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!