Still Restless....

PREFACE

There ain't a native born Texan worth their weight in tamales who doesn't claim to have an ancestor who stepped over the line Travis drew in the sand at the Alamo.

Now seeing as how there were around 160+ brave souls who died there, this isn't possible...

BUT,

it's a claim I double-dog dare any of y'all to try and refute.

Seriously...just try.

~When the legend becomes fact...print the legend.~

Dear Papa,

I hope this letter has reached you and finds you well. Forgive my hen scratching as I am writing this in the dark whilst perched against the north wall. This is where I have been placed to stand sentry should we be attacked.  Colonel Travis urged us to write letters if we were a mind to.  He also said it might be best to do so hastily as this will be the last opportunity for our courier to safely slip out under the cloak of darkness. As I have no sweetheart Papa, it is you I chose to share my thoughts with tonight.

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Now where were we when I last talked to y'all?

Oh yeah...on the road to San Antone! 25 years is a long time and a lot of things can change...like the traffic.

I know I'm getting old, but I swear up and down, I don't remember this many cars and one-way streets when last we visited.  But with two wriggling kids in the back seat maybe, just maybe, I was a little preoccupied?

Arriving in the downtown area, a peculiar situation presented itself...parking.

In order to get out and walk, one must first pay to park.  Same goes for the hotels.  In addition to the room rate, parking is an additional cost.  I'm not going to beat them up for this. Law no!

This city is built around the tourist trade and if there weren't the parking lots, there would be a battle royale over prime parking spaces.

Not only was there more motor traffic, but the foot traffic around the Alamo was huge!
Did I mention there was a conference in town...and a picket line for some cockamamie cause out on the plaza...and it was July 4th...and it was hot?

(The line to tour the Alamo put me in mind of the line of kittens vying for Cat Daddy's attention at one of our shows...crazy long.

We arrived safely although it was a might tricky getting though the horde of soldados camped around the mission.  But we rode through like the Devil himself was chasing us. At first, the boys inside the Alamo let loose a volley of buckshot upon us, but on hearing us cussing in english, threw the doors wide open.  I wish you could have heard the cheers as we rode in.  There was never a grander welcoming committee.  Steely eyed, dirty, but such a sight for these sore eyes.  They are all knights in buckskin Papa, ready and willing to do battle.

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We decided to skip the tour and headed straight to the gift shop 'cause y'all know nothing says vacation like cheap souvenirs.

Did I say cheap?

  I meant to say cute.

I was looking forward to stepping into an A/C shop, but again the crowds stopped me cold all right...cold in my tracks.  Where the heck did all these folks come from?

All I wanted was a coupla snow domes for corn sakes, but you'd a'thought oil had been struck the way folks kept crowding in.  Even if I had found some snow domes and did not lose a hand in the process...heck, I'd still be standing in line waiting to check out!



Tell sweet sister Barshie I have no news of John nor his brother Captain Sadler.  I know they are with old Sam Houston somewhere, but as to those whereabouts that is unclear.  What is clear is they won't be joining us. Colonel Travis called us out earlier to tell us there will be no more joining us.  The 32 of us what rode in from Gonzales are all that will be answering his call.  Papa, I pray all who have read the last letter he wrote asking for help  and heeded not,  will be able to look at themselves in the mirror whilst shaving. Perhaps our blood burned too hot, but with his call for Victory or Death, we had to come. 

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Colonel Travis is a good man.  A mite young, best I can tell not much older than me Papa, but still a brave soldier.  After we arrived from Gonzales a day or two ago, he called us all out and gave us the chance to leave.  Not a man save one chose to do so and nary a one of us hold it against him. He has a wife and children to think of.  I pray you are not angry with me for staying.  I arrived committed to lend a hand and stay I must.  I ask only Papa, that you would bless my decision to defend the right to freedom.

History may say we died because of the land.  I am not inviting death nor do I welcome it.  I would like to see Texas become what I see in my mind's eye.  I would like to see my children born here. But no doubt we will perish, Papa, as there are over 3000 men just outside the walls and less than 300 inside them.  The odds are heavily against us, but make no mistake.  If perish we must, so too will many of the enemy when the fighting commences.  Texas is too vast, too beautiful and too wild for one man to try and control her.  Knowing this full well, steadies my hand and my resolve to fight with my last dying breath.

Finally...I just waved the white flag in defeat.  A coffee mug just wasn't worth the hassle.

Thank goodness those brave men, defenders of the Alamo, hadn't had to fight that mob too.

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The beauty, wildness, and vastness of Texas cannot be tamed nor can the people who have chosen to live here.  One man cannot dictate to thousands what can and cannot be done.  Texas will not allow it nor will we.

