#213 - AND I DID IT WITHOUT THE NEED FOR PARAMEDICS

Not exactly nice hard wood floors hiding under the linoleum.

Well, guys, I finally mustered  up the courage to finish the floor of the half bath.  Knowing my penchant for disaster I approach every major project with trepidation.  It has only been about 18 months since I glued my foot to the floor in there (when putting up a backsplash by the sink).  Thinking that the bad mojo must be gone by now I tackled my new project.


The first indication of trouble was when I brought the necessary tools into the house.  As I was entering the bathroom with the sander and electric screwdriver in my hands, my cat, Kit, was turning the corner from the kitchen.  She was heading for the back door.  When she looked up and saw me with the two items, she glared at me, growled (yes she growls when she's mad) and darted away into the house.  You see she has been attacked by a run away sander and elect. screwdriver during two different projects of mine (see Kit #1 below).


Ignoring the omen her attitude may have been issuing, I merrily went about the business of preparing the bathroom floor for its new covering.  About two years ago I purchased numerous square linoleum tiles to put down (thinking they would be easier than trying to cut a pattern and lay down a single piece).  However, before I could put the tiles down I had to sand the floor since the IDIOT (no, not me) who put the last linoleum down apparently meant it to stay there forever and must have used super glue.  When I took up the old stuff it left an uneven surface.

Toby is johnny on the spot, ready to help!

The little "THIEF" IN ACTION!

Armed with two different sanders (one for corners and edges) I attacked the floor with gusto.  I had on goggles and a dust mask to assure that I would not be injured or cough up sawdust balls.  Now, my dog, Toby, had been coming by the door occasionally to check on what I was doing.  When he saw me in the mask and goggles he went nuts.  No, he didn't bark and challenge me, he saw this as my invitation to play.  There I am down on my knees, trying to do my job and this goofy dog was pulling at my mask and goggles, jumping over me, and pouncing on my behind.  So, I had to get up and take the things off to put Toby outside.  That is when he jumped up and closed the door.  Wham!  I couldn't believe he shut the door before I could go out of it.  (Yes, I have been teaching him to shut doors, but, not to shut them to block my exit, surely that was not what he was trying to do....or was it?).


I tossed Toby out and finished the sanding in one day.  However, I failed to realize that this fine saw dust was going to be everywhere and it took me another day to clean up the bathroom, every bottle and shelf in the bathroom, the hall beyond the bathroom, and my bedroom.


The next day 8/16, I got the tile out, the pair of heavy duty scissors and my brand new, handy-dandy. box cutter (underlining is my attempt at foreshadowing).  I carefully measured and placed the first two tiles.  No major accidents so far.  Phew......The next row required some cutting so I zipped out the blade of my handy-dandy, new, box cutter.  I made the cuts on two tiles and they fit perfectly.  Placing the box cutter on the floor I scooted my behind back to start the next row (I don't get up and down to easily, so scooting was the only option).  As I quickly moved my right hand back for the next scoot it (or rather my pinkie) brushed up against the blade of my handy-dandy, new, box cutter.  I yelped and look down to see blood dripping profusely from my pinkie.  Who would have thought that a person could bleed to death from a pinkie cut?

After I bled all over the bathroom floor, the kitchen floor, the kitchen table and the first aide kit I managed to stem the flow and get a band-aide on.   I wisely decided to use scissors from this point on.


In order to make some of the cuts in the squares I had to make patterns out of typing paper (which meant that I had to tape several pages together).  So I jumped up slowly and awkwardly pushed up off the floor and trudged to the office to get the paper and tape.  Once back down on the floor I made the paper square and then fit it and marked how it should be cut.  Looking around, I said aloud, "And, where, exactly are the scissors, you twit?"  I also answered myself aloud, (the sign of insanity....right....talking to ones self and then answering), "Yes, of course, they're where you left them when you fetched the paper and tape IN THE OFFICE!"  I struggled to get up again and retrieved my scissors (unfortunately, this became the major theme for the rest of the day).


