The Pitter Patter Of Little Feet

No doubt, you expect this post to be about the pitter-pattering of my sweet grandbabies’ feet. And believe, me, that is a sweet sound. But for the past several days, the pitter-pattering I’ve been hearing is not from within the walls of my home, rather the roof over my head. The noise is coming, not from sweet baby feet, but from little tiny squirrel feet. You’d think they could romp effortlessly over the shingles without much noise. Evidently, the squirrels who live at The 409, are as avid eaters as we human occupants. Fat little boogers, they must be, to make such a racket. Yesterday I had to retrieve something from my car, and as I walked back inside, I noticed one of the varmints perched precariously at the edge of the roof, scavenging the gutter for treasured acorns. There are thousands of acorns on the ground. I wonder if the soggy ones in the gutter have a better flavor. Gourmet acorns, if you will. They must be pretty yummylicious, because the little fella kept diggin’ around for the longest time. Squirrels are actually cute little critters, and I rather enjoy watching them play. They chase each other across the yard and through the branches of trees, leaping from limb to limb. Though their antics seem a bit dangerous, I’ve never seen one hit the ground. They always manage to grab hold of a limb and live to play another day. I never particularly minded having them around, but a few summers ago, I bought myself some nice Spanish-moss-lined wire hanging flower basket thingies. And some high-priced Wave petunias to go inside them. Just gotta love those drooping, bountiful blooms. And of course only the best of potting soil would do. I was so excited to hang them on the front porch of my new (to me) house. They were beautiful!! “Were” being the operative word here. Once the squirrels discovered my freshly planted flowers, in the freshly purchased Miracle Gro potting soil, they decided to throw a squirrel party. Not only did they bury their winter treats in my hanging baskets, they took dirt baths in them. Have you ever seen a squirrel take a dirt bath? Here’s a visual for you: They begin by digging a little hole in the dirt, then diving nose first into the hole. Somehow using their furry little arms and legs, they then curl themselves into a ball and roll over and over in the dirt. My Miracle Gro dirt. Scattering it all over my front porch. My poor Wave petunias were the true casualties of this party, left to wither on the porch, in the bushes, or stubbornly hanging on for dear life inside the basket. It was a hanging basket massacre. I was livid. My neighbor Alex laughed and laughed. He had watched me carefully measure the soil and color-coordinate the petunias, and meticulously seat them in the baskets… and warned me about the squirrels. “No”, I assured him, “The squirrels won’t be able to get to my baskets.” Well. I guess he got the last laugh after all. Squirrels are mystical, magical creatures, they are, and like a mouse or a snake, can get anywhere their little squirrely hearts want to go. And this time they wanted to get in my baskets. I straightaway went to the store and bought some stuff called Critter Gone, or something of that nature. Hmph. Just a box of glorified moth balls is all that was. Works pretty good though, as long as one doesn’t mind one’s beautiful flowers smelling like moth balls. But back to the squirrels at hand… I’m sure these must be the ancestors of the flower-basket squirrels, intent on punishing me for putting a stop to the mutilation of the aforementioned baskets. This current family of squirrels is enjoying the crisp fall weather, cavorting about in my yard from tree to tree, and just doing what squirrels do. Their favorite place to play, though, is on my rooftop, scampering about sounding like a herd of cattle. Honestly, if it were Christmas time, I’d think it was “the prancing and pawing of each little hoof” that I am hearing. Oh well… I guess a little squirrel fun isn’t too bad. At least they sleep at night, and at least they’re just on the roof, and not in the attic. Ummm… Alex, you DID put those screens over my attic vents, didn’t you???

Garden Snakes Can Be Dangerous!

Snakes also known as Garter Snakes (Thamnophissirtalis ) can be dangerous. Yes, grass snakes, not rattlesnakes. Here's why.A couple in Sweetwater , Texas , had a lot of potted plants. During a recent cold spell, the wife was bringing a lot of them Indoors to protect them from a possible freeze. It turned out that a little green garden grass snake was hidden in one of the plants. When it had warmed up, it slithered out and the wife saw it go under the sofa. She let out a very loud scream. The husband (who was taking a shower) ran out into the living room naked to see what the problem was. She told him there was a snake under the sofa. He got down on the floor on his hands and knees to look for it.. About that time the family dog came And cold-nosed him on the behind. He thought the snake had bitten him, so he screamed and fell over on the floor. His wife thought he had had a heart attack, so she covered him up, told him to lie still and called an ambulance. The attendants rushed in, would not listen to his protests, loaded him on the stretcher, and started carrying him out. About that time, the snake came out from under the sofa and the Emergency Medical Technician saw it and dropped his end of the stretcher. That's when the man broke his leg and why he is still in the hospital. The wife still had the problem of the snake in the house, so she called on a neighbor who volunteered to capture the snake. He armed himself with a rolled-up newspaper and began poking under the couch. Soon he decided it was gone and told the woman, who sat down on the sofa in relief. But while relaxing, her hand dangled in between the cushions, where she felt the snake wriggling around. She screamed and fainted, the snake rushed back under the sofa. The neighbor man, seeing her lying there passed out, tried to use CPR to revive her. The neighbor's wife, who had just returned from shopping at the grocery store, saw her husband's mouth on the woman's mouth and slammed her husband in the back of the head with a bag of canned goods, knocking him out and cutting his scalp to a point where it needed stitches. The noise woke the woman from her dead faint and she saw her neighbor lying on the floor with his wife bending over him, so she assumed that the snake had bitten him. She went to the kitchen and got a small bottle of whiskey, and began pouring it down the man's throat. By now, the police had arrived. Breathe here...They saw the unconscious man, smelled the whiskey, and assumed that a drunken fight had occurred. They were about to arrest them all, when the women tried to explain how it all happened over a little garden snake! The police called an ambulance, which took away the neighbor and his sobbing wife. Now, the little snake again crawled out from under the sofa and one of the policemen drew his gun and fired at it. He missed the snake and hit the leg of the end table. The table fell over, the lamp on it shattered and, as the bulb broke, it started a fire in the drapes. The other policeman tried to beat out the flames, and fell through the window into the yard on top of the family dog who, startled, jumped up and raced into the street, where an oncoming car swerved to avoid it and smashed into the parked police car. Meanwhile, neighbors saw the burning drapes and called in the fire department. The firemen had started raising the fire ladder when they were halfway down the street. The rising ladder tore out the overhead wires, put out the power, and disconnected the telephones in a ten-square city block area (but they did get the house fire out). Time passed! Both men were discharged from the hospital, the house was repaired, the dog came home, the police acquired a new car and all was right with their world. A while later they were watching TV and the weatherman announced a cold snap for that night. The wife asked her husband if he thought they should bring in their plants for the night. And that's when he got up, packed his bags and left her.

