GOD SAID TO HIDE THE CANDY.

Can you believe it, Monday again. I wake up on Monday and go to bed on Sunday. At least that's how quickly the days seem to pass. But it is March the 1st. today I am hoping for sunshine. We come closer as each day passes to Spring I hear it in the wind. Mother West Wind and her Merry little breezes making their way And soon the earth and trees will wake again. I am anxious.

I wrote the other day about Mr. Ed and the Capri. There was many funny things happen over the time we were there. The whole west side of the Motel we rented in weeklies. You just never knew when the front doors opened, who might be coming in. We truly saw it all.

I received a call one Monday morning while I was on the desk. A man calling about the room. He was soft spoken, made sense. He said he was a minster and looking for a room for a week. As we had a few unsavory people living there I figured it wouldn't hurt to have someone from the other team around awhile. He arrived in a cab, very short, a grey suit, tennis shoes. They say you can tell a man by his shoes. I was just a little nervous when I saw he had a suit and white tennis shoes. But truly I gave him the benefit of the doubt. The odd look in his eyes and the muttering he was doing about being out on God's business might have thrown me a little but I rented him a room.

The first two days went half way decent. Although right from the start people started complaining about his talking to himself and God as he roamed around the place. We had trees in the back so a squirrel once in awhile I told myself was okay. By the third day he become belligerent. I called him to come down to the front office. I asked him please to refrain from hollering at people. He looked at me very strangely and asked if I was wanting to bring God's wrath down on this motel? "No sir," I replied but he still was going to have to quiet down some.

The next morning he came by the desk. All decked out in the grey suit and the tennis shoes. Same shirt, same tie. He stood at the counter eyeing the chips, candy and juices we had in a case. "Do you know what God told me," he asked? I looked up from my ledger. "No what did he say.? He gestured towards all the treats. "God told me to take a walk and while I am gone you are suppose to hide candy, cookies and juice all around my room." I looked up at him. I waited a minute and said, "I don't believe he has said anything like that to me." He smiled, well I am just telling you what God said." He walked out the door, I went back to my work"

A couple of hours later he steamed into the lobby screaming. "You are evil," "Excuse me," I said. Getting just a little tired of the craziness. His hand hit the front desk. "You disobeyed God. God will strike you down." I tried to stay calm. "I told you God said nothing to me about spotting food all over your room. Its just not going to happen."

He glared at me, his eyes bulging. "I am leaving this motel. I felt bad for all you sinners but now I am leaving and with me goes God. Ruin will fall on all of you and you," He stopped and pointed a finger straight at me, "Have caused it." He stormed out. One of the housekeepers had come up to the desk to turn her work list in. "Do you think God will really be after all of us here and his wrath will come down." I smiled , "No more than usual," I said."We're already in hell, we're at the Capri.

The little man left in a cab. People talked about him for a few days, then someone else stranger came along. Or somebody jumped off the balcony, always something and the little man was forgotten. I hope I didn't make a mistake and God had wanted me to give him all those goodies. Maybe next time God could just come straight out and tell it to me. It would make things much more simpler.

NO CAKE FOR ME.

Sunday morning coming down. The dogs have went out, "I" already has been out once, causing havoc with her barking. Now "H" wanted to go and they are now out together. I sincerely hope everyone around here are early risers. So as I ponder a few words to settle down on this page, I will pray my heathens will honor the Sabbath and keep quiet.

I missed my great-granddaughters birthday party yesterday evening. I was somehow under the impression it was this evening. It was not. I am sensitive about my eyes, now if my ears start to go I am going to be in big trouble. I have just the last few days finally have gotten over the birthday syndrome. In other words the "I am so far over the hill there is no road left on this side," syndrome. I can feel the wheels turning in people's heads if I make a mistake. "Oh she is getting old and senile." Can you hear the growl coming from my throat?

This is not old age that affects me. It is called miscommunication. I feel I was miscommunicated too. Don't you hate it when that happens. One statement is said, a different one is heard. At least that seems to be what happened in my case. It was 6:30 yesterday evening, I on the computer, my husband watching Television. My phone rings. It was my daughter. "Hi," I said cheerfully. "Where are you, are you almost here?" "Almost where," I said innocently. "The party," she said. Now in case she is reading this. I am not saying her voice was cool to me. I just was not getting the warm fuzzes. My heart sank. "The party is tomorrow night," I feebly stated. "The party is tonight and there is nobody here."

Have you every heard the saying, "I felt like two cents." I felt more like a Penney. " The good grandmother I am tried vainly to blame it on Lori. She must have told me the wrong day. "I swear she said Sunday evening" It was not on Sunday, it was on Saturday. It was now Saturday and we were not there. I have been a victim of bad communication skills. And I must take the blame the skills that were lacking I am sure were on my part. I have always been told I do not listen well. Maybe there may be some truth in that statement.

Judge Judy on Television always tells people, "We have one mouth and two ears, there is a reason for that. The reason is that we need to put on our listening ears." I really like it when she says that. Maybe I wonder if I am so thrilled when one of them calls me that I am rattling excitedly and do not pay attention to what they say. That I am afraid just might be the key to the missing skills. Actually I prefer that theory to the one about old age. Which I am getting so tired of hearing, no matter what happens, its blamed on old age. I still prefer to think age is a state of mind.

Whatever lays at the fault of why we missed the party, we missed it.. Amber I am sorry. You are cool, cute, enthusiastic and are going to be a heck of a pretty teenager someday.Lori I apologise for even indicating you were the miscommunacator. Now Will I was told you were suppose to call and didn't. So I guess if I need someone to take the blame. Why the heck not you. But because I love you I can't even blame it on you. I will try to listen better. I will try to behave in a more grandmotherly mode. Whatever that is. I am sure you all have given up hope of me being June Cleaver years ago. I truly am sorry.

So I have goofed again. This seems to be a pattern of mine. I truly do try to get to the kids birthdays, I know its important when you are young, Especially if there is nobody showing up. But there is just one question I need to ask. "Does this mean I get no cake?

8242-M

It is 5:12, the dogs are outside and so far the neighborhood is still peaceful Although the morning is cool, you can tell by the tempatures we are moving each day closer to spring. Thank goodness.I hate wishing my life away but I am so looking forward to the warmer days. And to be able to walk early mornings again.

My brother and sister, whom I might add are both older than me have talked recently about how the new electroinc age has passed us by. We are in the Electronic age there is no doubt about it, computers , cell phones, IPods. My trouble is I hear of something new and by the time I began to figure it out, something else has come along and the other already is obslete.

I have had a cell phone for years now and a computer. But I do not text. I have sent two texts in the history of having a cell phone. Both to my daughter when she was out of town. I have trouble seeing the keys, cannot make out the screen. So I just use the phone to talk and am quite happy with being able to accomplish that feat.

These kids though, they amaze me. Their fingers flying a hundred miles an hour as they text back and forth. My son will come by to see me. He sits with his phone in his hand, texting someone while we talk. I want to reach over and snatch it out of his hands. "Talk to me," I want to holler But if these would have come along thirty years ago I probably would have had my finger glued to the keys too.

Growing up we didn't even always have a phone in the house. Sometimes we did and after all these years I remeber the one number 8242-M. My daughter bought a really old phone book years ago and the name Munch was listed with that number.WWhen I was small there was a operator who said, "Number please. And you waited until she connected you with your party. I loved that as a kid, talking to a complete stranger. Some souned friendly, some not so much. We also had a party line. Which could make it really hard to get through sometimes. But there is no denying we have come along way baby. I wonder sometimes just how much farther we will go. So many new things have appeared since my Mother died in 1984. Oh how she would have loved the computer. Also the cell phone. She could have been om a family plan with her sisters and talked to them everyday. She would have loved to have been able to do that.

I talk to my sister every morning. It makes her seem closer, as if maybe she is across town and I can see her at anytime. I would almost(I said almost) give up eating to keep our cells phones. Because the miles seem nothing when my phone rings and she is there on the other end saying, "What you doing sissy?". So the electronic age is good it just keeps bettering itself at such a high speed I cannot keep up.

So as time passes with it comes change. Some for the better, some I sometimes think not so much better. It wasn't so bad having a person ask you nicely your number. We are spolied to the fact you can leave home and not miss a phone call, because you take the phone right along with you. Be in a store, a phone rings, a song plays and everyone starts looking for their cell. You cannot get away from it. The electronic age follows us everywhere.

Just maybe we we better off when things were just a little more simpler. When you could go somewhere and you didn't take a telemarketer along. But I guess there is always a trade-off, we get something. We lose something. I guess because I am getting older I miss the old days. An a real life operator saying, "Number please."

MR. ED IS DEAD!

I am very late for as a rule I try to get this on by 6:00 am. I have been running upside down the last few days. But I swear I truly am getting my sh--t together. The weather looks great from my vantage point at the computer. Come on Spring, lets hurry it up.

We managed a Motel several years ago. It's called the Capri. A grand old lady in her time as she was built in the fifties and was built next to a wooded area. I love that old motel and still do. There was fifty rooms and we usually stayed full or close to it. There was a man who came out usually once a month and stayed a couple of days. There was a bar downstairs and the restaurant off the lobby which was open then too. He would come out, bring along a few bottles of Vodka, go to the bar, eat upstairs and stay pretty sloshed then go back home to his wife. Who by the way thought he was going to the VA Hospital every month. All the housekeeping girls and maintenance man called him Mr. Ed. He had a hole in his throat because of cancer.

Mr. Ed came for his monthly visit. It was about 8:30 am. All the housekeeping girls had gotten started for the day. I was standing behind the desk doing paper work. The door leading to the balcony flew open and there stood Ronnie. He was doing Maintenance for us back then. His eyes large, his face pale, he hollered the words that filled the Restaurant. All of the people who were eating there at the time dropped their forks. "Mr. Ed is dead!" I looked up from my work. My hands flying to my face, "Mr. Ed is dead?" I screamed. Ronnie's head nodded yes as if the words he had spoken were the only words he had to say.

