The Christmas Shopper.

The Christmas Shopper.
A Poe-m by Sherry R.*

Once upon a morning dreary,
While I wakened, weak and bleary,
Over many a gift bought and wrapped from some vile store,
While I coffeed, nearly napping, suddenly I felt like slapping,
As if somehow my brain was slapping, trapping me to buy some more.
"Tis but some bauble" I quickly muttered, "slapping me to buy some more.
Only this and nothing more."

Deep into the morning peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no shopper ever dared to dream before:
But the silence was unbroken and the coffee gave no token,
And the only words there spoken were the whispered, "Shop some more."
This I whispered to myself and murmured back."Shop some more."
Only this and nothing more.

Then 'Free Shipping' so enticing, and the bid of 'Low, Low Pricing'
Those chosen words now burned into my bosom's core.
No other words dare need be mentioned,
To grab my wallet and attention,
Till I scarcely only question, "who do I still need something for?"
"Is there someone?", I implore, as my resolve goes out the door.
One more dollar and nothing more.

But I soon discern my bill is climbing,
The thrill of gifts is past it's priming.
I now resolve to stop this madness I adore.
The siren voices must stay quiet, as they stalk me like a diet,
Beckoning and calling "Buy some more".
While my resolve is quickly sinking, back to the 'inter-web' I'm linking,
All the while my brain is thinking, "My cash has vastly flown the door with
something destined for a drawer, yet..."
One more gift and nothing more.

Then I ponder in lonely torment my frightful snare with my urge to repent,
Over gift temptations I have tried to bypass much before.
Is aid soon needed by a master to help avoid complete disaster,
And keep my downfall from occuring faster,
Than it has so swiftly done in days of yore?
"I will be wise, no compromise, I know that I am not a bargain whore.
I am the boss of my wayward brain and can handle all the strain to make my budget last and keep the score."
I will not faulter, vows the shopper. Vows the shopper...
"Nevermore."

It won't happen again, gone are checkbook and pen.
And the credit cards used on gifts so many times before.
The oath is no joke and it will not be broken,
As the season outspoken, begs, 'Spend some more!'
Now resolve is like a fire burning and "no more debt" is still a yearning as from my shopping ways I'm learning not to ring up gifts and treats galore.
The cash it helps to keep it real and curbs the staggering appeal of swiping the card in the oft offending store.
No more bills, debts and crying, no more statements for hiding, no more charges that I regularly ignore.
The snare must loosen up it's grip, as I bite hard upon my lip and as I constantly...defiantly quip...
"Nevermore."



I wrote the previous poe-m after a shopping day that completely overwhelmed and derailed me from the wonder of the season.
When despondent, I always think on Edgar Allan Poe and it is with considerable gratitude that I thank him for his masterful version of this poem, The Raven.

*Thats me!

Thanks for being here.


Ravens at Christmas



The Christmas Shopper Poem © 2014

Godzilla Nativity

Hello faithful readers.
Yes, I know the REAL meaning of Christmas and I adore it.
That is why I had a little fun today.
Think I will make Christmas cards with these pics.
Some possible sentiments include.....

IT Came upon a Midnight Clear....
or
Don't Rest ye Merry Gentlemen.....
or
O Come all ye Flameful....
or
Hark, the Feral Lizards Sing...
or
Wreck the Halls...

You get the idea.
Maybe you'll get one!!!

You're Welcome!


Godzilla Nativity


Godzilla Nativity


Godilla Nativity


Thanks for being here.

Understanding a Gift.

I have not discovered the Fountain of Youth or become a giant Redwood tree but including this year I have celebrated 245 Christmases with my husband.
In dog years that is.
We have had a dog or dogs most of our entire married life and consider it an honor for them to leave muddy paw prints all over the house be in our lives.
Every day is Christmas for a dog and dogs are easy to buy gifts for.
Give them one tennis ball or several, new or even badly used, and they celebrate with wild abandon, as if no one ever gave them anything else before.
Husbands are a bit more discerning and although they are very much like dogs, I have used up every thoughtful and creative gift idea in my universe during our 245 Christmases together.
I am totally not inspired to shop for my husband because if he wants something he usually just buys it himself.
So doesn't that means he has everything he wants!?!?
If I actually do think of something that would be a fun gift then it is usually about the same price as a new Lamborgini, and we all know bloggers have bags of expendable income generated by thousands of advertisers and loyal readers.
That is our reason for blogging.
Not because we are trying to type away our stress or perhaps psychoanalyze our day to day world, hoping it will in some small way, make a bit of sense.
Pppfffftttt. Whatever.
Back to husbands and dogs....
Both are laid back and easy going.
Curled up on a nice comfy chair or sofa, they both fall asleep in seconds and snore loudly.
Hmmm...Got enough chairs and sofas.
Both eat just about anything.
My husband however, does not just barf on the carpet if he eats too much.
Hmmmm...Got enough food.
They both leave their stuff everywhere because they are easily distracted........Squirrel.......
Hmmmmm...Got enough socks, hats, shoes and yard animals.
Both sleep ALL OVER the bed.
Arms and legs in every direction and both dogs and husbands will strangely try to snuggle even closer to you if you push an arm, leg or tail out of the way, so you just give up and try to go back to sleep in an unoccupied space about the size of a bandana.
Hmmmmmm...Got a bed and plenty of blankets.
Not to mention the amount of hair that is shed by husbands and dogs.
And husbands don't take kindly to a good lint rolling on their chest to gather the excess.
Hmmmmmmm...Got LOTS of lint rollers, vacuums and showers.
Both dogs and husbands are fun to be around and happy most all of the time with a "Glad I woke up, what are we gonna do now?" attitude every morning.
Hmmmmmmmm...Got enough coffee, mugs and projects around the house.
Husbands and dogs are just happy to be noticed and have a companion to play with, seems like to me.
Hmmmmmmmmmm...
So much in common..... except....
Dog gift = easy.
Husband gift = aaarrrggghhhh... or....
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....
Maybe I'm thinking of this gift thing all wrong.
Maybe I can't think of the gift because ANY gift would be considered G R E A T.
Because for dogs and husbands most every day is like Christmas when you have the balls to celebrate with wild abandon.

Merry Christmas.

Thanks for being here.



The Husband.

Must Haves this Winter

With everyone making lists of the best gifts to give this year, please let me list a few things for your own self that I find help make any day a bit brighter and more-better-bearable.
Since I have been stomping this planet for so long, I have tried lots of stuff and can, with a large chunk of certainty say that these items are worth your hard earned cash.
You can trust me on this because I spent my own cash to get them. They are not promotional gifts.....dadgummit.

1)

Oil of Olay

Every woman human needs this stuff. While it doesn't remove wrinkles, it makes your skin feel so fresh and good you won't care.....as much. I went through 2 bottles of this stuff (and still counting) making my swollen, hurty broken wrist skin feel better. It is not heavy on your skin or greasy. Put a light coat on your face, after your morning wash and your smile will thank you. Heck, I use this lotion on some of my wood furniture to give it a nourished look.
Besides it smells nice.

