We Just Don’t Go There Anymore

Sooooo…..it is December 31st – New Year’s Eve.  And everyone, including me is contemplating the past year, anticipating the new one and perhaps remembering some New Years Eves of long long ago.

I am always all about the excitement of NYE, except I’m seldom awake to see it, this is why in August I usually have a very well chilled bottle of unopened champagne in my fridge.

But sometimes I like to go back, waaaaaaay back into the archives of my younger and much more fun self and pluck out a particularly interesting tidbit. 

Once, long long ago, in a galaxy far far away, I existed in a whole different realm.  I had quite a lot of freedom, more than enough money and some really fun and crazy friends.  One of these friends was a single guy who had recently turned 40 with no prospects of matrimony on his horizon.  It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with him, quite the contrary, he was a big – good looking guy, rough and tough, loved to dance and he was perfectly okay being swept along in our big group outings.

We all thought it would be great fun to pitch in and purchase a “girlfriend” for him for his milestone birthday.  Just so you know, we did not lower ourselves to purchasing a “real” girl, instead we ordered one for him.  She was remarkably hideous looking.  Dolores as she was named, had a shock of wild red, red hair that looked like a toddler’s first Barbie doll – after they’ve cut its hair and washed it in the toilet.

Sadly, Dolores came to us sans wardrobe.  Dolores proved to be the practical joke that we played on ourselves as Mister X LOVED her.  He thought she was the best thing ever, he loved to stick her in the passenger seat of his truck and trundle her up and down the highway.  He was constantly trying to get one of us to “fix” her hair, we declined, offering instead to purchase clothing for her.  He declined.

We came to regret our gift when one New Years Eve, Mister X decided to take Dolores in with him to a party at the Hilton where he proceeded to dance with her in the lobby.  They were asked to leave.  Poor Dolores, it was her first real party and she didn’t get to stay.  Maybe we should have relented and fixed her hair.

But in a show of solidarity for our friends, we all left in a huff.  After all, if Mister X and Dolores were not welcome, we didn’t want to stay either.  And the Hilton is happy to report – We Just Don’t Go There Anymore.

Happy New Year Everybody – put on your best clothes, fix your hair and dance with your best girl, even if it is just in your own living room.

Say Cheese! NOW!

Years, no......decades of working for a photographer gave me a deep insight into the importance of photographs. Photographs endure. They indeed capture the moment even though sometimes that moment needs to be released into the wild.

I enjoy looking at some of the "artsy" things people do photographically....and often wonder....why? But, far be it from me to rain on anyone's parade - the cheap and cheesy to me is someone else's Rembrandt and they are proud of it.

One thing that is hard to overcome is a level of discomfort when having photos done. Not everyone is good at smiling "naturally" on command. Even harder is holding that natural smile while a photographer desperately squeaks a rubber frog in front of a child hoping, no...praying for just the smallest adorable little smile.

But, I do recommend photos. Of all sorts. They are fun to look at as we travel through life and remember the events and circumstances surrounding that "moment in time."

When my granddaughters were still pre and pre-pre-schoolers, my daughter and I traveled to Amarillo with the express purpose of having a generational portrait made with my mother. Four generations is a big danged deal and I felt it needed to be documented.

Daughter, granddaughters and I loaded up in the hubs' F150 pickup truck with camper shell and off we went. I took the driving position in front of the oldest grandchild (you know the one with the longest legs) and tiny daughter rode in the passenger seat in front of the short legged little toddler. What was usually a 9 - 10 hour drive wound up taking us approximately 13 - 15 hours. I can't remember exactly as my protective instincts have since kicked in and rendered much of the trip a blur.

I do remember the children either crying or screaming to entertain each other for roughly 3/4 of the journey. The oldest granddaughter beat a constant tap dance on the back of my seat making me practically black out from frustration and nerves. My cell phone rang once and my daughter answered it "Hell speaking." It was.

Upon arriving (finally) at my mother's we were instantly met with a new series of problems, like where to park the truck, etc., etc., etc. My mother was terrified of offending the owners of the gated trailer park she lived in and it soon became clear I was expected to fold that truck up and put it in my purse to get it out of the way. But, we did finally come to a resolution on that problem only to have one of the kids break one of mom's objets d'art within about 2 hours of arrival. Now...mom had been urged to put away her "pretties" but she wanted everyone to see how nice her house looked.

The breakage proved to be traumatic and sort of set the tone for the rest of the trip as mom was kind of hacked, which made daughter uneasy and caused the babies to feel ill at ease as well. Then you couple this with my poor mother's inability to just relax and enjoy company and you have a recipe for disaster.

So....a couple of days rocked along and the tension grew and grew. Daughter and I were watching those kids like hawks and trying to keep them outdoors or gone from the house as much as possible. We purchased an inflatable pool.....then we were faced with the fear mom had of using any water to fill it along with the fact the kids might make noise outside. Truly, mom's fear of getting kicked out of the trailer park was almost rabid.

But, at last, the day of photos dawned. We all had our coordinating outfits ready (not matchy matchy - just colors that worked together nicely.) We loaded up and headed out in search of the studio...(with me wondering if I should call ahead and warn them in advance.) As we were traveling down the highway, I began to hear this electronic clicking sound. Clickety, click, click, click, clickety, click.

Finally, from her position in the rear seat of the truck wedged between 2 car seats, my daughter observed "mom, I think grandma has her arm on the door lock button." Which immediately drew my mom's retort, "well, you might have known it was MY fault." No, no, no one's fault - I'm just glad that is all it was. Blowup....prevented. Sort of.

We had to stop at the bank, because mom wanted to give me gas money for the trip. Her idea not mine - I was fortunately in a position at that time I could afford the trip, but she was firm - it had to be done. There was a mild dust up over how I pulled into the bank...ignored....and we arrived safely at the drive through. The check went in, the cash came out and I handed the cash to my mom (giving her the chance to count it before we left the window.) She tossed the envelope back at me with a "that's YOUR money..if you want to have money to go home on you'd better take it." Here is where I begin the blackout phase of the trip because apparently there were several relatively heated exchanges which caused the 4 year old in the back to ask "Mommy, why is my grandma having a temper tantrum?" Looking into the rear view mirror I could see my daughter barely keeping it together and I was having less luck than she was.

So....I had to ask...."ladies, are we up for doing this - or do we just need to call it off." By now, mom had experienced her epiphany and very regally announced "well, I don't know about anyone else, but I'd like to have my picture made." I was pretty sure my daughter wasn't going to be quite as easy to move into a good mood. She had been too stressed for too many days and she had mentally counted to three and was done with the whole mess.

After getting pretty badly lost in Amarillo, we did arrive on time for our session and I preceded the event with an abject apology for what that photographer was about to endure. Talk about earning his money! The kids were so uncomfortable with my mom, they refused to let her hold them. My daughter had entered her "do not touch me" zone and I was delirious with exhaustion from organizing, patronizing and refereeing.