I dropped my pencil and ran through the back office, out the back door over to our apartment. Steve was fast asleep. I grabbed his arm. "Mr. Ed is dead," I screamed. He jumped to his feet. Shock on his face. "Mr.Ed is dead," he parroted my words. I nodded my head as if I like Ronnie had no other words to say. He slept in sweats. He ran out the door, through he back door of the office and through the lobby. Everyone in the restaurant who had stopped eating anyway at the news, watched him as he ran. Out the balcony door to room 204. Mr. Ed's room, the late Mr. Ed.

All of housekeeping, Ronnie and few others were gathered around the door which was only partially open and they were all eager to tell the story. All at once. Amy one of the housekeepers was training a new woman., named Sandy. She was cleaning 206 and gave the woman the keys to 204 to change Mr. Eds towels. Sandy knocked, no answer. Amy coming out to the cart told her just to go on in. She tried. The door would open so far then close back. Amy came over and she would shove hard and then the door would close back. Ronnie came along. "Ronnie," Amy asked, "Would you please open this door it seems to be hanging up on something. Ronnie gave it a shove, open, close back. He gave a big shove and a arm fell over on the floor. The door would not open because a body lay against it. Mr. Ed. The late Mr. Ed. Poor Mr' Ed if he had not been dead already all the banging he was forced to endure would have finished him off.

Steve as gently as he could pushed the door open. He got in, the door shut back. Just him and Mr. Ed. Steve said he apologized to him for all the craziness going on. And then he called the police. He told them he had a dead body in Room 204. They needed to send someone fast. The woman told him to take his pulse, maybe he really wasn't dead. Steve assured he was very dead, no mistakes on that theory. So there was Steve stuck in the room with poor Mr. Ed. He didn't want to bother the body again. He needed a smoke. Someone suggested he smoke one of Mr. Eds. "Oh no," he insisted. "I don't want to make him mad.

So finally the police come. Natural causes. But for awhile there it played just like a comedy show on Television. Of course I do not mean to speak lightly of the dead. Because we all know it wasn't funny to Mr. Ed. But I must confess its hard to tell the story with out smiling at the thought of us all running around yelling. "Mr. Ed is dead." You know I often wondered how mad his wife was when she found out he never went to the VA all those months, only to a local motel. Men can really be shady, can't they?

I'M BACK.

It is 7:40. I am late on getting my blog on here. Now of course I have no set time to do this. Its just since I started this I have gotten it posted by 6:00 am. I wrote one earlier but was not happy with it. I have been you know in a funk for days. I looked at it, reread it and walked away from the computer. Why would I want to publish this garbage , I thought. I worked around the house, trying to figure out just what in the H--l was going on with me. Now I know.

I got to thinking about Evelyn across the street. The lady who is ninety-six. She's up early everyday. You never see her when she is not dressed nice, her eyes twinkling and curls bouncing. I know why she is young acting, why she always has a smile and does not quit doing things she does because of the number of years she has lived. She has a passion. She faithfully goes out and tells the news about Jehovah. Now I have already stated I do not believe the way she does. But bless her for having a belief so strong she is always out telling someone about it. I have always been someone who tried hard to keep up my appearance, sometimes failing but always trying. I realize lately I have just thought,"Why bother?" Well I know now why bother, I am going to go back to doing it for me. Its good to be concerned about others but you have to take care of yourself before you can ever take care of anyone else.

The statistics of older Americans with depression is high. They lose their passion for living. They think because they are getting older they will be looked at critically if they do certain things. That others will think they are desperately trying to be young. Well, excuse me isn't that what we are suppose to do. Live everyday doing what makes you feel good about yourself. And if you feel good about yourself you will in turn be able to interact with others better. It doesn't matter if you are ninety-six or sixty. Its not over till its over.

What I have done lately has began to be more concerned with fitting myself into a peg I don't fit in and don't want to fit in. Its okay to be me. Its okay to make-up silly songs and write a blog. Its okay to dress the way I want. Its also okay to get my feelings hurt once in awhile for real or imagined slights. My neice Lori wrote a comment on my blog a few weeks ago that she would always fight getting older, she would wear her hair long and wear jeans. Regardless of her age. "Go girl." Who says you have to cut your hair because you get older. Who is chief of that department? My daughter was over a couple of days ago and she is growing her hair out. I love it. I sat across from her and all I could see was that thirteen year old with her hair in hot curlers. Then she would take it down and have a cascade of waves. Oh how I hope she lets it grow. She looked so pretty.

The moral to this ramble is be yourself. I am over the Birthday hum drums, really over it. Bring em on. I hope I am around for many more. Age you can't scare me. I am who I am. Maybe sometimes that's not good, sometimes it is. I think they call that life. But I'm in for the duration. I'm back.

THIS IS A MESS TODAY.

It is Wednesday morning. It is after 6:00 am on Wednesday morning to be exact. I always have this blog done by this time. I have started three times and as I reread the words as they marched across the page I realized they were wrong, all wrong. So I am starting for the fourth time this morning. Win, lose or draw, what I write this time is what is going on the page. Lets hope for the best.

Yesterday was not a good day. I would not want to put it on replay. I can't really put my finger on where it went wrong. Crawling out of bed might have added to the downhill slide. Ever since my birthday I have been in my little old lady mode. I do not like the mode and sure don't like my being in it. I have been whining. I have been feeling invisible. You know I believe I have written here before as we age people see us smaller. People become condescending to us. I hate that. If you become a certain age people think you sre senile if you forget one small thing.

I am very sensitive about my blog. Now I do have enough intelligence to realize this is a daily blog, that very few see. Just words written on a page expressing my thoughts and feelings. And I realize I am all over the page, I go from one topic to another. But as I have written several times now I wanted to make a commitment and try to follow through. I am getting older, it just seemed very important I show myself I can do this. So I have whittled the days away writing this. Thinking up topics, trying to revive the old brain.

In all due fairness the person who came to my house yesterday morning early, did not come to hurt my feelings. Nor did they know my feelings were already on my shoulder when they came. But this person told me they didn't call me early in the mornings because I always wanted to talk about my blog. The words blog did not give me a warm fuzzy feeling. Then the light came on. Sometimes I am slow in hitting the switch. I had become a bore with this blog. Thinking someone was interested in it besides myself. I was crushed.

I called my brother. "Bud," I asked. "Do you think we get more sensitive as we get older?" He said he thought we become more melancholy. "It's just old age," he said cheerfully. Just what I wanted to hear.So now after this last birthday I realize I have more wrinkles, more aches and pains. I also am going to be crying more. The picture is not looking too bright. The government makes companies give warnings on packages of their products. I believe life should give us a warning. "Living to be old may be frightening."

Now don't get me wrong. I am totally thrilled to be here. And if you want to think I am dipsy old cracker that's okay too. Just please don't treat me as if I am senile and childlike. Now that makes me upset. Maybe because I am excited about something, I shouldn't want some else to be. Because I get interested doesn't mean anyone else will be. I got all that down in my head. It's just my feelings get in the way. I guess all this rambling boils down to don't patronize me.

Well I really have not pulled this together today. I refuse to start again. I guess what I want to say is this." I may be older, but my feelings are intact. The outside packaging may be changing but I am still me in this body." I refuse to become a whiny, dependant old lady. One birthday and that's what has transpired. I refuse. But I will quit talking about my blog. I will work on not being a pain in the butt. But I will not quit writing my blog. I am on day 60. Only 305 more days to go. This is so bad today it has to be better tomorrow. See there is something to look forward too. But this sure has been a mess today. Tomorrow is another day.

SAUL AND SARAH, THE STORY OF THE RED MAPLES.

It is almost 4:30. I have been up since 3:30. "H", woke me up in his whiny voice. I let him out and stumbled too the kitchen. there I promptly stepped in a mess. I desperately wish he had woke me up at 3:00. So with that cleaned up I am going to try to settle some words down upon this page and see if for one more day I can make something come together. Oh yes cool and damp outside.

We bought this house five years ago. To my delight I discovered the first time we looked at it, there were two red Maples in the front yard. Not a tree one in the backyard. But I love Red Maples so I was satisfied. I do not know at what age I realized my great love for trees. Maybe I just have always known. I joke I must have been a squirrel in a previous life because I love trees so much. Oh yes and I am a nut. But trees to me are one of God's greatest creations.

I have a swing under one Red maple and when the weather allows I sit in what I call my green room. As the two trees reach across the walk and make a wonderful canopy over me. It's wonderful. The two trees sit across the walk from each other. The walk runs from the gate to the porch. Even when there is no leafs on the trees the branches reach out to each other, as if they are holding hands. When the leafs are in bloom they totally intertwine across the walk, as if embracing. It is beautiful. I began to wonder if somehow in a another time they had been lovers? One morning as I set under the trees about 6:00 am and drank my coffee , the wind slightly blowing I swear I could hear a name being whispered. Only a name,"Sarah," I closed my eyes and heard another voice whisper back,"Saul," And that is how I started to discover the story of Saul and Sarah. I would like to share it with you.

Saul and Sarah lived back in around 1840. She was the daughter of a Minster in their small town. She was sixteen. Saul lived in the back of a stable. He was sixteen too. They met and fell in love but had to be very secret and keep it from everyone. You see Sarah was white and Saul was black. Of course you know that was strictly taboo back then. A black man caught with a white woman would be hanged. But their love so strong they couldn't stay away from each other. So everyday down by the river they met, under the Red Maple tree. Talking how someday they would run away together and find a place that would let them be together. Knowing in their hearts that there was probably not a place like that at all.

