Lazy, Hazy, CRAZY Days ... Summer '09

Perhaps it's because I was born in August and therefore a "summer baby", that I love this season so much. Growing up in Ohio, I learned to savor the long hot summer days , knowing even longer cold winter months would follow all to quickly on my favorite season's heels.

As a child, I felt sorry for kids who had winter birthdays. What fun could that have been? The possibility of celebrating my birthday at (gasp!) school was unthinkable. The chance of being cooped up inside the house, or having my celebration postponed due to waist deep snow and impassable roads, unfathomable!

No! I very much enjoyed the fact that my birthday always landed in the midst of summer break. Better still, our family often traveled over my birthday, so I frequently enjoyed celebrating the day in style, somewhere far away from home ... usually in the mountains, because by August, my parents would always be ready to retreat from the southern Ohio heat and humidity.

After 48 summers, heat and humidity still doesn't bother me a lot. I still very much prefer it to winter's frigid bite, and seek out the sun whenever possible. It's during the bleak winter months that I especially long for a climate where beaches abound and the temperatures never drop below 70 degrees!

I love summer. I miss it when it isn't here.

This summer has been different, and not in a very good way. It's almost July and not only have we not taken a real vacation in nearly a year, (that's a record!) but we've only been on the lake twice this season. To make matters worse, the schools here in the southern states resume the first week of August, which means that in a little over a month any possibility of taking a vacation will be at the mercy of the school system.

Unless something changes quickly, the summer of '09 will go down in my personal history book as more crazy than lazy or hazy.

I don't like that idea at all. I must do something to change it before it's too late!

As my father always said, "Where there's a will, there's a way."

I ... must ... find ... summer, while there is still time.

Later today, as soon as Mr. Taylor gets home from his Harley ride through the North Georgia Mountains, we will sit down and devise a plan with which we will escape for a few days. I hear Hawaii is nice, and neither of us have ever been there.

Not only is Hawaii nice, but it's also far, far away. Far, far away sounds very appealing to me right now.

Summer '09 will not be a lost cause.

Ready or not, here I come! If summer cannot come to me, I will go to it!

Gremlin Years

My husband and I are not materialistic people. We are fortunate enough to have nice things and very much appreciate that fact, but as I said, we are anything but materialistic!

Nothing's ever really been handed to me in life, I've worked hard for all my nice stuff. Of course, that makes me appreciate it all the more. There was a time when I didn't have so many cool things and I've definitely not forgotten. Some people might even try to say those were the "good old days" or claim that things were so much simpler back then.

I beg to differ.

While I am not materialistic in nature, I do not believe my life would be better or simpler if I still drove a car that I could never be sure was going to get me (along with one toddler and one infant daughter) from point A to point B! Likewise, although I did appreciate and actually liked "government cheese", I am quite thankful I am no longer reliant on that sort of things to feed my family.

So, call them the good old days if you like, I will argue that these days are "gooder"

I wasn't much more than a baby myself when I had my first two children, beautiful daughters who rode around with me in an ugly old red AMC Gremlin that sometimes ran and sometimes didn't. I remember driving home through the back roads of southern Ohio late one night when I hit a bump and my headlights went out. It was also common for the radio to turn itself off and on, dependent on whatever terrain I happened to be traveling.

Yeah ... good times! Yikes!

Given the fact that cell phones had not yet been invented, "scary times" might be a better way to describe them.

At any rate, I thank God the "Gremlin years" are over and we've moved on to bigger, better things.

Could I "survive" if I had to go back to driving a junker? (In reality, "surviving" while attempting to maneuver a junker through Atlanta traffic would actually be unlikely ... but you know what I mean) Aside from that, the answer is "Of course I could!" I am a strong woman! My worth is not determined by the car I drive, or how much I pay for my mac n' cheese!

My husband and I proved this point last weekend when we took two of our grand kids out on the lake for the day. Our boat is very, very old. We bought it used three summers ago just because we wanted something ... anything with an operating motor that would get us onto the water! The real catch was, we were determined to purchase it with what cash we had on hand. Hence, the very old, very unattractive boat that despite it's appearance has served us well.

Well, last weekend we docked our old boat for the day in a cove that was full of very NICE boats. I'm talking about boats that would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. A couple of them were likely worth well over a million bucks. Never the less, we pulled our little boat right in between them all and unloaded our gear.

I'm pretty sure we had every bit as much fun that day as the people in the big fancy boats. I will admit that sitting on the beach looking at the contrast between our boat and those that surrounded it did make me feel just the slightest bit like I did back in the Gremlin years ...even though I've moved on to the stage of my life where I am riding in an ugly old boat, not because I have to but because that's what I choose.

It's the choice that makes the difference!

I'm glad the Gremlin years have passed, but all the same, I cannot say I regret living them for a season. They served their purpose and I learned a lot for having endured.

My son, who was born several years post-Gremlin, has never ridden in a junker car. He's always been taxied around in style and doesn't have a clue about how his sisters were transported when they were younger. He'll turn fifteen next summer and I've already started looking around at cars for him. I hope to find something safe ... but possibly a bit humbling for him to drive. I figure we all need a few Gremlin years in order to appreciate the nicer things in life when they finally appear.

A few years down the road when he is a successful business man driving a fancy little sports car, he'll thank me for first allowing him a taste of the Gremlin experience!

What Should Have Been ...

Today is a difficult day. It should have been baby Luke's birthday. Instead of celebrating his birth, we are mourning our loss. He arrived too soon and was taken away only two weeks later.

The very unique circumstances surrounding Luke from his conception to the day he went away, made him all the more special to everyone who was fortunate enough to get to know and love him.

It almost seems like a bad dream ... a cruel joke. We were all blindsided by Luke's premature birth and death. Even when he arrived so incredibly small, he was very spirited and obviously a fighter. We never entertained the possibility that he would not survive. We refused to believe he would suffer any long term effects from his prematurity. He was a miracle. God had a wonderful plan and purpose for his life. We were prepared to sit back and watch that miracle unfold.

We did not get our miracle. We got a heartache, and an empty place deep within our souls that will never be filled.

Until a few months ago, we all expected that today would be Luke's birthday, but God knew differently all along. I suppose I could make myself crazy wondering ... asking "why"? and still never know the answer.

I ventured out this morning, driving in the rain and thinking about how both my daughters were born on rainy days. Luke should have been born this rainy day. Instead of making a simple trip to the grocery, I should have been making a trip to the gift shop to buy flowers and balloons and big "It's A BOY!" buttons for Luke's mommy and daddy to wear.

The run for groceries was otherwise uneventful, at least until time to check out and the cashier asked if I wanted to donate a dollar to the the Children's Hospital Fund. Without looking up, I said "No".

