Thursday, March 31, 2011

This Ain't My First Rodeo

This week, a friend who was in a bind asked me if I could watch her two little kids all day while she worked.  I said yes even though being a nanny is for the young at heart and younger at body.  However, I have a dishwasher on the fritz and a whole lot of grays needing some color.  Necessity is the Mutha of Hasty Decisions.

The girls and I got along great until the last hour.  The older of the Missies wanted to open a box that UPS delivered but I said she had to wait until her mom came home.  She wanted me to call her mom at work so she could ask her and I said "no".  A  fat, firm no.  That's when the wheels fell off the Toddler Bus.  She begged, she threatened, she faux wailed and she faux tantrumed but I didn't give in.  Maybe in my early days of parenting I might have, but I've gone thru three teenagers so not much rattles me.  Finally, she looked at me and said, "I hate babysitters named Kathy."

I'm not sure how many Kathys have watched her over the years and what they've done to her, but for a second there it almost felt like her bold dislike of all babysitters bearing that name was specifically directed at me.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The Skirt

I've worked a retail job for many years.  If you talk to anyone who has done this sort of thing for awhile, they will tell you that although the pay, hours and all that standing is a lousy way to make a buck, they love the job.  I couldn't explain to you why it has suited me for so long until I met Fannie.

Fannie came in the store and bought a skirt.  There are two kinds of women who shop for clothes.  There is the kind that don't like their bodies, will tell you everything they hate about it and love company on the misery train.  The other kind have come to terms with their physical flaws, have their own style and move through the day with far more grace.  I can spot the latter a mile away and that's who Fannie was. 

A few months after meeting her, Fannie came to the store again to get the skirt in a smaller size because she'd lost some weight.  I took down her info and told her I'd call her when the next order arrived but the skirt was sold before she could make it back.  On her second trip to the store and still no skirt, she put her head in her hands, started sobbing and told me her husband was dying of  cancer.  He loved that skirt on her and she wanted to be able to wear it to his funeral.  Since I had bought the skirt as well, I offered her mine.  If it fit, she was welcome to it and a few days later, I showed up at her door with the skirt in hand.

My plan was to ring the bell, wait five seconds and leave it on her porch because at that moment I began to think that this wasn't such a good idea.  She answered before I could run off, let me in, held up the skirt and sighed saying it was perfect for "the upcoming events".  She began to cry and so I said, "Things aren't good are they?"   She hugged me saying, "Oh, honey, things are very good because out of nowhere somebody shows up at my door with a skirt just when I needed it most."

Shortly after that visit, I read in the paper that her husband passed away.  I'm sure she looked lovely and that he was proud of this woman who loved him until he had to let go.  And what in the world was so special about this skirt?  The pattern on it was The Tree of Life and I learned a thing or two about that from a woman who wandered into the store on a day I happened to be working.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Seize The Day

Mallie Bee and I were discussing Tuesdays.  Worse than Mondays for both of us.  Here's a little jump start to that day that vexes us every week.  I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and doggone it, when I grow up I want to be like this kid............

Monday, March 28, 2011

The Grandmas

The first time my mom went to my dad's house she thought his family was rich because their house was so nice.  Not even close.  My grandpa was a mechanic for the city bus line.   My dad used to say that my mom's mom could make a ten course meal at the drop of her hat.  Not so, but she was able to pull things out of her fridge and put them in little serving dishes so that lunchtime looked like a tapas restaurant.

I have no idea how financially secure either one of them were but like most women of their generation, they had the ability to make something out of nothing.  A long time ago, that virtue was tossed aside so we could dive headfirst into consumption which doesn't seem to be giving anybody great results.

I keep pictures of both of my grandmas close by.  Like one, I love to decorate.  Like the other, I can make something little look like something big.  They left this earth many years ago but their spirits remain nearby, teaching me that making do has always been about making a life.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Count Your Blessings then Count Them Again

I stumbled on this and thought it was worth sharing.  Three minutes to change your perspective on everything............

Friday, March 25, 2011

Judge Not

I'm not saying I bought one of these at full price but I may have seen it deeply discounted at CVS awhile ago and it might have fallen into my cart.  Dr. Oz stated on his show yesterday that this product, without question, does not work to make your neck slimmer.  I can neither confirm or deny this but I am often mistaken for someone much, much younger (like 53 instead of 54).

