The Road Less Traveled

Before Scott Peck even wrote his book by that title my daughter had already launched herself down that road less traveled. And John McCain had no exclusive right to the title Maverick either. When J was 7 with her birthday looming in the near future, as always I would ask her what cake she would like for her birthday. This time she insisted, no, demanded that she have a bride and bridegroom on her cake. Trying to explain the idea behind brides and bridegrooms on wedding cakes and why she didn't exactly qualify did not convince my little princess one bit. She must have a bride and bridegroom topper on her cake. So I somewhat sheepishly entered a bakery and asked to purchase J's cake 'decoration'. I was surprised to find that several bakeries wouldn't part with said decoration without the accompanying wedding cake. I was desperate. There was no way I could face J without her cake decoration exactly as she wanted. Tired, disappointed, disgusted and more than a little irked, I entered one last bakery prepared to beg on my knees for that cake ornament. I blurted out my problem to the kindly shop keeper who laughed and handed me just the right bride and bridegroom cake decoration, no charge.

Proudly I placed the plastic couple, surrounded by 8 burning candles, on J's birthday cake. Everyone was gathered around the table with my princess at the head as I triumphantly carried her cake into the room. Thrilled, I watched her face as she saw her cake and was rewarded with a big grin. Later after presents were opened and the party guests had departed, I washed Mr. and Mrs. (her name for them) and gave them to J to play. Over the next several weeks I would see her playing with them, contented, and I knew my efforts to acquire Mr. and Mrs. was worth it.

Just A Name Change to Fit the 'Tude

Due to a year of experience and observation, I have been forced to rename SammiBobo, my Japanese Spitz. He is now officially J. Sam which has a very current ring to it although you can take it as fact that he cannot do any rapping at all. J. Sam has a rightful claim to this name because the "J" stands for 'jealous'. With two other little dogs residing here as well as a cat, J. Sam has just not integrated as I had hoped he would. Going through the doggy door J. Sam has to be first, even if tiny Della the chihuahua is only halfway through at the time. I've even had to remove her from the jamb to save her from injury. If I pat the sofa next to me for the cat to come visit, blink, J. Sam appears. Although he is quite small as well, J. Sam is young and very fast and also outmanuevers my little old man, Iyah Dogg, who is approaching 14 years in April. Surprisingly in spite of being knocked aside several times by J. Sam, Camy the Cat still remains a steadfast friend. And then there's the shedding. J. Sam sheds a prodigious amount of hair by the hour or maybe the minute. Most of my clothes resemble angora or maybe mohair material until they detach and float toward the nearest person. I'm sure the people at church, upon returning home. were perplexed to find J. Sam hairs attached to their clothes when most of them don't even own a pet. That's J. Sam, the gift that keeps on giving.

Christmas at J's House

Although I had fixed Thanksgiving dinner and had plans to do Christmas dinner also, my daughter stepped forward and announced that she would be fixing Christmas brunch at her house, okay!(Yippee!) The more I thought about it the more it appealed to me. The closer Christmas came I was almost euphoric at the thought that all I had to do was bring my Christmas packages and arrive at her front door. The two quiches (I'm thinking of writing a short story with that catchy title), were yummy, along with fried potatoes and crisp bacon and a tantalizing drink made from half ginger ale/half cranberry juice with a few frozen cranberries as floating garnish. A. had brought some sausage balls which were also enjoyed.

I brought sweaters for the girls, long ones that come to the calf, warm and cozy. D looked so pretty in her's and she put on a new top that just set the whole ensemble off. M's sweater was a bit heavier so it wasn't warn long but she also coordinated her own version of school attire and seemed to be pleased. E wanted to know when the big presents would arrive and I sadly had to explain that Santa forgot, got lost, was running late, and the presents were promised to arrive on Saturday. E tried to bargain with me that Friday would be much better but alas, Santa has his own schedule and E is just going to have to wait a little longer.

M and I had a fun game of Scrabble. I was sure that 'que' is a word but J looked it up on the official Scrabble dictionary site and announced (gleefully, I think) that it definitely was not. My score suffered and M and I ended the game with very close scores. I'm blushing now because this ll year old girl was playing for the first time and I play Scrabble all the time on the net. My brain must be frozen, literally.

Christmas was perfect for me. I was with my family. You can't add anything more to make it better. God is good. Happy Birthday, Jesus.

Welcome To The Good Times Kennel

Technically I'm in violation of our city animal code. There are currently 4 dogs and one cat living here.Iyah Dogg is my senior fellow, 13 years old on April 15th. Iyah is half chihuahua/half tzih tzu. Della Irene is a 5 year old 6 lb. chihuahua. And SammiBobo, my little Japanese Spitz, you have met in a previous post. These three all get along with my rehabilitated (not really) calico cat named Cammy. And now we come to our little catalyst, my grandpup Hammer. You've likely read about Hamm on the Puffy Pink Sleeves blogspot. Hammer runs rampant through the house with Sammi. I've seen him run right into the doorpost, get up, shake his head and continue playing. He goes at breakneck speed and then a few hours later he jumps in my lap, flops over on me and takes a nap. Just before his nap he finds his favorite stuffed toy and, I kid you not, he proceeds to suck on the back of that teddy bear's head, all the while rolling his eyes around to see what the other dogs are up to. This makes him very drowsy and ready for his nap. One of Hamm's ideas of playing with Sammi is to mount him, continually. (The title popped into my head to call this blog 'One Hump or Two' but this story is much bigger than that topic). Sammi is surprisingly calm and patiently waits for Hammer to complete his whatever and then playing continues. They have gone through several stuffed toys, playing tug with them until something gives way, a leg, an arm, or a head and then the stuffing comes rolling out. I've been making regular trips to the thrift shops to replenish our toy supply.




Jealousy is rampant now. Della is used to occupying my lap but she has been usurped by a rambunctious Hammer. This makes Della disgruntled until we find a suitable place for her, which then crowds Iyah. Not to be outdone, I suddenly find Sammi on the back of my chair trying to wrap himself around my neck. I'm beginning to feel smothered, my life is out of control. I've turned into the human mattress and I didn't even get a vote. And it gets worse. Bedtime is a fiasco. The cat insists on sleeping beside my head. Her bed is a heating pad covered by a fleece baby blanket. Iyah, having fallen asleep around 8 p.m. in his doggy bed, I carry each night to the bedroom, cover him with his blanky, and position him just below the cat bed separated by a plumped up pillow. Della dives under the covers and puts her 4 cold little paws next to my warm body. Sammi settles down on the foot of the bed, most usually laying his head on my feet. I'm feeling crowded. And where to put Hammer who will insist on being right in the middle somewhere. Ah! problem solved! Cammy hisses and leaps off the bed, thus leaving a prime sleeping space available. Hammer lucked out. All is well....until tomorrow.

I Tried To Do A Cartwheel.....

Feeling energetic and, for me, more than a little ambitious, I decided to fix homemade chicken tortilla soup for my daughter and her family. The whole chicken was cooked to perfect tenderness. I let it cool, then picked the meat off the bones. I added chicken broth, sauteed onion, a can of Roi Tel tomatoes and a cup of corn and simmered. This was packed safely in my car for delivery as well as the tortilla chips and grated cheese that were to be added upon serving. I had read in a random recipe that a can of black beans would be an authentic addition so I added that and left the juice in for extra flavor. Once delivered I left for home to avoid a nasty approaching storm.

The next day J called and I waited for comments from her about the soup. I had fixed it multiple times and had always gotten rave reviews. No comment was forthcoming so I finally felt compelled to ask if they had enjoyed the soup. There was an elephant sized pause and then she said ' well, M ate two whole bowls!'. Since M will eat anything, anything at all, I felt a little anxiety creep into my stomach. I have to ask "did no on else like my soup? Was there something wrong with it?" To which J said 'Mother you should have drained the black beans because it turned the soup an unappetizing gray color. But' she continues, 'it had a good flavor if you ate with your eyes closed.' Now there's a daughter that REALLY loves her Mommo.

The Winter Bougainvilla

My good friend Lori is a certified Master Gardner. We have discussed this bougainvilla living in my house. She has no answer for why it has existed for almost six years in the same hanging pot it arrived in, a Mother's Day gift from my son. It is in the same soil, has never been fertilized, lives outside all spring, summer and fall, and resides on the window seat in my kitchen with a southern exposure all winter long. Oh, and all the while it's inside, the green petals fall off and IT BLOOMS!!! Neither has it's branches ever grown beyond their initial lengths. I think I have been gifted with the one and only Bonsai Bougainvilla! It's a joy to walk in my kitchen each morning and see showy pink flowers beaming at me. Better than that first cup of coffee.

Kids Say The Darndest Things

My 9 year old grandson E. announced that he was glad I had his mother so she could have him. Now on a 9 year old's level that's quite a compliment.

