In My Life

IN THE SUMMERTIME

2011-05-06T09:36:00.000-04:00

I guess it is almost summertime, though with the howling cold wind and torrential rains, it would be hard to prove that by the attitudes of most Central Indianans. But you see, the thing is, wildlife, especially the birds, believe it is summer, and they have all returned to their old Indiana home.

The finches, especially, seem a little put off by the weather. The thistle socks have been filled half-a-dozen times for them in the past month, but the hardier birds, the robins and cardinals and doves, oh my, (you probably do not understand how funny that statement was if you are younger than 45 or so, but trust me, it was sort of funny), I have been forcing to hunt and fend for themselves. It has rained so much that the worms are clustered almost on top of the ground to keep from drowning, so they are there for the munching, and even though the robins might be a little hateful about the fact that they have to work a little for their food while the others are hand fed, it isn't like I ignore them. I have a worm bed out there for crying out loud! Yes, you read correctly: I actually nurture worms so the robins can have readily available food. They think they are hunting, so they are maintaining that mentality for leaner times, and if you think for a second they are going hungry, think again. The robins who live in my back yard are so fat that lifting off to avoid the wrath of Annie The Incredible Dachshund is a chore for them. Annie has skinnied down. The robins have fattened up. That makes for a hilarious situation when the chase is on.

I am, however, feeling a little animosity almost exuding from the wingtips of the bigger, hardier ground birds, toward me and the gorgeous purple finches, American yellow finches, and the warblers who clutch to the socks and feast several times a day on expensive thistle. I can, actually, prove that animosity.

This morning, I went outside to clean out the bird bath because the doves, for some reason, think they need to use it as a bidet, when I heard a conversation between a fat, overfed, but ungrateful robin, and a fat, stumbling, drunken dove:

Robin: Look, here she comes! The bitch! (I know that is what was said because I have a loyal mockingbird who was sitting on my shoulder, translating for me, in that persnickity way only a mockingbird can - you know what I mean, I'm sure).

Dove: Talk about a racist! She doesn't even TRY to hide it! Oh, and what's this?? She's putting out black oil sunflower seed!

Robin: She should be reported to the BSED! (Bird Species Equality Department). That woman is trying to hand feed the WARBLERS now! Hey, witchy woman, how about US, huh? How about us starving robins who...

Dove: (Laughing hysterically) Starving robins? Look at you! You can't even run fast enough to take off and fly because you're so fat!

Robin: Yes, I can, you stupid dove! (Robin tries and finds he is panting before ever reaching take-off speed). Oh, my God! What has she done to me??? It must be in the worms! She is feeding the worms steroids! I am going to go to a meeting tonight and turn her ass IN!

Well, upon hearing that they might all lose their free ride because of this one snotty, holier than thou robin, the other species called in reinforcements and surrounded the robin. The Dove Mob squinted at him menacingly. They looked deadly and wicked scary, to the robin, who found himself alone inside the circle consisting of even fatter and angrier-looking robins. The Dove Mob boss moved forward. Now, you have to understand that doves are pretty smart, and so this one whistled, and suddenly, the mockingbirds were out en force, dive bombing that poor robin, the cat who had wandered into the yard looking for an easy meal, and occasionally, Annie, the innocent, not really too sharp Dachshund, ruler of the queendom. Three mockingbirds can sound like an army of every species in the world, and so, the circle began to break up, and the fat, holier than thou robin who had started this whole bruhaha, hung his head in shame and wandered back to the worm patch, which I had, during all this confusion, filled with fresh coffee grounds and stirred, bringing fat, gorgeous breakfast to the top of the ground.

The last time I looked out the back door, the robin was holding up a little sign that said, "I'm sorry, Mommy," on it. I said, "No worries, you! Forget it. Now, go do something nice for your family, like clean your nest without being asked, and I will see what I can do about maybe finding you a treat for tomorrow."

So, peace is restored among us, and the moral of the story is this: Don't be pissy to the hand that feeds you, or before you complain that you are being left out of the feeding, look in the mirror, or you could look totally foolish and make many enemies.

iPhone apps

2011-03-22T09:44:00.000-04:00

Everyone who knows me, knows I struggle to sleep. I use Ambien and fall asleep, then am awake over and over through the night. I have done the ambient music route, the less caffeine route, nothing really seemed to be of much benefit. Then, I ran across an iPhone app called Sleep Cycle Alarm.

This little beauty is beginning to get me on track. You set the alarm, choose a sound you would like to wake up to, and before going to sleep, tap it to start, slide your phone, glass side down, under your fitted sheet in the corner of your bed, and then sleep. It records your sleep cycles. And, get this, instead of waking you up when you are in a deep sleep, it watches for a light sleep and then starts playing very softly, and by the time it is at full mode, I have woke up anyway, gently.

I have learned about myself. I need to be in bed and ready to sleep by 10 p.m. That is in direct contrast to my normal bedtime, which is anywhere, usually, between 11:30 and 2:00 a.m. Watching my graph on the Sleep Cycle Alarm has shown me that I need to have the book closed and the lights out by 10:00. Not only that, but sleeping past 7:00 a.m. is not good for me. Last night I was in the dark, so to speak, by 10:00, and at 7:00 this morning was up and ready to face the day.

Springtime may have something to do with my better energy, too. The birds are singing, I have been walking a lot, and have just generally been staying more active. However, I am a big advocate of this alarm. I have read that people are saying they can lay it on a desk at night, and it still generates a graph, but the thing is super sensitive and will pick up other movements besides your tossing around in bed. I spent eight hours last night in sleep or deep sleep, and it did show me that at 1:00 a.m. I was awake. I know that is correct as I got up to visit John at 1:00 a.m. and made it a point of looking at the time.

I have used this alarm now for a week. The first 2 nights I rarely went into even light sleep. One morning it basically laughed at me: "Because of the short duration of your sleep, this nap will not be averaged into your final weekly numbers." What do you MEAN, "nap?" That was a night's sleep for me! I do feel I am learning my patterns now and intend to keep following this yellow brick road to getting off Ambien and sleeping deeply most nights.

Another aid? Whole Foods Market. Yes, I spent a ton on organic foods which some will tell you is just a waste of money, but within a week, eating nutritious, non-additive foods, my energy level increased, my metabolism sped up, and I have begun to drop a few pounds almost effortlessly. Feeding my hyperactive grandson this way seems to be making him less grouchy, as well.

Another good app is the Whole Foods app. With this one, which is free (can you say FREE?), I find recipes that sound easy and tasty, touch the "add to list" button so that all the ingredients are put on a shopping list, touch a button to add the recipe to my "favorites," and drive off to the Whole Foods Market in Louisville.

So, this post is just a little catchup post. I have a lot of photos and would like to share some travel experiences, and I will do that soon. But if you are an insomniac, I am interested to find out if you have tried this app and what you think.

Happy Dreams to you! I will see you all around the bend. xxoo

Waiting on Kathy

2011-02-20T14:46:00.000-05:00

Hello, I'm Kathy.

I recently spent a few weeks in Arizona, borrowing some space in my cousins' Bill and Tracy's beautiful home, and even Sadie, the Cocker Spaniel, made room for me in her life and daily routine.

All three of the humanoids were stuck in the nightmare of having to keep up with our jobs, even though we really wanted to just be playing, but the last weekend, Tracy made arrangements for us to take a road trip to Tucson where were would hike in the Saguaro National Park, take in the Free Flight Raptor Show with the Harris Hawks as the stars, and snap hundreds of photos. That night, we were going to have the pleasure of staying with Tracy's brother, Tom, and sister-in-law, Donna, and doing that brought back so many childhood memories for me. It seemed fitting that we were all together again, laughing, shopping, eating, drinking.

The following day, Sunday, Tom and Donna took us out into the middle of the desert, telling us there was a beautiful mission built out there. I was doubting that, the further we drove, but suddenly, up popped this unbelievably gorgeous white building! Being Sunday, the parking lot was full with worshipers, but as soon as the last Mass was over, we were allowed in to tour the ornate building.


San Xavier Mission, Tucson, Arizona

Breathtaking view when walking into the church

Yes, there was a gift shop. When you put me into a place like this with a gift shop steps away, then a theme quickly arises, and this was it: Waiting on Kathy.

Looking for Kathy: Tom and Tracy

Waiting on Kathy: Tom, Tracy, and Donna

Waiting on Kathy...again: Tracy and Donna

Waiting for Kathy after sending Tracy to bribe her with Indian flat bread

We had an awesome time. There was so much to take in, so much beauty to try to capture with the lens, that I was awestruck, so I do not think anyone minded too much that I was disappearing.

This post is dedicated to my patient family, Tom and Donna Cox, and Tracy Pierson. xxoo to all of you!

THE DESERT LIVES

2011-01-31T09:44:00.000-05:00

I have 2 homes. I live in Indiana until I cannot tolerate winter for one more minute, then I hop on a jet and show up at my cousin's door to wait winter out in Phoenix, where it is perfect. But in all the years I have been coming out here, I never really took the time to get out and explore the desert. This time, though, Tracy had graciously planned, and friends Nancy and Annie graciously accepted to be tour guides for an all-day, round trip desert ratting experience into the desert world where, at first glance, it looks like nothing could live. Upon second glance, though, not only do you realize the desert lives, you realize it lives beautifully and graciously and awe-inspiringly.

I took many photos, but the one I am posting today just keeps drawing me to it. The burrowing owl. Do owls live in the desert? No, would have been my answer yesterday morning, but yesterday afternoon, as we walked through a beautiful desert cemetery, out of a hole popped...an owl. A real owl. He posed. He let me get closer, then finally he said, "Okay, close enough, lady, take the picture, here I'll pose, ho-hum, then hike the other direction before you make me upset and I come and land on your head and pull out your hair with my beak."

After that, I decided I was close enough. I zoomed in and got this shot of The Guard of the Burrows at the Cemetery. I love him.

Thanks to Tracy for arranging this fantastic day and especially to cousin Nancy and her best friend and forever resident of the desert, Annie, for being the driver and the knowledgeable and fun tour guide. I love you all.

MY Week in Photos...Inspired by my cousin.

2011-01-23T11:21:00.000-05:00

First, it snowed.

Then I had my 54th birthday lunch at Black Buggy.

And dessert I did not need, but man was it good!

Then we had a full moon.

Then it snowed.

And it snowed the next day, too.

Then it got really icy.

Then it snowed.


Then I started dreaming of Spring!

The Feathered Community - A Short Story in Photos

2011-01-15T12:40:00.000-05:00

"Okay, I think we might be lost...don't panic! WHERE ARE WE?"

"Look, Bozo! I saw that seed first so technically it's mine! Hurry and get your feathery little, ahem cute, red tail off of my food! Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!"

"Why would I be embarrassed? Embarrassed? Me? Those stupid Finches were just wasting this food. I am NOT too big for this feeder, just leave me alone!"

"Uh, Mrs. Cardinal, see me? This is how we do it. We find a large Cardinal bell that we can comfortably hang on without tipping it upside down...like this. See me? Are you looking? Over here!"

"Still not embarrassed, but a little claustrophobic."

"Oh, my, I hate it when they fight. It just ruins the cadence of the whole day! Oh, my, oh, my!" "Look, sweetheart, don't let it ruin your day and...hey! Don't bury yourself again! THAT was embarrassing! I looked all day for you!"

CHRISTMAS COMES AND CHRISTMAS GOES

2011-01-03T11:33:00.000-05:00

I am at a loss to explain how quickly life moves along when something fun, like the Holidays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years, with family and friends filling the house, snow softly falling outside, a fire in the fireplace, and a great deal of commotion from all the mini-Me's in my life.

I did come to a couple of conclusions about that jolly time of year, though. See if you might agree with a couple of these:

1. School is out way too long. It was out even longer than necessary in our home because we mistakenly thought the winter break started one day earlier than it actually did. In retrospect, that one day was about what it took to finish me off, but the five-year-old took it in stride and took the opportunity to see how long he could be bored and disgruntled, and I will tell you, he can carry it off for quite a few days in a row.

He did make this nice card on the computer from one of my photos, a happy New Year card, and took on many other artistic endeavors during his vacation.

2. Laundry has a way of procreating during winter break. I do not do all the laundry. My daughter and the above-mentioned grandson live here, too, and Jamie definitely does her share, but when she is too busy, I am back to clothes sniffing. I really thought I was past that time in my life. I sniffed clothes that enabled my gag reflex for eighteen years, give or take, to determine their re-wear worthiness. Now, I am doing it again. Luckily, my grandson is sort of a clean freak, and he rarely has clothing lying around that is too grossly aromatic, but I have to admit, I will be pretty happy not to have to do that anymore.

3. You can only do Wii bowling for about ten hours total before you throw all gutter balls. Enough said.

4. I seem to have more headaches the longer everyone is on winter break. I mean, forgive me, everyone, but ten or twelve days are just a little over the top to have to bunk with you all twenty-four hours a day. Enough said.

5. Buying groceries is now ranked up there with one of the most depressing things I have to do, and there is not enough Xanax in the world to make it okay.

Now, I am going to post a rather unclear photo of most of some of my family and some friends together on Christmas Day at my house where, despite all the gripes above, I cherish very much. We just are all so lucky to be dropped into one another's lives, not randomly, either, I don't believe, and days like Christmas just slam home the beauty of that plan.

Hope you all have a very happy New Year in 2011, and hope you all had a fantastic Christmas season.

THE REST OF THE STORY - MIRACLE ON SEVENTH STREET

2010-12-18T19:10:00.000-05:00

ADDENDUM: When David's mama returned home from a long day at work at the Inn (the one with no rooms)...ha, I sent her in to take the laundry from the washer and to please start it drying. I sort of huddled up back here in my office and scrunched down in my chair and waited for the bellowing scream I was sure would follow, because when sorting the dry laundry later, I realized a couple of Jamie's shirts must have gotten into David's load.

Little David, little angel. The light of my life. My helper, my buddy, and probably the person I was soon going to have to protect, was upstairs dutifully cleaning his room. I knew that because as he cleans his room, he sings nonsensical songs and repeats quotes from his favorite cartoon characters and jumps a lot. Things like, "There's no need to fear, underwear is here!" As he lobs it into the laundry basket. Or, "To infiminy and beyond!" As he jumps from his bed and hook-shoots a shoe into the closet.

So, back to the rest of the story. I hunkered down and heard the dryer start, and there was no shrieking or anything, and before she headed back upstairs, I asked her to read this blog.

Was I ever happy to see her laughing that hard about it! Relieved, really, beyond words. But, I also did not miss the little tip-toe shuffle back into the laundry room to check, just to check. Still no shrieking! David...whew. That's all I can say, buddy, just "whew."

I am now in the process of hiding all the cleansers and bleachy type products.

Merry Christmas to everyone and to all a goodnight!

CHRISTMAS STORY

2010-12-18T14:31:00.000-05:00

It is not quite Christmas Day, but the Advent calendar tells us it is seven days away, one week, so before I get swept up in the mad pre-Christmas week madness, I wanted to share a Christmas Story.

We all know the story. We know that Jesus was born on Christmas, and we are celebrating his birthday by giving the people we love gifts to celebrate. We know that Mary and Joseph huddled in a manger for that virgin birth, and that the wisemen came from far and wide to offer up their presents to Jesus.

But there is a newer story, one scribed on December 18, 2010, in Jasper, Indiana, and it is with awe and reverence that I share it with all of you.

"David?" I said, to my five-year-old grandson, the love of my life, who I was watching while his mother worked at the Inn (where there were no rooms). It actually was the Holiday Inn Express, but you get the idea.

"What, Gramma?" He asked, his little cheeks pink, his excitement about Christmas barely contained.

"If you will do some chores for me, like go upstairs and clean your room, then clean the bathroom, and take the cardboard out to the recycling bin, I will give you your allowance early today."

Up the stairs he sprinted. He can still sprint, you see. He is five. I do not sprint anywhere, much less up the stairs.

Off he went. I wanted him duly occupied while I showered because anyone who knows this gorgeous, precocious child, knows that I did not want him left to his own devices downstairs for even the seven short minutes I would be indisposed in the shower.

But as happens sometimes, in situations like this, he had something very important to say, and he knocked quietly on the bathroom door just as I stepped out of the shower and said, in a whisper, "Gramma?"

"Yes, David, what is it? I'm just about out."

"Um, well, Gramma? Which knob do you push to close the washing machine door? I'M DOING MY OWN LAUNDRY!" He was so excited to be doing something more for me than I asked, but his little revelation prompted a quick towel dry and a panicked voice from my side, "No, no, no, NO...David NO!"

The little boy who is the love of my life said, "It's okay, Gramma, I already put the blue stuff in."

It took me all of thirty seconds to exit the bathroom, throw on a pair of jeans in my bedroom, and the dirty sweatshirt I had taken off and dash off to the laundry room.

Panicked I said, "Okay, which blue stuff did you put in?" He showed me the fabric softener. We have a front-loading washer, one of the high-efficiency ones, so the liquids all go into compartments in a little drawer on the front, and by some miracle, he had gotten the Downy in the right one. Of course, I do not have any idea how much Downy, but it was already flowing into the tub, so I have to take it on faith, (and is that not part of what Christmas is all about anyway?) that he put in close to the correct amount.

"David, this is so admirable of you, to want to do your own laundry, and it sure is a big help to me, but you need to first let me show you how to do it right, okay?"

Next, I showed him how to measure the detergent, how many clothes he could wash at once, and how to set the correct time. He was fascinated, and I am sure he will be until he is about six years old when doing his own laundry is way too difficult a task for him.

