Love...for all it's worth

I was snoozing ever so gently this morning when I felt someone looking at me. I was swimming hard for the surface dragging myself up from a semi coma to the dawning of awareness when I heard Mac say "when you're sleeping, why do you breathe like that?" You know, I had to struggle to choke out the words "breathe like what?" "Well," says he, " like little puffs of breath and then this little...I don't know, like a giggle". He's whispering, and I'm wondering just how long he's been awake listening to me breathe. "Are you alright?" I asked. I mean, I am not understanding this at all and he admits he does it often. "You don't snore," he tells me. Now I'm sure this is not earthshattering news to most people, but it was vindication to me. You see, he does snore. And loudly. I've heard the term buzzsaw used to describe some snorers. Try jackhammer. In your ear. In the middle of the night. And then that sudden little jump, and I know he's having that falling off a cliff dream again. I've told him over and over again to try to sleep on his stomach, or on his side...but he swears to me he doesn't snore. He knows he doesn't snore because he sat up all night one night and never snored once. I kept telling him I was going to set the tape recorder up to get my proof, but you know there is just no convincing some people of the truth even if it's staring them in the face...or playing loudly in their ear. But by this time I'm wondering just what time it is. I look over to the clock to see that it's 5:00 in the morning. I patted his hand and prepared to snuggle back down into sleep when I heard a noise at the closed bedroom door. It got a bit louder, accompanied by meowing...indoor voice meowing...Pyewackit was whispering "let me in, I'll be quiet and won't let the others know I'm in there with you..." Then quiet. Then a bit of bumping at the door. Then a scurry of feet. In the nearlight of morning I see one brown paw coming beneath the door and reaching upwards. I hear a deep rumbling of laughter and Mac says "I think he ran to get his screwdriver set...sounds like he's removing the hinges." And it dawns on me. There's no wonder I'm so tired...I haven't slept "in" since 1989. It's the bedeviling men in my life. They give me no peace. My attention is required all the time. But it's a warm feeling when I stop to think about it, one lying watching me sleep, the other trying to remove the obstacle that separates him from the person he considers his own. It's love. I've decided that I'm pretty lucky anyone cares how I breathe when I sleep and begs for the door to be opened. Like Pye, I can always grab a nap later.

Updates

First of all I want to thank all of you for your concern about Mac. I have discovered that what my mother always said, may be the hard down truth...men don't listen. They don't listen to their wives, their mothers or even their own bodies. Mac's body has been telling him "take it easy, don't push yourself to the edge" and did he listen? No, in fact the more I and his body nagged him, the more he tried to do. So, tonight I am looking for my handcuffs (hey, get your mind out of there, I used them in a professional capacity in Law Enforcement. Tonight I find myself in the position of once again, being the Law. Having determined that they may be a handy tool to keep Mr. McBride attached to his chair, his computer or the porch...(I haven't made my mind up on the location as yet), cuffed he will be. Today he pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, yet again. How hard is it to sit down and drink a glass of tea and recoup from hard work? Will I give up? No. Will he learn to listen? I doubt it. Will I drag his carcass to the hospital if I feel it is necessary? You can bet your bottom dollar. He has now retired to bed, having heard enough of my "hissy fit". Every Southern Woman and quite a few of you Yankee women know what a hissy fit consists of. Getting your way. Being no shrinking violet, I find the hissy fit comes in handy on certain occasions. This is one of them. I'll keep you informed.



After my post on the young lady who was being sexually harassed at work, I found to my dismay that nearly everyone of you had some experience with this problem. I said dismay, not surprise. Not even shock. The irony of it is I should have been shocked that most of you had encountered this in your own life. The pity of it is that in an enlightened society such as ours has become, women are still discriminated against. It gives me pride to know that I am married to a man who not only respects me, he protects me and in any situation , has my back. I know that if any of you witness something that in your eyes is wrong, you will speak up to whoever in authority is forced to listen. Somehow, I have a feeling you are all looking for that opportunity to correct a wrong.

