Skipping

          I don’t often think about skipping a week, but for several reasons, I thought about skipping this week.

          “What’s going on?” you ask.

          We’ve got a dinner at church tomorrow right after the service. Mike and I leave the house at 8:30 to attend Sunday School before the service so I have to take whatever I’m making with us then. I committed to making chili and I’m thinking about making a cheese bread. That means I need to cook today (Saturday) for tomorrow’s event — or get up at five in the morning.

          We’ve got a dinner at church tomorrow, which I’ve already said, and it means we’ll be spending an extra hour or two — or maybe three! — at the church. That cuts into my writing time. 

          Not having as much time to write is one reason I thought about skipping this week.

          Staying home and not going places doesn’t give me much to talk about. That’s another reason I thought about skipping this week.

          Having just said that, we did go places this week.

          Our week started with a trip to get our taxes done. That’s not exciting at all. But it did give me a chance to take a few pictures for you.

          The back of this car has a message written on it.

          “What’s it say?” I know you wanna know.

          Under the license plate, barely visible, it says NOTHING IS TRUE. Under that, EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED.

          It’s a phrase. Have you heard it before?

          It’s associated with the concept of existential nihilism and is linked to the writings of Friedrich Nietzsche and the fictional universe of Assassin's Creed.

          Existential nihilism says life lacks inherent meaning or purpose, and truth is subjective, suggesting that in a world without absolute truths, all actions are permissible.

          I once heard a Christian apologist denounce this philosophy and one of his examples included a man with a gun and an elementary school. “I think we can all agree that killing innocent children is wrong and should not be permitted.”

          The other thing he said that sticks in my head is an example of an absolute truth. “I look both ways when I cross the street because a bus and I cannot occupy the same space at the same time.”

           Assassin's Creed is a video game. The phrase is used by the fictional Assassin Brotherhood to give them the freedom to act as necessary to achieve their goals, guided only by their own principles rather than societal rules.

          Without laws, both moral and governmental, our society would likely descend into chaos. People would act purely out of self-interest, leading to violence. You could steal anything you wanted from anyone, kill anyone at any time, for any reason, and there would be no repercussions.

          What a scary world that would be!

          But I digress. We went to get our taxes done and I took a few pictures.

          Sometimes I see weird stuff lying beside the road. I hope this wasn’t an important part of someone’s vehicle.

          Frozen Susquehanna.

          I took a picture of this barn both coming and going.

          It took me about a page to say we went to get our taxes done and show you six photos. Not exciting. Not really newsworthy. But there you have it.

 

          We also went to Dickson City again this week.  

          “Did you go to Sam’s Club?” you ask.

          No, but that was a great guess, since that’s where our Sam’s Club is.

“Did you go to Michaels?” 

Another great guess, since that’s why we went last week. And I did stop at Michaels this time, too. I saw on my Facebook group that paint brushes were on sale. Buy one, get one half off. I looked and looked and decided I had enough brushes and didn’t need any. I did pick up a couple of tubes of paint. Four, actually, since they had the same deal as the brushes. Sometimes it’s just easier to open a tube rather than have to mix a color.  

Where we did go, the reason we went to Dickson City, was to buy a Sleep Number mattress. Mike has always had a great deal of back pain and he hates the Select Comfort memory foam that we have. He’s thinking he’ll have less pain with a softer mattress.

We’ve had Sleep Number before. Back in 1999 or 2000 we had one and there was a Sleep Number in our last RV. I don’t remember if Mike had less pain. But I’m behind him 110%. If Mike wants a Sleep Number, we’ll get a Sleep Number.

Speaking of sleep...

Mike wore my Fitbit a couple of times. He says he wore it two nights, I say he wore it three. Regardless, Mike is a light sleeper and my watch confirms that. He dropped down into deep sleep for only six minutes the first time he wore it. I spend anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour and a half in deep sleep. Last night Mike wore my watch again and didn’t go into deep sleep at all. Today he’s feeling all mushy headed and I attribute that to no deep sleep.

Sleep is important.

          “Peg, didn’t you take any pictures on your trip to Dickson City?” you query.

          Aye-yi-yi! I did! I just forgot to put them in my story!

          The day we went wasn’t a very nice day for traveling or for picture making. It wasn’t bad when we left.

          I saw a big bird sitting on top of a dead tree. I thought, with the size and coloring, that it might be an immature eagle. It’s not. It’s likely a raven.

          I have a thing for birds, in case you haven’t noticed.

          The rain started as we got closer to Dickson City.

          There was some ice and icy slush on the roads. Traffic was light, my handsome mountain man is a good driver, and we didn’t have any trouble.

          Our first stop in Dickson City was to the Sleep Number Store. They were supposed to be open but they weren’t. They were closed. Mike pulled out his phone and called the number posted on the door.