When I found out he really could clean the bathroom and did a much better job than I do, it did not take me anytime to hand that job over to him and bribe him with a dollar bill to get it done. I take full advantage of that service!

So, I did not have the courage to ask if he added bleach, and I carefully unloaded my own jeans and shirts he had put in with his. After all, the element of surprise is also a part of Christmas, and this one might be the biggest one of my entire year!

There are some words you cherish from your grandchildren at Christmastime: "I love you, Gramma!" "Would you teach me to bake cookies, Gramma?" "I LOVE my gift, Gramma, thank you!" And "Merry Christmas, Gramma!"

There are some words you should dread, if you have not gotten the opportunity to learn them on your own as of yet, just put these in your file for later use: "I started my own laundry, Gramma! I even already added the blue stuff, come look!"

If those clothes come out the correct colors and not white and light pink, I will retitle this, "The Miracle on Seventh Street."

Merry Christmas to you all. Have a safe and happy holiday!

Photo by Kathy McWhirt: Do Not Copy.

THE DACHSHUND DIARIES

2010-11-10T06:47:00.000-05:00

A couple of nights ago, my grandson was sitting on the sofa, eating a cheese stick, and watching some cartoons. Annie, the Dachshund you can just TELL is near death from starvation, was standing guard, not to rescue David should something happen, but to make sure if so much as a crumb of cheese dropped, she was there to dive on it and consume it. The photos I took are not very good because Jamie and I were laughing our butts off, but you will get the idea. These photos were shot over a period of about ten minutes. One thing about Dachshunds, they are unwavering and persistent!

Kid has food. Dachshund wants food kid has.

Kid has FOOD. Dachshund WANTS food kid has.

Kid has food. DACHSHUND WANTS FOOD KID HAS!

KID HAS FOOD, DACHSHUND WANTS FOOD KID HAS!!

Okay, I can move down here to get the food the kid has.

SIGH! Kid has food. Dachshund wants food kid has.

DEAR AMAZON.COM

2010-10-22T08:15:00.000-04:00

Yes, you...the retail .com giant. The only place that can make me buy things I really don't need but really, really want with your convenient one-click buying option. Oh, how easy it is to click on that tab! I have, to date, read about 25 books at about 10 bucks apiece on my Kindle due to your one-click buying option. Not only that, but I have an entire closet full of toys that seemed they would be fun for the children, that were tossed aside as soon as they realized the boxes they shipped in were much more intriguing. (I know that's not your fault, so don't cry about that).

But now, NOW! What have you done to me? You are EVIL! Asking me if I want to download your site to load as tabs at the top of my page!? OF COURSE I WANTED TO! And now, I don't even have to navigate away from work to buy something I simply must have. You evil, evil Amazon.com, oh how I love thee!

HELP, I NEED SOMEBODY! HELP, SEND ME ANYBODY!

2010-09-07T09:29:00.000-04:00

There is a five-year-old boy residing here! You might wonder what the issue is. Well, for one, I am used to living alone. I am used to waking up every morning to the same routine and going to bed every night to the same routine. I am used to walking out whenever I want and not having to tell anyone where I will be.

Due to some pretty dramatic and traumatic circumstances, my daughter and her five-year-old son have moved in for awhile. A-W-H-I-L-E...because we all need them to have their own living space. But until that is possible, we are cohabitating, which actually is not a bad deal at all. She does the cooking and housecleaning, and even the mowing. Well, as a matter of fact, yesterday, she washed my car. This is something I could get easily very used to.

I work to make the money, which she will also be doing shortly, we hope. Having their own living space is contingent on the money-making thing.

And all just rolls right along, we do our thing. But when I finally got the cobwebs out of my head this morning, I noticed, when glancing out back at my bird feeders, into my peaceful backyard, that there are two chairs stacked precariously on the knobby root system of the old box elder, a lantern and a couple of rather dried out peanut butter sandwiches are on the chair, and from eyeing it from the ground, I think that a small five-year-old wiry boy could probably reach the first branch of the box elder from the top chair and manage to use the rope tied around the lantern handle, to hoist that into the tree...

Thus, my opening statements: Help, I need somebody!

CHRIST OF THE OHIO

2010-09-06T21:45:00.000-04:00

On this Labor Day, Don, his brother, Bob, and I set off for a cemetery adventure, looking for their descendants in a place called Troy, Indiana. Somehow, after the cemetery walk, and it was great and there is a whole new picture blog of it ready to post as soon as I have time, I told them I was up to driving around there along the Ohio River as long as they wanted, but they had to feed me first. So after a refreshing half-hour or so at a McDonald's in Tell City, Indiana, off we went again, this time to find a sculpture those two remembered from their childhoods, a huge statue that sat way up above the highway between those two little rural Indiana towns, that they had never seen up close.

I doubted them, okay? Surely, if there had been a huge sculpture up there, something that obviously was awe-inspiring to see, thirty miles from my house, I would have, after thirty or so years here, surely heard of it.

Suddenly, though, they were like a couple of kids yelling, "I see it, I see it!!" and shouting directions to me about a possible road to it. I did not see it from the road, of course, I was driving, and I was quite skeptical that these two guys were taking me anywhere but on a wild goose chase as we climbed higher and higher on a dirt road, but imagine my surprise when suddenly, I saw the statue, myself!

They had never known what it was, had always assumed it was an angel sculpture, but to everyone's surprise, it was a gigantic sculpting of Christ and even had a name: Christ On the Ohio.

We drove as far as we could, then hiked the rest of the way up a steep hill. As we came up on the statue, we also came up on a gorgeous view of the Ohio River. About half an hour and forty photos later, we hiked down, pretty much in awe, and I am going to share a few pictures with you here.


This is the Ohio River and what we saw as we topped the ridge.

Unexpected gem at the top of the ridge in Troy, IN.

The blue sky made the Christ sculpture even more fantastic.

Just an idea how massive this was. We learned that a German immigrant who was an artist, was commissioned to build this on the property of a physician from Tell City, IN. He completed it in 1956.

Let there be light, and there was light.

CAMPING AUGUST 2010

2010-08-29T13:17:00.000-04:00

This past Friday, Don and I took the day off work, loaded up the four-wheeler and everything we needed to spend the weekend camping, and headed to his brother's land, a beautiful place to spend a weekend. We set up camp, Bob came down from his house with us, we cooked, we drank, we fished, we rested our souls and here's how that looked in photos:


This was the view from my window of the tent.

The view from our front door.

The camp dogs, Dudette and Kid.

Where we relaxed around the firepit.

The sun coming up early this morning over the ridge.

Plans are being hatched for a big family campout but not until the daytime high is no more than 75 degrees. I was so sweaty that when I got home today and got in the shower I nearly cried from the pleasure of it!

We had such a great time, though. I took my bottle of single-barrel vintage bourbon and drank a little over ice Friday and Saturday nights by the fire, the boys had beer, one of Don's nephews showed up for breakfast today...it was almost too relaxing!

And I almost managed to get home with Kid, the young golden retriever, but Bob wrestled him out of the car at the last minute! :-)

I hope your weekend was as awesome as mine.

OH, DEER

2010-08-24T11:29:00.000-04:00

This morning I decided to try to alleviate a little stress by getting up early, grabbing the Canon and heading to the River Walk. I just almost felt a pull to go there, eliminating, in my head, the Rock Garden and the cemetery, both pretty walks early in the a.m.

Not much needs to be said. I'll just post the photos I took.


First, after walking about 1/2 mile, I crossed this bridge which curves off to the right.

This little fawn was standing right on the other side of the bridge. I would say we took each other by surprise, but that's not true. This baby took ME by surprise but never did she act scared of me.

A SIGN OF REVERTING TO YOUNGER THAN MIDDLE-AGE

2010-08-20T11:57:00.000-04:00

Several months ago, I caught the Ford Fiesta bug while watching American Idol. For the entire winter, I would design mine in my mind. Having owned a Ford Focus since 2000, I have grown very content with my green Myrtle, and I do have to admit that every time I would go park her in the dealership's lot while I ooohhhed and ahhhed over all the bright, shiny new Foci, I would glance over at Myrtle and see the expression of sadness on her face and get in and promise her I was just dreaming. I love my car, but every now and then, I begin thinking how much I would love driving a brand new one again. The Fiesta has been advertised widely for two years now, a tease, really, and I thought maybe they were just not really building that car but pretending to, until today I received an e-mail from the salesman at my local Ford dealership: "Kathy, I just received my first 2011 Fiesta on the lot and thought you might like to come out and test drive."

I swear that Myrtle already knows. I know she knows. She probably does not know I am scheming a way to keep her in the family, but she definitely knows that the butt she has gotten used to cradling for the past 76,000 miles is about to be replaced. She is probably safe, though, for at least another couple of months because if I decide to revert back to my teenage days, then I want the car built to my specs with all the bells and whistles I find totally necessary: A moon roof, Sirius satellite radio, and cloth seats, as well as a built-in GPS. On-Star will do, thank you.

So tonight I am going to sneak to the Ford place by having someone else take me. I cannot stand to watch Myrtle panic when she sees the joyous expression on my face as I climb into the driver's seat of the newborn, still unnamed.

I keep saying, "It's just a car, it's just a car..."

THE NEW DOG

2010-08-18T08:34:00.000-04:00

Today I am going to tell you a story about one of my very best friends and her new dog. Ginny lost her dog back in the winter and this week decided it was time to find a new pal for herself, so off to the Humane Society she went. It probably took her all of five minutes to find Petey, a cute little five-year-old mix of pug and something else, who was just sitting there waiting to go home with her.

There are some things you should know about Ginny. First, she is the most generous, kind, grounded, spiritual woman I know. We met over the Internet because of an interest in music, and sight unseen, she welcomed me into her home, and I have been going back ever since. And she's been coming here.

Anyway, Ginny paid for Petey and they headed home. I received the sweetest e-mail about his car-riding abilities, the way he sat right in the passenger seat. I received photos of her new baby, and we ooohhhed and ahhhhed over each of his preset accomplishments. He is, after all five years old, so he came with an entire pre-wired hard drive.

As the first night wore on and Ginny and Petey became better-acquainted, he began to show the sides of himself that were already loaded. But Ginny always sees the best in everyone, including Petey, and she sang his praises even during the writing of the following e-mail I received from her later last night: "Petey is so wonderful! He is crate trained! And he's potty trained! He just loves to play with his toys, unless you try to take one away from him. LOL. He bit me on the nose. LOL. Did you know that your nose will bleed more than a cut finger?? But it was my fault for trying to play with him."

Now, Ginny really already loves Petey, and I would be in love with him already, too, but the second I ended up needing plastic surgery due to his tendencies to defend his stuffed toy to the death, I would be crating him up and returning him for a different model. Not Ginny, though. She will keep him and adjust herself to him by simply not playing with him by trying to take the toy back and throw it again. That's my Ginny. Compassionate and loving and apparently with a good enough insurance policy that a little plastic surgery a few times a year will be worth it to have Petey happy in her home.

She really is glad I don't bite, though. But if I did, she would just pat my head and let me know that it is not my fault...I just love visiting Ginny!

Here's a toast to her and Petey. To a long, happy, bloody relationship! CHEERS!

LOUISVILLE

2010-08-14T10:39:00.000-04:00

Last weekend Don and I were treated to a trip to Louisville, Kentucky, by his company, Jasper Engines and Transmissions. They very generously provide a trip for their anniversary employees, and in the past we have traveled to Branson, Missouri, where we saw shows and scenery and just had a great time. One year they loaded us on buses and we went to Chicago. We were wined and dined for three days and treated to the theater one evening where we saw "Wicked" which was just unforgettable. This year is Don's fortieth year with Jasper Engines. I am very proud of him for hitting this milestone, and the trip this year was to Louisville. This three-day weekend far exceeded my expectations. Our hosts, Joyce and John, were great at their jobs, and each time we boarded the bus that weekend there were gifts in our seats. We seriously did not expect gifts as before we boarded the bus in Jasper, the Big Boss Doug Bawel, was there to present us with beautiful small soft-sided coolers full of gifts already, and straw hats. If you think I did not wear mine, you would be wrong. It has been a hundred degrees in the shade here now for weeks, my brain is already pretty fried, and I was taking no chances. Besides, it's cute and really went well with my denim capris and red, white, and blue button down shirt, and bangle bracelets. Oh, and I just could not leave out my Skeecher's rocker-bottom sandals (on sale for $24.99 at Shoe Show, and they kick ass, if I must say so myself). Okay, back to the trip.

On Friday, while everyone else was working, about fifty of us were loaded onto a brand new luxury bus, and were on our way, with Joyce and John hosting and keeping us laughing, to our first stop which was a tour of a new Jasper Engines branch which was, believe me I am as surprised as you are by this, really enjoyable.

After complementary snacks there, back on the bus we climbed. Don and I always like to sit in the second row of seats so we can see out the big front window. It makes us feel very powerful. Our next stop was in Jeffersonville, Indiana, at Schimpff's Confectionary. This candy shop is famous and has been featured on The History Channel. Now that I know how close it is, you better believe I will be hitting that store once in awhile. They did a red hot cinnamon-making demonstration that was very interesting. Schimpff's is a family-owned business that made the original turtles candy, actually in the shape of turtles, not the lumpy imitations we find in the stores now. Here, I'll let you read all about it: http://www.schimpffs.com/

I guess it goes without saying that I left with a one-pound can of the red hots rock candy, 1/4 pound of dark chocolate-covered cashews and 1/4 pound of chocolate-covered pecans (Don's choice). At the above website, you can see photos of the store since I walked out of the house without a photo card in my camera and could honestly not find one anywhere we went and did not think the guy driving the 40-foot bus around through narrow city streets would be too amenable to stopping at Walgreen's for me. I did take a few pictures with Don's old Kodak EasyShare camera, which I had no idea how to operate, but none of them were very good.

On these trips, they way over-feed us. In the afternoon we stopped at a great little place called Magdalena's in Corydon, Indiana, where we had the best potato soup ever, served in bread bowls. If I had not gotten so full, I could have eaten another bowl of that, but thankfully we were on a schedule and I ran out of time before making myself totally ill. http://magdalenas.com/

When we arrived at our hotel, The Galt House, on the Ohio River in Louisville, we were ready for a little R&R in our suites. Here is The Galt House, and if you ever get a chance to stay there, I would highly recommend it: http://www.galthouse.com/ If you visit this website, click on "photo gallery," and you'll see all the things I didn't take pictures of.

They always keep us very busy on these excursions, and we no sooner arrived than a huge banner went up at the end of the hallway of Jasper Engines and Transmissions suites announcing, "HOSPITALITY ROOM." Now, this is just a fancy way of saying that John and Joyce are in their room setting out a gigantic spread of alcohol and snacks, where everyone congregates and makes themselves drunk and at home. They do a great job.

Once we were nice and "relaxed" we all retired to our own rooms for showers and a costume change so we could attend the banquet (yes, we were eating again) downstairs before walking the few blocks to the theater to see "Jersey Boys."

At the banquet we were served some of the best food I have ever tasted, and at that point it was still tasting excellent. By Sunday I would be starting to rebel against the dining experience, but how can you resist when you're with friends away from home where you can let your hair down?

A man named John Wagner, an inspirational speaker from Kentucky, kept us wildly entertained before the meal, and he was right...a good, hard belly laugh just clears the way for a great time! Even looking at his picture on his website gets me to chuckling.
http://www.wagnerseriouslyfunny.com/%28S%28y02evcaqxu4xqw453swvr555%29%29/index.aspx

And then here is what I was waiting for on Friday night...the production of "Jersey Boys" which was unbelievably awesome! Anyone who gets a chance to see this should definitely attend.
http://www.jerseyboysinfo.com/broadway/

I was wearing a cream and gold and brown dress with the uneven hem at the bottom, low cut in the front, swirly, silky, pretty, and about ten gold bangle bracelets and, the shoes that go with everything and are easy to walk in, my rocker-bottom sandals. The dress was sleeveless, and I had bought a cream-colored Pima shawl and Don said, "You aren't going to take that, are you? It's a hundred degrees outside." I told him I usually have found theaters to be rather cold, and by the end of the performance, Don and I were sharing my shawl, all curled up together as close as we could get, and we became the show, evidently, for about the row ahead and the row behind us. Hey, when in adverse weather conditions, you do what you have to to survive, right?

Now, this was just FRIDAY. We dropped into our beds (after another visit to the Hospitality Room), knowing that Saturday morning we had to be back on the bus by 8:15 for our visit to Bardstown, Kentucky.

So, this is where the fun really began at 10:00 Saturday morning.

Feeling a little sleepy, the bus riders were quiet, dozing, trying to wake up. We had had a good breakfast at The Galt House. I insisted on finishing mine even though Don was pointing at his watch. "What are they going to do, leave us?" Of course not, but it was a little unsettling to be the last person onto the bus and feeling it pull quickly away from the curb before we even got into our seats.

Anyway, this was our first stop: Heaven Hill Distillery. Yes we were at a bourbon-making operation. I would put the link here, but you'll have to find it on your own if you want to look at the website because you have to be of a certain legal age to go to it. But here I DID manage to get Don to take a few photos.

