Another Winter of Discontent

The winter I have been dreading for six months has come to my neighborhood.  We had our second snow yesterday.  It was heavy enough to mar my vision but luckily didn't stick.  The mountain tops though are white and shiny in the sunlight this morning.  Cars at the post office have snow and ice on the windshields.  I will work today and tomorrow and celebrate the New Year sitting at a table of women; once again vowing to meet a man I admire before Christmas.  Trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.  Or more importantly what the rest of my life will do to me.  My ex is engaged to the Russian. Only I would be succeeded by a Russian Mail Order Bride.  Despite my commitment to working out with weights; having seen her on Facebook,  I think she could take me.  And my ex also.  That's four women (serious relationships, but all of his are!) at four addresses in less than four years.  That sounds like a line in a bad made for TV movie but once again it is just the truth of my life.  No, the truth of his life.  Happy New Year to all of you and may God continue to bless us.

Its the Autumn Of My Years and The Nuts Are Falling

For almost 3 years I have wanted to talk openly, face to face with my ex-husband.  If someone asked me why, I would tell them I needed closure. I wanted to say things to his face I have never had an opportunity to say.   Today I was talking very lightly with someone and they asked that if he called me tomorrow and wanted me to meet him half-way, to talk, face to face, would  I want to drive for two hours to do it.  I said "No, I don't have time to waste or money for gas".  That was the first time I have ever said that and felt that way.  In 3 years.  I have  realized after being on Zoosk for a month(which feels like 3 years), Match for 6 months, and The Road to Insanity for 3 years, that if you are a man (or woman?) and alone at 60-65 because you wanted a divorce;  there is something wrong with you.  I understand the death of a spouse, I have suffered that terrible loss.  But to decide at this point in life to divorce; well, you have to be nuts.  OK,  you could have one divorce,  maybe two. Some reasonable excuse like she joined the circus or the mafia.  But if you've had 3 or 4, even 5, you are crazy and some kind of nut.  I admit to two, but both were because my husband was sleeping with someone else, openly.  That may indicate that there is something wrong with me, but its not an inability to commit.  Men who are divorced repeatedly into their mature years, are nuts. That's my final word on that. Now I need to check my Zoosk email.

DeJa Vue All Over Again

Once again we read a story about a man who has ruined his life and embarrassed himself and his family by inappropriate sexual conduct.  Its not a new story, in fact, its as old as man himself and yet, kings are brought down by it, presidents embarrassed and everyday men, captured and destroyed by  its appeal.  I usually find that the Internet and Viagra are part of the culprits but to be honest men have always been pigs and women have always  been willing to feed at the trough. The thing I find so amazing is that men don't learn and stop doing this to themselves.  When they are in a position of power and when they know that should they get caught it will effect their lives and their billfolds so substantially; they blindly proceed full steam ahead.  Its almost like they retreat to the teenager who felt that they were so invincible that they could defy death and sometimes gravity only to realize at the last moment they were headed over a cliff.  We seem to be just like the poor dumb creatures who don't recognize the baited field, the danger of a fast moving car, the threat of a tiger slowly moving through tall grass in Africa.  We are just poor dumb creatures also.  Then the women end the affair and  write the book that tells the story and end up making the dough and getting the recognition they wanted in the first place. DeJa Vue.

I Paint Like I Date, Nuff Said

Once again I sit here and wonder what in the world to write about.  I could continue with my exciting dating life.  You know that would be a lie.  I will tell you though that I am continuing to hold fast and true to my promise to have a date for New Year's Eve even if it is with another nut.  So I am still on Zoosk and all I can say is "Great Zoosk, who in the world are these people?" This week I want to tell you about something good in my life instead.   My artwork.  I am not an artist.  Artist have talent and training and most importantly, better paint and brushes than I have. But what I lack in all the above I have made up for in having nerve.  I will try anything.  I  paint on everything, anything.  Windows, old tin, aluminum siding, pots, pans, hub caps, everything. My vivid imagination and complete lack of discretion has made me a natural when it comes to finding something silly and fun to paint and not being the least bit embarrassed that someone will pay for it.  After all I have actually paid to meet someone on-line.  Even dumber I have paid to have my house cleaned when others are paying me to clean their houses.  So to sell my artwork to unsuspecting art lovers in Jasper,  doesn't bother me at all.  I am including a couple of my newest pieces so that you see I really am telling the truth.  Not even stretching it this time.  I feel like Bob in "What About Bob?" strapped to a mask and heading out to sea, yelling at the top of his lungs, "I'm sailing, I'm a sailor". Only I am yelling to all of you "I paint, I am a painter".   And I have paint on my garage floor, hair, my chairs, bottom of my feet ( I should wear shoes), door nobs and a lot of my clothes to prove it.

I've Been Zoosked

A good friend of mine has suggested that I give Internet dating another chance.  At this point I am not willing to spend any more money meeting Mr. Wrong, so I am trying one of the "supposedly" free services.  After several minutes of Searching last night I closed down the site and went to watch a movie.  This morning though I was richly rewarded with lots of emails and contacts.   So far I have been winked at and flirted with by a slew of eligible men.  I have been contacted by a very large black man who's first claim to fame was that he is the father of eight "who's don't currently live with him".  That was hard to resist.  Then I got doubled winked at by a man from Atlanta who I think I have seen on America's Most Wanted.  He forgot how to spell Atlanta.  Next a double wink, wink and a flirt by a man who's handle is SANTASOON.  Of course, he was wearing a red shirt and had a long white flowing beard and beautifully matching hair.  And who would be surprised to know that he lives in Jasper, Georgia.  You know, you almost couldn't make this stuff up.  I can't wait to see who contacts me next.  Probably Drew Peterson stating that he has been very misunderstood and unloved by the women in his life. 

Wishing and Hopeing

After spending a couple of weeks angry at myself for my juvenile thoughts and stupid actions regarding my "almost boyfriend" ;  I have decided to forgive myself and move on.  I have placed my cute little house on the market in the hope of finding something closer to civilization and a Super Target.  I moved here with so much hope that living here would be good for my marriage and my husband.  It would afford him an opportunity to make friends and play golf and in doing so "we" would be happier.  He's never lived here and I think with winter approaching, I can't either.   In attempting to move at one of the worst times in real estate history, I am holding fast to a verse from the Bible.  Its one I know but don't know its origin nor the circumstances of its promise, but I know it is intended for me.  "I will pitch my tent in land of hope".  And so I once again, break down my campsite and think " where is the land of hope?"   There is no Hope, Alabama, nor Hope, Georgia on the map so I guess hope is where you find it.   It can be anywhere you want it to be.  But who would have ever have thought Atlanta would be considered "the land of Hope" ?  Now I know I have gone truly mad.

Now Back to My Love Life

Ok, so I was a fool for love.  Not the first time nor the last.  I want to say right up front ; this was not one of those "he's just not that into you" stories.  He was really into me.  So how does it happen when a guy's so into you that you wake up one day to find, he's not?  Well, I have a theory on that.  If you have a younger sister or granddaughter who's just beginning her dating career, which is the only way to describe how my "dating" has gone for almost 45 years, send her this blog.  I am going to tell you some of the things I have learned about men and dating.
1.  If he says "I don't want to hurt you", he can and will and already knows it.  He may not have a plan but he knows what he is capable of doing to you. 
2.  If he calls you, kisses you, or says anything about the future within the first 24 hrs of meeting you, he probably will follow up at some point with "I don't want to hurt you".
3.  If he seems too good to be true, he is.  Don't be fooled by anything he says.  A man in heat is just like a dog in heat.  He not only will self destruct, but take you with him.  Many a male dog has died on the highway just trying to get to the female on the other side. And often he has drug her out there with him.  From the moment he sees you until 6 months later, believe nothing.
4.  If he says all the right things, its because he has said them so many times that they fall right out of his month.  He knows what you want to hear and he gives it to you.  I'm not saying he does this on purpose, I'm just saying he does this.
5.  If he says he's not a good guy, believe him.  He knows himself better than you do.  As women we try so hard to say "oh, no, you're wonderful".  He isn't.  He is not a good guy.  He will tell you who he is so listen to him.
So ignore all the love songs you have ever heard.  Listen closer to the breakup, broken up, pulling your heart out through the soles of your shoes songs.  Don't listen to or believe any song by Billy Holliday, Tammy Wynette or Patsy Kline.  Listen to Carrie Underwood.  Kill him before he kills you.  Like Beyonce says "Find the Good in Goodbye". These are the things I have learned the hard  way.  But will I do it again?  I hope so.

