“I don’t understand how a woman can leave the house without fixing herself up a little - if only out of politeness. And then, you never know, maybe that’s the day she has a date with destiny. And it’s best to be as pretty as possible for destiny.” - Coco Chanel



Oh yeah baby! Here I sit at Har....oops...McDonalds! And you'll never guess why. I found out quite by accident last night that there is wireless internet available here. And in little ole Columbia! Previous to now, I've typed up my blog, saved it, and when I got home (or remembered, whichever came first) I would then upload. Here, I can publish immediately! How perfectly wonderful is that? Read the news, blog, surf...all while enjoying my down time AND breakfast! My life is forever changed! So much for loyalty to Hardee's. Am I really that wishy-washy? I have been a faithful customer there for multiple years. I feel sorta like the 40ish year old male that decides he wants a 22 year old instead of his wife of 20 years.

All those people who say "I saw your vehicle at Hardee's" no longer can. Hehe. And here I am telling the world at large I am now going to be at McDonald's. Makes no sense to inform the world yet again of my whereabouts.=)

One thing is for certain, the seat I am in will not be occupied by me tomorrow. I am right under a speaker that is blaring and I tend to like quiet when in a creative thinking mode. I find myself stopping to gather a thought process and music intrudes. Not to mention that it's right beside the restroom door. Beggars simply cannot be chooser so I will have to find the quietest corner and be happy that I now have internet service while breakfasting.

Did I mention it's country music blaring? Ugh. He's singing about iced tea on the front porch in his sweatshirt? Sheesh.


Out of Kilter

I’ve alluded to it before and here is proof positive. Blogging is a mood thing with me. Oh, if only I could get my act together and blog daily. Wait! How terribly unfair to myself can I be? It’s simply not a case of “getting my act together". It is a case of being fair to my faithful readers. (I have always dreamed of saying that. I was just sure it would be when my books were for sale, even in Sam’s! ehhe.) If I blogged daily, it would be forced. I reiterate when I say it’s a mood thing with me. There has to be inspiration or some point of interest to cause me sit down and type, and when things are out of sync, i.e. my house messy, stress from work issues, etc., anything I write is forced and I tend to reveal parts of myself I’d rather not expose.=) You know, “keep that smile on your face so all seems right in the world”.

Here I sit, in the shade of a large, stick-on window sign at Hardee’s. Lucky for me, the only outlet in the dining area is right under that sign. My mind is reeling with topics. Sometimes if I’ll just start typing, I flow right to subject matter. Other times, as right now, I’m going to consciously pick one. Ummmmmm. Sheesh. Dirt Cheap? Christmas? Vehicles? Parties? Arrrgghhhhh. No flow.

My house is definitely messy, work is stress-filled with all the world at large wanting their decorations, etc. completed yesterday, and everything I’m writing is absolutely forced. For those who tell me they love my blog, a heartfelt thanks. I ask for patience. I will blog again, and I promise inspiring words and creative phrase. For now, I’ll pack up my laptop and leave the shade of the stick-on sign.

I’ll begin my reformation with working on that messy house.


Knee High Black Boots

Boots. Discuss.

What is my fascination with them? Why do I feel as if I could conquer the world when wearing them? Is it because I always gets looks? Is it the bad girl attitude associated with them? Am I pretending to be “pretty woman”? (Yes, I am aware hers were thigh-high.)

I’ll admit it. I love to “dress”. I work at being different. I disdain the norm. My actual clothing doesn’t tend to be way out, but I do tend to add the unusual or outrageous in some form. Hence, high heeled black boots.

Today is the first day this season that I’ve zipped them on. Ahhhhh. I don’t ever remember having to wait this late in the season. It’s October and we’ve not had even a hint of fall. However, there is a slight, and I need to repeat slight nip in the air and I simply could not wait. I’m told that tomorrow will be cool. The high is to be only 77 degrees. Hallelujah! Boots again.

