tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86227615457928072842023-11-16T09:55:24.042-08:00Hungry WordsUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-23314620184897789602016-02-23T12:23:00.002-08:002016-02-23T12:23:41.091-08:00Yellow Roses<i>I ran out of things that inspired me, so I decided to write down my memories. All of them. Here is the first one.</i><br />
<br />
My Daddy liked to give his girls flowers. Mom and I love
flowers. They’re so cheery and alive … and I am not a green thumb. And then
they provide height and texture, but that’s another story. Anyway …<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was little, I took dance class, and every spring was
recital time. We would spend countless hours beginning immediately after
Christmas learning the choreography, trying on costumes (I remember quite
vividly playing with the loose sequins on the dusty floor.), and practicing in
our spray-painted-to-match tap shoes (and ballet shoes, and whatever-else
shoes), all in anticipation of the big night. Then we would lug everything,
including VERY heavy makeup (and by “heavy,” I mean the application, not the
weight) and shiny accessories, down to the beautiful Perot Theater, where girls
of all ages would cram together in one big “dressing room” to change costumes,
primp, spray, laugh, practice, and be hovered over by our mothers. We were
admonished for hanging out backstage (“I can see you from the audience!”), for
running behind the curtain (it made waves that were distracting to the audience!),
and for clomping up and down the stairs in our tap shoes. We were hollered at
from the front row for not being in sync, for not smiling, for counting with
our lips moving, for not using the entire stage … You name it. We dealt with
stage fright, bright lights in our eyes, strange people and places and noises,
and more hovering mothers that were not our own. For girls ages anywhere from 5
to 18, it was a grueling and emotionally draining week. For those of us who
didn’t really particularly enjoy it, it was just torture. I would rather be
playing softball.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But the big night (or afternoon, as it were) was almost
magical. Once the music started, it did not stop until the finale. Backstage was
like its own city, running like clockwork. We went on stage, we performed, we
came off, we changed costumes, and we did it again. We snuck backstage to watch
our heroes—the older girls who amazed us with their grace and beauty. And some
of us, to our own astonishment, became the admired after a time. And the most
magical moments of all were those surprises where loved ones wanted to honor us,
usually in the form of having a young dancer present a bouquet of flowers to
the soloist at the end of the dance. She so elegantly accepted them and kept on
dancing. I always wanted to be one of the recipients, but I never was. I don’t
think Daddy knew how special that would have been for me, but his way turned
out better.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Daddy handed them to me himself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first time, we were in the parking lot when recital was
still at Texarkana College in the old auditorium. (It’s no longer there, but my
memory is as vivid as if I were there last night. I can still smell the popcorn
they allowed in the auditorium, still see the girls sitting in the seats in
their costumes, and still remember the annals of the backstage area in my mind.)
He said something about forgetting to give me something, and he opened the
trunk and pulled out a huge bouquet (to me, anyway … I must have been about 10)
of yellow roses. I was stunned. My heart was bursting with love for him, and
with the knowledge of his love for me, and the understanding that no matter
what, I was still his girl. Daddy wasn’t always a very demonstrative man when
it came to affection, so it was moments like these that I held on to, even when
I was all grown up, because I knew that was his way of saying he loved me, he
was proud of me, and he was proud to be my Daddy. Always.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And from then on, it was tradition. I came to expect my
flowers every year. Sometimes he sent them to me at school. Sometimes he
brought them home. Sometimes Mom would bring them backstage, so I could be the
envy of the girls in the big dressing room. I don’t remember the last time he
sent me flowers. But I know he loved me, and that is all I need.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-36327085594102290702015-05-17T19:56:00.001-07:002015-05-17T20:01:02.247-07:00Gain and Retain: The Basics of Membership in Your Nonprofit<div class="entry-title">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Originally posted three years ago, but the ideas are the same. Altrusa District Nine reached ONE THOUSAND STRONG by following some of this advice. We can attain those lofty goals. Just BELIEVE.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Tuesday night I attended the DFW Club’s installation banquet. I had a fabulous time! The food was great, the company was great, and of course, the cause was great. I want to tell you, though, about something in particular this club did very well. They hosted an event that was effective for both guests (potential Altrusans) and members (Altrusans we’d like to retain). It was amazing, and looked almost effortless. You can do it in YOUR club, too. Make every meeting an EVENT, and you’ll “gain and retain.”</span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">GAIN GAIN GAIN</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I bet DFW gets at least two new members out of this meeting, and perhaps one for another District Nine club. Why? Because they showed off their programs and their members were thrilled to tell the guests all about them.</span><br />
<ul><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A presentation showed off their projects from the entire year. Just pictures set to music. I heard guests asking all about the projects, and I heard members enthusiastically describing them.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Display boards, along with samples of some of their projects like blankets they are making, set at opposite corners of the room, drew guests in as they wondered “what is up with that cute blankie!” and allowed guests to explore the offerings of their club on their own time.</span></li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVKSZA3-8m-6N_UKWEnPhPOXx3NjTk1FxkA10vuutKpWRnVocKL3qmiz0pu-vDsM8j8tKbRm-eOFS57k4NQIUjsVePSYhPTDL1h8bNRYid7QAQyKXf10CsCzY-ZA1OZGOXH9A10T3MvAL/s1600/544715_10150808550092705_191117612704_9722482_602701442_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVKSZA3-8m-6N_UKWEnPhPOXx3NjTk1FxkA10vuutKpWRnVocKL3qmiz0pu-vDsM8j8tKbRm-eOFS57k4NQIUjsVePSYhPTDL1h8bNRYid7QAQyKXf10CsCzY-ZA1OZGOXH9A10T3MvAL/s320/544715_10150808550092705_191117612704_9722482_602701442_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">RETAIN RETAIN RETAIN</span></strong><br />
<ul><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">DFW has a great group of ladies. They are all chatty and engaging, and they are proud of what they’ve accomplished. The slide show really allowed them to reminisce and reflect about the great things they’ve done. With that combined with the inspirational installation program, current members came away with some inspiration to make the coming club year even better.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Adorable (yet simple) decorations added a special touch. They had their napkins tied with ribbons … that had our great new logo! I kept my little yellow bow and attached it to my pin ribbon. It’s fantastic!</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I had one suggestion for the club, it would be to make sure to get the contact information for your guests and follow up. You don’t need to “close the deal” right away, just send a note to say thanks, and give her a call about a week before your next event to invite her along.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank you, Altrusa International Inc. of DFW, for a wonderful evening. <strong>Linda Pavona,</strong> you put together a great program and installation. <strong>Carla Helstrom,</strong> you’re going to be a great president. And Altrusans of DFW, please invite me to your next event. I want to be part of the amazing service you provide!</span><br />
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Beth Blair</span></strong></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Governor-Elect</span></em></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-57344425472295385272014-09-01T18:05:00.001-07:002014-09-01T18:05:28.388-07:00Labor DayAmazingly enough, Labor Day was productive in the Blair household. Some cleaning got done (which is a miracle in itself), some volunteering got done, and some introspection happened, too.<br />
<br />
The introspection is probably at the top of my list. My BFF texted me this morning to tell me that a mutual friend of ours had passed away Friday. He was her boss, and my client. I remember him well and love him dearly. Many a lazy afternoon we would spend talking Baylor and/or Texas Tech football, or him showing me photos of his precious grandbaby, or me listening to hours of fly-fishing stories. Terry knew how to spin a yarn, and he was a passionate guy. I was fascinated, and I loved working on his stuff, too. No matter what the project, whether difficult or simple, mundane or exciting, the good clients make everything worthwhile and make me remember why I do what I do.<br />
<br />
Another client left me this week--just to Kansas, though. His departure is still rough. When he came to the national office, a friend of mine told me that I would "love Mark." He turned out to be right. Mark was the easiest client I ever had. He explained things, and he let me in on his plans. I knew what to expect, and in return I tried to give him the same. He taught me a lot about leadership, planning, and (maybe most of all) making work fun. Thank you, Mark, for the Disney tips! How can you <i>not </i>be the best client ever with all the insider's knowledge of Disney World, I ask?<br />
<br />
So, good-bye, Terry, until we meet again. Enjoy heaven's version of Philmont. And as for you, Mark, I'll see you soon. Isn't it funny how things never stay the same?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-79440142830950430892014-03-20T19:56:00.002-07:002014-03-20T19:56:12.458-07:00Seriously. Hungry Words.
