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When Mallie Bee was just a wee one, her and her friend spent five summers doing synchronized swimming at the local pool.  For $90.00 you could get somebody to Wear. Your. Kid. Out. Every. Morning.  I knew where to spend my bucks.

That’s when I discovered how grueling a sport it is.  Practice every morning and it doesn’t matter the temperature.  Pointing the toes.  Treading water.  Holding your breath and then holding it some more.  Sucking in water and spitting it out.  And don’t forget to smile when you pop out of the water so people think it’s fun.

The grand finale of the season was The Big Show on a Sunday summer’s eve with lights, music, an announcer and a snack bar.  It’s a big deal here in Mayberry.

When it was her last year, we decided to indulge in some pre-show gin and tonics with our neighbors.  The Big Daddy had three, and by the time the show started it was all I could do to keep him from falling off his lawn chair.

After the final routine and thunderous applause from the crowd, there was usually some thank you speeches, but that year there was a commotion on the pool deck.  Oh dear, I think somebody got sick.  The Big Daddy tried to get up to see, but whoa Nellie, he was feeling those gin and tonics.  The Boy Child said, “I think it was Mal.  Yeah, Mom, I’m pretty sure she was the barfer.”    

No, no, it’s not her.  It can’t be her.  Of all these girls here, it cannot possibly be her.

He would not stop laughing and The Big Daddy sat in his lawn chair yammering about The Milky Way and I was steeeeressed.

When it was all over our little mermaid came and got us.  We congratulated her on a great show and she said, “Did you guys see me puke when I got out of the pool?”

Synchronized swimming may look pretty, but when The Hillbillies decide to come out and give it a try you’ve got yourself a shit show.

When Chick-Fil-A came to our area, I had no idea what it was and even pronounced it wrong.  Chick-Filla.  There was a lot of buzz about the place, so I went there and then I really didn’t get it.  I pitched half of it in the dog’s bowl and never went back.

The owner has recently declared that the wrath of God will descend upon us Americans for our evolving stance on gay marriage, and while you’re free to voice your opinion about anything, it’s not exactly the best business strategy.  In his case, he didn’t have to do damage control because when you’re speaking for the Lord what can you possibly damage?

Wednesday was the day that like-minded people lined up for hours to support his business and his stance on this issue.  As an anonymous gay employee of a Chick-Fil-A in Atlanta said, “It’s Hate Appreciation Day.”  In the you’re-wrong-I’m-right-you’re-liberal-I’m-conservative world we live in, it got covered by the news complete with helicopter shots of the throngs of people waiting in line.

What a cross in life it must be to bear to be threatened by people who are in your family, your church, your neighborhood, your school, your hospital, your grocery store and your military.  What a cross in life it must be to bear to give up half your day, fight traffic, stand in the heat and spend money to support somebody you’ve never met but is as God-fearing as you.

Wow.

That’s a big commitment for something so utterly craptastic.

In this summer of extreme heat and drought, there was a news story about protecting your foundation.  For some time and a little bit of money now, you can make sure that you don’t have major foundation repairs at a later date.

We’re usually later date people.

I mentioned this to The Big Daddy and he said he was on it.  He always answers really fast when he’s not going to do something.  Tonight, he said, while you’re gone I’ll do it.

The next day I asked him how it went and damn if it didn’t slip his mind.  Tonight, he said, I will do it.  I also told him that they suggested you put more dirt around the foundation.  Not top soil, but a good clay dirt that holds moisture.  On it, he said.

The next day I asked him how it went and geez, oh man, tonight’s the night.  For sure, but first he had a better plan.

If holding in moisture around the foundation is the idea, he said, instead of getting dirt I’m going to put kitty litter there. BA. DA. BING. BA. DA. BOOM.  Helloooooooo, people, moisture holding.  Am I a genius or what?
 
What.

I thought about going down Argument Road with him, but since we both know that there will be no watering of the foundation, no moisture holding dirt, no proactive steps taken to protect that upon which our house sits, I nodded dumbly.

Just like the Tidy Cat idea.

The Boy Child has not exactly had the summer he planned.  Last year he went to London and that put him on a high for months to follow.

This year he was hoping to get an internship but those were mighty hard to come by, and so for the fifth summer in a row he was back at the bagel shop.  It is one thing to go back after you’ve had an awesome overseas adventure, it’s another when it’s your only option.  Most days he’s there before the sun comes up  to wait on customers, put bagels in the oven, wash dishes and mop the floors for an eight hour shift.

The other day, a guy came in and said, “HEY YOU GUYS!!!  HOW’S IT GOIN?  WORKING HARD?  LIVING THE DREAM???

