Potpourri
The diary, it is a-changing
I changed my diary layouts today, because Brian and I have a full day planned for tomorrow. We're going down to the stadium, not for the NFL Experience, as we did the last time the Super Bowl was here; but to visit the street vendors. That's where the good stuff is happening, that's where you can get the ordinary stuff I want, the shot glass and the magnet for my collections. After that, we plan to visit Sonny's for their all you can eat BBQ chicken special - one Sonny's or another, the one near the stadium or the one near Tara. Then we're going to come home and I'm going to crash.
I've decided to use the Tags feature in LJ. It's the first time I'll be using tags in a journal/diary; when OD goes to 6.0, I think they'll have tags available. I got carried away and created about 43,659 tags. Most are self-explanatory. Y'all can ask me about the ones that are not.
The police were in the 'hood
MyssK phoned me Thursday afternoon as I was waiting for the bus to go home. She was down the street and would be there in a few minutes to pick me up and take me home. I was many times grateful. Jewel was sick this week - even if I wasn't afraid of catching her cold, my ears can't take the mouth and throat noises from colds - and I had been taking the bus; and the past two days, there had been a rider with a smoker's cough, a far worse cough than Jewel's, making little attempt to stifle it. I couldn't drown him out with my headphones on maximum, with my babushka wrapped tightly around them, pressing them against my ears.
Anyway, so MyssK came to pick me up, and I was so-so-so relieved.
When we turned onto the street on which Tara lies, it was blocked. Several police cars and crime scene tape, starting right at Tara's lotline, and Brian was nowhere in sight.
"Why are the police right in front of my house?" I asked no one in particular.
MyssK took my hand and squeezed it. "It's all right. I'm sure it's all right." She parked to the side of the house with the Virgin Mary statue, and I yanked my cel phone out of my purse and dialed Brian.
"Hello, dear."
I had never been so happy to hear my husband's voice in my life. "Hi dear. I'm here with MyssK, we're down the block. What's going on?"
"An officer discharged his weapon," said Brian somewhat mechanically, "and there's an investigation. He got bit by a dog."
"OK, well, we're coming home," I babbled, or something like that. MyssK and I walked through the yards to Tara's front lawn. A City of Tampa policeman was reaching into the trunk of his squad car.
"Can I help you?"
"I live here," I said. "She lives here," said MyssK at the same time. I was ready to lie to the policeman that MyssK was my sister, or my niece, or other near relative; but that turned out not to be necessary.
At that moment, Brian came out of the front door, and we all went inside. After we hugged and I told him how glad I was to see him, I added, "The first thing that went through my mind was Oh no, he's mouthed off to some Jehovah's Witnesses."
"That would be the Jehovah's Witnesses' problem," said Brian.
"Not if they're crazy Jehovah's Witnesses with guns," explained MyssK lightly.
The Brian explained what happened. Thea had been crouched by the front door, meowing. Brian figured that maybe Guinne's therapists or their daddy were in the front yard, and wasn't overly concerned. But then Thea gave a series of sharp, threatening growls and hisses that alarmed Brian. He rushed to the front door and looked out the window. From his left, coming from DeGene's place, came a large black dog, running towards a police officer standing outside his squad car. The dog jumped up and clamped his mouth onto the officer's forearm. The policeman tried shaking the dog off, then drew his gun and fired into the air - first one shot, then two, which scared the black dog into releasing him. Our neighbor across the street, who moved in several weeks ago, came running out and corralled his dog, then immediately set about aiding the police officer - hardly necessary, as several backup cars were there within minutes.
Meanwhile, indoors, the cats scattered at the first shot. All except Colleen, even Thea, headed for our bedroom. Colleen ran into the second bedroom, where she sleeps every night. Nothing like that sound had ever reached these cats' ears before; Brian said that the gunshots sounded very different from fireworks. He locked-down both bedrooms, then went out to see what he could do for the cop. When backup arrived, he gave his statement: yes, he had seen the whole thing; no, the cop wasn't aiming for the dog. But since the policeman had discharged his firearm, there had to be an investigation.
Brian, MyssK and I had a laugh over the thought of Brian telling the police how he got to witness the event in the first place: "My cat was growling by the front door, and I went to look out to see what she was growling at." I thought later of Brian having to explain this in court, if it came to that - explaining to a judge and possibly a jury about Thea's role in the household, that she was the self-appointed chief of security. I'll testify to that, if necessary. I would have done the same thing if I had seen Thea behave as Brian described.
None of us wondered until much later why there were cops in the 'hood in the first place.
Good news from the Phat Network, for a change
Apple is pregnant. She told Jewel and me a couple weeks ago; she's about 9-10 weeks along by now. She and her husband are so happy. They had sat at our table during the 40th Anniversary Gala; Brian had admired the pendant Apple had been wearing. I told Apple that I hoped the baby would be a girl, and as beautiful as she is.