History may say we were foolish, but I want you to tell them otherwise. This mission, the Alamo, old as it is, stands for freedom and so shall we stand until we cannot stand no more.

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But you know...I can't help but wonder if the outcome might have been different if tourists had been there that fateful morning.

Time might have been bought for the defenders inside those hallowed walls, if there had just been a few souvenir and drink stands camped alongside the soldados tents.

I can just picture ol' Santy Ana's army trying to get past those throngs of folks fighting over their Made in India gen-U-ine Mexican wedding dresses.

Upon arriving here a mexican bugler was playing a strange melody.  It was like nothing I had ever heard and Davy said it was a old Spanish tune meaning show no quarter.  Day and night he played it up till last night.  Now no sound breaks the stillness of the night sky.  It's Santa Ana's way of telling us there will be no prisoners.  Perhaps he figures to scare us, but Papa, it has only done the opposite.  I am even more resolved to hold my position on this long wall and it's a resolution held by every man in here.

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Pammie asked me if I was gonna talk trash about San Antonio.  Heaven forbid.  I'd rather cut out my tongue...no my heart...than to ever dare rag on it.

(Shoot...I'm worried enough that I'll probably be in deep ca-ca for this post.)

You don't tug on Superman's cape.
You don't spit into the wind.
And you don't mess with Alamo.

Just ask Ozzy!

Read my lips.

This chubby old lady loves her Texas AND it's history much too much to ever be found guilty of treason. I love San Antonio with it's culture, beautiful River Walk, Mission Trail, and the history held in place by it's charm.

I also love the Daughters of the Republic of Texas for everything they have done to preserve this landmark city and its uniqueness.  They are the caretakers of the Alamo and in doing so, saved this priceless treasure.  The Alamo is the number one tourist attraction in Texas and rightly so.  Without the DORT, who knows what might have happened to it. I have so much respect for them and their work

So much in fact, I'm in the process of applying for my girls and I to become members.



My only regret Papa is not being able to see you one more time.  I pray you are out of harm's way, and that you harbor no ill will to the commanders of the Texican army for putting us in harm's way.  I choose to be here and I choose to stay.  Remember that Papa and if I do perish as I spect I will,  when you think of me know I died for Texas.  I cannot think of a finer cause to give my life for.

Your son,
Jonathan Lindley
March 5, 1836

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(The above letter is a work of fiction out of the over active mind of a Texas born and bred woman.  My great, great, great grandfather was John Sadler who with his brother William, fought at San Jacinto.  My great, great, great uncle Jonathan Lindley fought and died at the Alamo.  He was part of the Immortal 32 and who came to Travis's call for help in 1836.  In bravely doing so, he wrote in blood his name...and my family's...in the sand of the Alamo forever.)

REMEMBER THE ALAMO!

How could I ever forget?

For this is where everything I hold dear first began.

The Natives Are Restless

After 3 months of a social life that was centered around my weekly date with doctor/doctors and pushing a tray through the buffet line at Luby's...I was getting more than just a little stir crazy.  Now rather than dye my hair blue, I told C.D. we needed a trip...desperately.  Not a long one mind you and not a "working" one. Just a little romp to remember life is supposed to be fun too.  All work and no play makes a grumpy Trash and I was getting grumpier and grumpier with each passing second. I wanted to climb in the poodle seat, guns gems a'blazin' and hit the road running.



(Roaring Rivers MO...1961. That's the Trash on the right...with the skinny legs and fierce-some face!)

I felt we needed to reconnect and recharge.  It seemed to me the whole year had been composed of nothing but work and hospitals.  That's never a good thing for any relationship...even one that is nigh on 40 years.

Just as every adventurer before us had done, we packed the wagon with provisions and lit out to San Antonio.

I personally believe every warm blooded Texan (native or transplant) should make at least one pilgrimage to the Alamo.  Texas has a glorious past and while the Alamo is just one part of it...it alone is the stuff legends are made of.  There is no way one can stand on that piece of hallowed ground, touching the stones that comprise this simple mission, picturing what transpired there in the early morning hours of March 1836 and not be moved...possibly to tears.  In it's humble beauty, it leaves one humbled. If y'all ever wonder why Texans tend to brag so much...this is it. And for the record...we don't consider it bragging...just fact.

I can't begin to tell y'all how much I love this city.  The way the past is weaved with the present is stunning.  Spanish architecture dating from the early 1700's melding with modernization is not an easy task to accomplish, but this city does it flawlessly.  No where in Texas is the German, Spanish and the South's influence more prevalent than in San Antonio. It is a city unique unto itself. 

But hey...that's just this woman's opinion 'cause I am kinda partial to it.

