I have been gone all day without leaving my keyborad. That is because Ilona’s manuscript deadline is looming and I had the awesome priviledge of reading her work, doing a little light editing and sharing my thoughts. Ilona and I met several years back in an online writer’s workshop. She is forever nagging at me to publish my work. If I had her talent …. I’d still be a lazy bum. Sigh.

Anyway, Ilona’s and Gordon’s first novel, Magic Bites, will be available April 2007. Mark your calendars now. You want to read this.

Moments after finishing Ilona’s manuscript — and our subsequent IM — a letch knocked on my door. I was very happy to see him — but not for the reasons you might think. My swamp cooler quit cooling over the weekend and he was here to fix it. Temperature has a way of melting principles — I let him call me Baby Doll, Honey, and Cutie Pie to his heart’s content — for this blessed cool air.

However, I stayed beyond his reach at all times. Had I been obliged to break his arm he probably wouldn’t have finished fixing the swamp cooler.

I’m having a very busy day so you won’t be seeing me until this afternoon or early evening — then my nonsense shall return!

When I was a teen the minimum age requirement for an Idaho State Driver’s License, daylight priviledges only, was 14 years of age. I knew in my family there wasn’t much point in getting a driver’s licence if I didn’t get a vehicle to go with it. No one was buying me a car.

So, the summer I was 12 I took a full time baby-sitting job, 8.5 hours per day. I also baby-sat evenings and weekends. All money went into a container in the back of the freezer (you had to know my dad — our freezer could have retired to the coast and lived quite comfortably). The following summer my dad was logging much further away from home, so we left the house to my step-brother and his new bride and lived in a travel trailer just outside of the teeny town of Murray, Idaho (please run your mouse over pic for more information). There were no baby-sitting jobs to be had there.

So, to earn money I got up every morning and walked 3 miles. I drug a gunny sack with me and I picked up every aluminum can along the west side of the road on the 1.5 mile trip to my destination, and all the cans on the east side of the road as I returned. You would think I wouldn’t acquire many cans since I walked the road daily, but that wasn’t the case at all. In fact I sometimes wonder if the road would have been passable by the end of summer if I hadn’t walked it every day.

My destination was the dump — really just a very wide spot beside the road where the city put three huge green refuse bins. This was back in the day when nobody much worried about saving the world — or making money on trash. A couple of local bars made it a nightly practice to drop off their empty aluminum cans. I made it my daily practice to gather them up, put them in gunny sacks and toss them into the bushes. On his way down the mountain my dad would pick them up, then at the trailer park we poured them out, put slabs of plywood over them, which dad then drove the one-ton across to flatten them out. Then I picked them all back up again. Every Saturday we drove into Wallace, Idaho and I turned the cans in for cash. Sometimes I made as much as $60.00 — which, way-back-when, was a pretty good pay out for a 13 year old kid’s work week.

During the school year we were back home and I was baby-sitting again. As April 24th approached (my birthday) I began looking for a car. One of the folks I baby-sat for owned a body-shop. He had a lovely ‘69 Chevy convertible for sale for $600.00 (remember, it wasn’t a classic then, it was just old). Coincidentally $600.00 was exactly the amount of money I’d saved. I asked dad for the car.

He said, “No.” My step-brother had just wrecked his convertible and, even though he was just fine, dad wanted me in something sturdier. Dad went out of town. I asked my step-mom to let me buy the car. She reminded me that my dad had said no, but she knew just like I did that he was going to say no to everything until I was 18 — or maybe 32.

So, while dad was out of town we went shopping for — and purchased — my very first vehicle. A lovely little Yamaha track and street bike. It was only a 125cc, but I could afford it and the insurance, easily keep it in gas (75 cents filled the tank) and legally go everywhere I wanted to both on and off road.

When Dad first saw the bike he stared at it in shock. Then he walked around it too or three times, stopped, and stared some more. Slowly he turned around and stared at me. Finally he looked at my step-mother and shouted so loudly he made windows rattle and our neighbors come to gawk: “At least the car had four %#&*! sides!” Then he went in the house and slammed the door.

