Seeing the New Year in Clearly

I guess you've all heard my complaints that once you reach sixty and get to the top of the hill it's all downhill from there. I'm going to start calling Mac Speed Racer if he doesn't knock it off! He's been complaining lately about not being able to see all those little minute connections that put together the computer motherboards and the rest of that super highway to the Internet. You know, he builds them. The one I've used for the past year is a Mac...as in made by, not as in Macintosh. It's held up beautifully and I refuse to let him "tweak" it. As it turns out, that's probably the best decision I've made for myself in years. After all, you must be able to see to tweak.

Last week after hearing the umpteenth complaint about how he's just falling apart, can't see and half the time can't hear (like all men he has selective hearing) on the portable phone, I came to a decision. First, I called and made him an appointment at the Optometrists. That appointment was carried out last Wednesday. The news was not good. In fact the news was disturbing to me and I found I couldn't concentrate enough to come in and post anything new. I couldn't make myself want to decorate anything other than the tree. Not only did she find two cataracts that were giving him major problems, there was a suspicion of macular degeneration. I knew that the cataract problem was (generally) easily reversible, but not the other. I knew that macular degeneration could rob him of his sight permanently. He is too young for that.

He is so blamed stubborn about things that I could see the situation unfolding like this. I'd be on the phone to both Good and Evil Sister arranging a kidnapping to get him to the Opthomologist if he needed the kind of treatments for the Macular Degeneration that I've heard about. I'm not saying he's a chicken (who's doing that clucking?) but he doesn't like anything to do with needles and the like. If I told you the lengths I had to go to to get him to have the quad bypass surgery done in March 1999 you wouldn't believe me. No, you really wouldn't. So, I've been understandably nervous all week. Well, the appointment with the Eye Surgeon was today. They took Mac to the back, alone. I sat in the waiting room with my new Ann Rule book and couldn't concentrate on one word. I read the same page three times before I gave it up. In a bit, the nurse came back and got me and took me to the room where Mac was waiting.

He told me he'd watched a video on cataracts and the procedure to remove them. He didn't appear to be ready to run, so I sat back and relaxed. We were laughing like hyena's (laughter being the best medicine) when Doctor Seltzer entered the exam room. Mac's eyes had been dilated (he looked like Kermit the Frog, that's how I knew) and Dr. Seltzer explained a bit about what he was going to be looking for. He asked Mac if he knew anything about Macular Degeneration. Mac told him he didn't, and Dr. Seltzer told him they'd cross that bridge when they got to it. He began the exam.

A few minutes later, we got the good news. There was no Macular Degeneration, but there was a small problem with the Iris that wasn't really to bad at this point (in one eye). But he did have cataracts in both eyes, the one in the left eye being the most pronounced. " And that's the one that has to go first, " Dr. Seltzer said, very matter of factly. He explained that the procedure would take less than six minutes, how it was done and that he would like to do the other one two to three weeks after the first. I sat there with my mouth hanging open as Mac agreed to get the surgery. On December 28th. This year. He rarely surprises me anymore. This time he left me flabbergasted. After all, I had heard the same horror stories from his father about his surgery that Mac had. They were not pretty. They were not conducive to decision making after the hearing of them.

We made the arrangements for the blood work, seeing Dr. Moyd for the pre-surgery exam on Monday, and took the prescription for the drops he'd need and I was still in shock. He was agreeable to having it done. He wasn't making those clucking noises I'm so used to hearing when it comes to major surgery. Okay, so it's not really clucking, it's more like hemming and hawing, but still. So as of 2010, Mac will be seeing clearly for the first time in a long time. That's not to say I'm not hiding truck keys and suitcases...I still don't trust this "I'm going along with everything you say" man. I've lived with him since October of 1968. I've learned his ways. So the surgery will be done. And I've already warned him what is going to happen if he looks at me and says, "damn baby, when did you get old?"

The Christmas Gift...A Mama story

I made a needed trip to the Grocers yesterday and like a lot of times ran into people I knew or who knew me. I was looking at a particularly nice standing rib roast when I heard a young voice say "someones looking at you." I glanced up to see if I was being spoken to, but saw a teen aged girl looking at my walking stick, which rested in the buggy. She was looking at the face of the Old North Wind which had been lovingly carved into the hickory wood that formed the cane. She was talking to her mother. "Isn't that beautiful, though, " her mother said. I explained that the stick had been a gift from me to my mother Christmas 1999 and that a friend, Pete Barfield, had hand carved it for me. She looked at me and asked, "was your mother's name Grace? I mean, you look so much like a lady I loved named Grace that you just have to be related. " The woman in front of me was about ten years younger than me and I wondered if I should know her. "Why yes, her name was Grace. Do we know each other?" She told me her name and how much she had loved Mama and it all came back to me in one fell swoop. I could feel Mama standing there, nodding and shining as the story unfolded once more in my mind.

