Our Foster Cat

Here's Weasil, our official foster cat. We took him in over a year ago so his Dad could relocate in a place where a cat would not be welcome. Things have not changed. He's still with us and Robin and I have become very loving foster parents. In this picture, Weasil is enjoying some snuggle time under the blanket.

BB's Having A Birthday!

Best Buddie, Cheryl, is celebrating a birthday today. I'll be kind and not mention her age. I will say, however, that she's exactly 13 months younger than me. We've been great friends for 13 1/2 years and her presence in my life is certainly a blessing.

Cheryl, I wish I could take you to lunch to the restaurant by the river in Bandera like you did for me last month. We could repeat the birthday experience with Blizzards, Yahtzee, gifts and naps. Okay, if you really want to go, we can arrange it. Pack your jammies.

Happy birthday, Cheryl, and much love to a cherished friend.

On My Soapbox, 4

Celebrity + Courtroom = Circus. This has always bothered me and now that I have a forum with this blog, I can vent. Why, why, why, do we tolerate the expense of a trial or court hearing so judges and lawyers can draw out their time in the spotlight? This latest circus surrounding Anna Nicole is just another example of the media frenzy that turns a simple court proceeding into a long, drawn-out affair.

I'll be the first to admit that she left a tangled web that is far from simple. I also admit that I have no legal training and can't speak with authority on the issues. But I do have a lot of common sense and it is telling me that if these circumstances involved an unknown, they would have been settled by now.

This is how I would have handled it: Do the autopsy and collect enough DNA to satisfy all concerned parties, and do the embalming the next day. If foul play is not an issue, bury the body after a decent funeral in the area where the deceased has purchased a plot. Make sure all potential fathers have blood drawn and sent to a lab for processing. When a match is found, unite father and daughter and consider the case closed.

Court dockets are full of cases that need to be heard, long trials or hearings cost the county money, and camera-loving judges and attorneys aren't worth the expense. If this story had involved an unknown it wouldn't have been much of a story. It's fodder for the media and they prolong it as long as possible. And, the current media blitz doesn't say much for our legal system.

Judge Larry is a joke. He's in the spotlight and loving every minute of it. While the cameras are rolling, he can make his little jokes (as if the whole process is a laughing matter), take control of the questions (why are lawyers there anyway?), and make his moment of glory last longer than is necessary. I'm sure he's taping these shows to watch over and over in the privacy of his own home. Lucky Larry, Anna Nicole fell into his lap.

This frenzy reminds me of OJ and the ridiculous length of his trial, only to come back with a verdict of innocent. If I, the unknown, had been accused of the same crime, my trial would be over in a week, I'd be carted off to prison, and the key to my cell would be pitched into a bottomless pit. The public feeds on celebrity, the sensational, and the private secrets of those in the public eye. And the individuals who handle the legal side are caught up in their own moment of glory. Do they really hear the case or are they more concerned about their "hair" day? Oh yeah, Judge Larry doesn't have hair.

Florida, California, Texas, and the Bahamas need to join forces and consider what is best for the baby girl. She's the only one who matters right now. If she indeed stands to inherit a large sum of money, set it up in a trust to be given to her at the age of 21, and provide a monthly expense check to help her father raise her with certain advantages. Then bury her poor mother. What's so complicated about that?

Mystery Case Files

As if I needed another computer game to keep me chained to the desk, Cheryl introduced me to the world of Mystery Case Files: Prime Suspects. I've always enjoyed hidden picture puzzles. When Angela was small and had a subscription to Highlights magazine, I grabbed it first and looked for the page with the hidden pictures. Such a simple challenge, but I found it fun.

Robin has complained more than once that I spend too much time in the back room on the computer. Now, I set my laptop on his coffee table in his den and play Mystery Case Files. He even joins in and points out hidden objects that I'm trying to find. This is fairly unusual since Robin isn't into any kind of games. He enjoys this game very much, to the point of having me order Mystery Case Files: Huntsville, which we fell in love with after playing a free trial game. But although he likes the game, he isn't obsessed. He knows when to stop. I don't.

If I'm not at work, cooking dinner or sleeping, you will find me searching for all kinds of fun stuff in this game. I will play it over and over. Cheryl told me the game is very good exercise for the brain since it involves so much memory. So I tell myself it's a healthy form of exercise that my body needs. I can pretty much zoom on through and find everything, but I do get stumped often since some new items are on the list to find. It's safe to say I spend hours exercising my brain. I even exercise in my sleep. Even in my dreams I'm looking for frogs, a lizard, or an artichoke. It's pretty bad when you close your eyes for sleep and see the puzzle, except, of course, if you are taking your mental workout to the limit.

I'm happy I've found a game that Robin and I enjoy doing together. Many times we will sit together on the floor in front of the coffee table and look for objects. Soon, however, Robin gets bored and turns his attention back to the TV. I wish I had his self-control.

One could say I've earned this time to do what I enjoy. There were many years when my time was divided and stretched with family. Now that the pace has slowed, I still feel overly indulgent. There are more productive things I could be doing. I have two books started that I want to finish writing. I could clean baseboards and closets. I could exercise other parts of my body that are being neglected while I stimulate my mind.

More than likely, though, I will wear out Prime Suspects while waiting on Huntsville to be delivered. My body might be entering a vegetative state, but my mind is sharp as a tack. Happy playing.

Post-Valentine Post

Robin and I usually discuss the upcoming Valentine season and consider if we want to join the commercialism or disregard it all together. We never eat out on Valentine's Day since neither of us wants to wait two hours for a table, reservations or not. I haven't lost my sense of romance with age,but have gotten a little more practical. If we do decide to celebrate by eating out, we do it the day before or after.

This year we decided to give each other a little token gift. Robin said he needed a belt and I wanted a new , thicker chain to go with the necklace he gave me for my birthday. I went shopping and selected two belts, one brown and one in black. Then, I spotted the Tommy Hilfiger boxer shorts with hearts and thought I'd like to see my guy in a pair of boxers. I added a fourth little item to the box, a tin of Altoid mints covered in chocolate. It wasn't much, but it was something he asked for and I was happy to oblige.

Robin handed me my little jewelers box and I fully expected to open my new chain. Imagine my surprise when I saw the beautiful pink sapphire and diamond earrings to go with my Christmas ring and birthday necklace! Not just surprise, mind you, but egg on my face as I glanced at his heart-infested boxers! We were definitely NOT on the same page. I scolded him for spending so much on me for a simple occasion like Valentine's Day, all the while ripping those earrings from their box and sticking them in my ear. Notice I didn't demand that he take them back.

Thank you, Baby, for making me feel like a princess!

"I told You So!"

In a previous post, under "The Joys of Marriage" I reflected on the thermostat wars in my home between Robin and me. To refresh your memory, he is always cold but in summer attire, and I'm dressed for winter and burning up. We sneak around and lower/raise the thermostat until the other complains. I was always responsible for the electric bill so I tried to use common sense and monitor the thermostat.

Well, times have changed. The mortgage is now paid in full and I gladly handed the electric bill to Robin to pay. His first payment was last month, well over $600. I made up my mind that I'd quit being a pain in the neck about it since I no longer had to pay the bill. I gave Robin full control over the thermostat. The result: The bill came in yesterday at over $800! He was shocked. I don't know why he was shocked. But I do know why it was higher. The "thermostat monitor" had left her post.

