Bobble Head Dog

Matty and Noah

Maddy and Emilee

Going through some old papers yesterday, I found one on which I had written funny things my oldest granddaughter Madelynne said when I was tending her every day for a couple of years when she was about 2 – 3 years-old.  Back then (even only seven or eight years ago), cell phones didn’t have texting or cameras, so I had to manually write down the things I wanted to remember to share with her mom and dad.  For example, one day she kept saying she wanted to watch “Pokeybononio” and I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about (all I could think of was 'Pokey Little Puppy' but that received as resounding, "No! Pokeybononio!).  She finally told me it was in the diaper bag.  When I checked, I found the movie, “Pinocchio”.  (Of course! Silly Gramma!)   Another day she was running up and down the hallway and laughing hysterically.  When I asked why she was laughing, she said, “I just laughing!” and continued on her way.  Wouldn't that kind of joy be great?

          Last night, at the ripe old age of ten, she was tickling Noah and he was laughing hysterically and she laughed and said to me, “I just love to make him laugh like that.”  Oh how far we’ve come...

          Emilee, my other granddaughter, at age 4, (whose parents are no longer a couple) saw a picture of her mother at my house and said in surprise, “Hey, you know my mom?”

          Matthew, her twin brother, the quiet grandchild, laid me on the floor laughing when we went to a 3-D movie a few weeks ago and he kept earnestly reaching out and trying to touch the figures on the screen.  I guess that’s the purpose of 3-D movies, but it sure was funny to watch.

          These days, I tend Noah, age 3, while his mom goes to school and his dad works.  He is talkative and has a great vocabulary for his age.  He is being raised in the age of interactive educational programming.  Almost every cartoon he watches has characters who ask the viewer questions and then wait for their answers.  After an adventure, Dora the Explorer will ask, “What was your favorite part?”  She stands and listens, then says, “I liked that, too.”  Noah answers Dora and Mickey Mouse and the Umizumi kids and every other character on these shows.  The other day, a trash bag commercial came on that said, “Don’t get mad. Get ‘Glad’!”  Noah responded, “I’m glad!” 

          I am thrilled that these kids have overcome the genes that their grandfather and I contributed, which, no surprise, everyone knows are from the shallow end of the gene pool.  And one of us contributed genes from the really scurvy end.  (I’ll let you figure that one out.  Hehehe!) 

          Now this is where the title of this piece comes in…

          As their grandmother, I feel like a Bobble Head Dog in a car window, shaking my head in amazement as I watch their growth, their interaction with each other and their lives whizzing by me.  (I felt this way with their fathers, too.  Time flies, as they say…but it is moving much faster nowadays.)

          A few days ago, I heard Noah’s quiet, but plaintive cry, “Gramma, can you get me out?”  I looked over and he had wrapped himself in the vacuum cord until he couldn’t move, so I had to go untangle him.  Of course, he wasn’t in any danger (I had been watching him out of the corner of my eye.) so I took a picture first. 

Hog-tied and ready for butcherin'

I guess some of those shallow genes may still be floating around.

How's YOUR Morning Going?

Aways stretch before exercising...

I got out of bed this morning with energy, radiance and the power of accomplishment. "Today is the day!" I thought. Got dressed in sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt and walked to the gym at my apartment complex to use the treadmill (walking around WalMart involves stopping and starting, so it doesn't really count as 'exercise', although if I see something I want, I can get a little cardio going).

The treadmill was already on, so I made sure the little red emergency stop string was by my hand, I stepped on, pushed the start button and, literally, got thrown off the thing.  (Just like on "America's Funniest Videos!  Where's a camera when you need it?)   Apparently the last person who used the treadmill was running - REALLY running - like bill collectors were chasing her.  I sat there for a moment (I missed landing on the Yoga mats by this ' ' much), assessing the damage and didn't find anything broken, so I stood up (after sending up a small prayer that I'd be able to...).

Kudos to me for re-adjusting the speed and getting right back on!  I walked for almost 12 minutes and it started going really fast again!  This time I was savvy enough to put my feet on the side runners that don't move and stop it before I was thrown off again!  God has a way of sending us signals when it is time to stop certain activities.

I am home now, eating a bowl of comfort oatmeal w/maple syrup (sugar-free), after neosporin-ing my scraped knees, elbows and left pinky finger (yeah, I don't understand that one, either...).  My knees are bruising and I already have a HUGE bruise on my ego, but I swear, as soon as I can move again, I'm gonna go to WalMart and walk around.

I swear to you, this is exactly how it happened…

As I got in the checkout line at Walgreens, there in front of me were two real-life cowboys.  (And, believe me, I’ve lived here long enough to be able to tell real from play-acting…)

The first one was 40-ish and mildly attractive, but the young one was mid-20’s, 6’4”, blue-eyed, white-shirted, form-fitting jeans-wearing, brown broken-in-Stetson-sporting, just stepped out of a Western movie-looking hunk o’ pretty.

I said, “There’s nothing I like more than seeing a couple of good-looking cowboys in my neighborhood.”

The young one smiled and began to blush (Did I mention adorable?).  I said, “Now you go home and write on your facebook that an old, fat woman in Walgreens said you’re good-looking.”

He honest-to-goodness tipped his hat, gave me a little wink and said, “I don’t do facebook, ma’am.  I do face-to-face.”

Then he turned on his bootheel and followed his companion out of the store, leaving me standing there with a stupid grin plastered all over my face.

So, what did I do?  Came home and posted this on MY facebook and wrote a blog about it! 

Yippie Ki-Ay, Baby!

"Let me 'splain. No, ees too much. Let me sum up." Inigo, from 'The Princess Bride'

Normal Potassium Levels for 'Normal' People

I love the above quote.  And I will try to 'sum up'.  But some explanation is needed, so I will try to be brief and, um, tactful...

Things had been strange around here.  It started with exhaustion, nausea and diarrhea (sorry to be so blunt, but it's an important point) a few months ago.  My doctor diagnosed me with gastroparesis - paralysis of the vagas nerve in my stomach from diabetes (I had been gambling with my health!  Get it?  Vagas nerve, gambli...never mind.).  I argued with her - really, I did - and on subsequent visits I asked her if she was positive that was the reason for the nausea and, well, you know.  She always said yes with a slightly condescending look as if to say 'Who's the doctor here?'.

