CathyB

Tebowing

2012-01-16T11:55:00.002-05:00

While running errands this morning, I was listening to the Martha Zoller show on the radio. The segment I heard was regarding Tim Tebow, and his open display of faith on the football field.

Let me say at the outset. I'm not a huge sports fan. I didn't watch the game. The only time I've seen "The Tebow" is when they show replays, or as the fad seems to be nowadays, people mimicking the gesture to poke fun at him. I could Google it of course, but I'm not even 100% sure of the team he plays for (Denver maybe?), and I believe maybe his team lost yesterday? (Okay, please don't throw rotten tomatoes at me. I can't help it.) I watch the Dawgs, and I'll watch the Braves once they get to the playoffs. Same with the Falcons. If they're in the last playoff or the Superbowl, I'll watch. If I'm not working. Working on Sunday afternoon/nights and Monday nights makes it a little difficult to be a fan anyway, so I'm glad I'm not. It would be awfully hard to be chained to a desk while the game was on.

Tim Tebow has been taking flack for publicly acknowledging his faith ever since ... well, I don't know... I guess as long as he has been playing maybe? I know the first thing I ever heard about him was not what a great player (quarterback??) he is, but about his gesture after a good play. I heard and read about folks making fun of him for "crying". For kneeling at the goal line. For verbally proclaiming his faith.

On the radio this morning there was discussion that some people are saying that he is "divinely" inspired to make the right plays. Seriously? There is talk of outrage among nonbelievers who are hoping to have the NFL declared as a "no religion" zone. Oh really? Well, good luck trying to take the religion out of Tim Tebow. Well, perhaps you could take the "religion" out of him, but I doubt you could take (his love of) God out of him, or any any way, shape or form prohibit him from having a relationship with Him.

Does he pray before a game? I'm quite certain that he does. (Probably all during it, too!) As I said, I only know what little I've seen/read about the guy. I haven't done any book reports on him or anything. I'm just making comments as a casual observer. And I've certainly not been privy to his personal prayers to The Almighty. From the little bit I know about him, though, if he is a true man of integrity and faith, I seriously doubt that his prayers are for lots of points, perfectly executed plays, and to bring glory to himself so everyone will think he is so great. I kind of think maybe (hopefully) his prayers are for the ability to do his best, safety for all the players, and that GOD would be glorified. Of course I can be wrong. But I'd bet his prayer is closer to the second example. After all, isn't that how we should model our own prayers when beseeching God's help for successful lives? The ability to do our best, safety for ourselves and those around us? and that He would be glorified ... whether we succeed.. or NOT?

This whole thing bothers me on several levels: Will people begin to see Tebow as another Joel Osteen? Do it "right" and you will be blessed? (No haters, please... JO is a very dynamic speaker and motivator, IMO, but I don't care for his version of the (un)Gospel. That's just me.) Will people begin to turn to God because He "blesses" TT so much? So what happens when his career starts to slide, when he's off his game, when (hopefully never) he is injured, when something horrible happens in his personal life? Will those people then blame God? Will God get the bad rap? Do you think that when the stadium lights go down, when the cameras are gone, and/or he's too old for the sport, do you think he will stop "Tebowing"?

Do you really, honestly think God needs Tim Tebow in order to be the Awesome God that He Is?

For Tebow fans, is it the "hip" or "in" thing to do... pray to God because T does it?

I'm not discounting the impact on people. Not a tall. I'm quite sure there are people everywhere who are deeply affected by his faith and his public display of it. The maneuver is a great testimony.

So what's all the outrage about? Come on, folks. It's not rocket science. He's a young man who has a relationship with God, and who's not afraid to acknowledge it. Does that mean that every believer has to behave that way? Of course not. Is it in good taste? That's a matter of opinion. As a believer, I personally enjoy seeing someone giving God credit for their blessings and talents, instead of pounding their chests and proclaiming "Look at ME! See what I can do!" Again, that's just me.

Why does it bother so many people? Is it a threat?

On the radio show they said that Fran Tarkenton has commented on this whole "religion in sports" thing. He said that religion in sports is nothing new. He was (is?) a man of faith, and said at the time he played football, he had to get permission from the elders of his church to play on Sunday. There have always been believers in sports. Ever heard of the FCA? (Even I know what that is! ha!)

And then there's that 3:16 commercial. I didn't see the game, but the commercial video has been posted all over Facebook and the internet, so I've seen it. What's the problem with it? I honestly just don't get why in the world people want to get so upset about it. People who don't drink beer and have horror stories regarding alcoholism don't get up and scream about beer commercials during football games. Celibate men don't protest against Victoria's Secret commercials (now that one made me laugh). You see where I'm going with this, right? So what... if there are atheist or agnostic people watching TV and they don't like the 3:16 commercial.. SO WHAT! Get over it! If you're threatened by such a commercial, then perhaps you're not as strong in your non-belief as you want to think you are. Put your atheist (or whatever else concept that conflicts with my beliefs) commercials on TV. Doesn't bother me a bit. Whoever has the money to buy ad space on the network ... gets the air time. I'm impressed that FOTF was able to come up with the money.

Are these same anti-religious people creating a fuss about all the Mormon commercials on TV? (Were there any of those played during the game?) I've always thought LDS church had the best commercials. As a teenager, I once wrote off for a free poster for my room that was distributed by them. I don't remember exactly what it was, but something very peaceful and beautiful. And now they have this campaign* on TV showing average, every-day people who live with the same struggles and triumphs as everyone else. And at the end, they say... ".... and I'm a Mormon." Great marketing for the LDS, IMO. (*And while they deny any correlation, my cynical mind screams that it is politically generated and/or sponsored by a certain campaign).

Do those Mormon commercials offend me? Heck no. Nothing they can say is going to make me become a Mormon. I'm not dissin' them, I just don't want to be one. I believe differently, and I'm not gonna change, no matter how Every-Day-Average the people in their commercials are. Could I vote for one for president? Absolutely, I could. I'll vote for the best candidate, regardless of his religion, (or lack thereof), if he is the best candidate (I hope I don't have to vote for THIS one, but that's another blog post altogether!) There are some, though, who wouldn't consider voting for one of those "weird Mormons", so the Every-Day-Average American might find him/herself with a little softer view on that, after the commercials. [As an aside... did you know that it is unconstitutional to "test" a candidate for the presidency based on religion? Yep, it sure is.]

Oh, sorry... I drifted way off topic here. I'll have plenty of time for those posts. It's shaping up to be a long election season...

Okay... back to religion on TV. Here's another angle to consider. You can please all of the people some of the time, some of the people all of the time, but you can't please all of the people all of the time. If anti-religious people rally against religious stuff, the Christians get mad. If the anti-gay people raise a fuss about shows depicting openly-gay (or even implied) relationships, the gay people get mad. If the atheist or whatever you call the nature-worshiping folks want to have something on TV the Christians get mad. The Christians get mad about a lot of stuff... lol...

There's this thing called the 1st amendment. (Help me here, Ron Paul...) Evidently anybody can say anything they want to say... but oh wait... Don Imus can't call a black girl "nappy headed", but Westboro Church can stand outside a fallen soldier's funeral and scream "Fag"?? (yikes, another subject for another day)

There's also this thing called freedom of choice. If you don't like something, do your best to remove yourself from it. If you absolutely cannot survive watching Tim Tebow doing his thing, then take a break from the TV. Close your eyes, or go to the fridge for a snack. Honestly. I know people who absolutely are disgusted at some of the sitcoms that depict the gay lifestyle. Okay, so they are offended by it. Do they watch it? Ummm, probably not. A Miss America (another show/organization which disgusts many) contestant was asked Saturday night about the "16 And Pregnant" and "Teen Mom" shows on MTV. I've seen some of these shows and they are pretty pathetic. I don't like them and for the most part don't agree with their message. I'm not going to get on my soapbox and scream about how they are offensive and should be taken off TV. I just don't watch.

One thing I would like to say, as a word of caution to my fellow believers. I think we need to be very careful to understand that while we want to see the right preserved for anyone, on any show, to acknowledge their faith... there are others who believe differently than we do about other things. These folks deserve the same consideration... they want to see *their* beliefs and values respected and preserved the same as we do. We can't criticize or judge them for standing up for what they want... without expecting them to criticize and judge us.

Bottom line - Tebow's relationship with God is a personal thing. His acknowledgement is a personal thing. Perhaps it is encouraging to some who have difficulty showing their faith in public. Maybe it will be a good commercial for God, like the ones we're seeing for the Mormons. Most assuredly it will turn some folks off. But it has nothing to do with football. I'll betcha when he gets a good parking place at the mall, he whispers "Thanks, God!" (I do, do you? lol) or maybe he hops out of his car and hollers it, I don't know. In a world where we worship athletes and rock stars, I find it very refreshing that someone (with a lot at stake) is willing to acknowledge that his talents are God-given, and not self-made.

But that's just me.

This post probably doesn't make much sense, and doesn't tie itself up very well at the end. It's just a bunch of rambling thoughts on a Monday morning. Now it's time to get to work.

The Magic Diet

2012-01-09T23:10:00.000-05:00

[For those of you who aren't on Facebook (all two of you), or who somehow missed the new Sweet Tea, here's my article for the January issue.]

The Magic Diet

Admit it. We all want it. The Magic Diet that will melt away the pounds like hot butter, and buff the muscles to a six pack. What’s that? Butter? Six pack? See how quickly I get sidetracked when thinking about The Magic Diet? Just that one sentence alone was enough to make me gain 3 pounds. Believe me. If there were a Magic Diet out there I’d have found it by now.

Growing up, I didn’t have to worry about weight. My mama was a tiny little thing, and I was just barely over 100 lb soaking wet all through my teenage years. Everyone used to tell me “You’ll never have to worry about your weight.” (Pssst. Don’t ever tell that to anyone. Some people are silly enough to believe it.)

I didn’t experience the “freshman 15”. Nope, that was kid stuff. Instead, I experienced the “bridal bloatfest”. When I married at 21, I was horrified that it took a size 9 wedding gown to hold my bloated body. What had happened to my size 5 and 7 jeans? I guess being so blissfully in love was a calorie magnet, and I had ballooned up to 114 lbs. If gaining weight was the sign of bliss, by the time I gave birth 5 ½ years later, you’d have thought I was the owner of Disneyland (The Happiest Place On Earth).

Some people take up a new craft or hobby. Some people take dance lessons or learn a new language. Some people search for the answers to the mysteries of the universe. I began The Quest for The Magic Diet. The one that would allow me to swallow a pill, or meditate, or listen to subliminal messages to give me the desire and the willpower to fit back into those jeans. Forget the 5s and 7s, I would have been ecstatic to see ANY size in the single digits!

My library expanded. I purchased every diet book on the market. I read them all. Some of them I tried, some of them I decided were either too dangerous, or the food choices left me gagging. There was the grapefruit and boiled egg diet. The Lemonade Diet. The Cabbage Soup Diet. The Richard Simmons Method. Medibolic. Scarsdale. The Banana Diet. The Ice Cream diet. The Zone. The Mayo Clinic. The Eat Like A Tree diet. The Full Plate Diet. The Weigh Down Diet. And that’s only a few of them. Needless to say, I’ll never have to buy another door stop again.

Back in the olden days of VHS cassettes, I bought enough exercise videos to rival the Great Wall of China. And like The Great Wall, they just sat there, not doing a darn thing to take the weight off. Today I have no less than 10 “workout” DVDs. I can Walk Away The Pounds, Dance Away The Pounds, and Hypnotize Away The Pounds. They just sit there too. Collecting dust. Hmph. And they were guaranteed to work! Wonder if I can get my money back?

My repertoire of exercise equipment isn’t too shabby either. I have stretchy things, and springy things, and special tone-up sneakers. I have a pedometer, an MP3 player and some kick-butt ear buds. I have my very own personal treadmill. Inside my house. Plugged in. And up until a few months ago I had a membership at the Wellness Center. Then I figured for that monthly payment, I could buy myself a lot of groceries and fast food. You know that didn’t end well.

And now, a bride again at age 53, the “bliss” seems to come at me even faster. I’m at the happiest place I’ve ever been in my life. Healthy, awesome family, beautiful grandchildren, and the most wonderful husband. Bliss, I tell you!! I guess that explains it then: I bump into things I didn’t used to bump into. Sometimes when I walk through the room, things just seem to topple over all by themselves. And then I realize it was my butt that toppled it over.

Something’s gotta give. And it ain’t gonna be my waistband.

So here we find ourselves in a brand new year, with a clean plate … err… clean slate, and once again embrace the resolve to start all over. To get it right this time. And we will do it. Because after all my extensive research, I have learned that there really IS a Magic Diet. Four Little Words. Eat Less, Move More. Find your magic and make it work. You’re not gettin’ any younger, and unless you already found your magic, you’re probably not gettin’ any skinnier either. Eat Less, Move More. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make room in the closet for all those clothes that are hanging on the bars of my treadmill. I’m ready to get my Magic on. I’ve got some movin’ to do!

Barcodes = The Antichrist

2012-01-07T14:43:00.001-05:00

I remember when the bar-code system began to be used in the common marketplace. Some Christians immediately declared that bar-codes and the use thereof represented the Antichrist. Then the whole Proctor & Gamble fiasco ensued, and folks were convinced the company was run by satanists. (Thankfully they survived the "scandal" and lived to print more coupons...)

I don't know if the Antichrist will need to depend on such technology as bar-codes or not. I could see how it could work, and may indeed play a part. I don't know. I'm actually more afraid of a Big Brother Conspiracy using bar-codes than I am of selling my soul to the devil for a Big Mac. Maybe Big Brother will end up being the Antichrist, I don't know. (That being said, you'll never find bar-codes tattooed to my forehead or my right hand.)

However, this post is not about the battle of unseen powers. It's about the mind-blowing, game-changing use of ... bar-code scanners!!! I kind of wasn't going to go "Public" with my decision to join Weight Watchers (WW) just yet. Well, there. I just went "Public" with it. Yep, that's right. I re-joined (for the umpteenth) time on December 29th. Ever the cost-conscious consumer, I read that some prices would be going up after Jan 1, and I also wanted to avoid the annual New-Year-Resolution crowd that inevitably shows up the first week of the year, I jumped back on the bandwagon before the new year started. After a few days of reviewing the program changes, reorienting myself with the E-Tools system, and planning some menus, I started the New Eating Year on Monday, the 2nd of January. My weigh-in was scheduled for Thursday the 5th, and since I only had a few days of being On Program (OP), I wasn't expecting a significant loss. Nonetheless, I was very pleased with how those four days had gone. We went to Applebee's on Wed night prior to my Thurs weigh-in, and I ordered one of the WW dinners from the menu. I even shaved off a couple of Points by substituting the black-bean-and-corn-salsa with steamed broccoli. It was very yummy and quite satisfying to the palate. Best of all, I only ate half, and brought the other half home to have for lunch the next day. So I was prepared to share my non-scale victory (NSV), figuring I wouldn't be celebrating so very much at the scales. WRONG! I couldn't believe it when the receptionist told me I was 3.2 lbs ... DOWN! YAY!!! The news provided even more motivation and determination, and I was elated, to say the least!! I called everybody I knew. Well, I called DJ, Steve, and my mamma, and I texted Whitney. Not quite everybody, but at least those closest to me.

At the close of the meeting, the lecturer asked if anyone had tried the bar-code scanner for Smartphones. I didn't know such a thing existed, but I thought I'd give it a try. Friday afternoon I had a few minutes of down time, so I went to the App Store and downloaded the scanner. I figured it wouldn't be worth a flip, but Mary found an empty Diet Coke container... one of the squatty little plastic ones... in the backseat, so we decided to scan it. Well. Not only did it pull up the points value (0, of course), it pulled up the nutritional information used to calculate the points (fat, carbs, fiber, and protein grams), and a picture of the squatty little Diet Coke. Seriously cool. So, off to the grocery store I go with my WW-friendly shopping list. I ended up buying quite a bit more items than I otherwise would have, because... I could scan each item and it would tell me how many points per serving the item would "cost" me!! Wow. One of the things I always hated about WW before was "journaling". Or writing down everything I ate. (They call it "tracking" nowadays.) I also hated looking up in the little booklet to find the points value of everything I ate.

Those days are gone! With today's technology, I can keep track of all my points with the click of a mouse, and I can scan the points value of anything with a bar-code. Granted, there are some obscure items not in the scanner's database, but if the item is not in the database, it gives the option to calculate the points using the nutritional information on the product label. How cool is that! And.. it keeps a list of everything you scan, so no duplicate scanning!

Another tool that I am loving on the WW mobile app is the Restaurant tab. I haven't looked at the entire listing of restaurants (but I've already found my favorites!!!), and I can look at all their menu items to check the points value. There's also a row of tabs at the top (ex. 2-4, 5-7, 8-10 etc.) so that if I only have 10 points left for the day, I can click on the 8-10 tab and see all the food on the menu with 8-10 points without having to scroll through the entire menu. Brilliant!!

I have been overweight for more years than I have not. The road has been long and complicated. I'm so very thankful for yet another chance to start over, and get it right this time. I've tried everything... but it always seems to come back to WW. I've probably lost several hundred pounds on the program over the past 30 years or so. It's what the doctors recommend. It's on TV all the time, and the internet ads too. Everywhere I have turned for the past few weeks, WW has just kinda been "in my face". For me it's confirmation. Jennifer Hudson has been singing to me about believing and I've tapped into the energy, and I Believe. I Believe that with the techno tools available to me, that my old excuses won't work any more. I'm excited about the tools, and how they have already rocked my world.

So, here it is. My name is Cathy, and I'm a WW member. And I'm loving it.

Oh, and about that Antichrist thing... I ain't askeerd of him. My FATHER can beat up his father any day.

Out With The Old

2012-01-01T21:17:00.002-05:00

In with the new. Except to document the progress of contractions, labor, and the birth of a baby, the second hand on the clock is rarely watched so closely as New Year's Eve. Whether you're out with friends, or snuggled comfortably at home with the ones you love, the tick, tick, tick of the countdown symbolizes the anticipation of the new year to come. For as long as I can remember, the stroke of midnight on that last day in December has always been accompanied by a lump in my throat, and oftentimes, a misty feeling in my eyes. I've never really figured out why. From the times I remember as a kid at home with my parents and brother, to celebrating in my own home with my own family, to partying with friends, to spending some of them alone, a few babysitting my grandchildren, and now entering 2011 with my "new" husband, there's just something emotional about it.

I love this picture, and brazenly swiped it from someone else's blog. It makes me think though, about the waves on the beach. When the waves crash over your sandcastle, the structure itself rarely survives, but often there is a lump in the sand that stands bravely, as a testament to what you so painstakingly created. We often say that a new year is a clean slate, a chance to start over. And it is... but we also carry forth lumps in the sand left over from yesterday's experiences. Hopefully many of them are good, but life is tough, and the mistakes and the hurt that we felt in 2011 will go with us into 2012. We can hope and trust that the waves of time will continue to smooth away the pain, and the sun will shine upon the sand again.

2011 will go down for me as a very good year! A busy year, with much to be grateful for. I married the sweetest man, and bask unashamedly in his love. In doing so, my family increased overnight, and I welcomed his children and grandchildren, mom and siblings, as he has welcomed mine. Our Christmas tree this year was a sign of the increase in our blessings-- not because we spent lots of money, but simply because we have so many with whom to share the holiday.

After calling The 409 home for five years, I moved into Steve's home when we married in April. A huge change for sure! I had been single for 19 years, and had no plans whatsoever to marry again. A few disappointing and painful relationships over the years had left me with the realization that I was much better off just enjoying my daughter and then delving wholeheartedly into the world of Greemaw-ism. No room for dating relationships and/or the complications that inevitably followed. And I made no bones about the fact that I'd never marry again. Obviously Stevie Jay caused me to re-evaluate those resolutions, and I'm so thankful that I gave us a chance. Oh, I fought it tooth and nail in the beginning, but with the counsel of a few wise friends, and The Great Epiphany one day in church, I stopped fighting against myself. And just let it happen. And I'm so thankful!!

The summer of 2011 included our Honeymoon Trip to the beach in June. Our original wedding date was set for June 17th, but a series of events (God-ordained!) found us married April 22nd, but we kept our original plans for the honeymoon. It was a whirlwind week of fun and sun, staying busy, and being lazy. By far my most favorite trip to the beach to date! We're hoping to make lots more memories at Our House At The Beach. (Aunt Joyce and Uncle Gene's townhouse.)

2011 also brought the reunion of our graduating class - the renewal of old friendships, as well as the blossoming of new. Serving on the planning committee, I got to spend some time with several folks that I didn't really know that well in high school, but enjoyed getting to know as we planned. Funny how renewing acquaintances brings you back to your roots. And instilled a longing in my heart to get together more often with my Statham friends, with whom I shared homegrown memories of life in our small town, and attending the same school together "just us" through the 8th grade. It was sad to see how many classmates have passed since we graduated in 1976, and far too often now we read on Facebook where someone has lost a dear parent, or a spouse. Life really is short.

And the hours just whiz by the older I get. I swear, when I was a kid, it took 12 1/2 years for Christmas to come. Now it seems like just a few weeks. Yesterday Steve and I un-decorated the house and put away all the trappings of the holiday. In the blink of an eye, it will be time to bring them out again. My youngest grandchild will start Pre-K this fall. It was only yesterday I was smooching on those sweet little newborn cheeks. Leyliebug is such a grown-up little lady, and watching her takes me back to the days when her mommy was a little girl. She'll be in first grade this next school year.

I find myself wishing constantly for 48-hour days (but leave the 8-hour work day intact, please!) I don't have time to blog any more. I did manage to write about half a chapter in my book in 2011, but I long for more time to finish the research and complete the book. Scrapbooking? Haven't touched it in ages. I need to finish Corey's First Year scrapbook so I can get busy with mine and Steve's wedding scrapbook. Luckily, I never finished Whitney's Wedding Book (she started having babies before I got that one finished!), so I have lots of wedding scrapbook supplies on hand!

Good things happened at The 409, as well. Whitney and Dustin gained full custody of sweet Mary in June, and she has settled in quite well. We are so happy that she is with us now. So thankful to turn an undesirable former situation into one of stability and unconditional love. Dustin went to school, and after passing a rigorous battery of tests, has made a career change and is doing amazing work with a great company. Whitney returned to her former job, and has enjoyed being back at work. Daycare, one of the biggest challenges of working parents, is manageable, and I'm fortunate to be able to spend time with the kids and help out when they're out of school. Mom and Dad are enjoying good health, and they love spending time with the kids too, and are able to help out when needed.

Steve and Joe stayed busy throughout the summer, and we are grateful to all the people who continue to use Greater South for their construction/remodeling needs.

DJ and David welcomed their first grandchild, Ryan Philip, into the world on November 30th. Such fun to watch them in this new role. The sight of a baby in their arms has been long coming, and we are so thankful for this new life.

Michael and Linda continue to work on the farm, and at the annual Hillbilly Hippiefest, chose "Star Valley Farm" as the name of their corner of Eden. Steve and I were able to attend the event, and it remains one of my favorite memories of 2011. Their future plans for the farm are amazing, and I can't wait to watch them unfold.

One of the girls I grew up with was unable to make it home for the reunion in October. She was in town after Christmas and seven of us gals met for dinner. Boy, did we ever have fun! Memory Lane for us is Broad Street in Statham, and we traveled up and down the lane all evening. I'll bet some ears were burning somewhere!! There's just something so gratifying about revisiting my youth with ones who were such a huge part of it... and knowing that we share the same roots. We talked and laughed (hysterically at times, when a malfunctioning camera kept shooting crazy shots even without the shutter button being pressed!), and when we parted, we promised to do it again soon.

There's always the sad part of saying goodbye to dear friends as they pass from this life, and we were called upon to do that as well in 2011. But hope lies eternal, and for those of us who believe, death is not the end.

2012 now lies before me. A few lumps in the sand brought over from 2011, for sure, but an empty beach as far as my eyes can see. I hope the decisions I make will be good ones, built firmly on solid ground, far from the reach of the crashing waves. I hope I take time to stop and smell the roses, and love those around me in such a way that they never question my love or devotion. I hope to spend more time with family, and enjoy lots of grandbaby love and kisses. I hope I will love myself enough to grab hold and hang on tightly to my resolve to make healthier choices, making 2012 the year that I regain my health. I hope I will devote more time to matters of my faith... because my faith matters so very much. I hope that I will be an encouragement to the downtrodden, a ray of sunshine to the sad, and a balm to those in pain. I hope that I will mean as much to my friends as they mean to me. I hope that my relationship with my husband will continue to grow ever stronger and sweeter, and that our home will be full of love, happiness, and the laughter of our grandchildren!

And I hope the same things for you. Happy New Year!! May your 2012 be blessed.

Photorealism

2011-12-15T11:09:00.001-05:00

The wedding gown. Perhaps the most important decision a bride will make when planning her wedding. She searches for the perfect dress for her special day. When she finds it, nothing else will do. Fifty years later when she’s celebrating her Golden Anniversary, chances are she can still describe the gown in detail, right down to the last sequin and seed pearl. Ask the groom what her gown looked like, and he’ll get that deer-in-the-headlight look, swallow hard, and hesitatingly say “….White?”

An equally important decision the bride must make is choosing a wedding photographer. The images that capture the day will enable those who missed the event to experience the magic simply by viewing the pictures.

There is no shortage of wedding photographers these days, and with the technology of digital photography, creativity is limitless. In the olden days of film, special effects were pretty much limited to double-exposure, depth-of-field trickery, and the use of filters. While camera technique and photographer talent is still a huge part of it, nowadays the real magic is worked with manipulating the images on the computer. It’s amazing what can be done. I have a very special friend who has taken the art of preserving memories to an even higher level. Dietke is an amazing photographer, with an incredible eye for composition and design. This, however, is only the tip of the iceberg. Once the image is captured, she then brings it to life using a technique called Photorealism. With pencil or charcoal in hand, she transforms the image onto paper, creating a one-of-a-kind work that defies description in its detail and beauty.