The Deer Debate Goes On

My neighborhood has once again sounded the battle cry to kill the deer before they eat the hydrangeas.  This time they will try to do it with bow and arrow.  It is difficult to believe that grown up people, people who appear sound and reasonable would decide that bow hunting through our neighborhood would be the best solution to a slight over population of deer. Especially bow hunting that is done without notifying residences in advance of the day, hour and location of the hunt. And with no understanding of pursuing a wounded deer onto some one's back yard where their grandchildren can view the second arrow hit its mark. Dogs and children wonder through our streets with abandonment along side the wild turkey, deer and bear.   My neighborhood is marketed as a "nature preserve".  It has been for 40 years.  It is stated plainly in many places and many ways, but more assuredly the fact that you see deer calmly grazing by the road is the most obvious indication that the deer who have been born here and lived here all their lives think they are being "preserved".  When the last so called cull was organized, many residents did all they could to deter the shooting of what many of us see as a natural resource.  A asset to our community.  A plus when you are trying to sell.  Many a person has purchased a house here because a beautiful buck walked through the yard of a potential residence and took a drink from the birdbath.  Everyone is amazed at the gentleness of these wild creatures.  True they may be a little too abundant but for the same amount of money we will spend in fighting this fight, hard feelings that will be brought on, property values that may decease (even further) due to all the negative publicity, we could plant the right kinds of vegetation to feed the deer.  And if we don't do that, its not like they are fenced in.  They actually could walk right out of my neighborhood and go raid some one's farm.  If they are still here, its because they are doing somewhat OK.  It seems so many people always believe just because God said we had dominion over all other creatures that necessarily means we will always know what is best for nature, let alone man. Many a home has burned to the ground under the guise of  a"control burn", many a future wrecked to save a salamander,  many a job lost because of a horned toad. We have completely wiped out one species in order to save another.  Man rarely knows what is best for nature and more rarely does he do it.  How in the world can a race of people who care more about fashion than famine, sports than spirit, movie stars than shooting stars and drama than deer be in charge of anything in this world?   Bow season has begun.  All I can say is DUCK!

Wanting to Go Home, When You Are Already There

My recent romance blunder has left me in somewhat reflective mood.  When I wasn't crying, feeling old and miserable and sorry for myself,  I have thought so much about leaving here.  I always promised myself after my last divorce that I would live in the present not looking to the future and wondering.  Not looking to the past and hitting myself over the head with former wedding china, old love letters and an empty bank account.  For some reason though during the last year or so I have only looked forward or back.  Few moments spent in the here, few feelings of the now. I think the isolation I felt has been of my own making.  I have not been as close to those I love here ( or even other places) as I could have been.  Instead I have pulled back from them.  Looking at them as I have the mountains. Loving them but not touching them or allowing them to touch me.  I have worked, worked, worked out and worried. The mountains of Jasper are dark blue and green and they welcome you with a quietness that is found so rarely in our world. On the dam at the lake, you see the colors of the hills, the shadows of the clouds reflected and you feel the breeze brushing your hair and passing softly on your cheek.   You can sit and swing and never hear another sound except the wind and the birds.  You can walk the trails and see the deer. Rather than run, they stand at attention and salute you and watch you pass, with no fear of you as in other places. You can see the bear, the turkey.  As much at home with you as you want to become with them.  The small cub above watched me with a calm composure because she found me in her home, my yard. You can not help but see in this beautiful place all the promises of happiness, something that I have so easily ignored. Finding instead, that you can long for something else, when really all around you is everything you need.  Maybe that was the lesson I learned.  To value what I have, when I have it, for however long I have it. What I have is now.  I am going to do a better job of holding it in my arms.

Definately Not Sweet

When I met my "almost" boyfriend, I held up my 10 fingers and counted out to this dear person, that all I would ask of a man now was to be sweet, sweet, sweet,sweet,sweet,sweet,sweet, sweet, sweet to me, and sex.  Now I find that even that is too much for me to expect from the men in my life.  I made the fatal mistake of having difficulty with his having a date with his ex girlfriend whom he described as a cold, skank.   He decided to go with the skank.  And so in a moment of madness, I banished him forever from my kingdom.  As he loaded the floating igloo cooler (I bought second hand in a thrift store) and the inflatable life raft we called the love boat into the back seat of his Toyota, he vowed that "this was not over, we are not done" but  "I am taking the yacht".  Today though, when I returned from the Auburn football game to my lonely, quiet house , I discovered he also took the cheap plastic, disposable toothbrush he kept in guest bathroom.  Obviously, we are done.  I sit in my bedroom and look at all I have left of this would be romance; some dead dried wildflowers, a broken plastic ring and half a pack of left over Hubba Bubba chewing gum we used the last day we were together for a bubble blowing contest, that he won. I wonder if maybe the lesson here is that if you don't ask for anything, that's exactly what you get.  Or maybe its something else completely.  I shake my head when the reality of my decision sets in and I wonder how I will stand the loneliness of a 4th winter in what to me feels like these desolate, North Georgia mountains.   A small voice inside me whispers "like you always do", with humor.  I am not naive enough to think that setting this terrible loss to laughter, as a musician sets the lyrics to the melody, will in any way lessen the truth of my pain nor slow the flow of my tears.  Even now a small drop appears on the Hubba Bubba and I admit that all I got from "getting back in the saddle again" was saddle sores and a broken heart.

If It Feels Good, Blog It

Much to my own amazement, I am back.  To be honest, I left my blog for a while because I was so overwhelmed with a possible boyfriend that I thought I would say something rude, crude or simply so inappropriate that I didn't trust myself.  I came up with one liners and jokes that could have been used on Saturday Night,  but not intended for my readers who are more a Sunday Morning Group. The 49 year old attorney I kissed on the 4th turned out to be a good guy.  No, he has been really great to me.  He has given me back a part of me that had been slowly torn apart and stuffed so far down that I wasn't sure it was still in me.  It is.  I am a loving and willing person who not only can give affection, but I can receive it, and cherish it.  This "almost" to be boyfriend is not only a darling stud muffin but (fundamental, dear Christian friends, and my children, cover your eyes) has presented me with an opportunity to be completely swept away in whoopee passion. Who would have imaged at 60 you could have "Tim the Tool Man" bring over his toolbox and fix everything in you and your house?   I am definitely accepting that this is not a love, marriage and a baby carriage relationship ; but only I would have a man tell me he wanted to be honest with me and would give me 50/50  odds of returning to his former girlfriend or mention that he feels the thing that will end our "relationship" is my age.  That's hard to take in glaring daylight of a sunny afternoon, but right after a horse and pony show;  it makes you want to dig in with the spurs.  I don't know what will happen next but I do think it is time to return to my small simple life and blog about it.  After weeks of singing "Back in the Saddle Again"  I may be returning to my ole' time favorites "When Will I be Loved" and "Momma Told Me Not to Go".

How Sweet It Is

For almost two years now I have shared not only my dirty laundry (plus quite a few other people's) with all of you, but I have also shared my love of my family, my belief in my God and my hope for my future.  I know that you have laughed with me and I also feel you have cried with me.  Sometimes you may have done both at the same time.  There are people in this world who live there entire lives never having as much love, laughter and good friends as I have found in you, my readers.  My blog is read now by people I don't know and who will never have dinner with me or call me on the phone; but they know me so well that its almost embarrassing.  No, that's not quite true.  I am proud that I have told them my heart and I have told them my story. Over 300 times a month, someone reads the story of my life; and almost every week, someone new finds me and joins me on my journey.  I write now to say that for a little while I won't be writing.  Not because I have nothing to say, you know that's not right. In fact, I too much to say and I think that means I should be quiet for a while.  So,  I am considering this as a sabbatical from telling you what's happening in my life.  I feel sure I will be back and I hope that when I am you will read my little stories and remember how much fun I had writing them for you.  Thank you so much for letting me share my life with you.

