Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Oh, the Pain!

All marriages have their ups and downs. Fortunately, Husband and I have had more ups than downs.

But there is one day that stands out from all our nearly 33 years of marriage as a great big old down.

The day before Daughter's fifth birthday. 

The day we put a swing set together.

It came in about 30 pieces, or more. 

And on a good day, Husband nor myself knows a monkey wrench from a real live monkey.

It wasn't pretty.

We got to talking about this at Christmas when everyone was reminiscing about years past when they had spent Christmas Eve putting tricycles, bicycles, and what have you together and staying up until it was time for the little ones to get up, desperate to finish whatever it was they'd started at 9:00 p.m. the night before.

Husband says he remembers struggling with a little wooden scooter thing Daughter sat on and scooted across the rooms. (sort of like a bike without wheels). I vaguely remember the scooter, but he must have gone through that alone, as I don't remember anything about it. 

Poor man.

I noticed that most of the reminiscing was done with a lot of smiling.

I guess we do forget the pain as time goes on.

Monday, December 25, 2017

Bittersweet

My mother is an only child. Growing up, she was close to her cousins, especially one first cousin.

He was born on her fourth birthday. I suppose that bonded them in a special way. She tells the tale of them being at their grandparents house (his daddy and her mama were siblings) and being sent to get the mail.

Now, this was in the 1930's. They had to walk a piece then cross a foot log to get to the mailbox. My mother was (and still is) afraid of water, so she refused to do this. Instead, she made her four year old cousin (she was eight and bossy) do it.

Once, he'd been watching Superman and decided he could fly, too. So he snuck one of his baby sister's cloth diapers out, tied it around his neck, climbed up the bank on the back of the house, scrambled to the roof - and jumped.

Broke his arm.

There are many stories like that, some of them told about each other, some of them told about stuff they did together.

After their grandparents passed away, they weren't very close for a while. There was some hurt feelings in the family about "stuff", which is a shame.

But the last twenty-five years or more, things have been okay. They wrote each other goofy birthday cards, talked on the phone and he stopped by and visited a lot. Occasionally I'd take Mother to visit. He had birthday parties for one of his sisters who had some brain damage from a high fever as a little child, and never lived alone. Every Christmas he had a huge box of expensive nuts dressed up in a beautiful tin delivered to Mother.

Last year Mother didn't get a birthday card. She was worried. He finally called a few days later. He'd fallen and been in the hospital.

He started falling a lot. Part of it was due to his vision, which was getting worse all the time. He became very frail and feeble, looking older than his years.

A few weeks ago, he fell twice. Turns out he hadn't been able to eat solid foods in several days. They hospitalized him. I'm not sure about why he couldn't eat, but they decided to put a feeding tube in. When the doctor started talking about the procedure, he adamantly refused to have it done. "I'm weak and tired. I've been tired for a long time. I want to go Home. I  know my Lord is waiting on me."

A few days later he died.  The family looked exhausted at the funeral home. They were sad, but knew he had been right. He went very peacefully.

Early this week the UPS truck pulled up in Mother's yard. They delivered the beautiful tin full of candy coated nuts from him, just like clockwork.

Mother called me. She was in tears. Apparently he'd made all his preparation for this Christmas in advance. 

Bittersweet: the perfect definition.

Friday, December 15, 2017

NEW POST FROM BONNIE! Woof!

Hey Everybody!!

I usually don't talk on here 'less I got something to say about my  WHEELIE. But it is safe and sound now that the SNOW is melted off it. It was way up under all that stuff,  I tell you!

Don't tell, but for the first few seconds I was AFRAID of the snow. Daddy said I had seen it last year, but I don't 'member. Anyway, I found out snow is FUN! 

And guess what? I have a FRIEND! He is a boy dog, so I guess he is my BOYFRIEND.

Mama and Daddy are afraid he is breaking the RULES, because he gets out on his own every morning and goes WALKIE all alone! He likes to come to our house. He would come INSIDE but my mama says, "No, doggie!"

But I know when he is outside and I run back and forth to the door and cry and cry for my daddy to let us go out!

My BOYFRIEND is a good dog. He plays and plays and doesn't hurt me, so I am careful not to hurt him, 'cause he is kinda little. 

Mama laughed and said big woman, little man, that's the Appalachian way. What does that even MEAN?

I think he is CUTE! What do you think?
I hope he doesn't get in trouble for breaking the RULES. But you know what I think?
I think it is his Mama and Daddy who are breaking the rules. So, my BOYFRIEND should get to COME IN THE HOUSE and live with us.

That's what I think.

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Howdy

So, I know I haven't blogged in two weeks, which is unusual for me. 

There's been a lot going on, some of it not fun, so I won't focus on that.

But we had a great Thanksgiving, we have the Christmas decorations up and most of the  Christmas shopping done.

And, for the first time in my long life, I've been in a recording studio.

My next book, "Poetry, Prose and Music: Life of an Appalachian Woman" will have a little CD tucked in the back. Daughter does a solo and she and I did two duets on it. There are seven other songs on there, three of which yours truly wrote lyrics and  melody. 