Kudos to the White House Pool

Despite the continued efforts of the White House to discredit the FOX News Network as a legitimate source of news, it seems to be backfiring. You know the old saying "any advertisement, even bad advertisement, is good advertisement". I think smart folks everywhere surely must be realizing... if the Obama administration is so tore up over what's going on at FOX, they must be reporting things that Obama doesn't want us to know. Ya know? If they were a "nothing" network, nobody would be worrying about them. You hear no White House objections to CNN and MSNBC.... liberal-oriented networks. The fact that our President is sitting on his keester, (or "asslin around" as my Uncle Gene says) about getting reinforcement troops into Afghanistan, while in the midst of pushing hotly debated Obamacare, yet allows his administration to become embroiled in a school-yard equivalent of name calling and finger pointing at a constitutionally-protected entity... well that shows me that my friends at FOX are on to something. Finally, an NBC anchorwoman point-blank asked him:
GUTHRIE: So you think it's appropriate for the White House to say what is and what is not a news organization?
BARACK OBAMA: I think the American people are a lot more interested in what we're doing to create jobs or how we're handling the situation in Afghanistan.
GUTHRIE: Fair enough, but your advisers raised this issue.
OBAMA: Well, no, I think that what our advisers have simply said is that we are going to take media as it comes. And if media is operating basically as a talk-radio format, then that's one thing, and if it's operating as a news outlet, then that's another. But it's not something I'm losing a lot of sleep over.

Huh???? PULEEEZE. If he's not losing sleep over it, why is he willing to take the flack about allowing it to happen in the first place? You gotta bet that somebody is losing some serious sleep over the fact that a "talk show radio format" network is powerful enough to result in billions of dollars of funding being revoked from ACORN, the resignation of one of Obama's czars, and bringing to light many, many other dispicable activities occuring daily over on Pennsylvania Avenue. And though I am a fairly new FOX watcher, I believe that their watch-dog format didn't just start during the Obama campaign. I've heard many negative comments about former Republican administrations as well. I think they gave Bush a pretty hard time too.

Do you know who controls the airways? The Federal Government does. That's what the FCC is. They can shut a station down in more ways than one. So it's no wonder that the main stream networks don't want to get on "the enemy list" of the Administration. Regardless of the protection offered by the constitution, they must tread carefully and promote a positive spin. I've long said the media runs this country, and Big Brother runs the media. And now they're trying to run FOX all the way outta town. (Smells a little bit like media censorship to me!)

Network television is a very competitive industry. Don't believe me... check out Sweeps Week. The network news shows are no different. It seems, though, that most reporters have a code of ethics that they share, regardless of which network signs their paychecks. A brotherhood, if you will. There's something called the White House Pool of network reporters that consists of five networks. Today the White House announced that the "pay czar", Ken Feinberg, would grant an interview with the pool. All were invited to attend except FOX News. Hmmm... another playground tactic. You know what happened then? As competetive as networks are, the other pool members banded together and said No. If the WH wouldn't let FOX be a part of it, then none of them would participate. The White House relented and allowed FOX. So for that I say Kudos to White House Pool of news reporters. You could have gloated, and gone ahead and got your story, but you did the right thing. Maybe you secretly wish YOUR boss would let YOU do stories like they do on FOX!! Anyway. Good for you. Way to band together, and stand up for and demand freedom of press.

Orphans Of God

Songs In My Head. For as long as I can remember, music has been a great influence in my life. As a teenager, many hours were spent in my room weeping to the strains of a sad song when my heart was broken, dancing with abandon when feeling happy, or doing my homework with the radio turned down low. It was impossible to drive anywhere without the radio blaring in the car. My mom had this really groovy console stereo system with an 8-track player and an LP turntable in it that we loved to crank up. Whenever she was in a bad mood, I’d go load up the turntable with Sonny James, Charlie Pride, Ray Price, Tammy Wynette… and sing at the top of my lungs. Before long, I’d see my mom’s foot tappin’, and pretty soon she’d be singin' too, and forget all about why she was grumpy. At least until the albums were finished playing. Late in the day, when the weather was nice, as a bribe to let me play my music (or “racket”, as they called it), I would offer to wash the dinner dishes if mom and dad would go outside in the yard. (okay, so I was the dumb one for thinking I was the winner here…. Haha) I have always had a stereo within my reach, either in my bedroom, my car, or my living room. Chores were always done with more vim and vigor if I had some good funky music filling the house. My tastes range from classical to classic rock. Somewhere between those two genre preferences, you’ll find old-timey gospel, Christian rock, contemporary Christian, Christmas instrumentals, some hard rock n’ roll, a smattering of country, 70s-80s pop/rock. And I love me some Departure! What you won’t find is rap, very little blues, absolutely NO swing, no hip-hop. Maybe one or two metal songs will find their way into my playlist, but none of the screaming death-metal stuff that is popular nowadays. For the past few years, my poor music collection has, for the most part, gone untouched. When Whitney and her family moved in, I packed up all but a small collection of my favorite CDs. I know that when I unpack the boxes I’ll be like a kid at Christmas, so happy to see my old friends! Because of a crazy work schedule for the past several years, and now having little ones underfoot, it’s a rare occasion when I turn up the volume and jam to good music at home any more. And for some strange reason, I find myself preferring silence while I am driving as opposed to jammin’ in my car. Isn’t it funny how things change as we age. Not to say that I enjoy music any less… not at all, it just doesn’t seem as crucial to me as food and drink like it once did. Of all the collection of music that I have, it continues to amaze me (and often distresses me) that the Songs In My Head… you know the ones that loop through your brain for hours on end… are not those that bring me such joy. It is songs like “We’re your best friends… The Backyardigans”… “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family”… or “D-D-D-Dora, D-D-D-Dora” and then all the songs that go along with the little videos. Dora, Barney, The Backyardigans, The Veggie Tales, etc. I can sing the theme songs for nearly all the channel 8 children’s shows.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. The fact that these shows and songs are on my TV pretty much 18 hours of the day can only mean one thing, and that is that my precious grandbabies live in my house. That I would not change. (Well, maybe under the right circumstances I would change it, but I enjoy having them here SOOO much…) It would be nice, though, if my brain could have something else circulating through the neurons and nerve synapses other than “ta-ra-ra-boon-de-yay” (what kind of stupid song is that anyway???)