Date Four - By Accident

This past week has been a bummer.  I can't say it any plainer.  You reach a certain point where you don't think you can continue to put one foot in front of the other.  And then you pray, again, but this time you are serious.  God, please don't leave me here in the place.  And I don't mean just Jasper. So he doesn't.  Instead he makes you pick up the phone and call a friend.  Someone you don't know too well, but think you would like to know. And, she's the answer to your prayer.  Someone who will listen without judgement.  I spent the day with my new friend and had a great time.  We hung out at the pool where I met new people who live in my neighborhood. People with their own teeth and no walkers.  Including a new attorney in the neighborhood.  My friend and I planned to do dinner later and watch the fireworks. Both of us finding new ways to look at our somewhat of a plight, living in this pretty but small town of Jasper.  I went home to shower and head over to her house to cook and ride her kaboto thing to the fireworks.  I noticed a message  on my phone and another friend had called to invite us to their tent for dinner and drinks. Getting better and better. While talking she said that she'd heard there was a new single attorney in our neighborhood. I said "Yes, I met him".  You can't do anything in this neighborhood without it making the rounds.  Well, to make a long story short, "Guess who got a good night kiss from the attorney?" My new friend says I must buy new lingerie at Victoria's Secret and practice my flirting skills .  Both of which she says quite frankly are worn out.  I on the other hand am off to the races! 

Date Three- Wasn't

Instead of enjoying the wonderful, lustful throngs of date three, I stayed home and watched old movies.  My dating life, my life in general, seems in desperate need of a Re-do.  I keep thinking of Hillary and her Reset Button and wondering where mine is on the VCR/DVD player. Sundays do not lend themselves to Re-dos; so movies are it on a Sunday in Jasper.  I feel that if I could simply hit a button and change everything I would but instead I sit here for hours and watch these funny old movies that I haven't pulled out in months.  First I watched Baby Boom.  I had forgotten the scene where the heroine talks about being lonely and not having had sex in years while living in a small rural town in the mountains. I wonder "Where is the one good looking vet in Jasper?"   I must get that dog. Next I watched Funny Farm. Again, the insanity of living in a rural community and trying desperately to fit in.  Finding most locals were  boring and stupidly mean and really didn't care to help you fit in.  And of course, the dog.   Then I started Prince of Tides and decided, "Crap"!  I can not watch another movie highlighting the insanity and depravity that develops in individuals who are left too long by themselves in small rural community which primarily feature incest, insanity and inspires stupidity.  Instead I will go back to Match.com and try to find someone to talk to and who has a better selection of movies.  And get the dog and put my house on the market.

"And We Could Live Happily Ever After"

It was with great sadness that I read that Nora Ephron had passed away due to a long fight with leukemia. Nora Ehpron was not only brilliant but she understood like no modern day writer the heart of a woman.   A woman who was successful but who wanted to be loved. A woman who still believed in a fairy tale.  But knew to laugh at herself for believing it.  When you ask a single woman what she wants, what she needs; she will relate a story by Nora.  She will tell you a funny story about loving a man she had known for years,  loving a man she really didn't know at all but whom she looked for everywhere, in every man's eyes.  The stories of Nora Ehpron are the stories of modern women falling in love with their best friend, falling in love with a dream and falling in love with an idea. They are the classics we watch over and over. "When Harry Met Sally", "Sleepless in Seattle" and "You've Got Mail", "Julie and Julia".  If only her stories could be my own.  If only her stories could be true for me.  If I could but find a man who loved me to the end, who got me, and who I wanted in return then I could be the heroine of my own story.  If  I could  be loved by a  sweet man like Tom Hanks. And look like a young Meg Ryan.  And even better,  if I could write one word that made my point, or reached your heart or made you laugh or love the way she did.  That would be the best.  Then I would be a writer of a story.  A story like Nora Ephron wrote.

Date Two

This weekend I had my second Match.com date.  I had originally canceled it and planned to forget the guy.  Then he called, emailed  repeatedly and finally, I conceded.  Anyone that interested in seeing me; well, what's a girl to do?  Once again, I can say, my first instinct was the best one.  Its not that he doesn't have some good qualities, its that being attractive to me wasn't one of them.  He brought his dogs which was the highlight of the date.  At least until they jumped on my sofa, wet from the lake.  He did look over at me and say, "That's OK, isn't it?" To be honest I preferred the dogs on my sofa to him on my sofa.  I am doomed and desperate, again.  No, that's not true.  I am encouraged that I may yet meet someone that I like.  So all I can say is "Next".

Date 1 On Un-matched.com

I followed a Harley to Calhoun, Georgia, to meet my first March.com date, Jerry. The girl on the back of  the Harley, now forever called Bubba 's Bike in my head, had made a terrible fashion mistake by wearing a tube top with her low riders. Anyone behind her could have told her this.  She also had chosen a helmet with fake long, pink pigtails complete with ribbons to compliment her ensemble.  I should have turned around at the first safe intersection believing this to be a sign; but, instead I went to lunch at the Cracker Barrel with a former rocket scientist.  Anyone who ever uses that term to describe themselves or someone else doesn't understand that is not a compliment.  It may mean the person is smart, but smart is a term loosely applied when talking social graces.  When applied to a real rocket scientist who worked at Red Stone Arsenal,  its a warning to not go to lunch.  Not only can't you understand them talking, you don't want to understand them.  The intricate details of repairing a trailer hitch becomes mind boggling. You just want to go home after you eat your Chicken and Dumplings.  I can tell you almost everything about Jerry; from his tragic parents divorce at the age of 8 to what his sister likes to wear to what he had for supper last night.  He asked me if I was really divorced.  And should I sit with my back to the door instead of him. I have talked to Jerry for over an hour on the phone and never had to lick my lips.  Jerry never stops talking about himself.  When I asked him about his Match name, Atticus, he related the entire "To Kill a Mockingbird" story line.  After a complete description of the book and who played which parts in the movie, noting he thought he looked a little like Gregory Peck, "not",  I smiled and thought to myself, now is not the time to tell you my daughter is Harper Lee's cousin.  So I drove back full of dumplings and sick of Jerry.

A Real Pain in the Neck

I was heavy with my second child when over 30 years ago, I lost my balance carrying clothes down to the laundry and fell hitting the back of my head on the steps.  I could use that as an excuse for my mental problems but instead offer it as a reason for the pain in my neck. I have had muscle relaxers, pains meds, chiropractic adjustments, cortisol shots, and massages over the years to help with the stiffness and subsequent shoulder problems. I carry every disappointment, sadness and loss in that injury. It has plagued me in divorces, deaths and through financial difficulties. Lately it has prevented me from looking back to the right to see what was coming. State Farm wishes I would. I have had three fender benders since finding myself in N. Georgia.  Last week I went to have massage in a house that had I not been told was a safe place, I would have been listening for banjo music and the smell of a meth factory.  The house is on a hill (what isn't?) on the road from Jasper, Georgia, to Talking Rock.  It has a sign outside that says "Massage School" -Student Rates $25/ hr. My little therapist was a sweet girl. She was hard at work on my shoulder when the door opened and a woman came in. Gray hair in a messy bun, a face that had never known makeup, badly in need of a good mask but which had loved the sun. She had mistaken me for someone else but within a minute she had diagnosed my ailment and told me "I'll fix it, Baby Girl". My neck and shoulder were turned and popped and "my atlas shrugged".  She wasn't threatening but instead she looked almost comical to me upside down and with gravity fully engaged. Her voice was rough and heavy with a Pickens County hillbilly dialect. After adjusting and popping and moving me in directions I hadn't moved in a while, she reached up to my right ear and gave it a little tug and I felt something release in my jaw. Then in a voice that sounded more like a kindly priest than a heavy set elderly lesbian who did massage therapy, she whispered "You need to let that go, Baby Girl, whatever it is, its just not worth holding on to".   Before leaving she suggested we go to the "Old Farts Dance" in Ellijay. She said she couldn't see to drive anymore at night and she'd love to bring a girl like me.  Finally I have a date.

