#170-I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!

WOW!  I HAVE 100 FOLLOWERS!

What does this mean to me?  Well, it means that there are at least 50 people out there who are Out of their Minds too!  But, most of all, it means that someone out there actually likes me.

Why did I start blogging?  Hell Danged if I know!   I have been telling stories for years that made people laugh (often these people had a few drinks in them).  Also,  my daughter has continually encouraged  me to write these stories down.  But, I never did.  I used to love to write when I was MUCH younger,  but,  I just couldn't seem to do it.  Probably because I didn't have a computer.  I had one at in my classroom, but, that was not for personal use.

A year or so after I retired I bought myself a home computer.  And then found FACE BOOK!  Wow, a whole new world opened up and I suddenly had a pallet on which to write.  I found that I liked putting little (well long, and their prompts kept admonishing me)  stories on my home page.  The next thing I knew I was putting stories with parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 etc.  A running account of things that happen to me.  My daughter kept telling me that I needed to start a blog (probably because she was tired of me clogging up her home page).  

I was encouraged by one of my daughter's in-laws (and friend) who set me up with my first blog, on his site, in early summer of 2010.   By the way he has a great blog you might want to read:     The Last Word

I had a difficult time coming up with a name but family members have occasionally (ok, often) mentioned that I was out of my mind.  And then I had an epiphany and said to myself, that would work because this stuff I write comes from my mind, which makes this title true on two levels...yes, that'll work.  Then I went to visit my daughter later that same summer (2010) and she started me my own site (which I was sure I wouldn't be able to navigate...old dog new tricks mind set).  

When I started this I was certain that I would only have about 8 family members following (and 2 pity followers).  However, that's who I was writing for in the first place, With a blog I could write at length without getting scolded by a site program.   Then,  my daughter helped me run a giveaway.  She said that this would draw more people and once reading my blog I would acquire more followers.  Well, she was right, but I was conflicted over the fact that they may have only joined because her jewelry is fabulous.  And, this made me feel like a blog "Hoe" (trading favors for followers).  We've done 2 and I am not doing any more.  She does GREAT giveaways of  her own and I refer anyone who wants beautiful jewelry to go to her site:  Embracelets Design

Then something happened... I started to gather followers.  And, more amazingly, I stated reading the blogs of others.  If that wasn't fantastic enough, I became attached to many of the followers and found that I actually think of these relative strangers as friends.  That is when I started stressing out over pleasing them.  Worrying about my spelling,  syntax,  punctuation, my ability to get my point across, the frequency of my post, or the appropriateness of them.  I have always been the sort to be eager to please.   I diligently seek to never offend.  I have one post that has been sitting here for months because I can't seem to determine if it is OK.   The readers of my blog don't really know what a goof ball I can be.  But, my family does so, I didn't worry about writing for them.

That's when I pulled back and scolded myself, got feedback from my followers and decided to make a change.  I now know that I should write as though I was writing to those first 8 family members (and the 2 pity readers).  I should just be myself (who whom  who Ahhhhh, mannnnn lets go with whomever that is).  And, if I occasionally (ok frequently) mess up with the spelling etc....SO BE IT!  I should be me....pure (well, that's a stretch, but you get what I mean) and unvarnished.

Oh, yes, I got sidetracked.....Anyway, to my complete surprise, the number  of followers slowly climbed.  Then I found myself watching for number 100 (I even begged a few family holdouts who read occasionally, but haven't followed).  The numbers seemed to creep through the 90s then 100 finally came  on April 2nd (and I didn't have to blackmail anyone).

Thank you Siv Maria for being #100.  Wish I had a prize for you.  The best I can do is to ask my followers to check out your blog which is: Been there, done that.  (How come hers is purple?  The others were blue!)  Be sure to read her Monday, April 4th post (Change, Who Me?) because she has a picture of me (before my makeover).

