Monday, December 24, 2018

Just Imagine

You know, God chooses to do things the hard way a lot, it seems. At least, it seems that way to me, in my life. I do say that once I agree, it becomes easier, because He enables me to do the task at hand.

So I figure He really had to stay close to Mary and Joseph though all that ordeal.

I often think about poor Mary. The backlash she must have experienced. How her parents must have felt when she told them she was pregnant.

Here she was, engaged, legally bound to this man, and the kid ain't his.

She's a teenager, and although that meant something very different then, she was still very young.

And poor Joseph. He must have been stunned. How could this be true (not that she was pregnant with God, but how could she have betrayed him?)

The decision he saw himself faced with. Stone her to death? No, he couldn't do that. Not to his Mary. Even if she had done this - this - horrible thing to him.

And how terrifying for him, for Gabriel to appear and tell him Mary really wasn't lying. She hadn't had sex with someone else. She was a vessel to carry the Son of God.

Mind blowing. Life altering.

Such relief Mary must have felt when Joseph came to her and stood by her side. Her parents probably felt relief, too. Embarrassed, sure, as Joseph's parents were. But they were legally bound, they'd made a mistake, and they were making it right by finishing up the marriage and giving this baby a name.

Or perhaps they believed. We don't know.

We do  know Mary visited her cousin Elizabeth, probably before she told Joseph.

And received confirmation when Elizabeth opened the door. She knew - and even more miraculous - the baby within her knew and lept for sheer joy!

If I'd been Mary, I probably would have thought, "It really is true! I'm not losing my mind!"

But Mary may have been much more secure in what God had said to her. Either way, the confirmation must have been very welcome.

And then comes the decree from the good old interfering government that everyone has to go to their ancestral home to be taxed.

Eighty miles, probably on foot, or maybe a donkey. And Mary so far into the pregnancy she must have been miserable after the first of those eighty miles.

Think of it ladies. When you were in the last month of your pregnancy, could you have walked eighty miles?

You know the story. Not a hotel room to be found. Finally someone took pity on them and offered them a stable where the animals were. At least they had a place to stop. Maybe there was clean hay and Joseph could try and make a bed for Mary.

She was in labor. Nobody there but her and Joseph, who probably wasn't exactly mid-wife material.

I know what would have been going through my mind, "At least I know the baby will live", because after all, He was God's son.

And poor, poor Joseph. Can you image how terrified he was?

And even after the baby was born, and Mary seemed like she would live, he had the daunting fact in front of him: Joseph would be responsible for being the earthly father to the Son of the Living God.

And that was just the beginning. No telling what they felt when that Heavenly host showed up

Merry Christmas, ya'll.

Thursday, December 20, 2018

A Fan of My Fan

So much  has been happening lately, I've barely had time to think about it, much less write about it.

But one thing stands out, and I gotta write it down.

I had a book signing a few days ago. it was pouring rain, and I was a little concerned nobody would bother to come out in this cold wet mess.

I began to cry with the first person I saw.

No, I'm not being silly or dramatic. Here's the story behind the tears:

Every book signing I've ever had, Mrs. Defore has shown up. She was a tiny elderly woman. I had graduated high school with one of her daughters. Her daughters made sure she got there. She was always all dressed up, her eyes full of sparkle and excitement. She said she loved my books almost as much as she loved me and couldn't wait to start reading. 

I always found myself watching for her out of the corner of my eye, as I was turning into her biggest fan.

Mrs. Defore passed away last year. As soon as I heard the news, my heart broke a little. I knew I wouldn't be seeing her eager happiness at my next book signing.

So when I looked up and saw her daughter walking down the sidewalk, I began to weep.

As she came though the door she, too, began to cry and we just held each other for a moment.

"Mother loved you and your books so much. There was just no way I could not come today. I want a book, and I want you to sign it in memory of her."

I wrote, "In memory of my beloved friend Jewel"

Suddenly, even if no one else turned up (which, thank goodness, they did), my day was worth it.

I miss you, Jewel Defore.

Thursday, November 29, 2018

O Christmas Tree

We started decorating the Christmas tree last evening.  We have about eleven billion zillion ornaments, and I usually buy one new one a year.

It takes a long time to place them all, and usually Daughter and I do it together. She had to work today, so I've been putting three or four ornaments on every time I walk by.

So many memories! It's amazing how I recall who gave it to me, or where it was purchased. 

We've said other than the tree, we are only going to put up the garland on the staircase and decorate the mantel. And of course my ivory nativity set will be placed somewhere.

That's what we said last year, and wound up doing a whole lot more. It's kinda like; well, here the stuff is we might as well...

Anyway, we'll see how it goes this year.  More will be revealed, I guess.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...




Friday, November 23, 2018

Thanksgiving Past

I made dressing. Lots of dressing. Those of you who make it know how messy the process is. I made deviled eggs. Peeled cucumbers. Trimmed tomatoes.

The Great Hunter, Husband, went to fetch the turkey. Came back with two breasts. Men.

I took my haul to Mother's, to join the rest of the family with what they had prepared so we could have a feeding frenzy.

And I left my kitchen in the mess you can imagine it was in.

You can also imagine without much effort the shape I was in when I came back from the pig trough Mother's. BLECH.

So upon arising this morning, I didn't even want to go near the kitchen for fear of catching a glimpse of the horror that awaited me.

Lawd.

It took me all morning to clean that sucker up. Empty the dishwasher, then refill it. Scrub pans and big bowls and wooden handled things and muffin pans and counter tops and stove. And the sink was a health department nightmare under all that. First I scrubbed with comet, then sprayed it with Clorox.

Husband took off the garbage (well, he tried to, they were closed). At least he got it out of my kitchen.

There's still turkey left.

