Smoking

 The girl, Margie, was only 14 years old.  She had started smoking at age 12, because her cousin Sheila, 3 weeks younger than her, smoked. 

“What brand do you smoke?” Sheila asked with a smirk, and a wink at her friend Shelly.

“Kools.” Margie replied too quickly.  She just said the first thing that popped into her mind.

The other two girls made a face at each other.

“Well, we can smoke Kools while you are visiting.” Sheila replied.

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So, now, at 14, and smoking Marlboro cigarettes, Margie had never actually inhaled while smoking.  This is about the day she decided to inhale.

Margie left the house early and walked behind the school located next door.  At the back of the building, out of sight of the street, she pulled the pack of Marlboros out of her jeans, drew one out of the pack, and lit it off a match.

Margie sat down on the low mound of earth and inhaled deeply.  Almost immediately it made her head spin.  The vertigo was extreme and frightened her badly.  She thought of Susan Hayward, the actress who had died from a brain tumor. Then Margie tried to stand up, but the vertigo got the better of her and she sat back down, afraid that she was going to vomit.  She looked at the cigarette in disgust, and broke the lit end off, stuffing the remainder of the cigarette back into the pack. 

She thought, “Oh my God, I’m dying!” and “what will I tell mother?”

She remained sitting on the low mound of earth for several minutes, and finally the vertigo passed.  After several minutes it dawned on her that inhaling the cigarette smoke had caused the vertigo. No one had ever told her that inhaling would have that effect. 

Feeling better with the vertigo passed, she got up and started heading for home.  

That was more than enough adventure for one day.

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www.quitassist.com/5-keys-for-quitting.

and I won't tell your name

Warmth.

Loving tender caresses each upon the other.

We were one once.

Holding hands was everything, my beautiful love.

In another life, long in the past.

I miss you.

In past lives.

I have loved you for a thousand years.

The dynamic is altered in different lives lived.

sometimes lovers, sometimes family

different each time.

Why were we separated.

I will search for you across all eternity.

Love never dies.

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I just want you to know who I am

"I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand"

I won't tell your name

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"I have died every day waiting for you"

a thousand years

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sometimes sweet 

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About the Deep Thaw-ts blog

I have had this blog Deep Thaw-ts for over 10 years now... very nearly 11 years.

There is a variety of articles here: some long and rambling memories of my past life, and some short, lyrical (or not) poems, or heartfelt reminiscences.  

For the long, rambling posts: I thank you for your patience.

For the short, poetical posts: I thank you for being a fan.

When I think about this blog, and the varying posts I think that what is written is coming from where my personality (personalities?) are on a given day.

Believe me, when real inspiration hits: I run with that, and do my damnedest to not turn it into a long and rambling tirade/dissertation.

What comes is what comes, and I am well aware that less is more, as they say.

If something I have written has somehow helped you: God Bless.

If I have offended you: too bad, get over it. This is who I am.

If I have not offended you: please be patient as I will get to you eventually. 😉😎

{if you mistakenly came to this place thinking that Deep Thaw-ts 

is something other than "deep thoughts - defrosting my brain cells" 

- shame on you, and you deserved to be disappointed}

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Winter weather

 It's the big storm.

It stole in during the wee hours, when we were asleep.

Quietly the snow dusted everything. Then the big, wet snowflakes fell, still silent for awhile.

The wind kicked up, just a little, but still the snow was quiet.

Cold, I stole up the stairs and lay under the comforter on the bed. Calming warmth.

Later I woke to the not unpleasant sound of snowblowers working to recover the world. The gentle bleat of the plow backing into driveways becomes rhythmic to the melody of the blowers, and the gentle percussion of shovels touching pavement.

Winter is upon us.

Next: the deep freeze.

The Final Saturday of 2023

 It is a typical Saturday morning for me; awake too early, in the cold morning bedroom.  I spend too much time on the hair, braiding it, deciding I did a good job, and taking the usual blurry photos to remember it by.  More time is wasted as I edit the photos that no one else is likely to see. 

By the time I get down the stairs there is little time before I must leave. I have some of the overnight oats that is prepared and ready to drink, put on my shoes and jacket, and head out.  I heft the computer bag into the back seat of the car, and lower myself into the driver seat.  The drive is uneventful as usual, with the exception of a “Dudley Do-right” who cannot go a whit over the speed limit for a section of my drive.  I usually average around 4 mph over the speed limit on days like today – when I am feeling that I left the house a couple minutes late.

Despite anything I arrive in the library parking lot a full 5 minutes before they open.

Sitting in the car I leave the engine running for heat and to listen to the rest of the song- out of respect for a long-gone group who only had 2 records climb the charts – according to the dj.

The Tremeloes sing Silence Is Golden as I wait in the car for the song to finish.  Two minutes before the library opening, I get out of the car, haul the computer bag out, and head toward the doors.

 

A voice says, “Good morning.”

I turn to look along the lockers to the bench and see a man sitting there. 

He is eating spaghetti out of a foil package.  The strands of spaghetti pasta have the reddish tinge of marinara sauce as they dangle off his fork on the way to his mouth. He is hunched over, leaning toward his meal.

“Why is it so cold?” he asks me.

I reply, “because it’s Illinois.”

He chuckles and keeps eating his meal.

It was the warm, friendly repartee one has with a stranger on the street in passing.

It was the kind of interaction I live for.

It is the kind of interaction I do not get enough of, and I consider talking to the man some more, while I think about who eats spaghetti out of foil, outdoors in the cold weather.  Probably a homeless person.  Nothing against him for whatever his reason is for what he is doing.  I decide that we both had enjoyed our tiny conversation and let it go.  That part: the letting it go, that is what makes these interactions so special.