Another SHOUT OUT goes to "M."  She just sent me instructions on how to embed a link.  I did manage to call up a few members of the C.R.A.P. (Computer Related Attacks by Poltergeists) squad when I had to go into HTML (scary isn't it...ME in HTML) and found (once I exited) that everything was blue and underlined?  So, her is her link too (I wonder what color hers will be?):                                                                                                                 

The Professionally Insane "M"   (hummmmm, purple.)  
(Well at least nothing else is purple or highlighted.  By George, I think I've got it....Whoopee!)  
(But this print is small but the "TT" says normal.  What's up with that?)  
(I'm leaving it just the way it is. I'm not messing with the poltergeists because it usually makes it worse).


Also, I am working on a blog to accept my 6th award from my family of followers, thanks to "M" above.  That will be coming up soon.


Finally, Thank you......ALL OF YOU (even the 2 pity followers)....... for putting up with me (and my little dots, red print,  poltergeists,  parenthesis w/italic, bold print, and the "ALL CAPS" shouting!)


LOVE FROM kt 4/3/11

#169-THE DAYS OF OUR LIVES, GRADE SCHOOL STYLE

You may not realize it but,
it's a jungle out there!

In the early 80s, my second teaching assignment was in a small town not to far from where I lived.  It was a 20-minute commute through farming areas (well, everything in these parts is a commute through farm areas).  Anyway, I was a Title One (government funded) teacher and I taught remedial math and language to grades 3-7. 


CAUTION THIS PARTICULAR BLOG IS RATED PG-13 DUE TO 2 WORDS WHICH ARE INTEGRAL TO THE TELLING OF THE STORY (This is probably how the romance novelist started out.  One little peccadillo now and then WHAM!).

One afternoon the Principal called an emergency teacher’s meeting to discuss what she termed in her memo as a “grave situation.”  Now, this principal was a dear, sweet, middle aged,  grandmotherly type.  I loved her dearly.  She had a terrific sense of humor; treated students and teachers fairly and never over reacted.

We were all in the lunchroom waiting and speculating on what this “grave situation” might be when she walked in.  Her usual smiling face carried a serious expression, which quickly quieted us down.  The meeting went something like this:

Principal:       (With a serious expression she glanced around the room) Ladies and gentlemen, it has come to my attention that there is a situation that needs our immediate attention.

Teachers:       A slight murmuring, clearing of throats, and glances at one another.

Principal:       I believe the boys started it on the playground yesterday with what they called

 “Titty Twisting Tuesday,” (she didn't crack a smile).

Teachers:       Some gasps and a few giggles could be heard.  There were several smiling faces looking at their feet, ceiling, or fingernails. 

Principal:       Today, the girls responded with “Weener Whacking Wednesday,” (and she still regained her grip on her facial expression).

Teachers:        Some more gasps (we had two old prunes still teaching) but, by now most of 

                         the teachers started laughing.

Principal:       (Still wearing a stern look) People, I don’t know what is planned for tomorrow but we have to get this stopped by Friday (at this she raised her left eyebrow).

Teachers:       (The teachers knew the key to the comment started with the letter F).  The room erupted in hysterical laughter.  Tears were running down faces.  The prune sisters were all puckered up (at both ends) and our beloved leader was, also, cracking up.

Needless to say, the problem was taken care of on Teacher's Tantrum Thursday.  Friday was not a problem.  (100% true!)

kt 3/2011

#168-SUNDAY'S SONG (Our God Is Greater-Chris Tomlin

THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I HAVE PUT UP A SONG BY CHRIS TOMLIN.   kt 3/2011
"One of the premier songwriters of today, Chris Tomlin is shaping the language of worship for generations present and future. And yet his gifts are rooted in one central truth, that God is the center of everything." (sing365.com)

#166-I HAVE A GUEST

PREFACE:     I have decided that it is time for me to start spotlighting other new bloggers.  I met April back in November of 2010 when she became one of my first, non-family, followers.  Then she then she started blogging that December.  Blogging seems to come so easy and natural for April and, like me, it is partly therapy for her, too.  She brings her honest, unique and usually humorous perspective of her life to us, in real time.  You can visit April's blog at confessionsofaterriblemom.blogspot.com (this title is misleading because April is a terrific mom).   Now I am going to let April introduce herself:


Hi, I am April. I love reading blogs and began writing so that I, too, may vent my spleen on an irregular basis all over the blogosphere.  When not writing (or secretly fighting crime in a form-fitting costume),  I can be found in rural Kentucky single-handedly raising 3 kids.  I posted this on Wednesday, March 23rd and Karen asked me for permission to run it on her blog.

