Say What?

You may have already seen the news article that has left me speechless.

I am gobsmacked.

A dead female body was discovered under a bed in a hotel. It appears to have been there about five years. That's right.Half a decade.

And nobody noticed??

I, even I, Queen of the Unclean, would have noticed. (Okay, I'm not queen. Probably don't even qualify for anyone in the court, because I have seen some houses, if you know what I mean...but I thought it sounded good.)

Have you ever NOT looked under the bed in a hotel or motel? Really? We always do because we lose junk and want to make sure it ain't under there.

So, let me get this straight.

For five freaking years, no cleaning person looked under the bed.

For five years, no customer looked under the bed.

The guy who found the body said he dropped the TV remote and couldn't find it, so he looked under the bed and found the body.

The police pulled the hotel records for the past five years, and there are right at 1,000 complaints about that room - first about the bad smell - (ya think?) then about an eerie feeling, so strong that some folks even demanded a different room in the middle of the night.

No joke.

One of the cleaning ladies said she complained about the smell for a long time and management told her to spray FreBreeze.

Why didn't she look under the bed?

Management says they don't clean under the beds, it is a waste of time. The maids are instructed to vacuum around the edges of the bed and "sanitize" the room.

RIGHT. Sanitize.

Just ignore the DEAD ROTTING BODY UNDER THE BED.

For crying out loud.

Down By The River Side

Walking by the river this morning was glorious.

The temperature was perfect - like in the Three Bears story - not too cold, not too hot, but just right.
The sky was as blue as blue can get, with light fluffy clouds drifting about. The ground was soft and easy to walk on. The river is full and makes such a pleasant sound, I wanted to close my eyes while I walked.

The trees are really large; a few, I'm sure, have been there longer than the white man.

And suddenly I realized this is what we were created for. The Earth.

Not cell phones, TV's, computers or even houses. But the Earth. Outdoors. Nature.

You remember The Garden, don't you?

I now wonder if Adam and Eve even had a house....

I Don't Get Out Much

Outside, I mean.

Husband told me there was a Hummingbird Moth out in our yard just at dusk, and I rushed out to find absolutely nothing.

I didn't know any such thing even existed until I was in my late forties, and we saw one in our yard, thinking it was a hummingbird, until it let us get close. When we got really close, we realized it was a faker.

It was fuzzy and not shaped like a bird, but like a moth.

However; it moved exactly like a hummingbird, flitting, beating its wings rapidly to stay in the air, dipping into the flower quickly and back out....it was almost unbelievable to me.

We don't see them every year, and Daughter doesn't remember the other time.

So we are going to be on lookout for the little faker in our front  yard tomorrow as soon as it starts to head toward dusk.

I'll keep  you posted.

Garden Variety

A friend said to me yesterday that there was a certain thrill about pulling up something to eat from the ground, for free, and being able to eat it.

She's right.

Today, we had fresh green beans and tomatoes from the garden.

The satisfaction of seeing them, picking them, cleaning them up and preparing them is a very peaceful emotion that goes all the way to the bone.

It's a sad thing and most of society has gotten away from the earth, where everything comes from the store and trees and grass are in the park.

It seems that in the last few years there has been a resurgence of gardening, though. Most of my friends are suddenly planting big gardens, where twenty years ago they wouldn't have dreamed of such a thing.

And it isn't about aging and retiring. It seems there is something in the air - almost a feeling of warning.

Sort of like you better figure out how to feed you and yours.

It isn't mass hysteria, it isn't fear. It seems to be calm and directional, but I can't say more than that.

Anyway, I have dusted off my overalls and hoe and have gone to work.

Just ask Husband.

More Company!

Nancy from Broken Arrow arrives tomorrow and will spend the night with us. I worked with Nancy approximately one hundred years ago, and we have stayed friends regardless of where she decides to live. (One never knows.)

I've become a lot more relaxed about company than I used to be, mainly because I can't do squat and depend on Husband and Daughter to clean.

So, I figure what gets done, gets done, and what doesn't - well - you 've read my list.

Maybe I can dazzle her with funny jokes and good food.

She probably doesn't care.

I mean, do you visit with wondering how clean the top of the refrigerator is? Or if they dusted under the bed?

