Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Anybody got a Shoe Horn?

I have always been a bit of a car fanatic. My dad was a mechanic by trade, and did great paint and body work as well, so we always had really cool cars as I was growing up. We always had the most amazing conveyances; go- carts, mini-bikes, dune buggies, motorcycles, and the cars....oh man, the cars..... my brother had a '55 White over Red Chevy Belaire, (what a SWEET ride!), also a silver '57 Chevy. My friends say I change cars more than I change socks. That's about right. My insurance guy loves it too.

I have had cars in a number of different categories. I've been drawn to to "the hot rod "(had a red Chevy SSR- it was a rocket!), "the slow" (had a creamy yellow 1984 Mercedez 240 D, like a little stick o' butter on wheels- had to plan a week ahead of time just to pull out into traffic), "the novelty" (had the new neon green VW Beetle with turbo when they first came out- at 125 mph it would flat out hug the road) and now....well now, I 'm into "the unique". I drive a little 2-seater called a Smart Car (silver). So does Heather(red), but her pit bull, Snuggles, is a bit too big for it, so hers is up for sale. We were at the tag office last week and our cars were hanging out side by side , so I took advantage of the photo op.......

They look like they're smilin' atcha. I love it! Never ceases to amaze me the ridiculous things people say when they see a a Smartie.

Case in Point #1:

This goat-ropin' redneck walks up to me at the GAS station WHILE I WAS GETTING GAS-

Doofus: "What kinda mileage you git witha that leetle car?"

Me: "About 40".

Doofus: "Is that an all ELECTRIC car?"
Me: ......(putting away fuel nozzle, getting fuel receipt)..............."No."

Doofus: "Huh. What kind is it?"

Me: "A Smart Car."

Doofus: "SMART car?! What's so d--- smart about it?"

Me: (getting in the car to drive away) "I have one. You don't."

Woulda been nice to burn rubber as I left him in my dust, however my Smartie does not have that capability. I REALLY do miss that in SSR in times like that...

Case in Point #2:

Got in the world's s-l-o-w-e-s-t elevator at work after going to the little canteen downstairs for bottled water. As I was going up to my office to work on those never-ending worker's compensation files, the elevator stopped on the main foloor and picked up two ladies who just came in from the parking lot.

Now lemme tell ya, everyone is entitled to their opinion. I'm fine with that, 'cause Lord knows I have an opinion about everyting. EVERY. THING. I don't always SHARE it, but I still got it. So I act like I am not even listening, 'cause they weren't involving me in the conversation. All the way up to my floor I kept looking straight ahead as Magpie Mabel runs off at the mouth about "that crazy lookin' little car out there." *Shared laughter between them* ..."how ridiculous it looks."....*chuckle- chuckle*..."it looks like one of those tiny little clown cars in the Shiner's parade." ....*titter- titter* "how anyone with half a brain could even think about lowering themselves to buy something so unbelievable." The elevator door is about to open on my floor, and she finally looks over at me and I know she is ready to engage me in their not-so-private convo. So I look her right in the eye and start smiling with that oh- yeah-I-know-exactly-what-you-are-talking-about look, nodding my head......and she elbows me gently says, "I know you 've seen THAT car down there, EVERYone has seen it. I just call it STUPID. What would YOU call it?!" The elevator door opens on my floor, I gave her "the look"(subject for another post, another day) as the smile dissolved off my face, and I leaned toward her for just a bit of emphasis, and said softly in a nice, polite Southern fashion, "Why....I call it mine, ya'll." I left her stammering and squawking like a scalded chicken as he elevator doors closed and I giggleded all the way to my office. There's just no accounting for some folks.

OK, so you've seen women trying to fit into the low-slung jeans and there's "muffin-topness" and ugly spillage happening all over the place. It's like trying to put 50-lb mud in a 5-lb sack, right?! It pays to know your limitations. Some things just can't fit on small spaces, and get your minds out of the gutter right now- 'cause Im not goin' there. Well, sometimes the impossible can be done. Here is where I AM goin' with this...Look below....