(Sorry, April, couldn't resist adding this....kt)

"Type L for Lazy"

I am most definitely not a Type A personality.  I am much more of a Type L for lazy.

Truthfully, I have not been blogging (I know, bad.  Stop nagging already, what are you?  My wife?), or entering contests or *gasp* reading books, because I have been very busy.  Busy with Spring!!

Thank God!  Finally, we have good, warm weather.  The kids and I are spending a lot of time outside, walking, playing, sitting (my fav activity!) and gardening.

I have flipped and flopped about the garden thing since I moved into this house and I finally decided to just go for it.  Granted, my landlord did indicate that she didn't 'think digging is allowed', but I asked her to double-check.  She never got back to me and anyone knows that means it isn't a definite NO, so it must be OK (I realize that it is the logical foundation of life as a 7 year old, but it also applies here, because I said so, that's why!)

I have started with planting some flowers in the newly turned beds in front of the house.  I intend to also eliminate the need for fighting my mower on the steep hills at each side of the house by planting some sort of hardy ground cover.

I have to be honest, if I could afford them and get them to my house, I would go with planting rocks.  It is amazing how little you need to water, weed and care for rocks.  Amazing things.

Finally, I have plans for a good size vegetable plot out back.  I originally was going to go with small or medium, but I went a little nuts when I was buying seeds.  Visions of crunchy salads and juicy melons were dancing through my head.

The most interesting part of all of this, for you dear reader, is visualizing my gardening chores being done with all the finesse, technology and tools of a leper in the 17th century.  I am, as always, teetering on the brink of abject poverty.   So, I have a cheap dollar store shovel and seeds with which to bring about my Martha Stewart transformation.  Oh, and let's not forget the hose.

It was also a dollar store item purchased last year for the kids to play in the water with, but it is now pressed into duty as the official garden irrigation system.  On one hand it is nearly perfect as a soaker hose- given the many, many holes, large and small, adorning it's length.  As a forceful spray from only one source, it is an abysmal failure.  It is worth mentioning that the water squirting from every direction is absolutely frigid in mid-March and that, once again, my heart and constitution are sturdier than I suspected.

I am not discouraged, yet.  If people could scrape vegetables and flowers from the earth for thousands of years with sticks and stones and the occasional ox, then I can manage with an dollar shovel and a leaky hose.  If nothing else, I know that my hard work will be rewarded with a bumper crop of zucchini- that magic squash that even a blind baboon could produce, if it stopped biting and flinging poop long enough to bother.

In fact, it is so easy to grow, it is a wonder I don't see 'wild zucchini' plots everywhere.  It is the dandelion of the vegetable world, only I never stand over a cauldron of bubbling oil attempting to coax crispy goodness from a slice of dandelion.

Don't get me wrong.  I love fried zucchini (though eating 3 lbs a season is my limit, thank you very much Miracle-Gro).  I just hope that all the other things I really want to eat decide to follow zucchini's Type A example and not my Type L.

I also hope my neighbors really like zucchini.

What's not to like!
(Actually, I HATE zucchini..... but I like April's posts......kt 3/2011)

WHEN YOU VISIT APRIL CHECK OUT THESE: 

*Practicing Patience

*Spring Is A Fickle Cuss Word

*Love Is Not A Noun

                                                          Confessions of a terrible mom

#165-A SPECIAL HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO A SPECIAL PERSON!

For once, I am having problems coming up with the words to describe today's birthday girl.  First of all,  I got away with referring to her as "OLE GAL" just the other day.  That means that she is a special person to take my ribbing.  But, there is more to her than that.

I am talking about Desiree the writer of the blog Driftwood Ramblings.  Desiree had been a consistent and wonderfully positive commentator on my blog since January 21, 2011.  I definitely look forward to her comments.

Desiree has become one of my favorite people for many reasons.  I started reading her blog shortly after she commented on mine.  Not only is it well written and informative but, it is filled with insight into a person in love with life and in love with the beautiful world she has around her.  She is a devoted ambassador for South Africa and shares all of its splendor and beauty with her "word art."  Not only that she accompanies her "word art" with her "photo art" which cements the whole experience into one grand escape to South Africa.