Food for Sex

It has been confirmed that every few seconds a man will think of sex. In that same vein I'm sure I can compete (Almond Joy) in frequency except my thoughts are invaded (pizza) by constant thoughts of food. Driving South (french fries) on Division I'm thinking about things I need to buy at(cinnamon roll) Wal-Mart, glance to the right and see (hot fudge malt)Carl's Jr. ~guacamole bacon burger~. Not two blocks (western omelet) further the Boneyard (ribs) Restaurant ~chicken sauteed in honey salad. Half a block(popcorn shrimp) further,(pecan sticky roll) a footlong hotdog slathered with mustard sprinkled (chicken fried steak with gravy) liberally with onion at Sonic plus their tasty cherry/lime (peanut brittle) drink. Keep in mind I'm not (hot tamales) stopping for any of these items but they have (fudge) cleverly invaded my mind and interfered with my shopping list (truffles). Next, on the left is (pecan pie) my favorite mexican restuarant Vallarta, ~California Burrito (donuts) with sour cream sauce~. Then my fave mexican fast food place, Taco Mayo (Irish Cream liquor) ~burrito supreme, extra lettuce, extra( macaroons) tomato, with a pina colada chiller. And now (maple nut goodies) I'm to Wal-Mart's driveway. I park (lasagne) the car and try to recapture my mental shopping (chicken kiev) list. And then I shudder (in delight) because I know there will be an onslaught of candy, pastries, puddings, chips, cookies, cakes, dulce de leche ice cream, all screaming for my attention. No wonder (cheetos) I always come home with fewer(flan) items than I went for and more(buttered hot rolls) snack items than I(tacos) need. What I'm wondering is why (Hershey's bars) our bodies just can't adapt to the(angel food cake) foods that we want and those (fried potatoes) so-called healthy (lemonheads) foods be left on our plate (divinity). Or even better (heath bars), at the store. See what I mean! Who needs sex when their mind is full (strawberry cake) of wonderful foodity. That's all (cheesecake) I'm sayin'.

A Very Happy Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving evening and all is quiet. Everyone has gone home, sometimes with urged leftovers in hand. The smell of smoked turkey, dressing, and roast still lingers. My little dogs are tuckered out, especially Iyah, my elderly fellow. As the last crew left I saw him lift his head briefly from his doggy bed and then snuggle back down in exhaustion. I think each of us had a good time and we truly were thankful to be together sharing this meal on this special day. "God bless us every one".

Let Them Eat Cake

Saturday was busy with me trying to clear off the dining room table in anticipation of serving dinner there to my family. The paperwork (okay it was more than a little) wound up in a pile that will hopefully permanently disappear by the time I think about them again. I head to the kitchen to make the cake. After the cake is mixed then comes the call: "Who wants a beater?" and "still have a bowl available". As I'm turning to the line that has formed behind me, with beaters in each hand I see my grown daughter standing there, waiting for her beater too. I laughed. She didn't. This was a serious thing. I gave her the bowl.

Just In Case You Want To Know What I Want For Christmas

I stopped for a visit with my grandkids yesterday who were home out of school. Middle child, Miz M, walks me out the door and comments "You can get me a BS for Christmas. The one with the horses. I know it's in your budget". Funny thing about that conversation. I don't even know what my budget is! Isn't she a clever girl to figure that out before I do!

Snake Alert

Beware. We have a new species of snake here in Oklahoma. It was discovered by my middle grandchild as she and her siblings explored near the pond by their home. Miss M stayed with me this weekend and we had much territory to catch up on as it has been awhile since the last visit. Excitedly she tells that she was almost bitten by a coppermouth snake down by the pond. I'm thinking to myself, that almost sounds right, and then it hit me that it was a confusion of two snakes. Unless it really was a coppermouth. Miss M just might make it into the science books for her discovery.

Hey! That's MY Garden Hose!

I don't know about where you live but garage sales, estate sales and tag sales are the most popular form of entertainment here. It's not uncommon to run into the same people over and over again and you eventually become friends. Sometimes there will be 'foreigners' as in someone from out of town and that's where the problem begins. You see, there are certain curtesies extended to one's shopping friends. If you spot an item you're interested in but don't quite get there before someone picks it up you can approach that person and say something like "I saw that first". Usually the startled person will hand the item over and all is well. I had pretty well viewed everything offered in the tag sale earlier but had gone back by in case I had missed something. Just as I entered the front door a 'foreigner' walked up to the cashier and suddenly my eyes were riveted on the object in his hand. I must have missed it when I sashayed through the garage but there it was. One of those really neat garden hoses, green, that flattens out to fit snugly on it's own storage carrier. I knew in an instant that IT WAS MINE! So, I approached the 'foreigner'standing in the cashier's line and said "you know, you have my hose". He didn't say anything. I paused and then I said "it's unfortunate that you got to that hose first but it really needs to go home with me". And still he stares straight ahead, stoic. I step closer, raise my face in his direction and with my most earnest expression gesture with my hand toward my face and said "this is my face trying to look happy while you take my garden hose". The 'foreigner' bursts into laughter, turns and walks out the door....with my garden hose. Sometimes it just doesn't pay to be nice to people.

My Friend

She was working in her yard when I stopped to view the vacant house next door. We visited briefly and I asked her a few questions about the neighborhood. I also wanted to know if she could tell me anything about the house. Encouraged by her answers I called my realtor, viewed the property and wrote a contract. While moving in, my new neighbor would come over with sandwiches, cold drinks and a helpful hand. We became friends, good friends, and we shared each others victories and comiserated over our defeats. I enjoyed tinkering so she jokingly bought me a tool belt loaded with various tools. She would call me when she had a leak in her dishwasher or when the filters in the attic needed changing. I even changed the flat tire on her car parked on the side of the tollway. She nicknamed me Josephine after the independent fix-it lady in the sit-com 'Archie Bunker'. She had a gift, a way of telling a story that would leave me howling with gut-grabbing laughter.

I remember the day she came to my door, sobbing and babbling incoherently. My arms wrapped around her we sat on the kitchen floor. As she calmed down my friend shared that her mother had just died. She, an only child, was inconsolable. And the realization that hers was the next generation left her in shock. I don't know how long we were there. It doesn't matter. I'm just glad I could be there for her. I know if the opposite were true she would have done the same for me.

Oh by the way, did I tell you? My friend is black.

Dancing The Sidestep with Sarah Palin

No, Palin's not in this video but she could well be because her actions are the very same. See what you think.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7mNDHTfdn1A

The Happy Tarantula

Most of us suffer from arachnaphobia or the fear of spiders. I can easily confess that I also fall into that category. Size, shape, color or intent makes no difference to me. Spiders give me the heebie-jeebies. And those tree spiders that spin their webs across walkways about face high. They're frightening and I always brush my hair and hope that the spider wasn't planning a dive down the back of my shirt.

Then there came a day recently when I was on the backswing of my evening walk and I
encountered a full sized tarantula. This tarantula must have been out for a stroll as well. As I neared her and then pulled even, I noticed she was so intent on her walk that she really didn't care that I was close. So we walked side by side down the rest of the block until I peeled off to head home. I discussed the weather with her, asked if she had many children and was she living here in town or just visiting. Although she didn't answer I still felt a certain comraderie with her. A surprising and most delightful walking companion. But not necessarily one that I would invite home.

Dog Attacks III

Here's a funny turn of events. After reading post after post attacking me on my local blog the bloggers started turning on themselves! And to make it even more interesting several of them have identified themselves as police officers! One is a county deputy! I'm not sure I wanted to attract that kind of attention but I'm glad that they have lost interest in my post and they're enjoying a freeforall amongst themselves. What a nutty world we live in.

Dog Attacks II

Surprising but I was attacked by several people on this message board. Some even called me a liar. This is my response:


First of all, thanks to each of you who have responded to my post. I can understand why you feel the animal control officer's conversation with me might be a lie on my part. However,it is true. But to be fair I will be playing my recording back and see if I gave you any misinformation. Second, these attacks have occurred over a 16 year period during which I walked often, and still do. If I was so fearful that I was bringing these attacks on I wouldn't be walking. Third, my memory of the attack on my dog by the pit bull is accurate. You see, I have a witness. My granddaughter who was 8 at the time is now 14 and a freshman in high school . And this is what happened Yogibear:


THOSE WITH WEAK STOMACHS MAY WANT TO SKIP THIS SECTION

My granddaughter and I were walking East on Washington having turned off Wentz. D.my granddaughter had my toy poodle(Booder) on the leash and I had my shih tzu/chihuahua mix (Iyah Dogg) on the leash. BOTH DOGS HAD BEEN TAUGHT TO NOT BARK WHILE WALKING IN ORDER TO AVOID AGGRAVATING DOGS WE WALK BY. THEY WERE NOT BARKING AT ALL THEN.

Without any provocation whatsoever, the pitbull, Spike, climbed over the 4 ft. chain link fence and nailed Iyah Dogg.(Spike's sister, Suzie, who is named after our animal control officer, remained in the yard).My granddaughter is screaming, "don't let him kill me!, don't let him kill me!". I took Booder from her and told D. to get behind me. Iyah Dogg was dripping blood from his back which looked like it had been carved on and was flapping. He was also dripping much blood from his abdomen. He was shaking and stood between my legs for protection. Somehow by the grace of God I aimed for Spike's snout with my cane and it landed. Spike backed off and stared at us and then took off down the alley with me screaming at him.