I was just fifteen when my Dad was offered the Ruby Clinic. He and my mother had made a decision to leave Washington (DC) and start up a private practice in her home county. Big hospitals and big cities had been our lives for so long, but we children had spent most summers with our Grandparents, so we were not strangers to small town life in any way. We looked forward to being with family year round and excitement filled the house. The feat was accomplished, and we moved into a big old barn of a house that was next door to the school we younger girls would attend. Mama and Daddy worked at getting the clinic furnished with needed supplies and furniture, too. There was an x-ray machine to be had, a surgical suite to be taken care of and three hospital beds for the overnight visits of new mothers and babies. Daddy, being a GP, did it all. This was in the day when bills were sometimes paid by the bushel or the brace, not always money. Anyone who thought we were rich couldn't have been more wrong.

I would sometimes be allowed to help out in the Clinic after school. I often met the patients and knew most of them by name. There was one particularly sweet lady with a little three year I'll call Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Smith and her husband had been married for ten years when little Giselle was born. She always called her the Miracle Baby. One day in our first summer of living in Ruby, Mama had come home from the clinic very distressed. I remember she went to her room and stayed for awhile. When she came out her eyes were red and swollen. The housekeeper asked Mama if everything was alright. She shook her head, and said no, that one of the patients had cancer and that the news had been so overwhelming to them all that she just had to come home for a bit. Daddy came in for lunch a bit after that. We could tell that he had been crying, too.

For the longest time, we had no idea that Mrs. Smith was the patient. Even in those days, privacy was uppermost in their minds. It was early in December and I had stopped in at the Clinic before going home to do homework. Mrs. Smith was in the lobby and had baby Giselle with her. I noticed that Mrs. Smith had a toboggan pulled down over her head where once long thick dark blond hair had shone. Giselle was dancing around, laughing and playing. Mrs. Smith, her face looking tired and drawn, asked me if I minded watching her while she went in to see Daddy. I assured her I would watch over her and told her not to worry. She petted my hand, smiled and went back to the exam room with my mother.

That night I went into Mama's room to ask her a question. She was in the closet, pulling down the wig box that rested on the top shelf. I have no idea why Mama had wanted that wig when she bought it in the early 60's. It was human hair and styled in a pageboy. It had cost the earth and Daddy complained bitterly when he had discovered the purchase. Eventually he forgave her the purchase indiscretion and the matter was never brought up again. But Mama loved that wig and looked beautiful wearing it, though she didn't wear it that often. Now, the box sat on her bed, she held the wig in her hands and she was calling her beautician. "Bernice, I need a big favor of you. I need my wig washed and styled tomorrow if you can fit it in. I need it by 3 o'clock." Bernice assured her that she could do it and the matter settled, she hung up and turned to me. Her face glowed. For some reason I felt like crying. I knew that Mama was not getting that wig washed and styled for a party. But whatever she was having it done for, it had made her look happier than I remember seeing her in years.

The next afternoon, just before three, I went by the Clinic and there was Mrs. Smith and baby Giselle and so was Ms. Bernice. I spoke to them, Mama told me to watch the baby and Mrs. Smith and Bernice went to the back with Mama.

Mrs. Smith came down the hall, walked into the lobby and looked as near like any treetop Angel as I have ever seen. She had makeup on and a pale lipstick and if I hadn't known it was Mama's wig on her head, I would have thought it was her own hair. The smile on her face lit the room. The door opened, and Mr. Smith came in. Mama had called him to tell him to come drive Mrs. Smith home, because her ride had to leave suddenly. When he saw his beloved wife, the look on his face was beyond description. They left, he carrying little Giselle and holding Mrs. Smith's hand tightly in his. Mama later told me that after the chemo, Mrs. Smith lost her hair and had not been to Church since. She was ashamed at how she looked and frankly didn't want to answer a lot questions. Mama said that she felt her Church family was going to be very important to her in the coming months and she didn't want her to have an excuse not to lean on them.

