A Prayer for My Neighbors

As you are all aware my section of the country, the south, in what is possibly the deadliest outbreak of tornadoes in 37 years, has been devastated. Tonight, I pray for those who have lost loved ones, lost homes, and lost communities.

The Lord bless you, and keep you;
The Lord make His face shine upon you,
And be gracious to you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.

Numbers 6: 22-27

My Missed 15 Minutes of Fame and a Whole Lotta Rain

We are in what seems like our very own 40 days and nights of rain here in Middle Tennessee. My yard is a mess, my drive is a mess, and my hair is one big ol' frizzy mess. Speaking of Noah, it's a good thing God promised never to destroy the world by water again because there are some species that just wouldn't make the cut if this gal was in charge of rounding them up 2x2.

As I was saying, we've had several days and nights of rain, thunderstorms, and tornado warnings. These sleepless/restless nights of looking out windows and watching the weather on and off all through the night are wearing thin. My parents, as well as a friend, told me they were awakened three times the other night by their weather radios reporting warnings in the area. I have to say I'm glad my parents have one. As they are older, it really gives me peace of mind, especially now that it seems the south has become the new tornado alley.

Of course, more storms seem to be on the way tonight. So, hunker down, my friends.

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John is enjoying the 15 minutes of fame he is receiving from having been selected a TOY. Today, he was interviewed on air by a radio station from a neighboring county. I have to say, despite the lackluster questioning by the host, he (John) did a good job. I would say he did a great job except for the fact that he failed to make any mention of a very important bit of information...me. Can you believe that? Ren and John-Heath were left in the dust, as well.

I am plotting my evil revenge as we speak - okay, as I type.

Good Friday Wishes

I hope you all have a wonderful, blessed Good Friday and Easter weekend. I have my dad's family coming after church on Sunday for our annual lunch and egg hunt. This will be my second time to host the event. Our yard is still not even close to what I would like it to be but it'll do. Actually, it's worse than it was the last time I hosted the lunch. Since putting the pool in last year we've not redone our yard so we have a couple large bald spots. Just another item on the seemingly endless to-do list. We'll be okay though if it doesn't rain. Our Easters always seem to be cold or rainy anymore. Well, I'm off to clean. Again, Happy Easter, my friends.

Image via

Ooops!

Yesterday, John-Heath used the label maker in my office at work to create a name tag. He does this from time to time and I always have to check prior to typing in any new word for letters he may have already keyed.

A little while later at home, upon being told he couldn’t take a bag of chips into his bedroom, he stressed to his dad that, because he is the boss, he should, indeed, be able to take them (you’ll remember he is buddies with our assistant principal and this makes him think he’s one too. It's possible his after school "job" may be creating a monster). Anyway, I suppose he felt he needed proof of this and so he decided to embellish his name tag just a bit.

Taking a little scrap of paper and some tape he scribbled out his self-titled moniker..."Boss". Only he spelled it "Bos".

What's worse, he attached it upside down. Oops!




Believe me. I couldn't make up this stuff if I tried.

Those Who Can

John 3 years ago at the start of his 22nd year teaching.

There are many things which annoy me about my husband and just as many things about me which annoy him. I know. It’s hard to believe I could annoy anyone, but I suppose I have to take him at his word on it.

As I was saying, my husband has many flaws. He is a terrible, with a T to the terrible, gift-giver. Somewhere in a nearby landfill there is an ironing board which bears testament to this fact. He is an equally poor attentive listener. Should John-Heath be placed on meds for ADD one day, I will blame his dad for passing on bad genetic material. Also, my husband can be a scrooge, especially when it comes to his time. You thought I was going to say money, didn’t you? Well, he can be that, too.

Yet, for all these annoy adorable imperfections, there is one thing my husband does better than just about anyone else I know; teaching.

Indulge me for a moment while I brag on him, and mark this moment for posterity’s sake, as it is not often he deserves such boastful expressions, especially since he paid no attention as our son drove to the end of our driveway yet again in his little tractor while on his watch.

Quite simply, he’s excellent. He has been for a long time but now he has a little recognition to back up my claim.

A few months ago our faculty named him as our school’s Teacher of the Year. Then a few weeks after that he was informed he had been named the Middle School Teacher of the Year for our county. This in itself was a real thrill for our family, as we work in one of the largest counties in the state.

Then he received another congratulatory call. This one came as we were on spring break. John had been chosen as the Upper Cumberland Region Middle School Teacher of the Year. The UC Regional Field Service Center is made up of 22 counties/districts, so this was a complete surprise and a wonderful honor!

John and the kids on our farm last summer.

