Congratulations Jim and Martha

Today I was one of the honored guests at Jim and Martha's wedding.



Martha walked in with her brother, Doug. She and Jim asked everyone gathered there to give her away and Jim as well.



Martha's dress was just as beautiful from the back - just perfect.



Martha's brother, Rob, did a lot of the ceremony, with his son Ryan performing the actual marriage.



Rob told some marvelous stories, eliciting tears...



... and outbursts of laughter within the same few minutes.



Rob's wife, Shirley, was the matron of honor.



Rob mentioned their 31 year marriage during the ceremony. You may recall Rob and Shirley being on the blog a few weeks ago when I saw them in DC, where they now live.

The wedding was held at the historic home built by Martha's grandparents. It's the same house where we hold Chicks. Doug, the current owner, is most generous with his home.



The marriage was performed in front of the same fireplace where Martha's parents were married. Her mother was there today, too. She was ushered in by her grandson, Michael, the son of Martha's sister, Marilyn.



After the wedding I had a chance to chat with Michael quite a bit and he was delightful fun.

Jim's best man was Stu, who is another one of the Prairie Rose Wranglers. Stu is responsible for Jim being in Kansas, where he and Martha met, so it seemed appropriate he be the best man.



Being a musician, Jim wrote a song for the wedding day. But, he recorded it instead of doing it live, which I think is wise because weddings are very emotional. He was going over details with John Eberly before the ceremony.



Music was a really important part of the ceremony and dramatically added to the event.



As you can tell, this was a real family affair. I loved getting this snapshot of Shirley and their son, Ryan, eating cake and talking quietly in the corner after the ceremony.



And speaking of cake... it was beautiful...



I helped a bit with the food, but Teresa and Andrea did the majority of it. It was lovely.



I think everyone had a wonderful time.





I know everyone there felt honored to be included. It felt wonderful to be in the presence of such genuine affection. Everyone in that room had love for Jim and Martha. I've become a huge fan today of smaller weddings, where everyone there has a real connection to the couple. It was a sacred experience.





Related Posts: Martha's Bridal Shower

6:03 a.m.

It's 6:03 a.m. and I have not been asleep. I guess this is why I don't sleep during the day very often.

I stayed in bed, trying to get myself to sleep. But, I couldn't. At various times I played solitaire on the phone, watched a show on serial killers on TV, and tried calling Greg who was in the car. Somehow, none of those things helped me sleep.

Finally, at 5:45, I got back up. Almost four hours of trying to sleep is agonizing in its own way.

I'm going to fix some breakfast, journal a bit and take a nice bath. Maybe I can at least sleep a couple of hours before Martha's wedding this afternoon. We'll see.

Not a Typical Saturday

This is one of my latest Goodwill purchases. It's not old and it's not nearly as cool or delicate as the older ones with the same sort of design, but it was cool enough for 79 cents. Yeah, I'm a big spender, what can I say?

I try to hit Goodwill every few days. I just picked up some Haviland china there a week or two again that matches some cups I got at a yard sale a few years ago. It's really beautiful. Of course, it can't go in the microwave because of the silver band around it. But it's so pretty I don't care. Today my take was a couple of trays - one wood and one metal.

I had a health fair this morning, so had to start the weekend working. That's not my favorite way to start a weekend, but it was valuable. I screened one person who thanked me profusely for being there and who needed treatment. It's rare anyone thanks you for doing your job - at least in my world - and it is always good to know you made a difference in someone's life. I realize it's an honor to do the work I do. But, of course, that comes with some responsibility, too.

Recently, someone I serve on a board with mentioned that I must answer my phone all the time. I assured him I did. I generally transfer the work phone to my cell phone when I'm out of the office. So, unless I'm in a meeting or otherwise engaged, I answer the phone - nights and weekend included. I don't answer it if it rings when I'm asleep but I keep odd hours so people sometimes get me when they don't expect to. Of course, I can turn it off if I choose, but I generally answer it. Most often it's just someone wanting some sort of information I know off the top of my head. But on rare occasions it's someone who's contemplating taking their life. I've had some training in how to handle such situations, but at three in the morning when you're in the midst of such a call, that training seems lacking. Fortunately, thankfully, blissfully, whenever it has happened, it has had a happy conclusion.

After the health fair this morning/afternoon, and a quick trip to Roy's, I went upstairs for a nap. I haven't been sleeping well at all lately. I've had a lot on my mind - working very, very hard to, "let it go, let it be, and let it lie." Unfortunately, that tends to make one's sleep fitful and one's waking hours pensive - neither of which is conducive to rest.

I got to bed about 3 this morning and got up before 7, after being awake multiple times, so I was tired. I slept about four hours this afternoon, but I obviously needed it. And it was good, deep sleep, which is difficult for me to get. So when I can sleep, I let myself - even if it's not a "normal" time to be asleep. I just can't sleep on some arbitrary schedule the world wants to run on.

However, one doesn't accomplish much when you're piled up in the bed napping, so I didn't get much done today. And tomorrow is a busy day, so I won't get to do much then, either. At some point I need to have time to concentrate for an extended period of time - to think, to listen, to ask, to hear.

Harry Potter

Greg and I went to see the new Harry Potter movie tonight. It was a spur of the moment decision. I have to say this is a dark one. It's not like there's a spoiler since the movies so closely follow the books, but this one was different than the others.

In all the others I think even if you hadn't read the books you could just drop into the movies and enjoy them. That's not true this time. You need some background to understand the story. Because I don't retain details of books or movies, I was on the verge of being lost a few times myself.

I have read all the books but I haven't seen all the movies. I saw the first one and it was so close to the book there wasn't much point in it. I didn't read any of them until I think the third book was out, then I read them in a nonstop orgy of late nights of being unable to put the book down. If you haven't read them, you're so lucky - you've got six great books waiting for you - soon to be seven.

I will want to read the new one as soon as it comes out. I don't want anyone to tell me something pivotal about it before I have a chance to read it for myself. And all I can say regarding the ending of the last one is, "no way... it can't be true... I simply will not accept it." I'm assuming book seven will resolve that ugliness and put all to right.

Well, I'm off to bed. I have to work Saturday at a health fair so I do need to get some sleep. Considering I need to be there in less than seven hours I guess it will be a short night. Again. Those seem to be my standard.

Guard Toad

Tonight I went out to mail the tea postcards and discovered my "guard toad" at the front door. I hadn't seen him in a few days. Greg took this photo in early June while I was in DC. I had seen him before that.

He appears to have taken up permanent residence in and around my front flower bed, on the porch and sidewalk. As you can tell from this photo, he is completely unconcerned with the annoying habits of humans.

When I opened the front door tonight he hopped onto the step below the surface of the porch. When I returned from the PO he was still there, in the place I would normally walk to enter my home. Of course, I used the other side of the steps so as not to disturb him, although that seems unlikely given his general disinterest in people.

I've decided I like Mr. Toad (or Ms. Toad - I'm afraid I don't know how to tell the difference). I believe my affection for him started to grow about the time Greg told me he probably eats his weight in bugs every couple of days.

I've seen toads in the backyard this year, too - little ones, big ones and medium ones. Maybe because we've had so much rain they are plentiful. Hopefully it's not because there are more bugs.

Fresh Produce

In my quest to buy locally grown food, I went to the farmer's market today. Here's what my $7 got me - two huge, juicy tomatoes ripened on the vine instead of in a truck travelling across country, new potatoes dug yesterday, a sweet onion and three squash.