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Lather, Rinse and Repeat Everyday

the desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul.  no matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something that did not exist before.  everyone can create.  you don't need money, position, or influence in order to create something of substance or beauty.  creation brings satisfaction and fulfillment.  we develop ourselves and others when we take organized matter into our hands and mold it into something of beauty.

dieter f uchtdorf

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Pay It Forward

My husband's very first Phd. grad student is currently on active duty in Afghanistan.  He has been in the reserves for years and is in his late 30s, married with a daughter.  He is a great guy and we worry about him over there.  He sends letters out through a mass list that are more informative of what's going on than anything you will read or hear on the news.  This part of his last email got to me.  It is something we should all do no matter where we are...........
I was walking down the road here and noticed a teen-aged Afghani kid walking along the trash bins with both arms full of stuff.  He was trying to open one, then another, as he passed along them.  Both arms filled with trash, he was having difficulties.  Several American Soldiers had passed him by with little notice.  I shouted to him and picked up my pace to a trot.  He looked a little concerned as I neared him…not sure what to expect from me – an American carrying a loaded weapon.  I stopped a few feet short of him and raised the lid on one of the trash containers.  His eyes lightened and he dumped his cargo, then he smiled at me, and raised his hand in a gesture of “hello and thanks”.  I nodded and raised my hand, returning the gesture.  Perhaps, just perhaps, this kid will remember this simple act of kindness if he is ever approached by the Taliban; perhaps he will think twice before being recruited for nefarious acts against the American Army.  One million simple acts of kindness that cost $0, will produce more good than a single act of generosity that costs $1 million…how do we get this point across to American Soldiers?   I have passed this kid many times over the past couple of weeks…every time he sees me, he smiles and waves, he remembers me…one more friend, and potentially one less enemy in this country.  Think of how you interact with the locals…every act on your part counts.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Spring Cleaning

Spring has made an appearance and with that, our annual cleaning of the garage.  Annual is exaggerating.  We clean it when you can't set foot in there.  I'm a clean freak.  Big Daddy....not so much.  He thinks this is a big waste of time but he's close to the season when he's gonna want to bike every stinkin' weekend and pretend he's a jock with his middle-aging friends.  That makes it necessary for him to put deposits in the chore account so he can wave sayonara without a speck of quilt.  And I do mean Without A Speck.

BD said first thing we had to do was empty the garage.  This took awhile.  With the weather being nice, every neighbor was out which meant they had to stop by and say, "Cleaning the garage, huh?  Wow, that's a lot of stuff."  This was true but you don't see us standing in their driveway saying, "Hey, how come you still have your Christmas lights up and dead plants in the window box?"  O.k. skip that last part since we may have a dead plant or two or dozen in various pots around the plantation.  When that parade of smart asses throwing turds at our pile of shit in the driveway moved on, the drive-bys in search of a garage sale started.  C'mon,, people, move along......nothing to see here, no dead bodies, just dead crap.

Next we started sweeping up dirt, leaves and a significant amount of rodent droppings.  BD said no worries, honey, they're long gone but I took precautions anyhow (like YELLING into dark corners to let Micky and Minnie know that I was in da howse).   We loaded a few bags of garbage and more bags of donations.  How many sleds does a family need when one kid has moved out, one is away at school and one is too busy to even think about it?  Not five.  We found a stuffed bear (what???), clay pots up the wazzoo, a screen to some window of which we don't know and a necklace I've been looking for (what??? x 2).

We patted ourselves on the back for getting it done and had a couple of beers to celebrate not being slobs anymore.  We're reformed garage hoarders and there wasn't so much as a chicken, rabbit or dead cat residing in there.  Pat ourselves, indeed, but it's best you not look in our basement just yet.  All in due time.   (Tick tock, BD, tick tock.)

Monday, March 21, 2011

They're Coming For Our Babies

You may remember an earlier post regarding my issue with squirrels.  The story below was recently in the news.   Let's not be deterred by PETA wingnuts or local gun laws banning automatic assault rifles.  This is war.  Read on:

Don't laugh, but a vicious squirrel has terrorized a Vermont neighborhood, attacking at least three residents and eluding wildlife control experts for more than a week.

The small gray squirrel in Bennington, Vt., has broken the peace that existed between humans and the small woodland creatures. In separate incidents, the pugnacious rodent has bitten and scratched neighbors without provocation, local station Fox 23 reported.