2)

Harney and Sons Chamomile Tea Sachets

Tea. Gotta love it. Well you don't gotta but I do because while I was young and growing up my Mom's best friend was English so tea was always brewing in our house. Plus if we were sick, we were always given hot tea and saltine crackers. Now-a-days I find that the soothing taste of chamomile tea in the evenings is the best way to relax. Many, many brands and varieties have passed over my lips but the simplicity, natural sweetness, and heavenly aroma of Harney and Sons is all my palette requires. Their website could use some updating, but their teas are wonderful.
Besides the little sachets are adorable and make me feel fancy.

3)

Ester-C Vitamin C

All vitamin C's are not created equal. These are truly the best. They have a little bit of a smooth coating, so they don't taste powdery or get stuck on the way down. After I don't know how many years of taking them, they have never upset my stomach. They are kind of big so sometimes I cut them in half, because I hate taking pills and because 500mg is the smallest mg I have ever found. If you are feeling a little droopy or scratchy throated then take these to knock those sick germs back to last week.
Besides it will keep you from getting scurvy.

4)

Max Freeze

I had never heard of this stuff till my sister came to take care of me whilst I was broken bone recovering. She uses it on a bad knee. It is amazing. It goes on like a roll-on deoderant with only a slight odor in the beginning and no weird skin feel after. But it will reduce your aches and pains in just a few minutes like a prescription drug all the while being just about as all-natural as you can get. I will always have it in my medicine cabinet from now on.
Besides it is made in the U.S.A. - Like me !

5)

Grandma's Pure Soap

I got this soap because a) it had the word Grandma on it. b) it has lye in it and c) it is good for dry skin.
There are 3 ingredients and thats it. Lard, Water and Lye. I can picture a hardworking woman stirring a large bubbling, steaming pot of soap over an open fire with smooth, acne free skin. My 'lives far away' daughter who also loves it says she can really tell a difference in her complexion since she started using it. I use it because it really does not dry out your skin or leave any kind of residue. It also lasts a long time. Over a month with daily use for me. Now I'm no soap scientist, but it just feels better, cleans better, lathers better and rinses much better than grocery store bars or liquids, so my ancient, well used skin appreciates it
Besides it makes me feel like a strong pioneer woman. And soap is as close as I'm gonna get to that scenario.

Hope you find this list helpful in some tiny way, but these items seem important at any age and I thought you should know.

You're Welcome.


Thanks for being here.


Shopping Links:
1) Oil of Olay
2) Chamomile Tea
3) Ester C
4) Max Freeze
5) Grandma's Soap

The Happy Quest

I read the following post yesterday and thought that it spoke so well about one of the directions folks have chosen to cope with difficulties in life that I needed to share it with you.
Rachelle works in the very south of Georgia, is a great blog writer, loving family member and the best sister anyone could have......

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Going Off The Rails On a Crazy Train

Today there is no quest for happiness on my part. There is only the question why?!

This will not be one of my usual posts where I try to find humor in something or at least convey a situation that may not be humorous in a comical way. The voices in my head are screaming today and there is not enough white noise in the world to shut them up.

There was a shooting last night at FSU. Another shooting at a school; what the hell. What has transformed the minds of so many Americans that now the only answer to anyone’s pain or anger is to use a gun? I don’t understand it at all.

Every mass shooting I hear about makes me die a little inside as I wonder what has happened to our values and why we have gotten on some downward spiral into anarchy. Actually I know the answer, but it isn’t ‘politically correct’ so I will keep it to myself. Being ‘PC’ has also started to make me crazy because it has taken on a life of its own and it seems that no one is allowed to have an opinion anymore – unless it is also the opinion of whoever you are talking to. God forbid we ‘agree to disagree.’

This shooting hit me the hardest however because I live near FSU. It is just too close to home. I work at a small university that is about 30 minutes from FSU and my son goes to UGA. I am too close geographically to the latest incident and my son is too geographically far away from me. So, we are both at schools and they seem to be escalating to #1 on the hit list.

My job is to collect tuition and fees. I am the one that gets all the angry phone calls from students and parents telling me I am wrong – that they don’t owe money – when I am right. So many times, even when I try to explain it calmly, the situation escalates; on the phone and in person. I have had to tell people ‘that I will never be able to tell them what they want to hear’ – literally. That never ends well. I have had to tell people that I will not talk to them until they calm down or until they stop cursing. The venom can be spewed at me for as little as $10. It has happened. It seems that hardly anyone is able to think rationally anymore – or do math.

I honestly wonder every day if I will go home that night. I wonder will I have made the wrong person angry. You just never know anymore.

I also wonder every day about my son at UGA. Will he be in the wrong place at the wrong time when someone loses their mind and wants to kill innocent people for no other reason than they are ‘hurting?” How is that the answer to whatever pain they are in??!!

The news showed videos this morning that students had taken and streamed to their station. One was of a group of students huddling by the book shelves as the announcement played over the loud speaker about how there had been a shooting and what they were supposed to do. All I could think of during the video was what if Austin was one of those students? I am not the type of person that cries – ever. This made me cry.

It also made me think about when my daughter was at college and a tornado came through the town. Her call, from another person’s phone because she had to run to safety and she didn’t pick up her own phone, scared the living daylights out of me. She was fine, the town was not. But even so, I didn’t sleep for days. I still worry about her every day in Atlanta. Atlanta is a big, crazy city full of the same dangers.

But, I understand weather and what causes things like tornados (but it doesn’t mean I like them), conversely, this type of mentality – the shooting mentality – I DO NOT understand.

I grow tired of wondering everyday if this will be my last day on earth because someone else can’t cope. I am scared for the rest of my family. It seems no place is safe anymore and I hate that.

We are literally living the Ozzy Osbourne chorus of “Crazy Train”, and I am ready to get off.


Find more from The Happy Quest at  http://ifyouarehappyandyoudonotknowit.blogspot.com

Thanks for being here.....
And there.

"Vegetables for one, please."

Animals get us.
Not like hunter/prey get us.
They 'understand' us.
We don't understand them though and as humans we totally abuse our animal relationship.
But they are much more aware of whats going on around them than we give them credit for and probably just shake their animal heads at our pompous ways.
(Have you ever tried to catch your cat to give it it's medicine? They know. They totally know.)
They don't even speak human, well except for a few parrots and they understand much more than we give them credit for.
My dogs can not leave me alone now that I am 'broken'.
(I broke my wrist in a bumbling fall on concrete; Surgery, pins, cast, the works)
They sniff my arm and want to lay their heads on the cast.
They are constantly trying to lick my badly skinned up knee.
Its their way of playing doctor, I guess.
Which brings me to this.....
When I saw this sweet story, I cried.
Please check it out.


http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/healthnews/11217366/Horse-brought-to-hospital-to-say-goodbye-to-its-dying-owner.html

I love animals or maybe I just need to double up my pain medicine today, but I so get this story.
Animals make life worth living.
Many people woud agree with me but could only acknowledge the truth of my statement as long it comes with fries and a drink.
I just can't do it.
"Vegetables for one, please."

