Good Sister's Journey into Light

Last week has worn me out. I haven't posted as often as I should but you'll forgive me when you know that I've been being the supportive shoulder for Good Sister. It's been a long week, and though she can't see how much better she is, I can. I've been on the phone with her mostly and these days there is more talking going on than crying. Mac and I spent Friday evening with her, Mac setting up her computer, me consoling and soothing. She allowed me to disparage the man who broke her heart without one interruption. "He's a dog, " I told her...then looking at her lovely pair of dogs, I apologized to them. "So sorry, guys...no, he's not a dog...a dog is too Godlike to hurt you this way...he's a heel. He's a lowdown sorry heel and remember this! TIME WOUNDS ALL HEELS!" I got a tiny smile out of her, and Butch licked my hand.

So now here she is, ready to admit that maybe he was less than he seemed, a good actor nothing more, nothing less. But she's still not sleeping well, her mind is still drawn to who she thought he was, not who he really is. I'm hoping that since she has made the leap from man to heel that the next step will be Prince to frog. When she can stop seeing him as her Prince Charming, the warts will show and I believe that will be the beginning of the end for her attachment to him. When she first started dating again after her divorce, she would supply me with name, description (sometimes phone photo) and tag number so that should anything happen, I'd have all I needed to help find her. You may think that is a bit extreme, but in today's world, it's not as much as I'd want for when my Granddaughter is old enough to date. Full background checks will be more my speed. With this one, all I had was the cell phone photo he wasn't aware she took. Well, that and his name and the hotel he was staying in while in town. All that information and still she wasn't safe. What's a friend to do?

You know, heartbreak hurts worse when you're a woman of a certain age. An empty home is lonelier than a cell. You work hard all day then go home to no one to talk to, no one to share your day with. It can get to be a cold existence. I was so happy for her that she had found Mr Right. How could he (and we) have been so wrong? But I'm an optimist. Knowing what a beautiful woman she is, inside and out, I have no doubt that if she wants him, the right man is out there, just waiting to find her. I can't wait till the day comes, that she can go out on her porch and yell at the top of her lungs, "NEXT!" Because the next man is out there...and you've got to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince.

Portrait of Words Entry 5 A Poem...The Flowers

The Flowers

How I thank you for the tribute that you have laid upon my grave site
how I wonder what my life would have been if I had lived
the full measure of a man that God Himself had surely promised
had not war cut me down denying me that simple gift

How I thank you for the honor of your military bearing
of a coffin filled with promises that will never be attained
Soldier Brothers sharply turned out, buglers sounding smartly
family looking stunned their faces show the strain

How I thank you for remembering all the fallen, all the heroes
including me when looking back at the bitter past
just remember what was promised when we left this earth unwilling
let this generation of young soldiers be the last




Portrait of Words, as presented by Jeff, at A Word In Edgewise is in its fifth installment. I'd like to thank Dr. John for the use of the photographs for this months offering. We hope that you will all join us and entertain us with your work. If you'll go to his website, Jeff has all the rules laid out on his sidebar. Enjoy.

How Do you heal a Broken Heart?

I've had a very unsettling few days. You've heard me talk (frequently) about Evil Sister and her comical yet enlightening ways. I've spoken less often of my other dear friend, Good Sister. She is fifteen years younger than I am, is a professional woman with some pretty heavy responsibilities. I don't know that I could do all that she does and keep a sane thought in my head. I have known her since we moved to this county in 1988. Twenty one years and she doesn't seem to have changed much, if at all. She managed to work full time, rear a child, remarry and put herself through college. See, she is amazing. But that is not why I love her so. I love her for her kind and generous heart. She would drop what she's doing to help anyone. Not just those she knows and loves, but anyone. If she hears of a person in distress or need, she takes it upon herself to find the answer to their problem.

We met through our work. My family and hers were well known to each other. She had formerly been married to kin of ours, and I laughingly called her my "cousin-in-law" before we called each other "sister". We have stood by each other through tragedy and triumph, through life and death situations, through laughter and tears. When Mac had his heart attack, she got up from a warm bed and joined us at the hospital. So, you can see how I can't possibly turn my back on her, can't you?

She went through a particularly bad divorce five years ago. The break down of the marriage had begun long before that, but she held on, hoping against hope that the man she had loved would somehow see that he had changed, that he was no longer the stalwart slayer of dragons that he had always seemed to be. He refused to see that his damsel was in distress until it was to late to save the remnants of a marriage gone wrong. So it was all gone, up in dragons breath, burned to ashes, bitter as gall.

Early in November she met a man. She has been out on a couple of dates, always protesting that she is to old to be "dating" these days. I have encouraged her to have more in her life than her work. She needed fun in her life so much, and she's not a person who is ashamed to say she needs the company of a man, but it has to be a special man. This man she met while at a high level meeting, seemed to be the man. Although they only saw each other several times a month, (his business taking him far away, as far as Asia, as close as Spain...before getting back into the Charlotte area) she fell in love so quickly, so passionately you would have thought she was in her teens. She smiled and laughed all the time, looked forward to his return to the States each time. They stayed in constant touch via e-mail and cell phone. He was to return to the Charlotte area (which isn't where he actually lives) today. We went out to dinner with her on Friday and she was so excited that there seemed to be a light shining beneath her skin.

I've been on the phone with her for three days. Saturday she was a bit upset because she hadn't heard from him, but I calmed her down, talked to her...then Sunday she received a phone call from him. She called me, and she was crying so hard that I could barely make out what she was saying. I was pulling on coat and shoes, telling Mac I had to get to her. He could hear the panic in my voice and asked who it was he needed to kill. I burst into tears at that, so thankful that my dragon slayer was alive and well. I was telling her I was on the way and she begged me to just stay on the phone with her, that she'd be okay. We stayed on the phone for two hours. She cried. I listened. Then of course, I had to go to her.