In and amongst the words and pictures are glimpses of Desiree, the person.  She comes across honest, sincere, and very devoted to her husband, her family, her country and of course her dogs.   Along with this she shares her love of nature and has a delightful way of writing about this love.  She approaches all of this like a fantastic adventure and this excitement resonates in every thing she writes.

To me, it is an adventure to follow her around and experience this this amazing person, and the place she calls home.

Happy Birthday, Desiree!

IF YOU AREN'T A FOLLOWER OF HER BLOG ALREADY, I INVITE YOU TO GO THERE IMMEDIATELY (FACING 50 HAS HAPPILY PROVIDED HER WITH A BUTTON FOR HER BIRTHDAY)...SO CLICK ON IT.....NOW (IT IS ON MY SIDE BAR>>>).
By the way, Carol drew the button herself......Cool, huh!

Here are just 12 out of hundreds of Desiree's 

beautiful PHOTOS:

                                       

This is their "Slum Dog Millionaire, Heathclif.

This is HER Toby.

This is her back yard!

This is her garden!

And, as if that isn't enough....THIS grows in her garden!

kt 3/26/11

#164-THE BEAUTY OF MATHEMATICS!!.mp4

THIS IS DIFFERENT FROM MY USUAL SUNDAY POST.   A FRIEND OF MINE JUST SENT IT TO ME AND,   BEING A TEACHER AND A CHRISTIAN,  I JUST HAD TO SHARE IT.  PLEASE FOLLOW IT THROUGH TO THE END... ... ... kt 3/26/11

#162-TOO TALL FOR ROMANCE

This is the only picture I have of us.  As you

                 can tell we had a very close relationship (he is the one in

                the hat and I am the one with the stringy hair at the back).

           I was 9, he was 10 and we spent a lot of time looking at

 comic books together.   

All of us face many small and large disappoint-ments throughout our life.  However, when a teenager, these disappoint-ments become “end of the world” type events.

One such disappointment happened to me the summer before my junior year in high school.  I had been writing to my child hood sweetheart for a couple of years, but I had not seen him since we were pre teens.

His letters were so sweet and I thought (no I knew) I WAS I in love with him.  So, that fateful summer I visited my relatives in Missouri with every intention of declaring my undying love for him and throwing myself into his arms.  After all, the senior picture of him was gorgeous and I had been touting his MANY fine attributes to my friends.

I took a train from my grandmother's house to the train station in Kansas city where he was going to meet me.  I was all dressed up in a white suit, my hair was piled on top of my head (as was the style at the time) and I had on high heels.  I had done my best to look like Betty Grable, but in fact I Probably looked more like Doris Day. 
   He wasn’t there when I first arrived so I took a seat in the main terminal, I saw him as he entered the main door and knew immediately that there was a problem.  You see, most of the people walking by towered over him.  I nervously watched him approach and then I stood up.  My chin came to the top of his head.

  Call me shallow, but I fell out of love so fast that when heart hit my feet my arches hurt.  I was sure I was going to pass out.  Quickly, I said, “Boy do my feet hurt,” and slipped out of my shoes.  Nope, didn’t help much. 

Nope, not even for Tom!

I developed a sudden attack of severe curvature of the spine. Dropping my shoulders I did my best imitation of Quasimodo.  Nope, only lost another inch.

You see, he had stopped growing at around 5 foot. I was over 5’6” tall and very slender which made me appear taller (not to mention the hair that extended upward another 5 inches).

What had started out as a romantic meeting of two teenagers destined for true love turned into an embarrassing moment that sent me into shock.  Neither one of us could just turn around and walk away.  I was supposed to be staying with his mother and sister for the weekend; and then my parents were to pick me up.

It was an embarrassing situation, but we both got through it somehow. You would have thought he could have mentioned his Lilliputian tendencies in one of his many letters.   Men!  I had a lot to learn.


I HAVE HAD IT, TRYING TO GET THE PARAGRAPHS TO INDENT PROPERLY.  I KEEP HAVING ALL KINDS OF MECHANICAL PROBLEMS ON THIS THING (C.R.A.P at work again).  SO, IT'S POSTING, AS IS!      kt 3/2011                                                                                                                           

#161-WHERE IS "IRON" MAN WHEN I NEED HIM?