This is a sample of photorealism.

To see a time-lapse video of this portrait from start to finish, visit Dietke’s web page here. Prepare to be amazed.

Born in Germany, Dietke moved to the USA about eight years ago, after partnering with Chris while organizing an exhibit featuring R.E.M., a band from Athens, Ga. At their first meeting, she realized she had found her soul mate. After long-distance dating for 2 ½ years, she moved to the states, and they were married nine months later.

Since meeting Dietke, I have been fascinated with her work, and recently interviewed her about the process.

How old were you when you realized that you had the gift of drawing? I remember being in Kindergarten and elementary school trying hard to develop better drawing techniques. But it wasn't until I was 12 that adults started to really encourage me, and that made a big difference. My sister's boyfriend gave me a book on portrait drawings - that boosted both my confidence and my skill.

Someone smart once said that creativity needs a solid foundation of knowledge. So when you meet kids that may have talents for something, definitely give them a book, some video links - anything that opens some doors to more knowledge - and see if they take it to the next level. It doesn't even have to be your own kids.

Did you take formal art lessons as a child and young adult? I did take art classes in school, but pretty much only added extra-curricular classes after I started drawing photorealistically. The book I mentioned helped a lot, though - the rest just fell into place.

What was your major in college? I actually studied arts management - largely because I didn't think I had enough potential to make it as a full time artist.

What intrigued you to draw your first photorealism piece? Once more, R.E.M. play into it - I had some pictures of them that I wanted to have bigger for my room, so I decided to draw them. It just so happened that the drawings ended up being photorealism. After that, I stuck to the style.

How long did it take to do your first one? Probably about 50 hours

After years of experience, how long would it take to do the same piece now? Maybe 25-30?

When did you create Brooke’s portrait? How long did it take to complete? I drew Brooke in 2008, and it was one of the first ones where I also took the photo it is based on. You can actually see me reflected in her eyes, precariously balancing in a French window to get that beautiful light. It took about 50 hours as well.

When do you know a drawing is done? Well, for one, when everything I do seems to make it worse rather than better - that's a good indication. But beyond that, it needs to "grab me' - when a drawing is really done, it kind of feels like a little hit in the stomach when I look at it. If I don't get that feeling, it's usually best to leave it alone for a few days or weeks, and then see what's missing.

How do you keep from smearing the image while you are drawing? I used to just use a sheet of paper to rest my hand on, but then a friend and I developed a product we named D'Anna Glass (Anna is my middle name) - it is a glass pane that hovers just a slight distance above a drawing and it has wheels so that you can very easily move it left and right. So now I rest my arm on that while I draw, and it not only keeps me from smudging, it also keeps my hand really steady, it is really comfortable, and it protects the drawing while I'm not working on it. If you are interested, you can learn more at www.dannaglass.com

How is the image protected from smearing once it is complete? Putting the drawing behind glass, ideally with a bit of air between the drawing and the glass, is the most important thing to do. I also spray drawings with about 15 thin layers of fixative, which can be found in art supply stores. With plenty of thin layers it will eventually be smudge-proof. It's just important to check upfront if the fixative works with the specific drawing materials. One time when I was about 14, I spent many hours on a drawing with white chalk, and when I sprayed it, it almost completely disappeared in front of my eyes... Never did that again! :-)

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What an amazing talent!! What an incredible treasure for any bride.

Sky Lanterns

2011-11-18T10:50:00.000-05:00

As promised in my last post, I'm adding some follow up pictures from our Sky Lantern adventure last weekend at Michael and Linda's farm. My friends Dietke and Chris have added some great night-time photos of the event, and I wanted to share with you. If you're unfamiliar with sky lanterns, click the link above to my previous post, which explains what they are, and how they work. I can't wait to do this again!

Preparing to launch

Almost ready!

Into the night sky, our lanterns gracefully wafted on the breeze.

I will defer to the words of the photographer himself...

I enjoy this photo a lot because it remains like the evening itself, a wonderful dreamlike moment.

A few more night photos:

The Food Tent

Adding another log to the fire

Good times around the campfire!

For sure, this day and night will definitely be filed away in my bank of Favorite Memories. Looking forward to making many more happy memories at Star Valley!!

Hillbilly Hippiefest 2011

2011-11-14T13:47:00.000-05:00

What a great weekend!! Saturday marked the one-year anniversary of my first date with my husband. Wow… I never would have imagined how my world would change over the following months. On the day we celebrated our anniversary, we were blessed to meet, for the first time in real life, the delightful woman who started it all. (You may remember that story.) I’ve enjoyed getting to know Dietke, and learning about her amazing talents, through Facebook, and was so happy to meet her and her husband, Chris, on Saturday.

Dietke, Steve and I. We love her!!!

The event that brought us together was none other than the 2^nd Annual Hillbilly Hippiefest, hosted by Michael and Linda, (baby brother and sister-in-law) at their farm in the South Carolina mountains. Lots of folks brought their tents and camping gear, and settled in for the weekend. Steve and I were unsure about whether we’d get to go due to work issues, and unfortunately, there’s a nasty kidney stone that’s giving Steve some trouble this week too. We were so happy that it worked out for us to go. I had never been to the farm before, though I had seen a few pictures, and couldn’t wait to check it out.

For those who don’t know my brother, let me tell you a little about him (but first my dad), and why the farm is so important. Our dad is one of the most amazing men alive, and honestly, could make it in the wilderness with nothing but a knife and a canteen. He could build a shack out of twigs, and feed himself with wild berries and roots. He could catch a fish from the stream with his bare hands and build a fire with two sticks and a rock. Get the picture? He’s a very self-sufficient kind of man, and knows a little bit about most things, and an awful lot about a lot of things. He is absolutely right when he shakes his head at “these kids today”, who wouldn’t survive one week if they had to “make do” for themselves.

My brother got his DNA. He can do anything. If he can’t do it, he’ll Google it and figure out how to do it. For several years, he and Linda have been looking for a patch of land in the mountains, in the hopes of building a farm and retiring there. I don’t know the details of how they came across this particular patch of land, but purchase it they did, and are in the process of turning it into a self-sustaining farm. There are a couple of streams on the property, a nice valley or two (I only saw the front side of the property; there’s another valley on the back side of their mountain.) They have moved a small cabin onto the property to serve as their living quarters when they go up to work on the farm. When the farmhouse is completed, the cabin will be the guest quarters. The really cool thing about their plans, is that the farm will be completely self-sustaining. Solar panels will provide the electricity, they will grow their own food, and grass-feed their animals. Another goal is to make it a teaching farm, where they can bring folks in and teach them how to grow their own organic food, and how to can and preserve the food. At home in Atlanta, he makes his own wine, and is planning to grow his own grapes at the farm someday. He makes his own bread, and will one day grow his own grain and mill it as well. You can read more about it in his own words here. Check it out. He is amazing.

And so we spent the afternoon and evening with Michael, Linda, my nephew Ryan, and LUCY was in the house! …um… on the farm. The weather was PERFECT, and the afternoon was clear and crisp. As the evening wore on, sweaters, sweatshirts, mittens, scarves and blankets were brought out, and we gathered the hay bales closer to the fire. There are few things finer than a roaring bonfire on a clear, cold night, and the laughter of friends. With the wine tasting over, and the appetizers enjoyed, it was time to turn attention to dinner. Michael had built a smoker, and all afternoon the aroma of ribs, chicken, and pork tempted our taste buds, and finally it was time to load our plates. Oh, the food! In addition to the aforementioned meat, there were several varieties of soup, pasta, vegetables, and desert. After dinner we sat around to let the food settle and watch the fire crackle and pop in the night. The full moon was teasing us with brightening of the sky just over the ridge of the mountain, ready to spill its light into the valley. Baby Lucy was tucked away inside the cabin, a tired little pumpkin after running around all afternoon breathing the fresh country air. All the doggies were snuggled at the feet of their respective owners, and Scottie, Michael and Linda’s pooch, had found a nice warm spot in my lap underneath the blanket. The night was filled with sounds of the wood popping and sizzling, friends laughing and talking, and at one point the loud bangs of fireworks. We enjoyed a very nice display of streams of color streaking in the sky, and my favorite ones, the tiny explosions with the sparkles trickling down like a waterfall. Big, fat sparklers were passed around and the smiling faces of friends having fun lit up the darkness.

My very favorite moment, however, was when we all released sky lanterns, and they floated up, up, and away into the night. I had never seen this done before. It was amazing. Sky lanterns are very fragile miniature hot-air-balloon-like lanterns made up of tissue paper and a small, lightweight ring of wire at the bottom. There’s a square of some kind of slow-burning, wax combustible material attached to the bottom. You fluff up the lantern, light the square on fire, and hold the lantern upright and let it fill with air. The hot air will inflate the tissue-paper lantern, and when it’s full, you simply release it and it floats silently and gracefully up into the air. They are designed to burn for about 12 minutes, and can go several miles high into the sky. Linda invited us to make a wish on our lantern, or meditate and perhaps symbolically release something from our lives that binds us and “let it go”, as the lanterns floated upward. I sent my lantern heavenward with love and hugs for Delores. There were around 40 people who released the lanterns, and the moment was quiet and somewhat reverent, with whispers of “awesome!”, “cool!” being the only sounds for a minute or so, as we all gazed upward to watch the slow ascent of the lights. They traveled silently northward, then when they reached the altitude coinciding with the top of the ridge, a breeze changed their direction and they began to float silently toward the east. Higher and higher they floated, until they looked like stars in the night. Amazing. I want to do this again!!

After the lanterns floated out of sight, Michael lit some luminary bags and placed them around the perimeter of the party area. We left shortly afterward for the drive home, and as we reached the road and looked back down into the valley, we could see the luminaries scattered about the farm, and the shadows of the people gathered once again around the bonfire.

It was a fabulous day. I’m so happy for Michael and Linda, to be able to see their dreams come true. I can’t wait to see how the farm progresses, and look forward to spending lots of quality time there with family and friends in the future.

Here are a few photos that I took of the farm. My friends Dietke and Chris (both professional photographers) took photos of the fireworks and sky lanterns. I will add those pictures when they are available, so be sure to come back and take a look.

The front acreage from the main road

Tent Village

The Barn

Our gracious host and hostess

View from the front porch of the cabin.

Epic Fail

2011-11-10T09:06:00.000-05:00

Blogging is addictive. When I first started this blog, I was faithful to post every day. During the 2008 presidential election it served as my soap box. It's where I posted pictures of the grandchildren and talked about my family, and recorded my trips down memory lane. I'm afraid the blog suffered a little when Steve and I started dating, as I preferred spending time with my sweetheart over sitting at the computer. Imagine that!! Blogging also serves as a diary, of sorts, and with my failing memory these days, I like that events and feelings are documented somewhere, and though Whitney calls me narcissistic, I enjoy going back and reading about what was happening, and what I was feeling over the past few years.

A little bit after the time I started this blog, I created a more private one to document my many attempts at weight loss. I found other weight-loss blogs, and became cyber-friends with lots of other folks doing the same thing. Reading their blogs was very motivational to me, and became an important part of my day. Strangely enough, knowing that I would be posting about my day would often help me make better choices. I had determined to always be truthful and never cover up or justify "failures". I specifically remember one day wanting to eat a particularly yummy and sinful treat, but stopped myself, because I knew I would have to report it to my blogger friends. And the feeling of victory that I had over the moment tasted sweeter than the treat would have!!

My real-life friends have watched my struggles and have seen me go through multiple dress sizes over the past couple of years. Up, down, and then up again. It was easy to post to my blog when things were going well, but as it seemed everything was out of control, I simply stopped posting to that blog altogether. It is part of the purging process that sometimes helps, but can be very discouraging when the only thing I can say is that I'm failing miserably. The holidays are coming, and while one side of me defiantly says I'm not denying myself the enjoyment of all the delicious foods of the season, the other side of me (maybe my butt-side???) is shouting "Danger!!" At any rate, the struggle continues. For me it is a mind-over-matter thing, and part of the process is addressing the issue. A couple of months ago I posted to the other blog, and then this week I posted the following.

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Monday, November 7, 2011

I close my eyes for just a second... and two months whiz by with lightning speed. Another two months have passed, and nothing has changed. Nothing, that is, except my frustration level is a bit higher than it was two months ago at my last post. While shopping the other night, my sweet husband bought me a gorgeous pair of boots. I had wanted some for a while. I love the look of skinny girls with their jeans tucked into their knee-high boots. I hadn't committed to buying any for myself, though, because I'm so short and dumpy, I know that I'll probably just look like a Weeble. At any rate, my sweetheart had me trying on boots at Belk, and we found a pair that we both loved, (and they were 40% off!!!), so I brought them home. I fully intended to wear them to church on Sunday, but only have one dress that I could get away with wearing brown. (Most everything I own is black.) I was doubtful that the dress would fit, since my mom bought it for me when I was at my lowest weight after (failed) lap-band surgery. Oh. My. Goodness. I donned the obligatory suck-me-up panties, the pantyhose, the half slip, and slid the dress over my head. I got my arms through, and it sort of got stuck on my chest. I wiggled and squirmed, trying to pull it on down. The dress has a jacket, so I was hoping that the jacket would be able to cover a multitude of lumps and bumps. However, I only got the hem of the dress below my butt cheeks... and I got stuck. Couldn't go down, couldn't go up. I was mortified. My husband was out of town for the day. My stepson and his children were visiting, but I was too ashamed to ask for help. So I put the wiggle in reverse, and somehow got the dress back over my head. And felt pretty discouraged. Not only was I irritated at myself, because the dress no longer fit, I didn't get to wear my new boots. ....sigh....

If I had the time and the money, I think I would benefit more from a psychologist or a shrink than a dietitian or a gym membership. It is all in my head. Always has been. On the way home from the mall, we stopped at the Krispy Kreme to get donuts for the grandchildren. My husband asked me if I remembered the time that I was on a healthy eating kick and I rode for 30 minutes with a box of hot KK donuts on my lap and never touched a one. He said "I don't know how you did it!" I did it because I was mentally prepared, and had my mind made up that eating healthy was more important than indulging in my in-the-moment desire to eat hot donuts. Where does that go? How do I lose it?

I don't blog here often because I have nothing positive to say. I find myself gravitating to the blogs of people who are successful, rather than ones who whine all the time and never seem to get their act together and actually work the program. So rather than be one of those whiners, I just don't blog at all. Sad. And more often than not, I don't even take the time to read the blogs that do inspire me. Fail. [end]

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It makes me sad to read that. But there it is, for all it's pitiful truth. Say a prayer for me, and for all your friends who struggle with this. They may never admit it, but I'd venture to say more of your friends struggle with this issue than you realize. Unlike alcohol or drugs, we can't just quit food cold-turkey. We must eat. And the mentality of "just one more bite" is as dangerous for us as "just one tiny drink" is for an alcoholic. It is a mental problem on so many levels. A real head game. Psyching myself up and getting the motivational part of my brain on the same page as my intellectual brain is key. But then when things don't go well, looking in the mirror, or trying on clothes, the brain screams "Failure!" and "You'll never be able to do it, so don't even bother to try!". It's not pretty.

So if you're one of the people who has overcome your struggle and now make healthy eating choices, or if you are one of the blessed who never had a problem with it, take the time today to encourage someone you know who is struggling. We need to hear it. We need to hear that we are worth the effort. We need to know that someone believes in us, and thinks we are strong enough to do it.

Don't look at us condescendingly when we choose fries instead of apple wedges. In fact, don't say anything at all in the presence of food. It's too late then. Encourage and inspire us outside the kitchen or the restaurant. Then maybe we'll make better choices. If you try to do this after I've already fixed my plate, it just reinforces the fact that I am a failure, and instead of stopping when I'm full, I'll clean my plate and go back for seconds. After all, I'm a failure, doomed to be fat, so I might as well enjoy it.

I miss my weight-loss blogger friends, and today I'm making a vow to go back and catch up with them. See how they are doing. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get motivated again to start making better choices. Yes, the holidays are coming, and one of the great things about the season is the once-a-year delicious food. I'm not going to be so silly as to claim I'll be abstaining. But I am going to make a conscious effort to reduce the portion sizes of my favorite holiday foods.

After all. I've got new boots and a brown dress that I want to wear. :-)

Thirty Days of Thanks

2011-11-04T10:41:00.001-04:00

During the month of November, many of my Facebook friends list each day something for which they are thankful. I love reading these posts!! I thought about participating, but I'm already three days behind. I did the same thing last year. Instead, I listed a month's worth of Thankful Things on my blog, and decided to do the same thing this year. Most all of us will list, first and foremost, our obvious blessings: Faith, Family, Friends, Employment. Those are the big ticket items, and I am most assuredly thankful for all of those. I can't imagine life without them. I'm going to try to dig a little deeper, and find more specific things that I consider blessings. Some are silly, some are serious. But all are things that make my life what it is, and for these things, I am thankful.

1. Falling in love and getting married in my 50s when I said I'd never do it again.

2. Sweet little grand baby faces that light up when they see Greemaw.

3. Parents who are healthy enough to enjoy the great-grandchildren, and love babysitting them!

4. My heated keyboard.

5. A husband who can fix things. And build things.

6. The ability to listen objectively to both sides.

7. Spell Check.

8. Google.

9. Facebook.

10. Forgiveness.

11. Music.

12. Creativity.

13. Take out food.

14. The best co-workers ever.

15. The love of reading.

16. The love of writing.

17. Calculators (No love for math!)

18. Knowing who has my back (and who doesn't)

19. Working from home.

20. Early detection.

21. Growing up in a small town.

22. A grateful heart.

23. Opportunities to do good.

24. Girl time.

25. A sense of humor (which sometimes only Whitney "gets")

26. Digital photography.

27. Salad.

28. Reading glasses at the $1.00 store. (I buy them 10 at a time)

29. The American soldier.

30. School teachers, policemen, and firemen.

The Lord Is My Shepherd

2011-10-17T09:42:00.002-04:00

A Sunday School teacher decided to have her young class memorize one of the most quoted passages in the Bible; Psalm 23. She gave the youngsters a month to learn the chapter. Little Rick was excited about the task -- but, he just couldn't remember the Psalm. After much practice, he could barely get past the first line. On the day that the kids were scheduled to recite the 23rd Psalm in front of the congregation, Ricky was so nervous when it was his turn, he stepped up to the microphone and said proudly, 'The Lord is my Shepherd, and that's all I need to know.'

Happy Fall, Ya'll!!

2011-10-06T09:54:00.001-04:00

It's the most wonderful time of the year!
When the sun stops its burning and leaves start their turning
And Autumn is here!!
It's the most wonderful time of the year!!

Autumn. My absolute favorite time of the year! Back in the olden days, before global warming and drought conditions left the southeast such a tinderbox, leaf disposal was a major factor in the atmosphere of our little town. Literally. Every house up and down Broad Street, and all the side streets, had little piles of dried, red, orange, brown, and yellow leaves raked out beside the road. We didn’t have paved sidewalks in those days, just the sweet Georgia dirt, often interrupted by roots of the oak trees that had stood sentinel for decades. Between the dirt sidewalks and the wide lane of the street, the little piles of leaves would sit, awaiting the strike of a match. Late afternoon would find these little mounds of leaves crackling with unseen flames, simmering with acorns, tiny wisps of smoke drifting upward. We didn't worry so much about air pollution in those days, and it was not uncommon to look down the street and notice a light haze floating about tree-top level. And the smell. Oh my goodness. Few things beckon memories of my childhood so vividly as the smell of burning leaves. It is nearly a lost “art” these days, what with air-quality concerns, drought conditions, watering restrictions, and an aging population now unable to rake the yard themselves. The younger generation hires out lawn maintenance services, or at the least, big riding mowers with mulchers so that there is no longer the need to rake one’s yard. Our parents “let” us rake the leaves, (how very clever of them!) only so that we could run wildly into the pile and scatter them all over again. Just so we left the leaves neatly piled beside my dad’s garden. You see, I enjoyed this leaf-burning ritual only as an observer (or sniffer). My dad was a gardener/greenhouse owner, and wouldn’t let us burn the leaves. He used them for mulch. How boring. I believe, though, this personal deprivation allowed me to enjoy the smells of the season even more. The smell would waft into our open windows in the crisp night air, and I remember many evenings sitting on the porch swing at BJ's or Lisa's house, watching the little curls of smoke and enjoying my favorite end-of-summer tradition. Nowadays, it is the rare treasured moment to walk or drive through a patch of air heavy with the scent of smoldering autumn leaves. By chance when it happens, I am a little girl again, taken back in time by the simple delights of home-grown memories.

(originally posted to Cathy B October 6, 2008, and currently appearing in Sweet Tea, The Magazine That Refreshes online issue.)

365 Days

2011-09-18T12:10:00.001-04:00

September 18, 2010. Who would have thought that a few words on a social networking site would bring about such a change in my life? It was on this date last year that I received a response to a friend request from someone I had not seen in 35-ish years. I wasn’t even sure he would remember me. How amazing, sometimes, the way things work out.

There is something strange about all this, though. I am quite certain that the circumstance leading to our reconnecting was that he posted a birthday greeting on the wall of his niece, who was a FB friend of mine. Yesterday we were talking about the fact that it had been a year, and I stated I didn’t recall seeing Melissa’s birthday reminder come up on FB. To make sure I didn’t miss her birthday, I pulled up her home page today. Her birthday isn’t until next month. Hmm. My memory fails me more often than I like to admit, but I’ve held every detail about our getting reacquainted very close to my heart. Something’s not right. Either I missed that detail, and it wasn’t a “Happy Birthday” message he wrote to her, or (more likely the case), he just got her birthday wrong. Yes, that’s the explanation, I’m sure of it. I’m not sure FB will let me go back that far to find the exchange between them, but if I knew I could prove my memory hasn’t failed me, I’d probably give it a try.

At any rate, much has transpired within the year since we started “talking”. My new FB friend became my husband, and life is sweet. My family is nearby, my grandchildren grow ever more precious (is that even possible?), and Forever With My Sweetie looks better with each passing day.

Happy Facebook Anniversary, Stevie Jay. I love you!

It's All In A Day's Work

2011-09-02T11:31:00.001-04:00

What is a Medical Transcriptionist? Here's what you'd see if you looked at my Facebook profile:

Medical Language Specialist. Healthcare Documentation Specialist. I translate the garbled, sometimes incoherent babbling of physicians into decipherable health reports to facilitate cohesive documentation of HIPAA-protected information required to provide patient continuum of care. (I type big, long, medical words all day.)

In this capacity, I've been called lots of things. Transcriptionist. Typist. Secretary. By far, though, my favorite is Dictationist. That's what one of the cardiologists calls us. He thinks we are his own personal transcriptionist. He'll say "Note to My Dictationist, please go back and change where I said... bla bla bla"

The industry has changed drastically since the days I learned the job on an old IBM Selectric (the non-correcting kind!) 85-lb electric typewriter. In those days, there was no "go back and change" anything. You ripped the paper outta the typewriter and STARTED ALL OVER. The present-day doctors would be in a world of hurt if they couldn't go back and change 75 things after they were finished. Well, let me re-phrase that. I guess we "dictationists" would be the ones in a world of hurt if we didn't have our fancy word-processing programs that allow us to edit so freely.

One of the questions I'm asked the most, is "how do you understand those foriegn doctors?" Granted, they can be challenging at times. Surprisingly, though, it's not just the ESL folks who make us want to shoot our monitors, or throw our headsets into the garbage disposal. The good old, English-speaking folks can be a real nightmare as well.

The other day I ran across a document called: Dictation Guidelines For Physicians. In the spirit of making life easier for physicians and "dictationists" everwhere, I'd like to submit these Guidelines as required reading for all graduating medical students. We are confident that the Guidelines will be followed to the letter.

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Dictation Guidelines for Physicians

Adherence to these guidelines will assure the highest quality transcribed reports in the shortest amount of time.

At the beginning of the dictation, take as deep a breath as you possibly can. Now, try to dictate the entire report before you have to inhale again.

When dictating a particularly difficult word or phrase, please turn your head and speak directly into your armpit.

We charge per character, including periods. An effective way to cut your cost is to dictate your entire report as one sentence.

It is not necessary to repeat the same sentence multiple times in the same dictation.

If you have to sneeze or cough suddenly, please remove your head from your armpit and sneeze or cough directly into the microphone.

If you must eat while you dictate, please stay away from foods such as marshmallows, bananas, and pudding. Apples, pretzels, and celery are much better choices.

Please don't stop dictating when you yawn. It throws off our rhythm.

If the patient's name is Alan Ratzlaffenhasenphepherzinsky, please have the courtesy to spell "Alan" - there are several possible spellings, you know. For the last name, simply state "the usual spelling".

It is not necessary to repeat the same sentence multiple times in the same dictation.

Please note - the phrase "well-developed, well-nourished white female" is only three syllables.

Cardiologists, it is not necessary to dictate at the rate of your patient's atrial fibrillation.

Do not stop dictating in the event of minor background noise such as an office party, the janitor's vacuum cleaner, a screaming infant, etc. Again, it throws off our rhythm.

Be sure to place the emPHAsis on the CORrect syLLABLE, especially if enGLISH is your SECond lanGUAGE.

It is not necessary to repeat the same sentence multiple times in the same dictation.

Talk as fast you possibly can. Fair's fair; after all, we type as fast as we possibly can.

Please speak as quietly as you can.......we want to be able to hear what's going on around you.