I'm willing to bet that Robin will be more conscious now when he dresses or nears the switch that sends enough warmth in our home that we could become nudists and feel comfortable with it. I'm thinking that this new pain in his wallet will wake him up.

Last week he was walking around the house in a summer T shirt and telling me he has felt so cold all day long. In the meantime, I'm standing there peeling off layers because the heat is so high in the house. I finally told him, "I know you won't believe this, but I actually saw people dressed for winter today because of this weather." You're kidding.

Oh well, at least I don't have to foot the bill any more.

Tainted Peter Pan

When the story broke about Peter Pan possibly containing salmonela we quickly checked our brand new economy-sized jar of crunchy peanut butter. Sure enough, the numbers on the lid began with 2111. It's now sitting on the counter to be sent for a refund or trashed all together.

The interesting part is that it had been opened by us once, and smeared on my mother's homemade wheat bread with some honey. We suffered no adverse effects from it. Either the salmonela is hiding lower in the jar, is not present at all, or the healthy flaxseed, cracked wheat and wheat germ in my mother's bread counteracted the dangerous properties of salmonela. Good vs. evil.

I prefer the last explanation. I like to think that all the hard work and good ingredients that go into the making of all those loaves of bread that keeps 30+ kids coming back for more, has power over a simple thing like salmonela. But to be on the safe side, we will not eat any more of it. My reasoning for that is that sometimes Robin eats peanut butter sandwiches on regular, white, store-bought bread. I just can't imagine! The empty calories of white bread could never ward off the dangers of salmonela, so we aren't taking any chances.

Sophia's Dedication

Sophia was dedicated to the Lord on Saturday, February 10. It was a lovely ceremony with a slide show of the family and a sweet picture of the star attraction left on the screen. I tried to post the picture but the blog wouldn't accept the format.

Sophia's grandpa, Jerry, an ordained minister, performed the ceremony. Having an important member of the family doing the dedication makes it very special. Sophia, of course, was well behaved and never made a whimper. She's such a good baby.

After church services, Allison treated us to a delicious pasta meal with homemade Italian bread, which I really indulged in. Dessert was another homemade specialty, pound cake with a topping of strawberries and blueberries. I ate so much that I crashed on Allison's bed while she was nursing Sophia. Within minutes, the two of them joined me in slumber. I hope Robin, Jerry, Sharon, and Brian will forgive us for leaving them with a messy kitchen and two active children.

Welcome, Sophia, to not only our house, but God's house as well. We love you so much.

My Real Age is OLD!

I found an interesting site where one can do the survey and see how one's calendar age relates to their real age. I took the test and was amazed by the results.

In all fairness to me, many positive things contributed to a "younger" me, like the age of my living parents, lack of a history of ovarian and breast cancer in my family, my driving habits, my BMI, and the fact that I swim in a very healthy gene pool.

My failure to exercise in all the ways the survey suggested aged me considerably. As did my diet. Too much red meat, not enough flossing, or fruits, or vegetables or fish. I will disregard the recommendations about fish since I won't eat anything that ever lived in a body of water. My junk food fixations also added a few years to my calendar age.

The good part about the survey - once recovered from the shock of the new age - is that it gives a detailed pattern to follow to reverse the aging process. If followed, the next test results could be much lower than the actual age. Unfortunately, one has to be disciplined and put the plan into action.

I must admit that the list of what I was doing wrong was longer than the list of things in my favor. I'm wishing I'd had a total vegetable meal last night instead of a Frito Chili Pie that tasted ohhhh so good. I have nothing against vegetables. In fact, I love most of them. The trick will be getting the husband to try again those foods he's always hated. And, to discipline myself to coming home from work and washing, dicing, cutting, and cooking vegetables instead of choosing an easy, less nutritious meal.

If you dare discover your "real age", go to www.RealAge.com and answer the questions. It takes awhile, and an hour or so for the results to be e-mailed to you, but it's worth the time spent. If you're looking for a self-improvement course, this is it. Change your lifestyle and extend your life.

I'm still in somewhat of a shock over my Real Age so I won't reveal it right now. It's bad enough that I just had a birthday and thought that new age was shocking, without adding some years on top of it. Let's just say I need to end this post and see if my dentures are still soaking or have somehow made it back into my mouth.

Valentine Baking . . .

Or How To Make A Mess With Grandchildren.

Robin and I kept Jude and Baylee today so their parents could have a deserved day out. Part of our activities included decorating heart-shaped cupcakes I'd baked the night before. We used a strawberry cake mix for its pink color and the complimenting strawberry frosting. We had sprinkles and small heart-shaped cookies to adorn the tops of the cakes. This was Jude's and Baylee's special Valentine surprise for their parents.

As a boy, Jude found the activity fairly mundane. He ate the second cupcake he iced, and opted for sticking a cookie on top of the thrid cupcake without any frosting. Then he was off for more male-oriented fun.

Baylee, however, stayed interested long enough to frost 5 cupcakes. She had her own technique: ice a streak on the cupcake, lick the knife, ice a streak, lick the knife. I made sure those cupcakes made it home with Mom and Dad. Both little angels had "Happy Valentine's Day" ready when their parents arrived to take them and their masterpieces home.

On My Soap Box, 3

I would like to know the definition of the word "accountability". I think most people have forgotten its meaning, at least as it applies to personal accountability. It's everyone else's fault but our own. We are constantly pointing fingers and take no responsibility for our own actions. This really grates on my nerves.

Is it really a restaurant's fault that we do not know what a normal serving looks like or what constitutes a healthy meal? Do we need to be told the coffee is hot and we should be careful? And if we aren't careful, we can sue the restaurant because we don't know how to drive and drink coffee at the same time. Isn't the act of driving our only responsibility at the time?

If I choose to indulge in a Big Mac every day I can now sue the company for making high-calorie burgers. It's no longer necessary for me to assume that my diet is my responsibility. Oh no. The restaurant has made me fat and has clogged my arteries to the point that I have shortened my life span, and someone other than me needs to pay the damages.

And what about our kids? They are perfect, of course, and the teachers and the police and anyone else who attempts to correct them will end up in court. If Little Johnny brings a gun to school, can the school be blamed for a lack of stronger security measures? It wouldn't surprise me. I remember the "old days" when teachers were right and the child had to prove their innocence to their parents. Somehow, parents have become blind to the actions of their young. They don't want to be accountable. Rather than raising them with a healthy respect for authority, it's easier to encourage bad behavior by blaming someone else. The children grow up and continue the process because they have never learned to be held accountable for their own actions.

If we make a mistake we should make it right or suffer the consequences. We shouldn't point the blame elsewhere. So many lawsuits end up in court when they have no business to be there. If fast food restaurants want to grill their high-calorie foods, let them. We have a choice. We can go there and indulge, or opt for foods that are high in fiber and nutrition. If we are a slave to a certain food or habit, we need to look in the mirror and point a finger. No one forced us into that situation.

It's lunch time and I'm heading out to buy a junior burger and fries. If I tip the scales tomorrow or end up in cardiac arrest over it, I will be held accountable. I could have chosen oatmeal.

Good-bye, Bandera

It's Friday evening and Cheryl and I will pack up in the morning and head to my house. This is always a bittersweet time for us. We miss our families and we want to stay here. We can't have both. Today was strictly pajamas, junk food and more Yahtzee. We've played 162 games so far (the night isn't over), we have laughed soooo hard, we have talked and talked. I was reminded that our week was coming to an end when Cheryl told me she was tired of seeing me in the red velour shirt I've worn over my pajamas for warmth.

