A FAREWELL AND A WELCOME

WEIRD HABITS

Oh, this game of life on AOL. I have been tagged by Sie at Persnickety Pfft! These are the rules of the game: The first player chose a topic. In this case, the topic is FIVE WEIRD HABITS OF YOURS. You must then write a journal entry listing those weirdnesses you possess~as well as the rules of the game. Then, you select FIVE PEOPLE TO TAG and link their names/blogs in your entry. Go to their journals and leave a comment informing them they have been tagged by you and to read your journal to see in what way they have been nailed! Those five then MUST (note that I insist upon it!) write an entry listing their weird habits and tag an additional five people. I am not going to be nice if you do not play along! And because I am such a good sport, I will play the game.

5 WEIRD HABITS OF MINE:

1. I touch people's hair. Uh huh. Obviously not a stranger's hair; only those who I know well. Sometimes it is to "fix" it so that it looks perfect. Other times it is just because it feels good to run my fingers through it. My nieces have always had me French braid and/or cut theirs. In fact, for years I cut my father's hair~at his request, because he was absolutely fastidious about how his hair was trimmed.

2. The top sheet on the bed MUST be put on pattern-side down, and then the upper edge folded back precisely. And, yes, I am anal about having the sheet and blanket tucked in at the foot of the bed using the "hospital corners" technique.

3. I rub my feet together before I go to sleep (it makes a cute chirping sound...::grin::). My left foot remains still while the underside of my right foot rubs the top of my left foot.

4. I will not drive anywhere without having some sort of beverage in the car. My beverage of choice is Coke or ice water.

5. I straighten crooked pictures on walls. Wherever I may be...offices, homes, etc. It drives me nuts to see a painting that is off-kilter. That weird habit is the reason I fell off a bed at a New Year's Eve party last year. Geez, that was embarrassing.

My turn to tag! Let me ponder. Hmmm. I think I will tag:

CHRIS at It's All About Me

CHRISTINA at My Journey With MS

GABREAEL at Gabreael's Body, Mind, & Spirit

REDSNEAKZ at Separation Anxiety

V at To Grow Is To Be Anxious

Okay, you weirdos...have at it! "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then, is not an act, but a habit." ~Aristotle

THE AFTERMATH

It came. It went. But, not before leaving a multitude of remembrances in my mind. Ones I shall call up whenever I choose; others that will come to me at unexpected moments.

My son taking longer than most women do to get ready to attend the Christmas Eve church service. Blaming me with a twinkle in his eye for driving too slow when we arrived with scant minutes to spare before the service began.

My daughter and husband singing during the lighting of the church congregation's candles.

The surprised and happy looks on my hubby's face when he opened my gifts to him.

The appreciation my kids had for each and every present Santa left for them. The parental pride felt knowing they understood the hard work Santa puts in day in and day out to be able to lavish them with such gifts once a year.

The six-hour extravaganza at my mother's house. Hearing laughter and giggles and nonstop chattering throughout her house as 22 people gathered to celebrate Christmas Day.

Gifts galore. The best gift of all? Noticing the haunted look that has been in my mother's eyes since Daddy's death was not there...and knowing she was able to push aside her own current health problems for the day.

I cannot record here, on paper, or on film all that this Christmas of 2005 embodied. No matter how much I tell about the day, I will still be unable to do it justice.

There is but one word that repeatedly comes to mind when thinking about every single part of this wondrous holiday I experienced:

LOVE.

"Love and kindness are never wasted. They always make a difference. They bless the one who receives them, and they bless you, the giver." ~Barbara De Angelis

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Is this not one of the most beautifully crafted digital images you have ever seen? Courtesy of Simone's artisanship, of course. I have been saving it for this particular entry.

Christmas will be here in no time, and each of us in our family has been busy with various activities. Mine have centered on being sure I have all the gifts in order, no one forgotten, and the presents wrapped carefully and attractively. (And now also tending to our poochie whose eye removal was performed and has left her out of sorts and requiring a lot of care during this next two weeks.)

The kids have been busy working and helping out in whatever ways they can. Hubby is working hard. All of their spirits are soaring with the approach of Christmas. Last year, hubby and son played Silent Night together at the Christmas Eve service during Communion. There was no accompaniment and no singing during it; only the melodious sounds of their guitars quietly playing that traditional song. It was glorious. I experienced the most tremendous lump in my throat and teary eyes listening to and looking at them.

This year my daughter, husband, and another choir member will be singing Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel during the service. As much as I might want to try to contain my emotions during it, what are you willing to bet I become unglued? There is something about the music in church that stirs my soul, and hearing it performed by my family members causes an especially powerful feeling.

Our annual tradition is for the four of us to exchange our gifts to each other on Christmas Eve after church. We have done it that way for some years now, so those special gifts do not get lost in the shuffle of mountains of presents from Santa and our relatives on Christmas Day.

Santa has already given Mrs. Claus the outfit she is to wear on Christmas Eve. And, no, she is not to wear it to church. He wants her to don it later in the nite after the kids are in bed. It is quite a garment. Here is a peek at it:

Santa is a very frisky man! God love his heart...and other parts. ::grin::

I do not plan on writing in here again until Christmas Day has passed. To all of you, my best wishes for a Merry Christmas...and do not forget the Christ in Christmas.

"Christmas~that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance~ a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved." ~Augusta E. Rundel

ALL SORTS OF PRESENTS

It is probably obvious by now that Christmas is my favorite holiday. There are an abundance of crystal clear joyful memories that makes it my day of the year. Interspersed among those memories are some painful ones, but they will never take away the power of the multitude of blissful recollections. I can appreciate how each person has his or her own favorite holiday for probably very much the same reason.

I also understand that the gifts we receive and give are not always wrapped in pretty paper with ribbons and bows. Some might even be unpleasant presents that we accept because we have no choice but to do so. It is how we handle those gifts that matters. Still other presents take away our breath or leave us feeling impossibly warm, yet no seasonal wrappings cover them.

As I sit here thinking about this approaching Christmas of 2005, I have already "opened" some tremendous presents. My husband and children are healthy, happy, and incredibly devoted to me. Sometimes it is almost surreal to recognize I am lucky enough to find myself in this position. I do not know what I did right to have them in my life; all I know is whatever it was, I did it damn well!

Then, there is the gift of my sisters, brothers-in-law, nieces and nephews, and especially my mother. There is not a single rotten egg in the bunch! They are a large package of laughs, love, thoughtfulness, and generosity. When I hear or read about people who have not had the kind of family life I have, at times I almost feel as though I need to apologize for having the genuinely close family relationships I have. That, however, seems to minimize their value in my world...which is unfair to them. I can be empathetic to those less fortunate and be sorry they had or have such bad experiences from the very ones who should be sources of unconditional love and acceptance.

My friends are beautiful gifts. Jewels all of them. I count the years I have known them, and it is slightly disconcerting when that count reaches such high numbers. Surely I am not that old! ::smile:: We have most assuredly shared the many growing experiences in life, and we have maintained our strong friendships throughout whatever curves life has thrown at us.