On March 23, 2011, I was tending Noah, and suddenly vomited.  (Again, sorry to be so graphic.)  I had a doctor appointment for the next day just as a follow-up for some bloodwork from a few weeks earlier and instead of cancelling it (as I often do...) I kept it.  I thought I had a bad case of stomach flu and wanted her to fix it.

At the doctor's office on Thursday, March, 24, they repeated some bloodwork because I complained to the doctor's resident-in-training that I was still nauseated and had, well, again, you know...  She ordered more bloodwork than what I had been scheduled for earlier.  As I sat waiting for the phlebotomist I got weaker and weaker and by the time my name was called, I literally had to be helped from the chairs to her lab. (I had been weak like this at home, too, but each time it happened I just fell back onto the sofa and tried again.)  She told me after she had drawn my blood (that sounds completely different than what she really did...), that they would have the results Monday or Tuesday.

Friday morning, watching Good Morning America, my phone rings with a frantic call from my doc's office.  My friend, Kathleen the Nurse, told me my potassium levels were critical - more than double the normal level - and they wanted me to have my blood re-drawn as quickly as possible.  To make a long story short (yeah, too late, I know...) I was rushed to the hospital and admitted immediately.  Apparently I didn't have the flu...

All of the symptoms I had been exhibiting for over 2 months, were because my potassium levels were fluctuating and finally became critical and I was in complete renal failure (meaning my kidneys had quit working for those of you who aren't 'hospital-lingo-savvy').

Within an hour of being admitted, I was in Interventional Radiology having a stent put into my jugular vein (THAT was fun...) so they could put me on dialysis to remove the potassium and other not-so-healthy stuff from my blood.

Miraculously (and no, that isn't a euphemism), it took only two sessions of dialysis for the potassium levels to return to normal.  According to the nephrologist (kidney doctor), this is an unheard of short time.  They thought I would have to be on dialysis for several weeks.  My original potassium level was 8.4 and the nurses told me they had seen patients die from levels at 7.9.  THAT made me think!

Now, let's re-cap the miracle 'sum up', shall we?  Because I thought I had the flu, I kept my scheduled doctor appointment (and trust me, I cancel more than I go...).  Because I saw my doctor's resident instead of my doctor, extra bloodwork was ordered that showed the critical potassium levels and no, it would NOT have shown up in the originally ordered bloodwork.  Because I had been so sick on Wednesday (and continued to be so), Scarlett got someone else to tend Noah for Friday, leaving me free to be rushed to the hospital.  Because my two oldest sons, Lucas and Stephen (Jared didn't know at the time), both posted my condition on Facebook almost immediately, prayers were being sent up on my behalf before I even had my first session of dialysis. (Thank you all.)  Because I still have something to complete here on this side of the veil, I was made well in the shortest time the doctors had ever seen. I count a miracle-minimum of five.

So, if any of you have any idea of why I am still here and what I need to complete before being allowed to go see my mom and dad on a permanent basis, I'd appreciate the input.  I have a couple of ideas, but they seem kind of lame, compared to the miracles that kept me here.  By the way, the nausea and, um, other stuff, are gone and my vagas nerve seems to be fully functional.  And, yes, I tactfully kept my comments to myself and didn't lambaste my doctor about this.  (This is called a 'humble brag'. Hehehe...)

I added this picture of Inigo just 'cause he's so good lookin'.  And he sings great, too, in real life...

Fezzick (Andre the Giant) Inigo (Mandy Patinkin) and Vizzini (Wallace Shawn)

Foodie Gifts for Christmas ( OR All I Want for Christmas is Food!)

When looking for homemade food gifts to give for the holidays, I found a terrific website by two sweet young women, Kate and Sara.  The site is called Our Best Bites: Tips, Tricks and Tastes from Two Real-Life Kitchens.  Click on the title above to be taken to their recipe index or the box in the right-hand column to be taken to their home page.  You won't regret it.

They have some wonderful gift ideas - some new, some tried-and-true - but what caught my eye were the unusual recipes they had posted, such as No Yeast Sweet Rolls with Cinnamon or Orange Filling.  This recipe uses cottage cheese and buttermilk - not something each of us necessarily keeps on hand all the time, but, worth the purchase for these delicious, tender breakfast rolls.  Plus, they bake in only 20-25 minutes and are best served warm and soft right after you drizzle on the Orange Glaze (or the powdered sugar glaze if you make the cinnamon type).  Of course, there won't be any leftover, anyway, so you needn't worry about storing them.   The girls found a glass pie plate was the best baking dish.  (It is hints like this that make this site unusually helpful...plus there are LOTS of photos showing the steps for each recipe.)

These might be a fun gift to deliver warm to your neighbors on Christmas morning if you can keep your family from gobbling them all up!

Generosity

"…We have two hands. One is for helping ourselves and the other is for helping others."
                                                                             - Audrey Hepburn, Actress and UNICEF Ambassador

Generosity is giving freely without expecting anything in return. As the quote above states, we have two hands and we should give as much as we get. Most of us don’t have a problem helping ourselves. We have learned to take care of ourselves and our responsibilities. Often, the difficult part is finding time to help others.

Putting change from a purchase at the store into the plastic bin for whatever charity or person is on the label, writing a check to a charity, putting a few dollars in the Salvation Army Christmas pot while Santa rings his bell – those are the easy things and make us feel better about ourselves. But what of generosity of spirit? This requires a little more effort.

Take a couple of hours this holiday season to truly give…

• Knit or crochet some warm scarves or hats and donate them to a local homeless shelter.  You just sit around in the evening watching television anyway, why not keep your hands busy?

• Bring your child or a friend to a soup kitchen to serve a meal or two. (Always involve your children when you can.)  Childre learn what they live.

• Find a family whose Christmas might be incomplete and give them an anonymous gift certificate for a full meal from a grocery store or for a toy store or a clothing store (but don’t disappoint a child with only clothes!). Taping an envelope to a door, knocking loudly and running is more fun than licking an envelope and sticking a check in the mail!

Take notice of how you feel afterwards. Your heart will be beating fast and the smile on your face will be difficult to erase.

