Happy Thoughts for a Happy New Year

New Year’s Resolutions have never been a priority for me. Oh, I’ve made a few over the years, but quickly learned I didn’t follow my resolutions beginning very quickly, usually on Jan. 2. So, why bother?

Thus I had to go looking on the Internet for resolutions, and found the following, followed by my own observations. If you haven’t made any resolutions yourself for 2016, feel free to borrow.

-Just for today, I will not sit in my living room all day in my nightdress. Instead, I will move my computer into the bedroom. (Don’t own a nightdress. Much prefer sweats.)

-I will no longer waste my time relieving the past, instead I will spend it worrying about the future. (Thought that was normal behavior and I didn’t have to make a resolution to do it.)

-I will not bore my boss by with the same excuse for taking leaves. I will think of some more excuses. (Too sleepy to accomplish this resolution.)

-I will do less laundry and use more deodorant. (Done.)

-I will avoid taking a bath whenever possible and conserve more water. (Done.)

-I will assure my lawyer that I will never again show up drunk at a custody hearing. (Don’t drink.)

-I will give up chocolates totally. 100 percent. Completely. Honestly. (Yes, I tried this once. Was eating chocolate by Jan. 2.)

-I will try to figure out why I really need nine e-mail addresses. (Oh come on. I’ve only got two!)

-I will stop sending e-mails to my spouse. (Got plenty of emails. Don’t have a spouse.)

-I resolve to work with neglected children -- my own. (Children? Work? Incompatible words.)

-I will stop sending e-mail, ICQ, Instant Messages and be on the phone at the same time with the same person. (I’m not sure I could do that in the first place!)

-I will spend less than one hour a day on the Internet. This, of course, will be hard to estimate since I'm not a clock watcher. (And that isn’t going to happen.)

-I will read the manual... just as soon as I can find it. (This actually happened to me over the Christmas holiday!)

-I will think of a password other than "password." (I wish I could remember my passwords!)

-I will not tell the same story at every get together. (Will someone please remind me of that?)

-I won't worry so much. (I worry about worrying.)

-I will cut my hair. (Been thinking that for a year.)

-I will grow my hair. (Been trying that for a year!)

-I will stop considering other people's feelings when they so obviously don't consider mine. (Tell my family that every Christmas!)

-I will be more imaginative. (I am too imaginative!)

-I will not ring the stewardess button on airplanes just to get her phone number. (This is a resolution obviously made by a man. I actually rang a stewardess button one time just to get her out of this very situation!)

OOPS! I forgot. I did make a New Year’s Resolution this very morning. I resolved, as I brushed my teeth, that I will STOP HUMMING THE STAR WARS THEME IN MY HEAD! Is anyone else having this problem? The good news is I have stopped humming Christmas music.

Happy New Year!

My Holiday Distractions

This holiday is distracting me.

I asked Google about Holiday Distractions, and all I got was “They Can Be Dangerous!”

No joke! OK. I will confess to running at least one red light as I drove down Cherokee in Sallisaw trying to remember if I had enough gifts for all the great-grandkids. I can’t keep up with all the great-grandkids. Their numbers keep increasing. I’m gonna’ have to make a list. And that’s why I ran right through that red light. Thank goodness there were no cars coming, and none of Sallisaw’s finest close by.

I will not confess to all the yellow lights I’ve sneaked through in Fort Smith. That city must have some sort of camera that focuses on my vehicle and which changes the green to yellow just as I enter the intersection. But I can guarantee I’m not the only one complaining about that issue.

Oops. Sorry. Got distracted.

Then there’s the Christmas gift stash piled up in my spare bedroom. As most of my two or three readers know, and all my family and friends know, I start Christmas shopping on Dec. 26 every year. I just cannot pass up a good deal!

While rummaging through the stash just this week I came across multiple items bought 12 months ago that I had forgotten about. Oops. Now I’ve got to count gifts again to make sure all the great-grandkids have the same number of Christmas presents. Dang, I’ve got to start another list. How distracting!

Then there’s the reason I was rummaging through the stash. I lost a gift. Funny thing though, it wasn’t a Christmas gift. It is a birthday gift purchased in August for a good friend who suffers through her birthday in mid-December. Since it’s so close to Christmas, I try to make her birthday gift extra special so her birthday isn’t passed over for the Christmas gifting.

I loved that gift. It was bought with good thoughts and purpose. And now I can’t find it! Friend’s birthday gift got lost in the Christmas gift shuffle, that being the pile of stuff in the spare bedroom.

I got distracted, OK? I distinctly remember gazing at that chosen gift, and patting myself on the back for making such a good choice. Then I put it away in a safe place for my friend’s special day. I got distracted. Now I can’t remember where I put that gift.

I have searched the pile of purchased gifts and found all those gifts bought 12 or more months ago. I have even searched under the chairs and couch in the living room to make sure birthday gift did not just fall off and get shoved under something and out of sight. Amazingly, that’s where I found a wrapped Christmas gift that must have gotten lost last year. I remember asking Darling Daughter how she liked that gift and her “What gift?” response. I just assumed someone else picked it up by mistake.

I have decided it is now a gift to me.

But I have become distracted, again.

With friend’s birthday looming, I gave up on the great search for the lost gift, and went shopping. Yes, my friend does have a birthday gift but not the one of first choice. Maybe she’ll get it for Christmas, this year, or the next, or even the next, or whenever I find it if I don’t get distracted.