Oddly enough, we have some great photos and I would not take a million dollars for them. Nor would I pay fifty cents to have them done again. Looking back, none of us were to blame and yet we all were to blame. You can't put three grown women that much alike in a close proximity to each other and expect smooth sailing.

So....I highly recommend family photos. I also highly recommend you have very low expectations, and a photographer who is proficient in Photoshop to make those all important head swaps. And alcohol, lots and lots of alcohol both before and after the photo session.

Words............with Anyone

I confess I spent more than a little time considering purchasing the board game. I mean really...this game has brought me more than a little entertainment. I've even made some new friends playing it. And, fortunately, I haven't lost any.....even though my friends with medical terminology routinely kick my booty all over the place.

But, I thought..."hey what a neat game to have around for those cold wintry evenings!" I was this close.....I mean....THIS.CLOSE. to pushing the purchase now button on Amazon when I had an increasingly random light bulb moment.

Isn't this merely Scrabble on steroids? Same premise....tiles on a board building cross word type frames. Isn't it? Really?

Yes, the board is a little different, the scoring is a little different, it is colorful and fun to look at....but it IS simply another incarnation of that board game I dare say we all have tucked away in a closet somewhere.

Now....here's the thing that could make this board game kick its older plainer cousin to the curb. Make it score for you, because for the life of me I can't figure out why a triple word, double letter, double word add on letter doesn't score you as much as the original word you tacked your letters to.

So.....I think I'll just go scramble around for the trusty Scrabble game and save myself twenty bucks plus shipping 'cause we all know, I'm going nowhere near Wal-Mart until after the holidays are over.

Scary Beautiful? Or Just Plain Scary.....

It would seem we have reached the end of our tether where shoe design is concerned. On what planet would these seem like something we would all rush out to purchase? Rushing out will be possible, rushing back.......not so much. Wearing these shoes, causing one to have to bend in an angle akin to someone on the downhill side of life with a bad back and even worse knees makes going anywhere in a hurry impossible. In fact, one highly recommends a nice adult diaper to round out this outfit as you aren't getting in the porta-potty wearing these ankle killers.

To move in these cripplers you have to semi-crouch and walk like a headliner in one of those currently "all the rage" Zombie movies.

Reportedly, these were designed "tongue in cheek" to poke fun at the way we tend to take "beauty" and "fashion" to the extreme. But....it would seem Lady GaGa has decided she needs a pair.

So....couple these shoes with the "meat dress" and she is going to be easy pickins' for the pack in Twilight.

Scut Farkus Had Yellow Eyes!

Funny how random conversations can spur memories you had managed to squash way down under several layers of guilt and shame.

Working with a web developer today (shout out to my good friend C) via Skype I mentioned I owed him many beverages of choice. Several selections were mentioned and then the “T” word broke through. You know that stuff named Jose who proclaims to be a friend of mine and contains a nasty little critter with no legs?

I suddenly remembered a really fun evening spent in the company of really good friends who always had my back and my best interests at heart. Well……except when it came to that “T” stuff. I was pranked, I was punk’d and eventually.....well....drunked.

I felt FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC. Yes.I.Did.

Untillllllllllll..................the next day. I woke up thinking I'd been on the horn end of a charging rhino. Feeling my way to the bathroom with one hand, clutching my pounding head with the other, I reassured myself with the fact that I was, at least, still alive.

Lifting my eyes to the bathroom mirror, I saw a strange yellow deranged thing looking back at me. Yes, it's true........my eyes were yellow. Blue and yellow is kind of a nice combo in a country kitchen curtain, but one does not want to be on the inside looking out of yellow eyes.

And as if that were not bad enough, I learned the next day I had to be physically restrained from leaving to board a plane and going to Chicago (this was waaaaaaaay before 9-11, when one could have those impulses in flying). Oddly enough........I don't know anyone in Chicago and I can't imagine why I wanted to go there. I blame Scut Farkus and his evil yellow eyes.

WHY?!

Why are boots so darned popular? Now? Of all times, now? When neither my body style nor my feet are boot friendly.

Boots...........particularly red boots. I love them with a passion reserved for all things chocolate and microwave popcorn. I've had red boots in the past, lots of them. I was very vain about my red boots. I've had red knee high boots, red Roper boots, red boots with fringe that matched my red suede fringed jacket. I'm pretty sure all these items were associated with a time in my life when I was HOT, or THOUGHT I was HOT.

Now, boots have turned on me - made for those of skinny calves, sturdy feet and butts that aren't 2 ax handles wide. I still have a couple of pairs of boots, nice sensible black ones with zippers. And each time I approach said boots, I say a little prayer that I will be able to zip those puppies up over my fat little legs without catching my skin inside the zipper.

Inventor friends, any ideas in the works for Expando-boots?

Fair

...and I don't mean the kind with rides and farm animals. I mean being fair. Yes, yes I know no one ever said that life is fair. Believe me I have seen my "fair" share of the inequities in life.

Not too long ago I bought a book called "Stand Out". After reading the book, there was a "test" you could take to show you what your strengths were primarily in a business setting. I wasn't too shocked to find that I was very heavily invested in "fairness", "fair play" and in asserting myself into situations where I felt things just weren't fair. I guess it helps some to know this is part of my nature, now I need to figure out how I change that about myself I'm thinking.

I've always thought if I do the right thing, others will also do the right thing. But, maybe that right thing is only my perception - who can say? Who can know?

My inherent nature is to please, to give, to do and to make people happy and feel valued and validated. To give more than is asked, often before it is asked and I am constantly amazed when my efforts are under-appreciated. And that is a failing inside me. Just because I value them does not mean they have to value me. I go rocking along through life and when something heads south I am completely undone by the event and associated fall out. And then, because I am human and subject to all those little human failings and petty thoughts I start to load up the scale. And in my mind...they also tip in my favor. But do they really?

After all, no one asked me to do everything I've done. No one expected me to provide a little surprise now and then in life. No one would have faulted me (probably) if I'd just stood on the sidelines and watched the game play out. And yet.....there I was....on the field with a big target on my back under my player name "Pleaser" taking it on the chin. Again and again. And, in my mind...when I looked around....all the things I thought I was playing for had wound up being my competition instead of my defensive line.

I would like to think at this point in life, I can learn. However, I've come to know that the only thing I am truly guilty of is caring and often caring too much. And I'm not so sure I want to learn differently. Do I really want to be like other people who just don't care what happens? That any means justifies the end result which will probably be good for them but accomplished at the expense of others?

I grew up in a community where your word was your bond. A friendship was a cherished and protected relationship. Deals were made with a handshake. Slights were quickly forgiven, enemies could become friends with a good sit down face to face talk, and when there was trouble - you looked around and found people you never expected to see standing, not just behind you but shoulder to shoulder with you propping you up and pushing you forward. And usually you found that one person you knew would be there, ahead of you - plowing the row to make your journey easier and to put themselves between you and the harm that might come next. And everyone involved was earnestly entreating God to guide their steps, protect their path and bring them through to the conclusion He thought best. And, praying for those on the other side just as fervently as they prayed for themselves.