Lunch tomorrow is going to be quite wonderful. Early in the morning I'm going to go pick some basil and pour some olive oil over it and let it sit for a bit. Then I'll fix myself a salad of fresh mozzarella and tomatoes with that drizzled over it to start lunch off.

At our farmer's market there is one gentleman who always has truly fresh veggies that his family grows on their farm near Partridge. Partridge has a large Amish contingent, as does Yoder. We're fortunate to have people growing food who haven't forgotten how to do it.

I wish there had been some fresh green beans to go with the new potatoes, but it was not to be today. I'm not sure how I'm going to cook the potatoes yet, but I'm sure something wonderful will occur to me.

I'm so glad I can cook. I don't know how people manage that can't fend for themselves in the kitchen. One of my former boyfriends was amazed that I could take some flour, shortening, fruit and a few other things and come out with a homemade pie.

And speaking of fruit - did you like that segue? Later in the day I went to Smith's Market and bought some Rainer cherries. I am not a big fan of cherries - the flavor reminds me of the gallons of cough syrup poured down me in my childhood. But, I make an exception for Rainer cherries, which are so sweet they don't even seem like cherries to me.



Of course, these were not grown locally. I'm sure they were grown in Washington, where this cherry was developed a few decades ago, and which still produces the majority of Rainer cherries. Regardless, they were mighty tasty.

We were at Smith's at closing time and they were packing away all the soft fruit, storing it in the cooler overnight to help keep it fresh. They've also expanded the store, taking over what used to be an antique store next door. It's even cooler now, with the tin ceiling and the wood floor in that section.

They've also added bins of all sorts of things - from flax seed to rolled oats to some delicious blueberry granola I've already fallen in love with. I also bought some Crimson Jewel popcorn and some other goodies.



I have had Ropps Sandhill Plum Jelly before and it's delicious. I went and picked Sandhill Plums with Teresa once and she brought me some jelly when it was made. To tell you the truth, I still don't really know what Sandhill Plums are, but they're very good as jelly. I'm going to hazard a guess they're some sort of plum. (See, college wasn't wasted on me.) They grow in the Sandhills (not suprising), on bushes, and they're good for jelly - that's all I know. I guess after 20 years in Kansas I should try to learn something more about them, but what's more important than they make good jelly?

I should try to pick some again this year - maybe even make jelly myself. That would be major. We'll see how things develop.

I've not tried Tuckerbee's Honey before, but thought I'd try it out. I have never heard of Niotaze, Kansas, but discovered it's near the Oklahoma border, in the eastern third of Kansas. I figured it was a good chance to try something sort of local. I'm sure it's more than 100 miles the locavores encourage, but in Kansas we drive 50 miles to go to dinner sometimes, so you gotta cut us a little slack.

Well, I'm off to bed. No doubt I'll be dreaming of fresh produce all night.

Get Your Magazines

A Magazine Rebate is being offered by Amazon. Order during July and get $5 off any of the magazines listed. You can see what's available at http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html?ie=UTF8&docId=1000101891. I got another two years on one of my favorites... so check it out. And, this is not one of those deals where I'm getting a cut - this is just a link to the spot on Amazon where you can see what's offered.

Locally Grown

Today I've had my first "harvest" from the garden - two grape tomatoes. They were tasty.

I've been gone a week and my eggplants have gone from being about 10 inches tall to over two and a half feet. The same with the cucumber. That doesn't seem possible and yet it is. I'm not sure what happened while I was gone, but they suddenly got very happy.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the "locally grown food" concept and how important that is. It stands to reason that something grown down the road from you, or in your backyard like these tomatoes,  is likely to be fresher and better-tasting than something grown 3000 miles away, picked green, and shipped to your grocery store.

Estimates are that our food now travels an average of 1,500 miles before it gets to the dinner table. The benefit to this is that we enjoy fresh fruit and vegetables year round because they can be grown in places with temperate climates and shipped to us. The downside of this is that we're not getting the freshest things and that there are some costs to this that we're not paying for at the register - namely we're adding to air pollution with all that shipping, which is not helping the global warming issue any. It's ironic that even in places where food is grown, it's often shipped to distribution centers, then back to the area where it was grown in the first place.

Another issue is that we've lost family farms and have moved more toward a corporate farming culture. Those family farms not only provided a livelihood for the farmers, but they also kept money local, whereas that may no longer be true with corporate farming.

For me, the big issue is that we have lost touch with how food is "manufactured." I think many kids - and adults - have no sense of how food is actually grown. The more distance is involved in delivering our food, the more distance there is between us and the knowledge of how it comes to be. Do kids know what pigs eat? Do they know how we get milk? Do they know potatoes grow under the ground? I won't even ask if they know things that grow underground need to be planted in the dark of the moon and those above ground should be planted in the light of the moon.

Some have suggested we should all try to eat locally grown food. I think that's more of a challenge for some than others. If you limit "local" to 100 miles, as some have done, that's a very different thing in Kansas than it is in California.

However, I think we can all try to be aware of where our food is coming from. Is it coming from a place within a hundred miles? From within your state? From within your country? We can all try to be aware of this, even if we're not at the point where we can make significant changes. I think it's valid to consider the sources of our food nonetheless.

Home

I am home safely, after some harrowing moments on the road.

Greg wasn't feeling well today so we delayed our start from Joplin. We stopped in Fredonia to get gas, only to discover they didn't have any due to last week's flooding. Well, we needed gas and found some at the other station in town. They were out of regular, but had some premium at Casey's General Store. I have to give them credit - they were charging the same price for both although they could have been gouging customers. As we were turning the corner leaving town, we saw the Casey's gas truck turning toward the station.

We could tell we were driving into a storm by the look of the sky. Eventually the rain started but it wasn't too heavy.

Then, somewhere along the way we spotted emergency vehicles ahead. While we were trying to figure out why they had traffic stopped on the other side of the road, but not on our side we found ourselves approaching a low place covered with water - lots of water. I was going highway speeds - too fast to slow down by that point - so I plowed through it. Fortunately, no harm done.

I stopped to ask the patrol woman if it was safe ahead. She asked how we got through the water. I told her I didn't see it in time. She asked how deep it was and I had no idea - it had been a bit of a surprise - obviously. If you're going to stop traffic, you need to do it BOTH directions.

So, we kept going and a few miles down the road saw an even larger amount of water across the road. There were no emergency vehicles - we noticed it when we saw the wall of water being thrown up on either side by the oncoming traffic that also wasn't expecting it.

I got stopped before we got to it and watched a couple more vehicles come through. There was an SUV on the shoulder on our side across the water. We watched a big truck come through throwing water 20-30 feet in the air.

I said to Greg, "I'm scared." We were discussing what to do when I looked over to the left and saw the water literally rising by the moment. I mean it was barely at the edge of the road and in the blink of an eye a foot of the roadway was covered and in another blink it was three feet over it.

We saw the guy on the other side turn around and head our way so we watched his approach and then another car coming from the other direction.

I looked to the edge again and realized the water was now over more than half the road. We certainly couldn't stay where we were. So, without waiting for the ripples to subside from the last vehicle we went through.

Fortunately, we were OK. But the experience took a little bit off my life. It was scary. But I didn't know what else to do. We couldn't stay where we were and I knew that a short way behind us it was already impassable - and we had watched people go through this, so we did. And we were OK. But it was not a fun experience.

If we had delayed another 10 minutes anywhere we'd be sitting on the highway now, or washed off into the field or creek.

By the way... it's NOT normal for it to be flooding in Kansas in July.

