Saturday, December 20, 2008

Hurles Blood

My father says our family has something he refers to as "Hurles blood".

"Hurles" was my paternal grand-mother's maiden name. Her family was known for it's boisterous behavior. They were a fun bunch, always laughing and joking around. There was never a dull moment when they were together. They were fiercely loyal to the people they loved and didn't take much flack from anybody.

So, whenever my sister Connie or I complained about something hurtful someone had said or done to us, Dad would always say, "What's the matter? Don't you have any Hurles blood?"

That, of course meant we were supposed to either get up, shake it off and laugh about it ... or go kick some butt.

You know, act like a "Hurles".

Of course, even though being born with "Hurles blood" brings with it some responsibility,(like you've got to know how to control it) it is overall a good thing. Although our family members have more than our fair share of sassiness, we also have more fun than most. We can find humor in just about anything.

At 89 years old, Dad's "Hurles blood" still flows strongly thru his veins. His mind comes and goes at times though, and we've noticed lately that the line between real and imaginary has gotten slightly blurred for him.

For instance, last week Dad started asking my sister where his black car was.

A fair question of course, since there was no black car in his garage.

The problem is that as far as we know, Dad does not now, nor has he ever owned a black car. We still can't figure out where the idea of a black car came from, yet Dad has been insistant that he indeed DOES own a black car and now it is missing. He is quite distraught that no one seems interested in helping him find it.

Finally, after almost a week of questioning, Dad was talking on the phone to my sister about it from my niece, Stacia's house.

"I think I loaned my black car to Jug", he commented. ("Jug" is the nickname he gave my nephew Chad)

Connie, jumping on the notion that this could be an opportunity to put the issue to rest once and for all, said. "Yes, that's right Dad. You loaned it to him."

So, Dad asked, "Well why hasn't he brought it back?"

Ugh!

That question sparked the "Hurles blood" in my sister and she replied, "DAD! O.K.! YES! Chad borrowed your black car and wrecked it! It's gone!"

And Dad responded, "Well, where is it?"

"It's in the junk yard ... totalled!"

Dad again: "Which junk yard?."

My sister, "DAD! I don't even know, but it's GONE!"

Dad: "Well then, we need to find out, because I should at least get some insurance money out of it."

Frustrated, Connie gave Dad a straight talk about the condition of his memory. "Remember what I told you before about the black car, Dad?" she asked.

"Yes"

"What did I say about it?."

You said I am only imagining that I had a black car and it never really existed."

"OK Dad, so tell me. Do you have a black car?"

"No. I don't" he said, obviously disappointed at the admission.

"Now give the phone back to Stacia" Connie instructed him.

Doing as he was told, Dad handed the receiver to Stacia, muttering something inaudible in the process.

Stacia's laughter erupted over the line.

"What did he say?" Connie asked her daughter.

"He said to see if I could find out anything about his black car for him."

That's "Hurles blood" for you. Once we've set our minds to something, we don't give in easily.

"Hurles blood" keeps us witty and at times a force to be reckoned with.

Having "Hurles blood" gives us the determination it takes to get what we want out of life ... most of the time.

It's "Hurles blood" that has kept every member of Dad's family very much alive and robust right up to the end of their natural life on earth.

When I look at my own grandchildren, I can see that the "Hurles blood" has not lost an ounce of momentum as it's made it's way through the many generations of Hurles offspring.

My grandparents on Dad's side of the family all passed away before I was born. I never had the privilege of meeting them. But yet I know them just the same.

I grew to love them through knowing my Dad and his sisters. They were a lot like me and my sister, our kids, and now our grandchildren. All fun loving, loud, happy boisterous, strong willed, perserverant. (Alright, yes ..maybe even slightly stubborn ... sometimes downright mule-headed)

We're all good people. We all have Hurles blood. We've surely made Dad very proud!

That should be some consolation to him, considering we never did manage to locate his little black car.

Friday, December 19, 2008

And So This Is Christmas ...

Someone please tell me that Christmas is NOT less than a week away. I must be dreaming because I could have sworn I had weeks left to prepare.

It's been weird this year.

Walt and I decided to stay home in order to alleviate all the Christmas stress we normally endure. We thought it would be nice to relax and enjoy the holiday without having to throw everything in a suitcase and hit the road as soon as the last package is unwrapped on Christmas morning.

Like they say ... "The best made plans of mice and men ... "

This is partially my fault. I've just not felt like my usual festive self. Until this morning (five days before Christmas) I hadn't addressed a single card. I didn't start shopping until about a week ago ... a real record for someone who normally makes sure she doesn't have to go into a store at all between Thanksgiving and Christmas! I tried to take the edge off the whole "going into the store" deal by doing most of my shopping online.

Unfortunately, it looks like nothing I ordered for Walt will get here before Christmas! So much for that money/time saving idea.

Although, in some ways I think that waiting until the last minute simplified things. For example, when I start my shopping in October I tend to spend more overall. That didn't happen this year and that is a good thing, considering the amount of which our income dropped over the last twelve months.

Christmas isn't about money, right?

Of course that's the case, but Walt and I LOVE to GIVE. I'd be lying if I said that not being able to do so hasn't taken some of the joy out of the season for me. Last year, not only did we totally indulge our families but we "adopted" another family and fulfilled the entire Christmas wish lists of three children. We all had a blast doing that! What a joy to see the faces of the parents when we arrived with the truck load of presents! We arranged it so that the children wouldn't know where the gifts came from ... that made it even better.

A month later, in the mail, we got a scrapbook titled "The Best Christmas, Hands Down" from that family. It was made from "scratch" and had the hand prints of the three children on the front cover. Inside were dozens of pictures taken of their Christmas morning celebration. Beautiful, smiling faces with descriptions of their reactions to the "magic" they had awakened to that day.

The Taylor Electric Christmas party was canceled this year as well. That was another thing we always enjoyed doing. Walt goes all out in making sure that every one of his employees, their wives and children go home with nice gifts. To top it off, we always gave away a flat screen T.V., surround sound systems, and other awesome prizes.

But, as I said .. this year is different.

The economic status of our country has affected small business owners drastically and cutbacks have been necessary.

To make matters worse, we've had to deal with more than the usual amount of "family stress".

I don't do "drama", so this has been a particular challenge for me.

And so this is Christmas. I suppose that, in a few years I won't even remember how difficult this one has been. Life moves on, and things return to some sembelence of "normal", even if it means that "normal" has to be re-defined.

We are already dreaming of next Christmas and hoping to just pack up and leave the country over the holidays. Germany, would be nice ... or perhaps Jamaica. After all, money is no object where dreams are concerned.

Merry Christmas from the Taylors! Enjoy every moment you have with your family. Savor the smiles of your children on Christmas morning. Indulge in an extra piece of pie or just "one more" Christmas cookie (I didn't make any of those this year either).

Hug your parents ... and grandchildren extra tight, if you are so blessed as to have them with you.

Most of all, don't forget to take a moment to thank God for the real "reason for the season".

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." John 3:16

Monday, December 15, 2008

Ugly To The Bone!

They say that beauty is skin deep.

I've also heard it phrased, "Beauty is skin deep but ugly goes clear to the bone" That statement, while meant to be humorous, is sadly true.

Ugly is ugly, and even when hidden, it eventually comes out. Just like a big ol' pimple. When pressure is applied, the nastiness of it comes to the surface for all to see.

Sorry to say there are a lot of people like that in this world. Try as I may, I can't understand it. I've attempted to prove that theory wrong. For forty eight years I've chosen instead to believe that almost everyone is basically "good". Sure, we all suffer from the occasional bad day, or even a short season when we are not at our best. We're all human, after all.

At this point I'm not even sure the "we're all human" statement is accurate.

Nope. The truth is that some people are just plain ugly. No question about it.

I've decided to accept the fact and move on. Nothing can be done for an ugly person unless they look in the mirror and decide they want something to be done. The only thing I can control is how I allow the ugliness of others to affect my life.

So, I choose not to associate with ugliness any more. I fear that "ugly" might be contagious, and that is a disease I do not wish to catch.

Our pastor says that the friends we keep are a reflection of our true selves. If I keep ugly friends, then I too am either "ugly" or risk becoming "ugly".

Sounds like a "no - brainer" to me.

Just say "no" to "ugly". From this day on, that's what I intend to do.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

I Wish I Had A Cookie

My mother (L) and Aunt Ethel (R)

In Memory Of Aunt Ethel
2/23 - 12/08


I grew up in a ridiculously small town on the outskirts of Appalachia. It was the kind of town where everyone knew everyone and they all looked out for each other.

My Aunt Ethel lived two doors down the street from us. The neighbors yard that sprawled between our houses was distinctly marked with a worn path leading from our back door to her front door.

I walked (or rather ran) that path nearly every day as a child. Even as young as three years old, I made the journey by myself on a regular basis.

There was never a need to knock on Ethel's door, a mere "Hi Ethel!!!! I'm here!" as I entered her living room was good enough.

I can still hear her voice as she would call back to me, "Hello, Becky Jean! Come on in!"

Ethel always kept a cookie jar filled with macaroon cookies in her kitchen, and I would make a beeline for it first thing upon arrival. For a few minutes I'd sit at her kitchen table and chatter to her, my skinny long legs dangling off the edge of the chair as I gobbled down the delicious treat.

My mother had a sweet tooth herself, so of course we had cookies at our house too. Somehow they just didn't taste as good to me as the cookies at Ethel's house did.

The things we remember from our childhood are interesting to me. My Aunt Ethel was a wonderful woman, always gentle, kind and loving. I cherished her, and was most definitely very fond of her macaroon cookies. Even though I've long since given up eating them, I still think of her every time I spot a package of them sitting on a store shelf.

