Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Spring Break II

Well, spring break is here, and I'm living large. Drugs and drinking and wet T-shirts. Yep. I have a cold so I'm popping Zicam and drinking lots of fluids, and I'm trying to catch up on the laundry.


Apparently, in New York City, there is a restaurant called S'mac (pronounced as 'smack'). It serves nothing but macaroni and cheese, and according to Dylan is the best macaroni and cheese he has ever eaten in his life. (Way to hurt my little feelings...) They have bacon and ham and all sorts of things added, all sorts of different combinations of that old home favorite, macaroni and cheese. Anyhow, on one of Cara's trips east, she and Dylan and a carload of friends went into New York City for the day. They went sightseeing, and they went shopping, and they ate at S'mac. Even brought a styrofoam carton of the stuff home.

After a full day, they caught the subway, hopped on a bus, which transported them to Dylan's Jeep. Everyone settled in for the trip back home, and Cara dozed off in the front seat. Before long, Dylan got pulled over for speeding. The police officer inquired, "Where are you coming from?" and Dylan said, "We went to New York City." The police officer inquired, "What were you doing in New York City." Dylan said, "Well, we spent the day sightseeing and shopping and stuff." And at about that point, Cara woke up. In a half awake voice, she said brightly, "And we had S'mac!" The shocked cop said, "Did she say what I thought she said?"

We all about fell on the floor laughing. Cara said, sheepishly, "I did not know smack was a name for drugs." Dylan said, "That is why Cara is no longer allowed to speak when I am in the presence of law enforcement."

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Spring Break!

I had a math test last night. I had a psych test this morning. It's been a busy time, working, trying to get ready for a wedding, a houseful of company - I did not have a lot of time to study, but I did well, I think. Unless I did something really stupid. That can happen. Anyway, right after psych class (blessedly low key - no history lessons), I organized myself. I had no homework to do. No tests to study for. I can't walk the track. I've done something to myself, for sure. Still gimping pretty bad. The pain is more of a dull and constant pain, not the agonizing thing it was the night my hip popped. It's not in the joint. It's in front. You know the hip bone, the part of the hip structure that sticks out on each side? Right there. Left hip bone. Strange place for damage. I was dancing and in pain, but having such a fine time...and then suddenly, *pop*. I hobbled off the dance floor. Anyway, so I didn't dare walk at the gym today. Just the brisk walk to class this morning (no more than five minutes) had me hobbling. So I went down to the library. Today I sat down with a textbook on the Civil War, and I read for pleasure. It's been a long time since I read anything just for the fun of it. And after I read for an hour, I roamed through the library. They had an audio section. I got a audio book of Garrison Keillor reading "Wobegon Boy". I am home now. I had a salad, and I'm going to curl up on the couch and listen to Mr. Keillor's lovely voice and let myself be whisked away to another place. I am going to read the newspaper. I might even take a little nap. Spring Break has begun!

Monday, March 29, 2010

Bull Shit;_ylt=AvYMRozgP3c294x5bsQldXdbbBAF;_ylu=X3oDMTM4MTlsMGFrBGFzc2V0A2FwLzIwMTAwMzI5L3VzX2Z1bmVyYWxfcHJvdGVzdHMEY2NvZGUDbW9zdHBvcHVsYXIEY3BvcwM1BHBvcwM1BHNlYwN5bl90b3Bfc3RvcmllcwRzbGsDbWFyaW5lc2RhZG9y

Pictures, BB.

From left to right, Ian, Cara, and Dylan before the wedding.
Brianna and Tim

Brianna and I, both bawling.

Cara and Ian busting a move on the dance floor.

Brianna and Buddy.

Cara brought home Ian for the weekend. He's a funny boy, fit right in. Seemed not to be bothered by the fact that his girlfriend dropped him off in the middle of her family and got up early the next morning to head off to the spa before the wedding. Left him with a houseful of strangers. At the reception, I was blabbing away to Danny and Mary. My brother in law was at the table, and my nephew and his wife and their baby. When Ian walked in with Cara, Danny's eyebrows went up a little. "Hey," he said. "Doesn't he look like Harry Potter?" I squinted a little and said, "You know I thought he looked familiar. But listen, I want you to be nice to him. Don't go magic markering a little lightning bolt on his forehead or anything." Danny said, "No. Of course not. Unless he falls asleep." "Thanks, Danny. You're the best!"

And the reception went on. The food was good, and the champagne flowed, and there was lots of coffee and lots of talking. Babies to be dandled. Ultrasound pictures to be marveled over. Lots of laughter, and dancing and light spirits. And for all my worry, I was gracious. It wasn't even hard to be. It just seemed as if I was seeing things clearly. My exhusband and came and it was hard for him to be there. People were staring and he was ashamed. He could have chosen to stay away, made an excuse, but he did not. His daughter had invited him to the wedding, and he came because she had asked. I guess that I am sympathetic by nature. I saw how it was for him, and was able to be kind. He was more than civil, and so was I, and just knowing we could be like that was an eye opener for me. And my own family was just as they always are. They sat at at table in the corner glowering. Watching. Criticizing. At one point, Cara, the irrepressible, said, 'Smile!' and pushed up the corners of her uncle's mouth. And he growled, "There isn't anything to smile about." Foolish people, missing it all. They'll be as they are whether I'm anywhere around them or not. But everyone else? We were busy eating and drinking and making merry, and doing a fine job of it. I've got nieces and nephews who are really good people, and we celebrated this day. It was definately a night to remember.