SQUIRREL ALERT!!!

When our kids were growing up, they thought there was only three places to visit in the world.

1. Arkansas/Roaring Rivers

2.  Galveston

3.  San Antonio

Those were the places we visited every stinkin' summer.


(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props. Taken on the boardwalk of Galveston)



With our limited budget, we knew where to go for the kids and us to have the most fun family style and not break the bank.

A trip to San Antonio always...always...included an exit off the highway to Aquarena Springs.  Now you tell me, where else on earth could one, while submerged in a submarine theater, behold beautiful mermaids swigging Dr Pepper? Where else could one play tic tac toe with a live chicken...and call it arcade games?  AND to top it all off, watch as Ralph, the diving pig, swan dived from a volcano?

Only in Texas y'all!

The kids were great troopers on the road.  They loved to travel as much as we did...still do.  We didn't have I-Pads, WI-FI, TVs or anything like that for traveling entertainment back then.  We were the entertainment committee. We entertained each other by seeing who could sing the loudest, play the best air guitar or steering wheel drums, and talk the most.  Yeah...imagine that?  We talked...about anything and everything!  They got riddles, history lessons and genealogy stories. In return, we got knock knock jokes, school stories and dream sharing.

Forget American Express and MasterCard folks.

~Priceless?~
I tell you what's priceless...memories.

~Don't leave home without it?~
I never came home without them.

Fact it, they're still packed in the suitcase of my mind.

We'd start the day with a big breakfast. (Remember y'all...no McDonald's on every corner.)  I'd pack sandwiches for the first day, but after that lunch was snacks. Dinner was a real treat...like Gaido's in Galveston.  The first time we ate there and the waitress brought out finger bowls at the end of our meal?  Well let's just say the looks on the kids and Cat Daddy's faces staring at a little slice of floating lemon was priceless as well!



(This wasn't the time OMH wrote Nerd with Zinka on the Bella Mama's back!)

 With two kids who would try anything once, meals on the road were a snap.  I swear up and down...y'all haven't lived 'til you've dined on rat cheese, Town House crackers and hang-down.  But the real piece de resitance...dashboard nachos.  Mmm mmm...man alive...that was some kinda good eatin'.  Makes me hungry just a'thinkin' about it!



(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props...and just so you know...this has nothing to do with this post. I used it for two reasons...one, I refuse to show my beautiful 11 year old Grayzilla in a bathing suit...and two, just to prove my squirrel power!)



Okay...I'm back from my trip to the fridge down memory lane, although I don't promise I won't do a u-turn at some point again.

The last time we visited San Antonio was Memorial Day weekend 1988.  We were there for the grand opening of Sea World and when I say grand opening I mean it wasn't even complete.

The trees were sticks, no shade (absolutely zero), and I won't even go into the lack of ventilation in the highly hyped penguin exhibit.

Pee-Yew!

But at least it was colder than a polar bear's foot in there and the penguins were comical characters in their tuxedos!  But as hot as it was and as darn cute as they were, it wasn't enough to lure me back into that odoriferous edifice!

The ski show was spectacular, but all I can say about Shamu is tsk tsk and shame shame!  Due to her...ahem...amorous advances to the trainer, Jenn needed a quick course in the facts of life.  Thanks a heap Shamu...you hussy!



(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props. Speaking of hussies...the Bella Baby modeling the St. Tropez look! Not to repeat myself...but I won't show her in a bathing suit either.)

U-Turn alert...

Can I take a minute and say how strongly I object to animals being kept in captivity for our entertainment and then have the audacity to be shocked when they behave naturally?  There is just something so inherently wrong with this concept.
Whew!  Thank y'all for letting me vent.  I needed to get that bad taste out of my mouth.

If you do the math, it had been 25 years since visiting San Antonio.  I expected changes and maybe it was because we picked the worst possible weekend to visit (July 4th), but the changes I saw were not what I had in mind.



(Photo courtesy of the Robster. Jenn and Brandon deep sea fishing on the Gulf of Mexico. Where else, but on a charter boat from Galveston of course!)



Oh law y'all!

This is running way longer than I anticipated...even for me!

I still have a lot of talking to get to, but I think I'll end this here for now and with your kind permission, continue it in a part II...

if that's ok with y'all?

My fingers...and brain...are starting to get cramps!

T.B.C.

Ripples of Kindness

Fair warning...this is going to be a disjointed...and very long post.

First things first.

I am running amuck...and happy as a pig in sunshine for it!

No longer tethered by a PICC line, I'm free to get into as much trouble as I so desire...and boy oh boy, do I so desire!

I've been released by one doctor and hopefully will be soon by my colon surgeon as well.

