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all over but the shoutin' cryin'
Being a woman is a tough gig, if I say so myself. To begin with there's this hormone thing that dogs us from about the age of 10 'til we morph into old ladies who wear purple hats and play bridge and say any damn thing that comes to mind..and get AWAY with it! I wouldn't know the "monthly visitor" if it came gift wrapped with a personalized card telling me to bleed, because I am past all that. Except for the hot flashes and "moose wings" of the past five years, it's all good. Until I start to feel overwhelmed and cry. Dammit..I hate that. What.a.wuss.

Big Ernie and my Mama blessed(?) me with overactive tear ducts and a heart as big as Texas. I remember wishing more than once that I could just be one of those folks who doesn't give a shit. It's easier that way, ya know? You're out for yourself and to hell with the rest of 'em. "Let them eat cake." Until the revolution starts, you're in high cotton and living like a pimp on payday.

What I'm thinking is that I need a few shots of testosterone so I can grow some balls and not be quite so weak when it comes to letting the little things drag me down. It looks easier to be a man from my point of view. Anatomical differences aside, they just think differently. You ever known a guy out doing what he loves best worrying about what's happening in the other half of his life..the one where there's a woman fussin' and fretting over every little detail? Nah. They just scratch and fart and hunt and fish and golf and generally enjoy being the eternal little boy while she wallows in the angst of being female. Sucks to be her.

Since SugarDaddy has failed to claim me and Prince Charming is a fairy tale figure, I've decided that I should adopt a strong female role model as my mentor during the post-menopausal-pre-golden years.

old home week
I had forgotten how nice it is to take a few hours and stroll up and down the old blogroll to see what's up with everybody and their mama'n'them. Seems I've been too busy fretting about the bill collectors and Dubya being a dumbass to focus on what's good about my little world like friends who drop in when I least expect it and give me a huge grin with a big old bear hug on the side.

Faith and Hope Butterbean stayed outside last night leaving me to sleep with a big fluffy cat while they guarded the fort against wild coyotes and rebel gangs of squirrels and possums lookin' for food. Me and Faith took a nap today to make up for lost time. I can't hardly sleep without her there next to me.

My friend Vicki way up in Chicago reminded me that the Advent season is about to begin so I best be shopping for candles to go with that wreath on the dining room table. I've got some ideas cookin' for what to give as gifts to the ones I care about. They're very inexpensive but loaded with love.

a good read
I love to read but rarely make the time other than the last ten minutes before I fall asleep or on a rare "all me" day off. That is my ultimate luxury...snuggling under the covers with a good book and no other agenda. Some time ago my friend Michael featured Lisa Samson's latest work on his blog noting that anyone who promised to read and review it on their OWN blog would be sent a free copy by the publisher. Since I am all about free books, I put my name in the pot and boy am I glad I did! Not being familiar with her style, I was totally unprepared for the brilliant writing found in Straight Up.

Heroines Georgia and Fairly are cousins, bound together by painful losses and an eccentric Uncle Geoffrey who loves them both as dearly as he does the ragtag group of searchers-of-truth that comprise what Fairly calls his "cult." Both women have chosen paths in life that some would consider frivolous...Georgia drowning her sorrows in the bottle and Fairly passing time as a fine furniture buyer for rich clients. Their pasts and present cross at Uncle G's home in Lexington, Kentucky when Georgia moves there to try to get her life together one last time and Fairly is called in by their uncle to ease the transition.

Woven into the tapestry that is God's will for this family is a little girl named Clarissa who is living out her own nightmarish childhood soaked with anger fueled by alcohol. That God can work His mysterious ways even in that sort of darkness is the true meaning of faith that this book delivers.

If you have ever wondered if you'd get another chance to do what you were meant to do with your life, this tale of redemption will soothe your soul even as it tests your limits for seeing the tragedies in life as opportunity for growth. Is there a heaven? I sure hope so...and I sincerely hope that it is just as Lisa describes it in Straight Up. Her characters are rich with humanity and their situations easily recognized as the ones that we humans face each and every day just like Jesus did.

