Walking Tall

I read this morning where a team of Australian women
just ran a hundred meter race in record time
and won 10,000 Australian dollars.

But- there's a catch.
The women all ran in 3-inch stilettos!

First of all, just let me say
that I have never owned a pair of stilettos.

Other than the fact that they might
make you appear taller,
have shapelier legs,
and drive your husband crazy-
they are basically worthless.

Except for maybe:

1. hammering a nail into the wall

2. prying the lid off a manhole

3. squishing a spider

4. impaling a mouse

5. playing galloping horsey

6. reaching the top shelf

7. looking ridiculously like an obese giraffe

8. a jousting tournament

9. home defense

10. home demolition

11. whack-a-mole

12. deflating balloons

13. a doorstop

14.Halloween costume

15. to freak out your mother-in-law

16. a meat tenderizer

17. a yard aerator

18. a hand plow

19. a play dough tool

20. to drink champagne from

21. to stand out in a group picture

22. to brag about on Facebook

23. as a planter

24.as a modern sculpture

25. a toilet paper holder

26. a flower press

27. as book ends

28. to pop bubble wrap

29. knocking out teeth

30. cracking walnuts

Wow! On second thought-
I just might get myself
a pair of stilettos!
They are 30 tools in one!

Who knew?

Two fer Tuesday

I woke up this morning to
my husband singing "Takin' It Easy"-
(presumably the early '70's hit by the Eagles.)

I smiled.

And it wasn't for the fact that
he sounded anything like lead vocal Glenn Frey.

It was because he was in a good mood-
and the lyrics seeped into my weary morning bones
like a dose of positive medicine.

Take It easy, take it easy
Don't let the sound of your own wheels
drive you crazy
Lighten up while you still can
don't even try to understand
Just find a place to make your stand
and take it easy 

I realized that I've been
spinning my wheels lately-.
not taking advantage of down time.
I'm thinking too far ahead to the holidays-
and next year-
and a time when I will have (hopefully)
achieved all my elusive goals.

Oh, I'm well aware
that there's a danger in only
living for the moment,
but my husband's rough vocals
made me pause for a moment
and take a good look at things around me.

The sun was just coming up...
There were a few purple clouds floating
in the soft glow...
The air was cool,
like a bonfire/football game night...
and I breathed deeply to absorb it all.

September is almost gone.
Where did the days go?
How did summer pass so quickly?

So,my friends-
I just want you to face today
with a smile.
Open your lungs -
and your eyes -
and your heart-
and let your soul sing.

And remember this:

We may lose and we may win 
but we will never be here again...

***************************************

Happy Birthday, Jackson boy!

My little grandson, Jackson turns 7 today!

He is handsome:

Intelligent:

Funny:

Loaded with energy:

And enjoys life to the fullest:

Jackson, you are the light of my life.
My wonder of wonders,
my favorite hugger,
my budding artist,
and the most loved little man of my heart!

Happy Birthday!
Nana loves you!!!

Trashy Wheels

FW: car inventory (fwd)
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Erin Frazier - FW: car inventory (fwd)