We immediately went to a nearby house and contacted animal control (police department) and reported the attack. The teenage boy who owned the dog apparently corraled Spike sometime later and returned him to the yard. I took Iyah Dogg to Dr. Anna Coffin and was told it didn't look good because of the abdomen punctures. Iyah had surgery the next day and Anna said he would be okay, that the punctures didn't invade his intestines. I live on a fixed income but Anna was kind enough to let me pay the bill out. I sent a copy of the bill to Spike's owner who said it was the first she had heard of the attack. She then came to my house and tried to give me her week's grocery money for she and her two boys, one of whom had serious medical problems. I thanked her but declined her offer. Keep in mind that I had lived across the street from this woman for 3 1/2 years and were friends. I have no reason to believe that she would lie to me.

The animal control officer then asked what I would like to have happen with Spike. I said I would like him to be neutured but I was told he was too old at 5 years and that wouldn't happen. I then asked that the fence be raised to 6 feet so he couldn't escape again. Nothing happened. To my knowledge there was nothing punitive done about Spike's attack.I personally think Spike should have been euthanized. He had killed a number of animals in the area but because his owner was a friend I tried to be lenient. (Just as an aside here, Iyah Dogg was neutered at 5 years of age by Anna. Maybe it's different for big dogs than for little ones).

3bostonterriers, I said stay tuned because I knew there would likely be hostility from my post, especially from you.

I hope this answers some of your objections

Dog Attacks

This is a comment I posted today on a local message board. Dog attacks are a problem and the animal control person would rather take on a hostile person (me) than hostile dogs. My daughter made several suggestions which helped me in approaching this from a legal stantpoint.



Maybe I'm confused but I thought this was a Message Board and I was free to exercise my first Amendment rights to share my opinions/experiences.

Was this appropriate behavior?
Yesterday an animal control officer came to my home whose sole purpose was to object to my comments. She said I had dissed animal control and it was not appreciated. She said the tone of my comments left the impression that animal control wasn't doing their job. She then said she hadn't had lunch for 2 years because of job demands. I then offered her lunch which she blew off. I asked about putting signs up at the parks about leash laws and fines and she blew that off too.

She also rewrote my experience with the pitbull that attacked my little dog. Insisted that my perceptions of the whole thing was wrong. Then she said because I walked with a cane that I was a target for dogs and that I likely exuded fear which would attract them. I confess, I do walk with a cane and that cane has been my weapon against attack by these dogs. I fear a future attack but I'm not fearful when the attack is imminent because I'm too busy planning my defense. And now it gets interesting.
she said unless she witnesses the actual attack they cannot do anything about it! (hey wait a minute. don't police officers arrest suspects without having witnessed the crime???) She also said if the dog isn't hostile, just leave your name with the police department (282-3535), along with the dog & owner's description and they would try to locate them later. She was very upset that I had called the PD with recent hostile dog reports and didn't leave my name. She said she listened to the recording of my call and recognized my voice which is how she knew who wrote those wretched comments. which brings me to this: Always try to be in front of an animal control officer if you're in imminent danger of being attacked by a dog. The responsibility for protecting ourselves is up to us. Let me caution you though that guns are not acceptable within city limits. I think we should Plan Animal Control Officer Day so we can recognize her efforts in ridding the streets of hostile dogs and dogs off leashes. This should include a nice lunch seeing as how she has missed lunch for 2 years.

And speaking of rules, I don't understand why we even have a leash law if
there isn't strict enforcement of said law. it appears that all those dogs are running loose at Highland Park because their owners think it IS a dog park.

Example: This Morning I walked to Highland Park hiking trails and encountered a man with his brown and white rat terrier running free. (The animal control officer had told me to try and engage the dog owner in conversation and nicely point out that there were leash laws) so I tried to chat with the dog owner about the leash laws. He said 'Yuh' and walked away, his dog still running free. The second dog owner was in the process of teaching his dog to stay. When he saw me he immediately put his dog back on the leash. I changed my tactics with him and suggested there was a crackdown on unleashed dogs and the fines were stiff. He thanked me and continued his walk with dog on leash. Did I call either of them in to the PD? Nope! Both people had driven to the park and I couldn't run fast enough to get their license tags.

Stay tuned......

Bougainvillas

Not living in the deep South you just don't see bougainvillas growing around here. Still, I'd seen pictures and thought they were lovely. I was delighted on one Mother's Day when my son arrived on my door step and presented me with a pretty bougainvilla in a hanging basket. The blossoms fell but the leaves stayed and I planned to nurse it through the winter.

My house is comfortable to me in the winter at 59 degees. Don't know why. That's just me. My kids have long teased me that it's warmer outside than it is in my home. My daughter even suggested that I hand out quilts at the front door to visitors. When someone does come visiting I grudgingly turn the heat up to 70 degrees but hurriedly drop it back to 59 degrees when they leave (55 degrees at night). So in this cooler temperature my bouganvilla, relaxing in a window box with a southern exposure, loses all it's leaves and I think, ah well, I've killed it. Then a few days later I notice tiny pink blossoms emerging. What a lovely gift. This confused but pretty plant has bloomed! And continues to bloom all winter!

This strange plant has now been with me through 5 winters, blooming every time, and presenting showy leaves all summer.It has never grown any additional branches. I haven't given it any fresh dirt, no fertilizer, and water it once a day. I can't transplant it because it would never make it through an Oklahoma winter in the ground. Besides, it's become somewhat of a phenomonon and a pet plant. I don't know how long this funny plant will live. I'm just enjoying it while it's here.

Be Careful What You Wish For

When I was a young girl entertaining fanciful thoughts I dreamt I would grow up to be a famous opera singer, maybe mezzo soprano, or a successful archeologist. Today I look back and cringe because I realize I've accomplished both, although not on the famous or successful levels I had in mind. I catch myself singing off key arias as I putter about the house looking for missing keys or a misplaced purse. And there you have it. The realization of my childhood dreams had indeed come true. And I'm just fine with that.

It Went Something Like This

Because my daughter had planned a trip out of state I volunteered to keep her two youngest children. E. & M. have stayed with me before and we have a certain understanding of the rules at my house so that leaves us free to enjoy our time together. However, factor in my two grandpuppies and the story changes. Mav and Hammie don't understand the rules, likely don't care that there Are any rules, and maybe wouldn't follow the rules even if they did recognize them. Sometime later my daughter and I have a few phone conversations via cell phone whereby I find out she's sick( and I'm having sympathy pains) and not going the rest of the way on her trip (this is because I threw a hex on her because she was going to N.Y.with the possible intention of moving there and I really don't want her to move). I'm appropriately sympathetic about her illness and suggest that she and her elder daughter D. stay in Springfield, Mo and rest up. In the meantime Mav, I discovered, had torn ALL the insulation tubing off my back door frame. The door that faces North. Okay, not too bad. It can be cleaned up without too much effort and I try to tell myself that the insulation tubing probably needed replaced anyway. And we're cruising into the next day. I'm having fun teasing the kids when I walk into the bathroom and find a pile, and I do mean a pile, of shredded paper that had to equal at least 3 double rolls of toilet paper. If anyone had had an emergency at that particular moment they would have had to retrieve some of the canine saliva soaked paper mounded near the commode. Ewwwwwww!.

The kids and I went shopping for groceries. Back home from our trip they peeled off in the living room and plopped down in their special places,clicking on the remote and begin their interrupted stare at the latest Hannah Montana story. I sallied forth into the kitchen with the groceries and discovered trash scattered over half the kitchen floor. Smelly trash. This misfortune could have been caused by Mav, Hammie or Samber.(I think something like this situation is where the phrase "The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak" came from this because 6 lb. Della and 14 year old Iyah Dogg could have pulled this off only in their dreams.

Then my daughter calls and signals that it's okay to bring her little chickadees home. So the kids and I stop by a friend's house to feed her two house cats, the elderly stray Uncle Chuck who lives on their back stoop, 4 half grown kittens who were deposited in their garage by a 'loose' mother cat, and BunBun, the ill tempered domestic rabbit that my friends are keeping for a friend of theirs. E. decides to place one of the house cats, Maxwell, inside a box and drive said cat around the house. That silly cat stretched out, looked both ways, nodded his head forward (I swear!) and off they went. Definitely a video moment only I don't have a video, yet. What a neat way to end a chore. We giggled for miles as we recounted memories of Maxwell in his luxury car tooling around the house, indicating directions with a nod of his head. The perfect note to ending another visit with Gran.

My Middle Grandchild

The way this child's mind works is fascinating and often entertaining. Yesterday as we're driving back from her home to mine, there's a commentary about the Presidential candidates on the radio and she calmly contributes "if I was old enough I would vote for Noboma". That was so cute I didn't even correct her.

