Christmas Decorations

Christmas decorations - a funny thing about them - one day they look soft, beautiful, decorative, and fill the house with color and cheer.

The next day they look like tired clutter that you can't wait to put up away.

I'm still in the color and cheer phase. With so much cloudy weather, I've enjoyed the Christmas tree lights so much.

I am ready to put away all the kitchen stuff (except the mugs) and Daughter is going to help me do this tomorrow as she has to practically crawl under the kitchen sink (oops I said "kitchen sink") to put the stuff up.

But the rest? Well, my Christmas mugs are a lot of snowmen and winter scenes with snow (hint, hint) with few real Santa stuff. I think I'll keep 'em out a few more weeks - or more.

Meanwhile, if you drive by my house, you'll see the lights still twinkling.

Come on by, I'll leave the light(s) on for you.

Slow Down, World

I've been so overwhelmed, I don't know where to start.

Of course, the obvious, is Christmas. Shopping (what little we do), decorating (which is much less than what we used to do), a Christmas tea that Daughter decided she wanted to be the sole decorator for (using my stuff, but it will someday be her stuff, so it doesn't matter), a Christmas solo for me, getting sick and unable to hit notes on said song, thank you God that our piano can be lowered by two steps with a touch of the finger!, doing my part for Christmas dinner (Daughter and I made the dressing, coleslaw, deviled eggs and ice. Well, we didn't make the ice, the refrigerator did), doctor appoints for Mother, doctor appointments for Daughter, my yearly blood work and discovering everything was "wonky".

Wonky, you say? My liver enzymes were high. My triglycerides were WAY high. My ding dang blood sugar was just high enough I may be a diabetic.

Whoa, right there. Doc said he didn't think I was a diabetic, but that something else was causing everything to be off. He was most concerned about my liver. 

So, off I go to have an ultra sound. Which couldn't be scheduled till after one p.m. And I had to fast for at least eight hours. If you ask me, if I was a diabetic that woulda kilt me dead, right there.

Anyway, my liver is fine and dandy, which leads me to suspect that something went awry with my blood. Either my body was pulling a practical joke, the lab mixed my blood with someone else's or I was having a " high " day. Danged if I know.

Now I'm on medicine for my high triglycerides, which I'm not sure I need; and eating semi like a diabetic. Doc said, "Just don't drink soft drinks, eat sweets or pasta." I said I could live with that as long as he didn't mess with my potatoes. He said I could have a potato. 
For my birthday. Crazy guy, my doctor.

Of course, I'm more worried about Daughter. Just say a little prayer that she'll get better. 

She has a solo Sunday, but she doesn't know what she's singing yet. If this were me, I'd be a blubbering idiot, but she's cool about it.

Also, I have been accepted into the "First Families of Gilmer County" by the Genealogy Society. They are in the process of preparing a manuscript for a book about this. I've been scurrying around to find pictures, birth, death, marriage certificates and stories about people I remember to go in this book.

Oh, yeah. There was a book signing, too. Thank you for all who came, and thank you to those who continue to purchase the book. 

My  hope is things will calm down this week. Today was spent digging out from under mess. I have sat down a time or two and contemplated as I looked at our Christmas tree. In this cloudy weather, the lights show beautifully.

And you wondered why I hadn't blogged.

A Bunch of Nuthin'

Between strange diagnoses due to wonky blood work, continuing to take many, many trips with Mother to the doctor and Daughter having a medical issue, and decorating for Christmas, and shopping for Christmas, and having a book signing!, and singing and preparing to sing, you may have noticed I haven't blogged in a few weeks.

You may also have noticed the above is a run on sentence.

Who has time for making more than one sentence?

More later.

BUZZ!

Man, I've been a busy little bee lately.

I've had an interview by the local newspaper (it was very nice, thank you)

I've been on your TEE VEE, which was fun. Although I never got to see me on your tee vee. Whine.

I've been advertising the upcoming book signing like crazy. But don't worry, it's this Thursday, so I'll shut up soon enough.

I've also been encouraging folks to look over my other books, considering purchasing for a gift for Christmas. Books, mine or anyone else's, make a great gift, anytime.

Between now and the book signing on Thursday afternoon, stands 3 doctor appointments. So, I guess you won't be hearing from me for a few days.

But come on by and look and see. You might buy a book - or two.

WHAT: book signing for "Bensy and Me"
WHEN: 12/8/2016 from 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m.
WHERE: Dalton State College, Ellijay Campus
WHY: Because, that's why.

Pass the Mush, Please

So, guess what happens the evening before Thanksgiving?

My crown falls out.

Yup.

I've had a world of trouble with this darn thing, as y'all know.

But Thanksgiving Eve? Really?

I call my dentist's office and of course they are all at home whipping up feasts that they can eat with all their teeth staying right where they belong.

But there is an emergency number for the dentist on call.

After a failed attempt at using the "Temp Dent" junk to make it stay on, I call that number.

I'll have to give that dentist credit. He answered on the second ring. Good old on call dentist.

"No, no!" He exclaimed when I told him I'd tried the temp dent. "Clean that stuff out as quickly as possible. Go to the drug store and buy some denture adhesive. Read the directions. It should work." Then he went into a somewhat dizzying explanation of how to put the crown back on. I didn't bother to tell him I'd already put it back on a zillion times. "I think you can do it!" He exclaimed. (He was very cheerleader like). "I can't see you because I'm on my way out of town."

Um, the on call dentist is leaving? What if I get hit in the mouth with a frozen turkey? Who ya gonna call? Mouth busters?

Anyway, Husband ran to the grocery store (to pick up the turkey, by the way) and got me some good old denture adhesive.