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Does this get easier? I’m on … let’s see … day seven of my
“pre-op liquid diet,” which consists of a protein, meal-replacement shake for
breakfast and dinner and a box (Lean Cuisine, Smart Ones, etc.) for lunch. This
morning it was an Advocare berry-flavored meal-replacement shake with ice,
which I really like. But I just couldn’t get it all down. Then I followed that
up with a Smart Ones turkey and stuffing, which was mediocre at best. I’m not
hungry, really. Maybe a little. But I am hungry FOR something. I want Cheetos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I begged my (only, last, remaining) friend at work to bring
me donuts, chocolate milk, and a big bag of crunchy Cheetos. I offered him
$500. He’s being nice and not doing it. But I’d seriously sell my car, cat, or
husband if they’d give me a big cheesy Cheeto… You know, the kind that gets
coated with all that glorious orange stuff at the bottom of the bag? That’s the
Cheeto I want. My kingdom for a cheesy Cheeto! Really, I’m hoping against hope
that the surgery takes away all cravings. They say it will. Sometimes I forget.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">See how hunger has made me deliriously digress? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">NSV: That’s “non-scale victory” for you who aren’t in the
know like me. I’m like the weight loss process queen. Notice I didn’t say I was
queen of losing weight, because that would be stupid. Anyway … NSV: My wedding
rings fit again. I love wearing them, because I rarely wear jewelry of any
kind. They remind me of my new outlook on life: Work is just a job. Get through
the day. Go home and live your life with your family and friends, and let that
be your joy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Waitin’ on my 4:30 joy ride home to kiss my dog, my cats,
and my husband, probably in that order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Highest weight: 374.<br />
Current weight: 324. (How does that happen? How do you gain two pounds
overnight when all you had was two shakes and a box?)<br />
Surgery date: March 28, 2014.<br />
Goal weight: Not within sight yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-78311091840192765182014-03-18T20:04:00.001-07:002014-03-18T20:04:04.459-07:00Change of FocusWay back in July 2013, it was a whopping 374.<br />
On November 5, 2013, it was 364.<br />
On December 30, 2013, it was 345.<br />
On January 10, 2014, it was 347.<br />
On January 31, 342.<br />
February 13, 339.<br />
February 19, 335.<br />
Today, 322.<br />
<br />
That's right. I'm talkin' about my big fat weight. Yep, I'm throwing it out there for the world to see and letting you know that I'm changing my focus. I haven't blogged in several months. Lots of months. Over a year. Now I am starting again. <br />
<br />
The cool thing is, I'm having weight loss surgery, specifically gastric sleeve, next Friday. I started a liquid diet (1000 calories a day) several days ago. It seems to be working. Anyway, this is my last chance. This post won't be particularly eloquent, but I expect future ones will hold more emotion than you can shake a stick at. So come back and read, and keep me accountable and away from the Cheetos. I desperately want a big bag of crunchy Cheetos...<br />
<br />
Highest weight 374.<br />
Current weight 322.<br />
Goal weight whatever's healthy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-20957301329402314742012-02-28T14:29:00.000-08:002012-02-28T14:29:02.838-08:00People I Can't Wait to Meet in HeavenI'm doing a lot of cleaning up (and cleaning out) of stuff, including lots of old papers and pictures that were my Daddy's. I ran across some stuff from Granddaddy's Book of Remembrance that I haven't read in forever. I love this stuff.<br />
<br />
This is an excerpt that my great-grandmother Emma (Daddy's grandmother, Granddaddy's mother) wrote to the church paper. The "little 15 year old Robert" mentioned is my granddaddy. I love this. I love being able to claim a strong Christian family. I want to make them proud, and I am proud to have them.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQVmfoxsW3NUJUMf1Lp8TKyqzuWkFwlmJRek8r58N5LLIE-DiIxem4OLfrUBdrKMw7wyafCgNxO6d_NoUp0dsaBhIs-WC6yb5xBxXAn0P4I_SgeOZKTs1Y5Np9c2FL3TtTs2RnrBWnk5o/s1600/IMG_0069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQVmfoxsW3NUJUMf1Lp8TKyqzuWkFwlmJRek8r58N5LLIE-DiIxem4OLfrUBdrKMw7wyafCgNxO6d_NoUp0dsaBhIs-WC6yb5xBxXAn0P4I_SgeOZKTs1Y5Np9c2FL3TtTs2RnrBWnk5o/s400/IMG_0069.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Will, Robert, and Emma Rash</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"Dear Brother Richards:<br />
"It is with a thankful heart I wish to write a few lines to tell about our wonderful meeting at Waco yesterday. Two deacons were ordained. Then Elders Childers and Watts preached so good for us, it sure was a heavenly place on earth to me, for my little 15 year old Robert came home to the dear old church. I asked him about a month ago what his evidence was, he said he heard me singing 'Jesus, thou art the sinners friend,' and something came over him that he wanted to join the church. He said to me, 'Mamma, don't you remember Grandma read in the Bible to remember thy Creator in the day of thy youth?' But first of all, six years ago he lay at the point of death in the hospital. The old Sisters came and knelt around him with a black cross in their hand, but last night he saw a white cross. Some of the children asked him if he was going to be a [C]hristian, he answered very proudly that we was going to be an Old Baptist.<br />
"Oh dear Lord, let me so live that he will always want to live in the church and follow in thy footsteps.<br />
"Mrs. Emma Rash<br />
"Lorena, Texas"<br />
<br />
And so he did.<br />
<br />Here are some of his memories about that time, written in his book of remembrances to me (reading this book always makes me cry, so forgive the typos):<br />
<br /><em>"I know there is a God because </em>A presence outside of human stayed beside me during a number of serious illnesses. I did not know that it was God, but it had to be He. He told me many times that He would not take me from those I loved. He also convinced me that all humanity must die or be transformed when time is no more in order to gain immortality."<br />
<br /><em>"The first time I knew God was real</em> I thought that he was angel sent from God. Occasion--I was 7 years old and dying of ruptured appendix. God sent the good surgeon to pull me from the brink."<br />
<br /><em>"The things my mother taught me about God </em>That is God--only one God. Love Him and His Son with all your heart. Have faith in Him because without faith, it is impossible to please Him."<br />