Now it has to be "mixed", and I have to get busy unmixing the book. It's a real  mess, but at least it's contained between two pages of a notebook and in four folders on the computer. 

The notebook is sort of like scrambled eggs, though, and I have to devote a chunk of time putting it together.

This is a new endeavor for me, so it's taking up a bunch more time than a straight forward novel. 

Husband has set up a table for me to work off of, right next to the computer, so that will help. 

I hope.

Pardon me if I don't blog much for the next few weeks, but I'll keep ya posted. 

Friday, November 17, 2017

I Don't Understand

Many years ago, when I was a workin' woman, I drove a Mercedes Benz circa 1985. We bought her when Daughter was about 9 months old, so the car was already five years old.

But it was a Mercedes. Well, I loved that car. I still do, but I can't drive it because the foot feed is extremely hard to push and the seats are tilted in a way that makes me feel like I'm undergoing torture.

Anyway, I was in town for something, and when I turned the ignition key to off, the car kept running. No matter how many times I tried, the car would not turn off.

So, somewhat alarmed, I pulled into the nearest garage. I told the feller the problem. He got in, got out, and said, "Ma'am, your car is cut off."

Very funny, I thought. "Then explain to me how it is I drove it here, and can still hear it running, even as we speak."

There. Take that.

He launched into a rather long speech about how a diesel doesn't have to have electricity to operate, and as long as it has fuel, it will run. then he said, "Blah, blah, celluloid injection pump blah, blah, blah."

It sounded pretty much the same as every time my car has ever torn up. 

Anyway, he showed me how to push a button or turn a lever or something that would turn the engine off until some sort of part could be ordered re-connecting the engine to the rest of the car.

Doesn't it seem to you (if you are a mechanic, stay out of this) that the car should have stopped working completely, instead of continuing to run if something was broken?

Just askin'.

Sunday, November 5, 2017

For the Beauty

Well, good morning, Lord!

You certainly have outdone Yourself today.

I can't stop staring at all the trees, what with their bid to see who is the most magnificent and all.

It's so grand it boggles the mind. The camera doesn't do it justice. Paintings look artificial. For folks who've never seen this, they probably wouldn't believe a photograph or a painting.

I watched raindrops glisten on a dogwood leaf for ten minutes. That peculiar golden pink color that the leaves turn really offset the bright red berries that sit in clusters on its branches. 

And that orange, red, yellow, cinnamon, gold! Wet it a little, then let the sun come out.







Man, You really know what You're doing. Right now the sky is as blue as an Irish baby's eyes. 

And the air! Oh, the smell that is attached to autumn! Think flannel, wool, fleece, thick cotton, quilts, fireplaces, homemade soup and cornbread. It's beyond description.

The sounds are different, too. Muted. Like the orchestra is winding down and is now playing lullabies to get us ready for the sleep of winter. 

Yes, sir. 

You've really outdone Yourself today.

My hat is off to You, Lord. Your creation, even as badly as we've treated it, is beyond my wildest imagination.

I don't thank You enough.

But I'm thanking You now.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

Another Year Goes By

Every October I stop and give you all a great big thank you for reading this crazy blog.

The countries that have "hit" my blog have increased to 84. Eighty-four countries  have read my blog! Why? I have to ask. Who in Mongolia wants to read about something I say? Beats me - but thanks anyway.

Nearly  46,000 times has my blog been looked at since I started blogging.  

I appreciate it more than you know.

I'm not alone.

And neither are you!

Friday, October 20, 2017

An Unlikely Event

It's taken me some time to write about this at any length.

A short while back, I attend a memorial ceremony. It was for my ex-husband.

I married him when I was 18 years old. We were married twelve years. The last five were very difficult; I would say we were married by law only. 

But I was raised to believe once married, always married.

He never hit me, though he came close. I was never afraid of him until one night toward the very end.

I learned you can't be married to someone who doesn't want to be married to you.

I know the exact moment God released me from that marriage. It was a revelation. I would have had serious doubts if anyone told me that God had released them from a marriage until it happened to me.

I'm not saying that I believed women who were being abused should stay in a relationship; I never believed that.

But I didn't consider myself in an abusive relationship. Others, after the divorce, told me differently. Many people felt he was abusive.

But you know how it is, you stay out of other's business.

All that was a long time ago. Husband and I have been married nearly 33 years. 

I was surprised at the grief I felt when  I learned that my ex-husband had been killed. Partly, I think, was that he was killed instead of dying from an illness or old age.

The sad parts were many. He died living in a homeless shelter.
He had alienated his family with his hate and his feelings of "you owe me" so badly that his cousin's wife called me and asked me could I tell her something good about him, because no one else could come up with anything.

He could shoot pool really well. Played the drums really well. He could dance. He was a sharp dresser. He was smart. If you were with him, you never had to worry about getting lost. He was like a homing pigeon, always knowing which way to go. 

All superficial things, but it's all I had.

She wondered if I had a photograph they could use at the memorial service. No one in the family had a single photo.

I cropped one of our wedding pictures, getting his head and shoulders. It turned out very nice.

