Something's Fishy

It's been a doggy kind of week. In addition to our pomeranian, Frankie, our son and dil and their three kids, we also had as guests Oreo the Boston terrier, and Gracie the pug mix. Remember, we live in our RV, so things sometimes seemed....well....just a bit crowded.
Last night I was making barbecue brisket sandwiches for supper, and noticed....ummmm.......an odor.
Not a pleasant odor.
Not rose petals.
Not the wild honeysuckle that grows between our place and our neighbors.
Not the doggy odor of three wet dogs---well, yes, that too, but something else......
Some indefinable odor....
An unpleasant odor.
A bad odor.
A really bad odor.

So, being a mama and grandma, I asked if anyone had forgotten to flush the commode.
Or stepped in doggy poo, of which we had an abundance, especially since the canine trio are expert panhandler, and (especially Gracie the pug) pros at the sad, deprived, starving expression that elicits hot dog bits, stray chips, and all kinds of other non-doggy treats from gullible humans (naming no names, to protect the guilty).

It wasn't stinky sneakers.
Not damp towels that had been used again and again over three or four days.
Not something in the trash, since the trash had been taken out earlier.

It smelled like dead fish.

That's exactly what it was.

One of the dogs had found a dead catfish in the shore, and of course did what dogs do--she rolled in it. Apparently several times.

Unfortunately, baby shampoo, which is what I bathe Frankie with, does not take away eau de dead catfish.

Neither does lemon juice.

Or Febreze.

You just end up with a combination of flowers, dead fish, and a hint of citrus.

Not exactly the home fragrance one dreams about.

Poor Gracie. All those baths, and she still stunk.

But she still has those gorgeous eyes that just melt your heart.

(Note: I tried numerous times to upload a picture of a Boston terrier, but for some reason it just didn't work right. Sorry, Oreo.)

Thursday thirteen--What's Been Happening This Week

1. Son Scott and two of his kids, Buddy and Sunshine, have been with us at the lake.
2. We have gone out in the boat.
3. We have been swimming.
4. We have been smoking---no, no, not that kind of smoking--cooking brisket and chicken in the smoker.
5. Scott has stacked up firewood, picked up all the kindling, and raked the dead leaves and burned them. Yay!
6. The washer and dryer have been on double duty this week.
8. I did actually hang three loads of laundry today.
9. Then it actually rained, so the clothes on the line may be a little moldy by tomorrow.
10. Gracie the pug mix and Oreo the Boston terrier and Frankie the pom have learned to share the couch, and sleep in an untidy bundle. They all snore.
11. Wick and Scott cleared the brush around the storage barn, and it looks much better.
12. I got hit in the head by the boat canopy bar, the kitchen cabinet, and by falling over in a lawn chair, but I didn't spill my grape cooler.
13. Pie and her soccer team won their regionals, and will be going to nationals in Iowa!

Thursday thirteen bonus points:

14. Watching the kids blow up fireworks last night.
15. Snuggling with Sunshine on the couch under a quilt while watching a family friendly movie.
16. Having time to talk, at leisure, about trivialities and about heart thoughts.
17. Weather in the 80s during the first week in July!
18. Instead of 100-105!
19. Scott's home made peach ice cream--yummmmmm!
20. Chicken salad made from the leftover smoked chicken--also yum.
21. God is giving me peace about the fact that we neither have jobs yet for this fall.
22. Did I mention rain? The lake is low again, so we are hoping for a downpour tonight, and then sunshine tomorrow.

Wednesday Works for Me--Another use for Zip Bags

Last week I talked about using zip bags for packing daily changes of clothing.
Another good use for these little bags is when picnicing.
I saturate several wash cloths, fold into quarters, and pop each into a sandwich size baggie. Then I drop them into the cooler.
They are great for wiping sticky hands and faces.
If someone falls down, that frozen washcloth makes a great mini-ice pack, flexible, and not too lumpy if you need to lie on it (for bumps on the head).
And they are re-usable, unlike packaged wipes. After a few hours, the cooler ice will have melted, so there is some water in the bottom. Rinse out the washcloth in the cool water, and reuse.
I keep my oldest raggediest washcloths for this purpose.
And you can rinse out the baggies, let them dry, and reuse--just be sure you rinse well, because soapy residue, although it may not be visible, will certainly affect the taste of your sandwiches.

Works for me.

Knockin' My Noggin

You know, sometimes God just has to knock me upside my head to get my attention. This time, it was more than once.
A couple of days ago, we took our son and two of his kids out in the boat to swim in the middle of the lake, away from the jetskiers who love to zoom through our little cove because there are no snags or trees there.
My darling put up the canopy so I wouldn't get burned, and off we went with an armload of towels and a cooler full of drinks. We anchored in deep cool water, and everone jumped in. Within twenty minutes the wind blew up hard, the waves were whitecapping, and the sky was dark. So we headed back to the dock.
We were within sight of the dock when WHAM! One of the canopy straps broke, and the metal bar fell on my head.
Ouch.
Next day, I was cleaning out the cabinet under the sink. I found that about half a bottle of dish detergent had leaked out and turned into a kind of goopy paste, we had both paper plates and paper bowls that I had thought were used up, and a small electric grill that I had completely forgotten we had was hiding way at the back of the cabinet.
I raised up to get a rag out of the sink to clean up the goopy soap stuff, and banged my head on the top of the cabinet.
That smarted.
Then, yesterday afternoon, we were sitting out in the yard talking, while son tended the smoker, on which were cooking a big brisket and a juicy chicken, which meant I would not have to cook for two or three days. I was sitting in one of those molde plastic chairs,on a slope, in soft ground (sandy soil), and husband had just handed me a cold frosty wine cooler, when I felt the downhill legs of my chair start to sink into the ground.
It was like a cartoon, slow motion fall. Very slow, but without time to catch myself, jump out of the chair, or even yell "help". I smacked my head again, scraped up my arm and leg, and now have a purple knot on my other knee.
At least I didn't spill the grape cooler.
so that is three times in three days.
Three bumps on the head.
How does this have anything to do with God?
Well. Last night I was squeegeeing the shower, thinking about putting in a load of laundry, and wondering in the dim misty back part of my mind why we still haven't found teaching jobs for the fall.
Suddenly, plain as anything, I heard Him say, "The place is not prepared yet."
Wow.
Oh. My.Word
God speaking to me in the shower, stark nekkid, thinking about laundry and cleaning the shower walls. Is that sacriligious? I don't even know how to spell that.
Wick and I agreed when we resigned that we no longer belonged at the place we were last school year. We agreed that God had some other place in mind for us, plans for us to accomplish something for him somewhere else.
Why hasn't He showed us yet where?
"The place is not prepared yet."
Okay, God, you have my attention.
Just as surely as if You had knocked me upside the head.
Prepare us.
Prepare the place.
We're waiting.

Trailer Trash with PinkFlamingos

Ever since we lived in our Airstream after our house burned, (see Adventures in Camping below), daughter Jeana has jokingly (at least I think she is joking) referred to us as trailer trash. And since we now live in our RV, it's sort of true. And if you are trailer trash, you just gotta have pink flamingos . Ooops, no, not live flamingos, pink plastic flamingos.

It all started at a school Christmas party, with a Chinese gift exchange. My darling thought the pink flamingos were cool, and we needed to put them in our yard.

Jeana was ...ummmm.....shall I say, not impressed? But my sister and her husband made them into one of the best jokes we ever experienced.

First, we came home from church one Sunday to find the yard full of baby flamingos, miniatures of the original pair.

Then, suddenly, one of the original pair disappeared. We finally got a note from Pinks, explaining that he had been kidnapped--birdnapped?--and he sent us monthly notes about his travels. With pictures.

One in a hay barn. One where he was in danger of being herded by a sheep dog. His mate, Flossy, seemed very quiet, but she took his disappearance fairly philosophically. she didn't seem all that much happier when he reappeared as suddenly as he had vanished.

Then, on one of our trips to Louisiana, we found a life size wooden flamingo at a flea market. We just had to bring him home, and give him a position of pride on our hearth.

Every time Jeana came over, she moved the flamingo to the patio, next to the hot tub, saying that flamingos need to be near water. As soon as she left, my sweetheart moved the flamingo back to the hearth.

Now that we live in our RV full time, we have no place to put the big flamingo, but the original pair are still dispayed in our yard. Along with flamingo string lights. And a flamingo ring toss game. And I also got a flamingo picture frame from daughter Jamie, for one of the pictures of Pinks on his travels.

Hmmmm. Maybe we could coat the wooden flamingo with spar varnish, and mount him on the boat dock.

That might really send Jeana into spasms of decorating joy.

or maybe not.

The Wall

While we were in Branson a couple of weeks ago, we had the opportunity to visit the traveling Viet Nam Memorial. It is a replica of the "Wall" on which the names of soldiers who died in Viet Nam are recorded.
A close friend of mine, David McClelland, is named on that wall. He and I grew up in the same neighborhood, just a few houses apart. We went swimming together, played touch football in our front yard, went to high school together.....Dave was my friend, and a Marine, and he died at the age of twenty, on patrol, along with everyone else in his patrol. His body was not recovered for more than six weeks.
Danny Robinett was my husband's friend. I never met Danny, but I watched as my husband traced Danny's name on that wall.
I cried. So did he.

A kind lady who was working as a volunteer hugged me and wiped my tears. She said she travels with the memorial, and every time she helps put the wall up or take it down, she cries.

