I can't help but be old-school. I did my training there, for cryin' out loud. The first 18 years of my employment at the college where I work included taking dictation for minutes of meetings and correspondence. I never was very good at shorthand, maybe 60 wpm tops, but I did well enough to do what I needed to. So yesterday when I was asked to sit in on a disciplinary meeting and take notes I used a combination of rusty shorthand and abbreviation. My notepad was sitting on the corner of my desk waiting for me to transcribe when my boss walked by and said, "What is THAT? Did you just pretend to take notes?" Nooooo, you young whipper-snapper (he's ten years my junior), it's shorthand. "Do people still DO that?" Obviously, Einstein. "Read it for me!" So I did, pointing so he could read along with me. He seemed fascinated. "It's like another language!" Yep.

 

My boss is a pretty funny guy. I'm VERY thankful he has a sense of humor or else I probably would be fired. Ha! The other day a coach came in, kinda wigglin' and talkin' fast, and asked for my SI (Sports Illustrated). I handed it to him and he took off toward the bathroom at a butt-quenched run. My boss yelled at him, "Where ya goin' in such a hurry? Ya takin' the Browns to the Super Bowl?" HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. The guy's reply? "Noooooo, I'm lookin' for a STINK PICKLE!" Yech.

 

We've had more drama at work than a month's worth of soap operas. Lyin', screwin', cheatin'...the whole bit. I may write a country song about the entire thing. I'll call it "He Was a Dunker - but She Took His Legs." Or, "That's not the Point....Guard." Or, "Play With Somebody Else's Balls Cause Your Ruining His Eligibility." Okay, I'll still need to work on that...

 

I was runnin' errands the other day, thinkin' about all the sad stuff I've been exposed to. My son's brother died, my sister-in-law's mother died. I'm pullin' into the drive-thru lane at the bank thinkin' how death usually goes in threes and trying to think if I know anyone else on the verge of death. Morbid, right? I pull up to the window and right there on the glass is a picture of the usual teller with information for her visitation and funeral. Minnie died! Unbelievable. So there's my three.

 

Remember me telling you about a nine-year old boy, nephew of a friend, had mysteriously died? Well, he had undetected diabetes and went into a coma. So, so sad. The parents are beating themselves up pretty badly for not recognizing signs of the illness. The boy's parents are divorced. Dad's a football coach. The following is a message from my friend, followed by the letter her brother wrote and posted on a local sports forum:

Thank you so much for the flowers.  You are such a sweet person to think of me during this time.  I have my good days and bad.  Today was a mixed emotion day…my sister-in-law forwarded me the thank you message my brother wrote (it was posted on smoaky.com) and it brought tears to my eyes.  But he did a wonderful job writing it.  I worry about him and my ex-sister-in-law in the days to come.  I can’t imagine what they must feel.  I’m hoping that I go before I have to go through this again.  Here is the letter he wrote:

 I want to thank the SDC community for all the thoughts and prayers after the sudden passing of my son Ashtyn. Ash grew up in a coaching world, his grandpa was a coach, his uncles coach, and his mom and I devoted alot of our time to coaching throughout his life. I have fond memories of him kicking over pylons in the endzones after every football game. Or the way he would bail off that bus from the elementary, backpack flying, sprinting his way to the practice field in the afternoon to tackle the pop-up dummies. Even the night I let him retrieve the kickoff tee on a muddy field when his mom dressed him in white. The thrill he got when we won our third consecutive district championship and the guys wanted him to sit in the back of the bus with them on the ride home.

I remember taking him to playoff games, and the excitement he felt in Texas Stadium. He had a stack of paper with blank football helmets printed on them in my office and when we would get back, he would sit down and draw the school's helmet design right down to the last detail. While most kids would just play their X-Box football games with buddies, Ash would spend hours designing teams and playbooks, then spend so much time on the practice field figuring out which plays worked better and why. Coaching might have been in his future, but he loved so much more.

