IF YOU COULD ONLY PICK ONE, WHO WOULD IT BE?

Wednesday has arrived. Raining softly. The dogs are outside. So far no barking frenzy, let us hope it will continue as such. I over slept. Not waking up until 5:30. Now my whole day seems topsy turvey. But here I am and will try to find a way for this computer to pour out a few thoughts.

I have been wondering lately about something. Oh I know I am always wondering about one thing or another. It just seems there is always something tugging at my mind. Well if this person came up to you. You know the mysterious person who came the other day and said you had to pick only five processions. You know, that person. Well if he told you that you could pick one person who has passed on, from the beginning of time until now. And you could spend three hours with them, who would you pick? May sound easy, but stop a minute. Anyone, a loved one, a friend, a person from history, or even Jesus Christ. Just sit and talk, ask questions, anything. Who would it truly be.

Of course my first answer right off the top of my head was my Mom. Then I stopped and thought a minute. Two of those three hours would be spent with her saying, "I'm so disappointed in you Billye for the choices you have made." Maybe I would be better off just waiting till I cross over and hope its to the other side where I know she is. I think she wouldn't be upset with me there. Because the first thing she would ask if I sat down with her, "Is how is Al?" I would have to say fine Mom. I saw on Facebook the other day where he just celebrated his 23rd anniversary and it was the happiest 23 years of his life. "Now Mom aren't you proud of me for giving him that happiness." No maybe I should wait on Mom.

Then there is Eve. I would love to talk to her one on one. I would say,"Eve give it to me straight. It wasn't you that ate the apple first was it? It was Adam, come on. God came around and said who did this?" Adam took one step back, pointed at you and said,"She did it." Maybe after all this time we could finally get the story straight.

Or maybe it would be Jesus. I would love to meet Jesus. Just sit in his peacefulness and feel safe. I would ask questions and check to see if he really does have a sense of humor. Because that is going to be my only shot at getting into Heavens door.And then there is Brenda. Oh how I would love to talk to Brenda. Tell her about all the kids we have added since she has been gone. Maybe be able to show her the pictures of all of them. Then of course Dad. Oh to be able to see my Daddy again. And Dix. I would tell her first off that Bud is fine. Though I know she already knows. And about Jayden. All about the pictures of him I see on facebook. Three hours would fly be fast. I would also like to see my nephew Bobby. Tell him all about his nieces and nephews. I would ask him if sees Brenda everyday? His Aunt Brenda, they were good friends too. So many to see. Only one choice.

Also Noah would be good, or Peter. Impetus Peter the disciple who was always in trouble. I feel I could relate to him.

I would love to just sit and chat with Harry Truman. I really think he was quite a man. The most honest man ever elected into the White House. After he served his country. He came home to Independence there was no bands or honor guards to meet him. A very overlooked President. I love Harry. It would be neat to tell him so.

Mother Theresa she would be another very interesting choice I think. And Vern Gosden. I wish he could bring his guitar and just sing to me the whole three hours. So many choices. And only one. Oh, yes Rosa Parks. She had moxy. I would like to ask her if she refused to give up her seat that day because she was tired of always being made to give up something to a white person. Or was it just because she had worked all day, her feet hurt. And she decided enough was enough. I have thought and thought on it. And of course there is only one decision I could make. It doesn't matter how cranky she might be. it would have to be my Momma. Hands down. My Momma. "I'd tell her I'm trying to keep myself all together. I'll tell her I'm really trying. Then I would just hold her hand and let her talk. That would be like Heaven to me.

So for today that's all I have to say. Who would you talk too? Someone from history. Maybe a grandparent. Maybe a friend. Or a loved cousin. Just something to think about. See you later. For now, you know the drill. I'm outta here.

THE ROAR GOD MUST HAVE IN HIS EARS.

it is Tuesday morning. it is also seven am. I always have my blog on by now. I have written , deleted, written deleted. Nothing goes from fingertips to computer. I have these days as you know if you read this Blog at times. Days when I question why I keep writing. I reread them and shake my head.

I search for trivia tucked away in my brain, for bits of verse.. For inspiration that will suddenly tumble forth and be charming, witty and fun. Or something like that anyway. I stare at the keys on the keyboard. As if I can will them into typing away under their own influence. It has not happened yet. I am starting to believe it won't.

I even thought of praying. "Please God give me interesting words." Hmmm, I wonder if he might be busy answering prayer's from people who are caught in a Tornado or sitting beside a hospital bed of a loved one. Maybe he is just a little busy to listen to my stupid plea. So I dug out my trusty large print dictionary and looked up the meaning of prayer. The meaning is as follows, "Prayer a petition to God." It means each time we have some silly little favor we want the big guy to jump on real quick we petition God for that request. Now this if we believe the Bible, is the creator of the world. All of the millions of people who are walking this earth are created by him. And except for the babies most of us us are always petitioning him several times a day for favors. I would not want his job.

Can you imagine the roar he must hear in his ears. Several times a day all of us muttering, "Please God give me this, don't let this happen." It goes on and on. I hope he has a special line that allows the really serious prayers to get through. You know like someone on a plane that is about to crash. That prayer getting through instead of us dummies sitting at the casino at a slot machine crying. "Please God let me win, its my last twenty." I can see God motioning to a Angel wearily shaking his head, "Turn the volume down, its those stupid ones spending their grocery money again on gambling."

And you know it probably wouldn't hurt to thank him once in awhile other than just gimme, gimme. What if we are only allotted so many prayers to be answered a week but don't know it. It would kind of make you think before crying out, "God please let my hair look good today."

I bet he just sits and shakes his head at all the garbage he hears in one day. I will try to be a little more careful in the favors I ask from now on. Just in case he might get aggravated and turn my volume down full time. I sure don't want that to happen. Well this is my Blog for today. Not better than yesterday maybe not better tomorrow. I would say I will pray things come together better tomorrow. But I'm not going to do it, just in case I have a important request I need to send upstairs. Oh by the way, "Thanks God I'm still breathing today.

I LOVE THOSE MUDSLIDES.

Monday morning. I am at the computer. "I", the dog is nestled in a big chair to my left. Barking demands. She wants cookies. I give her one at a time syting, :"This is the last," She knows I am a pushover. One small yelp and I am on my feet fetching. Of course I think its suppose to be the other way around. Dogs fetching for us. Not in this household. They are the owners, they own us. Oh well, so goes life sometimes.

I must warn you. I have no subject, no dumb idea that is in my head. Of course there is always some sort of dumb idea floating around there somewhere. I usually am at least prepared. But not today. We had a call yesterday morning from my husband's daughter. She was coming to see him for a couple of days. He was excited. I flew through the house dusting, vacuuming quickly. I baked a ham, a cake. He bought more Dr.Pepper. At noon she called. She is a hundred miles away. She changed her mind. She is suppose to come today. We'll see. I am not redusting, renothing. I have ham, cake and lots of food. So it stands where it is.

Steve was disappointed. We had planned to take her to the bowling alley to meet family, at least the part that works there. So he wanted to go anyway. He had a beer and I a coke. After a short time he grumbled he thought I would have a drink at least with him. So I thought why not. I really didn't want one but thought maybe it would rise his spirits. I said a shot, a butterscocth shot. I found out after a sip, strong stuff. "It should have Bailey's in it. To make it better." Nobody she advised me with a shake of her head drinks that alone. So I pushed back my glass and grandly said, "Add it on, why not." Now I had two shots in the glass. It was afternoon and not one bite of food all day. After a sip or too it tasted better. I drank it all. The butterscocth substance now sliding down very well.

We got up to go. My daughter came. "I wish I had known you wanted something like that to drink, I would have made you a mudslide." Steve sat back down." Make her one," he advised with a sweep of his hand. I looked rather doubtful. I do not drink. The butterscocth what ever lay heavy now. She smiled, "Its made with ice cream you know." Bingo, I was sold. "Okay," I said. "Bring me one." She did.

This I thought as i took my first sip is what all food and drink should taste like. A thick milkshake. Chocolate streaked through it, piles of whipped cream and on the top, the best of all, a maraschino cherry. I drank, I smiled. I sang with the jukebox. I loved the world. Secretly I could have drank three more. They were wonderful. Just remember "Mudslides", if you are at the bowling alley and you want a super treat that later will make you lightheaded.Just tell Billie, whom I believe is "Super Tender", this skill left over from her "Hanky Panky" days.

Anyway we came home. The butterscocth and the mudslide didn't take a liking to each other. I stayed in the recliner for two hours. Not feeling so well. So no preprepared blog. No ideas, only fantasy's of the milkshake that carries the kick. If you happen to read this. Tomoorrow I will have a blog. I will look for a topic. I will do better. Oh I know I have made these promises before. But I swear this time is true. Now I may go get back in my chair and dream of that tasty concoction my daughter made. Please I want more. So today I am gone. Hoping to be back tomorrow. See you then.

COME FLY THE FRIENDLY SKIES.

Sunday morning coming down. i think it will be a quiet day around here. I think that somewhere someone is boarding a plane to Greece. It's not me. But oh I wish it was. Somewhere someone is backpacking across Mexico. It's not me but I wish.

I want to travel ,my finances say I probably won't be able to. But my wandering heart wants too. I want to pack a bag and jump on a plane. I want to hit the friendly skies with wild abandon. I want to soar just like the birds. I have never flown. I want to fly. Preferably out of the country. Oh I want to come back, but I want to go. See places I have never seen. Drink wine on a shore in Greece. Walk under Mexican skies. I would like to go to Italy and to Venice. I want to ride in a Gondola.On the Canal in Venice like I read about in my Venice mystery's.

I have seen quite a lot of America, not all the states. But many of them. But I have never been out of the country. It's not fair I cry, I want to be international. Be a world traveler. I sit and think about it at times. when my mind wanders off to unknown places.I close my eyes and see myself flying off into the unknown. I see myself in a sundress and sandals walking under the hot Mexican sun. Stopping in a small cafe and eating flour tortillas and drinking a beer. Now I really don't like beer and do not care for much drinking. But doesn't that sound so neat.

Then I see myself in the same sundress walking through a little village in Greece. Stopping at a sidewalk cafe and have a glass of wine. I will sun myself on a large rock beside the sea. I will get a marvelous tan and meet very interesting people.

