Eeny Meeny Chili Beanie, Happy Happy Halloweeny

Thinking back on my own childhood Halloween trick or treat excursions, I am amazed that I don't remember one single costume I wore.

It seems they were always purchased at the dime store, and had scratchy outfits to match the sweaty, plastic masks.

Generally, I had to wear a coat over the mess, anyway.

In early years, I was given a big brown paper sack to fill up. It never entered my mind to decorate it up.

Later, either as my parents became more prosperous or somebody had a great idea, I had a plastic pumpkin or bright orange bucket to hold out.

But I do remember many of Daughter's costumes: Mini Mouse, a cat, a clown, a Pink Power Ranger. And then came the years of a princess, a princess and of course, another princess. This year she was Mario from the video game.

I've seen a snowy Halloween or two, and tonight they are saying we are going to have another one. Up to an inch or so.

We'll see.

If so, I can't wait to use the fireplace for the first time this season.

Anyway, take a moment to think back on the magical, exciting times you might have had. A time when it was an innocent thing to trick or treat and not fraught with evil or demons or fear of razor blades in your Red Delicious.

Keep warm,  ya'll.

When Disappointment Knocks

When someone promises you something, and they don't follow through, it hurts. There is also anger, disappointment and other emotions that may hit you, willy nilly, for days, weeks, months or even years.

You know the kind I'm talking about. Someone you believe in, someone you trust, fails you. They make a promise, then they break it. 

And that breaks your heart.

Oh, Amazon.com, how far you have fallen in my eyes.

They promised, dang it, that my bicycle horn would be here yesterday. Just in time for the costume I was wearing last night.

Has it even come yet, a day later, I ask you? 

Why, no. No it hasn't.

But they say a picture is worth a thousand words:

                     A Sad Harpo Marx who has no bicycle horn.

But life goes on. 

I reckon.

Exasperating Expiration Dates

Expiration dates are a big deal around this house.

Daughter is nearly a freak about the whole thing, taking the dates as the absolute gospel. I tell her when she wants to start buying all that food she thinks should be thrown out, she can throw it out. I remind her I ain't poisoned her yet, and don't intend to, unless she keeps up the blather about the expiration dates.

Husband, who eats like a pig at slop, is finicky about some stuff. I just ignore him. If he doesn't want to eat it, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, he won't starve.

I am extremely careful about certain foods, like meat. I make sure it looks good, smells good, etc. before I cook it. I make sure it is stored well, and if it gets lost in the freezer for too long, out it goes.

When milk reaches its 'best buy by' date, I start the old sniff and sip before gulping. Let me point out that except for Dog Days, milk is usually good several days after that date. After all, as I have pointed out to Daughter ad nauseam, it says best sell by, not best drink by.

I've tried to explain that some things may lose their fizz or their punch. They aren't poison, just flat. And if you must drink it, it's okay, but if you have something else, pour that flat drink down the drain.

Same goes for stale cookies and crackers. They ain't gonna kill you, but they taste blah.

So, I was reading an article about how to keep food for as long as possible. What not to freeze or refrigerate, what to store in plastic, what not to, etc.

And they agreed that the expiration dates for many things aren't when it goes bad.

Some things last months after the date, some years.

Apparently canned and dried beans are with us, lo, even until the end of the earth.

It warns about discoloration in certain oils may mean it's rancid, and who needs that when frying chicken?

But the most interesting thing is honey. Now, I already knew that honey is the 'perfect food' and that it never ruins.

I did not know that they had found pots of honey when they excavated some Egyptian tombs, and it was well preserved and ready to put on a good old Egyptian biscuit.

It seems it never goes bad because of an enzyme in the honey bee's tummy that kills bacteria, apparently forever.

Can you imagine having a party and putting that Egyptian pot of honey on the table and encouraging your guests to eat it?

I'm with Daughter on this one.

Valuables

Many of us, and, being where we live, maybe even most of us, have things that belonged to somebody in our family's past.

I have a rose bush in my yard that was in my great-great-grandmother's yard (a woman I never knew) and possibly even in her mother's yard.

I have quilts, dishes, knick knacks, my great-grandmother's hat, (Daughter is wearing it on the front cover of my book, "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree") and even a piece or two of furniture from my grandparents.

But one of the things I value the most is this:

This is a jar of my Papa's marbles. He was my great-grandfather. When he was a little boy, back in the 1800's, the children would roll out clay dirt into little balls, and then bake them in the wood cook stove.

He knew I loved marbles. I collected as many as I could, always purchasing the five cent bag at the store when I could afford it.

One day, he just happened to remember he still had some of his old marbles, and he gave them to me.

