Tex r Cana

I see scary headlines everywhere. They send chills up my spine and cause the hair on my arms to be straight up soldiers. Not a pretty sight. This one involves - texting - another anomaly that can be viewed anywhere and everywhere - even at meetings.

I don't text, never have and quite possibly never will. I don't have anything against texting - even though I thinks it's STUPID. Whatever!!!!



So this dudette is multi-tasking walking and texting and falls off the sidewalk. Sprained the ankle, oh my. I can do that even without texting - so there. I can just imagine what predicament's I would find myself into if I did text. I would spend many hours in the hospital emergency waiting room.



http://tech.yahoo.com/news/ap/med_oblivious_texters



I have seen people texting while driving - worser than driving while on the cell phone. I believe texting is here to stay and will be on the naughty list for quite some time. At least with texting you do not have to listen to a strangers soap opera while riding in the elevator. For that reason - I am happy. Text away............................

Donut Downfall

When I first saw this headline - 'Dunkin Donuts To Offer Healthier Menu Items' - I thought OMG!!! they're taking away our donuts. How deviant, cruel and malicious. Don't take our donuts. Now there's a reason to march on Washington. Donuts are a mainstay an American icon.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080730/ap_on_he_me/dunkin__donuts_healthy_menu

Here is a link to the article that almost caused me an anxiety attack. After I read the article I did feel a little better - but not much. I have this awful feeling that donuts (healthy as they are) are nearing the cropped list. They have taken away our trans fat, which is probably a step in the right direction. We need to be healthier - but keep selling cigarettes. Yeah, this makes sense to me, an all time disease maker, air polluter, addicting substance let's leave that on the market and cure fatness.

What will be next to get the ax? Chocolate? Ice Cream? Baked potato with butter and sour cream? Deep fried twinkies?

I do have to say Krispy Kreme donuts are my FAVORITE. Warm right out of the deep fry, melt in your mouth - AHHHH - wonderful!!!!!

The Stripper

I'm always running late or in a hurry to be someplace at a certain time. My head is stuck in the clouds or my mind is overflowing with mush. Sometimes - I'm just out there - it's like being in the twilight zone on Excedrin PM.
So tonight was no different from my usual nights - running late. I slip on a t-shirt and run out the door. Something feels weird. My shirt doesn't seem to fit right. I start to back out of the driveway and I look down and I have my shirt on inside out and backwards.
I don't have time to run back in the house and do a quick change. I decide to change the shirt right there in the car ( yes, I was still driving) and proceed on my way. I was hoping that the neighbors weren't watching.
The shirt gets stuck on my head and then got caught in the steering wheel. Right foot - hits the brake. I reach for the gear shift and become tangled even more in my shirt. I manage to get the shifter in park. Now, the seat belt is in the way. I fumble for the release button and hit the jackpot but also at the same time I somehow open the car door and out I go rolling into the street.
Finally after a difficult struggle I rip off the t-shirt and look into the face of the nosy neighbor. I'm a little embarrassed standing in the middle of the street in my bra with my t-shirt hanging limply from my right hand. Quickly I slip my shirt back on, jump in the car and drive away. The neighbor stands in the middle of the street with his mouth in the open (what the hell's going on) position shaking his head.
Just another day in the neighborhood - not quite like Mr. Rodgers neighborhood.

Dead Sea

The headlines scream - The Dead Sea faces a slow death. Huh? What? Isn't dead - dead? If the Dead Sea is already dead how is it facing a slow death?

You have me a little confused here. Define dead and death. Why is the Dead Sea called The Dead Sea?

Are we a little slow with interesting news today? Are we just a little slow in the upstairs department? Are you going slow in the slow lane?

Give me some news I can relate to, become inspired or excited with. Give me the meat and potatoes to go with the veggies.