Note the three deer who were grazing in front of our condo. Also, I've included more pictures of our fun-filled week. This is our fourth visit to Bandera and I have a feeling it won't be our last. We keep coming back for the beauty and solitude. I don't know when we've felt so relaxed.

Bandera, it's so hard to say good-bye.

Rooms with a View

More pictures of our condo. Due to drought conditions, the creek we love to hear at night has dried up a lot, but still a little water. Deer in the front yard are a common sight. We even saw four just sitting in someone's front yard like dogs! So cute. Friday, as always, will be another pajama day as we take full advantage of our last day in paradise.

My Baby's Having A Baby!

How thrilled I am to learn that my daughter, Angela, and her husband, Clayton, are expecting their third child. They suffered the loss of two miscarriages last year and have been on pins and needles waiting for the Ultrasound that was performed today. It showed a healthy 8-week baby with a strong heartbeat. Praise God for answered prayers! The due date is September 4, and this Memaw will be there helping the new family of five while Angela gets on her feet. What a blessing! Number 9 is on the way!

Thursday in Bandera

We finally cleaned up and stepped out of the condo for the second time. I actually washed my hair and applied makeup, something that is rare when we have our week in Bandera. But, it actually felt good to be clean and we went to devour some Mexican food. After that we made another stop at Piggly Wiggly for a few things we needed, bought more Blizzards for the freezer, and headed back to change into our beloved pajamas. We pack more pajamas for this trip than regular clothes but it fits our lifestyle so perfectly.

The pictures are of us in the restaurant and some random shots of our condo. This place is beautiful! We spend so much time here that we definitely get our money's worth. We both needed this journey to Paradise in Bandera.

Bandera - This is Life!

We finished our Butterfinger Blizzards under the cover while watching Criminal Minds on TV. Notice the hair and lack of makeup. Holed up and lazy. There is nothing like it. We're having a ball, not to mention getting plenty of rest and calories.

Trivia: I was the first to break down and shave my legs (Cheryl has bows for hers) but Cheryl was the first to wash her hair. I'm still waiting.

Piggly Wiggly

What fun we have at the local Piggly Wiggly in Bandera. They changed the name of the store, but it's still Piggly Wiggly to us. Once the trunk is free of luggage we go shopping to stock the condo's kitchen. And boy! do we stock it! Keep in mind, this is Friends Week and all diets are on hold. This is a special time of indulgence and Cheryl and I know how it's done! We bought a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts and a few cream-filled, an assortment of candies, a coffee cake, chips and dips, crackers and cheese, sodas, breads, lunch meat, and for good measure, a few tomatoes and bottled water. It is now Wednesday and we've only ventured out once to eat out on my birthday. We have enough food to stay inside and let the world around us turn cold.

We have played almost 100 games of Yahtzee, taken naps every day, and watched very little TV. We are so calm and relaxed! I could really get used to this. I'd love to buy this condo and retire here. Impossible right now, I know, but a lovely dream of mine.

Here's Cheryl in the frozen food aisle picking out our Sarah Lee coffee cake. yum!

My Bandera Birthday

What a beautiful place to spend a birthday! Especially if one wants a very relaxed atmosphere. Cheryl treated me to our favorite restaurant on the river and our waiter, Robert, gave us a complimentary slice of banana cake with one lighted candle. Then it was back to the condo and pajamas. Cheryl gave me four gifts during the course of the day: a mouse for my laptop which I so wanted, a mauve blouse, a matching camisole, and a pretty tan purse. I feel very spoiled and pampered. I also got phone calls from friends and family which completed the day for me. Oh, did I mention that we indulged in Butterfinger Blizzards? A birthday isn't complete without ice cream!

Bandera - Paradise Found

Here we are getting ready to hit the road for the Texas Hill country.

Baylee's Love for Animals

Teddy Joe and his constant companion, Baylee. She has no fear of this big dawg!

Mother & Daughter

What a beautiful pair! Angela and Juliet.

Handsome Ron and Family

Beautiful Angela and Family

Beautiful Allison and family

Christmas with the Twins

Christmas Day with Jordan and Riley.

Late Pictures - Finally

This is Robin and me with his sister, Kate, and her husband, Joseph. They visited Thanksgiving weekend.

Let it Snow!

Angela, North Carolina isn't the only state to get snow. Texas also has its rare moments. Check out our modest accumulation.

On My Soap Box, 2

In the aftermath of 9/11 much has been said about racial profiling. The unfortunate victims of such profiling are up in arms over the injustice of it. I certainly understand their feelings to a point. But we have to put our sensitive feelings aside and get real. We can't afford another 9/11 and I'm in favor of whatever security measures that need to be in place.

Let's face it, we've all been inconvenienced. I don't like removing my shoes to go through airport security. I don't like waiting for friends and family at the luggage carousel when I'd rather greet them at their gate. I don't want to be the random one who is frisked for potentially dangerous objects. I do, however, want to feel safe when I board a plane and know that the officials in charge are doing their job to perfection. Therefore, I will tolerate the inconveniencies for the sake of safety. We live in a new world where innocent-looking individuals can't be trusted.

I remember the time I picked up my grandson, Thomas, from pre-school. He squealed when he saw me there and ran into my open arms. It was obvious that I was no stranger to him. Still, his teacher asked for my name and license, checking both against a list of those who were allowed to pick up Thomas. Once I was pronounced safe, she apologized for having to doubt me. I assured her that it made me feel better about Thomas and his environment. I left there knowing that if anyone came to get Thomas, they would be checked out first.

Too, consider a group of gang members with purple hair and black eyeliner terrorizing the city. If someone matching that description sat next to you on a plane, wouldn't you be concerned? I would. Both examples explain how the innocent have nothing to fear when profiled. Of course, there are instances when the profiling goes too far. I admit that there are many stupid people in the world who love to test our emotional endurance. But for the most part, I don't have a problem with racial profiling. It is common sense to question the intentions of those who so resemble our enemies. Forging ahead with blind trust is dangerous. We saw the consequences of that on 9/11.

So, get a grip everyone. We're all facing annoying and delaying inconveniencies in the name of national security. It's now a necessary evil. Instead of looking at it as a personal attack, consider the masses whose lives might have already been spared due to heightened awareness. It's not the time for the "me" syndrome. Let's begin looking at "us" collectively.

On My Soap Box

Unfortunately for those of you who read this blog with any regularity, I have enough material to make "On My Soap Box" a series. A long series. My opinions may not change the world, but getting them out to the public, however small, will make me feel better.

Here goes. The city of Farmers Branch is trying to implement an Illegal Immigration Ordinance that will require all property owners to require proof of citizenship before renting. Also on the agenda is to make English the official language in Farmers Branch.

What is so wrong with this country that we have to "make" English the official language. I thought it already was. And, it's about time a city or state stood up in an effort to claim their territory. This is the United States of America, isn't it?

Let me point out now that I have nothing against those who come to this country for a better way of life. My deceased husband was Polish, yet was born and raised in Brazil. His lifelong dream was to come to the USA and call it home. He arrived on our shores in the late 60s and went though all the proper channels to become a legalized citizen. His eyes would well with tears whenever he heard the National Anthem. He's the type of immigrant we want here. He loved this country, he learned its history so he could become a citizen, and he embraced our language and way of life. He didn't come here expecting handouts or others speaking Portuguese to help him fit in. He came expecting to work and learn.

