Introvert? Why Yes I am... Thank You for Asking...

  There is nothing wrong with being an introvert. It is who I am. It is simply a piece of the puzzle that helps create my personality.  I do not think this character trait could be changed for any length of time.  It is in my DNA.  I come from a long, long line of introverts....and that is fine with me. However, this trait, like a rare rock, can be honed and polished to become a little more user friendly. It takes time...lots of time and effort to succeed with this challenge.  Sometimes it is better to leave the rock alone.  Allowing people to be who they really are is better than having a one world, universal personality.

   I need space.  I need quiet and I need alone time.  Without these three factors in my life, I soon become miserable, exhausted and extremely anxious.  Ironically, I married an extrovert...and what a journey we have had. Tommy has cracked my shell  of anxiousness, and in return I have created a home he loves. Tommy and I are more comfortable in our home than anywhere else; all guards are dropped.  In our  home,  he  no longer has to be a people pleaser, a buffer or the center of attention.  We bring out the best in each other. I am his resting place. He is my net and catches me when I fall. Our isolation is tentative;  sooner or later,  we have to walk out the back door and into the public arena. I may have to take a Xanax before the day is over.  He shines for awhile and never shuts up...people pleasing all over the place. I go find something else to do.  Usually a quiet corner to people watch and take notes, or I wander around by myself. I catch up with him later.

   I am at ease talking to anyone in a one on one situation. However, add four or five strangers to this little circle and I begin to back peddle; inch by inch until I am out of the group and breathing once again. I like people but they wear me out. They are too much stimuli for me at times. Needy people drain every ounce of energy I have.  I enjoy listening to other people talk, laugh and have fun. I join in and have a great time for awhile...then when I arrive home,  I need some alone time to regroup...and probably a nap.

    My mind is a very busy place on a quiet day; add a throng of people and I am running on empty before I know it. Writing is a perfect profession for an introvert.  The Internet is a lifeline for people like me.  We can interact with  people without having to be in the same room with them.  When we have had enough...we can log off.

   Ironically, some of my favorite places to people watch are airports, train stations, mental and medical institutions. I am at ease in these crowed spaces, because I know none of them are coming home with me. I can walk away and become invisible in the  crowd once again. That is my ace in the hole, being able to walk away...and be invisible.

   Hell for me,  would be giving a speech to a crowd of people,  or having to feed and entertain thirty people at one time, for an extended stay.  Writing those words makes my heart rate jump.

   I am blessed with a wonderful supportive group of friends and family.  We are filled with little quirks that  mesh with other people's 'little quirks' and personalities.   When we are mixed together we make the best kind of stew. A stew that is seasoned with unconditional love and acceptance...


                                                                   

  

Plant Rosemary for Remembrance...

   My love for reading is second only to my love for writing. I must admit I have an underfed appetite for books, adventure and knowledge.  I read a wide variety of genres. When a new author or a new subject catches my interest, I read every book the author has written. I become so engrossed in their writing that I would know their voice anywhere.  As for the new subject matter; I go to my own form of university Google 101. I dig in and I dig deep. I do not stop researching or reading until I feel comfortable with the new subject.  It is more a pick and choose learning experience than a required reading program.

   Currently I am revisiting my fascination with herbs. I have wandered in and out of this subject my whole adult life.  I enjoy the myths, legends, and truths certain plants hold in our history. I am particularly drawn to Indian remedies and the old western settlers means of survival. These folks were on their own most of the time as far as medical treatment was concerned. Healing practices, potions and proverbs were handed down from one generation to the next. Someone in each family  usually had a special affinity for healing. They are the ones people relied on for help. If their immediate family had been omitted from the healing tree, then their neighbors came to their aid.  Someone, somewhere knew how to handle emergencies...as best they could.

    Years ago my daughters, Lisa, Tami, Melodi and I watched the movie, 'Practical Magic'. We loved that movie. We watched it over and over. All of us can still quote lines from the movie and do the Margarita dance when the moment arises.  My favorite quote in the movie was spoken by Sally Owens.  "There are some things I know for certain: always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder; keep rosemary by your garden gate; plant lavender for luck; and fall in love whenever you can." I am never without rosemary by my back door or a lavender planted somewhere close.