I ran into Blue Eyes in the break room one day this week, and sent out a couple trial balloons; but she didn't seem to want to talk about her husband.
River is doing well. She's become more involved than either Oksana or I had been with the C Collaborative, where J has long needed some support. She spent a day at Plant City and another at the Children's Law Center, training them on data tracking. Her sense of humor, similar to her best friend Faith's, has made itself felt. She has more clothes than anyone I've ever seen. She cooks regularly for her mee-maw (grandmother), and often brings leftovers to the office. Her officemates love her.
So there was this guy on the bus...
I'm mystified how, at age 48, with a gold ring on my left hand, and an unfashionable figure and wardrobe, I still get hit on from time to time.
Of course, the one who hit on me last night had liquor on his breath; but was otherwise clean and well-groomed. He got on the bus just after it turned for its final stretch towards my street. The bus was half-empty, but he sit on the seat right next to me, and nodded. I nodded back.
"I wish there were batrooms on dis bus," he said.
"Oh dear," I groaned.
"Na na na, don't worry, I ain' gonna let anything out here." Pause. "I just came down from Bahston."
"Oh. Did you pahk ya cah befoa ya lef?"
Mr. Boston smiled. "I just got down heah, an I ain' neva seen a bus like dis in Bahston."
"No, you need an advanced degree to work the bus system here," I remarked.
"Look at dis. Dis bus stops every tree stops."
Brian was waiting for me at our bus stop as usual, but this time he would be getting on the bus to go to dinner with me. "I want the bus to stop here," I said evenly, and gestured outside. "That's my husband right there."
"Nah. Really?"
"He sure is. Fifteen years this June."
"Ah no," said Mr. Boston, getting up and moving into the seat behind me. I heard several people giggle, but the old black man in the seat next to me guffawed, "An he looks like he a big guy, too!" Indeed, my husband looked his most intimidating: long hair, beard, and leather jacket.
Brian got onto the bus to find everyone around me laughing, and Mr. Boston moving as far away from me as he could. Even the driver was smiling. Brian took in the scene, and joked, "Do I have to beat somebody up?" But I picked up that he had slipped into his most Jerseyfied accent.
"I don't mess wit someone else's wife," pleaded Mr. Boston. "No, he wasn't bothering me," I concurred. The old black man was still laughing uproariously. Thank goodness it wasn't far to where we were eating.
Well that's about it for now - let me get this posted.
I changed my diary layouts today, because Brian and I have a full day planned for tomorrow. We're going down to the stadium, not for the NFL Experience, as we did the last time the Super Bowl was here; but to visit the street vendors. That's where the good stuff is happening, that's where you can get the ordinary stuff I want, the shot glass and the magnet for my collections. After that, we plan to visit Sonny's for their all you can eat BBQ chicken special - one Sonny's or another, the one near the stadium or the one near Tara. Then we're going to come home and I'm going to crash.
I've decided to use the Tags feature in LJ. It's the first time I'll be using tags in a journal/diary; when OD goes to 6.0, I think they'll have tags available. I got carried away and created about 43,659 tags. Most are self-explanatory. Y'all can ask me about the ones that are not.
The police were in the 'hood
MyssK phoned me Thursday afternoon as I was waiting for the bus to go home. She was down the street and would be there in a few minutes to pick me up and take me home. I was many times grateful. Jewel was sick this week - even if I wasn't afraid of catching her cold, my ears can't take the mouth and throat noises from colds - and I had been taking the bus; and the past two days, there had been a rider with a smoker's cough, a far worse cough than Jewel's, making little attempt to stifle it. I couldn't drown him out with my headphones on maximum, with my babushka wrapped tightly around them, pressing them against my ears.
Anyway, so MyssK came to pick me up, and I was so-so-so relieved.
When we turned onto the street on which Tara lies, it was blocked. Several police cars and crime scene tape, starting right at Tara's lotline, and Brian was nowhere in sight.
"Why are the police right in front of my house?" I asked no one in particular.
MyssK took my hand and squeezed it. "It's all right. I'm sure it's all right." She parked to the side of the house with the Virgin Mary statue, and I yanked my cel phone out of my purse and dialed Brian.
"Hello, dear."
I had never been so happy to hear my husband's voice in my life. "Hi dear. I'm here with MyssK, we're down the block. What's going on?"
"An officer discharged his weapon," said Brian somewhat mechanically, "and there's an investigation. He got bit by a dog."
"OK, well, we're coming home," I babbled, or something like that. MyssK and I walked through the yards to Tara's front lawn. A City of Tampa policeman was reaching into the trunk of his squad car.
"Can I help you?"
"I live here," I said. "She lives here," said MyssK at the same time. I was ready to lie to the policeman that MyssK was my sister, or my niece, or other near relative; but that turned out not to be necessary.
