THIS WON'T BE ABOUT MY CUP.

It is Sunday morning. I opened the front door and "I" marched out into the darkness. I knew it was not raining because "I" does not do rain. I stood on the porch as she made her way around the yard. I could not see her but her growls at unseen dangers kept me tracking her. She is back in, under the blankets, once again sound asleep.

I have not written again for several days. I prewrote one last night but as I reread it this morning I sadly shook me head. It was about my chipped coffee cup. Enough said on that subject, right? Days have been rolling by. I caught up in my own little world. Its funny but its what we humans do. Starving children in India and I moan over the slights I think have been lodged against me. Nothing sadder than a self pity party. I have been trying to strictly have mine alone. I hate it when people invite me to theirs. I have been trying to keep my guest list down. So if I happen to call you. Just don't answer it will probably be much better. At least for you.

Days do seem to whirl by lately. I with my list of things to do clutched in my hand, watching as the hours slide by and nothing being done. I have learned no Spanish yet. I have not started training for my "Katy Trail Walk." I scream silently to myself, "Get started on something." But I don't, instead I limp around the house sure I have wounded my knee in someway. I wonder if maybe physiologically I am trying to find an excuse that I can't male my walk. Who knows,? Not me.

My family are use to me wild dreams that never transpire. Writing a book, climbing a mountain, giving up sweets. Always something I want to do but never get to it. I am a weaver of dreams but only in my head. Never to I actually start to weave. I have come to the conclusion that it is good to have dreams but it takes gumption to actually start the work to make those dreams come to life.

Today I am concentrating on looking for my gumption. Any journey has to start with the first step. I sit and ponder. Which of the long list of things I want to accomplish over these last thirty years I hope to have should I start on first?


As I pull my crumpled words from my ever trusty pocket I wish again I just would have told you of my chipped cup. Sighing I release the words. I almost think I hear Blogland skies laugh at my feeble attempt. So many beautiful words released here everyday and I have come with this small, pitiful few. I wish I had tried for whimsical but I didn't. I turn to leave. A idea comes to my mind. Maybe I should just try for a long walk in Blogland. I shake my head no. The view would not at all be like the "Katy Trail." I jog towards home. I have to get some practice in somewhere. For now, I'm outta here.

INTERACTIVE TELEVISION

February 19th. I have been up and about since four. "I" is stalking around the house but refuses to go outside. Probably the neighbors will be happy she hasn't gone. I am sipping on coffee trying to engage my brain. I speak of that as if I really have one. But I am desperately trying to kick the day off. I've thanked God I am still here. I half way did my little jig, my knees hurt, so I did not do a full jig. This I am finding out is what happens when you hit the big 70.

I realize more and more as the days go by that I have less and less contact with the outside world. Most of my conversations are on the phone. For someone who loves to talk and has very few to talk too its rough. Hence comes talking to the Television. Now for quite sometime I wasn't really aware that I was doing it. However I have began to notice what I do but continue to follow the practice.

I watch a television show called, "Cash Cab." It comes on at five on cable. I don't watch television in the daytime. But around five I lower the blinds to block out the sun and turn on the TV. I like to answer the questions. I try to answer them before the people in the cab can. Sometimes they do not know the answer but I do. I call it out to them, they still don't get it. I sometimes jump to my feet, yelling the answer louder. Its long distance you know. Still they don't get it right. I holler out loudly, "I told you the answer dummies."

Last night as I watched and The Emperor was in the other room. The driver asked what birds fluid did Geisha's in Japan put on their faces before they perform. I knew it, excitedly I called out, "Nightingale." They hemmed and hawed around. I repeated the answer more loudly this time. "Nightingale." They answered "Whippoorwill." I snorted in disgust. I told you stupid," I shouted at the Television. The Emperor looked at me very strangely. "You do know," he asked, "That they can't hear you?" I answered him huffily, "Of course I do."

But the truth I would not want him to know is sometimes I forget. I have become engaged in interactive television. I do this with "Dancing with The Stars." dance when they do. I clap when a favorite does good and holler "Good job," at the top of my lungs. I cry when a young person gets sent home from American idol. Interactive TV. I yell at the bad guys in movies and watch the "Animal Planet, getting irate when some pet has been abused. Interactive TV.