You do?

Wow.

Well, maybe I can just always visit your house.

I'll brag about the state of the top of your fridge.

Incidents of Childhood

I probably have more memories of Daughter's childhood than she does.

She remembered the blizzard for years, even though she wasn't near her third birthday yet. But at around age six, the memory faded.

I noticed a lot of her baby/toddler memory bit the dust as soon as she got all busy with readin and writin and rithmatic. It has something to do with the alpha state going away (except just before sleep).

I thought she might have some remnant memory of the blizzard as we were walking in the middle of it, trying to get to a neighbor's house. It was usually a two minute walk, but took us twenty that time.

She doesn't remember insisting on climbing up a huge slide "all by herself" at around the age of three. She got to the top, looked down and started screaming,  "Somebody help me!" Of course, Husband scurried up the ladder to the rescue.

She kinda remembers being turned loose and allowed to wallow like the piglet she was at heart. It had come a huge rain, the mud puddle was a big un, and she was looking at it longingly. This was when no one lived on our road but us and the road was a dirt trail. I found some clothes she had worn out and out grown and set her free. I hosed her down before she came in the house, and put the clothes in the trash.

She doesn't remember breaking her collar bone, for which I'm grateful. Lord knows I remember that enough for both of us.

I've saved letters to Santa, letters to the Tooth Fairy and even letters to me.

I  have a journal that I've kept a lot of the funny and strange things she said growing up. I'm so glad I did, because a lot of them would be lost to the past if I hadn't written them down.

And of course Husband has taken a gazillion pictures of her - to the point that she knew to pose before she could sit up by herself.

I think for most of us, our childhood memories are a lot of warm, fuzzy pictures in our minds. Not whole memories, but just here and there a snippet.

For me, a lot of my memories are of something either very special - like being waked up and toted to the front door to see the huge snow - or something dark and scary beyond my control.

But I have some that seem insignificant, too.

Wonder what makes the decision in our brains to keep certain memories on file, so to speak, and to put the others way back in the unreachable recesses.

Although, a certain smell, or conversation, or picture can bring something back vividly that we didn't realize was there.

Humans: We are a mystery, aren't we?

Your Multi-talented Blogger, Right Here

Those of you who know me personally know I am multi-talented.

No, really. It's true, even though it makes me blush furiously to say it myself.

It's so embarrassing, I wish you were here to say it for me.

Anyway, I have a talent I bet almost, if maybe none of you, know I have.

I can laugh like Woody Woodpecker.

That's right.  I'll give you a moment to digest this wonder. You may ask me to perform any time  you see me. I won't let you down.

Now, I do admit that this particular talent doesn't come in handy as often as some of my other more glorious ones.

But yesterday I got to have playtime with my almost three year old great nephew. He has a birthday very soon, and I was asking his mama what he was interested in at the moment so we could buy a present he would enjoy.

She named several characters that children his age usually like, and one that he is presently fascinated with is Woody Woodpecker.

I waited until his back was turned, took a deep breath and did my thang. Mother and Niece cracked up. Great-Nephew turned slowly, a serious look on his face and deadpanned, "Whoa." No exclamation point.
Then he looked at his mama and grinned.

"Who was that?" She asked him.

"Man Pecker." (That's what he said.) All of us got pretty hysterical, but afterward his mama told us she knew that's what he called old Woody, but didn't want to spoil the surprise. She's asked him  not to say his name in public.

But, dang it.

I was upstaged by a three year old.

Just another day, I reckon.

Making A List And Checking It Twice

I was checking all my lists - I have a chore list that has everything that everyone needs to do. This list never gets completed.

No matter what.

There are all sorts of excuses  reasons for this - the weather, the mood, the ability of the day, time, and the big one: Laziness.

Procrastination drives me crazy. Even when I do it. But it happens quite often. I've found the more time you have to do stuff, the less stuff gets done.

So, I should have called a certain book store weeks ago. Still haven't.

Husband should have painted the numbers on the house for our address, but still hasn't.

Etc.

I have some mending that needs to be. There is a wonderfully talented woman who can do it. I just need to call her, pick a time and take my stuff. This has been needing done for months.

