writing doodle - day 28 - word count 298

Molly took a long drag from her e-cigarette, blew a puff of vapor my direction and said, "What're  your plans today, lovie?"

Lovie?  Who gets called Lovie anymore?  Sure Thurston Howell, III's wife went by Lovie, but that was fiction. How did she find my motel room?  How did she catch me unaware?

She moved closer to the dog and said, "I think we could have some big fun." She ran her pudgy finger beneath Hazel's chin and said, "You're the loveliest thing I've seen all day."

Ok.  The dog.  She was talking to the dog.  I knew that.  Of course I did. After a shower, some protein, and a long run, I'll be just fine.  Maybe.  After I unclench my fingers from around a crochet hook and rewind the ball of angora that has rolled to cover virtually all of the carpet on the floor, I'll be normal again.

Then again, I need to quit watching crafting videos on Youtube all hours of the night.  I don't need to make any afghans, toilet paper cozies, and no one I know needs legwarmers.  If my timemachine back to the 1980s begins to work, or I can catch a ride on the Tardis and I can go back with Doctor Who to the Flash Dance set, I'll be just fine.  

Socks.  Maybe I can learn to make socks.  It would keep my mind off my grandfather's situation, would be usable, and isn't too feminine.

Or not.

My plans?

Plot the quickest route home to get Grandpa back under his own doctors' care, return to my own life, and decide if the crochet shell pattern is too girlie for a scarf out of some great mohair.  I have never owned a really great scarf and it is about time.

~~~

Sure, blathering.  But haven't been very good the last several days.

writing doodle - day 22/23 - word count 219

If I still had hair, I would have shaken it from my eyes.  Instead, I shook it until it hurt, trying to change the image before me.

It wasn't the regular dogwalker.  Nope.  It was Holly from the craft store, two dachshunds, a poodle, and a streamer of yarn flowing from her pockets.

What the hell?  More to the point, how the hell?

"If you just slip me her leash, I'll be back in a jiff."  Molly, or was that Holly, and her words were aimed at the door.  "We won't be gone more than half an hour. Or do you need longer than that to take care of things?"

I grabbed the pillow from the bed and put it in front of me and began the hunt for the leash.  Usually it is on the nighstand for those little emergencies in the middle of the night.  In the wee hours of this morning, okay so seven isn't exactly the crack of dawn but when you only get three hours of sleep, it feels like it, I couldn't find it and didn't particularly care.  It wasn't under the pile of my clothes from the day before, beneath the bed, or on top of the television. What it was doing on the top of the toilet tank was anybody's guess.

~~
so, word count isn't really flowing like a river this time around, but I'm not making excuses either.  Things will wind around again - I hope.

writing doodle - day 21 - word count 328

Have you ever gotten up and felt more tired than you were before you went to bed?  That was how I felt when the alarm went off just before seven. Exhausted, blurry eyed, stiff and sore, and in desperate need of coffee.

Yes.  Coffee.  That black elixir so many people swear by and I claim to never need.  But I was almost tired enough to succumb to its siren song of hot, strong, bittersweetness that could give me enough umph to actually kill the alarm clock and start the day.

Instead, I told Hazel to cross her paws for nine more minutes and I'd take her outside so she could leak on a bush or something.  I swatted at the alarm, missed, hit the dresser with the flat of my hand and swore.  The clock fell from its perch and hit the floor, rolled under the bed, and continued its taunting bleat.  In an hour or so it might just die or give up on trying to rouse more than my temper and patience.  

I rolled over and stuck my head beneath the pillow.  It did nothing to stop the alarm from proving its point.  It had more endurance than me and it would indeed overcome.

In pursuit of just a little silence, I left the bed and crouched on the floor in search of the clock.  I switched the alarm off and was about to climb back into bed when the door to the motel room opened.

It wasn't the cleaners, too early in the morning.

No.  It was the dog walker.  In she walked, all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

I raised my hand in greeting and said, "Hey, XXX.  Aren't  you a little early?"

She turned back to the door and said, "Didn't you get my voicemail?  I need to XXX this morning and put you to the top of my list. I'll just come back later. Much later."

Monday.  Could this possibly be Monday?

~~~

not much but it is something.  Bueller?  Bueller?

writing doodle - day 20 - word count 0

another hot and sticky day in paradise ... sort of.

company leaves tomorrow and life will resume until he comes back in two days ... 

