Signs That I Have Been Really Sick

I haven't had a Goldfish Cracker in 2 weeks.

I have a bag in the other room that is full of $50 worth of chocolate for Christmas treats that I never made and I haven't broken into it. (Yet)

I let Jenny and Zac make all of Christmas Eve dinner. (Fabulous job, by the way.)

I was relatively unconcerned when the first batch of brandy sauce for the bread pudding had to be thrown into the orchard.

I let the kids put together all of Christmas Day dinner, including the famous family lasagna.

I'm using Kleenex from a box that Jenny's puppy chewed and slobbered on because I haven't felt well enough to get up and get a new box.

I haven't enjoyed a glass of wine in 2 weeks.

I let myself be taken to the ER where I was bossed around for 4 hours by Sarah. (Also, a fabulous job.)

I then let myself be babysat by Melissa overnight and all the next day. (A 3rd fabulous job.)

I let the puppy (Jenny's) have the Reader's Digest to chew up rather than get up to find him a doggy toy.

I have a personal bond with the characters on "Modern Family."

I actually had to ask for help. And I had to accept it!

I've spent $300 in co-pays in just one week.

My T.V. is overheated.

I haven't worn earrings in 2 weeks.

I had $10 in Kohl's cash that was expiring in 2 days. I couldn't make it to Kohl's so I ... (gasp) gave it to Sarah!

Tucson Trip, Day 2

"There's a TOGO's!" This was said by Melissa in a particularly disgusting voice. We had checked out of our hotel and driven across the street trying to find Starbucks and then realized that we were headed away from the freeway. We were attempting to get turned around when we spotted the restaurant. I didn't know what a "TOGO's" was but you may remember from my last post that we had hiked ten miles, (according to Melissa), the previous evening and had to forage for food in the wilderness. And yet, here it was, food for the ordering, if we had just turned our heads in the opposite direction the night before.

Anyway, off we went for another full day of driving through barren wasteland. The road to Tucson is literally through "No Man's Land" and we were challenged to entertain ourselves throughout the day. Melissa decided that she needed to make a list of songs that she would later put on my iPod for me. She called this my "Manhater List."  Apparently, since I am now single, I need songs that I can listen to when I'm feeling down. I guess she didn't think Praise songs would do the trick, but instead, Manhater songs were required to fire me up! I haven't yet heard the fruits of her labor but I am looking forward to it. To be fair, I had already memorized all the words to Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats" and it had cheered me up a time or two. Speaking of Carrie Underwood, I introduced Melissa to Carrie's rendition of "How Great Thou Art". So beautiful!

http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=KL6WYLNX

And she turned me onto an awesome version of our national anthem by Madison Rising.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8C7i9kdEf8

Besides the "Manhater List" we also enjoyed a game we called "Life Questions." This involved writing down random questions that came to us as we laughed, sang, talked, and yelled across Arizona. We intended to research these questions when we got home but I am just now getting around to it. Some of those questions were:

How did Jimi Hendrix die?  

                                         

He died on September 18, 1970 in London, having choked to death on his own vomit.

What is the meaning of "Hotel California?"

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hotel_California

What makes a person see stars?

http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_causes_you_to_see_stars

We were covering some deep ground. I told her about a video I had watched where Billy Joel had been so gracious to a college student so she added that to her "Life Questions" list to check out later.

http://blogs.ajc.com/get-schooled-blog/2013/03/14/a-college-lecture-by-billy-joel-turns-into-a-performance-to-remember-for-vanderbilt-student-and-audience/

Lest I paint the drive as completely unimaginative, there was some beauty along the way. I was fascinated by the cloud formations and in fact, I pulled off the freeway at one point and wound through little side streets trying to get to a good spot to take a picture. Melissa thought I was slightly wacky!

We found odd things amusing. Sensory deprivation will do that to you. All across Arizona we saw this sign:

In case you can't read it, it says, "Drive Hammered, Get Nailed." Many a joke was made about the signs but most of them aren't appropriate to share here.

Melissa was taking a turn driving as we got closer to Phoenix but she had only been behind the wheel for about 45 minutes when the unthinkable happened!

Yep! You guessed it! Our peaceful, boring, two-lane road widened, first to three lanes and then more. Melissa started to panic and she had to quickly pull off so that we could switch places. The rest of the trip was uneventful except for the truly tragic moments we spent driving right by IKEA and deciding that we really shouldn't stop. I think I may still regret that decision but we knew if we gave in to that primal urge we wouldn't get to Tucson until the next day. Phoenix is only two hours from Tucson and we were anxious to see Tammera and her sweet family. We soldiered on and arrived, hot and tired, excited and elated, just in time for dinner.

More to follow...

Tucson Trip, Day 1

1. Urban Dictionary: soul clap 

   www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=soul%20clap‎

   The "soul clap" is a particular rhythm: it means clapping on the notes of a beat.

   
   

   My daughter Melissa and I drove to Tucson a few weeks ago and spent some time with our sweet Tammera and her family. You can read a little bit about Tammera  here and here. You're probably wondering what "soul clapping" has to do with this trip. We'll get to that later.
   
   Day 1:  Delayed Start
   
   We had planned to leave around 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday. Melissa rode into work with Donny and I was supposed to pick her up at Idler's. She was forced to be on time. I was not. Consequently, I arrived around 8:30 a.m. Not too bad. We set about transferring Melissa's stuff to my car. That's when we discovered the first problem of the morning. I had put a bottle of carpet shampoo in my trunk. It was a special kind (with fancy enzymes) and I was taking it to Tammera. Somehow, it had tipped over and the lid popped open and almost the entire bottle had spilled in my trunk, soaking the carpet as well as the whole bottom of my suitcase. Poor Donny set about cleaning up the mess. He was awesome! He even had to get the wet/dry vac from his work. But finally, the situation was remedied. We went back to packing the car. We had to arrange things carefully because we took a lot of stuff, including two sewing machines! We were heavily loaded.
   
   

   

   
   Notice the entire bag of San Luis Sourdough bread. Tammera loves it!
   
   

   

   
   We were taking a route that would completely avoid Los Angeles (Mel and I don't do well in big city traffic) so we headed towards 46 East after Melissa finally tore herself away from Donny. We weren't even out of town yet when I said, "Where's my phone?" Melissa started looking all over the car. Somehow, in the crisis over the carpet shampoo, my phone had disappeared. Eventually, she took out her phone and called mine.
   
   Ring, ring, ring, ring.
   
   "Hello?"
   
   "Donny! What are you doing answering Mom's phone?"
   
   "Uh, ... I don't know. Uh, it was in my pocket."   ???
   
   We turned around, headed back to Idler's, picked up my phone, said goodbye to Donny again, and once more headed towards the highway. We were now about two hours behind schedule. Not that big a deal except that we were staying in a hotel that night in the Palm Springs area and we wanted to get there in time to have a nice dinner, maybe a drink, and then a soak in the hot tub. We wanted to take full advantage of our $100 room!
   
   We planned to drive to Barstow and then cut down through some area called Yucca Valley. This would avoid the whole L.A./Riverside locale and dump us in Palm Springs. I don't know if you have driven that way before but let me tell you, it's a whole lot of nothing. It was beastly hot, incredibly boring, ugly, barren, and completely unremarkable. We began to take pictures of the rest stops just so that we could "create some memories."
   
   

   

   
   And don't let that green fool you. Apparently, they water the rest stops. Just outside this picture were miles and miles of dirt and cactus.
   