But ain't that the way it always is?



Thursday, November 15, 2018

Finally

Well, the  new book  is  here. 

I've sold some already. 

I've been on your TV. 

I've got two book signings coming up (November 27 6p to 8p at Dalton State College and Dec. 8 from 2p to 4p at Walls of Books), 

The local newspaper is going to interview me Friday.

I'm doing story telling once a month at Gilmer Arts, which is loads of fun.

Fall ran past and winter is lurking.  

Thanksgiving is next week.

I had about six things to blog about, but have been so busy, it never got done. Now, of course, I don't remember.

I hope you remember to buy a book!  Remember, there's a musical CD tucked in the back, too.


Hope to see you soon!

Friday, October 26, 2018

Don't Jump!

I am not the kind of person who loves to do new things that challenge me.

I guess I'm lazy. Or comfortable.

It doesn't scare me, because every once in a while, like some sort of whiz kid, I say, when asked, "Sure! That sounds like fun."

(Dear Lord, please don't let anyone ask me to bungee jump, jump out of an airplane or even just jump. Thank you.)

So, some weeks ago a friend asked me to be part of a show. To read some of her bee-yoo-tee-full poetry and to sing a song she wrote. "Sure! That sounds like fun." says I.

And it was. The first few practices of the music weren't all that fun, as learning new songs is a little difficult for me now that I'm hearing impaired.

But the show itself was fun. Some wonderful paintings by artists both great and new, poetry,  music, tears and laughter.

Doesn't that sound like fun to you?

So today's lesson is this: Open yourself to new things and enjoy yourself. 

Unless it involves jumping.

Friday, October 19, 2018

October: Time to do a Count!

Every October, I do a tally and a heartfelt thank you.

As of today, there have been 52,716 hits or reads on my blog.

94 Countries have read my blog. The newest one is Kyrgyzstan.

How about that?

My mind continues to be boggled. I will never understand what holds any interest about this blog in Seychelles. Or Paupa New Guinea. I just don't get it. But I am ever grateful. 

Here's hoping to another year filled with surprises!

Thanks again.

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

They're Here....

The eagle has landed.

They're here.

My new book, "Poetry, Prose and Music: Life of an Appalachian Woman" is here.

Well, not here. At my publisher's office .
  The next step is to have a stick-the-cds-in-the-back-of-the-book party, because the CD was recorded in a studio not affiliated with the printers.

That will happen next week. Then book signings are to be scheduled, prayers be said that somebody besides Husband and Daughter show up at said book signings, and making lists of what all I need to take to the book signings.

You'd be amazed at what all I have to take.

Price list, 'cause I can't remember what my own books cost. 
Change, in case anyone, like, actually buys a book.
At least two pens; because if I don't, the only one I have will immediately stop writing.
Sign in book. It would be nice if I had a record of those who attend the book signing. It would be nicer if I could actually remember to get folks to sign the book.
Calculator. No explanation needed.
Note book, where, hopefully on some other planet, I can remember to write down how many of what book sells.
Promotional bookmarks.
Business cards.
What few Christmas cards we have left.
Extra CDs in case someone wants an extra, or wants the CD only.

Oh, and books.

Mustn't forget the books.

Saturday, October 6, 2018

Habits

We all have habits, good and bad. Sometimes we don't know  how  those habits started.

I became aware of something I have been doing for a long time the other morning, and decided to stop:

We have an angel blowing a trumpet that hangs over our coffee cups in the pantry. I straighten the mugs every  morning, then tap the angel.

I thought, "How silly. Stop that. Why in the world did I ever start?"

Two days later, the angel fell off the nail, landing on the cups.

Oh.

I remembered that it was a shallow little hole where the nail fit, and if you didn't press on it, it would work its way off and fall. I resumed my habit.

Husband's mother stepped on a certain rock on her way to the garden every day of her life. We asked her why, since she had to side step to get to it, and she couldn't remember. Husband's father had placed it there years ago, as it was flat and smooth and made a good stepping stone, though it wasn't really needed there. Perhaps she stepped on it to remind her of the sweet things he did. I don't  know.

That rock now resides in our rose garden.

I have a certain routine that I follow when I first get up, but I'm not sure that's habit. I think that's called trying to function when you are still half asleep.

I like to write at my desk top computer. I just can't seem to do it as well (shut up) on the lap top inside the house. 

Husband's habits, of course, are just annoying. Not like mine, which are cute and precious.

Looks like he'd learn from me, being married for over 30 years. But I guess some people are slow learners.

So your homework for today (that's one of his annoying habits - when he wants you to do something for learning, he says, "Your homework for today") is to reflect on your habits and figure out which ones you need to toss.

You're welcome.





Friday, September 28, 2018

VaCaTiOn!



From the way I feel today, I must have had more fun than I remember on our vacation.
And I don’t drink.
Whoo, boy, I am pooped beyond belief. I feel like I been sittin’ up all night at the funeral home.
And I have a question. I hope you can solve the mystery: Why did I bring more dirty laundry home than clean laundry that I actually took? Where did it all come from? I know – that’s two questions – but this mystery is big enough for two questions, and I need to know.
We had a good time, though. We were in Pigeon Forge, Tenn. We went to the Dixie Stampede, or as they are now calling it most the time, Dolly Parton’s Stampede. Some store clerk was grousing about the change in the name, saying some !?!#* Yankee protested about the word “Dixie” saying it was "racist". Apparently they made a big old stink and the Stampede caved and changed the name. If that’s so, it’s a shame. We are in the land of Dixie. At any rate, the show was great, the food is really good and audience participation is near 100%.

We also went to The Comedy Barn. They live up to their name. Think “The Ed Sullivan Show in Overalls” and you have The Comedy Barn. I really did laugh till my sides hurt.