But then it occurred to me ...

"Yes ... yes, I would" I told the cashier. "Now that I think about it, I would."

He smiled and handed me a brightly colored air-balloon shaped piece of cardboard.

"We'll put these on display in the window." he informed me as he pointed at a blank spot near the bottom, "Sign it right there."

I took the pen from his hand and wrote LUKE! in big block letters, then drew a heart after his name.

Not exactly the kind of balloon I'd planned on buying for baby Luke today. I feel like he deserves so much more.

Hopefully the dollar I spent on that little piece of cardboard will go toward helping someone else's "Luke" story have a happier ending. That would be a good "should have been" birthday present, I think.

Unfortunately, it is little consolation for those of us who instead of celebrating, are mourning today and thinking about what should have been, but never really was to be.

Bye-Bye Belly Dancing! Forget Forensics!

I've decided not to pursue my degree in forensics after all. That dream has gone the way of belly dancing lessons and a few other aspirations I've laid to rest in recent years.

So what if I'll never be a belly dancing forensic scientist / grandmother of five? Everyone will just have to deal with that fact and move on. I ask myself, "Does the world really need one of those anyway?"

My honest answer is, "I seriously doubt it!"

So, what does the world need?

Well, most people need money, myself included. I've been on a mission to find ways to earn more money for a little over a year now. Basically, all I've accomplished so far is adding money to other people's pockets while emptying my own.

Something's got to change!

And I'm convinced that it is changing. I just need it to happen a little more quickly than I am experiencing at the moment.

I have three goals in mind. 1)Succeed in fulfilling my purpose in life, 2) Help others do the same, and 3)Make some money while I'm doing it.

Sounds simple enough.

I've made a decision. I'm going to go open my "inbox" and clear out a bunch of stuff today ... get off some mailing lists and cancel some subscriptions. It's gotten so junked up in there, I'm pretty sure I am getting duplicate mail from all the pop up boxes I've filled out, not realizing I've already received the vital information they're dangling in front of my face. Information I supposedly could never succeed without, yet it's only resulted in me running in circles and accomplishing pretty much nothing!

It's time to regain focus.

Oh, I do hesitate to say good bye to some of those old dreams. Part of me still thinks there is a belly dancer lurking beneath this quickly expanding waistline of mine. Another part believes the brilliant mad scientist I've longed to unleash truly lives in the dark recesses of my brain.

But most of me knows I need to buckle down and just bring in some cold hard cash with the knowledge and abilities I already possess.

Bye-bye bellydancing! Forget forensics!

It's time to get back to reality.

Mental Pause

My wonderful husband, Walter and I were having dinner a couple weeks ago when our conversation turned to the subject of sleep. I mentioned how relieved I was that I'd been sleeping like a baby since we'd returned from Savannah several days before. This was a much welcomed development, since I hadn't slept through the night for a number of months preceding.

After listening to me for a few seconds, Walt shrugged his shoulders and said quite innocently, "You must be going through menopause."

What?

The atmosphere suddenly became a little less than romantic.

I couldn't help but wonder where in the world Walt had been for the last few months.

In the time that has passed since shortly after last Thanksgiving I have:

1.Been forbidden to have any part in the lives of three of my precious grandchildren.
2.Watched my youngest daughter nearly die of pregnancy related complications.
3.Suffered through my fourteen year old son's emotional breakdown (to the point I had to remove him from school and put him in therapy)
4.Experienced an 80% loss in our electrical contracting business (and subsequent income).
5.Sat by the same daughter's bedside as the surgeon forcefully removed her pre-mature baby at 24 weeks 4 days gestation (that's a 5 month pregnancy if you do the math). Knowing it was the only possible chance for saving both of their lives was little consolation.
6.Helplessly stood by as the pre-mature baby died two weeks thereafter.
7.Grieved accordingly.

Need I go on?

Because those are just some of the reasons my brain had been too full to sleep!

Suffice to say I was a bit taken back by my husband's rather pat answer to the issue.

If I'd truly been "hormonal" I would have sprang across the table and strangled him on the spot. Don't tell ME about hormonal!

Within a New York minute of Walt's comment (and without the aid of strangulation) I believe I'd effectively set him straight on the matter. Never-the-less, the question remains ...why do men always seem to think that every negative emotional reaction we women experience is somehow related to our hormones?

Any one of the aforementioned situations would have merited a few sleepless nights, with or without hormonal interference. And yet Walt saw none of those things as significant in their own right?

Noooooooo .... the source of my insomniatic state had to be narrowed down to that one thing, and that one thing alone.

Hormones.

It's an age old question and I have no reason to believe that I will be the one to come up with an answer.

Maybe he was right. Maybe what I was experiencing was not a "natural" reaction to the truckload of unusually stressful situations that hit me without warning. If only I'd realized that possibility! Had it not been for my hormonal state of being, I probably would have been able to skip obliviously and happily through the entire ordeal!

Perhaps there is no such thing as "stress" aside from hormonal influence after all! Wow! What a revelation!

Of course, it would have to be a MAN who would come up with such a simple answer. We women are way too hormonal to ever think of such a thing.

Ladies, I think you will agree ... sometimes we just have to wonder what men are thinking and why they happen to be thinking it! My best guess is that their minds are over-saturated with testosterone thus rendering them incapable of grasping a true-er and more complex explanation.

I've come to this conclusion. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

Just blame it on the hormones!

A Man and His Garage

I believe I speak for both of us when I say my husband, Walt and I love our home. It's everything we could ask for, really. We love pretty much everything about it, including the neighbors who live in the houses nearby.

We do have a difference of opinion about one thing. You see, my husband seems particularly fond of "his" garage, even to the point of leaving the garage doors up most of the time during daylight hours if he can get by with it. Because of the approach to the house (one of the few things I would change about the house if I could) that means that people who drive up see right into the garage first thing.

I, on the other hand have a "thing" about first impressions and the first thing people see about my home is no exception. Walt likes to laugh at me because I insist that the garage doors be closed, and all our visitors be brought into the house through the front door. He thinks it would make more sense to walk them through the garage and into the house via the door that enters the hallway between the kitchen and the utility room.

Frankly, I don't see his point! The walk around the front of the house, past the flower beds and fountain is so much more pleasing to the eye! Not to mention the appearance of the entry hall vs. the boring wooden steps and kitchen trash can which welcomes visitors from the garage area.

Our garage is nice, as far as garages go. I'd even say it's the nicest garage I've ever owned, but a garage is not part of the living area of a home ... any home. It's a place to park the cars (or in our case, a car, a motorcycle and a truck.) Period! Our (or perhaps it would be better said Walt's) garage is different. The man actually has framed Harley Davidson photos hung on the walls!