New and old online friends are treasured gifts that have blessed my year. I have some online friends who I consider to be friends in every sense of the word. Whether or not they are within touching distance matters not. Their contributions to my world are every bit as real as those of my 3D friends.

There are currently a couple of presents I have received which have me a bit discombobulated. My sweet dog goes to the hospital Monday morning for the removal of her left eye. My hopes that a prosthetic eye could be implanted have been dashed due to the fact every portion of her eyeball needs to be enucleated. I am terribly sad for her. The positive is the horrid pain she is experiencing from the ulcerated cornea and onset of glaucoma will be gone. Relief from her wicked pain is our gift to her.

The other present that rattles me and looms large this Christmas is the state of my gentleman friend's health. His condition remains critical. His holidays will undoubtedly be spent in the hospital, and his life will continue to cling in the balance. His family will find their own Christmases taking on a pall of darkness, just as his friends will find their thoughts turning to him in prayer. We will gift him with healing prayers or prayers that he finds peace.

I refuse to end this entry on a sobering note. Therefore, I shall tell you that I have not had to do any of my annual pre-Christmas snooping to find what hubby bought me! I already know what he got me. I have seen them, touched them, beamed at them, and felt totally pampered. He bought me dangly diamond earrings. I was lusting for a pair of them. He phoned me asking me to join him. He could not decide between two pairs. I told him to choose for himself...to surprise me. He was not willing to attempt that, and so I had to make the decision for him (and I ended up selecting the ones that were his favorite). Each one has 12 diamonds, and they will swing to and fro from my ear lobes when I am finally allowed to wear them (which translates to mean that hubby will NOT let me wear them until Christmas Day). They are gorgeous.

I am equally excited about the items I have bought for him. He has no idea what they are, and that tickles me. With him being so talented musically and being able to learn and play so many songs by ear, I got him a Dell DJ (eh, I prefer them over iPods) that stores an amazing number of songs. I have downloaded entire CDs of some of his favorite music, so he can then easily transfer them to his DJ. I also got him one of those very rare 1/2 pint glass butter churns, since he made butter with his father over Thanksgiving. There are several other smaller presents for him that I will put inside his stocking. For a man who practically always tells me to buy him nothing, he should like those gifts. And our children are gifting him with some very nice things; one being the ceramic tile for the floor of one of our bathrooms. I cannot wait to see his face when he opens each present.

Materialistically, we will have a grand Christmas. More importantly, the sharing of our time and love will be even grander.

"And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more." ~Dr. Seuss

A THANK YOU FOR A THANK YOU

Because Debbted left a comment asking if I had created the stunning graphic I used in my previous entry, I added a note at the bottom of the page saying who had created the gorgeous picture...and it certainly was not I!

The woman, Simone, who has such talent and makes these beautiful images (the one above is yet another example of her creativity) lives in Bolivia. She makes these graphics for people to use as Incredimail stationery. They are not intended for use in the manner in which I use them. I had to ask her permission.

When I originally asked her if I could place one in my journal, she held off giving me a definitive answer. She wanted the link to my journal; she wanted to see what and how I wrote. I gave it to her, and I kept my fingers crossed that she would approve. I have such a mix of entries. Sometimes totally serious, sometimes silly, sometimes off-color. They are very much me. A combination of all that makes me ME. I was not certain how she would take to my style...or lack of.

I awaited her response. It came. She gave me carte blanche to use her stationery (stats for short) in my journal whenever I wished. I was elated. Yes, ELATED. Anything as beautiful as her creations thrills me. I wrote her a thank you. She wrote back to let me know she was happy I liked them. She told me how people "rip" her stats without her permission. (Similar to a copyright infringement.) It disturbed her. Some even claim them as their own. Knowing the time she invests in making them, I could not help but feel bad for her.

I like talking to her. She speaks broken English, which I find endearing. She is kind, which I find refreshing. While I do not know her well, I can see she is a diverse individual through the wide variety of images she creates. I now have well over 100 of her stats. Each strikes a different chord within me.

It had been a good while since she gave me the green light to display her pictures, so I felt I should write her to make sure it was still okay to post them in my blog. I again thanked her, gave her the link to see the latest image I had used in here, and I told her how sometimes her pictures inspire the words I write or how they convey the feelings I wish to express.

A wide smile grew on my face while I was reading her response. She thanked ME. Imagine that. She thanked me for using her graphics in such an "awesome" way. I shook my head in amazement. She is the one who gives my entries a loveliness they would not have without her "mark" on them. Yet, she was grateful to me. Incredible.

And she is the perfect example of why I will probably think until the day I die that there are more goodhearted and kind people in this world than there are nasty and mean people. Maybe the malcontents are a lot noisier, so they get noticed more. Or maybe society in general devotes entirely too much publicity to those who are always looking for an excuse to be up in arms about something or in someone's face. Just maybe the quieter ones, the less arrogant ones, the ones who daydream as they go about their business could not care less about being noticed by scores of people. They seem to have found a place inside themselves where they are far too content to need to be in the spotlight. And so their numbers cannot be counted.

Yes, I do believe THOSE are the people in the majority. And Simone? Thank you for reinforcing that belief.

"A thankful heart is not only the greatest virtue, but the parent of all other virtues." Cicero

SHATTERED GLASS

The boxes arrived via UPS. I had been awaiting them; wringing my hands with worry they would not be here before Christmas. I was thrilled when my doorbell rang announcing the delivery. Two boxes, one a bit larger than the other. They were both fairly heavy. My kids lugged them here into the study where I have been wrapping gifts.

Early last nite during another wrapping frenzy, I opened the boxes to prepare to wrap the contents. I am especially pleased with these particular gifts. They are wood serving trays with handles. The part I like so much about them is they are keepsake trays. There is a layer of glass over a black velvet-like board where mementos such as photographs, tickets, cards, and the like can be safely displayed. Spilled liquids cannot harm them.

Each tray was packed well inside yet another box. Three trays were in one package; two trays were in the other. A feeling of relief washed over me. Yes, all five I had ordered were here in my home waiting to be covered with festive paper and ribbons. I carefully took them out one by one and set them on the floor. It was the fifth one that caused my eyes to fill with tears. Lifting it out of the large box, my ears were filled with the sound of shattered glass shifting about inside.

I felt sick inside. And I stood there not moving for quite some time as I held it; deceived by the perfect condition of its box. Finally, I set it down. I reached inside the shipping box for the packing slip and phoned the company. The woman who answered was pleasant. She was sorry the tray was broken, and she was glad I had not opened it and risked shards of the glass escaping and possibly cutting me. She was putting a rush replacement order through, so I would quickly receive another tray. I was appreciative of her helpfulness, and I told her so.