A man, who had been my pastor for a few years, had been taught by me in Sunday School when he was eleven and twelve years old, said he would say a few words at the service if they needed someone, because he had some fond memories. The family appreciated the offer and took him up on it.

So the state of S. C. handed my ex-husband's ashes over to a cousin. They finally found his half-sister who gave them permission. They did the memorial service before their family reunion. That way, the cousin said, at least some family would be at his service. His sister didn't come.

It's all really sad, isn't it?

So I grieved. I felt sad. I also felt relief. I didn't have to worry about him approaching Daughter some day. Or knocking on my door. Or barging in on my Mother.

Because he would have thought nothing of doing those things. He just didn't have a way back home.

And now?

Is he Home?

I just don't know.


And that's the saddest thing of all.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Marriage: The Early Years

Husband and I have always had what you  might call an unusual relationship.

It started out as friendship, and believe it or not, I never thought for a second that there would be romance in the air at a later date.

I think because of that friendship, we were able to be more ourselves than people who start out dating right away.

This might explain the photo of me that was taken shortly after we married:
There's a long story behind this, as you might imagine.

Husband had a costume named CHUG, which stood for something or other about not using drugs.

He would dress in this half frog half dragon costume and go to primary schools when he worked in alcohol and drug addiction. He brought it  home one evening thinking that our three year old nephew would get a kick out of it. 

He did not.

In fact, I believe he may have been scarred for life.

But that's another story!

Anyway, the particular night I "dressed up", was pure impulse. I was already in bed, reading, when Husband went into the bathroom to get ready for bed himself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the costume on the couch arm, waiting for  him to take it back to work the next morning.

I couldn't resist. I grabbed the top of it and hoisted it upon and over my head, scurried back to bed and posed with a magazine.

When Husband turned the corner, talking, and glanced up at me, he jumped straight up in the air and screamed. Yup. Like a girl. Then he laughed so hard he cried. The next thing he did, of course, was run for a camera. 

And keep in mind this was before a camera was on every device one owns. It was a real camera with, like, film and everything.

Which means film developers somewhere saw this and wondered.

Ah, yes. The early years of marriage.

Not much has changed.

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Hello!

Sorry I haven't checked in. But with hurricanes, septic tank collapse and whatnot, I've been pretty busy. 

The hurricane has passed, the septic tank fixed. Now I just have to get all this book stuff together.

You do want another book, don't you?

Hello?


Thursday, September 14, 2017

The Perfect Storm

Okay, it wasn't perfect, but it sure was a storm!

We knew Hurricane Irma was on it's way. That's all the whole media world was talking about. Sorta refreshing, in a way. A break from throwing stones at each other, like when we had the eclipse.

Anyway, We did everything we could to prepare: made sure the generator was up and ready, food in the pantry, laundry all done, and cars parked low in or at the garage.

Sure enough, Monday at 2:20 p.m. our electricity went off. We waited a few, but upon looking up in the sky at the top of the trees, which were being thrashed about furiously, we decided that would be a no go and Husband started the generator.

Now, way back in 1993, when the blizzard hit, our house was totally electric. BIG mistake. See, I was a town child and town doesn't lose electricity like country. And our house really was in the country then. We were at the end of the power line, and only one other house here. So when the blizzard hit, by 5:00 a.m. our house was at 55 degrees and dropping. If not for our neighbors who "just happened" (thank you, Lord) to be up from Florida and got caught, I don't know what we would have done. They had a wood heating furnace in their basement, and once we could manage to get there (a two minute walk that took us twenty) we could be somewhere that was warm.

This taught us a lesson, hence the generator. It runs our fridge and water pump, plus a couple of other outlets in the kitchen so we can use the microwave and coffee maker. It also gives us overhead light in the kitchen.

In 1995, when Hurricane Opal hit, we were without electricity 8 days. I still had an electric hot water heater and cook stove, so we had to heat water and grill outside. 

I got even smarter, and we bought a gas hot water heater and a gas cook stove. 

We also have a gas log fireplace in the sun room and a "real" fireplace in our living room, so if something hits in winter again, we can stay home.

That means a lot. You can hunker down and make do when you can stay home.

So, if you are a praying person, stop right now, for just a minute, and pray for all those who no longer have a home to make do. They have lost everything. 

And if you've never been there, you have no idea how hopeless and helpless that feels.

So, please.  Say a prayer.

Friday, September 8, 2017

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

It's interesting to me how things happen in groups. (Yes, many times in threes, although I hope this time it ain't so).

I've never been involved with funerals or  memorials or anything else that involved ashes.

I'm not sure, but I think not too many years ago most the people I know would have frowned on it. I'm not sure why, other than the nod to the body being burned having a superstitious connection to the fires of Hell.

But my aunt and uncle died a few years ago very close together and were cremated. Turns out their oldest daughter saved a bit of their ashes to be spread here, where they both were born and raised. She died a few months ago, too, and she, too, was cremated. She requested that her ashes be spread here.

So, my cousins, when visiting this year, brought their parents' and sister's ashes in order to scatter them here and say the final good-bye.

