You got any?
I used to have a pretty good collection. Yeah, girls played marbles along side boys in my day. Nobody thought much of it. There was no, “ahh dude, you lost your Aggie to a GIRL?” Thumbs were thumbs.
I like marbles. Ascetically if you know what I mean. They are pretty, or purdy if you so desire.
I wish I had some now. Or some jacks. I miss those games. Boys didn’t play jacks as I recall. Though I have no idea why marbles were not sexually charged, but jacks was. Metal and rubber versus glass, the answer must lie deep inside the atom.
We have a sidewalk outside our front door, and an overhanging roof, so we drag our chairs out in the morning and sit in the sun until it’s too hot, which is about 7:30 in the morning, give or take an atomic tick of the clock. The sidewalk is cement, ready-made for both jacks or marbles.
The parking lot of the motel is separated from the Savers store by a high cement and rock wall. Along it, there are cinder block openings set periodically in groups of eight. Is it for water flow? Or a matter of ascetics? I’m figuring it has little to do with presenting a pretty geometric picture to transient travelers.
These are issues that the brain naturally turns to when you are 62 and living in one room with another human beings. I dream of coming upon African animals on sidewalks a lot lately. Wonder what that means?
We eat mostly crap. I mean at the motel. It’s ready made for Twinkies and chocolate covered peanuts. I actually weighed the idea of bringing home a can of Dinty Moore stew yesterday. Yes, it’s come to that.
I’ve been enjoying high-speed internet. Mostly it lets me play games faster. I only went to YouTube once. I found it slightly boring.
What is going on in the John Edwards trial? Those idiots can’t be discussing the facts. I figure they are deeply involved in a high-stakes game of Monopoly and are using “deliberations” as a ruse. John Edwards is the most awful cad I’ve ever seen. So I don’t begrudge them letting him squirm.
I’m at level three of the Mysteries of the Sea (match three) game. I feel rather superior about that. I suppose you think that’s a bit thin, but here at the Motel it places me in a pretty high status.
While I’m at it. I bet John Glenn never thought he would get the Metal of Longevity along side of Bob Dylan. I mean I can’t imagine a conversation between those two. “Know anywhere I can score some weed? Did you see any on the moon?” I know, Bob Dylan knowing who in the hell John Glenn is was shock enough.
Our microwave is bolted to our refrigerator. You don’t find many fine establishments that care enough to make sure you can’t pull it down on yourself. I like that in a motel.
Oh, by the by, I brought a pot of chives from Iowa. I pour out the melted ice water on it each day. It seems happy enough. I wonder if it talks to the marigolds planted next to it. “hey dude, tell me about Iowa–what’s pork like?”
I’m being hogtied into watching some crap called the “Hatfields and McCoys” with awful actor, Kevin Costner of Waterworld unfame. They kill each other a lot. And if you add up both families, the IQ would not be yet on the charts let alone off.
Why do people when they are shot, look up and ask, “am I gonna die?” Unless the guy next to you is a doctor, I’m guessing, you are not going to get a professional opinion.
Speaking of which. There is something very wrong in Amerika. In the last two days, I have read of two naked guys fighting and one guy eating the face off the other. He was killed for that, because he wouldn’t stop. Today another guy stood in front of cops and stabbed himself repeatedly and then through his intestines at the police. I mean really, it’s not even Halloween yet.
Speaking of which, (used that again if you noticed), graveyards in Las Cruces, (or the one I saw) are all dirt. That is sooooo weird.
I am not much to speak ill of people (you mock me?), but I shall not speak poorly of the US Postal Office. I mean, we are what is called General Delivery, which is akin to being a man/woman without a country, but we are getting mail from that two-bit backwater local post office in Walker, Iowa. They must be doing something right. Talk to me later, I might change my mind. I feel uncomfortable praising people.
Sea food is pretty cheap here. I guess it must be our proximity to the Gulf, which is not all that proximate, but big old fat Texas is large, you have to admit, and minus it, well, we could probably smell the ocean. We don’t eat it of course. I figured shrimp and such doesn’t microwave all that well. And of course we get pecans and pistachios very cheap here. Why? Cuz we raise them. Yes we do. We Las Cruceans are very resourceful.