<br />And my favorite: <em>"I experienced a turning point in my faith when </em>I was 14. Primitive Baptists beleive that you <em>must </em>be born again to be with Him forever. I was lying on a grassy bank of the Bullhide Creek in the shade of a weeping willow when a ray of sunshine found its way through the leaves. It seemed to say, 'You are Mine. Come.'"<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-80491261600273031042012-02-02T11:05:00.001-08:002012-02-02T11:17:18.057-08:00I'm SickNot "as a dog" or even a "sick puppy." Just messy enough to raise eyebrows if I show my face at work today. Aches and pains? I can't tell if it's steroids or coughing, but I gots 'em.<br /><br />So, I attempt to work from home on a project I need to get done, and this is what happens. Mindless blogging because I can't concentrate. Here, then, are some random things to pepper the day. Nothing exciting, mind you, but random can be fun sometimes.<br /><br />Macy is lying in the hall, using the closet door to prop up her head so she can appear awake to the cat, who is lying on top of the couch behind my head, waiting to scratch her eyes out.<br /><br />Scott, who got me sick in the first place and is also home sick today (a rarity to say the very least), is snoring in the recliner, mouth open. I wish I had a feather on a stick ... :)<br /><br />It occurs to me that I am wiped out after having made the standard chicken noodle soup for lunch. The dishwasher, which is on probation right now while we decide whether we need a new one, is churning with several days' worth of dirty dishes. I hate it when Scott loads and doesn't run the thing. How gross. Anyway.<br /><br />It's 13 days until my birthday! At least I won't be 40 anymore. :) And to celebrate my new oldness, I am going to see Fuel at Hat Tricks. Love Fuel. Love love love.<br /><br />Speaking of love... It's also 12 days until Valentine's Day. For V-Day this year, I am going to do the Love Dare for my husband. Before you get too excited, look it up. I told him I was doing it, but I look forward to seeing his reaction. In other Valentine's Day news, I think I will send a candy bouquet or something. I don't know. Any ideas are welcome.<br /><br />I was nice to my mommy this week. After a vendor visit in my own neighborhood, I was off work a bit early on Tuesday night, so I surprised her by taking her to dinner and to the neighborhood shopping spots until she pooped out. She enjoyed it, and so did I, and I was still home by 7 in time to rest. These steroids really wear me out. I think it's harder every time I have to take them.<br /><br />Things I hate about steroids: The taste of the vile things. Swollen ankles (and I mean REALLY swollen). Constant hunger. Constant eating, interrupting what was a pretty good start on some dieting. Crabby pants attitude that is obvious even to me, but unstoppable. Strange, constant feeling that something just isn't right. Fitful, light sleep. Need for more rest than usual (but no more hours in the day to do so). Steroids just suck. And if you've never been on them, you just have no idea.<br /><br />Scotty's on steroids right now for his sicky. One whole week. Woo. But any steroids means evil. We should be a pretty good pair here in a couple of days.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-26001970210357968892012-01-20T11:55:00.001-08:002012-01-20T11:55:22.161-08:00Tell Me Again What Vacation Is ForSo, I've been off work this week, a break I needed desperately. We spent the first weekend in big t-town, finishing the move of all the rest of my mom's spider-infested (ok, maybe not infested, but certainly inhabited) crap that she can't live without. The effects of neglect on the house are depressing. I cried, and i think Scott felt pretty helpless right then. Well, so did I.<br /><br />And on Sunday night, my eye, which has been just kind of bugging me for a few weeks, decided to rear its ugly head. I was confined to the world's most uncomfortable recliner for most of the week, unable to focus and unable to eat (which wasn't a bad thing, necessarily). Two doctor trips later, I am functioning again. It's Friday. My vacation is over. Cuss word.<br /><br />One good thing: I was feeling well enough to cart Stefanie (aka Superfit) to have her knee scoped. So here I sit, tapping out words with one hand on the iPad while she feasts on the good drugs. My eye is sore (put down the iPad, dummy) but I'm happy to be out and about on this beautiful day.<br /><br />Tomorrow, I'm buying a piggy bank. Maybe I'll blog about it.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Fogelson%20Ln,Dallas,United%20States%4032.877129%2C-96.762088&z=10'>Fogelson Ln,Dallas,United States</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-62307795028605560242012-01-08T16:19:00.001-08:002012-01-08T16:26:23.793-08:00My Kingdom for a CarbMy meat-eater husband decided he would join in the company weight-loss challenge. Let me paint you a picture: 5-foot-8 with what basically amounts to a beer gut, weighs in at 230 (which was a bit of a surprise for me, but I digress). The woman who won the competition last year lost 18 percent of her body weight.<br /><br />For Scott, that would be almost 40 pounds. *Yellow flag flies as the crowd yells, "Impossible!"<br /><br />But my meat-eater husband, who always knows best, says he can do it. I try to convince him that healthy weight loss will include the consuming of green, leafy vegetables. This does not fly. I change my tactic, telling him the only diet I know of that will work with his picky palate is the no-carb one. To my chagrin, he bites.<br /><br />So, off to the market we go, hunters on the prowl for any and every kind of meat available to man (except fish ... he won't eat anything that swims, either). And because I plan on maintaining the "healthy" version of the diet, I get some yummy fresh veggies and fruits. Yes, I know they have carbs. I don't care.<br /><br />Two days later, the house smells like fats, oils, and meat. If I never see another pork rind again, I will be just fine. I literally had a salad for dessert because my mouth was ... oily. I'm grossing out.<br /><br />Moral of the story: God made carbs for a reason.<br /><br />And the epilogue: He can't possibly last three months.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-81200586549629014342012-01-05T18:52:00.000-08:002012-01-05T19:00:19.040-08:00Poop. Then Happy Poop!<div>So, it was back to bowling on Thursday nights tonight. Before Christmas, I'd been bowling pretty well above my average, and my average in that league had gotten pretty good (for me). Tonight, I was pathetic. My excuse was that I (very literally; this is the truth) am seeing cross-eyed a little and it's hard to focus on my mark. So I was inconsistent at best. In fact, in the third game I scored a little score (literally little) I like to call ... 