We have a 2-car garage. I drive the Smartie, my hubby (aka Big Sugar) drives a Honda Civic, but he also has a beautiful 2008 Silver Corvette........

And we can fit all 3 in the 2-car garage! Comes in right handy when you live in Tornado Alley and the HAIL comes pounding down the plain! We park the Smartie right in behind the 'vette and it is perfect! And we don't even need a shoe horn! Now how 'bout that?!

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Open Letter to Isaac Newton

Dear Mr. Newton,

I don't typically write about "personal" things but today is different. Being 50, every day I am reminded of your "science-changing" discovery. I mean really. Gravity?!? Come. ON!!! Thanks to you, my lovely facial structure is a thing of the past. The rosy cheeks I once had in my youth have migrated to the underside of my jawline. Instead of my Welsh/German/ English heritage being most evident by softly sculptured cheeks and patrician facial features, now I just look like a dang greedy chipmunk storing up food for the winter in its pouchy jowls. My other, cheeks used to garner compliments that would make me blush, but now they have taken up residence at a much lower altitude these days. Thanks to you, I'll be needing walking shorts pretty soon just to be decent in public. I went jogging yesterday and thought some one was running right on my heels, until I realized the 'whap-pa-ta, whap-whap-pa-ta" sound I was hearing was my below-sea-level mudflaps hitting the backs of my thighs. Way to go, Isaac! And let us not forget the inevitable, a woman's worst enemy, thanks to that big fat Red Delicious taking a bounce off your noggin. The air has certainly gone out of my tires.....and if you don't understand the analogy, well you been in the lab a liiiiitle too long. Let me tell you something, Mister. It's pretty bad when your mammo tech takes one look at your attributes, before placing your precious parts in that glorified drill press, and asks "Um, do you have implants?" A quick opening of the gown illicits a pitiful look from said mammo tech along with a mummur of "Oooooooohhhh, guess not." I reckon a picture's worth a thousand words. You could have come up with a better idea than Gravity. How about a Helium Brassiere? You could have called it the "Up, Up and Away". Or here's a thought- How about a simple jogging bra for the blessed amoung us, huh? WHY is that so hard? You science brainiacs can split the atom, and put people in space, but you can't come up with something that Paula Petralunga can jog in without looking like a freakshow or appear as if she is smuggling two small piglets under her wick-away shirt. (Obviously the heartfelt letter to Under Armour did NOT work.) Why couldn't you have discovered a way to DEFY gravity? There's a money-maker! Then every woman would love you. But instead we all have to find ways to lift, shift, undergird and overlay all sorts of things just to fight that never-ending gravitational pull!! History says that perhaps you died of mercury poisoning due to all of your strange experiments. But I wonder if you might have been strangled by an irate woman with a whale-boned corset or two...

Thanks from the bottom of MY EVERYTHING,


Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Sweaty Feet

Ya got'ny sibs? I' got a sister and a brother, both older than me. I wanted to be like them SOOOO badly. They were cool, and popular, and brave enough to sneak out at night, and oops...nevermind! Nene, short for her given name Rowena, was 5 when I came along and Goo was 4. Goo, aka, Goober- short for, Ken, Kenney, Kenneth...that just morphs right on into Goooooober now doesn't it? It just sounded right when we dubbed him that. In the south, ever'body has a knickname. It is part of who you are.

Now you have to know that Ken wasn't named Goober after the gumpus on Mayberry who could, at times get into all kinds of idgitness because he didn't exactly wear common sense jeans. Not so with Goo. He is one of the smartest guys I know. And if it is broken, whatever it is, he can fix it. We called 'im Goober one day and it stuck. But we all have an idgit day once in awhile, right? You know, when you do something sorta stupid, without thinking, and then you REEEEEEally wished you hadn't? and you hope to Baby Jesus that nobdy saw you or even hears about it? Well, Goo, here's to you. This is for aaaaaall those times when you ate EVERY SINGLE THING I baked in my Easy Bake Oven before I even got a taste. And you laughed about it. Who's laughing now, huh? Bwahahaha! I've been waiting 41 years. 41 YEARS I TELL YA. AHAHAHAHAHAHA! Now the entire world will know....ok maybe just the 8 or 9 people who read my blog but, HAHAHAHAHAHA I FINALLY got YOU, GOO! Payback's a female dog, now ain't it?!