Kitty With No Name

I'm in Joplin tonight and Miss Joy has a new kitty, which we've been playing with. The kitty does not yet have a name. I have suggested Cleopatra, a nod to the Egyptians who first domesticated cats and honored them in multiple ways, including mummifying them. While being killed and mummified might not seem like an honor, lets remember they did it to their beloved leaders. And their cats. Of course, "Cleo" would be the name used on a daily basis, which I think has some possibilities.

I've also suggested Toffee, given her coloring. Mia pointed out she is a calico but with tabby striping in the calico. She suggested Callie, which I also like.

The Kitty With No Name is a big hit. She likes to play, so we have played with her until she literally had to lay down and rest. She has a variety of toys, but my hair proved to be a favorite.

I will return home in the morning and go back to my daily working life. I want to continue to be on vacation. I guess everyone feels that way.

However, it seems very weird to be living a life that I want to escape from by going on vacation. Shouldn't we all be living a life we are thrilled to be living, instead of one we want to get away from?

Parades

This morning was the parade in Barlow, Kentucky for Vacation Bible School at First Baptist Church where Jackie and Mary Ann go. Jackie drove the tractor and wagon he made in this morning's parade. His passengers are Lori Ann Oldham and daughter, Jenna.

This was the tractor's fourth appearance in parades. During LaCenter's Do Wop days a few weeks ago, my other brother, Jim drove it. Passengers that day were Jackie and Jim's grandson, Alex.



This morning Mary Ann rode in the parade, too. That's her friend, Janice in the back.



No parade is complete without a firetruck, and today's was no exception.



I may not have ever mentioned before, but my brother, Jackie, is very handy. He invents many things. He builds many things. He has lots of cool toys.

Today I got to experiment with a nail gun - actually, two nail guns. I didn't let them take photos because my glee was unearthly. I love power tools of all sorts.

Happy 50th Anniversary Clyde and Anne

Today was the 50th Anniversary celebration for Clyde and Anne Stevens.

July 6, 1957



July 6, 2007



I stopped by the car dealership this afternoon to say hello and wish them well. Jackie and Kim and Kent and Lisa had celebrated with them today with a lunch and they had lots of well wishers dropping by.

Anne was showing me their wedding album, her book where she noted various things about the engagement and wedding.



I think my favorite part of the book was where she noted all the gifts they received and in true southern girl fashion, the date she sent the thank you note.



I even found my own name on its pages. There was another Patsy Terrell who was a classmate of theirs. I don't run across a lot of other Patsys, much less Patsy Terrells, so it jumped out at me.



They also had the 1957 Ballard Memorial Annual, The Bomb. (We're "The Bombers," a reference to a nearby plant that made - you're ahead of me, right - bombs.) Appropriately enough, tonight was a class reunion celebration, too, so they had a very full day.



I happend across Patsy's photo in it.



Anne was kind enough to give me permission to share some of their photos. I just took digital pix of their wedding album, so they're not the best, but you can get the idea. I think my favorite was this one of her cousins and her - it's just such a nice moment.



Anne's mother made her wedding gown, which was beautiful.





She joked that in this one it looks like she's pulling on his arm. But, as I pointed out, he doesn't look at all unhappy about it.



Clyde and Anne already celebrated by taking the whole family to Las Vegas. That's what they wanted to do and so they all went a few weeks ago. But, today was THE actual day and it looks like they had a fabulous time.

They are wonderful folks. The kind of folks you're proud to call family.

Congratulations Clyde and Anne!!!

Poking At Old Lives

I've been poking around at old lives. My old lives.

My life seems to be divided into distinct segments. One of those was lived, ever so briefly, but seemingly neverendingly, at Murray State University. I left for college when I was 17 and moved an hour away to Murray.

I lived in White Hall, my one and only dorm experience. I never wanted another one. And, for the record, I even had a private room. (Thank you, Mama.) My roomie, Helen, who I'd been friends with in high school,  moved in with someone else who's roommate didn't show up, because she had sense enough to realize we were not going to remain friends if we continued to live together in that small space. Helen and I later lived together in Lexington in a one bedroom apartment for a year and made it fine. But that's another life - a long life, even though it was compressed into one year - a lot happened that year. But, that's a tale for another time.

Keeping the room at Murray private was some ridiculously small amount of money - well under $100 for the semester then - and Mama thought it would be best. Thank goodness she was looking out for me because I don't think I could live with anyone in that small of a space and come out liking them or me after a few days.

I can remember which room I had at White Hall - it was next to the last one on the front - on the left side - but I can't remember which floor. I am pretty sure it was 6th floor, but maybe it was 8th. Funny how things that can seem so important at the time have absolutely no significance later. I remember wanting to take the plaque that denoted the room number. Now I can't even remember what floor it was, although I'm 98% sure it was 6th floor. I think it was room 618 - maybe that's where I'm getting the "8."



Some important things happened in that room - probably most important was that I decided to leave it and go to the University of Kentucky. That was the place for me to go in state, and I'll be forever grateful to my mother for just accepting that statement when it came out of my mouth - surprising even me a little bit. I did not belong at Murray. It was not for me. I went there because it was close and it's where my friends were going and it was safe. I was 17 for heaven's sake, 16 when I was making the decision, and too young to be even be living an hour away from home. It was a transition time for me.

I became friends with Evelyn in that room. She lived on the other end of the hall and would make the walk down to my room every morning and we'd go to class together. We talked about music and her home in Florida and what we wanted from life. She already knew. I had no clue, but I knew what I was finding at Murray wasn't it.

I got to know Carla there. She was an art major who lived down the hall. Carla was very studious and very gracious. I was not so learned in being kind as Carla was. I went to Carla's home in Elizabethtown one weekend and auditioned for a show at Bardstown. I didn't get the part and looking back I wonder how things would have changed if I had - you never know. Odd how life works in circles. Some years after I had left Murray I ran into Carla's sister, Nancy, at the Kentucky Derby while we were both in line for the ladies' room. I had only met Nancy that weekend in E-town, but she recognized me. It was a weird moment.

I curled up on a twin bed in that White Hall room with another girl friend, who's identity I will still protect, who cried all night thinking she might be pregnant. We spent a fitful night huddled together on one of those beds, me rubbing her back, and saying the things friends do in such circumstances - "I'm sure you're not pregnant" - all the while thinking about what I was going to say when it was confirmed. She wasn't pregnant, however, so I never had to press those thoughts into service. The next day all was magically resolved. She learned her lesson and got birth control. I suppose you could say the lesson was abstinence, but as we all know, that hasn't been working well for a few thousand years.

I got to know "the Debbie's" across the hall from that room. They were both named Debbie and had been best friends since second grade. They were from Marion, Illinois and their fathers both worked at the Federal prison there. I went to the wedding of one of them a couple of years later. She married a man from Iran. It wasn't a happy marriage, I hear. But before she was past it she died of a rare blood disease. It was sudden. I got the call late at night from a mutual friend. I had moved on and lost touch with many people from Murray, but someone did call me. For years I had a black umbrella in my car that someone had left there the night of Debbie's wedding in Marion. Everytime I would see it I would think I should get it back to her family. Instead I sent a sympathy card. It was all surreal. Whenever I hear "Supertramp" playing I think of the Debbies because they played that one song over and over and over again. Funny... I can't even remember their last names now.