98. Stellar. I'm a clutch pitcher and a clutch pitcher, but I'll let you know here and now that you do NOT want me in a clutch situation on your bowling team.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>So that was the poop.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36dgIEG48YbAUXBL7cgnvP-DnhNDOqiKtUI2ppoprY0GMcI8qp42C_pMrNSG-_zAfSQ-USHxVXkM7znZjrRAHuRpaLVTCfMsAoREoB109Ll3TkuJj6L0NdUTA4M3YMFlks9yZqD5Q1-dO/s1600/rimpy.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 163px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694347757781231170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36dgIEG48YbAUXBL7cgnvP-DnhNDOqiKtUI2ppoprY0GMcI8qp42C_pMrNSG-_zAfSQ-USHxVXkM7znZjrRAHuRpaLVTCfMsAoREoB109Ll3TkuJj6L0NdUTA4M3YMFlks9yZqD5Q1-dO/s320/rimpy.jpg" /></a>Then the happy poop came when I got home! I won something on ebay (you don't ever really WIN, right? you still have to pay for it...) and it arrived! Here's a picture. It's "Rimpy's Bakery," the LAST piece I needed of the North Pole series to have a complete "NORTH POLE." See how there's a little "R" in the wreath on the front? If you line them all up, say, on your mantle, they spell NORTH POLE! I fell in love instantly. And for several years I have just had NO TH POLE. Next year we will be complete.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It takes very little to amuse me.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>BTW, my feet stink right now. I cannot begin to tell you. Macy's cold nose is sniffing all around. I love to be home.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-66790188396786136842012-01-04T15:56:00.000-08:002012-01-04T16:06:59.851-08:00Smiling DogsOn my way home from work today, I saw a golden retriever walking his human. Each had a huge grin on his face. It was great, and it made me feel all happy inside. I'm a dog person, you know.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 229px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693930820113179410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFPncc5XAaoQQClI-8e_CbAMbapFuOEu9HhKJYTkqeWSVs0naqTwrHZaX152hNxyU6eGeHEjenYaWHvtK-NmcT5d-BeTTSNfNMAh5ehtaJSpt0G3kgE_ik35HXoz5a_Aj_zrbtxtUK9-b/s320/Happy%252BGolden%252BRetriever%252BDog.jpg" /><br /><br /><div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Macy, my own mutt, was happy to see me when I got home today. She'd gotten used to me being around, and she probably had to pee. Eh, that's what us humans are for.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And, good gracious, this girl can sing: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLQl3WQQoQ0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLQl3WQQoQ0</a>. Go buy her album. Buy all her albums she puts out in her whole life. Blast them from your iPod, your car stereo, your laptop. Scream her lyrics from the top of your lungs. And think of me. I told you to do it.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Be sure to listen to this one loud, too. Sometimes us girls just gotta sing.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Don't You Remember"<br /><br />When will I see you again?</div><br /><div>You left with no goodbye, not a single word was said,</div><br /><div>No final kiss to seal any seams,</div><br /><div>I had no idea of the state we were in,</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I know I have a fickle heart and bitterness,</div><br /><div>And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head,</div><br /><div>But don't you remember?</div><br /><div>Don't you remember?</div><br /><div>The reason you loved me before,</div><br /><div>Baby, please remember me once more,</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When was the last time you thought of me?</div><br /><div>Or have you completely erased me from your memory?</div><br /><div>I often think about where I went wrong,</div><br /><div>The more I do, the less I know,</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>But I know I have a fickle heart and bitterness,</div><br /><div>And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head,</div><br /><div>But don't you remember?</div><br /><div>Don't you remember?</div><br /><div>The reason you loved me before,</div><br /><div>Baby, please remember me once more,</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Gave you the space so you could breathe,</div><br /><div>I kept my distance so you would be free,</div><br /><div>And hope that you find the missing piece,</div><br /><div>To bring you back to me,</div><br /><div>Why don't you remember?</div><br /><div>Don't you remember?</div><br /><div>The reason you loved me before,</div><br /><div>Baby, please remember me once more,</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When will I see you again? </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-12537380139633736292012-01-02T16:05:00.000-08:002012-01-02T16:13:04.586-08:00Vacation FinaleToday was the last day of my vacation. Dammit.<br /><br />I made the most of it, though, by visiting my Mimi and making chicken spaghetti for dinner. I enjoyed my visit so much; I love hearing about what she did when she was younger that is so much like the things I do today. I also love talking about people I have held dear since birth, including my Daddy and Granddaddy. It was also my first trip to her new place, which I must say is awesome. She has plenty of room for her stuff, although there wasn't as much of it there as I'd have liked. We spent a little time talking about the treasures I get to keep that remind me of her and of my childhood, like the ceramic doggies that always sat on the shelf above Granddaddy's chair. I don't even particularly like them--they just set a scene in my mind. It's of a time when everything was right with the world.<br /><br />Anyway, back to vacation. I didn't do what I intended to do, mostly because Scott's work schedule got all screwed up the last week of the year and ruined my plans. But no fear: I work the rest of this week and all of next week, then I am off the following week! Adventure awaits.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-68944459914293419612012-01-01T16:51:00.000-08:002012-01-01T16:59:26.099-08:00HNY, LOLHappy new year and all that. I slept until noon, which is a rarity for me, and paid for it with a painful eye and some really weird dreams. They're worth mentioning.<br /><br />The first dream involved my high school friend Peggy and her mom bringing over food. Lots of food. Scads of food. All gourmet finger foods and all delicious! All my high school girlfriends came over to try out all the food, which as it turns out, was sampling for my upcoming wedding, which Peg and her mom were planning to cater. Good times. Where were the guys? Outside playing softball. I took a little jaunt out there to see my pals and saw a lot of folks I recognized, some I didn't but still knew, and just a few no-namers. Cool.