I suppose I need to try and find a way to get a little bit more life going but actually I have come to love all my friends on television. I just get mad when the dummies get into the cab. The Emperor thinks I am senile. I am not. Him and I just handle watching TV differently thats all. I think the only way I will need to worry about my actions is if I think they are talking back. I have not come to that place yet but the day could come I am afraid. Just the other day "Ben Lyons, the driver on Cash Cab looked right at me and smiled. I'm starting to think he may know I'm here.

I hope Spring comes early in Blogland as I am hoping it does at home. These early mornings can get a little chilly. Two days of Spring like weather and I am cold at fifty degrees. Its quiet here this morning. No lights shining from the one plate glass window. Nobody gets up early in Blogland. I start for home. I wonder what Bloggers look like. I catch my reflection in the lone store window. I look pretty rough this morning. Maybe I don't want to see another Blogger. I'm sure they wouldn't want to see me. For now though, I'm outta here.

OLD RYAN WHAT'S HIS NAME.

Friday morning has came again. As i stumbled around the yard about four-thirty, hissing "I"s name. I marveled at the weather. Yesterday it made it to seventy-five. Yah, yah. Its probably fifty out there now. I would love to think Spring is already here. But Missouri being what she is may have another winter trick or two up her sleeve. She has been known for dumping snow on us is March. So I know not to get too excited.

A couple of mornings ago my daughter called me. "Ryan and I have to run an errand. "We'll come by and pick you up and go to breakfast," she said. I hurried around getting ready. I was thrilled. Her van pulled up and as I crawled inside, Ryan safely tucked in his seat in the back. Billie said he uttered the words as I came out the door, "Good grief she's messed with her hair again." Now when five year olds groan in despair you know you may over do abit. I smiled at him. "No Ryan," I said. I have had blond on my hair for awhile. He snorted, "But you didn't have the black in there too."My roots are showing.

As we rolled on our way Billie announced, "Ryan doesn't want to be called Ryan. He is tired of his name." Now she told me his new name. It was "Cool Boy" I think. Sort of catchy but truthfully I'm not sure just what she said.

Ryan is a pip. He is a cool boy. Cute, funny, those dancing Blue eyes. The orneriness shining out of them. I think I wrote before my brother calls him "Cotton Top." I will sound like a great grand Mother but he is special. All the great grands are. But that Ryan, oh excuse me, "Cool Boy." I think. Has that extra little kick in there. I pray I live to see him grown. When he starts school in the fall I am anxious to see if he wraps those girls around his finger.

So my breakfast was fun. This Birthday i moaned about got me two Breakfasts and one lunch. I've made a note to whine more often. I feel like I have slid into this stress wracked age fairly well. Though my knees may be aching a little more and hold onto your hats. I may be a tad bit more out spoken. Audible groans. A nice church lady came early yesterday morning. She brought oranges, Little Debbie cakes, canned goods, bread." So nice and sweet of her. Then I announced I didn't believe in organized religion. She hastily left. I have a feeling she won't be bringing me any more food. I wanted to rush after her yelling, "Carol I didn't mean it. I'm really Catholic." I have to quickly add I believe in God. Love Jesus with all my heart. I just think these Church's have too much law and not enough grace. I'm sorry but that's how I feel. I'll miss those big oranges though.

I have made my way into Blogland. The Valentine lights are not on anymore in the little store. Another Holiday only a memory. I head for home, limping a little. Its these dang knees I tell you. But I'm on my way. I'm outta here.

MY BLOG

It is Wednesday. As I stood on the front porch surrounded still by darkness I happily surveyed my yard. There is still dirt that covers our space. It had been covered by snow so long I wasn't sure the ground was still there. This is only February so there is still a chance for more snow. I am hoping this will not turn out to be the case. Bring on the sunshine. I am ready even for summers melting heat.

I didn't write yesterday. My sister called about six Am and asked me to read my Blog. I"I didn't write one today," I told her. "What am I going to do with you," she asked? "There are many who could come up with an answer to that," I said. I hope she doesn't ask them.

I didn't write a Blog yesterday because I was still embarrassed by the one I wrote on Valentines Day. I write these things then hours later read them again. "Good grief," I will mutter. "What a sad excuse for a Blog." Sorry but its all I've got. I'm amazed at times that I am still writing this. I will tell myself, "Give it up silly.' But I go a few days and presto I do it again. Now I want to assure you that I do not believe there are people waiting to hang on my written word. But still I take days when I feel driven to do it again.

