Sometimes you've just got to ask for help.
I sewed myself into a corner the other day when I was making a quilt for a friend's wedding, so I had to take my problem to my sister, the quilt guru. Guruess, I guess. She can get me out of any problems.
That's one ask.
Now I need to ask anybody who knows how to reach Bobby Pitsor or Kathy Pitsor Law to email that information to me or give me a call. I'm in the book.
I've always wanted to say that. I'm 65 and never have had the need for saying it until now. We want to find Kathy and Bobby for a family reunion when my sister Suzie comes home from California at the end of May. The end of May is coming fast, so we're scrambling here.
That's two asks.
And the third ask this week - the big ask - was asking for help getting my photos off my regular computer and put on a laptop to make it easier for show and tell. This wasn't something I'd planned until my regular computer dropped dead and it had to be brought back to life by the guys at Personal Computer Solutions.
I'm thinking it might be a good idea to kidnap Jeremy and keep him locked in my attic room - that's where my computer is - for all the times I need help. It would be a simple solution. Much better than beating my head on my computer cabinet.
Besides, anyone peeking into the room likely wouldn't even see him strapped to the printer table. I'd just throw a piece of fabric over his head. And maybe while he's waiting to take care of my computer problems, he could work out a simple pattern for a quilt for me.
He's already given me the inclination to write fiction again. While I was at the computer store waiting to drag home my computer, I overheard people talking. Someone said, "They tried to save the chicken."
They tried to save the chicken. That's got to be one of the most unique opening lines of any piece of literature, fiction or nonfiction. The possibilities are endless.
Seems the chicken's egg disintegrated inside her and her baby chick was freeborn. It didn't survive. They tried to save the momma chicken, but she didn't make it either.
The whole story isn't as funny as the possibilities of that opening line, but that's often how life goes. It's not good, it's not bad. It's just life.
Ouch. I just moved my neck and had a sudden jolt. I slept wrong last night and can't get rid of the ache. Sometimes it's so bad I want to send my dinner back into the universe, but then I'd have to clean everything and I am pretty lazy these days.
When Santa comes around next, maybe I should ask for enough get-up-and-go and actually get up and do something. Right now I'll settle for asking for a contact for Bobby and Kathy Pitsor.
Oh, happy Mother's Day.
So long friends, until the next time when we're together.
Sandy Mickelson, retired as lifestyle editor of The Messenger, may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.