If a Tree Fell in His Yard, Would a Man Even See It?

You may recall we had some inclement weather about a month ago? Well, if you don’t, lemme tell you, IT WAS A TORNADO. I heard the tornado and so did my neighbors and one of them even saw it. Unfortunately, no one ‘official’ enough reported it, so it doesn’t count.

But it was a tornado.
All evening they talked about storms. Well, psh. IT WAS A TORNADO.
I’m sorta sensitive about this, because I don’t feel that I’ve been adequately validated about my recent tornado experience. This has led me to be more sensitive to other people’s tornado experiences, but other than that, I’m just pissy that The National Weather Service won’t back me up.

I take comfort in the fact that MIL, Benson, and my neighbors all believe IT WAS A TORNADO. The rest of the people, well, I reckon they think I’m bein dramatic.


On the day it happened, I asked The Mister, “You see that big ol limb on the side of our house?”
“Of course I saw it.”
“I can’t lift it. Might take both of us. Maybe even three of us.”


About a week later, the boy one cut the grass and he said, “I couldn’t move that big limb on the side of the yard, so I mowed around it as well as I could.”
I said, “Thank you,” and looking at my husband I added, “We really gotta get it out before the weather turns.”

I am the long-term worrier. It goes with anxiety disorder.
He is a procrastinator. It goes with the ADD.

While I’m thinkin bout how the limb will provide shelter for critters, how I don’t want critters burrowing beside the house, particularly next to Moo’s room, oh how the dog would bark, how awful it would be to have a family of vicious possum freaking out, or how traumatizing it might be for a family of bunnies to lose their warren, The Mister thinks things more like, “Meh. It’s 90 degrees. I got plenty of time before the weather turns.”

Somewhere on my husband’s calendar is a section called When Hell Freezes Over, and I presume he’s got quite a bit to do then.

That same bastard turned to me in bed just the other night and asked me, “Did you see the size of that branch on the side of the house?”
After I plucked my eyeballs from the ceiling and put them back in my head, I replied.
“Yes I saw it! I asked you that the day it happened!”
“I didn’t know you meant that. Do you know which tree it came from?”
“I assume it came from the one back here. Nearest maple. Not our tree, so we can toss it over instead of carrying it to the back forty.”
“Yeah, but look how far it traveled.”
“Baby, why do you keep sayin that? I believe you, okay? It was a tornado.”
“Well it might be because I suspect you’re not really listening to me.”

Like, especially the part where I’d said I heard the roar of the tornado, seen nothin but sideways rain and sticks out the window, put on pants and climbed into Moo’s closet and held my dog while the house rattled, and I heard things hitting the house, and it was the antenna and the tree limbs and the hammock and all the chairs…I said all that. I did. I said how lucky we were none of it broke through the windows or tore the siding. I said he should go up and look at the roof. I did say all these things.

Y’all know he hasn’t been up on that roof. Y’all know if there’s a shingle issue, it’s bound to lead to a leak right over my head in bed, drippin on my precious fuckin pillows.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — The Scottish Rite Cathedral


Sometimes when you’re trying to get the entire facade of a building, it’s difficult. The advice has been to stand on the other side of the street.


I stood on the other side of the street.


But still, no.

I walked to the corner opposing the Cathedral.


I was committed to getting it all, but um, no.

Maybe it’s better in the daylight? From the other corner?


Maybe a little better, but still no.

It’s a gigantic church, okay?
The Scottish Rite Cathedral was built between 1927 and 1929 for 2.5 million dollars. It is a Freemasonry building and each section can be divided precisely by measures of three, many by thirty-three.
It seats 1200, has a pipe organ, a carillon, its own orchestra, and it’s said to be one of the best examples of Neo-Gothic architecture in the United States, receiving more than 10,000 visitors a year.

All that, and I’ve never even been inside it!
They do events on a level of floating ballroom anyone? And also, OMAWORDSOMUCHSHINYPRETTYWHOATHECHANDELIERSYALL!
There’s a link to take a virtual tour. I won’t lie, it’s a stunning peek, but all that spinning played hell with my vertigo.
For $3 one can tour it in person. I think I should go. Perhaps Benson would like to accompany me?

It has beautiful doors. Oh the stained glass!


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.



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One-Liner Wednesday — Beansprouts Bring the Noise

“In the middle of the night, I thought a train whistle woke me, but it was the sound of my bottom!”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Truth is Golden? No, Wait, That’s Silence.

Per my promotion of Craig Boyack’s latest work, when I wrote that I was a bad person for not writing about what I read, I thought I’d offer you my explanation. You can call it an excuse, but I’d call it a reason — These words merely illustrate perspective.

I don’t read reviews on books.
I’m not sayin never, but as a rule, I don’t. Last year when I finished The Goldfinch, I went to Goodreads and read reviews from people who hated it, because I hated it too, and I wanted the sorta satisfaction one gleans from other haters. It made me feel better. After spending five nights reading that long, drawn-out, overly descriptive piece of crap, I needed the giddy refreshment of vindication.
I know, a lot of people liked The Goldfinch.

A lot of people liking something has never been good advertising for me.

As I, and Ted Mosby, and the Coat Check Wench, know, a lot of stuff that everybody likes doesn’t live up to the hype.


I’m no hipster. I kinda like living under my rock.

I do not Fangirl. Ever.

I take my own preferences seriously, and I don’t recommend things freely. When something rocks my world, I do go on about it. I read a lot of good books, but I don’t encounter a lot of books that rock my world. Just because a book rocked your world doesn’t mean it will rock mine, and I presume that goes both ways.

It takes a certain kind of person, who gets me, who knows what I already like, to know what I might like to read, listen to, watch, what have you. There are a handful of people who influence my reading selection. They’re none of them bloggers, none of them experts or critics, certainly not strangers on Goodreads.

It’s too personal.
It’s too personal to tell someone you don’t like their creation.
Have you never dated an artist of any kind? Have you never had to say “I really like you personally. You’re a good and interesting person, but I would rather drive all the way to Iowa in a series of roundabouts than to spend another minute of my life suffering the experience of your art.”
It’s an effective way to end a relationship.

Along those same lines, it’s amazing how many creations we love, but are appalled by the artist as a person.
You know it’s true.

And the stuff I like? Well I like it for obscure personal reasons. Connecting with some brilliant sentence on page 46…

All my life people have praised me for my honesty and my candor and that’s all fine and good, I like that in people, too. If you’re like that, then you know, people value your honest opinion unless it is about them.


The Mister said he missed an update on a relative’s health, didn’t know what was goin on. Heavens to Murgatroyd, he almost had to call his mama!

Our friend Dee said, “If you wanna share important updates on Facebook, you should private message people first, so they know what the hell is goin on.”

I said, “No, see, I don’t agree with that. I think if I post some shit and you dunno what the fuck I’m talkin about then you’re not in the know cause you didn’t care that much in the first place and you should prolly just mind your own goddamn business.”

They all laughed.
“Y’all know that’s how I do.”
“And that’s why we love you.”

Truth telling about other people is best limited to those who tell the truth. Those people are rare. I’m married to one. We both have the same policy, “Don’t ask me for my opinion, cause I’ll give it to you.”

If I had to sit in front of Donna Tartt, I wouldn’t mention her book. If she mentioned it, I’d say, “Yes, Congratulations on your Pulitzer, you must be so pleased!”  Y’all, she could be a good and interesting person, I don’t know. But I’d put money on her having at least one friend who didn’t like her book.


I realize that as a person who writes fiction, it may be construed as rude not to write reviews for other authors, especially friends…Still…It is my right to be such a bad person.

I have the right to decline being a beta reader, the right to charge you for editing, and the right to buy your work and never read it.

After having written all that, how could anyone possibly want my honest opinion?

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Share Your World #39

A class you wish you would have taken?
I wish I’d had the math to keep going in genetics. I’d still like to take a pastry class.

Favorite comic figure and why?
Comics aren’t my thing, but I do love Deadpool. His snark is irreverent and hilarious.

Something you wish you could like?
So many things. Warm weather, for one. Like, what would it be like to enjoy the summer? Or trips to tropical places? What must it be like? People seem to truly enjoy that stuff. Unfathomable.

First crush/ first date/ first kiss?
My first crush was Kermit the Frog and I’m not sure about the other two.

Who was your best friend when you were 10?

What sign are you? Do you believe in astrology?
I’m born with my sun in Sagittarius, which is said to make me curious, energetic, brutally honest, with a hunger for learning, love for change, and a need for freedom that is non-negotiable. So YES, I believe in astrology. I don’t understand why people believe the moon works the tides, while at the same time believing the entire universe has no effect on them. I was eight when I picked up my first astrology book. You could say I never put it down.
The Mister’s Sagittarius too. Do people even draw cute pictures of you and your spouse?



Moo is also Sag, and Bubba and Sissy are Aries. Lotta fire at our house. Poor Sassy, she’s air.

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
We got a lot of things done this weekend, which I suppose could sound like work, and I suppose it was work, but I do so love to get things done. Exciting for me is probably not exciting to you, but I am the sort of person who gets excited about sheers without kitten snags, clean baseboards, a freshly bleached sink, and those crossing vees The Mister makes in the carpet when he vacuums.
In a more romantic vein, The Mister brought me flowers —  dark red mums and yellow Peruvian lilies, a sunflower, dried rose hips, and a creamy white hydrangea — very End of Summer, very Fall is Coming. I realize Autumn has technically arrived, but here, it’s been a bit shy. Today started out gray and rainy and cool and it feels spectacular. This week promises to be substantially cooler. There aren’t any 80s to be seen.


Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — And Now This?!

Moo recently discovered that the local elementary school, the girls’ former elementary school, no longer allows walkers. Even the kids whose homes are literally across the street. No matter how close, no walking!

I imagine this has to do with safety, but how, I’m not exactly sure. I can tell you in Georgia, every year that Sassy finally got old enough to do anything independently, they changed it, like a cruel joke. She’d get old enough to walk to school by their former standards and they’d raise the minimum on the ‘appropriate’ age. Then they raised the age she had to be to walk Moo with her. At some point, their 15-year-old sister wasn’t even old enough to walk them home. They raised the age required to get off the bus without an adult present, and then they made it so that 18-year-old Bubba couldn’t collect them from the bus stop because he wasn’t a parent. He had to run back to the house to get me.

I find this new walking situation particularly humorous considering the bus driver shortage and therefore, bus shortage they’ve had since we’ve lived here, but like so many other things, why should this make any sense?