If you need to pause for 5 or 10 minutes between words or phrases, pounding the receiver on the desk or repeatedly saying, "still dictating.... still dictating..... still dictating.... still dictating..... still dictating......" reminds us that indeed, you are still dictating.

Just because you need to use the restroom is no reason to stop dictating. Time is money!

Don't dictate so loudly that you disrupt your fellow physicians' football game in the doctors' lounge. In fact, you really should whisper all of your dictation, since the information is confidential.

Similarly, if you are going to watch TV while dictating at home, please watch a war movie with lots of bombing, and be sure to have the volume high enough so everybody in your living room can hear above your talking.

If you need to correct yourself -- sorry, correct an error, please do not rewind the tape -- sorry, do not back up and record over the error -- sorry, wait, the mistake -- just continue with the sentence -- wait -- go back -- with the paragraph and fix the error -- er, the mistake.

Please go back and just delete that last guideline.

When dictating on your cell phone from your car, be sure to go through as many tunnels as possible. This will ensure confidentiality of the information.

You (y-o-u) do not need (n-e-e-d) to spell (s-p-e-l-l) obvious words (w-o-r-d-s) for us (u-s). It is our job (j-o-b) to know (k-n-o-w) how to (t-o) spell words that (t-h-a-t) we learned (l-e-a-r-n-e-d) in third (t-h-i-r-d) grade (g-r-a-d-e).

Never, never dictate a full sentence, as it wastes your time and ours.

Please feel free to carry on a conversation while we wait patiently.

One last thing, it is not necessary to repeat the same sentence multiple times in the same dictation.
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Your Friendly Neighborhood Dictationist

School Days

2011-08-13T12:23:00.000-04:00

Leyland's first week of school was a hit! She loves it! They are all doing really well with the new morning routine. Well, except for one morning when she was grumpy because her mommy didn't have time (or hundreds of bobby pins) to put her hair in a ponytail. She has a fashion sense of her own, and loves choosing her outfits, and I suppose her Wednesday outfit called for a ponytail. Last Friday she was so brave while getting three booster shots at the office, but the very one required for admission to school was out of stock at the doctor's office. They called this week saying it had arrived, we we needed to get her back in before they ran out again. I had already made plans to have lunch with Leyliebug at school on Friday, so just a slight change of plans found her sleeping over on Thursday night, an early morning visit to Dr. Bo, and arrival at school just in time for 10:30 lunch. I met her teacher, Miss Susie, and visited with her parapro, my scrapbooking friend, Miss Marie. The children were all so cute, and most of them seemed to have adjusted to school just fine. One little girl was having a tough time of it, and pretty much cried the entire time I was there. Another little boy told Miss Susie "Guess what? My daddy doesn't live with us any more. He moved out."   She gave him some extra love, and said "That makes you sad, doesn't it!" He was being so brave, but wanted to cry so badly, and said "Yes. I wish he would move back home with us." Very wisely, Miss Susie reminded him that his daddy loves him very much, and so does his mommy. Ripped my heart out. I was fighting my own tears, and offered to take him into my arms for some hugs, but, of course, he declined. As well he should... he didn't know me. But still, being the mom of a little girl who experienced the separation and divorce of her parents, (only 2 years older than this little guy at the time)it hit close to home, and I just wanted to love on him a little bit. My heart still hurts for him. The children lined up in their "magic order", and off to the lunchroom we went. Lunch was a piece of pizza bigger than the faces of some of the little kids, corn, salad, half a pear, and milk. I didn't sign up for a plate, I just wanted to visit with the munchkin. The pizza wasn't half bad, and I actually did eat her tiny little salad. When it was almost time to clear the table and head back to class, I noticed her sitting a little closer to me, and the casual link of her arm through mine grew tighter and tighter. She she was starting to sniffle a little bit, and I began dreading the separation process. She's not one to have separation anxiety, but for some reason, she got really upset, and begged to "go home with you, and lay on your couch." (She loves to sleep on the sofa at our house with the doggie.) Miss Susie to the rescue again, and she asked Leyland to come stand with her. I was afraid she would grab ahold of me and have to be pried away.  Thankfully Leyland went along with it, and I was able to leave. It sure did hurt to walk away knowing she was softly crying, wanting to go with me. I didn't dare turn back and look at her, for fear I'd end up being the one bawling. Once I was out of sight, though, I'm sure she was fine. She told her mom she had a good day. Perhaps it was just a tad early to throw lunch visitors into the mix. I think I'll wait a few weeks before going back.

Not wanting Mary to feel left out, I had lunch with her as well. She was so excited. We sat at a special visitor's table, and she invited her little friend to come along with us. Fourth graders are something else. Mary is always lively and has an imagination like you wouldn't believe. Her little friend trumps her, though. As we were sitting there, the little girl said to me: "I'm supposed to be 13 years old!" Me: "Oh, really? How so?" She: "Well, 13 years ago, my mamma thought she was pregnant. The doctor told her she wasn't, but she didn't believe him. She was getting fat because she was eating for two people. So at the end of nine months, she went to the hospital to have me. But she only had gas." Good thing I wasn't eating. I probably would have choked. "But then a few years later, she had me. But I'm really supposed to be 13 years old."  Me: "Well, okay, then!"

Don't you know that schoolteachers must hear the funniest things!! Sometimes sad things, too.

Corey is continuing to do well at the daycare, but he started having hives, and will be seeing an allergist next week. Say your prayers for him that all goes well until we can find out what's causing it.

Spending the day with my sweetie today, watching John Wayne movies, and later we'll check out some movies I rented yesterday. Homecoming tomorrow at church, then back to work.

Looking forward to more school lunches, once I'm certain Leyliebug will be okay when it's time for me to leave.

Date Night!

2011-08-04T13:40:00.000-04:00

Yay! The weekend is here! Only a few more hours til it's just me and the sweetie to spend a lovely evening together. We've been enjoying lots of peaches this summer, and he's bringing home more today. Even though we've been eating healthier and smaller portions, tonight is a night of celebration. Diet be hanged... Let There Be Cobbler!!

Randomness

2011-08-03T19:31:00.001-04:00

What a great weekend it was!! Friday I had lunch with a present co-worker and two former co-workers who I hadn’t seen in years. So much fun to catch up with each other. Of course there were pictures, (well, except for Sandra, who dropped her phone in the pool and lost all her photos) and the usual remarks of “My how he/she has grown!!!” All our kids were so much younger then, and the world was a different place. Joyce and I now have grandkids, and had to show them off. I was the only one with a new husband, though, so I took along a few wedding photos to share. They all thought my Stevie Jay to be quite the handsome gentleman, and assured me that he was lucky indeed to have found me. (They fulfilled their girlfriend obligations very nicely.) I’m sure the sparkle they saw in my eyes proves that I am the lucky one. We sat chatting for probably half an hour before even bothering to visit the salad/pizza bar. Pam’s sweetheart was at home waiting for her to return so they could leave for a weekend adventure in their new camper, so when our plates were clean, the conversation followed us into the aisles of Mazzio’s, and then out the door. It’s always good to see Pam and get one of her special hugs, and wonderful to see my old friends Joyce and Sandra again. We left with the promise to do it again soon.

After lunch, I went to The 409 to pick up Leyliebug for a sleepover. She was so excited to come to Greemaw and Papa Steve’s house “All by myself. All alone. Just me. Not Corey and Mary. Just Leyliebug.” We had such a sweet time. I miss them terribly, and get to spend so little time with them. Corey is a little lovebug too, but with the age difference, he requires a little more, shall we say… “maintenance”, whereas Leyliebug is all about the love, being cute, sharing “secrets”, playing dress up and Knock-Knock jokes. I decided to spend some one-on-one time with them so we could enjoy age-appropriate activities, bedtimes, etc. Besides, I want them to have special memories of time alone with Greemaw, where I can make them all feel as special as they are. Leyland has already declared herself my favorite, so I have to be careful to tell her she is my favorite Leyliebug, Corey is my favorite little man, and Mary is my favorite big girl. How do they get so competitive at such a young age? She told her mom that she is coming back again before Corey or Mary, so she can come two times before they come over even once. She and I had to run to the store to pick up a few things, and she was such a good little girl! She sat in the buggy playing with my phone the entire time. We sang silly songs and shared tight hugs. I'm sure I was the envy of every grandma in Wal Mart. Not many things are sweeter than a freshly-bathed grandbaby, smelling nice and clean with shiny hair, snuggling in your lap. She soon fell fast asleep on the sofa, with Laddie at her feet and her baby doll at her side.

Saturday was the annual Dunahoo 4th of July gathering at The Lake. Yep, I’m fully aware that the date was July 30, not July 4. That’s just how we roll. Sometime over the years, with all the Snoops traveling about, and someone usually at the beach house for the holiday, we gave up trying to get together for the 4th. One of the Senior Snoops will choose a random date in late July or August. As long as someone chooses the date, the rest will come. Steve has been working 7 days a week since we returned from the beach, but decided to take the day off on Saturday so he could join me. It was wonderful having him with me. He fits right in with the family, and everyone is crazy about him. I’m pretty sure the thing that makes them love him so much is seeing how happy he makes me. Sometimes it’s a crazy family, but they are my crazy family, and I am so blessed.

After a time of great food, fun, and family, we enjoyed a lazy late afternoon/evening at home. When we returned from The Lake, Jason had cleared all his belongings out of the house, and was settling in to his new apartment, so it was just Stevie Jay, me, and the pup. After a restful evening and a good night’s sleep, Sunday morning crept up on us, and of course, I was late for church. Steve went to Jenny’s to work on her hot water heater, and missed church again. My mom said people are going to wonder if I still have a husband, it’s been so long since he has been able to go. Ha. Those Baptists. As if there’s not enough trouble in the world. And speaking of church, we’re soon going to be in the market for a new pastor, so all ya’ll preachers out there start sending in your resumes. A couple of Sundays ago, our pastor of 14 years announced his retirement beginning in November. It is bittersweet news for yours truly. I am delighted for anyone who is able to retire while young enough to enjoy it, yet I selfishly wonder what in the world I will do about Sunday School. He teaches a class for drifters, misfits, and rejects. At least that’s what I like to call us. He started a class several years ago for folks who weren’t already members of a class. A handful of folks started coming, and the most we had in common was how little in common we had with each other. All different ages, backgrounds, and levels of involvement. It was a diverse group, and we had a blast. Even now, folks just kind of drift in and out, with a few who have stayed the course over the years. I’ve learned a lot in this class… mostly that it’s okay to admit how little I really do know. Nobody is made to feel dumb, and questions are encouraged. That rascal preacher will throw out some trick questions from time to time, and he loves to trip us up. And then laugh at his own cleverness. Regardless of what topic he has prepared to discuss, if another subject comes up that bears attention, well, off we go on that tangent. For the first time ever (at church), I have felt free to express my thoughts and feelings, many of which are not the thoughts of your traditional Southern Baptist churchgoer. And they haven't kicked me out yet. I will miss the camaraderie, and the way we go about learning from each other. But, truly, I am happy for them. And though I will miss my special class of rebels and misfits, it will be a new chapter of church history for us, and I’m hoping God will have something exciting in store for us.

I’m now four days into my work week- tomorrow is my Friday! Leyland will attend Open House at school tomorrow to meet her teacher. As Mama Nay used to say… I’d love to be a fly on the wall to watch her at school. She is so stinkin’ smart! Corey has three days at Helping Hands Daycare under his belt, and so far no biting. Hopefully he won’t get kicked out again.

The weekend ahead is shaping up to be busy as well. I'm spending a few hours with the munchkins friday afternoon at The 409, and I’m hoping to get in a little girl time with DJ on Saturday. Maybe coffee on the deck (if the heat wave doesn’t melt the skin right off our bones), and perhaps a swim. One thing is for sure. It will be gone before I can blink.

Number, please!

2011-07-26T00:47:00.002-04:00

I'm not a numbers person. I hate math. Give me big long words to spell over a math problem any day. If I have to do anything beyond basic addition, subtraction or multiplication, there had better be a calculator nearby. Otherwise my eyes will glaze over and my neck begins to twitch. I really wish it would come easier for me, but sometime shortly after my last math exam , it seems everything I learned about math theories and algebraic formulas just disappeared - poof - out of my brain.

If you assume, then, that I also suck at economics, you would be correct. Normally I'm not bothered by this fact. I usually don't blog about financial issues.

Today finds me somewhat regretting my lack of attention in Mr. Summerour's 11th grade economics class. Perhaps the current crisis facing our nation would be a bit easier to understand if I had listened more closely. Tonight I find myself with my eyes glazed over and my neck beginning to twitch. This national debt crisis thing is pretty big stuff, and I'm irritated at myself for not understanding things. Oh, I get the basic concept: We're in debt. More going out than coming in. That's not so hard to understand.

I watched the President's speech, and the Speaker's response. I hope you're sitting down when you read this, because I'm about to say something you won't often hear me say. I agree with President Obama. However- I realize that I say that as one who hates anything to do with numbers, and with only a barely-passing grade in economics. I surely must have misunderstood something he said tonight.

I know there are those who are blaming the Republicans for stonewalling and refusing to pass a bill that the Democrats want. While I don't really like either party at this point, given the choice of only these two, I pretty much am NOT a Democrat.

But could someone tell me what is wrong with the plan that the Democrats have proposed? Yeah, I know it's all probably based on cheating, lying, and covering their own butts. It's the stuff that I don't hear that frightens me.

Absolutely, spending should be cut. Fraud should be identified and eradicated. But what I really like is that the rich people and huge corporations should not be privy to all the tax cuts and loopholes, while the little folks carry the financial burden by paying higher taxes. IMO, he was very effective when he asked (loosely paraphrased) would we rather the budget issues be solved by expecting an elderly person to forfeit Medicare benefits before asking a corporate jet owner or oil tycoon to give up a tax break. That sounds perfectly reasonable to me.

Maybe we need to look closer at the Fair Tax proposals that some have suggested.

In the meantime, I'd really love to hear from both sides. What do you think?

(On the flip side, if you enjoy irony, check out this article that shows how then-Senator Obama reacted when President Bush wanted to raise the debt limit...)

Monday, Monday!

2011-07-25T14:21:00.000-04:00

My goodness. Mondays sure seem to come around quickly these days. Steve has been working seven days a week since we returned from the beach, and the heat has been brutal. I'm right in the middle of an eleven-day work week myself. We both could use some serious down time. Yet we are thankful for work, and I am especially thankful for an indoor job. We're counting the days until we return to our favorite spot on the beach, The Treadwell Hilton. That excursion is a mere 11 weeks away, and with time whizzing by at warp speed, it will be here before we know it. We're looking forward to my parents traveling with us this time. Our friends DJ & David, BJ & Chris will be over there as well, so it is shaping up to be another perfect birthday at the beach!!! I do love the beach in autumn, and it's so nice to have something to look forward to. Our vacation/honeymoon was absolutely perfect. It has been so crazy busy since our return that I still haven't posted photos. And speaking of honeymoons... I highly recommend the "delayed" honeymoon thing. You may remember that our original wedding date was June 22, with the beach trip immediately following. We may be old geezers, but when it came to getting married, we were like kids waiting for Christmas, and decided to jump in and just do the thing, but decided to keep the honeymoon as originally scheduled in June. I'm so glad we did it that way. No wedding stress/exhaustion to worry with. I moved my stuff in on Saturday after the wedding, hooked up my computer, and was back to work on Monday. I did take off Easter Sunday, to enjoy a nice long weekend with the new hubby. By the time our honeymoon rolled around, we were already accustomed to living together, already knew that we liked being together all the time (haha), and had a couple of months to look forward to and plan for our trip. Yes. I highly recommend the delayed honeymoon thing. Now we can't wait to go back, and look forward to spending time with my parents and the best friends ever. Only eleven more Mondays to go....

Let The Mud Fly!

2011-07-13T11:59:00.000-04:00

It’s time to gear up for a new Presidential campaign season. Let the melee begin!! It’s old news to anyone who reads my blog that I’m not a fan of President Obama. Never have been, and it’s pretty safe to say I never will be. Digging a little deeper, I have to say that I’m not a fan of our political system at all. I’ll be the first to admit that what I don’t know about politics could fill all the oceans of the earth, while what I do know could, comparatively, maybe fill my coffee cup. I do try to stay somewhat on top of hot-button issues, and whenever possible listen to the broadcast news, both liberal mainstream and conservative cable networks. As I’ve said before, I think the truth lies somewhere in between the two, though IMO leaning more to the right than the left.

I suppose now it’s time for the mud-slinging to begin in earnest. I listened Monday night to ABC’s storyline on Michelle Bachmann, and how her counseling clinic wants to “pray away the gay”. In my humblest, and admitted-not-so-political-savvy mind, I consider this a smear tactic. It may be the way their clinic operates, but ... read further ...

At the outset, let me say that I am not a gay basher. I have quite a few gay friends, and I love them no differently than my straight friends. I think I shocked my pastor one Sunday morning in Bible Study when I said that I think there are more serious issues that threaten our nation than the fight over same-sex marriage. I read and hear where some believe gay marriage is going to be the demise of our nation. While that’s another post for another time, I beg to differ- the threat and demise of our nation, IMO, is plain and simple: Greed. But I’ll blog about that later. I’m just saying here that, while some of my Christian friends may disagree with me and consider me “less Christian” because of my views, that’s just the way I see it.

But back to Michelle Bachman. I have not examined her platform very closely at all, (does she even have one yet?) but I do know that she is a Tea Party favorite. Which, in my humble opinion, might serve to hurt rather than help her. The Tea Party [again another post for another time] could have had great potential, but I am sad to see that some of their statements and behaviors have somewhat taken away a bit of the integrity and validity of what could have been a potential positive political force for conservatives. So, to many liberals, the Tea Party association is already one mark against her. However, I do think they see her as a threat, and it appears that she is now feeling the force of the liberal political machine as they are aiming their big guns at her.

Last week there was the report of their counseling clinic’s participation in the Medicaid program. I guess that wasn’t volatile enough.

Monday night was the first I heard of the “pray away the gay” scandal that is now in the news. If you didn’t hear about it, Bachmann and her husband operate a Christian counseling service. In a nutshell, they are coming under fire for offering counsel to gay people that God can change them into a straight person. This, of course, is offensive to gays, and I can understand that.

Let’s think about this, though. I do not subscribe to the Christian Science faith, and find some of their beliefs to be odd, at the least. So, let’s say that I’m pregnant, and looking to take a childbirth class. Would I go to a childbirth class taught by this church? Ummm… no, I don’t think so. I’m all about screaming and drugs when it comes to birthing babies… if that’s what it takes to get the job done. Would I expect to find instructions for baking my Christmas crown roast at a Vegan website or market? No. Would I try to buy a battery for my car at a dentist’s office? Then, why, if I were not a Christian who really felt that it was a sin to be gay, and want to be “delivered from my gayness”, would I seek out a Christian counseling service?

My point is this: If Michelle and Marcus Bachmann are out on the street corners, or going into gay bars bashing patrons, condemning them to hell, and telling them that God can change them, that’s one thing. If, on the other hand, they are running a Christian counseling service, and someone comes to them, of their own free will, for counseling, why is it wrong for them to try to “help” the person? Whether or not being gay is determined at conception, or is a chosen lifestyle will probably be debated until the end of time. Are the Bachmanns wrong to counsel people that they can pray away the gay? I don’t know the answer to that. But wouldn’t you expect that to be their take on it at a Christian counseling service?

During particularly tough times in my life, I have utilized professional counseling myself. One was a Christian counseling service, and one non-Christian. I have no idea if the non-Christian counselor was indeed a Christian in his personal life or not… but his counseling service was not marketed as “Christian”. I cannot make assumptions about his personal life. Just as there are Christian entertainers, and entertainers who are Christians, there are Christian counselors, and counselors who are Christian. Looking back on these counseling sessions, were the counselors “right”? Would another counselor have taken a different approach? Over the years, I have also sought informal counseling from different pastors at different churches I have attended. In doing so, I totally understood, and expected, that their counsel would be from a Christian point of view, with involvement of prayer and Scripture. Duh?? I don’t know if the Bachmanns are “right” in their teaching or not. But does it matter, politically speaking?

As I said, I have quite a few friends who are gay. Without exception, in the lives of these folks, there has been a defined moment in time when they “came out”. This leads me to believe, and most will probably tell you, that there was an internal struggle, perhaps religious, perhaps social. Maybe some did seek counseling, maybe not. If their parents brought them up in church, and they had a relationship with God, then perhaps the struggle was more difficult, and they sought Christian counseling. If such was not the case, I think that would lessen the chances of seeking Christian counseling over non-Christian counseling.

All that to say this. What difference does it make what they teach in their clinic? The Bible is clear in its teaching. I would expect a Christian counseling service to glean it’s teaching from the Bible. Just like I would expect the Christian Science childbirth class to base its teachings on whatever book it is that contains their rules. Or the Vegan website to teach a Vegan style of eating, based on their research and reference materials. So, if a gay person is having trouble with their identity, or their sexuality, and they do not place any credence in the Bible, then don’t go to a Christian counselor! The video that was shot and being played on the news appears to be a setup. It is a politically-motivated act to rile up a large, powerful group of people to rally against a candidate.

Religious affiliation and denominations are for the most part a bunch of legalistic entities that point fingers at other people whose beliefs differ from their own (alas, yet another post for another time..haha..) I belong to a church of the Southern Baptist denomination. More so out of convenience, in that it’s where my family goes, where my friends go, and it’s in my hometown, the church I grew up in, etc. The legalistic stuff of any religion bores me and saddens me. I’m not so sure that some of it doesn’t sadden God as well.

It’s even worse in politics, regardless of party affiliation. Pointing fingers, judging the acts and beliefs of others, cheating, misrepresenting facts, etc. And people of faith are some of their favorite targets. The story isn’t complete yet, and I’m sure there is more to be uncovered in this situation. But you can bet the mainstream media spin will do its best to paint Michelle Bachman in the worst possible light. Is she the best choice for Republican candidate? I wouldn’t even venture a guess at this point. Even if she is the worst possible choice, she doesn’t deserve the media spin. The gay community has thousands of supporters who are not themselves gay. This is not a group of people that you want campaigning against you. The left knows this, and will use it. I suspect other potential candidates will be faced with similar accusations, but this particular “scandal” must surely have caused some serious mouth-foaming over on the left.

Some may consider not voting for her based on this. I remember when Mitt Romney announced his candidacy last time around, there was concern with his being Mormon. I also have quit a few friends who are Mormon. The scrapbook industry (which I support heavily), is made up largely by Mormon vendors and business men and women. Because a part of their faith lends them to an interest in genealogy, besides being fun, scrapbooking provides a way of preserving memories and family records. Even my Mormon friends will tell you that their beliefs, while similar in some respects, are quite different from mainstream protestant or catholic religions. Because Romney has beliefs that are different from mine, does that preclude him from being President, even if he is the best candidate? Of course not. Likewise, If Michelle Bachmann’s religious viewpoints differ from mine or yours, if she is the best candidate, should that make a difference? I’m not sure Superman himself could pull our nation out of the tailspin we’re in, and for certain I haven’t decided who will get my vote at this point. I just wish that for all the people who cry “separation of church and state” (church and government, period!), that the decision to choose a candidate wouldn’t be based on religion.

Hopefully, we will be given the facts with regard to her qualifications for president. From what I see, she seems to lack sufficient experience, but, the same argument wasn’t enough to keep President Obama from being elected…

Now, having said all that, allow me to add: Not for one minute do I think that the GLBT community, nor their supporters, would ever consider voting for Bachmann. Her stand on same-sex marriage, and pro-life is widely known. If that’s your beef with her, then by all means, don’t vote for her. All I’m saying is that it really ticks me off how the media wants to spin the way they practice counseling as an issue. For pro-life folks, and those opposed to same-sex marriage, they already know what she stands for as well. We need to vote for her or not vote for her based on her platform and her experience (or lack thereof….)

Can I just say at this point I’m pretty much dreading all the hoopla (and TV commercials) that go along with an election season. The mudslinging by both parties makes me sick. It makes me tired, and it means I have to start doing my homework in order to make the best decision before casting my vote. And if 2008 is any indication, it also means lots of politically-oriented blog posts. My apologies in advance. :-)

Independence!!

2011-07-04T09:55:00.000-04:00

Time has slipped away from me today, and I didn't get my Independence Day blog post written. I'm going to hijack my post from this date in 2008. The message never grows old, and I simply can't let this day go by without recognizing its significance.

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Independence! (Originally posted to CathyB 07-04-08)

October 11, 2001. The one-month anniversary of one of the darkest days in American history found me boarding a plane, heading to the very airport from which those ill-fated planes originated. I was traveling as a chaperone with a group of 10th grade AP US History students to Boston. Though plans had been made far in advance, because of the uncertainty of air travel, we were not sure we would get to make the trip. Fortunately, we were allowed to fly, and so began one of my favorite trips ever.

Now each year when July 4th comes around, I have a new understanding and appreciation for the holiday. It's way more than fireworks, picnics, and a day off work. So much more. While I expected the trip to Boston to be a nice adventure, I had no idea what was in store for me, and how it would forever change my view of independence. Our tour guide (a descendant of John Pitcairn) was a fascinating man with a passion for Revolutionary War history, and he made it come alive. I am grateful to have walked the very ground where it all happened. It made it real. I went inside the church where Robert Newman hung the two lanterns that signaled to Paul Revere that the British were coming. I saw the window where he escaped arrest, the window that has been blackened out to commemorate his heroic act. One late afternoon I sat in a grassy field in Lexington and listened to our guide describe the small, but significant exchange of gunshots that happened on the very ground where I was sitting. In Concord, I walked across the Old North Bridge, site of "The Shot Heard Round The World". I touched the monuments that give tribute to the men who died there. Though I didn't climb its 294 steps, I visited the monument at Bunker Hill, the site of the bloodiest battle of the war. The American soldiers were short on ammunition, and the British soldiers so many, that General Prescott ordered his men- "Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes!" in order to make sure that every bullet counted. I visited the graves of many brave men who were instrumental in our early history- Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, Peter Faneuil, and John Hancock. I saw the building from which the Declaration of Independence was first read to the public. Wow.