Yeah.

I once went so far, as to insinuate that I had partial ownership in the garage by buying a sign to hang on the side where I park my car. I thought I was going to have to call the paramedics for my husband when he read the words written on my purchase ...

"Queen Parking Only ... you're not worthy!"

I thought it was pretty funny, but Walt came this close to losing consciousness when he learned I was serious about hanging it.

Needless to say, I won that battle and still snicker at my sign every time I pull my car into it's spot just below the metallic blue sign with it's blazing white letters. Most of my female friends also see the humor in it and laugh accordingly.

The men, well. They seem to sympathize with Walter. What else would you expect?

I suppose many men have a thing for their garages. It's probably deeply rooted in their DNA somewhere. It would be an act of futility to attempt to understand, much less fix it. For that reason, I've chosen to compromise on the matter. Walt can have the whole garage as his own, with the exception of spot supporting my "Queen Parking Only" sign.

Fair is fair, after all.

Unless of course, he decides to bring one of his Harley Davidson photos into my foyer.

Different is a very GOOD thing!

I may (or may not) have mentioned some time back that my fourteen year old son, Adam has been diagnosed with ADHD. It astounds me that even though he's grown up in a generation where it seems that everyone else's kid was being handed medication for hyperactivity by the time they were in second grade, my son sailed right on through, his "issue" un-noticed until his freshman year of high school.

After a couple months of absolute nightmares with different counselors, doctors, psychiatrists and the insurance company, I do believe we are finally well on the way to finding out exactly what it's going to take to help Adam deal with the matter.

While Adam has always been a bit different in comparison to other kids his age (probably due to the fact that all the others were already medicated) , I never considered him to be hyperactive. Oh sure, he's had his share of sugar rushes and sudden bursts of energy at some rather inconvenient times, but ADHD? No, I've not thought so.

What I have thought is that my son is a lot like his Grandpa (my father). A "character" of sorts, but also very sweet and sentimental. Not crazy about being in crowded places or "staying put" for long periods of time. Love's animals, tender hearted and protective of his family.

Beautifully unique.

Adam's behavior is absolutely normal in the sense that I am so familiar with it, I've only contributed his differences to the fact that he has a lot in common with my Dad. (I consider that to be a very good thing!)

Well, today my five year old grand-daughter, Esther was diagnosed with ADHD too.

Like Adam, Esther is also a character ... a wonderful one at that. She's beautiful, smart, talented, bossy, and maybe just the slightest bit on the impulsive side. Esther does seem to get frustrated easily and that has concerned me at times. She has a twin brother who loves to learn and can entertain himself for hours with books and other things that require concentration. Esther doesn't seem to care all that much for reading and writing. I've wondered if her frustrations might be due to the comparisons that are sometimes made between her and her twin.

Other than that, Esther's lack of interest in learning is no big deal, at least not in my opinion. She's only five, so there's plenty of time for that in the years to come. Right?

Esther just always has something more fun to do, that's all. She'd much rather chase the cat or construct elaborate tents in the family room, take the remote control apart and examine it or sort through my jewelry box when I'm not looking.

I like that about Esther!

My daughter told me today that the doctor said he could tell Esther had ADHD just by observing her in the examination room for a few minutes. I asked Emily what Esther had been doing to make him say that. Her reply was "Oh, she was lying on her back kicking her feet up in the air, then she turned over on her stomach and hung her head over the edge while banging on the side of the exam table with her hands, then sat up and swung her legs back and forth for a while ..."

What? You mean that isn't normal?

Honestly, I thought that all five year old kids acted that way. Esther is obedient and polite (most of the time). She's also lot of fun. As a matter of fact, I adore her spit-fire attitude. It's a rather endearing trait. Esther will go far in life. I've known that since the day I first laid eyes on her!

I would much rather call my son and grand-daughter gifted, rather than hand them a "label" such as ADHD. However, I'm not at all opposed to giving them medications to help them focus. That's actually a relief, since I've seen my son struggle so much in school all the while knowing (and being told by his teachers) that he is brilliant! For that reason, I am glad Esther's ADHD was discovered so early on. Perhaps she won't have to struggle so much and feel frustrated.

My hope is that the medications will help Adam and Esther focus, without changing who they are. They are both such incredibly interesting people! It would be a shame to lose that.

ADHD, or whatever the medical professionals decide to call it, I love my son and grand-daughter ... rambunctious spirits and all! I don't see any abnormalities when I look at them (or listen to them talk only slightly under the speed of light) I see traces of my father in them, and my father is a wonderful man! Wonderful, and "different"

And that is a very GOOD thing!

Lab Rat at Heart

I've been thinking of returning to the laboratory environment to work. The lab was my first love, and it's been calling my name again in recent weeks. This morning I decided to send away for information on degrees in the field of forensics. I am hoping to find a university that will accept the credits from my current degree in science. If so, it shouldn't take long at all to earn my BS in criminology.

With a little luck, I'll be able to complete a great deal of it online.

"Luck" however, doesn't seem to be much on my side lately, so it could be interesting!

I don't plan to give up my Life Coaching career, rather I hope I can work in forensics as a day job and do my coaching practice as more of a ministry.

I've often caught myself wondering why, despite the fact I have a science degree and all my experience in the medical field, I've not felt any urgency to put my knowledge and education in those areas to use for all these years. All the while, my fascination with the darker side of science has been eating away at me and I can't help but wonder, "Did I somehow miss my true calling in life?"

I suppose we will find out soon enough! It could be that I'll hear back from the schools I sent to for information and decide I'm really not interested after all. Then, I'll go back to getting my "morbidity fix" by watching Forensic Files and reading creepy crime stories whenever I can get my hands on one.

At the very least, it would make for an interesting story. Perhaps it might provide research for a children's book titled .. "Grandma Goes to College". It could be filled with photos of a middle aged woman seated in a classroom filled with late teens and twenty-somethings ... all young enough to be my own children.

Hmm ... no. I'll stick to the online schooling idea, thank you! My self esteem has been beaten down enough as it is.

I'll be taking the process one step at a time. If I find an online school that suits me, I'll then need to pursue financial aid of some kind ... and so on and so forth. Hopefully I would be able to pay off my student loans sometime before I retire.

So much for this analytical mind to ponder, so few years in which to follow through!

That's Not Funny!

It's been a while since I've blogged. Wow! Time goes by quickly, doesn't it?

I've had a good reason. I like to keep this particular blog light hearted and humorous. It doesn't seem there's been a lot to laugh about lately. I was waiting until this season passed to write again, but at this point I have no idea when that's going to happen.

So I just thought I'd stop by and say "hello" and let everyone know I didn't drop off the planet (although there have been times over the last few weeks when I would have enjoyed that.)

