Patricia is the ambitious sort of rock, who takes on every new endeavor with gusto. There are few things she won’t try, and she strives to excel at all of them.
Cooking is a fine example. She went from toast to cookie dough to rotisserie chicken in no time. She watches cooking shows while she works out. She installed recipe apps on my tablet. She adds ingredients to my grocery list. (She is fortunate I can read her writing; others might be puzzled over what “weeet flr” and “wpt crmm” mean.)
She does face challenges not encountered by the casual human chef. While making meatballs, she rolled herself up inside one by accident. I had to go through and poke each meatball, and listen for the one that said “ouch”.
Enchiladas created similar difficulties. Luckily I spotted the lump in one the tortillas before they went into the oven.
She also faces endless jokes about making “stone soup.” Don’t go there. It isn’t funny any more.
Let us know when you’re in the neighborhood, and Pat will rustle up a meal for you that you’ll remember all your life.
Patricia and I have had our hands full deciding on her ensemble for her wedding to Buckle. Neither one of us are really into the latest fashion. She always wears the same pink bow, and I’m usually in yoga pants. (She has an excuse for her consistency. My pants are not hot-glued on.) Still, we perused a few sites to get an idea of what Pat’s style is, and I think we’re heading in the right direction.
My niece is getting married this summer, and has chosen a lovely lace dress. I showed a picture of it to Pat.
She was quite taken with it.
We have done our best to duplicate the look, but my niece certainly wears it better. Maybe it’s the style, maybe it’s the length, or maybe it’s the fact that Patricia has no legs.
I have my doubts about the form-fitting satin look.
It’s just not her.
I’m just grateful we don’t have to worry about shopping for shoes to go with it.
Choosing a bouquet is next on her list. I have not yet had the heart to ask her how she plans to carry it.
Love is in the air. My husband and I celebrated our anniversary last week, and in the excitement, I have neglected to relate a very important event in the lives of our favorite rocks.
On Valentine’s Day, Buckle and Pat made the decision to marry one another. Buckle gave Pat a beautiful ring. (Which looked strangely familiar, and similar to one missing from my jewelry box, but never mind that. It’s hard for him to get the the mall.)
Since then, the house has been abuzz with plans. They want the ceremony to take place at Lake Ontario, so all their friends back home can come. They have been making lists of the preparations needed.
The search for the perfect wedding gown is already proving a challenge.
Pat looked at dresses specially designed for the petite bride, but even they won’t withstand all the alterations necessary. I have been commissioned to design and sew the dress and veil. I’m a fair seamstress; I think I can rise to Pat’s expectations. She isn’t the type to go all Bride-zilla on me.
Buckle is having a harder time trying to rent a tuxedo.
It is truly a joy to have pet rocks in the house. They have so many advantages over conventional pets, such as cats or porcupines.
They have never wandered far from home. They made it to the bus stop on the corner, but Buckle couldn’t get up the bottom step of the 6A downtown.
They never rip apart my belongings, and they have never ruined a rug. Pat did borrow my favorite flowered scarf and forgot to return it, though.
They don’t get all excited and race from one end of the house to another.
They never bite anyone. I found Pat on the internet researching poisons, but she assures me it’s just for the book she’s writing.
It’s true that sometimes we have had to help them out of a precarious situation, but doesn’t every pet owner have to do things like this?
Yes, in spite of the loud parties, and Pat eating all of my popcorn when we went to see “The Force Awakens,” and them skateboarding through the house, and using sharp knives without permission, and Pat spilling water all over the dining room table after she was TOLD to leave the glass alone, and borrowing my phone all the time, and Buckle watching Netflix until four in the morning, and them eating an entire bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and being sick all night, and Buckle drinking my last beer, and the two of them cheating at Monopoly …
We are a music loving family. The local classical station is always on, and my sons play clarinet, keyboard, guitar, and ukulele. It’s no wonder we can’t keep Buckle and Pat away from the instruments in the house. They started with the plastic recorder in the toy room. That hurt my ears, so they moved onto the set of bongos. That worked out fairly well, as they could each sit on one drum and bounce. They were envious of the boys, though, and it wasn’t long before Pat and Buckle had appropriated their instruments, and were practicing just as hard as my sons.
They talk of putting a band together. Pat can play both rhythm and lead guitar, and ukulele solos whenever they come up. Buckle is augmenting his clarinet with some light saxophone. (It has to be light or else he can’t lift it.) They advertised for a bass player. Some fellow named Roger called, but his vision for an album didn’t quite mesh with theirs.
If you’re interested in jamming, stop on over. We still need a drummer.
Whenever my youngest is gone, whether to a buddy’s house for a sleepover, or a weekend at Grandma’s, I frequently find Pat or Buckle rummaging around in her room. I’ve caught them in the Barbie car, playing hide and seek in the cupboards of the play kitchen, and taking naps on her Princess blanket. They are just fascinated by her things.
Buckle found her Princess camera the other day, and undertook a new hobby.
He did some online reading about rock photography, while munching a snack.
I could have taught him a thing or two – I do have some experience in the field myself. Well, if not in the field, at least on my dining room table.
Pat was eager to help Buckle practice. She is the perfect subject for Buckle to try out his new camera. She can sit still for hours at a time.
Fashion photography didn’t go much better.
Once Buckle sets his mind on something, though, he is as unmovable as a granite mountain. We did some more online searching for famous photographers he could learn from. I steered him away from the Mapplethorpe, and directed him toward Annie Leibovitz and Anne Geddes. His coffee table book should be ready for publishing soon.