Mama wasn't perfect, and I don't want anyone to get the impression that I thought she was. We had arguments that could have started off any world war, we had periods of separation when pride on both sides would not give in to forgiveness. But she had a way with people, of reading them and knowing what they needed. If it was in her power to provide that need, she'd move heaven and earth to do it. If at times her own family suffered from her generosity, well she'd make it up to us some other way, some other time. Mrs. Smith died in early Spring. But her last months were not lonely ones, I'm told. No one ever let on that they knew she was wearing a wig. It was the most special Christmas gift that Mama had ever given anyone. It wasn't because of the cost of the wig, but the value of it to the giver. I don't think a recipient of a gift was ever as grateful or expressive as Mrs Smith was, either. I know that at this time of year, I miss Mama most. She loved Christmas. And Mrs. Smith's little Giselle misses her Mama this time of year, too. She told me so yesterday, standing in front of the rib roasts.

December 1st....and so it ends...

I came out of my turkey coma and discovered it is already December 1st. Before we know it, 2009 will have come and gone. Just as I began to remember the correct year to jot down on checks and other things, soon I'll have to start over again but with a different year. It seems unfair somehow, that the days get shorter just as the year comes to an inglorious end.

Thanksgiving was such a success and the leftovers were at a minimum. A pinch of turkey and a smidgen of ham. But there were pies to put in sharing tins to go home with the kids. Poor Mac was only able to keep half of one of the pecan pies and only because he hid it. I tried to tell him I could make another.

No one went to the movies, except in my own living room, where we watched Star Trek 2009 (I loved it) and UP (I adored it!) . So if I take off for Disney World, I suspect I'll have to take the whole family along. It was a wonderful day and one that I will remember for years to come. It was the first time the entire family was together for Thanksgiving in ten years. It meant the world to me.
Hope your Thanksgiving was as wonderful as mine! Yes, this is this years tree. 8 feet of decorating hell went on, and I've still to tackle the rest of the house. Or the yard. I may leave it all up through January.

The Thanksgiving Post: Thankfuls 22, 23, 24 and 25th...complete with Mea Culpas

How do I begin? I've been AWOL for four days. I could beg that I 've been cooking. I have. I could plead I've been baking. Check. I could complain that house work overwhelms me (especially the washing up of pans). Ahem. Yes. But I could have stopped in each day and done a short post on what I was thankful for that day. Sunday I was thankful for drop in guests. I love drop in guests, especially those that say yes when I ask if they're hungry. I love that friends enjoy my cooking (the Black Bean Soup was a hit with both Sam and Tara but young Alex preferred a strawberry jam and mayonnaise sandwich. Yes, that's what I said too.

Monday I completed the Pecan (we pronounce this pa-Cahn as Mac's Mama always told us a pee-can was something kept under the bed) pies. It is not Thanksgiving without them. 2 of them. Then, I had the unexpected honor or Arianna's company. Our Granddaughter is welcome to move in should she like, so sorry...I was enjoying her and couldn't get over here to say so. Ditto Tuesday. Tuesday Arianna made brownies. By herself. More goodies for the Thanksgiving feast. But for the two she and her Grandpa sampled. She loved the Guinea fowl (which are owned by Tara and Sam). She took photos with her camera phone to send home. I was ever so thankful for her company on Monday and Tuesday.

Wednesday came all to soon. Today at 2 pm I took the young miss to meet her Mom the other side of Hartsville. Tonight I made the Lemon Chiffon Pie. It resides in the fridge awaiting a cold sharp knife tomorrow. I have the roaster out and ready for the Tom Turkey to take up residence. The cornbread is nice and stale and ready for the treatment of onions, celery, eggs and sage. I can't wait.

Tomorrow the family will tumble in and ohh and ahh over all the delectable goodies there are to eat from the Tom Turkey and honey roasted ham down to the last smidgen of dessert. I will be so ready to sit back and relax, that Thankful does not begin to describe it.

Note to children, particularly the parents of Arianna: I have been slaving away on this meal for the past week and a half. No one, and I do mean NO ONE will rear up from the table and announce that they are going to the movies. If that happens, I am canceling Christmas Dinner and going to Disney World. Without you.

The Thanksgiving Post 21: Our Military

As most of you know, my darling Mac is retired from the United States Navy. He spent thirty years doing what his heart told him was right. Right for us, right for you and right for the world. Men and women who choose the obligation of the Service as either career men and women or short term for the rigors of war rarely get the recognition they deserve. They blend into the background doing their job and saying little about the horrors of it. Thursday is Thanksgiving. Thousands and thousands of our people will not be home for the day. They will be doing their job. My grateful post is to them, men and women, to their families and I pray that next year they will all be home in the warmth of their families love. Today, I have a guest. I don't know whether he wrote the poem I am about to share with you or not, but he has asked that I share it with you.

I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.

The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,

Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.

Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Chris tmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..

To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.

No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."

" So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."


LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 20: Friday's Child

Well, I'm a bit early with my post today, thankfully. All the house work is accomplished and since cereal was the meal of the morning there wasn't a lot of washing up to attend to. As to my thankful post this morning, it's all to do with children and traditions. Now, Mary (a very dear friend from England who regrettably does little blogging these days) asked me to put a line in about why Thanksgiving and why November. Being that everyone knows I'm long winded, I thought I'd tell her a little bit of what I know about this tradition. Here goes...I'm sure that corrections will be along if I make any mistakes...and if I get too long winded,well just skip down to the end where I share little Noah with my readers...(taking a deep breath) here goes:
Thanksgiving is America's preeminent day. It is when we usher in the Christmas season. It is celebrated every year on the fourth Thursday in the month of November. It has a very interesting history. Its origin can be traced back to the 16th century when the first thanksgiving dinner is said to have taken place.

Journey of Pilgrims
The legendary pilgrims, crossed the Atlantic in the year 1620 in the Mayflower-A 17th Century sailing vessel. About 102 people traveled for nearly two months with extreme difficulty. This was so because they were kept in the cargo space of the sailing vessel. No one was allowed to go on the deck due to terrible storms. The pilgrims comforted themselves by singing Psalms- a sacred song. Nearly every American would love to lay claim to being a descendant of one of the Mayflower passengers. As far as I know, there were no passports given out, but we do know quite a few of their names. As far as I know, none of the Douglas Clan was aboard.

Arrival in Plymouth
The pilgrims reached Plymouth rock on December 11th 1620, after a sea journey of 66 days. I don't think they had an outboard engine, only wind power. Wind power being what it is though , they could not reach the place owing to winds blowing them off course. The original destination was somewhere in the northern part of Virginia. I believe a man was in charge of asking directions, and so there you go. Nearly 46 pilgrims died due to extreme cold in winter. (I take it that the 46th passenger had a close call, but someone poured warm grog down his throat just in the nick of time.) However, in the spring of 1621, Squanto, a native Indian taught the pilgrims to survive by growing food. According to my grandfather, they used fish for fertilizer...but probably only the entrails unless they didn't particularly like the taste of fish. Daddy Dwight (my grandfather) had a love for fish and fishing and would throw entrails, heads and scales into the compost to make great fertilizer. He wouldn't think of wasting the edible parts on plant rows.

Day of Fasting and Prayer
In the summer of 1621, owing to severe drought, pilgrims called for a day of fasting and prayer to please God and ask for a bountiful harvest in the coming season. God answered their prayers and it rained at the end of the day. It saved the corn crops. We still do that to this day. But first we always ask God why he lets us get into these messes...Mammy (my Grandmother) always said He was just trying to get our attention and that maybe if we didn't leave Him out of our daily life, who knew what might be gifted to us! I tend to agree with her. She was infrequently wrong about anything.

First Thanksgiving Feast
It is said that Pilgrims learnt to grow corn, beans and pumpkins from the Indians, which helped all of them survive . In the autumn of 1621, they held a grand celebration where 90 people were invited including Indians. (Okay okay, Native Americans...can't seem to get the fact that they hadn't actually landed in India out of my head. ) The grand feast was organized to thank God for his favors. This communal dinner is popularly known as “The first thanksgiving feast”. There is however, no evidence to prove if the dinner actually took place. It is sort of a "word of mouth" story that came down parent to child...like a game of Gossip...some historians believe that the pilgrims, being quite religious, would definitely have a day of fasting and praying before a huge feast. Whether or not the dinner actually took place is any body's guess. The Colony Leader who supposedly wrote about it could have been dreaming, brought on by extreme hunger.


Turkey and First Thanksgiving Feast
There is no evidence to prove if the customary turkey was a part of the initial feast. According to the first hand account written by the leader of the colony, the food included, ducks, geese, venison, fish, berries etc. But the table without a turkey on it, is a poor table to be sure. Never having a taste for goose or duck, I'd as soon put nothing on the table than go without the traditional turkey. I've never been one to buck tradition. So no venison on the table either...perhaps at the table...some one please pass Bambi some cranberries.

Pumpkin and Thanksgiving Feast
Pumpkin pie, a modern staple adorning every dinner table, is unlikely to have been a part of the first thanksgiving feast. Pilgrims however, did have boiled pumpkin. (Picture me gagging here). Diminishing supplies of flour led to the absence of any kind of bread. Sort of begs the question, did the pilgrims break bread with Squanto and his tribe? So, no cakes or pies. Bummer.