Today as I was working, Dora, Barney, Pablo, Larry the Cucumber, Caillou, and a myriad of other characters flowing freely through my head, I decided enough is enough. I went to my other computer, opened my playlist to put on some “work music”, namely selections by Il Divo. I like to listen to that while I work, because the words are in different languages that I can’t understand. If I understand the words, I want to sing along. That doesn’t bode well when transcribing someone’s medical reports. I’m sure they don’t want their operative note to read “oh my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch, a long, lonely time….” So it’s best that I stick with music that I can’t sing along with.

While at my Il Divo playlist, I saw my non-working playlist, and decided my brain needed a break from work, and clicked on the first song, called Orphans of God. Let me tell you about this song. I sing with a group of girls at church sometimes, and we try to find fresh, unique selections. Someone got the track for this song by Avalon. Last year when I was decorating for Leyland’s birthday party, I was alone, and had the track with me. I put it on the CD player while I was working, and absolutely fell in love with the MUSIC portion of the number. Without the words, I was able to hear the beautiful, rich, full chords of the instruments, and after a while, it was as though I could just “feel” the music in me. Does that ever happen to you?? It was my new favorite song. Later, when I had the sheet music with the words on it, I was blown away. This is the most perfect song ever. I don’t know of even one person who can’t identify with this. Well, maybe an agnostic or an atheist, but I can’t see how anyone who is even a tiny bit of a believer of God, anyone who can and will acknowledge His grace and His love, couldn’t be moved by the words to this song. When I saw it there in my playlist, I just had to have me an Avalon “fix” and listen. I listened several times. It is so uplifting, so encouraging to know that no matter how we have fallen, no matter how unloved or unwanted or weary we are, that He is there. People have differing levels of relationships with God, but no matter where you are, it is the perfect song. I hope you will click on this link and take a listen for yourself. Lyrics below, but if possible, listen also so you can “feel” the music. It adds so much to the words. I so needed this reminder today, and I’m so glad that I took a moment to listen.

Orphans of God
Who here among us has not been broken
Who here among us is without guilt or pain
So oft abandoned by our transgressions
If such a thing as grace exists
Then grace was made for lives like this

There are no strangers, there are no outcasts
There are no orphans of God
So many fallen but hallelujah!
There are no orphans of God.

Come ye unwanted and find affection
Come all ye weary, come and lay down your head
Come ye unworthy, you are my brother
If such a thing as grace exists
Then grace was made for lives like this

There are no strangers
There are no outcasts
There are no orphans of God
So many fallen, but hallelujah!
There are no orphans of God

Oh blessed Father look down upon us
We are your children we need your love
We run before your throne of mercy
And seek your face to rise above

There are no strangers….

Amen, and amen!

My Other Birthday

Today is my "other" birthday. For 32 years, due to a typo on my driver's license when I turned 16, my "official/unofficial" birthday was 10-18-58. For those of you born after the technology age, you might be surprised to learn that the DMV operated differently back in the olden days. You were issued a temporary paper license, and waited several weeks for the much-coveted plastic version that officially registered you as driver in training. No such thing as punching a few buttons and getting your spiffy new plastic license in the blink of an eye. No... we waited endless days and weeks for its arrival. And couldn't wait to show all our friends!! In those days getting your "Learner's License" was the highlight of every 15-year-old kid, and we were worse than children at Christmas. There were only certain days of the month that the patrol officers would come to Winder, so you couldn't just run down there any day of the week to do it. When the appointed day came, our parents must lay aside whatever tasks were before them to ensure that we made it to the courthouse. With our hearts pounding in our chests, we filled out the application, and whatever else was required, showed our birth certificate, and oblivious to the panic and trepidation in our parents' eyes, celebrated our rite of passage as though it was the grandest thing ever. The (temporary) mother lode of independence, if you will.

A year or so later, after many hours of navigating the roads of our small town for practice (a feat which resulted in many grey haired moments for our moms, and many lectures from our dads), we set out for the loftiest prize of all... the permanent mother lode of independence.... the license that would allow us to drive ALONE, without nervous moms and high-strung dads in the car with us. What a moment! Though we were cocky and confident that we were invincible and could hold our own with any NASCAR driver on the circuit, I imagine that if we all confessed, we were scared out of our britches when the time came to actually turn the key and head out of our driveway. We didn't give one thought to our moms and dads at home praying, crying, worrying incessantly about us until we returned home. (An emotion with which we now, as parents ourselves, can identify as we watched our own kids drive away that first time!)

After impatiently checking the post-office box daily for several weeks, the ecstatic moment at long last had arrived. My beautiful, treasured, plastic-encased license to drive was finally in my eager little hands! While poring over the front of it, I noticed that my birthdate had been typed incorrectly. I was horrified!!! While only five days off, I was still distraught that the DMV had made me five days younger than I actually was. When you're 16, every day of life experience counts, and I didn't want to be cheated out of any of my days! My mom consoled me tirelessly, and finally convinced me that it didn't really matter to a hill o' beans, and we'd just get it fixed when it was time for renewal. Well..... even back in the olden days, nothing is easy with the government. The DMV wouldn't budge. Without a birth certificate, they absolutely wouldn't give me back my five days. By then, I was over the trauma, and conceded that maybe it really wasn't the end of the world, and I'd just bring my birth certificate next time. If your life is anything like ours, you probably guessed by now, that I never did get the birth certificate to the DMV. We always forgot about it until time to go for renewal, which was always an inopportune time to get to the bank safety-deposit box to retrieve said birth certificate. So for years, my official birthdate was 10-18-58. It totally became less of an issue as I got older, except for sometimes restaurants will give you a free meal or cake and ice cream on your birthday, but other than that it was no biggie, and I went for 32 years with the incorrect DOB on my license.