In that room I got to know my sweet-mates - Christy and Susie. Susie was a pretty little brunette with girl next door looks and the nicest disposition you could imagine. Christy was a very tall, thin girl who was a Mormon. It was my first "cross cultural" experience and to say it wasn't smooth would be an understatement. Christy went on a lot of dates because, as best I could understand it, that was part of the mission of college - to find a husband. But, she saw no point in dating anyone who wasn't Mormon because they were not marriage material. There aren't a lot of Mormons in Murray, Kentucky. I would ask that question now, but I didn't then. Needless to say, her stint at Murray was brief.

After I left Murray I had some photos I'd taken of her and Susie and mailed them to Christy in - was it really Utah - I think maybe it was. Anyway, I mailed her photos and they came back with "refused" stamped on the envelope. That was the first time I had any clue that she didn't think much of me. Suddenly I didn't think much of her, either.

Fortunately, many pleasant experiences with LDS members since then have made me not write off an entire religion as jerks, but I came close. Maybe Christy wasn't any more able to make wise decisions than I was. I just put the photos in another envelope without a return address and a little note inside with my address so I'd know if they went to the dead letter office, and sent them back. Obviously, she got them, and found they were not the devil in an envelope, or whatever the Mormon version of the devil is, but just innocent pictures of college roommates.

In that room of White Hall, I kissed a boy named Tom. He was a sweet boy, one of those guys from "a good family" as your parents would say, but he didn't excite me - not even when he kissed me. Fortunately, even at 17 I had the good sense not to tell him that. That's just not something any man of any age wants to hear, particularly not at 19, which is what he was at the time. Tom was looking for a wife and I was looking for some freedom. It wasn't a good mix. Pity he wasn't a Mormon - I could have introduced him to Christy. But he wasn't. He was a good Baptist boy.

Tom wanted to settle down and have babies. He wanted to work in his father's bank and make a life in the community where he had grown up. It's not that that's a bad life. It's a wonderful life. I just wasn't ready for that life then - I'm not sure I'm ready for it now. But then I knew I wasn't. I hadn't seen anything, I hadn't done anything, I hadn't been anywhere. I wanted to. I needed to.

So... when I left for UK it was a logical break, not that we were serious or anything. We exchanged a few letters, a phone call or two, but happily drifted our own separate ways. But I would send a Christmas card every year, and get one back off and on, so Tom has been on the periphery of my life all these years.

A few years ago, I called Tom when I was headed to Kentucky for a visit. We met in Paducah and had dinner at Ruby Tuesday's in the mall. It was nice to see him, but if I'd had any doubt at all I made the right decision it was squelched somewhere between stories about business trips to Hopkinsville and being a Boy Scout leader for his sons' troop. I hadn't seen him in 22 years so I expected more. I'm not sure what, but more. Again - it's not a bad life, but I don't want 20 plus years to pass for me with a Hopkinsville business trip being a highlight.

Yes, that room at White Hall was where I lived a whole life in two semesters. It was a really important time in my life, but looking back I realize I was so incredibly miserable there. I was out of my element - not only in music, but in the people I was around. I had bided my time in high school thinking, "I just have to get to college, there must be other people like me in the world." But they weren't at Murray - at least not large numbers of them, although there were some. By and large it was just a bigger number of the same clicques that existed in high school - they just all moved to college and mixed with others of their kind there.

That year was one of the saddest of my life. I knew it should be a happy time and it wasn't, which made it all the more difficult.  I was sad practically every day - no wonder I didn't want to get up and go to class. Not only did I not enjoy the music program, now I realize I was probably clinically depressed. It's a wonder I managed to make good grades - I guess just because I had to - there was no other choice in my world. There were certainly good times, but I needed others "of my tribe." I couldn't define what the was, and I'm not sure I can even now, but I knew I wasn't meeting them there.

The biggest and best part of Murray was that I left it. In doing that I learned you can leave things that you don't like - even if there are scholarships involved and even if everyone else is doing it and even if people think you're crazy for it. The people who really matter - in this case my mom - will support you. They give you credit for knowing what's best for you - even when you're just a kid. In leaving I learned that following your whims and doing things that scare the bejeezes out of you can be very, very good for you.  Those two things have done well by me for many years now.

I guess, when you get around to it, I learned that lesson while sitting in that very dorm room watching a UK game on TV. That's when I decided I was going to UK. I ran down the hall to tell Helen, who was shocked but said she wanted to go too. And things just started happening for that to be possible. Helen only stayed in Lexington one year, but it was such an important year for me. I loved it at UK. She didn't. But that year gave us both time to learn and transistion.

Some of my great life lessons happened in that room. I just didn't recognize them for what they were at the time. I guess that's the benefit of poking around in old lives.

The Lone Ranger

Happy Fourth of July!

On this most American of holidays, I thought I'd share with you another very American product - The Lone Ranger.



I have to confess, The Lone Ranger was before my time. I never heard it. I never watched it. I never played it. But, I recognize it as a truly American creation. And, since I feel good about very little the US government is doing these days, I thought I'd celebrate the Fourth by sharing these with you. I will refrain from talking about Bush, since it is the Fourth, and  because my brother and sister in law, Jim and Mattie, and Mattie's brother James, and I had a lengthy discussion about the administration today so I kind of got it out of my system. What did I do on the Fourth of July? Counted the days until regime change - 565 in case you're wondering.

My brother, Jackie, picked these Lone Ranger puzzles up at a sale. Each box has four different puzzles in it - they are the kind where you try to get the little BBs into holes.  These were made back when we trusted people to actually parent, and when kids had some amount of common sense. So, they have real BBs in them and the casings are metal and the fronts are glass. The backs are cardboard, but since they were made for children who didn't do things like tear open their toys for amusement it wasn't an issue.  Today they'd be encased in some indestructible plastic that has a half life of a million years. When did we become so stupid and so lacking in common sense that we couldn't be trusted with toys? Obviously, not all children are this way, but we're doing all this for someone. These were probably also made before shampoo was labeled, "lather, rinse, repeat."

In these puzzles, The Lone Ranger is doing everything from protecting people as they pan for gold, to fighting mountain lions. Why don't we do cool stuff like pan for gold anymore? Or fight mountian lions. OK, really, I don't want to do either of those, but they sound far more interesting than sitting in an office all day talking on the phone. People used to pan for gold, now they write email. We've lost something major in that translation.



But, back to The Lone Ranger... geez... his talents seem to know no bounds. What a guy to have around. And look at him - that's a real man - you can tell. He can handle anything that comes up, including wild beasts.

I'm reminded of something Oprah said on her trip across country with Gayle - "There's something about a man who can handle a horse." They were watching some cowboys in Oklahoma work cattle at the time as I recall. All I can say in response is, "Amen, Sister."

Although I didn't see/hear The Lone Ranger, the fact that he is pictured on his faithful stead is reason enough for to me assume he falls into the category of  a man who can handle a horse. I believe that would be "Silver" with the four hooves.

One of my favorite things on these boxes is that you can see the price - 89 cents - written in pencil on each one. I don't think you can even get a pack of gum at the check out stand for 89 cents now.



I'd like to go live - just for a little while - in the world where you could get something cool for 89 cents, where you could give it to your kid without worrying they'd kill themselves with it, where The Lone Ranger rode about the countryside protecting damsels in distress, and where all men could handle a horse.

Eight Years

Miranda and Jacob are my great, great niece and nephew. Yes, I have an odd family tree - lets just sum it up by saying I was born late in my parent's lives, after they had already raised my brothers and my brothers were married with kids. If you think on it, you'll understand. I came into the world an aunt, was a great aunt by the time my teens hit and... well... you see the trend.

