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.

Gotta Love a Small Town.

Small town life is a good thing.
Sometimes it is frustrating when you have to take a trip to the big city to get what you need for a project or you get one choice and one choice only for internet and it is 'prehistoricnet' at best.
But it is good for raising kids, learning to drive, running quick errands and good restaraunts.
Most of our eateries are local and you know the owners or the managers or the wait staff or the chicken that is now on your plate.
We have gotten lots of new fast food places over the years, but one chain has been here for decades and they understand living in a small town.

Dairy Queen.

Lots of small towns in Georgia have a Dairy Queen and its Gods way of blessing the south.
Last night I wanted ice cream.
So 'everyone' (everyone=humans and dogs) piled into the car, because it was hot in the house and my car has some cold air conditioning and off we go to Dairy Queen.
We pull up to the drive-thru where upon I order what I want, my husband orders what he wants, we get our cash total and pull up to the window.
The sweet girl there hands us the first thing from our order, then looks in the car and squeals with delight, "Puppies!"
She then asks if we want doggy cups?
We reply, "Sure that would be great, they love ice cream!" We answer as if we can speak Dog, because we can, and we know they would 'hound' us and drool near us while we ate ours if they did not have some of their own.
So she finishes giving us our order, gives us 2 small doggy cups of ice cream, says good-bye to the 'puppies' and we head home, grateful that we live in a small town and have a local Dairy Queen.
Yes, this sounds like a commercial, but I swear to you that this fabulousness is true and unsolicited.

Gotta Love a Small Town!!


Dairy Queen Delights.

Thanks for being here.

p.s. If any of you comment or email me that ice cream is bad for dogs, please don't take offense when I say that my dogs love me more than your dogs love you.
p.s.s. The previous comment was kinda cheeky and audacious, sorry. I must have eaten too much ice cream.
p.s.s.s. That is a pile of towels to wash in the background of the picture, sorry. I was too busy eating ice cream to do laundry.

Same Thing, Different Day.

I am always prepared.
Always.
Girl Scout, Swat team, Zombie apocolypse ready.
Overly prepared most times actually.

Case in point:
I brought on my vacation; 3 suitcases full of clothes, outfits, shoes with various accessories as well as one black trash bag full of towels and odd things, a laundry basket of assorted supplies and a tool box, so that anything I could possibly need would be at my disposal.

Guess what?

I am wearing the same clothes over and over.
2 outfits and a swimsuit.
Thats all I really needed to bring.
(I did use a screwdriver once, but not on my outfit so it doesn't count in this post)
I could have packed in a Walmart bag.
I did try on a different pair of flip flops one day, but most everything else I brought was for some fantasy vacation.
It's like I have a vacation uniform.


Ernest P. Worrell has invaded my psyche.
His wardrobe apparently is my vacation inspiration.
Same thing. Different Day.


Ernest P Worrell - Fashion Genius


And what's weird about it is that I do that alot.
I never know what I will need!
If I had only packed the 2 outfits I am wearing repeatedly, then I would have hated them and wished I had brought other things.

That's why I don't travel much.
It's hard.
But I do the 'uniform' thing cause it's easy.... and lazy.
Isn't that what vacation is all about?
Taking it easy and being lazy?

Packing effectively for going other places is not something I can accurately do at home.

I can't prepare so I'll be prepared!
Does that even make sense?

I would be an awesome bag lady.

Thanks for being here.

Godzillaaaaaawwwww....

Godzilla.



My favorite scary thing.
Although he does not give me nightmares (any more) and my mother makes me gasp, hold my breath and become bug-eyed more than most movie monsters ever did, he is still quite near and dear to my heart.

When I was young there was a late night Friday show called 'The Creature Feature'.
My father watched it every week and would invite my sister and I to join him.
It was the only time our mother would let us stay up late.
We saw giant spiders, detached body parts that stalked people, giant ants, mummies, Frankenstein and of course Godzilla, as well as our mother rolling her eyes when Dad read the movie title of this weeks Creature movie.