Thanks for being here.

But have I mentioned....?

What a weekend it was.
Crazy, crazy.
There were Day of the Dead celebrations everywhere.
Halloween parties for young and old.
Trick or Treating in the streets.
Voodoo Fest in New Orleans
Friday the 13th even tried to disquise itself as the 31st this year, but since I'm mildly dyslexic I saw right through that one.
But have I mentioned....that I broke my wrist this weekend?
I wasn't even participating in any of the many festive activities when it happened, so it was just a totally unimaginative, awkward, embarassing, uncoordinated and mostly laughable display of bone breakage.



I stepped on a rock going down a small cement hill that knocked me off balance and this stumbling, flailing, hefty human picked up speed all the way to the bottom of that hill.
My wrist finally came to the rescue and stopped the 'once in motion always in motion' beast that I had become.
I survived the fall but my wrist was badly wounded and was taken to not 1 but 2 emergency rooms so it could tell the world how carelssly it had been treated.
After hours of paperwork, skin freezing, pain shots, waiting, Chinese finger traps (I am not making that up), ring cutting off, more waiting, x-rays, ice packs, bone twisting, stretching and putting back in place, cast making, more waiting and finally release from the house of horror hospital, my wrist and I arrived home relieved that we were free from probing doctors, interns and nurses.
WRONG.
Have I mentioned....that the follow-up Doctor tells me there is 50-50 chance my bone could 'slip' back out of place and I would need surgery.......
There was a sucking sound in the room as my will to live was temporarily removed.
I am already overwhelmed with how much I CAN'T do that the thought of doing even less sends me into a spiral of sofa laying, TV watching, book reading, phone game playing flurry of bone protecting non-activity.
Hey wait.
I said that like it's a bad thing.
Well it must be because now I'm feeling painful discomfort and laziness guilt.
This is like a bad dream that I can't wake up from.
But have I mentioned....that I AM awake and one handedly typing this post to authenticate the fact that it all really happened.
Really.

Thanks for being here.

Shy to the Nucleus.

Being shy is one of my 'things' and has been since I was an embryo. (I was too shy to even come out on birthing day, my mother was trying to push me into this world for 2 long, laboring days before I was born)
My parents though, were both outgoing, party throwing, neighbor chatting, involved in anything kind of people.
There were many times when I got scolded for hiding behind my parents or taking off to a secluded corner when my parents were being social.
"You're acting ridiculous" or "I do apologize, I'm sure she'll outgrow this" or "Get over here now and don't make me tell you again" were all things I heard repeatedly.
Yet I have never stopped being shy all the way into adulthood...or....now.
It is not a worry or a problem that I think about because I have been shy as long as I can recall and I am comfortable by myself.
Sometimes though, I must go out....in public.....where people are........
My husband who is NOT shy, generously purchased tickets to one of our favorite comedians as an anniversary gift.
Perfect. The funny man will be 1000 feet away, on a spotlit stage and we will be comfortably and silently squished next to strangers in the dark.
Totally awesome and mostly shy-proof until.......I got entirely too close to the funny man .
The most famous person I was ever close to was Santa Claus.
Now imagine a crying child being pushed close to Santa and said child is trying to turn and run back to the safety of anywhere else.
I was that child.
"Keep the presents, I am not talking to that guy".
That was my motto.
Well the previously mentioned comedian was also doing a book signing on his stand-up tour and we arrived early enough that there was hardly anyone in line for it.
So......we were able to get up close and personal with a famous person.
My brain shut off.
Completely shut off.
Instead of crying though, I was grinning like an idiot and couldn't even remember what my daughter's name was.
He was witty, friendly, adorable, signed my book and smiled back.
I took the book and bolted out of the room.
I don't recall if I even thanked him.
I sat down trembling, terrified and still grinning.
If I am shy around regular people, what was I thinking I could do around a famous one?
Without a working brain?!
Now I've become a traumatized shy adult.
"Keep the book, I am not talking to that guy".
That is my motto for the next book signing.
Did I say 'next' book signing?
Who am I kidding.
I mean 'any' book signing.

Thanks for being here.


I could have gotten closer, but I had to leave enough space for a quick getaway.


Funny. Even autograph funny.
(Amy is my daughter)

I swear, its not what you think......

If you are easily offended or detest foul language then just skip on to the next thing on your to-do list because this post is a tribute to master cussers.
It seems that I feel the need to acknowledge these curse word artists because they fill a descriptive vacancy in my vocabulary.
Though many claim to be master cussers, the ones I commend here are experts and can turn a phrase or sentence, full of obscenities, into a thing of eloquent beauty and take my breath away with their abilities.
They are to swear words what Bob Ross is to canvas.
I can not compete.
I can not even begin.
My relationship to foul language is not unlike a person in recovery and I have
been on the swear-'wagon' for decades.
I know my limits.
I can't say the stuff.
My vocabulary would quickly become profane and offensive in the least likely of places.
"That is the cutest &*@%$#% baby I ever saw".
That kind of thing.
So I must refrain from cursing at all.
I don't worry too much about wasting my unused allotment of dirty words because I willingly give the master cussers in this world my portion.
Sort of imaginary recyclable profanity that is sustainable and ethically managed.
Shall we begin....

The F#%*ling.
One of my master cuss virtuosos is my oldest daughter.
Don't ask me how, don't ask me why.
She learned it young and she learned it fast.
She did not learn it from her parents.
But when she is wound up or excited about something she can tell the story of an experience or
describe an event so appropriately, effortlessly and hysterically uncensored that even the Pope would be wiping away his tears of appreciation.
She has tried to quit or at least cut down (sadly there are no patches to end cussing) with no success, so she has had to embrace and master her skill.
Her abilities compare to a treasure at Sotheby's.

The F#%*ess.
My second master cuss champion is a well known blogger who also has the gift of retelling conversations and describing
events with profanity placed precisely and perfectly.
She also posts many pictures with expertly inserted expletives.
If I go for a week without reading one of her posts I find that there is no point to even having a computer.
She uses the f-word like a guru.
And the awesome thing about her is that I think she would possibly enjoy being called 'The F**kess' on some days.
Her talent is a skillful, exquisite and revered by her followers.

The F#%*er.
My third and final master cuss boss is known for and only needs one swear word in various forms to get his point across.
He uses the f-bomb with the skill and accuracy of a competitive marksman.
He can expertly use it like a Jedi when discussing snakes on aircraft or reading books about compelling children to go to sleep.
Since I don't know him personally I can only assume he uses his f-word to pay his utility bills or persuade politicians to get stuff done.
He is that capable.
His mastery is legendary.

Their artistry is profound.
Their gifts seem inspired.
They are clever, gifted, accomplished and more than occasionally, offensive.
But I will still adore them.
I will still keep my expletives quiet.
I swear.

Thanks for &x%$#@! being here.
Sorry---couldn't resist.

Thanks for being here.


P.S. You didn't hear it from me......

