Words Of A Southern Lady

The Mother Ship.... A Search For Her Captain

2012-01-05T08:46:00.000-08:00

I spent many years working in a high school and like all places of employment it had it's share of "crazies". To be honest there were times when I suspect we had more than our fair share of them.

Now, let me say for the record, I am talking only about co-workers, not students, and I do not mean Crazy in a Mental illness sort of way. I mean it in an "extremely odd bird" sort of way.

Now if you worked with me, you know deep in your heart that I am right about this, and in fact, you would have to admit that you have worked with, or at least met some of these people.

During my years, at this high school, I worked directly with a wonderful Lady who I became friends with and in fact remain friends with today. When we were working together we had a few conversations about the "crazies".

One day, after an encounter with one of them, I said to my friend, "You know, I think one day the Mother ship is going to just land right out back on the 50 yard line of the football field, and they are going to just start walking out the doors in droves to get on board.".

This whole concept led us to a new conversation, in which we decided we would try to determine who would be the Captain of said Mother ship. The leader among the "crazies" so to speak.

Now I will tell you there were many people to choose from, so we were aware that it wasn't going to be an easy feat, but at any rate the search began. As we had conversations with some of the candidates we would do things as we walked away like look at each other and simply say "Captain."

A firm decision on a winner seemed as if it could not be reached, however, because one crazy continued to top another with their behavior, thoughts, and ideas almost daily.

Then one day, when I was least expecting it, it happened. I found her, or maybe I should say she found me. I was outside walking around the track, and I was joined by a female substitute teacher, that I had never met before.

I introduced myself and she did the same. We began talking and suddenly she just looked at me and said "Sometimes I pretend that all of the food on my plate are the people, and my mouth is the space ship, and I open my mouth and let all of the people in."

My response was "Wow"...Really?? Well now, that sounds like a really fun game. It was nice to meet you, but I do have to be getting back to class now."

Having excused myself from the conversation, don't you just know, that I all but killed myself flying back to the room. I burst in the door, and said to my co-worker, "The search is over!! I found her!! Hands down! No question! It is over!! She is a blonde, she is out there on the track right now as I speak, and she has come for her people!!"

I said let me back up and tell you what just happened. I filled my friend in on everything that the woman had said to me and within seconds we were in full agreement that I had indeed solved the mystery. We spent the rest of our afternoon listening for the landing of the Mother ship.

Although we never actually heard it land, I feel that it must have. Perhaps sometime during a hot summers night, because I can report that the next school year several of the "crazies" did not return, and I never saw their Captain again either.

To be honest sometimes I feel a little crazy myself. I think we all do. I know there are times when I chuckle, and think...

Have mercy.... I should have just gotten on board.

"Stuck"

2011-12-16T17:25:00.000-08:00

Let me just start by saying that I realize that I write quite a bit about my husband but please understand that with the material he provides I am honestly unable to help myself.

That being said I have another story to tell involving him. One afternoon, as I pulled into the driveway from work, I was thinking the usual things, how tired I was, what to do for dinner, and how glad I was to be home. Well let me just say that on this particular afternoon those thoughts were short lived.

I say this because as I was coming to the top of the driveway I could hear yelling coming from inside the garage. I had no idea what was going on, only that it was my husbands voice. As I began to exit the car I could see that he was on his cell phone.

When I got closer to where my husband was standing I could hear what he was shouting. He said , and I quote, "Ma'am, I AM AN ADULT!!"

After I was finally able to wrap my mind around the fact that this was actually happening, I just looked at him and said "Give me the phone." He looked at me and mouthed "I've got this, while simultaneously pointing to his free hand and attempting to show me something about his fingers".

I replied, "Evidently you do not have this. Hand me the phone." He reluctantly placed the phone in my hand.

After saying hello, and engaging in a brief conversation with the woman on the other end of the line, I was able to ascertain three things.

1. My husband had evidently super glued his fingers together, and was in the process of trying to secure some help for himself.

2. He had done so by contacting poison control.

3. He was in such a state of panic about the glue on his hands, that the woman he was talking to assumed that he was a young boy, and so she had asked him if there was an adult in the home that she could speak with.

You might wonder if I explained to the woman that she was dealing with a 40 something year old man. The answer to that is, no I did not.

I assured her that an adult had arrived, and that things were under control. I then thanked her for her help, and hung up the phone.

I then asked my husband, in my mother voice, if he had completely lost his mind. He mumbled something about not knowing what to do, and I said follow me.

He followed me into the house, where I retrieved a cotton ball and some nail polish remover from my vanity, and began to clean his fingers with it. I followed that up with some warm soapy water, and like magic, he was again a candidate for mittens.

After forming a rescue for him I sat him down and we had a talk, wherein I explained that in the future, should he find himself in a non life threatening situation, it would be perfectly acceptable for a man his age to try and problem solve on his own without contacting any outside resources.

I gave him an example of why he should try to save himself in the future. I told him that a baby could have ingested poison at the same time he glued his fingers together, in which case the mother would have needed immediate help.

I further explained that she might not have been able to get that help, if he had the phone line to poison control tied up over a little super glue.

He admitted that he may have over reacted, and said that he was just glad that it was over. Lord, I'm glad he got that behind him too. My relief is almost tangible.

I do find myself wondering, at times, as I back out of our driveway without him, if it's a good idea to leave him unattended. The thing that helps me with that concern, however, is just recalling the memory of that day and hearing him shouting at the lady from poison control.. "Ma'am, I am an adult!"

I mean adults can be left alone...right???

Running Is For The Chosen...Myself? I Wasn't Chosen

2011-11-30T06:08:00.000-08:00

When I was in high school, I had a coach that was relentless about my running during the fifty minutes each day that I was forced to spend with him. We would all dress out in those wonderful gym shorts and t-shirts and hit the track.

I admit I abhorred it, but being the good student that I was, I made an effort to run when I was told. Okay, it may have been a slow trot, but there was effort.

After all, there was the preservation of my cosmetics to be considered. I mean good Lord.. What girl wants to go to her next class with mascara running down her overheated red face, hair gone wild, and smelling like the great outdoors?

Was that ever good enough for this man? Nooo it was not. He would run behind me and yell wonderful things like "Arlene/Darlene! Pick up those knees!!"

You see, I have a twin sister. The coach had her in his class during another period of the day, and I'm not sure if it was that it was more convenient for him, or if it would have put him on academic overload to get to know us and address us as individuals, but either way, He chose instead to just combine our names. Nice.

This torture went on until one day when I was with my counselor and we were choosing my classes for the next year and she asked me the most wonderful question I had ever heard.."P.E. or Music?" I was so thrilled, I was stunned into a momentary silence.

When I found my voice, I said "Do you mean that I have a choice next year?" She said "Yes, that's right." Lord have mercy I think I heard the angels singing in that moment it was so glorious.

Well I just about yelled out the word music at the poor woman. She then asked "Band or Chorus?". I had a fleeting thought about band, but there were a few problems with that choice.

1. I had never even so much has played that little plastic flute thing they give you in elementary school.

2. The only instruments I had heard of girls playing at that time were flutes and clarinets, and those would just make putting on lip gloss pointless.

3. You had to perform at halftime during football games making socialization impossible.

4. The uniforms looked hot and unflattering. Decision made! Chorus it was!!

Fast forward a few years. I had gotten married and had my daughter. I was back in shape and feeling pretty good about it. I had been walking for several miles each day, and riding a stationary bike as well. That's when I heard that coach in the back of my mind saying "Arlene/Darlene! Pick up those knees!"

Suddenly I thought, I can run. I just wasn't interested in it during school because it was hot, and I would ruin my makeup before my next class. That did it. I was on a mission. I got in the car and went right to the mall. I purchased some very cute, yet proper, running attire and I went back home and I suited up.

I marched myself into the den and said to my husband "Let's go". He asked "Where are we going?" I replied "we are going over to the high school. I am going to run around the track."

When he grew tired of laughing, he drove me to the school. I walked over to the track and he propped himself against our car and prepared to watch.

I was so clueless! I had no idea that you should stretch before you ran, or that you might want to pace yourself. I took off full throttle and began my run.

One quarter of the way around the track I found myself doubled over with severe side pain and gasping for breath. I was so upset. I mean I was in shape, or so I thought. I was twenty something!! What in the world was the problem?

Well, at that point my husband asked, while laughing shamelessly, if I was alright. I had no choice but to shout, between my gasps for air, "Just get the car." As I stood there waiting for the car to arrive, my intense side pain subsided, and I was able to regain the ability to draw breath.

It was at that point that I had an epiphany. I wasn't meant to be a runner! Period! I wasn't chosen to run. I don't have the God given talent to be a runner. It's as simple as that.

It wasn't me that had suffered the confusion about the whole running concept back on that same track years before. It was my Coach. I now believe that man actually thought that I had the ability to run....Bless his heart...

That was about 26 years ago. I have never attempted to run again, and unless I sense imminent danger I don't foresee it happening in my future. What with my not having any talent for it and all. I do, however, appreciate the effort of the runners I see out on the roads when I am in the car, and I think to myself...Yes sir..they've got a God given talent....I wonder if they know?

Mr. Romance Strikes Again

2011-09-20T17:50:00.001-07:00

I have written, on more than one occasion, about my husbands lack of romantic ability, but this week he said something that prompted me to have to do so again.

Now you might be thinking that I'm expecting some mushy over the top romantic candlelit dinners, or flowers being sent on no special occasion, and that kind of thing. I can assure you that I'm not expecting any of that. I am a realist, who happens to be no where near delusional.

When I say that my husband lacks romance, I mean the man doesn't have a romantic bone in his entire body. To give you an idea let me present you with a few of the past incidents as evidence of this fact.

Here goes..He took me to the movies twice in one week and actually skipped a seat between us both times. There have been numerous Valentines day cards that he has given me over the years that were completely void of any reference to love or romance whatsoever. (Yes, they actually make them.) One that comes to mind said "On this Valentines Day I just wanted to tell you how I feel. That was on the front of the card, and inside it said.. "I feel fine.".

Good Lord the man can't even play along with holiday rules. I haven't been kissed under mistletoe since I married him. Last year I even hung a sign in my office at home that said Mistletoe testing done here...hint hint. I got nothing.

One evening I completely lost my mind and suggested that we make a calendar appointed date night once a week. He responded with "Why do I need to take you on a date? We've been married for twenty something years.

Yes, as you can probably already tell my husband is just full of cupid inspired remarks. A virtual fountain of love.

Anyway, on to what great thing he said this week. We were lying in bed and about to go to sleep and I looked at him and said "It bothers me that you never kiss me goodnight".

I want you to know that he looked at me and without any hesitation whatsoever, answered with a remark that was so intelligent, if I didn't know he had gone on to the hereafter, I would have thought I was sleeping with Einstein himself.

He said "It's implied". What?? Who being told that someone would like to be kissed goodnight says off of the top of their head "It's implied."?? Are you kidding me??

I was stunned into silence. I thought right then and there that of all the great things he has said to me in the twenty something years of our marriage this one was the winner.

Do you think that he laughed or bothered to say he was kidding...Oh no. He meant it. He actually thought he had given me a suitable answer. When I found my voice I said "Wow. So an implied kiss is the same as one that involves actual physical contact. Honey, you might not believe this, but I had no idea.".

We went to sleep as usual, without the goodnight kiss, but I couldn't help thinking that if a kiss could be "implied" then so could other things....

I had no idea that for years I could have been responding with "oh that? It's implied."...

Packing My Bags

2011-09-07T15:59:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, and the school bell rang to signal that Summer was here, I only thought about one thing. How fast could I get my bags packed to go and stay with my Grandparents? My twin sister and I went every summer.

They lived in a house in what is now known as the “Historic Grant Park district” of Atlanta. The house sat up on a hill and was complete with a front porch that provided me with a place to make more treasured memories than I can even begin to count. There was a glider, two of those wonderful metal chairs that everyone had back then, and of course, a front porch swing.

Upon my arrival, I would race up the two flights of stairs that led to that porch, throw open the screen door, which would inevitably slam shut behind me, and run in the house like I was on fire, because I just knew they were going to be thrilled by my presence. My grandparents and my Aunt, that lived with them,would then respond by giving me hugs and kisses and acting like I was the best thing since sliced bread.

Those weeks were filled with so much fun and what seemed to me like endless days of adventure. I woke up in the mornings to the smell of my Granny frying bacon, eggs and making buttermilk pancakes, and was hummed to sleep at night by the sound of a window fan out in the kitchen that drew cool air through the house.

Every Monday was grocery store and drugstore day. My grandparents kept a schedule that rarely varied. One Monday we went to the grocery store and Granny said “When we're done here I'll take you next door and get you something.”. Next door was a Sunshine department store, and I knew what I wanted.

My sister went directly to the toy department, like most children would do, but not me. I went straight for the cosmetics. I found some light blue eye shadow, of the crème type, and I proceeded to beg for it.

I say beg, because my Grandfather called it war paint, and my Granny never wore it, nor cared for it herself, so they weren't in favor of making such a purchase. I can still hear her saying to me “Powder and paint make you what you ain't.”. She said “That mess will ruin your skin, and you don't need it.”.

It took me a few minutes, but when we left Sunshine's I had my eyeshadow and couldn't wait to get home to a mirror. I ran in the door and straight to my Aunt's vanity where I applied a very generous amount, and just knew that it looked amazing.

Less than 30 minutes later I had blisters that ran all the way across my eyelids from an allergic reaction, caused by my adolescent attempt at “beautiful”. I cried and carried on and the tears were not good... Lord have mercy did they burn. My Granny was a smart woman.

I did many things when I was at my grandparents house. To many to list here, but I am going to share a few.

There was a field beside the house where wild violets grew in deep purple, lavender and white. I would spend hours out in that field picking them until I'd have so many my hand could hardly close around them. I would bring them in and put them in glasses of water and place them in every room in the house. I still love violets today.

We'd sit on the front porch in the afternoons working puzzles on a card table or shelling/hulling purple peas, and snapping pole beans into bowls for supper. We'd talk about what we thought the trees across the street that were wrapped in kudzu vines looked like, or what the cloud shapes reminded us of.

I also learned to knit sitting on that front porch. My Granny was right handed and I was left handed, so it was a struggle, but she managed to teach me, and I loved it. I would sit for hours and knit. My Grandfather loved to tease me. I remember every time that I walked by him that Summer he would say “knit one, pearl two.”

Many old “Southern Sayings” were spoken and learned on that porch as well. I heard things like someone was “so stuck up if it rained they'd drowned”, and the sight of gray clouds brought “It's come up a cloud”...meaning a storm had blown in.

I have heard it said that someone was “no count”. This meant that the person was not making any sort of contribution to society whatsoever.

I heard “Lazy man's load” meaning trying to carry everything in one trip, when it should take several, or “poor to carry it” meaning someone was small for the load they were carrying. This could also be said about a small person if they had eaten more than it looked like they could hold.

The most important lesson I was taught by one of my Granny's sayings was without a doubt “Can't never could do nothing.”. Meaning if you said you couldn't then you never would because you were self defeating with your own words before you ever got started.

A close second I think would have to be that “You are judged by the company you keep.”'. My Mama reiterated this one and as an adult I know now that they were so right.

I was also taught that “A bird don't fly so high, it doesn't have to come down for water.”. This one meant simply that everyone needs someone at one time or another in their life. It took me a few years of growing up to understand that one, but now I totally get it.

The front porch was also a place for history lessons. I learned so much just sipping my sweet tea and listening to them talk. They told of how they met, they told stories of their parents, siblings, cousins, and friends, along with many other great stories of family and times gone by.

When my first love broke up with me, I was in high school. I was like just about every other girl, always applying my makeup, heavy on the lip gloss, rolling my hair with hot curlers, and wearing my perfume, but when we broke up, I was devastated. Near grown or not, I needed to be babied again, so I packed my bags and ran straight to Granny's house.

That's right I was going where there was no makeup required, sundresses and bare feet were accepted, and hair that was air dried, curly and wild was actually called beautiful. I needed love, rest, and to lick my wounds.

When I got there I was met with a hug and my Granny saying “Forget about him. Your backside would make him a Sunday face”... this reminded me that humor is also healing. Between the feeling of love and the humor that was provided, Granny's house gave me more inner healing than any spa in Buckhead could have.

I loved that house and front porch, and I loved the people who lived there. There was no better place for me than my grandparents house. There was a feeling of love, security, and peace there that was so strong it was close to tangible.

If you walked in feeling lonely or unloved they gave you their love, reminded you that Jesus was always with you and that you had his love. You left knowing you were wrong for thinking there was a lack of love in your life.

If you came in hungry you left full..(My Granny could stretch a meal like you wouldn't believe. I often joke that on any given Sunday she was like Jesus and the fish. No matter how many people walked in unexpected, after church, she fed everyone and there were leftovers.

The three people who lived there gave me so much more than they were ever aware of. They have, as my Granny would say, “Gone on to be with the Lord.”, and There are new residents in the house these days. I can only hope that they take time to sit and talk on the porch and learn a few things from each other.

As for me, there have been many times when I would love to pack my bags and run back to that house and the people who once lived there.

The knowledge that it is no longer possible has caused more than a few tears to spill onto my cheeks, but if I close my eyes and listen...

I can still hear that window fan humming, see a little girl among a field of violets, hear that screen door slam,and feel an unconditional love surround me......

Dick Clark, Juan Ponce de Leon, & My Husband

2011-08-07T14:50:00.000-07:00

I have written several blogs, and the topics have been varied. However, there is one topic that I seem to write more about than any other. The topic that I am referring to is my husband. God love him, he gives me such great material that I can't help but write about him. This week has been no exception, so here goes....

He is forever asking sales clerks, and other random people, that don't know him, how old they think he is. I have to admit that 99.9 percent of the time they guess him to be at least ten years younger than his actual age.

I usually just keep my mouth shut, and walk away, although he doesn't necessarily deserve this kindness from me. I say this because when he speaks about my being in my forties, he makes me sound as if I'm about as useful, at this point, as a trap door in the bottom of a canoe.

Anyway... this past week he asked a sales woman to guess his age and Lord help me she gave him an answer of 32 years. He is 50..I thought I was going to have to stick a pin in his head just so he could get back in the car.

My first thought was to say yes he's 32 and you can go home with him if you'd like because I am not going to be able to tolerate living with him after your genius estimation. I mean really, this woman should work in an amusement park, or traveling fair. I'm just saying, with that kind of talent her working in retail sales is nothing more than a pure crying shame.

It's not that I am jealous, although I can't say I wouldn't love to look 32 myself. It's just that hearing it from him so much has become insufferable. I finally just went ahead and diagnosed him with "Dick Clark Syndrome" and asked him if we could just leave it at that.

I have no illusions about not looking my age. I know perfectly well that I do. I will also admit to buying every kind of youth serum and skin cream known to man and I will continue to do so, but I am well aware that I am not going to win that battle.

My husband, on the other hand, walks around like his bff is Juan Ponce de Leon, and they just had lunch and it included plenty of drinking water straight from the fountain. He's as delusional about his age as I would be if I thought that every time I sprayed my Este Lauder Youth Dew perfume on it took ten years off of mine.

Okay so now that I've explained the situation and what I'm dealing with I have to give it to him...He does actually look younger than he is by more than just a couple of years...

I do wish that he could find it in his heart to cut me a little slack about my age...I mean he may be Dick Clark on the outside, but I know his secrets...

You see...It's my reading glasses that he reaches for when we are in a restaurant and he would like to actually see a menu...It's me that knows he likes himself an occasional nap, and it's me that helps him celebrate those birthdays he has every June that pushes his chronological age further and further away from that 30 mark...

Let me just leave him with this...Honey you might be the keeper of youth, but as you continue to get older..never forget that I am the keeper of your secrets...

"I Am Reminded"

2011-05-11T08:17:00.000-07:00

The past two months have been relatively stressful for me. I was sitting at my desk one night, deep in thought, or at least as deep in thought as I can get, about Lord only knows what, when I propped my chin in my hand.

Just as soon as my chin begin to rest there, I felt suddenly alarmed. Alarmed because I felt a knot in the right side of my neck.

I sat there stunned for a minute, and then I got up and went into the living room where my husband was sitting. I told him about my discovery and he said he'd go with me to the doctor to have it looked at.

My Doctor put me on antibiotics and said he thought it was just a swollen lymph node. He said to come back after I had finished taking the prescription that he gave me.

Well.. as the run of antibiotics began nearing the end, I knew that they hadn't worked. The lump was in fact much bigger than when I had gone to the doctor initially.

The second appointment day came and as soon as my doctor felt my neck, he looked me right in the eyes and said "Oooh this is not normal". "I am sending you to a specialist" Wow..nothing like someone shooting from the hip..especially when they are telling you what you don't want to hear..

This led to CTs, ultrasounds, thyroid tests, blood tests and every other kind of test you can think of. They were all scheduled very quickly and I heard the word stat much more often than I cared to.

My husband attended these appointments with me, but he didn't have near the anxiety that I had about it all. I know this because he was doing things at the appointments like reading children's books with titles like Peek-A-Boo I See You, while we were in the exam room.

I can also report that he was captured in photographs wearing a bright blue latex glove... on his head. If memory serves me correctly there are at least three different poses.

The specialist my primary care doctor had referred me to was an ENT who performed a biopsy on my first visit to his office. I waited for the results for two weeks and they were determined to be inconclusive..I went back to the Doctor and had a second biopsy and waited again...results?? Yep...ditto..inconclusive...

At this point the ENT called and told me that I needed surgery to remove the mass. I said are you sure? Like he might not have been???....He then assured me that he was, and said that it would be in my best interest.

My surgery was scheduled for May the 4Th and my anxiety level sky rocketed to the point of waking me up during what little sleep I was managing to get. Now don't get me wrong, I am a christian and I gave my worries to God several times about this whole thing, but Bottom line.... I was horrified at the thought of having my neck cut open.

I discussed this with my doctor to such great length that I believe my medical chart now reads diagnosis.."White Coat Syndrome". Evidently that is an actual diagnosis for people, such as myself, who are neurotic, and behave as I do when they are in the presence of their physician.

The surgeon I see is a wonderful Doctor and human being. I know the wonderful doctor part to be true, because I googled him. That's right... I did. I mean you have to investigate someone who is going to have a scalpel and be working that near your carotid artery and jugular vein right?

Upon my investigation, I discovered that he was a Yale graduate with 34 years experience and no history of malpractice suits..Awesome...

I say that he is a wonderful human being because he spent time with me...lots of time... During one of my appointments he was actually in the exam room with me for an hour. He answered my crazy questions and tried his very best to calm my concerns.

This man even listened intently as I explained to him that I would really appreciate him making the incision in one of my forty something year old neck wrinkles, so that it would be less visible when I wear my pearls.

He smiled at me, and then, with the patience of Job, responded by saying that he would be happy to pinch up my skin and see what he could do...I'm not trying to sound like a terrible person full of vanity, but it doesn't hurt to ask..right??

Well the surgery day, and hospital stay came and went. The tube has been removed and the bandage is off. The prayers of my family and friends were answered when my pathology report came back to reveal that this was not Cancer.

There is nothing that I can write here that could begin to cover the way the out pouring of care and concern and prayers for me made me feel. I am overcome with emotion when I think about it.

