Ventage Inklings

Here's Your Sign

2009-08-24T13:55:00.012-05:00

Lots of construction going on around our house. Not inside my house mind you, remember I am the cobbler's barefoot child. Rather BY our house.

You know, road work. Sewage work. Our tax dollars hard at work.

Not.

I can say "not" because it seems every time we drive by the area the road crew is either standing around looking at a hole in the mud or sitting under a tree watching the mud dry. Seems more like my tax dollars on vacation. Not that my vacations are spent watching mud dry.

Another thing we see everywhere are signs. Lots and lots of signs. Big neon yellow signs. Big orange and black signs.

Making sure we are aware that there is actually something going on besides men in hard hats on extended lunch breaks discussing important official city stuff like if that really was a hole they were staring at for the past four hours.

Signs like this one:

And this one:

Which made my daughter ask (in all sincerity, I might add) "What does that sign mean? 'homeless man crossing'?"

Yes, baby, and his cardboard says "Will work for your tax dollars (maybe)"

Good Question

2009-07-31T14:49:00.004-05:00

My husband, being the gifted handyman that he is, is often asked by friends and co-workers to repair some thing or another in their home.

(Meanwhile, my honey-do list sits home by the phone waiting for a booty call. You know the old saying, "The handyman's children need their house painted." Oh, wait, that's a cobbler's children don't have shoes...sorry, just a little snarkiness leaking from the unfixed roof there.)

Where was I? Oh yes...this past Saturday for instance he got the bat signal just as we were sitting down to lunch and he informed the commissioner he would be by to fix the woes of Gotham that evening. So around that time Vicky Vale here is feeling the need for caffeine and since Batman wanted me to tag-along and hang out with him I jumped in the Batmobile excited for the java, uh, the company...Hey, I may need my house painted, but I do have my priorities in order.

This person's home is on the market and they no longer live there, but they did have friends of theirs staying in the home over the weekend since they were in town for a wedding. And their firends had the cutest stinking kids. Seriously.

Their little boy was probably six months old and was all dressed up for the shindig. He was teething and drooling and quite the serious little man. I kept exchanging my dignity in hopes of a giggle, a smile, anything toothless and baby-like, but he remained indifferent to my blathering.

The little girl was fashionably adorable, of course. All of 3 years old, she spoke as precise as an ivy league English professor. She informed me she was going to be a ballerina and firmly requested my full attention as she spun in a circle showing me her ballerina skills.

Arms out, eyes closed she spun and spun in dizzying circles and her dress flared out around her like the perfect ballerina's dress should. I told her I thought that was the best thing about a dress. She heartily concurred.

She finished her ballet recital with a grand flop (that is french for "to throw oneself with passion") on to the couch and emphasized it by sticking her legs straight up in the air. I applauded and politely turned away giving her a moment to recover and cover. However, she remained positioned thusly. After a moment or two of awkward silence, her mother, (in that very motherly voice that asks a question in a tone that implies it is in no way an easy question but something you should pay strict attention to or else) inquired "Mikaela, do ballerinas show their panties?"

At this, my dainty little professor slash ballerina sat up, furrowed her brow in thought and replied...

"maybe"

And promptly began the second act of her recital.

Applause, applause. Roses are thrown. Bows are taken. Curtains close. Good night.

The Right to Bare Arms

2009-07-02T07:53:00.009-05:00

Just because my arms could fit a tattoo of one of them there naked lady outlines you see on 18 wheeler mud-flaps. Life-sized. With room to spare. Doesn't mean I should be ashamed. (Ok. Just disregard my last post and momentarily put aside all my insecurities.)

You see, I don't care that they flap in the breeze, jiggle when I brush, hang like a hammock with a sumo-wrestler napping in it.

Or that I've been likened to a flying bat.

Or that I could be a circus side show phenomenon, The Incredible Stretchy Woman! (as well as The Bearded & Mustached Lady!)

Or that I could get some serious lift (about 1 to 2 inches off the ground) if I flap hard enough.

Or that I should register them as weapons. No kidding. Honey, I can slap the silly off of a clown from two feet away with these arm flaps of mine!

Never mind any of that...I've worked so very hard. And these flappy babies are a symbol, a memorial banner (hung low) if you will, to where and who I once was. A beautiful tribute to WLS success stories and 40+ women all over the world.

And I want them removed as soon as I can get insurance approval. Or a large sum of money falls from the heavens with no strings or taxes attached...whichever comes first.

But until then, I will wear short sleeves. Go sleeveless. Wear spaghetti straps. Wave and flap as much as Grandma Moses with an American flag on 4th of July. Without shame or shawl to hide behind.

Take that you inbred, banjo playing goons!

If the Shoe Fits Size Two

2009-06-09T07:53:00.021-05:00

I had the rare pleasure of buying myself some new shoes a couple of weeks ago. I say "pleasure" rather tongue-in-cheekish because (if you know anything about me) you know I hate (read loathe) to shop. (Which explaineth the rarity of said "pleasure"). Any well, I went straight for the size that I've worn for all adulthood and found several not so high-heeled, not so pricey, not too limited color-wise and sat down to try on my selections.

And to my delight, not a single one of them fit.

I returned to the shelves and picked up smaller size, slipped it on before I got comfy and nope...still too big. Wow. Cool. My feet have really shrunk.

Now, somewhere in the area otherwise known as my brain...where the knowledge dwells and thinking is (in theory) supposed to happen...the realization has already occurred. I've lost 175 pounds so, yeah, my old shoes have become looser and I connected that to shrinkage happening all over and not just to my butt. However, the reality of it, or rather the proof of it is far sweeter. Seriously, my feet lost a size or two depending on the shoe. Like I said, sweet!

That brain to body connection gets broken down in lots of areas. It's like there's this highway from self-image to reality and this highway has detours in to necks of the wood where reality is not at all welcome. Your hurtful past and your distorted self-image are there sitting on the porch of a post-Katrina-esque shack all gussied up in tattered overalls, scratching their bloated bellies and swigging moonshine. Reality has a not-so-firm grip on your arm and is tapping you on the shoulder for all its worth, begging you to get out of there NOW because reality hears the banjos playing. All the while those inbred goons are waving a shotgun in your face and telling you white lies through 3 black teeth and a wicked smile. And for reasons known only to your heart you continue to walk right in to their disinuring web of deception.

I’ve said it before, what I see in the mirror and what I am in reality are often uncharted miles apart.
And more often how others see me and how I view myself are as different as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Yes, I am the cynical sort. Not the glass is half-empty kind. No, I see the positive in life, I just don't think I'm really the recipient of the positive. Or that the positive is what it appears to be. So, even if the glass is half-full doesn't mean I get to drink from it. And I'm going to doubt the actual fullness of said glass until the water is poured out, measured, weighed and the glass is refilled and handed back to me. Then maybe I will believe that I get to have the glass and drink the water too. But, I tarry on the wrong rabbit trail...

You would think the more time that passes in this new body of mine, the more I would grow used to the new view. But words that are now ascribed to me are as unfitting and unfamiliar to me as those size 9 1/2 shoes. Words like: skinny, tiny, little and phrases such as you are an inspiration to me, you look amazing, I hate you, I want to look like you, cause me to turn to see just who the heck they are talking to because, surely, it’s not me. This isn’t me pretending to be humble and this isn’t me fishing for compliments, this is out and out disbelief because I just don’t see it that way at all. Nor do I believe it. (Remember the half-full glass? Of course you do...)

No matter that it has been nearly 16 months since my surgery. Or that I'm now a size 4 and have been for 3 or 4 months. Size FOUR I said. Something I never, ever, ever, ever dreamed possible. No matter that I am physically capable of doing anything and everything that I want to do, whereas before even thinking of attempting any level of activity would have rendered me breathless, immobile from pain or dead of cardiac arrest. No matter. The words are foreign and I don’t speak the language.

This is due to the fact that the weight loss surgery didn't occur in my brain. That operation does not happen once and its over with, whew I'm cured. Nope, this is a medicine I have to take daily like a good girl. Sometimes I refuse the treatment and suffer the consequences.

And for those who think weight loss surgery is the easy route, you should know that there are no easy routes in life. You may start down that seemingly easy road, but the banjos will catch up to you my friend. And if you want to escape the outcome you and reality will have to paddle faster.

And frankly my dears, it’s all just a bit scary. Not the banjos. Well, yes the banjos are scary but I am going somewhere else...Scary because seriously, you want to look like ME? I inspire YOU? You HATE me because I’m skinny? Inconceivable. Oh people, if you only knew.

There is within me a fierce insecurity with regards to how I look now, more so than when I weighed 315 lbs. I was far more comfortable cloaked in my layers of fat, protected and cushioned from the world’s eyes along with its expectations and ideas. And while I’d like to believe that I do not and will not cater to the world, truth is I find that I very much do. And while I long to be free of the desire for man’s approval, that desire sits there along with my self-image and my past, both daunting and taunting me. Quite a motley crew, those three are.

So now I am learning to make peace with both the reflection and the reality. Connecting who it is I think I am with who I want to be. I think, basically, that is life daily for all on planet Earth.

Go figure.

Oh, and yes I found shoes. Not these though...

(not my foot)

Those beauties - according to my bff - are for all the anime hookers out there...

Empty Nexter

2009-06-05T11:12:00.007-05:00

I'm standing in the middle of my favorite grocery store and I've been shopping for quite some time now. My basket is, for all intents and purposes, more than full. I stand, looking over my selections, watching the other shoppers. They appear enraptured with their selections, their carts, their choices...just their being there. Yawn.

Some are genuinely happy and I envy them. In my heart there is a longing to feel that happiness, that sense of contentment they seem to get from just being there. I don't understand it anymore. I used to, but now I am so very bored with it all. I've seen everything, over and over. I've snacked on the samples. I've gone home with and gorged on probably every item available to me in hopes that I will finally feel that proverbial illusive happiness only to realize I'm not content at all. I am still so very, very empty.

I walk up and down each aisle looking for what it is I feel I am missing. There is a clue here somewhere. Something they have in their cart that I don't have. Surely.

Some offer a specific item they are sure will answer my dilemma. I used to toss those into my cart with hopeful eagerness. But at this point in my journey I no longer think another item in my cart will make a difference to the balance, one way or the other. My appetite waned, my interest unmotivated.

I feel like walking away. No, scratch that. I feel like running away. Screaming. The urge to flee is so very strong. I want to leave the basket there and never return. What's the use? What purpose does this or that item serve. I no longer care about the contents or what happens to me if I don't purchase them. I no longer care to be here. I am empty. My heart screams NEXT!!??!!??

This is how it's been for some time now. It's not the store; I've been to many different stores. And it's not the contents of the basket; it's all healthy choices, no Twinkies or chips - not that an occasional Twinkie or bag of chips is bad mind you - but I don't even crave those things. I am empty. And I want next.

This is my walk in the Christian life of late. I am bored. Bored with Christianity, bored with church, bored with the reasons I am bored and bored with the answers to my boredom.

I am empty and I am screaming NEXT!?!?!?!

Yes, I work at a church. Yes, I attend this church and love this church. I love the God I worship and serve. I have no question of who He is or if He is or where He is. I've no question of my faith, the validity of my religion or the truth of Christ. All that is very solid, very real.

I know His word. I've read His word over and over. I've sat at His feet and desperately clung to His cross pleading for more of Him. He knows all of this because I talk to Him in very real terms on a daily basis.

And yet, I am empty. Next?

I'm not sure where this post is going or what my point is other than to put it out there. I know others feel the same because I've had this conversation with quite a few people. Christians bored with Christianity.

There is no answer you can give me. I am not asking for a solution or even your solution. No need to invite me to visit your grocery store. No sense in me envying or borrowing what you have in your cart. No need to figure out what snack, ingredient or even recipe I should try now. Nope. Been there. Done that. Next?

If the Shoe Fits

2009-06-02T07:46:00.004-05:00

Buy it in 3 colors and work it girl! I know, I know...it doesn't end that way. But again, I remind you, this is my blog neglected or not.

I had other titles in mind. "That Witch We Call, Arose" Or how about, "The Lovely Miss Gnomer" and for our Spanish speaking friends "¡Eso sí que es, s.o.c.k.s.!" And these all are, indeed, a bit more apropos to the subject at hand, but oh well.

On the way to work the car radio was squawking as usual. I truly hate morning radio, just play some music and be quiet already. It is too early to think, I don't want to hear crude humor and I'm far to sleepy to care. And I'm a morning person. So, I reach over to turn it down/off when this line from a commercial got my attention.

"Come stay at the Lock n' Terror Resort"

I turned, quizzically to Speed Racer, also known as my husband and said "would you want to stay at a hotel named "Lock 'n Terror"?" He chuckled. Then realized I was serious. Then he laughed. Out loud. In my face.

Rude.

"La Cantera. hon. It's La Can-ter-a."

Oh. Well, that clears that up. The gentleman from the commercial was, clearly, from the south of east Texas and was, clearly, (how shall I say this?) NOT of the Hispanic persuasion because it, clearly, was not heard as anything recognizable as, close to or resembling Spanish or a Spanish pronunciation. So there.

Of course there was not a goofy white-guy to excuse the time I asked my beloved why anyone in their right mind would name a company "Tit-least"? He responded so graciously and mercifully - laughing till he cried and then gently correcting me, at the top of his lungs, so as to protect me from the embarrassment of anyone nearby hearing "that's title-IST"...and to keep from furthering my embarrassment, he refuses to tell anyone this story. More than once or twice. While laughing.

I take it in stride. Only hitting him once or twice. While laughing.

Apparently the tree keeps its fruit really close because the youngest tends to ask the same questions. While examining a bag of cough drops during her recent brush with death she asked me "what's four-moo-lah?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"What's four-moo-lah?" saying it slow for me, because that helps the blond lead the blind.

"In context?"

"On the cough drops bag it says: soothing four-moo-lah."

One Post Will Not Do

2009-05-20T14:09:00.010-05:00

How can you sum up someone's life in a post, an obituary, or even a biography of epic proportions? You cannot. There are too many moments, uncountable elements, layers shifting constantly and many varied roles and characters. So much so that one's life is never, ever completely captured in any form.

To try seems almost offensive. Tasteless even. As if you are somehow detracting from all that a person was by attempting to convey only the significant details, meanwhile all the perfect little moments slip by unnoticed and forgotten. The Reader's Digest abridged version of a life, if you will.

Which details do you decide are significant? Which part of the whole defines one's essence? Where do you begin, follow and end? What do you leave out? What do you leave with?

I guess for some this task might be an easy one. Not me. I've struggled with the words, the title, the manner in which I attempt tell you about the woman who was/is my mother since her passing.

There is no way I could impart to you the strength with which she faced each day and the tenacious grip she held on life. You would perhaps miss the fact that she lived life with a quiet dignity and tremendous courage. You might not see the depth of her beauty and possibly never grasp the dynamics of her wisdom and humor.

In my grief I am not forgetting her less than shiny qualities. Her razor sharp tongue that could put you in your place and let you know how she felt in no uncertain terms. Then there's her more than quick temper (that some might say I inherited) her love for an off-colored joke and so on. No, those things are part of the whole as well. They must remain in tact with the rest of the memories otherwise it is a dishonor to her. And I cherish the rough facets of her life as much as I do the polished ones.

I especially cherish the last two weeks I had with her. I sat by her bed from early morning to late night as she lay dying. I keep a notebook in my purse and would take it out to journal the last days with her, lest I forget. Lest anyone forget.

Some of my notes are far too personal, some too sad or cruel to share because death is not a Hollywood moment. As I look them over now, I hesitate to put them here, to hand them over to anyone. For up until now they have been my memories alone.

My purpose it not to make you cry, my mother would not have that, merely to give you a glimpse. An unedited glimpse, I do not apologize for the grammar/spelling or language.

She wants to go in to hospice. Basta is basta she says. Huh, didn't know she knew those words in Spanish. Oh God help me, this is for real. I am torn, selfishly torn.

Can I remember everything I need to remember about my mom? Where was she born? Who were her parents? Do those things matter? (here I try to jot down details, dates, names...)

She removes the oxygen mask from her face, I stand and start to tell her she has to leave it on. She tells me, I heart you. I laugh and cry at the same time. I heart you too mom.

She lays there staring at the ceiling. I ask what she's thinking. (I'm expecting some end of journey deep thought) She informs me she is playing mental games and counting the ceiling tiles. I ask how many are there? She replies, there is 1/2 an inning left and the batter strikes out. That's some mental game mom.

Next door the family has just learned their husband/father/brother has suffered a debilitating stroke. My heart is filled with sadness for the journey they have ahead. The nurses are yelling his name "Mr Rosie-lest?" He isn't answering. I want to tell them "You idiots! Of course he won't respond, it's ROSALES! (rose-ah-less)." But I stay quiet.

Each day there's a song stuck in my head. A playlist if you will. Today's song is Lifehouse's song You And Me And All of the People...nothing to do, nothing to lose...I think what is her absolute favorite song? I know she likes Sinatra, Helen Reddy...I want to sing to her and cannot remember the stinking words to any songs she likes. I keep singing Lifehouse. The next day it was "American Pie" by Don McLean. Then "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by Peter, Paul & Mary. Then "Up, Up & Away" by Fifth Dimension. Strange what songs the mind dregs up.We liked those songs when I was little. I remembered there was one song she sang to me over and over. She said it was our song. I cannot remember this song either. This makes me cry.

CC has come again today. She comes everyday and stays for hours. I so enjoy her company. What person can do this without it being their relative or friend? With the power of God's love and mercy. Perhaps mom has brought me a friend. Sometimes visitors come and I almost feel resentful of their intrusion. I don't resent her. I am grateful for her presence, it is comforting.

The nursing home called. They want to box up her stuff and release her bed. I am confused. I know she is dying but am hesitant to make that step. I resent their implications. The rudeness, the callousness and the reality of what their call means. Is this the denial phase of grief? Isn't that supposed to happen after death?

Her first nurse's name was Blessing. Then there was Nazarene. This nurse's name is Tommy. So young, just a baby really. How does he deal with this every day? I think I like him best. He is the kindest to her.

Man I've had way too much coffee. Hospital coffee sucks. All they have are these little packets of powder creamer and I add way too many in hopes it will taste a bit better. I hope someone will bring me a gallon of Starbuck's...I'd settle for a Venti.

She asks me to lower the head of her bed. She sighs "heaven, here I come." I burst into tears. She doesn't notice, she is back asleep.

Her breathing see-saws between labored and shallow with long silences between each. I find myself watching closely and holding my breath with her.

She has been unresponsive now for days. I miss her already. I tell her this. I talk to her while I watch "Cash Cab". I ask her the questions from the show and then remark on the answers. I cry and I laugh. She lays there, not knowing. Damnit, is this even still her? I wonder. This seems to be an empty shell, the body functioning, the spirit gone.

I went home last night to find 3 boxes of her things in my living room from the nursing home. How sad. 76 years of a life dumped into 3 boxes. Those sons of bitches could have waited. There is someone already in her bed, Jesse tells me.

I've told her I love her a thousand times today alone. Does she hear me? Does she remember that? I wash her, brush her teeth, change her. Tell her I love her again.

Each night I leave there is a sense of this is it finality. Panic sets in the moment I step foot outside her room. What if she leaves now and I'm not there to say goodbye? People encourage me to go eat, go sleep...do something normal. It feels good to get out of there, but not for long. fear sets in quickly and I fear I must get back to her.

She passed away on Mother's Day. What a gift to her to be released from that body of death. That broken shell is no longer her home.This is the same day I remember the song she called ours. You and Me Against the World by Helen Reddy. I sing it over and over and cry myself to sleep.

Cory Ann Snowdon 1932-2009

For Lack of a Better Word

2009-04-29T14:58:00.008-05:00

I wrote the following post back in August of last year, and except for the part about the Olympics, the post is still eh, somewhat relevant. I don't think I've ever posted any part of it but, hey if I did, then read it again dangit. And if I didn't, then in the spirit of protecting the earth's resources, you know being GREEN, reduce, reuse, recycle and all that jazz (What? Oh don't tell me it doesn't apply to blogging!) I thought I would go ahead and post it for you. I have several such as this one, started, not finished. Random ideas floating about and pinned to the cork-board of my blog's dashboard like a long forgotten post-it reminder. And those will follow...

In the mean time, I'm writing something that's been a recurring theme. It is a difficult quilt to pattern, so it is taking me quite some time to lay it out, piece it together and make it in to something you can use. Bear with me, k?

------------------------------------------------------

I'm Not So Good At This...

...blogging more often thing.
Every time I write a new post I say to my blog "I will come back much sooner next time." To which she replies rather snottily "Whatever."

"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means. I don't think I need to spell it out for you."
"Well fine then, don't."
"Fine."
"Fine."

I admit it, I have been pretty lame at the blogging games.

...watching every Olympic event thing.
Speaking of games, my daughter and I were watching the Olympics. Sad but we've not been able to watch everything as I am old and must be put to bed early right after I take my Geritol and The Golden Girls is over (RIP Bea Arthur). However we've not missed out on everything. We got to watch the oh-so-popular highly-anticipated and watched-more-than-any-other-sport THE men's water polo games.

It was USA vs. Croatia.

I was completely lost the entire time....I couldn't follow a thing I mean for one, half of the game is under water (duh) and with all the splashing about and going back and forth across the pool it was never very clear where the ball was nor who was on what team. But what was quite clear and truly amazing was that those teeny tiny itty bitty pieces of what I think were supposed to be bathing suits held on for their dear little lives during all that action. In fact I think they should award medals for that feat of athleticism alone.

This match in particular was, according to the announcers, unexpectedly exciting due to the fact that Croatia was favored to have a very easy win over the Americans but it seemed the Americans had other ideas (don't we always?) and kept the lead with a very close score. At one point the cameras panned to the Croatian team members on the side lines where they are jumping around, running up and down and cheering on their teammates while their patch of spandex, displaying stamina achieved only by those with the greatest skill, were holding their own. At this point the announcer says, I kid you not, "Boy, it just doesn't get any tighter than this."

Let's hope not Dave. Let's hope not. To the spandex goes the gold.

...patience thing.
I hate to shop. I really do. I know, it's not American. It's not female. And it's just not normal. Oh well.

This past weekend was the tax-free weekend and along with half the world and their momma we did our parental duty - school shopping.

To me that is like the worst form of shopping there is folks. I mean, let us just head right on over to the mall, join a mob of strangers and take our kids for several hours on end and spend gobs of money on stuff they will never use in the classroom however the school requires it EVERY year as well as clothes they won't be able to wear in 3 months time why don't we?

The thing is, and perhaps (just a slight perhaps mind you!) this applies to me just as much, people are just rude. Inconsiderate, selfish, blind, arrogant and rude - especially when it comes to being in a store.

Whether it's parking their cars/carts with no care what so ever as to where anyone else is, cutting you off with their car/cart, trying to run you over with their car/cart, leaving the cart in the aisles so that no one can pass and then glaring you down as if you are trying to kidnap their precious bundle of joy (that just so happens to be standing in the cart being ignored) when you move it, letting the aforementioned precious bundle of joy (that you hope no one does kidnap - uh maybe) run willy-nilly around the store screaming as if there were a bloody fire that they want this that or the other, generally walking about like mindless zombies as if no one else in the world exists except for them, or leaving unwanted items - be it their precious bundle of joy, their merchandise or their trash - strewn about as if this were a dump site. Or perhaps it is all of the above. Whatever the case, these are the very essence of why I hate to shop.

...parenting/it takes a whole tribe thing.
We are ever changing, (n)ever growing creatures are we not? Myself included in the growing and changing business...however I'm not so sure it would be considered growing UP or in the right direction. Lately I've found myself being less and less patient with and even less desiring to be around other people's children. HEAR/READ me carefully people please. I've had 4 children and know (boy, do I know) that they will be children...I am referring to the undisciplined, unmonitored, untrained little monsters that scream/whine/throw tantrums/cry on and on and on without reason, running a muck & destroying all that lay in their path and seemingly with no parental unit to take them by the scruff of their neck and teach them the error of their ways.

