Wedded Bliss

Like my brother-in-law said, "You get a bunch of Baptists a couple of hundred miles away from home, give 'em sparkling grape juice and a good band and there's no telling what will happen."

Our oldest son, Ben, just married our -- I mean, HIS -- dream girl, Amy. What a celebration! I don't know when I've had more fun. If I would have known how much I was going to enjoy myself, I might have popped like a corn kernel swimming in hot oil in anticipation.

I am slightly concerned about photos showing up of me, though. Amy's uncle took quite a few candid shots. And, I was pretty much letting it all hang out. I was shocked when I learned my glass was full of grape juice. For all I knew, it was the real stuff. My neurologist (yes, that's a head doctor) had given me quite a bit of medication earlier in the week, hoping it would help my chronic headache and allow me to enjoy all the festivities. Evidently, I thrive on Lortab.

I danced with pretty much everyone at the reception and sometimes I just danced all by myself. Thinking it over, I may have permanently scarred the boys' psyches. I'm not sure anyone should see their mother behaving that way. Fortunately I didn't embarrass my sons, new daughter and husband enough to cause them to cut off all ties. They are still speaking to me.

Of course, the video hasn't been released yet. Upon further review, they may decide I did make a total fool of myself. Thank goodness I've already gotten this year's Mother's Day gift. Maybe by Christmas they will have forgotten.

Or maybe not.

No, I doubt any of us will forget how much fun we had, how much joy we shared. After all, it's not every day that you get to welcome a new daughter, a new sister and a new wife into your life.

It was a day of blessing, worthy of dance!

Spaghetti for My Soul

Oh dear, I opened my mouth and out they came! Words! A string of words like a strand of hot spaghetti. Words I could never take back! Words that slipped out instead of in. Words that were awful, just awful.

I was mortified. They were the kind of words that immediately after you say them you think, "Did I really say that out loud? Did she hear them? Of course she heard them! How could she not have heard them! She now thinks I'm an idiot! She KNOWS I'm an idiot! What am I thinking? I AM an idiot!"

Let me fill you in. We were at "Spaghetti for the Soul," a conference for women at our church. I was the chairperson who had been working on it for weeks, months actually. Brenda McElroy, our director of Women's Ministry, and I had spent many hours on the phone, in meetings, at lunch and on our computers communicating about this event. We had prayed a lot about it. We were really, really looking forward to it.

Kathy Troccoli and Ellie Lofaro, two "big names" in the world of Christian women's ministry, had agreed to come to little ol' Paducah. They had agreed because they are not "Stars." They are servants. They wanted to spread some truth around, spread a little refreshment, encourage women.

So, the morning begins. I thought it started well since my voice worked and it hadn't worked AT ALL for the past six days. I opened my mouth into the microphone and out it croaked. "Good morning." I wasn't dazzling, but - hey - I got the point across and I hadn't fallen down getting up there. I don't know that our guests were as impressed as they should have been. Perhaps someone should have explained it to them.

Then, the schedule moved along smoothly. One singing session, one talking session and it was already time for a break. I directed the women toward the restrooms and muffins and coffee. I even attempted a lame joke. Hey, I was starting to like this.

That's when God decided to humble me the first time. Oh, Lord, why? Why did those words come out?

Kathy actually is a star, despite her humility, genuineness, great sense of humor and beauty. I mean the woman had a song that was #4, was a Grammy nominee, a Dove winner, is the author of award-winning books, was one of Today's Christian Woman's Most Admired Christian Women in America, etc., etc., etc.

And, as we left the sanctuary, she, this outstanding woman, took my hand and said, very gently, "You are so sweet." Guess what I said in reply? Just guess.

Mature woman that I am, I said, "Oh, I want to be your friend."

Now, I ask you, does that sound like something a 3rd grader would say or what???

"I want to be your friend."

How idiotic.

She probably thinks I'm going to be one of those stalker fans now.

I mean, why couldn't I just have said, "Thank you." and left it at that? Or simply smiled a sweet smile, for pity's sake.

The rest of the conference she called me Tonya. I think she was distancing herself subliminally. I don't blame her.