How do you heal a broken heart? I know that somewhere someone has the answer, I wish you'd tell me what to do. I can't stand seeing her like this, and I can't desert her. I need the words that will make everything, if not okay, then marginally better. I'll be calling her in awhile, checking on her, making sure she is eating, giving her an emotional hug since we're now snowed in and I can't get to her to give her a real one. At least not today. In the mean time, my heart aches for her. I feel powerless to help. All I can do is be here for her as she has so often been there for me. It seems like so little.

On kissing Cats

It never ceases to amaze me that Mindy is so beloved by the feline world. She's such a sweet dog, one who had been abused, discarded, just thrown away. She was such a sweet puppy, but hungry, mangy and starved for love. So, we fed her, treated her, and gave her affection in copious amounts. The other dogs, Shelties Ripley and Duffy took to her with no problem. We never had any serious doubts about them, but we worried that the cats, Pye and Ariel, would find her too rambunctious to put up with for long. They mainly ignored her for the first few weeks. Whichever room she would locate them in they would vacate immediately. Then she had her operation, the stroke which blinded her and it was like the cats suddenly had an overwhelming need to shower her with affection. Where ever Mindy went, they would follow, sometimes "herding" her where they thought she needed to be rather than where she wanted to be.
When we were living at the old house, she only had the back yard, which was fenced in. The outside cats never went into it, probably because Ripley, the little female Sheltie, would have no part of them. She tolerated the indoor cats because she had no choice. She drew the line at socializing with the outdoor group. When we moved here, there was much more room to roam in, there was no fence and there were lots of cats..a couple of ours,but most we had no clue as to ownership. They just adopted us and thanked us for providing food. Imagine our surprise when we first noticed that these cats would all gather around, following along with her, running ahead, playing with her. Herding her. We were amazed.
Well, we have two little guys, (Sonny and Cher) Russian Blues for whom we are looking for homes. They have been raised inside and are just wild about Mindy. Cher will sit in Mac's lap and as soon as Mindy approaches, she wraps her little paws around her face as if to say "good morning". Mac says their day doesn't start until they've annoyed the dog. I say the dog's day hasn't started until she's kissed a cat.

A VIsit with a Country Doctor

Wow, it's already the ninth of January. One week down and three to go and we'll be butting heads with what passes for real winter around here. Today Mac and I had our appointments with our family Doc, Dr. Moyd. I love him. He listens, and more importantly, he hears what you have to say. He saw Mac first and then came an told me everything. Seems Mac's in pretty good shape. This is good news to one who loves him, news that I was gratified to get. Dr. Moyd is going through my file and letting me ramble on about what I've been doing that's good for me and of course we had a short discussion about the evils of Rum Cake. Ahem. Then we got deep into discussion about how RA (Rheumatoid Arthritis) is affecting both our lives. After telling him that the Rheumatologist made the horrendous suggestion that we do surgery on my ankle and go in for the chemo drip for the condition, he asked me in a whisper, "and what have you decided?"
"I decided to spit in his eye and run like hell, " I whispered back.

He smiled at first, then broke out into a raucous laugh. Holding out the arthritic hands that had been through surgery with no help at all from the pain of it, he said, "wish I had had your courage." I knew that he had had the surgery a couple of years back and had even then questioned the wisdom of it. But we continued this visit the way we always do.
Him..."Want the flu shot?"

Me..."no."
Him. "Don't blame you, how about a colonoscopy, want me to set that up?"
Me. "Has hell frozen over yet? You'll be sure and keep me posted on that event, okay?"
Him. "Okay, that's no to the colonoscopy. Now, we have this new thing we'll be using very soon, a camera pill. You swallow, it takes pretty pictures, it goes byby. When we get that set up, how's about we give it a try?" He smiled at me with encouragement.
Me. "You go first. Then I'll see. I haven't recovered from the last one I had. Granted it was done in the dark ages...(the dark ages, hahahahaha) but that was enough for me. For now. When the MRI does the whole works, I'm in."

Him. "In for the MRI," he noted in my file. Then he sat back and asked me questions and glancing down saw that I had skipped my stress test last year. "You know Grainger is going to want a word with you, " he said, one eyebrow cocked.
"I know, I know...I can't remember what happened last April that I missed it, but it was them, they called to reschedule and I couldn't find my date book and I promised to call them back and you know how that always works out." I had the good grace to look sheepish.
"Well, still and all, lets not do that again, okay? Now, let me have a listen to those lungs." He leaned in and listened front and back and sat back and looked at me with a smile, saying "if you hadn't told me how many years you smoked, I would never believe you'd ever taken a puff. Those are some clear clean lung sounds. Heartbeat is nice and slow. All in all you haven't messed yourself up to much this year."

"I owe it all to you, Doc...you're my guiding inspiration." Then he began to write out my prescriptions. He wrote the first one, dissected the paper into fourths, wrote three more, took another sheet from the pad and wrote yet another one. "Okay, now I'm going to let you change to Byetta for the diabetes, we'll see how this works and back in six weeks. I'm changing your blood pressure meds, because while your heart sounds great I'm not happy with that pressure. We're gonna get it down. So, that's potassium and nexium...oh and I want you to stay on the altace. Now." He sat back, looking at me expectantly.

"If I'm in such great shape, Doc, can you please tell me why I need American Tourister to help me carry my medicine ?"
Dismissing me, my little Country Doc said, " them's the breaks. " Writing out a lot of gibberish on a Lab Request sheet, he gave me a stern look. " Now go give Vampira her blood payment." I haven't rolled my eyes lately. At his final remark, I think I may have sprained my eye muscles.
Now, this is an edit here! I want you all to know that while Dr. Moyd is so very special and listens so intently, he is also pretty darned good with that pen when he's writing out referrals to other doctors. It appears I have a date with a camera man on February 20th. How did I lose control of my free will?