He loved to hunt and fish with his Poppa. So much so, that we laid him to rest in his camo coveralls and hunting license (his Poppa wanted him to be legal). The excitement of killing his first buck, and even just shooting cans and targets brought a look to his face that made me smile. He could tell you everything about every kind of animal species there is.

Ash's passion was combining everything he loved about life and expressing it through art. He was so detailed in his work, even from the time he was two years old. While dad was reading the sportspage, Ash would be drawing the pictures on the front of the paper. For those who made it to the service celebrating his life, the pictures on the walls and the albums exhibited his love for sharing all that he loved about life with others through art.

Ash's passing was sudden to all of us, except for him. In the past few days, we've found drawings he left behind such as "Faith" and a picture of a hand holding a heart with wings and a candle burning inside of it. When his great-grandfather passed the week prior to him, he comforted his little sister with numerous talks about how great Heaven was and that PawPaw was never going to hurt again. He was a fighter that never complained if he was hurting. I laid with him for 30 straight hours by his side helping comfort him, and he waited until I left the room to roll over and pass peacefully.

In the days since he left this earth, I've met so many new friends who've shared the loss of their own child with me. While I am saddened by not being able to see my son in his earthly form each day, I'm proud to know that his mother raised him so that I will be able to stand beside him again one day. While most parents in today's athletic society aspire for their kid to win a trophy, medal or plaque, mine is wearing a crown today. Nothing could ever make me prouder.

Please continue to pray for Ashtyn's mom Jenny and his sister Jansyn. They are strong girls but their faith will pull them through.

Thanks for all your thoughts and prayers.

 

 

Did you see "Steel Magnolias"? Remember the line Dolly Parton had about it being a rule that if anyone cries she has to cry, too? Welllll, that's me. I have friends and family who have/are gone/going through some tough times and I am selfishly making their pain my own. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

 

1.  Still missin' my friend who disappeared from blogland and the emailhood. Now that I'm getting over the shock and hurt of his disappearance I've begun worrying that he's not doing well for whatever reason. And I can't reach out to him and it's frustrating and maddening. So, you know, whatever is wrong with him it's causing ME stress and worry.

 

2.  My sister-in-law's mother is old and she's had some strokes, and doctors recently discovered an aneurysm behind her heart that they can't do surgery on because of the danger. And now she has a blood clot so they'll have to do surgery. One of those situations where she'll die if they don't do surgery and could easily die if they do surgery. Damned if ya do, damned if ya don't. So I'm sad for my sister-in-law and worried about her having to deal with all the emotion, etc. And it reminds ME of when I went through it with MY parents.

 

3.  I'm still sad about my friend whose dog was killed. My overactive imagination keeps envisioning the horror he must have gone experienced watching the dogs tear up his buddy. Then the sadness when he got to the clinic and watched the dog die. He told me Major looked up at him and tried to wag his tail and then died. So that reminds ME of Chloe, Bridget, and Champy and when they died and I've cried over MY dog losses.

 

4.  My son called last night. His older brother died yesterday. Ron has ten siblings, Johnny will be his third sibling to die. The others were quite a bit older than Ron but he was very close to this brother. It will be difficult for him. I was the first one Ron called when he found out. 40 years old and he still needed to hear my voice for reassurance. I'll go to the funeral to be there for Ron. He'll be strong for everyone else, and then he'll lean on me. At least, that's what he did when his mother died. Ron's family has a private cemetery. It's back in the woods near the small town where they live in Louisiana. Spanish moss is hanging from the trees down the dirt track that leads to the burial sites. It's an old slave cemetery. Some of the graves are marked with stones with scratches on them, others are so old you can't read the carving anymore. It's impossible to get a hearse or truck to the place, so Ron and his brothers, nephews, and cousins will take turns carrying the casket down the path. They'll dig the grave themselves, and will lower the casket down with ropes. We'll hear prayers and sing a song and then everyone helps cover the grave. It's primitive, and it was one of the most loving acts I've ever seen (when I participated at his mother's funeral).

