Happy 39th...it seems like yesterday

Today is our Wedding Anniversary and I can't believe it. I mean, I really can't believe it. I can't believe that our two sons are grown and with families of their own. I can't believe we haven't got any job transfers to worry about. I can't believe that after all these years, we still care so deeply about one another. So, for today I am concentrating on our anniversary. We're going to act like kids and enjoy each other's company. We're going to talk about those first few weeks of marriage (he was in Norfolk and I was in Charleston, the ship had pulled out on October 30th. It appeared we would not be sharing our first Thanksgiving day together. So the Wednesday before, I drove all night to get to there so we could spend our first Thanksgiving together. He was on the USS Pinnacle, an MSO (Minesweeper Ocean going) and they had to go to Norfolk, Virginia for RefTray (refresher training...they were called Iron Men on Wooden Ships...ummm, gives me shivers, even now. ) So , three friends (we called ourselves the Gang of Three)and here we were on this cold November night, beating a path to Norfolk, Virginia. It was Sue O'Shields, Phyliss (the corpman's wife) and I, snug in our little red Mustang GT. We headed out of Charleston on Highway 52, going North. We had a thermos of coffee, a box of sandwiches (no interstate with restaurants every three exits) and big plans for three men who had no idea we were on the way. I think back to that and wonder what we would have done if it turned out that they wouldn't be allowed to leave the ship. Sue, being the senior Navy Wife (they had been married for over ten years) assured Phyliss and me that we'd be fine. So we headed out and spent a few minutes trying to find a good strong Country/Western music channel on the radio (one that would last longer than an hour before we had to begin our search again). We listened as Buck Owens sang about his Mama, Johnny Cash sang about a Train, and Merle Haggard sang about getting out of prison. A few years later David Allan Coe would write a song giving the three basics of a good country song...it seems you have to sing about your mama, trains and prison...they had it all covered. So, we're somewhere in North Carolina and I looked up and there was a set of blue lights and a blaring siren coming up on us fast. I recall Sue saying that my passing the Greyhound Bus should have been the first warning. (Greyhounds are notorious for speeding.) So, I pulled over, got out my drivers license and waited for him to approach the drivers side window. I rolled my window down and this deep heavily accented voice said, "evening ma'am, may I see your pilot's license?" I must have given him one of those "blond moment" looks, because he then explained..."you were flying pretty low back there". Not a word out of Phyliss or Sue. Nothing. I began stuttering about being a newly wed and the ship being in Norfolk, this was our first Thanksgiving, yadayadayada and on and on and he says "and don't you think your brand new husband would like for his brand new bride to get there in one piece?" He paused before handing me my license back. "I'm going to let you off with just a warning this time, but you have to promise me one thing." I was nodding so hard my head was like to bounce off my shoulders..."slow down...do the speed limit...a car wreck is a pretty lousy beginning to a marriage." I agreed, of course. We were a solemn little crowd as we pulled back onto the highway, but it didn't take us long to become happy again. Sue and Phyliss said they had never done anything like this before and I'm sure they were as excited about the prospect of a second honeymoon as I was about continuing my first one. We stayed on Highway 52 (Interstate 95 was under construction at the time, I believe) nearly the whole way into Norfolk. Our map was pretty well worn out before we got there...I'm a better driver than a navigator...we took turns driving and finally arrived in Norfolk sometime after midnight, exhausted and deliriously happy. We had had the good sense to make sure that the ship was going to be in port while we were there. Sue had gotten the phone number from the Base operator and had already called her husband to let him know we were there. It all seems so clear in my memory that it's hard to believe that thirty nine years ago today, I promised to Love and Honor (I was a modern woman for my times, no obey in there) this man for the rest of my life, and, as they say...So far, so good.

