Stick Horse Cowgirls

There once was a woman with Caribbean blue eyes and blond hair; gorgeous.  I k now, because she came to my office.  I have been to the Caribbean Islands and there seen, with my own drab hazel eyes, the ethereal, blue crystalline waters.  The memory of them shot to my mind as I shook her hand.  I was to become—as lawyers usually do—her confidant, so I eventually asked her if she wore contacts.  “ No,” she said, “ They’re ‘real.’”  Her indulgent smile told me that I was not the first to ask. Naturally, she was there because of her husband of almost twenty years.  He had openly moved in with another woman several weeks before.  She came to me because the previous night he had broken the lock she had changed on the front door and come in on her in the middle of the n ight.  He said he was there to get his clothing, but he had been drinking.  A fight ensued.  she was badly shaken up.  We got a protection order and filed for divorc...

V and I had a wonderful Saturday!  Last night my two young nieces spent the night with me, the plan being to visit our local Farmer’s Market early, before the heat set in too much.  I invited MIL and my mother to attend—both declined, having heard the triple-digit weather report and knowing the energy and stamina of my nieces… V, the girls and I were down there by 8:30, and the heat was rising already.  We breakfasted on pastry and French toast (the girls) then perused the lovely display of fresh vegetables and fruit and the array of  other goods in small booths.  Mom had “ordered” some locally-grown okra and tomatoes.  She likes to make this stewed okra-tomato thing ( ugh ! I have to have my okra fried or in gumbo).  We found the former but discovered that there are NO local tomatoes.  The story goes that the heat here has caused them to split, so vine-ripened ones had to be trucked in.  Mom had to make do with tomatoes from the next st...

A couple posts back, here , I wrote about my cat, Sasha: she who lives on my back porch and reigns supreme in the fenced back yard.  As I mentioned, she is a shy sweetie. But Sasha is much more than that.  She is a killing machine…. At my back door I often find little offerings of small animals, laid like little sacrifices on the altar of the cat-food-bringer.  Usually they are birds or mice.  Occasionally there will be a small rabbit.  As disgusting as this is to me, I realize that these are tokens of Sasha’s affection.  Just doing her part… Tonight I heard a little distress call from my back porch just outside my bedroom window, and I knew that Sasha was, again, plying her skill.  Artemis of the back yard. The sound raises my blood pressure a bit—like hearing a crying baby.  I can’t tell for sure what type of animal is in Sasha’s clutches, but I can tell that it is too late for me to do it any good.  The cries are weak and I kno...

Notice to those who have designs on snatching my purse:  There’s never any cash there!  If you get my cards, I’ll cancel them pronto…you may as well give it up.  The only thing that will be accomplished is aggravation to me as I go through the rigmarole to replace my identification and credit cards. I remember just a few years ago first hearing the talk that we were moving to a “cashless society.”  I scoffed at the idea.  I’m eating my words; I think I’m there.  I never have any “folding money” in my pocket these days.  And when I do, it is likely because I ran by the ATM machine, not because I held out from a deposit or cashed a check, like the old days. Remember asking the grocer if you could write a check for $20 more than the grocery bill?  I used to do it so that I’d have money for lunch or gas.  Doesn’t happen for me anymore.  I just swipe my debit card instead.  Everywhere. Just the other day I was in the bank grabbing ...

She was the lone sister left at home to care for her widowed father, selflessly.  She had given up college to do so.  Her father needed her, after the long battle with her mother’s illness. When she was in her mid-thirties, much to her surprise, a gentleman began to court her.  He was a big fish in their small town; he spoke in public for the local chapter of his preferred political party.  He was a lawyer and accountant; a man of substance with the freedom of a professional office in his home.  By this time he was divorced from the mother of his four almost-grown children, all of whom lived in another county a couple hours away.  He was fifteen years older than her. After several years of storybook courtship filled with trips to stage plays, dinner in fine restaurants she had never before experienced, and surprise gifts, they married.  As a wedding gift, his mother gave the new couple a nice five-acre tract sliced from her larger holdings. ...

Like Dorothy, I have learned that there’s no place like home!  Last weekend I spent one night away from home with Mom, MIL and Aunt E.  My own bed felt so good when I came back. But, it’s not just my familiar bed that beckons me back.  No, it’s the warm greeting I receive from those who await me: my pets! Last Saturday, as we were making were way home, my phone rang.  It was my son: “ Mom,” he said, “ The weirdest thing…the dogs won’t come home!”   Now, let me give you the back-story: My two dogs, Chili and Scout, are usually home whenever I’m home.  When I leave for work each morning, they immediately head to Grandmom’s just up the driveway toward the road from me, where they spend most of the day. MIL spoils them, letting them in and out of her house and providing treats. Wh en I return, the dogs greet me at MIL’s and watch to see if I am turning in to visit her or if I’m passing her turn and going straight home.  Wherever I go, they go....

Yes, I’m on a Mel Gibson roll, here.  This is the third post in a row which has sprung from his shenanigans (see these links for the first and second ).  I have a bully pulpit, here, and I’m fairly elbowing V out of the way to write my thoughts.  Al Gore did me such a favor by inventing this internet thing… There is so much that this episode has stirred up in me.  I think that one benefit of celebrity for us “nobodies”  is that famous people can play out their dramas in public and portray life in a magnified way so that sometimes we can pick through the drama and learn something. Mel’s girlfriend, Oksana is in a pickle, isn’t she?  She’s saddled with an aging, crumbling man (because when you have a child with someone, you are saddled with them) and she’s saddled her little daughter with one, too. While I am on Oksana’s team when it comes to exposing and resisting domestic violence, I cannot help but point out her own complicity in getting herself i...