Oh, To Be A Cactus

Cacti sort of have it made.  Who is going to mess with them?  Other than the fact that they must survive the harsh conditions of the desert, they are sheltered, armored, and quick to let a person know who owns their surroundings. 

One of my favorite places near Phoenix is the Desert Botanical Garden.  There are paths and desert expanses all dedicated to our prickly friends, cacti.  Here are a few photos I took while we were there.

I look beautiful, I know I do…see me shine?  Don’t I look lovely to touch?  Come on, touch me…try it…just reach down and feel my smooth, slick hands.

These flowers look perfect and untouched because, well, it’s obvious.  I will hurt you if you reach down here and even try to nab one of these babies!

Come on, hug me.  I’m a teddy bear cactus.  Surely with a name like that I won’t hurt you.  I WON’T HURT YOU! 

Don’t run, we are your friends!  Come on, wade right on in!

 

 

With the armored cacti all around them for protection, other wildflowers thrive in the desert.

Totally self-explanatory.

 

This barrel cactus was so perfect that I wanted one of my very own.  However, I am sure that with my history of planticide preceding me, it would have actually shot its quills at me if I attempted to pick it up.  Yes, I could probably manage to even kill a cactus, which Nancy assures me is totally possible as they need more water than you would think.

 

 

 

 

 

Finally, these were fascinating to me.  I called them “cotton cacti” but later learned the real name then even later forgot it.

 

And that’s a very tiny piece of the tour of the Desert Botanical Garden where the wooden mules and the cacti did roam.  There was also a Monarch butterfly palace deep within the park, and next time I’ll share some pictures of those gorgeous little creatures! 

Until then, careful where you put your hands!  You never know when it might hurt.

Photos From the Past

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sunset That Wasn’t

A few photos of the sunset that never materialized at Airport Mesa, Sedona, Arizona, on a chilly October evening 2009.  Even though the clouds overtook the sun and disappointment echoed around us, we saw this beauty.  If this is what it looks like when the sunset does not happen, imagine what it must look like up there on top of the world, when it does!

I kept watching the sun trying to make an appearance, and the longer I watched it, the more fun it seemed to be having with me.  Finally, God just took over and gave these spectacular views!

 

 

 

 

There just is no arguing with Mother Nature.  Sometimes I wonder what made me lucky enough to be able to experience such beauty!  Tracy and I were so fortunate to be allowed to be a part of this scene!

Will This Blog Put You To Sleep?

http://features.csmonitor.com/books/2009/10/26/bright-sided/

I have to admit that oftentimes when someone posts a link to an article like the one I posted in this blog, I ho-hum my way through it and rarely see any relevance to my life.  But this article that my cousin posted on her Facebook page, caught my attention.  Why?  Because it is true. 

We sit around and worry our hands to death wringing them, we cry, and we groan and moan, but we cannot do anything about the problems that we have done very little to create in this world.

When I was a kid, I lost.  I lost often and crashed and burned numerous times.  Did my mom sometimes tell me I could be anything I wanted to be?  Yes, of course she did, but there were no delusions about how I might be able to achieve my goals. I was going to work hard and crash and burn a lot.  My mom was not a stay-at-home Sixties mom.  She usually was working outside our home, and she set a good example.  She kept her jobs and made herself valuable because she damned near killed herself doing that, not because anyone handed her anything on a silver platter.  Was she lucky?  Yes.  She was lucky she had the courage and the brains to realize her goals. 

I remember failing at just about everything I attempted except tennis and typing.  I went into everything knowing there was a 50/50 chance it was going to work out for me.  I had no delusions. 

When I had children of my own, I was surprised to find that nobody was allowed to fail anymore.  T-ball, which my daughter sucked at, awarded her with a beautiful trophy no different than the one given to the good kids.  My son had to count on me to help him build his soap box derby car for Cub Scouts, and you can imagine how that turned out, but he came home with a trophy, anyway. 

And while I was watching them be rewarded for failing, the guilt was piling up on me.  You might wonder why that was, and I wonder why, too.  Something had changed.  Because of that change, I am now one of those people scampering to the next job, even though I was horribly unjustly robbed of the one I had worked to keep for half my life.  I am wringing my hands and watching the world crumble while gathering crystals and mystical candles, okay, and a couple of voodoo dolls (I am really pissed about losing that job), and despairing and wondering what to do.

Someone told me today that nothing was going to change because nobody wants it.  I have to believe that there are plenty of us who want it, we just have to figure out how to make it happen and gather our resources and our pride and start getting pissed enough about being jerked around that we take back the power!  We surely have someone among us who is willing to run for President who will smack us all around and scream, “You CAN fail!”  After all, that’s how we accomplished all our goals, and dammit, we deserve to fail again!

Monday, Monday

Recently I was on a trip from Chicago to Phoenix, the last leg of a long day of jets, airports, and connections.  At the beginning end of the trip, I had left my home and family behind, on the waiting end was my cousin, and we had 2-weeks worth of plans logged in our heads. everything from steaks grilled poolside to a long hike in Sedona.  And like every trip, the plans we logged in our heads weeks earlier were the bookends for unplanned sides, like a spur-of-the-moment trip to Cold Stone Creamery late in the night for ice cream and the flower purchases made at Home Depot on an afternoon when my work let up and we found ourselves with delicious unplanned hours, a whole afternoon stretching out in front of us we never anticipated.