   We were well prepared to entertain ourselves. We each had loaded hundreds of songs on our iPods and we also had a bountifully stocked "food sack." This consisted of several bags of chips, tons of candy, almonds, cookies, gum, and of course, water, because, you know, we wanted to be healthy. Occasionally, we would get carried away and sing along boisterously to the iPod and record ourselves at the same time. Then we would post the videos on Facebook because we thought we were hysterical. We discovered a weird trait that we shared. I did most of the driving that first day so Melissa was in charge of music. She liked to listen to just the first part of a song and then she tired of it and moved on to the next song. She said it drove Donny crazy when she did that. Funny thing is, I often do that too. I just didn't know that she did. So, we quite happily drove across the desert listening to an average of two songs a minute. Could that be an inherited gene? This brings us to "soul clapping." Melissa taught me how to soul clap during one song and I proceeded to apply it to almost every song after that. According to her, you only can soul clap to certain songs but I disagree. I thought it worked quite well for almost every song.
   
   We made it to hot, humid Barstow and then headed south through Yucca Valley. The scenery continued to deteriorate. There were actually people that lived in this wasteland. They had street names (and I use the term "street" loosely) like "Rose Eden Drive" and "Paradise Ave.", as if giving their little dirt path a pretty name would somehow improve their surroundings. I've always appreciated Paso Robles but this drive took that appreciation to a new level. You can drive for miles without any hands (unless you need an alignment) because the road is so straight! Unfortunately, there is apparently a lot of flash flooding in Yucca Valley during the monsoon season. We ended up being stopped for over an hour, in the sweltering heat, while the road was being cleared. The policeman said that cars had been washed away. It was hard to imagine since we were baking under the unrelenting sun.
   
   

   

   
   We finally got underway again and made it to our hotel which was somewhere near Palm Springs.
   
   

   

   
   
   We had wanted to eat dinner. The hotel had no restaurant or bar. That may have been an oversight on my part. There was road construction all around the hotel so we walked, looking for somewhere to eat. That was about the time that Melissa had the first of her many meltdowns. It was so hot and humid, we were so tired, it was just a bit much. We had arrived much later than anticipated and we were just done! We walked across the street and found nothing and eventually walked down a couple of blocks where we stumbled across a grocery store and bought sandwiches, beer, and a Mike's Hard Lemonade.
   
   

   

   
   The sun was setting by the time we were headed back to the hotel and when Melissa stubbed her toe on a piece of cement, she started to cry! I tried to console her, all the while laughing at her. In spite of the hardships, we were blessed by God's beauty.
   
   

   

   
   
   We hadn't planned on the heat and humidity so there was no way we were venturing down to the hot tub. Plus, this was a "family friendly" hotel and it was Labor Day weekend so there were screaming kids in the pool, which our room overlooked, until almost midnight. We were cheered up, though, once we cooled off in our air conditioned room and got some decent food in us. (We'd had nothing but chips and candy all day.) And so, Day 1 ended. We were a little worse for wear, and Melissa was insisting that she would never drive to Tucson again (she wanted to fly, instead), but we'd made it halfway and hadn't killed each other yet so I thought the day was a success!
   
   Stay tuned for Day 2!
   
   
   

Fuses

A couple of weeks ago, Melissa and I traveled down to Yucaipa for a baby shower for my niece. We took the Camry that my dad had recently handed down to me.

http://mostly-musing.blogspot.com/2013/04/another-car-story.html

It was a really long trip but Melissa is good company and we had a lot of fun. Anyway, the Camry enabled us to have a GPS plugged into one power outlet and a phone recharging on the other power outlet, a luxury that my Buick hadn't had. Everything worked great. But then, the next weekend, I plugged in my phone and realized that I was getting no power. I tried the other outlet - nothing. I was bummed. I mean, I've got to be able to have constant available power for all these gadgets, right? The car was going to be going into the shop soon for routine servicing but rather than depend on someone else I decided to break down and read the car manual and see if I could figure it out.

After a bit of studying, I came to the conclusion that it must be a fuse. I set about attempting to find and replace the damaged fuses. I was impressed to read in the manual that some extra fuses were provided. How convenient! And, there was even a little plastic fuse-getter-outer to use to try and grab those little suckers. My fat, stubby fingers didn't do so well with that, though, so I resorted to using needle nose pliers to remove the fuses. My first attempt, however, didn't produce any results. I realized that there were several fuse locations. I wasn't reading the manual carefully enough and the first fuse I replaced went to, well, I don't know what it went to. It just didn't fix my power outlets. I tried again and realized that I was in the totally wrong fuse area. I was trying to replace fuses that were in the fuse box under the hood when I needed to be replacing fuses located under my dashboard. O.K. Got it. I eventually figured out which fuses needed to be replaced, and voila! I had power again. I was so proud of myself! In fact, I was feeling so cocky that I even posted it on Facebook, like it was some miraculous accomplishment. I mean, I was really proud...

Now if you look at the picture in the following link, you will see the location of the spare fuses. This is an important detail that we will come back to later.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200904439675596&l=33cb8b4dda

Several nights later I was out at Jenny's house visiting while Zac was working out of town. Melissa was there too and she walked me out when I got ready to head home. I started the car, turned on the headlights, and started to back out of Jen's driveway. Hmmm...I noticed that I had no headlights. Turned them off, then on again. Nope. Tried the high beams. Yea! I had high beams but still no low. I could have driven home with the high beams on all the way but I would have pissed off a few people.

It suddenly occurred to me that this just couldn't be coincidental. After all, I had been messing around with the fuses. Melissa thought I was crazy but I was determined to get to the bottom of this before I left Jenny's. So, once again, I got out the manual, my flashlight, and the fuse-getter-outer. Read the manual again. Turns out that I had grabbed fuses that were above the spares when I had done my fabulous repair job. Didn't read the diagram quite right. So...I had taken the low beam fuses from their proper position and put them in the spot for the power outlets. I could charge my phone but drive in the dark.

Back they went into their appropriate spots. I drove home happily and the next day I went to Wal-Mart and bought more fuses. Now my power outlets are once again working, as are my headlights, and I have extra fuses in my glove box. (It had turned out that I didn't have enough spares.)

The moral of this story? Does there need to be one? I still feel pretty good about getting it all fixed myself but I have to laugh about posting my good deed so early on Facebook. Ah, pride. Gets me every time.

Another Car Story

In case you haven't followed my previous car posts, you might want to get caught up first. You can look here,

http://mostly-musing.blogspot.com/2011/07/my-car.html

and here,

http://mostly-musing.blogspot.com/2012/04/birthday-tribute-to-my-dad.html.

And now, here is one more car story:

Thursday afternoon

Me:  "Good afternoon, Dr. Iversen's office. This is Debbie."

Man's voice:  "What time can you be at my house tomorrow to sign papers?"

Me:  "Dad?"

Dad:  "Yes. What time can you be at my house tomorrow?"

Me:  "What for?"

Dad:  "I'll tell you about it later. It has to do with my car. What time?"

Me:  "Dad! I'm at work. I can't talk about this right now. What have you done?"

Dad:  "Just give me a time."

Me:  "Oh, for heaven's sake. 2:00 p.m."

Dad:  "Great. I'll explain later. Bye."

I called my dad as soon as I got off work. He quickly explained that he had gone to San Luis that day and bought himself a car. Actually, another car! (See links to previous posts above.) I was speechless. My dad will be 87 in just a few weeks. He is a remarkable man and I admire him greatly. But I must say, in the last couple of years, he has gotten a bit impulsive. (For example, the inflatable kayak that showed up one day.) But this was the second car that he had bought, without a word to me, until after it was a done deal. He wanted me at his house the next day because the new car was being delivered. He puts everything in my name, as well as his these days, so my presence was required so that I could sign the DMV paperwork.