Halloween in the Mother Land

I was sure that we were about to have a mutiny on our hands on October 31st, 1979. Here we were in the great United Kingdom , just a few miles outside the famous city of London and my crew were about ready to jump ship. The cries of "WHAT? NO TRICK OR TREATING" were heard all the way down to the kitchens of the Tudor Lodge. I'm sure of it. What makes me certain is because a small bag of sweets was deposited on both of the boys beds in their hotel room when they returned from school. I am not sure what mischief the cook thought these two small boys could get up to, but she took the hotel's slogan seriously...Our Aim is To Please our Guests, Young and Old...I had a hard time explaining to the boys that Trick or Treat was a strictly American tradition that I was pretty sure the candy companies thought up to sell their products. (I can be cynical at times...wait til you hear my conclusions on Mother's Day). I could be wrong, but I think it's pretty close to the mark that the holiday is a marketing ploy. Since most of the witches and goblins Vampires and ghosts came from England (What?) they could not be convinced that the English did not celebrate this next best holiday to Christmas. Since we were the only Americans at the Lodge we couldn't get others together for an impromptu party, so we took in a movie instead. It was there that Michael, our youngest, while munching on a box of popcorn, announced to everyone in the theater "hey! This popcorn has sugar on it!" Yes indeed, the popcorn had, not butter and salt, but sugar. Michael acted as if it were a plot against America, not only no trick or treat, but sugar on his popcorn. I could tell there was about to be a pout fest, so I instructed him, somewhat kindly, to pull his lip in before someone came along and built a patio on it. This achieved a sullen smile, but a sullen smile is better than no smile at all. The movie we saw slips my mind, but I believe there was a dog in it...nothing was chasing it, trying to kill it or attempting to fit it into a giant mouth, so I am assuming it wasn't a horror picture. I'm pretty sure it wasn't Lassie Come Home because Liz Taylor was no where to be seen. It must have been a lackluster affair because while I can remember nearly every minute of our time spent in that beautiful land, for the life of me I can't remember what movie we went to see on the first Halloween of our lives spent in another country. The director and producers should feel shame, and if I ever remember the name of the movie, I shall write to them and let them know I was less than impressed.

PS
thank you all so much for remembering Joey and Karen in your prayers...Kari and I will keep you posted on his condition...

I come from a family of strong women. There's a very long line of us. It's the Scots and the Welsh blood that pounds though our veins that gives us steel in our backbone and sometimes, stone in our hearts. Tragedy may beset us, but it doesn't conquer us. For anyone who read Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind, they'll remember Scarlet's constant shield..."there's always tomorrow". That is strength in her, not weakness as so many people are apt to feel. She'll make it through that war, that flood, that death, that drought, because there's always tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll think about it, there'll be an answer tomorrow. I'm thinking along these lines because our nephew Joey lies in a hospital, critically injured and if I don't think that, if I don't hold on to that one thought, Joey will be here tomorrow, it would be to much like giving up on him. I don't plan to do that. Strong women deal with the hard knocks as though they have to entertain everyone around them, keep them from thinking about what may lie ahead. Even at my own mother's funeral, I felt I was the hostess at a tea party and had to keep everyone from realizing that the guest of honor at the front of the Church was not going to get up and hold court. Oh, you had to know my Mother...holding court was the exact term to use there. That was not disrespect, but words of the deepest love. Now here is Joey, who very well may not recover from his injuries and I'm talking to his sweet wife, Karen, on the phone and I hear it. I hear that strong woman strain in her voice, as though I was sitting across from her and she was about to offer me a cup of coffee. She has that need to hold things together, to put it off until tomorrow, to stay awake for that one word from the doctor that will let her relax, knowing she'll never relax until the day he walks out of the hospital on his own. So, I told her what my best advice was. He's asleep. Everyone has gone home. Take a nap. Rest . Curl up with a fuzzy blanket and get strong for him. You're no good to him worn out. Will she take my advice? She's a strong woman, I have a feeling she's sleeping to gear up for another long day...tomorrow.