Taking a Stand

Now that Easter has passed, and as we await Ascension Sunday, there is much to be done. Mac and I spent the day in the yard planting flowers and preparing other beds for vegetables. It was exhausting but so elating to watch Mac enjoying his time knee deep in dirt, fertilizer and plants. He seems to feel so much better, and I doubt he can fool me. I believe it is just that we arise so early (never up later than 6:30, we go full tilt till noon). Mac doesn't rest, he just keeps on keeping on. Today though, I had to stop to go to the grocers for things I had neglected to restock for the week ahead. After parking the truck near the front door of the store, I walked in the front door and purposely grabbed one of the smaller grocery buggies, knowing that if I took the large one I would most likely fill it to the brim. I kept the list in my head "butter, chicken stock, eggs, teabags...and sugarfree popsicles." I don't think I got one thing that I didn't have on the list. It must have been a first for me. I pushed the buggy over to the young cashier who had only one other person in line. Someone got in line behind me and began talking to the cashier, who appeared to be around the age of sixteen or seventeen. He kept making advances verbally to her, over my shoulder, in my ear...what are you fixing me for dinner, you fix dinner I'll do dessert lets watch a movie blah blah blah and on and on till I thought "if she doesn't scream, I may." This went on for awhile and she was trying to ring me up and acting more and more uncomfortable with this man's odd banter. It wasn't exactly the words he used, it was the way he used them, not willing to have her do anything but enter into his game. She clearly didn't want to, and I glanced behind me and noticed that he wore the uniform of the store. So, he was a customer (about to purchase a soda) but first of all he was a co-worker who should have known better. All I could think about was my daughters (in-law), my granddaughter, my nieces and great nieces, all these young women (my granddaughter and a few of my nieces are not even in their teens) and what they may have to put up with in the workplace now or in the future. So I said to the young Cashier "I don't know if he's bothering you but he's annoying the hell out of me." She smiled rather nervously at me and finished ringing up my order. I told her I had forgotten something and would park the buggy at the end of her register and be back. I went back and picked up something, I don't even remember what, and when I returned to her register the offensive little man was now gone and as I paid for my item I asked her if the co-worker was her boyfriend. She said no. I asked her if she was familiar with Sexual Harassment laws and told her she didn't have to put up with such nonsense. She told me that while it was embarrassing, it was just "his way" he didn't mean anything by it, really. Uh huh. So I made up my mind that if she couldn't stand up for herself (and at her young age it would have been intimidating I'm sure to make "a thing" of it. But you have to stand up sometimes, you can't let these things get a foothold or they only get worse. I told her I'd like to see the manager, that I wanted to make a complaint about his actions and how he had made ME feel on her behalf. The bagger who was standing there told me he was not in at the time, and I nodded and said okay, and left the store. I was so revolted by what I had witnessed in the store that I found myself trembling as I headed for home. I told Mac about what had occurred and he, being the man I always knew him to be, told me I needed to report it. I have never been so proud of him. I told him I fully intended to and thanked him for his support of my decision. I called the store and left a message for the manager to call me on a matter of importance. Then I called the District Headquarters and filed a formal complaint with them, in detail. A little later on I received a call from someone who said they were the assistant manager. I told him that I was waiting to hear from the manager, that he was the only one with whom I cared to discuss the matter . I may have been wrong, but I believed the voice to be the one that had drifted over my shoulder, into my ear on it's puerile way to the young girl at the cash register. I hope she knows that I am not trying to make trouble for her. I wanted to protect her the only way I knew how...with my actions. No person trying to make a living, or earn their college money should have to put up with that type of behavior in the work place, be it a woman or a man...it can happen to men too, don't kid yourself. It can happen on any job site, but usually there are no witnesses because the harassers learn early to ply their trade in secret. I once heard it said that if you didn't stand for something, you'd fall for anything. So today I climbed on my soapbox. I feel amazingly clean.

Hope your Good Friday is productive...