I wanted to get after him about his capriciousness but I couldn't. I knew why he had done it. I've been driving a very old Buick for quite a while. It has almost 200,000 miles on it, the driver's side window doesn't role down, the rear passenger door doesn't open from the inside, the driver's side headlight is duct-taped on, etc. He's been worrying about me, a poor, single, old, frail woman, driving alone in a questionable car. I knew what was coming.

Friday afternoon

"I want you to have my Camry. I'd feel better about that. Don't argue with me. Are you going to rob me of the joy I get in helping you out?"

Stab! Now I know where I get my ability to lay the guilt on my girls. I inherited it from him. What could I say? I'm a parent, too. The drive to care for our kids never really goes away. Wouldn't I do something similar for one of my daughters if I was able? About that time, the sales manager from the car dealership drove up in the new car, followed by one of his employees in another car. The new car is a bronze colored Honda of some sort, very nice looking, a couple of years old and only 12,000 miles on it.

While Dad was writing the check the sales manager said to me, "Where's your old Buick? This Camry will be a much better car for you." I looked at Dad and said, "What did you do? Tell him my life story?" I turned back to the salesman and said, "It's not that I'm not grateful. It's just that at 60, I'd sort of like to think I was a bit independent." He replied, "Oh, I imagine you're independent and probably a bit feisty!"

Feisty? Hmm, I gotta tell you honestly, just as an aside, that comment made my day. Anyway, as he was leaving I said, "Listen, the next time he shows up in your dealership, CALL ME FIRST!"

The business was concluded and I hugged my dad and told him how much I really did appreciate all he does for me. We then proceeded to admire his new car.

"I hope it at least has better visibility than your Camry. That has some pretty significant blind spots. Can you see out of it better?"

Long pause..."Well, I don't know." Another long pause..."I didn't test drive it."

I was stunned. "Does it have cruise control?"

Long pause..."Well, I don't know." Another long pause..."I didn't sit in it."

Who does that? Who buys a car on a whim just because it's a low mileage Honda? Who doesn't sit in the car or test drive it? And who gives away his perfectly good Camry?

My sweet, wonderful, loving, caring, humble father. Hasn't God blessed me?

A.T. & T., Part 2

This is a short update to my previous post about my frustrating conversation with an A.T. & T. representative. If you need to get caught up, click
http://mostly-musing.blogspot.com/2013/02/hello-at-t.html.

Anyway, this particular rep was apparently quite efficient in his own way because not even four days after I had spoken with him, I got a letter in the mail from DIRECTV.

"Dear Paul Brown,

(Let me explain right here that the DIRECTV bill is the last remaining item that is in both our names and I will be rectifying that very soon.)

   Thank you for your recent order. You will begin receiving AT & T customer savings on your upcoming monthly statements. Here is your confirmation #... and the description of your order: 'request to opt-in to single bill with AT & T' for a bundled discount.

Sincerely,

DIRECTV"

Request? Single bill? Bundled? You have got to be kidding! If you read the last AT & T blog, you know that I did not request or order anything. So I called the 800 number on the back of the letter. I got DIRECTV so I told them that I never requested this "bundled offering".

Oh, I'm so sorry ma'am. You will have to call AT & T.

Seriously? You've got to be kidding! I was ticked off now. My poison oak had made me very cranky and I had no patience for AT & T. I called them.

Thank you for calling AT & T. How may I help you?

I got a confirmation letter today for a bundled discount with DIRECTV which I did not request or order. I DON'T want this offer.

Oh, I'm so sorry ma'am. Let me check into that for you. Oh, yes I see. It has been processed and approved.
(She sounded like I should be celebrating this fact.)

I don't want it.

Oh, I'm so sorry ma'am. Let me see if I can debundle this for you. Oh, it has been processed and approved.

I don't care. I don't want it. I didn't ask for it. I was so frustrated with the last AT & T rep that I wrote about him!

Oh, I'm so sorry ma'am. Let me see if I can debundle this for you.

Long pause.........

Still trying to debundle.

Long pause.........

O.K. ma'am. I have successfully debundled your order. Would you like a confirmation number?

Uh, YES! Thank you so much for your help. Did you register my complaint about the other rep?

Yes ma'am. We have his I.D. I have noted your dissatisfaction. Is there anything else I can do for you?

No, thanks. You've been very helpful. I won't write about you.

Thank you for calling AT & T.

Hello, AT & T

Hello, AT & T. How may I assist you? (lots of background chatter, yelling, etc. all with an Indian accent.)

I'd like to talk about my phone bill. I need to see if I can get a cheaper plan.

Let me pull up your account. I'd be glad to help you with that. Hold please................. Do you have internet service with us?

No, but you can't provide me with internet where I live. It's too rural.

Let me check for you. .......................................................What is your zip code?

93446. But you can't give me internet. And I get no cell phone reception, which is why I still have my land line. About my telephone bill...

Hold please....................... I show you have internet available in your area. It's yours.

What?

It's yours. YOURS.

I don't know what you're telling me.

Hold please.................. I show we have internet available in your area. I can bundle it with your phone bill and it will be less expensive. What do you have for T.V.?

Direct TV.

Hold please.......... Oh, we can bundle that in as well. What stations do you watch?

Oh, I don't know. I get, like, 150 channels.

So you just get the local stations?

Well, no (frustration level rising), I get more than just local. But I don't get premium channels like Showtime or HBO.

O.K. So you just have a basic package. I can bundle that in too. We can provide internet service for $14.95 a month.

I highly doubt that. How can you guarantee to me that you can provide internet service to me? 

Hold please............ I show we have internet service available in your area. It's yours.

Are you saying you have internet service somewhere in the 93446 zip code area or are you looking at my specific address?

I show we have service at your address. It's YOURS.

What are you saying to me?

Yours. YOURS. That's our internet service.

How do you spell that?

U V E R S E. Yours. You can go to our website at att.uverse.com and put in your zip code and you will see that we have service available in your area.

Hold on. Let me get to that website...................I don't see anyplace to put in a zip code.

I show we have internet service in your area. Shall I sign you up for it starting next month?

What? No! I need to research this but my lunch hour is over. I'll have to call back when I have a few more hours.

Thank you for calling AT & T. Good day.

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me...

          we'd never discussed my phone service!!

Old Friends

It seems, that in our lifetime, we are blessed with just a few precious and lasting friendships. At least that's the case for me. I could not produce a dozen good friends but I could come up with four or five, friends that know me well, stand by me, hold me accountable, encourage me, and laugh with me. One of those friends is Donna. I have known her for 40 years. She and her husband, Jay, were best friends with Paul and I. Fortunately, even though Paul is out of the picture, Jay and Donna have maintained their friendship and closeness with me and for that I am so grateful. Years ago, when Paul lost a job due to drug addiction, they waited for us outside our church on the first Sunday after he had gotten fired, and accompanied us inside so that we were surrounded with support. I was terrified that day and so uncomfortable - feeling like everyone must know what had happened. To see their faces as we arrived and then to walk in with them and sit with them on either side of us was such a blessing. I've never forgotten it. Now it is 30 years later and we are still friends, though, since they live in Auburn, we don't get together too often.

