Reporting In

In the voice of Sheriff Andy Taylor: "Whoo wee, I've had me a time!"

For those of you who know me, or are on my Facebook page, you know what I'm talking about. Two kidney stones less than a week apart. The second one causing a U.T.I.  I did something mysterious to my back during the last kidney stone exit that had me pretty  much bed fast for over 2 weeks. 

The chiropractor traded in their Honda for a Lexus.

Ha, just kidding. Sorta.

My poor  massage therapist's hands are wore plumb out.

I have missed four Sundays worth of church, and didn't see my Mother for nearly that long.

She wasn't very happy about that, she's used to seeing me at least once a week. 

I missed meetings and fun stuff, including celebrating my 34th wedding anniversary and my 65th birthday. 

Well, the birthday miss maybe was a good thing. Maybe I can ignore it happened.

I obviously haven't blogged. I haven't worked on the novel I thought I'd be progressing nicely in. 

You know you're in bad shape when you cancel the cleaning ladies because you can't stand the thought of noise and people, so you'll just live in the dirt. 

Dirt is easier to wallow in, anyway.

But I'm better now. Still not 100% as they say, but hopefully headed that way.

Who knows? I may start ripping through that novel soon.

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.

My Hands are Tied

As some of you know, my left hand is in a cast about half way up my lower arm.

I also have carpel tunnel in my right hand, and I am supposed to sleep in a brace at night.

I am fearful of clocking myself (or Husband or worse cats!) upside of the head when I am sleeping; though that is intermittent at best.

Talk about awkward! I never realized just how left handed I really am. I mean, I knew I use my left hand more than most right handed people. I can use either except for writing, and eating is strange using my left hand. But everything else my left  hand is - well, handy. It has always been my stronger hand.

There are these little knots that have formed in the palm of my hands. It is some kind of condition passed through Scandinavian blood. I am fully Scots/Irish/Cherokee except one of my 32 great-great-great-grandmothers was Dutch. Thanks a lot, Betsy. Why couldn't she have passed on the ability to grow great tulips or something? But noooo, she has to pass on something that may cause my fingers to bend toward my palm. Sheesh.

My grandfather had it. My aunt had it. I guess it's my turn.

And not to be too graphic, but just imagine trying to pull up your drawers with a cast on one hand and a brace on the other.

Uh-huh. Not a pretty sight. Not that it was in the first place, but I need sympathy here.


Now I know how those lobsters in the tank at Red Lobster feel with their little hands tied together. Aren't you ashamed that you eat them?

No?

Well, you should be.

That's not to say I wouldn't, if I could. But I can't hold anything with which to eat without looking like a two year old.

However; this too shall pass.

After all, (as of today) I am only 64 years old. Plenty of time for something new to tear up or wear out.

Strolls off humming happy birthday to self.

Some of you know I had a birthday last week. It was raining hard, all day.

I remember my sixth birthday, when it rained hard all day. But believe it or not, I was thrilled.

My next door neighbor, Vicki, gave me a child size umbrella as a birthday gift. It was dark green and red plaid, and I was able to put it to immediate use. I ran outside with it and let it rain all around me.

I remember my tenth birthday because I got to have a party. I remember helping clean the house. We had pin the tail on the donkey and Bullwinkle ring toss. It was a very special day for me.

And my sixteenth must have been on a Wednesday or a Sunday, because my mother wasn't at work, and she fixed my favorite meal for supper and let me invite my boyfriend to eat with us.

I remember getting upset on my twenty-first birthday because I was really, truly an adult. It made me sad.

On my twenty-seventh birthday I got to see the Monkees (well, all but Mike) in a small club somewhere in the metro area. I was thrilled.

On my twenty-eighth birthday I was eating in a restaurant with another couple. I had only just met them, but they were very nice. He excused himself to the restroom, and in a few minutes all the guys from the bar came to the table and sang a loud, off key, somewhat drunken rendition of the Happy Birthday song to me.