Kirstie Alley

I'm always a day late and $2.00 short. I always miss the last train to Tucson, get off at the wrong stop, get lost in Yonkers, capsize the boat, get to work late, wrong floor, wrong time, wrong day and yada-yada-yada. That's my life and I accept it without bitterness - not really - but it sounds good and I need to keep a positive attitude.
There is this little hole in the wall, family owned cafe in Clearwater that we frequent. And they accept only cash - no debit - no visa - no checks -CASH ONLY. They have THE BEST corned beef hash and Oh their French Toast - yummy. It's an hours drive from my home and with gas prices to go there you know it's awesome. And we know the waiter - a great kid/adult. In my eyes he's a kid.
So Saturday, I'm wanting to go there but for some reason we did not. I'm sure it was hubby's fault. He's good for carrying the blame.
We get a call and guess who showed up at this little almost non-descript cafe? Yep - Kirstie Alley. The first words slipping off my tongue - "Did you get her autograph?"
So if only we had a breakfast there - I might have gotten an autograph, a photo and a glimpse of what it looks like to be a member of Jenny Craig. Whoa - that's not a Jenny Craig place. Kirstie must have fallen off the wagon and gone for the sausage gravy and homemade biscuits.
I wonder how many other Scientologist frequent my favorite cafe? Whenever I go I will remember to bring my camera to get a good (or bad) shot of some celeb stuffing their pie hole with wonderful food as maple syrup drips down their chin.

Don't Worry - Be Happy

It was a ruff day at the office. In the morning I managed to get out of purgatory, if only for a brief time. Then the afternoon I slipped right back into hell. I keep reminding myself - I'm Happy. I say it throughout the day to get to the end of the day. I'm starting to believe it. I say it at home, when I am trying to fall asleep, when I'm being lazy, when the dog pees on the floor. I try to have happy thoughts. It seems to help. I KNOW IT HELPS.
I'm sitting outside trying to unwind from the stressful day and I hear sirens. Not so unusual around here but this one seemed very close. I hop on my new bike (I'm happy I have a new bike) and become nosey. I get to the end of the cul de sac and I see the police, the fire trucks and an ambulance. And then I see the dark black smoke swirling into the sky. Someones home is on fire.
I inch my way closer to get a better view and see the massive damage the fire has caused. Apparently everyone has survived and gotten out safely. A home and furnishings can be replaced a life cannot.
I am thankful I have a home to go back to. I am thankful no one is hurt in the house fire. I need to focus more on the positive aspects of my life.

Caylee Anthony

Sometimes you just get this bad feeling - that things ain't right. A little girl goes missing and mom tells no one? Is this a normal reaction? When my children were toddlers if they were mia for a few minutes I was in a tizzy - a total panic.
What's going on with Caylee's mom? She dabs at her minuscule tears in court with very little emotion. She refuses to say anything? That bad feeling seems to be like an evil mist around the entire situation.
What about grandma? If my daughter and my grandchild lived with me and then my grandchild disappeared for weeks wouldn't a light bulb go off? Where did mom get this money to be free for 5 weeks? Why were questions not asked? Perhaps they were? Family dynamics is a strange creature.
I don't mean to be negative or blame or point my finger at people - but hey - what's really going on? Where is Caylee? I would like to smack mom and grandma right up side the head. That's not the legal way. The bad feeling overshadows everything in this case. Sadness - a little girl lost. Where is Caylee?

Manhole Covers

I've read recently that people are stealing manhole covers and turning them in to scrap metal dealers for money. Apparently lots of money. I do believe that stealing is WRONG but the issue here, for me, is not the theft. They are stealing 'manhole' covers. Hello?

While traveling down the roads we will see new signs that say - 'Workers', - not 'Men Working'. It seems like 'Men Working is a sexual term and today many women do work road construction - so the signs, "Men Working', offends them. It has been changed. I bet you could sell those 'Men Working' signs for a pretty penny. If only I knew before. I could retire and live off the profits.

My complaint to the world will be a name change for 'Manhole Covers'. I want a new law enacted that does not permit anyone to use that term. I find that wording sexist and offensive. I wish to start a campaign to change the verbiage. And anyone caught using that old verbiage -'Manhole Cover', will be punished severely. How, I'm not really sure yet.

I urge everyone to write to their Congress Person, State Representative and even the president if necessary to make this new law and ease my sorrow.

Natasha Bedingfield

Lyrics from Natasha Bedingfield's song, A pocketful of sunshine. Helps me through the difficult times and unexpected barriers.

