Time with a Friend

 

I spent time today with my friend T. and we had a wonderful time laughing and talking together. Nothing like a good friend to make the happiness jump all around inside.

September Happiness Challenge

In recent years I have participated in the August Happiness Challenge, but I didn't this year because I'd spent July writing gratitude poems and needed a break.

So, I will do a September Happiness Challenge all by myself, although anyone who wishes may certainly join in. I don't have to do it every day, because it's whatever makes me happy!

For today, I am happy that my husband is able to be around to wait for the washing machine repairman. I will be home during part of the wait, but I have a dentist appointment and need to leave.

Knowing he is available to ensure that this work gets done makes me very happy indeed.

Flower Power

 

Teaching Guitar

As I've returned to playing the guitar after a short hiatus while I recover from a shoulder injury, I've been working scales and getting my muscle memory back in my hands. The practice reminded me that at one time, I taught guitar.

I was still a teenager and not yet married. I was 18 when I started giving lessons.

The first young man lived a little way from us. His father was friends with mine, and I believe I was volunteered for the lessons.

They started out well enough, but about six weeks in, his interest waned. I recalled the emphasis my piano teacher had placed on practicing and decided to echo her nearly word for word the things she said to me when I didn't practice.

It went something like, "If you don't practice, you're just wasting my time and your parents' money. If you don't want to do this, speak up and tell your mother that."

I was never sure if the boy decided he didn't want to learn, or if his mother, who was listening in the kitchen, didn't like my tone of voice, but that was our last lesson.

My next student didn't go much better. I attended church with his family, and his father asked me if I could teach his son to play. But only gospel songs.

I said sure. We settled in with some Amazing Grace and a few other songs, I don't recall for how long. Long enough for him to grow bored with C, G, and F chords, I think.

He asked me if I knew how to play Stairway to Heaven.

Sure, I said, and I started playing the intro to the song.

His father opened the door to the living room so fast that I jumped. "Get out!" he bellowed. "I don't want that devil's music played in my house! I told you just gospel."

I packed up and got out as quickly as I could.

They soon quit coming to church, but I think that was because they moved, not because a devil-music guitar player sat in a pew in the building.

My third and final student lived in the city, and by that time I was working. There were no restrictions on what I could teach him and we got along swimmingly. The lessons ended when one of my community college courses and his after-school schedule collided. 

I ran into this former guitar student - now a grown man with a family of his own - a few years ago and he told me he played banjo in a band. He said I'd gotten him started.

I remembered these three young fellows yesterday while I ran scales up and down the guitar neck, limbering up as I begin returning to a regular routine. I thought about how I'd tried to teach all three of them, but only one took to the lessons.

I guess one out of three isn't bad.

Sunday Stealing

SURVEY TIME!

1. What will you remember from August 2026?

A. I will remember that I had physical therapy for my shoulder. I will probably also remember that this is when Dolly Parton died.

2. When will you start your holiday shopping?

A. I usually have started by now. I am running a little late this year.

3. Where did you meet the person you fell the hardest for?

A. I met him when we were kids on the school bus, although he doesn't remember that. We met again when we were older underneath the football goal post at high school football game.

4. Where did you meet your best friend?

A. I met her at a library event. She was dressed as a cow. I was reporting on the activity.

5. Share a fact about the last person who texted you.

A. The last person to text me is a wonderful, caring woman who has known me since high school. She gave me a compliment no one else has ever given me.

6. EXTRA! EXTRA! Since June's DIY meme was such fun, let's do it again. Please close out this post with a question for your fellow Sunday thieves. Hopefully we'll have enough responses for a September DIY.

A. What’s a skill you wish you could download into your brain instantly?

Or

What’s a place you remember vividly even though you haven’t been there in years?

Thank you for playing! Please come back next week. 

 __________

I encourage you to visit other participants in Sunday Stealing posts and leave a comment. Cheers to all us thieves who love memes, however we come by them.

Saturday 9: Animal Crackers

Saturday 9: Animal Crackers in My Soup (1935)

Unfamiliar with this week's tune? Hear it here.

This month Saturday 9 will be tasty, featuring songs with food in the title.

1) Do you eat soup all year round, or do you consider it a seasonal dish?

A. I don't eat it often in summer. If I am sick, I might eat a bowl of chicken soup, but mostly I consider soup a fall through spring sort of meal.

