Monday, March 31, 2014

Down to the Last Dog

We may be down to getting the last dog we will ever own after Molly dies.

Oh, there might be two more, depending on how long the dog(s) live, as well as how long we live.

Molly is nine, and hobbling pretty badly. She's having surgery on her gums Friday. She has seizures. Maybe she will make it to ten, but I doubt she'll see eleven.

We have talked about the next dog. We are probably going to get another Bull Mastiff. They are  not as hard to take care of, being a "door mat" dog.

They live around ten years.

That would put Husband at seventy-six or seven. Will we want another dog to take care of by then? I don't know.

And cats: well, if Eli lives 20 years, I'll be seventy-seven. Will I want another cat?

See, I can't imagine living without a dog and a cat.

But then again, I could have never imagined talking about seeing the end of my life in terms of the number of dogs I might live long enough to own, either.

Do you think about this when you are even in your forties? Probably not.

It makes me sad, thinking I might be at a point in my late life where I feel I can no longer take care of a dog and/or cat.

Because they have always taken care of me.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

The Elbow's Connected to the...

Man, I got something bad wrong with my elbow. Of course, it's my right one, so there is no way to rest it very much.

I believe it's called Tennis Elbow, which is odd, since the only time I've played tennis was the one time when Husband and I were dating (1984) and he offered to teach me how to play.

That was a bust, because he kept rolling around on the court laughing.

I've never been what you would call graceful.

I think it should be more like Firewood Elbow, because it all started when it snowed and we had a nice fire and I couldn't leave it alone. I kept putting wood on the fire. The pieces weren't heavy, so I knew it wouldn't hurt my back if I was careful. I would pick the wood up with one hand, (I have big hands), reach my arm out straight, bend a little and put the wood on. I did this several times.

That was in February, and my elbow just keeps getting worse.

I asked the chiropractor. She said, "Hmmmmm. Why don't you get the massage therapist to look at it."

I asked the massage therapist and she did more than look. After she tried to kill me by elbow methodology, (which actually helped, briefly) she said I might try heat. (Ice hadn't helped)

Neither did heat.

I asked my internist. She said, "Hmmmm. Why don't you get your neurologist to look at it." (I'm also having numbness in two of my fingers, which has suddenly turned into pain today.) I see him week after next. Maybe he can  help, if my elbow doesn't fall off before then.

I have also tried Arnica with ibuprofin, Glucosamine Chondroitin + MSM, Blue Emu, Power 10 and some other stinky stuff, plus Eye of Newt.

None of that has helped. But I will say since I used Eye of Newt, my vision seems to be a tad bit better.

And why is it when you have an owie, you manage to bump it into everything? I don't recall hitting my elbow much until now.

I am trying  hard not to feel sorry for myself, but I do find myself thinking how badly I really needed something else to be wrong.

Next thing you know my gizzard will get infected. Then what?

Friday, March 28, 2014

Home Alone

I am almost never home alone. Husband is retired (as am I), and Daughter goes to school locally and lives at home.

But today, Husband is gone out of town and Daughter is gallivanting, as youth are wont to do.

I opted to stay home instead of go with Husband, which is a rare thing. But going to the movies last night sort of did me in, and I thought it would be nice to have some of that alone time everyone is so in awe of.

It's been pretty nice, actually. I've eaten when and what I wanted (but I'm hungry again), I've done a little cleaning (very little), I've played scrabble on line, I've worked on my novel and right now, as soon as I finish this masterpiece, guess what?

That's right.

I'm taking a nap.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Is That My Phone Ringing?

Private Caller, Unknown Name, 1-800, Out of Area...

I am SICK AND TIRED of these phone calls....they either want my money or (as of late) want my vote.

"Hi! I'm William Dogood. I am running for fill in the blank and need your vote!

Of course I want good health care! My family will have great health care if you elect me! (Sorry about your family's health care, by the way).

Of course I believe in good paying jobs! I'll have a great paying job if you vote for me!