During one of my recent moves/house-rearranging projects, I came across an old scrapbook containing memorabilia from my teen years. You know the sort, cheerleading letters, movie stubs, prom invitations, and the like. What fun it was to peruse through the faded pages and take a trip down memory lane. Imagine my delight to find those original paper licenses, both for my learner's permit and my permanent license! It was then that I had a light-bulb moment.... surely if I took both of these "documents" to my next renewal, the DMV would have no choice but to change the date. After all, it was their typo. Typos is my business. (haha) My evaluation depends on at least 98% accuracy (which does NOT, I might add, carry over to my blog posts.... I'm just sayin'.....), so I figured they should be responsible for their typo and not expect me to bear the burden of proof of my actual birth date.

Shortly after Leyland was born, and after her first hospitalization, I was pulled over by a motorcycle cop for not having my tag renewed. Knowing what he was stopping me for, I was so proud of myself to reach into the dash and pull out my tag sticker, and explain to the officer that I was a brand new grandma, and the sweet little pumpkin had just been released from the hospital. I had purchased my tag in a timely fashion, just in all the hooplah that was my life, I had failed to apply the sticker to my tag. The officer was not impressed. I think he was upset because I actually did have my sticker. He looked at me with those mean policeman eyes, and without cracking a smile told me that my license had expired. I just grinned sweetly and said "You're kidding". "No, ma'am, I'm not kidding." The date was November 1. My birthday is October 13. Okay, so my license had expired, and my tag sticker wasn't applied. And he had absolutely no pity on me regarding my distress over my sick grandbaby. As I exited the vehicle to apply my tag sticker, Mr. Glaring Policeman, was busy writing me a ticket for an expired license. .....sigh..... At least I had a current insurance and registration cards. He probably would have handcuffed me and taken me to jail. The meanie.

Now forced to go to the DMV for license renewal, I took the brittle, faded license papers with me. The associate behind the counter looked at me as though I had brought her the Dead Sea Scrolls. She didn't even know what it was. I explained to her that back in the days of the Pony Express and shortly after the invention of the light bulb, that we had a waiting period for our license and, yes, these were legally accepted forms of identification that permitted us to navigate a motor vehicle on all roads, dirt and paved. I explained the discrepancy in the dates, and with all my charm and sweetness, finally convinced her that it was a DMV error, and my birth certificate was located in a safety deposit box far, far away (well, Winder would be far, far away from the DMV Office in Athens if you didn't HAVE a license, and had to walk.....). After showing my antiquated papers to her equally-amazed colleagues, she/they finally agreed that my new license could finally proclaim my correct DOB. Hallelujah. However there was a catch. They had to issue the license in my maiden name. Not just my last name, but the entire name. I told them my legal name is Cathy, and it would be confusing to have my entire name on there. She wouldn't give an inch. She gave me a cockamamie story about Homeland Security requiring our official govt-issued identification be exactly as whatever legal documentation we have to prove otherwise. In my case, for that particular day, it was my original licenses. I suppose this would mean that instead of my birth certificate, I would have needed to provide divorce papers and a court amendment. Good grief. So. In essence, I have traded in the correct date of birth for a license that now calls me Linda Catherine Watkins Bennett. Oh well. At least I got my five days back. Happy "other" birthday to me. I'm sure there will be cake and presents.

Why Dogs Hate Halloween

Thanks for sharing, Diane!!!

THE HILL Looks A Lot Steeper (on the down side of 50!)

Over The Hill. I passed that milestone last year, when I turned half-century old. What an interesting half-century it was. It really is kind of like a roller coaster. You know, that first hill you climb ever so slowly. You seem to hesitate for a moment at the very top, and then you go barelling down the other side of the hill, a hundred times faster than you went up it. There must be some rule or law in physics that mandates the passage of time move at warp speed the older we get. Remember when you were a kid, and Christmas took like four and a half years to come around again? The other day I came across a roll of Sesame Street wrapping paper that I swear I used just last week to wrap gifts for the children. And now here we are again at the threshold of another holiday season. Where does it go? At some point on that roller coaster ride, we find ourselves at the point of "zero gravity" where we are suspended in mid-air somewhere between the safety bar and the seat. (Well, okay... I will admit that the size of my butt has made my "zero gravity" experience less and less over the years... but you skinny folks will know what I'm talking about...). The moment of weightlessness where there is no rhyme or reason to just how it is that we are floating in mid air. I seem to have moments like that every day, and there's not a roller coaster within miles of me. Dare I refer to them as Senior Moments? When, for the life of me, I can't remember what I was looking for, I lose my train of thought in mid-sentence, and worst of all, if I am lucky enough to remember what it was I was looking for, you can bet I'll never find it. I'm sure I put it in a safe place somewhere so I could locate it easily the next time I need it. No rhyme or reason. One of these days when it is time for Whitney to put me in the Old Folks' Home, and we're moving my junk out of the house, I will find all those misplaced items. I won't remember what they are, or what I intended to use them for, or why they were hidden in such a place, but oh yes, I imagine we'll have a nice Lost & Found box. So why is it that time passes by so much quicker as we get older? Are we just crazy busy, with too much to do and not enough hours in the day to do it? I wonder, does it whiz by as quickly when you retire? Or does life slow down a little bit once you don't have to work a 40-50 hour week any more? I've often heard people say, once they retire, that they stay so busy they don't know how they ever had time to work. Yeah, I could totally see me being that way too. But in the meantime, I'll stay on the roller coaster, digging in my heels, trying to make the other side of that hill not quite so steep and slow it down a bit. Holding on for dear life when the ride is rough, and holding my hands high in the air during the fun parts. It's wierd, thinking about the circle of life, growing up from a baby, being a teenager, becoming an adult, becoming a parent and a grandparent. That's a lot of livin' in 50 years. Well, 51 to be exact. I just wonder what life will bring, on this the downhill side of 50?