   Shakespeare's character Ophelia says, in a scene in "Hamlet" " There is rosemary, that is for remembrance ."  Earlier this week I received an email about rosemary. It was exalting the fact that inhaling the scent of the rosemary plant actually helps to increase memory retention.  Far be it from me to argue with the Bard or science. I like the idea of sniffing rosemary to increase the memory. It has a woodsy clean smell.  Does it work...I have no clue. In an age where most people are terrified of loosing their memories, I would say a few sniffs a day can not hurt. And while you are at it, plant some lavender for luck...just in case.

Dreaming About Family...

    The postcard on the left was created by Jillian Crider several years ago.  All rights belong to her.  While I was trading postcards with friends all around the world, I purchased this card to trade. I decided to keep the card because it spoke to me then and it speaks to me now. I knew one day I would use this card for something. I had no clue what it would be.

    When I started to write this blog, I searched for a photo to symbolize the essence of the story I witnessed  in my mind's eye.  Nothing I found fit the story I saw in my imagination until I stumbled upon  this card again.  The painting  symbolizes what I remember of my dream. Two empty rocking chairs symbolize the absence of two people I loved very much,  my mother and my brother in law, Bobby. Without words it speaks of their visit  while I slept.

   Tommy and I went to bed late last night. Before turning in for the night,  we checked the weather channel to see what kind of weather conditions would surprise us during the night or early the next morning.  As usual, rain and thunderstorms were in our forecast. Neither of us were worried about the forecast and were soon fast asleep.

   I seldom remember my dreams. I might hold on to a memory for a few seconds after I wake up but my memory of the dreams never last into the afternoon. This dream did. It lingered in the corners of my mind all day. The dream felt almost real. It seemed to last all night, however what I remember is only a few words and images.  I don't remember where the three of us were sitting.  I know Bobby and Mama where sitting up higher than me.  I think I was sitting on a step.  Both of them leaned forward as they talked.  There was an urgency in their voices.  It wasn't fear I heard but cold, hard facts.  Bobby leaned forward with his elbow on his right knee and said, "There is a storm coming...a bad storm.  You need to prepare for it.  There is nothing you can do to stop it.  Just be ready."  I looked at Mama and she told me, "Don't be afraid but be prepared."  Then she smiled and leaned forward to give me a kiss on the forehead.  Instantly they were gone and I was awake.  I lay there for a long time thinking about what I had dreamed. Dreaming about my mother is not unusual. She visits me in my sleep often. However, I can never remember what happens in the dreams. I just know she was there for awhile and then was gone.

   While drinking coffee this morning, I told Tommy about the dream. He stated what I was thinking. We both feel it was an accumulation of thoughts and photographs I had seen during the day. While I slept the thoughts and photos joined forces and created the dream. I am almost sure this is correct...however, somewhere in the back of my mind there is a tiny place reserved for the unexplained events in life.  I think this dream belongs in that place.

   



    

  

Waiting Rooms Resemble Purgatory...

                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               If purgatory exists it must resemble a hospital waiting room...an uncomfortable hospital waiting room.  Each person squirms, while sitting in ill fitting chairs, waiting to meet the man or woman in charge of their fate. Most are impatient  to plead their case and find out their destiny.  Others waiting are anxious and afraid to hear the final results.  The same feelings could apply to the people in my waiting room. Most of us are there for an MRI and an explanation.  Someone, in this hospital,  needs to prowl inside our bodies looking for things the naked eye cannot see or fix.

   As more people enter our waiting room, groups begin to seat themselves according to body heat. There are 5 people who are cold and are bundled up in sweaters and boots. They sit on the left side of the room, far from the door. Straight across from the cool dudes are six people in various  forms of undress. Each one has a magazine they are using for a fan. One young woman has a wet washcloth in her hand; to absorb the sweat running down her neck.  She looks embarrassed. 

