A few decades ago, back when we were in our thirties, Betty and I were at a Christmas crafts fair in Comfort, Texas.  

Betty picked up something engraved with "Everything's Bigger in Texas" and smirked that smirk she does, especially when she's seen the same thing for the hundredth time in one day.  

"Texans sure are proud of themselves," she said.

Texans do, maybe more than most states, enjoy heavy doses of self-congratulation, equating bigness with best.  

The obsession with bigness tends to be evident in certain types of males, and the current resident of the White House is a caricature of it.  They build tall towers and talk in superlatives: the best, the biggest, the greatest.  Could they be compensating for a sense of littleness in themselves?  

One of the things I love about Rita (and it's hard not to conflate this series with the character of Denmark as a whole) is that big is no big deal.  The two teachers in the story are devoted to their little school.  They live simply and share. 

While they may occasionally tell a little while lie ("Have you been smoking?" "No, it's the new nicotine mouth wash I've started using") they are all basically truth tellers who don't need to inflate themselves. When they mess up, they apologize--but not profusely.  Students call teachers by their first names and freely express their opinions to adults.  People seem humbler, less needy of accolades and hierarchies. 

Texas may be the most self-congratulatory state, but a tendency to claim being the best, the biggest, the greatest, is baked into the national personality.  The biggest guns, the biggest military, the obsession with money and power, the "great big beautiful wall," the biggest crowd ever, the best words, and the never-ending stream of ads that tout bigness as best-ness.  

Quality and value rarely come in extra-large.  And watch out for the Trump and Falwell types who tell you how great, how good, how right/moral/honest they are--dead give-aways for being the opposite.  

The series, Rita, is so refreshing!  The unspoken motto is not "Be Best," but Be Real.  

Inside the House Again

It feels like I've been on a long trip and am seeing things I forgot I had.  The pink Balinese giraffe is still overlooking my bedroom, a reminder of the 13 years since I brought her home from Johnson City, Tennessee. After moving a few mirrors from room to room, I'm seeing them as if they are brand new. 

I had forgotten how comfortable my mattress is, too.  I watched the entire Season 5 of Rita, a story about a free-spirited Danish schoolteacher.  I hadn't watched the first four seasons in a long time, and this was a perfectly wonderful finale--if it is a finale. I love the characters, and I love the way everyone lets everyone else be exactly who they are. 

I also love my new bathroom with its shiny blue floors and yellow door.  Tony fixed the plumbing problem today and all we have left to do is patch the hole in the shower tile that had to be made to fix the faucet. 

My niece, Mary Elizabeth, and I have been texting back and forth all day about dogs.  She has two dogs and a cat, and here's McSweet, the newest member of her clan.   He's a Shih Poo and she's crazy about him--as am I just from his photograph.  Is he adorable or what?

Sunday Morning

I could have moved back into my house today, without a working bathtub, but I want to extend my casita vacation a bit longer. 

Except for retiling a section after Tony the plumber comes to fix the problem in the wall, Carlos and Pedro are almost finished.  They left the bathroom clean, moved furniture and rugs, put the Murphy bed back up, hung mirrors, and left everything shipshape.  I'm going to miss them.

So I made a pallet on the floor and slept well--though the steroids in my knees have run out. It takes a while and some gymnastics to get up and down.  I'm actually looking forward to my shots on Wednesday, at least the after-effects of them. 

Until this morning's Tramadol takes effect, I'm planning a relaxing morning in the casita, watching movies, reading and napping.  

Jan's Birthday

August 29th is Jan's birthday--I won't divulge the number except to say that she's just a smidge ahead of me.  

Pam and I sat on the porch steps--and neighbors gathered all around the yard to celebrate, eat cake, listen to oldies, and sing a scattered-about Happy Birthday to her.  Even in triple-digit weather, it was a sweet party, with Sebastien and Makken serving cake.  Lorraine and another friend had hung a pink birthday banner on her porch this morning. 

Here's Jan showing me her broken toe.  On the day she broke it, she also ran over Ginger, the feral cat her family has fed for years--an unfortunate lead-up to her birthday, but all things considered not an altogether bad thing for poor demented Ginger whose good days were long over. 

Saturday 3:15 a.m. to 5:30ish

The moon is egg-shaped, golden, magical. 

Tired as I was, I couldn't sleep--even after some artsy videos and milk--so I took a drive and had myself a little moon party.  I highly recommend the night world, though it doesn't do a great deal toward making me perky in the morning. (I've put up a do-not-disturb sign on my door and hope to sleep til noon!) 

I'm trying to be positive after the wreckage of the last week. But I couldn't get it off my mind: what if the detestable current occupant of the White House got a second term? then what?  Who are these people (90% of his party, I heard) who still approve of him in spite of his showing us who he is for nearly four interminable years, who is taking us to climate and health catastrophes by his focus on himself? 

I was feeling the weight of all these things as I drove down Austin Highway.  The moon fixed nothing, but it was a quiet and beautiful balm in the darkness. 