*sigh*

hope we find this inspiring ... and haven't seen a single person selling good yarn from the back of a car all weekend - dang it!

writing doodle - day 18, 19 - word count 0

~~

Real life has interfered and there was no getting around the past two days ... but looking at this picture makes me think I should really catch up on the laundry soon.

writing doodle - day 17 - word count 800

I gave up on being self conscious and squeamish years ago, some where between being the sousaphone player who got stuck inside the instrument and my first condom purchase the day before my prom date stood me up.  Sometimes things in life happen and you just deal with it.

Today, I got to deal with it in a craft store.  Who knew they only carried acrylic worsted weight crap?  Haven't their buyers ever heard of wool?  What about cotton?  Do blends ring a bell to anybody?

I stood looking at the same pitiable gondola of yarn wishing it into cashmere.  Soft, warm, luxurious.  And let's not skimp on a soft but rich color.

But no.  Today all I had before me was a selection of yarn that would turn Santa's elves' stomachs.  Red and green acrylic yarn with silver interwoven.  Really?

I walked back to the pegboard to rehang the needles, both knit and crochet, the measuring tape, and a darning needle. Even though I hadn't committed to a project yet, there are some things you need to make a project happen. I wasn't going to half ass this afghan, scarf, or mittens.  A thing worth doing is worth doing right.

Just because I had the tools didn't mean I was going to get any inspiration for my project.

It was such a good idea.  I could have been in the room with no hassles and kept my mind semi-occupied.

A heavy-set, fifty something woman with a smock offered to rehang my items for me; obviously

she didn't think I was capable of doing it by myself.  

"Is there something specific I can help you find?" she asked.

"No, that's alright," I said, "Molly."

"Holly."

"Sorry.  My eyes aren't quite focused, Holly."  Years ago when I took a speaking course, they mentioned people liked to hear their own names.  Guess that was a massive faux pas on my part. I stretched and brought my fist to my mouth to stifle a yawn.  

"Are you sure?  Looks like your wife sent you here with a list," she said.  

"I'm sure." 

She looked me up and down and whispered, "You know Sharon, right? Cashmere?"

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing." She turned her back to me and began unloading my basket.  "Fine cashmere."

"Did you say cashmere?"

She looked me in the eyes and shook her head while she mouthed a yes.  "My break is in ten minutes.  Meet me back behind the store in twelve."

I was tired, my mind was muzzy, and I couldn't focus on a conversation much less a name tag.  "Sure." Exactly why, I couldn't tell you.

I completed my sundry purchase thirteen minutes later, I left the store and walked to the alley. Holly was smoking an e-cigarette with her foot on the bumper of a Chevy Cruiser.  'I can fix you up for a price." She looked over her shoulder and down the alley, I guess to make sure the coast was clear.

This was beginning to sound like an awful after school special except I wasn't being offered drugs. It seemed I was being offered contraband of some kind.

"I've got a stash in the back," she said.  She jiggled her foot and started rocking the car.  "Prime stuff.  You won't regret it."

I was already regretting it. "I don't know what I'm doing here.  Forget it."

There was a high chirp and the lid of the trunk rose.  Holly flipped back a murky green oil cloth and revealed a treasure trove of yarn.  Nothing like the offerings in the store. There were baggies labeled sock yarn, scarf yarn, mittens, and sweater. I picked up a baggie and held it toward her.  "How much?"

"Cash or credit?" She extracted a cube from her smock pocket and put it on her cellphone, ready to take my payment. "Cash is a ten percent discount and we've never seen each other.  If you go credit, full price plus tax."

I raised my eyebrow.  "Cash?"

She named a figure that was astronomically high, if you were buying your yarn by the pound.  This, this was pre-packaged and ready to go for specific projects.

I indicated the whole trunk.  "Everything?"

"No."

No?  I paid less for my first year of college than she priced just part of her stash.

"Everything."

She named a price that seemed to belong somewhere in the stratosphere.  "Tonight only.  Tomorrow I won't be here, I'll be gone for a week."

Taunted by perfection and bliss to have to make a spur of the moment decision?  I had half an hour left before I was going to be noticed missing at the hospital. I plucked four zippered bags, handed them to her along with my credit card, and cringed.

