Thanksgiving catered to the woods

"Baby, could you stop and get us each a plate lunch and bring it to the woods?"
"Or would you rather have chicken and dumplings, green bean casserole and pecan pie?"
"Hey! You guys want chicken and dumplings?" JB called.
Skipper answered for all, "Heck yes. That beats potted meat and vienna sausage."

My car smelled yummy. I couldn't wait to dive in. They were glad to see me, but in no hurry to eat. In spite of Clint's turkey in the oven, a few more stories had to be told, and the cooler wasn't empty yet.

I walked the couple of blocks to our camp. Last year the building burned to the ground in a thunderstorm. Locals said the gas bottles went off like rockets. What was left had to be buried. I was shocked to find no trace of JB's thirty-seven years of camping. This is where we parked our motorhome over the winter. I slept by the fire ring under the stars at full moon. No more handmade, four adult seats swing a friend traded JB for his leather jacket, or motel-sized refrigerator from Lake of the Ozarks with a story of its own. The crushed rock drive is overgrown. Five layers of used carpet, camp grass, is history. So are we.

Too stunned to weep, Mother Nature did it for me. A cloud came up and drenched me. I could almost hear her laughing. Might as well laugh, there was nothing to do but keep walking in the downpour. JB rushed toward me with my car. Too late. Dr. Seuss said it best, "I'll bet you never yet met a wet pet as wet as that pet can get."

Mud. Mississippi mud sticks to the boots and doesn't crumble off. The way of the woods: fresh fried crappie; another deer and turkey season. Nature cycles uninterrupted. The winner in the end. We are mere ghosts of the past.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Where's the water?

This is what's left of Lake Grenada on the south end. The sailboat in the distance is stranded. It will take many inches of rain to bring the water level up to dam-worthy depth.

We drove across the dam and spotted a pickup truck out in what used to be the lake parked on an old stretch of highway that is supposed to be under water. Off to their right are blocks in a square formation, probably the foundation of a house. Do you suppose they were reminiscing about the Thanksgivings they spent there?

Pray for rain.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Three-thirty zippers

The bed shook. Earthquake?
"Daddy," Brett called, "It's time to get up. It's 3:30. Come on." Moan from prone.
I nudged and prodded his weary, 2-hrs. of sleep body.
Zip the scent-blocked slacks. Zip the down jacket. Zip the shaving kit. Zip the suitcase. Drive sixty miles. Haul the Sweet Baby Ray's barbecued pork sandwiches, potted meat, Vienna sausages and crackers up into the deer stand. Wait. Wait.
Full moon. Too warm. Deer not moving. Didn't see any. Better when it's cold and nasty.

They're on their way home. Reverse Zips. Bet they sleep in.
It's Uncle Ben's deep-fried turkey for dinner tomorrow, our Thanksgiving.

Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Closing the Nebraska chapter of my life.

There's an old Scottish hymn that explains my leaving. "Will you come and follow me, if I but call your name? Will you go where you don't know and never be the same? Will you let my name be known? Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?"

Many, many years ago I said, "Thy Will be done." It has taken me places I never dreamed of and made friends I never would have met. I've provided services and been provided for in ways I could not have imagined.

John, from Mississippi, showed up at my door unannounced, and I knew I was headed south. I just knew. That was ten years ago. If I didn't get clear intuitive messages, I could not have pulled up stakes and left, but I know that I know it is Thy Will.

In meditation this past July, I was advised to put a "For Sale" sign in my yard before noon Saturday. There were boxes everywhere, almost ordered chaos that went against house showing advice. Thy Will, truth, defies logic.

I continued to sort, sell, box and donate from over a hundred years and four generations of family. The Library was beneficary to hundreds of books. Anything I could replace, I gave up. Actually, I paid ahead. I gave so I can receive. What goes around comes around.

A beautiful Sat. morning dawned. I walked to the hardware store early. They had for sale signs but nothing to hold them in. None at the First Street store either. It was approaching eleven, and my stomach was tying in knots. Diane picked me up. Chris bolted my signs to her metal real estate frame. Just before noon I placed it. My heart in my throat, I went into the house and sobbed. Surrendering my will wasn't easy.

A couple of days later I showed it and liked the couple right off. They'd been in town five days. She and I have so many similar interests, it was like looking at myself at that age. She loves the bones of the house and the happy energy. I didn't mind leaving it with them. I gave up a house and gained dear friends.

It was hardest for Aja. "Why do you have to leave?" she pleaded.
If I said it was God's will she might be angry with God. "I will be back." So help me God. "We are forever friends."
She nodded. "Will you visit my school?"
"Yes, and Ryker's." I talked to their parents before I made a promise. "After school, we'll go grocery shopping, take it to your house and fix supper for your family." It gives each of us something to look forward to, and we love to create in the kitchen.
"When are you coming?"
"I'll be back before Christmas." She was placated.

Ryker is glad to have another boy in the neighborhood. It's been all girls all his life: eight years. And Alec is in his grade.

Aja came to the door when the new owners and I were the kitchen. "Aja this is Brandi, and she likes to cook."
Aja looked up into her big brown eyes, "Can I cook with you?"
"Sure."
I can go now.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

I-just-want-a-driver's-license saga

My maternal grandparents, my parents and I have always licensed our vehicles in Saunders County. Grandpa was among the first to have tags on a vehicle when tagging originated.

Today I went to get a MS driver's license. The clerk said, "First you need car tags."

At the Court House I heard, "You need to bring in the title." Luckily I knew where it was. She took my money and kept my title to send to the Capital. It will be researched, to be sure it's mine (12 yrs.)and sent back to me weeks from now. I hadn't planned to sell it anyway.

'PAT 960' is my new tag for just the back of my car. MS doesn't tag both ends. It has a lighthouse on it for the coast and in memory of Katrina victims. It's pretty with the red sunset on the Gulf.

At the License Bureau I happily produced the tag info, my driver's license and social security card. "Your name is not the same on both." Crap! "You will need to take your marriage license and card to a SS office to get a new social security card and come back." This isn't New York City! I bit my tongue and kindly wished her a nice day.

I don't remember the last time I saw my marriage license. Who would have thought I'd need it after thirty-six years and Leonard dead thirteen of them? $37 later I have a certified copy coming. I pray I wrote everything right so they can find it, and it gets here before I need to change my insurance.

Explaining my frustration to Uncle Ben he shook his head, pointed at me and cautioned, "Be careful now, you hear. You could get opticalrectitis."
Naive me, "What's that?"
"A shitty attitude."
I'm close.

Since I will have to go to the SS office in Grenada, I might as well stop at Wall's overstock store. That's a happy thought. The last time I was there with a friend who found linen sheets, and I found cashmere sweaters. It's the only retail store I've ever been in where we were 'told' to put the clothes we didn't buy back on the rack. So much for order.

I'd close this chapter with something profound, but I don't think I can top Uncle Ben.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series