Godzilla (the King) on Friday nights and the fact that I had lots of iguanas as pets growing up in Florida, lizards were/are some of my favorite animals.

On a recent trip to Florida I made some new friends:

Florida Godzilla Fans.


These lizards heard me tell them all about the upcoming movie that will be showing in just 7 days and even though I told them they could not see the picture show with me they still posed for the camera.

Aaawwwww....
Totes Presh.

Thanks for being here.

Laughing Grandchild

As a proud re-mom, I take lots of pics and the occasional video of my fast growing grandson.
I am teaching him early that life should be fun and if you can laugh at it then you might possibly get through it intact.
He is learning this quickly (not yet 3 months old) and as you will see in the video he giggles adorably as his grandfather sings him a song about the monkey embroidered on his clothes (this family is all about cheap fun and good music!).


Jeplen's First Ever Giggles.


Thanks for being here.
Have a giggley day!

"Mmmmmm, I Love Breakfast Cereal." Donna Meagle

I believe I have mentioned in past blogs that I enjoy cooking and making food.
It's fun and therapeutic for me like napping, reading,  eating or reading blogs!
To prove my point, I would like to share with you a look at all the cookbooks I have acquired.


Graceful Grandma Cookbook Cabinet.

Yes, I have cooked from e v e r y single one of those books at some point in my life.
At some point.

Now I use the computer.
Need a recipe, I look it up, and if it has 5 stars then I will most likely give it a try.
What? Why?
Cookbooks are treasures!

They were meant to be read through almost like a regular book, telling a story of cooks before you, while you/me the reader marks up the pages of recipes that look delicious or WERE delicious.
Pinterest kinda does that with pictures, but I have tried many and liked very few of those recipes.
Used to be I would choose some recipes out of a book, add the ingredients I needed to my shopping list and then look forward to when they were on the weekly menu schedule.
Now, I open the cupboard, look at what I have on hand, THEN find a recipe that matches, at least kind of matches. They say use chicken, I say lets try Spam. The say rice? I say how about tater tots?

That is, IF I decide to cook anything at all.
When you're an empty nester there is little motivation to whip up something marvelous and impress......yourself?

That is why God made cereal.
Nutritious, easy and only 2 ingredients, well if you add the milk it's 2.

Even without milk it is usually delicious!
Sometimes the best recipe has been in the cabinet all along!

Thanks for being here.
Enjoy a foodie day !!




"People who love to eat are always the best people."
Julia Child

Nana, Grandma, Granny, Gram or.....

Since I became a grandmother, everyone has been asking me what I want to be called.
I want to be called 'that rich lady' or 'that young girl' or Scarlet Johansson, but I will likely not be handed one of those monikers anytime soon.
My children suggested 'Gramalama ding dong', Grammaster Flash, Gramraham Lincoln and Gramzilla. All fun and likable, but a bit questionable.

But for me, it really is a hard question. In my mind the naming should be left up to the grandchild so they can toy with the name and call you whatever they happen to be able to say. But apparently with 2 actively participating grandmothers there needs to be a right now distinction between us, so the parents can effectively argue about our grandparenting strengths, weaknesses and inheritance possibilites, as well as distinguish, to the grandchild, who's side of the family they should or should not take after.

The other grandmother wants to be called 'Nana'.
She picked it a while ago and I am glad.
I can scratch that option off my list.
My own grandmother was Gram.
My sister and I enjoyed that name because both of us were/are strangely addicted to and love to eat graham crackers, especially the cinnamon ones, and we would actually call her 'Gram Cracker' when we were in a playful mood(she probably wanted to slap us but never let on).
I could never be as good of a grandmother as she was so that name has essentially been taken off and crossed from my options list.

So I think I'm going with Grammy.
Yes, just like the award.
After all it's an accolade to recognize outstanding achievement.
I can live with that.



A Grammy Grammy


For my grandson it will just be my name.
But to me... I will be:
something people work for... ("Time to pick up your new toys Grammy got you!"),
something that people want... ("Of course Grammy will give you a cookie"),
something they want to bring home... ("Grammy will get those old monsters out from under your bed!"),
something they cherish... ("Grammy thinks you're the best grandchild that God ever made"),
something they can brag about... (" My Grammy once found a rattlesnake that had 14 babies!").