Before they arrived, however; I got news that my ex-husband had been killed. 

Now, I haven't been married to this man for a long, long time. In fact, Husband and I have been for 32 years. 

But I was married to him, and for twelve years. He was not a good husband. He was not a very good man, and the older he got the worse he became. 

But still - I have to say I was stunned. I guess because he was killed in an accident, in an unexpected way. And that he was living in a homeless shelter. This shouldn't have come as a surprise, and in a way it didn't.

He, too, has been cremated. And because he pretty much ostracized himself from his family, they have contacted me for as much information as I could offer. When was he born? Could I tell them something good about him to put in the obituary? Did I have a photograph they could use? 

I haven't minded helping in any way I could, but it's also saddened me that I am the only one who has anything to connect him to this life. And we have been divorced for 33 years. 

My aunt, uncle and first cousin's scattering of ashes was very symbolic and meaningful. I won't go into detail here, but it was very moving.

If I can, I will go to my ex-husband's service because - well, I'm not sure why. 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

Indeed..

Monday, September 4, 2017

You say tomato, I say

Ta Mah Tah.

Or not.

Here, depending on how far up the mountains you reside, we say "tamata", or if you are really country, "damater" or just plain, "mater".

Whatever you call it, man alive, it's one good food.

I say this because, as ya'll know, summer is ending and that means the end of the fresh picked, still warm from the sun, tomato.

Makes me shed a tear.

You know, folks originally thought the tomato was poison. Some brave soul decided to eat it anyway.

I picture it thusly: Immediately preceding the first bite of the tomato, a loud, braggadocio voice in mountain man accent hollers: "Hey ya'll, watchis!"

And, I believe, after the crowd took one look at the rapturous countenance that appeared on his unshaven face, they galloped to the nearest loaf bread and Blue Plate and commenced to make the first mater sammiches.

And probably, (though I have no proof) they passed by a cow in the pasture and someone thought what's good for the calf is good with a mater sammich and braved themselves to pour a tall glass of milk to go with their new delicacy.

Man, I love history.

Friday, September 1, 2017

Happy Birthday

Mother turned 88 years old Sunday.

We had a big spread, the cost being spread out amongst us. We aren't a big family, but when you put us all in one house, it feels pretty big. Sixteen this time, as we had two Texas cousins join in the fray.

We put the eclipse photo on the birthday cake (see previous blog), which she had not seen. She asked, "Is that me!?" We said yes. She said, "Lord, I look like I weigh 400 pound." 

Now, my mother used to be pretty chubby. She used to be about five feet five inches tall and weighed in the 160's. She has shrunk to five feet and weighs about 109, maybe. 

She blew out her candles (two large 8's).

We ate. She kept telling her great-grandson to stop dawdling and eat so she could open  her presents. This made him giggle. He's six.

Her great-granddaughter, age 2, had a love/hate relationship with Brother of Many Surgeries dog,  Elmer. (I apologize for the name.)

He's three times her size, so she was afraid of him. Yet when he disappeared, she'd look around and ask, "Where's dog?" She'd find him, and he'd get up to follow her and she'd run screaming bloody murder. I swan, I saw that dog roll his eyes. But they were fast friends by the end of the day.

She got lots of nice gifts. We ate good food. We all talked a mile a minute. We took photos.

But my favorite is of Mother, Daughter and  myself: 
I don't remember what was so funny, but we seemed to be enjoying ourselves.

And here is a group with only Niece missing, 'cause she's taking the photo and Husband as he went home puny:
A good time was had by all.

Even Elmer.

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Mama and the Ee-clipse

First of all, it's true that many folks around here do say ee-clipse, not ehclipse. Live with it.

Secondly, Mother watching the moon darken the sun almost didn't happen.

The Sunday before when we were discussing it at the supper table, she said she was afraid, it sounded scary and she didn't want to be by herself.

I must say we all looked at her like she was nuts. We reminded her there had  been eclipses here before (although not quite as complete).


"Yes," she replied, "But nobody made such a big deal of it; about it blinding you and such."

I opined it was because we were tougher. If you were stupid enough to look at the sun, you were stupid enough to deserve blindness. I don't know about other reasons, other than we weren't bombarded with media 24/7 liked crazed gophers or something.

She firmly said she would not be a part of it, she'd stay in the house. Would we still have electricity? 

Yes.

Would it be safe to watch it on TV?

Yes.

Fine. Okay.

But you know how peer pressure is. You hang with an older crowd, they are bound to talk you into stuff you never dreamt you'd do.

Exhibit A:



Nuff said.

Monday, August 14, 2017

Have I Got A Deal For You!

I have had some really great reviews on amazon for "Bensy and Me". Husband decided to read them.

As Husband is wont to do, he began looking around. Something caught his eye, and he was amazed.

Someone has listed "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree" for sale for only $2,797.00!

Now,why was he amazed by this? Has he no faith in my success? Apparently not.

However; I know for a fact that I can get you a copy cheaper than that, and signed, too!

Why, I'll even go half that price, and pay for shipping and handling. I'll even hand deliver if you're close by.