First of all let me thank thank you all for your caring concern over Mac. Today we're doing some good yard work, with the help of Evil Sister's son, Jason. Mac, who swears he will just be supervising, has his work boots on, so I doubt that. He'll be shoving Jason aside to "show" him how he wants it done. Men. Can't live without them, can't just shoot them...so says an old Forester Sister song, anyway. I'm going to be out there with them planting my Good Friday plants. Have a wonderful day everyone, I'll be in to check on you later. By the way, the truck was loaded down with cow manure, cypress mulch, a flat of Gerbera daisies and other assorted wonders for the garden. I bought him a saws all (reciprocating saw) for the work we have to do with landscape timbers. He has always wanted one, yet every Father's day he gets a stupid tie. Yes, it is Spring, and the blood is churning!

If there are no Ambulances or Helocoptors...It's a good day

I've been a bit concerned about Mac lately. He's not up to sparring speed. Usually so fast with the humorous comeback or stinging retort, he's been letting me get the best of him just a little too much lately. He seemed tired. And pale. Of course being the loving wife I set him up. I mean, I set up an appointment with Dr. Moyd. We love our doctor because he is like an old fashioned doctor of a bygone era. He does not treat us like sides of beef to prod and poke, first he listens. He listens with his ears, then he listens with his stethoscope. Of course I have to poke and prod Mac to get him to tell our wonderous Doc Moyd exactly what is bothering him. So we go in and Doc Moyd's little nurse sticks one of those oxygen monitoring gizmo's onto his finger first thing. And gets a little shocky when the reading is 85. Had I been in the room at the time, I would have gone more than a little shocky, I'd have been having a screaming mimi fit. (Not you, Mima) . That's nigh onto intubation level. Doc Moyd, being a trifle concerned, too (tho not on the levels that Lisa, his nurse, and I were.) He ordered all kinds of blood tests, listened to heart and lungs, declared said lungs clear (no wheezing) and set him up with an appointment with his Cardiologist and his Gastroenterologist. Because other than the fact that he feels tired, run down (like, by a truck) and gets shortness of breath, he declares he feels fine. Well fine, you're still going to see this fullhouse of doctors and then we'll see what we shall see. So last week we saw the Gastro man. He says that while liver enzymes are up a bit, well, not so much to worry about, but while you're here how about setting up an appointment for your colonoscopy? Then it's off to Dr. Grainger, our angel of a Cardiologist who upon noting that his blood pressure was a bit high decides that he is going to have his stress test a couple of months early. Just to get it out of the way, you understand. That was yesterday. My darling Mac told me in no uncertain terms that he was not having anything run up him, over him or in him. He'd have the stupid stress test, but the first person to mention angioplasty, stents or pacemakers would get a flat no. (Can I get an Amen?) I'm nodding, yes dear, of course dear all the time working it out in my head how I was going to work around that problem. So today we went for the stress test. While he was busy on the treadmill and getting pictures done and ultrasounds of his carotids, I went to Lowe's. It was just across the street from Dr. Grainger's place so I figured that if I heard any helocoptors approaching the pad, or Ambulance sirens headed our way, I could get back in a hurry. You see, both of us have had the helocoptor/ambulance experience...both times the weather was too bad for the coptor's to fly (thank you God, I knew you'd come through) but the ambulances worked just fine. So I get back to the clinic and no coptors, no ambulances. Mac is sitting in the waiting room, waiting for one more round of pictures before we can head home. Noting that I had been to Lowes, and knowing that I prefer it to WalMart's, he casually mentioned that maybe he should go out and look in the bed of the truck first, thinking it might make a difference in his stress test. (Hmm, he's beginning to sound like his old self). I patted his hand, telling him "no no honey, I don't think you want to do that. It'll just be my little surprise." It's now 11:30 pm. No coptors, no ambulances ever made an appearance. No Doctors ever poked a head out saying "might I have a word?" So...the man's got the heart of a lion. A lion who needs a nap .

