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Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Fool Me Once

After the rabbit hole ordeal last year, I had a hard time getting my groove back. I bet I didn't cook dinner a dozen times in 12 months. Sitting upright in my chair a whole work day was a major feat... Staying up past 5:30 in the evening was a event worth celebrating. I've been trying to redeem myself this year with consistent grocery shopping, regular dinners and geeze it's past 9:00 and I'm wide eyed. The whole "regular dinner" thing is really starting to get on my nerves. It's hard to do creative cooking every night, or at least it is for me. I try to mix it up but it's easy to get stuck in a cooking rut. This week I thought I deserved a break so I bought a hefty spiral sliced ham and planned on just adding different side dishes. I figured we'd be sick of ham by the end of the week, but I usually only do hams on a holiday so I didn't think it would be that big of a deal. Tonight I got home, sprawled out on the bed to
watch the heart wrenching news coverage of the Casey Anthony trial. When my husband got home he joined me and listened while I rattled off my theories and commentary. Lucky him to get to live with his very own, yet tad more balanced version of Nancy Grace! After watching me rant at the T.V. like a.... Well, a "fair and balanced" correspondent for the show, I told him we were just having ham sandwiches for dinner. I'm a lucky lady because he was actually fine with that idea, he just wanted to cool off and chill out a bit longer so he joined me in the den while I fixed myself a sandwich. Since I knew he would be in the kitchen in a few minutes to get some ham, I left it sitting (nice and pretty) on the kitchen cabinet. I didn't even give it a second thought until he later called me in the kitchen with a pathetically sad face. Looking as dejected as a basset hound he said.... "You know I really was looking forward to having some of that ham for dinner." Granted... I was starving as I hadn't had anything except an orange and a fiber bar all day long, but I swear my sandwich only had a couple of
pieces of ham on it.... There was plenty of ham for him to have tonight and all of next week it he wanted to. Then I looked at the counter top.... No ham! Not even a speck of ham where the ham had been. I looked at him, just started to form my question when I heard my Mastiff lapping up water like a buffalo. I looked at her, I looked at him and I asked.... "Where?" He just turned around and on the floor was the hock of where the ham had been, all the while Sailor was still sucking up water. Sailor turned and looked over her shoulder... (do dogs actually have shoulders?). When she saw the look on our faces she instantly tried to morph into a 175lb invisible dust mite. It didn't work. In unison we said (in our most stern parental voices) "Bad girl!!! Go to your bed!!!" She ducked her tail and ran to her kennel wishing
to god she could take her water bowl with her. I promised my husband the sun, moon and stars for dinner.... Anything his little heart desired, because I can take ham or leave it, but he really likes his ham. Note to self.... When your dog is a head taller than the counter top, thou shalt not turn your back on the spiral cut ham. End of story. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Monday, June 27, 2011

You Lead Me Down a Path I Cannot Follow

A song that's sung with eerie sorrow...
    Whispers gently in my ear...
Risk the moment with indulgent pleasures...
   Fulfill the now of hollow years...
Tomorrow seems so far away...
   Attainment out of reach...
Endanger of the dream expiring...
    A lesson true my soul does teach...
 Quick a glance behind my shoulder...
A vision of what's left behind...
The knowledge of a solace verdict...
Upon the heart no longer mine...
I contemplate the course before me...
Calculate the cost thereof...
Deduce the burden much too precious...
Transparency to rise above...
And though my heart does long to forfeit...
Certain boundaries with no restraint...
I cannot justify or reason...
The complex price that will be paid...
Forsake my heart in all it's sorrow 
Knowing that I cannot choose...
The path to which I cannot follow...
A dream in which my heart I lose...

Please Don't Feed the Raccoon

Being an insomniac can be kind of lonely. There is no one up at 3 in the morning to play with, infomercials have proven to be very bad for the budget, and I read until my eyes practically bleed anyway so... What's a girl to do? This weekend I was up watching a spider weave a web outside our bathroom window during my insomniatic spell. I also waited intensely for the raccoon that frequents our bathroom window to appear. Everyone in the family has seen him peering through the window in the wee hours of the night except me. Typical since I'm the only one who would really get a kick out of peering back at him. As I stood there in the early hours of Saturday morning I decided to entice him to the window with a can of cat food. I waited until I was too drowsy to wait any more and went back to bed. First thing Saturday morning I went to see if the can of cat food was still there. It was gone. Saturday night I tried again. Sunday morning, the can was gone. Sunday night my husband came to bed and asked me if I had put cat food out for the raccoon again. "Well, yeah!" I said. He sweetly tried to reason with me that he didn't think it was a good idea to feed the raccoon, to which I vehemently (but sweetly) disagreed. He suggested that if I insisted on feeding the raccoon to at least feed it the dry cat food.... This is my reasoning.... "Dry cat food? What's special about dry cat food? A raccoon gets all the dry cat food it wants in the neighborhood. If I put canned cat food out, our house will be special."...  He just looked at me like Ricky Ricardo used to look at Lucille Ball when she would do something especially hair brained. He sighed, smiled and gave me a kiss goodnight. You just can't win against a insomniac, they have all night long to plot their debate.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Gator Gate Deters Thievery!!!!