So, that’s how it came to be that my first car was a motorcycle.

As you all most likely know, we had some air conditioning issues at our house. This was Christmas before air — she went to get a sack to play with, but flopping on her side and thinking about playing was all she could do.

Fluffy glared at all who came near his “no air” grumpy self.

Thanks to the new air conditioner the lives of every single sack in the house are once again in serious jeopardy.

And Fluffy has regained his sunny personality and is more than happy to be friends.

Some days you’re the windshield;
Some days you’re the bug.

Today I thought I was the bug.

First there’s the weather. The storm didn’t break and it is impossibly humid here. At 105* it is like living in a pressure cooker. I stepped out of the shower and could not dry off! I finally gave up the towel and went in the livingroom and stood in front of the fan.

The swamp cooler — which works on evaporation — doesn’t help much when it is humid. The air is already saturated so when it is pulled into the cooler it doesn’t soak up any of the cold water — not that the water is cold anyway. My pipes here are above ground and hotter than that really hot place (sorry, can’t write it, my sister will faint).

So — off I go to Home Depot to buy a real air conditioner before the cats and I die. The good news is, there is a sale on air conditioners. Yay! I grab one, pay for it and take it home.

Once home the phone rings. A friend. We talk FOREVER. The neighbor comes over to see if I have the air conditioner set up. She stays FOREVER. I cook and eat my dinner while blogging (no gravy). After dinner I finally get to the air conditioner.

Imagine my surprise when I open the box and find an air conditioner — in PIECES. Not only that, the grills are dusty, and the pads are obviously used.

I grabbed the receipt. I hefted the box and lugged it back out to my car. I drove to Home Depot. I took the box from my car, hefted it into a cart and wheeled it to the return stand.

A fresh-faced cutie-boy maybe 20 years old sees me coming and starts shaking his head. I notice his badge says MANAGER. He greets me with a bright smile and says cheerfully, “Sorry. No exchanges or refunds today.”

I smile back and tell him, “Then you’d better go ahead and dial 911 right now.”

He roars laughing. Then he says, “Okay, Lady, I guess you’re serious. Whatcha got in the box?” When he looked in the box he quit smiling and looked at me in surprise. He looked at my reciept again. He says, “Who did this? These are returns!” He looks the box over, mutters something about morons, and puts a big red routing tag on the top.

In no time at all I was out the door and on my way home with a brand new — intact — air conditioner. The cats and I like it so far.

So, I guess that means I was the windshield.

Offically it is 106* — that’s at the airport, way up on top of the flight controller’s tower. Down here in the pavement is is curently 123* (well, by the next-door-neighbor’s back door). My swamp cooler isn’t working. That’s because the cold-water pipes are pumping out hotter water than the hot water pipes. It took 11 minutes for my kitchen tapwater to run cold.

Two days ago I thought the lady at K-Mart was crazy when she said they’d closed their public restrooms because the water was so hot it had melted the toilet seals and flooded the back of the store. Now I am worrying about my toilet … but I am more worried about Chrissy and Fluffy in their heavy fur coats.

* * * * * * * * * *

In the two hours since I posted above, the offical temperature has fallen 2* and the unoffical temperature has fallen 7*. The wind has picked up and the sky is filling with menacing black clouds. I think the lid’s about to blow off this pressure cooker.

I just posted in someone’s blog and the word verification feature ordered me to type:

IM YO HO

I am certain the little electronic denizens inside my computer are hysterically giggling.

I’m not asking this for any particular reason, but what are your thoughts about gravy on computer keyboards?

I have had better weeks, but what frightens me most about this one is that it just started.

Since I’ve been here for awhile — and made a few friends — I guess it is safe to REALLY introduce myself. I am a teacher, a writer and a children’s evangelist. Supported by a team of truly awesome people I teach Sunday School every Saturday in one of Vegas’s poorest, most transient inner city neighborhoods.

This is our church. It is on wheels. October through May we take it to a local elementary school on Saturdays for worship. Each week we have a few new kids. Each week a few kids move away — the neighborhood is highly transient — however, some kids have been attending Sidewalk services for our entire five years.