The feast continued for three days and was eaten outside due to lack of space. It was not repeated till 1623, which again witnessed a severe drought. People will just not learn. Don't wait till you're in drastic need and then start begging God to save your belly! Governor Bradford proclaimed another day of thanksgiving in the year 1676. October of 1777 witnessed a time when all the 13 colonies joined in a communal celebration. It also marked the victory over the British. (Sorry Mary, but someone had to say it...Thanksgiving is really just another razzberry to the King...)

After a number of events and changes, President Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday in November as a Day of Thanksgiving in the year 1863. This was due to the continuous efforts of Sarah Josepha Hale, a magazine editor. She wrote a number of articles for the cause. Of course it had to be a woman leading the way...because that's what we do. We whisper in men's ears at night when they are sleeping, and when they awaken they have this great idea that they came up with all on their own. (Big sigh here...) So, Mary this is why we have Thanksgiving. We needed a day where we could do the cooking and prop children up in front of the TV to watch the parades and the ginormous balloons floating across the skyscapes of New York, Philadelphia, Charlotte, Los Angeles...well, all over America really. But the actual bonus to the women is simple. We can get rid of men when the parades are over by turning on the TV to ESPN, where hours and hours of mind numbing game play keeps their attention on the tube and off the fact that we are about to spend three days shopping like maniacs. I hope that clears things up for you Mary (and anyone else who needs the scoop on Thanksgiving.)

Now, I'm sure everyone remembers the sweet poem that we were told as children. It is actually entitled Monday's Child, but I always remember it as Friday's Child. Just contrary that way. Plus I was born on a Friday. Ahem...here goes:

Fridays child poem

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

I have a particular child in mind today. His name is Noah Biorkman and his address is
1141 Fountain View Circle

South Lyon, MI 48178

This young man is in last stage cancer and is celebrating Christmas early. He wants Christmas cards. I have mine to Noah already addressed and ready to mail. I learned of Noah through my friend Queenmothermamaw's post yesterday. She highlighted Karrie , one of her followers. It was through Karrie that the story of Noah emerged. Go see.
http://stayathomemommyaz.blogspot.com
http://queenmothermamaw.blogspot.com

EDIT ALERT:..this information about Noah is apparently outdated. One day I will learn to check my information no matter where it comes from. Snopes is my friend will be my mantra. But still, go visit both my blogging friends.

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 19: Thankful for Miranda

The month is winding down now. We're more than half way through November and Thanksgiving is only a week away. I'll start baking pies (pumpkin and lemon meringue ) and cakes ( Angel Food and Devils Food) this weekend so that my oven can be free for the turkey that will need a couple of hours to roast. The sweets will reside in the pantry deep undercover and hidden from a certain Sailor's sight...(he's been known to devour a Lemon Meringue in one sitting.) On the big day, while the turkey "rests" from its roasting, my cornbread dressing will bake. I will bake the cornbread on Saturday, so it can be properly "stale" for the event. The cranberry sauce will chill in the fridge and the yams will be waiting their turn in the oven. The green bean casserole will jockey for position with the succotash. Mac will have his longed for beets and and the meal that will have taken me all week to prepare, will be demolished in a little under thirty minutes. And for the DILS and granddaughter that will put dishes in the dishwasher, leftovers in the fridge, or bag up to take home, (thus leaving me to put my feet up) I will be very very grateful.

As for today, I'm grateful for a decent hair cut. Thank you Miranda darlin'.

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 18: The Cats have their Say

I call them the Three Stooges...Larry Moe and Curly...Cher is Larry, Hound is Moe and Sonny, a natural born clown, is most definitely Curly. Hound (that's her on the left) is the boss. Cher is the follower (she's in the middle) and of course we all know Sonny. Sonny is the one who wakes us up each morning, and then demands to "make the bed" no later than 8 am. He loves to "help" by going under the sheets and pulling on the quilt then jumping up and down from the head board to the middle. It is the only household chore that makes me glad. These three guys play their hearts out all day and half the night. I once read that cats sleep 18 hours a day. Exactly which 18 hours I haven't been able to put my finger on. But play they will and play they demand.

What they are most grateful for is that they have a loving home and did not end up in the animal shelter. Such a misnomer that is, it's not much of a shelter and more often a death sentence. They are thankful for the electronic mouse with laser light nose. Sonny knows that when you pick it up chase time is about to start. He will look at you, with the mouse in your hand, and the butt starts moving back and forth, ready for action. The game goes on for several minutes, with the three of them fighting for control of the light on the floor. We play it so often that we purchased replacement batteries on e-bay so we didn't break the bank replacing them at WalMart.