I understand some of the other patrons complained.

No joke.

I coulda crawled under the table.

My fortieth birthday is well remembered because Brother of Many Surgeries and Other Brother did a "lordy, lordy Kathi's 40" in the paper with the worst childhood photo they could find. You know what I'm talking about; frizzy hair from a perm gone bad, big teeth that you could drive a Volkswagon between, that kind of photo.

You know you have at least one.

Oddly enough, I don't remember the big 5-0. Or much about any of the ones in between the ones I have talked about.

At least I remember this last one.

For now.

Feted at IHOP

Yesterday was Mother's eighty-sixth birthday. She was very excited about the cards and telephone calls she was receiving, many from our church. She doesn't attend anymore, but she's still on our birthday calendar, and I let folks know at the end of church service Sunday that I was grateful she was still around.

I appreciate people remembering her.

She was tickled.

She got some gifts, too. She always complains about gifts, as I think I've mentioned here before.

Daughter was very upset that she wasn't going to see her Nanny on her birthday, but she overslept (as usual), and then had to work. She knew that by the time she got off work, it would be too late to visit.

So, I suggested that Husband and I pick up Mother and journey over to IHOP to eat an early supper. We figured we'd surprise Daughter and have a jolly good time.

Which we did.

Daughter saw us pull up (radar) and excitedly opened the restaurant door for us, eyes dancing. She'd already alerted other wait staff, and they were wishing Mother happy birthday as we came through to be seated.

Then Daughter insisted on paying for the meal, since it was Nanny's birthday. She's never really been able to do that before, and I think it made her feel good.

We gave her a LARGE tip, and left pleasantly full.

As they say; a good time was had by all.

What!

Today is my birthday.

I turned sixty-one today.

This is impossible.

I am still, oh, I don't know, say, forty-ish. And that may be stretching it.  Maybe thirty-seven. Yeah. That's better.

Now, I'm not talking about when I look in the mirror. No, sir. I'm shocked and appalled then.

I'm talking about me. The inside me.

Make that twenty-eight.

Happy birthday to me -

La lalalalalalalala !

It's December .... Already

So today is the first day of the last month of 2014.

You may be asking: how the heck did that happen? How did we even get to 2014 in the first place?

I dunno.

My baby brothers turned fifty years old today. I don't know how that's setting with them, but it's setting pretty old to me.

Christmas will be here in a flash, and I can barely move. If I don't stay over this mess with my sacroiliac, I don't know what I'm gonna do. I think I'm better and WHAM it's like I've been hit with a baseball bat. Twice.

Daughter is having finals this week, so you can figure the mess she's in.

Husband is going to see a man about a dog tomorrow.

No, really.

I don't know if we will get it. We all had high hopes we'd go as a family to look at the pup, but with my back and some commitments I have, I know I can't do it all. And Daughter, as I have said, is having finals this week.

What the situation is, is this: someone somehow has to get unbusy, unpained enough to put up the dang Christmas decorations.

Any volunteers?

Only one string attached:

You got to clean the house first. I ain't having no decorations put up with nasty underneath.

Gimme a call if you're interested.

And Life Goes On

Today is my mother's 85th birthday.

Which means I'm old.

Not to focus on me, of course, that was just a passing thought.

She and I have been through an awful lot these past sixty years, seven months and three weeks, and that's not even counting her throwing up constantly and being hospitalized off and on during her pregnancy with me. She said when I left her body the sickness left  her, too.

The doctors said there was something in my system she was allergic to.

She's probably felt allergic to me a lot since then, too.

Anyway, we have had plans in the past. Some of them came to fruition, some did not.

We even  have big plans right now.

Beans. Lots of beans.

Nothing like a three generational bean fixin to bring a family close together.

Even  Husband is in on the thing, having to go get the beans, bring up all the canning jars from the storage room, and maybe being talked into stringin' one or two.

Maybe not.

Tomorrow we have a big trip planned to Dalton to the ENT to hopefully get all four of our ears working better.