 

5.  Yesterday's opening ceremonies at the baseball park were very emotional. I was standing by our dugout taking pictures of Payton's family throwing in the first pitch when I felt a presence beside me. I glanced over for a second, and recognized that one of the players had moved up to watch the ceremony. He was obviously more moved than he thought he would be. I could hear him begin to breathe deeply and kinda gulp. I never looked at him, but I lowered my camera and put my left arm around his back. With a tiny sob he leaned into me for just a minute. Then I patted his back and we walked away, in separate directions. We never made eye contact but we communicated better than anyone with whom I shared conversation with yesterday. As I walked back into the bleacher area, I saw the young man's (that I had just shared the moment with) dad standing at the fence. I looked up with my red, tear-filled eyes into his red, tear-filled eyes and he mouthed "thank you" to me. I marvel at the strength of Payton's mom. To lose a 19 year old son and be able to do all the things she's done since then to help herself, her family, and all of us around them deal with the loss and begin to move on is amazing. I marvel at the strength of the human heart. The beauty of her strength moves me to tears. The loss of Payton and the pain in his friends' eyes moves me to tears.

 

6.  My Daddy's only sibling, my uncle, has been diagnosed with liver cancer. He's pushin' 80 but they're doing chemo. I never see him. Saw him once or twice a year growin up. They live way down in the Valley (South Texas - near Brownsville). He's eight years my dad's junior, but he looks just like my Daddy. I can't look at him without crying because of the resemblance. I'm probably the best aunt in the world to my nieces and nephews, but I suck royally at being a niece. He's not as loving and affectionate as my Daddy was, though, not even with his own kids. But I need to make more effort at staying in touch.

 

I'm so tired of all this sadness. And, like I said, it's not MY sadness yet it feels like it. All I can do is pray for these people and try to be there for moral support when I can. Seems like too little. I feel helpless. I have this overwhelming desire to lay down but that's not feasible, nor practical, nor helpful, nor healthy. So we all just keep pluggin' along...

 

 

I thought I would be on my way to Dallas this morning to enjoy a day with nieces and nephews. But duty calls instead and I'm stuck selling tickets for basketball games. I don't usually do this for our games but our regular ticket seller had a death in the family, and since it's baseball's opening day for us we have shit going on in too many places for me not to be called on to help. My peeps understand but they're not real thrilled about me missing a family gathering. I do have it worked out so that I can go to the gym for awhile, then my student worker will sub in on ticket selling while I run out for the opening pitch of baseball (thrown in by the player's [who was killed last fall] family). Then back to the gym again so my student worker (White Boy) can run the shot clock for the games because the regular person for that job transferred to A&M. It'll be a hectic day.

 

I can't believe it's baseball's opening day. The high temp today will be between 50-60 degreees (F), overcast, slight wind. In other words, for the few minutes I'm at the ballpark my ass will freeze and fall off and I'll have to go all the rest of the day without an ass - so uncomfortable! The mom who lost her son has called me several times this week to talk about Payton and how she misses him, etc.. We're not close friends but for her, I'm part of the last place closely associated with her son. Talking to me somehow makes her feel closer to her son. AND she knows I care very much how she and her family are coping. Today will be difficult, another thing we all need to do to remember Payton and honor him. Coach had the number 18 embroidered on all the caps. Payton's uniform will hang in his locker all season as a memorial. Whenever there's tension between players on the team (jealousy over playing time, etc) the presence of the unused uniform will bring unity back to the locker room. Playing for Payton. That's the motto this year.

