Skarkenjuice & Moodicarry

Let’s Laugh, Shall We?

2012-01-11T17:32:00.001-06:00

We often read those hilarious misprints, gaffes, or typos that make us all giggle when we see them. Sometimes, we even find those good intentioned, “there was just no way around it” labels, headlines, etc. that no matter how you try to make it sound appropriate or tasteful…well…let’s just take a look…

While reading a section of a local paper intended to inform of upcoming events, I happened upon this little gem in the County Calendar, “Children’s Market: Bozo’s Big Bowel Movement at the local Children’s Market will begin at 6:00 PM, Thursday, August 19th…” This was a free family event, luckily. Shame to have to pay to experience that "function". Wow, I'm not sure if I would’ve been tempted to purchase any “locally grown produce” from this particular farmer’s market…makes you question the possible experimentation of going green with local fertilizer, huh? Spend the rest of the day trying to wipe that image clean.

Another, I will share at my own expense. Many of us have laughed as we have read those funny wedding announcement headlines in papers. You know the ones...some are a little inappropriate and some are just downright funny. Traylor/Hooker, Moore/Bacon, the list goes on.... Since I have suffered from this firsthand, I feel obliged to share that my maiden name is Little, a name of which I am proud and would not shame my father’s legacy for any reason. We Little’s are a proud clan, we are! However, I married a Johnson…need I say more…

Oh yes, I shall…while attending my 10 year high school reunion years…and years…and years ago…the officers of our senior class were required to take on various duties of the night. Being the class secretary, I was so fortunate as to have the honor of calling together everyone and announcing the Emcee or DJ for the night (memories a little cloudy, so these details may be a little misconstrued). The guy asked me to introduce myself and if I was married, to please give my first name, maiden name, and married name. Really, dude? Come on.

After already being nervous to speak before a crowd of my peers and dreading the intro, I willed my way through it (keep in mind that I was also largely pregnant at said time)....waiting for the giggles…and...yep, they came. At which time, I feel the sudden urge to explain that this has no bearing on my husband. The response…even more giggles…to which I decide…it’s better to just sit down. How do you come back…I ask, just how do you come back?

Now, come on, guys! I know you all have a little something you can share. Please feel free to share the laughter...we all need it!

*Bozo's BM compliments of Neighbors, A Journal Publishing Company, August 19-25, p. 2.

Whhhhh...uhh...cough, cough, hack...

2012-01-10T17:34:00.000-06:00

Do you hear that? Yes, that is me, blowing the dust off of my computer (or now, my smart phone), literally! I did not even venture a look at the date of my last post in fear that it would paralize me further into shock. It has been such a busy and everchanging year, that posting to anything (including a checkbook at times...shame, shame) has been a good intention which quickly joined an already quickly forming pile of afterthoughts.

Have I missed it...yes, to an extent, but really...I guess I haven't had much to say (a moment of shock for those of you who know me). Just really enjoyed taking the last couple of years to really get a new perspective and just enjoy getting to know my children even better...you never go wrong there...unless you're raising cannibals, I guess.

So...
with a little work and determination, maybe I can get the hang of this again. Writing on a regular basis will not be priority, but I will at least make an effort. I realize that none of you are breathing a sigh of relief or were hanging on to the edge of your chair to hear that bit of earth trembling news; it is spoken more for my ego than for your benefit (you know...it's one of those many self-assurance/help resolutions I considered at the beginning of the year.......then quickly let settle back to the floor with the other dust that floated through the air from the recent computer/winter cleaning session. I hate New Year Resolutions...don't even expect to find a single one near my page...I will fight them with emboldened fever!)

I have enjoyed reading some of your posts and seeing what is going on in your lives and art! I can't wait to read on and find out what you guys have been up to. I hope you will all have a little mercy with my writing...it's been a while, but maybe like bike riding...once you learn, you got this thing...so here's hoping for a successful jump back behind the handlebars!

Hoping this is an awesome year for you all,
Andrea

What I'm Afraid Of...

2011-04-15T13:37:00.000-05:00

I've noticed the trend of having guest writers on blogs, on which I am totally unopinionated. Last week, however, my paper gun-weilding 11 year old handed me a short (very short) essay he had written on "What I'm Afraid of..." for his fourth grade teacher last year. Don't ask me what nook or cranny of his backpack it had been stuffed into, but I'm glad he dug it out. I found it an interesting and amusing read. I decided to share it in hopes you find it just as entertaining! And now..."What I'm Afraid of..."

"What I'm Afraid of..."

by Hunter

I'm afraid of girls. Why, you ask? Because they have long hair, fingernails, and terrible tempers! You can't escape one because they will keep you in their arms. I can't be near one because they will get me. Plus, they like boys...wait a minute...I'm a BOY!!! Ahhhhggg!!! Am I going to die (now)? (If so,) At least I won't have to suffer at the hands of a girl! If I were you, I would hide from all those girls! You better run for your life if you see one. Of course, I hate running from girls, but I am afraid they will get me. Those girls have weapons like lip gloss, blow dryers, and other things like that. But wait! We have booger blasters, mud-flingers, and underwear cannons! We have supplies of water balloons and Nerf blasters with strong fire power. Will it ever be strong enough? They don't stand a chance because they will run when they see that we play hard! We will sin this war!

Of course, when I grow up, I may have a different idea about girls, but I am always going to keep my booger blasters close!

Not too shabby for creativity and humor for a 4th grader...of course, I may be a little partial (maybe). When asked what the motivation was for writing this, he explained that the girls at school chase some of the boys all over the playground - sometimes he can't even play with his buddies! He said, not to get him wrong, he liked 'em, but they just wouldn't leave them alone sometimes! Now, I'm sure that "guy time" is important to a 4th grade dude just trying to "hang out with his buds", but I'm thankful that he isn't rushing the girl thing just yet - the stories I hear! (There are probably even some 20 & 30 year olds who feel the same way - they can't find a peaceful corner of the playground in which to just hang out with their buds!) He's growing up, guys, way too quickly! Oh well, I guess when I get to mourning his lost baby fat and his once hairless underarms and top lip, I'll get out my tear pistol and search for HIS booger blaster! Hummmm....maybe the underwear cannon explains his room.

Love you, bud! Keep up the great writing and keep building with that imagination,

Momma

It Don’t Matter. Really?

2011-03-04T18:24:00.000-06:00

     For those of us who are very indecisive or who are usually just along for the ride in life…this restaurant may be perfect…maybe. During a recent trip, my children and I were depending on a trusty GPS to get us from one destination to another. Some people hate these modern conveniences. I…blindly depend on them like they were some life support system. Now don’t berate me just yet, I have actually depended on a map a time or two in my life and have even followed the once “new fangled” invention of MapQuest, etc. (without even re-entering the addresses backward and forward so as to get the directions to and from exact). That’s right! Momma reversed the directions using a little common sense (very little, but I got back OK).

     Alright…sorry for the above paragraph that had little to nothing to do with the point of this post. So, we were headed to our next town at an extremely late evening hour passing through towns and down roads I had never heard of and tried in vain to imagine the origin of their names when we came across the following “side of the road”, “mom and pop” diner (or at least I’m guessing it was - it was too late to go in and confirm by this time of evening): “It Don’t Matter Family Restaurant”. Ok. I'm not going to pen my thoughts about this one. I want your thoughts splattered on my page! Any comments?

     You might even want to share what might have brought about the end of the Breakfast Buffet?

Please! Share with me, friends.

Bonding Over Buzzards

2011-03-04T17:36:00.000-06:00

     No, I don’t have a morbid fascination with buzzards. And no, I haven't moved to a desert. I would like to observe, however, that it was very weird when last year, within a couple weeks' time, I had a very strange second sighting of buzzards in my area…a little too close for comfort. I wrote one entry called “Omen, Anyone?” where I shared a picture of two buzzards who had landed on a cross on top of a steeple. Strange as that was, weeks later, we were headed home when the kiddos and I saw two buzzards perched in a birdbath in front of a small house. “What are those!?” we all resounded. As we got closer, I couldn’t resist but to slow the car down for a better look…and besides, no one was home at the time (I hoped). Realizing that they were the same type of ominous bird I had seen earlier, I laughed then mused, “Well, isn’t this coincidental?”

     Being one that believes I have to prove what I’m telling, I ran home to grab my camera in hopes that no one would return to this quaint little home, and that the buzzards wouldn’t make their grand exit until I could make it back. As luck would have it, they were still happily (can buzzards exude happiness?) on the birdbath involved in some imaginary conversation I had projected upon them. (I think one of them was telling the other, “Paparazzi! Can you believe this lady? She actually went all the way home to get her camera!” I was only brave enough to pull over on the opposite side of the road and snap a couple of quick pics.

     The fowl must’ve decided that they could get a mile out of this ole gal after they had given me a yard. The next day, they weren't there.  Suddenly, two days later, they appeared again, this time, closer to the house. This pattern continued and, in the coming weeks, we began to notice that there hadn’t been a car at this house in quite a while. Oh yeah…you imaginative types already had your creative juices flowing before I got to this point, didn’t you? You can imagine the stories that began to grow in that little car on our way "to and from" every day. Of course, we always used reason…well, most of the time.

     Finally, the brave little scavengers had made it onto the porch! That’s right. They were comfortably and confidently hanging out at their new vacation/love shack/"dead person must be inside" house. We kept the trusty camera in the car and flashed a couple of see-it-to-believe-it photos when they were spotted. Finally, one day, they were no more…they had moved on…flown the coop (sorry – corny, I know, but as my friend says…God just made me this way).

     Now, as interesting as this story is…it doesn’t end there. Recently one of our co-workers bit the dust to retirement, so of course the position had to be filled. Upon chatting one day and getting to know the new person, I was sharing with her where I lived. When I stated the street name, she exclaimed, “Oh, yes! I know that road! Listen, I have the funniest story about driving down that road.” I couldn’t help but stand there, mouth agape, as she recited to me how she and her family had been riding down that particular stretch of road and saw…these two buzzards sitting in a bird bath!

     OMW!! (Oh my word!!) I laughed and laughed! She looked at me as if I’d lost it…I mean, finally lost it. I told her to hold on and grabbed my camera. I began to scroll through the photos and she began to laugh and share with me that it had unnerved them so that they had called the sheriff! (I hate to admit it, but I think we had all thought of that as we passed by – never any cars at that little house, scavengers inhabiting the yard and porch for weeks, then suddenly…gone. (Oh, please! Like you were thinking it!)

     There haven't been any more scavenger birds and there's almost always someone home now at the little house on the side of the road. Wonder if the sheriff ever found anything…hummm? I also wonder what the buzzards are talking about as we speak, “Hey Alfred (is that a buzzard name?), you remember that time we had those people going…man, we even sat on the porch just to freak ‘em out a little.” “Yeah, Sherman, that was a good one!” And who would’ve thought two co-workers could’ve bonded over buzzards.

So, Where've You Been (a sad monologue of self-loathing)

2011-01-26T17:08:00.001-06:00

Yes, I've been absent from the blogging scene for a while. Thank you to those of you who continued to let your presence be known (to let me know I have a blogger-friend or two) by leaving an occasional comment or just right out asking, "WHERE ARE YOU?"

Well, let's just say that a much-needed blogging siesta was taken. Life sometimes throws you off a little, you know - like, when you are walking along nicely on the sidewalk and all of a sudden you accidentally step off the curb and you do the "jelly ankle" thing and pray that no one saw you and you try to recover with looking really cool (if you're a girl, maybe brushing your hair away from your now reddened face and looking like "how in the world!"; if you're a guy, you...well what do ya'll do? Maybe a swagger thing or something.). Oh well, the great thing about getting thrown a curveball is learning how to catch it and play the game with grace, skill, and sportsmanship (jelly ankle, swagger, and all)!

I am not ashamed to say that faith has brought me through so many things in life and it is that same faith that is bringing me through now. Just when we get ready to sink into our big pity chair (not to be confused with "potty chair") surrounded by oversized pillows that we burry our head in and scream, God lifts our face and says, "Wait. It's ok to do that for a time, but don't sit there and give up! I didn't create that in you and we are just gonna sit here for a while, scream or cry or just be silent, take a deep breath (eat some chocolate - I really am convinced that He must like it since He led someone to create the heavenly stuff, right?), and prepare to get back up and live. We have stuff to do, places to go, and people to see."

I want to share something that has spoken to me lately, during one of my more whimpy days. Seems like words like these come your way when you need them the most. In fact, the night that I read these, it was truely as if I could breath again.

God, Master of Union and Disunion, teach me how I may

now walk alone and strong. Heal my wounds; let the scar tissue

of Thy bounty cover these bruises and hurts

that I may again be a single person adjusted to new days.

Grant me a heart of wisdom, cleanse me of hostility, revenge and rancor,

make me know the laughter which is not giddy, the affection which is not frightened.

Keep far from me thoughts of evil and despair.

May I realize that the past chapter of my life is closed and will not open again.

The anticipated theme of my life has changed, the expected story end will not come.

Shall I moan at the turn of the plot?

Rather, remembering without anger's thrust recalling without repetitive pain of regret,

teach me again to write and read

that I may convert this unexpected epilogue into a new preface and a new poem.

Muddled gloom over, tension days passed,

let bitterness of thought fade harshness of memory attenuate

make me move on in love and kindness.

(Source Unknown)

I simply share those words today because I don't believe that I'm the only one who needs a little encouragement from time to time. Thank you to those of you who have been such a positive little ray of happiness to me.

Grateful for my Lord, my family, and my friends (which many of you are considered),

Andrea

Christimas Wishes!

2010-12-22T14:46:00.000-06:00

Just a quick note to say that I haven't fallen off the edge of the planet...yet! I am planning on returning from my extra-long leave of absence soon.

I wanted to take this time to wish each of you a very happy, warm, & blessed Merry Christmas!!!

Love to you all!
Andrea

The Creatures from Outer Space (a.k.a....My Back Yard)

2010-09-07T15:37:00.000-05:00

I have mentioned before that I live in a rather “rural” area. As long as I can recall, there has been this strange noise that permeates the air during the sweltering summer afternoons, a symphony of sound that is as strange as some of the cousins that come out of the woodwork during a family reunion. It is this strange swelling of a noise like none other; a buzzing, but more rhythmic and musical.
What, you may ask, is all "the buzz" about? (OK - so that is such a cliche, but it fits so well!) Cicadas! After doing a little (very little) research, I found lots of facts about these guys, but don't worry - you aren't in for a science lesson (I'm not Annie the Science Gal), but I couldn't help sharing some of the more interesting ones.
1. They are NOT locust - despite what some people around "these here parts" call them. I would even say they are a little "friendlier" than locust, but a little uglier (not that anything that can fly at you, jump on you, wiggle, gnaw, or creep, or crawl is ever something I would be attracted to, but, hey, bless their hearts, like me, they can't help how they were made!).
2. They grow a shell that they shed and leave behind, similar to some types of crabs.
3. Only the males make the loud "caterwauling".
4. Some people even eat these things. NO-I HAVEN'T, I'M NOT GOING TO & I DON'T HAVE A "MEMAW" THAT FIXES 'EM UP JUST RIGHT FOR THOSE AFOREMENTIONED FAMILY REUNIONS!
5. There are different types - 17 yr, 13 yr, etc. They bury into the ground and only come out every 17, 13, or so years. (Which leaves me with the mystery of why I hear them almost every summer. Maybe there's some poor confused little pod of cicadas that makes the occasional late appearance - I can so relate!)
OK - enough facts. On to why I'm sharing this wealth of information. These "aliens" (just take a look at the pics) form outer shells and then crawl out of the top of them, leaving behind a very strange looking form. When I was young, I can remember being so afraid to touch them! I was terrified that the shells weren’t, in reality, dead and would miraculously/wickedly come to life after I picked one up and attack me! If you’ve ever handled one and had it "cling" to you – you know exactly why that thought might've crossed my mind! Their sharp barb-like legs prick and grasp you like an Velcro needle!
A couple of weeks ago, my son came running into the house after finding one of these bizarre little bug's former inhabitants and eagerly suggested a cicada hunt. So, we all trekked to a group of towering pine trees in search of the mysterious spoil. Looking up, inspecting the bark, we found shell after shell of the creepy little flea/crab/grasshopper/alien-looking insects' casings. We gathered quite a few and decided to line my son’s shirt with them. He said he looked like a decorated army general of some strange planet. I agree! When I was a little girl, we would decorate our own shirts or hats with them or wear them like rings on our fingers (so gross (and sometimes painful) but, hey, cheap jewelry!).
It was fun putting them on yesterday and sharing that memory with the kiddos. Being a part of their memory-making and just enjoying the simple things in life. No Nintendos, Wiis, TVs, texting, or hi-tech entertainment (aside from the camera)- just ...time spent together, actually talking, laughing, and listening. Here are a few shots of our captives.