If we had a damned pedestrian bridge over the crazy busy street, we’da walked there plenty of days. So many days it would have been faster to walk as opposed to hoping a bus would show up. There were days I could have walked them there and walked home before the bus arrived.
They certainly could’ve walked home all the time.

Here I am, wishing for a more pedestrian-friendly city and the school is forbidding students to walk.

There are surely close to a hundred family homes surrounding the school. I imagine at least a dozen of those people bought their houses thinking, “Oh this’ll be great, so close to the school, the kids can walk!” I bet not even once did they wonder if they were on the bus route to the elementary school.

I seriously considered this when we bought our house. They can walk to middle school and high school. They may not need to often, but if they miss the bus, if they have afters and no one is available to collect them, they can walk.

I hope they don’t change that for the older kids. I will be all up in the school in raving lunatic mode.

I wonder if the church and charter schools within walking distance have the same policy now?

I saw walkers every single morning I drove in.
But now, some kids are walking away from the school to a corner where they can catch the bus to school. Absurdity.

I’m getting too old to have kids in school. I can tell because I’ve become critical of everything. Like, the sheer hypocrisy of pamphlets they sent home about proper nutrition and exercise! They say they want to fight the childhood obesity epidemic. That’s why they’ve banned the rolling bookbag, they say. Yet, have you seen what they feed the children for breakfast and lunch?!? Gone are the days of lunch ladies who cook nutritious food for an army. Now, it’s all prepackaged crap.

Breakfast could be any number of things you’d expect, but it could also be a Hostess-variety Honeybun, Dolly Madison danish, Donut Stix, or lunch leftovers. For lunch, they serve children food loaded with excess fat and carbs, consider pizza and corn vegetables, and sometimes the only fruit offered is a six-ounce juice. An entree might be one skimpy loaded potato skin, referred to as a baked potato, but it may be served with 1% milk and a cookie bigger than their heads.

Sometimes testing eliminates recess altogether for weeks. They sometimes take away the entire recess when students misbehave. They’ve made gym an elective.

Meanwhile, they pass out candy as reward.

Instead of encouraging me to give my kids more water and take up cycling as a family, they may as well write, “Due to the fact that we load your kids up on empty calories all day  and deprive them of activity, we’re going to need you to become a health nut.”

But yeah, let’s have kids who could walk get on a bus instead. Bravo.


SoCS ‘bus’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Dutiful Wife

This is the story of how my day was ruined by the mysterious disappearance of my navy blue pants.
Nothing quite so tragic had befallen me since The Pillow Incident of 2015.

We were about to go away for our annual Labor Day trip and therefore, I had a lot to do. The Mister, because he’s The Original Man Without A Plan, (we’ll do that post sometime when I’m mad at him or he’s in a super good mood) gave me additional duties. No, I don’t know what the fuck he was thinkin. Prolly some reasonable shit like I work fewer hours than he does and I don’t take a full course load on top of that or whatever.

Additional duties:

1. Drop battered Old Glory at the VFW.
Well, I tried, but what I thought was the nearest VFW turned out to be The American Legion and I’ve got to look that up. There has GOT to be one on the fort. Imma look it up, I really am.

2. Pay water bill.
Yes, in person, because the dumbass water company can’t bill properly to save their lives and they still haven’t hired a deposit specialist to cash the fucking checks. I went in there, slid my statement and my $100 bill through the slot in the glass and the lady said somethin about One-fifty-two-somethin and I said, “Pardon me?” as indignantly as I possibly could. She said a new bill was due on the 15th. I said, “That’s nice, I don’t have a new bill yet. I’m just paying the bill we do have.” Maybe I said it a little bit through my teeth.

3. Mail insurance dooji.
I don’t know what the fuck it’s called. It’s that thing that plugs into your car and magically records your driving. I often drop our office’s residual mail at the Castleton post office on the way home. I’ve cultivated relationships at the post office. I’ve become That Lady Who Always Asks If We’re Sure.
“And you’re sure it will be postmarked today?”
“I just want to be sure.”
“We’re sure.”
I don’t have to tell them I have anxiety disorder and trust issues. They know.
*makes note to take baked goods to post office ladies*

4. Get Bonnie Blue serviced.
This is a total Man Job, am I right? The Mister always does the car things. Good golly, I don’t wanna deal with oil changes and tire rotations and men who call me Little Lady. But then The Mister started talkin about the utterly complex agenda he had formulated, somethin about him takin the car in early and then bringin it home at lunch and it started to sound like one of those story problems with the trains so I said, “I’ll take it.”

I had planned to wear my navy blue pants and a sleeveless floral blouse and my red granny sandals which are quite comfortable. I have little control over my life, I just like knowing what the fuck I’m going to wear, okay? It comforts me.
So I straightened my hair and put my face on and I was sorta la-ti-da-ing and tra-la-la-ing around in my underwear, pleased as pie about how it was a Navy Blue Day only two days til we’d leave and I sang a lil tune about the lovers the dreamers and meeeeee….and MY NAVY BLUE PANTS WERE NOT IN MY PANTS SECTION!

Do you fuckin believe that shit?


So I checked in the blue section. Non et non et non. My frenzy heightened….

(At our house, it’s customary I do the washing machine bit. Generally Moo rotates the laundry. Usually Sassy puts the dry clothes on our bed and everyone takes care of their own putting away. Except The Mister went to bed early the night before and so he put away my things too, that asshole.)

So I did what most women do in a fashion crisis — I put on all black. I wore my black pencil skirt and my black summer sweater and my black espadrilles.

I sent an urgent email to my family:

my navy blue pants? anyone?

*cries in black skirt*


The Mister, he sent me back:

Sorry, I wore them today



Later he text me that he’d hung them up and he didn’t remember where. I couldn’t even.



I was driving to work when I realized I had chosen the absolute worst thing to wear. You see, I work so close to the car dealership, I can literally walk there, which may or may not be why it makes sense that I should be the one to drop Bonnie Blue off, so just shut up with your logic and shit.
I could envision myself walking from the dealership to my office in my navy blue pants and my sensible granny sandals, lookin all mom-like, but I didn’t want to walk DOWN THE STREET in my skirt and my heels, lookin all woman-like because well, we covered that Tuesday.

They offer shuttle service The Mister text me.
oh good, cause i really wanna hike my ass into a fucking shuttle in this skirt.

FYI: Even in a fashion crisis, black summer sweater not the best choice for temperatures close to 100.

I asked Mentor if she minded picking me up. She did not mind.

I drove over to the dealership and it was all very complicated with the men and the lack of signage or any indication of procedure and automatic doors and the removal of the key from my ring, but I managed.


That man asked for my odometer reading and because I am me, I stared blankly at him and said, “My what?! Oh miles. I dunno. Not many.” Is that a normal question? Who the fuck knows how many miles are on their car on a random Wednesday in August?  Shut up, I wasn’t askin you.


I arranged for the shuttle driver to pick me up after work. She was a little late, but she took me to the dealership in her lovely air-conditioned van upon which she had just installed running boards. She understood my navy blue pants problem.

It turns out Sassy had put my navy blue pants in Moo’s room BECAUSE SHE HATES ME as all children secretly hate their mothers.


In exchange for these extra duties, The Mister said he’d help me pack. He packed his own clothes.
He simply forgot every single one of his toiletry items.

Happy Friday Everyone! May you have all that you need for the weekend!

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#ThursdayDoors — Update on The Big Blue House

For those of you who are regular visitors, you should be familiar with The Big Blue House. For those of you who don’t know, The Big Blue House is a house that belonged in The Mister’s family for a long, long time.

For most of the year, someone’s been workin lil by lil on it. In June, I shared how The Big Blue House got a new door.


Most of us liked it, and almost all of us agreed that it’s great someone is putting effort into the house again.

Well, this week, The Mister was on his way to the DQ when he called to tell me Big News on The Big Blue House — The Big Blue House is no more. Now, it’s the Big Orange House!


I stopped over there last night to take a photo. The boy one, he asked me, “Why is this house so familiar?”
“It was Mamaw’s house. Usta be blue.”
“Oh, wow. It seemed so much bigger when I was a kid.”

Yeah, growing up does that to us all, hm?

Some of us love it, because orange is Moo’s favorite color. Other people, like Sassy, are orange haters, whether because orange or because sister, I do not know. Some of us just wanted it to stay the way it was.
I am a fan. I’m so frickin glad it’s not beige or tan or khaki, I revel in its orangeness. I’m thrilled for that house, I am. Happy as can be!

I’m sure at some point I’ll re-update you on its fixins.

For Old Time’s Sake, I’ll also share with you the door of another big blue house I spent a lot of time in.


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

What say you about The Big Orange House?


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One-Liner Wednesday — Cute Sex Story


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At age five, Little Moo pointed to the word sex in her animal Eyewitness book and proclaimed, “I know about sex!”
I said, “Oh yeah?”
She shouted out proudly, “My sex is female!”

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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The Presence of a Man

On Saturday, I dropped Sassy off at the American Legion Mall, “Are those your people?”
“Get out, vite! vite!”
I put the hazards on and double parked to let her out, and then I drove around to find a parking space.

The Universe was kind, offering me a spot on a corner, so I didn’t even have to officially parallel park, just pull over and back up. So nice.
I never use parking meters anymore. I took quarters, but the meters all indicated free parking. Has it always been like that? I dunno, my husband usually feeds the meter.
I’d parked two blocks west and three blocks south of Sassy.

It wasn’t too crowded by downtown standards, not for a Saturday with events. But guess how many times I was — whatever the phrase for that is — Verbally accosted? Sexually harassed? Made fearful by the behavior of lascivious men?
Go ahead and guess.

Y’all, I am not all that. I was dressed modestly. These things shouldn’t matter, by the by.

The first time, I thought, that’s weird.
The second time, I thought, fuckin really?!?
The third time, it hit me; i am never alone downtown.

I am always with The Mister, or a gaggle of kids and a dog, or a pack of men, never a solitary woman on the street.

The only thing to do is to ignore it and keep moving. When you ignore them, the praise for what yer mama gave you turns into hate and threats. “Smile, Sugar!” becomes “Oh you ain’t got no smile for me? Fuckin bitch. Better watch out.”

What kinda fuckin lunatic walks from here to there with a smile plastered on his face?!? If I see anyone that happy, walkin alone, I will cross the goddamn street!

Men don’t know this unless they do it. The Mister had no idea for most of his life, but I informed him as I am informing you now. I once told him not to lead me through the crowd, but to walk behind me. He thought that was not strong and chivalrous. Well it is. It keeps not so honorable men from pawing and groping and pressing into me. He had no idea such things happened.