The only other problems I had was stepping on a turned up piece of linoleum and having to unstick it from my foot; then cutting one piece wrong and having to sweat out the possibility that I wouldn't have enough tile.  Oh, yeah, I forgot;  while walking out the door to the kitchen I stepped on a piece of paper backing laying on the linoleum floor in the hall and landed with an earth shattering thud on my rump (no damage done to the floor, but my rump has seen better days.....in more ways than one).

At least I didn't stick it to the bedroom rug
 (well, this one I didn't).

I managed to finish the floor before dinner.  It doesn't look bad but was harder than I thought it would be.  Now, I only have to buy the quarter round and cut it, (Ohhhh, mannnnn, the potential there is frightening) paint it, and nail it to the floor.  Once that is finished I will need to paint the door into the kitchen and I will FINALLY be finished.

I say FINALLY because I started this project five years ago when I ripped out the floor covering and sink, replaced the sink with a better one (I had a plumber hooked it up because I haven't mastered plumbing, as yet)  put up a new ceiling light (Yes, I have tempted fate by messing with electricity.  Nothing shocking to talk about, again, as yet) glued a hugh mirror to the wall (and framed it), put up back splash, painted, and, now I just put down new floor covering.  Ok, so, that's a long time, but, since I was the major contractor on the job I am not complaining..............

Da-Ta-Da-Da!     kt 8/17/2011

KIT #1:   Ok, I was redesigned the brackets for a wooden rail to go across in front of the bathtub in Dad's bathroom (to eliminate the possibility of him falling into the tub, again). This required using the circular saw and jigsaw again (which, with me, is an accident waiting to happen). However, both cuts went off without a hitch. It was when I had to use the sander that things got interesting. 

Apparently, I had left the sander on the last time I used it and just flipped the switch to the plug. So, when I plugged it into a different outlet it jumped off the sawhorse shelf and raced across the garage floor….. TOWARD THE CAT (who was lounging on the cement floor watching the Karen show)! I don’t know how she did it, but somehow she sprung off the floor, spun around in mid air and almost left skid marks leaving the area. I stood there watching the CATastrophe unfold. I had started to laugh when the sander came to the end of its tether, jerked, and started back in my direction. Oh, _______!  After coaxing my eyebrows down off the ceiling I managed to pull the plug on the errant sander. The cat is nowhere to be found.


KIT #2:  And, I just posted the screwdriver etc. episode on 8/22/11 http://outofmymindbykt.blogspot.com

#212 - SERIOUSLY SPEAKING - THE MIRACLE

Rarely do I post a serious piece on my blog.  However, I believe it is time to let you know what happened to me on Monday, October 9, 1995.  On my way home from work I was in a serious accident that should have taken my life. 

The following is the testimony that I gave in church, at the pulpit, the Sunday following the miracle.............................I have not changed a word of it, but I have added a post script.

Sights and sounds were not there,

Silence and darkness was everywhere.

It was the energy of positive prayer,

That held me close to life.

These were not the prayers of strangers,

although some I did not know;

But brothers and sisters in Christ,

fellow souls,

bound closely to me by a golden thread of God's love

that passed from them...

through Christ...

to me.

My heavenly Father chose each and every one who helped me,

either by prayer or deed

to be His earthly instruments

to hold me hear on earth.

I am here today to give God the glory for the miraculous event that occurred in my life and publicly testify as to His amazing grace.

I am relating what was TOLD to me as I remember little about that entire day.  The miraculous events were as follows:

      FIRST:  Within a few minutes after the accident a nurse from St. John's Hospital came upon the scene.  She phoned from her car to get immediated help and then attended to me.

     SECOND:  My car was complete demolished and in the shape of a large C.  My seat and the passenger seat had been crushed together and I was smashed up against the passenger door.  I was trapped in the tangled wreckage.  According to the patrolman, he had dreaded approaching the car as he was sure that no one could have survived.  He could not believe that I wasn't killed immediately.