     Soon a  middle aged lady, wearing a black dress, stumbled in the open doorway.  Immediately all eyes were on her. All other patients are forgotten. The lady in black has center stage for the next few minutes. She is disheveled, appearing to have dressed in the dark.  She is wearing a long black dress, black leggings, and black felt house shoes. Her hair is long, bushy and died black.  A comb could not penetrate this mane.   She is in pain and could care less how she looks.  Slower than before and limping, she walks to the office window to sign in. That isn't enough help for her. She wants to talk to the receptionist and she wants to talk now.  Quickly she pulls a chair over to the closed window and camps out.  She isn't going anywhere until someone behind the glass talks to her...good luck with that.  Her persistence pays off and the window opens. She explains her plight.  Her speech is loud and at times profane. The lady apologizes and keeps cursing as she talks.  She has a husky, whisky voice...the female version of Sam Elliott's million of dollar vocal cords.  I don't think this voice has made her a dime but it is still captivating to hear.  She  apparently fell last night and she is afraid she broke her foot or her back or both. The receptionist wanted to know why she didn't go to the hospital last night. The question outrages the woman. We all wondered the same thing. She snapped, ' I   had no car and could not afford a taxi'. Her neighbor brought her to the hospital today.  The lady began to cry. I am sure this is completely out of character for her. This lady is tough and not a crier; she is also exhausted and backed into a corner. Whatever is wrong with her, she cannot fix. She needs help and would rather bite her tongue off than ask. Amid quite tears she asks for that help. She needs to see a doctor as soon as possible.  Within minutes she is in a wheel chair and on her way to see a doctor.  I am pretty sure the lady took my appointment. I sigh knowing she needs it more than me. I get up and go to the bathroom when I return the next person to possibly  take my appointment has arrived.

    All the seats are full except for one.  I take it and say good morning to the elderly lady and her nurses aide who arrived while I was gone.  Some people attract the opposite sex, some people have a way with children, others with animals.  Me??? I attract the insane.   The little lady sitting next to me fit the mental image perfectly.  I had no intention of wading through her quagmire . I smiled and spoke as I sat down. That was all the little lady needed.  She took it from there.

   "You know I am here because of my vagina, right?" She whispered loud enough for the whole room to hear. For the next twenty minutes, all eyes were on us.

    "No, I didn't know that. hmmmm  I'm sorry". That was my best shot.  I glanced at her attendant and she gave me one of those 'lady you are on your own' looks. I remember those looks well. When I had to transport patients I longed for people to just leave us alone.

    I picked up my book in an attempt to end the conversation before it started. It did not work. The lady looked at me.  I pretended to read. She continued  looking and finally cleared her throat.  I didn't know what was coming but I knew I was on train ride waiting for a wreck somewhere down the line.

     In her best Sophie Tucker voice, the little woman began to talk to her vagina.  Words fail me here.

    I don't care how long a person has worked with the mentally ill, the last thing any aide wants is for patients  to have a conversation with their private parts  in public. She went on to elaborate, "Ralph stuck a pencil in her and now he wants his pencil back and I can't find it!"

    All eyes looked at the attendant.  She shrugged and said, "It didn't happen on our shift." If ever there was a stand by rule it was..."It didn't happen on our shift." The attendant and I could not talk about this lady. It would be a violation of about 150 laws and rules so we just exchanged knowing nods.

   I wondered why she wasn't at the emergency room. After I thought it over I remembered the dual lives the sane and insane live; just because a patient says something does not mean it is always true. The same rule goes for everyone else in the world.  Whatever the reason for the old lady and the aide to be here today was none of my business. My name was called next and another attendant came to get me. I told my new friend good bye and that I hoped she felt better soon.  She smiled and quickly kissed my hand. The aide made a move to stop her but it was over so fast it wasn't worth the ruckus. It would be reported though when they arrived  at their facility. As I walked toward my MRI room,  I couldn't help but wonder what was really wrong with the little lady. Whatever it was I hoped it was nothing serious.  And if it was a stupid  pencil...it will be taken care of soon.  I am also sure last night was the final time my friend and Ralph will ever share anything in this lifetime...one can only hope that is the case. Some images are hard to erase from the mind's eye.  I think this might be one of those times.

  

   

     

   

  

If the Days of the Week Were People...