I signed her display and my own phone rang.  

writing doodle - day 16 - word count 0

writing doodle - day 15 - word count 691

The most uncomfortable furniture in the world goes to die in hospital rooms, especially recliners.  How anyone who is well can sit in them is a minor miracle, God forbid a patient should be in one, there would be a need for massive physical therapy after the fact.

I shifted forward on the seat cushion because my shirt had plastered itself to the seat back.  The next time I come to visit, I'm bringing a change of shirt and a towel to absorb the sweat caused by the pleather chair.  

Each time I attempted to leave, Grandpa would wake.  In order for him to get more than a few minutes of sleep at a time, I needed to keep my ass in the chair as long as I could tolerate it.  Wonder if they'd let me bring in a camping chair that would at least get a little circulation? Probably not, they'd already given me leeway about bringing in my iPod and docking station, playing piano jazz all hours of the night, and using Grandpa's favorite pillows from the RV.  

It wasn't like Grandpa's hearing was all that good, it was more a matter of masking the sounds of the machines.  The longer he heard the clicks, buzzes, and whirls of the machines, the sicker he got.  I had a limited selection of jazz on my iPod, but there was enough that the same song didn't play every thirty minutes.  The more it played, the smoother his breathing and the lower his blood pressure.

I attempted to rest my chin on my chest, but the muscles seemed permanently frozen.  Too much looking down and too little stretching tend to do that to me.  My eyes couldn't focus and I really needed a break.  If one of the nurses would take him on a walk around the floor, I could get to the drugstore and buy a pair of cheaters.  More than an hour of close reading made my eyes blur, cross, and get dry.  For a couple of bucks I could bypass the problems and embrace the purple half-moon frames that were on clearance.  

I closed my eyes and rubbed them with my index fingers. Still fuzzy and still dry.

"Gabe, we've got plans for him for a couple of hours, why don't you take off for a bit," Sharon said.

Sharon was my favorite of Grandpa's nurses.  She didn't suffer fools, neither Grandpa nor me, explained things in basic English, and liked order.  In my personal life, I like to do the organizing on a limited basis, I could never marry Sharon based on her compunction to set everything into order all of the time.  Then again, she is over sixty and married, so she's not really my type anyway.

I rose and stretched.  "Any craft or hobby stores in the area?" I was tired of attempting to read only to lose my place in whatever book or magazine was before me.

"Sure."  She gave me the names and addresses of two chain hobby stores.  "I like XXX better than YYY."

"Thanks," I said.  I scrubbed my face and thought about taking a nap before I did anything else. "What time will he be ready for company again?"

"About three h ours," she said.

A shower.  A real shower, one that lasted more than ten minutes sounded good.  A bowl of chili with a side of cheese and crackers would be lovely.  A couple of skeins of yarn, browns or beiges, and a pair of knitting needles or a crochet hook would give me a project that could potentially be mindless.

I don't remember the last time I attempted to knit something.  What I do remember is my fingers finding their own rhythm after a spell, and the calm that came down over me. I also remember who taught me to knit, Grandpa.  When my parents split when I was about eight, I needed something calming to do at night.  The XXX of us went to stay with Grandpa, and that is what we did when we were together.

Funny the memories you hold near and dear.

