LIZARD IN MY SHOE

Whazzup.

2011-10-17T16:18:00.007-05:00

So much going on and I suddenly feel the urge to write about it all. First off, the daughter is getting married a week from Saturday, all the plans are in order, everything paid for, guests invited, all is set. I do not remember if I post photos of the where-abouts of the wedding. I need to go back and check..but it is a lovely historical park with antique buildings and we are pleased. the reception to follow is at a banquet hall and we will have a DJ and light show and all the trimmings and foods. Its a wonderful thing.

The worst thing that has happened in my absence...I lost my darling dog, Abby. I have grieved and grieved. I'm still grieving..she was my best kid! A puppy is in our immediate future and I will try to keep up with photos, etc.

,
Most of you know there was NOT a grandbaby born, after all, a year or so ago..but there is a little one due on or about April 20th. Everything is going well. It is not my daughter's, but my son's and his long time girlfriend, Kimmie.

Bless all of you, my darling friends.

Abby, mommy will love you forever...

Caylee's Law

2011-07-10T19:45:00.001-05:00

Change.org|Start an Online Petition »

What To Say to a Depressed Dog.

2011-07-10T19:01:00.004-05:00

(from the May 2011 Atlantic Magazine; 'What's your Problem?' column, by Jeffrey Goldberg.)

question;
I recently had my dog neutered, and I swear he's mad at me. Before the neutering, he was the friendliest dog in the world. Now he keeps his distance and gives me, if I'm not mistaken, disapproving looks. How do I mitigate his anger?
B.C, Toronto, Canada

answer:
Dear B.C.,
You should explain to him, in a firm but empathetic tone, that his castration will reduce occurrences of undesirable sexually dimorphic behavior and testosterone-induced inflammation of the prostate, and will contribute other ancillary health benefits. Tell him you are confident that he will, in time, come to accept and even appreciate his new anatomy. Make it clear that he is not alone, and that he should continue to be honest and direct with you about his emotions. and if all this fails, remind him that he's a fucking dog.

Turtles By My Toes

2011-06-02T16:25:00.006-05:00

Who was it who said, "I'm back!!!"? I think it was Jack Nicholson in that horror film, whatzitsname..Anyway, good, bad or indifferent, I AM BACK!!

My blog will henceforth be known as LIZARD IN MY SHOE, TURTLE BY MY TOE. And this is why...first, I have been a busy little mama..planning a wedding, work hours increased, trying to read through a six volume series of books, trying to get enough sleep on which to function with any sort of accomplishment. Lotsa, lotsa stuff going on. But in the mornings, at the crack of dawn, I relax outside with a cup of coffee, a few slices of tomato and a bunch of wild turtles.

It started with a drought, a deep long, thirsty, earth cracking, grass killing drought. We noticed a box turtle lopping along, looking for a drink. We got out the hose, held it up to his beak and lo and behold, he drank. A lot. After a couple of days a second turtle showed up and we helped him quench his thirst, too. Then I, forever the mama to the world, decided they were hungry. i started with chunk of cantelope. He cautiously eyed it but hunger won out and he stretched his neck and took a bite of it from my fingers. That was the last of the melon so I switched to tomatoes; the little guy was in ecstasy. He mauwed that mater.

Okay, now here's the thing...he must have been able to communicate to his turtle homeboys because I now have four wild turtles crawling up my patio and to my green wicker rocker where I sit, tomato slices in a dish on my lap. They take turns stretching necks and eating out of my hand. Proof?? Photos, of course!

And last, my grass is not faring well but my plants are loving it!

I'm in my private garden

2011-04-07T18:51:00.002-05:00

Oh, you all are such wonderful and loyal friends. Trust me, I'm not gone for good. I'm simply taking time to revamp in my only little emotional garden.
I'll know I'm ready to 're-appear' when I begin to pick the flowers there..shouldnt be long..Ive begun to smell them already.

Thank you, my loves.

Our Week's Weather; or why I live in the South.

2011-02-16T07:40:00.001-06:00

Feb 16, 2011
Dothan Weather Forecast (AL)

Clear

Humidity: 93%
Wind Speed: 3mph E
Barometer: 1027 mb
Dewpoint: 43°F
Heat Index: 45°F
Wind Chill: 43°F
Sunrise: 5:19 am MST
Sunset: 4:31 pm MST
Moon: Full Moon

Long Term Forecast

WEDNESDAY High: 70°F
Low: 45°F PARTLY CLOUDY. HIGHS AROUND 70. PATCHY FOG IN THE MORNING. EAST WINDS AROUND 5 MPH SHIFTING TO THE SOUTHEAST IN THE AFTERNOON. OVERNIGHT: MOSTLY CLEAR. LOWS 43 TO 46. AREAS OF FOG AFTER MIDNIGHT. SOUTHEAST WINDS AROUND 5 MPH.

THURSDAY High: 74°F
Low: 46°F MOSTLY SUNNY. HIGHS AROUND 74. AREAS OF FOG IN THE MORNING. SOUTH WINDS AROUND 10 MPH. OVERNIGHT: MOSTLY CLEAR. LOWS AROUND 46. SOUTH WINDS AROUND 5 MPH.

FRIDAY High: 76°F
Low: 49°F MOSTLY SUNNY. HIGHS AROUND 76. SOUTHWEST WINDS 5 TO 10 MPH. OVERNIGHT: PARTLY CLOUDY. LOWS AROUND 49.

SATURDAY High: 76°F
Low: 50°F PARTLY CLOUDY. HIGHS AROUND 76. OVERNIGHT: PARTLY CLOUDY. LOWS AROUND 50.

SUNDAY High: 74°F
Low: 52°F PARTLY CLOUDY. HIGHS AROUND 74. OVERNIGHT: PARTLY CLOUDY. LOWS AROUND 52.

MONDAY High: 76°F
Low: 56°F PARTLY CLOUDY. HIGHS 74 TO 77. OVERNIGHT: MOSTLY CLOUDY WITH A 20 PERCENT CHANCE OF SHOWERS. LOWS AROUND 56.

JOIE DE VIVRE (or how beej is about to get her groove back.)

2011-02-13T06:11:00.005-06:00

I need to get my act together. I've fallen into a rut of work, cooking, laundry, sleep and a few other basic life doings. I'm losing my joie de vivre and I don't like that one bit.

First a bit of bad news...we've lost our male lizard. He passed away earlier this week. I'd like to think that he died of a broken heart after his companion, Lucky, died not too long ago. But that idea might come from the romantic in me.

Now, the good news; my daughter Shannon is engaged to be married. it 'happened' a week ago today. I glanced out my window just in time to see her boyfriend, Clint, hold her hands as he went down on one knee. I saw him slip a ring on her finger and then lift her up into his arms and twirl her.

The happy couple:

XOXO

2011-01-21T18:12:00.003-06:00

Guys, I got all the emails and read all the posts here (Stagg and Candy, I love you and will be writing to you this weekend.))I have recently recovered from walking pnuemonia and I know life is heading toward an even keel when I've begun to start thinking about topics for this blog again!

Thank you all for sticking with me. It's been one hell of a last few months but you can't keep me down for long! :)

xoxo

Lucky

2010-12-29T05:36:00.005-06:00

Yesterday we buried our female lizard. I noticed last week that her spine was protruding and she had stopped eating. I knew, at over eight years of age, that she was failing. I did not want to deal with this and hoped that she was having a simple minor set back. This was not to be the case.

These two lizards were not our first. Our first bearded dragon was stolen from the place we boarded him while we were on vacation. He belonged to our son who was a child at the time. This lizard was a giant of his species and very pretty (as lizards go.)
We came home from a week at Virginia Beach to a phone call telling us that someone had entered their lizard room, took our lizard from his cage, stuffed it under their jacket and run out the door. Of course, we were a devastated.

The store replaced the stolen lizard and John purchased another to keep it company. These two were a mere half inch in length and were adorable. We called them 'our babies.'

We had them sexed and found out we had a male and a female and sure enough, within the next couple of years, she became loaded with eggs. I read up on them and filled a little five gallon tank with dirt, added a bit of water and formed a cave. I placed her in there and she backed into the cave and laid a dozen eggs.

I made an incubator and carefully spooned out each egg and laid it in the incubator, all the while my female lizard protectively watching. (anyone who thinks reptiles do not have maternal instincts is just plain wrong; this little mama was nervous and did not leave her perch from where she watched everything I did with her eggs.

In her lifetime, she laid five 'clutches' of eggs, each between 12 and 14 eggs but somehow I never mastered the proper formula of humidity/temperature etc, and none of the eggs ever hatched.

She had an endearing..at least to me..feature of an underbite. Sometimes she had difficulty holding on to a wiggling cricket and had to be helped getting it into her mouth and down her throat. She was worth the effort it took to help her; I truly loved her.

This breed of lizards is from Australia, gets to be over a foot in length and are known as the felines of the lizard world. They are slow moving, calm, and bond with their owners. She was always interested when we turned on her light in the morning, and watched us with curiosity.

The male seems to be grieving. I hope he doesn't waste away, missing his mate.

I cried when she died, but also I was glad we had her for so long. I know she had a good life and she earned her name..
Lucky.

The Gift

2010-12-18T05:33:00.008-06:00

This is what I've decided: Folks just have too much time on their hands. I came to this conclusion because I am, of late, just way too busy to fret over life's BIG questions or to worry about what other people are doing wrong.

Both of my kids have moved back home, which is fine. I work retail in a little bookstore which is in the tail end of a busy Christmas shopping frenzy. I am busy, way too busy, to do much else other than work, cook, shop for my own family and friends and keep this house running somewhat smoothly.

In all this I think I have stumbled upon a little truism about life; if you spend any serious amount of time fretting over much of anything, then you are not busy enough just living.

I fall into bed each night too exhausted to do as much as open a book to read a bit. And I fall into that bed really early, sometimes before 7pm.

Every now and then, life hands me a little reward, like yesterday. In fact it happened twice to me yesterday. First, our local tv weatherman, Vernon Connor (no relation to me), stopped in the store.

"Hey Beej,"he said. "Watch the 10 o'clock news tonight. I'm going to pull on my ear like Carol Burnett used to do, to give you a little greeting over the air."

Rest assured, I was deep into la-la land by 10pm, but I am confident that while I was asleep, Vernon Connor was tugging at his ear lobe. I missed it but I know thousands of folks witnessed it.

The other little reward truly touched my heart. An elderly gentleman approached me at the store.

"Can you do a favor for me?" he asked. "There's a little lady back in the kids' books section. She's pushing a stroller and has five other little kids with her..."

He reached out his hand and gave me five $20 bills.

"Can you give this to her and tell her Santa says Merry Christmas?"

"Of course I can." and off I went.

She wasn't difficult to find. Pregnant and pushing a stroller, she was surrounded by five other little ones. They were all extraordinarily well behaved. I gave her 'Santa's' message and she protested. I assured her the gentleman had left the store and she meekly took the cash. she was, of course, unbelievably touched.

Of course, she was touched, but so was I. It was a gift for me, too, to witness this.

This is Christmas. This is the spirit that was intended. This is the selfless thought behind the gesture of giving, the gesture of caring, the many gestures of loving.

Yes, I believe there is a Santa after all.

The Day

2010-12-02T17:02:00.005-06:00

Here it is after 5pm on my day off and I have accomplished NOTHING. In fact I did something I very rarely do; I stayed in my robe until mid afternoon. It was relaxing, of course, but I feel like I've wasted the entire day.

The doctor's visit; First, I lost six lbs in the past week which left me a bit bewildered because I've been eating like a horse, including a wonderful Thanksgiving day meal. But the doctor was amazed at how much better I looked even though he kept me on restricted work for another week. He gave me a refill for pain meds because my left arm is very sore and he told me my teeth, which still hurt, can take a few more weeks to 'settle.' After I left, I went right back to work.

We've been in the throes of a cold snap. I am not used to cold weather but
living in south Alabama, winter will come and go in a matter of weeks and then we should be blessed with another typically beautiful early Spring.

Right now, all is peaceful in our household. John is playing wii with our son and our daughter is making chicken fettuccini alfredo (my recipe, of course!)

Life is one big roller coaster.

Follow Up

2010-12-01T06:41:00.003-06:00

It has been a week since my fall. I have a doctor's appointment this morning to see what residual damage is still lurking. My left arm is so sore that it keeps me awake at night. My eye teeth still hurt. The swelling on my upper lip has subsided quite a bit (or as my daughter so eloquently stated, I "don't look like Marge Simpson now, but more like Elvis Presley and his sneer.")

This has been a lesson that despite what happens, life goes on. Unless we die. But then it still goes on for those who outlive us.

Always An Event About To Happen.

2010-11-28T06:53:00.006-06:00

They say bad things happen in threes. I guess my three bad things had stockpiled because they all came rushing unexpectedly into my life recently. First, my sister became ill and we almost lost her. Then, my 23 year old daughter became ill and was hospitalized. Lastly, I fell at the bookstore.

When I say I fell, I do not mean that I simply slipped and got knocked down on my bum. One of the kids who works at the store left a large plastic tote on a walkway, one I did not see until it was too late. I went over it, meeting the floor with my two eye teeth and face, just about knocking myself out. (It's debatable as to whether I actually did lose consciousness, tho I believe I did not.) I ended up with a fat lip which made me look in profile a lot like Marge Simpson.

Even if I did not lose consciousness, I did shake my brain and could not even gather my senses enough to call for help. After about five seconds, i was able to make a noise and folks came to my rescue and I was taken to the doctor.

After many many xrays, they determined that I had a cervical sprain and a couple loose teeth (they still hurt.) I have road rash on my face but I'm glad to say that the extreme swelling on my upper lip is beginning to go away.

I am sore. I feel foolish but I got back up on the saddle and went to the bookstore the next day, tho I did not need to do this.

My sister is recuperating as is my daughter. My pain is slowly lessening and all seems to be righting itself.

I am tired of being a event about to happen. But you know what? Thursday my family and I prepared the usual huge Thanksgiving dinner and sincerely expressed gratitude for all the good things in our life. Even tho this trio of bad events happened, we are so blessed that there were optimum outcomes all the way around.

Paul the Arsonist (or, Why I love Vinnie.)

2010-11-11T08:12:00.010-06:00

In my younger life, there were several milk toast men who had become enamored with me. They were all pleasant, sweet, compliant young men, men who would have tried to move the earth and the heavens if they believed it would have made me happy. Most SMART young women would have felt blessed with these Charles Bovary types. Not I. Not at all. I would have rather run into the abyss upon their exclamations of love. I preferred the passionate sort, the ones who exhibited a lust for life. The ones who made my father shudder.

My first 'luster for life' was a brooding teenage boy named Paul. Paul had that bad boy brooding look. In my fifteen year old mind, I thought he was beautiful. Troubled, sure, but nonetheless, beautiful.

Paul was a neighborhood boy. I had decided that my life legacy would be as a 'SAVIOR OF THE WORLD.' At least that was my excuse for going through a long period in my mid teens as being 'SAVIOR OF THE WORLD.' I would be akin to the saints, a lover of the unlovable, a healer of the troubled. And Paul was troubled.

Beej, Savior of the World.

I first felt affection for him after he was released from some juvenile institute to which he had been 'assigned' after he burned a couple of abandoned buildings to the ground. Yup. Paul was an arsonist. He was my first attempt at 'saving.' Of course, I did not save Paul. He eventually dissolved into a black hole of my feelings and I'm sure I moved on to my next venture as, 'SAVIOR OF THE WORLD.'

Having said all that, and probably revealing more to you about myself than I would ever want to reveal, I am using that story as an example of my basic nature to explain why I love Vincent Van Gogh as much as I do. If any person had ever lived a troubled life, it was Vincent. Of course his art expressed his 'lust for life' (which is, of course, the title of a book by Irving Stone about Van Gogh, a book I have just finished reading.) I love his art but it is the man behind the art that truly enthralls me.

Take his ear, or more accurately, his ear lobe. why did Vinnie lop off his ear lobe? Because an underage prostitute asked him for it! Now, that's passion! (I must tell you tho, that this hooker, upon unwrapping the paper holding the lobe, passed out cold on the foyer floor. It was this act of ultimate generosity that landed our dear artist in the insane asylum.)

I am not a fan of physical mutilation. I do not find that attractive. But it was the passion behind the act that captured my heart.

A lust for life is not the same as a love for life. We all love life, whether we want to admit it. it's the lust, the LUST for life that is so very attractive to me. It's a passion to feel all of life, to see colors brighter, to have the energy, both physically and emotionally, to go for the gusto.

Okay, maybe Van Gogh was more than passionate. He was a genius. Smart and passionate?

Oh yes. Now that's the magical mix.

The Potato Eaters

2010-11-04T18:58:00.006-05:00

We have all seen Van Gogh's painting, 'Irises:'

and 'Starry Night:'

But this one is a bit different:

This is called 'The Potato Eaters' and was painted not long before his introduction to the Impressionists, the likes of Gauguin, Lautrec, Monet, Manet, Degas. This one was painted in dark hues, hues he used to capture the colors of the potatoes, the soil and the dismal life of the potato pickers whom he described as caught in the dregs of darkness, every bit as much as the coal miners he painted while living in the Borinage area of Belgium.

I have a special love for this painting because it was done prior to his move to Paris, prior to the influences of the artists he met there. This is pure, raw Van Gogh. These are the people he knew, and knew well. This particular family was not simply one he paid to pose. These were his closest friends, especially the young girl in the foreground. She was very close to him, close enough where, when she, at the age of seventeen, became pregnant, Vincent was almost forced to wed her under the priest's incorrect presumption that he was the father.

I wonder how different Van Gogh's art would have been had he wed this young thing and stayed in Nuenen. Would he, without the influence if the Impressionists, have continued to paint in dark hues and straight lines? Would the world have never known the beauty of the lightness of his colors?

On the Uptake

2010-10-25T18:15:00.004-05:00

Ever since my sister became ill, I've been lax about both writing here and reading all my favorite blogs. I don't know why; I sort of feel like an inflated bag thats been popped. I seem to want to only wrap myself in the basic, little mundane things in life, working, cleaning, sleeping, reading etc. But it's time to come out of it. Jeanne's doing fine and should even be dismissed from rehab within the next week or two. The only things we can see that have been affected is her ability to walk (she needs a walker because her physical strength has been zapped, but she is improving every day.) And her memory is somewhat slow. Outside of that, she is doing remarkably well and I thank God each and every morning.

And with that having been said, I will again be a regular at your blogs. You can count on that.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Phone conversation with my son tonight. Please note..HE PHONED ME!

Me: "Hello?"
Son: "Hi, mom. Whatcha doing.I mean, are you cooking dinner tonight?"
Me: "No, honey. We had sandwiches about an hour ago."
Son: "Oh. Okay. well I can't talk right now. I'm driving."
Love you. Bye."
Me: "love you too."

Jeez.

WORRY, worryworryworryworry

2010-10-24T12:05:00.002-05:00

You just gotta love this commercial:

Florida Caverns State Park

2010-10-14T21:02:00.014-05:00

John and I both took this week off, originally to go to Melbourne, Florida on a house hunting venture. That venture has been put on hold until we can get the house here in Alabama spruced up adequately enough to put on the market, but we decided to still take the week's vacation and just do, well, whatever we want to do.

Today we went down across the border to Florida and on to Florida Caverns State Park, a two time National gold medal winner.

This is a 1300 acre state park whose main attraction is the caverns, but there is such an abundance of wildflowers and greenery that visitors come for a myriad of reasons, including the Blue Hole Natural Spring, where folks are also permitted to swim.

The cave's geological history began over 38 million years ago when the U.S southeast coastal plain was covered with water. Coral, shells and the like fell to the ocean's floor and as the water receded, this material was left behind and became limestone. Over the last million years, acidic water dissolved the limestone and create crevices large enough to walk through. And the caverns were slowly..very very slowly..born.

Over time, both pioneers and Native Americans..though during different periods..have lived around these caves. Lots of pottery shards dating back centuries and centuries have been unearthed, telling archaeologists the history of the local Chert tribe that lived there, letting us know their diet and their main occupation as farmers.

During the 1800's, the caves were used by the Confederate soldiers as a refuge from the Union soldiers. The Seminole Indians hid in these caverns as well, during the Seminole Wars, led by Andrew Jackson.

In the mid 1930s, the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) labored to clear the caverns of tons of rock and debris to open the caves' interior and to install lighting.

Here is a monument erected to honor the men of the CCC and what they did for the state parks:

Now, on to the caverns, themselves.

The scenic walk leading to the cavern entrance:

stalactites and stalagmites..living art:

It looks like this lady is touching the formation but she is not. To do so is highly forbidden because the oil on fingerprints left behind prevents limestone from adhering to it and causes it to 'die.'

This is our guard, Paul. He's holding a lantern that was used by the CCC workers while clearing out the rocks and debris:

See that very handsome devil in the light blue shirt who has his arms crossed, the one in the left hand background? That is John:

The CCC workers realized that a reflector held behind the kerosene lamps increased the amount of light. They realized that their dinner bowls were of the right material to work as reflectors and so they permanently adhered these bowls to the ceiling of the caverns behind where they hung these lanterns. That circular object is one of those bowls:

See that big vertical formation on the right? Notice how it looks different? The path leads right by it and at that point, the walk becomes wet and slick. So many folks had lost their footing and instinctively reached out to grab it rather than fall, that it did indeed 'die.' This was the only formation we were permitted to touch:

This round ball is a natural formation that the CCC workers used as a directional tool when they lost their way. They knew that this ball sat just outside of the turn that led them to the exit:

These formations hanging from the ceiling are called 'sipping straws.' They are hollow and the water drips down from the inside, increasing their length over time:

After we were done with the tour, we headed down to our favorite eatery in that part of Florida, a scenic diner set on a big river. Here is the view from our seats, to show you the beautiful hanging Spanish moss which decorates a good many of the trees around here:

Tomorrow we plan on heading back down just across the state line to Florida, to attend a community days celebration and local art show in Graceville Florida.

