Funerals

Went to a funeral today and got to thinking about what I would do if it was Robert who had passed. Funerals ARE for the living . . . I'm not about to tell Robert what to do at mine. (He told me he'd have congregational singing of 'Mansions Over the Hilltop' and 'Just a little Chocolate Jesus' and then talk about the answers I'd given in 'Loaded Questions'. How right is that?)

There is absolutely no room for much beside joy at a Christians funeral. Although you'd get run out of town for it, I really think there should be a lot of laughing and more than a little bit of envy. Even if the Christian will be missed, it's really no different than a long vacation - we all will be home together eventually.

I ain't saying not to cry - I would bawl my eyes out at Roberts because I would have to go it alone whereas they'd be lined up for him - the scum. But don't cry in misery for the one gone. They sure aren't crying at all anymore.

My Dana

I remember Dana sitting in class on Sunday mornings, quiet, but attentive. I remember her evaluating what was said, turning it over and over in her mind, searching (I'm sure) for scriptural verification. I remember her disagreeing, her voice all soft and respectful. Although I am WAY older than her, I always admired her maturity in the way she communicated. It was never a hot headed angry thing that got blown out of hand with Dana.

So here we are last night, 10 years and a million experiences since those Sunday mornings and Dana and I are still disagreeing. Although I was so against the things she was asserting, I never once felt defensive or attacked - just engaged in an intelligent discussion with a amazing woman. I pray that she felt the same way about me - that I wasn't attacking, that she didn't need to be defensive.

I've never had a problem talking about anything with Dana, good or bad. How many people can you say that about?

He-Man, Master of the Universe

When Rob and Jarred were little, they were ballistic for "He-Man, Master of the Universe' stuff. If it had anything to do with 'He-Man', they were all about that. And that really really bothered me.

He was, after all, a fictional character, the 'savior' of the world, and it goes without saying that I had a BIG problem with the whole mess.

. . and then . .

And then one day Jarred asked me to play the 'He-Man song. I asked him what he was talking about and he said, you know, "He-Man-u-el." He was talking about the Amy Grant song, "Emmanuel' on her Christmas album. This entire time the boys thought the He-Man was Christ. Rob told me that 'He-Man' was in charge. And I was blown away.

I've always pictured Christ as this guy walking around just this side of breaking into tears. A sad sort of man. Never thought of Him as a muscle man. Evidently, my kids expectations were higher than mine.

The day before Christmas Eve

It feels like God has given south Texas a present - rain. All day long yesterday it was raining. And it was a cold rain - which was like a gift to me. I always miss cold and snow - everyone thinks I'd love it until I'd have to shovel it, but I grew up doing all the snow work. I like snow work.

But the cold dreary rain allowed me to stay in front of the fire, and Robert dozed on and off most of the day. It was so 'Un' Hutton. It was great.

Except Brymer is acting really odd. Walking in circles slow and he keeps his head cocked to one side. We had Blane and Megan over for dinner and he cuddled up to Blane (ANYone who knows Brymer knows that is just wrong in every way. He's a little better today. We'll see .

But, other than that, it was an amazing Saturday.

Carols

Since I've become a Christian, about 24 years ago, I have always been bombarded with the "We don't celebrate Christmas as a religious holiday" stuff so much that my kids had no idea what 'Silent Night' sounded like - I'll never forget Rob coming up to me and asking me if I'd heard that one. I've shied away from Christmas carols like opposite ends of a magnet.

But tonight . . tonight Cissy led us in 'Hark the Herald Angel sing' and I thought my heart would bust flat out of my chest. It was amazing. The harmony, the strength, the spirit of the voices belting out that song! All out of ladies - most of whom you never hear anything save a muted laugh.

Rob and Jarred, I am so sorry. I SO blew it.

A Parade of Homes - AHHHHHHH!

I was all freaking out because ladies from the Church are coming to my house tomorrow. There's like 4 houses that people are visiting to chat and look at decorations and stuff and I was all freaked because I am not a decorator. People think I have taste because my house is so cute. Open the door and that idea is blown. I was in Stess villa. Big time.

Then Betty Rachley came over and told me that my house was warm and inviting. That's all I ever wanted my house to be. A place to put your feet up and feel free to laugh or cry or nothing at all. I've never wanted to impress anyone. I just wanted a place that was 'safe' from the world. Now, I am just going to enjoy seeing my sweet sisters tomorrow night. Betty, unknowingly, said exactly the right thing to get me back on track.

Think maybe that was God doing some work through someone?

Paradox

The hardest thing (to me) in the entire world is doing right when you flat out do not want to. You smile when you want to scream and take the chewing when you know you're innocent. To be silent before false accusations, to speak out when it will only bring angry confrontations, to love when you ache to belt the person smack in the face. It's called a paradox. And it messes with my head.

We are an odd people, us Christians. I don't enjoy it all of the time. Sure, that doesn't change the way I react, sure I will continue to go against the ole base instincts . . but still, it ain't a picnic all the time.

My Turn to Ramble

Sometimes I write things that are, at best, vague. Confusing, odd, downers . . all that comes to mind as well. But at best - vague.

Some of it is writing therapy, and I don't want any feedback. Sometimes I just like messing with words - I am trying to be an author after all. Sometimes it's because I am vague, confusing and certainly odd. (And proud of it.)

But most of it is a desperate attempt to ask for prayers without being specific. God knows what I want/need/ask for so why put a name down and flirt with gossip? For example, I have right around 4 things that I am desperate to have God help me with - at least so I can see His work. But to ask specifically? No way. Too personal.

But God knows. And hears and understands even when you pray for me for;"The stuff that's heavy on Jackie's heart." I sure would appreciate it if you did that.

Christmas baking

I'M FINALLY DONE WITH COOKIES!!!!

Been at the oven since around noon, making cookies for Amy's party tonight and you'd think I'd be ruined to eat any of them, wouldn't you? Haven't had the 'no bakes' since rob and jarred were little little and man, did I luck out with the fudge this time (some batches are better than others.) Been making sure nothing is poisoned all after noon.

Hey, it's not for nothing that I've got a weight problem.

Heavy

Erin made the comment that I sounded 'heavy'. How accurate . . more than she can begin to realize.

Life has become a sort of suffocating wave - the kind that rolls in and knocks you around. God is using me in ways I hadn't ever envisioned myself being used. And while I'm thankful, I am still having to struggle to breathe. It's cool that I'm being molded, but I don't enjoy the force of it.

The heart has gone out of me

You know how it is when you want something and want it so bad that you re-arrange your life to make it happen and when it does, you end up having to fight and claw your way to keep it until you wonder if it was really worth having at all? I mean, is anything worth all the trouble it causes? Is it possible that things are really 'in the cards' or not?

And most frightening of all, what if it's time to let it go?

Father, what if it's time to let it go?

My take on PC

Was reading in this magazine about a school in Maine that has banned 'Tag' from it's recess activities - along with dodge ball and anything else that reeks of team, or winning/losing, or the chance of a skinned knee. There is discussion about banning the whole recess thing. How unreal is that?? How far have we come to shelter' our kids? Knee pads? Helmets? Wrist protectors? 'Participation' awards? None of that was around when I was a kid.