If I had gone through the legal channels to become a citizen I would be very upset at those who didn't think it was necessary. It bothers me to see the grand USA becoming so wimpy that it crumbles under the whims of a few. We are quickly getting to a point that if you are a natual-born citizen of this great nation, you are a taxpayer, and a hard worker, you have fewer rights than your neighbor who has crossed the border illegally. I don't get the logic.

First of all, we need to define the word "illegal". It means different things to different people. If I break the speed limit I have committed an illegal act and will be penalized. If a foreigner enters our country illegally, he/she is free to accept our medical care, our food stamps, even our Social Security. If they are not going to be penalized, why do we insist on calling them illegal?

If every city would follow the lead of Farmers Branch and enforce the law within their own boundaries, maybe we could lick this problem. I'm afraid, however, that we will continue giving in to a few voices and ignore the multitude. I'm proud to be an American. I just wish this country would go back to its roots and stand up for what is right. And legal.

Hunting Season - Woman Style

The hunting season officially came to a close this past weekend. While Robin spent two months freezing his butt off in a deer blind, Patty and I had slumber parties. That's our idea of hunting season.

The fun begins the first weekend in November and concludes the first weekend in January. As Robin packs his gear, loads his arsenal, and heads out to do his macho thing, Patty is packing an overnight bag in anticipation of Hunting Season - Woman Style. A typical slumber party for us includes no cooking, lots of eating out, Christmas shopping and total relaxation. It's a time of female bonding, much like the male bonding that is going on at the deer lease. The similarities end there.

We're enjoying piping hot enchiladas in a warm restaurant while the guys are feasting on Vienna Sausages (yuck) or standing in the cold over a hot grill. We crawl between warm flannel sheets and Robin strives to get warm in his sleeping bag, all in the name of machoism. We sleep late. Robin has set his alarm for 3:30 AM so he can sit in a cold blind and hope a deer - one with a huge rack - will appear in his scope.

What Patty and I enjoy most is the change in routine. Our weekend is open for whatever we want to do. Christmas shopping becomes less of a chore when sharing it with a friend. We accomplish a lot if we want to, or loll around the house in pajamas if the urge hits us. The time is so relaxing that I don't even get mad at Robin when he comes home with arms laden with dirty dishes and puts them in the sink while I'm cooking dinner. That's usually a sore spot with me, but I merely think back to the quiet weekend and figure the extra mess while I'm cooking is worth it.

Patty and I were having our morning coffee Sunday when I looked at her and said, "countdown to hunting season. Ten months!" We both wanted to cry.

Diet and the New Year

Dieting seems to be the most common New Year's Resolution. I guess some people need a target date to implement their goals. While I have nothing against a weight loss program, I have a big problem with fad diets and those who expect miraculous results.

I believe there is only one way to lose weight and keep it off. It's called torture. Torture involves a disciplined exercise regimen and ignoring the taste buds. Drinking three glasses of water before a meal for that feeling of fullness won't cut it. After all that water my taste buds are screaming for something good.

My daughter Allison and I were discussing diets recently and she told me about a comment Rosie O'Donnell had made. Rosie had baked Tollhouse cookies and offered them to her then new girlfriend, Kelly. Kelly refused the offer, stating she wasn't hungry. Rosie wanted to know what hunger had to do with it. I can so relate. It's not what is going on in our stomachs that makes us want to eat. It's those tiny, annoying buds on our tongues that demand to be satisfied. I'd have to splurge to the point of misery before food would no longer appeal to me. Even then, it would be a brief fast.

I'd like to report that I have complete control over my taste buds, but I'd be lying. Like millions of other people in the world, I give them full reign. Even during those times when I try to eat a healthy diet, I know how to wreck the health benefits of vegetables with cheese and fruit with pie crust. My favorite source of protein is Peanut M&Ms. Like I said, it's not the feeling of fullness that sheds those pounds, but learning to deny the whims of the buds.

Regardless of my weight, I have to indulge in the foods I love. And because of that, I have to implement the torture diet by setting some limits. Yes, I'll eat my hamburger and fries, but half of it will go into the garbage can. I have to have pizza and savor the smaller portion I have allowed myself to have. If we were truly honest with ourselves, we'd admit that half a burger is filling. The other half is used only to keep those taste buds happy.

There is no miracle drug on the market that will instantly melt away those pounds. I am not fooled by all the claims made by weight-loss products or fad diets. The only solution is the torture diet with exercise and extreme restraint. Show those taste buds who's boss.

But if a product is ever available that numbs the buds and keeps them in a stupor long enough for weight loss to begin, I'm a customer. Until then, I'm at their mercy except for the rare occasions when I have a smidgen of control. Unfortunately, I don't have the upper hand for long.

Welcome 2007 and the dreaded torture diet.

Mirrors Don't Lie

Especially a big, honkin' one on a pedestal with three light settings and a magnifying side that works like a microscope. That's the surprise gift my friend, Patty, gave me when she came to visit this week. She'd told me over the phone that she had something for me that "you'll hate me for when you see it, but will love me for after you use it". Well, I already love Patty. I've loved her since we met in the sixth grade. She's my friend from way back. But the giant mirror is really testing this friendship.

I was very anxious to use it the next morning while applying makeup. Patty said it really helped while working on the eyes with shadow and mascara. So, I plug the thing in, tap the base three times for the ultimate light, then peered into the magnified mirror for the shock of my life. I knew I had a mustache but didn't know it could be styled. Where did all those black hairs come from? And my face! I don't think the moon has that many craters! I saw trenches, pits, sun spots, and broken capillaries that made my face look like the map of Texas. And I have a unibrow when I thought I had two nicely shaped eyebrows. I don't even want to mention nose hair. Yuck.

Ever so slowly, I recovered from shock long enough to use the mirror for its intended purpose. I rubbed and rubbed the foundation into my skin, wondering why it wouldn't smooth. Maybe it never had and I hadn't noticed. But my trusty mirror pointed out every application flaw. Then it was time to do my eyes. How does anyone get shadow on lids like that? No wonder I can't see. My lids droop. I got ready a lot faster when I didn't know I looked thrown together.

Patty is a precious friend who spoils me rotten. She comes over so often bearing gifts. I have about 120 bottles of perfume and most came from her. Besides the perfume, she has spoiled me with clothes, jewelry, purses and shoes. She buys gifts that appeal to my senses. Therefore, I'm not surprised that she gave the mirror for my sense of sight. But I do see two extremes here. While a bottle of perfume can arouse the sense of smell with a floral bouquet of fragrance, the mirror showed me a stranger. A stranger I didn't want to know. A stranger who made me think of some of the characters from the Wizard of Oz. Maybe even the Bride of Frankenstein.

"You will hate me, then love me," Patty had said. I do love you, my friend. But I'll love you more if you will stick to my sense of smell. The mirror is too much.

Caution: Danger Zone

That is now the new name for my kitchen. I enter at my own risk. I ventured in there to make what I thought was a simple lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and walked out with a band-aid on each hand.

The cutting board was the first item to attack me. My block of cheddar cheese was sitting on it as I used the cheese slicer. As my hand came down my middle finger on my right hand connected with the lip on the cutting board. It hurt, but I kept on slicing cheese until I saw blood splurting all over the place and saw the broken blood vessel. I tried to contain the flow of blood long enough for Robin to apply a band-aid.

Now bandaged, I go back to slicing cheese and bang the same finger on the lip of the board again, rendering the band-aid useless. We applied another band-aid and finally ate grilled cheese sandwiches.