Take me away: A secret place.A sweet escape take me away.
Take me away to better days.Take me away: A hiding place.
Take me away: A secret place.A sweet escape take me away.
Take me away to better days.Take me away: A hiding place.

And the link to a great site.

http://knightsofthepaintable.wordpress.com/2008/03/13/take-me-away-to-a-secret-place-natasha-bedingfield-with-a-“pocketful-of-sunshine”/

Ethel - put your clothes on

There's a large population of nudists in Florida. I'm sure there are nudists other places but I only know Florida. And when you live in Florida the heat can certainly cause you to rip off your clothes and go around buck necked.
I used to frequent a semi, underground, illegal nude beach (I'm not a nudist) in North Carolina. I went there for the peace and quiet. Honest. My swimsuit stayed on. There are some people who should not subject their exposed bodies to the world. And it seems like many nudists fall into that category. You don't usually see the model from Sports Illustrated strutting around the beach with uncovered body parts. It's usually grandpa and his even older honey. Wrinkled, flabby - lets not go there.
The nudists in Florida want to open a nude nursing home. So, I'm wondering about the nurses and staff? Do they prance around totally nude? Where are the pockets for the stethoscope and the prescription pad. My doctor always has his pockets stuffed with stuff. And the old folks - will they wear their depends? You know that saying - 'Over 50 - never trust a fart'.
Will they be barefooted also? Slipping and sliding down the pee lined hallway. Whatever floats your boat. Mine would sink along with me in it or I'd drop my paddle and not be able to retrieve it.
It's a scary thought going to see Gramma in the nursing home in that state of dress or undress. Some people you just shouldn't see buck necked.

Cup of Joe

What is it about coffee that energizes me, controls me and gives me a sense of euphoria? The smell alone can send me there. It takes me away - to that place - of total pleasure. Tickling my taste buds with bitterness and sending jolts of energy throughout my system. A quick start, getting the bus moving, on the road, thunder and lightening - rolling down the hill.

The urgency for that cup of early morning brew is over powering and tantalizing. In the morning I sit outside before the sun makes her appearance and sip my dark liquid gold and watch the world begin a new day. It engages my engine, oils my inner working parts (sometimes a little too much) and gives me that jump start charge I need to begin my day.

Life or mornings are not complete without the tar looking mixture. I add lots of creamer to dilute the bitterness of the brew. Although I like that touch of bitterness that pierces my taste buds and slips softly into my system - and I don't know why. It must balance out my chemical imbalance of - need caffeine.

The aroma of coffee in the morning wraps me in peace and happiness. I know not why? Is it an addiction? A necessary substance the body craves? Who cares. I want it and I need it so I drink it and savor every single drop. Gotta love that cup of joe.

Lost in Space

I was assaulted today - BIG TIME - by oldheimers disease. I drove to court and - lucky me - found an empty spot - right by the main entrance. And let me tell you that only happens on a blue moon. Usually I park out in the back 50, and I'm usually late and need to take a tram to the main doors. Not that their is a tram available.
So I snapped up that sweet spot - beaming like a jack-o-lantern on Halloween. And in I went. The buzzer went off again but this time I had stockings on so removing the shoes wasn't too bad and I wasn't late. YEHAW.
I left the court house with blue skies and white puffy clouds greeting me with the warmth of the afternoon. It was a beautiful day. I looked for the truck. OMG - it was gone. My first thought was someone had stolen it and inside was my cellphone and my wallet, holy crap. I wandered aimlessly around the gigantum parking lot. I pressed the alarm button on my keypad and listened - nothing. Yep, someone must have stolen it. It was hot walking all over hells acre.
The light bulb went on inside and illuminated the darkness of my feeble mind. Ah, yes, I parked the old girl somewhere else. Where? I walked by many rows and looked for the blue beauty with the roof rack. It seems like it would stand out in a crowd - but NO. I hit the alarm button again, and then remembered it doesn't work. Have to get that fixed - like real soon. Finally after blisters on my feet, drenched in perspiration I spotted her - certainly that was not where I left her?