They sit in honor in my living room, a testament to childhood.

My Papa's, and mine.

Makin' a List

Plants brought in from porches: Check

Firewood for fireplace: Check

Pilot light lit on gas logs in fireplace in sun room: Check

Flannel sheets, Granny's crocheted spread and quilt on bed: Check

Socks, leggings, wool pants, undershirts, sweatpants, sweatshirts, sweaters, long skirts ready to wear: Check

Pantry full of canned goods: Check

Antique generator still cranking: Check

Good books, soft pillows and lamp light: Check

Willing Hubby to cuddle: Check

Brang it on!

Today's the Day

Today is the day I meet with my publisher to hopefully do the grand finale before sending my new book, "The Year of Nine: Where the Rain Begins" to print.

Who knows?

I've tried to just tell myself I have done my job. The words are finished.

I know we have to work on the cover today, and maybe we can say, "Yes!" and I can turn it loose.

It's not as nerve wracking as it was with my first book. I am more at ease. But it is still an adventure, and one I look forward to.

I hope ya'll will love it, or at least like it a little bit.

But if you don't, be gentle.

That's my heart you're messin with.

All In A Day's Work

Yesterday afternoon I went to a book signing. I had talked to the lady over the phone and had her book, so I was anxious to get her to sign it. She had also mentioned she wanted my books.

She signed hers, I gave her a copy of "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree" and she purchased a copy of "Signs from God".

We promised that we would give each other a copy of our new books coming out, and I hurried away to speak at night school at a life skills course.

A friend had asked me to do this, given my old mental health experience, and as I hadn't done anything like that in a long time, (say 13 years or so) I agreed.

The book signing was like having on my new dress. Exciting and shiny.

Talking and listening in a group setting to several young ladies was like slipping into warm, comfortable pajamas. All the skills and intuitive stuff came right back, as though I'd last done a group the day before.

I enjoyed both events, felt fulfilled by both of them.

Ain't it strange how we are who we are for however long we are here on this old earth?

Wouldn't mind doing either one again.

But I will say this: the group wrung me out, as though I'd worked twelve hours instead of an hour and a half. And of course, I paid for it with a good deal of pain from sitting that long.

It felt good, though, to know I had done some good.

The first task was for me. The second for them.

A good day, I'd say.

ARRGHHHHH!!!!

Today was one of those days where everywhere you go, everyone you see is all messed up.

Daughter was going for a flu shot. We got there just as they opened back up from lunch, and already three people were ahead of us. (Did they just sit in the waiting room through lunch, or what?) We knew we didn't have time to wait, because Daughter had a doctor's appointment across town (sorta). We got there with five minutes to spare and waited for 35 minutes in the waiting room. This, I don't like.

They called her back and she put on paper clothes and sat there, freezing for 35 minutes. This, I like even less.

The doctor had forgotten why Daughter was there and had to run back and forth to get what she needed.

By the time we got outta there, we were near starvation. It was too late to get the flu shot.

After we ate, it was too late to do the other errand.

It took forever at the restaurant, the guy who waited on us apologized (because they weren't that busy) and said something was going on back in the kitchen.

Daughter thought she saw one of the guys who works at the funeral home come out of the kitchen, but she was mistaken.

I still felt kind of funny about my steak.

So I came home an aggravated, disgusted, hurting and tired woman.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

Get it together, will you people?

Bringin In the Sheaves

There are many things I love about the fall. I love the changing colors, the cooler temperatures, the way the light changes and how it looks early in the morning and early evening.

What I don't love is bringing in plants off the porches.

Every year I talk myself into believing that I don't have as many as the year before and it will be a piece of cake to get them in.

Lord, help.

It is, of course, Husband's fault. He started with a bromeliad or two, and now we have fifteen or so. When he purchased them, he was told they were verrry valuable, because when the mother plant produced a baby, she died.

HA.

Our mothers have two or three babies and seldom kick the bucket.

It is my suspicion that bromeliad heaven is pretty empty because they are still here, producing madly.

Since they are so verrrry valuable, Daughter will be rich in her inheritance. By the time we die, she should have so many it will be impossible to walk through the house.

Most of the plants I purchased this year were caladiums, which I never bring inside, nor do I save the tubers for next year. They begin to droop in October and I toss 'em.

I purchased one fern.

We have moved plants for two days! The sun room looks like a jungle, which is supposed to be good for you, isn't it? I hope we didn't bring in too many spiders, but you never know. We've also brought in lizards.

Anyway, I thought I'd just drop by and whine a little. I ain't able to do anything else.

Not today, anyway.