What...? Me, God? No way. So, um, You are telling me I scream/whine/throw tantrums/cry on and on (and on) without reason? Hey, I have my reasons. I mean, not that I whine. Okay, okay....I whine. But no one hears it Lord. Oh, You do? Right. I guess you got me there. You do take me by the scruff of my neck and teach me the error of my ways don't You Father? Sigh.

Dear Lord Baby Jesus how do you keep from killing us? They say that's the reason children are so cute when they are asleep. No wonder You watch over us as we sleep.

It Was Before My Morning Coffee

2009-02-19T10:28:00.008-06:00

Had to of been.

No clue what I'm on about? Well, it's not the hair even though that's looking rather nest-ish in this picture.

Here...take a closer look:

This is my right earring.

And this...this my friends is...

...is my left one.

Why yes they are quite cute. Thank you Rae, one of my bff's and fbf's, for noticing! (where is she when I get dressed at the crack of dawn because neither my husband, my daughter, my son, my friendly baristas NOR my mirror paid one bit of attention.) And did I take them off once my fashion ~~faux pas~~ statement was pointed out? Oh heck no.

I'm gonna work it like I meant to. Or maybe just point it out to everyone and get a few laughs.

So, when I went to post this lovely bit of self-deprecating humor, I happen to notice that my last post was dated 1 day short of 1 month ago. Visit much?

Probably not.

An Irish Inauguration Song

2009-01-20T08:04:00.005-06:00

Thanks Ali!

**No, No, That's Not It....

2009-01-06T18:20:00.010-06:00

In middle school we had to write a paper on how old we thought we'd be when we die and what method we preferred. As if middle school wasn't already all sunshine and daisies. I didn't seem to think I could possibly bear to live past the decrepit age of 43. (I'm currently eking out every measure of life my ancient bones can stand in the few months I have left.) As for the macabre subject of how, I don't remember what I deemed an acceptable demise. I probably chose to go in my sleep or something along those lines since I knew at such a rusty age a person would not be able to do a thing worth enjoying any way.

If only I had heard of Fannie. I would have decided to live much longer. At a venerable 92 years old, Miss Fannie is one of the most active ladies I have ever known. She has served in our church for much longer than I've lived and every day of the week she is there working just as hard (if not harder than) the rest of us. She is the tiniest thing, probably weighs less than she is old, is mild mannered and soft spoken, yet in my eyes she is larger than life.

A couple of months after my weight loss surgery, at a point when I'd lost about 60 pounds Miss Fannie comes in to our office bringing the mail as she does daily, just as she's leaving she stops, looks at me and says "There is something different about you..." I assume she is about to say something about my weight loss, instead she says "Did you get a hair cut?" I smile, because I actually did just get a hair cut..."yes Miss Fannie, I did." She tells me it looks nice and moves on. She makes me want to go home with her and have her bake me cookies.

Some months after that, when I'd lost about 100 pounds Miss Fannie comes in to our office, to drop off the mail and the above scene is played out again. "There is something different about you..." I say that I'm not sure what it is. She asks if I just cut my hair, I don't want to offend so I say yes and she smiles and walks out. Miss Fannie you make me smile.

After having lost 130 pounds the change is no longer a questionable one, at least in my opinion, but leave it to Miss Fannie to humble my vain heart yet again. This time it is about 7 or 8 months after my surgery and I'm walking down the hall on an errand when she passes me she turns to me and utters the familiar "There sure is something different about you I can't put my finger on it..." I'm thinking don't embarrass her by stating the oh-so-very obvious and instead reply "I colored my hair Miss Fannie." She looks at me sort of questionably as if she wants to say no, that's not it, but says "I like it, you look good." Miss Fannie, will you adopt me?

I've now lost 159 pounds. Over HALF the woman I once was is gone. (yay!) I am often told I look like a completely different person and several people have commented, more than once, that they have to do a double take and don't recognize me at first. So, perhaps Miss Fannie thinks after seven years they've gone and hired some new girl who goes and gets her hair done an awful lot because what else would explain her confusion?

Last week she walked in the office, we did the usual hello's and thank you's as she handed me the mail. This time she turned to me and said "Have you lost a little weight?" I smile. Miss Fannie, you have no clue. "I have lost just a little weight Miss Fannie." And you know what she said?

"Well, don't lose too much!"

I've shared these stories as they've happened with those who love her and know her because I think it's the sweetest thing ever. I in no way intend to be mean, it is in my opinion a kindness not to correct her. I've pondered the possibilities of why she has no clue that I now can call myself Mini Me. Perhaps it is her generation or her genteel southern raising that keeps her from coming out and saying "Girl you were huge!"

In sharing this latest exchange with one of my closest she put it all in to perspective for me. She said, "Miss Fannie has only ever seen you as Dana and what you are on the inside. The reason she can’t tell what the difference is, is because she's never seen you in terms of fat or thin."

And I think she is spot on. I fervently wish we all had eyes like that. That we would only see people for what they are on the inside. There would be no fatties, no uglies, just hello's and I like your hair cut's. But our world does not move that way and the case is often that I am now treated different. It is usually people I don't know, but it also happens with people who do know me...How do they treat me different? That is another post for another day. Suffice it to say, it isn't as heartwarming as a smile from Miss Fannie.

**I tried real hard to come up with a title that was suggestive of the pending post yet didn't in any way resemble an elementary school joke about a person's backside. Sadly anytime you hail or make reference to someone with the name Fannie the resulting images evoked are that of school yard taunts regarding one's rear end and childish snickering. Or is that just, perhaps, my immature self?

So, once again, the title is somewhat of a working title...other titles I flirted with include: Sherlock Fannie. Curious Fannie. Fannie May or May Not. It's Elementary My Dear Fannie. Granny Fannie. Oh and then there was Fists of Fannie, Kung Fu Fannie and my personal favorite Enter the Fannie. (The last three have nothing to do with this particular post however, they were movie titles awarded her the day Miss Fannie dressed in an outfit that very closely resembled a karate student. A karate student with a black belt I might add.)

'Tis Two Tags Then a Tangy Trophy

2008-12-27T08:49:00.015-06:00

*Scratch that and make it THREE!

'Twas a tidbit of T alliteration for you. Remember F Alliteration? You all thought I was cussing...which is not uncommon mind you, sometimes only a good old fashioned curse word will do. I just don't normally cuss on my blog. It just seems cruder (somehow) to cuss in print rather than verbally.

But I wasn't tagged for cussing or not cussing now was I? So, what am I on about? Off I go...

Tag #1
The VERY beautiful Jessica my co-worker and friend, tagged me some days back with a little thing called Picture Tag.

Seems I am to do the following;

1. Go to the 4th folder in your computer where you store your pictures.
2. Pick the 4th picture in that folder.
3. Explain the picture. (what, no 4?)
4. Tag 4 people to do the same!

The sad thing is, I'm at home and there aren't many picture folders or pictures IN the folders. The other sad thing is, I'm at home and the computer I have thinks it funny to sit there pretending you haven't clicked on a link or typed a few hundred paragraphs. It gets a small thrill out of your mounting frustration as you move the mouse (like THAT helps) back and forth like a mad woman. On crack. On an etch a sketch. On crack.

SO, finally when it does load I see the picture that is nominated and I am thinking "Oh dear Lord in your never ending compassion have mercy on my soul I am in so much trouble." But I play fair and square even if the outcome is life threatening or not...

Here it is:

Looks innocent and rather sweet don't it?

Don't be fooled gentle folk. If your momma told you once, she told you a million times "don't be deceived by a picture thinking it's all innocent and rather sweet just because of its beauty" or something like that...It is rather Venus fly trap in its deception. Especially with the head turned to the side and those beautiful eyes smiling back at you. Oh, but sweetness turns bitter with the slightest of ease and this one can morph in to an unrecognizable beast in a half a turn of the knob.

The fact is, this picture is from (almost exactly) one year ago. The childling (and her brother) just got her braces on and we wanted some pictures to show progress. Somewhere in the time since then she's decided all pictures either before-braces-or-just-after-braces shall henceforth be spat upon, torn to tiny little pieces and then after pouring copious amounts of acid upon them they shall be burned. And, henceforth, anyone in possession of aforementioned contraband shall be spat upon, torn in to tiny little pieces and then after pouring copious amounts of acid upon them they shall be burned. And hanged. Oh and then quartered. While hungry. While she screams at you.

But that's the risk I take in order to bring you the kind of honest blogalism you deserve.

Next we have the 8 Things Tag:
The ABSOLUTELY gorgeous Mrs. Ali from across the pond has tagged me for the following (here's where the THIRD tag comes in...) and the ABSOLUTELY ravishing Miss Sharona also from across the pond if only in our heart:

8 Things
8 TV Shows I Watch -
1. Lost
2. American Idol
3. What I Like About You
4. Tyler's Ultimate, Malto Mario, Barefoot Contessa, Paula Deen and the Iron Chef and just about anything on the Food Network because I'm addicted to cooking shows.
5. Dancing With The Stars
6. CSI: Las Vegas (I also watch NY and Miami as well as NCIS)
7. Um...really, don't watch much tv.
8. My husband asked me to put this: Monday Night Football.

8 Favorite Restaurants -
Oh this is a little hard since the surgery. But, I will list previous and still very worthy of eating at favorites.
1. Starbuck's. So, yeah, not technically a restaurant I know...however they do serve food (which I don't eat) but I am there more often than any other place listed below.
2. Taste of Texas
3. Ciro's
4. P.F. Chang's
5. Spanish Flower
6. Yia Yia Mary's (yes, Jessica my love, still. I think you just went on an off day)
7. (my husband asked me to put this): Casa de Moya
8. Fogo de Chao

8 Things That Happened To Me Today (actually this was several days ago, I've just not had time to post!)-
1. Made coffee at home. (that is major happenings folks, if you know me)
2. Talked to my heavenly Father.
3. Went for a walk. It rained I went home.
4. Cooked breakfast.
5. Read.
6. Wrote.
7. Talked to a neighbor.
8. Checked Facebook, email, weather, blogs and was bored.

8 Things I Look Forward To -
1. Every morning with my coffee.
2. Every evening with my family.
3. Every moment with my husband. When we aren't fighting. Okay, even when we are fighting.
4. One step closer to being healthier - physically, spiritually & mentally.
5. My 3 kids coming home from war make that everybody's children coming home from war.
5. The war ending.
6. Jesus returning.
7. Heaven.
8. Ali's trip to Houston!

8 Things I Wish For -
1. See above?
2. Okay that's a cop out. Freedom from depression.
3. A lap top computer.
4. More confidence.
5. My children's lives to be successful - not as the world sees success.
6. More time with people I love.
7. Um...
8. Ooops...skipped a few.

8 People I Tag -
1. Anyone who wants to play along!

And now folks for the trophy. Eh, hem. *Cue fanfare, marching band and confetti!* One of my favorite blogs to read is One Thing. Jenni is funny, smart, creative, interesting and REAL. There is much to learn about her and even much more to learn from her and I admire her so very much. YES, Jenni, I do believe that. All this and she has the nerve to give ME an award. Truth is, she was given this very same award and it seems the idea is to pass it forward after you've reveled in its glory. Jenni did not revel. Not one bit. She's so humble.

So here it is, The Most Highly Esteemed Ever Sought After Only A Few Can Aspire to Lemonade Award:

See, she said I take the Lemons That Life Hands Me and make Sweet Lemonade. I'm not sure I am deserving of such accolades but I do know some people who are...And the winners are (in no particular order other than alphabetical):

Ali - For taking those lemons thrown at you and squeezing back. Real hard. Ali, my hat is off to you. You make me laugh out loud often and wish I had such a cool accent! I am so looking forward to meeting you!

Candy Rant - For those of you who don't read Candy's blog, your loss. This is another woman of faith who is raw bones real with life. She takes the lemons and makes you wish life would have given you the gift of making lemons sound so dang tasty. And funny. And why didn't I ever see lemons that way? Truly a gifted writer. I anxiously await your book Candy!

Sharona - All of the above and then some. Sharon is one of my closest friends and I cherish her every word. Sharon has taken the puddles of lemons meted her way and learned to jump them. Splash all up in them. She revels in the scent for it means there has been victory over the lemon. She too is a gifted writer and I cannot wait to see her published.

and Nancy - Okay, you see the pattern here, but it bears repeating. Funny, smart, real, makes me laugh out loud, (sadly, she doesn't have an accent) A woman of faith who makes me long for God to speak to me as clearly as He does her. Of course she talks to Him more clearly than I do, so perhaps that's the key? She takes life's lemons and uses them to teach, makes them funny, and makes them seem not as sour as I know they have been. I am honored to know her and am glad that God has given me the chance to see Him work miracles in her life.

Ladies, do your **thing.

**EDIT - which means, post your award and tag someonee you know who you feel deserves the Lemonade Stand of Glory.

Weight Bearing Walls

2008-12-21T07:29:00.007-06:00

During the first 4 months after my weight-loss surgery the pounds rapidly melted off of me as if a magician were pulling pound after pound after pound from his sleeve then a wave of his hand and a tap of his wand, voila! Gone. Each day I greeted the scale with a smile and it always, always, smiled back. *Sigh* We had such a good thing. At least that is how I remember it.

Now I hate the damned thing. Alas, a little too much time together and the newness of a relationship wears thin. The magic is exposed for the slight of hand illusion that it is and the memories, once cherished, are now seemingly empty and worthless.

We quarrel constantly - rarely seeing eye to eye on anything that should matter between us. I long to see it, so we meet and it quickly goes bad and I'm back to calling it off - for good this time. We've tried time apart, seeing others and seeing one another only on certain days of the week. Sadly, nothing seems to bring repair to our broken relationship.

It and all it stands for and in between, torments me. So much so, I've named the scale Dementor. Soulless and soul-sucking it feeds on my positive emotions, my happiness and my good memories. Whenever I'm in it's presence I relive my worst memories. I could devour a hunk of chocolate after our dates and I regularly scream Expecto Patronum! at its cold, dark self.

So why continue on with the wretched affair? I can only say it is done so in hopes that this time it will be different. I mean there are still moments when it is actually good between us, telling me what it thinks I want to hear. Teasing me with just enough affection that I, despite everything else, want to stick around.

But, for the past 4? weeks my scale has read the same number, over and over, to me. Although I know the inches are moving (because my clothes grow steadily baggier) I long with all my heart for the number to decrease. I long for it way, too, much.

I am coming to the realization (yet again) that, this information (not affirmation!) dispensing mechanism holds too much weight in my life. While not truly a weight-bearing wall in the construct of my heart, I treat it as such. Fearful of collapse upon removal and giving it full credit for the support of my entire being. Ah but deep down and truthfully (somewhere), I know it to be a non-weight bearing wall for it only supports itself.

In my mind, I know the number displayed does not display who I truly am, nor could it measure my self-worth or indicate how I should feel. It is a scale and not a thermostat registering the degree of my value on any level. Information, not affirmation.

I know this. But do I live this? No. No, at least not every day. Or even every moment of every day. I am a work in progress. Under renovation, as most of us are. Daily I am breaking down the lie of that deceptive wall so that I can have a better view of the truth. In its place, windows and open spaces. More room for lesser things.

So tell me, what holds too much weight in your life? What do you give credit for full structural support where no credit is due? What non-load bearing wall(s) should come down? And what would you do with the space it would create once it's gone?

On my scale I've written the following:

THIS holds no weight.

And I believe it.

2008-12-10T14:59:00.013-06:00

Dana R. Moya
Born: December 10th, 2008 at 9:13 am
Weight: 155 lbs 3 oz
Lots of inches

Now go have a cigar!

Today is the 9 Month Anniversary of My Weight Loss Surgery!
Not sure all that needed to be capitalized, but hey, it's a major event to celebrate so why not...

To this day I've lost 155 lbs and I now weigh 160 lbs. I'm almost half 'n half! I am now wearing a size 8 or 10 depending on the brand. Hard to believe, a single digit size fits me.

And just like the pregnancy and birth of a child, the advent of my surgery has wrought many changes in my life. There has been much joy, there has been much loss, there are some sleepless nights and worries that plague me - some founded, others unfounded. There has been stretching. Weeping. Laughing. Kicking. Surprises. Sickness. Moodiness. Hello's & goodbyes. And all along these 9 months were the birth pangs of labor ushering in this new life. And there is so much more life now to live...

Want to see the pictures? Okay, okay, I'll be quiet now...

Same old fuzzy picture in the kitchen side view...Add in one Sunny dog eating breakfast.

Oh Christmas Tree.

Love this next one. Look at me hiding way in the back, arms crossed, leg kicked out...These gorgeous ladies were decorating the Education Suite tree. Rather, they were supervising the decoration of the tree. Apparently Rae was not happy with the placement of an ornament...

Oh yeah?

OH YEAH? Love the deathly pale look.

Okay...

Last out of focus, poorly lit, badly posed one for the day...

They say it takes a tribe to raise a child, I believe the same goes for every journey in our life. I say it takes a tribe to get us through, and oh how I love my tribe! You have cheered me on so! Keep taking the steps with me, big or small we can't journey it alone.

I Am Unique - Just Like Everyone Else

2008-12-09T07:39:00.006-06:00

I saw this on Nancy's blog, who saw it on Jene's blog who saw it on someone else's blog (who happens to be an Ingrid as well) and so on...

It is kind of scary how spot on about me this actually is.

You Are an Ingrid!

You are an Ingrid -- "I am unique"

Ingrids have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.

How to Get Along with Me

* Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me.

* Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself.

* Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision.

* Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little.

* Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting!

What I Like About Being an Ingrid

* my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level

* my ability to establish warm connections with people

* admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life

* my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor

* being unique and being seen as unique by others

* having aesthetic sensibilities

* being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me

What's Hard About Being an Ingrid

* experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair

* feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved

* feeling guilty when I disappoint people

* feeling hurt or attacked when someone misundertands me

* expecting too much from myself and life

* fearing being abandoned

* obsessing over resentments

* longing for what I don't have

Ingrids as Children Often

* have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original games

* are very sensitive

* feel that they don't fit in

* believe they are missing something that other people have

* attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc.

* become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood

* feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce)

Ingrids as Parents

* help their children become who they really are

* support their children's creativity and originality

* are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings

* are sometimes overly critical or overly protective

* are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed

Take Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz at HelloQuizzy

Thanksgiving Leftovers

2008-11-30T10:14:00.010-06:00

Oh yeah. Pull out that picked over turkey carcass, grab some congealed gravy and warm up them 3 day old rolls baby and let's munch!

But first, the Ritual Giving Thanks Moment:
This year's Thanksgiving niblet was radically different from the gorge fest of every other year of my life. Using scrawny little contrasts like night and day or even black and white would be like describing a Botticelli with stick figures. It was as if I had moved from the palatial decadence of a mansion to the cardboard box slums of a beggar. And oh how I appreciate that box - So. Much. More.

I've found since my surgery that, whether traditionally food related or not, no event is what it used to be. Because before weight loss surgery, every moment of my life was food related. There was breakfast, lunch and dinner to celebrate and all the minutes in between. Life was one big meal.

And it's not that I would eat so much, it's just that everything I did or wanted to do seemed to be centered around food. Whether growing it, cooking or eating it, food is and, I'm afraid, ever will be an enchantment for me. It is art. It is pleasure. It is a basic human need. It effects every one of the senses and moves the soul to a form of worship. Which got me to where I was 9 months, 20 sizes and 152 pounds ago...a faithful disciple of the Church of Gluttony...eat, eat and be merry. Thank you Fodder.

So here we are at the Thanksgiving holiday, one day a year held in reverence by millions of Americans. A day that we pay homage to with family gatherings, vacation, more football than should be legal and tables, stove-tops and counters loaded down with every comfort food imaginable. Even the most recognizable symbols of Thanksgiving - a very fat turkey and a cornucopia spilling over with the bountiful harvest of the season - denote indulgence.

And here I am with a stomach smaller than an egg. And the day - or rather what the day used to be - has turned the tables on me...so to speak. I still cooked. I made ham, cornbread dressing made from scratch, roasted red & sweet potatoes, roasted butternut squash with fresh yeast rolls. I even made a sugar free apple pie with an oatmeal & pecan crumb topping - I figured I would get one treat. I ate a bite of ham (no I didn't have the glaze but with or without glaze pork now tastes horrid to me), a few bites of dressing and a bite of sweet potato. Done. (had some pie later...it was eh.)

And there I sat while my family feasted till they absolutely hurt (which made me feel happy). We talked, told stories and laughed as we always do - we don't need a special day of the year to enjoy one another. But it took a moment for the reality of it to sink in. And it sank fast and deep.

Truthfully? At first it made me sad. But then, I began to give thanks and it wasn't for a slab of pie. And I remembered that I was full, but not from indecent mounds of food. And I rejoiced, but it was in the stripped down to the bare bones reality of it all version of what I'd known in my previous life. I imagine this is what it might be like for an alcoholic celebrating New Year's Eve or other events commonly celebrated with alcohol. Sober(ing).

And the stripped down to the bare bones version? It's far more enchanting. It is the rarest work of art. It is the sweetest pleasure. It is the most basic human need. And it effects every one of the senses and moves the soul to true worship.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And now for the feast. I was reading through last November's posts. Most of which made me laugh. Really, really hard. I am so silly. So, in the tradition of all things Thanksgiving we shall feast on leftovers.

Seems I used to do this little thing called the Art of Conversation. In November we had the Art of Conversation at the Office.

The Hopefully Some Day it Might Actually Be the Annual Take Your White Friends to the Beach Day! Sigh. That was so much fun...We didn't get to go this year. Stupid hurricane.

There were Meme's & Mande Mondays.

There were Changes, Children and Chances to Win.

There were Disasters & Delusions.

Then there were my favorites Resounding and Rejoicing.

Happy Thanksgiving to EVERY one. It's not just for the fourth Thursday of November. It's not just for Americans. It is every moment of every day and the feast is in the bounty of love and grace poured in to our hearts by the Father, the Giver of all good things.

Google Me This

2008-11-13T07:46:00.000-06:00

As a child I could not abide in even a moment of uncertainty. I passionately hated the unknown and incessantly plagued whoever was around with my interrogation tactics. I was an unceasing dribble of why or why not and a constant drip of what for. My curiosity was the Chinese water torture to my mom's peace and quiet.

So much so, she bought me a series of books poplar in the '70's written by Arkady Leokum. With titles like Tell Me Why, More Tell Me Why, More More More Tell Me Why and Still More Tell Me Why, (Uh, yeah, I didn't write them I just read them) these mini-encyclopedic style books were meant to appease my appetite for knowledge. That, and perhaps she hoped to lighten the ever burgeoning responsibility that had been placed solely upon her shoulders as a single parent. The shaping and guiding of such a young and hungry mind had to have been quite overwhelming. That and she got tired of making up the answers.

What? No really, she did. It's not an ill-reflection of her parenting skills, I promise, that's just what parents did back then. Hello, there was no such thing as Google.

Any way, these books, I could not get enough of them. I would read them for hours and hours. They were the internet, the Wikipedia, and yes, even the Google of my time.

Now, as an adult, the tidal flow of curiosity has not ceased in the least. Constant and persistent, it has remained a part of my life. Whether the queries are my own or my children's, is not the point. The fact remains...with all those books and now the internet, answering our innumerable Tell Me Why's...we have yet to plumb the depths of the inquisitive human brain.

For instance tell me why when my hair started falling out by the handful (due to rapid weight loss after my surgery) it ONLY fell out from my head? Sweet ones, the multitude of hair that persists in growing on my upper lip did not, not even for one hopeful second, thin in the slightest. Au contraire, mon fraire, it continues to grow just as lush, dense and dark as the jungle at night. Nor did the hair anywhere else on my face or body lose it's substance, abundance, denseness, profuseness nor any other adjective I don't particularly care for when discussing hair on anything other than the glorious follicles of vanity that should be covering my near-bald head.

