My Mini Art Journal

Yes, I know I haven't written anything in my blog for quite some time.

What I have been doing is working in my new little art journal. 

Fact is it has possessed me.  I don't want to do anything else and my home and health is paying for it.  I don't want to eat, sleep or clean.  All I want to do is play in my journal.

Following is some of the pages I have completed.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I have enjoyed producing them.

I am thinking of starting a new blog.  A blog of the pages in my journals.  I am more apt to keep up with my blog if it is about something I love but right now I have to get ready for a day with my corvette friends.

BYE!!!

Whitewater Rafting

Here it is the end of August and I just realized I have not written about my whitewater rafting experience all the way back in time....June.  Well, I did write a little bit but I didn't tell my story, so here goes!

As my family and friends know I am a reluctant thrill seeker.  Deep down I am a coward but I love adventures so I find myself time after time ignoring my fears and jumping into a new adventure with my petticoat a flying behind me.  Later I look back and wonder why I was so afraid. 

This is the situation I found myself in when Darrell, my sister Mary, her husband Robert, my brother Jim, his wife Shorty and I traveled to Ocoee Tennessee to go whitewater rafting.  Darrell had gone whitewater rafting several times and as is his habit told me over and over again "You're going to love it!" 

Yeah right!  I can't swim and I have a fear of drowning.  That's why I can't swim.  I have been known to panic in water over four feet deep.  It's not a pretty picture.  But not one to miss out on any new experience, I agreed.

My A.D.D. was going nuts the whole long seven hour drive to the beautiful Smokies.  I'm sure Darrell wondered why I was so quiet on the trip there but actually I was babbling only it was an internal conversation he could not hear.  "What is there to be afraid of?  Your family and Darrell love you.  They wouldn't let you drown.  I can do this.  I can't do this.  Yes you can.  No I can't.  Who do I think I'm fooling?"

Darrell and my family members were excited the morning we were to raft down the Ocoee River and insisted we get to the bus early.  We sat for a half hour for our guide to arrive.  Everyone was busy chattering with excitement while my A.D.D. continued it's internal babbling.  Once I walked away from the group unable to handle their glee and enthusiasm while I was so worried.

Finally we were on the bus heading up the river for our all day raft trip down the turbulent waters of the Ocoee.  Upon our arrival at the head water the six of us and the guide carried our rubber raft to the edge of the river all the while our guide explaining all the do's and don'ts.  This weakling was not much help carrying the raft; convincing me further that this was not for me.  Still I jumped in when told to do so and off we went for yet another adventure.

It wasn't long before we came upon our first rapid, a number 3 in difficulty.  Wow, it wasn't bad at all and yes, it was fun.  We continued down the river crashing into big boulders and hurdling through one rapid after another number 3 and 4 in difficulties.  Before I knew it I was laughing and enjoying every second of this heart pounding ride.

We stopped half way down the river for a light lunch and potty break.  Finally I was my old talkative self.  I could now laugh at my fears and rejoice in overcoming them. 

The Ocoee River had been the home of the 1992 Olympic kayaking teams and even though I was in a raft rather than a tiny kayak, I had gone down the river safely.  The Olympic teams went over some type 5 rapids.  The guide explained that they had in years past.  However last year a guide had died while maneuvering through a type 5 rapid.  They no longer traversed through the deadly rapids.  That sounded like a good idea to me.

So how do I feel about whitewater rafting now?  This has got to be the most fun adventure I have ever been on.  If I lived closer I know I would spend every weekend possible there in a raft fighting my way through the rocks and crannies of the Ocoee River.

Door County Wisconsin, Artist Heaven

Darrell and I just returned from a short vacation to Door County Wisconsin.  When I say short I mean WAY TOOOOO SHORT!  We left Friday morning and returned Monday morning.  It is a ten hour trip from Collinsville, IL to Fish Creek Wisconsin with a short break for food and gas so we didn't do much sightseeing Friday.  Still the drive was enjoyable and scenic.

Darrell had told me over and over again "You are really really going to enjoy this trip!"  He was right but I know he had no idea how I would enjoy the trip.  He thought I would love the fish boil, which I did.  He thought I would love the quaint little stores, which I did.  He thought I would love the beautiful country side, which of course I did.  But what I really loved was the way Door County brought out the artist in me.

Everywhere we went my senses were inspired to create.  By the number of artist galleries in that small county I can honestly say without hesitation Door County brings out the artist in many.  I didn't want to bore Darrell by insisting we hit all the art galleries so we didn't see nearly enough (and then too we didn't have a whole lot of time).  But I must tell you about Dovetail Gallery in Egg Harbor.  This unusual gallery is housed in an original dovetail log cabin.  The artists, a husband and wife team, who reside there have created an incredible garden of old fashion cottage flowers, garden art, wind sculptures and the most amazing copper sprinklers designed by the artist himself all along winding pebble garden paths.  As usual I did not bring a camera but I did have my trusty little cell phone so out it came snapping pictures everywhere.

The last image is their mail box.  That is what drew me to the gallery.  Darrell and I were looking for someplace to have breakfast and I made him drive back to check this place out.  The wife of the artist team decorates eggs.  She created a large egg over the mail box.  The husband told me the mail box cover was suppose to remain there for only a couple of weeks but looks like it is a permanent addition since it draws customers in.

And now I have to get to my artist endeavors while the creative juices are still flowing inspired by beautiful Door County Wisconsin!

Lonely kitty

My daughter and her two little girls are in the process of moving.  Today while she was at work and the girls were with their father, I slipped over to the house she lives in presently to leave her some packing boxes.  I was greeted with much enthusiasm by the new family member, a tiny eight week old kitten, Taffy.

I gently lifted the softly purring creature to my face where she began gently nibbling on my ears and cheeks as if she was so lonely for any attention she would gladly smother me in her kitty kisses.  I had this uncontrollable urge to gather her up and hide her in my purse so that I could take her away with me and give her all the mothering attention she was missing.  I found myself softly cooing to her words of love. 

It occurred to me this small little animal was just like you and me.  We started our lives as babies caring for nothing more than to be fed and loved by our mother.  Only difference is that this baby was torn away from the love and security of its mother to live with children who have their own lives to live, often away from their home where the kitten must stay 24/7.

Yes, I know all the pro and cons of owning a pet.  I understand that this kitten will be will cared for all of its life.  It will never be left out in the cruel Illinois weather or search for food.  This kitten will be loved by its new family. 

Just the same, I can't help but feel sad for the little guy who no longer can curl up to her mother and feel the warmth of her body as she gently cleans her baby kit or can no longer romp and play with her brothers and sisters.

I know, I'm just saying .........

