Don't you worry none, I will be blogging about the snow, a.k.a. the BIG snow. Just not today.
Many of you are pet lovers. Many of you don't really like animals unless they are cooked on your plate. Some of you are in between; animals are okay, but they need to be outside.
Sigh.
I could never be a farmer. I'd have pigs in the parlor and cows in the kitchen if it got cold outside.
As you know, we have four three cats and a dog.
Let me make it clear from the get go: I don't think they are equal to people. People come first. But I also believe that God gave us a duty to care for animals, and not be neglectful or abusive toward them.
Let me make it also clear that I am really the pushover I have described, and I reckon it's my business.
Today, I am sharing, so it can be your business, too!
For those of you who aren't fond of our four legged friends, this may sound a bit gross.
But Husband has found out that Bonnie, our Dog, likes coffee. So he's (Husband, not Dog) taken to letting her have the last few drops in his mug. She larps it up ecstatically.
But that's not the gross part. The gross, not to mention comical, part, is husband shared his last drop of coffee the other morning, and because he was carrying on intelligent conversation yakking, he walked into the kitchen and got a drink of water - out of that mug. The groaning and spitting that was going on as soon as he realized what he'd done was pretty funny. And gross.
Both Husband and Daughter have started feeding Eli, Alpha Cat, from the table, if we are having chicken, which we do a lot.
So, the other day, toward the end of the meal, Eli figured it was time for some sharing. He is very long, so standing on his hind feet, his front feet and head were above the table. Then he proceeded to steal food off the edge of Daughter's plate.
Daughter quickly knocked the bite of the food off her plate and put her hand between Eli and the plate, but it was too late. Eli got the chicken.
We thought this was adorable. Some of you will, too. Others will be, well, grossed out.
Dog sleeps in her crate, but the cats sleep wherever they want to upstairs. Usually, if it is cold, Frost sleeps between Husband and me, while Eli sleeps on the other side of me.
That's nice and warm until I try to turn over. Having twenty pounds of cat on each side of you, pinning down the covers, makes it hard to move. And when a cat wants to be asleep, it becomes boneless and limp. So it's a lot like trying to move a twenty pound sack of taters.
Over all, let me say it takes a lot of extra work having pets in the house. You have to vacuum more, you have to make sure the dishes they eat (or drink) out of are dishwasher washed, so the heat kills bacteria. Unless you share like Husband did.
There's a litter box to empty, fur to be brushed, etc.
But, if you are a pet lover, as I obviously am, it's worth it.
At least, on most days.
Do you ever find that some of your favorite things are tied in together somehow?
I have a (copy of) a painting that I really love.
My mother-in-law asked me to pick out something I wanted for Christmas, as she was no longer able to shop. This was the last Christmas she had on this earth.
I didn't want her to spend a lot of money, but I knew she also wanted it to be a good gift. I had had my eye on this print for a long time, so I brought her the catalogue and showed it to her. She was delighted to purchase that for me; she loved the picture, too.
Now, that print is very precious to me for more than one reason.
Of course, the obvious one is who bought it for me and why. I had the best mother-in-law on the planet, and wish she was still here. And she was one woman who absolutely loved giving presents.
The other reason is the painting reminds me of my favorite book in the whole wide world; "Tom's Midnight Garden" by Phillipa Pearce. I first read that book when I was in the fourth grade, and it is not an exaggeration to say I've probably read it a dozen times since.
The book is about a little boy who has to go live in a flat with his aunt and uncle for a summer. His brother has the measles and his parents don't want him to catch it. He is really disappointed because he is leaving the country and his friends for a dull summer in the city with adults who know nothing about children, with nothing or anyone to play with.
Then one night the old grandfather's clock in the foyer strikes thirteen and Tom can't stand it, so he goes downstairs to find everything...transformed.
The house has become what it once was, and he finds a delightful friend in a little girl named Hattie.
