Free Advice Friday

 Tonight's Free Advice:

When visiting grandchildren, always make room on the bed for late night visitors, no matter how they smell. Because, you're Nono and Papa to all of them.

Fondue Forks Make Me Happy

Tonight is my last night in Dallas. I fly out first thing in the morning, heading for home, for a minute anyway. Two dear friends from Oklahoma drove all the way down here to go out to dinner with me. I love these two kids. They are family to me. We first met over twenty years ago when they had one little baby boy. We quickly connected and through a series of events, they ended up living on the farm with us for a short while. The cool thing is, while they were living with us, their second baby, a girl, was born on the farm. I was there and got to help with the delivery. I'll never forget that day or the privilege of being a part of something so amazing as the birth of a baby.

I also got to experience Emily running naked across our back pasture one afternoon. Ok, she was being chased by a tornado but that's another story for another day. In fairness, I'm pretty sure she and Jon experienced Bob chasing goats in his underwear in the middle of the night, so yeah. Fun times. Being friends with the Hansen's is not for the faint of heart, that's all I'm saying.

Jon is the reason Bob and I got into the insurance business. He tried to convince us to do it for years and we finally listened. It's one of the best career moves we ever made and we're forever grateful to have a friend that loved us enough to not give up on us until we gave in. It changed our lives for the better in so many ways.

Anyway, tonight we went out, ate fondue, drank wine, (ok, I drank wine) and talked and cried and laughed until my stomach hurt. There is something absolutely healing about this kind of friendship. I am grateful and a little more whole tonight because of these two. 

Thank you, Jon and Emily. I love you both.

No Mas

Had dinner at Abuelos with the other managers tonight. Ordered a margarita. This is exactly what you get when you order ONE EL JEFE MARGARITA. One full glass and a bottle of several more ready, waiting and taunting you, the victim.

El Jefe. Delicious. Don't do it. 

My mother was right. This old gray mare ain't what she use to be.

That is all.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho

So, today was my first time back in the home office in over a year. It was a bit stressful at first but before long, I was reminded of how much I actually like being a part of a work group. We went through our two strategic planning meetings and they were really productive. I actually don't recall this group ever laughing together as much as we did today. I think the last year of separation and working remotely full-time took a bigger toll on people than most of us realized. It's good to be heading back to some form of normal. I'm feeling pretty grateful.

Tomorrow will be a fairly normal work day in the office which is great because I have lots of catching up to do. Then, it was decided we'd all go out to dinner after work. There was quite a bit of discussion regarding margaritas. It's all starting to come back to me now.

Ready, Set..........

I am absolutely beat. With less than five hours of sleep last night, I was at the airport by 6:00 AM this morning. No coffee. Gimping through the airport with a stupid mostly healed not quite broken ankle. And a bad attitude. Not Michael Jackson BAD. More like Maleficent BAD. 

Then there was the two and a half hour non-stop flight which should have been good even for a flying hater like me. But nooooo. We had to encounter some "weather conditions." I've been on the Tower of Terror. Twice now after today.

Finally, I make it to Dallas, call the hotel for the shuttle that I've taken a bazillion times. No shuttle. Covid. Seriously? I'm throwing fireballs from my wonky eyes now. So I call a Lyft and the most wonderful Syrian man picks me up and we have the most amazing conversation during the fifteen minute ride and I think, ok, maybe this isn't so bad.

I get to the hotel, order some DoorDash food because the hotel won't do room service because of COVID. Don't. Even. Get. Me. Started. I start working on my presentation when I realize ninety minutes has passed with no food. I call Door Dash. Oops! Sorry. We don't have a Dasher for you. So many unkind Christmas themed remarks bounce through my brain but I still have a little of my Syrian happiness going for me, so I simply say no worries and hang up. Thirty minutes later, the second order I attempted arrives but the front desk calls and says I have to go downstairs and pick up the order because....COVID!! @*$Y(%%)Y$.

I get my crappy fast food because that's all I could find to deliver, I go back upstairs, eat on the bed, desperately want to sleep after but drag my sorry bad maleficent self back to the desk and work for another nine hours. Then my boss shows up, we head downstairs to the empty restaurant that wont deliver, doesn't have coffee, or hot tea, or cold tea but does have soda. I give the nice young waiter my best but I'm an old lady having a real rough time of it and I desperately need hot tea speech. The kid laughs and disappears only to reappear with enough hot tea for a year. He wanted to make sure I had enough to take to my room as well. Ok, maybe the day isn't all @*&%&)#(&%.

And here I am at midnight, setting my alarm for 6:00 AM so I'm not late for the day tomorrow. I have two presentations with the big mucky mucks and I'm hoping to not look totally stupid. Seriously, I'd settle for mildly stupid. 

That's when I looked over and saw my pages and pages of notes with my tea and mints and I think God spoke to me. I think He reminded me that I'm original and usually celebrated probably because I tend to be curiously strong. It was either God or delirium. Pray for me, Saints.

Texas, Here I Come

I'm heading to Texas in the morning for a week in the home office. I have been summons. 

• Alarm set for 5:00 AM ✅
• Suitcase packed ✅
• Laundry in the dryer because I was out of clean underwear so now I am praying I don't forget to get clean underwear out of the dryer at 5:00 AM because going commando in the office is more than likely frowned upon ✅
• Working from home has ruined me for life ✅

Oh, Tuna Boat, Where Art Thou?