Are there other slugs out there with this dilemma? 


Is there a pall of lethargic, apathetic, fuzzy brained dullards out there that are nodding their heads yes, oh,yes as they read?

I am afraid so, Dear Reader.

We have met the dullards and they are us.

Handwriting Analysis

Do ya'll remember the little German woman, Dr. Ruth Westheimer? She was on the radio, a psychiatrist I think. She talked about sex all the time and that got her on the television talk show circuit. Everyone called her "Dr. Ruth".

She was bordering on elderly at the time, and called herself a sexologist. She had a heavy German accent, which made her the perfect psychiatrist, of course. (At least to the media)

I looked her up, and as best I can tell, she is still living at age 86.

This makes me sad because I said she was "bordering on elderly" before I looked her up. In the 1980's she would have been in her fifties and that ship has now sailed for me.

I need a moment of silence.

Perspective really is everything.

Anywho, She became so popular, that she had her own greeting card line. They were funny and she wrote a little note on the inside, using her own handwriting.

So, one day I am browsing through greeting cards looking for one for Husband and I run across these. Thinking it would be funny to send him one, as we were both in the mental health field, I opened it up to read the text and I almost dropped my Dr. Freud talking doll.

Her handwriting is exactly like Husband's.

I kid you not.

Let me know what you think about that.

What do I think, you ask?

Well, for once, I was speechless.

Still am, for that matter.

This N That

I been stringin beans. It's been 'specially difficult because they are cookin on the stove whilst I string 'em.

No, I didn't see a new method on Pinterest. For some reason, no matter how many times I look 'em, no matter how many times I sift and stare as I rinse the beans, there are always strings in the cooking pot.

Why is that?

Now, I cook beans for a long time on top of the stove because I don't have a pressure cooker. You wouldn't either if you'd had Kate for a grandmother. Trust me on this.

One time she was pressuring green beans and got to talkin to Mertis on the phone, (which, back then was connected by cord to the wall; you didn't walk around when you talked) and lost track of time. When the pressure cooker blew up, and it certainly did, good sized beans had shot out through that teeny tiny hole on top of the cooker and had embedded themselves in the ceiling.

She thought it was funny. My granddaddy, not so much. I guess he's the one who paid for repairs. It had to be done; embedded green beans in the kitchen ceiling is just not attractive.

This wasn't the only time she blew stuff up; but it is the most memorable.

I swore off pressure cookers as a child.

Another thing: when you have been married a long time,  you have conversations like Husband and I had earlier today:

Husband sang a line of a song (of course several hours have passed and I don't remember which song exactly).

Anyway, I said, "I can just hear that guy singing that."

Husband: "Andy Williams?"

Me: "No, Steve somebody."

Husband: "Oh, Robert Goulet!"

Me: "That's him!"

I've also inferred or blatantly said that husband is absent minded. The following is a shining example.

Some weeks ago lightning struck something that we thought was the router to the computer, so Husband purchased another one. That didn't help, so Husband called Computer Man. When the symptoms were described he said it was the modem and we needed to call the phone company to get it replaced.

Which we did.

Two weeks ago, lighting again struck something to do with our computers.

Before I go further, yes, yes, yes, we have a surge protector.

Let me tell you what the lightning says here at the end of the power line on the ridge of this mountain. It says, "Ha to you, surge protector!" That's what lightning says.

This time it was the router.

But we had outsmarted Mother Nature! We had a brand spankin new one! Ha!

Husband hurried to the box he had carefully marked "NEW WI-FI ROUTER" so it would be easy to locate.

And, as  you probably already know, the router wasn't in the box.

Husband looked "everywhere"(I know, obviously not everywhere), but couldn't find it.

I tried to be kind. I tried to not point out we had JUST purchased it. I tried to not ask how could he lose something that thoroughly that quickly.

Night before last I was out in the studio waiting my turn at my computer because Daughter was using it for "just a minute". My computer is the only one directly connected to the modem or some such nonsense. There's always a line waiting, sort of like in a women's public restroom.

I happen to glance down at Husband's desk. And sitting there, right in front of the monitor, was the Wi-Fi router. Just sitting there. Nothing hiding it. Nothing.