Then I see myself in Italy. But this time not in the same sundress and sandals.. I will visit a winery. I will wear a peasant skirt and a bright colored blouse and tie a scarf around my head. I will drink more wine. This traveling just might cause me to have a drinking problem. But oh doesn't it sound wonderful.

I open my eyes from thinking. I look around at my surroundings. Just a little house in Joplin, Missouri. I go to the door and look up at the skies. I think I hear a cloud call my name. Urging me to come, come and fly the friendly skies. Oh how I would love to go. Just pack a bag and just go with the adventure. But for now, I sit back down, I'll go but probably only in my mind. But someday my friend I will become international. The sophisticated, interesting, Billye Swift. Can't you just get the picture?

YOUR MOST IMPORTANT POSSESSIONS

It's Saturday morning, five am. Both dogs are up milling around. They have been eating thin sliced Turkey and they keep wanting more. Up and down I have been moving from the computer seat. "That's enough," I announced, "There will be no more. Now they are both sulking. "H" whining, "I" stalking off, shooting me back a accusing glance. We are starting the day off right at the Swift house.

I wrote on this Blog last week about hoarding. How we as humans find possessions so important. We want more and more. Never ending. It set me to thinking about what we have in this house. And what I would really find important. Really getting serious about it. I found it surprising to myself how quickly I could find the answer. I have over the last week asked others what would be their most important items they would choose if they could only pick five. Some gave me five, some only one. Some didn't answer. I Will start with my list, it is as follows.

Everyone knows I love my shoes and clothes. Since 1984 I have started over several times after losing almost everything I owned. But when it comes right down to it my shoes and clothes wouldn't even make it to my list. Number one on my list, My Mothers Bible. I just even love the feel of it. I rub it on my face as her hands have held it so many hours. I also keep my birth certificate and marriage licence it it so I would have those too. Number two and three I will lump together. Not separating them. They would be the pictures of my children when they were small. I had lost all my pictures. Their Dad made copies on his computer several years ago. I will never lose them again. Number four, A large picture frame in my dining room that my grandson Will gave me a couple of years ago. It has many pictures in it. It has one of my little sister Brenda and I together on her wedding day. There are many pictures of all of my family. Number five would be the Afghan my Mother made my little sister. It belongs to Will. I have had it for a few years, keeping it for him. Actually he needs to give it to one of his girls. So that is my list. I have many things my daughter and son have gave me that I would hate to lose. But this is my list. My most prized possessions.

At the bowling alley last Sunday I asked Billie and Chris this question. Billie said her family picture and her jewelry box. Chris said her hope chest. Of course in her hope chest is things her Aunt Dixie and grandmother made her, plus pictures. So she made a smart choice i think. They were both busy and only had time for one pick.

My brother Bud when I asked him said his number one choice would be his Martin guitar. His words were, "I guess it would be my old Martin. And some of my boots." So I guess he gave me two. Everyone knows how Bud loves his guitar. You think of Bud you think of music and his boots. So that was no surprise. Well maybe a little. My sister Geri said number one, The Bible Mom gave her, it still has the letter inside that Mom had wrote her and put in the Bible before she died. Number two a wooden jewelry box that has a picture of Mom and her sisters. Number three was a picture of Mom and Dad's wedding day. Number four she said is a large picture frame she calls her family tree. It has several important pictures in it. Number five would be a picture taken of her and her four children at Amy's graduation she has in a frame. These are her most important possessions.

My husband Steve said number one would be the 42 inch television he bought for me so I could still see television. See he can be sweet sometimes. Number two would be the picture of him and his mother and brothers and sisters when he was young. Number three would be the picture of his daughter Amy in a incubator and him with his hand into the opening. Number four His computer. Number five his locked box which contains important papers.

My friend Joan who is a artist said her first four would be pictures she has painted and wants to leave to her children and her sister. The fifth would be her lock box. My friend Nancy said, Number one would be a tote bag full of pictures she has. Number two her glasses. Number three a blanket. That one surprised me a little. Number four, her album of stories she wrote.

I called my grandson Will yesterday. I think I might have woke him up. He gave me three. Without hesitation he said Number one would be the picture of Brenda that hangs on his living room wall. I feel that somewhere Brenda smiled at that answer. Number two his picture album of when he was a kid. Number three his wedding ring. These were his most important things.

I think when you are first hit with the question you may have a tendency to want the things you use every day. My sister said first her rollers and battery radio. I told her that was fine with me but that would mean she would be losing old pictures that could not be replaced. She then quickly got the picture and changed her mind. It would be hard to start over with only five things. I think its hard for anyone to grasp that every thing you owned would be gone in a instant. That all the little mementos vanished forever.

I just thought this interesting to see what are the things that matter most to us. Because actually most things can be replaced. Clothes, furniture but many can't. Like old pictures and jewelry that may have been handed down or given to us by someone special.So just a little insight into a few people. Myself included. If you happen to read this and I wasn't able to ask you and you have some important items. Things most important to you. Just write on my wall at facebook or email me. I'll write another Blog soon about this same subject and include the ones I missed. I'm interested to know your most important possessions. This is being said to you girls in Kansas. Thanks for taking the time.to stop by today. I'll see you next time you happen by. But for now I'm outta here.

GOOD GRIEF, I'VE BEEN OSTRACIZED.

It is Friday morning. Almost 5:ooam. The rain has stopped but a dampness still seems to hover in the air. I have to get Steve up soon. So I am drinking my coffee and trying to settle my brain into the day.

I wrote awhile back about wanting my sister and I to be put in someones loop. I have had no offers, my sister hasn't either. At least she hasn't mentioned it anyway. Maybe she just doesn't want to hurt my feelings. She could be safely added to someones loop and getting all kinds of information. I have not been added, I am not privy to any one's information. I feel very badly about this. All of the loops over the world and there is not one that will add me into their's. My reputation as a blabber mouth must be making the rounds.

Yesterday I went with my husband to the Dollar store. I went through the line, he went through the line. He was telling the lady behind the check out counter some family news that I did not know. When we started out the door, I asked where in the world he got that information. He told me. I learned this news after the check out lady did at the Family Dollar , and we don't even know her name.

I called my daughter. I asked her if this was true. She said yes. "Why haven't you told me,"I cried. She answered, "I thought you knew." How would I know when nobody tells me anything. I get any family news from Facebook, if they don't put it on there, I don't get it. Facebook is a constant feed. I don't go on all the time. It is written and slips off into cyberland before I can read it.

I looked up the word "Ostracize". The meaning to be "Excluded, or to "Banish." At last I know what has happened to me. I have been "Ostracized." I never even realized it was happening. Banished from my own family. I am totally speechless. And anyone who knows me, knows that never happens. How does one go about being "unostracized?" I feel a little like I have a scarlet letter hanging around my neck. People poke each other. "Look at her." She has been Ostracized from her own family. Poor thing."

Sometimes you just have to face the truth. As painful as it may be.I'm not in a loop. I'm not getting into one. I might as well quit asking. If you are in one of your own. Please don't worry I will keep begging to get in. I'm through with the whining. I have no information. I won't be getting any either. That's okay. I'm tough. I can take it. I even understand why you probably put my sister into a loop and not me. She is sweeter than me. So not only am I a dipsy old lady. I am also a uninformed one. You'll know me when you see me. The spaced out looking lady that doesn't where she is going or with who. That's because I'm not in a loop. So on that sad note and with a heavy heart. I'm outta here..

THE KALEIDOSCOPE OF MY LIFE.

This week is really scooting along, Thursday already. remember when you were a kid in school and it seemed like Monday until Friday went on forever. As I have written before the days seem to go at a speed that is unreal. Where did the days go? How did Monday become Thursday. Age of course is the answer, the older I get the faster they go. Oh yes its raining out this morning. It looks like we may have a dark, dreary day.

When you were young do you remember having a Kaleidoscope? You know one of those toys that was a tube, with colored glass and when you turned the tube, the colors and patterns kept changing. I had one as a kid. Both of my kids had them too. Even as a adult I loved to turn the tube. My eye to the center, watching as the colors smoothly turned a different pattern, different colors. All with only a bare turn and everything was changed.

Thats sort of how life is I think, but you don't even have to turn a tube. It just keeps changing, sometimes smoothly, sometimes not so smooth. But change life does, so instantly its scary. The sickness that fell on Mikayla last July was a prime example of how life can be in your control one minute, out of your control the next. But wait a minute, maybe we are never really in control. We just sometimes think we are.

My life seems to be like that Kaleidoscope. But something or somebody has the tube of my life and just keeps turning and turning. As the different colors and changes keep my head spinning. I want to holler stop, lay it down. I'm getting dizzy. Now sometimes change can be good, then sometimes not so good. I am at a place in my life I want the scope to stay in one place. I don't want people I love to go far away. I don't want people I love to be sick or have problems. I want my kaleidoscope set on one pattern and then I want whoever is in control or is messing with it to leave it the heck alone. Just pick me some pretty colors, a interesting pattern. Then gently lay it down and let it be.

This is what I would like please. My plea goes out to whoever or whatever is turning my scope. I am older. There are days I am weary. So don't when you get bored pick up my scope and start turning the heck out of it. Because this last year that's what I feel you are doing. I'm asking nice. Move on to somebody else's Kaleidoscope. And please leave mine alone. Okay?

THE SLIP INCIDENT.

Yesterday was a beautiful day. Spring is here and now it feels like Spring. Gone is the snow, I heard birds singing. I am ready for the flowers, the budding trees. I want it all.

We have in our family an incident. It involves a song, a church, my Mother, sister, brother and myself. It is the "Great slip of the slip episode." A tiny play on words if you don't mind. My Mother loved to sing, she was a wonderful singer and song writer. My brother plays and sings. My little sister Brenda and I wasn't quite so blessed. But we always gave it our all. Mother loved it when Bud brought his guitar and came and played at church. He and Mother sang together quite often. Mom could harmonise with him and they sounded great. Everyone loved to hear them sing. There was one song they let Brenda and I sing with them. "Daddy sang bass and Momma sang tenor." You remember that song right? It also has in it,"Will the circle be unbroken, by and by Lord, by and by." Bud always did the "Daddy sang bass part," Momma the,"Mama sang tenor." Brenda and I just got to do the chorus, but we we sang our hearts out. Being part of a music group, good stuff. Our quick five minutes in the limelight.