Once I start wearing them, I am simply addicted. I have been fully dressed, walked out the door only to return and put on my boots. I love pairing them with a sleek black turtleneck. With that ensemble, any skirt works. At the end of the season, I mourn having to pack them away. Just as I begin to heal, it’s fall again.

When I veer from my path of black ones, I have exquisite pink, red suede (borrowed from Tay), black three-quarter length, and this year, brown cowboy’s (also Tay’s). Without fail I return to my beloved heeled, knee high black ones.

Did I mention that today I’m in my “conquer” mode?



It never fails, I get this incredulous look when I mention my love of breakfasting at Hardee’s. People just don’t get that it’s not Hardee’s per se, nor the gourmet fare.

It’s a ritual. It’s my sanity. It’s the only way my day goes smoothly, not to mention that I have accrued fast friends (though most are almost double my age).

It all started several years ago when a bosom friend asked me to meet her for breakfast. I had worked with her for a couple years and after I moved on, we missed each other terribly. We began to meet just after I dropped my children off to school. She had to be at work at 9, so it gave us about 50 minutes to daily right the wrongs of the world. We swapped presents, shopping tidbits, and shared many books and magazines. To say we inspired each other is grossly underrating.

I then took a job in Hattiesburg and that quelled our time together. It took me awhile to figure out that I still needed down time each morning to get my day in order. I then began dropping the kids off and coming straight to Hardee’s before leaving for work.

Here I sit, in another phase of my life, still coming to Hardee’s. I’m sure were there a place that had a courtyard with a fountain, soft music piped in, and linens, I would go there instead. But I wouldn’t trade that for small town life. Each and every birthday of me and mine starts right here. A candle in a cinnamon raison biscuit is the perfect way to begin the celebratory day.

“Hardee’s” will be on my agenda for the rest of my bourn...ummm born days. I’ll reserve the fountains, music, and linens for special occasions……….away.


Bombay Bicycle Club

Looking toward the beach....the front of the Beau Rivage is in the background... Posted by Picasa

Biloxi Welcome Center

Brielmaier House...gone Posted by Picasa

Before Katrina

Beauvoir....before Posted by Picasa

After Katrina

Beauvoir....Jefferson Davis' Home...after Posted by Picasa

Tullis-Toledano Manor, Biloxi, MS

Forever gone...The Grand Casino barge was sitting on top of Tullis-Toledano Manor's concrete slab.... Posted by Picasa


Katrina and Camille

Oh to have the discipline of Monk. (Or even SAG). I have tried on numerous occasions to blog and simply couldn't/wouldn't, I'm not sure which to be perfectly honest. Katrina did a number on me. Spiritually, physically, emotionally. I rode out the storm 100 miles inland with family and friends at my sister's home. It was not my first hurricane, but I pray my last. We watched trees uproot and snap as debris flew. We slept in sweltering heat and grilled what food we could salvage from our quickly thawing freezers. I was fortunate to go to "the land of electricity and water where all seemed so normal" soon after the storm, though my spirit was chaotic and low. I couldn't reach family or friends after I left since cell service was extinct in the hard hit areas. I devoured pictures online of my hometown like a heroin addict.
I was born on the beach in a lovely old hospital in Biloxi, MS and also married on that same beach at Tullos-Toledano Manor (an old governor's summer home). Both buildings are gone (as is the marriage). I grapple with the fact that Biloxi will be rebuilt, but I fear a very plastic city, all neon lights and none of the former quaintness. What I've heard my Daddy say numerous times finally came to fruition. "One good hurricane and the Coast will be wiped out again!" he'd say every couple years. I have a vivid memory of returning home after Camille and though I was only 7 at the time I'll never forget my Mother crying the entire trip. We followed a state highway truck that was clearing the roads with a chainsaw. My Daddy would toss the sawed logs to the side of the road as they were cut. There was so much destruction my Mother was sure her home was gone. What was usually an hour drive home from Mamaw's took almost 4 hours. We arrived home to multiple trees down and missing shingles, but otherwise unscathed. The names Katrina and Camille are forever imprinted on my memory. I think were I named either of the two, I'd march right up to City Hall and sign up for a new one!