Heck, for that price I'll throw in a cooked dinner, too. I'll even clean up the kitchen.  

I must close for  now. I'm sure I'm going to be very busy in the next few minutes.

Vanity, thy name is woman

I may have bragged boasted mentioned that I have lost twenty pounds - which took about a year, because I did it by changing when I eat, so it was a slow loss.

Apparently, from looking in the mirror, eighteen of those twenty pounds were lost in my neck.

Gobble, gobble.

My neck looks like crepe paper, and not in a good way.

I've become obsessed with it. When I look in the mirror, it's all I can see.

At first, I thought, well, I'll stop looking in the mirror.

But if you eat spinach, that's a bad idea.

So I have started fantasizing about having my neck done. 

Except I'm terrified of anesthesia, since the one and only time I ever had anesthesia I woke up to my life being changed forever. That wasn't in a good way, either.

I'm also terrified of nerve damage. I have neuropathy in my lower body. I can't imagine how much more horrible it could get with it in my upper body too.

And a hack job. I'd hate to look worse than I already do!

And, oh, yeah. Money. I imagine it costs a bit to get  your neck fixed.

Oh, well. What's a few wrinkles/turkey neck/crepe papery skin among friends? 

Sigh.

Friday, August 11, 2017

Funeral Dirge

Yesterday a large part of daylight was spent at Mother's going over funeral stuff.

Yes, it was as much fun as you imagined.

I now know who she wants to preach, who are to be asked to be pall bearers and honorary pall bearers, but that's all.

"What do you want sung?"

"Oh, you know the kind of hymn I like, 'Beyond the Sunset', like that."

Well, no actually, I don't. But I will remember this one song. Oh, and she said she'd like it if I could sing one of the songs I've written. Did I think I could do that? Not that she would ask that of me. (didn't she just?)

I told her I wasn't sure I could do that, but would if I felt like I could get through it. (I didn't say without having a heart attack or stroke, but that's what I was thinking.)

She also told me who she wanted to play the piano and sing something else, but she didn't want them singing my song, if I couldn't do it, it shouldn't be done.

"What do you want to wear?"

"Well, I don't care. I won't be there." She looked at me like I was nuts for asking. Then continued, "But don't let anything be high up on my neck. You know I cain't stand anything touchin' my neck."  Alrighty, then: won't be there, doesn't matter, no high neck, she can't stand it...

Told her she didn't have to worry, because Daughter and Niece both hate anything touching their neck, they wouldn't let it happen. She agreed.

She showed me where she put this information, as well as where her insurance policies were. "Don't spend a bunch of money on a casket. But I do want a vault. Don't forget that."

I told her I wouldn't. I remember my granddaddy being adamant about having a vault, so that shouldn't be hard to remember.

She also keeps saying (for the past 2 years) that she wants us to all get together (The Brother of Many Surgeries and The Other Brother and myself) so she can talk to us. I've said, "All you gotta do is tell one to be here Sunday afternoon when I am here (other one lives there)." 

I don't know why, exactly, she doesn't do it, or what, exactly, she wants to say.  At the rate she is going toward asking, it may forever remain a mystery.

I vowed to be more comfortable hearing all this from her than I was from my grandmother. I turned a deaf ear to her because I didn't want to know she was going to die soon (she lived to be 2 days shy of 84). 

But it's hard, ya know?




Monday, July 31, 2017

Teeny Tiny Houses

When we built our house in 1987, people expressed concern over it because it was so small with only two bedrooms and one and a half baths. 

The concern was resale value (but we had no intention of selling, we told everyone and they just shook their heads). You never know what might happen. Well, that's true. And you never know what might not happen, either.

Our house finished was 1698 square feet. Now, granted, this was when all the McMansions were being built, the bigger the better. I mean, so what if you couldn't pay for it, right?

We have since added a sun room, bringing the square footage to just under 2000 square feet. Still considered a "cottage" in the Victorian era, and also for a lot of people today.

But now, ladies and gentlemen the challenge is to live in what they are calling tiny houses. Like a square foot, maybe. 

Seriously, they range from nearly no square feet to no square feet. Like, 148 square feet to 450 square feet. My kitchen is 275 square feet. It's an eat in, but still. That gives you some idea, especially if you've tried to squeeze in more than three people at the same time around the stove/sink area.

And here's the kicker: These tiny doll houses cost up to $100,000.00 to build. That's right. Count the zeros. 

Now, I am a little claustrophobic, I admit. And thinking about living in a whole house possibly smaller than my kitchen with Husband, Daughter, 3 cats and a dog makes me short of breath. And the article I read mentions lots of cats and dogs in the home. 

My hat is off to these people, though. Good for them. I guess.

But me, I like just a little elbow room.

I bet they don't cuss the cat much, though. Ain't room enough to cuss a - well, you know.



*This blog brought to you by the worlds "square feet"

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Shrinking

As many of you know, my grandfather owned a grocery store till I was seven. I could run the cash register. I knew what things cost. A piece of bubble gum was a penny. A candy bar was 5 cents. A pack of chewing gum was also a nickel. 

What has brought all this to mind is Sunday, I did something I should not have done.

