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?

Mercy in the Middle

Have you ever had one of those 'Down-on-the-floor-crying-like-you-didn't-know-you-had-that-much-in-you-Father-HOW-can-You-stand-me?' kind of prayer? I can honestly say that I have only had it maybe three times in my entire Christian life. It's when you actually dissect a sin so as to: (1) see it for what it really is, or: (2) to explain it to yourself because you can't fathom why you did it, or: (3) you are so horribly disgusted with yourself that you have to . . HAVE to find out why in all that's holy you did what you did?

Is there any way anyone reading this can understand? (In a way, I hope not.)

So here I am, actually vocalizing my repentance and it was like Christ was there every single time I delved deeper into the sin.

"But, Lord, I had to, I didn't want . . "
"Jackie, chill."
"But how can You begin to . . ?"
"Jackie. Stop."
"But I've hurt so . . ."
"Jackie, would you just rest for a minute?"

Every time I went deeper, Christ was there, with His mercy. Until I got the center and, yep. Still there. Still so kind. Still dealing out that mercy. As long as I didn't try to justify, He gave it before I asked. I couldn't escape Him . . like He never left me to face up to it alone.

In the very middle of my sin . . . Mercy.

How in the world do people live without God?

bad day

It's been said that we have 2 lives - the one we learn with and the one we live with after that. And while I've always thought that was a cool saying, I never really understood it at all until today.

' . . we've gotta make a decision;
Leave tonight
or live and die this way.'

Those words nudge my memories - prodding that sleeping animal that I would honestly love to kill. Memories of things done I regret with a kind of honest anguish.

Do bad decisions ever really stay buried? Do we always live with stuff we decided and knew was a bad thing to do, but done for the 'right ' reasons at the time? I would go back, see the mistake (I didn't realize would haunt me so thoroughly the rest of my life) and change it. If . . If . .

I realize and am grateful that I have been forgiven by God, but do you ever manage to find forgiveness for yourself? And do I really want to? I told Jennifer Jones once in class that I need my past to keep me humble. I hold it close and protect it, so I don'tgo thinking too much of myself. But, you know what? Humble hurts. I'd forgotten that.

Two lives. I thought the learning was the worst thing that could happen to me. I'm finding out that the living with it is.

Spinnin my Wheels

Have you ever been at a point in a relationship that you realize is dead? I mean, there you are, you've put more prayer and more heart into a person than you have even to yourself and there's no way anything is changing - unless it's for the worst.

So you try harder and the situation gets worse and so you back off, but you can't do that because when push comes to shove and it always does, you love that person. You love them.

Like a ball and chain, you are linked to them, and no matter how much you ache to leave it, leave them, leave a 'pull you down into the quicksand with them' relationship, still, you can't end it. Even when you think you've escaped it, still, one look and the pain that is your failure slams against your insides like a sledgehammer.

Maybe it's blood. Maybe it's cowardice. Maybe it's wisdom. Maybe it's God.

Whatever it is, I wish it would release me. I mourn peace.

And the scariest thing of it all is that I don't know how far I'd go to be free of this love.

A Tesster story

I have always said that of all the horses I mess with, all of them who I've trained and who's thrown me, stepped on me, kicked me and took off under mesquites with me, my Tesster would be the one that would kill me. I am too comfortable around her. She's suckered me in and is just waiting for her shot. Remember that at my eulogy. Let's start from the beginning . . .

There are a couple of things that I am really proud of in life,- besides the fact that I am smart enough to know I'm too stupid to go it without Christ - Tesst is one of them.

Tesster is my horse and I've had her since 1994. I trained her and she is the one thing that just takes me as I am, then won't let me slack and other times she simply lays down in the stall with me, and I lay next to her with my head on her big old belly (she ain't missed a settin in her life).

Because I am such a pushover, I give her horse cookies about 80036 times a day. (Gee, why is she so fat?) I don't do it the smart way, palm flat, cookie on top and no appendages in danger. I just shove it in her mouth, like you would put a letter in a mailbox. A couple of times over the years, she's had to get my fingers out of the way with her tongue.

Well, today when I gave her a cookie, I stuck my finger in too far and this time she didn't even try to get around it. She crunched down and let me tell you, a grazing animals teeth are blunt weapons of mass destruction.

It's all bruised and feels funny, like it's loose. Great. I'll lose my nail and won't that be appealing? Bet Robert will see is and say "Ooooo, baby! Yer makin my mouth water!"

I'll tell you . . she's gonna kill me. And it's gonna huuuurt.

The Invite

Here I am in services, listening to these amazing preacher. (I will be going to Red River next year . . I mean, this guy is three shakes past gifted.) And it occurs to me . . who's feeding him while he's here? So I ask Robert to invite him for dinner tomorrow (that would be tonight). We'll have him and the Lamores over. Yeah. Maybe the Kellys too . . yeah, that's the ticket. So, off goes Robert to invite him. He accepts but the preacher doesn't like to eat before services - who can blame him? Burps.