Self Control and the lack there of

It's amazing how long it has taken me to overcome my own stupidity. It makes me wonder how many others out there have the same problems with their self control. You know, I smoked for years...I began in high school, ate many a pack of sinsin (remember that little red pack of what tasted like soap spiced with licorice?) to hide the smell of tobacco from my parents, and never openly smoked in front of my mother. Now, my mother smoked, too. I often wished she would switch from menthol to regular when I was pilfering them from her. That should have been my first clue to addiction...I smoked hers in a pinch, although I hated them. The commercials told me how sophisticated and sexy I appeared to be, that cigarette dangling between finger tips, head thrown back to expel the smoke from my lungs. I remember practicing that pose in the mirror after the first time I gagged on the effect. Lighter puffs, not as deep an inhale...and practice makes perfect. I'm not sure who I hoped to impress those first couple of years...smoking in the girl's room with my peers seems so stupid now.

It's easy to quit smoking. I did it a thousand times. I'd throw away a pack in the morning, then dig through the garbage to get it back. Maybe if I had kept a full length mirror behind the garbage can so I could see how ridiculous I looked sifting through trash to get to that elusive pack of smokes I could have quit much sooner. I did finally quit. I quit for good in December of 2002, after suffering a heart attack and having bypass surgery. What brought me to the hospital was that I could not breathe. I could not catch even a whiff of oxygen and my oxy level was 82...I'm told if it had been 80 I would have been intubated. One of my dearest friends in the world, an RN, told me that had I been in HER ER, I would have been. I'm thankful that I was saved that indignity. I am nothing if I can not speak. And I hear it is most difficult to speak with that hose down your throat. A few days after that I found myself on the surgeon's table. Seems I had a heart attack (my second in as many days) during my stress test. Then it was down to the Cath Lab. Then to Providence Hospital for the surgery. I've not smoked a cigarette, nor allowed one to be smoked inside my home since Christmas , 2002.

Dr. Moyd, my Primary Care Physician, who could pass for Dr. House's brother, though not nearly as cynical, commented on the fact that I had smoked for a number of years. He asked if I had found it easy to quit. I told him that the last time I quit it was remarkably easy. "How so?" he asked. I laughed at that..."all the nagging from family and friends over a long period of time, lets say 20 years, had nothing to do with it. I just want you to know that. But lying on a surgical table with your chest cracked open is a damned fine incentive."

To all my friends on shore...

I really have to say thank you to all my pals who have been concerned about me and to tell you that I'm alive and kicking out here, but I did something really stupid...I allowed my blood sugar to climb without check on Christmas Eve and it's taken me this long to feel like sitting at the computer and trying to explain myself. When I say it was stupid, it really was...I needed my butt kicked and kicked it was. And let me tell you today, that small piece of rum cake that threw me wayyyyy over the top, was not worth it. Not one tiny sliver of it was worth what I put myself through! So, I'm back...and I'm about to go visit my friends and catch up and I'm not making a New Year's resolution here, they are made to be broken, I'm making myself a promise...I shall watch over my health with abandon! I will partake of fewer carbs and more proteins...MUCH fewer! I shall take Christmas Eve into my heart and eat sugar free Jello from now on...no more rum cake. Shame, that.

I want to thank you all for being concerned, you are truly my friends and I will be back with a genuine post soon!~

Five will get you Twenty

Five will Get you Twenty



How quickly the days slipped away. The decision to take a working vacation this early had not come easily. His wife had insisted. She harped on about how hard he had worked over the years and insisted that an early trip was an excellent idea. "You take Humphries with you, I can always contact him if anything comes up that needs your attention. You just have to take a break. Or a break is going to take you! And the funds need to be replenished. You may as well enjoy yourself as you take care of that piece of business." She was adamant that the "vacation" started soon. He almost became suspicious about her persistence but knew that she loved him, in fact adored him. She insisted that he go along with Humphries that she would occupy her time with the hobbies she had taken up. "In fact, I'll enjoy it more since I won't have you underfoot and demanding my attention." She smiled at him lovingly and he shrugged. "Okay, I'll get Humphries to make all the arrangements."

It was the climate difference that he always noticed most. The air was dry and warm. Warm, it was downright hot. He had immediately broken out what his wife called his "Hawaiian Look" wardrobe. The shorts did little to conceal his knobby knees and the shirt was just a canvas pulled taut over his belly. Before he had left home, he had gone to his bureau drawer and removed the flashy chip with the empty space where the name of the casino it chose to play at would go. He held it in his hand and casually flipped it skyward with the confidant air of a winner. Humphries, his diminutive traveling companion and bank keeper was dressed impeccably in a tailored pinstripe suit and highly polished Italian made shoes. He wrinkled his nose in the general direction of his boss. His boss looked at the expression on his face and said, "tacky is as tacky does, Humphries. Now be a good sport and stop casting aspersions on my outerwear." He picked up his golf hat, motioned for Humphries to take the briefcase lying on the end of the bed and they were off.

After they had arrived in Vegas, Nick and Humpries took some time to explore the various offerings of Vegas. Nick held the lucky chip in his hand and as they drove down Vegas Blvd, waited to see which would be the hotel of choice. The tingle began as they approached the Bellagio Casino and Hotel. "This is the one," Nick told Humphries. Humphries leaned forward and got the driver's attention. "We'll stop at the Bellagio, driver," he said.

"Yes, sir!" the driver answered, whipping into the hotel drive and pulling up to the front of the hotel. Like magic the Bellmen appeared out of nowhere and began to load Nick and Humphries bags onto the luggage trolley. "Follow me sirs, right this way," were tossed out as Nick paid the cabby, giving him a healthy tip in addition to the fare. "THANK YOU, SIR!" he called out to Nick's retreating back. "Nice Gentleman," he murmured, "nice Gentleman." He waved as he drove away to collect another fare.

