Glimpses Into Christmas Past---And My Psyche

~Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring.~Proverbs 27:1

Wise words that can be interpreted many ways depending on how you look at it or what you're seeking.  Reading it this morning, I found myself thinking wasn't it ol' Tommy Jefferson who said don't put off till tomorrow what you can do today?  For me---being the professional procrastinator I am---I was reminded of what my little mother was fond of saying when I was guilty of dragging my feet.

~Little girl, you best get after it. That tree ain't gonna decorate its self!~Helen Callahan 

I imagine myself sparkling and witty, but life has a way of shattering any delusions of grandeur I may harbor...'specially in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

I also happen to believe myself a calm, rational, and perfectly sane woman.  And I am for the most part---that is until those red tubs sneak into the house.  Once those crammed-jammed tubs make their way to my kitchen floor, any trace of sanity I might possess---after raising two kids I might add---flies out the window.

(EEK...look at the tops of those grungy boxes!)

Suddenly I start to drool (just a little y'all) and I get this tic thingy going in my left eye  As my teeth begin chattering and I start feeling woozy, I try to remain in an upright position.   Failing miserably---and before I slip into a fetal one---I dig out a brown paper sack from the wrapping paper box, take several deep breaths and wait for my vision to slowly return.

Now, one would think after 40 years of treeing, I'd have this down to a fine art wouldn't one?

Yes, one would think so, but no-o-o...not me.  I'm the pixilated relative you've heard tell of.

Don't have one of those in your family tree?

Obviously then you're not from the South, so let me enlighten y'all.

Let's start with a little quiz why don't we?

Which of these is not like the other?:
A. Decorating for the holidays
B. Putting out Christmas
C.  Decking the halls
or
D.  Bedazzling everything that doesn't move---leastwises not faster than a chubby lady with a handful of icicles---and doesn't require anything taller than a step ladder to get at or to.

(Wha-a-at?  Everybody doesn't decorate attired in Nick & Nora's?)

If you answered D, you would be correct.  You would also be correct in guessing D's an apt definition of moi getting her Ho Ho on.

SQUIRREL ALERT!
(Sigh!  Ho Ho's I shall miss you!)

My plan is...I don't have a plan.  I rarely do the same thing twice, but only 'cause I can't remember what I did the previous year.

(Santa may fly in a sleigh with eight tiny reindeer, but I fly by the seat of my britches.)

So there I sit on the kitchen floor, face in hands, glazed over eyes, sobbing softly to myself  and wondering where to begin.

My problem is simple.  I love Christmas.

I mean I really---really---love Christmas.

I love the smells, the sounds, the colors, and best of all---the shiny.

(The jewel encrusted box was a birthday gift from Carolyn Westbrook and one of my favorite things. Just a little shameless name dropping going on here y'all!)

Knowing there is a ton of shiny waiting to be released from it's year long captivity gets me up off the floor and shaking my tail feathers.

One peek in that first of many boxes y'all and Katie bar the door.  It's all ten lords a'leapin' and Gloriosky!

Bust out the hot chocolate and pass the marshmallows please 'cause I spy rhinestones!

(Everyone should have a cheesy, red felt vest with a plastic martini emblazoned on it.!)

I begin dressing the tree just like I dress me.  Y'all have heard me say on several occasions "If you can't see my bling from across a cow pasture,  it ain't big enough."   Well folks, I'm here to tell you---if you can see branches or the trunk of our trees, then there ain't enough sparkle on 'em!  I want my trees so fandangled, no one can look directly at 'em without Oakley's.  Heck...I want the whole house bright enough to land planes by.


(Twinkle, twinkle little star.  How I wonder which box I put you in. Hey---I never claimed to be a poet.)

I'll be running amuck, throwing glitter, snow and tinsel right up 'til the doorbell begins ringing Christmas Eve.  As I'm swinging from a chandelier, frantically cramming fresh greenery among the prisms, the Oldest Melon-Head will be dragging me down, yanking that last piece of cedar from my grubby little paws.  Instead of the sound of reindeer hooves and a hearty Ho Ho Ho (Twinkies, I think I shall miss thee most of all!)  and to all a good night, it's gonna be my voice y'all will hear ringing through the night----

(Just so's you know...the sign reads "Patient Parking Only".  'Nuff said!)

 "Wait...no...not yet.  Not.quite.finished.  There's still one last box of pink Shiny Brites left in the tub!"

Santa and his big ol' red bag is always full of surprises---and me?

Well...the Bella Mama says it best.

~Mom's just a bag full of crazy!~

Just remember my sweets...the bough doesn't fall very far from the Christmas tree!

MacGuffin

I've been struggling for a week trying to get this post finished.  I knew what I wanted to say, but I didn't think y'all had the extra hours necessary to read it.  Leastwises, not with Thanksgiving this Thursday and all!

