Reality Check

Well, I could tell you about what I'd like to think my morning routine looks like
OR
I could tell you how my morning actually went down today

OR
I could do both:

I've never been super attached to the idea of a set-in-stone routine, and though I've been at the same job for a little over a year and a half now, my schedule has pretty much changed constantly over the course of that time - nothing that could be helped, and quite frankly something I've enjoyed about my job.  As much as I'm really not a fan of change (I like to have a plan), I do tend to get bored with the same thing over and over.  All these schedule changes gave me the opportunity to pursue various new things as different time-frames during the day opened up.

With my most recent schedule change, I ended up not going to work until 11, and I know myself well enough to know that, just because I could, I would sleep away my morning until such time as I had to get up to go to work.

That being so, I designed this morning routine that would make me actually get up at a decent hour, and laid it all out in my journal:

• My alarm goes off at 6:45, and I let myself snooze it until 7ish - I'm working on learning to get up before my alarm goes off if I wake up feeling rested
• I always keep my water bottle by my bed at night, so first thing when I get up, I drink whatever water is left in there
• Make coffee and have a quiet time - write out gratitude/answer Bible Study questions for the week.
• Make a green smoothie (theoretically, every Sunday, I stock the freezer with "smoothie packs" for the week - all the fruit I need for a smoothie in a plastic bag with the amounts of liquid base I'll need and any ingredients that shouldn't freeze listed on the outside of the bag)
• Get dressed + ready for the day + make bed + tidy bedroom and bathroom

Sounds pretty great, right?  And it really is when I actually carry through and make it happen, but some days that just doesn't work out so well for me.  As an example, here's what my morning actually looked like today:

• Dragged myself out of bed at 6:45, drank my water, and discovered that I was out of coffee creamer.  Now, my love for coffee is pretty strong, but rather conditional on the availability of cream and sugar...
• Curled up on the couch, mourning the loss of morning coffee, checked emails, and might have dozed off for a minute or two?
• Looked at the clock to discover that it was 7:41! (Yoga class is at 8...)
• Suddenly realized I was starving, and hadn't made smoothie packs for this week, so raided the cabinet and found graham crackers and almond butter
• Threw on work-out clothes and headed out the door, except no!  The "tidying" part of my routine hasn't been happening this week, and I just tossed my keys somewhere when I got home last night, so I can't find them now
• Found my keys on the bedside table, and looked at my bed, considering whether I should or should not make it - I'm washing linens today and I'm already late, so might as well not.
• Hit the gym

Side note:  I just really wanted to say that... I'm still such a newb at the whole "working out" thing.  This month, I bought my first gym membership, mostly for the fact that there are yoga and ballet exercise classes in the morning, but I have some time between the two classes, so I'm trying to learn how to use at least the basic equipment.  

This morning, I felt like I was handling the treadmill like a boss, then I did the whole fall off the back of it thing, so that was great...

• Ran to the grocery store for creamer, and while I was there, remembered I need toothpaste too.
• Felt like I finally got my life back on track, then got home to realize it was body wash I was out of, not toothpaste...

I guess you win some and you lose some.

Something A Little Bit Different

So, lately, I've been wearing my hair like this.  And a goodly number of people are asking me how in the world I do it.  I always tell folks that it's super simple.

It really is!

But it is kind of hard to explain without actually doing the entire process in front of you, sooooo, I made a video.

Enjoy.

Three things:

1. At 0:28, I sound like this perfect little homemaker that just, you know, throws together a dress here and a headband there - no big deal.  Actually, no.  I am not one of those people.  Someday, I hope to be, but, as of today, I have one home-made dress and one home-made headband to my name.
2. At 2:43 and 3:59, I did, in fact, continue to make one or two more loops, but I was just boring and quiet, so I cut those sections out for the final edit.
3. Despite all appearances to the contrary, I am wearing shorts in the second section.  I promise.

Let me know what you think!  Do you want to see more videos around here?  Is it absolutely horrible and painful to sit through?  Did it help you learn something new?  Were you totally confuzzled by the end?  I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth...

A Tale of Three Tires

I have never been the kind of girl who is particularly comfortable with car maintenance, so, from the time that I knew my car needed new tires, it was at least a month, if not two months, as well as at least 4 phone calls to my dad, before I got it into the tire shop.

I'm sort of embarrassed to admit this, but I also pulled into the parking lot and sat in my car for about ten minutes, observing my surroundings, then left, at least twice before deciding to brave it.

I'm sure part if this has to do with the fact that I had really just gotten comfortable with my other mechanics before I decided to up and move, and now, here I was at a new place, and feeling very small and gullible, and insignificant.

However, I did finally make it into the tire shop one lovely friday.  I came in very confident, asked all the right questions, had a super-helpful-customer-service-guy assist me, and got my car in to replace the rear tires.

The paper-work at the end of my visit was a breeze, and I left feeling totally confident and much better about vehicle maintenance in the future.

Then, on the following Tuesday, I got into my car, and it gave me a low pressure warning for one of my tires.  I got out, checked on them, and found the culprit - the right rear tire - it was at 20 psi, while my tires were all supposed to be at 35 psi.  I assumed that the folks at the tire shop would have aired up the tires to the proper pressure when they first installed them, so there could be no reason the pressure in this one would be this low already, except that there was a problem of some sort.

Basking in my new-found confidence, I immediately called the tire shop, and explained the situation (including the fact that I had just purchased the tires) to the guy who answered the phone.  he said something along the lines of "No.  There shouldn't be any problems.  You can just take it anywhere and air up the tires, then keep an eye on them; but if you really want to, I guess you can come in and we'll air it up for you."

That was not exactly the answer I was looking for...

So, of course, I called my dad and asked him what he thought I should do.  I also mentioned a squeaky sound I'd been hearing, and he recommended I take it in and have them look at the tires and the belt.

So, of course, that's just what I did...

I walked in, and, when it was my turn (they were pretty busy) I began to explain my situation to the-man-at-the-counter.  He literally interrupted me mid-sentence and said "Are you the one that called earlier?" COMPLETE WITH AN EYE ROLL.

I maintained composure and said "Yes" in my sweetest voice, adding that there was also a squeaky belt I would love for them to look at if they had the time.

He said "Yeah, sure, just pull your car around to the back of that bay right there." Then turned to the next person in line and began talking to them.

That was that.  I was not very appreciative of his idea of customer service, and wished very much for super-helpful-customer-service-guy to come to my rescue.

There was nothing for me to do but pull my car around to where he had indicated, so I did, and waited, since I had received no further instructions.  After about 5 minutes of waiting, and being approached by absolutely no one, I went back into the tire shop, and waited in line for my turn.

When I got up to the counter, I said "Hi.  I pulled my car up, and didn't know what to do next."
He interrupted me again with "Just wait a minute," and again turned to the next customer in line.

At this point, I was beginning to feel very much not valued in this place, but I stepped to the side, and waited patiently.

A moment later, a man poked his head in the door and asked the-man-at-the-counter if he could help out in any way.  The-man-at-the-counter (looking very relieved) said "Yes!  Just go check the pressure in her tires over there," waving his hand in the general direction of my car.  The other man headed out the door, and I began to add that there was a squeaky belt situation, but he was already beyond ear-shot.  The-man-at-the-counter added, in a normal tone (without bothering to open, or even turn toward the door through which the other man was already completely gone) "Oh yeah, and check on her belt."  He completed this incredibly unhelpful addendum with a shake of his head, as if to indicate that I was being utterly ridiculous and demanding...