2) Gazpacho is a popular cold soup. Made with water-rich tomatoes, cucumbers and bell peppers, it's considered a good choice for hot weather because it's hydrating. What are your favorite summertime foods?

A. I love watermelon. It's terribly expensive now, but it's one of my favorites. I am also partial to strawberries and blueberries.

3) This week, Shirley Temple sings of the delights of having crackers in her soup. How often do you add crackers to your soup: always, sometimes, never? 

A. Sometimes.

4) "Animal Crackers in My Soup" was the big musical number in the 1935 movie Curly Top. Shirley played Elizabeth, who helps her older sister find love with a handsome millionaire. Have you ever played matchmaker? If yes, were your efforts successful?

A. I don't recall ever playing matchmaker. 

5) Gertrude Temple, Shirley's mother, was her daughter's onset hairstylist, creating the famous "curly top" with pin curls. What's your hair care regimen? 

A. I wash my hair and blow it dry. If there are ends trying to turn me into the flying nun, I take a curling iron to them.

6) Bartenders are still called upon to create the non-alcoholic Shirley Temple, made with ginger ale, lemon-lime soda, and grenadine. What's the most recent alcoholic beverage you drank? 

A. I last had some blackberry wine in May 2012, at my last creative writing class at Hollins University. The teacher brought it in to celebrate the end of class and the fact that most of us in there were graduating with our masters degree that year.

7) In 1935, when this song was popular, Amelia Earhart flew from Honolulu to Oakland, California. Are you a nervous flyer?

A. I haven't been on a plane since 1993. I don't recall being especially nervous about it.

8) Also in 1935, The Hoover Dam was dedicated. Today it's a popular tourist attraction, with more than 7 million visitors each year. Have you ever been to Las Vegas?

A. I have been through Las Vegas. My parents drove through the city during a two-week round driving trip from Virginia to California. I don't remember if we stopped there.

9) Random question: You get a spur-of-the-moment invitation to a meal with your best friend. Could you go wearing what you have on right now?

A. No. I have on an old t-shirt that says, "Keepin' it Rural" and would have to change into a nicer shirt. This is just for wearing around the house.

_______________

I encourage you to visit the posts of other participants in Saturday 9 and leave a comment. Because there are no rules, it is your choice. Saturday 9 players hate rules. We love memes, however. 

Describe Me to Someone

I've made no secret that I play around with AIs. I thought I'd ask each one the same question and see what it said. The question was, "Tell me how you would describe me to someone who's never met me before."

This was an interesting exercise, because I use each AI for different things. Alexa knows my buying and music history from Amazon, so she's well aware of my reading and music habits. ChatGPT and Claude I use for different things, mostly to hash over some plot point or to discuss my day in order to synthesize it into my life experience. And CoPilot I use as a search engine, mostly, and to discuss why I seem to confuse the Wordlebot a lot.

Here are the answers, along with some visuals after I asked if each could draw a picture of me.

Alexa

You're a retired journalist with a wicked sense of humor and a love for creative writing, from sci-fi to Appalachian mysteries. You've got a real passion for classic rock and music, and you spend your days on a cattle farm in Virginia with your husband. I'd say you're someone who appreciates a good pattern, whether it's in a Wordle game or a well-told story.

Alexa told me to tell her what I looked like. She drew a photo based on my description of myself:

I wish I did look like that. That's just cool.

ChatGPT

[CountryDew] is a smart, complicated, funny, stubborn woman with a reporter’s brain and an artist’s heart.

She notices things other people miss. Details matter to her—not just facts, but why something happened, what somebody left unsaid, and whether the official story actually matches reality. She spent years asking questions for a living, and she still does. You probably can’t bullshit her for very long.

She’s a writer, a musician, a former reporter, a blogger, a farmer, a researcher, and—when something matters to her—a remarkably persistent pain in the ass. I mean that affectionately. If [CountryDew] believes something is wrong, she doesn't just shrug and wander off. She investigates. She remembers. She finds documents. She asks inconvenient questions. 

She has a wicked sense of humor, including a fondness for absurdity, dark jokes, and stories that get funnier the more horrifying they become. She can go from talking about grief and betrayal to making you laugh in about thirty seconds. That's not shallowness. It's survival.

