CAUTION: Woman In Progress

Paw-Paw H and Maw-Maw. This was taken a couple of weeks ago. Glad to see them both smiling and almost looking like themselves. It's been a tough year or five for the both of them. Between Paw-Paw's health issues (heart attacks, bypass surgeries, strokes and muscular issues, among other things) and Maw-Maw's anxiety attacks, they've both been struggling back and forth with bouts of depression. On any given day when asked how they're doing you may get a halfway jolly "I'm moving, so I can't complain" to "I don't think I'm gonna be around much longer." In fact, Maw-Maw has been saying for MONTHS that Paw-Paw was either a) not going to make it to his 80th birthday or b) was waiting for his 80th birthday to die. Well, his 80th birthday was yesterday and while he's not fit as a fiddle, he ain't dead either! Praise God! A bunch of us met over at their house yesterday for lunch to celebrate. It isn't every day that y...

Paw-Paw H and Mama's biological mother, Pauline back in 1963. I never knew Mama's mother. She died when Mama was around 13 or so. I don't even know what to call her. Grandmother Pauline sounds too formal. Granny is reserved for Daddy's mother. Mama's step-mother is Maw-Maw. Daddy's step-mother is Gran-Daisy. So what to call this woman who gave birth to my mother and died so young? I like to think of her as simply Mama. Because that's what my Mama always calls her when reminiscing about her. And because she looks so much like Mama. She was the love of Paw-Paw H's life, or so Mama and Aunt L's stories would suggest. He loves Maw-Maw but Mama Pauline was his soul mate. She died giving birth to my Uncle T, her sixth baby. Because he was a poor minister barely making ends meet and had six children to care for, Paw-Paw H married Maw-Maw about six months after Mama Pauline died. Maw-Maw had known them both for a while and probably secretly had a cr...

If you've got nothing better to do, today's follow up from yesterday's Tuesday special edition is up over at Kessler County Chronicles . But if you're not following the cowboy/lawman/bartending drama over there then you can ignore this PSA. Or if you want a newsworthy PSA: Buckle up for safety. Just say no to drugs. The only safe sex is no sex. Use a condom. Stop smoking. Don't drink and drive. Don't drink and walk into traffic.  (Always walk into traffic when you're sober so it'll hurt more.) Guns don't kill, people do. Wait. Are those still PSA's or are they officially cliches? I suck. Never mind.

It's Petunia's Gone Wild over here in the hill country. That one little petunia plant that spontaneously rebirthed itself is just bloomin' its little heart out.  It still looks oddly lonesome all by itself. If I hadn't spent all my "disposable income" (all $10 of it) on lattes and frappacinos I'd go ahead and buy some more petunias to give him some company. However, I did borrow from savings and bought some azalea bushes. Four, to be exact. Then Mama gave me a fifth one. The co-op was running a special on azaleas last week--four for $7.50. We couldn't pass that up. Mama came over last night and helped me set them out. Once I get my act together and take some photos I'll post 'em. Because I know ya'll are just DYING to see where I planted those puppies. Edited to add: A special Tuesday edition of Kessler County Chronicles is up. Tune in tomorrow for another episode on it's regular day. :)

I had a hot date Friday night...with some blue painter's tape. Scandelous. (Apparently spell check's not working. So feel free to giggle if I misspell/typo words.) In order to "get it on" with my tape, I first had to move a butt load of furnature. Well, FIRST first, I had to empty out my glass doored cabinet. The one I keep all my stemwear, glass pitchers and other "pretty stuff" in. That took a gazillion hours. I'm thinking I may need to weed out some junk. I may also need to invest in a muscle-y man. All this furniture movin' business is a little unweldy for me. Thankfully I'm stubborn and managed to wrestle most of it on my own. And I don't even want to think about what all manner of dog hair and dead bugs I found beneath all that furniture. *shudders* I'd have taken pictures but I was concentrating too hard on not throwing up. (But wouldn't all this be more interesting WITH picutres? My bad.) Shackin' up with blue ...

So you probably can tell by the title what I'm gonna talk about, right? ;-) So, according to some fruitcake, tomorrow's the Rapture. First, let me just say that I fully believe that Christ's body of believers will be raptured out and taken on to Heaven. Someday. The Bible says He's coming back for His people so I know that He is. What that dope who's predicting it's tomorrow (and all those who believe him) failed to recall is that no one save for Jesus Himself knows when that will be. It could be this afternoon or twenty years from now. Or if not in my lifetime than in my great-great-nieces' and nephews' time. (Not grandkids 'cause I won't have any. hehe) Secondly, I must also say that I am uncomfortable with all the Rapture jokes that are abound lately. While I truly believe the dude who predicted it is a nut job of the highest order and feel fine saying so, joking about the Rapture itself? Not entirely cool with it. No, I don't believ...

