Summer vacations are now great memories

by Pat Laster

Two-weeks-ago’s column ended with an intro to the saga of the Jacuzzi AFTER the water—with the plug over the drain—reached the vents. It was never hot enough, but that didn’t matter.
Of all the shape shifting that went on to fit four women into the tub. Before Carolyn stepped in, Barb said, “Oh, set the timer on my camera so you can be in the picture.” Back Carolyn went, took directions about how to do it and then set it and quickly stepped into the water. We smiled obligingly at the digital camera on the ledge.
We waited. And smiled. Then we laughed. The rare kind of laughter that twists the face into contortions and brings tears to the eyes. After four attempts, we gave up and vowed to learn the correct method before the next time.
The next time never came. The three of them DID swim once more, but I was piled up in the bed for a nap after a hard day of shopping.
Most mornings while Bev and Carolyn were walking the neighborhood, Barb and I were on the deck reading and/or writing. And visiting. The only shade was behind a tall arborvitae. Like the air in Florida—or anywhere, I suppose—if it seemed hot and humid at first, it usually cooled enough to sit out.
“Early morning/ a screechy bird/from downriver.”
Only downriver was really Lake Thunderbird, one of the five or six lakes in Cherokee Village, a Cooper Community like Bella Vista and Hot Springs Village.
One evening, leaving from the marina, we took a two-lake tour (at $6, another bargain) on The Queen and learned a lot about the history of the community and the people who built/live in the area.
The map showed no lakes’ contiguity, but there is a canal under a roadway with just enough room for one party barge at a time to access a smaller lake. Saw no snakes, heard few dogs, and learned that many of the lake houses that look spacious and palatial from the lake look to be small insignificant dwellings from streetside.
In the evenings when it was either too hot or too “buggy” to sit outside, we gathered in the sitting area with our books and watched a DVD. The Debaters, Last Chance Harry, The Kings Speech, and one other (forgotten).
Jane Austen’s Persuasion was not their cups of tea, so after too long a time, I said, “Stop this; I can watch it at home.” They gladly complied. (You had to have read the book, which I had done.)
One morning, I discovered that a mouse had been in the drawer with the packaged oatmeal, sunflower seeds, crackers and teabags. We saw it skitter under the cabinet and immediately reported it. As in lots of businesses, there is bureaucracy, and though it was reported to the office, the word didn’t get sent on to the maintenance folks.
That night, Bev and I were awaked by a gnawing inside the bedroom wall. Those folks hadn’t gotten the mouse yet, drat it!
Lesson: plastic or paper bags aren’t good enough to store grains and seeds; store them in plastic containers with lids.
The final night, we endured the heat and the bugs, sat on the deck and played eight rollicking hands of Uno. And finished the wine.
The next morning, after repacking to include all our purchases and without all our foodstuffs, we three locals hugged our northern sister whom we wouldn’t see for another year, and began our trip home.
At the junction of Hwy 175 S, we parted ways, beeping and waving. Another great sisters’ vacation. #