Maybe that ordeal set up my mood for the rest of the evening. I stepped away from the wrapping paper and gifts. My mind shifted to some unhappy thoughts. I had earlier in the day discovered during a phone conversation with my mother that a man whose children I used to babysit is in the hospital. He is faring poorly. Very poorly. A back operation had been performed, and he was seemingly fine. He returned to his home, but became sicker and sicker. He was sent back to the hospital where it was determined he has a wicked infection. He cannot speak. Tubes are everywhere. It does not look promising. Of course I have to go visit him. I would not dream of not making the time for him. He and his wife always treated me wonderfully during those years I watched their children. And he is the reason I write birthday letters annually to each of my kids; he did that for his kids, and it impressed me so much that at the age of 12, I decided I was going to do the very same thing for my children when I had some. He also visited my father regularly during Daddy's years in the nursing home. Such a particularly sad time of year to spend in the hospital. I pray he will make it through this crisis. I worry for his family, too.

Then, I focused my thoughts on my dog. During the past three weeks, she has had two eye surgeries for a corneal ulceration. Our vet is coordinating his treatment of her with a vet who specializes in ophthalmology and has recently completed and is in the process of publishing her findings regarding the treatment of ulcerations. Even with the seven doses of eye medications I have been daily giving my poochie, there is no improvement. None. Her eye has become infected, too. That is a new development. Knowing the doctors have said how extremely painful these corneal ulcerations are has further upset me. Thank goodness I was given pain medication to give her twice daily. She hid from me today when I tried to get a close look at her eye. She has never done that. So, a phone call will be placed to the vet on Thursday asking for help. Never too far from my mind is the confirmed possibility she will end up losing that eye. Yes, she is blind, but she does seem to see shadows. I am heartsick.

I am hearing a lot of glass shattering around me.

Oh the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures that we are! Charles Dickens

THEM

During this exhilarating time of holiday festivities and celebrations, think about them.

If you feel harried and haggard from the seemingly endless holiday preparations, think about them.

When you are laughing and eating and drinking at warm gatherings, think about them.

While you hold your children close to you, think about them.

When you feel safe and loved in your homes, think about them.

And when you say your prayers each nite, include some for them.

'Twas the night before Christmas,
He lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house
Made of plaster and stone.

I had come down the chimney
With presents to give,
And to see just who
In this home did live.

I looked all about,
A strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents,
Not even a tree.

No stocking by mantle,
Just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures,
Of far distant lands.

With medals & badges,
Awards of all kinds,
A sober thought
Came through my mind.

For this house was different,
It was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier
Once I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping,
Silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor
In this one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle,
The room in such disorder,
Not how I pictured
A United States soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho,
The floor for a bed?

I realized the families
That I saw this night,
Owed their lives to these soldiers
Who were willing to fight.

Soon 'round the world,
The children would play,
And grownups would celebrate
A bright Christmas Day.

They all enjoyed freedom
Each month of the year,
Because of the soldiers,
Like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder
How many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve
In a land far from home.

The very thought
Brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees
And started to cry.

The soldier awakened
And I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry,
This life is my choice;
I fight for freedom,
I don't ask for more,
My life is my God,
My Country, my Corps.

"The soldier rolled over
And drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it,
I continued to weep.

I kept watch for hours,
So silent and still,
And we both shivered
From the cold night's chill.

I didn't want to leave
On that cold, dark, night
The Guardian of Honor
So willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over,
With a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "Carry on Santa,
It's Christmas Day, all is secure."

One look at my watch,
And I knew he was right.
"Merry Christmas my friend,
And to all a good night."

Click HERE if you really want to make a difference.

THE GAME OF TAG

The wench whose feelings are very real, Maryanne, tagged me. I did not see it coming. She did not tell me ahead of time we were playing tag. She waited until AFTER the fact to let me know the game was on. I cannot let her tag me last! I have to play along or else be considered a spoilsport. Not gonna happen! It is a damn good thing I adore her, too, or I might not be so pleasant about this. ::grin::

The stealth game of tag began late last nite. She wrote a journal entry that lists ten "things" that make her happy. She has some gorgeous photos in her blog. Do take a peek. Then she tagged five others to write an entry stating their ten happy-inducing things...followed by the tagging of five additional bloggers. Alrighty. Here are my ten and my five:

1. Anything regarding my family makes me happy. Their looks, their actions, their smiles, their laughter, their love. I could devour my children. Just suck their cheeks right off their faces. I already do devour hubby. (Ack, that sounds kind of cannibalistic...but he loves it. ::wink::) Include my mother and my sisters and brothers-in-law and nieces and nephews in the word "family" and I am one blessed woman. And to think they ALL love me till the end of time is sheer bliss. *Hubby will not allow his picture to be in this journal, or I would be posting our family portrait. He does not want to be on the Internet. ::sigh::*

2. My home makes me deliriously happy. I positively love it. It suits me. It "matches" me. And I feel safe and comfortable in it. I love how it wraps itself around me when I need it, and it leaves me be when I need that. My dining room is filled with furniture from my late grandmother and one piece from my late mother-in-law.

3. Smoooooches and hugs thrill me to pieces. I am a very touchy-feely kind of person. I give them, and I tingle getting them. To be the recipient of both is grand.

4. Taking those smooches and hugs a bit further...SEX makes me orgasmically happy. Uh huh. It does. And the more the better. The more ways, the more places, and the more creative make it the best. My one and only hubby gets to explore alllllll of those things with me. Ooo-la-la. I love a man who is into discovery.

5. SNOW makes me happy. It snowed last nite. All nite long. It was gorgeous. It came down heavy at times, and it was a whirlwind of white. It is breathtaking. I took a picture of it, but I had to use the hubster's digital camera (the batteries were dead in mine...what can I say? I use electric toys.) I am unfamiliar with how it works, so I could not alter the settings~like the date being stuck on 1-01-02 at 12:01 a.m.. Why is it on THAT date and time? Anywhooo, here is a pic of the bench on our back patio.

6. Our poochie is a definite happiness inducer. She has her health woes, to be sure. Diabetes, blindness, and getting up there in age have taken a bit of a toll on her; however, she never ceases to make me smile when she pals around with me. Her tail still wags when I talk to her, she likes to be near me. She greets everyone with a cheerful bark and expects to be petted...which then drops her to the floor on her back with her legs spread. Geez, she looks so cheap when she does that. But, she is still our baby. This photo is from this morning, too.

7. A blazing fireplace brings me a contented happiness. I find it relaxing and it warms my senses as well as my body. I had ours going all day today, so I photographed it.

8. My friends make me gloriously happy. They are an endless source of laughter. I like to think I supply them with the same. More importantly, they are good souls who share their wisdom and pieces of themselves with me.

9. I am very happy when I am creating things. Anything. Whether with my words, my ideas, the stroke of a paintbrush, the planting of seeds in my garden, or the combination of my mind telling my fingers what to cut, glue, and assemble, I feel immense joy. These are daisies I planted in my back flower bed a few years ago.

