I apologize in advance if I offend anyone.
As the final strains of “Country Road” by John Denver fade into non-existence, I drift once again into memories of my childhood. Again, I’m laying in the backseat of my mother’s Chevrolet Impala on a hot summer day and singing the song at the top of my lungs as she turns the car onto the gravel road leading to my house. Despite the air conditioning being on full blast, the relentless Texas sun is beating through the back window, making my hair stick to the back of my neck in dark sweaty ringlets
Finally, we are passing the oak trees lining both sides of the road. They stretch giant limbs high above the roadway, their leaves intertwining and forming a canopy; a haven from the heat. I sit up and lean forward, putting my face close to Mama’s as we belt out the song together.
This is one of my fondest childhood memories. The countryside in which I grew up will always be my home; the place where adventure lurked around every corner for me as a child. It now offers inner strength to me as an adult, and reminds me of “who I am” and “where I come from.”. As I walk across the well-beaten paths I’ve trod upon so many times, I’m reminded of lessons taught to me by my parents and grandparents. The countryside, beautiful and almost unspoiled, is a reminder that true beauty still exists; that is, however, about to change.
During the next several years, they will be building a 10 mile wide “superhighway” through the state of Texas. Sure it sounds great, and the developers paint a pretty picture in their speil, but they fail to point out the consequences of their goal. People’s land in the path of the highway will be seized by the way of iminate domain. In other words, the contractors will offer the landowners “rock bottom” prices for their land, if they refuse, the state takes possession, and the landowner gets nothing. Houses that have been around for a hundred years or more will be destroyed if they are in the path of the highway. In the path of this highway is a 100+ year old Czech church and cemetery. The cemetery contains bodies supposedly buried there before shortly after Texas achieved statehood. “What will be the outcome of the church and cemetery?” one person asked. The reply was grim, the historic church would be torn down and the bodies moved to another location.
This highway is coming through my hometown, and quite possibly through my mother’s property. One contractor, smirking, assured her they would tear her house down if it comes through her property. The house where I grew up, where my father lived. My mother called me tonight, and sobbing, told me of what she learned.
I always try and see the “sunny side” of things, but there’s not one here. I’m angry. Land my father sweated and cried over, land he once walked across as a boy and vowed he’d own, is in danger of being seized by cold unfeeling strangers. The majestic pecan and oak trees will be ripped from the earth, the scream of the red tail hawk will be replaced by the obnoxious honking of vehicles.
Part of me wishes I could bring back Caesar and his troops to assist me in my plight; or to stand on the property with a banner reading “Come and take it.” But then again, violence never solved anything, and “the pen is mightier than the sword.”
The contractors, dressed in high dollar suits, brag about the “thousands of people the superhighway will help,” but they fail to mention the thousands of lives it could destroy.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Monday, April 03, 2006
Coffee. . .I need coffee and lots of it; maybe a gallon or so will get me through the morning. I've been a bad girl this weekend, and it's starting to tell on me. I thrashed my son when I played against him at a video game, and I tortured my poor hubby about his birthday. My devilment began on Friday afternoon with a brownie.
I am a recovering chocoholic, and sometimes a mear chocolate crumb will send me tumbling off the "bandwagon." I was baking brownies for John's birthday, and I knew from the very beginning I was in trouble. My mouth watered as I ripped open the bag and watch the silky cocoa mixure slide suggestively into the bowl.
"You don't need chocolate. Think of what the results will be," the voice of reason whispered to me.
I took a deep breath, added the eggs and oil, and stirred. The mixture shone like polished glass, and looked so fudgy and good. No one will ever know if I lick the bowl, I thought as I spooned the mixture into the baking pan. "Yeah, but my butt will," I said, rinsing out the empty bowl and putting it in the dishwater. I congratulated myself on my willpower as I popped the brownies into the oven. John is a terror to buy for, and the brownies were to be one of his presents.
After they cooled, I cut them and put them in the box I had. All were perfect except for one; a corner was broken off. "Oh, poor baby. You must be in agony. Let me put you out of your misery," I said as I popped the brownie ino my mouth. Wonderful!
I picked on John when he came home from work.
"Well, well. Someone has reached middle age today, and some of us are still in our thirties, I said, smirking. I couldn't help but razz him a little. I'm 4 1/2 years younger than he, and for years he has tormented me about the age difference.
When I talk about what I remember in the 70's, his retort is "Oh, what do you know? You were just a baby then." Snappy comebacks fly back and forth, but they're all in fun, nothing malicious.
Friday night, for John's birthday, we took him to Kobe Japanese steakhouse and suishi bar. If you've never been to one, it's an experience. I had seen the chef ignite the grill before, and tried to prepare my children for what was about to come. When the grill ignited, the flame rose several feet in the air. The heat from the flame was intense. The chef began his routine with the spatulas and my toddler yelled excitedly. I too found myself riveted to the spectacle before me..
"Wasn't the flame neat, Seth? Seth? " I turned and saw I was talking to an empty chair; Seth was across the room. He had ran away when the grill ignited. Other than that, everyone had a great time.
I am a recovering chocoholic, and sometimes a mear chocolate crumb will send me tumbling off the "bandwagon." I was baking brownies for John's birthday, and I knew from the very beginning I was in trouble. My mouth watered as I ripped open the bag and watch the silky cocoa mixure slide suggestively into the bowl.
"You don't need chocolate. Think of what the results will be," the voice of reason whispered to me.
I took a deep breath, added the eggs and oil, and stirred. The mixture shone like polished glass, and looked so fudgy and good. No one will ever know if I lick the bowl, I thought as I spooned the mixture into the baking pan. "Yeah, but my butt will," I said, rinsing out the empty bowl and putting it in the dishwater. I congratulated myself on my willpower as I popped the brownies into the oven. John is a terror to buy for, and the brownies were to be one of his presents.
After they cooled, I cut them and put them in the box I had. All were perfect except for one; a corner was broken off. "Oh, poor baby. You must be in agony. Let me put you out of your misery," I said as I popped the brownie ino my mouth. Wonderful!
I picked on John when he came home from work.
"Well, well. Someone has reached middle age today, and some of us are still in our thirties, I said, smirking. I couldn't help but razz him a little. I'm 4 1/2 years younger than he, and for years he has tormented me about the age difference.
When I talk about what I remember in the 70's, his retort is "Oh, what do you know? You were just a baby then." Snappy comebacks fly back and forth, but they're all in fun, nothing malicious.
Friday night, for John's birthday, we took him to Kobe Japanese steakhouse and suishi bar. If you've never been to one, it's an experience. I had seen the chef ignite the grill before, and tried to prepare my children for what was about to come. When the grill ignited, the flame rose several feet in the air. The heat from the flame was intense. The chef began his routine with the spatulas and my toddler yelled excitedly. I too found myself riveted to the spectacle before me..
"Wasn't the flame neat, Seth? Seth? " I turned and saw I was talking to an empty chair; Seth was across the room. He had ran away when the grill ignited. Other than that, everyone had a great time.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Rain, at last
Yesterday the clouds broke open and dumped precious rain upon our parched state. For the past several months, Texas has been in a severe drought, and the consequences have been dire. A few farmers have been forced to sell off some of their land, and some ranchers have reduced the size of their cattle herds; as a result of this, the prices of meat and some produce have sky-rocketed in the supermarkets.
And so, the first tap-tap of the rain upon my tin roof sent me flying to the front door. Joyously, I flung open the heavy wooden door, and raised the window on the metal screen door. There's nothing like the smell of the earth during a rainfall. It's glorious scent wafted into the house and embraced me like an old familiar friend, whispering promises of growth and rebirth in my ear.
I felt a gentle tug at my shirt, and looking down saw my toddler at my side, gazing out the window of the storm door. "Hey, what's this?" he asked, pointing at the rain. Robert had never seen sheets of rain pouring from the sky.
"It's rain."
"Rain? What's it do?" I explained the rain was giving the earth a much needed drink, and now the plants and grass could grow again."
"Oh." Robert continued to look out the door thoughtfully. "The rain is falling very hard. I hope the earth has insurance."
Robert had been watching insurance commercials, that's why he was hoping the earth had insurance.
*********************************
What do you like to do on a rainy day? Here's my favorite things to do.
1. Watch old b&w movies
2. Bake homemade bread
3. Turn down the lights, light a candle, turn on jazz music, and settle back with a book while I'm enjoying the smell of the bread baking.
4. Soak in the tub, and sip on a glass of wine while listening to music
And so, the first tap-tap of the rain upon my tin roof sent me flying to the front door. Joyously, I flung open the heavy wooden door, and raised the window on the metal screen door. There's nothing like the smell of the earth during a rainfall. It's glorious scent wafted into the house and embraced me like an old familiar friend, whispering promises of growth and rebirth in my ear.
I felt a gentle tug at my shirt, and looking down saw my toddler at my side, gazing out the window of the storm door. "Hey, what's this?" he asked, pointing at the rain. Robert had never seen sheets of rain pouring from the sky.
"It's rain."
"Rain? What's it do?" I explained the rain was giving the earth a much needed drink, and now the plants and grass could grow again."
"Oh." Robert continued to look out the door thoughtfully. "The rain is falling very hard. I hope the earth has insurance."
Robert had been watching insurance commercials, that's why he was hoping the earth had insurance.
*********************************
What do you like to do on a rainy day? Here's my favorite things to do.
1. Watch old b&w movies
2. Bake homemade bread
3. Turn down the lights, light a candle, turn on jazz music, and settle back with a book while I'm enjoying the smell of the bread baking.
4. Soak in the tub, and sip on a glass of wine while listening to music
Monday, March 27, 2006
When I least expected it
It happened when I least expected it. My family and I were at our favorite eatery when my invisible assailant grabbed me in its vise-like grip and rendered me helpless. My torturer was the hiccups. I was minding my own business, happily snacking on chips and salsa, when they hit. These were not the petite "Southern belle" style hiccups, these were loud, obnoxious, and continuous.
"Okay, it's not funny anymore," John said after the fifth hiccup.
"You think I'm doing this on purpose?"
"I wouldn't put anything past you." Now, people at the tables nearby glanced my way. Never at a lose for words, John smiled at one staring couple and said, "This is just her warm-up routine. Wait till you see her grand finale." His comment lightened the mood, and a few pople offered advice an how to get rid of my problem. I tried everything they suggested: drinking a glass of tea without taking a breath, drinking from the wrong side of my water glass, holding my breath. . .nothing worked. Then I remembered an old cure my grandmother taught me: eat a spoonful of sugar.
Oblivious to everything around me, I ripped open a sugar packet, tilted my head back, and poured it in my mouth. I swallowed the sugar in one gulp. It worked! The hiccups were gone. I basked in the glow of my accomplishment until I head a gentle voice behind me.
"Uhm, madam, you're food is coming right out, but if you're that hungry I can bring you some chips and salsa. Red-faced, I turned and saw our waitress standing behind me. She had witnessed the whole sugar-eating incident.
"Oh no, I'm fine." True to her word, the waitress returned a few minutes later with our food.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, eying me cautiously. I nodded and stuffed a forkful of rice in my mouth. I've gotten myself into enough trouble for one day; if I open my mouth right now, I might say the wrong thing, I thought.
I glanced over at John. He had a look of amusement and irritation shining in his eyes. "Geez Deb, I can't take you anywhere," he quipped. Oh well, at least the hiccups were gone.
*BTW this is the same restaurant I refered to in my story Sasee published. After this incident, it's a wonder the owner of the restaurant doesn't have a poster of me on the register, saying Don't admit this person.
"Okay, it's not funny anymore," John said after the fifth hiccup.
"You think I'm doing this on purpose?"
"I wouldn't put anything past you." Now, people at the tables nearby glanced my way. Never at a lose for words, John smiled at one staring couple and said, "This is just her warm-up routine. Wait till you see her grand finale." His comment lightened the mood, and a few pople offered advice an how to get rid of my problem. I tried everything they suggested: drinking a glass of tea without taking a breath, drinking from the wrong side of my water glass, holding my breath. . .nothing worked. Then I remembered an old cure my grandmother taught me: eat a spoonful of sugar.
Oblivious to everything around me, I ripped open a sugar packet, tilted my head back, and poured it in my mouth. I swallowed the sugar in one gulp. It worked! The hiccups were gone. I basked in the glow of my accomplishment until I head a gentle voice behind me.
"Uhm, madam, you're food is coming right out, but if you're that hungry I can bring you some chips and salsa. Red-faced, I turned and saw our waitress standing behind me. She had witnessed the whole sugar-eating incident.
"Oh no, I'm fine." True to her word, the waitress returned a few minutes later with our food.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, eying me cautiously. I nodded and stuffed a forkful of rice in my mouth. I've gotten myself into enough trouble for one day; if I open my mouth right now, I might say the wrong thing, I thought.
I glanced over at John. He had a look of amusement and irritation shining in his eyes. "Geez Deb, I can't take you anywhere," he quipped. Oh well, at least the hiccups were gone.
*BTW this is the same restaurant I refered to in my story Sasee published. After this incident, it's a wonder the owner of the restaurant doesn't have a poster of me on the register, saying Don't admit this person.
I created a new website for my writing only. Please feel free to check it out at http://home.centurytel.net/followingmydream.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Machine wins the first round; Human wins the second
During the last couple of days, my life has been, well, interesting to say the least. It all started Tuesday night. I went outside for my nightly walk, when I tripped over something huge. I went down on both knees, decorating them with nice scrape marks from the gravel. I completed the look by brusing the side of my left knee, and popping the right knee out of place. I'm sure I looked like something out of Night of the Living Dead, as I struggled to get off the ground. The dog ran over, took one look at me, then whined and ran off. Lassie, he isn't. As I was floundering on the ground, my right knee popped back in. I knew it would; I've had trouble with it ever since high school.
What the hairy heck did I trip over? I felt the object, gritting my teeth in anger when I determined what it was. No, it can't be! I told Seth to put his #@$&* bicycle in the garage, I raged. But, sure enough, there it lay on the ground beside me. I considered picking up the bike, and giving one of the oak trees a nice bow tie.
It takes a lot to truly anger me, but now I was in pain AND ticked off.
I hobbled to the house and lurched inside, blood trickling down both my legs. My oldest had the gall to glare at me and say "Well? What do YOU want?" I didn't scream, didn't lose my temper, but I gritted my teeth and gave him THE LOOK. He got the message, got hubby, and without a word, cleaned up the kitchen for me. Hubby is an ex-paramedic, so he's the family emergency doc. LOL. I sat the rest of the night pouting on the couch with an ice bag on my knee.
The next day John came home and handed me a small cardboard box. 'What's this?" I asked.
"It's the DSL modem."
"Great! When will they be out to install it?"
"They're not. You have to." Needless to say, I wasn't happy. I can fix small software problems, but when it comes to adding things externally to the computer, I'm a dunce.
I tried charming my hubby, but he wasn't buying into it, rarely does; he's an Italian version of "Ricky Ricardo".
"I have a meeting tonight," he said, kissing me on the head, "have fun".
"'Have fun my fanny," I grumbled. Enlisting the aid of my oldest, we read the directions, plugged in cords and installed the software.
Immediately I received a message "Explorer has experienced a problem. The program will now close." Argh! My knee still hurt from the night before, now the computer as messing with me. That dumb machine was not going to beat me. Might be a software coflict. I deleted a web accelerator program, rebooted, and tried again. WAHLA! It worked. Within minutes I was surfing the web at "break-neck speed." For once, my stubborness paid off.
What the hairy heck did I trip over? I felt the object, gritting my teeth in anger when I determined what it was. No, it can't be! I told Seth to put his #@$&* bicycle in the garage, I raged. But, sure enough, there it lay on the ground beside me. I considered picking up the bike, and giving one of the oak trees a nice bow tie.
It takes a lot to truly anger me, but now I was in pain AND ticked off.
I hobbled to the house and lurched inside, blood trickling down both my legs. My oldest had the gall to glare at me and say "Well? What do YOU want?" I didn't scream, didn't lose my temper, but I gritted my teeth and gave him THE LOOK. He got the message, got hubby, and without a word, cleaned up the kitchen for me. Hubby is an ex-paramedic, so he's the family emergency doc. LOL. I sat the rest of the night pouting on the couch with an ice bag on my knee.
The next day John came home and handed me a small cardboard box. 'What's this?" I asked.
"It's the DSL modem."
"Great! When will they be out to install it?"