Getting there is always a challenge, and it does not matter how much I travel, how many jets I find myself on, I will come home with a story every time, something that makes me shake my head and laugh when I think about it.

O’Hare was crowded.  And the plane out to Phoenix was full to capacity and then some as they were making the all-too-familiar gate announcement, hoping to entice passengers into giving up seats and earning all sorts of airline perks for doing so.  While now the incentives are three-hundred-dollar vouchers for trips and free hotel stays, I soon expect the incentive to be a voucher for a free trip for one of your bags, as that checked bag fee continues to rise. 

I was stuffed in by the window and had promptly stuck my iPod’s earbuds into my ears and cranked up the music while the plane loaded, hoping to avoid conversation until beverage service started.  I dozed.  There are people I know who can never sleep on a plane.  All I have to do is sit down on one and some mechanism kicks on in my brain that sedates me…well, that and the Xanax I swallowed between legs of the flight.

Suddenly I was jolted awake when the music stopped and I heard a flight attendant standing in the aisle next to my row.  She seemed to be looking directly at me and saying, “We have a first-class upgrade for you if you would like it.”  I could hardly believe my luck.  For years and years I have flown crammed into the cabin with 150 other people, even my short legs cramped for space, and what is this I hear?  A first-class upgrade?  For ME? 

Promptly I leaned over and began to retrieve my bag that was being crushed under the seat in front of me, pulled out my earbuds, and prepared for the people seated in the middle seat and the aisle seat to stand and make way for me.  “They probably think I’m important,” I thought.  “Maybe they are thinking, ‘Where have I seen her?’” 

Then, though, I heard the man in the aisle seat say, “No, I’m fine, thanks.  I…” (and here he sort of did that head motion, indicating the beautiful girl seated next to him in the middle seat)…”have someone with me.” 

At first I was a little jealous of her, I have to admit.  He was gorgeous, so was she.  And I was a little pissed off that the first-class upgrade was for HIM and not me, though not totally surprised.  But when she said, “Oh, I’m sorry I kept you from sitting in first class!” and he actually grunted an acknowledgement, I realized how lucky I was to be just a quiet nobody jetting off to spend two weeks with my best friend in an enchanted land, with nothing more important to say than, “Could you pass the steak sauce?” 

Sometimes you just have to reevaluate and remember what is real and lovely and what is fake and ugly then sit back and enjoy your ride.

 

HALLOWEEN NIGHT 2009

It was a dark red Halloween night.


Bwaaaahhhhha!  The hauntings began at 7 p.m. sharp with this frightening evil warrior who came calling, demanding candy and other treats, and in return, my house would receive the protection from others who looked like him but were not nearly as…nice!





  Next came this evil-looking, Mountain Dew-consuming bumble bee who was demanding sweet drinks, looking all innocent but ready to pounce at any second and join the evil warrior’s cause.





Probably the most unsettling visitor of the night was the Tin Man, the most evil of all evil.  You would never know by looking at the big blue eyes and the baby face, the innocent lips, that this creature was out to knock the very foundation out from under you, change your world, warp your sense of time with the clock imbedded in her belly!




Next this vampire disguised as a young boy, and his bride, came calling, pretending to smile, stealing our very hearts with the ploy of entering our home under the pretenses of seeking sweet candy treats.



Just about the time we thought it was over, just about the time we knew we could take no more evil, this ballerina appeared, playing us like the idiots we were, making off with the last of the candy!





The evil princess was surprised, a little taken aback, when the Wicked Witch of Here appeared on her broom and swept down demanding hugs in exchange for being allowed to leave the dark, scary dungeon!
And as quickly as Halloween night, lit with scary, cold Harvest Moon light, clouds skirting over the moon, giving the earth the appearance of evil, began, it ended.  The dungeon once again became Gramma’s house, the tree branches that resembled skeleton fingers in the moonlight once again were only trees, and the hauntings ended…a prelude to winter, the hope of the Holiday Season now filling our souls, and the promise of another Halloween in another year!  HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

THE VERY BEST ME

Today began an incredible journey. The day started out pretty typical for a late Fall day. The sky was dark with rolling clouds, lightning sometimes lighting the sky in the early morning before God let the daylight through, long, jagged, skeleton-like fingers of supercharged bolts cutting through the sky.

I was restless, but I didn't really understand why. The Summer was beautiful. I turned the brightest luminescent green, and my veins sparkled with the juice that gave me life. There were thousands of us waving in the breeze, enjoying the cool Summer of our youths. We made the ash tree smile. We grinned down at the mimosa blossoms below us, and they stretched their pink, delicate tendrils upward to greet us every morning.

"This," I thought to myself, "must be the Very Best Me...today, hanging up here, balancing on top of the world, holding on for dear life through the storms, sighing in the cool breezes, me, the beautiful Very Best Me!"