Then, it was clean-up time. I reached into the sink to rinse the dishes I'd washed and a paring knife pricked a finger on my left hand. Again, the blood came. Again, another band-aid. By this time, of course, I believe that God is trying to tell me something: "Stay out of the kitchen!" It's an absolute danger zone when one considers the amount of lethal weapons that are in that small space. There are ovens, stoves, knives, and even cutting boards. I'm thinking seriously about going on a strike. Imagine the chaos if I should decide on a more gourmet meal like Hamburger Helper instead of simple grilled cheese!

As I deal with two sore fingers and one that continues to pop open and require a new band-aid, I am convinced that I'm not a good candidate for kitchen duty. I'm in favor of calling in delivery or frequenting all the area restaurants. This is not an indulgence, but a life or death matter for me. I don't want to enter the kitchen in fear, afraid the flour canister will drop on my toes, crushing them. I don't want to be burned, stuck, stabbed, and beaten by all the innocent looking utensils that reside in my kitchen. I'm serious, this is war.

It would be wise if all of us took a poster board and wrote "Caution: Danger Zone" in bright red letters and attached it to the refrigerator. Unless you're an adventurer or risk-taker, there is no need to subject ourselves to such bodily mutilation. Take it from me, a victim of the cutting board and paring knife, and save yourself some grief. Order in tonight!

My Boy/Man

How does a woman know she is married to a boy?

I told Robin about a toy our 5-year-old grandson got for Christmas.

His response?

"How come I never get anything like that?"

I was hoping to buy for a grown man, maybe???

The Joys of Marriage, XIV

Laundry: I'm not exactly what one would call a fanatic when it comes to laundry. My cabinets above the washer and dryer don't contain ten different kinds of powder, bleach, and fabric softener. However, I do have my own way of doing laundry. It's rather simple and standard but it gets the clothes clean.

When I married Robin I saw a new way to do laundry. He doesn't sort the clothes. He fills the machine with whites, darks and towels. This method really eliminates some needless steps, right? And there's nothing like wearing a black shirt with towel fuzz all over it.

I'm the one who does the laundry in our family, but there are occasions when Robin feels he needs to run a load. Since he has a home office and I don't, he can sneak in a load while I'm away. Imagine my surprise when I come home to a freshly washed blouse that still has makeup stains on the collar and was dried in the dryer, making it two sizes too small. He doesn't understand my reaction. I point out that I know which blouses need a stain remover and which ones fare better drying on a laundry rack. Ok, he promises not to mess with my clothes again. But he continues washing his clothes with a towel or two thrown in if the mood hits him to do laundry.

I have certain laundry days and I'm faithful about them. The clothes get done on those days, regardless of whatever else is happening in my life. I plan for the laundry, therefore I'm there with a listening ear for the buzz of the dryer. I know that certain items need to be hung immediately in order to cut down on my ironing time. When Robin decides he needs his favorite pair of jeans washed, along with enough other things to make a full load, he does it on his schedule instead of mine. The result is that while I'm cooking dinner the buzzer goes off and no one is running into the laundry room. So the dryer is turned on again later to fluff the clothes. Perhaps even for a third time. When it isn't my laundry day, I'm not in that mode and haven't planned my day around the dryer. The clothes usually come out wrinkled since Robin may know how to turn on the machines but hasn't learned all that the buzzer signifies.

Since he knows not to include my clothes in his random laundry days, it's really not a big problem in our home. I often wonder if men deliberately screw up the sorting of clothes so that we will ban them from the laundry room. Makes perfect sense to me. As it is, we still have to deal with pockets that weren't completely emptied, rolled up sleeves and socks, and looking for stains they never knew were there. Recently, I forgot to check one pocket in his windbreaker and found a tube of warm lip balm in the dryer. Had the top come off, we would have had grease on everything.

There are just some things women would prefer doing themselves. At least I know once laundry is done that I will still be able to fit into a favorite top. I've been known to ruin a few of Robin's shirts in the dryer. Fortunately, he gets mad at the manufacturer instead of me. He insists that all clothes should be able to stand the heat of the dryer and to throw in all his shirts. I'm glad he doesn't blame me for the mishaps. I know how I'd feel toward him if the situation was reversed, which is why I do the laundry.

The Perfect Gift?

I don't know when I have received a Christmas gift I have enjoyed more. Robin and I were doing our Christmas shopping when I was sidetracked by a shoe store. Bored by that common problem, he told me he'd meet up with me at Spencer Gifts. I walked in just as the cashier was bagging a gift for me. Knowing that Spencer Gifts can range from vulgar to exotic, I asked him: "Did you buy for the woman you have or the woman you want?". He just smiled.

My curiosity and a touch of disappointment took hold of me Christmas Eve when I found a battery in my stocking. Since I knew he'd bought one present at Spencer Gifts, I could only imagine what the battery was for. I continued opening gifts, then Robin told me to open a fun one. I asked if it was from Spencer and he nodded. I did not expect what was inside. It was a Fart Machine!

Robin loaded the battery and pushed the button on the remote. The funniest sounds issued forth. I rolled on the floor laughing, with tears rolling down my face, as Robin laughed hysterically at my reaction. The proud moment came when I was in complete control of the remote. I pushed and pushed the button, all the while as laughter erupted. What is it about a fart sound that cracks us up? I know I'm not the only one who lacks refinement, for many have laughed at my new toy. It was a hit at other Christmases we've had and I took it to work and had fun with it there.

The best part is the laughter felt so good. I'm one of those who gets so stressed during the Christmas season. I wanted to post a "Bah, Humbug" on my blog but never found the time. I love Christmas but in my quest to shop for everyone and make the occasion perfect I tend to lose some of what the holiday is all about. Not that it has anything to do with my little machine and its funny noises, but it loosened me up and made me laugh. And I've been laughing since! I came home from work today and had my housekeeper laughing as I pushed the button to produce all the varying sounds of a fart.

You may be thinking at this point that Robin doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, something I've thought a time or two myself. But when I could finally lay down the remote and open the last gift, I saw the romantic, loving side of my husband that I adore. He gave me a pink sapphire and diamond ring. I've long yearned for a pink sapphire.

So, amid the gifts he gave me sits a Fart Machine, and my finger is adorned with a beautiful ring. I'd say he bought for the woman he has. Thanks, Babe!

Birthdays in Bandera

Cheryl and I have reserved our annual condo week to celebrate our January 22 and February 22 birthdays. This will be our fourth trip to the condo in Bandera in the Texas Hill Country. We've been other places but this is our favorite. Being on a hill in the winter with the babbling brook just beyond our balcony makes for a very relaxing stay.

February is Cheryl's busiest time at work so we have chosen January or March to be the months for this exciting trip. This time, we leave January 20 and return on the 27th. I'll be there over my birthday and I can't think of a better way to celebrate than total relaxation with a cherished friend. Our trips aren't planned for sightseeing or visiting famous landmarks. Since we see each other once a year we want to visit with each other, play table games, eat junk food, and stay in our pajamas. Bandera is the Cowboy Capitol of the World and that title is totally wasted on us. We seldom wear makeup or style our hair. As I stated before, the purpose of the trip is enjoying a friendship in a relaxed environment. Daily naps are part of this relaxing ritual!

The pictures here are from last year's trip. Actually, all our trips have about the same pictures. The only change is the pajamas we usually get each other for Christmas in anticipation of our trip.