Random Ramblings on Me...

*I worked on a beautiful 80 ft. shrimp boat one summer
*Salmon is my entree of choice, always
*Seeing my 3 on the platform all together is what heart failure must surely feel like
*Every day of my life travel to some exotic place is imagined
*Dinner at Panino's then jazz at USM with my 3 cause me a distinct sense of wholeness
*Books, books, books please
*My heart sings "I was born to live here" when I walk the streets of NYC
*I feel as if I'm on the school bus in my pj's when I don't wear heels
*Sitting with Tyler late in the evening at Backdoor Cafe is treasured time
*Jackie O sunglasses complete me
*I could be considered an elegant "goth" for all the black I wear (though I always embellish with colorful, gaudy and bold accessories)
*I collect paper weights
*A beautiful glass filled with white grape juice, candlelight in a red votive, fresh flowers (in a vase I brought home from Paris), my TV combo on the counter, and bubbles up to my ears make all seem right in the world
*Tay humming (a common occurance) always reminds me of my mother..oh such sweet emotions having my daughter and my mother connected
*My first visit to Paris caused total, delicious, emotional upheaval..the only place I felt calm was in the museums
*I fantasize about being lost in southern Italy in a teeny little car
*The sounds of a guitar strumming coming from Boo's room makes me teary eyed on most occasions
*Antartica is the only continent of the major 7 that I have no desire to see (I've seen 4)
*Laying in the grass around midnight staring up into the Eiffel Tower was an epiphany
*The 3 most profound words of my entire life were "It's a girl!"
*Realizing that all "men" are not equal shocked me deeply..I'm thinking of taking a chance=)

*My inspiration for this blog came from SAG=)


a favorite pic of me and my crew in New Orleans.....this was 3 summers ago...our annual mini vacation before school started...=) Posted by Picasa


Comments Make The Heart Grow Fonder

I've been asked on a few occasions, why haven't you blogged recently? (The faithful readers now know I was on a roll yesterday..hehe.) Now, of course this was posed by those near and dear to me.
I received my first comment today from an "unknown" and oh did my little heart sing! Hence, the content of this blog is to urge you to comment should you like what you see. (And also I guess if you don't like what you see.=) The comment was high propane fuel to my blogging fire.
Anyone with initials SAG wanna start?


50 Things To Do Before I Die

No, that subject is in no way morbid. What is the thing you'd love to do, but it just seems as if it will never come to fruition? There are things that flit in and out of our minds and we just don't voice them or believe they are possible. It's usually some exotic isle or adventure that seems lightyears away. Take out a favorite journal or even a sheet of paper and write at the top "50 Things To Do Before I Die". This needs to be paper that you can quickly and easily locate. Numbers 1-10 will be easy. They will be things at the front of your mind. From there on, it gets harder to fill in the blanks. Therein lies the reason you need easy accessiblity to your list. When something triggers thoughts of deep desires, grab your list start jotting. My list is over 30 now, and I've successfully checked off some things I never thought I'd achieve! Sailing around the world on a sailboat seems completely out of my reach, but it's on my list. Walking on the Great Wall of China, visiting Australia, seeing the palaces of St. Petersburg, a cooking school in southern Italy, an apartment in NYC are all far beyond my reach, but never the less something to dream about. Nothing is too extreme nor simplistic. There is no rule that you have to share your list either. It may be too personal for public viewing, or you may be like me and enjoy others seeing your dreams. Whatever the case, just make the list. Those checks beside the things you were able to make happen make for a deep abiding joy and sense of well-being.