My latest grandchild, Arrow, was born October 16th and Donna turned 60 on October 20th. Donna had just had her first grandchild and had returned from visiting little Giannah in Massachusetts the week before her birthday. Since Arrow had arrived safely, I impulsively decided to drive to Auburn and surprise Donna. I figured she would be missing her sweet granddaughter and might also be mourning turning 60 (or is it just me that did that) so I thought she might need some comfort from me. I was also feeling somewhat worn down and thought a weekend away with friends might be just the ticket. I called Jay and he said they had no plans for the weekend so the timing was good. I borrowed my Dad's car because as you know, if you have read previous blogs, my car is less than dependable. And no, I did not take his Miata!

http://mostly-musing.blogspot.com/2011/07/my-car.html
http://mostly-musing.blogspot.com/2012/04/birthday-tribute-to-my-dad.html

I left on a Thursday, right after I got off work. It took me 6 hours to drive to Auburn including the 4 stops I made. I tend to feel that I am required to take a bathroom break every time a decent place is available but really I just needed to get out and stretch. That drive up I-5 is so boring! I was prepared, however. I had taken a C.D. of a Women's Retreat that I had been wanting to listen to. All the way up, I was encouraged as I listened to a study on the book of Joshua. It was my own private mini-retreat. I was a little bit proud of myself for making the trip and for not even being scared at the rest stops. I was nervous going through Sacramento but after that, I began to get so excited. I made it to Auburn at 10:50 p.m., ran into the Bel Air Supermarket for a supply of wine, and then headed to Donna's house. Jay had promised to leave the front door unlocked and since Donna is a night-owl like me, I knew she'd still be up. I pranced in the front door to find Donna "decorating for fall". She had boxes out and fake pumpkins strewn about - so like her. I think I about gave her heart failure as she tried to process what she was seeing. So fun! We stayed up for hours talking and sharing grandchildren stories. There is nothing like spending time with a friend who has known you forever!

I slept late the next morning and it was fabulous!! It was as if being in a different place with different people was allowing me to shed some of the burdens that I tend to carry and enabled me to rest. And Donna, being the godly woman that she is, let me sleep.

He who blesses his friend with a loud voice early in the morning, It will be reckoned a curse to him.  Pro. 27:14

Needless to say, we got sort of a late start but that was O.K. We had no schedule. We went to visit Donna's sweet mom who is now in a rest home. It brought back memories of visiting my mom before she died. Then we took off to shop, one of our favorite pastimes. Leaving the rest home, we had to drive through the quaint little downtown area of Auburn. It's an interesting place...

This is actually a huge, cement statue that is outside of a dental office. Since I work for a dentist, I found this interesting. Donna said that the dentist himself was the artist and there are several other huge figures surrounding his office. I'm just not sure that I would feel comfortable visiting this dentist.

Next we headed "down the hill" a bit. I had brought up some peacock feathers and I wanted Donna to make an arrangement that I could give to Melissa as a housewarming present using my feathers. Melissa loves peacocks but I needed Donna to lend her artistic expertise to the project. We shopped for hours to find just the perfect container. Along the way, we found this place...

Why am I including this picture? I found it so funny and I made Donna drive me closer to get a good picture. Donna and I sort of get a tad crazy when we are together. (Also, there may have been at least one hookah party on my patio but I'm not swearing to that!)

Jay bar-b-cued that night and he is a wonderful cook. Chicken, salmon, asparagus, etc. Also, one of Donna's Auburn friends had dropped off a plate of homemade cream puffs and Donna made me help her eat them. As a good friend, I was happy to sacrifice my diet for her.

The next day, Donna worked hard at getting the peacock arrangement just right. Notice the serious concentration...

She is a perfectionist and does beautiful work! Here is the finished project...

Donna also took me to a Hobby Lobby store! Wow! We don't have one around here and it was so fun. Their fabrics were beautiful and I was forced to buy a little, even though I wasn't sure what I would do with them. I could have spent a fortune but I limited myself to these...

We also discovered an upscale thrift store where we shopped for quite a while. It was there that we had a somewhat disturbing experience. Donna has lost 40 pounds and she looks great! However, she has not replaced her bras and you know what happens when women lose weight. You lose the girls first. We were sharing a dressing room when I noticed that Donna's bra was doing absolutely nothing for her! I left her with strict instructions to replace her bras and I intend to call her and make sure she has obeyed. Just like eating the cream puffs, being an intimate apparel whistle blower is what good friends do for each other. That night was Donna's actual birthday so we were meeting Jay at an Outback Restaurant. I had never been and we had a great time together (although Jay's cooking is superior). I was struck by how fortunate I was that I could still feel comfortable with Jay and Donna even though there should have been four of us instead of three.

By the way, I should mention that Jay has also lost 40 pounds and he looks great as well.

All too soon the weekend was over and I returned to reality. Such sweet memories! And though I went up thinking that I was going to comfort my "old" friend, it was she who ministered to me. I came home rested and refreshed and so grateful for the blessing of friendships. I wanted to do something for Donna to thank her for the awesome weekend so I decided to make her a Christmas stocking to keep at her house for her granddaughter in case she comes to visit at Christmas time. I used fabric that I had bought at Hobby Lobby. Donna loves giraffes so the stocking is a little unconventional but I don't care.

"Good company in a journey makes the way seem the shorter."  Izaak Walton

Trauma in Shapewear

This is serious business, ladies, so pay attention. It also is a bit personal but I figured someone has to talk about it so it might as well be me.  I had, what can only be described as, an extremely traumatic experience the other day. I share it here in the hopes of saving someone else though I am wondering if it was just me or if anyone else has suffered through a similar fiasco.

I was shopping in Kohl's because, as you might guess, I had a coupon. I had wandered around fairly successfully and decided to end in "Intimates". Anybody that knows me well knows that I love P.J.'s. I'd live in them if I could so I am always checking out the sale racks for some new "after work wear". As I was heading for the pajamas, I noticed a display marked  "Shapewear". Hmmm...I've been having issues of late with the dreaded back fat. If I didn't have to wear a bra I'd have a much smoother shape in the back but inevitably, a saggier one in the front. Since going to work or church braless isn't an option for me (any more ☺), I thought I might benefit from a trip through the Shapewear department. I saw some camisoles and the brand name was Flexees. Doesn't that sound easy to wear? I grabbed a couple and headed for the dressing room. If you are interested in seeing just how innocent these creations of the devil look, here it is...



I took my shirt off and began to casually slip the cami over my head. By the way, I won't tell you what size I was trying on but suffice it to say, it was not a Small or a Medium. Now, the fact that I began having trouble moving this item down past my chin should have been a red flag. However, I ignored the warning and gallantly soldiered on. I mean, I am nothing if not persistent. O.K. Got it down to my upper chest and attempted to get an arm through. Again, major red flag! Again, I continued. I finally had both arms through and now, the tricky little item was rolled into a narrow little tube and was threatening to cut off all circulation to the "girls". Eventually, I managed to get it untangled and pulled down over my stomach. I began to suffocate. I could not take a full breath so I had to resort to short, shallow breaths reminiscent of the Lamaze breathing I was taught years ago for childbirth. That sort of breathing was ineffective while I was in labor and it was just as ineffective for surviving encapsulation by "power mesh". I realized that I needed to get this thing off me and reconsider this whole mission.

Easier said than done. I attempted to pull the cami up and managed to get it to just under the boobs, again in a tight little roll. I felt faint stirrings of panic but had no choice but to move forward. With a tremendous amount of tugging, I got it to about the middle of my boobs. I was so thankful that there were no hidden cameras in that dressing room. However, no matter what I tried, I could not get it to move any further. Finally, in desperation, I took my left arm and shoved it down through the roll that was the cami. I got it pushed down to about my elbow. I may not have thought this through very well. My left hand was now positioned over my right hip and my elbow was cocked at a weird angle, almost as if I was trying to take something out of a pocket on my right side with my left hand. I quickly ascertained that my arm was pinned. As in stuck. Tight. I was now feeling more than just stirrings of panic. I twisted and turned and twitched and thrust but all to no avail. Oh my gosh! I was going to have to pull the fire alarm lever and have a paramedic cut me out of the dang thing! Could I possibly be any more humiliated? I made one, last, dramatic upward arm motion and miraculously, I was free!! I gasped for air and praised God that I was no longer in the clutches of the "feminine, flattering" camisole. I think it was alive but it played dead sort of like an opossum. It is still there, in the Kohl's Intimate Department, waiting for it's next victim.