Not a Christmas Shopping List

A Nonymous friend is at it again. A Nonymous loves to surf the Internet to find lists of strange but true stuff.

His latest edition is entitled “Questions That Haunt Me.” Oddly, I’ve not thought of many of the following questions.

That leads me to believe that A Nonymous has not much to do but sit around and think. Has he finished his Christmas shopping? Perhaps he has assigned his Christmas shopping list to his wife, which I strongly suspect, while he works on other lists. But OK, for those who have nothing else to do, read on.

Questions that Haunt Me

How important does a person have to be before they are considered
assassinated instead of just murdered?

Why does a round pizza come in a square box?

What disease did cured ham actually have?

How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it would
be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?

Why is it that people say they 'slept like a baby' when babies wake up
like every two hours?

Why are you IN a movie, but you're ON TV?

Why do doctors leave the room while you change?  They're going to see
you naked anyway.

Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a
horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat?

Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours? They're both dogs!

If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from
vegetables, what is baby oil made from?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at
you, but when you take him for a car ride, he sticks his head out the
window?

Why, Why, Why do we press harder on a remote control when we know the
batteries are going dead?

Why do banks charge a fee on 'insufficient funds' when they know there
is not enough money?

Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion
stars, but check when you say the paint is wet?

Why do they use sterilized needles for death by lethal injection?

Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest, but ducks when you
throw a revolver at him?

Why did Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?

Why is it that no matter what color bubble bath you use the bubbles
are always white?

Is there ever a day that mattresses are NOT on sale?

Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator with hopes that
something new to eat will have materialized?

Why is it that no plastic bag will open from the end on your first try?

How do those dead bugs get into those enclosed light fixtures?

Why is it that whenever you attempt to catch something that's falling
off the table you always manage to knock something else over?

How come you never hear father-in-law jokes?

And my favorite -

The statistics on sanity show that one out of every four persons is
suffering from some sort of serious mental illness. Think of your
three best friends -- if they seem okay, then it's you.

Have a nice day A Nonymous. Now I’m going Christmas shopping.

Happy Holidays, with Lots of Pie!

People leave things in their shopping carts now days. If I find myself forced to choose a shopping cart with leftovers I usually pick up whatever it is with a tissue and drop it in the nearest trash.

But that wasn’t the case this past week when I had an urgent hunger for a pumpkin pie and grabbed the nearest shopping cart at Walmart. The cart contained a former shopper’s Thanksgiving shopping list.

I declare now I want to go to this woman’s Thanksgiving dinner.

Always inquisitive (otherwise known as nosy) I took a peek at that piece of paper in my cart. It had to be the forgotten list of a female shopper. The handwriting was too neat. No man writes a grocery shopping list in handwriting that is neat as a pin.

Reading her list, it was apparent this woman was the dessert cook for her dinner. She had to buy SIX (count ‘em) SIX graham cracker crusts. Next on the list was (oh good grief) cream cheese times 12. . .12! Right behind that was six cans of condensed milk. Oh Yum!

Then she had to buy blueberry, cherry, lemon and pineapple pie fillings! That was followed by dried beef times 3 and green onions times 3 and five pounds of potatoes.

Obviously this woman was making my kind of Thanksgiving dinner . . . cheese balls, maybe mashed potatoes and a whole bunch of pies. Pies! I love pies!

Where is this woman!?! I need her! Yes, I kept her shopping list. It is so much like my own (except for the number of pies) I thought gee, I can save time using her list. And we all need more time at this time of year. And this neat-writing, super Thanksgiving cook, I thought, must have lots of time, or maybe a whole lot more energy than me. Because at this time of year it’s run-run-run and do-do-do. There’s so much to do on the to-do list!

Then I felt a little guilty about my bakery-made pumpkin pie. Didn’t make it from scratch, but I had awoken in the middle of the night with an overwhelming need for a pumpkin pie, and I’m not too good at making pies at 3 a.m. I always have a hunger for a pumpkin pie at this time of year. It’s just once and just at this time of year, at Thanksgiving.

So I lined up in the check-out line with my pie and Cool Whip feeling a bit wanting, not up to the chores ahead, that is making a family Thanksgiving. And, as so often happens in a small town, I knew the checker. Everyone knows everyone in a small town. That’s why I live here.

And as I put my not-homemade pie in the cart I wished her “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Easter,” she replied.

“Uh,” I responded. “Are you getting a little ahead of time on purpose?”

She broke out laughing. “I’m sorry. I mean Happy Thanksgiving!”

Think my friend was feeling the stress and pressure of the holiday too.

“That’s OK,” I said. “If you want to skip winter and move on to spring and Easter, that’s fine with me. In the meantime, Happy Thanksgiving.”

So here’s to all – Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, have a Happy Easter, and we’ll throw in a great Fourth of July too. And may all your pies be perfect!

Who You Gonna' Call? Butterball!

Turkey Day looms. And how stressful that is, or was. I cooked turkeys for many years for the family. Then I got tired of it and handed the oven mitts over to the kids.

For too many years to count, I slaved away in the kitchen while the kids and grandkids played and partied in the living room. I grew tired. I quit. And the kids took over the feast-cooking chores quite well. I do try to hang out in the kitchen with the chief cook a little bit just to ease the stress, but there is really nothing that will ease the stress of cooking that big, big bird, something you only do once or twice a year.

A friend related to me just this week some of the desperate phone calls made to the Butterball Turkey-Talk Hotline during the holidays. They reminded me of my own years as a prisoner of the kitchen. So I got online and looked them up.