The trip was fascinating, and I asked more questions than the students. Admittedly, history was a subject that I loathed while in school, and I remember very little of what I dutifully memorized in order to pass a test. Here in Boston it came alive to me, and much to my embarrassment, several times I found myself overcome with emotion at the enormity of the sacrifice that our forefathers (and mothers) endured to secure our independence. I have often seen and heard the remark that freedom is not free. It never has been. It never will be.

Happy Birthday, America! Thank you, soldiers of the Revolutionary War. Thank you, men and women throughout the history of our country who see to it that our Star-Spangled Banner Yet Waves, Ore The Land Of The Free And The Home Of The Brave!

Mr. Bennett

2011-06-22T11:36:00.002-04:00

Getting married to Steve has been a wonderful dream come true. We celebrate our two-month wedding anniversary today, and tomorrow we leave for our honeymoon/vacation! I love being married to him!! However, a new name is taking a little getting used to. I’ve been Cathy Bennett, or CathyB since 1980. I love my new name, but quite frankly, I don’t have very many occasions that require me to give my name. I work from home in my jammies, minding my own business. Thankfully, my new husband isn’t demanding in that way, and I just haven’t gotten around to doing the legal stuff required to change it. I have the marriage certificate, so it’s just a matter of getting it done. I think I must first go to the DMV for new driver’s license. I probably have to take some kind of mail correspondence to prove my new address. Once I have my new photo ID, I suppose I can then go to the Social Security office, the HR department at work, (and get a new name badge), the pharmacy, call my insurance company, see my retirement plan administrator, call my mortgage company, my utility companies for The 409, and visit my bank to make the changes. And all the other places that I can’t even think of right now.

My license expires on my birthday in October, and cheapskate that I am, I plan on waiting until then to make the change.

I’m really thankful that Steve doesn’t have a problem with this. I usually pay my bills online, or in person if they are local. He will occasionally take my payments for me, or pick up prescriptions, etc.

Ever the patient and understanding husband, I am sure he will be glad when my birthday rolls around and I get everything changed. He’s probably growing a little weary of hearing “Thank you, Mr. Bennett.”

Broken Roads

2011-06-18T11:17:00.000-04:00

Back in December, when I told Whitney that Steve and I were getting married and had chosen a date, she was so happy for us. After a hug and congratulations, she said “Okay, I’m singing at your wedding!!” Such a sweet and beautiful voice she has, and I was honored that she wanted to sing. A few days later, she asked me what song I wanted. At the time, I hadn’t given it too much thought, and nothing really seemed to be coming to mind. She suggested God Bless The Broken Road, a song by Rascal Flatts. She said, “Mom, it is the PERFECT song for you and Steve.” I looked it up on You Tube, and sure enough, it was the perfect song.

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I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you

Every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

I think about the years I spent just passing through
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true

Now I'm just rolling home
Into my lover's arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

***********************

Steve and I both have traveled some broken roads along the way. We have each had our happy times, and things that we wouldn’t change, but there have been poor choices along those roads as well. Hearts have been broken, former spouses, friends and family have been hurt by some of those choices. In the deepest part of my soul, I believe that everything happens for a reason. While I wish I could take back every ounce of hurt that my choices have caused in the hearts of people I love, I do believe that God takes every piece of the broken road and heals us, and often times leads us to something better than we could have imagined. After a long and bumpy road full of potholes and train wrecks, I was resigned to the fact that having a relationship was simply not in the cards for me. Perhaps it was my punishment for poor choices in the past. I filled my life with my daughter, my grandchildren, my family, my closest friends, and my work. There truly wasn’t time for anything else. And I was happy. At times I would reflect on the broken shards of my life, seemingly scattered about without rhyme or reason. I would wonder how anything beautiful could ever be made from some of the messes I had made. So I shoved them back further and further into the recesses of my mind, where for the most part, they remained quietly in the shadows over the years.

Once Steve and I started dating, and found ourselves crazy in love, the broken pieces started making a little noise, and tried for all their worth to make me feel unworthy and inadequate. The jagged edges tried to pierce into the bubble of happiness that I had found, and tried to remind me that I totally suck at relationships, and that my chance at happily-ever-after had ended long ago. It was frightening, and without DJ reminding me to “Just Breathe”, and without lots of prayer and counsel from a few close friends, I probably would have messed this one up too. And then there was the Sunday morning that I had a sacred epiphany…. And I was finally able to silence those ugly pieces of brokenness for good.

It is true, just like the song says. Every long lost dream, led me to where you are. Others who broke my heart, they were like Northern stars, pointing me on my way into your loving arms.

We’ve both said, just like the song: “I think about the years I spent just passing through. I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you.” But we know, also, like the song says, “It’s all part of the grander plan, that is coming true.” It was the perfect song for the perfect wedding.

Have you ever seen a mosaic vase? The artist starts with a pile of broken stones or glass. It looks like a mess, sitting on the workbench in disarray. Sharp and rough edges can cut the hands of one who might pick them up for a closer look. However, with a steady and experienced hand, the artist takes each individual piece of brokenness, and lovingly fashions a beautiful work of art. The rough edges are grouted to smoothness. Each stone is still visible, and represents a facet of a once greater object. But bound together and formed by the Master artist, all the parts become a whole. A new vessel, strong and stable, able to be filled, and to hold safely inside its walls whatever the owner chooses to place.

And so it is with the broken roads that Steve and I have traveled. All the pieces have been formed together into a thing of beauty that neither of us could have imagined. Each piece of broken stone or glass represents part of what makes us who we are. Some happy, some sad, some tragic. We are grateful to The Artist Who has brought us together, and for all our jumbled up, brokenness, has made us whole. Aristotle said it best: “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”

You may remember that yesterday, June 17, was the original date we chose for our wedding. Yesterday we celebrated our eight-week anniversary, and our decision to move the date up by two months. Today should have found us on the road to Myrtle Beach for our honeymoon. Little did we know, at the time we pushed the date ahead by two months, that Steve’s construction job wouldn’t be finished, and we would have had to postpone the honeymoon. All things work together for good. Everything happens for a reason. From a kidney stone to an incomplete construction job, the timing is perfect. This time NEXT week will find us basking in the sun, enjoying a honeymoon without the exhaustion from a wedding the night before. We will return home and resume our life… already settled in and with our daily routines established. We’ve had eight weeks to look forward to our trip.

We are so happy. And so blessed. Whitney chose the most perfect song ever. For God did truly bless the broken roads that lead us to each other.

Perspective

2011-06-14T12:57:00.000-04:00

Why do bad things happen to good people? This has long been a dilemma to mankind. Everyone I know has persevered through dark days, and at times has grown weary from bearing the cross(es) laid upon them. Mostly, we come out on the other side stronger for having born them. There’s a saying that goes like this: God will not lead you where His grace will not keep you. The Bible says it like this: My grace is sufficient. (2 Cor 12:9) Sometimes that belief helps. Sometimes it doesn’t. Suffering and perseverance pretty much sucks. Sometimes, once we get on the other side of it, we can see a reason or a purpose for it. Often, though, we can never reconcile it with any purpose at all, and the reasons may never be clear to us. Those trials are, I think, the hardest of all to bear.

My work is all about sick folks. I sit at a desk all day, and sometimes half the night, transcribing dictated voice files into documents. There are a lot of sick folks who come through the doors of our hospital. Most of them recover enough to leave through those same doors. But some of them don’t. It isn’t quite as difficult to understand when it’s an elderly person, or even someone with a chronic illness. However, it is tragic when someone dies unexpectedly, or as the result of an accident.

Most heartbreaking, though, are the cases of the children. Thankfully there aren’t many of those, since we are not a pediatric-specialty hospital, but occasionally there are children who are lost at our facility. Such a nightmare is unthinkable to me. I watched my dearest friends endure 37 days of neonatal intensive care for their premature daughter, only to lose her to a seemingly preventable staph infection. Then a few years later, they lost a son, also born months too soon. Such loving people with so much to give. Friends and family have struggled for years and years with this, trying to make sense of it. The fact remains there is, to our human minds and hearts, no sense to it at all. It is a pain that only a mother and father who have walked the same path can feel. Friends are there to help, support and grieve alongside them, each trying their best to empathize, but hoping they never have to feel the same pain. Years later, it is still painful and no more understood now than when it happened.

Because of the nature of my work, and perhaps also because of the above experience, I am drawn to stories involving health care, particularly those relating to babies or children. I recently heard the story of an infant sent to hospice care. An infant. The baby had suffered an anoxic brain injury at birth resulting in irreversible medical complications. Less than a year old at the time of referral, the baby was not expected to survive past another few weeks. When I hear a case like this, I think of Samantha and Joshua. Having witnessed the journey of my friends, I can only imagine the pain of the parents of this hospice baby. Parents who loved, cherished, and nursed their baby all those months, and then had to watch it slowly slip away. Wondering each day if every sweet little smile, or every goodnight kiss would be the last. What unthinkable agony.

Perspective. It is easier, perhaps, to think of Joshua and Samantha as sweet little cherubs in heaven, than what might have been their fate had they survived. As devastating as it was to lose them, perhaps it was the most merciful thing for everyone involved, though it is really difficult to entertain such a horrendous thought. However, there are worse things than death.

Perspective. Whenever my work day revolves around sick children brought to our facility, I am ever so thankful for my own healthy child, and my healthy grandchildren. One facet of my work involves genetics, and some days I find myself weeping. It is a bitter reminder that the health and development of a healthy child is only one tiny chromosome deletion or variant away from every parent’s nightmare. Today my work involves children with neurological issues. It is days like this that make my job difficult. We become more detached to the normal, routine patients with reflux, gallbladder attacks, and pneumonia. Not so easy with the children. I guess it is the Mom, Greemaw thing, wherein I identify on a deeper level with the peds patients. Sometimes I will Google a particular illness with which I'm not familiar. And then I wish I hadn't. Yet I am grateful to have even a small part in the provision of their care, behind the scenes though it may be. And though they will never see me, or know that I am doing it, I pray for the children and their parents. Perhaps in some way it will help them. I know it helps me keep things in perspective as to just how blessed I have been.

Perspective. Whatever cross we bear is no less difficult to bear just because someone else got a worse deal than we did. But still, it is good to acknowledge that there are indeed those who do have it worse. And no matter how bad it sucks, it just is what it is. Hopefully we can wake up each morning, and realize that no matter how bad things are, things could always be worse. And hopefully we trust that God’s grace is sufficient to carry us through yet another day.

Say a prayer today for sick children, premature babies, and the parents who care for them. And then sometimes must bear the hardest cross of all, and let them go.

I Ride My Bike, I Roller Skate, Don't Drive No Car

2011-06-09T10:33:00.000-04:00

“I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates, you’ve got a brand new key. I think that we should get together and try them out, you see.” Does that bring back memories to you like it does to me?

That was a silly song popular the summer before I entered 7th grade. (And now it’s stuck in my head all day. Sorry if it happens to you too!) It wasn’t a particularly favorite song of mine, but the lyrics and tune were quite catchy. What I did like about it was that it made riding a bike pretty cool, and the “person” in the song was probably about the same age as we were that hot summer of 1970. We rode our bikes everywhere. And like the song says, we didn’t go too fast, but we went pretty far. All over Statham, to be exact. The dirt sidewalks laden with centuries-old tree roots were a favorite obstacle course. We’d bounce along, expertly avoiding the roots, or if we felt really brave, we would drive over them, bouncing around like popcorn kernels in a pan of hot oil. The cemetery behind the Baptist Church had one fancy plot that was paved into the shape of an oval, with a cross-like shape inside. We could have joined a circus act, so precise were our patterns and dare-devilishness on this “track”. (Of note, no one was buried there at the time. It would have been disrespectful [and super creepy] to ride there if there had been.) At that time, the streets in Statham were paved, but not with asphalt. I don’t know what it was called, but it was an irregular, gravel-type material, with uneven rocks. I remember this vividly, because the tips of my toes were always getting scraped, and sometimes I’d lose chunks of my big toes to the offending street surface. (Shoes? I never wore shoes in the summertime unless I was going exploring in the woods!!) We knew who lived in every house up and down Broad Street, and even the names of their pets. We’d go as far east as just beyond Miss Nobie’s house, where Broad Street officially ended for us. Our travels west would take us as far as my house. We didn’t often venture further than that, because of the monster hill just beyond my house. And besides, there wasn’t much of interest past that point anyway, just some cows and chicken houses. No need in huffing and puffing up that hill anyway. So back and forth we’d go, up and down the street. Down a few side streets sometimes, but never in the alleys. Everyone knows that bad things happen in the alleyways, and we pretty much stayed clear of those.

Every now and then, we’d spot some cute boys standing out by their cars along the street. We’d try to be so cool and ride our bikes by them with great sophistication, and pretend that they looked at us with the same googly-eyes with which we looked at them. If perchance they actually DID look at us, or catch us looking at them, we’d nearly faint and almost fall off our bikes. (How funny is it that decades later, I have ended up married to one of those cute boys!!)

At some point in our day, we would ride over and visit Mr. Whitlock, owner of “the store” in Statham. We spent many of our pennies and nickels in the candy aisle of his establishment. Banana “Kits” was my favorite candy. The peanut butter ones were pretty good too. He knew us all by name, and better than that, he knew our moms and dads by name too. He had a bubble gum machine with a hand-lettered sign that said “REAL Cigarette Lighters”. Now, none of us smoked cigarettes, but we sure wanted to get us one of those REAL cigarette lighters!! But alas, it was not to be. And to this day, I never heard of anyone who ever got one.

I didn’t learn to ride a bike as early as most kids do. My friends were a year or so ahead of me in that regard. I wanted to do it so badly, but was deathly afraid of crashing. My cousins Sharon and Jeff used to come down every summer for two weeks. The summer before I learned to ride, they brought their bikes. I was torn. I wanted to try. They begged me to try. But I was just too chicken. I was jealous because they would ride all around the yard, and like a pitiful little puppy, I would run along behind them, pretending I was having as much fun as they were. Inside I was heartbroken, and angry at myself for being too afraid to try. For some reason that year, Sharon left her bike at Mama Nay’s house when she returned home to the big city. I would go outside and stare at the bike, lift up the kickstand and walk along beside it, pretending that I could ride. On the rare occasion that a car would come down the road, I made sure that I was walking along beside the bike, happy to think that whoever was in the car would look at me and think “Wow! That girl can ride a bike!” How sad. As vividly as I remember all the bike rides, I’m a little cloudy on the day that I actually did it for the first time. I do remember it was an ugly, old-fashioned, blue bike. It was my dad who ran along behind me, holding onto the back of the bike to keep me from falling, and then finally let go when it seemed like I had the hang of it. I remember thinking that it wasn’t so hard after all. I was so proud! A rite of passage never felt so good. It wasn’t long before I was coasting down Mulberry Street saying “Look, Ma, no hands!!” And then I’d hit one of those stupid rocks, and go tumbling into the ditch. Oh yes, there were many crashes on the bike, and many sudden stops resulting in bruises in places that should never be bruised. Once as I was coasting down the street with no hands, I looked at my handlebars and there sat a praying mantis. Perhaps he was praying for my safety, but it had the opposite effect. Somehow I jumped off the bike while it was in motion, screaming at the top of my lungs. My poor mom thought I was badly injured. Once she was sure I was okay, she threatened to whoop me good for scaring her half to death. Moms are prone to do that, you know.

I remember that I loved riding the bike, but I hated the bike. It was so old-fogey. All my friends were riding the newfangled “banana bikes” with the sleek seats and high-rise handlebars. And I’m still on Old Blue with the wire basket and battery-operated headlight. (Very similar to the picture above, only with an ugly headlight jutting out about 6" on the front looking for all the world like something off the Batmobile.) I longed for a new bike with all my heart. One Sunday afternoon, my brother and I spent the afternoon with Mama Nay and Daddy Bill while Mom and Dad went out riding around. When they returned, they called us out to the car, and made a big production of opening up the trunk to reveal brand new bikes for both of us!!! I almost had a heart attack right on the spot!! I got my snazzy new banana bike with the white wicker basket on front (and no stupid battery-operated headlight). It was hot pink, had a white seat with flowers on it. AND it had pom-poms on the high-rise handlebars. I was speechless. I couldn’t believe that we both had new bikes. I couldn’t wait to show it off to my friends. I don’t expect a teenager with a brand new car could have been more excited than I was with my new bike!!

I would love to know how many miles we logged on the streets of our little town. We all wore out two or three bikes over the years, and would celebrate whenever someone got a new one. We would decorate the wheels with brightly-colored beads that would slide up and down the spokes with every turn of the wheel. Sometimes we’d take playing cards and fasten them on the fork with clothespins. We sounded like a pack of Harleys cruising up and down Broad Street.

Back in those days, the school at Statham went 1st through 8th grade. We always had two classes for each grade. We stayed in the same room all day, and had the same teacher all day. Always female. But as we prepared to enter the 7th grade, we were excited to learn that we would have different teachers throughout the day, and some of them would be MEN!! We were really moving up in the world!! A few weeks before school started, Bobbie Jean and I rode our bikes down to the school house. We went inside to check out the classrooms, and see if we could scope out the new teachers. We went into one of the converted-auditorium classrooms, where we met Mr. Austin. We learned that we would be in his homeroom. He teased us about riding our bikes, and told us we reminded him of the I-Ride-My-Bike,-I-Roller-Skate,-Don’t-Drive-No-Car song. We dutifully informed him that bikes were the preferred mode of transportation for upcoming 7th graders, and we were proud of it. But after that, the bike song was kind of our theme song.

What a different world we live in today. I cherish my memories of growing up in Statham, and bike riding is one of my favorites. Every trip down Bike Memory Lane always takes me to that 7th grade classroom, meeting my first male teacher, and I hear that silly song again.

You don’t see much of that any more, even in small towns like ours. Cars travel much too fast, and parents are not willing to let their kids ride bikes outside the safety of their yards at home. It was a simpler time, when we burned more calories than we consumed. Vitamin D deficiency was unheard of back then, as we spent every summer day that wasn’t raining playing outside. We used our imaginations to entertain us, not electronic gadgets. We helped our parents in the yard and in the garden, we picked up twigs to start a fire for the charcoal grill. We cleaned our rooms (well, sometimes…), and took out the garbage. We played in the sandbox with our siblings. We swam at the pool. We played outside in the yard with hula hoops, and built forts in the woods.

But most of all, we rode our bikes.

God Things

2011-05-01T21:28:00.001-04:00

When the moon is in the 7th house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will guide the planets… and love will steer the stars.

I’ve never been one big on astrology. Astronomy, yes. The stars and heavens have always fascinated me. The whole “What’s your sign?” thing… not so much. On the astrology charts, I fall into the Libra category. I must admit that some of the characteristics descriptive of Libras fit me to a tee. However, I find it impossible that everyone ever born on any given October 13 is going to share the same daily experiences. Should we all just stay in bed because the planetary alignment bodes for a bad day? Are we all going to find true love in the 3rd house of Mercury? Nah.. I don’t think so. I have heard of some folks who seriously plan their day around what their horoscope predicts. Gracious.

Seems to me that how our day goes depends far more on the decisions we make. For Believers, there is the God Factor as well. Without getting into a theological discussion/debate, I’ll just say… we’ll never understand it. I do believe that God orchestrates the universe, and I also believe that He loves me, and He is interested in my life. And I believe He has a plan for my life. I believe that He sees me every day, and He knows my every thought (yikes!) and deed.

Do I believe that he *controls* everything that happens? Well, that’s getting deep, and into murky predestination waters. It’s a hard concept. God set into motion the laws of nature, which quite often dictates events and circumstances. We ask, then, If God controls everything that happens, then why do bad things happen? Why do good people die, and not-so-good people live another day to do evil and harm? Why do tornadoes and hurricanes destroy the property and lives of good people? Why are loving couples unable to conceive, or give birth only to lose their babies? It’s an unending list.

These are age-old questions of believers and non-believers alike. For the believer, I think, it all boils down to faith. We accept the fact that there are issues we’ll never understand, and many circumstances that we do not, or never would choose. Sometimes it just sucks. We don’t claim to have all the answers. If we did, then we would be God. We are taught (and hopefully embrace) that tough times happen in every life. No rhyme or reason. The difference between the believer and non-believer is that our Hope is eternal, and God will carry us through the tough times. We are not immune from trials, heartache, or tragedy. But we have a Comforter who is with us, and will sustain us through it all.

We are not merely puppets, programmed to love God (or not), and to behave or believe in certain ways. Much of what happens to us is the result of choices we make, or choices made by other people. The food we eat, the activity level we choose, the environment, and heredity plays a large part in the state of our health. The educational choices we make often determine our financial future/lifestyle. To bring it on down, the type of car we drive and/or our choice to abide by the traffic laws, contribute to the likelihood of our getting a traffic violation ticket. The choice someone makes to drive while drinking can take the life of an innocent person. Was it that person’s “time to go”? Could God have stopped it? Did God know ahead of time it would happen? In our minds, it doesn’t seem fair.

But not all of our choices result in bad or tragic things. Just as often, our choices bring about good. And sometimes, things will happen for no apparent reason at all. Not the result of choices we make, but for whatever reason, things just happen. Some call this phenomenon coincidence. I’ve never been much on the coincidence theory. I normally refer to what most people call a coincidence as a “God Thing”. Might be a good thing, might not. Lots of times it’s just crazy. Like the way Steve and I hooked up after all these years. You already know that story. How crazy was that? We both acknowledge that it was a God Thing. Not a coincidence. We’ve wondered about how it would have been if we had gotten together years ago. But we both know that the reason it’s so dang good for us now is because we are who we are. And we were not those people years ago. We each had to travel our own Broken Roads to reach the place that we were finally ready to build a good life together. That rocks. And it’s a God Thing.

After only a few months of being together, we realized that we wanted to be together even more. As in married. You know that story too. So we set about planning our small family-and-a-few-friends ceremony for mid-June. I was scheduled for time off work, the condo at the beach was reserved for us, and we started our weekly coupon-shopping at Michael’s and Hobby Lobby, for my little DIY wedding. The little DIY thing quickly took on a life of its own, and it didn’t take long to become overwhelmed. As you also know, last Friday night we Just Did It. Can’t explain the reason why… but 10 days prior, we both just decided we didn’t want to wait, and after tossing about several possible dates (one of which was today, Sunday, May 1st), we chose Good Friday. No particular reason, other than it seemed to work out best with the schedules of everyone involved. (Except for BJ and Chris… and I’m still sad that they weren’t able to attend.)

The wedding went off without a hitch, and we were so very happy with how it turned out. Except for the BJ and Chris thing, there isn’t one single thing that I would change. It was perfect. Our first weekend together as married folk was fairly typical as most other of our weekends. (Honeymoon will be in June as originally planned.) On Saturday, Steve helped Hayley and Michael move, I was at The 409 packing some things. A typical Saturday, just doing what needed to be done. Sunday was Easter. We picked up Mary and Leyland and headed to church. Afterwards, it was my first official family gathering with Steve’s family, and we enjoyed a fabulous afternoon at his sister Jenny’s house. This was an extra special treat for me, as I normally work on Sundays.

As we were leaving Jenny’s, Steve told me that he had been passing blood in his urine since Friday night. Lots of blood. Typical of his sweetness, he hadn’t wanted to worry me. Though he had experienced slight bleeding a few months prior, and had intermittent occurrences with it, this time it was profuse. Once I saw it with my own eyes, the word *hemorrhage* came to mind. With my background, I immediately began to think the worst. Painless hematuria can be a very bad thing. While I was thankful he wasn’t in any pain, it frightened me more than if he had been. Monday morning found us fighting with a very difficult provider’s office trying to get seen and obtain a urology referral. After 2 ½ days of frustration, finally a referral was made to Dr. Blankenship’s office. Long story short, after radiology procedures, it was determined that my sweetie had a very large, 11 mm (7/16”.. almost half an inch!) kidney stone. The size and location of the stone precluded traditional hydro lithotripsy, and a cystoscopy, ureteroscopy, and laser lithotripsy with stent placement procedure was performed early Friday afternoon. We were happy to go this route, because it meant a good inspection of the bladder, whereas the hydro lithotripsy would not have included this. Thankfully, internal examination of the bladder revealed a clean examination, thus my darkest fears were alleviated. A noon surgery was successful, and by 3:30 we were enjoying garlic-cheese biscuits at Red Lobster.

Now let me tell you why this entire incident qualifies as a God Thing. As a self-employed contractor, Steve has been without health insurance for some time now. (I have often teased him that he only wanted to marry me because of my insurance.) It had already been established through the HR department at work that I would simply need to come down and sign some papers once we were wed, and that coverage would be retroactive to the date of the marriage. As of April 22, the day he started bleeding, and seven days before the surgical event, Steve was insured.

Wow. Does this mean that God had a purpose for us to bump up the wedding date? I don’t know for sure... But it totally ROCKS! Would it have been easier for God simply to have made the stone go away, or kept it from forming in the first place? Yep, probably so. Do I believe He could have done that? Absolutely, I believe it. So how come He didn’t do it like that? I have no clue. Perhaps He just needed to remind us that He Rocks! Because lemme tell you. In my book, this ranks way up there on my list of God Things.

Truthfully, I don’t always like the God Things. Sometimes I cannot see anything good in them at all. But one of my favorite quotes is “Never let me say, when things are going bad, ‘what did I do to deserve this?’ unless I am also willing to say it when things are going good.”