By cracky.

As of this writing, the crown is still in. My permanent crown has arrived at the dentist and if I can hang in there for three more days until my appointment, surely, surely, surely, the new crown will stay on.

I mean, what are the odds that it won't?

Don't answer that. I'd really rather not know. 

The Gift of Thankfulness

Yawns

Oh, pardon me.

Speaking of yawning, one of the things I'm thankful for are naps pretty much when I please. Okay, on some days. But being retired does have that advantage when you have a day at home. The rush, rush, rush, to get things done on  your off time disappears to a large extent after retirement.

I'm talking about thankfulness today because tomorrow I will be a wee bit too busy to blog and on Thursday I'll be even busier cooking, eating, cleaning up and sitting by the fire playing cards and games to blog. And I figure most of you who are American will be too busy to read.

So, things I'm thankful for after the Christ, family, friends, pets, home, etc.:

For these four pieces of tape on my back that helped me to get a little of my life return to normal. And to the gal who wouldn't take "there's nothing you can do but take meds" for an answer. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Anna!

Yesterday I went over to mourn, once again, more poor tomatoes that were still green on the vine. I would have petted them, but I was afraid it would knock them off the vine, and I'm hopeful for a blush to appear. I know, I know. Ain't gonna happen. But as I glanced down at my feet, I saw a tomato peeking out from the leaves. It was nestled there, almost completely covered up! And it had a blush!  Tah-da! One more mater for the season that will ripen to fullness and goodness. It has turned even more on my counter, scooched in amongst it's brethren that are further along. Thankful!

I'm thankful for that big old buck I wrote about a few days ago that I got to see close up. 

I'm thankful for the kits I saw (fox) playing in the high grass. 

I'm thankful for the baby raccoons I saw up in the tree, still young enough to be curious to stop and look at us when we stopped the car to peer at them.

I'm thankful for the long fall we've had, the big moon it brought, the beautiful sunsets the fires brought, and the cold snap that made my Japanese Maple look on fire, itself. 

I'm thankful for the mama fox we fed a few year back, and thankful that we got to watch her go from sickly looking to fat with a shiny coat. 

I'm thankful for the strutting tom turkey and his hens.

 I'm thankful for the mama bob white quail pretending she was hurt by the side of the road so her babies could go running into the brush safely. 

I'm thankful for the grouse we saw crossing our road like they owned the place.

I'm thankful to watch blue birds nest and raise those squawking babies. I'm thankful that the red tailed hawk can't get to them, but I'm thankful for him, too. 

I'm thankful for red birds, gold finches, Scarlett Tanagers, Rose Breasted Grossbeaks, Indigo Buntings, and all the little brown, grey and non-descript birds that happily eat our seed. 

I'm thankful I've seen a bobcat on the edge of the wood at dusk, waiting to hunt. 

I'm thankful I've seen a mountain lion (twice) streak across the road in front of me. 

I'm thankful I've seen a bear up close, her triplets trailing behind.

I'm thankful for all the turtles we've rescued, all the bullfrogs and toads we've raised in our yard, and the king snake that lives on our lower porch.

I guess I could have said I'm thankful for nature. But if you just imagine for a second all that I've named, and feel the wonder of it all, you'll be thankful, too.

Oh, yeah. I'm thankful for every single one of you, too.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving day.

Oh, The Weather Outside is....Confused

As you know, if you live around here, mid-November looks and feels like mid to late October.

Extremely warm weather in November just ain't right.

Our tomato plants have remained strong and healthy with not only tomatoes blushing on the vine, ready to come in and finish ripening if it starts to get cold, but tiny, star shaped, yellow blooms all over them.

Now, I know this won't last (it didn't....) but for  now my heart beats a little faster when I look at them and envision summer tomato sammies well into December.

The fires are scary and everywhere, seemingly impossible to put out, and if the community is at odds with each other about everything else, they aren't at odds about how badly we need rain.

Me? I pray for rain several times a day.

And when it does turn cold, I'll be praying for snow while I sit in front of the fire eatin' me a mater sammich.

Ah, the best of both worlds!

Please! No more!

Dear (fill in charitable organization name here),

Please, please, I beg of you, no more!

I have address labels with my name and address on them. I have enough to wall paper every square inch of the Biltmore. I have enough, that if I mailed five letters a day, I would have to live to be 563 years, one week, three days and fifteen minutes before I could use them up. (And that would be only if the postman ran before I expired the fifteen minute day.)

I have them for every holiday, including ones I didn't know existed and don't know why we are celebrating it.

I have frilly ones, childish ones, serious ones, patriotic ones, and plain ones.

I have enough address labels for each man, woman and child on the planet, plus a few left over for those aliens everyone talks about.

Of course,  nobody could use 'em, unless an alien has my name.

I am at the point that I will give the charity money if they refuse to send me address labels. 

Or if they will take some back.

Just please, please stop. 

Surprise, Surprise!

There ain't much to be said for a November where my plants are still sitting on the front and back porch, acting like it's summertime (except for the caladiums; they did what they always do, which is die in pitiful suffering every first of October). 

I am six- (cough, cough, choke) excuse me! - years old, and I have never, ever left plants out past late October because they'd be killed.

I keep saying we have to get them in, then I listen to the weather report, and know another day or two or three won't hurt.

But there are a few good things.

First, the warm weather has allowed our tomatoes to keep on ripening. We (Husband) planted way too late, and I just knew all those tomatoes on the vine would die.

Not so. We have four or five on the kitchen counter and at least four more on the vines beginning to ripen. This is something else that has never happened in all my six-(cough, cough, choke) my allergies! - years.