Aunt Ethel passed away only two days ago at the age of 85. She was the last one left of the Fairchild sisters. I'm glad she's gone on to Heaven and can't help but smile when I think of the reunion that must have taken place as she entered the gates. No doubt my mother and her other siblings all met her there, those big trademark "Fairchild" smiles glowing as they welcomed her in.

I was able to see Ethel during our trip to Ohio for Thanksgiving. Walt and I stopped to visit her twice while we were there. She was failing quickly but her mind was surprisingly sharp. She recognized me right away and talked about the hibiscus plant we'd given her last summer.

It was a good visit and one we were grateful for, but it left Walt and me both in tears.

I spent the better part of yesterday evening and this morning trying to no avail, to find a decently priced airline ticket so I can fly home for the memorial service. At this point, it looks like I'll either be driving or not going at all.

I can't imagine missing it but I may have no other choice.

How did life get so complicated anyway? It's been a rough week in general. Besides all the stress naturally associated with the holidays and Ethel's passing, I've got three or four other situations that are pressing, all of them "urgent" in one way or another.

I have important appointments scheduled for tomorrow night and Friday. Even if I don't go to Ohio, I will likely cancel those. A couple other situations are causing me aggravation and grief too, but I can't do anything about them right now.

So instead, I have chosen to sit in my pajamas and sort my thoughts for a while. Dealing with life logically can almost be a handicap at times. I'm not without emotions, don't get me wrong. It's just that logic tends to prevail and I am able to slip into this "auto-mode" as I manage my way through the necessary evils in life.

But you know, sitting here as I negotiate all the pros and cons and consider all the what's and if's, I find my mind repeatedly drifting back to one thing.

I really just wish I had a cookie.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Fiesta at the Taylors!

As I mentioned in my last post, we are having a Mexican themed travel party this Sunday afternoon.

I love to vacation in Mexico. I also like fajitas and burritos. And the Mexican beaches I've been to are wonderful!

That, however, is the extent to which my expertise as far as all things "Mexico" go, so in a moment of exceptional optimism I looked up all the recipes I thought I needed for our party on the internet. I intend to make all our party food myself so I googled "Mexican Party Food" and took it from there.

What resulted was a list of things I'd mostly never heard of, and none if which I've ever actually made, of course.

We're having "Tortilla Snacks", for which the recipe calls for some specific kind of cheese, one I never even knew existed prior to my google search. I couldn't find that exact cheese, so I bought a cheese blend with that in it. I reasoned that, if anything, the other cheeses will add flavor AND since I have no idea what the tortilla snacks are supposed to taste like, who'll know the difference anyway?

The guacamole dip recipe I found stated "one package of frozen guacamole mix" Kroger either doesn't carry frozen guacamole mix, or they were sold out of it , so I compensated and circled back by the fruits and vegetables where I purchased two avocados and a powdered guacamole mix instead. I'll just mix that up and throw it in. How different can it be?

Bean dip was next on the list. Now, that's something I do know a little bit about. At least I know how it's supposed to taste. I picked an easy recipe. The store had everything I needed for that, except "cubed American cheese" (What the heck is American cheese doing in a Mexican bean dip?) I decided to use plain old American cheese slices ... it's all the same once it's melted anyway, right?

Aside from the Tortilla snacks, which are a hot appetizer type dish, the bean dip and the guacamole dip, I am going to put a big bowl of corn chips, tortilla chips and salsa on the table and call it a done deal.

Except for the drinks, that is. Our choices will be strawberry Margaritas and Mai Tai punch (both non-alcoholic) Everyone knows that nothing says "Mexico" quite like a Margarita, so I bought some great plastic Margarita glasses at the party store. Now I pretty much HAVE to follow thru on the whole Margarita thing, right?

Again, I googled "non-alcoholic Margaritas and Mai Tai Punch" and wrote down the ingredients. I have a degree in Science. I'm accustomed to mixing all sorts of things together in the lab, so how hard could it possibly be to create a non-toxic/non-alcoholic beverage by recipe?

Silly me!

I was totally dumbfounded in the aisle where all the drink mix concoctions are kept. The recipes called for a certain brand of mix, and of course the store didn't carry that brand! Heck! I wasn't even sure I knew the difference between tonic water, soda water, and seltzer (is there any?)

Finally semi-satisfied that I could make do with what I'd found, I paid for everything and wheeled it to the car.

If nothing else, it will be interesting! My "back-up plan" relies on the fact that our neighbor keeps a fully stocked bar. If a culinary disaster appears inevitable, I'll send next door for plenty of rum and tequila. Enough of that and no one will even notice if the food tastes horrible and the drinks fall flat!

I'll let you know!

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Roller Coaster

I like roller coasters. They're fun.

But only the new fangled kind they make out of steel, not the old wooden ones. Ouch! Those hurt!

My favorite so far has been "Superman" at Six Flags. Technically, I'm not sure that falls into the category of "roller coasters" but it's close enough I think. I had such a great time on that ride! I especially enjoyed the part where it all of a sudden flipped me upside down and took me flying backwards! Weeeeeeee! What a thrill.

So, contrary to some people's opinion, I really am no weeny. I like fun, adventurous kinds of things. I just don't like to get hurt, that's all.

"What does the topic of roller coasters have to do with anything?", you might be asking.

Well, I'll tell you.

My life has been an emotional roller coaster lately and I don't mean the fun "Superman" kind. I'm talking about the old rickety, hurt your neck at every bump, wooden sort of roller coaster that I swore I'd never ride again.

Life, however, has not given me much choice in the matter, so here I am being thrown all over the place, up ... then down without warning and screaming every inch of the way.

I used to be stronger than this. I don't know what happened but all of a sudden it appears all my resilience has gone bye-bye. I never know how I'm going to feel one moment to the next anymore and it's really getting on my nerves.

For instance, yesterday was a very good day all around. I felt enthusiastic, and even pretty excited about life and the future. It was the first "good day all day long" day I've had for a while and I enjoyed every minute of it.

Today started off good too. I had a productive morning. I'm getting use to having to do things on a schedule again, so that's good. I'm proud of that achievement! I had a tele-conference, a phone session with a client, did two loads of laundry, took care of a couple more important calls and then went on an errand run. All before noon!

I should mention that somewhere in the middle of all that, I managed to get dressed in REAL clothes (not running pants and a t-shirt), fix my hair and put on some makeup. That in itself says a lot considering how things have been going in recent weeks.

Yes, life behaved itself beautifully for a little over 24 hours.

My first stop on the errand run was at "Party City" to grab some things for the Grand Opening Travel Party we're having this Sunday afternoon. I had fun picking out my theme and decided to choose "Mexico", since that's one of my favorite places to go AND we're giving away a trip to Mexico at our party.

Then, somewhere in aisle five while I was standing, gazing in awe at the display of plastic Margarita glasses, the stacks of party supplies that surrounded me began to cave in. Not literally, of course but all of a sudden I was hit with a sense of dread and sadness that hurt just about as badly.

In an instant, all the things I was feeling so excited about yesterday became overwhelming to me and I almost panicked. I wanted nothing more than to leave my cart of Mexican themed goodies and head back to the safety of my own home, preferably between the covers of my bed if at all possible.

Sigh.

I stuck it out and paid for the items I'd chosen. After that I had to stop at Office Max and get some business supplies, have copies made, yada yada ... but I didn't enjoy it. As a matter of fact I didn't get everything I needed because I decided I'd grab only what would be necessary to get us through the weekend.

I feel very tired now, as is usually the case when the rickety roller coaster finally comes to a rest for a while. I'd really like to take a nap but that isn't an option. I guess I'll just wait here in line for the next coaster to arrive. Hopefully it will be "Superman" and not "Son of Beast" next time around!

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Rush Hour

Today's start was just as rocky as yesterday's was good.

The alarm went off at 6:30 as usual. I got out of bed and dragged myself up the stairs to awaken my fourteen year old son, a monumental task even on a good day.

Thanks to an aching neck, I didn't sleep well last night so I was particularly groggy this morning. I promised myself I'd take a nap as soon as the boy left for school. The minute the door closed behind him, I treated myself to a pain pill and went back to bed, noting that I had about an hour and a half to sleep before I needed to get up and prepare for a phone coaching session I had scheduled for 10:00.

I'm not sure my head had even hit the pillow before I was happily back in sleepy town. I was in the middle of a rather interesting dream, part of which involved me reminding myself that I needed to wake up in time for my appointment. I mean, literally ... in my dream I mentioned that I probably needed to check the clock and make sure I didn't miss it.

I took my own advice and woke up to see what time it was. The alarm clock's blazing red numbers said 9:57. Ugh! I had three minutes before I had to be "at work". I sprang from the bed, ran into the bathroom and washed my face, brushed my teeth, and thanked God this was a phone session which meant I didn't have to change out of my pajamas!

On the way to get the phone, I opened the door and sent my dog, Jordan outside. Lately, he's developed a tendency to wait until I'm on the phone, then start barking to go out. Not very "professional" sounding for to my clients on the other end of the line, so I thought I'd get ahead of the game and put him out before the session started. All I'd have to do was check the front steps a couple times during the session and make sure he was lying in his usual spot.

Finally, I dialed the number and got the session started, only five minutes late which wasn't bad, all things considered. It actually worked out well because my client said she too was running behind.

Ten minutes into the session, my cell phone rang. Normally I turn it off or at least leave it on "silent" during coaching times, but today was an exception to that rule. I got out of my seat, walked to the counter where it lay ringing and picked it up. It was my husband calling.