More tell me why my 13 year old could possibly think it wise to voice aloud to my face that I have a huge back and an extremely flat butt. (Sweetie, lets work on those complimentary skills, shall we?)

Still more, tell me why on God's green earth she is still breathing after the voicing of such a statement. Oh, and while you are at it, answer why all of a sudden the idea that my butt might actually be extremely flat ~~kind of~~ really bothers me.

More more more tell me why how she could possibly still be alive - proof that miracles do really happen - when just a few days later she tells me that she likes a certain shirt on me. (that's better baby you are starting to get the idea) *wait for it* because and I quote "it makes you look like you actually have boobs." Oh hon, you know I couldn't breast feed for just that reason.

Here's one for the books Mr. Arkady Leokum, why oh why oh why (oh why) has the hair that has decided to return to my lovely little head, changed not only color (to a beautiful (not!) shade of GRAY thank YOU very MUCH) but changed TEXTURE as well? Suffice it to say, it makes for bad hair ~~days~~ months and I will just go ahead and inform you so you won't have to Google this one, L'Oreal? Oh they lie...it doesn't cover the gray. It just covers every single hair all around the gray ones and leaves those little heralds of aging to stand out like a lighthouse on the shore. (It covers gray like a band-aid covers an elephant's butt.)

Dear Mr. Leokum,

If you would please address the oh-so-very deep, heart felt and provocative questions listed above in your next book of the Tell Me Why series (probably titled - Tell Me Why and I Promise I'll Quit Whining) I would be most appreciative.

Your adoring, and not aged in the least bit fan,
Dana

Just Nothing Revisited

2008-11-10T07:52:00.007-06:00

In my mind's eye I see the sky, almost white, as if it's being drained of the color of summer, along with its smoke thin clouds randomly placed along the way.

In my memory I can feel the gingerbread hued leaves under my feet, crisp and brittle from having given their all to the wind and the trees they once clung to.

From afar, a breeze carries to me the scent of fireplaces burning, the heart of someone's home rekindling the great romance of life that is the redolence of families gathered in and around one another in love.

These are the places my heart travels to; like a pilgrim to his holy land I return to the season of my sentiment.

Apparently this trek is an annual one. This post, although in a slightly different vein, is from the very same heartbeat.

Act I Scene X

2008-11-03T07:44:00.017-06:00

We left our (not so very) brave and beautiful leading lady in the clutches of the ruthless cold villain known as The Smasher, The Crusher, Ice-Ice Booby, Bruiser and Bob. More commonly referred to as "you want me to put my what where so you can do what?".

Ah, but that time has since passed, and these days our loverly heroine lavishes in the luxury of complete peace and quiet mixed with the noticeable absence of drama *cue needle dragging across a record** music, conversation and action come to an abrupt and theatrical stop*

That's what life has been lately - a needle dragging across the record of my life cuing yet another scene of the never ending drama in the One Act Play called Life. Oh of course I know that we aren't supposed to live our lives in a consummate cake walk. That would be boring. What with all the sunshine and good health, geez who could stand it? Well, I for one could stand it just a little bit more of late!

The stage darkens the curtains close and re-open on what we soon realize is a flashback. (as soon as we tell you that is) Flashback: The date, October 10th. Or 9th, no the 8th. Or something. Whatever, it's a Wednesday in October okay? Our beautimous leading lady is heading to the Dr. for her 6 month post surgery follow-up visit, only it's one month late thank you very much Ike.

She is in pain and has been for several days now. Clutching her stomach she patiently awaits her turn however, the pain has become increasingly worse over the past few days and is, at this point, almost unbearable. When she finally sees her Dr. he notices her tortured expression. He asks her a few questions, she answers, he prods her belly and then utters these exact words "blah, blah, hospital" and "something, something, surgery" and "right now" and "something, something, blah, blah, blah".

No! What? No. Wait, I have an exercise class today...I have a family...I need to go back to work...(all very lame excuses - except for the family - but like that made any sense.) Uh, hey Doc...don't you just want me to take some Gas-X and quit being such a baby? You know, this too shall pass and all that? Nope. Surgery. Surgery? Surgery. Gah! So, she obediently heads to the hospital, right after texting her husband and friends of course, and checks herself in.

Surgery happened the next morning. It seems WLS patients can easily get these little things called hernias. Which sound pretty harmless (to me) but can be extremely painful and can become life-threatening if not taken care of.

Our brave (and as some have noted, crazy) actress returned to the job she loves (eh, hem) apparently more than a few extra days off, the following Monday. *the word actress is used here rather than leading lady to denote the fact that this was indeed all an act. Who the heck returns to work that quick after surgery unless they are pretending to be insane? A leading lady would have stayed home and milked that puppy for all its worth*

Then there was the whole Crusher incident with several call backs for more pictures of you know what. Toss in a little scare due to a "questionable area" that looked like someone placed a cotton ball on my x-ray but actually turned out to be nothing. Well, not 'nothing' but nothing of importance. Whew. Rest. Breathe. Yay!

Nope.

Our beloved, brave, beautimous, loverly, insane heroine then decides it's time for an eye exam. Why not? I mean it is the end o' the year. Time to take care of all the body parts.

Eye Dr. does the usual look at this and squint at that. Performs the ever arduous and grueling task where she makes you decide ONE or TWO? TWO or THREE? Dude. DUDE! So much stress...I just know I am going to somehow fail her in my answer. Uh...four? To which she calmly replies, ONE or TWO? TWO or THREE?

After I fail that obstacle course miserably, she informs me there is something wonky with one of my tests. Um...NO.

Seriously? NO MORE DRAMA. I am quitting Broadway and going back to Kansas because this yellow brick road crap ain't fun anymore Toto.

The intra-ocular pressure in my eyes is high and there is significant nerve damage in the right eye. What does it mean Vern? Possibly Glaucoma. Go see a specialist. More tests. More concern. More drama.

Sigh. A heroine's job is never done.

**For my youngER readers a record was an ancient form we primitive elderly persons used to record sound, primarily music. These antiquated relics could be found in the form of what was known as vinyl and were approximately 10 inches across and round. Grooves were formed in the vinyl which, when you placed a needle of a "record player" on the grooves the record, began to play whatever was recorded. The sound was amazing. Not at all like the CD's or MP3's of today's generation. It was as if you were listening to scratchy muffled sound coming out of a can and through a wall. Oh and the crackling, scratching and skipping was a beautiful touch.

So, Do You Come Here Often?

2008-10-24T07:43:00.008-05:00

*Fair warning to any male readers. This is not your usual love story.

I walked in to the dimly lit and crowded room. I could hear the white noise buzz mingled in with the sounds of soft jazz playing overhead.

I noticed my heart begin to pick its pace up a bit.

"Calm down" I told myself.

"I'm not scared" I replied.

Slightly apprehensive, maybe that would be a better way to describe it. I mean, this is my first time and all and I have heard the sordid tales about this very moment in other women's lives and I must admit, it was all just a bit intimidating. Sordid tales of torture that would chill you to your bones.

Then she walked in.

And she smiled at me.

I gulped. For lo, soon she would have me in her firm cold grip and at her mercy and there I was half naked and no where to run.

For any woman, the word mammogram strikes a chord of trepidation deep within the heart. Ahem, the, er breast if you will, and please, pardon the pun. Because with that word comes all the unknown possibles that tag along on its coattails like some stranger's snot-nosed whiny kid throwing a tantrum in the grocery store. Not yours, not cute and definitely something you'd like to just walk away from with your fingers in yours ears saying "la, la, la, la" at the top of your lungs.

Being an intelligent, well-informed, 42 year old woman who is concerned about her physical well-being, this should have been my third or fourth walk down mammogram lane. Should have been. IF I happened to actually be an intelligent, well-informed woman who might be concerned about my well-being. Or perhaps it would be better said if I weren't such a big stinking scaredy-cat.

I am woman, hear me whimper.

And whimper I did indeed. Not only did I whimper, I whined and pouted like a three year old faced with a bowl of cold spinach. But, stamp my feet and pout as I may, along I went - albeit kicking and screaming (all inwardly of course!) all the way to the Dr. to have my first ever mammogram this week.

And you know what? It wasn't that danged bad. In fact, it was rather painless, quick and simple. And I'll be darned if I didn't come away with the cutest little flower and rhinestone bandaids!

Ehem.

Any who, that said, as a woman I feel it is my duty to put an end to the horrendous lies that have been needlessly perpetuated on down through the ages.

And since I've discovered over and over that my imagination is a far scarier place than anything I've yet faced in my life, I wanted to put the truth out there for all to see. Uh, so to speak.

Now, before you go thinking I'm some sort of masochistic sicko, I feel I have to qualify my earlier 'not that danged bad' statement with I wouldn't put it up there with going to the spa.

Except maybe for the cute little bandaids.

Ehem.

Yes, well, where was I?

There was the usual small talk. Light hearted chit-chat and banter to make you feel a little more comfortable. Although I'm not sure just how comfortable one can get with a total stranger handling such an intimate area while casually flopping you to and fro like you were that night's pizza dough. You know, lightly floured, kneaded and hand-tossed. Bring on the rolling pin.

Once the technician gets all familiar with your....self, decorates her for her close up and gets her situated on the metal serving dish, the acrobatics begin. Hold this arm here, that arm there, hug this, turn your head so, lean to the side and hold.

The tech walks away and says this will just be a second. Pushes a button, a low hum comes from the machine and your eyes follow as the little plastic plate over your...self...lowers, and lowers, and lowers. Hold. Okay, breathe. You are free.

Wait. That's it? That was all? I mean, what happened to running my girls through the old-fashioned clothes ringer and slamming them between two blocks of ice?

NOT that I want THAT to happen. But THAT is exactly what I've heard a mammogram is like. And let me tell you, what a relief to find out that it is not. All that whimpering and whining was for naught.

So my lovely ladies. I beseech you, do not be afraid. Love yourself enough to go forth and mammogram.

Afterward I removed my adornments and threw them in the trash with all the other discarded decorations left from so many others who've passed through her life. As I dressed I wondered to myself if she would call. Would I ever see her again? We had such a brief few moments together, would I miss her? I can still hear our song.

I wasn't expecting to hear from her so soon, but she called me back the very next morning. What did this mean for us? I fretted as I waited on hold to speak to her. Her voice was unemotional, even after all we shared. But she did say she wants to see me again. Well, at least part of me.

More pictures? Different angles? Sure. When? Soon? Okay. See you then. Bye.

Sigh. I feel so easy.

Houston Thanks YOU

2008-10-07T15:14:00.007-05:00

Question: How do you feed a half a million people?

Answer: One meal at a time of course.

And that is exactly what the Red Cross, The Disaster Relief Team of SBC and Americorps have been doing for the past 4 weeks.

Our church, my work, has literally housed 150 volunteers and the parking lot has been a staging center for these teams as they work together around the clock to prepare roughly 30,000 meals a day for the City of Houston and surrounding areas.

Sadly, they are leaving us this week and I wanted to give a big Thank You to each of them. They have not personally fed, clothed or sheltered my family. But they have, so willingly, done this and so much more for many others.

Without question, Ike has left an indelible mark on Houston. Some of its effects are clearly visible. Just take a look around and see the buildings, trees, curbs and rooftops bearing the wounds and scars all over town. Some of the effects are not as easy to see, but no less profound.

Like these volunteers. They have left their very own indelible mark on my heart. They have come from all over our nation to provide a ministry to our city and this speaks to me of the love we can have for one another, regardless of anything we choose to lay claim to and define ourselves with.

I notice them each and every day in their meetings, in the comings and goings of their daily routine and they almost always have a smile, a readiness to talk and a kind and kindred spirit. This in spite of the fact that they don't get much rest and when they do sleep it's on a cot or an air mattress in our GYM. This in spite of the fact that they've worked 4 weeks straight under less than pleasant conditions. This in spite of the fact that all they have done since their arrival is give completely of themselves.

Here I am thanking them, and rightly so...yet, there is a poster just outside our Fellowship Center thanking us! Go figure...it is the most amazing thing to read, check it out:

Not sure you could read that. Here is a closer shot.

And more kind words.

And even more.

This poster truly touched my heart and every time I pass it I stop to read it again. It made me so thankful for what we as a city have seen rise up out of the loss and destruction. Love.

But you know what? I think of all the words written on this poster, these below in blue mean the most to me.

Comes in 666 Flavors I Might Add

2008-10-05T14:26:00.002-05:00

So today in Sunday class we walk over to the snacky-snack section where we have a veritable smorgasborg of breakfast selections. There's the standard bacon or sausage and egg tacos, fresh cut seasonal fruit, orange juice and of course yogurt.

Me, I have my sustenance already in hand. That's right children, a grande bold brew from Starbuck's.

Also known as The Cathedral of St. Arbuck's. And since it is Sunday and I do love my coffee...it does seem apropos.

My husband goes for the yogurt.

I eye the brand and give my two cents about the nutritional value of that particular brand. (cause I's the expert now. um. not.)

He looks at it and says "Naw, it's okay. It's Damnation yogurt..."

"Hon, I believe that says Danimals."

I'm pretty sure you can find the Damnation-Free Yogurt (with live and active script-cul-tures) on aisle 3, right between the Testamints & Veggie Tales.

The Sound of Music

2008-09-30T10:23:00.006-05:00

As I was leaving work yesterday a harmless little song popped in to my head. And stayed there. For hours...and hours.

So, you say? Happens all the time, you say. Yes. Yes, I know. But this particular ditty (no longer considered harmless after thirty minutes of repetition) is one I've not heard (at least that I know of) in over 30 years. Although 30 years ago I am most certain I heard it hundreds and hundreds of times. But isn't really a song. At least not one that would make the Billboard charts...

Take a listen....

Apparently the fragrance is not the only thing that is here to stay...can you say Earworm children? I knew you could.

So tell me, what is the worst ear worm (definition #2) you've ever had?

On Being 12

2008-09-29T07:52:00.013-05:00

A size 12! Thank you very much.

Well, I promised a weight-loss update so, true to my word, here you go my adoring fans. I must insert the usual "be forewarned" disclaimer that I've merely got a camera phone and my photographer is usually my daughter who forgets to tell me "when". So, with that said, some of the pictures are less than good. Dude, what can I say? I'm no Stan Kwan.

Just to refresh your memory let's begin with where else? Uh, the beginning, duh.

A 315 lb me Nov. 2007

That bears repeating, 315 lbs!

Then...

1 month after surgery.

Then....
3 months after surgery.

And now for the latest photos...

Me...almost 7 months post-surgery. 133 lbs lighter and a size 12.

Shut up! A size 12...Can I just tell you I giggled when I tried these pants on?
I just did.

Me. Again....oh yeah, it is my update.
What's with the funky face?
(That would be the NO warning I referred to earlier.)

Alas me lovies, that's all the blurry, poorly lit, horribly posed, same old kitchen for a background photos I have. For now.

Where from here? Not sure. If the weight loss gods* have forsaken me and left me for greener pastures, then I am just hunky-dory with that. I consider this weight loss surgery journey a success so far.

Considering that I've gone from 2 diabetes injections, 2 to 4 blood sugar finger tests, 2 blood pressure meds, a handful of pain meds A DAY to none of the above a day. I've gone from a size 26/28 to a size 12. From 315 lbs. to 182 lbs. From 165 pounds to goal, to 33 pounds to goal. I've gone from not being able to sit in a chair comfortably (without my hips hanging out the sides and over the edge) to...well...it's still not comfortable but it's now because I have very little cushion between my tail-bone and the chair...I've gone from wanting to sleep all the time to, oh wait, ha, that's still true. From not being active with my family to being active....Any way, you get the picture. If not, scroll up and start over.

So, that's it for now. I will update again at 9 months. The same amount of time of a full term pregnancy. Except by then it will be as if I've given birth to a full grown man.

*(please do not take offense. I am a Jesus loving, scripture believing, Holy Spirit filled girl...I would never be so silly as to truly think that the weight loss gods have forsaken me...so there.)

A Tale of Two Cities

2008-09-25T07:32:00.005-05:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. . . .

The lines have been drawn and the city has been divided. There are those with and those without. No matter where you are or what you are doing the mutual concern sounds and common question rings in everyone's conversation, "Do you have power?" The ones who have seem almost apologetic to answer yes to those who have not. Those who are without are merely seeking a fellow sufferer to commiserate with.

And it has been suffering. True, we still have a home. True, we can now go to the store without a two hour wait in line. And true, we can run to the nearest fast food place for a quick bite to eat and a breath of fresh air conditioning. But then we must return to our muggy, dark and eerily quiet homes to rummage in the blackness for our belongings and lay in our bed praying for the slightest breeze.

Time has been divided as well. There is Before the Storm and After the Storm. Or perhaps you go by Before Ike and After Ike. The novelty of it all (if there ever was any) has certainly lost its shine. The first week After the Storm was filled with busyness and gratefulness and sheer determination to be strong in the face of whatever may come. The second week has been filled with deep sighs at yet another day of hurricane hair, showering by flashlight and eating cheap fast food. Also the petty envy and the childish whining that fills my heart while longingly looking out my window at the porch lights of my neighbor across the street. Wah.

One thread runs common through all of us, whether in a season of light or a season of darkness, we are all very tired. I've decided we are all suffering from P.I.T. Post Ike Trauma or P.I.S.T. Post Ike Severe (or Stress &) Trauma. Symptoms include: Crying/laughing or cussing at the sight of a porch light (not yours), a bag of ice, a gas can, a grill or the sound of a generator. Exhaustion. The appearance of having chicken pox (from the hawk-sized mosquitoes biting you while you sit outside at night trying to catch a cool breeze while staring plotting ways to run electricity from your neighbors house to yours). Scratches, bruises, blisters, sunburn, heatstroke and callouses from hauling the forest from your backyard to your curb. Exhaustion. Forgetfulness. Repeating the following Do you have power yet? Is that the microwave? Is that a power line truck? Who has ice? Do you have power yet? and exhaustion.

I hope this doesn't come across as whiny and negative. As I said before there are pockets of joy we've been able to delve our little hands in to and grab hold of some semblance of peace. We have learned much about ourselves and one another. Found reserves of strength deep within that would not have been discovered if not for the current situation.

For instance I have learned that it is possible to cook pasta, make coffee and even bake a pie on a grill as well as a variety of dishes only thought possible with the modern miracles known as KitchenAid, Cuisinart and General Electric.

I've found it is possible to live without tv, radio, internet and sometimes air conditioning, but NOT Starbucks. You can have serious, even life threatening withdrawals from Starbucks. And I don't even drink the fancy stuff. Just straight coffee ma'am, thank you very much. You would have thought they were giving away the store the day I found they were open again. I squealed with the delight of a preteen viewing the Jonas Brothers when I saw the Open sign finally return to my ~~crack dealer~~ Java Love Distributor. Sigh.

I now know I am still able to do my own pedicure. (dangit) I have become quite the spoiled little brat regarding my feet and was at the point where I refused to even think about touching them myself. I must say, they aren't as pretty nor is it as relaxing as having My Le, sorry Tammy give me a pedicure, but nonetheless still possible. At least I can reach them now...(small weight loss surgery update: I've lost 133 pounds and have 32 to go. I have gone from a size 26/28 to a 12/14. I am at almost 7 months post surgery and will post pictures soon barring another hurricane of course.)

I have discovered it is possible to be in the close proximity of two teenagers and one husband for 24 hours a day and 14 days straight without committing murder. Although I must say I've not been happier in the past two weeks than the day the kids went back to school and I was able to spend 8 child-free hours - even if it was at work.

Tomorrow marks 14 days without for our family. Oh but weep not for me for there is hope...yesterday as we entered our neighborhood the sight of huge orange and white trucks filled my heart with joy and my eyes with tears. When we got home there were 4 large, smelly, filthy and sweaty men in my backyard fixing the the power lines and I've never wanted to hug a stranger more. While we are still without and others around us may have light, we have each other, we have the love of fa...oh who am I kidding? I WANT MY LIGHTS ON NOW!!!!

I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long long to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.

Ikelings

2008-09-17T10:20:00.003-05:00

Well, Ike is gone. We are safe. The world around me looks like one big lawn cleaning party. Piles and piles of limbs and cut down trees line the streets and neighborhoods.

Everywhere we go the strain of the past few days is etched deeply on the faces of the people we talk to. No lights. No water. No phones. No place you can go without waiting for hours and hours in lines of people or cars for, what would be in a normal world, everyday conveniences acquired hastily and without pause. Gas, bread, water and ice seem such precious commodities now.

We have survived. No damage to our home. No damage to our bodies. And, as the past few days have proved, no damage to our spirits. If anything, this storm has fortified our will to carry on and make do with what we have.

You've seen it on the news, neighbors helping neighbors. People reaching out to one another extending support and exhibiting selflessness. It's the same story in our area. No one will go without necessities if we can help it.

We came up to the church to check on things. My husband has come here to work for the past few days. Repairing things around the building. Cutting down fallen trees. Hauling off trash. I took a moment to check emails and post this little note.

It feels kind of strange to see pictures on websites of all that has been going on since I have been long without communication to the outside world. As my neighbor said, you can only watch the news after hurricane if it doesn't strike you. I am sure the devastation is far reaching and incredibly depressing to watch. At least it has been whenever I've seen the aftermath on the news.

But this post is to let you know, that the news is not all bad. There are pockets of joy. There are areas of blessing.

If you are here in Houston, then this post is to let you know I am fervently praying you are okay. Hoping all is well and asking you to let me know if you need anything.

If you are not in Houston, then this post is to let you know what is happening here in my stretch of land. Asking you to pray fervently for those of us who have lost so much that we would hold dear to what we have left. Each other.

I will check back soon I hope.

Storm Report

2008-09-12T09:22:00.010-05:00

The word hurricane strikes a chord of fear in most people's hearts. And reasonably so. As my boss said, we not only live in a post-9/11 world, we also live in a post-Katrina world. No longer can we stare down the throat of a storm of any magnitude with the nonchalance and bravado of a circus lion-tamer.

Being born and raised here in Houston, I must say that hurricanes are simply part and parcel of life on the Gulf Coast. Although I am too young to have seen the destruction of Carla, I do remember well Hurricane Alicia and Tropical Storm Allison as well as a slew of other storms whose names I can't remember. I remember being afraid but we were always prepared, ready to "hunker down" and bear the brunt of whatever devastation and destruction the storm might bring.

With Ike barreling down on the Texas shore, those fears of destruction and devastation begin rising up in our minds like the storm surge, crashing against our sensibilities way before we even face the actual storm.

Hurricane Ike rides in on the tail of several other storms that have wrought their own destruction in one way or another in our life as well as the lives of others in my life.

For me the word teenager strikes more fear in my heart than any old hurricane ever could. A hurricane's path is somewhat predictable and blows over pretty quickly. In comparison to a teenager it is a breeze, pun very much intended.

My youngest son is 15. That alone would make the most seasoned parent shudder. Add to that he has some factors that augment what is already - in my opinion - a category 5 situation. Some would label these factors as disabilities, I would rather see them as challenges or opportunities to rise above the waves that would drag you down and toss you about like a a flimsy piece of driftwood.

As I've said before, I foolishly thought we would somehow escape the onslaught of hormones and teenage angst because I had a very close relationship with my son. My hopes were soon dashed upon the rocks and lay strewn like so much garbage waiting for the vultures to pick it apart. Oh. Woe. Is. I.

I've waited and waited for the return of the son I once recognized as my own. I have sent out my pleas to the alien beings who, I believe, abducted him about a year ago and replaced him with the venom spitting, surly tempered, Tasmanian devil that closely resembles the churning swirl of color looming ever near us in the Gulf.

This school year my son has decided he will no longer go to school. He just wants to stay home and sleep all day. Well don't we all silly boy, but sadly this is not an option the real world offers. Well, not unless you are Warren Buffet. And he didn't get there without an education and lots of hard work.