I've had a lot going on lately, but then what's new about that.  As women, we all do.  (Sorry guys, but it's a well known fact women can do more in two steps than a man can in half a dozen).

In addition to preparing and setting up at the Junk Hippy Roadshow, I've also had my hands full with my baby girl.  I didn't say anything, but she had to have sorta-kinda emergency gall bladder surgery.  I say sorta-kinda because she actually went into the hospital with Pancreatitis which led to the surgery.  Now before you ask...she's doing great and was released by her doctor last week...just in time for Mama Cat to do the show and our family's Gobble-Gobble tournament.

But the real reason I'm doing this post is to talk about the elephant in the room I've been dusting for several weeks...blogging and whether to continue or stop all together.

It's been laying like a bad street taco in the pit of my stomach.  Talk about heartburn...ohmylanta for real.  It took several recent events to push it first and foremost into my thoughts...starting with being dropped off a couple of sidebars.

Someone pointed this out to me (I won't say how they noticed) and asked if it hurt my feelings.  I ain't gonna lie and say it didn't 'cause it did sting a bit, but truth is I don't blame 'em one bit. I've only myself to blame.  I've quit posting/commenting on a regular basis and I wouldn't waste my time with me either...if I had a choice.  Problem is I'm stuck with me.

When asked if I was going to remove these folks from my side bar as well, my first thought was heck yeah...

BUT...

after stewing a bit, I had to ask myself what purpose would that serve?  All I would be proving is I'm a small minded person with an even bigger ego.  I've survived being de-friended on FB.  Heck...I've survived being blocked!  So I get de-barred to boot...I'll survive this burp as well.  There have...and will be...bigger fish to fry in my life.  Time is way too short to waste precious minutes on a one woman pity party...even when served with whine and cheesy platitudes. 

One of the reasons I started blogging was for the sheer pleasure of seeing my words in print.  I can't begin to describe the thrill when I began to think I could write, but somewhere along the way, I lost my sense of direction.  It became all about the comments and praise...she says with her head hanging down in shame.  When He withheld the words, it also became work...cumbersome with no joy in it.

I found myself worrying.

Would it be funny enough?

Would anybody get what I was saying?

Would I offend anyone?

Fretting when I should have been typing...and praying.

I began to have performance anxiety...stage fright.

I love a spotlight and opening night jitters was not what I signed on for.

A week ago Monday---thankfully---I was reminded of why I began blogging and why I love it.

I had lunch with four of the most remarkable women I've ever known...and except for Jenn...I met every one of them through blogging.

(Right about now is where I'll begin name dropping and tearing up a bit.)

Donna, Lisa Mac, and Rebecca are three of the most talented women out there.  They're smart, funny, generous, and supportive.  I trust them with my thoughts and I respect their opinions.  (Law...do I trust their opinions.) Listening to them, hearing their words of encouragement, knowing it came from their hearts to mine, I felt a burden being lifted off my shoulders.

Having lunch with these women, not only fed the belly...it fed the soul.  Listening to them talk...hearing them speak of their talents...was food for thought and water to quench a parched throat.

~As each of you has received a gift, minister it to one another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.~1 Peter 4:10

In those four pairs of loving eyes, I realized there is a huge difference in being boastful and in being honest.  It isn't prideful to acknowledge those talents that have been given by God.  Denying them is denying Him the glory.

Thank you ladies for showing me this with your words, faith and love. 

God sat me down at this desk and He and He alone gave me the words to share.  He took control of this keyboard from the get-go and in doing so, gave me a voice colored with the gift of humor. 

These beautiful, wise women reminded me of that.  I'm not here to spout my own platform.  I'm here to glorify Him...even with laughter, where ever and when ever I can.

This morning I had my own private Come to Jesus meeting and I have my answer.  Numbers, sidebars, who does or doesn't like me...all that doesn't matter...not any more.  What matters is talking from my heart and doing it always in my own voice.

So first things first.

To start with, and in case you haven't noticed, I've removed the comment section from my blog.  I did this for several reasons starting with I had become a slave to it.  I don't want that anymore.  Nor do I want the worry of what y'all might think of a post...or me...to hinder my writing honestly.  When the words start coming so fast I trip over my own fingers, I don't always have time to stop and wonder if it's funny or dull.  I just have to type and pray the grammar is correct.

Lastly...I've become lax about commenting and the guilt has been gnawing at me.  I don't want any of y'all to ever feel that way about visiting here.  It isn't good for the digestion.

So-o-o...henceforth and from this point on...

consider this blog is pressure free...except for the part about me being a big ol' wind bag.  Sorry y'all.  That'll never change. I y'am what I y'am...and that's all that I y'am.

Just.one.long.sentence!