And here is the other thing.  A few days ago I was sitting at the computer in the studio, just like I'm doing now. It was a tad bit later in the day, almost dusk. It was very warm. I had the ceiling fan on and the door wide open.

I heard something walking my way through the leaves, snuffling and snorting and grunting. I thought it was our bulldog. She has to check on me at least once while I'm out here; bugging Husband till he brings her.

I glanced sideways at the door and instead of seeing my dog, I saw the large rear end of a deer. Now, I knew it had to be a buck because of the size. I wanted badly to see him, so I slowly got up and paced my steps with the click click of the overhead fan. I reached the door and an eight point deer stared back at me.

Lord, he was beautiful, and big. His back would have reached my waist, and I'm five ft. eight inches tall. 

We stared at each other for maybe four seconds and then he lifted that white tail  and bounded off into the woods. I hollered after him, "You are so handsome!"

I let him live, he let me live. It's all good.

Still, you know? I'd rather get a little cold weather going - fire in the fireplace, fleece, flannel, wool, quilts.

Ain't it 'bout time, Mother Nature?

And So It Begins

As I have stated before, when a book is written, "The End" seems to be just the beginning.

So much else has to be done to get it from manuscript form to a published book that you can purchase.

My newest book, "Bensy and Me" has been finished. My  publisher says books should arrive on Monday.

Lots of books.

I  have a book signing scheduled, a TV show scheduled and hope to be interviewed by the local newspaper in the near future.

I will soon be sending everyone I know an e-mail, informing them of the availability of the new book and of the upcoming book signing.

I will try to balance between folks really seeing it and folks getting really sick of seeing it on Facebook.

It would be a sad, sad thing if only my mother showed up. Well, and whoever drove her, of course. (Hey! That might even be me!)

I am excited.

But also a little anxious. I can only hope that people will like the book, refer it to others, and laugh while they are reading it.

Also, I think all writers want feedback. We crave it. But it is not only helpful to hear what people found entertaining, but what they did not. 

Yep, even the not. 

Don't be cruel to me (please!) but I really don't mind constructive criticism. Even if I don't agree with it. Heck, sometimes I don't even agree with the positive comments.

Anywho, once again, I'm putting it all out there, baring my soul, so to speak, for you, dear reader, to inspect.

I think I'll go throw up a little.

Coming Soon!

Another October Another Post

Every October I give thanks to each and every one of you, wherever you may be, for reading my blog.

I blogged one time in October of 2011. Didn't blog again until October 2012.

This blog brings us up to 704 published blogs.

35,986 hits as of right now on my blog. This means it's been read this many times, or at least someone began to read it and stopped. 

Also, if you are like a friend of  mine who saves up and reads the whole week at once, it only gives one hit, instead of the seven someone else might have given it.

Seventy-six countries have read my blog, most of them more than once. 

What do you suppose someone from Algeria or Thailand or the Netherlands think of my blog?

So, once again, I want to say thank  you from the bottom of my little old southern, Appalachian, redneck heart.

A Good Hair Day

The other day I had a really good hair day.

You know the kind - it looks good from the front, sides, back and even top. Every hair looks like it was born perfect.

I looked at myself in the mirror, because it's been a long spell of not perfect hair days.

As Pee Wee Herman says, "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

And that is truth.

A lot has been going wrong with my looks lately - losing a crown, growing old - that kind of thing.

So it was nice to have good hair for a few hours.

I reckon my guardian angel gave a look and figured I needed a little boost.

Who knows?

Next, I might have a good light day, where I'm in perfect lighting all day and people can't get over how young I look.

For my age, of course.

I Crown Thee

I lost a crown.

I feel sorta like one of those shamed beauty queens who must relinquish the title and give all the stuff back.

I'd had this crown for at least twenty-five years, so it was kinda hard to swallow.

Thank goodness I didn't.

Three dentists have been confounded as to how it stayed on in the first place, being as it is way too big for the tooth.

Dentist #3 says there had to have been a filling on top of the tooth, and when the crown fell off, the filling came off, too.

Don't ask why I've seen three dentists, it's a long story, and it has  nothing to do with disliking any of them. Just a comedy of events that has this dang crown out of my  mouth  more than in.

Now, I have an appointment to begin the lengthy and EXPENSIVE process of replacing this crown with another permanent crown that is hopefully just the right size. 

You  know, I've been looking at this crown a lot. When a crown is in your mouth, it looks just like a tooth. Not so much out of your mouth. It looks more like a tin can with white paint on top.

Think of it as a wig for teeth.

I don't understand how this piece of metal dipped in porcelain can cost more than my first car. If you're a dentist, why don't you explain it to me, cause I sure can't figure it out.

I'll just be glad to have one that doesn't keep popping out every other day. 

If you see me in the near future, don't be offended if I am talking to you with clenched teeth, or refuse to smile. 

I don't think I have to explain.

Why is it?

Our four legged family, which consists of a dog and three cats, has a real problem with our downstairs half-bath.

I just don't know what it is.

If I go in there to you-know, I can't in peace. The cats crowd in, especially the whites, jumping on the console and then onto the sink, looking at me as though I should leap up and turn on the cold water to a trickle so they can be entertained while I'm there.

Well, I didn't invite them, and I can't leap up, which usually means they are bored and Eli starts to pick on Frost. There is general growling and hissing and somebody (usually Frost) leaves in a huff.

We have yet to have a bulldog that can tolerate me being in there alone (or with a cat/cats). 

Our half bath is tiny (think small elevator) and it's difficult for a big old bulldog to get back out. They can come in pretty easily, but there's no backing up, turning around and walking back out without great effort. So, they come in looking all worried about me, and then they go out (if they ever figure out how to do that), looking all worried about themselves.