They are thankful (especially Hound) for the dust mop. She has jumped on and ridden the dust mop since she was about six weeks old. Hound is the one we found abandoned even before her eyes were opened. I am the only mother she has ever known. Mac, who swears she is insane, says he knows now why she was left on her own. Insane or not, as long as you keep her nails trimmed, it doesn't hurt all that much when she runs up your back to sit on your shoulder. We really should have named her Polly.

Cher, who older son Wallace calls Psycho Kitty, has little oddities of her own. She only wants to be petted on her own terms. She may climb in your lap for affection, but you can never pick her up and place her in your lap. She makes you very grateful when she jumps down if you make the mistake of picking her up. You may reach down and stroke her but make no mistake, if you don't hear a purr, your attention is not appreciated. But back to their Thankful list. Tonight is Wednesday. They eat dry food six days a week. But on Wednesday night, promptly at five, they get tuna. Not cat food tuna, but real honest to gosh Chicken of the Sea tuna. It is mixed in with the dry and makes it taste ever so flavorful (or so they tell me) and they have reached the stage that they know when Wednesday comes. Or else why is it that they meet me in the pantry every Wednesday at 5 pm? For being able to spoil them all a little bit, I can't help but say, God I am truly thankful!

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 17: All these New Conveniences Part 3

Every morning when I wake up, I lie in bed for a few minutes planning my day. I decide what major chore will take up the best part of the day, and what small things I can get accomplished simultaneously. I can remember my mother saying (in a rather sing songy way) "man must work from sun to sun, but a woman's work is never done." I never knew the truth of that statement until I was actually running a home of my own. I figured when I was in school that homework took up the majority of time, but I loved school and homework was no biggy. The last thing my mother always did was put in a load of laundry and while it washed the clothes, she washed the kitchen floor. Laundry always seemed to be the one job that we all disliked the most. For the life of me, I can't figure out why. But this is the same routine I follow and always have.

Now, Mama had a nice washer and dryer, a front loader both. Once when complaints about doing laundry were heard, she took us to visit our Aunt Florence Sellers on the Monday Wash Day and dropped us off. We loved Aunt Florence and Uncle May (not a typo, so no red pencils please) so visiting them was pure joy to us. Uncle May had a good sized bamboo field across from the house (they made the greatest fishing poles) and we liked to run thru the bamboo field, swinging the big stalks to the ground. If it was work, we didn't know it. But on this day, Aunt Florence was on the back porch, the big old wringer washing machine agitating the first load of clothes. She had a big tub on the bench next to the washer, and in it were white shirts soaking in a bleach solution. The scrub board lay next to the tub. We watched as the water was pumped out of the basin of the tub and she grabbed big water heavy work pants and fed them through the wringer to get as much of the water out as possible. This was time consuming back breaking work. Of course it beat taking the clothes down to the river to wash, but not by much. I am so thankful for my nice modern washer and dryer every single time I go back and revisit the memory of washing clothes with Aunt Florence.

This day, and I was probably about six years old, she asked me if I wanted to help. Of course I did. I was always game to try anything she might suggest. Climbing up on the bench so I could bend over and reach into the basin, I picked up a comparatively light article of clothing (I think it was a pair of her ginormous step- ins) and while trying to feed the cloth into the "mangle", promptly got my arm, (step-ins and all,) caught in the wringer. There was much wailing and screeching going on (and that was just Aunt Florence) and then Uncle May came running out on the porch. He reached over and unplugged the washer and disconnected the wringer somehow (he'd done that before. I could tell by the swift way he got me loose from the thing). I sat in his lap while he petted and prodded the arm and told me that it was going to be okay. Aunt Florence told me I was making a big thing out of it, but I could tell it had scared her, too. After all, my mother had left me in her care with two perfectly good arms and legs, it wouldn't do to return me any less perfect that I had arrived.

Oddly enough, when I'm telling this, I can see them both so clearly and even hear their voices, that funny little hitch in Uncle May's laughter, that high pitched voice of Aunt Florence's. The only other time that happens is when I think about the time Uncle May's mule kicked me. But that's another story all together, and I'll tell it another day.

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 16: What makes me happy and thankful today

What makes me happy and thankful today? Most (99%) of my readers make me happy. They read what I have to say and add to my memories with memories of their own. You are always fun and cheerful or if you're not well you tell me and ask for prayer. Rarely are you critical of what I have to say. But since they are my memories, I don't know why anyone would feel the need to criticize them anyway. I have one reader who bothers me. I have yet to read a comment from him that was not hateful and frankly disturbing. One post the other day had a comment on it that was so graphically violent that I worried about my ten year old Granddaughter reading it. I deleted it as soon as I found it and hoped that would be the end of it. Today's comment on Post 15, while not violent, was equally hateful. Again, I removed it from my blog. I am not going to be forced into changing my way of posting. I shouldn't have to. So, today I am thankful for the delete button. It will be used as often as I need to take advantage of its powers. If it says "comment removed by a blog administrator" then you know that I am being so very very thankful at the express moment my finger hits the delete key!

