Clover Autrey

The 4 Males & I thought it'd be fun to hang out at the old Brazos Drive-In. Can you believe my poor boys have never been to one? How do you go through life without ever going to a Drive-In? So off we headed to small town Granbury about an hour away since it's the closest, still operating Drive-In we know of.

$20 a carload (And yes, we saw a looong limo pull in.)



We arrived at 7:15 after stopping at the local Braums for a hearty dinner, which was hilarious because they were quite literal. The youngest 2 Males requested  chicken fingers so we ordered two and were surprised when we literally received one order of 2 chicken fingers. Loved the that's-all-I-get? expressions.



So back to 7:15 pm. We arrived to an already lengthy line of cars, well, mostly trucks and SUVs. This is Texas.

All eager for the double-feature of The Amazing Spider-Man and Men in Black III. It's going to be a late night







And the younguns wondering how they are going to see from the back seat. Don't worry, grasshoppers, we got you covered.



It's called lawn chairs, sitting outside in the quiet cooling Texas air. So Middle Male asks, "When does it start?"

"Well, we have to wait until it gets dark. About 9 o'clock."

"What! What are are we going to do for a whole hour?"

"Um, talk to each other?"





                   Silence.







"Sooo, how 'bout we check out the concessions?"

We jump up from our chairs, relieved to have something to do.

The 3 young Males were not so impressed with the cramped interior. Hubby Male seemed to like it though that could be pretended interest for my sake.

I loved the Nostalgic air. The Brazos opened in 1953 and is still chugging away, refusing to be swept away from history into a strip mall or apartment complex.  

I loved the old painted seats out front and almost wanted to sit under there and have the benefit of a straight on view with the louder speakers instead of what we got through the car (since we weren't sitting in).

Except I also wanted to put my feet up and didn't want to lug the cooler over just for that.

Had to take a picture of the old tin-plated ceiling. Youngest Male said it looked like a chocolate bar.



We had to try the popcorn since it is still made in the original popcorn machine from 1953 and drizzeled with real butter melted over the stove. Youngest Male T said we must get one of those.

"The popcorn?"

"No. The machine."



And finally...wait for it....

It's dark enough for the show.

And gotta say, Peter Parker is no longer the most pathetic whiny superhero there is.

I approve. It's a good do-over. I can now pretend the other Peter Parker never existed. And re-set...

Since all of us but Red Head Male saw Men In Black III, we decided to forgo staying up for it. RHM was not that pleased since he had already seen The Amazing Spiderman. Ah well. We made it home by 12:45 am.

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It's Sunday Morning. I'm teaching the young womens group about Testimony today and I just don't want to go. I will, just like I went last week and the week before and every week for the past year and a half when all I've wanted to do is fade away and never set foot in that building again.

I didn't realize when we held Chase's funeral there because it was so much bigger and nicer than the funeral home, that every time I walked into the chapel I would still see the flowers and his coffin there. I didn't know I'd never be able to sit in the RS room without thinking about how his viewing was right there in the spot rows of folding chairs are now set out. Women chat among themselves in the same spot where my dead child's body was laid out. It's surreal. I see my children look at their brother for the last time, afraid to approach too close. I see too many things.

Church is painful. Even with the time that has passed, it's painful. Guess you can't put a time limit on grief. I don't want to go. I don't want to teach. But I will and hope for the day that we move and I can walk into a different church building without any memories...

I'm on a throw-out-unnecessary junk phase. I love doing this. Anti-clutter me. (How I want to be. The reality: I live with 4 males.)  So I'm in my closet, going through clothes, and I look at the rainbow. Yes, my closet is color-coded. Blacks and browns together. Whites alone. Pinks & purples, then blues and greens. Not a hint of yellow because I don't care for it. Reminds me of puke and snot and makes me look sallow.

Geez, you'd think I'm trying to be charmingCharlies. 

But anyway, it dawns on me that I am a tad up-tight in some things. Even in my writing. I am a Plotter. I have to have all my details and scenes lined up in pretty little color-coded rows, and will stare at a blank pad of paper, twiddling my pen if I don't know beforehand where my scene is going. Free-writing-spirit I am not.   

Though sometimes I'd like to just let my story go where it's going to go. I do envy writers with that Pantser's Spirit. (A Pantser: a writer with the ability to write by the seat of her pants.)

Ah, well, plotting works for me so I'm going to stick with it. Just like I'm going to keep my closet system. It makes me happy.

So what does your closet look like?

Note: So as I'm writing this, Pat goes and puts a red shirt right in the middle of my whites and strolls by my desk, grinning.