This is true generosity and it requires two hands to accomplish but you will want to hold onto the feeling you get inside with both hands, too. Your spirit will be filled with joy and you will look forward to doing it again and again.

More Brutal Honesty

Three posts for the price of one!  Such a deal!  Each of these posts is quite personal, although not very funny, which you know I try to be as much as possible.  Just in a serious mood, I guess.  Thanks for reading!  


I am addicted to chocolate. It isn't a secret. I like chocolate alone or chocolate with peanut butter. No dipping fruit in it. No nuts. No wafers or caramel. No self-pity. No claims of victimization. No denial. No need for a 12-step program. It is an addiction I am fully willing to live with and indulge in for the rest of my life. Do I somehow believe the addition of peanut butter makes chocolate healthier? I'm sure it doesn't. Although I don't think it hurts, either. I am past trying to trick myself into believing it helps qualify it as health food, though.

I have read everything that has come my way about chocolate's addictive chemicals and the reactions they cause in the brain and the body. I have also read how it helps and that it has health benefits. Sugar and white flour are more damaging and don't have any health benefits, so I am avoiding those quite well, with the exception of the sugar contained in chocolate. Maybe that will compensate a little. And if it doesn't? Oh, well... Everything in moderation, right? That is the healthiest way to eat or indulge in anything. I no longer eat several candy bars in one sitting. I have adopted a moderate, middle-of-the-road attitude. If you have a similar addiction or just want to try something new, check out the recipe attached to the photo above. Trust me, you won't regret it.


I don't know what your opinion is of Michael Jackson, his music, his Neverland Ranch, the public accusations or the strange way he seemed to live his life. Even if you did not watch the tribute to him today, if you hear his beautiful young daughter's words, through her tears, it will break your heart. I pray that these children will be able to live a more normal life than their father was afforded at the same age. I pray that they had a relationship with him that the news reports and controversies cannot damage. I pray that his music will live on and that the difference it made in many hearts will continue.

Separate the media reports of his personal life from his music and you have an unforgettable legacy left to the world. If you can't find it in your heart to do this, listen again to the anguish and love in 11-year-old Paris Michael Katherine Jackson's voice and give a little credit to him for loving his children so much and hope that your children will be able to express that much love when you pass.





Until six weeks ago, I had gum disease. Yep. Time to make this confession, as embarassing as it feels. According to Prevention Magazine diabetes can cause this, and because of the gum disease, the diabetes worsens. It's a two-edged sword. About two weeks ago, I began experiencing extremely low blood sugar episodes each afternoon. Average blood glucose levels are 80-120. Mine was 43. It made me dizzy, sweaty, shaky and a little scared. For the life of me I couldn't figure out what was happening. It had been about a month since my dental surgery, but I didn't think to connect these two things. Then, providentially, I happened upon the Prevention Magazine article on gum disease and it's effects on glucose levels and I began to monitor my blood sugar more diligently.

A few months ago, I would awake with a glucose level of 250 and would have to take an insulin injection and oral medication before breakfast and at least twice more daily to lower it to a more normal number. Now, after dental surgery ended the gum disease, my glucose levels when I wake are 150. That is a HUGE difference. All the because I no longer have gum disease. Unbelievable! This needs to be broadcast to every diabetic everywhere! I couldn't be happier about this and, of course, my medical doctor is pleased, too. Now, as long as I stay off sugar and white flour (except the sugar in chocolate, of course...) and continue to lose weight, I may turn this diabetes around. Plus, I have a really pretty smile now! [Oh yeah, I have lost 73 pounds in the last year. Even that didn't change my blood glucose levels as much as the dental surgery! I have that much weight to still take off, but I'm on my way. WooHoo!]

*Click on the photos above to be taken to the links about them.

Looking for Mr. Leftover

I would like to marry again someday, but there are certain criteria that he must meet. This is the ad I am considering posting under the title:



Brutally Honest SWF

SWF, age 56, looking for a male companion with the possibility of marriage. Must be over 6 feet tall, with hair or not, like movies, steak, and chocolate. He should enjoy cooking and cleaning with a partner occasionally and be willing to eat out a couple of times a week. He must have used National Geographic for his erotica, not Playboy, and must be willing to accept a female body ravaged by time, three pregnancies, genetic disorders (i.e. diabetes, high blood pressure, thinning hair) and a tendency toward obesity. He must appreciate and have a sense of humor, be able to laugh at himself and have a kind heart. He must like grandchildren - his own and mine - and be willing to spend time with them every so often. Thank you for your consideration. Under age 55 need not apply.

What do you think? Will I get any takers? I am not willing to lower my standards, so please don't ask. If you know a single man like this, please give him my phone number.

Biology and Brains

I am now in my second 8-week session of online college courses at Grand Canyon University.

My first session classes were Communication Theory and Biology.

Yes, Biology.

You can stop laughing now, although I understand why this would be the first response most of you would have. Just wait 'til I have to take math.

When I was in 8th grade (in the middle part of the last century), Algebra was introduced into our school curriculum. After a few weeks of my struggling in the class, the teacher, Mr. Bradley, took me into the hall and said, "Some girls can't do math or science. Just do your best and I will give you a passing grade." I never had another problem in math or science (literally!), even in high school. Mr. Bradley must have spoken with the science teacher, Mr. Davis, because he let me off easy, too. Or, maybe a note was put into my permanent record!

Yes, I am one of the women who was judged by my gender to be unable to learn math and science. Sadly, I seem to be perpetuating that myth to this day, but these 'modern day' teachers won't give me a break. (Dang it!) When I see my 8-year-old granddaughter struggling with math, it is all I can do to not make excuses for her. To this day, I don't know if my problem really was an inability to comprehend and learn it or if I was just written off and I believed it. Either way, I am still not good at math or science to this day.

The first biology lab required that we grow 12 green bean plants - 3 each under 4 different colored plastic filters for 5 weeks, then write a report. That was a cinch. The labs got progressively more difficult, though. To the point where we had to go by written directions (no visuals), take clay and yarn, put them together in different configurations to explain meiosis, mitosis, genetic traits and how they are passed from generation to generation.