I will be honest and say that when I looked in the mirror the first time, tears fell...

They fell for the all of the love that came my way, for all of the anxiety I had suffered, for the pain, and for the relief of my test results, but most of all, for God answering prayers for me yet again...

You see this isn't my first scare, and the last time I just prayed for God to let me live long enough to see my children grow up. My baby is twenty years old now, and during all of this, I kept thinking this could very well be all that I get.

I am very appreciative of the years that I have been given so far, and Lord I don't mean to sound selfish, but I do want to see my grand babies grow up.

To be totally honest with you my tears also fell because I am human, and the red slash mark that is the visible evidence of all that I have gone through is a bit hard for me to look at....

My surgeon did an excellent job, and the scar will be in a crease and will eventually fade to virtually invisible. I am grateful for that. What will not fade for me, however, is the memory of the many prayers, calls, concerns and I love yous, that were sent my way during this time..

I am reminded by all of this to live life, and that in love, family, and friendships...God has made me a very rich woman...

" A Camel? In A Pickup Truck? Only My Husband"

2011-04-14T13:30:00.000-07:00

I realize that I have written previously about my husbands antique collecting and treasure hunting, but today I feel moved to do so again. I feel this way because just when I thought it wasn't possible, he has outdone himself.

Last week, he went out on a search and find mission. He purchased himself a camel that was, so I am told, used as a prop in a show that was put on in a much earlier decade.

I do not mean just some small camel like you would see in a manger scene in front of a church at Christmas time. Oh no....keep in mind we are talking about MY husband.

This camel is very large, and when I say very large I mean VERY large, as in about 12feet high, give or take a few inches.

After making said purchase, my husband and brother loaded this camel in the bed of our Ford F-150 pick-up truck and proceeded home at what I am sure was a very slow rate.

As luck would have it, when he turned onto our street, I just happened to be glancing out the front window of our home. Needless to say, it crossed my mind, like Aunt Pittypat from Gone With The Wind, to ask my son to get me my smelling salts.

When he came into the house, my husband and I had a small discussion wherein I tried to obtain some understanding on why one would make such a "great purchase", but when I failed miserably to reach such an understanding, I gave up, and retired to our bedroom....but this story gets much better...

The next morning I was sitting at my desk at school, waiting on the students to arrive, when I received a phone call from my cousin, who by the way, had seen the camel in the back of the truck the night it was purchased. It seems my husband had stopped by to see her and my aunt and uncle on his way home.

She asked me if I had a minute. I said that I did. She said "I would like to read you something".

She went on to say, this is from a Butts County newspaper, and began to read...it went something like...I know work was hard this week, but I swear I just saw a camel going through town in the back of a pickup truck.

This statement made by a citizen, was located on the front page of the paper she was reading from, however, if you take the time to open the paper the individual goes on to say that they do believe they need an alcoholic beverage....

Well, let me just say.....Not as badly as I do...

Lord, try as I might, I cannot for the life of me understand why my marriage certificate did not come with some sort of a warning label. It should have said something like This man is prone to buying vintage items both large and small and will be bringing them to your home....constantly...

It could have been typed in or put there in the form of a sticker like they do when they put warnings on medications...but no....I was blind sided....

Most of the time I just smile and I am very happy that he has found something that he loves to do, now that he is retired from the police department. I mean 27 or so years of protecting and serving is quite a bit.

Every now and then, however, when he does something of this magnitude, I have to say that it's hard not to just ask him to hand over all of his cash and his debit card, and declare him to dangerous to have them....

I just got off the phone with him a few minutes ago, and he informed me that he visited the newspaper office today. The one that wrote about the camel in our truck. He said he was actually "interviewed" for lack of a better word, about the camel and its origin. He also said that he supplied them with a photo.

I didn't want to have to move and change my name...

"In Front Of My Doctor? Really?"

2011-03-12T06:45:00.001-08:00

The other day, I had to make a doctors appointment because I have a swollen lymph node in my neck. I prayed, and tried every home remedy you could think of first, because I had rather be beaten than go to the doctor. I have post traumatic stress from a childhood injury which led to the "White Coat Syndrome" that I now have as an adult.

At any rate, I called and made myself an appointment while I was at work. I didn't want to go, but since I knew that I had to go, I made a great decision... I decided that I would drive home first and pick my husband up so that I wouldn't be alone if they diagnosed me with something devastating. What in the name of the good Lord was I thinking?

My first clue that taking him with me might not be the brightest idea I've ever had, came in the form of a statement he made on the way there. He looked at me, very seriously, and said "Did you know that if something happens to you before it does me my pension amount will go up?" What? Really??

We arrived on time and everything was going fine in the waiting room, but when they called my name to come back, it was like someone whispered in his ear "it's showtime."

He began by giving the nurse too much information about himself and the overall conversation that he had with her resulted in my usually low blood pressure reading 155/99.

I politely ask that he refrain from talking for a few minutes and my blood pressure was brought under control by a combination of my deep breathing, and my ability to go somewhere else in my mind.

The problem was, just as soon as we were left alone in the exam room it was evidently time for Act II.

He sat on the stool the doctor uses, which of course was on wheels and began to use his body weight and arms to roll all over the room without his feet touching the floor. He did this pausing only long enough to snatch the instrument they use to examine your ears off the wall, where it was hanging, to take it along for the ride.

After almost falling from the stool backwards, and cracking his head open in the process, you would think that he would have needed an intermission, but oh no..this caused laughter which brought him to tears....

Enter the doctor stage left......The doctor began by asking me all of the routine questions that I expected. I was answering them, and praying for silence from the peanut gallery, when I was asked the one question that my husband couldn't seem to let go by without answering for me.

The doctor said Do you have multiple sex partners Mrs. Foster? To which I immediately replied no, and then the peanut gallery chimed in. He said, very seriously, excuse me doctor, but she does go missing on the weekends.

I wanted the floor to just swallow me up, then and there. When it became apparent that this wasn't going to happen, I just repeated my answer and said no I do not have multiple partners. Thankfully, the doctor moved on..The doctor then said So he is your only partner?

As you can imagine there was a hard pause...Lord, at that point my husband was acting so unbelievable that I wanted to say no...I lied..there is someone else, and I do go missing on the weekends....I didn't of course, but I do believe the doctor would have understood.

You would think that all of that would have been quite enough, but no it wasn't...
The King of comedy just kept it coming...

The doctor began to explain to me what he thought was wrong. He said, Mrs. Foster I'm not sure, but this could be from a cold you have had recently, or it could just be an infection in your lymph node....

Well that did it. Just as soon as the doctor had spoken the word infection I heard my husband say "Infection?" I kiss her. There was dead silence in the room...The next comment he made was even better...."He looked right at the doctor and he said, with alarm in his voice, "You know I don't mean just a peck!...I mean, I've had my tongue in her mouth!"

At that point I almost blacked out...I have never been more mortified in my entire life. When I could focus again, I looked right at my husband and I mouthed silently to him these words.."I want you out of here now." As you might have guessed he remained in the room acting as if he had no idea what I had tried to convey to him.

I could not get my throat culture done, or my antibiotic prescription in my hand fast enough. As we were leaving he looked at the doctor and said so you want us to come back in 10 days if this medicine doesn't take care of it. Right? I remained silent, the doctor said yes, and the visit was over.

When we were finally in the truck with the doors closed, I looked at him, and said with the utmost sincerity..."I now know for sure that you are delusional." He then asked me what I meant. I, in turn, had a question. I said did you not hear yourself say the word "us" in reference to a return visit to the doctor?

He responded with a yes, and I said then let me give you some clarification on the matter...

If you think for one minute I would go back into a doctors office with you at my side, you are beyond insane. You are, in fact, so certifiable that you should actually walk around with papers in your hand stating that fact..

I mean I love this man y'all, but I have decided that he really should come with some sort of a warning label....It could read something like:

Warning: Prone to blurting out uncensored thoughts that are at times inappropriate, and performs random dance moves and stunts,both privately and in public, while wearing one of a kind outfit creations....

"White Rabbits And Other Treasures"

2011-02-27T05:18:00.001-08:00

This morning I opened the door that leads from inside our home to the garage and the first thing I saw was a very large white rabbit. For a fleeting moment I thought my name was Alice, and I had fallen into a hole, but before I began to spin hopelessly out of control, I spotted the over sized operating room lamp from the 1940's standing next to it. I knew then that I was in fact not Alice, but that my husband had been out buying antiques again.

After further investigation, I learned that the white rabbit was actually a prop for the Ice Capades in the 1940's or 50's..along with the stage lights and costumes that were lying beside said rabbit.

I was also informed that people who decorate lofts are loving these old operating room lamps for corners of their rooms. I had no idea. Evidently I live under a rock...

My husband has been buying and selling antiques for years. He keeps some pieces that we like, and resells others. He loves it, and he has been able to do this while making a profit most of the time.

The things he brought home when he was still working at the police department were few in number, but now that he's retired he has filled a rented storage unit, and the phrase that seems to fit our garage these days is "cut a path". I mean it looks like there was a taping of Antique Roadshow going on and someone ran amuck.

Antiquing has other downfalls that one may not think about right away. For instance, the other night he came walking in with a box full of things to look through. When he sat it down on the floor a bug came crawling out that I could not even begin to identify. Once he had taken care of the bug, I sent him and his little treasure box right back out the door. I have since created a check point at the door that leads out to our garage and have informed him of its hours of operation.

Don't get me wrong, I have an appreciation for certain antiques, and he has brought home some really neat things, like an original program from the Gone With The Wind premiere, which I love, and an actual column from when the restoration of the Fox Theatre in Atlanta was done.

There have also been things like really old letters and postcards from the early 1800's that were very fascinating to read.

It makes me happy that he has something to do that he enjoys so much. I just think maybe he should be a bit more selective in what he brings home. I mean a large white rabbit? Seriously?

Please believe me when I tell you that the white rabbit only scratches the surface of his "purchases".

This man has brought home things that even he can't identify by name, use, or purpose, as well as some that can be identified, but I have been unable to grasp the need for. We are talking about a man who once bought a pair of antique bowling shoes complete with size on the back, and actually wore them downtown to the Phillips Arena for a Thrashers game. Oh yes, as a bonus, he is at all times a man of great style and fashion sense.

There are also times that I find myself thinking that it would be nice if I could go out and get into the truck without having to call him to unload it first...you see the thing is I have no intention whatsoever of driving around town looking like I just drove straight out of an episode of Sanford And Son.

Speaking of the truck, I do also happen to know that he, at some point, came across some old 96 Rock stickers. I know this because I spotted the one that he has recently applied to the bumper of our truck. 96 Rock was a very popular radio station here in Atlanta during the late 1970's. It was what my husband listened to when he was in high school..Rock On!!

Like I said before, I appreciate some antiques myself, but Lord have mercy on a wife who has to make old bowling shoes disappear, and weave her way through white rabbits and operating room lamps just to get into her vehicle so she can leave for work every morning...

"Playing To An Audience Of One"

2011-02-10T18:12:00.001-08:00

I have learned quite a few things about my husband in the many years that we've been married, among them being that he enjoys providing me with entertainment.

I'm not talking about the movies, or the fact that he takes me to plays and dancing. In fact, Jesus will come before he does any of those things with me.

The entertainment I'm referring to is very sporadic and random, and consists of singing and dancing. Sometimes one, sometimes the other, or at times these talents can be seen simultaneously.

Be advised the shows start whenever the spirit moves him, and let me just say that the spirit moves him both at home, and in the public. The timing evidently cannot be controlled.

I will share with you a few examples of how random these performances can be. He has been known to dance and sing across the catwalk in our former home in what I can only compare to a risky business "outfit" minus the shades.

On another occasion we were at the grocery store, and as we were strolling down the cereal aisle he suddenly snatched up a box of pop tarts and began a little song and dance routine like he had been hired by the Kellogg's Company and placed in their advertising department.

Needless to say I immediately sped up with the shopping cart, but as I was leaving him behind he shouted out "Ma'am, Ma'am..if you leave I have to start the whole routine over again...There were many onlookers.... I was mortified...him? Not at all..

One afternoon as I was coming home from work he called and asked me where I was. I told him that I was driving home, and he said "Just listen to this"...

The next thing I heard was a rather loud rendition of When A Man Loves A Woman, and it was my husband singing it. I have to admit it made me smile and upon hearing some of the notes even chuckle. When I finally arrived home that day I learned that he had, in his spare time,discovered Karaoke on demand.

Just the other day I was sitting in my office, drinking my first cup of coffee of the morning, when suddenly there he was in front of my desk. He began to sing....
very loudly....He stood there doing his best Bob Seger imitation. He was pouring his heart and soul into Turn The Page. It was 8:30 A.M. on a Saturday morning....

At first...I just sat there and stared at him...with what I am sure, was a look of disbelief on my face...A look that most assuredly asked, Seriously? Is this happening right now?

I then had a fleeting thought about the You Tube potential, but it passed as quickly as it came. This thought was followed by my thinking I am married to a man with a mind that is considerably unstable..

But as the song went on and I began to relax a bit with the aid of the laughter his performance brought me.... I couldn't help but think how very happy I am to be married to a man that thinks I am worth the time and effort he spends on these many occasions ..

The occasions when the spirit moves him and he's "playing to an audience of one"......

"Mama Tucked Me In"

2011-01-16T11:38:00.000-08:00

This past week we had a winter storm that left us with very cold temperatures and lots of Ice on the ground. As luck would have it my heat was out at my house and due to ice on the roads causing business closings, the repairman couldn't get the part that was needed to fix it.

My husband was out of town so that left me and my son at home, and I will tell you it was just to cold to stay. I have the most loving family that anyone could hope to be blessed with so my sister and her husband were kind enough to take us in for a few days.

When we got there I was very happy to see that my Mama had also come down from Athens, GA and was there to stay through the storm as well.

We all got along very well and it was so nice to spend such quality time with each other laughing and talking over cup after cup of coffee, and enjoying good old fashion dinners cooked by Mama.

The time seemed to go by so quickly with one day leading into the next, and before I knew it, four days had gone by and it was time to go home.

When I finally left my sister's house on Wednesday, however, It was with an amazing gift from my Mama. It was the gift of a memory that I will cherish until I draw my last breath. A reminder of the unconditional love of a mother for her children.

I was downstairs on my sisters couch about to fall asleep. It was going to be the first night I had slept without a heating blanket because I had let my son use it.

My Mama came in, and I felt her putting another blanket on top of me and she literally tucked me in. She said, "This is a new blanket I brought with me. I've never even used it." I put my hand over hers and I said Mama, you are so sweet to think about me, and she said "I was afraid you'd get cold down here, and it's what Mama's do."

I'm forty something years old and it's been a long long time since my Mama tucked me in. In that moment she gave me a glimpse back into my childhood. It was complete with the feeling that I was safe from the world and that everything was okay because my Mama was in charge and because she loved me.

When I was leaving on Wednesday she handed me that blanket, and she said you keep this and I looked at her and I said "Mama this is a treasure and I will cherish it always." I explained to her then just how much it had meant to me for her to tuck me in with that blanket. I told her what a true gift it had been for me.

I slept like a baby that night and probably let go of things I've been worried about for years.

Somehow, I know that in the future if I'm having trouble sleeping, I can just use that blanket, and it will help. There is nothing on Earth that can come close to the love of a great Mama.....and I am blessed not only with that love, but with the wisdom to appreciate it....

I love you Mama...

"Under Investigation"

2010-12-08T16:10:00.000-08:00

One afternoon, when I arrived home from work, I found my husband sitting in a chair in our den, bleeding, bruised, and scraped up from head to toe.

I immediately ran over to him and asked what happened, and was informed that he had been out on our front porch, in his Crocs, watering the ferns and had fallen down the steps....all ten of them, and landed on the concrete walkway at the bottom.

He then informed me that his hip was hurting and he wasn't sure that he could walk. I was very worried about him so I helped him out to the car and drove him to the emergency room at the local hospital.

We were called back to an exam room, not long after our arrival, by a very no nonsense looking nurse. The nurse immediately, with a very minimal amount of words, began taking my husbands vitals, writing down the locations of his wounds, and getting all of the preliminary things done for the doctor before he came in to examine my husband.

Well that was all fine with me. I wasn't there for a deep conversation anyway. I just wanted to make sure that nothing was broken and my husband was going to retain his ability to walk. My husband, however, needs more in the way of conversation and proved this that day when suddenly he looked at the nurse and blurted out "She did this to me".

The room was silent again and all that I could think was seriously??? Did he just actually say that?

I responded in the only way that I could. I looked right at the nurse and I said "Oh no, it wasn't me. I would have done a much better job".

Needless to say, we got no response from nurse Ratched. She just finished her job and left the room.

As soon as she closed the door behind her I looked at my husband and asked him if he was completely insane. I said did you happen to notice that Nurse Ratched was a bit on the serious side? He appeared to be a little to nonchalant about it, so I said What I'm telling you is She'll turn me in for spousal abuse.

He said "I was only joking". I replied with "Well, she wasn't laughing". I told him never to do that again with someone who looks and acts as if they haven't so much as broken a smile in the last two decades.

My husband agreed not to do anything like that again and the doctor came in shortly thereafter. A few x-rays and bandages later we were on our way home.

Fast forward...about one month later...

My husband and I were backing out of the driveway and he stopped to get the mail.
There it was in the mailbox...a letter. The letter was addressed to my husband, and was from an attorney that worked for our health insurance company. Not only was he an attorney for them, he was of the investigative sort. The letter stated that my husband was to call him immediately upon receipt of this letter.

He just couln't imagine what they wanted, but he pulled his cell phone out of his pocked and dialed the number..

Oh Yes.......Nurse Ratched had hooked me up.

He had the speaker on so I could hear his conversation. A woman answered, and when my husband identified himself, she transferred the call in to the attorney. This time a very serious sounding man answered and said that he had a question for my husband about the "incident" in which he had fallen down the stairs.

My husband told him to go ahead with his question and the attorney said..."Mr. Foster, was there a second party involved with your fall?"

My husband with a smirk on his face explained how he had fallen and said that there had not been a second party involved.

Then..it was my turn to blurt out..before I could contain myself I heard my voice saying very loudly, "No there wasn't a second party involvement that day but if he gets hurt again in the very near future you might want to investigate".

My husband quickly got off the phone with the man and I shot him a look that said go ahead..laugh...please laugh....and you will find yourself in the middle of next week as my grandmother would say.

He is a fairly intelligent man so, as you may have guessed, he did not laugh. He began instead to apologize profusely .... I just looked at him and I said Oh you've got jokes...you are a funny funny man...but here's a tip for you...just for safety's sake, and I am talking about yours.... why don't you just err on the side of caution, and not be so funny that I wind up incarcerated.....

He said okay very quickly, and the look on my face was so serious I feel pretty confident that we now have ourselves an understanding...

"A Man And His Shoes"

2010-12-02T16:59:00.000-08:00

I have written many times before about the fact that as far as fashion statements go my husband is a hot mess. He is a man with a style all his own, and his unique fashion sense carries itself all the way down to his feet. This man loves himself some shoes...

When I met my husband he was the proud owner of a pair of patchwork boots. Over the course of the two years that we were friends I saw him wear those boots several times.

It wasn't until a couple of years later, when we were dating that I found the words to gently tell him that I thought those boots were the most horrible looking shoes I had ever seen. He seemed extremely shocked, but on the upside I never saw those boots again.

I felt a huge sense of relief when he stopped wearing them because I will tell you that when we went out, they were real attention getters. My relief was short lived, however, because as time went by, and we were married, I began to realize that my husband has an "out of the box" fashion sense especially when it comes to shoes.

Over the years I have seen this manifest itself in the form of everything from the patchwork boots to bowling shoes.

That's right, bowling shoes. This man once wore bowling shoes that he had gotten from somewhere, complete with numbers on the back of the heel to the Superbowl of motor cross in Atlanta. I know that motor cross is not exactly a formal affair, but bowling shoes? Seriously??

The best part is he not only wears them, but "he wears them proud", as my Granny would have said. For example, the night he had the bowling shoes on he noticed a woman in the elevator with him staring at his shoes. He looked right at her and said "ma'am if you'll press 2 for me I'll tell you where you can get a pair of these shoes". I am sure that poor woman was mortified.

Since the bowling shoes there have been many other pairs of shoes that fall into the category of "attention getters". About a year ago he bought himself some Ed Hardy tennis shoes. For those of you who may not have seen these they look like massive tattoos on canvas. Those had to be retired one day, when he came home and declared the market saturated with the Ed Hardy name.

His closet holds many great choices in footwear and he has rocked them all at one time or the other including his shiny patent leather police shoes that were recently brought out of retirement, and worn with black dress socks and shorts to dinner on Thanksgiving day.

Please..just save yourself the effort...don't even try to compile a visual. Without him standing before you it's simply not possible.

I know that my husband is going to continue to have a bit of flair for the "different" when it comes to his shoe choices, and after 27 years of marriage I am finally making an attempt to come to terms with that.

I still don't think that it makes me a bad person if I admit that I have also decided to begin to pray that Heaven will be a barefoot paradise........

"Thanksgiving... On Mama We Do Depend"

2010-11-28T10:47:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving for me is a day of celebrating my family and all of the blessings that we have in our lives. We all gather together and there is much noise, much laughter, much love and great food.

The great food is courtesy of my Mama. My Mama is an amazing cook. She learned everything about making turkey and dressing and all of that from her Mama, My Granny, also an amazing cook.

When my Mama became an adult herself, She was smart enough to realize that She should pay attention to how my Granny made Thanksgiving dinner. My sisters and I haven't had that forethought.....

We sit in the kitchen with my Mama every year sipping coffee, telling stories, laughing and yucking it up, while getting Mama the occasional item here and there, if she needs it, or opening the oven door for her if she's carrying a large dish she needs to slide inside it.

Oh yes, we are her helpers kind and good, but when it comes to cooking the turkey and dressing or gravy or any of that, we couldn't buy a clue..

I tried to gently point out to my sisters, standing there with Mama last year, that we might need to start learning a little bit about the whole Thanksgiving meal preparation process by saying to them "y'all, we need to pay attention to how Mama makes this dressing".

My twin sister just looked at me, suddenly in a state of confusion, and said "what do you mean?"

I said "you know...take a note, get a recipe, learn something..get on the page with this dressing making thing...

Little sister pipes up.."Why? Mama always makes the dressing."

Now, like I said, my Mama was standing there listening to this whole conversation, and I am sure by this point, thinking to herself, Dear Lord, I am not even going to be able to die in peace, because my children will not be able to have a decent Thanksgiving ever again.

Well needless to say, amidst all the confusion that I had created by such a thought, I was forced to put gentle suggestion aside, and just give it to the two of them straight.

I looked right at them and said "Let me simplify it for you.. If we don't learn how to make this dressing and all of this other stuff and God forbid something happens to Mama, you, me, our brothers, children, grandchildren, and spouses are all going to be at the Cracker Barrel."

A hush fell over the room. My Mama just shook her head, and by the time I had all of this explained she had the dressing made and in the pan, so I opened the oven door, and we all kindly agreed with each other that we did need to pay attention in the future.

Feeling sure we had taken care of this matter of most importance we continued to sip our coffee.

