Laughing Gas!

I just spent 2 hours at the dentist on laughing gas and in my head wrote the most hilarious post ever.  Unfortunately, I can't remember a dad gum bit of it!

What were they thinking?????

You ever just scratch your head and think "What were they thinking?"  Let me set the stage for you.  It is 3 year old precious little Jocelyn's birthday.  Jocelyn, like your normal three year old wants to be a princess.  Enter a large clubhouse, lots of decorations, about 100 guests, a three tiered princess cake and beautifully set tables.  Jocelyn is so excited she is asking all day, "when does the party start mama, when does the party start daddy?"  OK, your with me up to this point right?  Here's where things get a little crazy and a whole lot of unsouthern-like {Is that a word?} Oh well, you know what I mean.  All us southern women know how to throw a great party.  We have the gracious party chromosome.  {They haven't exactly identified it yet, but I am sure they are getting close!} We love to entertain and to gather a wonderful assortment of lovely friends.  A southern girl will have the best food, wonderful atmosphere, clean house and even candles lit and music playing in the back ground for the perfect time.  She'll also greet her guests at the door looking like she hasn't done a thing all day but go to the spa and have her nails done.  She looks forward to serving and welcoming each of her guests.  This party is for them.  She wants them to leave relaxed and full of contentment after a wonderful evening of fellowship and celebration.  Am I right here?  OK, back to our story.  The party is for Jocelyn's birthday right?  IT'S ALL ABOUT JOCELYN!  Mom and dad are there to celebrate sweet little Jocelyn's big day.  Here is where we start to blend a recipe for disaster.  In comes mama's boyfriend--yep that's what I said mama's boyfriend!  To this lovely little mixture we're gonna add enough liquor to have supplied the entire country during prohibition!  {It's looking like quite the evening right?}  For some reason that I just can't for the life of me figure out, the daddy and the boyfriend get into it.  A fight starts that includes all of the 99 proof guests and a beer bottle throwing contest. Seven police departments {yea, that's right 7 police departments} have to be called in and hospital ambulances arrive to take 5 to the hospital where one requires surgery {probably the boyfriend as the father has tried to remove his right eyeball with the broken part of a Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill bottle.}  I saw pictures of the "clubhouse" after the party on TV.  World War III took place in there!  All I have to say is that we can all breathe a collective sigh of relief that this little "social event of the season" took place in the great state of Ohio.  I'd like to get a hold on a couple of parents and a boyfriend!  I'd also like to get my hands on a group of guests.  Lastly,  I'd like to get my hands on little Jocelyn--my arms that is-- around her as tight and loving as I could, and tell her I am so sorry that she showed more sense and better manners than her guests and her parents.  At the end of the party, the camera pans around the room showing drink, food, trash, broken bottles, blood, and finally a pretty pink 3 tiered princess birthday cake that wasn't even touched!  Need I say more?

Lucy goes camping!

I've blogged about camping before.  I hate it!  My idea of roughing it is an old Holiday Inn.  But Labor Day falls around my sweet husband's birthday--Sept. 5th so I go to make him happy {or wait, I may be making him miserable!}  Anyway, we went to Smith Mountain Lake in Roanoke, Virginia.  I feel when I am being tortured that something fun should be thrown in for good measure!  So, we were camping!  I had to "have me some Stein-Mart!  My son-in-law very patiently puts in the info of Stein-Mart into his GPS which he swears by, and I hate because it is a piece of technology which means that I am doomed before I start!  I set out going down the road.  Everything is going fine.  IN 4 TENTHS OF A MILE, TURN RIGHT ON CROWLEY GAP ROAD.  I turn and find myself on a one lane country road that is at least black-topped.  I think that this road must never be used or it would at least have 2 lanes. Another 1/2 mile down the road it is no longer black topped but gravel.  Another quarter of a mile it begins going straight up.  Within 100 yards, it is not only going straight up but has 1 1/2 foot washed out trenches.  Because I am as determined to get to Stein-Mart as an ugly old maid is to get down the wedding aisle, I keep going.  All of a sudden the van will not climb the hill.  It is too steep.  I start to back up a little to get a running start so to speak and the van begins to slide down the mountain sideways.  I put on the break just as the rear end of my vehicle starts to slam into the 12 foot sides of the mountain.  I try to go forward again and start spinning.  Here I am stuck side ways on a God forsaken excuse for a road with nothing and no one anywhere.  I put on my emergency break to steady the van on the side of the hill, promptly open the driver's door and fall into a 1 1/2  foot hole.  As I am scrambling out, I look down at my very impractical little black and white strapped sandals on my feet.  My husband always says that I should wear more practical shoes.  Well, they were VERY practical for going to Stein-Mart, as I had no intention at the beginning of my day of climbing Mt. Everest!  I think for a split second that I will once and for all buy some practical shoes!  Thank goodness I return to my senses within a short period of time and decide not to go to extremes or anything just because I got caught out on a mountainside in a cute little pair of shoes with kitten heels!  I call our oldest daughter on the cell phone as my mind has gone blank and I can't remember my husbands new cell phone number.  She says she will call the guys and then after learning my location, she and her friend set out to find me also.  I decide to do what any other woman that has found herself in this very scary situation would do.  I go and find a place to hide in the woods.  I go over the side of the cliff and sit quietly in an area where I can't be seen from the road.  I am imagining that every pervert on the east coast got up that morning and decided to hike Crowley Gap Mountain!  As I am sitting there, I see the heel of a shoe sticking out of the side of the mountain.  I check to see if there is a bone in it!  I suppose that is what happened to the last nut that came up this road!  Shortly, I hear a truck, but I know that the guys haven't had time to get to me yet.  I sit there still as can be as a large truck stops, turns off the engine and I hear 2 or 3 male voices outside of the vehicle talking about how are they going to get out of here when the road is one lane and they can't back their truck up the mountain backwards.  I begin to tremble and shake.  The cell phone rings.  It is Ben saying they are almost there.  I whisper to him that there are men there, and I am hiding from them.  My husband tells me that they are probably there to help me.  No thanks, I will wait on someone I know and not the local Deliverance movie characters.  The phone rings again.  It's my daughter.  They are almost to me but stranded on the mountain and can't get any further.  I whisper, "please don't call me again.  I am hiding from some men and they will hear the phone ring."  Just then one of the men begins to walk toward me up the mountain.  I know that he can't see me unless he comes over the hillside of the road.  He's getting closer and closer and closer.  My heart is beating faster, and faster, and faster!  I turn around to look up and there he stands.  "Ma'am, are you alright?" "Yeah" I say.  "What are you doing ma'am?"  "I'm hiding."  "Who are you hiding from ma'am?"  "You" I say.  "Me! I'm just a best buy deliveryman, ma'am.  I wouldn't hurt a fly!"  I say I'm sorry.  I guess I watch too much CSI on television.  "Here, let me help you out of that hole ma'am."  As he is helping me climb out, we hear a truck.  "Someones coming."  "Is it a blue truck", I ask.  "Yes ma'am", he says.  "That will be my husband.  We all meet up at the sideways van on the road and all 5 men discuss how to get it down off the mountainside. The Best Buy men say that their GPS led them this way also and after a guess that the road hasn't been used in 4 years, we proceed to try to get both of our  vehicles down off the mountain. With much guidance, Ben is able to back my van down and then the delivery truck proceeds on down the rest of the way.  Ben has to get back to a job site in my van, so he has my son-in-law and his best friend John take me into town to the girls who have now been informed that I am safe and sound and have not been molested by any backwoods crazy man!  My family thinks this is all so freaking hilarious!  My son-in-law points out several items of note about the situation.  #1 He says never be afraid of men wearing "GEEK SQUAD" tee-shirts! I say everyone knows that perverts hide behind geek squad tee-shirts! #2  If a GPS tells you to go on a gravel road, something is wrong and you should go back! {Now that would have been a handy little piece of info to have BEFORE I started out.}  As we are going into town, we pass a large sign on the side of the road that says "Caution, Do not trust GPS in this area."  Another nice little piece of info to have had BEFORE I started out.  When we get to where the girls are located, my daughter meets me at the door with, "Well Lucy Ricardo, I hear you've been on another adventure!"  Everyone is laughing hysterically. I can't believe that my family is having so much fun out of this!  I am told that at my fist phone call, my 3 year old grandson Corben sighed and said, "Come on, let's go rescue Mimi" as if this is a 3 times a week occurrence.  It takes me 2 days of constant teasing by my family to get over my "terrifying"  experience.  I try to explain to the kids that I haven't been that scared since 1973 when I talked a friend of mine into picking up a hitch hiker in Little Rock, AR.  They ask me if I have learned a lesson about going shopping when I am suppose to be camping.  Yes, I say.  Never trust a GPS--get your directions to the local Stein-Mart from an old fashioned map!

The Most Interesting Dull Man in the World!

