I was on what felt like a long flight home to LA. The pilot told everyone to remain seated, he was expecting turbulence. A man in front of me stood up in the isle and started stretching. It appeared that he was trying to do the splits. Then he bent his leg at the knee and pulled his foot towards his butt. The pilot repeated his announcement to please be seated. The man stretching in the isle said “I thinks that’s being said to me” then he bent his other leg behind him and pulled his foot toward his butt. He continued his stretch in spite of the announcement. When asked to sit down by a flight attendant he sat down and took out a container full of spaghetti and meatballs. He took out three plates and divided the pasta and meatballs onto the plates. He passed out the plates and I watched his child eat, spill and mash his meal. Did I mention it was a long flight?
Another day at a hotel with a breakfast buffet. I’m actually looking forward to being home, my pop tarts in the cupboard are looking darn good about now. I decided to have the “make your own” waffle. I tried to fill the “waffle measuring cup” with waffle batter but no batter came out, it must have been empty. There was only strawberry waffle batter so I decided to try it. I poured the batter in the waffle iron and closed the lid. A bright red clock on the waffle iron started counting down, two minutes thirty seconds until it was done. A man came over and tried to get batter. I told him only strawberry is available and that I’d be done in one minute and thirty seconds and gestured to the red timer. I looked away for a second and the man had opened the waffle iron. I explained that my waffle wasn’t done yet. He said “my bad” and walked away. I stuffed my mangled waffle back in the iron, let it cook and ate it while I thought about writing this blog post and going home.
We had lived in LA and ended up in a very rural southern town for a year. Our neighbor across the street wore church dresses and hats yet carried a shot gun over her shoulder.
One afternoon Lisa came over with a large glass jar. She invited herself in, sat on our couch and demanded I get the kids. She had a surprise. I shuddered. I felt fear. I reminded myself I had been to Walmart at two AM in one of the worst parts of LA. If I can do that I can’t and won’t be frightened by Lisa and her jar.
We gathered around Lisa. She told us the jar was full of poison spiders and they were a gift. She collects them and wanted to share them. “Just don’t touch them. My boyfriend almost lost his hand cause he got bit” She warned.
“Don’t worry about him they just cut off a finger and some skin. He is fine”
She reminded us to “Feed um quick and close the lid”
Lisa left quickly and we all stared at the jar. I suggested the kids throw the jar away. They said I’m the mom I should throw it away.
Yep, I’m the mom. I had to do something. I grabbed a garbage bag put the jar in. Tied it and took it outside.
She wanted us to learn about spiders but we learned to hide from Lisa.
We want to go home…
I heard a loud knock on my front door. I opened it to see “church lady dressed Lisa” standing at the door with a snake about 7 feet long around her neck. I jumped back and asked her why she brought the snake. “I found it in my front yard and thought your city kids should see it. “Touch it, it’s cold as a jug of milk” she said. I declined. She gave my kids a little lesson on snakes, insisted they touch it and then suggested I take pictures of the kids with the snake. I took pictures of her holding it next to my frightened children in hopes she would go home.
Now we are afraid to go outside because of snakes and Lisa, and we are afraid to open the door. She says she will come back.
We want to go home to LA.
Spending time in the south from LA.
I looked out my living room window and saw a woman dressed “for church” heels and a hat with a shot gun over her shoulder.
I wanted to go home.
I moved and unfortunately have two places for one month. Sounds glamorous, (read this sentence like Thurston Howell the third) I left my keys at my other home, oh my it’s confusing having two homes. The glamour goes away quickly because I have to pay two rent and two utilities and I’m barely paying one.
I went to check my mail at home one because I’m not getting much at home two. My box was full of mail! I asked the postal worker standing by the box why I’m not getting my mail forwarded. He said “because I don’t work every day, only I forward your mail” I said come on you don’t forward it the main post office does. He says “nope I do it” I said come on you put the little yellow sticker on my mail with
the new address? He said “yep, I do”
I was like come on now, you are messing with me. He said “nope I print little yellow labels in my truck” I said something like oh, come on now you do not. He was silent just stared and smoked. I said I hope I start getting my mail… He said “here’s hoping”
I walked away. Discouraged.
My family has a new expression if we think someone isn’t being truthful.
“You lie like the mailman”