The Crab Chronicles

Gone With the Wind and Me

I remember so vividly sitting on the sofa in the living room of my house in Gulf Park, 10 years old, reading Gone With the Wind for the first time. I had to look up some of the words. It was slow going. I read all 1,027 pages, and then read it again.

I think I was actually recuperating from the ordeal of having my tonsils removed. There were complications from the surgery and I was in the hospital throwing up blood for two days. It was a hellish ordeal.

I grew to love the book. I identified with Scarlett.

This is the 75th anniversary of the publication of the book.

It got to the point where every year, when I had to have a book report and didn't have anything to report on, I'd write a report on Gone With the Wind. I knew all the pertinent information by heart - date of publication [1936], number of pages [1037], publisher [MacMillan].

I usually made A's on all the GWTW book reports.

I didn't know until I grew up that my family has ties to the story.

In 1939 when the film premiered here in Atlanta, my grandparents were invited to some of the parties afterwards. Since my grandfather had been a big league baseball player he was sort of a local celebrity. My mother remembers seeing the parade. She was 5 years old.

Margaret Mitchell was active in war relief work during World War II and one of Mother's cousins used to roll bandages next to Margaret and they got to be friends.

When Margaret died from being hit by a car, my mother lived just a few blocks away. She remembers it vividly.

I think I've told the story, but my dad's mother was reading Gone With the Wind right after it came out, and never heard a fatal car wreck just outside her house late one night. When Cordelia told the police she never heard a thing, she was up late reading Gone With the Wind, the police never bothered her again. Such was the popularity of that book.

Margaret Mitchell died at age 48, the same age I am now.

She was born in 1900, the same year as my grandmother Wilma Butler. [At least, I think that's right. Rumor is Mamaw fudged a year...]

The movie is flawed for many reasons, and if you've only seen the movie and not read the book, you only know half the story. Mitchell's book was carefully researched and is a wealth of information about the Civil War. Some of the history Margaret learned from listening to elderly Civil War veterans recount their stories while she sat on their laps as a small child.

Mitchell was undoubtedly a racist, and that is the major flaw of the book, of course. She was, however, a product of her time, and I don't feel it's totally fair to pick on her about race portrayals. Over the years she became more tolerant. Here's an interesting fact. In the 1940's she quietly gave thousands of dollars to fund scholarships for black medical students attending Morehouse College here in Atlanta, and she contributed to the building of the first black hospital here.

I have seen the movie many times. I once saw it at the Tennessee Theatre in Knoxville with my friend John. We both knew all the lines and would sit there and say them aloud, much to the annoyance of others, I am sure. My all-time favorite is when Mammy says to Scarlet about Ashley coming home from the war "...and you sittin' there waitin' for him, just like a SPIDER!"

As a college freshman I watched the entire movie sitting on a table in the cafeteria, so uncomfortable, but determined to sit through the entire thing.

Margaret Mitchell: American Rebel is a wonderful program about Margaret that aired on the local PBS station here tonight. Mother and I watched the whole thing and thoroughly enjoyed it. Margaret was ahead of her time in so many ways, particularly women's rights. Scarlet was a moden working woman, after all.

Despite her flaws, Scarlet has gumption, a word I love. I am in need of some of it during this difficult time of my life.

There is a big display now on GWTW at the Atlanta History Center. I need to get over there.

No news to report really on the home front. Everyone is healing nicely.

The Walking Wounded

My mom always says bad things come in threes. I don't know if that's an Irish superstition, or a southern thing, or what exactly, but it has certainly held true today.

I left work and got home as quickly as I could to take Mother for a hair appointment. I was trying to make a lemon pie I'd promised Michael, while Mother got ready to go. It's the simplest recipe - 1 can of condensed milk, half a cup of fresh lemon juice, 2 egg yolks, and a teaspoon of almond flavoring. I use a bought graham cracker crust. You make it and put it in the fridge to get firm, then add meringue on top if you wish. Anyway, I started juicing the lemons and that went fine but it wasn't enough juice. So I grabbed a lime from the fruit basket, and cut it in half, along with a chunk out of the tip of my left thumb. YIKES did that hurt. Lots of blood. I wrapped paper towels around my thumb and prayed I could finish the pie. I did, and didn't bleed into the pie or anything gross.