On Tuesday we got a call from the school that he was receiving in school suspension for one day because he refused to wake up and do his class work. On Tuesday evening we came home from work to discuss the matter with him. During this discussion is when we were informed we had not a clue what he meant about anything and that he simply was not going to school and if he could not stay in the house he would leave and become a (eh, hem) vagabond.

We truly thought when he walked out the door, that he would be back within an hour after having walked the block and come to his senses. We spent the next 4 hours and 45 minutes in agony. It was every parents worst nightmare and every teenagers attempt at independence.

I cannot tell you the amount of tears I shed nor the number of times that I begged God he be returned to me safe. I cannot describe the places my mind went to for they were dark, vile and void of hope, places that a parent's imagination should never have to roam.

I remembered every news story of every child who went missing. I remembered every parents interview. I remembered thinking I hope that is never me. I remember thinking oh God, don't let it be.

When it became obvious he was not coming home soon, and we had searched the entire area. I texted friends that I couldn't talk, but to pray because he was missing. Our neighbors set out and searched surrounding areas as well. My friends texted every few minutes "praying" and "love you" and "is he home?". One even showed up at my door because she just couldn't take it anymore. What would I have done without them? These loved ones surrounded us, anchored us and shored us up against the storm. They were our life lines when we would have otherwise drowned.

When he walked in the door I began to wail as if I'd been told the worst. He began to weep as we hugged and I repeated over and over "thank you God!". For as many times as I had pleaded for his return, I thanked Him. For every tear that was shed, I matched it with thanks and praise.

We talked that night and for now the storm has abated somewhat. But I know from my own teen years that were fraught with drama that the storms return quite quickly, that perhaps this is merely the eye and we've yet to get through the other side.

Some might think we simply ignored all the news flashes and flag warnings posted. That we must have turned a blind eye to the obvious signs and symptoms of an impending storm. This however, is not the case. We have all we could. The advent of teenagedom was, after all, inescapable.

Ours is not the only storm that has blown it's course.

One of my closest friends who I've known for over 30 years, recently faced the very real threat of cancer. Cancer comes more in the form of a tornado than a hurricane. Coming at you out of nowhere and striking with ferocity and vengeance. Taking with it anything that may be solid or firm in its path - everything you've built - wrenching it away. Behind it no trace is left of anything you knew. Mere shambles and rubble left where you once felt secure.

Another close friend is dealing with the ugly truth of cancer being fleshed out in her mother. Having faced this very storm once before, they are very aware of everything they have ahead of them. I am not sure if that makes it easier or worse.

Yet another close friend who has struggled with her health for some time now was recently told that her heart is not operating at full capacity and has perhaps suffered a heart attack.

While Ike is doing its worst to tear our world apart and the other events are attempting to take their toll on us as well, we have hunkered down (a very popular phrase right now), sheltered in place, boarded up the weak areas, gathered our supplies and prepared for the worst.

But instead of the worst, I continue to hear awesome reports of faith and friendship coming out of these trials. Reports reminding us we are going to be okay, no matter what.

Life Has Been Life

2008-09-05T07:50:00.001-05:00

Deep right? THAT should go on a bumper sticker. Or at least in a fortune cookie...

And while it's an excruciatingly simple statement that explains absolutely nothing, my friends it's so very, very true. For the past few weeks I've done my share of avidly pursuing life, liberty and personal happiness.

I don't think I caught anything but a wretched summer cold.

And so while sniffling my way through the chase I've not stopped long enough to post anything to my beloved blog except for a meme, thank you Ali.

I will say that I started several posts yet I never finished them and as I go back and read them they seem rather uninteresting and so very much yesterday's news.

So rather than drone on about the past, I thought I'd give you a Cliffs Notes version of it all to keep it short and sweet. Okay, maybe just short.

There will be a test later, with a written essay portion so please pay attention. Or...not.

*takes exaggerated deep breath*

Well, we got back from Florida and went back to work and there was plenty of work all around the church like the worship center, which is in it's final days of being renovated here at work/church and some of the work they were doing was producing "non-toxic" fumes which made it impossible to work in some areas in fact for several days the fumes were so strong we had to relocate our office in to the Fellowship Center which made for a good time as I've not had a window in my office in a while so I could look out and see it raining which it hasn't done that in a while even though we've had SEVERAL threats and near misses which is kind of disappointing because even though I don't want the damage and destruction a hurricane can bring I have an odd fascination with, or perhaps better stated, I am obsessed with and love having bad weather and would just like to have one day home with a really blustery thunderstorm or two but that isn't anywhere in our near future for the next week we are only getting hot weather and no surprise there because it's Houston which is not Beijing where the Olympics were and were very exiting indeed especially all the swimming although perhaps not as exciting, momentous or as strenuous (at least on my nerves) as going back to school - that is at least to my children who have moped and whined and complained and murmured every day since it's beginning this year even though we've done hardly a thing during the summer other than Florida to keep them entertained and distracted from the fact that they had nothing to do which led to mostly sleeping and reading and eating all great things in small quantities to be sure but not for three months straight but rather than head back to seeing and spending great gobs of social time with their friends and learning new and exciting things about our world they would rather be at home watching Camp Rock - which has the Jonas Brothers & Naruto - which doesn't have the Jonas Brothers but is apparently just as interesting but not as appealing on a poster or in a Disney movie and speaking of movies since we are in Houston and it has been so endlessly hot we've done our fair share of staying out of the heat and in theaters watching movies like The Dark Knight (amazing - absolutely amazing), The Incredible Hulk (great), Get Smart (funny) Speed Racer (ugh, waste of money, don't get me started but I was a fan as a kid so I wanted to see it and now I wish I had gone to see...) Iron Man (I hear it was fantastic) & Hancock (eh, didn't care for it so much) and I guess that about brings you up to date other than this week is the week before my birthday and I don't have really big plans other than spending more time out of the heat and indoors with my family which includes my brother who is coming to visit from Virginia with his wife, step-daughter and my nephew all of whom (who? that one always gets me along with effect or affect no matter how many times I look it up) I've never met (well, duh I've met my brother) other than in pictures and speaking of pictures along with my brother's visit and my birthday, my 6 month post-surgery anniversary is coming up and I hope to be posting more pictures of the progress along with birthday/family re-union photos.

*takes not exaggerated deep breath and sighs*

There. You are now up to speed and fully informed of all the events of the past few months in the unceasingly exciting lives of the Moya's.

Now, if you will, please take out your #2 pencils....

Tell Me, Meme, What Were You Doing When...?

2008-08-28T07:40:00.006-05:00

The sweet Irish Ali knows I've not been a blogging of late and sent me a little help. Thanks Ali for the meme push!!

The following are 5 major events and the impact they had on me:

Princess Diana's death - August 31, 1997

I heard about it on our car radio I do remember that but I cannot remember exactly where we were. In reading and hearing the story of her death over the following days I didn't shed tears but I know my heart was very heavy. Princess Di exemplified, to me as well as to so many people, grace, compassion and love in action.

Margaret Thatcher's resignation - November 22, 1990

No clue. But, I did Google the date to see if surrounding events would jog my memory a bit. Seems my memory doesn't like to exercise and still doesn't remember her resignation. I did see that the oh so very talented (puke) and highly acclaimed (not) Milli Vanilli were being outed as fakers (duh). This truly shocking and devastating moment in history might explain why I wasn't paying attention to the end of Maggie's political career.

Attack on the twin towers - September 11, 2001
This moment is unlike any other in my memory. It is the most vivid remembrance I have. (Yes, even more vivid than the birth of my children because dude, seriously? I'm a wuss and I was drugged.) Down to clothing, aromas, sounds and names, the most intricate details are there. I was in the pharmacy at the hospital, which is where I worked at the time. A co-worker came rushing down the aisle where I was standing along with 2 other co-workers and told us of the first plane. At the time it was thought to have been merely an accident and not one of the most horrific events in American history. Then the report of the second plane came and we were all dumbstruck. Several of us put aside our work for a moment and went to a nurses station where there was a t.v.. There we sat with many other employees, patients and visitors and watched as the towers burned and then fell. No one talked. No one said a word. But most of us cried. All around us, activity was continuing as usual in the hospital, it had to. But it felt almost profane for it to do so in light of what we were seeing.

England's World Cup semi final v Germany - July 4, 1990

I remember it like it was....no wait, I'm lying, I don't remember that at all. I wonder why? Oh that's right, I don't follow soccer or football as the rest of the world calls it. Oh and I Googled this date as well and yeah, nothing.

President Kennedy's Assassination - November 22, 1963

I was merely the ripe old age of -3 (yes folks, that's a negative) at the time. So, like Ali, I was not...um, not yet. And like Ali the first death of a celebrity I experienced (or that I remember) was Elvis'. However, unlike Ali, I was 11 and I did not cry. I know, I am a cold and heartless woman. I mean come on, it was Elvis! But alas, I am (gasp!) not now, nor was I ever a fan.

Now on to the task of passing this bit of fun on...
I hereby nominate for the post of the What Were You Doing When Meme:

Meg of Meg's Garden

Jen of Lessons Learned

Courtney of Schiskablog

Sharon of Shae's Window to the Soul

and drumroll please......

Nancy of Nancy's Monablog

Happymess is a State of Mine

2008-08-08T07:35:00.009-05:00

Gah! Has it really been almost 2 weeks since I've posted?

Geesh. Sorry folks. I'm not sick, depressed, in prison or off on a top-secret mission in the jungles of some unnamed uncharted island fighting power hungry sinister villains bent on world domination. And vacation is over, so what could possibly be my excuse this time?

Perhaps it's the shock & awe of returning to the Real World. You know, the one where you have to wake-up to an alarm, wear something else besides flip-flops and a bathing suit, actually cook your own meals (with or without help), make your kids do their chores, put on your happy face (aka mask, make-up, camouflage or war-paint), clock-in and actually do some work so you can get paid?

This is, of course, the antithesis to the universally popular world of Dreamville otherwise referred to as The Vacation World. Sigh.

It was - how shall I say this? FANFREAKINGTASTIC. AMAFREAKINGZING. As well as AWEFREAKINGSOME. Just to throw out a few adjectives.

No really, it was just that nice. Here are pictures to prove it:

Ocean water as it should be.
Pensacola, Florida

Beach sand as it should be.
Pensacola, Florida

Good Lord Lawrence, that is beautiful!
Pensacola, Florida

I spy with my little eye gorgeous white sand, empty beaches
and beautiful blue water.
Pensacola, Florida!
Dang. You guessed it.

Ahhh.

It warms the cockles of me heart and truthfully I'm a little teary-eyed just looking at them....

Oh, you want to see pictures of us there? What, you don't believe me??? Okay, here is your evidence oh doubting Thomasessesess...

The day of our arrival, road weary but happy to Arrive Alive.
(Florida's ad campaign to buckle-up)
We made it!

Elena & her cousin Gina ready for a day at the beach. Literally.

Jesse & the girls.

Here is evidence that even my son had fun. Um, sort of.

Sort of because in this picture (look on top of our vehicle) he was bound and determined to "NOT have any fun! NOT going in the water or near that yucky sand!"

Yeah, that lasted all of five minutes....

Sand fight!!!
(I started it and dang! it were fun! I am SOOOO mature.)

J. Cool, posing all gangstariffic in his Sponge Bob swim-trunks.
He is sooooo dreamy.

Stop yer yic-yacking, I can hear you. I was too there. Who do you think took all of these lovely photographs??? Again with the doubting? Okay, okay...

HERE is your proof. One very white foot. In very white sand.

That is all you're getting folks.

There are things we didn't get pictures of...like all the road trip drama and laughter and hotel high-jinks.

Okay, no, there weren't really any hotel high-jinks...unless you count Jesse unplugging the elliptical machine in the hotel gym while some lady - who, if looks could kill, Jesse would be buried next to Eddie in the Florida sand, only much deeper and without any way for him to breathe - was trying to get her workout on...he was so embarrassed.

What? It was just a suggestion and he didn't have to listen to me! I just thought maybe it would help the treadmill start back up since the computer on the dang thing was frozen and he couldn't get it to do anything. What do I know??? Geesh.

Other than that it was completely mindless, effortless, work-free, exhausting, ended way too soon fun-filled vacation. We came, we got burnt and we went home with more sand than should be legally allowed. Good thing they don't charge you by the pound for that...trust you me, we took home half a beach and it was in everything and everywhere...Like Elena said, "Mom, I went to pull my bathing suit off and a sand dune fell out."

She's so cute.

Right Hand Red, Left Foot Green

2008-07-28T17:15:00.000-05:00

I'll bet you know what that's from. That's right folks, Twister, the game that ties you up in knots. That's also the name of an exercise class that I've started taking.

No wait, that's just the way your body feels during the exercise class...and the tied up in knots part is what you feel for days afterwards.

You read that right me lovies no need to break out the reading glasses and call in the family to point at the screen and laugh. Me. An exercise class. Me. Who would have thought? Well certainly NOT ME...

Yes, yes, it was me who, if asked to go work out at a gym, would loudly profess "I don't believe in public humiliation."

And yes, it was me who swore she wouldn't be caught dead trying to keep up while sweating with a room full of shapely bodies. Bodies that don't actually need to sweat to the oldies.

Yes, yes, yes, I would put working out in public right up there with having your teeth pulled and trying on bathing suits - I thought of it as just that painful.

Yes that was me. Ah but how quickly the treadmills turn for that was me then and scarily, this is me now. And I've discovered crow goes down much easier with a little Crystal Light.

This is me now, in all my glory and all its jigglyness, poured into a pair of sweats huffing, puffing and flailing around the room and actually enjoying - quite profusely I might add - the torture being meted out to me and 10 others. I think I might need some intense psychotherapy folks because I'm not quite sure just who I am anymore.

And, if I am to be at all fair in giving you a complete picture, I must give you these bits of information, for it would be slightly untruthful and less than forthcoming not to. I am participating in this bit of human degradation at a gym in a church. This is an exercise class with co-workers, all of whom I know and love. And this is a beginners weight training class - well, supposedly for beginners but none of us are buying that bridge.

Now, with all that said, it is still a gym. And all that aside, there are still witnesses in the room. And, all things considered, this is still to be filed under the category titled public humiliation.

Now you would think when he started the class with how many? jumping jacks I would have run Forrest, run screaming out of the room. Nope. I obediently began to jump. If you could call it that - looked more like jack. I thought dude is this high school? It has that same utterly embarrassing feel to it. The instructor looks like my old high school gym teacher - thick mustache, big muscles and deep voice, except this time it's actually a man.

Then I hear the sound. I try to place it. Kind of sounds like hands clapping slowly. Who is that, is someone keeping beat???

Wait.

Oh. My. Word.

That. Is the sound. Of my thighs. Slapping together. Seriously? Oh yes. Gulp. This could get ugly. Truthfully, it already is quite ugly. Uber. UBAR.

Gratefully no one can hear the mini-ovation over the grunting and gasping for air. Either that or everyone is just too kind to laugh in my face.

The next hour proves to be one that shows - no matter how strong, healthy, in shape I might foolishly dream I am - I am not. I am a sad sack of jelly fish and every muscle in my body is at that very moment screaming for me to be taken down by a licensed professional at close range. And the gelatinous things that used to be my legs and previously had held me up so stoically now feel like I am being cattle-prodded and tasered simultaneously and the traitors have abandoned ship. They've mutinied along with my lungs and every other cell in my body.

Once class is over we look around taking a mental body count as we smile at each other. I hear myself pant and wheeze. I take a swig of water hoping to hide my asthmatic sounding breathing. I wheeze louder. And then I praise God I made it through without passing out or passing gas and wobble out the door. And look forward to next week for more of the same.

Sicko.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

2008-07-20T20:01:00.004-05:00

Because the rooster was chasing her.

No. Really.

Right smack in the middle of this very modern metropolis known as Houston. There we were - close to 20 cars - held to a standstill by two ten pound birds in the intersection of an otherwise busy street, waiting and watching rather amused (at least we were) while a rooster slowly chased a chicken across the road.

A second chicken was right behind them but seemed to change her mind mid-stream and headed back for the other side. Perhaps she didn't want to be a part of the re-enactment of this age old joke.

And this isn't the first time we'd seen farm creatures roaming the streets of our concrete jungle.

Two years ago we were in North Side (say it Nancy, North Sieeed) - which is a seedy area of Houston at its best - helping with a little something our church calls Houston Project. Approximately ten of us have set out on foot going door to door inviting the folks to come join in the fun at the local church when out of nowhere comes a donkey. A rather large, forbidding looking donkey who is quite agitated to say the least.

Now being the educated city folk that we are, we stood right there in the middle of the road and pretty much right smack in the middle of his path and not one of us is moving. I believe we were in shock. I mean it is not the most normal thing to see coming out of the backyard of a house in inner city Houston. Inner city anywhere for that matter.

A few seconds behind him comes his owner with a rope in his hand yelling in Spanish for the donkey to 'stop' and 'get back here' and I think that he called that donkey a few choice names which might have made matters worse because that darned animal seemed to take offense at whatever he was saying. Okay so I don't know nothing 'bout no donkeys, but I am pretty danged sure the yelling and name calling ain't a working. But that's what he keeps right on doing at the top of his lungs as the pair of them go running right by us standing there with our mouths hanging open.

Apparently this was a common occurrence - at least for these neighbors - as it did not warrant the slightest bit of attention from anyone else but us because folks went right about washing their cars, fussing at their kids, playing in their sprinklers and paying no mind to the man chasing the donkey down the road.

That's what's going on here in Houston folks. What about in your neck of the woods?

Support

2008-07-14T08:14:00.002-05:00

More than just a good bra or a pair of Spanx. Support is in those who surround you, those who cheer you when you stand firm, who understand when you fall short and somehow carry you forward against the crushing rush of the tide.

Support is an assorted collection of family, friends and even, sometimes, absolute strangers. Strangers they may be, yet because they've walked in your shoes and you in theirs quite enough in life, these unfamiliar faces ring of familiarity.

Because in them you witness your hard-fought tears slip from their eyes, you hear your selfsame struggles in their voices and recognize the demons they have seen as the very same that have haunted you for years. The scars they bear - some old and barely visible, others fresh and still on the mend - are identical to yours for you have been warriors fighting a parallel battle. Synonymous lives.

I only remember a few of their names but I remember every single face. I remember them because we've come together gathered around a common purpose and have rallied for the same cause. I remember each one, because together we are strengthened by each admission of weakness; we take away a measure of courage in the fact that these weaknesses are normal and only temporary. I remember each face because I look around and I see victory in their expressions. I remember because I hear the triumphs declared in each of the voices. I remember the courage and determination of my circle who, against odds decided long ago, have clawed our way out of the dark prison cells of our own making and in to the light of freedom.

And freedom is a marvelous thing.

Wordle

2008-07-07T08:07:00.006-05:00

My friend Sharon sent me this link for a website called Wordle. Instantly I was fascinated as - and I've said many a time before - words have always been my love language. (What the que is a love language you ask? Well silly, click on the link and find out...)

So, on this Wordle page, you can enter just about anything from your own selection of words to your blog URL and make word art.

I entered the URL for Ventage and here is what I got:

Click on the picture to see it larger. I think it's pretty funny that Chuck is front and center due to the recent post about Chuck E. Cheese.

Then I placed my own words on the canvas. I took my time and chose my words carefully, as I knew they would be viewed with many eyes. Do I always take such care?

Of course not. No.

I don't think I've ever thought of my spoken words becoming art but there they are. And whether it is an impressionists brush stroke offering reflection and peace or a hardened sculpture repelling its witnesses with its cold reality, words create impermeable moments in the museums of our lives.

What works of art do your words create?

Donna's Neighbors

2008-06-24T07:42:00.000-05:00

Who the heck is Donna? Well, um, that's me.

And if we are going to be blog friends, then I think it's time you met my neighbors. Now, my neighbors pale in comparison to Nancy's fascinating bevy of Condo characters. Nevertheless, I feel it is an introduction far overdue.

And, yes, my name is Dana (Day-na) not Donna (Dawn-uh) however Donna is what one of my neighbors insists on and persists in calling me. Truly, I do not think she means to change my name. And I am more than certain this is not due to the fact that she is of another culture - such as Irish - which would perhaps pronounce my name differently, but to their ears, correctly. Nor do I think that she is willfully pronouncing it wrong and thereby letting me know that I and my name are of no consequence to her and hers. Like Endora with ~~Derwood~~ Darrin.

She just somehow has it in her head that Donna is my name. I ignore it. I mean, this from a woman who says she loves those mocho floppy-chinos more than lotties - how could you possibly dislike her?

Her husband ribs her about it. In fact he jokes with everyone about everything. He is never serious. It has to be frustrating to attempt a sober conversation with the man. It must be something akin to discussing the political state of the Middle East with Robin Williams.

The whole family has a great sense of humor and with a 3 bedroom house occupied by 2 adults, 7 children, 3 grandchildren, 1 son in law, various other in-laws moving in and out, 3 dogs, 2 puppies, 3 completely wrecked vehicles, 3 more vehicles in need of major mechanical work and 4 running vehicles, one has to have humor in abundance. Or insanity. Or both.

And one must have both good humor and patience in abundance to live next door to all of this. Not to mention we live in a rather decent neighborhood where this sort of multi-family farm slash car lot is not looked upon with favor. Neighborhood associations are so snooty that way.

So if I told you they were great neighbors would you believe me? Because they are. They always borrow stuff, leave trash in the yard, park in front of our house - all exactly what good neighbors are supposed to do. But we look out for them and them for us. Our kids hang out together. They make us laugh and give us something to discuss on those long cold winter nights. Oh wait, this is Houston and we don't have winter.

Sure, Mr. Roger's wouldn't have them and trust me, this ain't the Neighborhood of Make Believe...but they do make great fodder for stories.

Well, they don't bring us casseroles or get excited about trash novels by the pool, but they are ours.

For now.

Next up, the new neighbors. *cue the creepy music*

Lost and Found

2008-06-19T09:03:00.000-05:00

FOUND:
Recently I've noticed some things that have been long forgotten. Things like knuckles showing on my hand and wrist bones. Things like ankle bones and tendons. Cheekbones and collarbones. Shoulders and elbows and hip bones.

Welcome back guys, I've missed you!

LOST:
Went to visit some family and my great-niece runs up to greet me and after the hug she pats my stomach and says "Where is your baby? You had your baby?"

That....was.... awesome!

**Overheard in Chuck E. Cheese

2008-06-17T07:24:00.010-05:00

Ah yes, the wonderful world of Chuck E. We got to spend a fabulous fun-filled four hours of complete and utter bedlam. And I subjected myself and my family to this willingly.

It was my daughter's choice for her birthday party. Happy 13th Elena!!! Go figure, she's 13 and still loves Chuck E. Cheese. And all of her friends - each one 13 years old - loved it just as much. I'm glad that neither she, nor her friends, are too cool for silliness, games and pizza yet. No high maintenance, too big for their own capris, prima donna friends for my girl. At least not yet.

So as the kids ran around eating ungodly amounts of pizza, I nursed a piece of lettuce while discussing the latest goings on with the other parents, who I also consider friends. A Chuck E. Cheese sing along begins. We watch. We laugh. The little ones are so cute.

They begin the conga line around the party room and the kids are following Chuck E. like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. One little boy in particular caught my eye.

Blonde, around 5 years old or so with his little faux-hawk he danced the most enthusiastically. The other children seemed as if they were dazed, confused and just going along for the sake of pleasing Mr. Cheese.

As I watched Tiny Dancer he began to yell somewhat quietly at first, then increasing in decibels as he was not getting any one's attention.

"Hey! Hey!! Hey!!!"

Seemingly no one acknowledge his keening wail except for me.

"Hey, I think I have a wedgie!!!"

After having properly announced his predicament, he felt he could then proceed accordingly. So, he hiked his leg up, reached his arm around rather dramatically to the aforementioned region of discomfort, and began to remedy the situation - with as much enthusiasm as his dancing - and all the while he never once missed a beat in the Chuck E. conga line.

