Bumper Sticker Wisdom.

The other day I saw this bumper sticker :

When the Power of Love Overcomes the Love of Power the World Will Know Peace

Awesome sentiment I thought.
But Jimi Hendrix?
Well, actually, yes.
Apparently 2 other guys were quoted as saying something like this before Mr. Hendrix.
William Gladstone and Sri Chinmoy Ghose, but all 3 thoughtful men said it with their own take on it.
Like if I said, "87 years ago our male founders, some strong brave women, a few dogs and heavy use of firearms brought forth....."
We all know that I'm not teaching history, being scholarly, or making a bumpersticker, but quoting Abraham Lincoln in my own way (and trying to give a wider perspective of credit for creating America).
That's what this bumper sticker is.
The yellow smart car bumper sticker is awesome because it states trueness and because of Jimi Hendrix.
He had gifts that few before or since had, so it is logical that he would say cool stuff.
I do not have Jimi's gifts or any presidential influence.
My bumper stickers would say :
"Where's my phone?"
"If you're behind me, then I win!"
"Don't even think about passing me!"
"Sharks need love too."
"Be nice to people...and sharks."
"Dinosaurs rule ruled!"
That is my depth of thought on most days.
You would know it was me when you read it.
So I have a deep appreciation for folks that can state the obvious in a cool and succinct way.
Some of the others I have seen but didn't get a pic of are:
"Jesus is coming....Look busy"
"Squirrel. The other white meat."
"Bumpersticker"

What are some of your favorite bumper stickers?

Thanks for being here.


Bonus bumper sticker :

"Squirrels. Natures Little Speedbumps"


(It would seem that squirrels are a popular bumpersticker theme around here)

Receipts.

Receipts.
Those little bits of paper that prove you worked up the courage to venture out into the cold cruel world and spend your cold hard cash.
They make me crazy.
You have to keep them for like a million years and they keep taking up more and more space doing their job.
This post exists because I needed some cheese.
Not some artisan, imported, fancy schmancy cheese.
Just sliced cheese.
The kind that we used to use when we would make regular old grilled cheese sandwiches to eat with our tomato soup for lunch.
Back when the earth's crust was still cooling apparently.
Now everything is a specialty item or complicated and healthy.
And I mean everything.
Receipts included.
Well, receipts aren't healthy particularly unless shredded receipt paper is a favorite salad topping, but they have become complicated.
They tell you:
-what you bought,
-how many you bought,
-how much you paid,
-how much you saved,
-total items purchased,
-what day of the week you bought it on,
-the time of day you bought it - down to minutes and seconds,
-the name of the store you bought it at,
-the store address,
-the store phone number,
-the store managers name,
-the cashiers name,
-how many children they each have to feed because that is the only reason they are even working at this store,
-the store motto,
-the complete history of retail and it's accomplishments all the way back to the industrial revolution
a n d
-how many points I have now earned on my quest to earn more of the points that I never knew I collected or have never been rewarded by anyway.
This information makes the receipt about 40 feet long.
Where am I supposed to stuff this colossal flattened forest remnant?
Arrrggghhh.
Take a deep breath and count to 10.9.8.7....
No problem really.
I have adapted...except when the receipt is given to me in the same handful as my change.
What do they think I am supposed to do?
Just drop this giant wad of money, receipt paper and coins in the Halloween pillow case I must now carry because my purse can't hold all this mess?
Heaven forbid they give me enough time to put the change into it's slotted section of my wallet THEN fold up the 40 foot snake of a receipt separately while the people behind me are shuffling their slippers and sighing loudly because they actually remembered to bring their Halloween pillow case to this event.
I would have less stuff to carry if we were back with the Barter System.
" Yes Ma'am, your change comes to a salt block and 2 goldfish that we can just drop down in your apron pockets if that's alright, and you have a nice day!"
When I pay the store, I don't hand them 35 different things and expect it to be dropped in the drawer and counted later.
I gave the store time to count and separate everything but I get handed a handful of stuff and a 'Scoot on out of here' attitude in return.
It's the cash isn't it?
Cash is so last year.
But I can't help it.
When I use plastic, I spend a lot more.
The stores know this and they hate me.
Well, I'm pretty sure they hate everyone.
They only love money.
So to show consumers their interpretation of love and their desire to see us again they give us a Christmas tree garland size, humongus receipt with all of their vital information on it, sort of like a dating profile, in the hopes that you will cherish this information in the candle light with a bottle of wine and choose to visit the store again and again as you remember your special time together.
Good times, good times...
Sniff, sniff, tissue please.
Not.
The receipt gets stuffed in a drawer and mostly forgotten.