I am finished with oral antibiotics and all my blood work came back normal.

WHEW!

Thank goodness I can honestly say there is at least one thing about me that is normal.

Your prayers for my recovery?

My sweet friends...they meant the world and all to me.

Thank you.

Now...on to other news.

We just wrapped up the Vintage Home show during Dallas Market Center's Home and Gift Show...my first official outing since my unfortunate incarceration.

I ain't gonna lie y'all...it was a mite tiring, but I was blessed to have my daughter Jenn and sister Kerri come out to help me.  They split up the days Cat Daddy couldn't be there and kept me from disobeying the doctor's orders.  No easy task y'all as I can be quite the ornery old lady from time to time.

Sales were good, but it's the extra bonus I received during the show I want to tell y'all about.  While set up, I was reminded of why I have to continue to post.  I have been charged to do so.  Sometimes fast and furiously; other times in dribs and drabs.

(I can read your minds and right about now y'all are thinking to yourselves of how little I do blog these days, but hear me out.)

It's true.

I do tend to post rather...ahem...sporadically.  To the point I had considered calling it a day and handing in my mouse.

I had my reasons, beginning with I didn't feel there was anything left to say.  Let's face it...I can only show y'all my underwear so many times until you see how faded they are.  Also, it seemed like everyone had moved on to greener...and quicker...pastures like FaceBook and Twitter, leaving me with the sole excuse for rambling on being how much I loved the sound of my own voice.

But a funny thing happened on the way to market.

Readers reached out to me.

Readers who don't comment, but still take the time to read.

While washing my hands, a woman at the sink next to me, glanced up in the ladies' room mirror, caught my eye and said simply "I read your blog. I don't comment and I don't have a blog, but I read yours."  Stammering out a thank you, this perfect (and I do mean perfect for taking the time to tell me that) stranger dried her hands and was gone in the blink of an eye.

This happened not once...not twice...but four times during the five days we were there.

(Coincidence?  I think not. Just one of the many ways God has of speaking to me when I am doubtful of my place here on earth.)

Another one of these readers sat me down and took the time to tell me how important my writing was to her.

(Now because I believe in truth in advertising I should mention we are friends and she is not only one of the dearest people I know, but also one of the most honest.  She's never been known to blow smoke up someone's dress, but to always be frank and speak her mind.)

She shared with me how when she is having a tough day she reads my blog.  Doesn't matter if I haven't posted anything recently...she just goes back and reads one of her favorite posts to find a smile.  She pointed out that while I may not realize my blog's impact,  it touches others...almost as if it had a mind of its own.

As I sat there stunned by her words, a sense of blessing and being blessed came over me.  This was the only reason I needed to keep blogging.  FaceBook is fine for what it is...an instant connection.  Blogging provides more than just a moment's scratching of an itch.  Over time, whether we actually meet or not, we develop a kindredship...a sense of oneness.  I've heard over and over, blogging friends are not real.  I disagree.  Blogging requires a commitment...FaceBook does not...and I have yet to see the purpose of Twitter.

I guess simply put...it all depends on what each of us is seeking.

Most of us dream of making a big splash in an ocean of fame when sometimes being a ripple is our destiny.

Think about it.

A splash lasts only as long the depth of our ambition and gravity will allow, but a ripple widens, spreads and multiplies until collectively, it becomes a wave of ideas, emotions and acts of kindness.

I'm sharing this not to boast, but to share what it's taken me 62 years to learn.

All of us are capable of making a splash even if it's doing a belly flop instead of a swan dive, but to be a ripple...ahhh...that takes more than just sticking our big toe in the water.  It takes sticking our necks out as well as stepping out of the boat.

We have to be able to pick out the best stone for skipping, aim for the other shore and avoid hitting...or hurting...anyone in the process.  This takes repetitive practice and patience.  Done right, a ripple provides instant results that last far beyond our stone skipping abilities.

A ripple will continue to flow out, creating more ripples to join in and will only be stopped when encountering stagnant waters.  It's up to us to see to it that doesn't happen.

I thank those four people for being ripples in the river of my life and for reassuring me that I too am a tiny one.

I will continue to ripple along, but the course of my writing may/will change direction to avoid the aforementioned stagnation.

As I said earlier, I've shared all there is about me that's fit to be printed, but there are stories in my head that I hope you may want to hear.

I'm thinking of calling it My Required Summer Writing List.

And good grief...wouldn't you just know it?

Now I've got myself craving raspberry ripple ice cream!

(all photos taken by Jenn at Give Me Props during the show.)

 



PICC-et Line

Today's the day y'all.

Come 3:30ish this afternoon I will be PICC line free.

