If You Build It, They Will Come

I was just about to shut down the computer when I decided to take a look at Fork to see what unusual quest brought people here yesterday. I’ve started adding that to my evening entertainment. You were looking for what? Really? You typed in that and landed here?

I clicked on the stats page from yesterday and laughed right out loud! I’m pretty sure the person who ended up at Fork by searching for: cheap screen door cigarette smoke; or the one who entered: male personality disorder “other people have it so much worse”; or the individual looking for: right wing not left wing whole bird  had to have been disappointed. I still don’t understand how this happens. I don’t end up here when I enter these things in my search engine?

I can’t even imagine how surprised the cheap screen door cigarette smoke seeker was to be reading about the drama of always being dramatic, opening your mouth when applying mascara and a short series on grief.

I now know the biggest mistake I’ve made so far in blogging is in not having named this blog Good Night Moon. Almost every single day someone types in Good Night Moon or The great green room. I love Good Night Moon. I’ve read it more often than any other book, ever. I’m not sure how I’d base a whole blog around it but it certainly would have generated traffic!

If you’re thinking of starting a blog, I recommend this as a title. You’d be guaranteed at least one or two readers every day. There also seems to be a lot of interest in Ruby Slippers. If it’s not already taken, that would be a great name, too.

But it wasn’t the odd connections that made me laugh. After all my deliberating and debating about what to write, and who’s reading, and what’s pc enough and how frequently to write, I finally got THE answer.

Don’t write at all!

I decided on Friday, that I would start taking the weekends off. Yesterday was the first day I haven’t written a post in 5 months.

Yesterday I had almost 300 views (and all real people, none from those strange spamming sites)!  Yes, I know, that number is so low it doesn’t even register on the blog-o-graph, but I only have about 150 regular readers. How funny is it that when I don’t write, people read!

I’m from Iowa. I’ve been to the Field of Dreams. I get the message: If I don’t write, you will come! If not writing for one day, doubled my numbers, perhaps if I quit posting altogether, my readership will triple!

In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of…

I Don’t Know Why I Open My Mouth

It’s not what you’re thinking…  although that’s true, too.

What I mean is, I don’t know why I open my mouth when I’m not talking or eating or taking deep breaths or sighing or yawning?

I used to wear mascara. Then I moved to Texas. It was 102 today and it’s still May! That’s just wrong.  Anyway, the combination of heat, caliche and constant wind or zero wind (never just a nice breeze) and mascara had left me looking like a dazed, goth, potentially self-combustible lady in a bright orange vest.

I decided to give up mascara. Eventually, I won’t even have to pluck. This topic was more than thoroughly covered in Never, Ever Open Your Eyes in the Shower.

Not wearing mascara is kind of wonderful! I’m in a lot less pain. Eye liner and mascara were always a struggle for me since I can’t see a thing without my glasses and I can’t wear contacts. It was, literally, hit and miss. People seemed strangely hesitant to comment on how unusual it was on the days my eyelashes stretched the entire length of a cheek bone.

But in my mascara days, I always opened my mouth when I was putting it on. I thought this was just a personal quirk, but no, it turns out many women open their mouths when they apply mascara.

I don’t know why.

We just do. I did a little research and opinions vary. Some think it relaxes the eye muscles, others, not so much.

To add to the list of syndromes and phobias I’ve already shared here at Fork, I have Dry Eye Syndrome (DES). It’s worse now that I’ve moved south. I just Googled it:

Symptoms seem to worsen in dry climates, in windy conditions, with higher temperatures, with lower humidity, with prolonged use of your eyes (for example, reading, spending time at a computer, watching TV), and toward the end of the day.

It is humid here, over wise I think I’ve got it covered. My eyes are parched, if eyes can parch. I have eye drops everywhere. Really. I live in an RV and I have 4 bottles of eye drops that are open. Wherever I am, there’s always a little bottle within reach.

So the upshot is, I’ve switched from mascara to eye drops. And here’s the thing: I take the cap off the eye drops, tilt my head back and I open my mouth.

I don’t know why.

I know to be mindful of keeping my mouth shut to prevent something unexpected from popping out. I guess I also to have to learn to keep my mouth shut or someday, something unexpected may pop in!


racquetball Pictures, Images and Photos

Reading this blog  must be akin to being a spectator, standing in the middle of a racquetball court. You never know which wall the ball is going to come flying off of! I get it. I’ve got the racquet and I can’t see it coming either!

I was hoping that I’d find my voice, develop a steady style and land in some niche somewhere. I don’t see that happening.

I’m resigned to the fact that I have eclectic interests. In this past week, I’ve written about: Mighty Mouse, the Moon, Shaving in the Shower, Tarantulas, Blogging and Drilling a Well. It’s no wonder someone typed never turn fool at the fork in the road yesterday in their search engine and landed in an oil well in Texas! I added a new category tonight: You Betcha! for posts like this one that even I can’t tag.

I hadn’t planned on writing tonight. That all changed over a jar of Creamy Jiffy Peanut Butter. Heidi bought creamy by mistake.

Ron is one of our drillers.

Not only did he share his crock pot tarantulas, he also gave us a sack of squash that he brought back from his garden at home in Louisiana.

I stopped him on his way back in from town to see if he wanted the PB. He took it, drove a few yards and then backed right back up.

Look what’s in the road, he says. Maybe he’s a tarantula magnet? Of course, it could be me. There was that incident with the tiger shark in Oregon.

I came inside, grabbed my camera and started taking pictures, which is semi-remarkable since I’m rather terrified of spiders in general, even real little ones.

This particular tarantula was not only photogenic but seemed to be interested in establishing a relationship. I walked toward him and he rushed happily up to greet me. I thought they were suppose to be shy?

Photo op complete, it became apparent he had designs on the RV. Heidi strongly objected.

Ron, knowing that arachnophobs like me, don’t bond well with arachnids, jumped out of his truck, got a can and scoped him up.Sorry for the poor photography. It wasn’t my finest moment.

About an hour later, Ron made another trip to town. When he came backed, he pulled up and shut his engine off. If you’ve been following Fork, you know what that means. I’ve learned to just come back inside and get my camera before I even ask.

I knew you’d want to see this, he says.

As we were examining the snake, 2 scorpions scurried around his feet. One crawled into his slipper which he promptly kicked off his foot, straight at me (he apologized later).

We move to a new site tomorrow. It’s only 4 miles away. However, it’s not in a wheat field. I’m hoping our menagerie here is partial to wheat. I’m writing this at 10:30 pm. That means I have 8 more hours of darkness ahead and many trips to make out to the road.

All this time I thought the rustling I heard was the wheat blowing in the wind, even on the nights there wasn’t any wind. Now I know better.

I promise this is the last post with spider pictures unless I see one as big as a dinner plate (like my Sis did in her driveway in Tuscon). For a change of pace, I plan on writing on grief tomorrow night, of course, that could change.

Be prepared to duck!