One day a nearby farmer saw them, it had only been a matter of time. He rode to town, went straight to the Minster's house and told him. They gathered a group of men and rode towards the river. Never, not one of them doubting what they were about to do.

They swarmed about them. Sarah's Father forcing her into the buggy. She struggled, she screamed. The men wrestled Saul to the ground. He reached out his hand to Sarah. "I love you Sarah ," he yelled. As loud as he could because the rope was already tightening around his neck. You could hear her scream as her Father dragged her away. "I will always love you Saul, always."

She went to her room. She stayed there crying for two days. Her sobs ripping through her body so hard that even her Father had to leave the house as not to hear her cry. All the time telling himself that God had wanted them to do the deed they had done. On the morning of the third day Sarah arose at the first crack of dawn. She dressed, hurrying into the kitchen she went to her Mother's pantry. At the back of the very top shelf she took down a small bottle and put it in the pocket of her dress. She made her way to the river.

All the way there she kept saying his name, over and over. The picture of the rope being put around his neck, burning into her mind. Once there she fell upon the ground sobbing. She caressed the tree and slipping her hand into her pocket she pulled out the bottle. Taking off the lid she raised it to her lips. When Sarah opened her eyes she was standing, looking down at her body. She turned quickly as Saul came up and embraced her. "Come Sarah,we'll find the perfect place to be together. Where no one can separate us again.

So holding hands they started out on their journey, to find a spot, a place that could be their own And hate and prejudiced would never separate them again. One day they saw a cart of Red Maple saplings. New trees to be planted, they followed along. Saul watched and then as he saw them planting two close together, he said. "This is it Sarah, we can be here together." She smiled, at peace as long as she was with her love. Her only love. So their spirits settled into the trees and there they have been for all these years.

If you would come and look at my trees when they are in bloom with their green leafs intertwinging with each other. You would know this story has to be true. They are not like the other tree's in the neighborhood. They have found their home. They are Saul and Sarah. And as I sit under my tree'ss I smile. I know in my heart they know I know their story. I smile and tell them they are welcome here.

So that's my little tale. Almost everything causes a little story in my head. Of course we know its only a tale, not any of it true. Of course there has been many Saul and Sarah stories over the years. Just with different names. As long as people hate because of the color of ones skin, there will always be stories like this one. Many things have changed today. People have finally become more open minded and more accepting, but even today not everyone. And of course you know in every fiction story runs at least a border line of truth. At least there is in mine. So just maybe there really was a Saul and Sarah. We'll never know for sure.

I"M GOING TO BE PUT IN MY PLACE.

Guess what it's Monday again. Cool and rainy is the weather. But Spring is getting closer everyday. "I" is out but for some strange reason she is quiet this morning. I will keep hoping it remains that way.

I had a competely different blog ready in my head for today. I was going to tell you about the story of "The red maples." I still am going to do that some morning. But I got side tracked. I was told yesterday in very stern tones I was soon going to be put in my place. Now I am all upside down in trying to figure this one out. One idea I am glad to hear was that I have a place to be put. I wasn't even sure anymore that I had one. It sort of sounds like someone saying "I'm going to put that on a shelve." You know a book has its place on a book shelve. Now I am a little large for a shelve, but undoubtly I have a place somewhere I can be safely tucked away. At least I hope its safe.

So this is the quandry I am in. What does one do to be ready to be put in ones place? Is there preperation? I am just not sure. Is it a dress up occasion or more like causal Friday? There are a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. And the person who gave the invatation. Now wait a minute, I am not sure invatation is the descriptive word here. I really don't think it was a invatation. Oh I know the word, threat. It was a threat. That is the descripotive word. "One of these days I'm going to put you in your place." See I wasn't asked if I wanted to go to my place. I was told I was going. Now I am not overly fond of being told what to do. But the thought of maybe getting to do something fun caught me off guard. So I wasn't really upset about it. Going somewhere is going somewhere. My Momma use to say, "Don't look at gift horse in the mouth." So thats what I thought I should do. Just ride withe tide so to speak.

But now here it is the next day. I have had no further information on what will transpire next. Do they even do being put in one's place during weekdays. Or is it weekends only? See what I mean. I feel if you tell someone this, you should give instructions. You know like when someone tells you just, "Go to h---. See they don't say "I'm sending you to h---. At least I hope not."You know what they mean. He did not say, "Go get in your place." Of course if he had I would have had to ask where the heck it was. No, he said he was putting me there. Now I guess comes the waiting. All except if he starts taking up the floor in the dining room . And has a shovel handy. Then I maybe should not wait around very long to see what is going to happen.

I guess I will just go about my business today. I am not sure if anticapation or dread is the right word here. But just to be on the safe side, in case this turns out to be a fun thing. I think I will wear a dress. I'll let you know as soon as I find out,"Where the heck is my place?" Wait a minute, Should I take a jacket?

LORI HAS APPS

it is 4:45 Sunday morning. "I" does not like the rain, it is raining. She went outside and I was quite surprised she did. Because as I said, she does not like rain. I hear it hitting the AC unit in the dining room window. The rhythm of the tapping as it hits the metal casing. I might go back to sleep sitting here at the computer. I will try not too.

I had a comment on my blog yesterday. it was from Lori, who happens to be my niece. She lives in Kansas. Lori has Apps. I mentioned the other day here how I try not to covet other peoples belongings. I said I covet my daughters beautiful chests from the old library. Now I have double envy living in my heart now as I discover Lori has Apps. She mentioned she was not sure how to use them all. It really doesn't matter to me if I could use them or not, just to own them. it sounds so cool.

Lori and her sister Mickie started their life's right here in Joplin. They were Missouri girls, but of course they were so small they won't remember back when they did live here. My husband then and my Billie who was only six came down from Leavenworth for the weekend. . Geri, James and the two little girls, one and two piled into our car to come home with us for a week. They never came back. Oh back to visit but but never to live again. It was just that simple and their life's changed forever.

Both of the girls were born at a hospital here in Joplin. it was called Joplin General hospital. Lori at 4th and Mofett and Mickie at the same hospital new location, 34th and Indiania. The old one on Mofett has long since been torn down and the Boy Scot offices sits in the spot where the hospital once was. The one on 34th and Indiania is still there but is called Freeman East. I guess girls I should go and put a little sign there by the corner of each spot. Lori and Mickie were born here. So the world will know down deep in your souls you will always be Joplin girls.

Their family lived in Leavenworth for two years, then they bought a house in a little town fifteen miles from Leavenworth called Easton. A boy and another girl were added to the family there and the family of four become six. They spent their youths in a very small town. Population probably around three hundred. So they knew and still do everyone around.

I got to thinking about this yesterday. How one small act can put monumental changes into our life's. If we hadn't come down home for the weekend. If Geri hadn't said they needed to get away for a few days. If Al hadn't said to James, "Why not come home with us," how different all their life's might have been.

They wouldn't have grown up in a small Kansas farm town. A tiny spot on the map. If it is even on the map. They wouldn't have married the people they did. Had the children they have. The story might have been very different.

Jim wouldn't have taken over his Dad's Roofing company at his death. Wouldn't have met and married the girl he did. Neither would have the girls married the men they did.
They might have all grown up in Joplin. They would have been intertwined more in their cousins lifes. And vice versus.

I think we all have times we stop and reflect on a certain period or act in our life and say , "If only." Its as if "If only," is a country we all go back too at times. Conjuring in our minds how our life might have played out, "If only."

I have always refused to hardly even visit there. It is a land I advice you not to go to. I must admit I have wandered there in my mind a few times, but to me it is a painful land. As I grow older I have learned to take where I am and work with it. At least I try that philosophy anyway.

I am rather rambling this morning. It doesn't take much to get me doing that very thing. If you have read this blog I am sure you have already discovered that about me.

I just got to thinking about the Kansas Moody's yesterday. And how they almost were the Missouri Moody's. I like that, the double "M's". I like the sound of it. But I believe for the most part our life's work out the way they pretty much are suppose too. The people that share our world are there for a reason. And that short trip they made that sealed their destny in Kansas, I think it was meant to be.

They are all special to me. My sister, her girls and Jimmy. I have not been a constant in their growing up but I love them all.

So Lori you up there in Kansas with your Apps, being cool. Your sister Mickie and Cindy and Jimmy. You could have been, you shoulda been. At least I think so. The Joplin Moody's. Now doesn't that have a ring to it?

COULD YOU PLEASE PUT MY SISTER AND ME IN YOUR LOOP?

It is the 20th of February. One month until spring. I am so excited. Usually Don't make much of a deal about the weather but this winter I have froze almost to death and am waiting with great anticipation for Spring. Remember we are on a count down.

I have heard for the last few years about being in the loop. You know open to all the new information. Being in the know. I long to be in the loop. I am not there. Neither is my sister. I also long to have one of those phones like I see on the commercial where the person says breezily when asked a question. "Wait just a minute, I have a App for that. I have no Apps. I want some.

I called my sister yesterday morning early. One of her daughters had written on Facebook about a decision she had made. I was curious. Okay maybe nosey is a better word. Anyway I wanted to know what decision she was talking about. "I don't know my sister said. "Nobody tells me anything." "See," I replied, "I told you we are not in the loop."

My sister wailed, "I want to be in the loop too." Then she was quiet a few seconds. Then said in a small voice. "I don't want them putting it around my neck though." I sat stunned for a moment . What in blue blazes was she talking about? Then the light finally came on. "No," I yelled at her. "Not a noose, don't ask for a noose. It's the loop. It means being in the in crowd." "oh, okay," she answered. But I still am not sure she has it straight. So I am asking please. If my sister comes up asking to be put in a noose. I am pleading, understand that is not, I repeat not what she means. I told her just to leave it to me. I would get us both in the loop. She brightened at that thought.