Freedom of religion? Sure, why not! No matter what!  Right? Isn't that the right answer? Just be sure and lock up your wives and daughters first!  Ha ha!

The right to bear arms? Everyone deserves two arms!

So, don't forget: Vote for Will Dogood. The name says it all.

God (or allah, or buddha, or the universe or  nothing at all!  Ha!) bless.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Company's A'Coming!

Well, actually they came. And they weren't really company.

It was Husband's Baby Sister and Husband's Baby Sister's Husband. We hadn't seen Baby Sister in way over a year, and I've lost count as to how long it's been since we saw her husband. I think it's been over four years, or close to it.

They live in Alabama (don't hold it against them - much -), but travel a lot. They were in Africa for almost a year, returning just before this past Christmas.

Anyway, as  you may have noticed if you live around here, it was cold and blowing snow all day. I had a cast iron dutch oven full of homemade vegetable soup, a pone of cornbread, and a roaring fire in the fireplace.

We talked, ate, laughed, and warmed ourselves with fire and soup.

They didn't stay nearly long enough. There was more family to visit.

Husband's Baby Sister gave us a gift of a small, carved, wooden bowl from Africa. It is quite beautiful.

But their visit was even more so.

Sometimes, days are close to perfect.

Their visit made this one close for sure.

Monday, March 24, 2014

Pandora's Box

Imagine, if you will, a woman who holds a small box in her hand.

Inside the box is an oval shaped, beautiful container with an inscription of a famous, expensive brand name, gold against the pristine white.

She sniffs the container, enjoying the faint scent of the yet to be opened oval, knowing an expensive item such as this would never be hers except by gift.

Simple, yet elegant, she looks forward to using the new bath powder after her shower.

Removing the lid, she slits the clear plastic, replacing it with a screen. Then she puts the puff back on and gently shakes the box.

BAM! An explosion! Lots of powder everywhere, the stuff raining down like sifted snow. She turns her head to keep from breathing it into her lungs, and closes her eyes.

Imagine her surprise, when upon opening her eyes, she is surrounded by fairy dust instead of bath powder.

Miniscule, sparkling particles fill the air, landing on every surfurce in a ten mile range. The sun, shining through the window, highlights their brilliance, as they float in the air like electrified dust motes.

They permeate every crevice in the room. The grout between the floor tiles. The indention of the sink drain. The molding. The lightbulbs.

Her skin. Every inch of her skin.

Not to mention her hair.

And it won't wash off.

The next time you see me, you won't have a hard time finding me.

You'll see the sparkle a mile off.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Bookworm

I admit it. I am a bookworm.

I have been a bookworm since I started reading. I was, really, before I could even read. I knew in my heart that's what I was, and I yearned to read so badly I could taste it.

I loved the book "Hiawatha", which was really a poem "The Song of Hiawatha", by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Of course, at age five, I didn't know that. Someone had taken the poem and put it in a child's book, illustrating it to look like a children's book.

I wanted it read every night. My mother got so sick of it, she hid the book and claimed she had no idea where it was.

Where is DFACS when you need them?

The first book that struck awe in my heart was "Winnie the Pooh", sitting innocently on the library shelf. I was in second grade. The book was 161 pages, a veritable tome.

I loved it. And I have loved big old books ever since. The bigger the better!

Some of my favorite big books: "Winter's Tale" by Mark Helprin, "Outlander" (and the rest that follow) by Diana Gabaldon, all the "Harry Potter" books, by J. K. Rowling, "The Stand" by Stephen King. The list could grow fat, too, like the books.

I actually have a list of very good books, so that when friends say, "Can you recommend a book to me?" I not only can, I do.

A friend and I were talking about books today, and we ahhed over many a book and many an author.

There are some authors that simply rise above the rest. Their writing is better than other writers. Craig Johnson comes to mind, whose first book is "The Cold Dish". You need to read his books in order, as they are about the life of a man. I understand they have been made into a TV show. I've not seen it. Don't want to mess up my books.