I called Mama this year, as I always do, and I said "what do you want me to bring Thursday?". She said "Sharon's (my little sister) making macaroni and cheese, call your sister and y'all bring rolls, tea and ice". I said you don't want me to cook anything? (Hard pause from my Mama)..No that's okay..just tea, ice, and rolls, and call your sister".

As I hung up the phone I was a little surprised that she didn't want me to cook anything at all...I mean I don't think she's ever heard the story about me baking a ham with the plastic on it(I took the big obvious plastic cover off of it, but some idiot thought it would be even better, evidently to put a thin second one on it that was vacuum sealed).

So it was settled..I would just bring what Mama said to bring, but when I got there I'd definitely pay more attention to her cooking, and get more involved. After reaching that decision, I called my sister. I said Mama said for us to bring Ice, tea, and rolls.

My Sister said that She'd get the ice, and I told her I'd get the rest, and so it went....

As I walked into the kitchen where Mama was cooking this past Thursday I saw that I was just in time to open the oven door.....I apologized to my Mama for not knowing more about it all and not being of more help to her. She looked at me and said "I love cooking for y'all. I just really love and enjoy it."

I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her on the cheek and silently thought to myself .... We'd never be able to cook as good as Mama does anyway. Cracker Barrel would definitely be better than I could do....

and who in the world am I, to steal my Mama's joy???

"When All Else Fails Accessorize"

2010-11-07T05:47:00.000-08:00

My Husband has been retired now for five months, and he is becoming more of a hot mess with each and every day that passes.

He has done several "great" things to keep himself occupied since his retirement, for instance, painting numerous sample colors on the walls in our house and never actually making a choice and painting.

He is so full of ideas, that when I go to work, it's almost the equivalent of leaving a toddler home alone. The only difference is he can drive, which gives him the ability to go out and get things whenever the spirit moves him, like paint samples for example.

He can also browse the Internet and make purchases which, again, also makes him much more dangerous.

My husband is also "the creator of outfits". I have touched on his wardrobe choices in some of my previous writings, but for those of you who haven't read them let me give you a brief description of a daily ensemble... please keep in mind when you are forming this visual that he hasn't held a razor but once since last May...

T-shirt..old, and weather permitting, no sleeves. This allows a full display all of his arm "ink".

Cargo Shorts...worn solely, I believe, to show off his sock and shoe choices to the fullest.

Soccer socks, vibrant colors and stripes are a must. These are worn pulled up all the way to the knee, or pushed all the way down, depending on the mood of the day...

Shoes vary from Crocs to Ed Hardy...

His entire look when all pulled together says "I am a pure Situation"...

I thought that his look was about as far as he could go to draw attention to himself when we are out.....I was wrong.....

I came home from work the other day and discovered that he had made himself a purchase...In the form of an accessory...He had gotten himself a new pair of glasses.
He was just standing there with them on waiting on me to walk in and experience the wow factor.

Considering he did the purchasing, I probably don't need to tell you that these were not an average looking pair of glasses, so I will jump straight to the description.

He is the proud owner of a pair of black framed glasses...not just ordinary black frames, very large ones..Huge. That's right, I'm talkin' Harry Carey. They are just about the exact same glasses...I know this to be true, because I checked on google images after the shock had worn off.

I just looked at him and said Seriously??? He said "I am serious. I like them." I was stunned into silence.

The overall look of the glasses combined with his fashion sense sent me reeling. He had me feeling for the sofa behind me so that I could sit down. I thought to myself he's finally done it...we can never leave the house together again....

I looked at him again, and I said "Yes sir...When all else fails accessorize". At that point I had no choice but to leave the room. I had to go and soak in a hot bath, because I needed desperately to be alone.

I had to try to fully absorb what I had just seen, and then pray for myself some patience and understanding... and even more importantly... some mercy......

"Date Night, Seriously?"

2010-08-31T06:30:00.000-07:00

Recently I have heard many of my friends talking about having "date night" with their spouses. I think that it is wonderful that couples are making time to be alone with each other.

One day last week I decided that I would approach my husband with this idea. I most definitely felt like we could benefit from it. I say this for reasons like the fact that we haven't been to a movie theater since Clinton was president, and I kid you not, when we did go, he skipped a seat between us.

The last time we were out together in a restaurant where they didn't ask if you'd like fries with that was about two years ago, and he was wearing his pajama pants....I'm just saying someone could put forth a little more effort in the romance department.

I had a pretty good idea about what kind of response I was going to get from him, but I just had to try, and... I was so right. He looked right at me and said "Date night? Why do I need to take you out on a date? We've been married for twenty something years." You would have thought I had asked him to bring about world peace.

I could tell immediately that he was both confused and astonished by the fact that some married couples not only do this, but that they actually want to do it. The entire subject was over his load.

I realize that my husband is living in a state of marital bliss. I know this to be true because everything we do revolves around him and his likes and dislikes. He is well taken care of and he is spoiled beyond repair. Given all of this, why in the world would I expect him to be able to grasp the concept of a date night? Pure insanity on my part..I'm so certifiable I should actually be walking around with papers.

A couple of weeks ago, he met some friends of his for lunch, during which time, he decided to seek some form of clarification on this whole date night concept from a males point of view. When I came in from work that day, he told me that he had spoken with them about it. Imagine his surprise when some of them actually said that they have a date night with their spouses.

One of his friends actually gave him suggestions on how to make a date night less painful. One thing that he suggested to my husband was that he plan the night around something that he would actually want to do, and just not let me know what he had done, then we would both be happy.

Evidently this all sounded like to much work for my husband, because he didn't even attempt it. He just waited until I got home from work and told me about the suggestions that he had been given, while wearing a very large grin....

The fact that he told me everything was one big "the brick house just fell in" clue that he had no intention of ever implementing any such plan.

The same friend also told him that a romantic thing to do could be as simple as picking me a flower from the yard on his way in the house.....I have to admit that sounds very sweet, and I would have been very touched by it.

I've long been over the idea that he may actually contact a florist and send flowers..Lord the last time I received roses it was 1982, and we were dating. I called to thank him and told him how beautiful they were, and he said, "I didn't send you flowers."

.. it turns out they were from my stalker..who was later removed from my place of employment by security, and told never to return. This story is just one example of why the rational side of me understands that I will get a flower from the yard when there is a snow cone machine in Hell that is in full operation.

I'm not sure if the problem my husband has is his lack of desire to put forth the effort to be romantic, if he thinks it's a ridiculous waste of energy, or if I just need to hand him a Webster's dictionary with a post-it note on the front that says define romance, so that he will look it up...

Whatever the reason, the bottom line for me is that my date nights are over, and I just need to gain acceptance of that fact...

I'll continue to be grateful that he keeps me laughing and that we have an easy relationship in which we love each other...

....but in the romance department, there are two words that describe my husband, "Train Wreck"...

"Oh Lord... When I Wasn't Looking, They Let Him Retire"

2010-06-25T04:45:00.000-07:00

My husband, after working in law enforcement for 27 years, retired approximately one month ago.

Things were going just fine and then it happened...The county he worked for offered an early retirement with no penalties, and the next thing I knew, he was calling me at work to say that he had turned his paperwork in and taken their offer.

He was very pleased with his decision. I could hear it in his voice. I, on the other hand, developed a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach the minute he said it. I felt this way for one reason. He does "great things" when he gets bored.

You see, I already know how dangerous my husband can be when he is given to much free time, and the thought of him having free time until Jesus comes.....well...lets just say it was all I could do not to drop to my knees right then and there to pray for the rapture .

Let me just explain to you that We are talking about a man that once, while out of work following a surgery, had our kitchen wallpaper changed from blue to green, in the exact same pattern, for lack of anything better to do. If you weren't a resident in our home you would never have known, and yet he, in all of his idle time, managed to ascertain that it was well worth the few hundred dollars he spent to have it done.

When I hung up the phone from hearing his big announcement, I felt a little ashamed of myself for having that feeling, so I pushed it to the back of my mind and called him back to say Congratulations, you've earned it, and I am proud of you. I told him I loved him and hung up the phone again.

I did actually feel all of those things that I had said to him, but as his last day on the police force drew nearer my fears began to resurface, and as it turns out, they were quite valid.

In less than 24 hours after he completed his final shift as Lieutenant Foster, he began a new full time job. He became a husband at large/project manager with a side mission to drive his wife completely over the edge...with all work done on a volunteer basis.

He began his first afternoon by wandering into my office, where he quickly discovered that I had left my facebook page up and so he felt compelled to change my status for me. He wrote something like, "I just came in from work and found my husband in the backyard,standing naked on the diving board, eating a taco, and he has written the word retired across his chest with a black sharpie. The neighbor is yelling over the fence at him to put some clothes on, and our minister is at the front door"....Nice right?

He followed up his facebook fun by beginning some "projects around the house. I say projects because there are several, and all in different locations. Now...one month later none of the projects are complete, but he has, however, made great strides in his overall mission to drive me insane..I am well on my way.

He has been making daily trips to places like Lowes, Home Depot, and Ace Hardware. During these said trips he has purchased at least 20 samples of paint which he has applied in various places throughout the house, including the hallway, guest bathroom, and garage.

The garage wall now has about six different squares of color samples painted on it. When my husband asked me the other day for my opinion, I just looked at him and said..."I say you keep going to Lowes and buying paint samples and go with patchwork..I'm over it".

I also have to add that my husband has never been big on painting. He had a plan to hire someone to do it all for him, after his color decisions were made, but I told him that I had painted in the past many times, and that we could do it together.

I thought I had him convinced, but then he painted the vanity in the guest bath last night..that was all she wrote..he came out and said that he was not going to be able to paint after all, because his shoulder was killing him.

I said to him that I knew he had a shoulder issue, so he could just sit on the floor and paint a few inches up from the baseboards ..the trim work ...oh no..he wasn't hearing that..so the situation now was that there were several different colors painted all over the walls in different rooms, and he had just declared himself physically unable to do the job.....Wonderful! Perfect!

At that moment I did what every good christian that doesn't want to break one of God's commandments would have done...I stopped and prayed for the Lord not to let me kill him.

He's had many other activities going on other than trying to make his paint color decisions. He's had men out to the house giving him estimates on some other things he wants done. He's taken down mirrors, light fixtures, changed door knobs, you name it, he's done it, or spent time thinking about doing it.

Things in several parts of our home are now works in progress...he's like a toddler on a rampage....and I know I'm going to spend a huge part of the rest of my summer vacation seeing his "projects" through to completion.

I cannot, to save his life, or my sanity , get this man to focus on one thing at a time. I do appreciate his hard work and ideas. After all, he does have some good ideas. I also have the ability to recognize that it's hard work taking mirrors and lights and things down leaving gaping holes in the walls....not to mention all of the sample paint squares he's had to apply in various locations. Yes sir there is no doubt about it, this man has been working hard...

I just desperately wish he'd try keeping his work a bit more contained to one area at a time...Maybe if he actually had the ability to define the word focus...but no his mind spins at the rate of a roulette wheel...it's like what project can I start next....place your bets, place your bets...

I have spent the last 27 years, while he was on the police force, praying for his safety. I thought that when he retired I'd be able to stop doing that. I was wrong....

Now, I not only have to pray for his safety, I also have to pray for the Lord to grant me enough patience to keep me off the news.....

"Bless Her Heart"

2010-06-22T10:09:00.000-07:00

I was thinking today that we Southern women have tempers just like everyone else. I was also thinking that when we do get mad and decide to say something to another person, who has caused us to find ourselves in such a state, we attempt to do so politely. We were, after all, taught to always use our manners.

I will give you a few examples. A woman who isn't from the south might just yell and scream, if she gets mad, but not us. We would say something to let others know we're not happy with them and follow it up with "bless your heart"...

Example: "Honey You're about to be "taken out on the veranda" and you haven't the slightest clue what's coming, bless your heart." A trip out onto the veranda means you're about to get a verbal tongue lashing like you haven't ever heard. I'm talking about a lecture so intense we may not even pause to breathe during it's delivery. These are given when it becomes necessary to "set someone straight", so to speak.

Bless your heart is also used at other times, such as when a group of women are talking about one particular person that they have a strong dislike for. I say dislike because we never say we hate someone. We say we dislike them, or that we don't particularly care for them..

Example: If a woman was acting as if she thought she was better than the other ladies, they might say something like "Her nose is so high in the air, if it rains she'll drowned, bless her heart." The added statement of bless your heart making it sound as if we are expressing concern for her well being.

.. or maybe we might start with Bless her heart and say something like; "Bless her heart, look at that dress, her taste is all in her mouth".

Sometimes it's even simpler and more direct than that, like..."She's such a miserable witch, bless her heart". Bless her heart, in this case, enabling any listeners to have the slightest doubt about whether or not the fact that she is a witch is entirely her fault..almost as if the poor thing may not be able help the way she acts.

This phrase is so wonderful and versatile it even works in the middle of a sentence.
Example: "She can't help it, bless her heart, she's just straight crazy."

I do have to mention that this phrase is also commonly used when we are expressing sympathy for a person. It makes sympathy, when given, seem even more sincere, and when we are speaking about someone in a derogatory manner, it does take the edge right off of rude and nasty, doesn't it?

I have certainly said my share of bless your hearts when I've gotten upset or had a dislike for someone, and I will tell you, that I've had people walk away from me so confused they aren't sure if they can't stand me, or want to come back for tea one afternoon...

"Boys Will Be Boys"

2010-05-14T08:18:00.000-07:00

My granddaughter spends the night with me one or two times a week, and I take her to school on my way to work. She is six years old, and in the first grade. We always have conversations about how things are going in her life during our morning commute.

She tells me about everything from her parents and little brother, to her teacher and the other students in her class. We talk about things like fashion and academics, and sometimes even boys. I think that she feels very comfortable talking to me, and I love that. I am her Mimi, and that's how our relationship should be.

She tells me about some of the students having to "pull their cards", because they don't know how to behave. She also told me that she has never pulled a card, and she thinks that those who do pull them just don't want to learn. She told me that she loves school, but that some of her friends act like they hate it.

The conversations about things like "pulling cards" are the easy ones, but every now and then she'll say something that requires a little more thought on my part. That is exactly what happened one day last week.

We were riding along talking about her Dolce and Gabana Sunglasses, when all of the sudden, she said "Zach(not his real name)wants me to audition for him for American Idol."

She said "Not for real or anything, just pretend". I said "really". She said "Yes. He wants me to do it during recess." Then she said "He said I have to dance for him when I sing, because you have to dance and sing when you are a on American Idol."

Well that did it...I instantly became internally unglued. The nerve of this kid, asking my granddaughter to dance for him. I mean, who knows what he's seen on TV, or at home for that matter. There are poles on playgrounds for God's sake.

I had a few thoughts, none of which I could share with her, but some of which I will share here with you...

1. Not while I have a breath in my body will you be dancing "for" some boy during recess, or at any other time in your life.

2. Zach doesn't even know how to recognize that type of girl yet.

3. Zach is six years old and if he did see a girl who would dance for him, he doesn't have a job, money, or a clue on how to fold it..

4. Zach is most definitely headed for reform school.

After nearly running completely off the road and having to regain a steady heart rhythm, I told her simply that I didn't think that "auditioning" for Zach was a good idea at all. She instantly wanted to know why, and so I just told her that she is an amazing singer, and that she didn't need some silly little boy to verify that.

Then, remembering another conversation we had earlier in the year about a little girl in her class, (I'll call her Hope) saying that a little boy named Joe was "sexy", I said Maybe he can get Hope to audition for him.

She didn't understand my suggestion about Hope, but I had to let go with a little sarcasm somewhere. I needed the release.... I then told her that either way she wasn't to do it, and she assured me that she wouldn't.

As we pulled up in the car line at her school, I wished her a great day, told her that I loved her, and bit my tongue to keep from yelling at her little back "stay away from Zach and Hope", as she got out and walked inside.

As I drove away I couldn't help but wonder if Zach was just another example of kids growing up to fast these days, or if this was just a simple case of "boys will be boys".....

Either way, I'm just glad I had the opportunity to talk to my granddaughter about it all, before that little Hugh Hefner wannabe's first round of "auditions" began...

Lord have mercy on a Grandmother....

"Suitcase"

2010-05-08T03:44:00.000-07:00

My husband and I watched an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond that was about a suitcase sitting on the staircase of their home. Debra, the wife, wanted Raymond, the husband, to take it upstairs.

She felt as if she did everything as far as work in the house went, and the least he could do was bring the heavy suitcase, that he had used, upstairs, and so the stand off began.

I am telling you all of this so that you can understand what has been going on in my house lately.

My husband works nights and I work days, therefore, we sleep on different shifts. When I wake up the bed linens are still intact, but every afternoon when he wakes up the top sheet is completely off the bed.

A couple of weeks ago I came in and saw the sheet up in the bed in a pile and made an announcement. I said that I was sick and tired of having to put that sheet back on the bed because he rips it off everyday so that his feet can remain uncovered...

I said "I have asked you again and again to just stick your feet out from the side of the sheet like everyone else who wants their feet uncovered while they sleep, but you just can't seem to get on board with that idea"...

I told him that he obviously hated the sheet and that was fine. The next thing I did was pick it up and drop it on the bench that sits at the foot of our bed. I said "You win...No More top sheet, because I'm not putting it back on the bed EVER!!" (This was quite a big deal for me because I do love the feel of the sheets on my bed) I then looked at him and said "We've got ourselves a suitcase!"

Well he just grinned like it was all cute because he was thinking that I would cool down and make the bed later that evening. It's what I normally do. Well ...not this time. It was hard at first, but day after day I looked at that sheet and kept right on moving. When I washed the sheets I just folded that one and right back on the bench it went..after that, I didn't touch it.

Finally one evening he said to me "Victoria (our granddaughter) is spending the night tonight so you're going to have to put the sheet back on the bed".

Well...That just flew all over me. "Going to have to"? I looked at him and I said "are you serious right now?" As usual he was still grinning...I said only one word after that ...."SUITCASE"...

Finally one afternoon I came in and he was standing there as proud of himself as a four year old boy would be who had just cleaned his room. He said "I put the sheet back on the bed"...

I was thinking at that moment that I knew if I waited long enough his obessive compulsive disorder which causes his strong need to have everything in it's place would wear him down, but what I said was congratulations, that's great. I am glad that you took care of it.

Then as I turned to leave the room, I said by the way, about all of those wet towels on our bathroom floor... go in and take a look at them. You should recognize them, because that's exactly who they belong to, you....

I left him with a parting shot..."Suitcase"...when I came back into the bathroom later that same night the towels were all gone from the floor......

No more suitcases at my house for now... It seems, for the time being at least, my husband is traveling light......

"Score One For Liquor And Poor Judgement"

2010-03-20T15:44:00.000-07:00

I have written several stories about my husband and his antics, and so I've decided that it's only fair that I be willing to share more of mine. Here goes...

Have you every had a day when you just felt like you were so stressed you couldn't stand it another minute? Well, guess what? I have, and on one such occasion I decided I had to get out of the house and relax. I was thinking a low-key "girls night" would be just what I needed, and so I called one of my oldest and dearest friends.

The conversation started with me saying I was covered up in stress and it was coming from so many directions I didn't even know how to deal with it and I had to get out.
She said come on over here and we'll hang out and have a couple of drinks. Well I have to tell you, I couldn't get in my car quick enough.

When I arrived at her house her sister was also there and she said have as many drinks as you want, and I'll drive you home, because I'm not going to be drinking. Perfect!!

I began by saying that I'd have Crystal Light Sunrise (it's like orange juice)and Grey Goose Vodka. I explained that I wanted the vodka and crystal light because I didn't want to be sucking down carbs ... I was staying away from those.

About three or four or who knows how many drinks into the evening, a terrible thing happened....the Grey Goose bottle was suddenly empty...I just looked at my friend and said "now what?". She said "girl don't worry I've got something else we can drink".

She then preceded to open the cabinet door and take out a bottle of Patron. Yep tequila...oh and it gets better....she got something else out of the cabinet too...a shot glass. It was only a matter of seconds before I declared the shots a great idea, and I made the executive decision to join her..

Oh yes we were about to hook ourselves up, but with our judgement being so impaired by the Goose, we had no idea.

We were laughing, talking,and doing shots..one after the other... we had the music on... and my friend was even dancing around in her kitchen, when it wasn't her turn to take a shot, of course. I, however,chose to remain seated. At least I believe it was a choice, but in retrospect I can't actually say that I'm all that clear on it.

Somewhere between midnight and one in the morning I remember declaring myself relaxed and saying that it was time to go home. I left my car at her house and her sister drove me home. My dear friend came along to keep me company.

I vaguely remember my 19 year old son holding the door open for me, and I believe he may have been laughing at me, but again....not clear. I managed to get into the house and lay across my bed, and then, like magic, the next thing I know it was noon the next day.

I woke up because my phone was letting me know I had received a text message...I felt blindly on my bedside table for it, and eased it over onto the bed with me. It was a message from my friend, and she was asking me if I was awake...I replied by saying define awake..

She responded with girl...I came to work and clocked in, then I had to call my Sergeant and tell him I wasn't feeling well, and now I'm back at home laying across my bed. "What are you doing?", she asked. "Ditto", I replied.

I received one more text message from her that morning, and it said, and I quote, "We are both dumb a@#es, and I am never drinking again". Well I thought, that about summed it up, so I felt no need to send a response. Instead I just fell face down on my pillow,and began to moan and try to form a strategy on possibly getting some medication and making it into the hot shower.

My first move was to the aspirin bottle and then to the shower. I felt a little better after that, but I'm not saying I ate dinner that evening or anything. I can report that recovery time from a big night of fun with your friends after forty is a bit slower than it is when you're in your 20's...

I don't suppose I'll make anymore great decisions like that anytime soon, but I did accomplish my mission to relax, and I love my friend dearly for going along for the ride...

but to be honest..if I never see another bottle of Patron it will be to soon, and I have to admit, it was definitely a score one for liquor and poor judgement kinda night.......

"Clarification Will Come To Those Who Continue To Ask For It"

2010-01-08T13:42:00.000-08:00

Let me begin by saying that I realize I write quite a bit about my husband, but with him being such a fountain of material, what can I do? That being said, I just had to share the following story:

There was a small ditch at the bottom of the driveway where the mailbox is located at our previous house. The driveway itself went up a hill and had a slight curve to it. I backed out of it numerous times without a problem. Occasionally, however, I went off the side of the driveway, at the bottom, and dug the grass up as I was leaving.

I had done this about two or three times when my mother-in-law came to visit, and it happened to her, but on a larger scale. She not only went off the driveway, she got stuck, and hit the mailbox, causing a good bit of damage to her car.

My husband, as you may have guessed, had no questions for his mother as to how it happened. Not one, not even while they were waiting on the police officer to come and fill out an accident report for the insurance company.

Each time it happened to me, however, even though my incidents only involved the grass, he was full of questions. He treated me as if he were back in the Criminal Investigation Division at work, and he was going to get answers if he had to turn on the bright light.

The questions he wanted answered were things like "How?", or the longer version, "How in the world did you manage to go off of the driveway and tear the yard up?" He would ask me these questions again and again.