One Sunday Mom had asked Bud to come and sing. Something special was going om. I kind of think it was Easter. I called Bud , he usually can tell me what, where, when. He remembers it happening but doesn't know what the occasion was. He started laughing when I mentioned it because he said there was a picture around somewhere of it happening. I who pride myself on old memory's, but I can't remember a picture. Only the one burned into my brain. It was one of those times when you almost had to be there.

The church was packed that Sunday morning. Several visiting preachers, all lined up in chairs on the platform. A big special day. Before church Brenda and I both kept telling Mom her slip seemed to be coming down. She would grab at her waist and hike it up. Once right before church she went into the bathroom and pulled it up good. Good for a short while anyway. I have always wondered why when she realized the elastic was giving out she just didn't go back and take it off. But no, not Mother. I think probably she was araid someone would see through her dress. So she just kept hiking.

They called us to come up front. As we stood up from the pew I noticed the dreaded slip was making its way back down.. I looked at Brenda, Brenda looked at me. We smiled. I poked Mom. "Mom," I whispered, "Your slip." She gave her waist a yank. One side went up some, but the other side slid down just a little more. We made it to the platform. There was myself, Mom, Bud and Brenda. We started singing. It sounded good. But then I looked down in horror. the slip was now sliding down pretty fast. I looked over at Brenda , she started smiling bigger and bigger. I was trying my best not to laugh. Because the run away slip was now headed for Mom's ankles.

I have no idea what those preachers sitting behind us thought as they watched Mom's slip slide to the floor. I was trying so hard not to laugh, so was Brenda. Bud bless his heart didn't even know it was happening until it was over. He said until after the service he had no idea what was going on. I guess you could say he was lost in his music. Mom never missed a note. The slip hit the floor. Of course she was standing behind the pulpit so not everyone in the audince could see what was happening. Just a platform of Minsters for sure. Mom kept singing. She reached down, picked up the slip and stuck it in the pulpit. And kept right on singing. What a trooper.

The song over we made our way back to the pew. Mom kept telling us to hush because we were laughing. The minister preached with Mom's slip still in the pulpit. It was a funny moment. But good old Mom didn't let it throw her. I told Bud on the phone I took my helter skelter ways from Mom. So my Mother showed her slip to at least half the audience and all of the Preachers. I love this memory because it shows someone in the family besides me can do something wacky. Everyone is so dang sensible and quiet. Then there's me. But for one shining moment it was Momma. Way to go Mom. You were cool.

INCREDIBLE

Tues morning. It is 5:19 AM. before I even start this. I want to say I am sorry for yesterday. I read back over it and had not used spell check. Good grief, the spelling was terrible. I won't forget today. I have been up since four. Steve left town for a couple of days and getting him ready when he is sleepy, cranky and not Mister Sunshine takes it out of you. But peace has settled over our house and the dogs have gone back to bed. When a chatty Cathy yearns for peace and quiet, you know things have been hectic. My little guys and I have settled into the silent mode. I am hoping we stay right in this mode the next two days.

I talk about my dogs on here every once in awhile. Especially my "I". Before we become dog parents, we had dogs over the years. I had been around dogs all my life. But I was never connected, Man's best friend sort of relationship with any dog. We got "H" eight years ago. Then in June 2005 my best friend came to live with me. We named her Incredible, we call her "I". I had always sort of looked down on people who treated their dogs as human. We had several I loved and took as good as care as I could of them. But when they were gone, no tears were shed. Then came "I".

I have turned into one of those little old ladies who treat their dog as if it was a baby. I baby her but the way I treat her is called friend. She is my friend, my constant companion. You know like the "Lone Ranger and Tonto." I have friends, human friends, Many I have known for years but "I" is different. I go days sometimes that I only see Steve and he is gone much of the time. The phone doesn't rang alot but I have my friend, "I". We trudge through the days side by side.

When my feet hit the floor, four or five AM, it doesn't matter. She hits the floor with me. She follows me room to room. Looking at me as if to say, "Whats up Mom?" Her loyalty is never ending. Her love is apparent. Always there, always the same. Not many friends you can say that about. People let you down. Most of the time they probably don't mean too, but they do. Not my "I".

I feel when you deal with people there is always a certain amount of game playing involved. Always careful, walking softly, eggs shatter easy you know. We all, well most of us, crave human companionship, but sometimes it can wear you out. Nerves rubbed to the raw edge. That's when my "I" can jump on my lap and looks up at me with trust and love. No prices to pay, no angry word to shoot at me. Just love. I can take a deep breath and just calm down.

Sometimes after a really rough day when the arrows fly at me and I feel I need a umbrella to hold over my head to protect me from the storm. I look down, I pick her up, holding her close to my chest. She kisses me. "It's okay Mom,"she says with her eyes. "I love you."

Most of you think I'm nuts anyway so I don't mind saying this on paper, for the world to see. Of course we know there won't be a world reading this but for those that do. I want to say, "I", is my miracle. When despair knocks at my door, its "I" that answers the door with me. this Little fourteen pound dog, she won't be that weight for long if she doesn't lay off the cookies. But this little dog is my strength, is what I hold onto when I feel so overwhelmed. She is my friend, she sleeps beside me, she lays next to me in my chair. When I feel the hot breath of anger on my neck she looks at me. She gives me hope. For another day, another shot of energy to keep me going.

What a very strange Blog today, right? I get on these kicks and when I read my Blogs back a few days later. I think good grief I have probably lost what few readers I have. Call me crazy, a crazy old lady who loves her dog. But you must understand, she may look like a dog to you. To me she is what gives me strength when the inside of the house I spend so many hours in seems to have even the air filled with tenseness. I hold my "I". I am at peace. I wonder what soft, gentle person's persona lives in my "I". God has truly sent me something to hold on too.

So this is my Blog for today, written by a woman, a older woman who believes her dog has a special sweet spirit in her little body and she was sent to me to give me the strength to keep going. Don't feel sorry for me being nuts. It isn't really a bad way to be. Oh but take heart, I haven't started talking to myself yet. So maybe I haven't really crossed the too far gone line. But I do talk to "I", all the time. I swear that someday I know she will answer me back. If she ever does, I will be sure to let you know what she has to say.

SHE DANCED WITH THE COWBOY.

Monday, new week, new day. Oh the possibilities that just might lay ahead this week. May be this week I might win the Power Ball, don't laugh, you never know.

Yesterday afternoon I went to the bowling alley with Steve while he bowled. I don't do that much because I am a real pain for my daughter. I like to play Keno and that entails some work on her part. But she always smiles as if its no chore at all. She is being busy waiting on people and I am hollering Billie because I want new num,bers. I am sure she would like to bounce me off the stool. But lucky for me she doesn't. I also saw Brandi and Will and Christina and before all was said and done I saw Brandi's boys. So all in all it was a good day for me.

I love my grandkids. It is unreal that they are all grown. But I see them the way I do Billie and Jeremy, forever little and young in my heart. In January of 1975 Billie had Vernon, she was fifteen. In August of that same year I had Jeremy. So there we were two boys, Uncle and nephew, with the Uncle six months younger than the nephew. January of 1976 almost one year later, Billie had Mike. So together we had three little boys. Then in 1978 Billie had Will, another little boy for the gang. Then in 1981 Billie had Brandi, finally a girl amidst all the boys.

Three little boys, each born about six months apart. They were all three different in their own way. Vernon the tall tale weaver, and he also had a love of matches. But at my first sight of Vernon I fell in love. Jer forever the bouncy one, always on the move, eyes sparkling, potato masher triwling, he was the one with the most engery. Then came Mike. When I first saw the picture of Malachi at the top of this page I thought of Mike. By the time he was a year old he would sit in his high chair, eating, his eyes half closed and groaning in pleasure. I thought he would be the biggest of all the boys. He is not, he is the smallest. Then last of the boys was Will, the quietest when he was small. He was afraid of loud nosies. Everyone tried to be careful not to make loud sounds around Will. He was afraid of balloons. He was the cautious one. Ever fearful, ever doubtful As if there might be someone out there after him.

Then came the girl, Brandi. I was so happy, at long last a girl. She was my heart from day one. I have many special memories of Brandi growing up. I use to tell her I was her only real grandmother that her wonderful grandmother that lived across town was not a real grandma like me. I am very ashamed, The one special memory I have is when she came to stay all night. I had a friend there, He was older cowboy,always wore jeans and listened to the country videos. She had rolled his hair,put nail polish on his fingernails, He just smiled, Pretty soon she came up to him, music playing in the background, her red curls bobbing, She bowed at the waist, "Gary Olds," she asked in a solemn voice. "Will you have this dance with me. The most awesome sight came to life before my eyes. He stood, They danced through the living room, into the dining room. A little girl, a cowboy. The picture embedded forever.

I wanted to start this week out right on my Blog. with Words that would come to life before your eyes, A blog that would make some sense. Istead I have told you of you of my heart. Jer and my grandkids. The glue that keeps me hanging on. So I will not apologise. The words are written, the publish button is close at hand.It is over for the day. Just remember my words, there is always a tomorrow. So until then my real or imaginable fiends. I am out of here.










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ARE YOU A HOARDER?

Good Sunday morning and the snow I said we hadn't gotten yesterday, we now have this morning. And it is still snowing. Oh yes, I had made such a big deal about the first day of spring and yesterday came and went and I didn't mention it at all. So yesterday was the first day of Spring and boom we have snow. Oh well, just old Missouri weather. It won't last long, at least I hope not.

I look at all my belongings scattered through the house. My things, my personal property. You then combine it with Steve's property that is scattered around the house. Then toss in our mutual belongings, such as furniture, dishes, household items. I blink at the image. The television show that comes to mind is Hoarders. I have watched that show several times. The next day after I watch it I go through the house throwing things away, but not many. Just enough to convince myself I could never be a hoarder. The truth is I may slowly be becoming one.