I walk back in the house and casually hand it to Husband and ask, "What's this?" All innocent like.

His face lit up. I almost didn't have the heart to tell him where it was. I said almost. But I didn't gloat. I didn't complain. I just asked him to hook stuff up.

He did.

Now, this next little story: Is it passive aggressive behavior or just that absent minded thing again?

Other Brother called to talk and the subject matter was interesting to Husband apparently, as he was  eavesdropping. I was walking around, chatting and rambled on out to the back porch. Husband followed me, listening.

After a few minutes, Husband decided he'd heard enough and went back in the house, closing the door behind him. I heard a click. He'd locked me out of the house!

I banged on the door, while Other Brother said, "You both need keepers."

Husband came to the door, saying he forgot. Forgot? Hmmmm.

Passive aggressive behavior or absent mindedness.

You decide, Dear Reader. You decide.

How to Get Ready For Company

Since I recently had a guest who stayed several days (well, she was sorta a guest), I feel I am an expert on this subject.

Let me preface this list by saying it goes without saying that clean sheets on the guest's bed is a given.

1. Shave your legs. Mark off plenty of time.  If you don't know what I mean, you are either male or a a very young female.

2. Make sure all cat hair is removed with a lint brush (giant size) on sofa (all surface), arm chair, (ditto) and foot of your own bed, just in case guest lays sideways for a bedtime chat.

3. Make sure Husband obeys and goes to dump.

4. Make sure Daughter obeys and empties litter box. Twice.

5. Have plenty of southern type groceries on hand. (A whole lot, if your guest is like my guest. HA!)

6. Ask the good Lord for perfect weather.

7. Make plans to do stuff, then hurt your back and not do any of them.

8. Make a joyful noise. By this I mean talk half the night, get up talking and don't shut up until guest is out the door a week later. It's never enough.

9. Try to remember all the stuff for a whole year.

10. Shave your legs. Again.

Bean Fixin

Fixin beans with a man ain't as satisfyin as when you are fixin with a woman. I can't rightly say why, but that's just the way of it.

For one thing, men don't do as gooder a job as a woman, but I reckon that's a different subject.

Today I trussed myself up in a straight chair to help, not wantin to undo the chiropractor's delicate and possible temporary job on my back.

But Husband had picked the beans yesterday, and they had to be fixed.

Daughter was doin housework while Husband and I commenced stringin beans. But the lure of the chore: the smell, the sound, the generational pull of fixin beans drew her nigh. She came with her pan and knife and set in.

Conversation began.

Beans got fixed.

Women talked and were satisfied, somehow.

You know, that deep contented satisfaction  you get with beans in your lap, the fan blowin on you, a cat in the floor watchin with keen eye, thinkin on how to nab just one bean...

Yes sir, that kind.

May of made my back hurt a little worse, but my heart sure did feel better.

On Books

Do you ever read a book, wherein the heroine and hero are thrown into the air by the blast of a bomb and sorta wish they don't make it so the book will hurry up and end?

Sigh.

I've just finished two good books, one really good.

"The Brethren" by John Grisham is a good book. I enjoyed it.

But "Jerusalem Gap" by T. R. Pearson is a great book. I loved every word. He knows just how to turn a phrase, how to make you smile and wish the book was longer.

I have the latest Diana Gabaldon in my clutches, and will start it tonight.

However; the one I just finished was not good. Daughter could have done better - heck, I could have done better - when we were in grammar school. It's obviously one of those "outline" books. A person is given an outline and they follow it.

Wish they wouldn't.

I was suckered into reading it because it was about twins. And once I started, I didn't want to stop because I was already in bed and in too much discomfort to get up in search of something better.

That'll teach me.

Anyway, I love books, both reading and writing them.

If you have any books  you  love dearly and would like to share the title so I can read it too, please do!

Well, off to rest my back.

Boy, There's A Lot Of Weather Out There

Okay, ya'll.

If you live within fifty miles of me, raise your hand.

If you heard it thunder today, raise your hand.

If you heard it thunder yesterday, raise your hand.

If you've heard it thunder every day that your pitiful, moldy, water clogged, short term memory can drum up, raise your  hand.

I live in the jungle, so I don't have the benefit of a rainbow. (Sad face here.)