Miranda and Jacob have no idea who I am - they know I'm grandpa's sister, but other than that, I'm a mystery. There's no reason they should know who I am. The last time I saw them was in May of 1999. Jacob was in diapers. I've not seen either of them since they've been old enough to be forming memories.

When I realized it had been eight years that made me think about how long eight years is and how much can change in that amount of time.

Eight years ago I was still working in radio, and although I was thinking I'd like to do something else had no specific thoughts about what that might be, other than I was looking in to going to grad school. Ironically, I was considering getting my counseling degree. I now work in the mental health field. Life has a way of working out.

Eight years ago I had just returned from a trip to Egypt and would go to Central America that fall, although I didn't know that yet. On both of those trips I met people who have been instrumental in my life since. People who gave me reason to think differently, to ask different questions, to perceive myself differently. Each of those trips had specific moments where my world shifted. Dramatically. I remember getting on the plane in Nicaragua, thinking I'd never see some of these important people again, only to find them in my life again here and there - one in Nashville, one in Amsterdam, one in Seattle.

Eight years ago my mother was still living and doing well. I was someone's daughter. I was someone's priority in life. When you have parents, someone is concerned about you every moment of every day on some level, regardless of how old you are. The first time I went on a trip after my mother died I remember being in the airport and realizing I had no one to call to tell them I had landed safely. No one was worried about me. No one was thinking about if my plane had touched down. No one was waiting for the phone to ring. It was shocking to be no one's priority - I had known it intellectually, but the reality of it hit me like a ton of bricks. I cried like a baby in the car on the drive home. But, alas, this is the circle of life. It's not that no one cared about me at all, but I was not anyone's priority anymore. I'm still not used to it, but it's just the way it is. That's not something anyone in your world can fake. It just is as it is.

Eight years ago I was not a home owner. I was still living in an apartment where I had lived with a boyfriend who had broken up with me after we had lived together for a long time. It was for the best for both of us - he was just strong enough to do it - and eight years ago I was almost past the serious pain of it. Going to Egypt gave me a new lease on life in many ways. I'm a big believer in geographic therapy. But I hadn't even started to entertain the idea I could have a house.

Eight years ago I hadn't even met the man I would next fall in love with. In eight years we met, fell in love, had a passionate five years together and split. A lot can happen in eight years.

Eight years ago I didn't have a blog, I hadn't ridden a steam train, I didn't have creative sisterhood, I hadn't travelled Route 66, I wasn't involved with Chicks, I hadn't seen the Anne Frank house, I hadn't walked the streets of Brussels and I didn't yet know some of the people I now consider close friends. I lived in another neighborhood. I worried more. I sang less. I worked with different people. Oddly enough, I longed for much the same things I do now.

Eight years has been time enough for my heart to break and heal three times. I sometimes wonder how many times it can do that successfully, but it seems to be a champ at the process. I sometimes wish I were a person who didn't ask so much of it, but life seems very fleeting to me and I try to soak it up at a pace that means I live life at 110 mph all the time. You get a lot in that way - and life is a swirl of bright colors as they rush by. But when you hit the wall going 110 it really, really hurts. Really hurts. But I don't know any other way to be. Life for me is all about getting as much living in as possible and the only way I know to do it is by "running wide open" as my brother says.

Eight years ago I was in my thirties. Eight years from now I will be in my fifties. Those sound like very different things. I'm sure if I do this exercise then I'll have a new list of changes.

Eight years doesn't seem like a long time, but it's long enough for a kid to go from diapers to real conversation; and it's long enough for a life to change dramatically.

Dean of the Pretty Green Eyes

Once upon a time there was a boy named Dean...

OK, this isn't really a fairy tale. Dean was not a prince, and I was not a princess, but he taught me something important about myself, which I just realized yesterday. Considering it has been more than a couple of decades since I've seen Dean, it's amazing to make this connection.

When I was at the University of Kentucky, Dean was another telecommunications student. We had a lot of classes together and we did a lot of projects together. Radio and TV requires lots of team efforts - it's complex and there's limited equipment to go around - and we were part of a small group of students who often worked together.

Our group produced memorable works such as the radio drama, "Candy and her Professor" - in which Dean and I had the starring roles, complete with bow chicka bow bow music - (we were in the studio - get your mind out of the gutter). Don't ask. We were young. We thought we were funny. And we got A's - despite the fact that our actual professor "Long John" started playing it for his freshmen students without previewing it first. Long John (the professor's nickname - because he was very tall - and his name was John) was a cool guy and got the joke. Hence the A's.

This is all just background to get to the point - you knew I had one, right?

One night, Dean was at my apartment at 1261 Village Drive, and we were playing music. This was way back in the long ago days, children, when we had albums. Yes, those big vinyl disks with the colorful cardboard sleeves they fitted into.

Anyway, Dean was flipping through my albums and said, "Wow!"

I was in the kitchen getting us something to drink (No, just pop - not all college students stay drunk and high all the time) and came back into the living room and said, "What?"

"You've got some AC/DC... and April Wine... Pink Floyd and The Stones... and Billy Squirer..."

"Yeah?" I wasn't sure what the point was, but it was obvious there was one.

Dean laughed heartily - those pretty green eyes sparkled so nicely when he laughed - and said, "I never would have taken you for a girl who listens to something like 'Stroke me.'"

---OK--- So that was the pivotal moment, although I didn't catch on to it until yesterday, when I heard "Stroke me" on the radio, and this came flooding back to my brain. Billy Squirer isn't exactly Top 40 stuff, but I was flipping around and caught the song. And, you know what, it's still a catchy tune, so there you go.

When I heard it yesterday I realized Dean was pointing out something that would be a recurring theme in my life - people's perceptions of me are very different than the reality of who I am. People think I'm rather standoffish, maybe a bit of a prude, a little cold. In actuality, I'm none of these things. Honest. I have references. Really. I can be fun, really. Honest.

At a conference recently, someone I had exchanged business emails with, but not met before, was shocked to find I was very different than how he perceived me. As he put it so kindly, "I expected you to be a rather homely girl, quiet and stuffy... and you're not."

I decided to just take that as a compliment, although I guess there's a lot of room between not being "rather homely" and being anything resembling "pretty," and I guess not "stuffy" doesn't necessarily mean "fun." When I asked why he had this idea he said it was because of my interests. I don't even remember having this exchange but apparently I had mentioned liking art and he equated that with being homely, quiet and stuffy.

So... back to Dean... little known prophet in my life... Dean pinpointed it lo those many years ago when he was holding a Lynyrd Skynyrd album in his hands. I just didn't catch on to it. I think I've finally got it. Pity I don't know where Dean is so I could tell him. I just don't remember where he was from... too many years and too much rock and roll ago.

But I do remember Dean of the pretty green eyes.

How Your Garden Grows

I was looking through some of my digital pix tonight and found this one of the herb garden taken on June 3. Quite a change from how it is now that I posted a couple of days ago.




At some point things just go wild, and June in the time, obviously. I just posted that pic of the tomatoes and herbs a day or two ago so this really struck me when I ran across it. Hard to believe that's less than a month's time.

I grew up on a Kentucky farm, and we always had a big garden. I guess when you have a bunch of people to feed, you get pretty interested in a garden. My mom canned green beans and peas and tomatoes, and froze corn. We ate potatoes fresh from the garden and never thought a thing about it.

When I bought my house, one of the considerations was that I wanted enough land to have a little garden - nothing big - just a little garden. I adore fresh tomatoes and in the last couple of years have really loved having fresh herbs. It seems each year the garden gets a little larger. I don't think that's a bad thing at all, just curious.