Some folks have sweaty feet. Guys in particular. My brother is one of 'em. One time he waved a pair of socks in front of me that had been stuffed down in a pair of his shoes somewhere in his closet for a couple of months. Let me tell you, there ain't no kind of funk like that anywhere. The hair in my nose fell out! I have smelled better two-week old roadkill from the back of my Harley than those reekin'dress gold-toes did that day. All of the Code Browns combined that I ever smelled on the floor of the hospital as a nurse pale in comparison to the odiferous fog emiited from my brother's Jethro Bodine- sized stems. My mom was always buying industrial-strength foot powder for Goo and his big ol'stanky funkins. He would pour it in his sneakers every day. I swear if they woulda had odor eaters back then, he woulda taken one step and flat-out disappeared.

One day, when Goo was about 14, the unthinkable happened. He ran out of his foot powder! Oh no! His covy of girlfriends might notice a chink in his armor! BMOC can't have a fume about him.....what to do, what to do?! He checked our bathroom for an extra can, but alas, there was none. He then went to Momma and Daddy's bathroom and looked in the medicine cabinet and, behold! There was a can of powder!!! Hurray- he was saved!!! He filled his shoes full of the newly-discovered powder and went about his way. Later he was telling Mom and Dad at the supper table that he was out of his nuclear fume-killing foot powder, but that he had used some of Daddy's foot powder this morning. Daddy paused and said "I don't have any foot powder."

Goo, said "Yeah, you do- that powder in your medicine cabinet." Mom and Dad exchanged the weirdest look ever in the history of man, and busted out laughing. Mom nearly choked on the meatloaf. Goo just kept getting madder and madder wondering why he was the brunt of an unknown joke. Nene and I just laughed right along with Mom and Dad 'cause we knew this was about him, and NOT us. Daddy jumped up and ran to his bathrom and came back with the powder can in hand and said "Boy, that ain't no foot powder you' been a'wearin'all day!" And then he showed him this and said "Read the label!"

The look on my brother's face can not be fully described. You men reader's out there, please just take a moment...and imagine what went through this macho 14-year old man-boy's mind...tantamount to using your gal's can of FDS and thinking it was your AXE. Ew. His self-confidence and manhood was now lost into the innersoles of his black PF Flyers. Goo couldn't wash his feet FAST enough. I don't know what was worse, Ken threatening all of us not to tell anyone, or Daddy's NON-STOP ribbing about Ken staring to walk like a girl, having a higher pitch to his voice and really getting in touch with his feelings. 'Course I wanted to call him Johnny Quest, after my favorite cartoon, but I didn't dare!

If you don't have a big brother , you are missing out on one of life's greatest blessings. I am pretty sure I have the best one the world has to offer. Yeah, he stole my Easy Bake Oven Culinary Creations, and he would hold me down and tickle me while holding my mouth and nose shut, and so what if he always turned the channel during my favorite TV shows. At some point, I'm not sure when, he went from being an older brother annoyed by a bratty younger sister, to being my bodyguard and best buddy. The day a boy on a youth group trip said a fowl two-word phrase to me, was the same day my big brother shook that boy like a ragdoll and said "Nobody talks to my sister like that", dragged him over to me and made him apologize in front of everyone. The day I got to college was the day he made it known that if ANY guy tried ANYTHING with me, he would clean their clock. Consequently, I met the cream of the crop- Big Sugar, because of a blind date set up by my brother, and well, when you are married to Filet Mignon, everybody else is just pork filler bologna. Can't thank you enough for that Goo.

I hope you have some good memories from childhood. Some real knee-slappers. Nothing like a good guffaw to clear your head. Think on those things today, and while you do that I'm going to re-apply my mascara, because I have laughed it off while writing this post. Ahahahaha, Johnny Quest! Now how'bout that?!