I  love my husband.  I mean I LOVE my husband!  But to be honest with you, I call him the most interesting dull person that I have ever met.  His problem is with clothes and here are some examples.  I personally, like a lot of other wives, buy clothes for my husband.  I try to dress him nicely, professionally, and attractively.  His only thoughts on dressing are that the clothes must be khaki and comfortable. His idea of an outfit is Khakis and an old shirt.  In the late 1980's, I bought him an outfit for golfing of pale gray pants. and a pale gray and white striped golf shirt.  It was very smart looking. He said it was "flashy."  If they aren't khakis, they're flashy!  Recently the kids and I were looking over pictures from their childhood and we found one of him swinging the kids on the swing set.  The picture was 20 years old and the girls both said, "Oh my gosh dad, you still wear that shirt!" The girls went into his closet, grabbed up a lot of old stuff, brought it to me and said to give these to Goodwill {if they will take them} before their father knew what was going on. I thanked them because I had wanted to do that forever but hadn't had the heart to get rid of his favorite old clothes! I secretly wonder sometimes since I like clothes so much if people don't think that the reason he wears old stuff is that I spend all the money on my clothes.  When we go out we usually look like a dolled up drag queen on a date with an almost homeless person! You can guess who is who.  It's not that I don't buy him clothes!  I buy him things often, but they set in his closet if they aren't {you know what's coming--khakis--and his favorite "old" shirts.}  Once out of desperation once, I told him I absolutely HAD to have some variety in my life and we MUST have a little color and style in his wardrobe! Because I had said "variety in my life" he began to tease me about wanting another man, so he agreed to go shopping. I suggested conservatively {knowing his aversion to color} that we really go off the deep end and get him some navy blue Dockers!  You would have thought I was suggesting he live the remainder of his life in an underground 4x6 dirt hole!  Once when we were dating, we went to his house around 4:00 in the afternoon.  His mother was at the stove with pots on three burners cooking away.  He said, "Mom, I think I would like some golf shirts."  I kid you not, that woman turned off the burners on the stove, grabbed her purse, and said "Let's go!" She bought him 11 golf shirts that day. I marvelled at this!  I could only imagine walking into my mother's kitchen while she was preparing supper {or any other time for that matter}and casually mentioning that I would like some new shirts.  My mother wouldn't talk like this, but what comes to mind is our friend down the street when we were growing up.  Whenever she wanted something and she asked her mother for it, the reply was "people in Hell want ice water!"  It was absolutely beyond my comprehension a woman stopping what she was doing in the middle of supper and saying "Let's go!"  Recently, we had the two grand kids that live locally over to spend the night with Mimi and grandpa on a Friday night.  We took them out for supper, and Ben casually mentioned he needed a new sports coat for a presentation he had to  make in Denver, CO that week.  All plans for the grandchildren were put on hold and we drove straight to the department store!  Corben was saying, "Hey, why aren't we going to the park?"  Mimi said, "because your grandpa is in the mood to buy clothes and it happens about once every 5 years!"  I knew that I had to make the most of our every half decade trip, so while granddaughter Madilyn pulled 35 ties off the rack, I was pushing her around picking up one thing after another and asking Ben, "Do you like this?"  If he said yes, it was in the cart!  When we left the store we had his sports coat, shirts, a tie, 2 new pairs of shoes, and guess what--Hallelujah--navy Dockers! We're really living on the wild side now! I was so excited that you would have thought I had won a trip around the world! Noone could have known that navy Dockers would make my heart race so fast!  I was positively giddy.  As we carried our packages across the parking lot, I burst out laughing!  Ben, Corben, and Madi looked at me as if I had lost my mind!  {This happens with great frequency.}  Ben said, "What are you laughing about?"  I told him that I just had a thought of my dear, sweet mother-in-law in Heaven looking down with laughter and a high-five that I had managed to get her son into a department store and not only bought him what he wanted, but wound up getting him to buy even more!  She would have loved it!  Ben laughed too and said I had a point there.  I no longer marvel at a woman turning off the burners on the stove and leaving right then and there before he has had a chance to change his mind!

The Bad End of the Gene Pool!

Apparently God either has a sense of humor or He was on his coffee break and mischievous angels were at work during my sister and my conception and development.  Unto my parents were born 2 daughters-both of us southern-Praise the Lord!  Now here in lies the problem.  She got all of the good genes!  Don't you think that it is only fair that the good genes should be split perfectly even between children?  I do but then of course I have always been in the pothole of the gene pool!  For example--my sister tans beautifully.  I freckle and at my age gather spots.  I am hoping one day I will get so many that they will turn into a tan!  My sister could always eat anything she wanted and never gain weight; I on the other hand gained 3 lbs. by biting my fingernails!  Thank goodness I haven't bit my nails since 5th grade or when I die they would just have to burn the house down.  In high school, we were about the same weight.  Once we weighed at the same time and she was 97 lbs and I was 98 lbs.  Guess what!  She wore size 0 jeans and I wore a size 7---I think that they call them birthing hips!  {Wrong again-I had to have c-sections and Paula popped them out like guppies!} Paula was athletic.  She could do anything including gymnastics worthy of the Olympics.  I had to put in so much effort on not falling on my face just to walk across the room that I never even learned how to turn a cart-wheel!  Now on to hair.  Ever Southern woman knows how important HAIR is.  The farther down south you go the bigger the hair gets!  Us southern women love big hair.  The bigger the hair the closer to God!  For a southern gal to be born with stringy fine hair why that is just as bad as being born with an extra eye in the middle of your forehead!  Worse--modern day surgery can get rid of that weird eyeball thing going on there but they have yet to give a women with yuck hair a glorious mane that is full and thick, has a little natural wave, and lots of body. { Again I have sometimes in my life had lots of body but it has never been with my hair.}  Because the good gene scales were so far swung in my sisters favor, I often teased her when we were teenagers.  She had my mothers perfect hair and I had my dad's side of the family's "what shall we do with this mess this morning" hair.  The only consolation to me was that my mother's family were all prematurely gray.  I would tell her that she might have the great hair but that she would be gray by the time she was thirty, and I would finally get my due and have hardly a gray hair on my sparse little head when I was 90 years old.  I know, you already know where I am going with this.  You guessed it.  I took my hair texture or lack of it from my dad but got the premature gray gene from my mother.  Yeap, Paula still has that gorgeous head of hair without a gray one in it.  I have been a great supporter of Loreal 6G for 30 years!  During my complaints occasionally at this great injustice, my friends or family would say "but your sweet."  Sweet---Sweet----SWEET!!!!!!!!  I'd rather be tan, thin, athletic and have a great head of hair!!!

Southern Sass-Confessions of a Menopausal Woman!: Three Divas!

Southern Sass-Confessions of a Menopausal Woman!: Three Divas!

Three Divas!

Our grand-daughter Rosie spent last week with us while her parents returned to Knoxville.  Rosie's mom-Megan is my anti-southern belle daughter.  Daughter Jenny and I are so southern we have sweet tea running through our veins instead of blood.  Megan has always been my little tomboy in a way.  I decided to make sure that little Rosie gets both sides of the coin and that I should warp her- I mean encourage her little southern belle diva so maybe she could go home and teach her mama a thing or two.  Grand-daughter number three was born a Diva just like her Mimi.  She is two and had a melt down one Saturday night because her toenails weren't painted!  While our precious Rosie who is 3 years old was here, we tried to show her a great time.  She is also going to preschool in the fall, so Mimi had to make sure that she was "hooked up" for school with a new wardrobe that had matching shoes and bows with each outfit.  The following is one night of her visit and the family's fun which also includes grandpa Ben and Diva #3's brother!  After this the above divas are simply referred to as divas #1,2 and 3!  We went to the mall to eat and after diva #1 got food for diva #2 and #3 she went power shopping for diva #2's preschool wardrobe. Since Diva #1 loves shoes she is trying to pass down this "southern trait" to diva #2 and 3.  She bought diva #2 seven pairs of shoes!  {You know all the women in our family have that Imelda Marcos shoe thing going on.}  Diva #1 lost track of time and when she returned diva #2, #3 and diva #3's brother were in the indoor playground.  While putting their shoes back on diva #3 socked diva #2 in the nose.  Mike Tyson couldn't have done a better job.  Thank goodness she left her ears alone!  Diva #2 runs off to tell grandpa because diva #1 is getting on to diva #3.  Diva #2 keeps putting her finger up her nose and then into her mouth!  Diva #1 tells diva #2 that if she doesn't stop that she will never buy diva #2 another pair of shoes in her life!  By this time we get to the movie only to find that all the tickets are sold so diva #1 suggests plan B.  We go to the park.  We have a great time only diva #2 and diva #3 don't want to take turns on the swing.  Diva number #2 begins picking up bark mulch that is used to cushion the fall of kids on the playground and starts making a beautiful little pile on the bottom of the slide. Diva #2 is so proud of her little pile of mulch!  Diva #3 is OCD about neatness like her mother and has to clean off the slide each time diva #2 piles mulch onto the slide.  Much arguing over the mess on the slide ensues.  This continues for a good 10 minutes and reminds diva #1 and grandpa of diva #2 and #3's mothers who had the exact same personalities as diva #2 and 3 when they were children!  We stay there for about an hour and diva #2, #3 and diva #3's brother want to take a walk around the pond to see the ducks.  Diva #1's hemorrhoid is acting up and she only wants to go home and sit on a heating pad, so grandpa drives divas #1,2,and 3 and diva #3's brother around the pond to see the ducks.  We go to diva #3 and her brother's house for baths and waiting until mama and daddy of diva #3 and brother get home from the movies.  Diva #1 bathes diva #2 and  3 and the brother of diva #3, and then diva #2 and #3 begin to fight over who gets which character towel to dry off on.  Diva #3's parents return and diva #1 and #2 can finally go home with grandpa.  Diva's #1 and #2 need their beauty sleep!  What was grandpa and grandson doing through out this entire diva ordeal?  What any sweet southern man does along with a diva.  He smiles a lot,  has a great time, and carries all of the packages to the car.  Now, where is that heating pad?

Oops, I did it again!