At this point, I may or may not have just stormed out of the door to take matters into my own hands, since the-man-at-the-counter was apparently not at all interested in actually being helpful to his customers.

I was so upset, I literally had to stop outside the door to compose myself before going around to the bay.

Fortunately the man who had offered to help was much more kind and helpful.  He even checked all of my tires to make sure they were at a uniform pressure, and was happy to look at the belt when I told him about it.

Of course, the belt didn't make a noise when I turned the car on for him, and fortunately it hasn't made a sound since.

The tire, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

The real reason I had finally decided to get the new tires was because I was about to do a whole lot of driving: the following weekend, I home based at Camp Tejas (staying in a beautiful, newly re-modeled motel room, by the way), and travelled to Austin for a wedding on Friday, then to San Antonio for a graduation on Saturday.

Well, Friday was lovely, and Saturday was lovely, until we were leaving the graduation.  No sooner had I gotten settled into the far left lane of traffic on the San Antonio loop, than I suddenly saw the truck in the lane on my right run over something and send it toward my car.  I had no time to react, and before I knew it, I definitely had a flat on my right rear tire.

I'm truly thankful for three things:

1. It wasn't a blow-out
2. I was able to maintain my composure as I pulled across all three lanes of traffic, into the shoulder, and off onto a road which looked little-used
3. Sarah's boyfriend was in the car, and was able to help us with changing the tire

Also, Baby Sister (who's learning to drive) and another friend of hers who is also learning to drive were in the car, so we got to have a little tire-changing lesson, which was fun, apparently...

As Sarah's boyfriend was putting on the spare, Sarah and I inspected the damage.

There was a good-sized gash in the side-wall, where, presumably whatever-it-was had just hit the tire.  And, wouldn't you know, there was also a screw imbedded in the tread of that tire.  As you may recall, this was the tire that was lower than all my other new tires, and which the tire shop so begrudgingly aired up for me, without inspecting it at all...

Once we were set with the spare, which was in desperate need of some air, we hobbled to the nearest gas station for air, and onward to the nearest branch of my tire store, which was actually something like the swankier, higher-end version, owned by the same corporation.

At this point, I was (understandably?) more than a little upset, and stormed into the store with slightly less confidence than last time, and much more need to feel vindicated.

I was almost immediately greeted kindly by a man behind a counter.  Before he even greeted me, though, I noticed three things:

1. This store smelled nice
2. People smiled here
3. There was prominent signage indicating everything you could need while you were waiting for your car

I began explaining our situation to the kind man behind the counter, perhaps too eagerly, as he kept calmly asking me to wait until his computer could catch up with the information I was giving him.

The tire was, unfortunately, clearly beyond repair, and was definitely going to have to be replaced.  The first thing he said to me when we realized this was, "It appears that you did not purchase a warranty on this tire..."

You guys.  My jaw probably hit the floor, and this is why:

Back when I was originally purchasing the tires, during the "breezy" paper-work process at the end, I had paused to question a section where the super-helpful-customer-service-guy asked for my initials.  I don't remember what it said, but I distinctly remember asking him something along the lines of "This says something about discussing a warranty with you, and I don't remember doing that..." and him responding with something like "Oh, that isn't really related to your purchase today."

Turns out, I had initialed a spot that said that I had been given paper-work regarding a warranty, and made an informed decision not to purchase it, when really, none of that had happened, and I certainly would have purchased that warranty if given the chance.

That warranty being an eleven dollar purchase that meant they would cover the entire cost of a new tire if mine was damaged as a result of road hazards.

Yes.  You read that right.  No wonder they weren't particularly interested in selling it to me.  You can imagine my thoughts at this moment were not particularly kind toward previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy.

Well, the current, kind man behind the counter gave me one look, without actually hearing any of that story, and said he would cover the cost of a new tire for me, just because.

I'd like to think this was because I looked like a customer-demanding-vindication-for-wrong-doing, but Sarah's boyfriend said it was because the kind man behind the counter had a crush on me...

Either way, I felt a little bit better about my life, and made sure I got a warranty on my new right rear tire.

And friends, the saga continues...

The first chance I got after coming back into town, I went to my tire store to demand nicely ask that they warranty my tires as atonement for their past wrong-doing since there had been some sort of glitch in the process of informing me about the warranty at the time of my original purchase.

I hope you guys believe me that I really was on my best behavior in the tire shop, regardless of how really indignant I was on the inside.  I'm a Southern girl.  We don't lose our cool in public...

Anyway, I went in, and who should be inside but previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy and the-man-at-the-counter?  Yes.  They were both right there.

The-man-at-the-counter was apparently busy, so previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy, who seemed to not remember me, asked how he could help.  I began to tell the nicest version of my story that was possible while not excluding any important details (including the screw in the tire), ending with the request to go ahead and have a warranty for the tire, which I had already driven around for a week and a half or so.

At about the point in my story where I came back with low pressure in one of my tires, the-man-behind-the-counter began edging toward us, evidently remembering me.

Next thing I know, previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy turns to the-man-behind-the-counter and asks if it's possible to do what I'm asking.  And before previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy is even done with his question, the-man-behind-the-counter says "Of course we will.  I am so sorry that happened, ma'am."

You guys.  The-man-behind-the-counter was the manager of this store.  The MANAGER!

I'm telling you, it was all I could do to keep a straight face.

I mean, what?

He promptly took over the conversation and was SO polite and helpful, but, by this point, I was totally over everything about this store.  Of course, I was polite in return, and gave positive one-word-answers to his attempted small-talk instead of glaring daggers, but, really, I was truly done.

When he was almost done processing the warranty, he started telling me excitedly that they were soon upgrading to a store like the one I went to in San Antonio, and by the time I needed my next tires, the upgrade would be finished.

Guys, I'm super ashamed of this, but my first thought was "Well, I hope they'll upgrade the management too!"

Of course, being a sweet, Southern girl, I gave him two true words - "That's wonderful!"

Well, if the upgrade is indeed done by then, maybe I'll give them a second chance...

That time I went to New York and back in 10 days.

If you follow me on Instagram, this trip is old news (It happened in November).
However, if you follow me on Instagram, you didn't get the whole scoop or all the pictures, so here is (in the words of Paul Harvey) "the rest of the story."

As I've mentioned in the past, my dad did the same thing for all of my growing up years, then changed careers just recently.  I really can't remember a time when I didn't have a pretty solid idea of what he was doing at any given point in a day, even if he was far away.
Our family was always very close, and having a good idea of what Dad was up to at work helped to tighten that bond, I think.

Then he threw us all for a loop, and decided to become a truck driver - an over-the-road truck driver, no less.  That means he could be anywhere in the U.S. at any given time. (Within the first six months or so of his career, he had been in 47 of the 48 Continental United States!)
Not to mention that he was now driving an 18-wheeler, and hauling who knows what (anything from copper wire to New York City's trash - literally).

I hadn't expected this, but it felt downright strange to not know what he was doing day in and day out.

So, of course, when the opportunity arose, I jumped on his truck with him to find out.



Oh, did I mention that I stayed on that truck with him for 10 days?

Do you see the size of that cab, ladies and gentlemen?

