No Thimble For Me

My small town near the San Jacinto River didn't have much in the way of commerce. A few restaurants, a Weiner's, Michael's, and...um...

Well, I can't really remember anything else. Oh! There was a hardware store called "Handy Dan's". I can't remember if the movie theater was already here. We sure didn't have a mall. And we really only had one grocery store.

But, I have a VERY vivid memory of one place. It's called Cloth World. And you can probably tell by its name what it was.

In case you can't, let me paint you a picture...

Fabric. Everywhere. Lace everywhere. RIBBONS everywhere.

Drawers and drawers and drawers of patterns. Books upon books upon books of different styles of dresses, rompers, pants, vests...

Good gosh, the list goes on. And on. Forever. Neverending.

It took sooooo long to find the style, then she had to find the pattern, and then the material, and then the notions.

Do you know what notions are? Hmmm? I do!

Notions are the buttons and the zippers and the ribbons and the trim.

And do you think it stops there?

No, it doesn't, because guess what? We still have to buy the right thread!

We spent hours and hours and hours there. Life whittled away. Daylight turned to dusk. It was agony. Like nails being driven into my forehead. Or math drills.

And let me tell you something else...

My little town is kind of big now. We have a mall and multiple movie theaters and lots of restaurants -- we actually have the most Mexican restaurants in the state of Texas -- and two Walmarts and two Targets and, well, you get the picture. Businesses have come and gone. They've moved to bigger buildings. They've gone belly-up.

But NOT Cloth World. It's still there. In the SAME PLACE. It's called Joann's now, but it's STILL there.

Thankfully, the "Big Idea" girls can't drag me in there anymore. I have my own car. And I DON'T sew. I refuse. They can have their Crochet Club, their Wine and Knitting Club, their Stitch and B@#$! Club.

Me...I'm good. I sit on my couch...NOT sewing.

God Bless America

After the almost tragedy of being held back a grade, I spent Memorial weekend at my aunt Evaline's house. We had food and swimming and card-playing and dominoes and ice cream and volleyball and all sorts of other good things worthy of my time.

My cousins and I were everywhere. Upstairs. Downstairs. Outside. In the pool.

There was kid stuff everywhere. (Now that I am a parent, I can imagine the nightmare that all was.)

The ladies took care of the food. And the cleaning.

The men took care of the dominoes and the cards and the sitting and the eating.

You can imagine this made my mother feel just peachy.

I'm running around and having a good time. My dad is sitting and having a good time. Until...

It was time to leave. Well, that was a joy-killer if there ever was one. I start to huff and puff, but I go off to gather my things and my siblings.

But my dad just keeps taking care of the sitting.

So, my mom says, "Are you gonna help me?"

And my dad says, "Well, you look like you got it under control."

And my mother says, "Well, God bless America $#*!"

And without missing a beat, my dad sings, "God bless America, land that I love..."

My mother stomps up the stairs while my dad keeps singing. (He did get up and help, though.)


This is me and my dad. He's a cutie. And a keeper. I love him! And my mom does, too!