I pray everyone is well and prosperous!

I'll be back when I start having funny thoughts again. :0)

Peace!

In The Dark

Help!

Mr. Taylor is out of town and I don't know how to operate the majority of our house lights.

You think I'm kidding? Well, I'm not.

Such occurrences are common in the Taylor household. My wonderful husband, having a tangent for all things electrical, likes to periodically re-program the automated lighting system in our home.

Apparently he grew bored with the way things were working sometime between the last time he went out of town without me, and yesterday when he left again.

I discovered that fact in the early evening when I realized it was growing dark outside and neither the lights in the keeping room or living room had turned themselves on yet.

For a good ten minutes I plundered around in the twilight looking for the magic box that dictates such matters. The last time I was in this position, both sets could be controlled by a gadget that sits on our bedside stand. Obviously that has changed and no one bothered to send me a memo.

I finally met with success when I recalled seeing a new magic box sitting on the end table in the keeping room. Feeling my way back through the house, I located it and repeatedly pressed buttons until Voila'!

There was light!

After that, all was well in my little corner of the world until 11:00 p.m. which happens to be the designated hour for "lights out". At that time I was sitting on the bed watching videos on my laptop computer when I heard the tell-tale click that accompanies the night-time darkness through out the house.

Except for the glow of my computer screen, I found myself once again sitting unwittingly alone in the dark.

Thank goodness the magic box that sits beside our bed still works for our master bedroom lights! Otherwise I would have been forced to go right to sleep.

Which probably would have been a good idea given the fact that at promptly 6:30 a.m. 365 days a year, our room lights up as bright as the noon day sun! There are no pesky, noise making alarm clocks for us! Instead it's wakey wakey, rise and shine via a bright light in my face ... whether I need it or not.

While, in time I usually manage to figure out how to work the rest of the lighting mechanisms, I've never mastered the "alarm lights" that faithfully announce the break of dawn. Because I was clueless as to how to turn the darn thing off, I use to unplug the clock before I went to bed if I didn't otherwise have to wake up at the 6:30 the next morning.

Eventually I succumbed to the powers that be and learned to deal with it.

Oddly enough I am not technically challenged. I do have a degree in science. Back in the days of working in the hospital lab, my job required a decent knowledge of instrumentation. I could dis-assemble a number of extravagantly expensive pieces of medical equipment, put them back together and calibrate them without blinking an eye.

And yet I am challenged by a matter so simple as turning my own house lights off and on.

I have to wonder if keeping me in the dark is my husband's way of making himself feel needed. With that in mind, I suppose it really is a small price to pay.

My Nervous Breakdown

Do you remember back in the old days when people sometimes experienced things they referred to as "nervous breakdowns"?

It's been a while since I've heard anyone use that term but I've been thinking about it lately and wondering if nervous breakdowns still exist. If so, what exactly do they consist of?

You see, I am fairly certain that I am due a nervous breakdown of my own, I just don't know how to go about pulling one off.

First of all, I need to know what symptoms I should exhibit. Do I unexpectedly collapse, sobbing in a heap on the floor? Do I shake uncontrollably? Do I scream and pull a knife on anyone who comes close to me?

Start talking back to the voices in my head, maybe?

If at all possible, I would prefer not to have to make a "scene" in the process of having my personal nervous breakdown. I prefer to maintain some level of dignity. I wonder if I couldn't simply make a list of the symptoms I feel like displaying and give them to the doctor. Surely he'd take my word for it and treat me accordingly!

Will my nervous breakdown necessarily involve the use of a straight jacket? If so, I don't think I'd like that very much. I hate to have my hands restrained. As my father always said, I can't talk without using my hands, so that wouldn't work at all.

How about drugs? I'm pretty sure that people who have nervous breakdowns get good drugs. That would be nice. "Take a trip and never leave the farm", so to speak. What kind of drugs do people who have nervous breakdowns get?

Will they lock me away in a rubber room somewhere? Take my shoelaces away and feed me only soft foods like green jello and oatmeal?

I don't eat green jello but do indulge in a good bowl of oatmeal now and then. So, other than the green jello part, the rubber room might be enjoyable, especially if I get good drugs to go along with it. A certain amount of solitude mixed with sweet oatmeal and some pretty hallucinations might be fun.

How long does a nervous breakdown take? I don't have a lot of time to spare and I'm not sure when I could work one into my schedule. It would definitely work out better for me if I could have my nervous breakdown over a long weekend.

I have so many questions and so few real answers.

I remember one of my college professors saying that nervous breakdowns aren't real because technically, nerves can't "break down". I'm not so sure about that. My nerves definitely feel as if they are about to crack lately. Just because we can't see them doesn't mean it's not happening!

So don't tell me I can't have a nervous breakdown! Doggone it, I've EARNED one! I swear I will wear "google" out until I find the answers I need.

And then, I will have the perfect breakdown! Just you wait and see!

Heck! If you come visit me at the funny farm I may even knit you a nice pot holder or make a pretty finger painting for you.

Stay tuned!

Just Becky

Bill, Juanita, Becky Jean, and Connie Jo Sheets. circa 1971

My name is Becky.

Not Rebecca or even Becka.

Just Becky.

To make matters worse, my maiden last name was no more exciting my given first name, so I went through my entire school career bearing a very mundane, boring identity. It didn't help that absolutely every class I ever sat in contained at least one other "Becky" (although to them it was almost always a "nickname") Because of that, I inevitably ended up being referred to as "Becky #2"

Talk about adding insult to injury!

As fate would have it, I married a man with what turns out to be one of the ten most common surnames in America. That came as a surprise to me, because I didn't know many "Taylors" in southern Ohio where I grew up. To the contrary, here in Georgia, I've noticed that there seems to be more "Taylors" than there are "people"!

So, that's my name. Becky Taylor (yawn). There isn't much chance you'll ever see that one up on the silver screen!

Neither does it carry much of an initial impact in the business world. "Becky Taylor" doesn't exactly scream, "powerful", "strong","bold", or "successful". I've attempted to remedy that fact by adding my middle initial to the mix, however, "Becky J. Taylor" sounds only slightly more grown up and serious.

The truth is my name is very "girl next door". A status that, over time, tends to become diluted to "What ever happened to whats-her-face?"

At best, when my name is spoken it's likely to be followed with the question, "Which Becky?"

I'm not sure what my parents were thinking when they named me, except there's no possible way they looked at their little bundle of joy and saw anything past an eight or nine year old girl with pigtails and freckles. They certainly had no foresight concerning the adult their newborn daughter might someday grown up to be.

So, they chose a name accordingly.

Just Becky.

How precious! (Grrrr!)

