Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'

January 30, 2013

Wind, dirt, spring & Mike Mulligan . . .

Whoosh!  Just blew in from a walk in the wildlife preserve.  If I had had an inkling of how biting that icy wind was, I wouldda stood at home.  By the time I had harnessed myself for the trek and naively stepped out the door, it was too late - I was strapped this way and that way like a pack mule and just as stubborn, so I proceeded.  In my full regalia, I was bound by four straps from the binoculars harness, dark glasses strap, hat strap and bird book pack strap.  In an effort to rid myself of more straps from the backpack and camera, I was wearing my brand new waist pack with various paraphernalia stowed inside.

The trek was a welcome relief from stress; we had learned about a tragedy for someone we love and in addition, Dad was set for emergency surgery this morning.  Hearing that Dad came through in good order, it was time for me to get out of Dodge.

Adding to the neighborhood hubbub was Mike Mulligan and his steam shovel tearing away at what passes for a road by the campground.  I stepped gingerly between the digging machine and the scooping machine that appeared not to care that I was there and away I went.  Somehow, I am not surprised that I had the place to myself; it was pretty dang unpleasant out there weatherwise but nothing like the day before.





For that entire day, we had 80-miles-per-hour-dirt-laden wind that like to knocked me down when I came out of the library.  It was so extreme that when Chris got home, he loaded me in the truck so he could show me a place where dirt was drifting across the pavement as if we were in the middle of a dirt blizzard.

When hiking, I have a habit of touching vegetation as I pass by, thus I am often trailing my fingers along bark, leaves, stems and grass.  Note to self: Cease that particular habit while in desert climes..

There is every indication that spring lurks nearby.  The willows are leafing out and I can notice the greening of various other plants.  This is just about the time of year I begin to notice the barely discernible change of color in the cottonwoods at home.  It is then I know there is hope; winter is on its way out.

Walmart! . . .

Really, we must learn to adjust our activities in compensation for the conditions in this city.  One Sunday night, we bopped on into Walmart because we were in the neighborhood and wanted to purchase some adult beverages.  Quickly finding the appropriate department, we made our selection and proceeded to checkout.  Jumpin’ Jehosophat!  The ends of the lines were lost somewhere back in ladies’ underwear!  One half hour later, we bade farewell to the nice man in line behind us as he wryly smiled and said, “Nice spending the evening with you”.

This was not our first encounter with 60,000-additional-people-meet-inadequate-workforce.  A couple of weeks ago, Chris developed sufficient respiratory difficulty that I trotted him to an urgent care clinic after work.  All went well there - excellent efficient care - and we were out of there by 7:45 p.m.  We asked to have his prescriptions faxed to Walmart because we find that most convenient when we are traveling.  The nurse thought the pharmacy would be closed by 8 and we couldn’t get there by then, thus would have to wait until morning.

Back in the car, I decided to go there anyway on the chance that it would be open until 9 and he could start on his meds sooner.  Yessir, great idea; the pharmacy was indeed open until 9 and we were standing in line for a full one-and-one-half hours just to get to the counter to find out if the fax had come through.  I give full credit to the staff, though; they worked deliberately and efficiently, never impatient nor harried.  They even took the time to research which of the discount cards we had been given at the clinic would best benefit us.

When in an unfamiliar place, it is sometimes difficult to meet people.  Not so here: just line up and wait - instant friends.

Library, Jamie, indecision . . .

I have been spending most afternoons in the downtown Midland library’s genealogy section.  Having worked my research way through nearly all the Texas source material, I am set to embark on another state.  The staff has been most helpful.  That particular very large collection is slated to be moved to another building sometime in March.  Lest I hear about the move and despair of being able to continue working in there, the librarian reassured me that I would be able to continue my research with very little hiatus during the move, a most thoughtful and proactive thing for her to do.

A while back, a friend mentioned a series of historical novels she thought I might find interesting.  Not being in much of a fiction mode these days, I poo-pooed the idea when I learned more about the theme.  Somehow, though, I ended up borrowing the first book of the series and it’s been all downhill from there.  I am fascinated by the story line, by the characters (Jamie makes my heart skip a beat and Claire is my hero), and the history portrayed in 18th century Europe, especially Scotland, and the American colonies, most notably North Carolina, because I can relate it all to my known ancestors in those times and places, and because I have been in many of the localities in North Carolina and the East Coast.  Recognizing places and the history associated with them and real-life people who were a part of it all adds to the interest.

I mention it now only because I was in the grip of the fourth book in the series, a massive 1,443 page tome, when I left for Texas.  That would be no problem except that the book belonged to the public library, so as any good patron would, I returned it.  Arriving in Midland and experiencing Jamie withdrawals, I hurried down to the library, determined what I needed to obtain a library card, fulfilled the requirements and checked out the book. 

All good except that I’m not spending enough time reading to make a dent in that voluminous volume, so renewal time arrived and, again like a good patron, I sidled on up to the counter to make the book mine for an additional three weeks.  “Sure”, the clerk assured me that renewal would be a simple matter.  “Uh-oh” was her next utterance; I hate it when people do that.  Unfortunately, I had already relinquished control of the book or I would have said, “Never mind”, tucked it under my arm and bolted for the door.  Some other Jamie aficionado had put a reserve on “my” book and no amount of cajoling would induce that wicked librarian to give me back my book.