Hattie doesn't stay little, rather sometimes she is younger than Tom and sometimes a good bit older. Toward the end, she is even a young woman who is going ice skating.
It is Victorian times, and she is dressed as you might imagine, with ice skates in hand, ready to join in the fun.
The painting my mother-in-law purchased portrays a young woman in Victorian garb, holding a pair of ice skates. She is standing in the snow, with a pensive look on her face. She is at the edge of the pond. It is entitled "Winter - Shall I?"
Painted by E.. J. Gregory.
When I first saw the painting, I thought to myself, "That is exactly how Hattie would have looked - knowing she was growing up and Tom wasn't - and if she had to grow up, she would lose him.
It's a wonderful book. You ought to read it. I cried the first time I read it and I even get tears in my eyes now. It's the first book that completely surprised me with the ending.
Maybe it's because I was nine years old and it was written for such a young, tender heart as mine.
Or maybe that book really is magical.
I believe it has to be.
I am a nervous wreck.
Will it snow, or won't it?
Am I allergic to turmeric, or am I not?
Is some evil devious food lurking in the unknown shadows waiting to kill me dead?
Will Eli make the dog have a nervous breakdown, or will Eli get bored first and stop stalking her?
Will we, as my mother says "Be in for a terrible time, lord knows what's coming, we're gonna lose power and be in for a time of it."
Or will it just be the meteorologist's imagination?
Will Dudley save Nel, or will she get smushed like a flat penny on the railroad tracks?
The questions, the unknown, the agony of uncertainty.
What shall I do?
Tune in tomorrow.
Let me get this straight:
We are supposed to have lower temperatures, three inches of snow and 1/4 inch of ice while we warm up to 55 degrees during sleet and freezing rain with gusts of winds making us go below zero.
Or not.
Is that right?
Sheesh.
The phone rang a little while ago. It was my Bestie (you know who you are). Me: "Hello?"
Bestie: "From your blog to God's Ear?"
Referring to the last couple of blogs where I kinda hinted I'd like to see a couple of inches of snow. Okay, Okay, I begged for it. Pouted when I didn't get it.
So, like, today, we got some snow. Not two inches, maybe an inch. It was beautiful falling after the hard, icy stuff finished. Then we got the fat, fluffy soft stuff that is so beautiful falling, it looks like magic from the sky.
A few more lazy flakes have fallen this afternoon, even as I type.
What I did not ask for was three degree temperature tonight. I cringe to think about it.
I live in the south. I have been in a blizzard. I live in the North Georgia mountains. I have been in a hurricane.
This all goes to show you cannot trust Mother Nature, much less some half cocked ground hog.
I don't even trust the half cocked meteorologists.
Stick your arm, and if necessary, your head out the window.
What you find there is all you need to know.
So, do I still want more snow? Looks around furtively.
Well, maybe just a few more inches.
Ice on trees: check
Fog: check
Rain freezing when it hits: check
Sleet mixed with rain: check
Temperature below freezing: check
Snow: no.
Where the heck is my snow? I don't want sleet, I don't want freezing rain, I don't want ice, baby.
I want snow.
Do I want to build a snowman?
Yes.
Yes, I do.
Runs off to pout.
We are still using our Christmas mugs. And yes, I know today is Valentine's. Your point?
Before you judge me (and didn't you just?) consider this: At least 50% of my mugs have snowmen on them.
We have yet to have any snow that really counts.
I'm holding out.
I want a day where there is substantial snow on the ground (at the very least two inches) and I can sit by the fire and watch the snow fall - heavily - and drink out of a snowman mug.
So, there.
I am a writer. My job is to be very creative with my excuses.
How do you think I did?
Yesterday afternoon Husband, Daughter and I went to a concert. The Sons of Jubal were performing locally.
We thought that by going to the four o'clock concert we could get a good seat wherever we wanted, if we got there early.
Not so.
We arrived a half hour before the concert. The place was packed. We were seated on the front row.
In the trombone section.
