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Showing posts from January, 2011

The Wrong Side of the Door

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The animals are conspiring against me.  Just when I thought it was safe to go to sleep....

"ZZZZZzzzzzzz" drool flowed like a river down my chin and onto my pillow.
"Scritch, scritch, scritch", went the little furry paw on my bedroom door.  The dog began howling.
"Don't these animals know it's cold outside?  I am quite content in my warm cocoon.  Why are they never happy where they are?", I moaned.
A voice answered, "They aren't much different than the rest of creation now are they?  Always on the 'wrong side' of the door."

Disturbed by the dream, I bolted upright in the bed.  "Wrong side of the door? What's that mean? Which door?"  Bleary eyed, I stumbled to the kitchen, made the coffee, retrieved wood, and started a fire in the woodstove.

Poking the fire, I repeated over and over to myself, "Wrong side of the door, wrong side of the door." (Fires are great for cogitating.) Poke.  Poke.  Poke.   &quo…

The Roadkill Diner and Truckstop

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I went out for a walk with my dog to pray and to off load some frustration, yesterday.  Healthy, right?
On the walk, I noticed a really nasty piece of road kill. I thought my fat puppy was going to pull my arm off trying to get to it.  But, to my surprise, she looked at it and with a flourish of her fluffy tail, she kept on walking.  I congratulated fat puppy in my doggy baby voice, "Oh, Moo, Moo you are such a good girl.  You have been eating less and you just kept on going.  You are such a good girl."  I walked on a bit then a thought wiggled through my noggin, "With how frustrated I am right now, if that was a loaf of garlic bread, would I have as much restraint as the dog?"
I've been on a weight loss journey for about a year now.  I can literally say that I have mourned and celebrated the same eight pounds gained and lost for this year.  I could have reached my goal by now. What is so ridiculous is that I have been given a GPS for the journey. Through prayer…

Orange is a Food Group

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Orange is a food group.  I am officially declaring it on behalf of my four year old son.  He only eats food that is the color orange or compliments the color orange.  The list that follows includes foods that are ALLOWED to come in contact with his delicate palate: orange chickies, orange jello, yellow apple juice, tan applesauce, orange madarine oranges, white flour tortillas and orange macaroni and cheese.  Sometimes, he might add 'redish pinkish' bologna.  I know, I know....gross.  However, right now, it's either this or starvation.

The pediatrician has chastised me. Friends are split.  Some say that I should not give him anything else but what everyone else is eating.  Other friends say that he won't eat this way forever.  Parenting books say that it isn't a hill worth dying on and that the problem will correct itself.  But oh, Dr. Spock, don't you know that I have a forty something year old friend who won't eat anything with cooked onions in it becau…

Laundry Stomping Good Time

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Here's something new and antiquated at the same time, hand washing all of your clothes using a wash tub, scrub board, and laundry line.  I know what you are thinking..."um, have you lost your mind or just completely sold out to the Amish? " Actually, no, but I do wonder sometimes what the cats think of me.

Now that it is winter, it's a little harder to hang the clothes out to dry on the line, but it can be done.  During the summer, I was a washing wench fool.  Through trial and error, I have learned four pivotal things about laundry.

Lessons Learned
1)  Don't wait two weeks to wash clothes.

Hubby made me a neat little wash tub out of a 5 gallon bucket, gamma seal, and plunger.  It was great, but not for two weeks worth of clothes. On the bright side, I got one heck of a bi-cep/tri-cep work out.

2)  The bathtub makes a fine wash tub and provides a hyper 4 year old with tons of entertainment and exercise.

Well, when you wait too long to wash 'em, they are not go…

Tybee Pete: Semper Fidelis

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Three years, two months and fourteen days ago, my Father called me on the phone for the last time.

“Hello, Baby”
“Daddy, what’s up?” Even at 40, I still called him Daddy.

His affable, Southern drawl was slurred and jumbled, “Baby, I need your help. I need you to take care of my business. I went to emergency room at the hospital. The doctor said I was real sick, but I dunno. I left there.  Come down here, please."  “I’m getting in the car now.” I drove from Atlanta to Savannah at a speed which we call in the South ‘flying low’. That term is typically reserved for NASCAR speeds or when one is late to the Wednesday night fellowship supper at the Baptist Church. My mind raced, “What on earth does he mean ‘I lef there’?” My mind flitted around to different topics as I drove. Husband, kids, what to do; finally, it alit on the chaos of the Baker clan.

We Baker’s were a boisterous bunch. Southern dysfunction is in a category all on its own. Picture Archie Bunker’s family, but with Southern…