Talking to him after I had been "in the ditch" so to speak, was like a very serious interrogation. He would ask the questions with a look on his face that was a mixture of confusion and stunned disbelief that seemed to beg for clarity.

The questions, however, were not my favorite of all of the things that he would have to say to me. My favorite always came in the form of a statement. He would just look at me and repeatedly say "I don't understand. I just don't understand how you manage it".

Well, then it happened... One night after he had gone out the door for work I was walking back through the house locking the doors, and as I came through the living room to check the front door I saw him through the window. He was in the ditch... and it gets better..it had been raining!

As my smile began to grow, I realized that I was holding my cell phone. Oh yes..you guessed it... I couldn't dial his number fast enough. I continued to watch the tires spin in the mud, and the truck get deeper in the ditch as I dialed.

My husband answered his phone with a tone that seemed a little irritated, so I had no choice, but to offer him some assistance. I asked him,in my most polite voice, "Do you need some help?". He responded with a very curt "No, I do not Arlene",at which point I believe he hung up on me, I just haven't been able to prove it.

At any rate, I continued to watch him out the window, and then my phone rang. It was him calling me back, and by this time I had gone from a large smile to laughing out loud. Needless to say, I had to just about sever my tongue off with my teeth to get it together long enough to answer his call.

Did I say hello? No, I did not. I said in a very serious tone.... "I guess it's crystal clear now isn't Lieutenant?".

Well, needless to say, his mood was no longer questionable. He was livid. He immediately shouted into the phone. "Can someone please come down here and hold the Da@# mailbox away from the passenger's side of the truck so that I can back up?", and then silence...another dropped call I suppose, again, no proof.

It wasn't rocket science for me to ascertain that I should probably remain inside, so I sent my Son-in-law to try and help him. This struggle went on for quite a few minutes until finally one of the neighbors saw the situation and used his truck to tow my husband out of the ditch. He left for work without ever coming back inside the house.

You would think that watching him go through all of that would have been enough for me... but I just couldn't let it go...

I called another officer, that we are friends with, and asked him if he could do me a favor. He said "sure, what do you need?". I said could you just write Steve a warning ticket for improper backing and leave it on his desk? Then I told him the story and we were both laughing.

When my husband got to work our friend did ask him if he had a hard time getting there that night, and my husband, not knowing, of course, that I had called ahead, said that he had not. The next question he got was, "what's the story on all of the mud on your shoes?". I feel sure that he had to share what happened after that last question, and I know he must have loved doing it.

To be perfectly honest with you, I am just so grateful that my husband got to have that whole experience. I mean I wouldn't have wanted him to have gone through the rest of his life not understanding the whole "stuck in a ditch" concept, especially since I know that being so confused about how something like that could happen had been so stressful and frustrating for him.

Being in the dark like that really hadn't been good for his blood pressure, and I am sure that he is a healthier man for having received clarity that night.

Yes, I just have to say that I'm very happy that all of his questions have been answered, and his confusion cleared up. Now, he is free to move on to trying to solve another one of life's big mysteries....

"Plotting Against Him? I Stand Accused"

2009-12-25T18:42:00.000-08:00

My husband is very dependent on me when it comes to certain things. Saying that really is a polite way of saying that he is like having another child. I think somewhere along the way he was misled into believing that taking a wife meant getting a second Mother and relocating.

I don't suppose I can be to upset with the fact that he grew up believing this, I mean after all, I was misled myself. I saw Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty at the Fox Theatre when I was a little girl, and I bought Walt Disney's whole Princess marrying her Prince, glass slipper wearing, life's loaded with romance, bunch of mess completely.

These days, I understand the fact that Walt Disney needed a kick right square in it for misleading small children, and I have spent a good deal of time trying to help my husband overcome the fact that he no longer lives with his Mother. I will tell you he's having a bit more trouble understanding that concept, than I am getting over the whole fairytale thing.

To be perfectly honest, I am partially to blame for his dependence on me. I began taking care of him when we were only dating. I spent my days off from work doing his laundry, cleaning his bedroom, and making his lunch or going out to get him something while he slept all day. Three years later, when we were married, I wanted to be the best wife anyone ever had, so I continued to run around doing every little thing that I could for him.

Well, good job me! All this managed to do was spoil him beyond repair. He's 48 years old now, and I'm still doing all of these things and more. The reason I have this on my mind is because he recently said something I couldn't believe, not even coming from him.

One of the things that I do for him is put his medication into his little pill container for him to take each day. Well, a couple of weeks ago I was so busy that I decided that he was grown and could take care of it himself.

Do you think that he bothered to read the labels on the pill bottles, and take what he needed each day? I mean you would think that he would, considering that he is a diabetic and a heart patient(both of which can be life threatening) but no, he most certainly did not.

My husband chose another route. The same one my children take. It's called blame the wife and mother. It's the one where all things are traced back to being completely my fault. It's quite a bit like the Kevin Bacon game, and let me just say that they are all really good at it. Their ability to make everything my fault amazes me at times.

Okay, so back to the medication thing. This man went several days without taking any medication whatsoever, and then he comes into the living room one day and looks at me and says, very seriously, "I know what you're doing". I said "Excuse me?" He said "I know why you didn't put my pills in the container".

I just looked at him and said "Okay, let's hear it. I can't wait". He said "It's because you are plotting to kill me". I looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and I said "Are you serious right now?" He said "I don't know, you might be".

Well, Crack up! A grown man not taking his own medication, because he has chosen to remain oblivious to what those medications even are, and how they are suppose to be taken, was actually standing before me saying that I was plotting to kill him.

There was only one response that I could give him. I looked at him just as seriously, and I said "My God, you have figured it out. You are an absolute genius! I should have known, with all of your experience as a Detective, I never had a chance."

I must have been insane thinking that he was going to do what he needed to do on his own. The minute we were done with the conversation about it, I went and put his medication in the pill box for him.

Lord... if he doesn't take it and he dies my children could trace it all straight back to me and the empty pill box. I hear you can't have perfume, nail polish or cosmetics in prison, and to tell you the truth I'm just not willng to take that kind of a chance...like I said, they are all really good at it.

I can just see the headlines now: "Dick Tracy Dies When Second Mother Refuses To Organize Medications In Pill Box"....No..I'd just better not risk it....

"The Love Of Her Life... Stolen So Quietly"

2009-11-28T12:11:00.000-08:00

My husband and I were recently in a restaurant together having lunch. We were seated and waiting on our food when two elderly gentlemen walked by our table on their way out,one assisting the other.

These two gentlemen were followed by one more elderly gentleman, and three elderly women, one looking a bit older than the other two. The eldest of the women was obviously the matriarch of the family.

She appeared to be in her late 80's to early 90's and was dressed in a manner that would have made Coco Chanel proud. She was wearing a suit and heels, complete with pearls and a manicure. She was both classy and beautiful.

As the group she was with began to make their way to the door, the woman stopped directly beside our table, and for the first time I saw her eyes. I made eye contact with her, and I knew immediately she had a broken heart, although I had no way of knowing exactly what had caused it.

My unspoken question about her pain was answered very shortly when her eyes filled with tears, and the other women and two of the waitresses surrounded her. With tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks at any moment, she began to speak.

She first gave an apology for the tears, followed by an explanation for her behavior.
She looked into the eyes of the waitress that she evidently hadn't met (the rest seemed to know the woman), and said, "you see dear, the two men that just went out the door were my husband and my son". As she pointed to the other people with her, she said "these are my other children (all of which appeared to be at least 60 or so), and we've been eating here as a family every Saturday for years, but today will be the last time that we are all here."

The waitresses asked her why that was, and she went on to say that her husband had Alzheimer's disease, and that her children were placing him in a home that afternoon. She said they felt that it had become to dangerous for her to care for him on her own, because he was becoming violent at times.

My eyes were filled with tears that had begun to quietly spill onto my cheeks by this point, and as she went on to say that they had been married and slept next to each other for 69 years. My heart felt an enormous ache for the pain and loneliness that I could only begin to imagine she was feeling. The love of her life was being stolen away by this terrible illness.

The tears spilled from her eyes as she finished her story and as they did the waitresses let their tears fall also. They gave her a hug and walked with her and her children towards the door.

When she had gone I just sat there thinking about both the depth of the love I had seen in her eyes when she spoke of her husband and what they had shared for so many years, as well as the look of heartbreak in them when she spoke of their lifetime together drawing to a close beginning with this physical separation.

I spent the rest of that weekend thinking about her and all that she was going through, and when I was able to get past thinking about the look in her eyes and the thoughts of her pain, I realized that she had been so greatly blessed in her life to have had a love that she felt so deeply and that had been so strong and long lasting.

We should all be fortunate enough to have someone love us in such a deep way. So deeply that it can be seen in the other persons eyes when they look at us, and felt in our hearts when we meet their gaze...

My darling's, in case you haven't figured it out yet...what this woman had with her husband, and the family that they created, is simply by definition.. a rich life....

"American Pride And Respect, Get You Some"

2009-11-21T19:38:00.000-08:00

The bell rings every morning for school to begin and we observe a moment of silence, which I personally use to pray. This is followed by the pledge of allegiance. I stand each and every morning for the pledge in my classroom, and if I should be out of the classroom I stop wherever I am, place my right hand over my heart,and remain in that position until the pledge has been said to completion.

All of the students in our special education classroom stand for the pledge as well. This is something that I feel is important, as it shows respect for our country.

As I mentioned, there are some mornings when the pledge begins that I am caught out in the hallway because of my morning bus duty. I have seen many teachers and students walk right past me, as I stand with my hand over my heart, and I feel they are showing a blatant disregard and disrespect for the pledge and all that it represents.

I have stopped in front of open classroom doors and seen students sitting in their desks not being made to do so much as stand up. I have taught students outside of special education and I have made them ALL stand during the pledge.

Some of these students did not mind letting me know that I couldn't "make them" recite the pledge because they have "the right not to say it". That may be true, but my response to that is unfortunately they are exercising another right at the same time. That right in my opinion is "their freedom to act like disrespectful, ungrateful idiots".

Understand that I am not talking about people of one certain race or religion that disrespect our country. The students and adults that I've observed are from all races and cultures including many that were born and raised right here in this country.

I had a student last week inform me in the hallway that he would never say the pledge and that those of us who do are "programmed". This student also said that he had written a song that was Anti-American. I'm not sure, but I think he wanted me to say that I understood.

There are men and women who serve our country each and every day sacrificing more than the average American could ever begin to wrap their mind around, and all for
very little pay.

There are Americans who have lost their moms, dads, sons, daughters, and spouses so that we could maintain the right to stand in a classroom and say the pledge of allegiance.

The People who feel as if they don't owe our country any respect and our soldiers any support and appreciation are the same ones who spend their days utilizing all of the benefits and rights that this country provides them with.

Don't get me wrong there are still some respectful students and adults that do as I do and give respect where it is due, and teach their sons and daughters to do the same, but for the ones who don't recognize the need for it, or lack a patriotic feeling of loyalty in their hearts, let me clue you in, it's called "American Pride and Respect" get you some, or move your disrespectful self to a country you do appreciate, and stop taking up space in ours.......

"Visual Assessments"

2009-11-01T10:50:00.000-08:00

My husband is always looking at beautiful women when he is out in public. This happens both when I am with him, and when he is alone. I know that it happens when he's alone for two reasons. One, he's human, and two, he has reported back to me on more than one occasion that he's seen an attractive woman while he was out.

I have no clue as to why he feels like he is a mandated reporter regarding all such incidents, but I do have my suspicions as to why he felt the need to tell me the first time. I think it may have been because he came home with a slight head injury, complete with bleeding, that he felt needed my immediate attention.

He had been to the grocery store, and evidently saw an attractive woman as he was walking out. With his attention totally focused on her, he forgot to watch for fixed objects, and walked full force into a brick column, thus causing a small cut above his eye. He came right home, gave a full report, and asked me to put a band aid on the wound.

Another great example of this behavior happened just last week. He went into a store, that I had driven us to, and I waited outside. A few minutes passed by, and he came back out dying from laughter. I asked what happened, and he had no problem informing me that he had been staring at a "really pretty woman" and walked directly into another woman who was standing at an ATM machine, nearly knocking her down to the ground.

Let me just say that I have, in the past, been offended by the fact that he was looking at other women so openly with me standing beside him. I felt like it was disrespectful.

These days, after taking the time to be honest with myself, I am willing to admit the fact that I am guilty of the same behavior when I see handsome men, but with two major differences. One, I am much more discrete, and two, I have never felt the need to report such incidents back to him.

I have come even further in my thinking after the most recent of such reports given to me by my husband. I have decided that I have the right to be just as blatant with my visual assessments as he is with his. I'm not sure I want to go as far as reporting back to him just yet, but I'm not ready to rule it out for the future.

I may still be a little more reserved than he is in my assessing of other men. Not because of my husband, or what he might think, but because they may notice me doing it.

Maybe as time goes by I can become as relaxed about it as he is.......well..maybe not quite that relaxed....but then again, who knows?

Lord...I'd better go and put a band aid in my purse....

"Getting Out Of The Box: Fantasy Football, And Other Great Activities"

2009-10-14T16:11:00.000-07:00

Several months ago I decided I needed to step out of my comfort zone, and try some new extra curricular activities. My choices have been limited in the past, due to my inability to conquer certain fears.

I use the word fear in its plural form, because I have many. Among them are things like chipping or breaking a nail, breaking into a full all over body sweat, public showers, or the complete lack there of, being clueless about the activity and looking like a complete and total idiot, or even worse, the chance for bodily harm.

As soon as my "get out of the box" decision was made, I began to think about some things I could do, and I actually tried a few of them.

Golf: I bought clubs, and a bracelet with charms. The charms were of things like a golf tee, a golf ball, a flag in a hole, etc.. End result: Clubs, in the attic. Bracelet, located in my top dresser drawer. Never been worn.

Camping, fishing, and Kayaking: This idea was put on the back burner for now, after consideration of all of the potential disasters that could occur should I go out into the woods with a tackle box, tent, and other equipment that would allow me to wind up in the middle of a lake.

Softball: Did it. Purchased an equipment bag, complete with monogram of my initials and number, got an actual team together, practiced, watched from the bench(in uniform)for about the first three games,to smoke it all over, actually played in the last five or so, wasn't very good, but I can report that I kept the umpires entertained.

After the softball adventure I decided I needed to slow things down a bit. My wheels were turning thinking about the things that I might try next, and then it happened. I came across an add for a fantasy football league on the Internet.

The next thing I know I had signed myself up. No research no questions. Keep in mind I knew absolutely nothing about NFL football, but I figured, what better way to learn?

The first thing I had to do was choose my players for the draft. Since I knew nothing about football, I knew nothing about player ability or statistics, so I did the logical thing and picked them by name. I say logical because I just figured if I had heard of them,they must be really good. That's pure logic, right?

After the draft came the big decisions, like who to keep on the bench and who to play. The first two games came and went and my record was 2-0. In week 3 I asked my husband for help, because it was really getting complicated. People were getting injured, I was hearing terms like waivers, and bye weeks, and becoming more and more confused. He refused to help me, and so I turned to a friend of mine for advice. His advice was good and I became 3-0.

During week 4 I went back on my own, and I suffered my first loss making my record 3-1. This past week was week 5, and I am happy to report that my record is 4-1 and I am ranked 1st in my league. I know, crack up!! Right?

Lord only knows how this will eventually turn out (there are 16 weeks), but I will tell you that I have learned a good deal about football. Positions, offense, defense, passing games, rushing games, fumbles and so on.

Every Sunday now I get in front of the television with my laptop and launch my live scoring. I become so stressed and competitive I'm dangerous. I even yelled out at a player during a game like he could hear me. My husband called from the other room asking "was that you Arlene?" I admitted that it was, and have yet to tell him that I was a little shocked myself when I realized what I had done.

At any rate, I'm loving fantasy football and I've already decided that I'm playing again next year.

As far as what I'll do next, I'm not sure yet, but I will tell you that my friend just moved into a house on the lake....

"Southern Without Embarrassment"

2009-09-20T07:06:00.001-07:00

There are quite a few things in life that I have great passion for. One of these things just happens to be the fact that I am Southern. I say this with pride, not embarrassment.

It seems to me that when a person is caught saying something negative about a culture different from there own people get up in arms and offended immediately. The thing that I find upsetting about this is the fact that the exception to this is any derogatory comment made about the South.

The prejudice against all things Southern is something that drives me insane. You hear it from ignorant people who don't mind walking right up to you and making some "great"(spoken like a true smarta##) statement about how terrible the South is in one way or another.

The people who make these statements with such blatant disrespect have no clue that by doing so they are telling us that "they just weren't raised right". You don't go into someones home and disrespect them or it. It is simply bad manners.

Unfortunately this occurs on a much greater level than these face to face encounters.
The media is also on board. I have heard criticizing statements from broadcasters of both news and sports,and seen ridiculous portrayals of our lives done with accents that make me cringe, in both movies and television.

An example in sports I can give you, came when the Braves made it to the world series. The national announcers had my blood pressure up so high that I had to turn the sound down on my t.v. and turn the radio on to listen to the local ones. Not only was it evident that they wanted the Braves to lose, but the jokes and smart remarks were rude, unacceptable and not even close to being cute.

The newest thorn in my side is that joke of a reality series called The Real Housewives Of Atlanta. Are they serious? Let me say,I was born and raised in Atlanta and I have never been more embarrassed by a representation of our city.

I would just like to take this opportunity to inform all of the transplants to Atlanta, that feel like all things southern are beneath them , that I-75 does in fact run north and Delta is ready when you are. We're over the disrespect.

The suggestion that t.v. networks and movie producers and writers, as well as newspaper editors and writers on a national level take the time to actually LEARN something about the south would, I am sure, fall on deaf ears.

Finally I have to say thank you to Jimmy for turning against his own Southern heritage by basically saying we are all ignorant southern racists. I have one suggestion for him, get out in the real south and meet and actually talk to people before labeling them racists. Obviously he is ashamed that he's southern, us all being such terrible people and everything, so let me add that we southerners feel the same way about that fact as he does..it's embarrassing.

There doesn't seem to be very many people left like me who are willing to speak up about this issue, but then I'm living in an Atlanta now that is so diverse people actually hear my Southern accent and ask where I'm from.

The diversity is fine, but so is the love of home that I have for Atlanta, as well as my need for it to be respected. I respect the love of home others have regardless of where home is for them. For those of you not born and raised in the south that show the ones of us who were, and our cities respect, Thank you. For those of you who don't....respect shows good manners, and we're big on manners in the South in case y'all haven't heard.

Why is this the way things are in a world where prejudice and stereotyping are suppose to be such a huge no no? My guess would be plain ignorance, but the people who make these remarks and portray the south in such a negative way were probably born above the Mason/Dixon Line and would be hard pressed to agree with this explanation since they're so positive we are the ignorant ones.

I know reading this may upset some people, but I have to tell you just writing it has improved my blood pressure greatly...

"Healing A Heart"

2009-08-14T10:44:00.000-07:00

My husband and I spent the last few weeks at an Atlanta area hospital. This stay was prompted by chest pains that left my husband doubled over and unable to speak. I took him to his cardiologist, at the hospital, who ordered a catherization of his heart, which revealed the need for triple bypass surgery.

Upon hearing that he would need this surgery, I did what I always do in times of crisis, I cried. I then tried to tell myself that bypass surgery is a procedure his doctors perform several times a week. I spent the time after the decision was made to do open heart surgery going back and forth between being worried, scared and crying, and being rational and calm.

My husband and I had an entire week to worry, and let our anxiety levels build, because the surgery couldn't be done until all of his Plavix, a medication he has been on since receiving stints a few years ago, was out of his system.

He was admitted on a Tuesday and had the catherization. The Plavix levels were checked almost daily and it was finally determined that the surgery would be on the following Monday.

There are several things that had to be done the night prior to the surgery such as; blood being drawn every hour to test his glucose levels, and being bathed several times , in his case by me, with an antibacterial wash provided to us by his nurse.

Sunday night he obeyed all the surgical rules, and I bathed him and helped in anyway that I could. Bright and early Monday morning we were all set. I had hugged him, kissed him, and cried...it was go time.

The nurse came in and told him that transportation was on the way to get him, and then about two minutes later she was back. She then said that she had gotten a phone call, and that my husband's surgery had been "cancelled".

I was stunned. The first thing I did was ask her if she was serious, at which point she assured me that she was. I said "but I've already cried and everything." None of our protests mattered. There had evidently been an emergency or something that amounted to my husband being "bumped" from the schedule and we had no choice but to wait until the next day.

We tried to entertain ourselves by talking about some of the motivated workers we had encountered during our stay. They were numerous. There was one that my husband asked for clean towels who gave him a very quick response of "that ain't my job."

There was another man riding on a machine that seemed to be polishing the hallway floors. He was riding up and down the hall at the same rate of speed, ultra-slow, with a completely emotionless expression on his face until somebody said something to him about the fact that it was almost five o'clock, at which point he sped up and began turning the machine on a dime.

I also shared with him that I had gotten on the elevator with another motivated employee who was sighing and making noises to such an extent that I had to ask if she was okay. She said "No I'm not feeling good, and I'm tired." I said that I was sorry to hear that, and I asked her if she thought she might be getting sick. She looked at me, very seriously, and she said "No, but I worked yesterday." Wow!! Two days in a row...seriously??...is that like pulling a double?? I work five days a week ..I'll be dead if I'm not careful.

The waiting another day was hard, to say the least, and it meant that the bathing ritual and blood being drawn every hour had to be repeated that night, but we survived it. My husband is my hero, if it had been me, I think I would have lost my mind completely.

Tuesday morning he was to be the first "case". They came for him at around 7 a.m. and I cried again. The nurse informed me that I would need to take everything out of the room and move down to the ICU Red waiting room where the surgeon would have someone give me reports on how the surgery was progressing.

The first report that I received wasn't until 9a.m. There was a little patient representative reporter person, who gave these updates, and he came over and said "Mrs. Foster, the surgery has begun". I received a second report at 9:40. He said "Mrs. Foster, your husband is now on the bypass machine"..

This was information that I didn't want to know. I wanted to just yell are you insane?? Why would I want to know that??? I've got an idea. Since you're not a reporter for Star magazine I'm not going to be needing all of the gory details, let's try and use statements like "it's all going well" or "it's almost over"..

After that all I could manage to think about for the next few hours was that my husbands heart wasn't beating...I mean his valves were hooked to some sort of a machine or something like that, but overall it was just more than I could wrap my mind around.

When I finally got the report that it was over and had gone well I almost went down in a dead faint. I had been sleeping in a chair for seven days and had raw nerves as a bonus.

Two hours or so, after the surgery was over the little patient representative guy came over and informed me that I could "go back and see my loved one". I was both anxious and apprehensive about seeing my husband with all of those tubes everywhere, and hooked to all of those machines, not the least of which was the ventilator.

Again, I cried . After this initial visit, I was allowed to go back every two hours to see him. This happened three consecutive times, and I was asked to leave very shortly after arriving for each visit. Not by his nurses, or a doctor, but by my husband himself.

He was saying things to me like "Okay, I'm resting now" and shooing me out with hand gestures. I left and tried again each time until the third time when he said "okay, I'll see you upstairs". Upstairs meaning when he was moved from ICU to CCU. When he said that, I looked at him and said "so you don't want me to come back here for anymore of the ICU visits?" and he said no he did not.

