The Day I Glued Myself Into Temporary Blindness

                                                   

No place to set my glasses while I got dressed, I set them in the safest place possible: My seat. Then I forgot, and sat on my wire framed glasses. The plastic line snapped, the lens fell out, and I realized I only needed them to… see. A minor detail.   

Being in a truck pulling a 53-foot trailer, we can’t just pull into the local Optometrist and say, "Hey, I need help." So I bought super glue. Because nothing says “responsible adult” like fixing your own eyewear with a substance that can permanently attach you to your seat.   

I put a tiny dot of glue on the frame. We hit a bump. That tiny dot turned into a glob the size of a toddler’s tear and ran straight down the lens like it was sliding down an icy mountain. I tried to wipe it off—which only smeared bits of paper towel and a thick layer of glue across the glass.   

My lens now looked like a bathroom window with privacy film on it. I tried to scrub it off, only to realize I had successfully bonded my fingers together. I was now a crab with two claws and zero coordination. I peeled them apart—painfully—and started over. Because I am an optimist.   

I dropped more glue into the frame and quickly pressed the lens in place, pulling the wire tight like threading a needle on a rollercoaster. Once it dried, I put them on… It was like looking through a thick shower curtain.   

At our next stop, I bought acetone to remove the glue from the lens. The lens fell out immediately. The paper towel and glue stayed firmly attached to the lens, like they had bonded for a lifetime. So I poured acetone straight onto the lens and let it soak.   

Twenty four hours later—and one bad headache from the fumes—it had eaten through one small spot in the center of the lens. A peephole that was like looking through the vent hatch in the sleeper. A single dot of clarity in a sea of chaos. Good enough.   

At this point, I wasn’t wearing glasses. I was wearing consequences. And honestly, I thought that would be the dumbest thing I did all week… but then I walked into the driver’s lounge the next morning

The Unwritten Rules of Truck Stop Bathrooms.

When you're trucking across the country, the first thing you look for at a truck stop is the bathroom. But as any traveler knows, public restrooms have a secret code of etiquette. Ladies, we all know the rules—the ones no one teaches us, but we follow like gospel.

Rule #1: The Long-Distance Stall Strategy.

If you have to do more than a quick tinkle, you go to the very last stall.

As if distance alone can hide noise, shame, or… aroma.

Rule #2: The Pre-Surgical Seat Scrub.

Once inside, you scrub the seat like you’re prepping for surgery.

Antibacterial wipe, elbow grease, the whole ritual.

So there I was — fifteen empty stalls to choose from — and out of pure habit I marched straight to the end stall.

Just in case.

You know… noise. Smell. Humanity.

I’m sitting there, panties around my ankles, when suddenly the stall door next to me SLAMS.

The Day I Officially Lost My Sanity

                                       

(I pulled this one out of the mothballs from when Van and I lived on the truck for five years .) 

I’ve been living on a truck for week now. 

I marked that day in my memory as the moment I officially lost my sanity.

Take two people who have sorta been married for 28 years.

He lived on a truck.

She didn’t.

Now shove them together in a cab the size of a walk in closet for twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, months at a time.

“One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus” hits different out here.

Miss Chief and the Case of the Missing Guppy

My niece, Jana bought three guppies for her three kids and set them up in a little fishbowl.

One day, they got a floater. A fish passed.

Jana did what every good mother does: held a solemn toilet-side funeral and flushed the dearly departed.

Down to two.

A few days later, Jana walks by the bowl… and now there’s only one. 

The CSI: GAMERS EDITION

The suspects claim innocence, but the cat looks like he knows too much

                                

I wasn't here to witness the mayhem, but I did see the video.

My daughter tells her husband and my grandsons, “Mema will be here tomorrow, so clean the house.”  

Of course, the boys don’t do a thing. They’re gaming, chilling, living their best lives… until they realize: Mom will be home in ten minutes. DEFCON 1 panic.  

What’s their solution? Grab a vacuum? Pick up the laundry? Nope. Genius plan: stage a home invasion. Maybe she’ll be so grateful they're alive she won’t notice the mess. 

 

They blacken Captain Chaos eye with shoe polish, tie him to a chair with a pillowcase over his head, and scatter broken glass from the trash all over the floor. It was a crime scene straight out of CSI: Gamers Edition. And of course, Dad’s filming. Why clean when you can go viral? 

How I Almost Fried the Nephew-In-Law

                                          

                                                              

My brother Buddy invited me to visit. (He lost his partner of eighteen years just nine months after I lost my husband, so we’ve been keeping each other company.)

I love his patio — could practically live out there. Honestly, I actually do whenever I’m with him.

One sunny afternoon, Buddy ran an errand, leaving me home alone. Dangerous idea. I really do need a little supervision.

Sun streaming through the house, I noticed the kitchen light still on. Being helpful is my hobby… and sometimes a contact sport. I flipped every switch I could find.

The View From Van's Hill

                                              

                                                   

The View from Van’s Hill

(I Brought Lunch. They Brought the Silence)

Yesterday was the four-year anniversary of Van taking up permanent residence on the hill...

I always decorate Van’s grave, take his favorite food and sit for a while, reflecting on the good years.

 
JoDee packed a picnic lunch to eat by the pond.

From his spot, the pond below sparkles like it’s trying to show off. It’s peaceful, with trees and moving water. The kind of place where you can breathe in the cool February air and feel the world slow down.

I have more people in that cemetery than I want to admit.

The Roll Call at Van’s Hill: