Memorial Day

It was May 5th in the year 1868 and by the ruling General Order 11 (General John Logan pictured above) Decoration Day was instituted to honor the fallen dead of a recent war. In the South it goes by many names, but Mama always called the Civil War "the Late Great Unpleasantness". It didn't change anything in her mind about the validity of the war (and BTW the war she missed by about 50 years) but the concept of brother fighting brother was unpleasant, you see. Southern women had begun to lay flowers and ribbons, nosegays and scraps of paper with words of love on the graves of their fallen loves. Husbands, brothers, sons...there was no official holiday, it was just something they did until there was an official holiday. General Logan apparently took notice of this allegiance to the fallen heroes and so a holiday we still celebrate was born. Through the years Decoration Day was changed to Memorial Day and every small town began to hold celebrations with parades and flags and marching men from every branch of the Military proudly walked in it...some old soldiers (with uniforms smelling of mothballs, taken from attics everywhere) current Military men and women, heroes from World War II up thru the current war in Iraq will be honored this year. Something I have noticed, being of the VietNam era, is that we honor our heroes more vigorously during war than peace. It's more than the typical barbecue holiday it usually is. War is at the forefront of everyone's minds and so we pray for our Troops...we pray for the war to be over and everyone to be home and safe with their loved ones. I don't say Happy Memorial Day, because when you think about it, there's nothing remotely happy about it. My grandmother, Nancy Douglas, read "In Flanders Fields" to us when we were little. She read it with much emotion and often had tears in her eyes. I am sure she was always thinking about her beloved Martus (Douglas) who had died on the soil of France after barely disembarking from the troop ship that had carried him there. The words are as moving and meaningful now as they were when first written by a young Canadian Officer named Lt John McCrae, MD. Of course it would be a Doctor who would take note of the carnage that war leaves behind. Take a moment to read it and feel its power. And remember all those who shed their blood to make us the great Nation we are and always will be, because of three simple words. We the People.

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.

And the Baby Grows Up

Safe in the arms of love...yes she is a spoiled little miss who thinks that all the world stops and waits for her. In fact, it does.










Just look at that face...wouldn't your world stop for that?


And to think, abandoned in the well house for I don't know how long.











Here she is with "Uncle Pye" and we still can't believe he didn't
slice and dice her...no, he loves her truely.


And here in her little hidey hole with her toys...We believe she was born April 1st, which makes her about six weeks old now. Will we find her a home? Well, it's quite apparent she has already found one.

Our Lady Wellington...she's a menace with those newly developed teeth and claws...More on the young Miss in a few weeks...

Zucchini Days (Daze)

The garden is going great guns. Last year in May we had very little rain, and of course the rest of the summer was pretty dry. This May we've had rain every week and the tomato plants are already putting on fruit. The watermelon and cantaloupe plants are up and zinging...the cucumbers and beans are grabbing the fence and the okra is popping up in neat little rows. Everyone has a method for preparing okra seed, which is very hard shelled. Some soak them in bleach overnight (yes, really) some soak them in water overnight. The method I have had the most success with is so simple...I simply fill several ice trays with water and drop at least two seeds in each little cubby hole in the tray and freeze them for a day or so. When we get the row prepared, I take out the ice trays (one tray at a time) and plant the ice cube. The cube melts and waters the planting spot thoroughly and in about ten days up pops the plant(s). If I thin the plants to one plant per drill after they have four leaves and transplant the "thinned" ones to their own separate drill (hole). So anyway, this looks like it's going to be a humdinger of a season since most of the plants are up and bounding away. The other day I bought four little zucchini plants (that's courgettes to my British friends) and that's probably three plants too many. The first year we actually planted a garden Mac opted for three different kinds of squash...Patty Pan which is white and has a scalloped shape...it's very good battered and fried...as good as fried green tomatoes in my opinion. Then we grew yellow straight neck squash...some prefer crookneck but I can't tell any difference in taste. The straight neck is easier to prepare for canning...more uniform. Then I chose the zucchini. I love zucchini bread and always had to buy the zucchini in the grocery store, but I was determined that this particular year we would have our own plants. I seem to remember that we planted six plants and they grew quickly and flowered before the other squash. Every day when I came in from work I'd walk out to the garden to check the progress. My first zucchini was a marvel to behold. That lovely deep green color, the rather delicate veggie lay nestled in its bed of straw. I wondered if more would come on to accompany the first one because what in the world could you do with one zucchini? Place it on a pedestal and admire it till it was reduced to mush and compost? I had no recipes for one zucchini. In fact I only had one recipe for zucchini period...zucchini bread, which is rather a lot like banana bread but with a distinctly not banana flavor, and a green tinge to it if you leave on the skin...which I do. So I started going through my cookbooks (and let me tell you I have shelves upon shelves of cookbooks) looking up zucchini recipes so that in the off chance we had a successful crop of them I'd know what to do. Did you know you can make zucchini pizza? Yes, and zucchini casserole, fried zucchini, stewed zucchini (yuck) and zucchini stuffing. I kid you not. So everyday, here I come to the garden and wow, there are three zucchini .Then there are nine zucchini and suddenly I can't pick them fast enough and everyone is sick to death of my zucchini bread and zucchini pizza...no one wants a bite of zucchini cassarole and I have been threatened by Mac that he will set fire to the garden if I bring in one more mess (I'm not quite sure how this term came about, but a mess is enough to feed everyone at your table) of zucchini. So now my six little plants are producing enough to feed the county and I'm giving it away to anyone who stops by, I'm taking it to work to share with the entire Sheriff's Department and still they come. People are warned not to drive by my house with their car windows open (and I deny ever chasing anyone down and throwing zucchini through their open car windows, it's a lie and I'll swear to it with my last breath). The last of the season came and hiding under one of the plants was the biggest zucchini I had ever seen. It weighed every bit of three pounds and measured about fourteen inches long. Enough time had passed that I had forgotten how overrun with the green squash we had been. I stood up holding that giant progeny of the zucchini vine and watched as Mac approached me. Grinning from ear to ear, I held it out to him proudly. "Look honey, we can use this for seed next year!" He took it from me and walked over to the blazing burn barrel where he unceremoniously dropped it into the flames. "Over my dead body," he calmly replied.

Due to popular demand...here is the recipe for Zucchini Bread...it's the best one I tried...hope you enjoy it Mary!
INGREDIENTS
3 eggs
1 cup vegetable oil
2 cups white sugar
2 cups grated zucchini
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
3 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup chopped walnuts

DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 325 degrees F ( 165 degrees C). Grease and flour two 8x4 inch loaf pans.
In a large bowl, beat eggs until light and frothy. Mix in oil and sugar. Stir in zucchini and vanilla. Combine flour, cinnamon, soda, baking powder, salt and nuts; stir into the egg mixture. Divide batter into prepared pans.
Bake for 60 to 70 minutes, or until done.

She was an Awesome Dog

I've written about our Old English Sheepdog before and now I find her on my mind more than ever. This past weekend while my younger son Michael and his family were down for Mother's Day weekend, Evil Sister's son (and an old friend of Michael's) Jason and his family were here, too. Jason's wife Meridith noticed the pictures of Digby that were hanging in the hallway. She asked if that had been our dog. I smiled (as I always do when her name is mentioned...and teared up a bit, again as I always do) and told her yes, she had been a birthday gift from Mac. Jason heard the conversation and said "oh Meridith, she was an awesome dog...just awesome." I don't think a better description has ever been given her. I loved her as a central part of the family, she was the boys fur sister, my four legged daughter, Mac's little Princess...I don't think a dog was ever so loved. Except maybe Terri's Dakota. I saw on her blogsite (http://bobandterri.blogspot.com/) that she had recently lost her beloved Dakota and then she didn't post for a while. I knew why. I didn't blame her. My heart went out to her and Bob because I knew what misery it was to lose someone you love that dearly and you just don't want to hear "but it's only a dog (or a cat or a bird or horse) because the love that pet owners feel for their pets far exceeds the description of pet. Jason began to tell Meridith the story of when Digby had saved a small child from drowning in a creek at Earle Naval Weapons Station in Colts Neck, New Jersey. We had a gathering in my dining room on Earle a lot of mornings. The group was made up of me, Evil Sister, and the two Cindy's. Both Cindy's had children named Ryan. Nextdoor neighbor Cindy's Ryan was four years old. He would knock on my door in the morning and ask if Digby could come out and play. Digby adored that little boy, as she did most of the neighborhood children. She loved rounding them up in tight little knots most of all. It was in her nature. So one morning the Mob of Four had gathered to teach Round the Corner Cindy how to play Scrabble. Scrabble was an obsession with Evil Sister and me and we were trying our best to spread the addiction. Most of the kids were outside across the street on the green playing kickball and chase and mother may I and Cindy Round the Corner had let her two year old Ryan go out with them. There were promises from all the little kids that they would keep up with him, but we all took turns jumping up to look out the window to check on the smallest of the Playgroup. It was a sudden thing, but Digby began to run from me to the door and barking anxiously and wouldn't stop. Deciding that she wanted to go out and play with the kids, I got up and opened the door. She ran straight out and across the green and didn't stop. By this time all of us were standing at the door and Round the Corner Cindy said "I don't see Ryan." And then we all saw Ryan. His dark blue parka held firmly between her jaws, Digby dragged him from the creek. He was screaming bloody murder so we knew he was alive, but we nearly knocked each other to the floor trying to get out the door all at the same time. After she had him pulled up on the bank, Digby began to run towards us, barking the alarm, and then she ran back to little Ryan and began licking him furiously. His mother ran to him, gathered him up in her arms and crying and shaking, hugged him. She knelt down, Ryan still in her arms and hugged Digby. "You're a wonderful girl, you are!" she was sobbing. She took her rescued boy home for dry clothes and then to the base clinic to make sure he didn't have any injuries. Digby became the hero of the base, but it didn't change her any. She didn't get a case of the "big head". She still liked to play with the neighborhood kids, her own two boys were still her favorites, and Next Door Ryan still came calling for her every morning. If I close my eyes I can still hear his tiny knock and his little voice calling out "can Digby come out to play?"

Would John Wayne leave the garden and go sit down?

We've had such beautiful weather the past two days and of course I can't keep Mac from going out in that garden and about killing himself. I have begged, pleaded and just about threatened malice most foul to make him take a break. The problem is he just flat loves it in that garden. I think it makes him feel almost Godlike to plant those seeds and watch them struggle through the rich earth he's prepared for them. We started this back in January, when he weeded and ran the tiller to keep the earth soft. It was just a couple of days a week then, being too cold to plant. Then in February it was three or four days, just a couple of hours a day, working in the compost and planting his seeds in little pots...by the way we've sworn off peat pots forever...they dry out to fast and the roots die of thirst. By March we have little seedlings in the nursery and he's just like an over protective mother, won't let me help (though I'm quite free with the "we" as in "look what we grew." By April he's going full tilt out there, rows laid out and young plants now in their new home. Where before, we were in "urgent care" now we are in constant care. Last night he was so tired, I told him he was overdoing it again, to take a few hours in the afternoon and rest up, then go back out at six and work a bit. "Would John Wayne take a few hours off to go laze around in the house?" is his reply. Of course his constant refrain has always been "would John Wayne" whatever it was I wanted him to do that might not be in his schedule of things planned. So, today I had a lovely visit from Evil Sister who said she had the same problem with her husband. He just overworks himself. We keep trying to tell them the old grey mule ain't what he used to be, but no one pays us any mind. It's now 1:53 and he has seven minutes to be in this house. I told him when he went back out after lunch that I'd call him when it was 2. So he says "I'll bet the Duke's wife didn't make him come in for a nap at 2 o'clock." I looked at him sadly, shaking my head..."you do know that John Wayne won't be coming in from the garden anymore, right?" I asked him. He gave me one of those "what are you talking about now" looks...You know I almost hated to break the news to him.
ps
here's the latest picture of the baby. We have been calling her Brat...you want to talk spoiled? Her official name is Lady Wellington lol

The Truth in Advertising

It rained today. Yeahhhhhh. It started about dawn and went on till after twelve. It misted like the skies were filled with tiny little holes and that gravity was forcing it through the sprinkler head the first part of the morning and then suddenly it came down like it was being poured from a boot. I never once complained. I simply kept my jammies on all morning long, turned on the television and prepared to watch people lie about the products they sell. But first of course, it was Mother's Day so I cooked. Grits, sausage perfectly scrambled eggs (you know, very moist but done) biscuits and a side of strawberries. That's why I spent the rest of the morning in jammies...I couldn't move. So, coffee in hand I picked up the remote and began to channel surf, hoping I'd see Billy pushing his amazing stain removing boil extracting weed killing germ eliminating handy dandy soap balls. Or maybe the clothes deflating, atom squashing sweater flattening space bags so you can jam one ton of clothes in about a 32 inch space. I love to watch them hawking those little tillers that you can manage with one hand. Problem is, the soil those newfangled dadburn ground ripping motor driven teeth from hell are tilling was done several hours before by a John Deere. Not John Dear, John Deere as in tractor. It doesn't need any clarifying. It's a John Deere. Nothing runs like a ...well you get the point. So here's this marvelous little tiller just plowing away in the super looking ground (which looked suspiciously like mulch and cow manure to Mac. You can't fool Mac, for while he's not a bona fidie farmer he can grow a lot more than one thing from seed. Sort of like cooking from scratch, and almost as tasty.) The first time I saw this add I burst out laughing. Who did they think they were kidding? Then there are the "beauty ads" featuring seventeen year old girls trying to act like they're forty but they just put on some of Dr. Feelgood's Wrinkle Cream and man they look why they look...I don't know, seventeen? I mean really people, I have better things to do with my money than plaster some magic elixir (the magic was in turning my money into their money) that smells like pulvarized lizard gizards and looks like pond scum. But it's gonna make me beautiful! Hey, poor stupid me, and here I thought I looked pretty durned good for a gal my age...aha, and what's my age you ask? Well contrary to popular opinion I never once found a penny in dinosaur track. But really what I want to say is simply pay attention. As a woman once told me, if it looks to good to be true it probably is!

Frankly I'd Rather Be in the Yard Part 2

Some of you asked for pictures and so here they are. This is a view from the back porch of the left hand side of the back yard and Mac's garden. The property goes into the woods and down to the creek and the creek is our property line. It's such a lovely view for us. The picture on the left is a partial picture of the front yard and the entrance to the patio area. The middle picture is of the blue berry beds and one of the apple trees. The picture on the right is the preparation of the patio, getting the potted plants ready to put inside on the bricks.

The drive way that leads down to our cozy cabin.

The view of the back of our place peach orchard Blueberry beds

The last is a picture of one of Mac's tomato beds...so far he has three beds, with a total of 64 tomato plants which he grew himself. We have not bought a single vegetable plant...Mac's green thumb does it all. He grew the fruit trees from seed...we have a nice fruit orchard going, apple trees, Victoria Plum, Peach trees and blueberries...We will have watermelons, cantaloupe, tomato, okra, beans, peas , squash and pumpkin in the garden this year. You know for retired people though, I don't think we have ever been quite this tired! Hope you enjoyed the tour as much as I enjoyed taking you around.

Frankly, I'd Rather Be in the Yard

I can't believe it is Monday. Mac and I have been in the yard for three days, it seems more like seven. We have been mowing, sowing, and towing...four acres of grass is a lot of grass...we do it in sections and take turns riding the mower. I spent a couple of days sowing Canterbury Bell seeds and now I'll be praying for them to come up. The little riding mower decided that it won't go anywhere anymore till we buy it a new battery, so the big mower had to give it a tow. Then Sunday we put in the little water feature. Mac gave me this little pond set up for Mother's Day last year. We had it installed yesterday. One year. It broke our previous dilly dallying record of six months. I shall explain.


Mama had a lovely Koi pond at the back door. Her Koi were fifteen years old and very tame. They didn't even mind the cats...they would take food from your hand. The sound of water is so very relaxing and I longed for it at home. I had my aquariums and I loved my small fish but I wanted that soothing sound outside, as well. So, Mama bought us a complete pond outfit for our 25th Wedding Anniversary. It was delivered by Sam, the UPS Man and Mac put this huge box in the garage. It was only supposed to be for a week or so. It arrived in September, a month early. Mama was hoping the sounds of rushing water would be a done deal by October 15th. Month after month I would walk into the garage, see the box sitting there and think to myself, we're going to get that pond up and running soon. I nagged Mac as only I can nag but it did no good. Lets see, some of the responses I got from him were as follows: "it's too cold"; "the ground is frozen"; "I don't own a jackhammer"; and finally the classic "I'll do it tomorrow."


Of course tomorrow failed to arrive and so I took matters into my own hands one fine April morning. It was a Saturday as I recall. I had arisen and poured my cup of coffee and was taking it on the porch. I looked over to the side yard and envisioned how my pond would look when I had it finished. Taking my cup of Joe with me, I wandered in the garage, saw the big white box and lugged it out into the drive. I opened it and removed the directions and walked back to the porch to read them. (Contrary to what My Darling Mac tells you, I do not throw out directions to everything as a matter of principle.) So I began to read and I noticed that Mac had his coffee and was joining me. "Whatcha got there?" he mumbled, trying to feign an interest he certainly did not feel at this hour of the morning. "It's about the koi pond...I'm going to put it in today, " I said proudly. He snorted, by all that's holy the man snorted and then he started laughing. Out loud. "No no," was my response. "This is a very simple procedure. It says so right here in these directions, " I declared, waving them under his nose. He smiled knowingly, patted me on my shoulder and said " I'll get to it next weekend, I promise." I assured him that I was quite certain I could do this, and leaving him with his coffee, walked back into the garage and picked up a can of white spray paint. I took the measuring tape and marked out 10 feet and sprayed an x. Then I measured out 12 feet in the other direction and sprayed another x. Then I roughly sprayed the outline of a ginormous lima bean and set to with a will. I took the half moon diggy thingy and cut into the soil at the outline I had made. Mac wandered over to see what I was doing. I was standing on the half moon jumping up and down on it to force it into the dirt. Mac clucked with disgust and taking the diggy thingy from me, finished what I had begun in record time, telling me this was as far as he was going, I was on my own. I smiled prettily at him and told him "fine". I went into the garage and retrieved the little tiller Mac used in the garden. He narrowed his eyes and asked what I thought I was doing. "I'm going to dig my pond with this tiller, " I replied. "You should use the big tiller, that tiller is for maintaining, not digging." I frowned, nodded and put the little tiller aside. I went back into the garage and wrestled the big tiller out of its confines rolling it out to the construction site. "Do you think you could crank it for me?" I asked him. How could he say no? So he cranked it, then he said "let me get this hole started for you." So I let him get the hole started and then of course he had to shovel out the dirt and then he had to lay out the liner and by the time he knew what had happened I had wandered back over to where he stood four feet deep in a hole with the water hose in my hand. And that's how I constructed our first Koi Pond. Any resemblance between me and Tom Sawyer and a certain fence are spot on.