So here is where I am at right now. I need to do this before there is some dire accident. My problem is what few people read this occasionally, know me. They are not going to put me in their loop. My daughter thinks I tell everything, so her loop is out. My son thinks I am way to critical of his problems So that loop is out too. But then the others that might read this think I am a dingbat so there goes their loops. My husband says my sister and I are already members of a loop, the fruit loops. He thinks he is so funny. My one chance is that a stranger might stumble across these pages.

If that happens I would like to make this plea. Please put my sister and I in your loop. I promise we will not be any trouble. Well maybe I shouldn't promise that about myself. But I assure you my sister won't be. Also I think you will find us quite fun. Oh and if you will give us a shot, could I please just once in awhile say, " I have a app for that.." Not that I have any Apps, but I sure would like say it. I'll be waiting for your call.

NANCY

it is now 4:40. Cheese is what lured my little yapper in this morning. I have been awake since 3:30 and fought against letting them go out. But with them both dancing around, letting me know it was bathroom time, I finally let them go. They went, she barked. I so tired and still sleepy, stumbled around the yard, flapping that piece of cheese in the air. Saying in this low pitched scream, "Come here "I" and see what Momma has." She darts a backward glance at me as if to say,"Cheese big deal." But finally they both came back inside and I turned on the coffee pot. Hoping that hot black liquid will awaken me a little better.

I looked a word up in the dictionary awhile ago. I keep a large print one here in the desk. It still is a little hard to see but I manage. I look words up quite often. I started that in 1980 when I went to college for the first time. I had a big gap in my education. I quit school in the 8th grade. Then went back at night for one full summer to get my diploma. Then in the fall of eighty I took the SAT tests, passed and started college. Even with a summer of school to get my high school diploma, I realized I had large gaps in my vocabulary. So I kept a paper back dictionary in my purse. To this day I look words up constantly for the meaning.

I looked the word friend up. The definition is, "A friend is a person attached to another with personal regard." That isn't exactly what I would have put down if I had been writing the definition. A quote that has been around for years is,"A friend is one who knows your faults and loves you anyway." I like that one. Another old quote is, Make new friends, but keep the old. New friends are silver, Old ones are gold." I like that too.



But I think out of three definitions I like the one about, A friend is one who knows your faults and loves you anyway." Anyone who is my true friend sure has to be able to do just that very thing. We choose our friends, our family we just inherit when we make our entrance into the world. Most families even if they fight amongst themselfes have that strong blood bond that seals them for life. A friend though can look at us usually a little more forgiving than family memebers sometimes do.

My fourth definition would be a single word. The word is,"Nancy". I met Nancy when I was twelve years old. I am always quick to point out she is a year and half older than me. So no matter how old I get, she is always older. Its good to have a friend who is the oldest, sort of a ego builder. Our Mothers were good friends. And from their friendship, sprang ours.

We are alike in many ways. Sometimes I wonder how we have made it all these years. We are both opinionated, argumentative. Okay now Nan don't get mad at me, I said I was too. But what Nancy has is compassion overflowing, and a giving heart. It wouldn't matter if she was so mad at me she could spit. I could call her up and say "I need some money." She could be flat broke and if I said I needed it. She would find it someway. I could go to her door after being a real jerk to her and say, "I need a place to stay." And she might have ten people there but she would find a place for me. I know these things without a doubt. Without hesitation. They are just facts I know to be true.

In February of 1984 my Mother was terminally ill in the hospital. Everyone was there all the time but I stayed at nights,alone. Just a few nights before Mother passed away Nancy cane to the hospital, prepared to stay all night with me and Mom. She was afraid Mother would pass away and I would be alone. We had two beds in the room and nobody but Mom as the patient. There was room for her. But I did not want to share my Mother with anyone. I knew she was leaving me and I could not bare the thought. I told Nancy no, I didn't want her there. Anyone else would have threw their hands up and said, "Well fine," and went home. Nancy told me should would me in the lobby if I needed her. Around three I walked to the lobby, just wanting to see if she was there. So sure she would have left after my hatefulness. But there she was, curled up in a straight back, hard seated, armchair. Fast asleep, waiting for me.

Now there friends is a definition of what a true friend is. I don't even have to look it up in the dictionary. We've had some rough times together, we've had mountain tops, we've had valleys. But through it all we have been friends. So if you have a fiend somewhere that falls under that definition then be like the old saying. "Make new friends but keep the old. My golden friend is named "Nancy."

MOTHER WEST WIND STORIES

It doesn't seem so bitter cold this morning. Not warm by any means but the cold north wind seems to have settled down some. "I" is outside. I am holding my breath she doesn't see or hear anything that will set her off. We have had her since she was five weeks old. I wonder sometimes if she might have picked up that constant yapping from Steve and I. Each of us never shuts up.

Our library now sits at fourth and main, it covers a city block. The Connor hotel use to be there. Grand and majestic. Drawing people from everywhere back in its heyday. A large ballroom on the top floor. I never got to see it but when I was young had dreams of someday dancing at the Connor. The ball room was on the 9th floor and there was 400 rooms in the hotel. I looked in the front door once when I was a kid and the magnificent stairway was what caught me up in a fantasy of dancing down it. It was Italian marble, so beautiful. They say the floor of the ballroom was the same. The hotel closed in 1969 and it was in the seventies when they were preparing to take her down, she crumbled on her own. A grand old lady who decided she would exit at her own choosing. The city built a Library on that corner and it stands there today.

The old library building is still at Ninth and Wall. Like the Frisco building, I always wanted to buy it and live in it. I loved to go inside. Beautiful architect, the shelves of books from floor to ceiling. I was so in awe when I was there..

Mom took us faithfully every week. She always read to us at night from those thin volumes of information that took us riding through time, opening doors in our minds. She placed in each of us the great love of reading that lives still after all these years. The books I remember the most was "The Mother West Wind stories." The series was placed in a forest and was full of many characters. There was of course Mother West Wind herself, always accompanied by the Merry little Breezes. Sammy the blue jay, a rabbit named Peter. There was also many, many others who all intertwined in the books.

I remember sitting very still and listening as Mother read those books, painting those pictures with words. At five I thought the breezes that tickled at my face must surely be the Merry breezes from the books. And I from a very young age wanted to read. The key to everything was between the covers of those books I thought. And I wanted to be able to open the books myself and find the treasure.

The old library had a upstairs, the adult department. A floor over that was a glass floor. Yes indeed, a thick glass floor. On field trips from school we would go upstairs to see, everyone walking so gingerly as if we might fall through. Down on the bottom was the children's library. You could go in from the side entrance, without having to go upstairs.

I as a child was never happy in the downstairs. Mom would take us when I was very small upstairs with her after she helped choose our books. I was always excited going up the stairs, anticipation racing in my heart at the thought of seeing all those books. I remember the downstairs now and wish I could slip back in time, sit on one of those Little wooden chairs. Watching the lady slide the drawers of one of the wooden cabinets that held the cards with all the names on them. When you went to check out a book, they pulled out the drawer that held your name. Beautiful wooden cabinets, golden wood, polished and shiny. My daughter has two of those very cabinets in her house. Her husband bought them for her from the library. I wonder if they were the ones that housed my name. I never covet other people's items but I have always coveted those. I feel my youth is somehow intertwined in the wood.

I would not have the love of reading that I have if it had not been for my mother. She opened the door to our minds with those Mother West Wind books. If you are a reader you can fly, climb a mountain and never leave your chair. When I was child going to the library every week was a very big deal. How many parents today faithfully take their children there? Do you know there is still story hours at the library for small children. I doubt if Mother West wind lies on the shelves. But there are others. I see the little children with their expensive toys and want to take them away and place a book into their hand. I want to whisper in their ears. "Here is your key to the world, you can do anything between these magical pages." "Thanks Mom, for taking the time."

HADACOL, GERITOL AND LYDA PINKINS

We are up "I" and me. The neighborhood seems quiet as I stood on the porch waiting for "I". We seem to be the only early risers. Or so it does appear. I usually the day before try to think what I am going to write about. Today is my 52nd day of writing this Blog. It seems that about once a week I start getting doubts about the sanity of me doing this for a year. The doubts creep in. People will think I am really nuts I think to myself as I reread some of the ones from the past. And I had to laugh as I reread yesterdays. If anyone read that one, they are probably rolling their eyes. Not many people you know say their ex-husband is a house plant. Oh well. But as I sit here this morning I think, why should I care, what anyone thinks. I have made a commitment to myself. So even if nobody reads them I will write them For 365 days at least. Am I saying anything in the least bit important. No, not at all, but I'm still here, and I'm still writing. So for another day, here goes.

My neighbour Evelyn come over a couple of days ago. Do you remember her? The lady that is ninety-six years old. She talked about how she takes very little medicine. Only vitamins and herbs. And she attributes that to why she has lived so long. I got to thinking about how when I was a kid, Mom didn't take us to the Doctor much. She didn't go much herself. My Dad never. Mom had all of these home remedies. If you had a cold she rubbed you with something greasy, heated a flannel clothe on the stove and pined it to your gown. Oh yes she made hot lemonade too. I loved that. You always felt better when Mom did her routine.

In the late forties a man came out with a medicine called Hadacol. I called my brother . I always call my brother for information. He told me about the man who invented Hadacol. He invented it, had it bottled and promoted the heck out of it. The man's name was Dudley J. Leblanc . He was not a Doctor or a Pharmacist. He touted it as a vitamin supplement. There was a song that came out in the fifties called, "The Hadacol Boogie." Bud said this Leblanc had what they called the "Hadacol Caravan" A music show.. Hank Williams was one of the Caravan members but when they come to bigger cities he would bring in big stars like Bob Hope or Lucille Ball. But Bud said what really sold it was that it was 16% alcohol. he also told me Dad use to buy it and take it sometimes. Bud said he snuck a drink out of the bottle one day and it was terrible. I guess so at 16% achol. It might not of cured anything but made you think you felt better. If you could get past the taste.