This guy looks like he is almost ready to "escape".

A little bugger preparing to come out of his shell.

My little alien army general being decorated!

This is what the shell looks like - you can see where they make their exit.

They look like they are invading!

So...anyone up for a cicada hunt? There's still plenty to be found! We’ll be glad to lead you, and it’s a whole lot more fun than a snipe hunt.

The Four Seasons

2010-08-20T15:36:00.000-05:00

No, this is not a blog entry on the luxurious hotel. But after discussing the heat of summer in my last entry, I was reminded about something that I said to one of the roofers. I made the comment that it seems, here in Mississippi, we experience the best of all 4 seasons. When it’s Spring, you see all the plants in bloom, the weather begins to warm up, we get a decent amount of rain (usually), and there are beautiful colors everywhere. Everything seems to come to life (including allergies - oh, sorry, this was supposed to be positive).
When the summer begins to bounce into being, we get lots of (as aforementioned) heat and humidity, but when the weather is cooperating, it can be an extremely nice day. You want to be out soaking up the sun, swimming, skiing, etc!
Then fall appears, the leaves begin to change some of the most beautiful colors – yellows, reds, browns, oranges – it’s simply amazing. Winds begin to blow in a crisper air. A more mild, cool temp pervades as the leaves then begin their descent. And sometimes you can catch the smell of people burning leaves in their yards (this can be good or bad!).
Winter rages in last, with really cold temps that can occasionally fall below freezing. You want to bundle up to go outside. We may see it get down to the negatives a couple of times (and, hey, you people up North and in Canada – don’t burst my bubble! I know I ain’t seen nothin’, as “they” say, but you know, it's just as good as Antarctica to us -LOL!). Here, the warning of snow or ice (and we have actually seen an ice storm or two) sends people rushing to the store to buy up milk, bread, and water. (I’ve never understood why those three, exactly, are the necessities. For me, common sense would say water (yes), bread (ok), but add meat, AND CHOCOLATE! OR ANYTHING SWEET!! And batteries! No one ever thinks to get batteries!) At any rate, we always pray for a white Christmas, rarely get one, but see the white stuff a couple of weeks to months later.
So, what’s it like where you reside? Where you grew up? I told one of the roofers that there was no way I could make it up North – I wear a jacket in the office here during the summer if the air’s turned on for too long. Go ahead, say it! WHAT A WIMP!
So I guess we COULD say that I have stayed at the “four seasons” - if we really stretch this. Well, who would’ve guessed?

Guess What? It’s HOT!

2010-08-12T16:48:00.002-05:00

Summers in the South…well they’re hot and they’re humid. They are sticky; they are draining; they are saturating; they are smothering (worse than your Aunt Matilda's Christmas hug!). Did I mention that they're HOT…and HUMID! I’m sure that many of you have seen or experienced the extreme heat wave we seem to be having nationwide. Now, I haven’t studied up on this, so I can’t actually make such a statement as “record-breaking”, but, guys, IT’S HOT! Most days are hovering around the upper 90's. But we’ve seen numbers like 103 with heat indices of 115. Yes, I know that those numbers may be relatively common for people living in say, Arizona, California (shout out!), Hades, etc. But, there’s one thing we have here that certain areas of our nation don't seem to complain about – HUMIDITY! It’s just one of those things that you can’t explain – you just have to experience it to understand it!
For a month or two now, we have had a number of fellas working on a roof project (yes, I am going somewhere with this!). After seeing 2 or 3 companies walk off the job, we discovered the reason. Their complaint – the heat! They said there was no way they could stand the heat and humidity – that they had never experienced anything like it and simply couldn’t finish. Needless to say, one group finally came riding in on a white horse (named Dodge!) and saved the day. They claimed the same thing…never had they experienced this kind of weather. But…they were the only ones who stayed and completed the job. So kudos to them!! And thank you very much, gentlemen. Sorry that it was such a miserable job, but we appreciate it all the more!
Let me try to explain, for those of you who may have never known such an experience, what a hot, humid, Southern summer day is like. You have the heat, it’s quite hot, actually very hot. There’s no wind, no breeze (and you thank God if you’re walking down the sidewalk and someone opens a business door and you feel a bit of air! Might even duck in for a minute or two and pretend to look around! No - not me - never done that, myself!). So you walk out of your front door at 7:00 AM, and are hit in the face, instantaneously, with a wall of heat. OK, let’s say you walk outside and you feel the heat hit you in the face at the same time someone takes a steaming hot blanket and throws it onto you and drenches your hair, your face, and your clothes and you have to carry that sopping blanket around all day – THAT’S SUMMER IN THE SOUTH!
As much as this sounds like a complaint, it isn’t. I am thankful for the days I spent running around as a child in my neighborhood, playing while carrying around my sopping wet blanket, too stupid to go inside and cool off, listening to my father's perverbial warning, "Stay in or stay out!". So we stayed out until we had to come inside because we were all the shade of lobsters, hair glued into Ed Grimly position by the perspiritory wipings of the brow. And there was always that neighborhood kid that had a pool, but never invited anyone over! Yeah, thanks, dude. That's why you never knew where our secret clubhouse was! Then, FINALLY, someone's mom would always pull out the POPCICLES!! Thanks, MOM!
I guess everyone has something about the area in which they live that they either love or hate - something that makes the place endearing. I don’t hate the heat, but it would be nice if it would cool off just a bit. Maybe I'll stick my head in the FIRDGE for a while! Maybe pass out some POPCICLES! WANT ONE? I call grape!

Hilton, Schmilton - I'm Stayin' Here!

2010-08-09T14:23:00.001-05:00

Driving through town, I couldn’t help but notice this sign outside of a local motel. I pass it daily, but have never taken the time to actually READ it. (So much for their advertising efforts!) And yes, I DID go back later and discretely snap this pic after my mind got to running rampant with halarity.
OK – just reading at face value here…is NEMAX the extra-strength, turbo version of the standard enema? And we all know that a motel room is just not a motel room without all the modern conveniences like a FIRDGE. Those amenities add to the motel that would normally fall below standard, making it a 5 star dream.
Maybe this is actually the cheaper version of a day spa for those dreaming of colonics and saunas. Maybe this is the working man – the blue collar version – Lord knows it would be all I could afford. Maybe I’ll book m’self a day – a day of all out pampering complete with N EMAXES and FIRDGES! But for now, I guess I’ll just dream.

I Feel … OLD!

2010-07-26T16:59:00.001-05:00

Despite the seemingly obvious implication of the title, you are not about to read a dreaded list of whining and gripping from some old lady who is having a bad day (though I COULD tell you about my popping knees, my stiff back, and aching joints ect., if you want to give me a minute or 10 – just kidding!). No, I am talking about the ancient feel of my latest excursion with the kiddos.

After much debate and the flip of a coin, this hen and her brood of two, along with a friend and her daughter, decided we would head east to the lovely coastal town of Charleston, South Carolina. Why there? Well, when you have two extreme kids, one being a very busy, imaginative child interested in “what’s next”, and the other who only wants to relax at the beach and is so laid back you have to check their pulse occasionally to make sure they’re still alive, you learn to plan around two very different ends of the spectrum when attempting to entertain individual interests. Charleston, however, proved to be the perfect place for both!

After a 9 ½ hour drive, two sudden, hail-pounding thunderstorms (and a beautiful double rainbow – wow – which excited us, but not as extremely as the guy on You Tube!), the 4,000th answer to “where are we now” followed by the standard “how much longer”, and a bout of extreme quizzical musing over the time zones and why our phones hadn’t changed yet and then suddenly they did, we finally arrived at the hotel. We unloaded, checked in, then ATTEMPTED to grab supper (story w/in itself). Once settled, we crafted a somewhat casual itinerary for the days ahead. One day at the beach, the next downtown, another at a military site.

Beach day – PERFECT!! Town exploration day– (wore my butt out walking, but) BEAUTIFUL AND SO COOL! Military appreciation day – EXTREMELY EDUCATIONAL AND HUMBLING!

That evening, while making our way down the moonlit lane back to our car from the picturesque lighthouse we had just visited (which was a little disappointing simply because we thought we’d be able to walk right up to it – nope – it was out in the middle of the water – AND it was dark!), I made an observation, “Is it just me, or does this place feel OLD?” Surely, our earlier trek through historic downtown had oozed into my brain and set the tone for the feeling that seemed to pervade the present air. (Or was it just old, musty, ocean
air.)

Told you it was a LONG WAY out there! (Sorry for the dates on the pics - dufus, here, tried something new with the camera - yep, she knows how to remove it, just thought for some "old lady" moment that it would be nice to have the date printed on there! Lesson learned!)

This was in no way made with disrespect, but simply out of the awareness of the history that ran deep along the beaches, the buildings, the streets, the stories we had experienced throughout the day. My friend must’ve understood my cognizance – she nodded with the same look on her face that twisted mine. Though there was a breeze, the night was strangely stale, in a very inexplicable way.

I have been to both the coast of Florida and Mississippi. I have seen those beaches and the cities and life that surround and pulse throughout them (not to an extensive degree, but enough to make an intelligent comparison). Having now experienced a day or two on this coast, there were palpable differences. As I looked around the palmetto-lined, sandy path, I wondered how many other people had walked this beach before us. Pirates who may have landed on the very beaches we had just strolled, couples who may have snuck here to steal a little time listening to the moonlit music of the tide, soldiers who had occupied ships sailing around this very shoreline – all these flash-bulbed through my mind. The tale of Blackbeard having stayed in the dungeon that we toured earlier in the day must’ve gone to my head (and stuck in my imagination like pepper on the front tooth of a first date).

Have you ever been to a place like that? A place that you could literally FEEL, where you could BREATH IN the history, the surroundings? Having a pretty vivid imagination can sometimes prove to be negative; but in cases like this, it can prove to create a beautiful landscape for the actual past that helped shape our early history. How fortunate I am to have been able to take my children to such a place and learn with them about some of the people, places, and events that painted the history of our land, our nation. I guess that's the kind of "agedness" I don't mind "feeling".

What a Horrible Girl Am I?

2010-07-23T14:54:00.000-05:00

No, I am not Little Jack Horner's horrid little sister, or stuck my thumb in any weird places like the middle of a pie (is it just me or is that weird - I mean, have you really read any of these nursery rhymes) but I have been very neglectful lately, and I apologize! (Hope someone actually cares that I feel neglectful...and co-dependant enough to actually apologize and think you might care that I think you care! Ok - enough!)
I was given an award by a very special fellow blogger - Mr. Cal over in the Cave! Yes, that's right, my neighbor to the North is a great guy and decided to give this particular "Sunshine Award" to myself and some very awesome fellow lady bloggers (you should check them out if you haven't already). I wanted to FINALLY tell him how much I appreciate the kind and thoughtful sentiment. I will be sure to post it (cause ya know most of us love these things - gettin' and givin' 'em). I am determined to create one and, EVENTUALLY, get around to handing them out, myself, dadgumit! (Love that word - along with "flitter". Go on, try it. I dare you! Next time you get outdone with something, yell, "FLITTER!" Just don't say, "FRITTER," or you may have some things to explain like why you yell out random foods! Or you may get surrounded by a bunch of hungry neighbors or co-workers. We've all experienced that one before, not good.)
I do thank you, Cal, and want to tell you how I laugh at and love some of the bits of wisdom you pass on daily! (Wish I could get a "Num Num" care package of some of the ones you post (chocolate strawberries, um hum) as a complimentary treat (hint, hint), but I guess I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, huh? LOL!) Seriously, all the best to you, buddy! And my sincerest apology for the lateness of this entry but wanting you to know how much it is appreciated, moreover!

My White Whale!

2010-07-19T16:50:00.000-05:00

So why haven’t I written in a while, you may ask (or may not even give a toot!)? Hopefully, the following will give a glimpse as to what had me preoccupied over the last couple of months.
This entry is in no way intended to be a book review, so please don’t abandon ship (pardon the pun) after the first sentence or two. To divulge a little about myself, I enjoy reading. I enjoy reading a lot. I don’t get to busy myself with this indulgent hobby as often as I’d like. Nor do I have a particular genre of literature (or music or food or anything, for that matter) that I follow with passion. My usual habit is to not read for a while; then, I suddenly punish myself by piling on a mass of books from the rush of desire that has built and is crashing upon my rigid shore of deficiency. Not good … many a noble man has gone down when hit from behind by those briny, roaring walls of desire! (Yeah, right!) Consequently, I often find myself entangled by word-laden kelp. Hit hard by a whale of a desire to catch up, I, of course pick out the most challenging (boring) books I can find. One reason for this is to try and read as many of the "classics" as possible. Even though I had the opportunity to read a couple of them in high school and college, I still always felt somewhat of a DUFUS because of the lack of being able to understand so many of the references and allusions written about or mentioned in many of my college lit classes. I felt...deprived!
Having been “out to sea” with my latest book and neglecting my poor blog, I felt I must explain my absence (like anyone gives a patooty). Care to guess, with ALL THE HINTS, just what classic I have tackled as of late? That’s right (or – nope, sorry, wrong answer, depending on your response)! Moby Dick, Herman Melville’s sea sick sentiment of the whaling industry. OK, so “sea sick” might be a little too strong. Never-the-less, thus became my nightly ritual: lie down, set alarm for next morning, pick up copy of classic literary masterpiece (ball and chain), and read until my eyes fell heavy with complete exhaustion (boredom) which took all of a couple of pages (1 page), bob head at least 4 times (waking with confusion), then relinquish the battle. Therefore, what would’ve taken the average novel completion time of a couple of weeks, took me more like two to three months. Depressing.
Though the experience, itself, did not strip me of an actual appendage, leaving me hunting the monster (novel) that was getting the best of me (as Moby took Ahab's leg); I was left with a feeling of complete exhaustion as if I had survived a shipwreck. On a lighter note, I also came away with a greater respect and knowledge of the whaling industry of Melville’s time (actually, I feel more like a guest at that hotel chain that promises you get a better deal through them and leave a wiser person!). I feel as if I could go a’whaling now! Not that I'd want to...it was really rather gross! I am proud to have gotten this one classic under my belt, so to say, and no longer stare at it on my “to read” list. I’m no longer chasing my white whale; I have captured (and killed) the poor thing! Unlike the anguished Ahab, poor bugger, I have returned to shore in one piece without sacrificing my whole ship, crew, and soul in the process (although I did notice that my kids were begging for food out by the road and their clothes looked a bit "shabby" the other day)! So, yeah, you know it’s comin’ - just call me…..Ishmael (the tortured reader)!

Omen, Anyone?

2010-06-01T13:10:00.000-05:00

Real life, I’ve often thought, is more fascinating than fiction. I’ve never been the superstitious type, really, but something happened the other day that we’ll just say, “was a little weird.”

Sitting in the office, my fellow co-workers and I heard a call come over the radio, “Girls, you all come out to Andrea’s car. Come on – all of you.” Naturally, our first thought, unanimously, “Oh man, what’s happened to Andrea’s (my) car!?” We all scurried out the door but, looking toward my car, couldn’t decide why we’d been summoned, “What in the world?” There didn’t seem to be a thing wrong with my car and there was no one outside. By this time, we began searching for the culprits of an apparent practical joke. I walked toward my car, carefully inspecting as I approached, when I noticed some of the guys at work outside. They pointed our attention to the top of the steeple where we found…

(Just a view of the steeple to give you an idea of how far away the picture was taken.)

That’s right, ladies and gentleman, buzzards (vultures)! Right on the top of the cross at the very tip of the steeple, they were perched like dark ambassadors of doom. To see an idealistic dove, or almost any other foul, would’ve been appropriate and would have given the more typically happy feeling. Let me know what you guys are thinking! Omen, anyone?

“You Need Woofle Ball Bats and Moss for What?”

2010-05-17T16:47:00.000-05:00

Hopefully (since we've almost worn it to a frazzle), this will be the last in the "Super Secretary" installment! Ready for just one more adventure (to put up with my long-winded stories one more time)? Let's go...

In today’s adventure, Annie gets what first appears to be a casual phone call from her boss checking on things at the office. She informs him that all is well and there is nothing to worry about there. Before hanging up, Boss nonchalantly mentions that Annie needs to pick up about 7 woofle ball bats and some moss at the local Walmart. (Annie mind glimpse…don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask… “And what do we need these for?”) The compulsive urge proves to be more than our super heroine can withstand. “And what do we need these for, sir?” “The bats are for the angry mob to wave at and possibly beat Jesus with, and the moss is to add to the set so the stones look "mossy" or "old." (Why do I ask?)