And I do mean in the trombone section.
If I had been sitting in front of the first trombone instead of to the side, I'da been goosed every time he slid the slide part of the trombone.
I could feel the music in my chest. A real visceral reaction.
Needless to say, I removed the hearing aids from my delicate ears rather quickly.
At least we didn't have to stand in the vestibule for the whole concert, as many people did.
For the first few songs, some of the 127 men stood in the aisles while others were in front. It was true surround sound that had me almost swaying in my seat.
The beauty of this concert is beyond description. I laughed, I cried. I could not be still.
The Sons of Jubal get their name from the Bible. Jubal was a descendant of Cain. He was a musician, known as the Father of all who played the harp and the flute.
Hmmm. Since my maiden name is Harper, and my ancestors played the harp in Scotland, I must be a descendant of good old Jubal. This is great!
If you happen to have an atheist or agnostic hanging around, I highly recommend taking them to a Sons of Jubal concert.
I can't imagine anyone walking away from this concert without being moved, and deeply moved, at that.
They might not come to the Master's Voice.
But they'll hear it.
I just saw a headline that said Charles Manson broke his engagement when he found out his fiancee only wanted to marry him to get his corpse.
Now, you and I know there are many reasons that people get married. This happens to be one of them.
How else could she ensure a proper resting place for his body after his death? Say, on e-bay. Stuffed.
Or maybe she wants a unique conversation piece. I dunno.
Oh, and scientists have finally figured out that it takes 1,000 licks to finish off a Tootsie Roll Pop.
I'm so glad, I've been obsessed with this for some time.
And we know they really need to use their time wisely, like this. Who needs a cure for cancer?
Not when the burning question like licking Tootsie Roll Pops is still out there. I mean, golly.
And speaking of creepy (we were,weren't we?): You know all those advertisements along the right side of your facebook? Well, suddenly all the dog advertisements, whether it be for food, training, shelters or medicines, all the dogs pictured look just like Bonnie, our new American Bulldog. No monkey, I ain't lying.
I'm sure there is a (creepy) explanation for it. So I don't worry about it.
And I'll end with this: Howz about the 63 year old, unassuming looking woman who keeps getting onto planes under other folks' names?
She's done it about elevendy billion times, and this time checked into a fancy resort, too. Snuck in and went into the part of the resort being renovated to hide, but they found her. So, does she get a free hot and a cot at the local hoosegow, then sent home (on a plane?)
Just wondering.
Anyway, that's my ramblings for the day. See ya!
If you are having an issue with vanity, I know how you can get over yourself.
Be on live television.
Dear Lord.
First, any of you women out there that go to great trouble every morning to "put your face on", I commend you. Or, maybe I think you're nuts. I'm not sure which.
This morning I carefully put on make-up. A lot of make-up; because I was going to be on television. I was sure that if I looked down, it would all fall off my face,; it felt so thick.
I dressed carefully; getting Daughter's opinion about which earrings looked better.
I have a bright red, wool jacket that is very nice, and I thought a black sweater and black slacks with this jacket would be just the ticket.
I chose my expensive wool slacks, and my favorite sleeveless black sweater.
I worked on my hair, making it "bigger", if you know what I mean.
I thought I looked pretty sharp.
So, we get in the car, and as I sit down, I see in the natural light my expensive slacks are navy.
So, black everything and navy pants. I didn't have time to change, plus I knew I would only be seen from the waist up because I'd be sitting behind a table, so it only put a small chink in my confidence.
I was seated and a mic put on me. I was sitting, pretty relaxed, actually, when I accidentally saw myself in the big old TV monitor before we went live.
What the heck was my grandmother doing here?
Not my mother, no sirree. I could see Viola's chin, my grandmother's chin, clear as day.
I had to suck it up and be cheerful, as though I had not seen this atrocity while dressed in my accidental navy pants.
I guess it went okay, but I will tell you: if you are over forty, be very, very careful what you agree to do.