Sometimes I think it would be a good idea if parents waited until their children are old enough to have a say in the matter and let them choose their own names.

If that were the case, I wonder what I would have picked. Of course that would be dependent largely upon the age at which I was able to choose. I shiver a little to imagine what I might have ended up with had I been handed a baby name book and told to name myself in, oh say, third grade. Yikes! You'd likely be addressing me with something very tomboyish, like "Jamie".

Now that I think about it, "Jamie" is very much like "Becky" just not as "girly".

In Junior High School, I undoubtedly would have chosen something adventurous, probably from the Native American culture. I thought American Indian names were very cool and spent a lot of time daydreaming about being a Native American Princess.

I can imagine hearing my mother's voice calling now. "Come on in to dinner, Tenskwatawah!"

Hmm, "Tenskwatawah Taylor"?

It never would have worked out.

At an adult, I've most often thought "Sophia" might be a nice name to have. It's definitely not a common moniker. I can only think of one or two people I've ever met in real life named "Sophia". If only my parents had thought to give that name to me! I definitely never would have been referred to as "Sophia #2".

Neither can I imagine hearing anyone use the words, "Just" and "Sophia" together as a phrase.

The name "Sophia" has a way of drawing attention. Unlike "Becky", it requires a second glance.
It's surely no accident that the name "Sophia" and the word "sophisticated" have so much in common. For the life of me, I cannot picture "Sophia" doing anything as mundane as washing dishes or changing the kitty litter.

No, people like "Sophia" hire people named "Becky" to do that sort of thing for them.

It's no wonder I never became famous!

Oh, I'm only joking.

In reality, being "Just Becky" hasn't been all that bad. I dare say it actually has it perks and challenges.

My first name, when combined with my middle (yet equally non-dramatic) name can have a rather melodic sound if pronounced correctly. For instance, when one throws a heavy southern accent, such as my grandmother had, into the equation.

Grandma lovingly called me "Beckajean", allowing the syllables to roll very slowly and deliberately off her tongue. Sweet and thick like molasses, it came out ... "Beck-AHhh-jean"

That was actually kind of nice.

My Dad, cousins, and Aunts back home still call me "Becky Jean" only their pronunciation has a short clippy northern "bite" to it. That too, has a comforting feel, because it reminds me of "home". To the people who know me best and love me most "Becky Jean" is "who" I am.

None of them ever has to ask "Which Becky Jean?"

I suppose a name, like anything else, is what you make it. For instance, having a name like "Becky" allows an element of surprise. People hear my name and expect the "girl next door". What they don't realize is that "Sophia" lurks just beneath the surface. Unlike "Becky", "Sophia" is a force to be reckoned with!

Just ask my husband and he'll confirm that fact (or he will if he knows what's good for him!)

Being "Becky", I've had the fortune of never having anyone mis-pronounce my name when they speak to me. Neither have I ever, before meeting someone face to face, been mistakenly thought to be a male because of having a name that was unusual or non gender specific.

Now that I live in the south, I am often referred to as "Miss Becky" by the youngsters. Surprisingly enough, I must admit that I find "Miss Becky" to have a certain charm. "Miss Becky" is certainly a respected grown up here in the Georgia.

Those are all good things about being "Just Becky".

So, I'll resist any mid-life urges to run out and assign another name to myself. I was born "Becky" and "Becky" I shall remain.

"Becky".

The girl next door.

Approachable.

Sensible.

Down to earth.

Thoughtful and kind.

All American girl.

There's certainly nothing wrong with any of those traits!

Maybe Mom and Dad knew what they were doing when they decide to call me that after all. I only hope, when my time ends on earth, it will be said of me that I did the name justice and made my parents proud.

Go ahead, just call me "Becky". I like the sound of that!

Good Medicine!

My two youngest offspring ... they make me laugh!

I've been needing a break lately, so much so that I have contemplated running away for a day or two. The problem with that, however, would be the cost involved. It's one of those so called "catch 22'" dilemmas. A large part of my reason for needing a break is the financial stress we've been experiencing over the last several months, and of course it's a bit difficult to run away (at least with any degree of comfort) without the finances to support it

Suffice to say, I'm "stuck" where I am for now.

Last night as I lay in my bed fighting the nagging thoughts of discouragement that raced through my head and kept me tossing and turning, I decided I really had no choice but to come up with a feasible alternative remedy for my current state of disgruntlement.

Yes, it was most definitely time for "Plan B"!

"Think on those things which are GOOD ..." I reminded myself in a conscious attempt to re-direct my thoughts back to a more pleasant frame of mind. One by one, I methodically sorted through my data base of happy memories, eventually constructing a conglomeration of only the best on which to concentrate.

Before long, a sweet flood of wonderful thoughts began rushing through what had only moments before been the parched and thirsty riverbed of my spirit. Like a grainy old 8mm film, the scenes were displayed one after another before my minds eye.

There were the hot summer evenings spent picnicking a the lake when I was a little girl, followed by memories of my children when they were small, lot's of thoughts involving my crazy friends ... and on to those of my silly little grandchildren who've most recently given me reason to smile.

And smile, I did, as I lay there in the dark recalling nearly forty-eight years worth of unforgettable events which have left permanent impressions on my heart. Oh to capture those things and keep them alive forever! It would be the perfect cure for what ails me now.

In the process, it occurred to me that my very best memories share one common factor. I realized what exactly, has been the missing piece of my life's puzzle in recent weeks.

Laughter!

I love to laugh. It's a gift I inherited from my father's side of the family. I dare say, they made it an art form. I've never met anyone who could laugh quite like Dad and his four sisters. A healthy dose of humor could be found in just about any situation (or no situation at all) if they were involved. Once they got together at our family functions, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before uncontrollable laughter would break out and take us all hostage.

It was a literally breath taking and wonderful experience.

Man! What I wouldn't give for some of that now!

It isn't that I've not laughed lately. Seldom does a day go by that I don't find something worthy of a chuckle or two. Just yesterday I got tickled at my son when the doctor asked him what kind of green vegetables he liked and he responded, "Green Skittles".

But that's not the kind of laugh I need! I need a big ol' belly laugh! One that makes me snort and double over, holding my sides while tears roll from my eyes.

I need to laugh like we all laughed forty years ago when my aunt Leora ran to rescue her grand daughter who'd fallen on the patio, only to slip in the same puddle of water she'd fallen prey to and topple right on top of her.

I need to cackle and cry like my daughter Emily and I did when my then five year old son, Adam David, after discovering the significance of his name, subsequently choreographed his own personal "underwear dance" and proudly performed it for us, stripped down to his little white briefs while singing, "I'm dancin' in my underwear! I'm dancin' in my underwear!"

