Grand Slam Communication
I took a Buzzfeed quiz to see which Roman goddess I am.
I got Venus, Goddess of Love.
I feel like Buzzfeed doesn’t even know me.
I should have gotten Goddess of Apathy.
Or maybe Goddess of Meh.
Venus just sounds like so much effort.
And way too much drama.
Maybe I could repurpose my new role.
I could be Venus, Goddess of Love of Guacamole.
Now there’s some drama I could sink my teeth into.
At a recent Toastmasters meeting, the Grammarian pointed out that sometimes the best way to make a clear point is to use bad grammar.
Yup
One time I gave a humorous presentation at a Toastmasters meeting.
Afterwards, a fellow Toastmaster pulled me aside and urgently pointed out that I had used sloppy grammar.
This person was surprised and a little offended because I am an English teacher, a writer, and an editor, and I should know better.
Well duh.
It was done strategically.
Perfect grammar would have been incongruous in a comedy about Fireball.
Grammar standards and whiskey shots just don’t go together.
There’s a time and a place for everything.
Sometimes bad grammar is the best way to make a particular point.
Ain’t that the truth!
The Grown Son has been on a roll.
An obnoxious, foul-tempered, door-slamming roll.
I finally had enough.
“Don’t be such a little d**k,” I snarled.
He was shocked.
I don’t know what insulted him more.
The “little,” or the “d**k,” or the fact that these particular words came from his mother.
He reined it in.
But he was still mad.
For several days.
This morning, however, he took the garbage out without being asked, and he graced me with a smile.
This just goes to show that sometimes nothing is quite as effective as a scathing insult.
Blackberries start out as a white flower.
Then they turn into green berries, and then red berries and then, finally, blackberries.
Every day I go out with a huge bowl to pick the ripe ones.
Every day there are tons and tons of red berries and green berries and white flowers waiting their turn.
Is this ever going to end?
This year’s new growth, which will produce next year’s fruit, is already bigger than the established plants.
I’m afraid I’ve created a monster.
I am remembering the apple tree scene from The Wizard of Oz.
I hope my blackberries don’t rise up against me like those apple trees did.
I’ll keep the pruning shears handy just in case.
Today is National Best Friends Day.
That means it’s a day to celebrate Wrigley.
Wrigley is the Best Friend Ever.
I know I’ve said that about every dog I’ve ever had, but this time it’s true.
Wrigley doesn’t bark, she doesn’t chew, and she doesn’t dig.
And she doesn’t shed.
She does snuggle, and she’s very, very, very cute and sweet.
She’s also very chill.
She loves a walk, but if you don’t have time, she’s just as happy to take a nap.
The downside is that she’s not a very good watchdog.
“Take whatever you want but please be quiet because I’m trying to sleep,” is what I imagine she would say to any bad guys.
It’s a good thing we’ve never had to test that out.
Happy National Best Friends Day Wrigley!
When we left California, I was sad to leave my peach tree behind.
I knew I would miss the heavenly smell of the peach jam that I would prepare every summer.
However, blackberries grow very well here in Texas.
And who knew?
Blackberries are so much easier to work with than peaches because you don’t have to peel and pit them.
I feel a little bit Little House on the Prairie with all of this talk about blackberry jam.
Technically, I do live in a little house, and I do live on the prairie.
But I am very happy to say that I do not own a sunbonnet.
I wore my Dodgers cap and yoga pants to go berrying.
My clothes would have scandalized Laura’s Ma.
That makes me fabulous instead of dorky.
Right?
I bought a green screen that attaches to the back of the chair.
I had nothing but problems.
I watched some YouTube videos and fixed most of the issues.
But I couldn’t get my camera settings adjusted properly.
I called the Grown Son in for assistance.
He was very helpful.
Not.
“Your camera sucks,” was his assessment.
Is there a YouTube video for that?
I want all the details!
I met a woman briefly on a Zoom call.
She said that her husband had been a priest for 20 years.
He left the church for her.
And then she disappeared from the meeting.
I didn’t even catch her name.
But I want to hear what happened.
It’s The Thorn Birds meets Fleabag.
Kind of.
Come back, Lady, COME BACK!
I want all the details!
I am working a volunteer event at the Humane Society next week.
I’m doing it as a favor to a friend.
I made him promise that I wouldn’t be sent home with a new dog.
My Wrigley is getting on in years.
It would be cruel to bring home her replacement.
And make her train it.
I’ve always rescued my dogs.
I’ll rescue again.
But not right now.
What is wrong with the ants in Texas?
I doused the bathroom with Raid yesterday.
Today there are still ants.
But they are not in a trail.
There is no rhyme or reason.
They were on the wall, they were in the sink, they were in a cabinet.
In California, the ants form a trail.
All you have to do is follow the trail to see where they are coming from, and then treat that area.
When you use bug spray in California, the next day there will be piles of dead ants.
There were no dead bugs in my bathroom today.
These Texas fire ants are seriously messing with me.
I think their mission is to have me use so much Raid that I poison myself.
I can only imagine their ant joy when I finally collapse from the fumes of my own bug spray.
Then they will march in and bite me, keeping me just barely alive.
So they can watch me suffer.
I was really hoping for a more dignified ending.
Stupid ants.