If you have a book that's the best ever, let me know.

I'm always open for one more friend on the shelf.

In fact, I can hardly wait!

Friday, March 21, 2014

Things I Miss, Part Two (which has nothing to do with the pity party I had yesterday)

I miss the Dewey Decimal System.

Really.

I remember learning how to operate it, and how proud I was that I knew what was going on in my library, if I had only been allowed to go in and, like, check out a book.

Unfortunately, the librarian thought all people under the age of fifty were nasty, loud, snot nosed varmints that had no business near books.

I also miss the little cards up front where you signed your  name and they stamped the due date, so you could tell at a glance how much longer you had to keep the book in your possession. (I know, this makes the former statement a lie, as I obviously used the library, but this is art, okay?)

I really hate the slick tiny piece of paper you get  now, that comes out of their computer that they stick in your book. Every time you open the book, the paper flutters to the floor and you spend five minutes trying to find it because you have no idea what just fluttered to the floor. And I am personally afraid to remove it from the book because I know that little piece of paper will vanish like money in my pocket, and I'll have no idea when the book is due.

I also miss wall phones. They never got misplaced. You always knew right where they were, those dependable souls of yore. (I'd miss them more if I didn't still have one in my kitchen.)

I miss going to town where everybody knows my  name.

I miss the small stores, where somebody's mama or granddaddy owned it, and the wood floors smelled like dusting compound.

Speaking of, I miss that smell in the schools, along with the wood lockers that had nothing but a coat hook  and a shelf. Why in the world would you lock up your coat and books?

Well, someone did steal my purse in second grade. There was something far more valuable in it than mere lunch money, too. I had pulled a tooth and the teacher helped me carefully wrap it up and put it in my purse so the tooth fairy could visit that night.

My purse was found in the trash can out in front of the school. All my stuff was in there except my tooth.

I hope the thief developed gum disease.

Now, where was I?

I miss my house being the only one on the road, and it a tiny  little one lane dirt road, at that.

I miss Daughter being a little girl.

I miss Nephew being a little boy.

I miss me being young and unwrinkled.

I miss riding a bike.

I miss my grandparents something awful, even to this day.

I miss having time to be with friends while the band played on.

I miss my daddy.

I miss wringer washing machines. (Rolls on floor laughing)

I miss my old insurance company and benefits from last year.

I miss check ups at the dentist costing $3.00  THIS IS NOT A TYPO.

Sometimes, I even miss my job. (but never the bureaucracy)

And I really, really miss the good ways our country used to be.

I'm afraid that, like all the above, will never be again.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Things I Miss

Things I miss I had before I fell:

1. Being able to hear well without hearing aids
2. Being able to hear well with hearing aids
3. Being able to go barefoot
4. Being able to go sock footed
5. Being able to wear sandles
6. Being able to wear a belt
7. Being able to stand for long periods of time
8. Being able to walk for long periods of time
9. Being able to walk on hard surfaces
10.Being able to sit for long periods of time
11. Being able to lay around like a bum for long periods of time
12. Being able to be medication free
13. Being able to talk without word displacement (well, no worse than anyone else)
14. Being able to have any time without pain. Even five mintues would be nice.

I've had a hard day. Can you tell?

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

News from Around Here

This Just In!!

Man reports daughter is half mermaid

 "Me and the wife have knowed she always loved to stay in the bathtub and run all the hot water outta the hot water heater so's me and the wife ain't got warm water to take ar share in. And I don't like cold shares."

Upon further examination, it appears, according to the father, she has developed scales and the beginnings of fin like appendages. Wife and daughter both deny this.

He also claims that his wife has pied piper-like powers. "Cept it's with all them dang cats. Dog follers her everwhar, too." He says when she is out of sight they call her mournfully and barf on the carpet. "That's the devil to clean up." he says.

He also states that his wife has strange mental powers, knowing what he is going to say before he says it, knowing who is on the phone before she answers it, and successfully foretelling the ending to every mystery book he reads.   "Course, I always said she was from sommers else."