We went to a place called “Parrot Mountain”. Thousands of tropical birds live there: Parrots of all kinds. They have a baby bird store, and one Amazon Parrot
attached itself to me and would not leave me. Now, you may ask if I purchased him. The answer is no, because of a certain 22 pound Maine Coon cat who is very possessive of me. But I felt guilty when we left the store. There were also Lorys, which is a kind of small parrot that only drink nectar. They hadn’t been fed in a few hours, and they flogged us when we walked in the enclosure. I had ten birds on me in about 2 seconds flat. I didn’t even have the nectar, Daughter was holding the cup, but they like people a lot, so they stayed on me anyway.
Husband felt left out, but finally a few landed on him and started licking his arms. We figured for the salt.
 
We heard the birds talk: “Thank you” after I fed a Macaw, “Hello” when we entered their enclosure to feed them
and one Cockatoo told Daughter “I love you”. She was very touched. She went back over to him later and got him to say it again, which she videoed.

The shop keeper of the baby bird store told us a story. She was adamant that it was true.
Apparently they had a Macaw that refused to talk. They worked with him just like they did with the others, but he would never utter a word. One day someone brought in a service dog and somehow the bird agitated this dog. The dog jumped up and drug the bird down to the ground and was on top of the bird. People got the dog off the bird, and the first thing that happened after that was the bird yelled, “Praise the Lord!”  Don’t much blame him.


They also have a Hornbill bird that came from the Hugh Hefner estate. Apparently, when Hefner died he did not leave any directives regarding the bird. Someone who worked there made a mysterious phone call to this place and told them the bird was going to be put down, could they take it? They said yes, of course. The bird was delivered anonymously to them.

We ate way too much. And then we ate more.

We went into a couple of shops. One was the Mountain Cat House. They have three cats roaming the place, and as much knick knack stuff and tee shirt cat related stuff, etc. as you can imagine.
We also visited “Long Story Short Books and Antiques”. It’s the kind of place that you love almost everything in it, and you can look six times and on the seventh look see stuff you missed before. I bought my one souvenir from the trip in this shop. So did Husband.  
  Husband and Daughter went out on their own to play put-put golf. I sat this one out and stayed at the hotel to regroup.
By the time we got back home, we were pooped.
I was not ready to do laundry. But I did the next day and the next and believe it or not, the next.
Granted, some of that was towels and wash clothes and stuff that needed doing before we left, and sheets. But still…
Where does it all come from?

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

2 Things

You know how  you're just going along, minding your own business and every mechanical thing you have bands against  you in a revolt?

Yeah. Well, that happened to us day before yesterday. Or it all came to a head then, anyway.

The truck was already at the Garage because it was sputtering and Husband almost didn't make it home in it the other day. Since we have two other cars, we told them no hurry, get to it when they could.

The car I drive all the time kept having a dash light come on. They had run the diagnostics and said it needed a software update, and a dealership had to do it.

So, we made an appointment with the dealership. Who promptly told us they had to run their own diagnostic. Which they did. And said it would be $700 to fix the car (!) plus $70 more to replace a headlight that had just burned out. I called our Garage and they said, "No, no, no! Bring back here." I told them how soon we needed it and he began to whimper.

It's very sad to hear a grown man whimper.

We slipped it under radar early the next morning before they opened, and they fixed it by opening time.

But when I thought they couldn't I said "We can drive the other car meanwhile." Husband informed me we could not, as the transmission seemed to be slipping.

So, we have NO cars?

Meanwhile, the hard drive on my desktop stopped allowing me to have Internet. The nice geek I spoke with on the phone, who had me standing on my head and whispering strange incantations, said the thingamabob inside the hard drive had apparently croaked and would be pretty expensive to replace (of course!). However; since it sits close to the modem I could probably buy a $20 whatsis and set it on top of the hard drive and it could pick up the Internet by wifi wireless.

I'll get right on that in a day or two.

The other thing I was gonna write about will just have to wait.

I'm too tired to even bring it up.

Friday, September 14, 2018

Brief Commercial

We interrupt the normally scheduled program for a brief announcement:


Thank you very much.

Wednesday, September 5, 2018

Sitting Bear

Sounds sort of Indian(y) doesn't it? The feather kind, not the dot kind.

It all started yesterday afternoon when Daughter arrived from work. She'd stopped at the fast food junk supper store and was unloading her goodies when she hollered, "Mama, come'ere!  BEAR!"

I got there mighty quick for a cripple, let me tell you.

And sure enough there was a big old bear, sitting himself down to supper. 


Husband had recently put fresh birdseed on the sundial. Now, bears have never bothered this before. We think what did the trick was he added sunflower seeds to the mix for the Cardinals that live in the yellow belle bush, that you see to the bear's right.

Daughter and I were frantically rushing from window to window, to get better photos. I went upstairs to her room, opened a window and screen and hung out the window. I made a kissy noise so he'd look up, which he did, curious.


He ate a little bit, laid himself down under the yellow belle for a few to rest, then ate some more. When he got done, he proceeded to drink from the bird bath.


 We were all excited! But then it hit us. Husband was out behind the garage, in the studio. The bear had gone behind the house, but then wound his way up and walked down the driveway, straight toward where Husband was. I started praying that God would protect Husband and have the door closed! We waited till the bear got out of sight, then hurried to Daughter's car, which was parked in front of the house, drove down to the garage and started blowing the horn. Then I got out of the car and rushed to the studio door. Husband was walking toward the door, to see what the horn blowing was about. I asked excitedly did he see the bear? He'd missed it. 

He missed a four hundred pound bear walk within twelve feet of him, right on the other side of a french door.

Sheesh.

Anyway, I bet I don't have exciting company like that again for a while.


