Thinking Everything Out

It's finally dawned on yours truly that the reason she's depressed most of the time now is that she has to concentrate on what she MUST do rather than what she WANTS to do. The post-death legalities and responsibilities don't leave Fiorella much time for art, music, writing, or languages--although she has made a couple of character notes for Leah's upcoming story (stay tuned).
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Fio posted a picture of her dear friend Nicole Domingue on FB, but no one has spoken up as remembering her, which astounded Fiorella. Nicole was a renowned scholar, a lovely person, and a very good teacher. But then, how many of Fio's students will ever remember her?
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Our politicians and their hangers-on seem to be preoccupied by money--making it off us and sticking it in their own pockets.  Fiorella votes for them attending more to the welfare of their constituents, the country, and the world, which we're all a part of.
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A former classmate of Fiorella's who had the habit of alternately posting cute animal pics and mean memes which read like they'd come straight from Moscow has suddenly changed her tune and posted a level-headed plea for peace among us. Was it an accidental posting or has she changed her tune?
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Do you know how much joy Fio gets from writing this column? It's her only outlet nowadays, but even if Fiorella had several other projects going, she would keep this blog up. It's her anonymous diary....although she never tells quite all.😉

Sonia Dog Tells All

My sprained ankle is pretty well healed so Mommy and I went for a ride this morning, taking Daddy's car because it has a back seat that I can lounge around on. We planned to stop at Walgreens first so Mommy could grab index cards, Neosporin, and whatever leftover Easter chocolates were on the shelves, then go on to Dairy Queen so I could have a puppy cup and she could have a chocolate dipped cone. (Mommy should consider giving up chocolate and eating MilkBones instead.)

When Mommy arrived at the pharmacy, she rolled down the front windows of the car about four inches, locked the doors, and told me to be a good girl, that she'd be back in five minutes. Actually, she made it in four, which I give her points for. (My mommy is the best!)

Then, on to Dairy Queen. I held my breath when we were at the service window because Mommy's not too good at judging distances so she always has to s-t-r-e-t-c-h to reach her dipped cone and my puppy cup.  (The only problem is when the server tries to give her my treat first, which tangles Mommy's arms.)

There was an old newspaper at the top of our driveway when we got home, so Mommy had to get out of the car and pick it up, which irritated her. Then she got even madder when she pushed the button that is supposed to open that garage door and nothing happened. But when she pushed the button again and said "Damn!," which is apparently a magic word,  the door obeyed her. (She knows other magic words too.)

As soon as Mommy got us in the house, I stood my ground in the kitchen and barked as loudly as I could to let any bad people who had sneaked in while we were gone know a fearsome mastiff was back on site. (Then I cuddled up to Mommy on the couch and started snoring.)

Three Unfinished Stories

Three unfinished stories           


Sarah lifted the cold, heavy Glock out of her purse and laid it on the passenger seat so she could reach it easily.  She didn’t like toting a gun around everywhere she went, but she didn’t like the idea of getting offed by some low-life hired by her ex-husband either.  The boys were all under age, which meant Keith, with his political connections, would get custody of them, which also meant every penny of their inheritance would be gone by the time they reached their majority. 
          She moved her hand over the cold, hard steel. Not if shecould help it. 

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          She was married now--in word, if not in deed, and the snooty concierge had addressed her as "ma'am" when as she'd ushered the newlyweds into the opulant bridal suite.
          Ann stared into the bathroom mirror, examining herself to see if she looked any different--aside from the professional make-up job--than she had yesterday.
          Her image stared back at her with warning eyes. You may be Cinderella, Annie girl, but remember, you're no Snow White.
*****
           Ayella turned to recheck the room for something--anything--that would boost her up a foot higher. The bedside table--would that work? She stepped down from the chair, slid off the desk, then cleared the bedstand of of its accoutrements and lugged it over to the desk. It was heavier than she'd thought, but she managed to get it up onto the desk and turn it sideways, then pose the the light-weighchair on top of it. The construction stabilized, she took a deep brath, and began climbing toward the tower window.
           She had to get out of here. Gabriel's life depended on it.

School Days (skip this if it bores you)

*Fiorella's found some notes she wrote about her schooldays so you'll have to bear with her. You've already heard about her kindergarten adventures in the basement of a Methodist church with Mrs. Ruebright (may her tribe increase), and also read references to her first grade teachers--Mrs. Thomas, who decided to return to tecahing fifth grade after three months of dealing with younglings, Mrs. Young, whom Fiorella loved and who once brought her two grandchildren to class with her, and Miss Jackson, straight out of teacher college, who was very sharp with the class, as insecure new teachers often are.
Fio should add that, as the little girl who persuaded the rabbits not to boycott Easter, she had the starring role in the Easter show.

*Second grade with Mrs. Lehman, a friend of her mother's, was when Fiorella had to stay in from recess because she moved her spelling page so poor Darlene, who sat behind her, could copy it. It was also when Fiorella expanded her acting career by being one of the three youngsters chosen to participate in the school Christmas program, a career that was cut short when her family moved to Waco for the last two months of the school year.
Fiorella adored her new teacher, Mrs. Sublett, who was young and wore pretty dresses, but Mother, for some reason, didn't  approve of her, even though Fiorella's report card said good things and Mrs. Sublett reported that Fio was the only one in the class who had correctly identified every piece of music that the rest of the students had been listening to all semester.

*Third grade, and at last, Fiorella had a teacher that Mother approved of--Mrs. Ryder, gray-haired and rigorous. It was a good year, Fiorella remembers, although Mrs. Ryder could be sort of mean at times.