When asked what he meant by that remark, he claims he is pretty sure she's from another planet. "Like South Georgia."

When asked if he thought his wife's family was strange, he became suddenly closed mouth, citing "cornbread" as his inability to speak ill of his mother-in-law.

Further details will be forthcoming as this reporter engages in a full investigation.

Film, possibly, at eleven.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Talking to Myself...

I was on my knees, bent over the faucet in the bathtub washing my hair. I was thinking, and said aloud, "Oh, no!"

I didn't know anyone was around until I heard Husband say, "Do you need my help?"

I laughed and said no, I was talking to myself.

You see, it started out innocently enough. A name struck a chord within me and a short story evolved. At least I thought  it was a short story.

I had it all tied up neatly, a cute ending, everything just so.

And suddenly, the next day, while I was washing my hair, a second "chapter" if you will, started forming in my head.

Musta been cause I was turned upside down.

My just finished novel isn't even cold. It's in the proofing/editing process, not ready to offer as a sacrifice to my publisher yet.

And here I am, my brain hearing characters hollering around at each other in my poor head.

It's sort of like having a newborn and finding out you're pregnant again.

I'm not ready.

Like that  matters.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Touchy Subject

As afore mentioned, big old baby Husband is sick with a cold.

This may or may not have made him more touchy about his upcoming birthday next month.

You know, the one where he turns sixty-five.

We've had a devil of a time with our insurance, with him going on Medicare and all. It's aged me ten years dealing with them.

We didn't think much about the buzzard in our yard yesterday until Husband got mail from one of the local funeral homes with a "free gift" inside.

I knew something was up when he came back in the house from the mailbox muttering under his breath in his still croaky voice.

Please excuse the use of the word,"croaky".

He was saying, "Don't they know it's just a COLD?" and, "I'll outlive ever one of 'em!" and, "I'll shoot that buzzard out of the sky with  my slingshot!"

Who does he think he is, Dennis the Menace?

Anyway, I will tread gently the rest of the day.

I won't use words like "old" or "senile" or "codger".

Much.

Thursday, March 13, 2014

The Tooth Dentist

Over the span of my lifetime, I have heard a few people say, "I got to go to the tooth dentist."

Now, I don't know what other kind of dentist there is, but they were none too happy to be going there. I don't blame 'em, I never have liked it either.

When Daughter was entering puberty, a dental tech told her she'd have to have braces. That was news to me, as no dentist had ever said so.

Well, the dental tech was wrong. The dentist overheard the remark, and the tech got a dressing down. Then the dentist turned to me and said, "She will never have to have braces. Let me show you." She flipped on the x-ray box thingie and said, "See? She has your teeth. No braces."

Hmmmm. Fine by me.

Last time I had a check up, I had  no cavities.

For me, that's like saying I haven't aged in twenty years (shut up).

My teeth are nice looking, but my molars have always been easy to break off. Let's just say I have all caps back there now.

Daughter, on the other hand, has never had a cavity. I take credit for a lot of that, having washed her gums before she had teeth, brushed her "tooth", and starting flossing when she had two teeth.

I did the fluoride drops for her until she was age two, which they now say is VERY BAD. But then they were saying it was VERY GOOD.

You do the best  you can at the time.

My great-grandfather got a toothache when he was eighty-three.

He decided he better go to the dentist, because it was paining him bad.

On his very first trip to the dentist, he had an abscess. The dentist gave him antibiotics and told him to come back in ten days to have the tooth pulled, which he did.

Somehow or other they talked Papa into having an exam. That's hard to believe, since Papa was a pretty frugal (stingy) fella. But he had a complete exam, which found him cavity free.

At eighty-three.

As far as I know, he never returned to the dentist and died at eighty-seven with all his teeth, sans the one that was pulled, all cavity free.

Must be nice.

Maybe Daughter really got Papa's teeth, instead of mine.