About the same time another medicine came out called Geritol. It was suppose to do about the same thing for you, a vitamin supplement but it also had about the same alchol content. So here was another remedy that had a good strong kick to it.

Then in 1950 someone invented a ladies medicine. It was called Lyda Pinkins. It was for women having female troubles or if they was nervous. Now listen up here, the main ingredient was 30% alcohol. So amny a little tee totaler lady swigged that Lyda Pinkins down everyday and swore she never drank.

So the picture coming through here is years ago people didn't take near as many pills as they do today. But they sure took alot of those over the counter medicines that were full of alcohol.I have to smile at the picture, a prim little old lady years ago, complaining about the sins of alcohol and swigging down a bottle of Lyda Pinkins every few days. Oh well to each their own


So we have come in the last fifties years to people buying their bottles of Hadacol to people living on pain pills for every minor ache and pain. Somehow I think Hadacol was not quite so bad for you. But I believe we are a self medicating nation. I drink my walnut tincture everyday and remember it has 100% Vodka in it. I only have a eye dropper full though. So I can't even get buzzed. So I guess I will just take my vitamins, drink my walnut tincture. But I sure wish they still had Hadacol on these cold days. I think it might warm me up.

MY EX, THE HOUSE PLANT

Good morning. Just in case you did not know the first day of spring is on March the 20th this year. I am so ready for walking in the mornings again and seeing our trees out front start budding. I love those two trees. Almost as much as I do my dogs.

Have you ever heard of a old television show called, "My mother the car?" Is was out in the sixties sometime. It only lasted one season. The show starred Jerry Van Dyke. Dick Van Dyke's brother. The premise of the show was this guy(Jerry Van Dyke) bought this real old car because he believed his mother's spirit was in that car. It was kind of funny really because he would go out to the garage and talk to the car and his Mother talked back.She was always getting him into trouble. Well it really could happen you know, so don't be so quick to laugh at the idea.

Now I may get just a little strange here. I'll try to curb my strangeness though. My daughter's Dad died five years ago. I married him when I was seventeen and we divorced when I was eighteen, we had one child. She was his only child. I was way to young at seventeen to marry a guy eleven years older than me as I was a immature seventeen and he was a older experienced twenty-eight. But marry we did. I spent the whole time when I wasn't going home to Momma ,just crying all the time. Oh I loved him though as much as you can when you are seventeen and don't even know who you really are. I waited when we divorced and he remarried one day later to die. As you can see by these words I am typing I didn't die, though at the time I sure thought I was going too.

I am sorry to say he was not a much better Dad than he was a husband. I truly believe though he did the best he was emotional able to do. He spent his life looking for that special woman, he had so many women that truly loved him. But he could only stay so long, then off seeking, always seeking. Then he died alone with only his daughter that he never took much time for and sister with him. None of those long list of women were there for him at the end.

All those wasted years I thought as my brother and I stood by his graveside at the service. His pallbearers were his grandsons that he never took the time to know. But I think as he lay dying he felt such remorse that he had not been there for his family. I believe he regreted his life. But then when we come to the end of the road we all have regrets, don't you think?

Now comes where I get real strange. Will had a plant sent, a beautiful tropical plant. Green leafs that turn also pink and orange. It is gorgeous. After the funeral the Mortuary brought the house plants to Billie. Her not doing well with plants called and asked if I wanted it. I said yes. Now what I think happened is Mike thought he was going to go to little Billie's and just jumped in the plant. Now don't start shaking your head in disbelief, hear me out. By the time he realized that he wound up with me his spirit had settled down, so he just stayed. So after all these years we are together again.

I call the plant Miksell. When nobody is around and I am feeling in a nice mood I pat his leafs and call him Mikey. He has flourished. Him and I pretty much stayed friends over the years, the only problem I had with him was he I felt did not treat our daughter right. But now that he is a plant I feel no ill will at him at all. I have gotten very attached to him in fact. I have not told my husband that I think his spirit lives in the plant. Though he does know I call it Miksell.


Now all this sounds very strange I am sure. But just think a minute. Maybe our souls do hang around awhile. it could be possible. But you all know I am just teasing right? Right? But in the over all scheme of things it doesn't really matter either way, does it?

THEY GROW THEM FBI BOY'S TALL.

Well here we are, it's Monday, the start of a new week. I've said it before, I'll say it again. These day's just keep coming faster. Zip, Zip, they go. The dog's and myself are up early again, as usual. When I wake up at four it seems such a waste to stay in bed. They are always ready to go out, especially "I". When my feet hit the floor she is ready. She leaps in the air, spinning around, so excited. The last words I say to her as she races out the door,"Don't bark." Yeah, right. I'm sure she's wondering just what trash I am talking.

I had written about a week ago that I was thinking about writing about my FBI episode. So I just figured today would be as good as any. I know I mentioned in August 2003 I left my job as a on site motel manager and got an apartment. My eyes were getting really bad and being an on site manager is tough. Because you are living where you are working, you never get away from it. I would go off the desk but I was never really off. Whoever was on the desk would put any calls through that had to do with questions to me. So you were always working. Up at all hours of the night. So I would get on the computer when I was off the desk and join places and sites to pass the time. I joined a worldwide pen pal club. Now that is where my problem began.

I started talking to a fifteen year old Spanish girl from Spain who was going to help me learn Spanish. Also a young Nigerian man who had just finished school and was trying to start a computer shop. The word Nigeria was actually the start of my problems.

About two months after I moved into my apartment. Which was three rooms and a bath , upstairs over the man and woman who owned the house. They were in their seventies and lived a very quiet life. At least intil that fateful day.. A knock came on my door, which was in the kitchen, the only door to the apartment. When I opened the door there was three of the tallest, broad shouldered young men standing there together. The house was older and the doors smaller. They enveloped the door. One asked if I was Billye Swift, I nodded. "Can we talk to you a minute"? one asked. I nodded again. Then just like out of the movies, one man turned and made a motion towards the stairway. Three more of the big guys swarmed into my apartment with the original three. Swarmed is the descriptive word here. Plus a Joplin detective. Who thank goodness wasn't so big.

It all happened so fast then it was like everything was on fast forward . "We're from the FBI," one said again. I think it was the tall blond one, or maybe the other tall blond one who had been a line backer in his previous life. Heck, except for the detective they all I am positive played football in college. They started looking everywhere, in the bathroom, in the closets, under the beds, in the shower. I had received a box of wholesale items from UPS that week and they started throwing those out of the box. It was surreal. The only words that I could get to come out of my throat as I envisioned moving closer to my sister who lives in Leavenworth. Moving to the Federal prison at Leavenworth in fact with big Bertha as my cell mate, "I need to call my daughter."

Now if most people were being completely invaded by the FBI, oh excuse me , five FBI, one secret service. Plus the Joplin detective they would probably ask for a lawyer. Not me, I asked for my daughter. When I am over whelmed, that is what comes out of my mouth. In 1998 at Border town Bingo I won 14,000 on a Rocket machine. Other people when they win big scream. and yell. I started saying, "I need to call my daughter, I need to call my daughter." I have always believed she was suppose to be the Mother but pushy loud me shoved in line ahead of her. And bang I become the Mother. Billie is calm, she is steadfast, if you need someone in your corner, she's the one. So when the big guys hit that's who I wanted. My Billie.

The one big guy said no. That I didn't need anyone. As things began to settle down, they painted me a picture of what had just happened and what was happening across the states at the same time. It seems this Nigerian boy, who was not a boy but a whole crew of Nigerians who were conning the American people. They would find people to write to, ask for help in getting supplies they could not get shipped to them, so they said. They would send a cashiers check for you to pay to have them shipped. A check I might add that was bogus too. And the items sent to you by these companies was paid for by , yep you got it right, a bogus credit card. The FBI had been investigating. And my name had been turned in by a credit card company when thousands of dollars of new computers had been purchased by this bogus person and was to be sent to me.

They sat down at my computer and in a couple of minutes everything on my hard drive had been sent to the FBI office in Kansas City, all of these emails from this poor young boy had been deleted. The man named Ron said, fleecing Americans had become a very big business for the Nigerians. They zeroed in on people who were naive, and I think what he was trying to say and was also trying not be too rude, DUMB!

Two days later a unsuspecting Federal Express driver came to my door with a package, prepaid from a computer ink company. I opened the door, he handed me the package. I saw what it was. "No," I screamed. "Get that out of here its bogus, its for the Nigerians," He turned and almost ran down the stairs. I was right behind him. "Don't," I yelled after him, "Don't ever bring me a package again." I sincerely doubt you could have paid him triple time to ever bring a package to my door again.

So the moral to this story folks. Don't be getting Penpals. Especially if they are from Nigeria. Or you might just get a Monday morning visit from some really big guys. And believe me, their not there to party.

VALENTINES DAY

We have started the day at the Swift house. The dogs and I are all up. "I" outside on her daily mission to wake up the neighborhood.At six we will wake up Steve, as he has to bowl out of town today. So it will be me and my little friends. again. I didn't have any idea as I got older I would become the dog lady. But that is what has happened. I spend a great amount of time alone with them. They have become my very best friends.

