It's Raining Men

There are at least half a dozen men in my yard. Making a lot of noise.

There are two men in my bathroom, making a huge mess and a lot of noise.

Then there are the Jehovah Witnesses at the door asking one of the workmen: "Do you live here? Does anybody live here?"

Really?

The place is jumping worse than a frog on a hot stove, and they want to know if anyone lives here?

I haven't even mentioned Husband, who, if you reread my blog from yesterday, has walked into the tree for the seventh time.

Or our dog, Bonnie, who suddenly decided she had to sit on my feet and growl at every man who walks by (that's a lot of growling) because she has to protect me.

And cats - Husband was sure Eli had escaped outside. I knew he would not, he's never been out except in a crate, and he's not likely to bolt. All I had to do was whistle - you know, put your lips together - eh, never mind.

There's wash in the washer and dryer, but I can't get to it because of giant boxes.

I was going to stir up a pone of cornbread, but Husband failed to buy buttermilk, and it just ain't as good with sweet milk.

Mother is calling every five minutes to tell me the order in which things should be done in town, because I ain't old enough to figger it out.

Oh, did I mention all the power steering abilities of our car disappeared on the way to church Sunday? They sure did. The garage has called and the car is ready to pick  up, power steering reinstated.

Ain't no where to park it, though. Not with trucks and vans all over creation.

We should be able to park it in the garage, which was why the garage was built, but we can't. Refer to the word Husband.

Ah, well. When they are all finished the yard will be nicer, the bathroom will be better, and all will be quiet again.

Tell me this is so, please.

Things That Go Bump

There's a tree that grows sideways in the pathway where Husband walks the dog.

He said he was looking down, kicking the wheel thingie the dog plays with, when he smacked his head against this tree, by walking right into it.

Again.

For the sixth time.

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. SIX times.

You can make an excuse for the first time. You can maybe make an excuse for the second time, if there has been a huge lapse between the head smacking.

But....six times?

Now, it's true Husband's life insurance is paid up.

But still, I am beginning to worry. As evidenced by this very behavior, Husband cannot afford to lose more brain cells. You know, and I know, that head smackin' ain't doing him much good in the save-the-brain-cell campaign.

What are ways to prevent this, you ask?

Perhaps wrap Husband's head up in a foam filled do-rag each time he goes out? Install one of those contraptions that go 'beep-beep-beep' when one is backing up, but install this one to go in the forward direction? Attach a motion sensor devise to the tree,so that when Husband's noggin gets too close he hears a voice screaming, "Yo, fool! Don't you go hittin' me no more!"

I suppose there are other creative ways to prevent this tragedy from reoccurring.

Husband says he has the solution.

He's gonna cut the tree down.

After all, it's the tree's fault, right?

Adding to this on 3/31/15: Make that Seven. That's right. And Husband has gone to the wood with his little hatchet...

Birthday Walk

Yesterday, we went walking by the river, where Husband and I were going three or four times a week until July when I worsened, then I got sick, then Mother had surgery, then - well - you get the picture.

Anyway, we went to celebrate Bonnie's first birthday. 

She had a great time, although at first she was a little anxious, since she'd never been anywhere like this before. 

She got to meet two new friends, a spaniel and a basset hound. They got along pretty well.

The sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, and the cows were mooing. (and grazing).

In other words, a good time was had by all.

Today:

Today, it's just cold.

For You

This blog is for you.

A few days ago I took my 85 year old mother to visit her 81 year old first cousin.

He was born on her fourth birthday. They were close as children, maybe because of that, and also Mother is an only child, so she was exceptionally close to her cousins.

They reminisced a bit about their childhood.

One of their memories was walking away from their grandparent's house (and his parent's home nearby), down a dirt road to fetch the mail. They had to cross a foot log over a creek to get to the mailbox, as that was as close as the post office would deliver at that time.

Mother was (and is) afraid of water, so she refused to walk the foot log and made her cousin do it. Since he was (and is) four years younger, I'm sure he was easily bossed.

He also talked about hearing Mother and her parents arriving way up the road. My grandfather always had a fairly new car, and they could hear it coming, and then he'd be blowing the horn. He always brought them candy or chewing gum. This was a special treat, as they lived way out in the country and gum nor candy was easy to come by.

Life was certainly different in many ways back in the 1930's, just as it was different in the 1960's, when I was very small. And like it was in the 1990's when Daughter was very small.

Time changes things all the time. Always has, always will.

But there are also some things that never change. Like 8 year olds bossing 4 year olds.

