For those of you old enough to remember, there was a t.v. show called ‘Chico and the Man’ 1974. I didn’t (haven’t) watched it. I am only aware of its existence.
The phase of my life since Chico has lived with me can be subtitled ‘Chico and the Woman’.
Honestly, I never wanted an indoor dog. And THOSE people that took their dogs EVERYWHERE with them just upset me greatly. I not speaking of service animals here.
My how times have changed. Chico doesn’t go everywhere with me but I don’t want to imagine my life without him.
He has been good for me overall. He’s part of most of my work. I have to get off my butt and take him out. He likes to cuddle. He’s soft and warm. I once dated a fellow who said to me getting Chico ‘softened me’. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was God through him.
Local dog park.
Chihuahuas come with a list of issues that cause people not to want them. I sure do love mine.
She moaned waking herself up. Someone had put a blanket around her and a pillow under her head. How sweet. The book she had been reading was at the foot of the bed, which pulled her attention to the fact that he was up.
He was standing in the hallway staring at a picture.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
He looked sad and sick at the same time. “My grandpa. My dad’s dad. Everybody called him Matty. I have no idea if that was his real name. Dad didn’t even know.”
“How could your dad not know his dad’s real name?”
“Didn’t care to know I guess?”
The man in the picture looked remarkably like Oscar. He had the same large nose, and rail thin face.
“What about your dad? Any pictures of him?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Esther raised an eyebrow.
Oscar finally walked away. “Are you hungry?” His voice cracked as he talked.
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. This didn’t startle Oscar like the noise of his brother being at the door did. She remained in the hallway out of sight.
“Hi,” Esther thought it was the sheriff, Chet.
“Come in.”
“How ya feelin’?”
“Like crap.”
“Is Esther still here?”
“Yeah.”
“I had asked her to ask you to give me a call when you got up.”
“I just got up.” There was a brief pause.
“Oh, well. We got worried about you and fixed you supper.”
“That’s very kind.” Oscar’s voice remained dry.
The other voice cleared his throat. “Look, I’m worried about you. You’re my best friend. We’ve known each other for a very long time.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“You’ve been sayin’ that for the last ten years.”
Esther moved into the shadows so she could see what was going on. Oscar was standing looking out the window. The other person was the sheriff.
“I’m not a doctor and I don’t pretend to be; but this can’t be good for your heart. I’m talkin’ physically. You don’t eat right. What health problems will this lead to in the future?” He walked toward the door, and then stopped. “Just so you know, Esther found you this mornin’. She already had your breathing under control and everything.”
Chet was gone. It seemed as if he took the warmth in the house with him when he left. Esther didn’t know what to do or what to say. Finally, she worked up enough nerve to step out of the shadows. “Do you want me to leave?”
He didn’t move. “Quite to the contrary.”
She thought the least she could do was take the covered dishes into the kitchen. “Your friend took all your papers to school this mornin’.”
“I can’t wait until you get to know him. He is a great person.”
“He seems to care about you.”
“We do.” Oscar followed her into the kitchen and rooted around in the fridge for salad dressing. He left the door open, “pick what you want to drink.”
“Thanks.”
Before they ever sat down, that familiar rattling came to the door knob. Oscar hung his head as he took a deep breath. “I don’t feel like dealing with him.”
“Do you want me to answer it?”
The rattling turned into pounding. Oscar jumped. “No.” He had barely opened the door before Oat was in his face.
“I seed that cara-van this mornin’. How’d you git portin’ ‘nough to block traffic?” Esther stood in the kitchen door watching.
“Sees what happs when you good to,” he pointed out the door. “Chair-a-dee begins at home.”
Oscar stared blankly out the door. She envisioned him reaching out and choking Otis.
“And how would I show you charity?”
“I need new wheels. Pussy’s with child again.”
“And this is my problem how?”
“Give to family. Not city trash.”
“And what have I given her?”
“You got money. I need van. Som’em BIG.” He put great emphasis on the word big.
“I’ve got money?”
“Damn straight.” He waved his arms around, “fan-cy nest. Fan-cy wheels. High-flo-luten ed-u-mcation.”
“Get a job and you will have nice things too.”
“I gots a job. Bein’ a paw.”
“And I’m sure the goberment pays you well for that.”
“Christian my ass.” Otis stormed out of the house.
The sound of squealing tires filled the quiet void. Oscar fell to his knees in the open door. Esther felt so sorry for him. When she touched his shoulder, he jumped.
“Is there anything I can do?”
The sound of her voice was such a comfort. Talk to her, that voice inside of him instructed. Tell her.
Not what? Great! You’ve killed the joke. Take me to the dishwasher or you’ll come back to work with sour gnats and a funky smell at your workstation. I’ll make it so stanky, everyone will hold their noses as they walk by just for being a Joke killer.
🥣🥄🍴
Authors note: one of the things about enjoying to write is that it spills over into every aspect of your life. Part of my job is to make sure the dishwasher gets ran so the cleaning lady can unload it. This was my reminder Friday for staff the ‘bring out their dishes’.
Name the most expensive personal item you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).
I had the perfect answer; my house. But no, it can’t be my house. Or my car. Well shoot. So what’s next?
That would have to be my cell phone. It’s the most expensive thing next in line the (I) paid for. I don’t have internet at my house. I have a laptop but rarely use it.