Scarf or potholders?
  



~~~
word count 691

writing doodle - day 14 - word count 977

In order for us to stay in Joplin, Missouri, several things had to happen:  a long term stay hotel or a furnished apartment that rented by the week and would take an overly enthusiastic puppy; doggie day care or a pet sitter who could come in a couple of times per day; a trip to a drug store to replicate sundries Grandpa needed during his hospital stay; and a call to work and my landlord explaining what exactly had happened.  

I should have been more specific with the pet sitter.  She owned an older dachshund and brought him whenever she came to the hotel suite I rented. The two animals got along and played fairly well together.  There had been no reports of fighting or dominance issues.  In fact Carrie was doing a little obedience work with Hazel to get her to sit, stay, and come on command.  Must have been the behavior modeled by Fritz that got Hazel to behave so quickly. 

Never did I think about relevant questions other than, "Are his shots up to date?" 

No.

I should have asked, "Has he been fixed?"

Why?

When Hazel showed up, she was a mere puppy of but a few weeks old.  My vet recommended waiting to have her spayed until she was closer to a year old.  He mentioned that I'd have to get her through heat, but the house I was in had a fenced yard and she never left the apartment without me.  On the road, she was always with someone and we didn't go to very many public parks since her behavior wasn't always perfect.

It never occurred to me that an eleven year old dog who was significantly smaller than my lovely girl could actually do the deed and knoc

k her up. Even worse, I didn't know until she was almost five weeks into the eight week pregnancy.

"I knew it," my grandfather said.  "You are finally going to do me proud."

Finally?  Gee thanks.  

"The family name will now live on."  He beamed at me.  It was the first and only time since I was six that he beamed, and back then it was because I didn't cry when I wiped out on my two-wheeler and bloodied both of my knees.

"With a dog?"

"Sure.  Hazel's licensed and it is to you, right?"

I nodded.

"Ergo, all of her puppies will also be XXX."

"I don't think that's how this works." We were going to engage in something long and protracted, I could just tell.  "Besides, Micheal and his wife have three kids."

"Don't like them."

"And what about-"

Before I could say a name, he cut me off.  "You're my favorite.  And you are my heir apparent."

Just what I always wanted?  "What about Dad or Uncle Ben?"

"Nah.  They won't learn anything from the old man. What I have to pass on to you is invaluable.  Besides, you've got my nose not to mention animal magnetism. Oh and did I ever show you pictures of me when I was young?  You look just like me."

Perfect.  I look like a baby bald eagle.  Small, frail, and can't keep my mouth shut.


I know the effort was unconscious when my index finger ran down the length of my nose.  I'd never thought of it being the typical XXX pronounced Roman nose before, but I don't spend a lot of time gazing at it in the mirror.  As long as it works, I don't really care that much what it looks like.  In pictures, before I broke it in high school, I always thought of my nose as being a little on the small side.  Before he said anything, I moved my hand to cover my ear, was it now cauliflower like Grandpa's? 

Until ten minutes ago, the only real concern I had was the fact my hair has mostly grown back grey and now the hairline is definitely receding.  Even on this trip, I run or walk every day and usually take Hazel.  On the days that I've been on the road too long, I take Grandpa for ice cream somewhere and then I do exercises in the RV park after we get back.  

One of us is delusional and I'm beginning to think it is me.

"Get my wallet.  I want to show you something special," he said.  "Excuse us, ladies." The nurses nodded to the two of us and quietly left the room.

What passed as a closet was about half the size of a gym locker.  There was just enough space to hang one pair of pants and a shirt, one pair of shoes, and a baggie of his incidentals.  I had removed his credit cards and ID when he was admitted, but left the pictures and a few dollars.  

The well worn, black wallet flipped open and he removed two items.  The first was a red, cherry flavored condom which expired eleven years before.  The other was a small black and white snapshot of someone who looked remarkably like me, holding an infant.  

I could have been his doppelganger.  Well now there was no way my father could ever again question my mother about my parentage.  

I plucked the condom from his hand and tossed it in the trash.

"You can't do that," he said.

"I'll buy you one that hasn't expired," I said.

"But that' my lucky condom."

"Lucky condom?"

"Sure.  No one has gotten pregnant since I started carrying it."

"Just how old are the women you've been dating?"

"Twenty-five, maybe thirty?" He counted on his fingers.  Years younger? "Years old.  I like to break them in before they have any bad habits."

Now he sounded just like me.  

Despite the fact it was only noon according to the clock in his room, I knew it had to be five o'clock somewhere.

~~

the old man, aka Blondie, had a slightly better day today ... made sure I didn't stray from the keyboard ... but didn't require too much writing