As we say in our home he was going to the movies, and he was watching Finding Nemo.

Oh and we also say "Do NOT seek the treasure!"

**This title is not to be confused with the infamous Overheard in New York. WARNING and or Disclaimer!: Before you visit this site please note, there is often somewhat crude humor, vulgarity and foul language. Wait, maybe those last two are the same. Nonetheless, if you find yourself compelled to visit remember this little nugget of wisdom "just wade through the bathwater and you will find the baby" (or something like that) because there is some pretty danged hilarious stuff on the site as well.

Wisdom of the Ages

2008-06-09T19:47:00.001-05:00

While we are on the subject of love...

I think most of you know by now that my husband works at the church with me. He is a very sociable kind of fellow and many people here talk to him on a regular basis on various and sundry subject matters. For the most part I love the stories he tells me on the way home. I've learned so many things - good, bad and the absolutely hilarious - about the people we work and worship with.

For instance...

The other day he was working in an area of our church when he and two other co-workers started up a conversation with a gentleman who, if you saw him, looks about 60 years old and a young 60 at that. Except, come to find out he's actually 82 years old.

Jesse and the others were shocked. "82?! Wow! You look so young. How do you do it?" asks my husband.

"Well fellows, I tell you, I walk a lot. I stay active. I don't eat very much junk food. I'll have a glass of wine or a cold beer every now and then. Not too often now, maybe 3 or 4 times a year. I don't get drunk. Don't fill yourself with those things Jesse, just have one every once in a while."

They begin to discuss the merits of all these recommendations when he leans in and says in a very low voice, "oh, and I have lots of s*x."

Laughter. Perhaps nervous laughter?

"No, boys now I'm serious. I love my wife, I mean it. Now, she works hard during the week and I tend to leave her alone, but on the weekends...!"

82!

There folks, I think we've found the fountain of youth.

That's the Story of, That's the Glory of Love...

2008-06-06T07:36:00.001-05:00

They met in a pool hall. Nope, I'm not kidding. It was a family hang out known as Bingle Billiard's.

He was playing pool with the usual crowd of friends and family when she offered to buy him a beer. Right then and there he knew she was the girl for him.

In truth they had known each other for quite some time. She was his sister's friend, and at one time was just another little brat hanging around the house.

Ah, but little brats tend grow up and have beautiful blue eyes. And enjoy your jokes. And offer to buy you a beer.

She hadn't given him much thought until the night when they started up a conversation that, before she knew it, had lasted in to the early morning. Afterwards her stomach felt the effects of their laughter, her heart felt a surfeit of being and her mind was a tad bit dizzy from twirling around thoughts of him.

She loved his voice. When he talked she could close her eyes and feel the heat of the sun on her face, the soft sand give way and the waves washing up over her feet.

He loved her smile and those gorgeous blue eyes. When he looked into her eyes he found himself standing in front of his old school locker in between classes with his insides all gooey from just seeing his first crush. (Hey folks, I just report it as I know it.)

They were together quite often and never ran out of words, laughter or passion. Their's was not the normative chick-flick romance. But it was love. Whether they admitted it or not.

So where are these two love-birds today? Ah, after 16 years of togetherness, 14 years of marriage, 2 children, 2 states, 5 abodes, countless trials and 1000's of fights later they are still in love. At least now they admit it.

Happy Anniversary to the love of my life! I'd offer to buy you a beer but it might get us fired.

Well Paint Me Red and Don't Park in Front of Me

2008-06-01T17:20:00.005-05:00

We left before the heat became completely unbearable for our weekend walk around Memorial Park.

We found a good parking spot and piled out of the car. Grabbed our water bottles, put the leashes on the dogs and began to stretch.

That's when my son began to laugh saying "mom look out!"

I looked down to see what the heck he was talking about, and right about the same time the warm wet sensation I was feeling on my ankle sunk in to my coffee deprived senses.

Apparently my dog thinks I look like a fire hydrant.

Tag Meme Thingy

2008-05-31T09:48:00.012-05:00

I was tagged by my sweet friend twin baby momma Courtney...thank you Court! Now I have something to blog about... because while I more often than not have something to say, sometimes it just shouldn't be said...

So here we go:

Tag Game-

I love the smell of - Napalm in the morning? Oh wait, we aren't playing movie quotes. I love the smell of coffee and fresh baked bread. Reminds me of my mom.

People would say that I - Would have no clue what they would say about me.

I don’t understand why - We don't know what the hell is on Joey's head.

When I wake up in the morning - I do many things. Mostly argue with my bladder, hit the snooze button (more than once) and roll over and try to go back to sleep.

I lost my willpower to - Believe I have anything called willpower.

Life is - An amazing journey. Sometimes we are in a sunny little meadow covered with flowers and blue skies and a cool breeze. Other times we are in a dark mosquito infested jungle hacking our way through the obstacles in our path. Either way, our family, our friends and our faith are what keep us going and guide our feet.

My past made me - Appreciate the fact that we are not bound by our past. We are shaped and sculpted by it. We are moved towards our future by it. But we are not completely defined by it nor are we held captive to it. And, no matter what was in the past, we can grow beyond the mold that once formed us. We can step back, take a look at the work and begin to reshape the lines and smooth the edges. We can redefine the definition of who we are. The past is just that, history and not prophecy.

I get annoyed when I - Meet people who intimidate me and I come across sounding stupid.

Parties are not a good time to - Admit you hate parties.

Dogs are - Sitting right here beside me looking up at me ever so expectantly. They want a treat. They need a bath.

Cats are - I don't have a cat. I like cats, I've had cats growing up and I loved them dearly. But now I have dogs and I do think my dogs would torture a cat much like an older brother tortures his sister - to death.

Tomorrow is - The first day of June. We will be half way through the year and already we've had several weeks of the torrid sweltering season known as summer. I so look forward to January and the promise of at least two semi-chilly days.

I have low tolerance for - Shushing. I HATE to be shushed. If you EVER want to annoy me, tick me off, see me miffed or straight out make me cuss...Shush me. See #5 of this post.

I’m totally terrified of - Heights. Oh and THIS.

I wonder why I thought my life would be - A lot like a fairy tale.

Never in my life have I - Jumped off of a bridge because my friends did it - despite my mother's worst fears.

High school was - I kind of remember it as a montage of various scenes from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, The Breakfast Club, Rock 'n Roll High School, Ferris Bueller's Day Off & Napoleon Dynamite. That is to say, what I actually can remember of high school...

When I’m nervous - I talk too much. Go figure, like you could tell the difference between nervous and calm right? I mean I talk a lot any ways, so how could you know???

One time at a family gathering - My mom was steaming home grown broccoli. If you've ever steamed home grown broccoli you know that it can have a pungent odor quite similar to, well, to put it nicely, bodily expelled gas. Each time another person walked in the door they would immediately screw their nose up and you could see the words flash neon red across their faces "okay, who farted?!?!". We began explaining "mom is making broccoli". That Thanksgiving the tradition of calling that particular body function 'making broccoli' had begun in our family. Sigh. Good times.

Take my advice - Never eat the pecans from the bag of Texas Pecan Coffee. Ne-ver.

I'm almost always - On a computer.

I’m addicted to - My husband, my kids, Lost, American Idol, Jesus, blogging, facebook, music.

I want someone to - Explain to me, if everyone is unique in their own way, are we really all that unique?

Okay. The deed has been done. You now know me that much more. Although I'm sure there are a few tidbits your life could have gone on quite merrily without...

Who to tag? Hmmm...Wils is new to the circle so I tag her. Mr. Ex Planet himself hasn't blogged in a while, so perhaps he needs some fodder. Pluto, tag you are it! Who else, who else...Yes, I have it...from one of my favorite blogs, One Thing, Miss Jenni!

Happy Blog Birth-versary to Me

2008-05-20T15:47:00.009-05:00

In 3 days it will have been one year. It started on May 25th, 2007 with a gentle suggestion from friends. With me sometimes that's all it takes. Peer pressure would just be overkill.

So my dearies, if you are the type that needs to lay blame somewhere, you can blame the following: Kelly Fisher Sharon Ziegler and Nancy Monarch

They are the culprits who gave me the nudge that sent me over the blogging cliff.

You know what? I am so glad they did.

Here is where you come in, and I shamelessly insist that you pander to my needy ego with your acclamations and praise.

I want to know what in the world you've come away with from reading my blog over the past year...So please answer as many of the following questions as you like:

1. What is/was your favorite post and why?

2. What if anything have you learned about me?

3. What do you hate that I do (only on this blog!) and you wish I'd stop but you've never had the guts to say it to me - even though you might live in Finland - until now that I'm asking for it?

4. What would you like to see me write about over the next year? No really! I am going to keep a list and write about each and every request.

5. Who have you "met" from visiting my blog?

6. What keeps you coming back to visit my blog?

7. Are you anonymous and why don't you comment? I LOVE comments.

8. I am running out of questions...

9. Does the name of my blog totally throw you for a loop and you wish I'd change it?

10. Make up your own question for me.

Okay, whew. My brain hurts.

Well, that's it folks. Sorry we can't have a party with some cake or something...oh that's right, I don't like parties....

The Difference

2008-05-20T15:19:00.005-05:00

I step on the scale. 235. Step off. Sigh. Same weight as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.

I have apparently hit what the bariatric surgery world calls a stall. Different than a plateau because it's shorter, only lasting a week or two. But frustrating none the less.

The ironic thing is, so many people have commented on my disappearing act this week. Perhaps it's inches instead of pounds which is still good....but....It's funny how a number, as insignificant as it may be, can give your spirit a lift every day. Just that smidgen of encouragement you need to go on.

I'm not sure how to react to the comments either. Comments such as:

"I don't even recognize you!"
(How do you know you are talking to the right person then???)
"You look like a completely different person!"
(Like who? Can I be Ashley Judd?)
or
"You must feel like a whole new woman!"

Truly? No. Well, I mean yes, I feel good. I feel great in fact. But a completely different person?

I know, I know, what am I complaining about? These are friends who are loving on me. And if any of you reading this has said these things to me, please don't feel bad. I love you for it. But it's just odd to hear. And I never know quite how to respond.

This is how I usually respond: I look in the mirror. Yep that's me.

Brown hair with more gray than I care to think about at the moment?
Check.
Blue eyes?
Check.
Freckles?
Check.
My mom's nose?
Check.
Nice big arms. Big legs. Good child-birthing hips?
Check. Check. Check
Huh.

I say to the mirror, "well you look like Dana." and then I think, you sound like Dana too.

But in truth, there are differences. Many. Mainly internal. Mostly unseeable. If that's even a word. I don't think it is, I see a red line....

Like I kind of feel pretty.

And I no longer feel like a Macy's Day Parade float.

And I actually want to go for a walk instead of laying around watching The Top-Secret Recently Opened Never Before Seen Undocumented Footage of Area 51 UFO Files for the 16th time in a month.

What?? The cooking channel was showing Emeril. Not a fan. No baby, give me Tyler Florence or Paula Deen or a Bobby Flay Throw Down any day...

So, that said. I am different. Not yet completely different. Or a whole new different. But well on my way.

Perhaps one day my eyes will see what it is you see.

Wicked Cool Winner...

2008-05-16T09:53:00.004-05:00

If you haven't been following the comment thread on my last post, I would like to inform you that we have a winner ladies and gents.

And the winner is: *drum roll please*

Ali of the most beautiful Emerald Isle!!!

As soon as she gets her address to me, I will send her the prize.

Thanks so much for having fun with this...I had so much fun reading your guesses and fielding the emails ~~asking~~ begging me to just tell them already.

OH!!!

The answer? Yes, I guess you would want that.

It will be my
1 year Blogiversary on May 25th, 2008.

See, I told you it wasn't THAT big of a deal.

But - do look for more details regarding this celebration soon...

Something Wicked Cool- Hints

2008-05-09T07:40:00.007-05:00

So, quite a few of you have guessed and several have said they can't take it. Several have even gone so far as to email me and say "Okay, I give, just tell me, what is it?!?!"

But, I'm still not telling...not yet any way.

I will say this:

1. I'm pretty sure each of you will say, What the? That's it? Oh come on, that's no big deal! when you see the answer.

2. You are all thinking way outside the box. Which is wicked cool in itself, I love creativity. But think a little closer to...home? (So to speak.)

3. It involves the number one.

4. When I say wicked, I don't mean evil. When I say cool I don't mean ice.

5. It has absolutely nothing to do with the Ray Bradbury book of the same title. Although I have read it and did love the book and for some reason was always fascinated by the title. Simply stated, it's what came to mind when I wanted to post about the impending event.

6. I truly didn't expect it to pique everyone's curiosity so...

Something Wicked This Way Comes...

2008-05-06T12:03:00.002-05:00

Wicked cool that is...

Can you guess what it is?

Go ahead, try.

Psst...a prize to each correct guess!

2 am Thoughts

2008-05-02T07:28:00.010-05:00

My eyes pop open and I am wide awake. So begins the battle of me against my body. My mind against me sleeping. And the thoughts creep in...

Why do they say "you're preaching to the choir" when the choir doesn't actually listen? At least when I was in the choir I didn't. I was too busy watching the annoying kid squirm in his seat and bug his mom for gum and pester his sister and get up and go the bathroom for the third time.

Speaking of, I gotta go to the bathroom.

And besides the kid, why in the world did that lady in the front row think that big ol' hat was a good idea? And then you have to make sure you are sitting at a good angle with my knees just so (no choir robes). Hey, where is that kid going now?

Turn over. Check the clock. Sigh.

"Go to sleep Dana."

"I'm trying."

The guy who wrote "when it's cold outside, I've got the month of May" must have lived in the south. What was he rhyming May with? Why can't I remember that? You're tired. So, I know that song, who doesn't know that song, I should know the word that rhymes with May! When it's cold outside...no, I can't remember. Gah!

Turn over, fluff pillow, straighten sheets, nudge snoring husband, check the clock, ignore bladder...

Sweet Caroline, bom, bom, bom. Good times...Oh heck no! Get it out of my head!

It is hot in here. It seems hotter than it was a minute ago. Gosh how do Muslim women stand summer?

GO. TO. SLEEP!

Why don't I have a problem sleeping at 5 am when the alarm is about to ring...yet at 2 am when I have PLENTY O' TIME to snooze I seem to find it the most difficult task to carry out.

Warm, touching warm, reaching out....NO. MUST. SING. SOMETHING. ELSE...

Cloudy day! That's what he was rhyming with May. Sigh. Yeah, he must have lived in the south. May ain't so warm up north. Is it? Huh, I really don't know that do I. I will have to Google that...

Bladder is screaming. Go away bladder...if I get up I will really be awake.

Hear my dog coming down the hall. Sit up in bed, heart racing, squinting in the dark, making sure it actually is my dog coming down the hall...

It is. Whew. Flop back down on bed.

The dog must know I can't sleep. How do they know these things?

He whimpers beside me.

No. If I let you out I will have to let the other one out then I have to wait for you to come back in. Then I will want some water. Then I will really have to pee and all that is just wasted time I could be using for sleep. No you can just go away.

Money talks, but it can't sing and dance and it don't walk. As long as I have you here with me, I'd much rather be, forever in bluejeans babe...

Okay, must pee.

Get up. Go. Let BOTH dogs out. Get water. Wait for them to want back in. Let them back in. Go back to bed.

Fluff pillow. Straighten sheets. Check the clock.

4:45 am.

So...yawn...sleepy.

Nod off.

15 minutes later alarm rings. And I can't wake up.

A La Cosmo

2008-04-29T15:44:00.000-05:00

For some reason my husband has recently taken a very strong liking to a certain popular coffee establishment. In fact it has almost become a daily feeding of his addiction.

We've tried to reign in the urge and keep it to a minimum of 2 or 3 times a week without much luck. With the rising cost of gas, I think we will soon have it down to mostly to Saturday and or Sunday.

He's also awakened the java monster that must be fed daily in our daughter. And oh honey does she get her feelings hurt if we don't wake her early Saturday morning and take her with us. Actually I believe it's the grown-up feel of holding the warm cup in her hand and hanging out with adults, you know the social aspect of it all, rather than a true java addiction.

At least for her. My husband is definitely a fallen member of Starbuck's Anonymous. I only get decaf so I am just along for the flavor.

Our son just goes for the breakfast.

I am definitely a morning person. Not many of us actually exist in the world I know, but I love waking up before the rest of the family to putter around the house, read, write, whatever. I get so much done. Apparently NOT writing on the blog has been one of them. Sorry.

This way of starting the weekend together has come to mean a lot to me. Time with my family and my coffee early in the morning.

And then there's the people. There are all kinds of earthlings that inhabit our world, and most of them frequent a Starbuck's. Most of them are at I-10. And I love to watch them all.

My mom used to say "to each his own". But then again, she used to say "said the old lady as she kissed the cow" right afterwards so don't put too many peaches in her basket. But scary enough, I have to agree with her. If we all had the same personality, the rainbow would be boring. Or something like that.

Last Saturday there were several coffee patron's sitting outside enjoying the cooler air and the morning sun. One was an older gentleman, rather distinguished. He reminded me of a character straight from the movies - very stereotypical of of someone from the north and of a certain nationality - one which I won't mention because I mean no, and I mean absolutely no offense. But, I know somehow, somewhere it might get taken. So fill in your own stereotype here.

The other gentleman was middle aged, weathered looking, smoking a cigarette, talking to himself and wearing some well worn clothing that was basically the same color all over.

Dirt brown.

My first impression was that he was homeless. I won't say for certain he wasn't, but as time passed I realized he was very...different. He had something on the table in between the ashtray and his coffee.

And he was petting it.

I kept looking at this greyish, round, computer mouse sized something on his table. I was totally fixated on the object. What would he be petting like that? Was it a mouse? Or God forbid a rat? I couldn't figure out what it was without walking right up to check it out. And since he was on the different list, I figured he might not take a liking to my perusing his personals all close like that. So I just watched and waited for a better glimpse of the...um...thing.

Well, we finished up our breakfast, our coffee and we got into the car. That's when it happened.

The object he had cooed at and carefully petted all this time....stood up, shook itself off, lept off of the table and flew right in to the side of our car with a resounding thud. I'm thinking 'What the heck? Poor thing...'

We (my family) looked all over for the rescued bird and could not find it anywhere. Mr. Dirt Suit simply walked off talking to himself.

So, Mr. From the North took it upon himself to tell us the story. According to him, the dirt clad gentleman had picked up the bird after it had flown straight into the Starbuck's window. (Perhaps the bird had needed a coffee fix too.) Where upon Mr. Dirt Suit had picked it up, rescusitated it, I didn't ask how, and had spent the last hour talking to it and petting it while it recovered.

This seemed to really impress Mr. From the North and give him absolute hope in humanity.

"That is amazing. Isn't that amazing? I tell you, that's just amazing that he would do that. There are good people I tell you. Good, good people."

This did not impress me nor did it give me hope in humanity. However it did make me think,

"Hmm, that would be something to blog about."

Someone back east is goin' 'now why don't he write?'

2008-04-22T07:50:00.008-05:00

Remember that quote? Of course you do...it's from Dances With Wolves. Great movie. I remember right after that movie came out Jesse and I gave our kids American Indian names. Eddie was Wind In His Drawers, and Elena was Screams With A Fist.

I won't tell you our names lest I gross you out.

I guess I've been away quite a while...Stat Counter & Site Meter both register readership way down. From like 3 a day to 1 a day. Sorry my faithful reader!

I truly have not had much to say. Oh sure, there's been a funny thing here or there. A sad thought to share, or just an everyday occurrence to post about and keep in touch with all those I have come to know and love in Bloglyvania. If I would just take the time and make the effort to get myself in front of a computer and write. I mean, a writer writes always. Right?

But that's just it. I have not had the energy nor have I cared to take a moment or make an effort. There is something that has stood in the way and you may or may not know this about me, I battle depression. And I mean battle in the all out war sense of the word.

For a very long time I've had the black cloud that follows me in life well dispersed and no where to be seen on the horizon. Medicine, faith, family & friends were all a part of managing the dark little stalker of my soul.

Then I had surgery. Medicines were stopped. All of them. No need for it right? Blood pressure was good, blood sugar was great, I was losing weight and I was a happy little girl. Until about two weeks after surgery and I realized...uh oh, I've not been taking my happy girl pills. Realization came a bit late for I was no longer a happy girl.

So I say to myself, before I enter the danger zone and the little black rain cloud becomes a full blown category five hurricane, suck it up girl and start taking your pills again.

And I tried. I really did. The problem is that for the first 3 months after surgery my surgeon does not allow you to swallow any medicine, it must either be crushed or chewed. And so obedient little me went a bought a pill crusher and tried again and again to calm the storm that was brewing.

But I gotta tell you, there's nothing like swallowing a spoonful of battery acid, having your mouth go completely numb and your head feeling as if you've just stepped off of the tilt-a-whirl after riding for hours on end. Oh, and all those lovely feelings last for hours on end. Yeah, that will cheer you right up.

So I did what any normal human in my condition would do. Stop taking the vile crap. Ah but nuclear meltdown would fast approach and I make a lame attempt all over.

I tried hiding the poison from hell in almost everything too...Sugar free fat free pudding. Crystal light. Applesauce. Yogurt. Yogurt was the worst. I think the combination of the milk and battery acid upped the whole world is spinning side effect several notches.

All that to tell you this is where I've been. Lost under the black cloud and just not giving one bit of a care about anything. Ignoring friends, family, housework, life, blogs and pretty much everything under the sun. No pun intended.

And I apologize. I know I don't have to. I know you understand, you may even have your own black cloud to tend to.

But I want you to know that I love you guys. I want you to know I will be okay. I have managed to take the happy girl make the black cloud go away pills for 2 weeks straight now and I am starting to see a little sunlight break through. I am starting to feel again.

For instance, I actually care that you know that I care.

Or something like that.

Tag I'm It...

2008-04-07T07:51:00.009-05:00

I've been tagged again!
Not by one or two, but three people. Thank you Kelly, Courtney and Pamela! I have taken such a long time to reply to the tags because honestly, I don't know what I could share that you don't already know, but here it goes...

Oh, first the rules.

7 THINGS

to share "7 Things" about myself - then, tag 7 friends to share some facts about themselves. So, we all know the drill....first and foremost - the rules:

The Rules:
Link your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

My 7 Things:
1. So much of what I despised as a child, I now love. Baseball, classical music, gardening, vegetables & cooking. Oddly enough, these were mostly things my mother loved. I was a brat.

2. I have a problem with committing to certain things. Things like lunch with a friend, parties, volunteer assignments. I'm not sure why, I just know that I don't like to commit to them. At all.

3. I cannot wear closed toe shoes. I hate them with a passion. I always try to wear sandals or flip-flops - unless I am walking for exercise. This holds true even in winter. When I wear closed toe shoes my feet begin to panic. I swear I can feel my toes hyperventilating and I hear little screams coming from inside my shoe...until I kick off the shoe and I see them breathing a little easier.

3. This is going to be a hard thing to admit. The last official grade I graduated from was the 8th grade. Yes, I repeated 9th grade several times. LOO-HOO-OO-SER. After the second time the school tested me for any learning disabilities they hoped I had. Guess what? They were shocked to find that I tested college level in every subject. All sophomore & junior level. They figured out I was bored. However, they couldn't figure out what to do with me. That many, many, many, many moons ago they didn't have the opportunities they do now for troubled/bored/ADD/snotty kids.

4. I aquired my GED the day I turned 16. Because I couldn't pass the traditional route, I went 'away' to school. I was 15. I tested to see what subjects I needed to brush up on before I took the test. Turns out none. So what did I do for the next 8 months? Tutor. I was an 8th grade drop out who tutored people as young as myself and as old as 25 to help them prepare for the GED. THE day of my 16th birthday I took the test & passed.

5. When I was a kid I had no clue what I wanted to do when I grew up. I still don't. When I grow up I will decide and let you know.