We are a nation of people who need things, gadgets, clothes, stuff for the house. Stuff for the kids, stuff for us. Any new thing coming out we want. More and more and more. We go out and buy big plastic totes, so we will have some place to put our stuff. We line our garages, basements, every little nook and cranny with these totes. Totes that hold our stuff. I wonder why sometimes if I am not using it do I need to fill totes with it. Why not just give it away or throw it out. I cringe at the thought.. I do it so I will have the room to go out and buy more stuff. Get the picture?

In my bedroom against one wall I have around twenty-five boxes of shoes. Now this is not counting the shoes under the bed, and in the closet, or the ones in totes. These are shoes that have been bought in the last six months. Why all the shoes? I keep thinking I may need them soon. Or I may need a certain color of shoe and won't have it or be able to buy it. So I am storing away for future use. I have not been able to buy any the last month and actually think I am having withdrawals.

They say hoarding is a mental illness. The need to have more and more of something, anything. We just don't want to run out. A real hoarder though doesn't care what they hoard, it can be papers. magazines, trash. Just piles and piles of things, until they no longer can get in their house.

Most of us aren't that type of hoarder, one who saves trash. But many of us just might be knocking on the door. I look around and see so many things I never use and still I want more. I just don't want to be where I don't have what I need. I have stuff everywhere, stuff that is stuffed into stuff to make more room for, you got it, more stuff. It's crazy really. The need we humans have to attain material things.

I saw a lady on the street awhile back that had her clothes in two black bags. A street person. I would say all her earthly possessions were in those bags. I wondered how I would make it with so few clothes and shoes, how would I exist without my stuff? It made me think of all the clothes I have that I really don't even wear. But I can't see myself getting rid of any of them. So I just buy more when I can and add to the already growing amount of stuff I already own.

The problem is the house we live in is over a hundred years old. The closets made back in the days when ladies had maybe three or four dresses and the gentlemen two pairs of pants and maybe three shirts. These closets were not made for the many clothes that I own. I know I need to pare back, make things simpler but I seem not to have the motivation to accomplish that project. I keep putting it off for later, tomorrow. But of course tomorrow never comes. Not for that anyway.

So I do my best to keep order in this house filled with all our stuff. And hold on tightly to material processions that really in the theme of life don't really mean a dang thing. I sometimes wish I lived in a little cabin by the river somewhere. Two pairs of jeans, two tops and one dress. Maybe three pairs of shoes. Just me and my "I", a little garden. Just a small cabin alone with very few items but myself and "I", No clutter, no fuss, no muss. Well maybe a radio, a Television, some books, Oh no here I go again. Dragging it all along. For now, I'm out of here.

HERO'S LIKE GARLIC BREAD.

Good morning. It is raining here this morning, but at least not the snow and sleet they were predicting. We have made it into the weekend. The days seems to slide together, especially since I am not working anymore. But for those of you that are off from work, I hope you have a great weekend.

Several weeks ago on this Blog I wrote about Hero's, The Bassett's. I talked of the Bone Marrow transplant and the fact the donor was Malachi Bassett. One year old. It goes to show that real life Hero's can be short in the britches. You don't have to look like Superman to be a hero. You can tell by the picture at the top of the Blog today that Malachi loves to eat and especially garlic bread. Some franchise restaurant should scoop him up for a ad, because they say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well this one certainly speaks loud and clear. Garlic Bread at the "Olive Garden," is mighty good stuff. The delight on his face and the smile makes you feel good all over.

The family have been back home for several weeks now from the hospital. There has been a couple of tight spots but over all Mikayla is doing great. Malachi's blood and cells have taken over in her body and she is completely Leukemia free. All because of this smiling little man. Who has no idea he has given his sister's life back to her.

I think we all have wondered sometime in our life's if we were called on to be a hero, would be able to have the strength to put all fears aside and help them. It makes you wonder and hope. Hope that you could for one minute put yourself second and run into a burning building and rescue someone. I don't know, people do it everyday. People you would never consider to be hero's. But in the right circumstance the plight of another comes before thoughts of our own safety. I would like to think I could do that, would have the courage. I think we never really know until that moment comes.

But sometimes you can be someones hero without jumping in front of a bullet to save their life. You can just be there for them when the rest of the world may be kicking them down.

Hero's come in all sizes. Malachi is proof of that theory. Malachi doesn't even know he is a hero. For sometimes someone can without knowing it be a hero to us or us to them. We have at times had someone go out of their way for us, to give us an encouraging word and they become our Hero. At the time we needed them the most they were there.

And a hero may not even know they are one. Just like Malachi. They just go through life smiling and eating that Garlic Bread. Never realizing they have saved someones life. See that kind word you took the time to give someone who was desperately looking for some sort of light in their life. Just your smile and a moment of your time could have been the reason they kept hanging on. So just remember as you eat your garlic bread. Your chance to be a hero, just might come along. You never know when you might get that chance. just like Malachi. Don't you just love that face?

SOMEDAY I AM GOING TO PORTLAND.

Here it is Friday again. I blink once and the week is gone. Time can be an enemy as we age. but I definitely do not want it to stop. Even if it goes fast as a speeding train at least if time is still moving for me, then I am still breathing.

When I am no longer breathing I am going to Portland. Now I have been in Oregon but not Portland. I wish I could say I am looking forward to going but to be honest I'm not that keen on the trip. I always say someday I will packing my Doctor Denton's and go to Portland. The truth of the matter is there won't be much packing needed for this trip. Just me, it's a trip I will make alone. Actually I kid about it quite often, why not. The end will eventually come to us all. Some sooner than others but come it will. I have high hopes of living to be a hundred but that is hope. There is of course no guarantee. Not for any of us. Its why it pays to keep our words soft and sweet, we never know when they may be our last.

We may joke about Portland around our house but the truth is it's actually a serious matter. My husband and I decided we would donate our entire body's to be used for medical purpose's after our deaths. Now you do see I said after. There will be no parting me out before I'm gone. Why not do this I think. It saves my children the worry of a funeral and I will be doing some good. Maybe help a child or a burn patient. I haven't completely went into the details about what all they use but I think its a whole lot. Someday I will be singing, "I am here, I'm there, I'm everywhere." Actually I kind of like that idea. Parts of me living on. and I've always loved to travel.

The only part that I worry about is the me that will live on. My soul you see. Will I be chasing all over looking up my lost parts. Will some of my bad habits come out in someone else. I sure hope not. Its just things I think about. I know they won't use my hair. That will be set aside. My brain, many are hollering "No, no." My eyes are gone. But they probably will be using my eyes for research. Now won't that be good. But my important part, my spirit, my soul, whatever you call it, will live on.

I have said before. I am sort of like Tigger, bouncy and trouncey. So is my son. If my spirit lingers after my last breath is gone. You better hope you are not one of those I come visit. I will, I think be a noisy spirit. Things that go bump in the night kind of spirit. I am a tease you know. So be ready for some lively evenings.

So when I go and if you are still around and you hear a plane a few hours later fly over. Just say, "There she goes, on her way to Portland. Run to your window real fast and take binoculars with you. Look up quick, towards the tail of the plane. I might just be going along for the ride, waving as I go. My Doctor Denton's under my arm. A whole new adventure laid out before me. Watch out Portland, Here I come.

The lady with the claw.

It is Thursday morning. Saint Patrick's day is over and no green beer for me. But I didn't get pinched and that was good. "I" and I are up early as usual. She did a silent yard run this morning. Slipping through the yard, listening to the sounds that drifted to her. Stopping, listening. I watched her from the door. I need to be better at doing that, listening.

I wasn't sure if I would do anything for Saint Pats day and I guess really I didn't. But I did go somewhere. A huge, I mean really huge rummage sale. Its a yearly event they have at the First Methodist church. It's planned on Spring break so the Youth group of teenagers can help. It's how they raise money for Missions. Its a massive affair. I love to go but each year I found it a little harder to navigate around in it but I do not see giving up going. Its held in their large hall and is filled to capacity with items of every imaginable object you could think of and then some.They have been having this sale for years, people watch for it, they wait for it. They turn out for it in droves.

It runs two days and starts at seven AM and closes at six PM. There must have been at least two hundred people already milling around when we got there at eight. They have tables full to over flowing, they have boxes full and a announcer encourages you to go through the boxes. People were doing just that, clothes were flying everywhere.

Joan and I have did this before. We know the drill. You find a empty box and start loading it. Now since there are so many people, someone everywhere you turn. And I not seeing too well, I constantly was running into somebody. It did not slow me down. It is exactly like being in a war zone. I kid you not. Someone says to someone else, :"Oh look at the pretty cookie jar." Fifteen sets of hands reach for the jar, the woman who first saw it is pushed out of the picture. Did I tell you there is lots of pushing and shoving.

People have this hard as steel look in their eyes , they have been here before. The early bird gets the worm. So every one of those birds have bargain on the brain. I grab a empty box, circling the room. I grab at things, stuffing items in my box. I am not sure what I am getting, it matters not. I forge ahead. I kick my box with my foot. I gave up trying to carry it fifteen minutes into the ordeal. I kick it ahead of me. If it slams into someones feet I mutter sorry and hurry on. People all around me are doing the same. I reach for a throw pillow and another woman does the same. We glare at each other. She gives it a hard yank and I feel it loosen from my grip. I shoot her a mean stare and hurry on.

I pass Joan once. "Are you okay," she asks? She has a full box, her eyes have a funny almost glazed look in them. "Some woman tried to take my robe," she whines. She points to a bright flowery robe. She smiled. "She didn't get it though." I wondered what happened to the woman. Was she still on her feet?

After awhile I heard one woman say to another, "I feel so overwhelmed by all this." I want to say, "If you can't stand the heat sister, get out of the kitchen" I finally make my way to the front to pay. The announcer keeps coming on saying there is new boxes in the front. Feel free to check them out. My eyes fall on this tall box. Full of wonderful items. And right on the top lays this beautiful picture frame. A wide gold frame, new with the tags still attached. I reach for it, smiling. Just as my hands grasp it a vise like claw grabs my arm. Now maybe it wasn't really a claw but a very irate woman's hand. She spoke in a voice that sounded like "Luke the sky walkers," real dad, "Darth Vader." I jumped a foot as she tightened the claw. "That is my box," she hissed. I gladly handed back the frame to the shopper from He--. I"m sorry I tried to tell her but she was having none of that. Giving me the meanest look I have ever gotten. And believe me I have received some bad ones. She stalked away, kicking her box, glaring at me. I felt like people were staring at me. Frame thief was running through their minds.