Annie waits until she has the purchasing card to fly (drive) to Walmart to secure the items needed to fulfill this mission. Once at the store, Annie makes her way to the toy section (‘cause where else would one find something to beat Jesus with but in a kids toy department) and discovers that this store only has 5 bats! Oh, drats! Foiled! What shall our super heroin do? Making her way to the craft department to obtain the moss, she remembers a second Walmart on the “other side of town”. That’s right, she must risk life and limb to retrieve the other two bats and fulfill her mission! But before she can do this, she must choose the correct moss. More than one type!? How many decisions can a super secretary make in one day (give me a break…) Using her super secretary decision making skills, Annie calls The Prop Master to aid in this very risky move. Retrieving the sage wisdom of this fellow defender of the universe, she reaches down and makes her choice! (Whew! That was close!) No pesky steel blades of death or poisonous gas to deal with...for now!

Soaring (trying to weave through traffic without beeping the horn or rear-ending anyone) to the second store after procuring her purchase, Annie wonders (hopes she can get this task marked off her to do list) what will be waiting for her in the mysterious "Section of the Toys" this time? Meditating (praying that this store has enough bats), she glides through the isles searching for the illusive woofle ball bat. Hark! In front of her hangs the prize. She makes her way over and there are just enough (plenty of) bats. As with the others, she breathes a prayer, asking forgiveness for every time she picks up a bat that, though it’s only a play, may be used to wave angrily at Jesus or bash him. (Not to mention the agony I had over actually trying to choose the right bat – there were 2 different types – and colors. I deduced that they would be painted or something because the thought of swinging a pink bat at Jesus just didn’t seem plausible, so I should just choose the one that looked more "clubbish".)

Arriving back safely (whew! cause we all know how harrowing that was) at the office, Annie is met by Boss who explains that today’s mission is not yet over. She must now search for and purchase paper bag-like material with which to cover the bats and brown spray paint. Facing traffic yet again, Annie secures the correct supplies and makes her safe return to the office. Finding a tarp, with the assistance of the mild-mannered handyman, she is readying the supplies to cover the bats with the paper and spackle (oh yeah – messy, but fun) when she realizes, “I’m only going to be able to do half a bat at a time – I don’t have anything on which to hang them in order to work on the whole bat at one time!” (This is not the most convenient of thoughts when you’re up to your elbows in spackle, bats, and paper.) When out of nowhere appears Super Maintenance Man! “Would you like for me to rig up a couple of ladders and a string for you, Miss?” “Oh, could you!?”

No, the evil forces of unpreparedness shall not be victorious today! In no time, the woofle ball bats are transformed into angry mob wielding instruments and the moss is stuffed in the craggy walls of styrofoam to make them look "old"! Just another day in the life of our friendly super secretary.

What will tomorrow hold for our mild-mannered heroine? Will she be able to keep her identity and her homeland safe as she returns what appears to be an ordinary, innocent mound of costumes to their owners, or will she be forced to reveal all as the question is posed, “What’s that smell?” (Actually, I'm not going to write that one in "Super Secretary", super-entertaining manner...I'm just gonna write about it...as myself.)

A Prima Donna Donkey Goes Bad

2010-05-10T17:30:00.000-05:00

Let’s see, where did we last leave our sedulous secretary and the sadistic Mr. Bear? I believe we were cleaning poop – yes, sounds about typical at this juncture. After retrieving our prima donna donkey, I was to tie him back up at the trailer and come back in quickly for the next lamb scene. (Remember that I am working all this out as I go this first rehearsal in that no one has told me the SPECIFICS of the songs and areas that the animals will be required to make their entrances and exits. By the end, however, I am glad to say that, with a couple of wonderful little helpers, we were able to get things “down pat” and move quite fluidly from scene to scene. THANK YOU TO MY LITTLE SHEPHERDS & SHEPHERDESSES, THE GENTLEMAN WHO WALKED BEAR BEFORE HIS SCENE WHEN I WAS RUNNING LIKE A CHICKEN, AND MY BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN WHO STUCK BY MY SIDE TO HELP WHEN AND WHERE NEEDED – EVEN WITH THE FAKE BLOOD CLEANUP EACH NIGHT!)

So I return Bear to the trailer where I am faced with the duanting task of tying the sacred “jerk knot”. You know when you think you have something totally memorized and all of a sudden the task is required of you and you go completely blank. Well, this was ALMOST one of those moments. I could remember the first step of the knot, then…I just saw nothing on my mental monitor. OMW – I was standing there with this mammoth thinking, “I need to be in there with a lamb in about 5 minutes – I actually didn’t know exactly HOW much time I had, but I whipped out my program and it wasn’t enough to stand there like a dufus trying to tie behemoth here to the trailer. So I took a deep breath and did the best I could. The first try left the poor donkey (yeah, I kinda felt sorry for him for the moment) unable to reach down to eat his hay – I was afraid he would choke to death. I untie and try again. Second tie, a little better, but now I’m just totally insecure, so I untie again. Third time, again. OK, buddy, this is it – I’ve got a lamb to get to the priest so he can raise it above his head and pray it doesn’t squirm it’s way out of his hands or poop or pee on him while he’s holding it, last try! “I go around the back, I go around again, and then I … IT WORKED!” Alright, dude, eat some grass and DON’T GO ANYWHERE!

This night finally came to an end and the next two nights of rehearsals went off OK aside from the doggie diaper failure and a couple of lamb pellet cleanups. We had, had this grand idea that if dogs could wear diapers, why couldn’t lambs – run to the local pet store, pick up some diapers – medium size for a lambs backsides, and dress the lambs with the cute little diapers. Great idea, right? Um…no. It seemed that no matter how tight we put these contraptions on the lambs, the poop just rolled right out. Now tell me…no, never mind. I don’t really even want to think about it.

First night of performances, I have my time and mapping laid out to a close perfection and all animals and people are in place. My job lies as follows:

1) Ready lambs, but keep them quiet just off stage for their first scene which is at the end of first song (have you ever tried to keep a bunch of scared baby lambs quiet – give it a go, go on, try it).

2) Hand lambs off, when 1st song begins, to shepherds (a bunch of fussy teenage boys who were more afraid of lamb poop than wearing gowns on stage!)

3) Run behind curtain DURING this 1st song and wait for cue to pull curtain back for character entrance and then wait for end of song to close it back.

4) Retrive lambs and hand two of the four lambs off to individuals who will make sure they get back to their pen safely, then transport the remaining two around the lobby (as quietly as possible – again, scared baby animals inside building with loud music and people scurrying everywhere) to the other side of the stage for their next scene. Have children wait there with lambs to give to the appropriate people, then wait for the lambs to return & run put them up once again.

5) Scramble to the front of the church where Bear is waiting to be walked around and we are to watch for that “cue”. I am also to brush any knots or rough spots out of his coat so that he will look nice for his appearance.

6) Move Bear into the building and hand off to Jesus. Move to the other set of doors and watch for Bear to come up the isle so that I can retrieve him and secure him to his trailer.

7) Run back inside, make sure the two lambs were returned safely and quietly to their pen and clean up any accidents.

8) Listen for the song in which the last lamb is to appear, retrieve the lamb, then wait, keeping him quiet, until he is needed. Hand him off to priest and, when that is over, return him to his fellow brothers in holding.

9) Clean up, once more.

This is one of those things that looks much more simple on paper than in reality, but it actually wasn’t all that bad! I had fun and the animals weren’t all that bad. I felt a little like a zookeeper by the end, but it was great! (Like I might be able to make friends with those bellowing cows across the street yet!)

Now, do you remember from the list above #5? Well, there is a reason that I listed the later part of that chore. Brushing an animal to brighten its coat and to make it look presentable is not a bad thing, right? What the animal does in response to that just might be. I wrestled with whether or not I should divulge this part of the story, but facts are facts and I thought it might shed light on just why I call myself “Lily” (innocent or naive) and just what a comedy my life really can be sometimes.

So I’m rushing from spot to spot, handing off animals left and right and trying to make sure that my part in this production is done with proficiency and professionalism. First night, things ran rather smoothly with actually little to no poop or goof-ups. All is well! Second night, I am transitioning smoothly and handing off the two lambs for their second scene and preparing to head to Bear’s trailer to walk him and make sure that he is looking presentable when one of the ladies stops me and inquires, “Annie, just what did you do to old Bear before you brought him in for his scene last night?” “I just brushed him and walked him around. Why?” “Oh. Well that would explain it,” she informs me. “Explain what?” “Why we had a really happy donkey last night.” “Huh? What? Why was he particularly happy last night? What would brushing him…? OMW!!! No way!” “Yes, girl. My boyfriend was here last night and he knows enough about horses to know that Bear was a happy donkey, or at least a little relaxed last night when he sauntered down the isle.”

My face must have looked like someone watching a baby deer getting eaten by a crocodile! I had no idea – I was simply doing what I had been told! Who knew? How embarrassing – I was headlong into an “Ewwwww!!! dance” when I finally replied, “No more brushing for that old donkey! Knots or not, I’m not doing that again! He’ll just have to look nappy!” And that was the last time I will ever brush an animal, folks. Lesson learned, face red, reputation…tarnished.

I would like to say that was the end of me and the Bear adventures, but it wasn’t. This donkey was good for at least one more story. Tomorrow? How about, “OMW! You guys sprayed the weeds!? With poison?!”

Locked and Loaded: Paper Gun Style

2010-05-05T14:06:00.000-05:00

For months now, I have watched as my son has discovered a talent for making paper guns. I watched as he saw a boy on the internet show how he rolled paper into barrels, folded it into stocks, and taped them together to create what looked like a rifle or pistol. Hunter has always had that little boy instinct of picking up a stick and using it to play soldier or cop or, in most cases at our house, storm trooper. At first, this little “talent” disturbed me, “Oh my word, he’s becoming obsessed! He’s headed for a life of violence and destruction!” After being reassured by more than a few individuals that I was most likely NOT raising the next Hitler and that he was a well adjusted, normal little boy, I began to appreciate his flair for the creation of paper weaponry.

Honestly, dudes and dudettes, he’s becoming pretty stinkin’ good at this. His first gun was an MP5. Of course, I wouldn’t know an MP5 from a C3PO, but he is learning. Originally, I simply thought he was just making up letters and numbers to sound impressive. Apparently, this has been a long-time habit of men (little boys) everywhere because I’m discovering that these letters and numbers really do mean something to their makers and most of their users. This first gun was made from cardstock and tape he found in my office. The only other supplies necessary are scissors. He watched and followed the instructions on the tutorial and that was that. He went home and there began the total domination of the paper gunsmithing kingdom. My house is now literally overrun with paper MP5’s, pistols, sniper rifles, AK47’s, STG44’s, MP40’s, BAR Browning rifles, Thompson submachine guns, and a few of his own creations (hope I got all those names right!).

Not only are we fully supplied by paper a gun arsenal (and I can hear the gun control comments rushing through the air as I write this), but we have the occasional battle ax, knives, swords, grenade launcher, bazookas (sorry that one may be a gun), scopes, clips/magazines, and tripods/stands. We are ready if any paper legions head our way – watch out Oh Great Paper Faux (ha – foe)!

I have even received my own tutorial session on making a paper gun (couldn’t tell you what I made – remember, the # & letters thing is lost on me), and I can tell you that he’s a pretty good instructor. He carried me through each step of rolling, folding, taping, cutting, and attaching. He was very patient and knowledgeable about his craft. I will say that occasionally, it gets a little old stepping over all the “gunnery” in the living room (and all other living places and/or vehicles), but my little man has found something he is excellent at, and who wouldn’t admit to owning that kind of confidence!

I thought I’d share a few of his creations here. The good thing about them – we are recycling! We have lots of paper that just gets thrown away at my office, so I am trying to collect it to see how much we have at the end of the year (Ah! Moment – new blog entry!) and Hunter has found a way to use it. Aside from the cost of tape, this little hobby isn’t costing me very much at all. He even buys his own tape if he has money from allowance, etc. Yep – “green guns” and peaceful ones at that. We could be members of “The New Earth Army” (see Men Who Stare at Goats!). Pretty cool! Pretty cool kid!

“There’s a Donkey?”

2010-05-05T12:59:00.000-05:00

“Is Sam here yet?” quizzes Annie’s boss. “I’m not sure. Why am I looking for Sam?” Annie returns. “Because he has Bear. I don’t want to use the lambs tonight, but I do want to use Bear.” “Bear?” “Yes, Bear. Bear the donkey.” “Oh – you want ME to go get the donkey, sir?” “Yes, go get him and have him ready for the next scene.” (Annie mind glimpse, “……………………….”.) We now join Annie, AKA, Super Secretary, as she dashes around the building in a made rush to discover the whereabouts of this mysterious Mr. Sam and his donkey, Bear.

Rushing toward the lobby, someone emerges from the shadows. Could it be the covert …Mr. Sam? “I understand I am supposed to obtain possession of a donkey from you, sir. Is this correct?” “Yes, he is outside. If you will follow me, I will instruct you on how to care for Bear.” Annie proceeds with Mr. Sam to a horse trailer where they are joined by Mrs. Sam (who knows a lot about horses & stuff, thank God). (Ok – I can’t write the rest of this story in super hero fashion just because it’s a donkey, for goodness sakes, and it involves lots of OMG moments for me! Excuse me as I transition into just Plane Jane Annie for a moment…)

OK – out of my costume and ready to just tell it like it happened, folks. You won’t believe…well, I’ll just tell it.

Alright, so I follow this guy who is responsible for transporting the donkey (a borrowed donkey) from his pasture to the building every night for the next week. We have dress rehearsals for the next 3 days followed by 3 nights of performances (that’s 6 straight days of sheep, lambs, and donkey, guys!). “Sam”, his wife, and I are standing behind this horse trailer discussing the craziness of this mission when they open it to reveal a pretty “fluffy” looking donkey (and by “fluffy” I don’t mean cute and furry - just picture with me a donkey that looks more like a small horse than the typical big-eared, short, thin, little donkey that you see in most pastures or pictures – yeah – I’m assuming that you’ve all seen plenty of pictures or have been around lots of donkeys – and you know what assuming gets you, but this guy was more like a mule). I am shown how to untie him, lead him out of the trailer, and how to tie him back up with a “jerk” knot or some kind of "quick release knot". As I am being taught this tying technique (and please understand that Lady Lily here has only been on a horse like two or three times and NEVER has she EVER had to tie ANY kind of knot or “hitch” anything securely aside from her shoes or other articles of clothing (and those get “hitched” pretty darn securely). So here I am in the middle of my impromptu rope tying lesson when this old coot of a critter decides he wants to push me – that’s right! PUSH ME! And he HUFFED doing it! ‘Scuse me? (In my best valley girl accent.)

“Bear! What is your problem?!” Sam’s wife yelled. That’s when I confirmed that it wasn’t just me – she saw it, yeah! She saw it too! Alright you! (I could’ve called him by his true biblical name here, but it would have been more like a swear and I try my best not to do that, so I didn’t and won’t here. You can imagine the Annie mind glimpse.) I just pushed him back – that’s right! Now, normally, I would be a little more cautious when altercating with any animal – especially one that outweighs me by such a great ratio (we won’t get into precise comparisons!), but I thought, “I gotta work with you solo all week, bub! And I think I remember someone telling me that you had to show you animals who’s boss. So you better WATCH IT!” Not real sure that this philosophy is an exact bit of sage wisdom – but it was like a Jedi thing – it just popped into my head so I went with it – it worked at the time, so I followed the “inner voice”.

Lesson concluded, we led Bear out of the trailer and onto the sidewalk where I was to hold him until his “scene”. I had been told to walk him around A LOT so that “his bowels will move” and he will be less LIKELY to leave mementos on the carpet as he takes Jesus down the isle, drops Jesus off, then heads back up the next isle to exit. Walk donkey…I can do this, no pressure. As if that wasn’t enough, it dawns on me that I have been left alone with this donkey and, even though I have the full program written down on paper in my pocket, I CAN’T HEAR OUTSIDE WHAT SCENE IS BEING PERFORMED ON THE INSIDE!!! I HAVE NO CUE!! WHERE’S MY CUE? WHEN DOES JESUS NEED THE DONKEY?! NO ONE TOLD ME WHERE THE CRAZY DONKEY WAS TO COME IN FOR HIS SCENE! It’s like being responsible for the most awesome rock band headlining a major event and no one tells you where or when they are to go on – do you know the pressure – you’ve all been there, right?! I guess I am supposed to follow that little “voice” again?