I ate an ice cream sandwich. As I got it out of Mother's freezer, I noticed how much smaller it was than I remembered. I felt sorta like I was eating Mr. and Mrs. Ice Cream Sandwich's child. I mentioned this to Mother and she said this was the normal size now. However; you could buy little ones (!). Mr. and Mrs. Ice Cream Sandwich's baby??

Have you noticed that a stick of gum is smaller now? So are candy bars. And the 5 cent candy bar is now over a dollar. What there is of it.

A nickel bag of potato chips, same. I don't think you can buy bubble gum by the piece anymore.

Other things are smaller, too. A loaf of bread, for instance. The slices are smaller. 

Even newspapers are smaller. Remember how you used to have to stretch your arms way out to hold it to read? Not so much anymore. Plus, you have to be very lucky to even find a newspaper anymore. I am so grateful our local paper keeps publishing.

So, the real question is this: If everything junk food wise is smaller, why is everyone still getting bigger? And not in a good way either.

Well, our wallets are slimmer. 

That's something, I guess.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Mail and Stuff

My last blog was about hormones and hot flashes. One sharp eyed friend noticed the advertisement immediately following that blog was for a book entitled, "Why Men Leave Their Women".

Well.

I was coming home the other day and I noticed the car in front of me had their windows down. I assumed their air was broken, because it was 88 degrees. Then they shot out their arm in a left turn signal, so I figured their turn signal was broken, too. Except they kept on going, sometimes waving their hand around like they were drying their nails. In just a few, they flew their arm up in a right turn signal. I knew they weren't turning right as there were no right turns to make. And when they finally did turn, their signal worked just fine.

Made me wonder: were they too dumb to realize what they were doing? Had they never been taught manual turn signals? What?

When I got home, Husband greeted me with, "You are never going to believe what happened."

Now, at my house, that usually isn't followed by "I won a million dollars," or "The movies called and want to buy the rights to one of your books, " or, even, "I found a five dollar bill in an old jacket."

Nope. What happened was the mail carrier left a small box and two envelopes at the door. They left the envelopes on top of the small box. Our previous mail carrier, who was darn near perfect, would have slapped a rubber band around those envelopes to keep them secure, but the new one did not. So, when Husband picked up the box, the envelopes slid off. Right to the porch floor and through the crack between the planks, thusly: 
Now, I could have stood there all day (and so could have Husband) and tried to drop something between those planks and never succeeded. And realize, this wasn't one envelope but two. Wow.

So, not knowing if it was junk  mail or something important, he decided he had to crawl under the porch floor.

It is about six inches off the ground where they dropped, which meant he had to go clean to the far end (to your left)and crawl the whole length of the porch with a stick to swipe at the envelopes till he could pull them toward him.
I had two beautimous photos of Husband, one of him before and one after. But they disappeared into mysterious cyberspace, not to be found. He was dressed in a fishing hat, a long sleeve flannel shirt, old britches which were tucked under his socks, gloves, goggles and old shoes. So, just take a moment and savor what's in your imagination.

He was successful, junk mail and a bill.

One has to wonder if it was worth it.

Monday, July 10, 2017

Har-Moans

Seriously, I've been burning up for years. Since I went off the tiny dab of hormones last October I was on for a dozen years, I've been sweatin' like a sinner at revival. I just thought I had hot flashes before.

The worst is when I start to go to sleep. As soon as I start drifting, I go into a hot flash. Not just the first time, but two or three times before I can sleep.

During the day it's several times. If I get tense, I have a hot flash. If I get competitive in a card game and it's nearing the end, I have a hot flash. If I eat or drink something hot, I have a hot flash. If there is no air stirring, I have a hot flash. Sometimes, I have a hot flash just for the heck of it.

The doctor suggested herbal treatment when I had my yearly examination in May.

Tried them? Raise your hand. Can't? Arm stuck to your side with sweat? That's what I thought.

So I called the doc's office today. I was told he'd review my record and see if a "compound" of some mysterious stuff, which isn't supposed to post a danger like real hormones, would be helpful. The nurse said she'd call me back this afternoon.

Which she did. He had reviewed my records and come up with a formula that would be mixed at the drug store.

"Would you like me to call this in now?" The nurse asked. She said it real serious-like.

"Yes, I would." I can be serious, too.

A little while later the phone rang. It was my pharmacy. "Is this Kathrine?"

"Yes, it is."

"Dr So&so has called in a compound for you. Would you like us to fill this now?"

She also used a very serious voice. Sorta like, "Mr. President would you like to push the red button now" kinda voice. Or, "You realize when you sign  your  name you will owe a million dollars on your car. Here, on the dotted line." kinda voice.

I began to feel a little nervous. I mean, am I being sacrificed for the good of mankind or something?

What the heck. "Yes, I sure would."

"You may pick it up after five tomorrow. It will be a 90 day supply and it will be $68.00." She didn't add in a plain brown wrapper, but I won't be a bit surprised.

"My insurance won't cover this?"

"No. No, it won't."

Hmmmm.

I thanked her and hung up.

But I admit, I'm a little spooked.