I want to be your friend.

Pathetic.

Before I begin my blog today, let me apologize for having taken such a long hiaitus. I have had a psychotic schedule for the past five weeks. I suppose that's no excuse. If one is to have a blog there's a certain responsibility to keep that blog up and running. After all, I have 14 followers.

Fourteen people out there are counting on me to keep you up to date on critical information about my crazy, nutty life. So, sorry. I really mean it. It won't happen again. Now, onward...

I have so much to tell you that I don't know where to start. There have been wedding doings. You do know that our oldest son is getting married May 24th, don't you? There have been book marketing doings. You do know I have a flutterbies book out, don't you? There have been vacation doings. You do know I spent a week at the lake chasing geese, don't you? (That's a whole blog in itself!) And, there have been getting ready for Spaghetti for the Soul conference doings. You do know that special day for women is April 25th, don't you?

I should have been writing about all of that. But, I didn't. So, now, I'm just going to tell you about my walk today. Francie and I just returned from a walk with Patience and the whippets. It takes three rounds to walk the whippets. Francie doesn't mind. She likes all nine of them. They don't feel the same. Well, just one of them doesn't feel the same. Mama Pajama is not that fond of her. Francie is small, hairy, and gets in her space like a rabid rabbit might. Mama Pajama doesn't find that amusing.

Mama and the new whippets, Easy and Spice, go on the first walk. They are fairly happy to ignore the short, hairy dog. The second walk consists of Fat Charlie, Delia, and Giocomino. Of these three, Delia is the least crazy about Francie. Fat Charlie and Giocomino are unconcerned with her - unless she gets right up in Giocomino's face; then, he might give her a little lesson. The third walk is the friendliest for the furry tag-along. Swede William, Lindy Lue, and Sam I Am don't have issues with small, hairy Corkys.

In fact, Francie has a crush on William. He's from Sweden, so he's got that appealing foreign accent. He's got a different look about him. He's tall, dark(ish) and handsome. She's quite taken. Smitten, you might say. She tries to snatch kisses right there on the sidewalks of Paducah. Sometimes she jumps up on the curbs to make herself taller. She yearns to gaze into his eyes. "Look at me!" she calls with longing.

An interesting phenomenon happened today on our walk. Usually - we're talking 90 percent of the time - people go goo-goo, gah-gah over the whippets. "Oh, those are beautiful dogs!" they'll say. "Are they greyhounds?" Patience thanks them, tells them that they're a smaller version of the greyhound and we go our way. NO ONE makes a comment about Francie. I am not exaggerating. Ninety percent of the people we encounter on our walks IGNORE my precious dog. They make NO COMMENT whatsoever, favoring the long, sleek, elegant whippets instead of my low-slung, fuzzy, funny-faced Corky.

Occasionally my eyes well up with tears. I try to blink quickly. I bite my lip bravely. I look to the horizon and think of something else. I try not to care. But it hurts, people. It hurts.

Today, though, today was different. Four - count 'em - FOUR people out of six or seven (not sure now) commented on Francie! They said she was cute or noticed her in a positive way! Oh, I do love those quilters. What a day! What a day!

So, you see, I had all those big doings. Wedding. Book. Vacation. Geese Chasing. Women's Conference. And, when it really comes down to it, the daily walk is what matters.

To the Rescue

There's no question about it. Kent is my Knight in Shining Armor. He is my Superman (from Metropolis, no less). He is my hero. I am nuts about that man. There's just one problem. I'm nuts. Or, maybe that's why this relationship works. He is a super hero and I am in need of rescue.

As I told the nice women at the post office the other day, my life always has a few little kinks in it. It's never completely knot-free. I guess no one's is, but really. Wait 'til you hear what happened.

It was an unassuming, gray, frigid, weary, dreary, wintry, Friday the 13th. I spilled like a moldy, thick cup of coffee out of my tangled covers onto the floor and slipped on my tattered robe (the zipper's torn out of it). My feet found my battered clogs and I headed for the whimpering pooch. I put on the warmest thing I could find - get this - my full-length mink coat. It was a gift from my precious grandmother, slipped the lead around Francie's neck and headed out into the cold for potty time.