Friday, August 31, 2018

Whass Happnin

The end of the beginning is in sight: My book has been sent to the printers for the "real" book to be done. I received the hard proof and spent a great deal of time going over it. Made a few corrections and now it's sent back.

Who knows? We may be birthin' a book in the next month or two.

Mother turned 89 Monday. That makes me old and her really old. But like she said, she never expected to still be here, and who knows? She might still be here next year.

I am leading a workshop on writing come September 15. I think we'll have some fun. I am no means an expert, but I've been 'round the publishing block a time or two, and I am old (as mentioned in above paragraph), so maybe I have a bit to offer. I'm certainly looking forward to sharing and learning a thing or two myself!

We hope we might even get a real 3 day vacation in the next month or two, it's been about five years. I can't travel far, but a few hours I can manage. More about that will be revealed, if it ever even happens. I ain't packed my suitcase yet!

Well, I guess that's it for the day. Just wanted to send an update on the lifestyles of the unknown and unfamous.


Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Va-ca, As They Say

I've been on a mental vacation.

Go ahead and say it. Make fun. How can anyone tell the difference with me, blah, blah, blah.

Ha. Ha.

Anyway, the book is now off to the  printers, I've picked up a manuscript for a novel I was working on before I started on this last book that's about to be released,  and am "thinking on it", but really just being lazy.  It's nice to do that sometimes.  

So, instead of working on my own novel, I'm reading the latest Stephen King novel. 

Wowzer. Who dun it indeed.  I'm not finished, but will probably do so today. 

Then, maybe, just maybe, I'll get back on the treadmill and start to work on that idea that might be a novel.

But only maybe.

Wednesday, August 8, 2018

This Hurts Me Worse Than It Hurts You

There is nothing, I tell you, nothing, that will humble you more quickly than having a photo made of yourself that's supposed to look good enough to go on the back of a book.

Lord have  mercy.

Husband took about elevendy billion shots, and the  more he took, the grumpier I got.

I'm old, okay? I don't like this. Plus it makes  me  hurt worse.

Husband kept saying, "Your face is showing your pain. You are going to have to be an actress and pretend everything is great."

I won't repeat what I said.

Anyway, out of all those photos, we narrowed it down to 3. And the three got narrowed down to one. 

But my hair looks almost orange because we had to darken the photo because I'm the whitest white that ever whited.

But my publisher, Mr. Magic, fixed that.

So it's as good as it gets, folks.

And that ain't so good.

Monday, August 6, 2018

Tombstone: Not Pizza

Do  ya'll have any  idea how heavy a tombstone is?

Whew!

Good thing all I was doing was supervising. 

The interesting thing is the really old ones don't look all that heavy.
Maybe three feet high and maybe two inches thick. It looks like you could pick it up, tuck it under your arm and walk away.

Nope. Nah. No way.

Husband, who I have seen pick up a 110 pound Daughter who was about to faint, could barely lift this. I suggested he roll it, head over foot down the cemetery hill and then maybe pull it into the car.

This took several minutes, as we were parked at the foot of the hill,
and the tombstone was leaned up against an oak tree at the top of the hill.

Now, it may have occurred to you to wonder what the heck we are doing stealing  borrowing a tombstone.

I mean, it's not an everyday occurrence, and it ain't anywhere near Halloween.

It just so happens the tombstone belonged to Lizzie McGuire. No, no, not that  Lizzie McGuire - the one that Daughter used to watch every afternoon after school- but my Lizzie McGuire.

No, this Lizzie McGuire, (given name Elizabeth Hulsey), was my great-great-grandmother. I didn't know she was buried in this cemetery until a few months ago. Her daughter is the only great-grandparent I knew little about, because, unlike all my other greats, she was born in Dawson County. Through a lot of weird stuff, one of my very distant relatives contacted me. She told me that Lizzie was buried there, and that a newer tombstone had replaced an old one. 

Well, we couldn't find the newer one where her grave is, though it did give me the opportunity to visit my great-great and my great-great-great grandparents graves, who are also buried there. (Yes, we left their tombstones.)

We began to imagine what Lizzie would think for all our effort. She may have laughed or she may have shed a tender tear.

But for me - somehow I couldn't just let that old tombstone finish out in the weather. It's in bad enough shape as it is.

Rest in Peace, Lizzie. I'll take care of the tombstone.

Lizzie, wife of William McGuire, Born Dec 4, 1851 Died Mch 29, 1905. A tender mother and faithful friend.

Would it be that could be said of us all.

Saturday, August 4, 2018

Life in General and a Commercial (Ain't that life?)

I've been noticing life around me lately. 

That's a change, because I've been doing the old nose at the grind stone thing  lately, trying to get this book ready for the publisher. 

It's done except having my picture struck, which I reckon I will do Monday.

Ugh.

You  may be like all these other people who are taking selfies all the time and think it's a grand thing to see their mug plastered all over Facebook, texts, twitter, snapchat and whatever the heck else there is.

Not I, friend. Nope, nope, nope. I hates it, my precious.

You may have noticed it's rained here enough to float the ark. But today the sun is out and our tomatoes are turning red. I picked a few beans to go with the other handful I picked a few days ago. There might be enough that  maybe Husband and I won't have to fight over them.

On another note, I saw on the news the other day that a fella asked his mother to play the lottery for him. He carefully gave her the numbers he wanted played. She wrote them down.  

She wrote them down wrong.

She proceeded to go to the store and buy a ticket for him. Using numbers unknown to him. 

She won $100,000.00.

I bet he ain't mad at his mama.

So, commercial time!

Wait! Come back! It won't take long.

My new book coming out: "Poetry, Prose and Music: Life of an Appalachian Woman" is a whopper. No wonder I'm tired.

