My Family - Putting the Fun Back in Dysfunctional

The dashboard clock read 9:l6 p.m.when we shoved the last gift into the car and took off for Atlanta. My daughter drove and I road shotgun.  My job was to keep her awake when the extra large cup of coffee failed to be effective.  We had stopped just before heading up the I-85 ramp at a Racetrack where we locked the doors and prayed we wouldn't see a real shotgun.  My mother used to tell me Montgomery was more dangerous than Atlanta and the filling station looked as if it would prove it.   We left  Montgomery and my family's Christmas Eve Party, tired, with higher cholesterol and full of memories and a need to talk.  Most of our conversation began with "Did you know?" and "Did you see?"  The questions and answers were enough to keep anyone awake.  Since I was a young girl my family has gotten together on Christmas Eve to exchange presents.  Polaroid shots recorded the first gatherings where my brother and I were flanked by our older siblings and a couple of their kids.  Eight millimeter films showed that our family had grown and prospered.  Nicer house, nicer gifts. Cam recorders saw marriages and babies added to the ranks.  My older brothers became grandparents and my parents passed away.  I changed husbands like the others changed hairstyles.  My brothers became great-grandparents and I became a grandmother.   Despite it all, or because of it, still we gathered at Christmas Eve.   Now ipods and camera phones catch a few memories but most of the images will only linger in our minds and hearts.  As our numbers increased, gift giving began to change also.   There was a time when everyone gave everyone a gift.  The value of the gifts under the tree in the 80s was about that of the economy of a small third world country. The US retail business flourished.  I sometimes think our family's decision to play Dirty Santa has singlehandedly caused the recession.   Now over 40 adults played the game and over a  dozen others watched and laughed at the winners and losers.  Eleven children were considered  too young to be subjected to the terror of having a $50 Bass Pro Shop gift card stolen from them.  My father used to tell me "spend time with the people who will cry at your funeral".  These are the people I hope will cry. They are my siblings and my nieces and nephews, great and great-great. In-laws and out-laws. They may only see me at Christmas, funerals and weddings; but they know me by name and I love them on sight. They are funny and smart and gifted and not-so-gifted and I am proud of them and proud to be a part of them. My daughter and I talked about "healthy relationships" and "being well-adjusted and emotionally happy" on the trip home.  We talked about "rational and reasonable" families and we decided we would rather be in this one!

Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree

I loved my Christmas Party.  I really had a wonderful time.  My trees were rockin' and got rave reviews and my mantel was praised and I didn't have to brag 'cause everyone else did it for me.  I thought about what to write and I decided that  I could write something mushy about women finding their way alone.  Or about the beauty of friendship filling the gaps of loneliness.   I could write about the power of the human spirit as it struggles to right itself and find its place in an unfriendly and dangerous world.  But the truth is, I just had a really good time with a bunch of people I enjoyed.  I drank my Vodka Punch and ate my overcooked meatballs and my brown sugar ham and went to bed with a feeling that I was beginning to be me again.  I could talk about feeling overwhelmed by life and swallowed by an enormous male ego to the point that I didn't exist.  But the truth is,  I  made it through another year with all those feelings.  I made it through.   Even overwhelmed and complaining and broke.  I can't say that its easy to be alone.  Its not.  You wish that at this time of year there was someone who loved you and cared about you.  But if you stop long enough to think about it, you see that you are.  It may not be the way you expected it to be, nor the way that others think it should be.  But you can know within yourself that you are a good person, a person that others like, that your life matters and more importantly that others matter to you.  If you get nothing else this Christmas.  If you don't get a new car or even a gallon of gas.  If  your gift is to know that you have love in your life;  you have received the gift of the Magi, the gift foretold by the Angels, the gift given by the Father and laid in a manager, the gift of true Grace.  Merry Christmas to you all.

Decked Out and Decking the Halls

For the last few years I have found it difficult to plan a party.  There was a  time when I could think of a million reasons to have a party, get folks over, cook out, whatever. In south Alabama, my life revolved around parties and friends.  The weather in Baldwin County is pleasant most of the winter (unlike North Georgia) and conducive to entertaining.  Even the dreaded months of January and February are made liveable with Mardi Gras and parades and public drunkenness.  My good, but sadly dead, second husband genuinely liked people and loved an audience.  He could always find an excuse to have a good time.  My not so good, last and final husband did not especially enjoy entertaining.  He traveled and when home, wanted down time.  Even before we left South Alabama, he found entertaining to be an invasion of his private time. He preferred his time at home to be on the sofa with me and the dogs. Now I have all the down time I can stand and no dogs on the sofa, so I am having a party.  If you are reading this, you are invited.  I have put lights on everything.  If it could be lit up, it is.  Including me last night.  I have decked the halls, the back porch, the back yard, the garage door.  I am not completely sure why I have so much "spirit" but I have it and I want to share it.  My house is small and I have no doubt that I have invited too many people. In fact, I just invited all of you, so yes, I'm over shooting.  In order to accommodate what I hope to be an over-flowing crowd,  I have wrapped my screened porch in heavy duty plastic sheeting.  I spent several hours up on a ladder yesterday doing this and the entire time I had shades of the l970s when some fine Christian woman suggested to us other, fine Christian women, in her course "Total Woman", that we greet our husbands at the door wearing nothing but a smile and a box of Saran Wrap. Which explains why I was lit.  When young women today watch "Fried Green Tomatoes" they think Fannie Flagg is just being funny.  The 70s almost killed femininity and me.   I hope I get better results with the porch than I did with that wrap.  That was the first disastrous divorce.  Even as I write this, I hear the winds of North Georgia slapping my wrap around.  But in the mist of all this sadness, desperation and financial mayhem,  I am excited over twinkling lights and candy canes and the hope of Christmas.  Even the Bubba Santas of Jasper can not wreck my belief that this will be one of the best Christmases ever.  So if you don't have plans on the l7th and happen by Jasper, which would only occur if you were heading up 515 to Ellijay or Blueridge cause we aren't on the way to anywhere else, please stop in for a cup of eggnog and a holiday cookie and a hug and a wish for the Merriest of Christmases and the Happiest of New Years.  If you can't stop, honk.

Pickens Animal Rescue - Saving Lives, Including Mine

Squeezed between the marching bands, convertibles carrying local beauty queens, and homemade floats, a small group of PAR volunteers walked dogs that were available for adoption. It was the night of the Jasper Christmas Parade and although Georgia was playing LSU for the SEC Championship, the whole town turned out to watch the parade.  Pickens Animal Rescue is a non kill ranch which houses sometimes as many as 80 dogs and a whole house full of cats.  Dogs are neutered/spayed, given their shots and identity chips and can live on the ranch until a home is found for them.  I was a walker for the PAR group.  I held the leash for Sugar who is a medium size Georgia Black dog.  But she was in charge.  Sugar would make a wonderful dog for a family with boys.  She had natural curiosity and wonderful energy.  She was not afraid of the bands and only mildly interested in the firetruck sirens.  She loved each group of children that I allowed her to speak with.  We walked up main street in Jasper with Lilly a small, scared terrier mix who seemed to need a lot of reassurance and a loving home, Charlie, a black Pomeranian who has sight difficulties but doesn't suffer for personality, and Shiloh, a basset, who stole the show by deciding not to walk and sitting down in the middle of the parade right on the center yellow line. When the parade was over and we took the dogs back to the van to be crated and sent back to the ranch, I had a moment of sadness.  I thought about the dogs and how sad it was that they didn't have a home.  But then I realized, these are the lucky dogs. They do have a home.  They are loved and cared for and fed and given medical treatment.  For as long as they need it.  I am so glad that I stumbled into the PAR Thrift Store two years ago when I was at such a low point in my life. I am so fortunate that they had a place for me. A place where I have friends and where I am cared about. And a place where I know that I make a difference. If this Christmas you find that you are feeling a little let down, a little disappointed,  find a place where you can volunteer, where you can give of yourself.  A place where you can make a difference in someone's life, even if that someone is a dog or a cat. Sometimes the best things in life come from knowing that you are part of something bigger than yourself, bigger than your problems.  Sometimes we all need to be rescued.

Red Mud and Green Grass Stains, Its a Jasper Christmas

What's red and green, fully bearded,  and can be located on any street corner in Jasper, Georgia, but can not be seen?  No, its not Santa's special helpers.  Its just all the local guys in town for  the Jasper Christmas Night of Lights, and they are wearing their camo.  I had hoped for more Christmas and less Jasper but you get what you get.  I know that there are more hunters in North Georgia than there are people in Alabama.  To these guys, dressy casual is camo without red mud on it.  Everywhere you look there's a pick up truck up to its bumper in red, dried Georgia clay.  All the men go all camo, all the time.   I am not a fan of hunting, especially since I have managed to name and tame all the deer in my yard.  But the Hillbillies have taken it to a new level.  There are more dead deer in the back of trucks in downtown Jasper than there are along Interstate 85 from Atlanta to Montgomery.  We used to have the cutest little health food store that served homemade jellies and organic lunches.  Birdseed and vitamins. I loved it.  This past year due to the economy the lady who rented it, moved.   Now its a taxidermy/deer cooler place.  Five rusted out pickup trucks and an 18 Wheeler have taken the place of the beamers and convertibles that used to buy their vitamins and vegetables at that location.  Since Thanksgiving large black birds have been circling the parking lot. The guys stand around down there getting a Pepsi from the neon lighted machine,  on what was a cute and classy front porch, shooting the bull (better than the deer), sitting on plastic yard furniture and throwing cigarette butts into what's left of the herb garden.  I've recently noticed a beautiful l0 pointer in my neighborhood.  I think he's smelled the fire at the taxidermy place and decided to winter with the does of my subdivision.  I will pray he makes it until Christmas without chasing some misguided young doe out the gate and toward his doom.   In the meantime, you all understand more and more why I don't have a date for New Year's.  More on the Christmas parade later.