I, meanwhile, have decided to ignore the back fat issue for now.

Reflections on a Garage Sale

So, my daughter, Sarah, decided that she wanted to do a garage sale. She was ready to get rid of some stuff and she lives right downtown so it is a great location. But, of course, since most women do not want to do anything alone, she invited me to join her. Translated, that means that I had to haul two trunk loads of crap to her house, work Friday night until 10 p.m. helping her organize stuff and then try to get up Saturday morning (my day off!) and get out and about by 8 or so.

I always have a thrift store pile going but I'd much rather go to a thrift to buy more stuff than sit on Sarah's front porch for 4 hours hocking our wares. But you know, I love my kids, so sometimes I gotta do stuff that isn't terribly exciting. (I'm polishing my halo right about now.)

I decided that I needed a little something special to get me going that morning so I offered to make a McDonald's run for me, Sarah, and my grandson, Gabriel. I hadn't had a sausage and egg biscuit in years and it sounded fabulous. I set my alarm for 6:30 a.m. and hit the snooze button about 9 times, finally coming to with a shock at about 7:30. I threw myself out of bed, tossed on some shorts, spit on my hair, and ran out the door. I didn't even brush my teeth! I was shocked to see that the McDonald's was absolutely packed at 8:15 in the morning. I mean, you would have thought it was a famous gourmet restaurant! It was standing room only. Good thing I was "to go". I ordered the breakfast platter for Gabriel. I figured it was an assortment so he was bound to be happy with at least some of it. After I had ordered, I noticed this large number posted by the picture of the "platter". It was "1090". I looked again, squinted a little, and realized that next to the number 1090, in small letters, was the word "calories". Holy Smokes!! One thousand ninety calories just in the breakfast? Looked again - my biscuit breakfast had 510 calories. Plus, in a fit of abandon, I had also ordered hash browns. Add another 150 calories. Whatever. It was 8:15 on a Saturday morning, I looked like a slob, and I was just too tired to care. And the day had just begun!

I arrived at Sarah's with our breakfasts, which now contained enough calories to feed a small village for several days. Sarah had a wonderful attitude. She had been up much earlier than me and she and Gabriel had already neatly arranged everything onto her front lawn. It was a pitiful display. We really had mostly clothes which aren't the biggest draw at a garage sale. We would watch some people slow down and do the "drive by" and then keep on going. Now, mind you, this was crap that just the other night I wanted to dump at the AmVet trailer. Now, I was taking it personally that no one wanted to sort through my crap and pay me what I thought it was worth! Eventually, there were a few rushes and sales picked up. I was happy to at least make back the cost of my breakfast and Sarah did quite a bit better than me. During lulls, we chatted and looked through each other's stuff. I ended up loading a fair amount back into my car. For example, Sarah had seven champagne flutes that never sold. You know I have quite an active social life so I figured I could always use more champagne flutes. Score! I had donated a pair of earrings to the sale because Sarah had told me I should never wear them again. Come to find out, they never made it out to the lawn. She kept them! Hmmm. Oh well. They will look better on her.

Lots of very nice people stopped by. One group of four women arrived in an Escalade. They were having too much fun! One of Sarah's items was a small crystal ice bucket. One of these ladies was looking at it and commenting on how she liked it but that it wouldn't hold much ice. Her friend told her she should go ahead and get it. The woman replied, "It's so small, I would just have to fill it with ice and pour my booze right into it and drink out of it." We decided we liked her style. One man came by and wanted to know if we had any guns for sale. Um, is that legal we wondered? The 80 year old neighbor lady from down the street stopped by and we learned a lot about her history of flea marketing as a business, when her husband had died, where each of her sisters lived, etc. You get the idea. The nice thing was, we took the time to listen to her. In fact, Sarah was great about asking her questions and encouraging her to talk. We had no where else to be and our Craig's List ad said the sale went until noon so technically, we were working and were legally bound to sit on the porch and chat with strangers until then.

Sarah was trying to foster entrepreneurship in Gabriel. He had helped her drag everything outside so that had earned him two 12-packs of soda. He was supposed to try to sell them for a buck each and he would get to keep his profits. Several of Sarah's friends very sweetly stopped in just to buy soda from Gabriel. He got off to a bit of a rough start. His first customer was a nice young woman who had recently gotten married. Sarah had been her wedding coordinator. It was a little early for Gabriel so he needed a bit of prodding to semi-politely ask her whether she wanted Coke or Sprite but as the morning wore on, he warmed to the task. Pretty soon, he was sitting out there hollering at the browsers and actually selling more than me! The highlight of his day was when Sarah's friend, Robert, drove up. He had come just to buy soda and surprised Gabriel buy buying all ten of the remaining Sprites. Suddenly, Gabriel was very protective of his stash of money and quite excited about his earnings. I actually managed to sell my king sized comforter. It was in great shape. I just can't fit it in my washing machine. I hope the people who bought it don't mind the cat barf that precipitated the sale.

Finally, noon arrived and we began to pack up. We had one other family group stop and we let them take whatever they wanted. It saved us the trouble. Then we loaded up what was left and off we went to the AmVet trailer. I was home by 1:30 p.m. and was worn out. Would I do it again? Well, I figured that between the prep time before the sale and the time spent the day of the sale, I made about $4 an hour. Frankly, I'd rather sleep in. But...there were a few things that made the day remarkable...

I'm blessed to have daughters who don't seem to mind my company so spending a morning with Sarah was a blessing.

I enjoyed seeing the camaraderie of women as they enjoyed a morning together and was reminded of my own good friends and what they mean to me.


I was humbled as I watched families gather up clothes and be grateful for them.

I was thankful that I did, eventually, make it to the AmVet trailer.

And lastly, I must not eat breakfast at McDonald's!

"I'm sorry. Peanuts are for First-Class only!"

I am not a good traveler. I'm going to tell you that right from the start. Also, I rarely fly and I don't like flying. It's a control thing, I'm sure. I mean, really! Being locked up in a little tube with a bunch of strangers? And a sign that tells you when you can get up to go to the bathroom in a room not much bigger than a See's Candy box? How is that pleasant? Anyway, back to my story...

I have some very close friends that live in Annapolis. That's in Maryland, you know, and it is about as far away from Paso Robles as you can get and still be in the United States. I've known Carole Sue since before I had kids and we've been through a lot together. It had been more than a year since I had seen her when Carole Sue graciously offered to use their air miles to fly me back for a visit. In the 18 years they've lived in Annapolis, I've never gone. She always came to me. My office was closing for a week's vacation so I had no excuses. I was going to have to get on a plane.

In preparation for the trip I began to moan and groan, fret, plan, and ask everyone I knew to pray for me. Finally, I began to pray for myself and God did give me a peace about the trip. I knew that one way or another, He was going to get me there. Now let me clarify one thing. I'm not actually afraid of the flying itself or even crashing. I figured if I fell from the sky in that little tube I'd be seeing Jesus real quick and it'd all be good. It's the process surrounding getting from one place to another - the details - that I'm not fond of. Well, that and the fact that I have to place myself at the mercy of someone else who probably just wants to get home and go to bed. You know, that whole control issue again.