We cry for the friends who never came home. The young men who never saw their babies. The sons whose mothers still mourn, whose fathers hide their tears in the dark nights. The brothers, sons, fathers, who are frozen in our memories, forever young, forever brave, forever at the edges of our thoughts, forever in our hearts.
Tuesday is the fourth of July, the day we celebrate our independence. It is a holiday, and many people will be having picnics, going camping, shooting fireworks. I hope you all have a great day.
But I also hope that you will take a moment to remember those who bought our freedom with their blood, who believed that there are things worth dying for, who await us on that farther shore when the circle is complete again, and there will be no sorrow or crying, only rejoicing.

If you know a veteran, give him--or her--a hug.
And thank God that they made it home.

Thursday Thirteen--Packing for a Trip

If you have ever had your child walk out the door wearing an orange and pink t-shirt, with red plaid pants, and one blue sock and one yellow sock, today's post is for you.
1. Get a box of gallon-size zip bags.
2. Pick out a shirt, shorts, and socks that match.
3. Lay the shirt on the table.
4. Fold up the shorts.
5. Put the shorts, a pair of undies, and a pair of socks on the shirt.
6. Fold the shirt around the aforementioned garments.
7. Insert the resulting bundle in one of the zip bags.
8. Repeat, until you have a number of outfits bagged that corresponds to the number of days you plan to be gone.
9. Repeat at least twice more, to allow for extra changes of clothes.
10. Every day of your trip, hand a bag to your child, and put his/her dirty clothes in the empty bag.
11. When you get home, the dirty clothes will not have had the opportunity to odorize your remaining clean clothes (if any), or your suitcase.
12. If your husband has ever turned your suitcase inside out looking for his clothes, undies, socks, razor, etc., make a set of baggies for him too.
13. And if you, like me, have trouble coordinating an outfit in the dark (because you don't want to turn on the light and wake up the kids) after only two hours sleep (because one of your kids threw up all over you, the bed, and the floor during the night), make a set of baggies for yourself.

Enjoy your trip.

P. S. If you (like me) are too cheap to buy the baggies, Wal-mart bags work equally well, except that once you put dirty clothes in them, you need to tie a tight knot to keep the scent confined to the bag, and not all over your remaining clean clothes.

Adventures in Camping--A Cautionary Tale

We've been camping all our lives. Sleeping on the ground, on picnic tables, in the car, in the bed of a pickup. In a home made camper. In a tent. Then we graduated to a pop-up tent trailer. Wow. Semi-real beds. A three burner stove. A Porta-potty, instead of hiking into the woods, or up to the shower house. And because my darling hates being hot, especially when he is trying to sleep, he installed a little air conditioner. We thought we were up town.

Then we got a little more ambitious, and bought an Airstream.

32 feet long, great condition for a 30 year old trailer, and we loved it. Well, that is, until our house burned and we spent 6 months living in it. Then, not so much.
But we kept it, and eventually lived in it again for about 3 months, when we moved and hadn't found a house yet.
Then we sold it.
Later on, we wished we hadn't, despite the fact that we had no place to park it, and would have paid its purchase price many times over, if we had paid to rent storage space for it.
Then we discovered full-timing.
In case you haven't heard, there are people who live in their RVs. Full time.
No house.
My sweetheart decided that would be very cool. So we gave our most treasured heirlooms (the stuff I couldn't bear to actually give to Goodwill, and probably no one else would want it except our kids, who grew up with these things, and so have a sentimental attachment) to our children, kept the things we thought we might need again someday if we ever decided to have a house again, and bought a fifth-wheel.
The first one was an Alfa Gold, which had been top of the line some twenty years before we acquired it. We loved it. It had lots of storage space, we could manage to make beds for the kids and grandbabies, and we could go anywhere we wanted to during our holidays and summers.
Then one weekend we were staying at a KOA which just happened to be right next to an RV dealer. We had nothing better to do one afternoon, so we walked over and looked at some of the new trailers.
Wow.
I mean.
Oh. My. Word.
Very posh.
Then we talked to a salesman, just to be polite, and went back to our (now) shabby Alfa (by comparison to the new ones). Later that day, the salesman came to tell us that he had a great deal, an unbelieveable deal, a deal we just couldn't turn down, on a brand-new Big Sky Montana. One something like this.
It was a great deal.
We didn't turn it down.
We lived in the Montana for about a year and a half, and it was great.
Then we started talking to people with motor homes. Those are the great huge bus-like vehicles you see going down the highway pulling a little car behind.
They have automatic steps that go out when you open the door, and retract when you close the door.
They have a sensor that knows when you have too many appliances plugged in and going at once, and it takes things off-line until the load is reduced, instead of blowing fuses.
They have humongous, ginormous (relatively speaking) refrigerators.
They have leather covered couches that electronically make into beds.
They have convection ovens.
Real showers, that my beloved can stand up straight in (saying that I can stand up straight in one is a given, since I am 5'2 1/2 " tall). (If I stand up really straight).
Leather recliners.
Leather seats that recline, swivel, and tilt.
Black-out shades in the bedroom.
A washer and dryer, all in one, about the size of a dishwasher.
So we went to an RV show.
We shopped.
We compared.
We talked.
We talked some more.
We decided that we wanted a motor home. And since we were planning to retire in a few years, let's go on and get it, and pay it off before we retire. After all, this is our home. We will be able to live in it, travel in it, take it when we go to see the kids, and still sleep in our own bed.
Since this was going to be our home, we wanted good quality.
Dependability.
Reliability.
The best service record.
The industry standard. One like this.
So we bought it. Brand new. Straight from the factory, to our specifications.
In 17 months, and less than 14,000 miles, our dream machine was in the shop 38 days. What kinds of problems, you ask?
Well.
The air conditioner. More than once.
The water heater. More than once.
The engine. More than once.
The dash lights--you know, the little gadgets that tell you how fast you are going, downhill, on a mountain road in Yellowstone.
Those black-out shades I mentioned? It turns out that they had something like cotton thread holding them together, and it frays. Quickly. On every shade that you actually put up and down more than a couple of times.
Last summer, we were on our way to Oklahoma City. We almost made it to Ardmore. The engine overheated, and a number of other things that I didn't understand at the time, and can't explain to you now. This jewel is so enormous that it takes a special kind of tow truck to haul it, and they had to bring one from Ok. City to rescue us.
Oh and the "toad"--the jeep we were pulling--earped its guts about half an hour later, as we were following the tow truck to OK. City.
Instead of a fun camping trip with my dearest's brother and family, we spent 13 days hanging out at their house, and they were gracious enough to invite us back again this year. Now that is family.
Then when Freightliner finally told us it was ready, and we picked it up, we discovered that the refrigerator was out, so we went from that service center to one in Tyler, just a few miles from our lake lot where we live. There went another three days.
This year, we decided to take a shorter trip, just to Lake Texoma, only about 100 miles away. Yep, you guessed it. Three trips to the RV service center, about 20 miles from where we were camped, to try to get the refrigerator fixed. Again.
Then another three days this week. To get the refrigerator fixed. Again.
At the moment, it is working, knock on wood. But when it went bonkers, somehow the electrical system, or the inverter, or some kind of doodad, also went nuts, and smoked the brand new Dish tv box, and the Sony tv.
Yes, smoked.
As in where there is smoke, there is fire.
So now we have another appointment with the Tyler RV service people for the week after July 4th.
We also have a lawsuit pending against the dealer who sold us the RV, the manufacturer of the RV, and the company who built the chassis.
The moral of my story?
Camping is fun.
Having a nice camper/trailer/fifth wheel is great.
Just don't let your reach exeed your grasp.
We plan to go back to a fifth wheel as soon as possible.
And I promise not to look at any more RVs.
Promise.
Cross my heart.

Father's Day Thoughts

I've been thinking today about fathers in my life. My own father has gone on to his reward, and I have shared memories about him here before. When he passed away, my father-in-law (Papaw) hugged me close, and said, "You're not fatherless. As long as I'm alive, you still have a daddy." But these two men, precious and dear as they are to me, are not the only fathers I have known.

Uncle Jim taught me a little bit about earning an honest dollar, hauling hay.

Uncle Hardy taught me the consequences of throwing pear cores at his old sow who had a litter of piglets and a terrible temper.

Uncle Grady taught us that jumping off the dock into a floating inner tube was not likely to be successful, but he let us try it any way.

Uncle J.P. played Grandpa's fiddle for us.

My daddy told me about his daddy, the farmer/preacher, and his twelve kids.

My grandmother told me about my granddaddy, who tied a rope to the churn handle and the other end to the porch swing so he could rock the twins to sleep while he churned.

Our sons, at play with our grandchildren, let us relive our own babies' little growin'.

My husband and our son prayed at the altar this morning during church.

I held hands with my husband, the father of our children, as we watched our grandson's baptism this morning.

Being a daddy is hard sometimes, especially when a child seems determined to take a wrong turning, and daddy has to watch his child stray.

Being a daddy is wonderful, especially when grown up children call home just to say Happy Father's Day.

So many men. So many different ways of fathering. Each an echo, a reflection, of our heavenly Father's love.

Papaw was right. I will never be fatherless, because the dear God and Father of us all is my father too.

Family Weekend

Last weekend we, our kids, and their kids, plus a few extras, and a few cousins, rented a place for a couple of days. It is next to a small lake, with a dock, a good place for the kids to swim, a covered picnic area, and plenty of air conditioned space for the heat of the day.

Imagine about 20 people spending a long weekend together, with no squabbling, no accidents, and no problems--no, no, that's not us--well, the squabbles were minor, the accidents involved skinned knees and splinters in toes, and one of the worst problems was that we were responsible for the biscuits for Sunday breakfast, and we forgot.