Let me just say, I have a hero in disguise as a dad.  That wonderful man slept on a mattress topper (not a mattress - just a topper!) on the floor for 10 nights so I could have the bed, bought me coffee every morning (I'd brought a coffee maker and coffee with me, but it turned out his power converter wouldn't support the amount of amps or something required by my coffee maker), and generally treated me like a princess.

We had a fantastic time, just driving down the road, sometimes talking, sometimes listening to music (his good old southern rock that Mom doesn't really listen to, some folksy stuff, and my Needtobreathe and Coldplay), and sometimes enjoying silence and pointing out interesting things along the road to each other:


"Look, Es" he said, "it's a coffee truck!"
And "Man, those poor horses without the blankets sure must feel discriminated against..."

Dad is a "moderator" on a truck-driving forum for new truckers, or people who are interested in getting into the career, and it just so happened that he had committed to write a "journal" of his time on the road that coincided with our time together.  He really enjoyed having me along as a "photographer" to record various parts of his job that he could share on the forum.  I had fun helping him understand a little more about blogging/getting photos on his blog and the forum.



As a flat-bed driver, as opposed to a dry-van driver, Dad has the responsibility of securing his own loads.  He says this is one of his favorite parts of the job as it keeps him active.  From what I've observed, this love for securement is pretty rare among truck-drivers.  It totally makes sense to me that he would love it, though.  There's a certain satisfaction that comes from doing something yourself and knowing that it's done right.
Every once in a while, I'd help him with securing one of the loads (and, of course, he went back over everything I did to make sure it was correct) and it was pretty cool to know that I'd had a little part in making sure that load stayed on the back of his truck through wind, snow, and high speeds.



Our first stop on this crazy journey was in Vidor, Texas, where we picked up a load of steel coils headed for Cincinnati, Ohio.
(Cincinnati, by the way, is one of the few words that I can NEVER remember how to spell...)

We spent the weekend at a truck stop on the border of Kentucky and Ohio.
That was quite the experience.  A truck stop is like it's own little world.  It was actually much cleaner and pleasanter than I expected it to be.  Our weekend consisted mainly of doing laundry in the truck stop, watching movies in the truck, and taking lots of walks to enjoy the Fall foliage.





When Dad stopped in Cincinnati to unload, I was still asleep.  I woke up and looked out the window to find this charming old brick building with various international flags hung along the roofline and a beautiful Holly full of red berries.



After this stop, we headed across the border into rural Southern Indiana to pick up some sheetrock bound for Syracuse, New York.

While driving through Indiana, we saw lots of these lovely, bare, almost wraith-like, white trees - Sycamores, right, Indiana friends?



On our way to New York, we started seeing a bit of snow.  I was so impressed at the way they know how to maintain roads in the North! (In Texas, or the South in general, I guess, everything would have been closed for even this tiny amount of snow.)



Now, before we go any further, let me acknowledge that these are not really the quality of photos you are used to seeing on this blog, but please keep in mind, I'm taking a lot of these through the windows of a truck moving at approximately 65 MPH...

This particular day was a long, long, long one.  By the end of it, we had dropped off one load, and were picking up the next at about 11 PM.  I was sitting in the truck and feeling very sleepy, and possibly a bit delirious if I'm honest.  I looked out of the windshield and saw this little fork-lift staring right at me:


I may or may not have taken way too much time trying to decide if he was friendly or not...

I was so tired that I decided to sleep in the next morning while Dad got on the road, but he wisely woke me up, knowing I would want to take pictures of the snow-covered houses in this precious little town that we drove through.



Let's just be honest and say that I was FREAKING OUT the entire time I was taking these pictures, because this was The Most Snow I'd Ever Seen.
I know.  I'm a little bit pitiful...

I don't remember the name of this town, but I remember thinking how really it wasn't that much different than being in the South.  That house looks like it could be my next door neighbor's, in fact.

Well, that thought quickly changed when we made a stop in Walmart.

We walked into this New York state Walmart like the normal Southerners that we are, me chattering to Dad about something and him laughing at something funny I said, and slowly it dawned on me that no one, NO ONE, else in this store was talking.
No one smiled back at us as we passed them in the aisles.
Someone looked at me like I might be an alien when I said "excuse me" because I had to walk in between them and the shelf they were perusing.
Everyone just kind of walked around in their own little worlds and totally ignored each other.

You guys.  That was one of the weirdest experiences I've ever had.  Come to think of it, I have a long list of weird experiences in Walmart, and I guess we can just go ahead and add this one to it.  Maybe I should just never go to Walmart again?  It always seems to unnerve me.

I have to admit that I was a little sad we ended up in New York and I didn't even get a chance the see The City.  Honestly, though, I wasn't too sad.
Seeing New York City has never been on my bucket list.
I mean, I always figured if I was ever anywhere near it, I would at least look at it a little bit...
But who am I kidding?  I was more than comforted by those adorable snow-covered houses, and the best peppermint mocha ever (Trust me.  I'm a peppermint mocha connoisseur.) - at a random little chain in a rest stop!

You did good, New York.

That load we picked up in the middle of the night was headed down to Alabama, so I bid the snow goodbye a little sadly, and we headed back the way we'd come - through Cincinnati.  On our way there, we saw the most fantastic sunset graced with an "airplane spaghetti bowl" as Dad said.



I'd kind of wanted to photograph Downtown Cincinnati (it was the only city we drove through - we skirted around all the rest), but it was dark by the time we got there.  I got one semi-good shot, but that was it.



Dad warned me before we got into the city to be prepared for a tunnel.  In other words, he told me I should have my camera ready.  Unfortunately, I was too busy trying to get night skyline pictures to really prepare my camera for the tunnel, so all in all, it wasn't the most rewarding night for the little perfectionistic photographer that hides inside of me...

It was lovely going through that tunnel, though.  Tunnels always make me think of my Pop.  I don't have too many clear, specific memories of him.  I have lots of everyday knowledge, but as far as particular memories outside the norm, I only have a few.  One, though, involves the tunnel that crossed the Ship Channel in Houston before the Fred Hartman Bridge was built.  I think of him every time I go through a tunnel now, because of that one memory.



At our stop in Alabama, I sat in the truck and knitted.  I did, however, take a moment to enjoy the lovely fall foliage that was beginning to appear here in the South.



After that stop, we wound our way home through the Smoky Mountains.
Now, the Smoky Mountains are another thing that I have never had any great desire to see.
I know, I know.  I'm probably crazy.  But, honestly?  Mountains just aren't my thing.  Give me an ocean and a coastline, and I will sit and stare and take it in all day.

I was pleasantly surprised by the Smoky Mountains, though.  They really were "smoky" - sort of veiled in a constant blue haze - and so peaceful.  I did take pictures, but none of them turned out very well (65 MPH, remember?).  So, mostly, I just sat back and enjoyed the scenery.

When I saw these bridges coming up, though, you can bet I whipped out my camera and took as many pictures as I could, hoping I'd get at least one good one.



There's just something I really love about bridges.  I probably wouldn't make any sense if I tried to explain it.






Sometimes there are just things that you love for no good reason.

I have to admit, by the time we got home, I was really grateful to be back in Texas and on solid ground.  A tiny part of me had gone on this adventure thinking how crazy cool it would be if I could team-drive with Dad, so I'd been analyzing whether this would be a good idea or not.

Hey.

I know you're laughing right now, so I'll just give you a minute to laugh.