In the World of Er and Est

I have heard it said that only a fool compares himself to others.  Then we are all fools.  I don't know anyone who doesn't wish they were richer, skinner, sexier or smarter, or something. The problem seems to be that none of us are the richest, skinniest, sexiest or smartest.  The trouble with comparing ourselves is that there will always be someone better off in every area of our lives. This weekend I found myself caught in the spiral of comparison. I sat by the pool in my neighborhood and quickly became aware that my age, body, face, IQ and tan were are failing terribly in the "world of ER and EST". Everywhere I looked someone looked better and had more or less of something.  Brown spots, wrinkles, sags and bulges and money. Also there were a bunch who were worse off but I don't find that all that comforting any more.  I thought about the email my ex-husband had sent me recently saying he'd never felt he had made the grade.  It surprised me since to tell you the truth, I never got the feeling he was spending that much time trying to reach any great heights in his life strategy.  Now though I guess I can see that he was but that it was such a losing proposition that it seemed easier to not try.  And that a 22 year old  bimbo could make even a loser feel superior when he compared himself to her and more surprisingly, found himself to be her love object. Even for a short time. And even if it costs a lot of money. I have decided men don't mind being loved for their money.   After all, they make the money that buys the love so its really no different than a woman being loved for her looks, body or culinary skills.  And we all want to be loved for our personality, not in spite of it.  We are all buying love, one way or another.  And the more ER we are, the more likely that we will be loved for it.  So in the name of love, I am going to go to the gym more, have a little work done(details later) and buy a bottle of self tanner.  I will not be the bestEST but , Lord forgive me, I sure as heck don't want to the worEST.  And I am going back on Match.com and try to find a man who will love me for my ER and EST. Good or bad. And so I begin.....its like Round 247 or so, but who's counting.

Help, I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up

After a little over 24 hrs with my three daughters and three grandsons, my house was very empty yesterday when they all headed home. We had talked and talked and I had answered a lot of Why? questions and What's that? from the young grandson. I decided I could use some down time myself. I skipped church and began cleaning out closets. My noon I had cleaned and cleared and thrown away things I had forgotten I had.  A little after lunch, I realized I had not spoken in almost 20 hrs.  About 4 p.m. I began to think that the rapture had come and Jesus hadn't called me.  I turned on Fox News knowing that if that was the story they would be carrying it. No terrorist attack or major catastrophe had befallen the human race.  I picked up my phone. Yes, there's that familiar dial tone. My cell had bars.  By 5 p.m. I was sitting on the porch with a glass of wine thinking about how many ways I could have died during the day and not been missed. I might have carried something to the attic and broken my neck on that faulty step. Slipped cleaning out the fridge and laid on the floor in a coma. Electrical problems ended my life while changing a light blub. A rattle snake got me in the garden.  I was mauled by a bear and bleed to death. By the second glass of wine I was beginning to feel sorry for myself.   I thought about my Momma and how she'd say, "Yes, I sat here all day and no one called me".  I always ignored her and changed the subject. Now I think about her growing up with l3 brothers and sisters, 5 children and scores of grandchildren and relatives and being married to the same man for over 50 years.  I can image the silence was deafening. Ok, I didn't die and really I enjoyed my day. But as I went to bed, alone, with 2 Tylenol PM and  thought about never having heard a single voice, said a word or seen another person all day I wished I had been a better daughter. That was pretty good wasn't it. I was taught "guilt trip" by a professional, My Mother. 

For the Love of Nature

Yesterday I had my first bear sighting of the summer.  She was fat and glossy and sitting very calmly along the busiest neighborhood street.  She wasn't a very large bear and she had two fine cubs playing on an old log beside her right in front of my friend Cathy's home.  The cubs rolled over the log, tried to crawl on top and playfully chased each other as mother patiently dug for grubs and small rodents in the log.  I slowly drove by as cars in the other direction did the same.  No matter how many bear you see, it always feels amazing that such wild creatures exist within the gates of my subdivision.  When the traffic seemed to stall, without waiting for a horn to blow, I began to circle around the narrow streets heading home.  I passed the pond which now has baby duck and young wild geese swimming and grazing in the grass field nearby. I had been to the Piggly Wiggly where I had purchased two pounds of carrots that had become too soft and had been marked down to move out of the produce aisles.  The carrots were for the doe who is heavy with a fawn that should be arriving within days.  She has taken up the post vacated by my special doe who frequented the first summer I lived here.  There were days that she seemed my only friend, days that I spent crying and worrying.  Her calm beauty made me feel that somehow I would survive in this remote place.  She had a notch in her left ear and would gently take a melon slice from my hand.  I was certainly not the first to feed her.  I have always felt she lost her life in the first deer cull, which is still considered the First Great Sin Against Nature, at least to some of us here.  This little doe is small but from the size of her belly, she is getting plenty to eat and is fairing well.  We are no longer plagued by the drought that has effected North Georgia for several years and the forest are rich in undergrowth and small trees.  I sat on my porch and watched her eat the carrots and thought how much I wish I had someone to share this with.  Then I remembered I did.  So I am sharing it with you. 

Genuine Antiques - Made in China

When I am lucky, or desperate, I work at a large rambling shop in my new hometown. If you are looking for stuff, Burnt Mountain Trading Company in Jasper, Georgia,  has some.  We have jewelry, scarves, pots, pans, plants, soap, lotions, oil paintings, my silly things, antiques, new and old ones, $3400 aluminum elk,  6 foot tall black bear, antlers made into tables, lamps, chandeliers, wall sconces, and dishes.  We got bears on toilet paper holders, soap dishes, and carved into furniture.  We got wind chimes and birdhouses and sparkly things to hang in the yard, and dish towels, buckets, barrels and more.  We got dog paintings, dog cards, dog greeting cards, dogs sitting, running, standing in a field looking at each other or ducks. We got a lot of paintings of chickens, sheep, deer, cows and cowboys. We got stuff.  Some of it is really nice stuff and some of it is junk.  Having been in the junk business for more years than I have ever been married, I know junk when I see it.  For many years I found it more profitable to sell good junk rather than to sell cheap junk. This was when an antique was l00 years old and nothing from China was considered anything but junk. You turned your dishes over and read the marker.  Now if you pick up some cute little dish or funny metal sign or country novelty, you can pretty much be guaranteed to see "Made in China" stamped on the bottom of it.  Even the little red, white and blue, "Made in America" signs are made in China.  You can buy fake antique signs, North Georgia black bears, antler lamps, rough wood tables and pottery of any kind bearing that stamp.  If the knives aren't Case, they are made in Pakistan.  If the dishes aren't marked with a 50 year old image from England, Germany or weren't given away in Winn Dixie or purchased with Green Stamps, then they are probably from China. Even the little Davy Crockett Coon Skin Caps, Made in China.  I personally have no problem with buying junk nor selling it but I miss the days where people came into a shop like the one in which I work and looked for an antique and found one.  I resent being the oldest thing in here. Now most folks don't want old, they want new and they want Pottery Barn and Kirklands.  They buy the same prints in our store you can get in the mall or some outlet. They want China. And I don't mean the kind from Bavaria. .