Maybe I just don't have much of a life. But I love to write, even if its just this silly Blog.

I have always been amazed by words, the written words. Books, books, books. As I have said before I have my Mother to thank for that attribute. The love of reading is a attribute I strongly believe. Both of my children are big readers. If you read you can go anywhere and be for the duration of three or four hundred pages or more, someone else. I get my books as I have mentioned from "Wolfner Library." The greatest program the government has ever produced. I would truly be lost without them.

I keep thinking all those books I listen to should help me have better tools for writing myself, but they don't. For my Blog seems to have turned out to be just a rambling of my personal thoughts. I guess that's what they are suppose to be. I am not totally sure as I have never written one until about a year ago. Then I started as a dare to myself. And here I am months later still turning out these rambling self produced thoughts.

Will I ever quit, I don't know. I keep thinking soon I will find something really important to say. I write about The Emperor, my kids, Brother and Sister, grandkids, greatgrands, he list goes on. Wait a minute, those people are important, at least to me. Anyone reading this knows I'm addicted to "Little Debbie Cakes." I talk too much and dress to young for my age. I loved being a kid on Ninth Street and hate people who whine. Then have the nerve to get on here and whine myself. Especially on my Birthday. Anyone that knows me, knows I will always have an opinion about something. And I never good at keeping those opinions to myself. So this Blog could go on for a long time at least while I'm still breathing.

I've scattered my words. Once again unleashing them on Blogland. I smile as I watch them whirl away. Even if nobody sees them. I know they are still there. Isn't that what a Blog is all about? I head in the direction of home. I'm outta here another day.

A VALENTINE FROM GARY

Monday morning, Valentines day 2011. My pal "I" and I were up at four-thirty. When I opened the front door to let her out I stepped out onto the porch. Just in case I might see little cupids flying around or something. After all it is Valentines day. There was none. Just patches of snow that still cling to the ground and four plastic candy canes hanging from the trees. I have forgotten to take them off and put them away until next year. Oh well it probably would have scared "I" and I to death if we would have seen any.

I learned what Valentines Day was really about at East Central School. Valentines Day was a big event from the first grade on through grade school. There was always a party. Room Mothers would come with cupcakes and punch. I don't think they have room Mothers in grade school anymore. No home room parties. About a week before Valentines Day, the teacher gave everyone colored construction paper,scissors and glue. Everyone brought a box of some sort from home Mine was usually a oatmeal box. We decorated them and wrote our names on the top. Do you remember these?

Then we sat them on a table, all lined up and waited for the big day. Everyone brought Valentines and put them in the boxes of the ones they chose too. They were little paper ones, which came with twenty-eight to a pack I would go in before class and shake my box, Checking to make sure there were some in there.

In the first grade, my first Valentine's party was when I loved Gary Churchwell. I learned to write his name and wrote it all over the pantry wall. I wanted a Valentine from Gary. My world rested on getting one from him. When we were told to get our boxes, I dumped mine all on my desk. Looking for that one that was signed Gary Churchwell. There nestles among the others was one that had a heart, it also had the words love printed on the front. I sang, my heart sang. Gary Churchwell loved me too. Now all these years later I realize that he had of course given one to everyone in the class. And that probably all were alike but I didn't know that then. Looking back I realize Gary never loved me. I think he loved Barbara Danner. But for that one fleeting Valentines day I believed, in romance, magic and Gary Churchwell.

I tied my words in a pretty pink ribbon this morning. Carefully I untie the bow and set them free. I wonder as I watch them float away, will there be Valentines in Blogland today? Oh I am sure there will be. Love lives eternal everywhere I think. I sing a little as I walk, "Stupid cupid stop picking on me." I head for home where my two Valentines wait, The Emperor and "I". For now I'm outta here.