Ode to Granddaughter M.

~~~~~M.'s Lament~~~~~


I gotta cough
I think I'm sick
I think I gotta
Lotta ick.

Maybe fever
Some asthma, Wheeze
I can't do chores
I gotta sneeze.

B. P's soaring
I'm just eleven
I'm way too young
To head for Heaven.

But......
My liver aches
It's something bad
Acting sick
Is my favorite fad.

Attention, please
I'm over here
Recovering fast
And not a tear.

Note:(M.'s maladies come and go with equal swiftness. Her knowledge of various medical problems are mostly inaccurate which can make her complaints very entertaining.)

Grandkids Are Like Reliving The Past

There's a tire hanging from the cedar tree in my front yard, just like at my grandma's house. Grandma had a 2 story house. I have a 2 story house too although mine is much smaller and in town. Grandma cooked really good food, including corn and tomatoes from her garden, and chickens she hand fed. Okay, she has me there. I do get occasional fresh veggies from the neighbor's garden and the chicken is bought at the local grocery store. Anyway, I just happened to run across a couple of neat buys at the local church rummage sale. A popcorn air popper and the old crank style corn popper you use on the stove top. The kids got a kick out of sampling the results of both processes which we took for treats at the drive-in theatre. I can't remember what we watched although my grandson (who had already seen the flick) kept coming up to me and saying 'what do ya think about this part Nonnie? Just wait, the next part will blow ya away!" And I was blown away, because I had advance notice of several exciting parts. Anyway, my granddaughter, bundled in quilt and pillows, had fallen asleep on the hood of the car. Does it get any better than this?!


The kids also got to experience fresh sqeezed oranges, from a very old glass juicer. They loved it. Next time my grandson has requested we get the old butter churn down so we can make butter. I asked him if he was willing to eat the butter after we made it and he said 'Eech!' Maybe we'll make beef jerky instead. At least they like to eat that.

Armadillo Soup

First off, whomever is sharing this incredible weather, 60's & 70's, and a nice slow rain over several days DURING AUGUST, thank you!

I'm watching the log cabin being built on the lot behind my house. Just today they delivered the logs, real ones. I know if I had been in charge of ordering those enormous, weighty hunks of wood I would probably have wound up with stray knots that stuck out and wouldn't let that hunk of tree align perfectly with the next one. I'm also wondering how tall this cabin is going to be because I have a lovely view for miles from my second story windows. Besides that they're not being very practical. I have a huge dead tree in my back yard they could have had for free.

And now to the problem. These people who are building behind my house are also now blocking the armadillo path that runs from their lot then beside my house and back. I once had the good fortune to see a quadruplet of armadillos, really little guys, shuffle side to side as they still managed to moved forward. I had recently read that they have poor hearing so I snuck up on them and tapped a couple on their backs. No reaction. They just continued to search for food. It was amazing to be that close to those wild little creatures. Other animals that may be distraught over the house out back (no, I did Not say outhouse) are the deer that frequent the woods next to my house. Even more exciting is when I spotted a tiny, dappled pair of identical twin fawns. And the cardinals seem to have moved in en masse, bright colors flitting from branch to tree. If you think I'm painting an idyllic picture of my life you're close. It's just a shame no one else was here at the time to share these wonders with.

Honored I Tell Ya. I've Been Tagged.

Fun, fast and entertaining just the way it should be.

1. I cut my own hair, exactly one finger length all over. I was told by a beautician that my hair is so thick it hides many sins.

2. I live with 3 little dogs who pretty much rule my life. Since I love hairy chests they were my only option because 2 legged dogs just didn't work out.

3. I'm a sugaraholic who doesn't like chocolate. However, I've been known to nosh my way through the chocolate to get to the sugary insides of candy, cookies, whatever. I also qualify as a junkfoodaholic too.

4. Going off meds can be lots of fun if you're mildly bipolar. That's all I'm going to say about that.

5. I'm very tolerant. I tolerate dust, dirt, smudges, fingerprints and other regular stuff you'd find around a house.

6. Something that bothers me is when self-absorbed people call to chat and repeat the same thing over and over again. The bad thing is, I'm sure I do the same thing sometimes.

7. I bathe instead of shower. Ewwwwww!

8. Bonus comment: I only wear bras on special occasions.

The goobers I know, except Pink Puffy Sleeves, only have emails. Am I disqualified?

Day Three: Mosquitoes Wearing Red

Again, my results have been phenomenol. Less powder needed and still no mosquito attacks. Today, however, someone burst my balloon by informing me that talc in the powder has the same ingredients as asbestos. So. If anyone has read this blog and is using body powder, DON'T!. We're now recommending corn starch with the caveat that we are not responsible for any attempts by dogs, cats, or any furry creatures that might try to "taste your legs, arms, neck, or anywhere else that you've applied said corn starch". Go forth and be biteless and well. -Wanda The Cave Woman

Day 2: Mosquitoes Wearing Red

Success!My body powder theory is into the second day and is a resounding success! This is even more exciting than watching a pair of romantic turtles, folks. I'm totally thrilled and basking in the glory of what might become a burgeoning business. What freedom to walk any time of the day and not be swarmed and bitten by those bloody overgrown gnats. I did note, however, that there were several varieties of butterflies flitting around me. They stayed with me all the way from the hiking trails to my front door. What on earth could that mean?

Mosquitoes Wearing Red

I don't know about you but when I'm out walking I don't want to be skeeter bait so I wear that nasty smelling/feeling skeeter spray. This morning I just couldn't make myself spray it on but was still reluctant to venture outside without some type of protection. (This is when I enter my newbie scientist stage). I accidently knocked over a box of scented powder, 'Red' to be exact and the thought clicked that maybe those mosquitoes wouldn't appreciate a snout full of scented powder let alone wear it on their feet. So I doused myself with powder, head to toe, put on my sandals, and marched out the door. As I glanced down at my ankles to see if I had any takers I realized the powder had me looking like a slightly rotund poof of powder. Now locked into my scientific experiment and putting on my more than a little 'don't care' attitude I headed down the alley and took a left toward the hiking trails. Stopping at various mosquito checkpoints I was elated to find that my treatment had worked, NO Mosquitoes!, and I still smelled lots better than the mosquito spray I had been using.

Heading back down the alley toward my house my mind is seething with a multitude of ideas on how to improve and even market my idea. Now I'm wondering if I need to venture into the medicated powders, and do cheaper powders work just as well as the more expensive kind that I had started with. The potential is there! I just need to do more testing. So tonight at dusk I plan to be wearing another powder, this time Elizabeth Arden's Red Door.(I'm using up what I have before I stock up on more powders) I have to get to the store to buy reflectors so my neighbors won't freak out recognizing me in my powdered state and a headlamp so I can see my mosquito attackers in action. Wish me luck! I'll be reporting back on my experiment. Oh, and I think I'll call it }}}}}}}}}Peeeeeeeeee ssssssssssS{{{{{{{{{ (for Powdered Skeeter. Catchy, don't you think?!)

The Kids Are Gone! The Kids Are Gone!

Because my daughter was busy studying for the bar exam I had the good fortune to help by taking care of her children, M & E, and their 2 puppies. I was a little frazzled after their last visit, appalled really. Their attitude that I ran the Granny Hotel wore thin so I decided I would have a total change of attitude on my part and maybe have a turnaround. My new rules were simple: pick up after yourself (no, don't drop your dirty clothes and towel next to the sofa because you're too busy watching cartoons); cooperate by responding when I ask you to get ready because we're leaving in 20 minutes (Again. No staring slackjawed and motionless at the cartoons while I'm hustling 5 dogs out the door, putting in another load of clothes and emptying the dishwasher). There were a couple of other requests but for the most part all these were met with a blank stare, as though these poor children had been dropped into a foreign land and were clinging to the cartoon network for survival.

My daughter said 'So, you actually made it 10 days with them' and I'm thinking to myself 'You have to be wrong. It was really 3 weeks wasn't it?'

Things did improve with repeated requests from me. I'm sure both kids left feeling relieved for having escaped Granny Hitler. If you asked me today if I would watch them again I would answer 'Of course. But maybe next month'.

My Miniature Tyrant

There's a little 12 lb critter who has lived with me for going on 14 years.This is a picture of Iyah Dogg with his human necklace, Miss M, who has been photographed with many nearby canines. Iyah is half chihuahua (that breed does seem to get around quite a bit), and half Shih Tzu mix. He is blond like his momma with enough feathery hair that causes him to be groomed, like a schnauzer. Everyone has a fit over him. I kid you not,to this day he still receives visits from a certain couple who drop by every now and then after meeting him some years ago. People go ape when we're out for a walk, stopping their soccer training or whatever when they spot him to trot over and exclaim 'wow! I've never seen a blond schnauzer before!' And I'm thinking to myself, 'You still haven't, buddy.' Or 'where can I get one of those' a man will say. 'Ya can't buddy. He's one of a kind, kinda rare'. I have to admit I've had a little trouble enjoying this little guy. Iyah's been a prodigious runaway. I've shed countless tears over his stupid self, watching him dodge cars and trucks that were traveling on the busy street in front of our house. And me on cane, tearfully following after. I found no enjoyment in any of this, terrified I would find his dead little body at the end of each search. I guess you could say we were engaged in a friendly war. Another thing about Iyah that seems odd to me is that he wouldn't play except to grab my house slipper occasionally when he was a pup and hang on. I guess that made me his very own toy. Anyway,I've taken to going barefoot in the house which has foiled him most of the time. He is hardheaded and will only come or go when he finds it convenient. He barks when he wants in or out, wants a treat, or wants on or off the bed. All of which indicates that he has me very well trained, thank you very much. Now the vet says he's half blind and half deaf (I'm referring to the dog here. I don't know if the vet's so afflicted or not). I find it very interesting and would like to know which part of Iyah's hearing and sight is gone because he can spot/hear me two rooms away as I near the treat table. And in his latter years he has developed the strangest thing of all. If I tell him it's time to go outside he will stand in the doorway of the dining room....waiting....until I say (This is the honest truth. I've got witnesses), "Iyah Dogg, come on down!" and then he nods his head and begins his leisurely stroll to the back door. As if this isn't silly enough, he has somehow taught Della, the chihuahua, to do the same thing. I feel very foolish doing the Ed McMahon thing with a dog but it gets the job done.