"Sugared" Tea, Please

A fond memory of my mother, is her allowing me to make the tea. We had a large, orange Tupperware pitcher and my self-esteem, love of cooking, and psyche were developed from this very act. How proud I was to measure the sugar into that pitcher, pour the liquid off the steeped bags that I'd been instructed to "just bring to a boil", and then stir until all grains of sugar were fully melted. Then and only then was I to add water up to the rim. At that point, in my elementary brain, I felt I had helped "cook supper".
I've just returned from a mini-pre-school-starting-vacation, and nary a place had "sweet" tea. Here in the deep South, we ask for "sweet" tea, which is of course improper. Sweetened tea is correct. I have a kindred spirit that always asks for "sugared" tea, and I love to borrow that line when far into Yankee country. My pronunciation is a long drawn out "shoog-ahed tea" worthy of Elizabeth in "Old Yellar". I love the reactions of the wait staff. Without fail, the response is "What?"with a quizzical look. And I again ask for "sugared" tea. In 90% of the cases, I draw a "dumb-southerner" sneer which makes my guts smile. Tea was made to be sweetened! I simply cannot mimick the taste of tea from the South when trying to sweeten it otherwise. I settle for a Diet Coke. But oh, to return home to the land of "sweet tea", such joy is indescribable.
My former mother-in-law introduced me to hot tea. I'll never forget learning to wrap the string from the tea bag around the bowl of the spoon just from watching her. A vivid memory of hot tea was on a return flight from Seoul, Korea. It was so soothing to my weary mind, body and spirit on that never ending flight. My aforementioned kindred spirit taught me to mix a 1/2 cranberry juice and 1/2 sweet tea for a delightful drink in the fall.
Until it is not available to me, as on my vacation, I simply do not realize just how much I love it. There is a large glass of the cold "sugared" stuff sitting close at hand as I type this. Ahhhh, I just had a sip. When will the rest of the world figure it out? Tea is to be "sweet".

The Baby, My Youngest Son

Since I found out I was pregnant with this child, I have said he was to be the General Superintendant of the United Pentecostal Church or the first Pentecostal President of the United States. His conception was not possible, yet it happened. And how deeply thankful I am that it did.
My oldest sat in the stroller without stress. Tyren Millspaugh Swanner demanded to PUSH the stroller, instead of ride in it, from a very early age. I dressed him for church, and within minutes he looked as if he'd had those very clothes on for days instead of minutes. His shirt never remained tucked in, his feet found a way to the mud puddle, and ketchup was forever adorning his pants. I simply could not keep this child clean nor make him look "freshly dressed". Yet he exuded joy. When Mother's Day was celebrated in Sunday School and the 5-6 year olds were asked "What makes your Mother smile", his reply was, "When I walk in the room". I find this to be true this very minute, even though he is now 15.
His brother got a guitar for Christmas 4 years ago. It sat untouched for some time. Tyren went to church camp and a friend there showed him a few things. I don't think many days have passed since that there wasn't a guitar in his hands. Am I allowed as a Mother to say he is amazing? Am I the only Mother who can hardly breathe when her children are performing? When all 3 perform at the same time, as happens in Youth Service periodically, I am overcome with gratefulness.
There is a calmness in him that I do not possess. He has patience that I have no chance of ever achieving, yet I helped to grow him to what he is. He is faithful to help me in the yard, haul things to the attic, and remove the garbage from the house, with little resistance. Oh, of course I hear the grumbles, etc, but he always helps. I have said on many occasions, that he will be the one to insure I don't get bedsores while in the nursing home. He has a nurturing spirit that I am so proud of. He wears his suits well and is health concious, which did not come from me. I recently told him how much like his Father he was. His face had this odd look and he questioned me whether or not I liked that. (His Father and I divorced years ago.) I told him all those things of his Father that I saw in him were the exact reasons I fell in love with and married his Dad.
He makes wonderful grades and excels in school. That he is now a sophmore makes my heart heavy. In 2 extremely short years, he will be a senior. My little disheveled boy is now a young man living in a grown body. If only I could keep him with me forever. Wait, he will be with me forever, in my mind, the little one with the shirt hanging half out stomping in the only mud puddle within a 1/2 mile range.