The first one is of me at Bourbon School. And it was just what I said, a class on bourbon, and yes, we got to sample, and yes, it was 10 a.m., and yes it was fun. I learned a lot there. For example, charring the insides of the barrels happened by accident. The guy who accidentally started the fire that charred his barrels was cheap and shipped his bourbon to New Orleans anyway, and after they got a swig of that, they began asking for his bourbon exclusively, and not to be outdone, all the other whiskey-makers started burning their barrels on purpose, and so that's how we ended up with that woody taste and the amber color. It used to be just a clear moonshine, now it's a gorgeous liquid. And yes, I bought a bottle of single-barrel 10-year-old bourbon to bring home to take on my camping trips with me. Who knew I would like bourbon over ice so much??


This was me at bourbon school.


This was me AFTER bourbon school posing with the Barrel Family. I'm the one in front of Dad.

We left on a big bus after this fantastic start to the day, and ate lunch...somewhere...it was good and everything, but I was sort of full of alcohol and a huge breakfast, so unfortunately, I didn't retain any info about the Bardstown lunch stop. I was kind of surprised that this little Kentucky town had so much to offer. Oh, one more thing I learned about the distillery was that the warehouses, and you see one behind me in the above photo, look filthy on the outside. But the truth is, that's a good thing. When they put all those barrels of whiskey in the warehouses, a natural mold starts growing on the outside. It is a harmless mold, and everything in Bardstown sports that crappy-looking color, but on the upside, when the wind is blowing just right, they get to smell that yummy smell of 27-year-old bourbon. Sweet and a good trade-off! I think it is called trujillo mold but could be wrong about that as I was hearing things that were not actually being said after class.

http://www.visitbardstown.com/ If you visit this website, "My Old Kentucky Home" will be playing, a really pretty rendition of it. Bardstown is very old and supposedly haunted, and I plan on going back there and exploring that aspect sometime. While there, we went to see a production of, what else?, "My Old Kentucky Home," about the life of Stephen C. Foster. Beautiful costumes of the times, great voices singing the songs. It was very interesting...but cold.

And finally, on Saturday evening, we ended the long, interesting, fun-filled day with a four-course meal served aboard My Old Kentucky Dinner Train. http://www.rjcorman.com/dinnertrain.html This was a treat, but again, the food...When I ordered chicken I expected a leg. Imagine my surprise when they plopped down in front of me (third course) half a chicken on my plate. I took one look at it and said, "Well, Don, bon appetite...you want my chicken?" It was good, but I just couldn't, you know?

All the way back to the hotel I was saying, "I can't wait to crawl into bed." But we got there, and that stupid banner called our names, and we spent half the night with our friends back down in The Hospitality Room, drinking beer. I don't know where we were putting it, but again, friends, atmosphere, the Ohio River outside your balcony.

Sunday morning: We had a little more time to get to the bus on Sunday. A lot of people went to church, Don and I couldn't even drag out of bed until about nine o'clock, then we had a leisurely breakfast (yes, I was hungry), ran back to our room and prepared to leave The Galt House, where I could live just fine, thank you.

The Muhammad Ali Center staff had graciously agreed to open the doors for our group early that morning, and we enjoyed a self-guided tour through that place, which is gorgeous, and features a lot of artwork and get this, a shadow boxing ring. By now you all know that I was the one person out of fifty who shadow boxed with Muhammad Ali, right? I wanted to put on the gloves and take on my boyfriend in the ring, but he was chicken.

http://www.alicenter.org/Pages/default.aspx

Last stop on this much-needed, much-enjoyed, and much-appreciated three-day weekend was for...come on, you can say it...LUNCH. We stopped in Louisville at The Old Spaghetti Factory, and I have to admit I had the best pasta ever! For dessert I had MY ice cream AND Don's ice cream, but not to be outdone, John managed to talk four people out of theirs. The bowls were tiny, though, really. No, really they were.  http://www.osf.com/

And then just like that, we were home where real life slapped us in the faces and the grass needed mowed.

I would like to thank Jasper Engines and Transmissions for sponsoring these trips. They are always so much fun and so memorable. And especially Joyce and John, who cannot possibly enjoy these things to their fullest as they are stocking, restocking the Hospitality Room, getting people back to THEIR own rooms after we have helped ourselves to the stocked and restocked supplies, and basically giving up their privacy for three days. I hope they are well-compensated for that!

I did not test the links above, so if none work, or some do and some do not, I imagine that is John's fault somehow and I will get his e-mail address for you. :0)

IN THE PALM OF MY HAND

2010-08-12T10:17:00.000-04:00

Everyday was a struggle. I looked everywhere for peace. It was not to be found. I stood up several times from underneath the big old ash tree. I had curled up there in the night with a quilt my mama had made me, a pillow off my bed to rest my head on, listening to the sounds of the water cascading across the rocks in the fountain in the back yard, and listening to the breeze rearranging branches and leaves overhead. The angel under the tree seemed to comfort me, and I reached up and placed my hand on her concrete wing and slept, slept right there with that angel protecting me.

In the morning, though, nothing had changed other than the fact I had a horrific backache and my pink pajamas were soaked with the sweat brought on by the humidity. There were mosquito bites, too. I counted about fifteen of them before stopping. I figured if I could stand up, there was probably still enough blood in my body to nourish me and those little blood-sucking pests, at least through one more day.

As I wearily made my way to my house, I leaned down and scooped up a handful of dirt and let it sift through my fingers. Playing in dirt had always been a comfort to me, even in my older years, I could barely wait for the snow to melt so I could get out the shovels and trowels and rakes and flower seeds and play in the dirt. I never wore gloves. I wanted to feel the earth on my hands and under my fingernails. That habit of not covering my hands, though, made for a few trips to the ER for stitches and tetanus shots because when you turn up the dirt, you inevitably are going to turn up glass that has no reason for being there. I always wonder if it got deposited during a heavy snowstorm, and there are times in the winter when the sun will shine while the snow plummets from the sky and I swear I see diamonds hitting the earth. Who knew that it could snow diamonds in the wintertime?

I scooped up another handful of soft, hot earth and wondered if peace would ever find me or if I was destined to always be peaceless. Just as I started to drop the last handful back to the ground and open the door to go inside, I felt something in my fingers, something hard. I brushed the dirt away and found a tiny little blue plastic butterfly. I spit on it, rubbed it clean, and turned the little jewel over and read a tiny inscription on the curve of the underside of the butterfly's perfect wing: "Peace has found you."

Pocketing the treasure from the dirt in my own back yard, I thought, "I looked everywhere for peace, and I just found it in the most unlikely place...in the palm of my own hand."

THE WILDFLOWERS IN THE MEADOW - MORE NEW MEXICO CAMPING

2010-08-02T20:41:00.000-04:00

So, back to the New Mexico camping trip in the cool, crisp, beautiful mountains. The trip that got me hooked.

This will be the photos from the morning I rose before sunrise and hiked through the field, taking picture after picture of the wildflowers growing out there.

The first picture is where I left Susan at sunrise.

Rise and shine!! Sunrise!!

It was so amazing to have the time to walk around with no other responsibilities than to make the wildflowers pose for the camera. Thank you Mommy Nature!

CAMPING AT PATOKA LAKE

2010-08-01T19:10:00.000-04:00

My tent at our campsite.

I am going to sort of veer off-topic here, away from my camping trip to New Mexico to share some pictures from our weekend trip this past weekend here in Indiana. Jamie and her family joined me, Don joined me after work last night, and we ate, drank a little bit, visited with our neighbors, had a fire, walked, swam, and slept with the cool breeze blowing in through the open tent windows with the night woods sounds surrounding us.


Patoka Lake where we camped.

Where we swam and got sunburned.

Kid enjoying camping...note the "I don't use training wheels anymore," knot on the forehead...

This is what I saw out the window of my tent.

Ready for a hike to the beach.

It's like the sun's going down on me.

Looks like Jesus looking down on our quieting campsite. How comforting.

THE TALE OF TWO CHIPMUNKS

2010-07-30T08:40:00.000-04:00

One morning Susan and I were sitting in front of the fire, trying to wake up, when I heard a rustling noise on the picnic table. My mind immediately knew what was happening, as I had been snacking on some sunflower seeds earlier over there on the table, but it took my body a few seconds to respond...Chip and Dale had discovered the bag of sunflower seeds. You know how thick a Baggie is, the material almost palpably thick in comparison to say, an off-label Baggie Imitation. But on the table I found MegaMunk. Honestly, this was the largest chipmunk I had ever seen in my life, and he had bitten right into the Baggie and was helping himself to our protein.


This was MegaMunk thinking he was hiding like his much smaller friends could, under the Camp Truck.


Here MegaMunk was trying to hide behind the bag of sunflower seeds, peeking over to make sure we didn't see him there making a total pig of himself.

On the lookout to make sure no rival munks were going to show up to try to steal his stash. His jaws were getting bigger and bigger.

Having to actually rest his head on the bag while guarding the sunflower jubilee stash.

"I think I detect trouble!"

"He wouldn't DARE come over here...would he?"

"Okay, you can have ONE, got it?? You can have...okay, maybe TWO, but anymore than THREE and I'm chasing your ass off...are you paying attention to me??"

"I warned you! Scat! Get out of here you sunflower seed thief! You better run from big, bad ME!"


Peace is restored when MegaMunk's cheeks get so full that he cannot balance himself to get off the table, and little Dale, here, finally gets his turn at the seed bag.

There are several more chipmunk tales and photos to go along with them, but I think you all get the idea...hey, what else did I have to do, right? Sitting around taking pictures of the wildlife, curling up in my sleeping bag at 4 in the afternoon to read a book, taking walks around the lake. It was really a tough job, but someone had to take the assignment on, and I sacrificed myself!

Have an awesome Friday!

THE SUN CAME UP

2010-07-29T21:20:00.000-04:00

I forced myself out of my warm, cozy sleeping bag and hiked off before sunup into the cold morning to try to capture a little of the magic that accompanies a sunrise in the Jemez Mountains. I don't think any story or explanation is necessary. Just enjoy the mountain sunrise!

HIATUS...

2010-07-29T10:35:00.000-04:00

Wanted to just drop in and say that I will get more camping adventure stories and more photos up later today.

I got sidetracked because this morning I had to go get lab work done, then, ahem, Jamie and I went to Wal-Mart to "Get David's school supplies and school clothes." We, however, ended up in the "camping section" of the store and bought tents for myself, my son and his family, and Jamie and her family, sleeping bags, pumps, air mattresses, sleeping bags, etc. I even got David and Abigail their own little pup tent with sleeping bags! I don't think they'll sleep in it alone, but we'll see. We're going to box it in between our tents, their door boxed into the middle of the other tents.

My tent sleeps 6, so when you all decide to come camping with me, we're covered!

More later...

HO-HUM - ANOTHER DAY OF BREATHTAKING SCENERY

2010-07-27T14:08:00.000-04:00

This is how it looked as night fell over our camp.

I know there are people who would find it boring sitting around a campfire eating steak and eggs at 7:00 a.m. while the sun came up, and people who would not find the intense pleasure I found at sitting at the picnic table in the "dining area" of our Vacation Lodge popping open Bud Lights with Lime while it poured outside and the wind whistled through the huge stands of Ponderosa pines, but just yawn and bear it. :) (I also know almost everyone in the world would love to experience what we experienced, so I was just being funny).

The sun began to set and someone said the word "bears" to us, so it had quite an impact on how we stored and disposed of food at our little oasis of beauty and calmness. If we were not putting everything away to protect it from a surprise lightning and wind storm, we were putting it back in The Camp Truck for storage to try to keep the larger critters of the night away from our tent, which, even though it was huge, and even though it withstood high winds, probably would not be much of a match for a seven-foot tall, four-hundred-fifty-pound brown bear.

After eating, being a little paranoid about the bear situation, we would scrub every teensy little odor of hot dog from our fingers, the table outside, and burn every crumb of bread in the fire.

Now, I know you want me to tell you a bear story here, but the only bear story I have is that they stayed in the forest and lived their own lives, leaving us to go home with our own.

I am going to just start with some photos here.


All we lacked at our little table was a mirror, which we vowed to take along next time. Cheers!


We had to take containers and find a water spigot before nightfall, and one of us (I won't say who) left the flaps open on the tent. See the Victoria's Secret bag sitting there? Hairspray actually kills flies...Susan never ceased to amaze me.


There were two big bedrooms in the Vacation Lodge mega-tent, one at each end, but after we read about the bears, we decided it would be best to both sleep at the same end. This is where we slept. Quite comfy. My bed is on the left, by the window, which got rained in by a surprise rain storm while we were somewhere else.

Here is the scene out our front door. Who wouldn't want to wake up to that?? We could lay in our beds and watch the night fall on this cliff face while we read "for three hours each night."

This was the view across the wildflower meadow out our back window. I know how boring this is getting. :0)

This nice, cold mountain stream was behind our campsite, and this is where I took a bath. Cross another thing off my bucket list!

More amazing Mother Nature and fun later! It actually gets prettier as time marches on. My brain felt like it was on the "sports mode" on a camera or one of those flip-books. Sun down, night sounds, sun up, new flowers, new birds, new bugs, new creatures. On and on and on it goes.

I really took to heart the words to this song by Susan Cowsill: "It's what we do here that matters when we go."

So everyone tread lightly on this earth and help her survive!

CAMPING AT LAKE VERNON STATE PARK

2010-07-26T08:50:00.000-04:00

I immediately hopped out of the Camping Truck with my camera, laughing. I had spent about three days trying to fly to Albuquerque for this camping trip, had driven about 80 miles up the side of a mountain, prepared to help raise the Vacation Lodge mega tent, pee in a field, gather wood, and as my reward, lay in my sleeping bag and look at the stars in that huge sky with no light pollution. Susan, on the other hand, was in shock, staring out the window at the STOP sign, sputtering a few unintelligible words.

Time to regroup. And we did. I said, "I saw another campground a few miles back, want to try that?" And not having fully recovered yet, she said, "Yeah." So we backtracked to the next place, found the gate open, and drove in. It was pretty but crowded, and eagle-eyed Susan immediately knew there was no water. We had to have water, there were no two ways about that. We stopped and talked to a couple on bikes who confirmed there was no water, but told us about the campground at Lake Vernon State Park, if we were willing to really make a drive and go over "unimproved mountain roads" to get there. We were willing. We had a gigantic tent to put up, a tent that had never been out of the box, the box in fact still factory sealed, and the sun was starting to drop pretty quickly.

Once we saw the signs to the lake, and drove for about three miles on a washboard dirt road, at about five miles per hour to keep from ruining the suspension on the Camping Truck, soon realizing this could not be right, we found a nice woman walking out there in the middle of nowhere, I decided she must have been an angel, and she directed us back the direction from which we had come, and about thirty minutes later, we actually found the campground.


Lake Vernon, well worth the few hours it took to find.

After several laps around the campground, pretty large, really, considering we had no idea it was there, but thankfully fairly empty, too, we settled on our wilderness home for the next few days...near enough to an outhouse to use that, but out in the middle of a meadow of wildflowers and near a stream that was gorgeous.

We set about removing said Vacation Lodge from the box and began laughing as we laid out the tarps and took a look at the directions for raising the tent. On the box it said, "Five easy steps." Of course if Susan had seen the directions INSIDE the box first, she would never have made the purchase, which, in my way of thinking, was sort of trickery.

At one point, we picked up the tarps and began trying to figure out how to make a lean-to for the night, because no way were two small girls going to be able to reach the dome of that tent to put it up. As we were contemplating our dilemma in our shorts and our smiles, a second Camping Truck pulled around the curve and we heard, "You girls need some help?"

Were we going to say "No?" Now this guy was like a knight in shining armor to us. We cracked open a few Bud Lights, and the three of us went to work on that tent. I would hammer in a stake, say, "Sip break!" And we would all take a sip, or a gulp (it was getting hot out there). Someone would push a pole into the right flap and say, "Beer break." But eventually, our house was constructed of bricks, we found out when a mountain wind storm blew through about an hour later taking everything with it except, what do you think? Our tent! There she stood, so proud.

Before the knight left us, we did introductions, and I swear to God this is true...his name was Roland. From near Denver. So if Roland somehow reads this blog, THANK YOU AGAIN!

The weather we were starting to worry about before Roland showed up.

And that's it for this chapter. As you can see, the tent was awesome. We were quite proud of it...

And later, the adventure begins...

MY TRIP TO NEW MEXICO - MONDAY

2010-07-25T16:26:00.000-04:00

At 5:00 a.m. on Monday, I left my comfy king bed behind and hit the road, hoping that this would be the day I would honestly manage to GET to Albuquerque to embark on my Great Adventure with Susan, a much-needed, much-planned trek to 8000 feet to Jemez Falls campground, where the deer, the elk, and the bears play.

At the airport in Louisville, I questioned the Southwest ticket agent: "What the heck happened on Saturday that kept me from getting into the cool mountains of New Mexico??" He said, "A teacher's convention. Fifty-six-hundred educators were all trying to get out of this city and go home."

Well, with that explained, I dropped my suitcase and confidently hiked to the security line. Once there, of course, there was the shoe-removal, makeup-in-a-Baggie removal, computer removal, Kindle removal, and jacket removal, which I am very unorganized with, plus I sweat with all the exertion with the humidity what it is here. It takes me about ten minutes to organize everything into the bins, four seconds to walk through the screener, and ten minutes to reorganize everything back onto my person.

With my Buddy Pass in hand, I approached the gait and learned that I actually had a seat on that first flight out. Giddy with excitement, I settled in between the two people who were forced by process of elimination to put up with me for the next 3-1/2 hours as we zipped at 460 miles per hour toward my first stop, Phoenix, where my cousin was going to meet me for breakfast in the airport.

