5 reasons Grandma should not wear a 2 piece bathing suit at the city pool!

1. The sight of Old Belly flab will make everyone in the pool throw up in the water.
2. No one on the planet will put sun tan lotion on your back – ever.
3. Little kids might try to touch your bumpy varicose veins.
4. If you drown, the young, tanned life guard will NOT give you mouth to mouth.
5. If you have a wardrobe malfunction someone might shoot you on the spot.

55 - and still alive!

Happy birthday to me! I am turning 55 today, and as I told my kids, growing older is MUCH better than the alternative! It feels so cool to be me now! I don’t dye my hair, so it is white as the driven snow and healthy & shiny like a schoolgirl’s. I have no desire to be fashion model skinny, so I can get my money’s worth at the local buffet and all I have to say is ‘the usual’ at DQ’s drive up window. I know the value of a hard earned dollar, so when I find something nice at the Goodwill, I tell everyone where I got it. When it’s hot and I want to go to the pool, I do – and I don’t turn blue in the face, trying to suck my gut in all day. I don’t wear much makeup, so I look the same at night as I do when my sweet Big Daddy Paul rolls over in the morning – no surprises! I know it is way more important to have fun with the family then it is to mop the kitchen floor – chores will always be waiting. And smooching with my husband is more fun than ever, because now it grosses out the grandkids! The little things are the most important – saying prayers at night with Paul, sharing a cookie with Kyeli, having a cold glass of sweet tea on a hot summer day. I know it’s more important to be faithful than to be rich or famous. And even if I don’t like what you do, I can still love you and pray for you. I don’t apologize for my tattoos, my views on politics or religion or my social status, and if you don’t like it, well, I guess that is your problem. I love the Lord, my family and my job and my life only seems to get better every day. Yep, happy birthday to me!

Southern Belle (or was that 'bellhop')

We love going home at night! Most folks do, I know, but at our house it is especially good to walk through the front door after a long day at work. Paul and I ride together, so we arrive at home together, and as he is opening the front gate for me you can hear the kids start yelling ‘Nana, Papa!’ and scrambling off the porch, out of the pool, running from all directions to greet their Nana and Papa! Right behind them is their beautiful Mom, our daughter Elanea, usually wore out from work herself but still lined up for hugs and kisses from Mama. Her husband, Kye, usually has something on the stove for dinner so I don’t have to race home to cook – thank goodness! Not that I am not a GREAT cook, it’s just that my favorite thing to make for supper is reservations, so they have all learned not to expect too much from my corner. So when I make it through the front door, I can just relax, watch TV, play with young 'uns or get on the computer. Usually after a little while playing with the babies, Paul will head for the Scotch and I will head for the computer. Elanea will join me occasionally, and we will surf the web and Google stuff together, just generally enjoying each other’s company. Elanea is so beautiful, just like her big sister Angie, and sharp as a tack. Of course we come from a long line of Southern Belles, so her beauty and sophistication is no surprise. Just the other day, I was at the computer, finishing a blog installment when she walked up. I noticed that she did not have her glasses on, so I said, ‘want me to read it to you?’ She smiled and burped the reply ‘yes, please!’ as she wiped her chin on her sleeve. I had a catch in my throat – Mama’s Angel, all growed up! And it looks like her daughters are going to be just like her!(sniff)I’m so proud!

Liquid Cat

I was the babysitter one summer for 3 of my grandchildren – Zac, Michael & Aalyiha. This was a few years back, when they ranged in ages from about 5 – 9 or so. On this particular Tuesday, we were having a nice, quiet day. It reminded me of my childhood, which was B.C. (before cable). Children made eye contact with each other and the only electronic device was the flashlight that we used to play hide & seek in the dark. We explored the creeks and hills surrounding my childhood home of Woodbury, KY without fear of perverts or drive-bys; we climbed trees and rode bikes with no safety equipment, and lived to tell about it! That was the kind of day we were having – a peaceful, dreamy, drowsy day.
Little Aalyiha was playing tea party in the living room floor as I sat on the couch by the picture window, monitoring the activity in the front yard. Big brother Zac had turned his bicycle upside down and was pedaling the rear wheel with his hand, making a soft ‘Wwwwhhhzzzz’ sound. Little brother Michael was standing nearby, mesmerized by the spinning spokes one finger up his nostril, with the family cat draped over his arm.
This cat was absolutely the most laid back creature I had ever seen. It was constantly drooped over the arm of a chair or thrown over a child’s shoulder carelessly, like a wet dishcloth. He was like a liquid cat, never walking, just oozing from the couch to the floor and then out the door. The only time I ever saw him upright was when he jumped the fence on the neighbor’s herb garden – the one with barb wire on top & 3 locks on the gate. They sure were nice folks, though, constantly smiling & ordering pizza. The cat always made a stop there on his morning constitutionals. But other than that, he was usually in a semi-liquid state, slung over handlebars or oozing over the edge of a window sill. And so there stood Michael, cat neatly folded over his arm like the head waiter at a fancy restaurant. A boy and his semi-solid cat – it’s a beautiful thing.
So, Zac’s pumping away, the wheel is spinning faster & faster, when suddenly a light goes on in his eyes. Without looking at Michael he nonchalantly says “Hey, Michael. Put the cat’s crotch on the wheel.”
I hate myself, but the truth is, when I heard him say that, my first thought was ‘Where’s the camcorder?’ But in the next instant, I could see tomorrow’s headlines:
CAT WITH FLAMING CROTCH BREAKS SOUND BARRIER ON
WEST NOB HILL BLVD
ASPCA to investigate
So, I sprang off the couch (i.e., I got Aalyiha to help Nana up) & ran outside, snatching the unsuspecting victim & saving him from the WORST RUGBURN EVER.
“What on earth are you thinking?” I scolded. “We don’t harm innocent animals – that’s how Dahmer got started!”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” I dropped the flexible feline on the top step of the porch, where he slowly oozed down to a little patch of sunshine on the bottom step & promptly fell asleep. Again.
Michael reinserted his finger & looked up at me thoughtfully for a moment. Then he slowly shifted his gaze to the swimming pool.
“Nana? Do cats float?”

