Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Tiny T: Episode 7

   Once the young women were clear of Ben’s duplicitous gaze, escaped from the wide open vulnerability of Fortune Tellers’ Row, they slowed down to a comfortable stroll. Each had one arm wrapped around the other’s waist, and both were laughing and trying to catch their breath.

   “So I guess you’ll never know whether he’s the one,” Carly teased.
   “I guess not,” Olivia admitted playfully and with a false air of drama, “my love life remains a mystery.”  Then, after a pause, she said, “I wonder, do you think Zane found him?”
   “I bet he did. He sounds like he’s pretty hard to miss.” 
   “That is for sure!” Olivia giggled and had no trouble recalling her mysterious date’s features. A pang of guilt lingered in her belly, and she hoped his feelings weren’t hurt. 
   “So what’s next, since you won’t have your palm read?” 
   “Well, I could definitely eat something. Are you hungry?”
   “Always!” And just like that, they followed their noses to the nearest greasy spoon local cafe, dragging a cloud of giggles behind them.

********************

   T couldn’t tell exactly whether it was his run in the brisk morning air, or the hearty breakfast, or the plain and simple magic of his favorite city, but he was feeling a maximum charge, both bodily and mentally. Having returned all of his emails and firmed up his next move for work, he showered and dressed in fresh clothes then took that same elevator back downstairs to that same ornate hotel lobby.  Piano music was still lilting across the ferns, and his thoughts drifted to the brunette. He had to admit, it felt wonderful that she hadn’t skipped their breakfast meeting. That she had reached out to him, better late than not at all, had to be part of the charge he felt.
   He pushed through the tall brass-framed doors to the street outside. Almost midday now, the sun was warming up and the humidity was thickening, but the air was still fresh and comfortable enough to enjoy a walk. He had an hour and a half to burn before a meeting with a journalist downtown, so T strolled easily down the sidewalk toward Louis Armstrong Park, hoping to catch more street musicians. The Quarter did not disappoint. Every other block offered a different sound, a different dream expressed, a different face or collection of faces. 
   Half a block away from the park, T stopped at a walk-up po’ boy stand to buy a quick lunch and soft drink. Inside his billfold was the torn off piece of the paper bag where Olivia’s cell phone number was written. He looked at it in the glare of sunlight and smiled. Then he slid his i-Phone out from his back pocket and stared at it, considering…
 

Pause to Praise the Garden

   I garden for a million and a half reasons. In the garden I find poetry, purpose, art, science, sustenance, exercise, rest, imagination, miracles, defeat, and hope. Lots of my like-minded friends are fond of saying that the garden is all sex and death, and I absolutely agree.

   It’s mid-October now, and Oklahoma is moving gently into autumn while trying not to think too much about the fierce winter predicted. While most of the growing and harvesting activity is tapering off, plenty is still happening if you pay attention. And a lot of it is edible. See these gorgeous hot peppers? All harvested this past week. And about ten times as many are still green, on the plants. Plus bell peppers, eggplant, and cucumbers. I am not even kidding you. I know.

   Don’t even get me STARTED on the herbs and all the beauty and potential there. Swoon.

   Well, a few days ago I was taking stock of the herb garden, just sort of checking things out and maybe planning a few things in my head… when I got the nicest surprise. The marigold plants had all grown pretty big and fluffy, and more than half of the orange blooms were going to seed. So I stooped down to collect them into an empty mushroom tray and squat-scooted around the garden, exploring. That is when I found a stray watermelon vine, still bright green and well hydrated! Overly excited, like I was on a spontaneous Easter egg hunt or something, I followed it out from the plant.

   Somehow, at summer’s end, I had missed a whole, beautiful, unmarred watermelon! Tucked discreetly behind a thick boxwood shrub sat a heavy, striped, dark green watermelon about the size of a volleyball. They curcilue strand of stem directly above it was brown and crispy. This is the surest sign I know that the fruit is ripe. So I snapped the stem and carried my little green baby into the kitchen, more or less dancing all the way.

   A few good whacks from a butcher knife, plus a few scoops with a spoon to remove the plenteous seeds, and I had this beautiful bounty…

   I’m just so happy about this!