Hey, lady, I'm a super-
hero!  I DON'T DO
HOUSEWORK!

It is 11:34 PM on Saturday the 19th of March and I am throwing in the towel, (or as you will soon see, throwing out the iron).  I'll begin with last Saturday which was my father's 100th birthday reception.  (We had to cancel it twice in February because of snow and finally it was a go in the 12th).  However, difficult it was to gather all of his stuff to display on tables, it has been twice as difficult to put it all back in their assigned places.

Therefore, I was supposed to spend most of this week returning pictures to albums, to walls and to book shelves.  I needed to return memorabilia to boxes, quilts to the closets, and birthday cards to his table side.   However, Tuesday, my granddaughter had to deliver her car to the Air Force pick up site in St Louis so it could be delivered to her next station.  She needed me to follower her to St. Louis (6 hours away) and bring her back (another 6 hours).   So that shot the heck out of Tuesday.  It ended up messing up Wednesday and Thursday also, because I was so exhausted from the drive all the way to St. Louis IN A SNOW STORM that I needed the two days to recuperate.

Back to the choirs revolving around the aftermath of the reception.  Part of the party was the loan of 8 fairly large, round, white, cotton, table cloths and 6 blue rayon table drapes.  The loan came with written instructions on how to wash and IRON the table cloths.

Now, I don't iron!   The only ironing I have ever done is to... ... well, it has been so long I don't even remember the last thing I ironed.  So, I washed and dried them, a few at a time, and yanked them out of the dryer piping hot hoping that I would not have to iron them.  Nope, they had that crinkly look that SHOUTED this lazy woman DID NOT IRON ME!

Like most people who do not know how to do something (or absolutely hate doing something) I put the ironing off until today.  I was not being too successful.   First of all I had to find the iron (and that was no easy task).  Then I discovered that it wouldn't steam so I had to find a squirt bottle so I could spray the table cloth.  Next, I discovered that a large ROUND tablecloth was difficult to iron on the ironing board.  I also discovered that my kitchen floor was a little dirty and needed to be cleaned before I could iron, lest the tablecloth (laying partly on the floor) pick up some dirt and require being washed again (Heaven forbid!).

The first one was a disaster.  It wrinkled as fast as I ironed it.   I then experimented by folding the darned thing in half and ironing one side of the half, and then flipped it over to iron the other half and discovered the beautiful IRONED in wrinkles.  It took me 30 minutes to complete this one.

That is when Toby decided that I wasn't paying enough attention to him and grabbed the second one, took off, and ran merrily around the front room dragging it behind him.  He was having a wonderful time (while I was trying to remember where I kept my gun, which in all actuality I have used more often than my iron.....although not lately).

I finally rescued table cloth #2, finished it in 25 minutes (personal best so far) and went back to work.  That is when I discovered that the iron was not doing it's job.  Back and forth, back and forth....nothing...Come to find out, Toby had disconnected the cord when he ran through the room to see where the cat was going.

Setting the iron on the end of the ironing board to reheat I went to find Toby a diversion.  I chose his balloon.  You see, Toby loves helium balloons.  He doesn't pop them like most dogs, he just carries them around by their string.  It is the cutest thing I have ever seen...UNTIL TODAY!  I will bet you don't see where this is going, but hang on...  In comes Toby with his balloon in tow.  He pulls it directly into the iron and the darn thing instantly melts upon contact, snags on the iron and continues to disintegrate.  I yell...... Toby yanks........ and the whole thing goes to the floor.

I shoved Toby out of the way of the hot iron, yank it up by the chord (because it it starting to melt the linoleum on the floor).  Toby thinks its a game and tries to go after the iron.  I dance around screaming,  "NO TOBY, NO TOBY!"  and while yanking the plug from the wall I dance the gooey iron over to the sink and toss it in.

Was the sink empty?...No...Were my dishes done?...NO...but the iron is....... and, mannnnnnn, so am I!
kt 3/2011

#158-THE NEWSPAPER HEADLINE READ: SHE FEEDS HER DAD KIBBLES!