<br /><br />The second dream was a bit of a continuation of the first. I was walking along the creek that ran along the back side of our house. On the other side of the creek were many apartments, some of which had been destroyed by water or fire. I gawked, then I turned to my left and saw some double doors, which in dreamland I recognized as my own house. I walked in. The foyer was large, and there were doors to two wings, one on each side. On the right was the "XXXXXXXX" wing (some guy's name I don't remember), and on the left was the "ROBERT RASH" wing. For those of you who don't know, Robert Rash is my dad (and granddaddy, but in dreamland you just know things, and this was Daddy). In the rooms I found all kinds of things, from all the clothes I had worn and discarded all my life, to Daddy's desk. It was like an antiques store met a museum. Interesting. I just walked around discovering things for a while, loving it. The director lady showed up and I asked her if I could just have some of the things (after all, it IS my stuff), and she was pretty noncommittal. In dreamland, I understood that these things were no longer mine because I had given them up. There was a price to get them back, and I don't think it was money.<br /><br />So, all you budding Freuds out there, analyze that.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-35989459968864450282011-12-31T15:03:00.000-08:002011-12-31T15:12:54.057-08:00Last Night of 2011Good bye, crappy year. I am thrilled to be ushering in a new 366-day annum with very good friends, food, and drinks. And then tomorrow, we start ORGANIZING! (That still means cleaning the garage first.)<br /><br />While 2011 was a craptastic year (thank you to one of our contractors for introducing me to that great "word"), I did learn a few things through the pain.<br /><br />1. Not everybody recognizes my greatness and potential.<br />2. Those people don't deserve the respect I've been giving them.<br />3. When your faith is strong, the devil fights you harder.<br />4. People to whom you've freely given respect in the past might not have been deserving of it. (This actually is different from No. 2.)<br />5. Dolphins are beautiful up close, but I'd rather they were free.<br />6. Don't plan stuff unless you're OK with nobody showing up.<br />7. Sometimes, but not too terribly often, "no second chances" needs an exception.<br />8. Macy can't replace Gigi, but she's just as precious.<br />9. Doctors are real people, too, and should not be taken at face value.<br />10. Sometimes you've just stuck your foot in too deep and your shoe will never come clean.<br /><br />Here's to a better 2012. Scott bought me a Wizard of Oz desk calendar (original Denslow illustrations ... suitable for framing!) today at B&N. I love new calendars!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-29011029648180706362011-12-30T13:42:00.000-08:002011-12-30T13:48:24.694-08:00Good Riddance, 2011Two days left. Lasagna meat sauce on the stove, hubby sleeping in the recliner, daytime TV on the tube, and I'm just as happy as a clam to be bidding adieu to the second worse year of my life. I won't go into the reasons, but they were numerous. But why be a downer?<br /><br />2012 will be better because I will make it so. Plans are in the works. Positive attitude carries over from the last part of 2011, peppered with exercises to make both heart and mind healthier, and I'll be one happy little camper.<br /><br />This post sucks because I'm not really inspired today, but look for something from me more often. I won't commit to a post a day, but I'll try to put something out there, because as my little notebook says, "If you want to be a writer, write!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-36876291833030439662011-11-19T20:27:00.000-08:002011-11-19T20:34:19.332-08:00FreeI am home. Hubby is bowling. And houseguests are ... gone. Two empty rooms. Macy is confused, but she will be fine.<br /><br />I will be fantastic.<br /><br />I've spent the evening dancing in the living room, cleaning a little (the real work starts tomorrow), and watching Food Network--in my underwear and a T-shirt. Because I can. I feel like I have a new lease on life (OK, that's a tired phrase, but it fits). While I can tell you to your face that I have felt like a prisoner in my own home, it's a different animal all together to experience the freedom again. Possibilities and hope lay in front of me like the yellow brick road. Getting my life back is like taking that first dive into the pool's cool water every summer. Emerging from the water, you're clean, refreshed, and ready to enjoy.<br /><br />That's me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-58357484141743254172011-10-02T11:29:00.001-07:002011-10-02T11:39:44.090-07:00Smart Kids, Mean Kids, and Wormy KidsIt's sort of entertaining, actually, to be able to sit back and watch the kindergartners on the playground. The cliques form and dissolve, the smart kids banding together and enjoying their break in the sunshine, while the mean kids are picking on the little kids and the wormy kids suck up to the teacher, whose inward exasperation is barely concealed.<br /><br />And all the while, not one of them realizes that there's another world outside the fences of the playground. One day in the spring, they will graduate from kindergarten and move up to first grade, where they're the little kids in a community of kids who are all older and wiser. They'll grow up, slowly but certainly, and look back toward the playground. Back then, life was easier and much less complicated. The smarter ones will assimilate nicely, but they'll still have to deal with the mean kids and the wormy kids. Maybe those little dudes will regret some of their decisions, but more likely they'll just move on to create a bigger playground with bigger kids.<br /><br />And most of those kids will reach middle age, where they'll still need the social skills they learned on the playground. Many of the mean and wormy kids will not have changed much, except to think they've graduated into the same category as the smart kids. But the smart kids will know the truth.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-59743646460745494862011-09-17T13:10:00.000-07:002011-09-17T13:10:20.105-07:00Pain<br />
<br />
<em>Sorry for the stream of consciousness posts. If you're reading this, I hope it makes sense. </em><br />
<br />