Now, his application will be forwarded, along with the names of the other regional winners, to the committee who will select the winners to represent each of Tennessee’s three grand divisions (East, Middle, and West). Each grand division will honor an elementary, middle and high school teacher. From those 9 the field will be narrowed to three and then one, the Tennessee Teacher of the Year.

Here’s hoping we’ll have even more good news to report a little later (knock on wood, salt over your shoulder, rub the rabbit’s foot).

Dazed and Confused

If there was ever a time I was thankful to have a kid with a stomach ache it was yesterday. I woke up Monday morning with, I guess, allergy crud. Sore, scratchy throat. Itchy eyes. Ughh. Of course, we were in the middle of TCAP testing (our annual achievement tests) and though I don’t have my own classes anymore, I help by administering the tests to a small group who are required to have such tests read aloud.


After part one of the science test, which lasted nearly an hour, I had to seek some relief during the break. I found what I was looking for - and then some - in a drawer in the office. Children’s Benadryl - especially formulated for allergy symptoms. It was an old, unopened bottle set to expire in just a couple months so I decided to take advantage. One of the office ladies asked if it wouldn’t make me sleepy. Naaaa. Not me. So I poured a swigful in the little plastic cup and down she went.


Fast forward another hour to the end of part 2 of the science test. I started feeling a little drowsy. Hmmm. Strange. Once my small group of test takers had dispersed back to their regular locations it was time to get some paperwork done. Upon plopping down in my office chair and beginning to focus on my computer screen it was ALL I could do to keep myself awake. I honestly thought I might have to apply masking tape to my eye lids to keep them open. Can you imagine? Some poor kid comes in to check out James and the Giant Peach and sees something like this sitting behind the desk.

Lucky for me, John-Heath became sick right about this same time. The call from his school nurse was music to my ears (No, momma. I am not ashamed to say that). He wasn’t seriously ill so I thought it was okay to rejoice in my ticket home. Anyway, one of the perks to being in a near comatose state was being able to enjoy a nap with my little boy. Those are few and far between anymore.

image via

Forty-Something

Today, I am celebrating another birthday. As you can tell by the title of this post I am now considered in my forties. Yep. 41 to be exact. Or at least I will be at 4:15 this afternoon. As I was just typing that second sentence I inadvertently typed thirties and had to backspace. *sigh*

My first gift this year (other than a new broom my dad delivered to me for my back porch because he and mom were tired of seeing my ratty old one) was this card from my Aunt Susie. It seems Aunt Susie has read I See London, I See France. Come to think of it, though, she was actually there that dreadfully embarrassing night.

If you can't tell what is happening in the not-so-good picture I took of this card, let me explain. A young woman, obviously impressed with herself, finds it funny that an older woman is walking around with a streamer of toilet paper attached to her shoe, while mooning everyone herself. Aunt Susie is my dad's baby sister. She will celebrating a birthday of her own in just a few more days. I always thought it was neat that she, Pa Frazier (her dad), and myself all celebrated our big days just a few days apart and, also, that there were an even thirty years between us. 1910, 1940, 1970.

As this is the second birthday I've celebrated since beginning to blog I thought I would make a tradition out of posting my ever aging eyes. You'll have to settle for just one of them this year. My other eye twitched when the camera flashed so it got edited out in Picasa.

While playing around with Picasa I found a way to make all those age lines (frown lines in my case, as I am, and have always been, a natural frowner) just disappear.

Just increase the highlights and fill light and take every bit of shadowing out, and you can look as young and wrinkle-free as me.

He's a One-Toilet Boy

I have a somewhat roomy home. Not fancy, mind you, but roomy. Fancy is currently unattainable, and will remain unattainable for approximately the next 13 years. By the way, sparkling clean is in the same boat as fancy.

Some rooms are, of course, way worse than others. Our laundry room on the main floor is horrific! Just off the kitchen, it is the first room you come to upon entering our house from the garage and has become a catch-all for, well, all of anything and everything that doesn’t have a proper place.

Our home contains four bathrooms and two half baths. These two half baths are located in the downstairs laundry room and an upstairs room that was designed to be a second laundry room but is currently known as Upper Level Junk Central. The four full baths are split - two upstairs and two down.

Trust me, having lived in a one bath home prior to building our current residence, I realize how lucky I am to have multiple facilities. For me, it is one of the best things about our place.

I’ve noticed over the course of the last couple months that John-Heath, no matter where he is in the house, always goes to the same place to do his business. This magical place is the laundry room on the main floor. If he’s in his room, he bypasses the one right outside his door and heads to the LR. If he’s upstairs, he heads downstairs to the LR. He has even been inside my bathroom talking to me and left to go to the LR.

When I recently asked him why he would not use the room beside his bedroom he said he was scared of it because of the noises that go “whoooooo”. I think he thinks it’s haunted.