PS
Please say a prayer tonight for Michael Joe Andrus that God will do what is best for him. It's the prayer I'll say again tonight...keep him and his family, especially Karen his wife, in your prayers

Mindy vs the Mob

I love dogs...I have loved them for as long as I can remember. I love cats. (I'm sure that came as a huge shock to everybody). I have had the world's greatest dogs in my life and when I get to heaven (yeah, I'm sure) they're all going to be waiting for me. I'm not so sure about all the cats I've loved, cats wait for no one. If you want to tag along with them on their rambles then , you'd best hurry. Right now the only dog I have is our Mindy Lou. Mindy is one of those "not sure who her mama was, and her daddy was a traveling man" dogs. What kind is she? She's a dog. Nuff said. She's black. She has long ears, one stands up, the other flops down. She grins. Going on ten years old, her muzzle is white with age and she shows signs of laziness these days. She gets us up each morning so she can be let out to walk around the property and see what strange creatures have been out during the night, nose to the ground and at a fast clip, when suddenly....that's enough of that. (Now, I may have failed to mention that our Mindy is blind. I had her spayed when she was a puppy and she had a stroke during the surgery which rendered her sightless.) Her eyes may be blind, but her nose has 20/20 vision. She can find her way with that nose like no body's business. One other odd thing about her is that cats love her. ALL
cats. Love her. LOVE HER...When we moved here we brought our cats with us, the cats that she knew and knew and loved her and thought not a thing about it. There were two cats who had apparently lived here before we came along, and were they afraid of Mindy? Oh, no, not a bit of it. After we had been here a while I noticed that the prior owner cats we now called Wonky and CC, were following her. They were closely following her, and every so often one of them would rub against her and throw himself down in front of her. Strange behaviour for a cat, you might say. But it is exactly what my indoor cats do. They follow her, they "hug" her for wont of a better word. When they are wrapping themselves around her, purring loudly, it's all I can say, they are hugging her. Whenever she is out going walk about, she always has at least one, usually two and at times five or six, cats with her. She is greeted by Pinky Lee (he's white with black spots and the pinkest nose you've ever seen.) Then Wonky (his ears are deformed) and CC (he's a Maine Coon Cat) approach her and begin the ritual. Purr hug, purr hug, purr hug...and escort her to the yard. When she gets into the yard, the rest of the mob run to meet her. The kittens, George, Ociecat, and Barney lead the pack, with Stranger bringing up the rear. Now Stranger is one of the newer ones who showed up for supper one night and forgot his way home. (I have several who have that claim to fame.) This is the one cat that Mindy could lose her temper with. He is a stalker. And he is annoying. Mindy Lou can not take a step without his escort. He runs ahead of her to wait for her. If she changes course, he changes course. Mindy has put in for an OOP (Order of Protection) but like most men, he walks right through it. I have stamped my foot at him, clapped my hands at him, everything short of throwing things at him (which I refuse to do...maybe I should turn the hose on him.) Cries of "Hey CAT LEAVE THE DOG ALONE!" can be heard nearly every evening. You know, I would have thought this was just a fluke, but last week, Peanutbutter brought home a guest for dinner when she returned from one of her trips...she brought with her a lovely grey wonky earred Maine Coon. At first, when I saw this gray fur ball wrapped around Mindy Lou, I thought it was OUR Wonky...then I noticed only one ear is deformed, and his coat is a darker gray than our own Wonk. You know, I can almost hear the conversation between Peanutbutter and the new cat..."don't mind the big black cat, she's had an identity crisis ever since she lost her eyesight. She thinks she's a dog. Yeah, she's blind, we're her eyes."

Here I am in England...where's the A/C ?