O.K. you know that I have said before that I am a Martha Stewart wanna be that usually turns out like Lucy Ricardo.  Well for 20 years I have been trying to emulate a squash casserole dish that is served in my hometown of Magnolia, AR at a wonderful southern cooking cafeteria called Miller's.  I has been my mission.  I have literally dozens of recipe rejects that I have tried and they didn't measure up.  I occasionally return to my hometown and go to this restaurant just to make sure that I can remember the flavors and again attempt it.  By the way the last time I went, I got a meat and 2 veggies platter, both veggies were the squash casserole!  Those people in cafeterias look at you funny when you order 2 of the same vegetables.  What's the deal?  If you get 2 vegetables and I picked 2 vegetables then who cares if they are both the same!Anyway once again I digress.  This past week our daughter, son-in-law, and precious grand-daughter Rosie came for a visit.  Megan brought me some vegetables from her garden.  There was a large grouping of fresh squash so you guessed it; I am back on my mission!  I had found a new recipe that I wanted to try.  I cleaned the squash and started slicing it for cooking.  Well when I got to 2 of the veggies they looked like squash, but when I started slicing them, they smelled like cucumber!  I try to call Megan and Greg and neither are answering.  I could have sworn that she said, "I brought you squash."  I call me sweet friend Cheri who has a wonderful garden and knows everything about that kind of stuff.  I was really expecting her to say, " Lisa you're 49 years old and you can't tell the difference between a squash and a cucumber?"  But of course she was patient with me as always.  She told me that they had come out with so many new varieties of plants that even she couldn't tell me the answer by my description.  So it's time to cook and cook is what I'm going to do.  I prepare the casserole by these new directions with the wishful hope that at last after 20 years this will be THE recipe that tastes like the one at Miller's.  I serve the casserole to my hubby for dinner and we go on and on about how good it is.  At this point I am feeling quite smug with myself and thinking that I can finally erase Miller's squash casserole off of my bucket list.  My daughter THEN returns my call and informs me that half of the squash were cucumbers that looked like squash!  Now who's bright idea was that?  What brilliant vegetable studier said lets come up with a cucumber that looks just like a squash so that when all of those people who have large gardens that are overflowing take their vegetables to friends and relatives that will do something stupid with it like make a squash casserole out of cucumbers!  Oh well all is not lost.  Ben and I decided that if it tasted that fantastic with half of the squash really cucumbers then it is going to be one winner of a squash casserole recipe!

Women Talk!

Thursday before last, I had 3 friends over, and we were learning how to play Bunco. I think I caught the jest of the game but we had so much fun laughing and cutting up that we couldn't even remember half of the time who's turn it was or what number we were on.  All of us are around 50. The conversation was SO different from those conversations that we as women had in our 20's. Every conversation in my 20's was with other young mothers. We must have told the stories of our children's births a thousand times each. When, where and how our children were born. The latest cute thing they said and  their progress with potty training.  We talked about the endless spills, fevers of 103, diapers to change and the latest sale on Pampers. That Thursday I realized how we have evolved. There was NO mention of childbirth at this gathering. I'm not even sure that I remember ALL of the details of my children's births anymore. At this point I'm just glad that I remember that I gave birth to them! No, a women's conversation around 50 goes like this. They talk about their grand-children, not being able to read fine print, colonoscopy procedures, hot-flashes,  how we can't remember anything anymore, and granny panties verses bikinis. We talk about our children needing to borrow money or what I call boomerang kids. We send them out into the world only to have them come back home to live. We talk about the re-adjustments of living together again.  I can only imagine the conversations in 30 more years. We'll talk about our great-grandchildren, how we can't even remember that we were suppose to remember something in the first place, all our medications we're taking, how our children have to change OUR diapers, and the latest sale on Depends. We probably will have moved in with one of them and talk about the re-adjustments of living together again. They'll have to take us shoe shopping for the geriatric shoes that are comfortable, practical, but ugly as sin! We inevitably grow older and go through phases in our lives.  Some are more fun than others or if you're like me you just love life and everything in it-well almost everything.  No, as far as I know there are only two options to the continuing saga of life--dying or growing older and having to wear ugly shoes!   I know that I'm not ready for practical shoes yet, but at this point it sure beats the other option!

Bargains, Bargains, Bargains!

I just realized how pathetic my life is apparently.  I have always loved a good sale and get a greater satisfaction out of saving money that probably anyone on the face of the planet.  About 18 years ago, my friend Jeanna and I went to a huge sale at Dillard's in Shreveport, LA.  This was the onset of my "illness."  I looked across the vast store with all of its sale signs.  My heartrate escalated, I broke out in a sweat, and could barely utter an intellligent word.  Jeanna laughed her head off at my body's response at the mere thought of a big sale.  Since then I have continued to go down hill "illness" wise.  I literally need one of those medic warning bracelets that instead of saying DIABETIC or ALLERGY says EXTREME SHOPPER!  When we went on vacation a couple of weeks ago halfway across the U.S., I found a sale at a local store and bought a chair for my keeping room.  Ben wasn't too happy.  With all of our bags and extra stuff that we were hauling in the back of the van all the way to and from, my sweet husband had a very difficult time fitting a chair in the van with all of the other stuff.  We almost didn't get everything in the van and part of the stuff was in a second van of our daughters that she drove back.  "WHO in this world buys a chair on vacation?" Ben was not happy.  The answer is me!  It was on sale-really on sale- and the exact colors that I had been looking for for over a year.  I HAD to buy it even if I had to ride back strapped to the roof of the van in a trunk with a couple of holes cut in the side for oxygen!  I have a new favorite store in town.  It is run by the Habitat for Humanity group.  They call it a re-store.  What a fantastic idea! When you remodel or just spruce up, you donate whatever you take out of the house to the organization.  Every house that I have ever bought had at the very least light fixtures that I wanted to change out.  I have never purchased a house that I didn't do some remodeling.  Many of the houses had very modern fixtures even though the style of the house was traditional.  They had to go!  I am not modern in anyway way, shape, or form.  One house we bought was the model home and had brand new everything but the light fixtures just weren't my style.  I have been wanting a french door for my butlers pantry.  It's been open to the kitchen, but with grandchildren, now it really needed a door because of all the glass inside.  I went in a couple of weeks ago and someone had purchased a home full of European accents that they hated--wow just my style.  I almost got a gorgeous chandelier for the library but when I checked the size, it was too large.  They have everything at this store!  We went in and not only did they have a cream colored french door they had about 30 to pick from.  The price--$20.00.................................Excuse me, I just passed out from the sheer joy at the thought of it again.  As Ben pulled the car around I asked the lady if it had knobs on it as I didn't remember.  "No, but we have knobs." Over to the knob bin and there was the perfect set of brass french door curlique handles with all of the hardware..........................Sorry, I just passed out again.........The price for the whole set $2.00!  Someone had either moved into a very tranditionally styled home and wanted to change everything out or was remodeling.  Other people must hate traditional or european styling as much as I hate modern or early American.  Most of the time when I go there, someone has torn down a 200 year old farmhouse, and there is everything from old solid wood flooring, to built in corner cupboards, to antique fireplace mantels.  I got in the car and was almost delireous with excitement over my find.  Next stop Kohl's Dept. store.  I love Kohl's--they always have great sales!  Ben needed new khakis.  They were on sale 50% off.  Ralph Lauren shirts were also 50% off.  We got two of each.  When we got to the check-out, they had little rub off coupons of anywhere from 15-30% off.  I got a 30% off on top of my already sale prices and screamed so loudly I scared everyone within 15 feet.  That's when I realized that my life has become one pathetic existance where the greatest excitment I have is saving money on my shopping habit!  I am afraid my "condition" is getting worse and worse all of the time.  Like an epileptic, before long I am not going to be allowed to travel alone.  I'll need someone there to administer a pill under my tongue and smelling salts under my nose to revive me.  If it is an exceptionally big sale, they may need to dial 911!  I'll tell them to just drag me out of the aisle until I come to, but don't forget to grab whatever it was that I was looking at before I collapsed.  Got to have that bargain!