There.  Are you back with me?  I am being perfectly serious here.  From about the time I was 18, I've had secret thoughts that I might enjoy the truck-driving life - exploring all over the country, and seeing the sights.  However, the fact is, I'm a girly girl, and ten days out on the road was enough to convince me that, no matter how pleasant and clean they are, I don't want to spend any majority of my time taking truck stop showers.  Nor do I want to be always getting my hands dirty doing load securement.
I'll stick with my pencil skirts and phone etiquette, thank you.

Another thing?  It was so hard to drive past these three things and not beg Dad to stop.


Clockwise from left:
1. Poplar Avenue - the road in Memphis that Mom travelled down every year of her childhood to visit her Grandmother
2. Elizabethtown and 61 - Need I say more? (It's one of my favorite movies.)
3. Niagara Falls - I  WAS THAT CLOSE TO NIAGARA FALLS AND DIDN'T GET TO SEE IT!

I cannot imagine all the other things around the U.S. that I would get this close to and just miss.
For a short jaunt, I was fine - quite happy, in fact - but I now know for sure that truck driving is not the life for me.

I have to say, though, it was the best decision to go with Dad and learn more about what he does.  I feel so much more educated now about his daily life, and, just the other day, he was able to call me and tell me that he'd stopped in a spot that I remembered from our trip.  How wonderful is that?!

The Upstairs Neighbor

All my growing up years, I said I would never live in an apartment.  My parents had never lived in apartments, so why should I ever need to? When you're 10, this kind of logic makes perfect sense.

Well, I made it through college without ever living in an apartment, but obviously I had good friends that lived in apartments.  And I heard nothing but bad from them about the noise from the neighbors.  All these friends lived on the first floor, so most of the noise they complained about came from above.

When I graduated college, I went to work at Camp Tejas.  I was still sticking to the childhood resolution of no apartment living - yay on-camp housing!  But then the CEO decided to start moving people off camp, and I was one of the first.  Turns out, moving off camp was a really great decision.

However, there was the small problem of the fact that there were not a lot of houses for rent anywhere near my price range.  I decided to go with an apartment, because that seemed like the most financially wise decision.  Also, the one I settled on was only 2 and a half years old, so surely it was well constructed enough that there wouldn't be any problem with noise.  The final determining factor was that the available unit was on the second floor in a 2-story complex - yay noise-free life!

Well, I did have a noise-free life for a little while, until we got new neighbors next door.  Turns out, that, if you do life one wall apart, you're going to hear each other - TV, fights, opening and closing of pantry doors, etc.  But I really got used to most of it.

Also, a friend of mine from work happened to be my downstairs neighbor, and one day he sort of jokingly told me I had to stop wearing my boots in the house. I had just gotten a new pair of cowboy boots (my first) and been wearing them a lot.  I started just wearing them into the door and taking them off immediately as soon as I got in the door.

However, that encounter made me a little more aware of my on noise-making capabilities.  It began to dawn on me that I must be a really annoying upstairs neighbor.

Guys, I'm a dropper by nature.  I drop things a lot - mostly on accident, but sometimes, I just drop things on purpose - my empty laundry basket, or my shoes, or what-have-you - instead of bending all the way down to set them down (I know, I know.  Super lazy of me.)

So I began to be a bit more thoughtful about the kind of noise I made.  Then they moved, and I got careless again.  In the time since they moved, I've had various short-term downstairs neighbors, none of which inspired me to be very respectful.  I'll spare you the tale of the ones I regularly stomped on the floor at.  Mostly I'm sparing you because I certainly could have conducted myself much more appropriately in that situation.
Those were the last neighbors before the ones who moved in yesterday.

As I said, I felt a little sheepish about the way I behaved with the last neighbors (not that they were angels, but, you know, I wasn't either.)  Therefore, when the new neighbors came yesterday, and I got the chance to meet them, I introduced myself and welcomed them, then I told them I wanted to apologize in advance because I'm a bit of a dropper, so there may be some noise from upstairs every once in a while.  They laughed and said it was fine, and apologized in advance for the fact that they have kids, so we may hear them.  I was totally fine with that, and everyone was happy.  We chatted for a little while longer, then I walked off.

Funnily enough, as I was walking away, I dropped my keys. We all laughed, and I picked them up, and went upstairs. And promptly started dropping things as usual.  You guys, it's embarrassing, the amount of things I drop on the floor.  I've tried to cut back on the purposeful dropping, but the accidental obviously continues.

Everybody will tell you about how terrible it is to have upstairs neighbors, but seriously, why doesn't anyone tell you how terrible it is to be that upstairs neighbor making all the noise?
I'm tiptoeing around my house and fumbling desperately to catch things when I drop them (probably making more noise than would happen if I just let them fall...)

I think I'm getting an upstairs-neighbor-guilt-complex, y'all.
I'm ready to be on the bottom floor and be on the receiving end of the noise; it's less stressful to be offended than to be the offender.

Black Friday

So, yesterday, as many of you are probably aware, was Black Friday.  I knew Black Friday was coming, obviousy, because of all the hype that leads up to it, but, then, when it actually got here, and it was sort of just my lets-get-home-before-Sarah-has-to-go-to-work day, I forgot that it was also Black-Friday-when-people-buy-all-the-things.

You see, for most of my life, my entire family celebrated Thanksgiving on top of a large-ish hill in Arkansas (I would say mountain, except people who have seen the Rockies would argue with me…) very far away from Black Friday specials.

We ate traditional Thanksgiving food on the first day, and cooked a whole bunch of new foods the next day (a pleasant side effect of having a cousin who has a somewhat decent knowledge of more cultures than I can ever hope to acquaint myself with).

Oh, and the first day was called Thanksgiving, and the next day was called Friday, or The-Day-After-Thanksgiving, if you prefer that.

I have literally never been to a store (except maybe the grocery store in Smalltown, AR) on Black Friday in my life, and I really didn’t intend to ever set foot in one.  It’s not necessarily that I’m an embracer-of-causes or a lifter-up-of-the-underdog or even a pointer-of-fingers-at-consumerism.  I’m really not that noble.  I just really am not attracted to huge sales and the crowds that inevitably come with them.

So, back to yesterday, Black-Friday-that-I-forgot-was-Black-Friday.  We get home in time to send Sarah off to work, and I sit down to prioritize what I’m going to get done.  Lights on the tree, check; finish knitting project, almost check, then I remember something.  I recently bought a new-to-me laptop.  My old one is dying a slow and painful death, and I’ve decided to try a Macbook, so I bought a friend’s used one from her, just to see what I think.  But I need to back all of my stuff up like a responsible person.  I don’t have an external hard-drive or anything, so, I think to myself, well, I’ll just run to Walmart really quickly and see what they have.

I don’t know why it seemed like a good idea to go to Walmart right at that second, mid-knitting, but I can guarantee you that Black Friday never crossed my mind, or I most certainly would not have gotten up from my comfy sunny spot on the couch.

So, I get into the car, and drive peacefully to Walmart.  As soon as I pull into the parking lot, I know something is wrong.  If you have to wait in line for a parking space at what is possibly the only remaining only-open-until-11-pm-non-super Walmart left in Texas, something very strange is happening.

I remembered then, that it was Black Friday.

But then I thought to myself, it’s not like I avoid this tradition for any noble upstanding reasons.  I just don’t like the crowds and the herd mentality that inevitably manifests itself on such occasions.  Plus, I only needed one thing.