The textbook was even more difficult. Don't get me wrong, I could read the words. It was just that when you put them together, they made no sense whatsoever. "A certain mutation in E. coli makes the lac operator unable to bind the active repressor. How would this affect the cell?"

See what I mean?

Individually, the words aren't that difficult, but in sentences, they are like Greek or Russian or some other equally difficult-to-learn language.

The Communication class was great. I had to write a paper each week and respond to discussion questions on the classroom site. If there is one thing I can do, it is talk - even in writing.

I think I did okay with that class... Turns out the teacher, who lives in Tennessee, is LDS, too. We kind of bonded. When one of the students began 'going off' on Mormons, she stepped in and talked about having "what Mormons call a Quad" on her bookshelf and that "they" use the King James version of the Bible along with their Book of Mormon. Of course, no one but an LDS member would recognize or use the term 'quad' when referring to the scriptures. When I called her on it in a private email, she laughingly confessed. Now that the session is over, we've become friends.

So, now I'm taking New Testament. GCU is a Christian college and religion classes are required. My religion classes from Ricks College (where I attended just after the Beatles broke up) transferred for credit, but they didn't fulfill all the religion requirements at GCU. Instead of the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible, they use the NIV (New International Version). One of our first assignments is writing a paper about 'John the Baptizer'. This should be interesting... Hehehe...

I am also taking The Arizona Constitution class. The teacher is apparently a stickler for honesty, which isn't a problem for me, but all of her students are required to submit their papers to a plagiarism-checking site when you turn them in to her. So much for the law and being innocent till proven guilty.

A lot has changed since the Jurassic Era...

Charity Never Faileth

"Let your heart feel for the affliction and distress of everyone."

~ George Washington

Suze Orman, financial guru, appeared on Oprah today. She is a no-nonsense expert on personal finance and I almost always agree with her, even when it challenges my own beliefs about money and makes me uncomfortable with the way I handle it. She has been appearing on Oprah for 10 years, as she pointed out on today's show, and took everyone watching to task for not following her advice, which has led to the condition of the economy and the problems we are facing.

People are losing their homes, their life savings and their retirement funds all over the country. If you aren't affected, I'm sure you know someone who has been or will be. I've been listening to news reports and analyses and carefully reading articles on the Internet for the last several weeks, trying to figure out who or what is responsible.

Ms. Orman says that WE - 'Main Street America' as pundits call us (as opposed to the professionals running banks, credit unions, insurance agencies, etc., and especially the current political administration...) - are responsible. We wanted things (i.e. homes, furniture, clothing, etc.) beyond what our incomes allowed and the so-called professionals - especially credit card companies, banks, loan companies - were willing to fund those wants for a price. Oftentimes, our credit scores didn't matter and we were approved in spite of our future ability to pay. Everytime we overextended ourselves and bought merchandise or homes using credit cards or loans, the stock in those holding companies went up and the CEO's at the top of the companies made more money, so, of course, they were more than willing to extend more and more credit. BUT, eventually, it all had to crumble, because, at some point, we found that using one credit card to pay off another, or to pay our mortgage, pushed us further and further into debt and left us with less and less expendable, spendable cash. In the last few months, it has all come crashing down.

This was the most down-to-earth, logical explanation I have heard or read. The word that she used to explain it all was GREED. We all wanted more - from Main Street (again, meaning you and I) to Wall Street. It was the 'American Dream' to have it all and have it all NOW.

Our parents were exponentially more well-off then their parents. They were raised during the Depression and saw their parents struggle just to survive and raise them. Our parents learned the value of work early and worked hard to have what they had. We were raised with nice things and we expected to have those things when we became adults. We didn't see how hard our parents had worked or how long it had taken them to accumalate the things we had and the homes we were raised in. We expected to have all the nice things immediately and we went into debt to achieve it - rarely realizing that this was a dangerous and foolish thing to do. Always with the hope and dream in our hearts that everything would work out all right. Americans are known around the world for our optimism. 'Looking at the world through rose-colored glasses' is a phrase that seems especially coined for us.

The one thing that Ms. Orman said today that I take exception to is that she has no sympathy for those of us in this situation. She has been advising us and warning us for 10 years and because we didn't listen and take her advice, she doesn't necessarily feel sorry for us. I agree with George Washington when he said, "Let your heart feel for the affliction and distress of everyone." This is the true definition of charity, as defined in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary: "a. benevolent goodwill toward or love of humanity; b. generosity and helpfulness especially toward the needy or suffering".

These are challenging times. The financial future of the United States is facing peril and could take a long time to recover. We can't rely on the government to buy our way out of trouble in the future. We have to learn from our mistakes. In fact, to become the most responsible citizens we can, we MUST NOT repeat our mistakes. We can't let this be our legacy to our children. By turning our lives around, it will be an example to them of living responsibly. We have to follow Suze Orman's advice and not rely on credit cards or live above our means. It won't be easy, and we probably won't be as comfortable for a while as we have been. We have to learn to be financially self-reliant.

Friends and family all around us are suffering not just from financial depression but emotional depression. We shouldn't be criticizing each other. We have to support each other. The time for benevolent goodwill toward others is NOW. The one thing we must have for each other is charity, because "Charity never faileth".

Busy Month

August is almost over. Since the wonderful rainstorm we had last night, the temperature was only 99 degrees today! WooHoo! What a month it has been! Really high temperatures, lots of rain, new jobs for some friends and family and several personal changes, too.

The boys' dad had to come to Arizona for surgery on his foot. He's had peripheral neuropathy in his feet and legs for years and, apparently got a small wound on his foot which didn't heal. He's doing much better since the surgery and the anticipated amputation didn't have to take place. That was a great blessing. He is going to move here in a couple of months, which will be great for the boys to have him near. He and I are at peace with each other, I believe. The final relief came when I heard the adage, "Not forgiving someone is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die." Wow! Deep, huh? It just wasn't worth carrying around all that pain anymore. And, to be honest, much of that pain was self-inflicted. Habits we acquire during marriage are often carried forward into singlehood and prevent our healing and progression until we examine them.

My mother told me, right after my divorce was final, that it would take half as long as the marriage lasted to be ready to move on. (Half of 22 years is 11, which comes to last year.) I have no idea where she got this information or if it was inspiration - which wouldn't surprise me, either - but it has proven to be true.