It's over 400 pages long filled with the funny and some sad, some light hearted mess and some introspection. Some of it rhymes, some of it doesn't, just like life. There are fifteen short stories, a few not very short. A few of these blogs you've read over the years are in there, as well as some "essays" that have been published elsewhere. A few short stories have won contests and been published. I even got money, people! And there's a great deal of photography included. Some of it quite good. Those are probably the photos I didn't take. 

And at the back, a musical CD. Three of the songs are written by yours truly. Some are contemporary Christian, a few old hymns. Daughter sings a solo and two duets with her dear old mama. Daughter also did the artwork on the CD. Show off.

I'll keep you posted (you were afraid of that) as to the progress and when it's done and when book signings will commence.

Commercial over.

So, have you read any good books lately?





















fifteen short stories


Wednesday, August 1, 2018

No complaints

I try not to complain. 

Even if, because of the storm, our electricity was off 38 hours. It went off at 3:00 a.m. on Saturday morning.

Husband got up after daylight and cranked the generator.

It died.

Husband went to town to buy ice so we could use a cooler, and ice down the freezer and put ice in the fridge and save as much as we could. 

And to purchase lots of bottled water. And go to Mother's and get ten gallons of water to flush toilets.

Our electricity came back on Sunday evening. 

The water was as muddy as a creek after a hard rain.

Husband went down to change the filter.

Mud gushed. Water quit.

Our phone went dead.

We finally got someone here to check the water pump - which just happens to be 397 feet underground - late Tuesday afternoon. They had to take two sections of the iron fence out, carefully back their truck between that space and a healthy dogwood. The mudslide had been so powerful in the well it had knocked the pump off and loosened a wire.

For hours after it was repaired, our water ran  muddy. Sinks, toilets and tub were full of mud and black dirt. I didn't think it would ever come clean again. Thank the good Lord for Comet.

Then we shocked the well. (this statement makes me giggle)

We ran outside faucets, indoor faucets, hot and cold water. Ran the dishwasher and washing machine. We still didn't smell bleach like we were supposed to. The water was still dingy.

But slowly the water cleared. NOW it smells like bleach. We can't drink it. But thank goodness we can use it for everything else and it's as clear as glass. Well, not my glass, but somebody's clean glass.

Between Mother and myself, we have had five doctor appointments and two Texas cousins visiting. 

But I'm not complaining. 

Really.


Monday, July 23, 2018

How to Make Fear of Bears, etc. Disappear!

The day before, there had been a bear in our yard. In fact, Husband was in the woods, just beyond the house with Bonnie, our dog. The bear was between Husband and the house. Now, this was not Smokey Bear, or Yogi Bear or any of the famous ones you were taught to love as a child. This was a bear, that if in a foul mood, can slice your head off with one fell swoop of his claws. Which are four feet long. At least.

Husband was standing on a slight rise, and Bonnie was not, so she didn't see the bear and the bear didn't see her. No wind was stirring, so nobody smelled anybody else, either. 

Husband decided to do the manly thing, so he raised his arms above his head, spread his legs and hollered really loud. The bear looked at him, and slowly moved on down toward the creek.

A few days before that, I was sitting at the kitchen table and saw a coyote watching our house. This is creepy.  Give me the bear. The coyote wanted to come in the yard, but he'd stare at the house, move on down in the woods a little, and start to come in the yard again. Then he'd stare at the house. He finally moved on down toward the creek, too.

As you can imagine, this has caused some caution to raise its head as I have come to and from the studio, or to the car or even out on the front porch.

However; I got over that fear, and here's how:

I was in the studio, editing my upcoming (I hope) book. I was stretching my arms over my head and ran my fingers through my hair. On the back of my head in all my hair, was something that was not a part of me, but did not remove itself.

I hightailed it back to the house with  nary a thought of bear or coyote. In fact, they're lucky they didn't get in my way. I hollered at Husband as I came through the door, "I've got a tick in my head, come get it off!"

That sucker had just attached itself, it  hadn't drawn blood yet. 

And it never will.

Anyway, since then, we've been without electricity for 38 hours and now our water is not working. We've called for help, because Husband and I have done everything we know to do. 

I reckon it ain't meant for us to bathe ever again.

Just remember that if you see us in town.


Friday, July 6, 2018

Of Lightning Strikes, Kidney Stones and Yankee Cousin

It's always an adventure when Yankee Cousin comes to visit each summer, and well it should be. But...

Not all adventures are Yippee and Wowzee and Oh boy! kind of adventures.

Firstly, we had to be at the Atlanta Airport before the crack of dawn. Well, okay, before 9:00 a.m. Fortunately, it was Saturday, so traffic wasn't like being in you-know-where. (Rush hour.)

Back at home with full Cracker Barrel bellies, we commenced to do nothing. Suddenly a severe thunderstorm was upon us and BAM! No electricity. For 6 hours.  We'd just fired up our battery operated lanterns for the night when power was restored. We appreciated the air conditioning coming back on.

The  next evening, BAM! No electricity. Yankee Cousin wailed (she did, she really did). Husband said, "Welcome to living in the mountains."

Lighting struck our modem, too. Just for extra kicks and giggles. 

I will say the fellas came early Monday morning to replace our modem. And the power was restored this time in under an hour.

Mid-week I started painin' in my, um, everything, as a kidney stone is wont to do. This went on for a day or two, then I passed that sucker but a UTI lingered. 

I told Yankee Cousin she must think  I'm the biggest hypochondriac in the whole world, because every time she's here, I have some weird physical ailment strike. 

She said she'd never, ever, never think that! (Me thinkest thou protesteth too much)

But worse, worse than all the above (well, nearly, it's hard to top a kidney stone, can I hear an amen) was I lost my brand new unopened pill bottle of hormone stuff that prevents hot flashes.