But it seems I was wrong thinking that luminescent green beauty was my definition.

My defining moment was when the life coursing through me slowed, and I grew old, wrinkled and brown. My defining moment was today, this Fall day, this dark, boiling, rolling Fall day when the wind whipped me loose from my mooring, and I fluttered gently to the ground, too gently for the ferocity of the wind that claimed me.

My family and friends rallied around me, and we all laughed as we piled high, waved as some of us caught the crest of the wave of the wind and sailed off to new vistas. We had lived together, sang together, wept together, seen births, seen deaths, heard children laugh below us, and opened our souls to the world, and now we were slipping into the next world, prepared to become whatever our very souls were dictating, sighing contentedly. We were ready to walk new paths, become new life.

This, I know, is what I lived for. This is The Very Best Me. I tip my hat to you, know I will see you at a future time, in a new form, in a new place. I will see you young and new and will love you as we grow old, and I will cradle you in my heart forever. My heart will always beat for you. I heart you with all my soul!

Love,

A Leaf

A Sale

I KNOW THAT THESE POSTS ARE STARTING TO SOUND LIKE A BROKEN RECORD, BUT AS THE RED BARON WOULD SAY, IT WAS A BRIGHT AND GORGEOUS DAY, NOT THE KIND OF DAY TO BE SITTING AROUND AT HOME AND WASTING, SO MY DAUGHTER AND I GASSED UP MYRTLE, THE GREEN FORD FOCUS, AND DROVE WEST, TO THE NEAREST MALL. 

I ONLY NEED TO MAKE ONE STATEMENT HERE, AND YOU’RE GOING TO UNDERSTAND THIS POST COMPLETELY:  BATH AND BODY WORKS WAS HAVING A BIG SALE!!

THE END.

Taking a Drive

IT WAS A GORGEOUS DAY!  THE SUN WAS SHINING AND THE TEMPERATURE WAS COOL.  IT’S ALMOST HALLOWEEN, AND THE HALLOWEEN SEASON IS IN FULL SWING. 

I NEEDED TO GET A FEW THINGS OUT OF THE HOUSE IN MY OLD HOMETOWN AND NEEDED TO VISIT WITH MY BROTHER A BIT, SO DON AND I TOOK OFF AND MADE THE TRIP TO FAIRFIELD.  THANKFULLY I THOUGHT TO GRAB THE CAMERA ON MY WAY OUT THE DOOR AND CAPTURED SOME BEAUTIFUL FALL COLORS.  I TOOK 56 PHOTOS, THIS ONE IS BY FAR MY FAVORITE.

HAPPY FALL YA’ALL!

The Day The Grandkids Became Thieves

Last Saturday I gathered up children and grandchildren, and we took a trip to the corn maze and pumpking patch.  The sun was playing peek-a-boo, and we were not really dressed for the cool Fall day.  We have had a slightly more seasonable autumn than we are used to.  Eventually our hunger took over and we were forced to the big barn and a big catered meal in front of an oversized fireplace.  

There were stone benches in front of the fireplace, rocking chairs, all the comforts of the farm, and my 3 grandchildren cozied right up, all 3 huddled together, little cousins, very much a part of a great big world, but very much family, melded together by genes.

Their parents were there, also huddled together, family, laughing and talking.  I had been off cleaning up our trash and approached from behind this cozy scene.  I stood there smiling, until I realized that my grandson was consuming potato chips, and not just any potato chips, but straight from a strange woman's bag seated next to him on a bench with her family.  Suddenly, pandemonium  ensued when a little girl began wailing, and I looked at my youngest granddaughter making off with the little girl's boots she had taken off when she snuggled up against her grandmother whose chips were being eaten by her cousin.  It was tempting at that point to empty my oldest granddaughter's purse, since apparently some hidden gene had taken over my angels, but really, I didn't even want to know what I might find.

I made the sign of the cross, said a little prayer, apologized, glared and took the hands of 3 children who were eyeing their next treasure laying loose.  

A Look Outside My Window

Today I was so caught up in work that I forgot to look outside the window.  The only picture I was seeing was the one in front of me:  A computer monitor full of medical words.  The only pleasure I was getting was the feeling of the sun occasionally on my shoulder.  Then, when all else failed, when it all seemed hopeless and useless, I did what we should always do…I looked up.  And this is what I saw:

And I saw this:

Color me happy!

Isn’t This A Perfect Day?

Last night I was pretty stressed out, then I read a post by my pal, Ginny, on Facebook about baths.  I am embarrassed to say that it had been awhile since I had allowed myself to enjoy a bath at home at the end of a long, stressful day, so here is my prescription for anyone stressing out:

1.  Set the mood.  Light some candles in the bathroom.  Do not make the mistake of doing that too soon.  At least make sure everyone is done in the bathroom, especially your grandkids, before setting them on the side of the bathtub.  They will get knocked off and broken which totally wrecks the mood by the time you make sure all the glass is out of the tub and the wax is scraped up. 

2.  Run the water.  Make it as hot as you can tolerate.  Make it deep, too.  Put something nice in the water.  In a pinch, grab the children’s J&J baby wash, any scent, squirt a few drops to make some bubbles.