The flight seemed fairly short, no dramatic things happened, and within a mere few hours I was hugging Tracy and we were polishing off pastries and coffee. I am not sure when it actually crept into my brain that I was going to have to redo the security process. It seems ridiculous to say it was worth it, because of course it was, but as I held up the line unloading my computer, removing shoes, removing liquids-in-a-Baggie, etc., etc., etc., I seriously doubt that anyone else in the line behind me would have considered anything worth what I was putting them through.

It almost seemed ridiculous to have to get on another plane for the little forty-five-minute hop to Albuquerque, and it seemed even more ridiculous that the fight attendants had to take drink orders for 200 passengers and try to work in a full service in that period of time, but in no time flat, I was hugging Susan, next, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and after some hugging, jumping up and down, retrieving my suitcase, we were soon on our way, in her well-stocked Camping Truck. It was almost impossible to squeeze in the little amount of stuff I brought with me because in one month, Susan had turned into a camping monster and had everything from a tent ("Vacation Lodge"), a HUGE tent she had never tried to put up before, to a portable picnic table, and I jumped behind the wheel and we left the city behind and were giddy with the lack of oxygen at 8000 feet.

Soon, we found the visitor's center for the Jemez Reservation, and made a stop in there for our final "real" bathroom break for the next three days, and to find a map.

This is the visitor's center and a kiva out back of the visitor's center:

Not sure what this was for, and didn't really ask.


Look at that beautiful sky and enjoy it because it was pretty much the last of the blue we saw on the trip.

The drive up to our campground seemed to fly by. I have not seen such beautiful scenery in a long time, and the winding road up the side of the mountain commanded pretty much all of my attention.

One of the little villages we passed through had this gorgeous church sitting right on the road, and after a terrifying, death-defying moment when, regardless of the steep fall into a ravine on both sides of us, making a quick stop, checking the rearview mirror and seeing nobody behind me, and pulling into a little indentation on the road, doing a U-turn and returning to the church, I took this gorgeous picture:


How would you like to sit in church on Sunday morning and see this work of God?

On we drove, seeing more beauty than you could imagine. If I had stopped for a picture at every place I wanted, we would still be driving to the campground.

The next touristy stop we made was a place called Soda Falls. People go there to swim under the falls on hot days, and it was tempting, but trying to hurdle the guardrail and roll down the rocky hill to get there just was not going to happen. It became more appealing to just watch others enjoy their little dip.

All this beauty, even this skull-like cave dwelling cliff wall, was carved from volcanoes.

On we drove, higher into the Jemez Mountains, anticipating raising our Vacation Lodge mega-tent, starting a fire, and watching the stars pop out one by one on a clear, quiet, oxygen-deprived night, kicking back, popping open the Bud Lights with Lime, cooking a couple of hot dogs, crawling into sleeping bags and reading until falling asleep, no worries, no troubles.

Susan said, "Mick, it's just around this curve!!" And we giggled in anticipation, pulled in and got our first view...

Stop us? Deter us? Never!

Stay tuned for what happened next!

MY TRIP TO NEW MEXICO SO FAR - DAY 2

2010-07-18T08:44:00.000-04:00

Inspired by my cousin's posting of an article from our hometown newspaper, I am going to preview MY big trip here, and if everyone likes it, I might submit it for consideration to The Press...so here goes:

As is normal for Kathy before she travels, she only slept about four hours the night before in anticipation. Being too cheap to purchase her own ticket, she was going to travel on a buddy pass, or as most backwoods non-travelers call it, standby.

She did not completely pack until the morning of the trip and then just went through her drawers and threw everything she owned into a suitcase, which she then had to have help carrying to and loading into the car. She is such a hoot! By the time she was in the car zipping toward Louisville to catch her 1:05 flight, and as a standby passenger was being routed from Louisville to Phoenix, then to Albuquerque (yes you read that correctly), she was a sweaty blob in the 100-degree humid steambath-like heat. On the way she bought some prescription-strength antiperspirant which she took the time to rub all over her body.

It did not help much, though, when as she approached the on-ramp for her Interstate, she saw there was an actual traffic jam on the ramps from both directions, with cops directing traffic. I know that you are going to immediately say, "Holiday World!" That is where they were all going, that giant park in Santa Claus, Indiana, that was what all this traffic mess was about...she grabbed the prescription-strength antiperspirant and did another rubdown.

Watching the clock tick off the minutes, she breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the bridge crossing the Ohio River into Louisville, Kentucky, but alas...construction. By the time she arrived at the airport and parked, she was feeling a little stressed out, and it did not help when she read on the parking ticket kiosk, "Starting July 1, this lot now charges thirteen dollars a day." Are you joking?? Too late to exit now.

When she walked into the airport she was surprised, no, shocked to see 500 people waiting in line at the Southwest counter to check luggage. Kathy was already standing there with a security document, and had she just packed in a carry-on bag, would have zipped right through that mess to the gate, but, as luck would have it, she decided to take a suitcase full of everything, including all five pairs of flip-flops, with her.

Knowing she was not going to get the 1:05 flight to Phoenix, Kathy made the call to her friend waiting in Albuquerque and broke the news. No big deal really, her friend said, just wait for the next flight.

Forty-five minutes later, she made it to the front of the line only to be told by the agent: "You are not going to get a standby flight out of here today, you probably shouldn't even bother to check that bag because it will end up at your final destination without you, and Monday is going to be your first chance to get out of here."

After collecting that 45-pound suitcase, her computer, and her Southwest-designed backpack (it is really adorable, she bought it in Venice, California, years ago and it still goes everywhere with her), Kathy found a seat and started making calls.

First call was to Susan in Albuquerque, who got all emotional and had thought, the first time she called, Kathy said, that she was exaggerating about 500 people in line, but actually, she reports to The Press, she had probably underestimated that figure. Next call to Tracy, her cousin, who was going to have dinner with her at the Phoenix airport, who took it in stride, then a call to her housesitters, her daughter and son-in-law who had settled in real nice at her house and could barely disguise their disappointment at having to give up their free one-week resort, Kathy told the reporter, and then she called her boyfriend, Don, who was thrilled she was going to be home and could barely mask his excitement, so he went to sleep and she did not see him, she reported, until about five o'clock yesterday evening.

So now Kathy is back home, sitting in her king-sized bed on Sunday morning, the day after her fantastic trip began, talking to reporters. She reported, "I'm going to try it again Monday. The day wasn't a total loss, though. I got to stop in Corydon, Indiana, on my way back home, to pee and ate great food at Burger King, the high-END one, and took some great cloud photos!"

We will keep you posted on the next leg of her journey.

FRIDAY'S SIGN

2010-07-16T07:31:00.000-04:00

Really, this sign is self-explanatory: "Beware of big, menacing black waves, or Smoke Monsters if you were a fan of "Lost," that come out of nowhere and can knock your ass right off this sea wall! Stand here on this little piece of concrete held together by little yellow squares AT YOUR OWN RISK!"

A LITTLE SUMMER RESPITE - OR A TRIP TO LAKE MICHIGAN - OR SIGNS

2010-07-13T18:43:00.000-04:00

Well...where to start! I know, I'll start with a segment from my trip to Michigan City, Indiana, and Holland, Michigan, both, surprisingly, on a huge lake, that I like to call "Signs." I noticed that there were a lot of dos and don'ts all over the place near the Inland Sea, Lake Michigan.

Once I started snapping photos of signs, I realized that I hardly had to say anything as a way of explanation, and since I'm a little crunched for time this evening already, I thought I'd just post this self-explanatory piece.

There is a lighthouse that is the most-photographed lighthouse in Michigan called Big Red. It is located in Holland State Park, Holland, Michigan. There is a LOT of publicity about Big Red, but not until you are nearly upon it does the above sign appear. It was worth the risk to proceed. They say more pictures are taken of this one structure than any other structure in the state. I took 200 shots of her myself, so I believe that is probably the truth. In another chapter, I will post some portraits of this old lady of the Inland Seas.

Well, here she is. She sort of demands that I insert a picture of her here...Big Red.

This would be Orley's Dock. Don and I spent probably 1-1/2 lazy hours sitting at the end of Orley's Dock just watching the world go by, by boat. The canal here was a lane into Lake Michigan at South Haven. I renamed it South Heaven because it pretty much was.

This sign seemed a little out of place...

Okay...gotta take a break here. I have a LOT more signs, aren't you all just wicked excited?? I'll post some more photos later.

Until next time...

MY LIFE GOES BY IN THREES

2010-07-03T15:54:00.000-04:00

I looked past him at the clock by the bed and
quietly took in the time, the hour, the night.
1:11 the time read, and I was mesmerized by
the hand of the night cradling me softly, the
songs of the summer wind whistling through
the screen and shushing me back to slumber.

And I slept. I slept and dreamed of a day when
the ocean would provide the melody and the
gulls the harmony while I dove deeper into my
dreams and reached up to take a star in my
fingers, hiding it like a jarred firefly on my
windowsill so I could feel the glow. And I
looked past him, at the clock, and was caught
in a peaceful smile as 2:22 was displayed in red.

I snaked my feet deeper under the covers, and
found that place where my toes fit in the pillow
top mattress, the soft indentations like snuggling
next to your lover with your bare legs tangled together.
Again sleep overtook me, the firefly glowed, the
music remained, the stars winked their blessings
throughout the universe, and I awoke, and watched
as the time changed. The red numbers rolled like
waves coming to shore to 3:33.

My life, it seems, progresses in threes. Like a hand
not wanted to be dealt in cards, but a movement of
numbers that is comforting, showing me that all is
right in the universe, that day will turn to night and
night to dawn tomorrow, and that my angels will
move around in my life like wisps of dandelion
cotton. All is right with my world when the red
numbers roll like waves coming to the shore at 4:44.

BLUE - THEME THURSDAY

2010-06-29T20:52:00.000-04:00

Marissa was never the type of girl to do things the way people expected her to. Being unconventional and a little hyperactive did not seem irritating to her in the least, but it seemed to concern others. Whether it was her inability to organize her life, her impulsive nature, or the ease with which she withdrew and suddenly returned, she wasn't sure, but one thing she was always sure of was that there was somewhere she needed to be, and she was not there.

It was a Thursday, a day that was, in the midst of the Midwestern summer, a joyful surprise. The sky had taken on a dark, ominous tone, and with that cloud cover had come a cool, nearly chilly morning breeze, allowing the air conditioner to find a much needed respite. Marissa threw open the windows and the flower-scented wind swirled impishly around her curtains, so instead of jumping up and going right to work that morning, she rewarded herself by lying on her big bed later than usual, propped up by half a dozen pillows, reading her latest book while the room cooled to a tolerable level. Mother Nature even went so far as to force Marissa to pull the comforter up over her bare legs.

The birds seemed happier than they had been for awhile, too. Doves cooed, cardinals chirped, and the little finches sang merrily while they ate breakfast on the feeders she kept filled for them all year-round.

But even with all this pleasure surrounding her, the restless, impulsive woman could not quell the thought that something was missing, even today. Marissa closed her book and stared out the window at the clouds and drifted back to sleep with one thought on her mind...blue.

When she woke up, late for work and even more restless, Marissa threw a few pairs of shorts and a few t-shirts into a bag, jumped in the shower, and while brushing her teeth, dialed the number of her favorite airline. "I'd like a one-way ticket to...anywhere with a blue ocean," she said into the phone, using the agent's moment to calculate and shop for her to spit and rinse, and she was still smiling and humming when the outrageous last-minute price was quoted to her, but not to be deterred, she jumped online and quickly transferred the money to cover the ticket price, and when all was said and done, a quick run to the nearest airport was undertaken.

When she was tucked away into her ocean-view room with the windows thrown open, and the birds talking outside, the sea breeze swirling in around her, and the scent of the sea filling her senses, Marissa whispered..."Blue, that's what was missing today," as she stared at the crystalline water from her perch in the sky before running the few yards to put her feet in the warm salt water. "Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue," she sang as she spun in a child's twirl, kicking up water, her laughter carried off on the wind toward her bedroom where there was no ocean, head back, eyes closed against the brilliant sun, and true contentment overtaking her soul.

TRIANGLES - THEME THURSDAY

2010-06-24T19:27:00.000-04:00

Never being a very talented child, I spent the years when I wanted so badly to be in the prestigious group of kids in the grade school band, and as you probably have guessed by the title of this little story, as a percussionist. In my mind, I was a drummer as talented as any drummer with any rock band at the time. I would march on the football field, my body straight as an arrow, in perfect rhythm, with that cute little uniform and hat on, eyes straight ahead, taking great pride in my contribution to the music, especially when I had a great solo, smiling, everyone standing up and cheering and whistling! I loved the cold wind during the winter games, when I could wear those fantastic-looking drummer's gloves with my uniform.

But, as you have probably guessed from the title of this story, I could not quite make the cut to drummer. As a matter of fact, the band director tried everything to allow me to have a place because he knew how important that uniform was to my tender psyche. But when he handed me the triangle and asked me to audition for a place in the mostly-hidden stage band, I could tell by the look on his face that not only was I not talented enough to play the flute, the clarinet, the drums, the trumpet, the tambourine, or the oboe, I was not even good enough to play the triangle.

By the time that audition was over, I decided enough was enough. There was no place for me on that football field. My attempts at cheerleading were a dismal failure, especially when it was discovered my gymnastic talent went no further than being able to do forward rolls. My arms would not support my body in a handstand or even a cartwheel. My stint at being the mascot was thwarted when someone grabbed my big mule head and threw me over onto my back on the sidelines, just to see how funny it would look, and it did look funny, I am sure.

So now I am fifty-three. I found my talents were pretty much confined to the classroom, so I became the best medical professional I could become, which has come in handy since I have a very accident prone nature. Just tonight I tripped and landed hard on both knees and yes, I saw triangle-shaped strobes of light behind my eyelids as I sat there on my bloody and bruised knees and cried like a baby. I do not know if it was the pain that made me scream out, or the frustration that not only would I never be a cheerleader or a member of anyone's band, but I probably was not going to even be very good at mastering the role of little old lady with any sort of dignity.

WHERE'S FRED?

2010-06-23T07:52:00.000-04:00

The bird feeders were hung by my office window with care, and suddenly birds were everywhere! I was so happy to be able to sit there and work and watch the antics of Fred, my favorite blue jay. He is smaller than most of the others, and his tail is a bit crooked, almost like he fought a cat and won. No wonder, if that was the case, he ruled the feeder!

There was the loud, tiny chickamouse, a yellow finch and a purple finch, the brightest red cardinals I have ever seen, and big, aggressive, beautiful blue jays, and two woodpeckers would even visit once in awhile and tap into the free food.

I would think that sometimes they were watching me as intently as I was watching them. As a matter of fact, I believe they were. Maybe it was me behind the glass while they strolled the world on wing, stopping at the nearest drive-thru for some lunch and a sip out of the angel bath, who was the zoo animal there for their viewing pleasure. Because a couple of nights ago, I moved the feeders out under the ash tree, stocked them with fresh food from Rural King, which they love, and the population has greatly diminished. It was the pooping on my patio chairs that forced the change. The morning after it was moved, a blue jay landed on the back of one of the chairs and sat there looking confused and unhappy. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders, his pretty blue wingtips out like hands, his eyes questioning..."Where the heck is the food? What's happening to this city? Tearing down everyone's favorite hangouts? Even the pub down the street closed up yesterday." And with one more woe-is-me look, off he flew, and I have not seen him again.

I have a hose. The mess wasn't THAT outrageous. I think a lot of times they actually held it while on the chair, otherwise, it would have been awful. I am hoping that if I move it back, the zoo will open for them once more and they will buy their nice little maps at the gate and find me behind my glass, doing what humans do, pecking away behind a computer screen, and doing it proudly for the birds' pleasure!

A LOVE POEM

2010-06-21T22:46:00.000-04:00

You wandered into my life, unsure, so small,
Then you wandered out again, feeling ten feet tall.
Butterflies sang when you were around
And everything I had lost was once again found.

Come home, hurry home, curl up with me
Beneath the big old ash tree
And bring your shattered heart for that
Would be the best place to start.

Open your eyes with your head next to mine
Open your eyes don't try to play blind.
Bring your soul, and my soul will meet you,
Our souls alone, in love, one now, not two.

Play your guitar on the top of the world
And sing the hummingbirds back to my yard.
Fold your arms around me, hold me closer
Give me the time to decipher the poster

Of the hearts on a string drawn there
Of the souls taking wing by the pair.
And then stay with me here forever and a day.
I know what you would love to say...

Sing stay with me, keep me, protect me
We both know our kind of love isn't free.
Turn on the lights the colored pretty lights
And let's make a wish on a hot summer's night.

WHOOPS...

2010-06-17T07:49:00.000-04:00

Hey! What happened to my Theme Thursday post??

Don't worry...just follow this link! xxoo Happy TT!

http://photogimping.blogspot.com/

GOING HOME

2010-06-14T07:43:00.000-04:00

I went on a road trip this past weekend. I went home. Imagine my surprise when I found myself wishing I could now go back and live in the little town I could not wait to get out of as a kid. Everyone keeps telling me, "There's a perfectly good house sitting there empty, and I bet the owners would give you a good deal."

For years I have wanted to knock on the door of the old house where I lived from birth to age eight when we moved to make it easier on my dad to go to work. He worked in the oil fields and was making a pretty long commute everyday, so we packed up and went with him. By this time I had a baby brother who I loved and adored. So, this time, I did it. I just walked up and knocked on the door and asked, "Do you mind if I take a few pictures just of the outside of this house? It's where I was born." And the granddaughter of the owner, after conferring with her ill grandmother, said, "Yes, that would be fine! Just be careful of the dog out back...he's friendly but he has sharp nails."