I think I'd rather just have a goldfish.

Thanks for being here.

Hair of the Dog

During my fairly long life I am pleased to say that animals have been always been a part of it.
A wide variety of scaly, feathered, slimy, furry or hairy animals adorned my home and I over the years.
But today's post is about the hairy ones.
Currently there is nothing in this house that doesn't have at least one animal hair on it or in it.
Even after sweeping, mopping, showering, dusting and doing laundry there is no escaping it.
When headed to the Post Office or during the Christmas season there is at least one animal hair stuck to every piece of tape on every box, package, gift or envelope.
It is 'Cousin Itt' craziness.
Lets not even talk about the numbers of animal strands of fur that might be swirling around in the air and land in the skillet at dinnertime.
But to my family's credit they have gotten used to it and consider it a normal part of the daily fiber intake.
Well, all except one family member who has changed his tolerance level now that he has a job where he must interact with people of hairless influence on a daily basis.
This family member, my son, got all huffy the other morning about why he "couldn't even get dressed without dog hair every where!"
I can't imagine.
There have been pets in the house since his birth, some of them his, and now their daily offerings are a source of irritation.
The animals can't stop shedding and I can't clean hardly ever fast enough and now it's my fault that his pants, that were laying on the floor hours ago, are covered in dog hair.
A thousand pardons my liege.
But despite the hint of sarcasm he actually has a valid point.

Just to be clear, there are 200 pounds of animals (well 575 pounds total, if you count the son and the husband) in the house this very minute that leave evidence of their existence ever single hour of every single day and I am just not aware of anything that can stop the hairy carnage.
Except for super glue hair gel or a live in housekeeper, both of which would be a temporary quick fix but predictably irritating and expensive.
I can't even process a solution with a rational thought.

I looked up 'Hair of the Dog' after I wrote the title of this post because it sounded so familiar and the definition is... appropriately enough... " "Hair of the dog" is a colloquial expression in the English language predominantly used to refer to alcohol that is consumed with the aim of lessening the effects of a hangover."

Thank-you Wikipedia and British shows on Netflix.

So learn this my son, just like liquor, some things in life last a very long time and can only be remedied by more of the same.

Let us drink and raise a toast to dog hair.

Thanks for being here.


Hair of the Dog.
With a hint of Persian cat.

He has a gift.

My grandson was born into a home that has 8 dogs.
My oldest daughter has 2, my middle daughter has 3 and I have 2.
Plus his other Grandmother has 5 more!
That is a total of 20 canine companions in his immediate family!
At the age of 2 he is friends with more dogs than humans. (So he's pretty much figured out how to get through life already-if you know what I mean.)
So he 'understands' dogs in more ways than most of us ever will.
The following pictures almost speak for themselves:



Alpha Jeplen and his Pack


Dozer the English Mastiff keeping close watch.


Dinner time!


Best Friends.

Aaawww.
Precious.

He can call the dogs in very mumbly but sincere toddler word names and they come to him.
He still takes naps with them.
He shares his food.
He once stopped 2 dogs that were playing way to barkingly, growlingly and roughly with each other by walking up to them with his hands out saying, "Nee No" (which is his way of forcefully using the word 'No') over and over, then put his tiny baby hands simultaneously on each of their faces and they both turned and walked away from each other.
This happened before he was 2.
Saw it with my own eyes.

The point of this post is that the boy has a gift.
He is a tiny Cesar Millan.
A sort of Mini-Millan, if you will.

