Thursday, October 27, 2011


In a season of enormous wheel spinning, nights laying awake asking God to give me a sign (BIG please, as I always ignore the small ones), and general hand-wringing, I seem to have wandered off my path.  From the time I was 16, I have earned money.  Since January, I have made very little money, and therefore, not contributed much to paying the bills around here.  Do I stick with writing and hope it takes off?  What exactly do I mean by "take off"?  I can't even answer that, but I can say that most of the time I am proud of what I've written here.

I was reading a blog at 2:00 in the morning that has almost 800 followers.  I went back to the beginning and read and read and read.  The writer profusely thanked all twelve of her followers, especially her sister who put the squeeze on her friends to join.  Two years later, those 12 became 800.  She did not quit.  She did not throw in the towel. She did not stop writing.

This week, I picked up two more followers, and today reached 10,000 hits since I started.  To those two people who signed up this week, and the 10,000 who stopped in along the way, (plus a sister, friend and husband who put the squeeze on everyone they knew to take a look) you have made me cry and I am not a crier.

You are my sign.

Source: via Hannah on Pinterest

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Fitness 101

I need to lose 10#.  I need to do something about losing those 10#, besides walking a twelve year old dog every morning.  I came across a fitness routine that I thought I could commit to on a daily basis.  It consists of:

50 jumping jacks
5 pushups
20 situps
20 mountain climbers
30 second plank
7 burpees

Repeat two times.

Well, that I could do.  That I could commit to.  That was going to lose me 10#.  Day one went pretty good, and my heart was beating like a rabbit.  I must have lost a pound or three by the time I got to the plank.

Day two.  Those jumping jacks were easy peasy when I was ten, but 50 times 2 at 54 is no walk in the park.  Which is what I should have been doing real slow with my old dog.  By #20 I decided to close my eyes and Just. Do. It.  Cuz I'm an athlete now.  I Jumping Jacked and kept counting, except in my darkened state, I was careening all over the bedroom like I'd knocked back a 5th of Jack instead of jumped one.  First I ran into the bed, then I brushed up against the door.  I went in reverse with the peeperless Jacks, and ran into the vacuum cleaner that is out every day except Christmas.

I kept at the Blind Jacking until I reached #50, then went back for round two.  Have I been sore?  You betcha, as a half-term, former Alaskan governor would say.   I'm determined to get fit and trim, but all this exercising sometimes causes me to get the Low Sugars.  I'll tell you, when that happens.......I could swear I can see Russia from my window.

Source: None via Sid on Pinterest

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Taking It To The Streets

Mallie Bee turned 17 in July.  Mallie Bee should be driving by now, but because of a lack of ambition on the part of her and her parents, she is not.  She wants that to change.  Now.

We started lessons this summer in the parking lot of a nearby church.  All the Fisher kids have started in this parking lot.  I am good with parking lots.  The road?  Not so much.  The road is where my Anxiety Disorder shifts into high gear.

Merge anxiety.  Drivers backing into me anxiety.  Big intersection anxiety.  Chemical spills on the road anxiety.  That one I've never personally had any involvement in, but I've read about them.  Things in the road that may cause me to swerve into oncoming traffic anxiety.  That's never happened to me either, but it could.  Blind spots and blinding sun anxiety.  I am the Old Country Buffet of behind-the-wheel anxieties.

I took The Beester on a little neighborhood drive and proceeded to clutch the passenger door and slam on pretend brakes.  I made her a nervous wreck because I Am A Head Case.   After Fright Night brought to you by Neurotic Mom, I told The Big Daddy that this is now his job.  I am incapable of doing it and not turning her into a young version of myself.

That the world does not need.

Monday, October 24, 2011

The Rules

The Big Daddy and I were eating at the local burger joint when I started telling him about walking the dog that morning.  Oh, I'm a fascinating conversationalist, for sure.  Seventeen years, I've walked two different dogs through the park and in the hood.  I see the same people every day, and we give a little wave, a good morning and keep moving.  All of a sudden these days, we have non-regulars in the park with their dogs unleashed running around getting their freedom on.  Which is what happened to Henry and I the other day, when the owner said "Don't worry, he's friendly."  

The Big Daddy said I can top that.  This parent parked their friggin SUV directly in front of the door at the dance studio waiting for their Little Primadona to come out, causing every car to have to maneuver around them to get their kid and get out. 