3.  Wine.  If this bath is a spur of the moment one, you might have to really compromise on the wine.  For example, my wine for last night’s bath sabbatical was a bottle of classy red Route 66.  It is only to be used as a calming elixir, anyway, and considering stress is a symptom, like a cough, and you take cough syrup to correct it, it really doesn’t matter how expensive or tasty that wine really is.

4.  A warm towel right out of the dryer!  must have! 

5.  Clean PJs, maybe right out of the dryer, too.

6.  Lotions and potions waiting in the bedroom for after your bath.  If you use something that smells really, really good, you can still smell it in the morning and sort of start the day out a little calmer right from the beginning! 

7.  climb in that tub and soak away the stress.  close your eyes, smell the candles burning, smell the bath bubble concoction, lay there for about an hour. 

8.  While your body is still warm, crawl into bed and finish the wine, snuggle down into the pillows and the quilt…stir slightly.

Say night-night to the stress.  say “Hope I don’t see ya tomorrow, Stress!”  Enjoy! 

IT'S JUST A JOB

When I was 18 and in college, I had a job as a checkout girl at a grocery store.  Every now and again, I had to double as a shelf-stocker and a bag boy.  I kept thinking how awesome it would be to graduate from college and have a REAL job.

I did.  I graduated and went to work in my field.  I had the same job for years out standing in my field.  It was part of me, helped define me.  Then I got pregnant.  My firstborn son then defined me, and a job was the farthest thing from my mind.  But when he was 6 weeks old, I trudged back, now working with an entirely new purpose.  I had to support that little being.

Another child was born, a girl, and she defined me all over again, and the defiinitions began changing.  Someone started changing all the rules of life.  When she was a year old, off I went to work again, back out standing in my field. 

For 26 years I worked hard at that job.  I was proud of it.  Proud of my company, and when, after 26 years of loyal service they fired me and outsourced my department, I found myself realizing that there are much more important things in life than a job, but wow, was I ever happy to find one!  At 52 years old, I feel unhireable, really, and my ego has gotten a boost realizing that I didn't spend half my life learning for nothing. 

But today, I started another job.  Now, it is dawning on me that I have plowed through 3 jobs in 3 months, and I feels as if the next 7 years of my life are being redifined as I march on toward retirement.  I certainly am open to change, but could use a little stability while I look ahead. 

I sure do long to be a checkout girl and a bag boy again!  Short of that, I am sure looking forward to 59-1/2 now, and sitting on my patio laughing at the hummingbirds and drinking coffee instead of fighting to stay employed! 

The Corn Maze

It isn’t Fall in the Ohio Valley, nor is it the Halloween Season, without a trip to the Lark Ranch Corn Maze.  Today the weather was crisp, the soul hungry for some family fun, and the grandkids amped up…a perfect day for a hayride to the pumpkin patch, a good meal outdoors in the barn, a pony ride, and a jump in the inflated bouncy thing.  We loaded up and headed out and about 6 hours later, tired and cold, returned home to get in our PJ and sit in front of a fire.

 

Abigail, Kaylee, and David.

We got really lost in the maze.  Abigail played peek-a-boo through the corn stalks as some of us ended up on the wrong trail. 

We found each other in time to make a trip to the pumpkin patch to find our treasures.

What a great day.  It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!

I Need The Vortex

Today I’m waking up at home in Indiana.  I am homesick for Phoenix, I miss my cousin, and I need the vortex to fix my mood.  Here is where my mind is hanging out this morning. 

Take me home, country roads.

GOTTA LOVE THOSE KIDS

Yesterday I sat in the living room, working, and caught a news story that was breaking, on TV, about a 6-year-old child who had crawled into the basket of a giant helium balloon that his dad had built in the back yard to be used "to pursue his hobby as a weather chaser," ahem, okay, whatever, and apparently floated off into the far reaches of our atmosphere (at least up to 7000+ feet, anyway).

I have little grandkids, and just the thought of that poor child being swept away from his family home and going for a horrific ride, alone and scared, and possibly poisoned from leaking helium, as the reporters eventually suggested, made my stomach hurt, and I could not stop watching.  While I was working, I was following the flight of that balloon, gasping at the right places and listening to "experts" telling us what horrors the little guy might be experiencing.  

Admittedly, there was a point where I thought, "I bet that kid isn't even in there," and when the balloon floated to the ground about a hundred miles from it's launching pad, I thought, "I bet that kid is at home hiding."  

I was a 6-year-old kid once, and that's what I would have been doing. 

So sure enough, about 3 hours after the glorified California Freeway Car Chase began, it ended on the discovery of the little boy at home.  He came slinking into the kitchen while his shaken father was on the phone. 

I listened to the chatter about the family, bringing their morality and abilities into question, and I heard reporters say that they would have been severely punished for something like that as children, and my thought was this:  They had the ARMY looking for him, for God's sake!  They had dozens and dozens of investigators and law enforcement officials combing that neighborhood. They had dogs and Black Hawk helicopters...and nobody found him.