Other than that, what a fun time. Great food, time to rock and visit at leisure, board games, water guns, a huge round tube which did duty as a sunning spot for Mimi and the mommys, a diving platform for the little'ns, and a whirlpool/hurricane/vortex/ship rocking in a big storm.

Emma the golden retriever swam until she was puffing like a steam engine and had to be taken to the steps so she could catch her breath. Frankie the pom and Gizmo the cat had words at length. Several times. Poor Twitter cat hid in the corner of the couch, and tried to pretend he was invisible.

We ate Daddy Jack's watermelon right out of the rind, with no utensils, and washed the dripping juice off in the lake. He also brought us fresh tomatoes right off the vine. We ate barbecue, ham, turkey, sandwiches, bacon and eggs and gravy. We also consumed a chocolate cake, about 6 batches of cookies (snickerdoodles, oatmeal chocolate chip, peanut butter with kisses in the center), chips, cokes, sandwiches, and gallons of water.

We got a little sunburned, stayed up too late, took naps, and kissed and hugged the grandbabies. And each other.

We talked. We laughed. We prayed.

None of us wanted to leave.

And we can't wait to do it again.

A Cul-de-Sac No More!

Thanks to daughter Jeana at Days to Come, I now have sidebar links! When Carol at She Lives said that a blog with no links is like a cul-de-sac, or a dead end, I knew she was talking about me. So Jeana very generously volunteered to spend a couple of hours walking me through the process of putting links into my posts, and creating a list of favorite blogs in my sidebar. Now my blog is a dead end no longer!

Once you get here, if you don't like it, or just want to go elsewhere, and see who I read regularly, you can just click on the list in the sidebar, and take off somewhere else.

Yeah, I know, to those of you who have long ago mastered these skills and many others I have yet to attempt, this is old news. But for me it is a very exciting step!

And since Ron and Nikky got me my very own copy of Blogging for Dummies, there is no telling what I might learn to do--maybe even learn to insert a picture, like this one of Jeana's daddy.

If you read me regularly, and I don't have you in my list yet, let me know if you want to be added. I can do it!

Funy thing, though, the thought that keeps running through my head is, "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing."

Blogging Q & A

Carol at She Lives has some questions about blogging habits.

-- How do find the blogs you read regularly? Through other bloggers' recommendations? Their sidebar links? Search engines? Through comments left on your blog? Something else?

Most of the blogs I read regularly are either blogs daughter Jeana tells me about, or comments left on my blog. I sometimes explore sidebar links, but I never do search engines because too much undesirable stuff turns up that way.

-- When you leave a comment, do you frequently return to that post to check for the author's response?
Not always, but frequently.

-- What types of situations might cause you to stop reading a blog that you once enjoyed?

Too much controversy, bitterness, personal attacks, or "adult" language or topics.

-- How much personal privacy do you try to maintain when posting on your own blog? Everything that might identify you to a friend or neighbor? Only demographic data? Only children's information? Something else?

I try to avoid giving too much personal information about my family or friends, or saying anything that would be too embarrassing--at least I ask first.

-- What are your thoughts about encouraging offline friends to read your blog?

I encourage family members to read my blog, even if they are not bloggers. Most of my friends are family. (We are a laaaarge family)

-- What criteria do you look for in the blogs you enjoy reading? Or perhaps I should ask, what factors do your favorite blogs all have in common?

Hmmm. Most are Christians. Most are mommies. Most are funny, at least most of the time, even though I do enjoy the serious posts too.

-- Are there any blogs you read on a regular basis in which the author frequently expresses beliefs or opinions that completely contradict your own?

No.

-- If you disagree with a blogger do you usually voice your perspective so they can see things from a different angle, or just ignore theirs and click away? Does the size of the person's readership influence this for you?

If I think the person is open to hearing another perspective, yes, I will either leave a comment or send an e-mail. No, I don't think about who else reads the blog.

-- Do you read and/or post on Saturdays and Sundays? Or are you predominantly at M-F blogger?

Yes. Well. Actually, I blog whenever I get the chance, which is whenever my loved one is not on line. I have broached the idea of getting another lap top, but that suggestion was met with less than enthusiastic reception.

During the school year, I probably spend more time blogging on Saturdays and Sundays than weekdays, but read more blogs during the week than on weekends.

I thought I had run out of stuff to say about blogging, but Carol's questions got me going again. Thanks, Carol, for suggesting a week of blogging about blogging.

So......what are we writing about next week?

Thursday Thirteen--Blogging: Love/Hate

I'm just about at the end of my week of blogging about blogging. I've written more than 50 posts now, and visited quite a few other blogs. I've come to the conclusion that it is a love/hate relationship.

1. I love to write, and blogging sort of nudges me into writing more regularly.

2. I hate it when blogspot is contrary, and I can't even get to the posting page.

3. I love reading what other people have written.

4. I hate it when I enjoy someone's post, but can't think of anything to leave in comments.

5. I love the discussions that get started.

6. I hate the anger and bitterness that is sometimes revealed.

7. I love hearing people's stories.

8. I hate sad endings.

9. I love it that so few of the blog stories end unhappily--despite great challenges and difficulties, most end with an expression of faith in God.

10. I hate it when I know what I want to say, but feel that what I said is not what I meant.

11. I love looking at the pictures, graphics, and beautiful designs on other blogs.

12. I hate it that I am having such a difficult time learning to do the things I want to do.

13. I love the people who blog; I love the ones I visit, frequently or infrequently; I love the ones who visit my blog, and especially the ones who leave comments and links to their sites; I love the sense of community I see among bloggers who take the time to get to know each other, and support each other in hard times, and share the joy.

I hope this is the end of the week of blogging, since I have pretty much said all I have to say about blogging, at least for this week.

Works for Me Wednesday--Newspaper and Tupperware

Well, not just Tupperware. Rubbermaid, or any of those plastic, tightly sealing containers that sometimes hold smells. Stinky smells like tuna. Or onion.

That stuff is too expensive to throw it away, just because it retains an odor. But who wants to put strawberries in a bowl that still smells like cocktail shrimp?

The answer is newspaper. Yeah, that pile of paper you usually use for the bottom of the bird cage, or shred for the ferrets, or start campfires with. It also absorbs odors.

Just wad up a piece, put it in the bowl, and seal the lid. Let it set over night. Next morning, the smell will be gone.

You can also use it for damp, stinky sneakers. Stuff newspaper down into the shoes and leave overnight.

Newspapers will absorb most any kind of odor.

Hmmmm......do you reckon that is why guys read in the bathroom?

Works for me.

A Week of Blogging 4

Once again, my idea for today comes from another blogger, Gibbe at Kisses of Sunshine. She posted a link to an article, A Model of Faith. (Once more, I bemoan my inability to make links work properly--sorry).

The article poses some interesting questions about what being a Christian means in our modern world, and how we represent our faith to others.

One of the things I have noticed since I started blogging is that very few people comment when I post about a serious subject and treat it seriously.

Most of the comments are in response to lighter, more humourous posts.

So where does my faith enter into my blogging life? I comment on other blogs. I notice when someone expresses a concern, and either leave a comment or send an e-mail. People seem to be more comfortable (in general) talking about very personal concerns in private, not on the public blog page. I offer to pray, express my sympathy or concern, ask what I can do to help.

My own response to the "in your face" style of faith presentation is usually to back away. I have a strong sense of my own "personal space" and I don't like being backed into a corner and preached at or yelled at.

So I try not to do it to others. (My own kids will tell you different--they think I am prone to preach to them at the drop of a hat. I maintain that it is a mama's right/responsibility to preach to her kids at any time, on any subject, once they get too big/too old to spank).

Yesterday I read about the Roe v. Wade lady, Miss McCorvey, and her eventual transformation and acceptance of Christ. I noticed that it did not come from her interactions with the "in your face" protesters, but in quiet, personal interactions through which she saw Christ and His love reflected in the day-to-day lives of ordinary Christians.

The opinions I have expressed here are my own, and not meant to be critical of anyone who believes or behaves differently. Each person has to find her/his own way of living personal faith, and those expressions are, I think, usually a reflection of who the believer is, and how that person came to accept Christ.

I don't consider myself the model. I am just a dim reflection of the Christ I worship, the God who created me, the Holy Spirit who seeks to inform and infuse me.

Some days, dimmer than others.

Week of Blogging 3--Blog Problems

Okay here are two problems I have with blogging, and any suggestions or help will be appreciated.

First, what is up with blogspot lately? I try to create a post, and sit here for 30 minutes waiting to get to the dashboard. Then I get to the dashboard, and click on the little plus sign thingy, and nothing happens. Nothing. My little flag doesn't wave, the little green squares don't appear, nothing. Oh, wait, there, my cursor has turned into an hour glass. And for the next hour, I sit staring at the hour glass, waiting. Finally, I press control/alt/delete, and still nothing happens. Gahhhh. I can't even close it down!

Finally I manage to close everything down, restart the computer, reconnect to the web, get back to blogspot, find dashboard, start typing, and nothing appears in the box. I'm typing like crazy, but nothing is appearing.

So I highlight, start to hit delete, and suddenly, one letter at a time, the words start to appear. It's kind of like watching a Polaroid picture develop. Okay, so that little blip seems to have resolved itself. For the moment, at least.