6. I don't like crowds. Much like my feet in a closed toe shoe, I begin to panic. Not in the true - need a therapist and/or a sedative - sense of the word. But I truly do not like them and will avoid them if at all possible. Perhaps this explains me not liking parties, shopping or people in general. Okay, I do like people. Okay, just some people. Ummm, maybe just a handful. Myself sometimes included. :O

7. I truly, truly, truly...hate male bashing. Or female bashing for that matter. Oh heck, any type of human bashing. But this point, #7 on my things about me, is going to be solely about male bashing. Yes, I am blessed beyond blessed to have THE most wonderful man in the world be my husband. And yes, I am head over heels in love after 14 years of marriage. Sickening and mushy yes? And yes, I know not every woman has had a good husband or a good male figure in their lives. MYSELF included. Dad ran out the day he found out mom was preggers. My first husband and I well, that was just all wrong. HOWEVER, that doesn't make a man an idiot simply because he's a man. Nor lazy. Nor clueless. Nor whatever else is considered the Y Chromosome defect. As genders go, we are very different. Applause! And we are that way for a reason. BUT, the differences - both bad and good - apply to both of the sexes. Here is why I say this: Movies, television shows, commercials and the world in general, portray men in such a negative light and it frustrates me to no end. We start girls out thinking this way young, consider what you see on t-shirts, Girls Rule, Boys Drool or Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them. In the movies and on tv, the father is usually portrayed as a moron, and usually either the mother or the kids run the show. Think about this: these men, they were raised by women, they are brothers to women and they are married to women. Get my point?

Okay. Enough soap boxing. Hope this was interesting to at least 2 of you for all of 5 minutes.
I'm not going to tag anyone, I think we've all been tagged within our circle. HOWEVER, if you'd like to play then be my guest!

Will write soon...

Greetings Fellow Earthlings

2008-03-31T18:33:00.005-05:00

I send you love from the distant planet known as My Own Little World, which I've been completely engrossed in for quite some time now. I do hope you'll forgive me my bit of selfishness.

Truth be told there isn't much to report. Even so I am sure I could go on for a while...about nothing....surely....yep, I'll just bet.

I've even tried reading a blog or two, but get called away on some diplomatic mission here in My Own Little World. They do need me so.

Writing has been even harder. Seems I sit down to write and the brain escapes to its Very Own Little Planet.

Contagious stuff this selfishness.

I did return to work last week and strangely no fairies or elves or even little leprechauns had come along and finished my work whilst I was away. Not to mention they do not allow you to visit previously mentioned planet of your own making - they even frown upon it. Something about earning your pay and milking your sick leave. Sadness upon sadness. Can you say sadness children? I knew you could.

I seem to be doing better back here on planet Earth than I have in the previous weeks. Just last week I could only work/focus/stay here on Earth until 2 or 3 pm and then I was just plain dead.

Not mostly dead. All dead. There is a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. I was not slightly alive. Perhaps I rushed Miracle Max and you know what happens when you rush a miracle.

This week - much better for all involved. That is not to say I had any more energy than last week, but I made it through to 4:30 before I felt the life drain from my body. Leaving me mostly dead. Or slightly alive.

The most excitement in the last 2 weeks has been my lovely Erienne coming home for a visit. She came back from Kuwait to be with her brother before he deployed to Iraq. Afterwards, she came and visited My Own Little World and rather liked it...she eventually had to leave though, the Army does frown on not returning when they ask. And I'll just bet they can find my world no matter how I try and hide her in it. Sadness once again.

See folks, other than that life here in My Own Little World is rather about nothing and without much ado.

Sigh. I wonder how long until others start to move here and begin its undoing.

The Good, the bad and the Downright Uuugly....

2008-03-23T18:43:00.015-05:00

Oh my word! Has it already been 14 days? I've had my family home all week and it has gone by so fast...

What a freakin' crazy white water ride too. Emotionally, physically, everythingally.

The Good
Monday we journeyed out to Barnes & Noble. For me, this is as close to Heaven on Earth as there is without being sacrilegious. (For my husband Heaven on Earth would be Northern Tools, Home Depot or Lowe's) Not to mention this particular B&N sells Starbuck's right there. Not that I am a Starbuck's devotee, no, no, no mon ami's, just a coffee devotee. Coffee and books. Yesssss. I wonder, will there be books in Heaven? Hmmm...

I wandered through Heaven slowly in a literature induced euphoria literally salivating over the innumerable selections before me. I started with six, narrowed it down to three and only walked out with one, The Pig Did It by Joseph Caldwell. What a delightful choice at that. And truly, the fact that it was set in Ireland, had nothing to do with my decision.

Okay, maybe just a bit.

Speaking of Ireland...I found it rather humorous that every aisle that I walked down had an Irish book of some sort on display. I don't believe this was because of St. Patrick's day otherwise there would have been a whole display. Just a smidgen of irony I think...

I took pictures...well, what pass as pictures. Again, I don't have a decent camera and all I had with me was my phone:

I am quite certain I would have found many, many more, had I actually tried to find these. Or, with irony such as it is, perhaps not. No matter the case, it gave me a smile or a laugh each time and made me think of new found friends. Mayhap a nudge from the Lord's to pray for them...after reading about Ali's dreaded flight disease, and Pluto's furry visitor, I now understand.

The weather has been dutifully accommodating for our week together. There was the empty promise of some nasty storms on Tuesday. Sadly we didn't get as much as a spit of rain from the skies. No thunder, no lightening, not even one danged ominous black cloud.

And with the good weather we've begun work on our summer project for this year. The west side of the house. Or as Miss Nancy Mon would say, "A big shout out to the west si-eeede!" Sigh, I so miss her. And many others! I actually look forward to going back to work tomorrow! Crazy huh?

Back to the projects, er project. The side of the house is terribly overgrown. The couple that owned it before us apparently became ill and unable to take care of all the flowerage and vegetation. So we've been out pulling up plants that have become more like weeds. Cutting down bushes that have become more like trees. So far we've filled 12 of the super huge lawn bags and have lots to go. Yee. Haw.

The Bad
On Wednesday and Thursday my emotions got the best of me. My son left Thursday for Iraq and I have to tell you that right now is one of the most difficult times in my life. For one, he has decided to be angry with me for reasons I won't go into here. And in my mind this isn't the time for anger...this is the time for forgiveness and letting others know just how much you love them, no matter what.

Which I made sure he heard from me even if I didn't hear as much from him. For two, if he is mad at me okay, I am a big girl, but dang, he should have at least talked to his step-father and brother and sister. They are very hurt as well. For three, well I guess it is just a matter of this is the third one there which takes me to harder and harder places. And four, my emotions are on shaky ground to begin with considering all that has gone on before.

Shaky ground because even though I no longer feel physical hunger, I cannot sate my mental hunger. And the mental hunger is a far more difficult battle to wage war against. Like ghost pains for an amputee.

The Ugly
For the emotional eater, add these two together - the surgery and my oldest son leaving - and you have a cataclysmic situation on your hands. At one point I longed for the pots of meat in Egypt. I understood how the Israelites could even consider the choice. It seems far easier to go back to what required no struggle, no growth, no death of self, than to go forward in seemingly endless circumstances.

As I pause from typing this I look up at the tack board filled with pictures and notes and cards and such. But the one thing that sticks out is this, a note written to myself:

My Refuge is the eternal God. Deuteronomy 33:27

My Hope and my faith are in God. 1 Peter 1:21

My Security is in God. Philippians 4:19

My Acceptance is in God. Isaiah 62:5

Those words have been a reminder to me to stop looking to food, people and earthly things (yes, even books and coffee) for refuge and love. These are found only in God.

And no matter how much my heart hurts, how my stupid mind wanders back to those pots of meat and chains of slavery, He is the one who will meet my needs.

No matter what.

This is It...

2008-03-18T21:59:00.000-05:00

Reality is a deceptive word. It seems that you know exactly what you are headed for, but later you find that the reality of then, was only what you thought it was.

Not a mirage. Not fantasy. Not even a misguided belief. More like a belief that is at each moment evolving, once blurred by thought and now sharpened by experience.

Two weeks ago, in reality, I fully realized that in 14 days I would have surgery. I knew the reality was that this surgery would absolutely change every aspect of my life - permanently. And I, being of sound mind, had done my homework thoroughly and was, or so I thought, prepared for the road ahead. No regrets, no fears, no worries.

And one week ago, in reality, I had said surgery and all things I imagined it to be, were brought in to focus and no longer what I originally thought, but now what I knew.

And then there comes a moment, when you wake up several days later, have chicken broth for breakfast for the third day in a row, have absolutely nothing you recognize as hunger for the third day in a row, have six large incisions across your belly and no idea if what you are doing is even going to work, when you say to your educated self, "Oh me, you had no clue. What have you done?"

All those so called well-informed-ideas that kept away any presentiments you might have had, go tearing out the door leaving it wide open for those nasty neighbors known as doubt to walk right in and make themselves quite comfortable. And you? You have not an inkling of what to say to them, how could you? You've never been here before.

This is not to say that I now feel some form of regret. Not at all. Just reality, sinking its sharp little claws deep into the very pit of my brain better known as the heart and the soul. The innermost being as it were.

And too, reality is a word pregnant with possibilities. Possibilities that, when given breath, put to death the shadowy doubts that cower in the corners of your mind. Possibilities have their own reality, a reality that itself evolves.

The hope of victory becomes a tangible reality one day at a time. The desire of perseverance takes yet another step on solid ground. The thought of resolve pounds in your heart one beat to the next, drumming out the whispers of what if and not you. And these realities become more and more at home in your mind than the doubts, the words of naysayers and the fleeting fears that once tried to nest.

And what was, transmigrates in to what is. And this day, this is it, this is your reality. Make it what you will.

Catching Up

2008-03-16T20:53:00.001-05:00

Sorry I've been gone so long! Whew, just had a little something going on lately :-).

Catch up with me, one post at a time...

Catching Up - Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Catching Up - Many Thanks

Catching Up - the "S" Word

Catching Up - American Idol

Catching Up - At the Movies

Catching Up - Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2008-03-16T20:03:00.005-05:00

We all know, no matter what your heritage, we all have a little Irish in us. This year, I actually have the honor to 'know' several wonderful people from Ireland.

Ali, Pluto & Cosmo, Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Hey folks, it's more than green beer, getting pinched and 'Kissing me cause I'm Irish'....not that any of that is bad...it is just how we celebrate it here in the states. But there is SO much more to St. Paddy's Day than all that.

In honor of the Lá ’le Pádraig, the lovely Ali had a give away and yours truly won. True to her word, I received the parcel in time to celebrate all things Irish. Please excuse the horribleness of this photo, I have a sorry excuse for a camera...

Yes, that is Bailey's Irish Cream. Yes, you are jealous. Yes, I loved everything in this Irish bounty! My favorite has to be the Escape to Ireland booklet. Words cannot describe the way I feel looking through the pages.

She thought of everything, a DVD of Ireland, CD of Celtic music, a book on the history of St. Patrick - the dude not the day. Lollipops with little shamrocks on them, balloons, happy St. Paddy's day banner, an Irish Blessing mousepad which I use right here at home. And even a true Shamrock...I would include a picture but again my camera stinks. Nope, not operator error thank you very much. Right down to the green glitter and the shamrock glitter. It was/is everywhere!

I've so enjoyed meeting my Irish friends. They make me wish I was Irish or at least lived in Ireland. Could you not listen to them all the time? Well, here is your chance. Take a listen to Mr. Pluto (I so hope this works!).

Pluto's N. Ireland accent

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!

Catching Up - Many Thanks

2008-03-16T19:38:00.007-05:00

There are many blessings that have come my way this week. I just wanted to share them with you as much as I can on a blog...

Flowers...

Dahlias from my hubby. He hearts me...

Gerbera Daisies from my hubby. I heart him...

Tulips from my co-workers. I heart them too...

Tulips from Denise. You guessed, heart her...

Tulips from my co-workers. Repeat.

Begonias from my hubby. Romantic isn't he?

Flowers from Rae & Kelly. Heart & Heart.

Speaking of Miss Rae...she bought me this cup since all I can do is sip. She said I might as well sip in style. Heart, heart, heart. She picks the greatest little gifts.

A beautiful plant from my bosses. Yes yes, I heart them too.

Other blessings that have come along this week:

My azaleas bloomed like crazy.

The house next door sold to a young couple. Glad they are moving in.

Nice house huh?

Another blessing...I stopped waking up at 3:33 in the morning.

No really, for some odd reason I wake up at 3:33 am a lot. I only have this picture because I just happened to have my phone in the room. I woke up at 3:33 and realized, about 4 minutes later I guess, that I should take a picture of this. Things you do when you can't sleep. Since then, I've slept right through to 4 am.

Well, I guess I better go. Thank you everyone, I love you all!

Catching Up - American Idol

2008-03-16T19:00:00.001-05:00

So whether you watch it or not, you know you've heard of American Idol.

I happen to watch it. From beginning to end I am glued to the screen. Love the bad ones, love the good ones.

Here are my three favorites this year:

Brooke White, cannot get enough of her. Her voice is raw, it is real and it is unadulterated by the pop world. She could hold her own with Carly and Carole and she likes Bonnie Raitt! Brooke is my absolute favorite. I hope they totally Daughtry the girl, then she can go on and do her thing.

Jason Castro, oh my. Chiseled features. Blue eyes. Dreads. Okay, so normally - dreads? not so much. But child he works them. And, a voice that makes you dream. What's not to like? I would love to hear a duet with Jason and Brooke.

David Archuletta. Sweetest kid. Cutie pie. And he can SING. He is my third favorite and no matter what, this kid will go far. Hopefully he will stay grounded enough not to become big-headed about his talent or go off in to the deep end of the drug and alcohol pool.

So who is your next American Idol?

Catching Up - At the Movies

2008-03-16T17:17:00.004-05:00

My daughter told me about an event where there were a series of questions posed to both mother and daughter seeing how well they knew each other. (She was 'working' the event in order to raise funds for her mission trip.)

She said in her head she played the game with me and wondered how we did so on the way home we played. When we got to the question "what is her favorite movie?" I asked her what she thought it was. You know what she told me?

"Mom, that is such an unfair question."

"Exactly." I said.

How can you pick one? You can't even pick one genre much less one movie. Action, disaster, romance, drama, chick-flick, sci-fi, mystery, thriller, scary. There's the classics, the comedies, the musicals.

Noticeably missing, westerns (any kind, but especially spaghetti westerns) and war movies. Not a fan.

This past week I've had a chance to watch a LOT of movies from most of the genres. In between American Idol, sipping, napping and sipping here are a few that I've watched:

Vertigo
A Hitchcock classic. I love me some Jimmy Stewart but I was very creeped out by his character's obsession with this woman. Eh. It has like 9 1/2 stars on IMDB...but I wouldn't give it so many.

The Holiday
For me the Sophie, Olivia, Arthur and Miles totally made this movie watchable. Jude Law and his lovely little accent didn't hurt it much...
Favorite lines:
Arthur: Iris, in the movies we have leading ladies and we have the best friend. You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend.
Iris: You're so right. You're supposed to be the leading lady of your own life, for God's sake! Arthur, I've been going to a therapist for three years, and she's never explained things to me that well. That was brilliant. Brutal, but brilliant.

Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me
I know, crude, sexist and tasteless. And I LOVE it. I had forgotten just how danged funny Mike Meyers is. I was laughing so hard it hurt. Well, I guess considering there are 6 incisions on my belly, it wouldn't take much effort to make me hurt....
Favorite lines:
Scott: How could you do this to me? On national television!
Dr. Evil: Well throw me a freakin' bone here, Scott.
Scott: Why did you run out on me?
Dr. Evil: Because you're not quite evil enough.
[audience boos]
Dr. Evil: Well it's true! It's true! You're semi-evil. You're quasi-evil. You're the margarine of evil. You're the Diet Coke of evil. Just one calorie, not evil enough.
My Fair Lady
Just a very wonderful movie. I know every song, every line and love, love, lurve this loverly movie. Audrey Hepburn is one of the most beautiful women in the world and an even more beautiful actress.
Favorite lines:
Come on, Dover, move yer bloomin' arse!
The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated.

Roman Holiday
Another Hepburn movie, actually her first major role and this time with the amazing Gregory Peck. Sweet and funny, simple and romantic. I love it.

His Girl Friday
Fast and funny you have to really pay attention. You won't be disappointed either... Rosalind Russell is one funny and beautiful woman and with Cary Grant as your leading man, you gotta be.

Your turn. Tell me, what movies, good or bad, have you watched lately? Favorite lines?

And, She's Back...Sort Of.

2008-03-12T17:56:00.005-05:00

I just wanted to post a note saying thank you so much for all the well wishes, all the prayers all the words of love and smiles!

I am home and on the mend. I was so happy to be home that when I laid down on my own bed I cried. Which I had to stop immediately because that hurt. Tears of joy were about to be tears of pain!

For the next few days life will go a little something like this:

Sip broth.
Walk.
Nap.
Chew pain pill.
Sip water.
Nap.
Walk.
Chew vitamins.
Sip crystal light.
Nap.

Seems I've become a cat....

I will try to check my emails and blog as much as possible in between since they bring me your prayers, your jokes your love and your thoughts and those bring me much joy.

Okay. Must go sip and nap. Will write soon.

Finals Week

2008-03-06T08:36:00.003-06:00

'They' put the fear of the Surgery Nazi in you. Tell you to lose 10 pounds or else - "no surgery for you!"

They mean well. They want to see if you will follow their directions. It makes the surgery easier on the stomach. It makes the transition to a purely liquid diet that much easier. Lowers your health risks, yada yada yada.

So, I knew the Big W-day was drawing close. My old fears and long ago fought battles rose up out of their shallow graves and laughed their ghostly heads off right in front of me. Did I lose enough? What if I gain 3 pounds overnight. Better skip a protein shake until after weigh in. Wrong. Wrong. WRONG!

My stupid scale at home wasn't helping the mental matters either. My clothes were a bit baggy. I was feeling a bit lighter. But my scale showed me very little love. So, rather than give in and be defeated I went to another scale. And another. And glory be, I'd lost 20 pounds!

Forget a bit baggy, suddenly my pants were about to fall off.

So, I headed off to the hospital ready to jump through all the final pre-op hoops with confidence tucked neatly under my arm. They have their circus act down pat. In this ring you pee in a cup. In this ring you give a little blood. And in this ring you have an EKG.

Then the ring master walks in. Uh oh...

I hate this part. I am always afraid I am going to answer something wrong. It's too much like a test...

Head Nurse/Ring Master: What is your religion?

Me: Um...Christian?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *staring at me*

Me: Baptist?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *writing and talking* Christian.

I'm thinking dang, that was a few points off.

This one was my favorite by far:

Head Nurse/Ring Master: What do you expect from your hospital stay?

Me: Um, surgery?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: We are not amused. Of course you will have surgery. What do you expect?

Me: Good care?

Dang, I am so failing this...

Head Nurse/Ring Master: No one knows how to answer that question.

Well at least I am in the 100 percentile there.

Head Nurse/Ring Master: Are you allergic to anything?

Me: Yes, codeine, morphine, vicodin.

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *disbelieving tone, looks over top of glasses* What do they do to you?

Me: Chest pains, rash, heart racing, short of breath?

Head Nurse/Ring Master: *impressed* Okay.

Me: Whew.

The Ring Master lets me leave the interrogation. I'm off to see the trapeze artists next.

No kidding. Having an x-ray is really like that. Hold on to the bar over your head, deep breath in, lift your leg, swing! Now, turn this way, flip, deep breath in and swing!

Can I have some pop-corn now? Where are those stinking clowns cause this ain't funny anymore.

After two hours of that I headed off to the Surgery Nazi camp and waited for the call. And waited. And waited...

Finally my time had come. I weighed in and met with Dr. F.

Two thumbs up. I'd lost 22 pounds, all my tests went well and so on.

I asked what my results were from the hospital tests. He said I passed with a 94.

An A!

I think six points were taken off for being Baptist.

I have started a blog about my weight loss journey. You can read about it here if you like. I just repeated this post there. I am too lazy to be creative twice today.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

2008-03-04T09:14:00.008-06:00

YOU are!

Well, not exactly.

You have two little flies on the wall to thank for this...

We do have odd conversations at dinner, why bother with any other way. Odd for us, is the norm. I love to meet people who think outside the box, color outside the lines, walk to the beat of a different drum and all that jazz.

And I try to inspire that same odd creativity in my children. For instance, one time Elena and I laid side by side for over two hours with a wire hanger making different shapes and stories about those shapes. Each of us saw a million different shapes and stories in that one simple object. It is one of my favorite memories with her.

Or, sometimes at dinner I will start a story, or ask someone to start to a story and then it gets passed around each of us adding to the story as we go.

Like so:

Dad: The cow jumped over the moon.

Mom: Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, scientists had been working on this project for many, many years. It was a very top-secret scientific experiment to see the effects of space on a cow. There was much rejoicing over the successful mission.

Elena: They found that once in space cows could produce 100 times more the milk than they could on earth. This made the scientists very happy. They took the milk and fed millions around the world.

Eddie: The company who originally funded the experiment sold the rights to a much bigger company and made billions off of the cows in space. War eventually broke out and millions died. Leaving the cows in charge.

I can see the nuances of each personality in the story. Each time we get to Elena, she is all about saving the world and helping others. Each time we get to Eddie he is all about the money and battles and humor.

So, since my two little flies mentioned wanting to be in the home on the wall around our dinner conversations, I thought I would give everyone a spin at the bottle so to speak. Besides, if they really were flies on the wall, I would swat them and that would be that.

Here is how it goes:
I am going to provide the first part of the story.

Then, when you go to the comment section, read the last comment (unless you are first or *gulp* only comment :)) and then you provide the next part of the story.

I will paste your comments in to the post as I get to them, but I may get behind a bit as the hundreds of comments come flooding in. So kidding.

RUN with it. Have fun with it. Show me your personality. No judgements here, just creativity.
And yes, Nancy, you can do a story in lyrics only, I would love it.

She had stopped believing in heroes a very long time ago. Santa, the Easter Bunny & even the stupid Tooth Fairy, had all turned out to be lies. Her white knight must have rescued some other damsel in distress, because she was still stuck here. No one even remotely close to a Romeo called at her window. And then her father died.

Now she fights the dragons of this world on her own.
Contributed by Dana Moya

...not that many ever came calling, that is. In fact, nothing exciting EVER happened, until the day her father choked on that griffin beak that somehow found its way into his morning breakfast of creature-hash.

She placed the last scoop of earth on his grave and leaned on the shovel handle to mop her brow. She wondered if perhaps she should shed a tear or two and tried to conjure some up by remembering the tender moments they had shared, but since they hadn't shared any, the tears were not forthcoming.

He had locked her in a damn tower, after all. Nevermind that she had learned how to shimmy down the ivy trellis years ago, it was the thought of it that chafed.

Now that he was gone, though, she puzzled over what to do. Obviously there would be no more meals slid through the iron grate at the bottom of her door, so she'd have to make her own way somehow. She turned to go back to the house and find some supplies with which to go adventuring, or at least what she supposed would be adventuring, having had limited experience with the verb.
Contributed by Jenni

...that was when she discovered she had buried the wrong person...
Contributed by Ali

As she stood there contemplating her next move after making such a terrible mistake, a group of dirty, wild-eyed, and savage looking people angrily made their way toward her. With machetes and cleavers in their hands, she braced herself for the worst.
Contributed by YaYa Orchid

How come nobody had told her it was the butchers turn to organise the annual St Patrick's Day parade?
Contributed by Ali

Shaking her head in disbelief and laughing at the wildly happy folks waving weapons in the air she started thinking... Who would steal her father's body?! Why? The answers were not going to be easy to find, and she knew she would search determinedly but it was freedom that prompted that first step.

Feeling the elation of the moment she jumped in the line of crazy celebration and waved her fist, whooped a couple happy cries and followed the crowd through town. At the other end of town as they filed one by one into the pub she quietly turned and walked toward the road that lead to the outside world.