So I get Mother settled in the car and we're leaving the neighborhood, and Michael calls me on my cell and says he has hurt himself at the pool. He's pretty tough, so I knew if he was calling me it was bad. So I turned around and zipped back to the pool. He was playing basketball in flip flops - which I've told him a million times not to do - and somehow fell and took a huge patch of skin off the top of his left foot and a big swatch off his left knee. Quite repulsive, but one of the lifeguards had bandaged him up pretty well. So we put him in the car and zipped up to the hair cutting place, and the lady was kind enough to let Mike sit in there without a shirt on. He's brown as a nut, and we saw an older man in there from the neighborhood, so they chatted a bit. He's way up in his 60's and plays tennis all the time.

Well, we get home and things seemed to be pretty calm. Coco was feeling puny and not eating, but she has a day about once a week she doesn't eat much. Small dogs = delicate stomachs. Mother said she had accidentally bumped her with the rolling chair earlier in the afternoon but couldn't feel of any hurt places on her little legs.

After dinner Michael was down on the floor with Coco and we were trying to persuade her to eat something, and he noticed she had a terrible wound on her side. So Mike and I spent the evening in the emergency vet clinic. I was praying the whole time, Lord please don't let this be the end. She is such a brave little thing, and such a joy in our lives. Coco is all about love. So please pray for our little furbaby, pray she will heal quickly and not have to wear one of those awful e-collars. We've had enough heartache recently..

AN 8 YEAR OLD BOY NEEDS A HOME

This was posted in my Yahoo group for parents of adoptive children with limb differences. If I had a full-time job I would go get this child in a nanosecond. Almost all his fees are paid! Additionally, there is now about a $13,000 tax credit, so you can get back all your travel expenses.

International staff, surgeons, foster parents, teachers and visiting parents that have met this child are impressed with his "determined, curious, confident, bright personality. One couple is so devoted to finding him a permanent family they have donated $10,000 towards his adoption.

ZMY is an outgoing 8 year old boy and active child who enjoys talking, playing and parties with music. Following surgery he is excited he can walk on level ground or on a slope although he is slower than the other children. He has good upper body strength but does not go up or down stairs. He has had surgery for a meningocle but uses a walker or braces to get around. Other than walking, his motor skills are fairly good, his fine motor skills are strong and his intelligence is normal. He enjoys playing with children, photography, reading, and toys. His ID is ZMY.0203.01

There is no fee to receive his full file. Please read more from individuals that have met this child. Total aid is $14200 plus (including an anonymous donation of $10,000 to families regardless of income & a $4200 Promise Child Grant for families with incomes of less than $125,000 adjusting for family size.) In addition please ask about another possible waiver being arranged for this adoption.

Thank-you for letting others know about this brave wonderful boy.

WACAP (www.wacap.org) is a non-profit adoption agency. Contact [email protected] or [email protected] Call 800-732-1887 or 206-575-4550 and ask for the China Team. Singles and couples may adopt this child. Couples may ask for exceptions to China's requirements to adopt. Please ask about using a recent dossier or adopting two children at the same time. His ID is ZMY.0203.01

Girls and Boys

When you were growing up, did you ever hear things like "Don't cry, be a man!" or "You're the man of the house," or "Now, young ladies don't _________." I heard those types of statements from my parents and particularly from my grandparents and older friends and relatives. I remember from a young age always thinking that those things were just plain wrong to say to a child.

I've thought about that a good bit this afternoon.

What sparked this blog idea was this article about a gender-neutral preschool in Sweden. I read the article carefully, and although in theory it might sound like a good idea, I think in practice the Swedes are being rather ridiculous. Gender differences exist, and to deny that is foolhardy. Boys generally like to play with weapons and they will make a toy gun out of a stick, if there's nothing else available. I have a friend who refuses to give his little boy a toy gun or knife or sword. Well, guess which toys the child is drawn to? I observed this firsthand.

The idea that giving a child a toy gun will make into a violent adult is ridiculous. I played with toy guns. I don't run around waving guns at people now, although occasionally I meet someone I'd like to shoot.

My brother was bombarded with army toys, including his own miniature tank he could drive, from a very early age. He ended up going into the military and he still is very interested in guns. He now works as a consultant to police departments. But here's the point I want to make - he also loves to cook.

When my big macho brother comes to visit we have a great time together cooking, swapping recipes and kitchen ideas and anecdotes.

Children should be allowed to explore the world without being steered towards any particular gender-type toy.