Do You Believe In Fairies?

Children are much more observant of nature than adults are.  A blade of grass is fascinating.  A cloud is a fluffy bunny hopping by and there is nothing as beautiful as the dandelion that we adults call weeds.  A child sees beauty in the bright yellow petals and a magical fairy wand when the petals turn into white seeds.  One strong blow and all the happy wishes of a small child float out into the fairy world where a fairy is waiting to receive the child's request.

"Do you believe in fairies?  Say quick that you believe.  If you believe clap your hands."  James M. Barrie author of Peter Pan

I believe.

And I know my grandchildren believe.  Why do I know without a doubt that my grandchildren believe?

Because one day while hiking in the woods behind Papa Les' house Abby came upon a big tree.  Not just any old tree but the home of a fairy.  She knew it had to be the home of a fairy because it was so old and gnarly and all around the base of the tree were growing wild flowers and mushrooms just as if they are been planted there.  She cautiously walked around the tree looking for further evidence. 

To her amazement down at the very base slightly hidden by roots pushing up through the ground she found something that didn't quite belong there.  A door.  Yes, a little door about four inches high with a tiny little brass door knob.  She squealed with excitement and yelled for me to come see for myself.

What should she do?  The proper thing to do would be knock on the door to see if anyone was home.  So she did but no one answered her knock. 

I fear her excited yelling scared the poor little creatures away.  They didn't know it was just a sweet little girl come to call and ask for their friendship.

Abby came back to the magical fairy tree often but never found anyone home.  But that has not stopped her from believing in the wee little people.

Attached is a picture of the captured fairy Abby's little sister Anna made.  She had quite a time chasing the little fairy around the house before finally capturing her and sealing her in a jar.

Bad Guys Beware

Nearly 20 years ago I bought the tiny little cottage I call "Home".  I live here alone with an occasional visitor, mostly grandchildren but also girlfriends and family members.   Les was the only none family member male ever allowed to spend the night with me. This is a "No Men Allowed" club house of sorts. 

Why?  Because I need my privacy and my time to create.  This humble little cottage is where I feel free to be me. 

So what is this leading up to?

I found evidence today while doing laundry where someone has been trying to invade my private domain.  Over the clothes dryer is a small basement window.  I noticed that is partly open.  I have never opened it in all the years I have been here.  (I actually figured it was painted shut.)  Also before I went to work last night I noticed the storm door in back was open slightly.  I remember thinking I always make sure it is secured tightly because I don't want a gust of wind to blow it off the hinges as has happened in the past.  When I arrived home later that evening the storm door was ajar once again.  This time I locked it to be sure it wouldn't fly open.

I don't believe anyone broke in.  Nothing is missing or out of place, but I am now sure a bad guy tried. 

I have never feared for my safety living here alone.  I still don't, however I don't believe in asking for trouble.  I am now going to walk around my home and check all the locks and try to eliminate any easy access from the outside.  If someone wants to break in bad enough they will.  Perhaps I can give them some unpleasant surprises as Macaulay did in Home Alone.  Since I am a "crafter" I have all sorts of things that could be used to booby trap my house.  And then of course there is the baseball bat Les gave me for protection when I refused to have a gun in my home.  I have gotten pretty comfortable in my routine.  Perhaps that also needs to be shook up.  I have some ideas.  It is just a matter of putting them in action.

Bad guys look out.  This little lady likes her privacy and will fight for it.  Trespassers beware!

I Love You

WHAT A WONDERFUL SURPRISE!

I got out of the shower this morning and looked into the steamy mirror to be welcomed by the childish writings of my nine year old granddaughter, Abby.  With an erasable magic marker she had written "I love you Grandma."

Abby is a people pleaser as is her mother.  She delights her teachers with messages across the top of her homework saying "You're the best teacher ever!"  She spreads sunshine everywhere she goes.  When I was growing up the chunky children were ostracized and made fun of yet my granddaughter is chunky and the most popular girl in the school.  I say school rather than class because everyone knows her.  I've walked down the school hall with her and teachers and children of all ages yell out to her by name in greeting.

I was raised to be cautious of showing affection so as not to give someone the wrong impression.  I now believe that is wrong.  I resolve to change that.  (Of course anyone who knows me well knows I have been changing that attitude for quite a few years now.)

I believe God created us in His image.  If that is so, we are good and worthy of love. 

Yes, I know there are bad people out there.  I believe the bad people were created not by God but by others who raised them, who they were exposed to or unfortunate circumstances.  They began their lives as sweet precious babies just as we all did.

I cannot change the world.  I cannot make everyone happy.  But I myself can be happy and one of the easiest ways to do that is to love and welcome love into my love.  I am not talking about the love between a man and woman.  I am talking about the love of all mankind.

So today I am sending you hugs and kisses and lots of love.  Have a wonderful loving weekend.  I know I will.

What is Courage?

Last month several of my family members and I went to Tennessee for yet another adventure.  This time our destination was Ocoee, TN to go whitewater rafting.

I do not swim so I was scared to death but determined to do it.  That morning I was unusually quiet as I contemplated what was before me.  A half hour before we were to board a bus with 20 to 30 other adventure seekers we were introduced to the five tour guides hired to take us safely over the rapids.  I solemnly looked them over and decided I wanted the big tall long hair hippie dude to be our guide.  He looked experienced and strong enough to grab me by the nap of my neck and yank me back into the raft should I fall out.

As luck would have it, the water god was on my side that day.  The big guy, Woody, was to be our guide.  Before grabbing our life jackets, helmets and oars Woody gave us safety instructions and asked if there were any issues he should be aware of.  With none being thrown out there, he suggested we all put on our gear and board the bus. 

I knew the issues Woody was talking about were health issues, but my fear of water was hitting me pretty hard so I pulled him aside and told him of my fears.  I told him I was a coward, couldn't swim and was afraid of panicking and hurting someone else who may be trying to help me.  He reacted in the oddest way.  He didn't say a word at first, he only looked at me as if to say "then what the hell are you doing here?" and I was thinking the same thing.  After a moment he said I didn't need to swim, if I should fall out I would float to the top and someone would pull me in.  He then walked away shaking his head leaving me alone to think about his answer.

I quietly followed him and boarded the bus with my family members and the other happy thrill seekers.  The 20 to 30 minute bus ride gave me time to think over Woody's response to my "true confessions".   What was I doing this for if I was such a coward?

Then it came to me.  I am not a coward.  I, like everyone else has fears.  So that my fears do cannot take control over me, I practice a healthy habit of facing my fears head on to show them that I am master of my destiny.

I have a fear of heights yet I have gone skydiving, rock climbing, rappelling. and zip lining.  I have a fear of water and yet I went snorkeling off the shores of Mexico and now I was going whitewater rafting.