As I am sure you remember, we landed in the Mother Country at the end of Fall and the weather was so nicely crisp and cool that a sweater was needed. Luckily I had enough experience with PBS and reading about England to have the common sense to pack us all a sweater (and a coat). Right now I am looking fondly back at those days (I looked on those days fondly at the time, too...I've been too hot for years). The temperatures hovered in the forties nearly all the time. It used to tickle the hell out of me when the temps got up to 60 and pictures of lunchtime workers (in London) out in the park practically starkers...(that's practically naked for the uninformed). They were in their slips getting that bit of sun...listen, I wanted to tell them, it's 60 degrees, not 95, for the love of your health, put your clothes back on! Not that these children would have listened to me, sun deprived as they think they are. When I would talk about the heat and the sun we live with here, of course they just thought that was wonderful! "Why aren't you nice and brown with all that sun?" someone asked me. I looked at him like he had grown a second head and answered him. "Because I stayed out of the sun as much as possible" was my reply. "I was brought up that way." My grandmother didn't think we should leave the house without long sleeves and a sun bonnet. I'd give nearly anything for one of those old sun bonnets now. The brim shaded our eyes, the tail shaded our necks. She was savvy to skin cancer before it became widely known. So anyway, here we were in England and the first thing I noticed was a.) the cars don't have a/c (b. the houses don't have a/c and c.) the schools don't have a/c. It's one of those conundrums or things that make you go "hmmm". We're all moved in our nice lovely house which has steam heat (or radiators) and there's a gas fire in the lounge and and the dining room. In the wonderful bathroom is a heat rail for the towels. Hot towels, how civilized can you get? I didn't notice that we didn't have a/c for months. In fact I think our first summer was nearly over before it dawned on me that not only did we not have a/c we didn't need a/c. In fact some days in the evening I lit the gas fire in the lounge. Oh, the lounge.Over here of course it's what we call the den or living room. We had these beautiful leaded glass (bay) windows and velvet drapes (sage green in color). It had a wide brick tile window sill and overlooked the front garden where there was this massive White Hart Cherry tree. It made the most wonderful cherries that we and the birds were quite fond of. The summers were perfect. You opened the windows and let the breezes blow through, it was just wonderful. In fact, there was not a season there that I found uncomfortable. Winter Spring Summer or Fall, it was wonderful. The only thing that I found the least bit, well...weird, was the fog. I remember the old Jack the Ripper movies and the fog rolling down the streets into the alleyways, low to the ground and up to your knees and swirling in this eerily spooky way. But that was the movies, right? One night I opened the door to check on an odd sound and the fog came directly into the house. I slammed the door and stood with my back to it for some time. Imagine that. Fog. Coming into the house. I kept the drapes pulled on foggy nights after that. You never knew what was in it, did you?

Where is Fall?

Our Great Niece, Jodie is lamenting about where the fall colors are, and she, being in Okinawa, is unlikely to be able to enjoy fall colors or fall temperatures till they get transferred home. Whereas, I , being in the United States of America, located just below a state known for its' mountain scenery, am about to begin my lament on exactly the same thing. WHERE IS FALL? It was 94 degrees here yesterday and y'all, I don't think it's asking to much for the temperatures to cool down now. Oh, they keep promising, but the promises are hollow. And the closest thing we get to rain is a heavy dew. Now, we all know what a heavy dew is indicative of. Heavy humidity. Instead of that lovely heady smell of drying leaves and a cool crisp breeze, what is that I smell wafting in the air? Mildew. I can't bear it. The leaves on the trees are turning because we haven't had rain in so long most of them are in their death throes. What galls me the most is the very thought that Al Gore may have been right and I have to admit to it. It's beginning to look like Global Warming is not only a possibility, but a likelihood. So what do we do to stop it? I don't think we have to stop living, I think we have to stop living recklessly. They've been telling us about the rain forest destruction for years, but I haven't heard about it lately, have you? The Arbor Society has been pleading with people to plant trees for as long as I can remember and we're so busy cutting them down, they can't grow fast enough to keep up with the pace. Yeah yeah yeah, I know, I'm on my soapbox again. Only, I think it may be a tree stump I'm standing on, since soapboxes are now made out of cardboard which are made of pulp which come from pulp wood which come from...yes, trees. Our demand for THINGS is what got us into this fix, I'm afraid. And two words. I WANT. So, we let the big manufacturing companies get away with, for wont of a better word, murder, for years because it is in our best interest to keep prices down so we can afford to buy THINGS. We let them pollute the streams, which pollutes the rivers, which pollutes the Oceans, and what's left? And what started all this rant? I want to know where is Fall. I want to know where is the rain. I want to know is Winter a thing of the past, too?