I feel like I'm on a "Mission Impossible" episode.

Hope it's not me that blows up in sixty seconds.

More will be revealed.

Meanwhile, is it hot in here, or is it just me?

I thought so. 

Friday, July 7, 2017

I Hate Meeces to Pieces

We  have a new visitor in our house. It is a  mouse. A dirty, rotten, stinking mouse. 

Yesterday the cats went berserk trying to catch the stinker. It hid behind the bookcase, then finally ran to hide behind the desk. 

After we herded all the four leggeds upstairs, Husband set traps here and there, hoping to find a nice dead rodent this morning.

Not so. 

Husband set about disarming all springs this morning so everyone could come downstairs without getting a tootsie trapped.

Here are Frost and Mimi yesterday. They had been crouched for a long time. Eventually, they chilled and just stared at the mouse under the bookcase:
And of course, the ever vigilant, mighty Maine Coon hot on the mouse trail:
AHEM!

So, anyway. The scary thing is when the cats came down, none of them acted like there had ever been a mouse in the house.

When we came home from the ever increasing doctor's appointments today, I coulda sworn I smelled rat.

 Husband sniffed, shrugged and said, "Possibly."

Daughter just looked at me.

No one that abides in this abode except me can smell stuff worth a tee wattly toot.

I may be just a wee bit paranoid as we once had a mouse die in the vent and we had to live with it because we couldn't get to it.

Lordee.

Or maybe the same buddy that dropped him off came back by and picked him up.

We can only hope.

Friday, June 30, 2017

Visiting Memory Lane

Yesterday  one of my life-long friends and I visited someone we've been meaning to visit for over a year. As I told him in May, we better hurry, nobody's getting any  younger.

So off we went. She lives on the farm that belonged to her first husband's family. 

They married when she was twenty-one. She had a son when she was twenty-two. Her still-new husband was killed in France during World War II, which made her a widow at age twenty-three.

That baby is seventy-four years old today, widowed himself and caring for two adult disabled sons.

The reason we were visiting was, as we reminisced some months ago, we reckoned that she and one other were the only two teachers still living who taught us in grade school.

She concurred that she believed that to be so.

She is ninety-six and sharp as any tack. She not only remembers all her students, but their siblings, their mamas and daddies and grandparents, too.

She is a gold  mind of information.

She's read two of my books, she said. I waited a moment, but she said nothing else. "Um, what did you think?" I asked timidly.

She gave me that stern look I remember so well from forty-one years ago and replied, "I give you an A-."

I said, "Whew!"

And she burst into laughter. Later she said I had a gift with words.

She told her life story ( so far ): After she was widowed at age twenty-three, she did remarry. He was older than she, and had also been married. He had a son and a step-daughter. After  his second wife died, the step-daughter went to her mother's family, but she was desperately unhappy, because he was the only father she'd ever remembered and needed him still.

So, they kept her and raised her, too. 

Score so far is one son, one-step son and one might-as-well-be-daughter.

They had a good life for many years. Farmed. She taught school. Life was pretty good. They had two daughters and three sons.

We're up to eight kids now, if you are counting.

When their youngest was six years old and another son two weeks from graduating high school, this second husband died. He'd been bed fast for a year, and the youngest still only remembers him vaguely. And those memories are of his daddy in the bed, sick.

Two of her sons  have passed away. One  had a tractor accident shortly after he graduated high school. Another son taught for one
year before getting sick suddenly.

He died before the next school year started. Leukemia. She said back then they'd just started with using chemotherapy and it hastened his death instead of helping.

I remember both those young men well.

She told us one story about pigs that kept us riveted, and I ain't kidding.

This woman is one tough cookie. 

She broke her hip two years ago, so she uses one of those walkers on wheels that has a seat. She said when she fell, she realized what pain was. Thought childbirth was, but said it didn't compare to this. The doctor told her she was a high risk patient because of her age and she might not wake up from surgery. She did, though. She's lived to tell the tale.

She quit driving at age ninety-two because of neuropathy in her feet. She was afraid she'd hit the wrong pedal.

She sits on her enclosed porch a lot. There are humming bird feeders, bird feeders, flowers. Entertainment of the best kind. She reads, but not as much as she used to, for she goes to sleep too easily reading and that aggravates her.

We took her out to dinner (not lunch!). She ate well. Talked to people who stopped by the table. We talked a lot about classmates and she had a story to tell about many of them.

I was worn out by the time I got home. I bet my friend was too, as he had to drive back to Atlanta.

I wonder if our teacher was tired, too.


Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Strange and Unusual Things


I'm about to tell you a tale that you can believe or disbelieve. It doesn't matter, because it's the truth.

Not that I can explain it. 

I was shopping at the drug store many years ago, back when I was a  young adult (and yes, I had to dodge big old tyrannosaurus feet on my way there).

I remember it clearly: I was standing at the checkout line and they had this box full of cloisonne' pill boxes. They were very pretty, and pretty cheap, so I picked one up and purchased it.

I've had it in my purse ever since.

Except when I lose it.