Henry David Thoreau said "Cowards suffer, heroes enjoy".  Each and every time I have faced my fear and won I have felt like a hero even though I have done nothing heroic.  And yes, it has made me very happy so perhaps I am both coward and hero in my own heart.  I suffer when I face my fear and then I rejoice in my joy when I win the battle against my personal fears.

Are You Living Your Life Yet?

This morning I was browsing through the Web and came across a blog I had completely forgotten about; Wake Up Tiger.  The blog written June 22, 1012 caught my attention probably because of the cute baby picture or maybe the title; When You Were Born....  I have no idea where the author got his information; probably some ridiculous study our great American taxpayers paid for but it did make me do some thinking.  The blog went as follows:

When you were born....
You will share your birthday with 18 million people.
During your 12 years of school you will have an average of 17 friends.
By the time you're 40 that number will have dropped down to 2.

You will grow 950 km of hair.
You will laugh an average of 15 times a day.
You will walk the equivalent of 3 times the circumference of the Earth.
You will have eaten 30 tons of food.

On average you will spend 10 years of your life at the office.
20 years sleeping.
3 years shitting.
7 months in traffic.
2 months waiting on hold on your phone.
12 years watching TV.
19 days searching for the remote.

This will leave you with less than one fifth of your life to actually live.

So what the fuck are you waiting for...?!

Whoa! I'm 62 years old.  How much longer do I have to actually live?  Good thing I'm retired and already started this serious living process.  I plan to be one of those people whose completely worn out by the end of their lives because they tried everything.  As Conrad Twitty sang in Bye Bye Birdie "I've got a lot of living to do!"

Chicago Part 2

After spending a few minutes oohing and awing over the Buckingham Fountain we headed once more toward water, searching for the Navy Pier.  Although it was well past 6 PM the heat of the day was still upon us and we were weary from both the heat and our travel so we happily settled ourselves into the first sidewalk cafe we came upon.  Our plan was to have a quick drink and then continue our search.  However a pretty young girl was singing the blues while accompanied by a ragged looking jazz band and people around us seemed to really be enjoying the food offered there so..... what the heck, why not indulge?  We ordered something with "rainbow" in the name because another couple were eating it and seemed quite delighted with their choice plus I love trying new foods whenever I go out.  The waiter brought us a large plate of different fish carefully rolled around rice and something else I couldn't identify.  The different fish were placed on the plate by color creating a lovely pink rainbow effect.  Lovely, but definitely Sushi.  I have never been a fan of Sushi but I refused to start my mini vacation on the wrong foot by being negative.  I took a bite..... It wasn't bad.  Would I order it again?  Probably not, but I am glad we ordered it.

An hour later we had our tummies full and feeling pretty good from our alcoholic beverages so headed off once again on foot toward the ferris wheel that we could just barely see up ahead at the Navy Pier.  We were a short distance from the Navy Pier when we realized the sun had set and we were wandering around streets that were completely unfamiliar to us and not all the pedestrians looked trustworthy so we headed back toward Michigan Avenue with the knowledge that we had two full days to explore the Navy Pier.

Over the next two days we managed to sample everything on our list.  We went to the Field Museum and saw the T-Rex named Sue after the woman who discovered her remains.  The museum was enormous and would take several days to truly see but as we said, we knew we only had time to sample.  We had a Chicago Style Hot Dog in the park while feeding the birds and watching children play.  We toured the city on the double decker bus occasionally stopping to get off and explore on foot.  We planned to walk out on the Sky walk at the Willis Tower a/k/a the Sears Tower to witness the city at the top of the highest building in the nation.  That plan was thwarted by the hour and half line of sightseers ahead of us.  Oh well, we did get to take the elevator to the top and then take it back down again.  We ate at an Irish Pub, a fancy restaurant serving over priced food and wine, a pizzeria to try a thick Chicago style pizza and breakfasted in a small hole in the wall where local artist and musicians gather.

What was my favorite part of the trip?  Hard to say but I'd probably have to hand the award over to two events.   The Buckingham Fountain received first place and the Architectural and Historical Cruise down the river and out on Lake Michigan was close behind receiving second.   

There is so much rich history in Chicago.  Everyone who visits Chicago should take the Architectural and Historical Cruise.  This is not a pleasure cruise; however if you take the evening cruise as we did alcoholic drinks and snacks are offered.  The boat went through the locks and out to the Lake of Michigan along the shore line of Chicago with an extremely knowledgeable tour guide narrating the history of Chicago and pointing out the skyscrapers along the way.  The narration was fascinating.  She pointed out building after building telling us who designed them and any interesting story that may belong to the building.

Our last day in Chicago the weather was terribly hot and it took all our energy to walk the streets.  As much as we hated to waste any of our time we weakened and spent that last afternoon in our air conditioned hotel room.  We decided to venture out at night when it was a little cooler to tell Chicago good bye.  Our plans were to walk to the Navy Pier to join others for the night life but we never got that far.  To get to the Navy Pier from our hotel on Michigan Avenue one must walk through Grant Park, the home of Buckingham Fountain.  Every hour on the hour the great fountain sprays a jet of water 150 feet into the air.  Since it was just a few minutes before 9 when we left our room we decided to find a bench near the fountain and wait for the hourly show.  

I am so glad we did.  We felt sure something spectacular was about to occur when the crowd started forming.  There was such magic in the air around me just at that moment the beautifully lit fountain shot gallons of water 150 feet in to the air while patriot music was piped in.  The air was almost electrical with the patriot pride and excitement all around us.  I was overwhelmed with emotion and pride.  What a wonderful gift Kate Buckingham gave the people of Chicago and everyone who visits when she gave them the Buckingham Fountain.

We left the next morning for home, happy with wonderful memories to share with our family and friends.
Life is so good!

Chicago Part 1

Even as a child I have heard people talk about the joys of visiting Chicago.  Chicago the ultimate experience for shopping and sightseeing -- mostly shopping!  Yet, I have never felt that pull to visit the Windy City.  Odd, since I have lived my whole life a short 360 miles most this majestic city.

My buddy, Darrell has been talking about taking a trip to Chicago for the past two years.  He wanted to take Amtrak up and watch a Cubs game against our St. Louis Cardinals at Wrigley Field.  Our opportunity finally arrived to take that mini vacation to Chicago and wouldn't you know it, the Cubs were out of town.  Oh well, when opportunity knocks you had better open that door.  It may not return.