And I laughed so hard at the following, tears rolled down my face. Enjoy the frantic calls from the turkey cook.

*“Should I remove the plastic wrap before I cook the turkey?” Uh, yes.

*“I don’t want to touch the giblets. Can I fish them out with a coat hanger?” Not a good idea but yes.

*“The turkey in my freezer is 23 years old. Is it safe to eat?” Uh, not a wise choice.

*“I don’t want to cook the whole turkey, so I cut it in half with a chainsaw. How do I get the chainsaw oil out of the turkey?” Uh, throw turkey away and go out to eat.

*“I scrubbed my raw turkey with a toothbrush dipped in bleach for three hours. Is that enough to kill the harmful bacteria?” Throw turkey away and go out to eat.

*“Can I cook the turkey on the engine block of my semi while I’m driving? If I drive faster, will it cook faster?” Um, no.

*“My chihuahua crawled in the turkey and I can’t get him out!” Caller was told how to enlarge cavity to rescue dog. Roasted chihuahua is not a good substitute for turkey.

*“My turkey has no breast meat.” Uh, turn it over. (Cook did find the breast meat.)

*Butterball staff member asked woman what state her bird was in, meaning how thawed was it. Cook responded, “Florida.”

*“The directions say to roast the turkey but my oven only has bake or broil. How do I set it?” Bake will do it.

*“Can I thaw the frozen turkey using a hair dryer? Or wrap it in an electric blanket? Or in the aquarium? In the bathtub while kids are taking a bath?” No, No, No and No.

*“How long will it take to roast the turkey?”

How much does it weigh?

Answer: “I don’t know. It’s still running around outside.”

And finally, the most frightening question of all:

A young woman called the turkey hot-line from where she was hiding in the closet. Her question was, “My mother and my mother-in-law are in the kitchen. One says the turkey is done and one says it isn’t. What do I do?”

There is no answer listed, perhaps because even the experts do not want to get between the mother and the mother-in-law.

OK. I’ll make my one turkey confession. Yes, one year, I forgot to remove the neck and giblets. But hey, everything got cooked, and the dog sure like those giblets.

Here’s hoping your turkeys are perfect, and you have no leftovers. And, if all else fails, call 1-800-BUTTERBALL.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Where's Thanksgiving Dinner!?!

WHAT!?!

No annual Turkey Dinner at Sallisaw’s First United Methodist Church!?!

That information disrupted my day totally. I was in a tizzy! What to do? What to do?

It was panic-attack time. The holidays do not officially arrive until Sallisaw’s First United Methodist Church holds its annual Thanksgiving Dinner. I’ve lived here 35 years and have had 35 First United Methodist Church turkey dinners.

In fact, I owe the church one fork. I don’t know how it happened, but somehow, one year, I got away with a Methodist fork. It’s been in my pickup truck for years. I have good intentions of giving it back some day.

When informed by the First United Methodist Church secretary via phone that there would be no turkey dinner, I think I screamed but the nice lady quickly informed me, “It’s OK. The ladies at First Assembly have taken over the dinner.”

A call to First Assembly nearly caused another panic.

“WHAT?” the church secretary responded. I think I scared her. I think she immediately envisioned herself having to roast 200 turkeys and whip up a whole lot of pumpkin pies. “No. No. No,” she told me.

But then where was Sallisaw’s community turkey dinner? Daughter already had tickets, she just didn’t tell me where it was.

First Assembly secretary called me back. I have discovered a new technique. If you need an answer to a question, scare the subject to whom you have posed the question. They will find the answer very quickly.

“The dinner is at Oakridge Assembly,” she told me.

At last, my quest for a turkey dinner had reached its goal. I called the church, and took photos of the ladies cooking, and I just finished eating there. (I need a nap!) It was delicious.

But the United Methodist Women (UMW) surrendering their Thanksgiving aprons still puzzled me. I called Anne Bottorff of the UMW at Sallisaw’s First United Methodist Church.

“We hated giving it up,” she said. “We truly did. It was a heart-rending thing but there comes a time when you just have to quit.”

For 43 years, the UMW ladies have been cooking Sallisaw’s community Thanksgiving dinner. The money raised went to their many missions and projects.

“We truly struggled with the decision,” Anne explained “but we're aging, we’ve lost some people, and the high number of meals was overwhelming. The cleanup was horrendous and the recuperation was, well, long.”

I countered, “It was a tradition!”

“Yes,” Anne said. “That’s the funny part. It is a community tradition.”

But, she concluded with, “I’m tired.”

OK. I get it. I understand. Even after cooking my own family’s Thanksgiving dinner for some 40 or so years, I had the same reaction. I told them, “I’m tired,” and I handed the dinner over to Darling Daughter, who has spent the last week planning that family Thanksgiving dinner. Thank goodness for those we can hand over the traditions too.

And thank you to the ladies of the UMW for 43 years of good eating and friendship. I promise I’ll bring the fork back, some day.

Unhappy Hubby's Tales about Wives

Oh dear. As I write this, it is almost Friday the 13th. No bad luck I hope. Oh well. . .

Oh well. . .for my guest author today. Ha.

Several of my friends like to tell jokes by email, some of which cannot be published in mixed company and before youngsters who know how to use a computer, and which one of them doesn’t now days?

The following friend and author must have had a bad day, or an argument with spouse, or maybe was just in a bad mood, because all he wanted to do was tell bad jokes about wives.