Nick and Humphries approached the desk, deep in discussion. Humphries was still on about Nick's clothing, but Nick quickly pointed out that the shirt was silk the shorts linen and offered to let his young employee guess what it had cost. "The earth, I'm sure sir," smirked Humphries, " but it's not the cost, it's the appearance." Removing the expensive pair of sunglasses he had needed to block the burning rays of the sun from his eyes, Nick brushed him off as they arrived at check in. The clerk behind the desk was all smiles and very polite as he asked for the name the registration would be under. Nick still held on tight to his one chip, a smile teasing his lips.

"Snow, Nick Snow," he smiled to the clerk. The clerk glanced up and down the list of expected visitors on the computer screen. Looking up over the rim of his reading glasses, he spoke softly. "I'm sorry sir, I don't see your name registered here." The chip grew warm in Nick's hand. "Check again, son...it's there, " Nick replied. The clerk, eyes running down the list saw it immediately.

"I don't know how I missed it the first time, Sir. I do beg your pardon Mr. Snow. And I see you've been with us before, I'm terribly sorry for any inconvenience." He began to ring the bell sharply, to get a bellman to take the luggage and guests to Nick's suite. Nick waved away any mention that he was upset and he and Humphries approached the elevator with the bellman.

The two bedroom suite was luxurious, no doubt. Not that Nick would be spending much time inside it. He intended to lie down and take a nap, call his wife Gloria and let her know that he had arrived and then grab a shower. He would dress for dinner and the nights play at the roulette wheel. He sat down on the side of the satin topped bed and took out his cell phone. It burbled twice and suddenly his beloved Gloria was on the line. "Hello Darling, " she trilled. "I see you arrived all in one piece. No problem with the flight?"
"No, Sweets, no problem at all. We have the conveyance parked and everything in hand. We'll be going down to dinner shortly and then after that, I'll be at play in the Casino." He took the chip and turned it over and saw the word "Bellagio" emblazoned on the front. He smiled. "Yes, playtime will start soon. I wish you would come with me sometime, they have some excellent shops."
She giggled sweetly. "What need have I of shops?" she said. "You behave and don't be to sharp with Humphries. I don't think he quite approves of your play clothes."
Nick laughed out loud and the room trembled. "I'll knock his socks off tonight, my dear. I've brought my tux." A warm glow enveloped Gloria Snow as she imagined her Nick in his tux...he was a totally different man in that suit. "Good night Darling...I'll be seeing you soon?" Nick, imagining her dressed in her flowing silk nightgown, whispered to her. "Sooner than you may expect my Angel. Keep the candle in the window."


Dinner was superb. Nick enjoyed the tender sweetness of the fillet Mignon, the avocado salad was pure heaven. Humphries had enjoyed Trout Almondine and a green salad and now they were both awaiting a dessert that they had never had. The description read "Try the chocolate raspberry Decadence, a flourless chocolate raspberry cake served on top of two Florentine cookies and filled with raspberry mousse. The dome-shaped cake is rich and fudgy, while the lattice cookies and fluffy raspberry mousse are gentle by comparison." Nick took a good healthy drink of water to cleanse his palate and leaning back in his chair, looked at Humphries. "What, no harsh words about my evening attire, Humphries?" Humphries, himself dressed in a smaller version of Nick's tux, had the good grace to blush. Looking at his employer, dressed in a very classy black tux, the cumberbund a deep rose yellow and the tie the same color, Humphries looked appropriately impressed.
"You look quite dashing, Sir. I'm sure Mrs. Snow would approve." Nick laughed to himself, and the look on his face was blatant, causing Humphries to flush red. "Ahemmm," he said, clearing his throat, "I believe dessert is arriving." Dessert had indeed arrived and lived up to the high praise on the menu. Not the simple fare of milk and cookies he had become accustomed to, it was pure heart attack on a plate. Finishing up, Humphries took care of the bill while Nick excused himself and started towards the Casino and the Roulette Wheel.


The chip was so hot it nearly burned Nick's hand. He place the chip on 20 red and stood back as the Croupier valued the chip at 1000 dollars. He watched in fascination as the ball went one way and the wheel the other. It began to slow and the ball landed in 10 black then hopped out, jumped around trying to find a stopping point and landed on 20 red. "Well done, Sir ," said the Croupier and he pushed a pile of chips in front of Nick. "Let it ride," said Nick softly.

As the earned chips piled up in front of him, Humphries would remove half the stacks and take them to the window to be cashed in. He had all the paper work he needed in the briefcase. In several hours, the play went on and the eyes in the sky were trying to figure out how the well dressed gentleman at the Roulette table was cheating. Nick had managed to amass over a half million dollars. He had attracted a crowd and people were muttering amongst themselves and wondering why the Man in Charge hadn't shut the table down. Finally, at one Million dollars, he did just that. Mr. Big wanted his people to talk to this wizard of the Roulette Wheel but when they turned to talk to him, they discovered that Nick Snow was no where to be found.

Nick tucked the now cooling chip into his breast pocket and then tucked the silk kerchief back in the pocket. Humphries had gone up to the room and packed their bags. He stood at the waiting taxi, door open and nodded to Nick as he stooped to get in the back seat. "All taken care of Mr. Snow, " Humphries smiled.
"Excellent, Humphries, excellent." He gave the cabby an address out near the airport and they were off. "How much did we make, Humphries?" Nick asked.
Well over a million, Sir. We're well in the black and there should be no problems with supply this year or the next. We've done well, and the orders are in and they only await our return."

The cabby pulled into an alleyway, let the two gentlemen out and was pleased with the hefty tip he had received. He tried hard not to stare at the little gentleman's ears. They had a Mr. Spock look, sharply pointed. Funny, he didn't remember them being that way when they had entered the cab. "Thank you sirs, this tip will come in handy, this time of year. I was wondering what I was going to do about my kids. Christmas seems to get tighter every year."
Nick cocked his head and smiled warmly at the driver. "Don't you worry, John. Their wishes will be taken into account. I can promise you that." For some reason John the cabby didn't wonder how the handsome older Gentleman had known his name. He thought he already knew. He turned back to the wheel and as he drove off heard the bells of a sleigh. And smiled.