Gardening used to be a necessity. Now it's more of a nicety. However, I've started to think of it as an esential. We are spoiled because we can go to the farmer's market, but not all of the things sold there are fresh out of the ground. We're fortunate because there's a large number of Amish and Mennonite farmers around here that still farm and bring their goods to the farmer's market. But there are also places that just buy the produce elsewhere and sell it at the farmer's market too. I can just go to the grocery store for that.

Thinking about gardening caused me to think about all the other things that are no longer essentials, but that we might all be better off if we did nonetheless. Think about how often you cook dinner compared to how often your grandmother did. I'm in the same category myself. I don't cook as much as my mother did, or as much as I would like to. But it's easy to go out to eat. It's social and it happens a lot.

We used to rest on Sunday. Even those who weren't religious rested on Sunday. Now we run like maniacs, trying to cram in more weekend time because we have no time during the week to take care of our lives. And, ironically, the people I know who are church goers seem busier and more frazzled on Sunday than those who don't go to church. I'm not sure when the "rest" part comes in - for any of us.

Why are we all running crazy all the time? There are still 24 hours in the day and people were working much harder 100 years ago than we are now. They found time for all kinds of things, so why can't we? We have dishwashers and laundry facilities and cooktops and yet we can't get it all done. They were hauling water and building fires and killing chickens.

There's something wrong. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but there's definitely something wrong.

Of course, I've always known about myself that I would have made a very good 1950s housewife - all except that answering to the husband part. Other than that I would have been excellent at it. Excellent, I tell you! I'm made to be a corporate wife or other such thing. I throw great parties, I'm a a good cook, I lunch with the best of them, I still write thank you notes - I would be so good at it in so many ways. I just am not willing to have no control over my life financially. It's too scary in a world where divorce rates are over 70% to let my future be determined by someone else. That has always been the problem.

I love the idea that one person in the couple is staying home to raise children these days, but I'm scared for everyone of them. If you're not being paid to stay home with your child, and can therefore save for your future - and that of your child's - in case of divorce, you have no financial standing. I know all about child support and alimony (a rarity these days), and I also know how much of it is owed. I just could not bring myself to be that trusting - especially not with a child's welfare at stake. Of course, no one ever thinks they'll get divorced. None of those 70% that did thought so either.

Well, I have meandered... no big surprise there... but I think I'll stop for the night...

Times Change

I have always loved old houses. I've always wanted to live in one. I've always wanted hardwood floors, and great woodwork and high ceilings.

I can remember telling someone once that when I bought a house I wanted hardwood floors. This was years ago and they looked at me like I was from another planet.

"You don't want carpet?!?"

"No! No carpet. Nasty stuff."

"Of course you want carpet. You just don't know..."

"Trust me, I know... it's nasty... put a rug down and walk on it for a week and it's filthy. Why do you think tacking it down on the edges so you can't clean it makes it get less dirty?"

"Oh, you want carpet... you'll see... you won't be happy without it..."

"No. I want hardwood."

Well, if like me you've been a long time lover of hardwood floors and other "old fashioned" ideas, are you not enjoying the fact that these same people who have sung the praises of carpet are pulling it out and slapping down plastic faux wood floors now? I can barely control my chuckles each time I hear that story. Yet again.

My sunporch downstairs didn't have hardwood - it was just subfloor. I was thinking about getting real wood to go in there - not plastic made to look like wood - but splurging for real wood. When I went shopping for it, every salesperson warned me not to - that if you could see old hardwood from the room with the new you'd never be happy with it. And these were people who stood to make some money from selling me the stuff.

They were in consensus so I put down slate tile instead. I'm very happy with it. It's a natural product - like the wood. And I think they're probably right. My old hardwood has a beautiful patina of age.

Everytime I walk on my hardwood floors that creak a bit here and there, and have imperfections after 100 years of use, I smile because I always knew they were the thing to have. The rest of the country is just catching up with those of us who have been in love with such things for a long time.

The Week

My intention had been to rest this week, but that hasn't really been possible. It seems I have been in constant motion and been trying to catch up from weeks of special event prep. Now I have a few weeks before my next event.

I am so exhausted I think the most exciting thing I'm going to do tonight is soak in a hot bubble bath. And I think I'll get started on that very shortly.

67 degrees

It's 67 degrees at noon in central Kansas on June 29, 2007. This is not normal. But, as we all know, our weather patterns are perfectly normal. The administration told us so. Is my sarcasm obvious?

Herb Garden and More

We have had a few wet days here. This morning about 7 I went outside to peek at the herb garden in the back. I say "herb" but I also have a few tomatoes, a cucumber and a couple of eggplants out there. I'm tickled to say I have some little green tomatoes.

I set up the watering system a day or two ago, so the timer had set it off and I was watering the bed as the air was so moist everything was already dripping. But, generally, it's very warm here this time of year so you need to water. In fact, we set a record today of the lowest high ever - it was 72 for the high today. I'm not complaining - at all - but it's weird.

Things have really started to grow in the last couple of weeks. I think it has to get warm and stay warm for awhile for a lot of plants. Apparently we've reached that time of year - today notwithstanding.



I'm tickled with my little herb garden. Everything is doing well. You can see here on the left the chives, sage, lemon balm and cilantro. The cinnamon basil is just slightly out of view on the left. On the right the sweet basil is out of view, too. I planted four plants, which I think is going to be a lot. I have two last year and was going for three this year but after the hail beat one of them to pieces I got an additional one. But that one recovered a bit so I've now got four. I should be able to keep everyone I know in basil.

I also have some lavendar, rosemary, oregano, thyme, tarragon, dill and two kinds of parsley growing. I am looking forward to homemade tomato basil soup this summer. I've also decided that next year I'm putting cilantro in the front flower bed. I've been picking it as a cut flower rather than anything else. In fact, I've been creating bouquets out of all kinds of herbs the last few weeks.

At the moment, my dining room table is graced with a bouquet of cilantro.



I love, love, love having fresh plants inside. I need to grow more blooming plants suitable for cutting. Although, something I learned at the artist's retreat last year is that different kinds of greenery can be really wonderful - even without blooms. And some herbs - like sage - hold up really well for a long time. I also need to plant more pinks, as they seem to be in continual bloom and last a long time after cut. This is the bouquet on the table across from my door.

Sexual Partners

A new study just released says the average American woman has sex with four different men, and the average American male has sex with seven women. These are obviously not people who were in college at the same time I was - after the pill and before AIDS. Four? In a lifetime? I knew women in college who went through four men in one weekend.

Maybe the potpourri of sexually transmitted diseases has slowed people significantly, although I haven't witnessed that myself. Of course, averages mean that some women have one partner and some have a dozen and some have none - so that averages out to about four.

I do know a few people who just have no sex life, and never have, as far as I can tell. I always thought they were the anomalies, but if the averages are four and seven, there must be a bunch of people having no partners to even out the numbers.

Long Day

It has been a very long day of one meeting after another. Sometimes I question the amount of volunteer things I'm involved in, but I believe we all have a responsibility to the communities in which we live. So, one of the things I do is serve on boards and do other volunteer work.

I have learned in the last year to not involve myself in any more projects that rely on other people to meet deadlines in order for me to get something done. You'd think I would have figured it out before now, but I guess I'm a little slow in this regard. I just know that I can end up holding the bag when something isn't done if I'm at the tail end of the process. It has been a good lesson.

For years I would volunteer to do projects that required skills I had but were not common - from graphic design to newsletters to webpages. I eventually caught on that this was a recipe for disaster more often than not. But, I'm still tempted sometimes to do it. I'm learning to resist.