Bedtime for Bonzo

The best time to talk with a guy is at night, right before they go to sleep. A guy will tell you exactly what is on his heart, if you wait until that quiet time, when night is closing in, and the house is quieting down. When Chase was little, we would snuggle on my big bed for a while and talk and tell stories and plan for the future. Then his big brother Zac would come and get him, and take him to bed in their room. My room was at the front of the house and had a large screened window facing east. We didn’t have air conditioning, so in the summer months I would have the side of my bed right against the window, to get all the fresh air I could. One evening, when Chase was about 5, we stretched out on my bed for our nightly time together. The only light was from a small lamp in the far corner of the room. Chase was lying between me and the window, half asleep, listening to me tell a bedtime story and enjoying the cool night air. All was blissfully calm and quiet.. Suddenly, out of nowhere – there was a MASSIVE crash against the window, and in the moonlight, we could make out a hairy shape, plastered against the vibrating screen, screaming like a banshee! It took a couple of seconds before my petrified brain could assimilate what my popped-out eyeballs were seeing, then I realized – it was only the $#@! family cat, yowling like crazy, trying to get someone to let it inside! ‘Bleeping cat!!’ I thundered, kicking at the window – then it dawned on me – Chase had vanished! Before I could yell for the Big Brothers for help, I felt something move underneath me. I rolled to the side, and there was Chase! In the nanosecond when the hairy apparition sprang onto the window, Chase had somehow managed to deflate himself to about the width of a sheet of paper, and had shot underneath his Mama for protection! How in the world could he have done that?? And on top of that, he had managed to lift my weight up high enough for him to tunnel beneath! He would need a car jack, for that feat alone! But he did it, and when I jumped up, his body slowly inflated, and by the time Zac came for him, he was his usual size and shape, no harm done.
Course, I DID have to change the sheets...

Roughing it

When I was a teenager in Kentucky, my Dad would save up all his days off and we would go to Florida for a couple of weeks in the summer. Sounds great, doesn’t it? Hahahhoohahaha! Let me give you the rundown: we stayed in a tent, a CANVAS tent, which no breath of air could penetrate. We traveled to Florida in a VW bus, in the heat and humidity, with no air conditioning and my 2 brat little brothers yelling ‘She’s touching me!’ every mile of the way. And we lived off the land (and bologna sandwiches) for the entire 2 weeks… ‘roughing it’, they called it.. I would return with a good tan, but I always lost weight and all my religion on the trip. AND this was before all the super freeways were completed, so we drove through Nashville, Atlanta and other quaint little spots, with Dad white-knuckled (and using the one and only curse word I ever heard from him)and Mom a screaming banshee by the time we got past the city limits. It was not what it was cracked up to be: YOU try spending 2 weeks, walking around with your gut sucked in 24/7, trying to look like a beach babe with your Mother following you around collecting seashells, using their Latin names, cause she is smart like that. I needed a vacation when my vacation was over – and GET THIS – my Rat-Fink cousin, M, would steal my boyfriend every vacation! I would have a boyfriend when I left, and SHE would have the boyfriend when I got back! This was before cell phones, so I would be blissfully ignorant until I returned – and by then, she had worked her abundant feminine charms on ole’ Buford and I was #$!@ outta luck! But M & her womanly ways is fodder for another story… Anyhoo, after our first trip through Atlanta, Mom decided she needed some ‘relaxation aid’ to get her through that ordeal again. So, as we neared the Big City Limits, she confidently popped 2 COMPOSE tablets, thinking she could stay relaxed and calm while Dad dodged traffic like it was incoming shrapnel. In just a few minutes, she began to yawn and rub her eyes, and before you know it, Mom was out like a light. She slept through Nashville, and then down through the top corner of Alabama, straight through Georgia… when we made a pit stop, she slept. When we stopped for gas, she slept. When we pulled into the camp ground at Flagler Beach, Florida, she was still sawing logs like a lumberjack! My Dad set up the Canvas Fortress, and then we helped him drag Mom inside, out of the sun. I was put in charge of the bologna sandwich supplies & Dad had to keep an eye on the 2 BBs. (Brat Brothers). Mom finally woke up 2 days later, cranky as heck and dying for a bologna sandwich… which we just happened to have in the cooler. ‘What happened?’ she asked, through the fog that had settled over her brain. ‘You took those (insert the only curse word here) sleeping pills, that’s what happened, and these (insert said bad word) kids have been driving me nuts!’ Dad growled. I must add the One and Only Curse Word that my Dad ever used starts with a ‘D’, so you don’t have to censor this too much. Soon Mom regained her sea legs, Dad was freed of his babysitting duties, and I was once again cruising the white sands, looking tanned and lithe.. With my Mom right behind me.. “Oh, look – a Turritella Gastropod!’
Now my idea of roughing it is ‘no cable’.

Gotta Dance!

How cool it is to be delighted by simple things! Yesterday we had a huge Father’s Day/Birthday cookout at our house, and all the usual suspects showed up. We had kids and grandkids up the wazoo, lots of fun, food everywhere, kids in the pool, playing video games, reading Moms blog and cringing.. Good times! We all spent the day together, laughing and playing until evening and we kissed them all goodbye and settled down for a little quiet time before bed. Little Kyeli was wore out, and wanted some special time with Mom before Night-Night, so they decided to do their nails. Kyeli LOVES having her nails done! She says ‘Pretty, pretty!’ when each nail is finished, and then she runs to show her Papa, who also says ’Pretty, pretty!’ each time. Papa does not say no to his Sweet Sweet: this is written in stone. He can be dogged tired, trying to drag himself over the front door stoop, and she will reach up and take his finger and pull him back outside to play, or go bye-bye, or catch the cat – and he NEVER says ‘later’ or ‘I’m tired’. So when Kyeli was finished getting her toenails done, she came over and took Papa by the hand and lead him over to where Mom had all the nail salon equipment laid out. ‘Pretty Pretty’ she said, and patted the stool that she had been sitting on. ‘You want Papa to have his toenails done?’ asked Mom, with a $#!% eating grin. Kyeli nodded yes and tugged on his hand. ‘Oh, ah… Kyeli, that’s not for Papas, that’s for the Baby.’ Paul said, as he tried to pull away. ‘She ain’t gonna take no for an answer’ I laughed. She reached for his shoes. Paul began to dance around the room, trying to keep his toes out of Kyeli’s clutches. ‘You look like Michael Flattley, Lord of the Dance!’ I chimed in. Paul kept high stepping. ‘The difference is..’ he gasped, ‘.. that it’s Paul Fattley and it’s ‘Lord, please don’t dance!’. After 2 or 3 more minutes of pirouetting, Kyeli’s Mom scooped Kyeli up for kisses and then off to bed for Night-Night. Paul did the Fox Trot back to the couch and sat down. I reached up and pulled the calendar down so I could make a note: ‘first time Papa ever said ‘No’ to his Sweet Sweet’. Paul snorted. It might not appear manly to be at the beck and call of a curly headed, chubby, sticky little angel but the truth is that Kyeli has the Best Papa in the Whole World, and I also married the best Dad and Step Dad a family could ever HOPE to find!
Even if he can’t Riverdance.