If God had put Joseph in a bubble, where would the entire known world be during the famine? If God had cupped Elijah the palm of His hand and held him against His chest, where would the nation of Israel be? If God had sent His 10 thousand angels while Christ hung on the cross, where would be the hope of the world?

Like it or not, adversity builds character, hardship tempers souls and tears cement humanity. These are good things.

Maybe people should crack a history book and do some study on the Roman Empire.

Another Tesster Story.

Was at the stables, and told Meg to saddle up Buster. He's this 15.2 astonishingly built, and just as astoundingly gorgeous foundation quarter horse buckskin. Buster has all the energy of a rock at the bottom of a hill . . in a ditch . . .under the hind end of a poet. And I got to thinking that he would be a good horse to show. He does everything and stays clam and is just this side of conscience as he does it. (Absurdly, that is the kind of horse that wins in pleasure classes.)

So there I was, trotting along (as long as I kept up with the cue - he took every opportunity to give me the chance to have him walk) while Megan trots and pivots and laughs on the Tesster. Meg kept telling me that Tess was really wired and I didn't have the heart to tell her that that was Tess. Tail up and wringing, nostrils flaring, begging to go into a run, but ready to spin at the crook of a finger or the twist of your head. (Do I sound proud, or what?)

So I made her switch. We side-passed up next to each other and just hopped from one horse to the other without dismounting. Then I began to ride.

Dana told me that I'd get it back. And I think she might be right.

Mannheim

When the boys were small, we had a few of 'Must Hear's Christmas CD's. All the Amy Grant stuff, of course, Narada and the best of the best - Mannheim Steamroller. Rob, Jarred and I used to make up little senerios for the music (the battle on the ocean comes to mind instantly, huh guys?). On one CS of Mannheim Steamroller is a song called 'Christmas Memories'. It's a song that just leaks warm fuzzies all over the place without being sappy.

And I am getting ready to get in the car with Robert, pick up the Lamores and go see Mannheim Steamroller at the AT&T center!!!!!

It's been a great day. Class, a short sermon (Ray was sick), a baptism, a potluck, and now dinner and a concert (we've got GREAT seats) with two of our best friends in the world. Do it get any better than this on earth?

Christmas Cards

When I was a little girl, we got Christmas cards from everyone - I didn't even know most of them. Mom and Dad would hang them up around the door post going into the kitchen and I always just took it for granted.

But now, man, did I ever take it for granted. I have come to the conclusion that sending cards is a dying art. No, I am NOT begging for cards, but am I the only one who really loves to get those things? We have 4 of them. Four when we used to get about 20 or 30. I always send them to my family - every year, and only my dad ever responds (and he's only good for one in three.)

So this year I made all my cards myself. See, I figured if they saw how much time and attention I gave, they'd break down, buy a box of 30 for $4.00 and put out the 39 cents. Sent them out three weeks ago. It ain't lookin good.

Who Encourages the encourager?

Where is it written that I must ALWAYS be in a good mood?

Have had a lot of things knocking around in my life lately and just ain't feeling 'spunky'. So I get 'friends' who tell me to get over it and cheer up. Well, sometimes (maybe because I'm human, perhaps??), I can't 'move on' or 'cheer up' as fast as they think I should. I was told recently that I have to explain it when I'm in a bad mood, or when I'm not even up to the level of 'spunk' that I normally show. Now, why in the world is that right?

This blog is for no one in particular - the people who have questioned me don't read my blogs. But rather it is thrown out there in the hope that it's read with the understanding that the encourager needs to be encouraged - at least as much as anyone else.

Erins list

Wadda great list!!! Ok, I don't know how to paste anything so I'll just try to answer.

Egg nog or Hot chocolate? It depends. Hot chocolate on a cold night and egg nog every other time. (Gee, why do I have a weight problem?)

Presents wrapped under the tree come from people/family and can appear the second the tree is put up. Santa's gift is unwrapped, with your full stocking leaning up next to it on Christmas morning. (Or you do the scavenger hunt thing. More on that later.)

I think a tree has to have as many different lights and as many loud ordaments as possible. All mine are hand painted or gifts from special occasions. I like to look a t the tree and see something different every time.

My favorite memory is one morning when we lived on Coughran, Santa had the boys go all over the farm looking for clues to find their present - the BIG one. They had to go to the tank where one was time to the end branch of a mesquite tree, into the chicken coop and get one off the roosters leg and under the feed in Tesses stall as she ate. It was COLD and the four of us could've cared less. I am smiling real big as I type this.

I was about 9 when I learned the truth about Santa. I woke up to an outfit (an 'outfit'?) - it was the one sitting out by my stocking. Mom asked me how I liked the pantsuit she got me. Bummer.

All gifts are opened one at a time on Christmas morning. It lasts a good 1 to 2 hours.

I put on Amy Grant (all 3 Christmas CD's),Manheim Steamroller and George Winston 'December' while Robert does the lite thing and I unwrap all the season paraphinilla (did I murder that spelling or what??).

I have a snowflake on top of my tree - wishful thinking.

I LOVE to give. I stink at receiving. Ask anyone. I never know what to say.

My favorite some is 'Mary's Song/ Breath of Heaven' by Amy Grant. Traditional is 'O Holy Night.'

Candy canes are ok, but I wouldn't write home about them.

I shop all year, am done by September so I can spend the last month or two just getting little fun things.

My favorite movie is a tie between 'National Lampoons Christmas Vacation' and 'A Christmas story.'

Wow. That ended up being long. Sorry!!

WHEW!

Yee ha! Nothing happened last night. Other than the fact that I couldn't sleep. Guess it's time to make an appointment.

But nothing weird. I often think that if I really just want to be published, I should write about our past experiences. But, you know, besides the fact that I HATE thinking on that and I hate the fact that it keeps my attention off Christ, most of all, I'm afraid it opens doors that are better left shut.

Deuteronomy 29:29.

This ain't funny

I got really mad at Robert last night because I have problems sleeping and we woke me up three times, just to be cute - he does that sometimes. (Married 26 years and he still ain't caught on that I am not laughing, go figure.)

Anyhow, once he finally decided to go to sleep, he started to snore. I am, of course, awake and when I tell him to turn over or flop like a fish, he stops for a good 10 seconds, then starts up again.

Fine! So I stomp downstairs (The creep slept through my tantrum) and bedded down on the couch where it was quiet. It got cold, so I pulled the cover over my face. I heard him come down and sorta sensed him watching me while he thought I slept. I figured he woke, found me gone and wanted to talk me into getting back upstairs. I was still ticked about the 'waking up' thing, so I ignored him. He kissed my forehead and I heard him go back up the stairs. Serves him right, I thought.

This morning I got repentant and I thanked him for coming down. He looked at me like I was a three headed goose.

He never came down. He never woke up. He never kissed my forehead.

For those of you who know my past, this ain't funny.