Buying the Cow - No Bull

One of my good friends here in the Mountains brought me a present this past week.  It was a book entitled "Miss Becky's Charm School - Using Southern Belle Secrets to Land Your Man".  My God, I could have written the darn thing myself.    No where could you find a more complete and effective strategy for landing a man.  Chapters on Flirting,  Men Friendly Recipes, Communication - His and Hers, and the ever popular "Why Buy the Cow" suggested that Southern women have more arrows in their quill than the average woman.  I completely agreed with the premise that first you got to decide "Why You Wanted One" before deciding on the ammunition. Your needs have to coincide with your weapons of choice. And the ammo?  I had shades of  Dating resembling the Hunger Games with a bunch of us old women running around trying to get the best push up bar.  Stabbing someone in the back for the last shot of  Botox.  Before killing every other single woman in town,  you might want to decide "What Kind of Man Do You Want?" so as to prepare yourself for your choices.  I also found type casting to be accurate as far the kind of men available.  You got your "Redneck" to your "Southern Gentleman" and a whole lot in between.   She did fail, however, to realize that she did not fully cover the ever popular "Sociopath" nor the ever present "Obviously Gay" who I have found to be so in abundant in both the Mountains of Georgia and the Beaches of Alabama. While I agreed with the "Trashy is as Trashy Does" premise, I do not believe that you can wear too much jewelry.  Yes, your hair can be too big, but I don't know that your eyelashes can be and I have really never heard a man say "I just can't date her, her boobs are too big".   Now to be honest I don't think I could ever recite any of the pick-up lines suggested with a straight face.  If I bat my eyelashes, it could effect my glaucoma.  If I dropped something and reached down to retrieve it looking helpless, I might find I am and not be able to get up. And admiring the size of his hands(as opposed to the size of his shoes?).  Well, you get my point.  I have promised myself that I will read it over and over though in case I find a man in the North Georgia Mountains who does have nice hands i.e. clean, no blood of deer, axle grease or nicotine stains, so I will have my Southern Belle down to a perfection.  I think I remember how it goes. For the most part though, I seem to be invisible to most men but I am still a tiny bit of an optimist.   If I don't meet "Mr. Right Now" pretty soon I believe I will start to resemble the people that work at those Oriental Restaurants at the Mall.  Running around smiling and trying to give out samples. Canape?

Fair to Middling

When I think of some of the happiest times in my life, many of them focus on either my time in high school or my friends from that time.  My high school experience sure doesn't resemble the ones you see in most movies or read about in books.  If anyone brought a gun to school, used drugs or turned into a She-devil, we didn't know about it. No "Carries" or Vampires.  A few criminals but even they could be sweet.  My time there was happy and I felt good about myself and my choices.  This past weekend I sat and talked with many of the girls who helped to enrich that experience for me. It was a time when half the sentences began with "y'all listen" and ended in an exclamation point. We laughed at ourselves and each other as we shared recipes that began "start with a piece of white bread" and  "top with Ritz crackers".  I heard phases like "then come to find out" and "don't that beat all".  As I listened to these funny, smart and relatively happy Southern women,  I wondered why I was not traumatized by high school or why the memories are not painful or at least confusing.  But these women seemed to feel the way I did about it.  On the way back to Georgia, it came to me.  I realized that the best way to grow up is to be mediocre. I don't mean that in a bad way.  It just seems that life may be easier for you if you fall somewhere in the pack growing up.  If you were the prettiest girl, you had no where to go but down. Every wrinkle, sag and extra pound will be detrimental to your self image.  If you were the ugliest, heck, even if you grow up and get rich and have everything fixed, Bless Your Heart, you may still hear some of those names in your head(or from your mother!).  If you were the smartest, then even if you are the Governor, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court or President of the PTA, either that little voice in your head or some well meaning Christian lady may still be telling you that you failed.   If you were the dumbest, well, dumb breeds dumber and dumber breeds dumbest, but you're probably so dumb you don't even know it.  The sweetest girl in class better have moved on to be with Jesus 'cause even if she was still as sweet as a jug of Luzianne Tea, somebody will find something wrong with her. And no one will believe the biggest Hussy has changed even if she is Head of the Adult Choir at First Baptist.  So, I think if you are pretty enough to get a date to the prom and smart enough to go to college, well, then you have a really good chance of being OK with yourself and your life. I think that's why when I have gone to my Class Reunions, the Most Beautiful, the Homecoming Queen, the Class President or the Valedictorian are no where in sight. Maybe those people are not as happy about how their lives turned out.  Maybe its us, mediocre, in the middle, who end up having the best memories and are not afraid to face each other or the facts of our lives.  If you moved up, nobody is surprised. And if you moved down, well, nobody is surprised ('cept maybe you). So to all my didn't win anything in the yearbook or didn't date the captain of the football team (who after a few years is almost always bald and turning to fat) friends, I say ain't we lucky. And thank you from the bottom of my heart for the memories, years ago and this weekend..

Get Your Hillbilly On!

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think "Where am I?".  And then I remember.  I live in the mountain of North Georgia.  I live in Jasper, end of the world as we know it, Georgia.  What Jasper lacks in cultural events, nice stores, a movie theater, a warm and friendly downtown with fine dining, a Fresh Market, Target or attractive men, it makes up for in.....well, its got a couple of real mountains in it.  And tons of deer, black bear and wild turkey.  Unlike Alabama where you pass a dead dog on the highway every few miles, here road kill sounds more like the meat menu in some Western Restaurant. We got your bear, deer, possum, hedgehog, groundhog, wild boar, turkey and squirrel. They have plenty of dogs here but most of them are chained up to a tree in the front yard. Recently I have taken to painting hillbillies on tin pieces in my small art booth.  My standard by line is embrace you inner hillbilly.  In a quest to say something funny about Jasper, I have come up with a list of ways to help me tell you about my town.  You know you are in Jasper when: l.Your neighbor has the taxidermist on speed dial. 2. The biggest mall in the county is Wal-Mart. 3. A personalized car tag means you made it yourself. 3. Blue book value of your truck depends on how much gas is in the tank. 4. Most family trees don't have a fork. 5. The directions to everyone's house has "then turn off the paved road". 6. Everyone has two outfits, one for church and camo. 7. The tattoo parlor offers financing on site. 8. The last words most of the guys around here ever yell are "hey, watch this!" 9. We have 8 full time pharmacies and 24 road side signs advertising pain clinics. 10. Raid is considered a condiment on the kitchen table.  And finally the number one thing I have found to be true in Jasper is that when the guys have a stag party, they actually bring a deer.

Oil and Wildflowers, That's Texas

This past week, I spent visiting my sister in Texas.  My ex husband paid for my ticket.  It seems my divorce is so much like my marriage.  I love him, remain faithful to my vows, act nice when I feel like screaming.  He on the other hand, ignores me, sometimes is angry at me, and pays for everything I need.  If you don't count the fact that we haven't spoken in a year and haven't had sex in over three, its my marriage all over again.  I have never really liked Texas.  Too hot and too much wind.  While there it rained though and I thought about turkeys who get so confused that when it rains they stare up at the sky, often drowning.  So it would appear with Texans since they always seem to have a drought.  I did find it amazing that almost every little "ranch" or piece of property from Corpus to San Antonio now has a oil rig on it.  Every day folks are becoming millionaires over night as the sign off the leasing rights to this otherwise almost barren land. These rigs are not on government land, they are on private ranches snuggled in beside the cows, next to old sheds and on patches of hard dirt that have been passed down through generations and where owners smartly kept the mineral rights in tact.  This is the "we're drilling more than ever before" that the President talks about.  It has nothing to do with the government but instead is private enterprise at its best.  When you walk the "ranches", the hard dirt and dryness of Texas, you find yourself lost in the wild flowers that cover the grown.  Here Indian Blanket, Blue Bells, Rubeckia, Corn Flowers and Chickseed grow in abundance. And with the flowers come the butterflies who bounce across the top of the fields like magic dots.  Yellow and white monarchs and black swallowtails, huge gold and brown moths.  A beauty that I will long remember mingled with the loving thoughts of my sister.