Read, laugh out loud, but DO NOT email me. I didn’t write the following. He did!

Avocados

 A wife asks her husband, "Could you please go shopping for me and buy one carton of milk and if they have avocados, get six.”

A short time later the husband comes back with six cartons of milk. The wife asks him, "Why did you buy six cartons of milk?"

He replied, "They had avocados."

If you're a woman, I'm sure you're going back to read it again! Men will get it the first time.

My work is done here.

Water in the Carburetor 

Wife: "There is trouble with the car. It has water in the carburetor."

Husband: "Water in the carburetor? That's ridiculous."

Wife: "I tell you the car has water in the carburetor."

Husband: "You don't even know what a carburetor is. I'll check it out. Where's the car?”

Wife: "In the pool."

Frightening Statistic
This is a frightening statistic, probably one of the most worrisome in recent years.

Twenty-five percent of the women in this country are on medication for mental illness.

That’s scary. It means 75 percent are running around untreated.

The Phone

A young man wanted to get his beautiful blonde wife something nice for their first wedding
anniversary. So he decided to buy her a cell phone. He showed her the phone and explained to her all of its features.

Meg was excited to receive the gift and simply adored her new phone.

The next day Meg went shopping. Her phone rang and, to her astonishment, it was her husband on the other end.

"Hi Meg," he said, "How do you like your new phone?"

Meg replied, "I just love it! It's so small and your voice is clear as a bell, but there's one thing I don't understand though."

"What's that, sweetie?" asked her husband.

"How did you know I was at Wal-Mart?" 

He Must Pay

Husband and wife had a tiff.

Wife called up her mom and said, "He fought with me again, I am coming to live with you."

Mom said, "No darling, he must pay for his mistake. I am coming to live with you.”
 

Today's Short Reading from the Bible

From Genesis: "And God promised men that good and obedient wives would be found in all corners of the earth."

Then He made the earth round...and He laughed and laughed and laughed!

And so we dedicate this week’s blog to our Unhappy Hubby Writer, who is going to have lots and lots of bad luck when it comes to his own wife. Oh dear.

Grandma's Halloween

Halloween! I love Halloween. I don’t love Halloween because it’s scary or because I like to dress up as somebody odd. I love Halloween because I’m a grandma.

I love Halloween because I got to dress up my granddaughter when she was little. One year she was Tinkerbell. I made that costume and am proud of it. One year she was an upscale witch. We went to a resale shop and found a fancy, tiny, formal dress that, combined with a witch’s hat and a broom, made my granddaughter the best dressed witch in the west. One year she wanted to be an M and M.

Hum. Made that costume, but had a bit of a hitch while ironing it for the final presentation on Oct. 31. That’s when son walked by and made the comment, “Uh mom, you got the M on backwards.” Oops. Had to start from scratch.

And that’s why I love Halloween. It’s called grandchildren.

Being a grandma is the greatest job in the world. I, and other grandparents, have noticed that parents do not understand this attitude. Parents are just happy when the grandparents agree to take on the child overnight, or longer. We grandparents tell them that they will change their attitude in the future, when the parents become grandparents themselves. They don’t believe us. But, without exception and I mean WITHOUT EXCEPTION, every parent I know who became a grandparent has recognized that new attitude.

“It’s a whole new world.” Yes it is.

Now, however, my grandchildren are all grown up, and I don’t even want to know what they do on Halloween. That might really scare me. But they have children of their own now. Unfortunately, most of them are too far away to come visit this great-grandma.

And the one who lives near, my 2-year-old great-grandson Jarek, has a closely related grandma. That is my Darling Daughter. Darling Daughter has discovered the greatest job in the world. She loves being a grandma. Darling Daughter likes to be called Grams. And Grams has discovered the joy of Halloween – the grandchild.

I got this text this week (only slightly edited) from Darling Daughter, otherwise known as Grams:  “Jarek is going trick-or-treating. He will be coming to your house. I will be there. How exciting!!! I have to get stuff to give him. I’m happy happy happy!”

No doubt I am going to be in big trouble for reporting the above, but it was so cute I couldn’t resist. I can still be proud of my Darling Daughter, especially now that she’s a grandma.

But hey. I have plans too. It’s called Halloween on Elm Street. It’s from 4 to 7 p.m. Saturday in Sallisaw. And I will be there. I will be there at the Friends of the Library booth and maybe even hang out a little with the KXMX gang who will also have a booth. Now I’m excited. Because I plan to tell every little kid who comes by, dressed up as an M and M, or a witch, or Tinkerbelle, that this grandma thinks they are the greatest and have the best costume ever! And Grandma wishes them Happy Halloween. And, I hear Jarek plans to stop by too. Woohoo!

He Is a Hero

A new television show on public television has captured my heart. It’s called “Home Fires.”

This television show is described as a period piece, which dramatizes how the women in Britain responded to the outbreak of World War II. The heartbreaking center of this, to me, captivating drama, depicts the women’s response not just to the war, but to the fact that their men - their husbands and sons – had to go fight that war.

As they send their men off to fight, their worry and sadness makes my own insides clinch.

I am the mother of two veterans, and a grandmother with only one grandson, who was deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan three times. I know the terror those women must have felt. I know how they feared the knock on the door, the ringing of the telephone, the delivery of the telegram.

I remember the fear the mothers and family members fought off when Operation Desert Storm began so many years ago. I remember holding in my arms the sobbing mother of one young man who was in the thick of it in Iraq.