So here I am holding the blessed donkey in the middle of the city in a parking lot that just happens to have a nice landscaping of grass (with a couple of weeds interspersed – this plays a part later), waiting for my mystic “cue” when I realize that I’m being overwhelmingly pulled in the direction of the nice green landscaping. Humm…I wonder what donkeys eat? WELL, IT TURNS OUT THEY MUST LIKE GRASS & WEEDS (I guess Bear decided to follow HIS inner voice – “Hey! Food!”). Crud! (Deep sigh.) Then I remember the voice – “Oh no you’re not! Get OUT of this grass. COME! ON!” (Yeah, you can go ahead and envision, but even I can’t imagine what I must have looked like standing there pulling this 300 + pound animal!)

“You. Will. Come. On.” Finally, I look helplessly toward the door and see a face peering out like, “Are you coming?” Apparently, this was my cue. Genius. So I head toward the door. Notice I said, I I I I head toward the door. I guess the divo of a donkey (or whatever you call the male equivalent of a diva) decided he was ready for his close up, Mr. Deville, so he followed me. We managed to get him through the door and into the lobby…where he decided to leave us a little calling card. Yep…it happened. I’ve had better relationships with animals, people. After a couple of on-lookers freaked out and a quick inquisition was held to find a broom, etc., I was finally handed a broom, a dust pan, a spray bottle of carpet cleaner, a carpet brush, and a towel. Yes, it took all of those – for not only had my new friend “left a little” in the lobby, he decided (I’m convinced this was a cold and calculated move on his part) to step in it and spread the love onto the carpet (thankfully – a divine intervention, I’m also convinced – held him to only two “hooves” worth). Thanks, Bear – just had to, huh? That grass may have been a plotted move on your part, but it will take more than a little shove and some poop to beat this super secretary down. Poop will not be your kryptonite today, sir. LOAD UP!!! And NO VANILLA WAFFERS FOR YOU!!! (Not sure if that’s the universal bribe for donkeys, but this big guy melts like butter for them. Too bad - he didn’t deserve any that night! Harsh, you may say. No, remember the inner voice – it is leading me at this point and it says, “No vanillie waffies for you, Jack.")

The story doesn’t end there – but my blog entry does. Join me tomorrow for our conclusion when you hear me ask, “I was just brushing him, why?”

“’Scuse Me, I’m Not Sure I ‘Herd’ You Correctly”

2010-05-01T13:58:00.000-05:00

Once again, we find Annie, the humble secretary, busily typing at her desk. It’s been a quiet day on West Avenue today and almost time to punch the clock to end another workday, when “Woosh!” In rushes the boss with another one of those “we need your help” looks on his face. Following behind him is a young apprentice (ok – sorry, different story there). Following behind him is a seemingly innocent bystander. “What ‘cha doin’?,” Annie’s boss quizzically posses from the edge of his seat. “Just getting ready to head home for the day, sir, why?”

“Would you be willing to go pick up the sheep for the program we have coming up? I really want to have them here for rehearsal tonight!” Annie recalls a recent conversation which included asking for volunteers for animal care during the upcoming program, but assumed it had all been a hoax. Even now, she was unsure of the validity of the task that might lie ahead. Deciding to risk embarrassment, Annie volunteers for the mission. She listens intently as the instructions are given and lists them dutifully. “Here’s what you’ll have to do:

1) Call “Jennifer” for instructions on how to get to the farm;
2) Go to the farm;
3) Tell the gentleman you need two sheep and three lambs, no make that four lambs;
4) You’ll need to get enough feed and hay for the animals, so ask the man;
5) Bring them back safely and we will discuss what to do with them then (this part listed
For effect only – he never told me, ‘scuse me, Annie what to do with them after we brought them back to the office.”

“Joey”, here, will accompany you on this trip to help with securing and transporting the animals. As Annie listenes to her boss, she simultaneously ponders how all of this will happen using only her little car. Before she can even finish the thought, a set of keys are jingled in front of her face snapping her to. Realizing that it was now 4:10 PM and her children were due to arrive at the office around 4:30 PM, Annie makes a quick call for help. That task secured, she grabs her purse (a purse welding sheep herder – oh man), a camera (because she knew that this would somehow most definitely be worthy of capturing on film), and heads to the “Sheep Wranglin’ Mobile” with her new sidekick, Joey. Heading down the road, Annie makes the phone call to Jennifer and begins to write down directions, being that she is now being delayed by a train (blasted trains!). As soon as traffic begins to flow again, sidekick Joey takes over recording the directions and explaining them to Annie.

Arriving at their destination, the duo observe that the farm seemed abandoned…not a soul in sight. Was this a trap? Annie notices the object of their quest dotted around in the pasture next to them, accompanied by a furry, barking watchman. She approaches the house and knocks. A large, brow-furrowed man answers the door. Annie explains their mission, and the man shows Annie and Joey to the gate explaining that Annie will have to pull the truck through the gate (not realizing that this is something that paralyzes Annie-she was driving someone else’s truck and most definitely DOES NOT want to be responsible for scraping, wrecking, or driving it into any object – which was a great possibility for her). Safely on the other side of the gate and now closed in with the “cute little” sheep and lambs, the very brave (chicken) Annie exits the truck and is greeted by a VERY LARGE (a freakishly large) dog. He is beautiful, gentle (thank God), polar bear-white and very friendly, but very, VERY LARGE (maybe he IS a polar bear – one can never be certain on these adventures). He also serves as some sort of guard, but is more interested in having his ears rubbed than checking to make sure there’s no foul play at hand.

Sheep Man (SM) explains to the dynamic duo that we will ALL be catching the sheep with Annie concentrating on the lambs (thought we were just coming to pick them up, dude). “‘Scuse me? Any ideas or tips on how to do this properly or easily?” “Nope,” SM replies, “just catch ‘em.” “……….hummm.” (A glimpse into Annie’s mind.)

Joey and SM start out in a smaller enclosure herding the large sheep into a corner and leashing them by collars that they wore around their necks (like dogs). Annie heads off to “wrangle” her first (and only, in the end) lamb. (Oh yeah – you most definitely may begin your laughter here – but just know that being there in person would’ve given one a whole ‘nother dimension at which to chuckle.) The gentlemen finally wrestle up a sheep and get it to the truck (where they had already loaded a large wooden framed carrier). (Watching the “load up” was an eventful episode within itself, however, to rush this along - front legs first, hind legs shoved in second!) All the while, Annie is calmly (heart pounding like a snare drum) trying to chase down that first little lamb. She moves it (scares it half to death) along by the side of the fence and closes in upon the poor little creature until she finally has it within reach. Grasping the poor thing with her hands like a mother cat grabs her kittens by the nap of the neck with her mouth, she does it!! Once in hand, she is able to cradle it and actually pet it like a puppy! (They’re soooo sweeeeet!) Ok, back to the story!

One down, three more to go. All the while, she notices that her sidekick and Old McDonald over there have actually loaded three sheep instead of two! She asked boldly why this move had been made. “Aaah – might as well take three.” (Annie mind glimpse...“Oooookaaay.”)

Annie and the others set out to capture the last three lambs when our heroine notices that two of the lambs have followed a large herd out into the side pasture. (This ain’t good, guys.) Is this some kind of conspiracy? Maybe a trap to lure her to her demise? She couldn’t let that stop her from her “wranglin’”! So “Whoosh”, she flies (more like strolls)! She fights bush and bramble, thorn and thicket, rushing water and barbed wire fence (some of that has a stench of reality!) to get to the herd. Once there, she finds it quite easy to corner them. Had she gotten the hang of this after only one capture? She actually gets one of the lambs into position to capture, when suddenly they take off! She lunges at the lamb, then feeling his wool in her grasp, she stumbles! “Blasted!!” The lamb darts away (with a grin on his face) and Annie is left to try to recover her balance (...she actually takes quite a while trying to recover it when she finally just performs a half face plant! That’s right – the old girl just falls flat out on her knees and down to her elbows! Should’ve been there – quite a sight.) Whack! Pow! (This would be a great place for those comic sound affects – but they would’ve all been the sound of my joints popping and knees hitting the rocks and dirt!) The heroine quickly recovers (more or less jumps up and looks around to see if anyone actually saw her fat behind fall!) - she would not be taken down by the evil, humiliating, and very innocent looking “Lambinator” today! No! Quickly, she regains her senses (brushes off her sore knees- whole body, actually) and herds the sheep (along with the help of Joey and SM, who have now joined the fight (embarrassing mission)) to wrangle the sheep back over to the large pen.

Finally, all sheep have been collected and the tired, dirty, and “whupped” sheep herders are ready to head back to the office when, one of the sheep left behind keeps “baahhing” desperately and standing at the gate. SM decides, once again, to add another sheep!! (WHAT!?) That one loaded, SM quickly gives the dashing duo instructions on how much to feed and water their new pets-for-a-week. So they bid their new friend (the dog) adieu and jump into the “Sheep Herding Mobile” heading back to the office. Once again, Annie has “saved the day” with the aide of her trusty “loan for the day” sidekick and kept her super secret identify safe. (There’s just something about “loaded sheep” and “headed back to the office” that just doesn’t sound right.)

Tune in tomorrow when we hear Annie’s boss say, “No, I’ve changed my mind. Let’s not use those sheep tonight, but I do want Bear, the donkey.” (Glimpse into the mind of Annie…”There’s a donkey?”)

“Wax On, Wax Off, Annie-son”

2010-04-23T15:08:00.000-05:00

Just for reference sake, I am Annie – hence…you get it. Anyway, in the world of secretaries, you can be asked to do some pretty "servant-type" things from picking up someone’s laundry to making sure their cup of Starbucks (no offense, Ashley! LOL!) is waiting just how they order it to paying their personal bills. But, thankfully, never have I been subjected to such crappy scenarios. What I have found myself in the middle of are circumstances in which I look around and just shake my head and simply ask, “What am I doing holding this lamb?”

In this episode, we find the lowly, meek secretary, Annie, in the middle of assisting in preparation for the Christmas program “A Mayberry Christmas”. The program has grown in local popularity over the last few years, and after last year’s hiatus, has made a comeback due to popular demand. The program quickly becomes a machine of phone calls, meetings, script re-writes, prop preparation/ordering, lighting/sound programming, set building, casting, choir, cast and orchestra rehearsals, promotional items/advertising, and those “other various duties” that has been aforementioned. Of course, Annie is not involved in every aspect of the machine, but she never knows when she might be asked to step in and, as is the fine duty of the common secretary, assist when needed (save the universe).

Busily typing away at her computer, Annie looks up to see her boss come rushing into her office with a look of panic (OK – taking some dramatic liberties here). “Annie, I need you to do something, if you don’t mind!” At-Your-Service Annie jumps to her feet with a dutiful, “Yes Sir.” (A little too dramatic? I’ll back off just a bit.) Her boss goes on to explain that another organization has generously allowed us to borrow somewhere close to 80 or so headsets (little FM radio thingys that allow a group of people to all tune to the same frequency acting as little monitors in order to record vocal tracks…I think) and they all need battery checks and ear bud cleaning. (With a slight head turn…) “An ear what?” Annie asks. “The head sets need to all be wiped down with alcohol or whatever you can find to sterilize them. Do you mind?” Realizing that jobs are scarce and she would like to keep hers (in order to hide her super hero identity), Annie answers, “Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Finding the large container full of headsets and realizing that she does not have enough batteries with which to replace the MANY inoperable ones, Annie dashes to the local Walmart to purchase an adequate supply of AA batteries. Upon returning to the office, she notices the lights off and a door left eerily half opened. She slowly approaches the door to find……(oh, sorry, had to do that, couldn’t resist)! Ok, upon her return, and realizing that she only has an hour or so to work on the headsets (because of course we don’t plan ahead and they must be used TONIGHT in a recording session – high drama), Annie retrieves a bottle of alcohol, some cotton balls, and a pair of very old plastic gloves from the office kitchen first aide kit (no joke, cause ya never know when you may need that flair that's in there) and runs back to begin the task of sterilizing the headsets (she is accompanied by a seemingly sweet older lady who has agreed to help-seacret arch-enemy disguise? Nah, not this time. No, seriously, a really sweet older lady did offer to help – did more talkin’ than work – but she was a sweetie.) No big deal right, just clean a couple (160 – OMW!) ear pieces and switch out some batteries. Ha! She does this kind of thing in her dreams before her alarm goes off in the morning! She’s got this!

An hour later, 160 ear buds and about 40 batteries later, she realizes just how GROSS THIS REALLY WAS, THANK YOU!!! Ummm…snap to reality here! I just got asked to sort through these things, not realizing that the cords would be all tangled up, etc., and…I JUST GOT ASKED TO CLEAN OTHER PEOPLES’ EAR WAX OFF OF A BUNCH OF THINGYS THEY’VE RAMMED DOWN IN THEIR EARS! UUUUggggggg!!!

Let’s just say that the beautiful, oh wait, I meant dutiful (still in the creative liberty mode there) Annie came across a chunk or two and some sticky stuff along the way. Yep, no glamour there, but …she still has her job and her identity. And it was a service to the wonderful people who did make the program an amazing, enjoyable event. (I guess I didn’t mind getting a little “waxy” with it for a greater good – but this OCD heroine narrowly escaped the evil, slimy clutches of the “Wax Warlock.”)

Join us Monday as we hear our heroine Annie as she asks, “You need woofle ball bats and moss for what?”

Update on the Mother to Son Talk

2010-04-22T16:23:00.001-05:00

I've received lots of really good advice and I appreciate every bit of it, guys! I just couldn't resist updating you on the origins of the conversation where my son decided that he was ready for the "s - -" talk and the progress made so far.

Cooking supper one night, I overheard my son and daughter as they were discussing school, friends, etc. My son shot his opinion out of how stupid something was and then commented that one of his friends had kissed a girl...RIGHT ON THE MOUTH! I said, "Eewww!" and he said, "Well, you and daddy kissed before!"

Somehow the conversation TOO quickly turned to "He just kissed her, Mom. It wasn't S-E-X!" I just laughed and of course we know the next question..."What is sex anyway?" (Ok - laughed too soon, and now it has been replaced by an awkward giggle) Now, in the last couple of months, my son has made various comments and asked vague questions. Occasionally, he will remark, "That's about sex, isn't it?" (regarding a Cialas (spelling?) commercial that he hates; or, one of my favorites is when he whispers (because he realizes that at 10 he is mature enough to say it, but at 8, his sister is too young to hear the word) "Are they having sex?" Suddenly, he informed me that ALL the guys at school already know about it - they talk about it.

I, instinctively, turned 5 shades and swallowed my stomach after realizing that the drum beats in my head were my heart and not some cool Seether song playing in my mind. The rest of the conversation went a little like this:
"Oh, me." (Mom)
"What!" (son)
"Well, what exactly do your friends SAY about it and where do they get their information?"
"I don't know! They talked to their parents."
"Oh! Well..."
"Mom, we've already had the sperm and the egg talk - don't you remember!?"
"Well, yes, but what else do you ...well...ok...oh me."
"Mom, we're WAY behind, here."
"OH!"
"Ok, well, I guess when you get ready...I mean...when do you want to discuss this?"
"I guess now."
"Well...I'm cooking supper, but, well...ummmm."
"Nah, mom, let's just wait 'til this weekend. Besides, we're fixin' (have I mentioned we're in the South) to eat...and I'm already a little nauseous!"
"OK! Me too, son."

NO JOKE! What a classic! Leave it to the kid! Love 'em both!!!
Needless to say, we have not yet had "the talk". The kids are going to their dad's this weekend, so time for me to spend some an afternoon in the bookstore with my head pulled into a book praying no one sees me or asks me if I need any help! Money that they do! I do have a jacket I could wear with a hood I could pull over my head...too much, you think? Who knows, I'm sure I'll learn something this weekend, myself!

My So-called Secretary Life

2010-04-22T09:31:00.000-05:00

Long story short (yeah, right!), I’ve worked at my current place of employment 3 separate times in the last 10 years. Am I one of those hot-heads that can’t keep a job, a mid-lifer criser who is desperate for change, or a flighty employee who’s never satisfied so they move from one job to another? No – and if I tried to explain, it would only look like I’m trying to pass some buck that I don’t care to carry, SO…we won’t go into that (unless you all comment and BEG me to do so…arms can be twisted but only so far, ok?).

The first stint was back in 2000 after my first child was born. My title was “Music Secretary”. I was satisfied enough with my job, filing music, pulling music, copying stuff, more filing, preparing music for the orchestra/band/choir, and other various duties (ha, she said duties – sorry, my kids are into it so I had to drop to juvenile level for just a moment), and did I mention – filing. I had a couple of chiefs at the time to whom I answered. Liked the job, no problems really, but quit after my second child was born to attempt being a "stay at home mom".