At that moment, Brian came out of the front door, and we all went inside. After we hugged and I told him how glad I was to see him, I added, "The first thing that went through my mind was Oh no, he's mouthed off to some Jehovah's Witnesses."
"That would be the Jehovah's Witnesses' problem," said Brian.
"Not if they're crazy Jehovah's Witnesses with guns," explained MyssK lightly.
The Brian explained what happened. Thea had been crouched by the front door, meowing. Brian figured that maybe Guinne's therapists or their daddy were in the front yard, and wasn't overly concerned. But then Thea gave a series of sharp, threatening growls and hisses that alarmed Brian. He rushed to the front door and looked out the window. From his left, coming from DeGene's place, came a large black dog, running towards a police officer standing outside his squad car. The dog jumped up and clamped his mouth onto the officer's forearm. The policeman tried shaking the dog off, then drew his gun and fired into the air - first one shot, then two, which scared the black dog into releasing him. Our neighbor across the street, who moved in several weeks ago, came running out and corralled his dog, then immediately set about aiding the police officer - hardly necessary, as several backup cars were there within minutes.
Meanwhile, indoors, the cats scattered at the first shot. All except Colleen, even Thea, headed for our bedroom. Colleen ran into the second bedroom, where she sleeps every night. Nothing like that sound had ever reached these cats' ears before; Brian said that the gunshots sounded very different from fireworks. He locked-down both bedrooms, then went out to see what he could do for the cop. When backup arrived, he gave his statement: yes, he had seen the whole thing; no, the cop wasn't aiming for the dog. But since the policeman had discharged his firearm, there had to be an investigation.
Brian, MyssK and I had a laugh over the thought of Brian telling the police how he got to witness the event in the first place: "My cat was growling by the front door, and I went to look out to see what she was growling at." I thought later of Brian having to explain this in court, if it came to that - explaining to a judge and possibly a jury about Thea's role in the household, that she was the self-appointed chief of security. I'll testify to that, if necessary. I would have done the same thing if I had seen Thea behave as Brian described.
None of us wondered until much later why there were cops in the 'hood in the first place.
Good news from the Phat Network, for a change
Apple is pregnant. She told Jewel and me a couple weeks ago; she's about 9-10 weeks along by now. She and her husband are so happy. They had sat at our table during the 40th Anniversary Gala; Brian had admired the pendant Apple had been wearing. I told Apple that I hoped the baby would be a girl, and as beautiful as she is.
I ran into Blue Eyes in the break room one day this week, and sent out a couple trial balloons; but she didn't seem to want to talk about her husband.
River is doing well. She's become more involved than either Oksana or I had been with the C Collaborative, where J has long needed some support. She spent a day at Plant City and another at the Children's Law Center, training them on data tracking. Her sense of humor, similar to her best friend Faith's, has made itself felt. She has more clothes than anyone I've ever seen. She cooks regularly for her mee-maw (grandmother), and often brings leftovers to the office. Her officemates love her.
So there was this guy on the bus...
I'm mystified how, at age 48, with a gold ring on my left hand, and an unfashionable figure and wardrobe, I still get hit on from time to time.
Of course, the one who hit on me last night had liquor on his breath; but was otherwise clean and well-groomed. He got on the bus just after it turned for its final stretch towards my street. The bus was half-empty, but he sit on the seat right next to me, and nodded. I nodded back.
"I wish there were batrooms on dis bus," he said.
"Oh dear," I groaned.
"Na na na, don't worry, I ain' gonna let anything out here." Pause. "I just came down from Bahston."
"Oh. Did you pahk ya cah befoa ya lef?"
Mr. Boston smiled. "I just got down heah, an I ain' neva seen a bus like dis in Bahston."
"No, you need an advanced degree to work the bus system here," I remarked.
"Look at dis. Dis bus stops every tree stops."
Brian was waiting for me at our bus stop as usual, but this time he would be getting on the bus to go to dinner with me. "I want the bus to stop here," I said evenly, and gestured outside. "That's my husband right there."
"Nah. Really?"
"He sure is. Fifteen years this June."
"Ah no," said Mr. Boston, getting up and moving into the seat behind me. I heard several people giggle, but the old black man in the seat next to me guffawed, "An he looks like he a big guy, too!" Indeed, my husband looked his most intimidating: long hair, beard, and leather jacket.
Brian got onto the bus to find everyone around me laughing, and Mr. Boston moving as far away from me as he could. Even the driver was smiling. Brian took in the scene, and joked, "Do I have to beat somebody up?" But I picked up that he had slipped into his most Jerseyfied accent.
"I don't mess wit someone else's wife," pleaded Mr. Boston. "No, he wasn't bothering me," I concurred. The old black man was still laughing uproariously. Thank goodness it wasn't far to where we were eating.
Well that's about it for now - let me get this posted.