(If you don't "get it", read the story of King David in the Bible)

The performance got such rave reviews that he continued encore appearances for anyone who visited our house over the next couple of years, each time evoking the same wonderful response from his audience ... he never stopped until the tears of laughter flowed! (My aunts would definitely be proud!)

I could even go for a good dose of the painful hilarity that erupted when my friend Debby and I were goofing off at her house two years back, and I stumbled backward and landed flat in her living room floor. It turned out that laughter wasn't the only thing that broke out that evening, as I almost immediately realized I'd also fractured my arm in the process!

I'll never forget sitting there in the floor cradling my incredibly painful forearm against my chest, never-the-less laughing so hard I could barely enunciate the words, "I think I'm gonna need some ice!"

And yet, the memory of the experience is indescribably funny even today. (ok, so maybe you really had to be there to fully appreciate the humor surrounding the situation.)

It's true. Laughter is "good medicine". Just thinking about laughing is a refreshing thing! I proved that to myself once again last night.

Wouldn't it be great if we could all laugh today? (uhh.. while the situation I described above was extremely funny at the time, I would not recommend that you break any appendages in your attempt to accomplish this task)

My personal assignment for this weekend is to have a good belly laugh. What an amazing way to forget about my current predicament and retreat for a while!

Best of all, (barring the unfortunate occurrence of fractured limbs) it won't cost a dime!

Sick Day

I took a "sick day" today, although I'm not sure it qualifies as a "sick day" when I didn't have anything on the schedule anyway... at least not until this evening.

That sounds even more pathetic now that I think about it, given the fact that it is Friday.

I use to look forward to Friday evenings. That was the night my friends and I would all go out to dinner together after work, and then hit our local (brace yourself now) "Wal-Mart". (Did you really think I might say local "bar"??)

During the last few years Friday's haven't been quite as exciting as they were even less than a decade ago. Now days Friday evenings normally consist of driving the boy to the movies and dropping him off, then either waiting on him by hanging out at the outlet mall for two hours (which ultimately ends up costing me more money than I have to spend) or driving back home and twiddling my thumbs for an hour and a half before turning around and going back to retrieve my son.

Yes, it's true. My fourteen year old offspring has a more exciting life than I. That's just wrong!

For once, Adam didn't have plans for his Friday evening this week and I did! Our church is holding it's annual "girls night out" tonight ... pizza, popcorn and chick flicks at the church. I was really looking forward to it. Just me and 300 of my closest girl-friends hanging out for a few hours. What fun! No men, no kids, no curfew! (Well, technically the evening is scheduled to end at 10:00 p.m. but I could stop somewhere else on my way home if I wanted to!)

When I woke up with a severe headache this morning, it never occurred to me that I would actually be missing my "girls night out" because of it. Silly me! I believed I could sleep it off and go about my merry way. With a little luck, the extra couple hours of rest would enable me to actually stay awake until the movie ended.

By around 4:00 this afternoon I was beginning to accept the sad reality. Tonight was going to be like most other Friday nights, minus the trip to the theater to drop my son off.

No, even worse. It was going to be a regular Friday evening, minus the trip to the theater PLUS a horrible, sickening headache!

And so I accepted my fate, called the girl who was planning to ride with me to the event and canceled, then snuggled down under my blanket on the family room sofa. I figure by now, the girls down at the church have polished off the pizza and are lining up for popcorn and a soft drink, giggling as they find seats in the auditorium and wait for the movie to start rolling.

I, on the other hand, am sitting here with the t.v. blaring and the boy fussing away because we have no white bread in the house and he is starving! Mr. Taylor changed into his pajamas and retreated to the media room nearly an hour ago. Our three cats and one dog have all nestled in nearby enjoying the heat of the fireplace.

What has my life come to? A trip to "Wal-Mart" is sounding pretty exciting to me right now.

Or at least it would be if I felt halfway like getting dressed and driving all the way there ... which of course I don't, since that is the reason I am home tonight in the first place!

I do hope my 300 closest friends are having fun.

I'm also hoping they're missing me half as much as I'm missing all of them right now. I know, I know ... fat chance that that's really happening, but it's Friday night after all. I figure I at least deserve to dream a little!

Amazing Grace and Haters

This post will be a bit of a personal rant, so I apologize in advance.

That said, I shall now continue!

Our family attends what we consider to be the most wonderful church on earth (that's how it should be, right?) We are part of a large congregation thus earning a spot in the "mega church" category (if you must categorize) Never the less, it doesn't "feel" like a mega church. People there, as a whole, are friendly and easy to get to know. I like to refer to it as a "big church with a store front atmosphere."

Oddly enough, I don't care much for crowds and avoid them in most situations. By the grace of God, we normally sit up front which makes it possible for me to remain fairly oblivious to the activity of the masses behind me.

On occasion though, we are bumped to seats further back in the crowd. The last three times this has happened have proven to be disturbing and eye opening experiences.

Let me back up a little. Before each service I actually pray about our seats before we enter the sanctuary. I believe that even something as trivial as where we sit is important. Nothing happens by coincidence! In the past I have met some wonderful people who have become close friends simply because we ended up sitting next to each other during church. Those sorts of "God-incidences" are wonderful!

Now, back to the disturbing, eye opening stuff!

A couple months ago on a Sunday morning, my family was seated in a different area, still close to the front but to the right of where we normally sit. I smiled and nodded as I lowered myself into the seat beside a middle aged lady and two other females who appeared to be her daughter and grand-daughter. All three of them, including the grand-daughter who looked to be about eight years old, returned my smile with icy stares.

"O.K.! This should be interesting." I thought and reminded myself that nothing happens by accident.

We had a few minutes before service started, so I introduced myself to the middle aged lady. She obliged my offer of a handshake with all the enthusiasm of a stone statue.

I felt like I was sitting by three big blocks of ice!

My intuition often picks up on the emotions of others. I think that's part of the reason I don't like to be in crowds. I feel bombarded and overwhelmed by it sometimes. That morning was definitely no exception.

Sometimes people come to church with a lot on their minds. Maybe they've just lost a loved one, or have gotten bad news about their health. They may be carrying a burden that seems too heavy to bear, and that causes them to appear withdrawn or cold toward others. People who are in those kinds of situations rarely realize they are giving that impression and will usually respond favorably when approached in a friendly manner.

The longer I sat by that woman, the clearer it got that she was not one of them. She (and the other two) obviously had some kind of "hate" issue going on and that issue was potentially affecting everyone around her.

I ended up praying for them, especially the grand-daughter throughout the remainder of the service.

Two weeks later, we ended up sitting behind the same trio. Again, they were all cold and hateful acting. A lady I know was seated to the left of the ice people. As the service ended, I tapped my acquaintance on the shoulder and asked her to retrieve something from under the seat for me. She happily leaned over to get it but as she did so, "ice lady's" daughter interjected and barked at me for asking.