And it all began with a party line

When my grandmother became one of the first people in the western half of the county to have telephone service, it was absolutely nothing like our phone service of today. On your phone line would be at least five other patrons. If one of the other patrons was on the line, you of course were out of luck. No making calls till the line was clear. It was also an excellent way to gather news and "gossip" from around the area. They didn't hear it on the grape vine...they heard it on the party line. I remember once when my older sister wanted to make a call and our cousin Mary was on the phone at her house talking to her boyfriend. Holly kept picking up the phone to see if it was clear and the "click" it made when the receiver was lifted alerted Mary to the fact that someone else was on the line. This of course meant that she was reluctant to let go the line. There was a bit of small talk going on and the boyfriend was asking "where do you want to go tonight?" (Like there was a wealth of entertainment back in the late fifties...a movie theater and a skating rink.) "I don't know, where do you want to go?" Mary would ask back. After about three minutes of this back and forth, Holly says (disguising her voice a little...a very little) "you're going to hell if you don't get off this phone." I believe there was hell to pay after that little incident, too.

It was an important thing to have a phone in your home. You were really something if someone asked for your phone number and you actually had one to give. I remember when Mac and I married in 1968 how wonderful I felt when the phone company allowed as how we could have a phone...and there would be no party line. It would be our very own phone and we'd have our very own number that was totally different from my neighbors, not just off 1 or2 or 3 or 4...indicating party line service. I made sure to mail my family our phone number so that I didn't run up a high long distance charge on the bill. Being newly married, we were very careful about things like that. One night the phone rang and I answered it "McBride residence" as I always did. Mac sat across from me, watching the news. From the other end of the phone came the most vile language and vulgar suggestions that I held the phone by two fingers since it was the source of the filth. As I handed the phone across to Mac, I said "it's for you." He listened for half a tick and then he stated so coldly that I could hear the ice crackling in his voice. "If you ever call this number again you'll be sorry." As far as I know, he never did.

The next time we were home, I was telling my mother about my phone call and she laughed. She had worked for Ma Bell as a telephone operator when we lived in Washington DC when I was a baby. She told me about all the calls that she had heard (of course they didn't listen in!) and some of the perfectly wonderful responses that I might want to keep in mind, since Mac was away from home so much. I listened.

When we were stationed in Norfolk, Virginia I received a call one night. The young fellow on the other end was saying some pretty vile things. "Hold on a minute, sonny and let me get a cup of coffee and a cigarette." Click. It's no fun harassing a willing victim. I received a call from a phone molester when we lived in England and he had quite a repertoire of stuff to share with me. He got annoyed though when I kept saying things like "knickers? What are knickers?" And then turned to Bubbles (Violet Loxley Green) my neighbor and said, "he's asking about knickers, what's he talking about?" She looked at me and smiled and said, "hang up, darling it's only a tiny pervert who is definitely not going to be getting any jollies at this end of the line."

One night after we had gone to bed, the phone rang. Our house in England only had one line and it was downstairs in the entry way. I figured that people didn't talk as much on the phone as we did in the states since there was no line in the lounge (den or living room for my American audience). So anyway, the phone rang, I got up and went downstairs and answered it. A gentleman on the other end of the line asked if Janice were there. I had to tell him that I knew of no Janice and that he had probably misdialed. He agreed he probably had and then asked what part of the States I was from and we ended up talking about absolutely nothing for forty five minutes. After I rang off, I slipped back into bed and Mac asked sleepily, "who was it?"
I mumbled, just as sleepily, "oh, it was a wrong number."

So now here we are and everyone has a cell phone. Except me. I don't have one, don't want one...can't see a need for one. I heard on the news night before last that parents are in an uproar because their kids are taking pictures of themselves in their underwear and less WITH THEIR TELEPHONES and sending them to their friends, male and female. And male and female are doing this. So, the parents want to know what can be done. WHAT CAN BE DONE? For crying out loud, take the phone away from the child, you blithering idiot. Who pays the bills in that household? Who's rearing who? I see parents who are afraid of their own children and it's a frightening situation. Makes me long for the party line.

GrayC, the Christmas Cat

Do you have any friends that are as close to you as sisters, that would do anything for you (and vice versa) and not even question why? I count myself so very blessed in that I have two such sisters. One is Evil Sister (Jacqui) and the other is Good Sister (Maureen). Today we will be introducing Evil Sister's cat, GrayC to you. GrayC could only belong to Evil Sister, being an Evil Cat. Evil Sister has no need of a watch dog as long as GrayC is around. This cat actually snarls. And growls. And I believe she may bite. My first introduction to the rotound Miss G was after Evil Sister and hubby moved here from New Jersey. (I like to say it was because their daughter had moved here, but it was really because she couldn't stand being away from her "sister".) I had been warned about Miss G's bad habits. I was ill prepared for the actuality that is GrayC. She had been, as I understand it, an orphaned little kitten that had to be bottle fed (such as our Hound). I know first hand how spoiled a human raised kitten can become...yes, GrayC is spoiled.

So when I first clapped eyes on her all I could say was, "my GOD that cat is fat!" I know now that Miss G and I shall never have an "aunt/niece" relationship because I stumbled in on the wrong foot from the beginning. You never tell an Up and Coming young debutante that she is on the, shall we say husky side , of petite. Jacqui says she can't figure out why GrayC is so er...plump. She only eats regular cat food. And apricots...and marshmallows...she loves those little yellow chicks. No, really. Apricots. And marshmallows. Yellow chicks.

Her "daddy" bought her a Christmas suit the other day. Seems he wanted her to be able to get into the spirit. As luck would have it, she could barely get into the suit. Jaq was telling me about how the velcro closures would barely make it around her girth and GrayC has no idea how to "suck it in" if it isn't a marshmallow. I told her she could add a piece of velcro to the closures and make a gusset, as it were. And then I fell into hysterical laughter at the thought of a gusset in the cat suit. Now, you'd think that the mention of a cat suit on a cat would set me off, but no. Nothing odd in dressing your sweetums in human attire. Is there?