10. Music. It lives inside me. It soothes me when I need it, it encourages me to cry if that is what I need, and it takes me to a faraway place when that is necessary. Oh, and it makes me shake my groove thang at the right times. ::laugh::

Time to TAG. I have not had the chance to peruse the journals to see who has or has not been tagged. If you have already been nailed, then consider yourself tagged again. If that is the case, then change it to TEN THINGS THAT MAKE YOU CRANKY! Otherwise, I EXPECT (yes, dammit, EXPECT) to see TEN THINGS THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY. Please link your entries in here. I want to read them. ::kisses to all::

DERASTA~gotcha! Please give us your ten happy things!

LORD OF BUTTER~I'll be waiting to see your ten cranky things (and I know you will include the game of online tag as one of them)!

SASSY~tag! You're one of the "its"!

TILLY~oops, I tackled you! Share your ten happy things, please!

MARC~grope...er, I mean TAG!

"Some pursue happiness; others create it."

WHY?

Christmas is rapidly approaching, and most of my activities seem to be centered around this wonderful holiday. Because of all there is to do, my brain is abuzz with thoughts of it, too. Well, not ALL my thoughts. In between the "I must get one more gift for my mother" and "I sure hope we have a white Christmas" are some mighty strange thoughts.

Let's just explore what has recently gone through this overactive mind of mine:

1. Why does a woman who has a very visible mustache not get rid of it? You know what I mean. Some women have a mustache that would rival those of the most virile men. Does she not see it on her face? Does she never look in the mirror? Or does she like the idea that it is there? Is she keeping her options open for a possible traveling freak show spot as the "mustached lady"? I just do not understand it. It gives me the creeps.

2. Along those same lines, why does ANYONE let a hair grow out of a mole until the hair is long enough to wrap around a curler? Geez, cut the damn thing. It is bad enough if the mole is big and unsightly without seeing some dark hair wiggling out of it. Ewww.

3. And men. Why do they let hair grow out of their ears and nose? (Although I have seen hairy-nosed women, too.) There are those little spinning devices that can be shoved inside the nose and ears to trim those hairs. (Wait...that thought has a Christmas connection. It is a gift idea for the hairy ones in your lives.)

4. Final hair query. Why do men's eyebrows get so long when they get older? Man, they start sprouting super long hairs in a random fashion, and they will not trim them! Is it because they are losing, or have already lost, the hair on top of their heads and they hope somehow their eyebrows will start to grow over their scalp?

(I have to blame one of my favorite female friends for these hairy thoughts. She had a bad dream the other nite involving the awkward discovery of long hair on her body at a particularly stimulating sexual moment. The 6-inch long hair killed the sexual tension that was building between her and the gentleman. End of dream. But she shared it with me. Nice. Now I am left thinking about unsightly hair.)
5. Why do people shout wicked things at young male and female athletes during college sporting events when they would not dream of screaming in such a manner at their own children? Grown men and women hurling obscenities and cruel remarks at "kids" who are in all likelihood at least half their age. That is SICKO. (What is even sicker is when you hear them do it to high school, middle school, and, yes, even elementary school kids. Good God.)

6. Why do we have to pretend we like someone when we really do not? Aside from a hello, why is it expected to say anything more to the disliked one? At work, I can understand the need to engage in conversation regardless of how we feel about the person. But socially? Pffft. A pleasant hello should suffice, followed by a hasty maneuvering away from the yucky person.

7. Why do men think women care about the size of their package? Unless that package comes with a pump to inflate it (sorry, I do not wish to offend any male who is currently utilizing that device), all I care about it is that it is in working order and large enough to be seen with the naked eye.

8. Why are some people stingy passing out compliments but want/expect to receive them from anyone and everyone?

9. Why do dogs chase their tails? I just saw a dog doing that while we were taking care of a couple's dog in our home over the Thanksgiving weekend. It was funny to watch. He never caught it. But what would he have done if he HAD?

10. Why does my husband still smile at me and love me even knowing my mind is a nonstop machine filled with some pretty bizarre stuff?
There. I think the off-the-top-of-my-head whys have been recorded. Time to revert back to Christmas mode. I do believe I will need a bit of Christmas music to obliterate hairy thoughts.

"Ask a question and you're a fool for three minutes; do not ask a question and you're a fool for the rest of your life." ~Chinese Proverb

A SUDDEN FLURRY...

...of memories of my Christmases, past and present. These thoughts are swirling through my mind, and I want to record them~and to heck with proper grammar and complete sentences.

AS A KID AT HOME: Snooping anywhere and everywhere for my Christmas presents and hoping to find them before Mom wrapped them. (Let's just say that is a nasty little ritual that I still follow in my own home. ::sigh:: Problem is I am now much more savvy about discovering hiding spots.)

Attending a Christmas Eve church service at our longtime church and listening to the minister devote virtually the entire sermon to the Vietnam War. Feeling very sad and wondering why the birth of Jesus was mentioned by him almost as an afterthought. (Uh, we never returned to that church after that.)

At our NEW and wonderful church, watching Daddy play with the "candle" we had been given to be "lit" at a specific time so the entire church was a mass of tiny lights. (They had discontinued using real candles due to fire hazards and replaced them with candle-shaped tiny flashlights.) Daddy was always holding the light to his fingertips and turning it on to show us how the blood looked through the skin. Remembering Mom giving him her "behave yourself" look. ::laugh::

Being unable to fall asleep on Christmas Eve.

Jostling my sisters before we descended the steps on Christmas morning, because I did not want to be the first one in line. Weird, huh? I suddenly became almost shy about being the first one to walk into the living room to see all the presents under the tree.

Being forced to at least drink a glass of orange juice before gifts could be opened.

Looking at Mom and Dad with each thank you I said and seeing their faces shining.

Carefully arranging and rearranging my pile of presents to best display what I had received.

NEVER being disappointed with a single gift I received. ALWAYS thinking I was the luckiest girl in the world.

MARRIED: Need I say digging and rooting for my hidden Christmas gifts?

The year hubby gave me two small diamonds to go on either side of my diamond solitaire engagement ring...even though we had next to no money because he was in college.

Our son's first Christmas. He was almost lost in the massive pile of gifts Santa brought him. When he reached up and opened the little door to the toy soldier toy box he had received and peered inside.

At the age of three, our son "reading" The Grinch Who Stole Christmas word for word from memory to us while I videotaped him.

Our daughter's first Christmas. She wore a tiny red Santa hat as she crawled over, under, and around all of her presents. Giggling at the toys she received. She was always smiling and laughing. That lone dimple in her right cheek just begging to be kissed.

The treasured Christmas gifts both children made for us in preschool and on through their elementary school years.

Listening to and filming hubby reading 'Twas The Night Before Christmas every single year to the kids while they snuggled up against either side of him.

Laughing hard when our daughter wanted to go to bed as early as possible on Christmas Eve because she was too excited for Christmas morning. She knew if she slept, Christmas would be here in a seeming flash.

Year after year sitting with hubby and beaming at the kids. Noting our son was a careful and slow gift opener. Noting our daughter was a whirlwind tearing open the neatly wrapped presents. Videotaping and photographing them.