Gold Tinsel and Colored Lights

I grew up poor.  That's not an excuse or even a complaint.  I didn't know I was poor until I went to Jr. High School at Cloverdale. Definitely an upscale neighborhood in Old Montgomery. Within a few months I realized "Oh, gosh, we are poor".  Up until that time I was like all the other children in the Oak Park area.  The boys, who out numbered the girls by 10 to1, all grew up to be athletes.  Most were good enough to secure college scholarships and better their lives beyond the hopes of their parents.  The girls I seem to have lost contact with.  My father worked hard and we got by.  Sometimes we did without.  Nothing we had to have.  If the child up the street doesn't have a lot more it seems OK to you and you don't feel that you are underprivileged. Even if you live on a dirt road like we did, somehow you don't think of yourself in terms of what you don't have.  You see yourself with a room of your own, plenty to eat and clean clothes. Sharing one bathroom, that would now cause panic in me, but we did it and it didn't seem horrible, certainly not tragic.  Though we were poor and often struggled, our home was always decorated for Christmas and Santa always came and brought most of what we had on our list. I come from a long line of "poor white trash decorators".  Our house was trimmed in the old timey large colored lights which now would embarrass me to death.  A wooden cut out Santa was on the roof, a sleigh strung across the yard.  Snowmen and carolers stood out front.  A Nativity.   Spotlights highlighted a wreath on the door and all the junk in the yard.  Garland on the aluminum carport.  The tinsel kind.  Bing Crosby and Elvis singing carols on a radio in the hall. For a while we had a pink aluminum Christmas tree and sometimes a spinner that changed colors with each rotation. I may choose fairy lights and burgundy ribbons but I don't believe that my "politically tasteful decor" says Merry Christmas with any more love than our little house on East Second Street.  Nor do I believe that my grandchildren will grow up in the same safe and loving environment that I did where we learned to work hard, strive for more and yet give generously to all who were in need.  By the time I reached high school my father's 10 hr days had paid off and we were very comfortable.  As Christmas draws near I am reminded of all I have now and how fortunate I was to be a  daughter of the South and the child of my parents. I am proud to say I have a couple of nephews who'd gladly add the cut out Santa to their yard and if I could find one, that pink aluminum tree would look great in my bedroom. As I write this, I realize its snowing in the North Georgia Mountains.  We may have another white Christmas.  This weekend will be the town Christmas Parade and with any luck all us Hillbillies will be covered in gold tinsel and colored lights.

There's No Place Like Home

I drove back to the North Georgia Mountains this morning after being home in Montgomery and going to Auburn for "the football game".  To my Alabama friends, and enemies, Alabama has a great team and you certainly deserved the win. To my Auburn loved ones, great friends, special people who are so deserving of all wonderful and delightful things, I say, oh well. Its funny how losing isn't all that big of a deal any  more in my life.  You stand there with 80,000 people who want what you want, singing and dancing and having a great time, especially after sampling the Alcohol Punch on the corner of Samford and College Street, and its easier to take a loss. You can enjoy a good run, a fumble by the other guys and sing with the band and in the end, what really matters is that you were there with those you love.  I guess that's why often you read in someone's obit about being comforted in death surrounded by their loved ones.  Neither death nor an absolutely terrible football team can overcome the comfort of family and friends. Watching the excitement on my grandson's face at Tiger Walk, high 5ing young men who looked like giants to him.  The beauty of  Nova's flight. Looking at the trees at Toomer's Corner.  Taking my grandson by the freshmen dorms for his mom's stories. Seeing the old trailer parks and the new Athletic Complex was fun and no loss of a football game could replace knowing that we were all there, together.  For many years I was married to an Alabama Fan( the second one and final one!).  I have held back "Punt Bama Punt" and said almost nothing but kind words when I wanted to Laugh or Cry. Now I know that I could have said all those mean things I thought and really it wouldn't have mattered.  Except to me. I am glad that I was kind.  That I was often overly patient and that I never rubbed his face in it all those years when Auburn dominated the stats.  I am proud that I have not been a fair weather fan nor wife.  Driving back to Atlanta last night we listened to talk radio where fans who last year called in to say Chizik was brilliant and Auburn was spectacular, especially offensive coordinator, Gus Malzahn , now were talking firing coaches, changing game strategies, ya da, ya da. You notice these guys are never at the game or tailgating in the parking lot. They are armchair quarterbacks who never leave the sofa except for another drink. They complain and complain over a loss and dominate the talk shows with grips but they'd have to pull out a map to find the campus. To those fans, I say, "thanks for not coming to the game, we didn't miss you and we had a great time".  There's no place like home, and being at home in Auburn with all my family was great.  It really was ALL IN for the Auburn Family.

Santas, Geeks and Skippers

They always say three times is the charmer.  While that has not proven to be true in marriage, at least for me, it did work out OK in getting my computer fixed.  The third try took.  I am on-line again and I haven't cussed at my computer once in three days.  I didn't say I haven't cussed but my anger has not been directed at Microsoft.  This is truly a record considering all that I have been through with Vista.  I don't even really know what Vista is but I know that its a mess for computer people and its even worse on those illiterates like me. My computer Geek looked exactly like you would have expected.  Long hair in a pony tail and wire rimmed glasses.  Of course that also sounds like all the Santa look alikes up here in the mountains but he did not have a long, flowing white beard. A short white beard.  And a bowl full of jelly (or was it jell-o). I mention this because this past week I went down to Marietta to see my grandson's first Thanksgiving play at preschool and guess who was there?! A Santa look alike. He had on the traditional red T-shirt and flowing white hair and beard.  My daughter explained that this man actually plays Santa.  I was not the least bit surprised anymore.  There are more Santa look alikes up here in Georgia than there are Rednecks in Alabama. One of the children in the play ran up to this man and immediately began telling him how good she had been and what she wanted for Christmas.  I can't tell you how hard it was for me to ignore his lap and not crawl up there myself.  I certainly could say I have been good.  I am almost sick of how good I am being.  And I had a list of requests.  But at least I got one of the first ones on my list taken care of by the Geek.  My computer works.  And now so can I.  Blogging and Match.com searching.  Its hard work but somebody's got to do it and I guess its up to me. A friend called to tell me she wanted to introduce me to someone and I have to go find him on Match or Facebook first so I can look at his pictures and check out his profile.  It might be a blind date, but I am not blind and I want to look him over first.  I have had bad blind dates before so at least now with Match.com and Facebook, I don't have to be surprised if I get set up with Santa.  Probably not though, he's from Florida.  What do they have a lot of in Florida?  Boat captains.  His name is Skipper.  Ho-ho-ho

A Tale of Two Coachs, A Memorial to Coach Bernard Boyd

This past week I saw the fall of two coaches.  One was Joe Paterno who fell from grace in such a way that a long and illustrious career will forever be tarnished and many who had admired him will come to believe he was a failure as a person.  There's been much discussion as to what he knew and when.  What he understood. I have heard it said that he lost sight of the importance of anything except "the team".  He wouldn't allow the names of the players to be placed on the back of jerseys. No individuals only the group as a unit.  Only the team mattered and that individuals faded into the background when compared to the belief in winning and team play.  Even small children. I don't know what he thought or who he is.  The other coach was Coach Bernard Boyd who coached at Lee High School in Montgomery a million and one years ago in the 60s and 70s. During that time I had a perfect flip and short skirts, but not toooo short or they'd sent you home to change.  Its funny but I couldn't remember what he taught and had to dig out the Lee Scabbard to remind myself of his government class and a time in study hall.  I know a good bit about government, mostly that its a mess, so I guess he taught me something. I quite honestly don't know. I made good grades so I must have learned something during that one required semester.  But I can tell you many things he said to me, ways he conducted himself in class. I don't remember in growing up, one time, one incident when I felt threatened, violated, intimidated or harassed in any way. Not one moment when I was afraid of an adult or a teacher. (Well, maybe Mrs. Day in Latin.)  I didn't know what sexual harassment was, I didn't know that adults, teachers, coaches could not be trusted. I thought they were all, well,  like Coach Boyd, a good guy. Interested in helping us grow up as best we could.  I can remember one day when I had  a particularly bad fight with my older, and not wiser, boyfriend at Lanier and I was not in a good mood.  Coach Boyd immediately recognized the symptoms of broken hearted young girl.  He looked me right in the eyes and said "Miss Brendle, you need to come to understand that this isn't the biggest fight you'll ever have, or the worst breakup, or the saddest thing,"  He went on to say that young girls, and guys, sometimes think the world is coming to an end when they have a fight and the truth is, it isn't.  Most of the time if they just wait, just be patient, things work out.  "Don't be in such a hurry to make up or to grow up". I thought he was just an old man and didn't know anything about love. He probably wasn't even 40. This past week,  Coach Boyd didn't fall from grace, he fell to it.  Rest in Peace, Coach and thank you for being a good guy.