"[It] just latched on to my shoulder, and I went back and it's a gray squirrel," victim Kevin McDonald told the TV station.

McDonald was shoveling snow outside his home when the sneak attack began. "He was holding on. He wouldn't let go. I was finally able to get him off, and as soon as I got him off, he just jumped right at me again."   The feisty critter inflicted several scratches on McDonald last week.

A small woodland creature?  Ummm...that's Thumper and his little friends in Bambi.  These are thugs dangling from bird feeders like they own 'em and then fornicating in the front yard.  That's what we in the Heartland call a Yard Terrorist.

Happy spring Fur Face (FYI.....this is not for the lady working in the drive-up at the Burger King who needs to be introduced to Sally Hansen Wax Strips), your days are seriously numbered Yeah, I'm talking to you.

Friday, March 18, 2011

I'm a Thousandaire

I'm not sure and never really have been from the get-go, where I intended to go with this blog.  Ideally, a syndicated column or a book deal (with a really big advance like Danielle Steele gets so we can get a new paint job on the McMansion) but that's pie in the sky kind of thinking.  I'm just gonna keep plugging away and we shall see where the wind decides to blow.  But.......TODAY I TOPPED A THOUSAND HITS!!!  Why am I shouting?  Cuz that's about 999 more times that somebody read what I wrote in the last two months than before.  A biggety deal to me.  Thank you, thank you, thank you (with a mucho gracias and merci beaucoup to my followers in South America and France....I kid, I kid) for taking time to stop by and read my ramblings.  I'm doing the happy dance and dreaming about all things pie.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

A Car and A Crisis

Last nite, my friend and I were talking about the disaster in Japan.  She said, "Did you notice that there's no looting?"  I had and that people are standing in line for hours on end to find the basic supplies to live and nobody seems to be losing their temper.  Quite a difference from what we've seen in other places, especially our own country.

When I came home, my husband was watching the news with American journalists reporting on the crisis at the nuclear plant and what would happen if that occurred here.  Could our nuclear power plants stand up to an earthquake?  What are our safety precautions?  Would high winds near the plant in Japan cause an increase in radiation levels in this country?  California stores are selling out of iodine tablets for that very reason. 

I've watched footage of the tsunami over and over.  In one video, there's a little white car speeding along a distant road and as you're watching this wall of water move, you know that the people inside won't make it.  Each time, my heart races for that car and its occupants.

I live in a place known for tornadoes.  If you're on the coasts it could be hurricanes.  Out west it's wildfires.  None of us are immune from the wrath of Mother Nature but the people of Japan have been hit so hard with such devastating impact that it is impossible to imagine.  

Maybe our news stories should stay focused on the country in crisis and not our own.  Maybe we should sacrifice our iodine tablets for people we will never meet.  Maybe we've seen with our own eyes that Japan is a country full of little white cars in trouble, stoically trying to get to higher ground.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Temperature Control

A couple of years ago, our air conditioner went out and we replaced it with a heat pump. Cha. Ching. When it was installed, we also got a new digital thermostat. It was the Mercedes of thermostats and I guess I should have been impressed but I could care less about that kind of stuff.

Two and a half years later on a dang cold, Friday night, our Mercedes didn't seem to be working right. The temp went up to 70 at night and dropped to 64 during the day. I got out the trusty manual, read all 27 pages and checked the breaker. Big Daddy got involved which meant banging on it, giving it the finger and then walking away and saying, "Don't worry about it." I wasn't worried so much as I was freezing my ass off.

On Sunday, I called Honeywell Customer Service and they walked me through some steps with no results. Finally, the rep said, "Your thermostat has likely become touch sensitive. You need a new one."  Huh?  She told me that if you touch it too much it reverts to and locks into a program even though you didn't schedule it. I've worked customer service type jobs for most of my life so I know that being a smart ass is not helpful in resolving a problem's a frickin' thermostat.  Its sole purpose is to be adjusted up and down to maintain comfort. 

On Monday I called our repairman, they installed a new one and Can I Hear An Amen, it was still under warranty. Now we've got a new Mercedes and I touch it far less and very, very lightly so as to not disturb the delicate, nervous, high-strung, prozaced, sensitive nature of it. If it has to be replaced again, it'll be on us.