So, take a moment and go back to your own childhood and think about a simple, ordinary moment of your own, and cherish it. Because it belongs to no one but you and you must keep it fresh or it will be gone forever.

This blog is for you.

Spring! What?

It's that time of year where Mother Nature is in a dither. 

We have Blue Birds building their nest.

Yellow bell, bridal veil, jonquils, daffodils, march flowers (you  pick,  no pun intended) and my favorite, hyacinths are blooming. 

The birds are so happy they are trying to outdo themselves in chirps and song every morning.

Even the rain is softer and the temperatures milder.

Last night I saw the most amazing sky. It was just as the sun was setting. High in the sky it was clear with a tiny slip of a moon shining. Just below that, flat, dark thunderclouds hovered. Just below that, pink and dark blue.

Husband brought in our hyacinth (the only one left, I demand more!) and the kitchen smells heavenly.

This is the flower that my grandmother planted lots of up next to the house in the back yard. I'd lie down in the grass, prop my head up with  my hand and sniff until my smeller no longer could detect their fragrance. It is still my favorite fragrant flower. The perfume I have worn for 35 years or so smells kind of like a hyacinth, that's why I've worn it for 35 years.

Now the weatherman says we are going to have well below freezing temperatures and maybe a little SNOW Friday. 

Better than a lot of SNOW, like Canada.

Eh, who cares? 

Before you know it, we'll all be whining about how hot it is, blah, blah, blah.

Don't you deny it. You know it's so.

Unite!

You are probably wondering why I have called this meeting: It is to clarify the number one goal of our kind.

This behavior of our people must be stopped! I know we have been
quite effective in slowing it down, but the time has come for victory.

When they have a book you must, at all costs, stop it before it begins. Put your head between the book and their eyes. Bump the back of the book. Lie down and squirm  your way up their chest until you are nose to nose. Yowl. Kneed firmly, until they yowl.

When the newspaper comes in, make sure you perch, lie, kneed, etc. upon the paper. Don't give it up! If they start to jerk it out from under you, strike! Use the claws, use the teeth to nip. Don't give in easily.

And this new thing: most of them fondly call it "Kindle". They do not want you near it because it is "electronic". So knock if off the nightstand. Chew the recharging cord in two. Mark it with your saliva. Sit on it, stand on it, whatever you can possibly do.

You will know your success by the people's screeches. This is their sound that tells you a job has been well done.

Do not let our kind down.

The future belongs to us.

Earning a Buck

Do you remember the person from whom you earned your first money?

When I was five or six, the man my mother worked for decided to move his store up three doors in town. The building was much bigger, and he planned on expanding, having a nice shoe store addition. 

He sat a small red wagon in front of me, and asked if I would haul extra hangers from the old store to the new. I eagerly accepted and day dreamed all day about what I was doing. I had a vivid imagination, and the day was filled with all sorts of exciting trips and adventures.

At the end of the day, he presented me with the wagon, saying I had worked hard and had earned it.

I remember being so full of joy I could hardly stand it! I had no idea I would be rewarded at all, much less with this wonderful, magical wagon.

He said I had earned it!

I didn't have a job until after I graduated  high school. Working after school wasn't as popular as it is now, most kids went home to snacks, chores and TV. 

Of course, I really did have a job, but it didn't pay. That job was the babysitter of The Brother of Many Surgeries and the Other Brother so they wouldn't kill each other or tear the house down. Well, maybe it did pay - as in "you'll pay!",  but whatever.

My first job was for two weeks, stocking a new store before it opened. 

That fall, I got the first 'real' job, and worked for thirty-one dad blamed years.

But no matter what the raise,  no matter what the perk, no matter what the benefit offered, nothing ever touched the thrill of that little red wagon.

Spring?

Today is the kind of day where people get out their shorts, fling open their windows, take the dog for a walk, fish, play ball and revel in the sun and seventy degree weather, then come home and wash the windows they flung open. (Just kidding on that last one.Wanted to see if you were paying attention.)

Me, I'm doing income tax.

Why? Because today is the day I marked on the calendar, and if I don't start, well....

But don't mind me.

Go cavorting.

Don't give me a thought, as I hunch over a foot of paperwork, a calculator and a pencil with an ever dwindling eraser.

I'm fine.

Really.

I'll be finished just in time for winter to come whooshing back, as it always does this time of year.

Hope that dampens your spirits.

Ode to '93

The daffodils are bloomin'
Which has me quickly assumin'
Spring has sprung.