I have been caring for my 100 year old dad since he fell and severely shattered his shoulder about 4 years ago.  It has been interesting, frustrating and sometimes funny.

There are a number of skills that one develops when working with the elderly.  I am going to only mention four today.

1.  One needs to talk slower.
     Since my dad is very hard of hearing, this skill is important.  I have ADHD I generally don't do anything slow, and it has been hard for me to remember to  t  a  l  k    s  l  o  o  o  o  w.   He won't ask me what I said or say that he didn't understand me he will just shake his head or say ok.  Just to test this I once said to him, "Dad, the President is here to see you."  He answered, "Ok, I'v got to pee."

2.  One needs to talk louder.
     Well, I never had a problem here.  In fact I have always talked too loud.  Just ask any member of my family, any friend, any student I have ever had, or several employers.  My voice can be heard at the back of any theater or auditorium.  I guess I missed my calling.  Should have been a stage actor.

3.  One needs to be Patient.
    Dad does things at a snail's pace (Kind of like Tim Conway did.  Watch this through to the end and you will see Conway's famous old man's walk).



Because of dad's slow walk,  I have to travel at a snails pace when walking with him.  I already shared about my ADHD and I don't do slow.  Well, at least, I didn't do slow until I started working with Dad. After almost running over him a few times I disciplined myself through mental imaging.  I imagined a newspaper article elaborating about an old man's injuries inflicted by a thoughtless daughter running over him while escorting him down a ramp to the car.  It is amazing what picturing something in one's head can do.


4.  One needs to NOT over react.
     This brings me to today's story.

Last week I was fixing Dad's dinner.  I had it all on the table and ready to go when he took his seat.  Usually I put Toby out at this time so he won't learn to beg at the table.  I picked up Toby's bowl of kibbles and was starting to take the bowl, and Toby, out back.  Suddenly, Dad asked me where his drink was.

I set the bowl down on the table and went to get Dad's drink.  That is when I heard this loud crunching sound.  I looked round to see what Toby was doing (automatically thinking he had gotten into something).  Toby was just sitting there staring at me and then looking at Dad (in an accusatory manner).  I turned and looked at Dad and he was sitting there with a fist full of Toby's kibbles, munching away.

Calmly I put the glass of juice on the table, and slowly took Dad's hand in mine before he could pop any more kibbles into his mouth.  I (again, calmly) said, "Ahhh, Dad, let me have that, it's dog food."  He handed what was left in his hand to me (save one) said, "Oh," and popped one last kibble into his mouth.

After I put Toby out I ran (yes ran) to my computer and typed up some notes.  I was laughing so hard I could barely type.  Is it awful to laugh at a 100 year old man?   Nope!  My dad is the one who taught me to laugh hard and often.

Well, I have to go now as Toby just brought me a pair of reading glasses minus one ear piece (really).

When I went to look for the other half I found a trail of several tissues (which means that he can now jump up onto my bed to reach my Kleenex box....oh bother), one shoe, a pencil, a sock, and the earpiece to my glasses...all leading from my computer room to his play room.  Between Toby and my dad I had better get this PATIENCE skill down well or I could loose what is left of my mind!
kt 2/2011

#157-TOTALLY TUBULAR TUESDAY (Jasper Jacob Laird)

Somewhere around 1972 we had a Beagle named Jasper.  He was one of the stubbornness dogs I have ever owned (unless Toby takes over that dubious honor).

This is Jasper and my son, Gene.
they had just won the dog show.

I don’t remember where or how we acquired Jasper, but I do remember he was the cutest little guy.  I went about my usual routine teaching him to sit, come, stay, and potty on a paper (on the back porch).  All was going fine until he got older  You see, he was the first male dog I had ever had.  Eventually, the errors of my ways were made evident.

One day I was in the kitchen when Jasper went to his potty to relieve himself.  That’s when I got the big surprise.  Jasper was raising his leg and peeing on the wall.  The urine then ran down the wall and onto the paper (well, at least it ended up on the paper).  At first I just taped a newspaper (backed by plastic) on the wall.  But, that was only a temporarily fix until I retrained him to go outside.

