A Speckled Trout

Right before bed, I went downstairs to take my medicine.  Three spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream right out of the carton.  The Lion King was standing dead still looking out the back door.  Staring right back at him on the other side of the door was a RACCOON…..on the screened-in porch, snacking from the metal container of dog food that he pried open with his raccoon fingers.  I called BD to come rescue the homestead from this varmint assault.  First, though, I put away the medicine cuz we’re both supposed to be eating better.  Everybody in the house came running for an up close and personal look at The Dog Food Bandit, but he skedaddled before anyone else saw him.

The next afternoon, deposited on the mat on the screened-in porch was a dead chipmunk, courtesy of the Lion King.  Oh geez, that kind of stuff makes me barfy so I got the Boy Child to take away the remains and left to go to J. Jill for some retail therapy for my jittery nerves.  It was too early to take my medicine.

While I was gone, Sylvester and Tweety had an altercation.  Three adults in the house and nobody notices there’s a bar fight with feathers flying everywhere on the porch but me.  It’s like the Wild Kingdom out there this summer and every time I open the door, I have no idea what I’m going to find.

Source: conflictingheart.tumblr.com via Dana on Pinterest

I love vacuuming.  It’s instant gratification and the prescribed medicine for my fits of OCD.   Since the Boy Child is moving into an apartment soon, I have been perusing garage and estate sales for things to set him up.  When my neighbor had a sale, I found an old Hoover vacuum cleaner for $5.00.  I know, that’s crazy.  Those old vacuums are like Sherman tanks, not the plastic crappy things that are sold these days.

Before it got put with the other things he was taking to school, I thought I’d give it a test run.  Geez, the thing was heavy to push, but it worked like a charm and I considered keeping it for myself.  For a week I kept that vacuum motor humming and told everybody about it, like I’d bought myself a new car instead of a five buck castoff from a garage sale.

Sherman and I broke up when I ran right into him and smashed my toe so bad I fell on the floor, saying shit in a hundred different ways.  I thought I broke my toe, but it was only bruised and the next day it was fat and purple and went wah, wah, wah all day long.   I found out those old vacuum cleaners can be dangerous and take you out if you’re not careful, so for now I’ll keep my plastic piece of crap.  In the meantime, I put the old Hoover to use……..just like a treadmill but without all the guilt.

If you’ve never been to Savers, you don’t know what you’re missing.  It’s a mega-thrift store, organized to the max.  In fact, I went to Target the other day and then Savers and guess which one was cleaner?  Hey, Target, spend a few bucks and clean up the place.

The Boy Child went with me and wahoo, he loves the place as much as me.  This time we joined the Savers Club.  Because $6.99 for a vintage camel-hair coat without a coupon is way too much to pay.  Now we’ll get advance notice of special events and I told BC that if anyone ever told him he wasn’t good enough to join the club, he should show them his Savers card.

The girls don’t appreciate the thrift store.  I thought they were snobs until Boy Child said that Mallie Bee told him that half the stuff in there came from our house so why should she waste her time looking at it again.

This is more or less true and I should be irritated by the snark, but instead I believe I’m reaping what I’ve sown.

The Big Daddy loves the Tour De France.  I think he fancies himself to have been one of those guys in his younger days, but now that he’s older he’s had to settle into being an observer of those fit, young cyclists vying for the yellow jersey.  As with past years, there was a spectacular crash involving a car, a cyclist and a bouncing trip down the side of a mountain.  Good stuff if you’re full of testosterone.  Ya gotta come in here and see this, BD said to me over and over.  Each time was a false alarm with no replay, so instead of getting up and down, I plopped next to him on the bed to wait for footage of the crash. 

The announcer doing the play-by-play said that he could tell that the current leader was really kicking it into gear and going all out because his trademark tongue was hanging out.  And I quote, “He’s got the longest tongue in the Tour.”  BD, did he just say that guy’s got the longest tongue on the Tour?  Yes he did.  He seriously just said that?  He did.  I’d rather see a replay of that cute Spaniard with the tongue than some crash.   BD said, hey now, let’s not take this down into the gutter, but he forgot for a minute who he’s married to, and how she goes through most days with one foot planted in the gutter.  And he forgot that was the attraction.

Mallie Bee is in a crossroad with her dance classes.  Her long-time instructors are moving on and if she wants to pursue this as a career, we need to get her in another place.  We made a visit to a new studio with tougher requirements and expectations.  I was impressed.  However, I dance like this……….

That leaves me to be of little help.  I also am not the one who will be taking the lessons.

I was discussing all of this with Teacher Girl, telling her I needed to keep my advice to a minimum because if I push too hard in any direction it will backfire.  Teacher Girl said, “That’s crazy.  I ask you for advice all the time.  You always give me good advice.”

This is how moms lose their minds.  They go through middle school, high school and beyond suppressing every reaction to every hare-brained idea their kid comes up with.  You want to date him?  You do know that working at Forever 21 requires you to hang up clothes?  Your friend is selling what car?   Just when you think you’ve mastered that, your kid grows up and acknowledges that maybe you aren’t a moron after all, and sometimes when you come across a kettle of crazy, it’s best not to stir it.

The Big Daddy is in full squirrel mode, setting the trap every morning before he goes to work.  He just loves him some squirrel in a cage to transport to the Beverly Hills part of town where they can eat someone else’s tomatoes.  The other day he came home to a trap with no bait and no squirrel.  Sonafabitch, he says, how did they get in there to eat my food and not get trapped?  I do not know.  Was it like this all day?  I do not know.  Weren’t you paying attention to it?  No, I wasn’t.  Well, ya gotta keep an eye on this thing.  No, I don’t.  

We were having this conversation in the driveway with The Big Daddy pacing around in his biking spandex and clickety clacking in his biking tap shoes, and then a squirrel, as if to mock him, runs right in front of us. Ya better run ya bastard, cuz I’m coming to get ya, he shouts.  And when it ran up a tree and turned around, he yelled after it, “Oh, you’re gonna look at me, huh?  Go ahead and it’ll be the last day ya ever look at me.”

A cute, young couple out for a nice, evening walk and pushing a stroller with a cute, little baby inside slowed down to hear what was going on.  I hate these goddamn squirrels, he tells them and they nod and smile like o.k., buddy, why don’t you go in the house now and take your meds.  I wanted to tell them that it wasn’t always like this, that at one time we were just like them pushing our babies and being normal.  I don’t know when the train jumped the track and our new normal was standing in the front yard bullying squirrels, but I knew it was pointless to explain because even I didn’t believe me. 

My neighbor, like me, is a scavenger.  She doesn’t go to the lengths that I do to get a good piece of curbside love, but she occasionally brings home the goods.  If she can’t use it and thinks I’d like it, she’ll leave it on my driveway.  Some are hits, others are misses and become my problem to get rid of.  A few months ago, she picked up this on the curb.  She mulled it over a few hours and decided she wasn’t going to keep it and told me it was on her driveway if I was interested.

When I pulled up in front of her house, I couldn’t get out fast enough and then by myself hauled this baby to my car before she changed her mind.  I sanded the peeling paint and put on a coat of wax and thanked the Junk Gods for this green beauty.  It’s been moved about five different times since then, but I think I’ve settled on this place and oh me, oh my, it makes me wonder what life was like in some dark garage until it could come to a home that appreciated all of its beat-up glory.