Your grandma could show up and shove you out of the way and take over.
Today is my birthday.
I turned sixty-one today.
This is impossible.
I am still, oh, I don't know, say, forty-ish. And that may be stretching it. Maybe thirty-seven. Yeah. That's better.
Now, I'm not talking about when I look in the mirror. No, sir. I'm shocked and appalled then.
I'm talking about me. The inside me.
Make that twenty-eight.
Happy birthday to me -
La lalalalalalalala !
Because I am now fearful of food (who'd a thunk it?) I am eating carefully.
When I am in a restaurant, I caution them that if they aren't careful, they will kill me right there, dead on the spot. And how will that look to other patrons?
I have had a few pleasant surprises, and had begun thinking maybe I could live this way. (I have to, until I see a specialist Thursday).
But today, I think I frightened the staff so badly that they must have sterilized the food, cooked it far away from anything that tastes and served it to me proudly.
I almost went to sleep chewing. Bland, blah. What's the point in eating if it taste like....nothing?
Of course, I shouldn't complain. They didn't kill me, after all.
Ain't it funny how you don't give things a thought at all, until it happens to you. And then, Blammo!
I never thought about having a food allergy reaction that would almost kill me. And very well could, the next time.
For cryin' out loud, I am almost sixty-one years old, why would I worry about something like this happening now?
But it sure nuff did.
Pass the pepper, will ya? I don't think a little will hurt me.
The book that was supposed to be here before Thanksgiving got here just before Christmas.
Not that it made any difference, 'cause I been sickern a hound dog after eatin a rotten carcass.
I am finally almost well, and am begging meeting with folks to set up interviews and book signings.
I'll be on the local tv station morning talk show Monday, Februrary 9 at ten a.m.. Watch if you dare.
March 14, 2014 from 1p.m. to 3p.m. the Gilmer Arts and Heritage Association will host a book signing for me.
I'll do something I've never done before at a book signing - I'll be reading a short excerpt from the book.
Now, I have attempted to make this a funny book, and let's all hope folks laugh.
And not at me.
The book is "The Year of Nine: Where the Rain Begins" and is set in 1963. Tansy Corbin is nine years old that year, and she tells in first person her view of the world during that time.
Some folks have already purchased it, and invariably ask: Is Tansy really me?
Yes. No.
If you are a writer, you know that there is a part of you in everything you write.
This book is also an outline of sorts of my childhood.
I describe the town and neighborhood where I grew up, and it is indeed almost identical to the real town and neighborhood. (In fact, on the back of the cover is a photo of my granddaddy's store, the name Corbin photoshopped to cover up the real name). But Tansy isn't really me on the inside, nor are all the people who populate the book real people I knew. Some of the characters you might recognize by behavior - especially one, if you are from 'round these parts in those years.
I in no way attempted to get into anyone's skin and write about them, I just used their outline and filled it up with an imaginary person.
Some things you read about happened. Some things did not.
Anyway, here's hoping you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
It is 34 degrees outside. The wind is blowing and it is snowing.
And I have my kitchen windows open.
Why, you ask?
Because we have a puppy.
If you don't understand that explanation, you've never had a puppy.
I really am hungry. I've been up 2 hours and want my breakfast. But I ain't going in there yet. Can't bear it.
Husband has removed the evidence for the eye. But the nose still knows.
Things are better than they were when we first got her mid-December. I figure another month, and it will be 99% joy.
She's growing, learning, eager to please and very loving.
She's also active and not house trained yet. She's a little old to not be potty trained, but I think it's because she was raised for eight months in a ten by ten pen with little socialization and no training.
She just doesn't get it yet.
Eli has her bluffed, and Frost and Mimi are pretty much okay with the dog now. So that's almost taken care of.
She can't be left alone or she chews. And I don't mean food or her chew toys.
What do people think about when they get a puppy? Certainly not all this.
The amusing thing is, we do it over, and over.