I have not yet inquired as to his reasons for considering four of the other baths off limits, as well, but if the same reason applies and he is correct in his thinking, this is truly frightening - for it can mean only one thing. My laundry room is more than horrific; it is so ghastly even ghosts are afraid to dwell within it.

Embracing My Inner Redneck

You wanna know what I was up to the other night? Oh, come on. Guess. Upon seeing a friend's facebook posting which linked to a newish Ray Stevens' video, I thought I'd take a peek. As a youngster growing up in the south I thought this guy was a HOOT! No. Make that a hoot and a half! I well remember one Sunday afternoon listening to a cassette of "Mississippi Squirrel Revival" over and over and over at my Pa and Mammie's. Well, my little peek ended up being nearly an all night hoedown in which I revisited some old favorites. Take a look, but please know I am generally a much more cultured and refined person than I might have let on during my own personal Hick Fest '11.

And when I get out, Margaret, I'm going to come over there with an egg beater and a live chicken, and some PEACH perserves!

It was just a lucky fluke that Deliverance was on this very night, so I took a break from streaks and shriners to watch. Inbred mountaineers were not Ren's cup of tea. Of course, neither was Ray Stevens. If I hadn't been conscious during her C-section delivery I would swear she belongs to someone else.

After heading to bed, my continued listening of Ray led to Mr. Clower. How could I not take a few minutes to hear his coon dog story!

But I saved the creme de la creme of the evening for last (and longest).

If you don't already know him, allow me to introduce you to my my friend Lewis.

Ahhhh. A classic.

Here is one of his archived posts.

Southerners Learning Not to Speak Southern

Now, ya'll enjoy!

Images via

Friday Confessional

I came across this neat idea of baring your soul called Friday Confessional hosted by Glamazon and Mamarazzi over at Dandelion Wishes. Too. Clever. I liken it right up there with 3M wall hooks and sticky notes. Anywho, I thought it might be a fun event to participate in every now and then. Don’t worry. I won’t go too deep and dark on you today. How 'bout we give it a whirl, shall we?

I confess... I am not too terribly clever. If I were Friday Confessional would be hosted by me and I would be a gazillionaire from all the money made from my invention of wall hooks and sticky notes.

Having idolized such great gals as Scarlett O’ and Suzanne Sugarbaker in my younger days, you’d think I would have developed their sense of charm. Sadly, I confess I can be somewhat the klutz. This was never more apparent than during an appearance I made at a funeral home a few years ago. Go ahead, check it out. Everyone there that night was witness to it. You might as well be, too.

I confess...I spanked my son yesterday. Yes, on occasion we opt not to spare the rod, so to speak. My hubby was mowing the yard, John-Heath, 5, was “mowing” too (on his little motorized tractor), and my daughter was gearing up for a run on the trails. We live on a somewhat large parcel of land and we keep trails mowed for just this kind of thing. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.

Anyway, back to what some would no doubt call child abuse. I walked out on the front porch to see Ren off on her run and noticed I did not see my son anywhere. I looked in the front, in the back, and on both sides. No little boy. I came back in and called for him. Nothing. I saw John about midway up the yard, but no John-Heath. My heart sank. After about the third time to call his name (I must have sounded pretty frantic because I noticed Ren, in the distance, stop and look back at me), I see this little head come into sight from beyond a rise in the yard down next to the road. My first thought was relief. My second? It was time he learned Momma means what she says.

As I explained to him when I spanked him, I was doing it because I loved him. Our driveway is too long for him to be that close to the road. Any number of things could happen. He could get hit by a car or picked up and kidnapped. If that were to happen they would have him and be gone before I could get to him. These are things we had told him before.

Of course, his heart was hurt more than his bottom and when I said one last time, “John-Heath, mommy only spanks you because I love you”, he answered with his arms outstretched and a puzzled, tear-stained look on his face as if he couldn’t believe the words I had just uttered, “You spanked me because you loved me?”. I can only imagine he was probably thinking Yeah, right, mom. I'm not buying what you're selling. But it was the truth!

Have a great and fabulous weekend! We are finally enjoying a nice warm day here, which makes me think it will probably storm tonight. Be safe, my friends.

Meet Brennan Daigle and Be Prepared to Be Inspired

A few weeks ago I came across a web article about a child who was being inducted into the Army, or perhaps it was the Marines. I’ll have to go back and check. I believe the article was one of those that Yahoo features on its rotating news reel. Out of curiosity I clicked on the link.

Turns out it was about a 10 year old boy, Brennan, who is a major fan of all things military. For his recent birthday several soldiers showed up at his party, a surprise, and made him an honorary member of the armed services, an even bigger surprise.