Also thanks to April, Jenny and Samuel.

Throwback Thursday

Hello,
I have a chicken on my head.
My mother gave these pictures to me recently and printed on the backs of each was "young Sherry and chicken".
Nothing unusual.
Except that it's on my head and chickens poop a lot!
I had raised this one from a tiny yellow chick (pic below) and have no idea what happened to it.
I would like to think that it won prizes and awards when it grew up (my sister was in FFA) but it probably was consumed by a neighbor.
A neighbor family ate our rabbits when my family went on a camping trip.
We know this because one neighbor told on the other neighbor.
My family had fish, cats, iguanas, rabbits, chickens and hungry neighbors.
I guess my mom took the picture while the chicken was still alive, or while I was still alive
(you never know what's on the neighbors menu).
Anyway, I don't remember poop or death or even the picture, but I do remember loving animals (more than my neighbors) and I'm glad someone captured the moment
(before they captured the chicken).
Maybe other folks began to miss pets too because after 'Bunnygate' the thieving neighbors moved out.
I hope they got pooped on.

Thanks for going back in time with me.

Pick a Peck of Perks

There do not seem to be a lot of perks for people my age.
At least they are not very obvious to me.
In my experience it seems like most businesses tuck perks away so you only get them by word of mouth or through lots of research.
But my husband and I got a great one this weekend at the county fair.
We got in for free!
We didn't even have to ask.
We just had to look the part.
You are probably thinking "Seriously? She's excited about that???? A discount to look at llamas, giant stuffed prize bananas, heart stopping carnival rides and kids covered in face paint?"
Well yes I'm excited, but as I shared earlier, it's because there are not a lot of other senior perks out there.

As soon as my husband and I came of age we joined a certain group that has a following with the older generation.
It costs precious money to belong but we thought of it as an investment with the hopes of finding out about all the endless and fabulous senior discounts.
When we got our first magazine, it seemed to us like a picture book....... compiled by Stephen King!
We saw terrifying items that would lead you to believe that lots of funky contraptions and doodads will help you age gracefully, all while you ponder yourself into an early grave worrying about how to afford these accessories of your future!
We had no idea that in our sunset years we would, basically, need a torture chamber to make the transition.
Special showers, freaky food supplements, folding beds, wrinkle-less clothes, peculiar shoes, odd lighting, insurance, hair treatments, gumball machines to dispense your meds (I made that one up) and countless other crapomatics,  all of them calling our name.
Not to mention the printed articles pointing out all the rip-offs and scams that we needed to avoid and be scared of.
We wanted perks, coupons and discounts so we could live life like we did when we were young, only living it just a smidge slower and a bit cheaper.
The sought after perks we had hoped for were very few and very far between.
We ended our membership after house of horrors magazine #3 showed up.
We can already frighten and unnerve ourselves by checking our retirement account balance or by being full monty naked in front of a mirror.
We wanted perks!!

The only other perk I ever got was at a grocery store when I bought  3 items and they said that I got a senior discount because it was Tuesday!
Yay ?!
I have been shopping at that store on a variety of days for years and was never told about this or ever saw a sign.
They most likely keep it on the down-low because they don't want a store full of seniors clogging up the aisles and asking for prunes.
I am guessing I got the perk this time because I dropped 1 of my 3 items as soon as I got to the register, my clothes were soaked from the rain outside, I just got off work, complete with name tag still on, looked exhausted, my wallet had been left in the car, I was starting to tear up, the cashier was patiently smiling at me and I was buying oatmeal, coffee and prunes. 
Just kidding....... I dropped 2 of my 3 items and the coffee can rolled right up to the cashiers foot.
Your guess is as good as mine why I got the discount that day.

Even online the pickings are slim.
And every perk that you do find qualifies at a different age minimum or lasts for a month, a week, a minute or already expired.
50, 55, 60, 62, 65, 70.... How old is a 'qualified' senior anymore?
Nobody seems to know.
I sure don't.

But the folks at the county fair do.
If you look old, then, "Come on in!"
That's their motto.
They know we still eat cotton candy and try to win goldfish.
They know we will come and bring our families and spend our money and tell everyone about getting in free.
They know that seniors will be amazed by the fun rides and wonder how in the world those people don't get nauseous or pee a little bit.
They get it.
I am grateful.

I'll be back next year too!




Jeplen's first county fair!
(the one in the middle)



Psycho ride my kids went on.
Yes, it swung back and forth and spun. Blarg. 
I had to sit down.


Thanks for being here.

Oh... BTW... My daughter won a goldfish!
Good times. 
Good times.

Did you see that ?

Growing older is so bizarre.
I can't begin to understand what my body is thinking or trying to tell me.
There is no way to anticipate its changes and I can't keep up with them either.
Trapped in it, there is no escape.
So I'll blog about it....

Once I got past my child bearing years, plucking my moustache hairs became a weekly necessity.
I know moustaches are the cute 'in' thing right now with jewelry and accessories, but trust me when I say that only the young people are buying that mess.
Once a woman begins to 'groom' her own mustache, any reminder of added facial hair will stay a million miles away.
It starts out....just being there.
Those very fine dark hairs on your upper lip that you get bleached, waxed or plucked with the hope that no one notices all the stragglers or the dadgum new ones that appear in between treatments!
But as you get older, some of those fine hairs turn into barbed wire and appear over night.
Criminitly.
No weekly treatments anymore, you have to study yourself daily, with tweezers, in the mirror, before going out in public.
Remember the scene in 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding" where the women are getting ready for the wedding and the little sister-in-law (who wants to feed lamb to a vegetarian) tweezes hair off the face of the mother of the bride, while they talk?
I need her in my life!
Now maybe it's only me, but when I am waxed, plucked, shaved, trimmed and showered, I feel like a Diva.
Beautiful, Healthy, Invincible and Fabulous.
So why isn't laser hair removal covered by insurance?
Why can't insurance companies actually ask women what kind of policy they need to live long and happy lives?
Instead, we get our mammary glands squeezed, smooshed and x-rayed with giant plastic machines.
We get our 'hoochies' exposed, poked and proded with cold metal instruments and giant q-tips.
I can tell you that when those insurance covered procedures are finished, I do not, in any any, feel like going out on the town so you can see me be beautiful, healthy, invincible and fabulous.
I'm just saying that if our frame of mind were "I'm hairless and spectacular", then maybe we wouldn't need the doctor so often.
Sort of like the 'apple a day' theory.

My body refuses to be my own, it is morphing-- willy nilly--- every day---- without my permission.
It has a mind of it's own and it thinks weird hairs sprouting up repeatedly in random places is the go to 'systems default' of its function.
A lot of times I don't even find these stupid hairs until they're 2 inches long and trying to form braids with each other.
Then I am left weeping and hoping that the people I have met recently have eyesight as bad as mine!
A little warning might be nice... O Brain of Mine.
I'm sure that one day there will be a Sasquatch sighting in the southern woods and you can be pretty confident that it was me.
Blame it on the insurance companies.
I'm just sayin'.

Thanks for being here.