Peace Out! (The "Huhs?" Heard Round The World)

Last night I slept in my very own bed for the first time in a week. My first night back from the beach I slept on the sofa to be near Leyland's room if she awoke during the night. The following night I slept in a recliner in the hospital room with Corey. Last night found me feeling a bit rough around the edges, with thoughts of the flu hanging low over my head, but happy to be back in my own bed. As usual, I fell asleep listening to the Fox News Channel. After Mr. Sandman finally paid me a visit, it was off to dreamland for me. My dreams run the gamut of silly, nonsensical vignettes to wonderful moments of tropical paradise, to the downright scary sort. Sometimes I remember them, sometimes I don't. Upon awakening this morning, I found myself chuckling at the memory of a most unlikely dream. I could clearly hear in my subconcious mind the voice of my friends in the Fox studio, the report that Barak Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize. Dreams are sometimes funny, aren't they??

Oh wait..... imagine my surprise to learn that it wasn't a silly, nonsensical (though definitely scary) REM-induced vision, but rather a nonsensical reality!

Where did this come from? Obama, nominated after a mere ELEVEN days in office, wasn't even in the top three contenders. Could this perhaps be a consolation prize from our Scandinavian friends for not winning the 2016 Olympic bid? Reports from all over the world are resounding with a big "HUH?"

The NPP has been awarded to our President based on "extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation". Oh, Yes. He has indeed put forth an effort to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation. Few would probably argue with that. It is his method of "effort" that leaves most of us in appalled disbelief. Diplomacy does not mean apology. He has gone around the world apologizing for America's "arrogance, dismissiveness, and derisiveness", bowing to the king of Saudi Arabia, demeaning the character of our nation, while aligning himself to leaders of terrorist countries. They say he is being awarded for his "intention" to ban nuclear arms and promote a nuclear-free world. Ummm, no. He isn't doing that. He is too busy making himself available to sit down with Ahmadinejad, Chavez and Castro without preconditions. Too busy kissing up to these abominable leaders to sit down and talk with his own appointed commander of the war in Afghanistan. Too busy questioning the experience of the three top military advisors on their recommendations to sit down and talk with them. "No rush", he says, while too busy RUSHING congress to vote on a health care bill that has yet to even be written. Too busy pushing a problem-riddled total overhaul of the health care system that will change life as we know it, to FIX the acknowledged billions of fraud in the insurance system that is already run by the government. Too busy trying to hide the resumes and belief systems of the czars he has appointed to advise him. Too busy breaking his promise of transparent government made during his campaign. Too busy promoting anything BUT peace in his own country by standing back and allowing American citizens (demoncrats, republicans, libertarians, independents) including and especially members of his own cabinet to fight a bloody battle over racism, indoctrination, and socialism. Too busy letting the limelight fall on one (albiet rude) representative who shouted "You Lie!", when in fact he WAS lying, since the constitution does provide protection for illegals. Too busy destroying the work carried out for decades by MLK and his followers to promote equal rights, by allowing racism to escalate to heights not seen in years.

To put it in perspective: Michael Jackson has been nominated for the 2010 award.

Ghandi was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize five times. He never won.

I guess the next order of business will be petitioning the pope for sainthood.

Swine Flu

Today I received some distressing news from home. Corey has swine flu!! Yesterday he had diarrhea, this morning had a fever and some vomiting. He saw the doctor today, who quickly diagnosed him with H1N1. Fortunately, we had been to the office a few weeks ago and they were downplaying it, saying lots of kids were coming in with it and so far all had responded well to Tamiflu. Miss Cheryl even told Whitney not to tell me, knowing that I was several hundred miles from home. By the time she picked up Leyland from Randy's house, she (Leyland) was having diarrhea as well, and both kids had poopy pants by the time they got home. As if things weren't bad enough, upon arriving home, Whitney realized she had locked herself out of the house. Fortunately, DJ has a set of keys to my house. Fortunately I have a set of keys to her house. Fortunately, Whitney had my keys (which unfortunately didn't have a key to my room or to the deadbolt). After I remembered this tiny detail, I called and she was able to go to DJs and get keys and get into the house. What an day!! They were feeling better by late afternoon, but tonight Corey didn't want his bedtime bottle, and threw up immediately after getting his medicine. Hopefully he'll be able to keep down another dose. Please keep them all in your prayers. She is insisting that we not come home - yet - but I won't be surprised if we pack it up early and head home earlier than planned, especially if Whitney and Dustin get sick too. She said we'd probably be better off staying here, so maybe we can avoid getting it. I sure don't want mom and dad to catch it! Sure is hard being away when my family is sick!

Greetings from Under the Umbrella

If I believed in the multiple-life theory, I'd say my former life was definitely one of a beach bum. It takes very little to entertain me and keep me happy in these, my early golden years. A beach umbrella, a comfy chair and a good book (or not), a day without rain, and I'm good to go. Ahhh life at the beach is fabulous. So far every day we have slept late, lolled about drinking coffee until after the noon hour. Afternoons spent on the beach, dinner at the townhouse, and evenings watching tv. Certainly not the normal touristy things, but then again we're not tourists. We rather refer to ourselves as part-time residents. I'm a 1/52 MB resident! Today was a cool, rainy day, which made sleeping in even more enjoyable. The afternoon was spent shopping, where I scored a new dress and new purse. Thank you Aunt Joyce and Mom! Such a lazy day... we napped the rest of the afternoon away, had a late dinner of homemade chicken stew, and now just enjoying some tv and laptop time.

Now about my umbrella... A few years ago DJ and I came over here for a scrapbook marathon. During our stay, my beautiful beach umbrella bailed on me. Totally bit the dust. I fought a good battle, trying to make it work, but finally gave up and tossed it in the trash. I was so sad. DJ laughed and laughed at me, and took all sorts of unflattering pictures of me fighting with my (beautiful) umbrella. I'm all about a pretty beach umbrella, and have made terrible fun of my dad for sitting under the ugliest beach umbrella of all time... for many years. (Thankfully, he bought a new one, actually a patio umbrella that makes a honkin' huge patch of shade... so I can't make fun of him any more.) I'm very happy to say that this year I am once again the proud owner of the prettiest umbrella on the beach. Sometimes I'll feed Kobe and KoKo when DJ and David are out of town. After one such time, 'the boys' presented me with thank-you gift... a pink and green beach umbrella!!! The photo above was taken lying on my back from underneath its cover. Fabulous. I am missing my grandbabies, but otherwise it is truly the perfect vacation.