Vacation

We just returned from a 10 day vacation and I need a vacation to re-coop from the vacation!  We went to Hot Springs, AR for Ben's family reunion on Lake Hamilton.  It's a little hard to return to reality when you've been on jet skis, in swimming pools, riding in boats and eating out  the whole time.  Why can't we live in a perpetual vacation and go to reality occasionally?  It started off a little rough.  Ben got home an hour early and said that we needed to leave right then!  I explained to him that all of my favorite underthings and night clothes were in the washer and had to be dried.  When Ben is ready to go, he's ready to go!  My solution was to hang my bras, panties, and nightgowns all over the van draped over seats etc. so they could dry on the 17 hour drive.  It works very well although I will warn you that you can get a few weird looks when someone is passing you on the interstate!  Twenty minutes into the trip our grandson Corben said,"Can we turn around and go home now?"  Five miles later grand-daughter Madi throws up and an emergency stop is made on I-81.  The rest of the trip down was uneventful if you can call eating No Dose pills like M & M's,  stopping every 45 minutes to get a drink and then having to go to the bathroom because you stop every 45 minutes to get a drink!  I guess we could have done what that 44 year old woman that drove from Texas to Florida did and just wear a Depends undergarment.  We wouldn't have had to stop as often but if you're like me you'd rather wait until you can't change your diaper yourself before you want to wear one again!  Anytime one of my kids makes me mad, I just tell them that they are the one I have selected to change my  diapers in my old age!  It was a better trip than the time we took a 3ft. long ball python home to Magnolia, AR from Winchester, VA on Christmas Day in a pillow sack!  It was a present for my nephew Charlie who had accidentally cooked his snake Delilah under a heating lamp and it {the snake} wasn't holding up very well being placed in the freezer and taken out every morning to lay frozen stiff by my nephew while he bawled his eyes out over his Cheerios!  I hate snakes as I've said before but we just can't have our nephews crying every morning in their cereal over a cooked snake!  The pet store said to put him/her {how do you tell a female snake from a male snake?  That might be a future blog} into a pillow case and tie the top in a knot.  Supposedly a snake will not move around or strike at something when it can't see it.  Did I just say strike--I must have been out of my mind to have taken that boy home a snake for Christmas!  Everything was suppose to go smoothly until after said snake is bought and can't be returned {imagine that--someone wanting to get rid of a snake.} The seller tells me that the snake can't get below a certain temperature so we have to carry it into the restaurants with us instead of leaving it in the car while we eat!  For some unknown reason, none of my family wanted to have any part of this scheme so I was stuck putting the pillow case inside my coat while we ate on the trip.  We found that there are very few places open to eat at on Christmas Day and also a scary amount of gas stations that are closed. We finally found a Waffle House open in Tennessee and went inside to wait on a table.  It was snowing outside, 20 something degrees, and people were lined up out the door because of the lack of open restaurants.  I have a wicked sense of humor!  Out of the blue,  I realized that I knew how I could clear that place out quickly!  I told Ben that all I had to do was go into the ladies room, take the 3 ft long snake out of the pillow case, put the pillow case in my pocket and walk out of the bathroom holding that ball python saying, "look what I found in the bathroom!"  I didn't do it because it isn't polite to make a lot of people pee themselves, leave their food before it's eaten, or break an arm or a leg running out of a restaurant!  My mama raised me better than that. I wish that someone would have told the snake that he wasn't suppose to move inside the pillow case though.  He moved so much trying to get warm that I was afraid I  would be suspected of shoplifting when we stopped at a Stuckey's early the next morning for breakfast.  When one minute you have no 8" x 12" bulge under your coat and the next minute you do, it can look like you helped yourself to a large box of pecan rolls!  We had the best time ever in Hot Springs.  I always told my children that "family is a little bit of Heaven God let's us see on earth."  It was great seeing everyone and spending time with our kid's and grand kids.  The trip home was rough and took 22 hours of driving.  It involved 2 flat tires, leaving a trailer with 2 old jet skis in some little Podunk AR town, and a lot of fun with me and Erin buying fake stick-on moustaches out of a vending machine and wearing them in a catfish restaurant.  They say that a son will often marry someone like his mother.  Erin {my son's fiance} has the same weird sense of humor as I do, so I am afraid that there will be many more trips with lots of shenanigans in store in the future!

Things I Don't Understand!

No this isn't going to be a forever blog!  But there are some things that I just do not understand.  I don't know why that we as humans think that we have to understand something to except it at times.  We also think that if we are faced with an obstacle there must be something that can be done to help right?  So hear it goes--things that I don't understand!  #1.  Why they don't make dentures for horses.  I like horses.  I like to talk to them.  I like to pet the flat side of there face etc.  I just don't want to be on the back of one.  I was on a run-a-way horse when I was 10 years old and I made a promise to God that if he got me off that thing I wouldn't ever get on another one.  I have been tempted by others "to fall off the no horseback riding wagon" at times, but I haven't done it.  A veterinary friend of ours from church in Louisiana tried to get us to go horseback riding one Sunday afternoon.  I wasn't convinced of his argument that the horse was safe BEFORE he told me the horses name!  Pardon me, but when someone names their horse TROUBLE I am thinking I need to stay far away from it--maybe even the next county!  However, I once took my children to a farm that had a pumpkin patch in the fall and at this farm you could feed all sorts of baby animals.  The man who was our guide was riding a horse.  I asked how long horses lived out of curiosity.  His reply was "about 25 years or until they lose all of their teeth.  When they lose all of their teeth, they can no longer eat so they die."  He then proceeded to show me "old paint's mouth" and the poor horse had only about 4 teeth left inside.  Now if "old paint" only dies because he can't eat anymore then it seems to me someone should invent some false teeth for horses!  I realize that it may be a problem keeping them in his mouth, but he's a horse for goodness sake, use gorilla glue!  Then you could have one of those commercials for dentures with 2 horses eating out in the meadow and ask "which of these horses is wearing dentures?  I bet you can't tell."  I see those commercials about people all the time and if they would stay in a horses mouth when he can't fix his teeth himself, then if I had dentures I would certainly want to buy the brand that works for horses over the brand that just works for people!  #2.  Why they make packages of buns in lots of 8 and wienies come in packages of 10!  This is just plain stupid!  If I have a big cook-out, I have to actually do some math work in the grocery aisle on how to make the buns and wieners come out right at the end.  I like Math but it has never liked me.  I am telling you that life is too short to be worrying about your buns and wienies coming out right!  How many women have probably laid on their death beds and thought "I wish I had back all the time I wasted on trying to get buns and wienies to be even!  #3  Why my husband can't name one piece of clothing that I own to save his life, yet if I walk out of the room with a new outfit on he pounces on me like the Republicans on the Democrats over the national deficit!  If he doesn't know what I have, then how does he know when something is new!  He can smell a shopping trip better than a bloodhound on the trial of a convict!  #4.  Why if beauty is only skin deep that my wrinkles go clear to the bone!  In fact everything on my body apparently is trying to prove to this world on its very own that GRAVITY is alive and well in our universe.  No wonder old people stay in bed so much.  They are just exhausted from carrying around all that dragging flesh!  Things I don't understand #5 {you can relax, it's almost over!}  Why there are MEAN people in this world.  I'm not talking hormonal, crazy, irritable or just got up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.  I'm talking MEAN! MEAN,MEAN, MEAN!  If Hester had to wear a scarlet letter on her breast for adultery in Puritan times, why can't we make mean people tattoo ORNERY or CANTANKEROUS on their forehead these days so the rest of us don't have to guess when we first meet someone if they are a STINKER or not.  If they are bald and exceptionally bad they should have to tattoo all three phrases just because they have room!  One of the first things a Southern woman teaches her babies is to "treat others as you won't to be treated."  I know that there are folks out there who didn't learn this lesson as a child.  Anyone who does something intentionally to someone else that he wouldn't want done to himself  fits in the mean category.  That is why I am a member of the website "Why test out products on animals when our high security prisons are full!"  Uh oh, since I condone the use of product testing on criminals, and I wouldn't want it done to myself, I guess that makes me mean.  Gotta work on that!

Organization!

Things are not always as they appear.  Take my home for instance.  I can't stand clutter so someone might enter my home thinking that I am a very organized person.  They would be highly mistaken! In fact when the kids were growing up all I had to do was just say I was going to get organized and my entire family would fall out in the floor laughing. It isn't that I haven't tried to be organized.  I have spent a great deal of my adult life checking out organization books from the library, making files, and having datebooks with appointments written down all neat and tidy.  More time has been spent however trying to find the library book on getting organized that I lost, forgetting my file system, and randomly marking info down on scratch pieces of paper instead of my datebook only to later say, "What is this piece of paper for?  I don't know.  I'll just trash it."  The worst problem I have with this is when the phone rings and I need to take a message.  Whatever is close by is what I write the info on.  Sometimes it's my palm and I forget that I have written on it until after I have washed my hands.  Other times it's the back of a magazine or on one of the pieces of mail that came that day.  Have you ever been called by some super efficient local government employee and asked if you needed the phone number marked real important on your part of the return payment stub? "Is there a name with that number ma'am?" There isn't because that would require me being too organized, so I just tell her no politely as I don't remember who the person was that called and left the real important number!  It has then become just useless scratching on a piece of paper like all the other useless scratchings that I have in my drawer under the phone.  I have a file system.  I got some of the prettiest little files that you have ever seen and have them all marked with pretty colored tabs in beautiful script handwriting.  Here's the problem with my filing system.  Ben-"Honey have you seen Benjamin's immunization records?"  Me-"Yeah, there in my file system."  Ben-"What do you think you filed it under?" Me-"B for Benjamin."  Ben-"It's not in the B's.  Where else could it be?"  Me-"Try the I's for Immunization."  Ben-"It's not in the I's." Me-"Try R for Records."  Ben- "It's not in the R's!" Me-"I bet I put it in the S's for shots."  Ben-"It's not in the S's!!!"  Me-"I'll come find it"  After I have torn up the entire file drawer, I find it in the K's---for KEEP {IMPORTANT.} My husband does not approve of my filing system!  He is one of those people that is so organized that he makes lists of lists to make!  I worked for him for awhile at his office.  He fired me once a week.  That wouldn't have been too bad except that I only worked for him once a week!  After this went on for about 3 months I decided that it might be better to let our daughter that is just like her dad work for him.  Apparently I'm not the only one in this world that thinks that my brain is logical although no one else does.  My sister is a nurse in Arkansas.  She was with Hospice and each nurse had their own cases that they handled.  "Renee" one of the other girls had to go on medical leave and the other nurses doled out her patients among each other.  They needed to go see Mr. Whatchamacallit and couldn't find his file.  After they spent 20 minutes all trying to guess what letter Renee could have filed it under they finally called her at home to ask her where the file was.  Renee said for them to check the F's.  My sister said, "Neither his first nor last name starts with an F so why would you file him in the F's? Renee said,"When I look at him I think that his eyes look like fishes so it's F for fish eyes!"  From that point on when they needed something in Renee's files they just called her up and asked her where it was.  There is just no use in trying to figure out someone like me and Renee's file system unless of course you think to look first in the last place on earth that you would look and if you looked there first then it wouldn't be the last place you would look then would it?  I mentioned at church one day that I woke up in a different world everyday.  A friend said, "That must be a lot of fun for you!"  I answered, "Yeah, but it's not so fun for those that live with me!  Just to show you how sweet my little hubby is instead of getting mad at my constant "blond moments" he just laughs and says that being married to me has NEVER been boring!

