The Break - Up...Maybe (part 1) - Tamar

I definitely will break up with him today. He’s driving me absolutely nuts. Only last night, when I was getting ready to go out with the girls he was all over me like a wet rag.

“Where ya going? Clubbing?”

I nodded my head, just once, and quickly, as I was trying to put on some mascara.

“Huh?”

“Yes!” I shouted. “Clubbing! With Roxie and Ria! Got a problem with that?”

“No, but...”

“But what?”

“You’ve been gone just about every night this week. When are WE going to go out and do something? You never seem to want to go out with me anymore.”

“Oh geez, here we go again. “ I was getting pretty fed up with this whining. So what if I go out a bit with my best girls. I’m not going to be stuck in this house all day long and not have any fun. Going out with him isn’t much fun anyway. All I do is sit and watch him drink beer, and if I even look at another guy, he goes all moody and huffy and we end up going home early.

As I screwed the cap on the mascara, I definitely made up my mind. I was going to break it off.
Tomorrow, I decided. Definitely tomorrow.

I ran to the door when I heard the beep and saw Ria’s little red car in the driveway.

“Bye! Don’t wait up – see ya in the morning!”

“Have fun – don’t do anything stupid, okay? Wake me when you get home, though...”

I don’t know what else he said. But I sure am not waking him when I get home. I won’t want to describe everywhere we went and everything we did and everyone we talked to. Fun becomes work when you have to explain every tiny thing you’ve done over the past few hours. Besides, I wasn’t sure I’d remember everything we did anyway. Who gives a damn? Bring on the wine.

The Break-Up ... Maybe (part 2) - Tamar

That blasted alarm went off at five-thirty again, and if I hadn’t tried to drown it with my pillow, I might have been able to get back to sleep. But now I have a crick in my neck, plus a headache from that last glass of wine, and a blister on my toe from those new shoes. Damn.

The coffee’s not quite ready yet, even though he’s been downstairs for at least ten minutes. I use the bathroom, splash water on my face – that waterproof mascara is crap, my cheeks are all streaked with the stuff – at least I hope it’s mascara. What the heck did we end up doing last night? Maybe Roxie or Ria remembers, I sure as heck don’t. Oh well, at least I won’t have to lie when I get a side dish of third degree with my coffee. I stumble downstairs and there he is, at the table, all dressed for work in his sexy blue overalls and, yes, of course, his baseball cap.

“Good morning, sunshine!”

I can’t help it. It’s the uniform that gets me every time. He’s just so darned cute, and when I see him at work when he’s head down in the engine well of a car...well, you know.

I go fall in his lap and groan. He rubs my shoulders, picks me up and deposits me on the couch. Then he gets a huge mug of coffee, sweet with sugar and pale with milk, and brings it over. A quick kiss, a bye bye wave, and he’s gone to work.

Geez. He’s fantastic, really. I think I’ll stick around after all.

I REMEMBER & I DON'T REMEMBER - Roxie

I REMEMBER

It was a sunny, warm day and the winter tides were low allowing us access to sand and shallows that are fully immersed except in winter. The pools of water reflected azure blue sky and treasures revealed themselves in myriad and haphazard fashion. An old boot caught my attention and I wondered where the foot was that belonged to that boot. It was in fairly good condition considering that it probably had been in the water for some time prior to its birth on the sand. Near it was a crab trap, a rope and tiny little mouse tracks. I wondered if the mouse was looking for a good hiding place in the boot. I wondered where the other boot was and if he was missing his mate. Little trash was visible and I thought that was kind of odd or maybe the park cleaned it from time to time. The birds were near and singing their happiness of the astonishingly gorgeous day – I started to sing with them. No one could hear me and believe me, no one wanted to! Some of the trees were falling off the edge from erosion. Poor tree, a big strong fellow but if there is no soil to cling to it will simply become driftwood.