Two Rights Make a Wrong

This past weekend I was entertained by three of my dearest, life-long friends.  Susan I have known since I was three, Kitty since elementary school and Maye since high school.  Susan was and is the beauty and cheerleader.  Kitty, always so cute and the funniest, best story-teller ever.  Maye, our former Jr. Miss is still brilliant and a walking dictionary.  Almost yearly we find some way to get together and share a meal and a laugh.  Only with people you love dearly and who love you could you talk about Tourrets, Jesus, Weight Watchers, Fried Chicken, a French Restaurant, high school boyfriends, divorce, politics and farming before breakfast.  If you can talk politics and religion with three a little over middle-age women who have not had coffee, you know you are with your peeps.  The problem with being with your peeps in the hen house is that there was so much clucking going on I found it hard to concentrate.  I drove and felt like I was losing my mind half the time. By Saturday I noticed often we had to hold up our hand up to get a word in. We talked in circles and up and down and back and forth. By Sunday the stress had taken a toll.  Everyone was tired and needed a nap.  In the afternoon I got completely loss driving roads I knew well. Someone packed and took home my toothbrush. One of us couldn't find our cell phone and I left mine and had to drive back to Marietta to get it. I blamed age, lack of sleep, emotional exhaustion, early on set dementia, medication and stupidity.  The truth is my head was over whelmed and my ears were worn out. I had loved every minute but I was so glad to get home and in my bed. This morning after a good night's sleep, I took out the box of cute shoes that all of us had bought at Belks on sale and low and behold, I had two right shoes.  Maybe it is the dementia thing.

Hope Springs Eternal in Spring

What is it about spring that makes us stop and rethink our lives?  Is it the rebirth of the earth all around us or the promise of Easter?  I know that every year about this time I seem to find myself thinking of my life and/or the life that has chosen me. I have come to believe that everyone is writing their own story.  For many its a long love story, for others a thriller.  Mine a comedy of errors. As a young person I thought that you learned from your experiences but now I believe you create them. We create them by looking at our past.  We reach a fork in the road where we have to make a choice. We look back and see how we chose before, which way did we go. Common sense would tell us that we would see our mistakes and learn from them, but I firmly believe instead that we make the same mistakes over and over.  Maybe this is why so many thoughtful people have come to believe in reincarnation. Those mistakes have become such a part of our self image that we become the mistakes. If we have lied, we are a liar. If we cheated, we are a cheater. If we stole, we are a thief. If we have been victimized, we often become a victim. I love the Robert Frost poem, A Road Less Traveled ; but I firmly believe that the road he has chosen is less traveled, not so much by others, but by the author himself.  I think that the author has chosen to take a new direction in his life. That he has looked back at his mistakes and made a choice to venture into a less familiar direction. A direction that has made all the difference for him.  As I stumble along this new road for me, I step into potholes and trip over tree roots, but I continue to move forward on a road that has been less traveled by me.  A road alone, trying to find my way, without a man who lends strength, advice or direction, growing old.  Asking why I don't love someone and why no one loves me, and hearing God whisper softly, you do, you are.

A Southern Man

Almost 30 years ago, I watched Percy Sledge sing "When a Man Loves a Woman" to a small group of folks in a old bar in Daphne, Alabama, in the arms of the best man I have ever known. We were celebrating our first St. Patrick's Day together.  It was one of those nights when you wish you had a diary or a best girl friend so you could go home and call or write about it.  Instead I went home with that great guy, my late husband and wrote about it in my heart.  This St. Patrick's Day would have been our 28th Anniversary since we chose that day for our wedding.  This week  I think I got the best present I could have gotten'.  I got to hear Joshua Ledet sing "When a Man Loves a Woman" in what will be remembered as one of the best moments on American Idol ever.  Y'all know I am an Idol nut. Every year I watch, record and  listen from the very beginning. I love the out-takes, all the show prep, everything.  I have noticed that all the contestants say the say thing.  They all  just knew they would be on Idol.  That they have watched the show for 9, l0, 11 years, etc.  and......They just knew it.  Well, I have watched it for 11 years also and never once have I thought I would be on that show.  And I have been right.   I do want to say though that I love  Phillip Phillips, especially his eyes and sweet smile.  His wild style.  That is some cute Georgia boy, but  Joshua blew it out of the water.  And Joshua is a southern guy also.  He's from Louisianan and eats his crayfish to prove it.  I am such a regional bigot and snob.  I truly believe all the heat and humidity down here just makes us sweat and opens up our pours and makes us have less wrinkles, curlier hair and sing more soulful songs.  And all that inter-marrying stuff they talk about just makes us more interesting.  And our sweet-tea and fried chicken only makes us more grateful to be alive.  Its just all good.  Well, anyway,  it was the  highlight of a long and frustrating day for me and somehow hearing that song made it all a little better.  So Happy Anniversary, Honey in Heaven from me and Percy and Joshua.

My Spring Has Sprung

I admit I am suffering from writer's block.  For the last few weeks I have completely found my creativity stymied. Maybe it has to do with February and turning 60.  Between the weather and my birthday, its the worst month.  Whatever the reason, it is a depressing time of year.  This past weekend though I was to head to God's country.  Going to Alabama, and home, is always a comfort. But I didn't really want to make the drive.  Just thinking of the expense of filling my tank now throws me into a tail spin. I wanted to see my sweet new great nephew who had arrived early but in perfect shape and with the biggest hands I have ever seen on a newborn. Precious.  I wanted to help celebrate the upcoming wedding of my darling niece. I have missed my daughter and her hubby who's there.  But the gas?????  When I crossed the Alabama line though and saw the greenest of the earth, the crab apple and pear trees in full blossom and even azaleas in bloom, my spirits lightened.  Alabama is greener than the Obama Administration and Greenpeace combined. The trees in the N. Georgia Mountains have that sweet lacy look, hoping that the temps will rise enough to help them bud out.  The trees in Central Alabama are screaming "Its Spring Time". The air was cleaner and fresher and I felt so at home. My car was covered in a soft dusting of pollen, I had a slight hot flash and I got a mosquito bite. It was heaven.  On my return I had to call folks to give me the strength just to cross back over that Georgia line.  Now I am here again in my small if not boring life but the promise of spring has reminded me that one day I shall bust the bud of my calm resolve and bloom into complete happy hysteria. Its just a matter of time.

What's For Dinner, Dear? Deer.

The last reports were that 42 deer were killed in my neighborhood.  Although that's 42 more than I would have wanted, its l/3 of what they had planned and l0 less than last year.  Old ladies with air horns rule.  The deer though are certainly more cautious.  They still seem to have a sense of danger, fear still must hang in the air. They scatter easily when I drop something or move a little too quickly.  Post traumatic stress disorder.  My brother reminded me that in Trillium at Lake Martin several years ago all the experts came in just as they did here and told them they could cull 2/3 of their deer and the herd would be back to normal in no time. When he moved years later that had never happened.  You might see a deer, but it was not a common occurrence.  It seems that deer have a much better understanding of being mistreated than most middle aged women.  Talking of myself, there.  Deer remember and they prefer to spend their lives where they are appreciated.  I am talking sweetly to the ones in my back yard.  Telling that the worst is over and that they can relax.  They look at me with  some skepticism.    All I can promise is that we will try to protect them. The irony of all this is that I live in a wildlife preservation area.  Its been one of the ways our neighborhood was marketed. Obviously preservation doesn't mean a thing to a lot of people.  Someone told me its semantics.  Preservation as opposed to reservation.  The latter seems to only apply to Indians and dinner.  And that's what became of the 42 deer.  Someone's dinner. 