We took Amtrak from St. Louis to Chicago on one of the hottest days of the year, 105 degrees.  We found out once on the train that heat causes critical problems to the tracks forcing the train to slow down from 65 MPH to 35 and 45 MPH changing the six hour trip to nine long hours. Not that I am complaining.  On the way up we had a sleeper car and I was able to nap in the upper bunk while Darrell stretched out comfortably below me in lounge chair seating.  Unlike air travel, Amtrak offers lots of leg room and a dining room with complete meals or snacks.

There were so many things we wanted to do but our mini vacation consisted of four short days and two of them were spent traveling.  We had so much to see in such a short time so we carefully planned our activities.  Chicago is known for its:

     1:  Chicago Style Hot Dogs
     2:  Deep dish pizza
     3:  Skyscrapers
     4:  Buckingham Fountain
     5:  Museums
     6:  Shopping
     7:  Navy Pier
     8:  Art and Music
   
We couldn't fit all into two short days but we figured we could get a taste of most of Chicago if we simply sampled each activity rather than indulged our self for the full experience.  I opted out of the shopping simply because my companion was a man who described shopping as entering store, purchase item, and leave immediately.  Shopping is best enjoyed with a girlfriend who know the joys of browsing.

Darrell had found a real deal on a room at the Congress Plaza Hotel and Convention Center.  We were told the hotel was old but nice.  What an understatement!  Yes, the hotel was old but I wouldn't describe it as nice.  This was a luxury hotel that had recently been restored to its original grandeur.  It had been the guest of 15 American presidents and a favorite hang out for Al Capone.  (The story goes that he had his private little get away hidden in one of the rooms and there were two unsolved murders there during his stay.)

It was still early after we settled into our room so we decided to take a walk and get a sneak peek of Chicago before retiring.  From our hotel room we could see the river and not knowing where anything was we decided to simply head in the direction of water.  With any luck we would come across the Navy Pier. 

As luck would have it across the street from our hotel was Buckingham Fountain, one of the world's largest fountains.  We were happy to be able to cross off one of our activities right away.  It was not just a fountain but a beautiful piece of sculpture and I was truly awed.  Little did we know that there was so much more to witness there at Grant Park if we had only stayed a little longer.  We didn't find out the true glory of the fountain until our final night in Chicago.

Life Gets In The Way

Yes, I'm back, but I can promise you it won't be on a daily basis as it was in the past.  Life has gotten in the way of my daily posts and I must say I am very happy about that.

In the last couple of months my dance card has been full.  That is saying something for an aging senior citizen.  Then again, maybe not.  The Baby Boomers, of which I am happy to be one, have set the standard of life for their senior years a lot higher than our grandparents.  When my grandfather retired from farming he sat down in his comfortable recliner next to my grandmother in front of the boob tube and slowly died.  And I mean S-L-O-W-L-Y!  He died at the age of 92 and hadn't done anything significant for thirty years.

Thankfully, that is not my style.  So, what have I been doing?  Not as much as I would like but I have been significantly busy.

I have been to the Smokies to go hiking, ziplining and whitewater rafting.  I have been working evenings at the Muny as a bartender.  I have organized and hosted a First Bank Family Reunion.  Wrecked my little truck (oops).  Visited friends and family and gone to several parties.  Taken art journaling classes at The Scrapbook Factory.  And we mustn't forget spent as much time as possible with my grandchildren.

For the near future I plan to take a trip on Amtrack to Chicago sightseeing for a week, fly to Hawaii with friends and family for a couple of weeks, go hot air ballooning, party in Eureka Springs Arkansas, Paducah, Kentucky and any place else I can get an invitation to.

So I better get off this computer and get busy.  I have a life to live!

My Mother's Apron

My mother, Octavia Jane Dennis Reese died much too young leaving seven people devastated, my father and her six adult children.  Yes, fortunately we were all adults by the time of her death but we still felt we needed her.  She was our advisor, our confidant.

A few weeks after we buried our mother in the family plot beside her parents my sisters and I met to decide what was to become of Mom's personal items - her clothes and jewelry.  Although there really wasn't much to go through it took us most of the day to neatly pack her good clothes in a box so that they could be donated to charity and her older work clothes were trashed.  She had no good jewelry except the simple white gold engagement ring with one small diamond and a matching plain wedding band and the grandmother's ring her children had bought her for Christmas less than a month earlier.  Dad had already given us the good jewelry before the funeral.

That evening Dad and his four girls sat around the kitchen table and told stories; mostly crazy things our mother had done throughout the years raising six wild children.  And of course once again we laughed as Dad told about the time Mom set the decorative grass on fire which got out of control burning his eye lashes and eye brows off. 

During the story telling session we looked around the kitchen imaging Mom standing at the sink washing thousands of dishes while we happily laughed and played cards.  And then someone noticed Mom's old apron hanging on the door of the large walk-in pantry.  Somehow, none of us had the heart to take it or get rid of the old blue flowered apron with red trim.  Oh, the stories that apron could tell.  It wasn't a pretty frilly little apron for show.  That apron was used for canning green beans and tomatoes, for fixing hundreds of meals, for cooking and cleaning and for wiping snotty noses.  She was wearing that apron the last time we saw her alive.

That old apron hung on the pantry door for several years and then during one of my visits I noticed it was no longer there.  Dad must have removed it.  No one asked.  It was time for him to move on.  And he did move on.  Five years after my mother's death he started dating and married a very nice woman.

The death of someone dear to you is extremely difficult and has the tendency to change a person.  When our mother, advisor, confidant, and consular died a part of us died too.  However we learned later that her death changed us.  In our grief we had learned to be wiser and stronger individuals.

I still wonder whatever happened to that apron.

Ladies Cruz 2012

Last year the Looking Glass Corvette Club had its "Ladies Cruz" in the little village of Lebanon, IL.  My daughter and I borrowed Darrell's corvette and spent an enjoyable day with 60 other ladies.  We spent a wad of money on things we did not really need just as all red blooded American women do when they have the opportunity to shop and enjoy the company of other women.

This year's event was in Effingham IL at Mid America Motor Works.  The ladies were invited to tour the company followed by a light lunch with the owners, Mike and Laurie Yager at their fabulous home.

My daughter was unavailable so I asked Ida, my best friend since childhood to accompany me.  Funny how things like this work out.  This event turned out to be something my daughter would not appreciate like Ida did.

I picked up Ida at 7 AM so we could exchange my dirty little truck for Darrell's perfectly maintained 2007 silver corvette with black convertible top to join the other 48 ladies at the designated meeting spot for the cruise at 8 AM.  I was given very good directions to reach our meeting place but as usual, I talk too much and pay way too little attention to where I am going --- resulting in missing my turn off and ending up 20 miles out of my way thus missing my connection with the ladies.