The world is one big Idiot Parade right outside the door I told The Big Daddy, so we ordered another round and decided to take a cue from the dog world next time we encounter somebody who thinks the rules don't apply to them.  We'll give 'em a good butt sniffing, and tell them not to worry cuz were friendly.   But that might have been the beer talking.

Source: None via Keisha on Pinterest

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Taking Stock

The Big Daddy starts out the day watching CNBC.  Or as he calls it, CNBS.  He was yelling at the t.v. more than usual on a lovely fall morning, disrupting my face time with Matt Lauer on the other t.v.

After dropping multiple Eff Bombs, I asked him what had him so fired up.  "I'll tell you what's wrong.  The question of the day is.......If you could only pick one stock to take with you in the afterlife, what would it be?  Facebook or tweet your answer.  Now what kind of dumbass question is that?"   Pssssst, Big Daddy, you're one of those 99%ers.  They're not even talking to you. 

But I did have to agree with him.  Those morons on CNBS must have had one slow news day to come up with that one.  What they should have been asking is.............What morning news anchor would you take with you in the afterlife?

Source: via Jenn on Pinterest
Newest assistants to A Speckled Trout.  Frank & Pip.................

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.
                                                                                   -Elizabeth Lawrence

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Process

I have read that to be a successful writer, you must pay attention to the world around you so that you can write with detail and accuracy.  I have taken this advice to heart and make it a point to start my day observing nature and my neighborhood on a daily walk with the dog.  It is while walking that I think about improving what I have been writing or find inspiration for a new subject.

Mornings have always been the best time for me to write, as these things are easier when one is fresh.  Not to compare the two, but it also happens to be the time of day that I schedule mammograms, root canals and colonoscopies.  After walking and making a writing plan, I eat breakfast; throw some laundry in the washing machine and get down to business.  I turn on the computer but first must check my email, current news, bank account, faux jobs on Craigslist, and a dress on Ebay.  After that, I am ready to begin the writing process.  I can’t remember if I put the toaster away and so I head to the kitchen to take care of that and the phone rings.  It’s my sister and it takes us an hour to discuss emails, news, bank accounts, the dress I want on Ebay and the shoes she loves on Zappos.   When the conversation ends I return to the job at hand.  I head back upstairs and the first order of business is to pick out a font and letter size that is compatible with my subject.  This takes time and some test runs before I delve into my writing.   A woodpecker is tapping on the side of the house and interrupts the flow of my first sentence and I am distracted.  I remember that I didn’t take my calcium and the women in my family have a long history of osteoporosis and this is nothing to fool around with so I head to the kitchen.  I need to eat something as well since calcium can be hard on the stomach and I don’t want to feel poorly while I am writing.  A handful of granola and a banana suddenly trigger a burst of creativity and I run upstairs with a purpose to this writing business.  I can barely type as fast as my mind is racing with sentences.  When my surge is over, I read what I’ve written so far.  I read it again and then one more time for confirmation.  Sheesh, I'm not much of a writer.

I knew I should have been a nurse.  My mom told me that was a stable income, but I didn’t listen.  Well, I listened, but The Big Daddy said I nurse like Miss Ratchett from “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest” and it would be best if I let someone who was more suited to that work fulfill their dream.  I head out to the porch and pray that the Writing Gods will descend upon me and spark my imagination.  They seem to always be tending to Stephen King and Danielle Steele, and so I trudge back upstairs to the scene of the crime. Staring at me, mocking me is a cursor that seems to be blinking, “You suck” over and over.  I begin again, add, delete and use a thesaurus too many times for 500 lousy words.   I read over this version and it seems less crappy, or maybe I’ve lost the ability to discern crap from brilliance.

Lunchtime arrives and it’s time to throw in the towel on this writing day and move on to other things.  I have spent the entire morning thinking about writing, minutes actually doing it, and far too much time beating myself up over it than is mentally healthy.  If I am very, very lucky, though, I will wade through it all tomorrow and find one sweetly crafted sentence that will cause my little beating heart to go pitter-patter, and after coffee, a load of laundry, a phone call or two, a bid on a dress, 500mg of calcium and a wayward woodpecker, I will sit down and do it all over again.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Saturday Mornings

We moved to Maryland when Teacher Girl was a mere Baby Teacher Girl.  The Big Daddy got a job and we moved from Illinois when our wee, little one was just a few weeks old.  We were a new family, and as such, The Big Daddy thought that he and his baby girl should bond.  Every Saturday morning, he would sit with her next to him and turn on the t.v. to see this.....