Realizing my daughter was as big of a pre-Christmas gift snooper as I.

Sitting alone with my father at the nursing home on Christmas Eve the first year he was in one. Having him never open his eyes or react to anything. Holding his hand and not letting go of it. Watching the TV perched high on the wall and falling apart when a commercial played the song "I'll Be Home for Christmas."

His very last Christmas...twelve days before his death. The only words he spoke were, "Is it, honey?" when my sister told him it was snowing. Hugging and kissing him and pretending he was fine.

Knowing that each and every Christmas I have had has been filled with thankfulness and a deep appreciation for the life I have and the people in it. Yes, there have been sad times mixed among my many blessings. But they have never overshadowed the fairy tale life I feel I have lived. I hope they never will.

"Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love." ~Hamilton Wright Mabi

BECAUSE I SAID SO!

Every once in awhile~maybe more than I like to think~I have an urge to say things exactly as I want to, without worrying about whether or not they are politically correct. Not everything I think is controversial. Some topics are quite bland. Whichever the case may be, I believe what I say is accurate. Why? Because I said so!

SNOW: Too many people complain about winter. "It's too cold." "I hate it." "You try shoveling X amount of inches or feet of the snow off your driveway and see how you like it." Blah, blah, blah. I have heard ALL of those things said and certainly plenty more. It gets cold where I live, I drive in the snow, I shovel it, and there is no escaping it. I get all four seasons here. And yet I think the winter is the most alive time of all the seasons. Uh huh, I do. Maybe the flowers are not in bloom, the grass is not growing, rich colors are not in abundance, but big deal. How can you ignore the positives of winter? Are you so set on hating it that you cannot see the beauty of ice-covered tree branches literally sparkling from the sun's rays touching it? Can you not see the gentle journey of the snowflakes as they travel toward the ground? Do you not realize there is a quiet outside unlike any other time of year? Have you never made snow angels? I would like to see the winter haters make some summer angels. Good luck there. Go to a ski resort. Watch people laughing and carrying on while using the snow as a means for great fun. Go outside and see your breath pour out of your mouth like smoke. Feel your skin get all chilled and tingly. Hurl a snowball at someone and run like hell. Then, come inside and get a fire going in the fireplace. Watch the flames moving in a sensual dance. Wow. It is an awesome time of year. And for those who are going to talk about the dangers of driving in the snow, I already know about it. It is scary. But no scarier than those summer travelers who hit the highways at about a bazillion miles per hour in their haste to arrive at their vacation destinations. And, yep, people freeze to death in the winter. Just like people die from the heat in summer. See, you are not going to win any argument with me on this topic! So, quit bitching about the cold and learn to enjoy it. Learn to experience it in a cup is half full kind of way. Why? Because I said so.

BOOKS: Regardless of the ease with which we can access information via the Internet (thanks to Al Gore ::snicker::), nothing can replace the pure pleasure of reading a book. Fiction, nonfiction...doesn't matter. A book is a treasure. Here are two books I think are outstanding. This first one is an old book (1983) by Taylor Caldwell called Captains and the Kings. In a nutshell, the woman wrote a riveting and thought-provoking fictional story (even though it probably should be considered nonfiction) about a handful of Europeans who control the power and money around the world. And here we thought the United States was controlled by the Dems and GOP. Pffft. That society exists just as sure as I am sitting here. Read the book, and you will see why. As for newish books, a great read is Mrs. Kennedy by Barbara Leaming, written in 2001. She has a fascinating take on events in Jackie's life that shaped who she became. There are the juicy tidbits about John's penchant for womanizing any female who moved, but also some incredible insights into his behavior. The bonus is very little brouhaha was made by the Kennedy clan about this book. That pretty much tells you what was stated was on the money. Why? Because I said so.

FACE TRANSPLANTS: So, the French took a badly disfigured woman whose face had been partially torn off by the family Labrador, and they transplanted a portion of a brain-dead woman's face onto the scarred woman. Not just skin...but muscles, too. If all goes well, this woman may actually be able to chew for the first time since the dog mauled her. She now has a nose, too. And, of course, there are the big mouths screaming about how unethical the procedure was. Okay, you try to live in a society that puts a premium on appearance with only half a face. See how well you are greeted. Cripe, people are ostracized for far less in this world. Or let it be one of your loved ones who loses part of his/her face and watch how repulsed every single person is who comes into contact with him/her. Watch your loved one shrink from society due to not just the injuries but also due to a demolished sense of self-worth. Bah! If there is no hope for the standard reconstructive plastic surgery to work, why not give the person an opportunity to live the most normal life possible? Why? Because I said so. (And be thankful I did not start on the stem cell controversy, or you would be in this journal for months reading how I think the most outrageous opponents of it would be the first in line to receive those stem cells to cure them if they were victims of a terrible disease and a stem cell cure was available.)

COMMERCIALISM OF CHRISTMAS: Just because some people buy Christmas presents out the wazoo each year does not mean they have lost the meaning of Christmas. The REAL meaning. It simply means they love the idea of giving gifts...and, yes, receiving them, too. It means the priceless gift we all received 2000+ years ago has not been forgotten, and this time of year brings out the desire to make others happy with heartfelt, well-chosen gifts. It does not mean they have not secretly found a very poor family to create an entire Christmas for, complete with a mass of gifts and food. Nor that they have not donated to worthwhile charities, and that they have not supported a church's wishes for help for the homeless or destitute. Why? Because I said so.

Which brings me to my last thought. GOD: You do not have to regularly attend a church to be a good person (::chuckle:: we tithe at our church, so I am not a church hater by any means...more a liberal thinker in regard to religion). You do not have to take every single word in the Bible as the definitive truth. You can embrace snippets of many religions and still be a great person. One God loves. And you know what? I do not even think you HAVE to believe in Him at all to go to Heaven. My God sees all of us as His children, and I think we all get a chance after we die to join Him there. Atheist, agnostic, Jew, etc. It does not matter. ::pointing to my heart:: It is what is in there that counts. Why? Geez, because I said so!

"If you resist reading what you disagree with, how will you ever acquire deeper insights into what you believe? The things most worth reading are precisely those that challenge our convictions." ~Unknown

PAPA

Voeux de bonheur, Papa. Je vous aime, et Je manque vous tellement.

ME AND MINE

Photographs capture moments in time. I have a lot of pictures, and I enjoy looking at them. The advent of digital cameras certainly has made it very easy to transfer the photographs onto the computer. Scanners are great for copying pictures that were taken before the arrival of digital cameras.

Holidays always get me to thinking about how swiftly time passes. With those thoughts, I invariably either go through photo albums or look at the pictures stored here on my computer (but also backed up on CDs). I cannot watch the videos we took of our children. I get so sad. It overwhelms me when I see them crawling and jabbering. The time has passed in a blink of an eye, and they are no longer the little people they once were. I suspect one day I will be able to watch those films without falling apart.