My client asked, "Do you need to get that?" I told her "no" and apologized for the interruption. Walt must have forgotten that I had an appointment, as he's usually good about not calling during my sessions.

While I was up and moving around anyway, I figured it would be a good time to check on the dog.

Dog? - Gone!

I stepped outside and looked up and down the sidewalk for him. There were no signs of my dear canine friend anywhere.

I decided the wayward critter must have moved to the garage to get out of the wind, so I went back inside the house and walked to the back door to check. He wasn't in the garage either but the cat managed to slither past my leg and ran out as soon as the back door opened. I quickly hit the garage door control and let it down to block the cat's escape. The cat could stay in the garage until I later. Maybe some time out there in the cold would teach him a lesson about trying to bolt outside in the first place.

Surprisingly enough, I was able to maintain my conversation on the phone throughout the extra activities taking place around me.

About that time, a call from my husband beeped in on the business line. This meant there must be a problem that merited immediate attention. I asked my client if I could call her right back and she said, "Sure! No problem" By then, she was probably happy to have the chance to start looking in the yellow pages for a new coach anyway.

I hung up the phone, then dialed Walt's number while simultaneously walking out the front door to look once again for Jordan.

Still gone!

On the phone, Walt's apologetic voice informed me that we had a lunch meeting at 12:00, at a restaurant a 30 minute drive away. He asked if I could pick one of his associates up and meet him there. By then, it was about 10:30. That meant I had another 30 minutes of a session to complete, which would have the call ending at 11:00. It would allow me only 30 minutes to find something decent to wear, fix my hair (which was in dire need of washing) put on some makeup .. and find my dog before I had to leave.

With a promise that I'd try to be there on time, I hung up the phone and walked around the front of the house, calling my dogs name while a cold November wind blew it's way up my pajama pants and down the sleeves. Needless to say, I was chilled to the bone.

Finally, I spotted the prodigal Sheltie waddling back up the street towards the house, obviously a little perplexed about my impatience with him over the matter.

Ignoring the fact that my cell phone was ringing AGAIN, I said a prayer that the neighbors hadn't seen me out wandering around in my pajamas, and went back inside to call my client back.

And again, she was very understanding about it all. I apologized one more time, and told her I was going to give her a free session next week to make up for today's debacle. She said that wasn't really necessary, but accepted my offer anyway ... a relief since I figured by that time I'd been put on her "expendable" list.

We hung up the phone at 10:55. The dog was inside resting comfortably in front of the gas fireplace, the cat was howling to be let in from the garage, and I had 35 minutes in which to pull myself together.

GO!

I raced into the closet and found a pair of reasonably wrinkle free brown slacks. Eyes scanning the rack for a blouse that would match, I grabbed a lacy short sleeved top from it's hanger. It didn't exactly fit into the "fall apparel" category but it would have to do. I would find a jacket to go over it ... somehow.

I started to slip into a pair of brown boots but noticed they didn't look right with those particular pants. Shoes! I'd bought a pair of shoes specifically for that reason not too long ago, where were they?

Aha! Shoes! Now socks! My choice was considerably narrowed by the fact that they would actually have to match since I was wearing shoes instead of boots and therefore more likely to be seen by the public. Aha! But I'd done laundry only yesterday and a pair of matching brown socks were readily available. Thank goodness for small favors!

I can't say I was proud of the way my hair looked when I finished, but there was no time for fussing over it. I brushed it, sprayed it, made an attempt to style it with my fingers and called it done. Makeup was slathered on in record time. I even managed to find a pair of earrings and a necklace to compliment the lacy top.

It was 11:25. I had five minutes to figure out where I'd left my watch and rings, find my keys, and get to the car.

I stopped at the hall closet to get the jacket I needed to cover my summer blouse but it was not there. Instead, I opted for a distinctly winter, casual coat. By that time, who cared! I put it on and ran out the door.

As I backed the car out of the driveway, I applied some lipstick then called the lady whose call I'd previously ignored. I was still talking to her when I arrived at the home of the gentleman I was suppose to be taking to the lunch meeting.

Still talking also when I rang his doorbell. He opened the door, and I (still talking on the phone) smiled and said "Hi! I'm Becky. Are you ready to go?"

We got into the car and headed for the restaurant.

It looked like we just might make it there by noon! YAY!

...Until we got about 10 miles from the house and discovered the traffic was at a near standstill on Rt. 400. I called Walt, who was by that time waiting at the restaurant, and advised him of the situation. "Don't worry about it" he consoled me. "Just get here when you can."

At long last we arrived at the restaurant at precisely 12:30, exactly thirty minutes late.

I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I sank into my chair. A round of applause and laughter went up from the other meeting attendees.... and no one seemed the least bit aware that I was in an unusual state of dishevelment.

Maybe there is something to be said for making an "entrance" after all.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

I Should Have Seen It Coming

This day just started out too good. That should have been my first clue that it would be best to crawl back into bed and stay there where it was safe.

But like I said, it started out great. First of all, I woke up feeling rested ... always a plus for someone who's "pushing fifty", then after the boy went to school I made a pot of coffee and sat down at the computer where I typed to my heart's content on my coaching blog. Once my brain and fingertips were equally numb, I turned my energy towards housecleaning and got a ton of things accomplished in that arena.

While I was sitting down to rest, I received a call from someone requesting one of my free sample coaching sessions, a very good thing since I need all I can get for my certification. (Although it would be nice to have a couple of them turn into a paying clients for a change)

That call came in around noon and the best I can recall, it was the last really good thing that happened to me today. It's been all downhill from there, I'm afraid. From that point on, it's been one minor disaster after another until finally I am exhausted and watching the clock for a decent hour at which to declare the day done with, crawl into bed and pull the covers back over my head.

I know, even on the worst of days I am still blessed. But even on my best days lately I am feeling a little fragile and tired.

And this was one of those.

Monday, November 3, 2008

It Ain't Easy Being Green

We were at a party Saturday night when my friend, Lourdes mentioned to me that I am "green", lime green actually as I also have some "yellow" traits.

She was referring to the "color" of my personality.

I had no clue what she meant, but it sounded interesting enough. I'm always open to learning new things so I was intrigued.

Lourdes explained to me that she is a "blue". Blues are exuberant, motivated, people-persons, and maybe a little on the loud side. She said that "blues" drive most "greens" crazy. Since I'm not completely green (my secondary trait is yellow, remember?) I don't really have a problem with blues.

Obviously not, since I've loved Lourdes since the day I've met her, blue trait and all.

On Monday morning, while I was attending my Life Coaching tele-class, I decided to multi-task and do a little research on the colors of personalities. With the phone on "mute", I found a couple tests online and took them (I had to take a second test in order to confirm the results of the first one. It's a "green" thing)

Lourdes had nailed it. I am green (with a side of yellow)

As fate would have it, the mere fact that I was intrigued by the concept and felt the need to research it, is an indicator of my "green-ness".

"Green people have a deep seated need to study and learn things. They are logically minded and rarely content to blindly take someone else's word for things." We green people need to understand issues for ourselves and frankly, can get a bit perturbed at those who don't approach life in the same manner.

The information I uncovered actually helped me understand myself better. Some aspects of my personality that have bothered me most of my life, can be explained by the fact that I am green.

Not that it makes it any easier. It doesn't. It just helps me understand, and understanding is very important to green people.

For instance, I usually feel isolated in a crowd. I often wonder if people even like me. This is because I look at the "statistics" I've calculated in my head and realize that by no means do I seem to be a "people magnet".

Here's an excerpt from one of the paragraphs I found:

"It's not easy to communicate with greens ... their ideas are often expressed in an overly complicated manner ... some people avoid talking to greens ... it's no surprise then, that greens are delighted when someone takes the time to carefully listen to them and respond with intelligent feedback. In fact, it may be hard to shut them up once they get going."

Hmmm .. ok. Fair enough.

It went on:
"Since greens represent a minority (they're the least common of personality colors) in most populations, they generally grow up feeling isolated from others. They may attend social events, but remain apart from the group, usually conversing with other greens. This may cause them to be viewed as anti-social by other colors."

There were several things I didn't like about what I was reading, even though according to my calculations, at least 80% of it rang true.

"Greens can be oblivious to the emotional responses of others. Some people may feel they don't exist to a green and may react to this unpleasant feeling by attacking the personality of the green. This generally causes the green to be surprised and perplexed. They do not understand the cause of the attack and will seldom strike back"...

"When they do strike back, however, they are capable of biting sarcasm that can be devastating to the person to whom it is directed."

At that point, I decided it was ok to pick and choose from my internet findings concerning "greens".

I am not oblivious to emotional responses of people at all, but I have been told I sometimes come across as cold in nature. People who know me well also know that isn't true. I'm a very warm and caring person.

I DON'T do drama though, so maybe that's where that aspect of my personality comes from. I do, however, have a deep respect and appreciation for sincere emotions ... and can tell the difference between the real and fake stuff in a heartbeat. If someone is sincere in their emotions, I'm there, and I'm definitely compassionate. (That, thanks to the "yellow" side of my personality)

"Greens take their time in making decisions." That's because we analyze things until we're absolutely convinced. We can be "knowledge junkies" because we're always searching for facts to back our findings.

"Greens are concerned with precision in language." (hello! This is why I'd rather communicate in writing than verbally. It gives me a chance to re-read and process what I am saying.)

and on it goes ...

"Greens are perfectionists and hold extremely high standards for themselves. They are often frustrated at their inability to meet even their own standards. Greens are constantly accumulating mental lists of things they should know and should be able to do."