My phone is a multi purpose tool that I use for a lot. Flashlight, phone, camera, internet, calculator, timer, calendar, typewriter 😉. Not to mention all the other things this technological marvel can do.
It would be easier to list the things it can’t do.
Yesterday I saw the prompt below. After I reread the rules, my work doesn’t qualify since I did fix my error. However, the prompt did inspire me. Thank you.
I’ve been playing with blackout poetry and I guess blackout art?
Cry me a river
So, you got your little heart broken?
Nobody cares.
Cry me a river.
~
So, you had a bad day?
Suck it up.
Nobody cares.
~
Oh, you’re sad and don’t know why.
Nobody cares.
Cry me a river.
~
Someone yelled at you and hurt your little feels.
Cry me a river.
Nobody cares.
~
You’re finally able to admit you get lonely sometimes too.
Bully for you.
Nobody care.
~
All the problems in your little world have crashed down around your little door.
O – boo hoo.
Cry me a river.
~
Cry me a river.
Nobody cares.
I’ll meet you at the confluence.
Authors notes: while I had the book open bringing the picture ‘cry me a river’ to life; I used sticky notes to write the words. I’d draw a minute. Write a line. Draw some more. Or color as it were.
After 50 years, you would think he could talk to his mother and have a normal conversation with her. You would think she would have a warm, nurturing relationship with both her sons. You would think that when she berated him so, he would be able to take up for himself. You would be wrong. He knew this was his fault. She couldn’t get to him if he didn’t let her. But how could he stand up for himself without hurting her? Or destroying their relationship. Then it dawned on him, WHAT RELATIONSHIP?!
Esther was driving to the store to buy cleaning supplies and paint. It was time to get started. She decided she would start in the bedroom first, then work her way through the rest of the house, since sleep was most important to her. Even if she didn’t get a lot.
She slacked all weekend. It was great fun. But today was the day to get busy. Play time was over.
As she continued her drive, she saw Oscar’s SUV pulled off to the side of the road. Oscar had been so nice to her; it would have been unchristianly to pass him by. Through the driver’s window, she saw him leaning between the door and the steering wheel. She pecked on the glass to get his attention.
His head flopped back against the seat; one hand was over his heart. With the movements of a drunkard, he rolled down the window. He didn’t see Esther standing there. He saw a blue blob. Blue from the denim clothing she was wearing. To him it was a state troopers uniform.
“Officer,” He stumbled. “Hyperventilating.”
Esther’s heart stopped when he mistook her for a cop. But she fully understood the implications when he said he was hyperventilating. She started talking to him in a calm reassuring voice, as she looked for a paper bag. She figured if this was common, he would have a bag within reach.
He gasped, “can’t breathe. Chest on fire.”
Finally, she found a bag in the driver side door cubby. After what seemed like an eternity, he started to calm down. She rubbed his back and continued to speak calmly to him.
A sheriff’s cruiser pulled in front of them. When Oscar finally calmed down, the deputy drove him and his car home with Esther not far behind.
Esther and this man put him to bed.
“It’s a good thing you came along little lady.” He smiled as he shook her hand.
Esther blushed; it had been a long time since anyone called her ‘little lady’. “God has a plan for all of us.”
“Indeed he does. I’m Chet.”
“Esther. Oscar has been kind enough to let me sleep in his guest room until I get started on the house.”
“He is an amazing friend.”
“I can see that.”
Chet gave her a business card, “here’s my number if you need anything. Have him call me when he gets okay.”
Sheriff, Chet was the local sheriff. She smiled as she put the card in her pocket “Can do.”
Chet let himself out.
As Esther looked around his bedroom, she was amazed. Like the living room it was well put together, almost too good for a man. His bedroom suit was black with gold trim.
There wasn’t a lot of clutter. A few pictures on the walls, but not much more. Oscar really did have great taste. But no chest of drawers or dressers.
Oscar opened his eyes to see Esther sleeping in the corner of his bed room. She was so….His tired mind couldn’t think of the right word to call her. He did feel very comfortable around her. As he set up, he realized it was six o’clock in the afternoon.
Comfortable. He wasn’t comfortable around women. They snickered about his nose. Or he was ‘too’ thin. A concept in today’s society he didn’t understand. How’s one ‘too’ thin? No one ever asked him, ‘are you healthy?’ We just look and judge. No one gives a flip how that makes you feel. Just look and judge.
I decided I needed some bookends. Things that are not just laying around my house. These 2 bottles are the biggest ones I had on hand. I weighed them down with ash and water.The magazine was free. The deco-podge was left over from another project.Cute but too small. 😢My bestie saved me a couple 2 liters. I got the magazine in the mail. Sadly, I had to buy some more deco-podge. I cut the 2 liters in half, put the small bottles inside, added more weight and covered them.The bigger bottles worked a lot better. $1.31 book ends.
I have been seeing blackout poetry a lot and really like it. But hadn’t been able to try it yet. I found an old book to give it a try. But then it came down to trying, I couldn’t. The book I found was a copy of Ben Hur. I couldn’t deface it.
Up the street from where I work is a pocket library. I reached in, grabbed a random book, so here we go.
My first attempt at blackout poetry was trying to fit my written words onto the page.
Hard for the reader to read. My first attempt at blackout poetry. Interesting. Fun. Now you try.My second attempt is much easier to read. I’m alive! Oxygen in. Dream. Voice. Sound. Lift my head. Air. Wind. Make sense. I lost my mind
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