Sunday, July 25, 2010

20 minutes or it's free

This week I'm not cooking.

My back hurts and it hurts enough to have me telephone the chiropractor out of the blue at 1 in the afternoon on a Friday. I know that the man isn't there but I was hoping against the odds he'd pick up the phone and say, "Sure come on in and I'll fix you right up".
I start dialing his number and his recorded answering service picks up, "Hello you've reached Dr....and I'm either with a client or unavailable at this time. My hours are M-Thursday...please leave your name and number and I'll return your call at my earliest convenience"

The blinds are drawn tight, I'm laying in the darkness stretched halfway across the bed while on my stomach and my legs hang over the edge. Only a shirt on, my bare ass out and my face smashed into one arm that's curled into a makeshift pillow, tears streaking the sheets that are below my fisted hand and I hiccup a sad 'oh well' and click 'End' after leaving my message to him.

"This is Rebekah, if there's any chance that you are in the office today and have a moment to fit me in would possibly save my life!"
leaving a message is basically fruitless if you ask me, but I'm going to do it because I think that something positive has to come out of the day.

There is something about me that drives my husband bonkers; I won't get medical assistance until I'm an ounce away from death or suicide. The moment I do telephone the chiropractor, the massage therapist, the physician or go to the E.R for something it means I've finally allowed myself to accept help and stop suffering needlessly (some sick part of me thinks I deserve it I suppose).

Massage therapy and chiropractic work are excruciatingly painful to me but they result in removing toxins, poor alignment and give me a little bit of relief even if it's short term.
I sure would like to enjoy a massage like other people do instead of laying there and feeling like someone is gouging/drilling me with burning hot screws/nails and hammers. Isn't it supposed to be relaxing?

The call ended and I lay sobbing quietly on the bed. The husband was still home for lunch and getting ready to return to work when the phone's the CHIROPRACTOR!
I love you I love you I love you
He said that my call was cut off and my message didn't even come through past me saying hello but he has caller I.D He had stopped in to get some paperwork finished before starting his weekend, was curious who was calling with the out of area phone number - WOOHOO lucky me!

How soon could I get there?
20 minutes I practically sing, he said that worked fine for him.

I popped off that bed as fast as I could, a streak of white skin flashing past the bed as I yanked my nightgown off. Into the shower I jump holding my toothbrush and tube of paste in my hands, while cold water is gushing out of the fixture I twirl daintily in a circle to wet myself all the while scrubbing away at my teeth.

Difficult to brush when you are also gritting your teeth against the cold but I had to do double duty in order to actually get there in 20 minutes, I don't know why I said 20 when it takes 20 to get there not counting the time to pull on shoes and lock the house up!?!

My husband says, "what are you doing!?" I said, "I gotta wash my stank-crack." It's bad enough that I continually go in to see this poor guy with hairy legs and scaly feet every visit, the least I could do is make sure I don't have a crusty butt-crack.

I've squeezed a blob of pleasantly scented body wash into one paw (tossed the toothbrush up onto the soap rack) and start lathering away making sure to get into all of my naughty spots. Twirl, rub, rinse and twirl. It doesn't take but 5 minutes to be fully washed and I'm out and yanking on track pants and a t-shirt.

Shut up about the track pants or I'll poke your eye out.

There's no way in Hell I can get a bra on because the reach around is making my entire back go into spasms. I never wear drawers so this makes for an instantly dressed situation.
Sunglasses & sandals on and a bottled water tossed into my bag, I practically skip (now when I say twirl, dance and skip - You know I'm talking about moves you'd see a newborn baby colt trying to make) to the door and am met at the curb by the husband with the car running and air conditioning blasting. (freaking 100 degree Texas day)

We race to the office where the Dr. is waiting for me, looking patient but I can tell he is wondering what happened to 'be there in 20 minutes' (its almost been 30!).
He guides me into the procedure room and the crazy contraption 'bump table' that he uses. This this see-saws you up and down, pulling you this way and that. I feel like a fat wad of taffy laying on there face down, huffing and puffing with exertion as it yanks me farther than I want to stretch.

While I'm bouncing around he runs his hands along my back, down my thighs and down to my feet and takes measure of how far 'off' I am. This is the first guy I've ever met that is so thorough and he actually makes a difference (even if I think the table is whack).
He returns to my side and starts manipulating me, POW....BANG and little explosions go off in my body as each vertebrae are realigned. He can't take care of the muscle spasms but at least I'm not crooked over like Old Mother Hubbard.