Languages

You all know my Mac by now, the man who spent so much time at sea only to discover he was a farmer all along? Mac spent over 30 years serving his country in the U.S. Navy. His rating was Signalman which is in Communications. When we first met he was SM1 (Signalman First Class) and was very proficient at his job. He knew the Morse Code like I know Pig Latin (I know Pig Latin or Igpay Atinlay very very well). He taught me the basics of Semaphore, talking with flags. He is quite brilliant, is Mac. But one day he took it into his head that would like to signal to me from the bridge when the ship was pulling out for a deployment. He wanted me to understand what he was saying and so he taught me just enough to figure out how to swear in arm signals. Oh now that was not his intention at all. I was to learn how to intrepret "I'll miss you, and I love you"...but I was a very warped young woman, you see. And so the teaching me of a skill that I could "tweak" was a move I'm sure he regretted at times. I was feuding with a neighbor (Mrs. Perfect Edmondson, she was such a jerk) and we happened to be at the same New Years Eve party. We very purposefully avoided each other, but I overheard a comment the attycay ittchybay was making about the dress I was wearing (It was a beautiful red velvet, spagetti strapped confection with a flared skirt, a slip of crinoline showing at the left leg) saying ugly things about how it made my behind look and steam began to build. My eyes narrowed to slits and fire was pointed in her direction. Mrs. Edmondson caught my eye (detected the fury) and was hurriedly making her departure. I was practically jumping up and down my arms wheeling like deranged windmill paddles spelling out "SLMF". Mac, who had been deep in conversation with some of his pals, turned and caught the tail end of my silent tirade. He wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides and putting his face close to my cheek as though kissing my ear,whispered "please don't make me regret teaching you to signal!" You know, it was the knowing she didn't understand one word of what I was saying that made the remark that much sweeter. And like Pig Latin, the translation of my remark is easy enough once it's out there in black and white...so, please don't blush. I'm much nicer now.

Playing Catch Up

Okay, it's time for Idol Kick Off and I choose Brook. Oh PLEASE give the boot to the Queen of Whine (and not Neil Diamond's Red Red Wine), the Duchess of Boredom, I want her GONE! I'll be watching for her departure, oh please let it be her departure.

Daddy is quite well and the town is about to hold An Appreciation Day for him (it's a secret, he'll be thrilled. Seems they thought their Doctor had died or worse, moved. Did I mention that he treats 2/3 of his patients for free? It is the poor and the elderly and Law Enforcement who get this gift. He fullfills his oath...first to do no harm.

Baby Kitty needs a name...I am going to have a contest to name the Baby...here's a picture of the now 5 week old bundle of energy....

So, send those names in and we'll chose one ...more pictures to follow!

Thank you all for the support you have been to me...I'm not so tired as I was but what an uplift to the spirit you have all been!

Love to you all

The Driving Lesson

Americans have been having a love affair with the automobile for so many years that most of us living today can not remember when the highways were not overrun with the smells of exhaust and new leather , the word Superhighway seemed like a Science Fiction term and "it was a pileup" brought a picture of a cow pasture to mind, not twisted metal and radiator steam. Oh yes, we love our cars. I remember the sad eyed Buick my dad drove on the Shirley Highway in D.C. to get to work at D.C. General Hospital and his wails of how bad the traffic was. Yet there was a gleam in his eye as he spoke of the wrecks and once accidently getting on the Shirley going the wrong way! I remember the lovely little white over red Mercury with the hardcase spare tire holder on the rear (white). Oh how I loved that Mercury. I remember when Lucy and Desi (opps) Mama and Daddy got the convertible that was transporting us to our new home in Tampa, Florida. Oh wow, to ride in that beautiful four wheeled boat again, seeing Mama and Daddy's smiling and so very happy faces...of course as the trip progressed, the sibling bickering would start and the smiles on parents faces turned to scowls. I can remember sitting in the car parked in the carport, twisting the steeringwheel this way and that, being caught by Daddy who gently reprimanded me, telling me not to turn the wheel quite so violently or we'd fly off the road. Driving lesson number 1. I began to pray for longer legs so that my feet could reach the pedals, I loved hearing Dinah Shore sing about seeing the USA in my Chevrolet (though I'd prefer a Mercury). The romance with the horse and buggy was long over here, the car had replaced it in every way. My Uncle Paul (Snipes) began collecting old cars (antiques they'd be now) and would take us for a ride in the Rumble Seat of his old Tin Lizzy. It really was old at that time, but he had a barn full of beauties, including the most wonderful Chevy ever built, the 1957. Funny how that's all you need to say to conjure up a picture of that beautiful multi horse vehicle.