So not only is he a master handler, he plays with them like a dog:



Adorable.

Then today my dogs were eating grass because the grass is finally growing enough to be eaten and we all know that every one needs a good Spring Barf...
So my grandson thought it would be wise to do the same:


Is the grass better here...


...or over here...

He's just trying to understand every aspect of a dogs life I guess.
I just hope we don't have to get him flea meds and a rabies tag!


Thanks for being here.

No animals or humans were harmed in the making this post.

Godzilla says "Happy Easter".

Some folks play with dolls.
Some play with toy soldiers.
Some build models or color to keep their mind in check.
This is what I do....



Godzilla Scares Up Some Easter Bunny Peeps.



Godzilla Chases the Easter Bunny Peeps Through the Easter Fields.



Godzilla Has Pushed the Easter Bunny Peeps Too Far and They Take Back Easter!


You're Welcome.

Happy Easter!!

Thank-you for being here.


Bonus Pics!!!!


Vintage Godzilla Eliminates the Easter Bunny.


Vintage Godzilla Stomps the Easter Bunny.


Vintage Godzilla Takes the Easter Bunny and the Easter Basket as Victory Swag.

The End.

Folk Tale Friday.

My grandfather was born in 1901.
Sorry to say that he has passed on, but he left some interesting DNA and some funny stories.
One of the stories he told was about living in Oregon with his family for a while when he was young.
(Now back in the early 1900's, all the way out in Oregon, my imagination went neanderthal thinking how primitive and rustic it must have been)
Plus the family lived a bit outside of whatever they called a town back then, so he and his 2 sisters had to walk back and forth to school a pretty good way.
Most days went smoothly, but he told a story of how, one day, he and the sisters were coming home from school and a very large bear came out of the woods.
The very large bear saw the young, tender, vulnerable children and that very large bear started to chase them.
My grandfather chuckled as he told this part of the story where the 3 of them had to run so very fast and so very far to escape that very large bear.
He explained with relief that the 3 of them eventually managed to make it home all safe and sound........phew.......only for his mother to give him a whipping for peeing in his school clothes!
He chuckled again.......
?
At the absurdity of it?
A nervous, near death memory chuckle?
I was wide eyed, dumbfounded and definitely not chuckling.
Where was the concern, the relief, the motherly affection?
Was she Team Bear?
Did they have no water for washing?
Did she hate pee?
That mother's every decision would have become suspect in my eyes...forever after that.
Sheesh.
Rough neighborhood.
Life was hard.




My grandfather (holding the baby) during less stressful times.


Thanks for being here.

Throwback Thursday

In my family's many photo albums there are not many pictures of me.
That doesn't bother me a bit.
Usually I am the one taking the skillions of family photos because I just do not photograph well.
At all.
Even when I try to look un-psychotic or partially human like, good photos just don't happen with me.
Well one kinda did.
I liked the photo of when I broke my wrist.
It made me grin.


My best worst picture.

(I allowed the picture to be taken when my son and I had been in the 2nd emergency room of the day for like 6 very long hours and my son got totally bored and wanted all his friends to know that his mother was the reason for his absence and his lack of food stuffs since 12 hours ago and we both were so completely over the medical field due to it's non-use of time telling devices, but there was nowhere I could hide from the camera because the rooms are tiny and full of equipment and hiding in the room next to mine wasn't an option because it had an occupant that was guarded by the police so my son and I immediately assumed that there might be a shootout at any moment because the wounded criminal probably got tired of being in pain and was over the oppressive waiting while the law watched every move all three of us emergency room captives made so I couldn't go there, making my only tolerable option...to be in the photo.)

One actual point of this post is that if I see someone taking pictures of anything, anything at all, I skeedaddle away.

But point 2 of this post is that I came across a photo of my daughters and myself dated 6 years ago, that I have no idea what reasons had been given that I accepted as good reasons to pose for this photograph without doing any skeedaddling:


My worst worst picture.

So there it is.
Unphotogenicness laid out for the world to see.
My Throwback Thursday post.
Maybe it should be Throwout Thursday.

Thanks for being here.