"They're not. You have to." Needless to say, I wasn't happy. I can fix small software problems, but when it comes to adding things externally to the computer, I'm a dunce.
I tried charming my hubby, but he wasn't buying into it, rarely does; he's an Italian version of "Ricky Ricardo".
"I have a meeting tonight," he said, kissing me on the head, "have fun".
"'Have fun my fanny," I grumbled. Enlisting the aid of my oldest, we read the directions, plugged in cords and installed the software.
Immediately I received a message "Explorer has experienced a problem. The program will now close." Argh! My knee still hurt from the night before, now the computer as messing with me. That dumb machine was not going to beat me. Might be a software coflict. I deleted a web accelerator program, rebooted, and tried again. WAHLA! It worked. Within minutes I was surfing the web at "break-neck speed." For once, my stubborness paid off.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Queen of Cheap
If you’re looking for the “queen of cheap,” look no further, I’m sitting right here. I have been known to pinch pennies until they scream for mercy, but then again, I come by my thriftiness honestly.
As a child, parents raised their own meat, and canned fruits and veggies from our garden. Of course, there were eggs from the chickens, and we milked our own cows. During the spring and early summer, we gathered wild berries and grapes and caught fish out of the creek. Put my hair in pigtails and call me Laura Ingalls, but that’s how we lived. We weren’t poor—wasn’t rich either-- but my daddy grew up after the Great Depression, knew how hard times could be without money, and was determined it would never happen to his family. He was frugal, and taught me how to “hold on to my money” at an early age.
It has truly paid off. I make my own pastries, bread, and even mayo; I don’t have to, but I like it, it’s relaxing. Here a couple of cost effective recipes I hope you enjoy.
Quick and Cheap brownies
1 regular size Betty Crocker chocolate fudge cake mix
½ cup oil
¼ cup water
2 eggs (well beaten)
Preheat oven to 350.
Combine mix, oil, and water and stir well. Add the two eggs and stir well. Pour the batter into a lightly greased and floured 13x9 pan. Bake for 30-35 minutes at 350 or until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean.
Depending on how you cut them, it should make close to two dozen brownies. Someone has probably already tried this, but I’ve never done it until now.
I payed $.88 for the cake mix versus $1.25 for the regular brownie mix.
As a child, parents raised their own meat, and canned fruits and veggies from our garden. Of course, there were eggs from the chickens, and we milked our own cows. During the spring and early summer, we gathered wild berries and grapes and caught fish out of the creek. Put my hair in pigtails and call me Laura Ingalls, but that’s how we lived. We weren’t poor—wasn’t rich either-- but my daddy grew up after the Great Depression, knew how hard times could be without money, and was determined it would never happen to his family. He was frugal, and taught me how to “hold on to my money” at an early age.
It has truly paid off. I make my own pastries, bread, and even mayo; I don’t have to, but I like it, it’s relaxing. Here a couple of cost effective recipes I hope you enjoy.
Quick and Cheap brownies
1 regular size Betty Crocker chocolate fudge cake mix
½ cup oil
¼ cup water
2 eggs (well beaten)
Preheat oven to 350.
Combine mix, oil, and water and stir well. Add the two eggs and stir well. Pour the batter into a lightly greased and floured 13x9 pan. Bake for 30-35 minutes at 350 or until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean.
Depending on how you cut them, it should make close to two dozen brownies. Someone has probably already tried this, but I’ve never done it until now.
I payed $.88 for the cake mix versus $1.25 for the regular brownie mix.
This is a great recipe I got off the PBS website. You can actually skip using the walnuts, and it still tastes wonderful.
I didn't make the sauce that went with it. I had all the ingredients but the buns, lentils, and walnuts. For a recipe that made 4 burgers--without the sauce--my grand total was $3.07.
BTW, a great place to search for freebies is Mary's Freebies. I've gotten samples of tea, free bracelets, ect.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
At last. . .I'm back
I finally did it! After going several "rounds" with my internet service provider, I finally reached someone who actually cared enough to listen. In the past couple of weeks, I had done everything short of standing on my head for these people to get them to re-instate dial up until DSL was in effect. Every time I was met with the same response, "You're DSL account is pending activation, making your internet inaccessible at this time." Argh! I was ready to bite roofing nails after every conversation with these people.
This time was different. Again, I got a bored voice at the other end. I gave him the info he requested, and his attitude changed when I told him the name of my town.
"Hey," he exclaimed, "I'm actually talking to a local."
"No way! You mean I'm not talking to an out-of-state customer rep?"
"No, a hometown boy," he chuckled. "What can I help you with?" This can definitely work to my advantage, I thought. I had tried pleading and demanding in the past, now I would try to be charming. I prefer to be straightforward, but I can be very charming if the need arises, and the need had arisen.
I told him the problem. "What makes it so bad is I have to drive all the way into town and wrestle with a toddler while I check my email at the library."
"Hmmm. That's definitely a bummer."
"I know you can fix the problem. We have nothing but the best techs working on the local level," I crooned. I almost gagged over the sugary compliments I had dished out. The tech bit the line though.
"Well, let me see what I can do to get you going here. If I can't do it, I know my supervisor can." He put me on hold, and in a few minutes, came back on the line. "You're set," he announced.
"Oh wow! You're awesome!" I definitely meant that compliment.
Now, until DSL kicks in I have access from home. WAHOO!
***I'm so happy to be back. I missed hearing from each and every one of you on a regular basis. Can you believe I've been "talking" to some of you for almost a year now? That's wonderful! Thanks again to all of you for always being there for me.
This time was different. Again, I got a bored voice at the other end. I gave him the info he requested, and his attitude changed when I told him the name of my town.
"Hey," he exclaimed, "I'm actually talking to a local."
"No way! You mean I'm not talking to an out-of-state customer rep?"
"No, a hometown boy," he chuckled. "What can I help you with?" This can definitely work to my advantage, I thought. I had tried pleading and demanding in the past, now I would try to be charming. I prefer to be straightforward, but I can be very charming if the need arises, and the need had arisen.
I told him the problem. "What makes it so bad is I have to drive all the way into town and wrestle with a toddler while I check my email at the library."
"Hmmm. That's definitely a bummer."
"I know you can fix the problem. We have nothing but the best techs working on the local level," I crooned. I almost gagged over the sugary compliments I had dished out. The tech bit the line though.
"Well, let me see what I can do to get you going here. If I can't do it, I know my supervisor can." He put me on hold, and in a few minutes, came back on the line. "You're set," he announced.
"Oh wow! You're awesome!" I definitely meant that compliment.
Now, until DSL kicks in I have access from home. WAHOO!
***I'm so happy to be back. I missed hearing from each and every one of you on a regular basis. Can you believe I've been "talking" to some of you for almost a year now? That's wonderful! Thanks again to all of you for always being there for me.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Clumsy, or a curse?
*****Thanks for all your wonderful comments and prayers. Still at the library. The GMC broke down last week and I was at home; I was not very happy. The thing with my internet is this. I'm switching over to DSL, and they canceled my dial up account. DSL will be active vnext week, I thought this week, but I was wrong.
I am cursed with the ability of getting myself into awkward, if not downright embarrassing, situations.
It started in high school; on the opening night of a play my drama class was performing for the public. I was a main character, and with the exception of a butterfly doing the waltz in my stomach, I felt great. On the way to the school, I ran through my lines in my head, and tried to relax. “Break a leg!” my dad said as I got out of the car. He had no idea I’d take what he said literally
The dressing rooms over the stage were a beehive of activity as some of my classmates frantically searched for missing pieces of costumes, while others rushed to get their hair and make-up done. We had a couple of hours to get dressed, but time soared by, and all too soon, our drama teacher came in and announced, “Curtain in fifteen minutes.” Make-up was thrown on the counter, shoes and wigs were hastily donned, and groans of “I’m not ready yet,” filled the air.
Finally, we were done, and the cast made its way down the steep stairway to the backstage area. I was the last one to enter the stairway. I was dressed in a floor-length satin dress, and was wearing two-inch heels. As I tottered down the steps, I thought, I hope my heel doesn’t get caught in this stupid dress. No sooner had I thought it, it happened. As I stepped down to the next step, my heel caught in the hem, and down I went, hitting my knees on the rim of the stair.
To this day, I don’t know how I did it, but as I fell down the next step, I pulled my legs out from under me, and bounced down the remaining ten steps on my butt. The slickness of the dress and of the steps made stopping impossible. With each step, my dress rose higher up my legs; my classmates moved aside as I bounced by, their mouths open in shock. “Really Deb, this is no time for games. Stop it!” one classmate yelled as I bounced past.
“I CAN’T!” I yelled back. I reached the bottom, ahead of everyone else. Despite the throbbing pain in my knees, I smiled at my buddies and chirped, “Well, I beat everyone down!” My dress was pulled up past my thighs, and everyone was treated to the sight of the red track shorts I wore underneath.
One of my friends, Chelsea, raced ahead, looking for the drama teacher, the others helped me to my feet, straightened my dress for me, and handed me my wig, which I had lost in the process. I fought back tears as I stood up; the pain in my knees was almost unbearable.
Chelsea returned with the principal, who also doubled as my cross-country coach and the drama sponsor. “Let’s get her backstage,” he said gruffly. Before I could protest, one of my muscular male cast mates swept me off my feet and carried me.
“I can walk . . .I think.”
“Just relax and enjoy the ride. Pretend you’re a princess,” he quipped, grinning at me.
My principal examined me tender knees, and deduced I had only badly bruised myself. I was, however, to sit in a chair backstage with ice on my knees between stage appearances. After all, the show had to go on.
Yesterday, I found out the curse was hereditary. I was at the grocery store checkout line with my oldest, when I turned and saw him sitting on the floor.
“Why are you sitting there? Get off the floor!” I snapped.
Red-faced, Seth rose from the floor and dusted himself off. “I don’t know what happened. I was just leaning on the cart, then stepped on my own feet and fell.”
Both Seth and I seem to have a problem with our feet in public. Perhaps we should go barefoot.
I am cursed with the ability of getting myself into awkward, if not downright embarrassing, situations.
It started in high school; on the opening night of a play my drama class was performing for the public. I was a main character, and with the exception of a butterfly doing the waltz in my stomach, I felt great. On the way to the school, I ran through my lines in my head, and tried to relax. “Break a leg!” my dad said as I got out of the car. He had no idea I’d take what he said literally
The dressing rooms over the stage were a beehive of activity as some of my classmates frantically searched for missing pieces of costumes, while others rushed to get their hair and make-up done. We had a couple of hours to get dressed, but time soared by, and all too soon, our drama teacher came in and announced, “Curtain in fifteen minutes.” Make-up was thrown on the counter, shoes and wigs were hastily donned, and groans of “I’m not ready yet,” filled the air.
Finally, we were done, and the cast made its way down the steep stairway to the backstage area. I was the last one to enter the stairway. I was dressed in a floor-length satin dress, and was wearing two-inch heels. As I tottered down the steps, I thought, I hope my heel doesn’t get caught in this stupid dress. No sooner had I thought it, it happened. As I stepped down to the next step, my heel caught in the hem, and down I went, hitting my knees on the rim of the stair.
To this day, I don’t know how I did it, but as I fell down the next step, I pulled my legs out from under me, and bounced down the remaining ten steps on my butt. The slickness of the dress and of the steps made stopping impossible. With each step, my dress rose higher up my legs; my classmates moved aside as I bounced by, their mouths open in shock. “Really Deb, this is no time for games. Stop it!” one classmate yelled as I bounced past.
“I CAN’T!” I yelled back. I reached the bottom, ahead of everyone else. Despite the throbbing pain in my knees, I smiled at my buddies and chirped, “Well, I beat everyone down!” My dress was pulled up past my thighs, and everyone was treated to the sight of the red track shorts I wore underneath.
One of my friends, Chelsea, raced ahead, looking for the drama teacher, the others helped me to my feet, straightened my dress for me, and handed me my wig, which I had lost in the process. I fought back tears as I stood up; the pain in my knees was almost unbearable.
Chelsea returned with the principal, who also doubled as my cross-country coach and the drama sponsor. “Let’s get her backstage,” he said gruffly. Before I could protest, one of my muscular male cast mates swept me off my feet and carried me.
“I can walk . . .I think.”
“Just relax and enjoy the ride. Pretend you’re a princess,” he quipped, grinning at me.
My principal examined me tender knees, and deduced I had only badly bruised myself. I was, however, to sit in a chair backstage with ice on my knees between stage appearances. After all, the show had to go on.
Yesterday, I found out the curse was hereditary. I was at the grocery store checkout line with my oldest, when I turned and saw him sitting on the floor.
“Why are you sitting there? Get off the floor!” I snapped.
Red-faced, Seth rose from the floor and dusted himself off. “I don’t know what happened. I was just leaning on the cart, then stepped on my own feet and fell.”
Both Seth and I seem to have a problem with our feet in public. Perhaps we should go barefoot.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Argh!
Update: I just read all your responses from the last post. You are all so awesome! BTW My story in Sasee magazine is online now. http://www.sasee.com
I just got word it will take another week until my computer is restored. Argh! I’m going nuts without it! I always try to see the “sunny” side of things, and this situation does have its good points.
1. It’s allowed me some “down-time.” I’ve been “sweating the small stuff,” pushing myself too hard, and it, couple with a couple of more major worries, was taking its toll on me physically and emotionally. Ever since I can remember, my parents taught me to enjoy life; to work hard, but to also take time out for fun. I had forgotten how to do the latter. Since the computer has been on the fritz, I’ve been outside more enjoying nature more and playing with the kids.
Hmm. What have I been stressed about? Remember I said I was concerned about the status of two manuscripts for children I had sent off? Before the computer went, I contacted one publishing house. They had my manuscript for several months past the reply deadline, and I hadn’t heard from them. The same day I received a response from the editor. She explained she “loved the manuscript,” and for several months had tried to find a place for it in their publishing house, but was unsuccessful. She stressed again that she loved the MS, and she “strongly encouraged me to submit to another house.”
Do I believe her? Absolutely. She is a very well respected editor in the publishing field. Still, rejection anyway you slice it still stings a little, no matter how many writing credits you have, or how “thick-skinned” you are. I look at it this way; either you can mope around, feel sorry for yourself and quit, or you can “suck it up,” re-evaluate and re-edit your MS and move on. You can’t give up because of a rejection; Dr. Seuss was rejected 40 something times before his first book was published.
After I shed a few tears into my root beer, I re-evaluated my manuscript and submitted elsewhere.
That same day, I took a deep breath and phoned the other publishing house to check on the other MS. I was shocked when the editor himself answered the phone, and as a result, I turned into a babbling idiot. I asked him about the status of my story.
“What’s the name of the story?” he asked.
“Umm.” Oh my gosh, I can’t remember the title of my own story, I thought, horrified. Finally, it came to me. “Daisy’s Soggy Boggy Day,” I blurted. I heard him chuckling as he typed something into the computer. Thank goodness he has a sense of humor.
He apologized and told me they were short handed, and didn’t have a chance to read it yet. So, there’s still a good chance with that one too.
The last bit of news is a little more depressing. For the past several months, my sister-in-law has been battling pancreas cancer; it’s now spread throughout her whole body. Then, a month ago, I learned our aunt, who is like a grandmother to me, has liver cancer. She’s eighty and a remarkable lady. She journeyed here from Sicily when she was a young girl. I’ve always kept from airing out the “family’s dirty laundry” in public, but I’ve been stressed over this for so long, and just needed to get it off my chest. Thanks for listening.
I just got word it will take another week until my computer is restored. Argh! I’m going nuts without it! I always try to see the “sunny” side of things, and this situation does have its good points.
1. It’s allowed me some “down-time.” I’ve been “sweating the small stuff,” pushing myself too hard, and it, couple with a couple of more major worries, was taking its toll on me physically and emotionally. Ever since I can remember, my parents taught me to enjoy life; to work hard, but to also take time out for fun. I had forgotten how to do the latter. Since the computer has been on the fritz, I’ve been outside more enjoying nature more and playing with the kids.
Hmm. What have I been stressed about? Remember I said I was concerned about the status of two manuscripts for children I had sent off? Before the computer went, I contacted one publishing house. They had my manuscript for several months past the reply deadline, and I hadn’t heard from them. The same day I received a response from the editor. She explained she “loved the manuscript,” and for several months had tried to find a place for it in their publishing house, but was unsuccessful. She stressed again that she loved the MS, and she “strongly encouraged me to submit to another house.”