Well they do.


So when my inner rage and my “sweet ass” finally got to the grassy area and some asshole offered me some blow for a blow, I found it harder to ignore, but still I walked on.

Just when I’d settled in for the concert, some other asshole approached me asking me to make a call for him.
Y’all, I have let other stranger men use my phone, but either somethin about that guy wasn’t right, or prior events had unsettled me past the point of politesse, but I said no. I didn’t even look up.
“Miss, I —-”
He was otherwise polite, I don’t know what he was goin on about, “local and” … still an asshole.
“I’m not makin a call for you. I don’t want to. There are plenty of other people with phones here. Go ask a man!”

On the way back to the car, as I kept right on the walk, a man approached. I kept my head up and made eye contact and he kept comin. He was 50-ish, handsome, well-dressed, but still he kept comin. He had a kinda walk, like prior military, assertive, confident. If I were a man, I’da been thinkin he wanted to kick my ass. what the fuck? why is this man not movin over? what kinda dick move is it to make a lady clear the way? He crossed to a car in front of me.
Then I saw a familiar face, as one is wont to do where one has lived so long. I couldn’t place the face beyond familiar…
He said, “Hello, how’s it goin?”
I said, “Good, thanks.”
oh my god that’s the mayor!
So we exchanged pleasantries how strangers do.
That other guy was his security detail.

I could benefit from security detail.
Lemme tell you, I am all about ‘I do not need a man.’
I love this one who’s got me, and I LIKE to have a man around.

I don’t owe anyone a fucking smile, or the use of my phone, and I shouldn’t need the presence of a man to enforce that.



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Share Your World #38

Are you a hugger or a non-hugger?
I am a hugger.  I’m a kisser, too.


What is your least favorite Candy?
Those surprise jelly beans that taste like vomit and rotten melons fed to me by Beauty Queen’s oldest. I only eat black jelly beans now. Sense of jelly bean adventure all gone. I don’t like the crazy, atrociously sour candies that are popular these days either, none of that for me. Warheads and sour worms and NO.


What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word “fun”?
“I doubt it.”


List of Favorite Smells: What smells do you love? Whether it’s vanilla scented candles or the smell of coffee in the morning or the smell of a fresh spring rain…make a list of all the things you love for a little aromatherapy.
Oh my. It will rain smell, it’s raining smell, it has rained smell. A study in the verb tenses of rain smell…
Lilac — there is a time in the spring here on my block, lilacs fill the air with an almost tangible pungency. You get used to it and have to leave and return to smell it again. I have considered jarring it.
Lavender, honeysuckle — and tomato stems, basil, rosemary.
Clover, fresh cut grass, wild onion, real pine trees.
Smell of freshwater and saltwater.
Leaf mold and the smell of burning leaves, C’mon Autumn!


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I can scarcely begin. You know, for the first time in quite a while, I did not have a stressful week? I worked more hours, and peopled way more than usual, but touch wood, I was a happy sorta busy for a change. I have to say I am living a life of abundance and at present, I feel that deeply. I am grateful for everything.
Those soft, quiet minutes The Mister and I have between when the alarm goes off and when we get out of bed.
The funny things Moo says and texts to me.
A conversation with my mother that kept me sitting in front of the market laughing and had me smiling all night.
My pride as Sassy sat in the middle of the American Legion Mall, barefoot and straddling a cello in the rain. She was playin with the high school kids, and I spose I was proud for that, but more proud of some anti-shoe genes that run deeply through my mother’s side of the family. Shoes? Love em. Shoes? Don’t wanna wear em.
Hangin out with someone who knew me when I was a kid. Is there anything like the company of an old friend? What I love about that is how much you don’t have to say. The unspoken and yet understood — it’s powerful, isn’t it?
And did you see the moon this weekend? Wowza!
Also, on Friday, after the storms, a certain quality of air snuck in for a bit. Yes, of course it was cooler, but there was a lightness, a crispness in the air not unlike autumn.
My week came with lobster ravioli, Pad Thai, buttery, salty ears of corn, ice cream, and too much fountain Coke. It was a GOOD week.
The worst thing that happened to me was my perfectly smooth and straightened and hair and I got caught in the rain and made friends with a tree. First, my hair grew, then it curled. Randomly. I had to walk around all day lookin like I had a fight with a hairbrush. I always say I can make it rain — just gimme a hair straightener and some mascara!


where ya goin, hairs?

I suppose it’s too much to hope I can have another week like that. This week, I am looking forward to family night at the Los Rancheros — quesoeverything and a margarita, please!

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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I Read Stuff, I Really Do

Many of you know that I am a terrible reader. No, no, that came out wrong. I’m an avid reader, and I read super fast, but I’m total crap when it comes to writing about reading. Most of the time I don’t note it in my Goodreads or review it on Amazon or even mention I’ve read it. Much as I’d like to say I’m sorry, I’m really not, because I am a bad person. We can discuss that another time. Maybe Tuesday.

Today I’m hosting my blogging buddy Boyack, with his newest release The Experimental Notebook II. I enjoyed being a beta reader on the first one, and so far, I’ve liked the first two stories in the new book as well. When Boyack said he’d like to get some more exposure and asked if any of us would be willing to help out, I thought I might could redeem myself by posting a promotional page.

And now, Craig Boyack:


Thanks for inviting me to your blog to introduce my newest book, this is the second collection of short stories and micro-fiction, cleverly called The Experimental Notebook of C. S. Boyack II.




This book covers several speculative genres I write in, including paranormal, science fiction, and one that might pass for fantasy. There are also two tales with no speculative element at all. I shoved them in as extras, the book is still only 99¢.


Short fiction nearly died out, along with the newspapers and magazines that published it. Amazon gave it a new lease on life, and I’ve seen quite a few solo stories at 99¢. I think consumers deserve a better deal than that, so this book contains fifteen such stories.


These are perfect for long carpool trips, coffee breaks, or lunch breaks. I’d appreciate you taking a chance on them.


It was sorta the least I could do for such a devoted reader, hm?
I cannot guarantee you’ll enjoy Boyack’s short stories, because I don’t know that you’ll like what I like. I mean, for all I know, maybe you like ketchup on your spaghetti marinara.

To purchase The Experimental Notebook of C. S. Boyack II:

To see all his books:

To stalk Boyack all over the internet:





I will now return to reading things I probably won’t write about.


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SoCS — Not the Shopping-est

I’m driving west today, but not past Meridian street. Gonna watch Sassy perform in the Fiesta. Then I’m going to see my oldest friend, Kiwi.
(Not older than me, 12 days younger than me, in fact, but friends since 1981.)

We’re going to go shopping.
I don’t like shopping. I don’t enjoy it the way other women seem to, or the way I’m supposed to, or whatever. BUT! Shopping is a necessary evil, and trying on pants is essential when you’re shaped like me, so may as well do it in good company!

I asked her, “Shopping. Wow. When do you think we last went shopping together?”
“When your father dropped us off at Lafayette Square Mall. Do you remember that?”
I do. I do remember. Parachute pants and neon pantyhose and jelly shoes. Who could forget?


SoCS ‘est’ is brought to by LindaGHill

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I met a hot guy at the Tomo Japanese restaurant. Yummy dinner. Tried a new soup, some spicy onion concoction we both loved.

His seduction game was strong. He told me I was beautiful and fed me all his mushrooms.

I enjoyed our conversation. He explained how he puts the chlorine tabs in the toilet tank without touching them with his hands, and I recounted a story about how I managed to get bleach in my eyes. We laughed a lot.

I’d hoped he’d take me someplace sexy, like the nearby Staples, to smell the bleached paper  to buy me paperclips   to test pens   to push my easy button but I guess he wasn’t into that sorta thing.


He walked me to my car, kissed me.

I told him I’d had a really good time, felt like I’d known him forever, felt like we had a real connection.

He kissed me again.
We lingered briefly in the closeness.

I asked him if he wanted to go home with me, meet my kids…

He asked, “How old are they?”
“Twelve and thirteen.”
The Mister said, “No thanks, I’ll pass.”

And then we laughed and laughed.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Yep, Mostly Doors

Some of the doors from my outings over Labor Day weekend:


You know what’s funny? When you’re like, “Ooh, a fountain!” and your friend photobombs it.



You know what else is funny? When you’re lookin for doors to take pictures of, and you walk past a picture of doors.


Here are s’more doors and pretty buildings and stuff, churches and schoolhouses, that sorta thing.

Not a door or a pretty thing, but neat, right?


I think upkeep of old things is neat. But then, I enjoy photographing doors.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Technical Difficulties

“Someone’s faxing a phone number.”
“Oh no, that’s me!” I rushed over and asked, “Could you tell from the sound it made?”
“I heard someone try to answer it, so yes, technically, I could tell by the sound it made.”


fax-machine-meme-300x300  1linerwedsbadgewes

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by User Error and LindaGHill

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In Which Joey Drives to the West Side, Drinks an iced caramel macchiato, Picks up Master Boombastic, and Rambles On about Social Issues while Freebird Plays

If you think the title’s too long, you may not enjoy this post.

Over the weekend, I drove to the west side of town to pick up Sassy’s friend, Master Boombastic. I hadn’t wanted to. Drive west. In the rain. I’m tellin you, somethin happens to me when I cross Meridian Street, may as well be in the Bermuda Triangle. But I managed, even with a stupid weather headache.
Previously, Master Boombastic had been dropped off by his mother, and then collected by his mother. He’d spent his birthday with us here last month, and we’d enjoyed him. Great kid. For a kid, he knows a lot about movies and music and I am endeared.
I was aware he lived out of the district, but when I Googled his address and saw Fox Hill, my brain groaned.

Fox Hill is on the other side of Meridian Street.



One of my oldest friends, we’ll call him Anderson, lived by Fox Hill. We met at college, out of the city, so we didn’t have much of a rivalry. When I went to college, I was quite pleased to encounter anyone from the cities, because well, as HME pointed out, city kids never said things like, “You guys, there were black people in my class,” because they didn’t come from places where they only saw black people on television.

So yeah, in Indy, Anderson lived around Fox Hill, and at Ball State, he lived in my building, and we took French together, and we have been friends for…I’m not sure exactly, but more than 20 years.


When The Mister and I were looking to buy our home, more than anything, we needed to be in a good school district. Concepts of good school districts vary, but for us, it meant big, and diverse — schools we remember as good competitors in our various activities. When it came down to it, we agreed on two, our own, and Anderson’s.