The other problem is my darling husband. He has discovered Freerepublic, a group of like-minded political junkies, rock-ribbed conservatives who love to argue, and the occasional bleeding-heart liberal who really raised their hackles and gets the party started. The discussions are interminable. Endless. Perpetual. Constant. Ongoing. Forever. And all of this discussion is seriously cutting into my computer time. How can I check my e-mail, read my favorite blogs, and post to my own blog, if HE is using the computer all the time?

My goodness, Lauren and Jeana posted about a blogger gathering in DFW this fall, and I didn't even know about it until she called me on the phone. She had to call me on the telephone, because my beloved has been sitting in front of the laptop like a broody hen all day long.

Well, except for when we went to town so he could get his driver's license renewed, and he also took me to the movies, to see X-Men III.

But other than that, he was using the computer. Jeana suggested I ask for a laptop for my birthday, but the one we have takes up more than half our kitchen table already, so even if I got one, where would I put it?

Laptop is such a misnomer. It gets too bloomin' hot to hold in your lap. And too heavy to hold in my arms.

So if, by chance, a couple of days go by, and I don't blog, you know why. Dear husband is solving the problems of the world on Freerepublic.

So go by there and tell him to get off the computer, so I can get on it. Just don't tell him I sent you.

A Week of Blogging 2

One of the things I love about blogging is how what I read on other blogs starts a train of thought that I can then expand on here.

For example, Lauren at Created for His Glory mentioned a new word she learned (which I promptly forgot), which means slick and hairless. That got me to thinking about hair.

Have you ever noticed that hair distribution changes as we age? For example, look at old men with those hedgerow eyebrows, nose whiskers, and a thicket growing out of each ear, but bald as an egg on top of their heads.

As for myself, I notice that I have much less hair on my legs to shave these days, and what little is still there is the soft blonde fuzz I used to have as a child. The hair on my arms, which was always blonde, is gradually disappearing too.

And my eyebrows. I used to have eyebrows like Alli McGraw. Now they are thin, turning sort of greyish blonde, and I actually have a sort of missing spot in the left one, where some three or four hairs have taken a permanent leave of absence, while about 3 hairs in the arch of the right brow have decided to stand straight up like Alfalfa's "personality".

The worst development is the hairs that now sprout from my chin. Long hairs. Some of them are black. So my hair is turning grey, my eyebrows are disappearing, and I am growing a beard.

So I don't have to shave my legs much, or pluck my eyebrows, which gives me more time to pluck my chin hairs.

By the time I am sixty, I am going to be a thing of beauty. Or at least an object of curiosity.

Wonder if I could get the hairs from my chin transplanted to my eyebrows?

A Week of Blogging

Carol at She Lives suggested blogging for a week about blogging. We aren't supposed to start until tomorrow, but I thought I would get started today, since it is on my mind.

I love reading other people's blogs. So many different subjects, personalities, ideaas, to say nothing of the designs of their sites. Wow! So many colors, designs, pictures, graphics--it's enough to make me really depressed about my obvious lack of ideas and abilities.

Daughter Jeana at Days to Come helps me when she has time, and she is very gracious about it. But it would be such a pleasure to be able to insert links without wiping out my whole entry, or put a picture in my sidebar. Not to even mention adding a family picture to my header.

Graphics. Oh my. I love graphics. Where do people find all these cool, appropriate, funny, or symbolic graphics?

Bloglines. I have tried about 16 times to do this, and just can not seem to get it right. I really am not a dummy--I have a college degree. I'm a teacher, even. But somehow, most of the fun stuff associated with blogging, other than just writing, is beyond my capabilities.

Sigh.

Where do I go to find the book Blogging for Dummies?

Adventures in T.V. Service

Okay, I admit it. My husband is a t.v. addict. He is also a political junkie. For these reasons, we must have satellite tv service. He turns on the tv when he gets up, and it has a timer to turn it off after he falls asleep at night. Fox News is our most watched channel.


So that is how we got involved in changing our satellite service.

The first thing that happened was that our little magic box went out. So of course we went to Best Buy and got another one.

Then we got an ad from a different service, telling us about all the cool electronic stuff they would give us for changing to them, and at a lower monthly charge than we were already paying. So of course we called to cancel one, and get the other.

Only...the first company said, oh you just got a new magic box, so you automatically got your contract extended for a year, and it is going to cost you megabucks to cancel.

Wick was not happy to hear this. In fact, he was downright ticked off. He said nobody told me that. Where is the signed contract saying that I agreed to that? The co. rep. said well, it's understood. Like a verbal contract. And Wick said,yeah, worth exactlyl the paper it is not written on!

We went ahead with the installation of the new service. The first guy who came out walked into the RV, took one look at all the wiring, boxes, buttons, etc., and started saying, Now what is this?
What is this for? How does this work? He was here about 45 minutes, but accomplished exactly nothing.

I'm thinking well, maybe we are going to have to make nice with our existing service, since this co. is not exactly off to a good start.

Apparently he decided the job was over his head, but instead of saying so, he finally said y'all are going to have to put up a new pole for the new dish. He then made a hurried exit.

Yesterday, a different guy, accompanied by his two young adult sons, showed up. He said no, you don't need a new pole, we can use the same one you have been using, and we will have you in business in no time.

We spent the afternoon pouring glasses of ice water for these New York boys who were sweating profusely on a day that for us Texans seemed mild and pleasant, while they ran wires, pushed buttons, rearranged all our little electronic boxes, and sure enough, about 3 hours later, we had our new service.

This thing not only lets Wick watch Fox News, and the History channel, and the Military channel; it also makes it possible for me to watch something different on the tv in the bedroom.

Remember, we live in our RV. Our bedroom is about the size of a king size bed. Fortunately, we have a queen size bed, so there is actually room to scoot sideways down the side of the bed to get into the bed, instead of having to dive onto the mattress head first from the doorway. Since there is no room for a chair, a stool, or even a floor pillow, reclining on the bed to watch tv is pretty much the only option, unless you like to watch tv standing up. This is not a choice I make very often.

But ifI do want to watch, say, Home & Garden tv, or How to Decorate Small Spaces, I can.

AND.... we now have the equivalent of tivo, so if my darling needs to take a phone call, or go talk to our neighbor Bob about the latest egregious conduct of the far left liberals, he can pause live tv, take care of these important matters, and then take up right where he left off.

After all, we wouldn't want him to miss a single minute of the action on tv.

(He is going to read this, so I will add that he does cook, and has accomplished several little jobs around the place this week, so I am not really complaining about how much tv he watches. :) )

Now, if only he could arrange to have tv service on the boat whilel he fishes.....

Party!!

For the first time, I have experienced a traffic jam in the blogosphere! I've been trying to post for nearly an hour now, because we are celebrating!!!
MomRN2's baby girl is home, and the many many prayers that have gone up for her and mom have been answered. Praise God, our merciful and loving heavenly Father!!

Thursday Thirteen--Summer Stuff

Things I hope to accomplish before the end of summer:
1. Getting to sleep as late as I want (only I still wake up about 5:30 or 6:00)
2. Savoring and lingering over my coffee in the morning.
3. Wearing whatever is clean and goes together reasonably (read: denim shorts and any t-shirt or sleeveless top), instead of having to look "professional".
4. Hanging the sheets on the line in the sun and wind instead of leaving the dryer running as I rush out the door to work.
5. Falling asleep in sheets that smell like sunshine.
6. Reading mind candy ;)
7. Finishing the three crochet projects I already have started, and starting another.
8. Cooking at least twice a week, instead of depending on Wick to do it.
9. Having lots of company come to visit at the lake.
10. Sitting on the dock (which son Scott and DH Wick just roofed this weekend, so now I have shade all afternoon!)
11. Not having to worry about not sleeping well if I drink coffee late at night, because I don't have to get up early to go to work.
12. Cleaning out drawers and cabinets and sort out the junk drawer
13. Watching the birds, squirrels, ducks, cranes, herons, and listening to the plop of fish in the water, the wind in the trees, and the waves on the shore.

Works for Me Wednesday--Where Are My Keys?

For years I spent hours searching for my keys.

Searching for my purse.

Searching for the mail I just brought in.

For the mail I was supposed to take out.

Lost in my own house.

And the solution was so simple.

I put a swivel hook on my key ring. If the keys are not in the ignition, or in the door lock, they are hanging from the strap of my purse, so I don't have to dump out everything in my purse to find them. And they were always at the bottom of all the other vitally important junk in my purse.

Then I started putting my purse on a hook on the coat tree. Voila! Now I always know where my purse is! No more just setting it down wherever I happen to stop after I walk into the house, then searching all over the place because I can't remember where I set it down.

As for the mail....
well, nobody is perfect.

So get yourself a swivel hook for your key ring, and put a hook by the door to hang your purse on.
Works for me.

We Could Have Died!

After posting the story below (Memorial Day 2006), it suddenly occurred to me that we could have died!

What if one of us had fallen off?

What if the sled had run up underneath the pickup? We didn't have any brakes!

What if the rope had broken?

What if a car had come up from behind, and not seen us?

Of course, none of this occurred to us at the time. We were too busy having fun! These are thoughts I have now, as a mother and grandmother.

Back then, we played with metal lawn darts that were really sharp. We didn't have seat belts. We played outside all day, and nobody checked up on us or worried that we would run away, or be kidnapped.

We could have died!

We climbed fences. We played with stray cats. We picked up baby birds off the ground and tried to feed them bugs and worms. We had china toy dishes, not plastic. We cut paper with pointy scissors, and had a toy iron that actually got hot, and an Easy-bake oven with a light bulb that got hot enough to bake tiny little cakes.

We could have burned the house down!

