Singin' and Dancin' in the rain

It   rained in Southern California. It didn't just rain, it was a torrential downpour, running off the packed dirt and flooding streets in minutes.  The outside temp. was 80 degrees.

 My yard was a casualty , all drains clogged with leaves and debris turning it into a giant rain basin. I sloshed out there with a shovel and bucket, scooping up leaves off the drains one at a time. The yard water swirled delightedly like a huge toilet but there was so much water draining into the flooded street, the yard took a while to empty . I kept eyeing the back doors wondering how much water was getting into the house to add to the interior problems we already had.

In the midst of this, the plumber had been summoned to rescue me from my leaking shower which has warped my floors and I've had a gaping hole in the bathroom wall with plastic hanging out of it to catch any other drips until it could be repaired.

 My plumber is too familiar with this old house . He found me standing in the midst of my flooded yard with the Captain, both of us wet to the core and the rain not letting up. He offered to help me with the yard drains, but I had pretty much succeeded in clearing them. The patio gutter began to over flow as we stood there and, as if on cue, it dumped 10 gallons of stagnant roof water and dead bugs on my head in a cascading waterfall - I was in utter disbelief and caught off guard.

 Plumber Eric couldn't help but laugh. I was a sight. He asked if I was all right.

 The horror of having nasty rain water dumped on me was almost my undoing. My playing in the rain came to an abrupt end as I stood there spluttering and spitting out wet tree blooms.

 My plumber said he had to turn off the water to the house to work on the bathroom. I begged him to give me 10 minutes to shampoo my hair and bathe Captain who was also saturated with the roof run off. He said I couldn't use the shower though and would have to wait a couple of hours until he was done.

 Heck, I've got a shower in the back yard. Standing in puddles swimming over my flip flops, in the pouring rain, I took a record breaking shower, shampooed my dog and all done in 5 minutes. Plumber said, "You've done this before". Yup! About a hundred times!

Eric complemented me on our expedited cleanup but knowing he was charging me by the hour, I was highly motivated and he probably a little disappointed!

The shower is repaired. The floors are still a little warped. The yard is draining and cleaner than its been in years, and its hot again. The rain gutter is cleared out and functional, waiting for the next downpour.

 First day of fall will be welcomed at 100 degrees and it already looks like its never rained here .

I'll wait patiently during this epic drought for the next opportunity to be "Singin' and Dancin'  in the rain!" ....and I'll stay clear of the gutters!

Along came a spider. . .

Singing around the campfire at the sea shore. Oh what fun!
Young man E. comes over to our adult grouping and says, "There's a giant spider over there! It's big an black"

No good can come from being around a black spider so I caution him to leave it alone in case its a Black Widow. He says, "Well, it's giant." He makes a large circle with his forefingers and thumbs but they aren't touching.

"Wow! That is pretty big, Where is it?"
E says," It's in the street walking over this way."  I turn around in my chair and by golly, there it is. . . the big black spider  is marching deliberately toward us and its waving its big hairy legs hello at me as I envision it becoming as big as the house rooftop its  attached  itself to and looking for someone tasty to eat.

We all get out of our chairs and encircle the spider. Some one mentions its probably not deadly and just a local tarantula looking for some place to spend the night.  There is a furor around the campsites as every kid aged 2 on up encircles this tarantula . They are curious and amazed at the creature. Not a favorite of mine but I know its not going to eat me but my arachnophobia is kicking in and I just want it to run away. The creature was obviously exhausted waving its front legs around in attack mode and the kids now want to squish it . This isn't even an option for me because I don't want to walk past its remains every day to get to my campsite. One of the kids tosses a pink sandal at it  . All the other camp adults are back in their seats but the 12 kids are still encircling the tarantula and the only other adults are me, E's mom, and my friend Matt. I tell Matt I'm going to get something to get the thing out of the road so it isn't squished.  Wasn't he the spider expert claiming it wasn't deadly? I turn toward his trailer, spy a child's bucket with darling heart shaped shovel and return. Now I realize this bucket must be for gnomes or mini people and wonder why couldn't Matt splurge and buy his kid a normal sized pail instead of the 4 cup size with the teaspoon shovel? And where is Matt? Where has he gone? I am now the only adult and there is no one to pass the pail to and get the tarantula into it.