I don't know about you, but upon the discovery that the kid was hiding in his own attic in a cardboard box and eluded discovery, did not give me any confidence in the people sworn to protect me, what about you?  

Thank God he's okay, though.  Gotta love those kids! 

IT'S TUESDAY...NO, WAIT, IT'S WEDNESDAY

I have been visiting in Phoenix for 2 weeks.  Everyday I have checked out The Weather Channel to see what it is doing back home because let's face it...it's a heck of a lot more fun to be sitting in a tropical enchanted land if you know your people are suffering the weather conditions back home.  

It's been pretty boring here weatherwise.  Everyday is about 85 degrees and every night is about 60 degrees.  Everyday is sunny, and the most exciting weather observation here is, "Wow, look, there's a cloud!"  Or this classic:  "The wind is blowing!  No, wait, it stopped."

Now, I am definitely not complaining about this boring weather conversation.  Back home there is either an impending tornado, flood, or ice storm, and if they could predict earthquakes, there is one of those waiting to shake, rattle, and roll at any moment, as well.  

Imagine my glee when I have seen, for the past 12 days, this on the weather radar of Southern Indiana:  Green.  Lots of green.  And not only that, I failed to disable my Thundercall option on my cell phone before flying the friendly skies to the West, so in the middle of the night I received a call warning me of flooding in my neighborhood.  HAHA!  Let me run to my bedroom window here in Arizona and see what it's doing at 3:00 a.m...oh, isn't this a surprise?  NOTHING!  The cool air is filtering through my window and the only thing going on I can tell is that a canopy of stars is apparently keeping the rain off me.

But then imagine my disappointment when I realized that karma is a bitch, and this Saturday, I have to go back there in that cold, soggy, foggy, miserably cloudy weather.  I had the foresight to put a coat in the car, so when I am picked up at the airport, I can at least make it to the car without breaking a tooth from the chattering caused by chills!  

Yes, I can hardly wait to get home!  

NATURE SPEAKS

It is sometimes so easy to let life overtake us and never actually live it.  Work becomes the norm and relaxation becomes work.  Now and then we need to find a mountain brook and soak in the peaceful sounds.  

Occasionally we have to walk the path least traveled.

Sometimes we have to find a place to stand and stand alone there.

 

And if we're really lucky we will find souls to stand there with us. 

 

If we get on the right path and find our people, learn to relax and enjoy what we've been given, we will be rewarded with unimaginable beauty around the next bend.

 

 

THE HARVEST MOON

What I did on October 4: Drove out to Nancy's place in the Arizona desert with my best friend who doubles as my cousin, set up tripods, and spent about 2 hours photographing the Harvest Moonrise. I thought that seeing the Desert Botanical Garden today was awesome...but there just isn't much that can top sitting in the middle of that big expanse of sand and sky watching that moon glide up out of the mountains while the darkness blankets you. Feeling small, feeling small. Little bity girls in a great big world of wonder protected by a canopy of stars overhead.

Thank you, ladies, for a very memorable night!

OUR VACATION 2009

Don and I pulled out of Jasper on July 25, 2009, for our annual trek. We were trying to get going by 7:00 but someone (who shall go nameless...okay, ME) was not packed by then, but a half-hour later we were on the road.

Our first stop was at Skeeter Mountain Rest Area. That is a huge drive from our city, at least one hour, but when a girl has to go a girl has to go. It also gave us a chance to grab a snack out of the well-stocked snack bag I had put in the car and get a drink. Coulda had a V-8, and we did.

Once out of the hills of Southern Indiana, we were a little speechless at how flat all of Illinois and the first part of eastern Missouri were. Speechless and very bored.

Next stop was in a huge place called Mouscoutah (Sp?) Illinois. The photo of the gas pump and absolutely nothing else, is the highlight of that town. We stopped to fill the car up before making our trip to a much anticipated place: Cuba. Yes, we went to CUBA! Cuba, Missouri, that is.

Don and I are both AAA members (not to be confused with AA, although when this trip is over, that might be next), and we receive a magazine once a month called Midwest Traveler. We learned about Cuba from an article in that magazine as well as the name of a cafe that the author had nothing but praise for called Back In The Day Cafe and Bakery. It really was worth the time we spent lost in the metropolis (2200 people) of Cuba, Missouri. The food was excellent and the service awesome. For $9.00 each we had roast beef, green beans, the best dressing I have ever eaten, including my mother's, mashed potatoes with gravy, a roll, sweet tea and a warm slice of homemade peach cobbler with ice cream on top. Burp! Being deprived while on a diet made this food seem extra-delicious.

We then got our kicks on Route 66 and took it from Cuba to Fanning, Missouri, where we planned to go to see The World's Largest Rocking Chair. Okay, impressed. No, really, I was impressed. It was kind of unbelievable. They had, of course, a gift shop. I bought a magnet and went to an impromptu wine tasting. There are several wineries on Route 66 here in Missouri, and after tasting, hiccup, several, I chose two and now am in search of a corkscrew.