Anyways, after the reception, Tim and I headed home. We were both partied out, and I was the tinsiest bit tipsy. At that point, I could only manage the stairs one painful step at a time, but I got there. Once in bed, I tossed and turned. Man, I was a hurting unit. The loud music and flashing lights, and all the laughing kept me smiling in the dark. I thought of the mother/bride dance. I never knew that such things were done, but Brianna chose Carrie Underwood's "Don't Forget to Remember Me" and we danced as the tears flowed. It's been an awkward trip for the two of us. We've stumbled along. I love her dearly. I know that she loves me. And now Buddy and she love each other. You can only wish them the best, and love them your best, and step back and watch them dance off in their own direction.
Finally, I got up to take some aspirin for my poor aching hip. In the livingroom, in the dark, Ian, Cara and Dylan sat watching The Lion King. "Sit down with us," Cara cried. And so I did. I thought that I was quite laughed out, but you know, I was wrong. We all sat together in the dim livingroom, and we reminisced about when they were all young, and we laughed some more.
For the entire day, we were caught up in life, swept along, celebrating a union, dandling babies, marveling at the children and how they've grown. Old friends laughed together as we watched young friends busting moves on the dance floor. Life swirled around us in a joyous flood, and later, in the dim living room, for a time, life even flowed backward. And it was all good.
More pictures later, but I've got a Psychology book calling my name.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

It's All Good

Golly. It was a fun time. I had too much wine. Most hysterically, up on the dance floor singing and dancing to "Everybody Wants You" (I decided that Billy Squier is very underrated...especially when you've had three champagnes and three red wines.) Anyhow, I was dancing with my peeps, and there was an audible pop in my hip. Audible, I tell you. I sat down and now I can hardly walk. Holy cats. Thank goodness I'm so well medicated. And did I tell you that really, I've got the best husband in the world? I do. And what a nice celebration. I worried so much, but really, it is done. They are in love. They'll take it from here. Dang. I am really drunk. And did I tell you, I really hurt myself? And further more, for all the craziness in my generation, the nieces and the nephews and my kids...they are really good people. Really. Don't know how that happened.

I'm drunk, I think. And I hurt myself. But man. It was a fun night.

And now I got the hiccups.

How funny is that?

Friday, March 26, 2010

Snippets from a Wedding

Brianna looks so very happy. It is good to see that. At rehearsal tonight, when they read their vows to one another, it was hard not to get teary. Dylan got in while we were at the church for the rehearsal. I didn't recognize him at first. He shaved his head. Dylan is reading 1 Corinthians 13. After he did his part, I saw he and Cara nose to nose. I saw her pointing at him. She looked pretty intense. Thinking to nip the squabble in the bud, I headed over and put an arm around the two of them. "What's going on?" Cara grinned big. "I was telling Dylan that if God smites him while he's reading, that he needs to stop, drop, and roll." Turning back to Dylan, she said it again. "Remember Dylan: Stop. Drop. Roll." I rolled my eyes and left the two of them to their own. Ian, Cara's boyfriend, is here. He seems like a nice fellow. A librarian. He is very smart, and kind of shy. I told him, "It's okay. Don't worry. The last boyfriend? He deserved killin' " in my very best redneck voice. Tomorrow, the girls are all going to the spa. I will try to duck in for coffee at some point. I'm just not much of a spa girl, not really. Plus I don't have the time. I've got to iron Tim's shirt, and also, well, we have to figure out how to tie a tie. Tim has never worn one before. Lots of stuff going on, tomorrow. A big day for our family. My ex is here with his father. For all my worrying about things, all I really felt was sorry for him, a little. It must be awkward. His wife didn't come. Tim was to walk Brianna down the aisle. Then she decided to change it at the last minute to Tim and I. When it comes to the part about 'who offers this woman?', I found myself talking to Brianna. "What about if we all replied to that? Tim, me, your dad?" I said. That would make your father part of things too." And somehow, very quickly, it changed once more. She decided that all three of us are walking her down the aisle. The church has a huge center aisle that accomodates us all. And later, when we were all sitting down, I looked across my husband to my exhusband. He was overcome with emotion. You know. I worried so much about this, but it was okay. It felt like something had been laid to rest. I don't know how to explain it any better than that. It's just as if the past is the past. If Brianna can have him here, well, I can be gracious. It did not feel forced or awful. I think God must be at work.

Friday Weigh In

I stepped on the scales this morning and was gratified to see that I lost two pounds this week, making it 14 lbs I've lost this year. If everything continues on the way that it has been, next week, I'll be halfway to my goal. That's exciting!

I've been wondering what it is about this diet that 'works'. Like most people, I've been on a diet before. Lose a few pounds, lose interest. I don't know. I know the motivation is different this time. Visualizing fat cells making their tiny amounts of estrogen, and picturing hungry little cancer cells waiting for that to happen. Yeah. That's some powerful motivation. (If I have my druthers, I want to die in my sleep. When I'm ninety-one. After I've had my coveted 50th anniversary party.) Part of it is knowing that I have to own up that weight loss (or lack thereof) to you. That's a biggy too, which actually halted many a chocolate craving. 'Just this once,' my inner demons say. And the other side of me says, 'How will you feel Friday if you have to post a weight gain?' Yeah. So maybe I'm losing weight because I'd be embarrassed to death not to. In any case, thanks everybody. Please hang around for the last 16 lbs. You all are doing great.

It snowed last night. The ground is covered. Bleh!

I tossed and turned a lot last night. You know, I wonder about me sometimes. Really, I cannot tell you what it is within me that makes it impossible for me to sit still when, fr'instance, something like yesterday's discussion unfolds. I mean, I accept the fact that this teacher and I have two opposite personalities. I understand that. So that's not a big deal. Most people are different. I can listen to different opinions. It doesn't bother me that people think differently. Generally speaking, I offer up my own opinions. I am not stupid. I realize that some people are perfectly okay with that, giving me the same respect that I have given them. Other people don't want to hear my opinion, and wander off. That's okay too. I know that this teacher does not give a rat's ass about my opinions. I understand this is a classroom setting. I go in there with the mindset that I will simply learn what is to be learned, and ignore the personal dynamics. Yesterday, I couldn't. After thinking about it, I realized that I left that classroom because I couldn't bear to hear it anymore. "They could have gone to the surrounding villages and got help." (No. They couldn't. The Jews had been scapegoated by a very well orchestrated government propaganda program. The government was actively working against them, hunting them down, imprisoning them. People, on the whole, were afraid. There were a lot of people doing bad things, but there were also even more people who were afraid to do anything at all, for fear that something would happen to them. To their families.) She earnestly explained that we did not understand how small Europe really was, that their countries were comparable in size to our states. The Jews could have went to foreign countries and gotten help. (Yes. Because all those neighboring countries were just itching for a chance to have a go at the Fuhrer. 'Give us an excuse,' they were saying. 'Any excuse at all.') At that point, I quit talking. No sense in it. She certainly wasn't listening. I was not alone in my outrage. Students were looking at each other incredulously. Hands were shooting up all over. What infuriated me was that with every 'but', her response was "well, if they had escaped before they were starved, they could have done something" or "come now, do you really believe that the Nazi record keeping was that good?" Joe's retort came fast on that. "The Nazis were known for their meticulous record keeping." Indeed they were. And it was those very records that enabled us to resurrect millions of ghosts. Why could I not sit there and debate this with her as everyone else did? Why am I like this? Why did I need to collect my things and leave the room? I did not lose my cool then, although, shamefully, I did drop the 'f' bomb in the department head's office just a few minutes later. Why is that? Why do I get so emotional?