And people, even people close to me, don't understand why I am so often homesick. It is because when my chips have been cashed, it is those people who swiftly join the handful of people present in my life now that I know I can count on. My home is built around the people I know I can count on and the ones I know have my best interests at heart. And my little home is crowded, lucky me.

So...one thing I WILL do is be extra careful who I invite into my "home" as a guest because we will all care about them and when they hurt one of us, they will hurt us all. And, I refuse to have my cherished people harmed by someone whose only idea of "fair" is what is good for them with no regard for the collective pain caused by their actions. But....I know I will also always CARE. And only you will be able to tell me if that is a strength or a failing within me.

Besame Mucho

A friend of mine asked me if I would be willing to do a product review for her on an anti-aging lip product called Theraderm Anti-Aging Lip Complex. Hello......anti-aging?, more kissable lips?, I.THINK.SO.

The product arrived today so this is my initial review and reaction. This product smells FANTASTIC!! I couldn't wait to get it on my lips....so I started my test drive right in the post office parking lot. When I arrived home, my husband said "what smells so good?" well, honey, that would be me and my increasingly kissable lips!

I can tell already this is going to beat the socks off of any other lip balm I've come in contact with so I can't wait to really get into this product and see what it does for this old gal's pucker.

Stay tuned......for Puckerupdates! But if you can't wait to try it yourself, message me and I'll hook you up with a connection.

Lesson From a Goose

Today I saw a lone goose winging through the sky....flyin' low - honking like crazy. I wonder.....is lone goose lost? Has goose stayed too long at the fair, slept through the alarm, thought he was smarter than all the other geese? Or was his GPS system simply on the fritz?
As we know, my mind is a strange, vast and multi-colored weird little country. And, because of all my skewed way of viewing the world around me, I started to think how much like the goose I am.
Sometimes my GPS is all out of whack. But, not my GLOBAL positioning system, my GODLY positioning system. I forget that my hand is not on the rudder, I am merely holding down a seat and sometimes looking frantically around for the life jacket I'm SURE I'm going to need. Oh and then there are the times I am clutching a bucket ready to "bail" at the slightly provocation.
I am so keyed up, tensed up, worried and stressed that I eventually just black out. And when I wake up, the seas have calmed, there's no water in the boat and I am still not in charge. And even though I can see the choppy seas ahead, the rocks along the shore and the storm clouds building on the horizon - there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Left to my own GPS I will fly into the storm, allow myself to be buffeted by the waves or.... worse - crash my frail little craft on the rocks.
Hopefully, I can learn that I don't need to constantly be unconscious for the calming - I would really love to be fully aware when the miraculous and marvelous work of the Great Harbor Master is in progress.
And....isn't God amazing?! Just as I was about to finish this.......I received news that took a huge burden from my shoulders. Never, ever, ever, never underestimate the power of praying with like minded people and a daily devotional.

Deceit

For some reason - this just jumped out at me today while working a crossword puzzle. Interesting...........

Deceit — 1. act of representing as true what is known to be false; lying. 2. lie; dishonest action. 3. being deceitful. Syn. deceive implies deliberate misrepresentation of facts by words, actions, etc., to further one’s ends; mislead is to cause to follow the wrong course or to err in conduct or action; beguile implies use of wiles and enticing prospects in deceiving or misleading; delude is to fool someone so completely that false is accepted as true; betray implies a breaking of faith yet appear to be loyal. ~~Webster’s New World Dictionary, Collegiate Edition, ©1962

Which Way Did They Go?

Where did they go? Those pitchmen of the past? You know Speedy Alka Seltzer, the Frito Bandito, the Hamm's Beer Bear and associated drumming, the Ipana toothpaste beaver and little Mikey? Granted some of these characters may still be around in a newer and modernized form, but I miss the old ones.

That Hamm's Beer commercial could bring me running to watch the woodland creatures and sing along...."from the land of sky blue waters....." - maybe that's why they are no more. They sure made Hamm's beer seem awfully attractive.

And I confess to a mild addiction to Alka-Seltzer as a young child. We couldn't afford Fizzies but mom always had Alka-Seltzer tucked away in the medicine cabinet.

I'm sure the Frito Bandio must have offended a rapidly growing culture, but I would have run away with him in a second. **shut up Judy...I know what you are thinking**

Those sparkling little "toofers" on Bucky Beaver made me want to brush in the hopes that little **ping** of sparkle would show up on my enamel as well.

And...of course...I realize little Mikey had to grow up - but I'd be willing to bet Big Mikey will still eat anything, hopefully he is currently gainfully employed by Pillsbury.

I grew up too and even though he is not still around, I've never forgotten the Italian Swiss Colony little old winemaker. His could have been the product I most enjoy endorsing today. That and Yo Quiero Taco Bell.

Things That Make Me Go Hmmmmmmm

Today I went grocery shopping.  Which…..is traumatic for me at best.  I cannot believe how much things are and how it makes my wallet scream to just purchase the essentials…..like cookies (oh gosh – did I say that out loud)….I meant laundry soap.  Yes, that’s it, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I had a pretty full basket and was about 3rd in line and the whole time I’m in line I can hear a guy talking in the aisle over – I can’t see him but I can hear him.  He is “dickering” over the price of everything, saying “oh, just put that back, I don’t need that.”  And I am already feeling badly for him.  Because I can’t see him, I realize he is using one of the stores’ motorized baskets.

How sad.

As my groceries are being rung up, he is finishing up and heading out. 

My attention goes back to my own business.  However, as I am headed through the parking lot with my cart, I observe the fellow sprinting to the back of the parking lot.

Okay……..I’m still not incensed………………………..until…………………………….

He arrives at his mode of conveyance.  A massive “hog” of a motorcycle complete with saddle bags and every other tricked out feature you can find.

He props his foot up on the saddle and tightens the laces of his boots, walks all around the bike securing his groceries in their proper places, jumps on, kicks that puppy into roaring life and speeds off.

So…………….obviously he could have walked through the store “pushing” a cart like I did, I guess he just can’t stand to be without a motor and wheels for any length of time.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Raining

Not the kind that we all need so badly. And not the negative "oh, rain on you!". Raining down my face. I am reminded of an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond when he looks in the window and sees his wife sitting on the sofa, crying. Interestingly enough, Raymond (un-evolved) as he is was SURE he had done something wrong to make the light of his life unhappy.

Turns out, after a lot of hysterical trying to make her happier, he finds she sometimes just likes to cry. In fact, she plans it. She gets a nice big box of tissues, makes herself comfortable on the couch, turns on Ice Castles and cries, and weeps.............and sobs. It makes her feel better.

Unfortunately, I have come to know that when you actually HAVE good reason to cry, it DOES.NOT make you feel better. It makes you sick, and you feel hopeless. It makes your head hurt. And yet, when there is reason to do so, cry you must. It is almost like being sick at your stomach, the only thing that will remotely help is to get it out.