The second stint was about 3 or 4 years later. I needed a part time job and they were gracious enough to mention to me that they could use a part time secretary. Title this time – Secretary of Outreach and Administration (and yes, for you English snobs – I realize that’s a sentence fragment – grammar schmammar!). I had a character of a gentleman for a boss, but we got along wonderfully and I grew to see him as a father figure (a very high-strung father figure). Responsibilities included gathering area maps, marking them for “visitation”, entering individual’s information into a database, updating this information, editing and updating a personnel manual (that is still under continual, eternal evolution), and again, various other duties as assigned. I was able to move from this job into one that I hoped to have for a while in hopes of “get my foot in the door” to a teaching career.

So here we are, third stint, and as you can guess, never achieved the career in teaching. However, I am here again, this time, as music assistant (whatever the “politically correct” title is – I’m happy with “music secretary”). Once again, I have a similar job description as before with a couple of additions and, of course, those “various other duties.” It has been my experience that these “various duties” in the past have been pretty predictable and mundane. Contrarily, my current boss is proving to be, shall we say, a little on the UNpredictable side. Let’s see…shall we glimpse into the world that has become my secretarial adventure? Yes…let us prepare for the adventure...tomorrow.

I did the chapter and/or Title thing with the “Food Oddities”, so this time, I will write in a series of, shall we say, “short stories”. Since I’ve already gotten a little long-winded (WHAT? ME?), I’ll just start tomorrow with my few little tid bits. (Long story short? No such thing with the bloodline from which I sprang!)

Mom...let's have the "S - -" talk

2010-04-20T09:35:00.000-05:00

Agggggggggg!!! Why does this always happen to me! My son - age 10 - has decided that he is ready for "The Talk". I will blog on this later - but please feel free to laugh your head off until you hear from me later! Yeah - laugh now - cause I may be asking advice - you just have no idea! Me, Lily? Trying to explain the birds and bees - why in the heck did they ever even call it that in the first place?! Any explanations?

hhheeeeelllp meeeee............(spoken in a desperate hushed tone)

No Way! There's a Chapter 3?! (The Final Chapter)

2010-04-14T17:16:00.000-05:00

“Alright, Let’s Take This One Food at a Time”: This has become less and less of a problem for me, but I mention it here just for the sake of showing how much improvement I have made over the years. I used to eat one thing at a time on my plate and work my way around. Occasionally, I inadvertently revert back to this habit. I would start with my least favorite item, saving the most coveted victuals for last. I no longer do this because I have learned the art of actually trying to enjoy a complete meal (not mixed, mind you, I do try to cleanse my palate before the next food is consumed) to decide which one I like best. Oh, no, maybe I do this so I can decide which one I’m going to eat last…maybe I haven’t really escaped it entirely! Oh well, it’s my food and I’ll eat it how and when I want to!

“Grease Monkey”: I may embarrass myself and others when eating pizza in that I don’t care where I am, I will take a napkin and dab the excess grease from my pizza. This habit is becoming less common because I’m finding it harder to eat pizza in my "elder, more hormonal years". I love it – but it don’t like me! The thought of putting that grease into my body is like running up to an Express Lube and asking to lick the pan. (Hasn’t stop me from consuming a funnel cake or two, however.)

“Seasoned or Waffle Fries with That, Ma-am?”: I’m a prejudice fry eater. I’m sorry…but I will not eat any fry that does not meet my credentials for perfection. I stop short of interviews, but I check them over with the fervor of a judge on Next Top Model. If they’re too crispy…NO! If they are too mushy…NO! If they have any discoloration…NO! Too much salt…NO! Too greasy…NO! Not goowd enough! I vhill nowt eat you! Go avay!

“Hold the Mayo Yeah, That's It… Just Keep Holding It”: I can detect mayo like a blood hound picks up a scent. I am proud to say that I have made great strides concerning this aversion also. I would never have put the stuff near my mouth three or four years ago. I’m not even sure as to what made me actually taste something that contained it, but today, I am able to eat SOME potato salads, SOME chicken salads, and spinach dip if it is not solely mayo based. But that’s it…not stickin’ my toe too far into that pool.

“Even Distribution of Goods”: This could actually be an addendum to the Meat Inspector, but it deserves to be on it’s on because of the story here-to-follow. When I am eating my sandwich or burger or any food for that matter, it all has to “look” right. It has to be evenly distributed. Just the right amount of meat to just the right amount of bread and a reasonable amount of condiment to flavor; just the perfect amount of cheese on that noodle in mac-n-cheese; the loaded mashed potatoes must have just the appropriate amount of cheese, bacon, etc to be considered worthy. If there happens to be too much bread, I’ll pinch it off and put it aside. If there’s too much meat, I take a bite of bread to even it out. If there’s too much mustard, ketchup, etc., well, that just gets wiped off. This oddity has even led me to a "cat fight" in the office with a fellow co-worker. After running to a nearby McDonald’s and getting two cheeseburgers, I returned to work and was joined by my friend in my office. After watching me eat for a minute or two, she asked me what I had gotten at McDonald’s. I told her and she remarked, “You should’ve just gotten a double cheeseburger meal!” I explained that I don’t like that big of a burger – it was too much meat and not enough bread. She then snarked back, “That’s just crazy! All you have to do is take the top off of one of the burgers you have and put them together and you have the same thing!” “But if I had wanted that, I would have ordered that!” I retorted. She continued to chide me about how stupid that was, and I held my ground on the fact that it was my taste buds and I would please them however I wanted!

OK – so I have food issues! I have heard it all from, “You don’t know what you’re missing!” to “You are so particular!” to “That’s just plain weird.” My mom was a great cook, one of those good Southern cooks – you know, the one who cooks good ol’ comfort foods. Chicken and dumplins – yuck; peas and cornbread – sickening; homemade vegetable or beef soup or gumbo – eeeewww; and biscuits and gravy – no way! How in the world did I manage to make it to the ripe old age of 36 and not suffer from severe malnutrition? How could I have managed to live in a household full of awesome foods and with such a great cook and not have a well-rounded appreciation for all things culinary? I pretty much survived off of hamburgers, chicken, peanut butter (thank God He spared me that one), jelly or ham sandwiches, pizza (greaseless, mind you), and spaghetti. Is it OCD, a habit conditionally formed from childhood, or just me being me…whatever the case, I don’t need an intervention. I have learned to eat a casserole (only certain ones), stomach mayonnaise (if hidden with enough disguises), and to mix it up on occasion by eating one or two bites of one thing and then one or two of another (after a palate cleanse). Why, I’ve even learned to try different foods if I find myself in a particularly brave and carefree mood. Who knows, I might even take a bite of my burger this week without looking at it, but let’s not get too crazy! So strange eaters unite! Let me know that I’m not alone in this savior faire of sustenance. And I will end on this note…VegAll is from Satan! No offense to the fans of this canned catastrophe, but I'll never be convinced otherwise on this one!

Chapter 2: There's More?

2010-04-13T17:02:00.000-05:00

“Beans, Beans, They’re Good for Your Heart; the More You Eat ‘Em the More Your Gag Reflex Kicks In”: This was one of the reasons I included the preface of the allergies, having to watch out for those beans. But I always assumed that it was only green beans, because, unfailingly, Mom and Dad would try to get me to eat blackeyed peas, pinto beans, etc. Some may want to blame my aversion on another culprit – a horrific babysitter. I stayed only a couple of times (thank heavens, or, I am convinced I would have shriveled and died from starvation) with this notorious sitter. She always had stuff that I found unappetizing for lunch: once, it was butterbeans – who feeds kids BUTTERBEANS FOR LUNCH!!?? (Can you detect a hint of bitterness? I have since forgiven, but I shall neva’ forget!) This babysitter insisted that we clean our plates before we could go out to play. Needless to say, you guessed it – I sat there, and yeah, I tried, but nope, they didn’t go down. I don’t know if I fell asleep or if I swooned from the trauma – all I remember is that I didn’t get to go out to play, and the beans were still on my plate when Mom came to get me! You may be thinking, "Dadburn (and I know that's the very word you are thinking), she’s stubborn. No, my friend, I just simply couldn’t get them down. I have a feeling that my plate would have been clean but I would’ve had a floor to clean up – neither way would I have gotten to go outside to play, so better to just sit that one out! Better beans on a plate than in the floor, I say. Yet again, a consistency thing. I’ve tried many beans, so it’s not for lack of trying! I begin to chew them and they grow. They have this mushy texture that immediately induces a gag reflex. They just won’t go down! IRONICALLY, guess what bean I can stomach and, in fact, love...GREEN ONES!!! Only green beans, because they are crunchy and I love the taste. If the bean is outside the shell though, I will eat around those. I love the crunchy, stir fried green beans at one of the local Chinese resturants. Mental, I know!

“The Meat Inspector” (Or, “Inspector Gag-it”, sorry, that was bad.): I have this compulsive habit of inspecting all meat before it can be put into my mouth. I look at a sandwich or burger; I note the distribution of bread, condiments, meat…I then determine where I will take my first bite. The bite that looks the best (differing with each burger or sandwich) is the one I, thereupon, consume. All subsequent bites follow same protocol. Any gristle, fat or “funny” looking meat will be removed and properly disposed. Steaks, grilled chicken, chicken strips or any other piece of meat will follow a similar inspection. NO gristle or fat is to be consumed if at all possible. Why? Am I watching my fat intake, cutting down on triglycerides? Again, I echo the answer…texture & taste – I just can’t stand the taste or the way it feels in the mouth. You picking up on the pattern here?

“Save the Last Bite for …No one”: This is probably one of my strangest habits. I cannot eat the last bite of something. I don’t have a clue as to why. I look at it and all of a sudden I am full. I cannot ingest it… I must put it down! "Maaaam, put down the bite and step away."

“That’s So Touching…and It Shouldn’t Be”: Certain foods absolutely cannot co-exist or merge on a plate – they cannot touch. Now this can get complicated and has many conditional factors. If I am at home or in a familiar, relaxed environment, and I notice that any food is touching, I will separate it. If any “juice” from one food has crept over into/onto another, then an immediate “cleanup” is initiated (a napkin grabbed and juice and food cleaned/dried) until all food is safe, UNLESS, the juice or sauce has found its way onto a bread item or fry. In that case, the bread or fry that has been contaminated will be “pinched off” and cannot be consumed. If I should find myself in a proper setting or with individuals with whom I am unfamiliar, I will not go to such unsightly lengths. I will, instead, simply avoid eating any of the items that have been touching. Don’t be surprised to find little “walls” or remnants of food that have served as barricades by touching one another. They have sacrificed themselves for the good of the whole (that phrase just made me snicker..uh-hum, sorry.) For example, if macaroni and cheese is touching a green bean or two, then the beans that have noodles or cheese touching them (no matter the amount) will not be eaten and vice versa. I was actually sickened once as I watched my brother mix three different cereals and eat them. They were all presweetened and probably all tasted the same, but YOU JUST DON’T MIX THINGS! I had to leave the room…the inhumanity!

Well, I'm getting close to the bottom of the list and will try to wrap things up tomorrow. More? Oh yes, there's more. Hope to see you tomorrow! And...thank you to all those who have shared your own stories - I knew I wasn't alone! Thanks for the comforting affirmations!

Chapter 1: Strange Eating Habits of the Old and the Skarky

2010-04-12T13:25:00.001-05:00

Ok, so I eluded earlier in one of my posts that I have been viewed as strange and chided for some of my strange eating habits. I hold strong to the belief that I am not alone in my oddities. So I make this plea: If you know someone or ARE someone who shares any of the habits I am about to relate, please realize that it is we who are NORMAL and not the rest of the world. STRANGE EATERS UNITE!

Let me preface by saying that I was allergic to an array of substances when I was young. Now, I’m not talking your everyday peanut allergy or lactose intolerance…no I was allergic to things like…well, let’s just list a few…pollen, dust, any kind of fur or animal dander (ok, those are fairly normal), trees, clover, grasses, milk (not the lactose – just MILK), orange juice (oranges), green beans (GREEN BEANS ! – who’s allergic to just one type of bean!?), and the one that gave me the #1 most agonizing grief of all – CHOCOLATE! C’mon. Why, Lord? Chocolate, really!?

I mention the allergies so that we may have some basis on which to hinge some of my habits - the fact that I was unable to eat certain things and was almost forced to be so particular will hopefully prove that I ain’t all that strange or at least have a pretty darn good reason to be, anyway. I’ve struggled with how to list my oddities, maybe do a top 10 thing or what have you, but Letterman has the monopoly on that, so we’ll try listing by title. The list grew as I was compiling so I will try to make it a little more easy to read by ripping it into chapters. Hang on, here we go:

“It’s a Texture Thing”: I’ve heard quite a few individuals complain about the textures of foods, so already, I’m ok with this one. Some won’t eat coconut, pineapple, certain veggies, etc. because of the texture. My certain texture issue is with all things mushy. I have no idea how I got through infancy with the aversion of creamy textures. Think about it – everything you eat or drink is basically smooth, creamy, and pureed to a pulpless mush! Gag…spewt…ugaaaag. Sorry – just the thought even…! I would not eat casseroles, mashed potatoes, creamed soups, sandwiches with any condiments, salad dressings, or creamy desserts (aside from ice cream) until I was well into my teens and twenties. I would choke down the occasional chocolate pudding, but that was because it was CHOCOLATE, and what’s the one thing I WASN’T ALLOWED TO EAT? Yeah, I know - what a rebel!

“Chew Your Food!”: Not because it’s socially polite, not because it’s great for digestion, no – I chew AAALLLLL my food because it won’t go down a single finite measurement unless it has been chewed at least 8 or 9 times (or more). Gross, I know…weird, I know…but I even hold drinks in my mouth sometimes – should’ve used that for wine tasting, but don’t think I’d like it, besides, why do all those other tasters spit it out, right?! I have a friend who looked at me like I’d just grown a second head when I asked them if they chewed their mashed potatoes or ice cream. When I say I chew it, I really do. I’ve tried not to…but again…it won’t go down if it’s not chewed.

“Watch it Wiggle, See it Jiggle (no jokes about the thighs, guys)”: No, I do not have a jello phobia. What I DO have is a total disgust for the stuff. I don’t like how it feels or how it squishes through my teeth when I have to CHEW it. Tried just letting this one go down too…we all know the results. When I was a child, two of my nieces would take it and squish it through their teeth and then swish the liquid around in their mouth…OH GHYAAAH, the horror! I’m having a flashback…just hold on a sec! Needless to say, I CAN eat it now, but with much labor and concentration (I literally have to NOT watch or listen to anyone else eating it).

Enough for today. The last flashback just took it all out of me! I'll continue the oddness tomorrow...there's lots more where these came from.

Thank You, Ms. Anthropy!

2010-04-12T11:11:00.001-05:00

I was surprised by another award, and I am embarrassed to say I'm very delayed in posting! I want to thank Sarcastic Granny at Ms. Anthropy's for gracing me with this award. She has a great blog, and I encourage everyone to head over and read her if you haven't already. I am sure that most of you follow her already, but if not - she's worth the visit.

Since I am still dabbling my toes in the waters of blogging, and since I have been introduced to many of the blogs I follow from most of you, I am going to skip the passing of the torch. Not because I don't know of anyone worthy, but simply because, most of you have these awards already and I don't know anyone else to pass them along to - I will look though. I will try in the following month to discover some worthy blogs (there are too many, I'm sure - I just haven't had the time to look for them!). I hope this is ok with everyone!

Here is Ms. Anthropy's (what a great title) blogsite: http://sarcasticgranny.blogspot.com/. Thank you, once again, SG! Sorry about your empty nest - but what a sweet post and tribute to your baby girl! Ahhhg! I had to fight the tears!

Thank you all for Skarken with me and allowing me to share the goofiness that is me. Love you guys, in a bloggin' kind of way!

PS - I will be posting about my odd eating habits this week - so maybe that will surfice for the 5 things I should list about myself.

Brotherly Kind of Brother-in-Law

2010-04-08T13:51:00.004-05:00

Today, I hope you'll read with a little piece of your heart. I got a call this week from my brother-in-law. I will try my best to lead up to why I wanted to paint for you a picture of him today...