Here we go ...
"Greens are drawn toward occupations that involve formation and applications of scientific principles (Umm, wanted to be a Medical Lab Technologist since age eight .. hematologist for most of my adult life ... analyzed uranium samples for a living for several years ... )"

Among other scientific fields, greens are drawn to CRIMINOLOGY. Hence my lean toward the "dark side" at times. Give me an afternoon of "Forensic Files" or "Dr. G. Medical Examiner" on t.v. and I am a happy camper.

Best and most appealing of all the statements I uncovered concerning the green personality type was this one:

"Greens are right almost 100% of the time!" This is because as greens, we think things through before we say them out loud. Long before our assessment of a situation leaves our lips, we've dissected it. We pick our battles, in a sense, because we hate to be found lacking. We like to be accurate and don't want to give the impression that we aren't.

So there you've got it. I'm green. Like it or not, that explains a lot.

On the other hand, I am not always so green. I happen to be quite convincing as a speaker (as long as I've had a chance to prepare and a microphone isn't shoved in my face unexpectedly, in which case my words will no doubt come out zombie like and unappealing)

I've learned to push myself to do "people" things. The last year has been one of great stretching and growing for me, and I am pretty proud of the results. I am a great listener, a trait that ironically enough helps immensely in my pursuit of a Life Coaching career. (That's normally more of a "blue" occupation)

So, maybe in my latter years I am evolving ... changing like a chameleon from green to yellow and on to blue in order to accommodate the demands of my surroundings. I can see where that may be a possibility. After all, I started out as a "green" and everyone knows, we "greens" can do anything we set our minds too!


(Quotes taken from insightlearning.com )

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Who Woulda Thunk It?

I decided today to have the cat bite on my leg checked by a doctor. Right after church this morning, we drove to the same Urgent Care clinic I went to for the torn meniscus a month or so ago.

The area around the bite was so swollen and sore Friday night, that I couldn't bear to have the bed sheet touching it. Saturday morning, the worst of the puncture wounds started oozing fluid and I suspected an infection had taken hold.

After the oozing episode, my leg started to look better and hurt less so I waited until today to go to Urgent Care.

I'm glad I went! I received antibiotics and quite an education during my visit.

Did you know that cat bites are second only to human bites as far as risk of serious infection goes? They are! The doctor told me that he's had one patient who actually lost her leg below the knee because she waited 10 days after a cat bit her to have her injuries treated.

OK, so the lady was 80 years old, the neighborhood "cat lady", and the cat that bit her was a wild stray.

Still, that information certainly got my attention.

Also, did you know it's common medical procedure to treat ALL cat bites with antibiotics even if there are no signs of infection at all?

Given the story of the now one-legged cat lady, I can understand why.

Injuries such as the ones inflicted by my sweet, playful Skippy tend to fool people by appearing to heal, when in reality there are bacteria "incubating" and breeding deep within the tissue. If untreated, the bacteria can get into the bloodstream and travel to other parts of the body. If it finds it's way to, oh say ... the heart, it can be FATAL.

That's good to know, Doc, but you had me convinced way back at first mention of amputation of the injured limb!

Thankfully, the doctor himself is a cat lover so he was completely understanding of my plight. I'd feared he might suspect I was harboring a dangerous animal and insist the CDC be called in to investigate. I hated the idea of poor Skippyjon having to go before a jury of his Siamese kitty peers, and possibly be convicted of "cruelty to a human".

No need to worry now. In a week or so my leg should be back to normal, (with the exception of a couple fang shaped scars) , Skippyjon has already forgotten the whole incident... and we are all a little wiser for the experience!

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Third Rock and The King

It has become customary for Mr. Taylor and I to record episodes of "The King Of Queens" and watch one or two of them just before we retire every night. This started over a year ago and I fear at this point has become more of an addiction than a custom for my husband. To date, we have probably seen each episode no fewer than 10 times. I have most of them memorized word for word.

The show is still funny, but it began to grow a little old to me a month or so ago. This was only made worse by the fact that when particularly amusing scenes play, Walt will "rewind" and watch it over again several times in succession, laughing hysterically each and every time.

I suppose you could say the man is easily entertained. ( I don't know exactly how that reflects on me as his wife, but it's true)

When I watch t.v. I tend to choose shows that range from one extreme to the other. I either want to see something incredibly mindless and silly, or I want something that leans to the "dark" side. Once Mr. Taylor has laughed himself to sleep, I will normally flip channels until I locate something akin to "Forensic Files" or "Dr. G. Medical Examiner".

That was before I re-discovered a sitcom from the 90's called "Third Rock From The Sun". I use to love that show. It definitely falls into the "mindless, silly" category and is just what I've been needing a lot of lately. I happily set the DVR to record every episode.

Because I only watch it a couple times a week, this meant I had 10 or 12 episodes to choose from every time I got my turn at the remote.

Last night we came home from a Halloween party at our neighbors and began settling in for the night. Walt had a hunting trip planned for the wee hours of the morning, so he surrendered the remote to me after only two re-run, re-runs of "The King of Queens". I happily accepted his offer to watch a show of MY choosing and clicked on "recordings".

I noticed there were no new "Third Rock" episodes on the list. Hmm. I skimmed down through through the titles and saw lots and lots of "King", several old western movies (needless to say those were not mine either) "Deliverence" (oh please!) "The Godfather" (are you beginning to see a trend here?)

No "Third Rock" offerings at all, except for a few waaaay down towards the bottom that I'd already watched in recent weeks.

I looked at the snoozing man lying beside me in the bed, and then at the clock which read "12:05" I knew he had to get up at 4:30 to go hunting but really felt I had no choice but to awaken him. This was an emergency!

After several elbows to the ribs, he opened his eyes, and asked, "What is it?"

"What happened to all my "Third Rock From The Sun" recordings?" I asked.

He thought for a moment and finally responded .. "Oh ....."

Propped on both elbows, I glared at him in anticipation of the answer I knew would surely follow.

"I must have deleted them. I was going through the list the other day cleaning it up a little. I'm sorry. Just go ahead and reset it to record them again."

Within a milli-second he had fallen back into a peacefully state of slumber.

So much for the crisis at hand.

WHAT? "Just go ahead and set it to record them again?" To begin with, I don't even remember what channel the show was being aired on, or when it aired at all! Secondly, it was after midnight, and with the exception of the light from the television screen, it was dark in the room. Unlike my husband, I don't know how to blindly manipulate the remote.

Oh, believe me, it did cross my mind to turn on ALL the lights and blatantly search the programming schedule until I found my "Third Rock" but I resisted and found something morbid to watch instead. It wasn''t quite the same, but it had to do.

In the process, I couldn't help but stew just a little. How ironic that only MY shows got "cleaned" off the repeated recordings list and his did not.

I don't ask for much. For every chick flick Mr. Taylor and I watch together, we see at least 20 manly-man types of shows. And it wasn't like we were running out of room for recordings either. If I'm not mistaken, the last time I looked I noticed we had about 200 hours of recording space available.

Maybe there is a 300 hour "King of Queens" marathon coming up that I am unaware of and Walt is afraid he's going to miss it.

To make matters worse, first thing this morning I started scanning the program schedule so I could find out when MY show will be airing again, and correct the situation. I had no luck whatsoever. By all appearances, my beloved aliens from "Third Rock" have left the planet.

I won't give up. I can't! This is war and I WILL WIN!

King of Queens, you have no power over the alien forces of Third Rock!

And Mr. Taylor, you know me better than to think you have heard the last of this matter.

Friday, October 31, 2008

Never EVER Get In The Middle Of A Cat Fight!





After nearly three months, our oldest Siamese, Jasmine is still having a difficult time accepting the fact that our youngest Siamese, Skippyjon is here to stay. At best, Jasmine "tolerates" Skippy in the household. She does draw the line, however, when it comes to him being in our, er .. I mean "her" bedroom.

Two nights ago we had all settled in for the night, me with Jasmine curled up by my side on the bed and Skippy supposedly snuggled in his spot with Adam upstairs. All seemed well with the world, until I heard Jasmine's soft purring turn into that tell tale belly growl that indicates Skippy has entered the scene.

I waited, hoping Skippy would take the hint and go back upstairs, but as is his usual reaction he decided to linger and antagonize the poor old cat perched above him on the bed. Finally, I sat up to see exactly where he was in the room and hopefully shoo him out.

As I pushed myself into a sitting position and threw off the covers, I managed to startle Jasmine. She, no doubt thinking Skippyjon had ambushed her sprang off the bed. Unfortunately, my right hand was planted just behind her when she decided to spring, and she dug her back claws into my palm in the process.

"Crap!" I exclaimed, and followed her out of the bed intending to go into the bathroom where I could examine my injuries in the light.

As soon as my feet hit the floor I realized I had landed between the two cats who were now hissing and growling as if they were possessed. Instinctively, I grabbed a pillow from the bed and tried to put it between them, hoping it would give me a chance to get out of the way before the posturing stopped and the tooth and nail part of the fight ensued.

I was too late. At the same instant I dropped the pillow in front of Jasmine, Skippy lurched towards her. Lucky for Jasmine, my right shin blocked his attack.

Not so lucky for me, because the same shin also caught the full impact of his bite.

"Owwww ...." then "Crap!" again.

With the pillow, I started pushing Skippy towards our bedroom door, finally forcing him into the hallway just outside our room.

As I slammed the door in the perplexed little cat's face, I realized blood was oozing down the front of my leg. By this time, I was closer to the hallway bathroom than to our master bath, so I opened the door again and flipped on the light.