Well, in the midst of house shopping, I realized pretty much nothing in Anderson’s district came close to our budget. I recall the white house in the woods, not a bad house, per se, but in the flood plain. What really galled me though, was that whatever idiot took the real estate photos swooped everything from the counters, literally leaving a visible pile of garbage on the floor. This is the house we could afford over there, the garbage floor house in the flood plain. I did not schedule a showing.

I called Anderson, “Did you even have poor kids at your high school?”
His reply remains a timeless treasure here with the Motterns, “Yes, we had some less fortunate students.”

*rolled eyes to the sky*

“Could you please advise your less fortunate friend as to where the hell they may have lived?”

I don’t know what he said, somethin about somethin, but per my own experience, they lived in the flood plain, or in apartments.
I picked Master Boombastic up and asked him how he liked livin over there.
Master Boombastic told me about how before this particular place, he lived in a small town in Illinois, where he was surrounded by cornfields. I reminded him he’s still surrounded by cornfields. He further illustrated his previous town by tellin me that straw hats were the norm, he’d had to learn to square dance, and listened to quite a lot of Lynyrd Skynyrd.


For the sake of disclosure I will tell you Master Boombastic is a self-proclaimed nerd. Like everyone else, he defies labels. He likes comic books and laughing at dank memes. He’s super smart and words goodly. He is also part Mexican, which you could tell by his names if I’d given them to you.


On the way home we passed our church, where I said, “That’s our church. We don’t much go to church, because we chose a church where the church doesn’t care if you go to church. They also don’t care if you’re a transgender atheist, so you know, not too churchy for a church.”
Master Boombastic told me he’d been religious before his move. I said, “I reckon you’d have to be. That’d be par for the course, what with all the Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

He told me of how he’d taken his brother to church a few times and it hadn’t gone over well. Said his brother is part African-American. Said the small town church people weren’t too receptive to that.
I explained that we usta live on an Army base. Said our kids had always known diversity. Everyone was from somewhere else, everyone intermingled and intermarried and made babies of this and that, and most people never thought a thing of it.
Then we moved here, and Sassy was forced to consider her whiteness in a way she never had before. Before we moved here, Sassy never knew exactly how white she was. Before we moved here, no one ever told her she couldn’t kiss the black boys or spend so much time with her Spanish-speaking friends.

I told Master Boombastic that when we first moved back, we’d lived with my in-laws, and at school, Sassy was befriended by ‘Other White Girl’ who lived on a horse farm. That’s when her soul was crushed by prejudice. We sat in a restaurant booth as Sassy recounted the horrors of being labeled at first sight.
“They think I’m country, with mah accent and mah white skin and mah prey blonde hair!” (You have to read that sentence aloud, with wide eyes, and with the accent, to fully understand her hysteria.)
We laughed, but with compassion for her situation.


My kids live in an environment where color and background and gender and sexuality and ownership are all much more fluid. Their schools have had a lot less hostility over differences than mine or The Mister’s did, and we knew we had it better than our parents.

Sometimes I sit on my porch and watch the kids play basketball. I doubt my kids think about how they’re the only white ones. I do. I see. I look and I think, we’ve come so far. i’m so proud of this, as a mom, as an american…

But still I see it. I notice. I still see.

We’ve got a long way to go.

Do my kids see it? Will their kids see it? Will the kids of their kids see it? How many generations does it take?
I realize humans have been asking these questions, questioning not just labels and prejudices, but actual injustice, for eons, and then I don’t feel quite so proud.

Do you have anything to add to my unstructured thoughts on these topics? Did you at least enjoy the trip?


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Share Your World #37

Have you ever owned a rock, pet rock, or gem that is not jewelry?
I feel like I’ve answered this before. Never had a pet rock. I’ve had plenty of polished stones and whatnot, but Moo has pilfered most of them. There’s an amethyst egg in the bathroom and I’ve got a trio of lil Buddhas, two of which are jade.


What is your greatest strength or weakness?
I think everyone’s strength is their weakness and their weakness is their strength. Mine is probably intuition which might translate to assumptions and paranoia. I’ll remind you that just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean I’m wrong. *wink*


What makes you feel grounded?
Green grass or snow underfoot. Or even the squishy sand my feet sink into at the shore.


Would you rather never be able to eat warm food or never be able to eat cold food?
I’d give up warm food. I prefer my food is never hot. I dislike hot food. I feel like I cannot taste hot food, all I sense is HOT! It keeps me from being a chef. Chefs don’t have time to let the spoon cool.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
In this last week, I’m grateful for cool summer nights, Asian pears, iced coffee, and of course, the people who enrich my life.
I can’t say I’m looking forward to anything in particular, but I appreciate that this week won’t be crazy hot.


recent grounding space


Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCs — West Side Story

I want to tell you about my hibiscus. They’re all over the west side of my yard. They’re hardy hibiscus, not to be confused with tropical hibiscus. They start blooming in July and they continue until the frost.

They make pretty, even in the winter.


But right now, they’re in their full glory.






They’re lush and green half the year, which is lovely, because the abandoned house behind them is not lovely at all.

The view from my bedroom window is gorgeous. I have nothing to do with it, so surely I’m not braggin.


They’re so wow this time of year.
They burst with color.


You can’t really see in the photos, but they’re pink, hot pink, purple, lavender, and white.

Midday, they’re swarming with busy, busy bees.

They self-seed. I presume. There are more of them every year and I’m not planting or propagating them. I don’t do anything with them, and yet they spread.

I’m guessing the birds help, because today I found one blooming along the east side of house with the morning glory…


Sometimes I like things about summer. But only a few things.

SoCS ‘view’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Kitchen Crimes and Trash Talk


Once this tweet was posted, a follower felt the need to tell me about how his mother taught her sons to cook and clean and how men should do this and children should do that and yadda yadda — three whole @s he gave me about how fabulously he’d been raised. Of course, I wished his mother had spent a bit more time teaching him manners, but because my mother did a good job at that, I let it lie and quietly unfollowed him instead of telling him to go @ himself.
The man who wrote those comments has since deleted them.

It really pissed me off. Beneath my crick of anger, there’s an ocean of resentment.

FIRST OF ALL, that dude dunno my life. Twelve people know my life and he ain’t one of em.

Second, it’s a tweet. It’s fewer than 140 characters of a story. A blip into my psyche at any given moment. There are many, many parents who relate to that tweet. It’s not like my family will beat me black and blue if I don’t kitchen.

Third, my kids can make brownies. All four of them can make brownies. Not all four of them can successfully melt chocolate in a double broiler, which is why I’d said I’d bake the brownies to begin with. Have you ever smelled burnt chocolate? Have you cleaned burnt chocolate from a pan? Have you any idea how much baking chocolate costs?
While Sassy and Moo are not candidates for Master Chef Junior, they do cook and bake things.

I don’t know if The Mister can bake brownies. This does not bother me, because I bake awesome brownies, and I truly enjoy baking them more than eating them.
The Mister can cook basic foods. He can sustain life with his kitchen skills.
For a short time, he wanted to learn to cook more, and that was a bad experience for both of us and I do not ask him to prepare edibles and he is glad.

Fourth, my kids can, and do, wash dishes plenty. If you asked Sassy and Moo who does the dishes in the house, they’d climb up on a Fiestaware cross and tell you a sob story of how “I’m literally the only person who ever does dishes.” Both of them would tell you that.


I prefer eating from clean dishes so Sassy does the bulk of the dishes. There are times that I suspect Sadie licking the dishes would get dishes cleaner than when Moo washes them, and woe to anyone who doesn’t inspect their dishes before use, and Moo spends a considerable amount of time redoing dishes, but still, she does dishes.
Sometimes The Mister does dishes. Usually, he does this when we have house guests, so that all the women think he’s a swell guy, but I’d say twice a year or so, he does them when no one’s even lookin.

He does the dishes more than I take out the trash. Last time I took the trash out, there was snow on the ground and I’m not sure it was this last winter…
I take recyclables, but I almost never take out the trash. My husband teases me about how much trash I make and it’s become a joke between us. I’ll say, “Baby! Come look at all this trash I’ve made for you!” and then he’ll either grumble about how I could get a job making trash or he’ll high-five me and say, “Good job, Baby!”

Do you think if The Mister tweeted about how much trash I make and how he’s always taking out the trash, some woman would @ him about how her father taught all his daughters to take out the trash and it’s a real shame his wife and kids don’t do that for him?!?
(Honestly, on Twitter, any @ is possible. Most of the time, the @s don’t even make sense.)

Do you know that when I tell people my husband goes to the store for me, loads and unloads the car for me, etc, etc, etc — virtually anything my husband helps me with — people think I’ve won some sorta prize?
Additionally, if I bring my husband a plate of food or iron his shirts, people think I’m livin in 1956 and declare it sexist.
These things make me sad.

I mean, if it’s all supposed to be so goddamned equal, why does anyone make the whole bed instead of just their side?
I know, I’m a Bad Feminist.

If you’re partnered with someone, they should be doin nice things for you. What, I cannot say. I can tell you that any healthy relationship exists because of care, and care should be a constant. Happily married people are all about the little things.
Happily married people do not sit around measuring out tit for tat, makin tick marks over how many times they’ve changed the toilet paper roll or whatever.

Have you even lived with anyone else?
People are awful to live with. All of us.
I have lived with me for 42 years and it has not been easy. I am moody and bitchy and fault-finding, I hate to be woken up, I need a lot of personal space, my tongue is quick and sharp, and worst of all, I like everything a certain way.
To make up for this, I’m an excellent cook.
I have lived with The Mister for 17 years. He is grumpy and easily angered, and he procrastinates, and he’s always losing things, he doesn’t listen, and worst of all he forgets everything.
To make up for this, he’s charming as fuck.

If you want to be treated like royalty, stay single and hire out.

It is my own personal experience that we all want what we do not have, so I’m sure my husband is wondering why I never get laryngitis, and I am wondering why he doesn’t go get his ears flushed, and you’re all wondering if we see the irony of that situation.

Blah blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
Oh never fucking mind.

Anyway, if you think there’s something wrong with a person who makes dinner, cleans the kitchen, and then bakes brownies, then you are definitely not invited to dinner here and I do not wish you a happy Friday.*

*Certain Restrictions May Apply

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#ThursdayDoors — Gates & Arches & Things


florida fort


i wonder what it looked like when it was built


indianapolis law firm harboring pokemon, apparently


park pretty


empty space leaves room for imagination


pretty stuff


enchanting, hm?


