Went out for dinner with Evelyn tonight to a rather nice local Mexican restaurant, Acapulco. Meal was fine but I had not one but two Margaritas. Knocked me on my ass. I knew, even after the first one, that’s I’d be sound asleep 30 minutes after we got home . . . and that’s exactly what happened. Just now got up at 10:45pm. Suppose I’ll be up half the night now.
Paper is doing well what with all the political advertising. Published my endorsements yesterday and, so far, have not heard all that much screeching and howling. Perhaps I reflect my reader’s thinking?
Did a cover story on SAR (Search and Rescue) this week; Houdini, next week (he died on Halloween so it seemed an appropriate date) . . . and I have Roy Orbison scheduled for November 4th by that fantastic writer, Kent Ballard. Anxious to read it.
Had a lady call today from Imperial Valley, CA. Desert Country, only 60 miles away from Yuma, Arizona, and our own, beloved, beautiful bombshell, Vicki Henderson Gehringer, the world famous Benson Bunny from Omaha, Nebraska (which is, last time I looked, somewhere in the Midwest).
She and her hubby stayed at a hotel in Oceanside, CA., and picked up a copy of “The Last Flight.” She read it to her hubby as he drove home. He had to pull over to the side of the road because his eyes teared up so badly. She wanted to have me mail her 20 copies. They’ll go out in the mail tomorrow. Glad I kept a fair number of the surplus copies as I reckon I’ll have a lot of other folks who want to get copies. If they come by the house to pick them up, there’s no charge. If we have to mail them we charge $1 for the first copy and $0.50 for each additional copy, which just about covers the postage. Kent Ballard has developed quite a following and I expect many more stories from him.
Nothing earth shattering going on here. My sciatica is almost in full remission. Very little pain, can walk quite comfortably and have begun taking Trixie on longer and longer walks, with no ill effects on lower back, hip, thigh, or calf. Really is nice to finally be pain-free. Knock on wood. That was more painful that when I had kidney stones about five or six years ago . . . and it hung around for about five or six weeks. I guess sometimes we have to feel ill and/or hurt, in order to really appreciate good health.
I appreciate it, believe me.
Another of Kent’s admirers, an older gal, called the other day. (Translation: Older gal – probably over 40). Initially, she wanted to talk about “The Last Flight,” but she talked a good deal more about a number of other things. One thing she said I latched on to and am gonna claim it as an original thought of my own. One of those profound things that someone says that kinda sticks with you. She was talking about traveling, sharing her possessions with others . . . and she said, “y’know, when that hearse pulls away from the curb, it don’t have no U-Hail trailer behind it.” (Grammatical errors and all, that’s what she said. And she’s right. You can’t take it with you).
Knowing that, I suppose I ought to start spending some of the money mom and dad left me when they died. But, I’m a tightfisted ol’ skinflint and I just don’t like to spend money. Plus, I don’t know what I’d spend it on. I don’t particularly care to travel; pretty much got that out of my system. Don’t give a hoot about jewelry or fine clothes. Clothes wouldn’t fit long anyway because, you see, I’ll probably lose about 50 lbs in the next three months . . . and just think of all that money I wasted on those new clothes.
(Probably ain’t gonna happen. I ain’t losing weight. Ain’t gaining either. At age 72, which I’ll be in about 10 or so days (November 4th) I’m pretty set in my ways.)
Owned 72 boats when I owned Lyle’s at Dixon Lake so buying a boat is not attractive to me. Too damned old to spend it on chasing wild, wild women. Seldom drink, so I can’t drink it away.
Perhaps I’ll just start taking nice long weekend trips with Evelyn, but keep it local, so we don’t have to do a lot of traveling. We really, really enjoyed our week at our Tamarack Beach Resort in Carlsbad, on the beach. Evelyn’s son, Marty, lives in Carlsbad so we could drop Trixie off there and she played well with Klyde, Marty’s dog . . . and we’d get to go visit her. Meantime, it’s not a bad life, just watching the waves come in . . . and listening as they pound on the shoreline. Seems like Evelyn and I settled down very nicely and comfortably in that all too short of a period. So, maybe that’s the answer . . . to start taking local, mini-vacations. San Diego, Santa Barbara, Orange County . . . maybe San Francisco.
I don’t go to Mexico anymore. Too damn many crazy people killing other people. However, that lateral incisor (one of my front teeth) that broke off, needs so be pulled and a tooth implant put in. $3000, minimum, My friends at the Computer Factory said you can get the same thing in Tijuana, Baja, Mexico, for $300-$500 and with a good dentist. They go all the time. So, I may make an exception.
I doubt Evelyn would go with me. Don’t think she likes Mexico anymore than I do.
I’ve told Evelyn I’ve changed my mind and don’t want to go to Geneva, Switzerland next year, to the International Kiwanis Convention. Too long of a trip, about 12-15 hours in the air . . . and I really don’t want to be away from Trixie for that long. She’s the daughter I never had and I find I really miss her, even when we’re just out to a restaurant. Can’t wait to get home and love on her . . . and to receive her love back. It’s laughable, though. She heads like a shot right for Evelyn, whimpering, jumping up and down, giving Evelyn kiss after kiss, after kiss. Only after Evelyn has been properly welcomed does she come running to me and then bestow the same favors on me. The little shit. She is pampered terribly . . . and I think she knows that she found a very loving home. I hate to think of what would have become of her had Tim Cunning not rescued her from running about in the streets. She was, maybe, 8 weeks old at the time.
As she has grown (she’s probably a whole 12 lbs by now) I’ve changed my thinking as to her breed. Initially, we thought she was part chihuaha and part dachshund or beagle. But she is now too large to be a chihuaha . . . and she no longer really looks like a chihuaha. I thinks she’s mostly a terrier mix of some type.
Trixie seems to have a fetish for Evelyn’s lingerie. The other day, while Evelyn was out running errands, I walked out to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea. There was one of Evelyn’s white bras on the family room floor. I picked it up, walked back to the bedroom to put it away and there was another white bra, on the floor of the bedroom. I glared at her and said, “Mommy’s not gonna like you playing with her undergarments!” About 20 minutes later, seated back at my desk in my palatial office, I hear Trixie trotting into the office, with a black bra in her mouth. I laughed out loud, took it away from her, gave her another stern lecture, and put it back where it belonged.
The other reason I don’t want to go to Geneva is that Evelyn and I get along very, very well. We seldom fight. Except when we travel. It may be my fault. I tend to get short tempered when we travel. If things don’t go just the right way, I’m probably a pretty difficult character to live with. I care too much about Evelyn to put us in any kind of pressure cooker. She, of course, is welcome to go to Geneva if she wishes. She’ll have a grand time, being with all the other Kiwanians. She likes Conventions, I hate ‘em. She likes to get all gussied up, I don’t. My idea of formal wear is my Birkenstock sandals, a comfortable pair of shorts, a polo shirt, and, if cold, a warm jacket and pair of gloves.
I’m quite content to stay at home with my pup and Evelyn’s cats. We have a housekeeper who comes in and takes care of the cats and cleans the litter boxes and all. I can feed them, I don’t mind that. Also, I’m a pretty decent cook and will be quite well fed while Evelyn is gone. Not nearly as well fed as when she’s here . . . but still, I reckon I’ll get by.
And that’s all the latest news from Lake Woebegone. Hope all is well in your neck of the woods.