But I know one's out there, right now.

The sun  is shining and it's raining.

The devil is beating his wife.

 I wonder if she has an umbrella to fend him off.

I also wonder - oh, wait - I hear thunder, again.

Gotta go unplug.

Until tomorrow.

Feet, Back and Other Woes

This week has been a bad un.

I've had a doozie with my back, crying like the big old baby I really am. Between that and Daughter with her hurt foot, it's been the lame leading the lame. I threatened Husband that he dare not get so much as a hang nail, or else the boat would surely sink.

Although he has took to hidin out in the woods, he is yet to become puny or injured.

And, by the way, crying like I did caused a lot of amazing things to happen. If I hadn't been so embarrassed about the crying, I could get  used to being waited on hand and foot and having a very clean  house.

The cats have enjoyed me being abed a lot, they like to be there anyway, and have enjoyed the company.

Daughter and I have had some together time as I've taped her foot, or she's had to sit while icing it down.

I guess there's an upside to everything.

Umbrellas

Daughter has been on an archaeological dig into the deep, dark jungle of her closet.

One of the things she has unearthed is a Sponge Bob puzzle tablet.

Daughter is twenty-four years old.  It's been a few years since old Sponge Bob has been a favorite.

Another thing she found was an umbrella. Now, this umbrella is the one I took everywhere for years while I worked. It is of medium size and each panel is a different color. Pink, green, blue and purple. Sounds ugly, but they are muted tones and not too hard on the eyes.

Apparently, Daughter borrowed this umbrella one day. For those of you who have children, you know what this means.

That's right. The umbrella mysteriously disappeared years ago, found yesterday in Daughter's closet.

What a shock.

If one were to look at my family's sad collection of umbrellas, one would think we were homeless.

The aforementioned umbrella has a small tear in one of the panels because the wire rod is broken. Not bad, I thought. I mean, it could still keep you dry.

We have three little umbrellas. A pink one, a green one, and a black one. I bought them so each car would  have an umbrella always located in the pocket of the door. The pink and green straggle brokenly when you open them up, but if it ain't raining too awfully hard, it'll get ya in the door fairly dry. The black one is currently misplaced.

We have a black one that has a duck handle. It's only broken in the back, so if you hold it close, the front does the job.

We have a lovely umbrella with a carved rabbit's head on the end. It is broke all to heck and back. It can no longer be used, AT ALL, which is what I keep telling Husband. He tries anyway.

Then I have THE umbrella. It is huge. Its panels are a print of a Monet painting. The handle is J shaped and a fine, pale wood.

NO one, I tell you, no one, is allowed to use this umbrella but ME. Not Husband. Not Daughter. Not little old ladies who are going to catch a cold from crossing the street in the rain because they got caught in an unexpected downpour.

Nope.

No how.

So, if this umbrella goes missing, there is no telling what I will do.

But first, I'll look in Daughter's closet.

This Little Piggy Went To Market

I  had fallen asleep last night for twenty minutes when my back woke me up. I've been  having "worser" trouble than usual for a few days, so I wasn't surprised, just aggravated.

I took a "half a pill" and went back to bed. So, I was reading when Daughter came in the room, hobbling, white as a sheet and crying. "Mama, I hurt my foot."

I looked down and she had certainly hurt her foot. I told her to lie down across my bed and hollered for Husband, who was still downstairs.

The Little Piggy that cried wee wee wee all the way home had a reason to cry. On Daughter's right foot, that particular piggy was sticking straight out, over the edge of her foot, as though the other piggies had pushed it.

We got ice, taped her toe back together with its siblings and made her eat crackers so she could take a whopping dose of ibuprofen.

She called the doctor this morning and was given a four o'clock appointment. Then they called back and changed it to eleven thirty. The time of that call was ten fifty, and Husband was gone to town in her car. Our car is in the shop, plus I don't think it was wise for she or myself to try driving. So the doctor's office changed it to three fifteen, then called right back and said it would be Wednesday before she could be seen!

We immediately called another doctor Daughter had used, and that office couldn't see her until tomorrow at four.

I know the emergency room will take three or four hours.

So, she settled for tomorrow.