Can I get a yee to the haw?

No more getting whacked in the face by this PITA blue bag when I bend over to put my britches on.

No more hanging myself on the seat belt when perched in the poodle seat.

No more having to dine at Luby's...less I get a hankering for liver and onions.

No more Cat Daddy looking like a mad scientist in those latex gloves,  holding a saline syringe in one hand and my life line in the other. 

No more tales from the recent soap opera of my life...Downtown Gown Tails.

(Right about now, that last one ought to make y'all real happy knowing I'll have to find something else to talk about.  Talk about a broken record...just call me Hapless Harpy!)



God's got me right where He wants me...in His hip pocket.  Don't waste your "good lucks" on me.  Save 'em for the doctor.  He's the one who is gonna need 'em if he tries to talk me into another two weeks.

Woe unto him if he does make that mistake.

I'm ready for him.

I'm armed to the teeth and my nails are painted jungle red.

I've got it all planned out in my mind what to say.

How's this?

Doc, Cat Daddy is beginning to suspect there's more going on between you and me than just dressing changes...wink, wink!  Fact of the matter...C.D. is convinced you have a major crush on ol' Deb and he.doesn't.like.it.one.bit.

If that doesn't work...I got a back-up argument to throw at him.

How 'bout this?

Doctor Feel Good, the only thing on me that is in need of a really good PICC is my nose.

Finally, if that doesn't work...

Well then...I'll just have to chew his head off...

after I finish chewing off my arm!

Talk to y'all again in a bite.

Oopsie!

I mean bit!

Hitchin' Post

When I first came home from the hospital I didn't feel like doing much of anything, but as the weeks (make that seven of 'em) passed I started getting a case of cabin fever.  I knew my forays into the real world couldn't continue to consist of a weekly visit to the doctor followed by an early bird dinner at Luby's.

Misty captured the magic of mine and Grayzilla's birthdays! The girl is now taller than me at 11. Oy Vey!

Ahhh...Luby's!  Where medical devices are not only seen, but de riguerer when supper is served in the afternoon.  "No Dentures, No Depends, No Service."  Have I mentioned I celebrated a birthday in the middle of all this?  Yeppers...I now not only qualify for dining at Luby's at 4:00 pm, but social security.  Oy!

At some point, I had to accept the fact this albatross hanging around my neck was not a curse, but a blessing...even if it did make putting on a bra an exercise in futility.  I had to get past the idea it was embarrassing and realize it was my badge of honor...my Purple Heart.  I didn't realize it at the time, but I had dodged a bullet.  In cases like mine, a high percentage results in not one, but two surgeries. God, the Great Physician, had spared me from climbing up on  an operating table.  The why I don't know.  It's not mine to question, only to be thankful for His mercy. I was...and still am. 

 Now before any of y'all get to thinking I'm a pillar of patience/patients...let me set y'all straight.

 I DID have melt-downs.

I DID have me some killer pity parties of one.

I DID give one of my doctors the stank eye.

AND...

my daughter DID want to strangle me more than once.

This is the real stuff y'all...although the jars came to us empty. Go figure!
(Photo courtesy Give Me Props.)

With Jenn's carrot-on-a-stick help and much trepidation, I stuck my foot back in the water.  She tricked asked if I'd like to do a little ride-along on a styling/photography set-up/shoot she had in the works.  She knew my medical restrictions, but she also knew I couldn't resist a chance to flaunt my stuff.

Little girl sure knows her mama.

SQUIRREL ALERT!*

Jenn also knows her camera.  Her first camera was a pink Le Clic at age 8 and progressed to a 35mm while taking photography classes in college.  Me...I don't know the difference between an F-stop and pit stop, over-exposure is something I work on not doing while dancing in public, and well...we all know the problem I have with focusing.  If not...see above*!

It was a hoot watching the adults scratch their heads over the chalkboard while the kids figured it out pronto. Gotta always think young y'all.
(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props)

Jenn has slowly been building her business Give Me Props and it's starting to take off.  Her latest project was a poolside wedding reception (more on another post) and she took me along as her rented mule...ahem...I mean assistant!

The cake cutting ceremony was fast.  Jenn had to be quick on the draw.  Butter cream icing and sunlight can...and quite possibly...render a cake into the Leaning Tower Of Pisa in a heartbeat.
(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props.)

I 'd be remiss if I didn't take a moment to remind y'all...

Texas + spring = hot and muggy

...even poolside.

Hillary did a fantastic job with the cake. It tasted as fabulous as it looks. This girl bakes magic! I may have to order a cake to celebrate my PICC Line removal...just 'cause I love butter cream frosting...'specially hers!
(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props.)