 

I got some saaaaaad news yesterday that has been very upsetting. Coach has been so shaken up that he hasn't been able to talk about this until now. The tennis coach loves golden retrievers. To me they look like labbies with long hair. Anyway, about a month ago his male (Major) was on a run around the property when a guy's pit bulls got out of their pen. They mauled Major. Coach managed to get the pits off of his dog. Major wasn't dead at that point but died shortly after arrival at the emergency vet clinic. The pits had torn his windpipe. Ever heard that saying "guns don't kill people, people kill people"? That's how I feel about pit bulls. They wouldn't be as likely to kill if their owners didn't raise them for that purpose. They're beautiful, powerful dogs - some of the most loyal and protective, I've heard - but their are some idiot people out there abusing these dogs and making them mean for their own amusement. I guess, in a way, we're all lucky that Major was the one outside in his yard that day and not one of Coach's grandbabies.

 

It's time to get the lead outta my butt and get ready for all the stuff I have to do today. Bleah.

I do not care for cold weather. Well, not unless I can be snuggled into a nice, warm house with groceries and cable. I keep telling myself that the farmers need 45 days of frigid temps so the fruit trees will bud and produce and the bulbs will bloom in the spring. I keep telling myself these things but I'm not really listening. Those of you livin' up north or west in places where it's REALLY cold are probably cussin' me right now. I know - I don't know what cold really is. To me anything around 32 degrees (F) is coooooooold. If I have to put on a coat (oh wait, I don't own a coat) then schools should be shut down. Brrrrrr....

 

Isn't my new space festive? I found the colors and pattern under "Customize" and "Themes" under the "Art" section. After looking at it a coupla days now it reminds me of a Texaco fillin' station restroom. I guess I'll leave it for awhile. I've done some of my best thinkin' in a toilet. We always called it "the library" when I was growin' up because there were always books and magazines there to occupy our minds whilst our bodies were otherwise occupied.

 

Thumbing through one of the nine-jillion catalogs I received in November/December, I saw a sterling silver ring engraved with "Che Sera Sera." I always thought it was "Que Sera Sera" but it's the same sentiment. When I was in my teens up until 39 when Mother died, she always sang that song to me if I was questioning things about my life. "Que Sera Sera. Whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see, que sera sera. What will be, will be." I ordered the cheap little ring and it arrived today. Wish I'd gotten it last week. My posts probably wouldn't have been nearly as dramatic if I had remembered those words. But, it's all written, posted, viewed...people have read it, commented on it, supported me, made excuses for my friend, diagnosed me and him, and I've probably alienated him for any future contact if there had been any planned. But que sera sera. Or...aw hell, screw it. Ain't dat eloquent?

 

My niece gave me a book for Christmas called "Good Dog. Stay." by Anne Quindlen. It only took about thirty minutes to read yesterday...and then two hours to stop sobbing. Holy Toledo. I've been weepy ever since. The faucet got turned on and now I can't get it tightened back up. I hate that.

 

A good friend's nine year old nephew died this past Sunday. They don't have a clue what caused his death. Can you imagine? That'll make ya reevaluate what ya think is important and valuable, won't it? I just hate it when something like that happens and people make statements like, "God needed a good boy in heaven" or "He's in a better place" or even when they question "Why would God take such a young boy?" I think things just happen - and then our faith helps us deal with it.

 

I have another friend who is always asking "Why me? What does God do [this] to me?" Well, shit. Why not you? Pffft.

 

Yesterday was "Blue Monday" according to an article I read. The holidays are past, the weather is mostly yechy, bills from the holidays are beginning to hit...so people get down in the dumps. I thought that was silly until I realized today that SEVERAL people at work are grumpy, fussy, blue, whatever.

 

I got a call today from a man with a lovely British accent who said he was a producer from the Fox network in town to shoot footage for "So You Think You Can Dance?" He wanted permission to shoot video in our gym tonight at a high school basketball game. I knew it was a joke. I mean - come on - I don't exactly live in the hub of television production. So I laugh and tell him, "You betcha. You just film to your heart's content, Hon." More laughter, I hang up. This afternoon three young men came in the office to let us know they were on our premises. Yep. A producer from the Fox network and two assistants. With credentials. Boy, was my face red. They thought it was pretty funny, though. The guy said he could tell I didn't think it was real. Duh!? Ya think?