Iyah doesn't run away much any more. The last time he tried to run he ran head on into the neighbor's newly installed iron fence. He actually voluntarily turned around and came back home. He mostly lies curled in his doggy bed blissfully sleeping the hours away. He gets his Ed McMahon call last thing at night and then I carry he and his bed to my bedroom for the night. I think I'm beginning to enjoy him now after all.

Watching Air

In a small area about halfway between my garage and the fence there once stood a large, regal pecan tree. A couple years ago it finally died, the bark had fallen off and in a blustery storm the rotting roots finally gave way this year. But this once lovely tree did not have the grace to fall to the ground. It's topmost branches, you know, the smallest ones?, are now cradled in the small branches of a couple of saplings. Down toward the base is a fairsized stub of branch that points directly earthward. And that's what I check every day. How much air is there between the tip of that stubby branch and the ground. Something has to give. That tree has to be heavy and those saplings can't hold it up forever. I'm thinking about starting a lottery on the actual day and time of the final fall.

And then there's a nearby tree that the grandkids have christened 'Buttina'. But that's another story.

SammiBobo

This is a little guy that I rescued. He's a Japanese Spitz, all 15 lbs. of pure love and happiness. He has stolen our hearts, fits right in and gives us a good many laughs. He's a devoted (jealous) companion and has only bitten 5 people. Seriously. But we're working on it. And he only sheds in the summer. Hair floating through the air, in my mouth, my eyes, sticking to my clothes, uh, he's really sweet and cuddly and he mostly doesn't chase the mailman any more if I can divert him with a treat at the last minute. Ya can't help but love the little guy but

5 Dogs & A Cat

My house is inhabited by 5 dogs & 1 cat. The 2 youngest dogs (pups) belong to my two grandkids who just happen to be staying with me also. One would think that the steel wool munching animals would provide endless entertainment but it turns out that that isn't true. Here are a few of the things my grandkids have entertained me with:

E: I like eggs because they come with their own juice.

M: When you die can I have your furniture?
Self: Why?
M: So I can sell it on eBay.

M: I think I want to be a rock star. I have a good feeling about it.
Self: Well, let's hear a song.
M: I'm too embarrassed to sing in front of someone.

M: Okay, then I could be a very good vet. I like dogs and cats.
Self: Honey, be prepared for 12 years of vet school.
M: I can do that.
Self: .....tests, lots of studying, cutting up frogs.....
M: Oh,if I have to study that let's that out. What do you think I should do?
Self: Marry rich, honey, marry rich.




There are more but they're hiding most of them behind my back.

The Audie Murphy Club

I've often thought I was the President of the Audie Murphy Club (you might Google Audie Murphy. You'll find he was a genuine nice guy and a war hero. There is a book written about him entitled "To Hell And Back", hence my tenure as President of his Club.) With all the happenings I've endured in my life I qualify at least to be a senior member. And now I venture toward the edge of insanity. My daughter is studying for the bar exam, needing peace and quiet, so I'm trying to keep the grandkids occupied at my house. Now with this package of kids, luggage and toys comes two adorable puppies, 9 month old Hammer and 3-5 month old Brownie. These, added to my 3 dogs makes for a lot of mouths, feet and tails. Since Brownie is new to the family there is some behavioral adjustment from my dogs. There is a healthy amount of jealousy in the mix so there's lots of tiptoeing going on especially at feeding time and at the treat table.

The puppies, being puppies, chew on everything, and me being a numbed out member of the Audie Murphy Club, failed to monitor this activity. That's how I lost my newest pair of Earth sandals, my most favoritist pair of shoes ever and in my favorite color too (laying it on thick because I figure my daughter will read this). Caught the little culprit brown pawed (as opposed to red handed you see). No doubt about who did the damage. It was Brownie . I growled a stern NO, Puppy! and he looks up from his chewing and wags his tail, pride radiating from his eyes. You can tell he's thinking to himself, 'good job. Now you can mount it somewhere so we can admire my handiwork together'.

Ever vigilant, I'm keeping my eyes on all the dogs. I've collected all my shoes and hid them in the closet. I think they'll be fine as long as the dogs don't figure out how to open the closet door.

The Saltpeter Tree

You'd think this was a tricky subject but what it actually is is a mistake. And this is what happens when your hearing starts to fail. I find out later that the name of the tree was actually Salt Cedar Tree. I was washing dishes when I heard the comment about the Saltpeter Tree on a t.v. program and I'm thinking to myself, 'hmm, I didn't know that saltpeter was a tree.' I assumed saltpeter was dug out of a salt mine or maybe concocted in a laboratory. The longer I live it seems the less I know. I'm not even sure what saltpeter is, let alone what it does. I know I could google saltpeter but do I really want to? Let's face it, at this point in my life do I care? I've lived without saltpeter so far so I'm thinking I can go the rest of the way without it. And that's what I'll do. That Salt Cedar Tree wasn't very pretty anyway.

I Know I Am But What Am I?

Okay, I admit, I actually clicked on a pop-up. Normally they flit briefly over my screen and disappear, another pop-up shot down by my computer security package. This time it lingered and challenged me to find out just exactly how smart I really was......an I.Q. test. Well hey, I'd like to know if I've gained any points in the brainiac area so I began the test. It was fun, it was interesting, it was long. About 15 minutes later it said to click on the 'Finished' button and I could find out how smart I really am. So I did. And immediately I see an ad for something totally useless. I click on the word 'skip' in the upper right hand of my screen. Another annoying ad appears. 'Skip'. And another ad. I had been duped. I cleared the screen feeling irritated and frustrated. I really would have liked to have found out my 'mature' I. Q. I head to my home page and see that I have new messages. Ah ha! One of them is from the I. Q. site. I quickly open the message which read, "YOU'RE STUPID!!!!!" So now I really know what my I. Q. is, at least on the computer.

Miss Eleanor, Departed

You came into my life and seemed to fit right in. I couldn't imagine living without you at that time. You were sleek, handsome, a character with character. Then you became a little cranky, then even more. Your behavior, oddly enough, became predictible until one fateful day you pitched such a fit that I couldn't take it any more and I had to give you away. My biggest regret, Miss Eleanor, is that I don't have any pictures of you to get me through these tough times. I've even driven by your new home and once spotted you resting under the oak tree, alone. I'm sure you didn't know I was there. I understand your new people have 4 cats, all named Lee. I hope they're good people. I made sure they knew your name. I forgot to ask if I could visit. Maybe it's better that way. It still wrenches my heart to I think of you, as if I had betrayed you, even though I know it was best for both of us. Goodby Miss Eleanor. You are missed.

Chasing Shade Trees

I confess, I chase shade trees. And I'm not alone. I see people darting out of their places of business to nudge their cars under the nearest tree, said tree that's providing prized shade. Even if the shade doesn't last long it's still worth it for the brief respite from the glaring Oklahoma sun. I myself chase shade trees at home. Even with bird droppings and sap raining down on my car, I don't care. Shade has much more value in the summer than a few inconvenient dulled paint spots. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of being a shade tree chaser. I'm in good company, almost a secret society. Membership requirements are bird droppings and sap spots all over our cars. Check it out. The next time you're driving around and spot a car with random dull paint spots, you've just spotted one of our members!

Why I Love Winter

Without benefit of a Walkman (do they even make them any more?) I listen to bird chatter as I do my daily cardio workout. I enjoy the mockingbird the most, especially a mature one with a huge repretore of confiscated bird calls. While I'm panting away (my doctor will be so proud of me) I have time to think because I don't have a t.v. in front of me or NPR playing on my car radio. Ten minutes into my walk and I'm drenched with sweat (I'm not sure if any women in my family ever looked dewy, a polite southern woman term). That's when I begin thinking about why I love winter so much. Winter is nice. And cold. The trash bin doesn't stink while it's waiting a week for the next pick-up. I have fun deciding whether to wear matching sweatsuits or contrasting ones. And my special indoor winter olympics: chugging hot toddies while watching marathon war movies on the Movie Channel (I don't know why I like war movies, they just fascinate me. Now would you like for me to babysit your children?). Lots of fun too watching the cars and trucks trying to make it up the hill in front of my house. If I really wanted to I could make a fair amount of money selling hot chocolate to all those frustrated 'hill' victims. And there are other benefits too. I save on deodorant! and I don't have to shave my legs! Also, heat used to cost less in the winter than cooling in the summer. At least that's the way it used to be. I'm not sure about that one now. If anyone trash talks winter to you have them talk to me. I'll set them straight.