I had a hard time with this because I wasn't even trying to talk to him, I was just standing there next to his bed. The allotted time for visitation in ICU was 20 minutes per visit, and I was getting 20 to 30 seconds at best. Well, needless to say I left with my feelings hurt.

On Wednesday afternoon, I got the news that my husband was being moved upstairs to CCU. I was so excited. We would be in a private room ( sleeping on a couch in the public like I had done the night before in the ICU waiting room has never been something I'm all that big on) and he had made it!! He was leaving ICU.

I grabbed the bags we were living out of, and headed upstairs to meet him. It didn't take me long to realize that he wasn't feeling as good about things as I was. He was extremely nervous and uptight. The first three days out of surgery we sat in that room together, in the dark. No blinds open, no TV, no phone, no communication, no noise whatsoever. For those of you who know me..trying to remain sane in complete and total silence ...well...enough said.

When Thursday rolled around the nurses were saying things to us about needing to "get his wires pulled". The first time I heard this I was like...Wires? What wires? I found out later that they were referring to small wires that had probes on the ends, and they were attached to my husband's heart. They were to be removed basically by being yanked out through two holes left in my husbands stomach from his drainage tubes.

The huge concern the nurses had for us was that if the wires weren't "pulled" by Friday we wouldn't be allowed to go home until Monday. As luck would have it, his wires were "pulled" on Friday, and on Saturday he was discharged.

The drive home was the longest ride of my life. We were told that he would have to ride in the backseat for the next month because his chest wouldn't be healed well enough to tolerate an airbag deploying. I was never happier to be home than I was that afternoon.

The past month has been an extremely hard one, but we were also reminded of how very blessed we are. We have family and friends that go above and beyond to help us in anyway that they can.

We had, and continue to have, prayers going up for us in numbers so large I would never be able to count them. There are times when God slows your life down, and even though the process may be a hard one, it can be very valuable. Valuable not only for health reasons, but because it becomes a reminder of all that we do have on any given day, and so we stop to heal... as well as to appreciate....

"Manicure? Are You Serious?"

2009-07-24T18:54:00.000-07:00

I love my twin sister dearly, but though we are identical by birth , in personality we couldn't be more different if we tried.

The differences between us are huge. I am an over the top, got to get my hair done, nails done, purse collecting, make-up, lipgloss, and bracelet wearing, perfume's a must, non-athletic individual. She is pretty much the opposite.

One thing that is located fairly high on my priority list is having my nails done. Let me just say that my twin doesn't quite place that particular activity as high on her list of priorities as I do.

At any rate, about two years ago we were on our way out of town together and I announced that before we got on I-75 I had to go by the nail salon and have my nails done. She looked at me like I was insane. I just looked back at her and said "do you think that I can just walk around all week watching my nail polish become chipped and look worse with every day that passes?"

I will tell you she was not at all happy about my need for a manicure. She was completely at a loss as to why this was a must before we could leave town. I assured her that not going to have them done would ruin my entire trip and so she let me out of the car in front of the nail salon.

The manicure took about an hour and needless to say when I came out my sister's mood had become a little more intense, as had her need for understanding. I told her I just had to do it and I apologized for not having been able to find the time to work it in before the last minute and she let it go...or so I thought.

Tonight my sister stopped by for a visit and as we were having a cup of coffee together she told me that she had a dream last night. She said it was actually a nightmare. I said that I was sorry and told her how I hate nightmares and asked her to tell me what it was about.

She began by saying that she and I were in a Jeep and she was driving. I began thinking thoughts like oh God, someone was after us and we died, or we crashed and I died, and all the horrible things that one would associate with a nightmare.

Well as she went on to tell me more I learned that she had dreamed that the Jeep was out of control and that the entire vehicle was falling forward. She said that her head was forced down and she couldn't see out of the windshield so she had no idea where we were going to land or what she could do to try and save our lives.

I told her that all sounded terrible, and then she said "that's not how it ended". I said oh. What else happened? She said "I asked you if you could see out of the windshield and I looked over at you..and there you were just slowly painting your nails". She then proceeded to give me a visual on just how I was doing it.

I looked right at her and said "Are you serious right now?" She assured me that she was, and I then told her that I knew why she had dreamed that I was nonchalantly painting my nails in the middle of a life and death situation. She let me go on to explain, and I told her that I thought it was because she never thinks that I take things as seriously as I should.

After hearing my explanation, she told me that wasn't why at all . I then asked her why she thought she had that dream, and ...here comes the good part...she said "Do you remember that time we were going on vacation together and you had to stop and get your nails done?"

Well I have to be honest with you... I cracked up!!, Then I said "Yes..Oh My God! You've been holding onto to that for years!" I thought you let that go before we entered I-75 that day.

When she left we were both laughing, each at ourselves...me because I knew good and well that my part in her nightmare sounded just about like something I would do, and She because she realized that she had been holding on to her frustration with me over that little incident for so long.

I do feel terrible for asking her to wait over something like my nails, but a woman's gotta do what she's gotta do...

Let me just say now that I am sorry Sister...I love you ..And it was in truth pretty selfish of me to make you wait, but if it helps, my vacation was much better for your kindness.

Oh, and one more thing to make you feel better... don't worry about the nightmare coming true...I never paint my own nails..(Smile)

"Final Wishes"

2009-05-19T14:57:00.000-07:00

My husband said to me one night that he didn't think that he would live to be very old. I could tell by the way he said it, he was being serious, so I Just looked at him and said "Don't worry about it. They say only the good die young, so you'll be around for a long time".

I then became very quiet. After a short time he looked at me and said "what's wrong with you?" I said I just realized...I'm so screwed. He cracked up.

This led to us discussing things like what we would do if the other one went first, and what we would want done, should we be the one that goes first.

He began by asking me to bury him in his police uniform, and to be sure that his name plate and serving since pins were on his shirt. His logic behind this request was that #1, God would be able to identify him without looking for his name in the book, and #2, It would be readily evident to God that he had spent 25 plus years as a humble community servant. Just to Sum it up...He's looking for brownie points.

Of course, my husband, being a Christian, knows that this is all futile because when it comes time to stand before God, our lives are what they are, and we will have done what we've done. Some of us will just be in a little more trouble than others. We both also know that there will be no "guilty with an explanation" on judgment day."

At any rate, that particular part of the conversation ended with me telling him that I would do as he had requested and honor his wishes.

When it was time for him to say what he would do should I go first, it was no problem at all . . . Without hesitation, he said he would marry someone about 25, and try and move on. He said it would be tough, but life must go on, and he knew that I would want him to be happy.

When it was my turn to make requests, I said if I should happen to go first, I want lots of flowers. I let him know that my friend Tracey has been asked to check my hair, if she finds it unacceptable... closed casket...not up for discussion. I said I want my nails painted, and if the polish is left chipped in the slightest way, I will be back.

I also requested bracelets, and a little perfume. I mean the Bible does say "the dead in Christ shall rise", and I want to be presentable...I'm in enough trouble.

Another thing that I told my husband was that I expected tears, and lots of them. I told him I wanted my funeral to include a slide show of my life, and him on the front row crying like a girl.

I made one last request using an idea that I had heard from another married couple earlier in my life. I told him that he should bury me with a shovel. He immediately responded with "why in the world would I do that?". I let him know that it was completely for his benefit.

He then wanted to know how that would benefit him? I said well, when Jesus comes again, as I rise up from the ground, if I don't see you, I thought you might want me to start digging, but if you don't think it's a good idea I can live with that. "No tears past the gate", so I'm good either way.

After telling him that I hadn't given much thought to what I would do should he go first, I just simply promised to keep in mind what I had learned from him. Especially the part about how life must go on, and being happy. I assured him that I would try to do exactly as he would do, if the shoe were on the other foot.

As far as headstones go, he pointed out one in Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, one day when we were there, that said a woman's name, followed by "Went through life merrily doing good". He said he was going to put that on mine... I , in turn, promised to put something great on his as well, like for example; "Keep the line moving".

We handle pretty much all things with humor at our house, but I will tell you that many of the above requests are things we actually want done. Neither one of us would ever take the others death lightly. In fact, we would be devastated. It's just that when you are speaking about personal desires involving death and a loss of that magnitude, it's easier to convey and receive each others wishes with a little humor added in.....

Good Lord..We have to laugh, and I can't expect the man to get all upset and cry now, when we are only discussing it... especially since he's going to have to come up with all of those tears when I do go...

"Storm Watch"

2009-05-04T18:19:00.000-07:00

I am terrified of storms. I don't mean the afternoon/evening, run of the mill, heat of the day thunderstorms. The kind I'm talking about come in riding a warm or cold front, and have hail, high winds, and tornadic content.

This fear began for me when I was a little girl. I believe it began when I was at my Granny's house in Grant Park. It would "come up a cloud", as she would put it, and the thunder would make the windows in the house rattle. The entire house would rumble and shake. It didn't help matters much that my grandfather loved to tease me. He would say things like "Let her rip!", and "It's going to blow this house off the hill!".

This, in my little 5 year old book, was cause for alarm. To tell you the truth I was not all that brave in the first place, so it didn't take much to scare me half to death.

Granny's house sat on a hill and was surrounded by trees. The old very large oak, been there forever, type of trees. These two facts made me believe two things. one, being on a hill made us far closer to the lightening than everyone else, and two, if the lightening didn't kill us one of the trees whipping in the wind would.

As I grew a little older my fear of storms only intensified because our neighborhood was hit by two tornadoes within a two or three year period. One occurred when I was in elementary school. I was just sitting in class minding my own business when I heard this sound outside.

It was the freight train noise that everyone on the news refers to, but I remember thinking that it sounded more like a very loud whistle. Observing how dark the clouds looked outside, I felt myself begin to panic and immediately began to search my mind for any other cause for the whistle noise other than an actual tornado.

Being the little Southern Baptist Sunday school and church goer that I was, I thought Lord, just let it be Gabriel with his horn announcing the second coming of Jesus.

Who could blame me? It sounded much better to me, and the truth is, minds are always filled with religious thoughts in a time of great fear or need, so it was actually a perfectly normal reaction.

It wasn't long before I realized it wasn't Jesus coming to take me home. I spent the rest of the day with my heart literally hurting due to the high level of anxiety I had worked up. If a child was found to be in this state these days they would probably be rushed to the nearest doctor and diagnosised with post traumatic stress disorder or something along those lines.

The other tornado I was in, came about a year or two later, and I am sure the two storms are a huge part of why I remain afraid in my adult life. I have a cousin, who is like a brother to me. He calls me on occasion when the weather is bad and says things like "are you on storm watch?", or "take cover, it's coming out of Alabama, moving as fast as it can, and it's headed right for your house."

He teases me, but he loves me. I know this because in one of my houses, I had a room behind a wall in my garage where I sought shelter from the storms. He showed up at my house one night with a small roll of carpet and said "This is for your storm shelter. It's spring time and I know you'll be living in there." How sweet is that?

The older my children get, the harder it is to convince them to take cover with me, but I do what I can. My husband has never been willing to enter the storm shelter. I have opened the door and shouted things at him like "fine! Let a tree fall on you!!, or the roof!! Die!! It won't be my fault, and random things of this nature.

This usually goes on until the storm gets so bad outside that I have no choice but to close the door, and leave him for dead. I have to consider the safety of the children and myself.

As I have gotten older my fears have lessened. The new radar technology and my ability to follow the storms more precisely on the weather reports and on my laptop has reduced dramatically the need for me to remain in a constant state of panic when it gets cloudy outside.

I have also discovered that the amount of times a storm actually hits my area is substantially less than the number of times the weathermen will scare me with a warning for my entire county.

I guess we all have our issues....some people have more than others, and some seem more well founded than others. The way I see it, I could find things far less serious to be afraid of, so I'm not feeling so bad about my fear of natural disasters..I mean that's pretty big stuff...right?

"Autism: Thief Of Our Children"

2009-04-23T13:45:00.000-07:00

The children I work with all have special needs, and they are all very precious to me. The many facets of their personalities make this true for a variety of reasons. Although the students in the classroom are all within the same I.Q. range, their disabilities vary.

The most fascinating of the disabilities for me is that of the autism spectrum disorder. It is a challenge to form a two-way bond with these students because of the emotional disconnect that comes with being autistic.

I want the students who have this disorder to understand that I care about them. I want them to experience the feel of that emotion. I want them to feel more connected with the world and not so isolated. It causes me great sadness to think of anyone going through life without experiencing love and that is exactly what some of them have to do.

I know that I am not going to accomplish this with all of them, but I am going to try as hard as I can. I am pretty stubborn when I feel it's worth it, and I can't think of a better cause.

I have worked with autistic students that have fallen anywhere from the lowest functioning end of the spectrum to the highest functioning end of the spectrum.

One of the savant students that I worked with in the past was so amazing. He would hold your face between his hands when he first met you and say "what's your first name?" then he would inquire about the rest of your name then ask "where are you from?" This question would be followed by him asking for your date of birth.

He could calculate how old you were in days and tell you what day of the week you were born on in a fraction of a second. I know this because once after he had transferred to another area high school, I walked into a room at a county event, and he shouted out for all to hear "Mrs. Arlene Lynn Foster, from Atlanta, Georgia, 43 years old in 39 days!".

In case I forgot to mention it disabilities don't come with filters on what should and should not be said aloud.

I now work very closely with a couple of female students that are autistic. My co-workers call one of them my shadow. Her desk is located right beside mine and she wouldn't have it any other way. To tell you the truth neither would I.

She is very sweet most of the time and has a beautiful smile. Once in a while however, she will have a bad day, and she becomes aggressive. She has thrown things at me, turned her desk over, cursed, slapped me and kicked me, and I have gone home with bruises the size of softballs.

Some of these episodes have occurred in the community in front of a large number of people. The episodes are not necessarily prompted by something that is happening right at the moment . Although, the cause could be something happening at the time the aggressive behavior occurs, it could very well be due to something that has happened days or even weeks before.

My shadow for instance, believes, with a conviction that I have been unable to overturn, that I make the rain. As luck would have it ...she hates the rain...rain causes an immediate bad day. I have tried to convince her that God or whatever name she might recognize as her higher power makes the rain, but in her mind I'm the rainmaker and so the ramifications are mine.

I am sure that some people would say that I am crazy for doing what I do. I on the other hand, don't believe that I am. I care a great deal about these students and regardless of how their disability affects their behavior, as long as I can say that any negative behavior they exhibit is a manifestation of their disability then I'm okay with it.

I know that it is much more frustrating for them than I could even begin to imagine. As I said earlier the one thing that is really painful for me and makes my heart ache for the students with an autistic disability is the lack of emotional connection with other people that some of them have.

I have worked with one particular female for about 4 years now and just this year she began to say I love you in response to my saying it to her first.

Finally, about a month ago, she said it to me without any prompting. I have to tell you that I cried. It meant more to me than you could begin to imagine. This same student also stares at me all day long. Needless to say my ability to recognize the fact that I am being stared at is virtually non-existent due to this behavior of hers.

One day last week, I ask her why she was staring at me, and she said "because I want to". I responded with the question "why do you want to?" She said "because I love you" with this huge grin on her face. I melted. It was a wonderful moment for me.

I have always believed that Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is correlated with Autism and I'm not sure what the most recent research shows about that. I am also convinced that immunizations play a part in its cause.

In the 1980s a child received 10 immunizations before the age of 6, now they receive 36 before they are that age.

In the 1970s and 1980s 1 in every 2000 children was diagnosed with autism. The Centers For Disease Control and prevention said in their February prevalence report that now 1 in every 150 children are diagnosed with autism. Studies have also shown that a male child is 4 times more likely to be diagnosed with autism than a female child so this statistic becomes 1 in 94 for male children.

I have a personal belief that the children could also possibly be genetically predisposed and that potentially something in the immunizations triggers the autism.

A story was released by the Huffington Post that said three weeks after a Vaccine Court ruled against three families that claimed that vaccines caused autism in their children, Special Master Abell of the Vaccine Court awarded $810,000, and medical compensation to parents of a young boy named Bailey Banks.

This came after Special Master Abell ruled that the petitioners had proven that an inflammation illness called acute disseminated encephalomyetis (ADEM) was the result of his MMR vacine which triggered his autism.

I hope that this is a step forward in making scientists take a look at doing more research on the cumulative effects of vaccines, and not only the effects of each individual vaccine if it were to be given alone.

Although I know for many, discovering the cause for autism is not a priority at this time, It desperately needs to be. We need to be concerned about this as a society. No one is safe from this becoming a personal issue. With the statistics showing autism on the rise at such a rapid rate, it is no longer only the problem of the people who have been diagnosed and their families....

This is most definitely everyone's problem.....

"It's A Boy! Activate The Tracking Device"

2009-04-14T13:50:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday I was at a metro Atlanta hospital, for the birth of my grandson. This event was very exciting for my entire family, and I have to add that the baby is beautiful!

A few things happened over the course of the two days, however, that weren't as nice as his arrival. One of them was that my daughter spent an entire day and most of an evening, under the care of nurse Ratched.

This wasn't the most alarming thing that happened, and we weren't surprised considering all hospitals seem to have one or more of these type nurses on their payroll. Maybe it's some sort of an attitude diversity requirement.

Anyway, the other thing was a little more alarming to me than the demeanor of my daughter's nurse.

We were decorating the door of her room with the usual bows, ribbons and signs declaring the arrival and sex of the baby. As we were doing this, one of the nurses came up and said "We no longer allow the doors of our new mothers to be decorated."

Someone in the family said "Excuse me?" The nurse then said "these days it is entirely to dangerous to advertise not only that you have a newborn, but also the sex of the baby".

It seems that not only are there baby thieves striking at area hospitals, but the children are being snatched according to the perpetrator's boy or girl preference.

I was beyond shocked when I learned all of this, although considering what I already knew about the state of the world, I'm not sure I should have been.

We had seen the security guard walking, at a somewhat alarming rate, earlier that day with his hand on his gun, mace, or whatever, and talking on his radio. Still, the fact that a child could be in danger of being stolen never occurred to me.

Right after the nurse completed her no decoration rule explanation, the baby arrived in the room. I immediately unwrapped him, to get a better look, like grandmothers do, and that's when I spotted it.

He was wearing a small ankle bracelet that made him appear as if he were on house arrest. It was a small white hard plastic square box type apparatus with a ribbon type material running through it.

I asked the next nurse that entered the room what it was. She looked at me, and without batting an eye, said "it's a tracking device".

Well, after a hard pause, I looked at her and responded with "are you serious?" She assured me that she was.

Upon hearing this, needless to say, my daughter and son-in-law never let my grandson out of their sight again.

I left the hospital thinking even the most precious moments in our lives cannot remain untouched by crime.

The only thought that followed that one for me was...Let us pray...

"The Written Word"

2009-04-04T06:52:00.000-07:00

I am a bit old fashioned in more than a few of my ways and beliefs. I have perfumed handkerchiefs and Victorian calling cards in my purse. I say ma'am and sir when addressing my elders and I believe in the written word.

On a personal level, I actually enjoy writing letters. James A. Michener, a novelist and short story writer, once said "I love writing, I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotion". I love this quote because it describes the way I feel about writing perfectly.

I realize that people are busy these days and that our ability to email each other is both simple and convenient. Now, when people are in a rush, it isn't even required that they type out an entire word.

You can, evidently, just type a letter or two. Some examples of this that I have seen are; u for the word you, u r, for the words you are, or when place together, ur to represent the word you're. I suppose that's great sometimes, for certain things like short messages, or for things of a non-personal nature.

I do, however, feel that there are times when we should put forth the effort it takes to write someone a letter, and that saying thank you with a written note is mandatory. I believe that when someone takes the time to do something for us that deserves our thanks, the very least we can do is take the time to write them a thank you note.

Not so long ago my husband was shown great kindness and generosity by several of his co-workers. I hand wrote around forty thank you notes and was more than happy to do it, as well I should have been.

My husband in turn took the thank you notes, and gave them to an administrative officer, to be placed in the office mailboxes of his co-workers. Needless to say, his doing this caused me to suffer a complete and total hissy fit. After said fit, I informed him that I hoped he was satisfied to have single handedly caused Emily Post to be rolling over in her grave....Please mail your letters and thank you notes. Hand delivery is not an option.

As far as writing letters go, I have always done it. I enjoyed writing my grandparents and some of my other relatives when I was a little girl, and I am still a letter writer today. I write both good and bad letters. Good as in, You're doing a fantastic job, or I'm thinking of you...Bad as in I'm disgruntled, and I'm going to need your name.

I just think that writing letters is a much more personal way of communicating, and it upsets me to see this practice disappearing completely from our society. I would venture to guess that most people couldn't even begin to tell you when the last time was that they went to their mailbox and found a handwritten letter waiting there for them, and I think that's just a shame.

Emails are quick and convenient, as I said before, but the next time you find yourself thinking of someone you haven't seen or spoken to in awhile, take the time to write them a letter letting them know that you are thinking of them.

There is some really beautiful stationary still being sold, and wax stamps are still available to seal your envelopes. Ladies, use your favorite perfume and spray a mist of it over your letter, seal it, and stamp it. It really is very little effort that will most certainly go a long way.....

"Dressed Down And All Inked Up"

2009-03-19T18:29:00.000-07:00

My husband and I went to a restaurant tonight to eat dinner. When we are out, on more occasions than not, we get stared at. I mean blatantly, and tonight was no exception.

We have gotten stared at by on duty police officers, elderly couples, small children, middle aged adults, and tonight we managed to get the attention of an entire baseball team.

The attention we draw when we go out is not because I'm some breathtaking beauty, not even close. The attention grabber is my husband. He will wear anything, and he will wear it anywhere. It makes not one bit of difference to him where he is going. If he wants to wear something ...he does.

This man once wore his pajama pants to a Longhorn restaurant and caused us to be seated so far in the back corner that it was like an isolation booth. He wears sleeveless t-shirts (self-altered) with quaint sayings like "Boot Hill Saloon, Daytona Beach, Across From The Cemetery."

He usually wears these shirts with Abercrombie cargo shorts, although he does have a pair of mint green polo shorts with pink flamingos on them that he opts to substitute now and then.

To complete such an ensemble, he chooses from an assortment of shoes that you would have to see to believe.

Among his shoe collection are a pair of navy blue Crocs, Ed Hardy tennis shoes, and plaid Sperry topsiders just to name a few.

Another thing that enhances my husbands look when he goes out, is the fact that he wears his hair as is. Meaning if he gets up and his hair is standing straight up like a toddler after a good nights sleep then that's okay with him.

I realize that the clothing and hair descriptions that I have just given you would be quite enough to get the attention of others, but believe it or not there is more to the attraction.

To add to his look, my husband has seven tattoos that are all exposed when he is dressed as I have described above. There is bob wire running around his arm, Japanese writing that says who knows what, a tombstone, a polo horse with rider, and God knows what all ...both arms..both legs...as one of our friends likes to put it..."He's all inked up".

When I married my husband he didn't have a single tattoo. He was a preppy clean cut guy with unmarked skin. Now when I roll over at night I am momentarily frightened that I've gotten into bed with a convict.