It was a hot summer and Mama and Daddy had driven us down to spend the summer with Mammy and Daddy Dwight (our grandparents). They were going to stay about a week to visit family and spend time eating Mammy's wonderful breakfasts. I don't remember which car we had, but I was twelve and my legs had grown so long that I was the tallest girl in my class (was about 5'8 at the time) and my feet reached the pedals. Me being the closest thing my father had to a son (tomboy extraordinaire) he noticed that I could now reach those coveted pedals. We were taking a drive down Douglas Mill Road and the car was loaded with cousins and Daddy. The girl cousins and one boy cousin, Buck. Now Buck was about five years old and had elected to go along for the ride because he was the only boy around and there wasn't much for him to do but follow us. So Daddy says to me, "Sandi, do you want to learn to drive the car?" Did I want to learn to drive the car???? My breath was a stitch in my throat, my heart began to palpitate. Did I want to learn how to drive the car? Does a bird want to learn to fly, a duck to swim or a horse to run? Why learning to drive was a dream I held in the womb, I'm sure. I became so excited that I almost forgot to breathe. He pulled over to the side of the road and got out and told me to slide over. He explained the pedals (it was automatic, so no gears to learn, that would come later!) and told me to be very careful not to travel to fast, just go slow as Daddy Dwight driving to church (that was really slow people...). All the cousins (Kay, Chrystal, Becky and Buck) and baby sister Toni were excitedly jumping up and down in the back seat and then Driving Lesson Number 2 began. I did quite well for a time and was in a dreamworld somewhere, perhaps Monico or LeMans when I heard Daddy yelling to S T O P !!! and next thing I knew we were in the ditch. Thank you God it was a shallow ditch but that ended my driving lesson for the day. Buck began to shout and cry (because he had landed in the floorboard and someone's feet had landed oh his back) and Daddy checked him out, told him he was fine and did he want candy to feel better? Oh yes, candy would make everything just dandy. Daddy backed the car out of the (nice and shallow) ditch and we drove down to Mr. Hugh's (Douglass) store. Daddy bought everyone a candy bar and a bag of candy for Buck (the bribe to keep his mouth shut). "Now Buck, " said Daddy, "don't tell anyone that Sandi had this wreck, or that she was even driving, okay?" Buck, mouth smeared with chocolate, nodded furiously, hands reaching for the bag of sweeties. So off we toddled to Mammy's house, Daddy now firmly in control behind the wheel. The car engine was barely turned off when Buck threw open the door and ran to the side porch screaming that "Sandi had a wreck, Sandi had a wreck!" I can still see Mama standing on the porch, hands on hips, eyes narrowed, lips drawn thin...luckily this look was reserved for Daddy, me being a kid, heck it wasn't my fault. But lesson number 3 proved to be "never take a loudmouth bratty baby cousin with you when you get the chance to have a driving lesson." They can't keep secrets. Not even when you bribe them with candy.