When I was 3 years old, my sister married Rickey, my only and one-of-a-kind brother-in-law. I can remember staying with them and playing at their house. They bought me my first tricycle. I kept that thing until it literally fell apart from years of taking off from the top of our hill and sailing to the bottom (Lord knows the times we were spared a thousand bloody knees and various other injuries and how many heart attacks my mom had as she peered out the back patio door!). My brother-in-law always seemed to respect my parents, had time to spend with me, and took care of his family. I remember him playing hide and seek with me when I would visit them. I would hide under their little table with metal legs and a red, ball-fringed tableclothe in the living room (of course I was only 3 or 4 - but it's funny the things you remember). I would peek out from under it and he would catch me every time! Everyone seemed to love Rickey (and do now - if you know him, you love him). He's always been fun-loving and goofy as all get out, but most of all, genuine. Rickey is just...Rickey!

My sister and brother-in-law sacrificed a lot so that she could return to college later in life and pursue her degree in speech pathology. When it came time for them to move away so that she could finish her bachelors, Rickey stayed behind to work, living with us and visiting his family when possible. He tried to drive the long drive to visit with them more often during his work week, but after a pretty bad sleeping-at-the-wheel episode or two (and my sister and mom on his head), he decided it was just too risky and only went when rested. I can imagine this must have been hard for him due to, not only the fact that he loved my sister, but that they had two young girls at the time.

During his stay with us, Rickey instilled in me a love for 3 things - baseball, Moon Pies, and RC colas! I was a teen at the time and in and out a lot. But every time I would come home from whatever romp I had been on, Rickey would pronounce my arrival with the same greeting..."HEEEY, Annie!" Now, this was funny to me, and I never failed to get a kick out of it, and to this day - I am still greeted with this same salutation!

After this stint, my sister was able to work toward her masters and, later attain a job in Florida, where she and Rickey went on to add two more beloved daughters to their family. They now had four girls. In January of 1999, my sister and two of her girls were involved in a horrific car accident. I lost my sister in that accident, and 3 1/2 weeks later lost my 18 year old niece. A second niece, age 2 1/2 was also involved and was almost left behind had it not been for a very observant EMT. While my sister and I were never what you would've called "extremely close" as sisterly bonds can be described, we had a special bond created by our 18 year age difference that few share. In the years prior to her accident, we had begun to renew our relationship and were growing closer. I truely miss her...

In the ensuing days, my brother-in-law faced a literal hell that only someone in his shoes could describe. I wouldn't even begin to imagine a pain to compare to his. Losing not only a wife, but a daughter, and the life of another hanging in the balance. The youngest was finally released to come home, but during the meantime, Rickey's days were morbidly consumed with planning 2 funerals, dealing with insurance, and trying to juggle a job to provide for what remained of his family. Subsequently, he was left caring for a recovering 2 1/2 year old comforting both her and his 6 year old daughter. My brother-in-law never gave in to the temptation to lay down and quit! He never pridefully resisted others attempts to help, but at the same time, never took advantage of any pity.

Last year, I got a call from Rickey. This time, the "Hey, Annie" had lost a little of it's enthusiasm, but was still spoken with the love it always had been. Rickey was calling to let me know that he had been in a lot of pain and had made an appointment to see a doctor...the resulting news...he had cancer...Non Hodgkins Lymphoma. He was still upbeat and ready to face what was ahead. After chemo and many trying days, he got an "ok" to stop treatments and come back for check ups in the following months. This chapter ended nicely and he and his family were able to enjoy Christmas. (Rickey married a wonderful lady a couple of years ago who has served as an awesome mother to his two youngest and a good friend to me. Funny...but when I speak of them, I call them my brother-in-law and my sister-in-law! She is very much at his side though whatever life brings them.)

As I said when I started this post, I got another call from Rickey this week...his cancer is back. Not what anyone wants to hear, but somehow, this kind of news just isn't right for a man like my brother-in-law. We always reflect on the same question when things like this happen to someone who is so undeserving..."Why him or her?" I don't know if Rickey has ever asked this question, himself. But I can tell you that at the end of our conversations, he realizes the severity of his condition or situation at hand but is always thinking of someone else or claims, "It could be so much worse." Rickey, you truely are a unique and very much loved individual. Always remember...as my parents used to acknowledge..."there will never be another man like Rickey!" My kids and I are very lucky to have you in our lives! We're thinking about you guys and praying for you. Love you, brother.

Postal Pals

2010-04-05T16:59:00.002-05:00

How can a mundane trip to the post office turn into an all out meet and greet? I am contemplating this as I currently snack on some Toy Story Cheez-its and Chips Ahoy! Candy Blast cookies– yes, the stark reality of a secretary’s life is one of glamour, philosophy, and Cheez – lots of Cheez. (Don’t be jealous.)
Back to the postal visit…I am handed an envelope by my boss and instructed to rush to the post office and make sure it gets over-nighted. (Crunch, Crunch…hey, I just ate Buzz – sorry, it’s the ADHD or whatever you call us overly thinking, creative types.) So, I dutifully head out on my errand. Arriving at the post office, I exit my car, blah, blah…fast forward to standing in line. So, I am standing in line, being anxiously observant of my turn to step to the desk for service. The line was growing behind me, and I was preceded by three fellow anxiety-ridden patrons. A voice blurts from behind, “You girls must be sisters.” What? Call me totally ignorant (heard it before), but what is your first impression when you hear those words? Who is she even talking to – is she addressing someone she has made eye contact with or just lettin’ it surface like canned biscuits fryin’ in grease (try it – just watch!)? I, along with everyone ahead of me, turn around to see this woman in knee shorts (hang on, this plays later into the story) looking and pointing out me and a lady two individuals ahead of me. Time for “first of alls”…FIRST OF ALL, we look nothing alike; SECOND OF ALL, we had nothing, seemingly, in common. We exchange glances and then begin searching for what could’ve provoked such an observation. Then came the reveal…”You both have the same wallet!” OOOHHHH! How silly of me!!! How could I have failed to notice this?! (Sarcasm duly invoked.)
Ok, dear people, I’m not really sure how carrying the same wallet could possibly parlay into a sisterhood, but somehow, this dear lady saw it without reserve. My “sister” graciously noted, “Oh! I was wondering – I thought we might’ve been dressed alike.” I was less gracious with my wonderment, “I was just standing here thinking, 'Poor soul, bless her if God gave these looks to two people!'” We all laughed and then the discourse ensured as to how “pretty” our wallets were, whether we carry one all the time, purse it sometime, or whatever, etc.
The friendly babble continued until awkwardly interjected with another random remark from our new “postal pal”, “I wear these knee pants all the time. You know, ‘cause it’s so hot where I work. That building I work in, the so-in-so building over there. I’ve worn shorts all winter!” Can we all say, RANDOM? What in the heck? Ok, having a mind that usually works about like a nat in a banana plant, I can usually deal with “random”. However, I guess my gears just didn’t shift fast enough on this one. But we all acknowledged her comment and gave our own sypathetic, but baffled head nods.
John, one of the friendly – and I do mean VERY FRIENDLY – postal workers behind the counter started spitting out funny remarks to a couple of “friends”. After a remark or two, our "postal pal" (oh yes, she did) threw her two cents into THEIR conversation, and oh my, the exchange that did take place. After an extended banter between the parties, I heard my name, “Next”. I rushed to the counter and explained my quest. Of course, there was a little paper work to be done, consequently putting me to the side while “postal pal” got called to the desk. John and Pal went at it, I didn’t realize how fun buying stamps could be, but the discussion was very entertaining! I think that by the end, John was going to pick "Pal" up in his limo and a steak supper was planned. Of course, all this was in fun, and I wish I could have remembered all the small talk so I could pass it on to you for the effect, but as “Lily” as I am, you know half of it went over my head, and I would have had to ask for far too many repeated phrases and explanations.
"Pal" finally left, exchanging her farewell with us all, and I moved over with my finished paper work. Now my turn to banter with John. Of course, I tried to hang, and did well for a minute or two, but it got to be too much work and I needed to be able to check this task off my list for the day. John saw my rush, and after we discussed why I was unable to get cable and internet, etc. in my area, and why I wouldn’t really want to go hand deliver the package I was attempting to overnight to Florida because of the gators, swamp snakes, and other critters (all his observations – thanks, John, for keeping me from that dangerous mission), he bid me good day and I was off!

OK – how did all this turn-of-events seem to happen with such the ease and conductivity of switching on a fan on a hot Southern summer day? Just that – Southern day! I guess that’s one of the things that I hate and love the most about this place called the South. As much has been joked, written, and sung about as “Carter had oats” (yeah, that one too), but it’s true. I do see the double edge to the sword: some days, I love being able to walk into a place and see at least 10 people, who, whether they know you or not, will say “hey”, smile, or wish you a good day; and some days (mostly my “make-up free” or errand days), it can be quite bothersome. But it really isn’t all that bad! I have been a few places where you look at people and, if they look your way at all, they scowl at you like they just sucked down a lemon soaked in alum – just to see one smile would’ve meant the world. So thank you, "Postal Pal" for introducing me to my long-lost wallet sister and John and the rest of the post office workers and patrons on Thomas Street!

Find a Penny, Pick It Up…the Rest of the Day, You’ll Know You'r Mimi's Thinking of You

2010-03-29T16:34:00.005-05:00

Dropped change…we’ve all seen it, found it, picked it up. Maybe YOU’ve even been the one who dropped it. I’ve always loved finding money (I know, who doesn’t!). I scour for change like an old man combs the beach with a metal detector. On a more realistic note, I actually just happen upon it, but will most definitely get excited and go to some length to obtain it. In fact, last Friday, I was standing in line at a local gas station. It was my turn at the counter. I happened to look down and spotted not one penny, but two! Then - wow - a dime! The pennies were relatively easy to scoop up; however, the dime presented more of a problem! He was hiding closer under the counter, just out of reach between two displays. Now came the delima - do I take the time to make a scene and bend down to fish it out, or do I try to manuever it out and smoothly, with the coolness of Kojak, pick up the golden grail? I usually try to be discreet, and having children lends itself nicely to this. “Look kids, money.” And of course, they go diving! So we all share in the joy! But this day, I was without my counterparts and, there were people behind me waiting. Not being able to take my focus off the silver siren, I quickly swiped my card, paying for the goods, slid the dime with my toe to rechable position, swooped down (almost loosing my balance - funny woman faceplant time), and retrieved not only the dime but the two pennies as well. Now how I may have looked to those around me, I have no clue. I was up and gone without looking back. The cost of pride that day, my friend: $.12! Uh-huh, yeah!

Now there are as many thoughts on the afterlife as Jethro has holes in his underwear, but that’s not what this little discourse is about, exactly. I lost my mom about 4 years ago to the nightmarish disease of Alzheimer’s. Only about 60 years of age when she began to show signs, she was robed of many years of quality life. What a gifted individual of which the world was robbed. She had her quirks, as do we all, but she was a very special Mimi, the name given to her by her grandchildren. My children were 4 and 2 when she passed, so they never had the opportunity of knowing her.

My mom had this funny knack of spotting lost change! She had an eye like a hawk when it came to finding these unclaimed treasures. It seemed like every place we went, she found a penny, a nickel - some sort of coin. I believe I share the same enthusiasm she had when she spied the tokens!

My children and I speak of Mimi from time to time – memories I have of her, special things I would like for them to know. One such funny recollection is this knack at finding dropped change. My kids love this story, and, somewhere along the way, I began saying, “Look, there’s a penny. Your Mimi’s thinking of you.” So they would pick up the coin and hold it or put it in their pocket. Now, when they spot one, they announce the same sentiment. We’ve had fun, over the last year, in particular, collecting these “dropped treasures”. We’ve decided to fill a jar that the kids decorated with any change we find and whatever we have left from breaking a dollar. Consequently, we have a jar full of, shall we say, treasures of a dual nature! So thanks to all the "droppers" out there who unwittingly give my children and me, not only a little extra change in a jar, but warmth in our hearts.

Fulfilling My Duties as Blog Queen...Oh, Sorry - Wrong Dream

2010-03-24T15:56:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I had the honor of "Beautiful Blogger" bestowed on me by Pat Tillett of http://patricktillett.blogspot.com/. I am very grateful to such a wonderful encourager and gifted writer for thinking of those of us who are just beginning our blog journey. If you have never happened upon his site - you need to make it a point to visit. I promise, you won't want to leave! He also hosts a photography site that is awesome!

If I get this straight, I'm supposed to share five things about myself...Lord knows that could go in many directions but none too interesting, so I'll just ping pong it - let whatever bounces off the walls of my mind spill out. Some days it's pretty vacant up there, others, it's crammed full, so let's explore shall we? Besides, since I'm a novice to the scene, then there's really not much any of you know about me, but rules being rules, here we go:

1. I have an uncanny "disability" when it comes to cooking Mac & Cheese. I'm horrible! To this day, I haven't made a single box that tasted worth a toot! No joke - I must have a gene or something. I read the box, I follow the directions on the box, but somewhere between the box and the plate - it totally goes flavorless! Help!

2. I am the baby of four children. I was born 12 years after Mom and Dad THOUGHT they were through - OOOPS!! And no - not too badly spoiled! I was raised with my nieces so it took us until grade school to realize we weren't really sisters and that I was the aunt - they were the nieces. Weird, but nice!

3.   I have a secret crush (well just ruined that one) on Seether's "crunchy" lead singer, Shaun Morgan. Yeah I do.

4. I am extremely happy in the children's section of any book store! It's, for me, what I would imagine a trip to Disney World is for a kid.  On the subject of books, I occasionally "punish" myself with reading a literary classic, then "reward" myself by buying a new literary work or clothes or CHOCOLATE! (Ok - this may count as two, but just humor me.)

5. I have very strange eating habits. I know somewhere there is someone like me! But I am often chided about the way I eat or what I eat - I smell a blog coming on! I have a myriad of oddities, but let's not spoil it now.

Now for the cutomary passing of the award - and I gladly do this. I will try not to give to those who have already been awarded one - even though I may be of the opinion that you deserve it!

The first I give to Ashley at Life in Florida http://abowmanblog.blogspot.com/ . I know this girl personally, and she not only puts a lot into her blog but into her classroom as well - it's evident. She is a newlywed and a teacher and all around good person! Check her out! Spend some time in Florida with her and drop by her classroom.

I've enjoyed http://memorablemeanders.blogspot.com/. This lady posts lots of pics and shares about her life as an expat living in Africa, showing us the beauty of her country. Just visit and you will see what a neat story she has. She's currently on a biking trip and is spending time with family. Find Jo and see how she shares about her Africa and her life. She is very kind, helpful, and has responded to many of my posts.

Quest for Animation Glory http://questforanimationglory.blogspot.com/ is a fun site to follow. I perceive that Vince Gorman is a very talented and busy man. This blog is literally full of some very cool artwork as Vince follows his dream of animating. He hasn't posted a lot lately, but it appears he is very busy on his quest, so follow with patience, but definatly visit him!

I love to travel to Scottland for the Senses http://scotland4thesenses.blogspot.com/ to visit with Sophia. She is so talented! She posts beautiful pics and blogs often. She also has fun give-a-ways! How kind! I would do this, but hey, you can only send out so many Mississippi refrigerator magnets and State or Ole Miss hats!  Seriously, Sophia's blog gives you a real "sense" of Scottland and makes you feel like you've traveled there without having to leave home.

I ran across Pilgrim Chick at http://skenyonsmadness.blogspot.com/ from her visit to my blog - thank you, Sweet. Her blog, Spark of Madness, is interesting and full of thought provoking blurbs from her life as a pilgrim and everyday observations!  Check it out and see what she's into next.

Ok - please forgive my poor attempt at linking you to these blogs - I'M STILL LEARNING! But I do hope that you visit them and find them as entertaining and loveable as I have. Thank you, again to those who have visited, commented, and joined as followers on my journey. Each of you will never know how much it means to me that you have taken the time to check me out (watch out!) and spend time here! Bless you all and I hope to get around to following each of you and seeing what you have to say - ain't this fun!

And again, I say a big THANK YOU to Pat - cheers (it'll have to be with a Yahoo or a green tea, but much love)!

Honored and Humbled

2010-03-23T18:22:00.000-05:00

Today, I was very surprised and most definately humbled when I found I had received an award from a fellow blogger! I can't tell you how much it means to me - but I will try tomorrow! Thank you so much, Mr. Pat Tillett, and I promise to fulfill the task set before me. Bless you and thank you again.

The Beautiful “Bellow” of a Country Morning (Noon & Night!)

2010-03-23T17:59:00.001-05:00

For those of you who may have any experience with “country livin’”, you know that there are certain constants…blue skies (when it’s not comin’ a tornado), birds singing their morning songs, crickets and frogs chirping their summer night songs, and …cows. If you’ve ever meandered through certain states on most any main highway, then you’ve seen them there too. They nibble grass and chew their cud in pastures that dot the sides of these highways. Some people from cities point them out as country people do skyscrapers in the big city… “Look, guys! Look, it’s a cow!” I, for one, have never lost that enthusiasm! I know it’s sad, but I’m ok with it.