Stephen has a new job starting Thursday. Actually, it is the job he left a few months ago so he could pursue work in his chosen area - web development - and they've rehired him to do just that. Apparently there wasn't an opening when he left and there is now...whatever. He got a nice raise and is happy. He'll be able to see the M&M's more now that this semester is over because he doesn't have a Saturday class this time. I hope to have current pics of them to post soon!

Jared has been training with Truly Nolen - he now drives a yellow truck with antennae on it. So funny. He prefers the Volkswagon 'bug' they have painted yellow with large mouse ears and a tail on it. Good advertising for the company to have these vehicles on the streets. He, too, is happy and doing well. Yea!

Lucas and Scarlett are busy raising the Princess Boo and the happy Buddha. It is so wonderful to be near all my grandchildren. I am blessed.

-Long story, short -

My grandson was trying to be a good helper when his dad's cell phone began ringing. MAT tried to bring it to him. Unfortunately, being only age two, he doesn't understand the concept of unplugging the phone from the charger before walking away with it. When he did this, the plug didn't come out of the wall, it pulled the plug-in parts out of the phone, rendering it unchargeable.

I explained to my son, after I finished laughing, that there is such a thing as 'A Mother's Curse' - "May you have children just like you." He didn't quite see the humor. Oh, well...

How many things did your children break throughout their childhood? Is there any point in even trying to count?

I found a website called, "Buy My 'Tronics" : http://www.buymytronics.com/

They actually buy your used and broken iPods, cell phones and game consoles (check their list). Even if they only pay a couple of bucks for each one (and I understand the price is better than that) it beats packing and moving them again or shoving them into a landfill and polluting the earth even more.

-Speaking of moving -

One would think working for a realtor would be advantageous when trying to find a 3-bedroom apartment. Nope. Realtors deal with buying homes, not renting them. So, I'm looking diligently for a place between (or at least closer to...) my oldest son's family and my sister-in-law in East Mesa or North Gilbert. Nothing yet.

I did find something that will make the move itself easier. What is worse than diving into dumpsters behind Fry's or Wal*Mart looking for boxes you can use to pack your stuff? Gross! Costco has the solution. A box of boxes. It ships free - how cool is that? - and has bubble wrap and packing tape included. Nice...

Click on this link:

http://www.costco.com/Browse/Product.aspx?ec=BC-EC6106-ProdID11091124&pos=1&whse=BC&topnav=&prodid=11045692&lang=en-US

-Summertime and the garden is empty -

Some people are actually able to grow gardens here in Arizona. I don't know what they do or how they could possibly prepare this sandy soil for growing anything, but I am craving homegrown tomatoes, warm from the sun. Of course, living in an apartment doesn't help my cause - patios usually aren't even big enough for container gardening. But, I think, when I get moved, I might try this: http//www.answers.com/topic/reviews-of-upside-down-tomato-planter .

Missing the Grandkids

My DIL took her two children - my youngest and oldest grandchildren - to the Midwest yesterday to visit family. They have been out of Arizona for about 36 hours and I miss them like crazy.

My oldest son, DIL's hubby, is flying out there in about 9 days. Till then he has my youngest son as his roommate. Middle son and I went over tonight and I fixed supper for the three of them - pork chops, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, corn-on-the-cob and, to counteract all those starchy, buttery dishes, a green salad. It was all comfort food. The boys loved it. But it didn't comfort me.

I don't remember going to #1 son's house without my grandchildren being there. It felt empty and quiet. My three sons, grown now, don't wrestle each other anymore. They aren't loud or discourteous. They don't argue or disagree. They get along beautifully and I take credit for that - deserved or not. Of course, it was a different story when they were younger. They fought and disagreed like all brothers do. But, they are 'mature' now, and even though they tease me and joke around with each other, there is an underlying respect there that fills my heart with joy. That, and the fact that two of them have given me grandchildren makes me extremely thankful. I think it was P. J. O'Rourke that said, "Grandchildren are our reward for not killing our children." There were times...oh, there were times. But now - peace and love abide. Amazing...

My granddaughter, Miss M, age 7, fills me with wonder. She reads better than I did when I was an eighth-grader! And, The Happy Budda, 7 months, melts my heart with his smiles and thrills me with his laughter and pleasant little personality.

How much will he have changed in two-and-a-half weeks? Miss M told me she missed me on the phone tonight. What new adventures will she have to share with me when she gets home? I can't wait. She becomes so animated when she tells me things.

I can't imagine living far away from them, or Middle Son's twins, age two, MAT and MiMi. The M&Ms are going to Cali for a week in July with their dad and mom and other grandparents. I will miss them just as much, knowing that they aren't a short drive away.

It is good for me, I guess, to experience some separation. If I ever re-marry, will HE want to live here in Arizona or move to Where-The-Heck-Are-We, Montana? Would that be a deal-breaker for me? I guess we'll cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it. Till then, I am going to bask in the love and appreciation I have for my wonderful, bright and precious grandchildren. And I'm going to count the days till they get back here and I can hug them and hug them.

Mmmm...Bacon

I laughed out loud when I saw this cartoon. It is SO true! Craig Ferguson, host of CBS' Late, Late Show, says he was a vegetarian for almost a year until one day he smelled bacon cooking and he quit the vegan life. I can totally relate to that.

There are few smells that compare to bacon cooking. One is coffee perking. I have never had a cup of coffee in my life (believe it or not), but I used to make my dad's sometimes and I loved opening the can of Maxwell House and getting that first whiff of ground coffee, and then, as it percolated in the pot, the smell would permeate the kitchen, and waft through the rest of the house. Mmmm... Good memories. I believe part of the reason I love(d) the smell was because it is so attached to my dad. When I was making his coffee, it meant that he was home from traveling, usually on the weekend. Mom didn't drink coffee, so the house didn't smell of it when Dad wasn't home. Such a sweet association. I still get flashbacks at the grocery store when I walk down the aisle where they have coffee beans and the coffee grinder. Starbucks just doesn't do it. It has to be the freshly ground coffee.

Another smell: burning autumn leaves. I haven't smelled that wonderful, acrid smoke for decades, and probably never will again. Burning leaves like we used to in my youth has been outlawed because of environmental issues. But it was great while it lasted.