It won't fix anything and chances are no one will really give a hoot in helicopter, but cry on. If God had not wanted us to cry, he wouldn't have given us tears nor the challenges that make those tears necessary.

Well Aren't We Fresh!

See this? You know what really bites the big one? When you pop for some of these (which aren't exactly cheap) and you go all around your house plugging them in. And 2 days later all of the "stinkum" has disappeared.

So you wonder to yourself, really? are the odors here THAT bad? And so you take them out of the outlets and you notice they have "stinkum" residue all over them. And then you realize you have plugged them in UPSIDE.DOWN.


And so then you feel incredibly stupid and more than just a little reluctant to go out and pop for more "stinkum." And yet.............you must.

And that's my senior moment for the day.

Mom and Her Amazing Technicolor Atomic Time Piece

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away I took a trip to see my mother.
The days seemed to stretch on and on with no end in sight and then suddenly the day would be done and we would sleep and prepare for the next endless day.
One day I noticed all the clocks were wrong in mom's house. Each one reflecting a different time and sometimes a different date. So, I asked my mother "mom, why are all your clocks telling a different time." She replied that someone else usually set them for her after the time changed and he had not come to do that yet and she had "tried" to reset them and couldn't figure it out. Apparently, once she began she lost track of what the right time was and therefore the clocks just got all out of whack.
In the course of this amusing conversation she revealed she had at least been successful in figuring out how to try to set most of them even if they were wrong, but one clock had managed to foil her every attempt.
She went into the bedroom and brought out a silver desk type clock made by Sharper Image. She handed it to me and said "here, see if you can figure this one out."
Turns out, the clock she was trying to set knew better. It was an atomic clock that ALWAYS....I repeat.....ALWAYS....reflects the right time.
Mom and I both had a pretty good laugh about it and she agreed if she ever really needed to know what time it was she would seek out the "smart clock."

Hats

My mom was a huge buyer of hats and oddly enough I NEVER saw her wear a hat after she was out of her 30s.

Yet....she continued to purchase them and then she would put them on and say "oh I look like an idiot in this hat!" And off they would go to the closet. Do-rags she embraced with a passion and when she passed I found enough bandanas to outfit every motorcycle gang west of the Mississippi.

My thought was always that in order to look good in a hat you just had to not be afraid to wear a hat. That just because you thought you looked ridiculous didn't mean the rest of the world was thinking the same thing.

I was wrong...............and here's why.

And here's another why.

Well....shut my mouth!

Did I Dream It?

So either sometime in the night my television visited my sub-conscience or I've had what could be like the greatest idea EVAH! I'm relatively sure this was some random stupid made up commercial that I heard/saw. If not perhaps I should run with it.

A Snuggie Swiffer. Imagine this picture but made out of a nice soft polishing fabric. Yep a head to toe suit of dust magnetic material you zip yourself into and then roll around the house. I see this as a dual purpose great idea. Not only will you be cleaning those floor to perfection - you will be getting great exercise.

My only challenge now is figuring out how to get up off the floor once I'm through cleaning.

You Can't Make Me........or can't you?

You can lead a horse to the river but you can't hold his head under water. Seriously, have you ever tried to help someone who desperately needed help while they were fighting against you like crazy.

I get a little weary of the excuses "well, it's not as easy as it sounds." "I'm just a weak person therefore I can't..............." "You don't have any idea what its' like." And my all time favorite "well, this just isn't about YOU."

Really? I'm pretty freaking sure if it affects me positively OR negatively I have the right to be figured into that equation somewhere. I'm not asking that it ALL be about me, but at least do me the courtesy of acknowledging that what you do does have an impact on MY life as well as your own.

Believe me, there is no one on earth more aware of where I really stand with a lot of people than I am - so I'm relatively sure I'm not the one making it all about ME.

Perhaps I'm not the one who is acting self centered, but I can assure you that eventually I will be the one who is acting unconcerned and that is not a happy place to be. At that point I can most definitely state that it WILL indeed be about me, and what I need for a change and what I want for a change and where I stand for a change and just where that line in the sand is that I refuse to step over even one more time.

I'm funny that way. I'm like a pan of bread. Once I'm done....I'm done. All that can happen by keeping up the heat is to make me burn.

Zombies?

I never gave much credence to the whole Zombie furor. And then...there was that unfortunate incident in Florida.

But that was far away from me and given the fact Zombies move really slowly I figured even at my age and weight I could probably manage to outrun them.

Then today, in a town just a few miles away I saw evidence that they are indeed already in Arkansas and apparently are partaking of only the upper halves of their victims.

I have to admit given the nice round firm booties on these plastic lovelies they probably should remain for posterity's sake. But one wonders......how the heck are they still standing without their heads and brains. If they were male I could understand it. Oh gosh! Did I say that outloud?!

The Permanence of the Permian Basin

My July article for Pruitt Tool and Supply's newletter Worm Dirt.

This month we drill into that seemingly endless lake of oil called the Permian Basin.

The Permian Basin has the distinction of being recognized as the most productive petroleum producing region in the Continental United States. Located in West Texas and southeastern New Mexico it underlies an area slightly larger than the state of Indiana. A down warped area eventually covered by the Permian Sea, it continued through much of the Permian period and consequently contains one of the thickest deposits of Permian rock found anywhere. Structurally, a basin in the subsurface, much of it lies underneath the Llano Estacado.
When the Spanish Conquistador, Francisco Coronado spied the huge Caprock Escarpment which caused him to dub the area the "Palisaded Plains" or the more commonly known "staked plains", he had no idea of the wealth waiting below that vast sea of grass.
His written account of the area was pretty descriptive...."I reached some plains so vast that I did not find their limit anywhere I went, although I traveled over them for more than 300 leagues...with no more land marks than if we had been swallowed up by the sea....there was not a stone, nor bit of rising ground, nor tree, nor shrub, nor anything to go by." Later explorers such as Randolph Marcy in 1852 found no argument with Coronado's statement.
One of the richest fields of the Permian Basin was owned by Ira and Ann Yates. The Yates’ had swapped a thriving general store for a sprawling ranch in Pecos County and were starting to regret that decision. The land was too poor to sustain enough cattle or sheep to be profitable and they were having a difficult time paying the mortgage and taxes on their property. On a hunch, Ira Yates invited Transcontinental Oil Company to come exploring.
In 1926, an exploratory well was drilled into the San Andres formation of the Permian Basin lying beneath the Yates ranch. At approximately 1,000 feet it "gushed" a spew of crude oil into the air. With no way to contain the spew, the crew dammed a nearby draw building a crude holding pond for their oil.
Punching away, other wells were showing impressive strikes and Yates and the oilmen knew they had a significant find.
However, just as it happened in other fields in this period of time, oil production facilities and transportation infrastructure were lacking. But the richness of the Yates Field spurred Humble Pipe Line Co. to hurriedly construct a 55,000 barrel storage tank which proved to be woefully inadequate.
The first five wells drilled on the Yates Field together produced an average of 9,009 barrels a day which was more than could be stored or moved. A sixth well blew out due to extreme gas pressure and 500 barrels of oil a day blew through the damaged well onto the ground, pooling in nearby canyons. Most of that "blow out" oil was recovered by damming the canyons and sucking it up with pumps.
In 1929 the spudding of well Yates 30-A blew out with the spectacular flow of 8,528 barrels per hour - over 200,00 in a day setting a world record.
The high production rate of the Yates field coupled with lack of storage and transport caused the State of Texas Railroad Commission to step in and require a proration of the field for the first time in Texas history.
The Railroad Commission's right to oversee petroleum production gave them the power to require all operators be given an equal share in the pipeline outlet based on their wells’ total field production. Additionally, the RCC restricted the depth operators could drill into the cavernous reservoir which gave each of them an equal advantage.
Naturally as it happened in all big oil strikes, an instant boomtown was born around the red barn on the Yates Ranch and given the name Redbarn. This early town was located about 3 miles south of present day Iraan, TX (pronounced Eye-ruh-ann - a compilation of the names of Ira and Ann Yates.) The early boomtown of Redbarn, whose permanent population was never more than 75 was abandoned in 1952 giving Iraan unchallenged bragging rights to the history of the Yates Field in the Permian Basin area.
According to the Railroad Commission of Texas' website, there were 355 active rigs in the Permian Basin in 2011. It states, “The Permian Basin remains a significant oil-producing area, producing more than 270 million barrels of oil in 2010 and more than 280 million barrels in 2011. The Permian Basin has produced over 30 billion barrels of oil and 75 trillion cubic feet of gas and it is estimated by industry experts to contain recoverable oil and natural gas resources exceeding what has been produced over the last 90 years. Recent increased use of enhanced-recovery practices in the Permian Basin has produced a substantial impact on U.S. oil production.”