The funeral of one of our long time doctors, who passed away this weekend, is this afternoon. I suppose all the offices are closing and attending the service, which I think only right and proper.

But I wish The Poor Little Piggy hadn't slammed up against the door frame.

Maybe tomorrow we'll find out if he's broken or if he just got his snout out of joint.

Meanwhile, ibuprofen, here we come.

Goodbye...For Now

They say all good things must come to an end.

And I guess they do.

Until next year,

Goodbye, my Yankee Cousin.

I love you!

Well, She Tried

After a second conversation with Yankee Husband, Yankee Cousin took advise and decided to call the airport this morning to see if she could get her flight changed from tomorrow to Sunday.

Of course, there was a recording saying the wait was longer than usual because of the hurricane causing travel issues.

So, she held for a looonnng time.

Then she got an automated voice. It asked her from where was she departing. "Atlanta." It asked again. "Atlanta." Again. Since it hadn't understood her, she used southern (well, her idea of southern). "Atlanna."
Again.  Finally she screamed "ATLANTA." and it took it.

The voice asked her destination and she hollered, "INDIANA!"

Then the voice said, "I think I heard to you say Mexico to Rome. Is that right?"

"NO!  NO!"

I was rolling around on the kitchen floor. Well, metaphorically, anyway.

After a whole bunch longer, she got a real, live, harried person.

Who said "Sure, I can change your ticket from tomorrow to Sunday. It will be a little over $200.00."

Uh, say what?

Well, adios.

Tomorrow.

What Day Is It Anyway?

Well, foot.

Yankee Cousin talked to her Yankee Husband. At the end of this Yankee filled conversation, she said, "I'll see you Sunday." And he said, "Don't you mean Saturday?" and she said, "No, Sunday," and he said...well, you get the picture.

It culminated in Yankee Cousin actually, you know, looking at her plane ticket and comparing the date with our handy dandy wall calendar.

She's leaving Saturday. And, man, we had plans through Sunday! This is a huge disappointment.

I feel gypped. I feel cheated. I feel sad. I feel....well, you get the  picture again.

We did play out the scenario where we dropped her off at the airport on Sunday as planned and drove off. And she had no plane trip to take.

Of course, it's not so dramatic with cell phones.

However; if you are a compulsive liar writer, like me, your imagination can go all sorts of ways with the what ifs.

It's times like these we are to count our blessings. Just be glad she got to come, that we got to spend seven days together.

Not eight.

Just seven.

Hijacked!

I'm sure all of you have missed me desperately.  Once again, Mother Nature caused havoc to fall upon our Internet connection.  I have been without since early Monday morning, when lighting hit our modem and Wi-Fi.

Finally, we are back to the land of the living.

Unfortunately, even though I now have Internet, Yankee Cousin has hijacked the blog site and you are forced to read whatever she deems necessary.

Good Luck!

Yes, I am Yankee Cousin and have decided to give Kathi, my Georgia Cousin a new name.  She will from here now on and forever be known as Southern Belle. (Insert eye roll form Southern Belle)

Southern Belle is tall, blonde and graceful; she can play the piano, sings like an angel and, as you all know, write.

Me Yankee Cousin, is short dark and outdoorsy. It was suggested to me that I write about my tennis playing but that would be embarrassing, meaning I'm no good! I like the outdoors, backpacking, and canoeing.  So as you can see, Southern Belle and I are complete opposites, but could not be closer.

Our childhood summers were spent together, spending nights with each other, swimming, and the longest walks imaginable.  We were both readers, and that included me reading whatever she had written over the winter months.  As of today, we have not shut up.  We can never catch up, talk is more important than anything while we are together.

We solve all the world's problems, because when you put two great minds together, all the solutions are obvious and doable.

What I treasure about Southern Belle:  her faith in Jesus Christ that mirrors my own, her hospitality, sense of humor, and she's a great cook.  The time I spend with her is never enough;  it's time to leave and I just got here.  How could time go by so quickly?  I'm already planning my next visit, which is my birthday, Christmas and Mother's Day present, and well worth it!

I hope she knows how much I cherish her.

From,

Yankee Cousin

*The opinions stated in this blog are not necessarily those of the establishment. Thank you.