     THIRD:  It was thought, by the people at the scene, that I was some sort of a health care professional by the way I assisted in my rescue.  I gave calm, clear information (names, phone numbers, medical information).  I even told of internal bleeding and pointed to the abdominal area adjacent to the spleen.

This is what prompted the call to life flight rather than an ambulance to a local hospital.  You see, a major artery passes through the spleen.  Every minute lost was a minute closer to bleeding to death!

The Lamar Fire Department had been called to extract me.  I don't know how long it took them to get there as they were about 20 miles away.  I had to be cut from the wreckage, and Life Flight was waiting there to whisk me away as soon as possible.

     FOURTH:  It was a busy emergency night at St. Johns.  Area surgeons had been called in to assist.  They drew names from a cup (lots) to see on whom they would work.  One of he most prestigious surgeons in Joplin drew my name.  It was his expertise that got to the problem quickly and saved my severely damaged liver.

     FIFTH:  Consider this, I was no longer driving my small white Escort.  A little over a month before my accident my mother gave me a larger, more sturdy vehicle (Oldsmobile Callis).  I have had a small vehicle for almost ten years.

     SIXTH:  The week before my accident I began to consider the effects of side impact accidents, and was actually considering a bicycle helmet and placing a firm pillow at m left side.  I even laughed about my apparent paranoia with my carpool partner.  I commented on how ridiculous I would look and that people would think I was nuts.  I gave in to my paranoia and started stuffing my purse and coat on my left side.

     SEVENTH:  The car was a shredded mess.  Glass and twisted meal was everywhere.  However, there was not one gash, cut, or abrasion on my body.  I only had two small bruises around the area of the left hip.  However, I was in critical condition from the crushing blow;
            1.  My spleen was totally destroyed and I was hemorrhaging...
            2.  My liver was severely lacerated and was hemorrhaging...
            3.  I had a concussion, broken shoulder blade, cracked ribs, and a dislocated collar bone...
            4.  The muscles in my back and neck were a mixed assortment of sprains and strains.
                  The edge of one vertebrae was chipped off...
         
Now, as to what I DO recall:

There was no pain, no anxiety, no fear.  I do not recall talking to anyone and heard only voice giving information.  I did not know until later that this voice was coming from me.

Then sometime during my unconsciousness the ATTACK began.  At first I didn't know what was happening.  I sensed things were not right because the vision before me was turning to darkness to multiple tones of grey contrasted only by many different sizes of black spots.  I felt uncomfortable, puzzled.  It was like looking into a haze that was being blown in front of my face.  But, then it turned in my direction and I knew what it was. The dark one was making his presence known.

The black spots began to move faster, 

And took on many strange ominous shapes.

Some like cinders and ashes,

Some like large birds, bats and snakes.

Then from the mist of this chaos,

Came not a light, but a dark so clear.

A distorted horned intruder,

Was rushing increasingly near.

The specter was grotesque and loathsome,

With hate burning in his eyes.

As it kept rushing headlong toward me,  

It rapidly increased in size.

I threw my defenses up against him,

yelled rebuke and cast him aside.

Then covered my self with the Lord,

And the attack began to subside.

The darkness was sucked back to nowhere,

Which is where it seemed to begin.

And the light in the air around me,

Glowed with the presence of Him.

The color of blue wrapped around me, 

With brilliant white clouds spiraling down.

Descending on me with such glory,

That I was completely spellbound.

Feelings of well being enveloped me,

An I heard a melodious sound.

Like that of a good piece of crystal,

As one runs a moist finger around.

As the clouds floated slowly toward me,

A change began to take place.

They turned into beautiful angels,

With peace and love on each face.

When I awoke days after the surgery I asked for a pen and paper and began to write down the vision before I forgot.  I would drift back into sleep only to awake and write more and then rewrite.  The above is what I wrote.  I kept telling myself,  "I must remember.  I must write it down.  I must tell."  

But, this is not the end of my story.  Since I moved into the house that I know God chose for me, a little over a year ago.  I have been asking myself why did He move me?  What did He want me to do.  I knew that something was about to happen  I even voiced this at an evening service.  I knew I was placed there for a reason and I prayed for Him to reveal what my service to Him would be.  I excitedly awaited His answer. 