No Jail Can Hold Her

Have you ever noticed that in books about small towns all the little shops have a cat?  The bookstore always has one named Sherlock or Shakespeare, the bakery has Muffin or Cookie.  Down the street the gift shop will have a couple with names like Hallmark or Ben Franklin and they roam at will and everyone feeds them.  Our PAR thrift store has Bob Cat. No relationship. But he is in charge.  Sometimes the town pets are dogs like Benji or Tramp as in the movies.  In my quaint little town the shop where I have my booth and work has an assortment of dogs. All rescues.  All kinds.  The guys who own Burnt Mountain Trading Company in Jasper are a couple who are both talented and at times eccentric. Tenderhearted when it comes to animals.  On the days I work the shop it is not unusual to find 4 -5 dogs sitting behind the counter with me. Often they will spend the day with me and even still be sitting, or sleeping there when I leave for the day. I am a shop girl-pet sitter of some sort. Its complicated but small townsy.  Anyway,  I have found that people seem to either live up or down to their names, but I have come to believe it is true of animals also. Behind the counter yesterday sat, well, actually slept,  Angel.  No problem, sweet, at times maybe a little bossy, but she is a Chihuahua so its only natural. Also a Halley, I assume named after the Comet who can be rather explosive. Sleeping peacefully was also Paris Hilton who likes to wear costumes and is a slight show off.  She seems to have calmed down quiet a bit with age and is fast becoming a little lady.  After a vacation trip to Alaska this summer, the guys got a new puppy and selected Juno as her name. But soon her name was revised to Lindsey Lohan. The guys seemed to think she was having problems distinguishing between "NO" and "Juno".  I believe she was already becoming her true self. I don't think she was confused, I think she is stubborn.  And now a dog who could have been a small, quiet town in the Alaska wilderness is a slut. I love her, don't get me wrong.  But if she could spend a few nights in jail I think she like Paris Hilton, would soon learn to behave. Last night as I was closing the store, she jumped into a chair and over a 3-4 foot counter and took off, out the door, into the dark, down the middle of Main Street in Jasper.  I knocked down prospective customers, locked the door and ran down the middle of the street dodging traffic, right behind her yelling "Lindsey Lohan, come to me girl.  Come home".  I am not sure yet what effect this will have on my reputation, either for good or bad,  but I do know that Lindsey Lohan and I will never quiet be on the best of terms again. When I finally caught her, she peed on me and by the time I had closed the shop, counted the money and turned off the lights, I thought I was having a heart attack. A xanax and a glass of wine 30 minutes later convinced me I was only having a panic attack, but should it happen again, it will be an attack all right, but one that may prove fatal for our Miss Lohan.  The legal system may be failing to teach her namesake to behave, but I won't.

All The Good Ones Are Taken

Last night I rested. I am really tired. So I stayed home and watched Water for Elephants and Because of Winn Dixie. Movies I love because they remind me that love comes in all kinds of packages. I mention this because I want to confess I have a terrible crush. I know you wonder "How? She never has a date?" Well, the truth is I have known this man for well over a year. He comes into the thrift store where I volunteer. He always donates and buys the most interesting things. Vintage bubble lights and a pink phone in the shape of a high heel shoe. He is very attractive, nice eyes. No facial hair. He works out at my gym. Doesn't look like Santa, Bubba, or the Rock. Doesn't wear camo. Doesn't hunt. We can talk about anything. And do. He's the kind of guy who you could ask "Are these pants too tight?" and he'd say "No, Honey, but wash them in cold water and hang to dry." He's kind and thoughtful and he knows colors like magenta and mango and turquoise, and uses them in sentences. He traveled by car this summer to California. Singing.  And visited everything I would stop to see. I want to take him to Fairhope and stay at the Grand Hotel and the Magnolia Springs B & B. He's never been and he will love it. The Carmel of the South I tell him.  The owners of the B & B there would love him. He likes Antiques and Art Deco and recognizes good china and manners. I am smitten. I know he likes me too because he's called me and we'll have lunch at his house next week. I'm going to his Christmas party. I don't know what I will wear.  Shiny for sure. He'll say I look "Marvelous" and I will. My friends have pointed out that there is one, tiny little glitch. He has a partner. And I know he won't give HIM up for me. After all his partner is in banking. Well, yes, he's gay. Do you honestly think I found a straight guy this good? Sure, I know.  He will never find me sexually attractive, but, well, I haven't had sex in years, so what's the problem? We'll go to lunch at Madeline's and order the chicken salad and I'll say, "Oh, I can't have desert, I'm too fat." And he'll say" Darling, you look great" and he'll order the strawberry cake and two spoons and then say "Oh, I love your shoes".  And we'll talk about where I got them and he'll know a great place to buy purses. I am in love and once again with someone gay, dead or married.

If you've ever walked through a storm of emotions then you know when you get through it, the world looks more beautiful and the air smells cleaner and fresher than ever before. The colors of the North Georgia Mountains are the vivid hues of goldens, oranges, browns and reds.  They are painted like drops of color across the mountains and are forming a canopy across the winding mountain roads in my neighborhood.  The sky of Autumn is more blue than the most precious day of summer and the gentle breeze whispers of  an early winter but that only heightens the anticipation of a new season, a new day. Today my world feels heavenly. Today I feel like I could write a novel, paint a masterpiece or catch the eye of a good man. Today I found out I am cancer free and, although sore as can be, I will be fine soon. While so many others are not getting good news and many are in fact in pain and are suffering, today I am healthy and blessed way beyond my expectations.  I am so thankful that I don't get what I deserve.  That every day of my life I live knowing who I am, who I love but more importantly, who loves me.   That instead  of being an old witch on Halloween I was just me.  Me,  growing old with Grace.  Marvelous Grace.  Thank you all for your hopes and prayers and for reading my blog. 

Biopsies and Buggers

This weekend I had dinner with some girl friends in Atlanta.  It was a wonderful escape from worrying about cancer, divorce, and poverty.  All the women there had had similar experiences and troubles and they were all still alive and laughing about it. There was a precious dog there and before long we began to talk about our pets and stories about them.  One friend reminded me of my brother's dog, Bugger.  She had pet sat for him on an occasion and loved the dog and his name. It didn't take much to get me talking about Bugger stories.  Bugger was just a big ole' sweet yellow lab that wondered up one day, half starved and smelling, and moved right into my brother's heart and home.  I had never known of a dog with that name and when I saw Bugger the first time, I remarked on his fine form and sweet disposition, but couldn't understand how the name fit the mutt.  When asked about the name and the reason for it, my brother replied that he'd always wanted a dog named Bugger and that when someone would come over and say "Hey, is that your dog Bugger?"  His answer would be "No, its s'not".  My family.  Bugger had run of the house and pretty much became at times the center of my brother's attention, always loving companion and passenger side window rider when possible.  Bugger was spoiled and loved as much as any dog but over the years, Bugger's early neglect took a toll on his heath and finally his sight failed him.  Bugger became, Blind Bugger.  My brother though always the funny man, decided Bugger needed a Seeing Eye Dog to solve his problems with sight. At other times, dark glasses and a cane were discussed.  While none of that  happened it did make for lots of stories over the years when Bugger no longer could see s'not.  Bugger's wonderful disposition followed him through his trials and when he ran into the wall, off the porch, into the lake or whatever, he just got back up, shook it off and started off again.  Bugger lived up to his reputation as just a sweet ole' dog. Faithful and calm through all the difficulties that came his way.  This week I am determined to be brave about my biopsy, poverty and broken heart. Its s'not what I wanted but its what I got and I will do my best to find the punch line in my trials just like that good ole' dog.  I will pay the $l400 medical bill and not cuss Blue Cross, I will not swear at the county because the property taxes are due, I will not cry that two tires had to be replaced, and I will make the best of having a cold.  I may fall off the porch but I will shake it off, lick my wounds and keep moving. I will try to be a real Bugger about the whole thing.

Happening Along Hwy 5l5, More of the Same

Please don't think from that title that nothing is happening here in the Mountains.  Just believe me, its more of the same. That isn't all bad, its just, more of the same.  Last weekend was beautiful and I was included in a Pumpkin Patch adventure with my sweet grandsons.  The sky was blue and the air had that crispness that comes with Autumn. Every small farm in the North Georgia Mountains has decided to turn a buck by turning their working farms into a corn maze and a pumpkin vending machine.  The tractors have found a new life by pulling screaming children around in a wagon. The farm animals are now a "petting zoo".  Still nothing takes the place of the beautiful scenery.   The leaves are beginning to turn and fall festivals are all over the North Georgia Mountains.  Ellijay has had its last weekend of the Apple Festival and Blue Ridge has had its Arts in the Park.  This next weekend will be Marietta's Arts and Craft Show on the Square.  My daughter and I will set up and sell our wares.  She crochets the most darling children's hats and shoes and I will pretend to be an artist and sell my little paintings. But today it is more rain and the deer ate my pumpkin on the front porch. (Well, actually they just knocked it down the street and ran after it like curious children until it hit a tree and broke open. Then they ate it. ) My sister lives in Texas and I know I should be grateful for the rain but my house is beginning to have green slime on it and I truly think blue skies would help my disposition so I am complaining.  Tomorrow I have a biopsy on my breast.  I am not scared but all women who go through this will admit, its concerning. I am not good at asking for help.  In fact, I am just terrible at it.  You all know I bear my soul, but its in this totally impersonal way.  Its not with a phone call and tears.  It is instead with this totally unconnected way of writing about my trials and tribulations in a blog.  An avenue that allows you to have semi-relationships with people whom you don't know, will never meet and who will not attend your funeral.  But in times like these when l in 5 relationships begin on the internet and the only men who flirt with me are nameless and possibly 89, it seems fitting that I ask all of you to remember me in your prayers.  I will let you know the results and I will tell you about the Craft Show, but more importantly I will say thank you for reading my blog and helping me feel less isolated in this beautiful wilderness.