Dumb Blondes!

I hate to say it but I have always been a dumb blond even before they were called that.  Today I had another blond moment.  My husband sent me to Tire Outfitters to have 4 new tires put on the van before we go on vacation.  We had ordered them at the same time our daughter and son-in-law ordered theirs.  I went into the place and told them that I had talked to them yesterday and they told me to come in this morning.  I gave them my name and they couldn't find it in the computer.  I mentioned ours were ordered with the Lynch's.  They checked the special orders and found nothing.  I mentioned that the Lynch's had theirs put on yesterday because I babysat the grandchildren during the time they were being done.  He checked the computer again and the special order book-nothing.  He called in 3 different sales people and asked if they had heard the name Montgomery.  They all said no.  When checking into the purchase orders they began to complain and scream about some Joe's handwriting and that they were probably  looking right at the order and couldn't read his writing.  A crowd of employees starts to gather and try to decipher Joe's handwriting.  "Could this possibly be it?" " I don't think so.  That doesn't have enough letters  in it to be Montgomery!"  Just as they are calling poor ole Joe and his "chicken scratching self" into the lobby "to let him have it about his handwriting"  I say something like "I'm sure my husband said Tire Outfitters."  "Tire Outfitters?  This isn't Tire Outfitters this is Tire Distributors!"  So then I have to further embarrass myself by asking that they tell me how to get to Tire Outfitter's.  I hope poor Joe didn't get it.  They were pretty hot under the collar when I left. By the way, while I was having my tires put on at TIRE OUTFITTERS, I was reading a women's magazine that was celebrating 125 years.  They had an old article from the 1800's about a special corset designed for "Fleshy Ladies."  So that's what they called plus size women back then.  How times have changed--from "fleshy ladies" to "all that junk in your trunk." Anyway, back to the dumb blond stuff, when I was a teenager my dad was letting me wash the car for money.  There was a new shirt I wanted downtown, and if we wanted extras we had to earn the money.  Daddy agreed to the price of the shirt only if "there wasn't one bug spot on the front of that grill!"  Bless his heart.  He probably could have had the car washed 3 times for the amount I needed for the shirt, but as I blogged before, daddy never said no when you asked something of him.  I go out and wash the car.  I scrub and scrub the whole thing until I am satisfied, but there are still spots on the grill.  "Daddy, I finished the car but there are spots on the grill that won't come off."  "Lisa, you're just going to have to use a little elbow grease."  After searching for 30 minutes in our storage building, I couldn't find one can that said Elbow Grease.  "If you want me to use Elbow Grease you're going to have to find it daddy!"  That's still my dad's favorite story about me.  One of these days when I get to Heaven I plan on asking the Lord what exactly it was that didn't develop properly in my brain when I was being formed.  By the way, I just used spell-check and found that I had misspelled blond {I had it spelled blonde} every single time in this post.  Somethings never change!

Growing up on Chestnut Street

Like many of you I have fond memories of growing up in a small town in the 1960's.  Our street that I lived on as a child was Chestnut St. in Magnolia, AR.  It was the equivalent of living at summer camp the whole year.  My dad once counted 26 kids that lived on the street!  Anytime you have that many kids you have a lot of fun.  Lacy lived down the street {or did she live at our house?}  Anyway, Lacy was always good for a laugh.  She could get anything that she wanted out of her maid named Polly.  It involved a simple plan.  We would all follow her to her house where she would be betting us all the way there that she could make Polly do anything that she wanted.  When we got there, Lacy would ask Polly for something so ridiculous that we would all snicker.  Polly would tell her there was no way she was gonna do that.  Lacy then would say, "If you don't, I'm gonna eat dog food!"  Polly would yell, "I don't care if you do eat dog food, I'm not gonna do that!"  Lacy would proceed to eat dog food and Polly would come running with what ever it was she wanted in the first place.  We would all die laughing and proceed to the yard to plan Polly's next entertainment for the neighborhood.  Little Jack was always doing something crazy!  "Little Jack had to go to the hospital again!"  This bit of info would spread from one house to the next like the flu.  "What happened this time?"  "He drank the gas out of the lawn mower with a straw!"  "Oh, I'm sure he'll be fine, he's done worse than that many times."  Stephanie lived across the street for a couple of years.  She was truly one of the prettiest little girls I ever knew.  She had some sort of medical problem though that always made her  smell like cheese!  I can't tell you how much of my adult life has been wasted trying to figure out how come she always smelled like cheese--cheddar to be exact!  If she had been rolled in pimento cheese  she couldn't have smelled more like it.  She was always clean.  She just smelled like cheese!  Even to this day after I visit my doctor sometimes I think, "Oh shoot, why didn't I ask him why Stephanie always smelled like cheese."  Every street has "the mean Man."  We actually had two.  One lived on the left side of us but we knew his name.  We also knew never to step on his grass!  The other man lived down the street {next to the cheese girl.}  I don't remember ever knowing his name.  He was just "the mean man" to all of us kids.  The Elliots lived at the other end, and they had 3 of the biggest dogs you've ever seen.  Apparently they had trained their dogs not to go to the bathroom in there own yard but to go to the neighbors.  I still to this day cannot possibly describe to you in terms that you will find believable the size of there "waste."  This act would set my mother off like no other!  On several occasions, I was sent down to their house to inform them that they were expected pronto down at our house with a shovel and a wheelbarrow "to get that cow patty"  out of our front yard!  Kids are attracted to things that shouldn't be stepped in.  If you have 3 acres with one cow patty, you can make sure that some kids playing outside are going to find that sucker and have it up to their necks within 5 minutes.  I don't know why my mother didn't just call their house and respectfully ask that they come clean up after their dog.  No, she had to send me down there embarrassed as I could be to inform them that mama wasn't happy and when mama ain't happy ain't nobody happy!  Several of us {I don't remember who all but I think that Lacy was involved} had a race once to see who could eat the most baked beans.  I won and quickly proceeded to the bathroom where I threw up whole beans up out of my nose.  Don't think that I was bulimic as a child or anything.  I was about 8 years old and I just wanted to win the race.  We had a teenager that drove the ice cream truck around the neighborhood almost everyday.  We would hear the music and all run inside to get money.  My search would always involve my father's white recliner.  Every time he sat in it his coins would spill out of his pockets and fall underneath.  My mother always wondered where I always came up with all my change.  By the time we ran back to the truck I was almost always last in line.  I don't remember this guys name but I can still see him to this day.  He had the worst case of acne that I have ever seen in my life!  Some of the kids called him "pizza face." Half the time by the time my turn came I wasn't hungry anymore and just turned around and walked off.  Why hasn't anyone ever come up with the "zit diet."  There has been every other kind of diet out there.  It's supper time right now and I just lost my appetite thinking of it!  Who needs a picture of a pig on the refrigerator--never worked for me.  But give me the ice cream man of my childhood and I could drop weight faster than the Elliot's dogs!

A visit to the Nut House!

Well it wasn't exactly a "nut house."  It WAS a big brick building full of NUTS!  I was one of said nuts.  Let me explain.  Several years ago I started having anxiety attacks out of the blue.  I went to a doctor that wasn't my regular physician and to make a long story short through a mistake on my chart I was put on a medicine for bipolar disorder.  I'm not bi-polar so this fact coupled with the fact that I had a very bad reaction to the medicine caused a severe problem.  My regular doctor said that I needed to go into the hospital for a few days as I came down off this medication.  Sounds like I was on LSD or something!  Anyway I envision myself laying in a hospital room, watching TV, reading magazines etc. while a friendly nurse occasionally stuck her head in the door and asked if I would "like some sweet tea hon."  I later found out that this is not how it is done anymore.  Because of cuts to the health care system and new regulations with insurance, everyone needing to be monitored from "bad med reactions" are all put in the same place--the nut house.  To make it short I was in there with everyone from crack addicts to those like me to bona fide no other word for it "nuts."  Now that it is over I can laugh at it--my family thought that it was freakin hilarious at the time!  Let me tell you about a typical day.  They search your bags to make sure there are no shoe laces or blow dryers {anything with cords} in case someone wants to kill themselves.  By the way I didn't when I went in there but after a couple of hours with those nuts........They came in every 15 minutes all night long and opened your door to see if you were in bed asleep.  I was in bed asleep until I was woken up every 15 minutes all night long being checked on to see if I was asleep!  Now for the cast of characters. This is the honest to goodness truth! There was the guy that thought he was a vampire.  I didn't have to deal with him much because he only came out at night.  There was the "head smeller."  This fine upstanding citizen had the social skills of Hannibal Lecter.  He went around smelling all of the women's heads then announcing, "that's a Prell head if I ever smelt one."  He was usually right!  He finally found a woman that he shouted as he sniffed her hair, "hey you use that shampoo that has the little kangaroo on it!  That's the kind my ex use to use."  I can't imagine why he has an EX!  Every once in awhile one of the nurses would yell out, "Robert, QUIT SMELLING HEADS!"  There was the woman that was faking suicidal thoughts "to teach her husband a lesson!"  Some of us normal women would sit at the round table and color pictures of Porky Pig with the words I WILL TAKE MY MEDS at the bottom of the page.  This beautiful southern woman told us that she had just retired after 25 years at her job and her husband keeps telling her that to continue to enjoy the style of living that she is accustomed to she needs to get out and get another job.  She said every time he brings it up she fakes a "I'm gonna commit suicide episode!"  She was there talking and cutting up with us and the next minute a nurse came over and asked her how she was and instantly she became "suicidal."  When the nurse left she would just laugh and say she'd teach her husband a lesson yet! Every time she got like this her doctor would put her in the hospital and it was costing her husband a fortune!  She figured he would eventually get the message that it was cheaper for her to stay retired. The worst part of this experience was that your family could only visit you for 30 minutes at night and only one at a time.  I found I actually BECOME crazy when I'm told I can't see my family when I want to see them.  Different family members would come into the main room and sit at the table with me as I pointed out my latest colored Porky Pig picture that had been hung on the wall with all the others like it was 1st grade art!  My family was getting a huge kick out of this! Thank goodness I only had to be there a day and a half! One thing I learned through this experience besides how genuinely sad mental illness can be is that there is always a bright side to everything.  I was wearing these adorable little red with white polka dot flats when I was there.  Everyone from the vampire {he probably just like the red} to the mumblers to the ones like me being observed because of a bad reaction to medication appreciates a cute pair of shoes!  Even those women that were really suicidal would come up to me and say, "those are just the cutest shoes I ever saw in my life.  My advise to you if you know someone that is going through a severe depression or having trouble emotionally is first and foremost to say a prayer for them-several prayers.  Just get down on your knees and stay there!  Then go out and buy them a really cute pair of shoes!