We finally got paid up and out too her 4x4. We had had been through the war zone and made it out alive.. Our hair was disdelved, we had on no lipstick. My arm hurt from the claw lady but we made it through in one hour and a half. We were proud. Our four boxes sat together in the back seat. Together we had only spent fifteen dollars. What a morning. We headed home.

She called me late in the afternoon. She said the two pair of shoes she had fought so hard for were both split down the side. She had to throw them away. Her rooster was chipped. I said the lovely curtains I had been so proud of were in reality four valances and not curtains at all. The two tops I bought were too small. But really it didn't matter, we had met the enemy and we had survived. I just love rummage sales.

SAINT PATRICK'S DAY.

Dig out your green today, because it's March 17th, Saint Patricks day. I have a corned beef brisket to put in the crock pot and a head of cabbage. I am going all out to try and bring the luck in . Oh I also have green shamrock earrings. I wanted to get fancy and put a picture of a rainbow with a pot of gold on the blog today. But sorry it didn't work out. So there is no fancy art work to get you in the mood.

I am trying to get the hang of putting pictures and a few items on my blog but as I don't see well its not easy. This giant pink flower at the top of the page was not my choice but the only picture I could get to copy. So now if you do drop by this big flower jumps out at you. I wanted spring flowers, something soft and pretty. Instead I have this large pink blossom that seems to overwhelm the page. I promise I will be working on this. There is no telling what I will end up with though. So hang onto your hats.

Anymore when I go to the store there is never any telling what I might end up with there either. I think I am buying one item and end up with something else. But there is a sunny side to that, there is always a element of surprise in my meals. Steve over the last year has taken to eating more snacks and less cooked meals. Hmmm, I wonder why? But I keep right on trying.

One thing bad about poor sight is that effects seeing faces clear. Someone will bound up to me, "Hi Billye, how are you doing?" I mutter fine, all the time trying to connect the voice to what I am seeing of their face. But the plus is that I don't see my wrinkles as clear as I could. So if I am not seeing your face clear that means I'm not seeing mine clear either. So there is always a bright side if you look for it hard enough. At least that's what my Momma always said.

I wanted to have a special blog today. Saint Patricks day and all. It didn't work out. One of those days sparse on the wit and heavy on the boring. But if you get a chance drop by tomorrow and I will try to stir the brain a little harder and come up with something a little more interesting. At least I will try. Below you will find a couple of lucky things I came across. Also a little about Saint Patrick's Day.
So today I am cooking corned beef and cabbage and wearing my green earrings. I'm looking for the rainbow and the pot of gold. Maybe the little lucky Leprechaun will appear and direct me in the right direction. Hope always springs eternal. Maybe I should drink a green beer or something fun like that. I guess green beer drinking is fun. I'll have to ask around. So for today, I'm out of here.


Nature's Good Luck Signs
Ancient Folklore
5. Acorns
In Norse folklore, both the Acorn and its bearer, the oak tree, bring good fortune.

The Vikings associated oak trees with Thor, the god who created thunder and lightning with his great anvil and hammer. Because the tree attracted lightning, it was sacred to Thor. Thus they believed that the Acorn, the fruit of the oak tree, was always spared the god's wrath, and so they began putting a lone Acorn on their windowsills to protect their houses from lightning's wrath.

6. Rainbows
Rainbows are considered lucky, because we all know, if we find the end of the Rainbow, there will be a pot of gold.

7. Eggs
In traditional folk religion, the Egg is a powerful symbol of fertility, purity and rebirth.
It is used in magical rituals to promote fertility and restore virility; to look into the future, to bring good weather, encourage the growth of crops and protect both cattle and children against misfortune, and ward off the evil eye.

In England, a gift of a white Egg is considered lucky, but a brown Egg, not only brings luck, but happiness as well. -(The Encyclopedia of Religion, 1987, p.37,"Egg")

Saint Patrick's Day (Irish: Lá Fhéile Pádraig, Scottish Gaelic: Là Fhèill Pàdraig) is a yearly holiday celebrated on 17 March. It is named after Saint Patrick (circa AD 387–461), the most commonly recognized of the patron saints of Ireland. It began as a purely Christian holiday and became an official feast day in the early 1600s. However, it has gradually become more of a secular celebration of Ireland's culture.

DADDY'S LONG JOHN'S.

It is Tuesday morning. Early morning but then I am always up early. It is March the 16th. Remember March the 2oth. The first day of Spring. It has been cool the last few days but Momma always said it got cool and stormy before Easter. And you all know Momma was always right.

When I was a kid you knew when Spring was really here and things were warning up when Dad went from his one piece long Johns to undershirt and boxer shorts. Then the first sign of cool weather in the Fall back to the long Johns. I never knew for sure why they called them by that name. Though of course they were one piece and long but I always wondered why John. Why not long Fred's or long Sam's, but John it was. Dad caught cold easy and Mom always said it was because he wore them long Johns so long and he would get hot, then sweaty and then catch cold. Now whether that was a fact or not I don't know. But it was what Mom thought.

I can remember seeing Dad walking from the bedroom to the bathroom in those one piece jobbers. And when I was little I always thought I would like to have some. I thought they looked neat. I am sure they weren't that neat, trying to go to bathroom and letting down the trap door in the back. Now I know it wasn't really a trap door but I thought it looked like one.

I think if I had some I just might wear them now for pajama's. I wear sleep pants and some sort of raggedy old top. I have never really ever been the sexy nightgown type. When I go to bed I want something comfortable and in cool weather, something warm. My feet are always cold. So why not long John's or long Fred's or whatever. I remember years ago when Billie was about thirteen we bought her some bright red Pajama's, they looked like Long John's. She loved them.

I love pretty clothes but will defiantly sleep in just about anything. I admire women who look great when they sleep and wear these great looking night clothes. They seem to be the ones who's hair looks great too even when they sleep. My hair doesn't look good when I'm awake and just spent an hour on it. Let alone at night. I have visions of myself floating around in red satin nightgown and robe. With red furry slippers. My make-up correct and hair like a model. Slightly tousled with wisps falling across my forehead. Instead I look like a cross between that Maxine in the cartoons except she has more hair than I do. And Edith off the "All in the family." I will never look good when I sleep.

I don't look that good when I am awake and trying hard. So why not the long John,s. Maybe decorate them a little. Some pearls or a bright colored scarf around the waist. It could start a whole new trend.What does it really matter anyway, what we sleep in? I always use to worry what if I died in my sleep and I looked awful, no make-up or nothing. Now it makes me mad to think I might die. I sure am not going to get dressed up for them. Let them see me as is. I use to put eyeliner on before bedtime. Now I think no way. I will always wear eye liner though in the daytime.. Always. I know it is no longer is in style. But frankly I don't care. I like it, I wear it. Just that simple you see.

So here we are another day that has been just one long ramble. Although you do know now my Dad use to wear long John's and slept in them. You have also learned I wouldn't mind having a pair myself. You also learned I wear crappy clothes to sleep in. I can just hear the one or two that might read this think, "Frankly, Billye who gives a d---. So with those thoughts I Will go. Oh I might add I am on my seventy-ninth day. Yahoo!!!!!!!!!! They might not make any sense these Blogs. But look at me. I'm still writing them.

A PROPHET IS WITHOUT HONOR IN HIS OWN COUNTRY.

It's that time again. Monday morning. Five AM, coffee in my hands. A new week laid out before me. At least I'm counting on being around all week. Old heart don't fail me now. Brand new hours, new chances. Every day should be an experience for each of us. Precious time we should not squander. I always feel I should use it wisely but don't always succeed. Today I will try harder. Breath a little deeper, Thank God a little more often.

Well, I went to church yesterday. When I left the church it was still standing, no cracks in the walls. It was a good experience.. Jer gave a excellent sermon. If you hear him, you know beyond a shadow of doubt he has a call on his life.The music was excellent, a good turnout and I was proud of him.

I have heard him preach three times now. And it is always hard as his Mother to to comprehend this man who is speaking with compassion and enthusiasm is my helter skelter Jer. He has a gift. There is no denying it. You feel that presence when he speaks,

In the Bible in Matthew 13-57 Jesus speaks and he says, "A prophet is not without honor, save in his own country and his own house.." I think Jesus understood the concept that when people knows someone, grew up with them. See's their human frailties with feet of clay. Its sometimes hard to accept here is a man who God has whispered in his ear and spoke to his heart. There is no mistake when you hear him. He has a gift.

I do not know where this calling will lead him. He speaks with a compassion that touches people. I just wanted to say in the written word. Though I know he doesn't read my Blog. Jeremy I am proud of you. Your love for God and your desire that others will know God's love touches my heart. Sometimes walking in the light as God shows you is not always easy. And to be accepted sometimes in your own country, in your own house can be difficult. Never give up, never stop listening to God's words in your ear. Never stop having the burden for others you possess.

Our walk through life can be difficult. I guess sometimes we all feel a little misunderstood. Step at a time I tell myself. Just keep walking one step at a time. I am proud of my son. I am proud of my daighter. I have written here before when I feel really useless I look at my two children and feel I have contributed in some small way.

I wish I was a better writer. I wish I could take these words that live in my mind and express them better on paper. I wish I didn't look back at my years and count so many mistakes and errors that litter the highway of my life. I think what have I done? What difference have I ever made. Then I hear my son preach. Then I talk to my daughter on the phone. I remember her faith so strong when Mikayla was so sick. I am at least a small part of them. I feel good. So I just keep on taking one step at a time. I am blessed.

HELL FIRE AND DAMNATION.

It is Sunday. We are now a hour earlier than we were this time yesterday. When I was a kid six o'clock was six o'clock. Agendas of progress I guess. My body says five. "I" is outside and I am as usual waiting for the barking. I hope not. It doesn't seem to be raining so maybe today will be beautiful, sunny and all those wonderful things associated with almost Spring..

