We can't all be southern belles . . .

I've been reading a lot of Anne Rivers Siddons the past couple of weeks. Her stories are pretty much centered around the South Carolina low country. Spinning tales of sweet tea sipped on wide veranda's, hung with large ancient fans droning slowly through the smoldering air. Delicate women in long floral skirts and silk blouses, glowing and chatting amongst themselves in the stifling warmth. Old southern gentility at its finest.

Yet a mere 400 miles south, another woman is found unceremoniously spread out in a lounge chair accompanied by pulp fiction and a bloody mary. She is baking in the sun like a beached tuna . . . . riddled with freckles and age spots.



Such is the life that someone has to lead . . .

beautiful . . . sassy . . . nutz . . .

B O D A C I O U S with a capital B. Outrageous. Outlandish. Mostly she just plain cracks me up. Daily. But she's also there when things are bleakish . . . with good thoughts and prayers. In every sense of the word, she is a friend. And today, she is another day older. Happy Birthday, Kel!

Things that make me smile . . .

You know you eat at Carrabbas's too often when:

*The hostesses, Amber and Hanna, know you by name and go check to see if your favorite waiter has an empty table.

*Richard . . . your favorite waiter . . . has water with a plate of extra lemons, a plate of cheese, and warm bread with two plates of olive oil with spices on the table before you've even sat down.

*Your wine is delivered before you ask for it.

*Options are offered not on the menu.

*Richard wants to know how the 9TS is doing in karate and how Katie is faring in school.

*He's already snagged and hidden the last of the chocolate mousse mini desserts for you.

* Your bill comes with a survey for a free cortina of wine on your next visit.

Gotta love Carrabba's. Salute!

be careful what you wish for . . .

So there the five of us are . . . all sprawled out on the bed, the 9TS in charge of the remote. Lest I remind you, it is Thursday night during summer reruns . . . NOTHING is on. click . . . click . . . click. Ninja opens one eye at the interruption and promptly goes back to wherever little beasties go when they lay on the bed without a bone in their body . . . you know what I am saying if you've ever been owed by a cat . . . click . . . click . . . I must be grumpy, the sound is sitting on my last nerve . . . click. And so I am thinking to myself . . . peace and quiet would be nice.

And the Gods were listening. BOOM! major power surge. Three cats instantly head for the hinterlands. The screen goes temporarily black, then 1950 fuzz appears . . . for a moment I think we are merely waiting for Ed Sullivan to walk across the stage. More fuzz. The 9TS thinks calling Brighthouse might be a good idea. I stare at him and he stares at me. I get stared down and stumble out of bed to find the phone book. I explain our plight. The kind lady asks, "Do you have the box on a surge protector?" Now I know the answer is supposed to be yes but of course if I had everything in this house on a surge protector, I would be sucking half the juice destined for NYC. No! I do not have it on a surge protector!

Sweetly, she announces that I have blown the box the smithereens and someone will be out between 10 and 12 tomorrow to sweep up the mess. The 9TS is sad. I, on the other hand, am left simply wondering exactly how much pull I have with the Gods of Silence and Peace and could I now forever conjure them up at will??

dear friends . . .

Katie and I accompanied the 9TS back to Moffitt Cancer Center last week. They performed surgery on Friday and let him go home on Sunday. We are happy to be back in the cave and recuperating. We won't know what's what until they get the pathology report back in two weeks. Thank you one and all for the good thoughts and prayers. They are greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Jeanne, Katie and the 9TS

A little potty humor . . .

I generally love the new and innovative. I'm all for progress. Progress is a good thing. But when you're traveling, some things are better left alone. So if discussions of privies make you squeamish, stop reading now. Really.

I was a mere 129 miles away from home when nature called. Finding a lavatory in the mall we had been marauding was easy, and surprisingly modern, clean, with all kinds of amenities such as nursing areas complete with rockers, a lounge area, a make-up area. This facility was gorgeous. Being in a modicum of distress, I bypassed all the attractions and headed straight for a stall. Again, large, modern, roomy. All sorts of hooks for hanging bags and purchases . . . even a built in baby seat so Junior is secure while mom does her thing. What will they think of next? So of course, I was not surprised to see that it had an automatic flush.

Automatic flushes always kind of freak me out. I am never sure what sets them off and would hate to leave knowing it had not been activated. But this morning was different. As I reached for one of those thin paper seat covers and carefully laid it in place, I turned around but before I could assume the position, SWOOSH . . . the automatic flush activated and took my seat cover with it. Hummmm. So now being quite in distress, I grabbed another cover and laid it in place. This time, thinking I hadn't moved fast enough, I swirled . . but before I could sit. WHOOSH!
Grrrrr. Again I grabbed a fresh seat cover, muttering words born from being denied a basic necessity. SWOOSH! One last time, with seat cover in place, fingers holding it tight I pivoted rather then turned. Success!!!

There are times when I must admit, I miss the old pull chain toilets. Gravity works wonders and who can resist pulling someone's chain?

Well, duh . . .

You know when the light bulb finally goes off and it hits with such an intensity that you wonder why that one particular thought took so long to gestate and finally present itself? This little oddity must have been brewing since 2007, the fact of which, should give you a glimpse of how truly slowly my brain functions. Oh my.

I was reading one of my favorite blogs when my little brain neurons finally switched tracks and allowed this one to bubble to the surface . . . Blogs are the soap operas of the new century. At least in my world. And, just like in college, I am hooked. Did I really schedule my classes around General Hospital? Really?

One of the first things I do in the morning . . . after taking care of the basics . . . is to curl up with my laptop and check blogs. Some of them are famous like Ann Marie and Ladd's. Yep, I've been sucked right onto the ranch and into Charlie's lap. Or, Stephanie's daily struggle to come to terms with life altering changes. Talk about a woman of faith. WOW. Then there is Sarah, who looks at life from a slightly different angle while trying to expand her brood. And, of course I need to check on my friends . . . some of whom are good at posting on a regular basis and some of whom . . . cough . . . have not updated their blogs since . . . cough . . . early December 2008 . . . cough! I'd add their links too but most enjoy anonymity amidst the insanity of their lives.

So here I am sucked into the lives of others . . . some of whom I will never meet and on some of whom I have enough dirt for major blackmail. All this as if there weren't enough drama in the cave right now.

But I am hooked. And if perchance I should get bored . . . another blog is just a click away . . .