How difficult could it be to grab one thing from electronics and get out fast?

Difficult, folks.  Very very difficult.

I walked into that store and had the most bizarre experience ever.  This is literally the tiniest of Walmarts, but there were people from out of town inside!  How do I know that, you ask?  Because they had Starbucks cups in their hands…

I live in a tiny town with a tiny Walmart, where there is never a line of more than 6 people for every cash register available.  Except, maybe when all the Summer Staff go into town at once, but that’s a story for a different time…

The sheer amount of people was overwhelming.

In fact, I was so overwhelmed that I made a small involuntary noise, which made people turn their heads and look at me.  Not a scream, exactly, but probably a scream’s very small, timid cousin.

It was weird, people.  So weird, in fact, that I had to call Sarah for reassurance that I was actually still a normal human being in a normal world.  I ended up talking to Lima instead of Sarah, which was helpful, since she’s also a human, and quite a reassuring one at that.

I don’t get anxiety in crowds, or anything, but that experience unnerved me, and served to reinforce in my head that I don’t ever want to be a part of that crowd.

I kind of wanted to cry a little bit on the way home.

Then, when I got to my apartment, I pulled into the parking lot and saw a perfect patch of sun on my porch.  After my harrowing experience, I needed something soothing and calm, so I knew I needed to sit in that sunny spot and read a good book.  But, my porch floor is not exactly comfortable, and I have no patio furniture.

So, I exercised my creative side and pulled my comfy chair out of my living room onto the porch, and boy was it a lovely few hours.  Not only did I read a book, I had some tea and even enjoyed a lovely cat-nap.

My soul was satisfied.

Then the sun set and I came back inside.

And then my cell phone died and I realized I’d left my charger at my parents’ house.  Literally no one that I know in this town uses the same phone as I do (I live in a small town, remember?)

So where does this leave us?

You guessed it – it’s still Black Friday, and now Esther legitimately has to go to Walmart.  Now, I realize that maybe this wasn’t truly a “legitimate” need, and I could have lasted a little while without a phone, but I was at home alone and Sarah wasn’t going to be home from work for a while, and, honestly, I wasn’t too concerned for myself, but I could just imagine my Mother trying to call me, and not being able to get ahold of me, so calling Sarah, and Sarah calling me, and everyone getting very concerned, and someone deciding to leave work to make sure I was okay, and, and, and…

I decided to go to Walmart.

I got in my car all doom and gloom, then this order of events occurred:

The radio was playing only the best songs, and no commercials

I found a parking space easily

I crossed paths with a lovely girl in the parking lot, who was nice, and restored my faith in humanity

I walked into the electronics section and found exactly what I needed immediately

I got up to the registers, and there was one wide open, with a sweet girl working it

Throughout all of this, I was still expecting badness at every turn, but there was something about that checker that just knocked me out of my doom and gloom mind-set and made me realize that I had just had a lovely, smooth Walmart run.  Then, I couldn’t help but count the goodness:

I backed out of my parking space without hitting anyone (not that I normally hit people, but it’s one of my biggest fears that one day I will, and while we’re counting the goodness, why not count all of it?)

I got to a rather long red light and remembered the trick of turning on your brights to make the camera see you – worked like a charm

The radio was still playing all the best music

I found Christmas lights on my way home

I don’t really believe in “luck” per se, but I sure do believe in a God who gives good gifts to His children, and He treated me in a major way tonight.

For that, I am thankful.

Today Was Sunny

The past five days or so have been possibly some of the worst I've had in many years, culminating with me crying in the office last night in front of my director and the CEO, both of whom I love and am incredibly comfortable with, but really, Esther?

(Sheesh, how about that for a crazy run-on?)

Okay, so maybe some of you have really good memories that stretch all the way back to the episode where Esther cries in the dentist's office.  And maybe those of you with the long memories are beginning to doubt all of this Esther-really-doesn't-ever-cry business that I keep trying to feed you.

But let me tell you, ask anybody outside of my family, and they have probably never seen me cry.

I mean ask anybody outside of my family other than the CEO of camp, my director, and my dentist...

I mean, seriously.  After the whole crying-in-the-dentist's-office experience, I felt like I was scarred for life.  I had no idea how that happened.  It was just like it came out of the middle of nowhere.

Also?  I'm pretty sure he was scarred for life as well.  I had an appointment last week, and he was about as nice as he could be.  I mean, talking to me like I was an emotionally fragile 5-year old kind of nice (which, come to think of it, is probably pretty much how he views me now).

And do you think he mentioned a single word about my wisdom teeth, which are all four still firmly lodged in my mouth?

No sir, he sure didn't.

In the office yesterday, it was the same way.  One minute, I'm talking like a normal person, the next moment, I'm sobbing.

Many times, I've expressed to people how frustrated I am with this crying-less-than-once-a-year way of "handling" my emotions, or rather this lack of emotional maturity and appropriateness.  So maybe this crying-at-the-drop-of-a-hat method of emotional expression is just a step on the journey to learning how to cry at appropriate times?

No, don't answer that.

One thing I did notice was that, aside from the real reasons for the emotional turmoil of the last several days, there was hardly any sunshine to be seen until yesterday afternoon.  Now, we all know that Esther does not do well with lack of sunshine (see item number 1), so maybe that had something to do with it.

Maybe I'll never know, and maybe that's okay, but I do know two things:

1. Currently I'm listening to Jack Johnson, Michael Franti, Bob Marley, Colbie Cailait, and Van Morrison, and if that doesn't cheer you up, you're probably not entirely human
2. Today was sunny

So, folks, I'm pretty sure Esther-who-doesn't-cry-all-the-time is well on her way back from wherever she ran away to.

A Quick Bit of Advice for Your Professional Life

If you're trying to get a job, don't set your phone to make your number simply say "blocked" when you call people about said job.

When you call said people and they don't answer (because their phone just says "Blocked"), leave them a voicemail.  10 bucks says they'll call back if you leave a voicemail, and 20 says they won't call back if you don't leave one.

Above all, if you don't leave a voicemail, calling them 8 times a day, beginning at 5:34 in the morning and ending at 10:01 at night is not going to make them call you back, much less answer.

That is all.

Concerning Golf Carts

Before working at a camp, I never really thought that much about golf carts.

Now, they're a part of my everyday life.  There are several golf carts at camp and they each have a number.  And, I know it seems crazy, but each numbered golf cart has it's own personality.

Take, for example, The Phantom.  My first summer at camp was the same year all the golf carts arrived.  I was only summer staff, so I didn't have much to do with the golf carts.  I didn't pay too much attention to them, but at some point, Number Three began going by "The Phantom."  I don't know the story behind this nickname, but I'm pretty sure there is a story of some sort.  Somebody actually put vinyl letters below the number 3 that said The Phantom.

Recently, I was doing my laundry late into the night, as in later than one in the morning, so I was going back and forth through the same passage rather frequently.  The last time I walked through that passage (very late), The Phantom was there in the passage, plugged into an outlet and charging, next to a room where no one lives.  It hadn't been there before, so I jumped out of my skin when I saw it.  (Come to think of it, strange things tend to happen when I'm doing my laundry late at night.  Maybe I should change my laundry time.)


The next morning, I got up around 7:30.  The Phantom was already gone.