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 15: All these new contraptions Part 2

It seems that something new comes along every five minutes. Have you noticed that as soon as you get your computer humming, along comes a new program that makes what you're using totally obsolete? Nothing maddens Mac more than that. When he bought me my new laptop, it came with a certificate for the new Windows 7...we've come to expect these changes, often putting off a purchase til the "new edition" has the bugs worked out of it.

What I am most thankful for today has to do with cooking. I can remember my grandmother's big electric range that took up a good part of the kitchen. But sitting squat and black in a corner was the little Franklin stove, the one that had the fire laid in it every night before bed, so that all it needed was a match when her feet hit the floor. The Franklin stove heated the kitchen, cooked the grits and warmed the chilled little bodies that dressed before it, getting ready to catch the school bus. The electric range made the biscuits and cooked the roast, fried the chicken, baked the cakes and transformed little rounds of sweet dough into cookies that melted in your mouth.

Then, along came this young upstart, the Microwave. Everyone raved about it, what a marvelous invention it was, how it was transforming kitchens the world over. Microwave cook books came out with tips on how to use this marvelous new invention so that your bread didn't need an icepick to break it apart for eating. Thing is, I never figured out how to cook one darned thing in one that tasted nearly as good as what I cooked on my electric range...or the wonderful Aga gas range that I had when we lived in England. But you know, sometimes I want a cup of tea faster than the range can do it, at times like that I'm thankful for my darling little microwave...but for the life of me, I can't figure out any other useful purpose for it! One day it's going to make a wonderful little planter.

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 14: All the new conveniences...day 1

So here we are, in the near middle of the Thanksgiving Challenge thrown by Leah at Southbreeze Farm. I was wondering last night what I was going to post about when a call from Good Sister answered my question. After a few minutes of general "whatcha doing" conversation, before we rang off, she asked what we were going to watch on TV tonight. I replied that with so many channels to choose from I'd just do a little surfing till something caught my fancy.

And there in lies a post.

When I was growing up we had only a few of the wonderful appliances in our home that we have now. We had an electric range, a refrigerator, a TV and radio. My parents had a stereo which we were under no circumstances ever to touch. EVER. My dad had three remote controls, their names were Holly, Sandi and Toni. Sometimes he conveniently combined our three names to Holsanton to make sure he got at least one little body to change the channel of the TV we could only watch one hour a day. We were also in the era of rabbit ears, and sometimes just the touch of our fingers on that contraption would make the picture come in clearer and if it was a news item, we had to stand there for a while so that all the news he wanted to hear could be seen, as well. Now, these days I have satellite, both TV and radio. If we lose picture on account of clouds, never mind, I have tivo'd 80 hours of entertainment in that event and we will never do without moving pictures on the screen. And I don't have to have Arianna stand with one hand on a rabbit ear, the other pointed out sharply north east to ensure a perfectly crisp image. What a world. What a life. So, today I am thankful for my dish...how did we ever get along without it? Funny though, last night we had to watch a movie on the DVD player because of all the 359 channels Dish offers at the lowly price of $()&.00 a month, nothing was on.

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 13: Tapestries

This morning I'm thinking about family. Not just close by wrap your arms around family, but family long gone, but never forgotten. Once I was the fifth generation in the photo shoot of Great-Great Grand, Great Grand, Grand, Parent and child...now suddenly I've jumped to second spot coming just after father, then me, then Michael and Wallace, now Arianna. Family has always been a strong contender in affections and I've learned so much from my forebears. Quilting I learned about from a Great-Grandmother and Grandmother, Great Aunts and Mother...I can see the big purple and narrow pink and white striped quilt that they were working on the morning my older sister pushed me off the porch, opening a gash in my head that required clamps to close. They wrapped me in that not quite completed quilt to rush me off to Dr. Newsome's, he of the "do you want the apple or the nickel" fame. (The correct answer being the apple, then he'd give you both!) They didn't bother to take the pins out, either. Just wrapped and rolled and off we went. I have to say that the stinging little pains in arms and legs took my mind off the blood pouring down my face. My Great Grandmother, Little Granny Merriman, stern faced and knotted hair on the nape of her neck was yelling down the steps, "you didn't take the pins out, you're gonna kill that child! Try not to put her eye out!"