After flipping me onto my back and then doing this interesting move where he has me fold my arms over and hug myself, he leans in on me, rolls me slightly towards him and gives me a bear squeeze.

I told him that I felt like I was a bag of dry pasta being smashed.

He said that he's never heard that description before!

At the finality of this visit I wonder to myself...why didn't I go earlier? I don't have an answer to that. I tell him that I'll call early next week and reschedule but I know that I probably won't.
Who knows, maybe I will...who knows.

My consort taxied me back home where I fell back into the bed, closed my eyes and slept heavily for a couple of hours nearly pain free. lights off, windows shut, sound machine running on 'Summer Night'..I am oblivious to everything and resting which is so rare for me.

When I awoke ...I was HUNGRY and I decided that I was not going to cook and I demanded that I be taken out to dinner in style. . .

to be continued

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Hot snot sundae with a booger on top

Not one to give a real rat's ass about my appearance I really don't spend a lot of time primping in the mirror. If all of them were covered with newspaper it would probably take me a few days before I decided to have a peek.

I own 1 tube of mascara, maybe will put it on a half dozen times before the year is up and then toss it out. There are some other miscellaneous beauty supplies but I find them troublesome and not worth a lot of effort.

Long ago there was a boy that I had a super monstrous crush on. My older brother unwittingly introduced us when I was a tender age of 12-13 years old.

He was a unique young man (you might say a nerd) a few years older than I was. The fact that he'd have anything to do with me was simply an astonishing, I felt gifted.
We would get together and hang out with his friends. Most of the time I'd just sit in awe as they tapped away on keyboards, using false steering wheels and bopping about joysticks while playing games and whatnot on their computers (can you imagine those dinosaurs from the mid-80s!?)

I came up with super romantic scenarios about how he would find a reason to stay alone with me for a little while and then ...brush his hand over hair to expose my green eyes and then lean in and kiss me tenderly on the lips.


Instead,he set me up with his friend who was a real fox, a real cocky punk that I soon fell head over heals with. Funny thing though, physically when I look back he still was never my type and I imagined him more like my 1st crush.

While dating Mr. Hottie I continued to think about that little wish, that secret kiss but he burst my balloon one weekend afternoon while we were loitering.

So many years later I'm not certain exactly how the conversation began but something that devastates us will stick in the farthest reaches of our psyche like glue. It is with us for a very long time, if not forever.

Just the 3 of us talking about nothing in particular when he leans in very close and we're just inches away from one another. (my mind is screaming KISS ME KISS ME KISS ME) His mouth so close to mine and then he looks me in the eyes and announces, "You know, you have beady little eyes that are close together - like a rat"!

My heart had been pounding in anticipation, my lips tingling and waiting for that touch and instead my insides turned into hot Jello and I wanted to run away in disappointment.


I was mortified that he likened me to a rodent, not just a rodent but a bubonic carrying vermin that was atrocious to look at! From that moment on I developed a self consciousness about certain parts of my appearance, not enough to make myself up like a clown to hide the ugly rather I've forced myself to accept what I've been given and believe that we all have a little beauty (even if it's not on the surface).

Ever since that day I've always thought my nose was too big, my eyes too small and my hair ...well, mousy.
My husband says to me frequently, "you have a cute nose" which only aggravates me because CUTE by definition is 'attractive, esp. in a dainty way; pleasingly pretty.'
Nothing 'dainty' about me.

Girls want to be told they are beautiful.
If you find us attractive, good - tell us we are beautiful but not cute. Cute is for puppies, toddlers and Pixar animation.

Now on to the thing that I do like about myself, I have great hair. Or, in certain neighborhood vernacular - Gurl, you's got gud hair.

Medium brown with highlights of red and gold, he (husband) once told me very early on in our dating ritual that it looked like it was touched by the sunset. It has a natural wave and I even get ridiculous Shirley Temple curls (in the right amount of humidity). It's abundant and grows like a weed and because of that I've always been able to do nutty things to express my personality and my rebellious nature.

You name the cut, the color, the length and even the type of braid style and I have tried it at least once.
I've kept it shoulder length or longer overall which receives accolades to it's loveliness.

Never occurred to me how lucky I was until a few years ago. After starting a new medication and then watching long clumps sticking to my fingers when combing conditioner through it in the shower I realized that the days of radical haircuts were long passed.