Thursday Doors is an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Morning Comes Early

“I’m awake. I can tell because I just yawned and squeaked. In a minute, I’ll stretch and pop.”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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That Rain Song…

John’s post about rain songs reminded me of how one day my MIL asked me if I could use my computer to help her find a rain song.
That’s what she said.
“A song about rain,” she said.
She didn’t mean any ol song about rain, but rather, a particular song she’d liked, in which rain was mentioned.


I did have the advantage of knowing MIL’s taste in music, but still, quite a lot of songs about rain. Why not songs about night? or dancing? or love? Haha.

After playing about 30 song blips for her, it turned out to be Phil Collins “I Wish It Would Rain Down.” MIL was so happy.

I mentioned this craziness on my Facebook, and for days, people commented on that post with their suggested songs about rain.
This bout killed me.

I suppose it’s important to realize that not all your friends read well. Also, apparently, everyone likes at least one song about rain. And they want to tell you about it.
“Was it this?”
“How about this one?”



I still haven’t quite gotten over it.
Whenever I hear a song about rain, I think of the time my MIL asked me to find her that particular song about rain.
So yeah, I think about it a lot.

If you’d like to share or write about rain songs you love, please go over to John’s post.  If you want to complain about that time no one understood you, I’m here to read you well.


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Share Your World #36

If you were given a boat or yacht today, what would you name it?  (You can always sell the yacht later)
The Mr. Beaumont. All Friends fans know Joey’s boat is called The Mr. Beaumont.  I would let The Mister drive me around the lake, but otherwise, I’d totally use my boat as a place to eat sammiches.



Which of Snow White’s 7 dwarfs describes you best?  (Doc, Happy, Bashful, Sleepy, Sneezy, Grumpy, Dopey) Plus what would the 8th dwarf’s name be?
I should think it’s obvious I’m Snow White. If not, I guess I’m often Sneezy. The 8th dwarf could be Sleazy.


Name a song or two which are included on the soundtrack to your life?
A song or two? How about a song or two a day?
Okay, fine.
How about Tori Amos “Cornflake Girl”?


Complete this sentence:  I like watching…
Lately, The Good Wife. I never saw the first season or the last season, and along the way my dvr cropped a lot of endings due to friggin sports runnin over, so while some of it is memorable, I’m enjoying it all over again.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I am so grateful for our weekend away. Grateful for friendships that span decades of time and hundreds of miles. Also, amazing husband take me on road trip to see said friends.


And views, and photos, and food, and drinks. All good stuff all weekend. Whatta wonderful weekend!


Also, last week, I saw this tree on 56th Street and I said, “Hey Lil Tree, whatcha doin there? Turnin colors?” He waved and nodded, so that means fall really will come and destroy this infernal heat crap.


This next week, the only scheduled highlight of my week is an early morning trip to Dunkin Donuts, but hey, ya never know what might happen the rest of the time!

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

041514-sywbanner (1)

What’s going on in your world?


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The Black Cat Blue Sea Award

Jill, Spanglish Jill, La Sabrosona, of My Spanglish Familia nominated me for this award, so I’m doing it, because I love Jill and this one looks fun, and I need more reasons to sit my jammied ass on the sofa and type away happily while I drink coffee.

Did y’all see those new lightweight glass mugs at Starbucks? I shoulda bought some. I really just might.

Anyway, here we go —

The Rules:
*Thank the blogger that nominated you
*Nominate up to 7 other bloggers
*Answer 3 questions
*Ask your nominees 3 questions

Thank you, Jill. 


My nominees:


Jill asked what’s the funniest thing I’ve heard lately, and I’d hafta say it was when I misunderstand Moo and it sounded like she said, “Now I know why my fox burned the other and flapjack clues on the floor!”
I shouted back, “Yes, I hate it when my fox burns the others and leaves clues!” She actually said something like how her box was turned the other way and her shoes were on the floor — but if you read me much, you know you never can tell with Moo —
Jill asked if I had all the time and money in the world, what would be the thing, food, music, place and/or people who would make me the happiest?
The answer is variety. I dunno, because isn’t the best thing in life having choices? Maybe I feel like these people or those people, this music, or that food. Depends so much on mood. Planning never works for fun. Fun either happens or it doesn’t. Also, my idea of fun seldom matches the traditional definition of fun. I very much enjoy lively conversation, and food I eat with my hands. A good beat is a good beat. I can find beauty most anywhere, so place isn’t too important, beyond temperature. Let’s keep it cool, okay?
Jill asked the best advice I’ve ever been given and the best advice I’ve given and that’s really hard to choose. My mother said the best way to deter nosiness is to direct people to their own motives by asking, “Why do you ask?”
“Why do you ask?” is incredibly effective.
When people ask you nosy questions, ask them, “Why do you ask?”
It never hurts to question your own motives at times, either. Most people aren’t aware they have motives, let alone what they are.


My questions for my nominees:
What do you do when you wake up after a bad dream?

Do you enjoy wearing hats? If so, what kind?

What’s the most recent act of kindness you’ve performed?

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Goodness, It’s Good

People be like, “I’m going to Disney World!” and I be like, “I’m going to HME’s!”

Well, I am later today. First I’ll get caught up with my online stuffs. Then I have to wrap up packing, which is basically me walking around the house in panic mode, clutching my list and tsking anything we may have overlooked. Then I’ll tidy things, because I am loath to arrive home to any disarray. Then I’ll go to work. But after that, definitely, goin to HME’s!

The last month has been long, has it not? For me it’s been about 90% chaos and toil and trouble. Altogether too much schedule and peopling. Finally, Labor Day Weekend is upon us and I shall escape.
Shouldn’t there be MORE long weekends?

Y’ever go someplace that’s always good? I have several of those places and HME’s is one of My Top Five All-Time Good Places To Go.

It’s always a good time and that’s why we love it so much. Good people with the good talk and the good food.
We go without expectation. Sometimes we go places and do stuff, and sometimes we simply be, but it’s always a good time with the HMEs.

The boy one, he’s coming to sit the house. He’ll care for the house and the pets and the alarm. He might mow the grass and he’ll surely make sure no milk expires in our absence, but he won’t update my blog while I’m gone. Thinking about that makes me laugh…

Anyway, while I’ll miss WordPress Peoples, I’ll be enjoying the disconnect from the norm. (Not Our Norm, just the norm.) It’s gonna be GOOD!

Oh yeah, thanks Tony, this is perfect today!



Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — The Sanctuary on Penn

I thought I’d go with another one of those churches that isn’t a church, since I’ve found so many this summer.

On Pennsylvania Avenue, The Sanctuary on Penn is not a church that operates as a wedding venue.
I love that. What a clever business-minded way to keep old churches beautiful.

IMG_0070 (1)IMG_0072

My up-close shot is even worse, so we’ll stop here. I suppose I could have tried to get it when the sun was up, but then, it didn’t even invite me in for cake or cocktails or anything.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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Uh Oh

Comments are disappearing for some of us in some places. Check your spam for some comments you may have missed.

John brought this up and I told him I’d check my spam, where I did in fact, have comments from John, and my comment to him about it disappeared. Twice.

Anyway, check yer spam🙂

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One-Liner Wednesday — Sock Mates

Sassy likes to wear mismatched socks so I don’t match hers anymore. The other day when I asked Sassy to take her non-matching socks, she made a sad face and said, “Intersocks couples have rights, too.”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Reach Out and Touch Faith

I hate being asked what kind of music I like. I like good music, Duh. Doesn’t everyone like good music?

Most of my music collection is from the 90’s, because that’s the decade of my youth, also Duh.

I very much like what I very much like, but I’m open. It’s good to be open about music, I think, because I’m open about music.

The example I always give people is Beastie Boys Sabrosa. I show you this video and unless you know, your brain is already set to Obnoxious White Rappers.
But if you like good music, you’ll like this song, because it is not obnoxious, and absolutely not rap.

And there are plenty more where that came from.
I know this, because The Mister thought he wouldn’t like it.

Somehow The Mister thought he hated Nirvana, but I fixed that, too.

In terms of rap, I’ll have you know that in my teens, I played my NWA tapes so much, I caught my own mother singing it. She was ashamed when she covered her mouth and said, “I can’t help it.” To spare her scandal, I won’t tell you what she was singing.

These things happen.

My favorite is my MIL, a notoriously godly woman, singing and tapping her fingers to Marilyn Manson’s version of Personal Jesus.
I doubt that MIL knows the Depeche Mode or Johnny Cash version, or that she’d ever heard the song before, but she did enjoy it noticeably. She probably thought it was a new gospel tune.

“Personal Jesus”

Reach out and touch faith

Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who’s there

Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer

Take second best
Put me to the test
Things on your chest
You need to confess
I will deliver
You know I’m a forgiver

Reach out and touch faith
Reach out and touch faith

Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who’s there

Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer
I will deliver
You know I’m a forgiver

Reach out and touch faith

Your own personal Jesus

Reach out and touch faith

If I showed her a picture of Marilyn Manson, she’d recoil in horror and probably claim him the devil incarnate, but without prejudice, she thoroughly enjoyed it.

I didn’t bother MIL with Marilyn Manson’s background or play her Cake & Sodomy, but I felt a rare twinge of something on the verge of joyously diabolical fervor. It was a nearly religious moment.

Anyway, It’s good to be open about music.


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Share Your World #35

List 2 things you have to be happy about?
I woke up today and the air-conditioning still works.


If you could take a photograph, paint a picture or write a story of any place in the world, what and where would it be?
Would it make sense to say I don’t think I’ve found it yet?


Should children be seen and not heard?
Occasionally, for short periods of time, yes. In places where adults shouldn’t be heard too much, either — at the bank, the reference section of the library, 9pm showings of non-family movies, funerals — school-aged children should be quiet in those places, too. I think we’ve gone so kid-friendly, we expect everywhere to have a playland or something to accommodate children, when really, we need to model and teach some self-control.


List at least five of your favorite first names.
I won’t. I’ll tell you Allen, Mae, and Michael are some frequent names in my family. I’ll tell you women with traditionally male names and names that are unusual are pretty common in my family. I’ll tell you when we were naming Sassy, it took us months and months. The Mister was stuck in the girl P names and I thought he’d never let go. Had she been a boy, Sassy would’ve been Ethan. She ended up with two masculine names anyway, which made birth announcements in unisex baby clothes interesting. I’ll tell you it took us fewer than five minutes to name Moo, who would’ve been Jacob otherwise.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Easiest week to count blessings, this last week. I’m glad neither I nor my loved ones died in the damned tornadoes, I’m glad my trees didn’t snap.


one of my neighborhood’s several snapped trees


it demolished my sunflowers and tried to take my cherry tomato plant!