These are our “pews” — two squares of carpet rolled out onto the asphalt. The children sit here for the lessons.

Where we roll out the carpet is always dictated by the weather — in the sun when its cold, in the shade when its hot, and not at all when it rains. The school has an outdoor lunch shelter we use when it rains, but unfortunately it is quite small and sometimes the kids really have to cuddle to fit eveyone in.

During the summer months when it is too hot to gather the children together and sit them on the ground, we have “splash” events where we all get together once every few weeks and try to drown each other in fun.

“The camera isn’t wategublpt!”

If you have now been inspired to start a Sidewalk Sunday School [patented] program in your church, please contact our Director, Billie Fidlin. Her email is: billie@desertsw.org

Be sure to put Sidewalk Sunday School (SSS) in the header, and tell her Charlene sent you.

I came home from church and found this. Please note the fresh chocolate frosting.

Then I found this. It smells of maple (I hate maple). These are pastry wrappers from 7-11. I did stop by a 7-11 the other day. I bought sunflower seeds and a bottle of water. I did not buy pastries. In fact, I haven’t bought a pastry since the last week of school — and that one I ate in school.

So — where did these wrappers come from? Who would break into my home just to throw trash on my kitchen floor? It was a total mystery. I went to get the camera to take photos of the evidence.

On my way back I caught the Queen of Thieves red-pawed. I believe I’ve solved the mystery. Now I know-
… why my car keys are never where I left them.
… why the gas gage never seems to read what I think it should.
… why loose bills not tucked in my wallet simply disappear.
… and why Chrissy suddenly seems heftier.

I am certain that at night after I go to bed my furry little darlings go cruising. On their way home in the wee morning hours they evidently stop at 7-11 for a sweet.

Fluffy has abandoned the coffee table and proclaimed himself King of the Sack!

Chrissy wants to be Queen Inside the Sack

Chrissy challenges for the right to rule.

Her Royal Magesty, Christmas!

Mommy reads us your comments on her blog. We like you — but then, what’s not to like? You think we’re wonderful. That makes you perfect in our book.

We have this little problem. Mommy keeps shaking our fur out of this rug and putting it back in front of the sink. We like it wadded up in front of the refrigerator. Sometimes we have to move it three or four times a day.

Would you please talk to mommy for us, Dear Jenn? We would appreciate it ever so much.

(Fluffy! Quick! Hide that psychadelic catnip mouse or she’ll think we’re stoners!)

Murphy, of Murphy’s Law, is alive and well. Proofs:

This morning on my way to our Sidewalk Sunday School SPLASH event I waited my turn at a 4-way stop beside another denomination’s church. There was some kind of special do going on in their private park — I know not what, but this I do know — two old fellas were using litterbox shovels to sift the sand in the horseshoe pits before continuing their game.

At the grocery store the end of the conveyor belt ate the strings of the clerk’s apron — while she was in the apron. Her boss didn’t want to cut the apron strings, so she stood on her tippy-toes gasping for breath as he worked them free. When it was finally my turn at the register she was out of receipt paper. She installed another roll and it jammed. My receipt was folded, spindled and mutilated. In the process of trying to work it free the lady stopped, looked up toward the cealing and said, “Not today, Lord, please. I have to pull a double shift!”

About 28 children, 7 parents and 6 volunteers showed up for the SSS SPLASH event. We were armed with squirt guns, huge sponges, hoses, water balloons and large tubs — a couple of the kids told us their mothers said they couldn’t get wet. Hello? Who sends their kid to a water party with instructions to not get wet?

Ms. Betty said she didn’t want to get wet, either. Naturally she was the first one soaked — her twin sons did it (they’re 22 so grounding them is probably not an option).

A small child two or three years of age picked up a water ballon and was laughing at how it wiggled and jiggled in his hands. Then it popped with a spectacular splash and soaked him. The look on his little face was priceless. His momma and I burst out laughing, frightening him to tears.

Then it came time to eat watermelon. One toddler dropped her piece on the blacktop, picked it up, pressed it into her younger brother’s hands and chomped down on his clean slice. Baby was content with the dirty piece, but his mommy and I weren’t.