Sunday, September 26, 2010 3:34:25 PM

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		My daughters came over last night and somehow we got on the subject of messy cars.   You know- when your vehicle is lazily littered with McDonald's cups or Dairy Queen napkins or last weeks junk mail.   Personally, I am very good at keeping a tidy car, but apparently  it did not rub off on my children.   We had a good laugh when I remembered the time I cleaned out my youngest daughter's car for her because she was driving it to the spring dance. Then- my oldest daughter chimed in, "I still have the email you sent me with the list of stuff you took out of there!" It was dated February 12, 1999. And we had fun reading it again.   Note: Disclosure statement-    The following list is in no way reflective of the home environment, family social graces, or the rearing of my children. It does not convey an accurate picture of normal circumstances or the everyday condition of vehicles licensed to myself or those residents of my household. > 4 - pencils > 1 - face powder compact > 4 - ink pens > 1 - variety pac eye shadow > 2 - hair clips > 1 - lipstick > 5 - ponytail holders > 1 - makeup brush > 4 - hairbrushes > 1 - assortment of change > 1 - hair pick > 1 - backpack > 2 - combs > 1 - pr. shoes > 2 - eyebrow pencils > 1 - laundry basket full papers > 3 - fingernail polish > 2 - bottles perfume > 1 - glitter body lotion > 1 - lip gloss > 1 - sweater > 1 - Little Debbie bar > 1 - partial bag chips > 1 - skirt > 1 - 1998 prom invitation > 2 - soda cans > 1 - greeting card > 1 - empty pack gum > 1 - cake plate > 1 - lot assorted papers > 1 - Rubbermaid water bottle > 1 - misc. candy wrappers,circus video ticket > stubs, bobby pins, and ice scrapers > 1 - decongestant inhaler > 1 - VCR tape > 2 - pr. gloves > 1 - shirt > 2 - key chains w/ no keys > 1 - bag fruit candy > 1 - scented body lotion > 1 - tanning lotion > 2 - footballs > 1 - bracelet > 1 - regular camera > 1 - disposable camera > 1 - instant camera > 3 - pr sunglasses (2 broken) > 1 - empty bottle hairspray > 1 - roll on deodorant > 1 - hand brace > 1 - tennis ball > 2 - photographs > 1 - box matches > 1 - cig. lighter > 1 - hat > 1 - tank top > 2 - pr. jeans Can you imagine?

I Crumbled

Some things ought to be illegal.

...Or at least socially unacceptable.

When individuals prey on
the weaknesses of others,
I think it's time for retribution.

I'm just not sure what the prison sentence is
for wiping out a troop of Girl Scouts.
Yes, I said Girl Scouts!

Those cute little pre-adolescents
with their horde of badges
that ambushed me at the gas station.

Isn't it enough that the price of gasoline
practically wipes out my bank account?
And then to have these female children taunt me
with their boxes of delectable cookies-
well, I crumbled.
(No pun intended).

Luckily, my husband was with me.

Now he can't blame me if we both
gain ten pounds of Thin Mints
or an extra belly-roll full of Samoas.

That little scout was ready to twist that
twenty dollar bill from my grasp
before I even got a chance to take a good look
at the giant display of colorful cookie boxes.

I actually had to step back
and tell her I was still in the choosing process-
that when you get sideswiped unexpectedly-
it can be emotionally crippling.

I had an angel on one shoulder
and a devil on the other.

The devil hissed, "Oh, wouldn't those be great
with a cup of coffee tonight?"

And the angel whispered,"Absolutely no sweets
should be brought into your household. You know
how you are."

The devil provoked me further.
"A couple of boxes won't hurt. Do thirty minutes
of aerobics and it will all be good.

Then the angel spoke.
"Remember those jeans in your closet
that you've promised to fit into by spring?
Cookies won't make that happen."

I was ready to grab that scout
and her goofy-smiling troop leader
by their jolly green sashes
and ask them why they were so content
on this unspeakable torture.

Then all of a sudden I heard my husband say,
"We'll take five boxes."

What!?
Huh?
Five boxes of cookies that know my name?
My very heart?
The weakness of my dessert-loving appetite?
Five boxes of cookies that will
cling to my thighs like giant koala bears
and fluff up my cheeks like an overdose
of Botox?

I was almost ready to beat my husband
over the head with a box of shortbread-
until the angel said,
"All right. It is for a good cause. Just get it over with.
And...make sure you get some of those peanut butter ones, okay?"

So, on the way home
we thoughtlessly consumed a whole sleeve
of coconut-chocolate-encrusted confections
that had no business anywhere near our lips.

"It's all your fault," I said to my husband
as I wiped a bit of melted chocolate
from my chin.

"My fault? I had to do something quick!" he snapped.
"You were drooling all over that poor girl's handbook
and your eyes actually started spinning when she brought out
the Lemon Chalet Creams!"

So, you see-
those scouts not only ruined my budget and my diet,
but also came dangerously close
to ruining a perfectly harmonious relationship.

I actually have a cup of hot coffee right now....
...the cookies are there on the counter...
...we did spend twenty whole dollars...
...I'm out of breakfast cereal...
Oh- screw it!

Cuz like I always say-
Every cookie needs a belly!"

Punctuation Station

Today is Punctuation Day.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's raining here.................

Typical fall day. (In Illinois).

