The expression “read between the lines” means to look closely at what the author implied or actually felt versus what was written. More simply, what is meant. I’ve been in a pondering mood of late. I finished up a year-long project on July 22 — fourteen months if you cross the days off a calendar. I kept most of my
I’ve been eatin’ at Edna’s for the last couple of months. I can recommend the fried pickles and meatloaf sandwich. But, I’d steer clear of her egg salad. Memories wash over me as decades old songs play on Edna’s jukebox. Feelings long forgotten surface. My emotions are pulled into unfamiliar, yet intoxicating places.
I’m nineteen again, whistling down the Alabama coast roads, daring to be braver than I am. I boil the fresh blue crabs I pulled from the trap this morning. Got company coming for breakfast.
I’ve been watching rehearsals of Shakin’ the Blue Flamingo for several weeks. It’s been wild fun. These actors are amazing creatures. An expression, a gesture or a hesitation becomes spellbinding. And, then, there’s the director. Miss Claire does not sit rigidly in a chair and tap her pen on the script. She does not grumble, scowl or swear. I did, however, see her run her fingers through her hair a time or two. She is a professional.
When we all played in the sun and water in the Deep South, we believed iodine laced baby oil was the perfect “tanning” product. If we wanted to waste good money, we purchased Coppertone oils and lotions. I have blistered and peeled and blistered and peeled over the years.
Southerners have all types of remedies for sunbaked skin. Most remedies, in fact, are not. After my annual visit to my dermatologist, I pondered a hydra facial.
I mentioned it to my sweet sister, Kate, and she readily provided me with a gift for such facial. This was not my first facial. It was my second. My first facial was performed in an upscale spa-type salon in Houston where both I and the aesthetician had different expectations of the experience.
A man I had known for 40 years was buried on Saturday. Our last contact was by email when Hurricane Harvey flooded the Houston area. This man offered sanctuary at his modest apartment in Shreveport to me and Ruthann should we need to evacuate our home. Most of Alan’s life was violent and explosive. A life ravaged by addiction – alcohol and drugs. A life that flirted with death and threaded its way through prison and recovery.