Fond Memories

Looking back over memory making as a family, I can think of a lot of things:
We have taken Daughter to the zoo, the circus, the aquarium, the fair, the ocean, a virgin forest. We've eaten at the Dixie Stampede, she's  been on a cruise ship, a motor boat and a paddle boat. We've eaten at great restaurants, seen plays and gone to concerts. She's been on a hay ride, gathered eggs, petted sheep, ridden horses and sat on an elephant. We've been inside butterfly houses, old mansions, beautiful churches and wide open spaces.

But one of  my fondest memories comes from a few days without electricity after an ice storm.

It was getting dark, and the electricity still was off, so we dragged Daughter's double mattress down the stairs and put it in the floor, up against the couch in front of the fireplace. 

As the three of us lay there, we talked. We'd left one lantern on, and it made a circle of light upon the ceiling. 

Somebody did a dog shadow puppet within the circle of light, and the next thing you know, a show began.

Now, I am a strict amateur. I can do close to nothing when it comes to shadow puppets. Daughter was surprisingly adept.

Ah, but Husband stole the show, hands down. (No pun intended). As you know, he is an artist. He sketches and paints and given a lump of clay can make a bulldog's scowling face or an ancient oil lamp from Roman times.

Talk about being able to work with your hands: bears, giraffes, elephants, dogs, butterflies, birds, trees, a peacock. 

We probably spent an hour in this endeavor.

Then we snuggled under our many quilts, said a quiet good-night and slept well.

Yep, that is one of my fondest memories.

What's one of yours?

A Modern Fairy Tale

The rains came.

The earth was as though dusk would not end.

Verily, the people of the valley did complain. They protested for their new idols – those they call cell phone and internet – ceased to bring forth.

Thus the people whined with great lamentation.

Harkin to a few who saith, “I shall put a log upon the fire; for it is damp in my dwelling place. Where is my lamp and Grandmother’s quilt?”

Hence, they proceeded to climb upon the couch in front of yon fire with Grandmother’s quilt wrapped ‘round them.

Instead of the new idols; they beheld old magic.
 

A Book.

And the land was silent: Some in sulk; some wherever the old magic took them.

I Want It!

Remember things you wanted as a child so badly you could taste them?

Oh, I remember things, especially particular dolls - Patty Play Pal, Betsy Wetsy, and all the cuddly baby like ones I could see.

I played with cowboys and Indians, marbles, ball and all that boy stuff, too.

But the things I remember wanting the most are the things I never got.

One thing I wanted was a Raggedy Ann Doll. Badly.

So, my mother had our neighbor make one for me.

She was small and had green hair.

Really?

I tried to be graceful and thank her, for she was someone I liked a lot. I'm sure I thanked my mother, too. I have no idea what happened to that doll.

I wanted the real one.

I've made up for it, sorta.

On two occasions, I have found two antique-looking rag dolls that I have purchased:

Ain't they cute?

Another thing I wanted soooo badly was a pedal car. One of my friends had one. His was a fire engine. I didn't care what one was, if I only had one.

I never got one, and now, where they heck would I put it if I had it.

But husband drew some for me:

 

I named them, "Road Trip!", "Away We Go!", and "Put the pedal to the Medal!"

 

We were going to make bookmarks and call the series "A Trip Down Memory Lane".

 

But we never had the extra cash laying around, so it's one of those projects that might happen later.

 

The only other thing I can think of I yearned for and never got was a pony.

 

On that one, I ain't holding my breath.

Service Please!

I'll be the first to admit I don't have a servant's heart. I may love you dearly, but unless you flat out tell me, I just don't see your need.

There are people that I know who seem to sense someone else's needs almost before they happen. It amazes me, and also makes me feel like a selfish brat.

I truly want to help out when I can, but first someone has to point and say, this is what you need to do.

But the other day, I distinctly felt the nudge of the Holy Spirit to make a meal for a family in our church who have both been sick. Then I remembered another person who had broken a bone, and had been kind to me when my foot was in a cast.

So I called both houses and made sure they liked what I had to offer and both accepted gratefully.

They probably almost went into a dead faint, coming from me.

So, today I did something I ain't never done before. I made THREE pones of cornbread, one right after another to accompany a honking dutch oven plus spill over into another pot of homemade vegetable soup.

Then, after we ate a quick lunch, Daughter loaded up and took off to deliver the food.

Husband helped me clean up the huge mess. The only kind I can seem to make.

When you do what you are supposed to do, it gives you a feeling of accomplishment.

But boy, I am plumb tuckered out.

It's a good tuckered, though.

The Criminally Insane

I'm sure you all saw the article about the woman who was arrested for something or other, put in the back of the police car, and left alone for a few.