~~ below is supposed to be a one evening project ... if it only takes one evening to do that, you've got to be doing something wrong.

   

amended - writing doodle - day 13 - word count 511

Have you ever noticed that hospitals all smell the same?  The same town, across the country, all of the cleaning and maintenance departments get the same memo: make the room smell like a pine forest.  It doesn't matter if there has been a meal delivered within five minutes of the visit, the rooms smell like a commercial for pine cleaner.  Too bad I'm allergic to pine.

My grandfather's room was on the third floor, telemetry wing, right next to the nurses' station.  The  wing was all private rooms; there was no reminder I was his only visitor.  Neither of us lived in Missouri and it wasn't possible to get him to his hometown without some kind of medical flight; there was no way his insurance would cover it.

I hadn't been inside of a hospital for over a decade; the only things that were the same were the smell, the 1970s harvest gold decor,  and the uncomfortable chairs in the patient rooms.  

I knocked on the doorframe to announce myself. "Grandpa?"

The resoundingly chipper, "Sport, come on in.  Do you have any money?"

I peaked around the corner and saw two young nurses sitting on either side of the bed.  At least, I assumed they were nurses.  The scrubs and sensible shoes were a hint, but I used to own the pants and used them to sleep in.  That is back when I slept in something.

Money?

Why would he need money? Sure, there would be bills to settle after the insurances covered what they would cover, but his day to day needs were being met and he didn't need to tip after he received his meals.

"Why?"  Always better to ask why than to admit to something.  The last time I admitted to having money in my wallet, my ex-wife took all of the bills and credit cards and proceeded to buy herself a new wardrobe.

"We're just having a little fun," he said. "And they won't agree to playing strip poker."  He indicated each of the lovelies with a tilt of his head. "They think I have an unfair advantage."  

The only advantage my grandfather had was that he was wearing a hospital gown and a smile.  His card playing skills had always been rubbish, much like my own.

"How much money are we talking?"

"A couple of rolls," he said, "should be enough to keep me entertained for a few days."

Rolls of what?  Singles? Fives? Twenties?  I took on the underwriting of much of this trip because I wanted to, but the gambling was something I couldn't sponsor.  By the time I got him home and resettled, I'd have little left in my savings.  Not that I'm begrudging the cost of the trip, but it was going to take time to rebuild the reserve.

"Lincolns, boy.  Lincolns." He blew out a sigh and said to the blond on his right, "Gabriel has no idea how I roll."

"A roll of pennies?" I winked at him.  "I can bring that by later today.  Anything else you need?"

"Cheapskate."

writing doodle - day 13 - word count 0

Today has been Garage Sale Flunky by day ... Dog Nanny by night.

Blondie in better days

Blondie appears to be very much failing tonight and my heart is breaking. 

Until recently, whenever I went to write anything (even a sticky note for groceries) he was by my side making sure I was doing my best (honestly, he wanted to make sure I was doing something if I wasn't actively adoring him).

Today has very much been about keeping him out of pain today and keeping the younger dogs busy and out of his fur.

Tomorrow company goes home and though it has been a bit of a challenge, I will miss the company.


I have counted him out before, I hope I am wrong again.

So, he changed my mind about bottle blonds ...

writing doodle - day 12 - word count 582

a very nice scenic view
if I do say so myself.

I plotted several courses to find the most scenic views, the most rest areas, and even the most direct routes.  I could drive for several hours per day without a problem and have in the past; I never suffered fatigue when the road a head is invariable.  

Relatively young and healthy, a long drive with my grandfather touring local destinations should have been no problem.  It should have been a unique bonding experience.  In fact, that the motorhome had a small commode should have been a plus, what with his prostate problem.  He got the double bed in the back, Hazel and I would be sharing the converted dining table every night.  After the third night, I knew I'd need a massage therapist to get the knots out of my back.  Then again, a massage every few days might not be a bad thing to build into the agenda.  It definitely had possibilities.

It turned out that he was much more like traveling with a cranky six year old than the man I remembered from my youth.  He could read all of the signs, gauges, and receipts. Everything I did after I got the car back from the final maintenance was scrutinized.  All of the fluid levels were double, double checked.  The air pressure was verified twice against recommended manufacturer specifications and generally accepted guidelines.  