Thanks Lisa, for keepin' the faith. ^j^

Straight Up
Published by: Waterbrook Press, 2006
Author: Lisa Samson
by popular request
Here's a picture of the kitties.second litter Ain't they just adorable?

That Santa lookin' diva down there in yesterday's post is Beverly's dog Booger all dressed up for the holidays. It was 70 degrees when we took the picture so the suit didn't last long but she'll get plenty of wear from it later this week when it gets cold again.

I finally got out today to get some long overdue yard chores done. The asparagus has been chopped down for a week, but I've got to wait until I have somebody else around before I burn it. If you were here this time last year, you will remember that I damn near burned the farm up when I torched the asparagus. My bad.

I've learned a couple of great truths this Thanksgiving weekend, not the least of which is that I am wayyyyyyyyy too old to stay up all night even though it was fun dancing to Funkmonster music. Another amazing discovery is that if you eat enough Spinach Madeline, your poop will turn green :) Heh..too much information I reckon.

I first "met" John Ruskey when he and his river partner Michael Clark did a presentation at the local community college book fair on the Lewis and Clark expedition. Yesterday I received a priceless treasure in the mail, a book containing the journals, photos and sketches made by the two as they took part in the 200th anniversary re-enactment of the mission. If you would like to check it out, go here . John is quite a good artist as well as a river rat, and the cover of the book features one of his paintings.
Monday's comin', so y'all keep the faith. ^j^
bar dog
stuffed and blessed
It's been four hours since we ate Thanksgiving dinner, and I am still full as a tick. In spite of a very sick BabyGirl and an absent baby brother, we ate and visited and generally were thankful for all of the blessings in our lives. One of those things is the grand re-opening of my brother's nightclub this evening after a complete interior remodeling job. Another is that my mother is able to walk again, a long and arduous process that began when she had a bad wreck on the way to Easter church service. The bone in her heel was broken and she spent about twelve weeks in a non-weight bearing cast. When she began physical therapy and started using a cane to walk, her sciatica got stirred up and put her back down for many more weeks during chiropractic care. It was good to see her toddling around today in her kitchen fussin' over the feast.

I was off work today, which is something that many folks take for granted. In healthcare as well as many other public service jobs, holidays are just another day to work. I vividly remember my young daughter's indignation that I had to go to that "stoopid hospital" on Christmas when she was little. How dare them make me work! Heh. This will be my year to work on Christmas Day but I will be off the two days before so we will improvise on the holiday plans as we normally do.

That new litter of kittens in my closet is about to become mobile and I see some serious curtain climbing in their future. Hopefully we can keep Mama cat un-pregnant long enough to get her spayed this time. Faith went to the Kudzu bar with me to socialize with the two other dogs that were present for karaoke night. She had a ball making the rounds and sniffing everybody. Several guys eyed her as good duck hunting companion. Man does that girl love to swim!

Even my intention to post every day this month has fallen by the wayside. It's been a long while since I've been around to visit all of y'all. Hopefully this weekend I'll get to catch up with what's going on in your lives.

Until then....keep the faith. ^j^
lessons in keepin' the faith
Today is my Mom's seventy third birthday and we celebrated in an unusal way...by attending a funeral together at our "home" church. Mrs. T was an icon of grace and beauty even during her long fight with lymphoma and ovarian cancer. She and her husband are members of the Sunday School class that has been home to my parents and many others for years and years. Now Mr. T will be a single member of a class that consists mostly of couples who have grown older in faith together through good times and bad. Her daughter Kat and I were in a group of girls who went through church and school together and still hold the friendship dear.

The celebration of Mrs. T's life was inspiring and uplifting. I heard someone whisper that they didn't realize how much she had done for others with her faithful life. I sat with Mom behind three of the other members of the bunch of us that ran together. Among the four of us, only two still had our mothers. Old friendships are very cool like that, where you can disappear from each others' lives for months or years and pick back up like no time has passed. And that is what we did. We whispered during the piano prelude about what has been going on with each of us...a capsule version of the past year or two. We joked about how we always said that Mrs. T must have had perfect posture even on the potty because she was always so composed and graceful. We lifted our voices together singing hymns that we were raised on.