Now, I've misplaced it a few times - leaving it at Mother's, asking Daughter to put it in her cavernous suitcase she calls a purse, things like that. 

But I've really truly lost it twice.

Once was a few years back. It was summertime and we had eaten out. I remember having on short sleeves and no pockets except a rather shallow one in my slacks. It was gone when I got home. We searched the car and the trail from the car to the house. We looked everywhere, including all purses, even though I knew I didn't even have a purse with me inside the restaurant. I called the restaurant. They searched, said it hadn't been turned in.

That fall, when it was a cool morning, I reached for a sweater that had been hanging in the chifferobe since spring. I felt something in the pocket, and you know what it was.

The question is: How the heck did it get there? I  had a really weird feeling when I held it in my hand. I can't explain it, other than I felt like it had come back to me.

Now, I know this sounds...unchristian? Superstitious? Bizarre? All the above?

There's more.

Sunday we ate out. I had my little pill box, took my meds and laid it with my phone on the table. When I got in the car, I vaguely remember putting my phone in the side pocket of my purse. 

The next time we were going out to eat, I couldn't find the pill box, and tried desperately to remember if I'd put it with the phone in my purse. I dumped my purse, Daughter dumped her purse, we once again scoured the car, I went through the clothes I had on. Called the restaurant, they looked in two places, no dice.

David found a little container he said I could use instead.

This went on for 2 weeks. 

If you've read previous blogs, you know our two tomcats have been feuding. They feuded under my bed, and I felt like it was now disorganized and full of cat fur, so I asked Daughter to move the bed and  help me clean under it.

In the precise middle of the floor underneath the bed, between boxes was my little pillbox. Not dusty or covered in cat hair like everything else under there. All shiny and waiting.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. 

You tell me.

'Cause I just don't know.


Friday, June 23, 2017

Hello Again, Hello

So much has happened since I last blogged. I bet I've thought of 20 things to blog about, but of course, I was too busy to write any of it down  - and now, being of an old age - I can't remember a dang one of them.

Well.

Yankee Cousin has gone back home. We had a great time and I wish she could have stayed longer.

Maybe next year she can stay a whole two weeks.

I've taken Mother to many doc appointments, with more to come next week. I just hope we don't get lost again. That's a killer, and the story of my life.

YC helped me get the downstairs porch all purdy, which I've pined over for two years. Now it looks all nice. Thanks, YC!

Along with YC, she brought her brother and husband. I hadn't seen that cousin in 30 years. That's too long for family to stay apart. He says he's coming back next year. I hope he does.

Day Lilies are blooming, the garden is doing great. Rain is good for everything outside, but I feel sorta moldy.

I spoke at a place called Cameron Hall the other day. That was fun, and I sold a couple of books. Next week I'm speaking at the Senior Center for story telling time. Can't wait!

I guess that's all for now.

I hope to get back to my regularly scheduled blogging. If I could just stay home for a day...

I might just do it.

Friday, June 9, 2017

The Most Important is the Ending in Anything You Tell

Well let's see, what to say first?

The cats are pretty much back to normal. After a bath for Frost and then lots of catnip poured on and around him and Eli, so they smelled not only good but the same, Eli is back to his same old alfa-I'll-push-you-around-once-in-a-while-just-to-remind-you-I'm-boss self. Frost, however; is still recovering, a little PTSD if you please.

I ordered some really terrific looking shoes that wrap around the top of your foot for perfect comfort with good tread,  hoping, as usual, to be able to find a shoe that doesn't hurt me too badly.

After waiting 3 weeks, they came today. In XL. I mean, seriously. I've been kidded my whole adult life at what little feet I have. Don't they know nuthin'?

So I've e-mailed them to complain.

The Northern Invasion (the good one) begins tomorrow. Since Yankee Cousin is bringing (her) Husband and (her) Brother, they wanted to rent a cabin. Yankee Cousin told them specifically she wanted to rent a cabin close to my house. They said okay! Told her that's what they'd done. She asked for specific directions, but they couldn't give those to her until a week before arrival date. (why, I don't know, do you?) When they gave them, she's NOT even close to my house. She asked them to swap. And guess what they said? They couldn't change accommodations so close to arrival date. Do you see anything wrong with this? So I  e-mailed them a very nice threatening-to-do-a-review-request, asking them to change her cabin. We'll see.

But the most important subject of this blog is you. I really did the previous blog about not winning at the Georgia Author of the Year Awards to make you laugh.

But instead I got a wonderful outpouring of love from so many of you that assured me I was really the best.

Sniff.

You said you were proud of me.

Well, I'm proud of ya'll, too.

I'm a winner, for sure.

Monday, June 5, 2017

See this big L on my forehead?

Georgia  Author of the Year Awards Ceremony:

Well, it was quite a night.

Lots of people, mostly all dressed up and all.

"Buffet". (Where was the rest of it, we wondered?)

It was nice to see my name up in the big lights:
And I met a lot of nice writer's who were polite and asked about my work, as I did them. One woman asked to review my book and put it up on her blog. Of course I said yes and thank you.

And then they announced first runners up and the winners.

Me when they announced:

Nuff said.