The Hole in the Wall Gang

We bought our place out here going on three years ago. I find it hard to believe that time has passed by so quickly. We have made major, and I mean MAJOR changes here. We have conformed things to our liking as far as comfort and joy, prepared our garden space for the veggies, planted fruit trees, many fruit trees of apple, plum, peach and fig. We have muscadine vines started and of course there are flowers. What is a home ,without flowers. We're putting in the small ornamental fish pond next week and I so look forward to that. Which brings us to the heart of the story. When we moved here we brought with us our cats. We had our house cats and then we had the yard cats. The house cats, who prefer to be known as "the children" are Arial (my blogging buddy), Pyewackit (the Clown Prince) and Batgirl, the Sergeant at Arms. Now while Pye and Arial never leave the house, Batgirl does as she pleases, which is why she is Sergeant-at-Arms. She's the Calico, the ring leader of mirth and mayhem. She has one son who comes in for his daily beating then goes out to warn everyone else that she is about to enter the wild kingdom and she is not amused. Batgirl is seldom amused, though frequently amusing. Of our totally outdoor cats only one remains. His name is Pinky , a middle of the road man, loving one minute, aloof the next. When going to the vet for his rabies injections, he refuses to ride in a carrier with just anyone. He will only enter said carrier with the munchkin cat , (a gift from our neighbor )Peanut looks as if he could be Pinky's son. Yes, our neighbor, wonderful man really, gave us Peanut as a gift. Kind of like giving a cup of water to a drowning man. Because you see, after we moved in these other cats began riding in, sidling up to the bar and announcing, "make my Meow Mix...with a side of milk ,no rocks." There was Wonky, a Maine Coon, unneutered (and he began to prove it immediately. With him was a neutered pal we call CeeCee, a grey and white Maine Coon. If he were a person he would strongly resemble a Varsity Cheerleader (say Cary Grant in long flannels (grey) with a white sweater vest over a grey shirt. He even walks like a cheerleader.)) A few months after that "the Stranger" rode in. George Bailey is his son by some young camp follower who arrived with him.


Trouble is the son of Batgirl , and his daddy was a traveling salesman. Sold her a bill of goods and then hustled off to Buffalo, or parts unknown. Following Bob Barker's advice we did her a favor and spayed her. This could explain her attitude problems. A few weeks ago we noticed a larger version of Wonky. Very sweet natured guy, who upon further examination has been neutered. So, this wild bunch comes riding in early every morning , swagger in to the bar and demand breakfast (Kit and Kaboodle if there's no meow mix available, milk ,no rocks). The last one to show up we just call big purty...cause he's big. And he's purty. We should call him Sylvester, because that's who he looks like. Pinky and Peanut are the ranch owners who get overwhelmed by the cattle rustlers. No one fights with them, they just stay out of the way and say yes sir and no sir. Peanut comes in for therapy three times a day and a dressing down from Batgirl. Batgirl...she's more the Annie Oakley of the bunch than the Miss Kitty. She's not as nice as Miss Kitty, she doesn't pour drinks and she doesn't socialize with strangers. After a hard day of chasing grasshoppers, climbing as many trees as her schedule allows, she walks past the Hole in the Wall Gang, slapping each one on her way in and collapses in front of kitchen door for her nap before dinner. Chicken. Shake and Bake. Milk, water long side.





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Jana Banana tagged me for this last week and I'm late getting to it and for that I apologize to the darling Jana. I know you shouldn't upset expectant mommies, so here goes.





1.What if I could meet someone in the art world to chat with..I think it would have to be Gordon Rossitor of Australia. Most of the works I have read about are landscapes, some with people or animals included. I don't know why, but I find his work so appealing.









Rossitor's Kunderang Muster is pictured above. I covet it.

What if I could have one wish granted for the benefit of all mankind..I would wish that every living person had shelter. I think shelter is the most important thing in a person's life, shelter
no one can take away, a place where you are always welcome. From shelter you gain the courage to go out and find food. From food you gain the strength to procure work to provide other needs. Yes, shelter for the world.



.What if I could travel anywhere in the world...England...always England. So of course the rest of the Empire (I know, I know) Australia and in particular India. I find myself drawn to India nearly as as much as England (the Motherland).





What if I could live in a period other than the present, for 24 hours...I think we as human beings put our own mark on every period of history and unless something could be changed for the better (and I don't think it could be) then I would want to be standing at Lincoln's shoulder when he signed the Emancipation Proclamation. Not the full twenty four hours, just the few minutes it would take to be a part of such ground breaking history. And I would want to ask him if he was afraid of the coming storm.