For the next five weeks Cheryl and I will be goofy on the Yahoo Messenger. It will be a time of excitement as we enter into "Bandera Countdown". We write "Oh Boy" in a large font style, along with many other phrases that describe our excitement. Bandera has become a word of many meanings for us. It's not just a place we love to go, but the word itself has a calming effect on us. If we are stressed we write "Bandera!" and the other understands what that means. Life has gotten hectic and we need a dose of Bandera.

We've wondered about the possibility of making Bandera a 51-week stay and go home for one week. Then we realize our husbands might not stand for that. On the other hand, they might.

Countdown to Bandera! Bandera, here we come!

Happy Birthday, Robin!

We are celebrating Robin's 59th birthday today. I guess I will keep him another year. However, when he reaches 60 I might have to look at the situation again.

Our plans are to shop for jeans tonight. That's what he wants for his birthday. Then we will go to dinner and he will feast on lobster and I will have filet mignon.

Angela, you might like to know that I totally forgot to bake him a cake, something I might have to make up for tomorrow. I know you haven't forgotten the year I didn't bake your cake on time. No one should have a December birthday. There's so much going on that we miss very important things!

Happy birthday, Robin! And I thought you were old when I married you and you were 50! I love you, Babe. I look forward to many more birthdays with you.

The Joys of Marriage, XIII

Sleeping habits: Robin and I are night owls and usually get a surge of energy around 8:00 pm. Neither of us snores so bedtime is peaceful, other than the cat nuzzling our faces during the night. Mornings are a whole different story. One of us wakes up, one doesn't.

I'm the one who has a hard time dragging my lazy butt out of the bed. In the beginning, it was Robin. He had to have two cups of coffee before I could say "good morning" to him. Somewhere along the way, it changed. And it changed drastically.

Now it's Robin telling me to either hit the snooze button or get up. This goes on through about 4 snooze button punches. My wake-up call is from the radio by my bed. Robin uses Garfield who is across the room and he has to actually get up to hit snooze. So, we're listening to the oldies and Garfield yelling "time to get up, sleepy head, time to get up". Or if Robin hits snooze, we hear "OK, go back to bed, sleep longer." It's annoying, but I bought the Garfield clock for him when we were dating. I never expected to live with it.

When Garfield is finally shut up for the day, Robin makes coffee and brings it to me in bed. I used to do that for him, but times have changed. I'm comatose in the mornings. And I need peace and quiet when I finally do get up. I want to sit there and sip coffee while my eyelids are trying desperately to open, all in a peaceful environment. It doesn't happen. Mornings are the time when the mischieveous little boy in Robin wakes up and wants to play.

"Are you awake yet?" I mumble that I'm getting there. He asks again. I answer. Then he asks again. I don't answer. We're beating a dead horse here. Then he goes into a long rendition of his nose song while I stew in silence and hope he hasn't come down with a cold. Some mornings he creates his own lyrics to certain songs, such as this one:

You ask me how I knew
Our romance was through
It must have been the guys
I saw between your ...

Well, you get the picture. This morning he jumped in front of me to block my path every time I moved, shut me in the closet, and sang "Happy Trails to You" in the shower. I should have lived with him first.

Robin says he's having fun because he never had a childhood. "Don't childhoods end after 18 years?", I ask him. Besides, I've raised three kids and I'm not up to doing it again with an over-grown boy who likes to pester. I'm glad he wakes up in such a good, playful mood, but have some consideration for those of us who don't. He thinks I'm old and stuffy, I think he's immature. Thankfully, we don't let these differences destroy our relationship.

As the day wears on, the little boy in him is still playful while the man in him is peeking through with a look I know well. I try to make the transition between the two and it's confusing. I love the many sides of my husband but shutting one down and putting my focus on another is hard. It's the age-old difference between men and women and what floats their boats.

Unfortunately, there are often negative consequences to hanging onto childhood. I wish there was a snooze button that could be pushed that would put us all on the same page. Sometimes I still see the little boy in front of me when he asks, "Aren't you in the mood?"

There's only one answer I can give. "I'm not a pedophile."

The Joys of Marriage, XII

The dishwasher: Every woman I know has a certain way she likes her dishwasher loaded. We know which way provides the most optimum use of the space. The silverware basket is obvious, but the other racks and dividers take some creative nesting.

Nesting is the key word. We place the items in such a way to make room for the next plate or bowl. I have certain places I use just for dinner plates, or just for dessert plates, or just for bowls. The lower rack is for coffee mugs and glasses. Dishes don't even fit right in those racks. So, we know how much will fit into the dishwasher, right down to the last fork.

Of course, this system is interrupted if anyone else opens the dishwasher to place something inside. Often I have to rearrange things because a mug might be placed where two plates would fit if loaded correctly. Robin finds this system of nesting pretty comical.

He's asked me why should he bother putting something in the dishwasher if I'm going to turn around and place it on another rack. I told him I'd rather do that than see the dishes left in the sink. Dishes left in the sink are saying, "I'm too lazy to put this away and I want someone else to do it for me."

While I was recovering from surgery I happened into the kitchen when Robin was filling the dishwasher. He was helping me out so I forced myself to keep my mouth shut. I did, but my facial expression must have been screaming at him for he laughed and told me he knew his "system" was killing me. It was. I saw wasted space that could have been utilized if nesting had been done.

A few days later I was getting some trash out of my car and placed it in the carport trash can. Robin stopped me and told me when a liner isn't in the can, don't use it. He went on to explain that he'd cut holes in the bottom of the can so it could drain the rain water. Without the liner, my trash might go through the holes. I asked if that was his equivalent of dishwasher nesting. He laughed and said no, probably because his method made more sense.

I may be picky about my dishwasher, but I believe men are just as picky when it comes to their territory. Want proof? Go to the garage and borrow a tool.

Happy Anniversary, Brian & Allison!

We had a beautiful Christmas wedding 11 years ago today when Brian and Allison tied the knot. Now, 11 years later, they have three beautiful children, a beautiful home, and the credit of filling our lives with happiness.

Happy anniversary, you two! We wish you many more! (Side note: Papa and I get to keep Jude and Baylee while the happy couple go to dinner. Sophia, who depends on her Mommy for food, will tag along with them.)

Birthday Girl!

Finally found a picture! Happy birthday, Angela! I love you!

Happy Birthday, Angela!

I gave birth to my last child, another beautiful daughter, 31 years ago today, December 9. What a joy she continues to be! Just wish I had a picture to share as my Kodak program is acting up. However, we all know I have beautiful kids! I love you, Punkin! Happy birthday!

Honest Abe

Patty and I began another slumber party weekend by dining at my favorite Mexican restaurant. Since I was short on one dollar bills, when it came time to pay I handed two $20s to our waitress. The bill was only just over $20 but I needed the ones to leave a tip. Imagine my surprise when I counted my change! I had the $19 and the few cents change, but also under the ticket was my two $20s. Ah ha! Not only do I get a free meal, but I get an extra bit of cash for my wallet.

As luck would have it, the "good" in me surfaced and I flagged down the waitress. When I handed her the money she hugged me and told me she loved me. Since she's been waiting on me for years I guess she felt comfortable enough to show her gratitude in that way.

