March 12, 2011
Photo by Vicki Harris
Stories this photo appears in:
The car in front of me slammed on brakes and I, just as quickly, slammed on brakes and instinctively flung my right arm out and across the passenger’s seat. This time there was no one sitting there whose life I was saving from being thrown into the dashboard, just my pocketbook.
Everybody has their price.Apparently, when it comes to World Series Game 7 tickets at Turner Field in Atlanta, the price my family would be willing to pay involves shaving my head. Not their heads ... my head.
Recently, with little provocation and equally little vigor it was brought to my attention that I am a wimp.
It's a well-known fact that some of us women have love/hate relationships with our purses. The perfectly functional little black pocketbook I carry today may tick me off tomorrow and find itself hanging on the hook in the closet while I've gone on to stuff my stuff in a bigger, roomier tote, only to get frustrated two days later because I can never find anything in there and switch back again.
"Call me weird," I said, "but I love to snap beans."The older woman standing next to me paused from picking through the bin of plump yellow squash and let out a little chuckle. "Well, honey, if you're weird then I'm plumb crazy," she said. "Give me a big, old bowl of beans to snap or peas to shell and I feel like it's Christmas. It's a summer thing."
'Good afternoon," you said as you walked past me in the store."Hello," I replied.
It happened so fast. In a split second -- literally, a split second -- my day changed.
n a little flowered notebook, no bigger than a postcard, are handwritten notes I leave for myself. Funny things I hear. Interesting trivia I come across. Quotes that I want to stick with me.
Godzilla lives in our garage.Okay, so maybe it's not Godzilla, per se, but it might as well be. It is a large -- no, ginormous -- gross lizard that, I promise you, is so big I would not be the least bit surprised to find out that he gets in my car and drives around at night, probably stopping at the Quickie for a honeybun and a beer.
I wouldn't say it was my favorite Dr. Seuss book, but it was one of them.
My phone rang at work the other day and, out of the blue, on the other end was my big brother. He thought he'd call to say hello.
Time heals all wounds ... unless you pick at them.I wanted to be mad at my husband the other day, but I was too tired. I don't remember what he did exactly, but I do remember having the fleeting thought of, "Hmmm, I should really be aggravated by that." But -- sigh -- then it passed. I just didn't have it in me.
I have a habit. It's not necessarily a bad one. I admit that I have done it in mixed company. Many who know me are used to it and pay no attention to me. However, I do still run across the occasional person that calls me on it.
My husband came home from our nephew's little league baseball game last weekend and asked, "Did we act like that?"
Sometimes we set out to help someone else, then realize in the end that they helped us even more.
Our dog snores.It is not a petite snore, one you would expect from an adorable little spaniel with curly blonde hair and big, brown eyes like a toddler. It's the deep, rattling snore of a trucker after a week-long cross country haul on just five hours sleep.
In the spirit of all things romantic and the impending holiday tomorrow, I have been thinking for quite some time about how to make this year's Valentine's Day special for my husband.I suppose I should be completely honest -- quite some time is a little of an overstatement. I've been thinking for a few days... Okay, so I've been thinking for about 10 minutes now about how to make tomorrow special for him.