I was shocked. I'll admit I almost "lost my religion" at that moment. I'd done nothing to evoke such a response from the woman. I wasn't even talking to her! I decided instead, to take the "high road" and ignored her comment. Meanwhile, the lady I knew (who happened to look as shocked as I felt) handed me the article I'd asked for along with an apologetic smile.

Now, fast forward to last night's service. It was one of our "renewal" services celebrating the approaching end of our annual fast. We had "special" seating, which ironically meant we had to sit further back in the auditorium than usual. Go figure!

The crowd was bustling around, as is usual for a week night service. People tend to come in later because most work during the day and have to rush to get there.

Walt and I stood in the aisle by our assigned seats and visited with several of our friends while we waited for service to start. Two women I've never met before sat down in the seats beside ours.

The five minute countdown appeared on the screen, indicating it was time for everyone to settle in. As the lights lowered and the praise band struck up their first chords, a young lady I recognized appeared at the end of our row with her four year old daughter perched on her hip. She scanned the row searching for two empty seats and decided to settle for a single seat instead, since that was all that was available. Her little girl would have to sit on her lap.

Like I said, I recognized the young woman, but I don't really know her. I've watched her since she started coming to the church and have to say I admire her dedication. She is faithful and enthusiastic, and never misses a service. I've noticed that she shows up on Wednesday nights in a uniform, obviously having rushed straight to service from work. This has been going on for nearly five years now. Even though we've never really even talked, she has been a blessing to me.

The empty seat she'd spotted was directly on the other side of the two women seated by me. As she entered our row and attempted to pass the women, they made no attempt to move out of the way for her. This meant she was stopped between me and the seat in front of me ... and quite literally standing on the toes of my left foot!

"I am so sorry!" She apologized, then leaned over and asked the woman next to me if she could please let her through to the one available seat.

I was totally shocked when I heard the woman respond to her with a harsh scolding! She said, "Well that's why you're supposed to get here ON TIME, honey!"

And she refused to budge, forcing the girl to crawl across both her and her companion in order to be seated.

At that point I wanted to apply the "five fold ministry" to the stubborn woman's face (if you know what I mean) ! I don't know if that woman was a visitor or a regular and I guess it doesn't really matter. My question was, how could she treat one of God's children like that and still call herself a Christian?

Visitor or church member, she had no regard whatsoever for whatever circumstances precluded the young woman's late arrival. She was instead, only concerned about the horrid inconvenience the girl had caused her by asking politely to be let past.

On one hand, I feel a bit guilty for allowing myself to be ruffled by such incidents, but on the other I believe there is such a thing as "righteous indignation". Didn't Jesus Himself say, "Suffer the little children and forbid them not to come unto me .." when his "followers" tried to snub the little ones? Didn't he become angry when unacceptable things were happening in the temple?

I know our Heavenly Father loves us all, "haters" included, but I'm also pretty certain He does not approve of the haters actions ... especially when the haters are supposedly Christians and should be representing HIM to the rest of the world.

If we can't be nice to each other while we're sitting in the church, how are we going to behave ourselves while we're out in the community?

Ah! But back to the whole "All things happen for a reason" theory. I understand there must be some purpose for even these experiences, and I've learned that it's likely I'll continue to be exposed to similar things until I figure out just what He wants me to do about it.

So far so good ... so help me Lord! I've come to understand that I shouldn't follow my first impulse which is to smack the hater or give them a piece of my mind. To be honest I am praying now against any possibility of becoming a "hater" of the "haters" myself. That would be just plain wrong.

No, love must ... and WILL prevail! As one of my former pastor use to say, "Hurt people" hurt people." So maybe the haters I've come in contact with recently have been hurt at some point and need a good old fashioned healing.

Or a good old fashioned "come to Jesus" talk!

Either way, I am praying God reveals the answer to me soon, so I can act accordingly and pass this test ... and get back to the "happy" Christians who sit in our usual section of the sanctuary.

Casual Friday

I woke up this morning with a skull crushing headache. The feeling might be compared to that of a freight train sitting on top of my head with it's whistle stuck at full blast. It hurts!

I had every intention of going back to bed after the boy left for school, but of course I rarely follow through with that sort of plan. Instead, I ended up taking some extra strength pain reliever and attempting to go about my business.

I did allow myself to forego any attempt to get out of my pajamas and into real clothes. Neither did I bother with any application of makeup or fixing of my hair. My business is run from the comfort of my home and since I am not seeing any face to face clients today, I figured "Why not?"

Around ten o'clock I started to feel a bit guilty about still being in my pjs and looking like a rumpled mess. Sure, I'd managed to get a few things accomplished despite my state of dis-array, but thoughts of unexpected visitors ringing my doorbell began to haunt me. Maybe my decision not to get dressed for the day wasn't such a good one after all.

Then I had a "second thought" about the matter!

By golly, it's FRIDAY! Is it not still a common practice of many businesses to observe "Casual Friday" where the employees are encouraged to show up at the office "dressed down" a bit?

So, it stands to reason that since my usual work day attire (if I don't have any face to face meetings) is jeans and a sweater, then my "Casual Friday" attire would be a step down from that.

And a step down from jeans and sweaters would naturally be ......

PAJAMAS and house slippers!

What a liberating moment that was for me!

I am proud to announce the premier of "Casual Fridays" here at the "offices" of "Bold New Day, LLC"/ "World Ventures"/ "Rovia Travel" / "Taylor Electric Service". In an attempt to boost the morale of our office CEO / Life Coach / Secretary / Housekeeper (all of which would be ME) The practice of changing out of one's pj's, applying makeup, brushing hair or any other similar task, on Fridays will be purely optional and done so only at MY discretion!

(Just be sure and call ahead if you're planning on stopping by, OK?)

Things That Go BOOM In The Night!

There has to be a logical explanation. I'm sure of it.

A few weeks ago in the middle of our Friday night slumber, my husband woke me up and asked if I would go upstairs and have Adam turn his music down. I roused myself from a deep sleep and slid off the side of the bed into my slippers. Sure enough, there was a distinct "boom bah boom bah boom boom" in full surround sound rocking our entire house. The effect was much like that of sitting beside a car with it's stereo on full blast at a stop light.

And yes, the origin of the "boom bah boom bah boom boom" was the upper story of our house, where the boy's bedroom is located.

Teenagers!

"Why is he even up at this hour, much less listening to music that loudly?" I grumbled as I pulled myself up the stairs.

About half way up, I realized the sound was actually coming from the media room.