A year or two ago, I was almost sucked in to doing  a lot of webpage design but I resisted. I don't even have time to redo my own website, which is in desperate need of a real design, so I don't need to be working on others. It's just not work I particularly enjoy - it's way too rote for me. And I've finally caught on that just because I can do it doesn't mean I should feel obligated to do it for someone. I offered suggestions, none if which were heeded, and I've been so thankful I did not commit to doing anything more than offer suggestions.

If only I could figure out what exactly I do want to do with my life... At least I'm weeding out things I don't want to do...

Stamps

So, there I was at a garage sale and there was a photo album filled with stamps. I'm not a stamp collector and don't know squat about stamps, except I use a lot of them because I'm a letter writer. But I thought - hey - I could just use these for postage. So, I bought it for $15. There were five sets of the state bird stamps worth twenty cents each so I figured I'd make my money back on those, much less anything else.

I brought it home and set it aside, figuring I'd check these things out on ebay and see if there was anything in there worth any real money. Well, two years later, I happened to notice the photo album on the shelf last night. So, I started the search.

It also occurred to me that I was assuming the stamps were still valid for use as postage. Thanks to the internet I now know that any stamp issued since 1861 is still valid for postage. Unfortunately, there's nothing that old in this collection so it's not a worry.

I really want is be the sort of person who can just slap a 30 year old Olympics stamp on a letter and send it out into the world without giving it another thought. But, I'm not that person. Instead I had to do a little research. Well, what I learned is that stamp is worth about 65 cents - not exactly a gold mine, but an appreciation. Of course, I don't know anyone who wants to give me 65 cents for it so what does it matter.

But, I still don't know what to do with them. The bird stamps - those I'm using - they're not even worth their face value anymore so they're worth more as postage than as collectibles. The rest I think I'll see if I can sell as a group to someone who's in the business of selling them to collectors.

I was charmed by the "airmail" stamps. That's certainly a nod to a different time since all mail is "airmail" these days. There are old Christmas stamps and Vietnam remembrance stamps and other goodies. They're quite attractive in their own way. But I just don't have the temperament to be a stamp collector.

A Personal Note

Opening the mail box to find something other than a credit card bill or yet another offer for a credit card or a catalog where you can use your credit card, is such a delight.

In the past week I've received three lovely thank you notes regarding Martha's Shower on the 16th. The first to arrive was Betsie's - she must have written it as soon as she arrived home. It was one of the nicest notes I've ever gotten - perfectly lovely. Betsie is someone I've always wanted to get to know better. She was a dancer in New York before moving to Hutchinson with her husband. She teaches dance and mounts some extraordinary performances, including The Prairie Nutcracker, which included a part written specifically for Martha. I've always thought that was such an amazing honor - to have a part written for you.

I remember reading once that Princess Diana used to address and stamp the envelope and leave it with the note paper out on her writing desk before going to an event, so when she arrived home she would write the thank you note promptly. I thought that such a lovely idea. When I'm leading a life where I'm invited to places on such a regular basis I need to do that, I'll keep it in mind. I wondered if maybe Betsie had read the same thing because her note arrived so promptly.

A day or two later I got Julie's note and it, too, was wonderful. It arrived on a Mary Englebreit card. She remembers that I love "Home Companion," Englebreit's magazine. There's something charming about getting a hand written note from someone you see on a somewhat regular basis anyway. There's a unique beauty in that, alone, not to mention the extra care that went into choosing a card.

A day or so after that I got a note from Martha, who no doubt was busy writing many notes for her gifts. Martha has a terrific command of the language and her thank you note was a work of art in its own way. I believe she was touched by the way the women who gathered here that day honored her in different ways.

I believe that's something we all crave, but so rarely get - to be honored by those important to us. It's why celebrations are essential to the human experience - be they bridal showers or birthday parties. Everyone deserves to be the center of attention at times. And I believe we need it. Why, then, do we so rarely give that to each other?

It's Done

The garden tour, that has consumed practically every waking moment for weeks, is over for this year. It went well and after spending tomorrow doing some detail work on it I can rest.

I am not doing anything tomorrow that doesn't HAVE to be done. In fact, that is pretty much my plan for the whole week. I was at a health fair yesterday. Today I was at the office or otherwise working on the garden tour for about 10 hours straight. I need to do something different now.

I would love to get in the car and just drive somewhere and be in a different place - some place I've not seen before, some place I've not visited, some place I've never even thought about going. But, alas, I have an eye doctor's appointment tomorrow, Creative Sisterhood on Tuesday, an important board meeting on Wednesday - you see the trend.

But at least I can rest a bit and focus on some of my "real life" as opposed to my work life. I lead a life that needs some attention regularly and it suffers when work is consuming so much energy.

101 Things About Me, repeat

A couple of years ago, this was going around on the net, and I couldn't resist doing it. Tonight I saw it on someone else's blog and looked up mine to see if it was still accurate. It all is - except the age things, of course, since this was first posted Saturday, May 21, 2005. I thought it might be fun to have a reread. No. 101 is especially true these days.

101 Things

Well... this idea has been going around the net for who knows how long... and I've resisted the urge... but after reading Kether's list yesterday at http://101kether.blogspot.com/, I'm going to do it too. I know... makes me look like a copy cat... but I'm gonna do it anyway.