Floaties

A few years ago I had the dubious honor of babysitting for 3 of my
grandchildren over the summer break. I would say the names have been changed to
protect the innocent, but since the little beasties are anything but innocent, I
won’t bother: they were Zac, age 8, Michael, age 6 & Aalyiha who was 4. These
are their stories:
It was August & we were roasting! I tried to keep the kids inside, under
the fan, but to no avail. Then one day cousin Andrew called & invited all the little
cousins up to swim in his big old cool, inviting pool! He us to be there at 11AM, & we gladly accepted!
Of course, by 7:15AM, the kids were in their bathing suits, standing
outside of the van, yelling for Nana to get the lead out. Trying to get the
concept of ‘waiting 4 hours’ over to kids who can’t tell time is a losing
battle. So, I managed to stall until about 9:30, then we piled in the van & were
off.
We had to make a couple of stops along the way, so we didn’t actually
arrive there until about 10:30 - & wouldn’t ya’ know it, they had run to the store.
So, we parked in the shade & settled down to wait. One of the stops
we had made was at the local Dollar Store, where we had purchase about $8 worth
of flippers, goggles & floaties.... which needed to be inflated.
“Nana!” Aalyiha’s little voice floated up from the recesses of the van.
“Blow up my floatie!” A plastic package gently bounced off the dash board. Big
brother Zac, who was sitting up front reading a comic book, ripped it open &
handed it to me.
I want it on record that I hate any inflatable device, but the most insidious
are cheap-o floaties! You not only have to be able to purse your lips tighter than the seal on a submarine hatch, but then you have to bite down on the stem in order for the air flow valve to open while you pump precious oxygen into the plastic void. But look at that sweet little face! So, I puckered up & began to blow.
After about 3 or 4 deep breathes I began to see the little sparkly
thingy-s & had to stop. Aalyiha said “Why are you stopping? Blow some more!”. “I
can’t” I gasped.
“It’s not full enough, Nana – blow harder!” By now sweat was rolling off
my brow as I lay back in the seat, gasping & coughing. “If I blow any harder,
I’ll have an aneurysm!” Little Michael leaned forward from the back – “What’s an
any-ism?”
“It’s where your head explodes.” Zac stated matter of factly, without even
looking up from his comic. Immediately 2 little horrified faces popped up from
the back seat – “Is that true?!” they whispered.
“No, your head doesn’t explode, but a vein in your head bursts & your
brain is affected”.
“What happens then?” I tried to think of a way to explain – “You might not
die, but sometimes it could make you act … different.”
“Like how?”
“Well, it might make you dumber.” I drew in another ragged breath & slowly
raised the loathsome floatie to my trembling lips. I managed to pump 2 more
puffs of air into the plastic pariah before I collapsed again.
“Nana – what’s 8 plus 8?” Aalyiha’s little face pressed close to mine.
“16 – Why do you ask?”
“Just checking to see if you’re dumb”
The half inflated floatie slid from my feeble grasp, & a few peaceful
moments of silence fell on the van …
“Hey, Nana.” Zac nonchalantly flipped the page…..
…… “Why do you light one cigarette off another?”

IHOP

This is the story of one of the most horrifying events our family has ever had to endure – and every word of this is the true!!
We have a large family, and when the kids were all younger, money was a little tight. We didn’t go out often, so when we DID get to have a family outing, it was a Very Special Event. Early one Friday evening, we decided that we would load the whole family up and go out for supper. The problem was that everyone wanted something different: burgers, spaghetti, biscuits & gravy. We decided to go to the one place in town where you could order anything at any time of the day – IHOP! Since it was still early in the evening the place wasn’t yet packed, so we pulled 2 tables together in the back of the room and put in the orders. Soon the food started arriving – and it was GREAT!! We had spaghetti, burgers and onion rings, chocolate milkshakes, pancakes and coffee, nachos - piles and piles of delicious food! The youngest, Chase, was about 4 at the time, and he was circling the table like Helen Keller, taking samples off everyone’s plate. We were having a blast! After about 45 minutes, we were all stuffed to the gills and asked the waitress for some doggy bags (not that the dog was gonna get any of it!). She brought a stack of those hinged Styrofoam deals and we started shoveling in the leftovers. At this point Chase was sitting in the middle of the table, being very, very quite. I was right across from him, and I suddenly noticed that he looked a little green.. his oldest brother, Andrew, was beside him, shoving a foam container in front of him so Chase could save his fries. All of a sudden, Chase began to barf – tons of barf, chunky, spewing – oh, Gawd! Luckily the foam buckets caught it – but when someone in our family barfs, it starts a domino effect – immediately there were 8 people, packed tightly around the table, trying to claw their way to safety, gagging and coughing – it was HORRIFYING!! And those poor folks in the booth next to us!! To this day I can still see that old lady’s face!! My hubby at the time, Gene, did what he usually did in situations like this – yell ‘I’ll start the van!’ and shoot out the door like he had a rocket strapped to his @$$, a flutter of 20’s cascading slowly down like leaves in the Fall behind him. Andrew, being the athlete that he was, managed to long jump over the table and ran outside and around the corner, where he sagged weakly against the building & tossed every cookie he had consumed for the last week – and then looked up to realize with horror he had just spewed in front of the plate glass window of the restaurant! Gasps of horror, sounds of retching and gagging – and that was just from Andrew, magnify it by the 99th power, and you’ve got an idea of what was going on inside the building!! We did the only thing we could do: run like hell! Gene had the van revved up and all the doors open wide, so we dove in while he burnt rubber off all fours, out of the parking lot.
I liked IHOP, but since they had security photos of us and the van taped up at the front door, we could never return…
Do they still use those foam buckets?