Hating a diagnosis where they're like "dont know what causes it. don't know how to fix it. just keep the pain down" and then the pain isn't going down. It's now moved from foot to ankle, which might be progress. I've missed two days of work (unacceptable) and the prospects of being able to walk on Monday don't look good. I'm going in anyway. There's too much to do and too much still hanging in the balance. I hate missing work. I hate feeling this way.<br />
<br />
Had a little bit of a breakdown this morning. Had to take a shower; just felt so grimy. But that's pain added to pain. Took two pills against my better judgment. Will admit it took the pain away, and now I am nice and warm downstairs. Hair is sticking to my face now. No moisturizer, so my face is cracky and ashy. Feeling so beautiful today. So sorry for myself. So pitiful. Wah.<br />
<br />
Too many responsibilities crashing in on me. I remember this pain from several years ago and how I felt helpless. I remember choosing a life verse while in the shower: Isaiah 40:31. I claimed renewed strength. I took "wait" as literal. I claim that verse still. Perseverance. I'm not asking for perfect, even though I strive for it. I don't think happiness and contentment require perfection.<br />
<br />
Hubby is doing a great job as nursemaid. Hasn't complained once and has helped keep my spirits up. He has no idea how to comfort me, and I have no idea what to tell him. He remembers how he felt when the roles were reversed. I love him for that. When this is done, I'll get him a card or something as thanks. He loves cards as a surprise. I love that he loves such simple things. Yes, sometimes simple is more charming than irritating. I love him.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-18159875925516214312011-09-16T17:10:00.000-07:002011-09-16T17:10:42.253-07:00In Love With FallAs I recuperate from injury<br />
Alone in the house<br />
Dark skies from approaching storms<br />
Satisfied from dinner<br />
Warm from painkillers<br />
I think about fall<br />
<br />
It's like God is resting<br />
After toiling outside all day<br />
Hot and sweaty and covered in grime<br />
Then taking a long swig of sweet tea<br />
To cool off His body and His thoughts<br />
And take a long breath<br />
<br />
Kids are selling cookie dough<br />
Football players are in high spirits<br />
America is honoring its veterans<br />
The air conditioner is resting<br />
And I'm thinking about soup<br />
The weather is cool<br />
<br />
Crisp air and long sleeves make me happy<br />
Dog is ready to play at the park<br />
Anticipation of all the best holidays<br />
And social calendars start to fill up<br />
Winter is beautiful under a blanket of snow<br />
But fall is my favoriteUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-80071632859791799432011-09-15T15:28:00.000-07:002011-09-15T15:48:07.118-07:00I Write, You Read, We Smile[[Disclaimer: I'm on painkillers, so no guarantees about coherence or eloquence. I hope I get my point across.]]<br /><br />My boss told me a story earlier this week about two very unique young women who became friends in high school and, after graduation, kept in touch. What's unique? Their preferred method of communication is not texting, Facebook, or even email. It is writing. These two young ladies, who are my new inspirations, are corresponding via snail mail by writing real letters to each other.<br /><br />This same boss, who's a pretty well-read guy, shared <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424053111903461304576527061695101804.html?KEYWORDS=letterpress">an article </a>with me earlier in the month. I fell in love with the concept of creating notecards and actually using them (and immediately became jealous of this woman who owns an actual letterpress and knows how to use it). <em>Slightly off topic: Don't be surprised if you receive a little note card from me, just because. However, if you want one, make sure I have your address. Handmade cards will become more common after I regain the use of the room I use as an office and uncover my craft stuff from the piles in the garage.</em><br /><br />And, somewhere in the back of my memory bank, is a vision of my friend Martha lamenting the loss of letter-writing as an art. Martha, who is an Altrusan like me, is passionate about the cause of erasing illiteracy.<br /><br />And so, my point. You knew I'd get to it, right?<br /><br />Why not create a program to teach young girls the fading but forever elegant art of letter writing? Entice them with a card-decorating class, and end with a charming story that encourages them to write and mail their cards ... just because. I'm a firm believer in the power of one becoming exponentially influential, and I think this could take off. I'm working through formalizing this idea. What do you think?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-64777265495901717592011-04-23T13:59:00.001-07:002011-04-23T14:18:47.579-07:00To Confer, Converse, and Otherwise Hobnob... with my sister Altrusans. Next weekend is the fifty-fifth annual conference of Altrusa International Inc. District Nine. And I'm its program coordinator. <br /><br><br />Many amazing women have held this position before me, and many more amazing women will hold it after. It's a rite of passage, really, on a long journey of self-discovery. No, really! <br /><br> I'm pretty proud of what's been implemented in my two years as program coordinator. We've seen two of the highest numbers of first-time attendees EVER, in large part because we just got the word out that Conference is the thing to do. I wrote scripts for the awards luncheon to ensure the winning projects and people all got an equal shake and that the luncheon ran smoothly. I laid out the program more effectively (at least, I think so). I started the practice of giving each attendee a CD with all workshop, awards, and common materials instead of making individual folders and CDs for every workshop, for every club (that was genius, really). And, I hope, I helped workshop presenters prepare their material to the best of their ability.<br /><br>And through it all, I have learned a few things about myself and others. First, not everybody just "gets it." They need explanation, and they won't be upset with you when you spell it out. Next, delegation is a good way to get things done, but you have to be sure your vision is relayed; interpretation can kill it. <br /><br>I learned a lot about Conference itself, too. Like how much work goes into making it happen, but how easy it really is to do. OK, that's not making sense, but what I am trying to say is that a club shouldn't be worried that it "can't" host conference. It can. I also learned that we are just scratching the surface of the potential for leadership training at this event. We're going to need more resources.