*Fourrth grade, and Fiorella should explain that in oldern days at North Waco Elementary, children were put in a single line on the playground and assigned to their teacher by a one-by-one call-out, which horrified Fio's mother. Years later, Mother confessed that when Fio was asisgned to Mrs. Mary Johnson's class, she went home and cried, but Fiorella actually had a pretty good time in the fourth grade. Mrs. Johnson was fast approaching her dotage, but she could still teach the class folk songs that Fio would sing as she walked home from school--songs like "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" and "Pickin' Up Pawpaws." And then, when Mrs. Johnson discovered Fio could draw, she had her illustrating blackboards on a regular basis. And because there was a lot of spare time in class, Fiorella had time to read the books she'd checked out of the school library (thank you, Miss Ollie Bateman) or borrowed from the home library of friend (thank you, Janene Loftis). And the best part was that when Mrs. Johnson left the class unattended, some of the kids would go up front and tell stories or--like Hardy Joe Brundage did--imitate Mrs. Johnson taking off her girdle--which he'd accidentally caught her doing in the coat room. Oh--and we always knew when there would be a fire alarm because she changed shoes.
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Fifth grade, and Fiorella had another teacher she loved and Mother didn't--Miss Pewitt, probably in her thirties, who married at mid-term and became Mrs. Grissom. Mother didn't care for Fio's sixth grade teacher either, Mrs. Hinkle, a volatile redhead whom Fio adored. Her class was always interesting. She had a unit on Hawaii (because her husband had been stationed there) that Fio remembers even today. And her grammar unit on parsing was probably the basis for Fio's fascination with linguistics, her college major.

Considering

Fiorella has long cherished--and abided by--a saying passed on from her Prussian great-grandfather: paper is patient. Mother explained it as means that you shoudn't believe everything you read because anyone can write down anything, and the paper has no way of contesting it.
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Your faithful blogger seems to have become adjusted to moving back and forth between into her PC and her Mac. They both have their ups and downs. For instance, the PC has a type-here-to-search function that the Mac lacks, but the Mac holds a charge longer. And while the Mac is lighter and thus easier to pull out from under the couch, the colorful line-up of icons at the bottom of the screen is annoying, as is the routine one has to go through to delete anything.
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Let's throw all the "-ism" terms terms out the window and just start being kind to each other--and honest.
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No, thank-you, H-E-B. Fiorella doesn't want to try curb-side shopping. She prefers to be part of the hustle and bustle of life, to walk into the store on her own two feet and select her groceries herself, nodding and smiling at everyone in sight, often making up stories about them in her head as she passes by.
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Fio finally made contact with friend Suzy-across-the-waves this morning, and she's been high as a kite ever since.  Talking to someone who still likes you even though she knows everything there is to know about you is invigorating.💗

More and More Chocolate

It's 7:18 in the morning and Fiorella, who swore  off chocolate on Wednesday, then bought three large-size leftover Easter rabbits yesterday, then swore off again after eating a rabbit when la computadora froze up on her, is craving a chocolate fix this morning. Not only is she running around in the usual early morning frenzy, but she's discovered that she hadn't made her call to friend Suzy in England as scheduled. Also, she's dealing with a certain large dog who wants complete and total get-well-soon mothering.
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It's 11:1. 5 and Fiorella's  missed making her call to friend Suzy in England AGAIN. Obviously Fio has screwed up the phone number AGAIN! She also discovered she's messed up the dates of her posts. (And you wonder why she gobbles down chocolate rabbits for solace.)
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It's 12:35, and after some back and forth by email, friend Suzy sent Fio the correct phone number--and it was EXACTLY what your frantic heroine had been calling--twice!  Hmmm--does Walgreens have any more rabbits left? Say--several pounds of them?
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It's 2:00, and Fiorella is now sitting on the couch untangling her misdating of blog posts as Sonia Dog snores peacefully beside her, which is good because it means Doggie isn't in as much pain as she was yesterday, when she whimpered every other second. Fio will have to keep her sweetheart downstairs and as inactive as possibel, of course, which isn't that hard with a mastiff.
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It's 2:16, and Fio's decided to tackle more of the insurance and investment stuff as Doggie sleeps. Then, after the dining table is finally cleared, there will be the 2018 taxes to put together. Pray God there's a black market on Russell Stover rabbits somewhere that Fio can get connected to.

Sorrows

Several vendors and their families had parked their pick-ups loaded with colorful cascarones and pintatas along the route Fiorella took to her brother's house on Easter, but no one seemed to be buying, which hurt Fio's heart.
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You know that Fiorella had a lovely Easter in Cedar Creek, but she was also sad that, as the organizer of family events, she is now out of business. Time marches on.
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The books that formed Fiorella are on the chopping block now: Heidi, Pollyana, Pollyanna Grows Up, The Hidden Staircase (Nancy Drew Mystery),  and Anne of Green Gables. So are her father's childhood favorites: Freshman Quaterback, Frckles Comes Home, Poppy Ott's Pedigreed Pickles, and PeeWee Harris, Mayor for a Day. Their pages must be sodden with DNA.
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My nights are short
My days are long
I'm getting tired
Of being strong
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Sonia Dog is limping. She's done something to her right front paw. Fio's placed the fireplace screen in front of the stairs so Doggie won't try to go up them and injure herself further. If the paw doesn't heal itself by tomorrow, Fio will have to figure out a way to get her sweet baby into the car so she can take her to the vet.