I think I was Amish in another life.  A dial to turn right or left would suit me just fine.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

The Youtube Queen

Our youngest, Mallie Bee, is the youtube queen and newest, unpaid consultant for A Speckled Trout.  She knows every funny, outrageous video on the web and can often be heard in the computer room giggling away.  This one cracks her up every single time.  I like her to play it just so I can hear her laugh.  Raise your hand if you like clowns.  That's what I thought.  Enjoy...

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Spring Forward

This was the weekend we got to spring forward and set our clocks an hour ahead to gain an extra hour of sunlight.  I'm what you'd call a low achiever.  Falling behind is what I've done my whole life.

According to the new time I went to sleep and woke eight hours later.  Why then did it feel like I was hit with a baseball bat all day long?  I drank cup after cup of coffee.  Then I ate the rest of the day but was confused about whether to eat breakfast food (yes if you're going by old time) or lunch (no if you're going by new time) so I stuck with  chips and salsa.  I ran an errand that seemed to take awhile but not according to the clock in the car.  Five miles later when I returned home, an hour had passed.  We ate dinner at 8:00 (7:00 if you're going by old time) and finished in time to get ready for bed at 9:00 (8:00 if you're going by old time).  It felt too early to go to sleep so I laid in bed for a couple of hours and finally got up at midnight (still Sunday and 11:00 if you're going by old time).

This was the weekend we got to spring forward to gain an extra hour of sunlight.  The forecast is for 3" of snow allowing us to frolic in the wintry mix past dinner.  It's been a long winter and I'm not in the mood to look at more snow in the extra light of day.  Maybe in a couple of weeks, if I work really hard at it, I'll get the hang of this new time/old time thing.

Sadly, my status as a low achiever remains intact.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Sex, Toys & College Credit

"It is probably something I'll remember for the rest of my life. I can't say that about my Econ 202 class."

-student who witnessed a mechanical device demonstrated in a human sexuality class

By now you've probably heard of the Human Sexuality professor at Northwestern University who had an after-class, live demonstration of a sex toy that drew quite a crowd.  In his defense, he told his students that the demonstration would be very graphic and not for everyone.  Well, no shit, Sherlock.

I've been thinking about going back to school but this has me reconsidering that idea.  What if the participants were chosen at random?  What if the old people who were returning to campus life to finish some credit hours were the ones picked to show how sex toys work?  Would anybody show up?  Would I care?

Ummm....yeah I would.  Nobody likes to give a party and have it be a dud even if all you have to show your guests is saggy ta-tas and a hail damaged ass.  Thru the years, I've learned that being a good hostess requires plenty of food and beverages.  Including a sexual device is something I hadn't thought of before but why not add it to the kegs and foot long subs.

The fact that Grandma's in the house and needs to earn some extra credit will barely be noticeable.  Right?

Thursday, March 10, 2011

They're Baaack

This week marks the return of The Housewives of Orange County.  The original reality show that led to Bravo finding similar housewives in NY, New Jersey, Washington D.C., Atlanta and soon Miami.

The Orange County Housewives are my favorite.  The other nite while my husband was watching the news,  I tiptoed up the the stairs to watch a little PBS, CNN, Charlie Sheen, heaping pile of crap to relax.  So what's the appeal?  Here's my analysis:

They've got as much in common with housewives as I do with the Dallas Cheerleaders.

They love breast implants, botox, collagened glossy lips, big jewelry, expensive cars and their equally shallow boyfriends/husbands.

They're sluts when they drink and they drink all the time.

They live for drama.  They create it, fake it, love it, deny it.

Best of all, though, they can't friggin' stand each other.  They go out for dinner, go to each others "charity" events and act supportive when one of them is having a problem (like their implants are a C cup instead of a D).  But truth be told, they'd throw each other under the bus in an LA minute.  They're catty, bitchy and nasty to each other.  Is this entertainment?  Is this how real women behave?

Hell to the no but I sure would like to be them for a day.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Teacher Girl

My daughter is a first year 5th grade math teacher.  It is not unusual for her to call me and be upset.  In fact, at the end of most of her days she cries.  She teaches at a school in a neighborhood that most of us would never go in.  Ninety kids move through her room in the course of a day.  Ninety kids.

She has not quit.  Yet.

The toll this year has taken on her can't be measured.  At the end, about the best you'll be able to say is that she survived and that's not a stellar way to start a career.  To watch her struggle like this is a daily kick in my gut as all I can offer is a sympathetic ear and that's not much help.