Sleep Deprivation

Another lack of sleep night. I am so sleep deprived I can't get the coffee cup to my mouth. The dog (she 's old) 'thinks' - that's the key word - 'thinks' - she needs to go out. At this point I'm thinking - just pee on your doggy pad in the kitchen. I don't care - that's why I bought the pads. I just want a good 8 hours of uninterrupted shut-eye. A near impossible feat.
During the night about every hour she walks aimlessly back in forth and her toenails scratch across the hardwood floors. Very similar to running fingernails down a chalkboard although most now have been replaced by whiteboards. Why did that happen? Another mystery.
On the half hour she walks between the plastic window blinds on the sliding glass doors. The noise is like an alarm going off and the witch does it till I get out of bed and let her out. And she can't be let out alone she needs to be accompanied by a responsible adult. She walks aimlessly around the backyard. She doesn't like to do her business in the back yard - in secrecy away from the prying eyes of the neighbors. No, this old girl prefers the front yard - right beneath the streetlights (me in my ratty old night gown) and then she takes off like a flash down the road. I chase her around the brightly lit cul-de-sac with the tail of my night shirt flapping in the breeze. Happens every time but for whatever reason I am never prepared for this stunt.
I just want to get some sleep. Instead of doggy day care - I need doggy night care.

FREe

'The truth shall set you free'. From what? And I have been told many a time that -nothing is free. If I truly want something FREE - I will talk a walk, enjoy the beauty and relax - and at times this may not always be free. There's the toll on the Suncoast Parkway and then the toll to get in the park and the cost of a cold drink and snack. So it's not always free. Life is tuff.

What do I want to be free from? Taxes, the high price of gas, turbulent teenagers and a dog that pees on the floor. I do love the dog.

Will free make me happy? No bills to pay, no charge for overdraft or going over the minutes on our cell phone plan and being totally ripped off. Does free mean I don't have to go to work today?

Does free mean happiness and peace of mind or a good nights' sleep? Even a good nights' sleep will cost you. You need a comfy bed, soft Egyptian cotton sheets, a memory foam pillow and silky pj's.
"Free as a bird.' Perhaps if you're not locked up in a cage in someones garage or at a zoo. And a bird during hunting season. Oh no.
Free is a state of mind - a place to go where we can imagine and create fantasies and reality, find a parking spot near the front entrance of the mall on a rainy day or use the spell checker.
Free is living life with a passion, stepping in mud puddles, crying over spilt milk and missing the hubby.

And then the rain

I'm still home fending for myself and the kid while hubby is off having a time of his life. I've been doing okay up until last night or to be more precise 1 - am this morning. The pool level has been quite high due to the daily afternoon rain showers. Hubby discussed what I needed to do if the pool needed bailing. I was off in lala land paying him no mind - as usual. The pool never overflowed not even during a hurricane. Never say never!!!!
The biggest problem during rainy season is the pool is attached to the house and covered by a screened in bird cage. There is about a three inch height difference from the pool decking to my bedroom floor. The rain outdid the 'raining cats and dogs' comment. It was raining elephants and hippos.
I turned on the outside light to get a peek of the rain and the lightening and then I noticed the water level in the pool. OMG - it was cresting. I ran outside in the cotton nightie and dragged a 2 gallon empty pail and started bailing water out away from the house. My progress was fruitless.
I ran back inside searching for a flash light. Found it - dead batteries. I unlocked the side gate and looked for the hose. Why didn't I pay attention to the old man? He said the hose, turn the nozzle and then can't quite remember. I stuck my face by the end of the hose, raining was plastering huge pellets against my cotton nightie. I looked up at the street light and then across the street. Looks like the neighbors were all snug in their beds -where I should be. The rain beat down so hard I could barely see.
I sloshed back toward the pump and opened the metal door. It creaked and raised the hair on the back of my neck. It was an electrical box and here I stand in 6 inches of water. That combination can't be good for my health. I sucked on the end of the hose thinking it needed to be primed. Not only did it taste nasty it still wasn't pumping our water.
Got to call hubby and tell him my dilemma. Hopefully he won't lecture me. That's what he gets for leaving me all alone with the kid to fend for myself. Ah, yes, the kid, perhaps he will rescue me.
I run inside dripping wet and take the corner a little too fast - down I go on the ceramic tile floor. Ouch. I crawl on the floor and bang on his bedroom door.
"What."
I need help with the pool it's overflowing, get up and help me.
"I'm tired."
Not a good thing to say to me in my condition. After a few words - mostly mine he trudges outside with me.
"It's raining. I'll go get an umbrella."
Like we don't have time to get an umbrella, I think to myself. I drag him outside in the monsoon rain to the electric box and tell him he needs to push the switch to the left. I say this with a smirk as we are both standing in ankle high water. He gives me that look, so I flip the switch and don't die.
I grab the hose and watch as water flows out the end. The kid disappears into the darkness. I stand beneath the street light feeling a little like a drowned rat. I slosh back through the water in the yard and hope I don't see a snake.
I toss my wet clothes in the shower and put on a dry silky nightie. I climb back into bed and listen to the rain beat ferociously against the pool deck and cringe when I hear the thunder. The lightening sends me under the covers. Some time during the early morning hours I drift into dreamland that somehow becomes a nightmare.
When the sun splashes across the side yard I roll over and look at the pool level. Oops. I should have turned off the pump a little sooner. A pessimist would say the pool is half empty while the optimist like myself would say - oh shit.