But, it brings on the inevitable: sleep pants all day.

Would you like some coffee?

" It's the best part of waking up."

I think I'll have a bagel {cream cheese and cinnamon added}.


I rarely go back to bed on days like this; I'm afraid I'll miss something.

Like -  crappy mud puddles in the driveway, leaves falling off the trees,
the garbage man, or Oprah.

Think I'll  chill/nap/relax/meditate most of the day.

And- hey- if you're some fancy English professor
(or language aficionado), and I've misused these punctuations,
I have just one thing to say:


@$%$(&*^&^()*)_*)($@!!#%%&*)++_(*#!!@!!!!!!!!!

Happy Anniversary, Husband!

                                                     September 24, 1975

Thirty-five years...

I'll never forget when we first met...

You were gentle. Unselfish. Handsome in a way I can't describe- 
and I loved you in a way that can't be undone.



 

There were wide, full days of sunshine. Of laughter and kisses. And care-free afternoons of dreaming out loud and loving without boundaries. There was softness and sweetness and an excitement in the air that surrounded us in peace.

Yes, there were tears. There were days of excruciating heartache- of quiet fears- of uncertainty and anger. There were trials and misunderstandings and tests of our faith. There were nights with no kisses, days with no music, times when we doubted ourselves and disliked each other.

But we refused to stay there- in that pool of pity. We always stood up and found a way out. Held hands. Embraced. Apologized. Learned. Grew. Survived.

 

Your hair has grayed. (Mine changes monthly). Our bodies are spongy and thicker and our eyesight blurry. But your face on your pillow is the best thing I see in the morning and my favorite thing at night. We still dance. We still share. We still continue the vows we made those long years back.

Thank you for finding me. For letting yourself be found. Thank God we stayed together- when leaving was easier. 
For trying- when giving up seemed right. 
For changing- even when it hurt.

Thank you. For making me laugh. Dream. Feel alive.

Thirty-five years...Here's to many more.

I love you.

He's Here

Today I'm posting a poem from my other blog "Like Leaves the Color of Fire".
Enjoy this first day of autumn!
****************************************************************

Here comes Autumn.

He is standing just over the hillside waiting for me.

His hair is a nest of leaves-
the color of lemons
and pumpkins
and pomegranates...

He wears a flannel shirt-
a new straw hat.
And his cheeks are stained
a sweet Jonathan apple red...

His eyes are the color of midnight
and turquoise
and robin egg blue.

His perfume is sassafras
and cinnamon
and cider...

And he brings gifts of wine,
woolens-
and wonder.

He smiles at me
and hurries across the hillside.

We'll play and sing and dream-
Until Winter-
-(like a bully)-
comes and chases him away...

I Spy

I'm an observer.

I suppose that's a good trait
in any aspiring writer,
but too bad I notice little things
that don't really amount
to a sensational blog post.

For example:
Did you know that
you can tell a lot about someone
by the magazines that they
keep in their bathrooms?

I suppose we're getting a little personal here,
but reading material always seems to help
the natural elimination process go a bit smoother.
Don't you agree?

I like to keep a nice variety in my bathroom.
Mostly it's Country Living,
Better Homes and Gardens,
and Real Simple.

But in order to be fair,
I also have a nice stack of
Bowhunting, Cabela's,
and Acoustic Guitar.

Currently, I've added some
Halloween magazines,
costume pamplets,
and an old Fright Catalog.

I've noticed that my sister likes

People, Woman's Day,

and LTD.

I've been in bathrooms

that sport full length novels,

daily newspapers,

TV Guides

and crossword puzzles.

I've been staying at my son's house a lot lately.

Every time I sit down to do my business-

there is nothing but Entrepreneur ,

Runner's World, and Men's Health

in his bathroom library.

I picked up Runner's World

and studied the cover.

The World's Most Dangerous Gym

Interesting, I thought.

Come to find out, it's a gym in Afghanistan

near active combat.

I was sorta thinking that any gym

with ellipticals, tread mills,

and stationary bikes

would be pretty dangerous.

For me.

The Men's Health wasn't much better.

Those good-looking young guys

are clueless to what happens once you marry,

have kids, drink beer, eat pizza and wings,

and stop working out.