Birthday Party Meltdown

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEYLAND!!!!

The video I posted yesterday (Charlie Bit Me) is one of the cutest I've seen. It goes without saying, though, that the pictures and videos of my precious grandchildren are THE cutest ones ever!! Here's the birthday girl wearing her Birthday Girl shirt and sporting her backpack this morning when she went with Mommy to run some errands. Below is a cute little video of The Birthday Party Meltdown. A little history: At her first and second birthday parties, Leyland would cry whenever we sang Happy Birthday to her. She was okay to sing it to other folks on their birthdays, but for some reason, she would cry when it was her turn to be the birthday girl. This year, though, she seemed to be quite excited about it! Her mom put her down for a nap early on the afternoon of her birthday, knowing that a nap-deprived toddler doesn't make for a pleasant afternoon for anyone. Even Princens get grumpy without a nap. A few minutes later, she called out for a drink, and as I was taking it to her room, I could hear her in there singing Happy Birthday to Curious George, Barney, Elmo, and some of her other stuffed friends. She laughed when I walked in and started singing Happy Birthday to Greemaw. So, we were hopeful that the birthday song wouldn't send her over the edge this time around. She was very sweet all afternoon, and really enjoyed opening her presents, and being the Party Princen. When it came time to light the candles and sing the birthday song, she was so excited!! All was going well until.... well, watch for yourself...

Poor Peyton was so upset!! She was crying just as hard as Leyland! In the end, though, everyone was happy, everyone had a turn blowing out candles, and they all lived happily ever after. Just the way it is supposed to be for little princesses everywhere. Happy Birthday, sweet pea. Greemaw loves you so very much!!!

Charlie Bit Me!!!

This is one of the cutest videos I have ever seen. Whitney and I have watched it a zillion times and it just gets cuter. Be sure to turn up the speakers, and listen closely. Sweet little English accent just makes it cuter. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM

Princen Party

Leyland's birthday is Tuesday. We celebrated today with a Princen Party down at the church. In case you don't remember, "princen" is Leyland's word for "princess". Oh yeah, she's in full Princen mode these days. It was a lovely day with lots of family and friends on hand to celebrate the day. I'm posting a few pictures here. There are more on my Facebook page. Click to enlarge.

A Very Tired Birthday Princess!

I Pledge Allegiance

For those of you over a certain age, do you remember how you started the day when you were in school? First there would be roll call. On Mondays you’d turn in your $1.25 lunch money for the week. Then what? Everyone (and I mean everyone) in the classroom would stand at attention beside our desks, place our hands over our hearts, and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. And before we sat down, we would bow our heads, and everyone would recite the Lord’s Prayer. Just another fond memory of The Good Old Days. Were there children from non-Christian homes in class? I’m quite sure there were. Did their parents come down with clenched fists, attorneys in tow, threatening to call the ACLU? Nah, most kids I know just recited it and accepted it as something you do. Part of the school day. In the small world in which I grew up, most families I knew went to church, and believed in God, regardless of what they might do on Saturday night. And for the ones who didn’t, nobody ever objected to reference to God or the Pledge to the Flag… my goodness, we even had a Bible Lady who came into the schools!!! How we loved the Bible Lady with her felt storyboards, which she magically turned into beautiful scenes from well-loved Bible stories. Learn John 3:16 and get yourself a New Testament. I always had my eye on that sparkling, glitter-laden wall motto (and I still like sparkly things!), but I never memorized enough scripture to earn it.

Times have surely changed, and while it is certainly the American, even the God-given right of any individual to accept or reject the existence of God, as well as a personal relationship with Him, it has long been more about politics than about religion. Or perhaps the mixture thereof. Regarding the Pledge thing, I learned only recently of a Supreme Court ruling back in the 1940s that said a person could not be “forced” into reciting the Pledge of Allegience. Back then, it was not the “under God” part of the text that gave cause for concern, (quite the opposite) rather the idea of “pledging” oneself to something OTHER than God, i.e. to the Republic or the Flag. Some people felt that to do so was to put another entity above God. Being a believer and follower of God myself, I guess I can kind of see that, although it never occurred to me that I might be undermining my “pledge” to God by pledging allegiance to my country, or the flag that represents her. In my mind, God is God is God and comes before and above my allegiance to anything else… ever. However- it is indeed a law that school children can’t be forced to stand and recite the pledge. That makes me sad. In the olden days we were taught morals, and were taught to love and respect our nation. Our President was someone to be looked upon with honor. Hopefully some of us also learned this at home too, and our mamas and daddys taught us to stand respectfully, with our hands over our hearts when we said The Pledge, or sang the National Anthem. It is such a powerful feeling, that even to this day I get a lump in my throat whenever I say The Pledge, or when I sing the National Anthem. At my church we will sing patriotic songs around July 4th, Memorial Day, Veteran’s Day. It is always a struggle to get the words out, because my throat constricts with that powerful feeling of love of country (in spite of all her problems today). The feeling of gratitude for my forefathers who bled and died to ensure our freedom and liberty. The feeling of sadness for families today who miss their loved ones as they serve our nation far from home.

I suppose the point of this post is to encourage young parents to please instill in your children the HONOR and PRIVILEGE to pledge their allegiance to this Republic and The Flag that represents our nation. It takes nothing away from your commitment to God. (Kids won’t even understand that anyhow.) Teach them that saying The Pledge is not a “duty” at school, like learning and reciting math formulas, but rather a way to show love and respect to a nation that (again, in spite of her problems today), is the best place on earth to live.

Parents, teach your kids to say The Pledge. When my grandchildren are just a bit older, I hope to have a little routine, like Whitney did in daycare, to pause for a moment, say a prayer, say The Pledge, and sing little songs to learn the days of the week. Teach them young so that it is a part of their lives, and when they go to school and find out that they don’t “have to say it”… that will seem a foreign concept to them. If you don’t teach them at home, when they get to school and find out they don’t “have to say it”, then how many of them do you think will take the time to learn it, and what will it mean to them? Especially when most of them will have seen that our current President holds exhibiting that manner of patriotism with such little regard.