     I am on my daily date with my computer.  I try to visit  'my room' around 9 a.m. and write for a couple of hours...heavy on the 'try'.  This does not always happen. Today is the third time I have arrived this week.  I am a morning person so this should be easy for me.  It should be, however it is not.  I am not a very disciplined person.  9 a.m. often finds me knee deep in dirt in the backyard, or at our local big box store. I can be  lost in a good book or staring off into space listening to the conversation's in my head; trying to decide if I want to write what I am hearing.  I have more excuses than time.  Lately, more often than not, I drag butt and write when inspired. This is not a good habit for me. I know it slows my writing growth down considerably. However, I hate rules. . . love lists-hate rules. That my friends, is the rebellious kid still inside me who balked when told, "You will do this and you will like it!"  Hmmm, wouldn't bet my life savings on that one buddy. I shouldn't try to make excuses. The fact is some days I do not want to write and I don't.

   However, today I showed up to write and I have NOTHING.  Not a blog, not a new idea for  my three short stories that are about half way finished...nothing.  The stories  are still stuck where I last left them.

   Here I sit, watching the hummingbirds and listening to the rain. Eventually, I pulled out a list of 'writing prompts'.  They are crazy ideas that help jump start the mind's writing process.  I personally love to use these prompts.  I have written two short stories from a writing prompt idea. Maybe today will be the infusion treatment I need to write.  The one that caught my attention was, "What if the days of the week were people.  Give them names, ages, jobs and addresses." Why this one caught my imagination still has me shaking my head but it did.  It sounded like fun and I was soon off and writing.

   'Monday' is the first day of the work week. It usually gets a bad rap because few people are anxious to return to their money making life on Monday.   The weekend is never long enough.  Who knew Monday's real name is 'Mona'?   Mona is 56 years old and has never been married. No regrets there  because Mona  never wanted to be married.  She is overweight and does not care at all. When she looks at herself in the mirror she smiles. When she sees skinny women she mentally laughs thinking 'they need more cake!'   She lives her life by her rules. And her number one rule is to get the week started!!  She is the first person to arrive at the office.  She makes the coffee, straightens the desk, pulls out folder after folder of plans for the work week and spreads them across the cleaned desk.  She waters the flowers, grabs her purse and heads for the coffee shop around the corner.  Inside she orders a caramel frappuccino  and a brownie. She buys a USA Today newspaper and reads about the rest of the world. She checks her watch once and heads back to the office.  Monday is finally in full swing in New York City. Mona is now on the clock.

   'Tuesday' is 'Traffic Court Tina. She is a tall, lanky blond woman about 23 years of age. She hates being the day after Monday and the day before Wednesday.  No one cares about her. She is a 'filler' day in the week. She is not happy with her job but it will do until' Friday' dies...then she is applying for her position.  Tina slouches when she stands before the judge in traffic court.  He gives her 'the look' and she stands straight and tall. There will be no slouching on Tuesday. Tina is part of the bridge work program needed by the masses to reach Wednesday.  That is all she will ever be...and it makes her angry.  In her mind she finds solace in the fact 'Friday'  live will not live forever.  For the time being Tina  resides in Chicago and smokes pot after 5 p.m.

   'Wednesday', is petite, pretty and peppy.  She is in her early twenties  and has the world by the cajones.  Everyone LOVES Wednesday!! There was a huge debate over 'Wednesday's' name. Eventually it was decided she would simply be named 'Wednesday'.  It fit and everyone loved the name except for Traffic Court Tina. Wednesday lives in San Francisco and is a successful writer.  Her life is a tad bit glamorous. She makes the talk show circuit and occasionally the nightly news. People look forward to meeting Wednesday. Wherever she goes they are anxious for her arrival.  Unfortunately they are also anxious for her exit.  After Wednesday it is only two days until the much anticipated weekend...and that is what they are living for...the weekend. In reality, Wednesday is a means to an end. She just does not know it.


   'Thursday' has reddish brown hair and sky blue eyes. Her nose is sprinkled with freckles and her two front teeth are missing. She and Traffic Court Tina got into a fight over one of the male months named ' November'.  Thursday won the' month' but lost her two front teeth. Poor Tina ended up in Traffic Court. Thursday's real name is Thea. It is a lovely name that no one remembers so when someone yells for 'Thursday' she answers.  Thea  is a maid in an upscale hotel in Las Vegas.  She is currently plotting to kick Tina's arse as soon as she make a  trip to Chicago.