Last peek into vacation days must be postponed

by Pat Laster

Upon returning from north central Arkansas where four of us spent our sisters'
week, my laptop grew slower and slower like a lumbering elephant (rest in peace,dear Ellen, lately of the Little Rock Zoo). It finally would not even move. Except for my Up-link email, which is local. I took it to Office Depot where it had been twice before on recommendation of a former high school technology instructor. The first two times, it was repaired.This time, it wasn't.
To be sure it wasn't an AT&T problem, I called them on Saturday morning.
Afterall the rigmarole of the robot asking me to punch this, or say this, I clicked on "0" as I'd been told to do by someone else. But even then, Mr. Robot had to know some things so he would know where to "put" me.
I was connected to a man whose name sounded like Josh. I did what he asked me to do and he determined it was NOT in the DSL modem or the lines. When he asked me where I was calling from, I said, "Arkansas, Benton." Then I asked him where he was talking from. "I'm working from the Philippines," he said. "What time is it there?" I asked.
"Eleven-thirty p.m." He suggested I take it back to Office Depot for another shot at repair. We said our goodbyes.
Before I could decide what to do or whether to try something else, the phone
rang. An AT&T man from St. Louis was on the line. By that time, Grandson Billy was over my shoulder whispering to me and pointing to the screen. I handed him the phone and fled the room. (I had tried to get him to contact AT&T himself since he had good experiences with them in the past, but nooooooooo.)
Mr. St. Louis agreed with Mr. Philippines that it needed another trip to the
repair shop. Billy said to me, "Take it down to Office Depot and get your money
back, then take it to the Geek Squad at Best Buy." Instead, I took a nap. Like
Scarlett O'Hara, I'd think about it later.
But I had to remember that Monday was the STANDARD's deadline, and what would happen if I couldn't access my original column that I'd finished and checked earlier today? I'd better have a back-up. Hence, this substitute piece. I take copious notes with each day's readings; surely I had something appropriate in my journal; that is one reason I keep such a notebook.
For instance, did you know that opposite sides of a dice cube always add up to
seven? I didn't. Or that there is a shade of green paint called "split pea"? Makes
sense.
I wonder what the difference is between being "treated right" and treated
fairly," as US Interior Secretary Ken Salazar was quoted as saying about the
[Indian] Tribes.
Of the fourteen different shoe brands in a Dillard's ad, I have heard of only
Naturalizer, Clarks and the name Calvin Klein. What does that say about my fashion
sense? Just like I didn't know about Coach purses until my daughter-in-law went to
Destin from Pensacola Beach because Coach purses were on sale. She bought a
regularly-priced $300+ bag for $132--or something near that.
And what is an electronic cigarette? My computer browser is not functioning so I can't "google" it to find out.
Terry Wallace, retired announcer at Oaklawn Park in Hot Springs Arkansas, called 20,191 consecutive races during his tenure.
Is it a Southernism to omit the "'ve" from "you"? Ernie Passailaigue (South
Carolina/Arkansas) and Mike Malone, Fayetteville, both lottery "men," said these
things quoted in Friday's Arkansas Democrat-Gazette: "You got to get..." (EP) "You got to have..." (MM) and "You got to take..." (one of them).
Maybe next week, 'ye ol' laptop will be working like new. If not, I'll have a
new one!

My first novel, A Journey of Choice, is available at Amazon and BN.

SIT long, TALK much, LAUGH often ...

... so says a favorite coffee mug. We four sisters certainly did all three during our week in north central Arkansas. We also traveled the highways looking for flea markets and antique shops.
The final sentence in last week's entry told about two sisters buying magnetized bracelets that inadventently picked up dinner forks.
How about a mystery entitled, "The Case of the Missing Dinner Forks"? I can just imagine a lady villain with a magnetized bracelet picking up several expensive objects unnoticed and stowing them in various pockets of her clothing/handbag.
Oh, but expensive things generally have a beeper attached so that the perp would set off alarms when she exited.
Did you read about the Brazilian boy who "seems to possess magnetlike qualities?" He demonstrated on a TV network how "forks, knives, scissors, cooking pans, cameras and other metal objects seem drawn to his body and remain stuck on his chest, stomach and back." Sounds like a possible story to me.
Speaking of walking off with things without paying, I did just that our first foray into flea-marketing. Oh, I eventually paid, never fear. On the highway north of Hardy were three different places that Barb had spotted on her way down.
Usually, there is one checker for all booths, but in this one, each booth had its own, as I soon discovered AFTER I'd walked away from the first booth. I clutched a glass flower frog ($3.95--a steal as they are usually ten dollars) and a dollar pair of brightly-painted wooden fish earrings for Barb's friend Glenda, who has a "fish" room. I continued down the row of vendors' stalls.
Before leaving the premises, I moseyed back to the first booth. The man minding this particular "store" sat in the shade of his RV. The items I had picked up were on the opposite end, so neither of us saw the other. When I returned, he laughed at my confession in a laid-back, no-problem manner and took my fiver with affability.
After we returned to the condo and cooled off, we decided to go swimming in the nearby pool. TO BE CONTINUED

c July 2011 Pat Laster dba lovepat press
Look for my novel, A Journey of Choice at Amazon or Barnes & Noble