So, they finally managed to stuff...I mean clothe Miss G in her Santa suit. They sent me a picture. Actually they sent two.


This is Miss G doing her Jim Carey impersonation of the Grinch. And meanwhile here at home, I can't get mine out of the Christmas tree.

This link will explain why I call her Evil Sister. http://sandimcbride.blogspot.com/2007/10/happy-halloween.html

Gonna rope a deer

By now you all know that I am a bunny hugging, tree sitting, arm the animals type of person. I lay curses on deer hunters that use dogs and put that charm on so strong that long after deer season is over, the dogs are still shivering and refusing to leave their boxes. Their owners are having nightmares that mean they have to lay down in the afternoon and take a nap. I received this letter from a friend today and being that I love to share good news, I decided that I just had to share it with all my friends.

Roping A Deer - - - - - ( Names have been removed to protect the Stupid! )

Dear Family
I had this idea that I was going to rope a deer, put it in a stall, feed it up on corn for a couple of weeks, then kill it and eat it.

The first step in this adventure was getting a deer. I figured that, since they congregate at my cattle feeder and do not seem to have much fear of me when we are there (a bold one will sometimes come right up and sniff at the bags of feed while I am in the back of the truck not 4 feet away), it should not be difficult to rope one, get up to it and toss a bag over its head (to calm it down) then hog tie it and transport it home.

I filled the cattle feeder then hid down at the end with my rope.

The cattle, having seen the roping thing before, stayed well back. They were not having any of it.

After about 20 minutes, my deer showed up (actually 3 of them) I picked out a likely looking one,then stepped out from the end of the feeder, and threw my rope. The deer just stood there and stared at me.

I wrapped the rope around my waist and twisted the end so I would have a good hold. The deer still just stood and stared at me, but you could tell it was mildly concerned about the whole rope situation.

I took a step towards it...it took a step away. I put a little tension on the rope and then received an education.

The first thing that I learned is that, while a deer may just stand there looking at you funny while you rope it, they are spurred to action when you start pulling on that rope.

That deer EXPLODED.

The second thing I learned is that pound for pound, a deer is a LOT stronger than a cow or a colt. A cow or a colt in that weight range I could fight down with a rope and with some dignity.

A deer-- no chance.

That thing ran and bucked and twisted and pulled. There was no controlling it and certainly no getting close to it. As it jerked me off my feet and started dragging me across the ground, it occurred to me that having a deer on a rope was not nearly as good an idea as I had originally imagined.

The only up side is that they do not have as much stamina as many other animals.

A brief 10 minutes later, it was tired and not nearly as quick to jerk me off my feet and drag me when I managed to get up. It took me a few minutes to realize this, since I was mostly blinded by the blood flowing out of the big gash in my head. At that point, I had lost my taste for corn-fed venison. I just wanted to get that devil creature off the end of that rope.

I figured if I just let it go with the rope hanging around its neck, it would likely die slow and painfully somewhere. At the time, there was no love at all between me and that deer. At that moment, I hated the thing, and I would venture a guess that the feeling was mutual.

Despite the gash in my head and the several large knots where I had cleverly arrested the deer's momentum by bracing my head against various large rocks as it dragged me across the ground, I could still think clearly enough to recognize that there was a small chance that I shared some tiny amount of responsibility for the situation we were in, so I didn't want the deer to have to suffer a slow death, so I managed to get it lined back up in between my truck and the feeder - a little trap I had set before hand...kind of like a squeeze chute.

I got it to back in there and I started moving up so I could get my rope back.

Did you know that deer bite? They do! I never in a million years would have thought that a deer would bite somebody, so I was very surprised when I reached up there to grab that rope and the deer grabbed hold of my wrist.

Now, when a deer bites you, it is not like being bit by a horse where they just bite you and then let go. A deer bites you and shakes its head --almost like a pit bull. They bite HARD and it hurts.

The proper thing to do when a deer bites you is probably to freeze and draw back slowly. I tried screaming and shaking instead. My method was ineffective. It seems like the deer was biting and shaking for several minutes, but it was likely only several seconds.

I, being smarter than a deer (though you may be questioning that claim by now), tricked it.

While I kept it busy tearing the tendons out of my right arm, I reached up with my left hand and pulled that rope loose. That was when I got my final lesson in deer behavior for the day.

Deer will strike at you with their front feet. They rear right up on their back feet and strike right about head and shoulder level, and their hooves are surprisingly sharp. I learned a long time ago that, when an animal -- like a horse --strikes at you with their hooves and you can't get away easily, the best thing to do is try to make a loud noise and make an aggressive move towards the animal. This will usually cause them to back down a bit so you can escape.

This was not a horse. This was a deer, so obviously, such trickery would not work. In the course of a millisecond, I devised a different strategy. I screamed like a woman and tried to turn and run.

The reason I had always been told NOT to try to turn and run from a horse that paws at you is that there is a good chance that it will hit you in the back of the head. Deer may not be so different from horses after all, besides being twice as strong and 3 times as evil, because the second I turned to run, it hit me right in the back of the head and knocked me down.

Now, when a deer paws at you and knocks you down, it does not immediately leave. I suspect it does not recognize that the danger has passed. What they do instead is paw your back and jump up and down on you while you are laying there crying like a little girl and covering your head.

I finally managed to crawl under the truck and the deer went away.

So now I know that when people go deer hunting they bring a rifle with a scope to sort of even the odds.
Y'all be good now, ya hear?

PS
I had planned on going duck hunting for Christmas but I'm still blind in my right eye and my trigger finger appears to be missing.



Now you know why I hate hunting...it's that part of the family that I try to avoid at all costs...

Let's just keep this between the two of us...