Laying in bed last night, I figured it out. I don't trust myself during times of high emotion. Simply put, if I had stayed, if she had continued, it may have gotten to the point where it would have burst out of me. I would have said something rude. As it was, I maintained my cool. I left, speaking my objections clearly. (This is the most offensive thing I've ever heard. You are judging the victims). Last night, in bed, I came to realize this part of myself. I avoid situations where my emotions run high, (Like wedding receptions?) because I don't want to get so emotional that I say something unfortunate. That was interesting. Now. How do you fix something like that? Or is simply leaving a reasonable defense mechanism? Just curious what you think.

Thursday, March 25, 2010


Today in psychology, the teacher began to speak on 'learned helplessness'. It was learned helplessness that, in her mind, kept the Jews in concentration camps. 'After all,' she pointed out, 'they vastly outnumbered their guards.' Shocked silence. A girl up front pointed out that the guards were armed. The teacher pointed out that the Jews could have fought the guards, and even though some of them would have died, others would have lived. I pointed out that families had been separated, mothers from their children, fathers from their wives. How could a father escape, for example and leave his wife and children behind? How could a mother abandon her children? The teacher said "If they had left, they could have gotten help." Rising incredulousness. I responded that it was the same people in those same towns that had rounded them up and sent them there. "Not everyone was against them," she replied. Someone else responded, "How would they have known who to trust?" She pointed out that the countries of Europe are as small as our states. She's been there. The Jews could have gone to neighboring countries to get help. At that point, I simply stopped talking. The stupid woman had no idea. She had no idea what she was talking about. Other people continued to debate. She continued to insist that the Jews could have saved themselves, but chose to do nothing. Starvation, illness, brutality, nothing would sway herself from the view that the Jews had a choice, that they could have done something.

She talked on and on, discounting everything anyone said, I began to gather my things. I walked out of the classroom. As I reached the door, she said, "Are you leaving us?" "Yes," I said. "This is the most offensive conversation I have ever heard. You are blaming the victims."

As I explained to the department head later, this is the sort of conversation that you hear from a skin head, or a Nazi. This is not the sort of conversation I expect to hear from a college professor. To her credit, the department head was nearly as shocked as I was.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010


Off and running. I've got a couple appointments this morning, and then I'm back home. I've got a couple tests to study for next week, and then my last class is Tuesday. I have 13 days off. I'll be working, but I'll have a break from school. I love school, but it is challenging, and throw all the wedding details in, along with work and school, well, I'm just a bit overwhelmed.

The wedding is Saturday. I love my daughter, and she and Buddy seem to love each other very much. That alone can overcome a lot in life. I pray for them, because I know marriage is tough stuff.

For some reason, it is important to Brianna that my exhusband be there. I would not dream of talking to her about it. It is her day, after all. I've thought as little as possible about those times, but after determinedly not thinking about it for 13 years, I've had to acknowledge that there is still a lot of pain there. What do you say to the man who molested your child? Threw your marriage in the crapper at the same time? That decision changed everyone's life. Not just my girl's life, but mine too, and the other kids'. His own too. He went to prison for it. His present wife opted not to come. She was the one that sent the hateful anonymous (and handwritten) letter at the beginning of the year. When I said that I was turning the whole thing over to the police and giving them their address, she did confess. Lots of tears. She asked to be forgiven, and then seemed to believe that we would become bestest, bestest friends. I'm kind of stymied by that. I mean I don't have a lot in common with her. What do you say to a woman who 'wants to throw you on the ground and tweeze those awful eyebrows' each and every time she sees you? Um...don't? Please? I'll also be navigating the minefield of my own family, knowing full well that everything I do and everything I say will be picked apart and criticized later. (I can hear it now..."That's where you're wrong, Debby...")

We've been talking about forgiveness in Sunday School class. It was nice to have the chance to be a part of that discussion. What is forgiveness? I've got critics that will tell you that I'm unforgiving. I don't know. My take on it is that I've tried very hard to divest myself of any anger towards anyone. Is that forgiveness? I don't bear any ill will, but I also don't care to spend a lot of time shaping myself to fit into their 'box'. I am what I am. They are what they are. I accept the differences, and I have determined that I differ so radically from some folks in my life that, really, it makes no sense to struggle to continue the relationship. It's not unforgiveness. It's just common sense. Maybe it's just plain survival. I don't know.

In any case, as I struggle through these next few days, there will be joy. There will be tears. There will be my own private strugglings with my own private emotions. I have determined that I will be gracious, and that I will be a class act, no matter what. No matter what. This is my daughter's wedding day and there is nothing more important than that.

The thing that I am most grateful for in the midst of all of this craziness is this one thing: that I have friends, close friends, Godly friends. I can confide my innermost un-Christian fears and thoughts, and the one thing that I know for sure is that I will receive good, reliable counsel. They listen, and they pray, and they get back to me. My oldest and dearest friend Mary will be at the reception. She knows my 'innermost workings', as the saying goes. If she sees my grace drooping, she will haul me off to the lady's room for an adjustment. The picture that comes to mind makes me smile. Brianna and Buddy will be married, and we will celebrate, just like any other family. I'll get through this day, and I will do it with grace. God's grace. Heaping helpings of it doled out by dear, dear friends. How blessed I am!

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

A Post About Nothing

Yesterday, I headed up to Sugar Grove to borrow a dress from Mary, the navy blue one that she wore to her son Luke's wedding. It fit, and so that problem is solved, although I found a yellow dress in my own closet that I had purchased sometime back because it was on sale, and it was nice. Now I'm torn. (Torn, I tell you!) But the thing that shames me still is that it never occurred to me that the ivory dress might be inappropriate. It just never even entered my mind. I went there with one thought: to find a dress that complemented Nancy's, and singlemindedly thought no farther than that. *sigh* I'm so glad somebody said something or I would have been embarrassed for the rest of my life every time that I saw a wedding picture.

Enough about weddings, for the moment, anyway.

Coming home, traveling through Priest Hollow and up over Cole Hill, a redwing blackbird flew across the road in front of me. Another sign of spring. Yet another sign of spring, and I was glad. The grackles returned, and then the robins, and now the redwing blackbirds.