He wasn't using them anymore, anyway.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Everybody Got The Cold

My cold started a few weeks ago. I am well  now, except for in the morning when I blow, hack, sneeze and cough.

Daughter is well except for a hacky cough.

But now, alas, dear Husband has a bad cold.

The end is near.

His throat hurts, his nose runs, he sneezes and coughs. He talks like a bullfrog.

He has taken to his bed, with the window blinds drawn, no less.

Perhaps I should call an ambulance?

Nah.

I just have to remember that I am woman. Daughter is woman.

 Husband is sick.

Need I say more?

I thought not.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

What You Hear Around the House

Daughter often says we engage in conversation at our house that surely no other house engages in.

I don't know if she's correct, but I do know we are, well, strange.

For instance: this morning I was trying to finish getting our income tax cra stuff ready to go, and Husband was puttering around in the garage, so he brought Molly (our American Bulldog) to me. Letting her off the leash, he closed the door.

Instead of flopping down to sleep as she usually does, she started rooting around. Now, if I had not been so frustrated and occupied, I probably would have investigated her behavior, but instead, all this was in the back of my mind.

Even when I heard her grunt and shake her head, then start licking, I didn't come up for air.

Until it happened again.

I then realized she was tripping  mouse traps and getting nipped in the nose. It hurt, I guess, but not enough to keep her from eating the cheese/peanut butter combo and going to the next one to do it all over again.

I hollered at her then, "Molly, what are  you doin?"
Husband: "What is she doin?"
Me: She's trippin the mouse traps and gettin' bit on the nose! But stupid Molly doesn't care! She's lickin the stuff offa 'em!"
Neighbors: "Should we call the police?"

I guess the neighbors might not know Molly is a dog.

I put the leash around her thick old neck and hauled her as  rear end outside. I unhooked the leash, looped it around the side  mirror on the truck, clipped it back to her collar and marched back to do the tax cra garbage.

She was looking at me like I felt.

Frankly, I'd rather be tied to the truck mirror than do tax cra stuff.

They say owners and their pets begin to look alike.

I reckon today is as good as any to start looking like Molly.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

When it is Hard to Let Go

Husband says he thinks I'm from a different planet. Not the  male/female thing, just that I'm, well, weird.

One of the things I am weird about is the dread I feel when I think about seasons changing.

Right now I am overly fond of the well worn quilt that graces my bed. It is dark in its colors, deep ruby and navy. It serves us well all winter, looking warm and cozy and ready to keep you snug throughout the cold night. Oh! And how it feels when I slip beneath it to be wrapped in the flannel sheets underneath the quilt. Between the two is a comforter that my grandmother crocheted out of heavy wool.

I love having a fire in the fireplace, or at least the idea that I can have one anytime I want to.

I love the throws I have throughout the house, ready for use.

I want just one more snow.

Then a day like today comes along. Stepping outside I was overcome with joy. Birds calling to one another, blooms bursting forth as though they couldn't stand it one more minute. I can actually feel the heat of the sun.

And my mind turns to getting out the summer comforter, its pale and flowered presence awaiting. I think of opening windows to let a warm breeze in before it gets too hot. I think of turning on ceiling fans, and visiting greenhouses for plants - flowers and food alike.

I love watching my porches turn from dull and barren to full of color - pots of flowers and plants, cushions in the wicker, and birds nesting behind things on the shelf.

Spring will turn into summer and the windows will close, the air conditioning turned on, and when dog days show up, I ain't so misty about them. I just praise the good Lord for the cool air he allows in my home and cars.

Do I hear an amen?

It's the only time of year I truly dislike the weather in Georgia.

But that's just for a few months. You  open your door one morning to see a sudden pink in the dogwood leaves, that first hint of fall. I feel anticipation returning, anxious for the splendid job God does every autumn.

I may dread the change, but once it occurs I embrace it: whether it's to shed winter, say good-bye to spring, or say hello to fall.

Maybe I'm  not so weird after all.