I really had no intentions of getting close enough to the dog to find out about his nails. He did not act particularly friendly when he saw me approaching the back yard, and my heart beat a little faster when he started toward me, until I realized he was securely chained up.

I have to admit, the back yard seemed HUGE when I was little, but it seemed very tiny when I was looking at it. A lot had changed and I found myself thinking about how much my life and my world really have changed in fifty-three short years. I would venture to say that things have changed a minimum of one-hundred-six times, usually for the better, sometimes not, but as I looked at the little house, only the good memories poured out of my heart where they were stored and into my brain so I could think on them awhile.

We went to the heart of the matter, too, downtown, to take some shots of the courthouse, and while there we saw a window display that just screamed Small Town Midwest USA. You can see in the reflection a gazebo. That is where every year I would parade around to be judged on my Halloween costume. Mom would work tirelessly to put together something she thought would win, and I never won. The only reason I liked it was that everyone got a lot of candy for participating.

You really can go home again. And sometimes you never ever want to leave.

THE STORY OF TRUDY AND HERSCHEL - A TALE OF LOVE

2010-06-09T12:12:00.001-04:00

"Why are you walking away from me like that?" She asked with a little huff in her voice. It did not seem quite right that she had broken her no-kissing-on-the-fifteenth-season rule only to be snubbed that way.

He hardly looked at her, though, as he turned his early-summer fully-feathered back to her and moved away on the sidewalk. Even the thought of waiting until the little kid got right up to him and then making that loud cooing noise and flapping wildly right in front of his face and scaring him into probably needing a clean diaper did not make Herschel happy. He just kept bobbing his head and softly, mournfully cooing his love song.

Being a dove is no piece of cake. There are all these mating rituals to consider. Herschel cannot even imagine that any other species has it as tough as he does when it comes to wanting to get in some dovette's pants. The only thing he knows to do, after fifteen years of courting this same dovette is try to gain her sympathy by bobbing and cooing, bobbing and cooing, and when he takes a moment to peek over his shoulder and turn a bright red eye on his girl to see how she is responding, he becomes even more despondent because not only does she not seem to care, but she seems to have found a delicacy that she appears to have no intention of sharing with her intended.

Herschel waddles back over to her and suddenly pecks his beak against hers, and they blush. But the honeymoon does not last for long when he asks her, "Your beak tastes particularly good today, may I ask what that was you were eating?"

The little female dove, as demurely as possibly in dove-speak says, "That was candy."

"Oh," replied Herschel. "I have never tasted anything quite as good as that!"

Finally, the rejected male dove, the very good-looking rejected male...no, wait, if he must say so himself, the very, VERY handsome, brave and good-looking male dove again turns his back and begins to waddle away, finally realizing that this is his last season and he has failed to win her over. Herschel gets off a really good kid-scare and coos and chuckles to himself all the way down the sidewalk when he hears, "Herschel?"

Bobbing and cooing, wondering if he should play it cool or rush to her side, Herschel turns and says, "Yes, Trudy?"

Trudy bobs and coos her way toward him with something in her beak, something red and sticky-looking, something foreign, and when she reaches him she cranes her neck out to him and makes her offering. Herschel taps Trudy's beak with his, and she pushes a piece of sugary, delicious candy into his beak, under his tongue, then steps back and shyly coos and bobs until Herschel puts out his handsome feathered wing and puts it over Trudy's sleek, slender shoulders, and off they go together, bobbing and cooing, to make a nest in the mansion willow tree across the street and raise their baby bobbers together.

A piece of candy can solidify friendships when shared. The bees know it, and even the birds know it. Hopefully humans know it still, too.

PLAYING WITH PICTURES

2010-06-08T18:35:00.000-04:00

My cousin, Tracy, turned me on to a photo editing program called Gimp, last week, and I downloaded it and decided to give it a try.

A few days ago I bought some white rubber lilies that float and change colors when they are in contact with the water. Very cool, and the best part is, they were three for five bucks at Big Lots. If you are not lucky enough to have a Big Lots store near you...well, you just do not know what the heck you're missing!

Anyway, I took three of those cheap little things, and with no hope they would actually do anything, dropped them into my fountain on the patio. Not only did they do something, but they did something so totally wicked cool, that now at night I go out there and drop them in, and bought three more that I drop into my birdbath, then I just sit there staring in wonder and amazement as they float around and change colors over and over. And they're bright! I have to rate the floating lilies as one of my smartest purchases this year...so far. It is only June, so who knows what else I'll dig up before the end of this year.

Anyway, I took about fifty photos when I realized just how photogenic and wicked cool they were, and I Gimped up one for you and thought I would share the results here.

Introducing, "Lilies In The Fountain," my first Gimped up photo ever. I expect to have a show in the local gallery by the time I Gimp up a lot of other things! You will all be invited...BYOB, Starving Artist in the house!

MY OLD HOME

2010-06-06T11:25:00.000-04:00

It was not too long ago, at least it seems to me, that my brother, the neighborhood kids and I were playing loud, dangerous games of baseball in the back yard of my old homeplace in Fairfield, Illinois.

When standing in that yard, I can almost hear the shouts and the laughter, the fights and the makeups that went on there.

All things change, though. Every curtain falls, every story has its end as Susan Cowsill sings in one of her songs from the album "Lighthouse," and yes, this is a disguised post to get you to order her album...

But really, I wanted you all to see where I came from, where I played and cried and where my soul still resides.

We are wanting to sell the house. It has taken awhile after the deaths of our parents, to get to the point where we were ready, but we just had the inside repainted and are getting the shutters painted which should be ready to be hung back up this week, we have lovingly pruned, cut, mowed, dug, sweated and bled making the yard ready for the next people who will love our old house.

The house sits on a quaint little lane with a beautiful yard. The mimosa trees are in bloom, the lilies, the yucca plant, everything is teeming with life. Now the house just needs an occupant to put their own personal touches on it to make it their own, so when we drive by, instead of feeling sadness, my brother and I might be able to see life there and feel gratitude and contentment. We are now ready for that to happen.

Following are some pictures I took while I was down there this past week.

ANGEL BIRDBATH PART TWO

2010-05-31T07:48:00.000-04:00

I am up. I am sore. I am sunburned. I am so happy with what I accomplished yesterday in my eco-yard, but still have so much to do, like turning the compost into the earth so next spring I can use that rich, fertile dirt for planting. I also think, after sharing my vision with my boyfriend about extending my patio, he might be onboard with that, which is lucky for me because what that means is that he will DO that for me. :-) Okay, not really all of it, I do my share as you will see by the photos below that show the stone walkway I began building yesterday and yes, I actually did the lifting and placing and measuring. (I decided twelve inches apart was best, since I can easily figure out where that is on the measuring device). Laughing out loud!

We also put the angel on a little pedestal. She looks as if she has a grotto now, she looks as if at any moment she might begin to glow and ascend into Heaven, as if she is holding court over the back yard.

Today is a workday for me. Have to make money so I can pursue all the other "visions" I have for Don to work on for me!

Happy Memorial Day to you all, and don't forget to say a little prayer for all our soldiers and all our wonderful people who have given us life and gone on before us. xxoo

ANGEL BIRDBATH

2010-05-30T12:48:00.000-04:00

There is something that people know about me, if they are around me a lot, and that is, I CAN be a perfectionist at times. Not always. There are times when I might be heard saying, "Oh, yes, well, that will do." But not too often. I won't settle often.

For three years, I have been hunting for the perfect birdbath for my increasingly eco-friendly back yard. I had an image in my head, and Don would patiently wait while I checked out the birdbaths nearly everywhere we went. You see, he knows, too...he knows that there is going to be a pretty huge window between when I start looking for something for the back yard and the time I actually make the purchase. The window this time was three years.

Yesterday was Memorial Day Saturday. My cousin is visiting from Phoenix, and Don and I took her down to our old hometown in Illinois to drop her to take care of her mom who has had a hip replacement surgery. Don and I visited with family around town, went to the cemetery to pay our respects to my mom and dad, and right across the highway from the final resting place of so many familiar souls, was a little store with probably a hundred concrete sculptures outside. When Don heard me take that little breath that was an excited little noise to me but to him said, "It's almost one-hundred degrees, the humidity is about ninety-five percent, and she is going to drag me over there to wander around in the hot sun for an hour and walk away with no birdbath."

Of course my compass was set, and I drove across the road and into the parking lot, and we started wandering around in the hot sun for an hour, but I found it! All this time and it was right there in my little hometown of 5000 people, standing by the highway, waiting patiently for me to notice after all these years!

After some wrestling around, she probably weighs eighty pounds, two guys at the store managed to get her into the trunk of the Focus. When we got here last night, though, Don's back had taken a really nasty muscle spasm, and it was not until this morning that I tracked down a couple of neighbors to drag that thing out of the trunk and place her where I wanted her. Once there, we took toothbrushes and Comet cleanser and scrubbed all the crevices in her wings until the years of neglectful dirt and grime was scrubbed off and she looked positively heavenly!

I took several shots of her, trying to capture the beauty, but photos do not do her justice. I expect to see birds crowded around for a turn in the cool water underneath my old, old, huge ash tree. Soon the cardinals and blue jays will have little beach towels out there and will be floating around in little swim rings sipping margaritas with umbrellas in them, or maybe, like the bat house that is situated in my yard, three years will elapse before they discover the fountain of youth I have installed for their enjoyment!

I wasn't drunk when I took this last one, but it's for my cousin, Tracy, because she loves to photograph at an angle, so I have an angled angel for her here...

I just heard a pool party going on outside, lots of flapping, splashing! I thought, "OH, wow! They have found my birdbath already!!!"

Now, here is the REST of the story. On the opposite side of my yard is a running-water fountain, just a small thing, a big bowl at the bottom and a series of angled smaller spouted bowls , three of them, over the top. The water runs into the small bowl from the pot at the top, down to the next bowl, etc., to the last big bowl. When I got to my back door and looked at my new, beautiful, clean, pristine, angel birdbath and saw it empty, I directed my attention, instead, to the little fountain across the yard where two fat robins, who together filled the bowl and couldn't even get a good flap going because there was no room, were in the bowl yelling at one another. Why do you think they were yelling at one another? "Get out of my way, you fat broad!" "Who are you calling FAT, you tub of lard, good for nothing robin!!" On and on and on...while I stood there waving my arms and pointing at the angel by the tree. By the time I got the camera, of course, they had finished their bathing and groaning and moaning and taken off.

Guess I am going to have to put a "POOL OPEN" sign over there until they catch on.

Ta-ta for now. More yard improvement photos after I return from Home Depot this afternoon!

FOR MY FRIENDS

2010-05-29T21:54:00.000-04:00

Some flowers. xxoo

JUST SOME PICTURES FROM MY TOWN

2010-05-26T15:10:00.000-04:00

GATHERING THE CHILDREN

2010-05-23T12:49:00.000-04:00

It was not so long ago that everything in my life seemed to be falling apart, and in response to that was my instinct to flee. The fight or flight situation was a no-brainer. Flight was winning out, and it was an uncomfortable feeling.

There are a few situations that assure you will not feel at home in your own skin, in your own house, in anyone else's house, or even sitting on top of the picnic table in your own back yard. No matter how many new clothes you buy, they never feel right. No matter how little you eat, you still gain weight. And finally you have to do something drastic because it really feels worse than uncomfortable when you finally realize you are spiraling out of control, and buying all those airline tickets to try to find a spot to make you happy is breaking you up.

That happened to me. One day I sat very still for many hours. I let my brain go wild. I thought of all the horrible things that had happened to me until the tears were flowing, then I finally allowed myself to look around me at my little house that is very old and needs more work than I will ever be able to put into it, at my two dogs who had never moved from my side the whole time I was in meditation and contemplation, my back yard that is visible from my small but comfortable bedroom with its many trees and flowers that seem to grow for me just on the nourishment of a loving whisper. I let my eyes slowly move over the many framed photographs of my family and friends, listened again to some phone messages left by friends (sometimes I just cannot erase them and find myself listening to their voices in times of trouble). And it was when I looked at all the photos of my grandchildren, the links to my DNA being passed on that my psyche met my soul and the most contented feeling washed over me. It started in the top of my head, I felt it in the palate of my mouth, like something tasteless but delicious was filling my mouth. I felt that contentment settle into my hands and legs and feet as an ointment that eases pain. But then it settled into my heart. A pulsing, glowing pink, blue, green, red swirling rainbow. My heart stopped for a second, paused long enough to allow that rainbow to soak in before pumping it through the rest of my body.

And total contentment with my situation, my place in this world took over and every breath of it was sweet as fresh-mowed grass on a warm spring day.

My heart sang! My voice shouted, "Look at me! Look at us! I have found it finally! I have found the reason why I should keep my roots growing here in my own place. Now, though traveling is still very much a hobby of mine that I will never give up, I have learned that the root system just grows out and holds on, taking me back home one day to worship my life, my God...to worship my little piece of the earth.

And so yesterday, I drove all around town gathering the grandchildren. What started as an adventure with well-rested, excited people, big and small, ended late last night with everyone dirty, smelly, sunburned, and with at least one person in the group who goes by "Gramma," dead bone weary exhausted, but smiling even as she downed a pain pill and got into a hot shower at the ungodly hour of 1 a.m.

With the overnighter tucked away in his bed after a warm bath, snoring a little as he drifted into the deep recesses of his little 5-year-old boy dreams, I managed to get one leg into my bed and hoist myself the rest of the way by grabbing Grampa's arm, before falling into the deepest sleep I have ever been in.

Following are a few pictures of the lights of my life, my grandkids.

The Crew: Abigail, Kaylee, Tori, and David.

Is there any better excuse for being here? I can't think of one!

LUCKY - THEME THURSDAY

2010-05-18T21:40:00.000-04:00

It was definitely a Thursday that it happened. I was a human, I swear I was! I had two arms, two legs, walked upright most of the time, and was always well groomed. I smelled good, too, not at all like the dog down the alley or the cat climbing around in the dumpster behind my building. When someone said I was out catting around, they meant that I was out wildly partying and maybe getting into situations I should not have gotten into sometimes, with other members of my species, usually male members of my species, and howling at the moon coming up, then the sun coming up, then the sun going down, for an entire weekend, but being a human being, I always picked myself up, brushed my teeth, showered, put on deodorant, and went back to work on Monday with a vigor that would be hopefully well rewarded the next Friday through Sunday.

Then I said it.

I was spending a rare weekend at home, really tired, really wrung out from the week. I guess I felt that Lucky, my little Dachshund, really owed me something for staying home with her that weekend instead of shipping her off to a pet sitter who probably did not even remember her name once the check was written. Lucky was lying on the kitchen floor in that way that only Dachshunds, Cocker Spaniels, and Schnauzers can, with their back legs straight behind them, disjointed at the hips so their bellies absorb the coolness from the floor tiles. When I came into the kitchen on Saturday morning she barely glanced up at me, sighed as she got up to go outside for her daily constitutional, and flaunted herself up the steps to come in with an attitude. She stood by the stove, waiting patiently with her turned-up Dachshund eyes, her ears drooping in a way that made her look as if she was embarrassed, ashamed, or abused.

When I bent down to scratch my dog behind the ears, she actually copped even more of an attitude and pulled her head away, sauntered to her food dish and began eating with such total disdain toward me and my efforts to love her up on this sunny Saturday morning, that I blurted out, "My God, Lucky! Do you realize how good you have it? You lay around all day long on the cool tile, someone fills up your food and water dish twice a day, scoops your piles of poop up when you go on your little jaunts around the neighborhood on a retractable leash so you don't have to be embarrassed to be seen with us, and you have the balls to cop an attitude with me? What I wouldn't give to have YOUR life!"

And now I do. I run around for hours trying to get someone to pet me. I chase slobbered up dirty toys I don't want to put my mouth on, try to communicate my wants and needs by moving my ears around, lick things I would really rather not, eat cold dog food from a refrigerated can, and hold my pee for twenty-four hours at a time until someone comes home to let me out.

What do I get for that? What do I get for that unconventional love and dedication? The right to fart anywhere, anytime, under any circumstances and watch the humans go crazy every time I lift my leg on the new chair, and if I am lucky, sometimes I get scratched behind my ears without having to beg.

Lucky. Now why the heck would anyone name a dog Lucky?

BIRD WATCHING

2010-05-12T20:24:00.000-04:00

Every Spring about this time, storms rumble through, swinging the trees from side to side, the branches touching the ground, springing back upward! Wild, fabulous, screaming storms that turn the greens greener, the grass thicker, the flowers more colorful. After it first roars through, the Spring Storm, the grass will be flattened, bowing to the earth, and when the sun pops out, heating the land, the ends of the prairie grasses and weeds look up, fling their sweet tendril arms skyward, and worship the Mother.

But those winds, the pouring rains, cause some damage. Bird nests are flung from the branches, and young, soft, unprotected babies are suddenly alone in an alien world, their mothers screaming to ward off dangers, to protect their babies too soon out of their nests. And when those babies fall into my yard, I am elected the overseer, the nanny, the surrogate mother.

Sometimes I am able to hide the babies, protect them without disturbing that mother-baby bond, chasing cats away, herding my dogs to the other side of the yard, keeping them safe until they can take flight. Sometimes the burden to protect them is too much, and I go to them, scoop them up, hide them away, sure that mama sees where we go.

And now, I am raising the curtain and introducing my latest charge, the first of the Spring 2010, one of what will turn out to be several from the graduating class of Aves 2010.

