Heavy on Love & Pictures

 

I told you August is ooey gooey with love stuffs. I know, it’s gross. You can look away, but our eyes are locked. I blush, he laughs, I giggle, he smirks. *siiigh*

Yes, we’ve always been this way. No, I don’t know what’s wrong with us.

 


We do honor our anniversary. We aim to ditch the kids and make the most of couple time, but sometimes it’s on a stupid Tuesday or whatever, and that’s a bit harder with school. Even harder when The Mister was in school, too.
“Oh, you have to read about the Bolsheviks all day?” Reading is sexy.
Sometimes we can’t get away and have to staycate. Staycating is hawt.

Twice we’ve moved into new homes on our anniversary, which I think is special.

The Mister has always taken our anniversary off work like it’s a holiday. Twice, he arranged for his R&R in August, specifically so we could be together on our anniversary. Cottaging is hot like literal hot because Florida, August, sun, heat, humidity.  August in Florida is QUIET. It’s like you OWN the whole beach, so you can be LOUD, as one tends to be after months apart. *achem*

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On a more family-friendly note, when it’s been 242 days since you’ve seen one another, part of the joy is sharing the happiness, the togetherness.
In the case of small people, say a wee four-year-old girl, astonishment meets delight when it’s not just mommies waiting at the bus stop.

 

 

 

Two weeks together after 242 days apart — suddenly the mundane feels like a celebration.

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this photo fills me with absolute joy, mercy, they’re precious, right?

August has always been a good month for us. Our anniversaries, no matter how they’ve been spent, have always been better than our actual wedding day.

Today is no different. #18 today!

A total eclipse of the sun, they said.
I Googled and Googled and decided that it may actually be possible to get into the band — either Nashville, Tennessee or Carbondale, Illinois sounded promising. The Mister loves Tennessee. I don’t, mostly because I don’t like driving there. I like my grids, thanks. Too much round and round and up and down for me and my vertigo. But would he want to Nashville on a Monday? And how long could we stay? And who would supervise the teens? Who would taxi them to their specials?
Carbondale had the advantage of being near friends and also, much flatter. But the same questions arose and we discussed the traffic, the predicted gridlock. My in-laws were out of town, Bubba was in town, so we opted to stay home.

We had a breakfast date at Cracker Barrel. At Cracker Barrel, I order the Old Timer’s breakfast: Two eggs over easy, hashbrown casserole, grits, one biscuit with gravy, another biscuit with blackberry jam, an orange slice, and bacon I put in a napkin and take home for Sadie. And then, I pretty much don’t need to eat for 10-12 hours.

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What I did was go home and get back into bed, which is NOT a bad way to spend Monday morning on your anniversary.

The eclipse here was meh. Like any ol cloudy day.

Being TOGETHER on our anniversary is still a celebration.

 

Every day we’re together is a celebration, even when it’s more like He-Man vs She-Ra, oil and water, out of the frying pan and into the fire — “When an unstoppable force meets an immovable object” — and it IS like that — Quite A LOT. We grow from that. Closer. Together.

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Food & Flora for Friday

I’m sitting here shoving blueberries into my face, because I’ve waited too long to eat. I got obsessed with the idea of pho today.

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I kept thinkin the boy one would get here and he would totally wanna go pick up some pho, but he keeps not gettin here and I got hungrier and hungrier and so hungry I began to feel unwell and then I started thinkin I might be too unwell to drive to get the pho, which is so far, and then I have to wait and they’re always outta taro bubble tea, and I might would collapse right there at the table, disappointment on an empty stomach and all… So then I thought I needed some urgent food but we’re outta bananas, and outta nectarines, and if I opened a bag of pistachios I might just never stop eating them and never leave the house, ever, and that’d be bad.

Cause um, I need to go to the store, too.
Is it me, or is that like, the bane of my existence? The goddamn grocery store? No, I have actual problems, too, but that one IS the suck at the mo.

Right.

So the boy one is comin. Do you know what that darling boy said to me this week? (I am telling everyone.) I asked him if there’s a particular dinner he’d like me to cook this weekend and he said it didn’t matter cause he knows he’ll like it regardless. Uh, he has not always been that way, y’all. They grow up and astound.
I packed him a lil bag of food fings to take home with him. Love his heart. *gush gush gush*
I’ve once again been accused of loving him more, but I gave those bitches gravy, noodle soup, and milkshakes this week, so I’ll be hearing none of that, thank you very much.

I say bitches with pride, too. Ain’t raisin nice girls here. First progress reports came today and from teachers we’re already not fond of, and oh, do those As look shiny and bright. Mmhm. Just gonna be talkin smack all up in this house. The Mister has already started.
“Like my Sassy couldn’t get an A in her dumbass class! AS IF!”

Not lost my mind, I swear. I’m UP for the first time in weeks and also this iced coffee is a lil bit caffeinated and I’ve had a lot of it which means I’m a lot too caffeinated, but I’m happy, so there’s that.

Today is better than yesterday and that’s sayin a lot, cause I like Thursdays, but they keep lyin about the weather and it will probably never rain again and the ground will never be soft and I’ll never weed, I’ll just live in the house of vines and dead blooms.

