Thursday, December 18, 2014

INTERNET LOVE Ohhhhh feels good!

I had an unexpected email from a person all the way on the other side of the world:  kinda like China, but it's Australia.  They're the same, right? 

I'm geographically illiterate, never fully sure that Canada is not in America and that Hawaii is.  And who cares anyway.

Which way is east?  I can tell you when the sun is coming up, but after dark?  Fuhgedaboudit.

So, to hear from Australia....I mean...think about the email postage!

But it was my Sue checking in on me since I have been MIA far longer than usual and she knew something was wrong.

I felt SO loved by her.

Then this morning, Joe walked in with some more love from Australia:


And it has a tie tack on the back, and me love tie tacks!!!
Why?  Cuz you can pin them anywhere and there's no "safety pin" harness on the back.

And she knows I have a thing for frogs.....and she loves me....and it's an AUSTRALIAN FROG!!

These are different, cuz Froggy came all the way to ME from halfway across the from China, but made in Australia where the purchase of this froggy goes to the protection of wildlife!!

me likey the double love.

(p.s.  I also have a thing for owls......) hello?  anyone?

Tuesday, December 9, 2014


The fantastically brilliant ALL CONSUMING  took some amazing photos of the lights on her tree and told me how to get the effects she did:  Use the "fireworks" setting on the camera and shake a bit.  (Like you would normally do when trying to take a very detailed photo.  SHAKE IT LIKE YOUR MAMA TAUGHT YOU !)

And this is what you get!

"V" shake.

The Goose Shake.
(What you get when you're being goosed at the exact moment you click the button.)

And now for something completely different:

Every time I see my sis, she always tugs on my shirt and shorts, pulling the material out about a foot while saying  " buy your clothes too big.  You look like one of Omar's tents!"

Well, I've always bought my clothes several sizes too large.  Dressing like a male rapper is my "thang", and at my age I figure the less people know about my body, the better.  

"Let them guess!"  I've always said with conviction.

Joe - as well as one of my neighbor friends, also insist I'd look better in clothes that fit, so Joe decided we were going clothes shopping for each other.   Does Lowe's sell clothes?

He also decided - in a very sneaky way - which size I was going to get stuck with for Christmas.

As I placed my choices in the cart, Joe secretly removed each piece and replaced it with HIS idea of my size.  In the dressing room I didn't think I needed to look at the sizes again and just tried them on, said "They fit" and off Joe went to gather more for me.

And he was kind enough to let me do the same thing for him, and - not wanting to incur my wrath, he accepted every piece I picked out for him.

While checking out, the clerk asked if we wanted everything wrapped for Christmas.  We answered  "NO!  What if we're dead by then!  It would be horrible to leave these unopened!"

When she stopped laughing, she told us to stop thinking like that and patted us on the heads.  Actually, we didn't get patted, but I had a coupon for 75% off, and ended up with an additional $70 gift certificate!  I think we MADE money!!

So I baked him a mile high apple pie.  And it is....was....SO GOOD.

Guaranteeing that I WON'T be able to get in those clothes tomorrow.

Sunday, December 7, 2014


Did you ever look at the people who come to your blog and just want to hug yourself with happiness?

No?   Well, do it.

All these holidays coming up puts everyone in different moods and I can identify with most of them, (except where great globbety goopy extreme joy is concerned).  But that doesn't seem to be something my readers are susceptible to.  

(If you are, thanks for not sneezing on your keyboard)

Joe and I made a new tradition for Thanksgiving that I may not have mentioned, but it so suits us.

Not one to be ordered around by a calendar, we went to a buffet and ate, came home, and put our shorts back on.  That following Saturday (because I FELT like it) I baked two cornish hens, made dressing and mashed potatoes and we had our private "holiday" meal with only the foods we love.  Then we agreed:  "So THIS is how it should be." and each of us said  "Mmmmm.  Good."

Next up, we decided NO christmas cards.  That's another expectation where the only profit is for the post office.  

We made sure the invisible grandkids got their expectations met via gift cards, then the rest is up for whatever and however WE want it to be.

I'm thinking of a holiday ham, served on a date of our choosing and learning a wee bit more about football than I already know.  (There are no bases to run around, but that's as far as I've gotten on my "things to learn" bucket list)

but I digress.   I've said it before and I'll say it again and again, until you believe me:  there is NOT ONE person who comments here that is a stick of blogging dynamite with a short fuse that I must pussyfoot around.  And I appreciate the wonderful band of internet family that gathers here.

It's not about quantity of comment.  It's quality of friends.  And if everyone ever disappears on me, I'm not going to start visiting strangers in the hopes they'll increase my "readership".