What if I could make over three areas of my body...other than the weight that I gained after all the crappy health issues, I'm pretty well pleased with what I have. It's not great but I got it from my mother...I could never turn down a gift from my mother...and once the weight comes off, then I'm perfectly content.



Thank you Jana, that was a unique tag, and I enjoyed it.

The Things we Do for Beauty

There's a beauty regimen that nearly every woman I know has to go through. Has to I tell you. There is no choice in the matter, even for those who were born beautiful, you have to work to keep that beauty up on your face and not hanging around your neck with miriad wrinkles and age spots. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this regimen needs to start at,oh I don't know, age ten? Shockingly enough I began my "Noxzema routine" at the late age of fifteen. I remember telling my mother that the soap (Camay, remember Camay?) made my skin feel tight and icky. My mother went out to the store the following day and bought me a cobolt blue jar of Noxzema skin cleanser. Thus began the routine that followed for the rest of my life. It was only the first step, but a major one. It was like I had joined some kind of tribe after I told my friends about the miracles of that astringently smelling white cream that I used at least twice a day, on weekends three. Where had I been, I was asked. One friend claimed to have started using it at age seven. I could only think she must have had some extremely oily skin...or extraordinarily dry skin, for this was one of those "one size fits all" products. There I am, a Noxzema addict, step one is now complete and step two was just around the corner. Lipstick. My first tube was purchased in the May Company. It was Rose. Not red Rose, barely pink rose, you know just a blush of color. My mother wore Fire Engine Red and I asked her why I couldn't wear red. She told me quite simply, "you don't have the maturity to pull it off. Wait until you're older." Of course when we got home, I had to go in her bathroom and try her lipstick. She was right. I looked like an escapee from Barnum and Bailey's Circus.So, at age 16 I could wear a little powder and a tiny bit of mascara. So now here we are, clean face, a little powder, some eye makeup and an almost there lipstick. By age twenty I refused to let anyone see me without my makeup on. Mac was the only exception, he saw a clean scrubbed face twice a day. When we were stationed in London, my friend Bubbles, (she was known professionally as Violet Loxley, the West End Actress) took me to her hairdresser. Every woman knows you have to have a hairdresser that you'd trust with your life. (Here I have my darling Miranda). But so far while in England, I had yet to find anyone with whom I was, well, content. Bubbles had no end of Service people ("Little Men" as she called them...her 6/2 195 pound window washer was "her little man" and the sentence always began with "I have this little man who may be able to help you out.") She meant no disrespect, she was not rude, she was English. So, off I go to her "Little Man" who welcomes me warmly, clasping both my hands in his and standing back begins to nod his head, smiling widely. He sat me in the chair and considering me as a blank canvas began to "tch tch" and shake his head. I wondered if I had sprouted another head that didn't meet with as much approval as the one that first entered his shop. He looked at Bubbles and still shaking his head, said "lovely face, shame about the eyebrows." Bubbles came over to me and said very quietly, "he wants to give you a wax, dear. Are you game?" Now how could I tell this tiny sweet lady that the lioness, (which she often referred to me as) in her midst was not game? So Elliot came to stand over me with a sharp stick globs of hot wax upon it and although I felt I might bolt and run, I simply grasped the arms of the chair as he began to paint molten hell on my eyebrows. Not so bad, I began to relax, it didn't burn in the least. He then rubbed strips of cloth over the wax, rubbing till I thought a bruise might appear. And then the maddened little man ripped them off quickly, no warning, just PAIN erupting from my forehead. I think I screamed. I don't know, because I think I may have lost consciousness there for a minute, too. When I came to myself Bubbles was patting my hand and saying things like "it's all over now dear, wait till you see". Well, once I dashed the tears from my eyes I could see what she meant. Wow. My eyebrows looked wonderful, making my eyes look larger...the brow no longer went from one side of my face to the other with no break in the middle. I no longer looked like a long lost relative of the Wolfman. The amazing Elliot spent the next hour on my hair and when I walked out of his shop, I had to admit that I felt wonderful and looked pretty darned good, too! So we're about to walk out and back to Marleybone Station when Bubbles takes a package from "her little man". Okay, so Elliot is indeed a diminutive soul, he being 5'4 and me being, well, tall. Off we go, catch the train and back to Beaconsfield we go. On the train she takes the package from her bag and tells me "you'll like this much better for your legs than a razor or that harsh cream." I opened the box and gazed upon a contraption that fit nicely in my hand. It had what appeared to be a coil of wire at the end. Bubbles explained that you just run the little contraption up and down your leg lightly and "voila" the hair was gone as if by magic. I tried it that night. Dogs from several blocks away responded to my howls of pain. Please, someone pass me the razor.