And so it goes.

There's lots to be said for day to day living with family.

Happy Birthday, Mother.

May it be a year of plans and family.

Your Multi-talented Blogger, Right Here

Those of you who know me personally know I am multi-talented.

No, really. It's true, even though it makes me blush furiously to say it myself.

It's so embarrassing, I wish you were here to say it for me.

Anyway, I have a talent I bet almost, if maybe none of you, know I have.

I can laugh like Woody Woodpecker.

That's right.  I'll give you a moment to digest this wonder. You may ask me to perform any time  you see me. I won't let you down.

Now, I do admit that this particular talent doesn't come in handy as often as some of my other more glorious ones.

But yesterday I got to have playtime with my almost three year old great nephew. He has a birthday very soon, and I was asking his mama what he was interested in at the moment so we could buy a present he would enjoy.

She named several characters that children his age usually like, and one that he is presently fascinated with is Woody Woodpecker.

I waited until his back was turned, took a deep breath and did my thang. Mother and Niece cracked up. Great-Nephew turned slowly, a serious look on his face and deadpanned, "Whoa." No exclamation point.
Then he looked at his mama and grinned.

"Who was that?" She asked him.

"Man Pecker." (That's what he said.) All of us got pretty hysterical, but afterward his mama told us she knew that's what he called old Woody, but didn't want to spoil the surprise. She's asked him  not to say his name in public.

But, dang it.

I was upstaged by a three year old.

Just another day, I reckon.

Another Year Flies By

Today is Daughter's twenty-fourth birthday.

Wow.

She has received texts, facebook wishes, cards, a letter (from me), and a visitor already.

She must be pretty special, huh.

She was a beautiful baby on her first birthday celebration at age one:

and doesn't look too shabby now:

Happy birthday to my one and only chick.

I love you more than life itself.

Your Momma

Blog was Closed Due to Birthday Trauma

Sorry I  haven't been around since Friday. But I had to take a break.

It was my birthday on Friday, and I turned sixty.

I don't know how that happened. I've checked the calender many times, and I reckon it's right.

I don't know  how much longer I'll be able to blog, gettin' so old and all, but I'll try to carry on for a little longer. If the text gets all wobbly and whatnot, you'll know it's the palsy from advanced age. I didn't want you worrying about your computer, thinking it was on the blink.

One of Mother's friends, who is eighty-seven, called and asked me how it felt to be sixty.

Me: "I don't know. I'm still in shock."

Her: (laughing): " It's been so long since I was sixty, I thought I'd ask somebody who might know."

Everything is always about perspective, isn't it?

Which reminds me of a conversation I read. The discussion was about people in Heaven, and if they knew what was going on right now on Earth.

The person questioning was saying they couldn't possibly, because how could they be happy if they saw what a mess we were in down here?

And the writer answered by saying their perspective would be quite different.

I imagine so.

So, here's the deal. I've got a thoughtful blog coming up tomorrow, if I have electricity. I really would like input on it, if you have electricity.

Storm's a'comin', they say.

So go out there and buy that bread and milk. But on second thought, hold off on the milk unless you have a generator.

A Birthday Salute

Today is my mother's eighty-fourth birthday. She was born in 1929, a terrible  year by historical standards for the financial world.

She is an only child and never suffered because of the Great Depression. Her grandparents were farmers and loggers and one grandmother was a mid-wife.

They made do, I reckon.

Her mother had rheumatic fever as a little girl and was told to never have children, because of the damage it had done to her heart. Obviously she ignored that, twice.

She had a miscarriage before she became pregnant with my mother. She was alone in a cafe' that she and my grandfather owned. A drunk man came in and attempted to rape her. Although he was unsuccessful because of my grandmother's fight, she miscarried later on that day.

My grandfather set out to kill the man, but he disappeared into the mountains, never to be seen again.

Anyway, Mother was one cherished little girl.