Scientists Think Too Much!

Women are nesters.  I really believe that God made us that way.  I've always wondered a little about a woman that doesn't like to fix up her home and have things nice for her family.  That having been said I think that scientists think too much!  In my Art History courses in college we studied cave man drawings as that is considered the first art of mankind.  There are all these theories behind the drawings.  Scientists say that was how they communicated with each other from different tribes as they spoke different languages.  They also think that they were commemorating an important event or history making episodes. Sort of like we would erect a statue at the sight of something we want to honor or remember. I think they have it all wrong.  I guarantee some cave woman was sitting around her "home" one day looking at the same old walls and decided she needed a change.  After she had her husband rearrange the rocks and leaf pallets about a hundred times and then she decided that she liked them better the way they were originally, she saw that big blank space on the wall above the rocks.  "It's just missing something; I'm not sure what."  Maybe if we had a big picture drawn on the wall that is full of life and pretty colors it would look better!"  She and her husband argued awhile over the fact that he thought the wall looked great just like it was.  Then he decided if he didn't put a picture up on the wall that he would never hear the end of it.  Men being the males that they are didn't think of a bowl of flowers or anything like that.  They had just been out hunting for food that day and started drawing the hunt and warriors.  When he was done the wife liked it so much she had him draw on other walls of the cave.  Next thing you knew her friends were coming over for morning "grog" and they were going home and telling their husbands that they just HAD to have a picture above the bed like their neighbor had and that was all there was to it.  Everyone started decorating their homes and the women just kept on finding more ways to beautify things.  "It's a little bare by the opening of the cave.  Couldn't we dig up some plants in the woods and kind of set them out around the front.  It would be so much more welcoming." Yep, scientists definitely think too much.

Bee-Keeping!

As I mentioned in earlier blogs, I have kind of been going through a mid-life crisis.  I am 49 years old-yes this is my true age {although I once remained 33 for 6 years!}  I've raised 3 great kids, had a career for a while and still don't think that I have accomplished anything in my life.  I guess that translates--I HAVEN"T BEEN ON OPRAH!  I have been looking for some sort of new interest.  I have a hobby that I dearly love {shopping}but since I am on a budget and that doesn't include a new pair of shoes every day, I'm searching for some new projects that don't involve as much money.  People don't feel sorry for you if you stand at a busy intersection with a sign that says, "SHOE FUND!" I don't know why, but you get absolutely NO compassion.  Now if I was driving down the street and saw a woman begging for money for new shoes, I would nearly wreck my car pulling over to help the poor thing out.  Even if I had to go without a meal or two myself you just can't turn your back on a poor "need a new shoe fix" girl!  Im looking for new excitement in my life.  I mentioned earlier that  I wanted to have some bees and hives here on our 5 acres.  I recently questioned this decision when I found out what honey is---BEE BARF!  Kind of makes it less exotic doesn't it?  I decided to do some googling to find out what I could about it.  I found lots of websites on beekeeping with some excellent advice.  Some of my favorites were to find a good beekeeper and do everything they do or find a bad beekeeper and do just the opposite of everything they do.  One person asked, "Will I have to worry about my bees swarming and stinging the neighbors?"  I was more inclined to ask if my bees could be trained to swarm and sting the neighbors!  Did I say that?  Seven generations of southern belles just rolled over in their graves!  I've also thought of volunteering at a local antebellum plantation for tours of the home and gardens.  The problem is I want to do it right.  When you go to Natchez, MS for the Spring pilgrimage, all the southern belles are dressed up in their 1800's finery.  That just adds to the atmosphere!  Far be it for me to suggest that these women around here strut around like Scarlett O'Hara when they're showing off the "ole plantation home."  They just seem to think that taking visitors from room to room in a historical house is fine and dandy wearing blue jeans and a tee shirt.  My husband said to just ask them if I could wear authentic looking attire as I strut.  I'm afraid that I might appear to be a tad eccentric.  I worry about that often--appearing to be a tad eccentric that is!  I always tell my husband that I was born at the wrong time.  I should have lived in the 1800's, strolled around the veranda in my gown, carrying a parasol, sipping a mint julep, and smelling the jasmine in the breeze.  My husband always brings me back to reality by saying, "they didn't have air conditioning in the 1800's!"  The Lord knew what he was doing after all, huh?  I thought of volunteering some time at the local animal shelter but my dear, sweet husband has absolutely vetoed this idea. He says that  bringing home a new dog every day that I felt sorry for is even more expensive in the long run than buying shoes!  I like to watch the food network channel and try new recipes but as you found out in an earlier blog {Italian Fish in the Dishwasher} my recipes hardly ever turn out like theirs.  I'm not saying I'm not a good cook.  I can take a mean dish to the church potluck and have others ask for the recipe just like anyone else.  It's just when I try to be a Martha Stewart that there is usually a problem.  Namely I've set my kitchen on fire twice.  Once I was heating grease to fry chicken, and I decided I wanted this wonderful salad with the meal.  I just left the grease on the stove and went to Kroger's.  When I came home I kept hearing this weird noise.  We had a new car and I thought that the warning sound was coming from it.  I sat out in the carport for five minutes pushing every button to try and turn the noise off.  I finally went to the kitchen door and realized that the "weird noise" was the fire alarm and my kitchen wall behind the stove was flaming out 3 feet.  I've told you I was ADD.  The next time I was cooking bones for my dogs in the broiler.  I swear I didn't know that dogs would eat raw bones!  Anyway, another grease fire!  Then there was the time that I saw Martha using parchment paper for baking cookies!  I thought that wax paper was the same thing and set the oven on fire.  Well that didn't really count because it wasn't a true fire.  I mean unless the fire department has responded, your floors have 3" of water on them, your nostrils are black and you have to spend the next 6 weeks at the Holiday Inn, I don't think that it should count.  Do you?

Counterfeit Bills!

Monday evening we had a good old fashioned shrimp boil at our house for our future daughter-in-law Erin's birthday supper.  Shrimp, little red potatoes, onions, carrots and corn-on-the-cob.  That afternoon I ran by the bank to get some cash to put in her birthday card, but as usual I forgot to get the card!  I decided that I would fold the bill up into a fan shape and tie it to her fork at her place setting.  So I ask the teller for a single bill instead of it always being broken down into change.  We had a great supper with the whole family and everything went off without a hitch.  This in itself is a real accomplishment as I can manage to screw up even the simplest of tasks! Tuesday, all of us girls went over to Leesburg, VA to the outlet malls to shop til we dropped!  While all of the rest of us were in one store, Erin  goes into another store and tries to by some perfume.  She is told point blank after her bill is marked that it is counterfeit! She tells them it can't be counterfeit because her future mother-in-law gave her the money for her birthday!  The saleslady asks her if she is sure if she wants to marry into our family and has she seen the movie monster-in-law!  She returns and tells me what has happened.  OK, I like to play jokes on my family, so I assume that she is playing one on me.  She keeps telling me she is serious.  I keep saying she is kidding me.  I only believe her when she shows me the dear old president himself with his person all marked up {apparently the saleswoman didn't trust the marker to tell the truth with just one swipe and thought that she had to scribble it up like a four year old.}  We call my bank, tell them what happened, and they tell me to bring it into the bank when we get back into town.  My imagination begins running away with me on the way home.  I am afraid that the bank will not believe that this is the bill that they gave me. After all aren't tellers trained to be able to spot counterfeits.  My son who manages a department store told me that fake money even feels different, so they can spot them instantly when they are passed off as real.  They even have special training sessions on spotting counterfeits. I can just see me going back to my bank and them telling me that I didn't get THAT bill from them.  I imagine my little old parents in Arkansas going into their local post office and seeing their eldest daughter's mug shot hanging on the wall!  Then I absolutely loose it.  You know how I know that I have lost it?  Because, am I worried that I won't be able to get another bill?  No.  Am I worried that they will not believe I got it from them?  No.  All I can think about is that I have gained 10 lbs recently, need a haircut and have a bump on my chin and that is how I will look in my coast to coast mug shot of the blogging grandma from Virginia!  I also know that the horizontal striped outfit that I will be supplied by the federal government will only make me look wider and that black and white are not my colors!  I guess I could ask them if they have their felon suits in a pretty peach.  I asked by gynecologist that once.  When I was given a very unbecoming paper gown to wear, I asked if they didn't have it in a more flattering color.  I guess that you will say anything to make conversation when your feet are in stirrups!  Anyway, I returned the bill to the bank and was told  that it WAS NOT counterfeit.  That if it was fake it would have turned black instead of yellow and that the saleslady must have had the IQ of a cucumber.  I've heard that 10 % of the public are idiots.  I guess when you shop at a large mall you are bound to come in contact with one of them! 