The Tremeloes: Silence is Golden

from October 2023

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The F-350 Tailgate

 Texas. March 2010.

After spending an awful winter in Iowa, freezing our butts off, we got the call that we were going to work in Texas.  The technicians there quit abruptly, leaving the hearing van at the Amarillo airport.

I was informed by the manager of the fleet department that we would need to remove the tailgate from a Ford F-350 dually pickup truck.  I laughed.  “me and Lora? …2 girls?” I laughed again.  He told me that we would have to find someone to help us.  There were no further instructions.  We had absolutely no idea how one goes about removing a tailgate from a pickup truck.

The problem with the tailgate was that the trailer hookup was a fifth wheel in the bed of the pickup, and there was not good clearance between the tailgate and the doghouse of the trailer.  In order for us to be able to leave the trailer at job sites and drive the pickup for personal use the tailgate would need to be removed or be at risk of damaging the tailgate or the hearing van.

 

We flew to Dallas, there to change planes and fly to Amarillo.  At Dallas, they wanted us to give up our seats on the booked flight for the “bonus” $400 credit to fly another day, and they would get us to Amarillo the next day.  I refused because our checked bags were going to Amarillo without us, and I wasn’t going to spend the night without my luggage. This was the middle of a long travel day for us, and I just didn’t want to deal with this.

Flying into Amarillo we looked out of the airplane windows, hoping that we would see the hearing van parked at the airport.  No luck, we didn’t fly over the parking area.  We collected our checked bags and set out for the parking lot, wondering just how far we would have to drag all of our stuff.  We were discussing this when I saw an airport police officer.  I asked him if he happened to know where we could find a large pickup truck with a trailer attached to it – and he knew where it was!  Way out at the far end of the parking lot, and which way we needed to go to get there. One problem solved.

 

later that March, somewhere in North Texas

We got in the hearing van, inspected the situation, and secured our luggage in there, then headed to the hotel.  Parking at the hotel was not optimal… we pulled in and thought we would wait for morning to try to negotiate the narrow driveway around the back of the building.  Checked in to our rooms, but the need to move the vehicle into position for ease of leaving in the morning nagged at me, along with the problem of how to remove the tailgate from the pickup truck. 

I went out and walked around the hotel to see what that driveway around the building looked like.  It was going to be a slow go.  Rather than struggle in the early morning hours I decided to get the vehicle around the building and positioned for a quick getaway.  The driveway was not actually wide enough, and the trailer/van wound up over the curb in the dirt, but I made it around the building.

As I checked my parking job, and made sure everything was secure another Ford dually pickup truck arrived in the parking lot.  I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask… so I approached the man and explained that we needed to know exactly how to remove a tailgate… and the gentleman kindly demonstrated on his own vehicle by showing me what we would need to do to release the tailgate. (It never hurts to ask.)

The next morning, we arrived at the job site with time to spare, and little Lora (all of 5’3” and probably 100 pounds soaking wet) and I unhooked the trailer from the truck with the tailgate open, as she held it so that it would not slam down or hit the trailer.  Lora stood by while I lifted the tailgate slightly to release the side cables.  Then we lifted the tailgate as if to close it and released the cable – just like the man at the hotel had demonstrated for me.  Voila! The tailgate was released from the back of the truck.  The two of us lugged that heavy tailgate up into the trailer, and stuck it in the doghouse/closet, and that was the beginning of our grand Texas adventures.

 

with photoshopped horns at our hotel in April


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What I like about Texas

 

Winter 2010 … (part 2) more Iowa stories

interesting places...

I learned that my co-worker Lora collected buttons – old buttons – actually more specifically the cards that buttons used to be attached to for sale.  Those cards have intricate and amazing art on them! Lora asked if we could visit antique stores and antique malls to look for button cards.  Okay by me, because every such store is a visit to the past – a past I still remember.  It was memory lane time for me, because my parents were older, and their friends were older, and I can find, in every antique shop, some visage of the past from someone or others house I remember visiting as a child.  Such memories are a comfort to me, as they were some of the happiest and most peaceful hours of my childhood. Sitting on some Asian-patterned carpet, quietly listening to the adults talk about things long past.

So into the antique shops we went. Any time we had extra time to spare. I remember chatting with antique shop owners about various items they had for sale… and did they list any of it on eBay? I recommended a few of them that way – try listing on eBay to move items that are desired by folks far away from Iowa, who will pay a decent amount for certain collectibles.

Thus somewhere in Iowa I found a spoon rest that matched one my mother owned, but this one was not broken…

 

This was only part of our adventures in Iowa.

One snowy Saturday morning in February Lora and I made the trek from the Sioux City area to Vermillion, South Dakota, to the National Music Museum.  Quite an interesting place for any music lover... everything from antique violins to electric guitars, and accordians, pianos.. anything and everything music.

The National Music Museum, Vermillion, SD

Another Saturday, in Columbus, Nebraska we visited a local library for a concert by digeridoo and zither. We happened upon the advertisement while perusing the local newspaper during breakfast. Lora asked if we could go, and why not!  It was educational and the sounds were amazing.  A winter afternoon well spent.

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Additional to the button card collecting:

Later Lora and I were in an antique "mall" somewhere in Texas... Lora was perusing a bin of vinyl record albums from the 1950s and 1960s when I walked over and noticed a sign on the wall above the bin.  I drew Lora's attention to the sign: "Estate sale button collection available.  1,000s of buttons." and below the text a phone number. 

We immediately adjourned to the pickup truck, where Lora made the call-- and we were off to a private home where we spent some 3 hours looking at thousands of old buttons.... and Miss Lora spent a little money on some really cool button cards and buttons.

sorry, no photos... 

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up next: getting to Texas....

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