tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15635634009870188112024-03-13T16:19:33.569-07:00I'm Having a Senior Momentpatricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-5829893783685901802021-08-17T12:00:00.013-07:002021-08-24T08:50:06.748-07:00<p></p><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL12FXo4_2tQa-Gha5tTqyUSvWfGtsIQFMeNYhzsFSYzJztMhPtWIRTTQsKccIBynA9hQqTr-UgU_SMkAmig4KT_wjnwQf8J55To8jOAEM2oZKj_CnwNYotJ0siY_Osds924z5RMROaUyB/s640/three+musketeers.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="640" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL12FXo4_2tQa-Gha5tTqyUSvWfGtsIQFMeNYhzsFSYzJztMhPtWIRTTQsKccIBynA9hQqTr-UgU_SMkAmig4KT_wjnwQf8J55To8jOAEM2oZKj_CnwNYotJ0siY_Osds924z5RMROaUyB/w320-h219/three+musketeers.JPEG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>If the Ole River Messiah Don't Get you........Sister Louise Will</b></div></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">By Patricia White<b> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I was about to
start first grade in 1946, I lived with my Mama and Daddy and my two sisters in
an old downtown neighborhood in Baton
Rouge, Louisiana, called Spanish Town. During the summer we neighborhood children
often ventured into the main business district which was near the Mississippi
Riverbanks, which we were told was off limits for us all. But back then, when you went
outside after lunch, no one really looked for you until supper time. We followed the older kids wherever they went.. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Strange and scary things
happened down by that muddy old river. An old man who called himself the
Messiah lived down near the edge of the water behind the levee. He wrapped
himself up in a dirty old white sheet and hollered things at us when we went
down to the river to watch the Ferry come and go. Sometimes in freezing cold
weather the Messiah would walk right out into the Mississippi river up to his
neck. He walked right out into that water with his arms up in the
air, sometimes singing, sometimes quiet like he was thinking or praying. Everyone
was scared to death of him. He could see everything out of the corner of his
eye open or shut. If he saw you coming down the levee toward the ferry and he
would jump out of his cardboard shack and start running toward you mumbling something
that sounded like, </span><b><i><span style="color: black; font-family: ""WP TypographicSymbols"",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I </span></i></b><b><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">gonna get chooooo. </span></i></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He would spread his arms out with that white
sheet flapping in the wind as he ran. He looked like a big white rooster who
opened his wings to fly off the top of the chicken house. The Messiah stayed
close to the Ferry landing all the time just waiting to grab one of us as we
boarded the ferry for a Sunday afternoon ride. My uncle told me the Messiah
would steal my eyeballs right out of my head if he ever caught me. I
never knew for sure that he ever caught anyone.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I thought I was prepared
for what was to come when I entered St. Joseph’s Parochial School my very first
day. The school building had once been an old Victorian home. I heard that a
family had been murdered in the house and that certain rooms and closets of the
house were still haunted. The older kids in the neighborhood told me
there was a special room in the schoolhouse that children were not allowed to
go into. No one knew for sure why, but it had something to do with some of the
nun’s secrets. <b><i>I thought that maybe it was the place they went to get all
their hair cut off.</i></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> There
were school buses for the kids who lived in the country. As for me, I had to
walk six long scary blocks to get to school. I was the oldest of three girls so
there was no one to walk with me on that first day. All the way to school, I
pressed down the little pleats in my navy-blue skirt with my hands. <b><i>I was
so proud of my beautiful little new skirt. </i></b> My Mama had made
me three of those little navy-blue pleated skirts, which were part of my
uniform, along with a white peter-pan collar blouse, a navy-blue bow tie, any
kind of shoes and white socks. Navy-blue scull-caps were required on
Mass Day.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Money was scarce in
those days. My parents sold war surplus soap out of the trunk of my grandma’s car to
get extra money for school clothes. Mama could sew very well and covered
lampshades for rich ladies, so making my school skirts was no problem. I had my
three-dollars tuition for my first month in my pencil bag and my lunch in a
brown paper sack. I was a little afraid, but I was ready for my
first day.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
found my way to school and to my classroom that first day. As I entered, there
stood Sister Louise, slapping a wooden ruler on her open flat palm, welcoming
each of us to the first grade. <b><i>“Hello, I’m Sister Louise,” slap, slap. </i></b>I
couldn’t help but stare and wonder what the ruler was for and what she had on
under that long black dress. Not much of her head showed because she had
white material around her face. The white band came down on her forehead and on
the sides of her face covering up her ears. The band seemed to cut into her
cheeks and pinch her face together. The material was stiff and looked like
someone had ironed it right onto her face. Sister Louise wore a piece of black
silky material on her head that hung down to her shoulders. She swished it
around like it was long hair. That made me wonder where her hair was or if she
had any. I thought about the special room. Sister looked and smelled
funny. Mama had shown me a picture of a Nun on a holy card, but this
Sister Louise was scary. She reminded me of the Messiah in black clothes.<b><i> I
missed my Mama</i></b>.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
learned on that first day of school that we prayed before and after everything
and that Jesus was watching and could see everything I did. I also
learned that my beautiful little navy pleated skirt that my Mama sewed for me
was too short. Sister Louise sternly announced in front of the whole
class, <b><i>“Patricia, you should be ashamed, your skirt is too short,
and I can see your panties. </i></b>Now, you march home and tell your Mama to
fix that skirt and don’t come back until it is longer.”</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
I ran out of the classroom and cried as I ran all six
blocks home in that short little skirt. <b><i>Even the Messiah could not
catch me if he tried, I ran so fast. </i></b>Mama and I practiced many times
during the summer, and I knew the way. Mama was going to be so mad. When I got
home, the front door was open, and I crept inside. She was sitting at her
sewing machine with a row of pins between her lips. She stopped, dropped the
pins into a dish and asked, “Patricia, what are you doing home? Are you sick?”</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
was sniveling and breathing so hard I thought my heart would pop the buttons on
my new white blouse. It was so quiet in the house. Mama was waiting for an
answer. <b><i>“Sister says my skirt is too short,” </i></b>I managed to
force out between gasps and sputters.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
wanted Mama to take me in her lap and hold me and rub my back.<i><b> But she was mad
as a hornet.</b></i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Who
does that <b><i>ole battle-axe</i></b> think she is?” Mama
walked over to me and pulled on the big silver hook and eye at my waistband and
my too-short skirt fell to the floor. I stood there in my panties and white
blouse and bow tie as tears streamed down my face. My eyes burned
and I felt like a jack’s ball was caught in my throat. There was no
doubt Sister Louise has been mad, now Mama was mad too. And, I just knew she
was mad at me. I must have moved when she was pinning the hem of my
skirt with that clanking ruler thing. I was the oldest and should
have known not to move. She told me not to move. I crawled up on the
couch while she worked on those little skirts. My lunch was still in
Sister Louise’s classroom, under my desk getting moldy and rotten. <b><i>Potted
meat was going to waste. </i></b>I was hungry, but I guess Mama
forgot. Mama called Daddy at the plant and told him the whole story.
Then she called my grandmother and two of her friends. I wished Daddy would
come home, he would know what to do. <b><i> I hated being the
oldest. Three white, Irish, Catholic girls. The Three Musketeers. Big,
Middle and Little. The guilty one who could not be still, next was the precious
one, and then the baby who Mama let eat Mayonnaise right out of the jar with
her hand.</i></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> That
September afternoon I sat on the smooth, warm, concrete front steps of our
apartment and waited for my Daddy to come home. The iceman came by in his truck
making deliveries. Every day all summer, we sat on the same steps and hollered
to the iceman, <b><i>“Please throw us some ice, Mister,”</i></b> and
he would toss three of four chunks over the wooden side of his truck. But on
that miserable day, I did not want any of his old ice. The ice cream man also
came by on his bike with the funny little box hooked on his handlebars. He
shouted, <b><i>“Popsicle, Fudgesicle, Biggie Benny Bar.” </i></b>No
ice cream for me today either. Mama was too mad. <b><i>No Siree. No ice, no ice
cream, and no lunch. Mama was so mad she just forgot about me.</i></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Mama
walked me to school the next day and found Sister Louise and sassed her really
bad. Mama was a convert to the Catholic religion, and she was not afraid of
those Nuns, not even Sister Louise who was huge and had a funny mustache. <b><i>My
Mama wasn’t afraid of anybody, not even my Daddy.</i></b> After she
told Sister Louise off, she marched to the principal’s office and told Mother
Roberts about the short-skirt problem. Mama said, <i><b>“I hope you are happy now
that her skirt is longer, and she looks like an orphan.”</b></i> Mother Roberts
listened, nodding her head up and down as she fingered some long black beads
that hung around her waist as Mama continued to threaten her within an inch of
her life if anyone ever said a word about my skirt again. <b><i>She said she would snatch them bald</i></b>.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
must ring the bell,” Mother Roberts interrupted. Our talk was over. She
had never said a word, but she knew my <b><i>Mama meant business.</i></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Mama
took me back to my classroom. Sister Louise smiled at me like she had a secret
and said, <b><i>“come, my child,”</i></b> and told me to take my seat
then turned and frowned while nodding good-by to my Mama. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> My
desk was third from the front by a window and way far away from the door my Mama
was leaving out of. My skirt was long enough because Sister Louise
didn’t say another word about it. <b><i> I watched Mama out the
window walking toward home and I put my head on my desk and cried silently as
whiffs of yesterday’s potted meat sandwich drifted up to my nose.</i></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the one day I had
been gone, three more girls named Patricia entered St. Joseph’s Parochial
Elementary School and into my class. Sister said she could not have so many of us
with the same name, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and so she changed
our names to Pat, Patsy, Patty and Patricia. She named me, Pat, just like
snapping her fingers and it was done. My Daddy was going to be so burned up.
Aunt Shirley had already tried to nickname me Patsy and Daddy said, “NO. Her
name is Patricia.” <b><i>This nun is going to cause so much trouble
in our family. </i></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sister led the class in
a prayer to God the Almighty before we went home that horrible, second day of
school. I secretly prayed to Baby Jesus that tomorrow would be better. Maybe
tomorrow I would hide in the secret place under the house and just play school
with my sisters as I had done all summer. <b><i>I could tell them all
about Sister Louise and I might even tell them about that scary old Messiah.</i></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZxP8Dy4Fp9SxbhQMI9_LLG_e_B1-5SURqUOflqyJ8eCug7wkqZWeVQCdOWl87KR91fvlbX7NUhZJgTPaNEh8Tsw17qGuZYUY5PZ7QP2bX52rF0r26P6yGjo7W5sSoCaUXkv27zvUFhqk/s640/St+Joseph%2527s.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZxP8Dy4Fp9SxbhQMI9_LLG_e_B1-5SURqUOflqyJ8eCug7wkqZWeVQCdOWl87KR91fvlbX7NUhZJgTPaNEh8Tsw17qGuZYUY5PZ7QP2bX52rF0r26P6yGjo7W5sSoCaUXkv27zvUFhqk/s320/St+Joseph%2527s.jpg" width="240" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.65pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p><br />patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-54119641103380172632020-02-14T06:22:00.000-08:002020-02-18T13:51:40.781-08:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Anxiety, Arthritis and Acupuncture</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">By Patricia White</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXyArsH_URCdpkT_mY3cXjvL97_fh6lyx9Gg-lWnH6o_1mnk3D0AdNjr005Rbap9bzADFQAsbvidPLhqhxxPvXhVJNBPB-R-SUCjvTif7Aj7iV-lhPeAG51BVbtyDQJiKWd-G2o9JEs9-/s1600/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXyArsH_URCdpkT_mY3cXjvL97_fh6lyx9Gg-lWnH6o_1mnk3D0AdNjr005Rbap9bzADFQAsbvidPLhqhxxPvXhVJNBPB-R-SUCjvTif7Aj7iV-lhPeAG51BVbtyDQJiKWd-G2o9JEs9-/s200/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXyArsH_URCdpkT_mY3cXjvL97_fh6lyx9Gg-lWnH6o_1mnk3D0AdNjr005Rbap9bzADFQAsbvidPLhqhxxPvXhVJNBPB-R-SUCjvTif7Aj7iV-lhPeAG51BVbtyDQJiKWd-G2o9JEs9-/s1600/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Each New Year brings a new start or so we tell ourselves. A new
year is no different from each new day. Humans, especially this one, always
believe tomorrow will be bigger and better. It’s like erasing the big classroom
blackboard once a year, once a week or once a day. The chalk dust is still in
the air, but will soon settle somewhere, just as the things we try to erase
from our lives and bodies. This dust just takes a little longer to settle out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I had a snake-bit kind of year in 2019 in two big <b>A</b> words….</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
<b>Arthritis and Anxiety</b></i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>.</b> I started new meds a half</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dozen times for each, stopped each a
half</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dozen times and cried two dozen times
more because I just wasn’t getting the results I wanted, or the side effects
were worse than the ailments, or it was too hot, too cold, too hard or just
wasn’t in God’s time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">With all the new <b><i>wild-child treatments on the horizon</i></b>,
it was time for me to step out there and test the waters. I have heard so much
about CBD oil and that the folks who were taking it were all but walking on
water after anointing their tongue with the <b><i>oil of the sacred leaf</i></b>.