I have torn up the car, the pantry, my dresser drawers, etc. to no avail. The only thing I can figure is they somehow fell in the trash in the pantry. (whimpers)

I called the doc, and the nurse said that since hormone thieves aren't rampant, she'd agree to a refill early. 

Ya'll just don't know what a close call you had. 

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

I'm Back

I know it's been over three weeks since I last blogged.

I can explain.

First, I've been working (and still am) on the "final" hahahahaha editing of my book which, God willing, will come out sometime this calendar year. 

Or not.

This sort of puts a damper on writing anything else.

Then lightening struck our router.

Various and sundry other things happened.

Now, Yankee Cousin is visiting. Her first day here, we had a mighty storm, which knocked our electricity out for six hours. When the electricity finally came back on, it was bed time. But the next day we realized we couldn't do anything with the computers. 

And then a great storm  knocked out our electricity. Again. 

We called tech. support. Lightening had struck our modum this time. 

Sheesh.

And I probably won't be blogging much for a while, till I get this monkey off my back (the book, not Yankee Cousin).

But one funny before I close:

We were in the car talking about food (what else?) when banana sandwiches came up. 

It's pretty clear not many places in the country understand our love of banana sandwiches. But Yankee Cousin was here every summer of our childhood, so of course, we asked.

"You do eat banana sandwiches when you're back home, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Well, do you get made fun of?"

"Oh. I don't do it in front of anyone."

I'll be back!

Saturday, June 2, 2018

What a Week!

I knew from the beginning it was going to be a tough week for me. 

On Wednesday, I had to travel to Canton to my publisher's to discuss the beginning process of publishing my next book. I knew the meeting would probably take a couple of hours, which it did. Then, of course, we had to stop and eat before driving home. That's sitting for the better of five hours for me, which is not a wise thing for me to do, and generally I avoid it because of the repercussions. 

To make it worse, the next day I had to travel again. This time it was to Epworth to pick up the CDs. This is about 45 minutes from my house, so there was an hour and a half in the car, plus, of course, we had to stop and eat.

Now, to say I'm happy about the progress of the book is an understatement. I'm getting excited about it.

But my body cannot take all those hours on my posterior. I always am made to pay dearly for it. 

I was surprised when I went to bed Thursday night that it wasn't too bad.

But (there's always a but).

At five a. m. I awoke out of a deep sleep with the worst foot cramp I've ever had. It was pulling my foot up toward my knees. At the same time, my calf muscle was cramping, pulling my leg back toward my rear end.

I woke up screaming, and hopped out of bed in order to put my foot on the floor to stop the agony. 

Only, my leg didn't come down and I was pitched forward due to the force. 

This was not good.

I screamed some more, tried to catch onto something to keep from going to the floor. The oak rocker helped brace my fall as it slammed into the dresser. I knocked everything off my bed table but the lamp, breaking my grandmother's little heart trinket box in the process. I whammed my cheekbone on the edge of the table  and my arm sort of hooked into the rocker.

Husband tried to leap through the air to catch me, but failed. He told me later all he got was a poke in the eye as I came down.
By the way, Daughter slept through all this.

We somehow got me back in the bed, where I whimpered for a while. My arm and face where hurting. But of course, it being 5:00 a.m., I had to go to the little girl's room. Unfortunately, every time I raised my head, I thought I might throw up and felt "fainty fied" in the words of my people. So I had to wait a while before it was finally safe to sit up.

It took a while to go back to sleep because my arm was hurting so much, but I finally did.

Yesterday was not, shall we say, one of my better days. I didn't know I'd hurt my wrist pretty badly, too. I guess I stiff armed out, trying not to fall and sort of jammed it. 

When I was trying to put myself back together right after I fell, I realized my hand brace wasn't on, which was a "God thing" because if it had been, I couldn't have stopped my fall with my hand. When I was finally trying to go back to sleep, I put it back on. That's why it wasn't till morning that I realized my wrist was injured too.

Of course, my back screamed yesterday like it was my fault I fell. Sheesh.

Today is better. I have a very sore arm, with a giant bruise, but my wrist is better and I got a massage and fresh tape on my back. 

Now to figure out how to never, ever have cramps again.

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Husband the Hoarder

If there is one thing Husband  hates, it's a drawer that is less than running over full. Half empty is dreadful. Empty might put him in a coma, I don't know.

I have drawers (like in the dining room) that are specifically for stuff like table linens, napkin rings, etc. I have FORBADE Husband to go anywhere near them. 

His hands begin to twitch. He paces. He glances furtively from side to side and agrees.

Do you really think I believe him?

Ha.

So, about every three months, I pile everything he's dumped in those drawers in his chair and tell him if it isn't cleaned up by the end of the day, it's going in the garbage.

This works surprisingly well. But it is only temporary. 

He also tries to sneak his junk into my sock drawer, my drawers drawer, my bra drawer, my sleep wear drawer - well - you get the picture.

When he does that, I dump it all on his side of the bed. He likes to sleep in  his bed, so he takes care of that pretty durn quick.

He has the garage so full  only one car goes into our two car garage. 

He has his side of our little studio full. It's beginning to creep over to my side. GRRRR!

If you are one of our neighbors, I urge you, I plead with you, nay, I warn you: If Husband shows up at your house with a box, a bag or even bulging pockets, lock the doors.

I'm gettin' me a sign to read: BEWARE of Husband. He's full of it.

Friday, May 18, 2018

Blog or Rant?

I don't know whether to call this a rant or a blog. You decide.

Yesterday when we arrived home after taking Mother to the doctor, Husband checked the mail box. There was a package in our mail box.