Do I believe her? Absolutely. She is a very well respected editor in the publishing field. Still, rejection anyway you slice it still stings a little, no matter how many writing credits you have, or how “thick-skinned” you are. I look at it this way; either you can mope around, feel sorry for yourself and quit, or you can “suck it up,” re-evaluate and re-edit your MS and move on. You can’t give up because of a rejection; Dr. Seuss was rejected 40 something times before his first book was published.
After I shed a few tears into my root beer, I re-evaluated my manuscript and submitted elsewhere.
That same day, I took a deep breath and phoned the other publishing house to check on the other MS. I was shocked when the editor himself answered the phone, and as a result, I turned into a babbling idiot. I asked him about the status of my story.
“What’s the name of the story?” he asked.
“Umm.” Oh my gosh, I can’t remember the title of my own story, I thought, horrified. Finally, it came to me. “Daisy’s Soggy Boggy Day,” I blurted. I heard him chuckling as he typed something into the computer. Thank goodness he has a sense of humor.
He apologized and told me they were short handed, and didn’t have a chance to read it yet. So, there’s still a good chance with that one too.
The last bit of news is a little more depressing. For the past several months, my sister-in-law has been battling pancreas cancer; it’s now spread throughout her whole body. Then, a month ago, I learned our aunt, who is like a grandmother to me, has liver cancer. She’s eighty and a remarkable lady. She journeyed here from Sicily when she was a young girl. I’ve always kept from airing out the “family’s dirty laundry” in public, but I’ve been stressed over this for so long, and just needed to get it off my chest. Thanks for listening.
Friday, March 03, 2006
A note
Hi everyone! Just a quick note to let everyone know my computer is down. I'll be using the computer at the library, where time is limited. I'll try and visit as many blogs as I can.
Hugs to all,
Deb
Hugs to all,
Deb
Monday, February 27, 2006
The battle heats up
This weekend I've been fighting the age old battle, not of good vs. evil, but of parent vs. child. As his thirteenth birthday looms dangerously around the corner, my son is beginning to think I'm as dumb as a stump. The weekend breathy sighs resonated throughout the house, and eyes were rolled skyward as I constantly badgered him to clean his room. My patience tested to ts end, I contacted the most knowlegable child expert, my mommy.
It really didn't do much good though, she only reminded me of my short-comings as a child. I was a very rebellious teen. I wore jeans to church on Sunday nights. My dad really didn't care about the jeans at night services, just as long as I was in church; Mama was horrified though. After Daddy died, I got real rebellious. One fine summer day, I was riding my horse a couple of hours before night services. She said, "I don't care how you get there, but I want you in church tonight. She should have specified what mode of transportation I took. A couple of hours later I arrived at church. Mom flashed me a "You knew you'd better come look,' from her seat in the pew. She thought she'd won until church released after services.
"I want you to take your cousin home for me."
"I don't think that's possible," I said, coolly staring at my nails.
"Why on earth not? Wait a minute, where's your car?"
"My ride is over there," I said, pointing at my palomino mare, saddled and grazing at the end of a picket line. I saw the furious _expression in my mother's eyes, and thought an explanation was in order. "You said 'get here,' you didn't say how." Mother rolled her eyes and stormed away. I won that battle.
And now as I look back on this past weekend, I see myself in the same position she was in so many years ago. Yes, the challenge as been made, and in yet another generation, the battle wages on.
It really didn't do much good though, she only reminded me of my short-comings as a child. I was a very rebellious teen. I wore jeans to church on Sunday nights. My dad really didn't care about the jeans at night services, just as long as I was in church; Mama was horrified though. After Daddy died, I got real rebellious. One fine summer day, I was riding my horse a couple of hours before night services. She said, "I don't care how you get there, but I want you in church tonight. She should have specified what mode of transportation I took. A couple of hours later I arrived at church. Mom flashed me a "You knew you'd better come look,' from her seat in the pew. She thought she'd won until church released after services.
"I want you to take your cousin home for me."
"I don't think that's possible," I said, coolly staring at my nails.
"Why on earth not? Wait a minute, where's your car?"
"My ride is over there," I said, pointing at my palomino mare, saddled and grazing at the end of a picket line. I saw the furious _expression in my mother's eyes, and thought an explanation was in order. "You said 'get here,' you didn't say how." Mother rolled her eyes and stormed away. I won that battle.
And now as I look back on this past weekend, I see myself in the same position she was in so many years ago. Yes, the challenge as been made, and in yet another generation, the battle wages on.
Friday, February 24, 2006
The dust has settled. . .
The dust is settled and things are back to normal since the "chocolate" incident. I was able to rescue another cleverly hidden chocolate bar and enjoy this one in private.
Another much sought after commodity in my house is soda. My children never cease to amaze me. Sometimes, they are in the other part of the house, but appear like magic, slobbering like thirsty hounds, when they hear the quiet pfft of a soda can being opened; other times a hundred piece marching band, playing Stars and Stripes Forever, could march through the house and they would never notice.
In his most recent post, my friend, Dave, mentioned his drink of choice was Coke. I couldn't agree with him more. Other than an occasional chilled glass of vino or a "White Russian", Coke is my "poison" of choice. I love the slightly biting edge it has. Like so many other things recently, Coke triggers fond childhood memories.
Every Saturday afternoon it was a ritual in my house for my dad, mom, and I to take a nap after lunch. Daddy and I always fell asleep watching The Rifleman, but Mom rarely napped. Those naps allowed her precious "alone time" to do whatever she pleased. I was always awakened from my nap with a cold half bottle of Coke, and some peanut butter crackers. I still remember how cold and refreshing the slender bottle felt in my hands. Coke may have reverted to the original formula, but the product in the can still cannot contend with the product in the glass bottles.
On another note..............................................
*My comments are in bold
Ms. Vickie had several interesting points about life on her blog, and I couldn't agree more. To fight aging , she suggests:
1. "Enjoy the simple things."
Try to see the world through a child's eyes. You'll be surprised at what you've been missing.
2. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.
I spent twenty miserable years grieving over my dad; that's not how he taught me to live my life. Enjoy every moment of every day like it was your last.
Make decisive decisions and stick with them. Don't look back and dwell on the "only ifs" and "what ifs". They will eat you alive emotionally, and it will not change the outcome of what has already happened.
Don't fear failure, learn from your mistakes. We fail at something--whether it be a recipe or a test--at least once a day every day of our lives.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
The affair
I thought I was safe, I should have know better. All day I had cajoled and pampered my two sick kids, all the while counting the minutes until he and I could enjoy a reckless moment of abandon. It was a secret affair I had kept hidden for almost a week, not even John knew it. Finally, it was time.
I left the kids in the oldest's bedroom, happily watching television. A small twinge of guilt hit me as I stared at their innocent faces, so childlike, so unknowing. My heart pounding, I crept into the laundry room and prepared for my careless fling. He was already there waiting for me, hiding behind the dryer. I grabbed him and breathed deeply, enjoying his peanutty fragrance. My passion in overdrive, I ripped his wrapper--- Oh, by the way, did I mention my passionate fling was with a Butterfinger?
Chocolate is a scarce commodity in my house; my children are chocolate mongers. To be able to caress the precious candy bar I had in my hand was a rare treat. Carefully, I ripped the wrapper a little more; the wrapper crinkled loudly. "Shhh!" I hissed, looking around anxiously. Sure enough, the door burst open, and my toddler stood in the doorway, sniffing the air like a hungry, half-rabid wolf.
In the dim light of the laundry room he spotted me cringing in the corner. He pointed his nose into the air and howled the hunting cry "Chocolate!" I had no chance, there was no escape. Within minutes the older boy joined the fray, and soon my candy bar was no more. They walked away with chocolate smeared on their faces. I was left with only an empty wrapper.
I left the kids in the oldest's bedroom, happily watching television. A small twinge of guilt hit me as I stared at their innocent faces, so childlike, so unknowing. My heart pounding, I crept into the laundry room and prepared for my careless fling. He was already there waiting for me, hiding behind the dryer. I grabbed him and breathed deeply, enjoying his peanutty fragrance. My passion in overdrive, I ripped his wrapper--- Oh, by the way, did I mention my passionate fling was with a Butterfinger?
Chocolate is a scarce commodity in my house; my children are chocolate mongers. To be able to caress the precious candy bar I had in my hand was a rare treat. Carefully, I ripped the wrapper a little more; the wrapper crinkled loudly. "Shhh!" I hissed, looking around anxiously. Sure enough, the door burst open, and my toddler stood in the doorway, sniffing the air like a hungry, half-rabid wolf.
In the dim light of the laundry room he spotted me cringing in the corner. He pointed his nose into the air and howled the hunting cry "Chocolate!" I had no chance, there was no escape. Within minutes the older boy joined the fray, and soon my candy bar was no more. They walked away with chocolate smeared on their faces. I was left with only an empty wrapper.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Remembering and yearning
Ah yes, the morning has finally arrived when I can sniff the aroma of freshly brewed coffee without retching. Thanks to everyone for keeping us in your thoughts and prayers.
When I feel as badly as I did, I wish for my childhood home and the comforts I found there. The gentle tap-tap of the pecan tree’s branch on my bedroom window as it swayed gently in the breeze was always a soothing sound for me as I lay sick in my bed. I miss the faint aroma of my mother’s perfume as she gently laid a cool hand on my forehead, checking for fever.
I crave the wide-open prairies I thundered across on my horse, for the tall prairie grasses that whooshed as we raced through them, striking my bare legs with their tips as if punishing me for invading their privacy. These were the same grasses, on other days that were my best friend as I lay among them by the creek, reading a book, or staring at the clouds. They whispered secrets of times gone past as the wind gently blew through them.
I miss early morning rides. The magical hour before dawn when the earth was silent and seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the sun to rise. The ground emitted a fresh, slightly parched scent, and the dew still clung to the native grasses. My palomino horse, Dewdrop, pranced excitedly, eager to be off and perturbed by the tight rein I held on her until we were out of the corral. I miss the release of her tightly coiled muscles as I loosened the reins. She was my horse, and I knew she would give her life for me, and I for hers. She tolerated no one else on her back but me. We were joined heart and soul; the kind of relationship every cowboy or cowgirl wants with their steed.
Sometimes, on those early morning rides, a coyote appeared, and together we raced through the grasses side by side, until it veered off and disappeared.
It’s been thirteen years since I’ve experienced the comforts of my childhood home, and though some things have changed, I have to look no further then my precious memories to find he comfort and warmth I yearn for.
When I feel as badly as I did, I wish for my childhood home and the comforts I found there. The gentle tap-tap of the pecan tree’s branch on my bedroom window as it swayed gently in the breeze was always a soothing sound for me as I lay sick in my bed. I miss the faint aroma of my mother’s perfume as she gently laid a cool hand on my forehead, checking for fever.
I crave the wide-open prairies I thundered across on my horse, for the tall prairie grasses that whooshed as we raced through them, striking my bare legs with their tips as if punishing me for invading their privacy. These were the same grasses, on other days that were my best friend as I lay among them by the creek, reading a book, or staring at the clouds. They whispered secrets of times gone past as the wind gently blew through them.
I miss early morning rides. The magical hour before dawn when the earth was silent and seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the sun to rise. The ground emitted a fresh, slightly parched scent, and the dew still clung to the native grasses. My palomino horse, Dewdrop, pranced excitedly, eager to be off and perturbed by the tight rein I held on her until we were out of the corral. I miss the release of her tightly coiled muscles as I loosened the reins. She was my horse, and I knew she would give her life for me, and I for hers. She tolerated no one else on her back but me. We were joined heart and soul; the kind of relationship every cowboy or cowgirl wants with their steed.
Sometimes, on those early morning rides, a coyote appeared, and together we raced through the grasses side by side, until it veered off and disappeared.
It’s been thirteen years since I’ve experienced the comforts of my childhood home, and though some things have changed, I have to look no further then my precious memories to find he comfort and warmth I yearn for.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Yech
The last few days have passed in a fog for me. Wednesday, my sons and I chose to eat ate a local fast food eatery after we did the grocery shopping. I don't usually frequent fast food joints, and after this week, I'll never do it again. Long story short, we have food poisoning. I'll add more to this when I feel better. Hugs to all and have a great weekend.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Another Christine?
I hate cars smarter than I am. I have a “plain-Jane” GMC Jimmy equipped with a CD player. The tiny SUV asks me no questions, just starts up and goes when I turn the key in the ignition. I had a wonderful relationship with it until it broke down a couple of weeks ago; that put a severe kink in my lifestyle.
I’m an avid nature lover; I like to drive to the state park and meander among the trees when my mind is overstuffed or I just want some alone time. Without my set of wheels, a trip to the park was not in my future. I tried to “make do” here at home, but there is just so much meandering around four trees you can do before you get bored. There are also not many hiding places away from the kids. I have the option of either walking down the drive or hiding under the house with the rattlesnakes, and I really don’t think the snakes want a new neighbor.
Just before I thought I would lose my sanity, my “knight in shining armor,” my hubby, came to the rescue. He’s gone for a whole week to a conference, but before he left, he rented me a Toyota Corolla. My hero!
After he left on Sunday, I loaded the kids into the Corolla. I needed to exchange some things at the store, and not only would the trip be refreshing, it would make time pass faster. Happily, I sank into the driver’s seat and turned the key. Nothing. No way! This can’t be happening to me, I fumed. I checked that the car was in park, and tried again, nothing.
“You and Robert get out of the car and go inside while I call the rental place,” I barked at Seth while fumbling for my cell phone. I walked a few yards away and dialed the number. My children stared at me from the back seat of the car. Why are they still sitting there? I wondered.
I got an answering machine at the rental place. Darn it, they’re closed. I stomped back to the car and looked for another contact number.
“Did you know you, or do you care we’re locked in the back?” Jonathan asked me icily. Huh? Oh, there must be child safety locks in the back. I looked at the back doors, and sure enough, there were the child safety locks. I
“Sorry buddy,” I said, flipping the lock back on one of the doors. I tried the outside handle to the door and, nothing. It wouldn’t open. What the. . . I reached my arm into the back of the car and tried that handle, again nothing. What is this thing, Christine? I finally found the roadside service number on the receipt and called it.
“________rental cars road side service. Are you in a safe place?” a guy at the other end of the phone asked.
“Yeah, I’m in my driveway.”
“Well, you can’t get any safer than that,” the guy chuckled. “What’s the problem?”
I told the guy my problem, and he said it was the security system on the car. He told me you have to put your foot on the brake to start the car. If you don’t the car assumes it’s being stolen and the ignition system shuts down. The helpful guy told me how to override the system and get the car started.
“Is anything else wrong with the car?” he asked.
“It’s eaten my children.”
“Eaten your children? Whadda ya mean it’s eaten your children?” he screeched. I thought from his previous comments he had a jovial sense of humor. Either my comment caught him off-guard, or there really is something to my Christine theory, I thought.
“I’m sorry. I was joking about the ‘eaten’ part. The rear doors will not open, even with the child safety locks unlocked.”
The guy, obviously relieved his car did not turn demonic, said when the car sense it is about to be stolen, it shuts everything off and even disables the locks. I hung up and eyed the car. Many things in my life have made me doubt my abilities, but never a car, until now. I cautiously eased into the driver’s seat and tried what the rep advised. It worked!
The boys cheered as we drove off, but were silenced when the doors locked themselves; it was another security measure of the car’s.
I don’t like cars that are smarter than I am. Give me a bicycle any day over a super-smart car.
-------------------------------
I’m an avid nature lover; I like to drive to the state park and meander among the trees when my mind is overstuffed or I just want some alone time. Without my set of wheels, a trip to the park was not in my future. I tried to “make do” here at home, but there is just so much meandering around four trees you can do before you get bored. There are also not many hiding places away from the kids. I have the option of either walking down the drive or hiding under the house with the rattlesnakes, and I really don’t think the snakes want a new neighbor.
Just before I thought I would lose my sanity, my “knight in shining armor,” my hubby, came to the rescue. He’s gone for a whole week to a conference, but before he left, he rented me a Toyota Corolla. My hero!
After he left on Sunday, I loaded the kids into the Corolla. I needed to exchange some things at the store, and not only would the trip be refreshing, it would make time pass faster. Happily, I sank into the driver’s seat and turned the key. Nothing. No way! This can’t be happening to me, I fumed. I checked that the car was in park, and tried again, nothing.