The Disadvantage

When I was in High School, they still used corporal punishment (aka they would beat your @$$). Girls never got spanked, but the threat was always there: everyone could see the HUGE paddle the Principal had leaned up in the corner, wooden handle shiny from years of use. Occasionally there would be a girl that was so ornery and stubborn that the paddle would be brought out, just as a show of force. I was that girl. I was a straight A student, and would even do extra credit and have A+’s, but I was always just on the cusp of disaster as far as behavior went. Talk about the wrong place at the wrong time – but on a weekly basis. And I had this huge disadvantage – whenever I am nervous or scared, I couldn’t stop laughing. I can be staring straight into the gaping Maw of Death and I will be laughing like a Hyena! I can’t help it, I can’t stop it, and to this day it causes me grief! Me and my Cohorts would be caught red-handed, and we would be marched to the Principal’s office. He had 3 or 4 old wooden straight-backed chairs, and we would be lined up, staring at the closed door, awaiting our doom. My ‘friends’ would wait until the door started to open and then suddenly they would turn on the waterworks, sobbing and covering their angelic faces, pointing trembling fingers at me, while I howled with laughter. I can still hear the Principal:
‘Oh, so you think this is funny? You think this is FUNNY!? I am going to call your Mama – she will tan your hide when she hears about THIS! We’ll see how funny it is then!’
No one every believed that I could not control it, and no one ever believed my protestations of innocence. And time has not changed it. We will be in a classy restaurant, waiting to be seated, and someone will sniff, then start looking around and whisper loudly ‘what is that smell?’… all I gotta do is be quiet and act like nonchalant, but guess what –
‘HahahaHooohaaaahah!’

geography

When my oldest son, Andrew, was a lad, he would always look forward to the monthly arrival of our subscription of the National Geographic. By the time he was 5, he was an avid reader and he would grab the magazine as soon as it arrived and pour over the articles and fascinating photos. Since he was so young, though, he mispronounced ‘Geographic’ instead calling it ‘Geography’, so the periodical was known at our house as the National Geography. The whole family loved reading it, and we always kept a huge stack of old issues, because they were worth reading more than once!
We were sitting in church one Sunday morning, and Andrew was next to me, idly thumbing through the hymn book as the Pastor thundered from the pulpit. He was expounding on the sins of the world, and began to weigh in on the evils of pornography. Andrew snapped to attention, turned to me with a horrified look and blurted out ‘Mom! We have stacks and stacks of those books!’ … the Head Deacon’s wife did such a sharp intake of breath that she sucked 3 hymnals out of the holder on back of the pew in front of her.. Which everyone heard, cause at that point, you could hear a pin drop.
‘Wha..what? What are you talking about??’ I stammered. Little Andrew was in tears by now ‘The National Geography - Pastor says reading Geography is a sin.’
.. just one more reason I was white headed by age 30..

Silverback

One of my sons is hairy – VERY hairy. We are talking Sasquatch league hair on chest, stomach and back, hair that could be parted and styled, and it started when he was about 12. Now that he is grown, he doesn’t give it a second thought, but when he was younger, he was self conscious about it, and would often try different ways to remove it… much to the delight of his siblings, who would watch and offer advice.. his nickname was Silverback.
We were in the middle of exfoliation one summer afternoon when my oldest son emailed me. (This time we had purchased the industrial size tub of cream remover, and had about an inch of the stuff slathered over the beast’s shoulders. His younger sister was trying to remove the carpet of hair, using a paint stick as kind of a straight razor and leaving clean swathes of hairless pink flesh visible with every flick of her wrists.) I sat the computer to answer the email. It went like this:
ELDEST SON: hey, mom, what are you guys doing?
ME: well, we have Naired-up Silverback and your little sister is troweling the fur off as we speak.
ELDEST: .. And let me guess: you are rubbing his nipples with a leather towel…. I was adopted.
Good times, good times!

Mama's Little Helper

I have 6 children: 4 boys and 2 girls. Now that they are all grown, life is easier in some areas.. but not all. The Baby, Chase, is getting married, and that is turning out to be kind of hard for me, because even though he is in his mid 20’s, 6’5” tall and WAY over 200 lbs, I remember when he was just a wee one, wearing his thick glasses and goofy smile, terrorizing his older brothers at every chance. And how many times did he get caught? Not many, because he was The Baby, so naturally suspicion would not fall on him! It had to be one of older ne’er do wells, trying to place the blame on Poor, Innocent Chase. And Chase would drop a dime on them on a moment’s notice – he was Mama’s Little Helper, snitching when the Band O’ Brothers snuck in cigarettes or a girly magazine. Of course they would threaten him with every form of death imaginable, but Chase knew His Mama would protect him! It seems like it was only yesterday I was lining up the usual suspects, with the evidence laid out in front of them, demanding an explanation while Little Chase hid behind my skirts snickering to himself as Judgment was Passed. For some reason it seemed like I was the only person who believed that Chase would be innocent of any crime. After the sentence was handed down, I would hear the boys in the back yard, talking to each other:
CHASE: (hanging out the window, giggling) Woo, woo – you got in trouble!
ZAC: You little punk! YOU’RE the one who did it! I can’t believe we got in trouble for that!
NOAH: You little BLEEP, you are gonna wish to BLEEP you had never BLEEPING done that!
ANDREW: Please, God, tell me that I was adopted…
CHASE: (sounds of a struggle) Mama! Noah’s got the duct tape – help! Help!He-uummmph!!
.. And the cycle starts again