Now don't get me wrong, this man who wears these sleeveless shirts, shorts, crazy shoes, with wild hair and all the ink exposed knows how to dress. He can dress in very nice clothing, I know because I have seen it happen once or twice.

One time in particular that comes to mind is when I had to have a fairly major surgery done at Piedmont Hospital. I had just gotten back in my room from recovery, and I was on a morphine drip, so I was a bit unsure of what was going on around me.

That's when it happened. I looked up and saw him at the foot of my bed. I will never forget that moment, because it scared me to death. There he was in a pair of very nice dress pants, a white dress shirt and a tie.

I glanced down at his feet and he was wearing a pair of Bostonian loafers.....all I could think after I caught my breath was my God they've told him I'm going to die and he's decided he needs to look his best to go over to the funeral home and make the arrangements.

The one thing that really puzzles me about him is that when we get the stares and looks, he seems confused about it. I had to give him a brief synopses on what he looked like tonight when we were getting stared at, because I could tell that he was going to need clarification on what the problem might be.

Did he care? Not one bit. There is a part of me that thinks that degree of self-esteem must be a wonderful thing to have. I personally don't even come close to having that kind of self assured attitude.

He sits and has his dinner as if he never notices a thing, while I sit across from him feeling self conscious enough for both of us. I usually have on whatever I've worn to work and since my job is in a high school classroom, needless to say, I look a bit more conservative than he does, yet I'm the one that is bothered by the stares...

I will say that it is eye opening to see how quickly people judge others by their appearance...They are probably thinking that my husband is a criminal, who doesn't have a job, and could care less.

In reality,however, he is a Lieutenant with one of the largest police departments in the state of Georgia, and has been with them for over 25 years.

Changing my husband's idea about what constitutes proper attire for leaving the house is not a feat I'm ever going to accomplish. I have even gone as far as loading Z Z tops "Every girls crazy 'bout a sharped dressed man " song into the CD player in his vehicle...he was unaffected.

I just wish that every now and then he'd wear a dress shirt and tie......I love a man in a dress shirt and tie....I suppose I should be more realistic....okay...sleeves....could I get a shirt with sleeves?

"The Flip Side Of Nice"

2009-03-11T13:52:00.000-07:00

I have had a pretty rough week. Nothing Earth shattering has gone on. It's just been a lot of little things that seem to have become overwhelming, and now I find myself wanting to sleep for about 3 days, when in reality I never sleep more than 3 to 4 hours at a time.

Not only have I had the type week where numerous things have happened that caused me to experience every emotion known to man, from frustration to tears, but I have been very vocal about it without thought.

This behavior is somewhat new for me, and can be dangerous, yet seems almost out of my control. I use to be so passive. I kept my mouth shut and did what everyone else expected or needed me to do to avoid any disagreement or conflict, as well as hurt feelings.

I was evidently overly nice, as I discovered one day when my husband and I were walking through Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta. He saw a headstone and said that's what I'm going to put on yours. It said "Went through life merrily doing good."

Well, as flattering as that is, I am afraid it didn't change the need I had for an individual revolt against being too nice.

These days I am so different. Not only can I feel it, but I have actually been told. One night, not long ago my sister in law looked at me and said "You use to be so nice". I will say this made me take pause, and it did bother me...for about a minute....and then I thought ...."Yeah well nice bites."

Nice gets you ran over and disrespected and neglected, if you allow it to go to far. The difference in me isn't that bad in my opinion. It's just that now when I feel like someone does or says something I don't appreciate I make them aware of it.....Immediately.

I suppose I put up with things for so long, that my speaking my mind now, freaks people out a little bit. I'm thinking..."they'll adjust".

I have even recently been called a "bitch". Funny thing is ...I didn't mind so much...as a matter of a fact I have decided that having a little "bitch edge" to my personality is a positive thing. Don't get me wrong, I still think I'm nice, and I take care of lots of people, but I am now demanding the respect and appreciation that I deserve for it. This goes for my personal and professional life.

Anyway, there's nothing attractive about some soft spoken door mat that's getting walked all over. I have, however, seen more than one man attracted to the "bitch factor".

I will say that being more vocal and letting people know what I'm thinking and feeling has been a wonderful thing. It feels so good in fact that I couldn't go back to the old me if I wanted to. I guess that doesn't matter, however, because I don't want to.

Everyone should have a flip side to nice. So maybe I'll hear the "Bitch" word in reference to my personality a few more times. Maybe it will be spoken behind my back even more frequently than I hear it.

If it means I'm living my life the way that I want to, with no unnecessary apologies, and doing the things I want to do, then fantastic! Call me a bitch. Have at it!

I'll just add an addendum to my prayers at night asking God not to let me get to drunk with power.........

"Directionally challenged"

2009-02-28T16:22:00.001-08:00

I have heard that there are people who have a "natural sense of direction." These people, never, from what I understand, get lost. I am amazed by this phenomenon because to me having that ability is the equivalent of having a super power.

I, as you may have guessed by now, am not one of those people. If I attempt a trip that goes beyond a twenty mile radius from my house I'm as good as lost...guaranteed.

I don't know why I can't process and follow directions. I honestly am a relatively intelligent individual, but I just simply can't do it. The following is an example of just how severe my direction deficit is:

When one of my former students moved to Winder, Ga, I made several trips there to see him. The first one was for his high school graduation. I called and got interstate directions from a friend of mine, who happens to live there.

I was lost before I could get out of Dekalb county and I live in Henry county. For those of you who may not know, these two counties are located next to each other. I got lost, not because the directions my friend gave me were bad, in fact, they were perfect, I just managed to screw them up.

Warning to others: If you are not in the correct lane on I-285, far in advance, you will miss the exit for I-85 north, and end up on Buford Hwy. where everything is written in a foreign language.

Yes, that is exactly what happened to me. I called my friend back, and he was, thank God, able to put me back on track with just a few turns.

When I made it to Winder, the school parking lot was full, so I parked at a church close by and walked to the school stadium. I will say that I was relieved to have arrived on time.

Everything was great until the ceremony ended and I got into my car to leave. I suddenly realized that the school officials and local police were directing traffic out one way, and you guessed it, it was not the way that I had come in.

Panic sat in, because now, not only had it gotten dark, I was being sent down a road to who knows where, all the while thinking in my mind, this is definitely going to be a problem.

I immediately flipped my phone open and called my friend. I explained the situation and he helped me out again, staying on the phone with me until I was back on the interstate and headed in the right direction.

It was 1 a.m. before I got back home. I left Winder at 9:30 p.m. I live about an hour and a half away from there, if that helps to put things in perspective for you on just how bad I am.

The next time I decided to make the Winder trip, I contacted my friend via email, and asked him for new directions, this time using back roads. I wanted to try a new route, because even though, it had been about a month since my last trip, I was still feeling a bit traumatized.

He sent me written directions, and I followed them to the best of my ability. I did make it to Winder, but became lost somewhere down Hwy 53, where I can assure you, that dark means dark. I did the usual phone a friend for help thing , but this time he didn't answer.

I called repeatedly and still no answer. At this point the word panic didn't begin to cover it. I called my husband for help but in my state of alarm I didn't realize that I would actually need to know where I was exactly before he could give me any google map help.

I had no clue where I was. I hung up the phone, took a few deep breaths, and preceded to go up and down Hwy 53 like a carnival duck. I finally kept going in one direction long enough to find a little store where I found three men, who were Winder locals. They were very kind, and able to point me in the right direction. All in all I was lost for about an hour.

Using my same back road directions I have gone to Winder at least 4 other times and managed to come into town on a different road each and every time, making at least 2 other calls to my friend for help.

I am sure that when I let him know I had gotten navigation on my cell phone it was cause for a celebratory event at his house. He is a wonderful and patient man......I know this because I am sure if he wasn't I would have gotten a recording by now saying this number has been changed to an unpublished number. Lord knows I wouldn't have blamed him.

I'm not sure why I have such a poor sense of direction, but I'm not as concerned as I use to be about it. I mean surely between cell phone navigation, Google maps, and good friends I'll always get where I'm going...if not...I'll just see lots of places I never planned on seeing......I am going to try to stick with day trips whenever I can........Dark like you find on Hwy 53 adds an extra stress factor that a lost person such as myself just doesn't need.......

" MaryJane"

2009-02-23T18:46:00.000-08:00

My husband was telling me a story today about one of our friends. He said that when our friends daughter came across a picture of him drinking a beer he had to tell her that he was of legal age when he was actually only 17.

I responded by saying at least he was able to get away with that, unlike myself, who thanks to you, had a full report given to my children on my behavior during my teenage years, without my consent.

This conversation occurring today is what led me to write the following:

When I was young I was very focused on academics and always worried more about doing everything I should be doing, and not getting into trouble, which to tell you the truth, led to my not having much fun.

When I started high school I was 14 years old and in the 10Th grade. I was very focused on the work I had to do to get A's and that sort of thing... until my junior year....

I got my first serious boyfriend. I just knew that I was madly in love. This put things in a whole new light for me. I still made good grades but I became more than ready to add major fun to my daily schedule.

I wanted to spend all the time that I could with him and so he began to come over to my house every day after school. He was a senior and had much more experience than I did in the whole fun department.

I'm not sure how my parents felt about him at first, but once they had gotten to know him , I convinced them to let me started going out on dates with him, even though I was only 15.

My argument was that I had started school at a very young age and I would graduate when I was 16, and be socially ruined for the rest of my life, if they didn't let me date while there was still time.

Now, on to the Maryjane thing... on one of our very first dates he brought out a joint and we smoked it together. I was horrified at first because I was such a little lady and my mother had raised me to behave myself at all times and that certainly included not partaking in illegal substances.

After the first time, however, I began to relax about it and wouldn't you know as soon as I did my boyfriend suddenly became concerned about my well being, and said he no longer wanted me to participate in having that particular type of fun.

I listened to him...... for awhile....and then, as luck would have it..... we broke up.

I began spending more time with my friends and the more time I spent with them the more I realized my ex boyfriend had no idea what the definition of fun was.

I had turned 16 by this time and like all teenagers, my friends and I knew all there was to know. On Friday and Saturday nights we put our make up and perfume on, rolled our hair, put on dresses and stilettos,heavy on the lip gloss and hit the door running... we were dangerous.

We were going to bars by the airport like Adams, which later became Cowboys, The Scotch House,and the Limelight in Atlanta. We were drinking and flirting and chasing guys and doing all the things that make mothers proud.

Among my activities with my friends was a revival of the smoking of the occasional funny little cigarettes.

One of my friends just happened to have an older brother with a nightstand drawer containing a scoop, and an ample supply of a substance that when rolled up in a 1.5 could contribute greatly to a good time.

Each and every weekend we helped ourselves and her brother would in turn, see us, and threaten our lives for thievery.

During my wilder days with my friends I met my now husband, who by the way, has never had so much as a tobacco product to his lips.

At any rate, being my friend during this time afforded him the opportunity to learn about all of my "fun" activities which he never seemed to have a problem with at the time.

what I was not thinking about was the fact that he could be storing up this information to use against me later in life, but that is exactly what happened, and use it against me he did.

He had a talk with our children when they became young adults, that they found quite hilarious and entertaining.

He informed them that their mother smoked more than Virginia Slims during her high school days...He also added that his nickname for me was Maryjane...which I might add is actually the way that I am still listed in his cell phone contacts.

My husband not only told our children about my past behavior, he also shared stories of my behavior at the police department where he works..... including the whole Maryjane tag.

I suppose I should be embarrassed that he did that, but all I can think is I hope that they all had fun too. I know of at least one of them that did,because he told me about it. I wish I had known him then, I think we would have had lots of fun together. Talk about a hot mess.

Anyway.....It's my story so I thought that I might as well tell it......especially considering the fact that my husband has already been sharing it like the town crier.

Let me just add that when my husband and I started dating, I stopped running around with my friends as much, and I never smoked another funny little cigarette.

When all was said and done my children laughed it off and made fun of me. Of course, they still occasionally tease me about it and probably always will.....

Do I regret my Shotgun Maryjane days? No...not really...and Maryjane? .....Darlin'....I've been called worse.......

"Beauty: A Personal Definition"

2009-02-23T16:38:00.000-08:00

My husband says things to me quite frequently, in a joking manner, about women my age, in association with fading beauty. He never lets an opportunity go by, when he is given the chance, to remind me that I am not so young anymore.

He would certainly say, if you asked, that he is only teasing me, and maybe he is, but he has that sense of humor which contains enough truth to sting a bit at times.

There is a large part of me that wants to be deeply offended and another part that has to admit it is the simple truth. I am getting older.

I have read studies that show my husband is not alone in his thinking. Most men see youth as beauty. I don't necessarily need the reminders, however, and I don't feel like any woman wants to be made to feel that she is basically at a point in her life when she is no longer attractive.

Does knowing this bother me? Yes, but not just on a personal level. It bothers me because I think that beauty is so much more. I think beauty lives in a persons heart and is reflected in their eyes when they smile. I find beauty in almost all people.

I believe that a few things can keep beauty from a person, some of which are; bitterness, cold heartedness, conceit, unkind words spoken about others, and an overall mean spirit.

One of my favorite quotes is by a man named Henry Miller. He said "Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself."

To me any person leading their life in that manner would have a pretty good shot at being beautiful. I find beauty in many different forms.

Beauty to me is seen in a person when they are passionate about life. It can be found in people who show kindness to others . I see it in the eyes of elderly couples that are still in love after years and years of being together who have a connection so deep they truly are one.

I feel like beauty can also be found in great wisdom and moral character. Beauty to me is a simple kindness of the soul.

There are plenty of people in the world that meet the standards of beauty that society has put in place over the years, and I like everyone else can see that type of attractiveness. I just don't think that appearance should be the only factor in determining what constitutes true beauty.

I personally believe that real beauty is so much deeper than that.

I am sure that some people are reading this and thinking she is just saying she feels this way because she is getting older herself, but I have always felt the way that I do about what is attractive in others, even when I was very young.

I have never considered myself to be a physically beautiful woman so age is not really a factor for me in how I feel about beauty now.

My grandmother had a simple saying "pretty is as pretty does." I love this statement because I wholeheartedly agree with it. I realize my way of thinking is not probably the most common, and I know that most of the world will continue to see beauty just as society defines it for them.

For those people, I feel a bit of remorse in that... they will never experience true beauty in all of its many facets.....The kind that is seen when you least expect it....and subsequently the moments that take their breath away will be far to rare..

"Cellular Addiction"

2009-02-09T14:31:00.000-08:00

Not so long ago I was fine without a cell phone glued to my person, 24/7. I managed to go through daily life driving a car and leaving home without any way whatsoever to contact another person unless, in case of an emergency, I had to stop at a pay phone.

I managed to have perfectly peaceful rides in the car going from point A to point B. I had nice dinners out in restaurants with my husband without getting a single phone call or text message, and it was probably much nicer that way. I am also sure it was much less rude.

Now, however, I find that we as a society are ridiculously dependent on our cell phones. If I leave my house and suddenly discover that I can't find my phone, I immediately ransack my purse, and when I come up empty my panic begins.

Next, I pat myself down, and when I have no luck there, my anxiety over not having it escalates into full blown panic mode.

I begin to have random thoughts like; what if someone tries to call me?, or I have a flat tire? What if someone is trying to send me a text message and I'm not there to receive it?

I might need to call someone, and not only will I not have my phone, but even if someone let me use their phone, I wouldn't know how to call anyone. I don't know the phone numbers of any of my "contacts". They are all stored in my phone and I have never memorized a single one of them.

I finally decide that the possibilities of my desperately needing my phone are absolutely endless and my anxiety level escalates to an all time high.

The next step for me, after reaching this point, is to began my attempt at rationalizing the entire situation. I start by saying things to myself like; I managed for the first 20 or so years of my life to leave home without the ability to contact another individual during my ride in the car and it was always okay.

I then tell myself that I'll be just fine without it, and that it might just be a more enjoyable ride. Then, I move on to; In fact, my entire day may be more peaceful and relaxing without the interruptions of people calling and texting me all day long about this and that.

During this long conversation with myself I ultimately decide that I can manage for one day without my phone...no big deal. I mean in a real 911 my family could call the school where I work and they would come and get me out of class.

I also know that if I have a flat tire someone would eventually help me, or worse case scenario, it would get extremely late, and one of my family members would need dinner, at which point they would notice that I was missing and form a search party for me. Right?

By this time I have talked myself down from my self-imposed escalating panic and of course I make it through the day without major incident. If truth be told, I usually enjoy the peace and quiet that comes with not having had the phone with me.

Maybe I should "accidentally on purpose" leave my phone at home more often. If I did this often enough, I may even reach the same conclusion about cell phones that my father has.

The last time I was at his house, and his cell phone rang while he and I were talking he looked at me real seriously, and said "I'll tell you what sugar, I'm about ready to take this thing outside and lay it down on my driveway and run over it."

I left his house that day smiling and thinking that he might just be on to something...

"The Great Outdoors"

2009-01-28T14:24:00.000-08:00

I have joked in previous blogs about how I felt about outdoor activities when I was a little girl.

Since I have become an adult, however, my feelings about being outdoors have changed a bit.

There are things about nature that I enjoy now, that I would never have been able to appreciate as a child.

One thing that I enjoy is walking the nature trails in some of the parks and mountains in north Georgia. I haven't done it in a long while because my husband has no interest in doing it, and I'm afraid to go alone.

I had one fishing experience as a child. I was about eight or nine years old. My Dad bought fishing rods for me and my brothers and sisters, and we all went to the lake.

My dad baited my hook and helped me cast my line out. I was all set. Within ten minutes I realized that I had a fish on my line. I began reeling it in, but as soon as I had a visual on the fish, I stopped reeling and began yelling for my Dad.

My Dad was a helping my brothers and sisters get ready to fish, but was trying to get to me as quickly as he could. Meanwhile, since I had stopped reeling so soon there was an excess of line for the fish to flip and flop around on.

This caused the line to start swinging and the fish slapped against my thigh....that did it for me. I threw rod, reel, fish and all right into the lake. My Dad arrived just in time to watch it sink.

I think he was upset with me because he couldn't begin to wrap his mind around why I had done something like that. He was, however, able to handle it well in the end.He just looked at me and said "don't worry about it, Go and get a chair and sit down and watch your brothers and sisters."
He was shaking his head as he walked away, and I never got another fishing rod.

I have since had many successful fishing trips as an adult. Each and every year our class of special needs students goes on a fishing trip that I really enjoy.

I think my attitude has changed because now, I appreciate the beauty of the lake and the peace and quiet that comes with fishing. It doesn't hurt that I've learned that you can fish with shrimp and small pieces of hotdog so that no worms have to be involved.

There are also several partners from the community that help us with our students so when I get lucky and catch a fish, one of the men are always willing to take it off the hook for me. Overall it's always a great day.

I also love being out on the lake in a boat. I love the feeling of the wind combined with the warmth of the sun. I do keep my face out of the sun now all that I can, but being a sun worshiper from way back, I do love the feel of it on my skin.

Another thing that I would enjoy doing would be going on a romantic picnic. The type with wine and a blanket, deep conversation and quiet cuddle time, but as I may have mentioned before my husband would need Merriam Webster's help with the word romantic, so I probably won't be experiencing that any time soon.

One of my very favorite outdoor things to do is go to the beach. I could walk the shoreline indefinitely. I also love being on the beach with a good book and a beverage. (preferably something with an umbrella in it signifying that it contains alcohol)

When I sit and listen to the sounds of the ocean waves, and watch them crest one over the other, I am in such awe at its magnitude and beauty, and it brings me such a great opportunity for introspective thought and surrounds me with such a feeling of peace....There really are no words for it.

I'm not sure how anyone could see, hear, and feel the ocean and deny that there is a God.

I have not gotten the opportunity to see just how adventurous I could be on a hiking or camping trip now, because I feel like to be in the woods I need a man with me, and my husband isn't interested in doing either one.

I know that some people may think that my saying that I need a man is a neanderthal Idea, and are probably getting all Gloria Steinem on me right now for saying it, but they can hit the woods alone if they so desire. I'll take the man.....

I might even be willing to spend one night in a tent.....providing, of course, that the conditions were right and the right man was present...(I have learned a few other things since I've grown up.)

After writing this I've decided that I want to start doing more things outdoors.....Spring is coming, and that is a wonderful time to be outside.... I do realize, however, that I'm either going to have to try to talk my husband into doing more things I want to do, or enlist my friends. I'm going to enjoy spending all that time with my friends...

"Worker Bees And Slackers"

2009-01-23T19:34:00.000-08:00

I have worked in a few different places throughout my life. I have had jobs ranging from working in a mall to working for a group of neurologists in Atlanta, and now I am in a high school classroom.

Over the course of time it has been my experience that all of the jobs have had one thing in common even though the positions themselves have varied greatly. The common denominator is always the same. The worker bees and slackers are always present.

The worker bees are, of course, the ones who actually do all of the work, while the slackers are easily identified as the ones who do nothing, make the most money, and get stunned looks on their faces when they are asked directly to do a specific task requiring that they put for effort.

The degree of slackers varies from the ones who just do the least amount of work they can, to the ultimate slackers who have an uncanny ability to "make 8" without accomplishing a single work related task all day.

When I worked at the mall, the head slacker was someone with the mindset of who cares about commission? I 'll just stand here all day, collect my minimum wage, and cash my paycheck. With money in hand, I'll then make a purchase of some funny tobacco for myself that I can roll up in a 1.5 and burn baby burn....Hey, everybody needs a plan.

When I moved onto the doctors office there was a woman there who could very well be the queen of all slackers, if someone should take a poll. Each morning she would pull a few files from the shelf, take them to her desk, open the top one, and pull up a patient information page on her computer screen.

Other than having to move her fingers on the keys, should one of the doctors happen by, so she appeared to be covered up, and putting the files away at 4:00, her work for the day was done.

I kid you not, this woman should have ended her day by standing up from her chair and saying "I'd like to thank the academy".

Now I work in the school system, and surprise the slacker factor exists here as well. When the students have group work the same things go on that have always gone on. One or two of the students are the worker bees while the slacker, who is just along for the ride, waits with baited breath to see what grade they have earned for him or her.

Unfortunately, over the years I've spent in education I've seen the slacker factor in some of the adults as well. Let me also add that not all of them were teachers. Some have held other positions in the school building, some were county office workers, and some even stop by to "serve"students in a specialized area.

I suppose that I feel frustrated because I have watched so many of these people get by with their behavior as I worked diligently beside them and received no more pay or respect than the slacker received.

I feel sure that as you read this you are also thinking that you work with someone just like the people that I am talking about.

Do I understand how these people lay their heads down at night? No. Do I think that this will ever change? No. Do I feel better for having vented here about it? Abso-friggin-lutely!

"Twinship"

2009-01-23T18:53:00.000-08:00

I have an identical twin sister. My sister and I were born only five minutes apart and we shared a room from birth until I got married. We were best friends growing up, and we dressed alike until we were ten years old, alternating who picked our clothes out every other day. We also participated in our share of twin antics on occasion.

My mom got the same question over and over when we were little girls.."Are they twins? " I remember that even as a five or six year old this seemed like a dumb question to me.

We looked exactly alike, same clothes, same hair style, same size.....not rocket science. I wish that my mom had just once pointed to one of us and said something like "no they're not twins, I cloned that one."

