The SafeStorage man #FriWFlip

THE STUFF OF MY LIFE had been dumped without any thought into cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling in one of those rent-by-the-month storage facilities on the south side of Vegas.  If I hadn’t returned from the dead who knows what would have happened to it. Sold. The proceeds (if any) given to the state.


I turned to the manager and asked, “Are you sure all that crap is mine?”
“Your name is Dr. Fiona Butters, right?  And you lived at 3814 Juniper Drive, Apt B?, Las Vegas Nevada.” He read from a rental agreement on which my signature had been forged. The poor sod sweat profusely in the hot September sun. His polyester SafeStorage shirt was at least two sizes too small, and a couple of strategic buttons were missing … but at least his fly was up.


“Yup, that was my address. Holy Crap. Where did you say those garbage bins are?”
“Listen lady, anything you don’t want just leave outside the gate. Trust me. Some old buzzard will want it.” He was referring to the gents on the street with their shopping carts already filled with discards.
“A lot of this is just crap.”
“Doesn’t matter – they’ll take it. Sometimes they even sell it.”


During the time that I’d been gone, the city of Vegas had crept even closer to the airport but in all other ways, had not changed. I asked myself if I missed my old life. Missed the thrill of being backstage during a show, the frantic hustle to feed egos, calm nerves and find missing props, the fouler than foul language, the garlic-tinged sweat, the gasps from the crowds as the acrobats performed fifty feet above them. The answer was … sometimes. Life in a college town on the eastern seaboard had taken some getting used to but … once I found the Starlight Players I realized that theater is theater no matter where you are. Besides, I had Lopinsky.


“Lady, if I were you I’d start with the box behind the door. Every month this broad comes by, hands me a sealed envelope and tells me to put it in the black box. I have no idea what’s inside it but…”
“It’s probably just mail.”
“A year’s worth of mail?  Your credit history must be shit.  Don’t you know that you can have it forwarded?”
“I didn’t expect to be gone for so long.” What an understatement! I hadn’t expected to be gone at all. “I didn’t realize I was such a hoarder! This is gonna take me at least two trips to the car so if you don’t mind…”

He wanted a story. Maybe more. He was the sort of fellow I always seemed to attract. But I wanted to get back to my air conditioned suite. Kick off my shoes, have an iced tea and decide which parts of my old life to save.


Next Friday, August 9th: In Walks Trouble

The Characters in this segment:

Tales and strange facts from the Great State of Nevada (the setting of the original Flipka)

Fridays with Flipka coming soon …

Back in 2011, sans outline or plot, I typed out the first chapter of something I called “The Prop Queen.” A friend of mine was dying and I was desperate to hold onto to her. Of all the people I’ve ever met … then or since … she is the one who most belongs in a book.

I shared what I had with a friend who was always nice enough to read my garbage and provide an honest assessment. “I have a good feeling about this one” she said which was a shock.

And she was right. A year later I’d scratched out about two hundred pages. Mostly by dredging forth characters from my childhood and having them join in the mayhem. At my sister’s urging, I typed out a synopsis for a hybrid publisher and it was accepted which meant I had to come up with an ending. Booktrope published Flipka in 2013. For some readers my quick and dirty ending worked fine but most felt it needed a sequel. Which God help me, I hope I didn’t promise.

Fridays with Flipka

I still have about five paperback copies of the original Flipka if you become so engrossed that you simply must know what happened! Otherwise, you just might be able to guess!

Summer Sunrise

Like many people, I can no longer watch the news. I used to look forward to the weekly commentaries of Rachel Maddow and Fareed Zakaria but now even they seem stuck on reporting the same inexplicable erosion of sanity.

Our heatwave was broken early Sunday morning by the arrival of sub-tropical clouds. I tried to catch the symphony in the skies above but alas, iPhone cameras are still not up to task (or I really don’t know how to use them which is far more likely.)

Sunrises like this often remind me of the poem which begins a famous though often misused book:

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.
The world was without form and void,
And darkness was upon the face of the deep,
And the Spirit of God was moving over
The face of the waters
And God saw the light was good:
And God separated the light from the darkness
God called the light Day,
And the darkness he called Night.
And there was evening
And there was morning, one day.

When I went to Sunday school we read stories from the Bible about how nice Jesus was, how brave David was, and how the Wise Men followed the star of Bethlehem to visit the baby Jesus who was lying in his crib surrounded by sheep and goats and chicken because Methodist Jesus was like a Disney heroine – all of the animals loved him. Being that it was a protestant church, we didn’t spend too much time on the miracles or the saints. Nor were we ever told we were going to Hell if we had unclean thoughts or doubted anything in the Bible. It was a pleasant hour of hearing stories followed by cookies and juice.

One good thing about the hot spell was this little guy! Generally we get too much fog for tomatoes to ripen properly. I also noticed that our one grapevine is making the effect to produce grapes.

I doubt this one cluster will produce a decent Merlot!

I don’t understand why anyone who’s read through most of the Bible can think it’s an instruction manual for good moral behavior. I don’t understand why they can’t respect it for what it is. But there are too many things I don’t understand. And so I’ll just focus on growing tomatoes.

PS: A while back I wrote about a memorial for a friend who spent the last twenty years of her life battling to save a piece of shoreline from oil refineries and Indian Gaming Casinos. For those who are interested, here is an update on that effort.

Parade pics

Due to the heat, our small town parade was a bit subdued but still fun.

The Scouts
Old friends playing trumpets!
The stilt ladies.
A lively jazz band!
Marching to keep the creeks clean!

Not many political folks out … No cheers for the Biden float and no mention of the other side.

My kingdom for a green bean!

When we first moved into this house there was a vegetable garden in the backyard with several varieties of tomatoes and sugar peas and cucumbers. Probably a few other veggies too but it’s been a long time and so I can’t remember. Besides the vegetable garden, the previous owner had an iris garden and a lavender patch. Her gardens were what sold me on the house. But you know, gardens take a lot of work. Unless, of course, you’re lucky enough to have a good gardener and not a mow and blow operation.

Soon to be tomatoes. Hopefully!

The next year I attempted to grow a vegetable garden with what little time I had between raising children, working and volunteering. And occasionally trying to write a story or paint a picture.

Alas, the green beans were inedible and various garden pests – rats, moles, snakes, squirrels, birds – took care of the other veggies. The moles were the worst because they eat the roots of the plants.

Jalapenos

Well, it took a few years and the loss of hundreds of dollars (plants, dirt, fertilizer, etc.) until I gave up.

The unwanted guest (s) #ThursdayDoors

We live in a two story house that was built into a hill. There’s a large deck on the upper floor and a much smaller deck below:

In order to keep rain off folks sitting on the lower deck, we installed metal slants between the two decks.

Can you spot who has moved into the narrow space between the metal slats and the upper deck?.

Yes, the mother raccoon and her babies. I haven’t been lucky enough to get a picture of the babies yet but I can sure hear them.

The floor of their nest.

Here is how they make their exit. I guess you could call it their “door.”

They used the old climbing rose to get down to the garden. At least the mother does.

Hopefully once the babies are big enough they’ll go away!!!

Check out other legit doors over at Dan’s place!