Happening Along Hwy 5l5

And a good time was had by all.   I'm sorry but I really can't think of anything good to say about the Pickens County Marble Festival.  No, that's completely true.  The food was great.  If you didn't die from the fried Oreos, Twinkies and apple dumplings, you might have from the fried corn or the the fried pies or the fried okra.  There were also fried hamburgers, fried turkey burgers and french fries.  I ate gumbo. Not because I am that health conscious but just because I like it and it was actually very good. Reminded me of the Cajun cooking in Fairhope. The rest as they say is history.  I bought nothing, won nothing and didn't care.  I saw plenty of Santa look-a-likes and many of his brothers.  Mostly with Mrs. Santa but sometimes with their Hogs. As in Harley.  Needless to say, I did not meet Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now, not even Mr. One Night Might Be All Right.  PAR, Pickens Animal Rescue, did have a couple of adoptions and made more people aware that we are out there trying to help in a situation that seems almost hopeless. I have never seen people who try so hard and care so much.  Now everything in Jasper is covered in pink in Honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Pink ribbons on cars, doors, windows and even hats.  In celebration of the occasion, I am having my Annual Breast Cancer Scare Event.  A mammogram followed by a phone call that scares me to death, telling me I have to get a biopsy which will cost me money I don't have, for a test I don't want, for an illness I don't need.  I don't think women in this country need a month of pink to make them aware of Breast Cancer.  Everyone I know has either had it or been scared to death by a radiologist somewhere that wants to make sure they don't have it.  But in case you have neglected to honor this month, and need to, go get your mammogram and take your medicine so that we are all here next year for the next Marble Festival. Mammograms....a good time was had by all.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

A million years ago, I wrote the gossip column for the Eastern Shore News and the Spanish Fort Bulletin. I figured out a thousand ways to say "And a good time was had by all". The heading was "Happening Along the Shore" and it pretty much was who did what on vacation, got married and who was having a party. Sometimes in desperation I would wish happy birthdays and anniversaries or tell who got a new car.  Small town papers will print anything.  It was a time in my life when often I was the center of the gossip and to be honest, it didn't bother me at all. One friend used to say the only thing worst than saying something bad about you was saying nothing at all.  And we along the shore lived that way. My life in Daphne and my shop in Fairhope, Alabama, were not only beautiful but always filled with friends, family, and suitors.  I am the person they were talking about when they said "she had more boyfriends than you can shake a stick at". I still don't know what that means, but I do know I didn't suffer for a date or a kiss.  I wonder sometimes if this is God's way of punishing me for having so much fun then or if its just a really bad practical joke on his part and any day now we'll get to the punch line. We'll all have a good laugh and things will be better.  Anyway, now I don't know any gossip and  if I did, it would not be about me.  My life is so calm that there are days when I almost take an afternoon nap.  For the next couple of weeks though that is about to change. First the thrift store where I volunteer had a yard sale.  Now I know that for many of you  that does not sound exciting or in any way worthy of a gossip column but in Pickens County, Georgia, its front page news.  Our little Pickens Animal Rescue - PAR - brought in almost $800 this past Saturday.  That's a whole lots of dog biscuits.  And we did it the hard way, dimes and quarters.  A hundred people must have stopped by.  Some even came back for a second time late in the day. Yard-selling is big business in Jasper and almost any Saturday in the Spring or Fall you'll find hand lettered signs on every corner.  Most will be falling over or have loppy ears but you can usually tell in which direction the arrow is pointing.  This past weekend I bet there were 20 in our small town including ours and the Episcopalians.  The Episcopalians added food and music to theirs so while it may have been better attended, I don't believe they could have had more stuff.  This next weekend will the be Marble Festival.  Yes, Marble.  Jasper is the Marble Capital of Georgia.  I know that doesn't sound like much but its the only place outside of Italy where you can get pink marble.  And we also have wonderful wineries.  Pink marble and wine, its just like Italy.  You gotta' love this place.   I'm sure my next blogs will be about all the excitement of the Festival and then later you can read about the leaves turning and the apples growing ripe and all the festivals that celebrate them.  So here' my first submission of "What's Happening Along Hwy 515", no shore but a lot of snore.

Have Another Bite?

Once again, I have bitten off more than I can chew.  In my excitement to make my purchase of the generator and elevate my worries about the impending winter, I failed to realize that it was the beginning of a process and not the end of one.  First I discovered that it would not be delivered until 5 days later.  That seemed to be no problem since there were no storms on the horizon and I didn't even know how to work the darn thing. Five days later the phone rings and Home Depot tells me my generator has arrived and I can pick it up at my convenience.  I am thrilled.  Finally I will not have to worry about fall storms or winter isolation and I will have lights in the mist of all the chaos.  I arrived to discovered that three young strong men are needed to put the thing in my car.  It fits, but just barely. The last words I heard as I drove away were "You know that thing is gonna' hurt your gas mileage if you don't get it out of there pretty soon".  That's been a week.  I can't get it out of the car.  I have invited people to dinner. Asked my son-in-law to tea. Talked sweet to a man who is not for me and still "No go".  Tomorrow I will be forced to pay someone to get the fool thing out of my car. Then pay them some more to hook it up, show me what to do, and flip my mattress.  While here I will get my roof cleaned off and gutters un-stuck up and start preparing for the fall and winter which bring so many changes to the mountains.  I think of how the women of the frontier survived often alone in a desolate and unfriendly environment.  Indian raids, mountain lions, illness. As I hurry out the door to Kroger, carrying my gas can, wearing designer jeans and plenty of bling, now only getting l8 miles per gallon of gas, I know I have the stuff they were made of, pure stubbornness and possibly bad judgment.  But tomorrow, in the words of Scarlet O'Hara, a true Southern Frontier woman,  "As God is my witness, I shall never go without lights again".

If a Tree Falls in the Forest????

Preparing for my Winter Wonderland

I have figured out, un-scientifically of course, the age old question as to whether there is a sound in the forest if a tree falls and no one is around to hear it.  The answer is yes.  And the sound is the sound of hundreds of gas powered generators cranking up in the subdivision in which I live. And a tree falls every week. And usually right on top of a power line.  I can not answer why Amicalola Power Company would not have run the lines underground since the technology was available and the trees were in abundance. To me that that seems to be more in question than the sounds that are not being heard in the forest from falling trees and certainly more relevant to my life.  As you know,  I live in "the woods".  Surrounded by trees as old as the mountain I live on.  The trees have been stressed out, almost as much as me, by the continued drought that has plagued much of the South. This has left many of the tall pines and hardwoods in a weakened state and  ready to topple.  Let a thunder storm brew up or a tornado get in our area and down goes a tree or a branch large enough to crush a car. Or ten such branches.  Last week I sat in the dark for 5 hours.  I arrived home from work tired, hungry and eager to sit down with a nice dinner and watch TV only to find my neighborhood streets very dark.  Most of the houses I passed had limited lights on, open garage doors and the very familiar hum of the generators. In the winter everyone on my street either has one of those contraptions or leaves for the Florida.   Some of the houses even have the fancy kind that come on automatically and are tied into the electrical system of the entire house.  I don't have a generator.  Or at least didn't have one.  This was going to be the third winter that I had suffered through without the benefit of a generator but all that changed for me on Friday.  I put a call into my own personal ATM machine.  My ex husband.  I am at a loss to explain why he does these things for me.  Guilt.  Left over feelings of love.  Terrible remorse.  Who knows?  But now when the winds blow and the trees fall, I will go outside, pull up my garage door, get out my generator and join in the chorus of a steady if not deafening hum of the many generators on my street.  I am a little concerned that I will not be able to afford the gas to run the generator should things continue as they are, nor that I will be strong enough to crank the generator, nor even smart enough to figure out how to get it out of the huge box and set it up but I have a generator.  I am now officially a mountain woman.  Self sufficient and prepared for any weather disaster.  I wish they would make a generator for my dating life.  Now that would be worth the price of the gas.

9/11

Often we heard stories from our parents and others of their generation retelling their experiences on the day of Pearl Harbor or the end of WWII, VE or VJ Dy.  They remember that day, what they were doing, where they were, the feelings that they had.  I think for our generation and maybe for our children's Nine-Eleven will be that kind of experience.  It will be a day, one we will remember with details and feelings.  I can remember that morning was so beautiful and my "late" husband, late as in last, walked early and had not heard the news.  We commented on how quiet it seemed that morning not understanding that was a indication of what was happening in New York and Pennsylvania.   It was a silence that we experienced while others died and lived with more tragedy, surrounded by noise and anguish that we can only imagine.  When we turned on the news after the walk, we were completely shocked at the tragedy unfolding before our eyes.  A neighbor came over just as the first tower fell. I believe she came not just to ask if we were watching but I will always feel it was to find some comfort that we were home and she was not alone in all the sorrow.  Later that evening we sat in our hot tub on top of a mountain in Wetumpka and watched a dark sky. Usually planes making their approach or leaving the Atlanta airspace were visible.  That evening though was totally quiet, totally black.  I know that those are experiences that for many will never be forgotten, for many others we will do all we can to forget.  Tragedy and sorrow are difficult feelings to hold on to.  They make us scared and uncomfortable.  But if we refuse to embraced the sorrow of life, then we also choose to embrace the beauty of it. Life is two sided, all religions, all psychology teaches this.  Our personal tragedies seem small when the tragedy of mankind is examined and the world is viewed in its entirety.   My personal problems seem so unimportant in comparison to what happened that day. But they are mine and after this weekend, they will overwhelm me just as they have in the past. For a few days though, I can view them as inconsequential and petty.  My thoughts and prayers are with all of you in this time of remembrance.