Francie, being a morning dog, was so very happy to see me and to be outside where her fur coat was doing its job while she did her job. She scampered expertly to and fro, tossing her fuzzy head, sniffing the breeze, sniffing the ground, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing. Alert! Her head came up! There was a noise! Hammers! Men on a roof banging! She went to full attention. Her ears were at pointy peaks, trembling with excitement. The men were just one house over and they were OUTSIDE! Maybe they would like to play. I quickly put an end to her hopes. Potty time was over.

Except...

We were locked out.

Yes. That's right. Locked out. Francie looked at me. I looked at her and she said, "Hey, not to worry, you've got that hidden key." But I knew the truth. I didn't have that hidden key. Our youngest son had that hidden key. And he was in Florida.

OK. Think. Think. Override that new medication you're taking and THINK!!! I knew Kent was the answer, but how did I get to Kent? All of my neighbors were gone. (At this point, anyway, that's what I thought...It turns out one of them was indeed home).

With all the courage I could muster, not exactly knowing where I was going (the coffee shop maybe??), I started walking down North 8th Street. Now remember, I'm wearing a robe, no socks, black clogs and a mink coat. I have not touched my frizzy/curly/wild hair. I have not brushed my teeth. I have not dug the sleep out of my eyes. I'm not fit for public consumption. I'm really not even fit for my Knight in Shining Armor to see me.

But that's when my encounter happens. One of the men working on the neighbor's house walks out from that house and says, "Could you use some help?" I think that might have been an understatement. But, he'd been raised right.

"Uh, yeah," I said, trying not to breathe his direction. "Do you have a phone? I've been locked out of my house."

"Well, I don't, but my friend does. I'll get it for you."

So, I took his friend's phone and tried to use it. I say tried, because I couldn't figure the thing out. I stood there forlornly waiting for him to wander by again.

"Ummm, I can't figure this out," I said.

"Oh." He slid the case open. Boy, did I feel dumb.

"Thanks." But, it got worse. I STILL couldn't figure it out. I came close to deleting Britney Spears music several times. Finally, he had to come back, take it out of my hands and just dial the number for me.

When Kent answered he said, "Where in the world are you calling from?"

"DOES IT MATTER????" I wanted to say, but I didn't. I just calmly told him and begged him to come home to let me in. He did. To expedite things, he drove his silver car instead of riding his horse. Once again saving me.

I really need to give the house builders a hand, too. They were awfully nice to me. Today I went for a walk and they were working. They smiled at me, but they were gracious enough not to laugh - at least to my face. I thought that was generous.

Try One, You'll Like It!

I got to go to the Kentucky Crafted Show in Louisville over the past weekend and, let me tell you, I had a ball! Of course, it helped that I got to set up shop in someone else's booth. The fine people at McClanahan Publishing House did all the hard prep work and my mother and I just swooped in with my books and poster and cash box.

I'm not sure I remember the last time I smiled so much in my life. I felt like any minute I might break out into a little song and dance routine, but figured that might run business off. The point was to bring them in. So, I kept the tunes to a mental note. I was singing inside.

For those of you not familiar with Kentucky Crafted, let me fill you in. It's a large market where artists from the state go to sell their wares to wholesale buyers and the general public. Retailers from everywhere come to see what the talented artisans here have to offer. And, by golly, they've got a lot. There are jewelers, painters, woodworkers, basket weavers, potters, glassblowers, authors, and signal the trumpets, my personal favorites: cooks! (I made myself a little queasy on the food aisle. It was those dang bourbon balls.)

But, I did pick up a good line for selling my book. As people passed, I'd say, "Pick it up and take a look. It's like the food aisle; you've got to sample it." For some reason, that worked. Most would pick it up, turn through it and I'd get a laugh or two.

The laughs are what it is all about for me. I don't want to sound corny, but I know I'm gonna. So, here goes...I like making people happy. I like that look they start to get in their eyes when one of my flutterbies connects with them. I love it when a smile starts to form at the corners of their mouths and the giggles erupt. I adore it when they nudge their friend and say, "Read this one! It's just like..."