Last night, walking across the parking lot to my car after math class, I heard...peepers. Spring peepers (be sure to play the sound). I stopped dead in my tracks. "Listen!" I said to Angel. In unison, we both said, "Peepers!" and in the dark, we both sighed in contentment. Do you have spring peepers where you live? I cannot imagine spring without the sound of them.

When Tim and I went to bed last night, we talked for a while in the dark. It's a rough time here. Lots of uncertainty. He hasn't found a job. I've only got a part time one. We take turns reassuring each other that everything is going to work out okay. Last week, I was reassuring him. Last night, he was reassuring me. I wonder sometimes how people survive these times when they don't have someone to turn to when their own courage fails them. Anyways, a flash from the window caught my eye. Last night, we watched the lightning in the night. I fell asleep before I ever heard thunder, but it was the first lightning I've seen this year. Yet another sign that the season is changing.

I welcome the change!

Monday, March 22, 2010


Okay. I purchased an ivory lace sheathe, very simple, with hints of gold, to wear to Brianna's wedding. It was actually Brianna who suggested ivory as a possible color to complement the pink sheathe dress that Buddy's mother is wearing. Tim's mother is making an alteration for me. She looked rather shocked and said that it looked like a wedding dress. Now I'm worried. Taking a poll. Is ivory an inappropriate color for the mother of the bride to wear at a wedding? I got it at the Goodwill for $4.99, so it will not break the bank to not wear it. WHAT DO I DO? Tell me before I buy shoes. And now Bob has pointed out that I'll need a purse too.

Gadzooks, but this is nerve wracking.

Thanks Kelly!

This made me laugh! Thanks, Kelly.


You know, I am taking an English Composition I class because my writing skills were determined to be not up to par on my college entrance exam. That surprised me in a way, but didn't surprise me in another way. I mean, I'm so used to people telling me that I am a good writer that I kind of assumed I'd do okay on that portion, and be able to begin with the English Comp II which is one of the core requirements to graduate. English Comp I is not a requirement. I pay extra for that, and have to take the other required English courses on top of it. So yeah, I was a little surprised. But there is also a part of me that believes that I'm not really a good writer, and that people are actually just being polite. That part of me was not surprised at all to find myself in an English Comp I class.

The teacher is very nice. He teaches a very dry subject, but it is one that he loves. He loves the written word. He likes putting the words together, just like I do. I mean, this man knows about writing. He knows the good stuff. He knows crap. He gets paid to grade things, so I was curious to find out what kind of grades I would get on my own writing. I was pretty sure that he would not hand out As just to be polite. Well. I'm getting good grades and very nice comments. When he read my column in the paper, he was delighted to realize that he knew the writer. On the last paper, he noted that I present him with a real dilemma. He's never had a student like me in his class before, and he's not sure whether he should "try to rein me in or just let me run." In the end, he decided to let me run. He was afraid that he got in my way he would be trampled. I was a little surprised to read his kind words.

That little column has opened an amazing amount of doors for me. Really. In the three years that I have been writing it, I've made new friends. It's garnered respect. It's given me a leg up, chances that I would have never had, simply because people recognized my name (wait...are you that woman who writes in the paper? I love you....) and it's a little disconcerting because when I meet a person for the first time, they already know me quite well. I don't know them at all. Still though, whenever I'd hear the words "Hey! Are you the writer?", my first inclination was to be embarrassed and blurt something to the effect of "well, I'm not really a writer. It's just a hobby."

You know, now that I am in school, now that I am getting good grades, now that I am writing essays for classes and getting perfect grades for them, one right after another, there is something inside me that is finally becoming convinced that I can write. Saturday, when I went to get my hair cut and the woman in the next chair said, "Can I ask you? Are you the woman who writes in the paper?" and I said, "Yes." She told her stylist "She's a writer!" For the first time ever, I didn't feel the need to correct her. Yesterday, I hammered out my eleventh essay since I started school. After I get it back, with the teacher's corrections and comments, I was thinking about rewriting it, and submitting it to a magazine. Just to see what will happen.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Whole Lot of Shrieking Going On.

You know, sometimes, I just try to pack way too much stuff into way too little time. Worked last night. Came home. Got up, went to work this morning.

After eight hours there, I headed out to get my hair cut. I'm not a fan of the tufty hair. You know, the kind that kind of sticks up all over. I mean it looks cute on other people. I thought I was clear. I was explaining carefully to the girl that this was for my daughter's wedding, and I wanted to look good. She talked about spikes, I smiled sweetly and said, "No. Debbys don't do spikes." Meanwhile, the woman in the chair next to mine recognized me from the paper and we got to blabbing. (You may not have noticed. I'm a blabber.) Anyways, long story short. I hate my hair. Hate it. No sense crying over cut hair, but, oh gosh, why NOW?!!! WHY?!!!!!! (SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAM!)

*Deep cleansing breaths*

Okay. I'm okay now. It'll be okay. It has a week to grow, and I have a week to goof with it.

I also bought my dress. Needs one small alteration.

Good grief.

I need a nap. Let me go cry myself to sleep.

What an exhausting day.

Late Edit: Just realized NOW I have to find some matching shoes.


Sorry. Can't talk now. Am seeking corner to crawl to. Plan to close eyes, curl into a fetal position, and frantically suck my thumb for a while.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Friday Weigh In, Weekly Update

Another pound closer to goal. 12 pounds lost this year. I haven't been walking at school. I've discovered that that two hour block between classes on Tuesday and Thursday is very productive for me. I can get virtually all my homework done at that time. I've been closing out on one job, beginning the next. I've worked 45 hours this week, plus school, plus study time. My new job has benefits. The insurance is expensive, and not all that great, but really, much, much better than nothing, and I was so glad that I nearly cried. I also save 10% on my gas purchases. Nice, since I feel like I am either at work, at school, or in the car driving between the two places. Speaking of cars, the muffler fell off mine yesterday. *sigh* If it is not one thing, it's another. 98% on my Psych Test, 100% on my Student Success test. Math still seems to be amazingly effortless. I've got to get a dress, some new foundation (not garments, for my face), and a haircut. Centerpieces and wedding favors. Other than that, it's been dead. Nothing going on, not really.

Late edit: I went down a jean size! I noticed yesterday, forgot to say.