I miss the Tesster

Was watching Tesster at her new home - we moved stables. And while I love her just as much, when Chello and Megan asked me to go riding, the answer was a fast "no." and man, did I mean it. I used to LOVE riding, used to LOVE being on that snotty black and white monster. I miss my Tesster as she stands in front of me.

I hate the ranch and the business for killing that love in me. But most of all, I hate myself for allowing it to happen. The work, the worry, the money, the unending day to day 'slog' of it all . . . It's been 7 months and I still have to force myself to saddle up.

Where is that passion? Will it come back? Please, oh please, let it return.

Scrooge

I was watching a movie ('Scrooge') and saw this guy (Albert Finney/Scrooge) watching his past, and his concentration was so intense, it actually made my eyes smart. To actually watch our pasts with no ability to change a thing . . .

The ghost of Christmas Past asks him why he let her (Isabel) go and he says; "I've never been quite sure", and then he is made to go see exactly what happened. At one point, he cries; "No! Don't go! It's a mistake!" and then, glaring at the young man who made those huge errors (ie; himself) he sneers; "You fool!"

How foolish is it to venture into the 'What-could've-beens'? That is a place that lives in defeat and tears.

I think that will be part of hell. Pictures of chances lost, salvation offered but ignored, and the chance to be benevolent given, but rejected. To me, that would be worse, or at least as bad as intense fire and separation from God. "No! It's a mistake!"

I have no intention of finding out.

Time and Memories revisited

I have often felt as if I was being watched. Not so much a scary thing, but a certainty that I am not alone in a room. It occurred to me tonight that it is probably someone I know and know well doing the watching; Me.

How many times have I looked back to a time in my past and begged God for another chance? A chance to change something. Or do something? Or how many times do I look back with longing? Look back on when I was free and happy and full of hope?

I am convinced that time lays in layers. I am 80 years old rocking great grandchildren while I am eight and running my little tri colored pony down an embankment - as I sit and type this blog. We are spiritial beings.

Who's to say that we can't dwell on more than one layer of time? Sure, what's done is done. You can't change stuff, but maybe, just maybe, that's me in the corner of the living room, looking back with a strong good memory of now? Isn't it just possible that feelings leave an imprint that is stronger than time? Stronger than the physical world?

Heavy thoughts for a Thursday.

The power of Bad

You know how it is to realize something that you don't like? And you want to talk about it because you're human and that's what humans do. But to speak it aloud gives it a kind of 'wrong 'power. (Is there any way this make sense to anyone except me?) To vent it helps no one. It would only hurt people to have it voiced. And it would destroy me. It's evil. And a selfish part of me wants to spread it.

In the Fifth Element, the president is told not to fire on the ball of pure evil because 'Evil begets evil'. Makes it stronger. Gives it power. And evil never uses power for good.

So I'm gonna shut up and color.

The Prodicals Father

I was thinking this morning that the holiday season must have been doubly awful for the Father of the prodigal son. Waiting for the lost to come home is hard enough without adding all the gaiety and joy that circles around Him as He does. (I realize that there was no 'Christmas' back then, so insert any Jewish festivity here.) He probably dissed the whole holiday thing, politely turning down the eggnog, and smiling faintly at the carols that are sung behind Him while He stands vigil at the window. His concentration wouldn't be on parties, gifts . . it probably wasn't even on 'good will toward all men'. It was centered on His lost boy.

So while Christmas swirls around us all, I think on my God. I can see Him, staring out the window, His focus intent on the road just out side the house. He never sleeps, He never moves from there. Because maybe, just maybe, that kid will turn that corner. Maybe He'll get him back. I think this season means nothing to Him, save how it can bring the lost home. While we live our lives, He continues His love with a terrible but 'beyond words' beautiful patience.

Wow.

Loaded Questions

We were at the Lamores playing a game called 'Loaded Questions' on Thanksgiving. It was an eye opening game. If you want to really get to know a person, play this game. It would be hard to come away from this unscathed - - if you are totally honest.

The questions is asked, the players put down their response, turn them in and the 'Asker' has to guess who answered each. You get points for the correct response. The people who answer get a point too - I guess to encourage honesty. And the questions! 'What is your greatest fear?', 'What is the most frightening thing ever?', 'I am smarter than _______'. and so on. These are not shallow questions. Some of them, in fact, we had to skip on, because there's only so much you can allow people to know. I mean, you are much more comfortable around some people than others.

Like I said, it really aids in learning, and knowing, and daring to reach out. But I'd only tell you to play it if you're willing to let people in. And if you are sure you want to know truths about others.

Thanksgiving day

J to the forth (Jarred, Jaci, Jah and Julie) are in England, spending Thanksgiving with Brandee, Rob and Kaia. And I am watching their kids play, seeing Jaci and Brandee get to know each other (How weird - they're sisters now.) and seeing Rob and Jarred actually enjoy each other - they never did that when they were here.

Have any of them got a clue about the amazing time of their lives they are living now? Never again will things be so new and fresh. Never again will they lay foundations that they will live with the rest of their lives.

I can see them reading this, saying: "Huh?" But for us who have been there (and are working on 26 years together or more), we know. Things I did when I was 19 still haunt me. And some things still make me smile.

Youth is SO wasted on the young. Just ask me.

I Must Be on a Driving Slant

Or how about the cop who rides in the slow lane on a 70mph road going 65 - I imagine just to flex his arrogant muscles, because there's a line of cars behind him about 3 miles long of people too paranoid to pass him?

What? Are they that unsure of the accuracy of their speedometers? Come on! If your speedometers is wrong, so are the other 89 thousand people too chicken to get in the passing lane! Plaaaa-leeese!

I always put my cruise on 69 and pass them up, making sure to give them the "Would you get out of the junior high school mode?' jeer. They always grin at me.

The 'Less Than Wonder Public Servants' - that's the politically correct term for 'Creeps'.

Don't You Just Wanna deck'em?

I don't speed unless it's an emergency. I would love to say that the reason I don't is because of my high moral character, but that wouldn't be true. The fact is that I am a cheap person - 'frugal' for the politically correct. I don't wanna be payin no tickets.

So I set cruise control (especially in Poteet and Pleasanton - do those guys get a commission on tickets?), and stay at or below the limit. So I make people mad. Fine. Let's face it, I'm going slow enough for them to go around.

Here I am, 'obeying the law' along, and these police cars consistently pass me. I know they're breaking the limit, because of the cruise (Chris Morlock has tested the speedometer - it's correct). Fine. Whatever. I personally don't think that is that big a deal.

Until my friend gets a ticket for going 4 miles over. FOUR miles over?

Come on!! Is this a case of do as I say, not as I do? Do the rules not apply to everyone? What's up with this stuff?

Guess I'll add that to my 'Abhor List'.

It's like something off TV

Time ticking and I watch the events of my life unfold, like a spectator at an odd soap opera. I mean, this crud isn't really happening, is it? Like some corny re-run of Knots Landing, I have to make sure I keep my jaw closed because all it wants to do is hang open in disbelief.