And for those folks who don’t want to say it because your forefathers lived in caves and oppressed your female ancestors, or because your ancestors worked as slaves on a plantation, or because it goes against what you learned in the Koran, or if it offends your motherland, whether you arrived in this country through Ellis Island, or whether you came here illegally…. My thought is this: If you are sitting in an American classroom, paid for by American tax dollars, then if you won’t pledge your allegiance to this country, (and if you won’t go back to where you came from), you should at least drop your head and pray to whomever you pray to and thank your god for the opportunity to sit in that classroom, free of charge, and obtain an education. And you should keep your mouth shut if others in the classroom saying The Pledge offends you.

A few squeaky wheels were responsible for getting The Lord’s Prayer taken out of schools. There’s already a law protecting those who don’t want to say The Pledge. How many squeaky wheels (or ACLU attorneys) will it take to have The Pledge banned from our classrooms???

Oh Jimmy!

I've been called many things in my life, recently including a "terrorist". (here) But now the former President of the United States, a good ol' boy from Georgia, has called me a racist. Not me personally, not by name, but by virtue of generalization. He said "I think an overwhelming portion of the intensely demonstrated animosity toward President Barack Obama is based on the fact that he is a black man, that he's African-American," Carter told "NBC Nightly News."

Get Out. Granted, there will always be those few who don't want him to be President because he is black. This goes back to many of my posts during the election campaigns. (That is supposed to be a BAD thing, while it is okay that zillions of black people voted for him only BECAUSE he is black. What's the difference? Racism is Racism.)

However. Disagreeing with with government policy doesn't make me a racist any more than it makes me a terrorist. I didn't agree with everything George Bush did. Does that make me a... racist against.... my own race? Seriously. You didn't see the Bush administration pulling the race card every time a black person criticized him. And believe me, that administration took its share of criticism. And still does.

Interestingly, the Chairman of the RNC is a black man. He disagrees with Carter, and states that those so quick to pull that race card are doing more harm to President Obama than they are good.

Ya'll "Racism" folks need to just get over it. We don't like his policy. I wouldn't like the policy if Ward Cleaver, Andy Griffeth, John Wayne or Charlton Heston were the president.

There are too many other urgent matters on the table to be wasting time on playing the race card, especially with the Joe Wilson thing. I'd venture to say that Mr. Wilson would have made his statement (however inappropriate in the setting), if Ward, Andy, John or Charlton had been the one doing the lying.

Mr. Obama, a great many Americans disagree with your policies, and do not trust you to tell the truth. It's just a fact. I'm sure you don't like it. But c'mon! Take it like a man. Don't hide behind the racism cry. You gotta know that in order to please one group of people, you're going to displease another. You and your folks need to stop pouting like kids on the playground. Get over it. We're not communists, terrorists, or racists. We're Americans, just voicing our discontent, an action that is protected by the Constitution. And we will continue to voice it. You work for us, remember?? Get busy with the real issues de-funding ACORN, requiring czars to undergo congressional hearings, and most important to the immediate future, revise the current health reform bill. Get at it. Stop whining.

And Jimmy... with all due respect... just go back to building houses and planting peanuts. You disappoint me. Put down your stick, and stop stirring the pot.

Something In The Water?

Wow!!! There's been lots of baby news lately! Gemma Claire is due to arrive in about a month. This morning we learned that Brandi is having a girl, Brooke Addison. And just this evening I learned that (my nephew) Ryan and Alissa are expecting a baby in March!! Such happy news!! We've been purging closets and the storage building lately, and I found myself wanting to snuggle a tiny baby again as we folded away the newborn outfits that belonged to Leyland and Corey. Now it looks like there are three new babies about to join the family. That being said, I'm glad we don't have to filter the water at The 409. No more babies here for sure. We'll just enjoy them from (not too much) afar. Congratulations ya'll!!! Can't wait to snuggle with the new little bundles.

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Czars

(Note: For some reason Blogger is choosing random words to underline and link. These are not my links, unless it says "click here", so don't click on any of those green underlined words. They're not my links.)

Czar. When I used to hear that word, it conjured up visions of Russia in the old days. Not the case any more. Now when I hear the word czar, and if you follow political news closely, you're hearing it an awful lot, I think of my own government. I had no idea that the president has the authority to appoint whomever he chooses to be advisors in certain areas. Apparently this practice isn't new. I believe it started with FDR, who created The Office of Price Administration, and its director was given the title of "czar" by the media. (Now, don't go getting too impressed about my knowledge, I'm just a huge Google fan!) So it's not a new practice, just an unfamiliar one to most folks, I'd bet.

These appointments do not require any vetting, nor any votes of approval by congress. These czars are not even accountable to the congress, the cabinet, the American people, nor anyone but the President of the United States. How scary is that! If we needed a Czar of Scrapbooking, I'd be just as qualified as anyone, and the president could choose me if he wanted to. I doubt seriously that Mr. Obama knows about the hazards of acid and lignen on photographs, or the best way to adhere vellum to a layout. He probably has no idea which adhesive works best for mulberry paper. I'm fairly certain he's never heard of a Cricut, and probably wouldn't know what to do with a Cuttlebug if it came up and bit him on the nose. I can only imagine what he would try to do with a corner rounder, and the only thing he could deduce about a Memory Makers took kit is that trying to board an airplane with it in your carryon would probably get you arrested. However, with a scrapbook czar by his side, feeding him information and showing him techniques, pretty soon he'd be able to make a scrapbook of his own. More likely, though, he'd grow weary of the process and just tell the scrapbook czar just to make the decisions, design the layout, do whatever necessary to make the process work, and then he would sign off on it as though it were his own creation.

Sound a bit far-fetched to you? Hmmm let's see. I wonder how much a junior senator from Chicago knows about the reality of health care, auto recovery, border control, green living, etc. How in the world will he be presidential and preside over so much that he knows so little about? Well, by appointing people to *help* him and advise him. Glenn Beck from FNN reports that there are currently approximately 32 czars, with several more yet to be appointed. To see a list of them, their salary (if known) and a brief *job* description, click here.