Those are some of the smells I recall from my youth. I am much more careful now about eating bacon - knowledge of carcinogens, cholesterol and bad fats have taken some of the fun out of it.

But, ahhh...the memories...

Plan Ahead for Memorial Day

May 26th is Memorial Day. If you are having a get-together with family and friends, as are many of us (Phoenix temperature predicted to ONLY be in the 90s for Monday, after a possibly rainy weekend and 105 yesterday and 110 today), here is a plan-ahead list to jump start the celebration.

Today: Invite your guests and plan your menu.

• Are you going to invite friends and family? Is now a good time for a neighborhood party




• What will you serve?




• Are you going to grill?




• Will you provide all the food or have a potluck?




• What foods are 'outdoor friendly' (a cake with whipped cream frosting is, perhaps, not the best idea)? A large bowl filled with crushed ice with a smaller bowl inside will keep a mayonnaise-based salad - potato, coleslaw,etc. - a little safer outdoors. Where IS that large bowl?




• Does Aunt Opal cook the best baked macaroni and cheese you've ever had? Can your brother fix a terrific pasta salad? If you are going to make potluck requests, call ahead of time to be sure they have enough time to assemble the ingredients and make the dish.




• Do you want to mail invitations or call everyone? It might be little late to use snail mail at this point, but don't wait 'til the last minute to call, either.




• Drinks: soft, hard, or both. Remember that this is one of the holidays when many cities use checkpoints to look for drunk drivers (I know this isn't the politically correct way to say it, but the truth is the truth) so you might want to set an early cut-off point for alcoholic drinks or be ready to offer rides to those who get a little tipsy. A bowl by the front door for everyone's car keys (Make a small sign that says: "Please park your keys here.") is easier than making someone give you their keys if they can get belligerent.




• How much ice will you need? Crushed ice for the large food bowls and the daiquiris, cubes for soft drinks, separate ice cubes for the coolers, an ice ring with embedded fruit for the lemonade, punch or Koolaid bowl, etc. Or try: Counter-Top Icemaker




• Veggie trays and green salads require salad dressings and dips - have a variety of flavors.




• Desserts - what will last outdoors (I mentioned the whipped cream frosting above)? Melon balls, jello cake, fruit pies, etc.




• Go 'green' with your plates and utensils. At least look for recycled paper plates and cups.




• Put out a separate trash container labeled for aluminum cans and/or bottles.




• Will you need citronella candles around the lawn or Tiki torches?




• Do you have folding tables for the food and enough chairs for seating? Rent them or ask friends.




• Will there be swimming, volleyball, badminton, horseshoes, etc.? What needs to be prepared for those activities?




• Last, but not least, utensils, bread machine mixes and gadgets for summer grilling and cooking: The Prepared Pantry
  

And finally, from a terrific blog about planning your outdoor get-togethers, a list of things to do ahead of time:

Rich's Home Blog The stuff that’s not so fun right now but once people are over, you are glad that you accomplished it all:

1. Clean the Grill-Manufacturers recommend that you wipe the exterior of your grill with an all-purpose cleaner, such as Simple Green. And after that our friends at Kalamazoo recommend a degreaser like Goo Gone Spray Gel for any difficult parts, putting in a little extra elbow grease as needed. Don’t forget the inside and check the booklet from your manufacturer for recommendations there. For my old charcoal Weber, I just use SOS pads on the racks, and then rinse them really well. You can also burn off any old grime on the racks.



2. Find your Utensils-Look for the long tools now, my friend. Last minute does not give you time to run to the store if you can’t find one that you need.



3. Mow the Lawn/Weed the beds-No instruction necessary here, right? Don’t forget to let the kids help. Water the flowers too and clean out things from the yard that look like clutter. Don’t forget litter and dog droppings (do this again right before your gathering) too.



4. Clean the House-Especially the bathroom, gathering areas and the kitchen. Divide it up over the next several days so it’s not so daunting and again, the family can help.

This blog is also posted at: http://aznewsblog.typepad.com/az_news/phoenix_quicktime_recipes/index.html

Cause and Effect - Beware!

I went to the doctor yesterday. I've been having some rotator cuff 'issues' in my right shoulder and he volunteered to give me a cortisone shot to help the pain. It has been hurting for a while and has caused some lifting and reaching inability - specifically (I don't want to get too personal, although it is probably too late for that...) when I reach for the toilet tissue in the bathroom. It is an awkward reach to the right and behind and causes a lot of pain. (I know. I know. Waaay too much information!)

As doctors must, he had to recite all of the potential problems this shot could cause. None of them dire but one - the shot could cause some dermatological pigmentation problems. In other words, the area around the injection site may not TAN as well as the rest of me, or it may tan DARKER. Oh, no!!! Well, of course, I refused the shot immediately! What would people think? A woman of my size is acceptable, even with a bum rotator cuff, but only as long as she tans evenly. What were those silly pharmaceutical companies thinking by NOT having a cure for this?
I refuse to walk around the pool (or, however unlikely, the beach) with a spotty tan!

I now have a new cause. I will not accept uneven, unattractive tanning!

Bond with me, Women! Shout it with me: "No more Spots from Shots! No more Spots from Shots!"

In light of this revelation about cortisone shots, we must not take these shots lying down! We must stand up for ourselves. We, as well-rounded women, must not let these shots be accepted with a whimper! We must make our voices heard! Shout! Yell! Cry out!


Well, I imagine some woman really DID cause this to be an issue when she found her tan was uneven and now doctors are compelled to state this 'problem' to prevent being sued. People sue over the silliest things.

I had the shot, my shoulder is already better and I'm considering having cortisone shots for all the other pains I have (does that count for children, I wonder...?).

I am moving back to Mesa, AZ, from Sacramento, CA, next week - around the 23rd of March - so I won't be on here every day for a while. I hope someone cares and is reading these blog entries.

Please let me know, if you have a chance.

Take care, All, and I'll talk to you later...

Love, Karen B-

The Bad Hair Week, Part 2

I get in my car and find myself so distracted by my image in the rearview mirror that I can barely drive. I finally make it home to the safety of my bathroom. Thankfully, my sons aren't here to see me before I can think of an excuse.