Art and writing is about connecting with emotions. It's about touching a place in the heart. I may not be the most complicated artist or writer, but I still have the same goal. I want to bless someone with a little stroke of joy on a gloomy day. I want to splash a touch of bright color where there was only gray. I want to remind somebody she isn't alone. She is understood. Even if it is only because she snorts when she laughs.

So Much Going On

I don't know where to begin! There's so much going on in my life I haven't had time to check in here at Bizarro-world.

I guess I'll start with today and go backwards. That's logical.

Today, I sat on the couch.

I know, I know...riveting. In the newspaper business, they teach you to start with your most fascinating or important fact. It really depends on if you're writing a feature or news story. Fortunately, I'm out of the newspaper business and I get to write any old way I want. Of course, I'm no longer getting paid, either. There are trade-offs.

I figure that since there are approximately 11 of you reading what I write here, you are truly dedicated to being interested in my life. Even the mundane. So, I thought it was high time I caught you up.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, sitting on the couch.

Well, I did do some other things today. I went to church, where, I have to admit, I felt extremely nauseous. Didn't have anything to do with the service, just me, I'm sure. Then we came home and I got Kent to agree to help me clean. This is big. Really big. He cleans even less than I do. I am not gifted in this area. He's less gifted. So, with his precious promise hanging in the air, I got jiggy wid it, as they say in my neighborhood. Had to strike while the iron was hot and all that.

All that cleaning reminded me that I had had an epiphany the other morning at 4 a.m. I had woken up and was having trouble returning to the land of nod. Instead of worrying, I decided to take another course. I decided to name my appliances.

My parents had been staying with us during the post-ice storm power outage and I had become quite accustomed to having company around. I'm a people person, see. I like having company. But I live in an empty nest and I work at a solitary, lonely job. So, while it was difficult for them, I was secretly happy to have them around. I'm some kind of daughter, huh? So unselfish.

Anyway, I knew that the time was coming that they would be leaving. I needed to prepare. I decided to personalize, give names to, the only things around here that talk to me (besides my ever-faithful Francie, who has an extensively developed language all her own).

I won't tell you the names of all of my appliances, but you might want to know that Tilde the dishwasher is not doing her job properly and may be out on the street before her time, if you know what I mean. Max, the microwave, is prompt, efficient and - dare I say ? - pretty hot! But, he can be a little persistent with this pesky beep of his. It can be a touch annoying on bad days. Then, there's Marco, Hildegard, Jack and Diane, Pedro, Rocky and Sally. I'll let you sort out who's who.

Mom and Dad have left. Kent's back at work and I'm just fine. I am. Really. I am.

I'm back on the couch and the doctor promises me that I'm fine.

It's Here! It's Here! The Book is Here!

Finally! The book you've all been waiting for! It's here! Maybe you didn't know you'd been waiting for it, but you have.

Once you get it, you'll say to yourself, "Oh, my, I didn't realize it, but this is the book I've been waiting for all of my life. This may be the best book I've ever held in my hands." (You may say that. You really might. I'm keeping my fingers crossed and thinking positively.)

It's a book of flutterbies, born over a 10-year period. (That's a pretty dog-gone long gestational drama if you ask me, the mama.) In that time frame I've written over 120 of these little whimsical sayings, but I've only included about half of them in the book. I wanted to leave you wanting more.

Now, I want to be honest with you. When you see me, I want you to tell me that you LOVE the book! I don't care if you've seen it or not. Just hop up and down, waving your arms around and carrying on like a maniac set free from the nut house. I love enthusiasm. Feel free to tell me I'm wonderful and creative and talented. Well, wait a minute, don't get carried away. At night, as I'm going to sleep, I want to pretend that what you said was the truth.

Thinking on it even more, I don't even care if you say a word. Just buy one. Or, two. Heck, I'd sell you as many as your pickup can hold.

Oh, and by the way, come on down to my book signing at Etcetera on Feb. 14 from 9 to 1!