It took two stores before I found a lady who was knowledgeable enough to tell
me exactly how many drops of which sacred oil I needed to achieve a state
somewhere between ecstasy and relief. I didn’t want to feel like I was floating
or give off an aura that something was funky with my soul. I just wanted
relief, no side effects, nor to feel out of the ordinary, just good! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I took my little green bottle of CBD oil home and started using the
drops immediately. Nothing happened. <b><i>Damn</i></b>. There’s always
tomorrow. Next day, I went for my thirty-two-year cancer-free checkup. I was
thinking about telling the Doc I had started taking CBD oil. I was worried she
would not approve. When the nurse took my blood pressure and it was in the <b><i>stroke
zone</i></b>, I knew I HAD to tell her. My mind was already racing to the moon
that the one dose of drops was going to kill me via stroke. This is part of my
problem. I worry too much about things that are never going to happen. The
Doctor was thrilled that I was taking CBD. She praised it and said they had
many patients achieving great results from Abraham to Zachariah. Wow, did I
feel better. The Doctor also strongly suggested Acupuncture and gave me a
brochure about a clinic they referred patients to and trusted. I was on a roll! Did you notice, another A
word? <b><i>Acupuncture.<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I thought about the Acupuncture thing for a few days as I continued
my CBD oil treatment. On day six, I woke up with no anxiety and my knees were
an itsy bit better. I called for an Acupuncture appointment. An appointment was
available the next day and I was ready. The sweetest Chinese lady, Ling, greeted me
and welcomed me to the world of ancient Chinese medicine. Without a fear in my
fluffy old body, I crawled up on that table and welcomed an array of thin
needles. Ling placed one needle in the “happy
spot” in the center of my forehead, two in my ear lobe, several in my low back,
leg and my foot. About 20 in all. No pain. She then attached electrodes and
turned on the <b><i>juice</i></b>, one needle at a time. When I felt a little <b><i>sizzle,</i></b>
I let her know. It was all good, until she turned out the light and said she’d
be stepping out for about 15 min. OK, then I got scared. What if my warm-up
pants come sliding back up over my butt if I coughed or sneezed and all the
needles come flying out, shocking me <b><i>senseless?</i></b> Here comes the
anxiety again, then the tears. I am a hot mess and a weeping wuss. Not a <b><i>freaking</i></b>
thing was hurting but I didn’t want to be left alone. She asked if I’d like to
listen to some classical music. Yes, please. She asked if I’d like her to get
my hubby from the waiting room. Yes, please. Moments later, my Phil came in,
touched my head with the special energy he brings to me and I relaxed, trying
not to look at my watch too often. Close to 15 minutes of being hooked up, I
was ready for that needle in the happy spot in the middle of my forehead to
come out. It wasn’t making me happy.<b> </b>It wasn’t hurting me, but I knew it
was there. I could see it, even in the dimly lit room. I asked my hubs to take
a picture so I could always remember this moment. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The door opened. In walked
the Ling. She asked how I was feeling. Good, thanks. She removed the needles as
quickly as she put them in, and I was done. See you next week. I felt so proud of myself. We are barely into
February and I have tried two new things, and both have been painless,
effortless and I think I am finally on the right path. I can do this. <b><i>No
more drugs!!!</i></b></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">Soon as I righted myself on the table and Ling left the room, I sent a
picture of myself with the needle in my forehead to my daughter. My phone rang
almost immediately. <b><i>“What happened, what hospital are you in?” </i></b>I
told her I was on the Acupuncture table; couldn’t she see the needle? She said all she could see was me laying on a
table and forgot I was going for this new treatment. Apples don’t fall far from
the tree. We’re stopping on the way home to get her some CBD oil. </span>patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-47899827797035313032018-10-20T13:09:00.000-07:002019-03-07T19:18:12.979-08:00<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 18.0pt;">On the Road A</span></b><b><span style="color: black; font-size: 18.0pt;">gain</span></b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;">By Patricia White</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DJGWmN-oDZ3zUb-PewaJQ-PWgw8jAe4DH_8FHWeuP3qBLFQexOdzuJ9mLUOmTw0fqVGeiGBwKD3_loT83XgU_xT7JIj099B0492C3VkgFaeN9aoRCAriO3F-wts3qiz14iqsSQIF_dxA/s1600/SAE-P%2526P.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DJGWmN-oDZ3zUb-PewaJQ-PWgw8jAe4DH_8FHWeuP3qBLFQexOdzuJ9mLUOmTw0fqVGeiGBwKD3_loT83XgU_xT7JIj099B0492C3VkgFaeN9aoRCAriO3F-wts3qiz14iqsSQIF_dxA/s320/SAE-P%2526P.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />With so many crazy things happening the last couple of months,
trying to get my writing thoughts in order has been shoved to the back burner,
once again. We really live a very simple life it seems, but many days are like a
three-ring circus. How do old people get caught up in chaos when days mostly
consist of doctor appointments, grocery shopping, home repairs, hair-cuts,
arthritis and tending to a cat? I deal with the problems that I personally own
but for the rest I chant, <b><i>not my circus, not my monkeys! </i></b> Damn
monkeys are multiplying. Speaking of monkeys, I’m reading a book called, <b><i>Don’t
Feed the Monkey Mind. </i></b>I’ll leave that there for now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">We recently traveled to Baton Rouge for the annual SAE/LSU Chapter
reunion. Initially, we planned to take Cakes, our cat, as the hotel
is pet friendly, but she told me in cat speak that she’d rather stay
here if one of our girls was willing to stay here with her at night. One of our
Aggies gladly agreed and so it was. Packing, which took me three days including
shopping, was dicey with 95-degree temps in Houston, heading into a 50-60-degree
weekend in Big BR. I had to be prepared for all wardrobe
eventualities, including maybe changing my mind from being in the mood to wear
something fashion forward to age appropriate. We haven’t taken a
trip anywhere in over a year and my usually organized packing skills were
lacking. I thought I covered myself for all scheduled events and any unexpected
wardrobe malfunctions. Not to worry, there is a Chico’s in every city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">We enjoyed a great dinner the first night with the gang at Ruth’s
Chris. My steak was still bellowing when I cut into it, but the waiter graciously took it
back for another pass over the hot coals. Their wait staff was impeccable. Back at
the hotel, we settled into our room to rest. We had been blessed with travel
mercies, albeit it had been a long day. Thank goodness we brought our own
pillows because all six on the bed were little balls of lumpiness. We both use
CPAP machines and the outlets on the lamps were working half time and the wall
outlets not accessible. Old people carry extension cords, of all things, so we
hooked up in the bathroom with two 25’ cords. We would at least breathe through
the night. The TV would not respond to anything we input with the remote. The
not-so-central air-conditioning was loud and blowing humid air into the room. I
woke up at 2am and the AC had stopped all together. My CPAP seemed to be
sucking out my air instead of blowing it in. There was no ceiling fan, which I
am addicted to. I sat up and for no good reason woke my hubby. He asked if I
was OK and I said, NO. I began to weep. No time for a panic attack. He was too
out of it to deal with anything electrical, much less me. <b><i>If the bed
wasn't on fire or I wasn't bleeding, he was going back to sleep.</i></b> I
laid back down and prayed, “Now I lay me down to sleep………,” and it worked. The
air came back on at some point and my CPAP began to blow again. God is Good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">We woke up too late the next morning to catch the free breakfast
buffet in the Lobby, unless I wanted to go in my robe looking like I was in
hard labor. Mr. Leblanc shuffled to the lobby to snag us a bite of anything
that might be left. Breakfast had been picked up and taken back to the kitchen.
He talked some sweet little thing into rustling up a couple of day-old rolls
and we made the best of it with the taste of Columbian coffee from the room
coffee maker……and fake cream. After two cups of half-caf, I picked up the phone
to call maintenance, but our phone did not work either. From my cell phone I put
in a call to the front desk. Handy Dan arrived in five short minutes and he
worked my list, including dismantling and resetting the compressor on the
AC. No hill for a stepper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Next on our personal agenda was meeting my sisters for
lunch. When I began to remove the rest of my clothes from the
hanging bags to get ready, I realized I hadn’t brought any extra tops for day
time activities. I recycled my travel shirt from the day before by
hanging it in the hot shower area for few minutes to steam out wrinkles. Good
ole Rimmel eye-make up remover took away the travel-day coffee stains plus a
bit of ketchup. I would rock lunch in day-old clothes, hopefully
unnoticed. The Gumbo was wonderful, and the sister time was the
best. We just don’t get to see each other often enough. It had been two years
since I had seen my youngest sister. My middle sister came to Houston in March
to play in a tennis tournament and spend time with me as I recovered from total
knee replacement. I looked around the table and thought, we are no longer the
giggly girls who shopped 'till we dropped but three old broads comparing chin hairs and wrinkles and enjoying each other’s company. We squeezed every drop we could
out of our short visit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">After lunch, we girls headed to Chico’s so that I could fill in
some of the missing pieces in my travel wardrobe. As I ran around the store in
an adrenaline rush, I crashed into a beautifully dressed mannequin. I tried to
catch her as she toppled but she was bigger than me. She hit the
floor with her arms flying in one direction and her legs in another. Oh
my. The salesgirl helping me was young and began laughing like a hyena. I
joined her. Between snorts, I grabbed for my phone, so I could snap a picture,
proof of what most would not believe. I was already on Chico’s <b><i>person
of interest list</i></b> for returning $300 worth of stuff I purchased in
Houston (and had already worn the night before) for a price adjustment at the
Baton Rouge store. (I got a text from Chico’s that morning that <b><i>EVERYTHING </i></b>was
40% off.) I caused them a lot of grief, for which I apologized and
thanked them profusely. Their last words were, <b><i>no worries,</i></b> <b><i>now
go buy something</i></b>, not go break something<i>. <b>No worries</b></i>,
I made up for their losses. A win-win in my books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zd6F8hcM88WoQosyUZWosASkHEvY7z44Gk1h8YeS8h1A3PssKc8FhkA-75n_vMJUaP8d8JFMcnhjRD0hU6YD8RUrZVtfZHJbGiWdpC_9Pf9Hyft21lulEq6MeImdps-nRcGKuDWVA0Ub/s1600/mannequin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zd6F8hcM88WoQosyUZWosASkHEvY7z44Gk1h8YeS8h1A3PssKc8FhkA-75n_vMJUaP8d8JFMcnhjRD0hU6YD8RUrZVtfZHJbGiWdpC_9Pf9Hyft21lulEq6MeImdps-nRcGKuDWVA0Ub/s320/mannequin.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Friday night at the Country Club was uneventful, except for my
shoe falling into the commode when I flushed with my foot. I fished
the shoe out with the rat tail comb in my purse and ran it under hot water and
patted it dry with one of their fancy cloth towels. I straightened my tiara, and re-joined the soiree'. Everyone was raving that
the food was excellent. I only nibbled on a couple of finger sandwiches as my
tummy was feeling a little wacko after the shoe thing. But the wine was
excellent and conversation unparalleled. Everyone had a tall tale to share.
Nothing like an SAE Sista. The Ya Yas and then some. One big happy family who
by 9 p.m. had all been over-served. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />All the Brothers and Sisters who weren't going to the LSU game,
regrouped on Saturday afternoon for a watch party in the hotel bar. We ordered
our first glasses of wine and bartender announced that she had only a half-
bottle of Cab for the entire afternoon<i> </i>and NO Pino Grigio. How
could a bar be out of provisions before the game started knowing there were 40
people waiting to be served? A few of the Brothers were not happy.<b><i> Not
my circus, not my monkeys, right?</i></b> We had enough wine in our room
to stock the bar but bringing it into the bar was not an option. We, personally
pouted for a few minutes, then switched to Scotch and Chardonnay. We
are used to getting our way, but the day had been full of surprises. Go with
the flow, that's how we roll. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">LSU beat the hell out of Georgia, everyone
managed to find something to drink and no one got slugged or sloshed.</i></b> A
good time by any account. We were back in our room to watch the Astros kick some
Boston booty by 7 p.m., eating chicken salad on crackers from Calvin’s Market.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sunday morning came too quickly, and it was time to pack up and
head out. We met old friends for brunch, reminisced and laughed then girded our
loins and jumped onto I10 West with thousands of jubilant LSU fans headed home.
Traffic was real. I have total faith in WAZE (the phone app) and she told us to
detour in Orange from I10W to some country back road to avoid a total Big-Rig
jam. We did, and emerged back onto I10W, 20 miles father West and way ahead
of the crowd. First down and 90 miles to go. We were in the home stretch.
The goal was in sight. Geaux Tigers!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Cakes was waiting at the door when we got home, only to quickly
turn her back on us when we walked in. Her beloved staff had been gone all
weekend and she was ripped. We threw the bags in the house, reconnoitered,
grabbed a stemmed glass filled with an adult beverage and settled in to watch
the Astros, round two with Boston. The game ended differently, which turned out
to be the beginning of the end. But we were <i style="font-weight: bold;">home again, home
again and ain't no place like home. </i>Cakes was snuggling us again in an hour. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Life in Texas is
good! See you next year, special friends.</span><b style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><i> A good time was had
by all.</i></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyr1rPZjDMU99vfPi4NjoFZ4Lctofcq6f6POfTX-ZL7RD2LLnw29OxKs7vNHi6uQdWJzgeNt79iyVo1coHzr5UBHX25coqKMr9wR0VNTbeM3iJ5V49OPjK9n5wx0MxEa7x11oYeMI0TcoX/s1600/cakes1018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyr1rPZjDMU99vfPi4NjoFZ4Lctofcq6f6POfTX-ZL7RD2LLnw29OxKs7vNHi6uQdWJzgeNt79iyVo1coHzr5UBHX25coqKMr9wR0VNTbeM3iJ5V49OPjK9n5wx0MxEa7x11oYeMI0TcoX/s320/cakes1018.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-37771294686646413552018-05-30T06:20:00.003-07:002021-08-21T09:29:31.553-07:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXyArsH_URCdpkT_mY3cXjvL97_fh6lyx9Gg-lWnH6o_1mnk3D0AdNjr005Rbap9bzADFQAsbvidPLhqhxxPvXhVJNBPB-R-SUCjvTif7Aj7iV-lhPeAG51BVbtyDQJiKWd-G2o9JEs9-/s1536/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1536" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXyArsH_URCdpkT_mY3cXjvL97_fh6lyx9Gg-lWnH6o_1mnk3D0AdNjr005Rbap9bzADFQAsbvidPLhqhxxPvXhVJNBPB-R-SUCjvTif7Aj7iV-lhPeAG51BVbtyDQJiKWd-G2o9JEs9-/w206-h205/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" width="206" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in -0.25pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Don’t Pee Down My Back
and Tell Me It’s Raining”</span><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in -0.25pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.12px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in -0.25pt; text-align: center;">
By Patricia White<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
I have heard most of these sayings ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dang near’</i> all my life. I’ve tried to explain the context in which
they may have been used and my take on them. The names have been changed to
protect the innocent but some of the words could not be changed, lest they lose
authenticity. If you are offended, remember words are just words…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sticks and stones may
break my bones, but words will never hurt me</i>. Mama said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Bird Nest on the Ground</u></i></b>-
Finding a treasure in an unexpected place, like $100 on the Casino floor or full
roll of toilet paper out in the woods. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Cold
as a Witches Tit in a snow bound</u></i></b> – Think Madonna in her pointed
metal bra, skiing in Beaver Creek, Colorado. Pretty dang cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">You’re
Cruising for a bruising</u></i></b> – Don’t mess with me or I’ll give you a knuckle
sandwich.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Split
your britches </u></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">- </i>You have
really screwed things up. Jesus take the wheel. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Gickempucky</u></i></b>-
Any kind of stuff one mixed up with unknown ingredients. Like stuff grandma concocted
and grandpa rubbed on his athlete’s feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">She
thought she killed a fat hog </u></i></b>– Bought Kraft Dinner at dollar store,
five for a dollar, and they threw an extra in for free.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">That
chaps my butt</u></i></b> –<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone
really pisses you off. Like a case of the royal red ass. Boudreaux’s Butt Paste
doesn’t help much in this situation. Remember though, being pissed off is
better than being pissed on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Make
Hay while the sun shines</u></i></b>-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Earn money when opportunity presents. Like, selling sliced, homemade
pound cake by the coffee pot after church on Sunday. It also means, work you’re
a$$ off when the getting is good because tomorrow is never promised. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Whitie’s
out of jail</u></i></b> – If someone yelled this at you back in the day, it
meant your slip was showing; with today’s short skirts it might mean your
panties. Just saying. And who wears slips? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Not
enough cloth to pad a crutch</u></i></b> – Description of above mentioned skirt.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>Step-ins</u></i></b> – What my
mama called our panties. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Step into your
step-ins</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .25pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 5.9pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 5.9pt 0.25pt -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">“Shotgun”</u></i></b> – When a bunch of
us were heading out of the house to the car, whoever yelled “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shotgun</i>,” had dibs on the front
passenger seat by the window and control of the radio. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Up
Shit Creek without a paddle</u></i></b>- There’s no getting out of this mess.