   After four days of working,  the world is ready for Friday to roll around. It is usually pay day. People seldom have to work overtime on Friday and the weekend is only eight hours away. This is where our girl Friday who is really named 'Sally' comes in to play. And play is about all Sally does. She spends her day avoiding anyone with any power to change her upcoming schedule. Sally lives totally for high heels and the weekend.  No one knows exactly what Sally's job really is. It has been rumored she runs an escort service. Sally will neither confirm nor deny.  She simply throws her mane of blond hair over her shoulder as she sits down on the edge of some man's desk smiling, while she crosses her legs and lets a  black Jimmy Choo dangle from her right foot. Sally is often reckless with her life. At twenty five, consequences to living never enter her mind. She lives in Key West and would not have it any other way.

   The weekend has arrived. 'Shirley Sleep In' is finally here. No alarms are set.  Everyone knows it is Saturday. When the urge to pee outweighs one more second of sleep, Shirley wakes up and joins the rest of the world.  There is no defining age, or hair  color or weight for 'Shirley'.  She is what everyone sees when they look in the mirror on a late Saturday morning.  She is the face of  every worker who made it through forty hours of work and a very eventful Friday night celebration.  Shirley is whimsical, fluid and easily amused...a chameleon hiding in plain sight.   She lives in the guest room of most homes, in any city USA.

   Then comes Sunday. The most diverse day of the week.  It is often referred to 'as the day after the night before'.  For some it is a day of worship and family. For everyone it is the last day before the next work week begins. The day to make the game plan for next week.  The name 'Sonny' fits Sundays.  She is a tall, tan brunette  with an angelic smile and black eyes that continually look for a soul. She is ageless, and knows the feelings and thoughts of millions of Monday morning commuters.  She is the day before Mona arrives and it all starts over again. No one knows for sure where Sonny resides. That is the way she wants it for now.

When Fiction Becomes Reality...

   At one time I was a happy go lucky...let the chips fall where they may... kind of person.  I didn't worry about much of anything.  I had no reason to worry; my corner of the world was doing fine...and then I grew up!

   I was a child in the 50's and a teenager during the 60's. My childhood, for the most part, resembled Mayberry RFD. It was a good time to be a little girl in a small town where everyone knew your name and your family.

   My teenage years were filled with history making events. At the beginning of my freshman year in high school, integration became mandatory nation wide. While the rest of the United States was in turmoil, I think integration in our town happened fairly quietly.  The only problems I remember were bomb threats the first couple of months of high school. Some unknown person would call the police or the principal and say 'bombs were planted in a student's locker or somewhere in the building." Of course such a statement required dismissal of school. The police were summoned to check out the buildings as soon as the students and teachers could be evacuated.  For some reason these threats did not phase me at all. I was 13 and I never believed they were real threats. Today, I would view it completely different. I would take the threat serious. More than likely today, the threats would be real. However as a kid,  I was simply glad to get out of school for any reason.  September in Kentucky can be very hot without air conditioning. To me integration seemed like the right thing to do. Everyone should have the best life possible. I watched the marches, the beatings, the fighting and the police, from afar. I remember when Watts burned. It seemed like another world to me at that time. It was hard to grasp the reality other people lived in. It was so different from my small town life. 

   President Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963 by Lee Harvey Oswald. I was still a freshman. I remember it happened on a Friday afternoon around 12:30. Our homeroom class had finished lunch and went to our next scheduled activity.  I was sitting in English class when Mr. Phillips, our principal, opened the door and told us the President had been shot. School was dismissed.  On Sunday morning between Sunday school and church services I walked down to my grandmother's house.  We knew they were moving Lee Harvey Oswald to another location around noon. I did not want to miss any of the events.  That day I saw my first murder. I watched as Jack Ruby stepped out of the crowd and gunned down Oswald.  Mamamae, my grandmother,  and I looked at each other. We could not believe what we had seen.  That Sunday we did not go back to church.  We were in shock and glued to the television.  We had other fears to face.