Back in 1998 I had a solid black 1985 two door Chevy Blazer with red interior. It was the first vehicle I ever bought and paid for myself. I bought it from Paw-paw H for $2500. I loved that Blazer. I was a sophomore in college and would drive it to school twice a week and Daddy would drive it whenever the mood struck him. Gas back then was ninety-eight cents a gallon and it cost me roughly $9 to fill the tank from empty. Now I drive a solid green 1998 four door Mercury something or other with tan interior. It's the third vehicle I've ever owned and it was generously given to me by Sis2 in 2009 after my Cavalier finally messed up too expensively for me to repair. I love this car. (And Sis2!) I've been out of college and working full time for ten years and I drive it roughly twice a week for groceries and church and Daddy hates getting in and out of it so he hasn't driven it but twice since I've had it and both times were family trips to Tuscaloosa to see Sis1...

Emmy had to go to the emergency room during school today, bless her heart. From what I understand, another kid in her class (gender unspecified) wanted something she had so he/she grabbed Emmy's hand and bent her fingers backward far enough that her fingers and hand swelled up and turned dark blue. The school feared her fingers were broken so they sent  her to the ER. Thankfully the doctor said her fingers aren't broken but they are, in fact, sprained and she has to wear a splint for a while and ice her hand periodically. Now I don't wish ill on anyone but I seriously hope that other kid got expelled, suspended or severely punished somehow. While it isn't the same kind of violence as pulling a knife, it was still physically harmful and intentionally so. Truth be told I think the other kid's parents ought to foot the ER bill, as well. These are eleven and twelve-year-olds. If they don't learn the hard lessons now, by the time they reach high school it might act...

Who is Mama Ivy? I have no idea. But I love her.  I found this recipe in a newspaper a couple of years ago and thought, 'Hmm, I can do that.' The rest of the name of the pie is accurate. I've never had it fail yet, and I've experimented with different flavorings and even whether I use actual butter or the prescribed margarine. Still I get a delicious and decadent pie every time. And seriously, everywhere I've ever served it I've gotten rave reviews. Even my cousin who doesn't like much of anything loved this pie. And as I mentioned yesterday, the preacher's eight-year-old was ready to pack his things and come live with me just to get more pie. :-D The moral here being: If you wanna be popular with folks, MAKE THIS PIE. ;-) I was going to include a photo with this recipe but the only slice left from Sunday's church potluck was a bit mangled. So you'll just haft use your imagination. ;-) Mama Ivy's No-Fail Chocolate Pie 1 stick marg...

I've gotten so into the habit of keeping busy on the weekends now that I finally realized how tired I was. Tired of spending my Saturdays cleaning and rushing around to get everything done--house and yard, etc. Tired of the list of projects a mile long that I want to accomplish before I die. That sort of tired. And, well, after last Saturday's episode with the Libster I thought maybe she'd begun feeling neglected. I have a very emotionally demanding puppy, ya know. She demands a ton of affection and has this insatiable NEED to be with me, near me, touching me. I tell her all the time that were she a guy I'd have dumped her by now. But she's just a very naturally clingy gal. She loves her mama and needs quality time. With all the painting, going here and  yon, cleaning and yard work I haven't been as attentive as I once was. Maybe that's what the whole peeing on my bedroom carpet thing was all about. So because I have this co-dependant relationship with m...

Because I'm all about sharing and apparently have no shame... No, I'm not hitchhiking in my living room. I just happened to have walked a hole in my walking shorts. *sigh* This is what happens to gals with fat thighs. They rub holes in the thighs of their britches. This pair took a few years to do though I suspect the last year or so of regular walking use may have done the trick. I just noticed yesterday, though, when I was gettin' dressed for a mile with Leslie Sansone. (Three days last week and two days so far this week! Woot woot!) Sad. Now I gotta buy new shorts. I have some athletic type capris but another thing that fat thighs do is cause jersey capris to "ride" which is not anywhere near my definition of fun. So. New shorts it is. Too bad I just deleted a really good coupon to "Just My Size" yesterday. Bein' a big gal is no fun. Except when it involves caramel heath bar brownies from Starbucks. Not that I've eaten one today...

Lots on my mind these days. House things. Work things. Family things. For one thing, something major (well, sorta major) happened to me this week. Technically I'm supposed to keep it on the down low (do people still say that?) for now but since it's been two or three days and no "big" announcement has been made, I'm telling ya'll. Trix  already knows because I was so excited I couldn't not tell her. lol And since none of ya'll work with me anyway I figure why not. Ready?? Seriously, it's nothing life altering except that it's really good news and might help me breathe a little easier. ;-) I got a promotion! And it comes with a small raise! I'm now officially the Senior Associate for the Mississippiana Division of Special Collections. I'd feel more special if ten others in the library hadn't also gotten promotions, including my mother, but I'm thrilled we were all recognized for our contributions to the library program. And...

