About the Big Black Spot…


…in my driveway, that is.


It was about a week ago that I noticed it. It had probably been there for a little while, given the size and the snow that kept falling and melting, but I really noticed one day when the snow was gone and I put the car in reverse and backed out of my driveway to go to work.


It was dark, and roundish, and obviously soaked into the concrete. But more than that, it was right underneath where the front of my car normally rests whenever I’m at home.


I went past curious pretty quickly, and got that feeling in the pit of my stomach we all get when we notice something that signals something isn’t right, and whatever that something is could potentially cost a lot of money.


Then I tried to ignore it. Tried to just assume it wasn’t an ongoing problem. Whatever happened had happened, and surely it would just be gone one day, and I probably wouldn’t even notice or remember it had been there.


Alas, it kept growing. Slowly, but it was definitely getting bigger. That’s when the paranoia set in.


Every time I parked, I watched the asphalt or concrete when I backed out of a spot. If I could drive through, even better, because then I couldn’t see anything. My parking spot at work was clear, nothing seemed to be dripping at the grocery store, or the pet store, or the drugstore, or the hardware store.


But the spot kept growing overnight, like a hex on our driveway, until finally my husband noticed too, and there was no denying it any longer. And when I really looked close, I couldn’t decide if I was seeing more of an iridescent sheen or neon green tint. Would the outcome of one be worse than the other? Hard to say.


Plans were made, cash shoved anxiously in my work bag, and I dropped the car off at the mechanic three blocks from where I work a few days later, handing over the keys with no small amount of trepidation and fear of what would come next.


I walked back to work, sat down at my desk, and waited, all sorts of dollar signs and numbers floating through my head. When the call came, I braced myself. Our car is 14 years old.


“Your car is ready!” The guy had a chirpy lilt to his voice. I figured it was all the dollar signs he’d be slapping me with shortly. Some people get off on torture.


“Great,” I said, trying to stay semi-optimistic. “What was wrong?”


“Just a loose oil filter.”


My whole body immediately felt lighter, and I walked over to get my car, enjoying the sunshine I’d ignored just a couple hours earlier. I finished my workday, and had a few errands to run on my way home. Two stops. Quick. Easy. Barely anything.


Just before turning into the second parking lot…my oil light came on. It hadn’t ever done that, even when that black spot had been growing in my driveway.


I got the things I needed to get, and my heart beat fast as I turned the key in the ignition.


No oil light.


Someday I’ll stop staring at that spot on the dashboard when I start up the engine.


Maybe.

That’s it for this week! If you have a favorite thing to share, or want to recommend a book, TV show, video or podcast, comment below, email me at jamie@jamiedebree.com, or catch up with me on Facebook or Instagram.


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Keeping Time

“Watch” Me!

A friend and I were recently chatting about time, and being on time (or not), and we segued into the subject of wrist watches. Said friend is like my husband – which I tend to refer to as “time-fluid”. I am far more “time-strict” naturally, though I’ve chosen to become more fluid to avoid the stress that comes with trying to convince a time-fluid person that being late is actually a thing that should matter more than it does to them.

In the grand scheme of things, I decided it wasn’t worth fighting over, so while I’ll never be “comfortable” with it, I have gotten used to not worrying so much about when I get where. Though I can assure you if left to my own devices, I am generally a fairly prompt person overall.

I attribute this to my dad, who bought me my first watch around the time I went to first grade or so. It was plastic with a cloth red, white and blue band, and large numbers so I could learn to tell time, and it needed to be wound once per day. This was in the days before cell phones, of course, and I was expected to be in certain places (like home or school) at particular times, so learning to tell time and knowing what time it is was an important part of that.

There was a big hulabaloo, of course, when I wanted to wear my watch on my right wrist. My dad explained to me that right-handed people wear their watch on their left wrist, and vice versa, so they can look at the time more easily while writing and doing other tasks. Which didn’t make sense to me, because my eyes were already on my right hand – why not have my watch right there on my right wrist?

Needless to say, I still wear my watch on my right wrist to this day, and occasionally someone will ask if I’m left-handed. Funny how ingrained some things are in our society, isn’t it?

In any case, I developed an affinity for watches, and have worn one pretty much non-stop ever since. Before smartwatches, I used to get a new watch every year or two, and often several so I’d have both fun and more professional looking timepieces. Some of my favorites were a Pepe le peux watch, and the Timex Indiglo line (seriously – a light up watch in a movie theater or concert? It was revolutionary at the time.). I have one that’s solar powered too, which works great when I’m on vacation in Florida. Not so much here in the north, especially in deep winter when our days are very short.

I’ve carried pocket watches, and pendent watches as well. I have a decent collection of favorites that I’ve saved over the years, and I have a giant Smurf watch hanging on the wall of my dining room (yes, it still works).