On either side of my lower right shin was a set of puncture wounds the exact size of the Skippyjon's mouth. Blood was streaming from all four punctures marks, all the way down to the top of my foot.

Skippy sat staring innocently up at me, then dropped to his back and rolled around in front of me as if to say, "Oh good! You're awake! I was just hoping for someone to play with."

Resisting the urge to step ON him, I stepped over him and into the hallway bath where I grabbed a wet cloth with which to clean my injuries. Skippy, still not understanding what the fuss was about or that he was quite possibly in danger of losing one of his nine lives, followed me to the kitchen and watched curiously as I took four bandaids out of the cupboard and applied them to my leg.

In all my years of being owned by cats, this is a first! I've had my share of cat scratches, but this really beats all I've ever seen. My lower leg looks like I was bitten by a snake on each side of my shin.

It's swollen and red. And you wouldn't believe how much it HURTS!

From now on I will make sure I shut our bedroom door at night, just in case Skippy decides to go on the prowl instead of going to sleep with the boy. It's either that, or wear gloves and shin guards to bed. I'm pretty sure Mr. Taylor would not approve of the latter.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Dressing Up Is Hard To Do!

I've been exhausted for the last few weeks. It seems to take every ounce of energy I have just to get out of bed and dressed in the morning. Even if I wake up feeling rested, it doesn't last long. Within a few hours of being up and about I am tired to the bone again.

This is really bugging me. I recognize the symptoms as those associated with an even lower than usual iron level. The manufacturer of the ferrous gluconate supplements I use to take has stopped making them, so I had to switch to a different brand and form of iron. I suppose I'll have to toy around with the dosage until I feel better because obviously what I am taking now isn't doing the trick.

It's no fun being tired, especially when I have so much to get done.

On the lighter, yet still stressful side of things, we are planning to attend our neighbor's Halloween party tomorrow evening. We don't normally "do" Halloween, but we really want to go for the social aspect of it. We love spending time with our neighbors but it seems that every time one of them has an event, we are either out of town or otherwise obligated. As luck would have it, we are free tomorrow night.

Now I have approximately 26 hours in which to come up with costumes for myself and my husband.

When we first RSVP'd the event I was planning to design some kind of get-up for both of us that would be flat out amazing. So much for that idea. Unless I get an unexpected burst of energy and creativity, we'll be cutting eye-holes in bed sheets and going as ghosts.

There's not much chance we'd win the award for "most original" with that idea.

We could always wear our Harley leathers and go as bikers, but wait! We are "bikers" when acting in our alter egos so all our neighbors are already accustomed to seeing us like that on occasion. It wouldn't really raise any eyebrows if we were to arrive in such a manner. If we are going to go to the trouble of dressing up, then eyebrow raising is a definite requirement!

I tried to think of something we could pull together with other clothing items we already own and suggested we go as "Mr. and Mrs. Thurston Howell III" We might as well make some use of all that formal clothing we have hanging in our closet but never wear. I figured I could go into the grand-kids playroom upstairs and find some fake money to stuff in our pockets, just in case there was any question about "what" we were suppose to be.

Mr. Walter Taylor (the first and only) didn't like that idea. Bah Humbug!

He suggested we go as Annie Oakley and Frank Butler.

In other words, he wants to dress up like a cowboy.

Some guys never grow up, do they?

I still don't know what we're going to do. I don't own any "Annie Oakley" clothes (well, I do have boots and a hat) and Mr. Taylor has apparently forgotten that he sold his fancy Harley Cowboy hat on eBay a while back. What's more, I seriously doubt the neighbors would appreciate us showing up at their event equipped with rifles.

Sigh.

Hopefully I'll wake up feeling creative and energetic in the morning. If not, I'll call Walt and ask him to stop by Wal-Mart on his way home from work and pick up some last minute el-cheapo/boring costumes for us to wear.

So I'm not the life of the party right now. I'm sure the neighbors will get over it.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Nailing Jello ....

The Fox 5 Atlanta show had an interesting author on this morning. I didn't catch all of the interview, because as usual I was doing other things while "watching" the show.

Anyway, this woman has written a book about raising teenagers. I couldn't help but LOVE the title ... It's called "The Agony and the Agony"

Isn't that great?

From what I could tell, this woman actually knew what she was talking about as she described the perils of parenting teenagers. Let's just say I too, felt her pain.

Best of all, listening to her made me feel better about my own parenting skills, not to mention the teenager I am attempting to parent at the moment. Not that I haven't already realized it a million times over, but I've really been blessed as far as the boy and all his teenage antics go.

Adam is a good, no ... let me make that a GREAT kid.

A GREAT kid who knows exactly how to get on my last nerve and jump up and down until I crack. Argggghhhh! He can argue with the best of 'em, I tell you! He was surely born to be an attorney. Sometimes it seems there's no winning with him at all.

Just last night, he was taking out the trash when he paused to ask, "And just WHY do I have to do this?" (He's been doing it every week since he was ten, geesh and NOW, he asks?)

I explained that he does it because it's one of his chores. To which he, responded ... "And WHY do I have chores?"

One of these days I will learn to keep my mouth shut (maybe), but that day has yet to arrive, so I went on in a feeble attempt to explain that he is learning responsibility by doing chores and carrying his weight around the house.

When I saw that my explanation wasn't going anywhere, I added "It also contributes to your earnings every week?"

"What earnings? When do I get earnings? Where is my money?"

That one had me scratching my head in disbelief. I should have given up and sent him straight to his room (after he got finished taking out the trash, of course) but I didn't. My mouth was already in full gear (gee, wonder where the boy gets it, huh? you might be asking)

"Well, actually you've been spending your earnings every weekend for the last couple months. You go to the movies every Friday night, for example, and then there are the shopping trips you've just HAD to go on, and the money you borrowed from your father and have to pay back ..."

Then do you know what the boy said to me?????

He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Well then, I need a raise because I didn't have enough money at the movies last week, remember?" (I didn't have quite as much cash to hand him as I normally do, so technically I "owed" him seven dollars ... poor kid probably had to "rough it" and skip the sour skiddles at the concession stand, thanks to my oversight)

As a very wise man (or woman) once said, "Raising teenagers is like trying to nail jello to a tree." Maybe it was the same wise woman who was interviewed on Fox 5 Atlanta this morning, I don't know.

What I do know is this, as far as being the mother of a teenage son goes, I've really got it pretty easy. Sometimes I worry about Adam because he spends too much time in his room. On the other hand, I can honestly say that in fourteen years there has never been a time when I didn't know exactly where he was.

I catch myself feeling concerned because he is, (in my opinion) overly sensitive about his girlfriend's feelings and is constantly trying to "help" her with issues in her life. But I realize he has a very strong mercy gift, a real sentimental heart with great compassion for people .. and that is a gift.

So what if at age fourteen his "gift" isn't exactly honed to perfection yet!

One of the greatest blessings came the other night when I called up the stairs to him for something ... probably to tell him to get off the phone and go to bed. He snapped at me, "MOM! WAIT!"

I responded by snapping back and correcting him for speaking harshly to me.

He opened his door and stepped out to the top of the stairs and apologized, then went on to say that I had interrupted him while he was praying.

Praying!

I get aggravated at my son for things like back talking, questioning my authority, arguing, and even snapping at me because I've interrupted his conversation with God! It irks me to no end that my son insists on wearing eyeliner (yes, eyeliner .. because the girls all think it makes his eyes look amazing... and I have to admit they are right) It gets on my nerves that he listens to heavy metal music (Christian lyrics but heavy metal none-the-less, and I can't stand the sound of it!)

His lack of enthusiasm towards his school work makes me want to tear my hair out at times. "But MOM! I don't need to understand Algebra! I'm never going to use it again after I get out of school.

He can't seem to grasp the idea that unless he passes Algebra he won't be getting out of school at all!

God help me!

As frustrating as it gets at times, I know there are a million mothers out there who would give anything to have a kid like mine.

Mothers who don't know where their fourteen year old sons are at night. Mothers who've had to bail their kids out of jail. Mothers who suffer the ultimate loss when their child dies of an overdose, or drunken driving.

I feel absolutely ashamed of myself when I think about it.

Adam will be fine, even better than fine. My son is going to be amazing!

He's a teenager, for sure. He's dealing with becoming an adult, finding his own way in the world, evolving into the person God has called him to be.

The beauty of it is, I know that Adam's personality traits (even the ones that drive me batty) were given to him by God and God knows they will somehow work out to his benefit someday. That is what I have to step back and remind myself of when I catch myself wanting to ground the boy until he's thirty seven years old.

God has great plans for my "imperfect" son, and they are GOOD! That goes a long way towards helping me keep my sanity on those days when I think I'd rather be nailing jello to a tree.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Talking to Myself, Preaching to the Choir ...

I am fairly certain I am talking to myself here, and yet I continue to put words onto the screen like nobody's business.

Here I am, intentionally careful about what I say, lest I hurt someone's feelings or let any proverbial cats out of the bag. Let's just say I have access to a whole litter of cats in a bag right now and haven't said a word. No-sir-ee! It's been a real test of my discipline to keep my mouth shut concerning certain issues in recent months. I've done well, if I must say so myself.

And I will indeed say it! "I've done well".

But why? Why, when I am the only one reading what I've written anyway?

Given the distinct possibility that no one ever reads my blog, I will hereby give myself permission to ramble. At least for tonight.

I don't care much for the month of October. I never have. The onset of October means that all possibility of opening my front door and finding that a gloriously sunny summer day awaits outside, has passed and won't return for another eight months!

This was only made worse by the fact that my mother passed away in October, four years ago today as a matter of fact. October 27, 2004. What an awful, ugly night that was.