When we got a spanking, it was with a peach tree limb, and we had to go pick the switch and bring it back for the spanking.

We could have had our self-esteem damaged!

We didn't have sidewalks, or organized sports, or play dates.

Nobody taught us socialization!

We brought stray dogs home and kept them, unless a neighbor came looking for them.

We could have died!!

Amazing, isn't it, that none of us are warped, sociopathic, infected with ringworm or rabies, antisocial, or ax murderers. As far as I know, anyway.

What a great childhood!

Memorial Day 2006

My brother and his family came to the lake for the weekend, and we spent a lot of time remembering. Our Daddy was a World War II veteran, with his share of problems after those experiences. He lied about his age, went into the National Guard at age 15, and when the unit was called up, he and his three older brothers went together.

There are many memories we would perhaps rather not think about, but many that still warm our hearts. One of my favorites is the year it snowed.

Really snowed.

In this part of Texas we don't usually get a lot of snow. And since we don't get snow often, we don't have much equipment for icy roads and snow accumulation. No winter boots, no ski pants or jackets, no sleds. So when it snowed, we were not really equipped for it. Daddy, being a carpenter, decided to build a sled.

It wasn't the kind you see in pictures, with steel runners, like a Flexible Flyer. It was made of wood. And since we had only one hill, which dead-ended into a rather busy street, we started out pushing each other along the icy street in front of our house. The wooden sled was heavy, and with the added weight of the kids, we struggled to make much headway.

Daddy came to the rescue again. He used a long rope to tie the sled to the bumper of his pickup, and loaded us onto the sled. He then put the pickup in gear, and without accelerating he generated enough speed to make us feel as if we were flying.

The only boots we had were rainboots, and Mama put two pairs of socks on us to help keep our feet warm. We didn't have wet-proof mittens either, so she put bread wrappers over our gloves to keep them dry. Daddy pulled up us and down the road all afternoon. We couldn't have been more excited if Santa's reindeer had been pulling our sled.

We felt like the luckiest kids in Texas that snowy day. A wooden sled, a yellow pickup truck, and a daddy who made wishes come true--kind of a strange memory, for a hot summer day on the lake, but then again, on a hot afternoon, remembering that sled, and making snow ice cream, felt pretty good.

Star Thrower

Have I ever told you the story of the Star Thrower?

It's been around a long time, but I still love it. I see it as a metaphor for what we do, teaching in a disciplinary program.
Here it is, if you don't already know it:

This short story now exists in hundreds of variations such as that below, based on one originally written by Loren Eisely and first published by Readers Digest in 1991. It illustrates the same principle in 1 Cor. 4-6: you are unique, and even apparently small things you do are of eternal significance.

I awoke early, as I often did, just before sunrise to walk by the ocean's edge and greet the new day. As I moved through the misty dawn, I focused on a faint, faraway movement. I saw a boy, bending and reaching and waving his arms – dancing on the beach, no doubt in celebration of the perfect day soon to begin.
As I approached, I sadly realized that he was not dancing, but rather bending to sift through the debris left by the night's tide, stopping now and then to pick up a starfish and then standing, to heave it back into the sea. I asked the boy the purpose of the effort. "The tide has washed the starfish onto the beach and they cannot return to the sea by themselves," he replied. "When the sun rises, they will die, unless I throw them back to the sea."
I looked at the vast expanse of beach, stretching in both directions. Starfish littered the shore in numbers beyond calculation. the hopelessness of the boys's plan became clear to me and I pointed out, "But there are more starfish on this beach than you can ever save before the sun is up. Surely you cannot expect to make a difference."
He paused briefly to consider my words, bent to pick up a starfish and threw it as far as possible. Turning to me he simply said, "I made a difference to that one."

Today was the last class day for this school year. My starfish are scattering in all directions. Some will go back to their home campus. Some will be back here when school starts next year, to finish their placement. A few will be sent here again eventually, because they are still not ready to live in the "real" world.

A very few, a handful, will stay in touch. I may get an e-mail, or a card or letter, maybe a clipping from the newspaper when someone graduates from boot camp and becomes a Marine, or a wedding invitation. Some just want to know, do you remember me?

Do I remember?

Yes. Oh yes. I remember. Because these notes, cards, calls, and clippings tell me that "I made a difference to that one."

Thursday Thirteen--weird blogging habits

Jeana asked for this, so here goes:

1. I read blogs first thing every morning as soon as I get to work.
2. I write directly, rather than into a word document, which would make so much more sense, because then I would not lose those brilliantly funny sketches that get lost in the blogosphere when I don't hit the right key to publish.
3. I laugh out loud when I am reading other blogs,
4. and then have to explain what was so funny to the other teachers who are looking at me as if I am a loon.
5. I just discovered yesterday that I can change the font and the size,
6. but I realllly wanted chocolate to be in massive, cursive, or gothic letters yesterday,
7. and none of the fonts available really showed my deep and abiding passion for chocolate.
8. Sometimes I have a lot of trouble staying on topic, and tend to wander off on rabbit trails,
9. but usually I remember in time what my point was (and I do usually have one), and get back to it before I run out of time or words.
10. I *love* comments!
11. Even if they all say the same thing, they are from different people, and it is soooo much fun to read what they say.
12. I am tryng to think of another blog about chocolate, since that one generated more comments (other than family) than any other blog I have posted.
13. I am worried about fighting with my husband this summer, when we have access to only one computer at home, and he wants to read his message boards (I call them boreds, because they are all about politics), and I *need* to be reading blogs, and writing blogs, and commenting on other people's blogs!
14. to say nothing of the time I spend on e-mails.

Okay, yeah, I know that was 14 instead of 13, but that makes up for the time I didn't have 13 things to say.

Works for Me Wednesday--Stress Management

Do you ever feel stressed? Feel as if the day is too short for all that you have to do, and too long for you to make it until the end? Grinding your teeth? Clenching your fists, even in your sleep?
Well, I have the solution. In one word.

Chocolate.

Chocolate in any of its many and varied permutations. Milk chocolate. Dark chocolate. Bittersweet chocolate. Chocolate pudding. Chocolate cake. Chocolate ice cream. Godiva. Ghirardelli. Lentz. Hershey's. M & Ms. Peanut butter covered in chocolate. Chocolate covered cherries. Chocolate bonbons with creamy centers, mint, orange, vanilla. Chocolate covered orage sticks. Chocolate swizzles. Chocolate Pirouettes. Cocoa. Mocha. Chocolate milkshakes, chocolate blizzards, chocolate fudge sundaes.

That's it. Chocolate.

Works for me.

Memory Monday

I was trying to figure out just how far back I can remember....it must be somewhere between 2 and 3 years old. My daddy had a construction job in west Texas, near Midland. The three of us lived in a little tiny camp trailer. It did have a kitchen, but no bath. I hated the showers, and screamed and cried every time I had to have a bath. We were expecting family coming for a visit, so I had been scrubbed til I shown like a new penny. My grandmother said I looked strange, almost alien, because I had bright blue eyes and cotton-white hair, but was so tanned I looked Mexican or Indian--even my scalp showed tan through the white hair.

So there I was, all clean and dressed, and Mama had told me to stay that way until our comapny came. I was wandering around outside when they drove up. My cousin Danny, a year older than me, always had good ideas about what we could do together.

He dug a hole in the sand. In west Texas, that's pretty much all there is, is sand. He dug a big hole. Then he told me to lay down. Well, there wasn't room for all ofme in the hole, so I lay on my back and my head fit neatly into the hole. He then filled the hole with dirt.

When Mama came looking for me, my dress was still clean, and so were my hands and face. But my hair was full of sand. So.....my punishment was to head back to the damp dank shower house to have my hair washed again. I can remember screaming, "I ain't dirty!" all the way down the path, but I still had to take another shower.

Mama had made me some cute little pajamas, and since she was going to put me to bed to keep me out of trouble the rest of the evening, she put them on me. But I wasn't ready for bed, and was determined not to have the pajamas put on me. I kicked, cried, screamed, and generally threw a hissy fit, but Mama, with some help from Daddy, Granny B, and a couple of aunts, finally got those pajamas on me and put me to bed.

When she came back to check on me, I had cried myself to sleep.

And the pajamas were in a tangle on the floor.

Saturday Night Thoughts---and Answered Prayers

I spent much of this evening reading blogs. A number of bloggers were requesting prayers for the daughter of a fellow blogger, or a best friend, or a family member. Everyday Mommy's blog about raising sons to be Joshuas extended that theme of prayer and how God answers.

We have two sons and a daughter, all of whom have chosen mates who we love. I started praying for those people when we were expecting our first child. I prayed for the child in my womb, and for the person he or she would marry. Despite many trials and discouraging times, those prayers were answered eventually, in ways I could not have imagined.

Tonight in a telephone conversation our coaching/teaching son was telling his dad about his decision to look for another school district for next year. He expressed his concerns about his family, his wife and children, and how he and his wife had prayed separately and together about an offer they decided to decline. He is seeking God's guidance, and his wife is deferring to him as the spiritual head of their household, while supporting him in prayer for God's guidance.

Our older son and his wife are praying for increased unity and growth in their relationship, and how to better reflect God's intentions for their respective roles in their relationship.

Our daughter and her husband are praying about the direction of his career path.

In my youth and ignorance, I prayed that my children would have easy lives, few problems, no crises. Now I realize that God ansered my prayers in an even better way. He has called them into a personal relationship with Him, and they search His word and listen for His guidance as they journey through their lives.

Are they perfect? No. They are human. But they are men and women of God. What an answer to my prayers.