Good Grief - What Are We Coming To?!

My email spam filter works pretty well, but I obviously need to ratchet up my security. Today I received an email from "Married But Lonely" - turns out it wasn't a real person but an ad asking me to "Try Us Out Free!" And their come on line was "Meet A Cheating Wife - married but lonely introduces safe dating personals of women who wish to find men in their neighborhood for discreet encounters."

After being assaulted by the provocative photo of a lingerie clad chick and an uber hot dude in a steamy embrace, I suddenly found myself in need of a cigarette and some pillow talk. Not really - I'm being sarcastic........go figure!

First of all - I wonder why was I the recipient of this message? I don't know which side of this proposition they think I would fall on. But I have to say this - I've seen the guys in my neighborhood, I already have the cream of the crop here at home. And unless there is some random fellow with a lot of time on his hands that likes to mow, do carpentry work, make phone calls and wrangle a whole passel of crazy canines while holding down a great job - I'm gonna have to not only say no, but unsubscribe from hearing from you.

And so.........Dear Married But Lonely, Thanks but no thanks. Deleted, blocked, unsubscribed and trashed. I only wish you had a Facebook Page so I could "friend" you and then "unfriend" you just to make a point. Sincerely, You Have Got To Be Kidding Me

Smoke.............and mirrors.

I know better than to watch news first thing in the morning. But, hubs is a news junkie so it is often forced upon me. And then my blood pressure gets all spiky, my heart gets all racy and my tongue gets wicked.

I am APPALLED at the lack of concern by a certain Congressman in helping a little widow woman find out what really happened to her husband. She has remained faithful to him since he never came home from WWII and has apparently received conflicting reports regarding him that are too numerous to mention. Only when a concerned relative took to the internet and did what you and I do everyday by searching around was she able to get closure. And from what I understand it didn't take much looking.

Imagine her pride in knowing that to a certain village in France - her husband died a hero, crashing his plane and managing to avoid their village. For decades they maintained a grave for him in their local cemetery and then when he was moved to the one at Normandy, maintained that one as well. His name is etched on that beautiful white cross in a field of others. HIS NAME. There is a yearly ceremony honoring him and they named a street for him. HIS NAME.

All this time, strangers have been honoring an American while his wife quietly honored him faithfully at home. Requesting information from the only people she knew to ask. Receiving form letters with erroneous information.

Apparently this story first was told on the anniversary of D-Day but today it aired on CBS. I take issue with various news organizations on occasion as I believe they all have an agenda. But this story is difficult to spin, especially given the Congressman's statements and releases since. After this morning, the Congressman in question's Facebook page began to "blow up" with criticism regarding his handling of this sad situation. And, unlike his handling of that sad situation, the response was swift and surgical.

Comments started disappearing as if they were never posted. No one was able to "like" a comment and, for some - like me, soon the ability to comment just went away....like smoke......and mirrors. And for the record, I tried to be reasonably courteous in my comment. I, at least, did not call him profane names (I just thought them). Sir Congressman continues to "stand" by his packaged apology, which for some,may be adequate. I find it shockingly inadequate. And now the Facebook page has come down entirely, allowing no one else to even view.

For me.................my belief is he needs to personally pay for as many trips to France as Mrs. Harris cares to make in the time she has left on earth to visit and pay tribute to the man she loved enough to remain faithful to all these years. And further, all those flowers she sends regularly to adorn his grave should not be at her expense either. She feels she has years to make up for because she had no knowledge. I feel our Government has much to make up for because the knowledge was there and the means were there to know, they just couldn't be bothered.

And, as for you Mr. Congressman..........you may silence some of the people, some of the time but you cannot hide from this one. This horse has gone galloping out of the gate and there will be no putting it back in the barn no matter how much smoke you blow or how many mirrors you use. The one you look into every morning as you shave will show your true face.

HEART

Few words in the English language have as many different meanings. Coupled with adjectives, HEART can range the whole spectrum of the human condition. KIND HEART, TENDER HEART, SOFT HEART, BIG HEART, COLD HEART, HARD HEART, BROKEN HEART, BLACK HEART. HEARTS can sing, HEARTS can ache, and sometimes a HEART just simply breaks. Even when a HEART breaks, it can mend and often becomes a stronger instrument for the breaking. The ability to push through difficult times is to have HEART. The talent for identifying with others and their struggles is to have HEART for their plight. One cannot live without HEART - either in the real physical sense or in the more intangible social sense. Sometimes we must guard our HEART, sometimes we give our HEART away and often we have to take a moment and heal our HEART. No one can tell us how long it takes a HEART to heal, for they are unique to each individual. So, the next time someone says, "Oh, have a HEART!" Remember you already do, but you might need to exercise it a little.