Becoming eligible for insurance on the very day he started profusely bleeding? You may call it a coincidence. I call it a God Thing. And this one was definitely a good thing.

Dating: It's Way Overrated

2011-04-23T11:07:00.000-04:00

I was never one into casual dating. If I was interested in someone, and he asked me out, of course I would go. If he then became my beau, we hung out. I don't understand how some women can have multiple beaus, and date different guys at the same time. I got myself this new beau back in the fall of last year. You already know that story. We did things the proper way: We *talked* first. Apparently this is a prerequisite phase of courtship. Everyone knows that you *talk* before you date. So we *talked* for a bit, then we dated. And it was really nice. It didn't take long before we knew that we were blessed by God to have found each other again after 35 years, and that what we shared was indeed special. Before long we also knew that we were The Ones for each other, and we began to make plans to be married. By then, our dates had gone from one night a week to three, then three turned into five, then into seven. We single-handedly kept the oil industry afloat with our trips up and down the road. Our original wedding date of June 17th in some ways seemed far away, and in some ways it seemed right in front of us.

Those of you who know me, know that my middle name starts with "A", and that the letters following my name are not MD, RN, CPA, but rather CF. Yes, I have control issues. It is not my nature to delegate tasks... rather I will go without sleep for weeks (depending on the project) to make sure that my project du jour turns out exactly like I want it. It's a curse. Somewhere in the branches of my family tree lived a person with Control Freak tendencies, and their DNA is alive and well within me. Though not the first marriage for either of us, we wanted a special ceremony. Nothing elaborate, but unique to us. This meant: Hand-made invitations, programs, decorations, and of course the wedding cake. Now, remember my middle initial, and the CF after my name. Once I decide on a design, I can make things happen in a fairly timely fashion. I knew the theme I wanted and the colors. But the actual design of the invitation eluded me... and kept me awake at night. I spent hours surfing the internet for ideas, and ordering the craft supplies I needed to make it happen. I measured, scored, and cut reams of paper, wanting something more than just a standard folded piece of card stock upon which to attach the watermarked, beribboned velum containing the text. I made list upon list. I You-Tubed cake-making techniques, and made a prototype. This is to be my last wedding, and doggone it, I want it to be perfect. (Besides, it has to look good for the scrapbook photos, right??)

The last few weeks brought about a few challenges: Whitney started a new job, necessitating a little schedule-juggling. She and Dustin gained custody of Dustin's daughter, so we welcomed a new addition to our household. One of my clients changed some clinic dates without telling me, creating a glitch in my work schedule, a friend who I subcontract for needed me, and I found myself the proud recipient of a jury summons. Invitation "construction" should have been well under way. Yet I still hadn't decided on a design. Trust me. A stressed-out control freak is not a pretty sight. I could feel my level-headed, easy-going, composed nature start to slip away, and I wasn't liking it.

Last Monday, after a long day at the courthouse for jury selection, Steve and I were having dinner on the card table in my room at The 409. We were talking about our June wedding, and we both just looked at each other and said "Why Wait?" That was it. We decided then and there to Just Do It. We looked at some destination packages at the beach, in Helen, and in Gatlinburg. Destination weddings are wonderful. Just show up. Say your words, pay somebody, and be on your way. I know quite a few people who have done it and who highly recommend it. And we seriously considered it. However, we really, really wanted our family and a few very close friends to be there with us. If there ever was a marriage to be celebrated, we truly feel like this one is it. And we really wanted our pastor to officiate. He and his wife have been very supportive, encouraging, and have offered wise counseling, and we wanted them to be a part. We abandoned the destination wedding and decided to put together a small, intimate ceremony. I can't even begin to tell you how different it was planning for *this* wedding as opposed to *that* wedding in June. Though I never viewed it as a burden, I was so incredibly determined for everything to be perfect that the stress itself was becoming a burden. Oh, in true CF fashion, I denied that I was under stress. Not me! Superwoman can do it all! But once the decision was made to bump up the date, it really was like a weight had been removed from me. And though it was an incredibly busy 11 days, I enjoyed every last second of putting things together to make it happen.

And it happened last night. Friday, April 22. Good Friday. I am now happily married to the man of my dreams!!! It was, to us, the most perfect wedding. My betrothed looked so handsome, and so happy. When he said his vows to me, his eyes burned so deeply into my soul with a love so pure and strong that I almost couldn't breathe. I've never felt such intense devotion. A moment so sacred that I was humbled beyond belief. A moment I will treasure forever.

We were surrounded by family and friends who love us, who wished us well, and are so very happy for us. The one and only thing that I would have changed would be that everyone who knows and loves us could have been there! There are many friends on our guest list who were absent last night, friends who have been so excited and supportive, and we missed them. We're so happy that we want to share with everyone, but the main thing was the keep the main thing the main thing... so it was short, simple, sweet, and it's done. I couldn't have imagined 12 days ago that we would be doing this. Even with the short notice, and all the challenges listed above, it came together so nicely, and even though my cake was definitely NOT what I meant for it to be (another post/another time), I never lost my cool, and the stress level was well below the radar.

To address demographics: We will be living in Steve's home (our home!) in Winterville. At some point in the future, we plan to return to Statham. The hardest part about moving is I will miss my daily dose of sweet baby love. For so many years, Corey and Leyland have been the lights of my world, and I can't imagine a day without impromptu sweet hugs and kisses. But this is as it should be. Whitney, Dustin and the kids will stay at The 409. I will miss them terribly, but I'm maintaining *my room* (the enclosed garage that was my office, bedroom, den, and craft room), so we'll have a place to stay when we have babysitting sleepovers. I'm looking forward to those.

And so this is it. The rest of ~~my life~~ our lives can start now. Remember that saying? "Today is the first day of the rest of your life". Yes. It is. It's going to be a great forever.

Where Does The Time Go?

2011-03-26T15:48:00.001-04:00

Seriously. Where does it go? I used to hear adults talk about how fast time whizzes by, and I just didn't get it. Christmas, probably the favorite time of year for kids, seemed to take f-o-r-e-v-e-r to roll around each year, and the time span between your 15th and 16th birthday, while waiting for that magical driver's license, seemed like 20 years. It is true. The older you get, the faster it goes. This past week we celebrated Steve’s mom’s 90^th birthday. 90 years. Just thinking of how the world has changed since she was born is daunting. Time flies.

Seems like yesterday that my sweet grandchildren were just babies, and only a couple of months ago that I was giving birth to my daughter. The gray hair and sagging body parts remind me, though, that much time has passed. The laugh lines around my mouth and my eyes are witness to the joy, the laughter, and the fun that has played such a huge part in the passage of time. The jeans that are a little too tight remind me of my bountiful blessings at mealtime. The jeans that are too large remind me that with time and dedication, I have the strength and stamina to get in shape physically, and take better care of myself. The gray hair reminds me that I am blessed with people I love. For sure, I wouldn't be worrying myself gray over people who mean nothing to me! My hectic, sometimes-crazy-busy days remind me that I am fortunate to have a job, and the ability to make extra money with contract jobs on the side. The weekends that fly by remind me to be grateful for the friends and family who make my life so much richer.

Sometimes after school, Leyland will come into my office to play. Just like when her mommy was a little girl, she loves to play *teacher*. I am transported 20 years back in time as I listen to her. So much like her mommy. I am amazed at how smart she is, yet how funny. She *teaches* her class Bible verses, reads them stories, and yesterday she was teaching them about vowels. A says ahh, E says eeee, I says ihh, O says aohh, and U says uhhh. One time she asked "Now class, what are your values?" Oh my. Seems like only a few days ago I was powdering that little rump and enjoying the feel of her tiny little body sleeping on my chest.

Likewise, seemingly overnight, Corey has turned from the sweetest, tiniest baby boy ever, into a rambunctious, inquisitive, bright little fella who has captured my heart with those laughing eyes and a smile that lights up the world. He's All Boy. The baby is gone. His vocabulary has exploded, and now he's able to carry on a conversation. I miss those tiny little baby grunts and sweet morning stretches before snuggling back in my arms in search of more slumber.

My little munchkins are growing up. My daughter is a beautiful, talented adult. Time passes.

I have embraced and fully acknowledge my status as a middle-aged, almost-senior-citizen woman. In 2 1/2 more years, I qualify for the Senior Luncheons at church! Yes, time passes more quickly now. Perhaps it has something to do with that over-the-hill thing... everything seems to move faster going downhill than uphill.

As I prepare for another life-changing event, with lists of things to do, places to go, people to see, time does indeed race by. The moments spent with the children playing at my feet while I work will cease, once I am married and working from my new home. I suppose the up side to that is that perhaps my more scheduled time (for lack of a better word) with them can be spent not working, but doing the Greemaw thing. Lavishing them with my undivided, unhurried attention. For things like playing outside, baking cookies, sleepovers with Greemaw and Papa Steve, etc. I'm really looking forward to that. The down side is that there will be days between visits with no spontaneous hugs, or sticky kisses from sweet little innocent faces. I will defy the constraints of time to make sure I am with them at every opportunity, so as to remain a constant in their lives, and they in mine.

There are times when my wedding date seems far, far into the future, and I really want it to hurry up and get here. I am totally ready for the next phase of my life. Well, except for the part where I won't see Whitney and the babies every day... I'm really going to miss that. It chokes me up sometimes. But, as above, I know it will make the time I do spend with them priceless, and that can only be a good thing. At other times, it seems like the date is right before me, and there are still things that need to be done. And time starts racing again.

Time can be our friend or time can be our enemy. We just gotta make the best of it.

"Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong as its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this, too, will be swept away." ~Marcus Antoninus

Creepy

2011-03-25T13:38:00.000-04:00

Okay, so today we are in serious spring-cleaning mode at The 409. Serious. When the box of trash bags was empty, I took a little trip down to our local Dollar General Store to pick up some more. When I entered the store, I saw an elderly gentleman seeking the assistance of the young cashier in locating an item. When I returned to the register with my trash bags and Magic Eraser, the young girl was squatted down getting something from a bottom shelf. I heard the old geezer talking to her. He was right down in her face, and saying things like "I thought you were much younger than that. You look like you are about 15." She said "No sir, I'm in my 20s". He says "Well you sure do look young. You look real good. You are good lookin' woman"... etc. He finally moved so she could get up and come around the register to check me out. I made eye contact with her, and we both just looked at each other like "What??" He fell in line behind me, and just kept on talking to her, telling her how attractive she is, and he sure did think she was a lot younger. Finally, the assertive side of me could stand it no longer. He said it one more time, and I turned to him and said, "Well, if you thought she is only 15 years old, you'd best be careful what you say to her!" Then he started in "Oh, I'm not flirting with her, I just think she is beautiful, etc."

Can I just say a few words here?

1. Gag!
2. Really?
3. Creepy!!

I had to hurry home with my purchases, otherwise I would have stayed to make sure the nut-job left without further (what I consider) harassment. There were three or four other employees in the store, or I wouldn't have left the girl in there alone with the pervert. I'm quite sure she could outrun him, as he was sort of hobbling along with a cane, but I still wouldn't have left.

The whole thing grosses me out, and though I've never hit anyone in my life, much less an elderly person, I really want to punch him. Seriously.

Luck O' The Irish

2011-03-16T11:14:00.001-04:00

This is an *article* I wrote for the current edition of Sweet Tea, The Magazine That Refreshes. Be sure to check out both the printed version, available free at multiple locations, or online by clicking the above link.

It's a great time of the year to celebrate my Irish heritage!! Now, where's my "Kiss Me, I'm Irish!" button?

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Do you ever wonder how you got here? No, I’m not talking about the cabbage-patch thing. I’m talking about your roots, and what brought you to Statham. Unless you’re of Native American heritage, chances are, somebody hanging from one of the branches of your family tree got on a boat somewhere, sailed across the pond, and set up housekeeping on good old American soil. Several of my friends are into the genealogy thing, and have traced their roots back to Eve. Well, maybe not quite that far, but I have seen some pretty impressive family lines, one even dating back to Charlemagne. Royalty!

It takes little imagination to guess the origin of my family. With a name like Dunahoo, (variant of Donahue, as in Phil… no relation to yours truly) it’s pretty natural to assume an Irish lineage. There’s gotta be some ‘taters in there somewhere. “Dunahoo” is actually the reduced, Anglicized form of the Gaelic name O’Donnchadha. Sometimes it is Anglicized as Duncan, for those of Scottish descent. The “meaning” of the name has something to do with a brown-haired man or chieftain, and the word “battle”. Maybe that means my great-grandpappy 20 times removed was a Fabio-esque, brown-haired warrior, fighting for Truth, Justice, and the American… I mean the Irish Way!!

Or not. I have seen photos of some of my ancestors. There is nothing Fabio-esque about any of them. It seems they were a rowdy bunch, though, and back in 1825, my great, great, great- grandpappy William Michael Dunahoo decided he’d had enough oppression from the King of England. He made the decision at the ripe old age of 16 to come to America. The original American Dream. The fact that he had no money for passage was only a minor deterrent. Ticket? Who needed a ticket? There was all manner of space within the bowels of the ships headed to America. In the wee dawn of morn back in 1825, he made his way down to the docks under the cover of darkness. Looking over his shoulders to be sure no one was watching, he grabbed onto the ropes that moored the ship, and climbed hand-over-hand until he reached the deck. No Homeland Security personnel to pat him down, or ask for his papers. Just a few crew members on lookout, snoring softly at their watch. Stealthily he found his way down, down, down, into the belly of the ship, and settled in among the wooden crates. Weary from his adventure, he fell into a sound sleep, awakened only by the gentle sway of the vessel as it crept out of the harbor at daybreak. For several days, he kept himself hidden, surviving on stale bread that he had brought along in his knapsack, and small sips of water from a bottle. Once he was sure they were far enough out to sea that they wouldn’t return and force him to disembark, he showed himself on deck, and began working as a crewman. At the end of the voyage, he set foot on American soil, and proclaimed it home. He never again saw the family he left behind in Ireland.

I’m so glad that Great-Great-Great Grandpappy Michael was an adventurous young man. I don’t fancy myself as looking so hot in plaid, and I’m really glad that my daddy didn’t wear a kilt. (Not dissing the culture, mind you, I simply prefer to see men wearing britches instead of skirts.) Great x3 Grandpappy Michael had a son named William, who meandered around the south and landed in Alabama for a while. At some point, he loaded his family and belongings onto a covered wagon and headed east, eventually landing in Jackson County, Georgia. Soon we find the Dunahoo clan right here in Barrow County, where Great x2 Grandpappy William’s son, Lawrence Edward, would end up in a little settlement that would become Statham. Great-Grandpappy Lawrence would have three sons: My grandfather Willie, my great-uncle Ralph, and my great-uncle Clarence. Lawrence brought his family to Statham, where he purchased the land that is now home to the American Legion. There he would raise his three boys, and work the land as a turnip farm. My grandfather, Willie, had found work that took him away from Statham. He was 24 years old when he received the news that his father had been struck by an automobile on the Atlanta Highway, near the present-day Little League fields, and was killed. Daddy Bill returned home to take over the turnip farm. My mother Doris, her siblings Carolyn, Joyce, Sue, and Peggy, were all raised at “The Legion House”, as we now refer to it. Two sisters, Linda, and Sarah Nell, died as children. My uncle Ricky was born later, after they moved “to town”.

My great-uncle Ralph also chose to stay here in Statham, where he would marry and have two girls, Becky and Cynthia. He was a wood worker/carpenter, and had a great shop in his back yard on Broad Street. I loved to go in there and smell the freshly cut wood, and play in the piles of sawdust. Great-uncle Clarence took off for parts unknown and ended up in California. I have relatives out there whom I’ve never met, and most likely, never will. Such a small world, sometimes… yet so big.

Our little town was first known as “Beadland”, because the first white settlers purchased the land for 14 pounds of beads from the Creek and Cherokee Indians in 1784. When the post office was built, we were known as Barber Creek, then Delay. The town was re-named Statham in 1892, after the rail lines came through. The railroad was built in 1890, resulting in a booming little town that ensured us a permanent place on the map.

While the railway was being built, fill dirt was needed for the tracks, and lots of it came from the land behind where the Legion House would later be built. This left a huge hole in the ground that became known as the “Ballas Pit”. (I’m pretty sure the correct word is ‘ballast’, but part of our Southern Charm is how we pronounce our words-- right, ya’ll?). My mom and aunts tell stories of great adventures in the giant canyon just over the hill in their back yard. Exploration of the pit often produced treasures of broken dishes, arrowhead stones, or other discarded items from years gone by. A giant mound of sand served as the perfect place to play King-Of The-Mountain. Sounds like a tragedy waiting to happen to me, but I’m not aware of any landslides or cave-ins.

I guess I never thanked Daddy Bill and Uncle Ralph for setting down their roots, and staying right here in Statham. Over the years, as the economy wax and waned, there must have been temptations and opportunities elsewhere, but these two Dunahoo men stayed the course, and remained in Statham until their deaths, Daddy Bill in 1989, and Uncle Ralph, who we just lost in 2010. For sure, I’d like to thank my great-granddaddy Lawrence for coming to Statham to start with, and for having a part in building our little town.

I used to be jealous of my cousins who lived in The Big City (suburbs of Atlanta). Life on Broad Street was often boring. The end of the road where we lived wasn’t even paved with asphalt until I was a young teenager. My end of the road was riddled with potholes, and the city’s idea of repairing them was to fill them with tar. That worked fine in the cold weather, but the hot summer days would find us popping the little bubbles in the tar, and riding our bikes over the sticky spots, leaving behind a trail of tire tracks. There were many days when boredom would take over, and I would form an obstacle course over the potholes, and challenge myself to see how fast I could get from point A to point B, making sure I hit every hole. My city-slicker cousins never got to do that! Nor were they able to get on their bikes, round up a group of friends, and be gone all day long. Our mamas knew that SOMEBODY in town would be keeping an eye on us. We couldn’t get away with much. There was always someone watching… someone who would tell our mamas if we misbehaved. We’d stay at this house for a while, then ride over to another house, pick up a few more friends, and off we’d go again.

On Sunday afternoons, we would pool our nickels and dimes, and one or two brave girls would cross “The Highway” on foot and go to Seagraves’ store. There we would purchase one can of Underwood Deviled Ham, a small loaf of bread, and if someone had extra riches to share, a small bag of potato chips. We would then load our stash into the wicker baskets on our bikes, ride through town, hang a left then a right, and coast down the hill to J. S. Hall’s little fish pond. We’d gather in a little circle, and the picnic would officially begin. Invariably someone produced a dull kitchen knife, and maybe we had napkins, maybe not. Sometimes we would wash our hands in the murky water of the pond, sometimes we didn’t bother. A deviled-ham sandwich never tasted so good, as when shared among a small, tight-knit group of girls enjoying the freedoms of living in a small town. There were two rules at The Pond. No Swimming, and No Boating. There was a tiny little john-boat that was always pulled halfway up on the bank. For those of you not familiar with J.S.’ pond, it isn’t very big at all-- maybe 25 yards across, at best. I never knew how deep it was, but I’m sure I could probably stand in the deepest part and not have to worry about drowning. But to our young minds, it was as deep and treacherous as any ocean, and we were horrified of falling in, and never even once considered getting in the boat.

Well… we did consider it just once. One afternoon, we were all feeling a little sassy. So we decided we would get in The Boat and take a little paddle around The Pond. Once we piled in and shoved off, we were met with a terrible truth: There Were No Paddles. We were stranded in the middle of The Pond with No Paddles. About that time, a car turned onto Lakewood Drive, and we started to panic. I was wearing my mom’s watch that day, and I vividly remember being more afraid of ruining her watch in the water than I was of drowning in The Treacherous Pond, or even the prospects of being caught in The Boat. Thankfully, the driver of the car was NOT one of our parents, nor was it J.S. (The driver must have been a lost stranger driving through. For sure it wasn’t anyone local, because our mamas and J.S. never found out about The Boat Incident.) Somehow we used our hands to splash our way back to the safety of dry land, and the adventure was over. Well, actually, THEY splashed us back. No way was I going to chance ruining my mom’s watch by putting MY hands in the water!!

Such fun memories from days gone by, when life passed at a slower pace, and we took such pleasure in the little things. Like riding bikes down friendly streets, stopping to talk with folks sitting on the porch. Taking a break from the sun on Uncle Ralph’s front porch, enjoying the cool breeze and a ride on the famous kiddie swing. At the time, we didn’t realize how truly fortunate we were. We just felt safe and secure in our little town where everyone knew everyone, and our curfew was “before dark”. No pagers or cell phones to keep track of our every move. We had each other, and we had neighbors who cared.

My City Slicker Cousins may have had easy access to the mall (I didn’t even know what a mall was when I was a kid), and more exciting things to do and see, but I feel lucky and ever so blessed that my Irish rainbow ended right here in Statham. There’s nowhere else I would rather have grown up. Now, if I could just find that leprechaun who took off with our pot of gold…

[Edited to add]: A very special thanks to Uncle Ralph's Daughter, Becky, for the family history. She has done an impressive job of tracing the Dunahoo roots, and she graciously shared the fruits of her labor with me. Thank you, Becky! You Rock!

MT Trainer- ID Please?

2011-02-03T09:54:00.000-05:00

MT Trainer- Thanks for your comment. I can't wait to fit into The Little Black Coat!!!! Would you please contact me privately regarding some MT industry standards issues? Thank you! bencath@aol.com

The Little Black Coat

2011-02-02T19:25:00.000-05:00

While much of the U.S. is suffering blizzard conditions, our thoughts turn toward keeping warm. Though many of you would trade weather-places with me in a heartbeat, it's still a windy, chilly 43 degrees here at The 409. I just walked to the mailbox in my jammies, and it was quite nippy.

I hate to wear coats. For 25 years I have had the same tweed, just-below-the-hips, double-breasted coat that my former husband gave me. The style has come in and out of fashion a few times, but I still wore it. It's still in great condition too, save for the layer of dust on the heavily-padded shoulders. It has hung in my laundry room since I moved here 5 1/2 years ago. I've had a few light jackets along the way, but for the most part, if I'm just darting about town, I choose to just suffer the few minutes of cold, rather than have to fuss with taking off and keeping up with a coat while I'm doing whatever it was that took me out of my warm house to start with.

This past fall, though, I got a wild hair and decided that I Needed A New Coat. I shopped around until I finally found one that I liked very much, and I got it on sale at an unbelievable price! It is nice enough to wear over dress clothes, but not too nice to wear every day. I also found a sweat-shirt type jacket with the most wonderfully soft lining at Old Navy, also at a great price. This is my go-to jacket when dashing out the door on those sub-zero-degree (Georgia.. haha) days. I've never even taken the tags off of the other coat. I considered taking it back, but when I remember what a good buy I got on it, I just can't seem to make myself return it. What with all this cold weather (as a result of global warming HA!) who knows when I might actually decide to wear it. Surely as soon as I return it, I'll be wishing I had it. So, the New Coat will continue to hang in my closet, taking up space, until such time as I need it.

When my daughter was in high school, she found a beautiful black leather jacket that she couldn't possibly live without. She traded me all of the gift-cards that she received the previous Christmas, in exchange for my buying the Little Black Coat for her. I loved it, and wanted one too, but couldn't afford to buy two. She needed an XL and I needed a 3X. She came home with a Little Black Coat... but I did not. Her coat was so tight on me that if I tried to stick my arms in the sleeves, I couldn't move them. So I just continued wearing my tattered old tweed coat, when I absolutely HAD to wear one.

I think she may have worn The Little Black Coat three, maybe four times. Grrr. Teenagers are fickle like that, aren't they? Over the years, I have come across TLBC hanging in her closet, my closet, and most recently the grandbaby's closet.

Guess who has The Little Black Coat now? If you guessed me, you're absolutely right. My arms/shoulders will move about freely inside the sleeves now, and I could even reach out my arms and give you a hug, should you happen to need/want one.

The zipper is still a little problematic. The left side of the zipper lacks about 2" from being able to interlock with the right side of the zipper. But, hey... that's PROGRESS!! When I bought TLBC, the zippers were probably 10-12" apart. I've come a long way, baby!

TLBC is hanging in a very prominent position in my room (ummm... on the handle of my much-neglected treadmill...) as a reminder to get back on course, stay the course, and make that zipper zip! It may be springtime, or long after coat-weather is behind us before I can make that sucker zip, but zip it I will! And then I will be the proud owner of my very own personal Little Black Coat. Yay!

Kissing Frogs

2010-12-22T13:59:00.001-05:00

“You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your handsome prince.” I’ve always loved that little quote. Several years ago in the gift shop at the hospital they had some cute little pewter frogs with tiny little crowns on them, and a little card that said “Someday my prince will come.” I bought one of the little froggies, and he has kept me company for quite some time now. I never actually believed it, and I never even particularly wanted a handsome prince. I’ve had a husband or two, one that for a while was my handsome prince, and one that would qualify as … well, we won’t go there. I’ve kissed my fair share of frogs over the years, and finally gave up when all I got for my effort was warts.

We live in a fast-paced world, where our days melt together into weeks and months, and when we blink our eyes, a year has gone by. I find this to be ever truer the older I get. Life experiences teach us, mold us, and shape us into who we are today. As a more mature (I refuse to say middle-aged) adult, caution has been the order of my life for many years now, and I simply just gave up kissing frogs. A recent post tells the story of how I reconnected with a “crush” from the past, and how famously we’ve been getting along. Let me assure you, though, that there was no frog kissing involved in this relationship. Oh no. He came to me already in Prince mode, and every day has confirmed his status as such.