The Sisters

2010-10-10T19:40:00.010-05:00

I have been gone for a little while, mostly because I just haven't been 'moved' to write anything due in large part to my desire to get my emotional feet on a strong foothold after going through the trauma of almost losing my sister. But I am feeling better now and so is she.

I talked to her about an hour ago. she sounded wonderful. I talk to her daily and today there seemed to be a marked improvement. I think I know why.

You would need to know Jeanne. Of the three of us girls, she was always the most rebellious. She still has that rebellious streak, much to my delight. She had heard someone she knows is also in the rehab so she, who now has trouble staying steady on her feet, sneaked down to her acquaintance's room to visit. Jeanne was happy to still have spunk . I asked her if she told anyone she was going there. She played dumb.

"I think i told someone. But maybe I forgot."

Yuh, right. You forgot. Sorta like when you were 14 and you 'forgot' mom didn't know you smoked, Jeanne. I still have a vivid memory of you sauntering into the backyard where mom and I were busy doing stuff.

"Hi momma." you said as you leaned against the clothes line pole and took a long drag off a cigarette. It took mom a few seconds to believe her eyes, less time for you to fling that cigarette and run like a bat out of hell around the side of the house, mom in hot pursuit. Whatever were you thinking, Jeanne? Did you think she was going to go inside to get you an ashtray?

You, the forever rebel, even in rehab.

Today Jeanne had therapy for her memory and her now limited small motor abilities. She played solitaire, not on the computer but with an honest to pete deck of cards. She's proud of herself, tho she said it was difficult to shuffle the cards. But she did it. I'm proud of her, too.

I like to call Jeanne the 'Oomph' sister. everything she does, everything she did as a kid, was done with a superb amount of 'Oomph.' A good example was the time as a kid she kicked her clogs off her feet. We've all done this with our footwear. However, with the additional Oomph, Jeanne's shoe went flying high into the air, hit the light fixture and broke it. No surprise. We all could have counted on that happening.

I've noticed another little thing about Jeanne since all this happened; She, who would complain whenever I or our other sister would let loose with a swear word, has developed a 'potty mouth.' Today, she dropped the phone while we were talking.

"Oh shit."

Wow, That took me a little aback. A few minutes later..
"Oh shit, I did it again."

Hmmm.

"Jeanne, why are you swearing?"

"I keep dropping the fucking phone."

"Jean! You are swearing! I don't think I've ever heard you say the F word before!"

"Well, guess what? I've been a closet curser for years!" She said.

"Well, back atcha." I said, " Fucking A!!!!!"

We both laughed.

"I love you, Beej."

"I love you, too, Jean-A-Bean."

It was a good conversation.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@2

I've been writing about my one sister but there are actually three of us and we are all equally as close to one another. I'll write about my other sister eventually. She's had the most interesting life of all of us.

Happy Birthday John Lennon

2010-10-09T07:08:00.002-05:00

You would have been 70 years old today. That makes 30 years of music that the world lost with a single shot fired from the gun of a lunatic.

There is nothing we can do about that..nothing except to celebrate your birth because we may have lost years of music but for 40 years we had you among us, making a difference, teaching us that all we really need, is love.

Happy birthday John.

Life Song; My Nephew, the Bonecarver.

2010-09-25T07:07:00.010-05:00

My nephew is a professional artist. He slices and carves deer antlers, the 'new ivory,' sometimes so miniscule that he carves under a microscope.
His work has been published in art books and is periodically displayed in New York museums. We are so proud of him.
Enjoy.

About the last half of this video; that is my family's property in beautiful upstate NY, about 250 acres of totally undeveloped land. Okay, this is the thing..as you watch this I would like you to think about what I am about to tell you and realize the significance of the song and the second half of the video. Here goes:

Monday morning at about 5:30am, I received a phone call from my nearly incoherent brother in law. I have two sisters. Our parents are gone. And we three are incredibly close, because for a while, we were all we had. My brother-in-law called to tell me that my sister Jeanne, mom of this talented artist, was rushed to the hospital a few hours before, with a 108 degree temp. She was in a coma, the doctors recommended last rites and told us her chances for survival were negligible.

Tuesday, we were told we had a choice to turn off all machines and let her go peacefully. Her brain was inflamed and infected and they didn't know why. Or we could transfer her to a top notch hospital as a 'last ditch' effort to save her life. Her husband and children opted for the latter choice.

Wednesday evening, her fever broke. Thursday, she opened her eyes. Yesterday, Friday, my phone rang. It was Jeanne calling from icu on her cell phone, which my bro in law had dialed for her. If there was brain damage, it seemed to have effected only her speech. In a weak, shaky, tearful voice, she slowly told me she almost died. I told her how much I love her. This has been a week of true hell and true heaven.

She is not out of the woods, but it appears she will make it. She will remain in icu for at least another week, and then go to rehab.

Life Song. Indeed. I am singing it well.

Shrimp and Cheese Rotol (or how I came to say the f word at the dinner table.)

2010-09-16T18:49:00.019-05:00

See these little guys?

These are shrimp. They died for no good reason and I sincerely feel bad about that. This is a pound or so of shrimpers and I used them to make dinner tonight. I'm going to share the recipe and I'm going to post photos but let me tell you, this was one of those dishes where you want to say something out loud that you shouldn't say out loud. Especially at the dinner table. something like "Oh fuck."

Sorry, friends, but there it is and that's what I said after slaving in the kitchen for two hours!! Yup, two hours from the time these buggers were taken out of the fridge until they entered my face. One bite and the F word came out of me.

This sounded sooooo good when I found it in a cookbook yesterday. And it had such an impressive title:

SHRIMP AND CHEESE ROTOLO WITH MANY CLOVES GARLIC SAUCE.

You gotta admit, that sounds wonderfully impressive, doesn't it? Reading through the recipe, it honestly does call for 'many cloves' of garlic...25 cloves to be exact. But more about the sauce later.

Sooo, there I was at about 4pm, cleaning a whole bunch of shrimp, steaming them, shelling them, de-veining them, and cutting off the tails. Now all those little pink bodies needed to be minced, so mince I did. (okay, okay, I cheated and used my food processor, tossing 3 cloves of garlic into the mix.)

After that, the pink stuff that resulted from the mincing business was mixed with ricotta cheese, a half tablespoon of marjoram and thyme leaves added as well as a quarter tsp of pepper.

As soon as that was all mixed together, I put 12 lasagna noodles into a pot of boiling water and proceeded to peel over 2 dozen cloves of garlic. This took time. Yes it sure did, even using my big chopping knife to mash down on each clove, splitting the skin and making it easier to slip out the pungent insides. These were placed in 2 tablespoons of olive oil, and heated, covered, for ten minutes, until they were soft enough to mash slightly with a fork.

While the garlic was cooking, I drained the pasta, spread the shrimp and ricotta mixture on each noodle, and roll it up, placing each seam down, in a roasting pan.

I added one and a half cups of chicken broth and some snipped fresh parsley to the garlic and then tempered 2 tablespoons of flour with a bit of broth in a little bowl, and added it to the pot, stirring it over low heat until it thickened.

I poured it on to the rolled lasagna noodles. covered it all loosely, and baked it for 25 minutes at 350 degrees.

Let me tell you, all that garlic, simmered in chicken broth, all that shrimp...the smell w as heavenly. Oh, be still my heart, but that set me to almost weeping with anticipation. It made the mess that was my kitchen just an unimportant sidenote, even tho there was not a spot in my rather large kitchen that was not covered with some dirty dish or another.

We waited. And Waited. A half hour. It looked lovely when it came out of the oven. It looked lovely sliced on the dinner plate. The entire house smelled with such a wonderful mix of aromas.

We sat down at the table, took a bite. And it popped out of my mouth.

"Oh fuck."

it had little flavor and what flavor WAS there, was plain awful.

John set down his fork and pushed his chair away from the table.

"Yup, sometimes you just gotta say it."

Pig Tales

2010-09-13T15:34:00.008-05:00

If you've been visiting in these parts for a while, you might have already gleaned that, tho I was a bright child, I was inquisitive and daring way past the point of common sense. Being a mother now myself, I know that's a fairly normal state of affairs for kids but I often fell short of 'normal.' The pig we purchased is an excellent example.

When I was about nine years old, my Italian mom decided we needed to get a pig. Not a living pig (if that were the case I would have probably begged for a horse too, which I truly trusted I could keep alive and well in our basement.) No, she did not want a living pig. She didn't even want a whole pig. She wanted half a dead pig. So off we went, mom and dad and I, to get half a dead pig.

We drove into the country and pulled onto a dirt driveway which ended at the opening of a pretty rough looking barn that had a huge opened double door. Mama and dad got out and went to the farmhouse which was next to the barn. I stayed in the back seat of the car. If my folks had known what I was about to witness, surely they would have taken me inside the house with them.

I sat in that car wondering how you get a half a pig when suddenly a man came to the opened double door of that barn. I do not remember what exactly led up to it, but there was also a huge pig on a huge chain. Some way or a nuther, that chain hoisted that pig into the air. Before I could say, "holy ham hocks, Robin!!" that pig gave one long and loud shriek as a big power tool thingy came down on him. He was rather quickly split in half from the middle of his ham ass end to his snout, the tail having been spared being split and, instead, hung there in its entirety on one of the sides.

They loaded our half pig into the trailer attached to the back of our car, mama and dad came out of the farmhouse, and off we went. But not before I noticed something delightful.
We got the half with the tail.

We pulled into our driveway, our half pig in tow, and a good dozen of our relatives standing there waiting to help unload the pig. It was taken into our basement (I was kind of glad at that point that I didn't have a horse down there. God only knows what those Italians would have done to it.) The women retreated to the kitchen and through the next few days, they boiled, chopped, steamed and stuffed various pig body parts that had been handed to them from the basement.

The men were a bloody mess, but happy. The women laughed as they did their culinary miracles. And I stood around making a promise to myself (one that I vigorously kept, much to my parents' dismay) that not one iota of that pig would enter my mouth.

But my real focus was on that tail. I wanted it. Badly. It was was not curled into a spiral the way I always believed a pig's tail to be. It was rather straight. No matter. I desired to own that pig's tail more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.

"Aunt Mary, can I have that tail?" I asked.

"You needa aska you mama."

"Ma!" I yelled as a ran up those stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Aunt Mary says to ask you if I can have that pig tail."

"What would you do with it? No, you can't have that. Besides, I'm going to use it to lard pans."

I went down the stairs to where the 'butchering' was taking place and saw that someone, probably Uncle Tony, had cut the tail off of the pig. It lay there on the table. Pink. Rather straight. Calling my name.

I grabbed it and slowly walked up the stairs and into hallway and took a washcloth from the linen closet. Once in my bedroom, I wrapped the tail in the cloth, opened my underwear drawer and stuck that tail as far back into there as I could, covering it with a bunch of panties after.

Of course, there were questions as to where the tail went. Of course I was staunchly accused of taking it. Of course I staunchly lied and said I did not, that the dog must have eaten it. (Poor dog, who was not allowed in the house during this entire process, got the blame for lots and lots of things I did back then.)

Eventually, they forgot about the tail. Only thing was, I forgot about it too.

Fast forward about two weeks or so. Sho'nuff, I'm digging through my drawer and what to I come upon? Yup. A rolled up washcloth with a pig's tail in it. It was no longer pink. In fact, it was no longer solid. It was hollow and empty. Except for the maggots inside.

There was no cry for mama to help me clean out the disgusting thing. The punishment for disobeying, stealing and lying about it would have been far worse than cleaning up a rotted, hollow, maggot infested pig's tail from my pantie drawer.

Did I learn a lesson from this? No, not really. I mean, how often does one get the opportunity to stuff a pig's tail in one's underwear drawer?

I think it may be a once in a lifetime event. And that's plenty enough.

requiem

2010-09-10T19:30:00.003-05:00

The Little Girl in the Road.

2010-09-09T09:58:00.009-05:00

You're driving down the road, maybe faster than the 30 mph speed limit. It's a balmy day, kids are at school, and you are thinking about the sale at the local grocery market and wondering if you remembered to cut all the coupons you'll need out of Sunday's paper. Suddenly, a child runs out in front of you, chasing a ball. You slam on your breaks. The car behind you doesn't stop in time and crashes into your car. You take a deep breath, make sure you're not hurt, and get out of the car, cursing yourself, hoping the child is okay, as well as the driver behind you.

You get quite the surprise:

There isn't a child. There never was a child. What there is, is a sort of weird 3D optical illusion, of a disproportionally sized girl, projected onto the road. The city of Vancouver, British Columbia, will be using this device created by two Canadian safety organizations at the cost of $15,000, to train drivers to expect the unexpected.

It sounds good in theory but I'm not sure it won't cause more problems in the long run.

Because....

2010-09-06T16:35:00.002-05:00

...I love EVERYTHING about this edgy, raw, very sexy Melissa Etheridge song:

Love; Part 3

2010-09-06T05:17:00.008-05:00

The last two entries have been about love, but I am not done. I need to write one more. I have long believed that what we need, the way our lives work in a common and universal manner, all has to do with preservation of the species. We eat. We bathe. Fight or flight is still a basic instinct for survival. We have finger and toenails as a means of protection against damage and infection to our digits. We have body hair to either retain body heat and/or to keep the sun from scorching us. Even the tiny nose hairs help us to survive by filtering particles in the air. We sleep in order for our bodies to replenish. and it's not just mortal creatures that follow this preservation of the species thoughts. Fruit falls from branches, the seed inside nourished by the outer pulp of the fruit as it lies on the ground. Growth in plants all but halts while it flowers, focusing instead on the tiny seeds within.

But where does love fit in? How is it beneficial as a tool for preservation? I'm not talking sex. It's pretty obvious that sex is necessary in order to procreate. But love is not sex.

We all need love and we sometimes do some really strange things in the name of love. If it were just a case of love binding us to another person in order to better protect and care for our offspring, I could understand how it all fits in. But there has to be more to it.

A prime example would be the elderly, who fall in love just like their younger counterparts, without the possibility of procreation on the horizon. Love is a factor that we seek always, or that we depend on always. It doesn't seem to be limited to any age, any intelligence, or with any concern of health. Is it only a human condition? I don't know if animals fall in love, but I think it's entirely possible.

Lately I've been thinking a lot of Mrs. Brown. She was my older sister's mother-in-law. Her husband had passed away years before. She herself died a couple of years ago at the age of ninety three. Sadly, as she entered that latter years of her life, her mental condition suffered along with her body. In fact, for the last few years of her life, she suffered from dementia.

As her health deteriorated, her family decided it would be best for her if she moved in with my sister and my brother-in-law. (Mrs. Brown's son.) It was obvious that the end was not far ahead.

The family set up a pseudo hospital room in the house and rallied around the elderly woman whom they loved. One of her family members was my bro-in-law's nephew, a strapping, handsome young fellow, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old. One day he visited his grandmother who studied him for quite a while and in her confusion, decided he was one of her long ago 'beaus.'

She was in love, head over heels in love. She would awaken in the morning and immediately ask whoever was caretaking her, if 'HE' was coming to visit. Whenever the answer was in the affirmative, which was almost daily, she would ask for her hair to be 'fixed,' her nightgown to be changed, a pretty smelling lotion to be smoothed over her skin and sometimes even requested a little lipstick be applied.

This young man was extremely unomfortable with the situation. But he adored his grandmother, and simply held his discomfort at bay. He would sit for literally hours, holding and stroking her hand as she drifted in an out of sleep, gazing at him with adoration whenever she awakened. He certainly earned a star in his heavenly crown with the way he dealt with this.

She died a month or so after this 'affair' began. She died believing she was loved by a handsome young man whom she adored.

The Love Letter

2010-09-05T06:20:00.009-05:00

A man walked into my bookstore yesterday. He moved slowly, carefully feeling his way with his cane, an old military helmet on his head. He wasn't very old, maybe middle-aged, tho it was difficult to tell with any confidence. My guess was that the helmet was used as a means of protection, maybe after some sort of accident. It was obvious that something had happened to him, maybe a stroke or a brain hemorrhage, there was no way of really knowing without asking, which of course was out of the question. I even wondered, with Fort Rucker right up the road, if perhaps he was a veteran who had been injured overseas.

He made his way to me and smiled. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and I waited while he tried to form the words.

"I wa wa a boo on how do wrie a ledda." Tho he struggled, I finally determined that he wanted a book on letter writing. No problem. We have plenty of books on that.

"What kind of letter?" We have books that are pretty specific.

Again he struggled.

"A La,la, Lo Lo ledda."

(A love letter.)

Okay, I am a softie. I admit that. Any man who can walk up to a stranger in a store and ask for help on finding a book that will instruct him on the art of writing a love letter is one hell of a man, in my opinion.

"I nee do dell her how ah fee. Do you ha anah ide hau ah ca tell her?""

(I need to tell her how I feel. Do you have any ideas how I can tell her?)

I wanted to just reach out and hug him. How very very sweet.

"Can't you just tell her?" I ask.

"Ah don know wha she lis."

(I don't know where she lives.)

Well, this opened a lot of questions in my mind. Was she someone he met online? Perhaps in a chatroom dealing with those who might be stroke victims or otherwise handicapped? Was she a nurse who took care of him, perhaps overseas where his injury might have occured? I will never know, so either will you, my dear reader. And in reality, it doesn't matter. What matters is this gentleman, with his soldier's helmet and his cane, unable to clearly articulate, loved someone and wanted to let her know that in as beautiful a way as he could..through a love letter.

This still has not left my thoughts. It made me remember a time, years ago, when I was a child snooping through my parent's dresser, just to see what they had in there of interest. I had never done this before. In fact, we weren't allowed in their room. My mother had hung a painting of Christ on her bedroom wall, and if I did go into her room, His eyes in that painting would follow me.

(This is the painting that hung on her wall. You cannot keep His eyes off of you. It's impossible.)

It was enough to make me leave that room. It's one thing to have your parents see you do something you weren't supposed to do. It's far worse to feel Christ's eyes burrowing into your snooping, sneaking, evil body at every turn. But one day I hardened my heart to that painting and ventured into the most secretive place in that room, my parent's dresser drawers. There really wasn't anything that caught my eye until I reached way into the back and found an envelope, yellowed with age. I opened the envelop and pulled out a bunch of papers and began to read.

Oh My God..love letters! From my Dad! To my Mom! They were IN LOVE!!! Oh crap, how embarrassing and fascinating they were, all at the same time. They were only dating, not married, no kids...and my dad is writing all these tender mushy words to my mother. I never knew! The closest thing to mush I ever heard coming from my dad's face was "Margie, good meal." or "Margie, the house looks nice" And I couldn't even confront either of them about the letters because I wasn't supposed to be in their room in the first place, much less snooping and reading love letters.

(Years later, after both parents had passed away, one of my sisters found the letters and gave a copy of them to me and our other sister, but even then, I didn't tell my siblings I had already read them.)

My point in telling y'all this is because it brings home a point that a love letter, written on paper and sent to someone special, often lives on. It's not like an email. Or a verbal affirmation of love. It's tangible and often cherished by the one held dear, a remembrance that they were, indeed, worthy of another's great love.

I hope that gentleman finds an address to which to mail that love letter. The object of his affection may not return his love (then again she just might, who knows?) But I would bet you anything, she will hold on to that letter for all her life.

In the Name of Love

2010-09-01T20:22:00.008-05:00

Oh, what people will do for love. and not only that, even the brightest of the bright will sometimes do incredibly stupid things in the name of love.

Take this lady:

Her name is Jacquelyn Kotarac. This woman is beautiful, but she's not just beautiful. She's smart. Very smart. So smart that she's a doctor. But she's not just any doctor. She's an internist. And she graduated from medical school with honors. She's received many accolades locally, not only for being an internist par excellence, but also for treating those who had financial difficulties, free of charge. So we have a lady who is smart, beautiful, accomplished and on top of that, kind hearted and caring.

There was, however, one area where Dr. Jacquelyn Kotarac struggled; she had no common sense in matters of love.

Dr. Jacquelyn Kotarac had a long term 'on again, off again' relationship with her boyfriend, William Moodie. Last week they were in one of their 'off again' stages. Our dear doctor decided to resolve this and went over to Moodie's house with the intention of confronting him about their problems. He would not let her in. She tried to break in using a shovel, but it didnt work. In the meanwhile, and without Jacquelyn's knowledge, Moodie sneaked out the back door.

So what does a normal smart, successful, beautiful and accomplished woman do?? Usually not what Dr. Kotarac did..she climbed a ladder to the roof and went down the chimney. The only problem, once she got to within two feet of the fireplace opening, there was not enough room for her lungs to expand, and she died of aphyxiation.

They did not find her body for three days. It took the fire department over five hours to dig her out.

