I woke up this morning with BURNING PAIN in my hands. I think I’m going to have to face the fact that I have arthritis. There. I said it. And my first thought was, “How am I going to write today? I’ve gotten on a roll here, and doubt I can even sit down at the computer much less type out my thoughts on my iPhone which is primarily where I take notes.” Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME?! I just got going here, found a gift that I want to share, and have now gotten to where it HURTS to share it. I think if I were in a self-conscious or insecure stage right now, I’d take it as a sign, and y’all KNOW how big I am on signs now. I’ve gotten to where I don’t really force things anymore. I don’t look for the signs, because when I actually look for them, I miss what’s right in front of me. I guess, just thinking out loud here, that PERHAPS my sisters may be a little right about me being obsessed with my blog? Nah! Not me. Not ever. I just need to quit typing everything on a teeny tiny keyboard because it’s screwing up my mojo. I am not getting older either. This hand cramping thing is just a sign that drugs are good and I’m gonna get some. That’s all it is. Because I’m writing a book here, and the blog is just a teeny tiny portion of what I write every day. I’m living a dream, literally, and I’m documenting it as I go. And I’ll SIGN my book of SIGNS for the sisters when it gets published.

Before our big New Kids On The Block concert, we passed a giant truck just a few BLOCKS from my sister’s house. It said “Viva la Waffle.” I was SOOO wanting to jump out and take a picture in front of this cool truck/bus parked in the middle of a residential neighborhood, but my sisters wouldn’t let me because they thought I’d put it on my blog. There were cars behind us anyway. It stuck in my mind though. The BIG waffle truck. And it rolled right back through my mind later when my sister actually googled it and found that it is a new business that some guy is starting. Very cool, Man! I dig it! Viva la Waffle and viva the dream. I am going to live my dream too, and when I have my big book release party, YOU GUYS are gonna cater it for sure! I don’t know these guys from Adam – never met them. But I like their site and I’m pretty sure I’d like their story, too. Check ’em out.


Yesterday when I was leaving my sister’s house in my dad’s truck, I was contemplating guys. And their trucks. And why they like them so much. Around here, I would say most guys drive trucks. Some are flashy, big, and expensive, and they serve as a sort of status symbol. Others are simply workhorses that aren’t really pretty to look at and may have lots of miles on them, but they get the job done. The trucks are often like the guys who drive them, huh? I remember one time in college going to a bar and dancing with a REAL cowboy. Here was his line, “You know that big white truck outside with the pink and blue pinstripes? Well, That’s mine.” And he grinned. “Um. OK,” I said. “Have fun with that,” I thought. And went back to my girlfriends. I think the line was supposed to impress me when his line dancing didn’t, and perhaps for some girls, it might. Not this chick though. Dude was BRAGGING about a pink and blue striped truck which sounded to me like something a hillbilly stork would use to deliver babies in some animated country bumpkin movie. Thanks anyway. NO babies, and NO guys with pink & blue trucks for me.

As I was stopped at a stoplight, still pondering GUYS and TRUCKS, you would not EVEN believe what passed by. (Maybe you would after hearing my bunny and Miracle stories though.) I was idling next to a funeral home and a guy walked into the street to stop traffic and THIS is what passed:

Check out the first picture there. It says “GUY’S” on a tow TRUCK, and you can’t see the front of it, but it had a giant, beautiful blue and white floral wreath on the grill. Many other trucks followed in procession and were decorated other ways which symbolized different things to me. There was the funny Scooby Doo truck, the Patriotic truck, the Anybody truck, another red/white/blue one that symbolized freedom to me, and they led a white trio of cars – a white limo, the elegant white hearse, and another white limo bringing up the rear. I am assuming that it was a man who passed, both into the next life and in front of me in the hearse. It must have been a brotherhood of truck drivers paying their last respects to one of their own. It was beautiful and touching, and I can’t help but think this must’ve been a really special person because the line of cars following the trucks was long. Super long. Traffic backed up behind me through three stoplight cycles allowing the procession to solemnly pass. I said a prayer for the family, the friends, and what must’ve been a beautiful soul and moved on when the funeral director waved his hand in thanks and motioned me forward. Life goes on, and I was heading back home.

I don’t really “get” guys a lot of the time. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them though or appreciate the beauty behind a brotherhood of men that can come together for each other in times of both play and sadness. I’m part of a sisterhood in my family, friends, and women’s organizations so I do “get” that the guys have their things as well. It’s good for everyone, and we all need kindred souls from time to time, don’t we? We’re all brothers and sisters, right? We’re just moving along in this life until we pass into the next. And when we need a hand, our brothers and sisters can tow us along and pay tribute to us as well.