Not to worry - I put the petal to the metal and caught up with the ladies in no time flat. (I think I scared Ida but I had lots of confidence in my driving abilities and the power under the hood of that corvette.)

We were met at Mid America Motor Works by the owner and a few employees who took us on a tour.  Interesting but certainly not the lure of the event.  The high light of the day was having lunch with Mike and Laurie around the pool (shaped like the GM symbol) at their home (also known as a mansion).  (My little cottage would fit comfortably in the pool house.)  Mike and Laurie were the perfect host, meeting and greeting each and every lady and welcoming us like old friends.

For years I have been told that corvette owners were snobs and ass holes.  Now that I have spent the last couple of years running around with Darrell and his friends from the Looking Glass Corvette Club I find this to be false.  I have not met a single corvette owner that I have not liked immediately.  Now I have met this self-made millionaire and find him to be a wonderful human being.  What other surprises have I to learn about human nature?

Being a Perfectly Imperfect Grandmother

This weekend I was blessed with two of my four grandchildren, Wesley and Alysa.  God couldn't have blessed me with two more precious loving children.  In saying this I must also mention that God has a sense of humor, both children are hyper active and extremely emotional.  Therefore time spent with them can be very nerve wrecking.

The important thing to know here is that I am not the conventional grandmother.  I am a free spirit grandmother and my grandchildren know and love that freakish side of me.  My dining room table does not hold a vase of fresh cut flowers.  Instead it is covered with art supplies and art projects my grandchildren and I have been working on.

What I have learned is that NONE of us ever feel like we are doing it (what ever IT might be) just right ... but that everyone of us is really doing our very best.  Being both a mother and grandmother is the hardest job I have ever had - the most precious, amazing, difficult job.  It is not always fun and there is so many things in our lives that simply stink....and I'm not good at that stinky stuff.

This weekend with Wesley and Alysa was one of the good stuff.  It began with a trip to the park to feed the geese and ducks.  While feeding the water fowl Wesley excitedly yelled for my attention.  (Everything Wesley does is "Excitedly".)  He had found a mother with her babies.  The perfect mother who had complete control over her ten baby ducklings.  The type of mother I had never been, not even now that I am a grandmother.

Later the children entertained me with plays they wrote, directed choreographed and acted in just for little ole me.  They were amazingly fun and imperfect as they are and as their grandmother is.  I recall doing the same decades ago to entertain my perfect grandmother.

That is when it hit me like a ton of bricks!  I thought then and now that I was blessed with perfectly wonderful grandparents.  They probably felt as imperfect as I do.  We all judge ourselves much too harshly.

Let's be good to each other.  Let's not compare ourselves to each other and let's not judge each other.  No one knows what goes on in our lives to make us behave as we do.  We are all imperfect one way or another.

Here's to celebrating the imperfect part of all of us!  Hip Hip Hooray!

The Little Brown Cup

Yesterday I received the most delightful gift, well actually two gifts!

1: Lil' Mary Margaret (sister) came to visit me.
2: She brought me a little brown cup filled with fresh cut flowers.

The cup was not just any cup, it was a brown earthen ware cup popular back in the 60s.  Mary had found it at an antique store, shed a little tear of joy, and bought it immediately.  It was like the one our mother drank her morning tea from.

Actually half the women in town drank their morning beverage from this style of cup.  Back during the 60's companies gave away china to encourage patronage.  This particular style was given to the customers of the Kroger stores.  With every purchase the customer was given stamps and an empty book to save the stamps.  When the book was full the customer could choose a piece of earthen ware consisting of cups and saucers, dinner and salad plates, pitchers, serving dishes, sugar and creamer bowls and of course salt and pepper shakers. 

One would think it would take a long time to fill up the books but not when you are feeding six children, four of which are teenagers.  Mom had a service for eight or ten.  She also had a service of twelve real china she got the same way for special occasions.  I think Dad still has the china tucked away in his china cabinet.

Simple abundance is everywhere if you take the time to look.  Thanks Mary for taking the time.

Here I Go Again

So there I was one day last week just doing my thing and going about my business when suddenly, out of the blue I started crying.  Not little tears welling up softly around the edges of my eyes.  No, great big monstrous tears rolling down my cheeks accompanied by sobs of despair.

Where the hell did that come from?

That's the way depression hits sometimes.  Suddenly like a bolt of lightning only instead of bright light and tingling with energy this is a bolt of uncontrollable melancholy that hurts like you've been struck across the face really hard but there is no one there to get bad at for striking you.  This is an invincible pain that hurts so bad it drops you to your knees but you don't know why.  It's heavy chains holding you in a deep dark dungeon where no one can hear your cries for help.

Not to worry, I have tools in my toolbox for occasions such as this.  The first strike is the hardest because it comes without warning.  I have contacted my doctor (that is always fun trying to explain the problem through uncontrollable burst of sobs) and am back on my meds.  Lot of good that does since it takes a month before they work.

My toolbox is chock full of good things to get me through the next three weeks until my serotonin is back to normal.  Once again I've gotten out my paints and art journal.  My art journal is not full of sunny happy pictures but that is not the place I occupy at this moment.  Those days will return. 

I am starting to feel optimistic once again just being able to acknowledge that I believe in my future.

Maturity

Yesterday Scottie turned 41.  Happy Birthday Sweetie!

That means I'll soon be 62 cause I was almost 21 when he was born.  When he was born I thought I was an adult and I guess according to our laws that govern us I was.  Young men of 18 were then and are now going to war so why wouldn't I be an adult at 20.  After all, I gave birth to a beautiful little boy. 

Children don't do that, or do they?  Yes, women have been forced to take on that monstrous responsibility while still innocent children playing with their dolls.

Perhaps the question should be how mature was I?  For that matter how mature am I today?

According to the dictionary maturity is a noun that means "full development; perfected condition".  Now we are really in big doo doo.  My body may be fully developed but my brain just never seemed to have attained that status and it certainly has never been perfected in any manner what so ever.

I have been capable of raising a family, holding respected positions on church counsels, holding down a much desired job in the financial world, and oh so many other things that would point to me as a responsible adult and yet I know deep in my heart that I am still terribly immature. 

Here I am in the prime of my life asking myself how does one reach that coveted status of adulthood known as mature?  I fear I will never know for I will always lack the sophistication that seems to be needed to attain that lofty position.

Perhaps I am better off living in this half adult half childlike manner.  I know I am suppose to rise from my bed each morning and begin the mundane duties society has dictated as soically acceptable.  I know how the responsible mature adult would live.  I simply choose not to.

My new mantra:  Life is short.  Live accordingly. 

What is Happening To Time?