A Few Comments About Comments.

I love to read blogs.
Mostly I choose funny or creative ones.
Reading another persons blog is like being part of their life for a minute and getting to amuse yourself by going through their stuff.
Mentally, at least.
Kinda like taking a tour of homes, you didn't ask to eyeball their stuff...you were invited to be there.
Gratefully though a blog post is unlike a tour of homes in that you don't have to get dressed in actual clothes, move from your comfy chair or meet actual humans in real 'what are you looking at' judgey life.
I can oooo and aahhh, laugh and relate or sigh and contemplate the blogged about post all while wearing my nightgown, drinking coffee and jotting down items on my grocery list.
Reading other blogs gives me insights into the outside world without any risk.
Until....the blog is over and the comment section is in my face.
I break out in a panic.
I panic because I seriously consider writing a comment every dadgum time, but the only things that come floating through my little gray cells are ultimately moronic and vapid.
After reading a few of the 908 other posted comments to find out if I actually got the gist of the post, as it was intended, I find that most of the comments are incredibly witty, funny, privy to some inside joke, caring and creative.
Sometimes there are no comments yet and the blogger might never again type a post if someone doesn't say something, anything.
Either way, I am totally intimidated.
Why would I want to leave a comment?
What in all of the universe makes me want to do that?
Does the whole interweb need to know I totally missed the point?
If I leave a comment, have I created a blog traffic jam and a disservice to mankind because now the creative blogger who is momentarily reading my demented comment has less time to work on their next inspired post?
Do I think that by leaving a comment, it will make me a part of a group, an inner circle or a secret society?
Perhaps after reading my comment the blogger and I will become besties?
Am I thinking that my 2 sentences are so profound that lives will be changed?
Can't I just be entertained and move on?
Why would I think that everyone needs to know what I think about the situation?
What is wrong with me?
But...isn't leaving a comment a form of affirmation and validation?
A way to encourage the blogger to keep writing?
A brief, positive assurance that the blogger should keep blogging?
So it would seem.
Sounds easy but the stress of possibly leaving a worthy comment makes me crazy.
Leaving a comment on a blog post is necessary, in a small way, but only for the brave, the young and the fearless.
I rarely leave a comment.
Very, very rarely.
Even if I love the post.
Which means that when I sometimes DO post  a comment, you can correctly assume that there was excessive sugar, exhaustion or wine involved.
When my actual comment has been posted I spend the next hour wishing I had said something else or changed out a word plus another hour kicking myself for putting my quirky thoughts out for the world to see anyway and the next hour swearing that I will never leave another comment again...ever.
Like Mark Twain once or twice said, "Better to Remain Silent and Be Thought a Fool than to Speak and Remove All Doubt."
I never leave any doubt.
I love and admire the comments on other blog posts and even on my own blog...when I get them...(hint, hint)
But those comments are there because it seems that other people don't have to deal with the same comment phobia that I go through.
Maybe.
Maybe some do.
But I'm pretty sure they aren't going to comment on it.
Life is hard.
So are comments.
I need a nap.


"Sheesh, my blog comment was absurd. I'm gonna to nap immediately and try to forget."

Thanks for being here.

My Dog is Possibly Cooler Than Your Dog.

It would seem that this blog is called Graceful Grandma for a reason and that I most likely should, would, could blog about grandmotherly things.
But my grandson is fabulous most all of the time and it has been a good day when I can send him home happy and alive regardless of the laws of nature we shunned, the dangerous places on earth we naively explored and the junk food we consumed.
So what I'm saying is that while my grandmotherly escapades are delightful, they aren't always exciting enough to be shared with other humans or written about in a blog post.
Well, my life in general should rarely be shared with other humans or written about in a blog post, but here we are.
We don't always get what we want, but sometimes we get more than we figured on.
This post is about Baxter, my rescued Boxer dog.
Sweetest most loyal dog ever to be loved but dumb as a rock, any rock.
He is a dog that is fluent in excitement which translates into: fast running, full body snuggling, complete suction sniffing, jumping randomly like a gazelle, vigorous bum wiggling and especially....consuming mass quantities of food.
Wherever and whenever he can find it.
Take 2 days ago for example.
On the daily walk that I take with my dogs we found a ham bone.
Well, there was no 'we'.
It was all Baxter.
In the woods.
No where near a home... or garbage can.
I am pretty sure it was a store bought hambone and not remnants of a roadkill cause it appeared to have the blade marks from where it was spirally sliced and unless I'm completely out of the wilderness loop, coyotes have not yet learned to hold a knife let alone slice pork.
But you be the judge.