MYSTERY - THEME THURSDAY

2010-05-12T08:25:00.000-04:00

The mystery is
Why so many angels now

Live in Earth's gardens.

MOM

2010-05-09T14:32:00.000-04:00

The day I miss my mother most, is on Mother's Day, when I want to go to her house and give her flowers and a sappy card and just watch her. I just wish I could watch her doing mundane things for one more day.

I love her. I hope her Mother's Day is spent surrounded by pink.

THE WIND THE SEA

2010-05-08T12:11:00.000-04:00

I wonder if you
Ever noticed before that
Wind sounds like the sea?

BATS...AT LEAST THEY ARE NOT RATS!

2010-05-07T12:52:00.001-04:00

A small brown bat eats one thousand mosquitoes nightly. Knowing this, I put an eighty-dollar house out to attract them to my yard. Evidently, though the "Vacancy" sign was out in plain sight, one bat thought the digs weren't good enough and spent last night flying around my bedroom. Imagine my joyful face here.

THE PINK ROOM - THEME THURSDAY

2010-05-05T16:10:00.000-04:00

It wasn't until after my parents passed away, one in August, the other in April, interchangeable dates because it really is irrelevant who joined their loved ones first, which one taught me the most about the important ritual of death, that I discovered things about them I wish I had known before they passed away so we could have spent endless hours talking about their feelings. I am big into feelings. I love to find out how someone felt about an event or even what someone might feel about the orange they ate for lunch. I know not everyone is as willing to share their emotions and feelings as much as I am willing to listen to them, digest them, internalize them, and make them a part of myself.

Mom grew up very poor. At least financially poor. She had a loving family, and now, reading the hidden volumes of stories she had typed up and stored away in a place so secure that I have just found them, two years after their deaths, I find myself clapping my hands in glee, crying with her, crying for her, or just smiling and gazing off into the field, trying to adjust to this woman's life.

It is rather a shame, I think, that the time we learn the most from our parents is when they are dying or after they are gone, but then it is almost as satisfying as a beautiful fictional story that sucks you in, the kind that keeps you riveted, wondering what is going to happen next, the sort of story that allows you to assign your own emotions and scenery. Two people reading the same book probably never see the color of the river described in a story, as what each imagines in the heart and mind.

It was said to me that Mom grew up in cold, drafty homes and had nothing extra, and her dream was to always have a pink bedroom. As a grown woman with the taste of pink fresh in her mind, she achieved her pink room.

We had not been down to see my folks for awhile, but were anxious to see the paint job they had had done for themselves. I barely ever remembered them hiring anything done, so my expectations were very high. When we walked in, Mom stood in front of her bedroom door and made me close my eyes, playing a child's game, and she led me into the room she shared with my dad. I could smell the fresh paint, and her excitement was infectious. When she told me to lower my hands and look, I gasped! I did not mean to gasp out loud, but the pink of that room was about the pinkest of pinks I had ever seen, the walls a dark rose color and all the doors and trim painted a "quieter" pink, if there is any such thing as a quiet pink. The new bedspread was proudly displayed on the bed, full of large pink and purple flowers in the pattern, the curtains were screaming with mauves and pinks.

I laughed because there just was nothing else to do. I laughed and grabbed my old mother and spun her around and said, "Oh, my God, Mom! This is...beautiful!"

I glanced over her shoulder. When had she gotten so small? When I glanced over, I saw my dad rolling his eyes because this was his room, too, and I could only imagine what he thought. Not once, though, did I hear him make mention of the hot pink bedroom that he shared with her for another few years before they passed away.

Last weekend, my brother and I hired painters. "The first thing that has to go," my brother told the supervisor, is this, and he flung the bedroom door open. The painter laughed and said, "I did this for her. She was sure proud of that pink, and I kept wondering what your dad was thinking as that paint went on!"

Now, it is up to the two of us to sell the house and try to put a little money in our own retirement accounts because we are, fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your attitude about death, next. We know that there are few people who would ever purchase the house when the first thing they saw was that glowing pink bedroom, so the covering should be starting any day now.

Isn't it odd that what is a precious memory for a few is a sign of mind-numbing idiocy to another?

Let the work begin, before I break down and rush in and make them stop! "Leave it, leave it," I would be yelling, because I am one of the few.

VISIT FROM A FRIEND

2010-05-02T13:27:00.000-04:00

I have a good friend from Boston who needed a break and chose to come here to Indiana to visit me for that break! I love her! If you imagine a friendship where a couple of hours might pass without having to say a word, sitting reading books while the rain pours down outside, sharing some wine and chocolate bars while watching TV, that is the sort of friendship Eileen and I share.

Sometimes I worry that, coming from a big city like Boston, I will not be able to entertain Eileen very well. My city is a small one in the south-central part of Indiana, in the midst of farming country. That is what we do, farm and well, build furniture and cabinets, or restore engines for everyone's snow plows and buses. If you are riding on a fairly old bus, then most likely my boyfriend has repaired the engine at least once.

Yesterday I had a brainstorm. I said, "Eileen, I'd like to take you to Rural King."

She looked at me blankly and I repeated, "R-u-r-a-l King, a store."

After another blank stare, I realized she seriously had never heard of Rural King and I knew I had hit on a Farmer's World oddity she actually had never seen, so in the rain, off we went.

When we walked in the front door, Eileen took in a breath and just stopped and gawked. In one aisle, flowers, in the next aisle bird baths, in the next aisle, clothes of all shapes, sizes, and variety. But probably the most precious moment was when we turned the corner to discover huge cages full of all breeds of ducklings, chicks, and rabbits. Live ones. Eileen's eyes were just laughing out loud.

After we spent about twenty minutes ooohing and aahhing over the animals, I was on a mission to find a can of my favorite powder: Yes, you guessed the name of it, I'm certain. Lady Anti-Monkey Butt Powder. Honestly, you have never experienced a powder so awesome! It has powdered calamine in it. It is great for absorbing sweat and keeping chafing to a minimum in all the places you might suspect it would. After laughing about that for awhile, we spied bat houses, oriole feeders, and hummingbird feeders. Both of us were surprised the orioles need a special kind of nectar and a feeder. Now, the fact that I never knew that leads me to believe that those orioles are playing us!

So far I have managed this visit without even opening the fridge, except to remove the wine. Friday night we showed Eileen our favorite pizza place, Saturday she and I had Chinese for lunch, last night McDonald's burgers, and this morning a grand Sunday morning breakfast at Denny's.

Tomorrow evening my friend Donna and I are taking my precious guest to French Lick, Indiana. Yes, that is where Larry Bird grew up, yes the famous West Baden Springs Hotel and French Lick Hotel are there, and last but not least, the casino, where we all three expect to win our fortunes at the penny slots! Keep your fingers crossed for us.

Oh, yes, and Eileen experienced her first ever tornado warning. We went to bed and I gave her the side I usually sleep on, and not surprisingly, I forgot to warn her about the Indiana must-have, the weather radio, which was on the table about ten inches from her head. About 2 a.m., a fantastic wicked storm marched through, and the radio screamed its siren sound. Eileen sat up looking baffled and a little anxious. When I managed to stub every toe and get to the radio, I learned there was a tornado warning.

Back to sleep we drifted, when at 3 a.m. the siren again blared next to her ear, and I managed to stub every toe and get to the radio. This time it was a severe thunderstorm warning.

Back to sleep we drifted, when at 4 a.m. BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP! Eileen did not even move, and I stubbed every toe to find out we were now under a flood warning. So she had a very unusual and fun-filled first night in Indiana. Don said, "Why don't you unplug the weather radio?" I said, "What, and have her end up in Oz or something when a tornado rumbles through that we didn't know about??"

Last night it only went off one time, and we slept like the angels we are!

I am pretty sure it is panic I see in her eyes now every time I mention taking her somewhere or the skies darken. Now Eileen understands the Indiana lifestyle. I wonder if she will ever come back?

BICYCLE - THEME THURSDAY

2010-04-29T08:11:00.000-04:00

When I was about five years old, my daddy bought me a bicycle. It was blue, and it was a little too big for me. No training wheels came with it. Dad just helped me up there, held onto the bike awhile, running alongside it yelling words of encouragement, let go, and I had my first wheels. The ability to go anywhere I wanted to go, I WAS FREE! Until I noticed Dad standing back in the yard. Immediately the front wheel start to wobble, I forgot to pedal. Panic set in immediately, and I came down on the newly oiled street head first. Nobody had thought of helmets yet.

You would have thought being knocked unconscious would have sort of put me off biking, but I needed to be mobile! I had to be! So with an ice pack tied to the knot on my head, Daddy and I tried again. And again. And again. It was starting to get dark, and Mom was freaking out about that, but we tried just...one...more...time.

This time I got it. I knew what I was doing. I was well-trained, and life was never the same for me. Now instead of having to run alongside the kids with bikes to go to the candy store with my nickel, I kept up with them on wheels.

One afternoon it was hot as Hades. There were heat mirages coming off the oil on the street in front of my house. Nobody was out, most were sitting inside in front of big fans watching cartoons on TV, but I went outside and sat on my bike in the back yard. I just sat on it with the kickstand down and started daydreaming. First I daydreamed about riding the bike, but when I closed my eyes, I saw the ocean, the waves crashing, the spray reaching to the sky, then as daydreams are wont to do, a pirate ship appeared on the horizon, and I had to prepare to do battle. My little boat would be no match for that giant ship that had just intercepted me, and I was trembling with fear.

What happened next was amazing and beautiful! My little fishing boat began to shimmer and glow! The masts went up. My boat was the most brilliant glowing gold vessel anyone would ever see! It cast off a golden light brighter than the sun, and when one of the pirates reached out to pull it in and tie it to their ugly, mean, big ship, electricity shot out to grab his hand and sent him writhing to the deck, screaming in pain, and in the biggest, meanest voice a five-year-old little girl could muster I yelled, "HA HA! YOU'VE MET YOUR MATCH NOW YOU UGLY DIRTY PIRATE!"

Another pirate, a meaner pirate, kicked his groaning partner out of his space, gritted his teeth and reached for my golden vessel, only to receive a shock even greater than his buddy had gotten, and he screamed like a little five-year-old girl who was playing all the roles. And without any hesitation, the pirate ship turned and sailed away, far away from the electric gold boat.

When Mom called me for lunch, I shook my head and looked up to see the gold masts flapping in the wind, only to see the leaves of a tree in my own back yard, and looked down to find I was sitting on the seat of my 24-inch Schwinn girl's bicycle. An imagination is an awful thing to waste. Now, as an adult, I consciously pick a quiet time of my evening to daydream and ride on ships made of gold and swim naked in the ocean. And sometimes I just sit on the seat of my blue bicycle and listen for my mother's voice.

THE PORCELAIN INDIAN BABY

2010-04-23T12:23:00.000-04:00

The beautiful porcelain Indian baby doll sat high on a shelf in my office, away from the danger of childrens' hands, adored from a distance.

One day I noticed she looked unhappy up there alone, not happy like I thought, until she was adopted by all my little granddaughters...all smiles and love here now!

YOU'RE IN THE ARMY NOW - THEME THURSDAY THOUGHTS

2010-04-22T08:44:00.000-04:00

Don was an 18-year-old wild but disciplined, if that makes any sense, partying college student in St. Louis. One of his favorite activities was lifting weights, and because of his attitude, nobody messed with him. He would as soon go to jail for defending his honor and the honor of his family as take anybody's bullshit. When some smaller kid in school was being bullied, Don was the hero who made sure the kid never worried about that again, which is why he had an almost comical Pied Piper following everywhere he went, flanked by a group of rejects with their tough talk who would seek shelter behind him when trouble approached.

I'm not really sure what God thought of this guy, Don. He meant well, and his life had never really been easy. He had five brothers who regularly made him meaner. When I replay the events in my head that led up to his being inducted into the United States Army, I either laugh or cry, depending on how my own day is shaping up.

Don never won anything. His whole life he scrapped for everything from a quarter to go to the movies to a snack when he was hungry, stealing tomatoes from a nearby neighbor's garden and plums from trees scattered throughout the neighborhood where he and his six siblings grew up. "My neighborhood," he calls it now, and ironically I bought a house so close to his childhood home that I could almost throw a rock from my back yard into theirs. We spend a lot of time now reminiscing about the old days while sitting on my patio gazing toward the house he grew up in that is now occupied by another big boisterous family with the kids threatening to take over the territory.

Tired after a long day of classes, and anxious to grab his six-pack out of the refrigerator and settle in for a quiet night, Don flipped the old TV on in his little apartment that was above a business in downtown St. Louis. The Vietnam War was going on and when he changed channels to what was usually his after-classes Western, he saw, instead, that the draft lottery had just come on.

As he sat here winding down with a few beers, God said, "Let's see, son, if we can put some of that meanness, that spirit, those muscles to some good use."

Don had never won anything in his life, did I mention that? Until then. As he popped open his second beer, the voice on TV said, "And the winner is July 9! July 9, you are number one."

He was mid-swig when the invisible man's voice came out of his television set. There was not any DVR or digital TV of course, so he could not just run it back and make sure he heard correctly. But when they ran down all the numbers again at the end, there it was, big as life, July 9, the winner, and Don's whole life changed.

God was pleased. Those days and nights that the nineteen-year-old boy spent cold, wet, homesick, and a little angry turned him into a man who learned what home and family really meant, and he set about making a family and a home when he returned, still willing to defend his people, but a little less likely to do so with his fists.

Yes, God was pleased that the draft made a man of this boy, and even though I might question God's methods, I am honored to have this man by my side. Had the events been a little different, had July tenth, or July eighth been the lucky number, just that small alteration could have sent our paths on different courses and we might have never found one another.

And I am pleased.

A POST THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING, REALLY

2010-04-21T09:19:00.000-04:00

I have two Dachshunds. Annie has been here longest, and she's eight. Annie is the inside guard dog who barks at anything that makes a sound outside, all day long. Missy is about twelve or thirteen years old. Can't be sure because I rescued her from horrendous conditions three years ago. Missy is the outside guard dog and the one who has to bark for the two of them when they are ready to come inside. That job is totally beneath Annie. She would not be caught dead begging for anything, goes out of her way to ignore your requests for doggy tricks. Missy, on the other hand, has this horrific cry and is not beyond sitting at my feet while I try to work, begging me to put her up in the chair next to me where she will spend the next five hours, or until she has to pee. As a matter of fact, she is sitting at my feet begging for that little lift up right this minute.

But I am at a loss here, as to why these two dogs will quickly dash into the yard in the mornings to eat all the fresh offerings that were left by neighborhood cats and errant dogs, but will daintily pick the little bow tie-shaped bits out of their kibble and spit them on the floor.

It is a curiosity, I will say. Yes, a total curiosity.

A SPRING WALK

2010-04-18T14:33:00.000-04:00

Friday morning I dragged myself out of bed at a really ridiculous hour so I could take a walk before work. Me and my camera. I chose that morning because of the way the clouds were forming, gearing up for a storm, and I am a cloud fanatic, which of course means, I am a fan of clouds. I am also a big fan of colors, and flowers, and season changes, which made it a little difficult to apply tags to this post.

So, with no further ado, please welcome...SPRING! (Roar of the crowd, laser lights, chanting, astronomically-priced t-shirts, coffee mugs, and CDs)!

Oh, yeah, here I am, here I am! Mommy? Daddy? Oh, no! STRANGER DANGER!

Hey, where did that weird-looking red kid go? I promised his mother I would look after him after she got selected to sit on someone's table in that vase!

Early-morning springtime storms moving in over the neighborhood.

Angel watching over the gardens, the newborn birds, and the lost flowers.

THE DOVES

2010-04-15T18:29:00.001-04:00

Image borrowed from here:

When the doves coo their mournful mating calls in the early spring as black, beautiful, powerful storm clouds roll in, I remember my Gramma calling the doves rain birds, and a feeling of peace surrounds me when I close my eyes and listen with my heart.

The heavy impending storm makes their sounds three-dimensional.

LUNCH – A THEME THURSDAY PRODUCTION

2010-04-14T07:24:00.001-04:00

I was a regular teenager. My clothes cluttered my bedroom floor. When someone with any authority tested me, if Mom yelled about my sloppiness, my dad would put his arm around me…you know how they do when they are trying to pretend they are your best friend when even you know they can barely stand to look at you, probably look back to the day you were conceived and wish someone had walked in on them before the big moment so you had never become an embryo, a bun in the oven, a bawling infant, sassy five-year-old, rebel teen…and he would use that low menacing voice only I could hear and growl, “There ain’t no free lunch boy, better get your act together before I have to beat the tar out of ya!”

My old man. He sure loved me.

I was pretty good in school, though, and enjoyed my walk to the high school. All my friends were always waiting for me and we set out for our algebra class together. I was a whiz kid at math, and regularly earned an extra few bucks by doing some kid’s homework. One Wednesday morning, just about time for first lunch, though, I thought the shit was about to hit the fan. The principal came into my science class, whispered a few words to Mrs. Gilley. They both looked at me, looking a little disappointed I thought, and before they stopped conversing up there, I had my books packed up and was ready to head to the principal’s office.

Mr. Roberts said, “Ian, come with me.”

We walked in silence to the conference room of his office, an inner sanctum I had never seen. It was a really cool office with a big table and soft high-backed chairs. It was nice and cool in there.

“Ian, I understand you’ve been helping your classmates with their algebra homework, and I even heard that a couple of juniors have you doing trig, a class you’ve not even had yet…is that true, Ian?”