I cannot figure this out. Why would someone, with so much going for her, be so desperate over a man that she would go to such lengths to reach him about their relationship? I don't get it. I'm sure she could have her pick of fine gentleman.
She lost more than her life. she lost her dignity.

Sweet Tea at the Birthday Bash

2010-08-30T06:38:00.008-05:00

"I'm holding you to your offer."

This certainly made me sit up and focus. I looked over at "T."

"Huh?"

"Well, Beej," T continued, "You told me a couple of months ago that you would arrange a lunch for my birthday. The day is coming up and I'm holding you to your offer."

"Ohh! Okay!"

Let me tell you about 'T.' Now, I call her 'Sweet Tea,' because that's what she is...sweet. I could have as easily nicknamed her bubbly, smart, charming, but Sweet Tea fits the best.

T is short for 'Taneisha.' (T I know you plan on coming in here and I know I slaughtered the spelling of your given name. Please forgive.)

T could easily be called 'Beautiful T.' She has the heighth, weight and facial structure of a top model:

Keep in mind; this photo was taken at noon. T, her SO Aaysha, and our mutual friend Kristen, had gone out the night before and partied hardy until 4am. This is T with a well earned (and deserved!) hangover. She is still drop dead gorgeous. even at her worst.

Let us look at that photo; T is a trend setter. For instance, see her tie? T does not go for the traditional cloth tie; Her tie is metal and hangs from a chain. very cool. Now, move up and look at her new cap. I asked her about this because I thought she had inadvertantly left the scan bar tag on the brim. No, it was intentional. its a new trend. And it's cool. T's cool. Very.

Here is the gang:

We were at the restaurant for almost two and a half hours. Good conversation was abundant. Some of the topics covered:
boyfriends babies husbands strippers alcohol clothes bars work books Lady Gaga Rolling Stone magazine houses dancing music bodies kids sleep sports food peppers roadkill oxtails phones pregnancy on and on, often two or three conversations going simultaneously.
Happy birthday Sweet Tea! I love having you as my friend.

Martin Luther King Jr. (or how Glenn Beck continues to make an ass out of himself.)

2010-08-28T07:23:00.008-05:00

What MLK said:

What Glenn Beck said:

1. "This president I think has exposed himself over and over again as a guy who has a deep-seated hatred for white people or the white culture....I'm not saying he doesn't like white people, I'm saying he has a problem. This guy is, I believe, a racist." –on President Obama, sparking an advertiser exodus from his FOX News show, July 28, 2009 (Source)

2. "I'm thinking about killing Michael Moore, and I'm wondering if I could kill him myself, or if I would need to hire somebody to do it. ... No, I think I could. I think he could be looking me in the eye, you know, and I could just be choking the life out. Is this wrong? I stopped wearing my What Would Jesus -- band -- Do, and I've lost all sense of right and wrong now. I used to be able to say, 'Yeah, I'd kill Michael Moore,' and then I'd see the little band: What Would Jesus Do? And then I'd realize, 'Oh, you wouldn't kill Michael Moore. Or at least you wouldn't choke him to death.' And you know, well, I'm not sure." –responding to the question "What would people do for $50 million?", "The Glenn Beck Program," May 17, 2005 (Source)

3. "When I see a 9/11 victim family on television, or whatever, I'm just like, 'Oh shut up' I'm so sick of them because they're always complaining." –"The Glenn Beck Program," Sept. 9, 2005 (Source)

4. "The only [Katrina victims] we're seeing on television are the scumbags." –"The Glenn Beck Program," Sept. 9, 2005 (Source)

5. "I think there is a handful of people who hate America. Unfortunately for them, a lot of them are losing their homes in a forest fire today." –on why people who lost their homes in forest fires in California had it coming, "The Glenn Beck Program," Oct. 22, 2007 (Source)

6. "I have been nervous about this interview with you because what I feel like saying is, 'Sir, prove to me that you are not working with our enemies. ... And I know you're not. I'm not accusing you of being an enemy, but that's the way I feel, and I think a lot of Americans will feel that way." –interviewing Rep. Keith Ellison (D-MN), the first Muslim U.S. congressman, Glen Beck's show on CNN's Headline News, Nov. 14, 2006 (Source)

7. "Al Gore's not going to be rounding up Jews and exterminating them. It is the same tactic, however. The goal is different. The goal is globalization...And you must silence all dissenting voices. That's what Hitler did. That's what Al Gore, the U.N., and everybody on the global warming bandwagon [are doing]." –"The Glenn Beck Program," May 1, 2007 (Source)

8. "So here you have Barack Obama going in and spending the money on embryonic stem cell research. ... Eugenics. In case you don't know what Eugenics led us to: the Final Solution. A master race! A perfect person. ... The stuff that we are facing is absolutely frightening." –"The Glenn Beck Program," March 9, 2009 (Source)

9. "You have the artwork of Mussolini there, here in New York at Rockefeller Plaza." –analyzing the artwork decorating Rockefeller Plaza, which he said contained a hammer and sickle, Glenn Beck show on FOX News Channel, Sept. 2, 2009 (Source)

10. "O-L-I-G-A-R-H-Y." –misspelling "oligarchy" on his chalk board while claiming he had deciphered a secret code that he said was proof President Obama was trying to create an "Oligarhy," Aug. 27, 2009, Glenn Beck show on FOX News Channel (Source)

What I say:

Today is the anniversary of Martin Luther King's outstanding "I have a dream" speech. And today, that moron Glenn Beck is holding a rally at the same spot where MLK spoke his words.

Hey, Glennie boy..guess what..you ain't no Martin. But unlike you, I believe you have the right to say what you choose to say. It's just too bad you don't know enough to keep your self serving mouth shut.

I know today is your special day in the sun, Glenn Beck, but I wish you could take a few minutes to come in here and discuss your beliefs with me. Or better yet, we could set up a day and time for you to come to my house for dinner, tho I can promise you, when my big mouth confronts your big mouth, you won't have much of an appetite left. I want to know what satisfaction you get out of your scare tactics that, as far as I can tell, lie unfounded.

Your rally will be remembered as just another self serving and dividing farce. However, this day will be far better remembered, for all of eternity, as the day that Martin Luther King Jr told us all what can be seen when people have the daring to look from the top of the mountain.

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He's Back~

2010-08-26T20:37:00.010-05:00

Guess who has a new CD coming out in November.

A Blast From the Past:

He developed a little pizazz over time, didn't he?

And here, for a little bit of fun, is a demo he made in 1968:

He is the gift that keeps on giving. Sir Elton John.

Estrogen Adventures

2010-08-24T07:39:00.010-05:00

Those of you who have been following me for a while are well aware that I do not generally shy away from topics that are not politically correct. This will be one of those. Guys, again, you might choose to skip this post. Unless you are interested in knowing more about the female body.

Some of you are too young to have experienced what I'm about to write about. Some of you are not. Regardless, those of you young 'uns might want a little heads up on what you might go through a few years down the road.

I am going to tell you about estrogen supplements.

There comes a time in the female life (you men are spoiled brats, I just want to tell you that...) when hormones change. In fact, they take a nose dive. There are many different symptoms. You will know when this has begun to occur.

Last week my gynecologist recommended the time had come for me to consider estrogen supplements. I considered it for maybe three seconds.

"Bring it on, Doctor!!" My heart was doing a big, soul stomping happy dance.

I wanted the oral stuff, the stuff that makes you feel like you're 21 again, the stuff that makes your skin glow and..and...and...well, a whole bunch of different wonderful 'things' begin to come 'alive' again.

"You still have a uterus." she said, shaking her head no.

She sat down in front of me and drew a chart about the negative effects of oral estrogen on women who still have a uterus; Strokes. Blood clots. Cancer. Heart attacks. On and on.

"What's a woman who is cursed with a uterus to do?" I lamented.

"No problem." she smiled. "We'll use a vaginal cream."

Okay, no problem; as far as my complexion goes, I'll do what my friend Lynn in Tallahassee does and just put a little dab on my face. Watch out crows feet, here we come!! har!

"Okay, Beej. This is potent stuff and is expensive. Sometimes insurance doesn't cover it. It can run over $100 for a tube. Having said that, it comes with an applicator. Throw it away. I only want you to use a pea sized amount, three times a week."

Off I go with my prescription and to the pharmacy. I hand the pharmacist the prescription for my 'wonder cream.' He takes it to his computer.

"Beej, this is expensive stuff."

"How expensive?"

"$120."

Whoa, I think. $120 for a little tube. And here i've been making it for free all those years! I've been producing a gold mine with no way to excavate it!

"I'll take it."

And off I go to my house. I take it out of the box.

Liquid gold:

I pull out the applicator.

"Dr. told me to throw it away." I remember. I study it and decide, nah, I'm holding on to that..Just for, you know, an emergency..or something. I slip it back into the box.

I read all the warnings on the little instruction sheet and call my sister.

"Hey sis. Have you ever used estrogen cream?"

"Oh I can't use that but I use something similar."

I don't ask what. I'm afraid she'll tell me lard or something like that.

Why can't you use the regular stuff?" I do ask.

"Because I had a terrible, HORRIBLE allergic reaction."

"Oh damn! that musta hurt." I think to myself.

"What about Jeanne?" (Jeanne is our other sister.)

"Well she did use it but she stopped."

"why?"

"Because her dog got hold of the tube and ate it."

"Her dog ate her estrogen?"

"Yup, that's what happened."

Oh dam! Big damn! Big doggone damn!

Tortière or, How I Met Joan.

2010-08-23T18:09:00.011-05:00

Years ago, long before I had children, I lived in a townhouse in New Hampshire. It was part of a huge complex, inhabited mostly by other young adults. At that time, I guess I was still trying to be just like Olivia Walton and so for the better part of a year, I baked all my bread.

Next door to me lived a bachelor. He leaned (strongly) toward being totally obnoxious, but he had no family around so in a moment of feeling sorry for him, I did the neighborly thing and took him a loaf of freshly made bread.

As I went up his steps, I noticed a new tenant watching me as she unloaded her car of assorted household sundries. She caught my eye because she was rather unique. She was petite and cute with short black hair but the thing that caught my eye was that she wore stiletto heels with straight legged jeans, something one might see nowadays but back then it was, well, unique.

I like unique people and I made a mental note to go over and introduce myself after she was a little more settled in her new condo.

She beat me to it; it was maybe a week or two later when there was a knock on my door. There stood my new neighbor, holding a covered dish of somethingorother and, yes, she had on her stiletto heels.

I invited her inside and put on a pot of coffee.

"I saw you taking bread to your neighbor and I knew right away that this was the kind of neighborhood I wanted to be part of." She was chatty and bubbly and in no time, we became best friends.

Now let me tell you what was on that covered plate; it was a meat pie in a wonderful crust covered with a drizzle of maple syrup. And it was honest-to-pete-to-die-for.

Turns out my new friend, Joan, was of French Canadian descent and had made me my first 'Tortière.'

Tortière, also known as French Canadian meat pie, is traditionally served during the holidays, so come the following Thanksgiving Joan, remembering how much I loved it, surprised me with another tortière. I generally have company over for Thanksgiving dinner so of course I had the roasting turkey with all the dressings but you know what? I got into that meat pie and had not the first bite of turkey. In fact I ate three quarters of that pie all by myself! Wonderful....wonderful!

Tonight I made Tortière:

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FRENCH CANADIAN MEAT PIE

1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 c. water
1 1/2 lb. combined ground pork and beef
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1/4 to 1/2 tsp. each poultry seasoning, cloves, and cinnamon (according to taste)
Pinch of nutmeg
1/4 c. ground celery
1 sm. onion, ground or minced fine

Combine all ingredients well and simmer, covered for 1/2 hour.

Stir and break up meat several times. Drain off liquid.

Let stand for fat to rise to top. Discard fat and return rest of liquid to meat mixture. Add 1/2 cup bread crumbs. Place in pastry lined pie tin.

Cover with top crust and bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes or until browned. Meat mixture may be made the day before and refrigerated until ready to use. Makes 1 (9 inch) pie.

Of course, I can never just make anything according to the recipe. I change it just a little to suit our taste. This is no exception. I use a tsp of salt, all ground beef, and 1/2 to 1 tsp of the spices. I put a little less than a 1/2 cup of the bread crumbs and then I drizzled about a tablesppon of warm maple syrup over the top after its served on the plate.

Yum.

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The Collector With the Dirty Nails

2010-08-19T17:44:00.009-05:00

'Do you have any books on Peter Paul Rubens?"

I looked up to see a handsome older man. He wore a white seersucker suit (AKA, the 'Southern Suit') with a white shirt, topped with a silver blue tie that matched his eyes. His white hair was well styled.

"Sir, I'm sure I have something on Rubens. Lets go to the computer and I'll look in my inventory."

I punched in the artist's name and pushed the keyword search button.

"Are you a Rubens fan?" he asked.

"Well, I'm more a van Gogh fan." I answered.

"I bought a Rubens painting at an estate auction and want to see if I was ripped off." he told me.

I stared at him not knowing if I heard right.

"You bought a Rubens? May I ask how much you paid for that?"

I knew it was a nervy question but I really wanted to know!

He just threw back his head and laughed.

"Um, you're not going to answer, are you?" I smiled at him. He ignored me.

"Which one did you buy?"

"The Little Daughter."

Okay, let's stop right here so I can tell you that the first thing I did when I got home that evening was to go to google and search that painting. Now, I do not know much about Rubens. I know he was one of the great Masters of art. I know that he painted in the 1600's. And I know he painted in Baroque style. That's it. I did not know he painted lots and lots of portraits of little girls. I was not able to ascertain for sure which this gentleman had purchased, tho I am leaning toward this one:

I came to the conclusion that it might be this painting because that is, indeed, Rubens' daughter, painted when she was six years old.

Now this is the thing; the gentleman told me the artist's signature was on a certificate fastened to the back of the portrait. In fact, he said it was ripped. I know for a fact that the royal family of England owns a Rubens. I have a feeling Rubens signed it in the front lower corner..in paint! I also think if you are purchasing an authentic painting by one of the world's Masters, you would have it verified by an expert. and if it is offered to you for no less than a fortune, YOU ARE PROBABLY BEING HAD!

Okay, I found this man some books and you know what he asked??

"Can you copy the pages for me so I don't have to buy the books?"

You are telling me you just bought a Rubens painting and you can't afford a $29 book??

"No sir, we don't provide that service." I tell him.

He pointed to an image of a biography of the artist. We did not have it in stock and he asked me to order it. Which I did. But not before I noticed that this gentleman, this fine, fine gentleman with the white suit and the silver blue tie and the perfectly styled hair, this gentleman who has just told me he has purchased a Rubens, had the nastiest, filthiest, ragged fingernails I have ever seen on an adult. Disgusting, black, dirt crusted nails.

Somehow, I do not think he purchased a real Rubens. But who am I to judge?

Flear of Flying; (Or how I could have died laughing.)

2010-08-18T19:13:00.004-05:00

They say, "laughter is the best medicine." But we also hear the term, "I died laughing."

Both seem to be based in truth. Years ago I read a story about a man in England who got a bad case of the giggles while watching a tv show. Giggles gave way to guffaws and after about 25 minutes of uncontrollable laughter, his head slumped onto his chest and he died of a heart attack. If I remember correctly, his wife tried to sue the tv show but I don't remember how far she got with that.

Its a rare thing to get a case of uncontrollable giggles from watching the television and whenever I think of that poor man in England who died laughing, I think of the funniest tv show i had ever seen.

Recently, I went on youtube.com to see if I could find that show, and whoopity-doo, I found it! Its from The Odd Couple and its called, "The Flying Felix."

Youtube has it in three parts, but it was the third that drove me into hysterical laughing.

A short synopsis; Oscar tries to help Felix get over his tremendous fear of flying. He invites Felix to accompany him on a business flight. They board the plane but before takeoff, Felix goes into an absolute panic. He runs off the plane, Oscar follows him and the show continues from there....
Here it is:

Abbey Lincoln

2010-08-15T09:58:00.000-05:00

Rest in peace, beautiful lady.

Christina's World

2010-08-09T09:03:00.010-05:00

I first discovered the painting 'Christina's World' by Andrew Wyeth when I was about 13 or 14 years old. It immediately resonated with me. I later found out I had interpreted it quite incorrectly but that's okay because art is open to personal interpretation. Any way we relate to a work of art is acceptable, as long as we CAN relate to it.

I was passionately drawn to this painting from the onset because I saw it as a reflection of myself. I was not like my peers. I was not a silly, giggly adolescent. I was a kid who combed the psychology shelves at the library, checking out college level psychology books, struggling to understand what I was not capable of understanding. (Later in life, as a college student, I did take psychology courses and must defend my intellectual abilities by saying that at that point of maturity, I was perfectly capable of understanding what I was reading. Honest!)

As a youth, I always felt I was on the outside looking in. I was too young to realize that we all feel that way. And we are all, indeed, on the outside looking in. We are born alone and we die alone, and all in between, a gift. But I didn't know that back then.

I saw Christina as a young girl, gazing longingly at a home where she could not belong, tho she desperately wanted to belong. To me, that farm house symbolized the world. My circle of friends. My community. My school. My life outside of my life.

Christina was me and I was Christina.

Of course, that's not what this painting was about. It was really about quite a remarkable woman by the name of Christina Olson. She was middle aged at the time Wyeth painted her, tho we cannot see her face in this painting. However, Wyeth did gift us with a far lesser known painting of Christina, which does show us her face in profile.

As a little 'aside' note, this painting, above, was not used for public awareness of anything affecting Christina; it had to do with Andrew Wyeth, who suffered for many many years with a long time undiagnosed case of tuberculosis.

But we can tell from the painting, that Christina was not a beautiful youth, in fact not a youth at all.

From what I can glean, Christina suffered from some advanced case of a degenerative muscular disease and did not have the use of her legs. She had been a long time friend of Wyeth's wife. With her brother, she owned the farm known as 'Olson's Farm,' in Cushing, Maine.

The Olson house depicted in Christina’s World was built in the 1700’s by the Hathorn family. Captain Samuel Hathorn renovated the house in 1871 and added bedrooms to the third floor. Christina’s mother, Kate Hathorn, met and married John Olson in 1892, who then took over the maintenance of the family farm. In 1929, Christina and her brother Alvaro inherited the property and Christina lived there until two months before she died in 1968. The Olson home is now owned by the Farnsworth Museum and is open for public viewing.

Andrew Wyeth was captivated by the house. He saw it as a unique and honest portrayal of life in rural Maine. He loved it enough that the Olson's 'gave' him his own bedroom, which he turned into his art studio where he painted for over 30 years.

But back to Christina, herself, and this particular painting. Apparently Christina did not lie in fields and dream of being a part of the bigger scene; she did all the chores needed to keep a working farm running. She dragged herself from place to place, using her arms to pull her torso. When Wyeth captured her in Christina's World, she was not resting on her laurels or day dreaming; she was pulling herself back to the farmhouse after visiting her mother's grave.

If I had known all of this as a young girl, would I have been as drawn to the painting as I was under my misconception of the story behind it? You betcha. Even more so.

If that's possible.

The Life of Books

2010-08-07T18:41:00.008-05:00

An author has finally finished his manuscript, found an agent and has sold his novel to a publishing company. The book is run through the press and published. Often, the book is publicized.

Then what? What exactly is the process to get the book from the writer's computer and to you, the reader.

Every Friday, or early, early Saturday morning, depending on how the truck is running and how many books they need to deliver, we get a load of books. There are generally any where between 5,000 and 8,000 books. they are loaded off the truck and taken by palettes into our stockroom. they come in hard plastic totes that are piled almost to the ceiling.

The books are taken out of the totes and sorted by subject on to carts.

You know those little tags on the back of the book, on the top left corner? These little tags give us a lot of info, including the ISBN number (each book is given a number called the ISBN which is like DNA, It identifies each book individually and universally.) The person who sorts the books can tell on which shelf each book is supposed to go.

Release dates, nationwide, generally fall on Tuesday. There are strict release dates and release dates that are fairly open as to when those books can be set out. The books that have strict release dates can only be released on specific dates. Violation of that will result in a hefty fine. (The last Harry Potter book release carried a cool 1 million bucks fine for an early release. The totes containing those books were sealed and could not be unsealed until midnight of the release date.)

A hard cover book will go on the New Arrivals table, set on a table at the front of the store.

If the book is a great seller it ends up on our Bestseller section.

And, as in the case of the Stieg Larsson Millennium trilogy, if the books are a literary sensation, they get the honor of having their own table directly in front of the door.

Eventually, interest in even the best of books begins to wane and at that point the book goes into what is called 'in section' shelves.

They stay there quite a while and then, after they seem to have lost their selling ability, they are often put on sale.

Eventually they are toted back up, dollied on to the truck and sent back to the warehouse. Once there, they are circulated among various stores and set up on carts that begin at $3, then $2 and then $1.

the books are given a decent amount of time to be sold before they are sent back to the warehouse.

But, alas, eventually, they end up like this:

I hate to think of any book being destroyed. It reminds me of Hitler's treatment of various books.

I love working with books. I love the entire process of maintaining a book store, of being in the know about certain authors and books. I love the behind-the-scenes doings of a bookstore.

I had hoped to accomplish three things in my life; to be a mother, to work with children and to work in a bookstore.

I accomplished all three.

Comment Moderation

2010-08-05T05:48:00.004-05:00

I've been debating writing about this and decided what the heck..it's my blog and, well, I'll write whatever I feel I should, so here goes..