I left last Thursday. I had driven to Santa Barbara the night before and stayed with another dear friend, Marilyn. She took me to the airport Thursday morning and was keeping my car for the week. My flight went from Santa Barbara to LAX, from LAX to Chicago, and from Chicago to Baltimore where my friends were meeting me. O.K. So here's how the trip went...

Santa Barbara airport is beautiful and so easy to find your way around in.  I met a very nice lady who is a local artist and we talked for a bit before boarding. That was calming and I was grateful that God had put her in my path. I knew how to put all my stuff into the little basket so that they could determine that I was not a terrorist. Then I approached the little glass room where they scan you. I was kind of getting excited so I sort of danced into the room and immediately out the other side. "Uh, excuse me, but you need to stand in there for a minute. Put your feet on the footprints and hold your arms up." Oh. Well, I see. I had completely short-circuited their process and I felt a little silly but whatever. I complied and all was well except that my large earrings, of which I am particularly fond, lit up the little machine and had to be double checked for explosives. No worries, I was cleared and off I went. The flight to LAX was uneventful although it seemed that planes had gotten smaller than I remembered. I could barely cross my legs in those toddler-sized seats. I'm not sure how my over-6-feet tall sons-in-law fit. I landed in L.A. and thankfully, Carole Sue had alerted me that I would need to take some sort of bus to another area. I asked this young gentleman behind a counter if he could direct me and he actually walked me all the way over to the shuttle. That was so nice of him. I knew God had put him there for me, just like the lady in Santa Barbara and, again, I was grateful. I was able to find my gate by myself and before I knew it, I was on my way to Chicago.

Let's fast-forward a few hours. I had a window seat with two other women in my row. I was doing well but I eventually began to notice the time and realized that we should have landed in Chicago earlier. I didn't have a very long lay-over so I was a little concerned about making my connection. But there hadn't been any announcements so I just figured everything was fine. I don't wear a watch so I was looking at the time on my Nook and I really had no idea what time zone I was in so I thought maybe I was imagining being in the sky a bit too long. Eventually, the pilot came on over the loudspeaker and said that we had been circling the Chicago airport for quite some time but now the airport was closed due to bad weather and we were being diverted to Rockford. I didn't even know what state that was in because I am no good with geography. I still wasn't alarmed. The flight attendant told us all not to worry. She said that if we couldn't land, planes weren't leaving either so our connecting flights would be there waiting for us. I am not a seasoned traveler so I took her at her word. I know better now. I should probably interject here that when I travel, I tend not to eat or drink. However, I was really glad I had my bag of goldfish crackers with me.

Three hours later, we were still on the ground in Rockford (which, by the way, is in Illinois), I still thought I would get to Baltimore that night, I was still smiling, and we were still in the plane. They wouldn't let us off! And it was about 90 degrees inside that dreadful little tube. The flight attendant began handing out a single, stale granola bar to each passenger. She said it was from their "emergency rations". A lady in front of me asked if she could have peanuts instead and the flight attendant said, "No. I'm sorry. Peanuts are for First-Class only." Really? I called Norm and Carole Sue and let them know that I was delayed. I didn't want them sitting at the Baltimore airport for hours. It was about 11 p.m. their time by now. I knew this was a test. God was asking me how much I really trusted Him. Bring it on! However, my fellow travelers didn't have the peace of the Lord and they were getting a bit rowdy. Several men seemed ready to storm the cabin. Finally, the flight attendant came out and said that, by law, they couldn't keep us on the plane for more than three hours. She said we could get off the plane but if we did, we couldn't get back on. Great. That wouldn't do me any good. One lady in my row bailed right then. She had a friend who was willing to drive from Chicago (apparently only an hour away by car) to pick her up and she figured her chances of getting home sometime that night were better that way. The rest of us got in line for the mini-bathroom and then settled in to wait some more. Norm told me later that he knew I wasn't making it to Baltimore that night but he couldn't crush my hopes so he didn't mention it. I was dreaming of Carole Sue's homemade soup that she had told me was waiting for me. By now, I hadn't eaten much for the last 24 hours because I had barely eaten the day before I left. That soup was going to be so good! Then I got a text from her that said she was putting the soup back in the refrigerator. That was a low point!

Finally, we took off again for Chicago but by then, everyone on the plane was so worn out that we couldn't even celebrate. Our flight attendant told us that in all her 25 years of flying, this was only the 2nd time she had experienced something like this. I didn't want to let on to my fellow suffering travelers but I was pretty certain that all this was on my account so God could teach me about trust and prayer. I was sorry they had to suffer along with me but you know, I am just that important to God. It was only about a 10 minute flight to Chicago. I walked into the airport to find hundreds of people stranded and right after we landed they closed the airport again. Nothing was getting out that night. I did manage to find a telephone labeled "re-booking information" and when I picked up the phone I was told that I had been automatically re-booked onto a flight leaving Chicago at 6 a.m. I spent the night on the floor of the airport with tons of other people and watched the pouring rain and lightening out the windows. At one point, I was issued a cot resembling something the military might use, along with a paper-thin blanket with a big spot on it. There was one area where it was just wall-to-wall cots and I was not about to try to sleep with hundreds of other strangers.  I set my cot up right in front of the gate that I was supposed to be departing from in a few hours. Every time I moved on the cot it sounded like 25 people farting long and hard. I realized that sleep was unrealistic so I abandoned the cot. I wandered around for a while though most everything in the airport was closed since it was about one in the morning. I found one little shop open where I paid $5 for a Snickers bar and a bottle of water. My departure gate was changed so I went to the new gate and spent the next four hours alternating between a seat and the floor. I am way too old for this!

At 5 a.m. I had to get in line to get my ticket changed and get a new boarding pass. So many people had been stranded overnight that tempers were short but those that were working the counters were so nice and patient. I was impressed. I got on a puddle-jumper to Baltimore and passed out immediately. When we landed, I staggered out of the plane, found my baggage, and finally, found Norm and Carole Sue. It's ironic, don't you think? If you know me, you know how I hate to travel usually. I just had to laugh! Only God! So in spite of all the traveling setbacks, I had a wonderful trip and have learned a few things about trusting God. I hope He doesn't test me again any time soon!

P.S.:  On the flight home I went from Baltimore to Dallas to LAX to Santa Barbara. In Dallas, my flight left over an hour late because we had to taxi back to the gate after almost taking off because a passenger had gotten sick and needed to be let off the plane. When we landed in L.A., I had to run for the shuttle and then run for my gate and just barely got on the plane in time. I wasn't even surprised!

Tops of 2011

The most popular magazine in my office waiting room is "People" and occasionally, during my lunch hour, I will indulge. I was flipping through one of the December issues and found an article entitled "Tops of 2011". I was curious to see how current I was so I began reading. It was actually a group of lists, the first of which was "Top 10 Box Office Champs". You know, the top movies. Guess how many of them I had seen. Uh, zero. Not a one. O.K. Moving on to "iTunes Most Popular Songs". Again, zero. Let's try "Top 10 Bestsellers". I am, after all, a voracious reader. Yea!! I had read one of the books, "The Help". I'm on a roll now. "Most Increase in Twitter Followers". Really? I don't Twitter, don't even know how I would even try to Twitter and would feel like a twit if I ever did Twitter. At least I recognized some of the names on the Twitter list. But who the heck is Bruno Mars? Lastly, "Most Watched TV Shows". Again, you guessed it, none. I came close here, though. NCIS was on the list and I have seen it several times but I felt I could hardly count that since I don't watch it regularly. Or even irregularly, for that matter. So, out of a list of 50 top items for 2011, I got a grand score of 1. 1.5 if you give me credit for watching at least one NCIS. I am crushed. I like to consider myself as someone fairly hip for my advanced age. This was a humbling exercise. I think I'll go watch "The Twilight Saga" and then read "Water for Elephants" while listening to "E.T." and recording "Dancing With the Stars" for later. As for the Twittering thing? Hopeless.