Boys are just different . :-) He's stripped down to his diaper because SOMEBODY (maybe Aunt Jana) gave him a chocolate peanut cluster which he shoved whole into his mouth and proceeded to drip melted chocolate all over himself, my floor and anyone in his path. He's laying draped from the couch to the ottoman because...well, he's a boy. Who knows why they do what they do. But he's sure cute doing it.

Sorry I keep boring ya'll with the hassles from my weekend. I realize I tend to ramble on and ya'll probably skim thinking "blah, blah, blah" much like I do while Mama's rambling on with her complaints on the way to work each morning. I guess I'm more like my mother than I thought. I'd try to keep the wrap up brief but we all know that's unlikely. So, Sunday morning was the big day of hosting Mother's Day lunch at my house. I offered up my house because I knew neither of my parents felt like hosting it at theirs. Daddy still doesn't feel well from his shingles and while his white blood cell count has improved slightly with his new meds, he still isn't back in remission and still doesn't feel well. And Mama never feels good. Besides, it being her day and all, I figured what the heck. I could survive it, right? I still hadn't finished everything that needed doing so I got up early Sunday morning and got busy after breakfast with s...

You know who the worst person is you could ever prepare a meal/lunch for? Yeah. MOMS. Because mamas have been catering to their families for decades and have it down to an art so they know all the best ways to do whatever. When it's the daughter's turn to cater to the family, including mama, she perhaps doesn't have it down to an art so she does the best she can except it's WRONG because it isn't the way mama would do it. Or the way daddy would do it, either, as it turns out. Meaning, I forgot to pray for Grace and Calm this Mother's Day when I hosted lunch in my home for Mama, Granny, Sis2 and Aunt G. (and Daddy and the kids) But let's back up to The Preparation. I should have started earlier in the week getting the house ready for hosting duty. For instance, I told myself each evening last week that I should get the Grasshog out and weed eat. And each evening last week I talked myself out of it. Because I was, you know, tired from working . So tha...

Today is what is known as "Staff Appreciation Day." Today sucked. I'd go into ranty pants detail but all I'll say is, "At least I have a job."

Day started out weird when my belly was still growling AFTER breakfast. Granted, breakfast was a thick slice of banana bread and a glass of water but I figured I'd be alright. Snack at 10, right? Um, no. Turns out I had a meeting at 8:30 that I'd forgotten about so I had to quick get someone to cover for me on the desk which meant swapping desk duty hours. I had my fingers crossed that this meeting wouldn't take long. It was my first meeting as the coordinator of my area of our department (Yes, I have a new subtitle complete with new responsibilities and meetings but no, i don't get a raise. I'm just thankful I have a job, is all I'm gonna say about that.) so I wasn't sure exactly how long it'd take. Back before my supervisor retired, I never paid much attention to how long her meetings with this group took. I knew she hated and dreaded them but I never paid attention to the time. *sigh* Meeting lasted two hours and ten minutes. And I'd had t...

I finally got the art up on the long dining room wall. You remember I kept calling it a jeweled tree? Yeah. It's actually called a capiz bouquet. And looking at it a little better I can see the "bouquet." Now that it's on the wall with the trivets, what do you think? Do I need something long and narrow on the left side or should I leave it? Thoughts? I'm hosting mother's day lunch at my house again this year so I wanted to go ahead and get it hung. I still need to work on the entry wall but I kinda want to wait until I get the rest of the living room painted so that the book cases won't be in the way. Honestly, though? They should all just be glad that my house is finally clean again. It had gotten pretty badly cluttered and dusty. I spent a couple of hours Saturday putting things away, dusting, sweeping, culling out junk I'd let stack up. The kitchen alone took about thirty minutes. And I finally got around to tackling the mudroom and the ar...

You know, I always think of my best blog topics, KCC  scenes, tweets, etc when I'm doing something like, say, brushing my teeth and can't write it down. I mean I could write it down. But then I'd drool toothpaste all over it and wouldn't be able to read it AND I'd be late for work. Worse, is when I think of these things while I'm sleeping. Everything seems more brilliant when I dream them. But then remembering the stuff that seemed so brilliant in my sleep enough to write it down is next to impossible. I've long thought that there should be some kind of contraption you could hook up to your brain to download things that you want to remember so that you can write it or file it away for later. Or you could hit a "record" button on your brainwhen you're having brilliant thoughts and download it already typed. Or to take photographs in your mind and download it later because I never have my camera when the truly photograph worthy stuff goes down...