I used to love to watch my Grandmother roll her own cigarettes. She would open a can of Prince Albert, hold the paper deftly between two fingers, fill the channel with tobacco, lick one side and quickly close it around the sweet smelling blend, making a cylinder to hold the match to. Okay, I know it is a nasty habit, but back then no one knew how dangerous it could be , but to watch Mammy accomplish such a feat of magic...well, I was suitably impressed. Such dexterity of the fingers and hands she passed onto us that cats cradles and yoyoing came naturally. It's no wonder that stringing green tobacco onto sticks came so easily to us.

My Mother was a chef, pure and simple. There was nothing simple about her cooking and yet she made it look so easy that you wanted to try preparing every dish she ever mastered. Paula Deen and Julia Child had nothing on Mama. She could take the toughest of meats and give it the consistency of Fillet Mignon...and she could create Pavlova to rival the original. We all wanted to cook like her...sometimes we succeed. But not all her secrets were passed onto us. Most of the magic was in her soul and she took that with her when she left us.

Our families are a work of tapestry that can never be recreated. Each tapestry is unique to you, the added thread work that moves down the pattern will continue the thread of life that we are ever thankful for. So, for today I am most thankful for the Tapestry that is my family, with all its knots and silks...all it's mistakes and corrections. I thank them for the never completed work, that stitching that goes on and on into forever.

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 12: Rain Barrel Wealth

When I woke up this morning the sweet sound of rain was filling the room with comfort. No thunder, no lightening, very little wind...just the raindrops beating down on the roof and rolling off through the gutters to the rain barrels. It is absolutely amazing how much water can be collected from just a short rainfall. I remember hearing my mother talking about using rain water to rinse her hair. This was of course before conditioners in every fruit and flower known to man was on the shelves of even grocery stores. You know, lavender and chamomile, mango and blueberry...some of the descriptions of these conditioners could be mistaken for an entree at dinner, or a dessert.

We have our rain barrels set up to catch the water to tend to plants. Any water we save now will be used all winter long as needed so that we don't have to hook up hoses. I have been known to awaken in the middle of the night wondering if I disconnected a hose. Why worry? Well, in the event of a freeze, you run the risk of broken pipes if the hose isn't curled happily on the ground. And yes, I've actually gotten up in the middle of the night to make sure. I stood on the porch this morning and peered down towards where the barrels are and saw that water is up to the tops of both of them. We're set for a while. I'm so thankful that my mother showed us how to set up a rain barrel system. It has saved us countless dollars over the years. And since it's rainwater, the plants are not shocked by chlorine or other chemicals and what we call organic, is truly organic. I'm sure the rain will be gone by nightfall, but in the meantime, I intend to enjoy the blessings that it is bringing. I think I may curl up with a good book later...or a game of Scrabble. In the mean time, I'm just thankful that the rain barrels are doing their job.

In honor of Veterans Day, I hope you will read this beautiful poem which so eloquently points out just what our Veterans have done for us to protect our freedoms.

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 11: Rain Rain Stay and Play, even to another day!

I'm a bit late today. This morning we had to get up early and go to Hartsville. After we got home, I headed for BiLo's where I spent a lovely hour grocery shopping . Before I began my shop, the rain held me in the truck for a bit. I didn't mind at all as curtains of rain fell around me. You see, we are back in a severe drought here and so this remnant of a fall Hurricane has been good for us. I heard someone on the news today say that they were used to the summer hurricanes which brought heat and mugginess. I wonder if there is less damage when the storm comes in November. We are due two more full days of rain and about 4-6 inches of liquid gold. The trees need this soaking more than anything. We've had so little rain that their roots tend to turn loose of the soil and fall over. We carry buckets of water to our young fruit trees weekly, but the big oak trees, maples and cedars are needing what God provides, not what little we can do.

After Hurricane Hugo ( September, 1989) which was a disaster for all of South Carolina and most of North Carolina, we tend not to say such things as "we need a good hurricane to bring us rain." At least not where anyone can hear us. For the most part, there is no such thing as a "good" hurricane. For the other part we don't want people glaring at us and wishing us ill. Earlier this afternoon as I sat in my pretty red truck and waited for the rain to slack off, I said a prayer of thanks for all of Chesterfield County and hopeful that any flooding is light and non damaging. But God, how we needed that rain. How thankful we are to receive it!
http://bunnyawards.blogspot.com/2009/11/pearl-of-giveaway.html
will take you to a pearl of a giveway from my pal, Debra...please go by and check in!