You in deep doo doo. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Start praying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Narrow-minded</u></i></b>
– When I was a teenager, I could not go out with a boy who was non-Catholic
(specifically Baptist) or from the North side of the tracks. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My Daddy was narrow- minded. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Fat
lot of good that did</u></i></b> – Had nothing to do with fat or good. When
your mama sent you to the store for sausage and you came home with a can of
Vienna sausage, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fat lot of good that did</i>
when she was making Gumbo. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Nervous
as a whore in church</u></i></b>- Well now, this shouldn’t take too much
‘splaining, especially when she saw the Priest with the torch, lighting the
candles, chanting, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sinners come home. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Hissy
Fit</u></i></b>- This is more of a Southern term for when one gets her panties
in a big wad and runs around crying, swearing, demanding and throwing things. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Somebody better fetch her a Valium or a glass
of wine, pdq.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Running
around Like a chicken with its head cut off</u></i></b>- <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That would be me an hour before company is arriving.</i> If you’ve
never been to a farm-yard chicken slaughter, then you don’t know that after a
chicken’s neck has been wrung, (sorry) and its head is gone, (sorry again) it
keeps running around in circles. FOREVA! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Doesn’t
have Pot to piss in or window to throw it out of-</u></i></b> Now, this poor
soul is really broke. All I can say is, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God
Bless him</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">I swan</u></i></b> – What my grandma
used to say when she found something hard to believe. I think it was short for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I Swanny</i>…. or ladylike for I swear!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Couldn’t find his a$$ with both hands</u></i></b>
– An obviously stupid person who is beyond help. You can’t fix stupid. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Grinning
like a possum eating sour grapes </u></i></b>- Possums usually live on bugs,
worms, berries and the like. Eating sour grapes would bring on a smile where
their lips curl back and you can see teeth. People who grin like this are
usually guilty of something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Don’t
pee down my back and tell me it’s raining </u></i></b>– Don’t try to pull the
wool over my eyes. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I know what rain
smells like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">If her lips are moving she’s lying</u></i></b>
– Need I say more? You know who you are.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Snatch
her bald</u></i></b> – What I will do if a woman tries to steal my
husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Better
give your heart to Jesus ‘cause your butt is mine</u></i><u style="text-underline: black;"> </u></b>– You have pissed me off one time too many. Taking no
prisoners. Run like hell. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .25pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 7.65pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 7.65pt 0.25pt -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .25pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 7.65pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 7.65pt 0.25pt -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">$hitting in
high cotton</u></i></b> – How the Nuevo riche’ act until the money is gone...or
the boll weevils eat all the cotton.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .25pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 7.65pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 7.65pt 0.25pt -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .25pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 7.65pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 7.65pt 0.25pt -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Thinks the
Sun shines out of his behind </u></i></b>–Over-inflated ego. (you’re thinking
of someone, right?)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">It
came a turd floater</u></i></b> – Rain came down so hard, it flooded the yard
and the dog poop came floating up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.85pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.85pt -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.85pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.85pt -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Like a cow pissing on a flat rock </u></i></b>-When
rain hits the sidewalk so hard, it makes a big splash. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 1.45pt; margin-left: -.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 1.45pt -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Don’t make me go to lying</u></i></b>-
What you said when asked about something you were not supposed to tell or when asked
something you knew the asker really didn’t want to hear the answer to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u style="text-underline: black;">Birds
of a Feather Flock together</u></i></b> – If you love Jesus but drinks a bit,
you will seek out like- souls. If you’re still here reading this and can relate
to some of these slightly irreverent definitions........I guess we’re Birds of
a Feather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Say what you mean and mean what
you say. Hope this clears up some matters for you and gives you pause for a
chuckle. <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Be Blessed!! <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br /><br />patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-24434589835924628012018-05-19T12:45:00.000-07:002018-06-11T13:07:06.320-07:00<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRwuX6FCW9xaCMp4GcTBBRvjtr8LTRQA7AkgADD1crztMA-xkXO7_Oz93RMxP3prIrtvimpAZCpJXRanWTYcwIpOTqRGWuoG-VS02bVNxkqz76x6_T-gxnP_xJroPc_MOcuARGwHxztXZ/s1600/three+musketeers.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="640" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRwuX6FCW9xaCMp4GcTBBRvjtr8LTRQA7AkgADD1crztMA-xkXO7_Oz93RMxP3prIrtvimpAZCpJXRanWTYcwIpOTqRGWuoG-VS02bVNxkqz76x6_T-gxnP_xJroPc_MOcuARGwHxztXZ/s400/three+musketeers.JPEG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Spring
Has Sprung……Things Have Changed<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">By Patricia White<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Easter season is almost over and I’m just not
quite ready for Summertime and all that comes with it<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d rather bask in the memories of Easters
past and the things from my childhood that have stuck in my memory and in my
heart. When I was a little girl, during Easter week, my sweet daddy would load my
two sisters and me into our army jeep (our only mode of transportation) and
drive us just a few blocks to a nearby lake, where he would point out over the
still water to the big white shiny orb, free-floating, in the silky blue sky
over the State Capital Lake in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It was magical. Daddy
called it the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big Ole Easter Moon</i></b>, and said it would be there every <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Easter</i></b>,
and it always has been. My grands and greats are not so enamored with it when I
tell them the story, but the sweet nostalgia and tradition are mine, not
theirs. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Things have changed. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We always had new Easter dresses and shoes, no matter how
much money there was. My mama could take fifty cents worth of material and copy
and make any dress she saw in the display window of Tots and Teens on Third Street.
The five of us always showed up at St. Agnes Catholic Church on Easter Sunday,<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
marching in with McDonald pride</i></b>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Things
have changed.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">On Easter morning, our baskets were filled with dyed
eggs in every vibrant color in the rainbow. Sprinkled in the green store-bought
grass were jelly beans, malt-ball eggs and maybe a Goldbrick egg or Heavenly Hash egg or two. Sometimes,
we got those large sugar eggs with a peep hole in the end where you could look
inside the egg and see an Easter scene. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
we got older, there was always a specially-wrapped gift beside our basket that
contained a pretty pair of silky summer jammies or some other treat my Mama
knew we’d love. I thought we were the luckiest girls on earth. I was the oldest
of<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
The Three musketeers</i></b>. I’m not sure I always deserved or wanted the
pressure of being the oldest, but I was the self- proclaimed chairman-of-the-board
for as long as they allowed me to be. Too many bossy personas. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Things have changed. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Easter usually entailed an outing with my parents, a group
of friends and their kids. When we moved to a house with five acres <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in the country</i>, our home became the
gathering place. But in the 50s, we were the lucky family with acreage on the
Old Hammond Highway and an outdoor brick barbecue pit. <i>We thought we were rich</i>. Wish I had
a picture of that relic. It was roughly constructed of white bricks and mortar
with a tall chimney. The grill was huge and could hold at least ten chickens
and fifty hot dogs. Friends came out from town to spend the day bringing every
kind of food and dessert, not to mention adult beverages. We had a basketball
goal, croquet set, badminton gear, a pond with a homemade raft and a 45-record
player. Those gatherings were so much fun. We played games and danced all day. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Things have changed.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">One memorable<b><i> Easter Sunday,</i></b> as we were driving to
church after a hard rain, the roads were muddy in places. As daddy neared our
church, he hit a puddle and splashed muddy water all over three little girls
walking along the road in their Easter finery. We were horrified, and Daddy was
so ashamed but couldn’t bring himself to stop. Mama was speechless, but I’m
sure she and Daddy had a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">come to Jesus meeting when we got home</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i>I prayed to God in church and told Him that he didn't mean it. Daddy never forgot that day and reminded
us of what he’d done every Easter Sunday for as long as I can remember. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I still think of that awful sight every year on Easter
and wish there were some way I could pay it back to those children. If you were
one of them, I’m sure you will let me know. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Shortly after Easter, we started thinking about the
end of school and summertime and all the fun we anticipated. Many years the
summer included a trip to Grand Isle for a week. We swam, crabbed and played on
the beach all day. When the sun set, we <i><b>dolled-up</b></i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to go with our parents to the island juke
joint, <b><i>Tony</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">’s Rendezvous,</i></b> where we danced with the local boys and girls,
and where we learned to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shimmy<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">.</b></i> <b><i>Hubba Hubba. </i></b>The nuns would not have approved,
but they weren’t there. The adults sat at another table and enjoyed their adult
beverages and gaggled on. They kept (maybe) one eye on us, but we were to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seen and not heard</i> on those occasions
unless someone was bleeding or unconscious. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">During the years that we stayed home all summer, the days and nights were filled with adventure as</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> we roamed the State Capitol
grounds by day, riding the elevator to the 34</span><sup style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> floor (the
observation deck) and taking the stairs back down, stopping to sneak into the
empty Senate chamber, then as a finale, walking around the ledge that circled
the huge State Capitol building (about three stories from the ground). It was
more fun than a roller coaster with many </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Hail Mary </i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> moments. Hours were spent devising
a plan with needed tools to get into the old Fort that sat behind a mysterious
ivy-covered brick wall. Our only summer rule was, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Be home for suppertime</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. After checking in and eating, we were back
out into the neighborhood until dark-thirty, after at least ten games of hide
‘n seek. With no air conditioning, we took a cold bath to cool down enough to
go to bed. Dressed in our Easter jammies, we crawled up on the bed in the room
we three girls shared, to listen to </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Baby
Snooks, The Great Gildersleeve or The Shadow Knows</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. Daddy switched on the
big fan he’d built into a frame for the window. That fan magically drew the
cool night air from the window across the room as we listened to the radio or talked
about the next talent show we would produce in the back yard. If we were lucky,
every now and then we got a bowl of ice cream before we settled down to sweet
dreams. No cell phones, color TVs, or video games. Can anyone say </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>imagination</i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">?
</span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Things have changed.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Daddy was a do-it-yourself man. He told us, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">If</i></b>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Daddy
can’t do it, nobody can</i></b>. Once, we asked him to make us some stilts and
the next day, he came home from work with lengths of wood and nails and by
nightfall we had three pair of stilts, made to order. He smoothed the wood, so
we never had to worry about splinters. We spent days learning to walk on those
stilts, then dance or cut didos. He taught us to make walkie-talkies out of tin
cans, buttons and string. What happened? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody makes anything anymore. Along came
Amazon. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Things have changed.</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I remember once when we were on an outing with other
families Bar-B-Q-ing and hanging out in the woods. I needed to go to the bathroom.
Daddy walked with me until he found a fallen tree with a forked branch for me
to perch on. That’s the way he was. He always found a solution for everything. He
was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can-do person. </i>He set the bar
high, and when I became a parent, I always tried to be the mama who made things
happen too. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Only the Shadow Knows for sure.</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When I was a growing up, happiness was a pair of
skates, a table radio, jacks, a bolo paddle, a book of paper dolls, a pair of
stilts and Grand Isle. For my kids it was bikes, forts, fishing, tent camping,
s’mores and Florida. Things haven’t changed <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">much</i></b> for me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give me a book, a skein of yarn and a crochet
needle, a<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Motor home and Laptop</b></i> on the lake’s edge and I’m happy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For kids today summertime means………. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the
battery on my I-pad is dead, I don’t have anything to do.</i></b> I can’t even
relate. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s going to be summer before
long and a long summer for some Mamas. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Somewhere on that long road,</i></b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">things
have changed! </i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGonQgmlVFtLVlZiCOce5Q8lTUus4uFrG0u62wuqX4_vB78DwNydmAAIHNq78PrYX9DXcEkYS9V-HRQkIXowCteFlgOY9KjhX46jGRtBHnFxBqZ4vdtK-QaGSMUYPOmE8X8fM5ZNyWtIJ/s1600/state+capitol.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="800" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGonQgmlVFtLVlZiCOce5Q8lTUus4uFrG0u62wuqX4_vB78DwNydmAAIHNq78PrYX9DXcEkYS9V-HRQkIXowCteFlgOY9KjhX46jGRtBHnFxBqZ4vdtK-QaGSMUYPOmE8X8fM5ZNyWtIJ/s400/state+capitol.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-90009745101516775812018-05-07T09:27:00.000-07:002018-06-11T13:05:32.334-07:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm40SQ91Es_nWbraZplO9NJfBt6mdrFhIdArL87YSIN6C8iHJHtFCyOTA2UhiHFb-x7m38y8hmEE4XBqnjtfUt-hOGBe7KyaM2wTKVJdMZM_UVpHzRX7pudNaI5VsSXdbi31Fi4YJnaVBW/s1600/christmas+eve+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="769" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm40SQ91Es_nWbraZplO9NJfBt6mdrFhIdArL87YSIN6C8iHJHtFCyOTA2UhiHFb-x7m38y8hmEE4XBqnjtfUt-hOGBe7KyaM2wTKVJdMZM_UVpHzRX7pudNaI5VsSXdbi31Fi4YJnaVBW/s320/christmas+eve+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Fifty
Shades of Green<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">By Patricia White<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mission
for today was to shop for yarn for the beautiful crocheted afghan I promised to
make for my youngest daughter. I know it’s hot as hail to be wrestling with a
mass of yarn in my lap, but <i>I promised.</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Choosing
yarn colors is rough when you are color blind. I must depend on someone
else’s eyes to determine true color. In my present cataract condition, purple
looks like brown, pink looks like yellow and what I think is seafoam may really
be sea weed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hobby Lobby has the largest selection of yarn
at reasonable prices. I’ve been to some fancy shops where a skein of yarn had
about enough to whip up a potholder, at $12 a skein. Do the math. Thirty-six of
those tiny skeins would cost $432. I’m sticking with Hobby Lobby. So, once there,
I encountered color names like, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">asparagus,
butter bean, kale, roasted celery and cabbage</i>. Sounds like a soup menu. Whose
idea was it to re-name basic colors these <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she-she-names</i></b>? At my wits end, I quit
reading color names and tried to rely on what’s left of the color-discerning part
of my eyes. After stalking each aisle repeatedly, feeling, smelling and comparing,
I selected a beautiful green color and thought it was spot-on. There were no
employees in site to get help from on my color choice, so I went with my gut. I
tried to get color affirmation from the hippie-looking lady at the check-out,
but she was too preoccupied with the nail she’d just broken. No help there. When
my yarn was checked out I hurried to the car, where Mr. Leblanc (aka my hubs)
patiently waited for me, working on a Sudoku puzzle. I excitedly pulled the
yarn from the bag and before I could say a word, he asked why I had gotten blue when I
wanted green. Blue?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One quick glance in
true sunlight told me it really was <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">blue</i></b>. No one knows how much thought
and aggravation really go into one of these side projects of mine<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. Gosh Doggit</i>, my purchase had to be
returned. I hoped the lady in the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">moccasins and pigtails</i></b>, who was no
help at all, would be at lunch when I returned. Color-tricked once again. It
was now close to noon and I needed a bowl of gumbo and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>generous pour of Pinot Gris. My man is so
patient. He said it was no problem and we could return the blue yarn after
lunch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As previously
planned, we joined friends for a mid-day repast of some fine Cajun fare and
bull session to catch up on everyone’s mental state, gallbladders, $1200 crowns,
knees, veins and hammer toes. One of my BFFs mentioned she was dreading an upcoming
procedure. That nasty rear end, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“let’s take a peak way up in there,” </i></b>and
starts with the letter “C.” I did not want to go there as I dipped my wonderful
French bread into my gumbo. I had one of those <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">roto rooters</i></b> once. The
Doctor told me that he would give me meds before the procedure to induce
amnesia about the whole incident once it was over. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Well, Sister, half way through <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I
got my memory back</b>. Yes, I did, and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I
screamed</b>. I later heard that my scream cleared the waiting room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was very sorry to have frightened anyone,
but the doctor should have kept his promise.</i> I did not tell my BFF about
waking up during my <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">look-see</i></b>. I suggested an emergency subject change and we
finished lunch and chatted about some old geezer-band playing locally and the
possibility of catching one of their gigs coming up that weekend. After our
meal, we enjoyed authentic Cajun bread pudding with rum sauce for desert and
the chatter wound down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hugged
and kissed goodbye and promised to see each other again before they loaded us
all up on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that senior bus</i> we keep reading
about on Facebook. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That’s where we get
most of our hard news.</i> I knew before the year was over, we’d either be on
the bus or under it the way things were going for Seniors and Medicare and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">those of a certain political persuasion</i>.