“You and Robert get out of the car and go inside while I call the rental place,” I barked at Seth while fumbling for my cell phone. I walked a few yards away and dialed the number. My children stared at me from the back seat of the car. Why are they still sitting there? I wondered.
I got an answering machine at the rental place. Darn it, they’re closed. I stomped back to the car and looked for another contact number.
“Did you know you, or do you care we’re locked in the back?” Jonathan asked me icily. Huh? Oh, there must be child safety locks in the back. I looked at the back doors, and sure enough, there were the child safety locks. I
“Sorry buddy,” I said, flipping the lock back on one of the doors. I tried the outside handle to the door and, nothing. It wouldn’t open. What the. . . I reached my arm into the back of the car and tried that handle, again nothing. What is this thing, Christine? I finally found the roadside service number on the receipt and called it.
“________rental cars road side service. Are you in a safe place?” a guy at the other end of the phone asked.
“Yeah, I’m in my driveway.”
“Well, you can’t get any safer than that,” the guy chuckled. “What’s the problem?”
I told the guy my problem, and he said it was the security system on the car. He told me you have to put your foot on the brake to start the car. If you don’t the car assumes it’s being stolen and the ignition system shuts down. The helpful guy told me how to override the system and get the car started.
“Is anything else wrong with the car?” he asked.
“It’s eaten my children.”
“Eaten your children? Whadda ya mean it’s eaten your children?” he screeched. I thought from his previous comments he had a jovial sense of humor. Either my comment caught him off-guard, or there really is something to my Christine theory, I thought.
“I’m sorry. I was joking about the ‘eaten’ part. The rear doors will not open, even with the child safety locks unlocked.”
The guy, obviously relieved his car did not turn demonic, said when the car sense it is about to be stolen, it shuts everything off and even disables the locks. I hung up and eyed the car. Many things in my life have made me doubt my abilities, but never a car, until now. I cautiously eased into the driver’s seat and tried what the rep advised. It worked!
The boys cheered as we drove off, but were silenced when the doors locked themselves; it was another security measure of the car’s.
I don’t like cars that are smarter than I am. Give me a bicycle any day over a super-smart car.
-------------------------------
Saturday, February 11, 2006
My abnormal life
Almost every time I leave the safety of my home, something strange happens to me. For example, last Thanksgiving I bought a large turkey at the local grocery, and because I was planning to stop at my Wal-Mart super center, I placed it in a cooler I had brought from home. I put the cooler in the back of the truck, drove to Wal-Mart, and went into the store. Imagine my surprise when I returned and found the turkey—cooler and all—had been stolen. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t mad, but since the kids were with me, I had to censor my language.
Another time, before Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover’s Soul was released, my family and I were dining a favorite eatery when John saw a couple of ladies he grew up with. Greetings were exchanged, they sat at a table near us, and pleasant conversation ensued.
“Debbie has a story in Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover’s Soul,” John said, glancing at me proudly.
“Omigosh! You’re a writer?!,” Friend #1 screeched. I was flattered, but her outburst brought unwanted attention. I felt myself blushing as diners around us stared at me curiously.
“Can we get your autograph?” Friend #2 chimed in.
“Um, I’m not famous,” I muttered, glancing around nervously. The same diners were still staring at me. I contemplated going to the restroom and sneaking out the small window.
“That’s okay, you might be someday. I just want your signature now.” I admit I was touched by this woman’s faith in me. Fame and fortune is not what I seek though.
Given my experiences, you’d think I would have known SOMETHING was going to happen when I went to get my hair cut the other day.
It started normal; a hunky guy washed my hair, and then started to cut it. We chitchatted as he snipped, as soon he asked, “So, what do you do for a living.” I hesitated before I answered; I get mixed reactions when people ask. Some are enthusiastic, like the women I mentioned earlier, and others are scornful.
“I’m a freelance writer.”
“Neat. Writers are a tad eccentric, aren’t they?”
“No, not really,” I replied. “We’re pretty normal.” I thought about the time I poured coffee over my head. “Depending on what you define as normal,” I said quickly. A few minutes later, the cut was completed, and I borrowed their restroom facilities. When I walked out of the restroom, there was an extremely tall woman standing at the counter, smiling, and waving frantically at me. At 5’6 and ¾ inches, I’m not what you consider short, but this woman towered over me.
She looks familiar. I thought. The next few seconds were a blur. “Debbie!” the woman screamed, running towards me. She engulfed me in a huge bear hug, pinning my arms to my side, and began to cry. “I love you!” she screeched. “How the hell are have you been? It’s me, Rosemary!” I felt relieved. This was not some maniac who had randomly selected me to be her next murder victim. It was instead a dear old friend I had lost contact with through the years.
As Rosemary and I left the hair salon, I couldn’t help but think about what was considered normal. For some, an uneventful trip to the store is normal; for me, the abnormal is normal.
Another time, before Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover’s Soul was released, my family and I were dining a favorite eatery when John saw a couple of ladies he grew up with. Greetings were exchanged, they sat at a table near us, and pleasant conversation ensued.
“Debbie has a story in Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover’s Soul,” John said, glancing at me proudly.
“Omigosh! You’re a writer?!,” Friend #1 screeched. I was flattered, but her outburst brought unwanted attention. I felt myself blushing as diners around us stared at me curiously.
“Can we get your autograph?” Friend #2 chimed in.
“Um, I’m not famous,” I muttered, glancing around nervously. The same diners were still staring at me. I contemplated going to the restroom and sneaking out the small window.
“That’s okay, you might be someday. I just want your signature now.” I admit I was touched by this woman’s faith in me. Fame and fortune is not what I seek though.
Given my experiences, you’d think I would have known SOMETHING was going to happen when I went to get my hair cut the other day.
It started normal; a hunky guy washed my hair, and then started to cut it. We chitchatted as he snipped, as soon he asked, “So, what do you do for a living.” I hesitated before I answered; I get mixed reactions when people ask. Some are enthusiastic, like the women I mentioned earlier, and others are scornful.
“I’m a freelance writer.”
“Neat. Writers are a tad eccentric, aren’t they?”
“No, not really,” I replied. “We’re pretty normal.” I thought about the time I poured coffee over my head. “Depending on what you define as normal,” I said quickly. A few minutes later, the cut was completed, and I borrowed their restroom facilities. When I walked out of the restroom, there was an extremely tall woman standing at the counter, smiling, and waving frantically at me. At 5’6 and ¾ inches, I’m not what you consider short, but this woman towered over me.
She looks familiar. I thought. The next few seconds were a blur. “Debbie!” the woman screamed, running towards me. She engulfed me in a huge bear hug, pinning my arms to my side, and began to cry. “I love you!” she screeched. “How the hell are have you been? It’s me, Rosemary!” I felt relieved. This was not some maniac who had randomly selected me to be her next murder victim. It was instead a dear old friend I had lost contact with through the years.
As Rosemary and I left the hair salon, I couldn’t help but think about what was considered normal. For some, an uneventful trip to the store is normal; for me, the abnormal is normal.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Wanderer
By now, most of you are familiar with my Malamute/Husky, Blue, and all the joy and sorrow he has bestowed upon my family. If you remember, I found Blue several months ago in the bushes at my house; something clicked and the entire family fell in love with him. We learned he was our neighbor's, but was overjoyed when my neighbor so graciously said we could have the dog. Over a period of the past few months, he has disappeared and reappeared several times; each time he disappeared it played havoc with our emotions. I think it was my friend, Perpetualchocoholic, who enlightened me on the fact Huskies loved to roam. Thanks for the info by the way!
In my blog entry "A Late Christmas Miracle", Blue left us again ,but returned several weeks later after we had presumed him no longer of this world. True to form, my mutt stayed just long enough to make us think he was back for good, then pulled another disappearing act. The next day I called my local animal control to report him missing. "If you find him, please call me. He's a beloved pet and we're all heartbroken, especially my oldest son," I told the female officer.
"No problem. If I see him wandering, I'll bring him home."
"That would be great." Yeah right. She probably said that to get rid of me, I thought, hanging up the phone. A week later, I received the surprise of my life. I was busily typing on the computer at home when I heard a vehicle door slam. Curious, I raised the blinds and peered out the window. A white truck with the words Animal control on its doors was parked in the drive. What are they doing here? Still dumbfounded, I walked to the living room and opened the front door.
"Are you still missing a Husky?" the smiling female officer asked.
"W-Why yes I am."
"I was in your neighborhood checking on a female dog, when I saw Blue sleeping beside her. I remembered what you said about your son being heartbroken, so I grabbed him."
I was touched. This complete stranger had cared enough about my child to return his dog. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it," I stammered. There has to be a catch. Even though there's no lease law in the country, I thought I would still get a ticket. "How much do I owe you?"
"Oh, nothing at all. It's payment enough to know how happy your boy will be when he gets home from school." Together, we walked to the truck and unloaded a very nervous Blue. "He uh, he likes the female dog across the road," the animal control officer continued.
'That's sweet."
The officer shook her head and grinned. "You don't get it. I mean he REALLY likes the female across the street. He's been there for a week!"
"Oh," I blushed. Blue is an un-neutered male and. . .well. . .you get the picture. After the officer left, I tied Blue with a rope to a tree in the front yard. He'll be visiting the "nice" vet on Friday for a *ahem* procedure which I hope will cure some of his wonderlust. John has been working on fencing in the yard for him.
In the meantime, Blue has been working on his "nut tying." When I walk him, it seems to be his mission to wrap me up in the rope. You guessed it, I'm the nut.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here's a couple of shockers! LOL
In my blog entry "A Late Christmas Miracle", Blue left us again ,but returned several weeks later after we had presumed him no longer of this world. True to form, my mutt stayed just long enough to make us think he was back for good, then pulled another disappearing act. The next day I called my local animal control to report him missing. "If you find him, please call me. He's a beloved pet and we're all heartbroken, especially my oldest son," I told the female officer.
"No problem. If I see him wandering, I'll bring him home."
"That would be great." Yeah right. She probably said that to get rid of me, I thought, hanging up the phone. A week later, I received the surprise of my life. I was busily typing on the computer at home when I heard a vehicle door slam. Curious, I raised the blinds and peered out the window. A white truck with the words Animal control on its doors was parked in the drive. What are they doing here? Still dumbfounded, I walked to the living room and opened the front door.
"Are you still missing a Husky?" the smiling female officer asked.
"W-Why yes I am."
"I was in your neighborhood checking on a female dog, when I saw Blue sleeping beside her. I remembered what you said about your son being heartbroken, so I grabbed him."
I was touched. This complete stranger had cared enough about my child to return his dog. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it," I stammered. There has to be a catch. Even though there's no lease law in the country, I thought I would still get a ticket. "How much do I owe you?"
"Oh, nothing at all. It's payment enough to know how happy your boy will be when he gets home from school." Together, we walked to the truck and unloaded a very nervous Blue. "He uh, he likes the female dog across the road," the animal control officer continued.
'That's sweet."
The officer shook her head and grinned. "You don't get it. I mean he REALLY likes the female across the street. He's been there for a week!"
"Oh," I blushed. Blue is an un-neutered male and. . .well. . .you get the picture. After the officer left, I tied Blue with a rope to a tree in the front yard. He'll be visiting the "nice" vet on Friday for a *ahem* procedure which I hope will cure some of his wonderlust. John has been working on fencing in the yard for him.
In the meantime, Blue has been working on his "nut tying." When I walk him, it seems to be his mission to wrap me up in the rope. You guessed it, I'm the nut.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here's a couple of shockers! LOL
| You Are an Espresso |
 At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping Your caffeine addiction level: high |
| Your Career Type: Artistic |
 You are expressive, original, and independent. Your talents lie in your artistic abilities: creative writing, drama, crafts, music, or art. You would make an excellent: Actor - Art Teacher - Book Editor Clothes Designer - Comedian - Composer Dancer - DJ - Graphic Designer Illustrator - Musician - Sculptor The worst career options for your are conventional careers, like bank teller or secretary. |
Monday, February 06, 2006
Embracing my inner child
This weekend I embraced my "inner child" and had a blast. Friday night, my oldest pleaded me to leave the comfort of my notes and computer keyboard, and go outside to play. "Are you kidding?" It's 9:00 at night."
"Yeah, but there's no school tomorrow," he pointed out. "So pleeeeeeeeeaaaaase," he begged, managing to summon tears into his eyes.
He could win an Emmy with this performance, I thought. I could have tortured him by making him wait a few more minutes, but the look in his eyes was too pleading. But you weren't ready to stop writing yet, my pratical side whispered. I ignored it and instead smiled warmly at Seth.
"Okay, you win. Only for a minute though." A cold blast of air hit me in the face, jump-starting my senses as I stepped outdoors into the winter night. I took a deep breath and exhaled as I looked around, enjoying my surroundings. The lights in the town below twinkled merrily, and there was a contented hush in the neighborhood. A light wind caressed my cheek and rattled the dry native grasses nearby; giving off a parched earthy scent..
Seth and I played a joyful game of tag with the dog until we were breathless. "Whadda wanna do now?" Seth gasped.
I shrugged. "I dunno. You're calling the shots right now. What do you wanna do?"
"Spin in circles!"
I groaned inwardly. I knew what the outcome might be of that, and I didn't really relish saying hello to my supper on the ground. "Aw, come on Mommy. It'll be fun!" Mommy. It won't be too much longer till "Mommy" will sound too childish to him, and he'll want nothing more to do with me. I took a deep breath, and with my arms outstretched from my sides, I began to spin.
"Hey, wait for me!" Seth screeched. Together we twirled down the drive into the night, the hint of a moon the only light to guide us. The stars in the black velvet colored sky shimmered and danced as we twirled faster and faster. Finally, we collasped into two giggling, dizzy heaps on the lawn. I glanced over at Seth as he lay in the grass and stared at the sky. Chubby cheeks were disappearing, bring replaced by more manly chiseled facial features. A wave of sadness washed over me; my baby was becoming a man before my very eyes. We lay in the grass a few minutes more, talking and star-gazing. I didn't want the moment to end. I wanted to remember every expression he made, every thing he said. It became cooler as the hour grew later, and finally we went back inside. I was glade I had gone outside, and even more grateful to my son. For a few fleeting moments, he taught me how to be a child again.
Here's a great piece written by the late great Erma Bombeck
"Yeah, but there's no school tomorrow," he pointed out. "So pleeeeeeeeeaaaaase," he begged, managing to summon tears into his eyes.
He could win an Emmy with this performance, I thought. I could have tortured him by making him wait a few more minutes, but the look in his eyes was too pleading. But you weren't ready to stop writing yet, my pratical side whispered. I ignored it and instead smiled warmly at Seth.
"Okay, you win. Only for a minute though." A cold blast of air hit me in the face, jump-starting my senses as I stepped outdoors into the winter night. I took a deep breath and exhaled as I looked around, enjoying my surroundings. The lights in the town below twinkled merrily, and there was a contented hush in the neighborhood. A light wind caressed my cheek and rattled the dry native grasses nearby; giving off a parched earthy scent..
Seth and I played a joyful game of tag with the dog until we were breathless. "Whadda wanna do now?" Seth gasped.
I shrugged. "I dunno. You're calling the shots right now. What do you wanna do?"
"Spin in circles!"
I groaned inwardly. I knew what the outcome might be of that, and I didn't really relish saying hello to my supper on the ground. "Aw, come on Mommy. It'll be fun!" Mommy. It won't be too much longer till "Mommy" will sound too childish to him, and he'll want nothing more to do with me. I took a deep breath, and with my arms outstretched from my sides, I began to spin.
"Hey, wait for me!" Seth screeched. Together we twirled down the drive into the night, the hint of a moon the only light to guide us. The stars in the black velvet colored sky shimmered and danced as we twirled faster and faster. Finally, we collasped into two giggling, dizzy heaps on the lawn. I glanced over at Seth as he lay in the grass and stared at the sky. Chubby cheeks were disappearing, bring replaced by more manly chiseled facial features. A wave of sadness washed over me; my baby was becoming a man before my very eyes. We lay in the grass a few minutes more, talking and star-gazing. I didn't want the moment to end. I wanted to remember every expression he made, every thing he said. It became cooler as the hour grew later, and finally we went back inside. I was glade I had gone outside, and even more grateful to my son. For a few fleeting moments, he taught me how to be a child again.
Here's a great piece written by the late great Erma Bombeck
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Happy, happy, happy!