We fought it off that paralyzing fear by starting a support group. That support group raised money, collected the name and address of every military person with county connections, and made sure that person had a message or package from our own home fires every week. They wrote back, and said it helped. Those efforts of support certainly helped us survive the fear of losing a loved one in war.

But now, we have lost one of our own. Master Sgt. Joshua L. Wheeler died Oct. 22, wounded in a raid in Afghanistan. A career soldier, Sgt. Wheeler is from Roland and is a graduate of Muldrow High School.

Once again, insides clinch. My head hangs in sorrow. Tears well in the eyes. I know members of this man’s family.

“He ran toward the gunfire,” Ash Carter, Department of Defense secretary, told the media.

We always send our best, don’t we? My heart, our hearts, are heavy.

When I spoke with that family member, there was little I could say to ease that burden. I did the best I could. “He helped save 70 people,” was all I could muster.

“Yes,” that person said. “His four sons will always remember him as a hero.” Sgt. Wheeler has four sons and a baby, and he helped save 70 persons who were to be murdered. And he ran toward the gunfire.

He is a hero. He is one of our own.

The Squirrely Squirrel in My Back Yard

Does Halloween cause critters to behave badly? Or, perhaps more correctly – to behave weirdly?

I, and almost everyone else we suppose who hangs up a bird feeder, has an ongoing war with squirrels. I have been battling squirrels who like to feloniously snitch the feed from my bird feeders. Not only do they snatch the food, they also destroy the feeders. Two have hit the ground so far. Those dang squirrels ate through the cords by which my best feeder hung, causing it to crash and spill seeds everywhere. Those toothsome little devils gnawed right through the plastic of the second feeder.

In an effort to protect my birds, who used to flock to my feeders, I tried a tactic found in a bird magazine. They advised I feed the squirrels elsewhere. The magazine suggested some corn on the cob be hung from bungee cords no less, from a different tree. The author suggested a delightful display of squirrels trying to climb down a bungee cord to get to the corn would result in endless hours of entertainment.

Maybe that author’s squirrels are dumb, but my country squirrels are not. They have not yet tried to crawl down that bungee cord. And they still go after the easier bird feed.

So, I now feed my birds only when I’m home so I can protect their food.

And that’s when I spotted the squirrely squirrel.

The Urban Dictionary defines squirrely as mild insane, unpredictable and jumpy, and nutty, as resembling a squirrel looking for nuts.

All of which applied to this particular squirrel. This squirrel was jumping up and down in my back yard. Way up and down. Like on a trampoline up and down. It looked like it could have been hanging from a bungee cord, bouncing up and down. Except, it was on its own feet, and hopping up and down as fast as it could, on the ground.

There was not bird feeder nearby. There was no corn cobs hanging over its head. There was nothing, like a dog or cat, seeking it skinny little body for lunch. This squirrel was simply in my back yard jumping up and down like crazy. Mildly insane? Possibly yes. Unpredictable and jumpy? Absolutely! Looking for nuts? There wasn’t a nut in sight.

I decided this was simply a squirrely squirrel. Maybe it was enjoying our glorious fall season. Maybe it was practicing how to reach those corn cobs. Or my bird feeders. Maybe it was planning some strange Halloween party. Or maybe it was just happy to be alive. I’d like to think that.

The squirrely squirrel hasn’t been seen since. And my bird feeders are still hanging in their original spaces and still feeding the lovely birds.

But I am worried now about my squirrely squirrel. I hope it has recovered, if need be, from whatever was bothering it. Or, if it was simply happy, and jumping up and down with the pure joy of being alive, go for it squirrel. I might come out in the back yard and join you.

Spiders Are Mommies Too!

October is a lovely month, with Halloween looming at the end of the month. Halloween doesn’t scare me, but some of its characters do.

No, not afraid of witches, goblins, werewolves, vampires, mummies, ghosts, etc., all those characters that pop up in miniature size looking for candy on our front porches.

What I really fear is, gulp, the spider! And spiders and spider webs seem to be in abundance on Halloween.

Arachnophobia is a fear most people suffer from, particularly women. Yep, even me I confess. But when you grow up and live in the country, surrounded by woods and fields, you sort of become used to the little eight-legged creepy crawlies. In the fall they all seem to want to come in and set up housekeeping with you. Uh, I’m not really OK with that.

More recently, one crawled into the KXMX building right here in town. Don’t know what this spider was thinking, but the dude got himself trapped in the air conditioning vent over the toilet in the women’s restroom. Well, that was a mistake.

Can you imagine what the woman sitting there thought when she heard that scrabbling around above her head, and then little pieces of dust began to fall from the vent? Uh, yeah. She ran.

And that circumstance resulted in a full-blown assault by the men in the building, who had to resort to dismantling the vent and using a vacuum cleaner to remove that dumb and doomed spider. And no woman would go in that restroom until it was proven that said spider was dead and in the vacuum cleaner bag. It was confirmed, thank goodness.

So, when I took a break on a sunny afternoon, out the back door of our KXMX building, and saw a spider sitting on the sidewalk, I thought, “Oh oh. You’re in trouble.” I must also confess that I have, number one, an insatiable curiosity about the natural world, and, number two, this thing about killing other critters. 

I don’t like it. Don’t want to do it if at all possible. There are a few exceptions. The spider in the bathtub had to go last week, and that copperhead snake under the horse hay did have to be dispatched. In my own defense I did let the garter snake escape when I mowed the lawn last Saturday.