My first car was a 1963 Ford Falcon. I was seventeen years old and my father had offered to buy me a new car if I'd stop my falderole with Bob Hansen. He also offered to send me to Europe and numerous other ridiculousness in exchange for Hansen's head on a silver platter. I wasn't having any of it because I was in love. Looking back, I'm just really thankful he didn't offer to buy me a Brown Swiss cow because that might have changed history. I'm just saying.

Anyway, I had a friend that was selling his tan 1963 Ford Falcon, much like the one in this picture, for $125. That was one months rent back in the day but I really wanted the Falcon, so I bought it. My parents were not thrilled but I couldn't have been happier. I had paid for it with my own money and there was something exciting about that. Oh sure, the drivers window fell down if you closed the door too hard and the passenger seat fell into the backseat if you leaned too hard on it. There was also a choke that you had to pull out into just the right spot or the car would die. None of that mattered to me. I loved that funky little car. Truthfully, I wish I still had it.

When we first met, Bob was driving a 1968 Mustang, pretty close to the one above. It was our first makeout car. We were both much smaller then, so it worked. 

Right before we got married in 1976, Bob decided he needed a truck so he bought a brand-spanking new bright yellow Datsun pickup similar to the one above. It cost $3,000 which was crazy money for us. Our Datsun took us up the coast for our honeymoon and a few years later to the drive-in theater with a baby sleeping between us in a carrier. Car seats? What were those? I drove our little truck up and down the Central Coast with our first son while Bob worked at the phone company. It's also the truck I  gave more hitchhikers than I can remember rides in. Looking back, I can't believe how many times I brought people home so they could shower and we could feed them a meal. How did I not end up on some true crime magazine? 

After the Datsun, a string of bad decision cars happened. Bob, like so many guys I know, (Charlie Casas) loved swapping out cars constantly. We had some big giant bomb of a Chrysler we called The Tuna Boat, then there was the little woodie Pinto station wagon. 

Finally, we bought a brand-new minivan for our growing family of three boys. I really felt we could be happy hanging onto our Aerostar for decades. But nooooooo!

One Saturday, my husband and my minivan disappeared only to have something very similar to the picture above roll into our driveway. I mean, of course. Made perfect sense to swap our almost new minivan for this thing that had no heat, no air, was really loud when you rode in it and gassed you out of the front seat. I was completely outnumbered however. Our family of now five children loved the VW. They still talk about it to this day and our oldest son recently bought one. The legacy of crazy continues.

After a second VW Bus joined the family, my dad had had enough, so he bought a brand new Renault for us for our anniversary. He let it be known that he was not going to have his daughter and grandchildren driving around in some old beater and the Renault was going to ensure we were safe. The first time Bob and I took the Renault on a fancy couples weekend getaway with another couple, it stranded us and our friends in the middle of nowhere. More than thirty years later and we still haven't lived it down with Jim and Dawn. This also gave Bob the gumption for his next bad car decision. Oh no, yes he did. 

That man o'mine took our year old Renault one morning, while I was still asleep, and swapped it for a Scooby Doo twelve passenger van that looked like this one in the picture, minus the fancy stripe. Yeah, ours looked like a prison van. I was often asked if I worked for a daycare or a church. Fun times. So, thought I, we obviously need more people in this family with all these empty seats and thus began our sixth adoption plus six years as foster parents. I showed him! 

In all fairness to my wonderful husband, this van made our move to Oklahoma so much easier. How would we have ever moved Zoey our piggy or Max and Angie our goats plus six kids half way across the country without our Scooby Doo van? Even my dad, bless his heart, got involved and built a swine suite in the very back that Zoey shared with her goat brother and sister on the trip. You haven't fully experienced life until you've driven fourteen hundred miles in a Scooby Doo van with six kids, a pig and two goats. Oh yeah, I forgot about the dog, two cats and one bird. 

Eventually, kids grew up and started to leave the nest so a couple of minivans were bought. Then sold.

A beautiful blue Suburban was purchased for me as a gift from my husband. I loved that car. Then, it was totaled by two teenagers that shall remain nameless. (Andrew and Belen) A brown suburban replaced Blue Bette. No children were allowed to drive the new guy.

Finally, we were down to one kid and back into a minivan or two. Then, we were down to just the two of us and one truck for the last two years. When my car crapped out and with no kids to run around, I felt like I really didn't need a car anyway. Bob, on the other hand, drives an insane amount of miles for work, so we poured our money into his work truck. Until today.

Today we decided to car shop for me. This is something I hadn't done since I was seventeen, shop for a car that was just for me. On the way to the dealership, the Batmobile passed by. No, really! Look!! I wondered aloud if this was some kind of omen. Bob, being the great husband he is, asked if I wanted him to speed up or slow down to get better pictures. Isn't life amazing when you're both nuts in the relationship? Anyway, I got this picture as Batman sped by. I'm sure he was on his way to do some type of hero stuff. I did get a little excited when he followed us all the way to the dealership. I mean, what if the Batmobile was a trade-in? You know what I would have been driving home.

Thanks for the new ride, Mr. Hansen. I will be hiding the keys from you. Not that I don't trust you.