I have been moderating comments left here for several months now. I hate having to do this. I began this blog because I love to write. I wanted to write stuff that left folks smiling, or at least feeling a tad better than they did prior to stopping by.

Things in my personal life occurred that caused my decision to begin to moderate comments. We all have a personal life above and beyond our blogs, above and beyond the (mostly) wonderful world of the web in general. So my comment moderation here began as a way to keep control of what people in my personal life might choose to do.

However, and without going into any deeper explanation of that, a different problem surfaced; an individual I do not know other than for this blog, began to leave what I deem as extremely inappropriate comments. I've debated as to how much to say, and decided to clean up the language and explain.

One comment had to do with my sex life and, to put it as delicately as I can and still relate the contents of the post, what I would need to wipe off my face after having sex. This has no place on my blog. It was put in the crassest of terminology and I made the decision to delete the comment before it even made its way here.

Another comment from this same person had to do with my religious beliefs and (again) was a sexual comment pertaining to the quality of Christ's sex life.

I think you get my drift.

Make no mistake; I HATE moderating comments. I am one of THOSE people, a (gasp!) liberal. I live in the deep South. Politically I am a little blue dot in a big red world. I voted for Obama. I was threatened and insulted during the last Presidential election and learned to keep my political views to myself just to avoid being harassed.

My point is, with these liberal views of mine, I do not believe in censoring anybody except in the most necessary of circumstances. I believe with all of my heart that folks have the right to not only believe what they choose to believe but also that they have the right to voice their opinion without fear of any sort of hostile verbal retaliation. However, I expect the same treatment back.

A person who visits my blog fairly regularly has taken offense that I denied his posts ..the ones I told you about above.. and, hurling some insults my way, told me he was sick and tired of my comment moderation and my only posting what I approve (hey, this is MY blog!) and would not be back.

That's fine. I really don't care. It's his choice. But what I do care about is that belief of mine that people have the right to express themselves. I take that very seriously. And yet I believe it is my duty to not allow offensive, inappropriate comments on my blog. Express your opinions in a respectful manner, that's all I ask.

Was I wrong to deny posting of, for example, the two comments I told you about a bit earlier? I don't think so.

I want to know how y'all feel about comment moderation.

Muse - Exogenesis Symphony Part 3 (Redemption)

2010-08-04T21:03:00.002-05:00

I happened upon this by chance and wanted to share its ethereal beauty with you.

He, Who Is Without Sin.

2010-08-03T20:41:00.011-05:00

This is Sakineh Mohammadie Ashtiani :

And she has occupied much of my thoughts over the last week or so. She is an Iranian woman who is sentenced to death for adultery. That is barbaric enough but apparently it ISN'T enough..because she was sentenced, according to Islamic Law, to death by stoning.

I've been reading a lot about this because I just cannot comprehend it. How can people of God..or Allah..say that this is ok?

The more I read, the more I researched, the more appalled I became. Islamic law reads that if the person escapes during the stoning, they can be allowed to run for freedom and the punishment is over. So this is what they do; they put the person in a cloth sack with their hands bound behind their backs. Then they bury them in a hole up to their necks so only their covered heads appear. then, MEN OF GOD stand there and hurl stones (which must be no smaller than the palm of the hand) at the unfortunate 'criminal's' head until the person is dead, their head a pulpy mess of beaten flesh and blood.

I found a video of this online. It was posted to show the brutality of this practice
and came with a strong disclaimer. I forced myself to watch it because I wanted to witness the pure barbaric behavior. I am not posting the link here because it was too horrid.

The rest of the world has come down hard on Iran over this case. And a few days ago, Iran buckled and suspended the death by stoning sentence, tho not the death sentence itself. Keep in mind,that although it was suspended, it hasn't been retracted. In fact, Sakineh Mohammadie Ashtiani's lawyer is not asking for anything less than the death penalty; he and his client are asking the courts to change the means of death to hanging.

Okay, after reading about this, I found out some very interesting things. Now, Ashtiani has always denied the adultery charge. Lets keep that in mind..And I found out her husband has been dead since 2004. Apparently he was murdered by some man and now that the Iranian courts have been forced to defend this stoning business, they are saying that Ashtiani actually killed her husband but that the judge didn't reprot that, because it was so brutal.

Give me a break.

How can anything this woman do be any more brutal than bashing in a head with a bunch of rocks?

This is an old, old thing, this stoning...even in the time of Jesus, this was a common practice..Remember Mary Magdalene? She was a prostitute who was about to be stoned when Jesus stepped in and said, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

Surprisingly, the only country that has made a concrete offer for the life of this woman is Brazil, who offered refuge to Ashtiani. Iran will take this as an offense toward their Allah and I'm sure the repercussions will be forthcoming.

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After a bit more reading, what do I come upon?? A report about her husband's death..yes, he was murdered. Yes, his wife was accused..but lo and behold...she was found to be innocent..for shame, the judge was not being completely honest when he stated he was keeping Ashtiani's involvement in the murder under wraps so as to protect the public. shame on you.
Your Honor.
Right.

Swiss Chicken Supreme

2010-08-03T18:38:00.007-05:00

Yesterday I made another recipe from the Taste Of Home Comfort Foods Cookbook. I made Swiss Chicken Supreme. This was a really simple dish to make, smelled heavenly and was very tasty. I served it with side dishes of asparagus with French dressing, a prepared stuffing and fresh watermelon chunks.

SWISS CHICKEN SUPREME

Ingredients
4 boneless skinless chicken breast halves (4 ounces each)
1 tablespoon dried minced onion
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
4 slices (3/4 ounce each) reduced-fat Swiss cheese
1 can (10-3/4 ounces) reduced-fat reduced-sodium condensed cream of chicken soup, undiluted
1/3 cup reduced-fat sour cream
1/2 cup fat-free milk
1/3 cup crushed reduced-fat butter-flavored crackers (about 8 crackers)
1 teaspoon butter, melted

Directions
Place the chicken in a 13-in. x 9-in. baking dish coated with cooking spray. Sprinkle with minced onion, garlic powder, salt and pepper. Top each with a slice of cheese.

In a small bowl, combine the soup, sour cream and milk; pour over chicken. Toss the cracker crumbs and butter; sprinkle over chicken.

Bake, uncovered, at 350° for 30-40 minutes or until a meat thermometer reads 170°. Yield: 4 servings.

I thought this was pretty good but so far my favorite remains the taco pie I made a couple of weeks ago. John's favorite remains the seafood chowder, the first recipe I made from the book.

If I make this again, I'm going to change a few things. I'm going to cut a pocket in each breast and fill it with rolled swiss cheese and ham, sort of like a cordon bleu. Then i'm cutting the milk back to 1/3 cup and adding a whole lot more of the crushed cracker topping.

My Neighbors, The Skinks

2010-07-31T19:00:00.005-05:00

There are tons of wild lizards around these parts, some quite beautiful, some cute as a button, some as ugly as sin. One variety is the skink. We have lots of skinks around here. The blue tail skink is my favorite:

But there is another type of skink lurking around in my backyard, called the red headed skink. Today, we caught this one peeping in our window:

These skinks are true lizards but they're often described as a cross between a lizard and a snake. I've seen grown people run scared from one of these, especially if they're big ass lizards, but I love them. (then again, I like snakes, too.)

In that photo of the red headed skink, I tried to get the image of my cat watching this critter from inside the house but the flash went off and the reflection on the window glass obscured the cat from view, tho if you look real close, you can just barely make out his one ear.

Ollas and Oysters

2010-07-29T17:22:00.009-05:00

Today was my day off from the bookstore. I had planned on doing a lot of little things today so when Cynthia texted me to see if we could meet for lunch, I told her that, regretfully, I had too much to do. I had ERRANDS. Yes, the formidable ERRANDS, mundane stuff that needs to be done. I had to run to the bank, make some payments on bills, run to the store, and then the hunt I've been planning began. I have been looking for an Aztec clay pot. I knew exactly what I wanted but had no idea where to find it. but find it I did, after a search through several stores.

There are various styles of Aztec pots, some of them quite beautiful and pure art. Here are some examples:

The artwork on some of these is nothing short of outstanding:

But I didn't want anything quite that exquisite; I wanted just a simple Aztec terra cotta pot, something like this:

This is what I found:

And a close up of the detail, which continues along the bottom:

The pictures don't do this pot credit. It really is beautiful.

i got home and admired my find and was just about ready to do some chores around the house when John appeared home early.

"Let's go get some oysters." he said.

I do not eat oysters. I will eat just about most any other seafood, and I will eat myself silly on steamed clams but there is something about oysters that does not appeal to me, but off I went with him, anyway, to Barrentine's Fish Market and Oyster Bar.

As you can see, this is not a fancy pants place. It's just a small, plain building, a long trough running the length of a back wall. In that trough is ice and oysters and at the bar, men shuck the oysters non stop. They put these on large trays after shucking and checking for pearls (one man told me he recently found a nice black pearl.)

The owner, a small elderly, but quite spry woman, makes up her own sauce with ketchup, horseradish and a touch of Tabasco. People get a sleeve of crackers, toss the oysters on them from the half shell, douse it with the mixture and down they go.

I ordered a hot dog with chili sauce but the more I watched everyone delighting in these crustaceans, the more I was inclined to give one another try.

I chose a small one...no need wasting a cherished large one...plopped it on a cracker, drenched it in the sauce. It wasn't half bad! I didn't want another, but I gave it a try and might get some for myself one day.

I Am Still Queen

2010-07-28T06:56:00.005-05:00

When my kids were little, I was the BIG MAMA DOG. My word was gospel. I ruled the roost. I was Queen.

As such happens, they grew. I am no longer BIG MAMA DOG. I only rule myself, now.
However, trust me..I am still Queen.

Adults Only

2010-07-26T05:58:00.015-05:00

Yesterday was a milestone day; my youngest child hit his 21st birthday. To him, it means he can now purchase alcohol. To us it means we are no longer legally responsible for any child's screw ups.

This is such a blessing for us, especially since this particular youngest child is known for his vehicular screw ups. Many a night has caused me to worry that he would make a quick, rash decision on the road that would result in a lawsuit. Now, I am not talking about an accident where someone would be physically harmed. Of course, his welfare is of utmost concern to me. But when you take into account that when he first got his driver's license, I gave him my 'old' car (I had just purchased the vehicle I drive now.) It was a cute-as-a-bug, dent free little silver Hyundai, one that I was actually emotionally attached to, for a variety of reasons.

He was thrilled when we handed him the keys and told him "It is now yours."

Of course, it came with a set of rules; do not load it with kids. Do not allow anyone else to drive it. (This particular rule was one my dad gave to me when I was a teenager. I immediately broke that rule, allowed a friend to tool around town in it, and got caught, which resulted in my dad taking it from me...and it was a beautiful dark blue mustang with a white leather interior...and selling it.)

Anyway, my son had that car for maybe a month when we got a call from him.

"This car is a piece of shit." he said.

"How is it a piece of shit? It wasn't a piece of shit when you drove away in it."

"It stalled and then it crashed into a median and hit the 'caution, road repairs ahead' sign and now its wrecked."

"Wait a minute, son. Let me get this clear. The car stalled and while it was stalled, it veered into the median and wrecked."

"Yeah. It's a piece of crap."

I drove out there and found his car in a deep dip by the side of the road. There were huge caution signs all around because of the extensive roadwork. The car was, indeed, wrecked and it was fair to say it was now 'a piece of *shit.*'

There were also skid marks..maybe twenty feet of skid marks.

A police car arrived and I sat there, appalled, as my kid told the officer the same story he had told me; the car stalled which resulted in twenty foot skid marks and a totalled vehicle..not to mention a totally destroyed caution sign.

We contacted our insurance company who, after a brief investigation, let us know that they would not cover the accident because..Because!!! our son had falsified his police report. There was no debating this and all we could do was notify them that (after years with this company) we were 'firing' them and taking our business elsewhere.

'Nuff said about that, and the point is, we are now, as of yesterday, no longer financially responsible for this kid..or any kid, considering that he is the youngest..and this called for celebration.

So yesterday early evening, a group of us trekked across town and went to a Japanese Steak House. This place serves quality Japanese cuisine, teppanyaki style, which means hibachi cooking right at your table.

I figure most folks have tried a Japanese Steak House at least once in their life but if you haven't, you are missing a treat. Not only is the food delicious, the chef puts on an often hilarious show as he cooks.

We started with a plate of sushi.

followed by a bowl of beef broth, mushroom and leek soup and a salad with ginger sauce.

Then our entertaining chef appeared, turned on the grill and set it afire in preparation for frying our rice and vegetables.

After that, our chef made a volcano out of onions and oil, which he then set ablaze.

And then the good stuff, the meats. Chicken, scallops, shrimp, steak.

The birthday boy ordered a beer and was just delighted, like he has never been before, to show the waiter his ID.

His girlfriend/fiancee arranged for an ice cream cake to be delivered to our table after the meal..and yes, its a cake!

The birthday 'king' and his 'queen.'

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My son, if you are browsing through here, I want you to always remember...I am your mother. Nobody in this world will ever love you the way your mother loves you. Remember that. And never lose sight of the fact..no matter how old you become or how big you get, no matter how far away you may travel in your life..always remember..momma can always find you and you are never too big for a whupping.

Happy Birthday, my big man. And please. Drive carefully. I love you.

We All Gots Our Reasons To Blog

2010-07-22T12:37:00.010-05:00

I've been at it again, pounding the next blog button and seeing what the rest of the world has been doing. Let me tell you, lately the rest of the world has been:

A.) taking photos of their families and telling me day after day how darling and beautiful and witty their babies are. I don't really care about that. And there is an exorbitant number of 'wonderful family' blogs on here.

B.) showing me the artsy-fartsy stuff they've made and hope to sell. I mean, there are a few folks who matter to me and I love to see their homemade things. However, I do not need any of that stuff because (surprise, surprise!) I am fairly artsy-fartsy, myself and have been known to put together a few homey decor items.

C.) talking about their love life. This falls into two categories; 1) they have found the love of their life and want the rest of the world to know how absolutely wonderful Mr or Miss Perfect is. Again, I do not care. And 2) the person who has been in love with the same elusive wonderful person for a long time..(or a short time..it works both ways..) and who is convinced that this elusive person is secretly in love with them, too, but for some very important reason, is expressing their extremely selfless soul by dumping this particular blogger. (If he/she wanted to be with you, they would be with you! They are not with you because they don't want to be and have probably moved on to greener pastures which, in that case, you should stick your nose up in the air, blow a kiss goodbye and move on,dignity intact.)

D.) Let's not forget the complainer. I am not talking about the dear blogger who shares with us some bad times and rightfully expects us to give them a little cyber hug. I'm talking about the person who goes on and on, day after day, month after month, bemoaning the fact that the rest of the world does not admire them as much as they admire themselves.

E.) And then there's the depressed soul. Now I feel bad for him. In fact, I ran into one of those today. There I was between mopping the kitchen floor (its my so-called day off..right.) and cleaning the kitty litter box. I sat in front of my computer, munching on my baloney sandwich and hitting that next blog button when I landed on the blog of what has to be one of the most unluckiest people on the web. His cat had died. His mp3 player had died. And then he had to get an emergency root canal! This person cant even buy a new bathroom scale without an ordeal erupting; he ordered a balance beam scale (whatever that is..) and when it arrived, it was soooo big he was unable to get it to fit up his stairs and into his bathroom. He had to take apart his brand new scale, haul it upstairs piece by piece and then reassemble it. What a bummer! Maybe he'll lose a few extra pounds with all that exertion, tho. One can only hope there ends up a bright side to all that.

Now, I don't mind listening to this depressed soul. He got quadruple whomped and I just might sign up as a follower just to make him feel a little better.

(then again, he might take it as further reason to be depressed.har.)

Never Forget, Betty, A Good Wife Always Knows Her Place

2010-07-18T09:46:00.010-05:00

Before I ever got married and before, of course, I had my kids, I used to dream of what life as a married mom would be like. I decided I would be exactly like Olivia Walton, the matriarch of The Waltons.. I would have eight kids, live on a farm or at least in the country. I would clean house, bake bread and be adored by my entire family. I would be respected in my community for being a great lady, full of wisdom and kindness. I would let my hair grow and wear it up in a nice chignon and never never wear anything but dresses. My husband would remain romantic and adoring. My life would be absolute heaven.

I would be..
Olivia Walton.

Man, was I ever wrong! I live in a community in the burbs. I have two kids. I work and have worked most of my adult life. A farm?? Forget that! Tho I do have a sweet but large dog,

a cat justifiably nicknamed El Diablo,

and of course, my two lizards.

I cannot picture Olivia Walton feeding crickets to lizards. I can't picture Olivia Walton hunting down teenagers in the middle of the night. I cannot picture Olivia Walton cussing through gritted teeth.

Obviously, I am not..
Olivia Walton.

I was thinking about that long ago dream, just this morning. Why in God's name would I ever have wanted to be like Olivia Walton??? Heck, I don't even think Olivia Walton wanted to be Olivia Walton! The poor lady was pregnant most of her adult life and when she wasn't pregnant, she was picking up after the kids.

Thank God I was not alive during that time. And things got worse for women over the next few decades. We all know about the fifties when women were supposed to clean house in heels and a flowing dress, when hair was always curled, meals were always on time, kids were always clean and warned to be quiet when daddy got home from a long day at work. When men made all the decisions and women just agreed with all those decisions in the name of being..
The Good Little Wife.

I recently came upon this cute little video. I laughed out loud several times..I probably should have cried, because I think it's (sadly) a fairly accurate description of the way things used to be:

Did you hear that last line? Did you hear it??

"Never forget, Betty, a good wife always knows her place."

I ask you, what kind of crap is that? First of all did you notice how that woman looked while getting her beauty sleep so she's refreshed for Tarzan? Now, lets be real. this is more what I personally look like during a nap.

And whats that 15 minute nap business? Two hours is my personal minimum. And if I happen to be sleeping still when Tarzan makes his grand jump off his vine and through the front door? Well, maybe he can get Cheeta to fix dinner.

A Hundred Crickets in a Single Bag.

2010-07-16T19:21:00.005-05:00

So, the other day I finished my time at the book store and drove over to the pet store across the highway. I needed to get crickets for the lizards. I was tired and I was hot and this stopping for crickets was one of those pain in the patootey necessities.

Usually the wait at the pet store is irritatingly long. But that day, the young guy who was manning the crickets station was right there.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes I need crickets."

"Yes ma'am. Large or small?"

"Large please."

"What are you feeding?"

I am always asked this at the pet store and I usually say I am making a new, exotic recipe for my family, just to see some jaws drop. But this time, I was too tired to joke around.

"I'm feeding two large bearded dragon lizards."

"How many do you want?"

I just want to get home, kid!!! Gimme my crickets!!

"A hundred."

"Do you want them individually bagged?"

Now I looked at this baby faced young guy to see if he was kidding. His face just dripped of sincerity.

I threw back my head and laughed out loud. I guffawed, slapped my legs, shook my head and wiped the tears from my eyes. All the while the poor kid, now red in the face, just stared at me. I think if there had been a hole in the floor, he would have crawled into it. I was, all at once, filled with sympathy. Oh I wish I hadn't laughed.

"A hundred crickets individually bagged is a hundred bags. Honey, I do not have that much room in the backseat of my car."

Here is a short video that shows what the bag looks like after its been filled with air and crickets:

Now imagine a hundred of those.

Anyway, this sweet sweet boy turned bright red.

"I'm sorry I laughed but that was absolutely adorable."

He smiled at me.

"Well, do you want a few in each bag?"

"No. You can put them all in one bag."

Which he did. And off I went, giggling all the way home.

Never Dull In My Back Yard

2010-07-12T14:21:00.010-05:00

I love to sit on my back patio with a good cup of coffee, There is just so much to see. First of all, the turtles; I have two box turtles who love the plums that have fallen on the ground. Our tree was so loaded this year that the branches literally bent to touch the ground. The turtles gather there daily and take their time to munch on the succulent fruit. I have walked up to them (they appear to be used to my watching them.) One stood there and stared back at me, a large scrap of plum skin hanging off his cute little beak. I so wanted to clean off his face but I knew he would retreat into his shell and likely take the piece of plum with him and i wasn't sure that would be a good thing. My dog Abby is just totally perplexed by these turtles. She will slowly mosey up to one, as curious as can be, but each time the turtle retreats into its shell and Abby stands there, ears cocked forward in confusion, nose almost touching the turtle, trying to figure our where the hell did its head go??!! I laugh each time this happens.

The squirrels love the plums too. This morning, I sat out back with my first coffee of the day and watching these three squirrels eyeing the same plum. One finally took the lead and went over, picked up the plum and sat back on his haunches, chomping away. A second squirrel timidly watched but a third squirrel, much smaller than the other two, bristled his back fur into a perfect mohawk, jumped and twisted in the air and did a full fledge attack on the squirrel with the plum. They got into quite the physical assault on one another, twisting, turning, chirping angrily at each other. Finally they broke up, the little one chasing the bigger one across the yard and into the lower branches of a nearby dogwood. Now the third one might have been timid but he wasn't stupid because he watched this all happening and when he realized they were off and running with their conflict over that plum, he slowly crawled over, almost on his belly, picked up the plum and began to leisurely munch on it, never once taking his eye off the nearby dogwood.