Their cuteness is temporary, I'm sure.

Runner's World?

Who cares how many styles if Nike's they make?

Or how sports bras are designed -

or that running on the Great Wall Of China

was a dream come true?

Needless to say,

I brought along my

own magazines this week.

My dear mother-in-law

always had a book on the back of the toilet.

It was a little orange, pocket-sized Bible.

I suppose she hoped that anyone

who spent a great deal of time in there

might emerge a better Christian.

Couldn't hurt.

Even waiting room magazines 

are reflections of the people who own them.

Doctors offices have Yacht World,

Investment Portfolio Monthly, 

and Golf.

Auto Repair shops make available:

Consumer Reports , Car and Driver,

and Grease Monkey. 

My local SpeedLube only sets out

Motor Trend,  Gun World,

and Highlights for Kids.

These places have no clue

that the majority of people

in their waiting rooms are women.

Women who need to pass the boring

spaces of empty time away

with a picture of great new furniture,

the scoop on latest fashions,

a new recipe for dinner,

or a bittersweet story of romance.

I prepare my bathroom magazines for company-

just as I would prepare a nice meal.

If I know you are visiting and like cartoons-

I'll make sure there's a copy of Dilbert or The Far Side.

 

 

If you're into cooking- I'll give you Food Network.

I'll even supply a Fishing Guide or a Cosmo

if that's what my friends require.

But nothing-

and I mean NOTHING-

is worse than not a shred of reading material at all

except for the liquid soap container

and the Kleenex box.

Your magazines say a lot about you.

Really.

I oughta know.

Because I'm an observer

and that's what I do.

We Are Family

Okay- so I'm getting old.
And forgetful.

It seems that my sisters and I
have been having our Sister Weekends
for 16 years, not 15.
And my sister Barb has been gone 6 years,
not 5.

But, I had a great weekend
with the girls
and a much needed getaway.

We went to yard sales
and I got a few Christmas items
for my holiday party.

We stopped and ate lunch at
a little Amish Deli
and sat on the picnic tables
and ate sandwiches,
pickled eggs,
and a pumpkin roll.

Some nice ladies took our picture,
but I look like I
swallowed that pumpkin roll
all by myself.


But here's a few of the store front:

Then, later we went to
the Cave Winery:

Some of us had wine.
All of us had cheese and crackers.

Even the owners dog:

We decided to buy some balloons
and write messages on them
to our sister Barb-
and let them loose here:

My little sister Tina
pressed too hard with the Sharpie
and busted her balloon.
So I told her she could tie
onto mine.

Here are Linda's and Jewel's balloons:

Here's mine and Tina's:

But, I think Barb got a real good laugh
out of that, so we were happy.

Then we ate lunch on Saturday
at an old soda shop:

The food was good,
but the company was better.

I love you guys...
Thanks for making me laugh
and feel young
and wonder if we all have
a crazy gene somewhere!

Seated: Jewel
LtoR:
Linda, Tina, and Pumpkin Roll.

Please Enjoy this music while you read todays post....15 Years

15 Years

I'm getting ready to spend the weekend
with my sisters!

It's our official Sister Weekend-
and also our 15th anniversary
of sharing special time together.

(I have 4 brothers and 4 sisters! )

It all started when my sister Barb turned 50.
We decided that life was short
because we were all getting older.
Time was passing faster than we realized.

So, we created Sister Weekend.
It became our chance to be simply sisters-
(and not just wives and moms and grandmas).
It was our time to reconnect-
rediscover-
rejoice in our family ties.

We usually get a motel room
and go to yard sales
and flea markets-
and have a nice dinner somewhere-
before sliding into pajamas
and having our slumber party.

Fifteen years later,
Barb is no longer with us.
This Sunday marks five years ago
that she passed away from colon cancer.

But, she is always here with us-
laughing at our stupid antics-
leading us to the best garage sale treasures-
crying with us as we remember times gone by.

And, our mom is there, too-
enjoying the love and memories
that we share on our special weekend.

I will try to post pictures,
but we rarely get any good ones.
We aren't model material, to say the least.
We are more like BEFORE pictures
in a makeover contest.