1. I love old houses.
2. I came into this world knowing that time is not linear.
3. I am an incredibly loyal friend.
4. I "tell it like it is." Don't ask me a question if you don't want the answer.
5. I am the question person among my friends - always have a question.
6. I am happy most of the time.
7. I agree with my great grandmother Maranda Rose, who was gone long before I came along, who always ate dessert first because she said, "I might die and some other son of a bitch would get to eat it." It's a general philosophy of life - enjoy it. Now.
8. I have a trail of failed relationships behind me. I'm not very good at them, even though I try really hard.
9. I can sing.
10. I love to travel - nothing gets the heart pounding like a little jaunt into the developing world.
11. I wash my hands dozens of times a day - I've got a "germ thing."
12. I *rarely* get sick. (Reference #11)
13. I'm brand loyal to very few things - Wisk, Heinz ketchup, Colgate winterfresh gel toothpaste, Tampax tampons, Jif peanut butter.
14. I HATE to clothes shop. Good grief, could there be anything more mind numbingly dull?
15. I hate carpet - nasty stuff. If you put a rug down and walk on it, it's filthy in a few days. Why do you think gluing the rug down prevents it from getting dirty?
16. I suck at trivial pursuit.
17. I have a *major* case of ADD and consider it a blessing.
18. I don't like to go to the movies. I'm a prisoner in a theatre.
19. Freedom is the one thing I've never had enough of.
20. I was on my fourth career before I turned 40.
21. I write cookbook reviews.
22. I used to do radio.
23. I used to do TV.
24. I used to write for a newspaper.
25. I have written a novel. It's not great, but at least I strung together 100,000 words and they make some sense.
26. I've been keeping a journal since I was in grade school.
27. People tell me I don't look my age - 43. I certainly don't feel my age.
28. I've been involved with men much older and much younger.
29. I think people spend far too much time thinking about what they SHOULD do instead of just doing what they WANT to do.
30. One of the most meaningful songs to me is Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee" because of the line, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." Because it's true.
31. I love Maya Angelou.
32. I know what it's like to be facing someone older and stronger than you, thinking they are going to kill you. (He didn't, obviously. He probably regretted it.)
33. I have two brothers that were married with children before I was born.
34. I have laminates on eight of my teeth. I got them when it was a very new procedure. Love them.
35. I have been fat all my life. It's part of who I am. Take me or leave me.
36. I miss my Mama. She's been gone for 4 years now.
37. One of the people in this world I know I can always count on is my ex bf, who remains one of my best friends on the planet. He always will be. We just don't make a good couple.
38. I'm a pack rat.
39. I love "Morning Edition" and "All Things Considered" on NPR.
40. I collect rocks.
41. I am an artist.
42. I am a writer.
43. I cannot remember details of shows, books, etc.
44. I treasure my friends.
45. I adore my family - none of that "oh, I don't get along with fill-in-the-blank" foolishness.
46. My great nephew, BC, is one of my favorite people on the planet.
47. My sister in law, Mary Ann, has always been a second mom to me. She is the ROCK of the family. Don't know what families do that don't have a Mary Ann. We are blessed.
48. I know that the dimensions we perceive in this world are very limited. And we limit ourselves by not looking beyond them.
49. I adore having an art studio in my house.
50. I could create on the computer for hours and hours.
51. I'm a good cook. Very good cook. I love to bake.
52. I love lipfinity lipstick.
53. I believe that journalism is a noble profession.
54. I used to be a journalist.
55. I have compiled and edited cookbooks.
56. I have designed billboards, bus ads, posters, programs, ads and dozens of other things.
57. I have voiced national radio ads.
58. I like genealogy.
59. I took a quilting class. I like to choose the fabric. The sewing isn't my favorite thing.
60. I love to dye things like freezer paper.
61. I learned to sew by making Barbie Doll clothes.
62. I am redoing an old house.
63. People think I'm weird. They might be right.
64. I'm definitive.
65. Decision making is pretty easy for me.
66. I'm convinced it's pretty obvious what's right and what's wrong. People just like to pretend otherwise so they don't have to take responsibility.
67. I have "Patsy's Rules for Living" that keep me centered.
68. The confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers at Cairo, Illinois is an important place for me.
69. I was born and raised in Kentucky.
70. I graduated from the U. of Kentucky - Go Wildcats - with degrees in Journalism and Telecommunications. I work in the Mental Health field now. Nothing like using that education.
71. I love Mary Englebreit's Home Companion but still miss Victoria.
72. I went to Egypt by myself.
73. I've hiked in the Guatemalan jungle.
74. I love Paris.
75. I am not afraid of death. Never have been. I'd rather live fully and have fewer days, than live a long time and be afraid.
76. I get a lot of things done every day.
77. I don't sleep much. Six hours is plenty for me. I can do with much less.
78. I've never bought a new piece of furniture.
79. I grew up on a tobacco farm. I hope I never have to raise tobacco again but I can if I have to.
80. I have never smoked anything - including tobacco.
81. I don't drink. It all tastes bad to me - beer, wine, whatever. Very occasionally I have a margarita with Mexican food but don't get the thrill of getting shit faced. There's a season for everything in life and by the time you're old enough to do that legally, that season should be wrapping up.
82. I don't do drugs.
83. I own a discussion group.
84. I think our lack of connection with one another will be part of our undoing.
85. I can read people. Have always been able to. But I don't do it without permission.
86. I know when people are feeding me a line of bullshit. I can't figure out why others don't see it. It's incredibly obvious to me.
87. I have been criticized for being smart, efficient, getting a lot done and not needing supervision.
88. I have a "genius" IQ. Pity I think IQ tests are bogus.
89. I am incredibly annoyed by stupid people.
90. I laugh every day. Heartily. Multiple times a day.
91. I write every day.
92. I meditate every day.
93. I pray every day.
94. I do not believe in war.
95. Clinton is the only president I've ever voted for who got into the white house. And I've voted in every election since I've been old enough.
96. I love cats but don't have any.
97. I am not a huge fan of music. I sing along with the radio. That's about it.
98. I love old costume jewelry pins.
99. I treasure the family things I have - quilts, trinkets, furniture - my mom's dining room table where almost everyone I've ever loved has gathered at one point or another.
100. I have been kissed while standing on the banks of the Nile.
101. I think I'm a very dull person.
102. I hate to be confined in any fashion - including 101 things about me.

Writing Desk

This is where I spend many of my early mornings and late nights - at my writing desk in the downstairs sunporch.

In the last few weeks I've watched flooding, passersby and sunrise out those windows. It truly is a window on the world - at least my little tiny bit of it. I'm often accompanied by a cup of tea while I observe the world and its inhabitants.

I also get far more writing done by having a place devoted to that pursuit. And when I say writing I mean journaling and letter writing. This is a spot devoted solely to writing with pen on paper - not by computer. The writing one does on paper is different than that done by keyboard. Those functions use different parts of the brain.

If you don't have a specific place for doing whatever you value, I urge you to create one. The things that nurture your soul are deserving of a place to engage in them.

Third Person

I have been so busy the last few weeks that I haven't been writing here the normal amount. Generally I share my days but other than some instances, which I've noted, my daily life has not been particularly interesting lately. I've been working - morning, noon and night - on the garden tour.

It's set for 2-6 on Sunday and at this point there's not much more I can do to make it successful. I've done about all I can do. We've got some great gardens and the weather is supposed to be nice so hopefully it will go well.

Saturday I am working a health fair all day - not exactly what I would like to do the day before a garden tour, but that's just the way it worked out. Today a huge garden tour project got done in about half the time I expected, so that was a bonus.

I've got volunteers tomorrow afternoon to do the ticket books and I'll be so glad to have it done. I need to rest a bit. Monday I rest. Monday. Monday. Monday.

All work and no play makes Patsy a very dull girl. And Patsy doesn't like herself much like that. Oh my gosh, I've started talking about myself in the third person like Bob Dole. I must break that habit quickly.

1982

I have been moving some of my "personal papers" upstairs. Of course, I can rarely keep from sneaking a peek at the notebooks where I have stored letters, and copies of letters I've written, and cards. I have years where they're very organized and years of them that I need to do. That's what's in all those boxes of "personal papers" upstairs.

Tonight the notebook I pulled down is from 1982. Was that really 25 years ago? Amazingly enough, it was. The first page I opened to was a letter from my mother that was postmarked June 3, so almost exactly 25 years ago.



I wrote Mama regularly at times, and talked to her often. She also wrote me often, even though she would have said she hated to write. Then we would go through periods where we didn't write often, but talked more. Over the years it varied, but I'm so glad we did exchange letters.

The letters are filled with the minutia of daily living - nothing overly exciting in and of itself, but a chronicle of lives nonetheless.That's why I have always kept letters from everyone.



Mama did not like to write much and wrote quickly, without much regard for spelling or grammar. But I always loved getting a letter from her. This letter was not from that envelope, but from the same time period.

This was before I was keeping copies of the letters I wrote, unfortunately, but there are many letters from mama and from friends in this notebook. Some friends are still in my world - Evelyn's program for her senior recital is in this notebook. Others are no longer in my life, but none of the people represented in this book are ones I wouldn't love to hear from at any moment.

There are some people represented here that I long to connect with again.

Some notes are what you'd expect from a fellow college student...



Also a letter from a favorite professor who had moved on to another college...



There were letters from a friend I dearly miss - who I long to connect with again. I hope one day she will show up in my life again.



It has been interesting, peeking back at my own life as if it was someone else living it. Those were days of difficulty in many ways, and yet I was on the verge of something amazing that I didn't even know was around the corner. I guess that's how life always is in retrospect.