Having just recently moved to the area, we aren’t familiar with many of our neighbors. Across the street, uh-hum, excuse me, that is “road” (see previous blog!) lives an older lady and gentleman. We have exchanged the customary wave or nod with the man as he walks, cane in hand, to retrieve his mail. There’s a pasture behind their house. I am not sure if he owns or rents it out, but it’s occupied by a number of cattle, or should I say – there’s a bunch of cows livin’ in that pasture. I perceive that it may be rented in that the same truck comes daily and goes toward the gate with sacks of what looks like “feed”. It’s also frequented by this same guy on a four wheeler – another staple of country livin’. So it’s my assumption that the cows do not actually belong to my neighbor, but you know what assuming gets you.

Shortly after moving into our quaint little abode, I was startled one morning by a very disturbing “bellow”. The kids also noted that it sounded pretty unsettling. Thinking it was simply a “one time moo”, we continued whatever mundane task with which we busied ourselves – you know country life, mom cooking, cleaning, darning the socks and kids dutifully at chores (yeah, it could happen, somewhere). Suddenly, we heard it again, then again – man what was up with this cow? Did some poor Bessie go into labor, did a dog bite some bovine and they were now awaiting a vet, was it going to a slaughter house and knew what was coming (you know you eat steak or burgers– and if you’re a vegetarian, my apologies, no offense intended – this is country livin’, remember)?

My children were off to their father’s that weekend so they left during the day. However, the poor cow continued its chorus. I had about reconciled with the fact that it had to be Bessie. Night came, and the painful yowling continued. I could feel her pain, having been there myself, and was about ready to ask for her an epidural or for someone to please help the poor thing. I had an air purifier that assisted in drowning out the noise. Besides, she would be ok by morning, right? Morning arrived… the birds were warbling their morning serenade…heckled by the continuing deep wail of poor Bessie, “MOOOOOOOOOOO”. Alright, now I was getting really curious. I mean, how long could this go on? How long can they let this poor cow lay there in seeming misery?! If indeed labor was the case, around 24 hours was about the duration for me, but maybe it took longer with sisters of the four legged breed. I had to check this out, but I had to do it undercover. There’s one thing people do not appreciate city or country, and that’s a nosy neighbor. I had to get the mail; it was Saturday, so that wouldn’t look too suspicious (don’t know what I’ll do if they get rid of that Saturday mail now, Pat).

After my mailbox trip, I was still at a loss – no vets seemed to be attending and no one seemed to be coming or going with boiling water, newspapers or bed sheets (do they do that with animals?). This was too much! I decided to make a trip to town for the afternoon & night. SURELY it would be settled by night!

My friend, this bellowing Bessie was still going strong when I got home! I was beginning to wish I had some super talent, like cow whispering. If it can be done with dogs, could it be so with bovine? Maybe if I could just go whisper to it, it would settle down. Maybe I could help her count to 10 and help her with her breathing. Maybe I could hold her hoof as she cussed the bull that got her into this! Of course, if I could speak to a cow, I would definitely try and talk it into helping me out with milk that wouldn’t hurt my stomach – it’s real “crappy” being allergic to straight milk, but I digress. Ladies and gentleman, may I inform you that poor Bessie bellowed for 4 straight days, making me eternally grateful for epidurals and painkillers and doctors who come into your delivery room yelling, “Push it out, push it out, WAY OUT (true story)!” And I would love to tell you that we found out the cause of her distress (assuming that it was a she), but we never did. We hypothesized a copious count of conclusions, but never had the nerve to find out for sure. We settled with the only one that made the most heart-warming sense – we now had a new headcount in the pasture across the street, ‘scuse me, “road”. So Bessie, bless your heart and stay away from Curtis (we named the bull responsible). Four sleepless nights is enough for any cow (and her neighbors)!

So Here's the Poop...

2010-03-16T16:58:00.003-05:00

Poop. We all know about it, we all do it, we all think about it…not perpetually, but it’s just part of life. There “ain’t no gettin’ around it” unless you’re treadin’ carefully in a pasture (and that can be hard if you’ve ever tried, walkin’ the pasture, that is). No matter how socially humiliating or gross we can make this subject, it’s just there – stuck on the soles of our everyday life. (No apologies for the pun, but I’ll try to stop.)
My children and I like to frequent book stores in our area. We love to browse around, not only the books, but the trinkets, games, and novelty stuff that’s usually found on these retail ramblings. You know when you’re exploring and you stumble across that one item that you know you have to have! It’s a treasure, a booty of sorts (ok, forgive that one, please). It’s that something that almost seems out-of-place because you don’t see another one around. You know that it must have been left there just for you! Well, this wasn’t exactly one of those moments. However, it was one in which I said to myself…"I am going to buy this, if for no other reason, to prove that I actually saw it!" My friend, here is the evidence…

Please tell me I am not the only one who has found an actual, working POOP ERASER! And in case you were wondering, they claim it to be "Totally FUNctional". As you will note, it comes with its own toilet and tiolet paper. And, for those “oh crap” moments, when you need it, it has a handy little plunger. As if finding the poop wasn’t enough, upon opening it, I had to do it! I smelled it! Oh my word - it actually smells like chocolate. That’s right! How ironic is it that you can now erase your mistakes with a pile of chocolate- smelling POOP? Now my questions (not sure if I want them answered, but): What was the “concept session” like the day this was ruminated; the inspiration seems evident, but when exactly did this concept “hit” the “artist” (just go with me here – I’m past asking for forgiveness, this is just too easy); the sales pitch, for goodness sake, who gave the OK; marketing...oh, so much could be said; and finally, what would an order for this product sound like over the phone? We could continue, but why?
The first thing I did, of course, was to grab my phone and begin texting all my BF’s and FM’s (that’s family members for those of you not hip enough for the latest totally made up initials because we don’t have time to say or type the whole word any more). They had to know! If only I had the ability to send pics –then I would instantaneously be able to prove my find and share my UM (no, not Alice’s name in Wonderland, but Unbelievable Moment). I can take pics with my phone, I can text, I just can’t text pics! Flitter!
Less than a week later, I stumbled upon a gem of a website. No, I wasn’t researching or googling the word “poop”. This advertisement happened upon a sidebar to an email account I have & caught my eye. You can hypothesize about the 5 to 10 minutes that ensued. With a sparkle of curiosity in my eye and my mouth pursed, I opened and found…

What!? You may visit their websiste at: http://turdtape.com. I’ll let it speak for itself, but capitalizing on this one natural function of the body is about over the edge, don’t you agree? Though some of the testimonials - yes, they have them, were kinda funny! Finding this was about like discovering a beautiful picture made from dryer or belly button lint or the artwork from a man who paints by vomit! Ok – no matter how “glamorous” you try to sell your product – it won’t adorn my wall! But I have heard the “guys talk” of the occasional “big one”, the colossal colon buster. Sorry, but the feeling is mutual on this subject as well – don’t want to see it! What would persuade you in any situation to solicit, “you gotta see this!” ( aside from it maybe coming out gold-plated or diamond encrusted and even then, really)? (Please don’t pay attention to the grammatical and punctuation mistakes in any of my articles – my brain works at differing speeds than the rest of me!)
Two other “Poop-oddities” I have run across lately: On a morning radio show, a lady called in to inform the listeners that she inspects her young children’s poop to see what the babysitter has fed them that day – the segment is called, “Does That Make Me Crazy?” (many of you are familiar with it) and my answer is, ummm, yeah – crazy and GROSS! Then there’s the Raindeer Poop Necklace that is supposedly magical. Don’t want any of that “enchantment” hanging on my neck, sorry Dasher. Yes, glamorized or commercialized, no matter what we do with it…it’s still POOP, and regardless, it ALL STINKS.

And Will the REAL Anellen Please Stand Up

2010-03-12T08:53:00.000-06:00

When I was a young teen, my mom and dad bought me a small black and white TV to keep in my room. What a luxury! I vaguely remember watching reruns of old shows. On one of them, a pannel of guest stars would quiz three people to try and guess which of them was the actual person in question. I believe the name was "To Tell the Truth."

Well, this isn't a game show, and I realize that it won't make any headline news, but after mulling it over and after polling a few respected individuals, I decided that I no longer wanted to keep up a facade. So I have a little confession to make. At the time I began this blog, I did so with a good friend's advice. She is an encouragement to me, so thank you, friend! You know who you are! I am not sure who brought up the idea of using a pen name, but with the events of life in which I currently find myself, she commented that I could use either my true name or a pen name and that I might be more comfortable using a pen name. So I thought, "What a good way to begin writing and not have to worry about anyone realizing it was me on the other end of the keyboard." Mind you, I have nothing to hide.

That being said, and realizing that, to be even more honest, I am going through a separation at this time and it hasn't exactly been fun, I decided that it was probably an even better idea to use a pen name. I had been told by my whatever-you-call-a-mate-you're-seperated-from husband, upon asking permission to take a writing course, that it was just a waste of my time and our money. I was also chided, in not so many words, because I had some stupid dream about trying to write, and I would just end up being disappointed or wasting time and money with taking any courses. Now, I didn't have any dreams, necessarily, just wanted to improve my education. Keep in mind this is the same man that spent $200 on a deer camp he never went to but once or twice the year he paid the dues. (Sorry if I sound a little upset.)

So, in this blog, I, the real ANDREA, will stand up. I made up the name Anellen because it was different and seemed to hide my "super-secret" identity well enough. Wow, what a secret, right? Ok, let's face it - not really big news here , but I had just about had enough of leaving comments and Anellen taking all the credit! Plus, I just felt so "dadgum" (Southernism) deceitful.

I'm actually a 36 year old mother of two awesome kiddos right here in the USA. You will notice that I sometimes reference the South; so, I will tell you I am from Mississippi. (And yes, we actually do come in pretty low on any and all polls taken in regards to many things. Not a bad place to live, however. And if we were polled on junk left in yards and Skoal dippers, we'd come in pretty darn close to the top, maybe behind Alabama and Tennessee - if not beating them out! OK, so not much to brag about, but we've got to toot our horn about something! And the birth place of Elvis Presley's been tooted out! By the way, a Mississippian can go anywhere in the world and try to explain what town they're from and no one will know where we are talking about. However, we can say we live .5 miles or 150 miles from Tupelo, MS, the birthplace of Elvis Presley - and most people mystically know exactly where we live!)

Whew....now that's done! I might be able to sleep tonight! Don't judge - you have to understand, I can take 30 minutes of a lunch hour driving around town trying to decide the perfect place to eat lunch! Yes, I will drive myself crazy one day...get ready.

Vanity, O Vanity, Where Is Your Scotch Tape? (or Why In the Heck Do I Do These Things?)

2010-03-09T15:52:00.002-06:00

DISCLAIMER – I am going to show you pictures of myself that I would never normally reveal (keep in mind that I hate ALL pics of myself, so I would normally never reveal ANY to you). Don’t worry – you aren’t about to see any porn. Trust me – that would be nightmarish! I preface this with a warning because what is about to be revealed to you WILL disappoint you…it may make your stomach churn…it may be – horrific.

We’ve all heard that piece of advice that just seemed stupid - after the fact. Last week, I decided to follow such counsel. During lunch, typing on my computer and shoving down a sandwich, I was joined by a co-worker. “Stop wrinkling your forehead. You really need to quit wrinkling your face. You know it causes wrinkles.” A fact of which I am increasingly becoming aware - only made worse, now, by her observation. Thanks! (Can you lovingly admonish someone?)

If you knew me, really knew me, you would not be surprised at the recall of odd advice that came to my mind at that moment. I pondered...“But how in the world do you go through life without making a single wrinkle in your face: You frown, you wrinkle; you smile, you wrinkle; you worry, you wrinkle; you wonder, you wrinkle; you scream, you wrinkle, you laugh, YOU WRINKLE. Come on!” Then the recall, “Hey, I heard this woman say once that if you put a piece of tape on the places that are beginning to wrinkle, it will make you more aware of when you are doing it and you can train yourself to do it less often.” “Yeah, I’ve heard that too,” retorted my co-worker. With a bit of a giggle, I grabbed the scotch tape – why not!

Now to target the trouble spots – a piece right in the middle of the forehead, a piece on the left side should cover the left set of laugh lines, and a piece on the right to do the same for that side. Alrighty folks, not gonna give the play-by-play, but I will just say that this advice ranks right up there with _____________________(I'm sure you could all fill in the blank). As if I didn’t look foolish enough just sitting at my desk with transparent globs hanging on my face, I walked out of my office into the foyer where the postman was grabbing the mail. Thank goodness he had just turned to leave! Again – not a thoroughly thought through action.

Time to remove the tape came when after enough time elapsed that the effort was deemed, oh I don’t know, IDIOTIC! I had another co-worker or two join in the fun to watch as I tried to explain the concept behind the experiment and to watch as I removed the translucent trouble that had fused to my face. Or, should I say, they squirmed and “oooohh-ed” as I tore the tape, and I am almost positive three layers of skin, from my WRINKLY epidermis.

I did walk away from this little exercise with the wisdom that scotch tape is better used for gift wrapping, not wrinkle correction (Common Sense, Thou art called so for a reason). So for any of you who were sitting around this weekend wondering how to lesson those worry lines, I have this to say – “Vanity, you can go and take your stinking scotch tape with you – just leave my skin, please.”

Me - happy and wrinkly!

Look for the Yellow

2010-03-09T13:04:00.002-06:00

Have you ever taken or given advice that no one would understand but you and the other person involved? Having children, one of whom is vying for the position of 2nd grade “Drama Queen”, you find yourself in the need of quick damage control on many occasions.

Finding my daughter in a melancholy mood one afternoon and finding nothing that would satisfy her or bring her out of her black cloud, I asked one last time what could possibly be the matter. She finally huffed and broke out with a tearful story of how a friend had told her super top secret, secret that she liked a boy in her class (primary school – BRUTAL!). Not wanting to make light of it and remembering a few of my own elementary tragedies, I tried to rush to the rescue with some life altering advice. I came up with nothing. “Just ignore her” was about the only words of wisdom flashing in my mind. But try giving a second grader this advice and…GOOD LUCK.

Yellow is not my favorite color. (Nothing personal – I love most all colors. But yellow had just never been on the upper level of my list.) Today, ironically, I found it lending its beauty to my use. “Sweetie, sometimes you just have to look for the yellow in things.” OK–I've probably heard that in some movie somewhere, right? And if I had not heard it somewhere else before – what was I thinking!? How in the world was I going to explain my way out of this verbage! Oh well – it worked! I explained that, let’s face it – sometimes people are just jerks. They are going to let you down or disappoint you (we’ve all been on the receiving end, if not the giving, at times). You can’t control what others say, only how you react. (Not anything new to any of you, but to a 2nd grader – it was is as if I were a sage.) I continued...when life stinks, you just have to look for something good, something “yellow”. Yellow is the color of a beautiful flower, the sun, a cute little baby chick - lots of pretty things. Ok, I’m not a poet or heart warming prose writer, but it was enough to get us through this episode and onto the next.

We still occasionally remind one another to “look for the yellow”. Yes, on those days when life stinks – look around to find your yellow (sometimes, you may have to look extra hard, but I hope you’ll find it).

Apparently, I Like 'Em Crunchy

2010-03-04T13:38:00.001-06:00

Sitting with a group of ladies recently, a conversation broke out about “lick lists”. And yes – I had to ask, “What’s a ‘lick list’?” A simple explanation is…a person who makes you so weak in the knees that you want to walk up and lick them. (Ok – you should know that I was blushing the whole time the conversation was taking place. Some people call me “Lily” because I seem to be quite naïve and very ditzy at times. I like the “eccentric” part of the definition.)

Back to the matter…having been separated for the last 9 months, I wasn’t sure just how active I should be in a forum of this nature. I decided it would be better to listen & ask questions but stop short of contributing. Actor after actor’s name was thrown onto each girl’s list – and I must say, I wasn’t surprised at most of the names. Let’s just say Gerard Butler, Josh Duhamel, Bradley Cooper – you would be dripping with saliva. After a while, and after realizing that I hadn’t taken part in the conversation aside from asking, “Now, who is he,” one of the gals asked, “And just why are you so quiet? Who would make YOUR lick list?”