Her little head would be hanging all crooked, while The Big Daddy cracked up at Pee Wee and Miss Yvonne.  I'd tell him to straighten her head up, and he'd prop her up until she tipped over again.

Since Day One, we've made up this parenting thing as we went.  Sometimes with spectacular results, but often with incredible fails.  Always, though, the ability to shake it off, move ahead, and respect the Pee Wee.   

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Getting The Goods: Part Two

I hit my friendly thrift store to see what great vintage goods I could find and it did not disappoint.  Burgundy candle holders, $2.99.  Not old, but great for the holidays.  Small cloche, $2.99.  Good for putting a wee, little feather Christmas tree under.  Two small vintage plates, $1.99.  Just plain good.  Two strawberry serving pieces, $2.99.  Thinking ahead, great for next summer.

All told, I was pretty pleased with myself, and brought everything home to clean up.  Burgundy candle holders.  Original price tag still on under thrift store tag, $.99.  Ripped off for $2.00.  Times two.  Small cloche.  Couldn't get the adhesive off so I sprayed it with Goo Gone.  Left a film that won't come off.  Looks like the feather tree is in foggy weather.  Strawberry serving pieces.  Realized they were part of a set.  Left the rest of the set on the shelf.

Painted a wood cabinet I scored at a flea market for $2.00.  Used an "oops" paint from Wal-Mart that was half off the regular price.  Put three coats on.  Hated it.  Loathed it.  Wanted it out of my driveway.  Put it on the curb with a free sign.  No takers.  Looked at the receipt from Wal-Mart.  Charged full-price for the paint.  Oops.  Gave up.  Weekend over.

Sometimes you get a great deal, and sometimes you don't.  Sometimes you need to walk away, and sometimes you need to just light a match.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Getting the Goods: Part One

Nancy and I are now in the full-fledged vintage business, with a rented space and sales twice a month.  With this new space comes the pressure to change it up, keep it fresh, and add new merchandise.  And to be on the hunt all the time.

I hit some sales over the weekend with a big 'ol dollar in my pocket.  Un huh, real business like.  I was on my way to Wal-Mart when the signs started calling me......stop here, good stuff, cheap.  1st stop was a garage sale with vintage Boy Scout stuff.  Sniff, sniff, give me a boogie wipe.....I think I hit Vintage LottoWith a dollar.  I did some batting of my non-mascared eyes, and I no longer have eyebrows so that didn't work out for me like it did back in the day.  Oh please, oh please can you hold these for me while I go get some money, I pleaded.  Mr. Old Codger said it's been his experience that people who want you to hold stuff never come back for it unless you have something of theirs.  How 'bout you give me your wedding ring?   For some Boy Scout patches?  You've got to be kidding me.   We settled on some mints I dug out of my purse.  New in package, never been opened.  The mints were in mint condition.

I was on my way back from the ATM when I came across an estate sale.  The dearly deceased loved dolls.  Thousands and thousands of dolls.  On shelves, in boxes, in the closet, on the beds, lining the windowsills.  I've never been watched so intently by inanimate objects in my life.  And. It. Creeped. Me. Out.  I ran into a friend and after a few minutes of chatting, told her I had to get out of there.  Psssst.......these dolls are listening to everything we say.

I made it back to the Hostage Mint Taker and got my bootie.   It's rough out there, and without a wad of small bills, you either have a pile of vintage or a pile of disappointment.  When the stars do align?  Oh, happy day.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

The Doctor

When The Big Daddy and I got married, he was a graduate student and I was a loan processor for the local bank.  Four years into said marriage, The Big Daddy received the Big Diploma.

From that point on, he became an expert on everything.  On and on he'd spout about any subject, until one time he got up into my business one too many times with his pontificating.  So I said, "Ever since you got that degree you think you know everything.  You're being a real asshole." 

To which he replied, "That's Dr. Asshole."

Up until that point, I could throw him a snark bomb, and he'd kind of kick it around and not do much about it.  This time, he pulled the pin and lobbed it right back at me.  The Man had definitely graduated.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

The Week In Pictures

Oh, I've been in a real funk lately.  I just can't put my finger on what's wrong.

I got to thinking about those years of dating The Big Daddy.  Those were real special.  Why, we were like two peas in a knitted pod.