40 Grit

Since the day I could walk, I have always loved to go barefooted. Even in the dead of winter, I will pad around the house in bare feet. After 50 plus years of this, my feet look like flat rectangles with pink polish. As I have gotten older, it has been more and more difficult to tend to my feet – my arms have evidently shrunk, making it harder to ‘reach’. Since my husband and I live with my daughter Elanea and her family, when she sees me trying to do my own pedicures, she will usually offer to assist me. (She says the sight of me rolling around the floor in a ball, grunting & gasping for air makes her feel sorry for me, but I know she does it ‘cause she loves her Mama!) Filing and polishing is no big deal – the problem is the calluses on my feet. I have tried lotions and oils – no improvement. Then I got a pumice stone – slight improvement, but once it got past the first layer, it just couldn’t cut it. The next attempt was the metal thing-y that looks like a file, only in pastel colors. It kinda works, but took so long to get to bedrock, I just gave up. In desperation I was checking out hoof nippers on line when it dawned on me – sandpaper! I am somewhat of a woodworker, so we usually keep wood supplies in the garage, and sure enuf, I had a stack of sandpaper on the shelf. For all you ladies that have heels hard enough to crack walnuts listen up: the sure fire way to make those heels feel smooth and soft as a baby’s behind is 40 Grit! Just cut a strip about an inch and a half wide and 6 inches long, grab the ends and start sanding away. (Best to do it outside, so the ‘sawdust’ doesn’t make a pile on the carpet.. grosses the family out.) I am now in the planning stage of attaching a belt sander to the bottom of my massaging foot bath so I can have an all-in-one hoof station! Then I can sand ‘em, soak ‘em and rub ‘em down, all from the comfort of my recliner!
(And I wouldn’t have to miss ‘Cops’!)

The Chicken Snake

When I was a child, growing up in rural Kentucky, we actually lived on a miniature farm of sorts. Our house had been built before the Civil War, so it was a grand, gracious home with tall ceilings and ornate trim around the doors and fireplace. Almost every home in Kentucky has a huge front porch with a swing, and ours was no exception. Even though we lived in the town of Woodbury, we had a couple of acres, complete with hen house, barn, old brick smoke house, shop and garage. We had room to roam! My parents would plant humongous gardens every year, which the indentured servants/ children had to tend. We also owned:
A few goats, which we milked (and then later bar-b-qued – delicious!)
One sheep that my Mom got wool from to spin on her spinning wheel, (Yes, she really did that.)
Assorted outdoor cats
And my dog, Ladybug, a small collie mix.
And then there were the chickens…. We must have had ten or twelve of the beasts, and each one would produce an egg every day. It was my job, each morning, to go and gather them for our family’s consumption. I cannot express to you how much I hated gathering the eggs! Whenever I opened the gate on the wire enclosure of the chicken yard, the hens and roosters would all pop their little heads up and then freeze. I would slowly enter and latch the gate behind me, trying to keep my back to the fence. Then I would edge my way towards the coop, carefully placing each step, trying not to enrage the creatures. It was so eerie, the only sound would be the occasion ‘skriiitch’ of a little hooked chicken hoof on the hard dirt. I could feel their beady little black eyes boring holes in me as I edged toward the hen house. My heart would be racing and my palms sweating – my Gawd, I was terrified of them!
As soon as I entered the coop, I knew that attack was imminent, and would try to grab the eggs as fast as I could. But there was only one door on the hen house, and once I was inside, there was no escape. Now, I had been gathering the eggs every day for years, but the way the hens reacted, you would have thought that this was the first time a human had entered their domain. As soon as I was inside, they would immediately begin to squawk shrilly and rush the hen house, where they would swarm me like bees! They would jump up on me and peck and scratch, sending feathers flying everywhere! I would try to protect myself, but I was outnumbered 12 to 1, so my only hope of salvation was to get the eggs and get the Hell out of Dodge! The din inside the little building would be deafening: the demon-possessed hens were screeching and squawking, and I was flailing about, shouting and cursing, trying to grabs eggs and then fight my way back through the enemy lines to safety. When I could at last stagger out of the enclosure and slam the gate shut, the raptors would stick their little ruffled heads out the door and give the chicken equivalent of a snort which I took to mean ‘good riddance!’ Invariably, one or two of the eggs would have been cracked during the melee and so I would have to face the Wrath of Mom when I dragged my mangled body back to the safety of the house. It was a lose/lose situation for me!
This scenario went on for months and months. But then one day I noticed that there were not as many eggs as usual. Mom accused me of using them for ammunition against my attackers, but I assured her I was innocent. For the next few days, careful tabs were kept on exactly how many eggs were harvested and the results were definite: our egg supply had dwindled significantly.
My Mom decided to investigate and would sit on the front porch in the evening to watch what transpired at the hen house. Just as the sun was setting one evening there arose a din from the chicken coop. Mom raced down there and opened the door to the hen house and, sure enough, there was the culprit: a huge, black chicken snake was disappearing out a crack near the base of the back wall. Mom returned to the porch and told me what she had seen. Then she looked at me solemnly for a moment and said, “I’m going to have to tell your Dad.”
Let me first go on record as saying that my father is a real man’s man! He can hunt, fish, trap and lumberjack with the best of them. No one on earth could ever accuse my father of being anything other than a red-blooded, All - American male. But he is absolutely terrified of snakes ... doesn’t matter if they are big or little, lethal or harmless: if my Dad catches sight of a snake anywhere in his immediate vicinity he will begin to leap like Baryshnikov, all the while screaming at the top of his lungs for my Mom to rescue him. I always thought it was hilarious that my big, strong Dad would shoot straight up in the air every time I hollered “Snake!” Of course, what goes up must come down, and when he caught me, I’d pay, but the effect was very satisfying to a smart-alec, tomboy-ish 12 year old like me, and well worth the cost!
So when my Mom said she was going to tell my Dad about the snake, I immediately had a feeling of foreboding. My parents spent the next few evenings watching the hen house, and they soon realized that the snake seemed to time his visit so that he would be finished with supper and home before it was completely dark. They shaped their plans accordingly.
The idea was simple enough: Mom and Dad would establish a base camp just inside the gate of the chicken yard and wait there until the snake made his presence known. Then my Mom would jerk open the hen house door, spring inside and to the right, leaving the entry unobstructed for my Dad. Mom would then shine the flashlight onto the target as my Dad leapt inside, shouldered the shotgun and blasted the thief to smithereens. It looked good on paper, and since my Mom was going to be right beside him (and he was carrying a gun), my Dad signed on. They agreed to put the plan into action the following night.
They reconnoitered the subsequent evening on the front porch just as the sun began to dip below the hills. Mom stepped outside carrying the big flashlight, and behind her came Dad. He was carrying the shotgun, alright, but he also had on his hunting vest, with enough ammo strapped on it to defend against a native uprising!
“This can’t be good!” I whispered to my brother, Bo, as they headed off to the hen house. I had declined their invitation to watch the ambush, electing instead to stay on the porch and ‘watch the young uns’. Mom and Dad eased into the enclosure, latched the gate and settled down to wait. Minutes began to tick by, and I was about ready to go watch TV when I heard the chickens begin to squawk and flail about. In the waning light I watched my parents glide noiselessly to the henhouse doorway. My Dad gave my Mom the nod, and she sprang into action. In a move that would have made Rambo proud, my Mom jerked the henhouse door off its hinges and jumped inside and to the right, as planned. She whipped the flashlight up and the yellow shaft of light caught the black culprit, oozing his way up the plank that the chickens used to reach the nest boxes. Immediately my Dad sprang inside like a tiger, shouldered his weapon – and the flashlight went out.
For what seemed like an eternity, all I could hear over the sound of the shotgun blasts was what seemed to be a young girl’s shrill screams. Then I heard my mother yelling ”For the love of Mike, Randall, stop screaming!” I ran to the hen house just as Mom managed to get the flashlight to come back on. There stood my Dad, white as a ghost and shaking from head to foot, both barrels of the shotgun glowing red in the dim light. There were pieces of chicken bodies everywhere, and the walls of the hen house looked like it was made of Swiss cheese. Evidently when the flashlight went out, my Dad panicked and tried to blast every shadow that moved. My quick thinking Mom had simply froze like a stature, knowing that eventually he would need to reload, and she could have the chance to escape. We helped my Dad back up to the house, and Mom said we would wait until in the morning to survey the damage.
When we returned to the scene of the crime the next day, we found a few survivors, but there was no sign of the snake, not even a scale. The only evidence we found was a thin furrow that was almost burned through the dirt and over the hillside where evidently the snake had shot out to freedom when Dad started blasting away. The remaining hens were nervous wrecks and not a one of them ever laid another egg. In fact, to my immense satisfaction, they wound up in our freezer before the summer was over! The hen house was beyond repair, so my Mom resigned herself to having to use store bought eggs and declared that “We will raise chickens no more forever!”
From that day forth, I have never suffered abuse at the hand of a chicken again. Chicken snake, wherever you are, God bless you!