October finds no friend in me. It haunts me with a sense of gloom and doom around every corner.

How unlike "me" that really is.

Bubbly, happy-go-lucky, ever so optimistic me!

Well, not this month and especially not tonight. I've spent the day on an emotional roller coaster, never knowing from one minute to the next whether I'll be laughing or crying, venturing out, or looking for a cave in which to drag my weary self and wait for the dark clouds to pass.

I was such a blubbering fool a few short hours ago that I'm fairly certain my husband regretted even coming home from work. One minute I was sitting at the computer happily pecking away and the next I was sobbing uncontrollably, tears flooding down my face and onto the keyboard so badly I feared it might fry.

On the other hand, today's ride on the emotional roller coaster was actually an improvement over yesterday when I spent the whole day feeling so low I wanted to do nothing but hibernate. Today, there were a few "highs". That's a good sign, huh?

So, there it is! A glimmer of hope, a sprinkle of optimism.

Things are looking up. Maybe I'm on my way back.

This afternoon, after dragging myself first into, then out of the bathtub (yes, even that took more effort than I felt I could spare) I dried myself off and reached under the counter for the antiperspirant. Shaking the can, I lifted my right arm and sprayed.

It had an odd appearance. I wondered why. So, I sprayed some more, then caught the reflection of myself holding the can in the mirror. It wasn't antiperspirant I was dousing my underarm with at all. Instead I had liberally soaked it with a heavy dose of hair spray.

I realized I couldn't put my arm down, as that would surely cause it to be stuck to my side indefinitely, so with one arm held high, I walked over to the bathtub, picked up my wet washcloth and proceeded to wipe the nasty sticky mess away.

It reminded me of the time many years ago when Mom walked into the kitchen, opened the pantry door and took out the "Pam" non-stick cooking spray for a recipe she was planning to make. She was talking (as was almost always the case) and absent mindedly began spraying her hair with the cooking spray as she chattered away.

We all busted out laughing, which was her first clue that something was amiss.

Inspecting the can she was clasping in her hand, she started laughing too, then placed it back in the pantry and asked nonchalantly, "Does my hair look oily to you?"

Maybe that was my mother's gift to me today ... to have me do something silly that would remind me of her...

And if only for a fleeting second, make me laugh.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Speaking Of Traveling ...

Let's just say I took the concept of traveling to a whole new level in my life today. For several months I've been pondering the idea of actually becoming a travel agent of sorts. Like I posted in my last entry, I enjoy looking for travel bargains, even if I'm not going anywhere. Given that fact, what could be better than getting paid to help other people travel?

OK, I can think of one thing and that is the fact that I will have to travel myself in order to "review" certain destinations.

Cool beans, huh?

Another great thing is, I can do this along with my Life Coaching business! Me .. a mega-multi-tasker.

Who'da thunk it?

I really am excited about the prospect. Truly I am, and I wanted to spend the evening studying all the ins and outs of the trade ... but I can hardly hold my eyes open much less actually THINK or remember anything I read for more than two seconds.

So, the studying will wait until the weekend when I might have a few hours down time again.

For now, I will just hope to fall into a decent enough state of slumber tonight that I will dream of all the exotic places I will go! That will have to do, until I actually have the chance to plant my feet in the hot white sand of the Caribbean again.

Oh, I am going to have that beach house yet! Just you wait and see!

And when I do, you're all invited to come visit me there!

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Dangerous

It's no secret to those who know me well. I can be dangerous when I'm bored.

I don't mean "dangerous" in the sense that I'm likely to hurt someone or anything like that. The kind of "danger" that is born of my boredom is more of a fun sort of creature.

I say all this because I love to spend my "down time" surfing the internet. I check my email accounts first (I believe I'm up to five of them now) After that I have a forum or two I visit, followed by a quick look at places like "MySpace" or "Facebook" to see what's going on in the lives of my hundreds of cyber friends.

It isn't unusual for the process to take a couple hours, depending on how sociable I'm feeling at the time.

If I am not feeling particularly sociable, or find myself in a rather blue mood, I'll inevitably end up on some discount travel site searching for the best possible vacation deals on the planet. Seldom am I actually planning to go anywhere, I just like to window shop via the miracle of the world wide web!

This almost always backfires on me.

Let me explain. It seems I am "gifted" at finding good travel deals. Seriously! I can almost always find vacation arrangements that would truly cost my husband and I less than we would spend if we stayed home. For instance, two days ago I came up with a five day cruise for less than $200.00! I don't remember the details, like where it went, what ship it was on, etc. Those are only minor considerations.

What I do remember is that for under 200 bucks apiece, we could have five bliss filled days of lounging on a pool deck overlooking beautiful blue waters a thousand miles (or more) away from telephones, housework, barking dogs and all the other pesky little things involved in NOT being on vacation.

The same couple hundred dollars would also cover nearly a weeks worth of maid service, all the food a person could ever dream of ingesting, waking up in some brand new exotic location every morning (or afternoon, if that's what we'd prefer) .. nightly entertainment, dancing ... I could go on and on.

So, there I'll be with my mouth gaping in amazement at the computer screen wondering how in the world we can afford NOT to take advantage of the fabulous deal displayed before my eyes, when reality rears it's ugly little head.

Ugh!

It takes a lot of work to go on vacation. There's the house to secure, the dog to get to the kennel, the cats to arrange a sitter for ... and the boy, who happens to be enrolled in a public school that frowns on absences due to fun things like cruising to foreign countries.

Oh, and work. I almost forgot about work. *sigh*

If no one works, then there's no money to indulge in even the most inexpensive voyage.

So, for the time being I suppose we'll be staying put.

Don't be surprised though, if at some point in the not too distant future I write to report that I am just back from a wonderful bout of island hopping in the Caribbean where I soaked in the sun and drank sweet little concoctions topped off with tiny umbrellas, to my hearts content!

Indeed! My resolve seems to be melting away even as I type this entry. If I listen closely enough, I can already hear the sound of a steel drum band warming up for the sail away party that's about to begin.

I'll just plain kick myself if I miss out on the fun ... now where did I put my passport????

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Cats and Tuesday Evening

Here it is Tuesday evening and I am sitting in the recliner with one of my two Siamese cats, Skippyjon on my lap. He is lying across my left wrist as I type. I believe he thinks the movement of my hand under his chin is meant to be a treat for him, rather than a mere method of getting words onto a screen.

Cats are like that. In their minds, the world revolves around them. Personally, I find that to be one of their more endearing traits.

I love Skippyjon. He makes me smile. He's a skinny little clown, always poking around the house looking for things to get into. He loves to tease the older Siamese, Jasmine who has not quite yet accepted his presence in the household. As soon as she spots him anywhere near, she starts growling, an eerie noise that starts as a low rumble deep in her belly and rises to a positively evil wail quite possibly capable of making the hair stand up on a banshee's neck.

It never fails, Skippy gets Jasmine all riled up then just sits down and stares at her as if to say, "Whut?? I didn't do anything!" He reminds me of a mischievous little boy, always getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

I can't really remember a time in my life when I haven't had at least one cat. As a child, it wasn't unusual for me to have four or five of them living in the back yard at once. Back then, all my cats were of the average orange tabby garden variety. They were also always named "Jingle Bells".

Hey! I was two years old, and Jingle Bells was my favorite song. It was quite appropriate that my favorite pets be named after it.

It also helped ensure a response when I stepped out onto the back porch and called for them. At least one (and usually two or three) of the furry orange critters would come running from way back behind our garden and crawl into my waiting arms.

Like every other little girl, I had dolls to play with, but given the choice I would take a cat over a doll any day.

Cats were more like real babies, after all. They wriggled and squirmed as I pulled frilly dresses over their heads and buttoned them in, then wrapped them in baby blankets. I would even lay them down in my doll baby beds and make them take "naps" after feeding them milk from real baby bottles.

Come to think of it, that's probably why they tolerated me as well as they did. They knew when all was said and done, I would finish up by feeding them milk from a bottle. The humiliation of wearing a dress and sleeping in a doll bed was a small price to pay, considering.

The weird thing about the cats I had as a child was that they always ran away in February. It never failed. I would go out one cold winter day and all of my cats would be gone. My dad explained that February was when cats went off looking for husbands and wives so they could start families of their own. Believe it or not, I bought that story until I was up in my teen years. Only then did I realize that my father was "assisting" my cats in finding their so called "husbands and wives" by loading them up in his car and giving them a ride out to a local farm where they'd spend the rest of their lives serving as "mousers" in one of the farmers many barns.

Thankfully, I had three aunts who seemed to have a never ending supply of "fresh" little orange kittens and my stock of "Jingle Bells" would be replenished in the spring. Then, the cycle would start all over again.

Cats have played such an important role in my life that I can't imagine life without one. To this day, simply picking one of our three cats up and snuggling it in my arms brightens my day. Something about the sound of a cat purring always soothes my soul.

I need my cats, especially at times like these when the blues seem to be nipping ever so closely at my heels.

And cats even come in handy on a plain old Tuesday evening when I've nothing better to do than sit in my recliner and peck away at the computer keyboard with one of them draped lazily across my arm.

I love cats. That's the way it's always been, and that's the way it always will be!

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Banished

Adam's girlfriend, MacCayla is visiting today, therefore I have been banished from the media room for the afternoon. The two teenagers are supposedly watching a movie, but the last time I checked, they were on the computer "MySpacing" instead. Meanwhile, the movie is blaring away in full volume surround sound, causing the house to shake on it's foundation.