I have found myself in the middle of a snarled mess that just keeps getting more surreal. And as I watch it all, wincing as I see someone I love take blow after blow after blow, I wonder (not for the first or last time) why in the world do people choose to live without God?

Question - not rhetorical

If "All things work together for the good of those that love the Lord." (Romans 8:28) then what if the person who it's all happening to doesn't love the Lord? How is a Christian to make a non Christian understand that?

Mondays

Monday is the work day of work days at my house. I have a lot to do, and I kinda flatter myself that I'm pretty organized.

For example, each Monday I put on my music throughout the house then do the laundry, re-writes on the book, work on cards, wrap Christmas presents and clean. I give myself "stations" and time allotted for each and end up making a loop two or three times around the house. It's great because you never get bored, but still are productive.

. . and then . . .

Then if Robert is home it's all out the window. He's helping Lee with peanuts this week, so he's here all morning. He watches TV (no music) he wants lunch (I skip lunch) he wants me to talk to him (there goes the work) and when he tries to wrap presents to help, he goes too slow. I love him to death and wouldn't change him for the world, but can't he find something to do on Mondays?

Oh well. Proof positive that you can be great together and pretty decent apart too, huh?

da Spurs

Amy told me that she couldn't believe that I hadn't blogged about the Spurs game we went to on Wednesday. and I got to thinking, what can you say about a game where you sit 8 rows up from the court, have Manu and Timmy, Parker and Steve Nash just that close, and it's the kind of game that tedders back and forth until it goes into overtime where da Spurs do it with a vengeance, Nash or not? What can I say?









Like, wow.

Results

I heard the gasp from the bleachers when Hercules got second place in his obstacle run. It was a gasp because he was flawless.

I kid you not, every single other participant (there were 11 in all) did not back. Not a one of them. And only 3 side-passed - that's when the horse moves laterally, his front hoofs crossing over each other gracefully. Like I said, only 3 did that AFTER they had to fight with their horses to get in position. The other 8 either didn't do it or side-stepped - hoofs come together, then step, move together - you get the idea. Hercules was so totally the no brainer for 1st.

But, you know, I guess it really doesn't matter. He did it the best he's ever done it - even in practice. I wish you could have seen him. He was so pretty. 'Wow' pretty. My buddy!

Oh, and we got first in In Hand Trail.

He's safe from the sales block for another month.

Repeat Offender

Here we go again. Horse show tomorrow - Hercules all fuzzy and temps due in the 40's. He's usually wired, so now he'll be spastic. (At least I'm dealing with 100 pounds and not 1000 like everyone else there.)

Rotten or good? It's really a crap shoot.

That's not a dirty word, is it?

Roll On Mississippi

Time blunts the edges of anger. Dripping with unstoppable tenacity, it dulls sharp edges of pain, granting a good, honest callus that protects and allows healing.

Wow. That sounded a little sappy. But let me explain quick. I was driving home from the stables and listening to my mp3 player to a song by Charlie Rich called "Roll On Mississippi" and memories cascaded all over me. And I actually grinned at some of them that before I would have sneered at in fury - for time lost and hopes shattered and brutal truths realized. But I didn't sneer this time. I remembered the bad, but it didn't effect me as it once did. And, man, did that feel good.

And maybe, just maybe, time will eradicate all anger and pain. Someday, perhaps, I will be able to lend only a wry smile to my past.

And wouldn't that be a gift of unreal grace from God?

An epiphany

Ok . . been thinking on this and I think that sin can be likened to grass burrs.

Really. Hang with me on this. You're late (for whatever) and are separated by your destination by a large, grassy field. Now, you have the choice to walk around the meadow on the paved walkway or cut through.

Think on it. You take off across the field, and even where there's the St Augustine thing, you manage to find that one grass burr - everytime. It sticks to your jeans and shoelaces and you have to pull it off, pricking your fingers in the process. And you always miss some. So they ride your hem to find their way to the carpet where they blend in, and wait for the bare foot.

If you would have just stayed on the sidewalk - taken the long way around instead of the short cut, you wouldn't have to worry about any of it.

There is no way to eradicate grass burrs totally. They are a fact of South Texas life - and understand that anywhere else you move to has their own 'grass burr' - their unendingly patient pain in the hiney that must be endured.

In short, sin is here and here to stay until judgment. The safest bet is to walk that slim paved walk.

. . . and then . .

And then watch carefully for the grass burrs that manage to creep up onto it.

Can Ya Hear the Hallelujah Choir???

Was at my scrapbook class and remarked that I had someone come in, bypass the computers, TV's and cash and go for the ole paper cutter and Amy chirps up; "Oh!!! I know where that is! I borrowed it while you were in Hawaii!" When I told her that I was up until 4 looking for it one night, she said, "Oh! Didn't I tell you?"


If I wasn't so happy I'd take her off the 'First to Get Tesster' list.

Is There Any Way to Make Kleenex Softer?

Another day, another sleepless night, another box of kleenex gone.

Laid around all day yesterday and felt awful the whole time. Gonna try to get up and move today - so what if I kneel over? At least I'll get some rest! Ha!

Remember, If I do happen to kneel over while I'm at the wheel and I veer in front of a semi . . Amy Brymer gets the Tesster.

I don't feel too good

Don't you hate being sick? Man! All the snorting, and dripping and just enough pain to put you off? You spend your time drinking juice and making juice and drinking juice . . you get the idea.

When I was a little girl I can only remember one time I really felt loved by my mom - I know, pretty pathetic, huh? It was when I had bronchitis and she had me put my head in her lap and then she brushed my hair. (Ok, she only did it that once, but that was something, right????) I was feeling all crummy and she gently ran that brush through my hair. It was all cold outside and warm there and mom smelled like mom and it was a great feeling that has stayed with me for close to 40 years.

You guys have any memories like that?

And in this corner . . .

Wow and are the liberals popping veins and the conservatives dancin in the aisles??? How crazy is this war of words? I was reading the 'discuss' part of the yahoo about the John Kerry thing and was appalled at the language, and the absolute ferocity of the combatants on both sides of the aisle. There was honest talk of a civil war starting if the republicans kept control and/or got the white house in 08. Civil war?

My word and is that the most stupid thing ever or what? While I disagree 1000 and 7 % with anything liberal, still, to be so adamant and planted in your own ideals is foolhardy at best and dangerous at worse.

Us Christians do the same thing. I used to think there one one way and one way only and you were going straight to hell if you thought there was any other way to see it. Time and life has knocked that out of me. Hard. And while I am not the smartest of women, I not not the most stupid either. There is more than one way to look at things. And even to disagree means a smirk and a tongue in cheek test of wills . . not civil war.

It is, after all about hating the sin but loving the sinner, right?

OK, So I Took Basic Math My Senior Year

So last night I'm having this dream about riding Amy's horses (We did that yesterday afternoon) and then I have to get off the horse to make room for stuff to be stacked inside a camper (It all made sense then, but of course now, that's all fuzzy.)

And as I'm stacking stuff, I have to move my pot of soup out of the way and put it in another container that will hold just as much, but be taller. So I got to thinking ". . wait a minute. There's a formula for this!!!! I'll be dogged! I DO need the stuff they taught in algebra!"