I was a weird kid. I played with and loved my babydolls and barbies. I made mud pies, had tea parties, and played dress up. I also loved to climb trees, play football, catch fish, and wrestle with my brother. Now, if I'd had a sister, I might have been more of a "girly girl" but I really only had one consistent female friend throughout my early childhood in Augusta.

In my ideal world, instead of forcing kids to try and be totally neutral, which is rather silly, I'd just make the atmosphere such that the kids could choose what they liked without fear of an adult chastising them. If a boy wants to play with a doll, fine. If a girl wants a football for Christmas, fine too. Most parents I know personally endorse that.

When I was a kid I had to listen to "Why can't you be more LADYLIKE, Dee?" about a million times - mostly from my grandmother. I also remember my father telling Bruce he looked like a girl, when he had longish hair in the 70's. That sort of painful gender stereotyping needs to go away.

The running joke in my house for years was that I always wanted my brother's Christmas presents. He got cool toys and I got clothes and dolls, mostly. One year I pitched a fit because I desperately wanted a football jersey-type shirt he had gotten.

My parents told me too bad, they had spent all the money they were going to spend on Christmas. I was not placated, the way parents tend to do now. Sometimes you have to tell kids to just Get Over It and Move On, as my wise cousin Bill tells his children.

[Bruce never pitched a fit wanting to play with my babydolls, or any of my toys, BTW.]

My favorite book as a little girl was the classic Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. Now, I identified with the character of Jo in the story, not the shy Beth or the frilly/flouncy Amy. Spark Notes describes Jo this way: "The main character of Little Women, Jo is an outspoken tomboy with a passion for writing." Sounds like me, huh?!

I also liked to read books that were bought for my brother Bruce, particularly The Three Investigators. The three teenaged boy protagonists were smart kids who used their wits to solve crimes. We still have several of these books. Michael and I have read a couple of them.

Kids need to explore different roles and identities.

The main character of my new book, The Warrior's Box, is a 14 year old girl who is a tomboy, but who struggles to understand the world after she's given extraordinary powers. She has to handle the classic dilemma of all teenagers, not wanting to be different.

I remember feeling very conflicted about that sort of thing a lot. When I was 14, my best friend started wearing makeup, short shorts, and giggling uncontrollably over boys. I thought she had lost her mind. She thought I was weird.

Anyway, I digressed.

Here's my point. Trying to neutralize all gender like those folks in Sweden is not the way to go, because it's going too far the wrong way. The key is to let boys and girls have freedom to choose or reject traditional gender roles, without pushing them into any particular direction. Shouldn't we tell our young girls it's OK to like cars and football, and also OK to like frilly dresses and makeup? Can't we let a boy explore his feminine side without telling him he must be gay?

Why can't we just give all girls and boys the freedom to choose what they like?

Maybe when society can accept that idea, we will eventually get to a place of real gender equality.

See that big baby doll I'm holding? I still have her. She's a Madame Alexander baby doll my mother went to a lot of trouble to find for me in 1969.

See the big rifle Michael is holding? It went home with Uncle Bruce, right after they got drunk and shot up the neighborhood.

Just kidding.

Tears and Berries

The day started off pretty well, then went downhill. I was up and showered and through breakfast and rushing out the door, making OK time, and my phone rang.

My friend Laura just lost her husband a few days ago. He had cancer, but we both believe it was an allergic reaction to a medication that killed him, not the cancer. I was on the phone and emailing her today, trying to help her get medical records and assess what can be done, if anything.

But back to this morning. I hung up talking to Laura and burst into tears. I guess it was inevitable. As awful as I feel about my daughter, Laura is facing so much more grief. I cannot bear to hear someone I care about crying. It wipes me out. I can hold it together for a short time, then I just dissolve. Then of course I reflected on my situation and more tears came. It took me a while after I got to work before I could calm down enough to get anything done.

I thought I looked calm, then my boss stuck his head in the door of my office, and looked alarmed. "You need a little time?! It's OK..." he said, disappearing quickly. There are two kinds of men in the world - those who rush in to help and comfort a crying woman [there are only about 5% who fall into this category] and the rest of them, who get out of the room as quickly as possible. Roger was nice, but he retreated quickly.

To be fair, I have very blue eyes and when I've been crying and they are also red, I look like a space alien.