It is still funny to me, however,that we carry the label "identical" considering we are almost nothing alike. We have some similarities such as; our voices sounding alike, having some mannerisms that are the same, and of course, as I mentioned before, we look alike.

My sister and I differ greatly in personality as well as our preferences for recreational activities.
This was as true when we were children as it is today. She wanted to do things like play softball and basketball, and all I wanted was some pom-poms.

This would not have been a problem except for the fact that if one of us wanted to do something my mom signed us both up. Oh yes! We were a pair and we came as a set under any and all circumstances.

The first thing I remember my mother asking us if we wanted to do was join the Brownies. Brownies are a young level of Girl Scouts. When I learned there were little brown dresses, pins, hats, ties, and meetings as well as arts and crafts, it was YES for me.

Mom signed us up, and I loved it. We participated for a few years becoming Girl Scouts, complete with green dresses, sashes, and all the badges we cared to earn.

I had only one close call to a bad experience while I was a Girl Scout and that came when we went on a camping trip. I was initially very excited . I packed my bag with all of the things on the list I was given, including my new sleeping bag, and got in the car.

Everything was going great until I actually got my first look at the accommodations for sleeping and showering. I am not sure what I expected to find upon my arrival but I will tell you that when I got the visual I was stunned.

I immediately called my mother from a pay phone and reported that the conditions were unacceptable. I mean...an open air, no door, very public shower with a pull chain...they must have been kidding. I also informed her that we had passed a Holiday Inn right before we arrived at the camp site and that I would be needing a room.

I know...close call right. My mother rescued me and transported me back and forth for the daily activities. I have since decided that this doesn't make me a bad person, it's just simply that the "roughing it" type camping isn't for everyone.

I appreciate the outdoors now, but a cabin with a private bathroom and a bed to sleep in is as close to "camping" as I care to get.

Other than the camping thing I enjoyed the time I spent as a Girl Scout, but, I feel pretty confident in saying my sister wasn't loving the whole experience.

The next activity we signed up for was my sisters choice. So before I knew how it happened I was on a softball team. I got a uniform, cleats, and a glove, but one thing that I didn't have was a clue.

I had no idea what to do, so each and every time I heard the coaches say someone would have to sit out my hand went up like they had requested volunteers. I can also tell you that they never refused my offer. This was due to my lack of athletic ability I'd venture to guess.

My twin was an all-star player and she earned many iron on stars for her hat. These were awarded for great plays and hits. I earned myself one little star when during one of our games I was playing out in the field and a pop fly accidentally found its way into my glove. Evidently my coaches thought I had something to do with it landing there and who was I to argue?

By seasons end, after frequently "riding the pine" my nylon shorts had more knots and picks in them than a chenille bedspread.

After suffering through the softball experience the next activity was mine to choose. Yep you guessed it....it was pom pom time. I loved cheering and I'm sure I drove our mother insane with my practicing cheers and splits and all of that. We did the recreation cheering thing and we were on the pep squad at our middle school.

I feel pretty sure my sister wanted to kill me when all of that was said and done, and in retrospect I can't say that I would have blamed her. I probably needed killing.

Another thing my mom always insisted on was that we remain in the same classes throughout elementary school, and so we did. Several teachers and principals let her know that in their professional opinions she was making a huge mistake, but she stuck to her demands and they were forced to comply.

I have since read several research studies done by prominent doctors and other professionals, regarding twins, that show my mother was right. It seems they have learned that separating twins from both their parents and their twin sibling when they go to school causes the children to experience double separation anxiety...(Thank you Mom!)

As we were growing up we shared much more than our bedroom. We shared each others joy and pain. We knew, and still do know, when something is wrong with the other one.

I have such a closeness with my twin sister it's almost as if even when we aren't together I can feel her with me. That sounds odd I am sure, but that's just how it is.

Over the years we had the normal sibling arguments, and we both went through a great deal for the sake of the other ones wants.

We have shared our true feelings about our adolescent years since we've become adults and we laugh at how tortured we felt during some of our "extra curricular activities", but neither one of us carries an ounce of regret. We wouldn't change it, even if we were given the choice.

We have decided that we are just better and more well rounded people for having traveled through the experiences the other one chose. We not only learned from one another, we also know that for each other's happiness, it was well worth the trip...

"Post It Notes For The Neighbors"

2009-01-20T15:26:00.000-08:00

There are few things in this world that annoy me more than people who have tacky things going on outside their homes for their neighbors to enjoy.

I wave, or speak and say hi when my neighbors are outside, but that's about the extent of it. I mind my own business where my neighbors are concerned, and I appreciate the ones who give me that same courtesy.

There are several things that some of them do, however, that make me desperately want to leave them post it notes.

One of the things that drives me insane is when people hang up sheets or other fabric to cover windows. You have seen this before I am sure. This includes fabric of loud solid colors, bold patterns or stripes, as well as bed sheets with juvenile prints on them.

You know the ones, superman, batman, strawberry shortcake, etc.. Doing this takes tacky to another level. Their post it note would read: "You have tacky fabric hanging up in the front of your home, just to let you know."

Another pet peeve of mine is when people leave their garage doors open. I don't want to see the contents of your garage, nor, I feel certain, do the other neighbors.

What makes this one even better is that inevitably the same people who leave their doors open are the same people who have more content in their garages than they have in the Smithsonian Institute.

For a bonus these people make sure that it always looks like an atomic bomb was recently detonated in the center of it all.

Post it note for these people: "Close your garage door on your personal disaster area, Thank You!"

The next thing that I love to see a homeowner do is paint their home in bright colors such as lime green, street line yellow, or royal blue with dark blue shutters, just to name a few.

When I see this, I just want to knock on the door and say things like; "why?" "Was the paint free?", "Are you color blind?", "Please, help me understand!" Post it note: "You are killing me with the exterior paint !"

Oh, and let me not forget the wonderful people with such excessive Christmas spirit that they decorate their homes with strings and strings of lights and NEVER take them down.

You've seen them. The lights that still remain up in July and August. This to me is the equivalent of putting a large banner in front of your home that reads "I am the laziest human being on Earth!"

I mean this problem is easily solved. Post it note for them: "If you can't expend the energy to take your Christmas lights down, leave them in the attic....Christmas was over six months ago! Spread the word!!!"

Now, on to the individuals who think that they need to wedge a large metal framed swing complete with awning onto a porch that is at most two feet wide. Post it note: "Large swings with awnings are for the yard people!"

And last but not least, as far as flower pots, gnomes, flamingos, and other miscellaneous yard decorations go....Post it note: "Less is Best on the yard decor. Simplify, Please!!"

The thing that really slays me about all of the things that I have listed above is that these homes are owned by people with enough sense to be licensed drivers and yet they pull up in their driveways each and every day and evidently think that these great choices are all good ones.

Obviously, I need to give great consideration to taking this whole post it note gig on full-time upon my retirement...

Of course, that would be lots of work. Maybe I should just get a flamingo and a gnome and put my Christmas lights back up and go with that whole "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" motto....

"Batter Up"

2009-01-08T03:45:00.000-08:00

Last year my family had the idea that we all needed to form a softball team and join the local recreation league. I am one of five children and we have, of course, had additions over the years of children and spouses.

When all was said and done the team consisted of my two sisters, two brothers, brother-in-law, nephew, niece, nephew's girlfriend, friend, friend's daughter, son-in-law, two of my nephews college baseball teammates, and myself.

Everyone agreed that we would do it, and we even committed to actual practices a few times a week. We paid our fees, assigned numbers, ordered our jerseys, and bought gloves and cleats.

I even went the extra mile and bought myself a softball bat, with Jenny somebodies name on it, that cost me nearly a hundred dollars. (I knew I'd need all the help that I could get.)

After I acquired the new bat I had to purchase a Nike equipment bag to put it in, and my husband, knowing me like he does, took it while I was at work one day and had my initials and number embroidered on it in pink. I was ready to play.

We held a few leisurely practices and then came our first game. Good Lord, we couldn't have been any worse if we had been coached by Walter Matthau. I have to say whoever said that 40 was the new 30 had never seen most 40 year olds participating in an athletic event.

We were a hot mess! My position was behind first base, I think it's called left field but I'm not sure. I knew that my ability to catch pop flies was doubtful at most, but I was thinking ahead. I immediately befriended one of the college players and he promised to play near me and "have my back" so to speak.

He and I formulated a two part plan. It was as follows; 1. If it comes right to me, pick it up and throw it to him. 2. If it comes anywhere near him, he has it, get out of the way. Perfect! His name is Stephen, and I still love that kid.

There was one thing that did catch me by surprise, and that was what serious business recreational softball has become. The umpires called the games like they were working at Turner Field. They barked out the strikes, and yelled "OUT" loud enough to cause someone to lose their hearing. They weren't very friendly either, to be perfectly honest.

I don't know if some of the pitchers I faced thought that they were pitching in the bottom of the 9Th in the World Series, or if this was just my perception combined with my lack of athletic ability. I do know that trying to get a hit off of one of them was like trying to get a president to be monogamous...not going to happen.

The other teams were vicious. Many of the men were pompous and full of bad attitude, and several of the women looked like linebackers from the NFL just trying to occupy themselves during the off season. They had zero concept of ladylike. I even saw a few of them spit.

I admit we used our share of Icy Hot and we nearly ran the three college guys to death, but they were good sports about it, and overall we had a great time. I don't know when I've laughed as much, even with all the losses.

By seasons end our team had managed to win one or two games, and we created memories that are priceless. So even though most of us, including me, have sworn off of team sports as a safety precaution, and the next time we hear "batter up" we'll be in the stands, we left the ballpark after our last game with both a feeling of relief and one of being grateful to have had the experience.

"Aging Gracefully"

2009-01-06T15:50:00.000-08:00

I just recently had a birthday on which I turned 46 years old. I have to admit that it was a little alarming, as it put me on the closer side to 50. Birthdays always make me introspective and cause me to think about aging, which by the way, I hope that I am able to do gracefully.

It does not help me that my wonderful husband and two grown children feel so free to make random comments about my age. My husband said "you're almost 50 years old!" I replied by saying "I am not. I have years to go before I will be 50."

My daughter, who just happened to over hear the conversation, was more than happy to add, "well mom, if you rounded it up...." all the sudden she's a math whiz.......

I was nearly pushed over the edge last night when my husband called me "half-century girl". To make it even better he was grinning as he spoke. This to me, was beyond unbelievable considering he is almost two years older than I am.

I must tell you that some of his past comments have been so bad that he has been instructed by one of his friends to stop and count before he voices great remarks such as the one I just told you about. Needless to say, sometimes he forgets.

My son does his part to help his father and his sister as well. He recently became alarmed, regarding my forgetfulness. He informed me that he intended to tell his father that I needed a complete physical because there was something wrong with me.

I assured him that the forgetfulness was normal for women over 40. I should have said something like "not to mention the contributing stress factor of living with you people." I didn't. I suppose I was just too touched by his concern.

My explanation did stop the demands that I get a physical, but now when I have a conversation with him, and I have forgotten something he's told me previously, he just throws his hands up and says "oh, that's right, your ovaries are shutting down." We are a family that thrives on humor.

There are other cons to aging, like the wrinkles, and things like that, and they are hard to accept at times. There is a poem, written by Sylvia Plath, called "Mirror" that is brutally honest about aging. In this poem, she refers to a woman looking in a mirror and seeing herself as she ages.

The poem says, as if the mirror were speaking, "In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman rises toward her day after day".

Ms. Plath also refers to the moon and candles as liars. She does this because they soften the signs of aging with their light, and so we don't see ourselves truthfully in their presence.

I have decided that I am not going to spend my time worrying about aging. I am instead going to be grateful for all of the birthdays that the Lord allows me to have. I am pretty sure this will work for me, at least until I reach that birthday that comes after my 49Th.

On the flip side, I have to be honest. I may stay away from mirrors more, and I do intend to make the most of moonlight and candles every chance I get. I also have to admit that I buy my share of miracle face creams and I try not to let gray hairs linger too long. ( A woman has to do what she has to do. Right?)

Thinking back on that whole statement I made earlier about hopefully aging gracefully.......I think after writing this I have a better understanding for what that means. I believe it means I'm going to have to keep a really good balance in the coming years, between I don't care how old I am, and doing what I can to hide the signs.......

"Hidden Stories"

2008-12-30T11:21:00.000-08:00

I spent the day in Atlanta yesterday. I was in and around the Little Five Points area. There was the usual representation of all the diverse character types that you see in the city, from the Gothic scene type kids, to the moms from the suburbs like me.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and the temperature was just right. The day was an overall great day. There was one thing that I saw, however, that bothered me immensely. It was the large number of people that appeared to be homeless.

The number seemed much higher than I am use to seeing when I'm in Atlanta. They seemed to be everywhere that I looked. Some of them were walking the streets and pushing carts and mumbling quietly to themselves. Some were standing silently, as if lost in thought, and others were in the streets shouting, and spreading the word. whether it was God's word or their own I couldn't be sure.

I know that many people see them and say things like, "it's their own fault", "they should get a job", or "they don't want help" and other comments like these.

Maybe the people who say these things believe them. Maybe it makes them feel better to believe them, or maybe on some level they are true. I don't know, but I do know that I can't just use an off the cuff comment such as these to dismiss these people from my mind. For whatever reason their images stay with me.

I do small things to try and help homeless people when I see them. I have given them money and food, I have taken blankets to a homeless man I found living in Oakland Cemetery, and I once nearly lost an arm trying to get my coat off and out the window to give it to a homeless women while I was in a moving vehicle.

The things I've done are so small and they do little to ease my mind as far as worrying about the lives of these people.

When I look at them I can't help but wonder what their story is. I know that some stories are those of addiction, abuse, or mental health issues, and these are terrible, but I'm sure that some are even more heartbreaking than that.

when I see them I am always drawn to their eyes. Maybe it's my search for their story that leads me there, I'm not really sure. I have seen a sadness and pure sorrow in some of them that is so deep it comes so close to tangible it brings an ache to my heart.

I have seen a hollow emptiness in some of their eyes that seems to reach their souls and speaks of such hard times and experiences they are beyond being voiced or even thought about.

I can't help but think about the fact that these people were someones babies, who at one time were hopefully, held, rocked and loved. They were small children who ran and laughed and played. They were just led down a different path than most of us at some point along the way.

There's not really very much that I can do to change the plight of these people, but when I see one of them,"I can hear my grandmother in my ear saying "there but by the grace of God go I".
Remembering these words will keep me doing little things for the homeless ones as I come into contact with them, and I will pray for their safety and happier endings to their stories.

Whether their stories change or stay the same, I was raised to believe that when we cross Jordan "a king and a beggar on it's shore will stand side by side". This reminds me that when it's all said and done our "stories" might not be all that different.

"Tomorrow Really Doesn't Always Come"

2008-12-21T19:27:00.000-08:00

There are many times when I actually say out loud at work that I love my job. I work with special needs students, on the high school level. It gets difficult on many days, but I have never gone home wishing that I did another type of work.

The truth is, I just feel as if it's what I'm suppose to do. I have served many disabilities in the eleven years that I've been at the school where I am. As a matter of fact, I believe I have served just about every disability that the County I work in serves.

There is one downfall to the job I have, and that is that sometimes the students don't live very long lives. I have been to more than a couple of funerals for some very precious young people, who had fought the fight long enough.

I have had one of these students in particular on my mind this month. Not only because this will be the first Christmas that his parents have had to spend without him, but because his birthday was December 4Th.

He was in my class the entire time he was in high school and I grew to love him deeply. He was such a character. It never mattered what was going on, he always wanted to tell you how to do things, and on occasion with his advice came a little attitude.

When the attitude would present itself, he would be told by either myself, or the other woman that I worked with, to take himself outside the classroom into the hall. He would inevitably ask "how long do I have to stay outside?", at which point we would reply, "until your attitude gets better, or Jesus comes, that works for us either way".

He had a girlfriend that was in my class the entire time that he was. They had been friends since elementary school and he would break up with her on and off all the time, keeping her in tears. Their relationship came with all of the usual high school drama, and I believe they loved each other very much.

This young man went through so much while he was here. There was always one surgery after the other, for one thing or the other. The last surgery he had was to amputate both of his legs. His life was full of adversity to say the least.

He called me several times from the hospital and we would talk about any and everything he could think of, and I went to visit him there as well.

I always try to do all that I can for all of the students that I come in contact with, when I am given the chance. I have been known to follow them after graduation, just to make sure that they are doing okay. I have taken them to dinner, gone to graduations in other counties, mailed them gifts, made Easter baskets, delivered them to their homes, and checked on them with phone calls, just to list a few things.

One Saturday night last March, I was given the chance to do something really big for one of them. I got a call from the young man's mother that I have been telling you about. When I answered the phone, she said "Arlene, if you want to see him, you'd better come on over. I don't think he'll be here long." I told her that I would be there as soon as I could on Sunday, but that I couldn't come right then, because I was keeping my granddaughter.

Before I hung up the phone, I said to her, "please tell him that I love him, and I'll see you both tomorrow." Three short hours later that grieving mother took the time to pick the phone up and call me to say that her son was gone."

The gift that mother tried to give me was huge. The opportunity to be there with her that night as her son left this Earth to be with Jesus. My God, I don't think I would want to share that time with anyone, and yet she called me so that I wouldn't miss seeing him one last time.

I can't help but think, that for all of the little things that I've done for my students over the years, when given the opportunity to do something that really would've mattered, not only to me, but to him and his mother, I screwed it up.

As I stood by his family, at his graveside, the day of his funeral, my heart felt so heavy. Not only from the loss of this person that I loved, and the sadness that surrounded the entire day, but with the weight of the guilt that I was carrying, because I hadn't been smart enough to know, without such a lesson as this one, that tomorrow really doesn't always come.....

"Fighting Clothes"

2008-12-16T15:25:00.000-08:00

I was once placed in a long-term substitute teaching position where I taught four English classes and one sociology class for a few months. With this position also came an advisement class.

Advisement is like an extended homeroom class. It is to be used as an opportunity to help the students that are placed in your care with anything that they might need, be it academic, or personal. The students that were placed in my advisement class were between the ages of fifteen and sixteen.

One morning when I was grading papers, I overheard a conversation between a group of girls in my class, as they waited for the bell to ring. These girls were talking loudly, and making no effort to keep me from hearing what they were saying.

Conversations between girls this age would normally hold no interest for me, but this particular one caught my attention, when it became focused on violence. They began to talk about the fights they had been in, and they stated that to get into a fight they had to be wearing their "fighting clothes" . They discussed this as well as how to use your high heeled shoe to beat someone in the face.

The final straw came when one of them said "one time when I had put a razor blade in my mouth to fight, I forgot and talked, and my mother had to take me to the emergency room for stitches."

That did it! I could no longer keep my mouth shut. I looked up at the girls and said "you have got to be kidding me! If I had exhibited that type of behavior when I was your age, my mother would have been beating me while I bled to death." "Let me also add that if I were to open my closet door, and look inside, I would have no idea what would constitute a fighting outfit."

They responded by saying, "you know, some dickies", as if they were simply informing me, in case I should ever need to know.

I doubt very seriously that I did any good when I lectured those girls that morning, but I did, at least, let them know that I was devastated by the things that they were saying.

I told them that I felt sorry for the young gentlemen of their generation. I said that I felt this way because, I was sure that they would be hard pressed to find a lady to marry.

I assured the girls that I doubted very seriously that the young men would want razor blade toting, dickie wearing, thugs to take home to meet their mothers, not to mention, to later become the mothers of their children.

The girls just looked at me as though they were shocked that I found their behavior so troubling, and that I also believed decent young men would as well. They did, however, change the topic of their discussion, and the bell rang shortly thereafter to dismiss them from my classroom.

I have, in the past, because of behavior such as this, stuck my head in the counseling office door to suggest a new elective entitled "Being a lady 101" and I have also kindly suggested that it be mandatory.

I did lecture this particular group of girls with everyone in the rest of the class listening, hoping they might learn something as well. (It was after all, advisement.)

I did what I could that morning to get these girls to take a good look at their attitudes and their behavior. Do I think they listened to me? No, probably not, but I do find comfort in the fact that I tried.

The filthy language and violent behavior of some of the young women today upsets me to the very core of my being.

I know that all young girls are not like this particular group. Some are still being taught to behave like ladies. One great example is that a good friend of mine and his wife sent their daughter to a class at the YMCA entitled "Perfectly Polished" not all that long ago. God bless the two of them for that. It gives me hope.

As for the other girls, I'm just going to pray for them. I'll pray for their safety, and I'll pray that God will give them enlightenment. I'm sure he knows, like I do, that they desperately need it.

"Judge Not"

2008-12-13T16:22:00.000-08:00

I am a Christian, and I try very hard to be a good one. I admit that I fail miserably on some days, but I do what I can. I know that no one is perfect and we all sin, and I also know that some people are better christians than others.

There is one thing, however, that I can't understand, and that is why so many Christians worry about not doing things like; stealing, killing, drinking, smoking, and using the Lords name in vain, but that whole "judge not lest ye be judged" thing never enters their minds.

It must be that they don't think about it, or I suppose it could be that they don't think it counts all that much. At any rate, I have met plenty of these judgmental people in my life. I have personally heard some of them declaring other people passengers on the Hell train.

I have been the target of one of these type Christians on more than one occasion, but there is one incidence that sticks out in my mind. I won't reveal the name of the person I'm talking about, but I will say that it was a co-worker.

There were three or four of us standing around one morning talking about religion and beliefs and those sorts of things. I wasn't all that involved in the conversation, to tell you the truth, because I am one of those individuals who believes that discussing religion or politics at work is dangerous.

I became more involved, however, when one of the individuals doing most of the talking decided to look at me and make it personal. I made a simple comment about how I had done my share of wrong in my life, and that I was sure God had some things to discuss with me.

This woman actually looked at me and said "I know I wouldn't want to be behind you in line on judgment day".

When I recovered from my initial shock, I am ashamed to admit that I momentarily "layed my religion down" as one of my other co-workers likes to say.

I looked at her and said "Honey, I don't blame you, because I'm sure when I get there God and I will be awhile, but maybe you'll get lucky and there will be an express lane for people like you...Unless, of course, that whole judging other people thing counts, at which point you're going to be screwed."

Needless to say, when I walked off, she was the one left wearing the shocked expression. Like I said, I really don't understand why some people feel so comfortable judging other people, and I probably never will.

I do know, however, that I felt badly about the way that I responded to her comment that day, because my response made me appear as bad as she did, and, because I was just raised better than that.

Next time, and I'm sure there will be one, I've decided on a new plan. I'm taking the high road and I'm just going to close my eyes and pray for myself some patience. If I can manage it...I think the Lord will be proud.

"She's AWOL Lieutenant"

2008-12-10T15:52:00.000-08:00

My husband has a job that places him in charge of a few people that not only listen to what he's saying most of the time, but also choose to comply. They call him Lieutenant. Understandably, this has led him to develop a certain sense of confidence in knowing, that when he gives an order it will be followed.

What he failed to understand one night, when giving a directive to our sixteen year old daughter, was, 1. She doesn't work under him, and 2. When you are a teenager some things just seem worth the risk. (like disobeying an order from your father for instance.)