 I hold my breath,  use the teaspoon, okay, micro shovel, and quickly herd the tarantula into the pail where it immediately begins to hoist itself out because its bigger than the pail. I'm certain it was flexing developing biceps at me.  This thing is much bigger up close and personal and I was certain it was growing every second it was in my possession . My heart clenched tighter than my teeth and the horror of carrying it 20 feet away and tossing it into the sea of ice plant on the hill felt like time had stopped and soon we would all be a headline in some rag periodical about alien spiders taking over the planet . I am listed as the first fatality in the invasion .

"UNIDENTIFIED   SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA WOMAN KILLED IN ATTEMPT TO RESCUE TOTS FROM MONSTOROUS TARANTULA!"  

                                       

The story describes how My face has been  eaten off by the tarantula army and as a lasting horror to me my tombstone asks me to   R.I.P    with an engraved spider hanging from the P.

Never mind'  I tossed Mr. Tarantula far and away and return to our camp inquiring all the adultx, "What the HECK?  Where did you all go and why did you leave me alone with a hairy spider and children armed with sticks and plastic silverware?"
Oh. Yeah. They all said no way were they going to mess with that thing -or lamer, "I'm afraid of spiders and creepy crawlers". 
Where was Mr. Man in all this? Yes. Where WAS Mr. Man? Somehow he got lost between our camps for an hour before he came back and I suspect he was napping! HE actually likes tarantulas.


Mr. Tarantula scurried away never to be seen again. Now I've learned, those things can jump 4 feet high, can be territorial and rush at you.
My career as spider wrangler is over. NO THANK YOU!

Flip Flop

Flip Flops are my foot wear of choice. They used to herald the beginning of summertime and it was exciting to go to the local Thrifty or Sprouse Ritz stores to pick out the lucky pair I would make my only shoe for when school was out. If I wasn't in flip flops, I was barefoot.

Not only do they fit nicely on my freakishly big feet, they are acceptable foot wear for just about anywhere I frequent in this warm climate of Southern California.

I have to wear a men's sandal so I thank the trend of todays designer to make the sandals of mens and women's look virtually the same.

I love the noise the flip flop makes slapping against my foot sole as I walk. I can wear them shopping, to dinner, with dresses, skirts, blue jeans and to church. Light weight and available in a rainbow of colors and styles make these the foot wear every Californian wears out on the town.

My favorite sandals are my black Nikes. So comfy, and slimming to my feet. I wear them every where and just about every day. Of course I took them to the beach with me. I wanted my feet to look as fine as they felt in the shoe .  They fit right into that seashore lifestyle. No socks for us. It wouldn't matter if it was 20 degrees outside, we are at the beach and flip flops is it!

Part of our daily beach routine is to walk the beach, It's about a 3 mile walk and we usually have most of those miles to ourselves and a handful of experienced surfers,

Our dog, Captain Morgan, loves the beach and is an expert Frisbee player, romping into the surf to fetch his brightly covered and unsinkable disk. As I walked along the shoreline, tossing the Frisbee, I took off my sandals and waded barefoot into the surf. An aggressive wave hit me in the thigh and I lost grip of one of my sandals. I watched in dismay as it disappeared under the foaming tide. I stood there in disbelief. My beloved flip flop gave itself a burial at sea in seconds.

For the rest of my walk and Frisbee tossing, I searched the shore for the lost shoe, hoping it would emerge from the watery depths and do a true flip flop on the sand. I kept ahold of the left sandal hoping to get its mate back some time before having to head back up the hill to our camp across hot lava sand and asphalt.

No such luck. I donned the left and only got a lonely "flip" sound and limped rapidly to the next tolerable place to rest the burning right foot. Mr. Man stepped in an epic puddle of tar hiding under hot sand and it oozed between his toes. Not wanting to mar his new beach crocs, he put a plastic bag on his foot which came up to his ankle and then the shoe. We were quite the site walking back to our camp. We received many comments about tarry feet and warnings about hot streets. Thanks folks!

Back at camp I found the back up flip flops and tested them out but their tone was deeper and not as sassy or appealing as the lost Nike flop. The next few days of my beach wanderings were spent scanning the horizon for a little black boat shaped like my shoe and poking at sea weed bundles to see if it was hiding under their bulky shapes. I found plenty of "blackish" things I thought were my flop, but all turned out to be ominous looking sea plants, bits of sea tattered clothing or dead bird.