          “We drove down from Wyalusing to go to your store and it’s closed. Now what do I do?” He ended the message with his name and number.

          “Let’s get lunch,” Mike suggested. “I’ve got a hankerin’ for Mexican.”

          There’s a Mexican restaurant just at the edge of the Viewmont Mall. There weren’t a lot of people there yet. Was the weather keeping them away? Was it the hour? It had only been open for about twenty minutes. Or does it bespeak to the quality of food?

          We were seated and given menus. I wanted fajitas and almost changed my mind when I saw the price.

          “Twenty-two dollars!”

          “Just get what you want, Peg,” Mike said.

          It comes with beans or rice. Beans OR rice. I had to choose? It doesn’t come with sour cream or guacamole either. All the things that used to be included when you get fajitas are now extras.

          Mike got a sampler platter. It came with two items, but for an extra charge, you could add as many items as you wanted.

          By the time we left, we’d racked up a fifty-three-dollar bill.

          Our waitress was super sweet. She called me love. Not once or twice, but several times. “Do you want a salad, love?” she asked when she delivered our food.

          I had my food already. Why would I want a salad? “No, thank you.”

          A few minutes later, just as I was getting my fajita put together, she brought me a plate with lettuce, a tomato slice, and sour cream. “I bring for you anyway, love,” she said.

          “Thank you!” I said to her. She walked away and I turned to Mike. “Is that what she was calling a salad?”

          “I don’t know,” Mike said, intent on satisfying his yen for Mexican food.

          I didn’t care about the lettuce but I enjoyed the tomato and sour cream.

          Our waitress did her job and I tipped her accordingly. It’s not her fault food prices are so high.

          We were leaving the Mexican Restaurant when Mike got a call from the Sleep Number Store. They delayed opening for an hour because of the weather. We went back and Mike ordered his mattress.

          Guess what‽

          They don’t carry any stock! You can’t take it home with you. Instead, you have to pay an additional one hundred fifty-dollar delivery charge. That’s disappointing.

          Heading back across the Susquehanna, on the way home, I’m looking from the other side of the bridge and see a tree fell onto the ice and smashed to smithereens.

          “Must be some hard ice.”

          Speaking of food...

          A recipe came across my Facebook page. It was for a quick and easy peanut butter fudge. It used only peanut butter and sweetened condensed milk.

          “Add a handful of chocolate chips to the top while it’s still hot, and spread them out once they’re melted,” was the tip if you wanted something like a peanut butter cup.

          Peanut butter is in the top two of my favorite flavors, so I gave it a try.

          I am not impressed.

          I shared it with the Kipps. Miss Rosie was not a fan, but Lamar thought they were fine.

          “I had it with my lunch a couple of days in a row,” he told me. He didn’t mind at all that Rosie didn’t like it.

          And for the final reason I thought about skipping...

          I spent a couple of hours this week visiting with this beautiful lady. Linda is one of my church peeps and has been reading my letter blogs since May, I think. On Sundays, when she comes into the church, I hand her the last week’s letter. You should see her face light up! She absolutely loves them and always thanks me. Sometimes we talk about something in them and she always tells me when something tickles her.

          I wrote a short story about handsome Dakota and his sidekick, Nick, a few weeks ago.

          I should write about Linda, came unbidden into my head. Us old people have a lifetime or two full of stories. Maybe Linda would like to tell us some of hers.

          “I’d like to write a story about you,” I told Linda one Sunday morning. “Would you want to do an interview with me?”

          She thought about it. “I guess that would be alright.”

          The following week I printed a page of potential things we could talk about and gave it to her. “If you’re anything like me, you’ll think of a story after I leave that you wish you’d’ve told me. But, Linda, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I just thought you might have some stories to share before you die.” I guess I could’ve been a little more tactful when I said that. She knows she’s going to die — not anytime soon, I sincerely hope. And I know you’re going to die. And I know I’m going to die. It’s gonna happen to all of us unless Jesus comes and raptures His people before we die. But that’s a whole other story.

          “Are you a reporter?” Linda asked.

          I never thought of myself specifically as a reporter, but I guess I am! A writer is a reporter and a reporter is a writer!

          At first, when I started writing, I thought I might intertwine Linda’s story with my weekly jibber-jabber. But now I’m thinking it’ll be a separate story. I don’t want to just squish it in, I want to do it justice.

          During my visit, Linda asked. “Do you want to hear a crazy story?”

“Absolutely!” Who wouldn’t?

“Okay, but you can’t tell it," she said.

She told me the story and I laughed!

“You won’t let me tell that story?” I asked. “It’s funny!”

“No!” she said. Then she thought about it for a minute. “Whatever you want to do. I trust you.”

She trusts me. I feel honored to be trusted with her memories.

“Are you going to tell it?” you wanna know.

Honestly? I don’t know. You — and I — will just have to wait to find out!