The answer came in the hospital, right in the middle of one of my writing frenzies.  It was a clear as the crystal like sound of the angels.

            

"I MOVED YOU NOT FOR WHAT YOU COULD DO FOR ME, 

BUT, 

FOR WHAT I HAD TO DO FOR YOU."

I tingled, I shook, I cried, I was confused, I was awed!

What did it mean?  Was I moved there because the accident had to occur at that precise spot for events to unfold as they did?  Was I moved so that I could have closer fellowship with this community of saints so they could help me with their prayers.  Or, was I moved for something yet in the future?  I don't know!

If there is one thing I've learned about God it is that I will not understand until He is ready for me to know.  

You see God is not human, we are.  We keep trying to explain and understand his actions (or lack of action) by human standards, as that is all we know.  But, God is so much more than we can know, understand, or imagine.

Keep talking to Him in prayer.  Keep listening and watching for His hand in all that is around you.  Keep reading His word with a mind prepared to be enlightened by new revelations.  All the answers are there...IN...  HIS... TIME......

P. S. THE FOLLOWING OCCURED ABOUT A YEAR LATER:
There was another automobile accident at that exact location.  Again a woman was struck on the driver's side of her autimobile and trapped in her car.  I still lived only a short distance from this interesection and I heard the emergency crew scream by.  Knowing immediately what had probably happened I jumped in my car and went to the scene.  When I arrived, I jumped out of my car and went to within 20 feet, dropped to my knees and started praying for this stranger.  It was my turn to send that golden thread of God's love that passed from me through Christ to her.   Other people were scattered around doing the same thing.

I found out later that (even though severely injured) she too survived.

Prayer, a reverent petition made to God through our Lord Jesus Christ, as promised, works!  Again, often not in a way that we can understand, but sometimes we are blessed to see the answered prayer unfold.

Matthew 21:22 (NIV) 

"If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.”

kt 9/2011

#211 = THE KINETIC KID

What a handsome young man he is!

This week my grandson Logan will be 8 years old.  He is my daughter's son and I am trying to figure out how best to describe him.  You see Logan is a lot of things, but most of all he is a wiggly, funny, ball of energy that never stops.  He goes full tilt all day.  My daughter says that he takes after his father, Patrick.  Well, according to Patrick's parents that's true. However,  my daughter, Patty, was a hand full too.  So, Logan got a double dose of wild and crazy from his parents.  

          

This kid is as sweet as they come
(once he slows down).

     

And when he slows down he often crashes,
just about anywhere (he gets this from his mom).

He can be a real goof ball ( he gets this
from his dad).

And has a flair for the dramatic ( I think he gets this from me).

                                                                          
















Logan also got a double dose of athletic ability.  My daughter was on the swim team as a young girl, and a cheer leader in high school and college (an ariel performer).  Patrick on the other hand was a sports phoneme in high school.  And, now, they both do triathlons.  

He is a terrific baseball player. 


He also plays soccer, basketball, and   
just learned how to ski.      
And, to show how well rounded he is he
is also learning how to play the guitar 
(and you should hear him singing in the
bathroom).

He is an amazing football player.

He is a terrific swimmer and entered two
triathlons this summer (and won one of them).

He is an excellent cyclist (and here he is
on the second leg of a triathlon).

He is a strong runner
(and here he is 
on the third leg of a triathlon).

He still hadn't made up his mind
about me when I took this picture.
NOTICE THE FISTS

A LOGAN STORY:  Logan can get mad just like any kid but he isn't allowed to cuss.  One a couple of summers ago he got mad at me for disciplining him, and called me a "poopy head".  His father heard the comment and cut that short with only a look and a brief side bar.Later that evening his parents went out to dinner and a movie.  Logan didn't want to go to bed.  When I tried to make him he started to call me a "poopy head" (I could see it starting to form this word on his lips).  His eyes went up as if remembering the brief interaction with his dad and then called me a "monkey head" instead.  Of course, I didn't want to reinforce that phrase either, so I stifled a laugh.  