You know you just can't trust people these days. If you have something that's not nailed down, they'll be happy to take it off your hands when you're not looking. The company I work for, operate several oil leases in Louisiana. Our new security system is aimed at decreasing oilfield theft. We've taken measures to make sure our leases are closely guarded and secure. The new system monitors all  activities coming to and from the lease. Although it's size ranges from 11' to 12', it's very well camouflaged and inconspicuous. Our "Gator Gate" has been quite effective in deterring thievery for which we have absolutely no tolerance.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

The Itch!!

I have desperately been trying to curb my shoe buying obsession in the last few months. I'm starting to feel the itch that's certain to require a scratch. Just for the record, I'm asking forgiveness in advance :-)

“I don’t know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot!” – Marilyn Monroe

Friday, June 17, 2011

Your Birth Story

Three years and two days after the birth of our daughter, we welcomed our second child, a boy into the family. In accordance with my need for everything to be done in a timely manner, I was scheduled to be induced on his due date.... I know, I know, it's a little extreme, but the doctor assured me he was ready and it just worked better with my parents since they wanted to be here for the birth. My husband and I left for the hospital early the morning of his arrival, leaving my three year old at home with my parents. They would give us time to settle in and bring her to the hospital as the labor progressed. That was the plan!!! Shortly after my induction I began to remember all of the reasons you tell yourself you'll never have another child. It's amazing how the memory of the pain of labor fades as the thrill of being a parent escalates. I was just getting to that really cranky stage, when you look at your husband with  simmering rage as if the pain is all his fault. After all, if men were tougher, they'd be the ones to deliver the children (can I hear an amen). I glanced over as my husband calmly flipped through the magazines he had gotten from the gift shop. Seconds before I began my verbal assault on him for being too comfortable while my insides were being ripped out by a alien being, the nurse ran into my room, slapped an oxygen mask on 
my face and literally threw the head of my bed down and jacked the foot of my bed all the way up. She was shouting orders and seemed to be in a very big hurry for God only knows what reason. The activity did manage to drag my husband away from his magazine article as the doctor and anaesthesiologist begin to grill him on exactly how many ice chips I had ingested that morning. They explained to us that the heart monitor showed the baby was in severe distress and an emergency c-section would be done immediately. The last thing I remember is asking.... "Is my baby okay?" then I was out like a light. Can someone explain to me why nurses find it necessary to shout at you when you are waking up for anesthesia??? It always seems like they have a megaphone placed right up against your ear as they shout your name and give your orders to wake up. There I am, in such a comfortable, foggy
happy place when the nurses begin shouting for me to wake up. Then I hear my husband's sweet voice as he says... "Hey Jackie, we have a beautiful baby boy.".... All of the irritation left when I heard those words and I only wanted to know one thing..... "Is he okay, is my baby okay?" My husband responded that he was absolutely perfect in every way. Then I slipped back into nothingness for a little while. When I woke up (no yelling required) I was hooked up to tubes and it really did feel like my insides had been ripped out. But I had a beautiful baby boy, so it was totally worth it. My husband walked into the room as my little one lay asleep in his crib. I looked at him and told my husband.... "He's going to be our quiet one."... Those are the words I will forevermore laugh about. He wasn't my quiet one, he was just hungover from the anesthetic that had put me in the fog. Days later, he awoke from his fog and I quickly learned he was not going to be my quiet one, but my very lively one. When I wrote his birth story last year he said.... "I don't think I ever remember hearing my birth story before." The reason would be, because I could never get him to sit still long enough to listen to his birth story, and that's a fact! 25 years later he is still on the move. He has rambled and roved on road trip to road trip, from state to state with his friends. He has taken the gospel to the uttermost parts of the earth. He is all about doing, going, seeing and experiencing. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a fear in the world and trusts in the Lord always. Happy Birth Day Bubba! You make me so proud.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