Jasper liked the cat post, too!

One month later, Jasper, was house broken and doing his business outside.  But, this caused another problem.  I was sharing  a duplex with my parents.  Half of the yard was theirs and half was mine.  Now just try to explain this to a young Beagle.  Mother’s half was edged by rose bushes, which displayed the most beautiful roses in a myriad of colors and types.  Mom loved her roses (and so did Jasper).

I was home on the Saturday mother first caught Jasper in her roses.  He was gleefully digging at the roots.  Now, there were plenty of other places Jasper could have dug, but he chose the rose garden.  I think he must have seen my mother digging in her the roses, making those careful little bowls around each one, and decided to join in.  When I heard Mom yell at Jasper I looked out the window to see her swiping at him with a broom.  He just thought it was some kind of game. 

Mom tried everything to keep him out of her roses.  But, as a continuation of the game he began to run by the bushes, pluck a flower and play toss and fetch with it.

She came up with all kinds of ideas to discourage Jasper, but the funniest one was when she bought a huge shaker of cyanine pepper.  She sprinkled the pepper liberally all throughout the rose garden.

It didn’t take long to see and hear that this wasn’t going to work.  Hearing Jasper whimpering and sneezing, I went out the back door to find him feverishly digging in Mom’s flower bed.  His eyes were beet  red and he was sneezing and wheezing like an aging pipe organ.  Mother came out about the same time I did, threw up her hands, and said,  “I’ve had it!  He’s going on a chain as soon as I can get one!”

That is when I decided that Jasper needed a new home.  I thought it would be crewel to chain such an active young dog.  So, (since he had good papers) I found him a home at a local stud farm.  I am sure Jasper never missed us!  But we missed him (especially my son)!  
kt 3/2011

#156-SO, WHO'S THE REAL ANIMAL HERE?

MAX

About fifteen years ago I had a cat named Mad Max.  He was a crazy black cat who was a riot.  I went to the pound to get a kitten for my dog, Chelsea, (a hyper toy poodle) who needed a playful companion.

When I looked around the cat enclosures at the pound there were several cats but none caught my fancy.  As I was walking out, two little black legs shot out of a bottom cage and snagged my jeans.  Most of the bottom cages were empty and I hadn't seen the little squirt.

I asked the caretaker if I could see the attention seeking cat and she opened the cage.  At that very moment this kitten sprinted out of the cage, jumped up onto her desk, swatted at a ball on top of the desk and sent the ball flying across the room.  He took off after the ball (which had caromed into another room) and disappeared.  All of this took only a matter of seconds.  With a big smile on my face I said to the lady, "If you can catch him, that's the one I want!"

CHELSEA

Well, hyper Chelsey and Mad Max were a match made in heaven.  The wrestled and tussled and played their way into my heart.  Several years later, I had to give Chelsey to my Aunt Zelda (who had just lost her dog of 15 years).  I had let Chelsey stay with her while I was on vacation and Aunt Zelda started to cry when I came to pick Chelsey up.  I just couldn't leave with my dog so Chelsey became Aunt Zelda's dog.

Max was lonely and ended up having to cope with a new dog, Luke, my German Shepherd.  But I have yet to get to the story I wanted to tell you about Mad Max.

SIMON

About 8 years ago I was keeping my son's Rhodesian Ridgeback, Simon, and trying to find him a home.  He was way too rough for the young children in my son's home so the dog had to go.

Max had made friends with Luke, but  Simon was another matter.  Simon wanted to EAT Max (you see, Ridgebacks were originally bread to hunt lions).

Simon had only been here for a few days when I heard a terrible ruckus out in the back yard.  I looked out to see that Simon had Max down on the ground and it looked as though he was killing him.  Max was screaming and putting up a valiant fight while Luke looked on, confused by Simon's attack.

I thundered through the house and out the back door.  I yelled Simon, NO!  But, Simon ignored me.  The only thing I could think of to do was to pull ALPHA on Simon.  I attacked him growling and snarling.  I bit him hard, he yelped and he let go of Max.  I snatched Max up immediately and Max was not out of his defense mode yet, as Max bit and clawed me on the arm.  Awhhhh $#:!.

