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.