   In a few short minutes, without even breaking a sweat, I was rewarded with all of this:

  • a neater flower edge in the herb garden (from deadheading marigolds)
  • marigold seeds to dry and keep for next spring
  • a juicy, healthy, practically FREE snack for me to nibble
  • sweet, crunchy, delicious snack for my horse! (Chanta LOVES watermelon rinds. LOVES em.)
  • watermelon seeds for next summer
   Amazing!

   Truly, instead of trying to answer why DO people garden, I wonder why more people DON’T. Next to reading, it is the most complex and rewarding solitary activity I can imagine.

   Okay. Back to Tiny T soon! Thanks for stopping in!

Grow Yourself Something Wonderful
XOXOXOXO

Folded Paper Fortune Teller, an easy peasy tutorial

   Hello again! If you have read the most recent episode of Tiny T’s New Orleans story, then perhaps you have the unpleasant aftertaste of Fortune Tellers’ Row in your mouth. It’s okay. I’m here to help.

   Do you remember those fun folded paper fortune tellers from middle school? I was a whiz at making them way back when, and it made me feel like I could do real origami. (My classmates could fold notebook paper into those slender little cranes, remember? Not me.) It also made me feel like I could bestow otherwise untold fortunes upon my audience. Well, today, that’s you. And today your fortune is to learn how to make your own folded paper fortune teller. It is so easy and so much fun! Modern middle schoolers probably have “apps” for this, but those cannot possibly be as much fun as our generation’s version. With this little project, you get to write in your own fortunes! Let’s do it.

If you have square paper, use it. If you have legal sized paper, like this…

Just flip one corner over to the bottom, crease, and trim off the exposed short end. Now you’re square. (haha)
Now fold your square paper in to a triangle, once in each direction, so you get creases in an “X.”
Unfold, then rotate your paper and aim each corner toward the center, creasing.
Then, keeping it folded like this, flip the whole thing over and reinforce your perpendicular creases, between each of the paper edges.
Now aim each new point (folded point) toward the new center.
The square is getting smaller.
Now fold it in half once in each direction, not diagonally, creasing well, and unfold.
Sort of fold the whole thing in on itself a little, toward the new center, gently spreading out and expanding the four corners. When you do this and flip it upside down, this is how it looks…
This is how it looks on your hand… Remember now? How you operate it like a sock puppet, opening first in one direction, then the other, like a weird mouth? Cool.
Now the fun part. Write your choices on each little aspect of the fortune teller…
You can make it themed or whatever you like!
Don’t forget the final aspects on the inside… these are your fortunes. Make ’em good!
So do you remember now? Start with a closed fortune teller. Invite your friend to choose one of the first four corners. Then, spelling out that word, or counting out that number, open the fortune teller in alternating directions one time for each letter or digit. When you get to the end of that choice, your friend gets to make a second choice from the new set of exposed aspects. Spell or count again, then on the third choice you flip open the little triangle where you land to reveal your fortune. So silly and fun! 

I dare you to make one for your kids for their lunch box. Or for your girlfriends. Or your cubicle mate. Or your waitress. Or your spouse (hubba-hubba). 
I made this one for Tiny T, but he as much as he likes a good game, he’s disappointed. “I pity the fool who thinks my hands are that big!”

   Okay, so there you have it! If you are new to the Tiny T saga, please join the fun! Just click over there on the upper right —>>> ^^^  on his photo then follow the series of links at the bottom of his page. More choose-your-own-adventure episode are right around the corner. In the mean time, I would love to hear what fortunes you write in for yourselves, and what fortunes your friends stumble upon.

   Thanks for visiting!