The Birth of a Sailor

One of the birthday traditions with my kids is for me to re-tell them their birth story on their birthday. To be honest, my first born is the only one who really appreciates this tradition and that is probably because she is a sentimental sap like her Mom. With your first child everything is a big deal. I started wearing maternity clothes the week I found out I was pregnant.... Well maybe not literally but I sure wanted to. The pregnancy went off without a hitch. We did the childbirth class thing, read books, did all the things new parents do to assure their child will not grow up to be twisted maniacs, like their parents. The morning of my due date I was so disappointed that I did not have  one sign the books say you will notice when the birth is near. Not a pain, not a twinge, none of the gross stuff that goes on down under.... Zip. My husband came home for lunch and I was fit to be tied. They said my due date was on the 15th of June and by gosh today was the 15th of June and time was a-wasting, according to my rules of all things must happen according to plan and schedule. Little did I know that children have their owns rules about plans and schedules. I walked my husband out the door after lunch and he held me and patted me as he assured me that it would be soon. No one likes having a hysterical pregnant woman on their hands and he was happy to be headed back to work for the afternoon. I on the other hand had wifely chores that needed to be done which included taking the laundry to my Mother-In-Law's house to use her washer as ours was out. I loaded up the laundry and headed to her house with as sad a face as you have ever seen. After my clothes finished washing, I loaded them back into the car and took them home to dry. On the way home I felt kind of.... Icky. I loaded the clothes in the dryer and laid down to rest and watch General Hospital. When General Hospital ended, I didn't feel any better so I called my Mother-In-Law to see if my ickiness could be a sign of labor, which she assured me it was. She informed me she would be right
over to take me to the hospital. I made my phone calls, had my bags ready (as per instructions from birthing class) and waited for her to arrive. Somewhere between her house and my house my quiet, meek, frail, Mother-In-Law had turned into a panic stricken drill Sergent who was large and in charge weighing in at a whole 98 pounds. I was stunned speechless as she ran in the house and grabbed everything out of my arms and ordered me into the car. What had they done to my Mother-In-Law and who was this woman impersonating her??? As we sped away in the car (like we wouldn't make it to the hospital a whole 1/2 mile from the house in time for the delivery), my husband drove up and headed in to change clothes. When we arrived at the hospital, she jumped out of the car and practically carried me into the hospital... Apparently she felt the need for urgency but I'm not quite sure why. Everybody got settled in ready for a long night, but that was not to be. My precious baby girl had the same quirky disposition for promptness as her Mother. She arrived at 8:39 p.m. on June the 15th, 1983. She entered this world jabbering like a magpie in the delivery room. When her jabbering turned to
cries, her Daddy gently bent over her, she grabbed his finger and she quieted as he began to sing the ABC song as he had done every night while I had carried her. She was spunky, she was head strong and little did we know that some day she would be a Sailor in the United States Navy. Happy Birthday Sissy!!!! We are so proud of the woman you have become.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Feather in Your Cap

I'm all about fighting growing old tooth and toenail. I have a book entitled "How Not to Look Old" by Charla Krupp which I give as birthday presents to all of my girlfriends. Even though it's warned against in the book,I've said many times, they will have to pry my stilettos and my frosted eyeshadow out of my cold dead hands. I love sparkle and bling is my thing. I do have my limits however, and I will not succumb to peer pressure to get a feather! If you are like I was, you're saying.... "Feather, what feather?" A friend of mine was sporting a new haircut the other day that was adorably cute. After commenting on her new do she turned her head and said.... "Do you like my feather?" On the side of her head she had a strand of red that streaked through her blond hair. "A feather? What the heck is that?" I asked. "It's a feather, silly. You'll have to get one next time you go get your hair done. They stay in for like 6 weeks and come in all different colors." Maybe I'm dull, maybe I'm not as edgy as some, or maybe I'm just old and grumpy,but I will not be getting a feather weaved into my hair!! The next week I went to the beauty shop to get my highlights highlighted. My stylist asked me if I wanted a feather to which quickly replied.... "NO!", she laughed at me and told me I really should get a feather. "No, no, no, feather! I'm 48 years old and I just don't think someone my age needs a feather in their hair." But according to her, "Everybody is doing it!" First of all, I've never really cared what everyone else was wearing. Second of all, I looked in my "How Not to Look Old" book and there isn't a chapter addressing the wearing of feathers in your hair after a certain age. Why would I break one rule (like frosted eye shadow) and not break them all, because even if I was 16 I don't think I would want a feather and if everybody else is doing it then that's the perfect reason for me not to have a feather in my hair. I think... And this is my own opinion, the first rule of how not to look old is to be willing to try new things while being very aware of where your style comfort zone lies. Being confident enough to set your own style trend is a feather in your cap regardless of your age.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

A Moment In Time

A moment in time...
Long slipped away...
The feel of your lips...
On my lips will stay...


A moment in time...
When forever was new...
Like a night full of stars...
Every dream was of you...


A moment in time...
As sand in a glass...
Precious and few....
Too soon it did pass...


A moment in time...
Like a dirt road at night...
When the moon spread it's beauty...
Your arms held me tight...