My Middle Child...My Daughter...

They say it's the middle child that becomes the mediator or professional negotiator. Exactly. The most intense joy I've experienced has been from is my middle child. From the moment I tied a pink ribbon around her head (which was in the delivery room within 10 minutes of her birth) 'till a few Saturday's ago when she sang at a military celebration, my heart has smiled when I see her. Everyone who knows her, sees her talent. The Congresswoman who invited her to sing at the event spoke of this at the celebration. Her French teacher at school remarked at the rarity of getting a student like her that has "passion" for the langauge. Everything she does radiates vivaciousness. She is effusive, vibrant, full of zest, and a lover of life. She comes out of her room in a blast on the way to church, etc. and I'm so amazed at her fashion savvy. She holds that head high and exudes a confidence very few learn in a lifetime.
My labor was arduous, not as with my other 2. While carrying her, I would not allow the doctor to tell me the gender of this child in my womb. I simply was overcome with raw and aching need for a girl. I never once looked at girl clothes during my pregnant. I had this distinct fear that I would be unfair in some way to my baby should it be a boy. I just HAD to have a girl. When the doctor announced to the room "It's a girl!", I started weeping. My aunt Deta was holding my hand. I kept saying over and over "It's a girl!, It's a girl!, I don't have to do this anymore!". I never occurred to me that while laboring to deliver this child I was planning another pregnancy just in case it was a boy! My family that stood in the hall did not have to be informed that she had arrived. They all heard me chanting over and over "It's a girl!, It's a girl!".
After saying all this, I need to inform you that she is my clone. A while ago, she came to my room to inform me, "I just give up. I am just like you and I can't change it!". For a couple of years I watched her struggle with trying to be the opposite of what I was. She didn't like my bold, loud purses, nor my tendency to draw attention to myself in dress, hairstyle, etc. Soon thereafter she was borrowing those very purses and clothing. Now, if we both have trips it's a race to claim who gets what. It's humbling to see yourself in someone. I see myself in her daily and that changes my thought processes and actions often.
I will continue to watch her fulfill her potential as time rocks on. And her ability to "fulfill" will forever amaze me. There is nothing she cannot accomplish, and what I so love is her discipline and willpower. They will take her far beyond the reaches that even I can concieve. While colleges continue to court and she stays in her continual dither over where, when and what, I will stand back and be amazed. Did I mention I birthed this child?=)

Patience, please.

Blogging is like the tides. The mood comes and goes. Summer is in full swing, and with hummingbirds flitting, oleanders blooming, and lemonade freshly squeezed, I tend to not peruse email for days on end. This week I had my first autumnal pang, with visions of my beloved boots dancing in my head. Maybe once life gets back into "rut" status i.e. No. 2 pencils sharpened, I will settle back into blogging. I must admit it was all consuming for a time. The consumation is sure to resurface when those long cool evenings arrive. Until then, for all those who ask, patience, please.=)


Ground "Chuck"

You can look into your child's eyes and know when something is awry. He was looking up at me from the grocery basket so sheepish that I knew something was up. The magpie standing beside my cart simply would not hush. I had tried to avoid her, but when you are in the grocery with all 3 of your children under age 7, they are hungry and supper is late, you simply don't have all your wits about you. I was more concerned with what all they were adding to the cart than with making sure to avoid the most talkative human in my city. The day had been long, and I ran in to shop quickly I'd hoped. While she rattled on, basically blocking my path, I kept getting those looks from the little man sitting facing me. When I finally was able to break away and I pushed my cart forward, the reason for all those looks was revealed. There on the floor were little piles of ground chuck. That precious little darling had been reaching around behind him, sticking his fingers through the plastic and digging out ground chuck, then dropping the small wads onto the floor. Of course all this was happening on the opposite side of the cart where I was being bombarded.
Today I have felt as if my insides were ground chuck and someone was throwing parts of me on the floor. My Daddy would have been 64 today and my loss is so keen that I have the urge to hide. Why do I tend to hide when things feel out of kilter? How very apropos that we used to jokingly call my Daddy "Chuck", a derivative of his given name which was Charles. I'm told that as a child that nickname would infuriate him. I remember his fussing when me or one of my siblings would say "Hey Chuckie baby!".
There is a list of things that always seem to soothe my injured spirit. I tried them all over the course of my day. I watered my yard. I lit a candle. I bought groceries. I then put them away. I read some blogs. I bought 2 magazines that I shouldn't have splurged on. I turned on soothing music. I put on a favorite nightgown. I poured myself a Diet Barq's in a beautiful glass. All to no avail.
I've now just decided to blog. This rawness will no doubt be eased in the morning. This sort of day is rare for me, and I sometimes have to just give in to it. I shall wake up and be back to normal, not mentally making a list of things that heal me. I am going to have a day where the things I love doing come naturally and make my heart smile. I desperately miss you "Chuck"....uummm....Daddy.=)