Since he wouldn't go to bed and kept slipping out of his room I sat in the doorway.  Logan was playing in his room, making all kinds of noise and occasionally glaring at me.  When he heard the out side door open and shut, his eyes flew open wide, his mouth went into an "O" shape and with a flying leap he landed in his bed.  Just a quickly he covered himself up and closed his eyes.  Boy, his dad sure has him under his control.

THIS IS A CLASSIC STORY ABOUT LOGAN THAT I WROTE ON  Dec. 6, 2010.
I called my daughter, Patty, to wish her and her family a Happy Thanksgiving.  I got to talk with both of the kids.  Shay (2nd grade) is all reserved and lady like.  A real sweetheart but, getting information from her is like pulling a cat through a knothole backwards.  She usually answers my questions with one word answers like,  "Good,"  or  "Fine," or "Uh Huh."   When asked what she was thankful for and she gave me the funny up and down sound (you know the one that is a kind of guttural I don't know).  However, she finally told me she was thankful for her dogs.

However, when Logan (first grade) came to the phone he was all bubbly, as usual.  I asked him what he was thankful for and he reeled off a long list of things.  Then he paused and said, “Wait...wait!   I’m thankful for my blood, too!”  Of course this caused me to break into laughter and prompted a memory of something that happened earlier. 

THE MEMORY: You see, Logan is always one minute away from a bump, scrape, or whatever.  One day I receive a call from my daughter who had to hide in her office so Logan couldn’t hear her laughing while she told me what had happened.  

Apparently, Logan was not being careful at the kitchen table (no surprise there).  He was leaning the chair back on two legs.  My daughter was in her office and heard a loud crash (not unusual when Logan’s around).  But, what WAS unusual is she heard him wailing these words, “I’m dying!  I’m dying!”

Patty sprinted into the kitchen and found Logan lying on the floor, his chin tucked into his neck and his hands desperately clutching that area.  Blood was running from between his fingers.  He was still saying over and over, "I'm dying!" 

Trying not to panic, Patty pried his fingers away to see what the damage was.  She was relieved to find that he had only hit his chin on a stair step but the wound was bleeding profusely.

Now, here’s the clincher.  Logan''s tear filled, limpid eyes looked up into his mother’s face with a concerned look and said, "I love you Mommie, I’m going to miss you.”  He plaintively said this (several times).

While administering quick first aid Patty tried to convenience him that he was not going to die.  Shay, being quite the trooper, was already at her mother’s side helping.  The two of them took Logan to the hospital for stitches (not the first and probably not the last).  

At the hospital his wonderful Aunt Debbie met them and put in several stitches.  Then she sent him on his way with a belly full of candy called Swedish Fish (that ought to calm him down!).

Happy Birthday Logan,

I want you to know that I miss you very much.  You are so much fun to be around.   You can always make me laugh.  If I lived near you I would be at every game (or event) cheering you on.

What a wonderful young man you are becoming.  You are so very talented in so many ways.  I am definitely proud of having a grandson like you.

I think that Shay is lucky to have you for a little brother and I also know that your Mom and Dad are blessed to have you in their life.

Have a terrific birthday and I will come to see you the first chance that I get.

Love Grammy

#210 - WHAT DOES MATH HAVE TO DO WITH POETRY?

Senior picture (1959)

When I was a senior in high school I had a terrific Calculus teacher who taught me more about math than all the math teachers I have ever had.   

Mr. Mattheis was fairly short and built himself a riser on which to stand while teachingt a lesson.  This made him seem a little strange to most students, but not to me.  When we arrived in class the lesson was already on the board and he would take a long wooden pointer to draw attention to the part of the lesson he was discussing.

Being slight of stature didn’t keep Mr. Mattheis from maintaining discipline in his class.  No, I don’t think it was because he wielded a long stick; it was because he played a game he called base ball.  He was fair, never lost his temper, or raised his voice.  He would just call out strikes whenever a student’s behavior went over the line.  On strike three the student would automatically advance to the principal’s office and be assigned detention.