Just saying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back at the
Hobby Lobby, I began, once again, to peruse the shelves for the shade that was
stuck in my craw – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sea foam green, </i>like
the color of the foamy waves that break in shallow water in Destin, Florida. I re-dug
through every yarn brand, the clearance bin and even got on the red phone and
asked if they might have any yarn hiding in the backroom. No luck from the lame duck on the other end of the phone. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes were blurry and watering from the dye
after looking up close at <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fifty shades of green</i></b>. Totally
frustrated, I carried two different skeins of yarn to the returns counter,
where <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pocahontas </i></b>was now working<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i></b> Again, I asked her opinion. She proceeded
to educates me about blue and green pigmentation and dye processes. Who the eff
cares? I was buzzing from the Pinot and not in the mood for Textiles 101. All I
wanted to know was which yarn looked most like <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sea Foam Green</i> </b>to her. She
said, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">neither</i></b>. So, I opted for the one that looked blue. I ran back
to aisle 26 and grabbed eight more skeins.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I made my exchange and bolted. Last time
I picked the green one and it was a true blue in the sunlight. Therefore, blue
would surely look green with the yellow of the sun mixed in. Blue and yellow
still make green, right? </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My Pinot brain
is making perfect sense</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. Since it was now overcast in the parking lot, I
was guessing it would look just right. When I got back to the car, I pulled out
a skein and handed it to Mr. Leblanc. He said </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">good job on finding</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sea Foam Green.
</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I asked if he was sure</span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">. </i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">He handed
the yarn back to me and pointed to the label. </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Sea Foam Green</i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Well, I’ll just be switched</i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. How did
I miss that? I got this color thing. We were backing up to leave as I caught
sight of </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Pocahontas </i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">running out of the store towards us. She had my cell
phone in her hand. I rolled the window down and reached out for it thanking her
with all my southern Pinot charm. That’s when I noticed her eyes were two
different colors. One was light brown and the other sea foam green. Or was it
Blue........</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ExUGO3D2WxXT4Sz0H21NeLcaH1EAildoT8cWNoNzrFHiu7-Bkn1AWnCiQXCu6khGI1VH3cJS4SkEjgYkU3B-q1YbsnA-XeyX-oKZ4pTNgwesI9SGRJ28kc597meFR9sZe-w7QsBiAe17/s1600/Seafoam+AFghan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ExUGO3D2WxXT4Sz0H21NeLcaH1EAildoT8cWNoNzrFHiu7-Bkn1AWnCiQXCu6khGI1VH3cJS4SkEjgYkU3B-q1YbsnA-XeyX-oKZ4pTNgwesI9SGRJ28kc597meFR9sZe-w7QsBiAe17/s320/Seafoam+AFghan.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-3392173153368512682018-05-02T10:11:00.003-07:002018-06-11T13:08:00.529-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DeCa4y5ZK6BX7GjJO8RTwP_v_qtgpKG4m4XbHnIYIL8-6repYx3lnWrGW4qiD0CdbEK3rpSs58aFUDoVOXm7UmdWn4YIc7rc9KUaWUHeRtSbQ_5LbR60uw4xQMolf0GCi5MVNA4DBULQ/s1600/christmas+eve+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="769" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DeCa4y5ZK6BX7GjJO8RTwP_v_qtgpKG4m4XbHnIYIL8-6repYx3lnWrGW4qiD0CdbEK3rpSs58aFUDoVOXm7UmdWn4YIc7rc9KUaWUHeRtSbQ_5LbR60uw4xQMolf0GCi5MVNA4DBULQ/s400/christmas+eve+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraph">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Knee Replacement.....The Struggle is
Real</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By Patricia White</span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I knew about
six years ago that my knees were going south on me, faster than new meds were
being developed to treat them. A total kn</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">ee replacement was not an option for
me at that time as far as I was concerned. For several years I had regular
steroid injections as well as Synvisc injections. I would ask my Doc each visit
if he thought my really bad knee was ready for the next step. He always shook his head and
said, "not just yet." I'd ask if it was really a big deal. He always
said, "Yes, it's a big deal." At least he was honest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We were just
coming off a good year of being back on the tennis courts, Zydeco dancing every
Friday night at Swampy's, our favorite watering hole/restaurant, water aerobics,
gym workouts and even a little Pickle Ball at the Y with the old gummers. I
think the Pickle Ball was what did me in. The <b><i>final</i></b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">curtain</i></b>
came down on my knees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After two
scopes and a micro-fracture, there was still not much improvement in my worst knee.
I became sedentary way ahead of my time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I worked with a trainer twice a week for a year. My goals were to keep
my knees moving and to avoid replacement at all cost. The extra exercise was giving
me back, hip and ankle problems so I quit everything. After a year of hobbling
around with a cane, being dropped off at the door of every place we went, I
just kind of quit doing most things. I became an arm-chair shopper and saved
all my energy for cooking and doing simple things around the house. I felt like
life was passing me by. It was decision time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I went back to my ortho only to
learn that he was no longer doing knees. But, he said that his associate was a highly
trained and skilled surgeon, recruited from California, and was doing the
latest and greatest new MAKOPLASTY, robotic assisted surgery. That info gave me
a real sense of assurance somewhere between, </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>OK, let's do this and run
like hell!!!</i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> With much urging from all my peeps, I scheduled an appointment
and went for a consultation. In a fog of information and anxiety, I heard
someone setting up a surgery date and suddenly realized it was me. I was on
auto-pilot. Surgery was set for one month out and it would take that long to
complete all the assigned tasks, x-rays, meetings, etc. Well, one month was way too long
to have to think about the things I knew they would do to me. And if I heard
correctly from well-meaning friends, with tools from the woodshed. Besides all
those crazy thoughts, a new problem developed. My ankle on my good leg gave out
completely, necessitating a steroid injection which moved surgery out another
month. I prayed daily for a sign from God whether I should do this thing. The ankle issue looked like a sign to me, but I waited a bit longer for a bigger </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>bonk
on the head.</i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Then, one morning, my gut just told me I should not and
could not go through with surgery and I cancelled. Yep, all the tests,
meetings, etc. Erased from my calendar and my mind. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">We southern girls know we must go with our gut
feelings. I breathed a sigh of relief. No more worries about surgery. But the
problem was still there, big-time. I'd figure something out after the holidays.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Thanksgiving was tough as I always prepared a large portion of the meal, but
Christmas put my <b><i>behind</i></b> in a sling. We had 35 for Christmas Eve and nothing was
too good for my family.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I slaved for
days making the house and preparations perfect, all with the help of my
precious husband. A lot of meltdowns, hugs, Tylenol, icing of my knee, etc. My
family could see the strain and after Christmas, told me I just had to get my
knee fixed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">January 2,
2018, I called and rescheduled surgery for February 6.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was scared again. Shitless. There were
dietary changes to make which demanded an increase in protein, old meds to be
stopped and new ones started, three-times-a day exercises, x-rays, scans,
labs....OMG, meetings and my regular life still needed to go on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Surgery day
arrived and so did we at 5:30 am, ready for this<b><i> piece of cake</i></b>
everyone touted. Surgery took about 45 minutes and I suppose all went well.
With the nerve block in my leg, I was up and walking four hours later. I
thought, wow, this is going to be easy. Only because I begged and had a
meltdown at my final Dr. visit before surgery, I was able to stay the night in the
hospital. New Medicare guidelines now deem knee replacement for Seniors, <b><i>Day
Surgery! </i></b>You heard me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made it
through the first night post-op, then it was time to head home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">One thing we
failed to plan out was how I would get up into the truck for the trip home. I
was so high on drugs and residuals from surgery, I have no idea how I got up on
that seat. I think they may have used a back hoe. When we arrived home, I just
kind of slid out of the truck onto a thick cushion on the garage floor and
trudged inside collapsing on the first soft surface I came to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Shortly
thereafter, I moved into the bed which became my pillow-lined nest for two
weeks. The bathroom was 14 steps too many away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I cried during every round trip. I was taking pain meds every four
hours, day and night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hubby was
cooking grits in the middle of the night for me as I had to have food on my
tummy to tolerate the meds. Or, he was fetching pudding, milk, ice, cookies or
something 24 hours a day. The struggle was real, for both of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was unable to take anti-inflammatory meds
because of previous heart issues and it was making recovery and healing slower
than I could accept. I was not prepared in advance for the situation I found
myself in. Are we ever? <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poor pitiful me</i></b>. I put on a good
face but most saw through it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The weeks
dragged by with what I thought was more than my share of pain and nausea. I
started some aggressive outpatient physical therapy about week three. My range
of motion improved rapidly but the pain lingered. Everyone encouraged me to
just take the pain meds. <b><i>Don't let the pain get ahead of you,</i></b> was
their mantra. After six weeks of aggressive therapy, I began to fear that I
would become addicted to the meds and against all recommendations, I started to
taper off. The pain wasn't gone just the medicine and I was in meltdown mode
most of the time. Each therapy session seemed to make matters worse. I prayed
constantly for relief. I lived each day by faith, not by sight, as I saw no
signs my knee was getting well. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jesus take the wheel!<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">With one physical therapy session left, I decided to take
matters into my own hands. I called my cardiologist and insisted that I be
allowed to take something to reduce the inflammation. My ortho wanted me off
the pain meds and to go to <b><i>pain management.</i></b> Against my better judgment,</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> I called to make the appointment and t</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">he nurse started talking long needles
and injections on the phone . </span><b style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Game
off.</i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I called in my prayer warriors and I devised a plan to get better in
a hurry. You don't really need to know my plan because it probably changed each
day and it encompassed a lot of things, mostly God driven. I'm finally getting
where I need to be. For me, it has taken almost three months after surgery. It's
different for everyone. There is no norm, which I was looking for. The nights
are still a little shaky because I'm unconsciously protecting my knee all night
long, thus waking up a lot. But if I wake up and my knee is throbbing, I put a
soft pillow on top of it and tell it to go back to sleep. Alas, I am so much
better! No tears for several days or waking up with unexplained, free-floating
anxiety. I think I've got this. I still have a few more months to go before I get my
stamina back and to feel like I truly have a </span><b style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>new knee</i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. We signed
up at the gym today and paid for a year in advance. I am committed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Struggle Has Been Real!!!</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> My family has been the <b><i>REALEST
thing of all, </i></b>present<b><i> </i></b>every step of the way with love,
meals, encouragement or whatever we needed. No surprises there because <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that
is how we roll, 365</i></b>. My goal this morning was to make it through today as some days over the past few months it was to make it through the next hour.
Baby steps from February to May and I took every one of then, not alone, but with God’s help.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I AM A SURVIVOR.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIW5iNve_MSxp6tL0BPzDQ4OKImRg0lOxbErfkjX20O6h7oxqecidBlgOC4PVqOCggHxallQHOzHWGDWEfLL0aFNlv1cyGGfCmbP1fngUlnKWXWt8IN9BoQcrplOhfYHwO4jgAL7DNoPcj/s1600/IMG_1706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="479" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIW5iNve_MSxp6tL0BPzDQ4OKImRg0lOxbErfkjX20O6h7oxqecidBlgOC4PVqOCggHxallQHOzHWGDWEfLL0aFNlv1cyGGfCmbP1fngUlnKWXWt8IN9BoQcrplOhfYHwO4jgAL7DNoPcj/s320/IMG_1706.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-12410844990906509182017-12-13T11:51:00.000-08:002018-06-11T13:08:45.850-07:00What a Difference a Year Makes<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
By Patricia White</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCtfSCbZdTC5utIJ6CBlY-x6S72oAxyhCfG-YvAXxLUUwbCip6ivJZCcRkQlkE_SzpoUdpSPH_JR4xnSKD25tI-XAZM0hJU7YUghMi_9mVis1MlR2O0gKUtbl_f2b511MZbeYvKl7Gh_R/s1600/IMG_1721+%25281%2529.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="295" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCtfSCbZdTC5utIJ6CBlY-x6S72oAxyhCfG-YvAXxLUUwbCip6ivJZCcRkQlkE_SzpoUdpSPH_JR4xnSKD25tI-XAZM0hJU7YUghMi_9mVis1MlR2O0gKUtbl_f2b511MZbeYvKl7Gh_R/s320/IMG_1721+%25281%2529.PNG" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2t_gNFx8Wptexuo0QP_5xQzUBlrQw-jzPgAwrPoy8DfgwFqE6X9qBX6yJmWeTWsipvV9_Wom40UBbs6DpAAmrLDP-ZNstScwGz61fH-2nyt3ey-gTPPdnZmWKj16gJ82Uuq5x1s-D7H9/s1600/christmas+eve+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><br /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I used to feel as though the days flew by, then it was
the weeks, and now it’s the </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">YEARS</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">!!
Every time I turn around it is Christmas again. The day after Labor Day, I now see Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas Decor go on sale at Hobby Lobby. As soon
as the merchants warn us we have 119 days until Christmas, the year is almost
over again. </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Run, run Rudolf ‘cause I’m
reeling like a merry-go-round.</i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">First on my agenda this year was Cataract Surgery that
went very well. I’m going to tell you I was crazy-kind of scared, no matter how
many people told me it was a piece of cake. I did my usual praying for days beforehand
that all would go well with no complications. When the day of surgery arrived,
being very anxious, I began to pray to <b><i>Archangel Raphael</i></b>, whose specialty
is healing (i.e. fixing broken things). When I checked into the surgical center
and got all gowned up, I was told my nurse, <b><i>Raphael</i></b>, would soon be in to
take over my care. My heart skipped a beat when I realized my own personal
archangel had come to be with me. I teared up. Need I say more? I had one eye done
on Monday and one on Wednesday and came down with the flu on Friday of the same
week. Although my eye-surgery outcome
was perfect, 20/20 vision gave me no consolation as I <i>trotted like a goose</i> back and forth to the bathroom …. a reaction to Tamiflu. I
know, let’s get this New Year started, right??? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Fast forward a few weeks, with a glimpse of spring and
slightly warmer temps, we moved our motor home to our favorite spot on the lake
for three months. Being only an hour from home, we had the luxury of motoring
back and forth when the neighborhood natives got restless or the sandbox got
too crowded. Or when we just yearned for the pleasure of drinking our morning
coffee on the lake’s edge as the ducks swam by, nodding, “Good morning, Humans.” We loved being out there, hanging out in our little
gazebo, grilling, dancing in the moonlight and drowning worms, until Spring <i>sprung</i> and the heat drove us home. As we
wound our way out of the park on our last day, we heard a loud crash. With a bedeviling
feeling in my gut, I opened the door and I saw that we had wrapped our still-extended
awning around a telephone pole. By means of a little help and a few bucks later,
we secured the mangled awning to the side of the motor home and thanked God
that was the worst thing that happened during our stay. The Glampets were on
the road again….headed home. A good time was had by all who visited. <i>Fo sure!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Between the heat, the rains and Hurricane Harvey, it
was an eventful summer. If you didn’t have water in your house, you were
blessed. We were <b><i>blessed</i></b>. Neighbors were helping neighbors with many paying it
forward. We saw much sadness but a lot of gladness too. We lost our precious kitty, Tiger, but as
soon as the airlines were flying after the storm, we got another precious
kitty, a two-year-old female, Doll-Face Persian <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">from Troy, Missouri. Cakes is
the happiest and sweetest kitty in the world. Dogs have masters, but cats have
staff. Indeed! Cakes came from a household with four young children and many
cats who kept her entertained. We try to run, roll on the floor and play with
her, but the challenge is real. LOL. Albeit, this is her forever home and we
love her to the Moon.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We endured football season, ignored Halloween, thoroughly
enjoyed Thanksgiving and here it is Christmas time again. The purple and gold
LSU tree is up, the Nativity is in place and years of decor is scattered around
the house. Outside lights are blinking and <b><i>Santa Baby</i></b> is playing on a small but
melodious speaker in the kitchen window. I can still remember Eartha Kitt singing
that song, do you? CYO Center, circa 1953. We are prepared to host our
beautiful family for Christmas and anxiously await the arrival of <i><b>Baby Jesus. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Like I said, <b><i>what a difference a year makes</i></b>.