         

          Oh, what a difference a day makes!

          All day Saturday, Mike got sicker and sicker.

          All day Saturday, the weather forecast was for a storm coming. Starting late Saturday afternoon and into Sunday morning. With the weather being bad and a sick husband, the decision was made to not go to church. We’d stay home and keep our germs to ourselves. I didn’t have to cook and I could spend my time visiting with you.

          Hmm. Not true. I did cook. I made a pot of chicken soup. It’s supposed to be good for you. Chicken contains an amino acid called cysteine, which can help thin mucus and reduce inflammation in the respiratory tract. It’s also easy to digest.  And the warmth of the soup can soothe a sore throat and just make you feel better.

          Mike had a bowl.

          “How is it?” I asked.

          “Didn’t you taste it?” he asks.

          “Yeah, but I burnt my tongue and now I can’t taste anything.”

          “It’s good but why’s the chicken tough?”

          “Because I boiled it.” I can hear Momma in my head. Boiling it longer won’t make it more tender, she told me. I Googled it. It said if you cook it too long, it will be tough. See! Momma was right! What I didn’t know was if you cook it at a high heat, it will make it tough, too.

          Live and learn. I’ll make the pieces of chicken smaller, so it won’t be so noticeable.

          It was getting on to time to trim Raini’s toenails again, a chore I don’t look forward to. I love the dog grooming hammock we got for her. As long as she can’t get her paws against something, all she can do is wiggle.

          “Settle down,” I tell her and wait until she settles.

          It took both of us to hang her on the weight machine. I wasn’t happy about that. Mike would have to hold a flashlight for me to see to do her nails because the light wasn’t the best in that corner of the living room. I wasn’t happy about that, either.

          When we first got the hammock, I wanted to hang it between the kitchen and pantry —

          Oh gosh! Every time I write the word pantry, I worry about losing the r. I’ve done it, and luckily caught it, but what if I don’t? That changes the whole meaning of the word!

          Anyway, Mike couldn’t figure out a way to hang it where I wanted it and thought it was just easier to hang her on the weight machine. Trust me. It wasn’t. She’s heavy and lifting thirty-five pounds over my head is a challenge for this old woman.

          Then inspiration hit.

          “What happens when you’re gone?” I asked Mike. “I won’t be able to lift her by myself. I’ll have to call Lamar or Jon Robinson to come and help me. Can’t we use a pulley or something and put it where the light’s better?”

          Mike, bless his heart, thought about it. Next thing I know, this shows up at my door.

          “What is that!?”

          “It’s a block and tackle,” Mike said. “You can lift forty-four hundred pounds by yourself.”

          I doubt Raini will ever weigh that much but there’s one thing you should know about Mike. If one is good, two is better. Do you know what I mean? He always goes the extra.

          We discussed several locations. Mike’s only concern was making sure it was anchored properly so it wouldn’t rip out. Ultimately, I didn’t want a block and tackle hanging from the doorway into the bedroom or the ceiling in the living room. We settled on the doorway between the kitchen and the pantry.

          Mike installed a carriage bolt and put the block and tackle up.

          “Let’s see if you can do it by yourself,” Mike challenged.

          Raini freaked out a little when she started going up in the air — will we freak out when we start rising in the air when Jesus comes? Will the unsaved think it's aliens beaming us up to the mothership?

I digress, again, but the thought crossed my mind as I was writing it. If I think it, you get to hear about it.

I was able to hoist Raini up, grind her nails, and set her down all by myself! I don’t mind that the block and tackle hangs there, it’s the pantry, and the light is tons better!

I have such an awesome husband!

          I guess the only other thing to talk about this week is my art. Watercolors. I wanted to paint something, and I wanted it to be good. Too much pressure on myself? I looked through my photos and looked and looked.

A portrait? I picked out one to try and printed it.

I don’t know if I can paint that, I thought as I looked at it.

A dog? I picked out one of those, printed it, and sat staring at it.

I don’t know if I can paint that, either.

“Peg! You’ve painted four dogs!” you say.

I know, but what if it was a fluke?

Maybe a landscape would be easier.

          I went back to my file and looked at landscapes. Did you know that a lot of landscapes have trees in them? Did you know I’m terrible at trees? Unfortunately, my stinkin’-thinkin’ got in the way. I didn’t even print the photo.

          Maybe I should practice trees in my sketchbook, I thought, so, that’s what I did. I got on YouTube and watched how to paint trees in watercolor. After painting eleven trees in eleven different styles, I got bored.

         Although, I have to admit that this one technique was interesting. Blobs on the top, blobs on the bottom, connect the two while it's wet and let the watercolors do the work. I added the splatters for fun.

          After getting bored with trees, I went back to my file of photos and painted this.

          Do you recognize it?

          Let’s call this one done!

          Done!