I am a bundle of boundless, hyperactive energy today. Not only have I happily partaken of four cups of coffee, I received a wonderful email yesterday, and I'm still on an emotional high. Late yesterday afternoon, Ms. Graves, the editor from Sasee magazine, emailed me, said they loved a humorous piece I had submitted, and wanted to use it in the upcoming March issue! Regretfully, I declined. GOTCHA! Yeah right! I almost broke my fingers off typing her a reply that gave permission to use the story.
This morning was even better. I'm usually very shy about talking to editors; I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing and sound like an idiot. I called the magazine to relay some info Ms. Graves had requested, and got to speak to her directly. Ms. Graves put me at ease immediately. She is a very warm, witty, charming woman who I truly enjoyed talking to. I thought things couldn't get any better, then she asked if I would like an editorial calender. This has the upcoming themes, so I can submit in the future if I wish.
Nobody pinch me; this is one dream I DON'T want to wake up from.
This morning was even better. I'm usually very shy about talking to editors; I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing and sound like an idiot. I called the magazine to relay some info Ms. Graves had requested, and got to speak to her directly. Ms. Graves put me at ease immediately. She is a very warm, witty, charming woman who I truly enjoyed talking to. I thought things couldn't get any better, then she asked if I would like an editorial calender. This has the upcoming themes, so I can submit in the future if I wish.
Nobody pinch me; this is one dream I DON'T want to wake up from.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Flying Wheelchairs
My children never cease to amaze me. This past Sunday my oldest, Seth, lay across my bed reading a book while I worked furiously on a manuscript in my "office" corner of the bedroom. Even though I'm working on a manuscript, I keep the bedroom door open. I want my children to feel they are always welcome around me. My children do know though--even the toddler--that when I have "the look" on my face, not to bother me unless it's an emergency. When I have "the look", I'm wrapped up in the story I'm writing, or I'm in the editing phase.
That day I was grimly struggling with the word count so it met an editor's requirements. Darn it! I was 300 words over the limit. Where in the blazes can I cut out 300 words? Every single one of them are important to the story. Even though I love writing, I would rather stick a fork in my eye than spend a weekend afternoon pouring over a manuscript fifty times looking for unnecessary words. Though I gripe, the end results are good; the newly revised copy always pleases me better than the original.
I was so absorbed in editing, unknown to me, Seth had stopped reading and was watching me instead. ""Umm, Mommy," he ventured.
"What?!" I barked.
"Are you in pain?" I sighed and turned to face him. I need a break anyway, I thought.
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Because you keep frowning and moaning like you're in pain." I never realized what a performance I had been putting on.
"I'm just editing my story," I laughed.
"Oh." Seth stared at me thoughtfully. "If it won't hurt your feelings, I-I don't think I want to be a writer."
"Why?"
"Well, if it's that stressful, I don't want to do it. I'd rather be an architect"
And that's not stressful? I thought. Instead, I smiled and said, "Of course I'm not hurt. You can be anything you want to be." Seth looked visibly relieved.
"Hey Mom, know what I'm gonna do after I retire from being an architect? I'm gonna invent flying wheelchairs for the elderly. Has anyone invented that yet?" I had a mental image of elderly people, decked out in aviator garb, zipping through the air. My laughter turned into a coughing fit when I saw the seriousness in his eyes.
"Not that I know of," I gasped.
"Great! Wanna know who I'm gonna use to test them?"
"Who?"
"You!" he announced proudly. I had another mental image. This time I was in my 80's and hurtling through the air in a wheelchair at "G-force" speed, my wrinkled skin blowing straight back, and my dentures flying out of my mouth. Sounds like a fun ride. Anyone want to take a walk on the wild side and come along?
On an unrelated note------------------------------------------
I am way to amused with my book, Amazing Kitchen Cures. They have a lot of interesting facts. For example, in ancient Rome, people with dark hair were thought to be "upper class." Hmm. Maybe should stop trying to change my hair color. Like my dark hair would get me really far in life ; )!
The book also says the men in ancient Rome would wear a concoction of herbs and earthworms to bed in order to keep their hair from turning gray.
Like I said, the book has some interesting facts and cures. I don't know how much faith I could put in a book that suggests using Tampax Tampons as earplugs. I guarantee, if I put those in my ears, and went out to mow the lawn, hubby would have me committed before I could say "Jack Robinson."
That day I was grimly struggling with the word count so it met an editor's requirements. Darn it! I was 300 words over the limit. Where in the blazes can I cut out 300 words? Every single one of them are important to the story. Even though I love writing, I would rather stick a fork in my eye than spend a weekend afternoon pouring over a manuscript fifty times looking for unnecessary words. Though I gripe, the end results are good; the newly revised copy always pleases me better than the original.
I was so absorbed in editing, unknown to me, Seth had stopped reading and was watching me instead. ""Umm, Mommy," he ventured.
"What?!" I barked.
"Are you in pain?" I sighed and turned to face him. I need a break anyway, I thought.
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Because you keep frowning and moaning like you're in pain." I never realized what a performance I had been putting on.
"I'm just editing my story," I laughed.
"Oh." Seth stared at me thoughtfully. "If it won't hurt your feelings, I-I don't think I want to be a writer."
"Why?"
"Well, if it's that stressful, I don't want to do it. I'd rather be an architect"
And that's not stressful? I thought. Instead, I smiled and said, "Of course I'm not hurt. You can be anything you want to be." Seth looked visibly relieved.
"Hey Mom, know what I'm gonna do after I retire from being an architect? I'm gonna invent flying wheelchairs for the elderly. Has anyone invented that yet?" I had a mental image of elderly people, decked out in aviator garb, zipping through the air. My laughter turned into a coughing fit when I saw the seriousness in his eyes.
"Not that I know of," I gasped.
"Great! Wanna know who I'm gonna use to test them?"
"Who?"
"You!" he announced proudly. I had another mental image. This time I was in my 80's and hurtling through the air in a wheelchair at "G-force" speed, my wrinkled skin blowing straight back, and my dentures flying out of my mouth. Sounds like a fun ride. Anyone want to take a walk on the wild side and come along?
On an unrelated note------------------------------------------
I am way to amused with my book, Amazing Kitchen Cures. They have a lot of interesting facts. For example, in ancient Rome, people with dark hair were thought to be "upper class." Hmm. Maybe should stop trying to change my hair color. Like my dark hair would get me really far in life ; )!
The book also says the men in ancient Rome would wear a concoction of herbs and earthworms to bed in order to keep their hair from turning gray.
Like I said, the book has some interesting facts and cures. I don't know how much faith I could put in a book that suggests using Tampax Tampons as earplugs. I guarantee, if I put those in my ears, and went out to mow the lawn, hubby would have me committed before I could say "Jack Robinson."
Monday, January 30, 2006
Coffee head!
My family thinks I've lost my mind. There have been quite a few "Lucy Ricardo" type schemes I have pulled in the past, but this one takes the cake. I truly would not be surprised if, at any minute, men in white coats come to take me away; this scheme involves coffee. First, let me back-track a bit.
A few days ago, while on my mini-vacation, I decided I needed a change, and my crazy idea "took root" so to speak. I am a brunette with blonde highlights, and as I gazed at my reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror, I tried to think of a way to bring out those highlights. I'm not a fan of costly chemicals that will fry my hair, so I tried to think of a natural way to achieve my goal. Lemons? No. I was afraid it would bleach my hair, not to mention I feared my head would smell like rotten lemons after a few days. I remembered I had brought my book Amazing Kicken Cures along with me on the trip. It was filled with home remedy suggestions for things such as jelly fish stings and sunburns; surely they would have something about hair highlighting. After a few minutes of searching in the book, I found it:
(from the book)Maxwell House Coffee. Highlight brown or red hair by rinsing it with Maxwell House Coffee for a rich and shiny color (p. 174).
I don't have Maxwell House. I looked around the room and saw the coffee from breakfast in the pot. I bet Wolfgang Puck coffee would work though. I washed my hair, then took the cold coffee to the bathroom. I was just pouring it over my head when John walked into the hotel room.
"Hey Deb--" He stared at me in shock as I rubbed the coffee into my hair. "Um, baby. I think you drink coffee in a cup, not through your head."
"I know. I'm highlighting my hair."
"O-Okay then," he said backing out of the bathroom and eyeing my suspiciously. My hair did turn out shiny, but the ride home was strained the next day.
"I can't stand it anymore!" John yelped as he rolled down the windows. A blast of cool air hit me in the side of the head."
"Hey, what's the big idea?" I demanded, rolling the window up.
"It's your hair. It smells like coffee. I can smell it while I'm driving. I have the urge to pour creamer in your hair and sip on it." I knew John was joking, but I was not amused. My hair did have a strong odor of coffee.
This morning, as I poured my coffee, John watched me. "You are going to put that in a cup and not in your head aren't you?" I smiled sweetly and nodded. It's going to take a while to convince my family I'm not crazy.
A few days ago, while on my mini-vacation, I decided I needed a change, and my crazy idea "took root" so to speak. I am a brunette with blonde highlights, and as I gazed at my reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror, I tried to think of a way to bring out those highlights. I'm not a fan of costly chemicals that will fry my hair, so I tried to think of a natural way to achieve my goal. Lemons? No. I was afraid it would bleach my hair, not to mention I feared my head would smell like rotten lemons after a few days. I remembered I had brought my book Amazing Kicken Cures along with me on the trip. It was filled with home remedy suggestions for things such as jelly fish stings and sunburns; surely they would have something about hair highlighting. After a few minutes of searching in the book, I found it:
(from the book)Maxwell House Coffee. Highlight brown or red hair by rinsing it with Maxwell House Coffee for a rich and shiny color (p. 174).
I don't have Maxwell House. I looked around the room and saw the coffee from breakfast in the pot. I bet Wolfgang Puck coffee would work though. I washed my hair, then took the cold coffee to the bathroom. I was just pouring it over my head when John walked into the hotel room.
"Hey Deb--" He stared at me in shock as I rubbed the coffee into my hair. "Um, baby. I think you drink coffee in a cup, not through your head."
"I know. I'm highlighting my hair."
"O-Okay then," he said backing out of the bathroom and eyeing my suspiciously. My hair did turn out shiny, but the ride home was strained the next day.
"I can't stand it anymore!" John yelped as he rolled down the windows. A blast of cool air hit me in the side of the head."
"Hey, what's the big idea?" I demanded, rolling the window up.
"It's your hair. It smells like coffee. I can smell it while I'm driving. I have the urge to pour creamer in your hair and sip on it." I knew John was joking, but I was not amused. My hair did have a strong odor of coffee.
This morning, as I poured my coffee, John watched me. "You are going to put that in a cup and not in your head aren't you?" I smiled sweetly and nodded. It's going to take a while to convince my family I'm not crazy.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Just what I needed
The past couple of days have been wonderful; just what I needed. After I wrote my last post, I took a deep breath and shut off the computer. My computer keyboard has almost become fused to fingers, and I hoped there would be enough activities in the next few days to keep mind occupied so I wouldn't go into "computer withdrawals". If I had a story idea, I would actually have to write it down on paper with a pen. Oh the torture of it!
My mind was more than occupied after I click off the computer. My mind was so full of things needed to be done, I'm sure there was a neon "no vacancy" sign flashing over my head as I raced around my house. Hmm, let's see, I pondered. Was I going to water the ivy and put out the cat, or was I supposed to water the cat and put out the ivy? Silly, I know; but when I'm extremely rushed, I turn into a real airhead sometime. Lucky for the kitty, I took a minute to focus on what I was doing and put him outside where he found his supply of food and water.
It's only a two hour trip to Corpus Christi, and I spent half of the time talking with John as he drove and the children slept in the back seat. It was refreshing to have a conversation without being interrupted. The rest of the time I spent gazing at the countryside and allowing my imagination to run wild. I love to explore, and imagined m riding my horse through the dense patches of woods. In my mind's eye, I would pause and dismount once in a while by a creek in the middle of the woods, allowing my horse to rest and graze while I sat under a giant oak and read a book in a patch of late afternoon sunshine.
In what seemed a short while, we arrived in Corpus, and I felt my excitement growing. Though I've been in the area several times, Corpus has a special place in my heart; it's the area in which I was born and lived in for a short while. My heart sang with happiness as I gazed upon the majestic buildings and the sparkling waters of the bay. In a sense, I was home.
We stayed in the Omni Bayfront on the ninth floor and had a gorgeous view of the bay. In the waning hours of daylight, I stood on the balcony and watched as two sailboats skimmed silently across the ba and out of my view. A brave seagull lit on the railing a few feet away from me, and flew away, squawking in disgust when he found I had no tasty tidbits for him. Everything seemed perfect until John announced the dinner plans.
"I thought we'd drive into Rockport and have dinner there." I was excited. As I mentioned in the last blog, I love going to Rockport. It's only a few minutes from Corpus; a pleasant trip. Judging from the look on John's face, I knew there was a catch.
"I have a feeling there's a 'but' or an 'and' that goes with your last statement," I said flatly.
John nodded his head. I've invited ----------to come along with us. I need you to ride in the back seat with the boys."
I felt my excitement deflate like a leaky balloon. Oh joy, I thought rather childishly, not only do I not have my family by myself, I get to share it with a stranger. ---------- was not really a total stranger; he worked with John, and John was the chief investigator,---------'s supervisor. I decided to act my age, and have a great time that night regardless.
We went to The Big Fisherman and ate the most wonderful seafood I've ever had in my life. Everything was fresh and cooked to perfection. There was a large crowd there, but since the restaurant sat 200 people, everything was spacious and the noise was minimal.
I'm a firm believer everything happens for a reason, and it soon became obvious there was a reason for ---------- to be there. During the course of the meal, ---------- told me John bragged on me on the time. He bragged on my musical successes in high school, and on my current writing successes.
I had always thought my past and present successes were of little interest to my hubby. I felt a lump for in my throat as --------- told me everything John had said about me. I stared at John, and from the look in his eyes, I could tell ----------was telling me the truth. I always knew John loved me, but until this point, never knew he loved me as deeply as I loved him. It was an eye-opener.
The next day, while John was in class, the boys and I walked 2 miles up Shoreline Drive. Along the way we visited the memorial to Selena, and later the Corpus Christi art gallery. We were "too pooped to pop" by the time we returned, and spent the rest of the afternoon at the hotel.
I'm an early-riser, and early the next morning I stood on the balcony and watched the sun rise over the bay. After the sun rose, I saw something magical in the bay. I wiped my eyes in disbelief. No way! surely I'm imagining this, I thought. I stared harder. There it was again. First a fin emerged out of the water, then the sleek back of a dolphin. Amazing. My excitement grew as I saw more dolphins emerge. A whole pod! It was obvious they were feeding off the fish scraps thrown off the docked boats. What a perfect way to end the vacation.
I have pictures I'll post later on.
My mind was more than occupied after I click off the computer. My mind was so full of things needed to be done, I'm sure there was a neon "no vacancy" sign flashing over my head as I raced around my house. Hmm, let's see, I pondered. Was I going to water the ivy and put out the cat, or was I supposed to water the cat and put out the ivy? Silly, I know; but when I'm extremely rushed, I turn into a real airhead sometime. Lucky for the kitty, I took a minute to focus on what I was doing and put him outside where he found his supply of food and water.
It's only a two hour trip to Corpus Christi, and I spent half of the time talking with John as he drove and the children slept in the back seat. It was refreshing to have a conversation without being interrupted. The rest of the time I spent gazing at the countryside and allowing my imagination to run wild. I love to explore, and imagined m riding my horse through the dense patches of woods. In my mind's eye, I would pause and dismount once in a while by a creek in the middle of the woods, allowing my horse to rest and graze while I sat under a giant oak and read a book in a patch of late afternoon sunshine.
In what seemed a short while, we arrived in Corpus, and I felt my excitement growing. Though I've been in the area several times, Corpus has a special place in my heart; it's the area in which I was born and lived in for a short while. My heart sang with happiness as I gazed upon the majestic buildings and the sparkling waters of the bay. In a sense, I was home.
We stayed in the Omni Bayfront on the ninth floor and had a gorgeous view of the bay. In the waning hours of daylight, I stood on the balcony and watched as two sailboats skimmed silently across the ba and out of my view. A brave seagull lit on the railing a few feet away from me, and flew away, squawking in disgust when he found I had no tasty tidbits for him. Everything seemed perfect until John announced the dinner plans.
"I thought we'd drive into Rockport and have dinner there." I was excited. As I mentioned in the last blog, I love going to Rockport. It's only a few minutes from Corpus; a pleasant trip. Judging from the look on John's face, I knew there was a catch.