The Other White Meat

There is a first time for everything. First love, first kiss, first fantasy, first puff of a cigarette, first drink underage and first taste of an exotic food. For me exotic is never RAW or moving - it's usually identifiable.

So my friend and I are sitting at this seaside bar - being left alone by our spouses who are off somewhere having the time of their lives. Drowning our sorrows seemed like the right thing to do. Not drowning in the gulf but over sweet girlie drinks in a loud tropical bar on the beach.

Walk in wet and sandy, shirtless and barefoot and not cruel eye will turn your way. It's beach time in paradise. Music and chatter share the air space with mosquito's and tacky Christmas lights blowing in the breeze by the bay. It wasn't a bay I just like the sound of that phrase.

So over Margaritas and Bahama Mommas I do the deed. My first time. First times should be memorable and this one was. Sitting on a hard uncomfortable bench - having a good time with a friend - enjoying the sounds the surf and the total ambiance of the bar by the bay - I ate a 'gator bite'. Tasted like chicken not at all like those leather spiffy gator shoes I have seen people strut around in. I dipped him in a little honey mustard sauce and he went down like a punched drunk. I washed him down a little further with a heavy gulp of my frozen raspberry Margarita.

Crayola Crayons

Okay, so, I'm not the brightest crayon in the box. I know. I admit that fact freely. Soft colors are soothing, calming and lower the stress level. I'm proud to be a pastel color. Who wants to be called hot lips pink? Or ruby-red, tequila turquoise or school bus yellow. I'll take taupe (tope) any day.

So hubby is away and has left me to fend for myself. Such a scary thought. I do not do well all alone. Summer in Florida can be hot, humid and more hot and humid. I wish we were snowbirds.

Usually we tuff it out and never turn on the central air. Why have it? Came with the house. When the heat turns us to mush we jump in the pool that is at a whopping 90 degrees. That's a real cooler-offer.

So - when the cats' away the mice come out and play. Actually if a mouse came out I would scream like a sissy girl and stand on a stool. While the cat makes a mad dash under the bed.

It was hot as Africa inside the house. Me - being all alone I'm thinking a dip in the pool is not a good choice. I could get a cramp and drown or stub my toe.

So I opted for turning on the central air. AAAHHHHH, it was like heaven. Not that I really know what heaven is like. I fall asleep with the cool air swirling around my bed. I wake up with a little chill and pull the blanket over me and drift back to dreamland. Hours or perhaps seconds later when frostbite was setting in I jumped out of bed - in the dark - and rushed to that thingy box on the wall and flipped the switch. Back to bed and sweet dreams. By and by I kick off the fleece coverlet, then, the Egyptian cotton 600 thread count sheet. I'm dripping bullets of perspiration.

I trudge out to the kitchen sneaking around in the dark trying to make coffee. I'm standing next to the counter adding creamer (low fat) to my coffee and I feel this blast of hot air from the ceiling. On the third hour she created light by turning on the light switch. I walk over to that thingy on the wall - can't see a thing without the specks.