With her vision of what she wanted to accomplish, in two days we she transformed a backyard paradise into a bucolic setting.  She managed to keep the elegance already in place while mixing in vintage props to give it country elan.  A place where champagne and moonshine could happily splash together for a sit-a-spell.

If you ever wondered why daisies are such happy flowers...now you know.  90 proof can have that effect although the next day...mmm...not so much!
(Photo courtesy Give Me Props)

Everything was beautiful...including the bride.



Divine Creations by Hillary lives up to the name.  She's in the DFW area so remember her for your next event. I've been told by a taste tester her carrot and Italian cakes are 2die4!  Hmmm...wonder what her German chocolate tastes like?



Here's looking at you kid! Another great way to pickle something...or someone...with a Ball jar.
(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props)

And me you ask?  How did I do?

I got to get gussied up, fix my hair, put on pretty, matching underwear...and enjoy life as it is supposed to be lived...smiling out loud.

There is nothing like sitting in a room celebrating a new union while visiting with folks whose collective unions span over 200 years to put a big ol' grin on my face.

Oh mylanta gorgeous...with a capital O!
(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props)

Can you imagine?  Think about it for a moment.

There was a time when I could wear heels like these, but nowadays it's easier to shake my tail feathers barefooted.

Surrounded by couples who have been married 40, 50, even 66 years...amazing!  Even more amazing was witnessing the passion they still had for each other after all that time.



The bride redesigned her dress to get just the perfect one for her...and she was so right to do so!  The chest...bombe', not bride's...was purchased from me years ago.
(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props)



Little compares to remind us life is good.  We only have to pack a light suitcase, lose the heavy baggage we keep dragging around and get out there to experience it.

Note to self: Even with an albatross around my neck.

No albatrosses were harmed in the creation of this lovely bouquet.
(Photo courtesy of Give Me Props)

Thank you Jenn for making me get the hitch outta my gitalong and earn some sweat equity in my life in the process.

Medical update:

Thank y'all for all the prayers. After a 4th CT scan and two visits to my doctors, I'm in the pink and  I've been promised the PICC line will be coming out next Tuesday.  The results are looking that good.  I'll be on oral antibiotics after that for about two weeks and as my colon doctor said...we'll see what happens after that.  There is no telling which pasture this ol' grey mare will be frolicking in after she gets unhitched!

Linking to Debra's Be Inspired Fridays

Smilin' In The 'Hood

I guess y'all could tell from my previous post I don't much care for hospitals.  Beats me as to why soap operas feel the need to base their story lines on them. Personally I do not find all that green paint and stainless steel sexy in the least.  I had days to look, but couldn't find one thing to fan the flames of desire...unless you count my desire to get the heck outta Dodge.

 For the record, I didn't have a single doctor, much less an intern, try to talk me outta my non-slip socks or even think of enticing me into joining him in the supply closet.  Maybe my "come hither" look was a bit too cock-eyed for their liking or maybe it was my peek-a-boo gown that scarred scared them.  That's okay y'all 'cause I didn't care much for their...ahem...bedside manner either.  Besides, their hands were always cold and Eau de pHisoHex has never been my favorite manly scent.  I'm more of a Lava and Old Spice gal myself!

The only good thing I found in being incarcerated for a week was the time it gave me to think.  A girl can only sleep so much you know...even on pain meds.

(Did I mention I only got decaf coffee in the mornings?  Now I ask y'all...how's a girl to get in the mood for amour du jour without caffeine? Impossible to get the ol' blood roiling when there's no Starbucks flowing in the veins!)

I've only been in the hospital for any length of time 3 times in my life.  Twice when becoming a mother and once when having my remaining chance for further motherhood removed.

SQUIRREL ALERT!!!

Be glad I'm not doing a rant post on the cost of medical care nowadays.  I'm pretty sure my three previous stays added together wouldn't be as much as a hospital stay is now.  I wish I'd taken a photo of the sign in my room that read "We strive for very good care".  Really?  Whatever happened to excellent care? Also, what the heck is going on and why is the push for medical devices now the big deal?  It's got me wondering how the heck folks survived anything 15 years ago! But like I said...I'm not going to get on a soapbox about it...for now!  I'll just say between the insurance companies and medical product lobbyists tying the caregivers hands...well...you know.

   Meanwhile back at the ranch...



(Hard to believe that in two short days after this photo was taken Easter I would be sick as a dog!)



like I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, becoming a mother was two of my stays.

I was young...very young...when I had the oldest melonhead.  When I had him, I had never changed a diaper, much less even held a baby.  I thought I didn't even like children.

(Factoid: His birthday was earlier this month.  Second factoid:  Both my of my children were delivered at 10 months! Jenn to the day.)