Nowadays, as full time staff, I frequently use a golf cart during the day if I need to run several errands around camp.  I almost never drive The Phantom.  Not because of the name; simply because The Phantom lists dramatically to the left and that gets rather annoying.  However, a few days after the laundry night incident, The Phantom was my only option other than my feet, so I took it.  After accomplishing a few things, I realized I had left something behind in my office, so I drove back, parked The Phantom in "the golf cart shed," and ran in my office.

I was in there maybe two minutes.  When I came back out, The Phantom was already gone.

Like I said, I almost never drive The Phantom, but I'm not picky.  I usually just run to the golf cart shed, hop in a cart that isn't The Phantom, and take off.  I never even look at the numbers, because you don't have to look.  If you just glance, you can tell which one is The Phantom because it leans so much.

Probably 9 times out of 10, I end up grabbing Number Five.  I don't know why.  I just do.  Out of any number of carts that may be in the shed, I almost always hop in that one.

You wanna know Number Five's quirk?  It beeps when it's in reverse.
It beeps in about four different tones, choosing randomly at it's own free will.

You wanna know my favorite tone?  (please sense the sarcasm here)  The one that sounds like a cat dying.  Something like "mrrraaaammp" (yeah, I should never try to be an onomatopoeia-spelling-inventor).  It's just an awful sound.

Number Five is a green golf cart (as is The Phantom).  I've started trying to only grab red golf carts.  We'll see how it works out.

Also?  I'm considering giving Number Five a new name - The Dying Cat.
Oh, you don't think it would be a good idea to get vinyl letters made?

It Finally Happened

I got pulled over.
And the officer was extremely rude.  I know, I know, he has to follow a certain script in order to protect himself and so on and so forth.  but really, he was rude.

I had never been pulled over before, so I didn't know what I was supposed to do.  I racked my brain for the driver's ed lesson about what to do when you desert everything driver's ed has taught you and actually have to interact with the police, but sadly, I couldn't recall it.
And, let's face it.  Driver's ed was a long time ago.

So I pulled into a Pizza Hut parking lot with the police car behind me, and immediately proceeded to get out of the car.  The police-man put up one finger, motioning to me that I should hold on.  I guess he was running my license plates or something.
When he got out of his car, I got out of mine.  I have since been informed that this was the wrong decision as it could be perceived as a threat.  But really, do I look threatening?

I proceeded to inform the policeman that I had never been pulled over, so didn't really know what to do.
He simply said "You should have your window rolled down."  Which statement I took to mean I should be inside of my car with the window rolled down.

So I got in the car and rolled down the window.
He then walked up to my window and mumbled "License and insurance, I'm officer so-and-so with the such-and-such police department."  Without a "thank you for your cooperation" or any acknowledgement that we had interacted at all before this exact moment in time.
At this point, all I'm capable of doing is trying not to cry.  I think, if he'd been a little nicer, I would have been more composed, but as it was . . .
I could tell he would have hated me if I'd started crying, so I didn't.

But I couldn't think straight.

I started searching for the insurance, but I was in my Dad's car, so I didn't know where it was.  I kept trying to explain to him why I was digging around so much in the glove compartment, but I think he got a little nervous . . .
He said (rather gruffly) "Ma'am, just give me your license."
So I did, and he immediately asked me if the address was correct.
Of course it wasn't.  So then he asked me how long I'd lived at my current address.

I couldn't remember.

I could not remember how long I'd lived here.  In fact, I couldn't even remember my address.
That is the kind of state I'd worked myself into.  How pitiful.

He then asked me if I was aware that I had thirty days, after moving to a new address, to inform the DPS of my new address.  I may or may not have told a white lie here.  I said no, I was not aware of that.
He just shook his head and said (with a large dramatic sigh beforehand, the only bit of personality he showed the whole entire time) "Ma'am, could you please find your insurance?"

Then, of course, I found the insurance as soon as I looked into the glove compartment.  So I handed it to him.  He took it silently, and I stared straight out of my windshield in a last-ditch effort to compose myself.
As in, the tears were about to pour out of my eyes and I didn't know how much longer I could contain them.

Then I heard him say "Standby."
I was not at all sure whether he was directing that command at me or someone else.  For a moment I thought he was calling in the backup officers and was about to arrest me for who-knows-what.

But I turned to face him, and he said to me, with the least possible amount of expression in his voice,
"Well ma'am, it's your lucky day.  I've been called to another call, so I'll have to leave."

Then, do not ask me why, I looked him in the eye and said "Oh, I'm sorry," complete with a sad look on my face and the tears which were welling up anyway.
Yes, I said that, as if it was my party and he had to leave early or something.

He looked at me like I was crazy (which he probably had a right to do) and said "Ma'am, please just slow down," his voice finally expressing the frustration he must have felt with me all along.

And I'm pretty sure we both drove away extremely glad to have that experience behind us.

And I went to the DPS and changed the address on my license.
Just in case I forget again.

Bizarre

So, a while back, I went on a picnic at the zoo with a few friends.

We were sitting at the picnic table just chatting, and I noticed the Hispanic family that was next to us.  They were  clearly having a good time, running around, playing, joking, and just loving each other like a family should.

Then they all got together to take a picture.  The mother and the children posed together, and the father had the camera.  Right before he snapped the picture, he told his family to say "queso."

At first I sort of laughed to myself thinking it was a funny joke.  But then I realized none of them were laughing.  They just said "queso" and took the picture.

It was crazy to think that this family actually thought that was the thing to do before you took a picture.
They just translated an American custom directly into their native language without questioning why we say "cheese."

Bizarre

Does This Kind of Stuff Happen to Other People?

What would you do if you were sitting at a stop light with your windows down and heard a voice say, "What's with the (insert make and model of your car here)?"

Well, if you were me, you'd know without a doubt that your car is the only one that could possibly be referenced, because only about six people in your small town even drive this car and none of them are at this stop-light at this exact moment, except you, of course.

So, you would turn to find a man in, of course, a white van with no markings and no windows past the front two.
(Is anyone else immediately terrified by this kind of vehicle?)
And the man would be literally leaning out his window toward your car and saying "No air conditioning?" while he actually could be driving ahead and not holding up traffic because he has a green light.

You, who are turning left, do not have a green light, and must stay right where you are and carry on a civil conversation with this man, so you say "Nope, no air conditioning."

He proceeds to say "I'm so sorry about that."
You just say "I'm fine" and glance significantly at the light just in case, in all this time that he's been sitting here, he hasn't noticed that the light is green.
He finally gets the message and drives on.

Okay.  What would you do at this point?  I immediately looked around the inside of my car to make sure nothing was missing.  Am I too paranoid?  Is that crazy?
I mean, that poor man was probably just wanting to be nice and friendly.  But he was holding up a line of traffic at a green light . . . Just in order to be nice and friendly?
I don't know.  It was weird.  But every time I have an encounter like this, I leave it feeling like I am entirely too suspicious of people in general and need to have more faith in humanity . . . And work on my "I-am-a-strong-and-confident-woman-and-you-shouldn't-even-think-about-messing-with-me" look.

Could This Day Get Any Weirder?

I just commented on somebody's blog and the little word verification thingie was literally jujywar, as in Jujyfruits, but not.