OK – the card had been thrown…should I poker-face my way out of this and continue to be silent, or, now that I had been enlightened as to what this little pole was all about, innocently contribute? Honestly, I went blank…I contemplated too deeply…just who would I name? First of all, I have usually never been attracted to the "dreamy icons" of the times. I’m just weird that way. So I couldn’t readily pinpoint one in that realm. Second of all, being somewhat OCD, there is VERY LITTLE that would convince me to even think about putting my tongue on a man…unless he had just stepped out of a 3 or 4 phase shower that might even include a quick swabbing with an antiseptic! (OK – so I’m not really that bad, I have been married! I do have children. But it’s a very near reality. Let’s just say that it took years for me to get to where I am today – sorry if that offends anyone – not trying to write risqué – just stating a fact and hoping that if you’re reading this and have ever awakened with morning breath and “bed smell”, you understand!)

Hummm…they were all still staring, waiting with anticipation. That 5 seconds felt like 30 minutes! “Well, I like a guy with manly hands.” WHAT DID I JUST SAY?! Of all the things I could have come up with - it was regarding hands? To my surprise, I got a couple of “yes, girl”s. OK, my confidence up a little, I proclaimed, “I like tattoos & I am not offended by piercings. You pretty much put ink & metal on ‘em and I’ll do a double-take.”

One of the leaders of the round table laughed and said, “Humph…so you like’em a little crunchy, huh?” Well, unfamiliar with that term and already under the suspicion that I had waded off too deep into this one, I decided it was better to NOT ASK. So to all you decent “Crunchies” out there – much love! (Yes, I include you, Shaun Morgan.)

Update

2010-03-04T12:07:00.000-06:00

I am sorry to say that the gentleman who had the severed arteries in his neck and a 10% chance of life lost his battle. Thank you to those of you who were praying. I found out that his children are actually much younger that originally reported. The mother is very young also. Please continue to keep this family in thoughts and prayers.

Painfully Aware

2010-03-01T16:24:00.001-06:00

Lately, I have been made painfully aware of others' losses and hardships. It is always heartbreaking to hear of anyone facing tragedy or loss. I am moved to tears many times when even thinking of what they must have gone through or are currently experiencing. There are two that I would like to pass on to you in hopes you will be thinking about and praying for them and/or their families.

Sitting at a party Saturday afternoon, one of the girls in our circle got a call. She left the room. When she re-entered, she was in tears. Of course, we all asked what had happened and if there was anything we could do. She related the tragedy of which she had been made aware. A son of her co-worker had been serving in Iraq. She had just gotten the news that he had lost his life. This is tragic within itself, but only more so by the fact that he was married, and his wife is expecting their third child. Not only did a mother lose her son, but a wife lost a husband and children lost a father.

A second such life - altering tragedy is one related to me yesterday by a family member. A friend of his had been having neck & back pain and was encouraged to see a chiropractor. Never having used such a specialist before, he thought he would try. After seeing the chiropractor (and while still in the office) he began to get very sick. He knew something was wrong, but was shocked when he and his family found that he was actually having a stroke. He was rushed to the hospital where they could do very little for him aside from transferring him to a different hospital. The family was later informed that both main arteries leading to his brain had been severed and he was given a 10% chance of life. This was not an older gentleman but a 26 year old young man with a wife and 2 children ages 2 yrs and 4 yrs. He is holding on to life and is relatively non-communicative. His wife played a video of his children for him yesterday and he did shed tears, so there is the proof that he can see and hear what is going on around him.

I realize that there are countless people who have stared loss, disease, death, etc. straight into its face and are sirvivors. Many have begun organizations of their own to help others facing life-situations or battles similar to those they have faced. I am sorry to say I am not aware of many of them, personally, but I can pass on two organizations I have been made aware of lately:

www.caringbridge.org and www.hadrianswalk.org

There are many, many, many more such sites. And many heart-ripping stories like these. I hope that, if we cannot do anything more than lift thoughts & prayers for these families that we will do so and share their stories with others. Some of you that I DO know personally have faced your own adversity. I can say to you, you have inspired me or spoken to the depth of my soul, and, at times, spurred me on. (Don't judge the sentence-ending preposition!) I want to say thank you to each of you - many of you know who you are, and if you don't, I pray time will allow me to one day let you know.

To Tell the "Trooch"

2010-02-25T15:58:00.003-06:00

If you work with children on a daily basis, if you have ever or are currently raising children, or if you can even faintly remember being a child, then you can identify with a predicament in which I found myself a couple of years ago.

There are those little words in life - substitutes, if you will, that we use for "unmentionable" things. They are those funny little "hush" words like "poopoo", "teetee", or "potty". They are considered publically more appropriate than use of the actual word they replace. This is why we don't see 3yr olds running around whining, "I have to have a bowel movement, Mom!" Just doesn't even sound right, come on!

I am sure we can all remember sniggering at the words "goober", "doodie", "boobie", etc. I remember the shock and awe of hearing, for the first time, the word "pitywee". WHAT! And oh the giggling that did persue!

My predicament came when I found myself talking to my son during his bathtime when he was around 3 or 4 yrs old. I noticed him looking intently at his chest. He finally curiously posed the question, "Mommy, what do you call these?" Not sure exactly what "these" he was addressing, I answered generally, "That's your chest."

"No Mommy. These." For some reason, he wasn't satisfied with such a general answer. "That's your chest, son." Getting exasperated with my lack of understanding and non-chalant answer, he pointed straight to his nipples and stated very loudly, "NOT THAT! THESE!" I have always tried to shoot straight with my kids, but with some sort of common sense restraint mixed in there. Realizing I couldn't squirm out of this awkward hold in time unless I totally made up something (which I've never been quick enough on the draw to do), I sighed. "They're nipples, but you might not need to say that out loud in public." My warning was void because he didn't even like that word. "That's weird. Do I have to call them that?" Relieved, I elated back, "NO - Sure you don't! You can call them anything you want. A lot of people make up names for their private parts. That's fine!"

Without hesitation, he announced, "I'm gonna call mine Trooches!" What can you say...

But no - the story doesn't end there, my friend. You know how we love to provide our children the opportunity to have a pet in life (or in my opinion, it's generally a good idea)? Well, weeks later, while cruising the isles of a local pet store, my son and daughter spied an ever popular Beta fish. How easy, right? Take it home, give it some food now and then, clean the bowl (on occasion). Got it. So we purchased the little guy and took him home. Once home and settling in with our litte Beta, the inevitable "name game" pursued. After throwing out a couple of cute fishy names, I was once again shocked and awed when my son settled the whole delima by very calmly claiming, "I am calling him Trooch." And that was that - my daughter let out a deep "Trooooooch" and the name stuck.

I can say that, to this day, it is very hard to look at a Beta and not think, "Hey, look at that little nipple swimming around in the bowl."

So, be nice to your Trooch today! Give a Trooch a home! Don't forget to feed your Trooch, etc. etc. And here's hoping that in some language, somewhere in this world, the word "Trooch" is not a negative, offensive thing.

(In the years to follow, from the same place that I am sure the word "Trooch" was plucked, my daughter decided to name a certain anatomical feature "Ladybug". And, thanks to her, I again have a whole new view of a seemingly innocent little creature.

Let's "Makeup"

2010-02-18T12:31:00.003-06:00

Makeup...it's a necessary evil for some of us. While some natural beauties can meander their way through the world with the option of to wear or not to wear, men constantly flocking to their side to admire, the rest of us all but drown in the cosmetic river, trying every flotation device that's on the market to keep us afloat. No, I'm not bitter - I admire natural beauty also, it would just be nice to have the option!

I remember being in 6th grade and my mom letting me put on PINK EYE SHADOW! OMG-as "they" say. (And for those smart-elics out there - no - none of us really know who "they" are! It's that little elusive group we all keep following after we throw Mr. & Mrs. Jones under the bus.)

But, yes! Finally...I could wear makeup! Whether wearing a shade of opaque, sparkly stuff on your eyes that no one even realizes you have on actually qualifies you as an officiado of facepaint, I'm not sure. But you couldn't have told me I wasn't official.

Then came high school and college - WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN CAUGHT DEAD WITHOUT IT. Quit breathing sighs of relief, some of you! Lord knows I imagined the severe chiding I would have gotten, the outcast I would have become, and all the gossip that would have bred had I not worn my mascara. Good grief.

Then marriage - whole 'nother monster there. First impressions have to be kept, right? (For how long - it varies, I guess. Couple to couple. Individual to individual.) Well, for me - it wasn't until I moved to a large city and had just had my second child. I really can't tell you what motivated me to step foot into the fanciest Wal-Mart in all of Mississippi at that moment with two small children and not a shred of makeup on my face, but I brazenly walked where not many a Southern lady had before (not counting those seen on People of Walmart - love it!). Or so I conjured in my mind. I felt like I was walking into church in a nightie with no undies on! OMG, folks, OMG (in my own vocabulary, OMW - Oh My Word)! But, yes, I did it, and that day was seered into my mind forevermore. I know - don't say it. No one noticed and no one cared! WHAT FREEDOM!!

Consequently, from that day forward, one might actually spy me without the subtle shades of man-made goop adorning my mug. Recently, my son (who, bless his heart, is still young and halariously honest) caught me in just such a state. Keep in mind that I had even been at work all day without the stuff. "Momma. Do you have on any makeup?" "Well, no, son. Why?" (Be careful when asking that loaded question to anyone under 30 or over 80!) "I didn't think so." "Well - is that a bad thing!?" "You just look the same."

For a few seconds - horror played the keys of my backbone and hit every nerve from hair tip to toe nail! But I recovered when, in a few seconds, he quickly replied, "What? You look good either way. I just asked!" (Bless him! And may he continue to grow to be a very wise man! He's learning!)

Oh, the sigh of relief that blew out was like the Northern wind. Kids are pretty honest, right...right?

Street verses road? (Or a little country learnin')

2010-02-16T15:46:00.001-06:00

Never really gave this much thought until I moved to what is, for this part of the country, considered "the country". OK folks (yeah - I said folks), I grew up in a small town in Mississippi. The whole state, aside from the Capital and the Coast IS "the country"! No complaints, just stating. Now, when I lived in my small town of a couple thousand people (it has grown), we called it a STREET. You might hear, "I'm going across the street to visit the neighbors", "I live one STREET over from Lucille and Bob," "Be careful going across the STREET," "...go play in the STREET..", etc.

After my move to "the country" about 4 or 5 years ago, I would tell my children to be careful going across the street to their aunt's house, or to play with their cousins (now you know I was in the country). Inevitably, someone would catch me and scold me. Our conversation would go a little like this..."Be careful crossing the street guys." "What!? What did you call that?" "What did I call what?" "You said STREET. That's not a STREET, silly. That's a ROAD!" "Oh, sorry - didn't realize there was such a difference - it has asphalt. I thought a road was made of rock or dirt. Sorry." (And by the way - that was not a smart answer - I honestly thought that was the case.)

So - just a lesson if you decide to visit "the country", please don't confuse your STREETS with ROADS or you may get a gentle scolding as I did. But I will say, some of the nicest people I've ever met have come from...just across the road (or "street" if you live in the city. Don't want to offend my friends there either).

VH1 Best Cruise Ever - Event

2010-02-10T12:45:00.000-06:00

VH1 Best Cruise Ever - Event
Would love to go!!!!

Fun & Boogers at the Dentist!

2010-02-05T15:13:00.006-06:00

Well - I went in to the dentist to have my bi-annual cleaning and the girl that always cleans my teeth started explaining why there was a man outside working. Her explanation went something like this....

"Sorry for all the noise, and if/when a man comes in and out, it's just the plumber we have here working on a problem we've had. Our pipes are stopped up. The plumber just explained to me that we have a big problem and he doesn't think he will be able to "flush it out". He told me there were "feminine products" blocking the pipes. Can you believe it! And of course, I am the one who had to go tell my boss (the dentist). My goodness, if either one of them is married or has been around women, they should know we have that to deal with anyway." (All the while she is picking and scraping and checking my teeth & I am making guttural utterances as best I can in between having spit sucked out of my mouth!) She continues, "...and my goodness there's like 5, 7, 10 girls here sometime! I mean they should understand, right?" Guh Huh...sliieewwwwpppp (my attempt at an answer & spit). "...he asked if I wanted to go see them - well naw! You know, they'll probably start making us throw those in the trash now...can you imagine the smell?!" (Then she and I go into a discussion about feminine products, etc. and their "proper" disposal. THEN....)

Subject change!

She had dropped the suction thingy once onto the floor and had changed it. Hygeine! We continue to talk and she splatters some of the polish in my face with a piece landing in the very edge of my nose - easily gotten out, but I was waiting until she finished the current section of teeth. Well, she reaches down with her glove and flicks it away. Thankful as I was, I started giggling and she started into her explanation of why she flicked something out of my nose. We both started laughing. She said she wouldn't normally do that, but that it was just right there on the edge, not actually IN my nose - no big deal. I said, "Well, that's a good friend right there." Then SHE started giggling. Then she dropped the suctioner AGAIN and said, "Hold on, let me replace that!" Which wouldn't have been such a big deal had she not just shot a gallon of water into my mouth preparing me for a big rinse! She said, "Oh No! I'm out! I'm out of suction tubes! Let me go get another one. Be right back!" All the while I'm trying not to laugh and spit water to the wall! Not to mention trying not to look like I'm hiding a canary in my mouth when the dentist & other people walk by and peer in!! She runs back and replaces it and, well, she tore one of the ends out of her glove. Hygeine, remember? Oh well..."just keep going - I'm not scared if you aren't," I told her.

What does that have to do w/a booger you might ask....

She then proceeded to tell me that she had one patient who told her that he used to use a dentist that didn't use masks while doing dental work. She said that was just not hygienic! He said he agreed, telling her about a time that he had to have some lengthy work done and all the while this dentist dude is sitting above him leaning over with the most atrocious booger just hanging by a hair from his nose. He told her that every time the dentist would breath in and out, the booger would move! He was TERRIFIED the whole time that the booger would, at any moment, leap from the dentist's nose and land in his gaping mouth!! EEEEEWWWWWWW!!!!! Very unhygenic, wouldn't you say?

Needless to say, we both laughed and thanked God for hygiene masks!!! And I rethought where her finger might have been.

Fun times at the dentist!!

Anellen

PS - guess what I saw as I was leaving the dentist's office - a sidewalk full of FEMININE PRODUCTS!!! (Yes, used!)

It's Been a While!

2009-10-23T13:43:00.003-05:00

Well, still enjoying talking to myself! LOL! It's been a while since I last posted so I thought I would check to see how my pathetic little blog spot was doing. It's also been a while since we have seen DRY LAND! What is the deal with all the rain - I know God knows what he's doing, but boating to my car every morning is getting a little rediculous. Glad to see He's still holding to that promise though with the rainbow and all.
Trying to raise kiddos in this world is an incredible challenge! Would anyone dispute that? Dare you! I have been threatening my children with the phrase, "I do NOT want you two to be "NORMAL". Bless their hearts - they don't have a chance!! Seriously - the threat is issued when they argue incesantly and I can't "fix" it. Because, yes, as a mom, it is my job to "fix" things! When I can't "fix" this situation I resort to the guilt thing of "this is your sister - this is your brother - you are all you have - you need to take care of each other and not have many regrets! Then I also follow up with, "...even if all the other "normal" brother and sister relationships out there are constantly arguing and fighting - you aren't! You will NOT be a "normal" brother or sister!"
Poor things - will someone pray for them now!
Of course, I always try to explain what I mean, but as the crickets start chirpping and the glaze comes into their eyes, I give up!
If you have any advice - or funny anecdotes - PLEASE SHARE THEM SO I WILL KNOW IF MY KIDS ARE NORMAL!!!
Till the next blog (I think I just heard a cricket!),
Anellen

HELLO

2009-09-15T14:38:00.002-05:00

Not sure what I'm doing here, but have been hiding away with my two kiddos all week last week and forgot that there is a world outside fever reducers, thermometers, cold, wet washcloths, fluids and Gilmore Girl reruns (to which I am now addicted!). But it could be much worse - I realize. Reality check was finding out that a family member has Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Not sure what stage or anything - put praying that he will be restored to full health and that he can begin a plan of action soon that will be as less evasive as possible.

Is everyone out there having a good week? Hope so! Here's to a great week and more talking to myself! UNLESS SOMEONE OUT THERE WOULD LIKE TO SAY HELLO!!!!

Journey Begins!

2009-09-03T10:43:00.000-05:00

OK! So I'm just learning to blog - don't be surprised. Can you say - beginning a new journey? My life has taken an unexpected turn and I want to hear from others who may be on the same trek. I would love to hear where your life is at this moment in time. Is it great? Super. Does it lack something? What? Just want to blog - great - I love to listen and am tired of staying in my locked away world with limited communication.

Want to know where my journey has led me? No big deal. In fact, just a simple story that most of you have yourself, but if there's anyone who would just like to correspond - great! Write!
I'll be waiting.

Thanks,
Anellen