My daily watch now is a Galaxy Watch 6, which is for time keeping, of course, but also for message notifications, task reminders, workout tracking, timing tea and aquarium water tests, and a calculator which is surprisingly handy and easier than expected to use on such a small screen. This watch is probably capable of more than my first computer was, which is kind of mind-blowing when you think about it.

Do you wear a watch, smart or otherwise? Is it for punctuality, or just notifications?

Writing News

I’ve been involved with a couple of work projects lately that pretty much leave me completely drained by the time I get home. Between that and still dealing with some pain, I haven’t felt comfortable dictating while driving (though I’m feeling quite a bit better this week, so we’ll see). I did do some plotting and planning, and I think I finally nailed down the story line for Alex’s next DBV story, so all was not lost last week, but I’m sincerely hoping I can make some actual “getting words down on paper” type progress instead this week.

Recommendation(s)

The last season of Disenchantment is on Netflix now, and we finished it this past weekend. If you’re looking for a light, funny, upended fairy tale in cartoon form, check it out. I thought it was great, though honestly, the first few seasons were the best (as usual).

That’s it for this week! If you have a favorite thing to share, or want to recommend a book, TV show, video or podcast, comment below, email me at jamie@jamiedebree.com, or catch up with me on Facebook or Instagram.


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The Leaf Globe

Last week on my lunch break, the wind was blowing, the sun was shining, and golden leaves were gusting off the trees and swirling through the breeze like someone had turned the whole fall day upside down and shook it.

It was glorious.

Days like these are why fall is my favorite season. The days are getting shorter, the temperature is cooling, and there’s a nip in the air as if winter is just sort of flirting with me…feeling me out to see if I might be interested in catching a movie later. I am, of course – I love winter, but the teasing, will-we-won’t-we nature of fall is just so…intoxicating.

I am one of those odd individuals who loves (and needs) a bright (not hot) day, but also has a special affinity for early dusk and the ensuing darkness. Evenings in the summer are annoying – their long hours just dragging the day out, and with it, all the people who somehow just disappear when the sun sets early. I don’t really know where or why they all go, because when I see them in summer, they’re doing the same things I am – walking the dogs, enjoying the evening coolness, winding down from the hustle and bustle of the day.

But when darkness comes early, I’m suddenly the only one out walking with my pups, sniffing the air for that first hint of snow, and enjoying the peace and calm that happens only when the moon is on duty.

I love the nighttime as much as I love fall, and together they are a formidable pair. I was walking along with the dogs in the dark recently, the glow of their leashes the only light for yards, and we all stumbled into a pile of lovely crunchy leaves. The sound was almost deafening, frightening for a moment, and then such great fun to rend the night with such a happy, seasonal sound. Not to mention the feel of shuffling through nature’s bubble-wrap, ankle-deep. It’s fun during the day, when it can be an intentional thing, but definitely moreso when it becomes an unexpected perk to walking at night.

I wish fall could stick around longer. I feel spoiled that we’ve gotten so much of its attention this year, as we often only get a week or two of its company before it’s shooed away by the indomitable Mr. Frost. But until the globe freezes, I’m going to enjoy every minute of the swirling, floating, flirting leaves.

Stay awhile, Fall. Dessert before dinner, that’s what you are.


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One with the Crows

A few weeks back our ex-neighbor (she was in the process of moving out) had a guy come blow her sprinklers out. A very common thing this time of year (we’re still waiting for our company to come do that…I think we really need to learn how to do that ourselves, but I digress).

My husband went out to leave for work, and the yard guy was just staring off toward a field near our house. He stared for a long while, so of course my husband stared too, wondering what he was staring at. As it turns out, he was watching a murder of crows that hangs out in our neighborhood – they were across the street. After awhile, he nodded, and then started to get to work when he noticed my husband watching.

He told my husband that the crows know whether you’re good or bad, and as long as he had their approval to be in the neighborhood, he could get on with his work. But he needed their blessing first.

Crows are very interesting birds, as they have the intellect of a toddler and can remember faces they like or don’t like for years, passing that knowledge down through generations. I can sort of understand where that guy was coming from…crows just seem like they know things, and their overall appearance certainly makes them a bit imposing and foreboding as well.

Perhaps it was a subconscious nod to that then when I picked out a shower curtain with a raven in front of a full moon for our Halloween/Fall decor this year. He’s a rather imposing figure in our galley bathroom, and naturally, he brings to mind Poe and his study. I realize crows and ravens are different, but they are both part of the corvus family, much like magpies, which I’ve (obviously) been reading a lot on lately. We have both crows and ravens here, though I’d be hard-pressed to tell you which was which. At least magpies have those incredibly long tails and some color on their wings to make them stand out.