I am grateful I live on the side of the street where we don’t lose power and we don’t flood. I am grateful that while driving through the flooding, a stranger lady was kind enough to wave me to her and welcomed me to stop and sit a spell at her house at the exact moment I was about to break down in tears and abandon my car. So most of all, I’m glad The Mister was available to talk me just then. He gave me courage and calm enough to get me home as I drove through halfadozen ‘ponds’.


I am also grateful my father is feeling well and hopeful, considering.
I am grateful Bubba dropped in yesterday with another young un I hadn’t seen in a long time.
Also, Oreo ice cream.

This week coming up has us making our yearly visit to Mr and Mrs HME’s house, where we will undoubtedly laugh til we cry and eat piles of yummy foods, and in turn, I am also grateful to have a housesitter.

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — You’re

Like I can resist.

You’re is you are. YOU ARE WELCOME. It’s not your welcome. All that welcome are not belong to you. I mean, I suppose it could, if someone gave it to you. People are always trying to give me some welcome someone else gave them, but I don’t want that, I want to BE welcome, not have one.


I also want to be okay, not have one. “So glad your okay,” is such a nice gesture, because I really do think the people who type that mean to write “So glad you’re okay.” I never see them type “So glad his okay,” or “So glad hers okay,” but I sure do see people expressing “So glad their okay,” which is less troubling than “So glad there okay” because at least their has some fucking people in it. If there are not people there, then why the fuck should we care if there is okay?




You’re welcome.

Not sometimes, not like i before e, but like, every single time, you’re welcome.


And don’t blame your fucking phone, either. If you type youre, it will put the apostrophe in.

It’s not like were, because were is too hard for phones. Phones always want to take it to an extroverted place, talkin about we’re  — and we’re not, we’re just talkin about were. “Were there any winter boots on sale?” I don’t know why phones think we’re all we’rein, as if “We are there any winter boots on sale?” is a question people ask, but we’re not. Sometimes we just want to know if there were. We never want to know if their were. Their were is not our business.

And for all those people who say, “You know what the fuck I mean,” well yeah, of course I do. But ferrealiously, I’m not a nice enough person to enjoy receiving some secondhand welcome you picked up on the interwebz.

My welcome? For me? You shouldn’t have!

In return, I’ve picked up this meme that’s been internet-copied so many times it looks like it rolled off a ditto machine.

SoCS ‘your/you’re/yore’ is brought to you by LindaGHill who knows how to fucking write


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I’m Not in Kansas Anymore

I used to ignore my weather app.

It was always wrong.

The Mister would say things like, “It’s gonna get down to 58 tonight!” and I’d be all, “Really? My phone says 74.” Then I’d look on the computer and he’d be right.

My phone app would say, “You can just wear a sweater” and then I’d get in my car and she’d say, “Bitch, shoulda worn a coat.”

One day I looked at the weather app and it said it was sunny and 90 and it was raining and nowhere near that hot.

I said things like, “It sure doesn’t feel like -11…You’d think it’d feel colder than this.”

“Is it sposta rain?” I’d ask The Mister. He’d say, “Look at your phone.”

My phone had the worst weather predictions ever.

I decided looking at the sky, asking FIL, and checking my laptop — all much more effective means to determine upcoming weather conditions.

I moved my weather app to the last icon screen and pretended it wasn’t even there.

Then one day, Moo asked what Saturday’s weather looked like and we both checked our phones. I said, “84 and sunny,” and The Mister said, “77 with rain.”

“Told you my phone dunno the weather.”

My app put me in Lawrence. That’s my community in Indianapolis, my neighborhood.
People say they live in Irvington or Broad Ripple or whatever, but they’re all Indianapolis proper.




Did you know there’s a Lawrence in Kansas, too?
There sure is.


We don’t have the same weather you know.
Five hundred miles makes a huge difference.
I may have set my weather app to Lawrence, Kansas.

But now I’ve chosen Indianapolis.


There’s no Indianapolis in Kansas. I checked.

Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — The Brougher Building

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This is actually a big building. Rather than showing you ten or so shots you’d have to piece together to imagine, I’ve borrowed Historic Indianapolis’s picture, below:


And back to my iPhone…

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More from Historic Indianapolis:

“In 1953, after undergoing a $160,000 renovation, the school opened as Harry E. Wood Vocational School, honoring one of the nation’s leaders in the progress of manual training education, drawing students from nine neighborhood elementary school. On March 20, 1954, after receiving accreditation, the school became the eighth Indianapolis high school and was renamed Harry E. Wood High School, a six-year high school serving grades seven through twelve. Along with a full academic curriculum, Wood High School offered courses in auto body repair, barbering, beauty culture, cleaning and pressing, dental assistance (the only school in America to do so) practical nursing, shoe repair, commercial food preparation, printing, mechanical drawing/drafting, metal work along with transportation and power. To its credit, during its first three years of existence, Harry E. Wood High School lowered the Indianapolis drop-out rate by more than 15%. With the construction of I-70, which brought the destruction of hundreds of home through the center of Wood High School’s student population, citing declining enrollment, the school was the first ever high school closed in Indianapolis. Since the school’s closure, the building has been converted into high end office space and has been owned by The Indianapolis, Christian Schools, Brougher Insurance and Eli Lilly. It’s now owned by American Realty Capital Trust and is being used as hi-scale office space.”

And back to my iPhone…


The doors must surely be the soul of this building.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Literal and Figurative

“Everything’s much louder inside your own head. For instance, have you ever eaten while wearing earplugs?”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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An Early Departure from a Late Meeting

There was a parent meeting at 8pm.
Why so late?
Because it was after the thing where they have parents run a shortened version of their kids’ schedules. Personally, I’m never interested in doing that. For one thing, thirty years go deceptively fast and wasn’t I just there? with my side ponytail and my rubber bracelets? While their old gym was my new gym, it still reeks of fear sweat.

Instead of asking why so late, maybe we should be asking, WHY AT ALL?

The meeting was held in Large Group Instruction, which is where I had health class. I don’t know what they have in there now, but it smelled like puberty and cattle. Yeehaw y’all.

My husband, ever social, chatted with the man in charge, while I eagle-eyed a woman carrying in refreshments. Refreshments are not a sign of a short meeting, you know.

As I watched the woman pour the Hawaiian Punch into the bowls, all I could imagine was RedDye#40 Moo, hived and bouncing off the walls, “Hey Mama! Hey Mama! Guess what?!? Hey Mama! Watch me! Watch me! Hey Mama! Ya know what?”

I said to Moo, “If you’re thirsty, maybe you could ask the lady for a glass of plain pineapple juice.”

It was Thursday, and that day I’d already worked in the garden, gone to work early, drove a hundred miles in circles to eat with my husband, scanned in over a thousand pages of documents, and driven home in rush hour traffic. I really, really needed to get home to my oversized tee-shirt and my dog and my sofa.

Refreshments were offered first.

The presentation was brief, and I thank that man for not reading to us from the screen. Has anyone actually experienced death by PowerPoint, or does it merely contribute to anger management issues?

I can sum up the presentation:

Your children are super duper talented and have been chosen and this is a great honor for all of us, and we’re going to take them far, far away from you for more days than you’ve ever been away from them in their whole lives and they will have the mostest fun, but also they’ll be learning and growing and sharing and creating and it’s going to be awesome, and it will make memories to last a lifetime and they will never forget all the wonder and magnificence of this trip and if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like just short of a billion dollars, not in change from your jar, and we’re not sayin they’re lucky because they’ve earned this privilege, but they’re lucky and we are all so excited and please you will pay for this because if you don’t your child will think you don’t love her as much as other parents love their children and she will feel the deprivation of this incredible opportunity and listen to more emo music at an even louder volume and cry a lot that week, and probably never forgive you because we have hyped it up to incredible proportions, okay, thanks.

Then someone asked the man if we should take questions first and I said, “Nooo!” in a most audible way and people turned to stare at me, some with contempt and some with smiles and I nodded as I said, “That’s right, I said it,” and then they took questions anyway. The answer to the first question was literally on the screen in front of us and that’s why I had to leave.

So often I feel these meetings could be addressed in an email, or a packet. I generally enjoy listening to people and hearing all the nuance in their voices, watching subtle emotions cross their faces. I like the way the details make up the big picture…
Parent meetings are literally the only times in my life where I take a stand on “Just the facts, ma’am.” 
I really think I am suffering some sorta syndrome where I simply cannot tolerate parent meetings.
I seem to have crossed the threshold last spring. Just tell me who to make the check out to and leave me alone. Shame on me. Except fuck you, shame on you.
Have there been studies on this? I’ve always known I wasn’t a Cookie Cutter Mom, but damn.


As I stood in the hallway with Punch Lady and another mom,  I asked the girls one of my top ten questions, “Where is your father?”
Then the women and I talked briefly about the universal laws of wifery, which include, but are not limited to, waiting for our husbands to stop jaw-jackin so we can go home and get out of these oppressive clothes, and wipe off this sexist make up, take off this heavy jewelry, and breathe.

Do you or have you suffered from this taboo condition? What requisite activity kills your tolerance?


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Share Your World #34

What is your favorite comfort snack food?
I think cookies. I’d say I more often choose fruit or cheese because nutrition, but cookies must surely be my favorite.


Is the paper money in your possession right now organized sequentially according to denomination and with the bills right side up and facing the same way?
Today I have no paper money in my possession.


If you were a mouse in your house in the evening, what would you see your family doing?
I don’t know how much a mouse would like our house, what with three cats around…

Sometimes we go out. Sometimes we take the dog.
Sometimes people come over.
We do different things, depending on the night. Sometimes we watch shows or movies. Sometimes we read. Sometimes some of us read and some of us are on laptops or phones. Sometimes we are all on computers.
We like to share — talk about the shows or movies, books, blogs, photos, memes. There’s frequent lively conversation.
Sometimes everyone in the room is doing something different and although it’s rare, sometimes we’re all in different rooms. (We play the occasional Marco Polo while we hunt for one another, too.)
Sometimes we eat in the living room, sometimes we eat in the dining room, sometimes the children eat in their bedrooms.
Generally, I’d say we mostly do different things until dinner and snuggles are after.