Seems like the romance and the conditioner had gone out of our marriage once Sissy.....or is that Junior.......came along.
Source: awkward

I wondered who I should call about this problem, and then it came to me.

They said we needed exorcise the Fat Ghosts, and The Big Daddy got right to work on working out.  Lord have mercy, when he put those weights down and came up from the basement, I about had a heart attack.

Well, I needed to spend a date night with that hunk-a-burnin-love.  He loves when I put my hair up, so I gave it a zip and put a fancy dress on.

And The Big Daddy got extra handsome, too.

We went on our date and it was as special as could be.  You could say it was magical.

Since then, The Big Daddy and I have been inseparable.  A little older, but still like peas in some kind of wrinkled, hail-damaged, sagging pod.

Source: via

Once in a great while, this boy tries to sneak into my dreams, and I say, "Ben Whofleck, you go home to that pregnant wife of yours................

I don't need you showing up here.  Why, I'm married to Eye Candy." 

And we were so happy for so long until the warrants came-a-knocking.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Hob Lob

I am a crafter, sewer, hot gun gluer, spray painter, framer, scrapbooker, creative person.  If that's how you roll and Hobby Lobby happens to be ten minutes away, you could find yourself there at least twice a week.

I loathe The Hob Lob. 

Much as I've frequented the place over the years, I've never had a single employee acknowledge me.  Not, "Oh back again.  What did you forget?  New project in the works?"  Nothing.  Not one word.  Debit or credit, and do not question if we forgot to give you 50% off on that frame.  We don't do that.  Ever.  Hey, have you guys ever heard of a scanner?  It's this thing that beeps and automatically charges the sale price.  You should give it some thought since they've only been around about 40 years.  All the while, the faint tinkling of a piano playing "Jesus Loves The Little Children" is playing on the loudspeaker because they're a Christian company, don't you know?  That's why they're not open on Sunday.  For worship.

I can understand why you would need to take a day off when you bulk sell Christianity.  Considering that the majority of Hob Lob's merchandise is mass-produced products from China, including the Christmas trees that come out in July to celebrate His birth, the 7th day must be a much needed opportunity to cleanse the tainted, commercialized soul.

Source: via Shay on Pinterest

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

It's Baaaaaaaaack

What Employee Open Enrollment looks like for your 2012 health benefits..........

What Employee Open Enrollment sounds like for your 2012 health benefits.............

Monday, October 10, 2011

Showing Off

Every year our hood has a block party, and the neighbors gather to share food, conversation, and brewskis.  It's an opportunity to get to know everyone better, and inevitably, the topic of home improvement comes up.

The womenfolk lean toward home decor.  It's how I always lean, so I am more than happy to join in any discussion regarding furniture, bedding or paint.  At a block party several years ago, I was telling some neighbors that I was in the midst of striping the walls in our bedroom.  Oh my, they were excited and could they see how it was coming out.  Well, it's a mess in there.  I'm halfway done.  We know how that goes, they said, and we don't mind one bit.   Well, it's just that the whole room is torn apart and I'd rather you see it when it's done.  No, no, no don't worry about that.  Well, o.k., but give me a few minutes to pick some stuff up.  And by a few minutes I meant a day and a half.

I ran up the street and into the house, and geez, it smelled funky in there, but I was frantically picking up the living room and hiding toys and clothes and throwing dishes in the sink when they knocked on the door.    I hadn't even made it to our bedroom to pick up and what is that smell???  I took them upstairs, turned some lights on and started telling them the process of striping the walls.  And the smell was definitely worse up there.  Then, as if a beacon was shining upon it, all at once the eyes of three women landed on the pile of dog shit in the bedroom.  Oh, geez, oh gosh, oh I'm sorry, oh that dammed dog, oh let me clean it up and I'll finish explaining what I'm doing.

But it was too late.  My budding career as the newest design talent on the block was forever and always a victim of turds.

Sunday, October 9, 2011


The Big Daddy has some issues with his hearing.   Too much rock and roll is what he says in his faux Brit accent.  Then he pretends to brush the hair off his face like Ozzy Osbourne, and oh, how cute.

Except it's not.  It is irritating the crap out of me.  Every thing you say to him, he responds with "WHAAAAAAAAAT????  I can't hear you you're mumbling."  Or looking right at you and speaking.  I was on the phone talking to my sister, and he's upstairs yelling, "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?"  I yelled back, "I'M ON THE PHONE.  I'M NOT EVEN TALKING TO YOU!!!!!"  Oh, he says, I thought you asked me something.  You are making me crazy in a bat-shit kind of way.