It's Monday, here's a treat

Okay, it's Monday. By now we all know that up until about 10 pm, I'm not worth much yet. I took my meds on Friday and today is the worst of it. About 10 tonight I'll suddenly feel much better, so will be in to write and share abit. But for now, I'm sharing this tape of Todd Wilbur making a wonderful cake....hope you enjoy watching, then preparing, then eating (cause I know you're all gonna go out and buy the ingredients and bake these...he makes it look so easy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hz4jSM8D5o4



Have fun, probably see you all tonight

A quick note for a friend

You know I've been wondering about how Kat http://kat-out-of-the-bag.blogspot.com/ has been doing. She had a spell of sickness last week and we didn't hear to much. Today she told me that she has this small tumour in her tummy that has to come out. She is not feeling well, physically or spiritually. I know from personal experience that prayer can work miracles. So, everyone, say a quick prayer for Kat if you will, then go over and tell her you're thinking about her. The outpouring of love from her friends and acquaintances will mean so much.

Thoughts about the Weather, Yankees and mud puddles

I have been complaining about the no rain situation for weeks now. This has been a bad year for us, weatherwise. We started off with a reasonable winter, temperatures not to cold, cold enough to be called winter, but nothing below zero...I've been in below zero, I don't really like it a lot. Really below (as in 50 below) does strange things to your tires and your radiator. (If you run across my Jacqui, she will say rad-i-ator not raid-i-ator as we do. Forgive her, she's a freshly sprung Southerner...she comes from South Jersey, so we'll cut her some slack. Oh, and she says sa-ment, not cee-ment, isn't that hysterical?) Anyway, back to the weather. So winter passes into the most glorious spring I think I have yet to see. I mean it is just perfect planting weather, the kind of weather that they make Disney movies about. Then right in the middle of it, really closer to the end of it, it ups and gets colder than it had gotten all winter long, and stays that way for a couple of days. The blueberries had flowered. There went the blueberries. The pear trees were in bloom, there went the pears. The plum trees, ditto and ditto. Most of the spring flowers were burnt, but I dead headed them and like a miracle they came back. The jelly making was a kaput affair. There were no wild plums, only two Victoria plums and WTHF and I fought over them like a couple of cats over a grasshopper. The apple trees managed to produce one (quite delicious) apple amongst theirselves and the pear tree only one pitiful little speciman of a pear which I suspect the neighbor's mule ate on one of it's few visits over here. (I must say that mule has the most pleasant face I have ever seen on a mule. It's down right pretty. Everytime it comes over I've a mind to build her a shelter and urge her to stay.) I say her, but I don't know if she's a jack or a jenny. Let's ass-ume she's not a jack. So anyway, then comes summer, lots of pretty flowers in the beginning, climbing vines of mandaville and moonflower. Hummingbird weed is growing everywhere, cantaloupe vines have emerged from our compost bin. It's just a riot of growth and the garden is planted. I even took a picture of it. That was in late June. The roses were blooming, the rain was falling, God was in His Heaven and all was right with the world. Mid July was the last measurable rain that we got. We watered plants and trees as often as we could, but it was a job so hard to keep up with it was near impossible. In August I think we got 1/4 inch. In September, we got none. The ponds are all down from one to three feet and the ducks and geese are looking for wading places. Good bye garden. Good bye flowers. I watered the moonflowers and all the ones close to the house that were in containers and managed to keep a few of them alive. I've heard about heavy hearts before, but WTHF was really heavy hearted. We found ourselves wishing for a tropical storm, then felt guilty because it would affect coastal regions in a lot worse ways, but we needed the rain. We'd wish for the tropical system under our breath and not out loud where anyone might hear. That way if we had a really bad hurricane, no one would come looking to hang me for a witch. Hey, don't laugh. It could happen. So, anyway, this little system came through last night and hung around all day and I got up and it was raining. It wasn't a downpour, we didn't need that, it is so dry the water would just roll away. What we need is just a slow steady drizzle that will last nearly all day and into tomorrow. Oh, for a week of that. But now, here it is, and outside my door was the most beautiful mud puddle I had ever jumped in. I called Jacqui to see if she was getting any rain and to wish her and Frank a Happy 39th Anniversary...she assured me it was raining there and seemed likely to remain that way for a while. I asked her what she and Frank were doing for their anniversary and bless her little pea picking heart, she told me they had to go to Wal-Mart. It's official children, Jacqui is having a Red Neck Anniversary. I do believe she's home.