Before this thinning change I'd gone to stylists times and time over to chop it off from a pony tail then send it to the charity LOCKS OF LOVE.

3 years ago I spent time with my mother as she was losing her battle to cancer, during that visit with her I had an awful version of a faux-hawk. It was poorly received by friends and an agreement was made that I'd look like a 'girl' again and grow it out.
At the same time the husband was still shaving his own head completely bald. He would have to do the same for me!
He'd been shaving his head to resemble a cue-ball for too many years and I was tired of seeing my reflection off of his forehead.

It doesn't take long for the 'do to start growing. Like Jack watering the beanstalk it's started on an adventure of growth, quickly sprouting over my ears, to my throat, to my shoulders and now even after a haircut of an inch or so every 6-8 weeks it is midway down my back.

There are only a couple of luxuries I allow myself, going in for a wash and cut is one of them.
Not only are you getting the stress reducing friction of firm fingers scrubbing through your scalp, the warm water sluicing away the foamy suds but you get to have a few minutes with someone that spends that hour with you saying nice things to buoy your mood.

One other item I like to do while I'm there is reduce my resemblance to Fred Flintstone by having my eyebrows waxed. Torture really, not necessary if I were to just accept the way I look but when cleaned up (smiles) my eyes aren't so obviously ratty.
If someone else is doing it then that further reduces my need to look at myself in a mirror. The stylist cleans me up, jams a small mirror in my hands to which I only focus on my eyes and proclaim success or if further attention necessary.

Last month I decided I was tired of trimming other facial hair, oh man I'm definitely going there...nose hair. It's gross, right?
When it gets too long you look like you have a family of Daddy Long Legs trying to creep out of your nostrils.
Using tiny scissors and snipping away but never fully getting the results I want I finally decided that someone else was going to do this.
Guys do it at the barber why not me?

Asking the gal that takes care of me (whom by the way is a real doll!) if she's ever done nostrils? ...she takes on the challenge!

So here I am, pivoted back in the hair washing chair staring up into the ceiling while she readies her wee pot of hot wax. With a stick akin to a Popsicle, she pulls a glob of the goo up and twists it, rolls it into a workable ball and approaches my face like a sinister Tootsie Pop toting maniacal murderer.

(she's actually very serious and trying not to giggle because I'm stirring her up in my own nervous anticipation)

"Oh your nose is smaller than I thought", she says a breath after she's crammed this warm ball of wax into my booger shooter. The stick is hanging out, limp and half mast - laying fully on my pouting lip.

Here I am with a salon full of strangers, me kicked back into a less than comfortable position and a 4" wooden pick is lodged up my schnozz. She asks me to hold it steady so that it can dry while she finishes cleaning up the sticky from my caterpillar removal.

If it isn't dry when she tries to yank it out, none of the shorties are going to stick for immediate removal.

This wax feels like I've got a toddler's finger crammed all the way up my sinus! Lucky for me, I'm not a nose-breather and I can still inhale with my mouth - so far I'm not showing any real fear but reconsidering doing this stunt ever again.

A few moments pass into what feels like a short eternity, the wax has been proclaimed dry enough and with a count down of 3, 2, 1 (or shit was it 1..2...3) she gives a good yank!
I swear this is a stylists reaction each and every time - eyeballing and scrutinizing how much has actually STUCK to the wax and then peering back at the subject to re-address the new plan of attack.

When that ball of goop came popping out of my nose I almost felt like my head popped. A balloon had been pricked with a needle. PING! BAM!
Eyes welled up, watered..tears and I am pretty I swore like a sailor. She is apologetic and ready to clean up the rest and stop where she is but I say NO, finish it up.

Did I happen to mention that at least one young man/friend of hers came in to say hi to her while I was laying there? Tell you what, if I was self conscious I'd have been really disturbed but instead I just laughed and we went on to the next one.

Both caverns were picked at, mild success was had and I left pretty much pleased that I gave it a try.
It took me a little over a month to return and would you believe that today I had her try again?!
We had to stop with only half success on one side - my body temperature was proclaimed to be too damn hot and the wax wouldn't dry. The hot furnace of mucus kept melting the wax and made it impossible to complete the mission.

some people just never learn from their mistakes.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Adios to the porcelain chamber of misery

So we're getting ready to move out of Texas and head into the hurricane-zone of southern Louisiana.

Most would imagine that this is not a change that I look forward to, especially in light of my health conditions being exasperated by weather. The humidity alone might do me in!
Today we are expecting rain in central Texas and I woke up so stiff and in so much pain that I have been begging for relief to non-entities with higher powers, or to just strike me down and end the discomfort.