Italian fish in the dishwasher!

O.K. I've admitted that I can't walk up stairs and chew gum at the same time.  I have another confession.  I am a Martha Stewart wanna be that usually turns out like Lucy Ricardo!  Case in point--the time I tried to make a foil fish package in the dishwasher!  I was watching one of the cooking shows several years ago on TV and they had the neatest idea.  You take a large piece of aluminum foil, drizzle the bottom with olive oil, lay your piece of fish on top, and season to your liking.  Then you top it off with chopped tomatoes, green onions, and a few more things that I can't remember because I have slept since then, and I wake up in a new world every morning!  Anyway, you pull the foil up and tighten to make a little pouch and place the packets on the top shelf of the dishwasher.  The phone rings.  "Yes, this is she," "I'm doing fine." "No thank you.  I'm not interested." It was probably one of those calls that ask you something so stupid that you consider for a while having your phone number changed so that no more stupid people can call and try to ask you stupid things!  I'm off the phone, I look up to the TV and see that I have missed the most important part of the recipe--what to do with this lovely fish packet after I have it made!  The lady on TV is taking her packet out of the dishwasher and opening up a perfectly cooked fish that is steaming as she opens the foil.  O.K. what did she do????????? Well I take a guess and place my gourmet fish on the top rack of the dishwasher.  I caught the part about ten minutes so I set the timer for 10 minutes and sit down to imagine my sweet husband opening up his fish at supper, looking at me, and saying "OH HONEY, YOU'VE MADE ANOTHER GOURMET MEAL--HOW DO YOU DO IT ALL!"  Yeah right!  After about 6 minutes, I begin to suspect a problem as there is a strong smell of fish and water is floating by my feet from the dishwasher.  I open the dishwasher as water pours out only to find that there is one packet of fish left on the top and I had  placed six in there.  I see immediately what has happened.  There is water standing in the bottom of the dishwasher.  Tiny pieces of fish and shredded foil are floating all in the water.  I begin to bail the water out in the sink only to find that there is shredded aluminum foil hung up and stopping up the drain of my dishwasher and backing up into my sink.  After I clean up this fiasco, I am thankful that there is one that has survived that I may serve my husband so that he will say, "Oh Honey, you've made another gourmet meal--how do you do it all!"  I open it up and am surprised to find what I can only describe as pureed fish baby food with a little red and green stuff in it.  Hey, hers didn't look like this!  I taste it just as my husband walks in from work.  "What's that?"  "Oh, it's nothing--we're going out tonight for supper."  "What do you mean we're going out for supper?  I smell fish."  "Well there was a little problem-I'm not sure what- but anyway we are going out for supper."  Now my husband is a tightwad.  He can't stand to waste money.  He also has to keep a very tight reign on my money spending.  I am on an allowance!  Every once in a while when I am spending more than I should or asking for my allowance early before the time for my next allowance comes, I get the LOOK.  I can't describe the LOOK but I can tell you what the LOOK means.  It means "Dear, I am afraid that you are mistaken.  You seem to think that your last name is Rockefeller instead of Montgomery!"  He tells me he is not buying good salmon only to have us chunk it in the trash {we can't put in down the disposal because that is stopped up with fish and aluminum foil} and go out to eat.  "OK, but you've been warned, I wouldn't eat it" I say.  He takes a bite and is absolutely speechless for about two minutes as he is trying to get the taste out of his mouth! I didn't know that his face could contort into so many different positions! "Lisa, what did you do to this fish?"  "I cooked it in the dishwasher." "Whatever gave you that hair-brained idea?"  "I saw it on a cooking show."  "Did their fish turn out like this?"  "Well, no there's was in perfectly steamed little packets that they said was delicious."  "So what happened?" "Well I was making the fish and the telephone rang........"  "Oh no, and you got distracted and didn't see how to finish the fish?"  "Yeah, that's about it."  "Lisa, you didn't run this fish through the whole dishwasher cycle did you?"  "Well yeah, I pushed the wash button."  "Lisa, why does the fish taste like soap?"  "Well I think that I was just in a habit of putting the soap in the dishwasher so I must have added soap too."  To make another long story short even my husband was glad to take me out to eat that evening instead of eating "my gourmet fish." We searched the Internet for that mornings show and found that you were suppose to run the fish through the dry cycle only which is about 10 minutes. By the way, if you ever have fish floating in your dishwasher here's your Martha Stewart tip for getting the smell out.  Run bleach, lemon juice and anything else you can find through the cycle until the odor is gone.  It can take up to 6 washings--I know mine did!

Hot Flashes!

Ah, the joy of hot flashes! Actually I am quite lucky. The doctor put my husband on a medicine a while back in which he had hot flashes as a side effect. He was like "I don't know how you women deal with these! I'm getting off this medicine; I don't care how much I may need it." Now he is the very epitome of compassion when I start moaning and sweating like a pig. If only they could come up with a medicine for men that causes temporary labor pains all the females I know would be happy! I once embarressed my daughter at a Wal-Mart Super Center when I had a particularly long hot flash! Not that it takes much to embarress a teenager. You pretty much do it just by getting out of bed in the morning! Anyway, I was strolling down the frozen food aisle when Oh, Oh, I started filling up with boiling water! Right there in front of my eyes was the most glorious sight I have ever beheld. It seems they had a sale on Totino's pizza and the whole freezer shelf was empty! I just very nonchalantly walked over, opened up that big freezer door, bent over from my waist, and stuck my entire upper body on that shelf! Warning: this can cause a buggy jam and some uncalled for comments. "Did that lady just faint?" "No she's conscious. See, she's licking the ice build up off the metal rack." "Make that WAS licking the ice build up off the rack, now her tongue is stuck!" "Should we call 911?" "Naw, she doesn't appear to be in distress. In fact she looks down right blissful!" From a teenager, "Man, If my mom ever did something like that I'd absolutely die!" From MY teenager " Yea, me too! Who's mom is that anyway?" Actually my child was over in the bakery section but when I walked up with frost in my eyebrows she suspected something, and I had to come clean. "Gee mom, that was not cool. Why do you always have to be so over the top! Can't you use a little discretion when you're out in public?" "Oh, sorry I won't ever do it again dear." Several weeks later I was back at the Super Center buying groceries again when guess what? Yep, another hot flash! Remembering my child's mortified look on her face, I skipped the pizza section and went straight to the frozen juice cans. Get the largest frozen juice can you can see and just roll that puppy all over your entire face. I did the rest of my shopping with that juice can on my forehead. Now that's what I call discreet. You can also rub it over any exposed skin on your body, but just be careful how much you expose! You don't want to act tacky in Wal-Mart! I keep a large can of frozen juice in my freezer at home all the time now. It's my new best friend!

Seneca Rock and Dolly Sods

Well we are back from our yearly Memorial Day roughing it camping trip and I'm only slightly hairier to show for it. I couldn't wait to get in my big jacuzzi bath when I got home and put that weekend behind me! My idea of roughing it is a 1980's Holiday Inn. Before we could go I had to go shopping for some new clothes. I realized that I didn't have one thing in my closet that fit the "I don't give a rip how I look" look so I had to go buy some. Seneca Rock is a beautiful area with bluffs, rocks, mountains and the river. But let me tell you do not go up to see Dolly Sods! Dolly Sods is the equivalent of telling your children that you are taking them to Disney World and instead putting a couple of quarters in a lame horse in front of Cost-Co! Not that riding the merry-go-round horses aren't enjoyable-I still like them myself from time to time. But after being told your going to Disney World----I think you get my drift. It was so awful that I came home and googled it. Let me tell you, I don't know where the pictures on the Internet came from but it wasn't the Dolley Sods we saw! It is 4 miles straight up, 8 miles across, and then 4 miles straight down. Sixteen miles and we were gone for 2 1/2 hours! The road is so bad {gravel, pot-holed, steep and narrow} that the whole family kept thinking this can't be the road. We must be lost. This is a national tourist attraction after all! All we could think of was the movie RAT RACE where the guys stop and ask the lady for directions. When they refuse to buy one of her goods she is peddling, she gives them directions on a "fall off the cliff road" in which they see the signs along the road saying YOU........SHOULD.........HAVE............BOUGHT.............A..........SQUIRREL! After climbing at 2 miles an hour {I think we could have hiked it faster] swerving everywhere to avoid crater size holes and looking over the edge of a mountain with a drop off like you have never seen before we finally arrived on top. We expected a beautiful view but there was nothing! We pulled into a look-out point only to find that you couldn't see anything because of the over growth. There were a couple of nice rocks you stand on looking at the nothing view though. We met a local couple up there who I suspect had gone there to "park." They thought it would be private because knowing what was up there who in their right mind would go there huh? We asked if the whole 8 miles looked like this portion. He very honestly said that it only got a little better up the road. We then asked about getting down off the mountain. He proceeded to tell us using the expression "when you fall off the mountain." Please I said, "We've just spent the last 45 minutes holding onto our seats in a white knuckled death grip, don't say "when you fall off the mountain!" He laughed and said that when we got to the bottom we were just a "spit"away from our campsite. Now we lived in Louisiana for 16 years. I am familiar with states particular quirks. In Louisiana you don't have counties you have parishes. But imagine my surprise when I found out that the state of West Virginia or at least this portion has done away with feet, yards, and miles and is now measuring in "spits." There is a site on the net where you can rate Dolly Sods. Here are some of the comments. "I thought that there would be more to it" and my favorite, "I tore up all four tires on my sedan seeing this national treasure!" Us girls did have a little excitement back at the campsite on the day the guys went golfing. { Am I the only one here who sees the irony in my family making fun of me for not liking to rough it and the men going off for a day of golf on one of West Virginia's most beautiful courses?} Anyway, we arrive back at camp only to find we had a snake in our area right where the grand-kids had been playing for a good portion of the morning. In fact, we can't get my grand-daughter out of the van for the snake! I keep my eye on the snake while Jenny our oldest daughter goes and finds a weapon. I am hear to tell you that when your in "mama bear syndrome"mode you can kill a snake with a spatula! For those of you that don't know what mama bear syndrome is just try getting in between her and her cub. There will be nothing left of you but DNA! We saved the snake to ask the guys what kind it was. We thought it was a rattlesnake-they said it didn't have diamonds. We said that was only because it hadn't developed its diamonds yet. We began to get a little freaked out that there were snakes in our tents and in our sleeping bags etc. In fact by the time the guys got back from golfing we had pretty much convinced ourselves that every snake on the Eastern seaboard was "vacationing" there at our campsite. The guys got back and managed to talk us out of our frenzy just as we were ready to pack up and get out of there! My favorite part of the trip? When we went to Olive Garden when we got back home!