But, Barb would want us to
be free spirited and confident.
She would want us to be ourselves,
nomatter what size or age.
And she would want us to snap pictures-
because some day-
that may be all we have left
of one another.

So, if you happen to see
four rockin' chicks
at the next yard sale-
look for the two angels following them.

We're gonna have a good, good time...

Play-Doh Day

Other than new Crayons,
Xerox ink,
and locker rooms-
the favorite smells of my grade school years
also include the fragrance of Play-Doh.

There was something almost intoxicating
about those colorful lumps of pliable clay-
an innate childish itch that made you want
to squeeze and roll and forge
a familiar form from the nuggets
of soft dough.

Maybe it was just me.

Maybe it was just a welcome change
from making real mud pies in the back yard-
of digging up damp earth
and thinning it into a soupy slur-
just perfect for a pie topped
with corn kernels
or tiny pinecones.

Maybe that first feel of Play-Doh
gripped in my five-year old palms
brought about this everlasting desire
to create and design
crude works of art.

Perhaps that Play-Doh-
in its bright primary colors-
triggered my need for a world of
vibrant shades
and brillant embellishments.

And, how are we as parents
to know the things that burrow
memories and character into our children?

Will those messy markers
we scream at our children
to pick up from the floor-
be the beginnings of a great artist?

Or the storybooks that line the nursery
be the start of a budding author...

Tea sets and pots and pans
could result in a gourmet cook...
an old sewing machine activate
the makings of a fashion designer...
and maybe a toy guitar-
the germination of
a musical genius...

Well, that love of modeling clay
never made me successful-
or led me to an artistic career,
but it is a pleasant memory sewn into my heart
that flutters like a butterfly
whenever I smell Play-Doh.

September 18th is National Play-Doh Day.

Relive your childhood.
Pick up a can-
and share it with someone you love.

http://www.failedsuccess.com/index.php?/weblog/comments/playdoh_history

Just Zip It!

The other day when my daughter and I
were out and about,
we decided to stop at a large yard sale
that was just setting up.

Most of the stuff was junk.
And by that I mean
the kind of junk that
doesn't interest me.

Like Japanese swords
and porcelain unicorns
and gaudy silver belt buckles...

But I came away with a $1 purchase.
A 1961 Montgomery Wards catalog.

No use beating around the bush.

I'll just come out and say it.

I was five years old when
people were finding this catalog-
(all fresh and off the presses)-
in their mailboxes.

But I am positive that was the same catalog
that was spread open to cover the
little laps of Linda and I
while we entered a world of make believe...

We would sit together on the couch,
our bare feet sticking out ahead of us,
and smooth the pages down gently
as we imagined that we could pick
anything in there that we wanted.

Sometimes we would even take a pen
and circle our choices,
perhaps hoping that some fairy god mother
might see it and grant our wishes.

It was always exciting to fold the page over
and discover the wedding gowns.
They were beautiful.
And expensive.
And so elegant.

We usually skipped over the
girdles and braziers and garters-
not only because they were years ahead of us-
but because it was downright embarrassing
to see those ladies modeling their underwear
with shameless smiles on their faces.

Yesterday I told Linda about my
yard sale catalog,
and I know she fondly remembered back
to our afternoons on the couch.
She echoed my sentiments exactly
when she said "Too bad it wasn't
a Christmas catalog..."


Oh, my gosh!
By the time we finished with
Christmas catalogs back then,
they were marked up,
dogeared,
torn, bent,
and kissed!

I was telling Linda about the style
of dresses back in 1961 -
and added that there were no
women sporting bluejeans across the pages.

Most of the pants back then
were pedal pushers-
(old fashioned name for capris)-
and they were fashionably known
as ladies slacks.

They were slim and form fitting
and contained only a small side zipper
and a button.
Of course, most women had tiny waists
and slender butts back then.

Linda said-(and I agree)-
that the invention of stretch pants
was the downfall of all womankind!

If we had to continue pulling
that side zipper up every morning,
we might have kept
some semblance of a diet
in our daily routines.

But with stretch pants,
our waist lines and buttocks
and love handles just kept expanding,
and the elastic just kept conforming
to our fast food and buffets
and midnight snacks.

Those stretch pants were like a quiet enemy.