She was involved in everything in high school. She was on the staff of the annual, she was in the glee club, she was one of "our queens", she was also on the first squad of cheerleaders the high school ever had.

She was married to my father from age twenty-two to age almost fifty-nine when he passed away.

They kept it a secret for several days, both going back home to their parents house.  She got a friend to spend the night with her before she got the  nerve up to tell her parents she had married.

You see, my daddy was a bad boy. A rebel. Not someone her dear old dad would have picked.

Oh, well.

After my father died, realizing my mother was still a fairly young woman, I approached her with the idea that if she ever wanted to date, I wouldn't object.

She looked at me like I was crazy. She said, "I love your daddy and would take him back tomorrow if he could be healthy, but  honey, I am done with men."

And so she was.

Except for, of course, two sons, a grandson, a son-in-law and now that grand great-grandson.

I guess that's enough men in any woman's life.

So here she is at year eighty-four.

Time really has flown, and I know time is shorter -  not just for her
- but for all of us.

That means we are to  live it to the fullest, to be the best we can be and to honor others.

So if your mother or father is still living, don't forget:

Honor thy mother and father so that thy days may be long....

Mama must of done a good job.

Birthday Parties

Attending birthday parties come and go in one's life, I think.

When I was small, I had a few. Not like the extravaganza I've seen in the last few years, but more like my mother baked a cake, bought some ice cream, invited four or five kids to the house and voila'! A birthday party.

As I was a little older, I think we played pin the tail on the donkey for a prize (a candy bar, maybe). I also had a Bull Winkle cardboard cutout that came with rings. You tried to throw the rings on his antlers for points. Different antlers had different points.

We dressed up for the parties, girls in dresses and boys in clean pants or shorts and shirts.

When I became a teenager, I didn't have parties much. Turning sixteen, my mother cooked all my favorite foods and invited my boyfriend to eat supper with us. I think I asked for homemade fudge instead of cake.

Then there were no more birthday parties to attend that I recall until I had Daughter. We had family birthday parties when she was little, with a few friends thrown into the mix.

When she was a preteen it was having girls spend the night.

As a teenager, she wanted to go out to eat and shop.

So, the parties stopped again.

My nephew had a baby a few years ago, and we are going to his second birthday party tomorrow. I think it will be mostly family in attendance.

As far as I know, there will be no hired musicians, giant animals walking around, pony rides, or anything else. Just food, a few presents, and lots of talk amongst the adults.

Now, that's my kind of party.

Every Year, Like Clock Work

There are some things, that when they happen, are forever etched in one's minds eye. You  may not remember what  happened just before, or even just after. But you never forget that moment.

One of those moments came for me on June 8, 1990 at 6:00 p.m. I was just finishing up in the kitchen when the phone rang. 

It was the director of the adoption agency telling me that "a little baby girl  had been born last night". She didn't have to say anything else. Because I knew, with every fiber of my being, I had just become a mama. 

Oh, there had been inquires before, phone calls asking for information about us, etc. They all seemed exciting, but not real. 

This? This was real.

I remember walking out to the front porch where Husband was sitting on the steps with our Boxers. I told him about the phone call. He turned and looked at me, eyes wide, and said, "This is it, isn't it?"

Yes, yes this was 'it'.

Daughter had been born just before midnight, and we worked, so the agency had waited until we got home to call. I guess she figured it only fair we know at the same time.

Well, any of you out there that is a parent, knows your life changes in that instant, and never changes back.

We don't know what we're getting into. But we do know, once we are into it, there's no going back. There's nothing to compare it to, no fear, no joy, no frustration, no fierce love like it.

I guess that's the way God feels about us.

Happy Birthday, Daughter: I love you more than life.

How God Works Stuff

Several years ago the best thing I had going was my  job. I was well liked by staff, the community and clients. I had high ratings on my job performances and got good raises.

One day a new supervisor was hired. The first day he came 'over the mountain' to introduce himself, he didn't start out with "Hi, I'm blah blah, you're new supervisor. I've reviewed your job performances and can't wait to work with you."