Me, me, me. Sorry. So how are you all doing out there? And Lavinia, am I going to be invited to your new blog? Just asking.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

No tea for me, thanks.

Thanks, Algernon. What are we, indeed?

Dazzling with Bull

Today in English Composition class, we were all sitting around talking about essay topics. The teacher was trying to explain that if our topic was one that people knew something about, we would not have to cite references, but if we were talking, say, about the Iditarod, we might have to spend more time providing background. Being tired, and too warm, I decided to have fun. So I said, "Today, Lance Mackey won his fourth straight Iditarod. No one else has ever done that before." Lance Mackey is a cancer survivor who deals with some major physical challenges as a result of it, but like the champion that he is, he pushes through them, and beyond them. Today he won the Iditarod. I could have also said that Melanie and Charlie went to see him off Sunday, but I didn't. The class stared. Kevin, sitting next to me, looked over, with sort of an amazed look, and said, "You are just full of useless information..." I smiled sweetly. Thanks, Bill. You are ever educational.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Irish Blessing

May those that love us, love us.
And those that don't love us, may God turn their hearts.
But, if He can't turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles
so we will know them by their limping.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Tuesday, March 16, 2010


I took donuts in to one of my classes, and we sat there companionably eating and blabbing away, contentedly. "Aw, that's so nice. Why are you so nice to us?" they asked. We're all so different there. All ages. There's people my age in the class. Young Puerto Rican mothers with young babies. African Americans. A young man from Africa. City people. Country people. All kinds of upbringing. I have to say, I love that class. I love the easy way that everyone talks to one another, jokes and laughs, one comment leading to another, and then to another. That's really one of my favorite classes. I have 100% in it, so far. So we all were laughing and visiting while the teacher talked about procrastination. She said that her son was the perfect illustration of a procrastinator. "Nick," his parents say. "Time to do your homework." And Nick says, "In a minute. Just let me finish this part of the computer game." And they come back later and say, "Now, Nick," and reluctantly, Nick heads off to the kitchen table. He sits in front of his books, squirming and twisting in his chair, and then he heads for the refrigerator for something to drink. He comes back to the table and fidgets a while longer, and then gets up for a snack. So the teacher, who is really a very nice person, is relating this story. A huge hulking black youth raises his hand and says earnestly, "Now, Miss, I don't mean no disrespect, but there's your problem right mama, she tell me once. Then she say, 'Where did I put that belt?' Another huge fellow chimes in with, "Your mama used a belt? Shoot. Mine just knock me out my chair." And they got all wide eyed, and began ducking, waving their hands wildly, dodging the memories of their mad mamas. The whole class nearly fell on the floor with laughter.

I think that I did really well on this morning's psych test, too. I also kept my mouth shut during class.

I had an appointment with my advisor. I'm set up for Anatomy and Physiology I this summer. It is a killer class, three half days, and another couple hours on Thursday. It will be good to get it out of the way when it is the only class I have, when I have no other studying to take my time away from it. I plan to take Anatomy and Physiology II next summer. My advisor commented that I was really quite a planner, and that I was taking a very sensible approach to everything. I also found out that I should know for sure whether I am accepted into the Occupational Therapy program, officially in early June after this semester's grades are 'official'. We also set up my courses for the Fall 2010 semester. Fall seems so far away!

This is a tumultuous time. I have given notice at the nursing home. I feel badly about that job, because I love the residents. I also adore the people that I work with. But the fact is, the job was kicking my butt. The fact is, I was not keeping up. The fact is, everyone in the kitchen cheerfully pitched in to help me, but it made me ashamed. They all had their jobs to do. They surely don't need to do mine as well. It was a hard decision, but I think that I made the honorable decision. I think that I made the one that was right for the team. The new job is at a gas station/convenience store. The manager is very nice, and will work around my schedule at school. It's busy there, but I can do the job. Brianna and Buddy will get married on the 27th. I'm busy with that. I'll have a full house. Cara's bringing Ian home for that weekend. Ian, the librarian. I told Tim that I think that something is different about this relationship. Appointments. Trying to keep up with everything, dancing as fast as I can, feeling guilty about all of the things that I don't have time for. You know, my sister is in nursing school. She's got her LPN, and is now doing the RN. She said she felt guilty about the same sorts of things, about leaving her husband on his own so much. Her husband is very wise though. His response is simply, "It's just a season. That's all. It will pass." He's right, you know. This is the season of being busy. I've got a lot going on. Next week, a wedding. But after that, 12 days of spring break, and then I'm on the downhill side of it all. This season is changing, and a new season is coming. Yet another season is waiting in the wings. But right now, this is my season of being busy. This too will pass.

Monday, March 15, 2010


Last night, I lay in bed wide awake wondering how long I can keep juggling everything. For some reason, it just occurred to me that I was not going to be able to do this. Just popped into my head. I began to worry. I got afraid. I tossed and turned from 1:30 until 4:00, and then fell asleep with strange and bothersome dreams. Then I got up and went to work at the new job. First days are always stressful. The manager is quite laid back and laughed at my nervousness. Now I'm done with work, and I should be taking a nap...but I have school in a couple hours and I'm afraid that if I fall asleep I'll end up sleeping right through it. I imagine that self doubt is normal, but for whatever reason, I find myself thinking that I am in over my head. I'm so stinking tired I really think that I'll sleep like a rock tonight. Which is good. I hit the floor running tomorrow. I've got a psychology test. I've got a meeting with my advisor. Summer classes to be scheduled, and the fall classes after that.

*deep cleansing breaths*

I think that I will be able to relax a little tomorrow night. Unless that is the night we end up working on wedding centerpieces.

I really do not believe that I have ever been so busy in my life.

Saturday, March 13, 2010


There is a couple at the nursing home. She is very frail, very elderly. He is very elderly, but hale and hearty. He comes in to be with her each and every day. Her mind is still good, and even though she's slumped in her chair, she'll lift her head some times, and you will see a twinkle in her eye. I imagine what she was like as a young woman. I imagine that she was spunky. All I know is that her husband is devoted to her. They sat today, talking quietly. I heard him say, "Can you open your eyes for me?" in a pleading sort of way. And she did. She raised her head up and looked at him. He continued talking quietly to her, their two heads close.