And we cried. Not the hysterical sobbing of a sudden loss but the melancholy tears of the paradox that is jubilation and sadness all rolled into one big lump in the throat that couldn't be held down as we remembered the life of one of Big Ernie's most faithful servants. But then we smiled, because we could picture with utmost clarity Mrs. T sitting with "perfect posture" at the banquet table that the preacher described, waiting for the rest of us to join her.

live from yaya's house
Me and Amy Claire are hangin' out this fine evening having a beer soda or ten and doing the girl thing. All you guys just go see the football or deer hunting blog and give us some space. She's digging through her closet while I post because, well...we both have a lot of shit to dig through and throw away. God bless her pointed little head though, she got the den floor mopped and ready for the new couch and love seat.

Today at work was much better, thank you Big Ernie. The crew that worked silently through the shitstorm that was yesterday sat around and shot the shit today and patted the boxes in approval as they transferred the critical numbers from instrument to remote printer. Did I ever mention that I'm a low maintenance kind of gal? Give me an easy day at work and it's all good. Except when I get on one of those pity pot kind of deals. Let's not go there, umkay?

Gotta go watch Jim Carrey play the Grinch and orderThe Snowman for Yaya's number one grandchild Robert. Y'all ever seen that one? I love it with all my heart.

You will too.
long day

Way back when...before we had an "information system" to facilitate the process of delivering lab results to the rest of the hospital, we did it all on paper. The tests were run and the results were transferred from the paper instrument printout onto a report form that was manually carried to the patient units where someone put it on the chart for the doc to look at. We had logs for this and logs for that and writers' cramp just about 24/7 from all that data transfer. I won't even mention the days when the instrumentation consisted of a spectrophotometer that read the wavelength of the color produced when chemicals were mixed togther and boiled in a waterbath. I was a young'un then and all about adventure.

Last night the computer system was down for eight hours and we spent the entire day playing catch-up while trying to keep current with the influx of sick and dying. The beauty of computers fades quickly when data has to be manually entered after the fact while working out the bugs in the software update and runnin' to the ER to draw blood from nursing home patients.

If I didn't know better, I'd figure that I'm too old for this crap. Truth is, I probably just need to get laid.
one for the little guy
I've owned a Toyota Camry since the first model showed up in 1984 and I was pregnant with BabyGirl. My parents bought one four years later, and that 1988 model with almost a hundred thousand miles on it got her through her early driving days. So I know the reliability of the car, needless to say.

The one I have now is a 2001 model, leased for four years. About two years into the lease, I took it for an oil change and was told that "they wouldn't touch it" and to get it to the dealer pronto before the engine locked up. Seems the oil was all gelled up and gunky and on the verge of killing my engine. Still in warranty..no problem. The service manager gave me a fit over improper maintenance because the recipts were kinda screwed up. Hey, I'm a girl, and a disorganized one at that. In the end though, they took the whole thing apart, cleaned out the gunked up oil and I was good to go under warranty, all thanks to the fact that my cousin was the manager of the dealership and leaned on the service manager because I'd bought umpteen cars from them over the years.

End of lease I bought the car because the mileage was extremely low and I couldn't afford anything else. I knew from experience that Toyota motors will run for 200K miles, even if you do skip an oil change or two. They're that reliable.

Fast forward to December 2005, less than thirty days before the five year factory warranty runs out. I hear something all of a sudden that sounds like a rod knockin' and pull into the nearest mechanic. Yep..he says. That's what it is. And you're out of oil, by the way. Uh..okay. And how did that happen? Down the the dealership I go where I'm told after a close inspection that the small block will have to be replaced. Again, I'm scrambling for oil change receipts and begging for mercy on that warranty. Toyota refused at first to cover it because I couldn't come up with the right amount of paper to suit them. Eventually, they relented and replaced the small block. The car had barely 40,000 miles on it and I essentially had a new engine so I figured I was fortunate and should be extremely grateful to Toyota Motor Corporation and bowed down to them in thanks.

