An Orb of Good Luck?

This morning on my walk with Gretchen, we were greeted by wispy bands of clouds and in the East, a sun circumscribed by a rainbow. No kidding, it was a halo of Roy G. Biv and you could practically see the full circle even though the sun had risen only a half hour prior to our walk. In most cultures, the rainbow is good luck. But when I got home, and found that my leaving the garage door open served as an open invitation to the mangy snickerdoodle labrapoodles from across the street who helped themselves to breakfast from the Recycle Bin: newspapers, mayo jars, and peanut butter jar remnants. A sampler platter! They even brought it all to the front yard and had themselves a picnic. I spent the next 20 minutes shooing away muddy dogs and picking up trash. On my way back inside, I let a tiny crab in the house. They're sweet, but not in my house. Keep in mind, I've been in business attire and nice sandals for my morning class. I was going to be early. After catching Mr. Crab with a lint brush, dropping him in a tupperware, and releasing him outside, I was just barely going to be on time. I didn't want to kill him, but I might have accidentally set him up to be someone else's crustacean breakfast as he was walking kinda slow and in a circle.

So that's two things. Being that things happen in threes, I thought the third was when a poor butterfly flew in front of my windshield while I was on the highway (Sorry, Lil Butterfly). It was actually huge and yellow and black. I just couldn't avoid it. But that was before I talked to my mom on the phone and heard Auntie (of 90 years) wasn't doing well. She's been the epitome of independence for the last 89 years and for the first time, has been showing her age in the form of two consecutive strokes. She's in the hospital now. She's the Auntie who made all the Barbie outfits featured in my Bayou Barbie portfolio. She would take us to movies when we were little and Christmas shopping to see the decorated windows. I had my first Big Mac with Auntie. I must have been seven. She would yell at us for touching our hair at the table or for slouching. She took care of her mom, my Grandma Lena, who lived to be 102. She yelled at her too. "Like this, Ma! Oh, lemmee do it." Oh, Godd-deh. God had two syllables when spoken by my Grandma Lena. Grandma Lena would roll her eyes up and then look at us as if to say, "See what I have to put up with" and we'd do our best not to laugh. It was lyrical comedy at its finest, if lyrical comedy was a genre. A stylish Bachelorette, Auntie traveled everywhere. She took my mom and my aunt on individual trips to Europe when they were teenagers. She plays cards with The Girls on Fridays. She takes trips with the bowling team and meets up with the Railroad Ladies for annual conferences. Last month, she was with them in Roanoke, VA or was it Charlotte, NC? She's been such a jet setter, it's hard to keep track! She used to work for the railroad company. I got some scholarship money from them. Auntie was the treasurer, but I never put those two things together until now. I don't think they happened at the same time, but now, I'm not so sure.

Ey, fuhgettabout it.

Auntie didn't make it to our wedding, but Brian and I drove afterwards to see her. C'mon, I had to show her my dress.

Hold on, Auntie.

On second thought, she's worked her whole life and has been independent her whole life. Auntie, you do whatever the hell you want. No sense changing your style now.

In other news, more oil.

I heard on the radio that many of the fishermen did business on mostly a cash basis. So they reported no income, and so they have no income statements and no tax returns to prove their salary to file any claims with BP. That sucks. Moral of the story, always pay your taxes. It always catches up to you, one way or another. Having been audited for not filing some of my freelance income from a $2000 1099, I know firsthand. They find you. It might take a while, but they find you. I went to one of the closed boat launches near our house tonight on my way home from class to see what it was looking like now that Hurricane Alex is raising the tides. I honestly didn't see anything outside the normal sludge. Saw some beer cans and some bottle rocket refuse. Which reminds me, I actually measured the mileage, just out of curiosity, between me and the trifecta of firework vendors: 3 miles away. That's how far I have to go to get some crazy ass fireworks that compete with Navy Pier's bi-weekly show. One of them is across from the middle school. Love it. That's why, as I've come to realize, there's three seasons here: Hot; Fireworks; and Christmas. They sell fireworks then, too, for New Year's so I guess it's just Hot and Fireworks. 

That's all I got. Take care y'all.

Coming soon... my compilation of stories from the teaching trenches... aka "The Edumacation of Mrs. B."