Family members were reunited, a new baby was born, two more on the way, new friends
came into our lives and old friends crossed over. We are survivors, warriors,
wild ones at heart. I’m getting a new knee in 2018. Wonder Woman goes Bionic! I
hear that Zydeco Music playing, waiting for me. I shall dance again. Stay tuned…💕<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE28F2l_8wb9_mVsozCUwEnc9I6fNgSzUFdlaK8bJn7w8ZVQOSabKbgnBi9l_gR6enfqgrWiMkkfVr6cMS4CoLwWwDDD63mSSOH4Dov4oBSPAh0aKew3ZpJvsaHP5M0eT51c-3PKXlvV04/s1600/IMG_1732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE28F2l_8wb9_mVsozCUwEnc9I6fNgSzUFdlaK8bJn7w8ZVQOSabKbgnBi9l_gR6enfqgrWiMkkfVr6cMS4CoLwWwDDD63mSSOH4Dov4oBSPAh0aKew3ZpJvsaHP5M0eT51c-3PKXlvV04/s320/IMG_1732.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Miss Cakes</b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-34427930803188891502016-07-11T19:33:00.004-07:002021-08-18T08:31:15.090-07:00Two Old People and Their Cat<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmnp5OtxyKeULJrPiXuhEX1vWkqh-F4InIU38qGjoakm0oK__EFsZ-IGAeOkvreJZU0U7x65JgfPon4gPTV3NIs01keeTkC06OJw2lC0e39ZqkC-DR6C-Afa9Sr71bkVG4FHbQ7mN7H7B7/s1600/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmnp5OtxyKeULJrPiXuhEX1vWkqh-F4InIU38qGjoakm0oK__EFsZ-IGAeOkvreJZU0U7x65JgfPon4gPTV3NIs01keeTkC06OJw2lC0e39ZqkC-DR6C-Afa9Sr71bkVG4FHbQ7mN7H7B7/s320/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_g8gXm997h2nARb1MLyfKZimiADn3DQIAkKOInpIpYryZaJ00mZNwUHBLhurItYGVqTMND1uA0aNAOMMoGSP-jXgUxGWpN_xJG6II0RO43MB9BnTWUg2JI_OIMBwJjZP_fvrgOPL7n9OV/s1600/Tiger+7.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></a><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">By Patricia White</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I started
this blog a year ago this month. I was pretty regular for several months and
then it was Christmas and I was knee-deep in inserting gift cards into
envelopes and straw-bossing some amazing Christmas house decorators. I am the Queen of Excuses these days. For
someone who used cloth diapers and has always made everything from scratch,
including Valentines, I now use a service for anything we can afford. It no longer floats my boat to do it all myself. I get joy from just getting out of bed and making
it to the coffee pot with or without a cane. When we are not running the streets, hunting and gathering, I have no problem being lazy a
large part of the day. My seventy-six-year
old body is not cooperating with my forty-six-year-old mind so I have to settle for entertainment wherever I can get it. I have become an arm-chair shopper
rather than a mall rocker. My hubby asks what I want for breakfast and he then fixes it
for me. (Bad knees) In return, I ask where he’d like to go for lunch……and so it goes. We needed more and after a lot of thought and consideration we decided it was time for </span><b style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>Pet Therapy. </i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I got my mind set on a beautiful
doll-face Persian around Christmas and had to wait patiently until the
end of April to get him. He jetted in from St. Louis all by himself at ten-weeks old and we collected him at a
remote cargo location at the airport. The agent first shoved a handmade wood crate at
me that housed a big green bird. <i><b>Nope, not mine. I hate birds. Look again, cargo man!</b></i> </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Then the agent found a tiny crate with our little kitten crouched in the back. I peeped
inside, our eyes met and I wept! </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Come to Mama</b></i><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">, I purred. It
was like having a baby all over again but without the duck walk and labor. We named
him Tiger because he looks like a Tiger. He is an apricot ball of fluff now,
quickly losing his stripes, save for his raccoon tail and some facial markings. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">`</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht80n0pqj2nf8tP87n7jNo0kDLbrpO8UlQJmNcnqnvp1zmK7InSd0DHrH9lDAdY-D5uNumkOLNkuPmwx-oaf9qxyCNCyPWRBB-nJT9l6pYldA47uuxZrQACxVNoTpPj9u6Y96iSo6QITpE/s1600/Tiger8+-+Copy.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht80n0pqj2nf8tP87n7jNo0kDLbrpO8UlQJmNcnqnvp1zmK7InSd0DHrH9lDAdY-D5uNumkOLNkuPmwx-oaf9qxyCNCyPWRBB-nJT9l6pYldA47uuxZrQACxVNoTpPj9u6Y96iSo6QITpE/s320/Tiger8+-+Copy.JPG" width="240" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht80n0pqj2nf8tP87n7jNo0kDLbrpO8UlQJmNcnqnvp1zmK7InSd0DHrH9lDAdY-D5uNumkOLNkuPmwx-oaf9qxyCNCyPWRBB-nJT9l6pYldA47uuxZrQACxVNoTpPj9u6Y96iSo6QITpE/s1600/Tiger8+-+Copy.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We bought a fancy
bed/house and I made a beautiful little purple crocheted afghan for him but he chooses to
sleep under our bed on top of the spare dining room table leaf, naked and cold. He’s
not even interested in tearing the afghan apart. We have purchased one of every fun cat toy
there is but he prefers to play with a fat rubber band that says WWJD, a wine cork, a paper
bag or small cardboard box. He decides when he will sit in our lap, when he goes
to bed and when he goes potty. Just keep his toilet flushed and his dish full of kibbles du </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">jour and he is happy. <span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 17.12px;">At four-months old, it is easy to see he is an Alpha Cat. They say cats aren't trainable, but everything is negotiable with Tiger at the sound of the crinkle of a bag of kitty treats. Crinkle, crinkle. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 17.12px;"><i><b>I'm coming, mommie, I can change!</b></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqgyLOAcTS2nIdn8SzlVroRm23tlH9LqfKhyphenhyphenc1FXtFZjZn6cPM1SrEvEDB-3U-ac3bOl360mfQPlS4Feqp9SdWd4M7h7H99gkuCgJBFYvFZ6D9hE7p_VMsyihlA5s2xeoPauFXVpBDfRe/s1600/Tiger11.PNG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqgyLOAcTS2nIdn8SzlVroRm23tlH9LqfKhyphenhyphenc1FXtFZjZn6cPM1SrEvEDB-3U-ac3bOl360mfQPlS4Feqp9SdWd4M7h7H99gkuCgJBFYvFZ6D9hE7p_VMsyihlA5s2xeoPauFXVpBDfRe/s320/Tiger11.PNG" width="180" /></span></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At six-thirty a.m. T-man jumps up on the bed and pounces in the middle of my chest.
He purrs, licks and kisses my face. He
snuggles my neck and meows for me to get up. I adore this kitten so I
slowly crawl out of bed and carry him into the den to start the day. Once I open the bedroom
door he jumps from my arms to explore the awesome wonders of the parts of our house that have been shut off to him all night. First stop, the breakfront to check out the ceramic rabbit. Tiger: </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><b>And, who the hail are you?</b></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Me: </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><b>You crazy cat</b></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Seeing me
settled in my chair, sipping coffee and waking up, he heads back to the bedroom
and begins working on my hubby, who in a very short while comes walking into
the den, carrying the cat. Tiger has done his </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><b>get-your-ass out of bed</b></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> routine
on Mr. Leblanc He wants everyone up and at his disposal. He is funnier than a circus
clown. Well, we think he is funny but
you know old people will laugh at anything. He gets away with murder because he
can outrun us. </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><b>I know, right!</b></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_9" o:spid="_x0000_s1027"
type="#_x0000_t75" style='position:absolute;margin-left:.05pt;margin-top:5.3pt;
width:144.65pt;height:133.55pt;z-index:251661312;visibility:visible;
mso-wrap-style:square;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:absolute;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:margin;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-width-relative:page;mso-height-relative:page'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:/Users/GATORL~1/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image007.jpg"
o:title="" croptop="13017f" cropbottom="10486f" cropleft="-1494f"
cropright="1494f"/>
<w:wrap type="square" anchorx="margin"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbA9IfoUL89mJ45WkMewEH7dw8E5Wl_j2KAc1dwTV6GJSlqUFWRoa30YCqe4Ccy2u7B1BG0zN-nBZoJDghpCPvcu8JJQeQpRU8NzLDC858vy0W2q4XprqgsltBP6N9f83XVwnm_LGtRpnJ/s1600/Tiger13.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbA9IfoUL89mJ45WkMewEH7dw8E5Wl_j2KAc1dwTV6GJSlqUFWRoa30YCqe4Ccy2u7B1BG0zN-nBZoJDghpCPvcu8JJQeQpRU8NzLDC858vy0W2q4XprqgsltBP6N9f83XVwnm_LGtRpnJ/s320/Tiger13.JPG" width="240" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And, Tiger is hypo-allergenic too! No Shinola!! No sneezing or itching or runny noses here. I comb him everyday and tell him </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>how gorgeous he is and that sweet kittens don't bite and that he can change.</b></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> When he’s not playing hide-n-seek, or trying
to lick us with his pointed little teeth, he loves watching TV. He thoroughly
enjoyed Wimbledon, moving his head from side to side watching the ball. He
turned to look at us periodically with an expression that said, “</span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>nice shot,
huh?</b></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">” </span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Kitty Poo just about tore our Venetian blinds down so we had to spring for new wood shutters. That's what pet owners do for their forever-kitty. Right? It all worked out for the best, because I've been wanting wood shutters for three years anyway. And, Tiger can't climb or swing from </span><b style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; line-height: 107%;">these here ones </b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">and get hurt. We open the lower louvers and he crawls through and onto the window sill for sun bathing or frog watching. No telling what he thinks about what's beyond the window pane. Maybe he thinks it's Cat Heaven or Chicago. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> feed him warm, pureed chicken
breast for dinner every night and supplement it with expensive varieties of dry
food for his noshing pleasure during the day. </span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 17.12px;">Tiger doesn't go outside because he doesn't know there is an outside. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He is definitely a lounge lizard and easier to
raise and care for than any other animal we’ve ever owned, or child for that matter. So,
we’re really in love with this adorable kitten. In the two and a half months we have had
Tiger, I’ve accumulated 157 pictures and 16 videos on my phone.<i><b> Don’t judge!</b></i> You
have not seen how really fluffy and beautiful he is, like pale orange cotton-candy. But, I’m fixing to throw one last magazine-worthy picture out here before I sign off.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">If you’re
not a cat person, read no more………..LOL........He probably doesn't like you either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_10" o:spid="_x0000_s1026"
type="#_x0000_t75" style='position:absolute;margin-left:85.25pt;margin-top:39.9pt;
width:234.95pt;height:171.75pt;z-index:251662336;visibility:visible;
mso-wrap-style:square;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:absolute;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-width-relative:page;mso-height-relative:page'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:/Users/GATORL~1/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image009.jpg"
o:title="" croptop="7717f" cropbottom="20798f"/>
<w:wrap type="square"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NT4tztFaDtnVlr37_-MdX3AEBhMNyv6-boVfmMlCZ2G-SKZOVmUgXauJLqTAxMjj_xU0fwESfyNJKyoF9qXbQzE83Y22KqO7-iOUXbanP_oaAudF_jWldI-YhNTUQaKPMQ8awBadOZwT/s1600/Tiger5.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NT4tztFaDtnVlr37_-MdX3AEBhMNyv6-boVfmMlCZ2G-SKZOVmUgXauJLqTAxMjj_xU0fwESfyNJKyoF9qXbQzE83Y22KqO7-iOUXbanP_oaAudF_jWldI-YhNTUQaKPMQ8awBadOZwT/s1600/Tiger5.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NT4tztFaDtnVlr37_-MdX3AEBhMNyv6-boVfmMlCZ2G-SKZOVmUgXauJLqTAxMjj_xU0fwESfyNJKyoF9qXbQzE83Y22KqO7-iOUXbanP_oaAudF_jWldI-YhNTUQaKPMQ8awBadOZwT/s400/Tiger5.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-8404859408345647142015-11-05T11:12:00.002-08:002022-09-12T15:47:41.245-07:00The Bless*ed Dressing<div class="WordSection1">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By Patricia White</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmm8poJRUEWNImFpLkFUcswMTjMXNNGWsZ0sVklMuEADGTS2lylRbdBIiXdoCU2qQH7Tw4PJldWVBwabXaBhy5g62G1LgkkOPC3f0Om0ByZGrm3M6Auy6JksmffrcwOIlUHOs9cgxHZqZv/s1600/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmm8poJRUEWNImFpLkFUcswMTjMXNNGWsZ0sVklMuEADGTS2lylRbdBIiXdoCU2qQH7Tw4PJldWVBwabXaBhy5g62G1LgkkOPC3f0Om0ByZGrm3M6Auy6JksmffrcwOIlUHOs9cgxHZqZv/s320/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> With the patio door cracked open, I could
feel the cool evening breeze as I waited anxiously for my hubby to get home
from work. Sitting in my favorite spot, in the corner of our brown leather sofa,
I was sipping a glass of Cab and working a crossword when my husband walked in.
He had a big smile on his face and gave me his usual, sweet, hello kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “How was work?” I asked. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Fine. The Thanksgiving Feast is coming up
the end of next week and Tammy asked me if Pat would</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> make the cornbread dressing.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">looked up from my crossword puzzle and said, “Pat who?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Pat, you. You’ve spoiled them,
they love your dressing," he said<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Because I was working last year, Tammy had
to order dressing from the building deli and no one liked it. It was dry and
had too much sage. He said that he told Tammy he was sure I’d be happy to make
it. I bit my tongue, I was not happy, or flattered or thankful.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 15pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Well,
I was hoping to send the rolls and butter this year, but I’ll do that for
you. By the way, is everyone preparing a dish?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 15pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No,”
he said. “Those who don’t cook gave Tammy ten dollars to buy stuff.” I headed
for my purse and offered him a twenty.
He looked hurt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “It
was a joke,” I said. “Of course I will
make the dressing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> He volunteered to shop for all the ingredients
and to chop up all the veggies for me in advance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">That little piggy went to market.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> A few days after he volunteered my
services for this culinary undertaking, I woke up one morning and my right leg
wasn</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t working. The
bottom half of my leg went one way and my knee went the other. There was no
explaining the bum knee, just untimely bad luck; maybe it was good luck with
the dressing thing. I thought for a
second I was off the hook. But I’m not one for making excuses and I did have my
CVS animal-print cane, and at worst, Mama’s walker was in the storage closet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection2">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> After trying to walk with a cane
unsuccessfully for several days, I saw the Doctor and sadly accepted the news
that I had bad joint strain and had to stay off the knee….if I could. Rest and ice. That was two days before the gargantuan
task of making my <i>better than store
bought</i> <i>dressing </i>for thirty
something of the dearest people in my husband</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s office. I was also to be the
delivery girl and my timing had to be perfect.