 

I'm done.

Wooo. That was a big long break, wasn't it? How long did it last...twenty minutes? Ha! But as you have probably guessed, I can't keep my mouth shut for very long at a time - so here I am.

 

I finally made it to WalMart this morning. YECH. I'd just as soon take a beatin'. I got there early enough to miss the after-church crowd at the store but I did run into traffic from a huge Baptist church (the Baptidome as we call it) on my way home. I wonder how many people come out of their Sunday services and then get road rage dealing with the messy traffic, especially when 99% of the idiot drivers came out of the same church service they attended? Ha! I saw some blue-hairs who could barely see over the steering wheel just pull out in front of everybody, drive down the left turn lane for a couple of blocks, and then blindly scoot all the way over to the far right lane. Brakes were squealing, fists (or at least one finger of fists) were shaken, obscenities yelled - but the old lady driving never seemed to notice anything amuck. I swear it looked like a slow-motion Indy race. Wow.

 

I'm aggravated with a friend of mine. I've tried to explain why I'm aggravated but she just doesn't get it. She's one of those people who is always multi-tasking but she ends up taking twice as long to get things accomplished anyway. She walks fast, always in a hurry. She can't stand not to answer a phone if it rings no matter where she is or who she's with at the time. She believes she has wasted time if she doesn't arrive somewhere just in the nick of time. She doesn't like to be late but God forbid she get somewhere early. She's a very caring person and I love her, but sometimes I would like to be the person or thing who has her attention for just five minutes. Not long, our interests are so different that she has a huge group of friends with whom she goes & does. I'm not jealous of them. I don't want her to stay home just because I like to. Examples:

     She calls me from her cell phone as she goes from starting point to ending point, usually from town to her home at the lake. There's a dead spot halfway there so we always have to do that "can you hear me now" thing. The entire time we're talking I'm getting a play by play of the crazy drivers she's having to deal with on her drive. She won't have time to call me when she gets home because she has to cook supper, or a million other things. She asks me questions about my day blah blah blah but then in the middle of my response she yells at a driver and I just give up.

     I love tv. Doesn't matter to me what anyone's opinion is of watching too much tv or whatever - I like it and that's my prerogative. My friend doesn't watch much tv - mostly just movies. She knows I like to go home and unwind by watching the evening news, maybe grabbing a nap. And there are other times like important ballgames (which she's not into), etc.. She calls. I answer and after a few minutes of idle chit-chat I ask if I can call her back as I am in the middle of a ballgame. She (everytime) chides me for watching tv, especially sports where the players are overpaid, etc.. If I don't answer she blows my phone up by calling over and over and over trying to wear me down so I'll answer.

     If she calls me from home she's also either cleaning house, cooking, or doing laundry. And talking to her husband who I can't imagine would be thrilled with her giving him partial-attention, either. Ha!

 

Okay, I know I'm particular...and I know I'm set in my ways. But this friend makes me feel like an afterthought. I feel like she thinks she has to squeeze me in somewhere to prove she's my friend. Or she feels sorry for me so checks in on me as if I'm an elderly shut-in. (She's older than I, by the way.)

 

I don't like how this is making me feel. I don't think anybody likes to be an afterthought or an obligation. I know, however, that when someone says they're "too busy" to take a minute for me, what they're really saying is "I'm too busy FOR YOU." Everyone always makes time for the things for which they want to have time.

 

I never understand why, when I invest a lot of thought and time and care into a friendship, that it's not reciprocated or even welcome. I accept responsibility for expecting too much. I guess I don't realize what kind of pressure I put on people to live up to my expectations of a friendship until it's too late. My perception is eschewed, also. What I think is "letting people know I care" must translate into "stalking" or "pestering." I apologize if I've done that to any of my blogger friends. It wasn't intended. I'm always so pleased to find kindred spirits with whom to talk with that I guess I get carried away. Just because I think it would be awesome to talk to you on a regular basis doesn't mean you want to talk to me. And just because I know what I mean in a statement or post doesn't mean it translates the way I meant it.