I've mourned the loss of the Nike flop and deposited its friend Flip into the recycle bin before leaving the oceanfront for home.

Digging into my shoe bin, I've recovered 6 pair of various flip flops and I'm retesting their capability to make that charming noise I love to hear as I walk around. I've settled on leather OP's for now and started a quest for my next favorite pair.

Happy flippity flop to you. We all walk to a different song!

This has left a Sour taste in my mouth.....

Lemon in ice water is one of my favorite beverages. I usually ask for it when we are out to eat. It's what I prefer when I'm even at a party if its available. I love infused water.

The drink is refreshing and thirst quenching. A couple of a lemon slices squeezed into a large 12-16 oz. glass is perfection, and I don't care if the lemons have seeds or not. If I happen to encounter a seed, I just remove it and put it onto the bread plate.

Mr. Man prefers his water plain and clear and rarely drinks any when we are out and about - So I am surprised when he reaches over for my large glass and takes a big drink out of it. That's okay. I share. We have swapped drinks and bites of food for decades.

I turn to retrieve my glass just in time to catch Mr. Man spitting seeds back into it. I'm appalled. "Why are you spitting into my lemon water sir?"!

He shrugs." I was thirsty and I didn't want to swallow seeds. I'm just putting them back where they came from."

Now I have trust issues about letting him eat from my plate and drink from my glass. Has this behavior been ongoing since we met in 1974?!! How many second hand spit outs have I ingested over the years?

I argue with him that its as gross as taking a bite of food , changing your mind about it and returning the unswallowed portion back to my plate. He scoffs at me! I think he may have called me a hysterical woman and said its not going to kill me. I'm not even sure he is remorseful....something about- 'it's no big deal and everyone does it'.

He has been warned there will be serious punitive action if this is ever repeated.

Emily Post has been consulted and I believe she is going to side with me!

This has left a Sour taste in my mouth and its not the lemon water!

I think I need a tissue

I have finally accepted my children are full grown and no longer want to live with me, near me or visit more than necessary.

They have flown the coop, left the nest, took up residence in paradise, found their calling, and are successfully living their lives independent of parental guidance or assistance. They are done with the hustle and bustle, traffic and general population of this city. Even coercion to swim daily in our cement pond in our backyard retreat won't change their minds. Their vacation days are spent traveling the world and experiencing new adventures. I get it. I forgot to do that as a young adult and still haven't left these United States and start my check offs on the bucket list. I must go to them if I want to see their sweet faces.

Yes, this is what we planned for.

Yes, we even encouraged them to go and find themselves and make their own way.

Yes, they are successfully launched and I should be doing that happy dance to be free of their dirty dishes, ransacked rooms and unpredictable mood swings.

I have written about my preparing the child for the road...not the road for the child.

The bedrooms remain unchanged and full of childhood memories, toys, games, puzzles and clothes. Today, I began packing up those toys and beloved  treasures. I wrapped them in tissue, carefully boxed the breakables and wrote little notes and stories behind each of the most beloved items designated as "NEVER GET RID OF" by their owners.

 

The wall papered pre-teen border is coming off, and the overdue cover up of the botched wall "texture" of 1998 is going to be redone in a bright new hue of citrus green and accents in yellow. Baby photos, pictures, even the carpet are being replaced. It is so difficult to make a change but its time.

I spend hours gazing at photos and books and remembering the day and event they made their appearance and reliving it. The girls were the best. Never any trouble and always happy with what they were given and grateful for loving parents and happy home.

Youngest daughter claims to be returning homeward next year and taking the furniture away. Will she take her childhood with her?  Hoping it will be so but having it packed up and ready for the trip will make it easier for the final parting. Number One wants to have her things but regretfully lives in a tiny apartment with no storage. Her things are also boxed up and ready to find their way to her when an empty closet becomes available. (mocking laugh here). For now, I will remain the guardian of all things sentimental and beloved to ensure their safe keeping but who's going to take care of all my own mementos?

Missing you girls more than I can express but I am committed to changing it up for my new launch into mid life . Want your stuff? Please come get it and I will hold on to you tighter than you could ever imagine, but I am willing to let you go again to continue your pursuit of happily ever after.

Dang! I think I need a tissue!  Must be the paint fumes blurring my vision!