Another Valentine's day has arrived. Isn't this called the day for lovers? You know the day where the little guy with the diaper and wings flies around, shooting at you with a bow and arrow. Causing you to think you are in love with someone you don't even really like. Lots of candy, flowers and jewelry has been bought for this holiday. As are many holidays Valentines has been stuck down
our throats by the merchant. A comerical holiday. And if a guy doesn't go out and spend umpteen bucks on the lady in his life, then that means he doesn't love her. Did you know how Valentines day really got started? Back in AD 496, a Christian Martyrs named Valentine let them cut off his head for the cause. Pope Gelasius made him a Saint and so St. Valentines Day was born. In the middle ages it become associated with love. We are talking being beheaded here and love comes into the picture. Hmmm, makes you wonder a little. And stop and think the color red associated with the holiday. The color of blood. I'm not liking this picture. Since St. Valentine lost his head to give us this holiday I think it would be safe to say he didn't like it either.

I have been thinking though about when my most romantic Valentine day was. I've had many come and go. And you know I can't remember a truly drop dead romantic Valentines. Oh I've have had lots of candy, flowers and such over the years. But for the life of me I can't remember one of those times like out of a movie where you went for a romantic dinner by candlelight, and soft music played. Don't get me wrong I have been taken out for dinner on Valentines but. But I can't remember some breathless Valentines day that stirred my very soul. Maybe I have a hard soul to stir. I don't know. I think one of the most romantic acts I ever had someone do for me was send me eleven roses and wrote on the card. "Go look in the mirror and you will see the 12th." Not very original but I bought it hook, line and sinker. And it wasn't even Valentines Day.

I love romantic movies though. And have watched "You've got mail," at least ten times. I love the part at the end where the song,"Somewhere over the rainbow," plays and Tom Hanks comes walking up to Meg Ryan. She starts to cry and he takes a handkerchief from his pocket. Dabbing at her eyes he says,,"Don't cry shop girl." I have watched that movie over and over just to see that ending. If I watch a romantic movie I want a good, sappy ending. Something that makes you smile inside. I for one don't believe there is enough romance in the world. Romance isn't a box of candy guys, its a aura. A feeling you create. Walking with someone down by the side of a lake or walking through the woods. That is romantic to me. I believe the art of romance has been lost along with many other things over the years.

But I still am a hopeless romantic. I think most women are. Wanting that white knight to come riding up and whisk you off to some enchanted castle. Instead he comes in a old pick-up, marries you, gives you three kids and rides off again with some other woman,quite possibly in the same pick-up. Leaving you and the kids behind. Yep, I sure am still a romantic. Well I hope you all have a great day and spend it with the one that holds your heart. Me, I'm spending mine with my dogs.

A PERSONAL NOTE

"I" and I are up. She is moving pretty fast but I am not zipping around yet. But as I get a little more awake, I will start zipping. I hope so anyway.

This is my 49th day of my blog. And this one will be a little different from the others. This blog is for one special person. I am not even sure who you are. But you will know. There is a very excellent chance you will not see these words but I feel that I will feel better by writing them. So here goes. For two days I have been driving myself crazy trying to figure out what motivates someone like you.What earthly pleasure do you find in the acts you have done. Now I know in this computer age the virus's seem to be the rage. But just what sort of weired pleasure do you get from getting into someone's email and taking their address book and sending virius's to people and destroying their computers. Maybe I should not take this personal, but I do.

I guess its hard for me to get the idea straight in my head. I have made many mistakes in my life. Just ask my kids. I have did many acts I should not have done. Some were not mistakes. I just did them because I guess I thought they were right for me. But I have never in my life committed a act solely for the purpose of destroying something or someone. Are you a teenager? Are you an older person, maybe someone I know.What seems a little odd to me is this happened a few months ago. A wonderful couple lost their computer. Yesterday it happened again. her daughters computer was destroyed. It's a act of vandalism as surely as if you took a hammer and went into their home and smashed it up. Many people recevied the emails so there may be a lot more that have been destroyed that I do not know about.

Are you familiar with the word Karma?According to the dictionary "Karma is fate as the result of ones actions." That means fate is going to come back and bite you in the butt. And I totally believe that one. it says in the Bible,"You reap what you sow,, you don't always reap it in the season you sow it, and you reap more than you sow." So watch out, this will come back to you.

I have willingly wrote on this Blog that I am a little crazy, always have been. I don't like Doctors, medicine, believe the Golden Rule is more important than any thing going. You know that old "Do unto others," rule. I was really upset about this though. I felt so bad that others were messed with in my name. Whoever you are out there, "Shame on you." But then I quiet down and think, "This is really sad." And it is, doing acts like these is so sad if that's the only life you have. As far as your mind can go. In other words ,"Get a life." A real life where you consider the feelings of others. Maybe you don't quite comprehend that idea. So if your mind is so simple that it can't even grasp that. It is so sad and desperate.

As I wrote when I started out a few minutes ago, you may never read this. A very good chance you won't. But these words have been released or will be shortly into the world of cyber space. They are hanging out there and I believe they will catch up with you. So if you are young and going to hang out with friends tonight. Or a older person that I strongly think you are. Snuggle down in your big soft chair and hopefully feel really good about yourself. Because if you wanted to play the role of a jerk, you certainly have pulled it off. Good job. But do something for me will you? surely you owe me one favor. Ask yourself "Do you think your mother is proud of you? Do you really?"

Johnny Mack Brown's horses name.

Good morning, it is February the 12th, just in case you didn't know. Not spring yet. I am totally ready for warm weather and sunny days. My two little friends are too. Though the cold weather doesn't seem to slow "I's" barking up much. it's not five yet but they both have been out and now are back in bed asleep. Oh for a dogs life.

A month or so ago I was laying in bed listening to one of my talking books. I believe I have mentioned before that I receive books from Wolfner Library for the visually impaired. My books are great and I usually listen at night. In the book this woman said to her husband,"Lets go for a picnic Sunday, and we can roll the windshield out and let the air blow in our faces." I sat up, rewind the tape a little and played it again. Somewhere back in my memory, I mean way back I could recall, a car with a windshield that rolled a little ways out. it was about 9:30 PM but I raced into the living room and called my brother. "Bud," I asked excitedly, "When I was little did we have a old car that the windshield rolled out?" He laughed. "Yeah," he said. "But Dad never liked Mom to roll it out because he thought it caused water to leak in when it rained," I told him about the book and what the woman had said. "It was that 1933 Pltymouth coupe," he told me. I hung up still amazed that I could remember a that car.I was very small when we had that coupe. Now I would like to please interject here that I was not born in the thirties. I was a forties child. it was the car made in the thirties.

Anyway yesterday I got to thinking about that car again and its windshield. How did you drive I thought with a windshield at a angle in front of your eyes. I called my brother again. I have wrote on here how quiet my brother is. I know he hates it when I call for my little chats that go on and on. But I fearlessly called him anyway. "Bud," I started out. ""I've been thinking about that coupe, you know the onethat the windshield cranked out.. How in the world did people drive with their windshields cranked out like that?" He laughed. "Well, people didn't drive that fast back then. Cars didn't go as fast as they do today. I don't think you could race down the highway today with a windshield cranked out. Sort of like those old suicide doors."

I listened up. Suicide doors, what was that?" 'Whats a suicide door," I asked. He went on to explain the doors was put on opposite of what regular doors were. They didn't stay popular very long, too dangerous he thought. Then he laughed," Like the time I opened the door while Mom was driving and was almost pulled out of the car." "You opened the door while Mom was driving?" He explained on those doors they opened where the hinges are on regular doors. He said Mom was driving down seventh. He felt like he wanted to spit.My Mom always drove. Bud said, "Dad would just open the door and spit when he felt the urge," Remember cars didn't go that fast back then. Bud said he was by the window and just decided he needed to spit. So he reached for the handle on the suicide door. And whoops that's almost what happened. He said the wind caught that door and because he still had hold of the handle it threw him forward and he started out the door. Mom threw on the brakes. He said both him and her were scared to death. "Never open a suicide door when the car is moving," he added.

We talked about the old cars a little longer.. "Well Bud ," I said.. "Thanks for letting me pick your brain again." "Oh that's alright," he said. "There's just not much left to pick these days.." But he added,"If you ever want to know Johnny Mack Brown's horses name, just give me a call. I can tell you that." So folks I just thought I would pass that bit of information along.. If you are ever in dire need of knowing what the name of Johnny Mack Browns horse. Please just give my brother Bud a call.He'll be more than glad to tell you.

IMAGINATION

I am up and my pal "I" is up. It's barely four. I won't let her out yet as I know she will awaken the neighbors and I have decided to be merciful to them all this morning. I sit here at this computer with I might add my large lettered keyboard my sister sent me. It's really cool and is a great help to me. I am pondering words that might come together as I seem to do many mornings. I have tried for the last two days to stay off the soap box. So you can breathe easier.

I have written before here on my blog that I have always loved to write. Thoughts become words for me long before they become words on a written page. I have not nor will ever be a good writer, I have an imagination and inside my head lies all of these ideas that if I settle myself down can become a story. A poem, or even a rambling self indulgent blog. Being able to put them down in some sort of calculated order is what I believe makes a writer. But doesn't make you a good write. When I was young, oh yes down on my favorite ninth street, I always had an imagination. I had a neighborhood full of make believe friends. A man up a telephone pole, a woman under the front porch. I made my daily rounds. Hollering up the pole, my head tipped back,"hello Mr.Brown, are you okay today?" I must admit I was a strange child. But from these people that I visited with everyday become my silly stories, and poems. They fueled my imagination and become real to me on paper. Words have always been friends to me, a connection to others.

Children know how important imagination is. They can take anything and make it the most wonderful toy in the world. While the fifty dollar toy you bought them sits in the house. Their minds come alive with all the possibilities there is in a day. And all the marvelous items that lay unattended around the house to become a marvelous game, a tool,a car or a space ship. I believe, please don't get nervous I promise no soap box. I believe though we have curbed our children's imaginations by supplying them with all these video games, or hend held games that lets them sit in one spot for hours. Their little eyes glued to the small machine. Their minds not really challenged, but only their fingers.