There’s another little cynical saying that always gave me a chuckle: “Someday my ship will come in. And I’ll probably be stuck at the airport.” Today I’m very delighted to report that not only has my ship come in, but I was waiting at the dock, right on time. On board the ship was not an ugly frog, but my handsome prince, who has completely stolen my heart, yet guards it as his own.

I will never again have to kiss another frog. My prince has come. And we shall be married in June.

This amazing man went to my parents yesterday, and formally asked for their blessing. He spent over an hour in their home, talking about our relationship, about his plans for our future, and how important it is to both of us for them to be on board with our decision to marry. Wow. Is that a fairy tale prince, or what? My parents are delighted that such a fine man has come along to be a part of my life. I can imagine that they are even somewhat relieved to know that when they are gone, they will be leaving me in such loving, capable hands.

Is it soon to be engaged? Some will think so. We do not. I’ve always heard “when it’s right, you know it”. And I know it. We know it. Life is short. We are getting older. We are never promised our next tomorrow. During the next few months (177 days, but who’s counting????), we will address the logistics of where to live, etc., spend quality together-time with both families, and set about the task of blending our two families. My closest friends who have watched this unfold are so excited! There are quite a few people who have known both Steve and I our entire lives, and these friends are especially excited to see that we have found happiness together. A dear friend that we visited last Saturday night shared her grief of losing her husband of many years, and her young-adult daughter within the past couple of years. She encouraged us to not waste a moment, and never take tomorrow for granted. When we left her home, we looked at each other and pretty much at the same time said “we can’t wait”. We talked long into the night, and finally I handed him the calendar and told him to pick a date. Inside the little square for June 17th, he took a pen and drew a little Valentine heart, complete with an arrow sticking through it, with SH + CB written inside, like we used to do in grade school. So June 17^th it is. And it can’t get here soon enough for me.

Joseph: How Much Did He Know?

2010-12-20T09:42:00.004-05:00

For (hopefully) most of us, Christmas is all about Baby Jesus in the manger. For others, Christmas is simply a time of parties, the madness of retail frenzy, and maybe a warm feeling in the heart. Not so much about Jesus, yet a happy time of peace and goodwill to men. For some, Christmas is just a sad time of year to be endured.

Since becoming a mother myself, each year when Christmas rolls around and we focus on the manger, the angels, shepherds and wise men, I have had a much different attitude toward the parents. Mary and Joseph. They have become more real to me than before the birth of my own child.

I've been tossing this particular post around in my head for several weeks. Time restraints have kept me from completing the task. As well as not wishing to start any "religious" debates. I know there are those who read my blog who are polar opposites of me regarding matters of faith. I don't consider myself a "religious" person. I'm just a girl who chooses to believe that God matters, and that Jesus is The Way. Pretty basic. I detest all the legalism of organized religion and denominations that take our eyes off of what really matters. It's a huge turnoff to me, and I'm quite sure it is a turnoff to nonbelievers... perhaps one of the reasons for their non-belief. Whether or not you fall into the category of (my definition of ) Believer, just ride along with me and take what you need/want from the post, and simply leave the rest. These are my thoughts. You probably have your own.

My pastor spoke on a similar subject yesterday, with the focus on Mary. I'm resting in bed this morning fighting some germs, so I decided to share what I've been pondering.

The personalization of Mary and Joseph seems to become stronger for me with every passing year. There's a song called Mary Did You Know that has become popular over the past several years. Another favorite song about Mary is Amy Grant's version of Breath Of Heaven. Last night on Facebook someone posted a little video depicting the Social Networking version of the birth. I thought it was fabulous! Check it out here.

Mary and Joseph were real people. Young people. And they were real parents. Do you remember how you felt when you first held your own child? There is no greater joy in the world. Chances are, though, that your red-faced, squirming, screaming little bundle of joy was wrapped in a clean blanket, after a sterile birth in a warm bed with a host of medically-trained personnel orchestrating the event. Dad may or may not have been present in the room at the time of the birth, but if he was, his only hands-on involvement might have been cutting the umbilical cord. The responsibility of the birthing process didn't rest on his shoulders, because the nurses and doctors were there to facilitate a safe birth. Whitney's dad wasn't in the OR when she was delivered by C-section, but I have the most precious picture of him taken immediately after he saw her in the nursery for the first time. He is hugging his mom, and crying like a baby himself. I always loved that picture, and it brings me to tears myself whenever I see it. No doubt about it. The birth of a child rocks our world, and we discover within us a love that we never imagined existed.

Mary and Joseph were real people. I can't imagine how frightened they were. We women complain about the discomforts of pregnancy. Can we imagine traveling for miles and miles on the back of a donkey with a baby lying low in the womb? We have our birth plans all mapped out, and we pre-register at the hospital a month or so in advance. All we have to do is walk in the door, and our labor and delivery is managed by those trained to assist us. There was no warm hospital bed for Mary. I can imagine a frantic Joseph desperately searching for a place to stay as Mary leaned against the smelly donkey, holding her stomach as the pains of birth were upon her. There were no brightly-lit rooms or warm blankets. There was a dusty barn, likely filled with the smell of animal poop rather than antiseptic soap. There were no beeps of medical contraptions to surround her, rather the soft breathing of the animals, perhaps the lowing of cattle in the distance, the whinny of horses or bleating of sheep as the background music for the birth of her child. Young Joseph wearing his dirty travel clothes was her attendant, not a host of nurses clad in clean scrubs. Joseph, who had no Prepared Childbirth classes, attended Mary as she labored, and at the final moment, received into his hands the Glory of God, as Jesus entered into the world in the form of a flesh-and-blood human.

I wonder what Mary and Joseph were thinking as they cleaned Him up, and wrapped him in tattered blankets? Because of the visits from the angels, the immaculate conception, they knew that something Pretty Big was going down. But. Did they know? Did they know What, and Who they were holding? I like to think that God bathed them with grace to protect them from what was coming down the road. I can't imagine what it would have been like for them to know from the get-go the path that He would take, and what He would ultimately submit himself to.

There are few things sweeter to me than pictures of a dad holding his baby. I love a daddy who loves his children, and isn't afraid to show it. Do we think that Joseph is any different from other dads? Somehow it seems like we just don't think much about Joseph at all. He was an exceptional young man, called upon by God to do a crazy thing: Marry his pregnant girlfriend, with whom he knew HE had never been intimate. Obedient to the voice of God, he was a faithful servant, and did as he was told. There were no lights or cameras in the stable, but I imagine that Joseph was as overcome with emotion as any other dad upon witnessing the birth of his child, or upon seeing the baby for the first time behind the glass walls of a nursery.

As Mary slept afterward, can't you just see Joseph gazing into the face of his child, the way all new parents do, wondering at the miracle of birth. ESPECIALLY THIS BIRTH!!

Last Christmas season, as I was driving down the road, I caught the tail-end of a song on 104.7 The Fish. I didn't quite catch it all, but it was a song about Joseph wanting the Baby Jesus, just for one night to "just be my child". As soon as I was able, I Googled and found the song. It is called Joseph's Lullaby (listen to it here). Oh my. This is one of the most moving songs I have heard to date, and it further makes Joseph a real person to me.

*********************************

The Words

Go to sleep my son, this manger for your bed.

You have a long road before you, rest your little head.

Can you feel the weight of your glory?

Do you understand the price?

Does the Father guard your heart for now,

So you can sleep tonight.

Go to sleep my son. Go and chase your dreams.

This world can wait for one more moment

Go and seep in peace.

I believe the Glory of Heaven is lying in my arms tonight.

Lord I ask that he, for just this moment, simply be my child.

Go to sleep my son. Baby close your eyes.

Soon enough you'll save the day.

But for now, dear child of mine.

Oh, my Jesus, sleep tight.

**************************************

Wow. If that doesn't give you a new view of Joseph, I'm not sure anything can. Jesus ~~was~~ IS real. Mary was real. And Joseph was real.

I hope this year it all feels very real for you.

Merry Christmas!!

Inquiring Minds Want To Know...

2010-11-16T16:14:00.000-05:00

~~Seems like a recent Facebook post has caused quite a stir among my friends, and it looks like I have some 'splainin to do. Yes, it is true. I have changed my Facebook status from "single" to "in a relationship". I have done gone and got myself a boyfriend.
~~Those of you who know me will understand what a big thing this is. Seems like former relationships ended with such disastrous results, that I found it best to fly solo and just concentrate on my little family and devote myself to my grandbabies. Nothing wrong with that, it has been a very fulfilling existence. I pretty much gave up all hope of ever trusting my instincts, since my judgement of character seemed to be very seriously lacking. Perhaps I was one of those with a capitol L branded across my forehead, or the proverbial "kick me" sign taped to my back where relationships were concerned. I found solace, comfort, acceptance, and satisfaction within my small circle of close friends and my precious family.
~~Occasionally, though, I wonder about the future. One of these days my daughter and her family won't need me, and will move on to their own place. The grandkids will prefer hanging out with their friends over spending time with Greemaw. One day I won't have the luxury of spending time with my parents, or my aging aunts and uncles. One day my house will be empty and quiet. WIl I regret not pursuing (or allowing myself to be pursued for) a relationship? Will I spend my golden years wrapped in a cloak of loneliness and regret? Even so, the risks involved in tearing down walls and opening my heart seemed greater than I was willing to accept. I will worry about those pesky little feelings when the time comes, but for now, I'll just stay in my safe little haven where my close friends and family know and love me, and protect me with a fierceness that always amazes me.
~~Then ,wouldn't you know it, along comes a person who blows all of that out of the water, and I find myself taking a step back, and weighing the risks of allowing myself to be come close to another person. A Man Person. Wow.
~~Now, I'm 52 years old, and have a little bit of experience with the male species, not all of which was bad, but certainly enough to keep me grounded. My mom says "I don't want you to be hurt." To which I respond "Mom, I don't want to be hurt either. There are no guarantees. Maybe I will be, maybe I won't be. There are always risks with matters of the heart. But right now, I'm enjoying the feeling." And it's true.
~~The cool thing, is how this all came about. My brother's band was playing a gig at Wild Bill's in Norcross. A friend of his, a sweet German girl named Dietke, came to the show to take some photos. Of course, the devoted big-sister-Departure-fan wanted to see the photos. In order to view her album, I had to befriend her on FB. We shared some correspondence, and she read my blog entries about my struggles with weight loss surgery, etc. One day she said she wanted to hook me up with a delightful gal who had lost a tremendous amount of weight. Melissa and I became friends, shared a little personal information and weight-loss encouragement. During one note, she made mention of the fact that she was considering moving back to Statham. What? Statham? Who is this girl, and who does she know? Statham is just a little tiny town, and how odd that two degrees from my baby brother, via a girl from Germany, is someone who used to live here? After a little interrogation, I discovered that not only did she used to live here in my little town, but some of her relatives are still here. And one name she happened to mention was her uncle, Steve. [Insert side note: Her Uncle Steve was a guy on whom Bobbie Jean, Debbie Jo, and I used to carry a huge crush. He hung out with BJs uncle, which meant we had easy access to him, and we would follow them about like puppy dogs or annoying kid sisters, gaze at him longingly, and blush and giggle if ever he looked our way. Oh yes, I remembered Uncle Steve!] We talked a little bit about him, then moved on to other subjects. I was intrigued, though, and excited about the possibility of reconnecting. Then a few days later, as luck would have it, he posted something on her wall …
~~I couldn’t believe it! There he was! There was his name, and his photo! A face from my past. Memories of how I adored him came flooding back like a fresh breeze on my face. Dare I send him a friend request? Of course I would. My fingers were already working the keyboard before I could even give it consideration. My message was something along the lines of “You probably don’t remember me, but…” Then the waiting began. It wasn’t long before he accepted my request with these words: (copied from the actual FB message... i'm such a nostalgic nerd...)

Cathy , how could i ever forget you , i,m so glad to hear from you, loved looking at your pic. those were the days . Please stay in touch

************

And the rest, as they say, is history. Thanks to those of you who are offering support and encouragement. It means a lot to me that my friends are excited for me, and care about my happiness. Keep me in your prayers: even though my head (and my heart) are in the clouds right now, that my feet will remain firmly planted on the ground.

Thankful To Serve

2010-11-14T11:51:00.000-05:00

Home ownership comes with a price. Obviously there's the fiscal aspect, but another necessary evil is that pesky maintenance thing, both the big jobs and the everyday things like tidying up around the place, cleaning the floors and toilets, and despised dusting (a little-utilized chore at The 409). Yes, it can be quite expensive, both financially and physically, to maintain a home.

But those of us with a roof over our heads are so blessed. There are so many who do not. During my time of volunteering with the Homeless Shelter, I saw many sad little children's faces, and the look of desperation on the faces of their parents. There is much talk and judgment cast upon homeless people, and I, too, have an opinion on the matter, but the bottom line is, it is a terrible way to live.

We've probably all watched the show Extreme Makeover Home Addition. It's one of my favorite shows, but due to my work schedule, I rarely see it any more. Most of the time, I think they go way over the top with these homes, with an emphasis on extravagance. Sure, it's great to give so much to the deserving families, but I wonder if they ramped it down a little bit if they could help out another family or two along the way. Of course it's just a tv show, and they are just as interested in ratings as they are helping families, so the more, the bigger, the better I suppose. I like watching the demolition of the homes. The big wrecking ball, the tractors, the high school football team.... usually some theme-related demolition, based on the individual family.

Yesterday I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for Ty, Paulie, Paige and Michael to come driving up with their hardhats and microphones. I even had a spot on my shirt picked out for them to pin a mic on me, and was pleased that I was having a good hair day for the camera. But alas... No Extreme Home Makeover crew showed up at our work site. Soon I was hot and sweaty, my good hair day ruined by drywall dust, and the fresh, perky, morning energy was soon expended. Eyes assaulted by flying debris, and nose only moderately protected (with a little mask) from musty odors and black mold spores. The demolition had begun in earnest.

St. Mary's partners with the Athens Habitat for Humanity, and earlier this year gave employees the opportunity to volunteer with a project over on the east side of town. With the summers so stifling hot, I decided to choose a date in late fall in order to avoid working in the heat. Yesterday was an absolutely perfect autumn day, with a brilliant blue sky and dappled spots of sunlight peeking through the trees. Sandra, MaryAnn, Steve and I worked with several other St. Mary's folks doing demolition inside the apartments. No wrecking balls, tractors, or high school football teams to help. Just a rag-tag band of (mostly) middle-aged folks with hammers and crowbars. It was FABULOUS! My line of work doesn't lend the opportunity for physical labor, and I'm really not that into hard labor jobs around the house either. To say it felt good to pound away some frustrations with that hammer would be an understatement. Flailing the crap out of the wall, a few Kung Fu kicks to smash holes in the wall, yanking and pulling down those hunks of sheetrock... yes it was quite therapeutic.

The Habitat folks are doing a really nice job with these apartments. The lady explained to me how it would all work out in the end, i.e. the process of families getting into the homes, the criteria used to determine eligibility, and a few other details, but the drywall dust was too thick in my head for the information to stick, and I honestly don't remember what she said. It all sounded really good, though. There is one unit on site that is move-in ready, and it was amazing to go inside and get a visual of how the other empty apartments would look once the project is complete. (I my ownself was especially grateful for this "model" apartment, because there was a working potty inside!!)

I'm trying to recall how many units there are. I think there are 16 total units. This means that upon completion, 16 families will enjoy living in nice homes, at a fraction of the cost. I'm not going to get into the politics of what is right, and what is fair. I will only hope that the 16 families who benefit from this program are truly deserving, and that having this opportunity will give them the help they need to be productive members of society. And perhaps someday they, too, will be given the opportunity to pay it forward, and lend a hand to someone else, in return for the blessings they have received.

If you are ever given the opportunity to work with HFH, I urge you to take it. You will make a difference in the lives of people you will probably never meet. My body aches this morning, from my toes to the top of my head. I hurt in places I forgot existed. Yet with every step, every movement, every twinge of pain, I am reminded of how fortunate I am to have a home.

Yes, 16 families will ultimately reap the benefits of the long, hard hours of labor from many people who have volunteered their time and talents over a period of months. The blessings won't stop there, though, because the hearts of the volunteers have been touched as well, and we all walk away with a sense of gratitude for our own blessings, and the opportunity to effect a change by blessing someone else.

Just Breathe

2010-11-08T14:54:00.006-05:00

Sometimes you just have to breathe. When the journey takes such a jagged detour, and you lose your way, you just have to breathe. Breathe through the smothering feeling that screams you can't make it. When you sit by the bed waiting for death to take someone you love, and you want to hang on for as long as possible, you just have to breathe. When your heart is breaking in church every Sunday because someone is missing, you have to just breathe. Breathe through the tears. When panic overtakes you because things are changing, and the fear of the unknown is before you... just breathe. Just breathe. When bad news finds you and your life will never be the same... just breathe. When someone will be missing this year around the holiday table... just breathe. When you are afraid to grab the brass ring because you think you don't deserve to be happy... just breathe.

How is it that sometimes we forget to breathe? Our autonomic nervous system controls our breathing, and though we can change the rhythm or pattern of breathing, we don't have to consciously make ourselves do it. The breathing referenced here isn't necessarily the physical act of inhaling and exhaling, though sometimes it definitely can be, rather it is a figurative reference.

There's this song I love. It's called... Breathe (2am). It reminds me of the friendship DJ and I have. The specific situations in the song are nonapplicable, but the concept is Just So Us. One girl calls her BFF at 2:00 a.m. and says "help me fix this mess I'm in". We don't normally call each other at 2:00 a.m., but we doggone would if we needed to. Sometimes it's "help me fix this mess", and sometimes it is "my heart hurts", and sometimes it is "I can't take it any more". We remind each other that This Too, Shall Pass. It's not always just bad stuff, though. Sometimes life brings such joyous surprises that take our breath away... that we remind each other to slow down, and breathe. We remind each other that we are not undeserving of the good things that we are blessed with, and our past mistakes are just that.. in the past. We ponder the things we don't understand, we try to solve the problems of the world and hope to make life better for the ones we love. And at times, we remind each other to Just Breathe. Whether we're angry, sad, happy, afraid, confused... there is nothing we can't talk about. Sometimes we can offer a practical solution and sound advice. Sometimes there are no words to say. Sometimes we can fix each others' problems, but sometimes there is no solution. So, we just offer a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, and a heart to understand. And a reminder to breathe.

I posted a quote recently on my Facebook page that says "The best way out is through." I love this. Sometimes the "through" really sucks, but the "out" is always worth it. DJ and I have been friends since we were little girls. After we both married in 1980, we drifted apart for 12 years or so. We found each other again when I was going through my divorce, and all the hell that was my life at that time. When everything fell apart, it was almost like I needed someone to tell me to physically breathe. I couldn't do it on my own. During the week I functioned in a robotic-like state, doing what needed to be done. On the weekend, when Whitney would be with her dad, she would come to my apartment, help me pack my things, and take me to her house for the weekend. I was not good on my own. Sometimes she had to breathe for me. Slowly she taught me to breathe on my own again, and ever since, we have been reminding each other whenever the need arises. She was there for my "throughs", and has helped me to the "outs" more times than I can say. And through the times of horrific grief she has endured, I have reminded her to breathe, and at times breathed for her when she just didn't have the strength to do it on her own. We've been "through" a lifetime of joys and sorrows together. And we always come "out" stronger, for having helped each other "through" it.

Listen to the song here

You can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable

And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table

No one can find the rewind button, girl.

So cradle your head in your hands

And breathe... Just Breathe.

(We can't change the past, and it doesn't have to dictate our future.)

There's a light at each end of this tunnel

You shout cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out

And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again

If you only try turning around

(The best way out is through.)

For some reason, today I am overwhelmed and overflowing with gratitude for this girl, this woman who helps keeps me grounded, and who reminds me to Just Breathe. I love you DJ!

The Election

2010-11-03T11:02:00.000-04:00

Don't faint. I'm not going to have endless blog posts about it. I have to admit I lost a little of my vigor after the primary, and have fallen down on research, keeping up with the polls, etc. I think I'm just weary of it. And that saddens me. If we don't keep The Sleeping Giant awake, we'll fall back into the commonplace "whatever" attitude, and let other people do our talking for us. So, I promise to do better. Shoot, I didn't even watch the election returns last night, when normally I would have been glued to the tv, flipping between FNN and ABC. (I love to see their differences of opinion and how they report it! ha!)

So now that we're in for two years of a Republican-controlled House, I wonder what is in store for us. Maybe I'll get bitten by the bug again and keep better tabs on what's going on. In the meantime, and until I know more about the subject, I'll just keep my political thoughts out of the blog.

But I still think Elmo would have been a better governor instead of the Raw Deal we ended up with.

Elmo For Governor

2010-11-02T12:23:00.002-04:00

I voted. So why don't I feel good about it?

Thirty Things

2010-11-01T23:52:00.020-04:00

November. The month in which we celebrate Thanksgiving. A time to talk about Pilgrims and Indians and The Mayflower. Let me just say, before going any further... since doing research for my book, I have come to a much greater understanding and appreciation for those Pilgrims. And believe me, our celebrations pale in comparison to theirs. Oh yes, we enjoy tables heavily laden with food, and the modern conveniences with which to prepare it. Then there's the nice soft sofa, and the flat screen TV for the big game. Most homes offer a prayer of sorts, just because ... well, it's Thanksgiving, you really should say The Blessing before feasting, right? Some homes will have a "religious" person who will offer up a beautifully-worded soliloquy that creates warm and fuzzy feelings in the hearts of those gathered. Other families will pause for a moment and everyone who is willing will say a word or two about something in particular for which they are thankful.

When I think of that first Thanksgiving, I envision a cold, windy day with snow flurries dancing in the wind. I see the pale-skinned men, women and children gathered around a fire, welcoming their red-skinned neighbors for a harvest celebration that would last several days. I see the sad, drawn faces of those who have survived the previous year, and who are grieving for those who did not. Husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, and children who mourn the loss of their loved ones who succumbed to the hardships they encountered. The journey that was hailed with such glory had turned so tragic. The New World. Such a harsh beginning. I hear them thanking God for the four things for which they were most grateful: Life, Food, Shelter, and their new friends who had taught them how to grow the food they needed to sustain them. Their Saviors, if you will. No such silly thanks for the frivolous things we approach with such a sense of entitlement, but a raw sense of gratitude so deep within their souls that I imagine it was palpable.

To me it is quite humbling to think that the ones after whom we pattern our Thanksgiving celebrations were so very grateful for the basic things that are commonplace for most of us.

After my divorce in 1992, I felt the need to do something that mattered. Absolution, perhaps. I volunteered to work at the Homeless Shelter in Athens, where I quickly realized that no matter how miserable my life was at the time, it was a far cry from the reality of the people I served there. Thanksgiving and Christmas at the shelter brought with it both blessings and heartaches, and it was an experience I'll not ever forget. Seeing the grateful look in the eyes of a mom who can, at least for this night, feed her children, or a street person thankful for a warm bed and a hot cup of coffee, caused me to be more mindful about keeping a thankful heart every day, and not just in November.

All that being said, however, I thought I'd make a little list here about some of the things that make me happy, and for which I'm thankful. Some things on the list are serious things, while others are of a more casual or fun nature.

I know I won't get back to post one-a-day for the month of November, so I'm doing it all at once.

Of course, it goes without saying, that I am most grateful for

~Jesus

~My Family (all inclusive)

~My Friends

~My Home

Those are the easy ones.

Here's a list of 30 things. One for each day of the month. What about you? Anything you would add to the list?

1. The Pilgrims who started it all

2. Healthy parents

3. Freedom

4. My anchor. My best friend. DJ.

5. A job I enjoy.

6. New Beginnings!!

7. Phillipians 4:19

8. Scrapbooking!!

9. Sweet memories of family members no longer with us

10. Diet Coke

11. Forgiveness

12. My in-laws

13. Comfy PJs and warm fuzzy socks

14. Unlimited opportunity

15. The American Soldier

16. The ocean

17. School teachers, firemen and policemen

18. Losing a few pounds this past year

19. The Internet

20. My church family

21. Facebook, and reuniting with old friends

22. An excellent pediatrician for the grandbabies

23. Blessed Assurance

24. Clean sheets

25. The Fly Lady book

26. Being passionate about the things and the people I love

27. Music!

28. The crazy, fun, precious relationship with my daughter

29. Chocolate

30. Second chances

While we should count our blessings every day, let's try extra hard to think of something every day this month, serious or silly, instead of only on Thanksgiving Day. Happy November, ya'll!! Be Thankful every day!

Frost On The Pumpkins

2010-11-01T14:16:00.000-04:00

Without a doubt, my favorite time of the year! The crisp nights and chilly mornings are my idea of what Georgia winters should be like. Those northern-type people can keep their subfreezing temperatures, frosty winds and blizzards. Except for a snow day here and there, I'd be delighted if it never got any colder than what we are experiencing now. Guess you can't have it all, though.

Saturday night was a big night for our little town! The streets were packed with ghosts and goblins, both large and small, from well before sunset until long after dark. The Bartons had their house decked out for the night, much to the delight of their friends and neighbors. I visited a new (for me) haunt this year. Across the street from the Bartons, Jason and friends staged a great "spookhouse", and decorated their home in all manner of frightfulness... complete with a man hanging from a gallows, a graveyard with a fog machine, spooky creatures of the night, and a giant ghost-like creature to welcome you into their yard.

Our church hosted the annual Trunk or Treat/Hot Dog Supper, and we probably had close to a thousand trick-or-treaters come by to see us. It is our largest community project of the year, and such fun to see the little ones come around. I love it that a good many of our senior adults also get involved in the project, and we all work together to get the job done. It's always a very tiring evening, and there are moments when things are happening so fast it's hard to catch your breath. By the time we're finished with the cleanup, everyone is tired, but always happy to have hosted another successful event.