I sighed, busted. “Yes, sir, that would be me.”

Mr. Roberts said, “Well, we would rather you find some other way to tap into your obvious math talent. We would like you to become a paid tutor.”

“You mean, like a job?” My stomach growled because I was missing lunch to be here, but I was thinking how happy my folks would be to learn I was going to become a responsible part of society. That shit is overly important to them, in my opinion. But maybe I could buy video games with the money I made. “Well, sure, I’d like that, I guess.”

Two lunch trays somehow appeared on the table in front of us, and I reached into my pocket for the two bucks to pay for it, but Mr. Roberts put his hand on my arm and said, “Lunch is on me today, Ian. Now, let’s talk about a plan for this tutoring job.”

When we finished eating and talking, as I was fighting the crowded hallways, jockeying for position to arrive on time to my biology class, I flipped open my cell phone and dialed my dad’s number. He did not answer, which I expected. Dad is a real responsible guy who worked hard in a factory making bicycles. When his voicemail picked up, after the “beep”, I recorded my message: “Hey, Dad, it’s Ian. Just wanted to let you know that there IS a free lunch sometimes. I just had one.”

I laughed out loud as I put the phone away and wondered if I might get my ears boxed for being a smart ass when Dad made me explain my message that evening over dinner. I could not care less. I was a smart kid, a smart employed kid, who just had a free lunch with the principal, who talked to me as if I was special. Even though my room was a mess, I still had a job, and I had learned you do not have to clean your room to win a free lunch! Life was so good.

IT WAS A SPRING DAY IN ST. LOUIS PART 2

2010-04-11T12:02:00.000-04:00

This is another little photo journal of our trip to St. Louis Easter weekend. With spring in full swing, I am finding it difficult to sit down at the computer long enough to sort through the photos! But this trip was part of our spring fun, so I wanted to share a little more of that.

First of all, the AAA TripTik I printed out from Gateway Arch to our hotel out by Forest Park, was incorrect. Need I say more? By the time we found it we realized not only had we driven past it twenty-two times, but were even in the parking lot at one point and didn't know it. We were very thirsty and hungry and on our way in the door to check in Don leaned down and whispered, "Don't tell them what a damned hell of a time we had finding this place, they'll think we're stupid." You can always say, "The TripTik was incorrect," and of course they are going to say, "Oh, darn, that's too bad!" The whole time wink-winking at one another behind the desk when we were not looking, you know what I mean? But the directions were REALLY wrong. Not just slightly off, but REALLY wrong.

After checking in, I treated my boyfriend to a nice dinner at The Highlander. After a couple of beers each, and one of the best-prepared meals I have had in ages, we were ready to snuggle in and prepare for the next day's adventure, the Easter car show.

Forest Park sounds like such an intimate small place, doesn't it? If you think that, you would be way wrong. It's ginormous. And beautiful. And when that car show is there, very, very crowded. The World's Fair was held there, and our hotel was decorated with old photos of that memory.

There are no parking lots, but it only took about five minutes of driving around trying to find street parking to learn the Forest Park Parking Rule: Even if someone is leaving a spot on the opposite side of the street than you are on, you do a quick u-turn and point your nose into it, beating out the person trying to zoom to it who is on the correct side. Nobody gets angry, they just chalk it up as being another outing in Forest Park. Everyone has to stop on both sides of the street and let you pull out and parallel park. My car's name is Myrtle. She is a green 2000 Ford Focus, and I can park her anywhere. If you had seen some of the tiny places I wiggled her into in Forest Park, you would have been so proud of her! Once I learned the rule, we had no more problems moving from place to place.

There must have been 1500 cars at the show, and ten times that many people. Here are a few car show photos:

I was wildly drawn to all the station wagons and I spent most of the day trying to decide if I should buy one, but there were so many, and I am not the most decisive person in the world, so I left on "empty." I especially liked the cooler that someone had put together, thought that was pretty nifty!

At the end of the show, Don and I were both tired and hot, but I was not leaving Forest Park without getting at least a glimpse of The Jewel Box. I had read all about it, but it was triple my expectations. It was the most peaceful place I think I have ever been. When you look at these photos, just hear how quiet it is:

And that is it for the car show and the Jewel Box, which, just by its very nature of being what I assume is an often-missed gem sitting out there in Forest Park, is very aptly named and turned out to be my favorite part of the trip.

Next time I will just post a few random photos, one you will not want to miss of Don thinking he might be able to climb a tree.

CHELSEA'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

2010-04-07T20:19:00.000-04:00

CHAPTER 3

My prince charming chance encounter in the bookstore came to a screeching end when we arrived at the emergency room entrance to the local hospital. When I tried to follow him in, he turned around and glared at me sort of the way I would expect a demon to glare at me, so I beat a hasty retreat down the street and back toward the safety of my little store. I began walking back following the sun's travels across the bright blue sky. I was looking up, in other words, and just when the sun had entered the continental divide of noon, my life changed.

I stepped in a pothole and fell about ten feet, maybe more, actually, but that sort of thing is hard to judge as you are spiraling toward the ground rapidly with your skinny ankles about to take the pressure from the fall. I closed my eyes and held my breath, my hair standing straight up. Terrified would be such an understated adjective as I tumbled downward, that I will not even entertain such a ridiculous word!

Then I stopped. Just...stopped. There was no crashing and rolling and screaming, I just was falling one second and was sitting on what I guessed was the floor the next, and the first thing I saw were dolphins leaping out of the green grass of a field that stretched as far as my eyes could see, and on the other side, donkeys swimming in the ocean.

I closed my eyes and shook my head and opened one eye at a time, slowly, hoping maybe the dolphins and donkeys were back where they were supposed to be, but nope, they were still backwards.

Standing up slowly, I crept along the edge of the green field wondering if maybe I should try to walk where the water was, and eventually I just balanced precariously between the two places. In front of me dolphins, behind me donkeys, clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am...that song was playing in my head as I stared straight in front of me, really a little disturbed, definitely afraid to glance left or right out of fear that I might question my sanity even further, if you can imagine that was a possibility at this point.

Finally, though, I heard what sounded like a choir off to my left, and almost involuntarily, I turned toward it, and there, was a field of flowers that looked like cotton candy on stems, all pink and blue, the aroma filling my senses and conjuring up memories of being a kid at the fair. Dogs dressed in shorts and tank tops and t-shirts, all sizes, shapes, breeds, were dancing merrily, howling, laughing, and making merry. There were puppies, too, chasing one another around, playing tag, and to my right? Well, to my right was the strangest scene of all: Thousands of the most beautiful, colorful, exotic birds I had ever seen, all perched daintily in Christmas trees all decorated for the season, thousands of birds, thousands of trees, millions of colors.

I sat down. I sat down right where I was and started to think. I felt my head. There were no bumps and no blood. I rubbed my eyes, closed them, rubbed them, closed them, and assured that my vision was still intact, I let out a long, "Hmmmmm." Curiouser and curiouser.

My curiosity was getting the best of me, so I began to walk, trusting that everything was solid, and soon I encountered a boy. He was probably five years old and was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, sneakers and looked as happy as I had ever seen anyone look. I asked him, "What's going on here? Where am I?"

He blinked took my hand and said, "Hey, don't you know? You're in Chelsea's dream, in her wonderland, and they sent me to bring you back to rule the pothole! Come on!"

"Whoa, whoa," I stuttered, digging in my heels and refusing to go anywhere with this kid, no matter how cute he was or how much I had always wanted to rule anything...just about anything but a pothole. All my control issues aside, if I had to be given a queendom to rule, why could it not have been a vat of chocolate or something? Pothole just sounded so, well, ugly.

As the light set, and I call it the light because it was not exactly the sun but just a soft castoff glow from the sun somewhere in the normal world, I began to think about my safety and decided where there was one kid, there had to be some adults, and it was way past time to find someone who could tell me just what I had literally fallen into.

THEME THURSDAY - THE BOX

2010-04-06T21:22:00.000-04:00

Maggie's family was poor. Not quite dirt poor, but poor all the same. Extras were never forthcoming. Dinner was leftovers throughout the week, but what her mommy and daddy could not give her in materials, they gave her in many other ways.

The love was apparent. The love overflowed. Sometimes her daddy would come home from his backbreaking job as a farmhand, dirty, sweaty, and in bad crop years, like this one, paid usually in homegrown garden vegetables and small roasts for her mommy to put in the oven. She could cook anything and it always tasted like what Maggie imagined gourmet food must taste like.

She knew all about gourmet food because when she visited at Zoe's house, her mom was always watching cooking shows on TV while Maggie and Zoe played with their dolls in the cool living room. Zoe had air conditioning that kept her whole house cool, and Maggie's family only had a couple of window fans, but when the smell of the earth was being carried on the breeze and whisked through the window fan over Maggie's little twin bed with the blue quilt her gramma had made her before she died, those fans seemed like heaven's very own air conditioning, and Maggie, and she was sure her mom and dad, too, because she had tiptoed down the hallway one night to check to make sure they were not scared of the dark or anything, fell asleep with a smile on their faces in the cool, country night air.

Sometimes when she was on her way to school, walking the few blocks between her house and the little brick building that was all tiled and cold inside all the time in the warmer weather, Maggie would find a toy discarded by some other child, carelessly left at the curb for the trash pickup. What had lost its magic for one, was just beginning to weave its magic for the poorest girl in school. She would cradle it in her arms, hide it away in her backpack or wrapped in her gym shorts and play with it at home until it was useless.

One afternoon in the summer, with school out and the days stretching for miles, a surprise was waiting for Maggie when her dad came home from a hard week of work. It was a Saturday, she was sure of that, because she definitely remembered that the next day was church day, and one thing her daddy refused to do was work on the Sabbath. That was what he called it. Maggie was not sure why the Sabbath was so important, except that it meant her parents slept later and then fixed a breakfast of pancakes and syrup. But on this particular Saturday evening, the money had come in after a long, tough winter. The crops had done real good, her daddy said, and he wanted to take his little girl to a toy store, a real one, and let her pick out a brand new toy for herself.

They all three loaded up in the old Falcon they somehow kept running, and went to town, singing the whole way, the hot wind from the moving car kicking up gritty dirt into their faces, causing little streaks of mud to form in the rivers of sweat running down their faces.

At the toy store, Maggie was awestruck and shocked, overwhelmed by the pretty, shiny dolls and tops, the puzzles, the games, the colors, and the crowd of children bored with everything in the store, pouting, tossing it aside, whining.

Maggie freely wandered the aisles, clutching her ten dollars. Her mom and dad would move from one bench at the end of an aisle, to the bench at the end of the next one, so they could keep a contented and happy eye on their daughter, smiling at one another, happy to have been able to give Maggie a little something at last.

Suddenly, digging through the toys on a shelf, Maggie saw what she wanted: A box. A huge box folded and stashed behind a shelf of toys, a shipping box. When her daddy realized she was serious about taking that home, he took Maggie to the front where she asked, with all the charm only a small child can muster, "How much for that box?"

The clerks worked and worked to free the large box from against the wall, finally sliding it out the end of the shelves, and the man who helped move it said, "It's free. Enjoy it."

Maggie handed the ten dollars back to her daddy and holding her mommy's hand while he carried it to the car, she was shivering with anticipation.

Over the next couple of years that box was an airplane, a castle, a rocket ship, a train, a cabin, a tree house. Anything a child could want was contained within it, if only she dared to imagine.

To some it might have been just a box, but to Maggie it was a prized possession.

IT WAS A SPRING DAY IN ST. LOUIS

2010-04-05T21:21:00.000-04:00

Easter weekend, Don and I decided to drive over to St. Louis to go to the annual Easter car show in Forest Park. When I say "...decided to drive over," that makes it sound like we got in the car and thirty minutes or an hour later, we were crossing the Mississippi River into the city. It was, actually, about a 3-1/2-hour drive, and we left Jasper at 9:30 a.m. Saturday morning in this:

Our spirits were not dampened, though, because we had been needing a little getaway, and as we sloshed our way through Indiana and into Illinois, the sun peeked through a few times.

I had never been to the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. That is sort of an embarrassing thing to admit, having lived within about three hours of that awesome landmark for most of my fifty-three years. I have driven past it on the freeway numerous times, always on my way to somewhere else, never with the time to enjoy that almost mind boggling feat of engineering.

Having driven through the dark and stormy morning, my first close encounter with the Gateway Arch, on foot, at least, was this:

Look at that blue sky on this Easter Eve afternoon that met us in St. Louis!

Now, of course, Don and I both were pretty excited about the idea of taking the tram to the top where we could look out over our land, but we were a little disappointed to find out that by the time we arrived, about 12:30 p.m., the tram was already sold out for the day. I guess I should have realized things were not going to go as planned when the security people pulled me aside and confiscated my keychain-sized pepper spray. Imagine my sad face here.

But always the troopers, we went to see a fantastic documentary on the IMAX screen inside the Arch's foundation, about Lewis and Clark. I learned all kinds of interesting things I had never known about the expedition.

So, as close as we got to the top of the arch was when I used my zoom and took this shot once we were back outside:

Yes, those are windows up there, and I was shooting blindly. Maybe I wasn't so disappointed I missed the ride up there!

We then spent a little time strolling along the Mighty Mississippi. She was high, and there were places on the road we took to the arch that probably had been totally underwater a week earlier, so we planned our trip perfectly. Here's a shot of the river, and then the next one is a photo of the gorgeous young redwoods found all throughout the park and along the river.

Finally, the sun began to slide to the west, and we were ready to head out to the Forest Park area and get checked into our hotel, have a good meal, and chill out the rest of the evening, which was exactly what we did. The sun was glinting off the west side of the arch as we made our way to the parking lot, satisfied, hungry, and looking forward to the next day when we were going to the big car show!

CHELSEA’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

2010-04-03T06:00:00.000-04:00

CHAPTER 2

I specifically remember it was a Monday morning. The reason for remembering was that on my way to work, people looked cross and hung over from the weekend and totally unreceptive to my cheerfulness. My camera was around my neck because you just never know when you are going to capture that one in a million picture of a mockingbird or a train or a cloud, for example. In my little town I was considered a little odd because of that camera, and probably because of a few other things, but soon people became used to me and no longer stared. When the staring stopped, they mostly just looked down at the ground to avoid eye contact with me, like I was a witch doctor or something just waiting to cast a spell. Lucky for them the majority of them did look down. I was an up-looker, and it got me in a little trouble. Maybe genetically these folks were geared to keep their eyes on the ground to watch for danger. It possibly was not to avoid eye contact with me at all. In hindsight, I see that.

For two years I had worked at a little bookstore downtown. Work was an easy walk from my house and I not only saved tons of gas money, but also was toned up from the aerobics.* *Toned up is not the same thing as being slender, which I was not. And there just could not have been a better place for a geek like me to work. In two years I had probably read fifty books from the shelves, always careful to not smudge or wrinkle the pages or leave any tell-tale signs that the book was actually not a virgin to the person who took it home. I hate to admit it, but that is the type of relationship I have with books. It is almost a sexual gratification to read the final page and just as an intense pleasure to read the first page of the next pick. Luckily business was not booming, thanks to the economic catastrophe we were in, and the Kindle, so between dusting shelves and waiting on a few customers, reading became my recharge station.

It was on one of those shelf-cleaning expeditions that I met him. He was gorgeous from the top of his head to the tips of his Nikes. I have read a few romance novels, and I always shook my head at the descriptions of the men. But believe me when I tell you, this guy was sizzling! He was tan, had these gorgeous biceps, and even through his t-shirt I could make out his perfectly-sculpted abs. And his hair was to die for: Long, straight, just below his shoulders, black, shiny. Any adjective you would like to have attached to your hair, this babe had it.

Reaching my hand through the empty spot on the shelf from which I had just removed my latest read, I touched his face, or meant to. Instead I poked his left eye pretty hard and the moment became less a romantic chance meeting than a rush to the nearest ER with me driving his car like a crazy person. What is the attraction between men and manual transmissions? Hello! They now make what is known as an automatic transmission that does all this clutching and gear grinding for you! I was starting and stopping like the Energizer Bunny on crack, and his screaming about how expensive his car was and how much pain he was in from my claw-like fingernail nearly gouging out his left eyeball, was making me a bit irritable and nervous. And here is where things took a strange turn.

55 FLASH FICTION FRIDAY

2010-04-02T07:42:00.000-04:00

Damn! I hit it! I actually HIT the ball this time! Okay, throw down the bat, don't hit the catcher, that's right, now run! Run like the wind, man, because I think that ball is going to go over that wall! I hope my mama is watching! What? I said WHAT? Hey! Drop that ball!

YELLOW – THEME THURSDAY

2010-04-01T07:00:00.000-04:00

The children were home, summer in full swing. Outside the cars zipped by on the busy street, a street whose tar was a little sticky from the heat, causing the tires to make a sound similar to what you hear in your own head when you chew a large wad of bubblegum too long.

Through the front picture window that was framed by outdated heavy drapes, yellowing with age, the sun is throwing its beams into the room, bright yellow-white heated streams wiggling where it cuts through the glass.

Heat lends a lazy listless lulled-like ambience, but kids will always find something to busy themselves, and soon all three are on the floor of the living room, sitting on the worn retro carpet, worn from years of use. They put the big plastic top on the floor and one pushes down on the low-tech (charming) handle on the toy. Whir. The blue, green, yellow, and red spiral painted on the floor of the top is so pretty! A little faster. Whhirrr. The colors begin a churned-butter mixing. A little faster. Whirrrrrrrr! The top spins furiously, causing a welcome fan of cool air that lifts the damp bangs of the children…and they see one color. Yellow. The stirring is complete, and yellow is the standout. Yellow is the definition to the top’s Webster’s entry. Yellow sun, yellow curtains, yellowing carpet, yellow top.