Thats why I love this farmville that's on facebook. There are thousands if not more adults who love farmville. I truly think its good for people. They take a empty page and start trying to fill it up with imaginary animals, barns, ponds, crops. All sorts of items. For a little time each day they are letting all these daily problems fall by the wayside and they pretend they have a farm. They trade and swap things with people. .Its a very good thing to let your imagination stay active, to be able to play even when you are grown. For when you let that part of you go stale, then you let the child in you die. Don't let that happen. Keep the silly you alive in there somewhere. Doin't forget how to play. The child that sings with the radio, not caring if you're on tune or not. Its what keeps us young. Seeing just a simple object and seeing in it something marvelous to play with.

As we become adults we become so concerned at how others will see us. What others will think of how we act or dress. Just keep being yourself, just because you get older you don't have to quit being who you are inside. I am not sure really yet what I want to be when I do grow up. Its sort of a toss up between "Andy Rooney" or "Eugene Fields." Mr. Fields was a wonderful poet who died years ago. I am not in love with Andy Rooney's eyebrows but what a price I would pay to be able to write his commentaries. So in my imagination I become those two. I will never write a poem as fluid and with words that capture your mind the minute you start to read. I will never be able to put comments together like Andy. But I can let my imagination take me to those glorious places where I think I can.

Maybe a quieter me?

Another cold morning. My Mother use to say when February came then spring was just around the corner. So I am holding on, hoping that sometime soon the weather will be warmer, the birds will sing. I am waiting,

after my sermon yesterday morning. I thought maybe I should go a litle lower key today. So I have been trying to clear my mind and come up with a nice middle of the road topic that won't irritate anyone. I remember once I was with my daughter and talking to my husband on the phone. He was very cranky with me. I said when I got off the phone, "I don't know what I have done for him to be so cranky." She looked at me and smiled, "They call it breathing Mother, you're breathing." So I think that might just be my problem. I seem to have a real easy way of irking people. And maybe its called breathing.

Some days I seem to really get with this Blog. Of course I also understand I may not after 40 odd days have anyone left reading it. But it sure is a good kick for me anyway. I mentioned the other day that I had a poem my sister is giving me to use about meddling older people. I keep saying I will use it tomorrow, but tomorrow hasn't come yet because I am afraid once I use it. I might feel obligasted to quit giving so many of my opinions. I am not ready to give that up yet. Actually I am the only person in my family that was ever really a very opinionated person. My Mom and Dad wasn't, my litle sister wasn't. And Bud and Geri aren't. They are all so dang sweet and quiet. I have written before here that I mean to be sweeter and quieter but it just doesn't seem to work out for me.

Throw a subject up in front of me that I feel strongly about and its almost impossible to shut me up. I guess maybe there is a line between giving your opinion and getting aggressive about it. I suppose I cross that line every once in awhile.

Have you ever been in a group of people and someone makes a racial remark and there are many that look uncomfortable but say nothing. I will be the one who says something. Because if you don't stand up for what you believe its just no go.

But my problem is opening my mouth at the wrong time and sticking my foot in. Big time. Sometimes its not being opinionated, just saying the wrong thing.

I came out of the Post Office one day several years ago and a man I knew was coming in. He had lost his leg several years earlier. He was never able to wear a artificial leg without it hurting him. So he used a peg, that had a shelve for his knee to rest on. We stopped to talk a minute. I ran on as usual, being my chatty self. I suddenly stopped and said,"Didn't mean to keep you so long and talk your leg off." We both stood dead quiet and both of us looked doiwn at his leg. Well the one that was gone that is. Then I tried in my rambling fashion to say oh I didn't mean your real leg. I got the heck out of there fast. Open mouth, upset someone.

Maybe I should just try to stay with cute stories on here and try not to offend in any way. But then I would just run out of funny stories and be right back to giving my opinions. So I guess I will just have to keep on, keeping on. There is always tomorrow. I still have 323 more days. Wish me luck. I feel I am probably going to need it.

BRANDI

It is cold. Very cold. Only a light sprinkling of snow dusts the ground, But if you are running through the backyard at 4:30 am, it seems even colder than it is. I found out this morning there are people who dumpster dive at 4:30 am. "I" was not at all thrilled with the sight. Groggy as I could be and still be moving , an afghan wrapped around my shoulders I ran for the back fence. She stood her ground, legs apart barking fast, loud, and furious. I was right on the fence before I saw the man standing across the alley, digging rapidly through the neighbors trash. I think they may be moving as there has been piles of junk stacked out all week. It has attracted many cars to stop. But this man was on a bicycle, he was digging, "I" was barking. I looked at him, he looked at me. We never spoke. I bent down scooped her up still barking and ran for the house. If I ever become a dumpster diver I will keep a little later hours.

if you remember I wrote a week or so ago on the meaning of a blog. It said a blog can be a soap box. I have dug mine out this morning. So be warned I am climbing upon it as I write. Now let me tell you about Brandi. And I probably should add I am very prejudiced in her favor. I have loved her since I first saw her, right after her birth. She is my granddaughter. I call her my grand girl.

Brandi is tall, slim, and has the most gorgeous red, curly hair you can imange. She is pretty, funny, and the single mother of three little boys. In recent days Brandi has made a big life change. Working on trying her best to do the right things for her boys. About three years ago she made another very big life change, which I know was hard for her because it consisted of eliminating from her life someone she cared a great deal for. But she did it. It was a struggle but once she started on the path, she stayed on it. This of course does not make Brandi a Saint but a young woman who is trying in her life to take responsibility and do the right things that in the long run are right for her kids.

Brandi works five, sometimes six days a week. She keeps her place clean, she cooks, she takes care of her kids. Brandi is lucky because she has parents who are there for her. Her Mother baby sits while she works. Not all young women have that kind of help. Now for the soap box part. You have been warned.

We here in the Untied States have rolls of names of people who are on assistance. Many people look down on them, make rude remarks about them. I am sure there are many who don't belong on assitance. But then you have scores of these young mothers who are working everyday, getting by on take home pay of maybe 175.00 dollars a week trying to support their children. we have these girls because we have these guys who start these families and then decide two years later they are tired and bounce off looking for a new girl and start a new family. The cycle goes on. The girls are left behind, the children left behind. Many of these girls do not have the educational back ground to pull in big bucks. Besides in this day and age of high prices it takes two paychecks to get by. Now think of these young mothers struggling to live on these small single paychecks and then go ahead and gripe about them for drawing a few food stamps to feed their children on and a medical card for their kids. Thank God Brandi's boys can go to the Doctor. Brandi cannot. She works for a small paycheck so she cannot qualify for that simple little card that would allow her to go to the Doctor when she is sick. She is penalized for working.Shame on America who does not help our young single mothers. Shame on the people who put labels on these young Mothers. Young girls who desperately fight to keep their families together. Shame on the guys who once they have planted the seed of their child, feels their responsibility is over.Oh yes while I am up here on my soap box there is one more subject I would like to touch on. there was a paper sent out in the mail last week. it told how some people that quailfied for food stamps might quailfy for a free phone. "Good," I thought. A phone is something everyone needs. People shouted big time, all sorts of ;ame jokes thrown around. Young , alone, hmmm, should I try to get a phone on these few extra bucks I have left after all the bills, or should I buy gas for the car. Or maybe a new tire since all of them are bald. So for many there is no phone. let the ones who need the help for a phone , get that help. And for once put yourself in another's shoes and see just how tight they can pinch.

Brandi's boys when they are grown .I guarantee will not think twice about the small apartment they are growing up in. Brandi is painting those memory pictures I wrote about the other day. Her and her boys are in the process of painting their apartment now. The boys share the bedroom. They both wanted a different color, so they both got to choose. Each boy having his own side. They will remember that room with their two favorite colors. They will also remember her bouncing up and down on the trampoline with them. And with each child on their bikes and her on the one in front as they go for bike rides. These are the pictures she is painting in the memories of their minds.

So Brandi though I know sometimes you get tired. Its a little hard to buy new jeans for yourself when you have three growing boys you are buying for. I know taking certain things from your life that you enjoyed is not always easy.

but I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. You are taking each day and making it through. You have taken the cards life has dealt and you have not thrown them in, you have not folded. You have just kept staying in the game. You are a heck of a woman.I am very proud of you. My grandest girl.

You will be happy to know, I am now climbing down off my soap box.

THE VENTRILOQUIST DUMMY'S MOUTH

here it is another Monday. The days just glide into more days. What great and interesting events are you going to accomplish this week. Or are you going to be like me and just let them happen I wish someone would take the super speed off my years because they are going just too dang fast.

My husband went bowling. A long quiet Sunday afternoon. Ho Hum, what could I do. I know I need to check my eye brows. Now I know that doesn't sound like a earth shattering event to you. But as I have said before on these pages, I have nerve damage in my eyes. For some reason it really effects how I see a face. If there is any light behind the face I have great trouble making the features out. So to do anything that includes my face I get my magnifying mirror. I get in front of the bathroom mirror and I try to do the best I can.

Before I go any farther I should explain about the magnifying mirror. My grandson Will bought it for me a couple of years ago, to help me put my make-up on. I really think the family had discussed the fact my lipstick was ending up under my nose. But the real truth never really came out. Well let me warn you of something. If you are a woman over fifty, do not, I repeat do not stand under a bright light and look closely at your face in a magnifying mirror. Your self esteem will be scarred for life. It is horrible. Since the first time I tried that little deed, I have stayed pretty much away from that mirror. Let the lipstick go where ever the heck it wants.

