Sonic Ice

I wonder what the deal is with Sonic ice? I love it. I love it so much that I HAVE to stop at Sonic whenever I go to town. My favorite drink is a Coke, but when I'm especially virtuous I'll get water, and it even makes the water better. Is it just that it's crushed? It seems to get the liquids colder than the ice at other places.

They've made it easier to feed my habit too. These days I'm never hampered by the lack of cash in my purse. I keep a fully loaded My Sonic card!

I'm not the only person who feels this way. Some of my friends are as addicted to it as I am. One of my out-of-state friends calls me when she's at her local Sonic...it's a bonding thing with us. And on a recent road trip with another friend, we planned our gas stops by the proximity to Sonics. And it's not the food. Nobody I know really likes the food there, just the drinks!

We're not alone. The last time I visited my doctor, she asked about my soda consumption. I told her, "I don't drink a lot of soda, because I don't keep it at home. I only have a coke when I go to town, and then I have to have a Coke from Sonic". A very exasperated look came over her face, and she said, "I hear that all the time! What is so special about Sonic?" I told her it's the ice.

And my husband is an enabler. I don't even have to bring it up anymore, he just pulls in and orders. I love him...him and that darn Sonic ice.

Raining, Cats, and Dogs

Raining. The remnant of Dolly has brought us some much needed rain today! The arbitrary storms rain down both burden and benefit. I pray for those suffering damages and ill effects from her. Having grown up on the coast, I know well the preparation, emotion, and aftermath the gulf storms trigger. I remember being in our turn-of-the-20th-century house, dark with its boarded up windows, listening to the tempest rage just on the other side of the walls; trying to concentrate on reading, by flashlight or kerosene lamp if necessary; following Daddy outside when it was over into a daylight that seemed eery and a landscape that seemed eerily altered. Those memories of emergence always make me think of butterflies and baby birds escaping their confines into a strange new atmosphere.

Cats. I have a friend who is a crazy cat lady. I call her this with the utmost affection. I don't dislike cats...we keep quite a few 'working' barn cats that I can get attached to, but I do not invite them into our home (unlike the crazy cat lady who has a dozen or so). I was driving with the CCL late last night, and on the edge of a dark, narrow country road suddenly appeared a muddle of kittens. She cried out, 'KIT-tens, Kathleen! KIT-tens!" with such alarm that I had to fight to maintain my concentration on the job at hand, namely avoiding the scattering mass of furry little creatures without rolling my car again! With luck (and skill) I managed to avoid injury to both (wo)man and beast. Today I am feeling proud of myself for having regained my driving nerve and successfully avoiding more pain, injury, and loss. That the kittens were spared was a nice plus, but saving her hide and mine was definitely the first priority, and I'm not apologizing for it.

and

Dogs. We have a big yard. Today it is a big muddy yard. We have big dogs. Today they are big muddy dogs. One is a German Shepherd, and one is a Chesapeake Bay Retriever. The shepherd was s-l-o-w to mature. For the first couple of years, she thought her name was 'dammit.' I used to joke with the vet that either she needed Ritalin or I needed Prozac. Thankfully, she has grown into a great dog. The retriever is still young. And he's pretty well behaved except for chewing up things...garden hoses...tree limbs...porch railings. Yes, we do give him safe things to chew, but he's like a beaver. I recently bought a pair of Adirondack chairs, and to safeguard them, I put them in a separate part of the yard and closed the gate. Then Jared's dog, Spike, came to visit for awhile (until Jared gets his fence repaired) and had to occupy that portion of the yard. Spike promptly began snacking on my new chairs' arms. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr. The chairs are now in the barn for awhile. Outdoor seating is nice to have. Dogs are essential.

Birthday Pie

Chandler and Bobby are at sleep-away camp. Diego got left behind by age requirement, so his Papa wanted to do something special with him while they were gone. Carey's been wanting to go see a Ranger's game for a long time, so we checked and were happy to find that this weekend was a home game. And happily, it coincided with Jared's birthday, so the three of them made it a guys' celebration weekend. Unfortunately, the Rangers lost, but it was a good game.