As I left the church around 8:30 pm, I decided to ride down Broad Street and check out the activity. It was still a parking lot, with people everywhere. So many memories came flooding back to the days when I was a kid and we would go up and down Broad Street, knocking on the doors of our neighbors. The smell of burning leaves in the air, and the excited squeals of children having fun. Back then, the only decorations we'd see were jack-o-lanterns glowing in the night. Those were the days!!

Now it's time to shift gears, and start preparing for the holiday season. It is with mixed feelings that I approach this time of year, for reasons regular readers will know and understand. As our attention turns toward the time of thankful hearts, (even though we should be thankful every day), it is my hope that we will slow down enough to embrace the season, even the parts that are painful, and wind down the year with peace in our hearts.

Here are a few of my favorite photos from the weekend.

Out Of The Closet

2010-10-25T11:51:00.000-04:00

On my to-do list for this weekend was the dreaded chore of cleaning out my closet. I'm not one of the fortunate women with a closet big enough to hold my entire wardrobe (small that it is), so each summer and winter finds me sorting through clothes, and exchanging out warm items for cooler items. This year, however, there were no bags and boxes of clothing in my attic to unpack for fall/winter. When I packed up the winter duds at the beginning of summer, I took the boxes straight down to the local Goodwill store, and got rid of them forever. Fat clothes. How come that is such a difficult thing to do? For years and years, I have held on to favorite items, resolving to "one day wear this again". Buried underneath five years of cramming stuff in my attic, I know there are boxes of tiny little jeans that have probably dry rotted by now. Because it has been many, many years since anything about me was tiny. At the beginning of this summer, I was a newly banded patient, full of hope and optimism about getting the weight off, and finally truly believed that it would happen. My band gave me the confidence I needed to be brave and... get rid of those clothes. The summer clothing that I replaced them with were also of the larger size, and throughout the summer they became looser and looser on my shrinking body, until I finally had to break down and buy a few things to get me through. What a shock to realize, now that it's time to once again drag out the winter clothes, that I have NOTHING TO WEAR!!! I work from home, in my jammies) so business casual clothing isn't an issue for me. Well, except for the rare time when I must go into the office, then I must adhere to a fairly rigid dress code, but thankfully that's not very often.

I'm afraid I didn't get to check off every item on my to-do list for the weekend. But I did get my closet cleaned out. And now I have even more boxes for Goodwill. My closet is looking very bare these days. But even without my band in place, I still have the resolve that I won't be needing those clothes any more. Yes, indeed. It is time they come Out Of The Closet!!!

Home Sweet Home

2010-10-17T23:18:00.003-04:00

Wow. What a fabulous week! Autumn is my very favorite time of year to visit the beach, but each year usually finds me dodging hurricanes. Fortunately, the tropics were calm this year, and there were no threats. The weather was absolutely perfect. Lazy was the word-of-the-week. Mornings were spent sleeping in, watching morning tv, and drinking coffee with the parental units. Afternoons were spent on the beach reading, napping and long, long walks along the shore. Evenings were spent reading, watching tv, and working on my "homestead" on Facebook. Another candle was added to my birthday cake while I was gone. The big Five Two. On the downside of half a century. I don't feel old at all. Well, not too terribly old anyhow. Debbie Jo and David were camping about ten miles south of us, and I spent the night with them on my birthday. DJ and I did what we do best.... sit outside and talk until bedtime, and the next morning we enjoyed a few hours on the beach. After that, they treated me to a birthday lunch at one of our favorite places, Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville. Can I just say... YummmMEEE!! It was a perfect vacation, and I enjoyed spending time with Mom and Dad. Sweet times indeed. I did miss my precious grandbabies, though. Whitney kept me updated with Leyland's cute little antics, and I talked to her on the phone a time or two. I was so anxious to see them, and couldn't wait for some sweet munchkin hugs and kisses. The little rascals.... when they got home they were all tuckered out from a big day at the Oconee Festival, and didn't pay much attention to Greemaw. This morning was a different story. Leyland was all about Greemaw! She crawled into bed with me for some special snuggle time. She put her little arms around me and said "I love my Greemaw soooooo much." Okay, I could just go on to Greemaw heaven now. Nothing sweeter in the world.

I'm thankful indeed for such a great week, spending special time with my parents and the best friends ever.

Go West, Young Man!

2010-10-06T13:34:00.000-04:00

Well, okay. So that quote belongs more in the pages of my book than on my blog. Exactly the opposite true. I should say... "Go East, Old Woman!" Tis true. In just over 24 hours (but who's counting?), I'll be crawling in the back seat of my dad's car, and headed for the coast. You have no idea how happy this makes me. The past few months have been busier than usual, and I am soooooooo ready for a lazy week of doing nothing. Nothing, I tell you. I can dig in the sand with my toes... or not. I can drink coffee and watch morning TV until the morning is gone. I can sit on the beach until the sun sinks behind the high-rise condos... or I can sit there until dark. Even if I have to wrap up in a blanket. Can you tell I'm excited?

I'm also harboring probably the most selfish thought I've ever had in my life. I'm seriously hoping that everyone left behind at home can stay well, out of the hospital, disaster-free, and that the only phone calls we'll be getting are the sweet voices of the grandchildren calling to say hi. Last year the vacation was cut short because Corey was admitted to the hospital with swine flu... poor little pumpkin. The kids have both been sick, and I have an aunt and an uncle with some health issues. So... okay, everybody... take your vitamins and eat your Wheaties. Stay well. Stay safe. Stay happy. (Didn't I tell you that was the most selfish thing ever??? I mean, I truly want them to be safe, healthy, and happy.... ALL the time... but I especially wish it for the time that we are gone.)

DJ and David will be about 10 miles down the beach, so I'm looking forward to spending some beach time with them. I'm not big on doing the touristy stuff, and would rather stay home and eat a banana sandwich than fight the crowds, or leave the beach early to get ready for dinner. One place I do like to go is to Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville out at Broadway. DJ and I are looking forward to taking David out there. For my mom and dad's 50th anniversary a few years ago, they gave them a *voucher* for a David Steak (THE absolute best steak ever in the history of the universe) ... and for the past few years everything has just been so crazy that we never had the cookout. David says he is going to cook the steaks next week. How much better can it get than that? A David steak... at the beach!!! Oh yeah. Seriously looking forward to that.

But before I can hit the road, I must get busy. Four days' worth of stuff to be done in 24 hours. Looks like it will be an all-nighter at The 409. I'll be more than ready for a 6-hour backseat nap!

Daddy, Daddy, are we there yet?

My Kid Brother

2010-09-27T06:00:00.000-04:00

An angel from heaven came down one night
And made a big sister of me.
And though Mommy said it would happen some day,
It's not all that I thought it would be.
The baby smelt funny and cried all the time,
And Mommy, she always was tired
This baby was simply no fun at all!
If I was his boss he'd be fired!
But as he got older, he got kinda cute,
And one day he smiled up at me!
And when he was able to sit up and play,
It was then I was able to see,
That someday he might be a very good friend,
A brother I really could love,
And I could than God for sending to me
This wonderful gift from above.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Birthday, Michael! I love you!

The Cake, Part 2

2010-09-24T10:57:00.002-04:00

Okay, so I know you're just dying to see the final results of the cake. We're happy with the results, but keep in mind this was an EXPERIMENT, and my anal self has to remember that first attempts often fall short of perfection. I would have liked for the polka dots to have been perfect circles, but seeing as how we hand-rolled each little ball of fondant, then smooshed it into a circle, perfection was impossible. The "real" cake will also have trim work on it. You know what I mean, the "molding" stuff where the cake meets the plate, and where the first layer meets the second layer. I'm sure there are professional terms to describe what I'm talking about, but, hey... I don't know anything about cake decorating, so I'll just call it "molding", or "trim work". So please view the photo with a forgiving attitude, and remember... this IS our first one... drum roll please...

And in case anyone is wondering, the top level is NOT Mexican cornbread! :-)

The Cake, Part 1

2010-09-22T23:50:00.006-04:00

Hello Kitty or Minnie Mouse. Leyland had quite a difficult time deciding between the cat and the mouse for her birthday theme this year. The mouse finally prevailed, so this year's party is all about the ears. Whitney found the most precious little Minnie Mouse dress (and of course the headband with ears) for her to wear to the party. Conveniently, the sweet little outfit will serve as her trick-or-treat costume as well. And to make a great deal even better, the essential black patent leather shoes will also fill the need for new "church" shoes for the fall. A big bang for our bucks. Gotta love that! Birthday parties for the kids usually just about kill me. Leyland's birthday falls right in the middle of football season, so her parties are usually held on Sunday afternoons, which means 1) I must rearrange my work schedule, and 2) I must rush to decorate after church. (So far, we have used the fellowship hall at the church for her parties). 3) Then I must rush to get everything cleaned up before the evening service. Fortunately, family and friends are there to help out, but it still just wears me out. Earlier this year we decided to try a different approach. We'll be having the party at 1-2-3-Jump, a place at the mall with the blow-up things that the kids hop around and slide down inflatable slides. I'm hoping the stress level will be significantly less by eliminating the need to decorate, and having a much smaller menu. Pizza, cake, ice cream and drinks. Not quite the spread we usually lay out, but I think it will suffice. Besides, there's a food court right around the corner for anyone who prefers more substantial fare.

Apparently I'm unable to function without some level of stress, and birthday parties are no exception. Instead of getting a $20.00 cake from Sam's large enough to feed an army, (no stress!) Whitney and I have undertaken the task ourselves.(Stress!) Our internet search lead us to hundreds of Minnie Mouse birthday cake photos. We decided that if those folks can do it, so can we. First, you must understand that my personal culinary skills are laughable, at best, and downright toxic at worst. Whitney is an excellent cook, but (with the exception of one cake last summer) her cake decorating skills fall just shy of ... pitiful. So to even entertain the idea of decorating a cake for Leyland's birthday seems unlikely... and to plan a fondant cake is unthinkable. I've always loved the look of a fondant cake, but never, EVER thought that I would attempt one my ownself. Thanks to You-Tube, we have watched many videos, and our confidence was boosted to the point that we decided to tackle it. Our most daunting task was deciding which design to use. Tiered round? Tiered square-round? Sheetcake? Layer cake?

Tonight was the big night. Time to make the prototype. We decided on a square bottom with a round top. I have one of those cake-leveler thingies, so once the bottom layer had cooled sufficiently, I leveled that baby out, and whipped up some butter cream frosting to smather all over it. Oh yeah. I learned that to use fondant, you must first ice the cake with butter cream frosting, then chill it until the frosting is somewhat firm. I was delighted to find that butter cream frosting comes in a box, requiring only a tad of milk and butter and an electric mixer. Check.

Despite our confidence when watching the You Tube videos, when it came time to prepare, roll, and drape the fondant, we were a tad bit nervous. Whitney was soon up to her elbows in corn starch and confectioner's sugar, and soon had it rolled out to an adequate size. The moment of truth had arrived... draping it over the cake. Total Piece Of Cake!! (pun intended)

I'm very happy to say that we are delighted with how the bottom layer has turned out.

The jury is still out on the top level, as it remains unfinished. Of course, we couldn't complete the project without a disaster. I only have one 6" round pan, so the top layer had to be made in two batches. Oops. Whitney forgot to spray the pan, so the first layer wouldn't release from the pan and tore all to pieces. No worry, we had more batter, so into the oven it went. Well, by the time I leveled it out, the layer isn't tall enough. We need that second layer. We didn't have another box of cake mix anywhere in the house. As a final effort to complete the project, I asked her if we didn't have some blueberry muffin mix, or SOMETHING to bake in that pan so we could frost it and finish our masterpiece. After looking one last time, she was finally able to locate some Mexican cornbread mix....

....to be continued....

Old Things

2010-09-15T10:06:00.000-04:00

My dad will be 80 years old in June. 80 years. Eight decades. Wow. That's a lot of years. And my dad has packed a lot of living and learning in those 80 years. As a young boy, he waited in the chicken house with his dad while Santa Clause (and the good doctor) brought his baby sister into the world on Christmas Day. He learned to work the fields and tend the livestock with my grandfather. His leg was shattered in a milling accident, and he still bears the scars. Fortunately, a good surgeon saved the leg, and it has caused no problems in subsequent years. As a young man he served his country in the Air Force as a communications specialist. Shortly after leaving the Armed Forces, he met and married my mom, and 16 months later he became a father. 4 years and 11 months later, my baby brother was born, and our family was complete.

My brother and I enjoyed the proverbial "Anything your daddy can do, our daddy can do better." I speak the truth. We were the lucky kids, the ones whose parents resolved to stick it out through thick and thin, and who held together when times were tough. Our daddy worked hard every day, then came home at night and was a *real* daddy to us. Not like the daddies of today, who have one ear plugged with a Blue Tooth, one hand on the remote, and one hand on the cell phone. Nope, he played with us kids, fixed things around the house, helped his neighbors any way possible, and built things. He has always been a builder. Whether it be a garden shed, a greenhouse, a newfangled carburetor (which he should have had patented!), or a toy from a wooden spool, a toothpick, a rubber band, and a chunk of soap that could be wound up and would roll across the floor. Magic, I tell you! He built much of the house in which they live. He built toy chests for the grandchildren, numerous bookcases and a beautiful pie safe for my home.

We cherish all of the things that he has built with his hands. Perhaps the most amazing thing that he has built, though, is a car. That's right, a car. As a young boy, he always dreamed of building a car from scratch. (Go figure... I guess it was a "boy thing".) Since the age of 16, he has had the dream of building a particular model of a car. An Oldsmobile Model R. A year or so ago found him realizing his dream, as he researched the project and located the plans that he would need. He ordered materials, doodled things on paper, read manuals, and talked about his project to his friends. He cleaned out his "building" to make room for the project, and greased up his saws and presses, and prepared for The Big Day. Finally he was able to begin the adventure. He would disappear for hours, "piddling around", making a little progress every day. My mom would get a report of what he had accomplished that day. Finally things started to take shape, and you could really see that all those piles of wood and metal were coming together to form something... and as time went on, it became evident that it was indeed a car! Not the kind of car we use today. The body of it looks more like a carriage. (At one point in assembly, I told him it looked like Santa's Sleigh. I don't think he much appreciated that.)

Hours and hours of determination and dedication have resulted in The Car My Daddy Built. It is really cool!! He is so proud and excited, as he very well should be. He has taken it to several car shows, and has won several awards. This past Saturday he won a 6' trophy, for being The Favorite of the show's sponsors. How exciting!

We are so thankful for the continued good health of our dad. And so very thankful that he is industrious and ambitious, regardless of his age. His mind is sharp and his hands remain skilled and talented. This project, we feel, has been instrumental in maintaining these blessings.

Yes, we are very proud of all that he has built in his lifetime. And The Car is no exception. But what we are most proud and grateful for is the relationships he has built with his family and friends, and with God. We love you dad!!!

My dad and The Car will be at the Sunflower Festival in Statham this Saturday. If you're in town, drop by and take a look. He would love to tell you all about it!!! Here are a couple of photos of the finished product, and of his latest award.

Name That Tune

2010-08-30T08:37:00.000-04:00

"I can name that tune in TWO notes!" That was a fun show back in the 70s. Saturday night at DJ's house found us playing a similar game. Tony Orlando was hosting an infomercial for Time Life for a CD collection of "romantic songs" from the 70s and 80s. As a clip would come up on the screen, we would all try to name the artist. The name of the song would be listed, and a few seconds later the artist's name would show on the screen. Yeah, sounds like a lame attempt at entertainment on a Saturday night, but it was fun to see who could call out the name first. I rather enjoyed the trip down memory lane.

Friday night I took the plunge and purchased a treadmill. My mom has one at her house that I could use, but that would involve too much planning (i.e. getting dressed and driving over there). I put it together on Saturday before going to DJ's, and had my first workout Sunday night after work. I use the word "workout" very loosely here. After ten minutes I was pooped. What's up with that? I can walk for a long time! Maybe it was the incline. Maybe it was the speed. At any rate, I'm good with 10 minutes, and I'll build from there.

A little funny thing to share: Friday morning I was getting my oil changed at Akins. They have this great little "internet bar", so I pulled up a chair and proceeded to check Facebook and work on my homestead in Frontierville. (If you don't know what it is, don't even ask!) There's a guy sitting beside me, and we're both busy doing our internet thing. The service guy walks in and says "Bueller?" "Bueller?" Fortunately the guy sitting next to me understood when I started laughing, and together we just cracked up. (Again, if you don't get it... never mind..) We had a nice belly laugh over it.

This is shaping up to be a busy week. Danette is setting sail today for an anniversary cruise, and I'll be working for her while she's gone. It comes at a good time for me, since I used my Danette stash to buy the treadmill. Now I can start adding back to my little mad money envelope. There is always something to come along and take my money, but I try to keep that money set apart, to save for special occasions, or something that I wouldn't ordinarily purchase.

That being said, I suppose it's time to get up and get busy working. It will be a long work-day indeed.

Why I Hate My Laptop

2010-08-27T22:52:00.000-04:00

I had a FABULOUS post all typed out. Several long paragraphs. I'm sitting with the laptop propped up against my deck in an uncomfortable position. I sneezed. Somehow the entire post was highlighted and I hit a key at the same time and the whole stinkin' thing disappeared.

...sigh...

I just don't have the heart to type it all over again. I simply MUST figure out why it is that my desktop computer won't access the internet. I have three other computers in this house that will access the internet. There are two wireless laptops, and one I use for work that is straight wired (however through the same wireless router). I took my desktop to the Geek Squad, and they could access it down there both wirelessly and wired. So I don't know why it won't do it here at home. Comcast says it's the Dell computer. Dell says it's Comcast. ....sigh.... what's a computer illiterate supposed to do???

But I will attempt to figure it out. Because I really do hate trying to do serious typing on this silly laptop. When I'm working on my book, I use a peripheral keyboard, but I don't usually drag it out for everyday surfing.

It has been a while since I posted, an I had a good story to share tonight. I'm sorry you missed it. Maybe I'll be inspired to try it again tomorrow night. Just do me a favor. Laugh. Because it was really funny. So just take my word for it and go on and have yourself a good laugh. The endorphins will do you good. :-)

Supernanny!

2010-08-06T00:14:00.000-04:00

What a great week it has been for Corey and Leyland (and Greemaw!!!) Our babysitter disaster turned out to be a huge blessing. Two days before we needed her, the lady who had committed to come to my house and keep the munchkins called with the news that she wouldn't be able to do it after all. Whitney took a chance that Rhonda might be interested in the gig, and gave her a call. Sure enough, she was available... and willing.

Now, I've known Rhonda since she and Whitney were in 2nd grade. She has spent many nights at my house. I've chaperoned many trips with them. I probably know more about her than I should... haha... but what I didn't know was that she is SO FABULOUS with children! Corey and Leyland fell in love with her, and Leyland even announced that Miss Rhonda is her best friend. It is good for children to spend time with someone other than their parents/grandparents. Leyland went to school from January to May this year, but other than that, they've never known anything but staying home with Mom, Dad and Greemaw. Miss Rhonda was a breath of fresh air. She was very attentive to them, played with them, and let them watch their favorite tv station (Sprout). All. Day. Long. Her greatest accomplishment? No More Pappy!!! Leyland and Corey have been addicted to their pacifiers (pappy) since birth. They gave them up a little less than a year ago, but then Corey got sick and begged so pitifully that he got it back. Then Leyland started swiping it, and soon they were both addicted again. On Tuesday when Miss Rhonda was leaving, Leyland decided to give her the pappy to take home to her dog. Guess what??? No pappy for Leyland since then! And, Miss Rhonda only let Corey have his pappy during nap time. AMAZING! And tonight, Corey even went to bed without the pappy! She also taught them to leave their sippy cups on the ledge, go over and take a drink, and put the cup back.

I invited her to move in with us. :-)

Unfortunately, we only got to have her here with us for one day last week, and then four days this week. (An opening at the daycare center here in town became available, and we had to take it now or lose it. Corey starts the daycare center on Monday, and then Leyland starts at Hope on the 23rd.) I'm thinking that if they'd had a couple more weeks with her they'd be cleaning their rooms and doing their own laundry.

Thanks, Miss Rhonda, you are loved, and you will be missed!!

Hello, Remember Me?

2010-07-31T23:55:00.001-04:00

There is no doubt, these past few months rank very near the top of the Worst Times Ever for me. What I had hoped would mark the beginning of a new era (a new me), resulted in a nightmare situation and extreme disappointment.

Random as it may seem, this past Thursday was a really great day. The first great day in a very long time. My strength has pretty much returned, and I finally feel like "me" again. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be "me". :-)

The week was not without its challenges, of course, and for sure there's never a dull moment at The 409. A few weeks ago, we had made arrangements for a lady to come here and sit with the kids while Whitney works. I'm at home, but I work all day, and can't care for the children. On Saturday before she was due to report on Monday, she called and said she wouldn't be able to take the job. This sent our plans into a tailspin. Fortunately, I was able to revise my work schedule and take the second-shift hours. And once again, GiGi to the rescue! Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, she came over at 2:00 each afternoon to watch the munchkins, and stayed until Whitney got home from work. Always the life-saver, that GiGi!!

But let me back up a few days. Last Friday Corey swallowed a penny. I'm sure back in the olden days we all probably swallowed everything from marbles and pennies, to a fair amount of dirt, but nowadays they tell us that the penny can carrode and become rough, and cause internal damage. Or, if it stays in there long enough, (not sure how long is "long enough"), copper poisoning could become an issue. On Wednesday, the penny still hadn't made its way into a poopy diaper, so I took him down to RFC to get an x-ray. Wouldn't you know it, it was "right there".... just waiting for the next poop to usher it back into the world. Corey was beginning to show some signs of discomfort, and we were very anxious for that penny to come out. It wasn't until Thursday evening that the well-traveled coin made its appearance This, of course, meant multiple phone calls to relatives and interested parties, letting them know that the issue had passed. (pun intended)

Wednesday afternoon found Whitney in the emergency room with yet another episode of cardiac arrhythmia. This time they brought in a cardiologist, and he diagnosed it as definite atrial fibrillation, a condition that plagues both my father and my brother. Thankfully, she converted, and they let her come home with a prescription that will hopefully keep her heart in a normal rhythm.

So after a harrowing Wednesday afternoon, having a great day on Thursday (made even better with the penny episode behind us), was appreciated even more. Friday was a great day as well. Chores in the a.m., birthday shopping for my niece in the afternoon. This being the last weekend before school starts, there were fabulous clearance sales at the mall, and I was able to contribute nicely to Mary's back-to-school wardrobe, and found some great bargains for Corey and Leyland as well. Saturday I worked on a couple of small projects outside, and even though it was terribly hot outside, I enjoyed the work, and the feeling of accomplishment when the projects were complete. Peyton's birthday part was Saturday afternoon, and we enjoyed some Bennett family time, which is always a pleasure. The evening found me home alone, enjoying some quiet time. I should have been doing chores, but instead I relaxed a bit, caught up on Facebook, and updated my blogs.

The week has ended on a positive note, and for that I am grateful. And can I just say, that it is so nice to be me again!!!

A New Day

2010-07-18T12:54:00.004-04:00

Sunday. The first day of a new week. A new week that has just GOT to be better than the past few!! I'm not much about whining, and I really hate it when my glass-half-full attitude turns to glass-half-empty-of-sour-rotten-disgusting-milk attitude. Thankfully that doesn't happen too terribly often. I inherited from my dad an optimism that, for me, sometimes belies reality... but if I have to be a little unrealistic at times, I'd far rather it be in the half-full sense rather than the half-empty one. Know what I mean? But now that I'm ready to leave this past week behind me... far, far behind me, let me take just a moment to reflect on what I have learned.

~Trust your instincts. Nobody knows your body the way you know it.. and when you know that something is amiss, you must investigate it. The dangerously frustrating thing is that some health care providers simply don't want to be bothered, and want to poo-poo it all away. "Take an aspirin and call me in the morning" kind of thing. Or "I'll call you back" and then the call never comes.

~Be proactive in my own care. During this entire ordeal, I have spent many hours waiting for return phone calls. Having worked for many years on the other end of the phone, I've tried to be very patient, pleasant, and understanding. I truly know how it works behind the scenes in physicians' offices. However, the time comes when you must INSIST on getting answers, and DEMAND that someone pay attention to you. I really don't like doing that (and it really should never be necessary), because I know what it's like dealing with a chronically whining patient who calls 20 times a day. I never want to be that way. It was either Whitney or DJ who kept reminding me that in a month these people won't remember me anyway, and to keep calling them. Haha.

~Do the best you can do with what you have. My entire week was focused on the fact that I had a postop problem.. and how best to address it. I saw three different doctors within four days.. one in the ER, one at a walk-in clinic, and finally the surgeon on call for my out-of-town surgeon. My sweet mama was playing taxi mom, carting me all over town, while often being the recipient of my snappy attitude. By this time I'm dealing with a big ol' case of frustration, and a little bit of self-pity, thinking that nobody (providers) really care, and do these people really know what they are talking about??? But, the best I could do is whatever they told me to do. Late Friday night and yesterday morning I was feeling pretty low, and quite fearful that I was getting worse. After a nap yesterday afternoon, I was delightfully surprised to see that the wound looked significantly better, and the soreness had ramped down a notch or two. Finally!!

~The saga is not over. Once the band was removed, the esophageal spasm/swallowing/vomiting issues were gone. However, over the past few days, I have had episodes (at least once daily) of the same spasmodic symptoms that lead to all kinds of unpleasantness. This has me pretty bummed. At the time of band removal, I threatened to "slit my wrists" if this symptom didn't go away. Of course, I was joking, but.... I really need for this symptom to go away. Perhaps it is meant to be the thorn in my side, but I am sure praying that with time it will leave never to return. It is a horrible feeling!!