Earlier today I was at the dentist's office and literally broke down and started crying because I felt like I can't afford to get my wisdom teeth out right now.
Really Esther?  Yes.  Really.
The thing is, I don't cry in front of people unless they're super special to me.  I'm really very comfortable with my dentist.  I don't have the dentist fear that everyone else seems to be plagued with.  But comfortable enough to cry in front of him?  As in ugly sobs, tears and mascara mingling kind of crying.
Yeah.  It was really weird.

Then, after my dentist appointment, I went to McDonald's to run through the drive-thru for a quick lunch.  And these two boys in their trucks decided it was a good idea to have a let's-see-who-can-rev-their-engine-the-loudest contest right there in the drive-thru.  One in front of me and one behind.  I couldn't hear the person in the drive-thru who was taking my order and she certainly couldn't hear me.
Now, I'm fine with people revving their engines in a normal going-down-the-street kind of environment, although it really doesn't impress me much.  But doing it in the drive-thru is just inconsiderate.
My blood sugar was already low and I was on-edge emotionally (per the last paragraph), so I might or might not have said into the drive-thru speaker (okay, maybe yelled) "I'm sorry, can you hear me?  Because there are some people out here being VERY rude and EXTREMELY loud!"
And those kids could definitely hear me because my outburst was in a moment when both of them were paused, but they just kept it up.  They did this literally for three minutes. And I was stuck in the drive-thru.  Couldn't get out because they were on either side of me and neither one of them was going to move until they established a winner for their little contest.
People these days are ridiculous.

Then I went to Walmart.  This is the point where you should gasp in feigned shock.
How could anything weird happen at Walmart?
I got everything I needed and made it to the checkout line with no mishaps.  Then, there was this VERY strange old man in line behind me who was acting like he'd known me all his life.  At first I thought, well, he's probably harmless.  I'll just chat with him.  Then he brushed my butt with his hand, clearly on purpose.
That is not what I call harmless.
At this juncture, I conveniently noticed that I'd lost my wallet.
It was convenient because it got me away from Creepy Old Man, but it was rather disturbing, because I truly had no idea where it was.
The first place I thought to look was in my car, and before you get really concerned, don't worry.  It was there, safe and sound.
But I almost wasn't safe and sound.
As I was walking to my car, I noticed one of those crazy evangelists standing in the parking lot yelling things like "America is going to Hell!" VERY loudly.  I was slightly distracted by him, as was the lady who nearly backed over me while making her way out of her parking spot.  It was really a close call.
Scared me.
Scared her too.
Then Evangelist Man jumped in a truck, and picked up none other than Creepy Old Man at the front of Walmart.
I am not lying to you.

It has been a weird day.  But I am recovering in my happy place and have even started to laugh at almost everything that happened so far. Oh Texas, I would have stayed in Georgia if I'd known the kind of hospitality you'd show me when I got back.
Speaking of which, don't worry, you will still get a run-through of the trip complete with photos.  I'm currently working on figuring out how to make photos show up bigger on my blog.

Be Happy Everyone!

They Still Exist!

Knights in Shining Armor, that is.  Let me tell you how I know:

On the occasion of this post, dad's car had a slight problem starting and we had to go out after dark and find a random person to jump it for us.
It turned on successfully and we promptly forgot about the problem (At least, I did.  Dad monitored it for several days and it was fine, apparently.)
Then, on Thursday, I was about to head toward Houston for a little friends' reunion, and Dad, at the last minute, offered me the use of his car since my air conditioning is currently out of commission.
(Did anyone else notice the surplus of commas in that last sentence?  No?  Good. Neither did I.)
I accepted his generous offer immediately and only thought of the battery at the last minute as I was literally walking out the door.
"Dad?  Do you think the battery will be okay?"
"Oh yeah.  Definitely.  It hasn't given me any trouble all week."
"Great.  Thanks!  See you later."
*grab the car charger for my phone, walk out the door, crank the car flawlessly, turn on my music and the air conditioning, head out for a great day*

I stopped for gas at my favorite gas station.  Not the most pleasant place, but the best prices.  I filled up my tank and the lady commented on how much I'd just spent.  Yeah.  A Ford Expedition is not a cheap vehicle to maintain.  I walk out the door, step into the car and turn the key.

Nothing happens.  Nothing happens.  Normally, the gauges would all swing over to the right and swing back and there would be a little clicking or possibly an almost-turn-over of the engine.
But there was absolutely nothing.
Maybe I was just dreaming, so I tried again.  Definitely still nothing.

Oh, have I mentioned that I'm now in a tiny town, population two-thousand-something?

Yeah.
So I called Dad and he said to go inside the gas station and ask for the name of a reputable mechanic.  Sounds like a good idea, right?  I thought so.  So I go inside, smile at the lady who was fairly nice to me earlier, and say "I have some bad news.  My car won't start."
She looks at me like "What does that have to do with me?"
I gesture out the door "It's in front of one of your pumps."
She outright frowns and says "Now that is bad."
That means "I didn't care at all that you had car trouble until I realized you were in the way of my business receiving it's fair share of profits. Never mind the fact that you just spent practically a hundred dollars here."
So I smiled sweetly at her and her coworkers and asked for the name of a mechanic.  They all look at me blankly.  Turns out they all (all three of them) live somewhere else and commute to this tiny town to work at the gas station.  Really?

Yeah.
So one of them offers to jump my car for me and I go call dad to make sure that's okay with him.  (He doesn't like to jump it much because there's a computer inside that could get messed up.)  Dad says it's fine and the guy runs around the back of the store and returns in a decrepit Chevy Cavalier.  I'm driving an expedition here and I really don't think this is going to work, but I refrain from commenting because I'm not an expert on cars, especially not on jumping them.
First two times I try to crank it, absolutely nothing happens.  Next three, it sort of clicks.  Keep in mind we are taking a long time between tries to give it plenty of time to warm up. So finally we decide this is not going to work and the guy decides to get his co-worker's Dodge Nitro.
That one worked . . . on the third try.

I was exuberant.  I pulled out of the parking lot after thanking my rescuer effusively.  (Really, I wish I could have convinced someone to give him a raise.  He was fantastic and kept up a good conversation and was very understanding of the fact that I didn't understand a thing that was going on.)
Then, the car died as I was pulling out.  At least it felt like it died, but I just punched the gas and it kept on going.  Talk about a terrifying moment.  I was trying to pull directly into the left lane, so if it had died, I would have been smack-dab in the middle of the road!
But I was fine and I went on to pick up one of the girls.  I didn't stop the engine at her house, just picked her up and continued to our destination.  The car drove great, the air conditioning worked, and C and I had a good little catch-up time.  When we got to the sandwich shop where we were meeting the other girls, I turned off the car and immediately cranked it again, just like Dad had told me to do.

Nothing happened.

Yeah.
So I called Dad again.  By this point I'm sure he was getting fairly stressed out, but he didn't reveal it over the phone.  We decided it would be best to just have one of the girls jump it after we got through with our day, then drive it to C's parents' house because her dad is pretty much a car genius.
So I didn't stress about it for the rest of the day.  I just enjoyed my time with my sweet friends.

But 5:00 eventually rolled around and we decided it would be best to allow plenty of time for me to get home before dark and some of the girls had husbands to take care of, so we all headed back to the sandwich shop to jump my car.
K pulled her car (which is not really much bigger than a Cavalier) up next to mine and pulled out her jumper cables.  None of us were quite sure we knew what to do.

Since both the nodes (Is that what they're called?) of the battery on my car were red and both the ones on K's were yellow, we did a pretty good job of figuring it out.  We were actually quite proud of ourselves when we got it all connected.