Christmas in England

It didn't take to long to get the furniture in place and hang pictures on the walls, but no one knows the pure agony and ecstasy of unpacking boxes like a military wife. That is because we do it so frequently. Rarely are we in one place for longer than 3 years. More like 2 and once it was six months. Depending on how long your belongings have been in boxes decides what the ratio of agony to ecstasy is. The longer they've been packed, the more ecstasy you can expect. After all, the clothes you packed to take on a plane or in a car is minimal. I was so glad to see my ratty old house coat and pajamas, I think I cried at the sight of them. Not wanting the hotel people to think we were deprived in any way, no comfy old grundge clothes were allowed in the suitcases or hotel rooms. This housecoat, or dressing gown (my Lord what a high falutin' word for that holey piece of plaid flannel) as they are known in England, had been my comforter on the many lonely nights that Mac (WTHF) had been at sea. I would wrap myself up in it, laying in bed with a good book and a large kingsize pillow at my back and almost believe he was there. I forgot to mention, it was actually his robe/dressing gown, I just commandeered it after the first Med Cruise I underwent as a Navy Wife. (I give myself capital letters as I was a Capitol Navy Wife. ) So, as I had so brilliently marked the boxes, each and every box was in the room it was supposed to be and it only took me about two weeks to unpack. We had bought a Christmas tree and decorated it and Beaconsfield felt like home. England felt like home. It had actually felt like home to me from the minute I arrived. Mr. Gwaltney, the milkman, delivered the egg nog on Christmas Eve, we had our neighbors, Charles and Violet (Bubbles) Green over for dinner in repayment for their kindness while we were in the process of settling in. Bubbles had a lovely English Spanial named Cinda(rella) and she encouraged me to get a dog while we were here, so that Cinda might have a walking companion. I think she knew that I was lonely for canine companionship, myself. I had only went over to dognap Cinda about 10 times ,when she announced to WTHF, "my dear boy, you simply must get this dear girl a pup, she is pining." Yep, those were her exact words. And dear girl was pining. I've never been without a pet, at least one dog and one cat. But we decided that we'd wait til after the new year when the boys were back in school from the Christmas Holiday and I would have more time for its' housetraining. In the mean time, I accompanied Bubbles on walks into the village and onto the football fields (read soccer here) where she collected worm castings for her garden. I had never seen this done before or have I seen anyone do it since, but this was the most lucsious dirt for the flowers that I have ever gotten. I would say procured, but it sounds like something naughty (which I told to Bubbles the first time I heard her talk about going out to procure castings...I swear, I blushed crimson and giggled.) Bubbles took me all about the area and helped me collect holly branches for the stairway and door wreath. She and I went into London where I bought scads of new beautiful glass ornaments to go on my tree. My favorite were the red birds I found with what looked like a tiny drum brush for a tail. (A drum brush for playing drums.) I had about a dozen of the little Mary Jane dolls for the tree, a dozen little wooden nutcrackers and the most exquisite Angel Topper. Of it all I have the Angel and 2 of the dolls, six of the nutcrackers and one bedraggled little glass redbird with most of his brush/tailfeathers missing. Sometimes, moving takes its toll on even the least of these. There was no good news about our Hostages in Iran and as we gathered around our Christmas Eve table, we all gave thanks for being together, asked God to protect those in Iran who certainly needed his protection, and sat down to lovely roast turkey and cornbread dressing. Bubbles and Charles oooed over it, though I know the taste was different to them. But still they said it was wonderful, and you know, it really was. The boys, who knew that Santa was called Father Christmas over there, could hardly wait to get to bed so that the RedRobed old Man could call. I never thought about it then, but I'm sure it must have disturbing to them at times, all that moving about. But they were such good boys, and I know that they loved it there as much as we did. Christmas dawned cold and white, it had snowed during the night and I thought my heart would stop it was so beautiful. Our first Christmas in England was proving to be just about perfect.