Valentine's Day

Observed by Many countries

Significance Love and affection celebrated between lovers
Date February 14
Observances Sending greeting cards and gifts, dating
Saint Valentine's Day, commonly shortened to Valentine's Day,[1][2][3] is an annual commemoration held on February 14 celebrating love and affection between intimate companions.[1][3] The day is named after one or more early Christian martyrs, Saint Valentine, and was established by Pope Gelasius I in 496 AD. It was deleted from the Roman calendar of saints in 1969 by Pope Paul VI, but its religious observance is still permitted. It is traditionally a day on which lovers express their love for each other by presenting flowers, offering confectionery, and sending greeting cards (known as "valentines"). The day first became associated with romantic love in the circle of Geoffrey Chaucer in the High Middle Ages, when the tradition of courtly love flourished.

Modern Valentine's Day symbols include the heart-shaped outline, doves, and the figure of the winged Cupid. Since the 19th century, handwritten valentines have given way to mass-produced greeting cards.[4]

LIFE LEAVES ME TOTALLY CONFUSED.

Sunday morning is here. I opened the front door. "I" and I both peering out. Snow still lies on the ground but slowly some of it is melting. The air was cold but not the icy blast of some days last week. "I" stood quietly, just staring into the darkness. "Don't you want to go out," I asked? She walked away, towards the bedroom. Some mornings she looks out into the darkened yard as if to say. "No way I'm going out there." I shut the door. I guess we'll wait till daylight to open it again

I was weary by the end of the day yesterday. Just plain worn out. Sometimes just trying to figure people and situations out can leave me totally confused. Just when I think I have it all straight, something or someone throws a monkey wrench in it. It leaves me wondering if everyone thinks they are the only one living on this planet. Duh! There's a whole bunch of us running around here just trying to do our best.

If I only thought I could handle it I would take a vow of silence. I can hear the shouts going up now, Praise "The Lord". You'll notice I said if I thought I could handle it. Anyone who has ever met me knows talking is like breathing to me,. Always going on but I would be much better off I could stay silent. It seems like that will be the only way I will ever be capable of staying out of the dog house with someone or somebody.

I got up yesterday thinking this is going to be a great day. I had coffee and then the world started waking up around me. It went down hill from there. I don't remember my Mother telling me that I don't play well with others but she should have. Because I don't seem to be able to handle that well at all. I'm thinking a cave somewhere if I knew there would be no Bats or Bears. I don't think I would play well with them either.

A cave by a creek. I'd have a little garden and only come to town once a month or so. Maybe I could communicate with animals better than I do people. I use to think I was a people person. NOT!!!! I realize at this late date I have been fooling myself for years. If I can't find a safe cave maybe a travel trailer down by the creek. But I would need two trailers as I would need one for my clothes and shoes. I guess a old river rat wouldn't need many clothes. But regardless of how weary I get from the chaos of people I'm not sure I could give up my clothes for anything.

So this coming week I am going to try and not talk much. If you should see me and I am only nodding my head and not speaking to you. You will know why. Because If I do speak I will probably only irratate you. So we will both be better off if I don't talk at all. There seems to be logic in this thinking. Don't you agree? I'm going to give it a shot anyway. So here's to the coming week. One of almost silence. I'm laughing. I'll sure need luck on this one. Keeping my mouth shut.

I'm at the corner of Blogland again. My words such as they were released once again. The snow is slowly melting here too. I see lights in the one store window. There hasn't been any since Christmas. I move closer and peer in. It's lighted Valentimne hearts, awwww. There's love here in Blogland somewhere. How sweet. I turn towards home, kicking the slush as I walk. I have heard it said, "Love makes the world go round." I'm not sure about that after yesterday. Oh well, one more day I'm outta here.

TALKING SMACK TO JER

Saturday morning has arrived. She like all the others this last days is cold and snowy. But the weatherman teases us with promises of sunshine and warmer weather. It has been a little warmer but still the days surround us with cold winds and snow. "Enough already," I shouted out my back door. "Bring on warmth and melt
this dang snow.

Jer came over yesterday. Our street finally getting to the point it can be navigated safely. Its the parking at the curbs that still are treacherous. But he braved the white, icy substance and came to have coffee with me. I enjoyed it. I had not seen him for over a week. That's a long time not to be able to tease Jer. He calls it talking smack. Can you imagine me talking smack? Well he says I do.

He pointed out after about an hour that I had suggested several ways he should spend his income tax. A vacuum cleaner. Who can live without one? Brakes fixed on his car. The list went on. "Mother," he said. In his not overly friendly voice. I have been here less than an hour and you have told me a hundred things you think I should do." I can run my own life." Hmmm, I bit my tongue. I wanted to say, "You're not doing that good of job of it." Somehow I maneged to keep my ever opening mouth closed.