To Patent or Not to Patent - Early Oil in Pennsylvania

Edwin Drake, (inventor and oil industry pioneer) was hired by the Seneca Oil Company to investigate suspected oil deposits in Titusville, Pennsylvania. Oil in the area was causing problems for salt well drillers because of the contamination factor to their product. The oil company chose Drake, a retired railway man partly because he had free use of the rail which meant he could travel the area at no expense to them. They tacked a phony “Colonel” title in front of his name to give him some respect and authority and sent him prospecting. Native Americans had long been aware of crude oil and used it as “black medicine” for sprains and cuts. They also found it effective in driving away flies. They called it “antonotons” meaning “Oh, how much there is!” Even early settlers tried to make use of crude but quickly learned it would not work in their oil lamps. Because it burned with a black smoke and smelled horribly, it was basically not fit for anything. Eventually, someone discovered a way to process out the impurities making it usable in oil lamps and for other more genteel uses. Nothing like a good bottle of (snake oil) for what ails you. The ability to process the crude oil caused an “ah ha” moment for James Townsend, the President of Seneca Oil, and he decided it was time to get that crude out of the ground. His plans were to extract, process, sell and get rich! Edwin Drake settled on Oil Creek as a drilling site and decided to drill in the manner of the salt well drillers. He purchased a steam engine in Erie, Pennsylvania, to power the drill and began digging on an island. It took quite some time for the drillers to get through the many layers of gravel. At 16 feet, the sides of the hole began to collapse and those helping him began to despair, but not Drake. It was at this point he devised the idea of a drive pipe. This cast iron pipe consisted of 10-foot-long joints that were driven down into the ground. At 32 feet they struck, bedrock. Drilling tools were lowered through the pipe and steam was used to drill through the bedrock. The going was slow at a rate of just three feet per day. All the difficulty associated with the process resulted in the well being dubbed "Drake's Folly." Crowds gathered to jeer at the apparently unproductive operation which was also going broke. Seneca Oil had abandoned Drake, leaving him to rely on friends to back the enterprise. On August 27, the drill bit had reached a total depth of 69.5 feet, hit a crevice and the crew packed up for the day. The next morning Drake’s driller, Billy Smith, looked into the hole in preparation for another day’s work. He was surprised and delighted to see crude oil rising up in the hole. Drake was summoned and the oil was brought to the surface with a hand operated pitcher pump from a local kitchen and collected in a bath tub. Previous methods for collecting oil had been limited. Ground collection of oil consisted of gathering it from natural occurrences, such as oil seeps or shallow holes dug into the ground. Alternative methods of digging large shafts into the ground also failed, as collapse from water seepage almost always occurred. Drake is now famous for pioneering a new method for producing oil from the ground by using pipe to prevent borehole collapse. The principle behind this idea is still employed today by many companies drilling for hydrocarbons. Unfortunately, Drake failed to patent his drilling invention. Subsequently, after losing all his money in oil speculation, the state of Pennsylvania voted an annuity of $1,500 to the “crazy man” who founded the oil industry. Edwin Drake died in 1880, impoverished after pioneering an industry that made others fabulously wealthy.

Life was just a bowl of cherries.

Sooooooooo imagine my surprise to learn - after all these years - I was one of the "popular" girls in high school. Who knew?! Certainly not me. Had I have been apprised of that fact 45 years ago, I.Would.Have.Never.Sat.Home. on a Saturday night. I also probably would have never gone without lunch because someone must have been dying to buy my lunch and were just too shy to say so, because I was sooo intimidating - again, because I.Was.Popular. I say this with apologies to BR who actually did feed me lunch every day when we were dating. But, see I was so popular, I decided he was too good for me and broke up with him. And, he was.....and he still is. But, God isn't quite finished with me yet so I keep working. I sure wish I had known I didn't have to work so hard for things. My goodness.....people were hiding around corners with that silver platter full of good things and I was just too dumb to realize it. My only claim to fame was I hung around the "coolest" girl in school. She really WAS popular and good enough to let me exist in her orbit. You see, she KNEW. She knew what was going on with me and a lot of other people and cared enough to try to make things better. She knew that no one in a small town really knows what goes on behind the walls and windows of houses. So, just so you know. When I attach adjectives to myself, these are the ones I use most.........driven, insecure, impatient, funny, sarcastic, fair and easily hurt. Nope popular didn't come up. Neither did judgmental, narrow minded and vindictive. Just sayin'.

Dependents

Somehow the hubalump and myself are unable to come in contact with living creatures without making them dependent on us. Our dogs can barely function without us - especially since one of them is a stonecold princess who now believes the only way she can eat that horrible dog food is for you to hand feed it to her. We decided we wanted to try to encourage more activity of the winged variety around our homestead so we bought a couple of super cheap bird feeders two weeks ago. 2 birdfeeders $8.00 5 bags of bird seed later $20.00 House finches now too fat to fly - PRICELESS

Randomness

So.......this guy actually resembles a guy I know and of course we ALL know Snow and her band of mine workers. One wonders, how did SHE score 7 guys willing to work like dogs to support her?! If you find the irony here...please comment.

Elastic

Elastic is an amazing thing. As long as it is in good working order all is right with the world. We tend to overlook elastic. Why wouldn’t we? It is there, holding things up, supporting and stretching to meet our ever increasing load. But……..let elastic lose its’ ability to maintain support and suddenly we have a whole new appreciation for it. Just like the lady who suddenly lost her slip in a graduation processional, we are left exposed with our unmentionables puddled around our feet. And we wonder why? What happened to make elastic turn on us, give up and just let go. Perhaps we continued to expose it to more heat than it could stand. Perhaps we were constantly asking it to stretch beyond its endurance. Maybe, we’ve called upon it for too many years without doing any preventative maintenance. Whatever the reason, it snapped! Do you see the analogy here? I hope so. But, just in case, you’ve missed it – ask yourself “are you the elastic or are you the wearer?” Are you desperately trying to maintain support or are you merely calling on your elastic to keep everything from falling down?

I Don’t Think So!

So the whole breastfeeding mother with the "almost ready for pre-school" child who is still suckling has me a bit undone.

While I one hundred percent believe people should raise their children as they see fit....I think "raise" is the key word. I don't think I would have done my children any service by trying to keep them little forever. I truly felt it was my duty to try to raise independent strong individuals who could sustain themselves if the need arose.

I fear some of these newer and more avant -garde parenting techniques will go awry at some point. I already see more of a tendency in parents to make excuses for their children instead of making them "face the music" when they are wrong.

One thing I know for sure is the world WILL NOT coddle them, make everything fair and pretty and easy. Life is hard, often harsh and certainly more often than not..............NOT FAIR.

I guess while these parents are there to run interference for their kids everything will be swell. But what happens when LIFE bites the parents in the butt? What happens if mom has to suddenly go to work, at night, maybe in the daytime too?

What happens if that nice, neat, safe and fairy tale existence comes to a screeching halt? Are those children going to be prepared to handle the changes that will become necessary?  Or will they be traumatized by the radical change in their young lives?

Somehow, I don't think breastfeeding them through a full set of teeth and potty training is going to stand them in good stead when reality hits the fan.

What will see them through are parents who have encouraged them to be independent thinkers and doers. Kids who know their parents love them enough to set boundaries for them and make sure they are safe inside those perimeters.

The caption on that controversial picture asked the question...."are you woman enough?" Obviously not.

But I was enough of a woman to give it my best shot at bringing to the world a good man and a good woman. Sometimes, I feel I was really successful, sometimes I feel I could have done better. But I know for sure my children  understand the world far better than a near 5 year old who still stands and nurses like a calf.