There is a tradition that ends Sidewalk — the big water tubs are hefted and tossed in some hapless soul’s direction. This year I was determined to get the deed on film. I had the camera ready, the twins (Ms. Betty’s darlings) hefted the tub — and through the view finder I realized they were coming for me! I had time only to thrust my left hand and the camera high into the air as I screamed, “The camera isn’t wategergablapbt!” Which translates to, “The camera isn’t waterproof.” (Luckily it was a disposable camera — not even Murphy could sweet-talk me into taking my new digital to a water fight!)

I would tell you whether or not the pics survived, but when I went to the photo processing place to drop them off, as I got out of the car I realized I had left them at home! Murphy’s last act of the day (so far anyway) was the only one I have found no ounce of appreciation for. I was so careful at Sidewalk not to run or jump. I took every squirt, splash and splatter in deference to my healing knee — but there in the parkinglot as I turned to get back into my car I re-twisted the joint. I sit here now with it propped up and swathed in a dishtowel wrapped around a frozen bag of corn.

Other than that, I had a great day. How about you?

Hello. My name is Fluffy. I am sweet and quiet and long suffering. I know my mommy loves me just as much as she loves the Queen of All-Things Nauseating, but sometimes I still feel a little left out. I don’t push myself into mommy’s lap or insist she pet me. I don’t drag mommy’s dirty clothes out of the laundry to lay on. I don’t steal things from mommy’s purse and I have never stolen food from her plate when she wasn’t looking. The QoATN has done all of those things and more, and because of them she gets much more attention than I do. However, this morning when mommy asked us to be still for a picture I was, and the QoATN leapt about like a kitten. That is why I am here and she is not. Sometimes life is fair.

Hey, Chrissy, neener, neener, neener!
.

Hello mommy’s friends, this is Christmas, sometimes known as Chrissy. Listen, I know the clean clothes are on the floor, the books have been knocked off the bookcase and Fluffy and I have been caught right in the middle of the mess with our blue hippo spongee and all — but you musn’t listen to mommy. No matter what she says, we’re innocent.

Dang it, Fluffy! I thought I told you to lay down and look cute!

Okay, I got the new video camera — at K-Mart. The guy not only had the display cameras in stock, I got a Kodak 5 meg camera at the same price I would have spent on a Kodak 4 meg at Wally World.

So, stay tuned for pics from my Kodak Easy Share C340.

This post is for Jenn. In the comments on her blog, As I Was Passing, we were discussing the difference between a Drama Queen and a Drama Princess. After claiming to be a Drama Princess I went out into the world and showed my true colors by creating a bit of drama at WalMart. (Lord forgive me for even going there.) Picture this:

I walk to the electronics counter and tell Dude-Boy, the sales guy, I want to buy a digital camera. I tell him the make and model.

Dude-Boy, smiling brightly: “Oh, we don’t carry that.”

Me — dense –: “Yes you do. It is on your display shelf.”

Dude-Boy, shrugging, shaking his head, and still smiling: “Yeah, I know lady, but those cameras on the shelf aren’t actually the ones we have in stock.”

Me, head tipped forward, staring: “What a unique marketing idea. Was it yours?”

Dude-Boy, suddenly mute, makes guppy faces.

Several people in line behind me crack up as I saunter by barely resisting the urge to bow.

I just got my electric bill and have come to the realization that my lifestyle must change. Some things have to go. The refrigerator I will keep, as for the rest:

No more lights. No more air conditioner. No more fans. I will sit in the dark and swelter.

No more CPAP. No more cd/radio/alarm clock (at least until August).

And from now on I shower only once per week — and only in cold water. The electric toothbrush must go.

No more laundry. I’ll just have to be much more careful about dirtying my clothes.

No more hair dryer. No more curling iron. (I am not sure where they are, but if I ever find them I will not use them.)

No more electric coffee pot. No more sandwich maker or microwave. No more toaster. All foods will be cooked on the gas range or eaten raw.

Both my telephone and my cell phone use power. They must be unplugged. The cell phone can recharge whenever I am driving the car.
Don’t panic. The computer will remain on,
my priorities are still in order.