There's rarely, if ever, anything I have to say that is of great interest or even entertaining.  I prefer seeing you-all as being friends passing by and saying "hi".

And this year, I want Joe and I to give ourselves TOYS! We're happy with ONE coat, ONE suit, ONE of whatever else we need, and neither of us wants more underwear, robes, jammies or houseslippers.

But where toys are inner child wants to make a comeback and I'm hoping to be outside, flying one of those remote controlled helicopters. 

"Dear Santa,  My remote controlled truck met an unfortunate demise a few years back."   

Friday, December 5, 2014

SOMETHING YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT JOE: and he'll kill me if he reads this.

There were two high schools where I was raised.  The Catholic one and the scary "public" one where the bad boys went.

Waaaaay back then I went to the Catholic high school.  I wore my uniform skirt with the waistband rolled up, turning it into a mini.  I also thought bad boys were the sexiest thing going.... I was also an idiot.  Can't forget that part.

The "other" high school was where you went to find the sexiest bad boys.  In return, the bad boys considered Catholic school girls to be the sexiest thing going.  And every bad boy wanted one.  

The perfect setup in the perfect soap opera.  

Joe was attending the "other" high school and riding a motorcycle that would have made me leap from a 3rd floor window just to meet this "bad boy".

But Joe wasn't "bad" in the way that my gun toting, cigarettes rolled in the t-shirt sleeve way MY bad boy was.  And I was an idiot.  Can't forget that part.

Joe, even at that age, had compassion and empathy and such a sense of responsibility that I would have probably seen him as a wimp and avoided him at all costs.  I was an idiot.  Can't forget that part.

Thirty plus years later, one of the things that first attracted me to Joe in a physical way were his "football shoulders".  *drool*  And the way he walked with a slight rolling gait, like a sailor.  Sailors: another weakness of mine.   But I was an idiot.  Can't forget that part. 

Joe was Army, not Navy.  And what he didn't tell me until after we were married, was that he had been slated to go pro.  Pro football, that is.  

And even though I was 51 when I learned this, I wasn't too old (yet) to get all tingly and squeal like a high school girl still rolling her waistband to make that skirt into a mini.  *drool*

But an early case of compassion, empathy, and a sense of responsibility proved to be his undoing.  

You see, he did a hard line drive tackle that broke another young man's legs SO BAD that, to this day, he still walks with a horrendous limp.  And Joe felt guilty for being the cause.

Add to that, the fact his dad needed his son's financial help, Joe dropped his dreams to help out at home. Another case of compassion, empathy, and a sense of responsibility being a young man's "downfall".

A few years ago while at Lowe's (my favorite store, as you know) I looked up in time to see my former "bad boy" not three feet away.

The first thing I felt was a shaft of fear from year's of conditioning at his hands.  The second thing I felt was shock at his pale complexion.  The low "V" of his t-shirt exposed a scrawny chest that had once been muscled.  Where a pack of cigarettes once sat tucked in the sleeve of his t-shirt, was a nicotine patch..

I quickly looked around until I saw Joe.  Football shoulders still stretching the sleeves of his shirt, his rolling "sailor" stroll visible as he walked to the section of potted plants, looking for something that would brighten my day.


I'm no longer an idiot.  Can't forget that part.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014


Joe is the designated "taster" in the house.  I can ask him "does this taste right?" as I'm aiming the spoon for his lips and he will dutifully open his mouth.

"Does this smell right to you?"  and he'll dutifully loan his nose to the cause.

It doesn't work quite that way in reverse.  If he asks me to sniff the milk carton or taste the questionable whatever, I say  "If you don't think it's right, throw it out."

But, there came an instance yesterday that caused me to join the paranoid party of "IS THIS NORMAL....OR IS IT ALZHEIMERS".

I never thought I'd enlist, as I know that forgetting names, numbers, (does this apply to your street address?) is considered normal and part of life.

But I recently drew a complete blank when asked my name.  I covered the embarrassing moment by saying I was ready to answer any question but that, we laughed, but as quickly as I was reaching for my name, my brain cells were refusing to hand over the information.

I eventually answered, while wondering if Dana was, indeed, my name, or just a figment of my imagination.  

But yesterday scared me SO BADLY that the feeling still hasn't left, and I can't help but look back on family members and list them as:   "No.  No.  Not her.  Not him." and, no member of my family had alzheimers.

But no one had diabetes or crohns disease either, and that didn't stop ME from getting both.

What caused this shaft of heart trembling fear, if forgetting my damn name didn't?  