Search like a mad hatter for the glasses. Alice was so lucky to attend that tea party. I find the specs under yesterdays newspaper. And walk right up to that thing on the wall. I inspect it. The button on the right says AIR and the button on the left says HEAT and in the middle is OFF. Which way did I have it?

I will not disclose this episode to hubby when he returns. Something will have to be done about the electric bill - that will give me away for sure.

Screw You

My life is ever changing and it frustrates me and inspires me - simultaneously. I used to be an early riser mostly due to the fact that my bedtime was 8 pm. Now, I lie in bed counting the puffs of the popcorn ceiling paint (that I detest) it seems better than counting sheep. I just can't seem to picture sheep in my mind but - oh - that popcorn ceiling paint is in my face.

When that doesn't work I do a few laps in the pool and then back inside counting the puffs on my ceiling - and this is difficult in the dark. Still, eyes wide open, sleep is on the other side of the planet. I slide out of bed and head for the computer. I play free cell till I am ready to barf, surf the net and do online surveys. Then, back to the bedroom to stare at the ceiling.

So when the great yellow orb rises in the East - I'm out like the trash. No time for coffee. I slip on a dress and search for panty hose. None. I'm late so I swoosh out the door bare legged and hairy. The dress is rather long so I feel a little safe from prying eyes. Like -who will look at my legs anyways!!!!!!

So, I get to court and drop my stuff in the grey plastic bin to make sure I'm not smuggling in weapons of mass destruction's. The metal detector goes off. I sigh, a little too loud. I pat my chest looking for my name tag with a 1/4 ounce of metal. I have left my name tag somewhere?

I pass through the detector again, walking the straight line that they insist upon. What is this a sobriety test? Off goes that dang (I prefer another word) buzzer. People behind me are getting antsy. Must be they are running late also. The security guard tells me to remove my shoes.

"WHAT?" This is not an airport.

I remove my shoes and there I stand barefooted, bare legged and a bit hairy. I can just imagine the odor my shoes are emitting. Serves them right for making me take my shoes off. Yuck, the floor is cold and dirty. And there I stand for the whole world to gawk at me. I grab my shoes and run barefoot down the hall to the elevator. I am so late again.

I stand inside the crowded elevator (the slow elevator) with shoes in hand, looking a bit disheveled. It bumps slowly to my floor and I slip out and put on my shoes. Why did I wait? Must be sleep deprived. If only my previous sleeping habits would return - life might be easier for me.

Celebrate life not death

Death seems like such a bleak option. It fills us with sadness, remorse and at times anger. A black curtain of doom shadows our thoughts and actions. When one is 88 it is almost acceptable but when one leaves at 14 the acceptance level is gone with the last rainstorm. Why, is an insurmountable question? It's not fair becomes a statement of contempt.

It is so easy to fall into the dark abyss of despair and smother in frustration and guilt. If we turn the situation around it makes the finality easier to bear. Death is done, gone and end with no return. The light at the end of the tunnel is out. The pulsating heart that moved without notice has turn rock solid. Tears are the spillway to tomorrow.

So, I proposed to this sad young lady the idea of celebrating his life as opposed to permanently grieving over his absence. We toasted him with semi cold diet cream soda in a can. We said - "cheers" as we clicked our cans high in the air and laughed at the way he made her smile. We celebrated his loving personality and how he touched her life with happiness and laughter. We remembered all the good and fun stuff they did together. I helped her bring him back to life within her heart and soul. We concluded the ceremony over mcmuffins, one of his favorite foods. We surrounded ourselves with pleasant memories and fun times they shared as friends. She is learning to savor their friendship and his impact on her life. Death was his option at such a tender age but she can now hold a piece of his goodness inside herself. She can celebrate his life and not be pulled down into the despair of his ending. Death is permanent but love is eternal.