   Vietnam was always in the back of my generation's mind. It was 'our war'. We grew up watching it on the evening news.  It was common knowledge a young man either went to college or he went to Vietnam. There was another option; the young man could go to Canada, most did not choose this option. Our class joke was, "So where are you spending your summer vacation?  Probably in beautiful downtown Saigon!"  We would laugh. At that time we were 17 or 18 and invincible.  I had a lot of friends and all too soon a brother in law go to Vietnam. We all wrote letters and exchanged life stories. The young men I wrote to wanted to hear about home. They talked very little about the war. They wanted letters ...lots of letters and photos of girls, cars and home. I was very fortunate all of my friends and family made it home. Once home, they talked very little about the war.

   All of this happened over 45 years ago. The world now does not resemble the world of my youth.  People text more than they actually talk to other people face to face. For some people,  the cellphone is now an extension of their hand.  Some of my favorite friends, are folks I have never met in person but talk to on Facebook daily. 

   Most Americans have lost all faith in our political leaders. I know I have. I wouldn't stand in the sun for two hours to see any of them...much less hear them talk.  I remember at one time believing in the President of the Untied States: when John Kennedy was the King and Jackie the Queen.  I remember when we were allowed to believe in heroes. Not any more.  Now we have 24 hour news agencies who make common knowledge all the sins and slip ups of everyone. This is probably a good move, however it leaves little room for heroes. The more I know about influential people...the better I like my dog...and my dog bites.

    The movies and books of my youth are slowly in the process of becoming a jaded truth. There is a hint of truth in the mixture of  fact and fiction.  Movies like, "The Day the World Stood Still", "War of the Worlds, "Fail-Safe", "Soylent Green", "Independence Day", "The Stand," "The Terminator" series and the "Alien" series  all deal with end of the world themes, dystopian times.  In these stories the world has become ugly and barren and most of the enemies resemble bugs. Big huge alien bugs!!!  I never could wrap my mind around this idea.  The books and movies had me until they brought out the metal looking bugs...I could not buy into that crap.  I wanted flesh and blood enemies...not flying razor blades. However, a lot of what was written is slowly coming true. Who would have thought 40 years ago parts of California would be running out of water? Who would have thought the Middle East would be the fire keg it is today?  A good portion of the world, lives in utter chaos. The rest of the world sits quietly, watching it play out on the nightly news.

    The other night on the news there was a story about a 'drone' flying around a person's home taking photos of the house.  I looked close and it looked like a flying bug. My imagination uttered a squeamish 'oh crap...not bugs!!  while my muse said, "Did you see that? I told you this would happen!!" 

 Sure enough drones are now fairly common. Anyone can buy one on the internet.  Prices range from $40 to about $3,000 for the average person to purchase.  The ones I have seen are not world war fighting machines or bombers like the military use.  They have a flight time of about 20 minutes.  However, I must admit...they have that 'bug look' down pat. If I saw this thing hovering over my home...I do believe I would shoot it down...just saying.

                                        

  

  

About Mama...Happy Mother's Day

This is one of my favorite photos taken after Mama was admitted into ICF. We waited as long as we could before she had to be admitted to the hospital. The Alzheimer's had become uncontrollable and Daddy could not take care of her by himself.  My parents moved back to Kentucky when the symptoms of her disease were no longer deniable. I hated every minute she was gone. But in the long run my mother was in the best facility I have ever seen. It was the right move for both of them.

 I was working my retirement job and could only come home once a month and stay for about a week...depending on how Daddy acted--- unless she was in another hospital for medical reasons then I stayed with her.  I had FMLA and I worked a lot of overtime to make sure I had plenty of time on the books.  

In this photo Mama still had her smile. She was loosing her words and couldn't walk by herself anymore but her beautiful smile was still there. She still loved me in this photo. I can see it in her smile and eyes. Alzheimer's is a hard disease to understand. Mama knew me during this time however, the baby doll, who was forever in her arms was a real baby to her.

Eventually she did not know me  but one thing was for certain...she liked me. I could always make her laugh, or smile, or look at me with questioning eyes...until the last few years. By then all her emotions were gone. No one could do anything to help her. The essence of Betty Humphreys was gone. My world would never be the same. 

 In this photo we were laughing because I plopped down beside her wheelchair for the photo and then I couldn't get up. Several pictures were taken while I was in the process of rolling around on the floor in an effort to stand back up.  She thought that was funny...she was right.