To Live and Die in Atlanta

This week I had an opportunity to visit some attractions in Atlanta.  Except for my children and grandchildren, I avoid everything Atlanta like the plague.  I hate the traffic, the young black men with their "pants on the ground".  The fear of being shot.  I always get lost finding streets that change their names at every other intersection. The rudeness that often confronts visitors. But with a group, and a driver,  I went to the Atlanta Zoo and the Cyclorama.  I had not visited either since childhood. The Zoo was nice. Not as big as I remembered.  Not as pretty as the Audubon in New Orleans. But it was enjoyable and not overly packed with screaming children nor dangerous looking young men as I had expected. The panda exhibit was worth the trip.  The baby is precious and watching her interact with mother was a wonderful experience and I really did enjoy it.  If I remembered the Cyclorama it was fuzzy at best.  I could remember that the watchers moved around the painting but really it had left little impression on me.  This time the visit was different.  Maybe its my age or the age in which we live, but the painting was so tragic and sad to me. I have never enjoyed stories of the Civil War.  While many love "Gone with the Wind" it has never been my favorite.  I did not love "Cold Mountain" or any other movie that depicted the realities of losing 600,000 people. After the presentation the narrator began a small segment of questions and I noticed a tiny black child holding up her hand.  She waved it back and forth but was small and in the darken theater was overlooked.  As we filed out from the stadium seating, I noticed her tug on the pant leg of the very attractive young black woman who had told us the story of the painting and related how its purchase had been made and later came to Atlanta. The narrator looked down at the child and asked "Peanut, what do you want to ask?".  In a gentle and timid voice, the child asked "Why are they all dead?".  For a moment everyone was silent wondering how the young narrator would respond.  I hope I forget the tragic scenes of the painting, but I never will forget the answer to the question.  Her response was "They failed to talk to each other." To paraphrase her, she said that being a black Southerner she thought everyone expected her to say it was about slavery and no black person would or could justify what happened  She went on to say that most people in that time lived and died only knowing the 40 or so miles surrounding their birth site and that to survive, black and white depended on each other. Almost none of the young men who died in the Battle of Atlanta had slaves, most knew little of why they would die. But when your back was to the wall, you died beside the boy you fished with, the one who helped you through a sickness, who farmed near you. That underneath they were all Southerners and died with the people they knew. They chose to serve and die with their neighbors. It was a moving statement from a young black person in Atlanta.  A city that has been plagued with racial unrest and discord.  But it encouraged me to believe that underneath we are all the same. Struggling with the same issues and in a time of crisis and disaster we can come together, regardless of race or religion.  Reminds me of the way it felt after 9/11.

Nature vs. Nurture

If you read my blog, you know my world consists of two events.  Nature and Nurture.  One I have in abundance, Nature, and one I am in dire need of.  A woman must be filled up to keep herself afloat.  Since I find no man interested or interesting enough to do that; I find that God provides me with his own special healing in the beauty of the N. Georgia Mountains.  The sky today is brilliant blue and a gentle breeze promises an early fall.  It was one of those days when the beauty around me surpassed the sadness that often keeps me from being my usual happy and neurotic self.   The highly effective and very frugal Georgia Department of Transportation and Roads is paving a small but vital stretch of the road leading to my neighborhood.  This afternoon six pieces of heavy duty equipment was brought in to do the 1/2 mile or so of needed paving.  Three pieces sat idle by the road and fourteen (l4 in case you have trouble with that figure) men in various states of decomposition and idleness sat around and watched five (5) men work.  I looked very thoughtfully at each as I passed them and did the Pickens County, finger. No, not that finger.  Its a pointer finger raised in a county wide "Howdy" just above the steering wheel.  I think it is universal in acceptance and acknowledgement in all small towns across the Southern United States. Redneck or otherwise.  All the members of the road crew had a beard.  I headed on home through the back gate and noticed a small , black bear crossing just in front of me.  He seemed in no hurry and stood in the road a moment looking at me as I looked at him.  Road construction and l4 men do not seem to matter to a small bear in search of food.  Finally he ambled on across the road and I kept on winding toward my home.  A small coyote ran across the road startling me for a moment. I thought I had done the unthinkable in almost hitting a dog in a 20 MPH zone.  Seeing the coyote seemed a rare event in the afternoon but I think that maybe the drought is distressing many of the wildlife in the mountains.  We need rain desperately.   When I arrived at home Iwas greeted by the doe who apparently has come to think the field beside my home is her own special haven.  She pranced up to the back porch, looking longingly toward me. She has the sweetest, gentlest cow eyes.  Reminiscent of animals destined to live their lives gracing and being used for dinner.  I recognize her because she bears a nick to her right ear that looks like someone took a small bite out of it.  Possibly another doe.  I have a tomato that has to be discarded because it had worms.  I go into the kitchen to retrieve it for her.  But for some reason tonight I decide she must earn it. I open the door of the porch and show her the tomato. She cocks her head to one side showing off the nicked ear; like saying, "Hey, its me, OK".  I reach my hand out and touch her head.  She doesn't move or startle.  Instead she lowers her head and waits.  I hand her the tomato.  Saliva forms on both sides of her mouth as she welcomes the treat. She could use a napkin.  I don't complain though.  I have just petted a deer.  This could cost $l00 in fines in my neighborhood.  Today though, I think its worth it.  But, please don't report me.

Dating for Dummies - Steps Six to Twelve

Dating Based on The Twelve Steps Program of AA
Ok, Steps 6-12 basically say, you do what you can about the mess you've made.  You make up when possible, you keep doing that as best you can and you tell others how you got in the mess in the first place and what you are trying to do to get out of it.  Been there, done that.  I know that for me, internet dating is not all its cracked up to be.  In fact, all I've met are bad eggs.  If the two men you meet on the internet and go out with are named Bob "Bodman" and Dale "Cummings", the Universe is trying to tell you, there's a problem with internet dating for you.  I am not saying its wrong for everyone, but I feel like a character in some stupid adult sexual cartoon and I don't think that's the Universe saying its blessing.  So now I am back to Step One, admitted I was powerless. I have been "fixed up" once with the bush hogger who also reminded me of a cartoon character. His looks were kinda' a combination of Elmer Fudd,  hunting rabbit (the man talked about shooting stuff the entire date) and Mr. Magoo.  I'm not saying he was blind but he wore dark glasses the entire time and his beady little eyes kept going back and forth and watching everyone without making eye contact with me. When I suggested we meet for coffee somewhere in town to introduce ourselves, his answer was "Don't you make coffee?" My answer to him was  "Yes, but not for you".  And he had very small, chubby fingers. And in his late 60s, driving a black vet and wearing a gold chain.  I know that's not important, but I am passing it on just the same. I have two friends now who have met someone on SeniorPeople and think its a good thing to do, but maybe God is thinking I need some more work. I have to wonder how much work it takes to date and get married. I mean I see people do it all the time who don't appear to have put any thought or preparation into the matter. Hey, there's a thought.  Maybe I am over thinking this.  Maybe I am analyzing it too much. Simple is better.  I simply can not date.  I could try EHarmony but I was really bad at Chemistry in l0th grade and I don't think I have developed a knack for it this late in life.  Plus I don't think I want to date someone neurotic and confused with a personality similar to mine. I want to date someone "cool".  This morning when I prayed I asked for God to give me the courage and the wisdom to just keep going on with my life, the one I have now and the one I hope to find.  I didn't ask for Prince Charming. And when a friend recently reminded me you have to kiss a lot of frogs, I realized that I really don't want to kiss any frogs.  Not even one. So I will let my subscription to SeniorPeople expire, just as my lust for dating seems to be.

Dating for Dummies - Steps Four & Five

Dating Strategy Based on the AA Twelve Steps
Made Moral Inventory of Ourselves, Admitted Our Faults to God, Ourselves and Another Individual and If Necessary Made Restitution for Any Wrongs We Have Committed
While I sit around and wait for lightening (or enlightenment) to strike me again on my dating front, I am continuing on my spiritual journey of working the Twelve Steps.  Since completing step three, I have found that my Higher Power may not mind me dating but He is not going to make it easy for me. The internet/cable guy was not for me, nor the computer guy who charged me a ton and couldn't fix my computer after a week of trying, not his helper who needed a belt as they often seem to do, not the man who changed my flat tire, the one who emailed me ten requests for a date while my computer was out, nor the one I had coffee with today after all the disasters and smoke from the lightening cleared.  If my Higher Power decides I shouldn't date and instead brush up my skills of old lady entertainment, including by not limited to fine finger painting, gossiping and cutting out recipes from Southern Living, then I will look at the completion of these steps as self improvement and something for the masses to read.  The masses being you my readers who now are running anywhere from 35-50 per blog. Small mass, but in a medical sense, the best kind to have. Making a moral inventory is not easy. You have to look at your good points as well as your shortcoming. I grew up with a mother who made it fairly easy to know my shortcomings; so I have long list of shortcomings.  And I am not afraid of listing them. Impatient, likes things to be done in a certain way, some need for control or at least the pretense of it, a little outspoken. But good qualities??  Lord, I am not sure. I have been told that I am good company by both men and women. I was a good student. I am not lazy. I do not like to cook and do not make my own clothes.  See what I mean.  Its easier to see the fault than the good points.  Well, there's another shortcoming. This is hard for me.  As to wrongs that I have committed, well, I have failed to......make my marriage work, learn how to earn enough money that it didn't matter. Those are my two biggies.  I have now admitted them to all of you.  How I make restitution for those two wrongs will have sit on the page with "To Date or Not To Date".  If I'm supposed to make up to the guy I had a date with last week, I will remain forever dateless.   If I have to date the guy I had coffee with this morning who arrived in his black vet but had to cut things short because he had to bush hog, I am sure of it.  But I hear thunder and I am praying there's some lightening with it and it will with any luck, strike me.