Not only am I not allowed in the media room but every time I've so much as looked in on the little lovebirds, I've been scolded. Apparently, I'm not allowed anywhere near the foot of the stairs that lead to the hallway that leads to the media room either.

It's a bit confusing being confined to such boundaries within my own home. Perhaps, next time the boy is entertaining a young lady, I should invest in a shock collar and electric fencing so I know just where those boundaries are before I get yelled at.

Shoot! I'm only trying to be helpful. Just a few moments ago I suggested that Adam offer his guest a snack. He obediently came downstairs and opened the pantry, then complained that nothing in there appealed to him.

Innocently, (of course) I suggested that he take a bag of "Funyons" upstairs with him. He replied that he didn't want "Funyons".

"Why not?" I asked, reminding him that "Funyons" are one of his favorite snacks.

"MOM!", he gasped in frustration, "You're just spazzing out today over nothing!" and ran back up the stairs empty handed.

I suppose he didn't quite get that I was joking or at least he didn't find it very funny. Of course I know why he doesn't want to share a bag of "Funyons" with his girlfriend. Geeesh! I may be old, (relatively speaking) but I'm not stupid!

Never-the-less, I am giving the youngins just a little space this afternoon, and I am "humoring" them by staying downstairs (most of the time.)

I'm trying not to break any of the "rules" Adam set for me before MacCayla got here. Although it is difficult, I am resisting the urge to go up there and tell her embarrassing stories about Adam's younger years. Neither will I give in to the desire to pull out his baby pictures.

No. Today I will allow his sense of security to build. Then, next time Miss MacCayla comes to call, I will pull out all the stops! Mwahahahaha!

After all, a mother can only be expected to "behave" for so long.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Oh What a Ride!

I really should write a book.

And maybe once all the events of the past week or so have blown over, I'll do just that!

The latest development in this drama that has become my life, actually started nearly a month ago when Walt was in Africa. I was working in the prayer room at church on Monday evening, when I attempted the unthinkable feat of standing up from my desk while simultaneously turning to the right. All of a sudden, a sharp pain shot behind my left knee cap causing an involuntary and rather loud "OUCH" to escape my mouth.

The guy sitting next to me responded by asking, "What was that popping sound?"

I laughed, not thinking much of it really, and limped on up to the front of the room.

My knee bothered me a lot over the next several days, enough that I had a hard time sleeping with the pain. Never-the-less, I was determined to "walk it out".

That approach worked fine for a while. During the two weeks that followed, the pain gradually decreased until I was feeling only an occasional stab, sometimes maybe twice a day.

Then came this past Monday night. I was working in the prayer room as usual when I noticed my knee was aching ... again. Later that night, the aching turned into a sharp pain and by last night (Wednesday) my knee and the entire area of my leg above and below it, was swollen and throbbing with pain. I showed the humongous bulge now sitting where my knee cap use to be to my husband, and announced that I was NOT, I repeat NOT going to the doctor for it.

Upon waking this morning (if you can really call it "waking" if you haven't truly been asleep) I decided to cash in on my "woman's prerogative" to change my mind, and drove myself to Urgent Care.

The doctor asked me what I was doing when I hurt my knee, took a look at it, then made me lay on the exam table while he performed several torture tests on my already aching left leg.

After he was satisfied that my knee hurt in virtually every position into which he'd twisted it, the doc informed me of the diagnosis.

A torn meniscus.

The menisci are the curved pieces of cartilage that line the outer edges of the knee caps. They help to keep body weight evenly distributed, protecting the kneecap from damage.

I don't care so much about all that medical jargon. The main lesson I've learned about the menisci is that it hurts like heck if one happens to get torn!

Ahh! But for the moment I am not in any pain. The nice doctor gave me some magic pills that made all the agony go bye-bye. He also told me to keep my knee wrapped in an ace bandage and elevated for the next five days.

If after that my leg still doesn't feel better (without the aid of the magic pills) I'll have to consider letting an orthopedic surgeon get inside my knee, all up close and personal to the meniscus, and fix it.

Having discovered that the magic pills have the capability of expediting trips to my new and improved happy place, I'm not going to worry about that right now. Nope! I'm just going to sit here and enjoy the trip!

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

I'm Too Sexy For My Website

Last Saturday, after working on my business website for two months I made the final edit, held my breath, and hit "publish". Even so, I'm not quite ready to start advertising to the public yet. Before taking that step, I wanted some of my close friends and relatives to have the chance to look the website over and give me honest feedback on it. Once it's adequately honed, I will send out "warm letters" and emails, hang out the proverbial shingle, and officially start accepting clients.

Soon after my request went out, the feedback started pouring in. Up until this morning I'd heard from all but four of the people I asked for input.

I know that two of my friends don't have regular access to the internet, or at least not a lot of time to sit down and do any lengthy critiques. The third almost never gets online, and the fourth was my youngest daughter, Emily, who has her hands particularly full at the present time.

Emily called this morning, so I casually mentioned the website and asked if she'd had a chance to look it over. She said, "Yes" as a matter of fact she had, and she only found one thing she thought I might need to change.

I listened, wondering if it was going to be that the header can be difficult to read if one's laptop screen isn't angled just right. That had been the most common suggestion I'd received thus far. If not that, then maybe I needed to add my fee schedule to one of the pages, or put in a little more personal information ...

It was none of the above. Instead, Emily pointed out the possibility that the picture I've chosen for my "bio" page makes me look too "hot". She suggested I pick a photo that (in her words) " wouldn't be so likely to make potential clients feel intimidated".

Oh, really?

Wow.

(Need I mention that Emily happens to be my "favorite" offspring right now?)

The truth is, I planned to change my picture on that particular page anyway, not because I think I look so stinkin' sizzling in it, but because it has more of a snapshot appearance than I'd like. I'm not making an appointment with a professional photographer or anything like that. I just thought I'd try to get a different picture taken in front of a blank wall vs the decorated walls of our cruise ship cabin that grace the background of the current shot.

In the meantime, I must admit, Emily has given a whole new meaning to the phrase "constructive criticism". Not that all the other suggestions I received weren't important or helpful. To the contrary, they helped make my website look darn near perfect.

Or at least it will be, once I get that pesky "hot mama" picture off of there.

Thanks again, Emily! My ego grew three sizes today, all because of you.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Takin' It In One More Notch

My husband and I have come to the difficult decision to close down our electrical contracting office in Alpharetta and move it back into our own home.

We were starry eyed when we first embarked on our quest to establish an "real" office out of which to run the business. We thought it would be a wonderful way to help Walt separate his work from his home life. We also believed it would bring more visibility to the business, which in turn would be a catalyst for growth.

Maybe we were expecting too much. At any rate, the office has ended up sitting empty most of the time. We thought we'd have a full time secretary by now, and that hasn't happened. We also thought by now Walt would be sitting back and watching the company run with little input from him. That didn't happen either.

The backward slide of the economy put us over the edge. We have two house payments, and a pretty hefty lease on a seldom used office. We really have no choice but to let something go. The office is the only feasible option right now.

Moving the business headquarters back into our home will certainly present some challenges. One being that we will have not one, but two home based businesses under the same roof. Mine and his.

At present, the room we're using for our home office is very small and will not possibly accommodate both of us. I presented Walt with the idea of setting up our rather nice office furniture in a room of our unfinished terrace level basement. It's framed up for separate rooms, but there are no walls or other such luxuries down there at present. Never-the-less, it looks like that will have to do, at least for now.

We're going to start moving this week. As huge an undertaking as it promises to be, it's still only one small step towards saving our financial hides.

Even so, we are better off than a lot of people we know of. We are blessed, but neither of us are strangers to the tightening of the belt either. All we can do is make the best decisions we know to make, and trust God to take care of the rest.

And we know He will.

Friday, September 26, 2008

God Help Me, I've Become "One of Them"

We've been experiencing panic at the gas pumps here in the Atlanta area ever since Hurricane Ike hit the Texas coast two weeks ago. Almost every station around is out of gas. If by chance there is gas to be found, one will inevitably also find a line of cars a mile (literally) long waiting for their turn at the pump. That turn can actually take two hours, because the pumps are also moving incredibly slowly.

People are losing their tempers and I don't really blame them.

This is crazy! According to the news, only three areas in the USA are being adversely affected by the supposed gas shortage, Atlanta-Georgia, Nashville-Tennessee, and Tallahassee-Florida. Other regions of our nation actually report an abundance of gas and lower prices than they've had in several weeks.

It's my personal opinion that this whole mess was created by the very people who feared it most! One word about a potential shortage caused them to panic and run out to top off their tanks, leaving none for the poor souls who actually NEED gas. The result has been an fifteen fold increase in people being stranded on the side of the road. Most of them report they were trying to get to a gas station when they ran out.

I've been fortunate so far. I filled my car, MzKitty up two weeks ago today, just before the prices went through the roof in anticipation of Ike's landfall. That lasted me until this past Monday. By then I was down to about an eighth of a tank. On my way to work my shift in the prayer room Monday night, I decided to take a short detour just in case the gas station a few blocks to the east still had some in supply.

Pay dirt, (or I suppose in this case, pay fuel!) Not only did that station have gas, there was no line! I breathed a prayer of thanks to the Man above as MzKitty gulped the liquid gold flowing from the hose.

Since then, I've been driving as little as possible. It was announced that the Governor of our state was giving permission to have gas that is a little "less clean" brought into Georgia in order to alleviate the crisis. I figured MzKitty's gas tank was full enough to last me until then.

Before I could say, "Whew!" all that changed. Now it appears we will have to wait another week to ten days before the the "dirty" gas becomes available.