Today I got a legal notice regarding a class action lawsuit. It seems that Toyota was well aware of the predisposition of certain 1999-2002 Toyota and Lexus models to develop oil gel. In 2002 they established a Customer Support Program giving vehicle owners additional protection beyond the warranty for damage from oil gel or sludge. The lawsuit says that Toyota failed to describe the benefits of the program to customers who then had to pay out of pocket for expensive repairs to the engines when they could not "properly" document routine maintenance. The settlement of the suit provides an extension of the original warranty from five to eight years with unlimited mileage and the issuance of a "glove box notice" stating such. It also provides for reimbursement of repair costs to those who were not as fortunate as I was to have them covered because a family member was watching my back.

You can check it out here .
happy everything
Once upon a time, my Mama saved up her bucks and went across the pond with her girlfriends to the UK. Her gift to me was a delicate porcelain dish that holds my jewelry for the next day..a WalMart watch and an Avon ring are about the extent of the family jewels.

Sue and George went across the pond awhile back to attend that big golf game thingy over in Scotland. They got stuck on a train together somewhere between Edinburgh and London but I'm sure glad they went. He's all about the golf game, ya know? Sue brought me back the most precious Spode piece all done up in blue and white china and cherubs.

How's that for an I don't want to be here but I promised to post post?

Yeah...I know. I'll try to do better.
turkey talk

Psst. Y'all got your cornbread made for the dressing yet? It's best when the slabs are made ahead and frozen..ditto for the chicken broth. My redneck friend asked for a recipe light on the additives, so I'm passing this on for those of you who might have an interest in something that is delish on the Thanksgiving plate and even better warmed up or eaten cold, straight out of the frig.

MamaStaff's Cornbread Dressing

1 or 2 pans of frozen cornbread
8 to 10 dried bread slices and/or leftover biscuits
a quart or two of chicken broth, preferably simmered with onions, butter and real bird
1/2 teaspoon poultry seasoning
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 425. Grease a pan large enough to hold all the dressing. If you've got leftovers, pour it into another greased pan and freeze for another day.

Crumble thawed cornbread and bread into large bowl. Sprinkle poultry seasoning over and stir. Add broth a cup or two at a time, stirring after each addition until mixture is like cake mix. Let the breads soak up the broth, and add a little more but not enough to make it float.

Bake for around 30 minutes, or until the middle of the dressing is moist and edges are golden brown. Don't run off to scrub the toilet or anything because at this point, it's too late. Your guests are on the way!

Note to raw dressing eaters: Skip the baking part. Eat straight out of the bowl if you are so inclined to chance a bout of staph food poisoning. Not advised by this medical professional.

DON'T OVERCOOK! There's nothing worse than dried up dressing next to moist and tender turkey.

An appropriate Thanksgiving feast requires meticulous planning on a strict schedule if your lifestyle affords that luxury. If not, well. Don't forget the deviled eggs.

I'm just sayin'.
the beauty of paradox
Poops could never make it as an accountant or some other kind of numbers cruncher because, well..I see too much gray in life and it takes someone versed in that sort of thing to do the math. The personality tests have all shown me to be a pure idealist with a dash of wild thang and nice girl mixed in for good measure. Put me on the streets and I'd last about ten minutes in a fight for food. I'd be the one sittin' on the church steps waiting for Mrs. Puckett to show up and dole out the groceries for the day. She was the secretary for years and years and if you passed the test with her, it was all good.

There was a large dose of Mrs. P tucked under my wing when Big Ernie came to call and told me about the least of these and how you have to meet 'em halfway...preferably where they are, like Jesus did. That has involved a lot of lessons in being non-judgemental over the years while listening for the flutter of angel wings. Fortunately for me and mine, the distraction of big money, fame and power have been a non-factor. None of us much get into that kind of thing, thanks to our humble raisin'. We're a peaceful sort who love nothing better than watching stuff grow and die and be born again in a somewhat different form. The comfort of the changing of the seasons is something that never ceases to bring peace to my soul.