Mystical Hambone of the Forest.

Baxter would not let loose of the bone.
He carried it for the entire walk.
Taunted the other dog Eva with it, but would not let it go.
...Until it was time to go home...
He dropped the coveted bone only because I 'ewwwwwwed' loudly, said "No Baxter" and told him 'he could not take it home where it would get ham grease all over the rug'.
Well, that was what I told him, but what he understood was, and this is a rough translation " My mama hates this bone right now so I will leave it here in the woods till later so she will snuggle with me and feed me mass quantities of food"
Thinking that the bone would disappear overnight in the mouth of some other carnivore, we came home.
...And the next day...
We go walking again.
Dadgummit.
The bone is still here!
I then pick up the icky bone and throw it in the creek so the smell will go down stream and the crawdads can nibble it.
It is now down under moving water about 16-18 inches.
Perfect.
Baxter will never find it or be able to get it.
The walk begins.
Barely 1/10th of a mile into the walk here comes wet Baxter, ham bone in his mouth, running, jumping, laughing and singing in dog language because he rescued his beloved bone and can now add 'mer-dog' to his list of accomplishments.
He apparently sniffed out the location of the bone, held his dog breath and submerged his dog head completely to get that dadgum bone which is no less remarkable than if he had put on a doggy scuba suit and retrieved his treasure all Jacque Cousteau style.
That is totally amazing, awesome and weird to me.
The awful yet tantalizing bone was happily carried once more through out the entire walk.
I did not mind a bit.
I was actually kind of proud.
I let him keep the nasty thing, since it had been 'washed' and all and even let him bring it home where he chewed on it till it broke and splintered and I threw it away...into double bags and then put the bags in the BIG trashcan out in the garage.
The bone is now out of Baxters reach......Maybe....I have underestimated him before....
He was still noticeably pleased with himself and his day.
I was still proud.
Thats my fish dog.


Happy Baxter with his Hambone.



Thanks for being here.

Halloween All Throughout the Year.