There was a large, squashed, cardboard boxed package wedged in our mail box.

Husband could not pull it out, it was so tightly wedged in there.

Husband got tools and could still not get the cardboard boxed package out.

He finally used a knife, cut the end of the cardboard box, removed the contents, then broke down the cardboard box, thus removing it from the inside of our mail box.

Other packages have been delivered and pushed in our mail box, but  none quite so forcibly and none impossible to remove.

Were we upset? 

Yes, yes we were.

Do you know that when you attempt to look up your local post office's phone number in your phone book, it is not there? Only their physical address. 

You can call a 1-800 number for customer service.

Strike 1 and 2.

I call the toll free customer service number. There is a "twenty to forty minute" wait, as all were busy with other customers. As you probably knew before I told you.

Strike 3.

I'm a sucker, there's gonna be a lot more strikes.

I decide to hold. So I toted the phone with me while I: read a section of the local paper, flossed, brushed, washed and moisturized my face, put gunk on my hair, took my medicine and drank a glass of water, closed all the window blinds, put on my jammies, read a chapter in the Bible, read my Oswald Chambers devotional for the day, read an article in Guideposts, read a chapter in Heaven by Joni Erickson Tada, and cruised facebook for some time.

Strike 4.

After a 55 minute wait, a man welcomed me to the USPS customer service line. How could he help me? He was in, or at least from, India.

Big strike 5. 

Et tu, federal government?

He spoke English well enough, but still got confused about mail box versus cardboard box. At any rate, after a lengthy process he gave me a complaint number and said my local post office would be calling me by Tuesday or Wednesday. I remarked it was a pity that the local post office phone numbers weren't published anymore. So he happily gave me their number.

Strike 6

I wish he would have just done that to start with. As in, "Would you like to call them directly, or let me handle this complaint?"

I took the phone number.

But, Lord, I'm just too tired today to call.

Maybe after lunch.

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Catch Up

Well,  it's been a few weeks. I know I ain't blogging like I was. But I'm trying to get this book off the ground, and between that and everybody going to the doctor forty-eleven times, I'm pretty worn out, plus sick of the computer.

Husband had himself some surgery. He looks like he was on the losing end of a knife fight. (Although he reassures me that if he had been a real knife fight, he would have won, of course.)

He had this teeny weeny spot above his lip removed. Now he has thirteen stitches, a bloody, swollen mouth (think duck bill) and a bruise running down his chin and under his neck. 

What he doesn't have (now) is cancer. This is good. Right now, it's just bad and ugly.

Of course, he's not been able to bend down or lift. He's milking it for all it's worth. He's developed this whine to his voice when he says my name that reminds me of a dentist's drill.

Mother, of course, had to have a run in with the hospital during all this. She'd been on antibiotics for a U.T.I. and it caused her to develop Ulcerative  Colitis. We had the joy of spending the entire night in the ER. But she is better now, at least for now.

Other Brother passed a kidney stone. I think he got an A+ for his effort, since the doctor said it couldn't be done.

I'm still in physical therapy for my tootsies. It seems to be helping!

We won a million dollars in the lottery. (Not really, just seeing if you are paying attention.)

Our car has to have a software update. Is that totally ridiculous, or what? 

Next step in the book process is to get a nice list in order as to how I want the book to flow.

And I'm still waiting on the CD to come back from being "pressed". Either it was really wrinkled or somebody in Nashville is listening to it over and over....or I'm in a long line at the press place.

Well, I guess that's it for now. If you think of something else, let me know.

Saturday, April 28, 2018

Father's Day Past


In a few months Father's Day will be upon us again.

Please don't mention this to Husband, as he will begin to whine, as he always does, about what "I did to him" on Father's Day long, long ago.

When Daughter was four or five years old (she is now  pushing 28) I suggested we go for a nice drive that Sunday afternoon. You know, just the 3 of us, our sweet family, on Father's Day. To sort of celebrate.

At that time, our road was a one lane, sandy trail more than anything. Recently "they" had come in, widening the road to a great extent right after they cut down timber.

This did not bode well for our wonderful living on this mountain all by ourselves life.

Anyway, I cheerfully suggested we ride out that road as it now went beyond our house, and see just how far they had graded and made a wide road.

We had a sturdy, 4 wheel drive Blazer that had only been stopped once, and that's when the blizzard hit. It snowed up over the bumpers and then froze it in place, rendering the poor Blazer immobile for several days.

So we strapped Daughter into her booster seat in the back, got in and took off. 

Wow.

We were amazed at how far they had graded. It looked like it went on for several miles. But as we went further in, it got muddy, so we decided, after sliding down a hill despite 4 wheel drive, that we better turn around and head for home.

Carefully turning the Blazer around, we headed back up the hill. 

(You know this isn't going to end well, don't  you?)

Even in 4 wheel drive, it just couldn't get up that slippery, muddy hill. So Husband gunned it. And we sunk up to the axle in mud.

He got out and surveyed the situation. "Okay, I'm going to find some wood and large rocks to make braces under the tires so they can get some traction."

This took a while.

"Now, I want you to gently give it some gas as I push."

Um, okay...

Did I mention it was a straight shift?

He began to push. "Give it gas!"

I did.

"More!"

I did.

The Blazer moved. Well, the tires moved. They spun like crazy. 

"Stop!"

Husband (or I think it was Husband) came to driver's door. I burst out laughing, as did our baby child in the back seat.

Husband was not laughing.

But there were those two big old baby blue eyes staring at me from a face totally encased in good old Georgia red clay.

We finally made it back home. I got the garden hose and washed Husband off. Thankfully, no one drove by to see where the new road led while he was in the front yard taking a cold shower. 

All but his undies were lost causes, we bagged them up and tossed 'em, because no matter what, that red clay wasn't going to disappear.