When we're fortunate enough to have snow, the deer will come out and are surrounded by the golden glow of light cast by the security lamp. It's as though the deer feel heat from the light as they huddle together. It's breathtaking and always makes me wish I could share such a perfect scene with someone. And those are just some of the reasons I love winter but now I have to get off the computer and take another shower because I'm SWEATING!

The Obamas

Barack Obama seems almost benign in demeanor, an attractive pedagogue rather than an enthusiatic leader. Of the two, Michelle seems the more fierce, battle ready with eyes blazing. One can almost picture her charging down the street, nostrils flaring, daring anyone to oppose her. Frankly, she scares me. Not a horrific kind of scare but knots of worry that grow in my stomach as I watch her on t.v. Is she the perfect foil to Barack's laconic 'now, now dear everything will be alright' posture? I'm wondering if there is a balance to their relationship, Barack laid back while the impassioned Michelle strides on stage and assumes control. I've always heard that we should make decisions based only on fact because emotions are in constant flux and therefore unreliable. May I present Mr. & Mrs. President. Has your comfort level been disturbed now?

(Don't blame me. I'm not voting for them).

My Daughter

I watched with delight and excitement as my daughter walked across the stage during the graduation ceremony and was 'hooded', then received her diploma from OCU. She is now J. D. K., Juris Doctorate. Someone had told her something to the effect, "J. you just love to argue. You should be a lawyer". That must have sounded like a reasonable suggestion because she acted on it. For three years she has juggled law school, a job, three kids and a house. She rarely if ever complained. (I'm not sure she had the breath to spare). She balanced her schedules, study, the kids schedules, and her job and (you won't believe this one, all the while remodeling her house!). She never missed birthdays, Christmas, Easter, and thank you notes and chats with mom and friends. I've teased her about wearing WonderWoman underwear beneath her clothing for she surely must in order to rack up these accomplishments. She says she doesn't even take vitamins. How has she accomplished all this you ask. I think it is from sheer grit and determination, great focus and an energy that could only come from within.......even after several well meaning friends and family suggested that it couldn't be done. I think we've all learned that J. can do whatever she sets her mind to and the standard warning is this: If you see her looking in your direction, you might want to move out of the way.

Ask me if I'm proud of my daughter. She has been the star in my sky from the first moment I saw her, and yes, heard her screaming in the hospital nursery. She has eclipsed everyone in both her dad's and her mother's families in looks, intelligence and education. I am in awe of her and all that she is. She is not only all that, she is the sweetest person I know. And God has blessed me by putting her in my life.

Games For When We're Older

1. Sag, you're It. 2. Hide and go pee. 3. 20 questions shouted into your good ear. 4. Kick the bucket 5. Red Rover, Red Rover, the nurse says Bend Over. 6 Musical recliners. 7. Simon says something incoherent 8. Pin the Toupee on the bald guy

Feeling Sarcastic

Today was my son's birthday. He's an attractive young man, divorced and available so for his birthday dinner he brings yet another slender sweet young thing to help his family celebrate this happy event. Here we go again. My daughter and I have the same thoughts; with telepathy we share them with a sideways glance. An impromptu play put on for Miss Mindelah and this is how it went:

I casually throw my arm around my daughter's shoulders as she munchs her way through her rosemary lemon chicken. Then I lay my head on her shoulders as my daughter placidly tears a piece of bread from a loaf and douses it in the plate of olive oil, balsamic vinegar and toasted garlic chips. All the while we're carrying on an innocuous conversation with Miss Mindelah about forgettable subjects. I now caress my daughter's arm as she looks at me fondly and smiles. You can see the discomfort on my son's face mirrored in the expression of barely concealed distaste flitting across Miss Mindelah' face. My daughter and I look at each other as I settle back in my chair and announce that we have something exciting to tell them. We are in love, very much in love with each other and are in a wonderful, vibrant relationship. Never mind that we're mother and daughter. We're both adults so it can't possibly be considered incest.
The look of abhorrence on Miss Mindelah's face as she began to choke on her alfredo coated 5 cheese ravioli was priceless. My daughter, the minx that she is, actually captured it on her cam corder.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It would have been fun to act this out if we decided that we didn't like this most recent pearl on the strand of my son's dates. For two reasons it didn't happen. The kids were with us plus we still haven't decided if we like her. Until our next encounter......

Things That Annoy Me

These things really annoy me:

1. My perky breasts now resemble headlights on low beam.

2. My dog wiping his butt on my living room carpet (no more barefoot forays in the living room without socks).

3. Renting a bad movie and then realizing I've already seen it.

4. Flirting with a guy and he doesn't even notice.

5. Agreeing to meet a friend at the donut shop while I'm on a diet.

Tune in again. I'm sure there will be Part II, Things That Annoy Me

The Wrong Situations

These are situations in which I wouldn't want to be found while dead:


1. Sitting slouched on the toilet with my jeans and undies around my ankles.

2. With a finger, any finger, lodged up my nose.

3. In the grocery store candy aisle.

4. With my girdle pulled up to my knees.

5. Everyone knows this one: In my holey, torn underwear that has two ends to the broken elastic band tied into a knot.

There has to be more wrong situations but then would it really matter if I'm dead?

Embarrassing Myself

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a fashion plate. When I was younger the clothes I wore and matching accessories, heels and purse were very important. Everything had to be coordinated and they were. Now, I've been known to meander downtown in one of my beloved muumuus. My daughter recently commented "Ya know mom, your style is "Don't Care". And she is right, because "I Don't Care (anymore)". I'm now all into comfort. Very important to be comfortable. I can walk past any mirror, glance toward it and see my image through {{{{{{{{{{{The Comfort Filter}}}}}}}}}}}. My teeth are brushed, run my fingers through my hair (I don't even know if I have a brush or comb), yep, my glasses are in place, clean muumuu on, there's my purse and I'm READY.

I had to order my muumuus over the internet. They don't sell them around here. A friend who moved to Hawaii last year actually sent me an 'authentic' Hawaiian muumuu. It was disappointing to see the K-Mart tag attached. Two years ago I ordered two of each color, a total of six of the little gems. It did briefly cause me a tiny concern that people might think I was sleeping in my muumuu and wearing it a second time. Then I ran it through {{{{{{{{{{{The Comfort Filter}}}}}}}}}}} and I made this comment to myself. "Don't Care".

The Grandma Factor

Every Sunday we would drive about 45 miles into the hills of Missouri arriving at my grandparents house. There was nothing fancy about their place but to this day I can tell you the exact floor plan and cite experiences in each room; the screened in porch, the tire swing hanging from the cedar tree, the cattle, swinging from a rope in that huge barn and fishing for perch with my very own cane pole. This was where I had the happiest days of my childhood. My country Grandma, after whom I'm named, was a pinch and stir cook. Every Sunday we stuffed ourselves with homegrown potatoes made into mashed potatoes liberally seasoned with fresh cream and butter and homemade yeast rolls. There was also fried chicken from the chickens she had raised, and chicken and homemade dumplings that we always ladled into the cratered mashed potatoes. We had fresh sliced tomatoes, homegrown greenbeans and corn on the cob, all from Grandma's garden. For dessert we always had cobbler or cake, something she had just whipped up especially for us kids. There were no limits on the amount of food we would pile on our plates. We would always happily eat ourselves into oblivion.

My city grandmother, Mema, was a quiet woman who lived in a two bedroom house with a man I now realize she did not love. I think she was a very sad woman. She was a nurse and that's about all I know about her. When we ate meals there they were mainly vegetables with very little seasoning, no bread, with a bowl of fruit if you wanted dessert. We did on occasion get to enjoy a bottle of Grapette pop which was a real treat.

Here's the epiphany: It slammed into my brain today that my eating habits were formed mainly from eating at Grandma's house. Since my mother was her daughter she also cooked and served similar meals. There was never a salad on the table, no one even knew about portions, and we stuffed our faces until we couldn't eat any more. Thinking back about Mema's table and the food she served, hers was most likely the more healthy of the two. And I'm just now learning that at age 60.

It's All About Choices

In my own quiet way I've managed to live my life on the edge. Not in the typical ways you would think but in an area that I devoted my life to exploiting. Let me quickly explain here so my kids don't freak out; it wasn't sex, alcohol, shopping or shoes. It's food. To those of you who happen to read this blog, take heed. I wish I had.

I met with my doctor last week. We reviewed the results of my blood test and he indicated warning areas. Yay, Yay, Yay I already know my cholesterol is somewhat high, my blood pressure is prehypertensive and sodium is out of whack. So what. I'll just cut back on those obvious things, pop, chips, fast foods (I LOVE fast foods). The doctor didn't even make any suggestions. Maybe he knew that I wouldn't do anything about these issues anyway. Then we get to the bottom of the page and he glosses over an area and says I have 'mild kidney disease'. WHAT! How'd that happen? I try to be a good person. Nothing like that in my family that I know of. I'm stunned. The doctor gets up and walks out of the room. My attitude is cavalier which is typical if I see the results of the blood tests. So what, I say. So what. And I'm thinking of what foods I can comfort myself with as I leave the clinic.