I stayed until 3:30 and took a short lunch break. Since Roger is out of town next week, I am trying to get trained in more quickly and get some tasks accomplished for him before he leaves.

I came home and tackled some more cleaning out of Alesia's room. It's a sad task. I am trying to de-personalize the room and get it clean before my brother comes in this weekend. Every knicknack sparks a memory. There is the music box given to me by a friend before she came home, the stuffed elephant, the doll from Khabarovsk, etc. So many things.

I have not heard a word from her. I've asked some of her friends to alert me if she contacts them.

On to a happier topic, strawberries.

My mother was in line at a store buying strawberries years ago, when my brother was a teenager, and the woman standing behind her said to Mom, "How do you fix your strawberries when you get them home?" Mother said "I wash them and put them in the fridge. Then they disappear."

Mother said the woman just looked at her like, Oh-Kay.....

I don't eat strawberries, but my brother can eat his weight in them.

We bought fresh strawberries at Kroger yesterday, and they are now gone. Michael has decided he likes to pour a small dish of condensed milk, and dip strawberries or apple slices into the condensed milk. He ate some of the berries last night, the rest of them tonight. Hey, if it gets him to eat fruit, I don't care. He doesn't have weight or cholesterol issues. He says he's going to try bananas tomorrow.

I tried a new recipe tonight, using Philly Cream Cheese cooking creme. I saw an ad for the stuff and wanted to try it. It's delicioso. I cut up some chicken and sauteed it in some butter, then added the cooking creme and some fresh asparagus. I cooked some noodles and put the chicken/asparagus mixture over the noodles. Veyr yummy. Of course, you can just melt a block of cream cheese and throw in some herbs, but this product is quicker...

Update

We've had a nice day. I got up and watered and fertilized all the back gardens, thinking it's going to be a hot, dry day, and of course, tonight we had torrential rain and thunderstorms. We needed the rain.

We went to Kroger around noon, and had a late lunch.

Mike spotted a box of eclairs on sale in the Kroger bakery and asked if he could get them, and I said fine. We have had such an excruciatingly painful week that for the moment, I cannot deal much with thinking about food. I am not going crazy with food, but I am not trying to diet either.

Adding or subtracting people is a painful business. Family dynamics shift. With Alesia gone, I have to re-orient my thinking. I am now a parent of one child. It takes some getting used to.

We had lunch at Eduardo's, a favorite place. Mother hadn't been in there in a while, although we get takeout food there too, fairly often.

My friend Judy posted this story link to a NY Times article about adopted kids reuniting with birthparents via Facebook. I don't see anything wrong with that. The days of hiding adoption should end. Every study I've read shows that kids who have some knowledge of their birth families and understand about their adoptions grow up more secure and mentally healthy. Secrets just lead to more issues.

I almost wish Alesia's birthmom could be involved, if only just to try and talk some sense into her about the choices she's making right now.

The Saturday Review

I was going to write last night but I was too tired. Yesterday was a good day, overall.

Michael spent the night out Friday and I know he had a nice time, but he didn't sleep well. That's the problem with sleepovers. He's always grumpy the next day.

We ran errands yesterday morning, and then came home and got on ebay. Michael got paid for his petsitting job, and wanted an iPod Touch for his birthday. We found a good used one and I bid on it and won it for him. He has learned the value of buying things that are used. Cosmetic wear and tear doesn't mean anything. I am raising a thrifty son.

He thinks the prices at Walmart are too high.

Yay - he might be like his uncle and actually able to save money, not like me!

I will say this, though. I avoid malls like the plague and even if I can one day make decent money again, I will not pay full retail for anything. I'd rather bargain hunt at Goodwill and ebay, then be suckered into buying crap I don't need at exorbitant prices.

We saw the movie X-Men First Class. It was good to see a movie just with Michael. It was very entertaining. We've seen all the other X-Men movies, so all of it made sense. If you've never seen an x-men movie I don't know if it would be as enjoyable.

I made the best cauliflower last night for dinner. It's my cousin Terri's recipe. It was so simple I didn't think it would be good, but it was delicious.