“There are good and bad times,
 but our mood often changes more often
 than our fortune.”
XOXOXOXO

Tiny T: Episode Six

   His body depleted from the long run and almost refueled by the rich, flavorful breakfast of fried eggs, buttery, peppery grits, and andouille sausage, his heart kept strong and tender by the series of odd interactions that morning, T settled back into the broad iron chair. He closed his eyes and let the banjo music wash over him along with the cool breeze. Background noises of car horns, bicycle bells, early Bourbon Street revelers breaking into drunken song, and that same classical piano filtering in from the hotel lobby… all of it combined into a perfect spell. He inhaled the chicory coffee, the flower vines, the pool chlorine… a pleasant gumbo of fragrance that kept him seated in that perfect moment.
   His email messages had put him at a crossroads. One job offer was to hop on a plane that evening and fly to London to do a candy bar commercial, but the script was tainted with a homophobic undertone which was extremely offensive to T. Man, I pity the fool who thinks that stuff is funny, he had thought to himself after reading it. Thankfully, his agent’s assistant, Carin, had given him a good warning about that. Another job offer tempted him out west to Los Angeles to make an appearance at a Derby Dolls skating bout. That would be fun, and he had some good friends out there named Gen and Julia who could talk all night about books and would probably take him to eat at Umami Burger. But every intense detail of this city, of this small neighborhood that was its own universe, made the choice easy. He was staying a bit longer. Two days in New Orleans is never enough. And besides, he had offers here too. He treasured the freedom and flexibility of his profession.
   T swallowed the last of his pulpy, sweet orange juice and dabbed his mouth with the thick cotton napkin. He thanked his server and made sure to leave a generous tip which would be billed to his hotel room. He made his way to the sidewalk, wanting to hear the end of the musicians’ set right up close, then dropped a handful of quarters and dimes into the open banjo case. They thanked him in heavy, mysterious Cajun phrases, smiling and bowing and dancing, blessing him with their particular street magic as if he had laid down a hundred dollar bill. He did not resist the grin this time. T even danced with them a little, shuffling his high-top sneakers on the sidewalk and letting that feather earring swing. Then he nodded goodbye and turned back to the hotel. He had some emails to send before showering and getting on with his day.
********************

   Reluctant at first to abandon the coffee shop and leave unanswered the question of her weird message being delivered, Olivia needed very little time with Carly to feel not only distracted but completely fascinated. She had never really seen the Quarter in daylight, much less in these misty morning hours while a whole new slice of the city was getting started to work, and she was rapidly falling in love with it. Why do I keep feeling this here? She wrestled silently with her constant swell of romantic inclination in this city. From the dark, handsome stranger who had kept her awake all night though he was in a different hotel, to the instant communities that formed at every street corner for various reasons, Olivia felt knitted to this place. Drawn to it for her own reasons and craved by it all at once.
   Carly was dragging her now past the restaurants and narrow alley ways, a few blocks away to an expansive stretch of pavement and flat rock, a walkway laid like a dangerous wide ribbon between two spiritual lakes. On one side stood the bleached white, vaulted cathedral called St. Louis, an historical icon that instantly cast shadows onto Olivia’s heart. It pointed to an emptiness in her lungs, an old hunger she had forgotten about. On the other side, just at the edge of the lush and meticulously kept Jackson Square gardens, the cathedral’s antithesis: A string of mismatched chairs and folding tables, umbrellas, and hand painted signs all populated by men and women who could be gypsies. Or vagrants. Or mystics from another realm, most of them holding mangy but smiling dogs on leashes: Fortune Tellers Row. At night, this place was packed with people, mostly risky tourists, but this morning barely a dozen souls lingered at the park benches and not one street performer had taken up residence yet. This patchwork of fortune-telling characters and their piercing eyes sent inky black tendrils of fear onto the flat, wide walkway, snaking coldly toward Olivia, sucking all the noise out of her ears despite the growing activity around her. She had never felt such a distinct spiritual fear before, and to feel it at a moment when she was enjoying so much romance and possibility was very much like being splashed with cold water from behind.
   She stopped walking and pulled back a little, asking Carly, “Uh, what are we doing here?”
   “We’re gonna have your palm read, silly! Let’s see if Mow-hawk Man is the one!” Carly giggled and huddled in close like they were old friends at a slumber party. Like they were just opening and folding a little boxy paper fortune teller, for fun. Olivia enjoyed the smell of Carly’s patchouli and noted the odd mix of it with her own expensive perfume.
   “No, that’s okay. I mean, I don’t have any cash on me anyway.” She lied. Olivia was stiff now, once again adjusting her call cap and hugging herself, and her senses were on high alert, all of the romance quickly draining from her veins. She caught herself glancing around for an escape route and felt ridiculous. In every direction, rationally, there were only lounging people and leashed dogs. Plenty of space to bolt if she needed to. Wide open air and daylight, what could happen? Still, that icy snaking feeling of assault wouldn’t go away. And her companion was oblivious.
   “No problem, Ben here owes me a read.” Carly was aiming them toward a guy perhaps in his twenties with a scratchy four-day beard, a yellow and red knitted cap, and a sun-bleached trench coat covering up an old Madonna t-shirt. Like a prayer? Yeah right! Olivia thought. He wore a stack of plastic Mardi Gras beads around his neck, and Olivia judged how dicey they looked, how unnatural, compared to the stunning jewelry T had worn. She suddenly missed him, this man she barely knew, and wished he would appear to help her out the way he had protected her from the drunken collision last night. Then she worried that Ben could read her thoughts, especially her lie about having cash, and decided she had better shut up.
   “No, seriously, I don’t want to.” In a rare resolute moment, Olivia stood firmly on her high-heeled boots and thrust her skinny arms down to her sides, and shook her head. “I really, really don’t want to. I’m sorry.”
   Carly was dumbfounded, “What? Why?” She giggled again, this time trailing off a bit as she realized her brunette friend wasn’t kidding. Carly’s long, colorful skirts were swishing around her legs from the brisk walk. “Hey, are you okay?”
   Olivia glanced around, trying hard not to look directly at Ben for fear of him casting a Stephen King-style curse on her, and said in a high-pitched voice feigning casualness, “Yeah, I’m okay, I’m just… hungry. You know, you did eat most of that spinach croissant.” Maybe a smile and a joke would trick Carly into forgetting about her abrupt halt a moment ago. It did not.
   “Okay, whatever you say. But I’m telling you Ben is the best palm-reader in this town. You ought-ta try him out.” Carly wrapped her cozy arm around Olivia, pretending to only be warming her and not chasing away her obvious fear, and they turned back the way they had come.