I stare at my reflection and try to figure out whom I remind myself of. It has been nagging at me since I got in the car. I know I've seen this hair somewhere. Then, it hits me...

All I need is a tube top, spandex shorts and a doublewide trailer and I am every woman ever interviewed after a tornado. ("Marlene's trailer just up and flew away and she had my good casserole dish!") I am the poster child for 'white trash'.

I am a candidate for 'The Jerry Springer Show': "Evil Hairstylists with Mind Control! Have you been a victim? Call this number to appear as a guest..."

My sons come home and I immediately launch into a ranting explanation about my hair and the evil stylist with her hypnotic coercion. They sense I am unpredictable and on the verge of volatility. Because they value their lives and their freedom, they cautiously smile and pat my arm as they scurry to their rooms.

I call my local beauty supply store and explain what has happened. I'm told I should wait a week, but then I'll be able to tint it at home to a more natural color, something closer to my original shade.

I become a hermit for the next week, leaving home only twice, once to sit in a darkened movie theatre and the other to buy food and the hair coloring kit. I work on a savings plan - the 'Eliminate Pinky Fund'. I am determined to never use a salon coupon again.

Seven long days later, I wait till I'm alone in the house, apply the dye to my hair and sit, listening to the ticking of the timer. No more daydreaming about how I'll look - just fasting and prayer.

I rinse and apply the enclosed conditioner. I rinse again, comb, and blow-dry. I mousse and fuss till I have the right fluff and style, finally standing back to take a hard look in the mirror. At last, I look more like me.

The color is lighter than my own hair, but it is closer to my original shade and the brassy blond streaks have turned into softer highlights.

What a relief! I can have a life again. I can leave the house without a hat and dark glasses.

Once more I wait for my sons to come home. They are my best and worst judges.

When they walk in, I look at them with anticipation. They stare at me questioningly (they are males, after all).

"Notice anything?" I ask, fluffing my hair with my hand.

My fifteen-year-old looks at me a few seconds and says, "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about something."

"Ask away," I say with confidence.

He hesitates, then blurts out, "Is your hair supposed to be cut in a mullet or was that an accident?"

I stare at him in shock for a moment, then hurry down the hall to my bathroom once more. All the worrying and anguish I've had for the last week has been about the color of my hair, not the cut. Had I really been so 'blinded by the bright' that I hadn't noticed Pinky had chopped my hair into that distinctive, 1980's, 'business in the front, party in the back', mullet-style haircut?

I turn my head and angle the medicine chest mirror so I can see my hair from the side. Nooo! This can't be right! It is a mullet. That's why the 'Jerry Springer' look had seemed so familiar! The brassiness of the blond color had overshadowed the style. I had only made a dent in the problem by coloring my hair. I hadn't cured anything.

I open the cabinet drawer that holds my hair stuff and I paw through scrunchies and clippies and elastics and bows. There at the back is what I'm looking for. I pry out the five bobby pins that are stuck to the bottom.

Taking the tails of hair and twirling them tightly around my fingers, I make a 'mini bun' at the back of my head and secure it with the pins. I stare at my reflection from every side, searching for signs of mullet-ness. None. Whew! That's better.

I will have to call and get an appointment tomorrow. I know deep in my heart that I'll probably be disappointed with how it looks, but at least it won't be a mullet, and I'll just have to live with it till it grows out.

Now where did I put those salon coupons...?

The Bad Hair Week, Part 1

"How short do you want it in the back?" my young hairdresser asks my mirrored reflection as she holds the scissors above my hair. She has a zigzag part in her spiked hair. The spikes are tipped with a color just this side of neon pink. The silver rod in her pierced eyebrow catches the light as she looks at me. When she speaks, I see the glint from a tongue ring. Yikes!

"Just to the top of my collar," I answer, hoping she knows where a collar would be, since I'm not wearing one.

The scissors fly in a blur as I close my eyes, determined not to watch. I am resigned. It has been more than a decade since I've had a decent haircut. I've developed the philosophy that, whatever happens, I can live with it 'til it grows out.

There is no one to blame but myself. I am too cheap. I only get my hair cut if I have a coupon, and this severely limits my choice of fine salons.

Someday I hope to be able to go to an expensive hairdresser, sit in his chair and have him say (with a French accent), "Who cut zis mess? It is all wrong for you face. Ve need to trim here and grow here." [He sighs heavily.] "I vill see vot can be done, but I have leettle hope." And then he will perform a miracle and I will have the perfect hairstyle for my slightly heart-shaped, round-ish face, making me look 20 pounds thinner and rich. Someday...

The snickering scissors stop. 'Pinky' (as I've come to think of her) runs her fingers through what is left of my locks and says, "You know, we could frost your hair and that would camouflage all this gray and you'd never even know it's there."

Hmmm... I kind of like my gray hair. I've feel I've earned it.

"Well, I don't know..." I say.

"Really!" She exudes confidence. "It will blend right in and will make you look so much younger! Plus, there's a discount with your coupon."

If I hadn't been so intrigued by the 'look so much younger', I might have been more cautious, but she caught me off guard and then clinched it with the discount coupon.

With enthusiasm, Pinky sets out jars and tubs and a box of aluminum foil. She then starts sectioning, applying whitish goo with a paintbrush and wrapping me in foil until I look like a satellite. She chatters away the whole time about her boyfriend and the concerts they've attended.

Nodding politely at what I hope are appropriate intervals, I begin to daydream about everyone's reactions to the new, younger-looking me:

"Have you lost weight?" They'll ask. "Are you exercising?"

"Have you had a facelift?"

"Are you meditating? You seem to be at such peace."

(And, of course, that's all I really want...a little hair peace... I chuckle to myself.)

Many minutes later, I am brought back to reality as we go to the sink to rinse for five minutes.

"Don't look," she warns when we return to her booth. "Let me get it styled first."

I sit in the chair, facing away from the mirror while she combs and blow-dries and mousses and fusses.

"Okay. Here we go," she says and spins the chair with such force that I almost fly out.

For a couple of seconds, all I see are dark spots and a bright light, then my equilibrium adjusts and I gaze hopefully into the mirror. I'm shocked when I realize that the bright light I saw is my hair. Noooo. That can't be right. I shut my eyes and blink a couple of times, trying to focus. I look closely at my reflection. This is not what I had in mind.