And so, there I was, going "Is it volume equals pi times diameter times height? Or is it pi times radius times height?" And it actually woke me up! I couldn't get back to sleep! I don't even know where to go to find that equation!

So, all you teachers . . .which is it or is it something completely different???? I need to know. I need the sleep!

On the Heavier side

Besides being afraid of frightening wildlife, I have learned so many things this last weekend.

I learned not to expect people to act a certain way. They never do.

I learned that some people must be handled very, very carefully, because sometimes learning to grow up just isn't as important as feeling accepted. Some people just aren't ready for it.

I learned that the love I had for Amy Lamore, which I thought was as deep as they come, could get even deeper.

I learned that I am loved. Me. By Jennifer and Amy and Lorene and Sharon and Tina and Kim and Betty and Mildred, and Rosie - - these people really love me, maybe as much as I love them. Wow.

I learned that God sometimes uses my big mouth to His advantage.

And I learned that immarturity reigns. And You know what? The world hasn't and won't stop because it does. I learned that I have grown to be able to smile through and past it, and come out the other side a little wiser - not angry or irritated.

It was a good weekend.

Better put on your shoes outside the bathroom window.

Ok, I'm back and had fun. But, man, I have got to add another thing to my abhor list -

I HATE it when you're on a weekend retreat with all the sweet ladies in the world - -in fact, they're ladies that are so feminine and gentle that they are the definitions listed under 'True Lady' in the World class of world class book of etiquette - if that even existed. And they you're in the same room with them and you have to have gas but if you did they would melt into these blobs of rose smelling puddles, never to be seen again.

So the whole weekend, you have a stomach ache, you're afraid to laugh too hard and can't even go to the bathroom to release pressure because it's so pent up, the trees would move outside the busted widows should it . .uh . . escape.

I hate that. Really a lot.

Ignorance is cowardice.

"When I was young, I spoke as a child, acted as a child . . . but when I became an adult, I put away childish things." {Jackie Hutton paraphrase of 1 Corinthians 13}

Kids act and react based on feelings, and not knowledge, right? Ignorance is bliss to them. To simply live in a world where all is good and right and kind is a sort of heaven that gives us (I think) a glimpse of the future. But you have to grow up and put that away. You have to learn, and live with that knowledge.

I say all that to say this - I'm going on a retreat this weekend to the hill country. I have been aching to be there with my sisters. But every day - indeed several times on some days - I am bombarded with knowledge I would slaughter a pig to not know. I learn more about people that I love that is not encouraging at all than I ever EVER wanted to know.

And with that knowledge comes pain. Real, pain. Can we emphasis that word enough? So do you pretend it doesn't hurt? Do you ignore it? Do you crawl up into a hole a cry?

To remain ignorant is purely cowardice. Grow up - I tell myself again and again. Mature! Grow! Take the stupid pill of wisdom, Jackie and move on!

Oh, to be a child again. But I'm not. Guess it's time to accept that, huh?

Power

Was reading Amy's blog and I got to thinking, what would I do for me with a whole paycheck? And it occurred to me . . man, nothing. Is my life so dull that I have no wishes? Where's my sense of Santa Clause?

It's due to the fact, of course, that for some reason, I am Robert's weakness. I can't figure out why, but he is absolutely nuts about me. I don't even know if he has it in him to say no to me. Honestly, I can't think of a thing, for me, that I need or even really want because he makes sure I have it all.

Man, what kind of power trip is that?

It occurred to me that if I chose to, I could be a real 'less than desirable' wife. I could spend, spend, spend, and complain and squander and use.

Wow - like I said before, what a power trip.

ARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!

So there I was, driving to Lackland, having to spend a good 45 minutes in the truck one way and three times out of four every single preset station had talk, commercials or pledge drives!!!! I kid you not! It made me crazy! It was the same way on the way home.

And then, if I found some music on one of them, it was Bill Radwad and the three mago heads playing 'Tie a Purple Grape Vine Round the Ole Mesquite.'

. . and then . .

In the mood I'm in, there ain't no ' . . and then . . . "

Words

It has occurred to me that maybe the only person we should be 100% open with is God and God alone.

I have hurt someone by my big fat mouth. And it doesn't matter that I never meant to, that I would just 'a soon' kill a pig than hurt this person (I have come to love her so much she makes my day with her smile), still, inadvertently, I did. Just by not thinking before I spoke. Just for thoughtlessly disregarding how my words might appear. Just by being obtuse me.

Words will always hurt even if forgiven years ago. Actions will always be remembered no matter how long forgiven. Our jobs on earth are to be encouraging, to spouses, and closer than kin friends.

Please don't bombard me with "but, Jackie, if a friend is really a friend . . ." or anything that would justify mean, thoughtless, or hurtful words. I have come to disbelieve that they are ok ever.

Room With a View

When I forget my keys (which is more times than not), I come into my house by way of the garage. It opens to the computer room, then right into the laundry room where you come up against the short hall way that leads to the rest of the house. On the wall facing the door coming in from the garage are two picture boards - you know, the ones where you stick pictures up and change them out periodically. It's a messy fun sort of thing that fits into my decor perfectly.

On my two boards are the grandbabies. Specifically, Kaia leaning back against the couch laughing so hard her little eyes are almost shut. Just above that is Rob and Brandee, hamming it up for the picture and then just across the way is Jaci holding a laughing Julie. There are tons of James, and Jarred and Julie and Jaci and Ruby and Brandee and Kaia.

And it hit me today, I love to come into the house and have these guys smiling at me like that. No matter how bad or rotten I feel, that shot of Kaia always makes me grin. Wadda great view.

Maybe I forget my keys on purpose.

Hercules, Hercules, Hercules

Ok, so here I am at the show, and Hercules is all calm and sedate. I tell him to back and he says, "Ok. Is Tornado or Tesster in this arena place?". And I tell him to trot and he says, "Ok. Gotta cookie?" and I tell him to stop and stand quietly for 3 seconds and he says "Ok. Don't you think we should try out a 12% on the sweet feed?" and I tell him to trot into a box and he says "Ok. Does alfalfa really make horses sick?"

In short (no pun intended) he did awesome. Sure they gave him a 4th of 10 in the obstacle, (but no one there understood it - he was the only mini that backed - honest. I have it on tape.) But that doesn't matter. He did EVERYTHING I asked quietly and not trying to bite me once. And he got first in in-hand-trail. Yes, Jennifer, he made a liar of me big time.

Don't guess he's on the 'for sale' black anymore. In fact, I think I need to take him to the vet. He must be sick.

If you Wanna Learn Humility, Buy a Horse

Blogger was all weird yesterday. Couldn't get on - there was something wrong with their site. Anyhow, I have a couple of minutes before I have to get ready for Church - we thought this was the fall back day and it wasn't so we're running late - by an hour! ha!

Hercules was so good I think I'm making an appointment for him this week if I can find a second. When I get back from Church, I'll post a picture or two, but for now . . he made a liar of me yet again.