Anyway, I came across some pictures of my precious children. I have never had distinctly clear pictures of my kids in my journal. Something about their privacy I have wished to protect, and I usually fiercely do so. However, they said they did not mind if I wanted to put a couple of photos in here. To all of you parents out there, you will understand what I am referring to when I say they go from small to big in the beat of a heart.

This first picture is them in front of the playhouse we built for them:
::sigh:: And here is a shot of them more recently. They morphed into grownups almost behind my back it seems.
Geez, I am wild about them. (As every parent should be about their children.) I look at them and my heart goes crazy. I can still see bits of the tiny people they once were in them today. The shape of their fingers, the way they smile, the texture of their hair. It is a very good thing that I do not dislike any particular age. There is something wonderful about each stage of a child's life. The "terrible twos" do not exist for me. Neither do the allegedly "wretched teen years." I say with total and absolute honesty that I enjoy them however old they are. And while they may have physically grown, they will always, ALWAYS, be my beloved babies.

Now, in perusing additional photos, I had to laugh. My family refers to me as a chameleon, because I never look the same in pictures. We are not talking mega years in between the shots, either. Within a short period of time, I transform drastically. Maybe it has something to do with needing change in my life, and my fondness for it.

The following are pictures of me taken on Thanksgiving Day, 2003 and 2005 (at that charming club). Yes, I have cropped out my sisters and my mother, since I have not asked their permission to include them in this journal. It amuses me how we four girls automatically line up in our birth order and pull Mom in the middle of us. Lordy. Check out the blonde to brown tresses. LOL! Yep, I went through a "I want to be a blonde" stage. I liked it at the time, but it has been something of a nightmare returning it to its natural color. It is still not the right shade...it is too dark, and I am not liking that. Then there are the bangs to no bangs and curls to straight look, as well as the lipstick is obvious (because it was taken prior to eating our meal) to the lipstick is totally gone (post-meal photo!), and the small smile to a wide one. The only thing I have not changed is my fondness for leather. How fun to mess around with one's appearance.

Left the same amidst these changes is who we are inside. There has not been one iota of change there. That goes for me and mine. And it makes me smile.

"You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was." ~Irish Saying

OVERWHELMED

Nope, I did not break my leg. I just thought it was an appropriate picture for this entry's title and contents. I am overwhelmed. I am not unhappy, only feeling pressed for time. Aside from the Christmas hustle and bustle (which I cannot say I dislike!), there are some additional tasks I have been asked to do. I can feel myself being pulled in all different directions, and I reckon most of that is my own fault.

Due to my lack of skills working with html, I have two entries on my AOL journal (ME AND MINE ~ http://journals.aol.com/bedazzzled1/Bedazzled/entries/905 and THE GIFT ~ http://journals.aol.com/bedazzzled1/Bedazzled/entries/911/ ) that I have not put in here. I usually do that right away. But, I am still confounded by the operating techniques of this blog, and I was having trouble getting pictures placed in spots other than just the top. ME AND MINE had pictures scattered throughout it. ::sigh:: I love the graphics in my journals, and it disappoints me when I cannot use them.

Anyway, for the time being at least, I am going to take the easy and familiar road. And that is to post solely on my AOL journal. PLEASE COME VISIT ME THERE. The link is http://journals.aol.com/bedazzzled1/Bedazzled/. The entries will be the exact same as the ones I would be posting here, except the animations will be animated!

Should any of you wish me to link you on my journal there, feel free to tell me, and I will do so! I have not been able to figure out how to add links on this journal. See, I am html dense.

Warm hugs and wishes to you.

POST-THANKSGIVING COMPETITION

Ah, Thanksgiving Day is over. Snow swirled in the wind, chilling us but making us feel so alive. I received and gave bunches of smooches and hugs. Pictures were taken, much to the dismay of the children who were far more intent on wanting to devour their plates of food. Our meal was fabulous, the conversation alternated between interesting and entertaining and downright hysterical, and a good time was had by everyone. I have to be thankful for that...each and every day.

My father-in-law bought us a little "just because" gift. It is an antique glass Dazey paddle churn for making butter. (I collect antiques and already have a large wooden butter churn.) It is a pretty large one. Maybe four quarts. He and my hubby are going to make butter tomorrow. ::grin:: Isn't that cute? I was instructed to get online and find the directions for making it. I did. I found them. I printed them. Everything is all set for the big butter making ordeal tomorrow.

Now during the course of my search for the recipe, the phone rang. It was a friend of my husband's. He is also quite knowledgeable about antiques. He and hubby discussed the butter churn my father-in-law gave us. Those suckers are expensive. However, this friend happened to mention that the pint-sized ones are more rare and more valuable. Uh oh. Hubby's mistake was telling me that.

You know? Sometimes things are NOT our fault. Why? Simply because we do not want them to be! Such is the case in regard to the following. I began to search online for these rare small glass paddle churns. eBay had some. I want one. I did not until that friend had to go and say they are rare. Therefore, it is his fault. I began bidding on one. It was VERY rare~only one-half pint in size. I told the hubster that I'd probably only spend $50 and then I would stop bidding. No problem, said he.

This is only my second time bidding on eBay merchandise. I won the first time I did it. I found an antique spinning wheel that was beautiful. I was shocked when I was the winner, because I honestly had no clue what I was doing. I knew what to do this time around. The minutes began ticking down on this tiny churn, and I felt certain someone would top the maximum bid I had set. I got notification that it had, indeed, been topped. I had to hurry to place my new bid. I did, and briefly I was winning. Then another notification arrived saying that someone had outbid me, and I only had X minutes to bid again. I did. I went to $210. Mere seconds were left. I FELT that little glass paddle churn in my hands. And some prick upped it to $212.50. While I was frantically placing my new bid, time ran out. I was pissed. I lost. No teeny churn for me. On the plus side, no honked off hubby to chastise me for spending $150+ more than I said I was going to spend. ::laugh::

I do have my eye on another one that is pint-sized. It should be most interesting to see how high the price goes. Curious to see how high I go, too. I do not like to lose. This is almost like a game to me. And when it comes to game time, no holds barred. I am a competitive broad.

Well, my house is alive with the sound of snoring. Time for me to check back with eBay. I hope all of you had the happiest of days!

"Competition is the spice of sports; but if you make spice the whole meal you'll be sick." ~George Leonard

TRADITION

Our Thanksgiving Day is spent in a somewhat unusual way in comparison to the majority of families. It is a tradition we have had for a number of years, and so it has become very much a part of how we celebrate.

There was a time when all of us girls, our hubbies, and our children gathered at Mom and Daddy's house for the scrumptious Thanksgiving meal. We girls would help Mom by bringing side dishes and such and also assisting her in whatever way we could. The men did the manly thing...which was nothing. ::grin:: Except for the carving of the turkey which was Daddy's duty (he was a trip with the electric knife), the guys just waited for all of the food to be set out.

