Dear Sunday Letter friends,
I’m just gonna jump right in because I’m in a mood.
I went to sleep thinking about the terrible mass shooting in El Paso and woke to news of another one in Ohio. It seems to me we’ve passed a point of no return. Gun-wielding, hate-filled, homegrown terrorists are making it unsafe to run to Walmart for bathroom cleaner?!
You know it’s bad when I start each day wondering where today’s shooting will be…
I have no solutions, but I do have a thought or two. We might start by electing leaders on both sides who have the guts to stand up and make tough decisions, morals to do the right thing, empathy for those in need, and a dose of common sense. It’s going to take compromise and brainpower to change our direction.
I’m feeling helpless and hopeless, yet I don’t want to become complacent and numb to it. I don’t want this to be our normal. I imagine lots of folks feel the same this morning.?
We have to wake up and make some changes.
Last Friday night, John and I went to roller derby with another couple. It was a new experience for all of us, and something I’ve been wanting to do since we moved to Fayetteville. We live within walking distance of the skating rink where the games are held.
Games? Matches? Bouts? I really dunno what to call the periods of play. I have learned that within the two 30-minute quarters, individual 2-minute jams are where the points are scored and crashes occur.
The rules are confusing, y’all.
I remember watching roller derby on television when I was a kid. Memphis had an official team. Back in the day, the track was banked, and the action was more like pro wrasslin’ than roller skating.
Today’s roller derby seems milder than how I remembered it to be. Kinder, gentler roller derby? Maybe so.
And today, roller derby is played on a flat track. Still, action was plentiful, and we enjoyed a few cringe-worthy crashes. Isn’t that the point of it? Oh, and the Northwest Arkansas All Stars won, so yay!
My primary takeaways:
– The rules are crazy confusing. I should have done some homework before attending.
– The entertainment value is well worth the $8.00 admission price.
– Great, salty popcorn and overall good concession food.
– It’s the perfect people-watching place.
– The number of referees to players is quite impressive.
– It’s a very high-scoring game.
Final score: 197 to 117.
I will definitely go back!
A few days ago, I helped my niece move into her first apartment. Her first apartment is nothing like mine was, I can assure you. Today’s new student apartment complexes are pretty sweet, with a flat screen on the wall and furniture that looks as though it came from West Elm. The pool amenities are like that of a Caribbean resort.
My first college apartment—The Arbors in Waco—was a mighty fine place based on 1983 standards. Units came furnished with block-like furniture reminiscent of The Flintstones. The Arbors touted amenities such as a small, rectangular pool surrounded by washed pebble concrete (that hurt bare feet!), and a teeny tiny laundry room with two machines to service all the residents.
I quickly learned it was much faster to load up my car and head to the laundromat where I could do all my wash at one time.
The best way to sweat out Friday night’s Miller Lite = a Texas laundromat in summer.
Every generation has its version of walking 2 miles to school in the snow, right? And I wouldn’t trade mine.
But I wonder what this generation’s version will be?
I turned into my mother this past week. Right before my eyes and okra.
The sweet lady from our dentist’s office had called about an issue with our account—long/boring insurance problem—and yes, we’ve become those people who can’t makes heads nor tails of our insurance. Anyway, once I cleared up the whole convoluted situation and apologized for the confusion, she asked if I wanted to pay by credit card.
Yes, paying in the moment by credit card would be easier than logging on to my online banking system and paying later. But that would involve running upstairs to get my credit card. And I had just started frying okra.
“I don’t know if I can. I’m frying okra. I don’t want my okra to burn if I run upstairs to get my credit card,” I said in one spew of words. And right at that very moment, while brandishing a wooden spoon and standing in front of Nana’s iron skillet (now mine), I morphed into Momma. Those were Momma’s words coming out of my mouth. I knew it instantly.
“That sounds like a country song,” she said.
We both laughed.
“My life is a country song,” I said. ?”My insurance won’t pay, and I’m about to burn my okra.”?
Anyway, I ran upstairs, got my credit card, rushed back downstairs, and read off my information to her while giving my okra a swift stir. Square with my dentist, John and I had non-burned okra for supper, and the dental office no doubt had another funny story for their books.
Things Momma Says
Momma’s at the farm, so I haven’t been privy to her quotes. But like I said, I’m creating my own now, so there’s that…
Goodbye for now Sunday Letter friends. Stay safe and play nice.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.