I'm sure there's a lesson from which we can all learn, in all of that.

Anyway, speaking of squirrels, we have a new event beginning to recur daily. Our grill is set right next to our patio. On both sides of the grill's hood is a round hole about the size of a tennis ball. Some wise-ass squirrel has realized he fits, though tightly, in those holes. Yesterday morning I was out there doing my coffee and nature thingy, when there was a crashboombang behind me. After I made a quick attempt to wipe spilt coffee off my chin, I turned around and there, about three feet behind me, was my grill, and a squirrel's head was sticking out of one of those side holes. He looked at me and I looked at him.

"You got yourself into this mess and you can get yourself out of it!" I sternly scolded!.

He struggled to get out of there but all he did for quite a while was cause a lot of loud noise. Finally, his body shoved the lid open enough for him to escape, and he tumbled to the ground, making a fast and furious retreat.

"Serves you right." I told him.

We have fairly regular visits from fox and armadillo. Our yard abuts a large section of woods where they live.

But there are new neighbors in those woods; this Spring, a pair of red tail hawks made a nest. The rather large babies fledged a week or so ago and they have been flying (and sometimes falling) from treetop to rooftop and back to treetop for days now. I've gotten fairly close to them and tho they seems a bit wary, they are not really scared of me. They have been a joy for me to watch. I saw one of them approach a squirrel (yes, here we are back to the squirrels) but the squirrel must have sensed it was a youngun because he began to stalk the hawk. That hawk was scared witless, began to scream the way hawks do, and literally fell off the branch and onto the ground before he gathered his senses and flew to our roof.

I love all this wildlife. As you can tell, there's never a dull moment in my back yard.

The Soul Mates

2010-07-11T19:37:00.007-05:00

Once upon a time in a land called North California, there lived a family of three orangutans and they were very happy. Then one day, one of the big orangutans died and soon the other big orangutan died and that left their three year old son all alone in the big land called North California. And he became very sad. He was so sad that he stopped eating. The animal doctors tried to treat him as his health began to fail but the poor, sad animal did not respond to the medicine. I don't think there is any medicine that can fix a broken heart.

The animal doctors believed the young orangutan would die and so they sent him off, as a last chance, to their animal treatment center.

On the way, the zoo keepers found an old, sickly dog in the park that was part of the grounds at the zoo where the orangutan lived. They took the dog there, too, since he was very very sick and they hoped to keep him alive.

Quickly, the dog and the orangutan sized up one another and quickly they became inseparable souls. They are inseparable to this very day and they have both found a new reason to live.

This is not a made up fairy tale; this is a true story about two living breathing creatures who have discovered the meaning...and the power...of true friendship.

An Open Letter To the Postmaster General

2010-07-10T20:11:00.006-05:00

Dear Postmaster General:

Hi. It's me, Beej. I hope you are having a good day even tho I heard a rumor that the price of stamps is going up again. I know it's not like you're pocketing money. In fact, you probably are losing money because people can email for free. (But I think it should not make folks hate your guts the way they do.)

Anyway, I have a question; I hear that the U.S. postal system is really hurting for cash. Does this mean you have been hiring folks with less education and maybe even a few extra handicapped people? The reason I am asking you this is because I think the person who delivers our mail might be blind.

I'm all for hiring the handicapped but I worry about whether our mail deliverer is blind because, you know, she does drive a truck and it might be extra hard for her, considering that the steering wheel is on the wrong side.

ANYWAY..."Why.." you might be asking, "Why do you think she might be blind?"

Well, it's like this, Mr General, Sir; a couple of weeks ago she delivered to our house what looked like a handwritten letter, that's cool and all, BUT! It was addressed to somebody I never heard of to an address that is no way mine. It's even an entirely different street. So I put it back in our mailbox and put up the little red flag and she took it way..

...for a few days..and then there it was again, in my box. That's when I figured she might be handicapped. I am a kind person so I put it back in the box and set that red flag back up.

And guess what, Mr General Sir! I got the mail today and there it was again! Now I do not believe that anyone our government would hire to deliver our mail (which keeps going up an up in price) would be that stupid! So I'm going to believe she is blind.

I am sure you provide her with medical insurance. I think it would be a kind thing if you dropped her a letter and recommended an eye exam. I know she will listen to YOU!..
..if she gets the letter that is..

Anyway, thank you for listening to me. I'm sure you have better things to do than read about blind mail deliverers.

Yours and SWALCAKWS,
Beej

ps
you may have forgotten what SWALCAKWS means; it means 'sealed with a lick cause a kiss won't stick."

Har.
Beej

Classic Lennon

2010-07-08T13:34:00.003-05:00

He wasn't the nicest man. He could be cruel and hard hearted. But he was a complicated soul with a talent that was large as it comes. This is so classic Lennon.

Notice

2010-07-06T05:59:00.001-05:00

blogger is having a problem with posting moderated comments. Just to let you know, I'm not ignoring your (appreciated) comments. just that I'm unable to post them. Hopefully, this will be fixed very soon.

xoxoxo
Beej

Torch

2010-07-05T07:26:00.006-05:00

I'm always full of fear on the fourth of July; I fear this will be the year when someone I love will blow off an arm or burn a house down. Or that my dear dog Abby will have a heart attack from all the explosions going on.

The men in my family are pyromaniacs. I swear they are. If it's loud and it's fiery, they are there. On this day, they all answer to the nickname 'Torch.' Years ago, when we lived in the country and had acreage, we were the hub of the activity on the fourth. We would set up tents and set out tables of food and buckets of beverages. It was an open invite sort of thing. Neighbors and friends and co-workers would gather at our home. The kids would traipse through the field and woods across the road to get to a secluded cove whose water was rated as a 'class A' meaning it was sparkly clean. They would gather fresh mussels and haul them home on a rubber raft. Once there, the kids would load the mussels into a tub of water and we would put them on a grill. Deliciously fresh.

One year, after the kids were told we had enough mussels and to hold off on a trek to the cove, they decided it was too much fun to give up so they sneaked. With all the company and laughter and music and noise, (and daiquiris and beer..) nobody noticed that they continued to fill the rubber raft with mussels. We also didn't notice that they hid the loaded raft in the woods near the house..and where they promptly forgot they put them in the excitement of Uncle Joe revving up his Harley and giving each child a ride on the road in front of our house and down around the horse farm which neighbored our property.

A couple weeks passed in the July heat and we couldn't help but notice a sickening stench emanating from somewhere nearby. It got worse and worse and we even considered the possibility that a) the cove had become polluted or b) our septic had malfunctioned. Then the dog found it, a black raft covered with rotted mussels. Our children were given the job of hauling the putrid mess far far into the back acres and dumping it.

Now we live in a neighborhood. We don't have the acreage needed to hold that sort of shindig. The kids have grown and moved out. I don't have the fear of MY house being bombed by mistake. However, my son has taken over the nickname of 'Torch.' And last night I feared for his safety.

I love the quiet of an empty nest. But sometimes I find myself missing the big fourth of July celebration and I am overcome with bittersweet nostalgia. I even think back fondly on that time, years ago, when my entire property smelled of rotten shellfish.

American Tears

2010-07-04T15:35:00.002-05:00

Grandpa, thank you. I love you.

Judge 'TATTY'

2010-07-01T17:01:00.006-05:00

Yesterday I got stuck behind TATTY again. It never fails; if I'm running late for work, I inevitably will get behind the white minivan with the license that reads,'TATTY.'

What do I do when this happens? I cuss. Like a sailor. 'TATTY' is the old retired judge who lives on the next street over from my house so I try not to cuss real loud because I'm sure the judge still has ties and I certainly do not want to get arrested for cussing out an old respected judge. But what I would like to do is ram the back end of his shit ass white van and send him flying through the air and out of my way.

'TATTY' drives anywhere between 10 and 20 mph. He does it on purpose, I'm sure. Maybe he does it only to me as pay back for my 20 year old son who travels like a bat outta hell on our roads, I dunno. (I've spoken to my son about this, Yer Honor, yessiree I have! Many times over! I don't like it either but it's no reason to make me late for work!)

Anyway, as I was saying, yesterday I got stuck behind TATTY and I was already running late for work and I still had to make a quick stop at the store before I got to the book store. I finally got past the old ~~bastard~~ judge and to the store and was making my purchase when I realized the man behind the register was being trained. Plus I think he was deaf because he made me repeat every thing I said to him. Unfortunately, he needed my birthdate to process my card and for some reason, he could not understand/hear what I was saying. And he spoke sllllllllloooow as molasssssses..

"I am going to be late for work!"(I am smiling through gritted teeth at this point which is not an easy thing to do..)

The lady who was training him shot darts out of her eyes toward me.

"He..is...almost...done." she says just above a whisper.

Finally I am out of the door and at the bookstore. I am late as I thought I would be and there at the door is........!

Judge 'Tatty.'

"Young lady," he scolds me.."you are late. And that's not fair to your customer."

"Sorry sir. I got stuck behind a slow driver." I said.

"Maybe you need to leave your house earlier." he said, with a wink.

Beautiful Maria of My Soul

2010-06-29T19:56:00.007-05:00

New books are generally released on Tuesdays. I know this because I've worked in a bookstore for four years. So, every Tuesday, I go to my store and check out the new releases.

A few Tuesdays ago, I saw this book:

"BEAUTIFUL MARIA OF MY SOUL."

Oh my God, what a gorgeous title! Beautifulbeautifulbeautiful!!! It took my breath away. I carried that book around with me for a while, sharing the title with anyone who stood still in front of me for any length of time. In all my life, I could not remember a title of a book ever having that sort of affect on me. Plus, it was written by a Latino, and I love Latino writers. I love their prose and the loveliness of their words.

I had to read this book. I glanced at the blurb on the back of the jacket and found out that it was based on another novel by Oscar Hijuelos called "Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love."

Ah yes! I've heard of this book before but where?? Then it came to me; this book had won the Pulitzer years ago. Must be good then! So I bought a copy and took it home.

I went to my online book club and did a search for reviews. This is what I found. Mostly bad reviews. Bad. My heart felt heavy because I was so excited about finding these books. I almost threw it away but my sense of tossing out something I've paid cold cash for went against my grain. I figured I would give it a try. 15 pages. 25 pages. Big yawn. 30 pages..hmmm. 35 pages, wow. 40? And I am hooked, hooked into one of the best books I have read in a long long time! Wonderful! I am so wrapped up in the lives of Nestor and Cesar Castillo and Delores and yes, Maria! that I can hardly bear to put the book down and turn off the light at night. I can't wait to add MY review to those at my book club. I can't wait to rave and rant and go on like a maniac. Yes, a raving maniac!

What I learned? Do not put much faith into reviews. Try a book, taste it feel it breathe it live it and then, decide for yourself,

Chicken and Stuffing Bake

2010-06-27T21:29:00.004-05:00

My friend Brittney bought the Taste of Home Cookbook that I've been using once a week and sharing with y'all. She made this simple dish and said it was really good. Brit is 6 months pregnant and works full time so simple dishes are her preference right now.

This Sunday, I decided simple was my preference too.

Here is the recipe:

1 can (10-3/4 ounces) condensed cream of mushroom soup, undiluted
1 cup milk
1 package (6 ounces) stuffing mix
2 cups cubed cooked chicken breast
2 cups fresh broccoli florets, cooked
2 celery ribs, finely chopped
1-1/2 cups (6 ounces) shredded Swiss cheese, divided
Directions
In a large bowl, combine soup and milk until blended. Add the stuffing mix with contents of seasoning packet, chicken, broccoli, celery and 1 cup cheese. Transfer to a greased 13-in. x 9-in. baking dish.
Bake, uncovered, at 375° for 20 minutes or until heated through. Sprinkle with remaining cheese; bake 5 minutes longer or until cheese is melted. Yield: 8 servings.

These are the simple ingredients and even just-blended, it looks good:

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I made a mistake and didn't get shredded Swiss cheese but remedying that was no problem:

Here is the finished product and believe it or not, the broccoli 'made' the dish:

The Fish Who Screamed

2010-06-21T19:28:00.005-05:00

When I was a little girl, I was the love of all the little boys in my neighborhood. Was it because of my hair? Noo. My smile? Nooo. Was it because I was a charming, feminine little sweet heart. NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! It was because I loved to clean fish.

One of the fathers in my neighborhood built crafted cabin cruisers for a living. He did this in his garage and they were gorgeous. So they always had a boat, of course, and would take all the boys fishing. They always caught quite few fish. When they got home with their catch, one of the first things they would do is come and get me.

"Hey Beej! We got fish!"

That's all I would need to hear and I would race through whatever was doing so I could go clean fish.

Those boys did not hang around to help. They'd take off to play ball or watch tv. I preferred it this way, too. I'd sit there with newspapers and a knife and a big bucket or two of fish and I was in my glory.

I think I can still remember the process; scrape the scales off. Cut off the head. Cut off the tail. Split the belly and clean out the innards. Cut the fish into two sides. Fun fun fun!!!!

This went on for several years of fishing season. Leave me alone with that bucket of dead fish and a knife and I was in hog heaven! Then one day, something really disturbing happened...

Scrape the scales, cut off the tail..cut off the head...and the damned fish squeaked long and loud at me. It was alive! I was sure it was alive! I threw that thing in the air and took off running and screaming, tossing the knife behind me. Oh. My. God. Little me had cut off the head of a LIVING FISH!! Murderer! I was a fish murderer!

Well, the boys finished playing whatever they were playing and went to get the fish which they were certain had been cleaned and filleted. Instead, they saw a couple of finished fish, a bucket full of a lot more unfinished fish, and a partially cleaned fish down by the curb next to the sidewalk. They came to my door.

I tried to hide but my mom ratted on me and told them I was home. They marched into my bedroom and found me (rather quickly) in the closet where I was hiding.

"Why didn't you finish the fish?" Gary asked.

"Yeah, why?" asked Tommy. "My dad is going to be mad when he sees I didn't clean them."

"hey, I'm sorry guys. One was alive and when I tried to cut the head off it shrieked at me! I'm not cleaning your old stinky fish ever again!"

With that and a toss of my hair over my shoulder, I firmly plopped myself on my bed and crossed my arms. I mean business. I didn't care how mad they got.

To my surprise, they started to laugh.

"Leave it to a girl!" Gary said.

"Beej, the fish was dead. You hit the lungs and air squeaked out is all!"

I hated them right then. Not only was my fish cleaning, which I had loved to do, a thing of the past, they were making fun of me.

I looked at them and they looked at me.

"What you boys waiting for?" I asked.

"Don't you have a bunch of fish to clean?"

Paolo Santos

2010-06-21T17:59:00.002-05:00

I was browsing over at youtube and came across this guy. I don't know if he's famous but I've never heard of him before. I immediately fell in love with his voice and ooohhh, it goes so well with that acoustic guitar.

A Lizardly Lesson

2010-06-21T11:04:00.008-05:00

Tweetey has shown some curiosity about my lizards even tho she says she is not fond of them. A little background on our Beardies; we got these two about eight years ago when they were very very young, probably no more than a month or two old.

These were not our first lizards. We had a Giant Bearded Dragon, which is what we have now (except these are not Giants), and had taken a week's vacation to Virginia Beach. We boarded that lizard, which we also raised from a juvenile, at a respected place that specialized in reptiles and had a reptile room that they opened up to visitors. When we got back home, there was a frantic message on our answering machine from the owner of the place, (who was known as Noah, tho I don't think that was his real name.)

I returned Noah's call to find out someone had grabbed our lizard from his cage and had run out of the door with him. The police had been called. There had been a rash of robberies of exotic animals from pet stores, and our lizard was one of many pets that had been stolen around southern Virginia, where we lived.

Who could be so heartless as to steal this little boy's pet???

My son tried to be very brave but a few tears ran down his little cheeks so Noah gave him a baby lizard and we bought another. And that's how we ended up with these two love bugs.

Bearded Dragons (Pogona vitticeps) are from the desert of Southeastern Australia and first appeared in the USA in the early 1990's. They quickly became a favorite among reptile lovers because they are so calm and because of their dinosaur like appearance. They are incredibly docile, enjoy being held and hand fed and are often seen waving their arms at their owners.

Bearded Dragons are called such because they display a black beard as a defense mechanism (called 'headbanging.') It's usually a male thing but I have seen my female do it too.

When Beardies lay eggs, that group of eggs is called a 'Clutch.' Our female has laid about 4 or 5 clutches, none of them hatched, but I don't know why..maybe the humidity was wrong and that's a vital thing..or maybe they were infertile eggs since I did not candle them. Each time she laid over a dozen eggs, and not that small in size, either.

These Beardies are less than a year old but the video will give you some idea of how big these eggs are:

There is another neat thing about Bearded Dragons; they can be forced into a deep sleep, called brumation, which is sort like a two or three month hibernation. I have never done this but often breeders will force brumation in order to bring on ovulation. During brumation Beardies can be placed in a shoebox and set on a closet shelf for the duration. They are not dead! Their body functions have simply slowed down to almost nothing.

I love my lizards, and recommend Beardies to everyone. The are affectionately referred to as the kittens of the lizard world and they really deserve that title.

Blessed Fathers

2010-06-20T07:53:00.016-05:00

JACK HOLDING MANEESHA

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The Story Behind The Picture

"Maneesha is the smallest baby I have every photographed. She was born prematurely at twenty-eight weeks gestation, weighing 608 grams (a little under 1.5 pounds), and was just about to leave the hospital after her long stay. I am sure I'm not the only person fascinated by the continual progressive medical advances to save babies who are born too early and would not otherwise survive.

At around this time, I was beginning to photograph more and more newborn babies as opposed to older children. I thought it would be wonderful to show how tiny these premature babies are — but also how perfect. I felt the best way to do this would be to contrast the baby in some very large hands — but where to find them?

I telephoned the local police station and fire brigade — after all, aren't policemen traditionally supposed to have big feet and hands? Of course they all thought it was hilarious, but were most helpful because the fax machine ran hot with outlines of hands coming through. I also placed an advertisement in the local paper for 'a man with very large hands for a photo shoot'. As you can imagine we had some interesting replies. Eventually, I auditioned about ten (mostly embarrassed) men, some of whom were brought in by their wives, not necessarily willingly! Jack's hands happened to be the second largest, but he had a warm, gentle personality, which was essential for the shoot. I just felt he was perfect for the job.

In the meantime, I started making enquires to the neonatal ward at our local hospital. I had a meeting with one of their specialist pediatricians and outlined my idea for the image. Naturally I was concerned that there be absolutely no risk involved; in fact, I was so concerned that without realizing it I must have kept repeating this point to the doctor. He finally said that I should stop worrying so much, he understood what I was trying to achieve, and he would help to put me in touch with the parents of a baby at the hospital who he thought would be perfect.

I was introduced to baby Maneesha's parents, a lovely couple, who agreed to be a part of the shoot. Maneesha would soon be ready to go home for the first time, and her parents were understandably very excited. When I first saw Maneesha in her incubator, she looked so incredibly small and fragile. She was attached to all manner of wires and tubes which, to a layperson like myself, can be quite intimidating. On the side of her incubator was a label saying 'I'm in the Kilo Club' and I learned that 1 kilogram (2.2 pounds) is a significant weight milestone for premature babies. Maneesha weighed just 1 kilogram at the time of the shoot. Even her pacifier was minute; they make a special size for premature babies.

Maneesha's shoot took place at the hospital, in an anteroom directly outside the neonatal ward. I set up a small background in this very limited space, some simple lighting and a chair for Jack. One of the reasons for using this small room was because it could be effectively heated — most important, as Maneesha would be naked and the temperature needed to be similar to her incubator.

I can imagine how emotional it must have been for Jack to hold such a tiny and precious human being. It certainly was for me. That day Maneesha had been completely disconnected from all her machinery, and I remember when I settled her into Jack's huge hands and was photographing her, the look of amazement and wonder on her mother's face.

I next photographed Maneesha when she was a very healthy four-year-old and I have a funny story to tell about her at that time. I wanted an updated photo for my book, Until Now, to show what wonderful progress she had made since she left the hospital. By then she had a new baby brother and they both came to the studio. They were sitting side-by-side on a chair in readiness for a portrait together and, in true sibling-rivalry form, Maneesha obviously decided that she was not prepared to share the limelight. Without taking her eyes off the camera and with a huge smile on her face, she promptly pushed her little brother Aakash, sideways off the chair! No harm was done, apart from some slightly wounded pride, but I suppose that's what all the little brothers of the world have to suffer from time to time."

From:
A Labor of Love
by Anne Geddes

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;

Maneesha, 12 years old.

_______________________________________________

And now from the sublime to the ~~bitter truth~~ ridiculous on this Father's Day:

:)

A Little of This and A Little of That.

2010-06-17T19:23:00.005-05:00

I feel dissatisfied today. I think I know why; I spent some time with Cynthia because she wanted me to help her set up a blog but she became super frustrated with the slowness of it all so we didn't get very far. Plus, we did it at my bookstore and every five minutes someone came up to talk to me so I could not focus. Eventually we will get it done.

It has been horribly hot here the last week or so and I didn't want to turn on the oven so for dinner I steamed some scallops, made a fresh cole slaw, pasta salad and garlic bread. it was tasty, light and cool. Good job, Beej!