Instead he said, "You aren't the person I want in this position. I want a person with a Master's Degree and I'm upgrading the position so you won't qualify. Start looking for another job."

I wasn't frightened, I was furious. I leaned over my desk and got right in his face and told him  more than a thing or two. I knew I had some protection from the Merit System.

I showed him the way out and got busy. First of all, I applied for that lofty position he was upgrading my job to. Figured it couldn't hurt. Then I talked to personnel in Atlanta, who said I did indeed have some protection, and although he could 'let me go' on grounds of my not qualifying, I could fight it and most likely the center would have to find a job for me.

Then, because I had over one hundred clients, I started telling them I might not be there much longer. One gentleman, whom I had been seeing weekly, took umbrage at this. He just happened to have a nephew who knew somebody who knew somebody in the governor's office. Who made a little call voicing their concern that a good employee would be treated in such a manner.

Making someone sweat is always good.

A week or so later I heard back from the Merit System and I had qualified for that lofty position! The look on my new supervisor's face was worth about a bazillion dollars. This, of course, made his stand of 'getting rid of me' much  more shaky, as now he had no real reason to do so.

Did I mention that he never came into my office alone again, after that first meeting? I think this good ole Appalachian woman scared the crap outta him. yay!

Anyway, to make this story a little bit shorter, the center wound up offering me a raise with a position of running an entire program and an opportunity to grow in my career, which I otherwise would have never had.

I took the job and wound up, for the last several years of my career, directing two county mental health centers.

And that supervisor I so told off? Well, he wound up in prison for child molestation. Ahhhh....

But none of this is my point. (What?? you say?).

This is my point. God's Hand was in every bit of this. My personal life was in terrible shape. My first marriage had been a sham for some time. I was never physically abused, but I was treated poorly, and let's just say I had a Biblical reason for divorce.

And I loved my new job. It made divorce easier.

I also got to know several good friends. And I  married one of them later.

He is my best friend. We've been married twenty-eight years. It's fun. It's a good run.

Husband is sixty-four today. He loves me, he takes care of me, we enjoy each other so much. Life is good.

See? God knew.

God always knows what He's doing.

So, to celebrate the happy ending to my bad spell in life, I say:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HUSBAND!  YOU ARE THE BEST!

circa 1985

Which Of These Things Is Not Like The Others?

In less than a span of a two week period, John Travolta, Christie Brinkley, Oprah Winfrey, and little old me were born.

So, which of these things is not like the others?

Is it John Travolta because he is the male?

Is it Oprah Winfrey because she is of African decent?

Is it Christie Brinkley because she's cute as the dickens, even when she's pushing sixty?

Nay.

'Tis I.

Because, when compared to these other birthday celebrants, I am a pauper. I probably don't have one tenth the wealth of any one of these other birthday babies.

But that's okay. I have, from what I observe in the news, a  much better life.

I am stable. I  may not be as cute as Christie, but I bet I'm more content with my looks. There's not much I can say about old John that says stable, so we'll skip him. And Oprah? She can't decide what her religion is. Maybe it's just the religion of Oprah. I don't know for sure.

I know who My Redeemer is. I know which man I love. I know I have raised my child to the best of my ability, and my family, although not perfect, all speak to me.

I have so many friends it  makes me dizzy. And they are really friends. I don't  have to question if they want to be close to me because of my money.

I've had e-mails, phone calls, and facebook messages all day wishing me a happy birthday. Phone calls from Texas and Oklahoma, messages from Indiana and all over  here 'bouts.

Makes me richer than John, Oprah and Christie, all together. Eat your hearts out, trio.

I'm the one who's got it made.

Ummmm, Cake!

There can be a lot of negative said about upcoming birthdays, at least once you get out of your twenties. (Remember those?)

I remember my sixth birthday, because Vicki, my neighbor, gave me a plaid umbrella just my size and it was raining.