"Adam!" I barked (have I mentioned that I'm not really at my "best" when my sleep is interrupted?) "Why are you watching a movie at this hour? Turn it down! You're waking up the neighborhood, for pete's sake!"

Grrr!

Adam's bedroom door sprang open and he appeared, looking a little disheveled and very perplexed.

"I didn't turn it on Mom, it woke me up too." he explained.

That was weird. I couldn't help but notice a discomforting eerie glow spilling into the hallway from the media room. With a measure of caution, I approached the DVD player (which is actually operated by remote from the upstairs office) and investigated, then pressed the "off" button. The noise stopped and the eerie glow disappeared.

I assured my son that it was just a fluke and went back downstairs where my husband, snuggled down deep inside the warmth of his blankets, had already fallen back to sleep.

"Walt! Walt!" I shook him until he popped his head from under the covers and opened his eyes.

"The DVD player just turned itself on." I explained. "It woke Adam up too, he hadn't even been in there!"

"Oh." my groggy spouse responded, "That's strange" ... and went right back to sleep.

I shrugged it off and crawled back into bed myself.

A few days passed and I hadn't thought any more of the incident.

Then it happened again. We came home from a holiday party and sure enough, there was a movie showing in full surround sound in our media room. The only problem was, no one was home when the show started.

This time, Mr. Taylor went upstairs and looked into it. Just as I'd done before, all he could think of to remedy the problem was simply to turn the DVD player off.

Once more, time passed and the self-starting movie situation became a distant memory for the three of us.

Until last night. Third verse, same as the first ... and second. It was the middle of the night again and everyone was sound asleep. I was awakened by two of our cats fighting in our bedroom. I got up and shooed Skippyjon, the younger cat, toward the vicinity of the foyer. He normally sleeps with Adam, but on occasion will manage to be outside his room when the door closes for the night. Skippyjon’s attempts to get into our bed instead always invites a brutal attack from the older Siamese.

Once a safe distance from the older, hissing, snarling cat, I scooped Skippyjon into my arms and began my trek to Adam's bedroom.

I paused at the foot of the stairs. There was that noise again. My first thought was that Adam was still awake at 2:45 a.m. on a school night and he was in big trouble. When I got to his door, Skippyjon in tow, however, I saw that his bedroom was dark. The boy was snoozing away.

Sighing, I dropped Skippyjon inside the bedroom door and closed it before he could run back out, then went to the DVD player and hit the "off" button.

By then, the whole ordeal was starting to get a little old! I went back to bed and woke Walt up, explaining that we really did need to figure out why the DVD player has suddenly acquired a mind of it's own and put this nonsense to an end. He assured me he would look into it.

Thank goodness.

This morning Walt left for work and I (because I wasn't able to get back to sleep easily last night) slept in. Once up for the day, I went through my usual morning routine, then sat down to work at the computer.

Within a few minutes, the whole house began dancing to the now all too familiar sound of "boom bah boom bah boom boom". Obviously, that DVD player is not planning to go down without a fight!

I've been tolerating the noise for a while now. For some reason I feel no sense of urgency in climbing up those stairs and turning it off this time. Maybe I'll just wait and see how long it lasts. Could be the dastardly DVD player is plotting against me, trying to see how many times I'll actually come up there and hit the "off" button before I finally rip the evil device out of the wall altogether. I can almost hear it mocking me now. Perhaps it plans to make me it's human slave.

Nah. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for the DVD player taking on a life of it’s own. I’m also fairly certain that it isn’t actually plotting my demise. It is, after all, only a shiny box with a bunch of wires stuffed inside. Surely it poses no threat to a human being such as myself.

Never the less, in case you’re “listening” my little electronic friend. You’d better watch out! The next thing that goes "boom" in the night around here just could be your shiny metal case hitting the floor. Don’t mess with me, you will NOT win!

Why Do They Call It A Fast (When It Goes So SLOW?)

Our church family is currently finishing up day two of our annual twenty-one day fast. Several of us have opted to begin by doing a three day "water only" fast, then switch to the "Daniel" fast which allows fruits and vegetables, and a few other basic "real" food items.

My husband is going to go even longer than the three days on water only. Personally, I'm drinking water every day until sundown, then eating some of the actual "Daniel" fast foods in order to take my medications. Otherwise, the meds would upset my stomach terribly and trust me, we don't want that to happen.

This fasting stuff is an interesting experience. I'd like to say I'm so "super-spiritual" that I find it enjoyable, but I'd be lying. Although I didn't read anything in the "fasting guidelines" specifically addressing the subject of telling lies while fasting, I'm pretty sure it would have adverse effects on the desired outcome.

So, can you handle the truth? I'll tell you the stinkin' truth! I dread this thing every year. It's the only time I actually contemplate the possibility of finding a different church to attend, at least for a few weeks during the month of January!

Gasp! Of course I don't mean that.

I believe with all my heart that God Himself, has placed me in my particular church family. That is where I'm suppose to be and I wouldn't change it for the world. After all, I want nothing more than to be in the center of HIS will for my life. If my Pastor calls a fast every January, then that's what I know I should be doing.

But, do I have to LIKE it? I hope not, because if that's the case, I am in some deep trouble!

Fasting can be compared to labor and delivery. I've had three babies in my lifetime, and can honestly say I always enjoyed being pregnant. Even more so, I excitedly looked forward to finally holding each of my precious newborn babies in my arms!

The labor and delivery part though? I can't say I looked forward to THAT aspect of the whole "having a baby" process in the least. Even though all my labors and deliveries were relatively easy (for lack of a better word), there was nothing enjoyable about it! Not once during any of my pregnancies did I ever say, "Oh! I just can't wait to spend hours in writhing pain! Bring it on!"

I did, however, happily anticipate bringing my babies into this world and have been known to comment, "I wish I would hurry up and go into labor!"

Did I just contradict myself?

No!

I knew that labor and delivery were very necessary in order to get my babies here. That was my reward for enduring the pain.

Talk about the "end justifying the means"!

The same goes for fasting. Every year I dread it.

And every year I also know it's something I MUST do, because at the end of the fast there is always a great reward. Just like giving birth, there's something about what happens as a result of fasting that makes it seem "not so bad" after all. It makes me say that I would definitely do it all over again.

(Just not immediately, of course!)

That's what I focus on while I busy chewing on raw broccoli and washing it down with water when I'd much rather be gulping down a pizza with a side of Diet Pepsi! Eventually, the painful part WILL end!

Right now, with two fasting days behind me and nineteen left to go, that "end" seems like a million miles away.

I can do this! With God's help, I know I can.

But boy! Will I ever be happy when it's all over and done, and I can go back to eating "real" food for the other forty-nine weeks of the 2009!

Becky Taylor 1/5/09

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.

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

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.

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.

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!

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!

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.