Come to think about it, bulldogs look worried pretty much all the time. I guess I'm picking up on their mood.

It has to do with the size of the room, because upstairs bathroom causes no problems at all, nor does any other room.

But now that I think about it, I'm seldom alone in the upstairs bathroom, either.

And it's bigger. So three cats, a dog, a husband and a daughter can all come in at once.

I apparently deserve no privacy.

I wish they'd get it together enough to put on some kind of show.

Make the time go faster.

Wait. Do you hear that? I do believe it's circus music...

Things I Now Know Are Not True

When I was a child, I believed a lot of things that I now know are not true.

1. Our house was not dirty and needed paint. It was really gray. The other houses in the neighborhood were white, so you can see how I reached my conclusion.

2. My face will not freeze like that.

3. My eyes won't get stuck and be crossed for the rest of my life.

4. All dogs are not boys, nor are all cats girls.

5. Christmas (or summer) will never, ever get here.

6. I have all the time in the world.

7. People I love will live forever.

8. Bad things happen somewhere else.

9. I will never grow old like everybody else does.

10. If a praying mantis spits in my eye, I'll go blind.

                         Okay, maybe I still believe the last one.

Newsfeed

A few days ago, Husband was eating almonds. He hand a handful and was popping them in his mouth. Dog was looking at him wistfully, and Husband remembered he'd promised her a dog biscuit.

He's chatting with Daughter and me, as we were sitting at the table playing cards.

He goes into the pantry to get the biscuit, and the next thing I know he's spitting crumbs.

On his next bite, he had put the dog biscuit in his mouth.

Dog didn't appreciate the almond, either.

Last evening, Daughter went to one of the fast food restaurants to buy Mother, Other Brother, herself and me supper. I won't say which fast food joint, but their ancestors were Scottish. Daughter arrived back at Mother's, and I began taking our food out of the bag.

In anticipation, I knew Mother's was the only food in a box, the rest of us had wrapped, small hamburgers.

On Mothers was a tape. It said: Quarter Pounder  Must be Well Done. American Cheese Only.  3 pieces of bacon only.  cooked onions only.

I didn't read that tape until later. Mother opened the box and said, "This isn't a fish sandwich."

No monkey.

For some reason, after reading the taped o.c.d. commands for the hamburger, we all got hysterically tickled. Just imagining this person arriving home in anticipation of this precisely made hamburger, and opening up to find a fish sandwich....I dunno. We cracked up.

Yes, we do  need to get out more.

To make this even more amusing, Daughter had wanted something from the grocery store, so Mother asked her to buy tartar sauce so she could put extra on her fish sandwich she was having for supper. (ha!)

She came back with cocktail sauce. We ribbed her about that, as that was the funniest thing of the day so far. It was quickly forgotten in the sandwich debacle, however.

She got a little revenge telling on her daddy and the dog biscuit.

I wonder if the person ate the fish sandwich.

Am I Really Losing It?

So, I go to the doctor to establish myself as his patient. I am weighed and then the nurse says, "Let's see how tall you are."

I know how tall I am, five feet eight inches, so that will come as no surprise. Except she says, "Five feet, six inches."

I stand there for a minute, and say, "Are you sure? I've been five/eight for a long time."

"Yes, I am," says she. "See the marker there?" And walks off.

Well, no, I don't see the marker there. 

I check my pants. They aren't suddenly too long. 

I fret about it all the way home.

I mean, I know people shrink. My poor mother has shrunk four or five inches. But she knows it. Her clothes know it. Stuff she can't reach anymore knows it.

I haven't noticed any difference.

Husband says, "You've not shrunk. You're the same." But I think, what if he's shrunk two inches, too, and just doesn't notice?

I rush to the pantry when we get home, and scoot up against the wall where we have measured Daughter all her life. When she was very small, she wanted me to put my mark, too, so we could see how fast she was catching up with me. I pull away, and I'm at the same place I've always been. That makes me feel some better, but as soon as Daughter gets home I tell her to get back to back with me. 

Daughter just happens to be five feet eight inches tall, too.

We remain the same height.

Whew.

But then I start thinking.

What if she's shrunk two inches, too...

So You Think You Can Write A Book

Maybe you can. Maybe you have. And if you have you know how hard writing a book is.

Especially after "The End".

After the end, there is endless rereading by the author. Editing and proofing follows every single reread.

After you think you might throw up if you have to read the book again, you pass it off to "readers"; folks who are sick kind enough to read the book for you, red pencil in hand. These folks are usually English majors, people who have proofread or edited in a professional manner, or other authors. They have a keen eye for mistakes and aren't afraid to share them with you.

After you change all that mess, you, the author, get the joy of rereading it. Again.

It's then off to the publisher who  changes the manuscript into an interior file, make it looking just like a book!  The publisher then sends it back to the author to read it and make sure it's okay to go to the printers. 

It never is. This time I found twenty something errors, one so glaring that I couldn't believe someone, especially me, had not seen before.

Publisher sends correction page(s) back and asks you to review again. (You know what this means.) Fortunately for  me,  Daughter took half and read it and I read the other half.

Of course, she found some mistakes. I sent a correction sheet. He sent corrected text back. I checked to make sure he'd corrected the mistakes, but did not read the book again.

There's some things a person just can't do.

I am in love with the book cover, both front and back. I think you'll like it, too.

If there's more mistakes in there when you read the book, well I think they reproduce when the book is closed. Diana Gabaldon said that, and I think she ought to know, being a famous author and all.

I haven't even talked about the photo shoot for the cover, or having to have my own durn picture struck. Eww.