I remember my father talking about all of the technology his dad acquired over the years; I assumed it had continued.  Somewhere in the mid 1980s to mid 1990s things stopped for him; rumor was he sank a sizable investment in Beta tapes and machines.  After his heart and retirement fund were both devastated, he chose to live with what he owned until it wore out. At least he hadn't invested heavily in 8 track tapes or I'd be stuck listening to God only knew what when he slept in the back.

But this was the trip, the trip of a lifetime he was so excited about.  So I decided to keep my mouth shut and learn what I could from him and enjoy the time we had together.

"Grandpa, why is this reunion so important?"

"She said she'd marry me if we were both single on our 65th high school reunion."

"When exactly did she say that?"

"After she told me hell would freeze over when I asked her to the senior prom."

"She put it that way?"  No one should ever be that rude.  Courage, guts, and persistence are the least of what it takes to ask a girl out for the first time.  To be quite that brutal was just uncalled for.

"Nope. But it is what she meant." He slurped his coffee and said, "McDonald's has the best coffee, don't you think?"

I never really have liked coffee. To drink that is.  I like everything about coffee but the taste.  I enjoy hearing it drip into the carafe   Nothing beats the smell first thing in the morning.  And it warms the hands nicely after shoveling snow.  But to actually drink it?  Well, that's a different story.  

"I like to stick with the hard stuff."  I toasted him with my bottle of water.  I don't understand people who actually need caffeine   Once I wake up in the morning, no matter the time I turned in, I'm up.  A hot liquid makes no difference in my alertness, reflexes, or ability to make acceptable conversation.

~~
a/n:  Company has been here pretty much constantly for a month.  And while it is not an excuse not to write, it is why I'm tired and disjointed when I do ... apologies all around, but I am at least making an attempt every night.

writing doodle - day 11 - word count 593

Years ago, my grandfather lived on the bleeding edge of technology; he always looked for the next big thing.  When he found it, he invested heavily.  His garage could have outfitted an entire museum exhibit on how technology had changed over sixty years.  He held on to everything because he had a full barn, two outbuildings, and a garage.  When an item went to reside in an outbuilding, it was indexed into several spreadsheets for quick location.  Just in case.

Grandpa owned his own chain of craft and fabric stores because his first wife had a love of quilting.  If he had to support her habit, he figured he'd do it at wholesale and make a profit on it.  You might even say that they blanketed lower Kentucky with their tiny storefronts.

When we had our talk about the drive to his class reunion, he insisted we take Velma and Emily.  Velma was a Winnebago which had been state of the art in 1974.  Velma got six miles to the gallon when going down hill, if the wind was with you.  The three years he took Velma on the road, she, yes she, towed Emily, my grandmother's 19XX Thunderbird convertible.  

"We could rent any kind of car you want and stay in some nice hotels," I said.  "We can take our time and see things in comfort."

"Comfort, schmufort.  This is about arriving in style," Grandpa said. He coughed a little and said, "Sometimes you do things right so you don't have to do them over. I should know, I was married five times and should have done what it took to get the right one the first time." 

I could just imagine him running his fingers around the neck on his Hawaiian shirt that was covered in hula girls.  When he sold the businesses to his children, he insisted they do things right.  

It was my turn to cough.  I had been married three times and lived with several women, only one of them had ever been right and it hadn't lasted near to long enough.  My education and subsequent performance on various jobs had always been right, but I never carried it forward to my personal life.

"I'm bringing Hazel," I said.  Hazel had prevented me from moving forward with more than one inappropriate woman, impressive since we had only been together for three months. Before I could get the words out about dog sitting to Manny, his wife said no.  Something about a dog in the house interrupting their sex life.  Please.  They'd been married less than two years and were on each other like stink on shit most of the time.  One medium sized dog wouldn't be a disruption, not much of a disruption.  

"Is she good at cleaning? We're gonna be living in tight quarters," he said.  "Can't let things go for very long or we'll have to take a full day to shovel shit and start over."

"She's an expert at the dishes."  Due to her enthusiasm at 'doing' the dishes, I changed to paper plates and took out the trash every night.  "And she's great at dusting."  Hazel's tail was low table height and when she was enthusiastic could clear the magazines and books from a cocktail table in under three seconds.

"Does she snore?"

Yes.  All of the time, especially after she has gone for a run.  If you take out your hearing aid, she won't bother you. And she didn't bother me when I put a pillow over my head. "No sweat, Grandpa."

~~
OK, so I'm low on word count, but I'm working on consistency ... and have far and away deviated from the original plan (surprised? you shouldn't be).

please accept this as my apology for the evening ...

writing doodle - day 10 - word count 0