And I saw nothing wrong with this thumbnail-sized spider on the back sidewalk. Until I looked closer. Spider seemed to have warts. Well, that was unusual. I sort of nudged spider with foot, and she dispersed. She dispersed into a 1,000 teeny tiny spiders, all smaller than a pinhead. They scattered everywhere. Oh, it dawned on me. This was a mommy spider and her offspring. I wondered if this was the kind of spider who was eaten by her offspring. So I gave mommy spider another nudge to see if she was alive, and she ran, followed by a 1,000 baby spiders. So Mom Spider lived and raised 1,000 babies on her back. Poor thing. 

Can’t imagine raising thousands. Three was bad enough!

A check on the internet suggested this may be a wolf spider and babies. But Mrs. Wolf was way too close to the back door. And entry into that back door meant 1,000 baby wolf spiders roaming KXMX, which, as discussed above, is unacceptable and opens the door to death by vacuum cleaner.

So, I herded spiders. Yes. I conducted a wolf spider roundup and tried to drive Mrs. Wolf and all her many children away from the back door. I was sort of successful. Mrs. Wolf scurried away, hauling some children on her back while others tried to follow in her eight footsteps. I could only hope she didn’t return and try to gain entrance to the building where the arachnophobes live.

It was my good deed for the day, although now that I think of it, I suspect the arachnophobes would just as soon I had stepped on Mrs. Wolf and all her offspring, leaving one-thousand-and-one less things to fear on Halloween.

Goodbye Mr. Stites

With great sadness and a heavy heart we wish goodbye to one of Sallisaw’s greats, J.T. Stites.

I always called him Mr. Stites, even though I’ve known him for 36 years. I called him Mr. Stites because I had great respect for this retired educator and legislator who was also a good friend.

Mr. Stites was principal at Sallisaw High School when all three of my kids attended and graduated there. In fact a couple of my kids may not have graduated without his help. I’m pretty sure he had a hand in getting them their high school diplomas. And I say that with a grin, kids. Now my boys are engineers.

Thank you Mr. Stites.

Darling Daughter has a memory too, about skipping out of high school.  She recalled, “He asked me where I was, and I said, ‘I skipped out.’ He said, ‘Well, since you told me the truth, “I’m not going to do anything about it.’”

Daughter said she then decided, “Well, from now on I’m going to tell the truth.”

Thank you Mr. Stites.

I have my own Mr. Stites story. Once, while on break from the state legislature, Mr. Stites stopped at a barbershop on Oak Street for a haircut. To do so, he had to take off his new OU ball cap, a gift from his son. Everybody got to talking about politics or whatever, and Mr. Stites left the barbershop without that very important OU hat.

Back in Oklahoma City he realized his OU hat was missing but he knew just where it was. Well, who you gonna’ call? He called me, at my desk right across the street from the barbershop.

“Save my hat,” he said. “It was a gift. I’ve got to have that hat back.”

That was no problem. The barber knew where that hat belonged. I retrieved it and delivered it to Mr. Sties on his next trip home. And he told that story to everybody we ever met at the same time.

Shannon Vann, Sallisaw businessman and former mayor, has a Mr. Stites story. Vann is a 1986 Sallisaw High School graduate. He recalled, “Mr. Stites took over a geometry class one day when the teacher was out. I think he enjoyed teaching more than being a principal.

“One day we were late getting back to class after lunch,” Vann related. 

Laughing, he continued, “We ran right through those rotunda doors. Of course Mr. Stites was standing right there. We nearly ran over him. He called out all of our names before we got down the hall, and we all had to go back and tell him why we were late.”

Daughter, Vann and others reported that Mr. Stites always remembered your name, no matter how long ago you graduated. Daughter reported, “Every time I saw him he asked how my brothers were, by name.”

Darren Girdner here at The Mix recalls his high school days with Mr. Stites. He recalled, “I’d get in trouble and get sent to the principal’s office. He’d ask me what happened and I’d tell him. Then he would say, ‘Well, just sit here for while then go back to class and they’ll think we did something about it.”

Bill Aydelott, now age 84, served as Mr. Stites assistant principal from 1974 to 1987. He has many Mr. Stites stories.

He said of Mr. Stites, “He was the most moral person I know, the most honest, the most modest.”

The assistant principal remembered the two were attending a conference in Oklahoma City. After the meeting, Mr. Stites suggested a visit to watch the hotel’s entertainment. But Aydelott said he was tired and was going to bed. 

About midnight the lights came on as Mr. Stites returned to the room.

“There’s a singer down there. He’s selling sausage,” Mr. Stites related. Aydelott said he found that hard to believe. He continued, “I got up and went down to breakfast the next morning. Mr. Stites was still asleep.”

Aydelott said he had to rethink the previous evening when the singer and sausage seller Jimmy Dean came into the restaurant and sat down at the table next to him.

“We had fun,” Aydelott said. “We had a good time. He’d tell stories on me too.”

Mr. Stites son, Tom, took a few minutes to recall his father’s stories. He related how he found it hard shopping with his dad, because everyone they met would visit. Tom Stites said, “Dad and I went into Walmart for a quart of oil. An hour later we left.” That’s because everyone they met wanted to visit and tell stories with Mr. Stites.

Tom Stites compares his father to the lead character in the classical movie, “it’s a Wonderful life.” That character is George Bailey, played by James Stewart. The movie points out how many lives are impacted when one good person does the right thing.