<br /><br>Anyway, it's been a good run. And now, if I am elected (I'm unopposed) governor-elect at this conference, I'll have two solid years to plan and put the right people in the right place. My challenge will be to make the Mighty Ninth flourish. Many amazing women have taken up this challenge before me, and each has made it happen. <br /><br>Are you an Altrusan? If you aren't, maybe you should be. Altrusa is opportunity, you know. Make lifelong friends, make a difference in your community, and make a difference in yourself.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-913188984995033332011-04-10T17:56:00.000-07:002011-04-10T18:19:15.604-07:00Sunday.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVK3LM7Ge-JbLDxTks30KvA_oqNLGytQyX8sQCUOfEVGkq5xo9fjvhTz56NGSBjuwA3Rce-4ydqbXI_nhVLso_hYiLQp8zInDfqe9Z-7p0So1xoKscDRkVNYUAvq7S1FlLduLVzfJp2SP/s1600/tucker.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVK3LM7Ge-JbLDxTks30KvA_oqNLGytQyX8sQCUOfEVGkq5xo9fjvhTz56NGSBjuwA3Rce-4ydqbXI_nhVLso_hYiLQp8zInDfqe9Z-7p0So1xoKscDRkVNYUAvq7S1FlLduLVzfJp2SP/s320/tucker.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594129322258375250" /></a><br />Rest in peace, Tucker<br /><br /><p>Today was a good day with a little bit of sadness mixed in to keep me honest. <br /><br /><p>Sunday is traditionally grocery day at my house, so we all got up, dressed, and headed downstairs to attack our day. Instead, our day attacked us. Macy, who'd been a bit ill yesterday, proved she wasn't quite over it. Slimy poo decorated our kitchen floor, and its odor, well, it stank. Poor Macy. We let her outside while we scooped, wiped, and then mopped. Side note: Macy looked so cute trying to bite the mop.<br /><br /><p>OK, then on to grocery shopping. I was so mentally exhausted by the poo ambush that I called Mom to see if we could possibly just pick her up some stuff while we were shopping for our own food. That was OK with her. Apparently she wasn't having the greatest day. I won't tell tales on her (today), but I will say that she's probably the weirdest person I know.<br /><br /><p>Then, lunch. We discovered a great place in Coppell and headed over to Wal-Mart for a NEW GRILL!!! The old one was just about disintegrated, so we got a cute little grill that takes up less space on my tiny porch. I knew I'd be having fresh grilled veggies for dinner! (You may notice that I could barely contain my excitement.) I whipped up some rosemary garlic butter, skewered some taters, onions, and zucchini, and started the marinade on the steaks. Brett and Noah bought some chicken and pork chops, so we threw them on the grill, too, and the feast was on!<br /><br /><p>Now, I'm wrapping up some Altrusa stuff in preparation for tomorrow's meeting, and just enjoying my puppy and my husband.<br /><br /><p>The bittersweet end to my day was firing up Facebook and learning that my good friend Cheryl lost her beloved Tucker this morning. I am saddened, because Tucker was my friend--and Gigi's friend--too. I remember him as a little ball of curly fur when he came to visit shortly after Cheryl brought him home. He was a happy dog, and he remained joyful his entire life. I know he brought Cheryl so much joy, and I know there are hard days ahead for Cheryl as she adjusts to life without her precious family member.<br /><br /><p>Memories of Tucker brought up fresh sadness--grief is now too strong a word for time-mellowed feelings--for my sweet Gigi. One of the ways I keep her memory alive involved me coining a new phrase and applying it to my new sweetie, Macy. Gigi was not much of a licker; her kisses were nuzzles underneath my ear, and she would "gimme kiss" on demand. That soft, wet, cold little nose could always ease my stress, illness, sadness, or pain and replace it with a smile and a special Mommy-and-me moment. That's "Gigi love." <br /><br /><p>Today, Macy has shown me the hallmarks of her own brand of affection: She tucks her head under my knee while I scratch and rub her back, eventually turning herself inside-out with happiness. When she does that, that's her "Gigi love." All my animals for the rest of my life on Earth will have Gigi love, and like my precious Gigi, they will leave their own unique legacy and memories for me to cherish.<br /><br /><p>Most likely, I have many years to enjoy Gigi love with Macy Lou, and I am thankful for that. Losing a pet is quite possibly the worst experience I've had. In many ways, it's worse than losing a human family member. My heart aches for Cheryl tonight.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-18871529785449338672011-04-09T13:30:00.000-07:002011-04-09T13:55:15.902-07:00Macy Is Illin', or How I Spent My Saturday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPSEvRD4eFM3nZv2-EzFkhEHbvzma05GE6Vmo9RWibyuBTB_b6kTVuSvg3AeQpLiqNh-3b8DFiAHMW8DPigwf5Tj1UbTpBxg1QncaYXMS3e6z2HYd3MdfUIQVvUd7a5Nrmd74DjF-gUcn/s1600/228.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593689483807166882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPSEvRD4eFM3nZv2-EzFkhEHbvzma05GE6Vmo9RWibyuBTB_b6kTVuSvg3AeQpLiqNh-3b8DFiAHMW8DPigwf5Tj1UbTpBxg1QncaYXMS3e6z2HYd3MdfUIQVvUd7a5Nrmd74DjF-gUcn/s320/228.JPG" /></a> 1. Wake up earlier than usual (around 8:30) because I know I have to stop by Mom's this morning. Looking forward to something tasty for breakfast because I'm already a little hungry after last night's sub-stellar bowling event.<br /><BR> <BR> 2. Read a little of <i>The Lost Symbol</i> until snoring husband flips over to face me. Stare at snoring husband until he opens his eyes a little. Engage him in conversation enough to wake him up. Inwardly snicker a bit at my diabolical success. <BR> <BR> 3. Shake head in disbelief when husband proclaims "we" woke up too early to have breakfast. "It throws off the whole day," he says. Um, OK. It's now two hours until his designated lunch time. I will try to make it. <BR> <BR> 4. Load large ladder into not-quite-big-enough car and drive to Mom's to replace air filter. Who builds a house so you need a ladder to change the air filter? And what idiot doesn't notice that when looking for a house for Mom to live in? Oh yeah, that's me. <BR> <BR> 5. Go to fat-girl store, looking for something formal for the Gov's Banquet. Didn't find anything, but they have something at the store in Cedar Hill, which is only about two hours from here. <BR> <BR> 6. Try fat-girl sections in major department stores. FOUND SOMETHING, and cannot believe the luck. Not only does it fit, but it was a return and so is drastically marked down. Not sure all parts of the suit will work, but the jacket could be worn with the pant/skirt that I already have. Score. <BR> <BR> 7. Am finally cleared for nourishment. Choose Mexican food, because I am so freakin' starving at this point. Was able to contain my eyes-bigger-than-stomach syndrome. Food was gooooooood. Drink was even