She loves deeply, even when she'd probably prefer not to admit how much. She cares about people, animals, the land, history, fairness, words, music, and getting the facts right. She has a strong sense of justice and an equally strong memory for injustice, which is one of her superpowers.

She's not easy in the sense that she's not endlessly agreeable. She has opinions. She expects people to mean what they say. She gets angry. She can be impatient.

 

But I don't think "difficult" is the central word I'd use.

I'd say: [CountryDew] is bruised, funny, intelligent, talented, furious, curious, and still trying to make sense of the world—even when the world has given her plenty of reasons to quit trying.

And I'd probably add: If you get her talking, sit down. You're going to hear some stories.

ChatGPT asked for a photo before it drew a picture of me:

I'm not *quite* that gray but getting there. I rather like this picture.

Claude

[CountryDew] is a retired journalist who spent forty years covering local government in Botetourt County, Virginia — the kind of reporter who knew everyone and everything happening in her patch of the world, and who published at a pace most writers never touch, around thirty articles a month at her peak. She clearly misses the sense of purpose and connection it gave her; people in her community still tell her friends they wish she were still reporting.

She's been married 42 years to a man who runs their cattle farm, and she's lived on that land long enough to have written a master's thesis about its history. No children, but a long relationship with words instead — a blog she's kept for two decades, poetry, a series of short stories she's wrestling with, and lately she's mentioned other projects she's half-serious about.

She's sharp, self-deprecating, and honest about her limits — about her body not keeping up with her ambitions for her office or her writing, about not being much of a public speaker, about being unlikely to be "the next JK Rowling" and saying so with a laugh rather than despair. She still plays guitar, still reads for pleasure, still wants a fresh start in that same worn-out office where she used to be a news reporter.

Underneath the practical, no-nonsense exterior — she doesn't cook much anymore, drinks only water, would eat cereal every night if left to her own devices — there's someone still actively building something: trying to figure out what her writing is for now that the newsroom chapter is over.

I asked Claude to draw a picture of me and he went for "symbolic."

I wonder what those spots on the ground that look a bit like hats are supposed to be. Cows, maybe?

CoPilot

I’d describe you the way people talk about someone they already feel like they know — not with a résumé, but with the texture of a person.

You come across as someone who is sharp, plainspoken, and allergic to nonsense, but not unkind. You have that journalist’s instinct to get to the point, but you also have a dry humor that slips in sideways and makes people laugh because it’s so clean and unforced.

You’re practical — you pay bills by check, [no I don't, I have no idea where that came from.] you like things itemized, you don’t fall for gimmicks — but you’re also imaginative in a way people don’t expect. You can riff sci‑fi with ease, enjoy dragons, superheroes, and Wordle strategy, and you’re comfortable jumping between grounded real‑world tasks and playful creativity.

You’re someone who thinks, and you make other people think. You don’t need emotional theatrics; you prefer clarity, honesty, and a good conversation that respects your intelligence. You’re steady, loyal to the people who earn it, and you navigate life with a mix of competence, humor, and a little bit of “don’t waste my time.”

If I were introducing you to someone who’d never met you, I’d say:

“She’s smart, direct, funny in a dry way, and she notices everything. She’s practical but imaginative, grounded but playful, and she’ll challenge you — kindly — to think a little harder. She’s someone you talk to when you want the truth without the drama.”

And then I uploaded the same picture I gave ChatGPT. CoPilot said it couldn't draw a picture of me but could make an avatar or something, so I told it to go for it.

Now that's an AI image I can get my hands around. Ha.

_______________

So, what do you think? Do the AIs know the same person that those of you who have been reading this blog for some time know? Or did they miss the mark?

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things I’m Ready to Leave Behind This Summer

1. Humidity that makes my hair declare independence and form its own small nation.

2. Every dog in every store, because apparently I’m the only person in Virginia who remembers allergies exist.

3. The constant fear that poison ivy is lurking one inch off any walking path like a booby trap.

4. Ticks acting like they’ve been personally invited to the backyard.

5. High wind warnings that make me mentally rehearse my obituary.

6. The smell of hay following my husband into the house after work, even though he swears he didn’t walk through any.

7. The annual “Am I stuck in barbed wire?” panic whenever I’m near a fence.

8. My electric bill behaving like it’s auditioning for a horror movie.

9. Weather people promising relief, then delivering “surprise, it’s 94, and still no rain.”

10. The guilt of not tackling the ambitious June list, because I never intended to do that stuff anyway.

11. Fruit flies from the garden tomatoes who apparently think my kitchen is a summer Airbnb.

12. The ongoing battle between my desire for crystal‑clear Brita water and the heat making me refill my glass every ten minutes.