Would you rather not be able to read or not be able to speak?
I’d rather not be able to speak.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
We had a fantastic anniversary weekend — thanks so much for the well wishes. As usual, I can only show you photos of the yummy foods I enjoyed on our dates.


crab stuffed shrimp and stuffs 


dolmades and stuffs

I’m grateful my in-laws kept the children.
I’m grateful that the weather cooled down last week.  I’m not sure how long it’s staying, but I’m always looking forward to cooler weather. We slept with the windows open last night. Ahh!
My obsession with my sunflowers grows and I think next year I will plant a hundred in varying sizes while hoping some of these self-seed. The bees, actual honeybees even, really like them right now. They Are Delightful.


Last night, I found myself telling The Mister how nice it is that we’re not scheduled for anything at all this week. The kids are, but we’re not. Oh so nice.

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Best Joke Ever

Joke is what you get when you smoosh our names together. Joey and Jake smoosh into Joke.

Tomorrow is our 17th wedding anniversary.
Isn’t that surreal?

Come January, we will have known one another for 30 years.
Why, it seems like just yesterday we had our first date…

Our first date was on our wedding night. We went to an overrated steakhouse downtown. We used a gift certificate we got at the wedding.
We didn’t date. We skipped dating.
Before we were a couple, I remember a trip to the bookstore, and I remember a trip through the Hardee’s drive-thru for coffee. I think we were adults then. *checks*  Yes, he says we were adults then, he thinks he was in his mid 20’s then. That’s all I got in the way of places we went alone. But we weren’t dating then. We were simply two people who liked books and coffee and keeping company with one another. There always was that. And music. And movies. And arguing. We always did enjoy arguing.

Wasn’t dating the absolute worst part of being single? I mean to tell you, were I to find myself single again, I wouldn’t want to date anyone. I snarl just thinking about it. Icky.

It’s better to fool around with your friend in September …
I’d been sitting pondside with Tori, drinkin beer at dusk, and she asked me, “Do you love him?”
“I do.”
“Do you want to be with him?”
“So I can have him?”
“Why not?”
“Cause you love him.”
“Of course I love him. I’ve loved him forever.”
“And if you love him, you want him to be happy, right?”
“You don’t want him, but you don’t want anyone else to have him?”

Another year passed before I called HME.
“I think I might have a fear of commitment?”
“Haha ya think? Hahaha!”

“Oh no, you didn’t know? Oh Joey, I’m sorry. Yes. Yes, you have a fear of commitment. I thought you knew!”

Yes, fool around with your friend in September and fall in love over the winter and spend about a year in denial, clutching your fear of commitment and waving your feminist flag until you realize you have no control over your stupid fucking feelings drowning out the voice of your own good sense.

When we called people to tell them we were getting married, there was a lot of silence on the other end of those calls.
“Are you sure?”
“Is this a joke?”

Best joke ever.

wedding 2013


Stream of Consciousness Saturday, SoCS ‘date’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Let Us Pray

Moo says she prays, “Sometimes. As needed,” which I think is interesting. The Mister nodded agreement. Sassy doesn’t pray. I am not going to ask the boy one if he prays, because he’s a private person, and if he prays, he surely wouldn’t want to talk about it. I’m sure Sissy prays because her boyfriend thinks he’s God’s gift to misquoting scripture or someshit.

Anyway, I pray. I pray a lot. I count my blessings, mostly. Pray for others some. Not much in the way of selfish prayer unless one of my babies has a fever. Lawd, I am helpless when my babies run fevers. Still, I like to pray silently. I ask for traveling mercies aloud, because I do not know if angels know our hearts or hear our thoughts, and with anxiety disorder and OCD, I’m certain it’s best to overthink the capacity of angels.

My in-laws are heavy prayers, as they’re quite devoted and church-y like that.

It’s important to remember to say grace when we dine with them.

I always enjoy FIL’s grace, because without a doubt he’ll say, “Bless the hands that prepared it,” and sometimes those are my hands, and y’all, my hands need all the prayer they can get.

We do not say grace.
Now and again, with a bountiful table and a full heart, The Mister will say some grace.




A few weeks ago, Bubba stayed over, and on Sunday, I set out the kale and chard salad. I’d told him it was delicious and it happens to be good for him, but really, we just eat it cause it’s delicious.


Moo said she wanted to fake Bubba out about praying. Moo is a prankster, and I think Bubba was way ahead on nose boops that day.

So as Bubba piled the food on his plate, I was still rambling on about the kale and chard salad, talkin about how the girls snacked their way through a bag of croutons and Daddy had to go to the store just to get more croutons for the salad…

“Try it,” I said, waving my loud Italian hands.

He lifted the forkful of greens to his lips and I shouted, “Not before we pray!” And his face, oh, his face! The utter shock! He held his fork midair and his mouth made a tiny o.

You coulda heard a pin drop until we burst into laughter. Moo was still shaking silently in laughter once he’d chewed his salad and declared, “It’s good!”

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — St. Mary’s

St. Mary’s Catholic Church is located on New Jersey Street (downtown Indianapolis.) The Gothic Revival church has served the community for more than 150 years.
The church is under some construction right now. We all need more tending as we age, hm?





Still Gorgeous Doors.




And for those inclined to scream in cathedrals, “Why can’t it be beautiful?
Why does there gotta be a sacrifice?” There’s this:


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view more interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Never Too Old, Either


“They’re called boundaries. You should set some now, while you’re still young.”




One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Die Doctor

Last month, I finally went in for my eye exam.
I dread the eye doctor. I call them die doctors. And for good reason.

When I was in high school, I had chronic migraines. Well, I have had migraines since then, but fewer and fewer each year. Anyway, when I was in high school I had chronic migraines and as a course of diagnosing why, I had to go get my eyes checked. My mother picked me up early from school and took me to the eye care place. The appointment was okay, but I had to walk home. This wouldn’t ordinarily be a big deal, except my eyes had been dilated.

Unless you’ve walked a lil over a mile west, on a bridge over I-465 and then walked across State Road 37 with your eyes dilated…You don’t know my pain.

Didn’t I have sunglasses?
Had my mother or the staff even thought of this?

It was fairly traumatic. Think of it as though you were blindfolded, walking home, really only able to see the road under your feet.
It’s not like I didn’t walk those places before and after that day, but FULL VISUAL CAPABILITY IS VERY HELPFUL in high traffic areas.

Once I got home, I had a migraine. Go figure.


I didn’t see the die doctor again for a decade.
My husband took me to the eye doctor because when I was pregnant with Sassy, she ruined my perfect eyesight. I forget why that happens during pregnancy, but it does, and it happened to me. Honest to goodness, if you’ve ever read a list of common problems during pregnancy it’s amazing any of us are here. What does that say about us? Our desire for sex and our will to procreate are stronger than avoiding a list that includes constant vomiting, temporary blindness, nerve damage…She’s 13 and my hip still hurts.

“But I don’t want to go to the die doctor!” I slipped.
It just stuck after that.
Die Doctor. Bah.


I had to take Sassy to the die doctor when she was three. She had a little cyst on her eyelid. I decided not to refer to the eye doctor as the die doctor, for Sassy’s sake. I had to pretend that the die doctor’s office was a cool place and nothing bad would happen to her there. Sassy had such a good time with the Nice Lady Eye Doctor and the testing equipment, she wanted to be an eye doctor for years and years.


There were always more trips to the die doctor, but I wouldn’t get my eyes dilated every time.
“Just vision screenings for me, thanks!”
“Y’all can dilate my eyes when my husband is stateside, thanks!”
That’s what I’d planned this last time. Just a vision screening.


We have new insurance. It’s great insurance, but if you’ve ever changed insurance, you know finding a doctor in your new plan can be a challenge.
I tried to find Nice Lady Eye Doctor, but her office wasn’t there anymore and I couldn’t remember her name, so I chose the eye place on Shadeland where I went 20-some years ago.

Can you even believe that’s Nice Lady Eye Doctor’s office now? What serendipity!

“Just a vision screening for me, thanks!”
Nice Lady Eye Doctor said stuff like ‘eye health, blah blah, age blah, brain blah, nerves, blah blah.’
But, she told me the new drops aren’t like the old drops and I’d be fine to drive home and go to work and whatever else. She was right, too.
I tell ya, Nice Lady Eye Doctor is trustworthy, and I cannot call her the die doctor.

Via the phone, I tried at least 20 frames before narrowing it down for my mother, The Mister, and True.
That went like this:


Too big.
They look like you’re wearing goggles to prevent blood spatter.

Those are good.
I like those.

I took a second picture in that pair and my mother said, “No.”
I text, “Same pair!”
She didn’t like them as much without a smile.
Cause that’s what mothers do, tell you to smile and pull your hair out of your face, and Honey, put a lil lipstick on, ya look like you’re dead.


I tell ya, I still like the blood spatter goggles. Maybe for my second pair…

I’m older and blinder, if you can imagine. I’m still better than 20/20 in distance, and I still only need readers, but given the increasing degree of my close-up blindness, or my shrinking arms, or whatever, I now have *achem* transitional lenses. This means my feet are blurry, but I can read all my bad fortune cookies.

Do you like the die eye doctor? Do you enjoy shopping for glasses?

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Share Your World #33

Would you travel into outer space?
No way. I like the earth just fine. I find our atmosphere most agreeable to breathing. Also, in movies, astronauts are always saving lives with all this impressive math and science stuff that I don’t even understand. I have trouble adding up my time card. I saw The Martian. I would die. I don’t even think I’d make it to the potato-planting scene, okay?


Which country/city in the world (that you have never been to) would you most like to visit and why?
Ooh. Some English countryside, thank you. I think I would enjoy the landscape and the weather. So many pictures of green and rain and hills and stone and wood cute livestock and don’t the beaches always look hospitable to pale people?


What could you do to breathe more deeply today?
It’s raining and I’ve got to drive to work. Breathing deeply is required.



Complete this sentence:  This creamy peanut butter sandwich could really use some …
strawberry preserves.



Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Last week was LONG. I’m grateful for The Mister. He’s an asshole, but he handles my bitchiness with expert finesse. I’m looking forward to the cooler weather this week and OMG NEXT WEEKEND IS ANNIVERSARY. Woot!
The sunflowers are opening.
This is my photo of the first one open on Friday, and Moo’s photo of the same one Sunday. We have to stand on things to photograph them. They’re giants. We’re not.


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Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Pay Your Way

I share my life with a man who thinks I am his ATM. You might read that wrong, because it’s not like he’s with me for my money.