I switched the subject. We started talking about walking. I told him I could walk him into the ground. He scoffed. "You're talking smack again," he said. I challenged him. Sometimes when I have been alone alot I tend to get a little carried away. When the snow is gone come over and we'll walk to Ryan's for Breakfast eat and walk back. "Ryan's being a restaurant about six miles away. He scoffed. "Come on," I taunted. "Lets see who's talking Smack. He agreed, neither of us really sounding confident.

So the challenge has been laid down. Jer has picked it up. We'll have to see if a slightly out of shape thirty-five year old and a wacky old lady can make it or not. Geez, I gotta quit talking that smack.

Pulling my silly words from my pocket I glance down at them before I turn them loose into the wind. Sometimes I surely ramble. I toss them anyway. Turning to go I think about that long walk to "Ryan's" Maybe I better sprint I think. Strength my legs you know. I start trotting instead. Maybe I'm just not up to sprinting on all this snow. Six miles. I shake my head. I'll never learn. For now, I'm outta here.

MEET MRS.OLSON

It is Thursday morning. "I" has went out braving the cold, wet snow. She did not linger long. I stood on the porch , watching my beloved trees, Saul and Sarah. They seem to shiver from the cold. Their branches reaching out to each other, its as if their straining just to feel each others touch.. I feel their pain as they stand dark against the whiteness of the cold snow. "Spring will ome," I tell them. I thought I heard Saul whisper,"Sarah
but it may have been only the wind.

In the above picture I would like you to meet Mrs.Olson. Known to The Emperor and I as Lana. We met in 1994 when I went to work where she was already working. Lana is one of those women who can do just about anything,definitely not afraid of hard work.

A couple of days ago I heard a knock on my door. On opening I saw a figure standing there. The sun and snow behind her blocking out her face. "Lana is that you," I asked? She laughed. Opening the door she placed a birthday sack in my hands. "Now don't be whining about your Birthday anymore," she said. "How did you know I complained about my Birthday," I asked? "On your Blog, she answered." I looked down at the gift sack in my hand. "Who says the written word isn't powerful.

Lana has always been nice to me, always friendly. I have worked with her, drank coffee with her and even sang with her. Though of course she sounds ten million times better than me, but I never minded. Lana is fun. But this last year I have developed a great admiration for her. Lana has become a caregiver. In case you have never been in this situation it is a twenty-four hour a day job. Its not like you can push the time clock after eight hours and go home. You are already home. This can entail lifting,tenderness, patience, laughter and love.

The fact that stands out to me about Lana when I talk to her is that she doesn't complain. I know there is times she must feel overwhelmed, tired, over worked and under loved. But I feel for the most part she does this with a smile. She tries her best to give Joe a normal life as much as she can. Lana here on this little insignificant Blog I would like to say I think you are awesome. People can declare their love for another but when trouble comes not everyone steps up to the plate. You most certainly have. Good job Lana. You are one of the special people.

By the way my sack contained a cake. A birthday cake that I complained I never had for sixteen years. A bottle of homemade bread and butter pickle's, a necklace and a beautiful card. Now of course I know I should be ashamed for going on this Blog and whining. All I can say its that it worked. I have been having bread and butter pickle sandwiches. When I run out of pickles I may be whining on here again.

I have tossed my words. I have looked around at all the snow that lies all over Blogland. I start for home. There is a star shining brightly in the sky. "Please bless Lana for all her efforts and caring," I whisper to the star. Who knows maybe wishes on Stars really do work. With my head down I start walking again. I'm outta here.

BUTCH, IF ONLY.

Wednesday is here. It surrounds me in the dark outside my door. It is also snowing. I cannot say I am thrilled. I opened the door about five. "I" stood at my side. She did not go out. She looked at me as if to say, "Not again." She hung her head and went back to bed. I stood there a moment, the icy wind biting at my face. Shaking my head I said, "No not again." But I didn't go back to bed.