I loved to talk in class (oh, lets face it, I loved to talk, period) and one day I reached the ultimate third strike.  While in detention I wrote Mr. Mattheis this poem, which he framed and kept on his wall until he retired, many years later.

Standing on your pedestal, so wise, so tall, so straight, 

          On that lovely pedestal made of an orange crate.

Standing there so wisely with a stick cluched in your hand,

          Like a stone director about to strike, up the band.

What’s this you’re looking my way and I smile a sheepish smile,

          I wasn’t talking very long, just for a little while.

You slowly turn and point an accusing finger at me,

          And calmly say with a clear sweet voice, st-r-i-k-e  three. 

I slowly rise from my usual place,

          Slowly rise with a dismal face,

I began to argue that I was not,

          Then to the office I did trot.

Oh wise and wondrous world what fate have you bestowed on me,

To be ruled (in this class) by dictatorship and not democracy.

By the way I received an A in his class.     kt 8/2011

#209 - BOARD to DEATH (just read it before you criticize my spelling).

My first real encounter with a live snake
(which I shall reveal here) was a DOOZIE 
and occurred around the first of August in 1968

Though not a professional snake wrangler, I have handled snakes (itty bitty garden snakes) before.  After all, I was once a Girl Scout and a den mother for a group of 8 cub scouts.  I had been shown (several times) how to correctly handle snakes and how to tell if they were venomous.  Also, come on, over the years I have watched dozens of shows by Mutual of Omaha and the Animal Channel. 


At the time of this encounter I was living in a small farm home in the Missouri Ozarks.  My husband (soon to be ex, but that's another story) had moved us there from Palm Desert, California.  I loved the Ozarks area and the house was the home in which my husband was born, so it had meaning.

Out behind the house was a small barn and in the pasture were three horses.  One was a big, white, frightening, wild eyed, stallion.  One was a mean little Shetland runt (who loved to nip my thigh and rump).  And, one (which was ours) was a retired, circus horse who knew all kinds of tricks (if you knew how to prompt her).   Ginger was 26 years old and as smart as a whip.  She didn't like to be ridden so she would always detour under low hanging branches and close to the trunks of trees.  I got knocked/scraped off several times (but she never did that with my kids). 

Ginger, Gene, Patty and me (can't believe I had my hair up in curlers)

The horses would not go into the barn no matter what I did.  I tried leading them, luring them, cooing to them and on and on and on.  Finally, I decided it was because there were boards just laid down on the dirt floor.  When I walked on them they would wobble a bit so I can imagine how they would move when the horses stepped on them.  Plus, there was other junk stored in that barn.

So, one day, since it was getting close to fall I decided the barn needed to be cleaned out for the horses.
In I went with a rake, a shovel, a wheelbarrow, a broom and a bucket with various items in it.  I hauled all of the junk out and stacked it behind the barn to be carried off or burned.  I worked on this all morning and into the afternoon while a friend watched my kids.  Then it came time to pull out the boards.  Everything was going fine until I got to the 5th board.  As I lifted it up a hugh (and I do mean HUGH) snake darted out then back under the next board.

I had only seen the animal for a brief second but long enough to consider it one of the most beautiful snakes I have ever seen.   This snake had orange, light-brown,  even a pinkish body that was highlighted by darker chestnut brown bands that formed a whole series of hourglass shapes across its body.

See, isn't it beautiful!

Immediately I thought of my son Gene.  He would love a snake as a pet. Therefore, I set about devising a way to catch it.

I glanced around and quickly came up with a plan which involved the bucket, a broom and a small piece of wood for a lid to the bucket.  Armed with this snake snaring paraphernalia I proceeded to raise and toss the 6th board.  The snake tried to pull the same maneuver and slip under board #7.  But, ha..ha..I was too quick for him/her.  After flinging the plank I grabbed the bucket and broom.  Then I beat the tarnation out of the snake with the broom and steered him into the bucket.  Whack, whack, whack, turned up the bucket, then slapped the make shift lid on the top.  Now, I could have reached down and grabbed it by the neck at the back of it's head, but since I hadn't gotten a real good look at it I decided not to take the chance.