Dating for Dummies - Step Three

Dating Strategy Based on The AA Twelve Steps
Step Three:  Gave our Will Over to our God as we Knew Him
This was the easiest step of all.  After the fiasco of my first date and the subsequent conversations of my "wannabee" dates, I knew without a doubt I was not in any condition to make decisions for my life, let alone my dating.  It had been my decision to begin to "date" and now it was looking like I was once again going to decide "not to date".  I was so confused and exhausted just trying to keep up with the mess I was creating that it no longer was much fun. Making a "mell of  a hess", as my mother used to say, of dating. And I was no doubt causing some discomfort for the men whom I readily ignored. If I answered a flirt it was always some old man sitting on a worn out Barco-lounger in plaid fabric with his remote and his toy poodle.   If I sent a flirt it fell into the deep, dark pit of lost emails that were never to be seen again nor answered.  And so it was with great conviction than I accepted that my lot in life could be to remain alone, always "trying" to date, "trying" not to date, or God willing actually dating. Whichever, whatever, I was willing to accept that someone hopefully  knew better than I did what was best for me. My sister said she did and I should date. My friends definitely knew what was best and it was moving on, i.e. dating.  My conscious said I knew what was best for me and I shouldn't move in any direction with so much uncertainty.  I would wait and see what my God said, whom I thought knew me better than I knew myself.  If He thinks I am not too neurotic to date, then I date.  But He would have to do something though to let me know which way the wind was blowing.  Up to now I had felt I was either in a hurricane or in a sail boat in the middle of the ocean on a completely still day.  I needed guidance.  As if to answer my request, my Internet went out and won't be back on until I can stay home and let the cable guy in to check it out.  Maybe he's the answer to my prayers and a date is just a service call away.

Dating for Dummies - Step Two

Dating Strategy based on the 12 Step Program of Alcoholics Anonymous.
Step Two:  Came to believe that we needed a higher power to restore us to sanity.  If there is one thing that I can tell you its that you have got to be crazy to date.  This step is absolutely essential if you are going to try to date or if you just want to get up the next morning without losing your mind having had a date. If anything would push you on over the edge it would be trying to figure out how to date an old man. Now I admit I am an old woman but men are different when they are old.  They are fussy.  I had my first date this week.  It took 10 emails to get this guy to make a decision about where to go and when to go.  Then he picks 7:30.  I am in bed by 7:30.  I won't be able to get away from him until almost 9.  And Oprah insists you never eat after 7 PM.  What is he thinking?   Now I will have to drive home in the dark. Then he is late.  And the conversation.  He gripes about everything.  The weather.  Its too hot.  The man is from Florida.  Wouldn't you think he's been hot before? Then he talks about the debt deal.  I have indigestion just thinking about it. And he orders before me.  That is so on my list of things not to do. In his pictures he is though reasonably attractive for an old man but they must be of his younger, thinner and taller brother.  Do these men think you will be so enamored by their conversation you will forget you are talking to a munchkin?  I will say though he does manage to pick an extremely nice restaurant with a very good menu and excellent service.  Very friendly service. Since he went home with the waitress's number and not mine, at least it wasn't a complete washout,  for him.  The whole thing makes me feel completely crazy.  If ever I needed my sanity restored it is after a date.  "Waiter, I need a Xanx with that glass of wine."  It was almost 10 pm before I finally got away from this old man and hurried home to send a flirt to "2good2btrue" and ignore completely the kind message from "FaithfulasanOldDog".  I feel better already.  I am sure restoration of my sanity is just around the corner and I know that there's a man out there for me. Well, my computer is calling even if the right man is not.

Dating for Dummies - Step One

OK, here goes. I am going to start dating. I realized this week that I could wake up one day and admit that I am an old woman who has not been out at night in 20 years and that I don't even know how to knit or crochet. I can sit here in my rocker but if I do, I will  probably go completely OFF IT.  So I am sending this out to the Universe and asking for cooperation in this endeavour. I am putting my best foot forward, having a positive attitude and getting new lingerie. Now I am ready but before my first date, which by the way is tonight, I have gone on line to find some help and support, just in case the Universe is busy with the debt crisis, famine in Africa and the unrest in the Middle East.  While reading on line I found that no one really knows what to tell you about dating .  The advice sounds like you are interviewing for a job.  It really is not helpful at all so I have decided to begin a series of encouragement and suggestions to help anyone who finds themselves in my position.  The first step in dating is finding someone to date.  I believe this to be the hardest, but as I said, I am on step one so that may be why it seems so difficult. I am facing this step using The Alcoholic Anonymous 12 Step Approach.  First Step:  Admit that we are powerless over being asked out.  Women can ask men for a date but I do not believe it is in the woman's best interest to do this. Therefore, you as a woman, are powerless. And men are powerless also because the woman has to say "yes".  You can look good, be good, smile and want to be asked(or answered in the affirmative), but you are pretty much powerless.  In order to regain the power in this situation, I have posted my profile on Senior People Meet.  The "most successful dating site for Mature Adults".  I certainly am looking for someone who is mature so I feel that's the place to start.  Now I have the power.  I can answer emails, flirt, send messages, ignore, ignore again, and search to my heart's content.  I feel powerful as I ignore "Looking4Luv" and send a flirt to "FriendlyFunMan" and  search out "NotASanta in Jasper"(haven't found him yet). This positive outlook has already paid off in the fact that I have a date. Not bad. Well, the date may be, but I have a date. And a person I barely know asked this morning if she could set me up with someone.   The Universe is apparently good at multitasking.  I am capable of dating,  I can date. I am OK about dating.  I am a nervous wreck.

SEX

Yes, that's in capital letters, and no, its not because I've had any.  I have been thinking about it though.  Mainly because my friend, Lynn, gave me a book entitled "The Dieter's Guide to Weight Loss During Sex".  Now if that's not a catchy title, I've never read one.  Since both of those subjects are dear to my heart, I read the book. Turns out the book is a complete listing of different activities, bedroom and otherwise and how many calories each burns up.  I find it almost as fascinating trying to understand how they calibrated such caloric burn as I find it fascinating that people actual spend time trying to determine such things. For years we have heard how the government donated (threw away) $3 million to determine the sex lives of horned owls and buffalo, but now it seems that people are actually writing books about sex/calories and some people, not me or my friend, are buying them. Not too many obviously because the book was in a donated section of the library and its original price of $2.75 had been cut in half.  But the darn thing got published. Anyway since sex is by far the most favored of all exercises and the least boring if done right, I am going to let you in on some of the statistics.One hour of heavy petting, including squirming, wiggling, and whimpering for more (if any) will burn up an entire large slice of chocolate cake.  Sixteen minutes of frisking and tickling of a partner will equal 9 lollipops.  Two more for the ticklee. French kissing for 53 mintues will give you swollen lips and a cheeseburger and l4 french fries with ketchup but you will have to wait for your lips to regain feeling in order to keep the cheeseburger from falling to the floor while trying to take a bite. If you can manage to chase your partner around the room for 62 minutes or have a 2 hour pillow fight without dying in the process, you can share two pints of ice cream, one for each of you. This is not recommended after taking Viagra. The big disappointment was that 6 minutes of intercourse in 4 different positions (how often have you been disappointed in 6 minutes of intercourse in 4 different positions?) only allowed you to enjoy a large portion of chocolate mousse. Hardly worth the effort.  But then compare it to other activities such as a sneeze equally l4 bean sprouts, calling your parents 3 calories burned, drying your hair 9 calories, unless you are using your cheeks to do it which would be 348 calories and a heart attack, or selecting your clothes 7 calories if you care how you look and l if you don't.  All in all, it truly appears that the best way to stay fit, trim and healthy is to have SEX. That said, I am joining Match.com again. I have 5 pounds to lose.

Who Says You Can't Go Home Again?

I drive back to North Georgia after a day in the Alabama sun.  It was 95 when I left Montgomery, Alabama. I had lunch with a group of wonderful girls from high school and once again remember how lucky I am to have grown up in a different time. Our problems of pimples and boys and grades were nothing compared to what we see now in life.  Usually when I top the hill on Hwy 575 in Canton, Georgia, I see the mountains and I feel a sense of home. Tonight though nothing seemed to make me at ease. I am lonely beyond belief. Maybe its the fear of my empty house or maybe its that my grand puppies are gone. No one is waiting for me. Don't misunderstand, I love my home.  I believe it was Thomas Merton that said "you can't be neurotic in front of a bunch of trees".  My home is a bunch of trees, against a mountain with a lake and wildlife abundant. I believe it is the beauty of North Georgia that has spared my sanity during the recent "unpleasantness" and the two years now of "aftermath". The deer and bear and small animals I see know more of life and death than I do.  They were made first by God and have know this world longer than any man.They seem closer to the source of all knowledge and they have helped to give me a sense of wholeness.  They were my first friends in small town where before I had none. They have served as my guide to finding some peace when I could have easily found only distress. And I will be glad to see them and to water my garden and sprinkle some seeds for the birds.  But I will do it alone.  I have good friends now in Georgia and I do something of value in my volunteer job. There is though nothing that takes the place of human contact.   A kind word, a hug, a call to say hello.  On my trip back from Alabama, I have called a handful of people just to keep that comfort of home alive.  But as the sun sets in the distance and I turn into my drive I notice the temperature is down to 86; but for a moment, I think I will cry. I miss my life before. The life I used to have.  I miss my old friends.  I miss my family.  I know that God has brought me to a place of complete beauty and peace in order that I will rest and forget and remember.  For all I have lost I am grateful, for my old friends, my old home, my old life. But for all I have gained I am also thankful.  Thankful that I have had a change of life that will forever change my heart.   Isn't it wonderful to come home?