A half a day of walking steadily got her to the top of a small hill just within sight of the next town. As she gazed for the first time at that unknown place a sudden movement next to the road caught her eye. Curious she got closer, listening intently, and moved around to the other side. It was a cat; a small, brown country feline that was sitting and staring at her very expectantly. They had only just made eye contact and the cat started to go into the woods but soon paused and sat again to look at her. She frowned, suspicious of this strange animal. Her mind was wondering, trying to remember if she'd ever heard of any cats being magical in these parts but she couldn't. Nevertheless she'd always liked cats and wished for one many times, especially since her father wouldn't let her keep one, and so she followed.

They walked through the woods to a clearing and found herself in front of a nice cottage. Right away she could tell it was an inn. The place was teaming with spring flowers buzzing happily with bees, the sun was shining on the cute little tables for tea in the middle of the garden and the sheets out for sunning were waving at her from the upper windows. She felt happy just looking at this scene and continued up the steps as she caught sight of the cat's tail disappearing into the front entrance of the cottage.
Contributed by Citlali

She followed the cat through the door, intending to shoo it out; not many folks take kindly to stray cats wandering about their houses & her father had regularly taken shots at any feline that dared.

She found herself in a tiny kitchen, clean & cozy, with pots bubbling on the stove & sweet-smelling herbs hanging from the ceiling. The scent of bread baking caused her stomach to grumble- it had been so long since she had eaten a real meal- & she had to mentally shake herself, lest she forget why she came inside.

Whispering in a low voice, she called to the country cat, urging it to come away, but she could not find it anywhere. As she creeped further into the room, searching for her furry guide, she was startled to see a small woman seated in an enormous rocking chair next to the fireplace, gazing directly at her, with a sly smile on her face. The woman's face was ageless, tanned from a lifetime working out of doors, with large green eyes that seemed to hold equal parts of mirth & secrets. She was dressed in peasant homespun & wrapped in a huge brown shawl, even though it was rather warm inside.

After staring at each other for a moment, the woman rose from her seat & said in a strange little sing-song voice, "Well, after that long walk, you must be famished. Tie on an apron & fetch that bread out of the oven; the others should be along anytime & we don't want to keep them from their vittles."
Contributed by Meg

“The others?” she questioned.

“Here, take this apron. Hurry now, the bread will burn.”

The question hung in the air unanswered and mingling with the many aromas filling the tiny room.

Looking around at the cottage the impression of familiarity nudged at her like a dog insisting you pet them. She couldn’t help but feel a certain remembrance of coming home. Surely it was only her weary body and the events of the day starting to wear away at her good senses.

Removing the loaf of bread, golden brown and steaming, she rested it on the trivet the woman had set out and left it to cool on the large wooden table in the center of the room. Not knowing what to do now, she watched as the woman fuss with the pots, adding a pinch of something in one; she tasted, shook her head and added a smidge more.

As she stood there watching the woman stir what must surely be a delectable stew, a shapeless memory stirred about in the back of her mind. Not quite able to put a finger on she tried to push it out of her mind. But as the edges cleared the memory became recognizable and made its way towards the front. Stunned, she stood there in silence.

The woman must have watched as the whole of it played out on her face for she turned to her with a knowing grin and asked “What’s the matter dear, cat got your tongue?”
Contributed by Dana

The Art of Conversation at Dinner

2008-02-28T07:33:00.012-06:00

I believe one of the major reasons I have always struggled with my weight is that, in my mind, food is equated to love.

My mom was a brilliant alchemist in the kitchen. Not so much because she was some sort of culinary artist (said: arteest) but because every item of food that was set on our table was served, not out of pots and pans, but out of her heart. And you could taste the magic that is love, with every bite.

Sundays and Christmas hold the best memories for me. There was melt-in-your-mouth-eat-until-food-oozes-from-your-gills food everywhere. Roast, fried chicken, milk gravy, biscuits, mud pie, green beans, chocolate silk pie, red potatoes, carrots, every cookie imaginable, pecan pie, banana bread, ham, homemade bread, cheesecake... Is your mouth watering yet?

So for me, the essence of family and love were very centered around meal time.

It still is. I love to sit down to a meal and talk, laugh or fight with my husband and kids. Some of our best conversations are at dinner. You know the term quality time? Ours is usually at a meal of some sort and they are never unimaginative or routine.

For instance...

We are having dinner at Chili's (this was way last week for those of y'all who are keeping me accountable to the protein shakes), it's just the kids and me since dad is helping take equipment and supplies to Trinity for my boss...who just happens to also be his friend.

We are having a great time talking and telling stories. Eddie begins to tell me about his speech class and the 'report' that he gave where he had to take a song from a musical and act it out in front of the class.

Me: You would make a great actor because you can memorize lines, emote believably, and...

Elena: Oh he can act alright!

Me: What makes you say that?

Elena: Cause sometimes he acts just like a two year old.

Eddie: YOUR FACE.
(that is his come back for EVERYTHING. This tastes funny. YOUR FACE. I don't understand this problem. YOUR FACE. What 's for dinner? YOUR...you get the idea.)

Me: Hey! Your momma.

See? Love.

We talk some more and Elena begins to tell me about a report she is writing on the digestive system where you have to pretend you are a piece of food and what it's like. She is a cocoa-puff.

Which is funny to me for two reasons. One, we don't eat cocoa-puffs so it was odd that she would pick that particular cereal. And two, puff is the term we use in our home (an adopted term picked up from friends) for um, passing gas.

She tells me about the puff's journey down the water slide known as the esophagus and the journey into the stomach where a woman is tossing salad all about and then the puff travels into the small intestine and ...

(dirty look from table next to us fork hits plate hard)

Me: You know, maybe you should tell me about this later...

Elena: Why?

Me: Other people are eating and probably don't want to hear this.

Elena: But I wanted to tell you about the joke I made when the puff leaves your anus.

Me: *laughing so hard there are tears*

Elena: Can I?

Me: I think you just did.

Magic people. Absolute magic.

We finish, pay and walk out the door talking. Eddie's trying to tell us about something when Elena interrupts with a comment.

Eddie: Nice Elena, you made me forget what I was going to say.

Elena: Yeah, that's how I roll.

Eddie: Oh, yeah? Well, this is how I rock! *loud puff*

Elena: *singing* I wanna rock & roll all night...

Eddie: Eew.

You can't just go out buy memories like those.

I hope when they are older, they will look back on these times with the same sentiment as I did. But, that it won't be the food they equate with love, rather our conversations, our laughter, our silliness and our...our...

Oh yeah, YOUR FACE!

Oh, and this was my 100th post. Woo hoo...

99

2008-02-23T10:16:00.003-06:00

99 Red Balloons

(just)99

99%

Agent 99

And that was my 99th post!

Seems like I've only just begun....(take it Nancy!)

ZZZZZZ.......ZZZZZZ..........ZZZZZZZZ

2008-02-18T07:54:00.006-06:00

Well the promise of ugly weather turned out to be a huge! disappointment. Just a few gusts of wind and a spit of rain. Pitiful.

Saturday evening I had to have a sleep study done in order to make sure I don't have sleep apnea since I snore. Loudly. So loud that metaphors & similes such as "dynamiting a mountain" and "bringing down a forest" and my absolute favorite "Darth Vader" have been tossed about as a comparison. Nice huh?

We arrived at 9 pm and didn't start the test until after midnight because of technical difficulties. It seems she couldn't get any readings from the sensors that were attached to my head. Insert brainless joke here.

The whole time she was trying to get the dang thing to work she kept talking to herself. Then she would walk in wiggle the wires, take off a sensor, scrub the spot with alcohol and trying everything all over again. After the fourth time scrubbing one spot I wanted to tell her that pretty soon she would reach brain matter and the sensor could just get stuck into that. Perhaps I had a mole or something there and she thought it was dirt.

I did that to my daughter Elena once. She was about 6 or 7 and we were getting ready somewhere and I gave her a quick washcloth bath. Afterwards I started to put up her hair and then I saw she had these really dirty spots right by under nose and by mouth. So I got the washcloth and scrubbed and scrubbed and I asked her what she possibly could have gotten into. She told me "mom, those are moles!"

Well they weren't there the day before.

I have to give her points for determination though, she hung in there until everything cooperated. The sleep technician, not Elena. She asked me to lie flat on my back and wait until I heard her voice and then afterwards she would come put me down. She kept using that term. She was going to put down the other gentleman. She would get me put down soon. Just wait a minute baby and "I'll come put you down."

Put me down? Did I look like a lame horse?

Don't answer that.

Honestly I think the term 'sleep study' is a misnomer, sleep has nothing to do with it. Or at least that's what it was like for me. I tossed and turned for several hours and then it hit me...I had to go pee. Oh great, I'm wired into NASA.

When I couldn't take it anymore I asked her if I could use the restroom and she told me she was going to end the study. That upset me. There was no way I was come back and do this all over again. I didn't even sleep. It was a waste of time. It was a waste of money. And there is no way could my poor scalp take another one of her scrubbings.

Certain that only a couple of hours had passed I asked for the time. It was 6 am. And just when did that happen? So I asked her if we had enough time recorded and she said she was positive we did "you snored beautifully!" I wish everyone felt that way.

She should have come home with me because I slept all day Sunday. And Sunday night. I don't think I even snored.

Black Clouds

2008-02-16T17:08:00.004-06:00

Here in Houston we are under a severe thunderstorm watch and a tornado warning. And I LOVE IT! The blue eyed weatherman warns it could get ugly.

I hope so.

Yes I am a sick and twisted woman, but I am not alone. My sweet friend Denise derives just as much joy as I do from seeing the radar smeared with red. What is that about? Probably something that happened to us as kids. Either that or we just need to get a life.

And as much as I love a good thunderstorm, I've given up black clouds for Lent. Not the ones I love and look forward to, the ones that I just know are hovering somewhere around the corning just waiting to come & rain on my parade.

Not that I have parades. I've never even been in a parade. I don't care for the music. Or the crowds. And frankly, clowns scare me. Oh wait, that's the circus.

Where was I? Oh yes...clouds. Not clowns.

Just before Lent began my friend Sharon and I were discussing this particular affliction. You know the one where you think God is just waiting for you to get your happy on and wham! He hits the smite button. Or pulls the plug. Or whatever it is you think may occur when God is displeased or says no or is just having a bit of fun with you.

Now, as a child of His I know He isn't up there just waiting for me to do anything. And I know that He is not a mean and hateful old man displeased with His children's joy. I know that He in fact commands us to have joy...I said this was an affliction didn't I?

So as I was saying, Sharon and I were discussing this and we both agreed that we needed to give this foolish waste of joy right up. It isn't healthy and it was sucking the fun out of life like an Oreck vacuum cleaner. I wish I had one of those...

For instance, I was waiting not at all patiently for the news of my surgery being approved or denied and I just knew it was going to be denied and that is all I thought about most of my waking moments. I was cranky, quiet, couldn't sleep and was easily made to cry. Yes, this is different from normal.

Why couldn't I let go? Why could I not just say, "whatever happens happens and dangit, I am going to suck the life out of life"?

Miss Sharon writes about it FAR better than I do. Read her post and you will agree.

So we agreed that would be the perfect thing to give up for Lent. We decided no more black clouds. No more waiting for shoes to drop.

That was 6 days before I found out my surgery was approved and I cannot explain to you how freeing those 6 days were. Amazing.

Now 10 days in, I am looking forward to black clouds again. But not the ominous "just sit in the corner and eat your porridge" black clouds.

No baby, those bring no joy. I am looking for the "color my radar ruby red and watch the lightening streak across the sky" clouds. Now there's a parade!

Did you hear the one about the fat lady who....?

2008-02-13T07:39:00.008-06:00

Well the last post went over like vegetable night with my kids.

Let's try this again shall we? NO, not a repeat of the last post. Something entirely different.

I've struggled and struggled with how to write this post. I started out writing the history behind the news I'm about to share, but it became so danged mopey. Besides, it would take several pages and we all know I'm long winded already. :-)

Then I tried to take the funny route, but just not sure how to go about that because in reality the whole thing is not funny.

So the only way I can do this is to just jump into it and go from there.

On March 10th I am going to have gastric bypass surgery.

I know all the possible complications. I know all the difficulties, horror stories and what ifs.

But I also know that I've been overweight all my life, struggled with an eating disorder for 13 years and I am now morbidly obese and have been for 10 years.

I've tried every diet, lifestyle change, and pill faithfully. Even medicine, good old excercise and low-caloric intake. Bottom line, my years of abusing my body have made it very resistant to anything I do. I've seen Dieticians, Endocrinologists and Nutritionists. They all agree.

1 1/2 years ago my Dr. finally agreed we need to pursue this avenue (he was very much against it before). Last year we sent in a request, feeling we had met all the guidelines and requirements only to have my insurance company deny me.

At first I was depressed, then I just became numb. I wouldn't discuss it at all. I said over and over that I wasn't mad at God, He is in control after all and He is good no matter what. That is what my mind and mouth said, but my actions spoke differently. I pulled away and withdrew from our daily talks.

It took time but I've since crawled out of the pit of self pity and despair and quietly walked back towards the Father in timid trust.

I am excited beyond any words I could put on this blog. I am in no way afraid or worried. I am at complete peace.

I am looking forward to the many changes this will bring to my life. Mostly I will once again want to be active with my family. See I usually stay home and read or write when they go for a bike ride or head to the park. So I have 2 goals that I want to share here with you:

1. Going bike riding with my family.
WITHOUT the image of a circus elephant riding around in my mind. :)

and...

2. Going horseback riding with my daughter.
WITHOUT the poor horse crying "Why me Lord?!?!" when I try to saddle up. :)

And I am having just as much trouble ending the dang post as I did starting it.....

Okay, bye!

Something Different...

2008-02-10T19:51:00.000-06:00

The air was clean and light this morning. I stood on my porch and took several deep breaths, relishing the brief moment of calm and silence. There was much work to be done and the gentle weather made the reality a bit more tolerable. When the day is heavy with humidity one can hardly move through the thickness, much less work.

We began the sizable project by bringing everything outside. It was quite a collection of unwanted and useless items, mostly of my husbands doing. Now I'm not one to just blame the man, no indeed. But me personally, I'm all for tossing it out or give it away if it's broke or not being used. He on the other hand isn't one to say no to anyone giving him their hand-me-downs.

At one time or another over the years together I've asked him not to keep most of the treasures he stored up. On several occasions I found myself asking just why he felt he needed this particular gadget and questioning what he could possibly manage with that unidentifiable object. He would always hold tight and say you just never know and then put it in the pile.

After some time I stopped asking and just accepted this as one of my husband's quirks. He would let go when he was good and ready or when he was tired of climbing over it to find what he needed. Or maybe he wouldn't and I would just have to live with it. I guess by the time this day had come he had finally reached a point of letting go.

So once we had all our unsightly junk on display for the neighborhood we began the task of preparing for what we were going to keep. Sweeping out the cobwebs and the dust that had collected just as easy as the clutter. Hanging shelves and hooks for the better storage of and access to our necessities.

Next we began to sort the piles into needs, wants and just plain old junk - I'm sure there's no need to tell you which pile was the biggest.

Each using our gifts where appropriate. Eddie making us laugh and helping his dad move the heavy items. Elena keeping our conversation fluid while making our work seem as easy as play. Jesse knowing where and how he wanted each item, handling the heavy work with ease. I was there motivating, encouraging and giving my ideas as we went. Individually moving as a team, united in our effort to be done with the whole mess.

Of course there were road bumps in the day. Take for instance around noon, after 5 hours of hard work we were all moving noticeably slower and just a tad bit cranky. So I made some lunch and grabbed our iced water and we took a rest and fueled our drained bodies. At this point Eddie and Elena had lost interest and had wandered into the house to find anything else to do. I went to round them up and rally the troops toward victory and of course I worked in a few ominous threats of torture and punishment as well. (Although I'm pretty sure they felt as if they were already being tortured).

Then we loaded the trash pile into the borrowed truck. We began by loading the big items and it took most of us to move and lift them in. Then one by one we chunked the rest on top, relief mounting with the growing pile. This was good.

Then we turned around and looked at the evidence of our long and hard labor. It was clean, we could move around in the whole of it without danger. There was easy access to each area. This is how a garage should look, worked in yes, unpolished of course, but also functional and accessible. No longer did it resemble a salvage yard with nothing to salvage. This was very, very good.

Will he ever bring home another hunk of metal? Absolutely. And I'm more than certain he won't say no to the next offer of "hey Jesse, could you use...?". Maybe it's because he sees the underlying value in each item. Perhaps to him each offer represents the essence of possibility.

When I set out to type this post it was merely to share the day of hard work. But several paragraphs into it I began so see another story, the symbolism of a separate but mirrored truth. But I won't share that with you. Everyone comes away with varied significances from a story. The fundamental notes and overtones resonating incomparably dissimilar to each ear that would listen.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe not. I'm not asking for a critique or fishing for compliments - unless you would like to offer either of those. What I am asking you to do is tell me if you caught a glimpse of another meaning, the shadow just beneath the surface. Let me know, write it out in the comments. Make it as short or as long as you like. And don't forget to check the box for follow-up comments. I talk back!

I'm It...

2008-02-09T08:27:00.000-06:00

The lovely and beautiful Miss Courtney from Schiskablog fame has tagged me for a Book Meme.

Of course one must post the rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

So I looked around and the first books I see are:
Lowe's sale magazine and My Teacher is an Alien.

But I don't think I will use either of those...

So I didn't exactly follow the rules, but when have I ever?

The next book I see is one of my favorites. Ever.

The Sonnets & Other Love Poems of William Shakespeare

Page 123
From Venus & Adonis

She, marking them, begins a wailing note,
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty,
How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote,
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty.
Her heavy anthem stili concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.

Her song was tedious, and outwore the night;
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short.
(and the rest because who can end here?)
If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight
In such-like circumstance, with such-like sport.
Their copious stories oftentimes begun
End without audience, and are never done.

But that is not a Sonnet and the sonnets are my favorite
...so I give you

Sonnet 123

No, time, thou shalt not boast that I do change!
They pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange,
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wondr'ing at the present nor the past;
For thy records and what we see do lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
This I do vow, and this shall ever be:
I will be true despite thy scythe and thee.

And yes, the whole of it, because if I followed the rules like a good little girl, we would be into Sonnet 124...

And now I am supposed to tag 5 of my friends.
Here we go:
I tagged Ali because she is funny. Very funny and her mum is too.
I tagged Sharon because she is an inspiration to me. And very dang funny as well!
I tagged Kelly because she gets all up in my business and encourages me in many ways.
I tagged Pluto because he has the coolest accent on the planet. No pun intended. (I think Pluto is still a planet. How can you be a planet one day and not one the next?)
& I tagged my baby girl, Elena because she is one of the most beautiful people in the world to me. But she doesn't want to do this. Her words "Do I have to?" Teenagers. Sigh.

Heart Songs

2008-02-03T12:08:00.000-06:00

What makes music in my heart?

Listening to my daughter Elena sing...

"O Christmas Tree"
in FEBRUARY
While making homemade chocolate chip cookies.

"Beautiful"

(The cookies made me hum a little tune as well...)

You know what else makes my heart sing?

Hearing my daughter Erienne's voice at 5 am.

Calling all the way from Kuwait.

"Ode to Joy"
And another thing that makes my heart sing..When my son Eddie tells me, "Geesh, you sound just like my mom."

My response?

"Your momma"
And the ensuing laughter.

Oh yeah, he...
"Loves Me Like a Rock"

F Alliteration

2008-02-02T16:00:00.000-06:00

[Edited to add: Sounds like I am giving alliteration the old finger. But no. I am not cussing. Not now anyway. So, I guess I could say "Working titles: Today's show brought to you by the Letter F. or Adventures in F-ingham. (A real city. Just ask my boss.) or F it All (but then you would really think I was trying to cuss.) or The answer is F.) All of the Above.]

Finally, Friday, February First.

I am glad to have made it to February. Seems rather fatuous, but I do feel a reprieve from the onslaught of muck that hailed down from the heavens upon almost every moment of January. But yeah, enough of that.

Festivities, Friendship and Food

Friday we celebrated the birthday's of my favorite friends Candie & Sharon.

Happy Birthday Candie and Sharon!

We met after work at Ciro's for some fine Italian fare. Mmm, Spinach Fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp. YUM. I love going out to eat with them, we always go somewhere different. And no matter where we go, the company is what's most flavorful.

One of the things I love about our unlikely friendship, is that we can be completely without makeup, masks or airs with each other. No judgments, just love.

I say unlikely because I never would have believed 2 or 3 years ago that the three of us would have become so tightly knit together. Yet here we are. We do not go a day, sometimes an hour without talking or emailing one another and never once have we run out of words.

As hard as it can be at times, each of us speaks Truth into one another's lives and I don't know what I would do without their support and encouragement, I truly don't. Next to my husband and kids they are the best thing on this earth I have.

During our coffee and dessert (chocolate mousse cake - more yum) a familiar face was seated beside us. If you've seen the show Trading Spaces, then likely you will know who I am talking about. If not, then you...um, won't. Texas' very own Frank Bielec was there with his very beautiful wife.

We left, and left them alone. I've never been one to want a picture with a star or have their autograph, never made sense to me. But just for a brief moment I thought I should just snap one discreet picture with my phone for my blog, but I refrained. I cannot imagine having your life always on view where people feel it's their right to barge in uninvited into a private moment

Candie had to leave so Sharon and I strolled in and out of stores a little ways down. Marshall's, Pier 1 Imports, and DSW Shoes kept us entertained for several hours.

Flashback to earlier this week: while talking with co-workers about the amount of plastic surgery Joan Rivers has had, I said it was ironic since she had once made fun of Gloria Vanderbilt for the very same thing. The joke went something like, anymore face lifts and Gloria will have a goatee. And one of the girls asks "Who is Gloria Vanderbilt?" Can we talk? Oh, I felt so old.

Gloria Vanderbilt jeans were THE jeans to wear in the 80's. If you didn't wear GV's, then it was Jordache, Sergio Valente's, Chic or my all time favorite, Levi's 501 Button Fly. So...

Flash back to Friday: While we were in Marshall's I spot this tag on a pair of Jeans...
I couldn't believe it. I laughed out loud, I mean who knew they still made them? I guess...someone...might. They were noticeably without the famous stitched swan on the pocket, which leads me to the question, why bother? That was the whole point back then, so people would know what brand you advertised across your butt. A free billboard if there ever was one.

Alas, I am not one to like shopping, but it was precious time with a precious friend. I hated to end the evening, but it grew late and way past my bedtime. So by now I was ready for the comfort of my home.

When I walked in, everyone rushed to greet me. There were arms that surrounded me, paws that jumped up and clawed me, welcoming words, happy barks and all the familiarity of home.

Finis

January Thy Name is Vulture

2008-01-30T07:43:00.000-06:00

My bones are picked clean. Stark white and absent of anything to give. I am as dry and hollow as a long forgotten well.

The past weeks gathered around me taunting like school yard bullies threatening my spirit and taking away my strength. Leaving me as empty as a pocket void of lunch money.

I am even short on words. Notice the lack of posts? I do. I want to write, truly I do. I just have nothing in me. And if something happens that even so much as flirts with post possibility, by the time I sit before my computer I am either too tired to type it out or cannot remember - for the life of me - what I was going to write. Evil brain.

January has been unkind and harsh. Like a bitter old woman, cold and soulless. And because she would not have your warmth, she spreads over you like a disease. Tainted, your thoughts begin to chill and your heart starts to harden. I hope January is in no way portent of the next 11 months. And just why do we think of January that way?

My best friend Sharon used to call this month Suckuary. I say 'used to' because this year she set her mind to not being contaminated by the witch's viral hand - she was successful. I've read several other friend's blog posts on the topic of disdain for January and although I understand their aversion, I would not (normally) agree.