Is there such a thing as lusting for a mixer? Posted by Hello

The subject from below....=) Posted by Hello


My first born

Time flies. Period. Oh, about 6 months ago or so, my son was born. He is now 20 years of age. What a blur his life has been for me, yet I can see it in slow motion. He has given me joy, undescribable joy. When in his stroller, if I put a hat on his head, he never removed it. He loved me pushing him around the mall. Tie a balloon on the front, and he'd ride for hours. He was close to 3 before he really got "dirty". We took pictures of him with his filthy hands and feet because it was such an oddity. He loved playing in his toy box, but being a first child, I just didn't let him play outside that much. (More later on the child that stayed "dirty".) Before he turned one, he'd pull pots and pans out from under the counter and beat them as a drum set, just like he saw the guy at church do. As a toddler, he'd ask for his drum to be tied around his neck. (We'd been to a parade and he saw the drummers marching with their drums in front of them.) His Aunt Deta, the aunt we just lost to breast cancer, came in one day with a huge box. It contained a drum set. He was around 3 or so. He beat till I was deaf. He'd dig in that toy box and pull out instruments, of which he had many. He would say "Mama, you play loggy-loggy". This was a tambourine that his grandmother would beat against her hand and say "lordy-lordy-lordy". He'd then say "Bibbie, you play "tar"(guitar)". We'd join his band while he beat the drums. Me and his grandmother would take turns singing while he performed. He joined the school band in the 6th grade which absolutely fueled his passion. From then on, he beat on any available surface. The dashboard of the car, the kitchen table, the desk in his room. He excelled. The band director contacted me about private study to advance him even further. His private instructor from the local university told us about a Real Feel pad that has the same feel as a snare, but makes no noise. It's a black rubber disk for snare drum students. Oh the joy! He practiced on that and our ears had a rest. I always wondered what the neighbors thought previous to the pad. I'd get a craw full and make him go outside to practice. You could hear him the entire neighborhood over. Then in the 7th grade, he began to play as a stand-in at church. A few short months later, the sanctuary choir drummer moved away, and Tyler took the slot at a very young 13 years old. He again excelled. The pressure was great, but he handled it with aplomb. He was mentored by the then Music Director of the church, and the bass player with whom he continues to play today. He and his friend are in process of forming a Christian band that I've nary a doubt will go far. They share a love of music that transcends everything other than my love of chocolate....any sort of orange flavored chocolate. Tyler has been an "old soul" since his first days. As a youngster, his eyes held secrets, his demanor was that of a much older child. His friends, for the most part were always his senoir. Today, his best friend, that afore mentioned bass player, is almost 10 years older than him. That calm, assured personality will take him far in life. Imagine my joy last semester when I received a letter from the school stating he's on the Dean's List. He got the "design" award in his field and his picture in the paper receiving that award made my heart sing. Have I successfully made you aware I am proud of this child? This newborn who has become an accomplished musician and talented "designer"? Stay tuned, more on this child will be made known.....as time flies.