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When they lied and said the rain would come around 1, I said to the dog, “We shall go out for afternoon boom boom early and you can chase the squirrels and I shall stake my sunflowers.” The dog didn’t say anything, but I believe she found the scenario agreeable. At 11, it began to rain. I hurried quick and put on my garden shoes and went to stake my sunflowers.
My twine is gone. All gone twine. I’m sure no one misused it, I did not misplace it — rather someone has come into our house and stolen my twine. Perhaps mice are using it to weave hammocks in the shed. Attaching them to the spider webs.

The shed. Where ya can’t even get in cause fleurs.

Yeah. So I pruned my way through the hibiscus and roses to get to the shed door, and then there was a HUGE ORB WEAVER all settled in his GREAT BIG WEB strung from one side of the arbor to the other. I ducked and went into the shed, where the lights did not come on, and I tried to open the other door for more light, but I couldn’t see the stakes in the dark until my foot rolled across them and I almost fell. I picked up the stakes and left the shed, right through the damned orb weaver’s web, all over my face, his meals all in my hair. Gnarly.
I staked those sunflowers and tied them with beautiful grosgrain ribbon, I did. In the rain, even. They’re well over my head now and still not open.
See?

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The babies have popped open, they’re about as tall as I am.

Face to face.
But the giants keep growin!
I’m excited!
There was no more rain. They’re sayin it’ll rain again tomorrow, but I know they lie.

Time to go, time to go!

Happy Friday Everyone!

 

 

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#ThursdayDoors — Miniatures

 

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It’s only about the size of my hand.

This one’s less deceiving:

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Dollhouse doors? Kinda. The dollhouses at the Children’s Museum of Indianapolis are actually not dollhouses, they’re miniatures. Miniature replicas of real-life rooms in historical homes. From the wallpaper to the utensils, it’s all hand-crafted by artists. As in, it can take all day just to make a chair.

Here’s Moo in front of the Mount Vernon miniature. (2011)

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Trivia Tidbit: This miniature of Mount Vernon is owned by the Ball Family.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link and find the frog.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Maybe, but Gravy, Baby!

“I think I’ll stay home tomorrow, bake chicken pot pies. You can take my car if you want.”

“I take it your car needs gas.”

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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SoCS — Guess What?

Chicken butt.

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Chicken butt not featured: Turkey sold separately.

I made my annual trip to the Indiana State Fair and somehow neglected to get any chicken butt shots. Oh well, whaddya gonna do?

Guess what? Ever since SOME EARLY BIRD told me his wife gets up before him and brings him a cup of coffee, The Mister’s been bringin me a cup of coffee every morning. This goes a long way toward the football on our tv.  Well that, and we have the feet thing goin on. Matrimonial bliss is so gross. Our anniversary is later this month and I like to give fair warning about how gooey it may get. August turns us to mush.

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Guess what else? My stream of consciousness is runnin out. Broken up by first down, Moo glomps, Sassy speak, and my dog’s itchy nose.

It’s a good day for distraction.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘guess’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

 

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Text With The Fam During Study Hall

 

Sassers: When you listen to Carmen and you’re like, “Jeez I don’t know if I can do thiiiiis!”

Joey: Psh! You ALWAYS say that and you ALWAYS learn the fings.

Sassers: I knooow, but like, it’s one of the most difficult marches ever written!

BaldJake: You will do fine.

Joey: You’re smart and talented.

Sassers: I have only played for 2 yeaaaaars!

Joey: Stop it. The ability, it is in you.

Sassers: And it’s two hours long. I’m concerned about the state of my arm afterwards. Like will it fall off? Will it cramp? Will I get carpal tunnel?

Joey: Yes. All the people who have ever played Carmen are armless now. As all dancers who performed Swan Lake are footless. It’s like that one kid who was playing chess and he couldn’t even and his head opened up and his brain rolled out.

Sassers: I’m sure.

Joey: We will get you bionic arms if we have to. But I bet if you talk to the people who make prostheses they will rarely report those who lost arms in a cello-related incident.

Sassers: Just stop I’m laughing in a silent classroom.

Joey: Music and the Dark Underworld of Black Market Arms: A Netflix Original.

Sassers: Oh god now I’m crying of laughter. In my silent study hall.

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Happy Friday Everyone! 

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#ThursdayDoors — BSU

Today I bring you more doors from Ball State University. Most of the older buildings are on the south end of campus. I’da liked to capture more doors in the quad, from the quad, but there were hundreds of kids involved in some sorta colorful activity, and I just couldn’t get too many clean shots. Featured here are Lucina Hall, the old/former library & assembly hall now called North Quad, and the Fine Arts Building, which also houses the David Owsley Museum of Art.

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#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link and find the frog.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Abrupt Levity

The Mister and I were snuggled up sweetly, contemplating the horrors of Joel and Julia’s divorce¹ when I said, “I can’t imagine being divorced. I can imagine you dead, cause I’ve done that so many times², and — ”
His laughter was unexpected and as he howled, I realized. Oh how I realized.³

 

¹Joel and Julia are fictional characters
²During travel, training, surgery, and deployments
³I could’ve phrased that differently

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Guilty Chicken

This post is dedicated to my friend Matt, who never has a good fast food experience.