Somehow I had to get that twenty-pound pan of hot dressing to the truck
if I had to tie a rope around the handle and pull it out there. <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">”I’ll huff and I’ll puff……………<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The day before the feast, I made the
cornbread, sautéed all the veggies, mixed it all up with my special secret
ingredients and dumped it into the big pan with the handles and shoved it into
the fridge. Next day I had only to bake and transport it. Just as I got the
kitchen all cleaned up, standing on my good leg, the bad leg propped on a
footstool, the phone rang. It was hubby. Now, they wanted a big bowl of my delicious gravy
to go with the dressing. I guessed that
next they would want me to dress up in a uniform and serve. I was injured, my
leg was getting no better and I was not warming up to this kitchen frolic. I
was having un-Christian-like thoughts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> As I rolled over in bed the next morning,
the day of the feast, I had a burning pain up under my left wing (Yes, I have
wings). I was sure it was a pulled muscle from pulling myself up and down with
my old flabby arms. This was becoming a
nightmare. I had dressing to bake, gravy to make and somehow load it all into
the truck with only half of my mojo working and now, a busted wing. I just wanted to cry, but I pretended to be
better as I walked my hubby to his car, like I did every day. I blew him a kiss
as he drove off into the blue-sky morning. He offered to stay but I insisted it
was no biggie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “See you at 11:00.” I mouthed, with a tear in my eye, as he
backed out of the carport.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The fridge was opposite the oven so
transferring the dressing was not too taxing.
The Angels were hovering over me. Mama must have sent them down. I could
feel a warm presence. After a short while, a wonderful aroma was wafting from
the oven and I was just about done with the gravy when the phone rang. It was
hubby. He said he would need our
electric knife and asked me to throw it into the box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “What box?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Well,
the hot gravy should be in a box so it doesn</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t
spill in the truck.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Of course, why didn</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t I think of that?” I said sarcastically. Where in the hail was I
going to get a friggin box?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Hold on,” I said, as I switched the phone
to speaker and laid it on the counter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I squatted on one leg to dig the electric
knife handle from out of the back of the kitchen cabinet. I finally reached it</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> just as I dropped my cane. I fell to the
floor and screamed. I shouted toward the
phone.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “I’m OK. Baby got back, just not enough to
soften that fall.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I
silently cursed everyone on the tenth floor of One Riverway as I pulled myself
up off the kitchen floor, fished the knife blades out of the drawer and threw everything on the countertop. I remembered there was an empty wine box in the dining
room from last night’s wine run. The
mail lady was peering into the dining room window. What the hail was she
looking at? I guess she’s heard me scream. I was breathing heavily when I finally picked up the
phone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “OK, it</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s
all in the box.” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Are you OK?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Yes, I’m fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Try to be here by 11:15.” He said
sweetly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “OK, I’ll do my best.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “If you need me, I can come home and get
all that stuff.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “No problem, I’m good,” I said. (I’ve had
four children, two with no anesthetic, I got this).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> As I reached over the counter to hang up
the phone, I knocked half a box of Swanson</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s
chicken broth off the counter and all over the floor and my jammies.“Sorry, Angels, I know I need my mouth washed
out with soap.” I wiggled out of my jammie bottoms and dropped them on top of
the mess on the floor, hoping to sop some of the broth. Last thing I needed was to slip and fall. Now
that my pants were off, I could see that my knee was swelling more. I would foot-mop
the floor when I got home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">This little piggy was mad at all the little piggies in
her husband’s office. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I
crawled up the stairs to take a hot bath and dress for the epic delivery of
what was becoming the Bless*ed dressing. I put on fresh jeans, a really cute
top, silver turkey earrings, make up, extra mascara and teased up my hair just
in case Eye Witness News was there or someone from the office insisted that I come
up and share this pre-Thanksgiving bounty. No pitiful looking Patty here. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> When all the food was at the perfect
temperature I started to work my plan for getting it all into the truck. I rolled the dressing to the truck on the
desk chair, then the box with my delicious daayum gravy and serving tools and slammed the door shut. Then I
called hubby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “I</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">m
rolling and will call you when I get close to the office.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Thank you, baby,” he said. “You’re the
best.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I10
was like a log jam. A long funeral procession was in the right lane and someone
was moving a house down the other two open lanes. I would not make it by 11:15. As I pedaled my
SUV down I10, more than frustration was setting in. I had full blown road rage
and a temporary case of Tourette’s. I
was starting to hope lunch would be over by the time I got there with the best
part. Some twisted part of me said they didn</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t
deserve my dressing. When I was finally able to merge onto
610, it looked for a minute like the Woodway Exit was blocked off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 15pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh
look, a makeshift exit,” I shouted to no one. “Yee Haw for the office, I will
make it with the Bless*ed dressing.”
I called Hubby to let him know the eagle would land in five minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Hubby met me at the car and said I wasn</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t late; everyone was upstairs sipping wine, eating
hors d</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">oeuvres and having fun. He removed the dressing from the back of the
vehicle and the box with the gravy and electric knife parts and placed it all
on a small dolly. He thanked me and gave
me a quick kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “No problem, Sweetheart, just be sure to
tell Santa Clause I was a good girl this year.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> He
laughed as he hurried off with my epicurean delight. He was so proud I’d made
the dressing. I didn</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t really want to go to the party. Eye Witness News wasn</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t there either. All my fluffing was for nothing. I
started the truck and headed straight for Chico’s to shop for a beautiful new
outfit I so deserved.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">This little piggy did not cry wee wee wee all the way
home.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Back home, mid-afternoon, the phone
rang. It was Hubby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “The dressing was a hit,” he said. “They
ate every morsel of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Good,” I said. “I am here to serve.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> He said he just had to call
to tell me how delicious it was and that it was a good thing he didn</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t need the electric knife. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Why,” I asked?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “When I reached into the box for the
electric knife, I found the top of the hand mixer and two electric knife
blades. But, it’s OK, someone brought a knife,” He said. How thoughtful, I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “So what</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s the problem?” I asked. “Can</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t an
engineer work those electric knife blades with the mixer top?” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He laughed. How could I have been
so discombobulated? What knee, what wing
pain? Only another Super Woman would understand. We laughed and said the usual </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">I love yous</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and hung up.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The following year, the office Thanksgiving
feast was catered and this wicked witch spent the holidays packing her pots and
pans for a move to a new retirement community where no one outside of my beloved
family has ever tasted my “better than store bought” dressing…….and probably
never will. <br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Happy Thanksgiving, Y’all!!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br clear="all" style="break-before: page; mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-92203637818891341212015-10-20T19:39:00.001-07:002020-02-15T09:27:50.723-08:00The Gator Got Your Granny<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
By Patricia White</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijm7PkNttAqpFSnYN-L81vNkGABvipTXSXNjaNcDkemL8LIE0EAJwWJ-nMuUOLvdZhJAv5dtpFQuNCo-3YRaoaccPkvDTsXLIjzLoqqCZQB8HF3StnVsz10pkvk_LHGmXEot7lyBR2dEIF/s1600/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijm7PkNttAqpFSnYN-L81vNkGABvipTXSXNjaNcDkemL8LIE0EAJwWJ-nMuUOLvdZhJAv5dtpFQuNCo-3YRaoaccPkvDTsXLIjzLoqqCZQB8HF3StnVsz10pkvk_LHGmXEot7lyBR2dEIF/s320/Phil+and+Pat.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqzm0_jm6_9AGZokqZWQSegmZSMc0GUltGJpbZbRUtQOYWdblRqaEwVvANOsG9En5msGJOxZ1g7cwYO79D04DZpYVMrpBSHPduTarua-BWq03YXR8tC0jOeS227lPPWxqU-3JKKBo4xRd/s1600/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By some divine intervention, I think that I danced right
into this world following in the footsteps of my ridiculously unique and zany
father. He loved his friends, a good time and he loved to dance. So do I.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I grew up in my hometown of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. When I
was in the sixth grade, my mama loaded us up in our Army surplus jeep and drove
us to the Recreation Center every Saturday afternoon for Mr. Phillip’s ballroom
dancing class. We learned the Fox Trot, Jitterbug, Waltz, Rumba and even the
Tango. Dancing was in my feet and bones. Over the next 40 years, I would dance
myself all the way to Houston, Texas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some years ago, my husband and I were out with a group of
close friends for a night of dancing at a local watering hole. As we walked
into the joint and heard the old familiar songs; my feet began to twitch and
tingle with excitement. It didn’t take long to get into the action with one
great song following another. Then there was silence for a moment, and the
familiar guitar sounds of the Bayou suddenly filled the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It’s gator time,” our rowdy friends yelled. They
stomped their feet in demand to the music. I slipped out of my sandals. The
smooth wooden boards shook beneath my now bare feet. The joint reverberated
with the sounds of John Lee Hooker's, <b><i>BOOGIE
CHILLUNS,</i> </b>as they blasted from the six foot speakers that stood like
soldiers at attention in all four corners of the dance floor. My bare feet
would not be still. That Texas watering hole would never be the same again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were not on the Bayou in Louisiana, this was not Gator
country but the land of Aggies and Longhorns. The demand for a floor show came
from the mouths of our Texas friends. They knew about the wild and crazy things
we did growing up in Louisiana. They knew about the Gator, heard tales, and their
insistent chant told me that there would be no peace until we were on the floor
on all fours.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I grabbed my partner's hand in a fit of excitement and
tugged him toward the center of the dance floor. He tried to shake lose from me
as he cast brown eyes at me that said, "Don't ask me to do this.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The glance I shot back said, "We're doin' it, Baby."
I shuffled to the center of the floor with my partner in tow. The crowd closed
in and began clapping. I forgot for a moment that there would be a tomorrow as
I was about to let it all hang out. John Lee Hooker shouted <b><i>BOOGIE
CHILLUNS </i></b>from the mammoth speakers and my partner and I dropped to the
floor on all fours, face to face like two alligators squaring off for a bayou
land-battle or the dance of love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Words can't describe the dance or the body mechanics involved
in this Southern ritual. What happened on the floor was never the same twice in a
row. First, I was doing what looked like push-ups with both arms and legs, and
then somewhere, somehow, I was doing one arm, two-leg push-ups, then one leg, one-arm
push-ups. My partner didn’t miss a beat. He executed each flip and gyration
with the grace of a true Cajun. To catch my breath, I flipped to my back like
an Alligator preparing to sun on some bayou bank. and at the same time I shook my body as if to dry away the last of the swamp water then I flipped back over.
Those back to front flips were risky for human gators as I needed to land with
my belly on the ground, arms and legs outstretched, posed for an afternoon of
sunning or a quick pounce on something for dinner. I rested a moment. The music
wound down, "<b><i>BOOGIE CHILLUNS, </i></b><i>BOOGIE
CHILLUNS, boogie chilluns</i>." In one swift movement, I leap from all
fours to a kneeling position with outstretched arms, shimming one last time. My
partner leapt up and landed on his feet like a Circus performer. With all my
strength, I attempted to spring from kneeling to standing. The crowd went wild.
I was suddenly having an out of body experience. As I attempted to jump up, I
lost my footing and in slow motion fell backwards for what seemed an eternity
before I hit the floor. A jolt of electricity up my left arm told me I had
connected once again with the smooth, worn boards of the dance floor. I heard a
crack, just as the lightning struck my left arm. I was back in my body again,
on the floor, sitting on my rump, crying as I lifted a limp hand into the hot
humid air. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It hurts," I whimpered, to no one in particular.
The music stopped. The crowd shushed. Everyone knew that the lady Gator had
broken her wrist. My partner ran to me and lifted me into his arms. His brown
eyes met my tear filled blues. One moment his eyes said he was so sorry that
this had happened, then they blinked uncontrollably as if to say, "you're
a fifty-five year old alligator, you are a grandmother, what did you expect?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The emergency room staff was very attentive and sympathetic
to the events leading up to my arm injury. I told them I tripped on the green ottoman
in our family room. I didn't have to tell them I had been snacking on grapes. I
was barefoot and disheveled. Somehow they knew. I had to repeat my fabricated
story over and over to each new person who entered the room. They thought my story
would change. It never did. Even though my hand was dangling up on top of my
wrist, the crew in green still insisted on an x-ray to confirm that my wrist was
broken. And it was. As I floated in and out of pain-induced hallucinations, the
words from my dancing song floated into my head, "Let that girl boogie
woogie, it's in her and it's got to come out, <b><i>BOOGIE CHILLUNS."<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>“</i></b>John Lee Hooker, where are you now? I need something for pain.