How to Celebrate When you are in Florence With your Granddaughter

As I said, Saturday the wind was blowing like 40 hells and of course we decide that's the day for Mac to go to Florence to get his specks adjusted or replaced (what ever seems best) at the Mall. I have been banned from straying into Barnes and Noble for longer than thirty minutes (Mac having figured I can't do too much damage in that short length of time). So I call the kids and tell them we are coming into Florence. Michael told me that Anna had made the G'daughter an appointment to get her eyes examined at 2 p.m. That worked out well for us, we could all gather at the Mall. We left the house about 9 am because there were other stops to be made on the way. The trip from here to Florence takes about an hour and a half and we stopped off at Lowe's and Wal-Marts in Hartsville before we got there. We have been looking for a "Private Drive" sign. I know they make them, it's just hard to find them. We want to get the problem of other people using our drive way stopped before it becomes a habit impossible to break. But that's another story for another day. No luck on the signs in either store, we headed on to Florence. I know this sounds unbelievable, but I've never been to a Home Depot. Every other store you name, well I've been there. But never Home Depot. So Saturday I spent an hour browsing through my first ever. Good news for Home Depot. Bad news for Mac. I found quite a few things that I would have loved to take back home with me had it not been for the near tornadic winds that were blowing. Mac called it a 40 knot gale. So at 1 pm we headed over to the Mall, Mac took his glasses into Lenscrafters, explained the problem with the new ones (they were uncomfortable and the lineless bifocal was not right). After leaving the specks in their care, we went to Barnes and Noble to meet up with the family. Michael arrived first, saying the girls (my DDIL and G'Daughter)were on the way. I made a vow to myself that I would not spend even a penny inside, since I still had about four books to read. No since in being greedy, right? We took Arianna to get her eyes examined and even though everyone of us are be speckled or contact lensed (I know, I made that word up. It's my blog, I can do that) her baby blues are 20/20. I hugged her and said "this calls for a celebration!" She said in all innocence, "wow Grandma, I like to celebrate in Ruby Tuesday's." Anna spoke up about then, "I was planning on making a Broccoli Casserole, honey". Arianna's eyes opened wide and her mouth fell open. "But Mom, I don't want to celebrate with no Broccoli Casserole!" I quickly corrected her. "I don't want to celebrate with Broccoli Casserole, not no Broccoli Casserole." She turned quickly back to her mother. "See Mom, Grandma doesn't want to celebrate with no broccoli, either." She's 8 years old and her Daddy has been confused ever since her arrival. He hasn't figured out how a four foot girl manages to keep 2 six foot+ men and 5'10 woman wrapped around her little finger and still have room for an uncle and an aunt.