Tent Camping!

I won't be blogging for the next several days because once or twice a year the family wants to go to a campground for a wonderful few days of sleeping on the ground in a cloth hut that smells like mildew with a rock in their back all night. Or my favorite, the tent is on an incline and I must decide whether I want to sleep with my head higher and feel like I am going down a slide all night or my feet higher and feel like I am being dragged by my feet across the dirt like a caveman would do his wife if he wanted her to get in the kitchen and cook! Wait there are more joys to this. There are the bathrooms that smell like the old girl scout latrines you loved as a child. There are the cold showers that are usually not so private! There is always the redneck family next to you that is up fighting all night. Last time we went to Trout Pond the family next to us {and I use that term loosely} got mad at the grown drunk son and the 60 year old father decided that although he couldn't turn him over his knee anymore that he could sock him in the face and bloody his nose! Then there is the cooking over the fire and having ash all in your food from the wind whipping around. Although you're bored stiff, I'm not through yet. This is my vent remember. Don't forget the lovely bond with nature at its best with gnats swarming around your face, snakes lurking under every rock and the fact that you picked the campsite where the camp mascot {a skunk} will be visiting each evening! We went camping once back when we had a pop-up camper--so much better {I say that tongue in cheek!} Let me give you some advice. If you wake up in the middle of the night needing to relieve yourself of the 50 glasses of sweet tea you drank that day trying to keep yourself hydrated from the 150 degree heat of the day--Don't, I mean don't try to straddle a plastic solo cup in the middle of the bed with your husband sleeping next to you. Let me tell you when he decides to roll over just as you think you have accomplished your mission without a hitch, you fall , solo cup spills and even the sweetest husband doesn't like being doused with 32 oz of warm urine at 4:00 in the morning while he's sleeping! O.K I'm no idiot {some would disagree with this.} I learned my lesson. Next time I woke up with this same predicament I decided that although I didn't want to hike the 6.4 miles to the nearest stinky latrine I had to do it. I finally get there and go into a lovely stall {don't they ever think of decorating those johns} and just as I sit down to relieve myself of the 50 glasses of sweet tea that I have drank that day--------a snake crawls into the stall with me! Did you get that-A SNAKE CRAWLS INTO THE STALL WITH ME! I have to stand up on the toilet, pull up my drawers, lean over and open up the door and jump over the snake to get out of there and run back to the campsite! Now, husbands aren't to fond of being awakened at 3:00 in the morning with you ranting breathlessly something about a huge snake in the bathroom and you have only rid yourself of 8 oz. of your sweet tea consumption and need him to go back with you and GET THAT SNAKE OUT OF THE BATHROOM!!!!!!!! We return and husband dutifully removes said snake from bathroom so that his wife can finally get rid of the rest of the tea-no pun intended! My husband still laughs at this incident and insists that the snake was 6" long. He called it a baby snake but let me tell you one thing I learned from dear ole dad, A snake, is a snake, is a snake! And, when one is staring you in the face sticking his tongue out at you at 3:00 in the morning when you would rather be sleeping under a cardboard box in NYC than being out "under the stars" as my family likes to call it , well 6" looks like 6 feet! I asked my husband if I didn't whine all weekend if next Sat. we could do something I wanted to do. He sweetly said yes! After a minute of thought, I asked if he would be bringing duct tape as my mouth may need some assistance. He replied yes like, "why haven't I thought of this before!" I then asked if a sigh counted--no comment. How about a moan? He winked at me and said, "Honey, your pushing it."

Southern women

Blogging really helps you talk out your thoughts. I am even getting back to being a little more like myself. Yesterday a man whipped out of a shopping center in front of me on the main road and came within 6" of ramming the side of my van. I just looked at him, smiled, waved the it's OK honey wave, and then said out loud, "Bless his little heart, must have his mind on something else." This is a far cry from the ravings of a mad woman several weeks ago. I'd like to clarify something. I know I talk often about being a southern belle. I am proud of my heritage but it runs much deeper than that. A southern woman has something to be proud of. A southern woman loves her God, her country, and her family. A southern women can always be counted on to take a dish to someone grieving the loss of a loved one or take some flowers by a friend to cheer her up when she's sick or down. A southern woman never takes her family for granted. She adores her hubby, her children, grand-children, nieces, nephews and any little child needing a mother. A southern woman loves holidays or any excuse to gather those she loves around her to nurture them. A southern woman always honors her father and mother and her elders in general and teaches her children to do the same. She knows the importance of a thank you note and always has a kind, cheerful, encouraging word for the down trodden. She can't look the other way when there is a tear in someones eye even if they are a total stranger. If she's outgoing she'll go right up and ask "what's wrong honey?" If she's shy she'll say a little prayer in her heart on their behalf. She wants no part in mistreating a human being or an animal. She loves with her whole heart and soul and it shows. You don't have to be from the south to be a southern woman. You can be one if your from Minnesota to Maine, Canada to Buenos Aires, or Iceland to Siberia. Are you a southern woman? You should be proud!

Multi-tasking!

Have you heard about the woman from MN that delivered her baby behind the wheel while driving 70mph to the hospital! She said she just put the car on cruise control and delivered her 8 lb baby! I vote we make her an honorary southern belle. Tara herself couldn't have handled that situation with more spunk! She must be a multi-tasker is all I've got to say. I can't walk up stairs and chew gum at the same time. I'm really serious about this--just ask my family. I actually had to drop out of band in the 9th grade because we took up marching. You see you're suppose to march, count out your steps, play your instrument and breathe at the same time. Who ever came up with that idea? I had the breathing down. I was eventually able to play {although I use the term very loosely} the clarinet at the same time. It was adding the marching and counting that was way to much to ask! We went out on the side of the school, took our places, and had to play and count out 29 steps turn right etc. I knew my limitations but decided to give it the old Tara try. Start walking, counting, playing, 29 steps-everyone turn right I turn left! O.k. I was right in the first place. I won't play I'll just count and march. Worked I could officially count and march and just hold my fingers still on the top of the clarinet. Until Mr. English {the band teacher} notices that I'm not playing and calls me out in front of the whole group. O.K. I've got to actually play this thing. Play horn, march, count, everyone turns left--I turn right! I can see the handwriting on the wall. I sign up to switch to P.E. which let me tell you with my uncoordinated self wasn't any better than band. I look back now and think that they really should have had more options for girls-I mean really! The guidance counselor could say, "O.K, I see hear you can't walk up stairs and chew gum at the same time and we also know that you can't walk across an empty room without tripping over your own feet . We're going to label you special needs. Let me see what options do we have for your elective that you can handle. AH, we have Shopping 101, Eating a bag of Lay's potato chips without stopping after just one, Flirting 201 {I see your already advanced in that area.}" Would have made junior high a whole lot easier! Now in my defence of band, I realize what with all the resources we have now to find out that many people have phobias about certain things that I had a very natural phobia that highly interfered with my being able to play the clarinet! I was afraid that it would make me bucked teeth. There is a name for every phobia so I am sure there is a name for this one also! Nowadays we understand things like that. We know that some poor souls have a fear of water {aqua phobia.} Now we wouldn't insist that they be on the school swim team now would we? A kid with Mysophobia- the fear of germs- would have some allowances to leave class a little more than other kids to go wash his hands. We understand these things now and we work around them. We're compassionate and progressive in our thinking! Remember the term "No Child Left Behind?" But in the year 1975 you couldn't just walk in your counselor's office and say, "I'm afraid that I can't play the clarinet in band because I have this phobia that it will make me bucked teeth. Sign me up for Shopping 101." By the way if anyone out there knows the correct term for fear of a clarinet making you buck teethed I'd like to know. It's always nice to be able to make your phobias sound more scientific!