better. Mint at the end was fabulous. <BR> <BR> 8. Drove around. Went up to Allen and checked out their new little apartment/shopping community. Would totally have loved living there if I was a 20-something. Really nice. Really cool. Really largly undiscovered by the public so far, which is good. Probably will be crawling with peeps around Christmas. <BR> <BR> 9. Side trip to Stonebriar. To my happy surprise, it was still free gift time at Clinique. I needed cleanser. Got it. Got freebie. Very happy. <BR> <BR> 10. Came home. It's 3 p.m. Hubby going to play cards in 45 minutes. Opened door to smell of poop. Bad poop. Slimy gift on kitchen floor. Larger, more sold gift on living room carpet (which is just going to have to be replaced anyway). Smore stealthy gifts in "throw-up" areas of kitchen. Spots of blood. I lose it. Call vet. Vet says dog probably ate something bad. (Duh.) Says bring dog in if no improvement. <BR> <BR> 11. Clean up vom. Vom myself in kitchen sink. Scott cleans up vom. Voms himself outside. Nice. <BR> <BR> 12. Macy outside, uncharacteristically NOT eating grass. Must be near death, I think. Macy comes back inside. Voms again, beginning the whole cycle over. Two rolls of paper towels later, Macy is in living room resting. Mommy blogs. Daddy leaves for card-playing. Momy leaves back door open for Macy (gotta get a doggie door). <BR> <BR> 13. Eat, Pray, Love comes on Starz. Perhaps I can watch without vom. Macy sleeps. My poor puppy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-66734007323484305572011-04-02T17:56:00.000-07:002011-04-02T18:07:17.821-07:00I Miss YouWhen you lose the most important man in your life, the grief just never goes away. Some days it's just a vibration that drones in the back of your mind, just below the surface of your consciousness. As you carry on with life, nobody knows the difference, but the grief comes along for the ride, adding a touch of gray to a sunny day. It's insignificant as a hangnail--irritating and sometimes painful, but mostly ignorable. Some days the grief is actually dormant, giving you just a moment of peace, a respite from your underlying sadness, a brief return to "your old self." Some days, though, it lies raw and angry on the surface of your skin; you flinch to the touch. You ache to talk to him again, to hear his voice and beg his wisdom. These days come along when you are burning to tell him something. Today is one of those days. On days like today, I pull out Granddaddy's Bible just to see the notes in the margins. Sometimes a particular phrase will stick with me and give me pause to read a passage or two. It's not my daily quiet time; I just like to see his handwriting and remember how much Daddy's looked like his. It's about as close as I can get to him now. There's so much I need to tell him.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8622761545792807284.post-47714675495610191812011-03-29T18:20:00.000-07:002011-03-29T18:37:55.438-07:00Arboretum 2011Stefanie and I took a visit to the Arboretum on Saturday with the rest of the metroplex. It was absolutely terrific. I have never been, but I know I will go again. God don't make junk, so purty pictures were easy pickin's (not that I picked the .... anyway). Here are my favorites. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-WuanmiB0KpzpyvBtvrWmFzdsIOgS_AyarnTUiIFHyZhUJq-K1DXKN7qc1dORv11M3u7RC1O13AXhiTonJbtls1EhZ4ZYT27HIMpHRgDL7c8aqCIlEg7KkQaNNS-w-vUd4oyO4N-bhVQ/s1600/720.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589678327774863266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-WuanmiB0KpzpyvBtvrWmFzdsIOgS_AyarnTUiIFHyZhUJq-K1DXKN7qc1dORv11M3u7RC1O13AXhiTonJbtls1EhZ4ZYT27HIMpHRgDL7c8aqCIlEg7KkQaNNS-w-vUd4oyO4N-bhVQ/s320/720.JPG" /></a> I thought the old ladies getting up-close and personal with the tulips was cute. Also cute was this guy, who let us walk right up to him. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMmoqbD7MSmppWXH5DQGQnKfNbY2xenw6eviyqSjzh4SsYK7celKm75sqeDVd1UB3pZCHLnuNL9eIQMeOiV_8hNrdQkC78qRnQm9rFYI22ie70G_aM7velGUD4HfXCBDBawAVU0wQHyZZo/s1600/783.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589678575506803634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMmoqbD7MSmppWXH5DQGQnKfNbY2xenw6eviyqSjzh4SsYK7celKm75sqeDVd1UB3pZCHLnuNL9eIQMeOiV_8hNrdQkC78qRnQm9rFYI22ie70G_aM7velGUD4HfXCBDBawAVU0wQHyZZo/s320/783.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqD-xfFFWw3z8XqRUrw478xyAP-P0Jo2kYG09X8QdD0A2kUG0crY4wfZnyAKz0CO2DodJFlS7ENAi2-m8Pue0oE5-SmuGC3cFIzCFxVf9C4HM4BjjYQ_tf7QRv_qA9IDtwwwj3SPr20K21/s1600/735.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589678113619412898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqD-xfFFWw3z8XqRUrw478xyAP-P0Jo2kYG09X8QdD0A2kUG0crY4wfZnyAKz0CO2DodJFlS7ENAi2-m8Pue0oE5-SmuGC3cFIzCFxVf9C4HM4BjjYQ_tf7QRv_qA9IDtwwwj3SPr20K21/s320/735.JPG" /></a> And there were fishies, too... I especially like the little girl sitting on the armadillo. Stefanie: Want me to climb that tree? Me: Yeah. <br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xuKPOuW5yTMTzJfvfLGDkoUEB2pDgrwhk47WxwvNOLFhVR_ffyDlMVlerHCMTH8Q9YMs0CdrUtLhXCSdpx3VcnMZalpGG7mtVzCLYEe5Yb9OAFQ6eFy5ujfMf6S1ovczcyliRPuHIm3R/s1600/764.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589677933029333058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xuKPOuW5yTMTzJfvfLGDkoUEB2pDgrwhk47WxwvNOLFhVR_ffyDlMVlerHCMTH8Q9YMs0CdrUtLhXCSdpx3VcnMZalpGG7mtVzCLYEe5Yb9OAFQ6eFy5ujfMf6S1ovczcyliRPuHIm3R/s320/764.JPG" /></a> <br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tmgmPBQ1EFWqm_RKIxT61NjDIvVvyOmkl1LynpNme3TLuOkh52dARJnP5wVQrJY2240UCwTQtFMi03rrjrcl609tLw9Ycts6elADhRlTnhgNOx8492VsNOq8b0ParuzNeYCWaBi2x3Xf/s1600/778.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589677738839387794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tmgmPBQ1EFWqm_RKIxT61NjDIvVvyOmkl1LynpNme3TLuOkh52dARJnP5wVQrJY2240UCwTQtFMi03rrjrcl609tLw9Ycts6elADhRlTnhgNOx8492VsNOq8b0ParuzNeYCWaBi2x3Xf/s320/778.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IJZ5qGDK8dvKYLMDMps3P9-Hj288Pz15BwAY-nGB49_UyAeIhgJc50rHFKJjlWRacBBNRaBddGA7QPqlAfnNQtklnpbq0aID75uYkgAzQyq6ep3e_b6jsFKt6PBNfQFerGJgnQ16ZzPn/s1600/771.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589677572177392818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IJZ5qGDK8dvKYLMDMps3P9-Hj288Pz15BwAY-nGB49_UyAeIhgJc50rHFKJjlWRacBBNRaBddGA7QPqlAfnNQtklnpbq0aID75uYkgAzQyq6ep3e_b6jsFKt6PBNfQFerGJgnQ16ZzPn/s320/771.JPG" /></a> <br /><div><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589677256394550002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRh2LG6-X6gWLrqvVSgiVdVy8o515NTmncf9k5nkIVsKADVJR05ToQluBH4aiKdSXxk_2oDo9E5-_vpWTAKa8Ivnb5AQmykYh-iXmPcyGFNiSO_HuMVvV2gl6oUrpL93CGPCRT_lc00nN/s320/737.JPG" /> <br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0