Y'all have heard about my lizards. I wanted to share this with you. It's a video of a bearded dragon, which is what I have, (this is a juvenile; both of mine are much much bigger.) but I wanted to convey how absolutely adorable they are:

Chef Beej

2010-06-14T20:21:00.008-05:00

I bought a new cookbook a couple of weeks ago. This is not a strange thing, I work in a book store and we sell rows and rows of cookbooks. What's new is that I actually bought one. I browse through them all the time but either the recipes don't appeal to me or the ingredients would take a month of Sundays to track down. But not this one:

Now don't let the word 'diet' turn you off. The recipes in this book are just normal recipes except they include carb count, calories etc. As far as I can tell, that's all that means.

ANYWAY, I decided to try a recipe a week out of this book. Last week I made this New England Seafood Chowder:

New England Seafood Chowder

Ingredients
4 pounds haddock fillets, cut into 3/4-inch pieces
1/4 pound uncooked medium shrimp, peeled and deveined
1/4 pound bay scallops
4 bacon strips, diced
3 medium onion, quartered and thinly sliced
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups diced peeled potatoes
4 cups milk
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon minced fresh parsley
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon lemon-pepper seasoning
1/4 teaspoon pepper
Directions
Place haddock in a Dutch oven; cover with water. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, for 20 minutes. Add the shrimp and scallops; simmer 10 minutes longer. Drain, reserving 2 cups cooking liquid; set liquid and seafood aside.
In a soup kettle, cook bacon over medium heat until crisp; drain on paper towels. In the drippings, saute onions until tender. Stir in flour until blended. Gradually stir in reserved cooking liquid. Bring to a boil; cook and stir for 2 minutes or until thickened. Reduce heat. Add potatoes; cover and cook for 15-20 minutes or until potatoes are tender.
Add the milk, seafood, butter, parsley, salt, lemon-pepper and pepper; heat through. Sprinkle with bacon. Yield: 15 servings (3-3/4 quarts).

Now, I changed it a bit, used flounder and only 2 lbs of it and added a lb of scallops and a lb of shrimp and then I cut everything else in half. It was incredibly good. (Just don't do what I did; I inadvertently flavored the bacon with finger..ouch.)

Tonight I made this, a pepper crusted beef roast accompanied by a horseradish sauce:

PEPPERY ROAST BEEF

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon seasoned pepper
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 boneless beef eye round roast (4 to 5 pounds)

HORSERADISH SAUCE:
1 cup (8 ounces) sour cream
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons milk
2 tablespoons prepared horseradish
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
Directions
In a small bowl, combine the oil, seasoned pepper, garlic, thyme and salt; rub over roast. Place fat side up on a rack in a shallow roasting pan.
Bake, uncovered, at 325° for 2-1/2 to 3 hours or until meat reaches desired doneness (for medium-rare, a meat thermometer should read 145°; medium, 160°; well-done, 170°). Let stand for 10 minutes before slicing.
In a small bowl, combine the sauce ingredients. Serve with roast. Yield: 10-12 servings.

This is what the pepper coating looks like prior to being put on the roast:

I used several different kinds of seasoned pepper and it was WONDERFUL!

Here it is on the roast prior to cooking:

Now, the horseradish sauce is great, too, but let me warn you, it packs a wallop.(but I like that.)

Touch of Home has a good site which not only has all the recipes from the book but also you can push a button and they will put together the grocery list for you. I like that.

The Lion King; from Rags to Riches

2010-06-13T06:20:00.007-05:00

Bolivian courts recently ruled it illegal for circuses in that country to hold hostage any performing animals. As a result, four lions were releaeed into a natural setting refuge center run by PAWS (Performing Animals Welfare Society.)

These lions had been living in rusted cages hauled about in the back of a truck. They had never in their lives felt grass under their feet.

Each time I watch these videos, I cry. I cry from the joy of seeing this happen and from the sadness of knowing there are so many other performing animals who are yet to be rescued.

I Am Gayle

2010-06-11T06:25:00.010-05:00

I spent a vast part of yesterday with my best friend, DOCTOR Cynthia Mathews.

Yup, I've written about her before and yup, she has finally been awarded her doctorate; she is a Doctor of Educational Motivation.

I am so proud of her. I cannot even begin to express how proud I am. Cynthia came from such humble beginnings, in the deep South, from a poor family who did not understand why a black female would even bother with all that education...two bachelor degrees, two masters degrees and now a doctorate. To be honest, I think it was her background that motivated her.

Anyway, we were in her car and had pulled up to a restaurant parking lot (Usually when Cynthia and I go anywhere, food is involved..) I began to get out of the car.

"Beej, wait a minute. I want to show you something."

She reached into the back seat and grabbed a large tome. It was her dissertation. She thumbed through the pages, stopped and handed it to me. There was the list of acknowledgements. First off, right at the top, heading the list, I saw my name. There it was. Anal me, who drove her just short of nuts going through mounds of papers up at Troy University library, counting and recording dozens and dozens of kids' responses to a questionnaire she had compiled. I'm telling you, she laughed at how I nitpicked each kids answers to make certain I added it to the correct list of responses. Nonetheless, she must have felt I helped despite how much I irritated her because there I was, heading the list.

"Well? What do you think?" she asked me.

"Cynthia, I think I am the Gayle to your Oprah."

"For sure, Beej."

A Lesson in Persistence (Or Never Doubt Your Hunches.)

2010-06-07T11:38:00.004-05:00

My dad used to tell this story and swore it was true.

There once was a man whom we will call 'Pete.' I don't really know his name but we need to call him something and 'Pete' works as well as anything.

He worked hard in a factory where one of the perks was that he could borrow tools as long as he signed them out with the security guard who was stationed at the factory entry gate.

Almost every Friday, Pete would push a wheelbarrow loaded with tools up to the guard, sign the sheet which listed each tool and leave. Every Monday he would bring the tools back, go over the borrowed inventory list with the guard and return the tools.

"What are you building, Pete?" the guard would periodically ask.

"Oh nuthin' much." Pete would always answer.

This went on for months and months and the plant supervisor would watch Pete wheel out the tools each Friday.

"I have a hunch he's stealing tools." the supervisor thought to himself.

So each Monday afternoon, he would stroll down to the security guard's station and go over the list of Pete's borrowed tools. And every Tuesday he would find Pete and ask him what he was building that he needed so many tools. And each time, Pete would answer,

"Nuthin' much."

"I just have a hunch.." the supervisor thought to himself.

This supervisor was a quick thinking man and he decided he would do a bit of investigating but no matter how many times he checked that growing list of borrowed tools, he would always find each and every one had been returned on Monday morning.

After almost a year of this, Pete was handed a pink slip.

"I don't understand why I'm being fired!" he roared.

"Well, Pete," the supervisor calmly said, "You know all those times you borrowed a wheelbarrow full of tools?"

"Well, yeah, but you know I returned each and every one of them!"

"Maybe so, Pete. But you stole 50 wheelbarrows."

The moral? Follow your hunches.

Beautiful

2010-06-06T06:14:00.007-05:00

Casting directors are sending actresses into a panic; no more parts to those who have had plastic surgery. They are unable to show emotional expressions on their faces. The average film goer cannot relate to a 60 year old woman who looks 19.

Well, golly gee. When did your bright light go off? Did it happen when Jessica Simpson posed with no makeup and allowed no air brushing for her cover shoot for Marie Claire magazine?

Or did you decide natural was better after Brazilian catwalk model, Ana Carolina Reston starved herself to death for her career?

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Recently, Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb surprised the audience by showing up to host the Today show without a drop of makeup on. Madonna also released a photo of herself prior to airbrushing, even tho she has had a face lift and botox treatment. They all looked their ages. And they are were gorgeous.

And what about Heidi Montag? This lovely young lady had 10 surgical procedures at one fell swoop.

BEFORE AND AFTER:

At 23, what reason would she have to do this?

I don't really care who has what treatment or how much money anyone pays to look (sometimes ridiculously) young. What I do care about is that our daughters..and lets face it, we moms...look at these perfect featured, prefect figured celebrities and we sort of become brainwashed into believing that we do not measure up if we aren't as perfect as they are. You can't tell me this isn't what Montag was thinking!

But hopefully, Hollywood..London..Paris.. is waking up and realizing that we are all beautiful in our own way. We don't benefit by having artificially sculpted faces and figures to whom we must compare ourselves. And maybe the next generation of young females can proceed through life without starving themselves or feeling less than adequate.

Romance

2010-06-05T18:04:00.005-05:00

"Come here."

"Let me pour us some more wine first."

Pour the wine, Toast one another and take a long sip. Turn off the lights and light the candles. Slip off the shoes. Turn on the music. Hold each other. Slow dance.

Blow out the candles...

The Reuben Sandwich

2010-06-03T15:18:00.009-05:00

For some reason, lately I've been extraordinarily preoccupied with thoughts of food. I had a doctor's appointment last week and I was really worried that I might have gained a slew of pounds. But, alas and to my delight, I had gained not a single pound! Okay. That's a lie; I gained four pounds in the last year. Four little itty bitty pounds. (But, come to think of it, if you try to picture four pounds of pure fat..well, a-hem..it's not a pretty thought. But oh well..)

ANYWAY, I've been craving various certain delectables; one day buffalo wings smothered in Louisiana hot sauce, another day, a big box of Captain D's fish. Today I'm craving a Reuben Sandwich.

After I post this, I'm going to the store and get some rye bread, corned beef, (or pastrami. it's basically the same thing.) thousand island dressing, sauerkraut and Swiss cheese. To my benefit, I don't care for dressing on my Reuben. so that's a bit of calorie intake chopped off right there. (Maybe I'll double the Swiss cheese to make up for it, tho.)

Most people take slices of corned beef and top a pile of it with sauerkraut or cole slaw and then melt Swiss cheese on top of that. I don't do it that way; I chop up the corned beef and cook it right in with the sauerkraut. Yum yum YUMMMMMMYY!

I did one of my ~~obsessive~~ searches on youtube.com to see if there was a video about Reuben sandwiches, Sure enough, I found this..and who woulda known Charlie Chaplin was inadvertently responsible for the invention of the Reuben! (and who is 'Reuben,' anyway? Watch this and you'll soon discover..):

Oh yes, I almost forgot to add; A Reuben just is not a Reuben without the pickle on the side.

KD Lang; CRYING

2010-06-03T06:30:00.003-05:00

Breathtakingly beautiful. Enjoy.

China; The 'No Fly' Zone

2010-06-01T06:14:00.005-05:00

John:"There are no flies in China."

This is a comment John made to me at 5:30 this morning. At that time of the day it's not rare that I hear things incorrectly. This had to be one of those times.

Me:"Um, could you repeat that, please."

John:"I said, there are no flies in China."

Me:"What happened to them?"

John:"Haven't you heard of communism?"

Me:"Well, of course, but what does communism have to do with flies?"

John:"There was a time when the Republic of China required everyone to turn in a certain number of flies."

Me:'Oh...what happened if someone couldn't find a fly to turn in?"

John:"Then they didn't turn in a fly."

Me: "Would they get executed if they didn't? I mean that would really suck to lose your life over a dead fly.."

John:"I dunno."

Me:"Oh..where did you hear this?"

John:"Everybody knows that."

Everybody does NOT know that. I did not know that. But then again, I did not know what 'I feel like a mushroom' meant either and it turned out I was about the only person alive who didn't know what that meant.

I drank my coffee and went to the computer and did a search on 'flies in China.' No crap..it was true! Apparently, everyone was required to turn in ten flies at a time.

I love this idea. Because I hate flies. Flies are the most despicable creatures alive. Well, the second...grasshoppers are worse. (I still hate you, Eddie Margarvo.) But flies run a close second. they poo and tee and barf wherever they land. Even their young are horrible maggotty little pieces of filth.

Yesterday I took a long nap and when I awoke, I poured myself a cup of coffee left over from the morning's brew. I took it outside to our patio, set it on the green wicker table anad turned around to let the dog outside. I sat down, reached for my coffee and there, swimming around in my cuppa joe is a fly. And I mean swimming. The thing was doing the breast stroke. I was frozen with disgust as I watched it streatch its black ugly front legs up and down and in and out of my coffee. It was obviously enjoying itself. Swimming. In my coffee. I half expected it to flip over and fancy itself with the back stroke. Needless to say, the coffee was thrown in the grass.

I love youtube. There is absolutely nothing you can't find there. So I figured folks would not believe me that this once-maggot piece of flith was swimming unless I had proof. Sure enough, I found this:

Gotta love that youtube.com.

Seafood, Frenchfries and a Tornado Siren

2010-05-30T20:04:00.008-05:00

I love seafood. I mean, I LOVE! seafood. Crab legs. Clams on the shell. Broiled fish. Fried fish. Baked fish. Poached. The only seafood I won't eat is squid and oysters, and oysters are on my list to try again, since they are so plentiful around here.

My favorite fish is salmon, but not just any salmon; the best I have ever had, I got at a steak house..a chain steak house, no less. Longhorn Steak House. If you haven't had their salmon, you need to try it. People in the 'salmon know,' flock to this place.

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Longhorn Steakhouse & Saloon Sweet Bourbon Salmon

Sweet Bourbon Marinade:
1/4 cup pineapple juice
2 Tlb. soysauce
2 Tlb. brown sugar
1 tsp. Kentucky Bourbon
1/4 tsp cracked blk pepper
1/8 tsp garlic powder
1/2 cup veg. oil
2-8oz. salmon fillets
2 tsp snipped chives

1. Combine juice, soysauce, br. sugar, bourbon, pepper and garlic in med. bowl. Stir to dissolve
and add the oil
2. Remove skin from fish. Place the fish in a shallow dish and pour the bourbon marinade over
them saving a little to brush on the fish as it cooks. (I use a ziplock bag to marinate my fish) ref
for at least an hour up to 3.
3. Preheat your grill
4. Cook fish for 5-7 mins per side and regularly brush fish with the marinade.
5. arrange fish and sprinkle with chives.

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We ask for some of that Kentucky bourbon sauce on the side. I am telling you, this is heaven. Pure heaven. The stuff almost melts in your mouth.

Okay now that I've raved about Longhorn salmon, and did my duty by passing it on to you, I'm going to admit to a little secret. I, the mother who never took her kids out for fast food, the woman who proclaims that MacDonald's injects fat into their hamburgers to bring the weight up (the patty's and yours..) Yep, this fine lady who brings you this blog, has the potential for an addiction to a certain fast food. And this is it:

Captain D's deep fried fish. In my defense, I only get it maybe twice a year at best. I could eat it daily. But I restrain myself. This is the crispiest-on-the-outside, tender-and-moist-on-the-inside, fried fish you can get anywhere. God it's good. And tonight I had a hankering for it. So off I go to pick some up, along with cole slaw and sweet corn on the cob. When I get there, the place is almost empty..a rarity. I start to wonder if they're closed, but no..its just empty.

I give my order to the sweet little girl at the register, pay her and head to the counter that looks on to the open kitchen. I watch them cook, when suddenly a siren sounds, one that is exactly like a tornado siren.

In case you've never hear one, here's what they sound like. This one is from a town in north Alabama:

Now this siren goes off in Captain D's while I'm waiting for my food. That's a sound that can make a vampire's blood curdle. It'd brutal. I glance out of the window and notice the sun is shining. Huh? Just as I'm trying to decide if I should take the chance of making a fool out of myself by rolling into a fetal position on the floor and covering my head with my arms, the young busy cook runs over and pulls the french fry basket out of the oil and reaches up to turn the 'tornado siren' off.'

The siren is their french fry timer. And I am soooo glad I didn't roll into a ball on the floor, especially since a family of hungry people had entered the place just as the siren went off.

I glanced at the girl who was putting my meal together.

"I thought it was a tornado warning."

She looks at me like I'm nuts.

"Huh?" she asks. "What sounds like a tornado warning."

"Your french fry timer."

She just looks at me for a second or two with this terrifically puzzled look on her face.

It takes only a few minutes more and she brings the Styrofoam boxes with my food inside to the counter and sets it down next to a pile of place bags. She sticks out her hip and firmly plants a fist there. She looks to the left. She looks to the right. She looks at me.

"You mean to tell me I don't have a bagger??"

She is appalled. I want to tell her that if she simply shoved the boxes maybe two inches to her left, they would probably be pretty close to being bagged, but I don't.

"The other lady has customers." I point in the direction of the sweet little girl who is now ringing up the order for the family who came in during the tornado warning/french fry timer.

The meal assembler, or whatever her title might be, looks at me (again) like I'm nuts.

"Customers. Great."

She puts my order in a bag and hands it to me.

Life is just full of interesting doings..

Liquid Gold, Black Magic; Our Downfall

2010-05-29T07:03:00.009-05:00

I'm good at gushing on about the Gulf beaches but I have been intentionally avoiding any talk here about the oil spill. Does it mean I an unaware or burying my head in the sand? Not at all. It's simply a case where I am so heart sick over this that it's difficult for me to talk about it.

I do know this; there had been a task force catastrophe team sent to our nearby Floridian beaches to keep an eye on things. They have been sent packing and commissioned to other parts of the Gulf shore because apparently (and luckily) there is no immediate danger to our coast. Louisiana is not happy that they are getting the brunt of this horrible mess. And I don't blame them at all. They must feel fairly cursed at this point.

I cannot bear to watch the news reports. I dread the inevitable film of birds being scrubbed with Dawn degreasing soap. I will miss the ready availability of seafood. But more than that, I can't deal with the long term affects of so much black, syrupy oil being so continuously gushed into our beautiful Gulf.

I hear that BP is putting in something like 125 million bucks PER DAY! to deal with their blunder and that they can well afford it. In fact, it puts barely a dent in their profits! What a sin. What a horrible, horrible sin that any company can have that much cash sitting in their pockets while at the same time ruining our big blue ball.

Each time I go to the beaches I look for any sign of black gunk but so far I've not seen any. It's there tho. It's simply lurking somewhere out there.

That is it. It's all I'm going to say. Except for this; how ironic it is to me that the downfall of our world's well being could be caused my Earth's own blood..oil.

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I have not been very attentive to my blog friends. I've been busy, I've been doing other things. But I have the next two days with nothing planned. I'll get to all your blogs and let you know there how much I love you all.

Ti amo e mi mancherai.

Blue Mountain Beach (Or, How Sally Got Her Groove Back.)

2010-05-24T07:24:00.017-05:00

Yesterday, we left early in the morning and headed a little over an hour southwest to a village on the Florida panhandle, called Santa Rosa Beach. That is the name of the village; the beach there is named Blue Mountain Beach, because it is the highest point on the entire Gulf. Right before you get to Santa Rosa Beach, you need to cross over the Bay on one of those magnificent, arched bridges that overlooks the phenomenal bay.

We noticed, at the start and the finish of the bridge, many folks were out there with nets. Men, women, children were prancing about, scooping for something just off the shore. After asking, we discovered that the crabs were in and folks were catching their evening meal. What a delight!

Back to Blue Mountain Beach; here is a photo I took:

It is impossible to see the bands of deep green in the water but they are there. These are what give the name to that section of the Gulf, 'The Emerald Coast.' It is beautiful. The sand, as you can tell, is white, in contrast to the beige sand of the east coast ocean beaches. It is called 'sugar sand.'

Blue Mountain Beach is accessible by climbing down wooden steps perched on a low bluff. The photo I posted was taken standing about half way down those stairs. Immediately above the stairway is a row of empty Spanish style mini-mansions.

All of these houses are named, most with exquisite Spanish names but this one made me smile; it's called Fried Green Tomatoes, after its color. (obviously the owners opted for humor over beauty and I like that.)

No, the house is not leaning; your photographer was..:) Sorry about that. Can you imagine sitting under that ceiling fan on the balcony in the mornings, drinking coffee and watching the sun rise over the Gulf of Mexico? Or relaxing in the evening with a frozen daiquiri, looking out at the pink sky over the sea?

But the best reason to visit Santa Rosa is to stop by and visit my friend, Sally. Sally is a transplanted Yankee who moved down here about 15 years ago after a divorce, with her two teenage kids. She opened a store that goes by the tongue in cheek title of Sally's By The Seastore. Sallys' store is unique; it's really a combination store, restaurant and bar and the locals adore her. I found this brief review of her place from a site called 'Coastal Classics.'

Sally’s by the Sea Store

Just a couple of miles west of Coastal Classic in the beach community of Blue Mountain Beach is Sally’s by the Sea Store. Aside from gasoline and small grocery items that you may have forgotten to get when you were at Publix or Winn Dixie, Sally has the best breakfast sandwich menu on the our end of Hwy 30A. If you get up early and are hungry before your crowd rises to prepare breakfast, drive, bike or walk to Sally’s for a great breakfast biscuit (egg, cheese, sausage, bacon, ham, croissants, etc.) and a good cup of coffee.
Depending on the season, Sally usually barbecues on Friday night and serves great pork barbecue on Saturday.

This article failed to mention Sally's bar with the singing bartender. This bartender lady takes song requests several evenings a week and belts out a song while she pours your drink. Let me tell you, the place is packed on those nights, and the writer of that little blurb shouldn't have failed to at least give her an honorable mention; the locals love that singing bartender!

Redd The Singing Bartender:

Sally is an earthy, always smiling, energetic naturally pretty lady ,even sans as much as a touch of makeup. And she is my friend. The decor of her business can only be described as festive. Here are some photos of her place, to give you an idea of what I mean:

EVERYTHING on the outside is yellow, blue and red.