But then I go back to that year
That filled us all with great fear
Because of what the blizzard brung.

The day before was warm and mild,
But the next was blizzardly wild, 
Much snow that fierce wind did flung.

So never count your buds before they bloom,
The weather could be schemin' wicked doom
And spring's quick good-bye sadly sung.

Fashion Tips

If Husband had his way, he'd wear khaki pants every single day.

When we worked, I absolutely refused to let him do this, because I thought it reflected badly on me - as though he were wearing the same pants every day.

The reflection was bad enough that he was always wrinkled, unless we could get to the cleaners; being as I don't iron. Ever.

So, we compromised. I picked out his clothes to wear except on Saturdays. That way he could wear his khakis, his dark blue, his dark green, his grey and his black slacks, too. As well as jeans from time to time.

He would also wear a blue shirt every day, if left to his own devices. In fact, every time he's ever gone shopping by himself, he brings home the very same blue shirt.

Sigh.

Also, did I mention he is color blind in some areas? That can certainly make for an interesting outfit, let me tell ya.

But now that we are retired, I don't pick out his clothes, unless it's Sunday or unless he asks me to do this. (Translation: "All my khaki pants are dirty, what shall I do?")

Now, I am prone to like the same type of clothes myself. I don't shop anymore much, I have no reason to. Which is why I panic when I have to actually look decent. Most my clothes go way back, as in when I worked.

I retired in 2003.

I've never been a real clothes horse, anyway, but when everything you put on that has a waist or a belt, or heels, etc. makes your back hurt worse, you begin to look to elastic to be your fashion statement.

At the book signing Saturday you can recognize us by Husband in his khakis and me in a pained expression.

Can't wait to see you there.

Gettin' Ready

Today has been a very busy day.

I made a list of all the things I need when I do a book signing, and I just happened to have one coming up Saturday.

Sounds like a simple thing; you take a few books and a pen, right?

No, no, no.

I have my new book, plus my older books. And a box of books is very, very heavy. They used to be trees, you know.

I have to have easels to prop up a copy of each different titled book so folks can see them clearly. A guest book is a must for folks to prove they were there. Lots of pens, because it's hard to find a good pen nowadays.

Bookmarks, business cards, bags to put sold books in, the few Christmas cards we have left (I know it's March, but why not?), a sign bragging that "The Crow and The Wind" was first runner up in the Georgia Author of the Year Award  in 2011, in the mid-child division, and the most important thing to think about:
What am I going to wear?

I'm done tard out and it ain't even Saturday yet.
 

Frightening Book!

Daughter gave me a book for my birthday, and I am reading it.

It has me on the edge of my seat with anxiety.

Not because of the mystery, for it is a mystery book. It's not because of mystery trap doors in an alleged haunted house, missing keys, hidden passages, etc. It's because of the mother.

She has seven year old twins. She goes shopping in a four story department store, and she tells the children to look about the store while she shops for linens. They go off on their on. They are Seven. Years. Old.

After school, they leave and run about town with their siblings, who are also twins, age ten.

The kids all ramble around this deserted house, while a burglar is lurking. One of the children falls down the steps and is unconscious. No one calls an ambulance, or tells the parents. Instead one of the older kids goes back into the school and gets a wet towel to put on the unconscious child's forehead. The child, while in the schoolhouse, mentions it to the principal, who also does nothing.

There's a school bully who throws rocks and actually hits one of the kids in the head. Since no one will confess, no one gets in trouble, even though the teacher knows who did it. As far as I know, there is no sharing of this information with the parents.

See what I mean? Where is DFACS dealing with the neglect these children are suffering? Where are EMT's ambulances, etc. while a child lies unconscious? Where is school involvement with bullying?

I'm telling you, "The Bobbsey Twins of Lakeport" is making me a nervous wreck.

I don't know if I"ll be able to finish reading it; it's just too horrifying and hard on my nerves.

Old Man Winter

Well sir, I got me some snow.

I also got no electricity for sixteen hours, and Husband couldn't get the generator cranked, don'tgetmestarted.

But: we had gas logs, wood fire, and a gas cook stove, so we were fed and warm.

The beauty of falling snow, and a world muted and covered in white still takes my breath away.

It gives me pause every time. I hold my breath for sheer joy and wonder: how could the world change so quickly and be so extraordinarily beautiful?

All it took was eleven inches of snow.  The trees were flocked, the evergreens bore it with effort, and my woods fairies felt the weight.

Enjoy the view.