There were no plans to stay on Route 66 to Rolla, but we did, and finding that we were not able to check into our room that early, we asked at the front desk for directions to another attraction we could not miss, called Stubby Stonehenge, a one-half scale Stonehenge, and supposedly the only replica in the United States that actually works as a clock and calendar, just like the one in England. While not as impressive as the one across the pond, it probably is as close as I will get and again, I was duly impressed by its construction. That is located at the University of Missouri Rolla and was constructed by the mining and engineering students. The stone was all cut by water lasers in one month. I could not resist a photo of the building we walked by on campus called McNutt Hall. Really?

So here we are in our hotel. Don is "watching a movie" but he is doing that with his eyes closed, on the bed, and his head is definitely taking on sleeping posture, and I am preparing to walk around this gorgeous lake that our room faces, to try to make room for food that surely is going to be in the forecast as soon as Don is done "watching this movie." I have found the pool and hot tub and am going to head down there soon, too.

So far, so good. We will be arriving in Branson tomorrow.

CICADA SAVING

This morning I woke up early. I think the anticipation of being on vacation starting after work today had me a little antsy. I just wanted to get through the workday and get in the car and hit the road.

Because of that anticipation, I am a little more relaxed than normal, and the weather in the mornings has just been delightful for the entire week. With the cool breeze blowing and the air dry, the temperature topping out from the overnight 60 degrees, the patio called me at about 6:00, and with coffee mug in hand, that is where I went.

But relaxation was not to be for long. Hanging on a chair leg was a cicada, half in and half out of his shell, trying to be birthed, trying to be free, trying to find his wings.

For a while I watched as he struggled and then to my dismay and I am sure to the insect's dismay, he fell from the chair, the shell still attached securely to his damp forelegs, and he landed in the dying cockroach position, on his back on the bricks.

With every ounce of my strength I vowed not to help him. I would not help this ugly insect correct his precarious situation. And so he struggled while I sat on the patio beside him.

Cicadas have huge eyes. And with his, he looked at me as he kicked and tried to free himself from his shell. Once that happened, though, he was still destined to die on my patio, on his back, once the sun came out full-force for the day. With wings wet, they stuck firmly, and the little guy was not accepting his fate easily. He stared at me, he pleaded with those big bulging eyes, until finally, ever so gently, I lifted the shell off of him and he sighed a sigh of relief, fluttered a little, tried to free his wings, tried to navigate onto his side so his legs would allow a bit of leverage so he could get upright and dry off and soar.

This bug weighs a lot when referenced against other bugs in my queendom. The laws of physics were against him ever righting himself, so I just gave him a tiny nudge. The tiniest of nudges was all it took to put him on his feet, and then, as luck would have it, one wing, gooey and wet, was flopped forward and stuck to one of his big eyes. He wandered toward another chair leg, feeling ahead with his feet, pleading with me with his one exposed eye to please go one step further.

"I'm not asking much," he said in his silent cicada voice that I will admit probably only I could hear. "Just one more thing, please?"

So carefully I took his beautiful blue-green wing and peeled it back, placed it into position just so over his back, and he smiled. I thought, "Might as well go the extra mile," and I held a stick in front of him which he gratefully climbed onto, and then I took him to the big ash tree in my back yard.

When C., as I like to call him now, reached out and grabbed onto the bark of that tree and began climbing up toward the top, it was a triumphant moment. Once he was safely high he looked back and whispered his thank yous and disappeared into the crook.

We both learned something today: No creature is too small to give a helping hand to, and not all humans are the enemy.

IT HAS HAPPENED

This morning I woke up feeling a little odd. I shook the sleep off, gently placed my feet on the floor and into my cushy slippers and shuffled off to the bathroom in that half-sleep state. When there, the mirror caught my reflection, and through eyes that would only partially open in the sudden light, my self became visible. The clock on the sink said it was 6:45, the date July 23, 2009, and then it hit me. My baby was 1-3/4 hours away from turning 25 years old.

I sat down on the edge of the tub and thought about that for a bit. It seems like only yesterday that I was laying in a hospital bed being stuck and prodded and probed and prepped to go to the operating room for the c-section I knew I had to endure to get my precious daughter. I remember the feeling of the spinal anesthetic, the encouragement of the nurses as my breathing became compromised due to the anesthetic getting too high and in essence "numbing" my lungs. The nurse said, "Breathe in, breathe out" over and over and over, because otherwise, they were going to have to intubate me, and she coached me long enough for me to see my beautiful little girl and hear her cry.

I remember the feeling of the hot tears rolling down my cheeks as they brought her little face to my lips so I could give her a mommy's welcome to life kiss.

And the next thing I remember is holding her in my arms in my room, marveling at her face, her fingers, her toes, and thanking God for her over and over.

We have had ups and downs and in-betweens, but she is my daughter 25 years later, and I love her.

Happy birthday to my baby.

I THOUGHT THIS WAS SO PRECIOUS - THANK YOU, AUNT ALICE

A little girl walked to and from school daily.
Though the weather that morning was questionable and clouds were forming, she made her daily trek to the elementary school.

As the afternoon progressed, the winds whipped up, along with lightning. The mother of the little girl felt concerned that her daughter would be frightened as she walked home from school and she feared the electrical storm might harm her child. So the mother quickly got into her car and drove
along the route to her child's school..