If you wanna learn humility . . .

Round 2

Ok. I'm off. It's me and Hercules and the obstacle course again.

And I know he's gonna do rotten - Every time I've worked him he's been rotten. He lopes on the jumps - (Not supposed to) and pushes his hiney away at the backing and ground tying???? HA! - - - (I so crack myself up.)

So why wastes time and $$$? Because it's so much fun.




Well, yee ha.

Choices

Heaven or hell? Christ or the world? Hmmmm.

Got to thinking about the choice thing I wrote about before. Jennifer and I were yaking about it and I thought, no, there really is no choice. Jennifer said that we do have options and you know what? She is so right.

. . . and then . . .

Then I think, ok, what do you want for dinner? A steak cooked exactly how you want it, salad and corn on the cob or would you prefer dog poo. Cold. With worms.

Or how about a ride 4 miles in the smoothest limo, with a dvd player, climate control at 70 degrees, a personal pedicure person and a big fat glass of root beer. Or would you prefer to walk 4 miles barefooted in a four acre passel of grass burrs, in 104 degree heat and 100% humidity wearing sweats?

From what I understand in scripture, it's just that black and white. So technically you do have a choice.

But what kind of idiot would prefer the poo and the grass burrs?

An uninformed one. Someone without a clue. Someone without hope, or with non- existent self esteem or simply apathetic. And, man oh man, there a lot of people who prefer poo to steak and grass burrs to a limo.

Kinda makes you want to go out and get to work on the envangelisim, huh?

I think I'm gonna puke

There are things in everyone's life that scare them so bad, make them SO nervous that they can't function right. You can't concentrate and you shake, and your stomach is rock hard all the way to your sternum. Could be taking charge of a situation, getting up in front of people, singing in front of people . . whatever.

With me it's sending off my writing for possible publication. Or entering my artwork in competition.

Just found out that my profile will be published in Horse Ilustrated in January of 2007. And the magazine runs a book publishing company and they want to see my book.

I think I'm gonna throw up. This is what I've wanted since I could scrawl a 'J' and I think I'm gonna puke.

PRAYERS!!!!

Can we say it louder?

An Hour of Time

"Time is a wheel in constant motion. It's always rolling us along.
Tell me who wants to look back on their youth and wonder where those years have gone."

You turn right and take your eyes off the road for a second and BAM. You get in an argument and out of your mouth come hateful things that hurt - not just for today, but for always. Every time I make a wrong move, I wish there was some way to have those minutes back right before that decision to change it. But time refuses. Every time, she says no.

Yeah I know, life is life and you deal with decisions made, ok, I understand that.

But why not make those decisions good ones? Why not choose the good? Honestly, as Christians, isn't the decision on how to act and react out of our hands? Sure, we're human, but come on. We can do better, right?


If you had just an hour to get the house clean as good as you honestly can and then receive 2 million 4 hundred thousand and 789 dollars for the work, would you waste that time? Wouldn't that hour become precocious? Wouldn't that hour provide the means to an end?

I say all that to say this; Time is merciless. Like a vise, it turns constantly, pulling life from us whether we fight it or not. It always wins.

And it's the only thing that gives us a chance at hope.

The power of the consumer

If I hear k-love say one more time about how amazingly awesome they are, that they have helped 47 and 89 thousand people daily . . and that their pledge drive is just about to kick off . .

Talk about being a little self righteous. Talk about desperate for money. They talk about the same thing after every single song, with the same blah blah blah . . . Jamie once said that he had better things to do than listen to what some disc jockey had for breakfast . . Well, Jamie, you the man.

Can you say change the channel?

Helpless

When I was visiting Jaci, Jah and Julie in Hawaii, I got that call from Barbara. And it made me feel so helpless because there was no way I could be there for her. She was in pain and she was alone and an ocean and a continent separated us. If she needed me, if she was dying, the best I could do would be 20 hours to get to her. Helpless. I was tied so far away that I became effectively useless. And there was nothing worse than that feeling.

. . and then . . .

There was an earthquake in Hawaii today. Two of them. Over 6 on the scale. My three babies - Jaci and Jah and Julie live about 120 miles from the epi center. And I am an ocean and a continent away. They're fine . . . it's all good . . . but I am an ocean and a continent away.

Never think it can't get worse. I hate these lessons.

Sometimes I just make myself tired.

You know, I really am a deeze wad!

Case in point - Robert is one of those, 'Can do most anything' guys. Electrical? Plumbing? Carptentry? . . .Where did this guy learn all this stuff? I've been married to him 26 years and I know he didn't go to no schools while I was around (me neither judging by my grammar). I mean, it drives me nuts. If you have a busted sprinkler hose, he's all over it. If you have a building that needs to be venilated, he's your man. He's even leveld a room in a house. LEVELED A ROOM IN A HOUSE??? He is very talented at just bout everything.

Another thing he excels at is not being able to say no. Don't matter who needs it, he does it. He volunteers, he takes charge, he drops everything for his work, for little old ladies in the Church, for middle aged balding men . . it don't matter. Robert is simply unable to say no to a one of them.

Except me, of course. And this really gets me furious because I'm in the back of the line - if i made the cut at all. ARRRGGGHH!

. . and then . .

And then I see myself growling at Robert over a the fact that he wants little bit of nothing and two seconds later smiling sweetly at the kid who's dog has just christened my leg. I'll drop my world should anyone call with something they need, be it me or anything else. But I roll my eyes and sigh heavy and deliberately audible sigh when Robert asks me to come see what he's doing in the garage. I actually was able to stand outside myself logically and see myself do that. Sobering. And more than a little humbling.

I think it's time for Jackie to shut up and color.

Yep. Deeze wad. That would be me.

I'm Movin On

Just found out that my family is talking trash about me - again. And while this doesn't hurt nearly as much as it used to, still it bothers me. It bothers me because as a Christian, I try to be what Christ intended, a good hearted scum bag who messes up, but refuses to stay down. And that should make for a kind of grudging respect, huh? So it bothers me that I'm obviously blowing it, but not sure how.

What hurts the most is the fact that it's hurting less and less and less. I can remember when words like I heard today would have found me on the floor. Now I can handle the twinge that happens then spend most of the rest of the time being puzzled at their actions. For those of you that have the unfortunate knowledge of my family, you realize there is no way I can call and try to talk/figure this all out. That would be hari cari - did I spell that right?

Nope. I just have to learn to live with this apathetic hole in my life where my sisters and mother used to reside. They don't know me, they don't want to know me, and they won't let me in to their worlds, and Lord help me, I am so, so thankful for that last.

'I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different, but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I faced it
They'll never allow me to change.
And I never dreamed 'home' would end up where I don't belong.
I'm movin on.'

. . to quote Rascal Flatts.

How in the world do people live without the Church?

Speaking Jah

Just got off the phone with James. I heard - - "Uh . . . . sis tell a mach reaa laa ca tum?"

He meant - - "Grandmother? What would be your ideas about the situation in North Korea?"