OMIGOD!  What is happening to time? Or perhaps that should be restated as what is happening to my time here on the green earth?  2012 is one forth the way over and I have been on autopilot.

Have I spent my whole little existence on autopilot?  Year after year has passed and what do I have to show for myself?  When I am lowered into the six foot hole what will be said?  Will there be celebration or tears? 

Okay, where did that come from? 

Change the subject.
So let's talk about art, my art in fact.  My creativity has diminished until it is almost nonexistent.  The only way I know to spark that creativity into the flame it used to be is to do.  Do what?  Anything, just do it.   Lately I have been sitting on my rump enjoying the creativity of others.  Fun activity but doesn't inspire me so today I got out my art journal and started throwing some paint on it and this is what I came up with.

When I was little spending special time with my grandparents on the farm I spent much of that time swinging from the tree swing my grandpa had hung for his many grandchildren.  I loved swinging alone with my eyes closed imaging all the wonderful things that I knew would one day come to past for my life.  That was when I believed that I was capable of doing great things, that nothing was impossible.  That was before I had replaced fear of the unknown with curiosity and awe.


So today I'm trying to block all the negativity and fear to see the world with the eyes of a child once again.  Let's see how the day transpires.

And So I Begin....

Today on the first day of April , commonly referred to as April Fools Day I begin the difficult task once again of trying to make heads or tails of my crazy world, a world filled with so much uncertainty. 

April Fools Day, how apropos!

In the past when the shit hit the fan, as it inevitably will in all our lives, I've been able to mix a wild batch of laughter, tears, wine, sisters, friends and more laughter and empower myself to get up off my lazy ass grab life by the waist and take her for a long fun filled swing around the dance floor. 

But not yesterday.  I had a date with Darrell yesterday afternoon, a date that as it turned out, would never come about.  Why?  Because yesterday I felt like the shit had been beaten out of this old fat pathetic body and I couldn't get up.  Beaten up by of all people my beloved Wesley.

I had been blessed with the two eldest grandchildren, Abby and Wesley the night before.  They thought they had gently woken me early Saturday morning with giggles, snuggles and quietly telling me their plans for the morning.  The fact is I had been laying in bed listening to them in the other room enjoying the excited whispers and the soft pitter patter of their bare feet against my hardwood floors. 

Oh it should have been a glorious morning.  And it was and it wasn't!  My darling Wesley (who I admit is my favorite or at least today he is) is ADHD, a condition that can drive his parents, teachers, friends, cousins and his grandparents to distraction.  Wesley is a puzzlement; sweet, affectionate, fun loving, mischievous boy who in the blink of an eye turns into an mystery boy; a self centered insolent spoiled brat who showers his friends with short outbursts of rage and then sinks to the floor hating himself for showing his weaknesses.  But that is not my Wesley, that is his disguise to hide his insecurities.  The real Wesley is a super hero who hasn't figured out how to use his powers.  The sullen Wesley shows his ugly face when he finds he is unable to do as well as others then rather than show how truly vulnerable he is he goes into a self-pity sort of rage.

 I feel so vulnerable and helpless myself when he changes and I have no idea how I can reach him and give him the nurturing support he needs.  And this is where I confess I feel like a complete failure.  I love this child just as I loved his father and I don't know how to help him.

I had a date with Darrell yesterday afternoon; a date that never happened.  My grandchildren had put on a fashion show for me the day before (the show was truly a delight) and I couldn't find any of my clothes.  My house upstairs and down looked like a hurricane had come through.  I got so worked up trying to get ready for the date I completely fell apart, tears, tantrum and all that goes along with those extreme emotions.

Now let's get down to the rat killing.  What's this post all about? 

It's about me.  Who am I?

My grandchildren call me the "Fun Grandma" but am I really fun?  I feel like such a fake, a hoax.  I am not who I appear to be.  I thought I knew who I was several years ago, but that has changed now that I am this little ole woman living in a small broken down house in the poor part of a poor town.

And so I begin April 1st as the biggest fool of all.  A fool who has no idea who she is or where she is going.  Perhaps today I will find myself.  The search has begun.

Abby and Wesley Put On A Fashion Show

Last night Abby and Wesley, my two oldest grandchildren entertained me with a fashion show.  And oh, what a show it was.  It won't be long before Abby is borrowing Grandma's clothes.  Gee, I hope Wesley doesn't want to borrow them too.

Lots of laughs and giggles until I saw my bedroom.  OMIGOD, all my clean clothes were thrown about the floor.  I have seen movies about fashion shows.  The models are in such a rush to get back on the runway from one viewing to the next that the clothes are thrown everywhere. 

I am ashamed to say, I yelled at my grandchildren.  A half hour fashion show took an hour to pick up and put away.  Now I feel terrible that I ruined a perfectly lovely time for them. 

On the brighter side, they said they had a great time and didn't want to go home.  That gives Grandma a chance to make it up to them.  Right??

Smokin" Seventeen

Once again I am deep into another Stephanie Plum who-done-it.  Janet Evanovich has written 18 number books of which I have read 14 with an assorted Stephanie Plum holiday books scattered between.  This evening my two eldest grandchildren are coming over to spend a fun filled evening with Grandma creating a Gnome Garden and seeking any other mischief we can get ourselves into and here I am fantasizing with Steph rather than preparing for the evening.  My house can be falling down around me and disaster around every corner but if I have a good book to read I am oblivious to the danger I am personally in.

Stephanie now has three hunks hot after her cute little bod and is finding herself contemplating on her life here and now while fearlessly chasing the bad guys in Trenton NJ.  Each hunky hunk has something special to give her (besides what is throbbing in their pants) and she has to choose only one.  After all, she is a good Catholic girl even though she hasn't been to church in some time.

No wonder Evanovich's books are # 1 New York Times Bestsellers over and over again.  This is what every red blooded American woman wants from the age of 12 to 80.  We no longer want to be just the good little woman who keeps the house neat and clean for her hard working husband and raising a bunch of snot nosed kids who are never satisfied with all the sacrificing their mother does for them.

There are some of us who still try deceiving ourselves into believing they are happy with their lot in life but in times of complete truthfulness even those perfect housewives with their devoted husbands will quietly admit how lost a body can feel day in and day out cleaning, cooking, running errands, doctoring, etc. and getting so little in return.

All I'm saying here is "Stephanie, be careful with what you wish for."  To get just half of the adrenaline flowing excitement you get as a bounty hunter the average woman has to make more personal sacrifices than we would like to admit.

But look who's talking here; a 61 year old grandmother whose little granddaughter brags that she can look like her grandmother by sitting in the bathtub for a long time so that her skin looks like a prune.  What can I expect?  Still even this old woman can dream, can't she?