Neither has happened and I've been up and about for 3 hours, so I suppose it'll be a mega-dose Ibuprofen sort of day.

Step 1 was to empty our 'South' house (as we reference it) and gather everything we need for the mobilization onward! When you've been married for so many years and have had a hobby that gobbled up all of your income, you would be amazed at the amount of shit you can amass.

How is it that I suddenly have dozens of 'cat' related items that have been in boxes and bags and on shelves for all of this time and never truly put out for enjoyment?

I suspect part of it stems from the fact that the cats are absolute terrorists and everything and anything belongs to them as a plaything. 'Oh lookie, let me just bat that for a moment with my sweet little paw...' KABLAM SMASH CLANG
There goes that memento! So I suspect I bought, was given or acquired items along the way and just stored them for the future when we are finally settled in our forever (no more moving) home and I could put these articles into shadow boxes, curios and the like.

What happens after so much time being unseen is that the heart grows less fond and your tastes change with time. Therefore I found it necessary to purge myself of a great many of these items, if for anything to rid myself of the bad taste left from my separation from the hobby.
No one can remove my love of felines great and small but the riff-raff involved has definitely tainted my perspective.

Step 2 involved itemizing all of the items for a yard sale (see last blog) and what could be donated to needy causes. The cat trinkets can all be sold as far as I see it, homeless people don't need feline figures that double as coin banks.
Can you imagine that? Aimlessly wandering the streets while clutching a pink and blue paisley patterned pussycat while they stand on the corner with signage saying "Lost Job - need help", "I will work for food", "my cat is hungry, feed the kitty".

Now that the sale has come and gone I should be breathing a big sigh of relief, right? NO! Since we move so frequently we do not use cardboard boxes to pack. Nope, we have what appears to be a Container Store right here in our home.
If I went through and counted every single Rubbermaid storage box in the house I am not sure if I would be surprised or just overwhelmed. Blue, red, grey and even neon green...different colors for different types of items.

The sheer magnitude of kitchen items alone would shock most, but hey! I like to cook and to be fully covered no matter what direction my culinary skills might take me.
Sure, I know..I don't need 2 sets of pots and pans, but MAYBE..maybe I do. Of course I need 6 crockpots, don't you go and argue with me about this. They've come in handy and I've had as many as 4 going at once just this year alone. You just never know when a small party of hungry men from the husband's office need to be fed, crockpots make simple man-pleasing meals and keep them hot without using a nasty microwave. (sure to give you cancer!)

Now, I do intend to start tossing out all of the old beat up ladles, spoons and spatulas and I even intend on getting new flatware. The mishmosh of unmatched spoons, forks and butterknives can be aggravating when you are trying to lay out a table service for company.
Its just too bad that they can't be melted down and made into something amazing. (like a new crown to celebrate my majesty!)

So here we have it, boxes are getting stacked all the way up to my chin. While trying to maintain normal living conditions, this is definitely a chore. Not only does it look like a game of Tetris it has also become a jungle gym for the felines.

The sound of paws slamming down as they leap from stack to stack and then fly over to cat trees and scramble up onto the mantle is a bit deafening. These cats, bare as a baby's newborn bottom, are fearless and at times it sounds like we have a pack of mountain goats clomping around.
One of the worst noisemakers is a tiny 6.5 pound girl that announces her arrival, her departure and well..everything she's doing. She bays like a baby goat as well, meeeaaahhhhhooowww meeaaahhhoowww. Tossing her tiny body at you and rolling like a 'gator for headbutts and snuggles.

Part 3 is coming and I'm not quite looking forward to it but we'll eventually have to put all of this stuff onto a truck, drive 10 hours (yeah, its 8 by car and longer in a truck where you have to drive at lower rate of speed) and then try to figure out where all of it goes.
I know that a large portion is actually going right into storage because the house really isn't big enough for everything we own and the new house has all of the appliances! (SQWEEE!!)
That means that my 2 refrigerators will be taking a nap for 2 years in storage. We also have 2 sofas, 1 love seat and 1 recliner and the living space isn't going to allow for that.
We would be knocking ankles on every corner daily trying to maneuver around like an overcrowded chessboard all the while you shuffle your feet so as not to step on a cat(tail).