Kyeli

This is Kyeli. Kyeli is 19 months old. She is Master of All she Surveys. Kyeli’s Mom tries to teach her how to behave, how to share and how to wait her turn. See Kyeli stick her tongue out at Mom. Kylie likes to touch the DVDs. Mom yells “No, no, Kyeli!” Kyeli laughs and knocks the whole BLEEPING shelf over. Kyeli reaches for Mom’s 44 oz. pop. Mom yells “No, no, Kyeli!” Kyeli grabs it and runs into the living room. See Kyeli pour 44 BLEEPING ounces of pop on the couch. Kyeli sees the Kitty sleeping in the corner. See Kyeli holding the Kitty. She is holding it by the throat. Mom yells “No, no, Kyeli!” See the Kitty try to slice Kyeli like a block of cheese. Kyeli puts Kitty down. Kylie goes into the kitchen. She wants to see the garbage. Kyeli finds something yummy to eat in the garbage. Mom yells “No, no, Kyeli!” Kyeli knocks the garbage can over and it spills all over the kitchen floor. See Mom jump up and down. Hear Mom yell ‘BLEEP!”. Hear Kyeli say “BLEEP” just like Mom did. “I’ve had it!” Mom yells. Mom starts running towards Kyeli. Just then Papa comes in the front door. He has been at work all day. See Kyeli run to her Papa. Run, Kyeli, run! Papa scoops up his little Kyeli. Mom is cursing. Kyeli is jabbering. Papa asks what is wrong. Mom and Kyeli start yelling and pointing at each other. They are telling Papa! Papa says ‘oh, no, not my little Kyeli!’ Mom says ‘Your BLEEP-ITY BLEEP it was Kyeli!’ Kyeli starts to cry. She lays her curly little head on Papa’s shoulder. Papa melts into a puddle of ooze. “I give up.” Mom says. She goes out on the porch for a smoke. Papa puts Kyeli on the chair. Kyeli grabs his glasses out of his pocket. Before Papa can get the glasses, Kyeli breaks them in two. She smiles up at her Papa. Papa just smiles back and pours a glass of scotch. “Let’s sit here by the window and wait for Nana!”

Large Families and Bathrooms

We have a huge family, and only one bathroom: mornings at our house are such joy! Paul likes to get up early and get in there first, with me next in line. Some mornings we jump in the shower together, much to the horror of the teenage grandson Zac. But it conserves water, and it's fun - besides, I can't reach my own back - duh! But nearly every week, somebody gets walked in on! It usually happens early, when we are still half asleep. We do keep a supply of battery acid on hand to wash eyes out with, but the damage to the psyche cannot be so easily undone. The screams from the walk-in-er plus the screeches from the walk-in-ee can be heard for miles! Seeing Nana trying to pull up her girdle can send grandkids and sons-in-law into convulsions, but Paul is trained in first aid, so we have had no casualties yet. When 14 year old Zac stumbles in on someone, his reaction is as if he has been hit by a truck: he falls backwards, retching and screaming, and tries to claw his way across the kitchen floor to safety. But has he learned to knock first? Nnoooo, not at all! He just keeps barging in, and then, of course, I catch him standing over the stove, trying to gouge his eyes out with hot spoons. And you can't come in while someone is in the shower, because we have the clear glass shower doors. Now THAT is a horror all its own - wrap your mind around this image: a blurry, steamy outline of a shapeless, overweight grandma, stringy wet hair, love handles the size of New Hampshire, covered in bubbles and singing at the top of her lungs, usually bent over trying to retrieve the bar of soap.... hey, that even makes ME gag, and I see it every day!! So, the morale of the story is - minimum of 2 bathrooms per each Eytchison Household!!