I heard - - "Wall ooo seek a no cheese kell uh. Mee mee see two?"

He meant - - "I would have to disagree with that assessment, paternal grandparent. Would you care to hear my assessment?"

So I hollered at Jaci, I said; "JACI! What in the world is he saying?"
She said she had no idea.

He said; "Quir telll a mach see cha cha. Wheeze wah a mel-ga."

Which translates; - "puzzling. How is one to respect their elders when the elders in question have a problem with English?"

Time to Fess up

If you're commanded to be silent when you know something is being said that is unscriptural . . isn't that a bad thing? If you squelch truth for the sake of peace . . .that would be on the 'Not A Good Idea' list, right?


I ask that to confess this - I quit the 'non-denominational' Bible study. Hey! They tried to equate circumcisiam with baptism in that they stated it was simply a show of faith. And I wasn't allowed to disagree (even though scripturally I had a case) because I might offend. Might offend the baptist, or the catholics - - why am I surprised? The first time I sat in that 'class' I felt odd because I stated that without Christ there was no chance of salvation. I said something about the muslim faith and man, did it get quiet and uncomfortable.

So I'm not mature enough yet.

But you know what? As I write this it occurs to me that I don't want to be mature in the worlds eyes. ('Oh, you're fine in your walk . . You'll get there. I have no right to judge you on your spiritual journey . . " Well gag me with a spoon and kick me against a barn wall! If you're walking unscripturally, then you'd better get called on it before Christ comes or you're in big trouble. And, by the way, we're COMMANDED to 'estimate behavior' - the word that the world calls judging like it's a cuss word. Check the greek.)

Nope. Forget that. I want to stand for Christ.

The problem now is - how does one come across not like a sledge hammer? I just gotta learn tact.

In my day

Ok. Have to say it, even though my age now must be getting into the 'old lady' stage.

What in the world is up with all the tight shirts on girls that are less than thin???? And the 'muffin' pants thing? Why in the world do girls think it looks good (maybe even sexy?) to parade around in shirts that are over their belly button while their pants are low, unbelievably tight and overshadowed by their belly's???? Why is it cool to show off every single lump you have above the bra strap and below the bra strap and between the shoulder straps of their bra (and this is when they wear a bra - - gag!!!!) Is it just me or does this seem to be a really low bred thing? Even though people I know people with money who do the same thing, does it look unbelievably tacky to anyone else but me?

Am I way too old or what? In my day, we hid that stuff -I still do! In my day we wouldn't show our belly buttons unless we were wearing a 2 piece. In my day, we did our best to have and show a little class.

That's it, isn't it? I'm too old.

Well, thank the Lord for age!

The tap

Don't you hate it when you have that little tick in the back of your head that taps consistently that there is something . . .something . .

Something either that you forgot, or that is wrong somewhere . .

Like you left the iron on as your flight takes off for Hawaii. Or you didn't close the door to the stall or the feed room and you're getting into bed. Or you've got that tapping telling you that there is someone hurt, or scared or in trouble.

I have been dealing with that tick for a while, more today than most days. And I question myself . . what? What is it? Is it the stuff with the Church? Is it the stuff with my sister? Are Brandee and Rob ok? Does Jaci need me?

WHAT?

And it hit me,right between the eyes - Barbara.

And I guess I won't be feeling the end of that tap for a while. Oh, I pray it will go on for a while.

Barbara

I've never had someone close to me die before. No one's even really been sick. Wow.

Barbara (my Egyptian cotton mom in law) called today and she sounded so weak it made me want to get to Missouri yesterday (I'm not allowed there now. The kemo makes her really susceptible to infections and I might accidentally give her something that could end up killing her.) She was in what she calls, her 'rubber bone' days. It lasts 11 to 14 days after the therapy and she gets another dose 10 days later.

The cure is worse than the disease.

She can't move well and has problems controlling her speech. She can't eat. She sleeps 15 minutes out of every 60. She also has a tendency to say how she feels no matter what - Barbara is not one for letting emotion rule or really even have a minor role in the theatre of her life.

But she said that she had to call because; "I really miss you, lady."

In Hawaii, I called and told her I didn't like the way she sounded and her response was, "No matter what, Jack, you remember I love you."

I don't want to write anymore.

Egyptian Cotton

"Egyptian cotton!! Egyptian cotton. I'm telling you, Jack, you don't need to buy anything ever again other than Egyptian cotton."

My mother in law, Barbara, is a less than gentle soul when it comes to making her opinions known - yes, Cryssy, there is worse than me out there!. She has an opinion on EVERYTHING and makes sure she voices that opinion. This is the way she is about the most miniscule things - salt, grass seed, paper plates - I've never known a woman who was so furious in her idea.

She thinks and makes sure that everyone in her sphere of influence knows her feelings that there is only one option on the face of the earth (and probably heaven) where you need to go for linens - Egyptian cotton. (When I think of Egyptian cotton, I think of the movie 'Uptown Girl'.) She got mad at me when I had no idea there was stuff out there that was 400, 600 and 900 thread count. She was furious that I gawked at the price. Her face would contort to this severe reprimand look and she would go on and on . . .

. . .and on and on . . .

. . .and on and on . . . .

Until it became the joke of the house. Rob, Brandee, Robert and I would smirk about everything we touched that was made of cloth - -was it Egyptian Cotton? Phlem wad and blasphemer!!!!

I came across some for sale - really good sale and bought them. Laughing at how proud Barbara would be of me, I made the bed, thoroughly entertained that I am a 45 year old woman still intimidated by Roberts spunky little mom.

And oh my word . . . she was SO right. They're amazing! It's like a stupid caress, like you're sleeping on cream (dry, of course!). Unreal!!!

Anyone need to get any queen cotton sheet sets?

Unreal

You have to hang with me here . . all of this is the honest truth.

Was on the way to the vet for my dog but first went to the bank for the payday money stuff. Did my math wrong and there's 5 cars behind me waiting. So I left it, Buelah all excited and heavy and using those huge paws on my bare skin. Took her to vet for her second shots. My sister who works there is in a snotty mood, again, so I decide it's time to call her on it. We get snippy with each other, but it's all cool by the time they bring in this cat (who appears dead) that's been bitten by a rattlesnake. Fine. I help with that for a second, then leave with the carpet cleaner Cheri is letting me use to get rid of all the 'accidents' that are purposely in my craft room. On the way out, it appears that i am just this side short of having a flat on my back right tire on my new truck. Ok . . . Get home to filler back up and can't find the thingie that goes on the end of the hose for the air compressor. So I call Robert to ask, having to yell because the air compressor has a leak and it builds up pressure really loud. Anyhow, so I get that done.

Ok, so I get to work with the shampooer and notice that it's leaving this disgusting black water all over. I call Cheri - "Oh, it's normal. Just keep going." Keep going?? The rugs look worse, so i put that away and go after them with my wet/dry vac and fabuloso - - which works fine.

ok . . so Robert is too busy to put my sewing machine together. Fine. I'll do it. You need a flathead screwdriver - - butter knife will work. Found the phillips screwdriver, but there wasn't a hammer to be found in the state. K. So I'll use the end of the screwdriver. Takes me about three hours (of a lot of shuffling and puffing because this dumb knee doesn't work right) but I got it put together and even found the hammer while I hunted up the electric screwdriver (Which I hoped I'd be able to work, but the screws kept moving weird and tried to go in at angles. So I gave it up.)