My suggestion is to avoid Husband at all costs on Father's Day. Or at least don't ask him about how his Father's Day is going. 'Cause I guarantee you, he'll start in.

Some people just can't let the past go,  you know what I mean?

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Talkin' to Myself

I know it's been a while, but a lot of stuff  has been going on. I won't talk about it because it makes me tired.

So:

I was mumbling to myself and wondered how long I've been talking to myself.  In fact, I said, "I wonder how long I've been talking to myself?"

And I sez, sez I, "Well, for as long as I can remember."

When I was around four, I recall my daddy walking into my playroom and asking was someone else there? I was puzzled. "No, just me."

I'd been pretending something or other and was changing my voice for different characters. That's a form of talking to one's self, I think.

I figure it may be because I was alone a lot to fend for myself in the play department. Being an only child until I was almost eleven made me use my imagination, which has come back to haunt all of you.

Talking to myself has probably saved lives. I can yammer on like I'm preachin' your funeral, and by the time I've stopped, I'm over whatever I was maddern far about.

It has made ideas click as far as "sayings" for my characters (sorrier than the bottom of a greasy paper sack is one of my favorites), as well as thickened plots.

Talking to myself has helped me remember whatever I've forgotten, too. "Now, where did I put that?" Surely you do that, too.

But mostly, I think, it's a form of entertainment when no one else is around. 

I'm pretty good company, after all.


Thursday, March 15, 2018

Coming Soon!

So much is about to happen!

I am to pick up the CD demo in the morning for a listen. If it passes mustard, artwork will be done and the CD will be sent for duplication. YIKES! I'm usually not nervous about much, but this my friends, has me nervous. 

What if I stink? What will I do with all those CDs? A person only needs so many drink coasters.

This  means my next book is inching forward to completion. The timing never worries me, because: a. What does it matter? and b. God's timing is always perfect.

ON

 April 19 at 10 a.m. I will speaking at the Captain James Kell Chapter of the NSDAR (National Society Daughters of the American Revolution). I am honored. It will be held at the Gilmer County Library. 

THEN

On April 21 I will again be honored to be a part of Gilmer Arts presenting Georgia Hall of Fame writer Terry Kay, who will be the keynote speaker this year for the  Gilmer Arts Meet the Author event held each spring.  A panel of authors, including me (stop laughing) will present.  Then story time, boys and girls, story time! The Kennesaw State University Story Tellers, and me (I said stop laughing) will lie up a storm as tales are regaled. You, dear reader, if so inspired, may also tell your tale. You have up to seven minutes. Imagine what you can do to the audience in seven minutes!  The grand finale will be Mr. Kay telling a story of his own.

AND

On May 5 I will teach a Beginning to Write workshop (you're laughing again) at Gilmer Arts. More on this later. But mark your dance card, if you want to join us.

On June 11 I will be speaking at the Gilmer County Rotary Club at noon, located at Harrison Hall. I think this is a free event unless you want lunch. There is a fee for that. If you're hungry, contact the Rotary Club and ask the cost.  

I reckon I better start resting up. Never mind, that's all I've been doing for the past few weeks, but I'm finally better and ready to rock and roll. Or at least roll.

See ya!

Sunday, March 11, 2018

Sometimes Life is a Pain in the Rear

I know,  know. It's been over a month since I blogged.

But frankly, life has been a big pain in the rear lately, and I mean that literally as well as figuratively.

I've been in physical therapy twice a week for a while and that's real nice and all, but I'm getting tired of it. At least the cast is gone except I'm supposed to wear it at night (Cue hysterical laughter).

I've also had two kidney stones and one kidney infection thanks to the first kidney stone.

I hurt my back so bad I thought I might just croak. Physical therapy put dry needles with heat on my rear (I told you life had been a pain in the rear), which didn't help. So I went to a chiropractor, a new one since mine is on medical leave, and he did one thousand things to me, including putting electrodes on my rear end (see??).

After scanning my spine ("Oh my," sez he) and doing a bunch of everything else, he said I'd somehow knocked my tailbone a'windin'. Okay, that's not exactly what he said, but you get the picture.

I walked (sorta) out with less pain but extreme stiffness. Thank goodness I was scheduled for a massage yesterday morning, and after she left I napped and got up feeling better. I still can't sit for long without gettin' stove up, but I'm better.

The chiropractor will see me again tomorrow to adjust me again and show me some exercises, the word everyone who is in excruciating pain yearns to hear. Tuesday I get a break so I can take Mother to the neurologist (if I can ride by then) and then it's back to Physical Therapy on Wednesday.

Somebody stop this merry-go-round and let me off so you can give me some money to help pay for all this mess!  ha!

I didn't bother to mention that the antibiotics have given me a severe case of the Green Apple Two Step, even though I 'm on two different kinds of probiotics, because that's TMI for even my blog.

And yet:

A friend, who is even in worse shape than me 'cause she can't stand upright without breaking something, called to check on me and just talk. Thank you.

And another friend purchased a book and mailed it to me from Broken Arrow, OK, because she knew it was my kind of book and I'd enjoy it. Thank you.

And another friend, who is virtually home bound due to a few crippling issues, e-mailed me and had Husband pick up fresh eggs from her "girls" that we are already enjoying. Thank you.

And I have friends who have told me they love me and are praying for me.  Thank you.

And a friend who asked me how I hurt my back and told me I was dumb to do that in my condition and not to EVER do that again. Thank you

And Daughter and Husband who fret over me, drive me to all these appointments, wait on me and never whine (at least in front of me). Thank you.

And to all of you who have patiently waited on this blog, only to hear me whine, but will read the next one anyway. Thank you.

Life ain't so bad after all.