I couldn't help it. Today, when I passed them I said, "You know, I have to tell you, each and every time I see the word 'love', the two of you pop into my mind. And I think that it will probably be like that for the rest of my life. You two are beautiful." And he looked at me, and said, "Why, thank you," not at all embarrassed. And his tiny little wife raised up her head to look at me, and her eyes twinkled.

Can't do it.

I am ashamed to say this out loud, but I will. I can't do my job. I am physically incapable of doing the job. I am a very hard worker, I know this about myself. But I cannot do this job. It comes down to this: I do the job half ass, taking 'short cuts', doing things the wrong way, the quick way, just to get them done, or I do it right, and not be able to finish the job on my shift. I am a careful worker and doing a good job is important to me. I've found another job. I gave notice last night.

I've never had a job that I couldn't do. Not in my whole life.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Friday Weigh In

In keeping with my habit of posting losses in pounds, I must claim zero pounds lost again. I have not lost a full pound. Still, the scales are headed in the right direction, and most importantly, I am not discouraged. My own determination is not flagging. Just that aspect alone is a good sign.

I cannot believe the amount of snow that has melted off in the last few days. Down off the hill, there is little snow left. Brianna posted that she saw robins. Tim heard them here, saw them downtown. Yesterday, Tim and I and Cara went out in the evening, and I did not wear a coat. I saw Larry and Cheryl, and it was good to see them and to blab. (Larry? Cheryl? Do I talk too much? Check yes or no). Jamie came out to see us. Jamie was part of Cara's 'gang' in high school and therefore an integral part of our family as well. And now he's grown up, and in college too, pre-med, I think. How does this happen?

Just everywhere we went, it seemed as if everyone had emerged from their winter dens, blinking their eyes in the light, breathing deeply of fresh air, uttering a collective sigh of delight. Last night, for the first time, we took blankets off the bed.

So much to do. I work for the next four days, at least. I've got a test Tuesday. I've got to get signed up for summer and fall classes. Wedding preparations. Changes to be made and gears to be shifted. Appointments. I am using a planner religiously, because to be perfectly honest, I could not keep track of it all if I did not.

Thursday, March 11, 2010


You know, I so dread Psychology class that I've begun to lay awake in the night trying to figure it out. I know that I cannot explain it to you, not really. You have to actually be in the class to understand what I'm trying to explain. Last night, laying there fretting about things, I figured out why I couldn't keep myself still during the last class. Standing before us claiming that she could tell whether we liked her or not by looking into our eyes. Then, after scanning the class, she laughed and said, "Don't bother looking down. I can tell that you're trying to hide something." Although this bothered me (it was the second consecutive class in which she had made this comment ), I was able to keep still. However towards the end of the class, when she said that if a seven foot tall person called you a vulgar name, you would not retaliate. I listened incredulously. If by retaliation, she meant take a ball bat to him, well, no. I wouldn't. But I would say something. The fact of the matter is that bullies behave as they behave, because they don't expect to be 'called on it'. I do respond. I respond in a strong voice, so that others in the surrounding area are listening. The bully may mutter vague nonsense, but they usually are very uncomfortable in the limelight, and back down. Her response, "Well, if the person is your boss, you would not respond." If my boss called me a vulgar name, I certainly would speak up, because there are workplace laws that forbid that sort of behavior. She then said, "If you spoke to him about this is a group setting, you would be demeaning him." Um. If he called me a vulgar name in a group setting, he needed to be corrected on that in the self same group setting. You are determining how you will be treated by not only the boss, but the entire group. You can speak up for yourself in a reasonable way. She stated that I had 'lost her'.

Thinking about things last night, I realized something. This teacher is in a position of authority. Just as she was so certain that one would not challenge the vulgar boss, she was expecting that her authority was unchallengeable as well. To have a student disagree with her was completely unexpected. This is why I had 'lost' her.

This morning we went to class and she wanted to speak with a few of us about how the class was going. One of them was (of course) me. I was not happy about meeting with her privately in her office. She was quite insistent. I met with her. She asked me to refresh her mind about grades. I told her that I was getting an A at this point. She asked me what I thought of the reading. Fine, I said. She talked about how stressful teaching was. I listened. She asked me if her 'little anecdotes' illustrated the concepts she was trying to teach. "Sometimes not," I said. I think that she was surprised by that. I told her that she generalized a great deal, she asked for examples, I gave her some, she explained that I did not understand her humor. She encouraged me to call her or to e-mail her. I said, 'I'll keep it in mind.' I left that office knowing a couple things. Number one, I make her nervous. She's doesn't know what to do with a grown woman who speaks forthrightly. I feel kind of badly about that. I've never thought of myself as intimidating, but I can see where I might be, in this case, anyhow. Number two? Yeah. She knows exactly who I am, and she reads this blog. Betcha bucks.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010


I saw little tiny purple flowers amidst the ground cover on the way into the hospital today. Flowers! It was so warm that I had my heavy winter jacket unzipped as I strode briskly on my way. We still have a goodly amount of snow up here in my yard, but it is melting off, and the water is running every where. Yesterday the deer were out everywhere I looked as I came home from school, foraging in the patches of field exposed by the brilliant sun.

Has spring arrived yet? No. Not quite yet, but there are signs of her arrival everywhere I look and it is wonderfully exciting to see. It has been a long winter.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010


You know, I don't understand the psych teacher. We're talking about emotions. She discussed the fact that 'you wouldn't 'retaliate' against a seven foot tall person who calls you an obscene name, would you?' *blink* Really? I said that I don't understand her use of 'retaliate'. To my way of thinking, if someone calls you an obscene name, you would certainly say, "Excuse me, but that is certainly not appropriate, and you cannot speak to me like that." To me, that is assertive, and it is certainly something that you would do. She then made the statement that if the person were in a position of authority, you would not do this. *blink* Really? Yes. Yes, you would. Yes, you should. This would be a violation of the law. If my boss called me a vulgar name at work, I would speak to him/her about this on the spot. She came back with "If you did this in front of others, it would be demeaning to him." I said, "If he called me a vulgar name in front of others, the issue should absolutely be addressed in that very same setting. You're determining how you will be treated by the group." You not only have the right to stand up for yourself, you have an obligation to do so for the sake of the next poor schmuck the boss gets mad at. She claimed that I 'lost' her, that I was not making sense. To me, it is simple. You cannot allow yourself to be bullied. She doesn't understand it because she is, in my opinion, a bully. She likes to intimidate. For the second day in a row, she made the statement today that she can tell whether a person likes her or not by looking into our eyes. And she stood before us scanning the room. And then she laughed and said, "When people look down, you can tell they are trying to hide something." I probably shouldn't have, but I told her that this was an inappropriate conversation, that it did not matter whether I liked her, or whether she liked me. What mattered was that she was there to teach, and I was there to learn what she had to teach. Emotion should not play into it at all. It should not matter in the least. I probably should have kept it to myself, but I am getting increasingly frustrated with her.