Upcoming Trip to Tennessee

Sister Mary Clary and I have a Bucket List.  I don't know how seriously she pursues her adventures listed but I know I do not take mine seriously at all.  I don't take much of anything seriously actually.  I published my Bucket List last year sometime.  It is nothing but total Tom Foolery.

Today I have spent hours searching the web for a great cabin for my sister Mary and my brother Jim, their spouses, Darrell and myself to spend a couple of days in pursuing one of Mary's items on her Bucket List.  I found the perfect cabin a short three miles outside of Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  The owner calls their little hide away tucked neatly in the woods, Goldilocks Haven.  I wonder if the Three Bears have stayed there.

No, this luxurious cabin in the woods (4 bedrooms, hot tub, pool table, Internet connection and so much more) is not on her Bucket List.  She and my brother have been dreaming of going whitewater rafting for years.  Their dream is about to come true.

I've also have had a secret desire to feel the water splash hard against me and feel the exhilaration of dodging big boulders as I float down the river. 

Now I am afraid I have waited too long to pursue this adventure.  I think I have a torn rotators cuff and I am not sure my shoulder can take that type of abuse but I am going just the same.

We are riding down the Ocoee River in a small plastic raft.  The ride is described as "a rampaging ride down the river with nearly continuous whitewater action".  That is scary enough but it is a Class III and IV river which means it will be difficult to maneuver with long rapids, powerful irregular waves, dangerous rocks, boiling eddies (whatever that is) and will require powerful and precise maneuvering.

Yeesh!  What have I gotten myself into this time? 

I'm Such a Mess

Yeesh! Can I be any more of a mess?

No, I truly don't think so.

All my New Year Resolutions have gone south, never to be heard from again.  New Year Resolutions tend to be the same with most people and they tend to be a desire to break a habitual pattern of self-defeating practices. 

I am a slob and have always been a slob.  Not about my person but about most everything else around me.  I have never made my bed consistently or picked up after myself and there is always dirty dishes in the sink.  I have never seemed to find enough time to keep an orderly house and create daily. 

The good news is change is possible no matter how old one is, you just have to want it bad enough. 

Do I want it that badly?  Not sure.  I like myself the way I am but I don't like wasting valuable time searching for things because I didn't put it away.

Time to review and start fresh!  Want to see how really bad it is?  A picture is worth a thousand words!

My messy backyard.  It is so bad I can't get my lawn mower through there.  But that is going to change.  It will take a few days work but I am determined to get it cleaned up.

This is just the beginning of the new me.  Oh, have I said that before?

Complaining

Complaining is easy, even when compared with the challenges of creating a plan for positive change in ones life.  Fact is, complaining can be quite fun when among good girlfriends.  We seem to feed on each others difficulties in life.

I really don't want to be a bellyacher.  The whiners of the group can put a dark cloud over everybodies party.  It is contagious. 

So how do I get back on that positive sound track?  When it comes time to specify the fix I get fuzzy.  Time to get out my happy paint brush and paint my life with broad strokes of color with statements like "I just want passion in my life", "I want to be loved, healthy, yadda, yadda, yadda."  

Give me something that makes me happy.   Something like my day with my girlfriend Kathy.  We had so much fun just laughing and talking and playing with her precious granddaughter, Peyton.

There is no quick fix, no magical pill we can take.  This crab ass is going to have to make the changes herself.  After my super time with Kathy yesterday I think I might just have an idea to change my blue into joyous red.  Get out of this house and spend time with friends.  I've been watching too much TV and reading too many books.  Time to start living again.

Clueless

I am like totally clueless to what comes over me sometimes.  It is like I have been slapped; slapped hard right across the face and instead of waking up or getting mad I go into the corner to pout.

I've been pouting for over a week now and I'm really tired of this down trodden frame of mind I've developed.
I've tried all my favorite "change your fucking attitude" antidotes with no apparent change of disposition.

I've tried:

Hug my Daddy
Lunch with girlfriends
Art Journal
Tickle Grand kids
Jam to rock music
Bitch to sisters - all three
Retail therapy
Cry to old movie

Despite my best intentions the devil has got a strong hold on me and I can't shake this feeling that I'm heading in the wrong direction.

One thing I know for sure, men on on my shit list.

The weekend is upon me.  I am spending Saturday with my kindred spirit, Kathy.  Let's hope she and I can't get to the heart of this sulky little girl mood I have developed. 

If I don't like myself then how do others look at me.  BORING I am sure since that is at the top of my list.

Virginity

On my way to Griggsville, IL, the Purple Martin Capital of the World, and the home of my ailing father, I found myself craning my neck a full half circle so that I could look at the ominous Piasa Bird painted on the bluffs along the Great River Road for as long as possible just as I had done thousands of times since I was a child.  My father has always been a great story teller so naturally when he took his brood of six bored children the 100 mile trip to visit my grandparents in Pike County Illinois he often pointed out the painting and told us the story of the great Piasa Bird who swooped down on the Native American Indians leaving a trail of blood, tears and death.

All these years later and I still find myself irresistibly drawn to the painting and reflecting on the myth.  Did the ferocious bird seek only young Indian braves or like many other mythological stories was it's thirst for young female virgins?  Being female, I naturally lean toward young Indian braves rather than virgins.  After all the braves went into battle of their own free will where as the virgin was drug and tied yelling for mercy to a stake as a sacrifice.

What is it about man's fascination with virgins?  I've never been able to comprehend the allure.  Men actually prefer a woman who has been around the block a couple of times.  They are a lot more fun.

When I was a mere child of 10 or 11 my mother fed me the line about no decent man would marry a woman who was not a virgin.  To make the story worse the "good man" would know on his wedding night if his bride was not a virgin and then all vows would be null and void.  Turns out my mother just didn't want to be stuck raising her bastard grandchildren.

These stories have been handed down to our daughters generation after generation.  I chose not to fill my daughters pretty little head up with all that virginity nonsense but she still heard the stories.  Not from me but from the church.  She then had to figure out her own version of right and wrong.

Third world countries still shackle their women with medieval morality stories aimed at keeping women in their place.  Fortunately the US and Europe have acknowledged their errors (some reluctantly) and have loosened their grip on women.

Funny thing, it takes a lot of energy to keep someone down.  Men who fear women would find themselves happier and more successful if they would live and let live.

Enough ranting.  Have a great weekend!

Sisters Make All Things Right

I just got off the phone with Baby (to people outside of my family circle Baby aka Tina my little sister).  The conversation began with a Pity Party and ended up with world problems all but solved and tears of laughter rather than sorrow running off my chin. 