I am going to church this morning. Please do not get weak in the knees. My going to church will probably have that effect on many. At least on my sister. Years ago I use to go all the time. But over the years it has become less and less. And now I never go. Its sort of like I am about going to the Doctor. I use to go. Started going less and less. Now I never go at all. I quit going to the Doctor because I felt like all they did was find things wrong with me. Come to think of it that may be the reason I quit going to church.Maybe deep down I feel if I don't go to church, I won't realize all the faults I have.

But today I am going. My son preaches at the "Road," church this morning. Now I have heard him preach at college in Preaching class. And he did a really good job. I was very impressed. He is nervous today though. He called before six. He has asked many people he knows. He wants to say the right message. I know he wants so much to say the right words, do the right thing. He is earnest in his walk with God.

There is no pleasing everyone. You can try, you can do everything in your power to please. But there will always be somebody you won't. Someone who will criticize. So personally I feel preaching is like everything you do. Do what you feel is right, then let it go. Of course if you are preaching, you have the big boss to please. We know who I'm talking about and we sure don't want to get on the wrong side of him. But I keep telling Jer, preach from your heart.

When I was young and the type of church we went to. There was plenty of Hell fire and damnation preaching. I guess they thought if they couldn't get you to heaven any other way they would scare you into going. There was plenty of those kind of sermons. There was never any good news. Like God's great love for us. No sir, fire at your footsteps. And please do not wear make-up or nail polish in route to Heaven or you just might not get there. Plenty of don'ts. I always wondered where the peace and love came in. Religion is a form. Salvation my friend a different story. Oh sorry. Its my son preaching this morning, not me.

So I will not linger today. I am getting ready. Big morning. I am in hopes he doesn't look down from the pulpit, see me and think. Whoopee, I have a bona fide sinner on my hands. And preach directly to me. He calls me a heathen you know. So please wish me luck. For today, I am out of here.

MY SISTER THE BUNGEE JUMPER.

A new day. Whispers of rain still remain, tapping gently on the casing of the AC unit again. If it is raining softly I cannot always see it but I can always hear it. As it makes its presence known against the metal casing. I love the rain. I do not like lighting but I love the rain. And even the thunder as it booms across the horizen. I do not really tremble at high winds or Tornado warnings. But I have a high respect for the lighting as it streaks in anger against the sky. I feel it is always seeking, seeking a place to strike or someone to strike. I try very hard to stay away from it.

My sister told me today her granddaughter called her and told her when she turned eighteen she was taking her Bungee jumping. We both laughed hard at the thought. My sister is as sweet as they come. She is kind, smart, well read, great mother and grandmother. But she is not a fearless person. She works very hard to blend into the background. Not be noticed. She is afraid of many things. Height being one of them. I cannot began to image her hooked to a Bungee cord jumping off a bridge. I can't myself myself doing it either. I would love to climb a mountain. But I cannot see myself jumping into open air, even if there was a cord tied onto me. I am not a lucky person. Just the fright of the jumping would probably scare me to death.

But it would be cool to say I have an older sister that Bungee jumps. I would gladly go to the bridge with her or whereever they jump from. I would be right there in her corner ,yelling, "Go girl." They say it is a thrill, a rush. There has to be better ways to get a thrill than jumping with a cord hooked to you. I smile just at the thought of her jumping. She is scared to walk across seventh street in Joplin. Scared to death to hardly ride with anyone in a car. She is a nervous person.

Which of course there is nothing wrong with being a fearful person. I don't think I am overly fearful but nobody could intice me to jump off a bridge or whatever. Even if the cord stayed hooked, the sudden jolt I think would be bad for the heart. I don't, repeat don't. expect to ever find out how bad the jolt would be.

I like to try new experiences. I guess its testing yourself to try something you may be a little fearful of. But I have came to the age where I feel I have had just about as many exciting experiences I need in my lifetime. I think I will just stay with the tried and true. Although I want so much to back pack Mexico. But there my feet would be on the ground. Solid ground. And I know for sure my sister will not be Bungee jumping when Celstina turns eighteen.

So sorry Cele, but you'll have to count your Grandma out. She loves you I know. She is just not the Amelia Airhart type. You know taking off in the wild blue younder. So Sister I guess we are turning into fuddy dudies. For I do not see you hanging from a cord head first. I try to visualize it but believe me it doesn't come to mind. I think trying to teach me to drive was about as scary and fearless as you are going to get. So thats okay Sister. The world can pass us by all they want. We are peddling as fast as we can.

Oh, remember Daylight saving time tomorrow, Spring forward on those clocks tonight, No pearls today but I am proud I am giving infomaive news. Aren't you proud?

A PEARL OF WISDOM.

Good morning. I have written before there is a certain stillness you get at five AM that doesn't seem to be at any other. The deadness of three o'clock has passed, the world has started to waken, but there is a quiet that still envelopes the air around you. As if the day is waiting with anticipation to spring into life. I love this time of day. Steve is asleep. There is no television, no radio blasting, no sound yet from the neighborhood streets. Just quiet. I don't even have to listen to my own voice. "I", my dog and I slip around the house with only the sounds of the appliances running. Just her and I. I love it.

What's on my mind today? You know I am not totally sure. I have been having a run of empty mind days lately. Old memory's come back and I think I'd like to write about that, or an opinion and I file that away in my brain for further use. But I guess I stick it too far back because then I don't remember.

I have had a Documentary on my mind that I watched on HBO Saturday night. It was called "Magic and Bird." I loved it. I always liked pro basketball and use to watch it. I loved the Lakers and of course Magic was Lakers. But I loved Bird too. And after I watched the documentary I really like him. I wish the show would have gone on another hour. I was so caught up in it.

I don't watch lots of television, so I pick carefully what I use my eyes on. I want it to be something good. This definitely fell into that category. I have never been a big daytime television fan, especially soap operas. I put soaps in a class with wrestling. Ugg. I refuse to believe there is really anyone out there that really believes wrestling is real. Now maybe they watch it for the entertainment value. Which I see no value in any way about it. But if they like it, so let it be. But to try and say its real. Please, maybe a small child might believe, but even then by six or so they probably start knowing the difference. And I know there are people especially women who love the soaps. I have never understood the idea you could sit and watch hour after hour of Soaps and not go insane. I know a woman though that watches CNN and the weather channel for her Television viewing. Just sits and watches CNN hour after hour. But at least in doing that she is getting something out of it. She is at least getting information.
Soaps? I'm sorry. I see no value in them at all.

But of course give me "Dancing with the stars."and I am a happy camper. So I guess its choose your own poison. I know many people that wouldn't be caught dead watching that show. I dance around the living room. Clap for my favorites and act like the loony that we all know I am. I guess there just is no accounting for taste. So to each their own.

So I will leave you for another day. No pearls of wisdom today. Oh wait a minute. I guess there never is any Pearls of wisdom from me. I guess I'm thinking of "Dear Abby". Maybe I can think over night and somehow come up with some. But may Peace walk with you today and no shadows fall over your footsteps. Now will that count for a Pearl? Maybe tomorrow I can come up with a little more wisdom.

THE POLYESTER PLACE.

It is Thursday morning, March the 11th. We also are nine days away from the official first day of Spring. I would love to try my hand at a garden but I find a hundred excuses why I don't. I probably will use those excuses again this year.

Yesterday I went to lunch with a friend at the Polyester Place. We go once in awhile. The Polyester place being the Senor citizens. You can have lunch piled high on you tray for only three dollars. That my friend is a bargain. Yesterday was Taco salad, mixed fruit, chips, pudding, milk, juice, tea, the list goes on.The only bad aspect of the Polyester lunch is they herd you through line. Its like being in grade school. They send a table at a time, the ladies stand behind the line scooping the food onto the trays. Yesterday my lettuce adorned my pudding as it edged its way into the chocolate blob. You certainly get lots of food for your money though.

The seniors comes in all packages, some so old they hardly make it through the line. Some can't get there and volunteers carry their trays to them. Spirits seem high, they laugh and joke with each other. But the head lady announces each day, "Do not take any food home with you." You see people look nervously at their purses where they have just snuck a baggie of chicken to have for their dinner. Excuse me, whats the deal about a few left overs making there way home with a little old lady. "Its government rules. Now that you can't blame on "Obama" they had that rule before he took office. They take dogie bags home from restaurants. But they don't allow it at a government run club.

You get older and I am here to tell you to tell you everyone starts treating you like your have become a child again. I sat and watched people while I was there. One of the men who volunteers turned ninety-three yesterday. He passes out the milk as you slowly make your way through the line. He smiles, jokes. I love interacting with people that are old enough to be my parent. The amount of those people are getting smaller each day. So I get a smug feeling when I smile back at them. You are old, I think, very old. If you are old enough to be my parent than you are pretty old. But he doesn't act ninety-three. He's like Evelyn across the street. You know the lady who is ninety-six. They do not know they are old. They are too busy living their life's to sit around saying they are old. Some people I find get old earlier than others. Oh I know some people have more health problems, but aging is a state of mind.
There are people who are older that have health problems and they still squeeze every day they are alive for every second they can. I want to be just like those people.


So sorry kids if you happen across this page today. I will not age gracefully. My hair will probably be God knows what color in a given year. I will be wearing clothes that most won't care for. I will be doing silly things like writing this Blog. I refuse to sit and worry I might be not long for this world. I will do my leg raises. But the older I get cellulite is coming faster than the leg raises can be raised. I have wrote on this subject before I know. But I can be redundant if I want.

So sometime if you are wanting a good cheap lunch. If you are not sixty-two or older it costs five dollars, but still, come on, that's a bargain. You can drop by and see what old age has in store for you. You can see the smiling faces as they trudge fearlessly into the unknown, Old Age. Try it, it might be fun.