Of course, many authors have nothing to do with the outside cover, but I'm too controlling and usually by a few pages in I know what the cover should look like. 

Also, there is the fearful task of trying to make sure you thank all the folks who helped make the book what it is. I am always afraid I'll leave someone out, even though I take notes.

The next step is receiving the manuscript back from two authors who are previewing the book in order to do blurbs on the cover about how great it is. If they don't like it, I'm in a heap of trouble.

Once the publisher gets a hard copy back from the printer, guess who has to read the book again.

But this time will be different because, magically, I will hold a book in my hand that I wrote.

I'll read it, I'll pray it's as funny as I think it is, the printer will print, and I will get books weeks after that.

So, say a little prayer that a book signing will occur in  mid-November.

If I'm not too tired to do one.

Sweet Old Things

There is a rose bush blooming in my yard, close to the porch banister. It's not a fancy rose, just a small, nearly red bloom that is trying for one last hurrah before fall.

The unique thing about this rose bush is that it came from my great-great-grandmother's yard. And maybe her mother's yard before her, no one remembers now that my grandmother is gone.

We have other bushes and flowers in our yard that have come from Husband's mother, and my grandmothers, and my mother.

We have a few antiques in our house, but not very many, and none, far as I know, worth a whole lot. Other furniture is reproduction furniture, most of which I purchased before Husband and I married. (Now that I think about it, maybe it is antique by now!)

I started collecting a certain china pattern when I was eighteen. When my grandmother found out that was the pattern I wanted, and no one carried it anymore, and also that I was going to garage sales and yard sales looking, she gave me a vegetable bowl and a platter. She told me she once had the whole set, but over the many years of using it daily, it all was broken one way or another except for these two pieces.

She came by the whole set by collecting them from the barrels of sugar and flour my grandfather would purchase for the grocery store they owned.

When  my great-grandfather's sister died (this was the other side of my family), her daughter called to let me know there were two pieces of the china if I wanted to look at them before they  had an estate sell the next day. I did. Of course, they expected money, which made my grandmother furious!

After some years, the pattern became popular again, and instead of finding a plate for twenty-five cents, they were priced at twenty-five dollars.

I don't get a new piece very often anymore, not unless it's something unusual.

And photographs! Now, we do have some old photographs of family.

I sat Daughter down and began discussing what was really valuable in the house - photographs of ancestors, what dishes came from family, and other do-dads that had sentimental value.

She squirmed and said it made her uncomfortable, she didn't want to think about me dying, ever. I explained to her it wasn't me leaving I was thinking about, but her. And when she did leave to make her own nest somewhere, I wanted her to have memories. So that when I died, she'd know what was valuable.

There is no price tag on this stuff. But it's what one should take away with them from their parent's estate: the things that connect the love from one generation to the next.

Not bank accounts.

Because someday, I want her to show someone her yard and point to a rose bush and say, "That rose bush came from my great-great-great grandmother's yard. And maybe her mother's yard, too. No one really knows."

Texas Week

My cousins who visited for a week, weren't born or completely raised in Texas. Their daddy got transferred when they were up pretty big kids, but that's where they attended high school and finished being raised and settled.

They don't wear cowboy hats or boots (at least not in the summer), but they are proud of their state.

We had a good week, reminiscing, eating, laughing and going over photographs that they brought with them of our grandmother's side of the family. For many of the pictures, none of us could identify anyone in them.

That  made me sad. Did folks think that in over  a hundred years their ancestors would know them? Surely not. It would have been nice if they, or the generation that came after them, had labeled them.

Texas Cousin's mother had labeled some of them before her death, and had made a list (which I forgot to scan) of births and deaths of folks.

I scanned some of  the photos in my computer, and will finish that task soon. I suppose  the ones I don't know I'll just file under the family name.

If you are a picture taker, please identify your subject. Even if it's a pretty  tree. "Taken in great-aunt Joan Doe's back yard." It will mean something to folks on down the road of time.

It really will.

Letters from the Past

Many things have been going on in my life lately.

In the past few weeks, I have been in a whirlwind of getting my book ready to be sent to the printer's. No one, unless they have published a book, has any idea what goes on after the satisfying words, "The End". I will blog about this soon. It will change your mind that "everyone has a book in them just waiting to be published". Hogwash. More on that later.

My Texas cousins visited for a week, and brought with them a plethora of old photographs they had collected from their mother's collection.

The most emotional thing they brought with them, for me, was two letters written by our great-grandmother, Henrietta Drennon James. 

She was my paternal grandmother's mother. When I was a child, all the "old maid" aunts (that's what they were called, all you single girls, don't throw rocks at me!) said I looked much like Henrietta did as a child. 

Her nickname was Etta. Even her obituary calls her Etta. She was nineteen years old when she died of the Red Measles.

Which, by the way, I almost died of when I was nine years old.

My grandmother was a six month old baby. She had a two year old brother, Herbert.

Oddly enough, the letters are written to Etta's husband's sister, Arminda (or Aunt Mindy as we called her when I was a child. Yes, she lived for almost ever.) 

It is clear Etta is lonesome and pining for some company or an opportunity to visit the family. 

She is educated, writes well, and is articulate.

Here is her picture: 

And, yes, she is part Cherokee. 

Here are photo copies of her letters:

She was about six months pregnant with my grandmother when she penned this letter.

and here is the other one, written fourteen months before my grandmother was born:

page one

and :

Page two

I also have her hat, which you can see on the cover of my  novel, "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree"

Daughter is the model for the cover photo, and she wore the hat with other clothing that has meaning for our family.