the truck

We have decided to sell the truck. Now, this is the really old truck, the’ project’ truck, the one we got for a song and were going to fix up, paint, all that… the truck that we never actually got to run, and got a notice from the city for having a ‘junk vehicle’ parked in front of the house for…
Anyway, Paul says ‘I think I am going to sell the truck. I am going to take pictures of it this afternoon and put it on that ‘List ‘web site and see if I can get $500 for it.’ ‘Sounds good – but if you are posting pictures, what are you going to do about all the trash in the back?’ The idea was that when we DID get the truck running, our Maiden Voyage would be to the local Landfill. Of course, that plan was made 2 years ago. So the truck – which has a REALLY BIG bed! – has bags of leaves, dead rose plants, weeds, old fencing, decaying decorative bark, and a Christmas tree … from 2009 …all stacked neatly in the back.
‘Be sure to put ‘$500.00, AS IS!’ in the ad’ I said.
‘But what if they want the garbage dumped first?’
‘Then the price is $700…. we may have to haggle.’
Paul cursed loudly and shook his fist in the air. He is good at a lot of things, but haggling ain’t one of them. I can hear the conversation now..
PAUL: ‘Yep, it’s $500 - AS IS.’
PROSPECTIVE BUYER: ‘What about the garbage?’
PAUL: ‘Well .. ah, we … that is –‘
PROSPECTIVE BUYER: ‘And the thing don’t even run! How are we gonna get it home, push it?’
PAUL: ‘Ha ha.. I, ah .. you see, the thing is ..’
PROSPECTIVE BUYER: ‘And who is gonna pay for the tags? And the dump bill?! Come on!’
PAUL: ‘Look - how much is it gonna cost me for you to haul the BLEEPING thing outta my yard?’
Stupid truck – never really liked it anyway…

My Husband

My husband is easily flustered! One day we were driving down the road and I asked 'Do guys like long hair?' 'Wha..? What do you mean?' he replied. 'Just what I said - do guys like long hair?'. Paul swallowed hard and his eyes darted around the dashboard, as if seeking a sign. After a moment of nervous silence I asked him 'What's wrong? Why won't you tell me?' He glanced at my short hair and blurted out 'Is that a trick question?"....
The other night we were watching a progam about Alaska on the nature channel. Paul said 'If I ever have to get away, that is where I would go.' 'What do you mean by that?' I asked. He laughed nervously 'Ahh.. nothing.. just..aackgh!' 'So, let me get this straight' I continued. ' If you ever go out for a pack of cigarettes and don't return, I should look for your sorry BLEEP in Alaska?'
Paul jumped off the couch and ran out of the room, sputtering like an outboard motor. I promised him when we got married that I would only use my power over him for good - but I lied!

The Scrounge

I have 3 or 4 friends that I have kept since childhood (that are not incarcerated): The Scrounge is one of them. Since we were children, Scrounge would pop up on my doorstep, trying to lure me into one of her schemes of debauchery. Being the Model Citizen that I am, I always tried to resist The Scrounge's attempts to lure me away from home and hearth, but I would usually gave in, and off we would go. Part of her allure was that The Scrounge was always so sophisticated, wearing this one beautiful red jumpsuit .. for about 7 years, with Hair & Makeup at perfection every day. I would brush teeth and hair, wash my face, & be ready to roll at 10 AM - Scrounge would still be troweling on makeup at 1! (If I has only purchased stock in Maybelline back then!) But even though we seemed outwardly Sophisticated and Modern, we were often so broke we could not afford to pay attention. In fact, most of our Adventures were centered on 'making enough money for smokes and diapers', which we were constantly in need of. We tried Home Decorators, but they had security escort us from the party. Then we were going to strip tobacco, but no one would hire us, because we looked too shifty and had a carload of kids and dogs screeching the driveway. (For years our attempts at employment were never successful, till someone told us to leave the kids someplace and not park our car where possible employers might see it.) Then one day we hit on it - we would have a yard sale at The Scrounge's parents house! I had only been in the house twice, because any friend of Scrounge's must be ,, up to no good. Anyhow, we loaded up everything we could find in my station wagon and got ready to make some cash! Our big money maker was this roll of green carpet - can't remember where we got it, but it was HUGE, and weighed a ton! We finally managed to roll it up and tie it to the top of the car and headed into Bowling Green to Mom's house. At the time, we had to drive thru the unsavory part of town, with thugs on every corner, eyeing us as we sped past, drool dripping off their chins at the sight of 2 Sophisticates and their Nifty Carpet. We made it in record time, and began to unload our treasures - then it dawned on us - no carpet!How we could have lost half a ton of neon shag carpet is a mystery to this day, but the Scrounged swore later that 8 square blocks of 'bad side of the tracks' had new carpet in every room, including dog houses. Anyway, since ciggs were only, like, $1 a pack, we were able to scrap up enough to make it thru the weekend.. which gave us 7 days to figure out next weeks scheme! :-)

Chase's 18th Birthday Party

It was Chase’s birthday! The Fourth of July had come & gone, which meant it was time for us to celebrate the occasion of Chase’s birth! Usually birthdays in our family are fun, but nothing mind boggling. However, this was different: it was Chase’s 18th birthday!!
We commandeered a big, shady spot at the park & every family member hauled in their bar-b-que grills, lawn chairs, soccer balls, etc. I have 6 children, and at this time of life they are all grown, so they don’t actually HAVE to have Mom on the scene to arrange a family get-together – they just have to wait until after the parole board meets to set the date. By the time I arrived at the park most of the family was already there & a spot was reserved for me in the deepest shade. The boys had nestled a small cooler under my chair with the most delightful lemon-aid I have ever tasted, concocted by some guy named Mike. Man, that stuff hit the spot!
The kiddos immediately began to run around like banshees, knocking over stuff, climbing tree limbs, etc., basically wreaking havoc on man, beast & crop. Chase’s older brothers were manning the grills & his sister & sister-in-law were laying out the rest of the feast. The gift table was starting to pile up as we patiently awaited the arrival of the Guest of Honor.
He finally pulled up with his Dad, my ex-husband Gene, and strolled down the hill while his nieces and nephews tried to climb him like a fence. Uncle Chase may be the baby of the family, but he is 6ft. 5 inches tall and over 200 lbs. (The little ones adore him & swarm him like bees when they see him.) They finally wound up in a ball rolling down the hill to our reserved spot. Chase shook himself loose from all the little sticky fingers and came over to kneel beside my chair.
As I looked up at my handsome, young son a warm glow seemed to course through my veins, and I thought to myself, “This is the best dang lemon-aid I have EVER had.” And I was glad to see Chase, too …
For the next hour or so, we ate, laughed and played, absolutely having a blast together. Then we presented our gifts to Uncle Chase & gathered around him as carefully opened each one. Each gift seemed to be ‘exactly what he wanted’. There was not a happier family in Yakima that day.
As he finished opening his last gift, his father rose to his feet & raised his lemon-aid in a grand gesture. The crowd grew silent, watching Dad gently swaying in the breeze.
“Son,” he began,” I’m going to tell you something that my father told me a long time ago.” Chase turned adoring eyes up to his father and gently wiped a tear away. Gene continued.
“You’re turning 18 today, Chase, and I want you to always remember these words:
... Now you can be charged as an adult.”