When you are wearing a ball cap and tshirt that says, “Ask me about the poppers”, and standing all day smelling like bagels, you are not living the dream.   That is impossible at $7.50 an hour.  They got his bagels and and when he couldn’t decide on a drink he said, “HEY YOU GUYS???  WHAT GETS YOU GOING IN THE MORNING???”  Vodka and cigarettes.

For the 2nd time in a few short minutes they looked at him like the gigantic ass that he was, and as much as this summer has sucked, at least The A.M. Bagel Crew doesn’t have to go through life in that guy’s skin.

On a lovely fall afternoon, three cop cars pulled up in front of the house.  Each of the cops had their hand on their holster and slowly made their way down the street to Steve The Neighbor’s house.

They knocked on his door and talked to him on his front porch.  They left awhile later and he remained behind with no handcuffs, no walk of shame, no booking at the station.

A few days later I heard the story of the Popo’s visit.

Steve the neighbor had been getting repeated telemarketer calls.  One day he said to one of them…………. “You……people…..make…..me……..so……crazy……..with……all……..this………calling I…….could….kill  ….myself.”

Steve, that’s a little dramatic.

The Telemarketer feared he really was going to kill himself and called the local cops to check on him.  When the intervention was over and all was fine, Steve The Neighbor had a unique opportunity to take advantage of a limited-time offer for a time-share in the Ozarks if he acted now.

Across the street, lived a lovely, elderly couple for years.  Dorothy suffered numerous health problems that resulted in her going into a nursing home.  Her husband, Steve, got cancer and died a year later.  With both parents gone from the house, Steve the Son moved in.

Steve will wave when he drives by, but mostly keeps to himself.  He’s a slow talker and when he actually does have a conversation, he will say that the goddamn taxes on the house are killing him and he’s putting the place up for sale.  He has been saying that for eight years.

One day when there wasn’t anyone else around, I needed to enlist Steve the Son’s help.

Our street was getting sealed and all the cars had to be off by the time the crew came.  The job had been postponed due to weather four different times and so I’d forgotten about it.  On that day, I noticed that there weren’t any cars on the street except The Big Daddy’s with the stickshift that I don’t know how to drive so I knocked on Steve’s door to see if he could move it for me.

Oh, and one other thing………..The Big Daddy’s car had a back tire with a slow leak that he would inflate with his bicycle pump on the rare occasion that he drove it.  I kid you not.

“Well……I……can’t…….move……it……with…….a…….flat.”   

Oh, but it’s o.k.  Here, Steve, watch.  Just go up and down with the bike pump.  See?  If you keep doing that, Steve, it will inflate and then you can move it.  Steve.

And he looked at me like I was crazy. 

“I…….think……..you……..better……call………..Mark……..for…………this.”

Well, I’ve been trying but he’s in a meeting and I can’t get a hold of him.

“Call……..his……secretary.”

His what?

“Tell……her…….you’ve…….got…….a……9…….1……..1…….emergency.”

Sheesh, Steve, it’s a car that needs to be moved not a dead body.

“Then……..tell……the…..secretary……..it’s………urgent.”

He doesn’t even have a secretary.

“He……should………get………one…….for…….when…….there’s……an…….emergency.”

We went back and forth like that for awhile until I sent him home because he was yanking on my last nerve.  Since that day he keeps even more to himself when I’m around and avoids me like I’m the the tax collector.

All because I asked for a little favor.

I have a long post to write about the first friend I made when we moved to Maryland, but that is for another time.  The short version is that we were both far from family with newborns and husbands that worked a whole lot.  One day, Carla asked me if I wanted to make a trek with her and our babies to some store called Ikea.  It was an all day affair, and it was the first of many, many trips we would take to the Land of Swedish Meatballs, including a midnight one for the Solstice Sale.  We were serious Ikea shoppers.

When we moved to Kansas my Ikea days came to an end.  A few years after we arrived here, a new job candidate was being wined and dined for a possible position with The Big Daddy’s department.  Over the course of the dinner, the guy mentioned that he “loathes Ikea and that cheap shit they sell.”

Pssst……….somebody needs to inform Donald Trump that the job he’s after is working for the state. 

I’m not saying he didn’t get the job because some of the spouses who happen to love Ikea thought he was a flaming douche, but we may have mentioned our thoughts about him a time or thirty.

On our trip home last week, we went to the new Ikea that is only twenty minutes from my mom’s house.  Thank ya Jeezus.   Another generation has fallen under the spell of the Swedes as the New Mr. & Mrs. stocked up, and looking at the receipts on the way home we admired how much we got for so little, except we had no idea what any of it meant.

I’ve got nothing in my reserve tank this week as we just came home from five days with the family to celebrate my nephew’s wedding.  He and his honey threw a great party and oh, what a family I have.  Stories to come soon……………