Actually, "good" runs in our family. Allison was at an ATM machine recently and noticed the previous transaction hadn't been closed and she was asked if she wanted to withdraw money. Being a daughter of mine, of course she punched the "no" button and someone else's card was given to her. She went to a teller's window and turned in the lost card. How many people would have taken advantage of the situation and considered Christmas shopping a done deal? That is, unless the unfortunate soul stumbled upon my ATM card.

Being honest is not a lost virtue afterall. If the Golden Rule was always followed, crime would be a thing of the past. Consider how many police would then be on welfare.

The Joys of Marriage, XI

Thermostat wars: It amazes me how a small mechinism that controls the climate can come between two self-proclaimed adults. Winter is a time of marital tension in our home. Robin raises the thermostat to a sweltering 72+ degrees and I lower it to a bearable (perhaps chilling) 67 or less. Most of these adjustments are done in secret. Of course, the truth is soon out when one of us starts complaining that it's hot or cold.

Naturally, we both think we have valid reasons for our differing opinions. Robin says he's always been cold-natured and should be warm and comfortable in his own home. I argue that since I pay the electric bill we should lower the thermostat and dress warmer. Wear winter clothes in winter? You've got to be kidding!

So, here comes Robin in a short sleeve T shirt jacking up the thermostat. I ask where his long sleeves are. He doesn't want to wear long sleeves. I ask why he isn't wearing layers on a day when it has dropped to below freezing. I still haven't received a straight answer for that one, unless "You aren't my mother" explains it.

I, on the other hand, am happy to get back into my winter clothes after having tired of my summer ones. And I think it's ridiculous to be hot in winter clothes because the house is too warm. How about lowering the thermostat so that winter clothes feel comfortable, and save a little on the electric bill? What a novel idea!

Ah, but the war continues. I'm not trying to be cruel. I honestly believe there are ways to control the unnecessary "over the top" electric bill and still prevent frost bite. If I were to see Robin in layers and shivering, then by all means raise the temp! But when I see him in short sleeves I have to assume the day feels warm to him and he saw no need to wear anything heavier. Does this make sense? Or does it make more sense to pay over $600 a month to stay in summer T shirts?

I might have a partial solution to this annual battle. Now that we are mortgage free, I could pass the electric bill to Robin to pay. My nasal passages will still dry out but he will have to pay to wear those T shirts. Or, he might get a clue once the bucks are coming out of his pocket.

Mortgage Free!

Oh, happy day! After 32 years in this house, a pool, a home improvement loan, and refinancing, our home is now paid off in full! The final payment was due December 1, and we have breathed a collective sigh of relief. Unfortunately, the house needs some repairs, some as serious as the foundation, but we haven't decided to do an equity loan yet. We might wallow in the extra monthly cash for a few months. I so want to remodel and add new floors, paint, and furniture. I'd jump right into it if it weren't for the medical bills.

December must be the month for good news. Yet another debt will be paid in full on the 10th. That would be the HAAS machining center at work. All our equipment will be paid for by then. Yippee! Most is passe and we need to update, but, again, I might wallow in the extra cash flow for awhile.

Back to the medical bills, I've always believed we should pay for services rendered. It's not easy for me to accept help or shun financial obligations. However, this was emergency surgery, something I wasn't prepared for due to the high cost of medical insurance. So, please, someone lead me to the person(s) who handles this issue for the illegal immigrants! I'm a citizen who pays taxes and I want the same benefit.

A Picture's Worth 1,000 Words?

My words will have to do, sans any pictures for awhile. We took some cute shots Thanksgiving of Baylee just hanging onto the dog and donkeys, but my Kodak program hasn't been able to load them. The program has always been temperamental and its latest attitude is unnerving.

Actually, I fear the whole computer is about to crash. Icons disappear from the desktop, and strange error messages have become the norm. Neither Robin nor I have a clue about the hard drive. I don't know how a computer works. I'm just happy when it does.

So, until we fix the program or purchase a new computer, I will rely on my words alone. Yes, it could get very boring around here.

Simon Says, "Buy me!"

Is there an avid reader on your Christmas list? Or, perhaps someone who enjoys fine art? Do you feel good when the bad guy finally gets his due, and good is rewarded? If so, you might want to purchase the Simon Says book set. We all need gift ideas and I wanted to pass along this one.

You may find the books online at your favorite book store, or through me, or through the publisher at www.simonsays1and2.com. This is my first novel and a dream come true. I'm especially proud of my book covers, designed for me by my artist daughter, Angela.

Spread the word this Christmas!

Wednesday's Child

For 10 months I have spent Wednesday afternoons the same way, visiting my friend Maurine in a nursing home. When her only child, Carol, passed away last January a group of us ladies at church decided to take a day of the week to visit her so she'd never have a day without a visitor. This was especially important because Maurine had no other family in this area.

Unfortunately, today will be the first Wednesday that I've missed a trip to see Maurine, other than when I was out of town or recovering from surgery. Maurine fell and broke her left hip only five days ago. I went to see her Sunday in the hospital. She was discouraged and wanted to die. The very next evening, she did.

Each of us who saw her regularly grew to love her very much. We adopted her as a second mother and she adopted us. I was Wednesday's child. I'd walk into her room to either find her sitting in her wheelchair or asleep in her bed. Once I left her a note and told her I'd be back, that she was alseep and I didn't want to wake her. She told me to never do that again. She didn't want to sleep through a visit. After that, I'd wait for awhile, then wake her up. A few times we'd both nod off, but we were together.

Maurine was always alert and very sharp. I enjoyed listening about her life and the rich history she would share. She was a Daddy's Girl and told me often how much she loved her "Poppa". "I was his constant shadow," she told me more than once. She told me how she met her husband, Monroe, at college, how she had worked at the broom factory as a young woman, and the birth of her daughter. And there were times when she became quiet and whispered that she missed Monroe and Carol so much. How sad to be the surviving member of your family. We all knew we couldn't replace the daughter she lost, but we hoped to fill some corner of her aching heart.

Maurine's taste for food changed drastically as she grew older and few things appealed to her. Nutritional drinks kept her alive, and the small samplings of mashed potatoes, cream corn, cereal, and plain yogurt. Plain yogurt in small cartons were hard to find, so I'd end up many times buying the large carton and asking a nurse at the front desk to store it for Maurine. Robin would label the carton with her name and draw a smiley face. Maurine would reach for the carton every time I carried in a new one to see what picture Robin had drawn this time. It was a small thing, but it cheered her.

I remember the time she was eating her yogurt and kept getting a spasm in her hand. I finally reached for the spoon and fed her. "I can't believe someone would actually feed me," she said.

"I've had three kids," I told her. "I'm used to it."

"I still can't believe someone cares enough to do it."

"Just be glad I'm not doing this with every bite." I then waved the spoon in the air and said "Open wide! Here it comes!."

That produced a laugh from both of us.

Maurine was one of the few in the nursing home who still had all her faculties. I was a soft touch for those crying out for help or just needing someone to listen. Maurine would dismiss them with a wave of her hand, telling me they are crazy and I should pay no attention to them. Turning away made me feel cold blooded, but I was there to see my friend and I wanted her to know it.

Yes, today will be different. There will be no visit to the nursing home. I won't miss that pitiful environment, the odd smells, or those who walk around aimlessly. But I did look forward to walking into room 610 and being greeted with Maurine's smile. I will miss that, and her tough, hearty outlook on life, her sense of humor, and her friendship. Maurine would have been 90 in December. She was looking forward to that milestone. How sad that the pain from a broken hip destroyed her will to live, just as Carol's death had done last January.