There was some scribbling in a notebook today, but couldn't get it transcribed ... tomorrow, update.

For now, enjoy some candy ... eye candy.

writing doodle - day 9 - word count 753

The original bucket list was pretty small.  Then again once upon a time, I figured I had a lifetime to complete it.  I also thought I'd add something for each thing I scratched off.

In the end, I made a half-assed attempt to complete it before my thirty-eighth birthday.  I just wanted to shut Paula's folks up and start my life over.  

The list was pretty simple:

1) Family
Check.  Hazel's adoption gave me family of sorts and undeniable company.

2) Travel including but not limited to:

• Paris
• Versailles
• London 
• Edinburgh
• Dublin
• Prague
• Rome
• Moscow
• Athens
• Sparta

3) Take a romantic hot air balloon ride, complete with champagne

4) Read poetry in bed with someone special

5) Become vegan for one week

6) Marry my best friend

7) Go to (and stay awake for) a poetry slam

Any good bucket list is difficult to accomplish or is at least lengthy.  This list was more about being expensive, and in this economy no one has money to throw away on a bucket list, than it was about being either difficult or lengthy.  

Changing location has never been a problem; I hate to travel.  I like my own bed, pillow, and sheets, going across town or across the country is no problem as long as I keep the comforts of home.  This is nothing compared to the fear at the mere idea of being airborne in a beer can for several hours when I have absolutely no control makes me squeamish.    

I pulled up a spreadsheet and looked at my savings, retirement, and anything of value I could liquidate and figured I could be gone for about three days to Europe.  It wouldn't tick most of the travel boxes, but it would be a stab at seeing the world.  

I closed the computer and decided it didn't matter whether or not I accomplished any of the items on the list.  It was Paula's dream and without her, it didn't matter.

the xxx played, my grandfather's ring tone.  I answered, "Hey, Grandpa."

"That's Con," he said.  "Grandpa makes me feel old."  It wasn't like my grandfather, Conrad XXX was old, he just wasn't as young as he wanted to be.  In his heart, he was still about forty, the rest of him was around eighty-five.

"Ok, Con," I said.  "What can I do you?"

"I have another shot at the one who got away, and I want to make sure I catch her this time," he said.  "My sixtieth-fifth class reunion is coming up this summer and I want to see who's still alive."

The one who got away was Eldina Strange.  When they were in high school, she'd been the prom queen and the girl all the boys wanted to take home to mother.  My grandfather's family was from the wrong side of the tracks so he never could have been a contender for her heart if he wanted to.  

So go, old man.  "What's stopping you?" I asked.

"I hate to fly, take buses, and can't drive that far alone anymore."

Grandpa lived in San Diego, the reunion would be near-ish me in xxx,xx.  "Since you're footloose these days, I figure we could hit the road together for a while.  Like those old Hope and Crosby movies we watched on the tv when you were a little boy."

Whenever my grandfather had to babysit me and my sisters, it was always a Bob Hope movie marathon.  I blame those movies for my fascination for women who wear sarongs.

"You fly out and we'll take Betsy on the road."  He took a deep breath and said, "This could be the last time."

Guilt.  The secret for keeping a family together.

"If I do this," I said.  I cleared my throat and started again, "If I do this, Hazel is coming."

"There won't be enough room for your honey and she might cramp my style."

"Hazel is a dog."

"You shouldn't say things like that.  It has a way of getting back to them."

It was better to agree with him than try to explain about the dog.  And maybe, just maybe a road trip with Grandpa would be a good thing.  I'd look on an atlas to see if any of these cities were in the US and I could see them with Grandpa and kill of the stupid bucket list.  

What?

I've only been considering it for ten years.

It might just be time.


~~ I know it isn't much, but I'm trying here people.

Word count: 753

writing doodle ... day 8 word count 193

Because I lived in a FROG, the finished room over the garage, most of my mail is delivered to the office.  I do have my magazines delivered to the house, there are some things that are just too personal for other people to see.

I subscribe to Motorhome Monthly.  No one has ever believed that my number one fantasy has nothing to do with feathers, whipped cream, and cinnamon oil.  I am much more pedestrian than that.  I want to sell everything and see the entire country.  Growing up, we never had money for trips; I didn't leave the state of Kentucky until I was about twenty-one.  And then I only went to the border of Indiana.  

Call it a travel deficit, if you will.  But the older I get, the more wanderlust and the dreams of the open road called.

Too bad I wasn't musical, I could play in a tribute band or something.  Maybe a career change as a roadie.  Not to the same tribute band, but maybe an up and comer.

Fewer hangovers and less hassles to take my life on the road and go with that someone special.  Hazel.

~~ word count: 193

not stellar, but better than yesterday and the big zero ...