Revival

I'm tired. And in my head I see Madelynn Kahn singing on stage, vamping for an audience of drunken cowboys in a Mel Brooks spoof (oh lord how I love Mel Brooks movies and Madelynn Kahn in them) singing about how tired she is...I feel as though if I could sit still for five minutes and just not think or do or feel , how rested I would be. If the phone wouldn't ring or papers wouldn't rustle , if tv's were silent and Doctor's appointments didn't have to be kept...if I could make my mind a blank page and not anticipate the writing that would fill it...if weeds didn't need to be plucked from the pristine beds I prepared, if supper didn't have to be cooked and dishes loaded into the dishwasher because lord I am tired. If clothes didn't have to be washed, dried put away only to be dirtied again, if floors didn't need washing and furniture dusted, if only there was a place for everything and everything was in its place. If only all the responsibilities that I have taken on in my life could be as easily laid down as they were taken up. I have decided to learn yoga so that I can learn to relax. I don't think I have ever relaxed in my entire life. Mama called it being on pins and needles. I can't be still (not in a hyperactive way) I'm a machine of perpetual motion. Even when I am still, I am moving. My mind never stops and some things it conjures up are pleasant to think on, some things that enter into the abyss of my imagination scare hell out of me. I've seen too much, gone to far to turn back and there's still to much to be done. And so I'm tired. But now I look forward to a good nights sleep where responsibilites belong to someone else and houses care for themselves and those who lie sleeping within their walls. And in the morning when I arise with the sun I'll be refreshed and ready to take on the world again. I won't feel this tired again for some time. But when I do, I promise I'll tell you. Because the telling of a thing is the releasing of a thing. And the releasing of a thing is such a pleasure.
ps

for those who would love to see Madelyn singing "I'm Tired" go to Lee's spot at http://chrysalisdreams.blogspot.com/ She has graciously looked for the spot on youtube and posted for me. I have some really great friends.

Kudos to Chesterfield County

I just have to say that I am so impressed with the parents of Chesterfield County Schools. Today a tragedy was narrowly averted because of the quick witted parents who were not afraid to step up to the plate and report what their son alledgely may have been planning. And to the parents who entrusted their children to the care of schools county wide...To read more about this go to The Progressive Journal in my sidebar, the News Leader of Chesterfield County's Paper on Line...See everyone tomorrow.

PS
Blogger is making me crazy...half my Best Blogging Buddies Ever are missing...the address to the Journal is http://pagelandblog.blogspot.com/ So, go read the news...all the news that's fit to print.

Monday Monday

Take the Quiz here!

I found this quiz at Lee's place (see my sidebar of Best Bloggin' Bud's ever Crysalis Dreams will take you over to her place...she's worth the visit.) So, I took it and now if you would like to take it, please do. It was fun.

I have a picture of Baby Kitty here (I'll be so glad when he/she tells us his/her name! I'm going to assume he's a boy and save myself time. Anyway, here he is on his beach blanket and on his beach blanket with Uncle Peanut looking on. He is beginning to look more like a kitten than a mouse and is interacting with us.

We have to go to Shaw Air Force Base tomorrow for updated ID cards, so I won't be in till tomorrow night. Hope everyone has a good Monday, it is possible you know!

Update on The World's Worst Patient

I just wanted to let everyone know that Daddy is doing so much better that St. Toni of Columbia (who was in danger of being demoted to Simple Caregiver) , has taken the little bell that sat by our beloved father's bedside and thrown it out the front door where it rests for eternity in a drain pipe in front of her house. No longer sure that anyone is trying to kill him (unless he stays at St. Toni's for much longer) he is up and about and able to take a little broth. And a steak. Don't forget the baked potato...sour cream with that please. Salad? Who wants a stupid salad...where's the butter? Who hid the salt and pepper?

We love him. Mama spoiled him for any women but those in his family who are used to his demanding (yet somehow loving) ways. I hear the phone ringing. I'll let the machine get it. I'll listen to make sure that St. Toni is not on the line with information on when he may be expected to return to our loving care.

The Simple Caregiver assures me that the end of the week will see him back in the bosom of his family. I love him, you all know that I do. But who has the directions to the Airport?