I spoke with another teacher today. She could see no place for that sort of conversation in any class room. Two days in a row? She wondered if the teacher was trying to intimidate. I told her that, quite frankly, I'm convinced that this is indeed her purpose. We walked along as she considered it. After a previous discussion, she had done some subtle checking around, and she found that this teacher is a problem, the object of many student complaints. In fact, she's kind of notorious. She again urged me to discuss the situation with the department head. Good advice, probably, but it just seems that if I do, I'm throwing down a gauntlet. Wryly, I tell myself that I've thrown down the gauntlet anyway. I've disagreed with her in the classroom. I've been agonizing about whether I should have said anything at all, but sometimes she's so off base that it just bursts out of me. Anger is a problem for me. When I am angry about something, I always feel nervous and twitchy, as if I have no right to that emotion. Because I am frustrated (and angry) with this teacher, I am feeling ashamed of myself.

Oh. And she finally got the grades up. I'm getting an A in her class. Straight A student.

A straight A student sitting at her computer, having bitten off all her fingernails worrying about today's events.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Grades and Tumor Markers

At midterm, I have three A's. Psych Grade has not been posted yet, dadgummit. I'm pretty sure that it is very close to an A, but it might be a B.

I had an appointment at the Cancer Center today, and I was dreading it something awful. Not sure why. Maybe it was just as simple as I just have been so busy that I have not had time to think about cancer. I kind of liked not thinking about cancer. Today, I had to. Tumor markers have increased, but I saw a new doctor today, from Philadelphia. She thinks that there are a lot of unanswered questions. She wants to put my case before the Tumor Board. Never even heard of a tumor board before. We had a very interesting conversation. She says that if this is cancer, it is not an aggressive cancer, not by any means. Just in the conversation with her, I learned so much that I did not know. So many questions were answered. I felt good about the office visit, despite those stinking tumor markers. Sometimes, I think that having a new set of eyes looking at a situation helps.
Corymbia - your friends in blogland are thinking of you today.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Changing seasons

I saw a flock of grackles Friday. They're back. It was so warm yesterday that I did not put on my coat all day. I had it thrown in the back seat of Cara's car, but did not need it. My sweater was warm enough.

A blog post over at Sarah's struck a chord. I've often found myself looking back, surprised to re-realize that I had cancer. Me. I had cancer. I'm not sure why it all seems so dream like. Is it due to all the drugs in your system? Is it your own inability to wrap your head around the idea that you're dealing with something that could kill you? I don't know for sure. I know that I used to flinch at the sight of myself naked. The scars. The lopsidedness. Two different colors even, from the radiation (how long can breast tissue retain a 'tan'? It's been 10 months!) Time marches on, I guess, because I was toweling off the other day, looking at myself thoughtfully. I was not flinching. I was viewing the scars no differently than my gray hair, or the lines on my face. Somehow they have managed to become just another feature. They are simply who I am. I guess that I have turned a corner.

Saturday, March 6, 2010


Dixie sent me an e-mail:

Women are Angels.
And when someone breaks our wings,we simply continue to fly... on a broomstick.
We're flexible like that.


I drove down to pick up Cara for spring break. Her car, Adolfo, had been towed home a few weeks back because it was overheating. Turned out to be a minor fix, and Tim got it squared away in no time. However, Cara was too busy to bum a ride home with someone, so Adolfo stayed with us for a time. I drove him back down to pick her up. The two of them had a joyous little reunion.

We headed back with a car load of dirty laundry and necessaries that all girls her age travel with. We stopped at McDonalds for lunch because she was starving and had not yet had her first coffee. While I was eating my yogurt, Cara said, "Oh, mom, I saw the saddest thing in the middle of the night, right here in this McDonalds." And she went on to relate a story about coming to the McDonalds in the middle of the night to see a woman pull in with three little children. The oldest, about seven, was trying to be a helper. The younger ones were tired and whining. The mother looked exhausted. "No Happy Meals," she said, but they each got a small fry and a sandwich from the dollar menu, and they all shared a large drink. And the kids fretted. They were moving across the state and they still had a ways to go. Cara looked at me. "Mom, all I could think of was when we moved back from Michigan." Nothing more was said, the two of us lost in our own memories. I remembered how afraid I was. Cara continued. "I bought them all a Happy Meal prize, and I took them to the table. The mother was so embarrassed. I told her that my mother loaded up three kids and moved us from Michigan to Pennsylvania. I told her that it would be okay."

It made wonder what that mom thought when the pretty college girl showed up at her table. I hope that she was able to look at Cara, so strong and confident in herself, her good, good heart so plainly displayed. I hope that she looked at this girl telling her, 'It will be okay,' and saw her own children growing up into good people, relatively unscathed by this time. I hope she saw a glimpse of the wonderful possibilities for her own life, for her kids. I hope that when she drove off into the night with her kids and everything she owned, that she had the glimmers of a new hope uncurling in her weary heart, new dreams of new possibilities. I hope that when she drove off, she was encouraged.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Friday Weigh In

Well, I have lost 11 pounds since the beginning of the year. Somehow, just reaching the double digit weight loss zone seems like a big accomplishment. I actually did not expect to do well this week. I have not been able to walk the track. Tuesday, I couldn't breathe. Thursday, I could breathe, but a persistent cough had set in. I thought to take a break this week, I'd focus on feeling better, and resume my regimen next week. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I continued right on losing weight anyway. I have no explanation other than I've been drinking lots and lots of water this week.

A friend of mine e-mailed from Florida (Hi, Susan!) She commented that she was trying to lose weight along with me. She also was quick to say that she wasn't 'trying to compete'. That set me back on my heels. I guess I don't see anyone as 'in competition with me'. Hop on board, Susan. I'll cheer for you just as loudly as you cheer for me.