I'll have what you have that always makes you seem so happy.”<b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My arm was eventually immobilized and I was sent home to
suffer and pay for my sin. Surgery to place pins in my wrist followed three
days later. After surgery, the Doctor announced that I had fine strong bones
for a woman my age and no pins were necessary. He said my wrist would be as good
as new and stronger than ever once it healed. He grinned and said that he hoped
I had rearranged the furniture so that no one else would fall over the green
ottoman.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned over the next three months that there were many
things that were impossible to do with one arm in a cast. It takes two hands to
eat a sandwich, cut up your meat, dry and style your hair, chop onions, pick up
a baby, change a diaper, open a medicine bottle, floss your teeth, put on panty
hose and get your britches down in a hurry. I was home alone one day, trying to
get ready for a Christmas luncheon. I had planned to wear a wrap skirt with a
holiday motif. When all attempts to put the skirt on with one hand failed, I
spread the skirt out on the carpet, positioned myself at the edge of the skirt
and rolled myself up in it. As I lay on the floor, I began to laugh. Now that
the pain was gone, the truth about how it happened was pretty funny. The time
had come to be truthful about how I had broken my arm with everyone who
had not witnessed the Bayou fever that overcame me that night on the dance
floor. To all those kind neighbors and unsuspecting friends who called, brought
casseroles, sent cards and flowers, I owed the truth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I shared the true story over the next few months with
family and friends, I often got the same question. "Will you ever do the
Gator again?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No way, Jose,” I said. "But after the spectacular show
my partner put on that night I'm sure he will jump in the dance circle first
chance he gets with the twenty-somethings and put them all to shame.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hopefully, my Cajun man's bones are stronger than mine. But,
I am retired these days and I will be here to help him with those two-handed
tasks if he ever trips over the green ottoman and breaks something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS. By special request, I did the Gator at our oldest
granddaughter’s wedding in 2010 but I had appointees standing by to help me up
off the floor as I crouched in my little black dress. My final appearance was at a big Fais
Do Do we co-chaired in 2012. We had a live Zydeco band, who could resist? I’ve
hung up my dancing shoes, but they are still in my closet. My feet still start
twitching when I hear that music. It seems to call my name. “Let that girl
boogie woogie; it’s in her and it’s got to come out.” Boogie Chilluns………………….<o:p></o:p></div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-41109018359251728562015-08-25T17:47:00.001-07:002023-12-15T08:24:04.987-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2B3BOlalcGtdVcTKirgK_DWefCxKkxXHiTYT2RskyiMVCQiybwSneXN5cnaJY1oSjanhmq8P8a2pomWx83ri_66Dbe7WOJochMOulD6l9tlwN3VVjhAbn0pyau1X0r1LdZvMxZjpsUEm_/s1600/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2B3BOlalcGtdVcTKirgK_DWefCxKkxXHiTYT2RskyiMVCQiybwSneXN5cnaJY1oSjanhmq8P8a2pomWx83ri_66Dbe7WOJochMOulD6l9tlwN3VVjhAbn0pyau1X0r1LdZvMxZjpsUEm_/s320/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><b><span style="font-size: large;">Those Aren't My Egg Rolls</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: medium;">By Patricia White</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">After
a grueling late afternoon Doctor’s appointment I dove into the five-o’clock
traffic and headed north for home. Dinner was the last thing I wanted to think
about but I knew it would soon be six bells and someone would be hungry. I
decided Chinese take-out would be a welcome change to my head-of-household. The
search was underway. My head swung from left to right as I scanned each
shopping center for a restaurant where I could quickly pick up something for
dinner. A place called Blue Iris caught my eye. The neon sign flashing, </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">CHINESE </i><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">beckoned.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I cautiously negotiated my way across three
lanes of slow-and-go traffic and exited the freeway onto the service road into the almost empty parking lot and into a spot right in front of Blue Iris' </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">door.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">his should be easy
breezy, I thought.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">No crowd, no wait,
and my mouth began to water.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> The
restaurant was empty at the </span><st1:time hour="17" minute="0" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;" w:st="on">almost dinner</st1:time><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
hour and the owner immediately came forward to assist me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I placed an order for Sesame Chicken, Shrimp-Fried
Rice and two egg rolls, to go.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The
soft spoken gentleman asked me to have a seat on the blue vinyl sofa. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He took my order to the kitchen and scurried
right back to the sofa with a glass of complimentary iced tea; he assured me my
food would not take long.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">As I sat
sipping the tea, my stomach began to make a noise.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I wondered if I had made a mistake ordering
Chinese food.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Thinking back, my tummy had been talking to me all afternoon.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">It
was too late, the food was ordered.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">In five short minutes, my food was presented to me in two brown paper
sacks.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I stood from the couch, accepted
the warm packages, rendered my Visa card and was on my way.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I walked out of the door onto the sidewalk
and my tummy began to roll again. I felt the sudden urge to relieve this
rumbling in my lower contutriments I looked around the store front.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Not a soul in sight or earshot, but I still
opted for the privacy of my car where I would be alone.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I did not want to share this with the world. My
little white Honda was my refuge in the storm. I jumped in, closed the door and the thunder rolled.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I
was digging frantically for my keys as I caught a glimpse, out the corner of my
eye, of someone walking out of the restaurant carrying a small brown sack in
his hand heading for the parking lot. God, please, no, not my car, I prayed.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I looked at the empty parking space on my
left and my right and knew, </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">the bag tolls
for thee</i><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">. As I inserted my keys
into the ignition, there was a tap on my window. The brown-bag bearer’s small face seem to
magnify as he pressed up against my window, holding up the small brown bag.
“You egg rolls,” he said. </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I
was not ready to open the window. I shrugged my shoulders and said, </span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I changed my mind, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I don’t want them.</span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">”</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">You
must take, you pay for them,” he pleaded with a smile.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I-don’t-like-egg-rolls,”
I said, slowly forming each word with my lips.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Bery,
bery good egg rolls,” he chanted in a high-pitched tone.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Put
them on top, I’ll get them later,</span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I
shouted through the still closed window. </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">What?</span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> he said, as he put a hand to his ear.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> At
that instant, I contemplated crawling over the shift stick on the floor,
exiting on the passenger side and walking around the car to get the egg rolls.
This man with the bald head and beady eyes was not taking <i>no </i>for an
answer. My stomach growled. I was about to burn another hole
in the front seat of my new car. My long
straight skirt would not allow me to crawl over the console so I just sat for a
second pondering the situation. There was another tap on my window…….. Confucius
left me no choice. I reached for the electric window switch. As the window lowered, he leaned
forward. His face melted, his eyes
became small slits and began to water. He barely forced out the words, </span><span style="font-family: "wp typographicsymbols"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">You egg rolls.” </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I snatched
the bag and </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">told him to step back and
take a deep breath. I threw some Mardi-Gras beads from my mirror out of the window to distract
him. He grabbed the beads, placed them around his neck then sat on the curb with
his head in his hands and wept.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Happy to leave that place, I pulled
out of the shopping center and eased up to the corner where an old man with long hair sat
on a box with a bucket of Roses in front of him. I rolled down the window and
asked if he’d </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">had dinner. He shook his head, no. I tossed
the bags out to him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “It’s
Chinese, take-out, you’ll love it. Especially the egg rolls.” He smiled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I
eased back into the traffic and headed home. I called Mr. Leblanc to let him
know I was on my way and to ask if he wanted anything special for dinner. He
suggested I stop and pick up Chinese at a new place he’d heard about called,
Blue Iris. There was a long pause on my end…..Then he cracked up laughing and said they’d
just called the house and said I’d forgotten my credit card there. How could I
go back? Ever!!!! I had to get my card. I’d explain about the other issues when I got home. At the next turnaround, I put on my sunglasses, tied a
scarf around my head and headed back to the scene of the crime.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> As I
entered Blue Iris, Confucius said, “You back. My eyes still burning.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I
said, “Yes, to get my credit card. Sorry. And, you forgot my Fortune Cookies.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> He
said, “You don’t need no cookies. You fortune very clear, white lady. Stay
away from Blue Iris.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I
said, "Remember, behind every cloud is another cloud.” (*Judy Garland)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> He
handed me my credit card and tossed a handful of Fortune Cookies at me as he
waved me out. He threw his head back laughing as the Mardi Gras beads jangled
around his neck.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-19954093966659394572015-08-11T05:39:00.000-07:002020-02-15T09:28:45.703-08:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqzm0_jm6_9AGZokqZWQSegmZSMc0GUltGJpbZbRUtQOYWdblRqaEwVvANOsG9En5msGJOxZ1g7cwYO79D04DZpYVMrpBSHPduTarua-BWq03YXR8tC0jOeS227lPPWxqU-3JKKBo4xRd/s1600/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqzm0_jm6_9AGZokqZWQSegmZSMc0GUltGJpbZbRUtQOYWdblRqaEwVvANOsG9En5msGJOxZ1g7cwYO79D04DZpYVMrpBSHPduTarua-BWq03YXR8tC0jOeS227lPPWxqU-3JKKBo4xRd/s320/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">Chickens on the Run</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16.96px;"><b>By Patricia White</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16.9599990844727px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 106%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 106%;">Chicken and
Sausage Gumbo is lagniappe for the soul in my family. Just last week I got my
Le Creuset 9.5 quart pot out and assembled my ingredients on the counter for this Cajun
delight. I know it sounds lazy, but I always use a couple of
rotisserie chickens because it makes life in the kitchen easier. I like easy. Mr. Leblanc
usually takes over with the deboning of the chicken, but he was not home.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 106%;"> I attempted to dismember the rotisserie
chicken.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 106%;"> First, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 106%;">I pulled off the legs,
then the wings which gave me pause for a shiver. I stepped back, took a deep
breath and in what seemed like ten seconds I recalled a disturbing sequence of
events from my somewhat redneck childhood deep in the heart of Louisiana.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> One cold
rainy evening back in February 1952, my daddy got a call from the Baton Rouge
Post Master just at closing time. A mail order of five hundred little biddies
had not been claimed and the Post Master wanted to know if Daddy would take the
chicks. It was going to be a cold night and the Post Master wanted assurance
those little biddies were safe and warm for the night and the rest of their
lives. Have you ever seen one of those Farmer’s Almanac ads that read: 500 biddies for
$19.95? Daddy had a contract with the Post Office to transport the mail four
times a day in one of the Army surplus trucks that he bought after the War and
the crew at the Post Office knew that he was always looking for a money-making opportunity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> Mr. Mac. as Daddy
was affectionately called, quickly seized the opportunity. With childlike
excitement, he told mama and my sisters and me that taking on the biddies would
be a family project. Supplies were needed for the new fledglings, like coops,
feeding trays and warmers. The five o’clock whistle had already blown for the
day and Baton Rouge’s streets were rolled up tight as jelly rolls. Neither of
the town’s two feed stores were open. Not easily discouraged, Daddy said we
would have to make do for the night. He had a plan. “If Daddy can’t do it,
nobody can,” was his mantra. <br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> Our garage
became the neo-natal nursery for five hundred of these screeching little
biddies who wanted their mamas. We divided the little yellow balls of fluff
into four large cardboard boxes that we scavenged from a couple of grocery
store alleys on our way home. Each box was lined with newspaper and held one pie
tin filled with cornmeal and another filled with water. We strung a spider web
of extension cords across the boxes with one lone light bulb dangling down into
each box to provide some warmth in our below freezing garage. By the time the
biddies were bedded down for the night, the garage was beginning to smell. Some
of the biddies were screeching loudly. Daddy plugged in an old radio and turned
it on hoping to quiet them. He could not quell the smell, so he softly closed the
door.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> As Daddy
kissed each of our foreheads good night, I could see a smile on his lips. He
knew he had hit pay dirt with those little biddies. Five hundred fresh country
eggs a day would almost make us rich. I could see Mama’s eyes rolling back in
her head like she had doubts about this latest venture. Mr. Mac was a force to
be reckoned with, a legend in his own time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> At first
light, Daddy entered the cold and smelly garage. His smile turned upside down
as he found half of the biddies frozen to death, legs in the air or face down
in the pie pans of water. Dead either way. Equipped with shovels and little
wooden crosses, we three children buried the still-frozen biddies in a
mass grave. After a short prayer, the family moved on with plans for the two
hundred fifty remaining future layers. Daddy built a chicken yard, outfitted
with all the needed chicken equipment and fed them laying mash religiously for the next three
months.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> This would
probably be a good time to disclose that several hundred pounds of laying mash
later, we discovered that all two hundred fifty of our future laying hens were
roosters. Those little fluffy yellow baby chicks had turned into the meanest
white roosters on earth. After we all
left home each morning for school and work, I guess those cold-hearted roosters
got bored because they commenced pecking each other until their white feathers
were splotched with blood. It was a scene right out of Deliverance. Someone
told my Daddy that if he daubed black Shinola shoe polish on the bloody feathers
each day that the chickens would stop trying to peck each other to death. Sweet
Jesus, I thought, come get me now. I wanted no part of that operation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> Daddy was
eager to get the Shinola show on the road. Rushing home each afternoon, he
would coral us all into the chicken yard and designate who would catch the
chickens-on-the-run by their legs and who would be the polish dauber. Two of us
were instructed to catch three sets of feet in each hand. I cried and pleaded
that I didn’t want to touch them. I was not cut out to be a farm girl. Daddy
said I was being foolish and I should quit acting like a baby. (I <i>was</i> the
oldest) I don’t know how I didn’t die from holding my breath during the whole <i>Operation-</i> <i>Shinola</i> when it was my turn to wrap my short fat fingers around
those crusty, yellow chicken legs. Every third day I was the dauber which was
no easy task with their wings flapping every which-a-way as they tried to peck me
with their beaks. After a few weeks of these farm yard tactics, the chickens
began to heal. Life almost returned to normal. Homework never looked so good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> The chickens
were fat and clucking when slaughter day approached. We watched in horror as a
crusty old whip-of-a-woman with a blue rag tied around her head and matching
apron showed up at our house and made no apologies as she rang each and every
chicken’s neck. “Come here, you little “SOB,” she’d yell. Then grabbing each
chicken by the neck she’d start cranking. Chicken heads flew into one pile and
their still-flopping bodies were tossed into another. The last chicken to go gave
her a run for her money. No part of the process was orderly. <i>Laissez-fair of the 50’s. </i> I had to go lie down inside by the fan. Upset as I
was, I was still ecstatic to be free from the chickens. Maybe the Circus would be in town tomorrow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> However evil on my part as it sounds, I realized the
chickens were not leaving our neck of the woods. They were cleaned and cut in
half, then fourths. The back section consisting of a leg and second joint (thigh) was
neatly wrapped in white paper and marked and stacked in our freezer in the same
garage where the travesty had begun. Those daayum chickens had come full
circle. The two hundred fifty that didn’t freeze that first night were frozen
now. The breasts were sold to a local grocer, so the whole disgusting undertaking
was not a total loss. And, we did have lots of Bar B Qs. None for me, thank
you. Mercy, I hated those chickens dead or alive
and felt a sense of deliverance about a year later when the last leg was eaten.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> Do I like
chicken today? Do I eat chicken today? <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "" , serif , "" , serif; font-size: 13pt;">Yes, for
some sick reason, but breasts only. Let me just say that I do not allow
anything in my freezer that has legs or wings. That rule puts my husband in a
bind, being the game hunter he is. But, I am the only Chick in this house and I
rule the roost.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-87866712023056121162015-07-17T09:10:00.000-07:002020-02-15T09:29:11.270-08:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2B3BOlalcGtdVcTKirgK_DWefCxKkxXHiTYT2RskyiMVCQiybwSneXN5cnaJY1oSjanhmq8P8a2pomWx83ri_66Dbe7WOJochMOulD6l9tlwN3VVjhAbn0pyau1X0r1LdZvMxZjpsUEm_/s1600/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2B3BOlalcGtdVcTKirgK_DWefCxKkxXHiTYT2RskyiMVCQiybwSneXN5cnaJY1oSjanhmq8P8a2pomWx83ri_66Dbe7WOJochMOulD6l9tlwN3VVjhAbn0pyau1X0r1LdZvMxZjpsUEm_/s320/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Glamping is Not For Sissies</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
By Patricia White</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
When we moved into our present home about two years ago we had designs on
building a Gazebo in our huge back yard. I’m taking about a lot of wood and
about 14 feet in diameter. It was to be our outside sanctuary in which to sit
and drink morning coffee or adult beverages in the evening. We would not be
able to see anything from the lovely Gazebo but each other, as our yard is
completely surrounded by a tall wooden fence. I wanted to see people and much
preferred a red-neck cocktail party in lawn chairs in the driveway. We put the
Gazebo on the back burner. I woke up one morning and had dreamed we owned a
motor home! After breakfast I told hubs I wanted to go look at some motor
homes, just for fun. Before the day was over, we’d spent our Gazebo money on a
sweet motor home built for two or maybe four very close friends. The name
painted on the motor home was</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Storm</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">.</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
We camped with our four children in a tent for many years and still loved the
outdoors. Now we would be doing what is currently known as glamor camping…..or
glamping…We had become glampers! The <b><i>Storm </i></b>has a
kitchen, a toilet, shower, a real bed and air-conditioning. You must have
cooked on an outdoor camp stove, slept on the cold hard ground in a sleeping
bag with three kids during a storm, buried the potty bags and sweated your
eyeballs out in summer to appreciate this new luxury. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
After many hours of shopping and outfitting, there we sat in the driveway
prepared for take-off. Mr. Leblanc (hubs) noticed the newspaper still in our front
yard and asked me to hop out and get it. When I opened the door, the steps
deployed. That’s a very convenient feature, sometimes. I started down the steps
and closed the door behind me before I got to the bottom step, so as not to let
all the cool air escape. Well, just as the stairs deployed when the door
opened, they sucked back into the side when the door closed. In this case, my
feet were still on the steps when they sucked in leaving me airborne
with nothing to do but grab for a sky hook and fall forward on my knees on
the driveway. I was in a good position to pray, but I cursed instead as I
clutched at my brush-burned knees. <u>Lesson 1.</u> Always lock the
stairs when they are down…<b>always</b>, except when you go to bed for the
night. Then you want the stairs sucked in and doors locked so no bears can sneak in while you
are asleep. I am just one who wants everything locked and bolted no matter where
we are at night. There are probably no bears at Lake Conroe, but one never
knows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> After
several hours setting up and figuring out how everything worked, we fell into
bed dead tired. I heard a noise around 1 a.m. and had a strong sense someone or
something was trying to break in. I heard it’s harder to break into a motor
home than a vault, but the noise was unsettling for a girl who hates the dark.
