It’s time to get out of Dodge. There’s a storm a brewin’ and I’m a goin’.
If you watch the Weather Channel at all you may have seen that central Texas is now marshland. The state is like a doughnut of land with a lake in place of the doughnut hole.
By a marvelous twist of fate I was not anywhere near Pizzaville for the worst of it. (I was actually in a galaxy far, far away. I had a great time, and that will be in a later story.) I was watching the Weather Channel while I was gone, and that was scary enough. You all know how I feel about these big wind and water storms. I’ll take a good ol’ west coast earthquake over that any day. By not being in Texas for the storm, I’m sure I’ve saved years of my life. Years that would’ve otherwise been lost to the stress and fear of being right there.
Tornadoes touched down around Pizzaville (none too close to the RV park). Many people were evacuated from homes and RV parks all around south central Texas. Cow-Chicken-Oil town is completely flooded. Dams broke, river banks overflowed, roads washed away. And so did some homes. Several people lost their lives and more are still missing.
Today I moved Continue reading
A rant of sorts…
Have you ever been wrongly accused? I’m sure you have and I don’t have to tell you it’s emotionally crushing to be on the receiving end, to know that people who should know you better, people who claim to care about you, are so quick to think the worst of you.
Being wrongly accused has been a running theme in my life, especially for the last few months or so: A dear friend accusing me of all sorts of truly bizarre actions and motives. Another I considered a good friend silently doing the same and disappearing. My boss repeatedly accusing me of inflating my time sheet. Chickenbone accusing me of saying something mean on Facebook about my nephew.
Each and every accusation couldn’t have been more off base, and so completely unlike the person I am. And it hurt each time.
I’m not sharing this to gain sympathy or pity, but to show what the effects have been, and how it has changed me for the better.
As I pondered this running theme, Continue reading
“I’m trading you two in for good kids,” my dad bellowed to Chickenbone and I one summer day long ago after we’d been acting up.
After our parents divorced, Chickenbone and I spent summers at my father’s house in Carlsbad, California. We were generally allowed to run amok during the day while he was at work, or sometimes we would spend days at our grandparents house nearby. We loved the freedom, but we also got bored after a while.
We were shocked. “Trade us in? What do you mean?”, one of us asked.
“I’m trading you two in. As soon as the catalog comes in the mail, I’m going to trade you two in for good kids.”
Bewildered, we asked,”What catalog?” Continue reading
A seven-foot-tall jackalope was spotted in Wimberley, Texas!
The furry jackrabbit-antelope hybrid was seen wearing a horse saddle, and galloping through Hill Country after throwing a unknown blond rider.
I have a feeling none of you are surprised by my attempt at a shocking headline.
I can’t even surprise you all anymore, can I? *sigh*
Pioneer Town, Wimberley, Texas
Pioneer Town, Wimberley, Texas – Home of the Jackalope
Pioneer Town, a replica of a mid-1800s western town, has all the requirements of an old western movie set: a dirt main street, a blacksmith shop, a livery stable, a post office, a print shop, a general store, old houses, a steepled church, and an opera house. It also has a cowboy museum and requisite souvenir shop,… and a giant jackalope.
Because every mid-1800’s western town had a giant jackalope. Probably.
You might notice a complete lack of patrons in my photos below. Continue reading
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped.
Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me. This post is about birds, flowers, and sunsets; it doesn’t need a disclaimer.
Your “learn something new” for today: A group of pelicans is called a pod. The group can also be called a squadron. The title of this post was chosen for no reason other than “A Pod of Pelicans” sounded more catchy than “A Squadron of Pelicans”. Plus, I had recent photos and video of pelicans. So today, pelicans – and a new word. You’re welcome.
A pod of pelicans.
A migrating pod of American White Pelicans landed on the lake a couple evenings ago. (This is the lake where I’m currently parked in the wee town I call Pizzaville.)
American White Pelicans on the lake.