Things you do NOT want to hear coming from the next room:

'Don't worry - it will grow back.'
'I won't tell if you don't.'
'Hurry - get some towels!!'
'Open the window and let the smoke clear out!'
'It was like that when I got here - honest.'
'Oh, man - you are DEAD if Mom finds out!'
'Aaagh! Spit it out! Spit it out!'
'YouTube, here we come!'
'Act nonchalant and head straight for the front door.'
'If anyone asks, I've been with you ALL DAY.'
'No matter what, DO NOT let Mom answer the phone!'
'I meant to do that...'
'First we have to get our story straight..'
'Here comes Mom! DELETE! DELETE!'

you might be a country girl if...

.. you can change the oil in your truck as easy as you can a diaper.
.. you have to leave target practice early to make it to choir practice.
.. you think being ‘tied down’ refers to your holster.
.. your idea of a shopping spree is a $50 bill and a ride to Wal-Mart.
.. you have an ashtray in your bathroom.
.. you have art on your wall that says ‘Earnhardt’.
.. your dressiest outfit includes something that laces up.
.. your mama thinks ‘online’ is where you hang the laundry.
.. breakfast is a latte and a Marlboro
.. you get excited when your boyfriend surprises you with scratch tickets instead of flowers.
.. you’d rather go to Home Depot than Macy’s.
.. you have a Black & Decker catalogue on your coffee table. (And some of the pages are marked.)
.. the first thing you asked for when you came out of the Delivery Room was a cigarette.
.. you do your Christmas shopping at the Smoke Shack.
.. you think a balanced diet means the same amount of fries in each hand.

The Cat

We got a new cat about a month ago, from that List where you can Find Stuff. It was kind of a ‘rescue’ thing, because he was about to be evicted. So, we took him in. We named him Rascal, and for the first 2 weeks you have never seen a sweeter little kitten in your life! Purring and cuddling – just a fuzzy little ball of love! But cats have short memories, and he soon forgot that we saved him from a life on the streets. In fact, if you ask him today, he will tell you that he owns the property and we are renting from him! He terrorizes our Lab, Nemo and makes sliced cheese of anyone he can pounce on! And that sucker is fast! He is just a black blur, shooting across the living room like a missile and landing claws first on my ankle. And heaven help you if he is sleeping in the corner of the couch and you sit down close to him – YIKES! He turns into a fur covered chain saw, and will tunnel a hole right through your @$$ in the blink of an eye! But we have discovered his weak spot – water! He does NOT like to get wet! When we toss him in the bath tub, somehow he lands on the tips of his claws and seems to be able to almost hover for a second, till the rotors in his paws kick in. Then he is like one of those swamp boats with the huge fan on the back, just skimming the surface of the water till he can hook a claw on dry ground (or human flesh) and escape. I avoid him like the plague, but my grandson, Zac, adores him, so I guess he is staying … as long as he doesn’t raise the rent again.

It seems like my family has a lot of heart to heart interaction in the bathroom. When my kids were little they would love to sit in the there and talk to me while I was doing my morning routine. They would perch up on the counter beside the sink and watch intently as I washed my face, brushed my teeth, etc. Now it’s the grandkids that press their little faces close to mine, checking to make sure Nana doesn’t miss a spot when she flosses.
My grandson Zac had spent the night, and when my alarm went off the next morning, he hopped out of bed, too. I had my coffee and my meds (can’t forget those!) then got dressed. As I headed into the bathroom Zac followed close behind me and took his customary spot. I brushed my teeth and washed my face – the usual stuff – then began to apply a creamy lotion to my clean face. Zac picked up the lotion bottle and began to read the label out loud. “Anti-Wrinkle Cream” Zac looked at the bottle, and then peered up into my face for a moment. Then he snorted and held the bottle up.
“This stuff doesn’t work.” He flatly declared. “You still have wrinkles.” I made a swipe at his backside but he slid off the counter, out of reach.
“Look, Smart-Alec, did you ever think how many wrinkles I would have if I didn’t use that stuff?” I leaned close to the mirror to apply my lipstick. I could see a dawning look of comprehension creep over Zac’s countenance as the weigh of what I said sank in.
“I never thought of that!” he said in a hushed voice. He plopped back down on the countertop next to the basin. I straightened up and brushed off my clothes. Then I walked to the bathroom door, softly pushing it shut. A slight smile spread across my glossy lips as I leaned back on the door, blocking any chance of escape. Slowly I began to roll up my sleeves.

“Hey Zac – ever had a swirlie?”

You know you have a GREAT husband...
1. When he shows up at your office, unannounced, in the middle of the day, to bring you ice cream!
2. When he makes you laugh so hard you nearly pee your pants!
3. When he ALWAYS opens doors for you, and teaches your grandsons to do the same.
4. When you take him shopping, and he is the one who bounces the all balls, tries on all the sunglasses and rides on the basket like it's a carnival ride.
5. When he laughs at the same dumb stuff you do because he 'gets it'.
6. When you hear him praying for you, by name, at night.
7. When he tells you that you are 'hot' - even though you are over 50! :-)
8. When he wants to hold your hand,even when you are just sitting on the couch.
9. When your grandkids tell you that he is the 'best Papa in the world'.
10.And when his kisses still make your heart beat fast!