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Just Another Spring Evening in Oklahoma

Just three short hours ago, the Oklahoma evening sky before sunset had the most gorgeous , unusual clouds. (Heather Cherry will have some on her blog too.) These are the blue/pink/ turquoise clouds that came floating by my house around 7:30 tonight.

Well what a difference 3 hours can make! In the South we have a common saying- it is common to US anyhay. When it's gettin' somewhat stormy outside, we say " Hey y'all, I b'lieve it's comin' up a cloud." In the grand state of Oklahoma, it can definitely come up a cloud right quick. Just now, the TV is on the news. 'Scuze me, time to chase a lil' rabbit for just a sec. Ya'll need to know right now that we have the best weather guys in the nation, bar none. Besides having the National Weather Service right down the road, all theses guys are stud storm chasers. Every one of 'em wears Jack Bauer pajamas, as far as I'm concerned, ya hear me? No fear, know what I'm sayin'? They can tell you street by street the exact path of a storm. They save so many lives every year.

Right now this very second, there are tornado warnings out for all of Oklahoma City and the surrounding counties. The sirens are going off, which sends Deuce into orbit. The rain is flying by sideways outside our newly replaced windows. (Goodness, they look FABULOUS...Wish it would hit just a bit harder, then I might not have to do the windows this week. Wup, who am I kidding? I don't DO windows. Where was I?) Oh yeah- sirens blaring, weenie dog howling of course (he IS from the HOUND group), lightning and thundering rattlin' everything, and the TV is on the news. (In the South, we don't say what is on the TV- we say what the TV is on. It's not that we are stupid, we just have a BETTER way of saying things. Sorta like the way we use contractions an awful lot. That way we're able to say a whole more'n a shorter time spot. It's just better, that's all. )
The weather guy's adamantly saying to the home audience the following life-saving advice: "Find your safe spot!" "Get into an inside closet or bathroom!" "Move away from your windows!" (I did, after I finished lookin' at the sideways rain) "We have hail the size of ping-pong balls, could increase to baseball-size in a matter of minutes." "Get out of all mobile homes and get to a sturdy shelter!" "We have reports of power outages, 5,00 people now without power!" (Not us...yet) "We have reports of a tornado on the ground, repeat it is ON THE GROUND! TAKE SHELTER NOW!" "It is now dissipating, winds are decreasing, and the tornado warning has expired." Whew! Typical spring evening in O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A, Okla-HOOOOOOOO-Ma!
The rain has ceased, said weenie hound has stopped his yodeling and has waddled back to chewing on his little cow hoof, yes that's what I said- cow hoof. (Doesn't do a thing for his breath, but he loves 'em!) and all I hear is the rumbling of the distant thunder and the raging storm that has once again passed us on by. And the best thing of it all? That fresh smell of rain that lingers in the air....I LOVE that wonderful scent! That is a smell from childhood, when I would play in the rain when my folks were at work. (Sorry Momma. Now you know. And you just thought I had a hankering to do some laundry on rainy days, huh?)
Some folks wouldn't live here for love nor money. Some folks are just flat-out scared of our neck of the woods. I met the love of my life here, he was born not to far from where we love now. We live smack dab in the middle of what they call "Tornado Alley". I call it the next best thing to Heaven and Dixie. Dear God, I Love Oklahoma! Dang it!....looks like I have some windows to do after how about that?!

Sunday, May 10, 2009

I have the Meanest Mother in Whole World

Today is Mother's Day and in honor of my mother, June, and my mother-in-love, Sally (who passed away in 1999) I am going to post an excerpt from an old letter submitted to Dear Abby many years ago. I hope everyone who reads this is as lucky as I am to have "the meanest mom in the whole world".... this describes my raising perfectly.