We always had a lot of fun. Our family gets along so beautifully. And my God, we laugh a lot.One year as Thanksgiving approached, Daddy came up with an idea. It was actually more of a decision than an idea. He informed us that he felt Mom did not get to fully enjoy the holiday, because she was so busy cooking and making certain everything was just so. Therefore, Daddy had made reservations for the Thanksgiving meal at a private club. We were none too sure how we felt about that. It seemed so un-Thanksgiving-like. We did find it sweet that his concern was for Mom, though. The reservations were for 11:00 a.m., and that would allow those who had in-laws in town to be able to have dinner with them later in the day. Since the club was more of a dressy place, we had to dress appropriately.

Thanksgiving Day arrived. We entered the ivy-covered old stone building and made our way to the dining room. Oh my! It was beautiful. Crystal chandeliers, a grand piano, floral arrangements, white tablecloths. But it was the food that sent everyone into orbit. There were massive tables filled with anything and everything you could imagine. The little ones thought they were pretty snazzy getting to choose what they wanted and how much. The idea of being able to return for more thrilled them. Waiters and waitresses saw to our beverage needs and the removal of our plates as we went up to get each course of food. I do not like stuffing. (Eh, I KNOW it is tradition, but it just holds no appeal to me.) BUT they had oyster stuffing. Mmm. Only my grandmother made that, and it was the only time I would ever eat it. That year, I piled some on my plate and loved it. The turkey was done to perfection, as was the ham and the salmon. The dessert table should have been photographed for a food magazine. It was gorgeous. All that food, all delicious, and I must have the world's smallest stomach. I cannot eat enormous amounts. When I am full, I am full. Daddy sat at the head of the table and literally beamed throughout the meal. He knew he had scored big time with all of us! Plus, he got to enjoy seeing his entire family at one heckuva long table eating and chattering and laughing. He was in his glory. And Mom was spared cooking and cleaning. It was a huge hit. It was decided we would repeat it the following year. (We have also had occasional Easter meals there, too.)

During the years Daddy was ill, we were able to take him there for Thanksgiving one time. He was in his wheelchair, and he had to be fed. But it kept him a part of something he began. Sadly, he was never able to attend again. It seemed he always developed pneumonia or was in the hospital at that time. Then, he grew too weak to even sit in a wheelchair. We still went to the club each Thanksgiving. I was the lone dissenter. I did not want to go if he could not join us. Majority ruled and I did not want to disappoint the rest of the family by not going, so I went.

We are once again going there this Thursday. My father-in-law will be joining us. He is planning on spending a few days here with hubby, the kids, and me. I do have a very good time. I love being with my family. But there is always a twinge I feel knowing that that one very special and very loved person is no longer sitting at the head of the table casting his twinkling eyes upon us. There is some comfort when I think he is probably smiling because we have kept his tradition very much alive.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you and yours. No matter what, we have much to be thankful for.

"To speak gratitude is courteous and pleasant, to enact gratitude is generous and noble, but to live gratitude is to touch Heaven." ~Johannes A. Gaertner

ANGEL O'MINE

Naughty or nice? Angels. For as long as I can remember, I have had an extreme interest in them. I am drawn to them in many ways. I wonder about so much in regard to them. What do they see? Are they truly around us all the time? Are we assigned one to watch over us? Are there good angels and bad ones? Or are they all good? How did they come to be angels? Can we become angels after we die? The Bible says no. I do not think I necessarily believe that. Is it possible your human friend is really an angel in disguise?
I collect angel figurines. Have for years. One of my Christmas trees is decorated with only angel ornaments. I use the word "angel" to describe some of my favorite people who I feel are extraordinarily kind and thoughtful individuals. I love to sketch them. Drawing their wings is fun. If you notice in the artwork of famous painters, angel wings are depicted in various styles. Of course...has anyone actually SEEN one and therefore is able to give a definitive description of how the wings of an angel genuinely appear? Nope, not to my knowledge.
One of my friends I refer to as my human guardian angel. She is beyond incredible. I believe she really is my angel. I am sure people will think I am loopy (okay, maybe I am...but, dammit, the woman IS an angel). However, there have been many occasions when this wonderful lady has had such insight and awareness of situations that are beyond commonplace occurrences.
She has numerous times warned me of dangers that will befall me or a member of my family if caution is not exercised. I recall her being agitated once by an overwhelming feeling that I or one of my sisters was going to have a car accident due to a bad tire. She urged me to have my car checked, as well as those of my sisters. Bingo. One sister did have a tire that was in very poor shape and certainly just an accident waiting to happen. She told me she had visions of a nest of wasps that she was worried would pose problems for me (I have bad reactions to stings, but she did not know that at the time). She wanted me to make sure there were no nests around the exterior of my house. Bingo again. Just a few feet from my patio door, there was a massive nest of German wasps. They had gotten inside the wall, too. By the time an exterminator came, I was killing them by the dozens INSIDE my house. I avoided getting stung, but I was definitely jumpy as all get out. There are many other examples I could give of how this woman has watched over me, but I think you get the general idea. It is the following, though, that cements in my mind that this woman is an angel...
She has never known my father, nor has she ever seen a picture of him. She does not know his name or anything about him. He was dying when I came to know her (and he did pass away about a month or so after I met her). Of course, I talked about him during that horrific time. She knew of the fierce love and devotion I had for him. After his passing, she would tell me about him. (Geez, I am welling up thinking about these conversations we had.) She saw him. She described his physical appearance to me. In detail. My hair practically stood on end listening to that. He was happy, she said. He also had some quite pensive moments. Sometimes she would see him sitting on a large rock with a dog next to him. I asked her to describe the dog. And in detail, she did. A more perfect description of the Airedale we used to have could not have been told. I had goosebumps listening to her. Another time she saw an older man next to my father. Again, I asked for her to tell me about his appearance. It was his father, my grandfather. (We are not talking vague descriptions here, people. These were specific and unique physical traits.) One time she described a woman who was with Daddy. The startling part about that was she mentioned a very unusual character trait along with the physical description. I was puzzled as to who the woman might be. I called my mother to ask her about what I had been told. Mom was stunned. The woman so carefully described was Daddy's mother, my grandmother. She passed away before I was born, so I never knew her. I had seen pictures of her, but I certainly knew nothing about her personality. Mom could not get past that this friend of mine could possibly be aware of such a key character trait in Daddy's mother.
This friend, aka my human guardian angel, has many times contacted me solely to tell me she has "seen" Daddy and that he is worried about one of us in the family. It never fails to amaze me that each time she mentions which family member he is concerned about, it is one who is going through a difficult time. There are also the additional glimpses into things she sees regarding Daddy and his presence. It is breathtaking many times when she reveals them to me.
At times, she almost freaks me out. She will tell me, in what I think is a very cryptic manner, of things regarding me. Things I will do but do not yet know of them. That drives me nuts, and I try to get her to tell me exactly what each thing will be. But, she will not. She gives me clues but not enough for me to get a handle on what it could be. She says she does not want to alter how it was meant to be by having me know of it. My actions need to be as a result of what I believe I should do, not what I THINK is expected. It is during casual conversation that I happen to mention this or that, and she will say, "Remember when I said you were going to do something that would..." And by God, it will all fall into place that it was what she had spoken of earlier. If we have not had any communication for a period of time, when we finally do talk, she freakin' KNOWS what has been going on. She also guides me by suggesting I pursue certain things. She encourages me. She is a voice of reason and calm. And she is so very nice and decent.
Yes, she is a human guardian angel who somehow got stuck being assigned to me. I am thankful.
"All God's angels come to us disguised." ~James Russell Lowell
AND
"Friends are kisses blown to us by angels." ~Author Unknown