Time Changes and Weather challanges

I want them to leave the time alone. Seriously, leave it at daylight savings time or Eastern Standard time, but just pick one and be happy with it. I can't see where we save a thing by going on Daylight Savings Time because what you save at one end of the day, you spend at the other. Okay you don't need your lights on till later in the day, say 6:30 or 7:pm (like I don't have my lights on inside anyway.) But you have to turn your lights on when you get up earlier anyway plus for those kilowatt savers, leave them on longer. I'm not really clear on what we're saving . Farmers got along without time changes for hundreds of years. They worked around it and never a complaint. I don't remember my grandparents changing the clocks, I suppose they did, but only the one on the stove, I'm thinking, the one that said "get a move on you're gonna be late for church". And the weather is making me crazy. Well, crazier. The wind howled so fiercely yesterday that there was no escaping it. I finally understand what Mac means when he talks in knotts...wind miles not weapons. Nothing appears to be where I put it, the wind knocks you around like a sock puppet, and to top it off the frequent changes make me feel about 90 years old, every bone creaking and grinding together. I have a hitch in my git along (hip pain) for at least half an hour when I get up. I found myself picking up a bottle of glucosamine/chondroitan to give a try but decided to wait and get the feedback from folks who know. Meaning you. So, as I lay on the sofa this a.m. and watched Night at The Museum (if you haven't seen it, it's pretty good for us escapism fans) and decided if I could just get me one of those magic book of leaves, (see the movie) I might just enjoy life as though I were twenty again. What a concept.

And the Stars of the show, Lee and Mac

As anyone who checked out my links when I first posted yesterday morning found out...they didn't work. I spent hours setting the things up, following instructions (or so I thought) only to have them fail. I found that there was no way while in composition to check them to make sure they would actually take you from the starting point to the destination. Instead you got lost out in cyberworld with a reading of "ERROR SITE NOT FOUND" and one very helpful instruction was "this site does not exist, therefore you can have it if you want it." Really. Would I tell you I saw it if I didn't? It may not have read exactly that way, but that was the message it delivered. I went back over the whole thing, checking for spelling errors or misplaced punctuation, corrected what I found, saved corrections, etc. Mac came in to find out why I was slamming the keyboard up and down on the computer desk...gave me a hug to calm me down and started explaining again just how it works. I was nodding and sobbing and cheering up and then I sat down and went and played in blogland and got the hell out of my post site. I had fun. I promptly forgot all about the linkage that's missing between my brain and the computer. Happy days. This morning my pal Lee (I'd put a link to her but what is the point, it wouldn't work so I'll just type her address in here) http://chrysalisdreams.blogspot.com/ sent me the most simple instructions plus another blogger's address (she used a link, show off) who breaks it down even farther. Honest to Heaven, I was sitting there nodding and agreeing with her, just like I do with Mac. I was expecting her to see me and she was saying, oh good, she's got it. My dear Lee, my Darling Mac, you just don't understand. In a world of where my links send you off into oblivion, you are masters of all you survey. I am the wife and mother of two, for a total of three people in my family who are dingdanged brilliant when it comes to computers. Mac can build one in a day. My older son designs layouts that make my heart beat faster. My baby son keeps a large hospital's computers on the straight and narrow. I sit in the corner like a babbling idiot who can't grasp the first thing about links. I'm pretty sure there are support groups for people like me. When I find one in my area I can stand up and say "hello, my name is Sandi. I'm a computer illiterate."

An Award and a word from our Sponsor

I came in the other day to find this lovely award from my pal




at http://justabeachkat.blogspot.com/ and all I can say is "thank you so very much Beachkat! I admire strong women and Kat is among the strongest I know.



Kat's friend had wisely given it to her and she was kind enough to share it. I would like to pass it on to a few of my pals, some of long acquaintance, some new...I met Lee through David at http://david-mcmahon.blogspot.com/ .Lee has proven to be a "keeper" in my list. So I want to pass this on to my pal Lee at http://chrysalis.blogspot.com/ and to Kari at Just Livin Large and also to Mima at http://mimad.blogspot.com/ . Go see these folks, they are all simply amazing...and resiliant...and strong.
And now a word from my sponsor:



MAXINE SAYS THIS ABOUT.....

We need to show more sympathy for these people.
They travel miles in the heat.
They risk their lives crossing a border.
They don't get paid enough wages.
They do jobs that others won't do or are afraid to do.
They live in crowded conditions among a people who speak a different language.
They rarely see their families, and they face adversity all day, every day.

I'm not talking about illegal Mexicans;
I'm talking about our troops!

Doesn't it seem strange that many Democrats and Republicans are willing to lavish all kinds of social benefits on illegals, but don't support our troops and their families with sufficient healthcare, rehabilitation facilities, retraining and education when they return.