Sunday Rose

A rose by any other name is not a rose. What's in a name? What tragedy do we lay upon our offspring?
My niece's baby was born in August and she named her September. Questions came to my mind. My sister was born in December and her middle name is May.
A co worker's first born daughter was born in April and she named her Jennifer. Her second daughter was born in January and she named her April. I once met a man and his name was August, he was born in June. I called him June. I went to school with two young ladies (not related) and their names were May Flowers and April Showers. Now we have an earthy element added to a calendar element. Add an Apple and we satisfy our hunger.
And some of us remember Tuesday Weld and Sergeant Friday, their television programs were on Saturday.
I'm wondering if Nicole Kidman's daughter was born on Monday in a rose garden? I wonder if Keith Urban will sing to his daughter the song 'Calendar Girl'? My mind wanders and wonders more than 7 days a week and twelve months a year. I have named none of my children or pets after days, months or fruit.

The Secret

"What you resist persists." Carl Jung



"Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life's coming attractions." Albert Einstein



"The daily practice of gratitude is one of the conduits by which your wealth will come to you." Wallace Walter



"All that we are is a result of what we have thought." Buddha



"Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase. Just take the first step." Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.



From the book of The Secret by Rhonda Byrne.

Porch People

You know who they are, probably have seen a few and perhaps know one or two. They're not really busy bodies but people who enjoy the world as it passes them by. They wave and smile as you pass by on your way to somewhere or nowhere. They hold the appearance of a contented life with no troubles or worries. Funny thing is we all have troubles and worries. Life is difficult and wonderful.

I used to be a porch person when I lived in the country. I had my comfy wooden rocking chair: it now sits in my outdoor living area and it holds a pot of flowers. It's rotting away from the toil of time, weather and age. I painted it pink. I would sit and watch the grass grow. I was also a back porch person - a place to reflect, meditate and dream. I would watch the birds and the clouds drift by. I would dream of traveling to exotic places and experiencing wild crazy fun.

To be or not to be - a porch person - that is the question? It's not really a question but a state of mind. I don't see as many porch people in the burbs of Florida. It's either too hot or they have gone to the beach. In my area we have the - garage people, similar to porch people. They watch the world fly by from their garage. Whatever? If it makes you happy - go for it.

I don't have a front porch and the garage is not to pleasing to me so I have become a lanai person. I sit there in the morning as the sun creeps over the horizon sipping my coffee and imagine the possibilities. Life is good.

What reminds me of porch people is the huge front porch of Cracker Barrel overflowing with rocking chairs just begging you to sit a spell and watch the world in peace.

Crocs Shoe Fetish

Something stinks in the rose garden. I can feel the vibes. I try to be an organized individual. When I take off my glasses they are always put in the same place. Scissors go in the scissors drawer, car keys are hung by the front door and my house shoes (Crocs skutes) are always left right next to my bed. Today, they were no where to be found. I smell a rat or a Crocs thief.

Hubby refuses to even look at Crocs, http://www.crocs.com/, when we go to the shoe store for my shoe fix. He says they are not a manly shoe. What does he know, he's not a shoe connoisseur. He has two pairs of shoes compared to my 22 (okay 50) pairs.

I tell him how comfy and versatile they are but he will not budge from that perch of denial. I point out other manly looking men who wear Crocs but still he resists. When we go walking on the beach me with my Crocs - I walk in the water (definitely not on the water) breeze through the crushed shells and climb mountains. All with Crocs hugging my happy feet. Last week he cut his foot on a seashell because he was shoeless. His leather Kino sandals are not water proof. http://www.fsicatalog.com/kwsf/default.aspx Kino sandals are one of my favorites but they are not waterproof. This terrific footwear is made on the back streets of Key West right before your eyes.

Back to the issue that something smells pungent. My Crocs were not in their normal position. They were missing. I faulted myself for not leaving them in their normal resting spot. I searched all the places I may have left them. Nothing! Gone like the rain. I'm a mad woman with lost shoes on her mind. Yes, I could always buy another pair but these were my favorite. And they are gone.

And then, I saw them, and him. The old fart had on my Crocs. He who would not be caught in public with any type of Crocs was strolling around the yard in MY Crocs. I yelled and demanded MY Crocs back and half-heartily he returned them. I felt rather happy that he had come over to my side but annoyed that he would not purchase his own. I went about my business and a few minutes later he comes walking by with another pair of my Crocs on (I have many). Now that's just plain wrong. Off we go to the store to purchase his own pair of Crocs. and feet off of mine.