The brassy blond streaks covering my head stupefy me. I open my mouth and realize I've lost the ability to speak. I start to giggle nervously, which Pinky takes as a great compliment.

"I knew you'd love it!"

I can only smile an idiot's smile and walk to the front to pay. I hand her a tip and she beams at me (probably reflecting the light from my head...).

"Come back in about a month and we'll touch it up!" and she waves cheerily as I leave.

To be continued tomorrow...

Reflections on the Dating Game

One of my favorite shows, as a teenager, was "The Dating Game". I would picture myself as the young, debutante-like female asking clever questions and choosing the handsomest, wittiest bachelor on the other side of the screen. (In 1967, an unknown Tom Selleck was one of the bachelors. I could have married Tom Selleck!!!)

Later, I married (and, no, he wasn't the handsomest or the wittiest or the most faithful - but I digress...) and stayed that way for 23 years. One of the reasons we stayed together for so long was because we knew there would be a custody battle:

"You take the kids."

"No. YOU take the kids."

"I'm not taking the kids!"

And so on...

In the end, I got the kids and he got the bird - a cockatiel. We had a cockatiel! I got the kids... he got, oh, never mind.

Anyway, for the last 7 years, I have been mate-less and dateless and I have learned to enjoy it immensely. I don't have to explain my comings and goings. I can stay up late and watch TV or play on the computer. I can clip my toenails in bed (not a good idea even if you sleep alone, I've realized...). I can change my hairstyle without expecting anyone to notice. I can order extra onions on anything I want, 'cause I ain't kissing nobody! It is sooo much fun!

Until today, I had only been approached by one man for a date. He was a 68-year-old widower from my neighborhood in Tooele, Utah, and he had helped install the washer and dryer in my apartment. He came back to my door about a week later and gave me a pamphlet about some miracle juice that helps with weight loss and said he felt he was supposed to ask me out. In shock, and shaking uncontrollably, I told him no, thank you, that I wasn't ready to date yet. Closing the door, I sat on the sofa and had my first anxiety attack. Not long after, I heard he married someone else in the neighborhood. Bless his fickle little heart - I hope she was thin!

My daughter-in-law wants me to find someone to marry. HER mother calls me and suggests different online dating sites, and a friend of mine called to tell me there is a Singles Conference next weekend and that I should go. I'm fine, I tell them. No thanks. I've decided that if Fate wants me to remarry, I'll open my door and there will be someone 6' 8", with a great sense of humor, hundred dollar bills hanging out of his pockets and a letter that names me personally as his bride-to-be. I'm willing to wait.

Today, I called my apartment manager and told her the commode in my bathroom had developed a leak. She sent Maintenance right up.

As the head maintenance man worked in my bathroom, he sent his partner back and forth downstairs to get tools and things. Each time his assistant was gone, he would talk to me about his life and raising two daughters on his own, and how his first four marriages hadn't worked, but he had learned that it wasn't what was on the outside of a woman that mattered (and here he looked at me meaningfully), but what was on the inside. "She has to have a good heart. And I think I'm looking right at her," he said.

Now, let me give you a visual. I am six feet...square (at least for the purpose of this analogy). This thin, little man was at least 12 inches shorter than I - when he stood on his good leg. His fingernails weren't just dirty, they were crusty. His glasses were held together with electrical tape and he had...how can I put this tactfully?...a lingering odor of 'spices' mixed with 'work'. All I could think about was how, if I fell on him, I'd crush him like a clove of garlic.

I admit it. Everyone else is right. I am wrong. If this is what Fate is going to send to my home for my consideration, I have GOT to get out more!

Now, what were the names of some of those online dating sites...?

Cliches and Seam Rippers

I read a sentence the other day that completely justified my lifestyle. Having been disorganized for most of my life, I took delight in it:

"Organized people are just too lazy to look for things."

Not that I need justification. I am an adult. I have outgrown the need for other people's approval. (Until, of course, a visitor needs to use my bathroom and I find myself trying to explain my disorganized piles of organization.)

I recently bought a pewter-colored turtleneck sweater. It is soft and cozy and it matches my gray hair perfectly. But, when I put it on, the tag at the back irritated my neck. Really irritated my neck! It was sewn on with monofilament (clear, almost invisible) thread that scratched my neck even when I didn't move. After several hours of irritation (read patient, not lazy...), and waiting for, I don't know, my body heat to soften the plastic thread, I decided it was time to cut out the tag.

I recently moved. Yes, this is March and my official move-in was November, but these things take time. ANYWAY, I still have a box of Goodwill donations and a few other unpacked boxes stacked in a dark corner of my bedroom. In one of those boxes is a sewing kit left to me by my industrious, seamstress mother, from whom I did not inherit her crafty, textile gene. I offer as proof: I once stapled the hem of my son's too-long tuxedo pants for a choir performance and hot-glued another son's Dracula cape at Halloween. In a nutshell - I do not sew.

I sat for a moment, looking at the neatly stacked, unpacked boxes, wishing I had thought to label them when I moved (Hindsight is 20/20), and trying to guess which one held that rarely-used sewing kit that I know holds a little instrument meant for cutting threads and ripping out seams. Oh, yeah, it's called a seam ripper.

I moved to the other side of my bed (where the lamp is) and thought for a moment. There on the nightstand, reflecting the light, was my makeshift letter opener - a steak knife. Inspiration struck! In a most inventive spasm of ingenuity, I retrieved from my desk an inkless Rapidograph pen. This type of pen has a very fine, almost needle-like point. I put the tip of the steak knife carefully under one of the stitches and cut it and then used the pen point to pick out the rest of them all around the label. It worked! I was very proud. More proud, even, than if I had dug through all those boxes and found that silly seam ripper.

They say that "Necessity is the mother of invention", I say, "Hey, whatever works with the least amount of effort." Same thing.

But, considering the phrase I mentioned in the beginning, "Organized people are just too lazy to look for things", it begs the question: If I'm disorganized AND too lazy to look for things, what does that make me?

Well...I prefer to think of myself as creative, innovative, and an 'outside-the-box' kind of thinker!
(Yeah, well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!)