Sometimes a person wouldn't even notice
that they had put on ten or fifteen pounds.
Or a gallon of cellulite.

Or grown the waistline of a silver back gorilla.

But, I bet your Snickers bar
that we would have noticed
if we had been wearing slacks every day!

My sisters and I are having our Sister Weekend
in a few days.
(Yay!!!!)

My best buds-
Linda, Jewel, and Tina-
will undoubtedly spread that old catalog
across our laps
and dream again....

Of the women
we might have been!

Leaving Footprints

I'm still here.
And I want to thank you all
for your kind comments yesterday.

I rarely have bad days.
I try to stay positive and humorous,
but sometimes it's just too hard
to suck it all in...
To pretend that life is a big circus
and the clowns are really funny-
when you really just feel like
the marching elephants are
suffocating you and you wanna
smack Bozo upside his freakin' head.

(Sorry.
I don't cuss, but that's pretty darn close.)

But today is good,
A breath of sweet air.
A cool September day
all spread out before me
like a new canvas...

I've given some more thought
to this blogging business.
But, it's really not a business, is it?
It's just a glorified diary.
I let myself get too caught up in it.
My expectations are too high.
I need to just sit back and realize
that I'm not being graded.
This isn't a test.

My blog is a set of footprints
that I'm leaving in the sand.
Sometimes I see other footprints
following me-
other days, I'm all alone on this
literary beach.

But it's okay.
How could I not write?
It saves me from drowning
when the waves get too big.

Besides, the best season is yet to come...

If I quit blogging,
who would share with me
how perfect the trees are in their yellow skirts-
how puffs of inky clouds dance above the empty fields-
how the harvest moon smiles like a man in love...?
Who would know how soft and warm my home is-
how tattered my favorite sweater?
How glorious the pumpkin bread smells
right from the oven?
If I failed to write,
who would share the first snowfall,
the glitter of festive pine trees,
the taste of cold eggnog
and the euphoria of a great shopping adventure?

Who would share the pumpkins
and caramel apples
and the feeling of being wrapped up
in a flannel shirt that smells like hazelnuts?

Who would help taste the roast turkey
and sugar cookies
and cheap wine drank from
mason jars?

Who would help me make resolutions,
encourage me to improve,
or follow me into an unknown new year?

I cannot stop.
I just can't.

But, I warn you-
if you hang out here much-
be prepared for pity parties
and stupid circus clowns-
as well as days that are
just too amazing to describe.

I see the beach now.
All grand and glorious
with a new sunrise-
and it makes me smile.

I'm leaving my footprints.

In life,
sometimes that's all you really need.

It's My Party And I'll Cry If I Want To

I'm having a pity party today.

Come on in and join me, if you like.
It's raining inside my world-
and I look like crap-
and -who cares, really?

First off, I'm typing on
someone else's computer
because my faithful laptop
took a big flying monkey leap
off on some tangent that won't
load Windows properly.

Next, I slept on a stack of four pillows
last night in an attempt to rid myself
of the sour gastric bile that
was churning up into my throat
from the delicious gumbo
my daughter sent over.

Plus, I totally ruined my diet this weekend
with hefty portions of pepperoni pizza,
thick bread-y slabs of Jimmy John's subs,
and giant slices of carrot cake,
studded with crunchy walnuts
and lathered in several inches of
cream cheese frosting.

And then-
you know that whole world seems unfair
because I'm not going to have
a Halloween party this year.

I've had one for the past five years
and it is a wonderful outlet for my
creative energy.
I guess I'll just stew in all this unused
hostess juice and stagnate like
a moldy zombie.

Finally, I am thinking about quitting my blog.

What?

Well, I told you it was a pity party!
We are feeling sorry for ourselves here!
Positive, secure, winning, successful people
might as well get the heck out
because we are slobbering losers here today
that are wallowing in self-pity
and self-deprevation.

I am considering closing down till
the first of the year.
Maybe by then, I'll be inspired again
and start all over with something new and fun-
(and a blog that will actually get people to leave comments).

Well, just spilled my coffee
and the dog wants out
and I have a slight hint of B.O.
from postponing my morning shower
for this disgraceful party of mine.

Okay, that's it.

You can go home now.