Am I a Closet Red-Neck?

I love living in the country but I am beginning to wonder about myself. Am I a closet red-neck? Or just weird?

Am I a closet red-neck if I go to my mailbox in my flannel p.j.'s?

Am I a closet red-neck if ....
            I want to be able to burn my tree trimmings?
            I walk out onto my patio in my underwear?
            I have a fire pit in the front yard?
                                   
Am I a closet red-neck if....
            I don't want anyone telling me what color I can paint my house?
            I opt not to paint the house?
            I pile trash next to the shop?
            I have a shop?
            I have a cat who pees in my almost ex-husband's sink?
            I drink cheap white wine with chips for dinner?

Am I a closet red-neck if....
            I've had a tarantula in my house?
            I've had a stray dog fall in the pool in the middle of the night?
            I have a dumpster?
            I've had a gun? (No longer. It was just for snakes, anyway)

Am I a closet red-neck if....
            my dad sits in his underwear and shoots squirrels
            out his living room window?
            I don't find it strange that my dad is shooting squirrels in this manner?
            I haven't locked a door in 16 years?
            I have used a push broom and a kitchen colander to clean the pool?
            I have a minimum size requirement before a spider is worth getting up
            to kill?
            I keep "Skunk Out" in the garage?

Am I a closet red-neck if....
            I had a clothesline and still miss it?
            I wish I could harvest gophers?
            I duct taped my headlight on and called it good?
            I admired my duct tape job?
            I know what J-B Weld is?
            I repaired a leak in my water storage tank all by myself
            with J-B Weld?

Or am I just weird?
                                   
                                   



                                     

                 

Mothering

I tend to mother...I mean, of course, I am a mother (noun). But I tend to mother (verb). My mothering has sometimes been mistakenly called "nagging" but that is because certain "motherees" do not fully understand my giftedness. Anyway, with that in mind, I thought I'd share with you a partial list of events that entitle me to mother a person.

If I've taken care of your animal or your child, that gives me the right to mother you.

If I've talked to you in the middle of the night or you've cried in my presence, that gives me the right to mother you.

If I've given or loaned you money, fed you, shortened pants for you, or let you borrow a book, that gives me the right to mother you.

If I've prayed for you, if I'm older than you, if you've ever asked my advice (for anything at anytime) or if you've ever spent the night at my house (while not actually living with me), that gives me the right to mother you.

And finally, if you've married one of my daughters, hurt yourself on my trampoline, or split your head open at my house, that gives me the right to mother you.

And lest you think I'm deluded, I'm fully aware that this is not necessarily a healthy approach. It just happens to be my approach. ☻

The Amazing "4 Minute Workout"

I hate to exercise! I cannot state this strongly enough. There is nothing about exercise that I like! I have a membership to the cheap gym - who can quibble with $10 a month - but I haven't been in at least 6 months. I've even stopped feeling guilty about not going and still paying. I'm big on guilt so this says a lot about how low I've sunk. Also, I'm pretty sure that I read somewhere that if you went to the gym twice a week for 5 minutes each time your cholesterol would drop dramatically and you could still eat butter. I'm pretty sure that was guaranteed. My body didn't get that memo, however, and my cholesterol did NOT drop, in spite of the fact that I cut down my Goldfish cracker consumption to one large box per week.

Anyway, I was browsing Pinterest (my new favorite time-waster) the other night and came across a short video about an Amazing 4 Minute Workout. According to the trainer on the video, this workout would burn as many calories as a 40 minute run and it would boost your metabolism for the next 12-36 hours.

O.K. This sounded like it had possibilities. I'm sure I could do just about anything for 4 minutes. I took my computer out to the dining room where Melissa was baking a Pecan Pie. I wanted her to support me and also I wanted to show her how buff and dedicated I was. The trainer explained that there would be a series of just 4 exercises that would be done for 20 seconds each, separated by 10 seconds of rest, and then the whole set repeated once. Simple. How could I lose? I started the video and prepared to get boosted! The first exercise was called the squat thrust push up. I had to drop to the floor, kick my legs out behind me, do a push up and then hop up to a standing position again. You were supposed to do as many as you could in 20 seconds. The girl on the video who was demonstrating did about 10 and she wasn't even breathing hard. I thought to myself, "This is awesome. I'll do 4 minutes a day and I'll lose 30 pounds in no time."

O.K. Go. Dropped to the floor, kicked my feet back. So far, so good. However, I realized, after I face-planted on the carpet, that I could not do a push up. You've got to be kidding! Not even one push up? Apparently not. My arms would not hold me. I jumped up and attempted 4 more times and face-planted 4 times as well. O.K. 10 seconds of rest. Yes! I can do this! Next was something called "Mountain Climbers". These consisted of dropping to the ground again, supporting your upper body with your arms and then sort of jogging in place with your back half. Hard to explain but I did fairly well on this part and soon jumped up for my 10 seconds of rest. I was starting to breathe hard. Next came "High knees" which was just running in place with your knees rising up to meet your chest. At this point, Melissa, bless her little heart, became my cheerleader. "Come on, Mom! It says 'High Knees', not 'Low Knees'. Pick up your feet. Get your knees up! You're hardly moving!"

O.K. I'm not hiring her for my personal trainer. I gratefully rested and then did 20 seconds of jumping jacks. Those I can do. Of course, by now, I was gasping for air, but I was halfway there! I can do this! The trainer instructed me to repeat the set. Uh oh. Squat, kick back, push ...plop. Try again. Same result. I figured I'd count it because after all, I was trying. By the time I got to the end of the 4 minutes I was in need of an oxygen mask and a stretcher and I hadn't done one single exercise correctly. Melissa was less than impressed but I decided it counted as an awesome workout since I was so winded. I happily grabbed the box of Goldfish crackers and headed back to my room for some more Pinterest. I wanted to look for the "Amazing 4 Minute Whole House Cleaning" video.

Things That Have Been In My Bedroom Besides A Man

I had daydreamed about living in the country for years. I didn't really think I ever would but God blessed us and 16 years ago we moved here - 14 acres of dirt and weeds and bugs. Love it!! It has made for some interesting experiences along the way. I realized that my bedroom seems to have had a plethora of visitors and they aren't the kind that will rub your back or make you coffee. So here is a review of the company I've had over the years...

It started off late one night the first week we were living here. Jenny, Melissa, and I were still up doing unpacking sort of stuff. I headed down the hallway towards my room to put some stuff away. Do you know what a potato bug is? (Google it!) They are gross, disgusting, and entirely other-worldly.

http://www.lifeperfected.com/spinach/potatobug.html

Well, a potato bug came charging out of my room. (Yes! They can charge!) It was running down the hallway right at me, chasing me! It seemed to be saying, "Back up offa my grill!" I quickly turned around and ran back to the kitchen. I knew the girls would be no help and the man posing as my husband was sound asleep so it was up to me. I grabbed the flyswatter. I know, it makes no sense. But I was somewhat desperate for a weapon and you can't squish those ugly things. I headed into battle and managed to get the potato bug onto the flyswatter. I ran back down the hallway with it all the while screaming for the girls to open the screen door where I proceeded to throw it outside. Whew! Who knew that this would just be the beginning.