WORDS SAID AND UNSAID

It is the early morning hours again. Daylight still hiding its face.Both dogs are roaming the yard it appears on a unknown search. I am hoping for a good day today, sunshine, warm temps and smiling people. After the last two rough days with this Blog I am not sure if anyone will come around my page today. But if you do, thank-you for your bravery. I am going forward, even if I walk alone,

I don't remember if I mentioned before I took a class in College at Tulsa called non-verbal communications. The art of communicating without speaking. I rather enjoyed the class. Which may sound odd for me since I talk so much. But I liked learning the skills of using body language to convey what you are trying to get across to someone. I remember one class where we drew titles and had to act them out without speaking. Sort of like Charades. I drew "Three blind mice." I was up in front acting my heart out. Hands over my eyes for blind, hand wagging behind me for the mouse. Someone yelled out triumphantly, "Hickory dickery dock." I was completely crushed. I thought I had been doing so well.

When I first started classes to work with the deaf, everyone thought I would be a shoo in for learning sign language, because I talk with my hands. Quite honestly I could give a deaf person whip lash the way I fling my arms and hands around. It was hard for me to learn to sign in a small invisible box in front of myself. I did better at the non verbal class, although I finally did learn to sign.

But I love words. I guess that's why I keep trying to run new words in here, or what I think are new words. My sister let me know the word I used yesterday. Flatulence was one she already knew and implied probably others knew too. So I guess my Brother and I were the only ones not to know . But the power of words is not as strong as the way and tone we use to say them. Have you ever heard a teenager aggravated at you say, "What ever." Their tone lets you know they are not happy with you at all. We can say one thing to someone but our body language tells a completely different story. The bored look on your face. The shrug of your shoulders is saying I wish I was not here.Watch people sometime when you are talking to them, you might be surprised at what you learn.

I do not drive anymore. Sometimes I will ask someone to take me somewhere. I ask, I listen. You hear a sigh. Then the words, "I guess." Another sigh. Its all been said. I always say, "That's okay, I've changed my mind, I don't want to go." Too sensitive, maybe. But I don't think so. It was all said in the sigh. Its the unsaid words that sometimes hurts so much. Not the words said, but the ones unsaid. The look, the irritation that flees across the face and settles in their eyes before they catch themselves.

But oh the right words from the right person can put wings on your feet. A smile that lights your soul. A gentle hello. thank-you. I love you. I'm sorry. Words, spoken words. I love words don't you?

MY BROTHER SAYS EVERYBODY DOES IT.

I have to start this day out by apologising for yesterday. I read back the blog yesterday afternoon and cringed. It sounded a little like maybe a fourth grader and maybe not even that high of a grade. I was really lost in limbo land on that one. Of course I am not sure this one will be much better but in case anyone is brave enough to come back for one more try I will struggle through. So to the brave and valiant, here goes.

I called my brother yesterday evening, for a little brain picking. When I get desperate I call him and he usually will say something that will trigger something. It never hurts to have a smart brother. He was the only boy and all of us three sisters and Mom acted like he was made of gold. And to tell the truth to us he was. We thought him to be the smartest, most handsome man around. Dixie use to always gripe we had spoiled him because we treated him so special.

My sister and I was talking on the phone the other morning. I love to tease her, she has gotten where she gives it back pretty good. I asked her if she remembered how mean she was to me when we were kids. She mentioned how I use to always get out of helping with the dishes because I told Mom I was sick. Faithfully every night after the last bite was chewed and Mom said, "Time to do the dishes," I headed for the bathroom. "I'm sick," I wailed. And Mom would let me off the hook. It might not have been original but it worked. I told her she still shouldn't have been so mean to me. She said she only did it because I never helped with the dishes. I told her Bud might have held a dish towel but he always stayed on one plate, staring off into space dreamily. We both laughed and agreed he always seemed far away.

I called him later and asked if he remembered that, always staring off in space, day dreaming. I still do that he said. Him and I both agreed it was probably because he is artistic. I think maybe back then in his mind he was playing the "Grand Ole Opry."

Anyway I called him last night and asked what a real interesting word would be and with out missing a beat he said, "Flatulence." he asked if I knew what it meant and I had to say no. I had never heard it before. At least I don't remember hearing it. "What's it mean Bud," I asked. He laughed. "Flatulence, he said, "Means to pass gas." I laughed. "I wanted a word to base my Blog on and you give me a word that means to pass gas? "Well, he said seriously,"Everybody does it."

So you know he's right, everybody does it. Rich or poor, man or woman. Though I do believe that men take it to a whole different level. With a man it almost seems to be a badge of merit, who can pass gas the loudest. Oh and they love to belch too. They stay such little boys, regardless of their age. They even use their bodies for toys to play with.

So although this has not been a earth shattering Blog. I feel my brother and I have passed on some important information. Or maybe you already knew. But the word for today is Flatulence, to pass gas. Remember too my brother Bud says, "Everybody does it."

MOXY

it is Monday again. New week, hopefully another beautiful day. The weather certainly calls to a person. The sun shines and you want to get outside. I will start walking again, very soon.

I have decided that today I am starting a diet. Now I have started one almost everyday for the last year. But this time I really mean it. Of course if I just gave up sweets that would be the answer to the extra pounds I have put on. I use to go without any cookies, cake or donuts and it never fazed me at all. but these days I swear I can smell a cake if its in a block radius. I have always been a strong willed person. If I said I will lose five pounds, I could lose five pounds. Those days my friends are over.

Emotions seem to play a big part in my eating frenzy. Yes frenzy is the descriptive word here. Because once I get started it seems I just can't get control. If one little Debbie cake tastes good, it will take four to make me happy. Maybe the descriptive word that should be using here is not frenzy but glutton. I am afraid, shudder as I speak, I am afraid I have become a glutton. I am ashamed.

Back to the emotions. Since I don't get out as much and seem not to have as much to do. I eat more. Of course I could do more than I do around the house. I could get a hobby. The hobby of my choice seems to be eating. If I am not eating the next best activity is gambling. Do I gamble some? Well yes, I have gained weight and I am always broke. Yes I sure do go gambling, and eat sweets, all I can.

When we go it is almost always in the daytime. All the old folks come out in the daytime. You see wheelchairs, walkers, canes, anb oxygen tanks. Some move slowly, some their jaws set with determination as they make their way to the machine. Mind set on feeding that apparatus. I have wanted to just stop and talk to some of them. Ask if it is the excitement of the game that draws them or just the thrill of maybe winning money. I personally think it is the excitement. There are many older people who gamble that never gambled as younger folks. You get in there and become part of something exciting and whoops there goes the money. And many of them faced with a long month until the next monthly check.

So here I am getting older, eating far more than I should. Stuffing those Little Debbie cakes into a willing mouth. Sitting at a cherry machine, poking in those quarters when I know I should hang onto them. Then to top it all off I have decided seventy-one days ago I would swear a oath to myself to write a Blog for a year. My senior years have certainly got complicated. So this ends my Blog for today. I have told nothing funny, nothing important. I have informed you have my eating habits and that I gamble. I am sure you have been waiting for that news all weekend. But just for the heck of it I am leaving you with one of my favorite words. If I could be remembered for anything I would like for people to say I have this, Moxy.Now I realize this has nothing to do with the other mixed up mess I have written. Just humor me, okay? The meaning follows.


The word "moxie" was originally a slang term. It is now a noun meaning the ability to meet difficulties with courage and spirit. It refers to ones initiative or aggressive energy. It also means know-how and skill. Synonyms of the word include grit, sand, guts, backbone, gumption and the lewd word balls. I really love this word.

MEET ME AT FOUR FOR TEA.

Sunday again. The house is quiet, the dogs are outside. My prayer, let it stay quiet. Last week I posted a little story I put together about my trees out front. I had a couple of comments from my nieces. So I went through some of my older stories. This one I wrote about three years ago. I know a blog is not the right place to try and run my stories through. But I just thought maybe the girls would like this one too. So here goes. I promise from now on I will keep my stories to myself.

MEET ME AT FOUR FOR TEA.


Miss Hattie looked in the mirror at the face that stared back at her. She squinted her eyes a little, trying to get a clearer view. What she saw was the face of an eighty-two year old woman. A face that was lined from years of life's up and downs. A still bright pair of brown eyes twinkled back at her. Wispy gray curls surrounded her face. She sighed a little. Should she put on a little more lipstick? She frowned; she didn't want to look like some old hussy. She laughed out loud at that thought. Maybe that's how she should end her life, just being an old hussy. She chuckled out loud at just the thought of such an idea. She leaned forward again, closer to the mirror. Maybe she should wear a hat. Ladies didn't wear hats much these days, not like they did back when she was younger. She patted her hair but a hat might cover up the fact her hair was rather thin these days. She stared a minute longer. "Yes," she aid out loud. "I will wear a hat." She hurried to her closet and took down a faded old hat box. Carefully she took out two hats that were stacked one on top of the other. The first one was a brown felt with a perky feather that was stuck in the band. Miss Hattie smiled at the sight; it had been one of her work hats. She had worked at the library over fifty years and back in the forties and fifties she always wore a hat to work. The remembrance of how she would take it off as she started to work, placing it carefully on the table behind her desk. Then putting it back on when she would start home at the end of the day. Oh she had many hats over he years but this one had been special at least she had thought so. The other hat was a thin crown of black with a wisp of a black veil that could be pulled down over her eyes. This one had been her one of her dress up hats, one for very special occasions.

She smiled at the remembrance of the night she had worn it to dinner with Carl Edwards. They had eaten at a wonderful place that had candles on the table and had drank wine. They also had danced to music furnished by a piano player that kept a glass of amber liquid close to his hands. It had been the most romantic night of her life. She had thought maybe Carl would be the one, the magical one that would turn her solitary evenings into a real life with a husband and family. But it didn't work out that way but she still smiled at the memory of that special evening when she had wore this wonderful hat. And had felt like a man had loved her.

She put the small creation on her head and pulled the veil down over her eyes. She looked at her image in the mirror. "Yes," she said to the empty room. I will wear this hat for my tea at four o'clock. She shivered with pleasure at the thought that soon she would be meeting someone special for tea. It had been a long time since she had went out for afternoon tea, a very long time. Days had become long and lonely for Miss Hattie these last few years. She had never married, so there were no children or grandchildren to brighten her long days and nights. Her sister had passed away a few years ago. She did have two nieces but they both lived many miles away from her. She had outlived many of her friends too, so her life was filled mostly with days spent at her front window watching the traffic go by and having her old yellow tabby in her lap.