Satisfied with my smart move and my prize I picket up the bucket, put it in the back seat of my car (with a rock on the lid) and headed for my father-in-laws country store, just down the road.  I wanted to know just what kind of snake I had caught (this was the olden days before internet).

When I arrived several men from the area had congregated around the inside of the store.  As usual they were drinking beer, sharing stories, and laughing.  I came in the door and they greeted me with a few nods and a "Hey, gal."

I put my bucket down, removed the lid tilted it towards the men and said, "Do any of you guys know what kind of snake this is?"  Before I could finish my sentence ALL of the men jumped up falling all over each other and fled the store.  Some were running, (one jumped through the open screen-less window),  all were cussing and yelling all sorts of unpleasant comments.  I put the lid back on the bucket and looked out the door.

My husband yelled from the parking lot,  "Karen, you've done a lot of hair-brained things but this one takes the cake."  Get that darned bucket out here (only he didn't exactly say darned)."

When I returned to the door with the bucket in hand I could see all of the men lined up with shotguns in their arms.  Now, this was the Ozarks, my friends, and since my husband and I hadn't been getting along lately I thought that this might be what is referred to as a QUICKY DIVORCE, Ozark style.

My husband asked me to gently put the bucket down in front of the men, and back up.  Ok, like a good wife, I did what I was told and then there was a deafening sound as all seven men fired at the bucket.  The bucket was blown to smithereens as was that beautiful snake.  DEATH was brutal and swift.

In not too kind of a tone or gentle language (and with one hand on his hip and the other hand pointing a finger at me), my husband told me that I had managed to capture an unusually large Copperhead whose venom could have killed me before anyone could have gotten me to the hospital.  He went on to add that this was the blind season for Copperheads making it an extremely dangerous time to mess with them. 

What did I say in response?"Oh, and it was so pretty."  To which my husband threw up his hands and stomped off.

I tried like crazy to find a yellow smiley face snake.  This will have to do.
By the way, do you NOW get my little pun of a title? 
 (Ok, ok, a little cheesy but it is all I could come up with)    kt 8/2011

PS:  WOULD YOU BELIEVE THAT 43 YEARS TO THE MONTH I CAUGHT A YOUNG COPPERHEAD!  On September 8th I was leaving the hospital after visiting my dad and a kid ran to the nurses station and said, "There's a snake in the waiting room.  My dad thinks it's a copper head."  Without missing a beat I said, "I'll take care of it."

When I got there a young snake about 12 inches long was laying up against the base board under a chair.  Four other people were standing about six feet from the critter.  Although small, I knew immediately that it was a young Copperhead.  A young woman entered the room with a broom and a bucket.  I started to laugh as I remembered the above story.  I just told her to stay where she was.  I took a trash can, tipped it over, stepped on the very end of the snakes tail and it quickly slithered into the dark bucket.  I tipped the bucket up and then tied a knot in the plastic baggie.  Handing the trash can with baggie and snake to the girl with the broom I said, "There you go."

The next morning when I returned to see Dad I asked his nurse if she had heard about the snake in the waiting room.  She said yes, and then I asked her what she had heard.  Her words exactly were, "I heard that there was a Copperhead snake in the waiting room and some crazy lady caught it and gave it to an aide."  Then her eyes got big and she said, "Were you that crazy lady?" All I could do was laugh.

#208 - ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?

Ok, I received an award and really don't know what it's for.

I checked the online dictionary and no surprise; there is no such word.  So, I broke down the word in order to ascertain it's meaning.  My first attempt gave me the answer.   Lie bs ter.  Ahhhhh, I get it.  

"er"= a person who...

lie = telling something that is not true

bs = bull Sh*!   (guess I could have said poo).

So, does the heart mean it's given with love? Haven't a clue.

(A week attempt at poetry and notice the nice pyramid it makes.)