Thursday Thirteen--Teaching

I love teaching.
I can't think of anything else I'd rather do--
other than live on the lake full-time,
sleep until whenever I wake up,
have someone to clean my house every day and cook all the meals and wash all the dishes,
have an independent fortune--
as I was saying, I can't think of anything else I'd rather do.

1. I get to work with some of the best and brightest kids in our district.
2. And some of the most needy.
3. I get to read their journals, which are often bright, funny, and inspiring,
4. But also sometimes tear my heart, because they have seen way too much, done way too much, know WAY too much for their age.
5. I learn from them all the time,
6. and once in a while, one of them tells me what he/she has learned from me.
7. I have the satisfaction of knowing that I am making use of a gift God has given me, and sharing it with others.
8. but I also know that I am lacking in many ways, and sooooo thankful for the help and support of others on my team.
9. I am confronted daily with the fact that I can't help every child, every day.
10. But I have the comfort of knowing that occasionally, for one child, I make a difference.
11. Every day I see growth in at least one child,
12. even though he/she may still have a great deal of growing to do to get to "age appropriate" behaviors and decision-making.
13. It's just 7 more days until summer!

Wednesday Works for Me: Five-minute Flash Cards

I may have mentioned once or twice that I am not organized, and that I tend to procrastinate. I have been working on these two character flaws most of my adult life, and one thing that has helped me be more organized and less procratinationized regarding keeping my house clean is Five-minute Flash cards.
I bought a bunch of index cards, different colors, and made a list of stuff that needs to be done, daily, twice a week, weekly, or monthly.
I was overwhelmed.
It suddenly dawned on me that being overwhelmed is why I never seem to get anything done. The job seems so enormous, so time-consuming, that I get paralyzed, and never really finish anything. Add to the mix my total randomnimity, and you can see why my house was always a disaster area.
So I started breaking down the jobs into five-minute "bites". Clean the bathroom? Gee, I don't have time today. But I do have time to "swish and swipe"--I pour pine oil into the toilet and let it stand while I shower. Then I give the toilet a swish. After I put on my makeup, I use one of those disposable wipes, and wipe down the sink, faucet, and countertop. I don't move stuff around, or do a total cleaning, but the bathroom looks decent, and smells clean, and I am done with that flash card.
I don't have time to clean the kitchen before I leave for work at 6:15, but I can swipe the table, sink and faucet with another disposable wipe.
The cards are in a little file box, with dividers, and as I do one, I move it to the back of that section. It gives me a sense of accomplishment, and helps keep the house presentable until the weekend, when I do a whole set of the five-minute chores to really clean.
When I first started doing this, I would set the timer for five minutes. At the end of five minutes, whether I was done or not, I quit, and moved on to something else.
Then I started resetting the timer, for another five minutes. Somehow it helps me stay focused.
As an example of my randomnimity, here is how my morning started:
I went into the bathroom to take a shower. Between the time I took off my nightgown, and the time I actually got into the shower, I
1. Swished the toilet;
2. Put away the last bit of clean laundry that I had folded the night before, but never got around to putting away;
3. Refilled Frankie's water bowl;
4. Hung up a wet towel;
5. And searched a drawer for a string of pearls I wanted to wear today.
Then, finally, I remembered I was supposed to be taking a shower.
So....do the cards work? well, yeah, if I remember to
a. read them;
and b. do what they tell me to do.
Works for me..........
sort of.

Alphabetical Meme

Accent: Pure D Texan. The members of my dissertation committee told me that I would never be taken seriously as a scholar unless I took diction lessons. I think I will not tell you what I told them about that.
Bible Book that I like: Ruth has been a favorite since I was a child, probably because I have an Aunt Ruth who is just the best aunt in the whole world ;). Although...I have to say....as a married adult, my husband has taught me an appreciation of the Song of Songs.
Chore that I don’t care for: mopping the floors. I just hate it. It makes my back hurt.
Dog or Cat: Both. Currently a dog, Frankie the pom. In the past, at one point, we had two indoor dogs and four indoor cats. Wick says the RV is not big enough for Frankie *and* a cat--unless we move out.
Essential Electronics: Laptop and cell phone.
Favorite Cologne: Shalimar.
Gold or Silver: My wedding ring is a plain wide band, with a yellow gold engagement ring, but I do wear silver a lot. Sometimes both at once. gold and silver, I mean. I almost always wear the engagement ring and wedding band at the same time. Unless my hands are swollen.
Handbag I Carry most often:The one Jeana gave me. Last year it was black with a pink "J". This year is red, with a retro print of 40s style "cowgirls" with sequined and beaded vests and chaps, very flashy and cute, and I get all sorts of compliments on it!
Insomnia: No. I love to sleep. I have been known to sleep more than 12 hours at a stretch, if undisturbed by Frankie, Wick, or the telephone.
Job Title: Professionally, English teacher. Personally, MiMi to the grandbabies. Mom or Mama to my kids. Honey to my sweetheart of 36+ years.
Kids: Yes. Two sons and a daughter courtesy of biology, and two daughters and a son courtesy of the aforementioned children who had *such* good taste!
Living Arrangements: We live in our RV full-time. As much of that time as possible is at our lake place. Or traveling. Or visiting our kids.
Most Admirable Trait: Calm. Even when it looks as if one of my kids is bleeding to death on the neighbor's gold velvet chair. I only have hysterics after it is all over, and Wick is there to catch me when I collapse. Actually I don't think that is particularly an admirable trait--more like shock.
Naughtiest childhood behavior: I once smacked my little sister really hard, but only because she jumped on my tummy with her official Roy Rogers cowboy boots while I was lying on the floor, unawares.
Overnight hospital stay: Numerous. Tonsils, childbirth, hysterectomy, gall bladder removal, thyroidectomy, pneumonia several times. Not counting when one of my children was in the hospital.
Phobias: Yes. I can not bear to be in small, dark, enclosed spaces, especially underground. I once had a major panic attack in Carlsbad Caverns, and will *never* voluntarily go into a cave again.
Quote: "You use that word all the time. I do not think it means what you think it means." Well, actually, that is just the one that came to mind at the moment. I have lots of others. In fact, there is probably a future blog on the subject of favorite quotations.
Religion: Personal relationship with God, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but organized religion, not so much. Have I mentioned that I am not very organized?
Siblings: I was the oldest of four in our family, two younger sisters and a younger brother.
Time I wake up: 5:20 on days I have to go to work. On the days on which I have a choice, anywhere from 6:30 to noon. With a nap later.
Unusual Talent or skill: When I took the GRE, I scored in the 99+% in the verbal area. And an equally *low* score in the math/reasoning section. But I don't talk about that part.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Poke salad. Collard greens. Mustard greens. Anything green and slimy (I *do* however love avocados and guacamole).
Worst habit: Procrastination. In fact, come back Wednesday, because my Works for Me Wednesday blog will be about my attempts to overcome procrastination. Don't come back until Thursday, though.
X-rays: Every time I have had pneumonia. Also, the time Wick accidentally dropped a jar of mayonnaise on my left foot.
Yummy stuff I cook: My brother says I make the world's best corn bread. Scooter likes my Chinese dinners.
Zoo animal I like most: Lions. And tigers. And bears. Oh, my! Oh and the heffalumps!

Emergency Room Memories

Jeana's last meme, in which she mentions a couple of hospital visits, reminded me of all the time we spent in ERs during her childhood. There was a summer during which we were on a first-name basis with the ER staff.

A neighborhood child hit Scott in the face with a stick that had a nail in it, and hair-lipped him, resulting in bleeding, stitches, and a scar which has faded eventually, although at that time I thought he was hopelessly disfigured.

Jeana flopped belly-first into a swing (which some jerk had set as a booby trap--he took the hooks out of their holders, then set them carefully in place so that when someone got into the swing, it would fall off), which sent her flying through the air face-first into a tree, resulting in major facial damage. Fortunately, after the blood was cleaned up, the damage was not lasting, and didn't leave any scars, other than the damage to my nerves, and a hopelessly blood-stained blouse which had to be trashed.

A neighbor's child (not the same one) threw a brick at Scott, hitting him in the head. I was busy sewing, making a play outfit for Jeana, when the said child appeared on my doorstep. Peering through the screen door, she said, "My mama wants you to come to our house." I said, "I will, as soon as I finish what I am doing here." She said, "Well, okay, but Scott is bleeding all over Mama's gold velvet chair." Concussion, unconsciousness, bloodstained chair, bloodstained towels (several), bloodstained car, and more stitches.

Jeana's daddy made her a lovely cradle for her dolls, big enough for Jeana *and* the dolls, as well as all her stuffed animals. Jeana for some reason decided to stand upon the side of the cradle, which of course rocked violently, resulting in the side of the cradle colliding with Jeana's mouth, which resulted in blood stained dolls, blankets, towels, and stitches. Fortunately, those were her baby teeth, and she eventually grew some lovely new adult ones.