It also turns out that Brennan has cancer. And he is in, quite literally, the fight of his life.

I don’t know enough to share with you all the particulars, but he suffers from Embryonal Rhabdomyosarcoma, which is a rare type of cancer of the connective tissue and occurs most often in children. I think he was in remission at one point and they found out this past fall it had returned and grown.

I keep track of him though his Facebook page, Brennan’s Brigade. If you are a Facebooker be sure to look him up and say hello. He’d like that.

Tonight, his status was updated to show him enjoying an evening walk with his mom. Looking at that picture I felt an almost overwhelming assortment of emotions.

I felt true sorrow at those dark, deep down fears his mother must have felt holding his hand and the thoughts running through her mind.

I felt joy that she was able to have this evening with him and hopeful of many more just like it. I felt how confusing and unfair it must surely seem that children like this suffer these horrible afflictions while so many pieces of outright scum walk around in perfect health.

I felt the presence of God and took comfort in the fact that there is a time for every purpose under the heavens - even if there are some seasons we would rather not endure. I felt inspired that this child walked - though his face and body are so painfully swollen from the medication, even to the point he has an unnatural smile which he self-corrects with his finger.

And I felt shame that I take for granted, so often, the good health I am afforded by wasting it. If you know the word of prayer, I ask that you lift this child and his family up to our Heavenly Father.

Images via Brennan's Facebook pages.

I Was an Abacist (a.k.a. The Post in Which I Talk a Lot About My Friend Angie)

That's right. I was. And I was only 6 years old!

Actually, I didn't know until today that someone who uses an abacus - that old fashioned calculator - even had a name. An abacist. I don't know about you but that almost sounds naughty or, at least, unhealthy. This one was a gift from my friend Angie. She and I went to school together, graduated together, and now we teach school together smack dab across the hall from each other. If my memory is correct we even had a college class or two together before she transferred to another school. Years ago when they were trashing surplusing a lot of old stuff she managed to save this little gem from an uncertain future. I can't be 100% positive as to if it's the same one, but it's identical to one we had in our first grade class (Angie and I were in the same 1st grade class).

Miss Ruth Carter was our teacher. She was a good teacher and even though she spanked me because I didn't know how to use a broom correctly (Angie did and was asked by Miss Ruth to demonstrate), I always thought her a kindly woman. I believe ours was her last class before she retired.

To have been only six at the time I do remember a lot from that year. Some of my best memories include...

using the abacus, of course

Miss Ruth's pantsuits

being amazed at how fast Angie could finish a math assignment

Tracy L. taking his glass eyeball out for everyone to see

casting votes on the board in our classroom in a mock presidential election. I voted for Ford. I felt to not vote for the sitting president would somehow be disrespectful.

learning how to sweep

One last thing about Angie...with only one house between us, she's my neighbor.

Take a Guess.

This is one of two surprises bestowed upon me by a friend. I'll share the other one later. For now, any guesses as to what this one might be?

Goodbye, Ned Ray.

I just heard that our former governor, Ned McWherter, has passed away. Governor McWherter was an effective leader who served Tennessee for two terms in the late eighties and nineties.

In the days when we considered ourselves blue dogs more than independents, I had the chance to meet him twice and thought he just seemed like a big ol' teddy bear. John had been fortunate to attend his first inaugural at the Opryland Hotel and was able to meet with him in somewhat more small group settings a couple other times, including dinner at a steakhouse once. Now, I won't say how many he had that evening but, according to my husband, the man did enjoy his steak.

Rest in peace, Ned Ray. You'll be missed.

Dry Land Fish - Yea or Nay?

The house in which I was raised was located in front of a large area of woods, with our deep back yard ending at its edge. I remember many times our next door neighbor and his wife walking along the outer perimeter of the woods behind their house and on in to the area behind our property on the hunt for a peculiar little thing called a dry land fish.

Now, for a while I actually thought my neighbors were just a little touched in the head. Even I knew fish couldn't live outside of water. Yet, here were our friends walking back and forth, eyes to the ground, each and every spring. One day, though, when I got the nerve to ask, I found out my neighbors weren't really crazy. They were actually looking for edible mushrooms.

I hadn't given any thought to that in several years until just the other day when one of our secretaries brought in a sack full of them. Seems there are many who find them quite tasty.

Today, I was off (John-Heath has had a fever on and off throughout the day thanks to a stomach bug going around) and googled them. According to what I read, the best time to look for dry land fish is after a good spring rain in wooded areas. Since we've had a lot of rain today I think I may have John go on the hunt for some when the weather clears. I'll let you know how they turn out if and when he finds a good batch.

Have any of you ever tried them? If so, are they a favorite treat or something you could live without?