Junk in My Trunk

I feel like I should write something today, but trust me when I say, the stuff I want to write about isn’t good, and the stuff I can write about is boring. Oh the dilemma!

So, let me just stick to stuff that is mildly interesting if you have any interest in me at all.

I finally went on a date, and that one date got out of hand. I don’t know what it is about me, but men seem to always get the wrong signals from me. I’m NEVER playing games, and if you’re finding me hard to catch, it’s because I am HARD TO CATCH. It takes time for me to decide if I want to invest so much of myself in a relationship, and if you don’t give me time to decide if I want to, the answer will always be no. Without Exception.

I’ve started a new job, as it would seem I’m prone to do, lately. I like it. It feeds a sense in me of helping other people, and I like the company I’m working for. However, I’m having issues with the company I left. They’re just bad people. I figured that out about a week into my employment with them, and each and every time I have dealings with them, or my friends have dealings with them, they prove without a doubt, the sun shines equally upon the good as well as the bad. Don’t get me wrong. I believe God loves justice, and they will eventually have a reckoning, but they do tend to irritate me. I will always wonder how some people can screw so many poor people over and still be able to look themselves in the face in the mirror.

My new job is rather far away, and I’ve been dealing with something new…traffic. I adore Austin! I really do! But, whoa, the traffic is crazy. It takes me 45 minutes daily to commute a mere 6 mile stretch on my way home. One deals with “break ins” by commuters who think their time is more important than the rest of ours, and break into the lines of traffic downtown, which of course, causes more traffic delays. I have yelled obscenities more than once at the careless vehicles that slam right between you and the car in front of you. It is a lesson in patience. I can promise you that.

All in all, life has taken on a routine, and even with the obvious political tensions and the sense that something spiritual is happening all around me, I feel peaceful. I’m on the right side of things, and I can rest in that knowledge. I hope all of your lives are feeling equally peaceful. ūüôā

 

I guess all things considered, I have nothing to complain about. I’m happy. And that’s what we’re all looking for, right?

~Bird

 

Nursing Home Romances and Critics Who Wear Hijabs

oldhandsinlove-b102366ee923ca3e0ed6fc7e2bfd09627ca0b226-s300-c85Life has been cracking me up a little bit lately.

First, my sister Alexa called to tell me our mother, who as been in a nursing home since a massive stroke a decade ago, found herself a boyfriend. It was the last thing I would ever have expected to hear about Mom. On top of that, he’s the resident bad boy.

For several weeks over the summer, Alexa was out of the country at a family wedding. In those few short weeks, Mom fell in love with another wheelchair bound man, snuck a cigarette with him inside the nursing home, met for movie time at unscheduled hours late at night, and has totally become like a sneaky teenaged girl. Alexa has one kid, and it’s a preteen boy. She started off the conversation by telling me my¬†mother was out of control. It was hilarious. Mom eats her meals with him in the dining hall, and holds hands with him while they watch tv. Personally, I find the whole affair¬†adorable, and surprisingly, hopeful. I have always wondered about Mom’s quality of life in a place like that. Now, I feel a bit better about it.

Rebekkah, my daughter, has found her stride at the University of Texas. Her best homie is a girl we’ll call Athena, and she wears a hijab. I had no idea what that was until today.

Behold, a hijab:

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If you guys weren’t aware, Austin just loves its food trucks. You can’t throw a rock without hitting one around here, and they congregate en masse around UT. Athena, a Middle East¬†native, chose to eat a falafel —¬†¬†defined as a¬† deep-fried ball or patty made from ground chickpeas,fava beans, or both — and found it unauthentic and poorly textured. She and Rebekkah had a small discussion about the dissatisfying falafel, and the matter was quickly forgotten about …by Rebekkah. A few days later, though, Athena told Rebekkah that she had gone on Yelp and reviewed the Mediterranean Food Truck.

“I gave it 3 stars, ” she told Bek, going on to read her review aloud, ” ‘I ordered a falafel but the texture was all wrong. It’s supposed to be crunchy on the outside, moist on the inside. My friend ordered the <insert whatever weird food Bekkie told me she ate here>. She said it was good, but I doubt it.”

The harshness of the review surprised Rebekkah because, of course, people who wear hijabs aren’t harsh or leave Yelp reviews.

“Sometimes,” Athena said, ” I like to play the critic.”

Alexa went to Morocco over the summer. Turns out, she wasn’t prepared for the heat. She told me it gets to be 120 degrees over there, and there weren’t any air conditioners where she was. I won’t go into the many hilarious things she told me, except when she and her husband finally got to a hotel where there was air conditioning, she asked the front desk if they’d bring her a fan. We like the air to be moving around us.

When they finally arrived with her fan, this is what they brought her:

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It’s been kind of fun around here lately.

I’m happy tonight.

~ Bird