During the past few years there has been a movement that urges us to believe that by opposing the war we are showing a lack of support for our troops. Nothing could be further from the truth, y'all. Really. In the magical world of paradox, we support the US military by opposing an invasion that put each and every one of them in harm's way with very little of what they needed to do the job at hand. Pictures of American GI's holding wounded Iraqis and weeping tell me one thing about this "war on terror" and it seems to be all about the beauty of compassion and empathy miles away from home in a desert hellhole where cultural differences come to a climax in gunfire and bombing. There are women and children and peaceful men there who believe that we will make a difference for them, and indeed we have. But they are outnumbered by the evil of the ones who are consumed with what they view as the honor of Jihad.

BabyGirl had to do a report on American History X for one of her sociology classes. Me and the critters laid down on her bed and watched the hatred and violence unfold even while the good guys learned their lessons and tried to live different lives. Anger and distrust toward those who are different from us is something that is passed on through the generations and bred into those who have no identity or self worth. "It has always been thus and so."


I'm glad I wasn't raised that way, which was an unusual thing during the fifties and sixties of the Old South. Back then, as now....our families have lived together in the community of Samaria Bend as colorblind as a bunch of bats.

There's a story in there somewhere. I hope I can do it justice.

the glass?
Living single with a kid in college has been a challenge financially. I cashed in, with penalties, what little "retirement investment" I had managed to save in order to survive post-divorce. That included default on a loan against my 403b in the amount of 2500 and some change. Just last month the IRS caught up with me and demanded their 800 bucks on that piece of the pie that allowed us to eat. I'll pay them in installments until they grab my refund for 2006. Maybe I won't go to jail before then. Chaps my hide to pay income tax to pad the pockets of war contractors. I'm just sayin'.

The constable hand-delivered today a civil warrant hauling me into court for a charged off Capitol One account that was originally around 1500 but swelled to way over 2000 with their late fees and interest. Next time you get one of their enticing offers in the mail, think twice about it. It is a debt that was charged off several years ago and turned over to a bunch of thugs for collection who called me at work and at home harassing me about what a loser I am because I don't pay the bills. When I sent them a letter asking the goons to back off, the summons was in my hand shortly. Seems that they're the only ones who can be pissy about things and get away with it.

My employer rewarded me with a hefty raise this year that doesn't even cover the cost of the rise in health insurance premiums. And I work in healthcare....go figure. Add to that the cost of adding on BabyGirl as a dependent so that she can be covered for the first time in two years, and I'm already in the hole for showing up at work. She has two jobs and is a fulltime student. Damn, I'm proud of that girl. She sure knows how to keep the faith.

There are others that I owe who know that I will pay them when I'm able, like my brother and a couple of friends who financed my divorce five years ago. Like the propane guy and the dentist and the landlord and the grocery store guy. All of those people who believe that if you extend a hand to a gal in need, the karma will come back around to you because that's what Jesus would do.

The glass is still half full, in spite of it all.

I have been a student of self-help reads since I first read Gail Sheehy's groundbreaking book back in the seventies and thought to myself : "Self, can you even IMAGINE being fifty??" At the time I was in college and had my head stuck so far up the boyfriend's butt that I couldn't see the trees for the forest. In my Daddy's words " At least he stuck with you 'til you graduated." Even though he cut me loose right after I got the degree, I can thank him for an early interest in the psyche and what makes it do that funny stuff to us. That breakup wounded me to the core of the soul and I wasn't over it when I met the man who was to become my husband just two years later. I met him in the restaurant/bar where he worked and we shacked up for six months before deciding "why not get married? Seems like the thing to do." I was 23 and he was 22. Way too young for a lifetime commitment.

We played for about five years at being adults and then the Babygirl forced us to grow up quick. At 29, I was an older mother than most and the fatigue that hounded me through nights on call at the hospital forced me to recognize that the younger moms were way ahead of me in physical stamina. Looking at things now, I realize that I tried to do it all at once....be a wife, friend, mother and family member while over-achieving at work. I was good at all of it, except for being my own friend. The way it plays out today makes much more sense to me...get after that career while you're young and energetic then take time to focus on the family and yourself.

