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.

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.