Mama always saw the good in other people. I am afraid I did not inherit that trait. Some people just tick me off to no end...I got that from John O.  I remember when they lived in Missouri during the O.J. Simpson trial.  Mama was the only person who thought he was innocent.  She watched the trial from morning until night. When the verdict was read she applauded.  Then she looked at me and smiled saying, "I told you so"!!  I was furious. I could not believe what my ears were hearing.

I often wonder what she would have thought of President Obama. I am inclined to believe she would have disliked him but I wouldn't swear to it. She saw the world with kinder eyes than I do. I often teased her about, 'taking off your rose colored glasses Betty Lou and see things like they really are...'  She would laugh and reply, "I like what I see in my world...thank you very much."

The girls and I still have days when we talk in 'Mama Quotes' and in her soft southern speech.  It is hard to believe this pristine lady of all southern ladies cheated at rummy.  We loved to play cards with her...and she cheated all the time.  It was so unlike her that we thought it was hilarious. We would catch her cheating and then listen and laugh as she tried to explain her 'creative' way of card playing.

Ironically, the most valuable lesson on honesty I learned from Miss Betty.  I was about 13 when I accompanied her to the grocery store.  After she paid for the groceries she put the receipt and change in her purse.  When we got home, she checked her change and the store owner had overpaid her by seven cents.  She grabbed her purse and told me to get in the car. I wanted to know why. I remember her saying, "They overpaid me seven cents. I have to take this back. It is not my money."  I looked at her and said, "Mama it is only seven cents...it doesn't matter."  Well, it did to Mama. It wasn't her seven cents and we took it back. That made a big impression on me. It was the best lesson on honesty I ever witnessed.  If it happened to me today, I would do the same thing.

Mama was quirky, funny without ever knowing it, loving and very forgiving.  I loved her beyond measure.

Happy Mother's Day...you will forever be missed.

The Aspirin and the Xanax...

 

   Today was one of those days when I never showed up to play with the rest of the world. I intended to, it just did not happen. The 'something shiny syndrome' was in rare form; messing with my mind, my attention span and my common sense. In reality, I had too much work to accomplish and a short span of time to get everything done. The grandchildren, Jacy and Logan, were coming to our home and I wanted everything to be perfect. Jacy and Logan wanted to spend time with us and the house really didn't matter to them one way or the other.  However, it mattered to me. Logan is allergic to nearly everything in our home. That is why we go see them.  Logan had a bad asthma attack at our house once and his lungs nearly seized up. He had to go to the emergency room. I am terrified of a repeat performance.

 

   I was on a mission. It looked more like I was killing snakes than cleaning house. Hours later,  the house looked to suit me. However, I was all wired up and running on empty, when I finally sat down to take a break.  I looked over at the daisy's Tommy bought me a few days ago and they looked a little on the droopy side. I decided to give them fresh water and a baby aspirin and while I was at it, I thought I'd take a much needed Xanax. Sounded simple. It was an easy fix for droopy flowers and a stressed out crazy woman with her hair on fire.  But no---no--no, not in this household.  By accident I gave the Xanax to the daisies and I took the baby aspirin!!  I sat down in my recliner to relax.  Thirty minutes later, nothing had changed. The flowers were still droopy and I was still wired!!  I waited and read for another hour. I was calmer but not by much.  Finally, I got up and checked on the flowers.  A few white daisies looked dead from where I was sitting.  As I removed the dead daisies, I saw a little blue pill at the bottom of the vase...slowly dissolving in the water.

 

   A string of obscenities may have exploded from my lips. I hope not but I am inclined to believe it happened. I returned to the kitchen and got the right pill for me and a glass of tea.  Later, as I looked at the flowers, they had perked up a little.  Although  the white daisy's died; every other color stood a little straighter and almost smiled. The knot in my chest was gone and my mind had slowed down to a normal pace.  Whatever 'normal' is in this world!

 

   I called it a day.  I was through working!  About that time, Tommy opens the back door and wants to know if I would help him mow the yard.  "Why yes I will darlin'...I live to mow the yard", I said as I slipped on my sandals, grabbed us two bottles of water and sauntered out the back door.  I mowed and I never once got out of second gear.  That was as fast as I wanted to move for the next three hours. Finally, we called it a day...and what a day it was!