About the time we were going to crank K's car, we saw a man who appeared to be in his late thirties walking toward us.  He was wearing a white shirt, black slacks and a tie.  Good!  A man to double-check and make sure we are not doing anything incredibly wrong here.  He got about ten feet away and we noticed the badge and gun.  This guy was an off-duty policeman.  Perfect!  A civic-minded public servant.

I am not being sarcastic here.  I am telling you what we were really thinking.

So, policeman-friend gets about six feet away, stops, stares at us, and says, in a monotone, "Are you girls okay."  (Whoa!  There go those commas again.  And yes.  That period is there on purpose.  He did not sound like he was asking a question.)
We were a little taken aback, but I put on my sweetest smile and said.  "Yes sir.  I think we're alright.  You wanna check and make sure we hooked everything up properly?" (Definitely in a questioning tone.)
Policeman-friend steps forward about two feet, looks in our engines from four feet away and says, "Looks good.  Do you know what the trouble is."  Still in a monotone.
This time I stumbled a tad. "We think it's the battery.  Maybe the alternator?  We're really not sure.  *long pause in which one of us should have said something*  It's my dad's car and I'm just trying to get it back to him before dark."
I only said that last because no one was saying anything for a really long time.


Policeman-friend says "Where are you going?"
I told him, he literally snorted, looked at his watch and said "Good Luck" in that annoying tone that Good Luck tends to take when people don't really mean it.  Then he turned on his heels and walked off.
Just walked off!
I was shocked.  Here was this man who was supposed to be a public servant walking as fast as he could away from four poor young girls who obviously had no idea what they were doing.  I'd heard stories of terrible policemen, but I never really believed them until then.
I was so disappointed.  Literally on the verge of tears.  And it takes a lot to put me on that verge.

But we rallied.  After considerable mocking of policeman-friend (which probably should not have been done, but which made us feel much better), we cranked K's car and then cranked mine.  It worked like a charm on the second try.
There was considerable rejoicing and we let it run for a little while in order to say our goodbyes.

As luck would have it, there was a traffic light at the entrance to the plaza which housed the sandwich shop.  The other girls made it through, but C and I got stuck at it.
It was a long red light and, of course, as I was turning left out of it, my car died.  No punching of the gas could bring it back this time and it took all I could to pull it onto the shoulder.  We didn't get very far off the road either.  The car literally shook every time anybody drove past in in the right lane.  C and I both got out of the passenger side and discovered not one, but three ant beds.
When I say "discovered", I don't mean we searched them out.  I mean one if not both of us stepped in each one before this ordeal was over.  It was pleasant, let me tell you.
We promptly called K and as soon as she heard the news, she was headed our way.

About the time C hung up with K, a green truck pulled over in front of us and who should get out but the photographer from C's wedding.  Yes.  She had recognized us so we had a miniature reunion right there and she made sure we had someone coming to help.
About the time she was headed toward her truck, a little white truck pulled over in front of hers and a man got out who was holding an open container of something and was clearly intoxicated.
This fella proceeds toward us in a rather weavy manner and says (in a very slurred voice which I would love to imitate for you, but sadly you can't hear me) "Y'all need to get out of the way.  I'm a paramedic and I know the fatalities that happen around here.  That big silver thing is fixin' to run right into y'all.  I'm just tryin' to be helpful."
He raises whatever he's drinking and goes off to his truck.
Really?  Because I was in the driver's seat of that big silver thing a few minutes ago and I can tell you it's not going anywhere, much to my dismay.

Now, before you start seriously doubting my definition of a Knight in Shining Armor, let me tell you that policeman-friend and tipsy fella do not fit that category.  In fact I'm pretty sure God put them in this tale purely as a foil for what happened next:

K arrived and we had just gotten the cables hooked up again and two thirds of us were on the phones with our fathers when a little white truck pulled off in front of us.  For a split second I thought Mr. Tipsy had decided to rejoin us, but no.  An angel stepped out of this truck.
Just for clarification, the most commonly spotted angel in East Texas is a twenty-something young man in a sleeveless "work-shirt" (t-shirt with a pocket for all you foreigners), holey blue jeans with mud up to the knees, and some sort of sturdy boots.  Sometimes they even have several hard hats in the back of their truck.

This guy walks up and does everything right.  He stands far enough back to not seem threatening, but asks in a tone that is clearly concerned. "Do y'all need some help?  Because I'd love to help if you need it."
We all look at each other and say "Yes.  Please."
"Good."  He says.  "I just had to stop.  I know how it is to have people just drive right past me when I'm stuck on the side of the road."
And he promptly pulled some tools out of his truck, stepped in, and took over.  Clearly this guy knew what he was doing, so we stepped back and let him do his thing.
After several tries, my car still wasn't doing anything, so he started walking back to his truck without saying anything to us.  I have to admit, for the slightest amount of time I thought he might be abandoning us in frustration.  But no, he returned from his truck with the hugest set of jumper cables I have ever seen.  I mean, these made K's look like a toddler's toy.
He grinned at me and said "These will start a track-hoe.  If they won't start your car we're in real trouble."
I just nodded dumbly, being not really sure what a track-hoe was and even less sure that anything in the world could start my car at that point.
But, sure enough, on the second try, my car started.  Not exactly like a charm, but with minimal trouble.
By now my dad had told me to make sure to rev the engine a little after I'd gotten it jumped.  So I did that while my Knight in Shining Armor went to put up his jumper cables.
He came back from his truck, made a peculiar face at the front of my car, and put his ear to the hood.
Now I'm thinking "Oh great! What now?"
He asked me to pop the hood again, and he poked around a little bit, slammed it down again and came around to my window.  He grinned again and said "I'm hearing things.  Thought there was a rattle but I didn't see anything.  Mind if I take a look at the gauges?"  I didn't, so he did.
"I think everything's good.  It's not your alternator.  Must be the battery.  Walmart has free battery checks.  You should go get it checked out before you drive it any distance, and don't turn it off until you're somewhere safe."
I smiled, said thanks, and he left.
Thanks was not enough.  This guy was the definition of a Knight in Shining Armor:
He purposely made himself non-threatening
He actually cared about the welfare of three girls whom he didn't know and will never see again
He didn't hit on any of us  (Yes.  This is an important element of Knighthood.)

The successful starting of my engine was followed by C and I talking alternately with our dads, trying to reach a consensus among the four of us, a nerve-wracking quick stop at Starbucks for directions to Walmart, and getting the battery replaced . . . for free!  Apparently it was under manufacturer's warranty, so everything turned out alright and C and I just figured it was good all around because we got to catch up more and watch the most gorgeous sunset together.

And, on the way home, I snapped some lovely pictures of a public library in the dark which I wouldn't have seen if everything had gone according to plan.

Other good things lately:

I'm headed out of here with this lady to visit this lady.  So excited!

The little girl I nanny really does like me!  She's not the most demonstrative or responsive little thing, so I really wasn't sure until today when her mom (whom she definitely adores) called to offer her the option of running errands with Mom rather than staying at the house with Esther. She said "I want to do whatever gives me more time with Esther."  Melt my heart!

Also, I'm in my coffee shop and there was a guy in holey jeans, sturdy boots, and nerd glasses reading a book  on the couch earlier.  Those angels.  They're all around if you just look for them.