Sometimes history just feels like some dusty page you have to memorize in a poorly ventilated classroom in seventh grade after recess when you are hot and sleepy.

But this history is still alive - through me, all my cousins and our children, and their children...

Family.

I did it

I did it.

I shaved my face.

Boy, I sure do  miss my eyebrows.

Ha, ha. Just kidding. Even I ain't that stupid.

I did it because a young friend of mine does some modeling and she said all models shave the fuzz off their face before a photo shoot in order for the make up to go on smoother, for a richer look.

It didn't work.

I told Husband I was ready for my picture to be struck. I asked how my make up looked.

He got up real close and squinted at my face. "Can't tell any difference," he said with a shrug.

Sigh.

So, anyway, I had a billion pictures made. Then we decided to get Eli (my Maine Coon cat, in case you don't know) and see if there was a candid shot in there somewhere. It took him a few shots to get comfortable. He was about to lie down on the table next to  my old typewriter, so I reached back behind me to get the chair.

The idea was for me to slowly sit down at the typewriter with Eli lying there next to me.

What a great shot!

That wasn't meant to be. As I stepped backward with my eye on Eli, I stepped on Mimi, Daughter's cat, and she yowled like Big Foot had stepped on her (shut up). Of course, that put Eli on high alert and he jumped down to run after her. 

Sigh again.

I guess I ain't never gonna be a high paid model.

Plus, my grandmother kept showing up. Now, she died in 1987, and had plenty of her own photos made. Why she kept getting in front of my face is beyond me.

As you might guess, I've had trouble picking out which photo to use for my book. Actually, I gave up and sent four to my publisher. 

Let them deal with it.

After all, they  never knew my grandmother.

Excuses, excuses

Presenting excuses  valid reasons I've not blogged since August 18. (at least it's August of this year):

1. I had amnesia.
2. I had a severe case of apathy.
3. I broke both wrists while attempting a handstand.
4. I'm trying to get my latest novel finished so it can be published this year.

You probably guessed right: apathy.

No! Just kidding.

If you've never written a book, you probably think you write "the end" and set your pen down with a satisfied sigh.

Not even close.

If you are like me you want to be hands on for the entire process, so the next thing is the photo shoot for the cover of the book.

But also, while you are planning the shoot, you madly hand out first draft manuscripts to readers: Those wonderful folks who have a red pen in their hand and a wicked gleam in their eye. They go through the book with a fine tooth comb and mark everything that is misspelled, questionable, left out words, punctuation errors, words that should be other words, and big fat mistakes. When the manuscript is returned it looks like it's bleeding to death.

And thank God for these people. He knows I need all the help I can get.

The photo shoot for this book was last week and it was fun. A five year old, a six year old, and a creek. The children aren't old enough to be self conscious, so anything asked of them was done cheerfully as they chattered away to one another, becoming fast friends.

The only problem is finding the perfect photo - because at first glance all one million shots look perfect. 

After getting all the wounded, marked up manuscripts back, I have to read them, change or disagree and put all of it into the computer so I can print out another, freshly corrected copy to read myself. And after I mark it up, I do the dreaded thing: I give the last corrected copy to Eagle Eye Hill: Daughter. 

She is always the final reader to proof and edit my manuscript before it goes off to the publisher.

But the  most horrifying part, the part I can scarcely mention is this:
I have to have a picture taken. Of  me, myself.

Do you  have any idea how much I dread this? I don't take a good picture; you can "there, there" me all you want, and insist it "probably" isn't true, but it is. 

My features are too small, my cheeks are too high, the left side of my face doesn't match the right side. And then there's all those new friends we call wrinkles.

Couldn't we just put a picture of my cat up instead?

Well, my nose will be back to the grindstone tomorrow.

I'll blog when I can.

After it's all finished, I'll be pestering you to read my blog all the time again.

That's either a promise or a threat.

You decide.

There Once Was A Little Old Man...

There once was a little old man,
Who was driven around by a little old woman,
In a little old car,
With a handicapped sticker on their tag.

They drove on my curvy back road,
Where the speed limit is 35 m.p.h.
And they drove
Twelve m.p.h.
Not eleven, not thirteen.

All the way to the main road -
Where the speed limit is 45 m.p.h.,
And then they drove
22 m.p.h.
Not 21, not 23.

And I was, and I am, always behind them.

The end

Goo-goo-googly Google

I just googled my name.

I figured since I told thirty people yesterday to do that to get to my blog and books, it wouldn't hurt me to do the same.

Well. It says there are pages and pages, but really after three pages(!), it becomes all sorts of things. Poor Hill Harper gets in my stuff, which I figure means my stuff shows up in his stuff. He's pretty famous as an actor and author too. Who knows? Maybe somebody will buy a book of mine and decide they like it anyway.

I was amazed that you could "rent" one of my books. Is that, like, the library?

There were some reviews on goodreads.com.

I found out you can still buy "Falling" from Barnes and Noble on line.

I read my bio, and I found a site that will do"book signings and speaking engagements for me". They ain't never asked me about it...

But yesterday was fun. Sold a few books and they gave me a lovely pot full of Shasta Daisies.

Sweet.

Good-bye, Old Friend

The year was 1972. I was eighteen years old. I was about to be married, so I was given a household shower.

Good thing, too. An eighteen year old ain't got much to speak of in the way of household items; unless one begs, borrows or steals from their family of origin.

And frankly, my family didn't have much to take.

Anyway, I got lots of nice things, sometimes the same thing two or three times.

I did get lots of pretty sheets and towels.

Today, When I got the towels out of the dryer, I retired the very last of those towels to the ragbag.

Yep. Forty-four years ago. That's a lot of drying off people.