Did you see that?

Never to Young for Music.

Music has always been important in my family.
My parents were both excellent singers.
Not professionally, just churchally, weddingally, funerally and car radioally.
We used to perform and entertain as a family for groups around town when my sister and I were young and adorable.
As we got older my sister and I played guitar and sang occasionally for school groups, friends weddings and camp-outs.
We can harmonize like nobody's business.
Inspiration began early as my father played the harmonies of Sons of the Pioneers and Smothers Brothers for hours on end and reminded us repeatedly that they were fabulous.

My children grew up hearing and loving music of all kinds as well and are talented in their own right, but there is a now grandchild in the mix and it is agreed that he is going to start his music education early.
He already pays rapt attention to anybody singing a real song or making one up about a stinky dog pooty, so when my son was playing guitar on the floor with him he was immediately curious and attentive.
So I wanted to share with you, Jeplen's first music lesson at Grammy's house:



First, you grab it and try to make it yours....



Second, you make sure you're not in trouble....



Third, you eat it...or at least see what it tastes like!!!

First lesson complete.
He is well on his way.

'Music is Life, that's why our hearts have beats!'


Smothers Brothers Bonus Video!!:


Sons of the Pioneers Bonus Video!!


Thanks for being here !

Speck in my eye....

A few folks have asked why I don't post articles about religion or spiritual things on my blog, especially since I'm a preachers wife and all.
Well there might come a day when I do, but I can't see it happening any time soon....or in this lifetime.
My experience has taught me that no matter what I say or how I say it, someone will interpret it wrong and all backwards, claiming that I am misguided and contrary, which invariably reflects on my husband. The Preacher.
My husband and I disagree on more things than you can shake a stick at, but we do not spew venom at each other for being on opposite sides of the fence on a selected topic.
There is an understanding that we are mentally, spiritually, emotionally, mistakenly ;), or whatever, in a different place on said subject and we move on.

But a lot of people that disagree with the preacher and/or his wife, don't move on.
Somehow they have to verbalize and remind folks repeatedly that we are in disagreement.
Somehow we have to fit into a preconceived notion or box.
Somehow they believe that ministers and their families should behave and act a certain way and they know which way God intended.
They feel the need to point out our differences, discrepancies and where we fall short, all the while insisting that it is done in love.
Hmmmmmm.
I think I would call it judgment.
Is that what will bridge the differences.....More judgement?
Is that what will change my mind and my thoughts.....More judgement?

Not in my world.

That said, I will not be any sort of reflection on my preacher husband who more often than not, works 100 hour weeks, is on call 24/7 and has to be at every celebration, tragedy, baptism and funeral all the while remaining compassionate, caring, spiritual and positive.
His job is hard enough without having to deal with what people might think of my thoughts.

So anyway, I can't go there.
I will not speak to you of spiritual things.
Nope. Not gonna happen.
Been there.
Done that.
Didn't work out.

Thanks for being here.
Now I've gotta go get a log outta my eye.

Computer Age Limit???

Old people need a time out chair.
If one more person over the age of 50 tells me that the computer is just too hard to figure out then I will have to put hot sauce in their denture glass.
Learning to ride a bike was hard at first too but you persevered, you figured it out!
And you loved it!
As a matter of fact growing up is hard, marriage is hard, raising kids is hard, getting popcorn out of your teeth is hard, but you figure it out.
You make it happen.
I just don't comprehend that "It's too hard" attitude.
I just do not understand it at all.
The computer is as awesome and mind boggling of an entertainment and educational device as the radio was and the TV is now (the TV actually kinda blew the radio out of the water).
Folks back then rushed to acquire both and learn how to use them despite the smacking and pounding of the top, the always needing more adjusting of the tin-foil rabbit ears and the pushing or turning of several buttons and knobs repeatedly all of which were preceded by a good shocking from a groundless plug.
Yet the computer/internet incorporates the radio, the TV, a cool typewriter, a camera and your basic 40 million word Encyclopedia Britannica!
All in one little device......and old timers say its too hard.
Every person over the age of 30 can use or has used one or all of the gadgets that I just mentioned, so how is it too hard?
You push some buttons, look at a screen and TaaaaaDaaaaaa, the world is at your fingertips.
My irritation over this results from me telling other humans my age about my blog and the fun I'm having growing old. They then look at me twice, then look sideways and around for someone lurking behind me that will 'please' carry me back to my private room at the crazy house.


Crazy computer user?

Granted, there is a slight learning curve to start and there are always updates that make even the teenagers irritable but if you don't get it at first, keep pedaling.
Because once you learn, you rarely forget. (I think some folks just want to forget so they don't fall off their computer 'bike' and crack their aged, weary heads)
But the computer keeps your gray cells in motion and I think that some old folks just have tired brains and don't want to be in motion.
Or their brains are on the non-stop train to Geezertown.
OR they just hate me and say they don't know how to use the computer so I will go away from them and no one will suspect that they will go home and secretly write new computer codes for iPhone apps, advise the U.S. military on the latest satellite software or write their own fabulous blog posts on the iPad that they keep in their reusable shopping bag.
OR it could just be an independent stubbornness that children of the depression and the children of those children have in mass quantities.
If you couldn't sew it, grow it, bake it, build it or trade for it, then you didn't really need it anyway.
And as far as I know Best Buy doesn't need a bushel of corn to replace a keyboard or a dozen cupcakes for a new ethernet cord.

So after much consideration, I will keep my hot sauce in the fridge, give those computer-less people my pity and Google some educational pictures of cute bunnies and dancing chickens.
Definitely worth learning the computer for!


BFF Bunny and Chicken.

Thanks for being here.
That means you have a computer!!

Exercise........ppfffftttt.

I totally thought that this American obsession with exercise was just a substitute activity for actual hard work.
There are not many folks anymore who get up at dawn and herd milk cows in and out of the barn, throw hay bales around to feed other livestock, feed the chickens and gather eggs for breakfast, weed and harvest vegetables for daily meals and just out of neccessity, get their heart rate up good and steady for the first 3 hours of the day.
I can't bring to mind very many American folks who spend a whole lot of time doing sweaty, physical labor at any time during the day.
Except.....
Mothers.
If you have any number of children, you know what I'm talking about.
Children of any age add hours of tiring, never ending, physical labor to your day.
Between several hours of preparing daily meals, then several more hours cleaning up the kitchen, endless hours of cleaning the house and a gazillion hours of laundry how do people find time to exercise day in and day out?
I thought that all that mother type stuff was exercise!
Criminitly.
I confess to you my ignorance because apparently I have HIGH Blood Pressure.
The Dr. gave me the meds for reducing it because my BP was, ridiculously, panicked nurse, head buzzing, top of the chart, ears ringing high.
But I just can't take them.
So I thought I would control it with diet and 'exercise'.
Mother type exercise.
Months ago.
Well the diet has helped a smidge and it has lowered my BP several points.
The actual BP reading is now only on the high side of the middle of the chart.
(In all honesty I should say it is the low side of the top of the chart, but 6 of one....;))
Criminitly.
So it has been suggested that I add stupid, American, sweaty, might possibly not be an actual waste of time type exercise.
Running.....ppffffttt.
Aerobics......ppffffttt.
Zumba... oh, heck no.
Yoga....maybe, but not very likely.
We have a quilt rack in the basement that has the name 'Bowflex' on it, so maybe I'll start there.
I'll keep you posted.
Life is not fair.
Life also insists that I now have to add American type of exercise on top of my full schedule of Mother type exercise.
I probably should take up boxing so I can hit things and release some frustration.