As she did, she saw her little girl walking along and at each flash of lightning, the child would stop, look up, and smile.

When the mother's car drew up beside the child, she lowered the window and called to her...
'What are you doing?'
The child answered,
I am trying to look pretty because God keeps taking my picture.

ABANDONED

First this little guy's nest got blown out of the tree during a storm. He and his brother and his mom sat on the ground behind the tree, fiercely protecting one another from harm.

Then, his brother found his wings and left the area, surely for higher ground in a less cat-riddled neighborhood.

It seemed strange to Baby Pigeon Twin B to be left alone with his mom, but the food was more forthcoming, and his belly stayed full all the time. He also had his mom's attention all to himself, and that wasn't so bad. But as his wings became stronger, even over the course of two nights, and Mom's instincts told her he was able to make it on his own, she, too, abandoned him.

Twin B found the warmest spot he could on an unusually chilly July day, on the asphalt of the driveway, and he looked around, scared, hungry, lonely, abandoned, until he found his wings and soared, surprising even himself.

Here is hoping your family never abandons you and that you find a warm spot on the asphalt on which to find your wings! Cheers!

"WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" SHE ASKS, INCREDULOUS

Don and I enjoy hanging out at Home Depot. We each own a house, and at least once a weekend we make a trip to that store and talk about all the things we would like to do. Sometimes we actually buy things and start a project, most times we buy things that have nothing to do with a project. Each trip usually ends with a Coke at McDonald's while we dump our purchases out on the table and discuss, again, the things we would like to do, but probably won't.

Last night's rendezvous in the lumber aisle was uneventful, calm, peaceful, where we met up, showing one another what we were taking home. We laughed, talked, climbed in the truck and set our sights on home.

But the July 12 trip was slated to be more memorable than most.

It was a hot Sunday evening, the humidity was stifling. And something you should know about me...I suffer from motion sickness very easily, especially in those conditions. Carnival rides? Forget it. Boats? Surely you jest! Stressful car rides? Sure to induce nausea.

Of course, I could learn to keep my mouth shut, but Don was driving me crazy. The speed limit was 40 and he was tooling along at about 25. I could see what was about to happen here. We were approaching a green light, and by the time he got to it, it was going to start changing and he was going to slam on the brakes, causing the truck to lurch and my stomach to do the same thing. So I gently said, "Would you speed the f&*) up??"

He did, and when we barely beat the red light found it necessary to say, "You drive like an old woman."

"Wh- what?? I don't either!! Why would you even say something so incredibly stupid and untrue?" I cried out a little defensively.

"It's not untrue. I've noticed it the past few months. You drive like an old lady. You wait until cars that are way back there get past, then you turn."

Okay, ladies, help me out here. That's called "patience." I have it now. Not only that, if there are just two cars and I can wait ten seconds before pulling out, then I don't have to hit the gas to accelerate quickly, which saves gas.

He just doesn't get it. Patience = sanity-keeper = fuel savings. What is WRONG with that?

I just am dreading driving on our summer trip now because I will feel self-conscious when I practice my patient driving skills. If Don would just think back to the time that I had to actually take a stress management class per orders of my physician to learn this patient driving technique, and how to deal with people who criticize my driving skills, he would shut up already!

He wants to ride with me when I am not practicing sane driving? Oh, well, okay...Branson, here we come. Everyone get out of my way! The old lady is coming through!

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME?

When my son was younger and still living at home, he would, at times, need a playmate, and would try to recruit me. Oh, don't get me wrong. I was a great entertainer of children, still am...as long as we're talking Legos, blocks, board games and books. But Ian had one passion, computer games.

One day, after failing miserably at Super Mario Brothers, I, the adult, threw down the control and said, while stomping off to find my daughter to play with, "You will never find me playing computer games again, so leave me alone about it. I hate it!"

Fast forward. Ian is 28 years old now, I have reached that ripe old age of 52. And in my spare time, I find myself almost hyperventilating at the thought of getting to Farm Town. Is Farm Town the name of my mid-life crisis real estate? Is Farm Town the name of a great produce market? Is Farm Town a theater where they show the old classic movies? No. Farm Town is a COMPUTER GAME. That's right. I am addicted to a computer game that allows me to purchase land and buy seeds and grow food, build a house, make money from selling my homegrown food, plant beautiful flowers that actually grow and bloom and raise horses, pigs, rabbits, chickens, roosters, cows, sheep and donkeys who flourish and love me and provide me with a little extra income if I decide I want to sell them in order to purchase, oh, for example, a little house.

The day I was able to go to the virtual real estate office and expand the size of my farm and buy a house? Well, I was in tears as I walked my little zombie-like virtual self up my sidewalk, hugged my new mailbox and whacked a chicken for the grill. It was an amazing feeling. My neighbors are my friends and we hire one another to work the harvest in order to collect more coin. Yeah, we've got it all together there at Farm Town!

Every now and then I load up Farm Town and just stand and stare in awe at what I have accomplished. Plow, plant, harvest, plow, plant, harvest. My virtual self never gets tired, nor does her arthritis restrict her wooden mobility.