She proceeded to rip up the car with her teeth.

She is now being charged with a felony.

I thought, "Wow, that woman is crazy!"

I stand corrected.

That was before I started a simple task this morning. I wanted to buy three tickets through Ticketmaster for Husband, Daughter and myself to hear some great Christmas music in December.

At first, it looked pretty sweet. Great seats still available, all seats together, and a reasonable price. I was surprised at how well the tickets were already selling, and very happy we could get the seats we wanted.

I proceeded to check out. And, as they say, that's when the fight broke out.

I don't have an account, so I clicked on to make a password.  Then it told me there was an account already listed under my e-mail. (It had  just told me there wasn't).

I was instructed to click on 'get a new password', so I did. Went to my e-mail to see what my password was. I waited at least a minute before I received it. Signed in again. But, they said, to insure my financial security, I had to enter my credit card number again. So I did. They said there wasn't an account attached to that particular credit card number. I had a total of three tries before - well, I'm not sure before what. I did it again, which put me down to one try, which I didn't even try.

You know that little clock that Ticketmaster has ticking on the right side of the screen? It says when that runs out your tickets are 'thrown back'.

Of course, the little clock went to 00:00, and I think you know what that means.

Let me tell you, I was about to go all Clay Aiken fan on them. I've seen that, and it ain't a pretty sight.

I finally was given a 'temporary' password, went back into the fray (for the last time, I decided). The tickets were still there. I got 'em.

Now I just have to print them out.

Cop cars, watch out.

The Dog Was Where?

Since I'm writing in a bigger font, I wonder if you can hear me better.

Husband complained yesterday, as he was proofreading my blog, that it seemed to him that the print was getting smaller. (It isn't)

But then I figured he might not be the only old person reading this blog, so I thought I'd biggie size it.

Of course, being an old person myself, I'll probably forget to do this by tomorrow.

So, like, I forgot to add one more thing that happened while I was at the good doctor's Monday. I, unfortunately, didn't get to witness this as I was already back in seeing the doctor.

But Husband and Daughter both relate this story, straight faced. Husband even repeated it at church last night.

He related a woman came into the waiting room with a little dog. Did I mention she was in a doctor's waiting room with a dog???

This wasn't a service dog. In fact the dog was all dressed up and the woman was holding it like it was her little bitty baby. Awww. Except she was in a waiting room. At a doctor's office.

Anyway, someone asked her what kind of dog it was.

She had a stutter, apparently. She replied, "Shit-shit-shit-shoo."

Truth is stranger than fiction.

I still wonder why it was allowed. (the dog, not the stutter).

We were in a restaurant the other day and a lady walked in with a little dog, right through the restaurant and then back out.

The little dogs are everywhere now.

I just wonder where the health department is.

 

Takin a Trip to Town

Off we went Monday to Atlanna (yes, I'm spelling it that way, 'cause that's how everybody says it, anyhow).

I had a doctor's appointment, and as always things down that a'way are always interesting. I will tell you about a few of them.

Please, hold your applause.

1. I got new and different pains, which I proudly presented to the doctor. The first one he diagnosed as probably(!) carpal tunnel and wrote a prescription for a wrist splint. He also offered the option of having the old stick a needle in your muscles and turning on electrical impulses to see how you react. (Can you guess how I reacted when they did that to my freakin legs?) I declined. He warned me, that if the splint didn't work, he'd have to run tests to see what was wrong.

I'm suddenly not  minding the numb hand and such as much as I had before.

2. I sat "perched" back in July for more than an hour in a situation that I didn't feel I could unperch in. By the time I got home I was just about bedridden, and my massage therapist couldn't help. I caved and went to a chiropractor, who after 3 sessions got me better, but it was back in a few weeks. Things still ain't right back there, but I'm better. 

The doctor listened and his advise was, and I quote, "Don't do that again."  Tell me again how many years he went to school?

He did go on to explain that I had damaged my sacroiliac (stop laughing!) and that it took a long, long time to heal and it was very painful. You ain't tellin me nuthin, brother!

So, my sacroiliac is outta whack, my right arm/wrist/hand is numbing all the time, and I'm gonna have to get a journal to list my pitifulness before it's over.

Husband worries all the time I'm going to fall down and, I quote, "Wind up back in Kennestone" which is apparently his worst nightmare.

So, walking back to the car he's saying, "Watch that crack in the sidewalk. Remember what happened that time when you broke  your ankle." And "There's a slight incline here, watch out for it." Daughter is rolling her eyes at all this.

As he points all this out to me, he walks into a shoulder size poll.

It's a lot like having Inspector Clouseau as a seeing eye dog.