My kind of exercise partner.


Thanks for being here.



How I usually deal with frustration.


If you have any motivational tips, aside from avoiding death, please let me know.
Thanks again for being here.

Perfectly.

Having a perfect grandson doesn't leave me many grandbaby antics to blog about.
He plays perfectly, makes perfect baby noises, looks perfect and is probably devising the recipe for the perfect medicine to cure the common cold as well as making a perfect plan to begin world peace inside his perfect brain.

He still just drools an awful lot and motorboats his lips, so communication about sneezing and the end of war is pretty much at a minimum.
But he drools perfectly.


Perfect Baby Jeplen


Perfect Baby Jeplen Again (with drool)


Now I know you are rolling your eyes over this post because the last time I checked every other grandmother had perfect grandchildren too.
I understand perfectly.

Thanks for being here.
You are perfect bleaders* !


*blog readers

Not for the Faint Hearted...well actually.....

Getting closer to death everyday is not something most people want to think about.
I think about it everyday.
Not because I have a terminal disease, a blood feud with family members or a weekend coming up where I am swimming with the sharks.
I have just never been this old before!
How can I not think about death??
Anyone of any age can die at any moment of any day, not just old people.
But for the rest of the world it seems that old people, therefore gray haired people, are like the walking dead.
Not dead as seen in the halloween costume, movie and TV show coolness of zombie deadness, just seen as really dead, as in stone slab cold dead.
Some days I need to think of it as kind of a game.
Sort of a "Psych!", "Sucker!" or "Gotcha!" attitude towards death by the fact that I'm still alive to type a blog post or just get out of bed.
Yet even when I am thinking of other things, someone will remind me that the Grim Reaper has my address on his GPS.
The other day at work a female customer, of about my age was commenting on how nice she thought my gray hair was.
It was braided and has about 4 different colors in it now. Gray, blonde, light brown and dark brown.
(messy as the dickens but "nice color striations", apparently)


Graceful Grandma Gray Braid


She was telling me that in her line of work she could never let her gray hair grow out.
She would loose her job.
I know I screamed it in my head but verbally responded with a loud "WHAT?". (I also thought to myself, "Is that even legal?", but didn't question her or ask who she worked for. Some sort of geriatric job termination patrol, I'm sure.)
She said that old folks just aren't seen as very valuable, so she will color her hair till she retires.
Heaven forbid anyone should actually look at her and notice an age spot or a wrinkle on her non-gray haired body!
What are people thinking?
Aging scares the beejeebies out of most people I guess.
Cause they're scaredy-cats.
They are wussies, gutless and weak kneed.
(picture an old person leaning out their front door, shaking an angry fist at you as you read those insults, and by the way, "Get off my lawn, you whippersnappers!")

I can't say that getting old was anything I looked forward too as a young person, but I knew it would happen eventually. I would just cross that bridge when I came to it.

I am crossing the bridge.

It is not so bad as a young person might think.
Old people do have value.
They have a sense of humor.
They have knowledge and sometimes wisdom.
Many have strong loyalty, honor and a fierce work ethic.
They still want good music, delicious food, nice clothes, money to spend frivolously, safe neighborhoods, lots of wine and peace on earth.
It's just kind of hidden under our 'old person' halloween costume and the comfortable shoes.
The coolness is there but so many people are afraid to look.

Getting older is not for the faint hearted.
We have to be brave and cheat death every day.
We face the inevitable but wear the gray hair as a symbol of the strength we've cultivated over our long lives.
We shake our fists at the Grim Reaper and dare him to walk up our street.
Maybe instead of beckoning Mr. Reaper, my gray hair is my gang sign that keeps him away!
The sort of gang sign that says, "See this hair? Don't mess with me, I'll cut you before you can blink, Jerk....Death.....Reaper......Guy".
Take that!


Thanks for being here.
Have a brave day!

Amazing Astonishesty.

The following is a true story.
It is astonishing and so full of honesty it will possibly make your rotating world change direction.
Here we go.
It was a dark and stormy night....

Just kidding.

It was a sunny afternoon and I was driving, with my perfect grandson in the car, when I saw the sign below.


Squash Sign

I was instantly lured by the sign like a river trout to a well made bait fly, because my daughter, who birthed aforementioned perfect grandson and amazingly trusts me to return him to her, lives in the country and that is where the big gardens are and I totally LOVE homegrown anything!
The sign was right next to the driveway of a lovely country home that had a table out front full of buckets, baskets, cans, jars and produce.
The lure worked.
I was hooked.
So in I pull and out I get.

.
Roadside Vegetable Stand.


Nobody around.
Nobody comes out.
Doors and windows are closed.
What is this all about?


On the table, a rock holds down the 'instructions' and tells the reader how this farmer does business.


Vegetable Buying Instructions.

"3.00 Per Bucket
1.00 Per Bound
Put Money in Jar.
Thaks."

Isn't that just too much astonishesty*?
It was.
Isn't it just too much adorbesty**?
It truly was.
A self check-out right at the farm.

After my dropped jaw was pushed back into place and I resumed breathing normally, I noticed that
there were lots of one dollar bills in the payment jar (which was behind the blue bag), not only from other paying guests I am assuming, but, I am also naively assuming, that the extra money was there so you you could make change as well.
So much astonishesty and adorbesty has now been laid before me that my brain hurts and my world has stopped turning as it begins to change and rotate in the opposite direction.
(I wish I had taken more pictures, but I think I was in a mild state of shock. There was sort of an Alice in Wonderland feel to the situation)

But there is still no sign of anyone.
They totally trust whoever pulls into their yard?
They believe that people are good and trustworthy?
Who are these people?
What planet are they from?
Is there a shotgun pointed at me from the corner of the house making sure I 'act right'?
Are the squash poisoned?
Am I in some crazy scientific experiment?
Was it a trap?
Why am I so skeptical?
Is everything in my world suspect?
I haven't experienced this kind of trust (and subsequent despair) since I believed that both of my parents personally knew the tooth fairy or when I believed I could stop drinking coffee anytime I wanted to.

It was so scarily innocent that I took a chance.
I had to try this squash.
I put my money in the jar, came home, cooked the delicious squash and lived to blog about it.

Faith in humanity restored.
World now rotating smoothly in new direction.

I would love to say: "Because in the south, that's just the way we do things".
But what I have to say is: "These people have never been to the city" or "These people are strangers in a strange land and I love them" or "These people must not watch the news".