Friday afternoon

This is what school looks like--multiplied by millions across the country.   Nathan's band class is on his back porch and Elena's 3rd grade class meets in the dining room.

Meanwhile, Day and family are shopping for desks this week for Marcus and Jackson.  Jackson is doing his first year at the junior college, then going off to college next fall.

Desks, Day says, are hard to find.  They are hoping to find something at IKEA tonight.

As for me: I had to return a toilet and buy another, then found out from Tony the plumber that Carlos is going to have to re-do a section of tile because the shank for the faucet is too deep into the wall.  

So today has been a series of runs to and from stores, re-doing a few of the things I thought were already done.

Here's a cool shot from the week.  Carol Ann, Carlene's friend, sent me this--a photo of Carlene (Carlotta to my daddy) standing beside Carol Ann's husband's car, 1925, same vintage as my mama!

Autobiographer of a painter

Here's where it all began, at the University of Georgia in Athens.  (Well, actually, it was my daddy who was a student there and we were living in this fashionable apartment in "Married Housing."). Wearing saddle oxfords and a dress, I loved watercoloring my hands. 

First grade caused a detour of many years.  In my first attempt to paint the post office next door to the school (the outlines drawn on a mimeographed page by the teacher), I was chastised for coloring outside the lines, not using "ladylike" faint strokes, and making the red courthouse purple of all things!

The seed for my love of painting went dormant for decades. 

When I met friends who were painters and collage artists, I was fascinated.  Joy gave me watercolor paper and pencils.  Nellie taught me how to collage on playing cards. 

A couple of years ago, I started taking online classes and buying art supplies.  Victoria gave me a blank journal and an afternoon class for me and Pam and Jan.  I loved it so much. 

For quite a while, I was timid around art supplies.  What if I messed up?  What if I wasted them?  

Unreasonably, I figured I'd save them all until I got good enough to justify using them, especially the more expensive ones.  (Then one of the teachers online said, "Don't save your tools and supplies.  Even as we speak, more are being made.")

So now, a few weeks shy of 72,  I am obsessed with gel plates, watercolors, acrylics, water-soluble crayons, Posca pens, and spray inks.  It is such a thrill to wake up and see vibrant pages made the night before.  (This morning's thrill was seeing pages made last night by blowing fluid paint around the page with a drinking straw!) 

All I need now is a pair of saddle oxfords. 

Playing, Potatoes, Pizza and Pam, and Puppies

 On Saturday night, Pam got pizza and invited me over to share.  We sat in her yellow living room with purple trim and art all over the walls and books on the coffee table--and I thought, "Hey, this feels like real life for a minute!" 

During this COVID time, I've shared very few meals and each one has been memorable--two dinners at Jan's, a couple of meals with the Pritchetts on their porch, and spontaneous meals with Kate some days and Pam other days.  It usually starts out with "I'm cooking, want to come over?" or "I'm hungry for pizza; are you?" 

Those are among the happiest memories of this pandemic.  Talking.  Eating.  Laughing.  Looking around their houses.  Flipping through their books. Feeling normal again. 

My house smells like concrete and men are working here all the time, so I have mostly had simple meals--chalupas and barbecue and other quickies--in the casita. While playing with paint.  Painting pink potatoes.  Looking online for puppies, preferably black, preferably small.

I found this little guy named Ivan, but unfortunately he had already found a home--as had every single puppy on the site:

Janet and Joy and other sensible dog lovers have suggested I get a dog who's already house trained and over the chewing stage, but I have to tell you: If I saw this little blue-eyed furry baby in person, I couldn't walk away, no way! 

Looking online at dogs must be sorta like online dating.  You go in thinking you know what (or what sort of who) you're looking for, and then suddenly Mr. Right shows up and you're smitten. 

If you want to take a look at Ivan and Georgia and Vinny (just a few I know by name), check out crocketdoodles.com.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CARLENE!

Happy Birthday to my mama, Carlene! 

It's just past midnight, Georgia time, so if I write real fast,  I'll be the first to wish you a Happy 95th birthday on the actual date. 

Here we are celebrating 94 at O'Charley's, just a year ago.  With all that's happened since your last birthday, it seems so long ago! If the virus hadn't  happened, I'd be there today. 

Here you are with Richard, Dot, and David.  Check out that fancy skirt!  Since you made all your clothes, this is no doubt one you designed and made yourself.  

This is your college picture, the one my daddy carried in his wallet when he was in the Navy. 

And here you are, finally back together after the Navy--1945.  Since you eloped, you always said, "I didn't get the wedding I might have wanted, but I got the man I wanted!"

"Why did you elope?" I asked.

"Because it was wartime and we were crazy," you said. 

Ninety five candles, ninety five years--and here you are, wearing those years incredibly lightly! 

By the time I wake and ring you, you'll already have walked around the block a time or two.  But I'll find you. You'll have your phone in your pocket and you'll be listening. 

I love you!

Linda

Progress Report

Looks like I'm on an alliterative run of Ps, so I'll keep it up....

Here are Carlos and Pedro grouting the bathtub tile, then they will go on to grouting the floor.  I'm loving it!