Listen. Hear that? That's Virtual Kathy McWhirt whistling while she works! Now there's something nobody is going to experience everyday.

Oh, man, I've got to go...the potatoes are about to go to waste. Come over anytime for a grilled meal around the picnic table, amidst the gorgeous flowers and waving wheat! Ya'all visit now, ya hear?

SOME BAD NEWS

I want you all to sit down now, and prepare yourselves for something I have to tell you that is pretty upsetting. Michael Jackson died.

This happened last week sometime, and I'm sorry that I'm just now reporting on it here. I am not sure of the day it happened, but if you ask one of a billion people, and that gives you a pretty good pool to choose from, they can tell you the day, the time, what he was wearing and any of a million other "facts" about the case.

Did you know they actually gave away tickets to his funeral to people who registered online for them? The funeral was at that comforting, quiet mortuary known as The Staples Center in Los Angeles. Michael, may he rest in peace and God bless his soul, might be buried at Neverland Ranch, if there is not too much controversy associated with that, or he might end up in a regular cemetery in LA, a beautiful place called Oak Lawn Cemetery, where many celebrities are buried.

I adored Michael Jackson's music, love Janet Jackson's music, and was just crazy about The Jackson Five, but even as a kid, I could tell they were just an act and there was no real warmth up there on that stage. Looking back at old videos now, it seems almost sad.

Here is what I hope for my own death: That I am lucky enough to be remembered and mourned by one person; that I make an just enough of an impact to have one person turn out to party at my final show; and that I never become a circus act requiring the use of The Staples Center for my send-off...amen.

THE WEIGHT LOSS DILEMMA

In April 2008 I had a spinal fusion surgery. The length of recovery was almost whispered to me by my neurosurgeon, "In one year you won't even know you had surgery!"

At the time, I was in searing pain from a nerve pinched between arthritic, collapsed vertebrae, and so he could have said, "three years," and I would have dragged my sorry, broken body to the operating table that very day, just to eradicate the pain that had slowly taken over my life.

The surgery went well, he said. The recovery, however, was a different story. Locked into a rigid back brace day and night, it was impossible for me to get up without assistance or even sleep in my bed. I chastised myself for putting myself through that misery. I cried, I groaned and once I think I probably even screamed out from my misery, and the people who were caring for me were concerned, and rightfully so.

To comfort me, my girlfriends cooked or drove out to a restaurant and returned with goodies, put them on a tray and brought them to wherever I had landed for the day, usually on the loveseat in the living room. They were so loving, so patient, so kind! I felt so lucky.

And in a few short months, I was back on my feet and almost caring for myself, but the lack of meaningful exercise and my desire to squelch my self-pity with food, had caught up with me, and I realized I had, somewhere along the line, gathered 20 extra pounds around my waist and on my ass.

Instead of self-loathing, though, I embraced the weight and washed down Oreos with some high-caloric drink, like Corona, at very bad times, like just before bed or while soaking in a tub of hot water. And it wasn't always Corona. Sometimes I drank wine.

This past month I came to the realization that probably I should consider dropping the extra weight. I looked at my granddaughter, who is one and very chunky and nearly impossible for me to carry, and heard a little voice in my own head, at least one of many little voices in my head, asking me if I could not carry the child, how was I possibly carrying this weight around? Immediately my heels began to hurt (power of suggestion, even if it was from one of my own inner voices), and my clothes began to feel tighter. The mirror no longer was my friend. Hell, the mirror had been my enemy for over a year.

About this time, as if my divine intervention, a program began at the hospital where I am employed. I paid twenty bucks and stood on a scale, collected a huge folder of information and learned that the biggest loser keeps the money at the end of twenty weeks.

"Great!" one of my voices told me. "I could use an extra couple of hundred dollars around the Holidays! And so it began.

The first week I dropped, you guessed it, one pound. And the only reason that happened was because I ran in place while trying to decipher the following information: "1 pound is approximately 3550 calories so to lose 1 pound per week you would need to lower your calorie intake by 3550 calories a week. Example, if you weight 250 pounds and are lightly active and eat 2558 calories a day that is 17,906 calories a week. In order to lose 1 pound a week you would need to subtract 3550 from 17,906, which is 13,356 and divide that by 7 which is 2050 calories per day to lose 1 pound per week."

I lost one pound just from the brain power it took to solve that equation. I never was good at algebra OR story problems. And I needed a glass of wine to go on reading the Pandora's box of story problems I had been handed.

This week is going to be different. This week I am throwing away my black three-ring binder full of tips and suggestions and winging it. It is not rocket science, after all. Stop drinking wine and beer, exercise some, stop eating every other meal at McDonald's and when the box says one serving is two cookies, eat two cookies and not half the box.

So, at this time, I am heading out for a walk to the Farmer's Market, to pick up a couple of bags of good fresh homegrown veggies, curbing the almost insane desire to stop at the baked items table where the woman who no doubt bakes the best breads and cakes and cookies in the entire Tri-State, tries to lure me in with her grandmotherly sad old woman look so she can comfort me with her still-warm bread smeared with real butter.