Now here's where it gets interesting. If you watch network news, you won't have heard much about this, but watch-dog news reporters such as FNN, have been all over this. Over the weekend, the appointed Green Jobs Czar, Van Jones, resigned his position. It seems that Mr. Jones is a radical, self-proclaimed communist radical. Don't believe me? Do your own Google or You-Tube search and see some of the outrageous statements he has made. Because of the watch-dog reporting, much attention has been focused on this man, which in turn brings about question and unease as to why the leader of our nation would appoint such a dispicable person to advise him on ANYTHING. Mr. Jones has lashed out against the reports, blaming it on the "republicans", even saying in a speaking engagement that republicans are "@ssholes". And that is a quote. Many were calling for his resignation for the past few weeks, just because of who he has aligned himself with in the past, STORM, the communist party, etc. However, the final nail in his coffin came at the end of last week when it was uncovered that in 2004, I believe it was, he signed a form stating that he believed the Bush administration was involved in a 9-11 conspiracy. When questioned about it, he claims that he "didn't read the report carefully". Huh? Here's another example: Excerpt from a Nov. 2005 interview in the East Bay Express: Jones had planned to move to Washington, DC, and had already landed a job and an apartment there. But in jail, he said, "I met all these young radical people of color -- I mean really radical, communists and anarchists. And it was, like, 'This is what I need to be a part of.'" Although he already had a plane ticket, he decided to stay in San Francisco. "I spent the next ten years of my life working with a lot of those people I met in jail, trying to be a revolutionary." In the months that followed, he let go of any lingering thoughts that he might fit in with the status quo. "I was a rowdy nationalist on April 28th, and then the verdicts came down on April 29th," he said. "By August, I was a communist." In 1994, the young activists formed a socialist collective, Standing Together to Organize a Revolutionary Movement, or STORM, which held study groups on the theories of Marx and Lenin and dreamed of a multiracial socialist utopia. They protested police brutality and got arrested for crashing through police barricades. In 1996, Jones decided to launch his own operation, which he named the Ella Baker Center after an unsung hero of the civil-rights movement.

At any rate, in a time when so many other issues of importance are at stake, the Obama administration doesn't need to spend time, energy and resources defending this reprehensible man, so his resignation was called for. His letter of resignation begins: "On the eve of historic fights for health care and clean energy, opponents of reform have mounted a vicious smear campaign against me. They are using lies and distortions to distract and divide."

Seriously??? No responsibility for his actions? Poor fella!! The big bad Americans who have the audacity to oppose Mr. Obama's proposals, are making up terrible lies about him. (I guess we fabricated the videos and written reports as well. Aren't we just creative like that!) These are the words of an arrogant man who was in the upper echelons of (appointed) government, who had the ear of our president. Sorta makes me question (again) the judgment of our leader!

Check it out for yourself. Do a Google search on the czar system, and especially these two names: Cass Sunstein, John Holdren. These are the people who are advising our president.

Pride

An awesome young lady in my church posted this on her Facebook page, and I wanted to share. Thanks, Anna.

Pride

My name is Pride.
I am a cheater.
I cheat you of your God-given destiny...because you demand your own way.
I cheat you of contentment...because you "deserve better than this."
I cheat you of knowledge...because you already know it all.
I cheat you of healing...because you're too full of me to forgive.
I cheat you of holiness...because you refuse to admit when you're wrong.
I cheat you of vision...because you'd rather look in the mirror than out a window.
I cheat you of genuine friendship...because nobody's going to know the real you.
I cheat you of love...because real romance demands sacrifice.
I cheat you of greatness in heaven...because you refuse to wash another's feet on earth.
I cheat you of God's glory...because I convince you to seek your own.
My name is Pride.
I am a cheater.
You like me because you think I'm always looking out for you.
Untrue.
God has so much for you, I admit.
But don't worry...If you stick with me,you'll never know.
-Broadman & Holman

Hello Blog

Remember me? I seem to have neglected writing for quite some time now. I remember when rarely a day would pass that didn't find me posting something. One of the reasons I haven't been posting as much is that I've become a Facebook Junkie. It's fun to click on there and see what folks are up to. Another reason is that life at The 409 continues to be crazy in a warp-speed kind of way. Whitney has been experiencing some post-childbirth, pelvic stress issues, and it was determined that she would have to undergo surgery. After carefully checking the calendar against The Snoops' travel agenda, my co-workers' vacation times and a couple of things I had scheduled, we narrowed it down to a two-week period that would coincide well with the above-mentioned plans. Unfortunately, none of those dates were available. Our choices were a date eight weeks in the future, or five days in the future. YIKES!! My parents were out of town, but we decided to go ahead and take the appointment anyway. She was just too uncomfortable to wait eight more weeks. So this past Wednesday found us at the hospital, where she underwent a hysterectomy. Such a drastic surgery indeed for one so young, but her ovaries were left intact, which will allow her to avoid hormone-replacement therapy. Believe it or not, she was discharged from the hospital 23 hours later, in a fair amount of pain, but far better than I was after having a similar surgery at age 33. Recovery has been slow and steady, with a minor, but excruciatingly painful, episode of ileus on Friday afternoon. Today she is still moving quite slowly, but I am amazed at how well she is doing. She is restricted from lifting anything at all for six weeks, which means no picking up the babies. Dustin and I will be tag-teaming it until she is able to resume her mommy duties. I'll be working second shift so that I can take care of the children until he gets home from his job, then he will assume the role of caregiver for Whitney and take care of the chidlren while I work. The kids know that things are wierd, and they're not quite sure what to make of it.

I've been reminded this week to count my blessings. I'm especially thankful for:

~My parents, who were sorely missed this past week.
~My parents, who are home now and will be helping out in the coming weeks.
~Whitney's cousin Tammy, who kept the children so I could be at the hospital the morning of surgery.
~The flexibility of my job to allow me to work 2nd shift during Whit's recovery, and my wonderful co-workers who are like an extension of family. Thanks, guys.. Ya'll rock!
~Whitney's grandmother, Nany, who stayed with her all day on Thursday while Dustin worked and I stayed home with the children.
~Family members and friends who called and e-mailed with thoughts, prayers, words of encouragement, and offers to help.
~To Dr. Campbell, the most wonderful physician/surgeon.
~And most importantly, to God for a safe and successful surgery.
CathyB