Dear Abby: Was your Mom mean? I know mine was. We had the meanest mother in the whole world! While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast. When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches. And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different from what other kids had, too. Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were convicts in a prison. She had to know who our friends were and what we were doing with them. She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash and all sorts of cruel jobs.I think she would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do. She always insisted on us telling the truth,the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. By the time we were teenagers, she could read our minds and had eyes in the back of her head. Then, life was really tough! Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up. They had to come up to the door so she could meet them. While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16. Because of our mother we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced. None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's property or ever arrested for any crime. It was all her fault. Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was. I think that is what's wrong with the world today. It just doesn't have enough mean moms!

Thanks Momma, for being the best "meanest" mom in the whole world. For teaching me how to be lady. For teaching me that God loves me no matter what. For teaching me that I was worth waiting for. For teaching me how to be a "mean" mom. It is not always convenient to do the right thing as a parent and be consistent, but it pays off in the end. Thanks Sally, for Steve. Without you he would have never been, never come into my life, been my husband, my children's father, my everything. I love you, Moms. Thanks for the footsteps you left for me to follow. You both have big shoes to fill.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

And I'm a Whole Lot Southern

You won't see any cusswords here. But you will see a creative way of talking and from time to time, some downright funny expressions- I hope . It is because of how I was raised. OK, so you know I'm a little bit country and a little bit cowgirl. Well, I'm gonna tell you right now, I am a whole lot Southern. And. Proud. Of. It. And here's why. I grew up in northeast Alabama. Now some of you out there might have some misconceptions. When you think of Southern folk you have visions of greasy mullets, doober-stained bottom lips and brownish green teeth- and that's just the women! The men you probably think of, wear skullets (said greasy mullets with a big fat hole in their hair), thread-bare wife beater t-shirts so thin you can read through them, and they pride themselves on burping the entire alphabet after drinking just one Pabst Blue Ribbon. (Shoot, no big deal there, some of us little adolescent gals could do that after just one Banana Moon Pie and an icy RC Cola.) Ah, but I digress.

Truth is Southern folk are good people. The men put their women on a pedestal, respect them, love them and know what manners are, and it is ingrained in them as second nature. They know that a gentleman stands up when a lady enters their presence. They know that they NEVER go through a door before a woman. For those of you that just don't fully understand that , this includes all kind of doors, doorways, archways, alcove areas, dog-runs, enclosed porches and pass-throughs....every kind, any kind, doesn't matter what kind- wood, glass, metal, bamboo, screened, automatic, handicapped, saloon, trap, do you get what I am saying here? If a lady is present, SHE goes first. If you are on an elevator, make way for the women first. If you were on a bank heist and you blew a hole in the wall, your lady partner goes through first. Tarzan always put Jane on the vine FIRST. He may have been raised by a bunch of apes, but even HE had manners.

Not long ago, I walked up to a table at a social function where several older men were seated, and they all got up. And some of them, it was not easy physically, even as I protested that they needn't bother. Those precious, sweet gentlemen who would not have had it any other way. One even had a hat on, and he doffed his hat to greet me. My mother always said "You can always tell when sombody's had good raisin'." She's right. (Momma, you are ALWAYS right.)

It never ceases to amaze me at the lack of good ol' fashioned manners with some of younger men that I run onto these days. I stepped on an elevator this morning and two guys entered with me. When that elevator door opened and I thought that Cletus the Cowboy was going to knock me down beating me out the door. "Hey Wild Bill, where's the fire?!"I don't know how in Helsinki he could move so fast seeing as how he was wearing a Bonanza Hoss hat so big the Derby gals woulda been green-eyed jealous, and a that belt buckle- he had to have made from that from a table saw blade. If he woulda bent over, that thing woulda cut him clean in two and made him half the man he thought he was to begin with. His Wranglers were so starched they woulda stood alone in the corner. They actually creaked when he walked! Thought it was his boot leather amking that noise. Who knew denim could be so musical? Anywhich, he was in an all-fired hurry about something, and being polite wasn't it. And the dude right beside him didn't exactly graduate from the Prince Charles Grace and Charm School Emporium either. He just fjumped right on out behind Cowboy Cletus. And pe-yew...I am pretty sure he drank his breakfast....."Hey, smooth move Hasselhoff- you born in a barn?" I bet Cletus and you have the same middle name and that would be IDGIT. Guess I have a thing about that. Same thing goes for car doors. Even if you are married. Especially if you are married. Just do it. Might getcha some unexpected sugar.....I'm just sayin'...