Halloween is a much celebrated holiday for lots of folks in America.
My own family adores the dress up, the death inspired decorations and the opportunity to scream frequently and loudly with no one giving you weird looks.
Being scared on Halloween is a given.
It is expected.
It is also very overrated and I'll tell you why.
Being scared terrifies me.
To my nuclei.
No scary movies, no fireside ghost stories, no seances for me, not even the hiding behind doors and popping out.
But despite being the diva of dread I live in a haunted house.
Every day.
My house is haunted not because Indians used to wander on my property and their ancestors have the right to haunt any person, place or thing in America that they want...
but because I live with animals.
Several animals in fact and they consider it their job to embrace Halloween for the other 364 days.
They have the gift.
So if you crave a perpetual foreboding feeling or enjoy a daily near death experience, then by all means go to your nearby shelter and adopt yourself a cat or dog!
You can expect things like:
-Doors that eerily open by themselves all through the house even when there is no breeze or even an open window because things that lurk in the shadows think it will get your attention. It does.
-Spooky odd thumpings or scraping sounds on the walls and floors coming from wherever you are not, that stop only when you get the courage to look for the source.
-Strange moans and groans as well as an occasional high pitched whine, usually noticable only when you're all alone or when every other human is sleeping...hopefully just sleeping.
-Stumbling upon horrifying piles of what looks like slimy, grassy ectoplasm deposited frequently in the middle of human walkways so that there is no mistaking the fact that you are not alone.
-Finding objects on the floor that were not there a minute ago such as pens, cell phones or half finished cups of coffee, because the underworld is in short supply of these things and the floor is the last barrier to finishing off an undead's shopping list.
-Dogs that intensely stare out of windows while sustaining a low growl any time of day or night and you can't see anything unusual except the gas station that is 5 miles away because you are so creeped out and your eyes are so enlarged that you will probably have laser vision for the next 10 minutes.
-Cats that walk calmly by you as you eat your cereal, then suddenly try to scramble and run in speeds up to Mach 4, but their furry feet get no traction on the hardwood floor so they frantically skitter and slide and bump into things before they hastily disappear who knows where and they have left you to die because they will not share their hiding place and there is obviously something terrifying in your house this very minute !!
-Thrashing and swatting blindly at your face and pillows in the night after waking up to a phantasmal fuzzy intrusion that stops only after you wake up in a nightmare panic. Then after you turn on the light and find no intruder the spirit will return as soon as you drift off to sleep again to torment you with another vexing velvety nose kiss of doom. This incident is usually accompanied by a soft etherial noise strangely similar to purring and your heart that is beating so hard you could do push-ups with no hands.
-Food will go missing off counter tops and tables. You will find lick marks in the butter as well as evidence that the garbage can has been inspected for the last crumb or delicacy inside. But as hungry as these kinds of specters are, they are not hungry enough to learn how to open the fridge or manifest their hauntings when you are actually IN the kitchen with food.
-Barking frantically at the ceiling when there are no visitors, mailmen or squirrels visible and then calmly circling the rug and relaxing not realizing that instead of scaring away any poltergeist, the unseen have now been attracted to the noise are aware of our dwelling and my enormous goosebumps.

These heart stopping, breath holding, nerve wracking events happen without warning at any time of day or night regardless of the season and keep us humans who live here vigilant to our self preservation life style.
Living with animals is not for the faint of heart.
Beware.....


Terrifying.....


Thanks for being here.

I would love to hear of the mysterious things that happen at YOUR house!


*****UPDATE*****

My sister made this meme for me after she read my post.
It is too accurate not to share.....

"I don't always think it is the animals.....
So stay scared my friend, stay scared."

10,000 Views!!!

Not really.
I am at 9,999 views.
BUT.....
If you are reading this then.........I have achieved 10,000 views!!!
Granted at least 300 are mine....but the rest are you guys, my lovely readers!!!!!!
I can't begin to thank you enough!!!
THANK-YOU!!!!!!!!
Hmmmmmm..... Not enough....
THANK-YOU!!!!!! THANK-YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THANK-YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I CAN wonder why you all would give up 3 minutes of your valuable time to read my posts, but I can NOT express in mere words how grateful I am for you sharing your 3 minutes with me!!!!!
There are a lot of exclamation points in this post!!!!
This is so exciting!!!!

Thanks for being here again and again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Macy's Can't Have All The Parades...

Here in the South we are always ready for a celebration.
So when a parade needs some more floats to make the festivities last a bit longer
then we are up for the challenge.
Here are a few of the participants:


Mud is always a fabulous addition to the holiday lights.


A Christmas sticker properly placed makes any ride festive.


Who can forget the adornment of the traditional Christmas bear on the hood?

But before you roll you eyes and mutter judgement under your breath, maybe consider the following:
Recall if you will that humans thought it would be a good idea if a reindeer had lights.
That's illuminated wildlife people but we all think it's adorable.
We put lights and ornaments on fledgling lumber and display it in our windows like a trophy.
Sometimes our homes are also decorated and blinking with blasting syncopated music that aliens can only assume is some sort of intergalactic signal.
We love it and oooo and ahhhh.
A couple dozen decorated vehicles are what we got going on over here and it was marvelous.
There were of course, other real floats and Santa Claus as well as the Marching Band with a loud drum line that the grand baby thought was awesome.

Lights and decorations are important to humans and apparently we will put them on
anything because we are afraid of the dark and celebrate!

That is why we stood for
81 minutes,
outside,
in the freezing cold,
in the dark and
were happy to do it.

Merry Christmas!
And decorate like everyone is watching!

Thank-you for being here.