 

I certainly don't believe that everyone has to be my friend. But when someone TELLS me they're my friend then, silly me, I assume they mean it. It's not enough to just say it, in my opinion. If you value someone, or value a friendship, then you have to put a little something into it.

 

I think it's time for me to take a little break from blogging. I need to get my perspective back. I'll be lurking...and wishing all of you the best.

 

Sincerely,

 

MizAngie

Last weekend in my part of Texas, a 25 year old man beat his girlfriend to death and then began cooking parts of her body for consumption. When they captured the guy there was a plate of obviously human flesh on a plate with a fork in it. When asked for an explanation for why he would do such a thing he told the sheriff, "God told me to do it." The sheriff, prefacing his account of the crime, urges the media to be sensitive to the feelings of the victim's family and even for the perp's family as they are all victims of this hideous crime. He then begins to tell how the guy was boiling her ear, had cut out chunks of flesh from her body, blah blah blah. Okay, THAT was certainly sensitive! Yesterday the sheriff received a letter from PETA requesting that the cannibal/murderer receive a diet of only vegeterian selections so he can't be a part of harming any other living thing. PETA...we haven't heard from them in these parts since they protested the way Bo Pilgrim was supposedly mistreatin' his chickens. Their eyes are everywhere, people! You can probably imagine the response from the East Texas sheriff. So the guy's in jail and he's eatin' the same menu as all the other miscreants.

 

I don't know if I should be nervous or not. This is the third horrific crime in this area where God has gotten the blame for instigating. The lady in Houston drowned (or as some of us say...drownded) her four kids, a lady in Tyler beat her kids (2 to death, the baby to retardation) with a rock, and now this guy swears God told him to kill and eat his ex-girlfriend. If I hear one tiny voice telling me to do something bad, I'm moving to another part of Texas!

 

I feel very sad for the girl who was killed and her family. I feel sad for the killer's family because he scared the poop outta his mom and her husband when he brought the dead girl to their house to cook. All that and here's what keeps crossing my mind...

 

Did you hear about the cannibal that passed his friend in the woods?

 

Two cannibals walking through the jungle. They come across a safari hunter and fight over who found him first. They finally compromise and one starts eating from the head, one from the feet, agreeing they would meet in the middle. They eat for awhile when one asks the other, "Hey, how ya doin'?" The other replies, "Wow! I'm having a ball!!!" The other angrily says, "Slow down, will ya?"

 

Lord, forgive me...

Yesterday evenin' I ran to the grocery store (not literally, that's just a figure of speech meaning a quick trip) to pick up some milk and eggs. I told the bagger that I could carry the stuff myself, but he insisted on helping. As he put the bags in my truck he was steady witnessin' to me. (For those unfamiliar with semi-pentecostal religions, "witnessing" is to recruit or teach The Word of God.) Now, usually I would mutter some "uh-huhs" and "mm-hmmms" and then dismiss the kid as some sort of religious fanatic. But there was something about this young man...he was so sincere. He was probably 16-17 years old and everything I said he turned to a lesson in scripture. It became interesting. As he finished he asked, "Do you have cable?" "Yes, I do." He then told me that his daddy's sermon from last Sunday's services would be shown on the local access channel at midnight. "If you're still up you can watch him, but if you think you'll already be asleep you can just put a tape in the vcr and record it to watch later." Humoring him, I said I would be sure to do that, knowing full well that I wasn't gonna. As the evenin' wore on I watched the BCS Championship game which ended around eleven by the time they did the post-game, then the local news, and some election stuff on CNN. I wasn't really interested in watching the tv; I was in one of those staring things I talked about in the previous post. Then I noticed it was comin' up on midnight. I thought of the grocery bagger. Aah. "I'll just flip over here for just a minute to see what the kid's dad looks like and if they favor." Wow. God works in mysterious ways. I've been struggling with anger over things in my past, holding a grudge. I've been working at letting go of the grudge but not doing so well at it. Then this preacher said (and I paraphrase), "You got to let go of your bitterness. It ain't helping NObody but it's hurtin' YOU." This man was talking straight at me! "Holding bitterness in your heart is like taking poison and hoping somebody else dies." He might as well have written it on a 2 X 4 and hit me in the back of the head with it. That's exactly how I've felt for all these years, sometimes more than others...sometimes thinking I had let it go only for it to come barrelling back if I saw the person with whom I was angry. A simple message, delivered simply. And then, in a moment of clarity, I realized my bitterness really was gone. No more grudge. It feels great. I didn't listen to the rest of the sermon. I believe I got the part I was supposed to hear. The man on tv may be a preacher, but his son is an angel on earth. I know it sounds weird. I'm usually skeptical about such things myself, which makes this even more surprising to me.