The relationship between sisters is usually like that.  That relationship quite often runs true between girlfriends too.  I am blessed to have three sisters and oodles of girlfriends.

Baby and I came to the conclusion "Life's a bitch and then you die" if you let it be.  Life is a game where people make choices in every wakeful moment.  We have weapons at our disposal to fight off the doubt we all have about ourselves.  Among those weapons are our self worth, abilities aka talents, our potential and our sense of humor.  When things go wrong as they inevitably will we must be prepared to arm ourselves, but quite often people cower in a corner and take the blows ending up bitter with their lots in life.

Thanks,  Baby, for reminding me!  Life is good.

Dear Parents:

I found this in someones blog today.  The blogger had copied it from someone else's blog so I thought it would be all right to copy it once again. 

Here goes;

Dear Parents,
   Jasmine was in a relationship with a dirty homeless boy named Aladdin.
Snow White lived alone with seven men.
   Pinocchio was a liar.
Robin Hood was a thief.
   Tarzan walked around without clothes on.
A stranger kissed Sleeping Beauty and she married him.
   Cinderella lied and snuck out at night to attend a party.

You can't blame us, you were the one telling us these stories.  You taught us to rebel since we were very young.

So what was I thinking when I chose to walk the straight and narrow to keep my parents happy? 

No imagination I guess.  It is never too late to walk on the wild side, but first I have to take care of my daddy.  My time will come.  Watch out when I go through my second childhood!

Late Bloomer or Am I Just Fooling Myself?

As I am sure I have mentioned before, I'm not what you'd call technology savvy.  I'm not an artist and I'm certainly not an author.  You'd think by the time a person is considered a senior they'd know their strengths - what they were put on this earth for.

Not me.

61 and still completely in the dark.

When I worked at the bank I always felt I was destined for something better, something more exciting.  I didn't know what it was, but somewhere in the back of mind I just knew I was different, special.  Now as you know I have been told I am eccentric so doesn't that mean something?

I thought maybe I was just a late bloomer.  Then when Les died and I showed my art journals to the people from hospice who absolutely salivated over the pages of my art I thought Voila I have bloomed.

No, once I sat down in front of the computer to write my story my IQ dropped about 20 points.  What makes a computer tick is a total mystery to me.  Part of me still has this irrational fear I'll push the wrong button and smoke will start coming out of my monitor.  With no small difficulty I've stumbled my way through learning the basics.  I can check my e-mail and order books off Amazon.  And I'm proud to say that after a particularly frustrating week of experimenting with blogs, I'd figured out how to set up my very own blog.  But download, upload - it is all gobbledygook to me.

Needless to say, publishing my book is way out of my league.

So now I'm wondering, am I different or am I just another Average Jane?  (Probably Jane Doe cause no one will know who I am when I die.)  Does everyone feel they are different but just haven't found their niche in life yet like me except for those few celebrities?

Now please understand, I wish well for others but I can't help but hope that I am special (stop rolling your eyes, you know what I mean) and I am just a late bloomer.  But the thing is, if I don't start blooming pretty soon I'm going to end up dead and alone is this dirty little town in this little house rotting around me.

Is that what I want?  I don't think so.

Lost in Memoryland

I knew before I dragged myself out of bed this morning that it would be a day full of bitter sweet memories.  I woke early this morning with bits and pieces of a dream tickling my thoughts.  You know how dreams are, like smoke, you reach for them but can't hold on to them.  What I remember of the dream is laying in the arms of the man I love, feeling his touch, running my fingers through his thick dark hair, looking at his beautiful bedroom blue eyes, eyes that told me he loved me without whispering a word and yet somewhere in the back of my mind I could feel his absence. 

I struggled with the notion that maybe if I stayed in bed all day I would have the same dream over and over again.  Silly?  Yes, so I got up and dressed for the day.  Today would be a tough day because I had an appointment with Les' brother to have new tires put on my truck; the truck Les bought for me and my father.  Les' brother, Mark has an auto garage next door to the house where Les and I lived for 17 years until his untimely death two years seven months ago.

As always, upon my arrival I was greeted warmly by Mark; not because I was bringing him business but because he and I are friends who truly care for each other.  Before I knew it, I was thrown in the past as Les' family members and friends started showing up.   The garage has always been a meeting place for men to stand around and talk.  I don't know how Mark ever gets anything done because there is always three or four men standing around "shooting the shit" as they say.  But then maybe that is why he has such a good business.  Lots of friends and family recommending him.

We chit chatted for a while then I snuck away to get out of his hair so that he could put new tires on my truck for me.  I wandered around the property that had once been owned by Lester Hall and now belonged to his estate.  There was little change.  Les was a collector of many things.  That man was able to pick up a piece of junk and turn around and make a profit out of it faster than anyone I had ever known.  Actually he was the first man I had ever known who sold junk as a hobby.  I was raised in a family who looked down upon people who had derelict cars in their yard so when I brought him home my family was probably in shock.  However they loved me and never voiced any bad opinions about the man I loved, at least not to my face.

I sat on the big rock in front of the house, my love rock, and let the memories flood over my body like tidal waves.  The same rock I sat on the day he died sobbing hysterically for my loss.  Today I did not think of his death, only of his life, his life with me.

Two and a half years later and I love him as much as ever.  I am now able to be more sensible about him.  I know he was not a great catch.  Darrell is a much better catch than Les.  Les was a man's man and my desires took backseat to the things he wanted to do.  Darrell always thinks of my desires first.

So why can't I love Darrell the way I loved Les?  I don't know.  I'll just have to have patience with myself and hope that Darrell can have patience with me.  They say time heals all wounds.  Perhaps with healing the ability to love again will follow.

Just A Little Ranting About SPAM

It has taken me nearly a week to complete deleting about a million spam e-mails after my absence from the computer due to those two glorious weeks spent in sunny Spain. 

No, I do not own a lap top and anyway, why would I want to waste precious time on the computer when I could be exploring the mountains, valleys and beaches of that beautiful country?  Well, duh!

I digress - SPAM.  Do those idiots really think I want to buy sex enhancing drugs, botox, meet someone in Nigeria, or sent them money?  Do people really believe if you send a complete stranger a couple hundred bucks they actually will send them a million?  Seriously?

But then I have read newspaper and magazine articles about people who have fallen for this type of ploy.  Who but a lonely, sit behind the screen person would reply to a series of e-mails sent from a supposedly long lost friend or relative?

Really, think about it.  And that makes me very sad and reminds me of how fortunate I am to be blessed with so many loving friends and family.

Now .... I think it is time for me to return to Yahoo to check my e-mail and delete yet another spam stalker and send telepathic good wishes out to each spam answerer each time I delete one of those nasty e-mails.