STILL THE SAME

It is Friday, MY day of the week. The day when I feel a spring in my step and certainly in my thoughts. It is a good day. However, today is the day I had been somewhat dreading in my HOW ARE YOU? entry of November 6.Yeppirs, it is my birthday. My husband filled my ears verrrry early this morning with the sound of him playing Happy Birthday on his guitar. My mother filled them with her singing Happy Birthday to me over the phone. I smiled big time both times. My kids? They have smooched me and hugged me and spoken their wishes for a happy day for me. My friends and sisters have sent me cards and gifts. Could I be any luckier to have such people in my world? Nope.

As much as I love giving gifts to others, I LOVE getting them, too. One of the presents I got today is some gadget that can be used to write and draw on digital photos. It is called Graphire4. It is a toy for me! I will be spending time learning how to use it, because I think it will be a blast. Along with the wireless mouse and the new keyboard I got, I imagine I will be in computer heaven.

Now that little girl pictured above is yours truly. I am guessing I was about five or six in that photograph. It is one of my all-time favorite childhood pics. Why? Because it is SO me. It still is. I was looking at it, and I started laughing...hard! I really have not changed much since then. (Eh, my maturity level has maybe gone up one or two notches, though.) I am still melodramatic when I speak. My hands are still moving along with my mouth. I am still a chatterbox. I still love denim skirts. That little flash of a bare shoulder is still one of my favorite looks~even though I am sure it was unintentional in that picture. I still love to have my shoes match my outfit. And I most certainly still love being happy and having fun.

You can pile on the years, but you just cannot change the inherent nature of a person. I love the little girl depicted above. She was and still is spirited. Good for her!

Happy weekend to you and yours. ::smile::

"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." ~Abraham Lincoln

THE TIE

I had a personal experience not very long ago dealing with the whoring of America. It angered me, and I felt as though there was no way to win against it. I cannot say I DID win, but I sure did not lose, either. The final score was Bedazzzled1 with one point...corporate whores with one point. Gee, I have to say I was pretty darn proud of myself.
I will be deliberately vague explaining it, but that is my right. After all, that has not been taken away from me by Time Warner (yet). Also, the story is an extremely personal one. Specifying names is not necessary to get across my point. It most assuredly happened, and it is completely true.
Once upon a time there was a man who worked at a bigggggg university. He really wanted to build a brand new multimillion dollar state-of-the-art facility to replace a similar one that did not have quite all the bells and whistles. It was to be one of the finest in this country. His rationale was that bigger means better and better draws more people and more people means more money coming in to the school.
Finding the other big wigs at the university to back his idea was a piece of cake. All they needed to do was figure out how to fund such a venture. And that is when they decided to whore out every part of the structure to anyone with enough money to buy it. Price tags were put on virtually anything associated with it. Construction commenced.
The big boys with their big wallets bought up the things with the hefty price tags. Those would be things like naming rights to the entire facility. Get the picture now? More and more such things were bought up, all so they could plaster the names of their companies on them. No big deal. Right?
WRONG. It was not okay with this broad...and not with quite a few other people who found the pimping ignored some of the rich history and tradition of the university in its efforts to fund this huge structure. Without the contributions (nonmonetary) and accomplishments of certain individuals, that big new structure would never have been an idea in anyone's brain. There was an outcry from groups of folks over that aspect. Naming rights for anything had to be BOUGHT even for the name of someone who was one of the main reasons, if not THE reason, success and prominence had come to the university in that particular area. Screw that.
I was disgusted. I had seen how other colleges had junked up every square inch of their allegedly beautiful buildings with advertising banners. Then to learn that there was not even going to be a gratis pass for the gentleman responsible for having the school be nationally recognized? Oh wait, there was to be a room with his name put on it where alumni could gather. Sorry, not good enough for me or for others. His name really should be slapped on the part of this giant structure that was his forte...his shining moments. But, alas, the tacky people who owned numerous companies and corporations felt it was more appropriate to honor their DISCOUNT FURNITURE STORE. Oh yes.......class just oozes out of their every pore, eh?
I began what I call a pen pal relationship with the man who had the idea to build this potential white elephant. I carefully penned my words to him after much thought. I listed the many reasons why I felt the gentleman I knew deserved more than a room in a massive structure. I received a letter in return detailing the costs of such a vast undertaking and the necessity for sponsors to help defray the expense. Okay, thanks. I responded by pointing out how in similar situations when new buildings were constructed that a person was honored by having the facility called by his/her name. We went back and forth like this for a time. It was always kept civil, even friendly. We began to occasionally speak on the phone about it, too. It all boiled down to the almighty dollar. To hell with tradition. To hell with history. To hell with anything that kept another buck from finding its way into the coffers of the university. Yet this man had nothing but the highest regard for the gentleman I knew.
I persisted. I told you I am one persistent woman. I was not lying. ::grin:: The day arrived when I felt a fair deal had been struck. I received a phone call from the man telling me he had awakened in the middle of the nite with what he felt was a perfect solution...and it had no price tag attached to it. I was all ears. (Let me just state here that money was not really the object when it came to honoring the gentleman in some prominent way. Principle was the issue. And principle defined the gentleman. To pay for him to be honored would have been whoring at its worst. Something he would have never tolerated.) The Board of Trustees had the final say in the approval of his idea, but he felt certain it would be passed unanimously. I was quite pleased, and I awaited his next phone call informing me whether it received a thumbs up or down from that unpredictable group.
All thumbs were up. And I was beyond excited. Now there is a road bearing the name of the distinguished, successful, kind, and decent man that runs parallel to this new building and leads to other roads. It is not just a short little street, and it regularly gets a hefty amount of traffic. But the joy for me is to see the street signs at the beginning and end of this wide road. For they hold the name of that wonderful man. And it is as it should be.
Let the big boys pimp out themselves. No one attending any function in that monster facility is going to buy discount furniture because the name of the store is written across a large portion of it. But EVERYONE will notice the name of the road they HAVE to take to get to the function and the functions taking place further down the road. ::big smile::
Yep, Bedazzzled1 was pleased with the outcome.
"Advertising is legalized lying." ~ H.G. Wells

I am dazed and confused. ::singing Led Zep:: Okay, I came over here because Lord Of Butter needs his chicken noodle soup (minus the chicken, noodles, and broth) that only I can make for him to keep him healthy...even though he says it tastes bland. I need to think about all that has taken place online within the past 24 hours. I also need to figure out how in the hell to get a double space in between paragraphs on this blog. Egads. I am sleepy. Nite nite.