But life had taken a sudden change a few days ago. She had seen a small ad in the classifieds. It was getting harder for her to read the paper but she still sat in her chair at the front window, with a magnifier reading all the latest news. Miss Hattie had a television one of her nieces had bought her but she didn't care for it really. The written word had been her life, books, books, and books. But it was getting much harder to read these days since these pesky eyes of hers just didn't want to cooperate with her. In the back of the paper she had read a small ad that stated, older gentleman in his eighties looking for a gentlewoman to meet for tea. Please call 623-0395. Miss Hattie's heart had given a little leap at the words as she read them. What a wonderful idea she thought, having an afternoon tea and with a gentleman too. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure at the thought. With trembling hands she called the number. The voice that answered was slightly shaky but still strong and deep. Yes he told her, he was the gentleman that had placed the ad. He would like very much to have an occasional afternoon tea with someone. So they had agreed to meet today at four for tea at Mary's Tearoom on west fourth. Miss Hattie had been there a few times over the years, a very nice place but it was not so enjoyable going alone. Today though she would not be alone for she was having tea with a gentleman friend.

So at three Miss Hattie left her house walking to the bus stop looking oh so elegant in her black suit and wispy black hat perched on her head, Of course she had to wear her white tennis shoes as she fell too easily to wear any sort of shoes with a heel these days. But Miss Hattie did not care, she didn't even think the strange looks of passer bys meant they thought she looked odd. She thought she must look oh so nice to have people stare at her this way. Oh she hoped Mr. Leonard Wright thought so too. Her heart beat so fast; this was so very exciting to her.

Miss Hattie left he bus stop and walked carefully the three blocks to the tearoom. She was getting a little nervous. He had told her on the phone he would wear a black suit and have a rose in the lapel so she would know him. "Oh dear," she thought. "What if he doesn't come? She arrived at the tearoom and entered the front door. She looked around squinting her eyes trying to adjust to the light inside. There were not many there, just a few scattered at tables around the cozy room. All of a sudden her eyes fell on a man sitting alone at a table. He wore a black jacket with a red rose in the lapel. His hair was a mat of soft gray ringlets. And his skin was dark, very dark. Miss Hattie gave a little gasp. Mr. Leonard Wright was a black gentleman. Her heart pounded. This was 2008 a whole different era then when she was growing up and living her life. But this was still the south and she was still a product of her era. Disappointment filled her. She had so looked forward to this tea and meeting Mr. Wright. She leaned a little forward, trying to see him better. He hadn't noticed her yet. He was looking at a paper he held in his hands and sipping tea from a rose-colored teacup. She gave a little gasp. There was a long stemmed yellow rose lying beside the empty teacup across from him. She shuddered with pleasure, why it must be for her. She involuntary began to take small steps towards the table even though her mind kept telling her the proper thing to do was to leave. But all she could see was the yellow rose and this handsome gentleman sipping tea.

His eyes rose to meet her face, he smiled. A real true genuine smile that lit his whole face up. If he was surprised at her pale skin he gave no inkling in any way. He rose to his feet, his hand out stretched. "Miss Hattie I presume," he said. His voice enveloped her with its warmth. "I am so very glad you came." He laughed softly, "I was afraid you would change your mind. I know a lady has the right to change her mind but I am so glad you didn't." He helped her into her chair. Sitting back down he pointed to the rose. "This Miss Hattie is for you."

She blushed with pure pleasure. She didn't see his dark skin, she saw the light in his eyes, and she saw the hand of friendship he had extended to her. She said very softly, "Why Mr. Wright I would not have missed this for the world."

He offered her tea from the dainty pot. She accepted. To on lookers they may have seemed sort of an odd pair. This older black gentleman who wore a black suit and a red rose in his lapel and white tennis shoes. And the pale old lady in a black suit too and a silly little hat perched on her head and she also wore white tennis shoes. But everyone would have agreed there seemed to be almost amagical air about the two as they sipped their tea and told each other of their life's. Lived so differently but yet ending up so much alike, alone. They laughed, they sparkled, two friends finding each other at last.

MOMMA PAPERED EVERY SPRING.

I am loving the weather. A chill still lingers in the air, but thats okay. The sun is shining and soon the birds will be singing. Autumn is my favorite time but Spring holds a close second. I wish I was an artist to paint the first budding of the trees but I'm not. So I will just have to enjoy with my eyes.

I have been at a loss on what to write today. Shall we stroll down memory lane or talk about a current topic. Now since I don't stay very current, just maybe we will stroll back a little. Maybe back to ninth street. Back where life began, at least it did for me.

Spring makes me think of house cleaning, painting and of Momma. She papered every Spring. It was a Spring ritual, going to Cook's paint and wallpaper store. Mother never looked for what was new and current, she looked for cheapest. And that is what would adorn our walls for another year. If they didn't have enough rolls in one pattern she was known to finish off a wall in some obscure corner with a different pattern, So we might have pink flowered walls with a small patch of stripes along the trim boards. Momma seemed not to care as long as it was fresh and clean, that's all that mattered. I personally did not have any idea other people didn't have wall papered rooms that looked like ours.

She never scraped, she just plastered the new over the old. She painted trim the same way. I think that is where I get my hap hazarded ways, from Momma. Spring came, new wallpaper went up. She made her own paste. No money for the store bought bags where you added water. She took a pan, added flour and water. Stirred good and presto, paste. Who needed much money with odds and ends of wall paper, four and water. A whole new room in the matter of a few hours.isn't that the way everyone decorates?

Her equipment was usually chairs and a board she kept around to make a plank. One year Raplh McDonald who was a painter loaned her two ladders and a scaffolding board to run between the ladders. You could walk around up there and it made it much easier to hang the wall paper. Mom was always armed with two rags and a brush. She laid the paper out on the kitchen table, pre-measured and cut. Then she climbed up and someone pasted a strip and brought it to her. She worked her magic . Using the rags to smooth out the lumps sometimes caused by the flour paste. No matter if there was a air bubble or two. We soon would have nice clean walls. Life was good.

The year she borrowed the ladders and board it was with great anticipation the great wall paper day arrived. Several friends were there, Margie Allen, Grandma Minnie. Mom set it all up, someone brought the pasted strip. Mom was up on the runner, Minnie and Margie were up on the runner. All were going to help. So to me it looked like fun. I wanted to help too. I climbed the ladder, I crawled over on the board, it started shaking. Mom started yelling, Margie started yelling. Heck they all were yelling. The ladders separated, the board flew up in the air. The ladies, the paste, the wall paper, it all came tumbling down. I didn't fly as far as they did, I had not made it too far.

Of course I was in the dog house again and all I wanted to do was help. Mother was aggravated and I was not allowed back in the room till they were done. Nobody ever seemed too notice the mistakes. If the border didn't match the paper who cared. We were Ninth street. It just wasn't important back then. Nobody had matching wallpaper or matching dishes, not on Ninth Street. Everyone on that corner lived in a unpainted house. But come Spring we had new wallpaper and freshly painted trim. It was just the colors didn't match. But me,I thought we were uptown. I still think we were.

I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT MY KIDS SOMEDAY.

This is Friday, just in case you needed that bit of information. The weather is suppose to be great today. Maybe I will get a boost of energy and pick up the yard. But please don't hold me to it. I will do something constructive, I promise.

I had my blog worked out in my mind. I started writing and my mind is not cooperating at all. I have been wanting for weeks to write about my two children. I keep hesitating, For I am afraid I might not do justice to them both. I mentioned to my son I was going to do a blog about them one day and I thought he would pass out. But I started this morning and I have saved the rambling words to draft for now.I will slide it onto the back burner. I do not see either of them the way the world does. I look at her and see this little girl, curly hair so tight you could not get a comb through it. I look at Jer and see the little boy with the dancing eyes. The one he who could spin a potato masher in his fingers and a wooden sword in the other hand. They are forever painted in my mind as those two children.

Billie was always quiet, not really shy. She just didn't let her words spill out into a room the way I do.She was afraid when she was small of having anything took over her head. I sent her to her Dad's one weekend. His wife bringing her home on Sunday so aggravated because they had not been able to take her sweatshirt off. She was afraid they would smother her. When Gerry had left I asked her why she was afraid. I had visual pictures of them chasing her through the house, the sweatshirt dangling around her neck. The air in her lungs in danger of being snuffed out forever. She shrugged, "I just didn't want them too." And her Dad had not made her do it. Her step-mother always griped how he didn't make her mind. He let her jump on the bed, he let her tell them what they should eat. I tried to make her understand, he had her children everyday. Billie only every other weekend. But I don't think she ever really understood the concept. He was afraid if they made her unhappy she wouldn't come back. When I do write about them I want to be sure and tell you what a great Mother she is and grandmother. How she has a high standard for herself and always reaches that goal. She is like her Uncle Bud, at the game of life she suits up and shows up. You can't ask more than that from anyone. I am sure the young kids that work for her at night think she can be a hard-ass. But she never moans, groans or complains. She works, sick or well. People I am sure disappoint her for there are not many who are prone to be that way.

Jer came into the world moving and grooving. Jer has never wanted life to pass him by. He participates. In the last three years he has been to California, Florida, Mexico, New York city and Haiti. In Haiti he danced with the children and embraced a people who smiled, sang and danced. Their skin tones might have been different but he took them into his heart. Around four years ago Jeremy discovered God in his life again. He heard a calling and he responded. He officially this month takes on the job of Associate Pastor at the church he works in. He goes to Bible college full time, works with the men and women's houses. He is always on the go, taking people places, doing God's work. He doesn't get a very big paycheck for doing those things. But he trusts in God and God seems never to let him down. We tend to try too put people in the places we think they should be. Myself included. You want for your children all the niceties of life. Jeremy has a different picture of what his life means. In doing what he feels is the right thing, what God wants him to do. He opens himself up for criticism. I am sure it bothers him but he just trusts God and keeps going forward.

I am proud of both my children. They are different as night and day. But each so very special in their own way. Billie quiet, strong. Jer bouncy and trouncey just like Tigger. they are both awesome. I look at them, their life's and tears fill my eyes. For truly I am blessed. The quiet, hard working dependable Billie. The crazy white American who loves Jesus. My Jeremy. Remind me will you? I want to write about them someday.