I'm imagining the mayhem of settling in with several cats, 3 dogs and a boatload of goodies into the new house.
Trying to make everything just-so, to make it 'home' is going to be fun, frustrating and a challenge all at the same time.

Wish me well because this is a difficult journey; one I look forward to. Getting out of this town, that I refer to as the 'toilet bowl of Texas' is going to help me regain my sanity.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Come back in 2 hours

People that entertain shopping at garage sales are in my opinion rabid hoarders, now and then you do have the person that is simply looking for a good deal on an item they need or would like. The majority are absolute freaks that plan out the entire weekend from the very moment the newspaper hits their porch, they tear into the print and start circling each advertisement fiendishly with their red markers and itemizing their attack with a chronologically efficient itinerary.

As my husband and I prepare for our 10th move in a little more than that many years we've come to terms that we really have too much shit. Seriously, we are ALL hoarders in some respect but we have to set ourselves onto a healthy course we must release ourselves from the bindings of material objects.
Enjoy them while you have them and when you stop using them and they sit stacked in closets, remain in boxes unseen for weeks, months ...years it's time to say goodbye and let your junk become someone's treasure.

A couple of weeks prior, I had packed a fat box of beautiful clothing and sent it off to my sister, she really needed a boost and it was my pleasure to help her. Over the years I'd picked up some rather nice items that I wore while doing the cat show circuit, but since I've quit that game I had all of these lovelies hanging in the closet with no where to wear them.
Well I could still wear them but I don't want the memories attached to them.

There are still more to dig through, other items that my mother would have called 'schmatta' or 'rags'. Everyone loves to wear certain things until they are practically falling right off of you. These old things bring you comfort and these are the ones that give you good memories.
My sister gave me a shirt 13 years ago that I still have and absolutely love, wear frequently and doubt I'll ever let it go even though it should have been burned ages past.

Preparing for our very first yard/garage sale was quite the undertaking. It was overwhelming to say in the least because we have 2 households that are 6 hours apart round-trip and the majority of the goodies to sell were in the farther away home but we wanted to hold the event in the current homestead.
Seeing how we needed to get everything out anyhow it required the rental of an enormous rental truck and 2.5 days of blood, sweat and tears ...the husband's tears because I could not participate in the travel.

When he returned loaded down, eyes bleary from little to no sleep and smelling of day old B.O. I swiftly fed him a hearty breakfast of eggs and flapjacks and tucked him into bed for a few hours of sleep before we tackled the chore of figuring out which of our possessions would become someone's new prize and which would continue to lend a helping hand in our lives.

This didn't happen overnight mind you, it seems that we have to reminisce over everything we touch and weigh the needs against the wants. Processing those can be heavy on your mind. I once considered myself to be pretty much a non-materialistic person but have found with aging that we begin to have dependency on the good things in life.

For starters, gadgets are fun.
Duplicates of kitchen items are nice to have also.
I am especially fond of cooking but seriously, I don't think in the long run I need to have 4 colanders or 100 unmatched forks and spoons.
All of the trinkets and ridiculous tchotchke's that I have never even put out for decoration will all have to go. Why did I even pick this crap up? Dust collecting is all it's good for and as far as I'm concerned it can all go to the first little old lady that squeals like a 6 year old when they see it gleam in the early morning light.

We spend several evenings doing this, unpacking a box and blowing off the cobwebs and polishing what we didn't consider a turd. Keep? don't keep? Donate? wipe, assess and then price with a sticker and into a new box.
After each new box was filled to capacity we'd close it up and label "SELL" and shove it into a corner which was quickly looking like Mount St. Helen's and I beseech that it does not topple over in a loud bang along with the clatter and clash of glass smashing.
Not to be outdone, we have cat helpers jumping around and getting on every flat surface bumping into items and ...eventually breaking some of the items we would have sold.
Get pissed about it? no, because that's one less thing to have to worry about haggling and barter and will just go into the recycle bin. Accidents happen and you can never stay angry at a purring bundle of joy.

The weekend is coming and I've placed our announcement in the newspaper, it's a holiday weekend and from all that I've read about sales this is supposed to be beneficial to us because people are home (I guess).
The night before we frantically put together the last few items and find out from the weather channel that the weekend will be hot and wet, lucky us..Good thing I've thought ahead and purchased a pair of canopy's for the situation so that we are covered come rain or shine.
I don't believe in rescheduling because of a few sprinkles and there is little time left for my shit to go bye-bye before we pack another truck and move along to our next abode.