On the particular night that I am referring to, he and I were sitting in our living room when our daughter, who hadn't gone to school that day, came strolling through. She had her hair rolled and had her make-up perfectly applied, lip gloss included.

My husband glanced up and saw her and casually asked , what are you doing? She responded ever so sweetly by saying "I'm getting ready to go to a party at Robby's house." My husband then informed her that she knew the rule. No school, no anything else.

She looked at him and said "You can't be serious! You have to let me go!" She then preceded to list all of the reasons that she would be socially ruined if she was unable to attend the party. He looked at her and said simply, "I'm sorry Lauren, but you're not going."

Needless to say, the water works began. She spouted off a few disgruntled comments, and stormed into her room. I heard her slam and lock her door, and then she turned her radio on loud enough for the neighbors to enjoy it with her.

After about fifteen minutes had passed, I told my husband that I thought he should go and check on her. He said "she's just mad. She'll cry herself to sleep and be over it in the morning." I told him that I just had a feeling, but he assured me that he had it under control.

Several minutes went by and the something's not right feeling kept gnawing at me. Finally I stood up and said "do what you want Lieutenant, I'm going to pick the lock." I grabbed a hair pin and popped the lock open on her door.

When I stepped into the room the first thing I saw was the curtain blowing in the breeze. I shouted into the other room saying "you might want to get up Lieutenant, you've got one awol."

The look on his face when he reached her room was one of total shock and disbelief . He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she actually had the audacity to not only go out the window, but to blatantly disregard what he had told her. I couldn't help but look at him and say "no problem, you've got this, right Lieutenant?"

While he was standing there trying to process it all, I went out to try and find her. My search was futile, so I had no choice, but to return to the house and wait for her. She came home right on curfew and through the front door acting as though there wasn't a problem.

She was placed on a few weeks restriction by her father, and just as a precautionary measure, her uncle and I nailed her screen onto her window. I did, however, being the good mother that I am, place a post-it note on the screen that read "in case of fire press hard!

Lauren must have learned her lesson, because it never happened again, but the real lessons that night may have been for the Lieutenant. Those lessons being that a mother's intuiton is a wonderful thing, and that if you aren't careful and you get over confident about your ability to handle your teenager, they can put stupid on you real quick...

"Old Time Religion"

2008-12-10T15:10:00.000-08:00

I was thinking today about the church that I was raised in . It was a small church in Symrna, Georgia. The name of it was Spring Street Baptist Church.

The church was so small that every member knew each and every one of the other members. This was a church not at all like the large ones that are built today. I had a friend who attended one of those large churches that are around these days. He went to that church each and every time the doors were open for three years, and when he passed away, not a single soul knew it.

My brothers and sisters and I all went to Sunday school, Sunday church services (morning and night), Wednesday night services, and in the summer, Vacation Bible School there. We were in all of the Christmas plays, and my twin sister and I sang in front of the congregation for the first time when we were only four years old. The song was Victory In Jesus, and I remember being a nervous wreck.

I remember that the congregation was made up of people that all seemed more like family than just simply members of the church. Looking back, I think it was just as it should have been.

We had an older couple there, I'll call them the Stones, that always controlled the thermostat in the church. I think Mr. Stone must have been the caretaker, but I'm not sure. I do know one thing, however, and that is that if Mrs. Stone was cold the heat came on, and If Mrs. Stone was hot, then and only then, the air conditioner was turned on.

We had the same deacons and Sunday school teachers for as long as I can remember, and everything there on most days always seemed to flow along in a gracious manner, and with a christian spirit.

Don't get me wrong, once in a while something would happen that would cause controversy, and people would talk.

There was one elderly widow lady there who would always sit on the front pew. She would , when the spirit moved her, as my grandmother would say, "go to shoutin'". I'll call her Mrs. Smith. She was without a doubt the most enthusiastic member of our church.

There was another elderly couple who also sat on the same pew with Mrs. Smith, and I'll call them the Deans. The Deans always sat quietly and just listened to the service.

The controversy began when Mrs. Dean passed away. Mrs. Smith and Mr. Dean continued to sit on the same pew, the only difference being the space that was left between them by the absence of Mrs. Dean. I'm not sure how long the time frame was before the vacant spot between the two was no longer left empty, because the two had closed the gap. I do know that it couldn't have been very long, because I heard some of the older women in the church talking about how it was "just a shame" that Mr. Dean didn't have more respect for his late wife.

Shortly after the controversy began Mr. Dean married Mrs. Smith, and the older members of the church began calling her Smith/Dean. (No Mrs. included, and I am pretty sure it was always said when Mrs. Smith wasn't there to hear it). This was probably the most scandalous event that ever happened while I was there.

In my church, just like in all places where large groups of people have gathered, people talked. The preacher was a good one, and like all good southern Baptist preachers, was on occasion known to preach a fire and brimstone sermon where he told it like it was. The services were always meaningful and the old gospel hymns were wonderful to hear.

The majority of that congregation have "gone on to be with the Lord", as they would say, the preacher among them, and the last time I walked out of that church I was following the pall bearers who were carrying my grandmother. My grandfather had preceded her in death and my mother never felt as if she could go back there and see their pew completely empty, so we didn't.

I miss that church and most of the people who spent all those Sundays with me worshiping the Lord. I can still hear them singing the verses of Just As I Am, always followed by a prayer to close the service, and I know that I am a better person for having gone to church there.

I don't go to church like I should anymore, but when I do I seldom hear the old hymns that I love, nor that kind of preaching. As for me, I'd rather hear The Old Rugged Cross, and see the preacher dabbing his brow with his white handkerchief after putting the fear of God into a few people who just might need it.

I guess it's just proof that eventually change comes to all things including churches, but I can't help but feel as if this particular change hasn't been such a good one.

"Responsibility Gone Wild"

2008-12-06T07:20:00.000-08:00

I have not always been as responsible as I became after my marriage and the birth of my two children. I use to be completely free to do whatever I liked and I will say that I made good use of that time.

I have been on top of speakers dancing at the Limelight, an Atlanta nightclub. I have thrown my dress and pantyhose out of a moving car window while changing into jeans and a t-shirt on I-75 south. (I couldn't go home wearing a dress and heels and have my parents ask where I'd been. I suppose I could have gotten them from my friend the next day , but I can report that alcohol has been known to interfere with logic.)

There are other examples I could give since my children and husband aren't going to ever read this but those should give you enough of an idea.

There was no problem for me at first with the settling down and being the responsible caregiving worker bee that I became, until one night when I was at a family birthday dinner for my brother.

The first incident was when my father looked down at my opened toed shoes and saw my toe ring. He said "What's that hon? It looks like they've got you banded like a homing pigeon." This was, of course, in reference to my always having to be constantly on the ready for anything at all my children and husband might need, including things as minor as a glass of tea.

Later that evening I got a second dose of outside opinions on how I was viewed by others when my silbings, husband, and children, began discussing my personality. They were saying things like "you can always find Arlene because she's always where she's suppose to be." "She won't call in sick to work unless she's dying." "Mom is so by the book and takes care of everyone".

They were chuckling about all of the individual comments and having a great time. To their credit they did say that they were glad I was the way I am because they could always depend on me when there was a problem that needed to be taken care of.

They had no idea how disturbing this conversation was to me. All I could think was oh my God! I am in the worst rut anyone has ever been in. I am in danger of losing my mind. Suddenly I wanted to do something that would shock each and everyone of them just to prove that I could.

I was determined at that point to get out of the box. I just didn't know what I was going to do yet. Ideas began to race around in my mind, but compared to how earth shattering I wanted whatever I did to be, the ideas seemed weak, Then it happened.

I had just left a class I had been taking that summer, one Friday afternoon, and there it was, a tattoo shop. Suddenly every iota of sense that I had once retained left my body. I whipped in the parking lot like something wild. I parked and got out of the car and hurried inside. I knew on some level that I had to be quick because I only had a narrow time frame before Jiminy Cricket started talking in my ear.

I marched myself right up to the counter and announced to the man standing there that I wanted to get a tattoo. He looked at me and semi-smiled, okay smirked, and asked of what?, and where I'd like it. I hadn't thought that far ahead so I just glanced quickly at the wall and pointed to the smallest red rose that I could find. I said "I want that one." He took me behind the counter and after I made sure he was opening brand new needles (you can't be too careful) we were ready to get started.

I kicked my high heels off, pulled my skirt up a little bit, and put my foot up on the table. I pointed to my left ankle and said "I'd like it right there please." He applied the outline for it, and I began having an internal freak-out. I just shut my eyes and thought about all that my family had been saying, and it was done.

The next thing I knew I was walking out of the shop stunned at what I had done, wearing a gauze pad on my left ankle, and carrying a small round tin of ointment marked "Tattoo Goo".
I got into my car and began to tell myself that I had better get it together. It was done now, and if I wanted to be effective with shocking everyone with my behavior I had better be ready to own it.

Needless to say by the time that I got home I was beside myself, and Jiminy Cricket was running amuk in my mind. I was 35 years old and all I could think was what in the world are my mama and daddy going to say?, And my kids? Good Lord, what have I done? I went straight to my bedroom , shut the door, and called my mama.

I said "I lost my mind this afternoon, and I've gotten a tattoo. I need you to please call daddy for me and tell him what I've done before he sees it." My declaration was met with a deafening silence. When she finally spoke she said "Arlene, you are a grown woman, living out on your own with a family and decisions like that are yours to make." I told her that I knew all of that, and then begged her to call him for me anyway, and asked her to call me right back after she'd done it. That was the longest five minutes of my life. When she called back it was with the news that my father had just declared me middle-aged crazy.

I got similar reactions from the rest of the family and my husband found it quite amusing. When I was going to the mailbox the next day one of our neighbors saw the bandage on my ankle and asked, what happened? My husband looked at her and said "she got a tattoo", then he said "I know, there goes the neighborhood". Oh yes, he's a real riot. Not to mention that shortly after I had gotten it there was a blood drive at work and I had to admit to my co-workers that my tattoo wasn't old enough yet for me to give blood. (Evidently there's a six month rule) I also had an experience where one of the football players at school shouted out at me, while I was in front of the classroom, "Mrs Foster, repent while there's still time!" I almost died. The other students, of course, found this to be hilarious.

Was it worth it? No, it was not. I remember that it was not each time that I put on a dress or a skirt and I have to reach for my dark tights to cover it up. It's only about an inch and a half in size but it's there nevertheless. Every now and then when I'm taking a bubble bath, I lift my leg up out of the water and I still feel a little shocked by it's being there. I am not saying that my tattoo is the biggest thing on my list of regrets, but it is out of character for me.

Since then, I 've learned that getting out of the box can mean doing lots of things, none of which have to be permanent. I have also learned that being responsible and dependable aren't the worst attributes that one can have either.

Everyone lives and learns. I just suppose that some lessons in life come with reminders that are physically evident. My children are grown now and I get out of the box on occasion and have fun. I drink now and then, I laugh, I go out with my friends, but..... I avoid tattoo shops.

"Southern Accents"

2008-12-04T18:32:00.000-08:00

I have a very heavy southern accent. This is not suprising since I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia. I am not embarassed by the way I speak nor do I think that I should be. I find fewer and fewer people here that talk the way that I do. I know that this is true because I actually get asked the question "where are you from?" This question always shocks me considering I have lived here in Atlanta all my life, and the ones who do the asking are always new arrivals.

I have heard people talking about trying to lose their southern acccents and I don't understand this, but to each his own. I have to say that I love hearing other people speak with accents such as the British, and I also have to say that it would never occur to me to make any sort of assumptions or derogatory comments about people based on the way they speak. It would be ignorant of me to assume anything about a person based simply on the way they sound.

I am sorry to say that there are many people, however, who do not share my views regarding my southern accent. They never mind asking, with snarls on their faces , the "where are you from?" question or saying that I talk too slow. I have also been given the you are the most ignorant sounding person I've ever heard look (if they don't bother to just say so outloud).

This is all beyond frustrating for me. If people that consider the southern accent ignorant would bother with a little research they would soon learn that the southern dialect is actually the Queen's English from the era of Queen Elizabeth I and Shakespeare. I do, however, realize that it is unrealistic of me to think these people would ever bother to check with a linquist on the origin of my accent.

I suppose assumptions are just easier, and the people who make them aren't really all that concerned with their personal ignorance on the subject. After all, they can't be expected to educate themselves while they are so occupied with informing others of their presumed ignorance. Goodness gracious.......it'd be too hard.......it'd be multi-tasking y'all......

"Atlanta"

2008-12-03T15:59:00.000-08:00

Atlanta is my home. I was born and raised here, and I love the city and it's southern charm.
When I think about Atlanta lots of things come to mind....Peachtree Street, The Varsity on game day...Go Dawgs, or for some the Jackets. Dogwood trees blooming in the springtime, the Fox Theater, Lenox Mall, and the Pink Pig. Mary Macs Tea Room, The Magnolia Room, and southern belles. The Atlanta Braves, the Falcons, and Gone With The Wind's Margaret Mitchell.
Historic places such as Oakland Cemetery and Grant Park. Hot humid summers, The Biltmore, and Underground. Coke, sweet tea and far to many more things to mention here.

The Atlanta that I love has changed over the years and the population has become much more diverse with the migration of people from other parts of the country as well as some from other parts of the world.

I was raised right, and I know my manners, so of course, I welcome them all.(Southern hospitality we call it here.). I just hope that they remember to adapt to our ways and culture and make them their own, without changes to our city that would be unwanted by the native Atlantans. I mean I would never go to their hometown and try to change it. It would simply be rude.

I am , however, sure that I have nothing to worry about, because some will love Atlanta and stay, and the ones who don't will simply leave and go home. I don't have a doubt in my mind that the ones who hate Atlanta, after they get here, have enough intellect to get directions to the airport, and to be aware of the fact that I-75 also runs north I have all the confidence in the world that those smart people would leave.......why in the world would they want to stay in a city that they felt the need to complain about everyday?

As I mentioned before I was raised right and with good manners, so maybe that's why I have so much trust in the intellect of the disgruntled new people that move to our city.......otherwise I'd rent a billboard and have it read something like:
"BE NICE OR LEAVE"

"Random Thoughts"

2008-11-26T08:59:00.000-08:00

I feel as if I just turned around one day and I was suddenly 45 years old and a grandmother. Don't get me wrong, I love being a grandmother and a mother as well. I have two wonderful children that I am very proud of and an amazing granddaughter and grandson. I don't regret a single minute of my life thus far. I know that I am very blessed.

I think it's just that suddenly I find myself in a position to once again think about myself as a person and not only a mom and a wife. I just find it odd that now that I could do more things for me I haven't the first clue what it is that I want to do. I am a different person now that I'm over forty. I don't spend as much time worrying about what other people think and I finally understand that everyone is not going to like me and I'm actually okay with that.

I think that I express my opinion more now and I feel like my husband and children often think that this means I'm in a bad mood. They are all so use to my compliance with whatever goes on. I don't feel the need to keep peace as much as I feel the need to be heard. The problem is that I have been mostly quiet with my opinions and needs for so long that I'm not sure they are willing to hear me now. It's like turning 40 came with some power to express my feelings more openly, or maybe it was just pure need. I know that it did come with no need for apologies where none should be given.

I feel pretty good about the person that I am and I know that the days will come and go and I'll probably keep doing the same things that I've always done most of the time, but I do hope that as I age I remember to shake things up a bit now and then........dance in the rain; stay home from work because I want to; kiss more and be kissed more; and say I love you every chance I get...........

"Childhood Memories"

2008-11-26T08:57:00.000-08:00

I often think about my childhood and the memories that are etched in my mind are not ones of toys or gifts, but ones of people and moments, smells, sounds, and feelings of the heart.

I remember my Mother always being there to do what ever she could for me. Taking me to school events,and talking to me when my feelings were hurt, or I was just feeling down about something. I can hear her Saying "be sweet" as I went out the door with my friends from school.

I remember shopping sprees in Atlanta, eating at the Magnolia Room, and going to the Fox Theater. I remember my mother teaching me the precise moment to remove my gloves from my hands and put them in my purse. I loved it! She was constantly training me in the ways of being a lady and I appreciate all that she taught me.

I remember my father always keeping the yard in perfect order, and cooking on the grill. I remember my friends calling him "Boss man" because his presence was so great in our home. A freezer full of Ice cream all summer because he knew we liked it. The smell of my mom's perfume and his aftershave in their bedroom ....

Christmas mornings with all of my brothers and sisters in our new pj's and the feeling of closeness as we all sat on the church pew together every Sunday morning listening to the preacher followed by a few verses of Just As I Am..........I remember the smell of a spring morning at my granny's house. I can close my eyes and hear the birds singing and smell the bacon cooking as I watched the sun come up behind her house. I remember listening to the window fan as it drew cool air in, and the slam of the screen door you would hear when someone came in from outside.

I can see my grandfather sitting on the couch watching a Braves game and not paying attention to anything else around him. I remember the look in my grandparents eyes that let me know that they thought that any and everything that I did was amazing. That look was always so full of love for me that it was almost tangible. My Aunt Bessie's Jergens Lotion is another favorite smell from my childhood. I loved sitting in the glider with her or sitting in the porch swing together on Confederate Avenue in Atlanta.

I felt the same love from her as I did from my grandparents. The days of Grant Park and old Atlanta are gone now, and my grandparents and Aunt Bessie are gone as well......the sting of their loss is with me everyday and will be with me until I see them again in Heaven.

My parents are divorced and my brothers and sisters are busy with families of their own but we still all get together when we can and it's always special to me, and When we do there is always a love in the room so strong you can almost touch it..... I always remember to feel it, and say thank you Lord for another day and another precious memory to hold in my heart.

" I Believe"

2008-11-26T08:54:00.000-08:00

I believe in having a kind heart.....I believe in helping other people whenever you can......I believe Karma is a bitch.........I believe that there is good in almost all people. I believe that we are all God's children.....I believe in Jesus Christ.....I believe in the power of prayer... I believe in remembering that everyone is entitled to a bad day. I believe there is something beautiful in everyone. I believe in laughter ..I believe in hugs and kisses....lots of them. I believe in saying I love you every chance that I get....I believe in remembering that no one is promised tomorrow and in living each day as though it may be my last....I believe in dancing in the rain....I believe in singing as though no one is listening...I believe that the best things in life are not material...I believe in hard work....I believe in family and friends...I believe in having fun...I believe that you are only old when your dreams become your regrets......

"Lady Like"

2008-11-21T19:17:00.000-08:00

My mother was born in Atlanta, Georgia in the 1940's. My two sisters and I were born in Atlanta as well. My mother is a woman who was very consumed with teaching her daughters to be (and I quote) "lady like". Now the first thing that came to my mind when I heard her using the phrase "act like a lady" was the question, is she actually trying to teach us to become ladies or are we faking it? It didn't take me long to realize that we were most definitely not learning to fake it. She meant that we were going to be well mannered, graceful, and charming if it killed all three of us.

My mother expected us all three to learn the rules of being a lady. I have to confess that I was a willing participant as soon as I learned some of what becoming a lady involved. Here are some of the basic rules that my mother insisted were vital in any one's quest to become a lady:

1. Never use "filthy" or "vulgar" language.
2. Never forget to sit up straight.
3. Always cross your legs when you sit down.
4. All of your "outfits" must be well put together and matching.
5. Never ever be the only girl with a group of boys. (people will talk)
6. Never call a boy on the telephone. (It's simply not done".)
7. Never act as though you are brainless to impress a boy. (charm works
much better and you can still have "good sense")
8. Never listen to "if you loved me you would".
9. Never forget that "you are judged by the company you keep".
10. Keep your appearance neat, clean, and "pulled together" at all times.
("you never know who you might run in to.")
11. To much make-up will make you look "cheap", but leaving the house
after you reach a certain age without the right amount of it is close
to illegal.
12. "Be Sweet". ( This was said to me each and every time I started out the
door).
13. Don't wear white after labor day.
14. As soon as you are seated in a restaurant your gloves are to be removed
and placed with or inside your purse.
15. "Black is slimming".

These are just a few of the rules off the top of my head but there were many more. Now my mother didn't just give you the rules and walk away. She was more than willing to stay close and help you implement them. My younger sister just listened and complied, my twin sister was driven absolutely insane by it all, while I ,on the other hand, loved every minute of it.
Lord, my favorite activity that being a lady required was shopping. My mother and my sisters, and I would go on "shopping trips" downtown that I still remember today. We would, of course, be dressed in our "Sunday best", which meant dresses with crinoline slips, patent leather shoes, matching purses, lace socks, white gloves adorned with little seed pearls, and sometimes a hat.
If I close my eyes I can still hear my shoes tapping on the sidewalk as I walked down the street toward Rich's department store. (I loved that sound)

We would shop all day and buy dresses and matching accessories and I would be in heaven. The more packages I was carrying the happier I would be. Lunch would be at the "Magnolia Room" and we would go home exhausted, but it was such a wonderful exhaustion for me.

I loved everything about being a little girl and I love everything about being a lady. I have a huge collection of handbags, and more bracelets than you could begin to imagine. If it bangles, jangles, sparkles, or has a pearl in, on, or around it I think I have to have it. Another thing that I can't get enough of are vintage ladies handkerchiefs. The kind with the lace and the flowers all over them. I keep one in my purse at all times (sprayed with just a little perfume, of course). As far as I am concerned they are an absolute necessity. They serve several purposes, such as; making the inside of your purse smell nice, being there for you to "dab" your neck or brow should you find yourself in a situation that causes you to become overheated, or if God forbid , you find yourself in tears. I also think that heels, perfume, and make-up are all fabulous things.

Needless to say, I was a wonderful student for my mother's teachings. Some of the other rules that have just popped into my mind were rules concerning manners. She would say things like "don't forget to say yes ma'am and no ma'am, and yes sir and no sir. Don't chew with your mouth open, "it's beyond rude", and "no elbows on the table". "Napkins in your laps", and absolutely no silliness while you are suppose to be eating". We were at the dinner table for eating and mannerly conversation, period.

Some of these things may make my mother sound harsh but she wasn't like that at all. These things that she taught me were just things she really believed in and I treasure the knowledge of them today, because as an adult woman I agree with her. I think all of her rules were very important in helping mold me into the lady that I am today.

I feel so fortunate and so blessed that my mother taught me these things. I wish more mothers spent more time on the rules of "lady like" these days. I work in a high school and some of the things that I have heard come out of girls mouths as well as some of the things they wear and the actions that they display are unbelievable.

Many women may not agree with me, but I feel like being a lady is totally separate from being a successful woman. I think that you can be a very successful woman without having that harsh edge that completely takes your femininity away. Being a lady does not mean that you are, as I have said earlier, brainless. It just means that you know how to behave. My ideas are not neanderthal. I do agree with equal rights and I do believe that women can perform most of the same jobs as men, but I also believe that they are still ladies and should act accordingly.

I believe men actually appreciate a "lady" when they meet one, and I think that they usually remember her. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but as for me, I'll take "lady like" all day long........ If a gentlemen holds a door for me, or shows chivalry towards me in any manner, I would never dream of being offended. I would simply be pleased that he recognized me as a lady, and of course, I would say "thank you"...........