Lying in my bed at Baylor, I remembered the first time I was left alone with him.  Me who hadn't ever held a baby...remember?  Was I scared you ask?

You betcha.  Pea green.

I sat there in a chair, him in my arms, scared as all get out to move...much less breathe...afraid I would wake him and not know what to do.  For two hours I just sat there staring at this tiny creature, my heart pounding in my ears, trying not to cry when out of the blue...he smiled.  Y'all know the smile I'm talking about.  The one the nurses call gas, but I think differently.  In my heart of hearts, I know those sweet, smirky smiles are the baby's response to angels whispering in its ear.  God knew I was terrified beyond belief and I truly believe it was His way of letting Joey reassure me, in the only way he could, it was gonna be okay and he knew I'd never hurt him, but love him with all my heart.

It was the same with the Bella Mama.  She was born green as grass due to MAS and had to stay in the NICU for a week.  My OB/GYN, God love him, finagled it to where I wasn't released until she was.  Again I was one scared mama, but for different reasons.  I had to scrub up and don hospital duds just to go in and see her.  The day I got to actually hold her?  I can't even describe the joy I felt as I smiled through the tears at the wonder of her and her resiliency.  Resiliency forged at her birth that would serve her well with the birth of Bella.  God always at work at the details...even at the beginning of life.

(For all you young mothers out there who are wondering if you can possibly love a second child as much as your first...you can and will.  Just when you get to thinking your heart couldn't possibly love any more...like the Grinch's, it grows 3 times with each child.  Trust me on this one.  It takes 3x's to hold all the love you feel for each and every baby and still it spills over!)

On the day we brought Jenn home, my little lucky charm was no longer the color of a four leaf clover, but was perfection in cream with strawberry hair.  My but that baby was teeny tiny at 5 pounds. So small everyone but me was scared to touch her...even her daddy.  Mother came and helped me the first week and even she was a little frightened of her so we made a deal.  She'd take care of Joey and I'd take care of Jenn.  Looking back and remembering, I know she got the short end of the stick, 'cause Oh Mylanta, he was quite the handful!

Which brings me 'round to my mother.



(Open that can Helen 'cause what's a picnic without pork and beans?)



My mother loved being in the hospital.  Raising three rambunctious kids couldn't have been a picnic.  For her, it was comparable to a trip to a spa.  No kids to deal with, all her meals served in bed.  No bathroom to clean.  Waited on hand and foot and the center of attention.  If we came to see her (which we did) fine, if not, why that was fine too.  With all the books she could read while reclining in a bed that adjusted to her whim, she was content.  What could be sweeter?

That was how she dealt with life.  She took any given situation that was thrown at her and made the best of it.  Even at the end, when finding the good seemed impossible...her heart and health deteriorating...she was still smiling.  When we said goodbye for the last time, that smile is what I remember making the unbearable bearable,.  That smile told us she knew there was a better world awaitin' and at the end of her life, she was happy with the knowledge she was loved and at peace with the life she had lived.

It's kinda like the oldest melonhead pointed out to me while I was whining lamenting my incarceration.  He reminded me of something I would tell them when they were growing up.

When life seems to cover you up in crap...start digging.  With that much crap heaped up, there's bound to be a pony in there somewhere.

Law, but I hate it when my words come back to bite me in the butt, but I listened and I started digging.

And by golly...there it was...my little ponies.



(A beautiful immigrant bridal trunk we just bought at an estate sale. Whaa...you think a little ol' thing like a leash and harness is gonna keep this ol' grey mare from a good sale? Think again y'all!)



I was given time to reflect and remember precious memories.  And if that wasn't enough, to date I've lost over 20 pounds...although this is not a diet plan I'd recommend to everyone.

But the time...oh yes...that I hope you are given and if not, take it anyway.  Steal it if you have to.  I won't tell.

I hope everyone reading this had the time yesterday to remember their own precious memories of motherhood and mothering.  Write them down, frame them, carry them in your heart forever.  These are the things that will sustain you when days are dark. 

Why else would God give us the ability to forget the pain of childbirth, but remember the joy of being a big part of someone's life and they ours?  Oh and for the record...it takes more than blood to be a mother.  It takes unconditional love for others regardless of age or circumstance.  That is mothering at it's best.

Happy Mother's Day...just a day late.

Now I think I'll go saddle up my unicorn!

~Hold her head up Ma. She's goin' to the barn!~Cat Daddy 

IV Pole Dancing

My goodness...how time flies when you're having fun...or in the hospital!

This time y'all I have a really good explanation for being absent for so long...with a signed doctor's excuse no less.