Rocky and Rambo Meet the Exterminator

Last night one of my girlfriends and I went out to face the USDA Deer Exterminators. We rode around the neighborhood checking the cull bait, making noise with air horns and genuinely bothering the sharpshooters.  We were Rocky and Rambo (not to be confused with Rocky and Bullwinkle). Defenders of the defenseless.  Protector of the Deer.  And we were not alone.  Right before dark, Atlanta FOX Channel 5 came out to do continuing coverage of the slaughter.  While they get almost no story right, they do take pictures and show that there is a very vocal and quite large constituency of people who dislike the process.   That's two night in a row that everyone in Atlanta got a chance to see something besides carjacking, burglary and drive-by shootings.  We had hoped for PETA but found out they only do naked celebrity events. Over the hill, white women with small dogs and air guns do not pull out the national news stations.  Earlier in the day I had stopped and talked with one of the young shooters and offered caramel cake as a peace offering but despite my friendly demeanor, the cute guy had declined my offer. I told him that I did not object to hunting and in fact half my family has Lyme disease.  He finally did smile.  The only negative was a run in with some talking heads who have their talking points down like seasoned veterans of politics.  You say "but the deer where not sick" and they say "yet" and at the same time.  Then they have to nerve to tell me  "that you don't have a right to be mad or upset now because you weren't vocal enough the last time there was a cull in the neighborhood". Since when can't a grown up learn more and become better informed and change their minds and more importantly "see the light".  I especially resent this talking point because it goes against everything I believe about maturity. I also used to like shoulder pads in my clothes and bell bottoms on my jeans.  And big hair.  Halter tops. Things change.  I grew up.  Earlier in the day I had received an email for a guy I have not seen in over l5 years. Not kissed in over 30.  He remembered me as the person I was then, the fun, strong person that I had been.  He told me about me.  All this has reminded me of who I am.  I am not the events that have happened to me in my life. I am not the lies I have been told, the betrayal I have felt or even the abandonment I have experienced.  If  I allow what has happened in my life to determine who I am, I will loose my true self and never be the person I am or really want to be.   I am Rocky.  I am Rambo.  I am a fighter.  Many of our deer will die during this cull, but less will die in the future because people do "see the light" and they have plenty of air horns at Walmart.

Dope a Deer, A Male or Female Deer Killer

Tonight the Board of my once quiet and peaceful neighborhood will have a meeting designed to tell the "Save the Deer" fans that we don't stand a chance in hell of convincing them to do just that.  I have been thinking of ways to ruin the so called "cull".   I am preparing black face and buying a large spot light.  I want to get a group to ride the golf course and yell and play loud music.  Soak the bait deer corn in gasoline.  Pepper spray?   Its like a re-con mission.  I wished I had watched more war movies with my Ex.  This was on his list of my failures and now I truly regret it.  My son in law, said I better add the orange vest to my shopping list,  but I prefer living close to the edge on this matter.  So if I go, I go, living dangerously.  If I chicken out, which is quite possible,  my next plan is to bait the deer in the opposite direction from the golf course.  This seems perfectly safe except for the mean deer killers who might turn me in and fine me for feeding.  It would be worth the $100 fine except they might fine me per site and that could add up.  I would be forced to eat sandwiches all month.  Either way,  I have spent half the day looking at Real Estate sites thinking of where I could move and how I could make money if I did.  My choices are limitless.  I could get another B & B.   Buy a store somewhere in foreclosure.  Marry a millionaire.  Become the Queen.  I didn't say they were rational ideas, just ideas.  I think I stand a better chance with the re-con mission than the millionaire or the Queen.   I just hope the black paint is really water based and comes off or I may have a future in Hip-Hop.  I have just received the email stating the kill will begin tomorrow.  What a waste and a sadness.   I hope Home Depot still has deer corn and spot lights.

Fighting the Deer Battle

Tonight I stood on a cold, windy corner in Jasper, Georgia, holding a sign that read "Don't Kill the Deer".  A few months ago, I read a book about some activist who took a stand in the 60s and paid dearly for their position.  I have often wondered if there were many issues on which I would willingly  take a stand . I find that when I think about it, there are many.  I believe I would die for my faith.  I know  I would die for my children, my grandchildren.  I would risk my life to save a friend.  I would take a stand for something I truly believed in, even if my position was not popular, or even likely to prevail.  But more and more, as I grow older, I realize that I will even take a position for something that I think is right, even just unfair, because more and more I realize, if not me, who then?  We live in a world where often just causes are not heralded.  Where over and over we see that right doesn't always prevail.  Where good doesn't trump evil.  But if we are to believe that humanity and all that it is and all that it means to be human, can not raise up against unkindness, ignorance,  and slaughter,  even if it is just of deer,  then what are we doing here, and why get up tomorrow.  This is not the fight of a lifetime, its not even the fight of this year because I know that this year will bring real difficulties to me and my family, but it is something that matters and its about standing up and making your voice heard, even if its just for deer.  So I stood up and I held my sign and I hope that everyone finds something that matters enough that when the time comes, you will hold up your sign. Lloyd Jones said "Those who try something and fail, are infinitely more successful than those who try nothing and succeed". 

Doe a Deer, A Female Deer

I listened in amusement to the news about the rich, polo playing man who adopted his young attractive girlfriend.  Everyone seems to think this is the first time they had ever heard of this happening.  But in Fairhope, Alabama, we had the same story almost 20 years ago.  At that time it was a very sick, rich old man who decided to adopt his much younger, very sexy, nurse, not long after he paid for her breast implants and face lift. He had wanted to marry her but when she refused, citing public outrage, so he just adopted her instead.   He got his back rubs and she got the house and all the money. People pretty much do what they want in life unless someone stops them from doing it. That  brings me to the sad news that my neighborhood association is once again culling - nice word for killing - our deer. Originally they stated this was humanitarian in nature because the deer were sickly due to being malnourished.  The only problem with that is the USDA report stated the deer were healthy and the doe were almost all pregnant and many with twins.  Now its the environment that is suffering because of the deer.  Meaning somebody wants hydrangeas in their front yard and the golfers are having their games ruined by the continuous grazing. So they will hire l0 rednecks with night vision goggles and spot lights to sit on the golf course at night in various locations, baited with deer corn,  where the poor, hungry pregnant doe and their yearlings will get in line for the buffet only to be shot.  Even in Alabama we don't kill and eat pregnant deer.  Everything else is on the table, literally.  So the deer will be eaten and the fetuses discarded and the garden club and the golfers will be happy. Not as much adoption going on up here in the mountains, but plenty of nasty business.

Autumn Has Come to the Spring Chicken and There's No Rooster in Sight

When I vacation with my brothers and sister, one of our favorite family films is "Folks".  It isn't the great acting or the scenery or anything of artistic value that draws our family to view this film over and over. Its the insanity of the old people in the movie.  My older siblings just die laughing when the old couple do something outrageous to themselves, their children or society in general.  I used to be mildly entertained about it but really thought much of it was kinda' stupid and exaggerated. Or at least I thought so until I became one of the old, insane people. Daily now I am reminded that a mind is a terrible thing to waste as I watch myself become an "insane, old lady".  I have to tell you about my cruise.  My 4 day 3 night cruise was not.  It was a 4 night cruise.  I came home on Friday not Thursday night as I expected.  I had to email my family, at almost a dollar a word, to keep them from worrying about where I was on Thursday evening.   Also I missed my first experience of being advertised and recognized as the main artist in a local art show here in Jasper on Friday evening because, instead I was still driving up I-75 at a hundred miles an hour trying to get home from Cape Canaveral, Florida.  I don't know anyone else who has ever managed to get on a ship and sail off into the sunset and not know when  they were coming home unless they were in the navy.  No, that's not true.  I now know another person because my roomy didn't know either and she had to let her husband know by email also.   Up until now I have always packed my clothes with the old  " Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday" approach.  Fortunately, on this trip I threw in an extra pair of drawers or I would have been washing panties in the sink.  I would be embarrassed by my craziness but if I am to become embarrassed by every "little" stupid thing I do, I will find myself embarrassed all the time. Instead I am going to tell all of you about it, laugh it off and choose to think how lucky I was to take a 3 night cruise and be gone for 4. 

Turning 60

This week I will turn 60.  I can remember thinking that was really old.  I was right.  My wonderful children gave me a Kindle for my birthday, bird feeders and I gave myself a cruise.  I can't afford it but I did get a wonderful deal that I couldn't resist and I need to see the sun;   so I set sail tomorrow.  As to my age, I can't say that I am happy about being old, but I can say that I like my life, I love my friends and family and I have good health.  I was running out of my supplements today and went to the health food store to stock up before leaving on my trip.  I realized while standing in the checkout line that a class was being taught and two and a half hours later, I was still there.  The class was on homeopathic medication and kinesiology.  Much of it went over my head.  I do not understand biophysical connotations or quantum physics or the geothermic energy.  I do though  believe that we have all we need to be well and that the body wants to heal.  I believe that the body is designed to be healthy and much of what ails us is brought on by our environment and our mental state.   I don't understand why I experienced weakness when what I needed in certain formulas was applied to my body.  But I will use the suggestions and follow the protocol to see if it is effective.  If I feel better, it was effective.  I do understand immunity and had just this week seen a special concerning a new avenue of treatment for cancer by helping the immune system identify and fight mutant genes before they become cancer invaders which spread through our bodies.  I get acidic and alkaline.  In the meantime I will see the sun and walk on the beach and listen to the gulls and be glad that I am here to see my 60th year roll around.  When I return I will read up on the 200 year old science that concocted this medication and try to understand why a 200 year old medication is called a "breakthrough".  In the meantime, I am off to see the sun.