Speaking of dogs: We were sitting at a red light and Husband spots a puppy American Bulldog with its little face smushed up against the window in the car to our left. He/she is trying to sleep, but is too small to really get comfortable in that position. Daughter suddenly realizes there's a giant Boxer in the back seat, staring back at us. We get all excited and are cooing and ahhing. The driver looks at us, but never smiles. Lighten up lady! You got great dogs!!

That was my Monday.

How was yours?

Not What I Planned on Writing

I had my blog all planned out in my head, in fact I did it  yesterday, but was too done in by a trip to the doctor in Atlanta to even think about sitting up and actually typing.

But I knew what I was going to say.

All that changed when I listened to a voice mail from one of my dear friends:

"The biopsy finally came in. It's cancer."

I burst into tears.

Sometimes I really hate this place.

This world is full of pain, loss, grief, sorrow and tears, tears, tears.

And we have it better than anyone else on the planet.

I know the situation we are in is our own fault, we live in a fallen world because of the free will given us by our Creator.

It really isn't my home, which I forget when things are going well.

I lay in my bed, crying and telling God I didn't like this, I didn't want my friend to have cancer. And then, of course, I cried for myself.

Most of the time I keep all the bad stuff of my pain in perspective, but today, everything just flooded.

I'm better now.

But I still hate this place sometimes.

How Old is Old Enough?

I am trying to learn how to be the mother of an adult child.

If you call twenty-four an adult.

Now, when I was twenty-four, it was different. I was a mature, wise individual.  Daughter, however; is barely out of braces; if she'd ever worn braces, which she did not.  She has my teeth.

Anyway, it's harder than the terrible twos, the tweens and all the stuff in the middle. I don't know where my boundaries are. And even if I do, I keep crossing them.

Daughter still lives at home, you see. If she was in a far away place, say the east side of town, I could probably be better at this.

Maybe not, though.

I remember when my grandmother was still alive. She was in her eighties and my mother was in her early sixties, and Mother would get furious at how my grandmother questioned her every move.

I remember once, when Daughter was about six months old, I was chatting on the phone to my mother. I mentioned we were putting off going to the grocery store until Friday, since that was pay day.

There was a moment of silence, and then Mother asked, "Does the baby have enough to eat until then?"

I replied, "No, we figure she's old enough now to do without until Friday. It's only a few days away."

I was thirty-six years old, for crying out loud!

And I think I'm going to figure this adult child thing out.

Pardon me while I take a moment to say, "Ha!"

This Just In...

News Report from Flagpole Road:

I just read that "they" have done a study and, without a doubt, students who take notes longhand do better on tests, remember what they studied for longer periods of time, and understand what they have learned, than those students who took notes on a laptop.

Duh.

Our hand/brain connection is stronger than our laptop/brain connection.

The only slight  problem is there are already students in advanced grades who cannot write or read longhand because public schools are no longer teaching it!

Man, I love this country.

Day before yesterday there was a grown man jumping up and down at the airport yelling, "I'm going to Heaven! I'm going to Heaven!" 

He was nekked.

Apparently, he didn't get to Heaven quickly enough because he was stun gunned by the police and toted off.

Using my infinite knowledge in shade tree psychiatry, I'd say this man was in the manic phase, either caused by natural chemical imbalance, or helped along by something he ingested.

There's a new pill coming out for those of you who have a time going to the potty on a regular basis. And, no, I don't want to hear from you.

It's called the 'wiggle' pill, because about seven hours after you swallow it, it begins to wiggle inside your intestines and makes people go potty about twice as much as they have before.

(See above comments about "I'm going to Heaven!")

Everyone is saying we are in for the worst weather of the century. Since this century is only a teenager, I'm not as worried about that statement than if, say, we were in 1999.

However; if the signs are right - and the Farmers Almanac says they are - we will have a cold one. The acorns are falling like hailstones, the berries on my dogwoods are huge and plentiful, my legs need shaving more often.

There you have it.

So, I figure we need to prepare for being snowed or iced in for a few days or a week. We have a full pantry, Husband promises to crank the old generator to make sure it will still run, we have a few cans of gas so it can run, we have some firewood for the fireplace, and the gas tank is full so that we can have hot water, a way to cook and run the logs in the sun room.

And, most importantly, I have purchased new toothbrushes.

End of news.

We Did It!

We did it!

Not quite two years ago I started blogging.

I now have over 20,000 page views. People in 50 different countries have taken a gander at what I've written.

Wow.

This is probably small potatoes for some folks, but then, I ain't some folks.

It is a huge thing for me

So I want to give a huge thing back.


THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!