(And for you who have compulsive/obsessive issues....Yes, I know I left the "T" out)

In reality, this award is actually a reward for fabricating.  Hummmmm,  this means that possibly there are those who may not believe my blog contains stories that are NOT completely true.  I'm shocked!

You mean that no one believes that I accidentally s stapled my glove to my hand (see What A Maroon), glued my foot to the floor (see A Sticky Situation), or burned a hole in my night gown (see #Recipe For Disaster)?  Oh, mannnnn, this HURTS as they are ALL true ;{

So spread the love!

Here are the rules:

1. Thank the giver

2. Reveal your top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog-and follow them!
3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.

4. Have faith that your followers will spread the love to other bloggers.

5. And most of all - have bloggity-blog fun!

That's it?  No embarrassing questions to answer.  Nothing personal to reveal?  Nothing humiliating?  I don't have to share with the world the unusual shape of the birth mark on my butt?


So, should I thank the giver?  What the HECK!  Thanks, Donna at Weaving A Tale or Two.

1,3,and 5 are taken care of. Number 4 is a given because all of my followers spread the love daily. Where I have problems is number 2.   I have to pick 5 out of the dozens of contenders for the award.  And there in the problem.  Most of the bloggers I read do not accept awards.  I end up giving them to the same bloggers over and over which really isn't fair to them.  These things take a lot of time (I have been working on this for over 6 hours...No lie....6 hours).

"Rules are for sissies!"

And here is what everyone reading this is waiting for....  How in the heck is she going to change this one?  The minute the phrase, "Here are the rules:" popped up, my mind froze and the sound of screeching tires echoed inside my head.  I swear I could smell the smoke.  Well, some rules are good ones to follow; like to be polite.  But, how can I be polite and accuse choose five BS-ing liars?  

So, I searched through the blogs I follow to see who could possible fit in this category.  And I only found two.  Incidentally they are both men.  I wonder if that means anything????????

Lazarus at The LG Report (Female Like Me) was the first one that came to mind (sorry LG but, I did read your Thursday, July 28th post.  It definitely falls into the BS category).  However, LG does not accept awards.  Probably because he wouldn't have enough space on his blog page to post them...he is that good!  He is ONE OF A KIND.

Nick at Along These Lines (A Tourist’s Guide to Libya) would absolutely fit into the BS category.  His blog is often outrageous and always hilarious.  However, Nick is recovering from surgery and it wouldn't be polite to expect him to respond.  His blog is A VERITABLE SMORGASBORD OF HUMOR.

Ok....I've got one...APRIL, at Confessions of a Terrible Mom (a total misnomer)! Comcast-the cable mafia comes to mind.  I am sure that some of her posts are a blend of truth and lies exaggerations.  A person can't be as funny as April  without STRETCHING the truth a little.  Ok, I am sending this award to her.  Nope, can't, April is cutting back on her blog time since school started (she home schools her kids).  SO APRIL, YOU DON'T HAVE TO ACCEPT THIS AWARD.

Next, I thought of Melynda at Crazy World boxing with boys 
and her buddy Elisa at The Crazy Life of a Writing Mom Miss Priss and “The Wave”.
I mean,  mannnnn, these two gals are absolutely NUTS (which is something I can identify with).  One might think that there is some fabricating or truth stretching going in there somewhere, but after reading them for a while I am beginning that this is actually their wild and crazy life.  When someone comes up with an "ABSOLUTELY BONKERS" award THEY are getting it (so is fishducky if and when she starts to blog).

It breaks my heart but, I could only find one person to send this to, and she won't have time to accept.  The rest of the bolggers I follow are too sweet and innocent to fall in this category.  Therefore I must forfeit the $1,000,000.00 that came with this award.  And, unfortunately no one else will get it either (Ohhhhhhhhh, so sorry! As Jim Fay would say...Jim Fay’s Love and Logic).

But, I do have a tip for all of you out there... ... ... 

DON'T SEND KT AN AWARD BECAUSE SHE WILL ALWAYS            
SCREW WITH IT!

kt 8/11/2011