Halley’s Cauliflower

OK, if you thought you hated cauliflower, do I have a recipe for you! The last time I served it for guests, they thought it was macaroni and cheese (which I love). Not low cal but it is my children's favorite veggie (except for artichokes). Halley requested it for her birthday! - Terri

 

Full head of cauliflower                   

1-1 ½ cups mayonnaise

2-3 Tblsp. Yellow mustard              

1 cup colby jack cheese

Wash and cut out the core of the cauliflower. Jab it a few time with a knife or an ice pick. Cook on high in the microwave for 8-10 minutes (it steams itself and you really don't need to add water). Mix mayonnaise with yellow mustard until you get a creamy squash color. Spread over the cauliflower. Cover it with about 1 cup of colby jack cheese. Return to the microwave (covered) for about 1-2minutes until the cheese melts.

Little Signs - Laughter and Hope

It's been hard to think what to blog about, because I don't want to dwell on the negative. So after much thought I've decided to point out that I have had several odd or quirky things happen to me today. Some made me laugh, some startled me, but they added up to something significant.

I was at work trying to finish up for the day, and I was so frustrated because I was thinking that my computer was having some huge issue because I couldn't connect to a website that does postage.I was thinking "oh woe is me, oh no, what am I gonna do?!?"  I finally told Roger [my boss] my internet was down, and he walked in the office, looked at my work area, and said "Look where your purse is, Dee." I had put my purse on top of the electrical cord and tilted it out just enough to cause issues. Duh. Brilliant move, that.

Moved purse, go the internet going again.

Easy fix.

So yesterday I couldn't find the parking garage and today I messed up my own internet connection. I did, however, do a good job editing a complaint, TRO, and brief for him this morning. So he must think I am some sort of idiot savant.

Oh, and I spent a long time yesterday looking for a pleading in his office, the file, my office, filing, and guess where it was? On the computer. There is no paper pleading. It never even occurred to me to look on the computer. Many courts nowadays are going to electronic filing and paper is becoming obsolete. You can tell I haven't worked in a law office in a while. It's a whole new world.

Michael has been pet-sitting for this neighbor for a couple of weeks and it turned out to be a really onerous chore because the dog kept getting out of the fence. So tonight, Colton invited Mike over to spend the night. They both came here from the pool around 6, and I told Mike he could go only after he checked on the dog and took her to walk, etc. I was thinking to myself, I wish the owner would get home so Mike can relax and enjoy his visit and not worry about the dog.

Colton walked down there with Mike, just to keep him company. Now, the neighbor had specifically said Mike couldn't bring friends when he checked on the animals, probably thinking he didn't want him down there partying. Mike honored that. So tonight he goes down there with Colton, though, and the guy had come back a day early. When Mike told me this later I asked if the guy was nice to them. Mike looked at me and said "He said to me YOU SHOULDN"T HAVE DONE THAT! I TOLD YOU NOT TO BRING FRIENDS!" The look of horror on my face must've been priceless because Mike burst out laughing.

My father used to do the same thing to me. I am so gullible.

I was reading late this afternoon, thinking about dinner, and I got to thinking, wouldn't it be nice to eat french toast for dinner?! The next paragraph, one of the main characters says "I'm making french toast!"

Whoa.... weird....

I was thinking tonight, I know Coco is almost out of food, but I really don't want to go to Kroger tomorrow. I'd much rather wait. Then Mother told me where to look to find some more food for her. So we don't have to go tomorrow. I like to use Saturdays as "cleanup" days to clean out the leftovers and either eat them or throw them out.

All these little moments may sound silly to you, but I am thinking to myself, these moments serve as little signposts to me, saying things will be all right. God is always watching out for me. When I think the darkness is overwhelming, the sense of failure and the grief, then he sends me signs saying no, Dee, I am here with you in the darkness. We will get through this together.

I wouldn't last a minute without my faith.

Thursday Highlights

It's been an oddly busy day, and I've had a time finding a spare moment to blog. It started off in a rush, because I overslept, then I was running like a headless chicken trying to get off to work and not be late.

I got the bright idea to make a breakfast sandwich I could eat in the car. So I buttered a hot dog bun and stuck it in the little countertop broiler, and scrambled some eggs. I fixed my tea, and went to get out the bun a few minutes later and it was stone cold. Despite the fact the broiler wasn't plugged in [my fault for plugging in the crock pot there yesterday] the timer had dinged, giving me a false sense that it was working. I piled my eggs on the cold bun, wrapped the whole thing in tinfoil, and dashed out the door. I wasn't late, thank God.