Men and Medicine and Almost Anything Else

It was with great interest that I read an article this morning on AOL, Huffington Post, concerning men and heart attacks.  It seems that men live longer, healthier and fuller lives if married.  Not only do they live longer but they actually will seek medical attention in a more timely manner.  They will actually pay more attention to getting medical treatment for a heart attack if they have a spouse.  And the spouse doesn't even have to be present for them to seek the treatment. You would want to think that this is because they care more about what happens to them when they know others depend and care about them.  Personally I think its more likely that men just hate to hear "I told you so" so much that they will go against their natural instincts of avoidance and denial in order to try to keep a woman from telling them how stupid they are.  All of us know that women have always gotten a bum rap for nagging.  And yet, we all also know that if a woman asked a man to do something one time, and he did it, she would not have to nag.  In many marriages it is the primary form of communication. It is the dance of intimacy for many.  But when science comes forward and admits that if we women didn't nag men they wouldn't do the right things, what's a woman to do? Case in point, my ex husband told me yesterday that he has decided to stop taking his medication because he not longer feels "suicidal".  Now if any one thing in the world should convince you to take your medication it would be the fact that you said until you took the medicine "you felt like killing yourself".  You certainly wouldn't want to wait until you once again were terribly depressed, suicidal or in an insane asylum to feel that you might want to take your medication. But men are creatures of denial and he is my "EX" husband so I will not nag him about taking his medicine. Funny though, I have yet to see a report that says women live longer, healthier and more fulfilling lives when they are married.  In fact, you could ask many an old broad like myself and she would say that her life is pretty much just about as happy, healthy and fulfilling since he had nagged her poor husband to death or divorce court.  I do though miss my husband and I miss being loved by someone; but I am, in fact, healthy as a horse. And I don't have to be a nag. Pun intended.

Two Young Bucks Join Me For Breakfast

Once again, no, I am not talking sex here.  If I ever get around to sex again, it will be spelled in capital letters. Believe me. After my exciting run-in with the bear this week, I really had decided maybe I might want to move to Las Vegas and experience another form of wildlife.  Of course, as usual something happened that changed my mind.  A cold front brough 60 degree weather and these little boys came for breakfast.  They decided to nibble the roses through my fence and it was instant love, at least on my part.  When I saw the bear in my garden, I was afraid but not terribly. The bear ran for the hills so I figured, no real threat.   I have since learned that the bear was not only big, well over 200 lbs, but it was a she.  And she was a Momma.  Of four.  The afternoon of my run in with Momma Bear, she and her four cubs had decided that people food sounded very promising and a good break from the usual berries and small innocent creatures.   They apparently picked up the scent of fresh, sorta' if you think processed is fresh, meat. My neighbor had made the terrible mistake of leaving his Subway sandwich in the car. Turkey on whole wheat. His Tahoe was closed up tight but apparently bears can pick up the smell of meat for over two miles.  There the car sat, and there the sandwich sat and it was warm and she was hungry and ,well, one thing led to another. Apparently bears are very good at opening car doors.  Momma got the door open, ate the sandwich and while she went next door to open another car door and enjoy a bag of Doritos and old cookies, the cubs climbed into the truck.  The cubs liked the cloth seats, ample legroom and the wood grain dash.  They found the sunroof fun and inviting.  They tore up the papers left from the Subway, an old paper cup, one CD and a ball cap.  Luckily for the owner of the cap, his head was not in it at the time.  When the  cubs had made enough racket to draw the attention of the owners of the car out to the front driveway, the Momma had finished her dessert in the next car and everyone managed to meander off toward my house Probably smelling the salmon had I just grilled for my dinner.  I had just cleaned the dishes and headed out to water my tomatoes when I met Momma face to face.  Good thing for me she was full and had finished her dessert or I might have had a hungry momma on my hands.  Instead everyone says after dinner and the shower with the hose, Momma and her 4 little ones headed off to the Lake without further incident.  Polly Crockett has nothing on me.
*It is with sadness that I report the morning after writing this blog I learned the Momma bear had been shot by one of the gun happy hunters of this area. I am not sure what has happened to the cubs. In these cases you don't know who is to blame, our society for infringing on the bears, us for feeding them and being careless with garbage or just that life in general because black bear can not live in harmony with cars, people and dogs. For sure, its not the bear who has created the problem.  They are just the ones who usually suffer the most. I would have lost a feeder, maybe a fence post.  The bears, probably all 5, have lost everything.

Tea for Two-And the Bear Made Three

During the two years I have lived alone in these beautiful mountains, I have become famous, at least in my own mind, for my garden. Friends and neighbors send others by just to look at it.  I give everyone cuttings and little babies that are coming up in the wrong place or just requiring a thinning.  I even had a garden party just so more people could see it.  With all the deer, flowers are a rarity unless you are willing to think outside the box and work extra hard to have them. I am more than willing.  It has now become a haven for so many birds that at times I feel I am at the arboretum at the New Orleans Zoo. When I wake in the mornings, I start my coffee and while it hisses and steams out my first cup, I take a small bowl and load the feeders in the compact and overflowing garden area. Before I can fill a cup and sit on the porch to watch, the birds have arrived. I do have some manufactured feeders but most of my birds eat from antique china teacups attached to poles by organza ribbons and twine, small saucers and even shells.  Chipped Limoges and Racine Bavarian have found new life with the birds. The feeders attract the squirrels who chase away the birds so I have found by adding tiny and numerous feeding places the birds get equal billing. Soon after the birds arrive I notice the small chipmunk who has kept me entertained this summer.  He scurries down the wall behind my property and shimmies up the metal poles just like the squirrels.  Sometimes he jumps from fence post to post and moves along to get to feeders that are fairly high in the air.  If a squirrel jumps on with him, both will tumble to the ground but the chipmunk will shake off the fall and hurry back as quickly as the squirrels. He will even get to the top of a small table in the area and sit by a teacup and enjoy his breakfast. When I first noticed him, I placed small dishes on the ground just for him. A child's tea set with water and nuts, but now I know he is an acrobat and I enjoy his antics too much to help him out. This was all before he came face to face with Cha-Cha, my grand puppy who was visiting a week ago. Until then he had almost come to trust me enough to continue to graze even while I was in the garden.  Now he's not too sure.  And with good reason.  Cha is small but she is wiry and very determined.  Tonight though, he had more to worry about.  A small bear decided to climb the fence and go after the bird feeders.  Scared us both.  I'm sure within a few days he will forget the incident and be back to normal, but I won't.  Bears can really move when you are squirting them with a hose. There's a memory for a lifetime.

In Memory of Herbie

I got the news today that Herbie Broom had passed away.  Herbie was just 58. I had known Herbie almost all my life.  In school he was the guy most likely to make you laugh.  He was a big guy, much larger than most of the guys in elementary school and that claim continued through junior high and into high school and onto college.  He was a mighty force to be reckoned with on the football field and went on to sign with Auburn his senior year at Lee High School in l970. He was a force off the field at times also.  But mostly, he was just a mess.  I can remember sitting close to him in class all through the years and never knowing a dull moment. He would be surrounded by a bunch of guys, all trash talking and carring on.  He could really make you laugh. And he laughed with you.  And, boy, that guy could get in more trouble.  I was never the most popular girl in school but many times I managed to be friends with the ones who were and in the 5th grade at Forest Avenue, I was friends with Theresa Helms who was the most popular.  John Rogers, the most popular boy, had a crush on her and had invited her to the Cloverdale Theater to see a movie that I have long forgotten.  The date I do remember though because Theresa couldn't go without a friend and I was the lucky friend.  For that reason, Herbie Broom became the first boy I had a "date" with.  Of course, Herbie and I both were just along for the ride; but in my book, I was almost as lucky as the most popular girl who was with the most popular boy, because I was with the biggest and the funniest one.  And he did hold my hand.  Years later I came to love his big brother, Bill, as much and many times over the years have felt the sadness that his life ended too early and in such tragedy.  Now I have the same regret for Herbie.  When we are young we think we will live forever and seldom do we look at the big, funny guy next to us and realize that some day that funny boy will be a grown man with serious health issues.  Never do we think he will die.  My deepest sympathy is extended to the Broom family, especially Herbie and Bill's mom who was such a nice person.  I truly can not image her loss.  But it also is given to all of us at Lee High School and Cloverdale Jr. High and Forest Avenue Elementary who knew and loved one, Herbert E. Broom.  A guy you couldn't help but love.

The New Family Values

After spending a wonderful 4th I returned home to listen to the verdict in the Caylee Anthony murder trial.  I do not confess to know a lot about the trial.  I rarely watched the testimony but I did see much regarding the facts of the case over the three years that it has been in the headlines.  Like most folks, I expected that Casey Anthony would be found guilty of some form of negligence and blame for the death of her small child. I think all of us, including Casey and her parents were shocked that she walked.  Over and over during the last 24 hours I have heard others ask "why" and I have come up with my own answer to that question. Look at the selection of the jury.  I don't know those people but after reading short bios it appears none of them served in positions of authority. None of those I saw listed were CEOs (not like that makes them smart), none were actually bosses or decision makers on any higher level (accept in their own lives, I guess).  Most had minimal education and employment history. Good common sense is really not that common anymore. This jury was in a position of making an extremely difficult and painful decision.  Today's high profile trials demand months of commitment and most responsible and reasonable people find that almost impossible to handle.  We may want to serve knowing it would be our duty but our lives demand other things of us.  At one time in our country, people on juries believes that if the police arrested you and you were brought to trial, you probably did it. You were guilty.  Today, many people believe if the police said you did it, you surely didn't. We no longer respect nor believe in the people we have chosen to be in authority over us. We really don't have a lot of confidence in ourselves, our government, our God. Maybe that's too simplistic but I point to another article I read yesterday on AOL. The founder of EHarmony wrote a long article on the dismal future of marriage in this country.  He seemed to believe that  only shared values would save it from becoming almost extinct even those most want to experience it.  While that may be true; if the values the couple shares are not values of strong character, then the marriage is a disaster anyway. Two people who value lying, cheating, being a general jerk, are not probably going to have a wonderful and loving marriage.  Similar values only lead to a healthy loving relationship if the values are values of honesty, kindness, just general good character, strong commitment.  A friend of mine years ago used to say to his single friends "you won't find the right woman, until you are the right man". We as a society have lost our belief in our values and we float in the wind.  Its little shock to see that we do not believe in our police, our legal system, our politicians.  If you look at people and see where they spend their time and their money, you will know what they value. It won't be enough just to hear them say "I think I can do this or I think I can be a good person or make a good decision".  You have look at their lives and see what kind of decisions they have made in the past. We all make mistakes, if you have read my blog, you know mine. But many of us have a long history of making bad ones, of not living a life of value and strength. Its very difficult for people who have not had a life of being strong and bold to be that way when truly faced with the prospect. Its hard to wake up one day and be smart, confident and a person of character, just because you were asked to be, just because you got married or just because you were chosen for a jury.  So far, none of those jurors have come forward to speak of their decision.  None have felt confident enough in their decision  to want their names nor faces related to their decision. That may change when money comes into play. That does seem to be something most of us today value. I know I could use some.