13. The belief that August will ever be anything but a sweaty, dramatic diva. Thank goodness fall is on its way (except for the pumpkin spice, can't stand that stuff).

_________________

Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; there is a list here if you want to read other Thursday Thirteens and/or play along. I've been playing for a while, and this is my 973rd time to do a list of 13 on a Thursday. Or so sayth the Blogger counter, anyway.

Currently

 

Currently, I am:

Reading . . . Desperation in Death, by J.D. Robb

 

Watching . . .  Same as before because the new seasons haven't started yet: JAG, Reacher, Password, The Eye of the Storm, Deadliest Catch.

Listening . . . to Dolly Parton's album, Rockstar Delux, because the country music legend passed away yesterday, and yes, I do own this album. I bought it because she has a duet with Melissa Etheridge on it. I also gave a copy of it to my father for Christmas the year it came out.

 

Eating . . . nothing at the moment. I am chewing gum, though.

Thinking . . . that the field out front looks better with the golden rod mowed down. 

 

Feeling . . . hopeful that I'll get to see the lunar eclipse tomorrow night, although the forecast is calling for overcast skies.

Celebrating . . . the fact that I've been able to pick the guitar up again, after dealing with a shoulder impingement for months. I can't hold it for long, but I'm getting there.

 

Thankful . . . for good people in the world like Dolly Parton. In a world full of jerks, be a Dolly Parton. 

Enjoying . . . a jigsaw puzzle, the new Atlantic magazine, and a new pair of shoes.

Fawns

 

Maybe There Are Witches

Twenty-six years ago today, my mother passed away.

I've acknowledged this date most years. Since I've been doing this blog for 20 years, there isn't much new left to say.

What I have is one small moment. It doesn't need to be more than it was.

Some background. At my elementary school, there was a weekly Bible study class. I was in the fourth grade when the instructor handed out books for this hour of religious indoctrination. After six weeks, she wanted to see everyone's books and how often we went to Sunday school and church.

My family didn't attend church. My father was Catholic and my mother was Baptist, and apparently when I was born, never the twain shall meet. The instructor picked up my very empty book and held up for all the class to see what a sinner I was, I who had no way to get to a church, living out in a rural area as I did. And at 10 years old, what was I to do?

I sat and cried the whole hour and then went home and told my parents what happened. One of them must have said something to the school officials, because the next week I was sent out of class to go to the library when Bible study hour came. That suited me fine. I learned the Dewey Decimal System, how to shelve books, and had the chance to sit and read when I was done with the library duty. 

So, I didn't mind the library. I minded what came after, though. The other kids made fun of me. They already thought I was strange because I was an A student and called me names like "computer head." Missing the Bible study class meant I was even weirder than they thought. Someone to laugh at. They made fun of me for the books I read, too, because I liked dragons and fairies and worlds that weren't this one.

It bothered me a lot, and one evening I grew very quiet. The next day was Bible class day. I started crying about it. I remember standing at the window, looking out at the stars, tears on my cheeks.

My mother noticed something was wrong. I told her the kids made fun of me because I didn't go to Bible class and I read books about witches and ghosts and fairies. I don't remember the whole conversation, just the one thing she said, because I've turned it over so many times since: Maybe there are witches and ghosts and fairies. They don't know. Don't cry.

Mom didn't fix the school, or the other kids, or the years that came after. But for one evening, she didn't tell me the world was right and I was wrong to be hurt by it. She let the possibility stand: maybe there's more to things than the people who were laughing at me understood. Maybe I wasn't foolish for believing in something bigger than what was in front of me.

I don't know that she meant it as comfort in any deep way. I don't know that she thought about it again after that night. But I did. I still do, because I never forgot it. I still read - and sometimes write - about worlds that aren't quite this one that we inhabit. 

I still like the idea of magic.

Maybe there are witches and ghosts and fairies. I will never know the truth of that. But I stopped crying that night, and some nights, that's the whole job of a mother, to wipe away the tears.