My dad always showed me the proper way a man should treat a lady by the way he treated my mom. I passed those things down to my kids, as did my hubby, Big Sugar. (HE IS THE BEST.) So you can imagine how well I liked one young boy who decided to date an unamed daughter of mine (who now likes to blog. ) That boy never once acknowledged my presence. Never a "Hello Mrs. Seaton". Never even looked in my general direction. But he would slouch his lazy aspiration on my nice sofa, eat my food and prop his dirty besneakered feet up on my new glass coffee table. Oh. Yes. He. Did. So when he showed up to take the unamed daughter and apple of my eye to the prom, I volunteered to pin his flower on his tux lapel.

HC, I mean, Daughter went to get her purse and I stepped right on up into this disrespectful little goathead's personal space. I was about 2 inches from his face and I held up that long stick pin, so he saw it really good. As I patted the little worm on his shoulder, I said reassuringly, "You don't need to be afraid of her daddy. But you should really be scared shatless of me." (I smiled, innocently...) "You know what I do for a living? Hmm?" ( I started pinning on the flower) "I'm a nurse....yeah, that's right, a registered nurse." (He STILL had not made eye contact with me. I was staring him down with nary a blink.) "...nurse. And I am reeeeally good with needles." (I leaned in a bit, whispering right by his ear) "....and I've killed before".......(leaned back and looked him in the eye, smiling again) "I'm fairly confident that you will treat my daughter as if I were right there watching your every move." That boy's goozle (Alabama term for Adam's apple) was bobbing up and down so fast, I thought I was going to have an aneurysm trying to keep my composure!

Said daughter came in ready to go and I was all bubbly and sweet, "You two kids have fun, now, and be careful. Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt...heh-heh...all kinds of CRAZY people out there, ya know." Now that I remember, he had the sweetest little nervous laugh walking out the door. Funny how you recall those things. Don't you know she was home early...I don't recall him coming 'round much after that. Hmmm.........Now how 'bout that?!

Monday, May 4, 2009


This mystery place is Lima, Peru. Some of you out there got it! Way to go!!! The architecture is amazing, and it is both extremes. Very poor- to very rich.

Photo 1- The Governor's Palace
Photo 2- Homes on a hillside. They paint them with bright colors because the town is so smog-ridden. Most vehicles are diesel-powered. Choke-choke! The air quality was horrible.
Photo 3-The view from the hotel we stayed in.
Photo 4- the Post Office....didja hear me? THE Post Office, as in THE ONLY POST OFFICE in Lima. If someone mails something to you, you go get it, and hope no one stole it before you get there.
Photo 5- A large Catholic Church near the square. The churches there are incredible!
Photo 6- A building on the should see it in person.

Went to Lima on a medical mission trip last summer (Heather Cherry too, who is fluent in Spanishola) and our team treated 525 children that week. To say that it was a life-changing experience just doesn't cut it. We saw people who do not bathe, not because they don't have running water- they don't HAVE WATER, and they don't have any money to buy it or means of bartering for it. We met people who LIVE IN THE AMAZON JUNGLE, huts, sleeping on the ground. Others live in cardboard houses in the city. We met children who live among the trash heeps in the city dump and hunt for plastic all day and sell it just to be able to eat THAT DAY. And that was not the worst of it. I saw things I never thought in my life I would ever see. And I met the most loving, grateful culture of people I have ever met. And you know what? I will go back and do it all over again.....Let me tell you friends, we are a blessed country in SO many ways. If you ever get a chance to go on a mission trip of some kind, you know- outside your comfort zone (after the Swine Flu bizniz has been addressed), please think about it. You can do something for someone less fortunate than yourself, and you will find that you have changed for the better . Reminder- WASH YOUR HANDS, & COVER YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU COUGH OR SNEEZE! This has been a Public Service Announcement presented by Ima Onamysobocks. There. I'm done. Happy MM!