Darn Those Dear and Deer

Sometimes you know you should have stayed in bed.  Sometimes you feel you should have died in your sleep. Its been that kind of week.  First, my computer crashed, again.  I told my computer guy that my neighbors are all thrilled that finally a man was showing up at my door step on a regular basis.  He blushed.  My tech savvy children have told me not to open suspicious emails but the one I got was too interesting not to take the chance and peek.  You can't just peek at a virus.  Before you know what hit you, you are down for the count and running a fever.  This email was from "American Airlines" confirming my ticket and flight to Anchorage, Alaska, on January 26.  If you have read my blog, you will recognize that as the home of the 'hoe who stole my man. Mingle that with the fact that I had a charge on my credit card two years ago from California (where the 'hoe is supposed to reside) to Las Vegas (where her family is supposed to live) and you understand that my curiosity was peaked.  Now I know what happened to that darn cat who had too much curiosity. My computer was killed though instead of me. Not sure if that's better or not. Anyway, I am back in business just in time to see the final results of my Turbo-tax form and cry and to write this weekly blog. I did discuss the virus with my Ex, who I still think of as "Dear" sometimes when I am feeling really desperate late at night or at completely weak moments during the day when I worry about money.  He assured me he had no knowledge of either the email nor the 'hoe's whereabouts.  He did mention that his computer actually crashed on the same day due to a "virus".  I do not believe in coincidence except when to suggest it gets me out of trouble.  Now if I can figure out how to discourage the deer from killing every tiny green leaf in my garden before spring gets here, I will have had a very productive and interesting week.  Today I found a large doe actually eating the birdseed out of the china tea cups hanging around my garden area. She went out of my garden, over my fence like it wasn't even there.  I have put up as many distractions above and around my fence as possible and tomorrow I will purchase one of those products that smells terrible but supposedly keeps deer out. I wonder if I could spray it on my computer and it would deter 'hoes and woes.

The Deer Aren't Always Dear

Yesterday I passed Santa on the street in Jasper.  He was driving a Toyota. Tonight our cloudy, rainy days will give way to winter weather and possible snow and it will feel like Christmas if not look like it. Many in our neighborhood still have their lights up and wreaths on the doors. We have barely seen the sun since Christmas.  I have read that no one above Atlanta gets any Vitamin D from November until March because of the lack of direct sunlight.  Now the temperatures will fall and we will have daffodils blooming in the snow again.  The deer in my neighborhood seem to be fairing better since their number has been depleted by over 60 and the snow has fallen but not managed to stick. Yesterday though they jumped my fence and half destroyed my garden.  They ate my camellia down  to the roots, not leaving even one leaf let alone the hand full of buds I was looking forward to seeing open up and create the beautiful red blooms.  They even ate a winter fern that wasn't supposed to be on their extensive buffet. My one lonely azalea was pulled up by the roots and the few blooms on my pansies were nibbled.  Its difficult for a true Southern gardener to live without camellias and azaleas and for me not having those in abundance has been very hard.  Now I won't have them at all.  They are one of the few things I truly loved about February.  In South Alabama I had a yard filled with over 80 different blooming shrubs. Living in the mountains has its good days and bad.  Maybe I have misspoken about Hunters.  Today I can see how a few less deer could be a good thing.

Playing a Hunch and Wishing I Hadn't

I have a confession to make.  I am  pretty good at hunches.  Not the kind that helps you win the lottery or pick a good horse at the track, not even pick a good husband or a pair of shoes that won't kill your feet; but  the kind that helps you catch a man cheating and know when someone is lying to you. Case in point, I knew my ex was dating someone. I have always believed in going with the gut on things, following your instincts and if those fail, hire an investigator.  Usually though you can just be sneaky and find out what you need to know. I just knew my ex had a girlfriend, so of course I tricked him into admitting it. I would tell you how but then I would have to shoot you, and I probably don't even know where most of you live. So I trick him and find out the truth.  Then I am sick because now I know what I knew I knew all along but wished I didn't know what I now know. If that's hard to read image how hard it was to type. Since my alimony is late it gave me the perfect reason to bitch, moan and otherwise lash out at him. Its not that I care, its just that I am jealous. No, not of the girl, but the fact that men can always find someone. I recently read about a study where pictures of men where shown to women and they were to rate them. Consistently men who were rated 3 or 4, rated themselves as an 8 or 9.  The opposite proved true with women. Beautiful 8s or even l0s, rated themselves poorly. Men just think they are God's gift to women and over and over, we stupid women pretend to agree.  I found myself sitting around singing that song from Funny Girl "I'd Rather Be Blue Thinking of You, I'd Rather Be Blue Oooover  Yooou, Than  Be Hap-hap-happy With Somebody E-llllll-se".  After the tongue lashing I sent a "I'm sorry" letter.  I explained to him that I am just not doing well dating.  I find that my choices are either Mountain Men like Jeremiah Johnson (not played by Robert Redford) or Hillbillies like that Get 'er Done Guy(played by the Get 'er Done Guy).  You know if I am finding the Gay Guys the most appealing for me, there's a problem in my dating future. I told him if he met someone he thought I might like, to please give them my number.  I am really more than willing to be happy with someone else.  As to the young woman he's dating, I can certainly understand why she would want my ex.  He is just too good a catch to pass up.  He's just started Medicare and his Social Security checks are arriving monthly and he's a habitual cheater. What's not to like!

It Was Just Peachy!

Lucky girl that I am, I spent New Year's at the Chick-fil-A Peach Bowl.  My good brother and sweet sister-in-law included me and kept me from spending New Year's in front of the TV, alone.  I understand the Peach Bowl is not considered, in football circles, as a Big Deal, but everyone except Virginia fans had a great time.  Not to mention, they actually started the game with a prayer.  After watching Brown(or sounds like???) College's majorettes strut up Peachtree in the parade and again in the pre-game entertainment, a prayer seemed right fitting. Those bodies that were covered wore skin tight shinny purple, full body things and those not so covered were in skinny almost see through, high cut leotards.  I do believe that they could easily find work on a stage in Las Vegas and use the same costumes. All they needed was the pole.  I am sure that many a man fell into lust and evil thinking, and many a woman into veil and contemptible condemnation,  while watching that booty call. The highlight of the parade was watching the balloons maneuver under the traffic lights and take the corner at Peachtree and International.  It felt more like a small town Christmas Parade with dogs, clowns and high school bands.   At the game the chicken folks had put cute little cows at every seat, orange and blue shakers (both team's colors)  and pretty much off and on the whole game, they kept dropping little cows into the stands strapped into little parachutes.  What fun!   This by itself was worth the price of the ticket.  Obviously, I am easily entertained.  Throw into the mix that Auburn won, and actually did it looking very competent, with some offense and pretty good defense, and it was a joy to behold.  After the game we walked down to Underground Atlanta to watch the Peach Drop. I honestly can say that on any given day of my life I have never seen so much spandex stretched so far in so many directions.  Having seen so many rumps in tight fitting black stretch pants, sequined mini skirts and animal prints, I have renewed my pledge to the gym and yogurt.  In fact, it was enough to scare me into weights and Body Pump classes.  I will tape up my knees and suffer to avoid having my hips touch both sides of Peachtree Street at the same time. I swear on some women you had to look twice to know if they were going or coming. My prayer for New Year's will be world peace and Lord, please help me to avoid purple anything on back side for the rest of my life. Amen.