"I have a feeling there's a 'but' or an 'and' that goes with your last statement," I said flatly.
John nodded his head. I've invited ----------to come along with us. I need you to ride in the back seat with the boys."
I felt my excitement deflate like a leaky balloon. Oh joy, I thought rather childishly, not only do I not have my family by myself, I get to share it with a stranger. ---------- was not really a total stranger; he worked with John, and John was the chief investigator,---------'s supervisor. I decided to act my age, and have a great time that night regardless.
We went to The Big Fisherman and ate the most wonderful seafood I've ever had in my life. Everything was fresh and cooked to perfection. There was a large crowd there, but since the restaurant sat 200 people, everything was spacious and the noise was minimal.
I'm a firm believer everything happens for a reason, and it soon became obvious there was a reason for ---------- to be there. During the course of the meal, ---------- told me John bragged on me on the time. He bragged on my musical successes in high school, and on my current writing successes.
I had always thought my past and present successes were of little interest to my hubby. I felt a lump for in my throat as --------- told me everything John had said about me. I stared at John, and from the look in his eyes, I could tell ----------was telling me the truth. I always knew John loved me, but until this point, never knew he loved me as deeply as I loved him. It was an eye-opener.
The next day, while John was in class, the boys and I walked 2 miles up Shoreline Drive. Along the way we visited the memorial to Selena, and later the Corpus Christi art gallery. We were "too pooped to pop" by the time we returned, and spent the rest of the afternoon at the hotel.
I'm an early-riser, and early the next morning I stood on the balcony and watched the sun rise over the bay. After the sun rose, I saw something magical in the bay. I wiped my eyes in disbelief. No way! surely I'm imagining this, I thought. I stared harder. There it was again. First a fin emerged out of the water, then the sleek back of a dolphin. Amazing. My excitement grew as I saw more dolphins emerge. A whole pod! It was obvious they were feeding off the fish scraps thrown off the docked boats. What a perfect way to end the vacation.
I have pictures I'll post later on.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
What a day and a pleasant surprise
Ever had a day where everything seemed to go wrong? It happened to me yesterday.
I had an early morning hair appointment with my friend, and both the toddler and I woke up late. When I woke up, it was 8 A.M., and I supposed to be at her house by 9. Crap! I jumped into the shower and changed into my clothes. I'll put my makeup on while the baby sleeps. Seems simple enough, right? Wrong! I couldn't find any of my makeup. Double-crap! I decided to scare the world and go without makeup.
I hurridly dressed Robert while he slept. No baby likes to be awakened to having their clothes pulled off, and Robert let me know about it. He pouted as I dressed him, then refused to eat breakfast. "Come on baby! Mama doesn't have time for this," I pleaded. He set his lips together firmly and shook his head. Oatmeal is usually his breakfast of choice, but he stoutly refused it. "Want Cheerios," he stated firmly.
"Fine. Whatever." I ran to the pantry and poured him Cheerios. I usually don't give in, but today I was in a hurry. He nibbled the cereal happily as I went in search for the keys. Argh! I couldn't find the darn things. Then it occured to me that John had used my Jimmy the night before. Darn it! He has my keys! I felt my blood pressure rising. I stormed to the phone and called him on his cell.
"Where are the keys?"
"Oh, I don't know."
I was beginning to reach my boiling point. "What do you mean you don't know? You had them last."
"Oh yeah. They're in my jacket pocket." I hung up the phone and found his jacket. Sure enough, in the pocket, where the keys. I and Robert raced outside to the Jimmy. Yea! We had five minutes to spare! I strapped him into his car seat, plopped into the driver's seat turned the ket and. . .nothing. The truck wouldn't start. This can't be happening! I took the toddler out of the seat and stalked back inside. I had a hair and a dentist appointment, and both would have to be cancelled. I called my beautician friend first.
"I'm sorry, I have to cancel."
"Why?"
"Because my @#$% truck will not start."
My friend owns her own shop, and insisted on picking me up so I could keep my appointment. We chatted while she cut my hair, making it take 2 hours, but during that time I felt the knots in my muscles loosen asI relaxed. At last, something went right!
When I got back home, I called my sweet hubby, and he dropped me off at the dentist. "So, how's the day going?"
The dam burst. Through my tears, Itold him about the truck and not being able to find my makeup. "So I had to go to --------'s house nude." I blubbered.
"Wait a minute. You went to -------'s house with no clothes on?" The look on John's face was priceless, and I had to laugh.
"No silly. My face was nude. . .as in no makeup."
John was relieved. He studied me intently. "How about a break? Would you and the kids like to go to the conference with me tomorrow?" I didn't hesitate. The answer was a resounding "yes."
I need the break, and the Texas coast might inspire me to come up with more story ideas. So, this morning I'm running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything packed so we can leave this afternoon. The kids are coming of course.
I wanted to tell everyone "thank-you" for all the wonderful warm comments you all left on my last post. It meant a lot to me, and I'm so blessed to have such wonderful friends.
See ya when I get back! Hugs to all!
---------------------------------------------------------------
Nicole has tagged me! Here are my "Fun With Fours"
Four Jobs You’ve Had
1. Waitress at Pizza Hut while in high school (Ugh. I try to forget)
2. Working at a girl's "half-way" house
3. Wal-Mart (hated that one)
4. Deputy sheriff
Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over
1. Steel Magnolias
2. Skeleton Key
3. Hide and Seek
4. Any Disney movie
Four Places You’ve Lived
1. Rosebud, TX
2. San Marcos, TX
3. New Braunfels, TX
4. San Marcos, TX (I moved back from New Braunfels. Yep, I know I'm a stinker for listing it twice)
Four TV Shows You Love To Watch
1. The Golden Girls
2. MAD TV
3. Martha
4.Seinfeld
4. Four of Your Favorite Books
1. Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
2. Black Creek Crossing by John Saul
3. Mama Makes up her Mind by Bailey White
4. Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul (Surprising, huh? LOL)
Four Places You’ve Been On Vacation
1. Cancun
2. New Orleans, Louisiana
3. Colorado Springs, Colorado
4. A little border town next to Del Rio, TX (We stayed in Del Rio and walked across the border)
Four Websites You Visit Daily
1. Freelance Writing
2. Care2
3. all the blogs on my list
4. Writer's Weekly
Four of Your Favorite Foods
1. Cashew Chicken
2. Red grapes
3. homemade spaghetti sauce (either mine or John's recipe. It slow cooks for eight hours. The smell is wonderful!)
4. fajitas
Four Places You Would Rather Be Right Now
1. At my mom's ranch (I love to take rides through the woods on horseback)
2. Cancun
3. Riodosa, New Mexico (a family friend has a cabin in the mountains)
4. Rockport, Texas (It's a small tourist/fishing town, but it has a "blue water beach" and the locals are wonderful It's a great place to go when you're seaching inspiration. The have art galleries, java houses, and cute little shops)
Four people I'm tagging:
Anyone who wants to play!
I had an early morning hair appointment with my friend, and both the toddler and I woke up late. When I woke up, it was 8 A.M., and I supposed to be at her house by 9. Crap! I jumped into the shower and changed into my clothes. I'll put my makeup on while the baby sleeps. Seems simple enough, right? Wrong! I couldn't find any of my makeup. Double-crap! I decided to scare the world and go without makeup.
I hurridly dressed Robert while he slept. No baby likes to be awakened to having their clothes pulled off, and Robert let me know about it. He pouted as I dressed him, then refused to eat breakfast. "Come on baby! Mama doesn't have time for this," I pleaded. He set his lips together firmly and shook his head. Oatmeal is usually his breakfast of choice, but he stoutly refused it. "Want Cheerios," he stated firmly.
"Fine. Whatever." I ran to the pantry and poured him Cheerios. I usually don't give in, but today I was in a hurry. He nibbled the cereal happily as I went in search for the keys. Argh! I couldn't find the darn things. Then it occured to me that John had used my Jimmy the night before. Darn it! He has my keys! I felt my blood pressure rising. I stormed to the phone and called him on his cell.
"Where are the keys?"
"Oh, I don't know."
I was beginning to reach my boiling point. "What do you mean you don't know? You had them last."
"Oh yeah. They're in my jacket pocket." I hung up the phone and found his jacket. Sure enough, in the pocket, where the keys. I and Robert raced outside to the Jimmy. Yea! We had five minutes to spare! I strapped him into his car seat, plopped into the driver's seat turned the ket and. . .nothing. The truck wouldn't start. This can't be happening! I took the toddler out of the seat and stalked back inside. I had a hair and a dentist appointment, and both would have to be cancelled. I called my beautician friend first.
"I'm sorry, I have to cancel."
"Why?"
"Because my @#$% truck will not start."
My friend owns her own shop, and insisted on picking me up so I could keep my appointment. We chatted while she cut my hair, making it take 2 hours, but during that time I felt the knots in my muscles loosen asI relaxed. At last, something went right!
When I got back home, I called my sweet hubby, and he dropped me off at the dentist. "So, how's the day going?"
The dam burst. Through my tears, Itold him about the truck and not being able to find my makeup. "So I had to go to --------'s house nude." I blubbered.
"Wait a minute. You went to -------'s house with no clothes on?" The look on John's face was priceless, and I had to laugh.
"No silly. My face was nude. . .as in no makeup."
John was relieved. He studied me intently. "How about a break? Would you and the kids like to go to the conference with me tomorrow?" I didn't hesitate. The answer was a resounding "yes."
I need the break, and the Texas coast might inspire me to come up with more story ideas. So, this morning I'm running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything packed so we can leave this afternoon. The kids are coming of course.
I wanted to tell everyone "thank-you" for all the wonderful warm comments you all left on my last post. It meant a lot to me, and I'm so blessed to have such wonderful friends.
See ya when I get back! Hugs to all!
---------------------------------------------------------------
Nicole has tagged me! Here are my "Fun With Fours"
Four Jobs You’ve Had
1. Waitress at Pizza Hut while in high school (Ugh. I try to forget)
2. Working at a girl's "half-way" house
3. Wal-Mart (hated that one)
4. Deputy sheriff
Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over
1. Steel Magnolias
2. Skeleton Key
3. Hide and Seek
4. Any Disney movie
Four Places You’ve Lived
1. Rosebud, TX
2. San Marcos, TX
3. New Braunfels, TX
4. San Marcos, TX (I moved back from New Braunfels. Yep, I know I'm a stinker for listing it twice)
Four TV Shows You Love To Watch
1. The Golden Girls
2. MAD TV
3. Martha
4.Seinfeld
4. Four of Your Favorite Books
1. Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
2. Black Creek Crossing by John Saul
3. Mama Makes up her Mind by Bailey White
4. Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul (Surprising, huh? LOL)
Four Places You’ve Been On Vacation
1. Cancun
2. New Orleans, Louisiana
3. Colorado Springs, Colorado
4. A little border town next to Del Rio, TX (We stayed in Del Rio and walked across the border)
Four Websites You Visit Daily
1. Freelance Writing
2. Care2
3. all the blogs on my list
4. Writer's Weekly
Four of Your Favorite Foods
1. Cashew Chicken
2. Red grapes
3. homemade spaghetti sauce (either mine or John's recipe. It slow cooks for eight hours. The smell is wonderful!)
4. fajitas
Four Places You Would Rather Be Right Now
1. At my mom's ranch (I love to take rides through the woods on horseback)
2. Cancun
3. Riodosa, New Mexico (a family friend has a cabin in the mountains)
4. Rockport, Texas (It's a small tourist/fishing town, but it has a "blue water beach" and the locals are wonderful It's a great place to go when you're seaching inspiration. The have art galleries, java houses, and cute little shops)
Four people I'm tagging:
Anyone who wants to play!
Sunday, January 22, 2006
A near tragedy
I prefer to walk in the cover of darkness. The melodic chirps of the cricket and the occasional melancholy cooing of the mourning dove add to the soothing peacefulness of the countryside. In the distance, lights illuminate front porches, and children’s voices are heard as they journey home from a playmate’s house. The lights from the town below sparkle brightly against the dark canvas of the night sky. For that that brief period, all is right with the world.
Walking at night relaxes me, and helps me focus on the manuscript I’m working on. My driveway is ½ mile long, so there’s really no worry about being hit by a car or abducted. Yeah right. My captors would bring me back after five minutes, and then check themselves into the local mental institution.
It’s during these walks though, that strange things occur. I’ve had two dogs re-appear I had given up on; my neighbor scared the heck out of me at Christmas when she followed me down the drive in her car to give me a present. Tonight was no exception.
I was on my second trip down the driveway, when I saw an orange glow in the pasture near my house, and the unmistakable smell of smoke in the air. Fire!
Texas is in a severe drought, and the vegetation is tinder-dry. A car parked on the side of the road with the motor running, or a cigarette flicked out of a car by a careless soul can be devastating.
I felt everything was in slow motion, and my legs felt like they belonged to someone else, as I ran down the drive back to my house. I flung open the front door, hurdled the toddler playing on the floor, and jogged to my bedroom. “I’m going to call the neighbors and 911, I called to John as I passed him in the kitchen. I can’t believe how calm I was. I knew if I acted excited, it would do nothing but upset the children. I didn’t want them to know the fire was less then 300 yards away, and growing.
John followed me to the bedroom, as I expected, looked out the window and saw the fire. “You call 911, and I’ll call the neighbors on my cell,” he said.
Literally, within a couple of seconds, I heard the welcome voice of the 911 dispatcher.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s a large grass fire on the --------- ranch,” I gasped.
“Yes madam. That’s already been called in. The trucks have been dispatched and should arrive shortly. Please call us back and alert us if any structures are in danger,” she soothed.
“Yeah! My house!”
“I’m sorry. You said your house was in danger?” The operator’s voice rose a couple of octaves in alarm.
“Yes. The fire is 300 yards from my house and coming closer.” I heard the dispatcher call the fire trucks and relay the information. She again reassured me the trucks would be there soon. John and I went outside to watch and wait.
The fire had grown quite a bit. It was now billowing above the mesquite trees. I’ve never seen flames that high. It seemed like eternity, but soon we heard the wail of the fire trucks, and saw the flickering red and blue lights as they arrived on the scene. The silence of the night was broken by the sound of the fire chief barking commands to his men. Within minutes, the fire was out, and again, all was right with the world.
I can’t help but be misty-eyed this morning when I think of the brave men that so valiantly fought the blaze. Without a second thought, they left the comfort of their homes and families to battle a fire for someone they didn’t even know. They put their lives on the line for others and me. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Walking at night relaxes me, and helps me focus on the manuscript I’m working on. My driveway is ½ mile long, so there’s really no worry about being hit by a car or abducted. Yeah right. My captors would bring me back after five minutes, and then check themselves into the local mental institution.
It’s during these walks though, that strange things occur. I’ve had two dogs re-appear I had given up on; my neighbor scared the heck out of me at Christmas when she followed me down the drive in her car to give me a present. Tonight was no exception.
I was on my second trip down the driveway, when I saw an orange glow in the pasture near my house, and the unmistakable smell of smoke in the air. Fire!
Texas is in a severe drought, and the vegetation is tinder-dry. A car parked on the side of the road with the motor running, or a cigarette flicked out of a car by a careless soul can be devastating.
I felt everything was in slow motion, and my legs felt like they belonged to someone else, as I ran down the drive back to my house. I flung open the front door, hurdled the toddler playing on the floor, and jogged to my bedroom. “I’m going to call the neighbors and 911, I called to John as I passed him in the kitchen. I can’t believe how calm I was. I knew if I acted excited, it would do nothing but upset the children. I didn’t want them to know the fire was less then 300 yards away, and growing.
John followed me to the bedroom, as I expected, looked out the window and saw the fire. “You call 911, and I’ll call the neighbors on my cell,” he said.
Literally, within a couple of seconds, I heard the welcome voice of the 911 dispatcher.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s a large grass fire on the --------- ranch,” I gasped.
“Yes madam. That’s already been called in. The trucks have been dispatched and should arrive shortly. Please call us back and alert us if any structures are in danger,” she soothed.
“Yeah! My house!”
“I’m sorry. You said your house was in danger?” The operator’s voice rose a couple of octaves in alarm.
“Yes. The fire is 300 yards from my house and coming closer.” I heard the dispatcher call the fire trucks and relay the information. She again reassured me the trucks would be there soon. John and I went outside to watch and wait.