Thanks for being here.
Have an honest day.

p.s. Don't judge them because their 'spell-check' was not working. I would much rather deal with folks hoo kant spel gud and R awnest than with folks that kan spel gud and R dissawnest.


*Astonishesty: honesty that is so amazing, incredible and unusual that it is astonishing.
**Adorbesty: Honesty that is just plain cute and adorable.

Marinated and Grilled Fish Bugs

If you know me well, you will know through conversation and daily schedules that I LOVE food and all things that have to do with food.
If you don't know me and saw me around town you would see that I love food.
Not because I have crumbs on my chin or last nights hollandaise on my shirt either, if you know what I mean.
I make no apologies.
Love comes in ALL sizes!
That said, I want to share a new recipe I came up with last night.
We are trying to cut out all red meat at my house and Friday night used to be 'steak on the grill' night. (We wanted to celebrate the fact that we survived another week)
So we wanted to try shrimp on the grill.
My family has appropriately called them 'fish bugs' since the beginning of talking and we have no problem keeping down the bug population.
Yes, they are crustaceans, but thats just scientific mumbo jumbo for 'bugs that live in the water'.
And with 200,000,000 insects per human on the land alone, we have to do our part.


Marinated and Grilled Fish Bugs - Shrimp

So here goes:

Quick Marinade for Grilled Shrimp aka Fish Bugs

1 tablespoon chopped fine garlic (heaping, if you love garlic)
1/4-1/3 cup olive oil
1/4 cup ketchup
2 tablespoons vinegar (wanted red wine vinegar, but used rice vinegar 'cause thats all I had)
2 tablespoons of chopped fresh basil
some chopped parsley, to taste, if you got it
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 scant tablespoon of lemon juice
2 pounds of raw shrimp

Mix marinade ingredients all together. It kinda gets thick and nice.
After soaking your raw shrimp in baking soda water for ten minutes(2 Tblsp. of soda per 1/2 gallon of soaking water. Keeps the shrimp tender), rinse and drain them, then toss them gently in the marinade till they are all covered. Cover and let soak in the marinade for 15-20 minutes, mixing every few minutes till grill time.
Place on hot grill 3 minutes for the first side and 2 minutes on the other side.
So tasty, delicious and tender I had to share it with you.


Happy Grill Man

And you thought only 'other countries' ate bugs.
We love them at our house!
Tell me what you think.
Enjoy!

Thanks for being here.


UPDATE 10-3-14:
I was super tired after work today but still wanted my marinated fish bugs. Chopping basil and parsley was NOT gonna happen so I prepared dinner while engaged in my 'Lazy Gear' and put all the ingredients in my little food processor and buzzed it till it was smooth and.....OMGsh !!! The marinade was thick and fragrant and coated the shrimp like a smooth glaze. I will definitely do this again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again!!

Ponder This.

My ponderer is broke.
Not broken even.
Thats too polite, and too grammatically correct.
It's just broke.
Broke down.
Broke up.
Broke sidewards.

I must first offer my gratitude to those faithful readers who keep checking my blog and wondering when my next 'saga' will post.
I must next offer the excuse that lately my brain has been going for about 4 or 5 sentences and then stops on a dime.
It will then refuse to ponder the who's, what's, where's, why's, and when's of basically any information that enters its little gray cells.
And I am a curious person.
But not lately.

Now, I'm no Doctor, but these symptoms surely point to a broke ponderer.
But I can't even care that its broke.
I've got it that bad.
I should probably quarantine myself.
I shouldn't even be blogging right now.
But sitting down to write is kinda like swallowing a spoonful of bad tasting medicine.
Sort of like daring my ponderer to engage.
But I think I can actually feel it working a bit because this post is up to 20 sentences!
Maybe my ponderer is on the mend!
I am quite surprised actually.
I have tried this writing therapy daily but to no avail, till today

But I love to blog.
The posts come to me and I can not NOT write them down.
But when your ponderer is broke, the only thing that comes to you is...................................

nothing.

So I will post this printed ponderless proclamation purposefully to see if my ponderer perks up.



Love that quote.

Thanks for being here.
I mean that profoundly.

Nature Thinks I'm a Monster.

There is a place near my home that has lovely woods, cool breezes, a creek and lots of nature.
I go there every day to walk the trails, watch the dogs play in the creek and just enjoy being outdoors.
The woods are peaceful.
The earth is nurturing
Nature is my friend.......until it bites me.
Then, I am a merciless, outraged, "Don't mess with me, nature", monster.

For the last week or so, only the portal to hell would seem sightly warmer than the town where I live.
Most humans are sweaty and irritable, air conditioners are blasting, most critters are hiding in the shade, and the insects......are having a bug wingding!!
They love it!
They are in your face, in your eyes, up your pants leg, biting my dogs, biting me, sucking our blood and apparently getting back at humans for one too many swats of the flyswatter.

The mosquitos possess hypodermic beaks and wing silencers for stealth sucking.
The gnats are suicide bombers aiming directly for your eyeballs.
Some of the deer and horse flies are so large they almost need landing gear and runways or they
could quite possibly replace Santa's reindeer in a pinch.
I have been swatting, smacking and scratching for days.
I am a giant itch.

As a result, there has been NO regret or remorse in the annihalation of these insects anytime they come near me.
So when we visit the woods these days, there is excercise and play, as well as death and destruction.
Today however, I saw, this little thing on me and did not immediately kill it. (See below)


The Sofa Foam bug.

It was in a hurry to get somewhere and I watched it scurry around.
I thought at first that it was an ant carrying something, because it kinda looked like a moving piece of old sofa foam.
(Old sofas follow me around from house to house so I am kind of an expert)
But no, this was no ant.
His tiny little legs matched his 'sofa foam' covering perfectly.


The Sofa Foam bugs little legs.

Curious, I watched for quite a while.
It was scurrying cutely around on my denim and then crawled down my leg, stopped for a minute on my knee to look around (or so I thought) and then.....bit me!!
Without a second wasted, I swatted it off and squished it.
No hesitation and no mercy was given.
Thinking that I would now come down with some foreign disease and die in 10 minutes, I had to find out what kind of bug it was.
I looked it up on my smart-aleck phone.

Dadgummitt....

I had squished a Green Lacewing baby bug.
This one was going to grow into a 'beneficial' bug.
The ones that are allowed to become adults eat the bad guy bugs.
Was this youngster practicing on me?
We will never know.
I felt horrible.
It was a reflex!?
A case of mistaken...no...not looked up before squishing, identity?
Who's side am I on?



Sofa Foam Bug. Adult
(Green Lacewing)

I was a monster today.
I am a bug super-villain now.
I am sure mother nature will send out the bug 'avengers' tomorrow and they will open a can of 'whoop-itch' on me.
But I will now, educatedly, use my monster super powers.
Big feet, fast hands and my big old trusty flyswatter.


Thanks for being here.


p.s. Being a lover of science, I must clarify that I was actually not bitten. There were pincers involved. The outcome would have remained the same, I am fated to say.

s l o w l y....I....g e t.....it......