I DON’T REMEMBER

I don’t remember if there was anyone else on the beach I was so absorbed in my meandering about the undiscovered terrain. I don’t remember if I even cared. I don’t remember what my dog was doing other than frolicking around in sheer bliss of his freedom. I don’t remember what time it was. I don’t remember how strong the wind was or even if there was wind that day, although I vaguely recall thinking that it was calm instead of blustery. I don’t remember what kind of bird was singing and if I were so inclined could probably have figured it out eventually by quietly listening and remembering the tune. I don’t remember how long I sat on that huge log or how long it took me to write notes for future creative writing projects although I know it was quite awhile. I don’t remember what day of the week it was. I don’t remember what I wore that day except for the wading boots, which eventually were filthy. I can’t recall the song in my head but there usually is one at times like that.

Dialogue with my mouse pad - Roxie

I'm cheating a bit - this is an assignment from our first class and I thought you might enjoy it. We were supposed to have a dialogue with an inanimate object on our desk and I chose my mouse pad. Enjoy!

DIALOGUE WITH MY MOUSE PAD

Me: How are you this fine blustery day?

Mouse Pad: I’m fine … just lying around.

Me: You’re looking a little frayed around the edges and the words Office Depot are beginning to fade.

Mouse Pad: I’m pretty old now. Did you expect me to last the rest of your life? Besides, you’re looking a little frayed around the edges yourself.

Me: That’s my haircut and, as a matter of fact, you lasting the rest of my life is exactly what I had in mind. It’s not like you move around a lot or anything. How hard can it be? Besides, I only bought you because you’re red, you know?

Mouse Pad: I know, I know. But I’ve been pretty dependable if you ask me. You haven’t even brushed your hair today have you? Just ran your fingers through it and called it done. Looks pretty sloppy to me.

Me: What has that got to do with you wearing out? You have been dependable though, I’ll give you that. It’s not like it’s rocket science. All you do is sit there day in and day out barely moving an inch in any direction.

Mouse Pad: This is true but you still need me. I’m merely pointing out that we’re both getting up there in age and we should be a little more tolerant of the aging process don’t you think?

Me: You’ve got me there. OK, OK, let’s just say we have a few more good years left and we’ll reopen this discussion at a later date.

Mouse Pad: I’m in complete agreement. Oh, and this mouse you continually move around on top of me is getting a little tiresome, just so you know.

Me: I empathize with you but there’s not much I can do about that except start using the built in mouse pad on our laptop.

Laptop Mouse Pad: Hey, leave me out of this!

To Forward or Delete? That is the question - Tamar

After opening the 8745th email asking me to forward to at least 7 or 78 of my friends or something terrible will happen to me, I’m beginning to feel a little bit nervous. I find it a lot easier to hit the delete key, rather than choose which friends deserve the ultimatum of the day – I would hate to be the one to cause destruction to a friend if they, like me, have worn out the delete key on their computers.

So now, I have to be careful for falling fridges, earthquakes on bridges, chicken bones, exploding phones, toothy pit bulls, sharp garden tools, speeding cars, men from mars, and heaven only knows what else may be lurking around the corner.

Now, on the other hand, if I don’t forward the ones with the angels in them, I will never know what good things I’ve been missing. Would I have won the lottery, had a date with Sean Connery, got a cruise somewhere hot, well, probably not – but I guess I’ll never know, because I don’t hit that forward key and click on check all in my address book.

If however, you are one of my friends who do indeed forward me these dire warnings or hopeful teasers, I would like to thank you considering me a friend. but you can stop sending me these emails now, because you know I’ll just get rid of them right away, and break all these pretty chains. Sorry.

So I’ll spend my days deleting and watching where I step, thinking about all the treasures I’m giving up, praying to stay alive and healthy until the next time I check my email and receive 12 more warnings.

At least it's a post - Tamar

There’s nothing in my empty head
I think I should have stayed in bed
The keyboard sits in front and thinks
The stuff she’s typing really stinks
There’s nothing in my empty head
I think I’ll clean the fridge instead.

I know I have to post some stuff
But boy today it’s mighty tough
Where sometimes there are tons of words
There’s just some lousy lumps of turds
There’s nothing in my empty head
I think I’ll scrub the floor instead.

I know there’s times my words just flow
Like crazy weeds they grow and grow
But not today, they lag behind
I have a constipated mind
There’s nothing in my empty head
I think I’ll just crawl back in bed.