“I believe my dad was the George Bailey of our town,” he said. “He never said a bad word about anyone, and he helped everybody, even loaned them money.”

When cautioned by his family, Tom said his dad just replied, “Don’t worry. They’ll pay it back.”

Tom Stites said, “It’s incredible. I must have received 400 contacts and emails from people about their experiences with him. It’s unreal the people whose lives he touched. He had an incredible memory for students’ names and even the year they graduated. He was the richest man in town.”

Flags are at half-staff, hearts are heavy, tears are plentiful.

Goodbye Mr. Stites. We are going to miss you. But your stories will live on forever, as legends.

Berra’s Baseball Philosophy, or How to Twist the Language

The world mourns the loss of Lawrence Peter ‘Yogi’ Berra this week.

I

’m not a big baseball fan, except of course when it came to my own sons playing Little League many years ago. Still I have fond memories of major league baseball. I remember my Dad and uncle sitting on the back porch in the summer, drinking beer, and listening to the Cincinnati Reds on the radio. It was a summer tradition. That’s when I heard the Yogi Berra name first, while Dad listened or watched his beloved baseball teams.

But it wasn’t the New York Yankees catcher Berra that got my attention. It was the hilarious twister of the English language Berra that still makes me laugh out loud.

We have all heard Berra’s “It ain’t over till it’s over.” But there are many more Berra quotes, many of which are even funnier.

An internet search reveals even better Berra quotes. Read on and laugh out loud. I did.

“You should always go to other people's funerals; otherwise, they won't come to yours.”

 

“The future ain't what it used to be.”

 

“He hits from both sides of the plate. He’s amphibious.”

“I always thought that record would stand until it was broken.”

“I can see how he (Sandy Koufax) won 25 games. What I don’t understand is how he lost five.”

“I want to thank everyone for making this night necessary.”

“Little League baseball is a very good thing because it keeps the parents off the streets.”

 

“If you don't know where you are going, you might wind up someplace else.”

“You better cut the pizza in four pieces because I'm not hungry enough to eat six.”

 

“Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too.”

“Baseball is ninety percent mental and the other half is physical.”

“You've got to be very careful if you don't know where you are going, because you might not get there.”

 

“A nickel ain't worth a dime anymore.”

 

“There are some people who, if they don't already know, you can't tell 'em.”

 

“You can observe a lot by watching.”

 

“You wouldn't have won if we'd beaten you.”

 

“Nobody goes there anymore. It's too crowded.”

 

“A lot of guys go, 'Hey, Yog, say a Yogi-ism.' I tell 'em, 'I don't know any.' They want me to make one up. I don't make 'em up. I don't even know when I say it. They're the truth. And it is the truth. I don't know.”

 

“I wish I had an answer to that because I'm tired of answering that question.”

 

As a user of the English language, it must be Berra’s English language twist that tickles me so much. And read carefully, and sometimes contemplate upon Berra’s quotes, because they often reveal a more profound philosophy and understanding than appears at first glance.

Hello Fall. Welcome Back.

Hello Fall, or Autumn if you prefer. So glad to welcome you back.

According to the Farmer’s Almanac, Fall or Autumn 2015 begins at 3:21 a.m. on Sept. 23. I want to be awake to welcome the season. Darling Daughter and I discussed it just last week and decided we love Fall. It is our favorite season. Winter is too cold. Summer is too hot. Spring is too wet. And fall is just right.

Fall brings back a lot of I-want-to's. Like, I want to wear tall boots again, and put away the flip flops.

I want to light candles, and not fear raising the temperature in the house to 

over 100 degrees.

I want to snuggle up in one of the many sweaters I own.

I want to drink hot cider, and hot cocoa, and hot anything.

I want to eat hot chili, both temperature and spicy wise.

I want to build bonfires, and gather the grandchildren around the fire and tell them the ghost stories my mom told me.

I want to burn a hot dog till its black over that bonfire and eat it slathered in mustard.

I want to add a crispy marshmallow as dessert.

I want to watch football, lots and lots of football.

I want to play a game of badminton in the back yard and not sweat.

I want to take a long trail ride on a horse I trust.

I want to crochet an afghan and not get too hot because it must lay on my lap.

I want to go for long walks in the woods and not worry about stepping on a rattlesnake or being bitten by a tick.

I want to sit on the back porch and watch Canadian geese fly by on the way to the wildlife refuge or further south.

I want to know what my great-grandkids are going to wear for Halloween. And I want photos.

I want to be amazed as the leaves on my oaks and maples turn gorgeous colors.

And those are a few of the reasons I like fall.

Fall’s colors are an event that everyone enjoys. So I searched for why. It’s hard to believe what I found. Ha. Ha. Read on, and laugh out loud.

Found on the internet:

Manager of restaurant in New England answers phone and has the following conversation:

Manager:  How may I help you?”

Caller: “Yes, are you outside?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I’m in an office. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Caller: “Well, do you know when the leaves change out there?”

Me: “Yes, they’re changing now. They’re very beautiful.”

Caller: “What?! We missed it!”

Me: “No, ma’am, the leaves aren’t done changing.”

Caller: “Well, we live in New York and won’t be able to make it there today. What day do they change back?”

Me: “Um…they don’t change back. They fall, like the season.”

Caller: “Well, when do you put them back on the tree?”

Me: “Er…’Put The Leaves Back On The Trees’ day?”

