French Kissing on Widowhood Lane

The ‘For Sale’ sign came down on the house next door that’s sat empty and in foreclosure since January. I’m practically giddy over the prospect of having new neighbors. I haven’t figured out, yet, if all the young guys who descended on the place are in the business of flipping houses or if it’s the new owner and some of his friends whipping the place into shape before a moving van shows up. I hope it’s the latter. The first thing they did is cut the lawn. Halleluiah! No more dandelion seeds blowing my way. If I lived closer to one of the colleges in town I’d worry that maybe all those guys with their pickup trucks are frat boys setting up a new fraternity house. Oh, well, I learned a long time ago I’m not in charge of the world, but if they do turn out to be frat boys I’m hand-painting a sign warning them about the dangers of peeing in the cattail bog that separates our two properties. I guess you’d call that a passive aggressive welcome to the neighborhood. Could you blame me? I love the toads that hang around that bog and they shouldn’t have to endure boy-power showers. 

Saturday was the day I had earmarked to work in the garage setting up my eBay station for the summer. But it was dreary out there so I left my common sense behind and went to the second most accident-plagued street in four counties to shop in the driving rain. Thankfully I returned with my car bumpers, doors and body parts still intact plus I found a few more quilting quarters that I don’t need until next winter. Yes, this silly woman had an itch that needed scratching. I did get one thing I’ll actually need next month, a permanent fabric pen so I can sign my quilt when it comes back from the long arm machine sewing service. Poor timing on my part, I should have signed my quilt before sending it off but this will work. I’m writing my name on a fabric block, then I’ll sew the block on the back of the quilt. That way, I can spell-check the heck out of my signature before attaching it to the quilt so I won’t be stuck with a Jena instead of Jean. Jena is a common dyslexia mistake in my world.

Monday I had to go to the dentist. I didn’t have a problem but the guy likes to nit-pick and this time he wanted to remove two of my silver fillings. I hated to see them go. I’ve had them since my teen years but he thought they were worn out and in danger of cracking thus damaging the teeth in the process. He showed me photos of their surfaces to make his case. I told him I was sentimental about those fillings. He said, “Get over it.” And that’s how I ended up on his schedule. Who gets sentimental over a filling? Me. I could get sentimental over a hangnail.

It was the first day of June when I went to the dentist but it was cold enough to wear a winter coat when I got up---in the 40’s. Where is summer? I guess it’s coming later in the week but I’ve heard that story before. It will probably rain and before I know it the trees will be turning colors and frost will be on the pumpkins. Time sure flies by the older I get. I suppose I don’t help myself in that department when I do things like stock up on quilt fabrics for a winter project when June is just tippy-toeing in. I’ve struggled with living in the future my entire life and that served me well in my work-every-day world. But I’m retired now and I should be buying margarita mix and downloading Kenny Chesney songs about sitting on the beach when the sun goes down, drinks in hand, toes in sand.

In one of his songs Kenny sings about “French kissing life square on the mouth.” It’s been a long time since I’ve French kissed life---since I've had that over-the-top passion for doing something fun in the moment. I guess while I have my paints out to make a plaque about not peeing in the bog I should make another one to remind me to go forth and French kiss life full on the mouth. Forget thoughts of quilts and making mittens, for now! I need to plan some summertime fun. Nothing happens without a plan. Well, that’s not true but since when did I ever let facts get in the way of my ramble writing here on Widowhood Lane? ©