After a weekend of us screaming back and forth, I decided to slow down and enunciate every word so The BD would have a better chance of hearing it the first time.  So I yelled down the stairs.  "COULD    YOU   TAKE    THE    BUNS    OUT    OF    THE    FREEZER?"

And he said, "TAKE THE FUN OUT OF WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?"   Oh nothing, just my life.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.

- John Donne

Thursday, October 6, 2011

The Tree

When we moved to the Kansas City area, it didn't take long to figure out that we might be able to afford a house.  Coming from the outskirts of D.C. this was a crazy concept, but we crunched the numbers and started our search.

We'd go all over the area on Sunday afternoons, and nearly always end up in an argument.  I liked older homes.  The Big Daddy liked the newer neighborhoods.  Once we looked at a new house that had the kitchen on the second floor, and I asked if I really was supposed to haul four gallons of milk and all the groceries up the stairs every week when I came home from shopping.  We looked at older homes and The Big Daddy said they smelled like somebody died in there and they buried the body in the basement. 

One day, I was reading the classifieds and saw a house with four bedrooms in our price range.  As in low.  We drove over and walked through, and when we were upstairs, I looked at BD and said, "I love this house.  I crazy love this house."  And he said, "I think I do, too."  We knew nothing about the area and asked the single woman selling the house if the schools were good.  She said yes and we took her word for it.

The day we looked at the house was in October.  This was in the front yard.

I have nineteen years of pictures of that tree.  Every year I tell the kids that this is the best color our tree has ever had, and they sigh very deeply and say, "Mom, seriously, you say that every year."   

I know, but did I ever tell you about the day that Dad and I took you guys to that open house?   Did I tell you that when we saw that tree we knew this was exactly where we wanted you to grow up?

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Split Seconds

I peruse a few other blogs on a regular basis.  Mostly, they are decorating blogs that I check out for ideas for the sales that Nancy and I have.  There's one I read every day.  How this woman manages to refurbish furniture, stock a space to sell her stuff, photograph it, and then write about it every day escapes me.  But she does, and I read it religiously.

A couple of weeks ago, she asked her readers to keep in their thoughts and prayers the son of another blogger who died in a flash flood in Virginia.  That I found this blog at the worst moment of this mother's life has changed how I look at everything since.

She has written about the events of that night and the aftermath in one heartbreaking sentence after another.  Her latest post describes in detail the accident that took her son.  When our daughter was thirteen, we had an incident with our creek, a head injury, police, multiple fire trucks with ladders going down to get her, a seizure that thank God I didn't have to witness, neighbors coming from everywhere to see what was going on, a ride in an ambulance - her on a stretcher in the back and me in the front, where she was asked if she knew where she was when she started coming to.  An ambulance, say an ambulance.  As if she had any point of reference for that.

I made the decision to let the kids play in the creek just to get them out of the house on Day #2 of canceled school, and like a thousand thoughts you have as a parent, it occurred to me at one point that maybe it was time to bring them inside.  Not even five minutes later, one of the kids in the neighborhood was knocking on the door telling me that Maggie fell and wouldn't open her eyes.

I ran.  Ran to her.  Ran back to the house to call 9-1-1, ran back to her with a blanket, climbed up the sides of the creek so the fire department knew where we were, climbed back down to her when they came, climbed back up to talk to the paramedics.  Sat in the ambulance going so goddamn slow because of the icy roads that I wanted to scream.  She was more coherent by the time we got to the hospital and escaped with a concussion and frostbite on a couple of her toes.  I don't think I ever escaped what happened that day, but we were lucky.  So, so lucky that the next day she was fine, we were fine, we were still five.

If you've forgotten for a day how fragile life can be, read this.  If you are a parent, you will see yourself in virtually every moment she recounts, and how a series of seemingly harmless events and decisions can change everything in your life.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

The Brats Incident

From the archives of The Big Daddy Bad Behavior file.................

When the chillens were little, we would take them to the pumpkin patch.  At the time, we lived in Maryland, and so we drove out yonder to the farm for some good ol' fall fun.  When we arrived at said Pumpkin Patch, the aroma of brats on the grill was the first thing you smelled when you got out of the car.  "Oh geez," the Big Daddy said, "Those brats smell good."  We can't have brats, we didn't bring that much money (this was way before the handy-dandy debit card came to be).  "Not enough for brats?"  No extra money for brats, just pumpkins.  "I love brats.  You mean there's no extra cash for any food?"  Well, it's not like we'd have to get a brat, we'd have to get four brats and then we'd have no money for pumpkins.   Suddenly, Sunday Funday had turned into a bitch for The BD.