~I really do have more strength than I ever gave myself credit for. Hopefully I am not a boastful person, but I am giving myself credit where credit is due this time. Throughout the entire process, even immediately after the initial surgery, it has been a hard row to hoe, and I worked very diligently to do the right things, to keep the very best attitude, even in the hardest of times. I look at other people who go through trials and challenges far greater and tragic than anything I've ever experienced, and I just say WOW. People who suffer and survive, overcome, and flourish should be our true heroes in this world, not somebody in an athletic jersey or holding an Oscar. It is true.. God will never lead you where His grace will not keep you. And though at times I tend to try to carry the world on my shoulders instead of letting God shower His mercy and grace on me and let HIM carry it, He is always there, ready to bear the load, and restore me. Thank you God, for your blessings.

~Sometimes you just gotta let it go. Blessings can sometimes be found in the most unusual places or circumstances. My dear friend Danette called yesterday afternoon to discuss business, and during the conversation I pretty much lost my composure and bawled like a baby, trying to tell her what was going on. Such a sweet, kind, and compassionate woman. I'm sure my babbling between sobs didn't make much sense to her, but the details didn't matter at the moment, and she was such a blessing to me at the moment I needed it. I must have continued bawling for another 10-15 minutes after we hung up. My sweet daughter hugged on me, rubbed my shoulders for a bit, then went straight to my bathroom, got my bottle of Zoloft and said "Take it. NOW." So I did. It was a cathartic moment, though, and I felt better after the dam burst. Sometimes you just gotta let it go. There's no reward, except maybe a stomach full of ulcers, high blood pressure, etc., for keeping it all bottled up inside. So, to my dear friend Danette, thank you for being in the right place at just the right moment. Close enough to me to love me through it, distant enough not to advise me or try to "fix" it. Just to listen. Exactly what I needed.

~Friends and family. Absolutely the best blessing on earth. This is not a new lesson, it's one I have known all my life. But it has been undeniably reinforced throughout this journey!!

I have no clue what this week will hold. I'm sure there are more frustrating moments ahead with phone calls (or maybe lack thereof), more sitting in waiting rooms and missing work. Aaargh. Hopefully, though, the uphill portion of the battle is behind me and soon this will all be just a blip on the radar of a life that is truly blessed.

There's No Place Like Home

2010-07-12T00:03:00.001-04:00

The ruby slippers fit perfectly, and though it was a bit more involved than clicking them three times and repeating "There's no place like home" to complete my journey, I have indeed found home again, both literally and physically. My band was removed late Wednesday afternoon, and I am now back home recovering nicely. Due to the late hour of surgery, I did spend one night in the hospital, and most of the next day, before going to mom's for a couple of nights. I have the best mom and dad, and they have been with me through every mile of this journey! I returned to my house on Saturday, and now there's nothing to do but wait for the postop pain to go away. Not my favorite part. But I can tell you with great joy and thankfulness that my nasty esophageal symptoms were immediately corrected!! Woo Hoo!!! I am still taking it slow with introducing solid food, but so far only one or two bites have been even remotely reminiscent of the problems I had endured for weeks. It is fabulous to take regular-sized drinks of water rather than microscopic sips. Most of all it is wonderful to attempt to swallow something, solid OR liquid, without the excruciating spasms that had been plagueing me, and without multiple episodes of vomiting that had begun occurring at the end of the journey. Of course now I turn my concerns to maintaining the weight loss already attained, as well as continuing the process for another 40 or so pounds to reach my goal. Hopefully it will be easy for me to remember the Road Through Hell that I have recently traveled, and that will inspire me to work even more diligently not to gain back even ONE pound, and to continue the send the numbers downward on the scale. I am thankful to be back home in my own cozy bed (though pampering at mom and dad's is nice too!), but I am mostly thankful for my tummy to be back "home".... i.e. functioning in the fashion that God meant for it to function. There really is no place like home. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers, and for those of you who were subjected to my whining, my tears of disappointment, and who encouraged me to fight the good fight... you are all my heroes, and mean more to me than you will ever know. CathyB

4th of July Cuties

2010-07-05T01:13:00.001-04:00

Since the 4th fell on a Sunday, and I work on Sundays, I wasn't able to follow the children around with my camera all day to capture the cuteness factor. I got only a couple of shots in their little red, white, and blue outfits. A little later in the day, I got a few photos of them in the pool. Not our typical celebration, but it was a good day nonetheless. Hope everyone had a safe and happy holiday. Remember, freedom never was, nor will it ever be free.

Corey loved playing in the pool!

Leyland.... Not so much

Corey: Havin a Ball!

Leyland: Havin a Hissy Fit!

More pictures of Corey lovin the water

Independence!!

2010-07-04T21:33:00.001-04:00

Time has slipped away from me today, and I didn't get my Independence Day blog post written. I'm going to hijack my post from this date in 2008. The message never grows old, and I simply can't let this day go by without recognizing its significance.

**********
Independence! (Originally posted 07-04-08)

October 11, 2001. The one-month anniversary of one of the darkest days in American history found me boarding a plane, heading to the very airport from which those ill-fated planes originated. I was traveling as a chaperone with a group of 10th grade AP US History students to Boston. Though plans had been made far in advance, because of the uncertainty of air travel, we were not sure we would get to make the trip. Fortunately, we were allowed to fly, and so began one of my favorite trips ever.

Now each year when July 4th comes around, I have a new understanding and appreciation for the holiday. It's way more than fireworks, picnics, and a day off work. So much more. While I expected the trip to Boston to be a nice adventure, I had no idea what was in store for me, and how it would forever change my view of independence. Our tour guide (a descendant of John Pitcairn) was a fascinating man with a passion for Revolutionary War history, and he made it come alive. I am grateful to have walked the very ground where it all happened. It made it real. I went inside the church where Robert Newman hung the two lanterns that signaled to Paul Revere that the British were coming. I saw the window where he escaped arrest, the window that has been blackened out to commemorate his heroic act. One late afternoon I sat in a grassy field in Lexington and listened to our guide describe the small, but significant exchange of gunshots that happened on the very ground where I was sitting. In Concord, I walked across the Old North Bridge, site of "The Shot Heard Round The World". I touched the monuments that give tribute to the men who died there. Though I didn't climb its 294 steps, I visited the monument at Bunker Hill, the site of the bloodiest battle of the war. The American soldiers were short on ammunition, and the British soldiers so many, that General Prescott ordered his men- "Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes!" in order to make sure that every bullet counted. I visited the graves of many brave men who were instrumental in our early history- Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, Peter Faneuil, and John Hancock. I saw the building from which the Declaration of Independence was first read to the public. Wow.

The trip was fascinating, and I asked more questions than the students. Admittedly, history was a subject that I loathed while in school, and I remember very little of what I dutifully memorized in order to pass a test. Here in Boston it came alive to me, and much to my embarrassment, several times I found myself overcome with emotion at the enormity of the sacrifice that our forefathers (and mothers) endured to secure our independence. I have often seen and heard the remark that freedom is not free. It never has been. It never will be.

Happy Birthday, America! Thank you, soldiers of the Revolutionary War. Thank you, men and women throughout the history of our country who see to it that our Star-Spangled Banner Yet Waves, Ore The Land Of The Free And The Home Of The Brave!

Friends In Low Places

2010-06-29T23:00:00.001-04:00

Throughout my career, I have been so blessed to work with some of the finest physicians anywhere. As I have changed jobs over the years, I've been so fortunate (and very thankful) to enjoy a continued good relationship with my former employers. Whether they want it or not, they usually get a hug from me whenever I see them. It's probably unusual to have always left a job on good terms, and continue to be able to say good things about a former employer. I'm really blessed in that regard. And while I enjoy a great rapport with them all, there are a few who stand out above the rest. One in particular actually saved the day for me today. Because of the issues I've been experiencing with the band, I called on the expertise of one of these fabulous men. You know how it is when you leave a message or fax for a physician. If you're very lucky, you'll hear back from them the same day; sometmes it can be several days. This particular doctor wasn't due back in his office until Thursday, and with his hectic schedule, I figured it would be sometime next week when he would have Judy or Carolyn call me back with a message. He absolutely, positively placed himself at the top of the heap, when he phoned me early this morning to discuss the questions I had faxed over yesterday. He put to rest my two most immediate concerns, and offered advice on some medications to try. Today I have a renewed hope that I'll be able to stick it out (pun intended) and possibly avoid surgical removal. I'm resigned to the fact that my band isn't going to work in the way it was intended, but if I can clear a few hurdles over the next couple of months, perhaps it will all work out in the end. Surgical removal is still quite probable, but at least now I have a glimmer of hope that I didn't have yesterday. For those who prayed for me, thank you. My "ruby slippers" arrived this morning in the form of a dear former employer/friend since 1979, who cares enough about me to invest 20 minutes in a very personal, caring, and helpful phone call. Most of the time we don't get 20 minutes of face-to-face time when we have an appointment!! For all you have taught me over the years professionally, for all the impeccable care you have provided to many, many members of my family, and for all you mean to me personally... thank you so much, Dr. JMW!!!

I Don't Think We're In Kansas Any More

2010-06-27T14:47:00.002-04:00

This was one of my favorite movies of all time. Although, those flying monkeys did used to creep me out big time! My mom hated that movie! How funny that the film was created the same year she was born! Few of us ever get to that surreal place
"somewhere over the rainbow", and if we do, somebody probably already stole the pot of gold! I was one of the fortunate ones who actually did get a trip over the rainbow, into the Land of Oz. If you've followed me closely, or if you've checked out my other blog, you know that I had Lap Band surgery back in May. While not a day at the beach, and a little worse than I expected, it wasn't horrible. And it got me to Oz. The place where dreams come true. The dream of losing enough weight to be healthy and active, enjoy life, and to live it long enough to see my grandchildren grow up. I've been very pleased with the results so far. As of today, my total weight loss, including the required 20-lb preop loss, is 44 lbs. So that's not too shabby, and I'm really grateful. It's actually 1 lb away from being halfway to my goal!

Near the end of the movie, "the wizard" reaches into a bag and presents The Tin Man, The Cowardly Lion, and The Scarecrow not necessarily the exact things they were looking for, but a tangible icon to represent a brain, a heart, and courage. I guess I can closely identify with Dorothy when she looks at "the wizard" and very sadly says, "I don't think there's anything in that bag for me".

Looks like there's a good possibility that, due to a complication, I may have to have my band removed. It's nothing life-threatening, yet something that can't be left untreated, and the only treatment is removal of the band. For now, we're just going to sit tight (no pun intended) and see if the symptoms improve, as the weight continues to drop, and see what happens.

Perhaps I really can be like Dorothy, and find that I had the power within myself all along to reach my destination. Perhaps this surgery was meant to be The Tornado that took me to Oz, to teach me the perseverence, diligence, and confidence that I need to get it done. In the meantime, please remember me in your prayers, and pray that I will find those ruby slippers soon. Thanks. Love you all!

Some Buttons Are Best Left Unmashed

2010-06-22T11:34:00.001-04:00

{I started to have for the title Some Buttons Are Best Left Unmashed. But that reminded me of what happened one time to Randy's cousin Teresa. Years ago she went to the Big City for a meeting in a big hotel, and upon entering the elevator, she asked the person near the control panel to "mash" 5. (Or whatever floor she was visiting.) She said the person just looked at her and said "Mash??? You want me to MASH #5??, okay I'll MASH #5 for you" Surely it must have been one of those Yankee-Type People. I think you'd have to be from way, way up north not to know what "mash" means. Do those people eat "pressed" potatoes? I think not. Mash that button, Mister!! The lady wants to go to a different floor! Press it if you will, but we say "mash" down here. I heard that story over 30 years ago, yet every time I get in an elevator, I think of Teresa and how we used to laugh about it.}

Well, you know what? I'm proud of my southern heritage, and so what if I'm a country bumpkin.... I'm going to change my title back to "unmashed". So if any of you Yankee-type people are reading, it means... push. As in, don't mash/push/press that button.

Okay. So now on to that button that I'm saying shouldn't be mashed. It's the number 10 button on my mama's treadmill. For the past two days, I've had a lovely walk about dusk-time, and fully intended to do it again today. Before I made it out the door in my walking shoes, my dad called with some internet problems. Far from a computer geek (very, very far!), sometimes I can get lucky, so I told him I'd be over in a bit. Their house is all out of order due to Mr. Lawrence working his magic with a paint brush, but it was time to get the office up and running again. After the internet project was complete, I spied my mom's treadmill sitting in the middle of the dining room. "This thing work?" I asked. "Yep, sure does!" So I pulled off my flip flops and climbed aboard. We flipped switches, and mashed buttons, and finally the floor beneath my feet started moving, and I was "walking"! Four laps around the track would be a mile. Not so bad. I was strolling along, every now and then mashing the + button that would increase the speed by .1 mph. Across the console of the treadmill, there's a series of buttons numbered 2 through 10. Feeling rather comfortable with my pace, I went to mash the + button again to increase the speed just a little. I didn't have all night, ya know. Oops. The 10 button is right next to the + button. See where this is going? Instead of the + button, I mashed the 10 button. I think 10 means 10 mph, which is quite a bit faster than the 1.8 I had been doing.

Did you ever watch the closing credits to The Jetsons? Yep, that's exactly what happened. From 1.8 to 10 mph in 1 second flat. It was hilarious. Thankfully I had my wits enough about me to step off to the side. But in doing so, I dislodged the little emergency key (in place for such a time as this) and turned it off. Now all my stats were gone from my first lap. I think I had burned about 38 calories by that time, but I'm not 100% sure. I had hoped having the stats would motivate me, but now they were gone. It would have been really sad if we hadn't been laughing so hard.

I recovered my composure, though, and fired up the machine again, this time at a comfy 2.0 mph and finished out my 1-mile walk. On lap 3 I even + up to 2.6 mph, but for just a short time, then back down to 2.0. It was fabulous!! That makes three nights in a row that I have walked. And it feels good. :-) Tomorrow night is salsa class again... but I think I've talked myself out of going this week. Maybe I'll catch it next week. Lots to do around The 409. But I promise, if I don't sweat it Latino style, I'll do the walking thing again. Or an exercise video, or something. Or maybe go use the treadmill again??? Maybe I'll even get one for myself. I don't think it would be half bad to do it while watching tv. I'll hafta think on that a bit.

But you can bet I won't ever mash the 10 button again!

Extra Credit

2010-06-20T22:16:00.000-04:00

I did it! Took my first walk today. Maybe a mile or so? All the way to the highway, back down the street and up to DJ's. Then back to my house. Woo Hoo! The light was fading, and it was just before dusk. My work was finished and it was now or never. The moment I had been putting off for weeks. The good news is, I survived! It felt pretty good tackling the hill both ways between my house and DJs house. Now the trick will be doing it again tomorrow and the next day and the next day... So. Do I get extra credit for today?

Leyland The Duck

2010-06-17T00:46:00.001-04:00

There's a sweet little boy at Leyland's school named Case. He was in K4 this past year, while Leyland was in K3. I met his mom a few weeks ago when I was at the school, and we struck up a conversation. Case came wandering over, and I introduced myself as Leyland's grandma. His mom's eyes lit up and she said "Who?" I told her again, and she started laughing. She said that they have a duck named Leyland at their house. They adopted a baby duck a little while back and Case insisted that he wanted to name it Leyland. She assured him that Leyland was a beautiful name, but wherever on earth did he come up with that? He told her there was a little girl in K3 with that name, and that is what he wanted to name his duck. She was tickled to learn that Case's duck was indeed named after a real person. How cute is that. What girl wouldn't be thrilled to know that a boy named his pet duck after her??? I never had a duck named after me, did you??

I do remember from childhood that my uncle Ricky once had a duck named Gertrude. I'm fairly certain he didn't name her after a cute girl at school, though.

When You Pray For A Soldier

2010-06-13T17:19:00.000-04:00

I love scrapbooking. I love internet message boards. I love blogging. Through the message boards on a scrapbook website that I enjoy, I *met* an awesome lady from Washington State. Her name is Noel, and she has two beautiful daughters. Noel is a photographer, scrapbooker, and designer for several craft companies. It's strange, sometimes, how you feel like you can really get to know a person by following message board posts, blogs, e-mails, and Facebook chats. I won a contest she sponsored last summer, and enjoyed a few personal e-mails at that time. Her husband, Stan, is in the Navy and does something with planes. Flight instructor, flight safety something-or-other, I'm not sure just what he does. He has been deployed several times since I have *known* her, and it is always heart-wrenching for her cyberspace friends when he has to leave. I don't remember exactly the date of his latest deployment, I'm thinking about nine or ten months ago. A lifetime ago to his wife and children, I'm sure. Anyway, when she asked for prayers at the time of his last deployment, I added him to the list of military personnel that are listed each week in my church bulletin.

I was so happy to let them know last Sunday that his name could be removed (not that we still won't be praying for Stan, but now he is out of the *Hot Zone*), as he was scheduled to come home this past week. Just last night I was able to take a few minutes and look at Noel's FB photo album of that day. I was very moved by her photos. Here are a couple that had me sniffling.

I don't know about you, but this is what it's all about when I pray for a soldier. Staying safe, getting the job done, and returning home to his/her family. Thank you, God, for bringing Stan safely home to his wife and daughters. And thank you, Stan, for not only your service, but for the price you (and your family) pay every moment that you are away from those who love you.

Salad!

2010-06-06T14:53:00.004-04:00

My friend Paul T. and I laugh about the silly things that people put on Facebook. (Who cares what someone had for lunch, or that they are going to Publix after work, or bought a book of Elvis stamps...)

I remember when I first heard about Twitter, my thoughts were... Who on the face of the earth could possibly care about what I might be doing at any point in the day? However, when Whitney and her family went to the beach, I signed up for a Twitter account, thinking I could keep up with my grandkids' first trip to the ocean, if Whitney tweeted about their trip. Smart phones make connecting with friends an easy task, and I thought she might be more inclined to do that than send e-mails. Nada. With no news from the vacationing grandchildren, I quickly became bored with it. Not to mention all the strange people who wanted to "follow" me. Seriously? I think I still have the Twitter account, but I forgot my password.

Anyway, Facebook, for some people, has become the same kind of tool. Oh, I've posted my share of goofy statuses too, most of which are always unworthy of a comment. (Ignored) I'm not one of the Facebook "Stars" with thousands of friends fawning at my every post, with 50 comments after each one. Probably half of my posts never get comments at all, and who knows, maybe my FB friends just glance right over them. After all, what young college student would possibly be interested in my pillow talk with the grandchildren? (Well, Kate would be that exception, but that's because she loves my grandchildren...). Anyway, my point here is that a lot of the postings on FB are pretty silly, and sometimes I'm like... "huh?"

Today, I wanted to share some exciting news. And since my blog is networked to FB, it will show up on FB, where I am certain that all 201 of my FB friends will be reading my blog and posting their congratulations on this momentous occasion.

Paul, this is HUGE. I had a salad for lunch.

Actually, Paul will understand why this is a big deal. This is my first salad in weeks, and weeks, since well before my surgery. I can only have pea-sized bites of whatever it is that I'm eating, so I painstakingly sliced up baby spinach leaves, a small sliver of cucumber, some green onion, a boiled egg, and some pre-cooked misquite chicken tenders into confetti-sized pieces, and grated a tiny bit of cheese on top. Oh, yeah. This was a very intensive labor of love. Love for salads. I really wanted/needed for this venture to be successful. When introducing a new food back into my diet is UNsuccessful, I tend to never want to see that food ever again. I sure didn't want that to happen with salads!!! And I am so thankful to say that it went down fine, even though it took me about 45 minutes to eat 1/2 cup of my confetti salad. Which is about right for a lap-band patient. I am so thankful for my delicious lunch. And I knew all my blogger and FB would want to know about it too. I might even tweet about it.

For all the gory details about the "new me", check out my other blog: http://cathyb-thexbandedfiles.blogspot.com/ But be forewarned, there are some scary numbers and photos lurking over there..... and you are sworn to secrecy if you read any of those posts. If you tell my secrets, I will have to kill you.

Campin' By The River

2010-06-05T19:51:00.002-04:00

It was my pleasure to spend the weekend at home with the grandchildren, while their mom and dad went camping. Now I must admit, I didn't have much confidence in their trip, and worried that they would 1) have terrible weather, as it has been rainy and stormy for almost two weeks here, 2) have trouble setting up camp, 3) generally be miserable. Whitney has camped a good bit before, but was always the kid, and never had to be responsible for anything except having a good time. I'm not sure of Dustin's wilderness experience. Their destination for the weekend was a no-frills campground on the Tallulah River in NE Georgia. Whitney's dad loaned them the camping gear, and offered advice from his personal camping experience.

On a really funny side note... the tent is identical to one that we bought many years ago while married. Our maiden voyage with the tent found us by that same river with only a few precious moments before darkness fell. Randy was all in a dither and hurry trying to get the tent up while we still had light. He would set up a pole, tell me to hold it secure, and he'd go off to set the opposing one. Well, mine kept falling. (To hear him tell it, I was dropping it, but I wasn't... he was just pulling too hard!) Then the unthinkable happened. I got tickled. The harder I laughed, the angrier he got. The angrier he got, the harder I laughed. Now, Randy didn't get mad too terribly often, and he most certainly never used profanity (directed at me)... but on this particular occasion, when the situation was becoming critical, i.e. it was gettin' dark in them thar hills... he glared at me one last time, and told me if I didn't shut the $%#* up, he was going to throw my @$$ in that #&%* river. So I decided I'd best stop laughing. At least on the outside. But I was so shocked at what he said, that I was absolutely about to bust a gut from laughing on the inside!!! But, I contained my hysterical giggling, and got serious about tent-pitching. I do believe we put the finishing touches on it by flashlight, but thankfully we had a dry shelter in which to sleep. Notice I didn't say warm, because it was freezing cold, and I slept totally buried under the covers. Oh, and did I mention that this was back in the olden days, when it was permissible to pitch a tent anywhere along the river as long as your stakes weren't in the (one-lane, dirt) road. We were in The Big Bend. No lights. No bath-house. No nothing. Just us and the wilderness. The next morning when he made coffee out of water from the river, I didn't feel like laughing any more. I was ready to go home.

But I digress... this is Whitney and Dustin's camping trip I'm blogging about, not mine. Perhaps I shall tell more stories about "our river" another time. For further info on my family's history with this particular river, read this post.

Though Whitny and Dustin stayed at an obscure little campground at the bottom of the mountain, with electricity, water, and a facsimile of a bath-house, there still was no cell phone signal. At some point she was able to text me to let me know the tent went up fine, the weather was fine, everything was just fine.

Meanwhile back at home, I was having a wonderful time with the munchkins! They were perfect little sweeties. On Friday, we went to the mall to "the jumpy place" and they had a grand time.

They played outside on the jeep till dinner time, then Greemaw fed them deliciously nutritious Happy Meals from McDonald's, while I my ownself enjoyed some seasoned talapia, broccoli and baked potato from Captain Ds. Or more accurately, I enjoyed the talapia. Wish I had known the kids would eat most of my plate (which worked out great for me anyway), and I'd have held off on the Happy Meals. Corey ate most of the broccoli and potato, and Leyland ate all of the rice and a little bit of the fish. Oh well. At least MY dinner food wasn't wasted. We all enjoyed it. Just as well they didn't much touch their food last night, because today Leyland wanted to go back to McDonald's "to play". So, I decided a quick lunch of chicken mcnuggets, apples and chocolate milk, then a little time on the playground would be just what they needed right before naptime! While we were there, Whit called and said they were home already. Their camping trip was a success!! They arrived home safely, all camping gear intact, and they caught eight trout besides!! The fish were really biting, they said, and they could have caught more, except they only bought one trout stamp, and were respectful of the laws that dictate the daily limit. Whitney caught four, and Dustin caught four. (I'm sure glad she didn't get carded, because she just doesn't look like a "Dustin"!) So, I was very happy to know that they were home, and after a bit, rounded up the kids from the playground and headed home. They were so proud of their catch, and couldn't wait to show me.

Can I just say.... WHOA BABY!! I have grown up all my life catching, attempting to catch, and eating trout caught out of that river. The average size that the fellas usually came home with was maybe 7 or 8 inches (before cleaning, with the heads still on!). Sometimes maybe a 9 or 10 inch fish would make its way home, and boy, oh boy, would there EVER be some razzin' between those dear men of ours! Some years the catch would consist of what should probably have been considered fingerlings, but we ate those "minnows" anyway, and loved every tender little morsel.

My daddy, my brother, my uncles, and my male cousins, and Whitney's daddy would all just probably faint dead away if they saw the fish that Whit and Dustin brought home. Oh. My. Goodness. Even after cleaning, (with their heads cut off), one of the fish was almost 13" long!! Seriously! I even accused her of going to a trout farm, but it would have cost them a week's pay for these huge monsters at a trout farm! I'm posting pictures. The red dish is a platter. Though the photo with the pink tape measure shows a little less than 12", it was in reality closer to 13". (yeah, yeah... but you should have seen the one that got away...) Seriously, it was the angle I was standing when I shot the photo. The things were so huge they kept sliding off the platter.

We froze them up real good and soon we'll be having baked or grilled trout. Mmmm Mmmm Good!!!

I'm so proud of them for handling Campin' By The River, for having a great weekend away, and still in a bit of shock and awe at the monster fish they brought home. Eat your hearts out, Butt-In-Brothers!!!!

Sure wish I could go back to The Mountains one last time, with all our menfolk there, safe and healthy, for one more fish fry... one more night of all the magic that happened when our family was together. I sure do miss those days, and the way things used to be. I really miss those Stainback men too.

Whitney and Dustin, perhaps they are smiling down on your big catch, and remembering the days when they, too, fished in the river!!