Everett and I have an understanding. I take care of him and he takes care of me. Everett is my car.
My work keeps me out a bit late and my way home on Thursdays is on a more rural road with some twisty back roads. I was diddy-bopping along and jammin’ to music when I saw a buck saunter out into the road ahead of me, followed by another deer. At 55 mph, I figured I’d just miss the buck, but wasn’t sure whether to slow down for the other deer or to speed up and slip between the two.
After a moment’s hesitation, I yelled an obscenity and decided I wasn’t going to slow down in time and I’d rather have a sidelong impact than head on, so I continued forward at +50 mph. Sure enough, I heard a thump on the side of my car.
I motored on… the car behind me slowed down. I don’t know if what went bump in the night for me laid down in the road for them, or if they too were deciding how to play this out. Either way, I wasn’t sticking around.
On the way home I assessed the car’s ride and was grateful the window were all intact. Strangely, through the whole thing, I felt amazingly calm. My music was thumping, and Everett was still riding smoothly, so I just knew everything was fine. There could be no other explanation.
I made it home without further excitement and pulled into the driveway to survey the passenger side of my car. Everett’s safety bubble proved itself once more. Not a dent on him. Looks like a bit of a scratch, but nothing some buffing couldn’t fix at the most.
Like I said, I take care of Ev and Ev takes care of me. Love my car and so thankful for my safety bubble.
I hate you, Florence Henderson. First you messed up my hair as a youngster and then your photo – which was supposed to enhance my wonderfully written blog – ended up deleting EVERY WORD.
Oh, and your hair cut SUCKS!!
And since everything I wrote just went to blog hell, I might as well post the other photo I wanted to use as an example.
And finally, this one….
So… who can guess what my original blog was?
1. The Shag – my mother loved it. I hated it.
2. Farrah Fawcett Wings – where I learned the art of blow dryers and curling irons and Aqua Net, along with an amusing tale about hair, lighters and a concert.
3. 80’s Poodle Do – which inspired me to grow my hair long and straight for nearly 2 decades.
4. Hedgehogs – as styling tools.
5. Now – where I try to remember how to use a curling iron without burning myself hideously or melting off my hair.
But no… none of that remained once I put up the evil photo of Florence up there. Bitch.
If there were only a way for me to always be the Chef, creating and stirring and whipping up something really tasty without also having to be the scullery maid afterwards, I sure would enjoy being in the kitchen more.
In this new eating world of Paleo, there are many recipes I’d love to try. However, in my 80’s era kitchen with narrow counter tops and a double sink I’d love to rip out for one lovely deep basin, the thought of cooking becomes less than appealing. I will say, the new stove and fridge have boosted my desire to be in the kitchen a bit, but the rest of it?…. phooey!
And then I think… I should be grateful I have a kitchen. I have a place to cook nutritious foods. I have a way to store them. I have utensils and gadgets and electricity and running water. I should be thankful. I am. I am very thankful I have all these things. But in the words of Queen, “I want it all, and I want it NOW!”
Now that I’ve been in my new home for 1.5 years, I’m ready to upgrade the kitchen. I don’t really see that I’ll be doing this unless I also upgrade/convert the basement wet bar/kitchen as well. I know… I know… first world problems….let me wallow. I’ll vacillate back to being thankful soon enough.