A moment in time...
I will never forget...
Just a moment in time...
I would love to re-live...

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Homesick



There are times, as a friend I feel so inadequate. This morning I was getting ready for work, making my bed, doing all the things you do in the morning before you leave for the day. My phone rang and I knew instantly from the caller ID that this was not going to be good news. A good friend of mine had called a few weeks ago to tell me her Father-in-law had been diagnosed with Lymphoma. This morning she called to let me know he has lost the battle. My heart just sunk to my knees. She has lost so many immediate family members in the last few years... It's hard to understand. I'm a fixer and would do anything in the world, absolutely anything to make things easier for her and her family. But sometimes, regardless of how much you love someone, all you can do is love them. On my way to work I was thinking... "What can I do? What should I do?" In my heart I know all I can do is love her and pray for the family. The fixer side of me will make a big batch of macaroni and cheese tonight to take over to them. I can only hope that in every once of cheese, butter and cream, the depth of my love can be felt. I know with each passing day she has more and more reason to feel homesick like never before.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Consistent With Just a Tad of Flash

Saturday I had the pleasure of participating in the annual golf scramble for the company I work for. I was on a different team this year and there wasn't quite the same level of unhealthy competition as I enjoyed last year. LOL! Our team did come in 3rd, which may not give me bragging rights (and all the production office says AMEN), but it's still pretty good for someone who is way more worried about her outfit than her swing. Shallow, I know! One of my teammates was a retiree who turned 90 in May. I wondered if he felt remotely as sore as I did this morning and that is just sad! He's a little bitty guy about the size of a toothpick. He gets around pretty good for a 90 year old.... Slow but sure. When he would tee off, he looked barely able to swing the club. He didn't swing hard and fast, he did it slow,deliberate and straight as an arrow every time.  I don't think we had to hunt his ball down one time (or retrieve it "out of the shade" as I call it)! He nabbed us 3 birdies (why do they call it that?).He didn't have any flashy moves, no elaborate stance, just sharp, steady, consistent playing. When I got home, I thought to myself... "That's a good way to approach life"... Sharp, steady and consistent(but I need to add a little flash once in a while just to keep it interesting).

Friday, June 3, 2011

Tangible

It was faint, it was fragile, it was crystal clear, seldom from my mind. Locked beneath a treasure chest, a capsule of captured time. Intangibly it sat upon, yet hidden in clear sight. Surrounded by  my tight gripped hand, protected with all my might. A symbol of the tides of life, washed upon the shore. Guarded so the memory dear was precious but nothing more. I took from that which never was a tangible delight, and displayed the thing which meant the most from a love I could never hide.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Hair's the Deal of Self Expression

I grew up the baby of the family which is a pretty sweet deal. Of course I was the baby out of two kids, so I'm sure that makes a difference. I didn't have to struggle to find my place in the family dynamics because all I had to do was be polar opposite of my brother and title myself as unique. I will totally agree that the oldest child has the suckiest position, even in my little nest of three (sorry child with the middle child syndrome). Everything with your first child is a HONKIN' big deal... The first steps, the first tooth, the first everything is just huge. As far as discipline goes, I wanted my first to be perfect. I didn't want a child no one else wanted to be around so I was way more strict with her than the other two. Plus the first child has to break the parents in.... Kids don't come with instructions so it's trial by error and the first child gets stuck with most of the bad parenting decisions (this according to the parenting book of Jackie). By the second child you are pretty much just trying to keep your head above the water and keep them from killing one another, not much time for a big honkin' deal about anything. With the third child there's a little bit of the, "been there, done that" feeling added to the exhaustion of parenting period till it's a hope and prayer they make it through childhood alive. My two oldest kids, who are now both adults, freely admit the baby got all the breaks. They paved the way for him, wore me completely out, and he got the a shell of the parent I once was.... Sweet deal. He's probably had a little more trouble distinguishing who he is against two, not one, polar opposite personalities. His biggest distinguishing mark is he is super, super, quiet!!! I'm not sure he really embraces that as his unique trait. So he's doing what a lot of kids do and is using his hair to make a statement. His older brother tried this trick, but when he let his hair grow out it grew into beautiful shiny ebony ringlets. Everybody loved his hair, me included, which totally stole his thunder and took the joy out of the whole deal. So the baby has let his hair get long. It's been dark, it's been light and just recently I dyed it black. The black actually looks pretty good. It's really shiny, he got a cool cut, yet it's still funky long. If I had my rathers, it would probably be cropped short and left his natural color. In looking at the great scheme of things (and really being too tired to argue), his hair is nothing less, nothing more than a means of self-expression.... A way of distinguishing himself from the rest of the pack. I know deep down inside he secretly hopes it drives me bonkers, but sadly I went there years ago.