It all began to unravel when I hit the early thirties and "fell in love" with someone who hooked into every issue that I had stuffed into my baggage. The result was two hard years in therapy to figure out exactly what my deal was and how the hell I thought I could be loveable without giving myself away on a whim. That was, long story short, the beginning of the end of the marriage of convenience. It lasted 22 years, more or less, and then became too much of a drain to maintain once BabyGirl was on the downhill slide out of high school. All three of us suffered tremendously seeing that decision through. I hold no grudges or bad feelings. BabyGirl has good relationships with both of us. It simply wasn't what either of us needed.

Which brings me to the walking wounded man-pool out there. The only "available" men that I've run across still haven't done what they have to do to get over being done wrong by a woman. We are bitches and control freaks..not to be trusted except in the role of fuckbuddy or friend, sometimes a nice easy combination of both. An old friend and I were chatting the other day about what I really want. "A husband?" he asked. Nope. "SugarDaddy!" Nah..that's just a joke that keeps me going during the perpetual lean times.

"You want love." Bingo. Ain't that what makes the world go round? According to Scott Peck, love is hard work. I'm not sure I'm up to it anymore. My inner child has had her ass kicked and embraced herself and now she's ready to be treated like a princess.

If the shoe fits, wear it I say.

just another day in paradise
faith babysittin' 2

Mama Ho cat has plenty of help with the babies this time around because Faith has adopted them as hers too. She's three and a half years old and has never been bred because, well. We're choosy about her boyfriends *wink* Her animal instinct tells her that she is meant to be a mother and she longs for it.

And yes, I do realize that the only pictures I've posted lately have been of my pets. That should speak volumes about my social life. Needless to say, neither Prince Charming OR SugarDaddy has shown up on the doorstep.

But then there's always tomorrow.
memoirs of a stealth smartass
I hope y'all enjoyed the victory celebrations last night. I went to bed not knowing who the winners were but I found out fairly quickly on the drive to work. The new mayor had a CONGRATULATIONS! sign plastered across the front of campaign headquarters downtown. A few blocks down, a newly elected alderman's front lawn sported a smiley face made out of his campaign signs. Don't you know it was a fun gig makin' that picture! After the election comes the hard part, which is putting feet and hands on the dreams of voters who worked for change slowly but surely over coffee and beer and breakfast, lunch and dinner for several years.

Back in the day, my youngest brother ran for county sheriff against the good 'old boy incumbent and almost won. I remember hoofing it through rural neighborhoods knocking on doors to ask for votes for the new guy. That he even came close to winning was a testament to the fact that Americans are slow to learn, but will eventually embrace change with open arms when they've got a belly full of crap.

A big shout out to my buddy Alan up in PA for getting rid of Rick Santorum. I met Alan right about the time I ran across South Knox Bubba when I first began b**ging years and YEARS ago.

Whaddya say Bubbba?

OK,Then. That's what Poopie sez.
moms just wanna have fun
cali's new litter

Are we having fun yet?
happy election eve
does this shirt make my butt look big
Butterbean tends to shiver and shake quite a bit so I got her a shirt at the MegaGiantSuperStore today when I went shopping for my Mom. Her list consisted of ten boxes of Crispix and two more items. The cashier just had to ask what the story was on all the cereal. I just shrugged and said " She doesn't want Daddy to run out!"

I don't know about y'all, but I'm sure glad that after tomorrow we won't have to listen to "....and I approve this message." This mid-term election campaign has been a particularly nasty one, especially so in my home state of Tennessee where the candidates in the Senate race are neck and neck and the mud has been slung so deep you need waders to get through it to the polls. Turnout for early voting has been heavy, and election day traffic is expected to be light. To me, this says that most people knew who they were voting for and got it done early.

My sqeaky voice has turned into full fledged laryngitis, so I reckon it wasn't caused by singin' Linda Ronstadt and the Dixie Chicks at the Kudzu bar. Got a nice little fever blister to "go with" so it's my first cold of the year. That's not too bad considering the year's almost over. Soon as the voice recovers, I'll be back singing Bonnie Raitt's "Let's Give 'Em Something to Talk About." I could do that one in my sleep :)

I apologize for not visiting all of you lately...sure do miss reading about what's up in your lives. I have decided that it's time to take care of myself a bit better and not sitting at the computer for hours is part of that promise. The lovely young lady who massaged the knots out of my back and neck last week would approve that bit of self-restraint. I'll pop up out of nowhere when you least expect it. Promise.