   “See you latah, alligatah!”  Ben called out after them in a booming voice with no trace of a Cajun accent. Phony. Then he threw a bright green puff of chalk dust or something at the concrete in front of his table. The women squealed a little and broke shamelessly into a run.
This episode is dedicated to Carin, sweet and creative blogger at Artfully Carin.
who recently told me a story about the REAL Mr. T 
declining a candy bar commercial in Great Britain
because of its offensive homophobic undertones.
This episode is also dedicated to my little sister Gen and my literary mentor Julia,
who both skate with the Los Angeles Derby Dolls and have all my love from Oklahoma!
Finally, it is dedicated to my husband who always thinks it’s hilarious 
to peer-pressure me into voo-doo type activities 
when we visit my favorite city in the universe.
Rude.

Tiny T: Introducing His Friends

L   Hey T fans! While our philanthropist gentleman digests his New Orleans breakfast, listens to the banjo and washboard, and prepares for the next leg of his journey, I thought I’d introduce you to a few of his buddies. 

   These guys are always in the wings somewhere, either encouraging T, harassing him, or tricking him out of his cool van. They may even make appearances in this love story… Who knows?
   On the far left, in the black leather jacket, is Felix. He is a womanizer if ever one walked this earth. His classic good looks and penchant for working any room against any odds always give him the frustrating advantage with ladies and business dealings alike.
   There in the middle, the elegantly aging man with the silver crew cut, is Hargis. While not always the man to walk away arm-locked with a beautiful woman, he is definitely the man with the plan. He is the alpha presence in this motley Crüe, and he knows it.
   Finally, seated, is Martin. Martin enjoys a weird stroke of genius in his character, but his numerous oddities make it difficult for T to relax around him. In fact, it’s usually Martin who causes T so many headaches and tries to swipe his van. But it’s cool.
   So there you have it! Three of the people who keep T both grounded and a bit crazy. Who are your friends who provide this blended service?
   Thanks for checking in! See you tomorrow for what happens after T’s breakfast.