Forget I even tried to start -
Today I don't feel very smrt.

The Perfect PBJ - Roxie

First thing you do is find bread in the pantry. Yes, there it is, crammed between cereal and chips. Carefully remove the twist tie. Now don’t lose that, you’ll be needing it in a few moments. Remove two slices of bread and gently place them on your paper plate. Paper because the dishwasher wasn’t turned on last night and the “real” ones are dirty.

Oops, should have gotten peanut butter out of the pantry, too. That’s okay, no worries. Just take that twist tie, twirl the bread with its plastic tail, retie and gently stuff back where you found it. Now find the peanut butter. It’s between the canned corn and granola bars. Who organized this pantry anyway?

Get a dirty knife out of the dishwasher and kind of rinse it off. Open the peanut butter jar and stick the knife deeply into that beautiful, creamy goop. Carefully spread this glob on one of the slices of bread. Be sure to cover the bread entirely from crust to crust because it’s important in order to get the taste of peanut butter in every bite. Screw the lid back on the jar and return it to its rightful place in the pantry between the chips and the cereal, next to the bread so you won’t forget it next time.

Open the refrigerator and locate the strawberry jelly. Surprise, it’s in the door shelf where it should be! Life is good! Open it and before sticking that knife in there you should probably lick both sides so none of the peanut butter gets in with the jelly. Tilt the jelly sideways and pour/slide out enough to cover the peanut butter already on the slice of bread. Spread the jelly entirely over the peanut butter. Screw the cap on the jelly after licking what remains on the knife. Put the knife in the dishwasher. Turn that sucker on. Put the jelly in the fridge.

Slap the plain slice of bread on top of the loaded side and eat that baby! Now that’s the perfect PBJ!

My Minke Summer (Tamar)

In the early 80’s, we lived in Trinity, a small coastal community in Newfoundland. A few years previously, the Village Inn had been purchased by a marine biologist and turned into a successful whale watching tour business.

The Inn, which was near our little house, became a gathering point of both locals, or as one American so lovingly called us, natives, as in “The Natives sure love baloney,” and cfa’s which was short for come from away’s. These guests came from all corners of the world, and it was probably the first time in 500 years the town had harboured so many different accents and cultures.

Fran came as a guest in the early 1980’s, with her kind, sun-weathered face, two short Pippi Longstocking pigtails, and the desire to study the minke whale. Minkes are as hard to track as mosquitoes, as when they breach you can only see the tips of their dorsal fins. On a choppy sea, they look just like another wave, same colour, same height, and same variety. However, Fran chartered a 16’ wooden boat, christened it the SS Merry Open Bottom, and hired its owner, Ephraim, to be the skipper. She offered me a place on the crew, taking notes of sightings as she scanned the waves looking for that elusive fin. The other member of the crew was Bob from Holland, who was smart and kind, and usually remembered to put film in the camera.

If our days were sunny and calm, we would drift with the waves, playing hide and seek with the minkes. Other beauties of nature would amaze us – schools of dolphins playing alongside our little boat, puffins bobbing on the waves, or underwater masses of tiny white jellyfish, puffing and panting their way through the clear blue water. Rainy or windy days would find us high on the bluffs above rocky coves, waiting for the humpbacks to follow the schools of tiny silver fish that would become their lunch.

Now I live in a city, where the street in front of our house sometimes overflows with screeching tires, honking horns, and wailing sirens, and our neighbours cannot seem to tear themselves away from their lawnmowers and weed-whackers in the evenings. However, we can hop in our car and within ten minutes, be at a beach, breathing salt air and listening to seagulls, the realities of our new life mingling with the memories of the old.

It seems every day we live, we are making memories for the future.

A Visit to the Dentist - Roxie

Why does the really nice, sweet young woman who is diligently scraping, rinsing, buffing, squirting water into your mouth and occasionally employing some suction thingy ask you questions while doing all that? Hmm? It’s not like you can answer her or anything, right? The dilemma I have of truly wanting to answer her question and unable to do so at the moment has baffled me throughout my adult life with dental hygienists. I’d think that they would know you couldn’t answer. I mean, really! Your mouth is gaping open, the suction thing is doing its job, and both of her hands are in your mouth with one instrument or another. It’s impossible!