I have been a Christmas junkie since I was a child. I start looking forward to it the day after it is over. I would love to have one room in the house I could keep decorated all year long. I have a doll's house that I used just for that purpose. It entertained me. It kept me joyful. I don't know how many of you are grandparents, but I tell you truly, I am so enthralled with my Angel Girl that it's lucky for us that her father survived childhood. I'm not sure to this day how that happened...he was the accident looking for a place to happen since he learned to walk. He learned to walk at eleven months of age. He has gone down hill out of control on a bike, fallen through a greenhouse roof, chased a cat up a Christmas tree, bringing down tree cat and all, cleared the kudzu from a downtown lot (with his car) and offered to send the Mayor a bill for his efforts. Yes, this is the father of our Arianna. She is my heart. I saw a bumper sticker once that said "My Grandchildren are so much fun, I wish I'd had them first". Yes, I want that cockamamie bumper sticker. I receive emails and calls from her and they delight me. Tonight she sent me an e-mail that read "Dear Grandma, I'm going to send Santa a letter to ask him for a kitten and a collar for my kitten. I want to ask him if his name is really Chris Cringle." Her spelling. She's nine. All this after her phone call from the other night when she told me she was so mad at her best friend. In fact, her best friend is no longer a best. I asked her what had happened, had they had a falling out? And she told me that her friend had told her there was no such thing as Santa Claus. My heart stopped. My eyes filled with tears. And I was mad at her best friend, too. All I could think of was my boys when they were little and someone older and hateful had spilled the beans. I told them the simple truth. When you stop believing in Santa, he stops believing in you. It's the socks and underwear Christmas, no more toys, no more games...no more Rudolph. No more Red Rider cap guns or RockemSockem Robots. No more "get to sleep early so Santa can come put out your gifts and you can wake us at three in the morning and Mommy can sleep on the sofa all day especially if Daddy has the duty (or the ship is at sea..and Daddy isn't home for Christmas again)." So, my boys still believe in Santa, and Santa continues to bring the toys and games and fun things. They swear to me that they hear the sleigh up on the rooftop. I know exactly what Santa has in his bag for the boys and the girls they've provided me with. So, what do I say to my wonderful sweet Angel Princess Granddaughter? Why, exactly what I had told my boys. But I added an addendum.
"Don't tell your Daddy," I whispered.

It's Black Friday and Maxine wants a word with you

I am the "stuffed like a Thanksgiving Turkey" remark, personified. No, I am not going out to the shops to help bring the economy under control. I do that enough already. Or so Mac tells me. Do I want to? Hell, no. No person in their right mind would be out shopping today when they can stay in the comfort of their own home, decorating their Christmas tree. Of course with our new addition to the family, Hound (the kitten) I'll have to decorate that in stages. First, bring in the tree. Let tree occupy corner for several days, being unobtrusive. Pluck Hound from the tree 30 times the first day, 15 times the second day and hopefully by the end of the fourth day, she will no longer find a tree in the house as being all that interesting. On Day four , put one ornament on tree. Allow Hound to knock it off. Replace said ornament. Repeat. Endlessly. By Christmas Eve, one of us will be so tired that no more lessons need to be taught. But, speaking of Black Friday, there will be so many cars on the road today that they will be sending out 10-51's to 10-50's for the next twelve hours. I pray the 10-52's will be left in their bays. (wreckers, wrecks, ambulances). So, I thought I'd let you enjoy Maxine, a few are new, some are old and need repeating...I hope your Thanksgiving was a marvel and that like me, you don't intend to be the goose on anyone's highway, but taking it easy, loving the day. Black Friday my foot! Now, as I said, Maxine needs a word!

It's a MEME Tag and Awards Day!

Mindy with one of her Mob members...Peanut















My newest Bloggin' Buddy, the Butterfly Gardner has tagged me with a meme...I'm supposed to first tell you the rules. Yes, that makes sense to me...tell you the rules first.
Here goes.

1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules on your blog (copy and paste 1-6).
3) Write 6 random things about yourself (see below).
4) Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them.
5) Let each person know they have been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6) Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Now, if I can think of six things about me that I haven't already blabbed about (and I blab about everything) this is going to be a snap. I think someone should make up a meme about six things you wish you had done...now that could be interesting. Might break up a few relationships, but as a dear friend of ours always says , you rolls the dice you takes your chances... Okay okay, I'm dragging my feet, I know...but here goes nothing.

1. I'm married to the only man I've ever loved and the secret to 40 years of marriage is simple. I like him, too.

2. I love to talk. I'd talk to a face on a brick wall if no else was around.

3. Hmm...I'm not quite sure how to put this...I'm bossy. I mean, really bossy. I don't mean to be that way, but I think it may be genetic. My Grandmother was bossy and so was my Mother. I learned from the best. When Mac tells me I'm getting more like my Mother every day, he really isn't giving me the compliment I take it for.

4. I don't suffer fools gladly. Ohhh, don't get me started about fools!

5. I have a Lab mix who is blind. She had a stroke when she was three months old during her little operation for spaying. The Vet suggested we put her to sleep and I get a new puppy. I kept the old puppy and got a new Vet. The cats adore her, we call them her Seeing Eye Cat's...these are cats that were living wild when we moved to the new house. Of course her own cats adored her, that the new mob would was nothing short of amazing.

6. I believe in Spirits...you might call them ghosts...

Okay, that's six! And here are the ones I'm tagging to do the same. Five of my new friends and one Sweet friend that I've known from the beginning...we'll start with her

1. The Beach Kat http://justabeachkat.blogspot.com/ because although I know a good bit about her, I'd still like to know more.

2. The Coffee Bean at http://righteousbuzz.blogspot.com/ Since the Coffee Bean is so sassy I'd like to know how she got that way...genetics or life?

3. Moannie from http://theviewfromthisend.blogspot.com/ Her blog is always an interesting one to read, she will happy to tell you her opinion on things...you don't even have to ask. My kind of Lady!