We tightened our belts yet another notch. I informed my son that he would be riding the school bus both to and from school every day until further notice. I had three quarters of a tank full of gas in my car and intended to make it last as long as possible. Likewise, my husband will be riding his Harley to his appointments as often as he can.

Around 9:00 this morning while I was sipping coffee at the computer, still wearing my pajamas and robe as I fine tuned some documents for my business, the phone rang. It was my husband calling to inform me that the Chevron station down at the intersection had gas! He said there was a line, but it wasn't all that long and suggested I drive MzKitty down there to fill her up.

As much as I hated to, I rushed downstairs and slipped into the same jeans and t-shirt I wore yesterday. I pulled my hair back in a pony tail, then glanced in the mirror and decided to skip make-up. A few seconds delay could mean my trip down to the Chevron station would be all in vain! Stepping into my canvas sneakers,I grabbed my keys, hopped into my car and sped off on my mission.

Before I made it to the Chevron station, I discovered a station closer by that had also received a new shipment of gas this morning. There was a long line, but I pulled in anyway. I'd been sitting for several minutes waiting for my turn at the pump when the attendant came out and put the dreaded red plastic bag over the handle indicating that the pump was officially empty. I surveyed the lines at every other pump at that particular station and decided to go on down the highway to my original destination.

As soon as the Chevron station came into view, I spotted a tanker truck on the lot delivering a fresh supply of the coveted substance. Miracle of miracles, the lines at the pumps there were only one or two vehicles deep. I whipped my car into an open spot and waited.

A sign on the pump read, "$40.00 limit. No problem! I still had three quarters of a tank. A couple minutes and $15.00 later, victory was achieved. MsKitty's gas tank was topped off. I should be set for another week!

On the way home, it dawned on me that I have joined the ranks of the very people I've been complaining about for the last two weeks.

I suddenly felt greedy, and sad for all the people who will really need gas this evening but won't be able to find it. All because of people like me who decided to top off their tanks, just because they could!

I'm not proud of myself, not one bit!

Not proud, but thankful none-the-less, that MzKitty won't be thirsty for several days to come.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

My Happy Place Needs Renovating

When I was a little girl my father always told me, "Be nice to people, Beck. You never know what another person might be going through".

Not that I ever was a mean spirited person, but even now I consciously try to be mindful of others feelings. I suppose I've also been naive enough to think they should be considerate enough to return the favor. After forty eight years of living on this earth, I'm still in the process of wrapping my mind around the possibility that it's probably not the case. The truth is, some people just plain don't care what anyone else is feeling.

I have my own way of handling things when times get rough. For instance, I distract myself as much as possible. I'm not talking about denial, just distraction. I do what I can about any given stress inducing situation, and then I put it on a shelf and move on to whatever else might be necessary to occupy my mind with happier things.

Most of the time I go in search of humor. With rare exception, a good laugh is undoubtedly waiting just around the corner. Rest assured, if it's there I WILL find it! I consider that aspect of my personality a "gift" from God. It's gotten me through a lot of turbulent times in my life ... and it's helped me maintain sanity on days when I felt the intense need to hurt somebody!

Lately, it's been getting more and more difficult to fill my mind with enough happy thoughts to drown out all the stuff that's going on around me. I can't even write about most of it because I don't want to say anything that might possibly do harm to another person. Neither do I desire to expose anyone's "dirty laundry". That's not my job. After all, just like me, almost every one I know is going through something stressful, even emotionally devastating, right now.

There are days, like today for example, when I have a particularly hard time choking back tears and being strong. As my youngest daughter, Emily once said, "Sometimes I wish I could just be a normal person."

Like Emily, today I want to have a good old fashioned melt down ... give a few people a piece of my mind ... kick some ... well you get the picture.

Then, I hear my father say again, "Be nice to people, Beck. You never know what another person might be going through" and end up feeling guilty for considering any other option than "sucking it up" and forging ahead. Inevitably, I will manage to find room on these big broad shoulders of mine to squeeze in just a little bit more resilience .

So now, I will retreat once again to my "happy place", hang out the "do not disturb" sign, and stay there until I feel it is safe to come back out.

And one of these days, I will find the humor, even in the many situations I am currently dealing with. You can count on it!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

It Takes A Village (or at least one observant neighbor)

Gosh, I love having neighbors!

Adam got in the car after school today and announced, "the bus never came this morning". I asked him how he got to school, and he said he walked. (Seven miles ... yeah, right!)

He laughed and admitted, "Not really". Our neighbor, Trisha ended up taking him. Adam was waiting at the bus stop at the bottom of the hill along with Trisha's daughter and another neighborhood girl when Trisha happened by on her way to take her younger son to the middle school and saw them standing there.

The bus normally arrives at 7:40 and it was 8:20 by that time. Forty minutes after the fact and all three kids were still down there waiting for the bus to arrive.

Apparently, there was suppose to be a substitute driver and they didn't show up to work. Hence, no bus service to our neck of the woods.

That's odd enough but the great mystery lies herein. Why would the kids just wait down there, almost within shouting distance of their houses no less, a full forty minutes (and counting) after the normal scheduled arrival time?

Adam said they were discussing just hanging out all day and not going to school at all.

Now THAT, I believe!

But all's well that ends well. Trisha blew their little scheme and transported them all to the high school in her SUV. On the way, Adam mentioned that the school would count them "tardy" anyway, to which Trisha announced, "Hail, no they won't!" She escorted the three of them into the front office and informed the person behind the desk that the bus had not shown up. She went on to explain that not only were our neighborhood kids left standing by the street, the road that runs between ours and the highway was also lined with youngsters who were waiting on the same elusive bus.

I saw Trisha out in her yard this evening and thanked her for taking charge of the situation. She and I were both shaking our heads, wondering exactly how long our little angels actually would have stayed down there had she not driven by and intervened.

In Adam's case, he would have had to fess up eventually, since I pick him up after school, but Trisha's daughter and the other girl ride the bus to and from school every day. Their plan might have actually worked for them.

I'd been contemplating having Adam ride the bus home from school two or three afternoons a week. Needless to say, I'm reconsidering that option. I'd hate to get all the way to the end of the school year only to discover that my son hadn't been to school since early in the first semester.

Hey! It could happen if it weren't for my awesome neighbors.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Crossing Over (to Dreamland)

I sometimes brag that I can watch just about anything on T.V. just before bedtime and fall asleep immediately, suffering no repercussions whatsoever. No matter what kind of morbidity I allow my mind to access via the television set, my ability to sleep and the dreams that follow, remain unaffected.

Most of the time, anyway.

In recent nights, I've had a particularly difficult time falling asleep and have ended up flipping through T.V. channels trying to find some suitable form of entertainment with which to bide my time. Last night, like many other nights, there was very little to choose from. I ended up watching one of those shows where a medium delivers messages from the dead to their living relatives.

Being a naturally intuitive person myself, I am intrigued by that sort of thing...intrigued, yet skeptical all the same.

I caught myself laughing out loud more than once at things the medium was saying. It was all so vague. I even thought, "Shoot! I could do that." To me, so much of it appeared to be a mere matter of saying something that might relate to just about anyone, then narrowing it down with more specific questions until there were only one or two people left standing to which the subject applied.

Intermittently, the medium would stop and give common sense advice or counseling to the living family members concerning unresolved issues that were unfortunately buried with their loved ones. Although not altogether a bad thing to do, I saw that as more of a time filler than anything. Like the messages the medium was delivering from the great beyond, the counsel he gave also leaned too far to the "generic" side to convince me.

More than once, the medium came up with some off the wall thought that no one in the group could identify as significant to their family. In that case, no further mention of the subject would be made, except the medium informed them to remember that tidbit, as "the meaning would come to them later on."

To each his own! I'm not discrediting this guy at all. I definitely believe in powers that enable some people to "see beyond". I'm just not all that comfortable with the source of some of those powers.

As I turned off the television and began my quest for sleep, I wondered how people could be so gullible as not to know the difference between the real thing and when they are simply being "played."

Later in the night, after tossing and turning, throwing the covers off because I was too hot only to pull them back on because I was too cold until well after midnight, I finally fell into a decent state of slumber.

And then guess what happened!

My grandmother, who passed away when I was twelve years old, came to visit. My mother, who passed away four years ago accompanied her, as well as several other members of my family who have gone on to the "other side".

It was my grandmother who seemed to be the spokesperson for the group. In my dream, I didn't seem to remember that the others, including my mother, had passed away in real life. As soon as I saw my grandmother sitting there on the bed, gray hair dancing around her head on the pillow she was propped against, I said, "Wow! That's my grandma! She died when I was twelve!!"

There were several living members of my family in the dream as well. I enthusiastically introduced two of my grandchildren to their great-great Grandmother, who in turn smiled. She appeared happy to see them, but seemed none-the-less unsurprised by their existence. It occurred to me that she already knew who they were.

There was no "deep" message or word of advice relayed to me by my Grandma or my Mother ... or any of the other dozen or so family members who visited me in my sleep. It was more of a "Hey! We were in the neighborhood and thought we'd stop in." kind of visit.

I found it rather pleasant, in fact.

Eventually the alarm clock rang, requiring that we all say our good-byes.

I woke up thinking, "Well, that was cool, albeit in a very weird way." And then I laughed, remembering the type of show I'd watched just before dozing off last night.

Do I think my deceased relatives actually paid me a visit in my sleep last night? NO! But the next time I am flipping through channels in the middle of the night, I believe I'll look for entertainment of a lighter fare.

No offense, Grandma! It was great to see you, but if it's all the same to you, our next visit can wait until I myself, cross over to the great beyond.