Up go the trusses and we stretch the canopy over the skeleton making a fast shelter for our junk. We line up the pair of these horizontally with the garage and then set out the tables which we've absconded from the husband's office for our weekend usage. what a coup to have these on hand instead or borrowing or renting from other people, or worse yet - rigging up temporary tables from pallets and stacked boxes.

The heat is downright nasty to work in and I'm dreading the following morning which will begin at 5:00 (the sale advertised for 8:00) so we both try to climb into bed for an early evening nap after dinner on Friday evening. No sooner have I shut my eyes than I hear a pounding and ringing of my doorbell.
Who might this be?
Sometimes the neighbor children kick over a ball into the yard and they ring but they never beat with such a tempo on my door to create a racket like this. This is deafening and I'm becoming incensed because my slumber has been disturbed and they have not stopped, seriously - a few knocks and rings are more than enough to alert a person that you are at the door.

Rubbing my eyes I open the door to find a non-English speaking man and a young child waiting there for me and the kid says, "You have furniture for sale?"
I said, "are you kidding me? the sale is tomorrow, go away you are rude"

WTF I cannot believe someone has come to my door 13 hours before we would even be beginning and try to buy things. No I am not going to stand for that and I'm not going to stand there and talk to you and let you come in and get a look at everything we have so you can make me offers early.

Back to bed I go, but I can't fall asleep right away because I'm so pissed off by this interruption. The knocking and banging on my door must have gone on for a full 3 minutes before I went to answer it. As a home owner I don't feel its necessary to always answer my door nor my phone, my solitude is paramount to me and unless I hear sirens I could care less about what's happening in the world unless I pursue it.
The knocking that kept going on though, that finally had me out of my bed to see what the commotion was about and for me to get up through my exhaustion and pain only to be confronted with this bullshit left me madder than a wet hen.

I finally did calm down and rested for about an hour to get up and start all over again and I worked all the way through the night, the husband was able to put in almost 4 hours of sleep. I knew that I would end up crashing and burning before the day was through but that's how I tend to roll.

Out into the pre-dawn light I bring out my boxes and start placing items onto tables, the humidity so high that sweat is rolling off of me in rivers. There's no feminine beading on my brow, I'm soaked to the bone by 6:00 and by then the man has come out and is hauling the bigger items of furniture on a dolly into the garage from our living room.
we are quietly working and I look up to see a car has pulled in front of the house. Here comes a woman onto our lawn at 6:15!

She starts with, "what else do you have?" and I SNAP!
Look lady, the sale is posted at 8 a.m. and you are 2 hours early - you can come back then because there are no early sales!

She eyeballed our tables and inside the garage area where he was working and then trounced off in a huff, we never did see her again that morning. No skin off my knuckles if you ask me because I found out by 10 a.m. that all of the early people are the ones that come with coin purses only.

Several cars were circling the house by 6:45 and they just converged onto us en masse. Instead of cockroaches scurrying away when you turn on the lights, these attacked when the sun came up. There was no way I could start barking at the 20 people that showed up and walked across the grass at this hour and it was just going to have to be the beginning of our day whether we were ready or not.

Let the fun begin!

What felt like 8 hours was only 4. I was dripping sweat like I'd just jumped into a swimming pool, swiping it away from my eyes and steadily taking money from people left and right. Dealing with the usual "will you take this much instead" and instead of being pissed off to be offered so little for these treasures I'm happily dealing with them because i don't want to wait for the next person and maybe being left with this crap still left in my garage at the end of the day.
Finally I could take no more and had to take a small break and let him take the reigns, inside I went for a breather of A/C and 5 minutes on the sofa. My eyes were so heavy and I felt the threatening of a nap stealing over me but I went back out and faced the day for the remaining 4 hours.
There were very few slow downs even though we were drizzled on many times - both of us rushing to the tables to toss plastic sheeting over the goods and weighting them down.

Just as we decided to close up shop and a final 'customer' was returning to pick up a large item the clouds opened up and that was it. Sheets of rain came down, the plastic whipping in the wind and both of us with our hair plastered to our skulls ...we just threw our hands up in the air and sat down in the garage and enjoyed the coolness of the breeze that came in with the storm.

There are still things to be had - just ask and you may receive but ask quickly because I'm going to have the Salvation Army come and pick up the rest this week.
No more sales for me, there's not enough quarters and dime's to be handed over on a hot July day to make up for the misery I experienced.

Remind me to stop buying crap I really don't need.