First I wrapped Max up in a large towel and put him in a carrier, in the car.  Then I cleaned the bite and scratch wound as best I could and headed for the vet. (about 40 minutes away).  I had neglected to check to see if I had enough gas, and yes, you guessed it, I didn't.  Half way there I ran out of gas and had to call for roadside assistance.

After an hour by the side of the road,  several complaints by my father (who had accompanied me) and feline vocalizations (of the worst kind) we were on our way again.  When I arrived at the vets. I explained the situation (he broke into a big grin when I told him about biting Simon).  Incidentally the vet. did (jokingly) suggest that I might need to bring Simon by for shots, too.   I left max with the comedic vet. and headed for the hospital emergency room to have the bite taken care of.


Well, the emergency staff cleaned up the bite (which took two stitches), gave me a shot and shared the story throughout the hospital.

Max was OK, I was OK, and Simon was a little cowed when he saw me,  Luke was wondering if we were going to play that fun game again and Dad just shook his head.
kt 3/2011

#153-THIS OLD BROAD NOW HAS "STYLE!"

I'll look a lot more stylish as soon 

as I put my bra back on, my wig on, 

and my teeth in, but I ain't puttin'  

that darn girdle on!

The title of the award kind of stumped me, "The Stylish Blogger Award."  I have never been considered stylish in any sense of the word.  When I hear the word STYLISH I think of something that is attractive, elegant, smart or chic.  Then I look at my blog and say..."What... This?" I have a plain ole standard blogspot design, nothing new, nothing special.  I am afraid to change anything because I don't know in the #$!! Idid it in the first place.

So, I went to an online dictionary and looked up the word style and found that it can also mean: a particular manner or technique by which something is done, created, written or performed, as in a unique style.  Oh...well, that's different.  I am certainly one of a kind.  People have been telling me that for years.  Ok, now I can accept this award without feeling like a hypocrite!    Phew!

Wow!  Thank you, caterpillar (musingsnconfessions.blogspot.com) for the honor.  And, I might add congratulations because I see you not only received this award, but also the Metetastic award as well.  Good for you kiddo!

I think this is what blogging is all about.  No, not getting and giving awards but to provide a safe nourishing place for people of all different styles to express themselves.  As I have said many times before, it IS a kind of therapy.  We can say things to strangers that we can't say to those closer to us (and by extension those closer to us can get a a better glimpse into us by reading what we write to strangers).  Does that make sense?

I don't know where or how these awards originate.   I do believe that we need to support and encourage each other in every way we can.  I know how it makes me feel when I get one and I'm guessing I am not the only one who likes to get recognized.

I am supposed to share seven random facts about myself (and, incidentally each of these are topics for future blogs and are 100% true).

1.  I am not afraid of snakes and have been known to grab copperheads by the back of the neck.
2.  I once rescued an extremely large snapping turtle from the middle of a highway by making it latch onto my jumper cables and then dragging it to the ditch.
3.  I made my washing machine blow up by using my magnetic personality!
4.  I once fed dog kibbles to my father (watch for this one coming soon).
5.  I ran out of gas, one winter, on my way to work, with nothing on under my winter coat (I swear).
6.  I have been fortunate to have taken one of those hair raising Tijuana Taxi rides to a bull fight.
7.  I have had the experience of being in three fairly major earthquakes (not the SF one).

Now, for the hard part.  With my last award I had a very difficult time deciding how to pick the recipients and ended up cutting the 5th one up into pieces and sending a part to almost every blogger I read.  Some bloggers already have so many they have stopped accepting these awards.  AND PLEASE DO NOT FEEL THAT YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT OR DECLINE.  IT IS TOTALLY UP TO YOU!

Again, this is me making up my own rules (no surprise there).  I say share if you want to, but you don't have to answer a darned question, or list one single random fact if you don't want to.  But it would be nice if you at least sent it on to a few bloggers you want to encourage.

Here are my 5 (in no particular order) and they are all blogs I recommend you check out:

• driftwoodramblings.blogspot.com
• megnificentlife.blogspot.com
• oklahomasmalltowngirl.blogspot.com
• perfectionmoreorless.blogspot.com
• hiccup-in-time.blogspot.com

kt 3/2011