About Me

My photo


Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Scribble and Scrambles - Warty Monograms and Motorcycle Cells

I left the office early Friday.

The beauty of flexible scheduling.

I drove around town with my windows down and the wind whipping my hair in my eyes. This is probably illegal, or at least a bad idea, but after seeing what I saw Thursday, I'm not too worried.

Thursday, I spied a man on a motorcycle. He was easy to see since he pulled out in front of me.

Guess what he was busy doing? Yep. Talking on a cellphone - did I mention he was riding as in driving a motorcycle - one of those things with two wheels and no protective aluminum or fiberglass shell?

While still on the phone, after pulling out in front of me, he turned into a grocery store parking lot.

This was impressive.

Maybe he's got one of those new "look, Ma! No hands!" motorcycles. He didn't use his turn signal. I suppose he didn't want to upset his equilibrium.

While I drove Friday with the whipping frenzy of my hair and bits of grit from the street exfoliating my face, I noticed something else that bugged me.

Bugs me - in present tense -- almost every time I drive past.

Someone built a huge luxury mansion on the top of one of our town's many hills. They installed gates over the driveway and graveled the banks on either side of the gates. A worker, a landscape artist no doubt, painstakingly smoothed the pinkish gravel into a flat sea of weed-free yard and then crafted a perfect six foot letter.

A gravel monogram.

But this was over a year ago, and shortly after this artistic and tasteful yard-styling, someone or something knocked some of the white gravel outside of it's little barrier and the huge letter now has a blurry growth.

There is a wart on the monogram. A hairy wart. And no one has fixed it.

Do you suppose I could be arrested for trespassing if I sneak over some night and repair it?

Hey, maybe they are trying to capture an anal-retentive Sasquatch. I hadn't thought of that.