Author: Rene

It’s been about 15 years since the last FalPal meeting. The participants can no longer recall what the acronym even means? Its purpose was to “help each other finish projects for which we have lost motivation to do so on our own.”

My friend got a nice set of curtains out of the deal! I got a room painted! It was going well those first two meetings. Then it was “delay of game.” Until this morning…

The aptly named “Sticks and Stones” project was completed. Although simple in nature, and one which we might have rebuffed if our children had created it in grade school art class, we were pretty proud. To further excite the crowd of crafters, I actually hung mine for all to see. We had a few glitches.

However, we accomplished a project! 15 years and three projects. Pride burst forth from the spouses.

For years we have tolerated the horrendously pitted asphalt and potholes on a major road through the neighborhood. They are now – at long last – repairing it!

Honestly, the milling they have done on the roads is better than what we were driving on. You know it was awful because I actually stopped and thanked the crew one day. I’m guessing I wasn’t the only one as the guy laughed.

Just a small improvement to celebrate in our world.

Worried about the possibility of a sleepless night, my spouse informed me, “Read the manual for that power wheels transport you ordered for our granddaughter.”

Ah. Yes. I never would have approved of our children driving a motorized vehicle at the age of three, yet, somehow, it seems totally plausible with our granddaughter? And…she is exceptionally adept at the process of steering, reversing, and now – within 24 hours – a three point turn!

Of course, I learned that my spouse has been instructing her in the automotive ways of turning an ignition key on the ATV, 4×4, Firebird, lawn tractor, and motorhome. (I have now divulged more transportive information than is necessary.) This child is a gearhead at an early age.

Back to me. I am hopefully sleeping fitfully without reading the manual…and knowing my little pup is learning from the best motor-head possible.

Not only is this a good reminder during our full-force wildfire season, it’s also my new moniker for Wednesdays.

Early this morning my daughter stopped by. She dropped three adorable girls, and within ten minutes rolled out the door. We glanced lovingly as the car left. Now we have little imitations of each other rolling around.

Time to change a diaper!

”Is that from Mom’s closet?” Words that will strike terror in a sister’s heart.

I thought I was styling with my jacket, albeit over ten years old and purchased with my mother. It had the color green in it and matched my beautiful chapeaux. However, when my sister mistook it for my mother’s article of clothing, I happened another glance at it. We had a super hearty laugh. It is a little dated.

This fashion item shall be finding a new home in a foreign country on the next expedition.

There are ways around this “no plastic bag” business in our fair state. It’s not that I’m opposed to the discontinuation at all, it’s that there are still ways around the issue. Plus, I miss my little grocery bag liners for the trash cans!

Thus, my neighbor and I, and perhaps you, avid reader, have found a supplier in this market: family and friends in other states.

My sister chose to transport all of her bags from Indiana when she vacationed here. I’m good to go for a year. My friend just received a shipment from her southern pal, “Parlene.” Though neither of us have formally “placed an order” for these frowned-upon items, we have enjoyed the playful attitude of our suppliers who obviously have enough to share!

Although I could tout the merits of having small plastic bags, (good for kids wet clothes, stinky diapers, securing chicken guts, tying to your St. Bernard for a delivery, etc…) I do think it’s probably good to get away from them. It’s also time to make them all biodegradable.

It’s trash day, so I’m off to reline my little receptacles and drag my large plastic-lined trash can down the driveway. Thank you, faithful suppliers, for my yielding to my dependency.

Thank you, Gentle Readers, for the “back-up” advice in my plan to procure a new vehicle. I shall be entering the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes to secure my obviously-this-will-work attempt to win a new car or the means to acquire one. Great suggestion!

Along with entering sweepstakes and pinning hopes on a blood donation, I think I’ll send my son to contribute his red cells. He’s been very lucky in these matters of “drawings.” He won some cool backpack at a Warren Miller movie promo night, “Wicked” tickets in NYC, “Green Day” tickets here in Denver, and probably some other smaller things of which I know not. He’s my reinforcement.

It’s good to have options.

This caught my eye in the paper, mostly because I saw one of these sci-fi looking vehicles yesterday on the road – Tesla’s Cybertruck.

So what does my car say about me? Little greenish hail-dented Escape? Easy. I want to escape and fly under the radar with no one even thinking about stealing me for monetary means. And I like the color green.

However, on the First of August I shall be receiving the news that I have won a new automobile, courtesy of my pint of blood contribution. Maybe I’ll blast the stereotype of the Cybertruck by acquiring one? It does have a look that resembles how I feel when driving in traffic around here…determined to blast through it all!

Patience is required while I await my winning news.

The questionnaire for donating blood asks a million questions yet it didn’t ask me the real question today. “Why are you donating?”

Oh, I donate blood sort-of-regularly, depending on the urgency of their emails and the open slots they “might” have. I fill out the fast-track forms every time so as to keep my wait time to a minimum. So far, I have had to refile the forms every single time. It never works. Yet, hope springs eternal and I continue to give it a whirl.

I’m donating today because I’ll be entered into a contest for a free car. Since mine is hail-damaged and the insurance company wants to “total” it, I figured this would be a nice way to get a new vehicle – helping out humanity and all. I’m sure it will pan out for me the way I want, just like the pre-answering of the queries on my health.

I wonder what my new ride will be?

Yesterday I couldn’t get “ice cream” out of my head. So, I took my little charge to the local DQ for a cone right before dinner. Pure delight!

It also gave me the opportunity to educate her on the creation of the ice cream cone. Earnest Hamwi, a man making hot waffle-like delicacies at the St. Louis World’s Fair in 1904, was experiencing a downturn. The weather was boiling and people wanted ice cream. The booth next to him couldn’t keep up with washing the dishes for customers, so he folded his little creation and voila! The ice cream cone was born! Why I know this? I have no idea. I can’t remember where I took off my shoes last night, but this I have preciously devoted brain cells to for fifty years at least.

I know my granddaughter was in awe of this bit of trivia as the chocolate drips continued to trickle off her chin. Trust me – she’ll know this story by the time she’s four.