The fire had grown quite a bit. It was now billowing above the mesquite trees. I’ve never seen flames that high. It seemed like eternity, but soon we heard the wail of the fire trucks, and saw the flickering red and blue lights as they arrived on the scene. The silence of the night was broken by the sound of the fire chief barking commands to his men. Within minutes, the fire was out, and again, all was right with the world.
I can’t help but be misty-eyed this morning when I think of the brave men that so valiantly fought the blaze. Without a second thought, they left the comfort of their homes and families to battle a fire for someone they didn’t even know. They put their lives on the line for others and me. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Take a "gander"
The last time I was at my mother's house, I came across an old photo album I kept as a teen. The quality of the pictures may not be great--I took them many, many years ago--but there are a couple of pictures where I really what to point something out.
These are two horses that we used to own; a mare and her foal. Please pay special attention to the white marking on the foal's side. Does it look like something familiar? We didn't paint this on the foal, he was actually born with these markings.
Oh look, chicken and dressing! LOL. I could say we couldn't afford dolls, so I had to dress banty chickens in doll clothes, but that would be a lie. I was a tomboy and perfered my animals to dolls. My chickens were all banties, and were all good-natured. I was a kid with a corn-ball personality; I guess it *ahem* followed me into adulthood. *No chickens were hurt at the time this picture was taken.
I grew up in the Texas "Blackland Praire" region. This is how winters used to look when I lived at home. No snow now. *sigh* In this pic I was focusing on the old, weathered wind chime outside my window.
Last of all, here's yours truly with hubby a few years ago. I know the picture isn't in color, but I had made the unwise decision to dye my hair red. Never again; it didn't turn out right.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Things that make you go "Eew!"
*If you're eating or have a weak stomach, you might want to stop reading here.
We've all heard of the fried lizard in the french fries and fingers in chili; but have you ever thought about what you may have eaten? Here are a couple of things that have happened to me.
1. A few years ago I bought a 20 oz. name brand soda in the check-out line at Wal-Mart. When I got home, I opened the bottle and contentedly gulped the icy goodness while I cleaned my house. I took one last gulp before throwing the bottle away. . .but wait. . .something fuzzy was in my mouth. I raced to the bathroom and spit into the toilet. There was a fly! A fly had been in my soda! feeling sick, I grabbed the bottle and dialed the number for the company's consumer affairs. The poor soul on the other line barely had a chance to say hello before I blurted, 'There's a fly in my soda!"
"I'm sorry, there's a what in your what?" the voice on the other end of the line asked.
"A fly. A fly in my soda. No. I didn't put it there."
"Eew, disgusting! Did you keep the fly?"
Duh. Like I'd keep it as a prize. "No," I responded.
"Okay. I'll send you a pre-paid box, and you'll send me the soda bottle for us to analyze."
Within a few days, the box arrived in the mail and I happily sent the bottle to the company. A few days later, I received a call from the same customer service rep.
"Ms. Roppolo, I'm so very sorry that happened to you. Our scientists analyzed the remaining contents and determined the fly had been in the bottle a very long time." I felt the need to hurl, but the woman continued.
"I've sent you a letter you should be receiving in the next few days."
True to her word, the letter arrived five days later. Inside were coupons for 3 free 12 packs of the soda.
2. Last year, after a long morning at the doctor's office, the boys and I stopped by our local grocery store to have the prescriptions filled. "We're backed up, so the wait will be an hour, my pharmacist explained.
"An hour? I'll starve to death before then," Seth whined.
"I'm hungry," Robert chimed in. My stomach growled loudly as I looked at my watch. It was past noon, and I was so hungry myself, I could have eaten one of the stores frozen dinners as it was: frozen. We climbed back into the car and drove across the street to a popular restaurant. The boys had food off the kid's menu, and I had a Cobb salad. My poor deprived stomach was in heaven with each bite I took.
"Hey Mama. What's that on Robert's hot dog bun?" Seth asked. I examined the bun. There was a dark green spot near the corner. MOLD! I got the waitress's attention, and quietly--yes quietly because I didn't want to cause a scene--told her about the bun. She took one look, gagged, and ran off to the kitchen with the bun. She returned with the manager who apologized profusely, and offered us free desserts. The kids were up for it, but I have a problem with taking things I don't feel I deserve, and declined.
The bun was an oversight on the part of the cook; a mistake. I made sure the manager knew I wasn't angry over the bun, and that I wasn't going to sue. I had been a waitress many years ago, and I understood how these things could happen. My suggestion was he check the rest of the buns.
Moral of the stories: Watch what you eat and drink. Literally.
We've all heard of the fried lizard in the french fries and fingers in chili; but have you ever thought about what you may have eaten? Here are a couple of things that have happened to me.
1. A few years ago I bought a 20 oz. name brand soda in the check-out line at Wal-Mart. When I got home, I opened the bottle and contentedly gulped the icy goodness while I cleaned my house. I took one last gulp before throwing the bottle away. . .but wait. . .something fuzzy was in my mouth. I raced to the bathroom and spit into the toilet. There was a fly! A fly had been in my soda! feeling sick, I grabbed the bottle and dialed the number for the company's consumer affairs. The poor soul on the other line barely had a chance to say hello before I blurted, 'There's a fly in my soda!"
"I'm sorry, there's a what in your what?" the voice on the other end of the line asked.
"A fly. A fly in my soda. No. I didn't put it there."
"Eew, disgusting! Did you keep the fly?"
Duh. Like I'd keep it as a prize. "No," I responded.
"Okay. I'll send you a pre-paid box, and you'll send me the soda bottle for us to analyze."
Within a few days, the box arrived in the mail and I happily sent the bottle to the company. A few days later, I received a call from the same customer service rep.
"Ms. Roppolo, I'm so very sorry that happened to you. Our scientists analyzed the remaining contents and determined the fly had been in the bottle a very long time." I felt the need to hurl, but the woman continued.
"I've sent you a letter you should be receiving in the next few days."
True to her word, the letter arrived five days later. Inside were coupons for 3 free 12 packs of the soda.
2. Last year, after a long morning at the doctor's office, the boys and I stopped by our local grocery store to have the prescriptions filled. "We're backed up, so the wait will be an hour, my pharmacist explained.
"An hour? I'll starve to death before then," Seth whined.
"I'm hungry," Robert chimed in. My stomach growled loudly as I looked at my watch. It was past noon, and I was so hungry myself, I could have eaten one of the stores frozen dinners as it was: frozen. We climbed back into the car and drove across the street to a popular restaurant. The boys had food off the kid's menu, and I had a Cobb salad. My poor deprived stomach was in heaven with each bite I took.
"Hey Mama. What's that on Robert's hot dog bun?" Seth asked. I examined the bun. There was a dark green spot near the corner. MOLD! I got the waitress's attention, and quietly--yes quietly because I didn't want to cause a scene--told her about the bun. She took one look, gagged, and ran off to the kitchen with the bun. She returned with the manager who apologized profusely, and offered us free desserts. The kids were up for it, but I have a problem with taking things I don't feel I deserve, and declined.
The bun was an oversight on the part of the cook; a mistake. I made sure the manager knew I wasn't angry over the bun, and that I wasn't going to sue. I had been a waitress many years ago, and I understood how these things could happen. My suggestion was he check the rest of the buns.
Moral of the stories: Watch what you eat and drink. Literally.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
You never know (title change)
I'm exhausted.. Company is coming in the morning, and the house is spotless. I learned a valuable lesson today. Never enter a pre-teen boy's room without first leaving dental records so your remains can be identified. Seth is a packrat, and his room is proof. It took me forty-five minutes, but I finally cleaned his room until it passed my expectations. I cleaned everything, that is, except his closet. Oh leave it alone. No one will open the closet.
I had almost convinced myself to leave the "forbidden zone" alone when my darn inner voice took over. What will people think if they do open the closet? What will it say about your housekeeping skills? I've been classified as a "neat freak" by those closest to me, so in the end my inner voice won out.
Hmph. Judging from what I've found in this room, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a body in here. I opened the door and peered inside. Clothes littered the floor of the closet, and board games were perch precariously on the top shelf. I shook my head in disgust. Where to begin? Oh well, might as well start with these video games, I thought, climbing on a stool. Games were stacked level with my nose. I peered at the top of the stack and was eye-to-eye with . . .a skull! There was a skull sitting on top of the games. After my heart began to pitter-patter again, and I got up the nerve, I climbed omto the stool and looked at the skull again. I was relieved to see it was the skull of a coyote Seth had found the previous summer on my mom's property. Holding it by an eye socket, I tossed the hideous thing in the trash and resumed my battle against grime.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Here's a link I got from Nicole's blog. It's how daring I am. Interesting. Seems I have a dark side.
I had almost convinced myself to leave the "forbidden zone" alone when my darn inner voice took over. What will people think if they do open the closet? What will it say about your housekeeping skills? I've been classified as a "neat freak" by those closest to me, so in the end my inner voice won out.
Hmph. Judging from what I've found in this room, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a body in here. I opened the door and peered inside. Clothes littered the floor of the closet, and board games were perch precariously on the top shelf. I shook my head in disgust. Where to begin? Oh well, might as well start with these video games, I thought, climbing on a stool. Games were stacked level with my nose. I peered at the top of the stack and was eye-to-eye with . . .a skull! There was a skull sitting on top of the games. After my heart began to pitter-patter again, and I got up the nerve, I climbed omto the stool and looked at the skull again. I was relieved to see it was the skull of a coyote Seth had found the previous summer on my mom's property. Holding it by an eye socket, I tossed the hideous thing in the trash and resumed my battle against grime.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Here's a link I got from Nicole's blog. It's how daring I am. Interesting. Seems I have a dark side.
| You Are a Fierce Femme |
 You have a wild side, and you aren't afraid to bring it out when the time is right. But you also know when to hang back and keep your "crazy chick" persona in check. In fact, some of your friends may be surprised to find out how far you can take it... You may look mild mannered, but it's all an act! |
Ooh. Here's a shocker (LOL) This one tells what kind of guy I should marry.
| You Should Date An Italian! |
 You love for old fashioned romance, with an old fashioned guy An Italian guy is the perfect candidate to be your prince charming If your head doesn't spin enough, just down another espresso with him Invest in a motorcycle helmet - and some carb blocker for all that pasta! |
Thursday, January 12, 2006
The late Christmas miracle
I haven't been myself lately. In addition to having had bronchitis, and two children ill, I'm restless with anticipation. I sent two of my children's' chapter book manuscripts off to different publishers several months ago, and the decision time lurks just around the corner. One publisher sent one of the manuscripts back, said they liked the storyline, but to put a different "spin" on it. I modified the story to their specifications and sent it back. I should be hearing from them any day now.
Every night my poor hubby gets assaulted when he walks in the door. "I'm fine? How are you?" he asks wryly as I take the mail and rifle through it. It's always the same results. . .no letter yet. The other night I couldn't stand it; couldn't be in the house another second. I haven't been able to exercise for two weeks, and that's taken it's toll on me as well. I have to be active.
The boys were watching a movie with their dad as I took my jacket out of the hall closet and quietly slipped outside. We've had uncommonly warm weather this year in Texas, but tonight the air had a pleasant chill to it. There were thousands of stars in the cloudless sky, and they sparkled like diamonds against a dark canvas. Breath-taking. I shivered in the cold and slipped into my jacket. A wave of sadness washed over me as I zipped it. The last time I wore this, Blue and I walked up and down the drive together.
I sat on the steps and put on my shoes. Stupid, I chastised myself, why did you let your guard down? Why did you let yourself fall in love with him? You knew you would get hurt. Ever since Snowflake died. . .
I laid back on the cold concrete of the porch and stared at the sky in attempts to stop the tears I felt forming in my eyes.
Snowflake had been my dog when I was a teen. The last dog my dad had given me. The minute the dog and I met, we clicked and were inseparable. She was more then a dog, she was my best friend. I was devastated when she was killed by a car. That was years ago, and I had never allowed myself to get close to another dog until Blue came along.
He was a Malamute/Husky mix, and had eyes as blue as a summer sky. He had an engaging personality, and after a few days, I was in love with a dog again, and it felt wonderful. Now, he was gone, and there was a void in my heart where he had been.
As I lay there feeling sorry for myself, I felt something nudge my foot. Probably the cat. Another nudge, this time harder. I raised myself up, and found myself nose to nose with. . .Blue!
I swallowed nervously and prayed I wasn't dreaming. "B-Blue. I-Is that you?" Blue cocked his head to the side, then sat on his haunches and offered me his paw. It was Blue! I bellowed the news into the house, and the porch was a swarm of activity. The boys, John and I all fussed and hugged the dog. After the newness had worn off, the male members of the family went back inside, leaving me alone with the dog.
I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around his fluffy neck. "I missed you so much," I whispered into his ear. I had gotten a late, but much needed, Christmas miracle.
Every night my poor hubby gets assaulted when he walks in the door. "I'm fine? How are you?" he asks wryly as I take the mail and rifle through it. It's always the same results. . .no letter yet. The other night I couldn't stand it; couldn't be in the house another second. I haven't been able to exercise for two weeks, and that's taken it's toll on me as well. I have to be active.
The boys were watching a movie with their dad as I took my jacket out of the hall closet and quietly slipped outside. We've had uncommonly warm weather this year in Texas, but tonight the air had a pleasant chill to it. There were thousands of stars in the cloudless sky, and they sparkled like diamonds against a dark canvas. Breath-taking. I shivered in the cold and slipped into my jacket. A wave of sadness washed over me as I zipped it. The last time I wore this, Blue and I walked up and down the drive together.
I sat on the steps and put on my shoes. Stupid, I chastised myself, why did you let your guard down? Why did you let yourself fall in love with him? You knew you would get hurt. Ever since Snowflake died. . .
I laid back on the cold concrete of the porch and stared at the sky in attempts to stop the tears I felt forming in my eyes.
Snowflake had been my dog when I was a teen. The last dog my dad had given me. The minute the dog and I met, we clicked and were inseparable. She was more then a dog, she was my best friend. I was devastated when she was killed by a car. That was years ago, and I had never allowed myself to get close to another dog until Blue came along.
He was a Malamute/Husky mix, and had eyes as blue as a summer sky. He had an engaging personality, and after a few days, I was in love with a dog again, and it felt wonderful. Now, he was gone, and there was a void in my heart where he had been.
As I lay there feeling sorry for myself, I felt something nudge my foot. Probably the cat. Another nudge, this time harder. I raised myself up, and found myself nose to nose with. . .Blue!
I swallowed nervously and prayed I wasn't dreaming. "B-Blue. I-Is that you?" Blue cocked his head to the side, then sat on his haunches and offered me his paw. It was Blue! I bellowed the news into the house, and the porch was a swarm of activity. The boys, John and I all fussed and hugged the dog. After the newness had worn off, the male members of the family went back inside, leaving me alone with the dog.
I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around his fluffy neck. "I missed you so much," I whispered into his ear. I had gotten a late, but much needed, Christmas miracle.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
DONUTS
I hate when this happens. Late last night I made a horrifying discovery when I was re-arranging the fridge. One of the male occupants put the milk jug back in the fridge with just a few drops of milk left in it. I say that it just had to be one of the boys, because I--ahem--never make such an error. Yeah right! Let me back away from the computer screen before lightning strikes me.
Being out of milk meant there would be nothing for breakfast the next morning, and the scene would be nasty. When my crew is hungry, you take your life in your hands just being around them. Reach for that last dinner roll and you might draw back a nub. After a long weekday, they sit around the dunner table, drool running down their face, their mouths twisted in wolf-like snarls, knives and forks poised and ready to strike. It's not quite that bad; I'm exaggerating. I'm close to being that way over the last cup of coffee though. : ).
I couldn't let my family go hungry, so this morning at 2 A.M., I made homemade donuts. I felt like the Dunkin Donut man from the commercial as I sleepily shuffled into the kitchen and made the pastries. It was all worth it in the end; my family heaped praise and gratitude on me for all my hard work. I've included the recipe if you're interested.
Donuts
4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
4 Tablespoons butter
1 pkg. yeast
1 1/2 cup warm water
1 teaspoon salt
Mix all dry ingredients, except the sugar and set aside. Mix warm water, sugar, and yeast together in another bowl, stirring until dissolved. Add to the dry ingredients and mix well. Add the melted butter and mix well. A slightly sticky ball should begin to form. Dump the ball of dough on a lightly floured surface and knead well.
