Having a wonderful time. Wish you were six feet from here.

Where will I be these next few days? Sadly not with my newest pandemic grandbaby and his parents in D.C.  Not with my first pandemic grandbaby either. These are strange, travel-free vacation days, but I'm ridiculously excited about my upcoming time off. 

"Don't worry that I have COVID if you don't see me around," I told the woman in the next office. "Just tell people I'm on a Buddhist silent retreat," I joked to the gal at the CIRC desk. We were wearing masks and talking through Plexiglass, plus neither of us hear as well as we used to. No surprise she thought I was going nudist skydiving.  

Bought some little fifty cent easy-open cans of pork and beans. Nothing says vacation as much as sitting on a rock and eating cold beans for breakfast. Except maybe dry Cheerios and Tang in Dixie cups.

© 2013-2020 Nancy L. Ruder

The Omen of the Exploding Kolache

So, I bit into the spicy, juicy Texas Hot sausage kolache at the intersection, and the melted cheese shot out sideways, splattering the driver's side window, door, my eyeglasses and work attire. I've consumed many kolache breakfasts on my commute, but this is the first one to explode. Thank heaven for the jug of disinfectant wipes riding shotgun in the Buick. 

Heading back home after a fun-filled day adding homeschooling math books to the library catalog, I was discouraged to find a new orange trouble light shining on the dash. Whaddya mean, service engine soon? I just serviced engine to the tune of $600 in June.  

In my dreams the cheese splatters merged with the check engine icon. One forty-five a.m. wide awake and panicked. This was scary stuff, and it's meaning could not be more clear if it was the call for Batman in the Batmobile. Time. Time for a monthly car payment.