In Sympathy

As a favor to Justabeachkat and her friend, Jenn, I am passing along this link, http://iservethequeens.blogspot.com/2007/10/of-america-heroes.html so that all my friends may pass along a word of comfort to Cheryl and Terry Blaskowski, who lost their son, Matthew, in combat. A card with expressions of condolence (please,no anti war tributes will be posted) is being made of this to send to his family. So, please offer your words and prayers so their hearts may be lifted.

The Difference between a Deck and a Porch

When we bought the place out here, there was much to be done to it. Like rebuilding it from the inside out...but the land was lovely and semi-level and owning land is almost more important than owning a house. While you can always build a house, my Grandfather, Dwight Douglas, always held that "God isn't making land anymore." We have what we have and mankind is busily filling it up with fence to fence housing. I didn't want a house where I could look out my window and into my neighbor's window to ask if she had some Grey's Poupon. Yeah, I really like brown mustard. With ham and swiss on rye there's nothing better. So, anyhow, I looked at the sorry excuse for a deck that was pinned on and after much discussion, we decided on a large porch on the back and a pretty big porch on the front. So, you ask, what is the difference between a porch and a deck? A deck is for children to play on and cook out on and just in general carouse around on. A porch is for rocking chairs. It's where you drink that first cup of morning coffee while you talk over the plans for the day, it's a handy place to put planters full of flowers to enjoy. While a deck is open to the air top to bottom, a porch has roof on it to protect you from the elements, mainly rain...wind is another problem altogether...if you have problems with being blown away, you simply go into the house, you know, that place with the four walls that you wish to escape from by going out onto the porch. Porches are where you wait for the labor pains to start, where people come by and ask you " you haven't had that baby yet?" Porches are where you put the playpen so the baby can get lots of fresh air, a little sun (but not to much). It's where the tricycle can get a good work out and with a gate, you don't worry about them rolling off into the yard. Porches are where your daughter gets her first goodnight kiss (with Dad on the other side of the wall, the light switch at his fingertips...the warning every young man fears, and every young girl expects.) Porches are for comings in and goings out. They are about the beginning of our lives and the ending of our lives. Porches are for life. Decks are for fun.

I've Been Tagged...AGAIN!

I came in here to check the mail, check my blogger buds and get away from WTHF who picked this beautiful day to paint the porch. Well, I guess I can see his point, it's a beautiful day to paint the porch. But he KNOWS I feel like hell on Mondays, and he also knows that I can't stand to see him out there working when it's something I can help him do. Therefore, he should have waited till tomorrow. So anyway, I came in and checked the mail and then went to check on my blogger guys and stop in to see Abbs (http://www.abbiebloggin.com/) and the young minx has tagged me. I'm supposed to tell you 7 things about myself that you don't know. Now, I'm not only an open book, I've got a big mouth and no secrets from anyone, that I'm aware of, but I will try to do this and then I'm gonna go Tag me a few. How did Abbie know that Tag was one of my favorite girlhood games?



1. I grew up all over the place, my dad is a Doctor and he went where he was needed...I lived in Florida, Georgia, Ohio, Virginia and Washington, DC. Daddy finally settled in South Carolina where I finished high schoolThen I married a Military Man and he continued to drag me around the world, but ahhhh, love...I went without complaint

2. My favorite classes in school were English and Literature followed closely by History

3. I hated Math...any kind of math and anything to do with math...I'm afraid I have passed this hatred down to my children...their father certainly has no problem with it

4. I can knit, love to knit but have never been able to learn to crochet...it is beyond me...no no, I hear all of you out there saying you can teach me...no, you cannot teach me...I cannot learn

5. I hate conflict. I hate conflict of any kind. When Saturday Night Live had the skits about the Egg Shell Family, I found it to be unfunny. It was a portrait of my life. I avoid trouble as hard as I can...maybe that is why I was good at my job.

6. Hmm, coming down to the wire now, let me see...I have only ever been married to one man. I chased him till he caught me. I have so far refused to allow him to leave. Some may call this a hostage situation. He just calls it paradise.