She has a school phone and her students can call her until 9:00 p.m. for homework help.  They call her thru the nite and I have listened many times to her talk to them.  She walks them through the problem and helps them make sense of it.  She praises them when they figure it out.  She tells them how proud she was of their class behavior or that she expects better the next day.  She never loses patience with them even when she's been at it for more than twelve hours.

She's exhausted.  She's frustrated.  She's burnt out.

In light of the events in Wisconsin, it has become popular among some people to criticize teachers, their easy schedule, the union who protects them and the perception that they're breaking the bank with their salaries and pensions.  How many of us spend our days motivating and teaching a group of people whose various personal issues include ADD, ADHD, autism, biopolar disorder, asperger's, anger control and emotional disorders, sleep deprivation or hunger?  Times ninety.

There's a reason teachers have the summer off.  If they didn't they'd likely never return to do it all over again.


If my husband sees a a squirrel at one of his bird feeders or in his vegetable garden, he'll yell, "Son of a bitch," and go tearing after it. When he comes back he tells me he how much he hates those furry little bastards. I thought his obsession with them was over the top and I've told him so, but they eat his bird seed and tomatoes and he's out for revenge. One summer he trapped 'em and drove 'em out of town to reside in a new zip code. Like every single day.

I took the car in for some routine maintenance and when they lifted the air filter it was full of acorns. Seems those furry little bastards like the engine of my car when they're cold. Tough shit, ya freeloaders. I'm not going to let that happen so I've teamed up with my husband. You could say we're a NATO force in the War on Squirrels.

If those furry little bastards were nervous around my husband wait until I get a hold of them. Sarah Palin may have coined the "Grizzly Mama" term (and believe me, I hate to give her credit for anything but being a gold digger) but I'm going to show him how it's done.

My old man make look crazy when he's out there screaming at those furry little bastards. I am crazy.

Monday, March 7, 2011


In years past, I've kind of dreaded my birthday. Not because I hate the thought of getting older but because it's a forced happy day and those seem so forced. Family and friends ask, "How are you celebrating?" Well, the birthday mom does the mom thing all day and sometimes that includes baking her own cake. 

The last few years, however, have been different. I've had lovely birthdays and not because they've changed but because I have. Four years ago at this time, I went to a friend's funeral. She was smart, kind, funny, deeply spiritual and deeply missed. Last year, Rhonda got breast cancer and went through more surgeries than seem possible. Another friend's husband has a brain tumor. My cousin just buried his wife. One of my husband's former students is stationed in Afghanistan. There are so many people I know who are struggling that when I close my eyes I don't know who to pray for first.

I am very aware of how fast things can change and how fragile normal is. I'm happy, healthy and here to celebrate.  Lucky, lucky me.

Friday, March 4, 2011

The One That Got Away

It's Friday and that's always a day for risky behavior. I will seriously regret posting this but I'm gonna hit publish anyhow.

We needed some ink cartridges for our computer and so the boy-child and I went to Target. He was walking ahead of me and as I rounded the corner into the aisle, I farted. Let me emphasize that with italics because I like using them. I farted in Tarjay. The Neiman Marcus for those of us born without a trust fund. No. Warning. Whatsoever. Say all you want about the 50s being the new 40s, but back then I knew when a fart was coming and could do something about it.

I said, "Excuse me," because with the exception of a rogue fart, I have impeccable manners. The boy-child turned around and said, "Did you just fart?" That's when we both lost it. Like on the floor lost it. Crying, shaking, can't talk lost it. Almost peed in my pants lost it. When he could talk he said, "I can't believe you just farted in Target."

Neither could I and maybe it's our DNA that gives us the mental maturity of an eight year old boy who loves a good fart. I would have loved it more if it was him instead of me but bonding has a way of sneaking up on you.

Whenever the two of us are out and about he never fails to say, "Hey, Mom, remember that time you farted in Target" (like I could forget that)? Then we laugh like the immature, little dorks that we are.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Are Ya Gonna Cry?

When Hillary Clinton was running for president, there was all kinds of discussion about whether or not the country was ready for a female president. Then she got choked up at a meet and greet and all bets were off. The criticism was unrelenting because she dared get emotional when she was explaining that she cared about the country and the direction it was going which was why she was running. It never mattered that she composed herself quickly and finished speaking in a thoughtful and intelligent way. She cried. End of Story.