A neighbor's child (the same one who threw the brick) talked Jeana into drinking motor oil. Her daddy had poured some into the lawn mower, and left the open can on a shelf. Jeana loved butter, and the motor oil was a lovely golden color, like melted butter. She came in the house with motor oil all over her face, hands, hair, and clothes, and told me she didn't feel very good. Once I figured out what she had consumed, I was on the phone to the poison control center. The nice lady asked me how much oil did she drink? I said, "I don't know, I wasn't measuring it." She then told me to stay calm (too late), and not to make her throw up, because she could inhale the oil into her lungs, and there is no antidote for that. At that precise moment, my baby girl was throwing up on the floor at my feet. I left the phone dangling, threw her into the car, and raced to the ER, where they strapped my baby to a papoose board and pumped her stomach. They made me stay in the hall, because I was crying so hard. I could hear her gagging and retching, and then her tiny little voice, saying, "Oh P'ease don't do dat again!"
When they released her from the hospital, the doctor said, "Give us a call if anything goes wrong." I said, "like what?" He said, "oh, well, you know, like if she stops breathing or anything."
I spent the night sitting on the side of her little bed, alternately putting my hand in front of her face, and holding a mirror in front of her nose, to see if she was still breathing.
All of this was when they were little children, before baseball (more concussions), football (broken bones, *more* concussions), and a car wreck (suspected broken neck, still *more* concussion, and a partial scalping).

And the people from Child Protective Services very kindly did not arrest us, after their investigation.

Thursday Thirteen

1. All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother. (yes, I plagiarized that from Abe Lincoln, but somehow I don't think he would mind.)
2. Being a mother has brought me great joy.
3. Sharing my daughter's adventures in mothering is another of my great joys.
4. Having sons is a blessing indeed. Our eldest son Ron, next in age son Scott, and Scott (aka Scooter)--I know that was confusing, but it is only because I have two sons named Scott, one by birth and one by marriage. Like on the Bob Newhart show, this is my son Scott, and my other son Scott.
5. My daughters keep me young. Daughter Jeana buys me cool purses and gives me fashion advice; daughter Jamie is reliving my days of shuttling kids from soccer fields to baseball diamonds to basketball courts, and she does it with grace and humor; daughter Nikky who loves purple as much as I do, and writes the most marvelous long e-mails.
6. Being a mother enabled me to become a grandmother to seven amazing young people. And provides me with seven more items for my mother's day blog ;)
7. Sydney, 14, who plays club soccer, has her mother's eyes, and is a head and a half taller than me, but will still sit in my lap.
8. Josh, almost 12, all around athlete, who promises to outgrow his daddy before long, and is always willing to help me move, carry, push, or disassemble whatever needs to be moved, carried, pushed, or disassembled.
9. Merideth, 10, fashionista of the family, who knows all the designer names, and says one day she will marry a man who can afford to buy her a Luis Vuitone shirt that says "spoiled rotten".
10. Katie, almost 10, who just returned from England, writes to me often, and has her mother's sense of humor.
11. Aidan, 8, who plays the fiddle for me (*not* the violin), and can already play Waltz Across Texas like Bob Wills used to.
12. Libby, 7, with the beauty queen smile, missing a couple of teeth right now, and with the curly hair all of us straight-haired gals envy.
13. Dawson, 5, who always has something to say, and always makes me laugh.

They call me Mama, Mom, or Mimi, and they light up my life.

Wednesday Redux

Ok, trying once more to correct my errors.
Jeana tried to help me put in a link for my last post, and I somehow lost everything except the first word. And it was a really good discussion about how to get three meals from one little chicken. I just don't seem to have the right touch when it comes to doing anything more than just blogging--I can't post pictures, I can't make a link work without losing my whole afternoon's work, I guess I am blog-challenged.
Maybe I should have stuck with pen and paper.

Works for Me Wednesday

This

After the Fair

Did we go to the job fair? yes. Did we see lots of old friends from when we taught in that district before? yes (this was the fun part). Did we come home with job contracts? well......no. But we did get to talk to several people who might, at some point in the dim and distant future, have openings, for which we may or may not qualify, and for which they may or may not call us to arrange interviews.
Actually, the event was interesting, and good practice for interviewing. The way these things work is like this:
You sign in, give your name, address and phone number, and write down what your areas of certification are, then put on a sticky backed name tag which may last until you actually get through the door into the "interview" area. Here you are, in a huge foyer/hallway/gallery, lined with tables all decorated with confetti and streamers, megaphones, pennants, and loaded down with free pencils, gum, mints, and occasionally chocolate which will disappear faster than a dime sized water puddle in the middle of the Sahara. A certain number of these tables will be manned by people from real schools, with real jobs, and signs telling which kinds of positions are open. The others are manned by people who want you to rent their luxury apartments (read: EXPENSIVE), subscribe to their newsletters, magazines, or newspapers, enroll in their pet causes, or pay money to join their organizations, each of which is the ONLY one that REALLY represents the interests of classroom teachers.
The way you tell the difference is to look for lines. Long lines. Interminable lines of people clutching resumes, briefcases, file folders, clipboards, and the kind of ring binders carried by high school students, with glittery borders around pictures of themselves and their friends at drunken orgies. They will be wearing everything from business suits to shorts, dresses to pedal-pushers, even one guy in jeans and a white t-shirt (you know, like John Travolta in Grease), and all with anxious, painful smiles stuck firmly in place with a combination of nerves, determination, and stark fear.
When they get to the front of the line, they reach a table where they sign in AGAIN, give their address and phone number AGAIN, write down their area of certification AGAIN, and wait AGAIN to talk to a real person who can offer a real job.
The relaxed people, with the fixed smiles of trained actors, are the people screening the applicants, making vaguely nice, polite comments that really mean, don't call us, we'll call you.
All of the people who were glad to see us, the ones who hugged us and said oh we are SO glad you are coming back to our district, all of those dear sweet people who might actually HIRE us, didn't have openings on their campus that require the subjects in which we are certified.
The ones who have openings, openings that correspond to our subject areas, are all standing or sitting at the front of a line of people who are ALL determined to be the ONE who gets the contract.
So we stood in line. And stood in line. And stood in another line. And stood in MORE lines. Waiting. Clutching our resumes to our breasts, smiling our anxious smiles, and reassuring each other that if we can just get to talk to the administrator at the end of the line, surely he will recognize our superior qualities, and go on one knee, extending a contract, and begging us to sign on the dotted line.
At the end of the day, we had actually met and shaken hands with a number of principals, talked more than two minutes to some of them, and more than a few minutes with a few of them. One principal knows and likes both of us, but said that he and the others had been told not to make a decision until some time next week, because they are also going to a giant job fair Monday, which will draw representatives of over 60 districts in the metro area, and thousands of applicants, so in fairness to THEM, no one who came Saturday can even be offered a follow-up interview yet.
One principal interviewed us together. That seems kind of hopeful, since we would love to be on the same campus. However, there are no openings in the disciplinary program, which would be our first preference. But maybe that is not what God has in mind for us this time.
Another assistant principal talked to Wick first, for about five minutes, I think. I was talking to the man who called Thursday night to ask if we were planning to come to the job fair. When we met up again, we went to the hospitality room to get a coke and sit down for a few minutes. We checked off all the schools we had already tried, and which we still needed to check on. As we were going back downstairs, we saw the asst. prin. Wick had talked to, and Wick said, hey here is the English teacher I was telling you about.
He spent a few minutes talking to us, then left, saying he was going to speak to his principal about me. We both sort of thought, yeah, right. But he did come back, and did introduce us to his principal, and spent about 20 more minutes talking to me and asking me questions. They both gave us their business cards, and said if we don't hear from them in a few days, to give them a call. So.....
Here we are with another cliff-hanger, which will probably not be resolved for several days. Will the handsome hero find a job? Will his lovely wife be offered a contract? Will Frankie the pom ever get another bag of Pupperoni, or will he turn up his pointy little nose at the Ol' Roy brand?
Stay tuned....

Freaky Thursday

Okay, y'all, be patient, cuz I just got totally freaked out last night, but it will take me a while to get to the point.
Y'all know that Wick and I have resigned from our jobs, and started looking for something else which will pay enough to feed us and keep Frankie the pom in doggie biscuits. Well, yesterday afternoon, instead of working on my electronic grade book, which I should have been doing, since this is the third week of the reporting period, and progress reports are due, I was busy sending e-mails to everyone in my school e-mail address book telling them not to use the school e-mail address afte the end of May, since I won't be here to read their messages, or to answer them. (Breathe).
So... as I was saying, I sent out a gazillion e-mails, and some--well, okay, a lot--of them went to people from my e-mail address book at my last job, last year,when I also sent out a gazillion e-mails to everyone in my electronic address book, telling them I was leaving there, and coming here. (Is anybody still with me?)
One of those people was a man I used to teach with, and his wife was an aide in our school. Dear people, solid strong Christians, just wonderful people, but we had not stayed in touch other than accidentally runing into each other at a restaurant or the mall or whatever.
To make a long story short (I know, too late), He got my e-mail about changing e-mail addresses, and guess what? he is now a principal--that means he hires teachers to work for him--and he wanted to know if we were planning to come to his district's job fair Saturday?

Well, *yeah*, definitely (we are *now* even if we weren't before). So we are going to this job fair to see our good buddy who is now a principal, and knows other principals, and even if he can't place us on his campus, maybe he knows somebody who could, and wow doesn't it just freak you out when God opens a door that way, even if you didn't actually say a prayer when you were sending out all those gazillions of e-mails? It does me.....I am still feeling like, oh my word, what just happened?
Is God great or what?

Stay tuned for further developments to find out if Frankie is going to continue to get his favorite Pupperoni, or is he going to have to settle for Ol' Roy's cheapo treats?