They are due back this afternoon, dropping Diego back at home on the way, and I have Jared's favorite frozen pie in the freezer. He likes it better than birthday cake, and I like that it's so much easier than birthday cake! I'm going to include the recipe here, because I know of at least one bloggee who may need it.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Pie
1 1/2 cups cold milk
1 package (4 serving size) JELL-O Instant Chocolate Pudding
1 8oz. container COOL WHIP, thawed
1 cup chopped Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
1 packaged chocolate crumb crust

Mix milk and pudding with whisk till well blended. Fold in COOL WHIP, then chopped peanut butter cups. Spoon into crust. Top with a few more chopped peanut butter cups if desired. Freeze until firm, about 6 hours or overnight. Remove from freezer and let stand ten minutes to soften before serving. Store any left over pie in the freezer.

Actually I have two in the freezer. One to cut and enjoy with Jared, and one for him to take home and enjoy later. He always appreciates that second one.

He's half my age this year. We were talking about that a week or so ago, and I told him I remembered how old it seemed to think of yourself as a quarter century old. He said, probably not as old as half a century seems, huh? Ah, my little wisecracker has such a droll sense of humor.

And so, then, do I

A dove flies over
in summer's hot azure sky.
It coos a high coo.

Jesus is in the oven

Is there anything more delightful than watching a child trying to figure out the world? You know, when they listen to what we say, and use their limited vocabulary to try to filter out the meaning, and then form beliefs based on their understanding?

Today we were at Kasey's, and she told me about a conversation she had with Caitlyn recently. On their back porch is a rocking chair that belonged to Beau's grandfather, Peepaw. A few days ago they were outside, and Caitlyn started a conversation with, "This is Peepaw's chair, right?"

"That's right," Kasey told her.

"Peepaw's in the oven."

"No, honey, Peepaw is in Heaven."

"Oh," said Caitlyn, wheels turning. "He's with Jesus. Jesus is in the oven."

"No, Caitlyn, not the oven--Heaven. Jesus is in Heaven."

"Oh," said Caitlyn.

Kasey and I laughed, and basked in the enchantment of loving a three year old.

Later in the afternoon, I was playing with the girls; and I smiled again, remembering. And I wondered if Caitlyn had gotten things sorted out, so I asked, "Caitlyn, where's Jesus?"

Her wide, innocent eyes looked up into mine, and she said, "He's in Heaven...in the refrigerator."

Baby steps. Precious baby steps.

Basic Black

Back to the hand specialist today, and another new cast. Number four. But who's counting?

I opted for a black one today. First one was hot pink, then flourescent yellow, then purple. I've decided that basic black would not clash with whatever I choose to wear. Of course, while they were putting it on, another patient walked through the casting room with a camouflage one, and I wished I had known that was an option before I made my decision! Not really my style, but I would have loved to see Carey's face if I had walked in with one of those!

Ex-ray looked better today. They have the coolest digital ex-ray machine where the image shows instantly on a computer monitor, even as you're moving. Even I could recognize the changes in new bone growth today. Doc said that it would never look like my other hand...the knuckle won't line up with the others...but he doesn't think it needs surgery. That's okay with me. It's our differences that make us memorable.

That's why I can picture my dad's hands. He had nice hands. But I might not have had a reason to study them as I did if he hadn't had the accident that almost took off his little finger, leaving it forever bent and reddened. And now I can picture his hands clearly, folded on the table holding a cigarette, or dealing a hand of solitaire, or signing his name...he always waved the pen point back and forth over the paper before making contact and starting his signature.

So I'm not pouting about still being in a cast these days. Everything takes a little longer and is a little clumsier, but I'm adapting, and being more patient. And I hope that someday the kids picture my hands with the asymetrical knuckle and the little star-shaped scar. And I hope they remember them playing jacks or Hi-Ho-Cherry-O on the floor with them, and baking them cupcakes, and braiding their hair.