sister poopie jane

As I have said on more than one occasion, I never seem to make the right move when it comes to the mens. It's not that I don't know HOW to play the game, because I've seen it done enough times. I reckon the bottom line is that it seems like too much trouble to pretend to be a girly girl when I'm not. The potential is there, but the money to support that image is definitely not. Buying propane for the winter months takes priority over a new outfit every time, in my little world. I'm not a nagger...never have been. I've been a worrier and a fretter but never a nag. These days I don't even worry and fret over much. It seems that the older I get, the more petty the little things become until I just brush them away like you do a bug that's buzzin' around trying to get a rise out of you. Life is way too short to waste energy on being a drama queen after you get past junior high school.

The thing that baffles me is this..so many men say that they crave the company of a woman who doesn't expect them to do cartwheels and is pleasantly surprised when he does. They claim that women are nags and bitches and generally out to ruin their lives and cramp their styles. If they're not currently (unhappily) married to one like that, there's surely one in the past who did a number on him in the trust department making him emotionally unavailable to any gal who has something different to offer.

When I was young, I had this picture in my mind of what getting older would be like, and it was a whole lot like what I see with my Mama and Daddy right now. They sit in their personal recliners and nap when they feel like it and do whatever the heck they want while enjoying each others' company and allowing space for the other to continue to grow and change, even in their golden years. The traditions and family that have been their lives have been passed on to the next in line for safe-keeping, to be told again and again by the coming generations.

It's looking more and more like the old Poopster will be sittin' on the front porch in a solo rocker. Most of the time it doesn't bother me because life is rich and full of good friends and family and new adventures. Occasionally, though, there's a pang that comes out of nowhere and ends up in tears and sobbing over never knowing what true love is about.

And that, my friends, is why you can find me over at the nunnery.

kittens for sale free
Alas! The LSU tigers gave the UT Vols a run for the money and won. There was much cussing and impromptu coachin' up at the Kudzu bar this afternoon. Last I heard, it was all Fat Phils's fault. The way I see it, it just makes for something more exciting than slaughtering the opponent. Heh.

My voice is noticeably squeaky today after singing with Beverly and the Bevettes last night at the top of my lungs and vocal cords. When I went to bed there was one kitten snuggled up to MamaCali in the closet floor. She managed to deliver three more while I slept through labor. Animals are cool like that. They don't require epidurals and keep on trucking with what must be done to care for the litter.

Speaking of family drama...I've had more than my share lately. That's a story for another time but believe me, it's interesting.

Y'all keep the faith. ^j^
it's (NOT) all about me
Not today, anyway. Please go over and read about the week my friend Jules has had and help a girl out. Really. There's power in numbers.

porch with a view
cotton 06

That's not early snow you see over across Pecan Lane from my front porch...it's the last of this year's cotton crop. The pickers have been going almost around the clock and it's almost done for this season. The leaves have been more beautiful this year than any time in recent memory and they're at peak right now. Y'all get out there and roll around in 'em!
okay, so i lied
Back about a month ago the self-discipline required to be a bona-fide NaNoWriMo participant seemed well within reach for someone who is as prolific with words as I (sometimes) am. HOWEVER, November 1 dawned bright and early drizzly and cold only to find my resolve to write a novel in thirty days gone like the wind that blew the cold front in. What the hell was I thinking????? I haven't even managed a decent number of blog posts lately. Sooooooooo.....

Here's Plan B. NaBloPoMo is an alternative to torturing oneself with visions of grandeur like writing 50,000 words with some sort of plot. Instead, it simply involves a commitment to post to your blog every.single.day during National Blog Posting Month. Some days it may be nothing more than a picture, but I pledge to have something on here every day for your amusement if you take the time to visit.

Now, I can hear those of you in the back snickering about how you just KNEW I didn't have the guts to write a novel in 30 days. And to you, I say " Just wait 'til I find me a SugarDaddy and don't have to work the day job. Then, my pretties, you shall have your novel." Well, after the honeymoon, anyway.

Love ya....mean it. ^j^
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