For those of y'all who don't follow me on Face Book, I have been a very, very sick girl.  My original plan was to give y'all a step by step account of my recent stay at the Hotel de Baylor, but then I asked myself, "Self...would you really want to hear a full recount of a bout of diverticulitis?" The answer of course was not just no, but heck no!

Instead I thought I'd share a few things I learned.

With your kind permission, there is one thing I'd like to mention first though.  Don't expect the doctors to believe you if you inform them you don't have an appendix.  Kinda like a unicorn or the elusive Big Foot, they gotta look for themselves to prove scientifically it doesn't exist...just to be on the safe side.  After all...that's what they get paid the big bucks for isn't it?

BTW...I'm expecting my 8x10 glossies of that first CT scan they ordered to arrive in the mail just any day now!

Now on to the Talking Trash School of Hospital Dance lessons!





Texas Two Step Via


1. When doing the Mambo with an IV pole, it's always best to let it lead. Trust me, it's gonna go where it wants to go and no amount of pushing and pulling is gonna change it's course of action...no matter how firm your hold position is.  It's kinda like trying to do the Samba with John Wayne if you catch my drift.  The only thing you'll accomplish is ending up wrapped to the pole by the IV line like a May Pole with your gown up around your ears.
2. When the urge to bust a move hits, you best not wait until the last minute to ask Mr. Pole to Quick Step you on over to the bathroom.  I learned the hard way it doesn't like to sit too long on the wallflower bench and can get a might testy when one tries to hurry it along. It can and will step/roll on your toes.  This was a dance move I learned the hard way and I've got the bruised big toe to prove it.
3. There is no way on God's green Earth you can ever make a cocktail dress out of a hospital gown.  Hot to trot?  Forget it...not even the matronly Fox Trot works in that get-up. Truth is, you can be neither vixen nor lady in one.  Nope...ain't gonna happen.  Face it...it is what it is...dog butt ugly.  That split up the back is not and will never be the same as a split up the thigh.  Law...it's not there to attract the opposite sex.  It's there to facilitate treatment or so they say, but I got me a hunch it's there to humble you into submission.  And boy oh boy...does it ever succeed!  Not even the ruffliest pair of Rumba britches can change that fact. Oh...and take it from me...putting it on backwards won't improve the view either!  That'll only get you raised eyebrows from the hospital staff and your kids the need for some therapy.
4.  If you're thinking a pair of dancing shoes will improve the situation...think again.  This year's fashion trend in hospital footwear includes a pair of hideous brown non-slip socks...hospital issued of course.  Which reminds me, I haven't got the bill for 'em yet.  I'm pretty sure those bad boys are gonna set me back more than a pair of Louboutin's.  Heck...couldn't they at least have red leather soles instead of white vinyl lines?  And lest I forget, there was the white electric leg warmers with matching knee-highs for circulation I wore each and every night.  At first it was like cat-dancing on my legs, but after an hour...ummm not so much.  I tried to re-imagine them as disco boots, but the first night as I was doing the Hustle to get them off for my bathroom Tango, I quickly changed their name to #%&$ PITA's.
5. Lastly, but certainly not leastly...the hairstyle to complete a hospital ballroom look.  Now if you're hoping for an up-do and long, dripping with crystals, earrings...Oh Mylanta...are you in for a disappointment.   I'm here to tell you the only thing that'll be dripping is the IV bags...and quite possibly you from those #%&$ disco boots.  I found my up-do consisted of my hair sticking straight up in the air.  Maybe a classic French twist?  Yeah...that was me all right,  doing the twist trying to brush out the tangles with my free arm while asking the nurse to pardon my French.

So there you have it.  For a glorious eight days and seven nights, my dance card was filled.  I was never at a loss for a partner (with perfect posture I might add) and I also came home with a party favor...a PICC line for further at home antibiotic infusion.  This lovely accessory came complete with a navy blue neck bag...for further humbling.  Before you ask...yes...it's working...both for healing and for humbling.  Navy blue has never been my color.  I'm more of an "autumn" type gal.

Now before you get to thinking me ungrateful, please allow me add one final important detail.  I'm blessed that I was able to come home with this latest in statement necklaces and thankful God kept me on the dance floor and not up on a surgeon's table.  I am recovering, albeit slowly, but everything is according to His plan.  Held firmly in His arms of my life's waltz, I will never try and lead, but happily follow Him as He grace-fully navigates me around the dance floor...

His rhythm and timing always perfection.

As I sit here, the IV line dangling over the keyboard as I try to type, I'm wondering just one thing:

Reckon I could bedazzle this cotton pickin' bag and start my own line of old lady accessories?

CHA-CHA-CHA!