These are functional hurricane shutters just in case one of those belligerent off coast nasty visitors rolls in to reek havoc.

Sally's window treatments. Even I couldn't kill those plants!

Sally supports local artists and they support her. The artist who painted this sign also does block screen shirts for Sally. Sally told me an interesting story about her. Apparently, this artist lady moved down here and married a local chef who had quite a following due to his culinary capabilities. The only problem, he hated cooking! After a few years of marriage and watching the joy his wife derived from her art, he decided to chuck the chef business and turn to art himself. He did quite well. But, alas, the marriage could not survive the competition between the two, and they each took their own easels and parted.

Sally told me this over some cog. Cog...this is the nickname for Sally's coffee, better known locally as a Cup Of Gossip..COG.

Speaking of coffee, I feel a cup of cog calling my name, so I am off to imbibe. and if you find yourself down by Blue Mountain Beach, stop in to see Sally and tell her I sent you. She'll give you a cog and a smile that will make your day.

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Sally's bar is located at the back of her store. It's called 'Sally's Backside' and when Redd is bartending, you need a reservation or you will not get in. It is packed.

I'm Moving to an Italian Villa (uh-huh..yup)

2010-05-19T16:23:00.011-05:00

Yay to me!! I have won a multi million dollar lottery and I am buying this villa, named Bramasole, in Tuscany, Italy:

Here is a charming, Romeo and Juliet type balcony off to the side of the house:

And the grape vines and olive tree groves which have been brought back to life by a local gardener who knows the land well:

Okay, I'm ~~blowing lies outta my ass~~ fibbing. I didn't win any lottery and therefore, I am not buying a villa in Tuscany. In fact Bramasole is the name of the estate in the travel guide book "Under The Tuscan Sun,"which I'm reading right now. But man, what a dream for my wish bucket.

My family is from the east coast of Italy. I am not talking generations and generations ago, either; my mom could not speak a word of English during the early part of her life. My cousins in Italy would write long letters to my mom and I would watch her write out English translations to simple Italian phrases because they wanted her to teach them English.

Of course, none of my Italian family owns a villa. They are simple people with simple lives.

I, if I win a big lottery, will be the very first villa owner in my family. And I will invite the entire clan there to drink the wine made from my grapes and eat bruschetta made with olive oil from my harvested olives.

BRUSCHETTA CON POMODORI (GARLIC BREAD
WITH TOMATOES)

6 slices crusty Italian bread, halved crosswise
1 lg. garlic clove, crushed and minced
4 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
6 lg. firm ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped
salt and pepper
1/4 c. minced fresh basil leaves
1 tbsp. balsamic vinegar, or to taste

Preheat the broiler. Arrange the slices of bread on a baking sheet and broil 5 inches from the heat until lightly browned. Turn and brown the other side.
In a small bowl, combine the garlic, and 3 tablespoon of the olive oil, and brush the mixture on one side of the bread slices.

In a skillet, heat the remaining 1 tablespoon of oil over medium heat, add the tomatoes and salt. Heat until the tomatoes are just heated through. Stir in the basil and vinegar.

Top the toasted slices with the tomato mixture.

Serves 6.

And I will invite all my blog and bookclub friends! So, get your passports ready.

Cara mia, ti voglio bene.

'Bramasole'; (pronouced, 'Brama solay') "To yearn for the sun."

The G Rated Post; (for the Faint Hearted)

2010-05-16T20:28:00.003-05:00

For those of you who found the previous post to be too tasteless to read, I wanted to include this video so you have something to look at during your visit here.

The Exam; (Not for the Faint Hearted)

2010-05-16T19:49:00.010-05:00

This is going to be one of those posts where my guy readers are going to throw their hands up in the air and exclaim, "Beej! What the hell are you thinking!!??" The lady readers might do the same but at least they'll know where I'm coming from.

Okay, Beej, take a deep breath and get your typing fingers ready; one. two. three..go.

It's getting to be time for my annual woman's checkup. Yup the good old pap smear thingie. Now this is not the highlight of my life. The little stirrups, themselves innocent enough lying pushed down, bring shivers to my spine and set my heart racing. Pushed up into their utile position and I know the unevitable is, well, inevitable.

Men might have this blurry, queazy idea of what a pap is about. But men, you really don't. Let me explain.
Better yet, watch this video:

Okay, did you see that thing in the beginning that sort of looks like a skinny plastic duck beak? That's called a speculum. Whoever invented that should be deep fried in KY jelly. That thing hurts like an s.o.b! The Dr. will tell you, ladies, "It isn't pain. It's simply pressure." This makes me want to scream bloody murder...
"It's pain, you stupid muthaf**ka!"

Now when that's all done they will do breast exam. This is when they squeeze each breast until it almost pops. And after that they want you to go have a mammogram, which is similar to slamming each breast in a car door and taking a picture of it.

Ladies, we are brave and I don't think men could handle this. They don't even like to go for their little 'bend-over-and-cough' exam. They ought to try it with the big plastic duck beak.

Okay now that I've stunned y'all with his post I am going to debate publishing it. Once I press the 'publish post' button, I'm outta here,

To Kill A Mockingbird; the Fiftieth Anniversary

2010-05-13T07:39:00.005-05:00

Harper Lee can't figure out what all the fuss is about. She wrote her book in simple language and style and at this point, after fifty years, wishes all the excitement would die down. Not to mention, she is still highly offended that so many folks have cashed in on her novel.

She is, of course, the author of a true American literary mainstay, 'To Kill A Mockingbird'. Each year, during the late Spring and Early Summer, the story is re-enacted in Monroeville, Alabama, the locale of the courthouse and home of the fictional Finch family, headed by the attorney, Atticus Finch, who is the chief protagonist of this great book.

The is the actual Monroeville courthouse that Lee modelled after in her book and that is where a part of the play takes place each year.

My friend, Dennis, plays the role of Atticus and has for a very long time. He has played this role worldwide, and does it justice; in fact, some say that Dennis IS Atticus Finch. (Dennis is also known for his portrayal of Henry Drummond in 'Inherit the Wind'.)

I was visiting with Dennis yesterday and he told me about a little celebration in which he took part this past Sunday. This year is the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of the novel and he, along with the cast and other local notables, (including Harper's older sister, Miss Alice) went to visit Miss Lee (known around these parts as 'Nell') to give her a bouquet of fifty red roses. Miss Alice reminded Nell who Dennis was. Dennis laughed when he told me that Lee did not even look his way. This is soooo Harper Lee. She is, after all, sick of the entire thing at this point.

Also attending was a reporter and editor of the magazine, 'Vanity Fair.' Miss Alice told her sister that they would like a very brief interview. Nell did not hesitate.

"Tell them to go away. They aren't getting one word from me."

This is not surprising; a few months back some spokespersons from NYC approached her about putting on a Broadway play of 'To Kill A Mockingbird.' They tried to sweet talk Nell and told her that Broadway needed revamping and needed to be brought to its original intention of creating fine drama on the stage, that Broadway was failing (I doubt that..) and her book could revamp it.

Miss Lee stared at the wall for a long while before she gave her answer:

"I do not see why the burden of saving Broadway should fall on my shoulders. No."

I gotta admire this Southern Icon; even at her age, she will not buck.

Happy fiftieth, Miss Nell. I hope you enjoy the rest of your life in peace.

=====================================

Here is an article published several years ago that talks about Dennis in his role as Atticus:

As I See It

GREGORY PECK: SIMPLE COURAGE MADE HIM A HERO

I saw Atticus Finch a couple of weeks ago.
He looked much as I'd expected. Tall, lean and good-looking, he was wearing a three-piece white linen suit, de rigueur for Southern lawyers of his era. And when he paced the courtroom questioning a hostile witness -- eloquent but understated -- he fingered the pocket watch tucked in his vest.

Of course, the man I saw wasn't really Atticus Finch, the beloved attorney who battles racial injustice in Harper Lee's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, "To Kill a Mockingbird." I was watching Dennis Owens, a local financial planner cast in the role in this season's production of the play based on the novel. Every spring, a local group stages the play at the historic courthouse in my (and Miss Lee's) hometown, Monroeville, Ala.

For an amateur, Owens did a good job. But, of course, he can never really be Atticus Finch. That role belongs to the late, great Gregory Peck, who personified the character as no one else could have. Watching the movie for the umpteenth time, I tried to imagine a modern-day actor as Atticus.

Tom Hanks? Too nerdy. Robert Duvall? Too old. (Duvall had a small role in the movie as the young recluse, Arthur "Boo" Radley.) Harrison Ford? Too Han Solo.

Peck, who died last week at the age of 87, brought Finch alive in the 1962 film because he exuded courage and a quiet moral authority, the same rare qualities that made the novel's Atticus an enduring hero. In a prepared statement issued after his death, Miss Lee, a good friend for four decades, said, "Atticus Finch gave him the opportunity to play himself."

When the film's Atticus explains to his daughter, Scout, why he made the unpopular decision to defend a black man wrongly accused of raping a young white woman, you believe you're watching a real father trying to explain something important to his child:

"Atticus, do you defend niggers?"

"Don't say 'nigger,' Scout."

So why are you defending him? she persists.

"For a number of reasons. The main one is that if I didn't, I couldn't hold my head up in town. I couldn't even tell you or Jem (cq) not to do somethin' again."

He made a rare act of courage seem such a simple thing.

Peck's presence was so commanding that he played any number of strong male figures, including the obsessed Captain Ahab in "Moby Dick" and the less-than-noble rancher's son in "Duel in the Sun." He was even an evil Nazi in "The Boys from Brazil."

But he was best known for the roles to which he lent his strong moral convictions, including the conscience-stricken commander in "Twelve O'Clock High" and, notably, a journalist who crusades against anti-Semitism in "Gentleman's Agreement," a film that was shunned by much of establishment Hollywood but went on to win acclaim.

It was his role as Atticus that won him an Oscar and created a legacy. Just days before Peck's death, Peck's Atticus was chosen the screen's all-time No. 1 hero in a poll conducted by the American Film Institute.

Peck went to Monroeville to meet Amasa Coleman Lee -- Miss Lee's father and the attorney on whom Atticus is loosely modeled -- and study his mannerisms. In his film portrayal, Peck used Lee's habit of fingering his pocket watch while thinking, and Miss Lee later gave Peck the watch as a gift. He carried it onstage when he accepted the Oscar.

Perhaps Peck was all the more believable as Atticus because his private life never betrayed anything other than the deep love for family and strong personal convictions of the novel's Finch. There was never a tell-all book about a "Daddy Dearest" who abused his children; never a bio-pic about a man of strange sexual proclivities, a la Bob Crane; never tabloid tales about drunkenness and abuse of illegal narcotics. He is survived by his second wife, Veronique, to whom he was married for 47 years.

My father and other Monroeville natives have told me that, while Miss Lee's story is fiction, attorney Lee was well-respected for his belief that all should stand equally before the bar of justice. But I never met him. He died in 1962, when I was a small child.

So Gregory Peck will also be Atticus Finch to me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cynthia Tucker is editorial page editor for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

COPYRIGHT 2003 THE ATLANTA JOURNAL-CONSTITUTION

Michael Came Calling Again.

2010-05-10T10:31:00.006-05:00

As he promised us a couple of weeks ago, Michael came calling again today. I handed him our Toro leaf blower and asked him if he would mind blowing off the walk and the patio when he was done. Michael was more than willing to do this, so my major problem with his work was satisfied.

Just as he began the back yard, our 100 lb doggie, Abby, the same doggie who wags her precious huge tail at any fruit fly that lands in front of her, started jumping at the back door. I had to let her outside because she had the urge to water the lawn and would not, could not, take no for an answer. She did her duty and sauntered up to Michael, wagging her tail (as if he were a fruit fly, har!). I watched Michael bristle in fear.

"Michael, are you scared of big dogs?" I asked.

"Yes'm. I'm kinda blessed if she don't bite me."

"She won't bite you. Her teeth would probably fall out if she did.. She's old."

"Well, then I really am kinda blessed, I reckon."

I sat on the patio while Abby sniffed around, more to put Michael at ease than anything else. Michael decided to sit with me.

"Are you married, Michael?"

"Oh yes, ma'am. Me, her and I have been married a year." (Oh a little menage de trois? Of course, I didn't SAY that..and do feel a bit ashamed of myself for even thinking it.)

"a 'course, this is a second marriage." he continued." a lady at my church died Tuesday. They buried her on Thursday. I'm kinda blessed because she was my good friend, and I cried when I heard she passed. She was 74 and she were married 61 years.."
(Hmmm..13 year old bride, huh? But I didn't say that..)

"She had cancer and the cremo(sic) hurt her heart and she drowned in her own blood."

Michael's eyes began to fill with tears and I thought, cremo or no cremo, this is a man with a kind heart.

He brushed the tears away with his arm and looked around the yard.

"You think I'm doin' a good job?"

"Michael, you are doing a wonderful job."

He smiled.

and I felt "kinda blessed."

Lena; Rest In Peace

2010-05-10T07:13:00.003-05:00

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Legendary jazz singer Lena Horne dies at 92

Associated Press Writer Verena Dobnik, Associated Press Writer –

NEW YORK – Lena Horne, the enchanting jazz singer and actress who reviled the bigotry that allowed her to entertain white audiences but not socialize with them, slowing her rise to Broadway superstardom, died Sunday. She was 92.

Horne died at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, according to hospital spokeswoman Gloria Chin. Chin would not release any other details.

Horne, whose striking beauty and magnetic sex appeal often overshadowed her sultry voice, was remarkably candid about the underlying reason for her success.

"I was unique in that I was a kind of black that white people could accept," she once said. "I was their daydream. I had the worst kind of acceptance because it was never for how great I was or what I contributed. It was because of the way I looked."

In the 1940s, she was one of the first black performers hired to sing with a major white band, the first to play the Copacabana nightclub and among a handful with a Hollywood contract.

In 1943, MGM Studios loaned her to 20th Century-Fox to play the role of Selina Rogers in the all-black movie musical "Stormy Weather." Her rendition of the title song became a major hit and her signature piece.

On screen, on records and in nightclubs and concert halls, Horne was at home vocally with a wide musical range, from blues and jazz to the sophistication of Rodgers and Hart in songs like "The Lady Is a Tramp" and "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered."

In her first big Broadway success, as the star of "Jamaica" in 1957, reviewer Richard Watts Jr. called her "one of the incomparable performers of our time." Songwriter Buddy de Sylva dubbed her "the best female singer of songs."

But Horne was perpetually frustrated with the public humiliation of racism.

"I was always battling the system to try to get to be with my people. Finally, I wouldn't work for places that kept us out ... it was a damn fight everywhere I was, every place I worked, in New York, in Hollywood, all over the world," she said in Brian Lanker's book "I Dream a World: Portraits of Black Women Who Changed America."

While at MGM, she starred in the all-black "Cabin in the Sky," in 1943, but in most of her other movies, she appeared only in musical numbers that could be cut in the racially insensitive South without affecting the story. These included "I Dood It," a Red Skelton comedy, "Thousands Cheer" and "Swing Fever," all in 1943; "Broadway Rhythm" in 1944; and "Ziegfeld Follies" in 1946.

"Metro's cowardice deprived the musical of one of the great singing actresses," film historian John Kobal wrote.

Early in her career Horne cultivated an aloof style out of self-preservation, becoming "a woman the audience can't reach and therefore can't hurt" she once said.

Later she embraced activism, breaking loose as a voice for civil rights and as an artist. In the last decades of her life, she rode a new wave of popularity as a revered icon of American popular music.

Her 1981 one-woman Broadway show, "Lena Horne: The Lady and Her Music," won a special Tony Award. In it, the 64-year-old singer used two renditions — one straight and the other gut-wrenching — of "Stormy Weather" to give audiences a glimpse of the spiritual odyssey of her five-decade career.

A sometimes savage critic, John Simon, wrote that she was "ageless. ... tempered like steel, baked like clay, annealed like glass; life has chiseled, burnished, refined her."

When Halle Berry became the first black woman to win the best actress Oscar in 2002, she sobbed: "This moment is for Dorothy Dandridge, Lena Horne, Diahann Carroll. ... It's for every nameless, faceless woman of color who now has a chance because this door tonight has been opened."

Lena Mary Calhoun Horne, the great-granddaughter of a freed slave, was born in Brooklyn June 30, 1917, to a leading family in the black bourgeoisie. Her daughter, Gail Lumet Buckley, wrote in her 1986 book "The Hornes: An American Family" that among their relatives was a college girlfriend of W.E.B. Du Bois and a black adviser to Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Dropping out of school at 16 to support her ailing mother, Horne joined the chorus line at the Cotton Club, the fabled Harlem night spot where the entertainers were black and the clientele white.

She left the club in 1935 to tour with Noble Sissle's orchestra, billed as Helena Horne, the name she continued using when she joined Charlie Barnet's white orchestra in 1940.

A movie offer from MGM came when she headlined a show at the Little Troc nightclub with the Katherine Dunham dancers in 1942.

Her success led some blacks to accuse Horne of trying to "pass" in a white world with her light complexion. Max Factor even developed an "Egyptian" makeup shade especially for the budding actress while she was at MGM.

But in his book "Gotta Sing Gotta Dance: A Pictorial History of Film Musicals," Kobal wrote that she refused to go along with the studio's efforts to portray her as an exotic Latin American.

"I don't have to be an imitation of a white woman that Hollywood sort of hoped I'd become," Horne once said. "I'm me, and I'm like nobody else."

Horne was only 2 when her grandmother, a prominent member of the Urban League and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, enrolled her in the NAACP. But she avoided activism until 1945 when she was entertaining at an Army base and saw German prisoners of war sitting up front while black American soldiers were consigned to the rear.

That pivotal moment channeled her anger into something useful.

She got involved in various social and political organizations and — along with her friendship with Paul Robeson — got her name onto blacklists during the red-hunting McCarthy era.

By the 1960s, Horne was one of the most visible celebrities in the civil rights movement, once throwing a lamp at a customer who made a racial slur in a Beverly Hills restaurant and in 1963 joining 250,000 others in the March on Washington when Martin Luther King Jr. gave his "I Have a Dream" speech. Horne also spoke at a rally that same year with another civil rights leader, Medgar Evers, just days before his assassination.

It was also in the mid-'60s that she put out an autobiography, "Lena," with author Richard Schickel.

The next decade brought her first to a low point, then to a fresh burst of artistry.

She had married MGM music director Lennie Hayton, a white man, in Paris in 1947 after her first overseas engagements in France and England. An earlier marriage to Louis J. Jones had ended in divorce in 1944 after producing daughter Gail and a son, Teddy.

In the 2009 biography "Stormy Weather," author James Gavin recounts that when Horne was asked by a lover why she'd married a white man, she replied: "To get even with him."

Her father, her son and her husband, Hayton, all died in 1970-71, and the grief-stricken singer secluded herself, refusing to perform or even see anyone but her closest friends. One of them, comedian Alan King, took months persuading her to return to the stage, with results that surprised her.

"I looked out and saw a family of brothers and sisters," she said. "It was a long time, but when it came I truly began to live."

And she discovered that time had mellowed her bitterness.

"I wouldn't trade my life for anything," she said, "because being black made me understand."

My Beautiful Day

2010-05-09T20:14:00.006-05:00

Happy Mother's day t0 all the mommies! I had a great day; I spent the early part of the morning reading a really good book (The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters.)

I've had a delightful run of reading some wonderful novels lately. I just finished Cutting For Stone by Abraham Verghese. If you love books and haven't read this, run, RUN! and get it. It'll set you back on your heels. This is what good fiction is all about.

But this post isn't about books. It won't hold any reviews. What it is about is the rest of my day. We drove up to Lake Eufaula (Eufaula, btw, is where Harper Lee's sister lives.) This little town is a throw back to the Victorian era with the most beautiful houses from that day, true Southern architecture:

This is the Foy-Beasley-Hamilton house:

This is Fendall Hall, an Italian style house filled with lovely painted murals:

the Sparks-Bennett mansion. This is a Classical Revival style house, known for its wealth of European chandeliers and gorgeous plaster molding.
:

And last, but certainly not least, the Pièce de Résistance, the Shorter Mansion, a Greek Revival style home:

This house is the kingpin of the Eufaula Mansions and I am including a link to its history.

These homes line both sides of North Eufaula Avenue, a lush green grass median running down the center of the rather narrow avenue.

But even THAT was not what this blog is about.

It's about the lake. We spent this Mother's Day at Lake Eufaula, just north of the avenue of mansions. This waterway covers a whopping 45,181 acres! We stopped at a resort for a wonderful buffet lunch and then walked by the lake. Here is the southern end of it, complete with islands:

And a little further down the way, we came upon these fellows. Yup, alligators. about a dozen of them. Sorry I couldn't get closer to them, folks. Even though I love this sort of animal, I was not about to take a chance by getting any closer! These critters can move fast! (But remember, you can double click on them to get a bigger view..)

I was so glad I remembered my camera. Usually I forget to bring it along but this trip, I forgot my cell phone instead.

We got home and I took a long long nap. What a great day!

Robert Mitchum Started It.

2010-05-06T06:44:00.010-05:00

I was browsing through random blogs last week and came upon one that was pretty much dedicated solely to Robert Mitchum. Now I know about Robert Mitchum because my mom had a huge crush on him. I never understood that because, to my young eyes, he looked like a weasel. She would tell me that he was the original bad boy. (so THAT'S where I got my love for bad boys!)