Hubs got up to go look out all windows checking for bears. I decided it was a
good time to use the facilities since we were both wide awake. The bedroom is a
step up from the rest of the bus interior. It is a very tight squeeze between
the bed and wall and being our first trip out, I had not learned the
short-cut…..When you’re worried about a bear, you don’t think about steps, or
bedspreads that have slipped off the bed. I totally missed the step, slipped on
the silky bedspread and flew into the hall. My butt hit the floor, spun around
and I raked my forearm and elbow across the AC vent, scraping off all the skin.
It burned like you know what. When I quit spinning my head hit the hinges on
the bathroom door. OMG, I saw stars. I was ready to sell that son-of-a-biscuit
eater and look for a Gazebo kit when we got home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> Mr.
Leblanc kept me awake for an hour or so in the event I had a concussion. By the
grace of God, I finally fell asleep, and even better, I woke up the next
morning. How else would you know you are not dead? I had a dreadful headache
but was so happy to be alive. I made coffee, filled my tiger mug and
headed for the door. I opened it, the stairs deployed, I LOCKED then and headed
out to stare at the lake and the family of ducks swimming nearby. My head was
really throbbing, but we had no car to <i>run </i>over to the Urgent
Care Clinic about five miles up the road. We were hooked up to too many things
to un-tether. The reason we were not towing a vehicle was because we didn’t
have one. We were encouraged by our RV salesman to hold off buying a tow car
for a year until we decided if Glamping was really for us old city slickers. He
said there was an Enterprise store in every city and they would happily deliver
a car to us. Just call them. No car payments, no insurance payments,
no chance of getting separated from your new little wind-up toy going 70 down
the interstate. <u>Lesson 2</u>. You need your own car, whatever it
costs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
Breakfast was fairly uneventful, unless you count the burn on Hub's hand from
reaching into the oven to retrieve burning toast. We cleaned up the kitchen
without ever moving our feet. Now that is pretty cool. We used up quite a few
Band Aids and Neosporin between my elbow, my knees and hubs hand. We
dressed and were ready for a refreshing day in the outdoors on the lake. Hubs
baited up some treble hooks on a throw line with chicken hearts and walked 100
yard to the edge of the cove. I grabbed my iPad, my mug of coffee and headed
for a camouflage-glamp-chair to sit out my headache.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
Fifteen minutes later, I looked up and hubs was limping back to camp. He had a
hook, a treble hook, in his leg. Little did I know I was fixing to perform my
first surgery, ever! I got him inside and on the couch. I don’t know where the
cutters came from, a God-send, I’m sure, but I grabbed them and cut the barbs
off two hooks so that I could slide his jeans down around his ankles and do
what I had to do. I then tried to cut the shank off but God’s cutters weren’t
making a dent<i>.</i> Against hub's protests, I ran next door and ask a
total stranger to come help me. He grabbed his cutters and followed me
back. His strong hands were able to make the cut. Then the head nurse took over
again. I pushed the hook gently…..if there is a gentle way to wiggle a hook
that is stuck in someone’s leg. Then the neighbor tried his un-scrubbed hand at
budging the hook. I kept suggesting we call 911. Then hubs said, he’d do it
himself and no one was calling 911. Without shedding a tear, he pushed that
awful barb right out of his leg. Fragments of chicken hearts still clung
to the hook. With hub's jeans down around his ankles, the stranger was ready to
leave once the emergency was over. I thanked him for being a Good Samaritan and
he left. Right after that he and his wife packed up and left camp. I
would have loved to send him a Bass Pro Shop gift card but with no name or
address, he would have to be happy with the satisfaction of knowing he had paid
it forward. <u>Lesson 3.</u> Always pay it forward if you
can……whether it’s picking up the tab for the person in front of you at
Starbucks or helping a frantic mother remove a rock from her son’s nose or
helping an old man with a fish hook in his leg. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
I put in a call to our doctor and was informed that Mr. Leblanc was up to date on his
tetanus shot. I cleaned his boo boo up with soap and water, peroxide and alcohol.
I slathered some Neosporin on a sterile pad and wrapped some purple stretchy
tape from my first-aid kit around his leg. <u>Lesson 4. </u> Prepare
a first aid kit and keep it stocked. You will probably need it sooner than
later. Stick some good wire cutters in there too, just because I said so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
My Mr. Leblanc re-rigged his throw line, popped on some more chicken hearts and
took off for the water’s edge. The rains started after lunch before we had a
chance to stow away our outdoor gear and chairs. We hurried inside where the
comforts of home awaited us. Luckily, this camp ground had a full hook-up which
included cable TV. I love a dreary, rainy afternoon, curled up on the couch
watching a good movie. It was wishful thinking. The TV reception reminded
me of the 50’s when the first TVs came out and we accepted the snowy picture as
normal. The two stations that came in clear were both in Spanish. Yo no
hablo Espanol. We played Scrabble and napped. The Gazebo Kit at
Lowe’s was calling our name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
I brought previously-cooked food from our freezer so supper would be a breeze.
I was so ready for easy. By then, it was 5 o’clock and hubs had our
long-stemmed plastic wine glasses out and he was filling them. The rain had
stopped. We headed out to watch the sunset in the still-wet camouflage chairs.
My head had finally stopped hurting. Supper was on the stove. The slippery
bedspread was off the bed and stowed in the outside compartment with the nasty
fish lines. There were no red streaks running down Mr. Leblanc's leg. The wine
and the lake calmed me. Not much else could go wrong tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
By the way, the noise we heard in the night was the awning flapping when the
night wind whipped up over the lake. <u>Lesson 5</u>. Never leave the
awning up overnight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> It’s
hard to teach old geezers new tricks, but I think we got this now. The Gazebo
is back on hold as of today. Our kids think it’s so cool that we are still
adventurous at our age. What they don’t know won’t hurt then, The Lord watched
out for us the next two days and never gave us more mishaps than we could
handle, except maybe for the toilet overflow at midnight. Just call us the
Glampets….Look out for us at a campground near you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-71854386400002811782015-07-08T09:32:00.000-07:002020-02-15T09:29:36.705-08:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvLjgw21Z7OJVGhg6d2F0PwClFMv3lqO5-Ydf8zxZZNFLpKYGrfriyEXWsiLFWXqlm6dKGYES-s8qb8ZT1V_3rkr1GegmeXSszxv4YItBZh4Iey00wKKraBBQz0lWWpcwC9hNXNlgSRvK/s1600/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvLjgw21Z7OJVGhg6d2F0PwClFMv3lqO5-Ydf8zxZZNFLpKYGrfriyEXWsiLFWXqlm6dKGYES-s8qb8ZT1V_3rkr1GegmeXSszxv4YItBZh4Iey00wKKraBBQz0lWWpcwC9hNXNlgSRvK/s320/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Hurricane Food is what's for Dinner </span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;">By Patricia White</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
A very wise friend told me once that if you decide, “What’s for dinner,”
in the morning and get everything laid out, your day goes much more smoothly. Folks,
at 9 a.m. it is just too early to think about what we might want to eat for
dinner nine hours away. I haven’t even put in my breakfast order yet. At the
moment, I can only think about the donut I want to go with my coffee.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I must admit planning early in the day is better than asking whomever is in the
room, at 6 p.m., “What are we going to eat for dinner?” Because that person
always answers with another question like, “What sounds good to
you?" Well hail, if I knew the answer to that, I’d have laid it out
at 9 a.m. and we’d be eating right now. Not being able to decide what to cook
early in the day usually means I don’t want to cook. Not knowing what I want to
eat, when there is nothing cooked at 6 p.m. is another story and the indecision
takes on a life of its own. We pour up another glass of wine, pull out a box of
crackers. We scratch around in the pantry and refrigerator looking for possibilities. My sweet man says he will run to
the Kroger or the nearest restaurant if I will just tell him what I want to eat. I’m
thinking. I go to the laundry room to switch over some clothes to the dryer and
there sits the freezer, like an oasis in the desert. It always holds several
possibilities, including previously cooked delicacies, dated and ready to throw
into a pot or the microwave. However, if we eat something from the freezer, our
hurricane food will be depleted and who knows for sure when we will cook again…..or when
a hurricane will hit. Digging through the freezer and reorganizing while
I'm there, I count containers of each variety. We have the most quart-size
cartons of soup. So, soup is what’s for dinner tonight, and cornbread. Emergency
cornbread from the freezer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
After dinner, I suggest that we start thinking about what we will
eat tomorrow. I want to hit the kitchen early while cooking is still a good
idea and all my systems are go. I don’t cook after five any more. My day shifts
into slow motion. However, we do need to cook a big pot of something and replace
that food we took from the freezer. I’m thinking chicken and dumplings. I
make the grocery list knowing this soul food is going to be tasty as well
as hot and ready-to-eat tomorrow night by 6 p.m. if I start early. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The phone rings loudly, “<i>Bo Diddley
caught him a bear cat; to make his pretty baby a Sunday hat. Go, Bo Diddley</i>.”
(I love that ring tone) It’s an automated message from our dentist’s office to
remind us we have an appointment at 11 a.m. tomorrow. Well, that surely leaves
no time for grocery shopping or cooking. But, a trip into town stirs up other
possibilities for our day. We will probably eat lunch at some MSG-free
restaurant, mosey in and out of a few favorite stores searching for that little
something new that a girl might need to make it through the week. It will be <i>5 o’clock somewhere</i>, by the time we get
home, but at least there will be no last minute decisions about what's for dinner. We will split whatever lunch
leftovers the waitress puts in our take-home box. Maybe I’ll throw a little
salad together. Ice Cream with hot fudge at news time. Tomorrow will be easy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I’ll make those Chicken ‘n Dumplings one day
soon,or Gumbo or red beans and rice. Until then, there’s always boxed mac and cheese in the pantry or the emergency food in the freezer…….no signs
of a hurricane brewing in the gulf. Gawd, we get lucky sometimes. Wait, is
that thunder I hear? <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563563400987018811.post-29155721054696194762015-07-04T09:14:00.001-07:002020-02-15T09:30:06.812-08:00<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span><b><span style="font-size: large;">How I </span><span style="font-size: large;">Survive Being Old….one day at a time</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: medium;">By Patricia White</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-family: georgia, palatino, 'book antiqua', 'palatino linotype', serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; margin: 0px; max-width: 99.9000015258789%; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvLjgw21Z7OJVGhg6d2F0PwClFMv3lqO5-Ydf8zxZZNFLpKYGrfriyEXWsiLFWXqlm6dKGYES-s8qb8ZT1V_3rkr1GegmeXSszxv4YItBZh4Iey00wKKraBBQz0lWWpcwC9hNXNlgSRvK/s1600/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvLjgw21Z7OJVGhg6d2F0PwClFMv3lqO5-Ydf8zxZZNFLpKYGrfriyEXWsiLFWXqlm6dKGYES-s8qb8ZT1V_3rkr1GegmeXSszxv4YItBZh4Iey00wKKraBBQz0lWWpcwC9hNXNlgSRvK/s320/10458554_10202527815298727_1775035288227413357_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> I guess being old is relative. When you’re twenty, thirty seems old. At forty, fifty seems old, until you realize one day you have kids who are in their fifties. Old is what my grandparents were and I sure as hail never thought I’d be old. I’ve never sat in the rocker on my front porch for more than 15 minutes at a spell. I dye my hair a reddish-brown, have my nails done regularly, including purple toenails during football season. (Geaux Tigers) I work hard (make-up & mirrors) at looking younger than my years, wear cute up-to-the minute clothes with a surprise somewhere. Maybe a cute silver tiger around my neck. </span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-family: georgia, palatino, 'book antiqua', 'palatino linotype', serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; margin: 0px; max-width: 99.9000015258789%; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> My joints and muscles hurt most of the time but I keep on trucking. I even work- out occasionally with a personal trainer….not for muscular legs and arms and forget a six-pack (unless it’s wine) but to hopefully ward off knee replacement which I probably need…..in both knees. I keep asking why all of these ailments are happening to me. It seems so unfair. Just four short years ago I was playing tennis, Zydeco and Zumba dancing, and water aerobics, all on the same day. Then I started Pickle Ball at the YMCA, advertised as gentle on us more seasoned boys and girls. I went everyday for a week.Yep, I think Pickle Ball got me. I woke up one morning and the only thing that didn't hurt was my hair. My first thought was, I must be getting old.</span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-family: georgia, palatino, 'book antiqua', 'palatino linotype', serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; margin: 0px; max-width: 99.9000015258789%; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> Possibly, if I let my hair go totally white, ditched the make-up, gave away all the sexy shoes I keep rocking, regardless of bunions, fallen arches and teradactal toes, quit shopping at Chico's and started shopping at Forever Old and SAS, I would realize my actual age and respect this aging body of mine. </span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-family: georgia, palatino, 'book antiqua', 'palatino linotype', serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; margin: 0px; max-width: 99.9000015258789%; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Generally speaking, seventy-five years olds don’t feel like doing much most days, but as I said, no one told me I was old. I roll out of the bed each morning and limp to the coffee pot and my morning round of pills. Next stop is my big-soft-brown-leather chair where I pick up my laptop and check my email, then Facebook to see what my friends and family are up to and finally any overnight texts on my iPhone . I play the solitaire challenges for the day, collect my prize tokens then go back and rotate that sequence of events for a couple of hours.I check my chin in my chair side 20X mirror for any new prickly hairs that have sprung up overnight. I count the completed rows of my latest crochet project and determine how many rows I need to complete to meet the deadline. Say what ???<br />
Around 9:30 I start thinking about breakfast and give my order to Mr. Leblanc, my main squeeze. He asks what I want to do that day. I may need yarn from Joann's, new shoes from Macy’s or I may just want to just sit and watch Netflix all day in my robe. Some days I get the urge to go to the gym, but only if I read in an email that someone is having knee surgery or has passed from inactivity.<br />
I decide around 11 a.m. to bathe and get dressed. That means, make-up, hair, jeans, top, jewelry, the whole enchilada. If Mr. Leblanc is going to drag my decrepit arse anywhere, I’m going to look good………You never know where Eye Witness News will show up. And if we don't plan to go anywhere, I'll be ready if someone calls. We are what we see in the mirror. And so it goes. Until someone tells me I’m old, I’m going to continue this routine. I’ll work it until it doesn’t work anymore.</div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-family: georgia, palatino, 'book antiqua', 'palatino linotype', serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; margin: 0px; max-width: 99.9000015258789%; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-family: georgia, palatino, 'book antiqua', 'palatino linotype', serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; margin: 0px; max-width: 99.9000015258789%; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-family: georgia, palatino, 'book antiqua', 'palatino linotype', serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; margin: 0px; max-width: 99.9000015258789%; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Happy 4th of July and let the good times roll!</span></div>
</div>
patricia whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02161436670542087165noreply@blogger.com0