Caller: “Oh, thank you!”

That story is allegedly true. Apparently some city folks don’t exactly understand how Fall works. I’m so glad I do. Welcome back Fall. We missed you.

Hey Grandkids – It’s National Grandparents Day!

Sunday, otherwise known as Sept. 13, is National Grandparents Day. I would like to remind my grandchildren of that.

Being a grandparent is the greatest job in the world. Nobody believed me until they had their own grandchildren. That’s when they saw the light, especially my own children. I’ve always been proud of my children. Now I’m even more proud of them as grandparents because they have gone as ga-ga over their own grandchildren as I did over mine.

Of course that means I have great-grandchildren. In fact, my little family has been so busy I have lost track of how many great-grandchildren I have. I had to make a list. Between all the connections, reconnections and blended families I think the great-grandchild count is up to eight, and growing. That’s fine with me. I love it.

I searched for National Grandparents Day on the internet, and found out it is always the Sunday following Labor Day. (Mark that on your calendars grandkids!)

The National Grandparents Day website noted the following:

There is a special bond that can only be shared between grandchildren and their grandparents. Grandparents are full of hugs and kisses, family history, wisdom, patience, love and guidance. I can attest to that. Granddaughter has always said that one of her favorite pre-teen memories is when I’d build a bonfire on a cool autumn evening and tell the ghost stories my mother used to tell me. Granddaughter never got to meet her great-grandmother, so those evenings were special to me too.

The forget-me-not is the official flower for National Grandparents Day. Didn’t know that, and would be happy to accept a forget-me-not bouquet.

It is expected that the number of grandparents in the U.S will grow from 65 million in 2011 to 80 million in 2020 as a result of the baby boom. Good Grief! My list grows!

The statute proclaiming Grandparents Day says its purpose is, “…to honor grandparents, to give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children’s children, and to help children become aware of strength, information, and guidance older people can offer.”

 

Grandparents Day has been celebrated in the United States since 1978.  The U.S Senate and President Jimmy Carter nationally recognized Marian McQuade of Oak Hill, W.V., as the founder of National Grandparents Day.  McQuade made it her goal to educate the youth in the community about the important contributions that seniors have made throughout history.

There are some people who claim the origin of this holiday resides with the efforts of Hermine Beckett Hanna of North Syracuse, N.Y., recognizing seniors and their importance as early as 1961.  New York Congressman James T. Walsh recognized her efforts on Feb. 21, 1990, in front of the House of Representatives, thanking Hanna “for her important role in the establishment of Grandparents Day.”

 

Don’t care who started it. Just want someone to remind my grandchildren about it. Which I guess is what I’m doing right now. And I want to give my grandkids a gift.

Grandkids, forget the cards, the flowers, the gifts, and visit. I’d love to see you. And if you bring one of my great-grandkids along, that would even be GREATER, so to speak. And if that’s not possible, cause I know you are scattered throughout the U.S., then a text or an email will be enough.

And if you are not one of mine, well hey, you got a grandparent somewhere too, right? Be nice. Give ‘em a call.

It’s the Last Summer Holiday

It’s Labor Day, which means a day off, which really doesn't mean a lot to those of us who are retired. What it means to me is “Stay home! People are off work and driving like crazy on the unofficial last day of summer!”

To get others’ opinions on Labor Day, our last summer holiday, I scoured the internet and came up with the following. Enjoy!

Famous Quotes about Work:

“Hard work never killed anybody, but why take a chance?” Edgar Bergen

“Every day I get up and look through the Forbes list of the richest people in America. If I'm not there, I go to work.” Robert Orben

“Whenever you are asked if you can do a job, tell 'em, ‘Certainly, I can!’ Then get busy and find out how to do it.”  Theodore Roosevelt

“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important.”  Bertrand Russell

“Going to work for a large company is like getting on a train. Are you going sixty miles an hour or is the train going sixty miles an hour and you're just sitting still?”  J. Paul Getty

“Labor Day, when we briefly pause from demonizing unions to enjoy mattress sales in their honor.” Anonymous

“A bad day at work is better than a good day in hell.” Scott Johnson

“I help by staying out of the way while other people work.” Lyle ‘Danny’ Hintz Jr.

“If hard work were such a wonderful thing, surely the rich would have kept it all to themselves.” Lane Kirkland

“I wonder if the clothes in China say, ‘Made around the corner.” Anonymous

Then there are the others we must pay, as follows:

Roland, a businessman, is on his deathbed so he calls his friend and says, “Eli, I want you to promise me that when I die you will have my remains cremated.”

“And what,” Eli asks, “do you want me to do with your ashes?”

Roland replies, “Just put them in an envelope and mail them to the Internal Revenue Service and write on the envelope, 'Now you have everything.'”

Or as follows:

A Government Department claimed an old rancher was not paying proper wages to his help and sent an agent out to interview him.

“I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them,” demanded the agent.

“Well,' replied the old man, “There's my ranch hand who's been with me for 3 years. I pay him $600 a week plus free room and board. The cook has been here for 18 months, and I pay her $500 a week plus free room and board. Then there's the half-wit who works about 18 hours every day and does about 90 percent of all the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board and I buy him a bottle of bourbon every Saturday night.”

“That's the guy I want to talk to, the half-wit,” says the agent.

“That would be me,” replied the old rancher.

And finally let’s not forget, grandchildren, that the next holiday up is GRANDPARENTS’ DAY next Sunday!