left in summer, I just have to reach around and scratch the six mosquito bites on the bottom of my left butt cheek that I earned at the softball park Saturday night.

On a positive note, I learned Friday that I’m a finalist for the city’s Business Woman of the Year Award, so you know what that means. I get to shop for a new suit! We have a luncheon next month, and it is truly an honor to be lumped in the same category with fifteen women who are remarkable, so I will actually need to polish my shoes for this event. The jury’s still out on wearing hose though, especially if they’re from the ACME Company. I don’t need any explosions that involve nylon and my nether regions.