I remember my sixteenth because my mother cooked a huge supper and my boyfriend was invited over to share it.

I remember my twenty-first because I was so upset that I was, somehow, more of an adult than I'd ever been before.

I remember forty because my stinky brothers put a big old ad in the newspaper, you know the kind "Lordy, lordy, look who's forty".  And my then sister-in-law put together a huge album of my life thus far.

For the last several birthdays, a tradition of sorts has been made. I get an Italian Cream Cake. Now, I remember the first time I tasted one of these. I thought it was the best thing I'd ever put in my mouth!

But the bakery that  made them (from scratch) eventually closed down and that was that. Until somehow or other I found out Beverly made Italian Cream cakes. From scratch.

She's a person who loves to cook, especially bake. You know the kind. You change churches because of her. Every time there is a dinner at her church, she cooks. So, I mean, what else can you do?

So, for the last several years, as part of my birthday, my husband purchases an Italian Cream Cake from her. I share, of course. Daughter gets a piece and Husband usually two pieces. Then I put a padlock on the cake holder and all's well with my world.

Anyway, a tragedy has occurred. Her oven broke down. Slap up and quit. She's had parts ordered for weeks, and the repairman came yesterday, but alas, he has to order even more parts!

So my birthday Italian Cream Cake, (from scratch), may wind up being my Valentine Italian Cream Cake. From scratch. Or maybe even my Saint Patrick's Italian Cream Cake. From Scratch.

I know I can get through this. I'm a big girl (shut up), and mature and know that it's just a few days difference.

Pray for me, people. Pray for me.

Never on Wednesday

Wednesday I will be far too busy to blog.

I will have Bible study in the morning, a massage directly afterwards, dinner, a quick rest, and then AWANA at church, where I do counsel time with the kids. 

That is, of course, if it doen't sleet, hail, snow, freeze ice, or tornado conditions pop up.

That's why I almost never blog on Wednesdays. But I'll also be preparing for Thursday, which of course, as you all know, is my birthday.

Ahem.

Well, now you know.

How could I be this old? I mean, as far as I know, I've been here for the whole thing (well, except when I was asleep during back surgery, and who wants to be present for that?).

I look back  on childhood events (mine, not my daughter's) and they are clear as a bell. I can close my eyes and smell the inside of my grandfather's car. I can feel the way the skinny, big steering wheel felt in my tiny  hands, and the button you pushed called the starter. I remember sitting in the back seat with my feet sticking out in front of me, and dreaming about the day my legs would be long enough to bend and my feet hit the floor. He sold that car when I was eight or nine.

I can hear the church bell that rang every Sunday morning and woke me up from summer slumber. And I have fond memories of the man who rang that bell and gave chewing gum to all the little ones. He was the only  man who actually wanted to stay in the nursery on  Sundays.

I can see the town as it was, not as it is.

My own daughter was born "just yesterday". I've explained to her the reason it is so hard for  parents to turn loose of their children is because we remember all of them. The them that couldn't hold up their head, didn't have a tooth to their name, and couldn't have walked if their lives had depended on it. Because their lives depended on us.

Building our new house - that was yesterday, wasn't it? Or was it twenty-six years ago? Eh, same difference.

And I wont' believe it if you tell me my daughter has been out of high school almost five years. And that I've been out forty. HA! You  must be talking about my mother. 

Yes, my friends are looking old. They are under a lot of stress, that's all. And I'm supposed to be looking old, being a dang cripple and all.

My tiny, tiny premature nephew will NOT be turning twenty-nine next month. He's about three, isn't he? So what if he has a little one himself.

And  my baby brothers are pushing fifty. Some babies they are. But I remember the day they were born, and believe you  me, nobody was expecting twins, especially our mother.

I guess there's no way to hold on to any given moment, they are wisps that slip through our fingers the second they occur. 

But we can be sure and remember them.

So, you'll excuse me if I don't blog on Wednesday. 

I have a lot to do, you see.