Ten Things

So, it occurred to me today there are lots of things I have never done. So....I thought I would list a few.

10. Never flown in a helicopter (or jumped out of a plane).

9. Never been out of the U.S.A.

8. Never cruised (except in a car).

7. Never shot a gun or a bow and arrow.

6. Never been to jail (except as a visitor or while playing Monopoly.)

5. Never went deep sea fishing.

4. Never went snow skiing.

3. Never had "work" done on myself.

2. Never smoked marijuana.

But the # 1 thing I have never ever failed to do was....dance when the music played.

Oilfield Trash

When you grow up as “oilfield trash—OFT” or “oilfield scum” as we were called, you learn to gravitate to others of a similar calling. Probably we clung together because no one else understood us or wanted to be lumped in with us. Gerald Lynch, the author of Roughnecks, Drillers & Tool Pushers said, “we stuck together because we spoke the same language and lived the same life.” Rarely could you find someone outside the “OFT” who understood what doubles, thribbles and fourbles were. Living in the Huber Oilfield company camp Mayfield, which consisted of 3 houses on a remote lease in the Texas panhandle, there were seldom children of my age around. Occasionally, our camp had a family with children but those times were rare. Oil patch people were good to visit back and forth with each other so I did have some interaction with other children. But until school age my acquaintances were all children of roughnecks, tool pushers and drillers. They were my only friends until I began school at Pringle, a small rural elementary school with a total student body of maybe 100 kids. It was here the OFT kids learned to co-exist with the farmers’ kids and the transient workers’ children who were with us for a few months each year and then moved on. My childhood was simple and I know now how amazingly lucky I was. I remember listening to the Farm and Market report on the radio every morning. The slogan “the best part of the Golden Spread day” sticks in my mind and makes me homesick for truly early mornings in the Texas panhandle are lovely to behold. The fact the F & M report was sponsored by the Smart Form Shop in Amarillo tickled my daddy. Something about the sponsorship of canners, cutters and prime beef by ladies’ foundation garments was wildly amusing to him. Routine drove the day. The presence of an old tin lunchbox, a huge coffee thermos and a scuffed up metal hardhat told me if daddy was home or not. And supper was typically on the table at 5:00 pm and we were safely tucked away in bed by 8:00. My bedtime lullaby was the constant beat of a pump jack working through the night. Even as a child I came to learn the sounds that signaled the need of maintenance on those iron horses. I could tell you exactly how long it took a dirt clod to disappear from sight in an oil slush pit. I knew the sound of a gas flare off and a “pig” running through pipes. I learned the term S O B meant many things and not all of them were bad. Sometimes it was preceded by good, lucky, handsome, talented and hardworking and therefore, not offensive at all. Because children were “seen but not heard” we often weren’t really seen either. Our invisibility gave us listening ears to jokes and stories definitely not intended for our tender years. Therefore, we all had very colorful vocabularies and we could cuss with the best of the hands at a very early age. OFT were prone to pranks and dirty tricks and frequently even dirtier jokes. Often, they told huge whoppers. They were vivid, colorful and interesting people who lived hard lives, worked risky jobs and loved what they did. But, more than anything on earth, I learned I could trust those rough men and the tireless women who packed their lunches and washed their dirty oil patch clothes. I instinctively knew then and know now they are people who can be counted on. You might not be readily accepted but once you gain their trust, you become a part of their world.

They are part of my past and present, they are my friends and family. That “Oilfield Trash” is also the salt of the earth and I’m proud to be one of them.

Mom

Over the course of a lifetime, one takes many trips. And, if you are like me, many of those trips were spent with your mother. Hauling you to ballgames, cheer practice, doctor's appointments and filling in when you missed the bus, mom was the appointed substitute chauffeur. Even if your mother merely held your hand as you experienced one of life's challenges, you were traveling together. I made hundreds of small trips with my mother. Remembering those trips prompted me to write about them because I wanted to seek answers to some of my own questions which have plagued me my whole life. I also wanted to put my own mother in a tangible form that would remain long after I am gone. And finally, I wrote for those of you who have one of "those" relationships with YOUR mother. The mother/daughter dynamic is interesting at best - frustratingly complex at times. My journey with my mom took me to a lot of diverse locations, some of them pleasing - some not. But in the end, the most important trip was the trip we took to her final destination. It is my hope that in telling you my story, you may learn something about the differences in driving the car, or enjoying the ride, or hanging on to the "oh crap" handles for dear life. Because, sometimes the vehicle is careening down a steep, dangerous and unknown roadway with the accelerator jammed to the floor. When this happens we are never prepared for the crash that is bound to happen at the end. My story is meant to neither demonize nor sanctify - I am merely trying to put a very real face on a very real problem that we all may someday face. I loved my mother very much and I hope she knew it. Still today I want - no, I crave to make her proud of me. I want you to know that it is okay to be frustrated, unsure, sad and even just downright angry sometimes. Personalities are complex and just because people share a gene pool doesn't necessarily mean they are in synch with each other at all times. But at the end of the day, I hope you will take away from my story how very important it is to make every moment count, we never know when we are experiencing the last one. (Excerpt from Trips I Took With Mother)

In Character

This past week I took one of the little E girls to the movies. G had read a currently popular book and scored quite high on an accelerated reading quiz and was therefore, ready to see the movie. Now we had already discussed at length the book and the movie (which I am the resident expert in having seen it 3 times now), and she was prepared to see what she had only imagined by reading. I prepared her for parts of the movie that were unlike the book so she would not be disappointed or constantly asking why they did it that way. G was prepared to see it. I was prepared to have a nap during it. What I was not prepared for was my sweet granddaughter's dedication to "character." She dressed all in black, with lace up boots. Her shirt was adorned with a card telling her character's name and hometown. She also carried with her a harmless toy bow and arrow. She was prepared to "live" the movie experience in "character." And, I became dedicated to making sure I experienced it once again with her. I was also, struck for the very first time, with how much she and I view the world in much the same way. If not for the fact I would humiliate my family, I would probably go in character every once in a while myself. I enjoy being able to 100% throw myself into an experience or event and let it carry me away. I probably would have made a pretty fair actress given my ability to immerse myself in stories both written and viewed. I see in G that same trait. The amazing ability to continue to re-invent herself to suit her surroundings. A little human chameleon who fits into the story and cares not that she calls attention to herself by being "in character." I'm pretty sure her movie experience was all the more thrilling because in her mind, it was happening to her, the character. She didn't just see it, she was an active participant in her mind. Something tells me that all through her life, G is going to have an ingrained ability to "walk a mile" in someone else's shoes. She will feel what they feel, be happy and sad with them and probably understand them far better than anyone else will be able to. Being "in character" is already shaping HER character - she always has been very "tuned in" to other people and I love that about her. Her amazing heart is one of the things that makes her so very unique - and I think her heart grows with her talent for identifying with others. So while we worry about our "character" perhaps we can try "being in character". Empathizing instead of simply sympathizing. Knowing our fellow man because we "know" their struggles and joys. Lace up your boots, show who you are....be a character. Be vivid, be colorful, be unique, be different, be alive and connected - and you.will.be.remembered. ................and how was your day? I would really like to know.