I myself, love January. I delight in the docile grayness of the sky. I savor the rainy days, holding on to them like fresh cup of coffee. All year I wait to feel the cold wind, the kind that races past your face taking your breath with it. The darkness that lingers long in the morning and waits till the last moment to leave in the evening. How the trees disrobed of their leaves seem to search hauntingly for their identity, which has been strewn across yards like so much laundry waiting to be washed. The deep hibernation of nature - life on hold, waiting for a new start.

So you would think with all that to enjoy, for me any way, this month would not have taken its toll. But it did. The tax man has exacted his fees and then some. I do not mean to whine so. Sorry, perhaps you've stopped reading by now because of the dreariness of it all. But it must be said, it must come out.

And so, it is with impatience that I wait for February 1. Yes, only 2 days away but as a friend of mine says, come on ice cream. She uses it in an entirely different context, but I think it's fitting.

If A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

2008-01-24T14:10:00.000-06:00

Then these two pictures are worth about eight thousand dollars.

Death Becomes Her

2008-01-22T08:32:00.000-06:00

Oh honey, it may become her, but it's so not a good look for me.

I no longer feel as if I've been completely covered in IcyHot and had my head stuffed by a taxidermist. I am no longer moving like I'm being tasered. I am beginning to dig myself out from under the piles of kleenex, bottles of diet ginger ale, bottles of antibiotics, blankets and ice packs.

Soon I will be able to push through to the surface, I can see light breaking through and it is beautiful.

However you define normal, that is what I long to be. Normal. Breathe normal. Talk normal. Think normal. Dream normal.

Dream normal would be a good place to start. I've had some VERY strange dreams of late.

Like having triplet newborn babies and I was never pregnant, nor did I adopt. I just had them.

Like ballerinas and sled dogs. Like teaching birds to fly.

My kids said they know I am feeling better because I yelled about my house being dirty. I want to see my friends and have a solid meal. And I actually want to go back to work.

Soon friends. Very soon.

The Circus Comes to Town

2008-01-18T20:08:00.000-06:00

And in this ring...

Hi friends. I know it's been a day or two, but this week life has been a circus.

With Stephen King as the Ring Master.

It all started well enough. Back to work on Monday and so on.

But Tuesday I started to hear the little voice of death that says "I'm coming. And there is nothing you can do about it." Death's name is the flu. Death has no sense of humor. We only thought the nasty little guy was done with us. I thought I had escaped his grip the first time around. But alas, he realized his error.

Tuesday night my husband started to experience a lot of pain. Being the compassionate and merciful wife that I am, I rolled my eyes and thought to myself, "Can I never be the one who is sick?" Turns out I can, but not alone.

After a night of pain, a phone call to the doctor, a trip to the pharmacy and plenty of soup later, I thought we would be good to go. To sleep. So I could die in peace. Nope, folks - pop the popcorn, grab some cotton candy cause the circus just got started. Here come the clowns.

Around oh say, 10 Wednesday, hubby love starts to YELL in pain. Now I was worried before, but I am, at this point, more than very concerned. My husband is not a wimp. He does not make more of his illness than it is. No man-flu for him. (Thanks Ali for educating me on that term. Hope you are feeling a bit better!)

The doctor only confirmed my fears, "Get to the emergency room NOW." Great doc, got any double rooms at the inn? We get to the ER or ED or whatever you prefer to call it. And of course we rush in they take him right in and 10 minutes later they...yeah right. We did go right in and then right out into the waiting room. His pain worsens. I mean, at one point it got so bad he was on his hands and knees. That made me cry.

The Triage nurse sees my husband on the floor and talks to the ER doctor and they bring him back despite the fact that there are several ahead of him. The questions and the tests begin. He is in good hands. We wait several hours but they check on him regularly.

On top of all this, this very day both of my kids had a dentist appointment to have teeth pulled.

Now, normally I would have canceled the appointment and they gladly would have let me. But we have waited for a month for this day and the next step after is to have braces put on. So since the doctors assured me he was going to live, I figured I wouldn't wait another month to have this done.

So, once they took hubby to have a CAT Scan, I ran to take the kids. All went well, we return to the hospital only 1 1/2 hours later. He is still in CAT Scan.

People come and visit Jesse. We wait some more. Around nine that night they give him a diagnosis of diverticulitis. They let him go home with the understanding that if he does not keep his antibiotics or liquid diet down he must return to be hospitalized. At this point I think he would agree to just about anything to be at home.

The next morning I run to get his prescriptions filled, buy some more soup and some ginger ale. I play nurse to all three. Dish out pain meds, soup, ice water, ginger ale. More pain meds, antibiotics. Help up. Help back in bed. More pain meds. I didn't have time to deal with mr. death, but he is patient. He waited until I passed out that evening and gave me the full measure of his wrath. I guess I am the contortionist and the trapeze artist in the center ring.

So, today was spent dying. And coughing. And sleeping. I think there was a movie on about ballerinas, Mel Gibson and pork chops, but I don't remember if that was a feverish dream at this point. And I didn't even get to partake in the pain medicine.

Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes our show - Cirque du Moya. The clowns have left and the tents are empty. Nothing left of the fun but peanut shells, tummy aches and elephant poo.

Hope you enjoyed the show. I am returning to the tent to continue dying. Maybe watch the Mel Gibson ballerina & pork chop movie again. He did look pretty funny in a tutu.

Love & Laundry

2008-01-12T15:35:00.000-06:00

A tree root has interrupted life as we once knew it.

It seems the inescapable eventuality of anything growing is growing pain. In our case the pain came in the form of a clogged pipe that drains from our washing machine into the great unknown. So rather than draining like a good pipe should when the rinse cycle comes to town, the stupid thing vomits it's sudsy bile all over the garage floor like a kid full of cotton candy on the tilt-a-whirl.

So we did what everyone in this situation does: we ignored it and hoped itwould fix itself. But just like a child, when a problem is ignored or left to its own devices you will eventually have more serious consequences to deal with in the end. Consequences such as 30 piles of laundry and nothing to wear or like a washing machine that has an eating disorder.

The next predictable course of action is to attempt to rectify the situation with the easiest - which in our household goes obligatorily hand in hand with cheapest - method available. Odds are usually against you in these type situations because cheap and easy is just a cheerleader you hated in high school and not pertaining to your circumstance in the least bit.

(No offense to any cheerleaders who may be reading this post. Go Spartans!)

And lo these many weeks and puddles of sudsy hurl later the situation remains the same. The laundry has multiplied like unpaid tax penalties, becoming a seemingly insurmountable well, mountain and we still have a tree root in our pipe.

The tree root will have to remain, for now. From everyone we've talked to, this rates right up there in cost with a home mortgage or a college tuition. And since we just traded in Jesse's leg and my arm for our kids braces, remedying the situation professionally is not an option.

So, this morning at the crack of dawn we loaded up the Trooper with our dirty laundry and we headed to the nearest laundromat. Yee haw. It may seem strange, but to me laundromats are dirty, creepy and really a challenge for a person who is borderline OCD to endure. They are a necessary evil to be sure. I just don't like the idea of washing or drying my clothes in the same machines that hundreds of other people have used. *shudder*

Of course if you think about it the only other alternative, if you want to have clean clothes, is to throw everything away and start over and as exciting as that sounds (especially after a 12 hour marathon of What Not to Wear) it would mean one would have to shop for hours on end, possibly even at the mall, to do so. I hate to shop and I hate the mall. Choice made.

3 1/2 hours and $30 in quarters later we have clean laundry. For a day or two.

I don't think I've been to a laundromat in 20 years and I've never been to this particular one, but walking in was like stepping in to a time warp or encountering a small ripple in the fabric of the space-time continuum. (Psst, I have no clue what that means, but it sounds really cool and scientific like.) The same well used machines & cavernous dryers. The same well worn and quite annoyed attendant, the same gathering of stock characters (pick a culture, any culture) as 20 years ago.

There was one difference...20 years ago I went with my children alone. This time I had my husband with me. The cool thing was most of the women there had their husband or boyfriend there with them. Jesse, the children and I worked together bringing down the mountain one pebble at a time. In between switching or folding loads we sat together talking, laughing, watching the spin cycle and trying to ignore the horrible tacky Spanish soap opera being shown on all 4 TVs.

My daughter tells her father a joke and he laughs, adoration lighting his eyes. My son is completely at peace reading a book and holding my hand. Children go running by and we watch them all commenting on this one's chubby cheeks or an other's familiar face. And I feel such contentment.

Because I think, this is where you feel love. Not the Spanish soap opera. No, love is seen in the simple tasks, and found in the daily routine. Love is getting into the trenches up to your neck in dirty laundry tackling it together. Love shines in the most mundane of chores and is the glue in the fragmented chaos and normalcy of life.

And odd as it sounds, I'm so grateful for the tree roots of life. Grateful for the growing pains and the inconveniences, because in these times I remember what is good and important in the scheme of things. The small wonderful moments are like a family, irrevocably tied to one another - woven together one fiber at a time and braided around one another.

Hooah!

2008-01-10T09:31:00.000-06:00

So by now, each of you know that I have a daughter serving our country in the Middle East.

Hey Erienne! I love you!

She emailed to tell me that Robin Williams just did the USO Show overseas in the Middle East. She was there and something happened - unexpectedly (at least for him) during his show.

This something is called Flag Retreat. Reveille sounds and everything and everyone comes to a halt and salutes the flag as it comes down. And as she explains it is to honor all those who have served, fallen and to honor the flag and your country.

She told her brother (also in the Army) about it and they agreed it would probably end up in his act.

She sent this clip in her email and lo and behold here he was on David Letterman talking about it. You cannot see her, just know she is there in the crowd, and she makes her momma proud.

(I didn't mean to rhyme that. No, seriously.) ***EDIT-David Leetterman says Iraq, however this was filmed in Kuwait. Where she is....

Too Many Things...

2008-01-08T07:45:00.000-06:00

"Girl, you are just too many things!"

A friend of mine used to say that to me all the time. I haven't seen him in forever and I think about him often. And trust me when I say, not in that way.

I knew him when I worked at the hospital in the pharmacy, he worked across the hall in respiratory therapy. We would see each other all over the hospital and often have lunch together. And he always, always made me laugh.

He reminded me of Geraldine. Sadly, some of you (probably most of you) are asking just who the heck is Geraldine? Below is a little educational video. Go ahead, learn something.

Oh Killah honey, you know "What you see is what you get!" Geraldine was the persona that embodied the comic genius that was Flip Wilson. For the younger crowd, he would be a forerunner to say, Wayne Brady.

But truly neither Geraldine, Flip nor my old friend at the hospital have anything to do with this post.

The Too Many Things? Well, that refers to too many things to blog about, too many things not important enough to garner one post and too many things going on in my life keeping me from blogging.

What in all of creation could possibly keep me from the blog world I so dearly love?

Oh dearies, things like hellish mutant bacteria on steroids violently invading our home. Arriving with their luggages full of all manor of vile symptoms. And like a relative during the holidays, they will not take a hint that it is time for them to leave.

Things like the dreaded phrase 'vacation is over' 3 words that strike fear in the hearts of men, women and children all over the world. The significance of those 3 expletives being the cause of tempers rising up from the very depths which you buried them under. Buried deep under things such as naps and sleeping in and long lunches with friends and naps. Rising up and attacking those around you who dare expect you to work your first days back and be happy about it. Sapping every precious ounce of stress free moments and relaxation you had wrung from your time away within minutes of your return.

Sigh.

And it's not like I've been without fodder. I just can't seem to make much out of what I've been given.

For instance...

I think my dog is a cross dresser.

Absurd you say? Well then, explain this - he regularly shops. Yes, shops. He goes to rooms looking for items and brings them to his crate or wherever he is adding to his collection at the moment.

And not just any items. Oh no. Almost always he shops for items that only a woman would want. Lacy or flowery bras for instance. Or fuzzy pink floppy top hats. Or dress shoes. And it's not just that he shops for them. He proceeds to...how shall I put this?...enjoy them, in a way that only a woman would.

It is really very hard to explain. But suffice it to say, these items of interest do not become chew toys, do not get buried, they do not in any way shape or form become his bedding. It is more like, he um, shows them off.

"Look what I have found! And it was on sale too!!"

Let me see, let me see, what else have I wanted to share with you.

Oh yeah, my kids are getting braces. First the dentist will pull teeth out of their tiny crowded mouths and then the braces go on. They need them badly too! That said, we will be having a steady diet of ramen noodles and beans. Not together.

The blessed relief that is ice cold winter is gone. Sniff. The first week of January ushered in typical Houston heat and mugginess. Being well insulated I am not a fan of anything over say 55 degrees. Alas, today should bring a little cooler weather and I am truly grateful for not having the havoc wreaked upon us that has been across much of the country by snow, tornados and rain.

I mentioned last year was the year the muffin stayed down, this year I have determined to 'Just keep swimming'. It is what I tell myself when the energy begins to wane in the battle that is sometimes life. That is why you see Dory next to my name. That, and I am extremely forgetful, dingy, and loyal.

On another blog I read that I just cannot get enough of, there was this post. As her posts often do, this one made me think. I wondered what word will be my word for this year. What recurring message will I give to myself? If "Just keep swimming" is my phrase, what is the word? I commented on the post that inspire is a word that comes to mind, but can be considered cheesy or perhaps is overused in the Christian realm. God breathed. I need more of His breath to be sure. So I think my word for the year is breathe. Breathe both in and out. Breathe Him in and let go of the breath I hold onto - my life. Stop holding my breath like a pouty toddler trying to get my way and breathe. Stop holding my breath in fear of what may come and breathe. Breathe in and out. I wrote about that on this post and I think it is a good daily reminder.

One last thing. And she wanted me to tell ya'll this:

My daughter was giving little kisses to the cross dressing dog the other day.

Right on the mouth. I know, ew. But I think she liked his strawberry glitter lip gloss...

I told her "Elena, you keep kissing that dog and you are going to get all kinds of germs. Not to mention boys won't...JUST keep kissing the dog. Just keep kissing the dog."

She laughed. She thinks I'm kidding.

And It Was Blueberry Too...

2008-01-01T16:18:00.000-06:00

Not too long ago I flew for the first time in my almost 40 year old (at the time) life. It's not that I was too afraid of flying to try it, on the contrary, I was very much looking forward to having the chance one day. Which is odd, considering I am absolutely terrified of even the slightest measure of height to the point of needing a handful of strong tranquilizers washed down with a bottle of any hard liquor available in order to cope with the screaming. The problem was always that the opportunity to travel and the funds to do so never seemed to have time for one another.

And when I finally took my maiden air voyage, I took note of every detail of the momentous occasion. My trusty guide was next to me and not completely feeling the same level of excitement. Apparently this feeling was reserved for the far less experienced souls. He had too many flights under his belt to be moved. However, I knew he enjoyed the fact that I was very much in awe of the whole experience.

While we waited for our flight to be called I compared everyone waiting with us in the terminal to the characters of Lost. I wondered if we were to crash on an island who would be our Kate, our Jack and of course our Sawyer. Who would be the Sayid or the Charlie and my absolute favorite, Hurley. Looking around it seemed I would have to be Hurley. Dude.

Once we boarded I felt my happiness wane. Seems the air conditioning on the plane had not yet kicked in and the temperature inside had reached a balmy 87 degrees. That coupled with 50 people packed in the area the size of a doctor's waiting room with chairs just as small and no personal space to be found anywhere, it was just a tad stuffy. I began to feel nauseous.

I tried to keep my mind off the heat with some more people watching. The sound of the air conditioner vent overhead attempting to make life more bearable was laughable as it seemed to be motored by an engine from a remote control car.

Just then a group of 5 or 6 young men boarded the plane, they were laughing and teasing one another with amicable insults. I gathered that one of the guys was along for his first flight as well. And unlike me, he was scared. And as friends tend to do, they were taking the opportunity to milk it for all it was worth.

To the left of us across the aisle was an older gentleman in a suit. He was reading a book written in what looked to be Chinese. I am almost certain it was a bible. Perhaps that's just what I wanted it to be.

The guy in front of us made small talk with the young lady next to him. He was older and sleazy like a character you would see on CSI: Las Vegas. You know the suspect trying to play it cool all the while he has a fine sheen of sweat on his greasy brow which is a dead give away to the interrogator that this guy was his for the picking. The girl reminded me of a someone who had been far from home far too long. She was dressed goth but she didn't have the dark sullen attitude. Perhaps she had faced some demons that took the attitude down a notch or two. She was polite to him. He was way too close to her.

Finally and I mean finally, the Captain announced we were about to take off. At least I assumed that's what he said because I only heard something mumbled over the speaker which reminded me of a drive-thru order being repeated back to me. No fries for me thanks, I am kind of queasy.

We taxied. We took off. We flew. I looked out the peephole that served as my window as best I could without causing serious nerve damage to my neck. It was all so beautiful.

Until we got to Detroit. Apparently Detroit was experiencing the thunderstorm from hell. For reasons unbeknownst to me the pilot went straight through the storm. I had always thought they were supposed to go around the storm by changing their flight plan or maybe land in another city. Or perhaps I watch too much tv. I guess he had his Wheaties that morning and was feeling rather confident about his piloting skills. Not me. I began to feel the fear rise in my throat like one too many tacos.

I repeatedly and I mean numerously asked my trusty guide if this was normal, did this always happen? Are you always tossed about like delicates in a dryer? And each time he assured me that yes, at times it can be pretty bumpy, and yes this was pretty much normal. His confidence and assurances did nothing to loosen my pit bull grip around his hand or remove my nails from his flesh.

It wasn't until we drove away from the airport terminal in our nice little rental that he confessed that this flight was - in the history of his hundreds of air travel experiences - the worst turbulence ever.

Of course. Why wouldn't it be anything less than the makings of a cheesy disaster movie?

When our plane finally did touch the blessed earth every single passenger on the plane was completely and utterly silent. No one chatted, no one coughed, no one whispered. No babies cried. We simply stood and gathered our things.

Then out of the silence came a voice. One filled with a shaky courage. This voice spoke to each of our souls. The words he uttered were magical - in one instant melted the icy fear that had frozen our countenances. It was not our Captain. Oh no, this came from within the circle. It was none other than the fearful young man, who like me, had just endured his very first mid-air heart attack, er, flight.

He said,

"So uh, so uh, the muffin stayed down eh."

Laughter. Relief. Release. We had made it. Sure each of us had considered the very small paper bag that was tucked in the seat in front of us with all its implications. Each of us had eyed the tiny compartment from which our oxygen would drop, wondering if if would come to that. Each of us had faced our own mortality and lived to see another day. And the muffin stayed down.

Our business taken care of we returned home to our kids. And the first story I shared with them regarding my virgin flight was the muffin.

To this day it is a catchphrase used in our home to signify we had made it through whatever. Another trial faced and finished, the muffin stayed down. One more battle fought and won, no one tossed their muffins.

And why am I telling you this story? It is that very catchphrase that comes to mind when I think about trying to explain the year that was 2007.

It was, at times very rough seas and several times I nearly slipped off the boat into the treacherous waters. Once or twice we nearly capsized. There were days we had to bail water to stay afloat, but we made it.

Muffin intact.

Sir Joshua

2007-12-30T11:12:00.001-06:00

Nineteen years ago I wrote a poem to my, then, only child.

It started like this:

Oh noble little man of mine whose years add just three,
Sweet Knight in somewhat shining armor come to rescue me.

And rescue me he did. Back then he rescued a very young mom with many hugs, lots of smiles and plenty of laughter in what were dark and troublesome times.

There has always been something authentically noble about Joshua. In my heart he has ever been a gentleman and an honorable young man.

Maybe some would disagree.

But a mother has different eyes. She sees her child for what he or she strives to be and what they would be, rather than what they might foolishly fill their lives with at the moment.

He is still my noble Knight coming to the rescue. One of the many heroes serving our country. Stationed here for now, but I know that soon he will be in Iraq.

It is the highest form of service, of sacrifice, laying down your life for the sake of your brother.

That is Sir Joshua.

And today Joshua turns 22 years old.

Happy Birthday son! You make your mother very, very proud!!

And on the 7th Day....

2007-12-29T09:59:00.000-06:00

God created naps. And God saw that it was good.

So did Dana.

I don't think I've napped 5 days in a row since Kindergarten. And I ask myself, "Foolish child! Why not?"

A good story, some milk and cookies and a nap.

I recommend it highly. To everyone.

It will be hard going back to work where they expect me to stay awake.

All day.

*Yawn*...makes me sleepy just thinking about it....zzzzzzz...zzzzzzz....

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

2007-12-24T17:51:00.000-06:00

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, 'Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.' And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'"

Merry Christmas everyone!
May the blessings of the LORD be with you and yours.

The Phone Rang...

2007-12-23T13:07:00.001-06:00

For those of you who may read this blog who are related to eMiLy by blood, you could perhaps take issue with this post or others I've written. To you I say, live with her for 3 years and get back to me. Wait, and give up your master bedroom for 2 of those years. Then, we can sit down and talk. Until then...

It rang again. Don't touch it! It rang a third time.

It was her. She was coming over. Right now.

This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy.

My reaction was of course a very calm one. I said to my beloved in a rather mild tone of voice...

Oh right, you know me better. I yelled.

Not now!

She couldn't...I mean we were just laying around, in our pajamas, eating and watching movies. We were enjoying ourselves! And there were dishes in the sink for goodness sake!

Undeterred by my whining he didn't call her back.

In spite of my tantrum she was on her way.

And, regardless of all my hard work in therapy, I began to clean.

I am ashamed to admit it, I even made the bed.

My husband then proceeded to walk out on the very thin ice of my emotional stability and without regard for his own safety began to jump up and down.

All the while mentioning something about calming down and it's no big deal. Oh and this one - she won't even notice.

*craaaaaaaaack*

Were we back to square one after all those many months?

Did he so quickly forget that my relationship with her hung on the very precipice of civility with enmity laid beneath like so many jagged rocks awaiting our unavoidable fall upon their inexorable unforgiving nature?

After a quick shower I walked into the living room towards the voices, applying a lovely smile to my face as I went in.

So Harold began to engage in small talk.
You have very straight teeth.
Thanks.
*Very* small talk.

We stood around uncomfortable in our conversation. It was, as the cliche states, like an itchy wool sweater - nice to see, but in reality very annoying to be in.

I decided to offer her a peace pipe, after all it is Christmas and I am supposed to be a grown woman.

The pipe was filled with tamales and fresh coffee.

We ate our tamales, drank our coffee and scratched our itchy egos.

Then, she stood up smiled and proceeded to throw the peace pipe into the fire. She began by putting away my clean dishes, thereby going through the cabinets and drawers, whereby she made comments about the contents of my cabinets and drawers.

Oh, you moved it around again. I never could find anything.

She looked in the refrigerator.

Dana always has so many leftovers.

She washed dishes.

I hear you make the kids wash the dishes now.

And she noticed I have a new (new to me) dishwasher.

Hmm. That's pretty. It even matches.

She looked at the dog food bowls and the floor and the counters and the bathroom and my room. And commented about it all.

Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.

These were all seemingly innocuous remarks. To everyone that is, except me.

To me they were the essence, the very bones of my past crucible. Dug up in disrespect for its passing, its eternal rest disturbed yet again. Disrespected and tossed aside like so much dirt and left there for all to see that the bones had been picked clean.

Left there to prove I had nothing left to give.

She left. I cried. My husband acknowledged the impropriety of her conduct. I forgave. I moved on. Kind of...

Well, that sounds like a comedy. Try to develop that.

*Quotes are from the movie Stranger Than Fiction. If you have not seen this movie, order it or borrow it or run out right now and rent no, buy it and watch it, repeatedly.

And thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies.

Thank God for Bavarian Sugar Cookies...

2007-12-22T16:47:00.000-06:00

"As Harold took a bite of Bavarian sugar cookie, he finally felt as if everything was going to be ok. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true. And, so it was, a wristwatch saved Harold Crick."

Kay Eiffel - Stranger Than Fiction