More Bull than Pit

I've had a difficult time thinking about what to write about this weekend.  Not that I haven't had things happen. I have definitely had things happen.  First, I got bite by a dog.  That in itself was enough to write about because the sheriff's deputy that came out was kinda' cute and hit on me. He insisted I go seek medical treatment "cause he would want his wife to be careful" and do that, wink, wink.  So I had to go to my doctor and get a tetanus shot which really hurt like everything and made my arm sore. Then the guy who's dog bite me was a jerk and said he wouldn't pay for my medical treatment.  He said his dog wasn't vicious, just another misunderstood pit bull.  Then the sheriff's deputy called me that evening to make sure I was doing OK and asked if I had gone to the doctor.  I said "yes" and he said he was really glad because he wanted to make sure I took care of myself.  He said I looked so young for my age, couldn't help but notice when I showed him my driver's license. I had told him when he asked for my license that I wasn't driving when the dog bite me but he said it was "regulations 'mam". Then he asked if he could call back later and check on me?!  Then the guy who's dog bite me got cited by the Animal Control Officer for not keeping the dog up for the required l0 days when a neighbor saw it running around again the next morning.  I was glad because my arm hurt all night and kept me awake.  Then the bill came by email from my doctor's office and it was $l20.  When handed to the guy who's dog bite me, it was promptly thrown back at me.  Then when the sheriff's deputy called back I told him. And he said "That's too bad".  Now I don't think there's a chance in hell that I have a future with the deputy after that, but my arm is fine and my insurance paid most of the bill and the Animal Control Officer said she expected the guy who's dog bite me will have a check to me pretty soon.  So, all in all it was a really nice weekend and I think I will come out almost $l00 ahead and I have no desire whatsoever to get a pit bull, a sheriff's deputy or another tetanus shot for l0 years.

Sailing Off into Disaster

About a week ago I read an article on AOL that stated that the average 50 year old women's greatest fear  is being broke in her old age.  I never imaged that I would find myself fitting into main street American in such a way.  As a young woman, I always thought that I would marry my childhood sweetheart and stay that way for life. I did in fact marry him, but he's been married to his second wife now for 25 years so I kinda' let that dream go. So here I am almost 60 and I realize that I will grow old alone and that I will be part of that growing number of women who do it broke.  I can look back at the choices I made and the mistakes and kick myself into the next decade or I can do what my father taught me to do, work.  My father believed first in hard work, and second, in hard work.  He wasn't one to sit around and talk, instead he was a man of action and always had a project going.  I swear I think he poured concrete on every inch of land he ever owned.  He's still the only person I know who had one of those little personal size concrete mixers.  Every time he sat down, he jumped up and did something.  I've tried to remember if it was because my mother told him to, or if he just did it on his own.  Either way, every time we went to the lake as a child, something got covered in concrete. My mother would sit in the swing in the shade and my father and his hired man, Tommy, would pour concrete.  Concrete patios, driveways, boat ramps, walkways.  For a man who admired nature and a pretty lawn, he sure covered up a lot of it with concrete.  I am a lot like him.  I work a lot and I work hard.  The only problem is, I don't make any money. So maybe work is not the solution for me any more than getting married to a man who I thought would take care of me was. Its too late to inherit my wealth. I doubt I will be adopted by someone rich; although a 40ish year old woman I knew in Fairhope did arrange such a thing.  But, she still had a really cute body.  My chances of marrying for it are pretty much as shot as my knees.  If I watch the news I know I don't just have to worry about whether I can live on my social security, I have to worry if I will every see it.  So what's a girl to do?  The article suggested that women should consider a "Golden Girls" solution. Move in with a group of like minded women friends.  Only problem,  most of my friends are married.  That, of course is prone to change in the next few years as the men find younger wives and/or die off.  With any luck all my friends will find that they are in the same boat as me and we will climb in it together and steer it to the nursing home. Isn't that a pretty picture.  Four or five, love starved old women clinging to each other and their social security checks sailing off into the sunset. I hope one of them can see well enough to steer and I sure hope that some of them are funny.

Daisy Does a Doe

Last night I slept with a dog. If someone else said that you would probably think they were making some kind of sexual overtones. I am, in fact, telling you that either I have mellowed in my OLD age or I really am lonely. Right after I turned the lights out, my sweet female golden, pounced on top of me in bed.  I have had dogs all my life and except for allowing my grandpuppy, Cha-Cha, to curl up with me in the mornings when visiting, I have never had a dog in my bed.  Believe me, she is not the worst thing I have let in my bed as my recent unpleasantness will attest to. My pups have been here a week and this was the first time she'd even made any slight request to join me in my bed.  After thinking about it, I am sure it was her way of apologizing for a real blunder on her part earlier in the day.  Every morning I walk the dogs and Daisy the female almost breaks her neck either taking off (with leash attached) after a squirrel or a deer. Big Waldo would love to do the same but he's heavy and old and its hard enough for him just keep up on the hills and winding roads here in the mountains.  Daisy knows no such bounds and loves the chase.  Yesterday I let them into the back yard to do their business then called them right in.  Waldo headed to the air conditioning of the house but something caught Daisy's eye.  I saw her head turn and her ears pick up only a moment too late.  Before I could say "fat chance" she was gone.  The little doe's white tail disappeared about the same time Daisy's head did.  She doesn't bark so the only way to know the direction they were heading was to listen for all the other dogs in the neighborhood to sound the alarm as she and the doe rushed by.  I could hear the King George Spaniels on the next street as I ran out the door.  By the time I reached the top of the hill behind me the Corky was yelling "here she is".  But when I rounded the corner to his house, I could hear the golden who lives across the street telling me they had made a circle and were heading back.  The Shi tzu was barking by this time but she barks all the time so I couldn't be sure that Daisy and the Doe were on the right or left side of the neighborhood. I had on flip flops and my feet were killing me. Thank God, I was wearing a bra.  Finally I made it back to my house and saw Daisy sitting in the yard intently studying a hole in the ground.  The deer was no where in sight.  I planned on killing her but to my surprise the little doe came back down the hill and stood and looked at us both. Her tail was straight up in the air and she kicked her paw against the ground and blew.  She shook her head at us almost as if teasing Daisy to get and do it again. I don't which one of us, Daisy or me, was more awe struck, but neither of us moved an inch. Instead I sat down on the ground beside her and watched a sight I will never forget. Daisy had made a friend and I had witnessed a wild animal be tamed by the sweet loving nature of my dear dog. She can sleep with me again tonight.

MIracles and Dogs, God's Big Blessings

I believe in miracles. I know, that sounds like a song, but its the truth.  I have seen them in my life and in the life of others. They happen. Not as you expect, or when.  That's why they are called "miracles".  I went to a writing group last week and the assignment was to write about your passion. I couldn't think of what to say.  I have passion, don't get me wrong.  I am a very passionate person. I just don't know about what.  When it hits me, then I know it.  When I am in that mind frame, and I am struck by my complete belief in a cause then I feel it.  Then I could pick up a sign and march for it. Then I would die for my belief. I just don't know what it is until it happens.  Today I know what I am passionate about. Stubbornness.  I passionately believe in being stubborn.  I could be more tactful and say perseverance or tenacity. I could quote Winston Churchill, "Never, never, never give up".  I could talk wisdom and strength of resolve. Fortitude. Truth is,  most of its just plain mule headed stubbornness.  I am a stubborn person and I am grateful for it. For one year I have been whining, praying and carrying on about my dogs.  I have asked nicely to see them, with salt and with vinegar, with sugar and with syrup.  Nothing.  Then out of the blue - my dogs are here with me. That is a miracle.  The thing about dogs is that they love you.  They love you when they are scratching your hardwood floors, scratching themselves all night long, destroying your sofa, rolling in the dirt then heading to your off-white carpet, throwing up the grass they insisted on eating on your just mopped kitchen floor. They love you when you are fussing at them for any or all of the above.  They don't lie to you.  They don't use you except where treats are involved.  They want to play when you want to and they want to play when you don't want to. Given a chance they will nap with you, especially on that newly ruined sofa.  They don't make up stuff to make you feel bad about yourself.  In fact, they love you exactly like you are and think you are so special.  Or at least have the decency to act like it. They lay their sweet noses up against your arm,  rub their butts against the toe of your shoe when you cross your legs and they never make you feel fat, old or dried up.  They make you feel you are the best thing in life.  And if you love them back,  you are. I am so glad I didn't give up.  I am so glad that I am stubborn.