If Wishes Were Horses–Beggars Would Ride

There are times (and this is one of them) I WISH I could turn back the clock, or better still flip the calendar page back 2 weeks.  With the clarity of pre-cognition I would change much.  I WISH I could.

I WISH I could take some things and hold them still so the inevitable would never happen.  I WISH I could speak wisely and say “look out for the gopher hole – you will not recover from stepping in that one.”

If wishes were horses this beggar would try valiantly to ride to the rescue.  But they aren’t and I can’t.  So the beggar will sit by the side of the road and watch the impending train wreck and pray there are no casualties, that somehow the switching station will operate correctly and the train will NOT jump the track.

Bless the Beasts & The Children

……….scrape………….scrape….tap,tap,tap.  Testing 1-2-3, mic check, mic check!

I’ve drug my soap box to the center of the room, climbed up and tested my microphone.  I’m about to get all over something that makes me furious.

I just heard a story about a couple who was present at the birth of their adopted daughter.  The adoptive father cut the child’s umbilical cord and with that act along with the biological parent’s signing over their rights – three people became a family.  A good family.

A beautiful child went home with two loving people who worshipped her and got busy with the business of raising a happy healthy individual.

Now 2 years later, she has been ripped from the arms of her “parents” put in a car with people she doesn’t know and driven 1200 miles away from her home.  Why?  Because the biological father has changed his mind and some judge in their infinite wisdom? has decided biology trumps everything.  It is also heavily weighted in the fact that the father is of an ethnicity different than the parents because that ethnicity is being diminished. HUH?  This one child is going to save an entire race of people?  Wow!

I’m willing to admit that the father regrets his decision and wishes he’d never made it – but does that give him the right to place his own feelings over those of the child who has never known anything but stability and love.  In my opinion – no, it does not.

I remember the two women in the Bible arguing over the child – and one saying “give HER the child” rather than have it harmed.  Is this not the sign of a real parent?  I have very personal experience in the nature vs. nurture arena and nature just isn’t all its’ cracked up to be sometimes.

For two years there have been countless colds, ear infections, bad dreams, cuts and scrapes along with first words, first steps, birthdays, Christmas trees, family gatherings full of hugs and kisses and full laps.  That child has learned who she can count on, who is always going to be there to kiss it better, make the boogie man go away and tickle her till she dissolves into hysterical fits of laughter.

At 2 she is well on her way to being the person she is supposed to be.  This change in geography, socio-economic levels and personalities could well arrest her development.  Isn’t it likely she will become confused about who she is and what has happened to the people she loves?  I know children are remarkably adaptable but there are some adaptations they shouldn’t have to make.

People make decisions everyday and often they live to regret those decisions.  However, for most of us we have to learn to live with the consequences of our actions.  I’m just not sure if deciding you don’t want a child and then changing your mind should give you an automatic do-over.

So…I will pray for little Veronika and her parents.  I will also pray for her biological father to understand she should come first always.

The Pedestal Revisited

Today I once again watched someone with everything in the world to lose take both hands and throw it all away because of a series of bad decisions. I first wrote about this when Tiger Woods was going through his train wreck. I was amazed then and it continues to boggle my mind that some people never consider the ramifications of their behavior. While I certainly understand the temptations people are faced with I sure don't approve of them throwing caution to the wind along with their families and a boatload of other people who held them in high esteem.
I admit to a certain degree of frustration with the media who feels the need to pick and pick at something until they feel certain they've dug down to the truth. It has been my experience they continue to delve ever deeper and at some point began to find demons under every rock they find. After all, if you really want to you can make something evil out of just about anything.
All in all, I'm pretty tired of "famous" people whose problems get played out in front of the world for all to see. Aren't we lucky that WE are invisible humans and get to "hide" our stuff in our own lives where few see and even fewer know. Somehow that makes us feel better about ourselves.
However, you can't help but think about a person's position. We hold certain individuals up to the light of scrutiny after we have placed them on a teetering pedestal of human frailty. When the pedestal breaks and the person falls, depending on our own stake in their future, we judge them accordingly. Sometimes our own judgements are colored with convenient morality. We are willing to overlook things because it might affect us in some way if we insist on a higher level of integrity.
In my opinion, there was only One Who could stand on such a pedestal and be worthy of the position. How interesting that He didn't want to be on the pedestal, what he chose was a lowly cross with a couple of flawed humans.
Be careful who you place on your pedestal because while you are looking up at them you might miss the quiet voice whispering in your ear. He will not stand above you but He will walk beside you, comfort and sustain you and give you immeasurable peace.
So, today, I would like for us all to think about Who is on our pedestal. Who do we hold up as our example of how to live, how to treat others, how to forgive and most of all, how to endure?

Happily Ever Disaster

Good old Yahoo! Just as I am feeling completely depressed and weary, they can be counted on to give me an uplifting tidbit to write about. NOT!  I’m starting to think Yahoo may be owned by the Kardashians since they seem to have a feature piece at least once a day.   But this is NOT about the Kar-dashes…….or is it?

Apparently the new trend going around is a little something called a Divorce Ring. You know just a little token to commemorate the end of a significant part of your life. Proof positive that no matter what bad thing you are dealing with – someone is going to figure out a way for THEM to capitalize on it.

It seems it isn’t enough for 2 sets of lawyers to benefit from your pain and suffering, now jewelers want in on a little slice of agony as well. Rings of all sorts – bouquet nuggets shoved in a dead bird’s beak, a diamond dagger through a broken heart definitely exhibit sick and twisted creativity at its’ best.  Pricey little tokens proclaiming that one or the other of you or maybe both failed at marriage.

There is one plain band (less than $100.00) bearing the message TRADE UP. Apparently, this is for women as it has been my experience that men have the tendency to TRADE DOWN.  You know a younger, fresher model – one with a little more shelf life. Please notice I.Did.Not. say “after they have sucked the life out of the one they have.”  Doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.

Happily, you don’t HAVE  to reincarnate your ring to participate in the celebration of the death of your relationship. You can merely purchase a casket for your ring. Oddly enough it seems you don’t bury the casket, you simply keep it on your mantel as a conversation piece. Yep, there’s a conversation starter for you, right up there with the explanation of the hairball your cat just hacked up on the sofa.

I’ve been around the track a time or two. Once with a plow horse, once with a race horse and I am currently going around again. I’ve never felt the need to commemorate the end of a relationship. It is actually very sad to me. I have memories and mostly they are good. I have two children I am grateful for and those are the tangible treasures I keep.

My children are living proof that even though I may have failed in a relationship, I succeeded in doing something very right and worthy. They are my happy thoughts and memories. I think I will dwell on those and not ever feel compelled to keep a token of the sad and not so pleasant parts of life. But, that’s just me.

………and how was your day? I would really like to know.