Late last night the results of the blood test began to haunt me so I drag out my copy and reread everything. Then I reach the bottom of the page and I grow a huge knot in my stomach. The doctor misread the report. It says instead 'moderate kidney disease'. I'm petrified. I pray but am so restless I can't reach Amen. So I get dressed and armed with a flashlight and a can of Mace I head down the street. It was calming and soothing and I was able to talk to God. After I reached home I had calmed down and even slept.

This situation demands research so I get on the computer and begin putting some facts together. Moderate ain't a good thing but it can be treated with (you'll never guess!) diet!!!!! Low protein, high veggies, no sugar, whole grain bread only, beans, etc. You know, Healthy! This is definitely comforting to know. I also found out something else that greatly eases my mind. The name of a new doctor.

My Aversion/Diversion Diet

Sitting here
All alone
Been to the doctor
Sugar's gone.

No more donuts
crullers are out
just thinking 'bout it
makes me pout.

Cut back portions
Eat less red meat
Pretty soon
I should look neat.

Like all those salads?
I really do not
When it's salads or air
. . . . . . . .

Okay it's not really much of a choice but maybe I can cut up a boiled egg to go with some crumbled bacon to top my salad. Lots of Ranch dressing, just today and those yummy garlic croutons and walnuts would be nice. Oh yes, and a slice of 5-cheese Texas Toast. Just for today you understand. And a bowl of hot apple crisp that I made for the kids topped with homemade vanilla ice cream. Think I'll have a mocha, mocha latte too. . . . . . . .

And that's how I got off my last diet.

Back In The 2nd Grade Again

There was an announcement from the church pulpit asking for classroom monitors during testing at Fowler Grade School. I signed up and some time later I received a phone call. The woman sounded vaguely surprised that anyone would have volunteered for this project. Anyway, the morning arrived and I signed in for the quicky tutelage, 5 minutes, and received assurance that all would go well. We were then given plastic boxes full of testing material and escorted to the classrooms we were to monitor. I found myself planted in the 2nd grade class along with 22 students. . . . .and Mrs. Middleton. The desk arrangement was bewildering with all of them arranged haphazardly around the room. Several desks abutted each of the walls. It was strangely quiet in the room and I was soon to find out why. Mrs. Middleton wasn't a Drill Sargeant, she was the DEBIL!! I wasn't just intimidated, I was afraid. Immediately I forgot what I, as classroom monitor, was supposed to be doing. Mrs. Middleton took the testing materials from me and pointed to a chair. I sat. The next few hours were torture for those children. They were not allowed to move, cross their legs, cough or scoot their chairs and they could breathe only with permission, something she did not did not allow much of . A little girl, Jade, that I sat next to grinned and gve me a tiny wave every time I looked her way. I smiled back at her. I think that's what got me moved the first time.

A tiny lull in testing, Mrs. Middleton and I hand out snacks, 6-packs of peanut butter crackers, and one intrepid boy raises his hand to ask for a drink. There were 21 students and a volunteer classroom monitor in that room that already knew the answer to that one. Something told me to not eat my crackers. I think it was an angel. I can't imagine sitting rigid in those chairs, LLP, (whatever that means but it was serious because Mrs. Middleton kept repeating it), trying to concentrate on Mrs. M's droning voice, working on test questions with my mouth so puckered from those crackers that my lips kissed my tonsils.

It was an experience and one I'm not likely to sign up for again. The kids each looked at me with suspicion, maybe even dislike, after they had finished the testing and were filing out to head for the lunchroom. They didn't invite me to come along. They also didn't invite me to recess.

I turn my head to find Mrs. Middleton standing next to me. She said "I'm sure glad my paycheck isn't based on the results of that one." Tuckinig my head I aim for the door and escape.

My Grandpuppy

I've had Hammie these last few days in anticipation of taking him to the local vet for a little >>>>alteration<<<<. Hammie, who is a 6 month old Bosti-huahua, is one of those little dogs who carries everything too far but doesn't have any idea why. For all his small frame he's bigger than anything he tackles. He has 'killed' more stuffed animals in these last 3 days than the total of all previous visits. He has also given as much as he got from Sammie, my Japanese Spitz. They have played endlessly, bounding through the house and out the back door, then back in, all the while quarreling over a dirty rawhide chew or one of those now soggy teddy bears. All this doggy play is endearing unless you're really pooped and want to take a nap. Then suddenly you become part of the runway for their playtime. Why is that? They don't want you napping because you're not up giving them snackies? Or they just like the feel of a soft, warm playground upon which to wrestle? I don't know. I just know going into my bedroom, closing the door and lying down doesn't work. For all the yelping and whining you would think they were broken hearted, or maybe just remembered that they hadn't seen their birth mothers in many months. More questions. But the sweetest time is when Hammie begs to be in my lap and curls up, falling asleep before his head touches my leg. Finally.

My Experience With The MOB

Many years ago I lived in Wichita. This was when I had even less common sense than I have today. Somehow I met a young man who seemed okay (what did I know)and we had a date for dinner. The guy is telling me he's with the Mob and some of the things he does for them. His name wasn't Guido as I recall but it also wasn't anything like John or Matt either. After dinner, I guess to impress me, he took me to a few places that he said were Mob hideouts. They were down alleys behind ordinary bungalows with detached garages. The garages housed the hideouts. One was very lavish, every convenience available and all located in this 2-car converted garage. The other was cedar paneled inside, rustic, but again with all the conveniences. Okay, I tell him, so maybe you are with the Mob, but then maybe you're not. So prove it. Guido (okay let's call him that) says, read the front page of the Sunday edition of the Wichita Eagle. A bombing of a business north of town. Yea, yea, I said. I yawn and tell him I had an okay time and I'm ready to head for home.

Sunday morning as usual, fixed a bowl of cereal, and went outside to get the paper. Settled down with my coffee, open the paper, front page, and there it is. A north side trucking firm, bombed. Because it was at night no one was there so no one hurt. Just a warning he had said. Gave me the chills. Guido really was with the Mob.
He was telling truth. I still have trouble discerning whether a man is tell the truth or not. I wish Guido had been shinin' me on. And to this day the burning question I would love to have answered is this: who lived in the bungalows in front of those Mob hideouts?

Retired People

Someone sent this to me obviously presented as a joke. I think it's a true story:


> > Working people frequently ask retired people what they do to make their > days interesting. Well, for example, the other day the wife and I went into > town and went into a shop. We were only in there for about 5 minutes. When > we came out, there was a cop writing out a parking ticket. We went up to him and I said, "Come on man, how about giving a senior citizen a break?" He ignored us and continued writing the ticket. I called him a Dumbass. He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn tires. > > So Mary called him a shithead. He finished the second ticket and put it on > the windshield with the first. Then he started writing a third ticket. This went on for about 20 minutes. The more we abused him, the more tickets he wrote. > > Personally, we didn't care. We came into town by bus. We try to have a > little fun each day now that we're retired. It's important at our age. >

Getting Divorced Always Makes Me Sad

Not that I did it often, only twice, but with my first husband I would have divorced him four or five times more if I could've. I don't like to call them exes because to me that implies they've been cancelled as people. If they've been cancelled then that means I've been cancelled too. I don't want to be cancelled. I have too many things I still want to do. So they're either first husband, second husband, or former husband #1, former husband #2, etc.

I don't know about you but I felt relief when I divorced, both times. With first husband there was much hostility on both sides. He moves out. Relief. With second husband I'm sitting on the front porch, numb, as he's loading his things in his car. Eventually feelings seep into my body and I start quietly sobbing. He sits down next to me, puts an arm around my shoulders and tries to comfort me. All the while I'm thinking to myself "he's really almost gone. He's really almost gone." And what am I feeling? Relief!

Sure, divorce leaves you with lots of conflicting emotions. When I woke the next day after husband #1 left, I remember thinking, "I don't believe God really intended for me to live without a wonderful husband, a helpmeet, good companion, terrific daddy. God didn't really expect me to mow the lawn, maintain the car and the house, earn a living (with no education), and raise two very young little ones who were total victims in this ugly situation. All by myself?" Took me most of 30 years to realize that God didn't intend for me to live alone. I'm thinking maybe I took a wrong turn or two somewhere, like maybe choosing the wrong man (men). Like maybe looking for love in all the wrong places as the song goes. I didn't invite God along for the ride and look where it got me. Could be worse. I could still be married to one of them.

Just About The Sweetest Thing I've Ever Heard A Man Say

Just happened to be visiting with a man after church, a firefighter by profession. I told him how much I enjoyed his wife. He said "yep, I enjoy her alot. She's about the best there is. We've been married 27 years." He pauses then looks up and says "yep, they sure have gone by real fast". Like I said, just about the sweetest thing I've ever heard a man say.

Memories of 1313 Broadview Drive

