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Showing posts from September, 2013


For the last two and a half years I have written a Monday blog without fail.  This past week I struggled and struggled to find a subject to write about, so I considered the things I always obsess about. ü   Growing old - I have nothing to say here worthy of mentioning (at least, nothing nice or kind.), so keep reading. ü   My writing life. If I am having enough trouble coming up with a 250-450 word blog, what do you think I have to share about writing that is worth taking notes?   ü   Buying a new car. My efforts to replace the Red Bomber, aka Grandma’s Jeep have come to a standstill. I feel like I am divorcing a perfectly good spouse in an effort to replace it with a trophy wife. The old car is sturdy and dependable, low maintenance and still in good shape.  The new car would be expensive, showy, full of cosmetic baubles. I know from personal experience how the Jeep must feel. Remember, I was divorced twice before I met HoneyBunch. ü   Men – Maybe I could write about my “va

The ABC’s Spell Healthy

A - Almonds, Arugula B - Breakfast is very important. C – Calcium and Vitamin D daily intake D – Dinner, Diabetes, Dairy E – Exercise – choose something addictive and fun. F – Family activities, fish, fruits G – Gym workouts (videos are okay.) H – Healthy snacks – don’t ditch them; choose wisely, hydrate. I – Interactive video games that involve movement, jumping, standing J – Join a group to improve exercise, education, weight loss, or to make friends. K – Kiwi, kale – learn their many benefits. L – Lunch – measure, choose wisely. M – Measure your portions. Medicines, movement, meditation N – Naps, 8 hours of nightly sleep O – One slice of pizza is okay; fill your plate with salad. P – Portion control.  A kid’s meal is the size of a “real” adult portion. Q – Quinoa R – running (or biking or swimming or dancing) S – Spice your food to reduce salt intake. T – Tea has many soothing benefits. U – Utensils – measuring cups and spoons are your frie


Alone won’t let you wear your fancy bracelet, the kind that has a latch and needs three hands to get it onto your wrist.   Alone says no to that becoming dress, the one with the tight bodice that won’t give so you can scootch it up in back, and you can zip it all the way to the top.   Alone thinks it’s a bad idea to bake your favorite cake recipe or that meatloaf you love to make with real mashed potatoes and the green bean casserole - unless you want to eat it all week long or freeze the remainder into a dozen plastic lunch containers. Alone won’t listen to your joke or your story, and it gives useless advice on your latest wacky idea.    Alone doesn’t care if you steal the covers, hide the remote, or lie about the bathroom scales. Alone gladly gives up the second seat at the theatre or the symphony so you can use it for your purse and coat. Alone lets you be the hero of your life’s story, wear the pants, be the boss of you. It gladly lets you swat at the spider, sq

Our Song

Why is it when we are sad, every song we hear stabs at our heart, even commercials for fast food make us cry?  Yet when our heart is happy, we bop along, singing at full wail. Music, like our sense of smell, elicits specific memories. There are certain songs that I find downright annoying. I absolutely hate (and I mean hate, sorry) the theme songs Over the Rainbow, My Heart Will Go On, and Fame. Not only have they been overplayed, but I find my annoyance also stems from my dislike of their movies.   I also find explicit modern music annoying and disgraceful. You see, my father was a musician, so I grew up listening to entrancing rhythms and beautiful lyrics.  He played the Big Band music of the 40’s and the smooth ballads of Agustin Lara (the famous Mexican composer of over 700 songs), so I associate that music with my childhood.   My teen years were wrapped in Elvis, the Beatles, the Stones, and Three Dog Night, but as I had children of my own, they took charge

Yellow Car, The Game

If necessity is the mother of invention, desperation is its grandmother. I’m driving home from picking up two grandsons from school.    They are both strapped into the back seat when the yelling starts.    I hear a swat, then a howl followed by a bloodcurdling battle cry, and the scrimmage begins. I’m merging onto a stretch of expressway that resembles a French braid and our three lives depend on my total concentration.             “Let’s play a game.”    I shout over the battle of fists coming from the back seat of my Jeep. They answer with another smack and another cry of pain. “There can only be one winner; everyone else will be   losers .” I singsong the word “losers” knowing that might divert their attention. I merge left thanks to the kindness of a young man in a yellow car. The older one asks over the screams of his younger brother, “What kind of game?” “Let’s count trucks.    We like trucks.” I try not to sound desperate. “That’s no fun.   

Grandma’s Jeep

My oldest grandson was born one month before I bought my red Jeep Liberty, so all seven of my grands have never known me to drive anything else. When I announced recently I was buying a new car, I was met with shocked looks, not just from the grandkids but from the rest of the family as well. Will it be red?  Will it be a Jeep? More importantly, what was going to happen to it? I wasn’t going to trade it in, was I? People get attached to houses, and so my family has become attached to Grandma’s Jeep.  It’s more than just some old car - it’s a symbol of Grandma (or Mom); it’s home; it’s a part of the family.     It has been my office, counseling and tutoring grandsons as I drive to and from school, soccer, or swimming lessons.  It has been my interrogation room where naughty boys have confessed their sins and received scolding’s and an earful of advice. It has been the stage for Grandma’s traveling acts of great feats, where out of boredom or desperation the ki

Prayers and Angels - II

On March 20, 2003, my youngest son and his Marine unit crossed the central desert of Iraq on their way to Bagdad.    The war had just begun. He was twenty-one years old at the time.    At home on that day, his high school friends worried about college classes, making it to work on time, and what to plan for Saturday night. I had spent every moment since his deployment in January, praying for his safety, though I acknowleded that God’s will would be done.    Because of the seriousness of war, I, and many others, prayed that God would cover my precious son with His angels, so that he would have the strength and courage to face whatever happened. My son came home that year in September, and he shared many miraculous escapes from death. The most amazing happened on March 20 th . As they crossed the desert, a huge sandstorm blew in.    It was so blinding that they “circled the wagons,” silenced their radios, and waited for it to abate.    They were defenseless in the storm. The

A Lack of Manners

“I was raised right – I talk about people behind their backs.  It’s called good manners.” – Kathy Griffin My husband opens doors for me and lets me walk through first.  The same with the car door, he expects me to wait for him before I enter or exit the car. It is one of the reasons I love him – his consideration and manners. Now, he slips every once in a while, but then I’ve been known to rest my elbows on the dinner table and talk with my mouth full of food, so I am willing to overlook his fumbles on occasion. The lack of manners and good etiquette are a reflection of a person, and once a good impression is lost, it is almost impossible to be regained. COURTESY I cannot stand when people touch food with their hands and put it back when they serve themselves from a common bowl or serving tray.  Even more disgusting is when someone double dips a chip into a bowl of dip or a piece of bread into a plate of oil and vinegar.  The lack of courtesy for others is appa