Those three days in the hospital she told all of us over and over that she wanted to die. I told her that God is in control and to trust in Him. I was crying as I held her hand, then had to laugh inwardly as she told a nurse to go away, then turned directly to me and said she loved me.

That was Maurine. Wednesday's child will miss her.

Hanging Onto Hangers

A notice was left on our door announcing that a truck would be on our street to pick up clothing and appliances. I thought this was a good time to clean my closet. I go to the trouble of ironing my tops only to squeeze them into a packed closet. I practically had to close my eyes and throw. I got rid of tops and jeans I'd been hanging onto for years. Most were from the County Seat. How long have they been out of business? I thought I'd fit into the jeans again (jeans are jeans, right?) but decided that although my weight is the same as back then, my shape isn't. So they all got stuffed into bags for pick up, along with a dozen pairs of shoes - something else I collect.

Of course, before I could reach the clothes in the back of the closet I had to organize my scrapbooking papers and tools. That was fun and got my juices flowing again to be somewhat creative and start my grandchildren scrapbook someday soon. Some hobbies will just have to wait until the holidays are over.

The final clean up - after 4 bulging bags are carried to the front door by Robin - is the huge pile of clothes hangers. Anyone who knows me well knows I am anal about clothes hangers. Not so much like daughter Angela who has to have all one color, but my concern is abundance. I fear of running out of hangers. I cringe when Robin grabs one and pulls it apart for some outdoor chore he's doing. I've even been known to twist one back into shape so it can be salvaged. And imagine my delight when I buy a new outfit and they leave it on the hanger for me to take home! I hoard my hangers. I'll never be accused of being Joan Crawford!

Alas, there was no room to store the mountain of hangers that remained on my floor. I forced myself to pick out the better ones and bag the others for trash day. Yes, trash day. I'm actually throwing away alllllll those hangers! Our next trash day is Wednesday so there's still time to change my mind.

So, I'm near tears as I discard my treasure of hangers and Robin walks in with a look of shock on his face. When he found his voice, he said "where's my wife and what have you done with her?" Yes, he knows me well.

Sophia Renee

Our precious little Sophia Renee (Renee after her Aunt Angela Renee) arrived today and was greeted by many happy family members. She weighs 8 pounds, 4 ounces, and is 20 inches long. She doesn't have much hair but it's a light brown and could turn blond like her brother, Jude's. She's a very beautiful baby and I'm not just saying that because I'm her Memaw. She's just perfect.

Big sister, Baylee (that sounds so strange!), kept asking if she could "pet Sophia". Jude gave her lots of kisses, but his main concern was caring for his Mama. He looked very important in his "Big Brother" T-shirt. Special visitors today included grandparents Jerry & Sharon, great-grandparents John & Bobbie, Uncle Ron and Thomas. Sophia met a lot of family today. Of course, Memaw and Papa were on hand too.

What a blessing to welcome my 8th grandchild and I thank God for all the wonderful children and grandchildren in my life.

Allison is doing very well other than low blood pressure. She's on cloud nine as she holds her little girl. Proud Daddy Brian is wearing a big smile too. Welcome to our growing family, Sophia. We love you!

Finally - Cruise Pictures

These are random shots taken on our cruise. Our room (and public places too) was cold and I had to buy a zippered sweat-jacket with a hood, which I didn't wear except this once when I heard Patty coming out of the bathroom and I wanted a laugh from her. I got it. Another picture is an embarrassing shot of one of our room service trays. Yes, it was just the two of us in the room! But, hey, we were on vacation. The picture of me with the statue was taken in the Cayman Islands and don't ask me what it means.

Book Signing Party!

My wonderful neighbors hosted a book signing party for me this morning. I felt so honored. The table was beauitful and they used my books to decorate the table and other surfaces throughout the house. It touched me deeply when I walked in this morning and saw it all. They did a wonderful job! We were served a breakfast casserole, pumpkin bread, banana nut bread, crackers with cream cheese covered in jalepeno jelly, coffee, and mimosas for those who like a little champayne with their orange juice. It was the perfect table.

I sold 49 books! That was very exciting for me. Several bought more than one set to be used as Christmas gifts. And I met many new friends and got to visit with old friends. I was so happy that my sister drove from Oklahoma to attend. The morning was a huge success and I am so grateful to the lovely ladies who made it possible.

The pictures include one of the beautiful table, a deliciously cute one of my sister, Donna, and me with my lovely hostesses Jean, Yvonne, and Barbara. It was a day to remember and one I will cherish always.

How Big is Your Pumpkin?

Halloween isn't complete without a costume. My daughter, who is scheduled for a C-section in one week, decided to dress as a pumpkin. The shape was there, all she needed was body paint. She's pretty artistic for a tired pregnant woman caring for two pre-schoolers! Happy Halloween everyone!

Soccer Champ!

It's fun watching four-year-olds play soccer. This was Jude's final game for the season and I finally got to see him play. Kids this age are either into the game or just enjoying being with other team members. Jude fits into the latter. While the kids were kicking the ball, Jude might be seen examining a cluster of pine needles or holding hands with teammate Colton. A few times he yelled up to us in the bleachers, once saying "I love you, Memaw." I don't expect to hear that from the field when he graduates to the varsity team.

At the end of the game all players received a trophy. Jude was thrilled to get his and proudly showed it off to us. Baylee wanted the trophy for herself and I don't doubt that she will get one some day. As you can see from the picture, she had fun playing soccer with Papa.

We cheered for Jude when he kicked the ball out of bounds or any other time when his foot accidently made contact with the soccer ball. He was there to have fun, to enjoy seeing his parents and grandparents there for him, and play with the kids. No one expected pro soccer skills from kids so young and all were there to have a good time.

After the awards ceremony, we went to Spaghetti Warehouse to eat. Jude even announced our plans on the field when he was supposed to be chasing the ball. What a comic and what fun we had with him and his family today. You're the champ, Jude!

Cruise Pics Coming Soon

Patty and I had a wonderful time on our cruise, even though we didn't do much. It was two weeks after my surgery when we boarded the ship and I found that I tired very easily. No nightly shows for us, no fancy dining, but plenty of room service and pampering. We rested, read books, and relaxed on the balcony. We even missed the lifejacket drill! I was worn out and got into bed, then the announcement came that ALL should report to their muster station with lifejackets in tow. We dismissed it, thinking we could get away with breaking the necessary, but boring, rule. Our cabin steward unlocked our door and walked in, thinking the room would be empty. He promised to keep our secret.

My bed was next to a large window with a perfect view of the ocean. Especially beautiful, was the night when the moon was shining, making a sparkling path in the water. I took many naps facing that window.

Patty and I managed to visit all three ports on our cruise. We found some good shopping deals in Jamaica, avoided the sting ray swim in the Cayman Islands, and shopped too much in Cozumel that we hired a horse and buggy to take us back to the pier. Even though I was wearing my corsett, my guts felt like they were falling out. It was back to the ship and back to bed for me.

We always sample all the perfume on the ship and in port. We came home with four new bottles to add to our vast collections. I'm running out of room and need to buy a hutch to hold them all.

I brought my camera on the cruise but never felt like taking pictures. Patty did and will get them to me as soon as she can and I will post them.

I plan to return to work full time next week, which will be five weeks since the surgery. I'm still sore inside and out, and tire easily, but I think I can manage sitting at my desk. I'll miss the daily naps that Dr. Robin insists that I take. I owe that guy a fabulous vacation very soon!