The psychology test? Well. Yesterday, I got out of bed at 5:30 AM. I planned to go over the online material again. I was going to get to class early to have study time. I was tired, and moving slower than usual. In the middle of it all, I took a deep breath, and after I stopped coughing, said, "Self. You studied like crazy for that test. Trust yourself." And so I did. I got to class at the regular time, and took a few minutes to go over my notes again. Long story short? I did well on the test. I don't know how well, but I was a long way from failing it. I've got to learn to trust myself more. That doubting Debby is going to drive herself right around the bend.

I wrote three essays this week. One of my teachers made the comment that 'it had given her goosebumps'. That was kind of cool. Math continues to be inexplicably easy for me. I did my homework yesterday between classes when I could not walk the track.

It is sunny outside, and it is supposed to be in the forties today.

I go to Clarion tomorrow to pick up Cara for spring break (mine doesn't happen until the last two weeks of March...). Still, it will be good to have her home.

Brianna's wedding arrangements are well under way. I've got to figure out centerpieces. (E-mail me with ideas.)

I'm busy. Happy. Productive. It does not get better than this.

Thursday, March 4, 2010


Yesterday, I spent a lot of time hunkered over a psychology book. The inconsistent teacher makes testing a real challenge. I read both the chapter on learning and motivation over again, taking a second round of copious notes, I tested on-line. I spent the biggest part of the day with my nose in that book, or staring off into space, my lips moving silently. I love school though. It would never have occured to me to go on my own. Really, that was Tim's idea. Left to my own devices, I'd have continued to say, 'after Cara graduates, then it will be my turn...' It was Tim who said, "Now's the time. You can't find work. Do it." And so I have done it, and I am having the time of my life.

Tim continues to work on an apartment. It should be ready to rent in a month or so. He's doing some beautiful work. He's doing most of it alone, which makes me feel like crap, but he's cheerful about it. He doesn't have any desire to go to school, he tells me (he's already been. He's a mathematical genius, but the rest of it bores him. He's the opposite of me, actually).

I sort of expected that when the kids grew up and it was just Tim and I, we'd have all sorts of time with each other, we'd be doing things together, and yet here we are, like as not headed in different directions each day.

The other day, I walked in the door after work, exhausted to my very bones. There was Tim sprawled on the couch watching, of all things, a cooking show. I stood behind the couch looking over him at the television as I took off my shoes, and I laughed just a little. But later on, before bed, I was checking the refrigerator to make sure that he had something for dinner the following night. He said, "Well, do we have any of that tafu stuff?" Tafu? I looked at him bewilderedly until I figured it out. Tofu. "No. We don't have tofu." Well, on the cooking show, the woman had been making a 'western omelet' using tofu. Once Tim found out what tofu was, he opted to make his western omelet the old fashioned way. With eggs. In any case, it kind of surprised me. Tim does not like to cook. He was on his own for eight years after his divorce, and as far as I can tell, he survived on hotdogs, frozen pizza and Taco Bell. He does not like to cook. He does not like to clean up the mess. He was very up front about that when we married. He likes to eat, and the fact that I like to cook was the underpinnings of a match made in heaven, to his way of thinking. But anyways, all these years later, I went off to work, and Tim made his own supper, whipping up a western omelet, which 'tasted great' he cheerfully told me, and he was quite pleased with it. Still surprises me to think of it. I'm going to school now, and I'm being changed by the experience. Tim's changing too. Like dance partners, he sways and bends with me, but we're always in step. The music that we dance to is a rhythm that we have created ourselves. It makes me so very glad.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010


1. Breathing through one's nose is a vastly underrated thing. Jees. I cannot wait until I can do this trick again.

2. Over at Stevie's blog, someone asked 'Where is the sun?' There is an interesting question. I don't have it. Who's hogging the sun out there?

3. Monday, walking into the hospital, feeling completely run down, I saw spring flowers pushing their way through the snow. Tulips, I believe. There was a longing for spring that was truly almost visceral. I need sun and green and flowers and warmth. NEEEEEEEED it, I tell you.

4. That's all. I've got to get studying.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

No Difference

Paula commented on a recent blog post. "You know ... I said to my husband over the weekend ... isn't it weird how the world now works. I was talking about your comment on my blog ... I had been for my latest appointment and you asked about my proposed surgery. I said to my husband isn't it amazing - I don't know you - you live on another continent - but you have read my blog and have been thinking and asking after me. That we have struck up this wonderful mutual interest/friendship."

It is interesting how that works. We walk into each other's lives, so to speak. We celebrate the new babies, and declining tumor markers. We begin to recognize people from places we've never been. We call them by name, even. I know the names of dogs in Wasilla Alaska. A cat from Australia.

Still, this morning, blowing my nose over and over, coughing, reading my e-mails, still the news shocked me to the very core. My cup of coffee was halfway to my mouth when I read the news that one of my friends was now a widow, and that from halfway around the world, her thoughts were to explain her sudden absence from this world of the internet to a handful of friends she was close to. I gasped, "Oh my GOD!" and I wept. And no one can tell me, not for a minute that my online friendships are any different at all from the friends that I see and speak with regularly. It's no different. Truly. It is not. And in the dark of my living room, I could only pray that I was as 'real' to her as she is to me, because I wanted her to feel how very sorry I was. I wanted her to feel my hug.

Monday, March 1, 2010


I've been dragging for a while. I worked Saturday and Sunday. Bad snow storm, but I made it to work anyway.

I'm sick, chest cold is finally breaking up. I have a fever and can't breathe. My head aches.

I've been stressing about my essays. I got one written on motivational speaker Leo Buscaglia (due tomorrow) and I even managed to get that stinking 'Guess who's coming to dinner?' essay done. Jesus came, by the way. Thanks to all who suggested Him. Ala Rev 3:20, he showed up at my door and we had bruschetta, because I didn't know he was coming. Five pages later, He headed out. He forgot something though. Peace. He left it behind, and it was everywhere. I think the essay turned out great, way better than I expected. I'm quite proud of it, actually.

I went to math class. I aced my math test. Aced it. I cannot believe it. 50 out of 50 points.

And I noticed today that my pants are pretty baggy in the butt and legs.

Must go to bed. Now. Well. First I need to check Paula's blog. She's had news. Then I'm going right to bed.

Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, where ever you are...

Bon Mot

Leo Buscaglia speaks of an elderly woman who was being seen for a serious health issue. She indicated that she was willing to undergo any treatment, that she simply wanted to be well again. Her doctor commented, "I'm not a magician." The woman looked at him sternly and snapped, "You just provide the medical care, and I'll provide the magic."