Appreciated and loved...just like a real, gold colored, on TV, Grammy Award.

Only with slightly different reasons.
Besides I could potentially use the horn as a hearing aid when I go deaf.

Thanks for being here.
Have a great day !

Retail me this.... or how 'bout them cuss-tomers*.....

As a worker in retail for many, many, way to many years, I have seen my share of irritating cuss-tomers*.
Here is a short list of their antics today in my store:

Some cusstomers are needy and consider you their personal shopper. (even though you are carrying 4 boxes that you can barely see over and you're trying to talk on the walkie-talkie and help another patron)

Others talk to their friends loudly, so I can hear about how they can get what they want much, much cheaper in another store. (fine, hurry, go there)

A few (today it was more than a few) act like our stuff is a gift on Christmas morning and proceed to rip our product out of the packaging, tear off the inside tags, change their mind, then ball it up and stuff it wherever they happen to have considered it last, sans the packaging that we have to now find. All this even though we have 1 or 2 on display and it is done when our back is turned. (I'll bet your mom found cookies under your bed too)



Many adults and adults with children get furious that we do not have a public restroom.(we are in a mall with lots of public restrooms) We are talking angry, cause they "can't hold it all that way". (try really hard, please)

And you gotta love the mothers who bring in their children who start screaming and crying over heaven only knows what and the mom continues to slowly shop and ignore the child who will then scream and yell louder, while we are trying to be nice, answer phones, conduct business as usual and keep from praying for death to help end our misery. (please take your child out of the store or let us employees give your child a real reason to scream!) (do not judge me on this one, I raised 4)



Another good one today was when the cuss-tomer asks you about the return policy and you tell them what it is and they say, "Well, thats not right, I just returned blah, blah blah...". So I reply, " You are correct, It's not right. I just made it up because my feet hurt".(our return policy is on the reciept, on signs in the store AND it has not changed in 5 years)
AAAaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhhh.

Sometimes I can bear it, leave it at the store and come home.
Today was not one of those days.
It got to me.
No troublemaking cuss-tomer today actually recieved the pummeling they so totally deserved, (they can sleep soundly in their ignorance) but I had to vent, and you my loyal readers get to share my pain.

Please, be a kind shopper, treat things as if they mattered without leaving a trail of destruction for lowly hourly workers to clean up, because it is my prayer for you unkind shoppers that you experience the same kind of attitude and treatment that you share with us.
10 times over.
No, lets make it 20.
Plus a head cold.

Thank-you for listening.
I am grateful.

*That is not a typo. Some shoppers make me want to cuss.

I have lost my mind and it better not come back.

I was always under the assumption that as you got older you got wiser.
At least thats how the saying goes.
That statement is totally false! In my case anyways.
The older I get, the busier I get,
my ability to multi-task decreases,
as does my abilty to uni-task,
my organizational lists get lost,
my weight and urinary tract functions increase,
sarcasm and cynicism are my only forms of communication,
my body refuses to perform silently,
sleep arrives only in 2 hour shifts and
my memory is virtually just a memory.
There is nothing of wisdom in these occurences!
Dadgummitt!!

I always wanted to be a nice, sweet old lady and this totally gets in my way and messes things up.
That is why when I snapped yesterday yelling and crying at God over the myriad of unimaginably trivial things happening this week, I said to myself, "You have lost your mind!".

I no longer will look for my mind either.
It wanted to leave, well then good luck out there in the world of reality.
I no longer care.
I can't care because if I do then my mind will tell me that I am falling apart.
Who needs that?
I try to ignore that fact on a daily basis.
My mind just adds to my stress.
So when my mind checked out yesterday it was kind of a relief.

Remember though, that I want to be a nice person, so there is the posssibility that I will take it back if it wants to return, but we will have to have a long talk beforehand.

I will let you know!!!



'Abby Normal' Brain


Thank-you for being here.
Thanks for reading my blog!