7. Man, what do I put here...okay, you all know that I speak my mind, so I am just going to speak it. I believe in Reincarnation, have since about the age of 6 and I also believe in God, believe that i am already saved but have to keep coming back to learn life lessons and pass on what I have learned from the past to others. Thankfully we live in a free world where I can believe as I like. And that's my 7. Now, who to Tag...


I tag Jodie, my little Great Niece who needs to share her life
http://www.jodieslifeinokinawa.blogspot.com/
2. , I tag Sandi, miss Whistlestop Cafe herself and she can include recipes in this if she so desires www.whistlestopcooking.blogspot.com
3. I tag Sandy at http://www.dreamcreateinspire.blogspot.com/ because I want to...and I enjoy doing things like this because I can...

4. And Sophie, there is tooooo much we don't know about you...so http://www.sophiehoneysuckle.blogspot.com/ here's your tag

5. Kat, you know we love you, now we want you to tell us how you got to where you are http://www.kat-out-of-the-bag.blogspot.com/

6. And Kathy at http://www.justabeachkat.blogspot.com/, tell us how you got to the beach in seven easy lessons

7. Teresa, you look younger than your children, so in 7 instances, explain why that is so and you can find her and her answers at http://www.tpmom4ever.com/

Raising Children is like being Pecked to Death by Chickens

Before I leave this room, I have to tell you about this sign that is on the previous blog, which I found at the Mount Croghan Flea Market. I was walking by the table and my eye caught this sign. It just goes to show how fast the mind works, I was walking by the table. I turned around and came back to this little board, white edged in green and on it said:
raising children is like being pecked to death by chickens
You know, only a parent could see that sign, see the truth in it and see the humor in it at the same time. I was bent over this sign laughing like a mad woman, asked the man behind the table how much for the sign, he said "how's about a dollar?" and me, usually so reasonable, said "how about 50 cents?" because I could really make this sign myself, I have the boards and I have the paint. I have the little drill bits to drill the holes in the top to put the twine to hang it. He said no. So, I'm still laughing to beat the band because I see the truth in this statement and it seems I have volunteered TO BE PECKED TO DEATH BY CHICKENS, but I'm walking away still shaking my head and laughing. So, the nice man yells out to me before I can get away from his table and go spend my lousy fifty cents elsewhere, "I'll ask her, wait a minute, (Hon, will you take fifty cents for the sign?) hey lady, (and here he sounded just like Jerry Lewis, Hey LADYYY) and so that is how I come to be the owner of a sign that most children would resent their parents for even thinking about wanting. But listen, you're a parent. Remember the first time they cried all night but couldn't tell you what was wrong, then just as suddenly as they started, they stopped? (PECK) Remember the first day of school when you asked fourteen times, do you have everything and as you are walking up to the front door of the school they announce they forgot their lunch? (PECK) Remember the first time they came home with a note from their teacher but you don't find it until you break down and go clean their room? (PECK) Remember the first time they volunteer for you to take custody of the baby chickens they raised from eggs in class because they know you won't eat them? (PECK PECK). Remember when they turned thirteen? (PECK PECK PECK) and that was just the beginning. It got so much worse....Well, you get my point. I saw in my mind all the little indentations on my skin where the worry and the hurt the tears and the anger, had left their imprint. We call them wrinkles. Luckily, I don't have any wrinkles on my heart, that's why I can see the humour in this sign and hang it proudly for all the world to see.

All My Lovely Pictures

Okay, it's Monday and as you all know I feel like crappe on Mondays, but are a few pictures, and I will tell you what they are of at the end...I still can't get them to go where the heck I want them to, more's the pity.
I'm hoping that I'm saving the best for last...that is the swap that Jayne and I went into several months back, and she is Johnny on the Spot, me still lagging trying to handmake something for her that won't necessarily go in the ash bin as my loverly Brit friends would say...bur anyway, here are pictures of great little deals I got at the Flea Market yesterday. I spent only 7 dollars, most of this stuff was only 50 cents. And there is picture that Kari sent me, it says Coffee...Only the best served here...well, now that could be best coffee or best friends, that's what makes it so great. enjoy