I'm not particularly fond of husbands as men go. The two I had were not inclined to training, had their own agenda, and it didn't include me. That is with the exception of bearing children, cooking, and cleaning house. All of which left me on my own much of the time. Since we lived in a neighborhood of younger married couples there were several mothers in the same situation so I started a weekly coffee.(This is where I earned the nickname of Pearl Mesta, the hostess with the mostest). The kids could play in relative safety (albeit my little girl did manage to lead a posse of little ones behind a large arrangement of various plants in the living room. She was armed with a nail file which was a no-no. After everyone had left, I discovered my 10 foot tall rubber tree which had formerly been flourishing, now had a naked stalk about as high as her little hands could reach with her on tippy-toe. That poor plant never recovered). We did have another incident that comes to mind, the little girl from next door, same age of 4, was playing nearby with the rest of the kids when her mother jumped up from the table and said, "spit it out Mary Beth! Spit it out now!" And little Mary Beth, with huge blue eyes, looks up to her mom, opens her mouth, and out pops.......Her Tongue!" This type of mother/daughter exchange seems to have been a routine communication for them. Mary Beth seemed nonplussed.

And then there's the time my little boy, about 3, was seen running starkers down the street. Thank goodness one of my coffee buddies saw him and he was brought safely to home. More on that one but another time.

Indiana Jones

She Was So Cute But.....

This cute little first grade child in her school uniform and behind the playground fence, just happened to hit me the wrong way as I'm walking by:

Little girl: "Hi Old Lady!!!!"

Me:(I look around. She has to mean me. No one else nearby. My mind rewinds the past few seconds and hear her voice again saying "Hi Old Lady!!!!!") So I'm thinking, now here is an opportunity to be nice, so I say "Hello little girl".

And the little girl responds: "What's your name?"

Me: Didn't have to think about that one. This reply just pops out of my mouth.
"Puddin'Tane".

Little girl: "Never mind".

Now two days later I'm still trying to figure out what she meant by "never mind". Was it a set up with maybe a smart alecky retort planned and I foiled her with my answer? I don't know. I just don't know. Worse still, why does this still bother me. Was she a lippy little girl or a sweet little thing that just wanted to share a chat or two? My first thought is that she was a lippy little girl (do I have to refer you to her first comment to me?) After what she said to me I doubt I would have enjoyed a chat with her anyway.

A Study in Self Control

A subject that I have probed and examined for much of my life. I used to focus on my lack of self control with food but then I realized that I exercise self control in many areas of my life. I am encouraged. For instance, if I see a really fine looking man that almost makes me drool do I run over and grab him and attempt to drag him to my car? Noooo! That's! self control. If I see something in a store that I would love to own but can't afford, can even visualize it in my house, do I just take it without out paying? Noooo! That's! self control. When I see my ex on rare occasions and he gives me the evil eye Twice! do I walk over and slap the snot outta him? Noooo! That's really! self control. But show me a caramel pecan homemade roll, the synapses in my brain collapse, and you can count on it, that caramel pecan roll is in my mouth. It is so incredibly good but then the synapses try to revive, I'm feeling a little guilt crowding into my thoughts. This is war. Another bite of caramel roll, a big one because I don't know what the result of the war will be. Guilt is taking over so I quickly rip off the rest of the top of that wonderful roll, my teeth humming with the flavor of all those pecans and luscious caramel stuffed into my mouth. Ahhhhhhh! I can now look at the breading part of the roll I've tossed back in the donut box and feel righteous. I didn't eat the whole thing. That's! self control!

H Day

This is the day I will be taking Hammer back to his family. Della Irene, Iyah Dogg, SammiBobo & Camy the Cat(well maybe not Camy) and I have enjoyed Hamm's visit. He's been an endearing presence to some of us and more than a little irritating to one little female, not naming any names you understand, who found him just a little too boistrous to her taste. Jealousy was also a factor. Hamm insisted on moving in on her territory, i. e., my lap, and succeeded in taking over. But then maybe Della's prone to being a little bit grumpy anyway.

Sammi and Hamm have played from dawn til dusk. They have shared each other's food, happily torn several stuffed toys up, and played tug over more than one small cloth limb from any toy donor. In other words they're buddies. The other day I was a bit under the weather and needing to rest myself so I dropped Hamm off at the kennel. (Don't say it. I know. I felt really bad about this. I called twice to check on him ((guilt)) and even thought about picking him up before they closed. Sort of like a doggy day out thing). Anyway, what awaits me when I get home but a very somber Sammi who lays his head on my chair and just......................stares at me. Just the thought of his reaction at Hamm's leaving makes me very uncomfortable.

The boundless energy, love and joy this little dog's visit has brought into this house is a treasure we will long remember. We look forward to seeing the little guy soon. At least most of us feel this way except maybe Della and Camy the Cat.

I'm Just Asking

Like many Americans I watched Barack Obama's speech regarding his pastor, Reverend Wright. Now I'm not the brightest lightbulb on the lamp but as I review some of his comments these thoughts come to mind, such as:

If Obama has listened to almost 20 years of Rev. Wright's hatred and anger toward whites, how can Obama NOT be affected by this in some way. Obama has chosen to attend that church, be married by that man, have his children baptised by that man. It would seem to me he would be virtually steeped in those values.

Obama's comment about his white grandmother further causes me to cringe for it shows his resentment of her whiteness. She certainly showed fear of blacks but Obama never took into account the era in which she grew up, the fact that his own father left him when he was 2 years old, that she raised him as her own in a place that frowned on biracial children.

Further, I find it puzzling and unsettling that Obama is running as a black candidate when he is half white. This man is truly a brilliant orator and has attracted voters from both sides of the political forum, but I hope that these people will look beyond the rehetoric and the lazy smile. This man is not a unifier of people. This man could lead us into a civil war.

And as to Rev. Wright, how can he profess to being a Christian and yet spew hatred for his fellow men for something whites in the past have done to black in the past.

Meanwhile, Back Home. . . . .

I'm typing this blog with one hand because my 23 week old grandpuppy, Hammer, is bundled asleep in my lap. He has usurped this position from my very disgruntled chihuahua, Della Irene. What's more, he is oblivious to her anger. When he's ready for a lap nap, he walks right over her outraged little body and settles in, ignoring her hateful snarls and snapping jaws. Being ignored only makes Della more angry. (I understand her angst). The only good thing about these incidents is that a fight never insues. Hammer never realizes there's a problem so taa-daa! no fight!

Hamm does one of the cutest things I've ever seen a puppy do. He has a favorite teddy bear, his teddy bear taa-taa, which he flops down on and begins sucking on the back of it's head. This is a signal that he's tired and heading for a nap.
Pretty soon his eyes are rolling back, he struggles up and lands in my lap, asleep before he's under my lap rug. I have to tell you he is absolutely precious when he's asleep.

Hammer lucked out in that SammiBobo, my former foster dog which I adopted, can keep up with all that Bostihuahua energy. Sammi, a male, has become Hammer's Luv Puppy. That's right, Luv Puppy. At any given time, they're either playing chase, playing tug, or playing Luv Puppy. I look over to see how everybody's doing only to see, once again, Hammer, er...um...loving Sammi's backside. Sammi placidly endures Hamm's overtures. Sometimes when the Hammer is in action Della will playfully attack Sammi's face. Huh? Is this a doggy equivalent of a manage a trois? And none of the three seem to be embarrassed in the least. Anyway, after these exhaustive activities, we ALL look forward to a full night's rest. Hammer's family will find out when they return from their trip that he has had all sorts of fun at his Nonnie's house, gotten lots of love, and more than a little spoiling. After all, that's what grandmas are for isn't it.

SammiBobo

I've had the good fortune most of the time to have a 15 lb. one year old Japanese Spitz move in with me. He was originally a foster dog and one home after another fell through, three months had passed, and I had gotten so attached to him that I couldn't let him go. Since Sammi came from the animal shelter I had no idea what his background was except he was constantly in need of attention. Being somewhat high strung I thought the best way to help him calm down would be daily walks. One day he managed to slip his head out of the collar and he raced away, ignoring my calls to come back. At that time a jogger trotted by and Sammi charged her heels, barking and bouncing around. The woman yelped and Sammi took off . He had bitten her! She was nice about the incident, I managed to herd Sammi toward home, and I called my son who said to get Sammi a halter. Which I did.

Now fast forward a couple of weeks, Sammi is doing great with the halter, no more escapes when we walk. A man comes over to work on a problem on the patio in the back yard. (This was when I still thought I was older and smarter) I kiddingly said to Sammi, "Get him, Sammi! Bite him!" and he did, twice.

So now I'm looking for an attractive muzzle for myself. It would be nice if it matched Sammi's black and red halter.

Older and Smarter

A friend sent me an interesting email yesterday: "Can you pass this 5th grade test?" And I'm thinking to myself, 'fer sure, yep, okay, no problem'. So I begin.
The questions are clever such as "if you had a dozen books after you gave away seven books, how many books would you have left?" (How easy can they get?) I'm in the 5th grade thinking level and I know the answer from multiple choice is "I don't know", right?! There were several similar clever questions but I had their number and I rolled right through all 11 of them. Triumphantly I reach the end and clicked on the word "Results". Humming to myself I had a short wait until these smart alecs who designed this test said I'd only got 3 of the questions correct. Then to add insult to injury they comment "I'll bet you're probably good at sports". Humpf!!!