After it's done, I leave the room in a mess and go to the bank to fix my first mistake and then to the horses, then to the gas station (the pump was closed, I had to back in to get diesel) and then to walmart. Well, yee ha and it's another trip to walmart. I was looking for tower fan for Roberts computer room. All they have is this one way, way back and it's $40.00. There were upteen million heaters of every shape and fashion, but only this one tower fan and two box fans. (Now, waitaminute. This is south Texas. October. Early October? What? Are we gonna hit a night time low of 65 degrees????) Great. Whatever. I'm wanting to get back and finish the room.

After $130.00 (WHAT??????? "Give me that print out, would you please???") I get home, and the tower fan is a heating fan and I am mad!!!! So I go to look for the receipt (because we will be taking this puppy back), I catch the seam of my favorite capri's on a hook and it rips a hole about three inches long.

It was then I began to laugh. I hadn't realized until that second what was going on with me all day long. I was doing the battle thing and didn't even know it. And I realized suddenly that satan might not miss a trick, but he sure can overplay a hand. To quote C.S.Lewis in the 'Screwtape Letters' . . I think I'll simply laugh at him and go to bed.

However, that being said, I'm going riding tonight - 10 miles under the moon light.

Remember, Amy Brymer gets Tess if she survives.

Two more

It's been a day! Have two more things to add to my "Boy, do I abhor . . " list.

1. People who go 2 miles per hour in a work zone because there are cones on either side and it freaks them out like when you used to play the game 'Operation' and were going for the funny bone. And you finally get two lanes so you pull out, all indignant and self righteous and it's a 120 year old guy with his mother in the passenger seat and so you can't even get mad. AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!

2. Or when you go to walmart and the guy is following you with the box containing your new sewing machine cabinet and you're all full of yourself because she's gonna ask to see your receipt, so you have it out, all arrogant . . maybe a little incredulous that anyone should dare question your morality and - WHAM - - the cashier didn't ring up the cabinet (the total for the other stuff was so high, you didn't think to double check) and the chick looks it over, raises an eyebrow and makes sure you see her writing the whole thing down before she sends you back to pay.


Told you the other was just the beginning.

Dying Young - one can only hope

You know, death doesn't really scare me at all. I don't want to get really old. You know, all feeble and taking 67 thousand pills a day and most of those are calcium. Honest. In fact, there's something euphoric about rest. Real rest. Unfettered, uninterrupted, cozy down in the pillows warm while it snow outside rest. I always wonder if I get the option to just sleep when I get there for a while. Wonder if that's possible.

No, death itself don't bug me, but the way I die does. Man! The thought of how it happens, how long it takes it to happen and most importantly of all, will there be pain?

Pain bugs me. It hurts. I don't do pain very well. God knows this . . . that's why he made my long labor 4 hours start to finish. Still. . . .

Morbid thoughts for a Tuesday, but I always think that way around this time. More days behind than in front. Days looks different now. Every year.

I Have No Life

Went to the stables, like I do every noon time after my sister and I have lunch, and was thoroughly cussed out by my horse. I don't know when she got so snotty . . . maybe she never was very nice.

It's hot and her water wasn't cool (hey, it sits in the sun . . .there's nothing I can do about that, alright? (MAN!) And she was out of hay. And the fans simply moved the hot air from one side of the barn to the other . . it didn't suck anything remotely cool across her little pampered back.

So it's not paradise . . .but hey, she didn't need to act like that. And I certainly never taught her those words.

Stupid barn cat.

The mini even punctuated everything she called me with a tiny little "uuhh huuu!" and a stamp of his pathetic little after-thought of a hoof.



I really need to get out more.

It's war

And what's up with all the Kamah-kazie moths? Is there something goin on in south Texas I'm unaware of? Is there some secret sect of Moth-a-bans that send moths on suicidal missions - - hurling themselves into American radiators, happy to give their lives for the chance to clog radiators with their fuzzy corpses? Are they run by a crazy skinny Luna named O-Motha-been-flutterin, who's hiding out in the crank shaft of a john deer tractor that sits on the side of the road, rusting? Calling the shots - - if he's still alive.


It makes me so happy - - - nay, it makes me proud to do my best to hit as many that comes my way, then scrub the front of the infidel red (very red) Vibe and then go for a ride . . .just because.
(heh, heh, heh)


If it's war they want . . Bring it on, baby.

My idea of a list

Erin and Dana have a list . . Well, I'm not sure what I want to do before I die, but I am starting a list of things I abhor - not simply hate . . That word just don't cut it. This list is a beginning . . Certainly there are things I have blocked that are psychologically too painful to remember.

I absolutely abhor:
1. When you work out with your headphones on and you get sweat that goes down into your ear canal.

2. When you wear flip flops and don't notice the white cracked nasty lump of leather that is supposed to be your heel until you're talking to someone about the "Cute flip flops you bought in Hawaii . . See?"

3. When you have a 'bat in the bat cave' and no one tells you even though when you're talking to them it goes in and out, in and out each time you breath.

4. When you are talking to someone on a really hot day (there's lots of them here) and suddenly you realize they're not standing close to you, actually leaning back a little because you either (a) forgot the deodorant or ( b) forgot the toothpaste. In either case, it's too late. The damage has been done. Honestly, they should have said something.

5. When you laugh and accidentally have gas. (It's never a quiet one at those times, is it? And you're never on anything other than a pew or hard wood surface.)

6. When someone else has gas and acts like you didn't hear it.

7. Or when someone else has gas that is inaudible, but olfactory and they act innocent.

That should do for a starter.

It's time.

I looked down at my thighs recently. A mass of what appeared to be tapioca pudding lay where my flesh should have been. I realized with more than a little trepidation that my days of ease were at an end.

The bow flex I begged Robert to sell sits with patience in the Florida room . .

waiting . . waiting . . .

So quiver you tapioca thigh. Quiver with fear.

It twern't so bad.

So here I am, at my 'non-denominational' Bible study. This new-to-Christanity girl asks what is meant by the term, 'gospel'. The leader says that it's "Jesus.'.

'Jesus'? Just the name, like this brand spanking new chick to the Bible (she asked "Who came first, Christ or Paul?" . . k . . . ), would be able to understand what was so special about Christ. Like osmosis. Obviously the lead chick thought the new chick had heard the name so many time that morning, that all truth had absorbed into her very being.

. . k . .

So, Jackie {that would be me}, with gentle speech and tactful words (THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE PRAYERS - - -It obviously was not me that answered her - it was the Spirit through all those prayers!!!) explained about the death, burial, resurrection and the amazing empty tomb and the new chick got it.

It was so cool to be in control, if only for that little tiny while. And it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared.

So, don't stop with the prayers, k?