In any case, knowing that crows are particular and remember people’s faces, I’m always careful to tread lightly around them and make sure they know I mean them no harm. It seems like having big, black, noisy birds on your side could indeed come in handy for…something.

Or maybe just not giving them any reason to attack en masse is enough.

***


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The County Fair

The beginning of the end of summer in my hometown (and maybe yours too) is marked by the annual County Fair. Ours is a bit hoity-toity in that it’s called “MontanaFair”, rather than “Yellowstone County Fair”, which means people often are confused when they learn it’s not the actual state fair. I suspect the initial organizers probably had high aspirations for it, considering we are the largest county in Montana, though not home to the state capitol (which is Helena).

I also suspect they were trying to find something shorter than “Yellowstone County” to print on banners and tickets, which is understandable.

In any case, a great many of my childhood summers were partially spent not just attending the fair, but also preparing exhibits and occasionally animals to show. I was a 4H kid, so everything from my first dog to model rockets to baked goods to rabbits to sewing was “fair” game for contest entries. I spent many long nights before the entry deadlines finishing projects, sometimes not finishing until an hour or so before they had to be dropped off for judging.

It was challenging and fun, but also very…stressful a lot of the time, and while I’ve toyed with the idea of entering items in the fair as an adult, I’ve so far resisted the idea due to the inevitable late nights and stressful days required to finish projects in time to meet the deadline.

I mean, if I were organized and disciplined about it, it wouldn’t have to be a rush-rush thing. Alas, in all my years of fair entries, not once did I manage to learn that particular lesson.

But 4H entries weren’t the only reason to go to the fair. There was the carnival, and the games we knew we couldn’t win (but seriously, how could I resist throwing money away trying to win a Spuds McKenzie plush (I never did win)?! The rodeo and so many tight-jean-cowboys strutting in fancy boots & hats. And when I got older, the concerts and just walking the midway with my buddies to check out the boys.

I loved the lights and the action and the August night air, the smell of corn dogs and cotton candy, and the feeling that something different and magical and crazy might happen as we strolled under the midway lights and waved our hands in the air on rides.

Once, when I was in college, I even left a friend’s wedding in the state just south of us to come back to a night at the fair, and I brought a very handsome fellow-guest back with me. It was just after the reception, I was the maid of honor (though I had no idea what that was actually supposed to mean until years later – I never was much of a “wedding” girl), and she never spoke to me again, understandably so.

I was an old soul even then, and not normally prone to spontaneous acts, but the stupidity of youth and the intoxicating scent of certain men still caught me in their charms occasionally.

Needless to say, the fair was always the culmination of hard work and anticipation, as well as the promise that the heat of summer was on its way out and crinkly leaves would be floating on the breeze again soon. I loved it, and while we’ve skipped the last few years for practical reasons (okay, this year we’re skipping because we’re just so tired of the heat), I hope to make it back again eventually.

I think the ending and beginning nature of the annual fair is partially why I chose that scene as a starting point for Lauren in the draft I’m working on (I really need to figure out a working title for that). She’s ending one portion of her life and starting another, and the county fair is her marker for the intersection.

Is there a local fair where you live? Do you go? What’s your favorite part?


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Reader on the Sidewalk

My local bookstore is just a couple blocks away from my day job. It’s moving in a couple of weeks, so soon to be a few more blocks away, but still in walking distance. I work downtown, so there are lots of local shops in a relatively small radius that I like to frequent on my breaks when I can.

The bookstore has a rolling shelf of free books that they put outside on nice days, and anyone can come take whatever they want off the cart. I’ve nabbed a few good books from there myself, and it seems like an excellent way to thin the non-selling stock and give to the community at the same time.

Our homeless population tends to mill around the downtown area, and one man in particular has stood out to me in recent months. He’s older and has a walker that doubles as his chair. I’d seen him around before, but the thing that caught my attention recently is that after our bookstore started putting out the cart of free books…I now rarely see him without a book in hand. He sits in the same spot day after day just a few shops down from the bookstore, smoking cigarettes and reading. Always reading.

He’s never really had that “listless” look about him that some homeless people have – he’s always struck me as someone who probably has some interesting tales to tell. And to see him devouring books so voraciously, spending his days just sitting there reading…I find myself envious in a way. Not that I’d ever willingly give up warmth or showers or a cozy couch, but if I did find myself with nearly nothing at some point in my life, I’d be happy to at least have access to books.

He does seem content, and when the bookstore moves, I hope he’s able to find his way to the new space for more books when he’s ready.

I often wonder what his story is, but rather than ask, I prefer to speculate. The inkling of an idea has sprouted in my mind, and every time I pass him, it grows just a tiny bit more.

I think he may be showing up in one of my stories (or maybe more) someday soon.


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