Today I was featured in

Dr. John’s Fortress,

so it seems only fair I feature him here and in

Matthew 28:19.

Dr. John is a retired pastor — retired in the loosest sense of the word. If you stop by his blog you will quickly realize that he is still ministering.

His church is cyberspace and his flock is very eclectic. The diversity of the people who flock to Dr. John says much about the man. Like Jesus, he accepts all comers.

Don’t take my word for it. Stop by Dr. John’s Fortress and look around. The place is short on sermons and long on relationships. I am sure when God looks at Dr. John he must think:

“Well done, good and faithful servant …”

Christmas, the (now orange stained) Queen of Cute, fetched several slightly squishy cherry tomatos from the garbage can and enjoyed — judging from the tracks of tomato blood — a lively game of multi-ball tomato soccer on the kitchen floor.

Apparently she tried to clean up her mess before I found it. Both the dish towel and the sink sponge are on the floor as well. The exhausted kitten is curled up in front of the refrigerator on the throw rug (which belongs in front of the sink).

Fluffy, with orange tinted paws, is sitting on the washing machine high above the mess and trying to tell me that none of this was his idea. Isn’t it amazing how much trouble one litle crippled kitten can get into all by herself?

Today I went to the Family Christian Bookstore. Turns out they’re having a sale — plus I have a 25% off coupon — PLUS I learned I could buy the Bibles we give away at Sidewalk Sunday School for just $2.75 a piece.

I spent just this side of $150.00 dollars. I purchased: a Nelson Study Bible, 2 new reference books, Bible software, a new t-shirt, a package of Scripture Mints, and 24 Bibles.

Can you say, “peanut butter and jelly?”

Yesterday was a day for drinks, burgers and links at poolside. I imagine I am not the only one who spent Independance Day that way — or, perhaps I am. You see, I was not splashing in sparkling blue waters, nor lounging on the deck trying to catch a few rays. I was running a sump pump.

I understand people pay big bucks for algae skin packs. Perhaps my friend should give up the idea of cleaning and resurfacing the pool and just open it as a day spa … what do you think?

The main water pipe to my house broke. Emergency weekend maintenance cobbled it together so I have house water — but no feed to the swamp cooler. It is currently 9:20 p.m. and 101* — the cats and I are wasted.

Plus, I somehow trashed my blog while trying to add a link — and now am here rebuilding the whole thing. Whew!

Great day — NOT!

The new phone books just arrived. I found them bundled in a bag at the end of the driveway and lugged them into the house. I dropped the bag just inside the front door near my desk and went on to do other things. Later Fluffy and I returned to the desk together.

As we approached the desk Fluffy was barely in the lead (playing “chicken” with my feet). I am not quite certain what happened next. One second Fluffy was under my feet and the next he was suspended about three feet above the floor with every hair on his body at point. He landed as silently as he leapt, but his hair did not settle.

Back arched, balanced on the tips of his claws, he siddled over to the plastic bag and whacked it. It rustled at him so he whacked it again. It cowered obediently. Fluffy siddled closer. He sniffed the bag. He sniffed it again.

Some of the curve started to leave his back. He settled onto his feet. His hair lost volume. And the next-door neighbor knocked on the front door.

With a siamese yeowl, Fluffy reprised his leap, landed on full alert, whacked the bag about six times, and tangled his paw in the plastic. He jerked several times to free himself. The bag toppled forward, the phone books slid out, and Fluffy saw he was out numbered. He fled.

Later, as the neighbor and I were visiting, Fluffy crept cautiously across the living room. He moved like a lion on attack, with his belly near the ground. As he neared the front door he slowed even more, on alert for every danger.

When he saw the phone books out of the bag and on the floor beside the desk, he approached with extreme caution. He sniffed the air, growled low in his throat, and continued his incremental advance. The books did not respond. He crept closer. And closer still.

Upon recieving no resistence he sniffed the phone books throughly, climbed up and sat on them, then let out a satisfied, “Yee-ooW!” The phone books have been conquered and the house is safe from marauding yellow pages.

Whew!