I have had this one sided conversation with various hygienist over the past years and still it intrigues me. I listen, occasionally sort of, kind of, nod a little or uh-uh with my head, but not often. I listen to their story; patiently waiting for that suction thing to allow me to maybe say a word or two, then widen my pie hole for more of the same. It’s rather frustrating actually.

I’ve learned to simply close my eyes and listen and not even try to carry on the exchange of words. It’s a lesson in patience, one I’ve yet to learn very well. God has a way of putting me in these situations just for fun, I think. I’ve always suspected He has a wry sense of humor.

I can just see him. “Gotcha, Roxie!”

My response - “Yes, yes You did … again. I’m happy to see You grinning like Cheshire Cat though.”

And so, until my next dental visit I, too, will be grinning with my nice, newly buffed teeth, still thinking of clever replies for my hygienist.

A Day at Work - Tamar

Crafts ‘n’More is the best little store in Richmond, if not in the whole of Canada, and not only because I work there, although that is probably a plus. We sell yarn and other miscellaneous items, which I categorize into the n’More part, and we’re kept busy stocking shelves, building displays, cha- chinging the cash register, and answering stupid questions.

We have baseball hats with ‘Crafts’n’More’ embroidered on them. We wear aprons with Crafts’n’More embroidered on them, not to mention t-shirts and vests. Yesterday I was almost bottoms up in a vast box of yarn looking for the invoice when a customer came and tapped me on the shoulder. I stood up, resplendent in my Crafts’n’More cap, t-shirt, and apron.

“Excuse me, do you work here?”

The chances of me going into a retail establishment, donning their employees’ garb, and sweating my way through a hot day of stuffing yarn with no possibility of a pay check and a good chance of being dragged away in a straight jacket are very slim.

“Only when the boss is looking,” I answer. “How can I help you?”

“Do you sell turkey basters?”

“No, but I can sell you the yarn to knit one."

I don’t know why some people just give me a strange look and back away. I straighten my cap, tighten my apron strings, and dive once again into my box of handpainted yarn.

About Roxie

Hi,

This is Roxie. I live in Rockport, Texas, on Copano Bay with my husband, Randy, and faithful Golden Retriever, Abe. Rockport is near Corpus Christi. We retired to the coast after living in Austin for several years while raising my two children, Angela and Brandon, his step-children. Once they flew the coop there was really no reason to stay in the big city so we built our "dream" home and are thoroughly enjoying early retirement (at least I am anyway!)

Tamar and I met in an on-line class in January of this year and have developed a friendship over the last few months that I truly cherish. When Tamar had this grand idea about writing a book together I was enthusiastic because I admire her writing abilities and it sounded like a fun and lucrative endeavor. We shall see how it turns out. We've since taken another class together and I am learning whacks (that's a Tamar word) of information about writing and am enjoying the learning process. I still have a long way to go but am relishing the journey. Isn't that what life is all about after all?

Our Web Site

This address is to our brand new web site, which is so new it isn't finished yet! But if you want to see what we're getting up to, check it out! There's a guest book there, so please sign in.

http://smrtgals.homestead.com/

Tamar

Hi, this is Tamar, and I'm just fine with Roxie being red. I live in Richmond, British Columbia, with a husband, two dogs, one cat and one guinea pig. My life isn't as exciting as Roxie's so I'll just have to make more stuff up, but that's okay. You'll never tell the difference.

I just spent a day of suffering in the heat of the hottest day of the year so far, and am presently tapping away on the back deck, where there is a little bit of a breeze. Inside my house waits a sinkful of dirty dishes and a mess, as four of our grandkiddies ripped through for a few hours. Now it's quiet and peaceful, and my husband is nursing a glass full of peach cider and ice, which I am coveting sinfully.

Oh shoot, here come the darn flies, the little ones that you don't notice until you have enormous red lumps itching like crazy on all your arms and legs. So with that, I am going to close the lid on this tapping machine and head to the kitchen, where I will wash my dishes in water that's even hotter than the air, and then I will go to bed.