Several years later, in the middle of the night, a potato bug dropped right out of the sky and into the middle of my bed! How does that happen? There is a heater vent right over the bed. It's never been used in 16 years and the slots are very small. I didn't see how a bug that size could get through but nevertheless, it's the only source I could figure out unless this was a mutant potato bug that had developed the ability to fly. In our panic we began flailing our arms in the dark with really no knowledge of where the thing would end up. I found it the next morning, alive, in our bathroom, nosed into the corner like it was in shock. I had a system now, though, so I again got the flyswatter and out the door it went.

The next visitor to my bedroom was a baby rattlesnake. My brother, Tim, was here with a crew of guys and they were working out front landscaping in preparation for Jen and Zac's wedding. Zac was helping Tim but had come in for a drink of water. He happened to glance down the hallway and he saw several of our cats in my room, acting somewhat suspiciously. He went down to my room and found a small, injured and bleeding, but alive, snake. Without thinking, he picked it up and carried it outside to my brother. "Look what I found in Mom's room!" My brother replied, "Uh, Zac, you got a baby rattlesnake there." Zac quickly dropped it and someone finished it off. Don't cry for the snake. Cry for me! How does a snake get in my room? I don't have a cat door simply because I figure the cats would bring me lots of presents. So my guess is that a cat walked through an open door with a snake hanging out of it's mouth and no one noticed! Not acceptable.

Though the next guest was in my room, it was my youngest daughter, Melissa, that suffered. It was a hot summer night and there were quite a few people here swimming. Melissa was headed out to the pool and for some reason, she decided to go out the sliding glass door in my room. She didn't bother to turn on the light but she would live to regret that decision. As she crossed the threshold of the door she stepped in something very squishy, slimy and gross. She didn't know what it was but she knew it wasn't good. She panicked and ran out the door, screaming bloody murder. (If you know Melissa, you know she has a flair for the dramatic.) She jumped onto the steps of the pool, frantically trying to get the gunk off her foot. At the sound of all the commotion, I headed back to my room to see what the problem was. When I turned on my light I saw a disemboweled rat right at my sliding glass door. It had a footprint in the middle of it! Ewww! When Melissa found out what she had stepped on the screaming started all over again. I never blamed her for being so grossed out but the rest of us did get a good laugh out of her distress. Again, however, I must ask the question, "How does no one see a cat walk in with a rat in it's mouth?"

More recently, I was sitting in bed one night reading when I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. I was startled to see a mouse run across my bedroom and hide under my cedar chest. Great! I'm not afraid of mice but how do you really sleep comfortably knowing you have that sort of company? I looked and looked but couldn't find the mouse so I finally went back to my reading. Eventually, it again made a run for it. I opened my screen door and after multiple attempts I somehow managed to herd it out the door. This technique would prove useful for my next, and latest, non-human visitor.

It was a Sunday afternoon and I was contentedly lounging in bed after church watching HGTV. As an added bonus, we had leftovers from Brandon (my son-in-law's brother) and Melissa's rehearsal dinner and they were delicious. I happily walked out to the kitchen, fixed my plate of leftovers, and then headed back towards my room. To my shock, there was a small snake right in the doorway of my room. I'm sure it wasn't there a few minutes earlier. Now what? Home alone. I put down my plate and ran for the garage to find a weapon of some sort. I grabbed a large bucket. I don't think I was thinking too clearly because that dang bucket really did me no good. Whatever! This was a true crisis! I ran across the patio and entered my bedroom through the infamous sliding glass door, assuming that I would have the element of surprise on my side. The snake was gone!! I couldn't believe it! I was going to have to sell the house and move. I may have tolerated a mouse in my room but I sure wasn't going to put up with a snake in there. I began to cry out loud to God. "Please!!! Don't do this! Show me that snake. I can't take it!" And God, in His mercy, answered. Again, like the mouse before it, I caught slight movement off to the right. There was the snake curled up and hiding behind a small suitcase that was sitting on my floor. It had just missed going into my closet. That would have been a disaster! It could live in my closet for years and never be found. Anyway, I looked at the snake closely and determined that it was not a rattlesnake. That meant it could live, just not in my room. Looked at the snake again. Looked at my bucket. I tried to coax the snake into the bucket but it wasn't having any of that. I finally used the bucket to sort of nudge the snake and it suddenly darted right out my sliding glass door. To this day, I know that unseen heavenly hands guided him and I'm thankful!!

Did I mention that my bedroom is my refuge and my sanctuary?

Mouse in the Dishwasher

One night, not too long ago, my daughter, Melissa and her husband, Donny, and I arrived home after work at about the same time. It was later - we'd all had things to do after work. Donny went on into their bedroom (they're renting from me, by the way) and Melissa and I were digging around in the kitchen, trying to come up with something resembling a dinner that could appear on our plates within five minutes. I opened up one of the kitchen drawers to discover that my hot pads had been chewed up into little bitty pieces and the drawer was full of mouse poop. The hot pads were no great loss. Some of them had been with me 16 years ago in Santa Barbara so I guess they could stand to be replaced. Obviously, the crisis here was the existence of a mouse in the kitchen. We haven't had a mouse for quite some time. The last time I found one it was in the trash compactor. Gross but convenient and it was dispatched quickly and quietly. We have four cats between us but the occasional mouse comes in somehow behind the kitchen cabinets so the cats never see them. Anyway, Melissa and I were on the hunt.

I emptied out the hot pad drawer, cleaned and sterilized it, threw away hot pads, and hoped (naively) that the mouse was done with me and had retired to the great outdoors. There was still the matter of dinner to attend to. I moved on to one of my junk drawers (come on, you know you have one). I must have been cooking something by then but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was. I went to grab a spatula but the whole junk drawer (which, by the way, is a long way from the hot pad drawer) was filled with - yep - mouse poop. Great. In case you're wondering, Melissa was still in the kitchen with me, hovering in the background. She lends her moral support to the cooking process but rarely participates. I was pretty bummed now. Hot pads were one thing but now I was going to have to wash all the ...junk. So, I opened up the dishwasher and was just going to offload the entire drawerful into my fabulous, superheated, sterilizing dishwasher and call it good.

Well, of course, you've guessed it by now. Yes, the dishwasher was filled with mouse poop. For some reason, I hadn't been too terribly surprised by poop in the drawers but the dishwasher? My brain wasn't processing. I closed the dishwasher door and then re-opened it, as if I had imagined the whole thing. Still filled with poop. At that, all of a sudden, Melissa started screaming bloody murder. I had no idea what had set her off but I didn't want her to feel alone so I started screaming too. At the same time I was looking around trying to figure out what the matter was but continued with my support screaming. (Melissa support cooks, I support scream.) Of course, this brought Donny out of the bedroom to the rescue. I started to open the dishwasher door again and Melissa directed her screaming at me! What the heck? Eventually, I realized the the mouse was still in residence and it was sitting in the bottom of the dishwasher staring at me. I hadn't seen it when I had opened the door the two previous times. Because I had been screaming right along with Melissa, she mistakenly assumed that I had seen the offender. She couldn't believe I was opening the door yet again thus allowing for the possibility that the mouse would launch itself seven feet out into the air and attack her face.

Donny was the manly voice of reason. He got us both to shut up and then armed himself with garden gloves and began to try to grab the little guy. That mouse was quick, though, and every time Donny lunged for it, it scooted under the water-shooter-outer bar (you know, that thing in the bottom of the dishwasher that looks like a sprinkler). He'd lunge, miss, Melissa would start screaming, I'd commence support screaming, Donny would tell us to shut up and then the cycle would begin again. Finally, after about a dozen tries, Donny was able to grab the mouse. Melissa and I then went screaming down the hallway while Donny took the mouse outside and, I assume, relocated it to a nice comfy home somewhere away from the house where it could safely rear it's young. The whole process was exhausting. We had to resort to wine, cheese, and tricuits for dinner.