The kids jumped like little monkeys on the hay bales, and played with all the other kids.  At one point, we went into the corn maze and went left and right and all about trying to find the way out.  Oh, such fun, but I didn't see The Big Daddy.  He must have been way behind us.  When the kids and I emerged, the very first thing I saw, crouched down near the hay bales was The Big Daddy stuffing a brat into his mouth.

As soon as my eyes landed on him, I marched over and said, "Oh you couldn't think of the whole family having fun, you just had to get a brat, didn't you?"  He said he couldn't help himself, you know how I love the brats, baby, and polished it off.

I gave him the stinkeye all afternoon, and when we took a hayride out to the fields to get pumpkins, the kids would lift some big, ol' heavy pumpkin up and say, "I want this one."  And I would look into those little, innocent toddler eyes of theirs and say, "No, honey, something smaller.  Your father had a brat so you can't have a big pumpkin."   They'd be so sad until The Big Daddy told 'em little pumpkins are better anyways.

Twenty years later, BD would say nothing beats a grilled brat on a fall day at the pumpkin patch, but leave The Ball and Chain at home if you really want to enjoy it.


Monday, October 3, 2011

The Butters Whisperer

It has been my experience in the raising of Teacher Girl, that when she decides to do something, it's best to get out of her way or get run over.

When she wanted to get a dog, she and her Prince Charming looked around at the pounds.  When they found Butters, she wanted me to look at him to get my opinion.  Wow, a puppy.  That's a lot to take on.  "So you think I should get him?"  Well, you're both gone all day, is what I really meant, but she didn't hear that.

Butters is a crack baby.  Easily stimulated.  Easily distracted.  Needs a heavy dose of Adderall.  The Teacher Girl is not one to be deterred, and so Butters is enrolled in obedience class.  As she puts it, "He will be a trained dog."   That was a swipe at me, but I was training kids back then and didn't have time to train a dog.  Which is why he bit a neighborhood kid who came into our house for a glass of water.  Once. 

This is the Teacher Girl holding class and getting Butters and our Old Fart to sit.  Attached to her belt is a pouch for treats.  Did you seriously buy that goofy thing?  Oh yes, she did.

The girl in on on a mission from God.   She's a teacher.  She owns a pouch.  She's got a dog to train.

Now move.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

In My Prayers

When I was a little girl and couldn't fall asleep, my mom would say, "Now you say your Hail Marys and you'll be asleep before you know it."  All these many years later, that is still how I go to sleep.  Sort of.

When I close my eyes and say my prayers before drifting off, things get a little ADD.  I start off pretty intent, but it doesn't take long for the train to leave the track.  Pretty soon, I'm praying for the sick and wondering if I should make chicken for dinner tomorrow nite.  Nah, there's been way too much chicken around here.  Maybe a pork roast.  Yes, that's what we'll have for dinner.  I wonder if I've got any onions.  Did I buy onions the other day?  Surely there's an onion in the fridge.  If I do go to the store, I have to get vacuum cleaner bags.   Does the Macy's Mega Sale start tomorrow?   I'll go there first, then get the onion and then a Target run for the rest.  I wonder if that check cleared.  I better do the bank balance before I go.  Say we won half a mill in a scratch-off, and say the IRS takes 40%.  O.k., that leaves me with $300K to pay the house and car off.  Say we allow $25K to redo the kitchen and paint the house.  O.k. we still have some to give to the people whose lives have been a crapshoot these last few years and..........oh, yeah, I was praying for them

I eventually get back to the prayer part after going over the river and through the woods, and it's why I make it a point to be more accurate and say, "I'll keep you in my thoughts."  You plus the chicken, onions, vacuum cleaner bags, Macy's, and a faux lottery win.  Maybe even the theme song to "Gilligan's Island."

It's a jumbled interstate winding around up there, but if things are really not going well with you, you will be in my thoughts, and in my thoughts, and in my thoughts, and hopefully somewhere that counts as a prayer.  

Saturday, October 1, 2011

"All things on earth point home in old October: sailors to sea, travelers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow, and the long voice of the hound."

-Thomas Wolfe