I would like to tell you about the young man who graces the top of the page. Leon Evan Eugene Doty. Better known to family and friends as Butch.He was born January 14th 1956 to his Mother Nancy who was only a child herself. She was only fifteen when he was born. They grew up together. When Ashley put this old picture on Facebook the other day, I just said, Awww. Memories came flooding back of him as this smiling little fella. Butch when you left this world a talented young man's light was forever dimmed. I look at the lost years and say. If only, if only.

The last time I saw Butch was at his Mother's not long after Jeremy's birth. Jer was only a couple of weeks old. The first thing Butch said after everyone looked over the baby was. "Come listen to this new song I learned" and he played "Autumn Leaves." It sounded beautiful', flawless. His earnest face bent over the keys, his fingers flying. He made the song come to life. The amazing part was he never had a lesson. The music, the talent lay in him. And at a young age it found its way out. He played more than one instrument. His serious face, his smile, his talent. All made up Leon Evan Eugene, known lovingly as Butch.

His story should have a happy ending. I would love to write a tale for you. Tell you how his talent was discovered, how his life played out easy and sweet. That sadly is not how his story ended but it should have been.

On February 18th 1977 at he age of twenty-one he stepped from this world as we know it. His music stilled, his gentle smile frozen forever in our hearts and minds. A loss, a heartache etched into his Mother life. The pain at times to much to bear. Why with all the talent, all the sweetness in his nature, was there a sadness that tugged at his soul? We that cared will never know. A troubling place inside him that one day took him away.

I wondered as I looked at his picture on Facebook what kind of a man he would have become? Had he only been given the chance. Would he have played the piano at a Piano bar. Maybe the lazy blues. Would he have tried out for America's Got Talent? Or maybe played at church while his Mother sang? The questions that will never be answered.

But somewhere he plays. Call me silly, call me corny. But the soul never dies and somewhere the soul and Spirit of Leon Evan Eugene Doty lives on. Play my young friend, someday your Mother and I will hear you again. Maybe accompanied by your Uncle Frankie on the Sax. Your place here in this world will never be filled. Play on.

The snow is piled up here in Blogland too and its snowing again. As I toss my words into the darkness they mingle with the snow. I wanted to write a tribute to Butch. Somehow I feel my words failed. But upward past the vastness of Bloglang land, high, high beyond the skies. I know he sees me and he smiles. Because you see he knows I tried. With the past echos of his music ringing in my ears, I head for home. I'm outta here.

CAKE AND SELF PITY DON'T MIX.

Miss Friday with her white coat on has arrived again. She is cold and shows no signs of showing any mercy today at all. Brrr, please Spring come early.

Well, I made it through yesterday. I may very well be five pounds heavier. In fact I am sure of it. I learned a valuable lesson. Self-pity and Birthday cake do not mix. At least not in my case. I better have learned my lesson because I might not survive another yesterday.

The day started off not too bad. The Birthday hung over my head though like a black cloud. But I got up from bed still able to move, I made coffee, wrote on my Blog. This old Birthday won't get me down I bragged to myself. At about six my sister called. Seventy jokes, a little song. I smiled, I laughed. I'll make this I thought. Then my daughter called. She didn't even rub in my age. I sat in the rocking chair by the fire. That is what old ladies do isn't it? Then slowly the self pity came knocking. Opening up the door I yelled, "Come on in." The trouble started from there.

I wouldn't be able to get out. One lone Birthday card set on the television. My sister had sent it. I had gotten one present. My sister sent it early at my insistence I should add. There would be no brightly wrapped gifts, no songs, no cake. Tears stung my eyes. How long had it been since I had a birthday cake. !995. Sixteen years. Pity really did flow then. I was alone. Only The Emperor around. There would be no cake or presents coming from that source.

Jumping up from the rocker I rushed to the kitchen. Digging through the cabinet I came across a cake mix and a half bag of coconut. By dang I would have a cake. The world might not care, but I would have my cake. I couldn't get the oven to light. I hurried to the roaster oven, turning it on I put the cake in. I burnt it. Taking out my sad cake I cried. Without even icing it I tore off the end of the cake and wildly stuffed it into my mouth. By then I was to far gone to reason with. I would cake myself to death I thought. After several minutes of stuffing the dry, burnt stuff into my mouth the heartburn set in. I heaved a sigh. I could not even overdose on cake. I was a loser. A old loser at that. I stumbled back to my rocker. I set there in my birthday despair.