Visit www.leftbraincentral.blogspot.com for a look at his marvelous brain.


A favorite picture of me and my girl.  Posted by Hello


Backdoor Cafe, a taste of NYC right here in Columbia, Mississippi

Take someone from far away, place them here in the Backdoor Cafe, and they'd guess they were in the heart of Manhattan.... Backdoor Cafe, my favorite cafe in the entire world....=)Posted by Hello

My Birthday Dinner

My birthday dinner at the Backdoor Cafe turned out to be one of the favored evenings in my life. The 3 most precious people of my entire existance were present, and we celebrated. The ambiance, the food, the company were absolutely perfect.=) Posted by Hello

Dinner on the Patio

I had friends over and we such a wonderful time. I set an incredibly beautiful table with a red summer theme. I lit torches in my side garden, the music was Michael Buble' and the company interesting. For starters, we enjoyed white grape juice with peaches. We had Bacon-wrapped chicken breasts with a cool pasta salad and poppy seed breadsticks. The evening ended with Raspberry Martini's for dessert in my colbalt martini glasses. I call them a "cheater dessert" because they are exquisite yet so easy to make. They consist of raspberry sorbet, sliced strawberries, and sparkling grape juice poured over it in "coke float" style. I topped them with a biscotti. A good time was had by all.....Posted by Hello


Me and my 3 enjoyed NYC for Christmas this year..this was our arrival in the big city by train after flying in heavy holiday traffic for most of the day...Posted by Hello

For the Love of Blog...

After posting on my new blog, the little button at the top right that says “next blog” caught my eye. I clicked it over and over and discovered an unlimited reservoir of topics that I could read for days and days. There is Anne’s Food with posting on her culinary weekend in Paris along with recipes galore, then Domestic Goddess with a “lusting” category that has pictures of items she is dying to add to her collection of kitchen accessories! Each blog has a list of links that sends you to more and more blogs that are also chock full of information. I then found a blog about a group of friends that all attended high school together, all met this summer for a sort of reunion, and made a blog from it. Ahhh, I shall make a blog for my supper club. My friend tells me I am addicted to blogging now. Maybe, maybe not. This too shall pass at some point in my life I am sure, but for now, it soothes me.


Polka Dots make for smiles.....

How much more happy can you be? I spotted this polka dot cement truck right in the heart of Manhattan...who would have ever thought?....=) Posted by Hello

Doughnuts and Dieting

Last night I had this intense conversation with myself. Having made reservations for my 4th of July weekend, I made the decision to have only grilled chicken, green beans and salad for the next 2 weeks. As in the past, I had this overwhelming craving to consume the worse thing possible on the first day of "chicken and green beans only". I fully realize it's totally subconcious, but I can't seem to stop it. Being the optimist I am, I consider it a really good sign though. There I went, straight to the Krispy Kreme drive-up window for a lemon filled confection. Which means, I really am serious about dieting. I know. I know. What a twisted way of dieting, but let me explain. My getting a doughnut really does means I'm totally serious about losing. When I make up my mind to really do it, the next 2 days are a frenzy of eat-it-while-you-can-soon-it-will-all-be-illegal mind set. I consume each and every thing I see that looks good. And I search out things that are good but out of sight. For instance, a banana split, or a hot fudge cake are things I will hunt down. Whew, I'm really glad to find them. It's as if once I make myself good and sick on these rich things, it's not so hard to give them up. Well, today is day one of the eat-everything days. One more day, then my mind will be primed and ready for all the chicken and green beans I can stand.=)


lillies Posted by Hello

irises Posted by Hello

My Yard

I have now been "living single" for 7 years, divorced for almost 4. Wow, what an impact that had on my life. I developed an acute love for gardening around the beginning of that tumultuous time.

My Daddy has been gone for almost 2 years. I still sometimes involuntarily pick up my cell phone to call him. Other days when I drive past the cemetary where he lays at rest, I say "Hello Big Daddy". My love of gardening increased after his death.