Truth or Dare(Or Don't Try This at Home)

I grew up in a family of girls. My Grandparents had three girls and all three girls had girls up to a certain point. There were no girls in our immediate family until I had already left home and married. Growing up with all girls was rather boring. I wanted to follow behind my older sister, and all she could see was a pest. We were polite, well educated, went to Mass every Sunday and learned to cook at our mother's tutelage. Just a normal family that did not include boys. So I grew up not knowing what boys get up to, the only fishing we ever did was with our Grandfather. Our week consisted of going to school, chores after school and homework. We never talked on the phone, our father, who is a Doctor, always insisted that the phone be left free in case a patient called. This was years before Call Waiting or any of the other "Call" benefits. It was the Marcus Welby generation when Doctor's made house calls. Weekends were spent cleaning house, going to the library or a movie then home to play with neighbor kids. Sunday was Mass, family dinner, more outdoor play ,bed. But it wasn't that bad, just a bit dull. If it sounds we lived a very sheltered life, well I nailed it on the head. Then, when I was twenty I met and married Mac. Mac who grew up with a brother, three sisters and tons of boy cousins. My home suddenly had noise in it. Mac would bring his shipmates home all the time and now there was always much roughhousing. When our own two boys came along, I figured out that boys were just ruffians. It was a constant struggle to keep the house under control. So one night, I think it may have been a New Years Eve party we were giving, there's a crowd in the front room, the boys are tucked up in bed and as I'm coming down the stairs I see a couple of the guys acting a little rough and tumble. I yelled at them to knock it off, and I get "we're just playing". "Listen," I tell them, "I've taken kids to the ER who were just playing! Now knock it off!" So Mac gets in on it (now I'm not saying anyone was drunk, but a few beers had been consumed, so lets just say none of the guys were feeling much pain. Mac used to have this little game he liked to call "shadow boxing with my baby". Uh huh. He'd dance around me and just barely touch my shoulder or my arm, but enough to irritate, then draw back in the dancing boxer position and he'd do it till I became so furious that I would begin to sputter and turn red. That was what was going on that night and he made a mistake. He did it long enough till I was near tears. "Whattsa matter Baby, can't take it? Can't take it Baby? Why don't you punch back?" And he continued to dance around. And chant. My arm went way down and I came up from the floor (and at 5'10 that was a long trip for my little fist. WHAM . One big man picking himself up from the floor. Baby got game. And Daddy's got a glass jaw. Needless to say there was never a game of shadow boxing in our house from that day forward. And he found out I would take a dare. And then some.

Giveaways and Winningways

My soaps are on the right...they look like delicate petals...then just here
are my lovely little stamp and glitter cards...

Here is my Cath Kidston book...

A sweet frame for my Granddaughter's latest picture...and a little book on life...

a beautiful hanky and a sweet pair of socks for my cold feet!!!

I had the greatest day yesterday...I don't know what made it so great other than the wonderful package I received from Cassie up on Mockingbird Hill...I mean the day was going along quite well even before the mail ran and put the topper on the cake! You see it was Monday, January 28th that I first heard about the Carnival Giveaway at Cassie's and I joined immediately. I learned how to say "if it's free, it's for me" at oh, I don't know, about age three? But imagine my joy when I opened the box and found not only the prize I had signed up to win, but other lovely things as well, things I had not expected. Now while I am so so happy with my Cath Kidston design book (my British friends will understand) I just fell in love with the hanky, I have always loved little decorated hankies, got it from my Grandma. The little stamp and glitter cards will make lovely bookmarks, but that wonderful box of rose petal soaps will never wash hands. They will adorn my bathroom (not the guest bathroom, for guests can be rude enough to open the container just to try one. NO NO NO!) Do you find me a tad off or just out and out weird? Well, please enjoy the photos of my wonderful gifts. I think I may hold a giveaway soon, simply because it's so much fun to be on the giving end as much as the receiving end! View my pictures of my wonderful prizes and ohh and ahh right along with me!