Not that I don't want to ever hear from y'all.  I do.  But it should be when and if you have the time.  I'm just an e-mail away or you can visit me on my Talking Trash FaceBook page.  My page is where I'm going to be putting up show dates, merchandise, and me just raising my dress over my head.  You know...just the usual, normal stuff.  If you're fascinated by the sight of white grand-mama panties...feel free to stop on over.

My roadmap for this blog is being rerouted as I type.  I know there is road construction waiting just around the bend, but for now I'm content to idle a spell and wait on my God-PS to get me there.

So for now...

If my writing comes out making sense...color me happy.

If reading me speaking my mind colors you happy...even better.

And if in reading my thoughts, you find what you came looking for...

I've done my job.

Shameless-The Junker Formerly Known As Trash

She:  Oh mylanta...not another annoying, shameless commercial.

Her:  Law...I know right?

She:  What on earth does this woman hope to accomplish with all this unabashed self-promotion anyways?

Her:   Ssshh!  The walls have ears.  Now...I'm not saying this for a fact...but I've heard tell the goal is to become a gazillionaire before the age of 70 and retire to an island in Lake Texoma.

She:  Someone needs to tell this obviously-throwed-off-woman that if it ain't happened yet...it ain't gonna...leastways not selling junk!

Her:  Hey...you know it and I know it...but if this crazy woman really wants to believe the road to riches is paved with rust...who are we to burst that bubble?

Me:  Will you two please hush up.  You're breaking my concentration here.  Can't y'all hear me trying to count my imaginary chickens before they hatch!

She and Her:  Well I never!  What gall!  Have you no shame?

Me:  None whatsoever!  You two can be such a drag. 

C'mon now. You really think I'd be sportin' braids a la Willie if I did?  Yeah...that's right.  I'm loud...I'm proud...so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

And just so's y'all know...Baby's got a brand new bag and they'll be at The Junk Hippy Roadshow too.

To all y'all in the DFW area and all points in between...howsa 'bout you droppin' by Saturday to the Junk Hippy Roadshow?  Between me and thee...we can prove these two wrong and silence 'em forever!

Almost time for me to split the scene so...

PEACE OUT...

FAR OUT...

AND CLEAN OUTTA SIGHT!

You dig what I'm sayin'?

 

Cold Hard Facts

I don't know what it is, but at the first little cold snap I instantly get ravenous.

I want to eat everything warm...or cold...in the house.

So...what's a girl to do to stave off hunger pains?

Why she heads straight to Pinterest and starts pinning recipes for casseroles, soups and desserts...of course!

Ordinarily, in and of itself, this isn't a bad thing.  It keeps me from lifting the fridge off the floor and dumping the entire contents into my waiting tummy,

BUT...

seeing as how I've got a new show this weekend to get ready for...I should be packing instead drooling.

Photo of our booth courtesy of Red.Neck Chic

Whoa Nelly!   Back it up!

Beep, beep, beep!

 Have I even mentioned to y'all we'll be vendors at a new show to our area this weekend?

Silly me...of course I haven't.

That would require posting on a regular basis...now wouldn't it?

And since you know and I know I've only managed to crank out 2 or 3 posts since we got back from the Marburger Farm Antique Show...I'm also pretty certain I haven't said a word about the Junk Hippy Roadshow in Arlington this Saturday, November 10.

You want to know how I know?

Cat Daddy told me so last night...in his best growl...over and over!

In fact...his exact words were How can the ladies come see me if you don't let 'em know where I'll be?

See...it doesn't matter what we take to display and sell.  Obviously the most important thing is HE.WILL.BE.THERE...on display!  Leastwise...that's his viewpoint.  One of these days y'all, I'm gonna stick a price tag on him and see if there are any takers...just for the heckuvit!

Picture it.

Photo and caption of The Man courtesy of Red.Neck Chic

A big ol' tag pinned on his back stating:

Free to good home.

Declawed, housebroken, and neutered.

All sales final.

No returns or exchanges.

Reckon I'd get any takers...or should I just try and sell him by the pound?

I'm willing to bet a dollar to a donut that big ol' swollen head of his'n would fetch me a pretty penny all by it's lonesome!

Photo and caption of our booth courtesy of Red.Neck Chic

Bottom line...whether you're looking for cool, crusty old junk or an even cooler, crustier old junker...I hope you can work it into your schedule to come on out to Arlington this Saturday to the Junk Hippy Roadshow.  Kristen has rounded up a bevy of unique dealers to tempt you and I personally think it's gonna be more fun than a barrel of Cat Daddys.

One last enticement...

Did I happen to mention Evelyn Robelyn of Red.Neck Chic fame is gonna be my next door litter-mate?

Oh yeah baby-cakes.  It's on...so on.

Can you say...

ME-OWWW?

On a personal note...sending out prayers to Craig and TOT that all goes well with his surgery this morning. Love you guys.