Wednesday Works for Me

I hate coming home from work and having to cook. So I try to find ways to cook less often. Here's one idea.
When we buy bulk hamburger, I cook it right then. 5 or 10 pounds at a time, if we have freezer space. Hamburger, salt and pepper, and chopped onion is the basis for several different recipes--chili, spaghetti sauce, creamed hamburger, Mexican casserole, taco salad, to name just 5. Divide the cooked meat into recipe-size portions, put in freezer containers, and into the freezer. Or put the portions into freezer bags, flatten as much as possible, and squeeze out as much air as possible. These flat packages freeze faster and thaw faster than containers.
Move one to the refrigerator in the morning, and by evening it is ready for whichever recipe we want that night. It seems to me that the meal is half-done, when the meat is already cooked. For taco salad, just warm up the meat, add chili powder, add some fresh chopped tomatoes, and wrap in lettuce leaves, or pour over lettuce.
I'm just not willing to spend more than ten or fifteen minutes geting supper on the table when we get home.
Another tip: marry a man who cooks better than you, and turn the kitchen over to him. Works for me!

Eighteen Days to Go

Eighteen more school days left in this school year.
18 more days to get up at five a.m. to eat breakfast, throw on my clothes, and drive to school.
18 more days of...
Grading papers;
Entering grades in the electronic grade book:
Planning lessons for ten different classes;
Making copies of lessons for ten different classes;
Dealing with students who think they are in charge instead of us;
Orienting new students;
Not having enough copies because we got new students without previous notice;
Keeping a discipline log on each student;
Sitting with students who have detention;
Driving to and from school with Wick;
Having lunch with Wick;
Working in the same classroom with Wick;
Wick winking at me without changing expression so that the kids don't notice;
Being able to talk about the day's events without much background explanation, because we both know the people involved;
Wick helping me figure out how to make the on-line grading program work;
Sending each other e-mails during our conference period, so that we are communicating without anyone else in our office knowing what we are saying;
Praying that we will get jobs together for next year.

Broken Toys

I've been thinking about something that happened when I was a very little girl.
I had a dolly that I loved. I took my dolly with me everywhere. We played together, slept together, even went to church together. One day my dolly's arm came off. I was crying as I took my dolly to Daddy. In my mind, my daddy, who was a carpenter, coud make anything, and fix anything.
I clutched my dolly in my arms as I sobbed. "Dolly's broke. Daddy, fix."
Daddy took me in his arms and sat me on his knee, then tried to take my dolly from my arms. I clutched tightly, unwilling to let dolly go. Daddy certainly could have taken my dolly from me by force, but he didn't struggle with me. He sat for a while holding me, stroking my hair, patting my back, but still I clung to dolly, unwilling to let him take her from me.
Finally. Daddy said, "Peanut, I can't fix your dolly unless you give her to me."

Sometimes, I see myself as that little girl, crying about the brokenness in my life, begging God to fix it, but unwilling to let go. I know I'm not the only one who does this. Alcoholics Anonymous (how I know about AA is a whole other story) has a bumper sticker that says, "Let Go, and Let God."

The first time I saw this sticker, I was puzzled. But after I thought about it, I realized that I'm not the only one who brings my troubles to Him, and then won't let go so that He can have control.

I heard Mercyme singing this morning a song I had never heard, about "so long, self."

Whether it is my self, or someone else in my life who is troubled, I need to give it to God, and let Him make of it what he will. He can't fix it, until I let go.

Rain

Rain is in the forecast today.
I love rainy days.
I love rainy nights.
I especially love the sound of rain on our "tin" roof--we live in our RV, so the sound of the rain is more amplified than in a house, I think.
I love to curl up in granny b's quilt and read when it is cool and rainy.
I love taking a nap on a rainy afternoon.
I love walking in the rain on a warm summer afternoon.
I love the squish of mud between my toes when I am barefoot.
but not when I am wearing my favorite sandals.
I love to sit in the boat in its covered slip and watch the rain come down.
My husband likes to drive in the rain, especially when it is stormy, with thunder and lightening. Our pom Frankie loves to ride in the car when it is raining. Of course, he loves to ride in the car any time. Just rattle your car keys and he is sooo ready.
Our grandchildren like playing in the rain, splashing in puddles, making mud pies and mud roadways and mud forts and....mud anything.
I love watching the rain fall on the lake. Sometimes it's like a silvery curtain moving across the water.That makes me think about Genesis, when the Holy Spirit moved upon the face of the water...wonder if that is what it looked like.
I love sitting under our canopy, drinking coffee, watching the rain fall, holding hands with Wick, and listening to him hum a song under his breath.
We both love rain.

Thursday Thirteen

1. Tomorrow is blue jean Friday.

2. The chicken nuggets we had for supper were delicious, so we brought the leftovers for lunch today.

3. Twenty-one days of school left.

4. It's spring, and the kids are going crazy. It seems as if I am spending half my day writing disciplinary reports.

5. Wick is going to a job fair next week, so we are praying hard that he gets offered a contract.

6. I want to to the "I'm from" thing, but just haven't gotten my thoughts in order yet. Of course, that is sort of a chronic condition, because I keep drifting off on rabbit trails, but maybe one of these days.....now what was it I was talking about?

7. The roof of my mouth is sore. Well, not exactly the roof--not the smooth part--it's that sort of corrugated part right behind my front teeth, and every time I bite down, it is tender and it hurts because I guess it is swollen, and my bottom front teeth dig in, whereas they don't normally, but they are right now, and it is bugging me.

8. I use purple paper for all my assignments. Wick doesn't. He knows that I use purple, and that I make copies first thing every morning, as soon as we get to school, before anyone else gets here, but he comes in and takes off the stuff I was copying, and sticks his stuff in the copier, and then gets provoked because his stuff starts coming out on purple paper, but does he look in the paper drawer to see if purple paper is still there? He does not. He just punches the copy button, and expects it to shoot out copies on white paper.

9. We are making copies of an announcement to remind the students that we do have school Monday. It was supposed to be a day off, but we had that icy spell way back at the beginning of winter, and the buses didn't run (this is a rural area, and we hardly ever have ice, so we are not equipped for it), and we had a day off, so we have to make it up Monday, but they (the students) don't even remember having an icy day and not coming to school, so all day we have been listening to them argue about whether they come to school Monday or not, and if not, why not.

10. I just concluded that I don't actually have 13 things to say right now, so I am going to stop for the moment, and if I think of anything else, I'll add it later.

Wednesday Wanderings

1. We have four weeks and three days until summer.

2. It was cooler today. There is something just not right about temps. in the 90s in April.

3. I am almost finished with the blanket bunny I am crocheting for the newest baby in the family, Hunter Cade.

4. I found "fun fur" crochet yarn on clearance at Wal-mart for a dollar a ball--I paid nearly $5. last time I bought some to dress up flipflops for the granddaughters.

5. Someone has asked me for advice, and I don't quite feel that I know what to say.....wow, me speechless? Nah, can't be true. I'll have to think of *something*.

6. Next week is the 3rd week of the 6 weeks, so I need to get my e-gradebook set up for the last reporting period.

7. Wick is making chicken nuggets for supper.

8. I've been discovering new blogs, by clicking on blogs listed by people whose blogs I already read. What a variety of styles and subjects and personalities!

9. One of the tunes played at Aidan's violin guild Sunday is still stuck in my head. What do people say now that we no longer play records, and the expression "like a broken record" doesn't really mean anything to a generation who only knows CDs and music downloads?

10. As Katie has been playing with her "English" accent, and using bits of vocabulary from Pride & Prejudice, I am hearing expressions my grandmother used to say. For example, she would say, "I'm fixing to go to the store directly, if you want to go." The "fixin to" part is very southern, of course, but "directly" meaning immediately or very soon is so English. Wonder how many other expressions we think of as southern or American idioms are really a vestige of our English heritage?

No real point to all this, just meandering and thinking--I started to say thinking out loud, but actually it's on blog ;)

TAKS testing

For those of you who do not live in Texas, TAKS stands for Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills. Before the kids take TAKS, we are supposed to teach TEKS--Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills. The operating assumption on the part of those who designed the tests is that all students will be proficient in all academic areas. Whoa.
Suppose we had a school for animals, and wanted them all to be equally proficient? The duck would get A+ in swimming and diving, but fail tree climbing. The squirrel would get A+ in tree climbing but refuse to take swimming class, which would result in a disciplinary action. The horse would ace running, but fail honey gathering; the bear would pass honey gathering, but only get a C in running.
My point....and I do have one... is that we do not all have the same gifts, nor do we all have the same intelligences or learning styles. Whereas I excell in vocabulary, grammar and writing skills, I am woefully inadequate in math--I'm not sure I could even get a diploma, let alone a college degree, if I were in high school these days.
So why are we as a society holding all students to the same standard? Why are we assuming, as an educational institution, that all students are going to college, and therefore should all be taking the college prep courses? We may be slowing running out of ditch digging jobs, but we will always, I think, need plumbers, electricians, mechanics, people who work with their hands as much as with their minds, who don't excel at distinguishing good poetry from rubbish, but who can keep the sewers operating, the lights burning, and our cars running.
Okay, there's my rant for today.
But relative to the subject is this conversation I had with a new teacher, about 10 days before TAKS testing was scheduled:
New Teacher: What does TAKS stand for?
Me: Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills.
NT: Oh. So what does TEKS stand for?
Me: Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills.
NT: Hmm. I gues that I should teach the TEKS before the kids take the TAKS then?
Me: (suppressing laughter) Yes, that would probably be a good idea.

Conversation with Dawson

Yesterday afternoon Aidan asked me to tell a story about my childhood. I told him, Libby, and Dawson about when I was about 8 years old, playing with my dog, a black spaniel named Lady. Lady ran out into the street, and I went after her. A lady hit me with her car, and knocked me down.
At this point, Dawson said, "Ohhhh MiMi, did you die?"