Okay, now people can write about whatever they want, that's a given, but the amazing thing to me was that this blog has 234 followers!!! Are there really that many folks who even know who Robert Mitchum was much less want to read about him daily???

I figured there must be more to the man than i am aware of. So I read through her entire blog.

I realized it was not just about Mitchum; there were entries on Norma Shearer, Ernest Borgnine, Kirk Douglas. in fact, I might have wandered in there during a Robert Mitchum Week sort of thingy. But it seems he is the main star of this blog.

Well, I get this idea; if there's a blog dedicated for the most part to Robert Mitchum, there must be other blogs focusing on more weird celebrities say, like Pee Wee Herman. Sure enough, I find this.

How about Rudy Vallee? Yup.

Betty Boop? Uh huh, yessiree.

There are blogs...I've hear over three million on blogspot alone...on everything. So I looked up 'dirt.'

Good lord, there it is!

Now my imagination is running rampant. Is there anything that hasn't been the subject of a blog???

Toenail fungus.

Urine.

And on a chance, I look for one on assholes. (not to offend anybody, just that it seemed the most far out subject I could think of.)

This is all too much to deal with before breakfast. I need to relocate my appetite and eat. And to think, this was all started by Robert Mitchum:

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..and his tremendous influence on the youth of America:

Miss Canary's Bling

2010-05-05T20:37:00.005-05:00

In the south we refer to all women as Miss. Doesn't matter if they're 20 or 80, married or single. So when I refer to Miss Canary as 'Miss,' do not take it that she is a single lady. She is, in fact, married to one of the wealthiest men in town. They live in a mansion (they have two homes but the mansion is their main residence.) and when trying to tell anyone where she lives, she just says, "I live in the big house on route 'blahblah.' We all know exactly which house it is.

Anyway, I ran into Miss Canary yesterday. First off, I must explain that Miss Canary DRIPS of jewelry at all times; during the day she sticks to (large) diamonds and at night she dons her emeralds and rubies. I always compliment her on her various bling and yesterday was no exception.

She wore a bracelet that had to have no less than 10 carats of diamonds,shaped something like a railroad track, the 'rails' a series of smaller diamonds and the 'ties' consisted of large diamonds..maybe a caret each.

"Well, Beej, I have a small problem concerning my jewelry.."

"Oh?" I wonder if it's getting too heavy to carry.

"Yes.." her forehead,above her perfectly tweezed and penciled eyebrows, suddenly develop deeper furrows.

"You see my earrings?"

How could I miss them? They were large enough to signal a landing airplane.

"Well, I have these two lovely little granddaughters and I planned n having each of these diamonds reset in rings to give to them. But my daughter had another child, a girl, and now I do not know what to do!"

"Miss Canary, maybe you could grow another ear!"

I thought that was exceptionally witty. Miss Canary seemed frightened. She hee hee-ed nervously, said she had to leave, and off she went.

I do believe she thought I was serious!

Poor scared soul.

Oh my Gee

2010-05-03T15:12:00.004-05:00

Oh my Gee...on or about September 18th, I am going to become a grandmother. My son is only 20. The mama is only 19.
We are all in shock.

Oh my God..

Little Miss A. And The Candy Bars

2010-05-02T11:09:00.006-05:00

There is a young woman who works with me at the bookstore. She's married and the mother of three little 'uns, ages 8, 6 and 3. I'll refer to her as Mrs. J., for privacy's sake.

I went into the bookstore the other morning to find Mrs. J. distraught.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"My middle kid might not be able to graduate from kindergarten."

"Oh no! Why?"

This is the story...

Apparently there is a late-in-the-year fundraiser, one of those candy bar thingies. Kids are given a big box of chocolate bars to take home and sell for a dollar each. Mr's J's kid, whom we will refer to as Little Miss A., got rid of all her chocolate bars, all forty of them. The only problem was, she only had one single, solitary dollar to show for them.

What happened to the other $39? Well, there were no other $39. This little girl stood in line at the bus and sold one lonely candy bar for one lonely dollar. Another child came up to her.

"I want a candy bar but I don't have a dollar. Can you lend me the one in your hand?"

So, being a very giving girl, she did. She handed her friend the dollar, the friend gave it back to her and got her candy bar.

Other kids saw this and being kids, they wanted a candy bar too, so the process was repeated...thirty six times. (It would have been thirty eight times but Little Miss A., being a kid too, ate a couple of them, herself.) She stuffed the empty fundraiser box along with the one lonely dollar into her backpack and scooted on home.

The day of reckoning came this past Friday when all the money and unsold candy bars were to be handed in at school; our Little Miss A. handed in one empty box and one crumpled dollar bill. the school principal phoned Mrs. J. to tell her the bad news; her daughter would not be allowed to graduate kindergarten until the school as given $39.00.

Now I've raised kids. I know all about the trials and tribulations of that. And I should have been more sympathetic to this young mother who works hard and struggles to support her family. But what did I do? I burst out laughing. I doubled over with laughter. I pounded the counter top.

Mrs. J. did not laugh.

"I suppose years down the road I'll think it's funny, too." she said.

I told her I felt that the school was partly responsible. You can't give a box of candy bars to five and six year old kids and not expect something like this to happen. The school apparently felt the same way because from now on,all parents of kindergartners and first graders are to pick up the boxes of candy.

Good lesson for the teacher, I think.

I'd Love To Turn You On.

2010-04-29T09:17:00.009-05:00

Who says chicken scratch isn't worth much? This one is expected to bring in between $700,000 and $1.2 million. It is the handwritten lyrics to A Day In The Life by John Lennon.

What's particularly interesting about this is that it was banned in England, when it first was released in 1967, because of one line that was basically added as an afterthought; that line is:

"I would love to turn you on."

The hand written lyrics will go to auction in NYC sometime in June. Some lucky person with enough resources to come up with the winning bid, will walk away with it and I'm sure, over a decade or two, will reap more profit from this investment to provide a handsome retirement for all his children and grandchildren.

I'm not sure John would like that. I've read many a biography of the man and he scorned that sort of thing..unless, of course, it was his pockets being lined in gold.

But, nonetheless, it will be sold. I hope there's some middle-aged ex- 1960ish Beatlemaniac, preferably a female who spent her early teens screaming her heart out over the mop top four, who walks away with it.

Going..
going..

gone.

Michael Comes Calling

2010-04-27T05:50:00.015-05:00

Michael showed up at my door early yesterday morning. The dog began to bark, letting us know someone was outside. It was early, too early for 'callers,' and when I pushed aside the curtains at our door, there stood a middle aged man, whom I had never seen before, waving his arms and smiling. He was disheveled, wore a thread bare tee shirt that hardly covered his portliness. I opened the door, feeling more than a bit apprehensive.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, " I responded, not quite sure of why I even opened the door. "Can I help you?"

"Well, I noticed your yard needs mowed."

"Yes, my son moved out and I haven't gotten around to finding someone to mow for me."

"Well, I lost my job and times are tight for me.' he shuffled his feet and looked down.
"I'm looking for work. I really need the money. I lost my job. And my house."

Okay, I'm a sucker, especially for someone who is getting up and about early in the morning, ringing doorbells to find some means of making money.

"How much do you charge?"

We set a price.

"I don't trim shrubs and I don't bag the grass cuttings."

Great, I thought. He needs money but he's setting his conditions of employment. I hire him anyway.

He went to the back of his pickup truck and pulled out a lawnmower and a weed whacker. He set a cigar in between his teeth and began to putter with the mower.

"Hey, you got any oil I can use for this machine?" he asks.

"No, I don't."

"That's okay. I reckon I have enough to do this yard."

Michael starts up the weed whacker and set to work. I lock the doors. It took him the better part of two hours to mow. I'm praying he doesn't ask to use my bathroom because I'm not too keen on letting this man into my house while I am alone here. he has a Dr. Pepper in tow and I am wishing that he would slow down on his drinking..what goes in must come out and tho I am not normally a harsh person, I do NOT want him in my house for any reason, not even to relieve himself.

I keep glancing out the window to see how his is doing. Things look a bit scraggly. Eventually, he rings the doorbell.

I open the door. There stands Michael, chest all puffed up to where I'm wondering if he's going to pop through the thin tee shirt.

"Ms. C., come see how beautiful your yard looks!"

I step outside and notice high weeds lining the front of my porch. To my right is a strip of unmowed grass. I point these out to him and he looks like his heart is about to break.

"Oh I'm sorry! I missed those. I'll take care of it right now."

He sets to it and in a while he rings my doorbell again.

There he stands, all puffed and proud.

"What do you think now?"

I look around and this is what I see:

That, in case you can't make it out, is the sidewalk leading up to my front door.

'Isn't it beautiful?" Michael's eyes shine with pride.

"Well, it looks better than it did..."

"But isn't it beautiful?"

I don't answer.

Come check the backyard." he says.

I go around the side of the house and into the back. This is what I see:

That is my otherwise gorgeous back patio.

"You want me to come back every other week to do your yard?" he asks.

"Sure.."I tell him, not knowing what I'm getting myself into, but I figure we are going to get the house ready to sell and I'm sure I can find stuff for Michael to do.

I pull out my checkbook. Michael waves his hand.

"Ms. C., can you pay in cash?"

"sure.." I say again, putting my checkbook away.

Michael loads his lawnmower and weed whacker back into his truck.

"Michael, next time can you trim those shrubs in the front of the house?"

"Well, ma'am,"He scratches his sparse hair on his head.."I never did that before.."

"Never mind Michael..I'll do it."

He smiles, gratefully.

After he leaves, I go out back with the leaf blower and notice all in all, Michael did a pretty good job:

And while I'm out there with my camera, here is a photo of my mardi-gras jasmine, which sends a heavenly aroma all over the yard:

I would love to dig this up and take it with me when I move but I have a feeling it wouldn't make the transplant. My sister is a master gardener there, and I'm sure she'll help me find something that smells just as wonderful.

And my plum tree with its abundance of plums:

They are difficult to see unless you look very closely.

Michael will be back in two weeks. I'll let you know how he does, tho I'm sure his work will be...
Beautiful...

Fishie Fishie In The Brook

2010-04-26T07:52:00.002-05:00

This is the beach we will be living near. I don't fish but it's still a thrill to watch this young man's determination.

And just so you know, I read this fish was tagged and released back into the ocean.

Kate Gosselin

2010-04-22T19:46:00.004-05:00

Everywhere I look there are those celeb gossip mags and over the last month or so Kate Gosselin has been on the cover of every one of them. Turn on the tv, and there she is. Every where you look there is Kate, sometimes with her kids, sometimes not.

In case you don't know who Kate Gosselin is, she is the Kate of Jon and Kate plus Eight fame, the lady who had twins and then gave birth to six adorable babies. Kate is Caucasian and Jon is half Korean and a mixture of French and whatever else. It made for some gorgeous kids:

I watched this show faithfully since it began and the kids were babies. I remember when Kate gave birth to the sextuplets. And I loved the family. Kate was the main caregiver; she was always so organized. Jon, on the other hand, seemed to drift in and out of the caregiving business, leaving Kate to take up the slack. She was often harsh with her husband and received a lotta criticism for the way she spoke to him.

I've raised kids. Two of them. I can't imagine what it would be like to raise eight, six of them the same age! I did a good job, too, kept an immaculate house, was involved in school doings, church, the gym and kids' sports. I cooked nightly and baked a lot. I had no family around so we operated in self sufficiency mode.

Kate received a ton of guff for harping on Jon so much but as I watched this show, I thought to myself, "Jon, get off your ass and help her!" I would have nagged him, too. It was just too much for one person.

Eventually Jon and Kate split, she focused on the kids and he turned playboy. She wrote books, went on various tv shows, did what she had to do to support those kids. What is he doing now? He is sleeping on his brother's sofa and trying to get custody of the brood, claiming Kate is away from the kids too much.

This guy is a moron. And I'm so sick of reading where Kate is a bad mom, a bad wife, a bad person. I admire this lady!

Kate, I doubt you'll read this but if you do wander upon it, let me tell you, you are doing an amazing job. You're a beautiful, charming efficient lady.

Keep up the good work.

No to Chinese Chicken

2010-04-19T16:53:00.004-05:00

(This from my cousin..kinda scary and we should be aware:)

More on foods to beware...learn your bar codes (if this message is true). I just pass this on since it looks legit and pix don't lie.

HERE ARE NO REGULATED LAWS FOR FOOD PROCESSED IN CHINA , HONG KONG , VIETNAM AND THAILAND !!

DANGEROUS IMPORTED FOODS
The whole world is scared of China made 'black hearted goods'. Can you differentiate which one is made in the USA , Philippines , Taiwan or China ? For your Information ... the first 3 digits of the barcode is the country code wherein the product was made.
Sample: all barcodes that start with 690 until 695 are all MADE IN CHINA.
471 is Made in Taiwan.

This is our human right to know, but the government and related department never educate the public, therefore we have to RESCUE ourselves. Nowadays, Chinese businessmen know that consumers do not prefer products 'made in china', so they don't show from which country it is made.
However, you may now refer to the barcode, remember if the first 3 digits is 690 to 695, then it is Made in China .
00 ~ 13 USA & CANADA
30 ~ 37 FRANCE
40 ~ 44 GERMANY
49 ~ JAPAN
50 ~ UK
57 ~ Denmark
64 ~ Finland
76 ~ Switzerland and Lienchtenstein
628 ~ Saudi-Arabien
629 ~ United Arab Emirates
740 ~ 745 - Central America
All 480 Codes are Made in the Philippines
Now read on below for specifics on goods from China to protect yourself, your family, and your friends.
This is sickening but it is an alert to read labels and always buy fresh when you can.

471 means it comes from Taiwan

Have a taste for chicken? READ THIS
WATCH WHAT YOU BUY. ESPECIALLY HIGHLINER FISH PRODUCTS; all come from China, even though the box says 'product of Canada', it is from China and 'processed' in Canada, that is, the coating is added and packaged in Canada only! The fish are raised in pens using chemicals that are banned in Canada as cancer causing but legal in China . This was exposed on CBC TV's Marketplace.
This one will make you think before buying anything from China .

Well, are you enjoying seeing Chinese food popping up in your supermarket left and right? Have you noticed you can't buy a single package of fish that isn't made in China (or Vietnam )? Do you think your food from China is processed in a sanitary manner, and thus safe to eat? Take a look at this!!

These undercover enclosed pictures speak a thousand words. Avoid buying all processed food packaged in China. Anything goes! We just don't know what else is in those packages. Unlike in the U.S. and CANADA , China does not have laws regulating food processing.

Basically, do not buy any processed food from China , also Hong Kong , too. MANY companies are using a Hong Kong address to avoid this type of image reputation.

Early dawn, starts the day by riding around to collect dead chickens.

Total of 5 riders are hired by the boss to ride to farms to buy dead chickens.

A dead chicken cost 1 RMB and would be sold at 9 RMB after processing.

Storage for the dead chickens in the court yard.

Carcasses are thrown everywhere.

And on the floor....
Four employees start de-feathering the dead fowl after soaking in boiling water from a rusty wok.

Enduring the pungent odor, but sometime, it get so terrible that even the most experienced of the workers would puke.

Workers rush to get the chickens de-feathered.

A discarded bath tub is used to soak the bare skin dead chickens.... The contaminated water would have accelerated the decomposition process.

Wearing slippers walking among the chickens before the coloring processing.

After the color dye, its creepy to find that they are quite tenderized.

And now presenting the mouth watering Charcoal Roasted Chicken!

Do NOT buy food originating in China (or Vietnam or Thailand)! Take the time to read the labels and look for country of origin! STOP BUYING ANYTHING FROM CHINA . PERIOD!

(My cousin checks EVERYTHING out at snopes.com so if he believes it to where he's passing it on, it's true.)

Not Your Average Moisturizer

2010-04-15T19:55:00.006-05:00

So I'm at Walmart to pick up one of those fancy-dance sonicare electric toothbrushes to replace the one that just died when I walk past this elderly, white haired little lady who was handing out samples of somethingorother. She stopped me.

"Would you like a sample?" she asks, as she hands me a little bottle and a coupon.

"Sure." I absentmindedly say, still glancing over her head at the shelf behind, where I spotted the fancy-dance electric toothbrushes.

"What is it?" I unscrew the top.

"Moisturizing gel honey."

I noticed the sonicare box on the shelf as I rub the gel on my hands and on the sides of my cheeks.

This stuff was unbearably sticky and i look at the lady whose jaw has dropped.

'Good lord, that's sticky!" i said and plopped the little bottle in my purse and took off to get what I came for to begin with.

I pay, drive home and go into my bathroom to charge the sonicare. And while I'm in there, I take the little bottle out of my purse to set on the closet shelf.

Then I glance at the label.

Oh
My
God.

Oh my god! I would have cried had I not begun to laugh so hard. I had just stood in the center of Walmart and rubbed KY (female lubricant) gel all over my face..

Boy, did I feel stupid.

Selena

2010-04-15T16:24:00.006-05:00

Well dang, I missed it by a couple of weeks but March 31st was the 15th anniversary of the murder of Selena Quintanilla Perez. I remember when it happened and the feeling of tragedy persists still, evey time one of her songs is played on the radio. I remember the news showed film of her wake and funeral and she lay in her open coffin, every bit as beautiful as she was in life, a little curl falling on her forehead.
God, was it really 15 years ago????

Selena, rest in peace, Angel.

Moving Again?

2010-04-09T08:32:00.007-05:00

It's not set in stone yet, but we are in all likelihood moving here within the next few months. This is where my family is and this is truly paradise:

This little city that I love is right on the ocean. I found this video on youtube and it made me sit here, grinning like a fool. Please, be kind to yourself and watch it; this is what life should be like.

Studio 54

2010-04-06T20:06:00.007-05:00

In a post a few days back I mentioned that I went to Studio 54. Several of you wondered what it was like. In one word... AMAZING.

I didn't go during the 70's when it was at its most popular. i went in the mid 80's. I didn't even know if we would get in because they hand picked lucky folks who waited outside the front door.

I remember there was a large crowd, everyone hoping to get picked so I was delighted when the muscular bouncer pointed at me and said "You. And your friends." Ohhhh yeahhhh!

We were all dressed up in our party clothes, mine a long, wide sleeved, low cut lame gold top over some tight tight Jordache jeans. That was the 'cool' style' back then. The closest I could find to give you an idea would be this, but tucked in at the waist and with long sleeves:

Today I would be laughed at but back then it was considered sexy to the Nth degree. Trust me on that.

There were little bars scattered here and there. The bartenders all looked like Chippendale dancers, the most gorgeous young men I have ever seen, shirtless wih a white collar and black bow tie, white cuffs at their wrists. The bars were semi circular and brightly lit.

We got to the dance floor. This was truly an old Studio, complete with cement bleachers facing a rather small dance floor. There were balconies surrounding the sides and one of them held a very special guest that night. You might have heard of him. His name is Mick Jagger.

Waiters dressed identical to the bartenders took our drink orders. As we waited for our drinks, I glanced to the left...there were folks sitting there cutting cocaine on a tray. To the right, same thing. in fact, there were drugs everywhere.

Directly behind the stage was a screen. It showed the dancers close up. I wasnt there very long when this guy asked me to dance and off I took, under brilliant, flashing lights, switching over to black lights, switching again to disco rainbow lights rotating around the floor. To each side was a bulky short cannon shooting off sponge pink hearts into the dancers. (I still have a few of those.)

The bathrooms were a real trip...black walls, cut crystal designs embedded into them. a real cloak lady who charged me a quarter for a pin because the top button of my blouse kept coming undone, and then asked me if she could please fasten it for me. (I told her 'NO!")

I cant remember what time the place closed, but I do remember that the sun was rising. I had danced and danced and danced...my ultimate dream evening.

Now, I must tell you, I loved going to NYC to dance and tho I will always treasure the time I spent at Studio 54, it wasn't the only place where I have gone. I also would go to Danceteria, (Madonnas hangout back then, and yes, I've seen her on stage there.)

But my all time favorite NYC hangout was The Ritz. Man, that place rocked.
(I saw Billy Idol perform there one time.)

Here is a clip I found on Youtube of Kiss performing at the Ritz:

It was a fun life. Yeas it was...

Random stuff

2010-04-05T17:23:00.006-05:00

These are just some random photos I thought I'd share with you. ~~because I'm too lazy to write a post.~~

This is a photo of one of my lizards in the process of shedding. It took me a while to figure out where its head was, but I finally figured out that it's 'top shot', looking down on the little adorable critter.

I just thought this was funny.

This is Sophie, my daughter's min pin, on a trip to Pet Smart. what can I say? I have new living room furniture and shes not spayed. I don't care how stupid she feels.

Okay, this is a photo of my (pissed) son and his gf/fiancee, taken Easter afternoon in my backyard. (His new haircut makes him look like my little boy again! awww..) He's pissed because we dragged him away from the wii so we could take his picture.

This is Kim, my d-i-l to be. Isn't she pretty?

This is just a random photo of a sponge heart that was shot out of a cannon on the dance floor of Studio 54, many many moons ago (proof that I REALLY was there:)

My daughter's bears from her childhood..aww..that polar bear has been thru a lot:

Okay, that's it for now.

Blessed Easter, Fabergé Eggs and the Romanovs

2010-04-04T09:42:00.011-05:00

Fabergé Imperial Easter Egg ＆The Romanov Family