Yesterday was the first day I honestly tried to park in the parking garage - up until then I'd just parked in the Visitor lot because it was obvious. Yesterday I tried to find the alley to go behind the building, found it, with my boss on the phone talking me through it, then couldn't find the building entrance gate. I finally asked the boss to come down and get in my car and physically show me. Thanks be to God he did - I never would've spotted the door. Fortunately, he's an easygoing guy.

Today I breezed back there and parked, no problemo.

I had lunch with an old friend I used to work with. She filled me in on the office gossip. The more I think about it, the more I realize a cube farm is like a small town. Everyone knows everyone's business. It's claustrophobic.

Michael got to go back to the pool this afternoon. Yesterday the entire pool was shut down because some kid had a poop accident in the pool. I'm glad they shut it down and cleaned it. Ick.

My friend Cindy posted about a book she is reading about a fascinating man, Eustace Conway. Reading about that unique man took my mind off my troubles in a really nice way. I wish I could visit his home, Turtle Island Preserve. It's not too far from here, in the NC mountains.

My daughter has not called, texted, or come by the house. It's finally beginning to set in that she is really not coming back, not any time soon anyway. I think it's clear that she needs to learn some lessons and needs to do it the hard way, on her own. (And no, she has never read my blog. Nor does Mike read it. I don't really care if they do, but they choose not to. That's fine.)

I was thinking today, when Alesia first moved to this house Mother and I, we were making a Christmas wreath one day with some lovely, expensive floral ribbon, and Alesia insisted she knew how to make the bow. I asked her if she'd ever made one before and she said no. So I said well, let Granny make it then, she knows how, and we don't want to waste the ribbon. Nope, Alesia insisted she knew how, in a totally disoriented little exchange. I firmly said no. She finally cried and pitched a fit about it. She also pitched a fit when I tried to show her how to roller skate. She would not accept my teaching or authority even though I had been a good skater in my youth and she'd never roller skated in her life.. We had battles over authority all the time. I have wondered if she was biding her time to turn 18, so she could then do exactly as she pleased, without having to listen to me. She never thought I knew anything anyway. I think that control struggle idea has validity.

Doesn't make the loss of her any easier, but I am always struggling to understand what makes a person self-destructive.

A Blast from the Past

Sometimes it's fun to think about the past, to wallow a bit in nostalgia, because when the present kinda sucks, the past looks very rosy.

Anyway, I wanted to post something more cheerful than the posts of the past couple of days.

Michael is lying on my bed watching That 70's Show. I am listening to Charlie Rich sing "Behind Closed Doors," a song that takes me back to my 1970's childhood, and my dad's car radio, which was always tuned to WIVK, the country station.I hated country music, but Dad was hard of hearing and you didn't dare touch his radio in the car, so I know a LOT of lyrics to songs I actually despise.

I do like Conway Twitty, but only because I think his songs are hysterically funny.

I well remember my dad singing along to Tight Fittin' Jeans. You should watch that video because it's a fascinating glimpse of all Conway's various hairstyles over the years. He is actually a very homely man, but the hair is like a completely separate entity with it's own fame. I wonder if the hairdo demands a luxury trailer and signs autographs?!

And I bet you thought only the ladies had some big hair in the 1960's?!

I showed Michael this photo and he said "Elvis?" - nope, Conway. The low rent Elvis...

Nothing can beat the beautiful poetry of "I'd Love to Lay You Down" - a song that made me laugh so hard the first time I heard it that I nearly wet my pants. It wasn't the bad grammar of "lay you down" - chickens lay, people lie, I can hear my mother say. Nope. The second verse talks about how he wants to have sex with his wife when she's standing in the kitchen in a faded old nightgown with her hair up in curlers.

I wonder if he'd be willing to mess up his hair for some action on the kitchen floor?!?

That evokes a whole mess of images I like to pressure wash out of my brain right now.

I Googled hair curlers to see what would pop up, and lo and behold I found that Lady Gaga wears curlers!

 

Isn't it a shame she can't afford better curlers?!

[I don't care for the Gaga. Her name starts with "gag" - tells you something huh?! She's like Madonna but without the talent...]

Over at Pioneer Woman Ree did a post about one of her dogs, and products from the past.

I headed over to the Vermont Country Store website because [cough cough] I have a birthday coming up on July 4th. I always drool over their catalog. So, since I'm sure you were actively wondering WHAT to get me, here are some ideas:

The Slushee Mug - nothing beats a grape juice slushee!Seriously, I curse the day we sold our mugs at a garage sale.