It’s moments like this that make up for the Texas storms. Kinda. The video below shows about two hundred pelicans landing on the lake. Continue reading
You all know how I endeavor to educate you in some small way, to provide you with some tidbit of
useless useful information that you might share while idly standing at the office water cooler. While this one isn’t as interesting as say, the time we all learned about Spider Prostitution, it is worthy of sharing with you, and perhaps with your friends and coworkers. However, it does relate in a small way to office attire. Just wait, you’ll see. And you may never be the same. (I haven’t been, but then again this has been “a thing” for many years and, much like spider prostitution, I only learned about it much later in life. It’s likely you are more in touch with the world and already know about this.)
The day I learned about Toe Crack, also known as Toe Cleavage.
While standing around with a group of friends and acquaintances, I notice the acquaintance in front of me is staring at me feet. He’s staring hard.
To give you a little background, this is a “business casual/dressy” environment and I’m wearing an unremarkable outfit, common office attire. And a pair of blue suede, closed-toe pumps.
Pye and my blue suede shoes, with toe cleavage. Pye has a shoe fetish.
The guy briefly looks up to my face and promptly declares he loves how my feet look in the shoes.
This was more than your usual, “I like your (shoes/hair/eyes)” comment. He was practically salivating, much like someone who’s just seen an ice cream cone for the first time after months of sweltering hot summer. Continue reading
I hope you’ve had breakfast because this post might make you hungry. Or it might make you want dinosaurs. Hard to say.
Really, there is a town called Oatmeal in Texas Hill Country.
No, I don’t know why they named the town after a breakfast cereal. It’s not like they grow oatmeal in the area.
Welcome to breakfast, err, I mean Oatmeal!
Guess what they have there? Nope, it’s not oats, but nice try.
It’s a giant oatmeal box. Yes, I said *box. And it’s empty, so you’re still wrong about there being oats in Oatmeal.
A giant box of oatmeal in Oatmeal, Texas.
Although, once a year they do have… Want to take another guess? Sure you do! Continue reading
Texas is fond of squirrels. Or perhaps they’re just fond of massive squirrel statues. (And giant beavers.)
You may recall Mrs. Pearl, the Giant Squirrel in Cedar Creek. Well, she’s not the only large squirrel statue in south Texas. There’s another giant squirrel, this time in Sinton, Texas. Why? Because that is the requisite marketing gimmick for pecan shops. Well, that or a giant pecan. Apparently.
And they name them. (The squirrels. I don’t know if they name the giant pecans.)
Agnes the Giant Squirrel in Sinton, Texas.
Agnes, the Giant Squirrel, is seen Continue reading
Pye, Pye, Pye. *shaking my head*
Is it Karma that sent me a Devil Cat? Is there no way to appease the Gods?
I love my furry monster-child, but Pye needs a hobby. She’s bored, perhaps more so because I’ve been home and she is now awake more than usual. Normally, when I’m gone during the day, she sleeps. When I’m gone for a night or two, she goes on an eating strike and hides when her friendly, animal-loving sitter comes over. And she messes up stuff around the RV. (Or pees on my bed three times after I come back from a trip, like she did when I went to Oklahoma for Christmas.)
But when I’m home, like I have been since my surgery, she is awake and demands constant entertainment and attention. Or she’ll start wrecking stuff.
Pye debating whether to play with the keyboard – again, or push the books off the table – again.
I can’t sit at my computer table without her trying to “assist” by pushing my papers off the table, or stepping on the keyboard. She relocates all pens to goodness knows where. And if neither of those two things produce the desired response from me? She starts in on the curtains and blinds.
She is not much of a lap cat. It would be great if she could sit with me while I’m on the computer. But no.
She has only recently, Continue reading
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me.
It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.
Word of the Day: Farrow. When your pig got poked and is due to have a litter of piglets. The gestation period is generally three months, three weeks, and three days.
The pig is pregnant.
There can be pigs at RV parks. Because this is the country, folks.
The pig, who I’ll call the Baconator because there will be bacon, Continue reading