4. Sandy from http://spiritifelici.blogspot.com/ who shares love and laughs everyday...or everyday that she can.

5. Imerie from http://thegreengrassgrowsallaround.blogspot.com/ and I love a blog that treats family and family life so face on.

6. And last but certainly not least, RBK from http://rbksrealm.blogspot.com/ a single Mom who is now an empty nester...like a lot of us...I want to know more about her. She is intriguing.

Now, on to the awards. The sweet Cheshire Wife gave me the Kreative Blog award and I'm very happy to accept it. I especially love the name of her blog,The Cheshire Wife...it's so English, and I miss our life there so much. Beach Kat gave me three! Count 'em THREE and since they are awards I've never gotten before, they too, are special to me. They are at the top. And now for an Edit to the post! Pat, at Back Porch Musings has honored me with yet another terrific award. It is of her own creation and I accept the Comfort and Joy award with awe for her talents. If you haven't been to see her, you owe yourself a trip. In case my links aren't working she's on my list of Bloggers I visit frequently...In fact, everyone I've mentioned is a special friend, please, go check out their blogs.

I can't begin to tell you how long I've worked on this. I started last night. It was difficult, I kept losing my links...I tried to think of something interesting about me, but believe me, since I retired, I'm quite boring. Well, maybe a little boring. I am going to share out these awards, but I think I'll do it on another day. I'm just to tired to be magnanimous, so I'll just be Sleepy, instead. If you all don't see your link, blame Blogger, I've worked hard enough to get them in here!

When in doubt, blame the cat

I'm not sure what is going on in the world of television these days, but it seems a lot of the commercials are funnier than the actual show they host. I've been known to lay in wait for my favorites. Do you remember the one about the dog, who on seeing the sandwich his Master had prepared, sitting beside it a bottle of soda (Pepsi, coke one of those) eats the sandwich, drinks the drink, then taking the cat by the scruff of the neck, sits him next to the empty plate, bottle by...this teaches us what? When in doubt, blame the cat. The cat is good for all kinds of blame. I've seen Mac look Pyewackit directly in his blue eyes and say "did you do that?" I can guarantee you that if he had done "that" (which usually involves a foul odor moving in my direction) he would proudly own up to it by doing a mad run around the house, climbing up woodwork and sliding into the kitchen sideways on the rag rug. My usual response to this is "now that's mature. Blame a poor defenseless cat." Having grown up in a household of girls, I had to learn the "pull my finger" game from Mac. And he couldn't wait to teach it to his sons. My mother tried to warn me that boys were disgusting, but would I listen? So anyway, the cat and the sandwich is my favorite of all time. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLPNhsjsC2M
To see the commercial, just cut and paste if it doesn't work.

Then some ads are so irresponsible that it makes me want to look for a lawyer. These are of course from the Auto Industry. We spend our lives instructing our children on the proper way to drive, to insure that they get home safe and sound, and these bozos are out there talking about "vroom vroom". VROOM VROOM? I do not want my children to go from 0 to 60 in 7 seconds. I don't really want them going 60 at all, since the speed limit for most places is 55. The double nickle. Of course, when my boys first got out there driving they had lots of eyes on them, my brother and sister officers told all. My younger son, Michael, was nicknamed "the Road Warrior" by one of the Highway Patrol officers. Eventually, he realized that he was in a no win situation and slowed down. But the Auto Industry has so much to answer for. Speeding down a highway is only one of the ads that get me hyped up. There is another one that is much worse, in fact borders on Child Endangerment.

Dad is out in the back yard building Junior a treehouse. It's a warm day. Dad is sweating. He goes over to the family van, and pulling back the sliding door (it's closed!) tells his son the tree house is ready. Now, this is a "tear that little ass out of the frame" moment. The kid looks at his father and wants to know if the tree house has a television. NO? Well, does it have leather seats? NO? Then I'll just stay in here with my little friend. I'LL JUST STAY INSIDE THIS OVEN THAT CAN GO FROM 78 TO 140 (NOT IN 7 SECONDS BUT CLOSE) AND KILL ME. That is irresponsible advertising, no redeeming features in this one at all. I actually wrote to a couple of networks to complain about the ad content, and I encourage anyone who sees it (it still runs, though the brat is probably in high school giving his teachers a hard time, now) to do the same. I'm afraid it may take a disaster to get this one off the air. I can't even put words to the disaster, it chills me.

And not to let the Auto Industry off the hot seat to quickly, lord knows they need their feet held to the fire as long as possible (till they develop crispy toes at the very least) but I really don't know any women who put their makeup on in the car mirror. I know, there are a few...I just don't know nor have ever known, any. Not even a passenger who has ever ridden with me has done that. What do I feel? I feel they, the Auto Industry (dimwits) are poking fun at the wrong thing. I have a new commercial in mind...man or woman, riding down the highway...cell phone to their ear, mind on the conversation when suddenly they are wearing the road they were just driving on. Cut to scene at the hospital. Driver/patient is lying on a gurney when suddenly a phone begins to ring. The ring is coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the driver/patient's butt. Because that's where it is well and truly wedged. I may be the last person in the world to not own a cell. When I go shopping, if I want company I take a friend with me. I don't want my phone ringing and interrupting my shopping high. I don't even like to answer the phone at home, so why is answering the one in your purse or that ridiculous little head set stuck in your ear so exciting? When I'm driving I like to listen to the radio or the cd player. I don't want to talk. When I'm driving, I don't talk all that much to my passenger. I'm keeping my mind on more important things. Like my life and the life of the others on the road with me at the time. So, no cell phone. I have an emergency 911 phone for the truck, but I've found that 911 Dispatchers don't have a lot of time to chat. They're sort of busy. Usually sending an ambulance to the scene of a 10-50 (cop speak for wreck) and a surgical team to remove the cell phone from the driver's behind. But then, it was probably a deer that ran out in front of them...yeah, either that or a cat. Probably Pyewackit. He'll take the blame for almost anything.