What about some reusable bowl covers? There's a blast from the past, and it's eco-friendly, too. If you're needing a shower cap, these can do double duty.

I had to drink a glass of milk every night of my life until I was an adult, and I don't like milk. I tolerated it by putting enough Netle's Quik or Bosco to give it some flavor. We were always forced to drink skim milk because Dad had high cholesterol - then we grew up and discovered whole milk. My brother still drinks a glass of milk about every day.

And he drinks milk from a COW, even. He doesn't care about being politically correct and drinking soy milk.Nor do I. We put soy sauce in our roasts and that's all the soy we need...

Anyway, back to birthday gift ideas.

I actually covet some SAS Sandals that I'd love to own. They would fit my fat little hobbit feet just right.

I told my brother I want a new mailbox for my birthday, and his [free] labor to install it. Our mailbox looks pathetic. I'd also like one of these cute covers.

BUT -

If you really want to delight me, look into some pink flamingoes. Nothing says class like the flamingos...

And now, in honor of this nostalgic post, I am sharing a photo from the past. Can you recognize the chick in the two piece suit?!

Yep, that's the last known photo of my bare midriff. I was about 10 years old...

Admire the muscles?!

Dark Day

Well, yesterday was so awful I couldn't even bring myself to blog last night. All I wanted to do was fall into bed, and that's what I did, as soon as I got Michael squared away. Some of the bad stuff I can blog about, some not.

Work went pretty well. So yesterday morning was OK. I am liking my new part-time job more and more. One really nice thing is that I only work for one attorney, and he's pretty laid back. I was about 15 minutes late because there was an accident on the freeway but we talked about it and he said not to worry about it. I aim to get there at 9, but sometimes it will be 9:15 becuase of traffic, and he said it's OK. Atlanta traffic being what it is, it's unreasonable to expect someone with a commute over 15 minutes to always be perfectly on time every day.

Everything else pretty much stank. I spent most of the afternoon in the car running errands, and it was about 95 degrees. The high today is supposed to be 95.

Michael is going to go to scuba camp at the end of July, a new camp put on by the same folks at Children's Healthcare. This will be for a week, down in Dunedin, Florida, near Clearwater. I am so glad he can go, since we can't afford a vacation this year. There was a long packet of forms to fill out for that. I didn't realize until yesterday I had to get his doctor to sign a form stating he is physically fit enough to scuba. So then I had to drive 30 minutes up to Lilburn to the doctor. We started seeing him because he speaks fluent Russian, even though he's not close to the house, and now I rather regret not seeing a pediatrician that's closer. However, Dr. George is a great guy, and he told me to tell Michael he will love scuba diving.

His nurse gave me a hard time, though, as Mike hasn't had a physical in a while. He is healthy as a horse and I don't believe in unnecessary doctor visits. Then I realized the packet was due today, so I had to call the folks and explain the situation. They also needed a copy of his insurance card, so I had to run to Kinko's. 

I had to run deposit some money in the bank because of a bill paying snafu.

We were in line at the grocery store finally, and the woman in front of us decided to leave all her groceries and go back to get something. We stood there a few minutes, and finally the cashier just physically reached over and took my groceries and rang them up, ignoring the woman who had gone off. When she got back she gave me the stinkeye, big time. I mean, she looked mad. We got out of there fast.

Then I get home and I've got a notice from the IRS saying not only am I not getting my expected refund, I OWE them money. Since I made almost no money last year, I find that bizarre. So this afternoon it's off to the accountant in hopes he can straighten it out.

All of my squash plants in the garden are in bad shape and I have no idea what to do.

The final bad news has to do with Alesia, but I can't blog about it. Suffice to say, she is running around with some bad folks and being heavily influenced by them, and I am helpless to fix the situation. She's hardly been home in the past few days and I am not sure when she will be coming back home.

She's almost 20 years old and she won't listen to me.

For privacy reasons I can't say more, but I do ask you for prayers that Alesia will come to her senses and get back on track SOON.

The day ended OK, because I fixed a pork roast that turned out to be very tasty, a little tenderloin. We also had sauteed cabbage and garlic bread. It was all good. What's amazing is I was on the phone pretty much the whole time it was cooking.

We also talked to my brother and he's said he's coming in town next week for my birthday [July 4th] so that's good.

We really need prayer covering for Alesia, though...