When Husband called it a rag the other day, I figured it was time to say good-bye. (To the towel, not Husband)

I noticed how much smaller it was than our bath towels purchased in more recent years. It had also become very thin and had a hole beginning in the middle of it.

Am I embarrassed that I let a towel get in that kind of shape and still use it?

Nah. I get emotionally attached to the oddest things. I reckon I was a little attached to the last of the young bride's gifts.

Sorta brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?

One Of Those "I Can't Believe It" Days

Yesterday was a long, hard day. Taking Mother to the doctor should have been a deal over by ten a.m.; instead it was over at a little after two p.m. 

My legs and feet did not appreciate all the sitting, and in fact, they are punishing me as we speak. 

That's why I'm typing so fast!

However; a few things of note must be reported.

1. One the way home in NORTH GEORGIA, I saw a dead armadillo on the side of the road. 

I posted the fact on facebook, and several people responded that, they too, had seen dead armadillos. That makes the suspicion arise, as one reader said, "That there must be live ones out there."

2. It came a pretty intense thunderstorm at our house last evening. The brownouts were numerous; in fact, I expected electricity to be gone any  moment. It never happened. What did happen was that after one powerful thunderclap followed by hearing lightning strike, our car horn begin to blow. It blew for over a minute.

I called The Brother of Many Surgeries and asked him if that meant what I thought it meant...that our car had been struck by lightning.

He confirmed my suspicions and opined it could have done nothing to the car or could have melted and destroyed all the electrical work.

He instructed Husband to go out and see if the car would start (well, he said crank, all of us still say crank, even though I doubt any of us have ever had a car that you still had to crank). If it did indeed crank, then proceed to check all the lights, radio, horn, etc. Oh, and before he got in the car to make sure there wasn't melted wires and stuff hanging out from under the dash. 

Husband flatly refused to go. "Why would I do that in the middle of the storm when it may  have melted a car? I don't want to be melted."

So we had to wait out the storm before Husband would check out the car.

 Girly man.

I would have done it myself if I hadn't had more sense.

The good news is our little Cruiser was just fine. I guess she just got sort of a shock and was bleating out her misery.

That's all the news that is the news for now. 

The Good Life

This morning Husband and I sat on our back porch, way up in the trees. We have a tin roof, and it was coming one of those gentle rains that truly does pitter patter on the leaves.

This didn't bother the birds one bit, we could hear several different chatters, songs and calls. The Ruby-Throated Humming Bird drank hungrily from the feeder, then sat right at our faces and shook water off himself. 

The seed feeder had nut hatches, tufted titmouse(s? mice?) and Mrs. Indigo Bunting, who unlike her royal blue husband is two shades of plain old brown. 

There was some squabbling at the feeder, because no one wanted to share, but it was entertaining to us and the cats.

Bonnie, or Dog, had ferociously run off a squirrel earlier. The squirrel had managed to open the top of the feeder and dive in head first. Since the feeder is right close to the screen, he had quite a fright when an 84 pound bulldog came racing out of the house, growling and barking, every  hair turned the wrong way. What a dog!

Husband,birds, rain, pets, perfect temperature, pleasant conversation. Oh, and coffee.

On a beautiful Friday morning, on this Earth, who could ask for anything better?

A big thanks to the Creator for this gift.

Amen.

It Ain't The Heat, It's The Humility (Yogi Berra)

Lord, ain't it hot?

The other day it was up in the nineties (I know, I know, it's been that way for many days), but on this day, I called up the weather feller and he said the heat index read 103 degrees.

Now, I don't know what how the heat index is formulated, nor do I need to know. But I'm sure there's some proud mama out there saying, "Ya'll know that's my  young'un that thought that up, don't you?"

It's so hot my porch plants sent me a message via e-mail begging to be watered a day early.

It's so hot the cats came in off the back porch and slammed the door behind them, headed toward the air conditioning.

It's so hot... eh, never mind.

All I got to say: Those of you who hate snow, shame on you.

Shame, shame, shame - on you.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

If you are like me, it's becoming almost unbearable to watch news or read headlines.

But occasionally, I see something in the corner of my eye; I can't resist it, and I read. 

Well, by golly, if I read it, so can you.

Example 1: A man in China was sold two puppies from a guy who told him they would grow into being fine guard dogs. The fellow who purchased the animals said he couldn't keep them fed enough, they were constantly hungry and costing him a great deal of money. As they grew bigger, bigger, and still bigger, he either consulted someone or perhaps someone visited - briefly - but long enough to tell them those weren't dogs, they were bears.

Example 2: I only read the headline because really; I just couldn't bring myself to read the rest:  "Chattanooga attorney shot while breaking into elderly couple's home and throwing house plans at them".

Yeah. That's what I thought, too.  

Later, dudes and dudettes.

It's Been a Long Time Since Ding Dong School

I was cooking dinner and Husband was helping. He was to get the sweet potatoes out of the vegetable bin. He came back with two that had lots of stems growing from their eyes. 

He asked if he could put one in water and grow a 'sweet potater vine'.

I said, "Don't you just cut off one of the thingies and put that in water? Why waste a whole potato?"

We didn't know. We couldn't remember.

It's been a long time since Ding Dong School.

I have very vague memories of it. I looked it up, and it ran from 1952 to 1956, which means I was two years old when it went off the air. 

And something else: I remember Miss Frances as being a young, dark headed, slender woman. 

The one I saw on youtube is a matronly, grey headed woman. So, who the heck am I thinking about? (Husband later says I'm thinking of the woman from Romper Room. Oh.)

The only other thing I remember about Ding Dong School was her showing us how to grow a sweet potato vine in the kitchen window; which, with the help of Mother, I did.