As Chester A. Riley would have said, “What a revoltin’ development this is”.

I diverted myself from this major loss for a couple of days while schemes revolved in my head like Indians riding in circles around the wagon train in a cheesy old western movie.  I could wait for that mean person to return the book to the library where I had followed suit with a reserve.  No, I didn’t want to wait that long; no telling what will have happened to the North Carolina mountain pioneers forced into duty as Colonial militia by that time. 

Still mulling, I thought I could look for a local bookstore and buy the thing myself but surely a volume that size will be pricey and besides, I couldn’t find a local bookstore.

I could have bought it online: yes indeed, that is what I would do.  I looked up prices, didn’t seem too bad but it was coming up a holiday weekend - I wouldn’t receive it for quite a while.  Maybe I should look for a used bookstore, I thought.  Checking out the phone book, I saw four listed but I didn’t recognize any of those street names, was not feeling much enthusiasm for getting lost in this traffic.

Back to the online idea, then waiting for the library, then more circles of indecision until I finally put my foot down on my own circuitous rambling thoughts.  Back to the phone book: hmmm. . . . seems only one of those addresses was in Midland, didn’t notice that at first.  Now more doubts - get lost, find out it’s out of business, it probably won’t have the right book anyway, could call and ask but they might not want to look even if it really is still in business. . .

All this and more over one lousy book (reminds me of a right venerable gentleman who used to chastise the teenaged me for using that word in place of proper language - “What?” he would say. “Does it have lice?”  Imagine how he would feel about how we abuse the English language now.)  Yet another digression. . .

At long last, a decision made.  I retrieved the map from the map bin and figured out a route to get from here to there (in case it is still open), get in car and drive.  (Is it any wonder that I don’t get the blog done in any kind of timely manner - I do go on and on - at least that’s what Shawna says).

Eureka, Miz B’s . . .

Amazing what effect taking action has - not only did I find the place with ease, but I walked into the most delightful emporium of used books ever and was greeted by delightful young women.  A step into Miz B’s Books is to cross the threshold into a literary wonderland.

Aisle after aisle, room after room, the warren of shelves filled with every imaginable genre of the written word snakes one way and then another, opening into yet another alcove, closet or series of rooms, enticing the prospective reader with visions of endless retreats into realms yet undiscovered.

The proprietor and her enthusiastic assistant welcome their customers with smiles that understand the gleam in each reader’s eye as they survey the stacks and stacks of magical books - the real kind: the kind that tatter at the corner, that smell just a bit musty or dusty, that tent themselves as they are turned upside down to the open page awaiting the reader’s return, the kind that reveal a pressed leaf or forgotten note between inner pages.

This Miz B’s is a Midland treasure, purchased by Alicia last July 1st from her grandmother who opened it, also on July 1st, 33 years previous.  How many of us have harbored a yearning to own a book store?  What avid reader has not at times speculated on the bliss involved with such an undertaking?  Alicia took matters in hand at a young age, determined not to join the ranks of those of us who only wish we had, and is living her dream.  And . . . she wasted not a moment when confronted with my request, but retrieved the ridiculously massive novel from within the stacks, sending me on my way with a skip in my step congratulating myself on finding the best bookstore ever.

The basics, flashes from the past . . .

Two basics I miss most while traveling:  trusted hair cutter and vehicle mechanic.  It seems that all else can be dealt with, although medical and dentistry needs come a close second.  We have been fairly fortunate while traveling in the past to get shaven and shorn and tuned up with little fanfare and no disasters. 

Chris is less persnickety about the end result of his trips to the barber, but I miss Julie!  She has been cutting my hair wonderfully well for years and has become a trusted friend in the process.  In shaggy desperation, I stopped at a salon last week, one that happened to have an opening right then when I inquired about making an appointment - that should have been my first clue.  The young lady gave me a good cut but I have to admit the place seemed not nearly as clean as I would have liked, so I will still be in the market when my five weeks is up.

Ruby also feels the need for attention; although I had her serviced just prior to departure, she has flashed her “check engine” light at me.  A bad haircut I can live with; after all, it will grow out, but I would not dream of entrusting my dependable motor car to just anyone.  Believing we are on the right track after several recommendations and phone calls, I hope to get her squared away this week.

Last week at church, a guest musician from San Angelo mentioned that she originated from Phoenix.  That being my hometown, I began a conversation.  Turns out that Ellen Myers not only attended the same elementary school that I did, we both went to the same high school and grew up less than a mile from each other.  What are the chances that we would happen to meet in Midland, Texas?  It is so fun to discover the connections with those around me.  I am convinced we could find commonalities with everyone we meet; some are just more coincidental than others.

And speaking of connections, I have had the great pleasure to visit with a woman whose brother was my father’s business partner when I was young.  Joy’s niece & nephew read my blog, so when learning that I was in Midland, they told me about her living here.  A phone call later, I was invited to her house and we were reminiscing about her brother whom we both loved.  Another week, another visit - I felt so fortunate to be invited back!

Best business name: Flour Power Bakery.