My Aunt Deta, to whom I was extremely close, passed away last month. There have been numerous bleak days as of late. The lower she got, the more I dug in the dirt. As she worsened, my time in my yard increased. What is it about sticking your fingers in the earth that has a soothing quality to it?

I now have a quite lovely yard. But oh the torment I endured for it to get to this place. I have mandevilla growing up an arbor that encases what I call my "secret garden". My friend Sharon bought me the vine in remembrance of my aunt. There is also yarrow, old fashioned cannas, and leatrice which I purchased the week after we lost Aunt Deta. The beautiful topper on her casket had bold purple leatrice in it. It gives me lovely thoughts of her to see it blooming. The area of my yard that I love most is my "tropical paradise". A banana tree that has been on earth much longer than I resides there. It grows to some 12 feet in height yearly and produced some very pitiful bananas last year. There is a small fountain that is multi-tiered and has a dancing frog on the top level. Lantana, daylillies, orange cannas, blanket flowers, irises, and verbena thrive. My mailbox bed has lillies, a clematis Nanna bought me last year, and vinca all blooming profusely. Each time pour water to that small bed, I think of my Dad. He owned and operated a snowball stand each summer for years. The post my mailbox is on is the bright red he painted it, originally holding up the porch on the snowball stand.

Not only does my yard soothe my injured spirit, it brings me immeasureable joy. Nothing brings more contentment than having something on the grill, my patio table set to perfection, my yard blooming exuberantly, and expecting company for dinner.=)


O.J. all over again..

Sitting by the TV, I well remember the sickened feeling I had when the "not guilty" verdict was read at the end of the O.J. Simpson trial. Today, while sitting in "The Deck" , a local hometown fast food joint, that same sickening feeling was in the pit of my stomach. I must admit it was not to the degree as before, but still there. As each of the 10 counts were read, and the words "not guilty" were said, I was in disbelief. I'm too out of sorts to try and cover the why's and wherefore's of my belief that M.J. was guilty. I shall be content in the fact that he is forever blacklisted in the minds of most. I have no idea what percentage "most" is, I can only speak from those whom I've discussed it with, and from what I heard and saw via talkshows and radioshows. They say the trial was won on "reasonable doubt". How anyone could come up with any "reasoning" that he was innocent is completely beyond me.


Dallas....Wow what a city. My past vision of this city was cowboy boots and hotdogs, with a dash of Neiman Marcus thrown in. That has been revised. I spent 4 days there last week, and shall never think of the city in quite the same way. I had a most wonderful, informative, interesting "tour guide", and that always makes for a lovely time=). I saw the skyline from several lovely vantage points, toured the Natural Science and History Museum which includes IMAX and the Planetarium, went to several thrift stores (which are right up my alley), had breakfast at the Gaylord Texan while watching the water show, dined on exquisite Italian and Mexican, and on top of all that, I saw the Broadway Musical "The Producers"! I laughed so hard my sides hurt! There is more to come on my "tour guide".......

A fancy smancy bottletree=) Posted by Hello

My bottletree

Hhhhhmmm. Blame this on my intelligent son. He sent me a link to his blog and after reading several posts I knew I had to begin my own. Of course, next came a name for the blog. As of late, I have been hankering for a bottletree. For those unfamiliar, it is an actual tree, or post, or anything that has "branches" of sorts protruding from it. You place colorful bottles on the "branches" as shown in the above picture. I have wanted one for years and am now in the process of making my own from a post that was on my deceased father's snowball stand. The post is already painted red, my absolute favorite color, and I plan to place my tree right out front for all to see.
The origin of the bottletree is supposedly from African origins. The bottles were placed on limbs of trees to keep "haints" away. Legend says that the "haints" would go up into the bottles and could not get out. Hence, only good karma around the homestead=). My thinking is that blogging is a way of making "haints" go away. You know the old adage about how journaling frees the mind and clears the soul. Will this blog be a personal "bottletree" of my mind?