 

Speaking of the BCS Championship...my team won, my friend's kid won offensive MVP, and another kid from my area of Texas made news by contacting a kid with leukemia at St. Jude's whose dream was to play football in a championship game. Cerron talked to the little boy before the game, and then he wrote the kid's name on his taped arm. Everytime they showed Cerron on tv "MIKEY" was part of the play. This kind of shit makes me cry everytime. Football players, especially linemen, are big and ugly and they stink but then their big ol' hearts will do something that'll absolutely knock yer socks off. It's a great story.

 

CeeCee got tubes in her ears today. She's had a lot of trouble with earaches, congestion, etc, this fall/winter. She did great. This afternoon I called to check on her. Her mama put the phone to her ear and I said, "Hi, CeeCee, it's Auntie. I love you!" She kissed the phone. My niece says, she can't see you - you'll have to make noise. Then I hear MOOMWAAAA as she sent me a big, vocal kiss. Hahahaha. She's so funny.

 

I helped throw a surprise luncheon for a friend at work today. After years of pleading her case with the insurance company they finally approved breast reduction surgery. Her back and neck hurt her very badly due to the weight of her monster boobs. I invited only her closest friends from work and we all brought salads, sandwiches, fruit, etc.. We had a realllly good time. One of the girls brought coconut and seashell bras (like hula girls wear) and we wore them on top of our clothes. Hmmm...maybe I need to apologize to my grandmother for making fun of her when her senile butt wore her undies on the outie. Ha! I guess not everyone would have a "ByeBye Boobies" party, but we did. She was surprised and moved that we would go to that trouble just for her.

 

I have a work friend who spent his first twelve years in England. As a child he loved Jelly Babies candies. YECH. They're horrid - like gummi bears that aren't gummi enough, with some kinda wang to their flavor. But this guy loves 'em and has talked about them on several occassions. When in Dallas at Christmas I was in a World Market store (yeah, hell yeah, on the candy aisle - so what?) and noticed "Jelly Babies." This guy prefers a certain brand and I had no idea if those were the ones he liked but I bought 'em and sent them to him via campus mail. Good grief. You woulda thought I'd given him a steak dinner. They WERE the ones he likes best and he seemed so appreciative and surprised that I had thought of him. It seemed like such a small thing to me but then wasn't to my friend. He went on and on about it until I felt guilty for only buying one bag. Ha!!

 

It's amazing how very little it takes to make most of us happy, even if only for a short while...

 

 

Please send positive thoughts (and prayers if you do those) to my friend Jean (you've probably seen her comments on my space for a long time). Her gots a booboo and don't feel good. Thanks.

 

 

I thought if I signed on and started writing that I would get in the mood to say something, be inspired...whatever...  Didn't work. So just let me acknowledge that it's the third day of the new year and all I feel like doing is to stare at stuff. ??? The mind goes blank and I catch myself staring. Oh, well.

 

Later...