Friday, March 7, 2014

Going Back to School

Yesterday I read the children's book I wrote (and Husband so beautifully illustrated - if I don't say that, guess who will pout?) "The Crow and The Wind".

I read to the first grade in two different classes. May I say I haven't had that much fun in I don't know when!

I made sure each child had a book to hold, telling them if they took really good care of the book, I'd give them a little surprise at the end of class. Needless to say, the books came back as good as new. 

I loved watching them as I read. Their little heads were bowed, their pointer fingers following rapidly, underlining each word as I read it. 

After I finished the story, we went back to the front of the book and talked about some of the bigger words. (This is a middle school book, because of bigger words and symbolism) We talked about the significance of some of the pictures.

These kids asked some really intelligent questions. One little girl asked  how did we get the pages inside the book? I explained that a machine did it, not us. But it gave me the opportunity to talk about the process of creating a picture book. They  listened intently.

We talked about the reasons Crow has a tear on his face at one point in the story. You could tell how they identified with the boy in the story, and his goodness. You could see the alarm in their faces that the snake could have eaten Crow when he was a baby and had fallen from the nest. You could see them put themselves in the boy's place when he was saving Crow and putting  him back in the nest.

The last class thanked us, and wanted to give Husband pictures they  had drawn.

One little boy came up to me, solemn faced and said. "Thank you." I asked him did he want to write a story someday, and he said yes, but he couldn't write it yet. I said for him to keep using his imagination, and in a short time he could start writing them down. I told him I wasn't able to write a short story until I was in fifth grade, because it got easier for me to write down my ideas then. He nodded his head, as serious as ever. 

But the funniest thing that happened was at the end of the second class. I was handing out "The Crow and The Wind" bookmarks, (their surprise) for them to take home. For some reason, one of the bookmarks had my name and telephone number written on the back. The little girl to whom it was handed brought it back, a frown on her face.

I apologized and told her I'd swap it for a "clean" one. One of the little boys was watching and stepped up. Eagerly, he said he'd swap with her, he wanted that one.
Suddenly the one with my name and number became a hot item, and she decided to keep it.

As we chatted with the adults in the room before we left, a strange thing took place.
We looked at the suddenly quiet children. They all were at their tables, bookmarks turned over, each child carefully copying down my name and phone number on the back of their bookmarks. 

My brother suggested there would be a suspicious parent wanting to know what their child was doing with some stranger's name and number on the back of a bookmark.

 I imagined the GBI showing up with a Fox 5 camera behind them.

"Well, hey, Head of GBI," I would say, "Is your wife (my friend) with you? No? Um, say, what's the TV camera doing behind you?"

Well, that didn't happen.

I didn't get any phone calls either.

Maybe tonight. 

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Ah-Choo!

I have a bad cold.

Has anyone ever had a good cold?

I thought not.

So why call them bad colds? I mean, they  are,  of course, but if there is no other kind, why bother?

I haven't had a cold in years.

But now I have the snotty, sniffy, snorty, sneezy kinda thing goin' on.

And I have graciously shared it with Daughter.

You know how they start - sore throat. It hurts. You think you might die. Then the sore throat mysteriously goes away, and you think, Cured!

Then you sneeze. And start to feel fuzzy headed.

The rest is history.

It's an aggravation, for sure.

But I have been worse, even had worse bad colds.

So I won't complain.

Much.

Monday, March 3, 2014

Where Do All My Great Ideas Come From?

You ask.

Let me tell you:

If you ever think about starting a blog, and need some great ideas, I know where you can get several.

Your spam folder in your e-mail.

For instance, today I got one entitled: 'Naked pictures of people you know!'

No offense to those I love, but I could not think of one single solitary person that I know, even vaguely, whom I would like to see naked.

Much less a picture. Seriously? 

What are these people thinking?

They obviously don't know anybody I know, or they wouldn't even suggest such an idea.

Which shows you it's spam, for real. Claiming to know folks I know. Pffft.

The very idea.

And, speaking of ideas, see how I get my ideas for blogs from my spam folder in my e-mail?