Quite frankly, I’m astounded. Have made it through many (!) a month now without the occurrence of what I deem a “Lucy antic.” Apparently, the viewing of far too much I Love Lucy while growing up has had an adverse affect on life’s happenings, causing many the wacky and fantastical happening, occasionally reported here in times past. Did I mention that my grandmother’s name is Lucille? Locating some wood …Life’s too good, despite an unexpected locked car door, or two.
When locking one’s keys in the car, it’s best to recognize the positive. In calling Bean with a need for the other keys, she offered not one groan or grumble, at least to the hearing of my ears, just something along the lines of, “Alrighty, we’re on the way!” Then, when walking out to the main road to meet up with my rescue’s arrival, I received seven “hello’s and how are you’s” from passersby. Semi-ominous clouds above held off on a potential downpour and I was able to finish two chapters in my book at the time, Shutter Island, recommended by who else- Bean. Life’s too good, despite an unexpected locked car door, or two. Point in case, this bit of pansy-ness flourishing mid-sidewalk spotted along the way. This pansy’s no pansy, having grown up through a crevice amidst the grey, grey pavement of the sidewalk, and though likely set to be squished by the wheel of a passing bicycle all too soon, offered up hope, joy, and a smile in the meantime. Near re-bolstered my dimmed moxie from some months back now. Thrive on, little asphalt flower!
Speaking of owning a pair, pardon the crude reference, but behold Bean’s car balls. They follow me around the car, I swear. Up front? Car balls. Backseat? Car balls. Roof rack? Car balls! Swingin’ to, swingin’ fro.
The lovely autumn weather (J’adore!) finds me frequenting the car wash, more often than not. Brushes buff, bouffant, primp, polish and poof every bit of my little car as I happily snap away at the sudsy soapfest capturing a play by play of the waxing on and waxing off. Never fails to remind me of the fun I found it to be in accompanying my dad through a similar car wash as a munchkin of four.
My favorite blacktop find as of late was this here melty crayon. Sure, it’s not my beloved Crayola, but all’s forgiven as it’s very nearly the color of my bedroom! Kingfisher Teal.
My favorite olive-green-shaggy-rug-on-carpet-how-I-wish-you-were-really-hardwood-floors find would be these here pink fuzzy-slippered feet. Mine! The quest to be part Muppet lives on …
Once blogged of the pint-sized rubber chicken that adorns my car dash and its unfortunate popping due to an all too friendly warming of the super-hot sun. “Popping” resulted in the liquid-filled, squishy yolk substance lying within to ooze out and down said dash. Enter replacement chicken! Via Christmas stocking stuffer. Alas, more poppage. So, imagine my glee to encounter that there unhoused, as-of-yet, chicken-free yolk at the store recently. Now, how to get it into the chicken … slingshot, please!
Thinking that bubbles must be a close relation to bunny wabbits in their ability to reproduce in droves. You walk away for the quickest of moments and- GAZUNGA! Stay Puft. ♦