From Florida to north-central Arkansas

by Pat Laster

Florida is old news now and North Central Arkansas is front and center.
I type this on the last full day of our annual sisters’ week as I balance my laptop on a throw pillow on my lap, my feet resting on the coffee table. We live in unit 29, Los Indios, the only condos allowed in Cherokee Village. There are fourteen units. Why the discrepancy between the number of units and our unit number was not known by our contact. “Good question, though,” she allowed.)
The Couch sisters, from youngest to oldest, are Beverly, Barbara, Carolyn and me. Fifteen years separate us. I remember, because when I was 15, I was s-o-o-o-o embarrassed that Mom was pregnant again. Beverly lives in Little Rock and has worked at Blue Cross Blue Shield since she graduated from Hendrix College (the fifth Couch kid to do so). She is gaga over her six-month-old granddaughter, Hqzel Rose.
Barbara, presently a church musician, began her working life in the FBI in Washington, then moved to Gardner-White, insurance brokers for hospital employees, and from there into the foster care program and church music. She/ husband adopted three of their fosters, all now grown.
Carolyn is a retired kindergarten teacher, a volunteer, church woman, wife, mother of two grown sons, and grandmother to Marlee.
And you know about me.
The three Arkansas sisters loaded (really!) the small hatchback with clothes, food, coolers, purses and laptops. I rode in the back seat with the extra baggage stowed in the adjacent passenger area. At Bald Knob, we missed the turn toward Batesville—none of us saw the exit signage––so at the edge of Newport, we took H’way 14 west through Oil Trough, Rosie and Salado until we hit H‘way 167. At Ash Flat, we turned west again toward Horseshoe Bend on 62-412—the wrong way—then backtracked to 289, thence to 175-S where we finally found our Virginia sister (Barb) smiling and waving. What did we ever do without cell phones to guide us to the exact address? The Hoochie Mamas were together again!
The place was palatial––to have only one floor! Anyone belonging to RCI and wanting a quiet get-away should certainly consider this retirement community if you haven’t already done so. Fishing, golf, a swimming pool and tennis courts, plus all the accoutrements—restaurants, country clubs, parks, lakes—are found down one native- American-named road or another.
For flea-marketers and antique hunters, this is a prime area: Hardy is nearby, Mammoth Springs is farther, then there’s Salem, Ash Flat and Highland––as well as businesses on the highways between towns.
Beverly looked for baby clothes, Carolyn for toothpick holders, Barbara for sheep-motifed items and I looked for books. Of course, bargains in Fostoria American saucers for $1.59 each were not to be passed by. Nor were pear-motifed Corelle bread-and-butter plates.
Two bought magnet bracelets to soothe their aches and pains. Unintentionally, they often picked up dinner forks.
Look for more adventures in this space next week.

Alone together in Florida––a perfect combination and setting

by Pat Laster

“Writers, like other dangerous criminals, should come to know solitary confinement.” – Paul Greenberg, Arkansas Democrat Gazette.
Since I was in Florida during the annual Arkansas Writer’s Conference, I missed Herr Greenberg’s speech, but he used it (double duty) in his next Sunday column.
The sentence hit me like a dirt clod. For each of eight mornings, some days as early as 6:15, I sat in solitude (not solitary confinement, but still...) and read and wrote. It was like being at a writers’ colony with Gulf breezes and doves as a background for creativity.
Never mind that I had to look out over a parking lot as large as a football field. I tried to look up and beyond to the little patch of Gulf across the street and behind a row of ubiquitous condos fenced in against any but the owners/ guests. Public beach access parking areas were plentiful, however.
Here is an example of my journaling that recounts a not-so-pleasant arrival at our condo.
Thursday: 10:10 pm: (We’d left before six that morning.) “The air conditioning laboring, but gets no cooler than 74°. Alone in room 2C of Tristan Towers since Billy can’t stand the heat; there were NOT 3 queen sized beds as advertised (unless they meant a blow-up mattress and/or a sleeping bag. All the others in our party, Billy, his mother, his sister and a friend—have “jumped ship” and are staying at Js’s place tonight. “An emergency,” I’m told, until a definite complaint to the lessors can be made tomorrow. “Earlier tonight, my four children, their spouses and children gathered here. Local son Gordon—the one turning 50 in July––ordered pizza, breadsticks and pasta. His wife/daughter brought 2-liter drinks, crusty bread/dipping oil-spices. We visited amicably (how else?) until time for Gordon/Breezy to drive to Destin (an hour away) to pick up his dad/lady friend from the airport.
“So here I sit in a big bed in a big room with the oscillating fan Billy traded for my small face fan. Tomorrow night, we’re eating at Peg Leg Pete’s. By then, we should either be living as originally planned at J’s –with his relatives/friends—or in a different place/room. Meanwhile, I’m sleepy—again—so what’s keeping me awake? Nothing!”
The AC was repaired later the next day, but at 6:15 Friday morning, I was “on deck” again.
Myriad doves with a different sound than those at home—a 3-pulse motif: coo-coooooo-cuk ––called over and over.
Sights included the horizon––the curved edge of the earth––a cloudless sky, dog walkers, joggers, swallows, palms, oleanders, river gravel, ornamental grasses and CARS! A business man, satchel in one hand, lunch in the other, purple shirt, taupe trousers, walked to the farthest vehicle in the parking lot––a slate gray hatchback. Before exiting, he pulled over to the concrete barrier/fence and hosed off the car and then headed into the gate’s eye and disappeared. He must be one of the 90 families who live in the Towers. (I counted the mailboxes in the lobby!)
Can you stand another episode next week? Good.