Oh, dear, it’s time to play solitaire. Such a busy schedule I have. And then a nap, and then read for half an hour, and then get some ice, and then a shower, and then the Hatfields crap and then…why soon I’ll have enough to right a novel. Death of a
Salesman Writer on the Orient Sante Fe Express. Catchy?
Jerry Faulkner (@aThornAmongMany) said:
Sherry, I have not laughed SO much in years! Reading these stories brings back all the memories of Craige & I relocating, starting out in a motel each time (first it was San Diego, then San Francisco, on to Boulder, then back to San Diego, crazily returning to Texas for family, and then our most recent adventure to the Land of Enchantment).
Oh…it was so much fun, being confined to one room with animals, and being forced to watch a variety of “Hatfields and McCoys” over the years. And I recall the car breaking down in more than one new locale, just after arriving to our new “home”.
Recalling your “pod issues” — well, I think we were pre-pod travelers — we always had rental trucks that had altitude issues — in fact, on our trip to paradise, San Diego from Boulder in 1996, our rental truck, towing our car, broke down six times. We finally got to San Diego, checked into our new “home” — the Dana Point Inn — whew…it was paradise… until we took the car off the trailer that was attached the piece-of-crap rental truck that was filled with all of our worldly possessions.
We unloaded the Audi and set off to find our “real” new home — a little excited and a little more anxious, considering the motel bill continued to rise, the rental truck filled with our stuff (a potential thief’s semi-delight) was also desperately needed to be returned to the piece-of-crap truck rental company so that I could lose my mind in person with regard to the truck’s altitude sickness which led to the six break downs on the way to paradise. Of course, while looking for our new “home” under what I fondly term duress — the Audi died.
On the bright side: we survived. Found a delightful condo in a beautiful neighborhood practically across the street from Balboa Park and the San Diego Zoo. We were pretty happy there…well…until the serial killer Andrew Cunanan became our upstairs neighbor. That’s obviously another story.
This “limbo” of sorts will pass — when you think you’re about to crack, just remind yourself that it’s some potent fertilizer for your writing garden.
Hey unfair, you made me laugh my head off too! I gotta hear about the serial killer. Good news is that we were at the house this afternoon and had the inspection–they are that sure that the bank is just about ready to set the closing, and everything is fine, though as most houses go, it’s not quite the pristine perfection I remember, but the inspection was great and we only have a bit of caulking to do around windows and the tub. They guy answered all our questions, showed us where all the switches were, and we are happy. The extra three bedrooms are all 10 x ll 1/2 so we are gonna have a great office, craft room and library. Also the living room is so huge we can easily fit in all our wood furniture.
I read that the clothing-challenged face connossieur was high on bath salts at the time. I’ve read plenty of horrific or absurd stories about the things people do while under the influence of bath salts, but nothing like this. I hope his victim recovers and gets the reconstructive surgery he needs.
so I guess they should outlaw bath salts. yikes!
“These are issues that the brain naturally turns to when you are 62 and living in one room with another human beings. I dream of coming upon African animals on sidewalks a lot lately. Wonder what that means?”
Sitting on a hotel balcony when you’re not playing video games might have something to do with this. 🙂
ahh, ya think?
All those many times I drove between Tucson and Chicago I always took the split up from Deming off of 10 to 25 – a funky local highway/road that passes by some stockyards that nearly gagged me to death when I drove by late one night – after having been in the car for 30 hours….
I never went to Las Cruces. But I know that the church in AZ always got its winter “ristas” from Hatch – hand made by someone there. The ristas are lovely in winter – wreaths for the doors and hangings that we put on the pew candles made from chili peppers. And Hatch is just a heart beat away from you.
murr brewster said:
Oh man, I was so bad at jacks, and I wanted to be so good–hard to do when you play once a year at someone’s party because you don’t have any of your own. However, I think it is safe to say I would have been bad at jacks no matter what. Marbles, same. Double-Dutch jump rope is a life-or-death proposition to me. I did used to play a mean tiddly-wink.
Sadly, I lost all my marbles years ago 🙂
Losing your mind an inch at a time in a Las Cruces motel. I hope you survive the fast-and-furious lifestyle you got going on there.
Have you tried hanging out at the local library? Internet, books, CDs and DVDs, and you will probably see a few choice examples of the local “wildlife” there.