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Moo and I stole some homophobic chicken.
We did.
We didn’t mean to steal it.
Have you ever accidentally stolen anything?
It.is.so.awkward.

I ordered the food.
The young man gave me my food.
He said thank you, I said thank you — it was all very nice.

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I drove away.

About five minutes out, I asked Moo, “Didja put the change in the thingy? I only want the bills in my wallet.”
(Moo is inexperienced at sitting shotgun. I gotta check.)

 

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Moo stared at me blankly.
“What?”
“I don’t…”
I looked down.
My twenty still in my lap.
“Oh! No! He didn’t cash me out! We have stolen this chicken! I will go home and call them. Surely they will take payment over the phone.”

 

Dreams.-I-dream-of-a-world.-A-better-world-where-a-chicken-can-cross-the-road-without-having-their-motives-questioned.

 

Plagued with chicken guilt, I called them.
They didn’t answer the phone.
The phone rang so long that eventually, an electronic man asked me to enter my authorization code.

So I called their customer service line.
Customer Service did not want to charge me, either, they only wanted to file a report.

I had to eat that guilty chicken. And guilty fruit. And I had to drink an entire Cherry Coke. It was all delicious, but in that way that feels a lil dirty, ya know?

Have you ever accidentally stolen anything from a business?

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Harrowing Narrowing Peril

A while back we went to the second of three reunions my husband’s family holds each year.

Before we left, The Mister talked to me about directions and I was all, “Mmmhm, okay,” because I don’t know the ways. I like to stop for drinks at that McDonald’s in Spencer on the way home and I don’t like to take 69 because there is no place to pee. This is the extent of my knowledge on the trip. I have been down there more times than I can count in the last thirty years, but no, I do not know the way. In 1996, I attempted to drive to Granny’s house on my own and got terrible lost.

 
We were clear out in Morgan County when The Mister finally said, “This isn’t the way I wanted to go.”
Y’all remember how we used GPS to get to the lake last year? My husband did not learn from my mistake. IF YOU KNOW THE WAY, DO NOT USE THE GPS.
“Is this the way that takes 69?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“I selected the wrong directions. Pushed the wrong button.”
“I wondered.”
He decided we could get from one route to another.
“See how we get from here to 67.”
“Okay.” i fucking hate navigating. just wanna look at the pretty trees and enjoy the fluffy clouds but oooookay

The GPS said we could drive through Gosport to Paragon Road.
Never, ever, ever do that. Never.

Initially, it was like drivin on any country road ever. The road wound around a series of farmhouses and secluded bungalows for miles and miles.

Then the GPS said we could take three minutes off the trip. The Mister asked me what I thought, and I said, “I literally know nothin bout where we are or where we’re goin so I cannot make an informed decision.”
He said, “Okay, let’s do it.”
Sassy said she felt weird, I said she’s too city. The Mister turned right and my heart jumped into my throat. Sassy and I said in unison, “Uh…”

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Y’all, our driveway is wider than that road.

It’s important you understand I am not exaggerating. This is not hyperbole. The road was not wide enough for two cars. Like a one-lane bridge, but instead, a road we’d be on for more than seven miles.

To make matters worse, the shoulder had eroded significantly, pavement slipping off into ravines. The road was bumpy, paved and patched so long ago it was gray. When it wasn’t wooded, it was surrounded on both sides by corn taller than my car, so every time we took a corner, it was a leap of faith.

I regret I was not brave enough to take a video of our journey on the road to death, as I spent the better part of seven miles praying and cursing and gripping the Oh Shit Handle with my useless arthritic hand.

On the straight shots, I did contemplate the beauty of the road less taken, and I thought well, at least when some local yokel plows his sturdy truck into us, I will have had lovely scenery on the way to my death, but generally, my brain was paralyzed by fear.

My husband sped on those roads.
Grandpa Jake is inconsistent, he is. Just when you think he’s pokey as fuck, he whirls through parking garages or jets around on tiny country roads.
I knew he was stressed-out and probably some motorpool combat veteran brain took charge. I’m sure he thought the faster we got out, the better, but we were not in a tactical vehicle and I wanted out ALIVE.

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As all women know, from carrying that burden of always being right, it’s crucial to carefully select the situations in which we tell a man he’s wrong. (Too much is emasculating and too little is madness.) Thusly I said unto The Mister, in my most calm, direct, and logical tone, “You drive slower than this at home and those roads all have two lanes. You don’t know these roads. You can’t see anything. You need to slow down. Drastically.”

Then I added in a snarky way, “And I don’t ever wanna hear another peep about the way I drive at the lake, cause I know those roads like the back of my hand, they got two lanes, and I NEVER drive like this.”
Sassy uttered out, “Thank you.”

The Mister slowed down and we did make it to 67.

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Ever taken a harrowing detour or shortcut?

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