I think there was even a children's book about it, and I owned it. * added: (There was, I looked it up.)

OH LOOK! THE BOOK!

That's why I told Husband to look up Ding Dong School and find out the right way to do it.

I wonder if he will, or he'll just cave and eat the tater.

Time will tell.

Shave and a Hair Cut, Two Bits

You know, you really are never too old to learn something.

I get that. But sometimes I learn something and people act like I should have known all along - everyone else already knows.

I did not know women shave their faces.

Apparently it's a very normal, casual thing.

The first time I heard about it was a few years ago from a young lady. We were about to be on television and were having a conversation about make up. She said she shaves her face anytime she is having a photo taken because it makes make up go on much smoother. She learned this from a friend who is a model. Models, apparently, shave their face regularly when they are working.

Then a hair dresser friend told me she had started shaving her face in her fifties because of (you'll be surprised) facial hair. Okay, you weren't surprised.

No pain, no waxing, no tweezing. And no, apparently the hair doesn't grow back so that you look like a lumberjack.

Then another hairdresser told me the same thing.

There are more women that have told me that than this, but I'm afraid my mind boggled.

Now, I've never been very hairy. Even eyebrows are pretty scarce. So facial hair has never been a concern. But the last few years my peach fuzz on my cheeks are fuzzier and we won't mention "old lady hairs" as one of my friend's so fondly calls them.

So. I'm gonna bite the bullet.

Next time you see me, if I have a little piece of toilet paper stuck to my cheek, think nothing of it.

I'm just being one of the guys.

Sports Nuts

I pay no attention whatsoever to sports. The only time I am even mildly interested is when the Dawgs play Tech. and I want to know who wins at the end.

Having said that, yesterday left me drained and amazed when  I was presented with an event that was right in front of me.

Daughter and I were in Buffalo Luke's eating the best chicken sandwich I have ever eaten in my life (except for the other one I had there previously) and fresh, cut and cooked-right-there french fries. 

I need to take a moment.

Anywho, they have TV's everywhere, so right at our table was one, with a sports event just beginning. I couldn't figure out what it was at first, because they didn't have the sound on.

It was all guys (and you'll understand why in a moment); and at first they looked pretty athletic. Then this old man came down the walk. Indeed they said he was the oldest man ever to enter the competition. He was 72 and was five six at 115 pounds. I found myself hoping he didn't get crushed by the others.

Then there were some pretty fat fellas.

They were all dressed differently from one another, but each guy's theme was red, white and blue. They each had a cheerleader, too.

The competitors all lined up behind this long table. The cameras focused mainly on the champ who had broken a world's record of 73 and 1/2.

He ate 73 and 1/2 hot dogs in ten minutes.

They started the contest. It really was like a train wreck as far as  not wanting to look but unable to stop.

My own food dangled somewhere between the plate and my mouth. 

It was so very, very, gross.

He didn't beat his own record, he only got seventy hot dogs eaten. In ten minutes, people.

You understand why it was all males in this competition? 

I thought so.

Busy as a Bee

So, I've blogged about ten times...but only in my head.

I've had so much going on, that by the time I have time to actually blog on paper, I'm too pooped to do it.

My house has been spring cleaned (mostly by not me) except for about half our bedroom. 

We put some new rugs down and if you don't think that's a chore - moving furniture, cleaning,  taking up old rug, putting down new rug and putting furniture back - then you ain't never done it.

It's like painting a room. Mid-way through you're thinking, "Why, oh why, did I ever start this insanity?"

I really love 3 of the rugs, but the other one...meh. But I guess I'll learn to live with it.

Spring and summer brings a boat load of stuff that needs doing. The house, porches and yard get ignored to a large extent when winter is the season. It's like spring sunshine makes you see your house in a different light: "What the heck is that nastiness?" You ask yourself and others. Many times it's not even identifiable by spring. You just put on the mask and gloves and hope for the best while removal is taking place.

At our house, at least, nobody's died.

Yet.

Headlines and Other Nonsense

There are a lot of troubling things in the headlines lately.

But one caught my eye and made me cock my head gently to the side: Hooters Restaurant is concerned about their image. I wonder why?

I mean, I could understand their concern if their name was Biters, or say, Woofers. But Hooters? Why would they be concerned about their image? Like, what? It's gotten too clean?

And then, the other day I spoke briefly to a guy I went to  high school with - he was two years ahead of me. Something kept niggling in the back of my mind, saying that he looked familiar, and I don't mean from high school. Then it hit me. He looks just like Mr. Potato Head, and I ain't kidding.

Husband and I have changed our eating habits a little. He's lost about twelve pounds and I've lost seven. Being a man, they always do that, and it makes me mad. I don't care that we have an extra layer of fat.  But what makes me madder is I can't even tell I've lost seven pounds of blubber because this brace I'm wearing pulls all my back fat around to the front, pushes my belly fat straight up, and then bunches it all up under my...hooters.

And the restaurant is worried about their image?

They should be thinking about Mr. Potato Head and me.

I guess baking a cake is sorta like riding a bicycle.

I had not made a cake since before I fell in January of 2006. 

That's right, over ten years.

In fact, Daughter reminded me that yesterday marked the tenth anniversary when I fell down the rabbit hole of surgery and returned damaged and  confused; my life changed forever.

Anyway, Daughter's 26th birthday was June 7, and because I've been doing better as of late, I determined I was going to bake a birthday cake.

So, I did. 

It is good.

I also cooked a birthday dinner. You will be saddened to learn I did not snap any photos of the meal. Let's just say it was a success also.

Happy birthday, my Daughter!