When we were first married, I’d keep cash in my wallet how normal people do. Cash is relatively important to childcare. School-aged children regularly need $7 for a field trip or $2 for Save the Seals Lollipop Day or whatever. I was fairly tolerant of my husband robbing me of his money, until the day came that Bubba needed $5 for his field day tee-shirt and my $5 was gone. While I was cursing up a storm and counting change, I realized I needed to address the issue. Is it normal to send your child to school with a baggie full of change? For a while, I watched my words go in his ear and out the other, then I began to hide money.

For a few years I gave him a cash allowance.

More years passed and The Mister stopped robbing my purse. He suddenly developed a strange respect for my privacy. You’re not supposed to get into a woman’s purse you know. The proper etiquette is to bring the bearer her own purse, she’ll get into it and tell you to put it back. “Bring Mama her pocketbook.” I have never gotten into anyone’s purse, but I really don’t care about my own. I ask my family to bring me things from my purse all the time. You want a $25 check? Bring me my wallet. Why should I be the only one who wrestles with nine hundred receipts?

I kept cash and coins in our minivan, making it a portable ATM for The Mister. Since he drives Bonnie Blue now and again, I had to say, “Take all the money you want, but leave me all the quarters. I need them at Aldi.”

Years passed by and now he likes to stand beside my purse almost touching it, doing a sorta swaying thing, wiggling his fingers, asking, “Do you have any cash?”

I seldom have cash these days. The children are old enough to count change from the big jar and no one bats an eye if you want to use a debit card for $1.04.

Sometimes we’ll be out somewhere and I’ll see The Mister’s got cash, and it occurs to me, he actually DOES know where the ATMs are and how to use them.

Of course, in turn, I know where the stepstool is and where the tire gauge is and how to use them…
We all have to pay our own way.


SoCS ‘cash’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Roundabout Lunchtime

Y’all know I’ve gotten into the habit of makin you laugh on Fridays, and today is no different. I insist you laugh at my expense.

In an exciting turn of events, I was asked if I’d be willing to work longer hours yesterday and today and so of course I am, because like I said, I love my job.
Early in the morning, I noticed my hair was well-behaved, and I hoped the printer would follow suit.
It did.

Work was fiiine.

Because The Mister and I work on the same side of town, per se, I decided we could meet for lunch. Ooh! So exciting! You know what else? There’s a Panda Express right close to his office, and I am currently obsessing about Black Pepper Chicken at Pandaspress. Not even kiddin. Monday I Googled a copycat recipe and I cooked it up real good and oh the noms!

Check it.


Mmhm, I cook better than Pandaspress…

Anyway, to meet The Mister at Pandaspress I went.

Now, I had asked him, “How far north are you? Should I just take Keystone to 126th? 136th? 146th?”
He said, “Take the interstate.”
I said, “I don’t like the interstate over there. It’s west. That’s west. I don’t even know which side the ramp is on.”
He said, “Take the interstate. Otherwise it’s windy-dindy.”

I do hate windy-dindy.

But did I listen? No. Because it shouldn’t be that hard to get over there, it should take like 15 minutes of west and north. We live on a grid, how windy-dindy could it be?

JFC. I almost died.

For some insane reason The City of Carmel has installed roundabouts everyfuckingwhere! I’m not afraid of roundabouts. I live in The Circle City. The center of Indianapolis is literally a fucking circle. Monument Circle. Truly.
For seven years, I lived directly off a roundabout.

But these were two-lane roundabouts and I mean to tell you, they were unending. I was constantly yielding! It was virtually never my turn! I swear to you, one of them wasn’t even a roundabout! It was missing parts and its signage looked like algebra letters to me.

“I don’t even know what that was. Coulda been a hex.”

When I left the safety of my square parking lot I did not know I would need to pray for traveling mercies. Because I didn’t know that, my trip brought me closer to God than I had expected. Hence all the beautiful blasphemy.

It was all too math-y and spatial and I was like, “Highest taxes ever up here and they don’t have money for stoplights?” JFC.
It’s very pretty there, in Carmel. It’s a lovely place, built on money and more money, but I’ll keep my dirty city streets with the right angles, thanks. Maybe I don’t want Russian sage and daylilies in my medians, okay?

I felt like I was trapped in a joke.

Drive straight one block, spend five minutes in a roundabout. On repeat.

“Another one? Seriously?”

“No, no more! Why is this happening to me?! I’m a good person, I don’t deserve this!”

“Oh my God, I’m going to die. I’m going to die on my way to lunch and I will never get those documents scanned and people will be like ‘it was the pepper chicken passion that did her in’ and I’m not even wearin comfortable shoes!”


I used to work there, not that I could tell you where anymore. I hadn’t driven up there in twenty years and I didn’t recognize a single bit of it. How old people do, I will tell you I THINK MOST OF THAT WAS FARMLAND!

Eventually, I made it. I parked and waited for the adrenaline to die down.

Then I met my love and we ordered food and he paid.

He introduced me to a colleague and as I extended my hand, she said, “I don’t know if I should shake your hand or hug you.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Me,” The Mister explained.
“You poor thing,” she said.
“Oh yes, I get that a lot. It’s alright. I’m actually the mean one.”

For some reason things got awkward there for a moment.

But there was pepper chicken…


I killed it.

And a Coke the size of my head.


Took me all afternoon to kill that, but I think that makes the caffeine work better, right? Like time-release soda.

Then came the fortune cookies.
If you’re unfamiliar with how this works, basically, I always get the shitty fortunes and The Mister’s fortune cookies dazzle him with fabulosity. I’ve posted about this before.

Examples of Mine:

“She who irons today has time to mend tomorrow.”
“Why you no eat meat in lo mein?”
“Flies never visit an egg that has no crack.”
“That’s enough dumplings for you.”
“Too much wood.”

Examples of His:

“You’re so handsome!”
“Your wife so lucky!”
“Kill one to warn a hundred.”
“You are destined for greatness!”
“Your dick is the biggest!”


This is as neverending as the roundabouts.

My fortune was:


Hell. I’m going to Hell. Sunshine? Sunshine?!? Are you fuckin kiddin me?!?



Yeah. That’s how it goes.

Going back to work, I went through another series of roundabouts and I decided that I should dine no farther north than 96th Street. And that when my husband says I should take the interstate, I should take the interstate.


Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Spencer

When The Mister and I travel to southern Indiana, we always seem to go through Spencer. I’ve been through there many, many times. Like a child I always say the same thing, “This is familiar. Is there a McDonald’s at the end of this street?” Y’all know I like my fountain Cokes.

I could probably make it to Spencer on my own, but after that McDonald’s, I wouldn’t know where to go. I don’t care how many times I’ve been down there in the last 30 years, I still do not know the way to The Mister’s grandmother’s house, let alone the more obscure places.

I more often drive home, because while there are no signs that read “Grandma’s House” with arrows and mileage on the way down, on the way up there are plenty  with “Indianapolis” to help a city girl get home.
Besides, then I can stop at that McDonald’s, “Two swate tays and two Cokes, please.” Everyone likes a cold drink on a lil doorscursion detour.

Church doors



Other church doors




Library Doors




Historical Allison-Robinson House with interesting guard dog



Rarely seen door of recent yore




Beautifully restored town hall and firehouse



Owen County Courthouse




All that may have been too pretty, too quaint and lovely for you. Lemme mix it up, Spencer-style.
Mexican restaurant doors



#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view more interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.


Posted in Random Musings | Tagged , , | 42 Comments

One-Liner Wednesday — LOL, Aww!


When Moo was six, she and her friends went around the neighborhood selling their watercolor paintings, because, I quote, “Small people are cute and grown-ups say ‘Aww!’ to us.”

One-Liner Wednesday has been brought to you by LindaGHill




Posted in Random Musings | Tagged , , | 30 Comments

A Soothing Balm for Med-Regret

If you’re reading mental health bloggers, you’ve probably read plenty about people who stop taking their medication. There’s some sort of shame or stigma attached to this and those who’ve done it. I’ve heard people berate themselves and say they knew better and they can’t believe they did that. I always have the same reaction, “Why wouldn’t you do that?”

This is why doctors have to tell us to finish taking all of our antibiotics. We’ll feel better, and we’ll forget we need them.

One’s perception of normal is completely relative. Some people feel their own version of normal when they’re unmedicated. Some people feel their own version of normal when they’re medicated.
I don’t want to generalize too much, and I certainly don’t want to be too specific, BUT if you are a person or love a person who has this pattern, I’m hoping to make you see this in a different way.


Please stop thinking there is something wrong with you when you stop taking your meds and find yourself remorseful. It is a human thing to do. That’s why it’s COMMON. Yes, it can be dangerous. No, you shouldn’t stop cold turkey, on a whim, just because you’re having a particularly good Monday, but you can’t hate yourself for it.

People do this with all kinds of medication.

People who don’t have mental health issues.


I am a long-time allergy sufferer. I’m an allergic disaster waiting to happen. We do not need to talk about the condition or the medication to relate. Just assume in my 40-some years, I have taken lots of meds for allergies.
My children have allergies. Moo the worst.
As Moo’s mother, I must nag her about taking her allergy meds.
If her throat and ears itch madly, she will enthusiastically swallow a teaspoon of honey and 10ml of nasty-tasting liquid antihistamine for immediate relief. If her skin freaks out, she will gladly soak in an oatmeal bath or rub any number of recommended products onto her skin.




When her allergies aren’t drastically affecting her life, she doesn’t want to take any of the meds or even rub anything on her most susceptible areas. At no point does she ever want to take her nasal spray.

I see it coming.
She wakes up hoarse.
I hear the slurping of snot.
I see her stop drawing to swipe at her nose.
Her energy isn’t as high.
She requires more affection.


It is a BATTLE to get her to take her meds when she doesn’t feel poorly. If I don’t coerce her to take her pill and sniff her spray, she just won’t.
We go through days of this, “Did you take your sniffer? Do your sniffer!”
She never wants to take the sniffer.


It could take a few days or even a week for her to get to a point where she actually feels as snotty as she seems. By then, she might have a chronic cough, be vomiting mucus — well on her way to a respiratory infection.

It’s my job to prevent that.
So I line the medicine cup up with the nasal spray, the honey, the pill, and the hot tea. It takes three days of consistent care to end her suffering. Then she feels all better and doesn’t want to take the meds. Again.
It’s not because she’s a child, it’s because she’s human.


Posted in Random Musings | Tagged , , , | 36 Comments