The other day as I was driving around completing some errands on my list, I came upon on a turtle crossing the road.
He was in the oncoming traffic lane pumping his little legs quite fast, like he was practicing his cheetah moves.
'He' because if he was a she, I was unable to detect toenail polish for summer feet as I drove by and gender is not something easily or accurately detected otherwise.
Anyway, I was worried for him - for I am a turtle rescuer - and I wanted to stop, pick him up and put him in the woods in the direction he was going, but I live in the mountains.
In the mountains there is usually a hill up one side of the road that is 45 degrees or more and a steep drop off on the other. A cliff, shall we say?
That is where the turtle and I were.
No place to pull over and no stopping in the road cause we (he and I) were in a sharp curve, in the mountains, in the woods, in the late afternoon, on a mostly busy road.
Dang it.
So I kept driving, saying a quick prayer for his little turtle brain. A prayer that he would tell himself repeatedly to "Keep moving quickly and cross this dang road!"
I truly pondered finding an alternate route home so I would not have to see his cute little reptilian body squished on the pavement.
THAT is the kind of confidence I have in my turtle prayers.


Not my turtle.

As I continued my journey, I started thinking of the people who might run over him and I got madder and madder and MADDER!
"Who would kill a poor turtle?"
"They can't help being slow!"
"You are a mean person and I hate you!"
"No, you're not mean, you are, a bully!!"
"A dadgum Bully! And I hate you even more!"
"You probably go out of your way to kill opossums and other woodland creatures! Maybe even swerving to hit stray dogs and kill yard birds scratching by the road."
"I am blaming all the roadkill in the world on you!"

My jaw was clenched and I'm sure my blood pressure had soared.

Then I got angry at the turtle for making me feel so helpless!
"I did not need to see you."
"Why didn't you cross at some other time of day?"
"Why here of all places?"
"What the heck do you need over there?"
"I don't want to see you dead.
"Don't do this to me!!"

AAAaaaaarrrrggghhhhhh.............

OK. So now I'm at my destination.
The incident is put to the back of my brain and soon, poof, I don't think of it at all.......
Except, as I pass the 'turtle zone' on the way home, because I forgot the alternate route.........
Dang it!

?????????????????

No turtle!!
No squishings!!
No spots on the road!!
He made it!!!

I was mad for no reason!
He was a smart turtle and people are good!
No killing today!

I arrive home in a great and elated mood.
Now, what should I have for dinner?
Chicken, beef or ......?

Dang it....

Thanks for being here.
Have a non-death kind of day!

And then........

This weekend was an interesting yet painful one for me.
Interesting because I actually drove myself to a social event.....with other people......on purpose.
Painful because I injured myself by just trying to mingle.

I am not what anyone would call a social butterfly.
Social situations create in me a panic that is very similar to a Freddy Krueger nightmare.
So I rarely attend anything.
Weddings have to be a close relative or best friend.
Funerals have to be a closer relative or best-er friend.
Birthday Parties have to have really good cake and pinatas full of money.
Just kidding.
The birthdays have to be mine.

But I needed to be at this party as a show of respect for someone I have known for a long time and think is fabulous.
I also needed to be there because I am old and need at least a couple of friends that can eventually come to my funeral.
Just kidding.
They are not my friends.
They are people I work with.
Just kidding.
They are friends now because they talked to me at the party and no one was clocked in!

Well things were going divinely and my panic had subsided a bit.
There was a lot of chatting and laughing and house tours and catching up with folks I rarely get to work with.
There was good food and...."no pictures, I was never here!".....picture taking, playing horseshoes, and lots of beverage drinking.

I had water.

After a fun time, that lasted longer than I had alloted or expected, I was getting ready to go, thank my hosts and say goodbye to the honoree when I got up, turned, took 3 steps and then..... SLAMMO..... right into a sliding glass door.
In my defense, the door had been wide open almost all of the evening, closed partially once early on but I saw it that time, but apparently completely closed and camouflaged this time.
It was waiting for me this time.
It had my face print on the glass this time.

My co-workers were very kind and thoughtful about helping me after they caught their breath from laughing hysterically and commenting how they wished they had had their "phone ready for that".
I was fine, but in that moment I understood why old people stay at home, eat early and go to bed at sundown.
I understood the appeal of BINGO where you just sit and look at numbers on a card.
I understood that growing old has a learning curve and must be done s l o w l y.
Social situations are just too awkward, dangerous and potentially embarassing.

Did I mention I only drank water?
Maybe I should start drinking intoxicants so at least I would have an excuse.

So if you are having a celebration in the future, I will be thinking of you from far away and wishing you the very best, but I will not attend.
Unless you need entertainment......then we can talk.



Thanks for being here.

Movin' South.

Sorry to disappoint you, but this post is not about going to Florida or aging in the tropics somewhere.
Spoiler.....
This post is about body parts that sojourn to new places as we age. So if you are squeamish and don't want to read about 'boobs' than check out Todays Deal on Amazon or view something on attackofthecute.com.
Just stop reading now and save yourself from the bug eyed fear and daytime nightmares that my words might induce.

My 'mammary glands' have been a large part of my life since 5th grade, when I got my first bra.
Training bra.
No problem.
Training them to do what at 11 years old, I do not know.
Still no problem really.

But they kept growing.
I was warned/told/reminded that I must continue to wear a bra every day or my 'breasts' would get saggy, with an implication that they would then not be useful.
While they were not huge, they were hefty, defying logic and remaining in the place where boobs are supposed to be even when I took off my mammary protector.
So I wore a bra daily.
Unnecessarily in those days but blindingly obedient,
I had to protect them.
They had important jobs to do in the future!

My anatomically correct boobs did their job in those early years apparently, by helping to attract a lovely husband (35 years this year!) and then nourishing 4 healthy, happy babies.
The wearing of the bra paid off I guess.

But I am here to tell you that once the 'boob-job' is over..... they move south.
Just like old people from Ohio.
They will move there regardless of your previous, young, futile efforts.
No bra, no verbal threat, no lotion, no praying, will save you.
They are not just visiting either.
They have put on a few pounds, during the years and they want to stay there, in the south.
This fact makes any bra feel like a torture chamber.

So since my 'bosoms' have had a long, productive life and want to travel now and see the rest of my body, I have decided to let them be free.
I wear a brassiere as little as possible. After all, they've been cooped up in that uncomfortable contraption for 45 years.
They deserve that freedom.
A bra is kind of like punishing them for good behavior and they do not deserve that.

If you're like me, you now have a weird visual of this and you're making a scrunchy face. I do apologize, but I had to get this off my chest. Almost literally.
My sister will never understand. She will be adorable and perky when she is 105.
But big busted girls will understand.

Today is a bra-less day.

I always wear a bra in public, so don't worry.
Some things have moved south but not my sense of decency and civil responsibility.

So anyway..... this is part of my world and hopefully I have been able to help you see where I'm coming from.

Now I worry that when you see me at the store or on the street.......my eyes are up here........WAY up here, you will wonder which day it is........


Thanks for being here.