Now there is one remark I have to make and that is, for anyone who has ever read God might be a woman. Or who believes God might be a woman. That is pure bunk. I know beyond a shadow of doubt, if God was a woman all these terrible things placed on women would never have happened in the first place. No female God would do that to her own gender. No way. Number one, men do not bear children. Any woman will tell you a man could not stand up to the pain, discomfort and thirty pound weight gain. Number two, men do not have a monthly curse that leaves you feeling you could tear your own skin off your body. Number three, men look good in grey hair. Number four, men do not have thunder thighs. Now there are fat men around. But men do not eat two cookies and drink one coke and put ten pounds on their thighs. Number five, men get ready to go somewhere. They shave, splash a little aftershave on, deodorant, run a comb through their hair and then gripe because it takes you a hour to get ready. Getting ready so you can look as good as you can so they don't spend the entire night looking and drooling over some twenty something girl. God is not a woman.

Back to the dummy's mouth. Sorry about the side track but some things just get me started. Anyway I was looking close in the mirror and my heart gave a leap. Because down both sides of my mouth were the same deep lines you see on a ventriloquist dummy's mouth. You know, where they have the mouth cut so when the person sticks their hand in the head, the mouth will move. Sort of like on hinges. Deep lines. And there they were. Now I have never needed anyone to stick their hand in my head to make me talk, its well known I do just fine on my own. So okay God whats the joke here, why the deep lines. I have never even smoked for pity sakes.But there they were, long and deep. Its taken me awhile to get use to those old lady lines over my lips and now I have to get under a bright light and magnify the heck out of deep creases by my mouth. I was devastated. I am hiding the mirror. I do not care if my eye liner runs to my ears, if my lipstick goes all the way into my nose. No more, ever again, Will there be a magnifying mirror for me.

YOUR SOULMATE

It's turning into another cappuccino morning and it isn't evem five AM yet. We have made our yard run, Bologna was the food of inticment this morning. She has gone back to bed. I am waiting on the tea kettle to heat and trying to sort ideas. Oh yes, no snow yet. The weatherman, fickle creatures they are have dangled that information over our heads the last three days but none has arrived yet as of this morning.

I had several different topics I played with for today. The main one, my two kids. And I will write one day about them. They are the one good accomplishment I have created in this life. I just want to be sure I do them the justice they both deserve. I toyed with the episode about the FBI men and decided I wasn't up to that topic either. Also I have a prayer about being a nosey, advice giving older person. I will use that one day but I am not ready for how close that one will hit home. I also have a good friend named Nancy and I must write about her too. So many topics. I was thinking about it when I went to bed last night. I know the last few days have been just a stream of make not much sense words. I am afraid what is about to follow will be no better. Ahead of time I will say I am sorry and still hope you drop back by another time. Surely these will start getting at least a little better

People come in and out of our life's. Some for long periods, some not so long. I have always believed certain people come when we really need them or vice versa, they need us. But have you ever met someone, maybe just a chance meeting. When you just wasn't expecting it and when you talked to them for just a minute, you knew. This was a soul mate. Someone who just stirred something in you. We meet all kinds of people but there is that certain someone, its like we have found the part of us that has been missing. Maybe you can call it love, maybe not. But you are connected to them forever, even if you are never around them again.

Maybe I am romantic, but I believe there is a certain person that is created for you. I think your spirit searches for that person your whole life, until you meet them. A man told me a story once. No he was not talking of me when he told it. But he said,"There was a old chinese story how at the beginning of time each person was created with a matching spirit and if you did not find them in this life, your soul just kept coming back until you met them" maybe you meet this person and time, age, death or just circumstances separate you. But they leave behind a empty spot that will never be filled again. You just know, you hunger after they are gone for that complete feeling you had and know you will never experience it again without them.

I hear of people who have been married seventy years or more and think,"Wow." How did two people be able to stay together through all the curves and bumps life throws at us. It's called a soul mate. The other part of you that just came in another body. Someone who's smile makes all the day's headaches disappear. You may get upset at them, but you know you are meant to be together. How sad that so many of us have this distorted view from a young age that the first person who stirs us inside is meant to be the love of our life, which I might add is usually lust. I believe the word love is bandied around way to much. We just don't wait for that connection. Maybe you've had a soul mate and time, death or the fact they come along after you had already made life decisions that couldn't be changed but you know and you will always know. They were the one. So maybe not in this life but forever your two souls will struggle until they are reunited. Now this may be a bunch of nonsense to many of you. But isn't it a beautiful thought anyway.

Don't even ask me why I wrote this silly piece this morning. I am sure or at least hope I could have done just a little better on some other subject. But these are the words that just came spilling out. So keep your smile on and your head up. You just never know when your kindred spirit is just around that next corner.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW

I didn't get up until five.That is sleeping in for me. So at 5:15 both dogs are out. I am listening for our little bundle of bark but so far only quiet echos back to me. I pray it stays that way.

I have started and restarted this blog about five times already this morning. I get a couple of paragraphs, reread it and say, this will not fly. My words that tumble like quick silver from my mouth, that is called being a big mouth. In case you didn't know. They are not tumbling like quicksilver from my fingers. I AM learning that making a complete commitment to doing something , on some days can be quite difficult. I in desperation have drank two cups of Cappuccino and still my mind is not loosing up. There will be no firing squad out side my door if I do not write this. There will be not a soul miss it. But I will know that once again I did not complete something I started.

I got to thinking the other day, what in the world will I do with 365 pages of this ramblings of a crazy woman, when I do get through this year. Some of the ideas. Paper the bathroom, see if I could glue them together and make a dress. Ship them all off to the White House and let the secret service see if its a secret code they need to break, Actually I came up with a pretty good size list.

I guess I worry more than anything what few people know about this blog will think what in the world makes her think what she has to say would make anyone stop and read it. I believe I may have voiced those fears a few weeks ago. But remember I am a year older and have a tendency to forget what I say or sometimes what I have done. Don't smile it will definitely happen to you someday. Of course I am one of those people who have so much to say and feel so little time to say it in. So you see its not that I am rude, just I want to make sure I get to say it. But Judge Judy says, You have two ears and one Mouth." I think she means by that we should listen more and speak less. Everyday truly I tell myself that very thing, listen more talk less. About one hour into the day I have forgotten. And I am off and running again. I suppose it would not be so bad to be that chatty if you really have something to say. But I have to admit most of the thousand words that spill from my lips in a day would be better left unsaid.

I wrote the title first,"Somewhere over the rainbow." I love that song, I love that thought. Somewhere, someday I will be more perfect. The rainbow arching out in the sky, consisting of beautiful colors and at its end is a treasure. A more perfect world. There is that hope. Maybe I will make more sense in the morning. Maybe my title will fit in better with what I wrote. But them again maybe not. But the dream that there is a rainbow, is a chance tomorrow for a better day. Isn't that what gets us up in the mornings. The colors promising you that pot of gold at the end. We buy a lottery ticket, we spend our hard earned money at the casino, all in hopes of that treasure at the end. Somewhere over the Rainbow these crazy words may come together better. Just the thought gives me hope. I will try to do better tomorrow.

GRANDMOTHER MUNCH

Steve had to leave the house before five this morning. So there was no time for me to do the "I", dance. Both dogs went out and in, So sweetly as if I make up all the terror stories to him daily about "I"s actions. We had another bad plumbing day again yesterday. I want to yell out to the empty space,"Enough bad Karma already. Please let up." We shall see if the Karma Gods have one ounce of pity in their bodies or whatever they have,

I did some thinking yesterday in between trying to hide from Steve. When I tell you he was unhappy we are only touching the tip of the iceberg. I wrote yesterday 0n fighting the good fight on not getting old to the very last breath. My niece commented that same went for her, Of course she is much younger than me and her daily fight is not the war I have to fight everyday, Words along these lines always bring to mind my Grandmother Munch. My Dad was one of nine children. The shortest of seven brothers and he was six feet tall. So my grandmother gave birth to big strapping boys. Also two girls. When her youngest was in his teens, Grandfather Munch left her for another woman. I do not believe my Dad ever totally forgave him. His loyalty laid with his mother.

But growing up Grandmother Munch came to visit every year for a few days. She visited all her children, She never stayed long, just to see us, see how we were growing. The one picture I have in my mind when Grandmother stepped off the bus was the way she looked. This was back in the forties where you only saw pantsuits on ladies in the movies. But she would come down the steps. We kids riddled with excitement. She always wore a Pantsuit to travel in. Not raggedy blue jeans of today., A matching suit, shoes, heels, in the same color. Her haired piled up on top of her head in small tight curls, her face made up in perfection, right down to two small dabs of rouge on either cheek. Red lipstick. Earrings in her ears and a matching necklace around the neck. People saw a fashionable lady. I loved makeup from that day forward.

She was barely 5'ft. Weighed about 100 pounds, Mother told two things on Grandmother Munch, she had fine thin hair, that she pined curled every night of her life since teens.Thanks grandma for the disaster hair I received from you. She also had a washboard flat stomach after nine kids. Mom said she told her she pulled in her stomach muscles everyday to the count of 100. I try but after about twenty my stomach hurts. I try to fight the good fight but somehow always fall short.

I never met my grandfather Munch. He came through Joplin once when I was about four. He wanted to bring in the woman he had left my grandmother for to meet Mom and us kids. Dad refused. They say he went out to the car and met the woman and visited a few minutes but would not let her in our house and around us kids. My Dad was a black and white man. I think he believed that was a slap in his mothers face. So it didn't happen.

From stories I heard from my Uncle Bobby a few years ago. Grandfather was the son of a wealthy banker, there in Pratt. Maybe his son was just sort of never do well. But he bought him a farm when he married my grandmother. Uncle Bobby said he hated it. And over the years the big fancy house just fell in around their ears and then he just rode off into the sunset. Leaving Grandmother Munch to cope with nine children. But she never let her appearance go. When she died at eighty-eight, she still rolled her hair every night, still wore her makeup.

So Lori its okay to fight the good fight. We have it in the blood.