Spinning a yellow tale.

CHELSEA'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

2010-03-28T13:23:00.000-04:00

INTRODUCTION

I woke up this soggy Sunday morning, washed my face and threw on the same pair of jeans and the same sweater I had worn the day before. I don't know when this started, this wearing the same thing two days in a row. I used to wear a pair of jeans, then into the laundry they would go that evening, lifeless, dulling, but clean. Never have I stunk, that I know of. I remember being painfully aware of the odors coming from kids sitting around me in late grade school, and constantly stopping in the bathroom to sniff my underarms to see if it might be me, but it never was. As an adult, I sort of felt cheated because I never really NEEDED deodorant; however, the ads for all the pretty little bottles and scents and all the pretty women with their arms in the air smoothing on a white, invisible barrier that smelled like the ocean or the breeze, sucked me in. Now it is just a habit, and at this stage in my life when hormones are drying up and hair is growing where it never did before, I really am not in the mood to experiment with not using deodorant. I'm pretty sure nobody else wants me to, either.

So, really, I do know when this laundry compulsion eased up. One day my local newspaper was interviewing me for a public opinion piece. See? I also do not have the slightest idea how I became a local celebrity worthy of interviews. Anyway, somehow the subject came up about laundry detergent, all the different brands/smells/miracles they perform, yada, yada, yada. I happened to mention that I used to never wear the same thing twice, that my clothing had to be laundered after one wear, no matter how long I had them on. The reporter, who looked about twelve said, "So, you grew up and suddenly became aware of what damage you were doing to the planet?" And I answered, "Uh, no, that's not it at all. I noticed that the cost of detergent had skyrocketed, my jeans were wearing out too fast from all the washing, meaning I would have to break in a new pair, which I hate to do with a passion, and I never stink. Panties and socks are the total exception...panties and socks have no compromise when it comes to washing those, you know what I mean?"

She was not quite sure how to process that information, probably grossed out even thinking about an older woman's panties, and we moved on to other more compelling subjects like, "What do you think of George Clooney?" (and for the record, I think he is totally hot)! I guess the interview really began to fizzle when the reporter realized I had nothing glamorous to tell, was just a plain Jane, small town girl who couldn't even be bothered to put on an unworn pair of jeans and makeup for her big break into super stardom, which the reporter was vain enough to think she could drive, getting her out of this little teensy weensy rural town. Why she chose me, I will never know. The only thing I did was follow the sun one day.

CHAPTER ONE

Snowflakes and sunsets are just alike in that no two are ever alike. And before you go Googling to find out who made that profound statement, I will just go ahead and tell you it was me. I say profound things like that sometimes. They just form in my brain and come out my mouth. My mama used to call me her "Happy Guru." One day I made the mistake, or had the good fortune, whichever way you want to view it, of posting that little tidbit of information about myself on my Facebook page: Chelsea is..."thinking about when her mama used to call her her Happy Guru." And it took off.

You know how sometimes things take on a life of their own and you just simply have no way of seeing the reason? That is how I became a reluctant Alice and formed my very own Wonderland on a cool late-March Spring day in rural Indiana. Mama used to call me her Happy Guru. Bye-bye everything that makes sense, and hello hole in the ground with a psychotic rabbit residing there. Welcome to Chelsea's big adventures in her own out of control Wonderland.

A BOOK FOR SOME COMIC RELIEF

2010-03-24T09:15:00.000-04:00

I don't know about you all, but sometimes the news, politics, everyone bashing everyone else because they are Republican/Democrat/religious/not religious/Christian/atheist, and you know the list could go on for an eterinity here, gets to be a little much. I find myself on a self-imposed news hiatus, and in order to feel a little less hopeless about the way we are headed, I turn to comedic relief.

This was the case when I downloaded the book, "The Almost True Story of Ryan Fisher" by Rob Stennett.

The fast forward version of Ryan's life is that he is a real estate agent in a slump and makes the decision to place his ad in a Christian advertising book. Now, Ryan has never been to church, but soon he "signs up" and of course his real estate business soars, but based mostly on all the lies he is telling about his faith. He is a lovable guy, though, and he finally decides to move his wife from Denver to Bartlesville, Oklahoma, to "plant" his own church.

In a matter of a few days he is known as Pastor Ryan. His first services are held at Chuck E. Cheese because that is the only place in town that will have him, and he preaches his first sermon on the stage with a "six foot robotic mouse behind me." His topics for his sermons have titles such as "God, The Fifth Beatle." Add to this mania that his worship music leader is a Karaoke singer named Cowboy Jack who finds his niche by taking Rock and Roll songs with "churchy" titles, like "Knockin' On Heaven's Door," and rewriting the lyrics to make them sound like Christian songs, and you can imagine the problems about to arise with this scheme.

Great read so far!

Have a peaceful Wednesday!

TO LOVE A MOCKINGBIRD

2010-03-23T10:38:00.000-04:00

Springtime in my back yard is always marked by the influx of mockingbirds. The natives are always here. One is a cat imitator of the greatest magnitude and amplitude. One rings like a cell phone so convincingly that I have answered mine only to find nobody is there and even though I have opened a connection, it is still ringing.

We have a baby that cries to the point you want to pull your hair out some afternoons.

But each new season the mockingbird population rises as new families move in. It is almost like they got tired of the crime or the traffic in their cities and chose a smaller place to live. Some stay here, some find the traffic issue is just as horrendous as where they came from, others cannot cope with the kitty cat issue in the neighborhood. Still others find the human children and dogs intimidating.

Mockingbirds might be fun, but they are aggressive and mean when they have a nestful of little ones, swooping down as people walk past, picking at their hair, even confronting them face to face.

Spring, however, is marked by the new sounds arising from the back yard, and this morning, as I was attempting to sleep in a little bit, one of the newbies settled in and it was not long before I realized I have a car alarm in my tree. Not one of the beeping horns, which would be annoying enough, but one of the sirens.

Yep, spring has sprung and the peace in the queendom is blissfully disrupted by the imitators in nature once again. Beautiful, it is, this perfect instinct of our planet to burp up the seasons!

Please enjoy this season. Thanks, Mother Nature, for making the grass thick and green again so I may start mowing this weekend every three days in the heat and humidity for the next six months, and thank you for the babies, sirens, cats, dogs, and cell phones inhabiting my tree.

I NOW SUBSCRIBE!

2010-03-20T12:28:00.000-04:00

For about the last 5 years I have not subscribed to a newspaper. There were several reasons for that, the biggest reason being that I was inundated with news; all the news all the time. My job is a remote position, and being home all day long means there is a never ending assault with every breaking news story in the world. Using the computer for work even makes it worse because it is so easy to click on those alerts and get the scoop during breaks or flip the TV on and watch the news during lunch. At any rate, it was not that I wish to see newspapers fail. I just preferred not to have them delivered to my door.

My boyfriend, however, is even more a news junkie than I am, and it irritated him no end that I did not receive the local newspaper. Every time he would come over he would be dying to have a discussion about some local news story I had never heard about, and every time he started the discussion, "Well, you don't get the Herald..." and he would proceed to bring me up to speed, then by the time the "discussion" part came around, I was sick of hearing about it already, because unless you read it for yourself, it really is difficult to become horribly enthusiastic about something. The person telling it has already interjected their feelings or views, so there is nothing to learn about him on that topic.

It usually went something like this:

Don: "Hi! Hey, you don't get the Herald, but the prosecutor is in a LOT of trouble!" (Here he explains what has been going on).

Me: "What? When did that happen?"

Don: (Big sigh) Well, you don't get the Herald, but it started about three months ago."

Me: "How could I possibly live two blocks from the center of the "lawyer hole" and not have heard this?"

Don: "Well, you don't get the Herald..."

Me: "I swear if you say that to me once more EVER I'm going to not only GET the Herald, but I am going to cram it right down your throat!"

So last week, my friend Donna and I, went to Vincennes together, and when we got back into Jasper she said, "Oh, let's run past that new specialty food store real quick and see if we can get some fruit!"

I said, "What specialty food store is that?"

Donna replied, "Uh, the one that opened by your house about three months ago?"

I said, "Wait...seriously?"

And what do you think Donna said to me? "Well, you don't get the Herald."

I actually growled at her. I said, "How can I live two blocks from a specialty food store, ME, a person who loves odd foods and likes to cook weird stuff, knowing I can never find the ingredients and having to substitute, not know there is a specialty food store right down the street?"

It was neat, too, I tell you. I am going to go down there with my camera in the near future and get some photos and blog about the place.

After spending about twenty dollars in there on all sorts of exotic things, as we were getting back in the car Donna turned me toward her and said,
"S U B S C R I B E T O T H E H E R A L D!"

"Good grief," she said, "No wonder you never want to do anything or go anywhere...you don't know anything is going on! Aren't you even curious about who gets arrested and what crimes are going on?"

"No," I replied, "not really."

Yesterday my first daily newspaper arrived. The very first one, the paper carrier laid it flat on my porch, and when I went outside, it was blown in about fifty different parts of my yard. And then I got one today, and already I realize why I don't like getting the daily newspaper. There are now two big papers full of all sorts of ads and coupons I will never use, laying on the floor by the sofa. Within about a week, I am going to have run out of time to read them, and they will start getting thrown in the recycling bin before I even open them.

But one very cool thing? Today I had time to read one part, and it was "the scandal sheet" as Don calls it, and I found out someone very prominent went to jail for a DWI, and I also found out which kid hit the other one in the parking lot of a school, AND...there was a cool story about a dog on the front page. I just think dogs are such awesome people.

So, to anyone who has said to me, "You don't get the Herald, but..." I GET THE FRICKIN' HERALD NOW! Thank you for talking me into it. I'm sending you guys the monthly bill, and someone better start figuring out how to make those fireplace logs out of newspaper before I am overrun here.

YOU KNOW WE HAD TO TALK ABOUT THIS, RIGHT?

2010-03-18T19:00:00.000-04:00

Okay, get the children out of the room. Give them some leniency on the video game play while we talk, adult to adult.

So, last night on American Idol, Lee Dewyze took the stage with his guitar. He is the classic bad boy, kind of looks like the type of guy I would have fallen for as a younger woman. Well, let's get real. I could actually fall for him right now, but I have my doubts he would find this fifty-three-year-old grandmother quite to his liking, knowing that every woman between the ages of sixteen and thirty-five is willing to follow him anywhere.

As Lee was singing last night on the show, I said, "Here's the way this goes, Don...that boy is probably getting every vote of every woman in America right now. Don, oblivious, said, "Why?"

I was just holding my breath, could hardly wait for the judges to put in their two-cents worth, because I was sure that at least Kara would have pointed out that the song he was singing was guaranteeing him a safe spot this week on AI as well as a spot in anyone's bedroom. But I was horribly disappointed and a little embarrassed when Don said, "See? What are you talking about?" Randy, E., Kara, and Simon The Terrible all just sort of ho-hummed through their review. No mention of the obvious.

I no longer had the heart to point out the lyrics to the Rolling Stones hot little number "Beast of Burden," just for us, the adults, ahem, I am going to post them here, then you can weigh in.

I'll never be your beast of burden
My back is broad but it's a hurting
All I want is for you to make love to me
I'll never be your beast of burden
I've walked for miles my feet are hurting
All I want is for you to make love to me

Am I hard enough
Am I rough enough
Am I rich enough
I'm not too blind to see

I'll never be your beast of burden
So let's go home and draw the curtains
Music on the radio
Come on baby make sweet love to me

Am I hard enough
Am I rough enough
Am I rich enough
I'm not too blind to see

Oh little sister
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, girl
You're a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl
Pretty, pretty
Such a pretty, pretty, pretty girl
Come on baby please, please, please

I'll tell ya
You can put me out
On the street
Put me out
With no shoes on my feet
But, put me out, put me out
Put me out of misery

Yeah, all your sickness
I can suck it up
Throw it all at me
I can shrug it off
There's one thing baby
That I don't understand
You keep on telling me
I ain't your kind of man

Ain't I rough enough, ooh baby
Ain't I tough enough
Ain't I rich enough, in love enough
Ooh! Ooh! Please

I'll never be your beast of burden
I'll never be your beast of burden
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never be

I don't need no beast of burden
I need no fussing
I need no nursing
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never be

Here's the video:

Click here!

So, I'll leave this up to you guys. Bedroom invader or just an okay song? Am I just a woman with her mind in the gutter? America, YOU decide!

YESTERDAY IS OVER

2010-03-16T10:35:00.000-04:00

There are mornings you wake up and realize that you are pretty glad yesterday is over with. Not that yesterday was terrible, just that it WAS Monday, I had to drag myself out of bed at 5:30 in the morning, fasting, thirsty, hungry, dizzy, grumpy, sleepy, and irritated, to make a two-hour round trip to get some lab work done.

Okay, like I said, it was not a horrible day, until I got home and had to go to work and was still reeling from the time change and the unusually early start to my day. My fingers refused to type...well, they refused to type FAST and in most cases, they refused to type correctly.

As the evening s o o o s l o w l y dragged on, and as more and more people found it necessary to contact me and complain to me I began to wish I could just disguise myself for the rest of the night...kinda like this guy:

If I didn't just come right out and tell you this was a kitten, you would never have known, right? What an awesome disguise! There is a costume shop just down the block. I think I might walk down there and see if I might be able to rent a big frog head to wear until I feel more like myself. Think I could pull it off?

Enjoy Tuesday, March 16, 2010, because it will not ever happen again!

THE LITTLE THINGS

2010-03-14T09:30:00.000-04:00

The little things I enjoy:

Waking up in the mornings, especially on Sunday.
Watching my Dachshunds play.
Having a supply of Starbucks Via coffee on hand for my iced coffee.
Hearing my friends' voices.
Holding my grandkids.
Taking pictures of sunsets and sunrises.
Enjoying a cup of coffee on my patio at dawn in the summer.
Laying in bed all day on Sunday with a good book.

What are some of your little big things?

BLAST FROM THE PAST

2010-03-13T07:43:00.000-05:00

Remember when you were a little kid and you were so easy to entertain? It took very little to make baby giggles that caused you to roll on the floor. And those baby giggles made even the usually-somber adults laugh out loud prompting them to do the same thing over and over and over until finally you realized there was a jelly bean under the couch you could probably shove up your nose to see where it would go?

The adults would try the same trick to make you laugh like that in front of their friends, but you would just sit and stare at them like they were totally crazy. I think children realize how uncomfortable that makes the parents, so they purposely refuse to laugh.

I wonder if this rabbit realizes his children stopped watching and hopped off several minutes ago to chase dandelion fuzz?

A WEEK'S WORTH OF GRANDCHILDREN

2010-03-11T07:03:00.000-05:00

Five grandchildren and holding...for right now; however, when I mentioned how much I love snuggling with my grandbabies, and how much I always seem to want another one about the time the youngest starts walking, I definitely saw a look pass between the mommy and daddy of my youngest, Tori. There are enough grandkids now to have one stop by five days a week for a little cuddling action from Gramma...two more and I would have a different grandchild visiting everyday! A week's worth of grandchildren, oh, my!! I know two couples are planning another one each, so chop, chop! Tori is cruising, no, running now, so better go ahead and get started on another one.

We all live in close enough proximity to one another that it only takes about five minutes to get to my house from each of their homes. And for me, especially in the warmer weather, there is nothing I love more than to get surprise drop-in visits from these little darlings.

I think it's so heartwarming that they each have a place here that makes then feel special. Kaylee likes finding the dolls and stuffed animals, David the snacks, Damien the games, Abigail the plastic McDonald's food service basket and my shoes, and Tori the rocking horse.

Last night was a Tori night. She is my cuddler and spent most of her time in my lap resting her head against my chest, listening to my heart beat.

Here she is from last night. I cannot believe how much she's grown!

As you can probably guess, I am now on the hunt for cowgirl boots and a cowgirl hat for her bronco-riding adventures at Gramma's house! Ride em cowgirl!

PUFFY, THAT'S IT...I'M PUFFY

2010-03-11T06:27:00.001-05:00

I go through phases. For a month, food means nothing to me, then for three months, that socialization thing that goes along with eating becomes very important.

But I never gain weight. No matter now much Nutella or creamy peanut butter mixed with dark chocolate, how many Jelly Bellies, how many bags of Snyder's Hanover sourdough pretzel pieces, or popcorn, or jawbreakers. I never gain weight.

What happens is, I become puffy. Just cute and cuddly like a little old...whatever that thing is in the picture. I don't normally grow cotton balls out of my butt, though.

And I don't pee in a puddle on the floor. I have fingers and my eyes are the same size, and my ears are on the sides of my head and covered with my hair...but I promise, if it wasn't for those things, that picture looks EXACTLY like me right now!

So today I am going to get myself back on the Wii Fit. It's raining, I don't work until 2:00, there are just no excuses, except that I need to finish my book and dust and vacuum. Let's see...exercise or lay in The King and read while the rain is pouring down outside. Oh, what the heck! It's only 6 a.m. I'll clean later, maybe 24 or 48 hours later!

There is one thing that I am going to be shopping for, though. I just simply, without a doubt, even if I have to give up Nutella for six months, have got to have these: I hope I can find my size, the size to fit on my puffy feet. I will be wearing these on Easter weekend, when my sweetie is taking me to St. Louis to a car show.

Come on, Puffy! We're goin' to the mall!