Are you ready?

Promise not to laugh?  

This is the honest truth, and I mentioned it to several people, who had differing opinions ranging from  "Get it checked.  NOW!" to "you just had too much on your mind".

And you hate to ask a Doktor, because they probably hear it all the time, and I don't know any who would respond professionally beyond  "shit happens....would you please pay case you forget?"

I had just finished rinsing my hair, grabbed the towel, and immediately forgot how to wrap it in a turban.

"Front to back?" I wondered.  "Back to front?"  I was dripping!!  I could not remember HOW, but I could remember that I had done it hundreds of thousands of times through my life.

I've heard Alzheimers explained as  "Forgetting the name for a key is acceptable, but forgetting what a key IS, is not."

Should I worry?  Or should I first ask this bald man sitting next to me if he lives here, or am I at the wrong address.  

Monday, December 1, 2014


I finally got fed up with having boxes of aluminum foil, plastic wrap, etc., taking up room on the shelves of my pantry.  Here's what you can do about it:

Hang a magazine holder/rack on the back of your sink cabinet door.

Then get all that crap out of your pantry.


Then start dragging in all that beloved Christmas crap stuff that you are going to have to take down and put away in a month.

 Turn on every decorative light you have,
and turn off all house lights.

Home made beeswax candle, 
with plain old epsom salts and glue.  
It looks like snow in real life.  Here, it looks silver.

Everything looks better in the dark.

And small lights cast the most glow.

This little guy has removable feet
which makes it easier to store him

And so does this three foot tall santa.  

Big feet, big...........nevermind.

After moving the tree three times, 
I finally dragged it to the middle of the patio doors and left it there.

Then Joe, Beau and I sneaked outside and looked back into the house like any peeping tom would do (and probably has).

Snapped a photo using my night lense
like any peeping tom would do (and probably has).

Pronounced it "good enough" and closed the door.

(And don't take the sign literally.)

Friday, November 28, 2014

NO MORE BAD HAIR DAYS? It ain't all it's cracked up to be.

MANY years ago, I bought a wig from Paula Young's catalog just for giggles.  Since I'm  frugal (tight as the bark on a tree), it was one of her cheaper ($35) ones.  

Bev and I used to order wigs from this same company then run to each other's house to try them on and laugh.  God how I miss that.. .. but I digress

I still have that original wig!  I found it recently - long forgotten and crammed inside the sleeve of a sweatshirt.  (Hey, I plead the 5th.)

About a year ago, I noticed my hair falling out at an alarming rate, and it didn't stop.  Nothing seasonal about it.  I was losing my hair.

Joe and I drove to a wig shop down here, so that I could try before I buy.  Every wig in that store had enough hair on it for three women and a poodle.  Every wig caused me to start laughing as I pointed at the mirror.  The "wig woman" would remind me that - to a total stranger - the amount of hair on my wig would look perfectly natural..... heh heh.  

But I ended up buying a silver poodle.

Now, friends, I ask you.....who of us can't tell a wig from six blocks away when it's on someone else?  

I have a habit of pointing and whispering to Joe:  "There's one!" 

We both also do this where silicone implants are concerned, only then we point and say  "There's two!"

Heads-up:  If the woman is standing next to you, ya might not want to say it too loudly.

Enter my life saver:  YOUTUBE VIDEOS !  

If you aren't aware of this fact - there are tons of videos demonstrating everything from live births to card making to how to tame a wig.  It seems that everyone wants to make videos and I spent weeks watching women with humongous egos, tossing their newly purchased golden length wigs over their shoulders, proclaiming how natural they looked.

"NO ONE CAN TELL!"  Causes a lot of laughter around here.  But I found some videos of black women showing how they make their own wigs, or remake ones they've bought, and I thought  "AHA!"

Joe happily wore each of my Dolly Parton wigs so that I could attack them with a razor blade, thinning them by nearly half their bulk to suit my smaller head.  Then I threw them in a sink full of fabric softener (thank you, Snuggle).  

I was going to beat them into submission with success or failure, because the time has come dear friends, where I am going to be wearing one or the other 80% of the time.

And, with the enthusiastic support of Joe, I've decided NOT to try and match my own hair.  If it looks like a wig anyway, then LET IT BE PINK!  Or blue!  Or auburn!  

If it's inevitable, might as well relax and enjoy it.

 Brown wig and makeup

I've already thinned the poodle wig below, 
and with a few more tweaks 
it will be as perky as the one above.

and less like a helmet.
 (no makeup).

SEE?  You CAN remake a wig
(and makeup helps anything)