The phone rang. It was Smiling Bud, my Brother. He hadn't forgot my Birthday. "Happy Birthday," he said. He told me he had a card for me but would have to wait for the snow to go before he could bring it in. I assured him that was fine. Then before he hung up he dropped the bomb. "You know what they say about turning seventy don't you?" I was afraid to ask. He told me anyway. "They say when you turn seventy you are officially elderly." I groaned. Smiling Bud doesn't lie. Back to the kitchen and another round of cake.

Hours and much of the cake later I found myself in a sugar daze. I decided maybe I better try to lose the pity and move forward with my life. But by that time I was too fat to move. The moral to this sad tale is, Don't bake yourself a birthday cake when you are feeling blue. I am better today. I am hoping this cake binge will rid me of my "Little Debbie," addiction. But I truly doubt it.

The words I pull out of my pocket this morning are written with guilt. Today I am truly ashamed. I hear noise's. I look around. I see nothing. I hear it again. Good grief, its pigs oinking. They even know about me in Blogland. They know I am a pig. In shame I start running. I'm outta here.

DANG MRS.HORNACHER AND HER SUGAR WATER.

It is Thursday morning, February the 3rd. "I" has been out and I stood at the door as she did her business. All of this snow has made her very nervous. How do you go to the bathroom when the snow is higher than your head and you keep sinking down. She suffered great trauma for twenty-four hours. The second day The Emperor shoveled a path. Now she quickly hurries a few feet from the house, squats and hurries back. She has this dazed look on her face. "What the heck has happened to my yard?"

I'm back! Its been several days since I have been on here. Self imposed exile I guess. But since the big day has arrived. The day I have fought against and then have tried to embrace. OLD AGE. Oh I know there will be those that will say I have been here for awhile. But something about this one, the big 70 that has me gasping for breath. Where has the years gone. Sucked away as if by a big black hole. Disappeared, never to be seen again.

I slipped out of bed this morning slowly. Not sure how I would feel. Would everything still be working? Placing my feet on the floor I waited for new pains to shoot up my legs. No new ones. I headed out of the bedroom. Should I try a little dance step?" I thought. I usually dance little in the mornings. "I" moved with me, casting me a nervous glance as if I might slide over like the little man from"Laugh in," use to do. But I didn't, I danced my usual few steps and headed on to the bathroom. Thank God everything seemed to still be working. Maybe I will handle this milestone after all.

On February 3rd, 1941 in the small town of Sheldon Missouri. My mother at about six pm took her little packed bag and walked across the street. To Doctor and Mrs. Hornachers small hospital they had in their home. Aunt Dora had come to stay with Bud and Geri. There had been a flu epidemic and the Doctor and his wife had been up for over two days and nights. Things were looking better. "Lets have this baby before it gets too late Pearl," he said. Maybe we can get some sleep tonight. At a few minutes after nine I entered the world. Mother said I never stopped crying all night. The doctor did not believe in giving a baby anything to eat but water for twelve hours after birth. At around five in the morning Mrs. Hornacher came into the room with a bottle. "Sugar water," she whispered to Mom. "Don't tell the Doctor." Mom said I drank the sugar water down quickly. Then finally shut up and went to sleep. Bless my heart I was hungry. I came into the world hungry and will probably go out that way. I haven't shut up since birth either.

And Mrs. Hornacher wherever your spirit may be. I hold you responsible that I have such a strong love of sweets. When a cupcake is your best friend you know you have problems. Miss Debbie has me in her grip and it started all those years ago with Mrs. Hornacher and her dang sugar water.

I am not sure what this next year will hold. I am determined I will walk The Katy Trail, I guess we will have to wait and see. I am told I should be proud for making it this long. Now I'm happy to have made it this far. I just wish I didn't show so much wear and tear. But I am happy to be here, very happy.

I make the turn around in Blogland. My first time for days. The sky is dark and clear. No stars twinkling. Its snowed here too. I wonder if they have snow plows in Blogland? As I throw my words into the wind, I sing out. "Happy Birthday to me." Only silence echos back. I shrug and start towards home. The wind blows something into my path. Reaching down I pick up a foil banner. Turning it over I read the words, "Happy Birthday." Smiling I head towards home.. "Thank-you," I cry into the darkness. But for now, I'm outta here.0