This year we've got a new Speaker of the House and the first thing the guy does is cry. Not choked up, not overcome with emotion but face contorting all-out bawling. Is he up for the job? Probably, but why is it that when a woman in the public eye shows the least amount of emotion she is psychoanalyzed like she's one step from the sanitarium and this guy gets a pass over and over?

If you've ever spent much time with a toddler, you know they can easily go off the deep end and the fact that they don't have a command of language makes trying to figure out the problem a crapshoot. "Tell me what's wrong? Did you hurt yourself? Show me where it hurts. Did your sister hit you? YOU BETTER NOT HAVE HIT HIM AGAIN! Are you hungry? Hungry? Should we change you? Huh, Mama change you?"

On and on it goes until you figure out he broke a crayon and then you're thinking, "Oh for chrissakes. That's what you've been crying about?" Toddler gets Pissed Off Mom until nap time because you've just invested all the energy you had for the day and it's only 8:30.

When this guy started crying that's how I felt. I came running to the t.v. for this? I can't even understand what you're saying. Oh, you worked in the family bar from the time you were in high school? I worked at the Dairy Queen. Good family? Oh, me too, except for the dad who made us pick up sticks before he mowed the lawn. Every. Stinkin'. Stick. Every. Stinkin'. Saturday. Ya want something to cry about? Imagine your future as a professional stick picker upper . That was what my childhood was like.

This dude's in for some very nasty weather so if he's gonna swing a big gavel, he better learn to Nancy Up.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


There is no saying that makes me crazier than when someone remarks, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” I find it so lacking in spiritual empathy and warmth that it seems more like a pat on the head. I understand that people are trying to be helpful while saying it, but it seems to me that it puts a burden on the grieving to snap out of it because God just wouldn't dish you a crappy hand unless he was sure you could take it. Are tragic events and devastating health crises doled out based on your perceived backbone and fortitude? I'd like to think not.

My dad’s brother, Paul, married Sheila after a long courtship and shortly after, she became pregnant with twins. While driving home from a movie one night, they were hit head-on by a drunk driver who crossed the center line and slammed into them. Sheila was seven months along at the time and went into labor. Their twin girls were born but did not live more than a few hours and all the anticipation of welcoming those babies was over and done in a single night. Instead of soon-to-be parents picking out cribs and bedding, they were picking out caskets and burial plots. A year and a half later, Kerri was born followed by her brothers, Matt and Jason. On Thanksgiving day of 1983, their family came to my parents' house to celebrate and the following day Kerri went into cardiac arrest. She could not be stabilized and was moved to intensive care at Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago. She would never leave the hospital and died in February at the age of 14.

What caused her to have such critical heart issues at such a young age could never be determined while she was alive, but an autopsy revealed that she had Freidrichs Itaxia – a rare congenital defect that attacks the muscles surrounding the heart. With that knowledge in hand, her brothers were tested for the disease and Jason was found to have it as well. He was given a heart transplant but the very drugs he took to prevent rejection of his new heart caused cancer. He died at the age of 19 and for the third time they were in a funeral home picking out a casket for a child.

The marriage between my uncle and Sheila did not survive after Kerri's death and both of them dealt with crippling depression. Sheila's would result in hospitalization, alcoholism and shock treatments. The years dulled the anger between the two of them and though they couldn't be married to each other, they remained friends. Through it all, Sheila was the family photographer and all of us have countless photos from her with the date, event and subjects clearly marked on the back.

Now the unofficial memory keeper for our family is losing her own memory to Alzheimers. She still seems to know who my mom is (or maybe she's been well-coached) but the name of her only living child who has become her caretaker sometimes escapes her and surely these latest circumstances must make even God weep.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Sign

I was on Craigslist yesterday looking for a paying (key word) job when the computer screen went blankety blank. After fooling around with it for awhile and calling Big Daddy, I got back on to continue the search.

That's when I found this:


I know all about that job. I see those poor souls out there in all kinds of weather dressed in a goofy costume looking for the IRS challenged. Job description: Someone who likes to be outside (even when the tornado sirens are going off), can start ASAP (cuz employee # 47 walked off yesterday) and a salary of $7.50 per hour (because we value your talents).

Don't you think it's odd that in the middle of my job search the computer went dark? Kawinky dink or a sign from above?

I'm gonna pass on the energetic waving position because I believe God was trying to send me a message to hold still for the time being. I also know that I would chase down anyone who made fun of me dressed like Lady Liberty and seriously beat them with my foam torch.