Place into a lightly oiled bowl, and cover. Place in a warm, draft-free, place and allow to rise for 1 hour.
After allowing the dough to rise, return to lightly-floured surface and roll out dough to 1" thickness. Cut out the donuts, and the inner circle of the donut with *biscuit cutters.
Allow to rise for another 10 minutes. In the meantime, heat oil--according to manufacturer's specifications--in a Fry Daddy, or any other deep fat fryer. After the dough has risen, fry the donuts one at a time in the oil. Cook each side for no longer then 13 seconds. Allow donuts to drain and cool on a plate lined with paper towels. Glaze
* I use cutters that at 3 1/2" and 2" across.
Glaze:
3 cups powdered sugar
1/2 cup Tampico orange drink
Combine all ingredients, stirring well. Of course, more liquid makes the mixture thinner, less makes it thicker.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Nicole has tagged me :)!
Weirdo 5: Five Weird Things About Me
1. I once led a horse into my mother's house--I was a teen at the time. My mom had some men re-doing her house, and they saw me leading an orphan foal around the yard. "That foal follows you real well," the foreman grinned. "Bet she wouldn't follow you into the house."
Daddy had died a few months earlier, and I had a "don't @#$% with me attitude." I knew that they had just ripped up the flooring, and there was now particle board as the sub-flooring. "Watch me." As obedient as a dog, the tiny foal trip-trapped up the steps, across the porch, and into the house behind me. The men's jaws dropped in shock as we re-appeared outside. "Don't dare me to do anything," I said coolly to the speechless foreman.
2. I have a cat that rides a bike--My cat, Sassy, likes to ride on the seat of my bicycle as I push it down the driveway.
3. I like catsup in my chili--Jon thinks it's gross, but I like it.
4. I play NASCAR in Wal-Mart--I sometimes make car racing noises for my toddler as we cruise up and down the aisles in the shopping cart if he's fussy.
5. I once chased after a dog who had my underwear--My now missing dog, Blue, took my undies of the closeline and ran off down the driveway. It was 5 o'clock in the afternoon, people were driving home from work, and here comes a Husky running at them with undies in his mouth. A few steps behind him is a disheveled young woman--me--gasping "give me back my underwear you crazy mutt!"
After a few minutes of playing a merry game of "catch-me-if-you-can," I finally got my clothing. I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
Five people I'm tagging:
Big Dave
Perpetualchocoholic
Nankin
Tracey
Linda
Being out of milk meant there would be nothing for breakfast the next morning, and the scene would be nasty. When my crew is hungry, you take your life in your hands just being around them. Reach for that last dinner roll and you might draw back a nub. After a long weekday, they sit around the dunner table, drool running down their face, their mouths twisted in wolf-like snarls, knives and forks poised and ready to strike. It's not quite that bad; I'm exaggerating. I'm close to being that way over the last cup of coffee though. : ).
I couldn't let my family go hungry, so this morning at 2 A.M., I made homemade donuts. I felt like the Dunkin Donut man from the commercial as I sleepily shuffled into the kitchen and made the pastries. It was all worth it in the end; my family heaped praise and gratitude on me for all my hard work. I've included the recipe if you're interested.
Donuts
4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
4 Tablespoons butter
1 pkg. yeast
1 1/2 cup warm water
1 teaspoon salt
Mix all dry ingredients, except the sugar and set aside. Mix warm water, sugar, and yeast together in another bowl, stirring until dissolved. Add to the dry ingredients and mix well. Add the melted butter and mix well. A slightly sticky ball should begin to form. Dump the ball of dough on a lightly floured surface and knead well.
Place into a lightly oiled bowl, and cover. Place in a warm, draft-free, place and allow to rise for 1 hour.
After allowing the dough to rise, return to lightly-floured surface and roll out dough to 1" thickness. Cut out the donuts, and the inner circle of the donut with *biscuit cutters.
Allow to rise for another 10 minutes. In the meantime, heat oil--according to manufacturer's specifications--in a Fry Daddy, or any other deep fat fryer. After the dough has risen, fry the donuts one at a time in the oil. Cook each side for no longer then 13 seconds. Allow donuts to drain and cool on a plate lined with paper towels. Glaze
* I use cutters that at 3 1/2" and 2" across.
Glaze:
3 cups powdered sugar
1/2 cup Tampico orange drink
Combine all ingredients, stirring well. Of course, more liquid makes the mixture thinner, less makes it thicker.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Nicole has tagged me :)!
Weirdo 5: Five Weird Things About Me
1. I once led a horse into my mother's house--I was a teen at the time. My mom had some men re-doing her house, and they saw me leading an orphan foal around the yard. "That foal follows you real well," the foreman grinned. "Bet she wouldn't follow you into the house."
Daddy had died a few months earlier, and I had a "don't @#$% with me attitude." I knew that they had just ripped up the flooring, and there was now particle board as the sub-flooring. "Watch me." As obedient as a dog, the tiny foal trip-trapped up the steps, across the porch, and into the house behind me. The men's jaws dropped in shock as we re-appeared outside. "Don't dare me to do anything," I said coolly to the speechless foreman.
2. I have a cat that rides a bike--My cat, Sassy, likes to ride on the seat of my bicycle as I push it down the driveway.
3. I like catsup in my chili--Jon thinks it's gross, but I like it.
4. I play NASCAR in Wal-Mart--I sometimes make car racing noises for my toddler as we cruise up and down the aisles in the shopping cart if he's fussy.
5. I once chased after a dog who had my underwear--My now missing dog, Blue, took my undies of the closeline and ran off down the driveway. It was 5 o'clock in the afternoon, people were driving home from work, and here comes a Husky running at them with undies in his mouth. A few steps behind him is a disheveled young woman--me--gasping "give me back my underwear you crazy mutt!"
After a few minutes of playing a merry game of "catch-me-if-you-can," I finally got my clothing. I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
Five people I'm tagging:
Big Dave
Perpetualchocoholic
Nankin
Tracey
Linda
Sunday, January 08, 2006
That's what she gets for changing me
Thanks to all of you for the warm "get well" wishes you sent to me and my family. We're all doing better now, just a few lingering coughs every now and then.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
As you can tell, I grew up a "daddy's girl." Ever since I can remember, Daddy took me almost everywhere he went. When he moved cattle, my fat little pony was saddled, and I rode at the rear of the herd, keeping the cows from straying. Daddy was smart; he knew I wanted to help and he wanted me with him, so he put me the safest place there was, at the rear. Cattle are mindless creatures--not as mindless as sheep--and once you get the lead cattle headed the way you want, all the others follow. There's no real danger "bringing up the rear."
My mother was a gentile lady--like Victoria Barkley on Big Valley-- and it pained her to see her "little darling" riding tractors and working cattle. When I was born, she had visions of frilly frocks and hair ribbons; instead she got ripped jeans and hair with mesquite twigs tangled in it. "She's a girl, and she needs to act like one," Mama complained to Daddy on more then one occasion.
"Who says girls can't be strong emotionally and physically?" Daddy always retorted. "No one will take agvantage of when she grows up."
When I was twelve, my daddy taught me how to break a horse. He believed you would have a more useful animal if you treated the horse with respect, and broke them in different stages. A year later he beamed with pride when I saddle broke a young colt all by myself, and rode it around the corral. He was turning me into a modern day version of "Ellie Mae Clampett," and my mama didn't like it one bit.
After many lectures to Daddy, my mama finally convinced him that his thirteen year-old darling should learn how to be a young lady; Daddy reluctantly agreed. I hated wearing the confining dresses to church every Sunday, and I hated how I wobbled like a new born colt when I wore those stupid heels.
No amount of pleading could sway Daddy back over to my side. He had seen how I looked, and sadly admited it was time for his "best hand" to grow up. Over time, with help, I got used to wearing the clothes. The "help" came in the form of boys. I had started to notice them, and I liked how they noticed me. One day after church, I got more recognition then I bargained for.
I went to a restaurant with my mom where I saw two of the most yummy looking guys. On my pre-planned jaunt to the restroom, I made sure they made eye contact with me as I walked past their table. Score! They looked at me and smiled. On the way back from the restroom, I thought I would give them a little extra show by wiggling my behind as I walked past again. Their jaws dropped, and I thought I had them; then I felt Mom's hand cclutching my shoulder, and her hot breath in my ear.
"You have your dress tucked into the back of your pantyhose, and everyone can see your polka-dotted undies," she hissed. I wanted to melt into the floor. Oh well, I never saw those guys again, thank goodness. Sorry Mom. That's what you get for changing me.
Note: I do actually enjoy wearing dresses now, especially the "after 5" dresses on special occasions. I'm still paranoid if I feel a draft though :).
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
As you can tell, I grew up a "daddy's girl." Ever since I can remember, Daddy took me almost everywhere he went. When he moved cattle, my fat little pony was saddled, and I rode at the rear of the herd, keeping the cows from straying. Daddy was smart; he knew I wanted to help and he wanted me with him, so he put me the safest place there was, at the rear. Cattle are mindless creatures--not as mindless as sheep--and once you get the lead cattle headed the way you want, all the others follow. There's no real danger "bringing up the rear."
My mother was a gentile lady--like Victoria Barkley on Big Valley-- and it pained her to see her "little darling" riding tractors and working cattle. When I was born, she had visions of frilly frocks and hair ribbons; instead she got ripped jeans and hair with mesquite twigs tangled in it. "She's a girl, and she needs to act like one," Mama complained to Daddy on more then one occasion.
"Who says girls can't be strong emotionally and physically?" Daddy always retorted. "No one will take agvantage of when she grows up."
When I was twelve, my daddy taught me how to break a horse. He believed you would have a more useful animal if you treated the horse with respect, and broke them in different stages. A year later he beamed with pride when I saddle broke a young colt all by myself, and rode it around the corral. He was turning me into a modern day version of "Ellie Mae Clampett," and my mama didn't like it one bit.
After many lectures to Daddy, my mama finally convinced him that his thirteen year-old darling should learn how to be a young lady; Daddy reluctantly agreed. I hated wearing the confining dresses to church every Sunday, and I hated how I wobbled like a new born colt when I wore those stupid heels.
No amount of pleading could sway Daddy back over to my side. He had seen how I looked, and sadly admited it was time for his "best hand" to grow up. Over time, with help, I got used to wearing the clothes. The "help" came in the form of boys. I had started to notice them, and I liked how they noticed me. One day after church, I got more recognition then I bargained for.
I went to a restaurant with my mom where I saw two of the most yummy looking guys. On my pre-planned jaunt to the restroom, I made sure they made eye contact with me as I walked past their table. Score! They looked at me and smiled. On the way back from the restroom, I thought I would give them a little extra show by wiggling my behind as I walked past again. Their jaws dropped, and I thought I had them; then I felt Mom's hand cclutching my shoulder, and her hot breath in my ear.
"You have your dress tucked into the back of your pantyhose, and everyone can see your polka-dotted undies," she hissed. I wanted to melt into the floor. Oh well, I never saw those guys again, thank goodness. Sorry Mom. That's what you get for changing me.
Note: I do actually enjoy wearing dresses now, especially the "after 5" dresses on special occasions. I'm still paranoid if I feel a draft though :).
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Ever heard the phrase. . .
Ever heard the phrase "can't find your butt with both hands"? This morning I couldn't find my head. Yep. . .that's right. . .couldn't find it. I woke up this morning and found myself draped across my bed, never fully realizing my head was hanging over the side. I raised my hand to scratch the back of my head, and it was gone! My head was gone!
"Somebody help me! I lost my head," I screamed. The only answer was the ticking of the bedroom clock on the wall. I had forgotten school started back today, and my hubby was back at work. I knew better then to call to Robert for help; if he found my head, he would probably use it as a bocce ball.
"Okay, I need to calm down. My head has to be around here somewhere. It couldn't have just popped off and rolled somewhere. Maybe it's under the bed." Dummy me. The whole time I was talking out loud, never realizing my precious noggin was still attached.
Finally the sound of Robert waking up caused me to jerk my head up. "Oh, here it is on my shoulders! Right where I left it!" I am sooooooo glad John wasn't home to witness this brief moment of insanity.
Let me explain myself. In the past three days, I've gotten about twelve total hours of sleep. Having two sick children, and a roaring chase of bronchitis myself has made it almost impossible to sleep. Last night was the first decent night's rest I've gotten, and I guess my body caught up with me. I have to face it; I can't go for days without sleep anymore. I'm not as young as I used to be. *Sigh*
Hook Em' Horns!
"Somebody help me! I lost my head," I screamed. The only answer was the ticking of the bedroom clock on the wall. I had forgotten school started back today, and my hubby was back at work. I knew better then to call to Robert for help; if he found my head, he would probably use it as a bocce ball.
"Okay, I need to calm down. My head has to be around here somewhere. It couldn't have just popped off and rolled somewhere. Maybe it's under the bed." Dummy me. The whole time I was talking out loud, never realizing my precious noggin was still attached.
Finally the sound of Robert waking up caused me to jerk my head up. "Oh, here it is on my shoulders! Right where I left it!" I am sooooooo glad John wasn't home to witness this brief moment of insanity.
Let me explain myself. In the past three days, I've gotten about twelve total hours of sleep. Having two sick children, and a roaring chase of bronchitis myself has made it almost impossible to sleep. Last night was the first decent night's rest I've gotten, and I guess my body caught up with me. I have to face it; I can't go for days without sleep anymore. I'm not as young as I used to be. *Sigh*
Hook Em' Horns!
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Oh, one more thing
I forgot to put this in the last post, but if you're interested in a good online children's magazine, please check out Holiday Crafts for Kids. The magazine editor, Nancy Cavanaugh does a wonderful job of putting it together, and each month is focused on a different theme or holiday.
I'm excited, delighted, and deeply honored that my children's story, "Things That Go Bump in the Night" is on page 11 of the January issue. Enjoy!
I'm excited, delighted, and deeply honored that my children's story, "Things That Go Bump in the Night" is on page 11 of the January issue. Enjoy!
Monday, January 02, 2006
New Years
I hope everyone had a wonderful New Year and a very Merry Christmas!
New Year's Eve was uneventful for us. The boys and I sat around and did our best sea lion impersonations by coughing for John. He swears he won't get this nasty stuff; yeah right! Maybe if he keeps repeating that to himself, then clicks his heels together he'll wind up in Kansas. Sorry about that, I'm very cynical when I'm under the weather. I hope John doesn't get sick, but the deck is stacked against him.
John went above and beyond to insure we had fun New Year's Eve. He made an unexpected trip to the store and returned with delights such as purple grapes, cheese, and veggie and fruit trays. He also rented Dukes of Hazzard--which was a disappointment--and The Exorcism of Emily Rose. We waited until the kids were asleep before having a mixed drink-- an "Orange Russian" for myself, and a "Kahlua Mudslide" for John--and watching . . .Emily Rose. Yeah, I know. I'm a glutton for punishment, but I do enjoy watching the horror movies. The movie doesn't bother me while I'm watching it; it's in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes I wake up, and in my groggy state, start thinking about the movie. My instincts become hyper-sensative as I hear, see, and feel the smallest things. That's when the crap gets scared out of me.
What bothered me the most about . . .Emily Rose is that it actually happened. Voodoo and demonic possession are high on my "fear factor" list.
New Year's Eve was uneventful for us. The boys and I sat around and did our best sea lion impersonations by coughing for John. He swears he won't get this nasty stuff; yeah right! Maybe if he keeps repeating that to himself, then clicks his heels together he'll wind up in Kansas. Sorry about that, I'm very cynical when I'm under the weather. I hope John doesn't get sick, but the deck is stacked against him.
John went above and beyond to insure we had fun New Year's Eve. He made an unexpected trip to the store and returned with delights such as purple grapes, cheese, and veggie and fruit trays. He also rented Dukes of Hazzard--which was a disappointment--and The Exorcism of Emily Rose. We waited until the kids were asleep before having a mixed drink-- an "Orange Russian" for myself, and a "Kahlua Mudslide" for John--and watching . . .Emily Rose. Yeah, I know. I'm a glutton for punishment, but I do enjoy watching the horror movies. The movie doesn't bother me while I'm watching it; it's in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes I wake up, and in my groggy state, start thinking about the movie. My instincts become hyper-sensative as I hear, see, and feel the smallest things. That's when the crap gets scared out of me.
What bothered me the most about . . .Emily Rose is that it actually happened. Voodoo and demonic possession are high on my "fear factor" list.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