Anyhow, so Robert says, that's okay, and proceeds to invite three other couples!!!! Okay, cool. I absolutely love everyone he's invited, but have this vision of the bug carcasses in window ledges and lint 'afghans' peeking out from under the couch, and the sprinkled testimony of Brymers manliness scattered throughout. And the vacuum cleaner is at the shop! They'll be here in only 12 hours!

Gotta go.

Pet Peeve #458

Don't you HATE it when you tune into a radio station and the first thing you hear is "We're the station with more music! Less talk!" and then they spend twenty minutes telling you how much they don't talk?

Then you change the station because you just can't take it anymore, and they're spewing all the "We're the 56 minute music station!"

Arrrrrrghhhh!

Hello! Station that play all/mostly music play all or mostly music!!!!

Another question I can't figure . . .

If someone has hurt you so much that a full day doesn't go by without your very soul freezing up at it's memory . . .

If someone obliterates your trust in them and it's so deep that it actually makes you question yourself . . (I realize that only those that have 'been there' understand that last) . . .

If you have been gut shot by someone so thoroughly, you live in a kind of terror that you might see them and at the same time, you search every crowd on the chance they might be there . . .

If that same someone has hurt others that you love past all reasoning . . .

If you ache to confront them but refuse to because what if . . Oh, Father, what if they actually make it worse by their words or their apathy . . .

Is a blanket apology enough? Or is it a cowardly way out? Or is it the best they can offer and so you should accept it with understanding faith in what they were, and what they will become and what you can help them to achieve?

I don't know. I just don't know.

Not an unanswered prayer.

Okay, so when I went to that 'non-denominational' Bible study thing, I was told that there was a waiting list. Seems everyone want in to this thing. In fact, there was this wonderful older lady who was talking with the chick who held our session (her hair was all spiked and cemented still - it was so SO hedge hog. Is it okay if I go ahead and call a spade a spade?), that she hadn't been placed in a study group yet and was it because she "was a 78 year old woman who had nothing to add?"

Anyhow, Mrs Hedge Hog told her that wasn't it all all, they were just so crowded. So, because I didn't care at all for it, and had more than a few scriptural problems (I blogged about it - remember?), I went away confident that I was safe.

Got the call yesterday that I'd been placed. I was not a happy camper about it and on my way to the stables, I asked God what I should do about it. After all, I told Him, I am just a 'trouble maker' and how could I give Him a good name by being so 'Chruch of Christ' in that pluristic world?

Not 2 seconds, and I mean, not 2 seconds, Mercy Me's song 'Good-bye Self' came on the radio.

I smiled and thanked God for his prompt reply.

Pray, pray, pray for me! I can not, I CAN NOT give my Lord a bad name, or hurt His church. And I have such a problem with people who are not scriptural. Help!

Did I mention that I need prayers?

After All

This blog was started with the intention of letting you know more of me and me getting to know more of me. So I'm trying to let as much of myself/life out as I dare. I hope that's okay.

Anyhow . . . It is so super rare to find a song that says something as close to 100% as a secular song can get to a time, a place, or a person in your life.

. . . and then you come across one that takes care of all three.

Ours is by Ed Bruce. This is Robert and I.


There's a parking lot
Where the corner cafe stood,
One of the places we first fell in love.
They've built a waterslide
On the bluff by the riverside
Where we first fumbled our way into love.
And you hardly ever hear it -
It's a golden oldie now
But you and I danced to it at least a thousand miles.
We ran with Bobby and his wife,
Her name I can't recall.
But we had lots of fun in love,
Hardly anything else at all.
All the things we knew
Are turning brown and gray with age or gone
It's funny how the years go by -
I can't help but wonder why.
Sometimes it doesn't seem that long.
After all these years
After all the joy and tears
After all is said and done
After most of everything we knew is gone
I still love you.

Man. So me and Robert.

Non-Denominational - - NOT!

OK. So here I am at this 'non-denominational' Bible study, guaranteed not to push any one denomination's agenda or interpretation of the scriptures, being told that the way to salvation is in this pamphlet you can ask for after class (not contained in the book of Acts), and that 'Jesus' means salvation (Not a derivative of Joseph - average guy), that Paul didn't mean he had to impart miraclelous gifts, but rather he meant he wanted to come teach (ignoring the Greek meaning miraculous manifistation ot the Holy Spirit), man has to do nothing to receive salvation (forgetting all the baptisms, repentance, confessing . . even believing scriptures) and that Gospel means the gift of salvation (not the death burial and resurrection) . . do I need to go on? I was flipping through my Bible like mad - as if anyone around me cared to read my scriptures of refutation.

. . .and then . .

And then I remembered asking Amy Lamore if I was maybe too serious about all this. I'm telling you, it was physically impossible to sit there through it without the whole 'Hey! Waitaminute....Where's the scripture on that?' Why can't I just sit back and enjoy time with those who are trying to learn? I'm not saying those people are all going to hell, but I am saying - - man! Ain't you all ever heard of Nahab and Abihu? They didn't think they were doing anything wrong, either . . . and they were just fine, huh? Not!

I am SO SICK of the sappy Grandfather picture that the world holds of God! Don't these people ever crack the Old Testament to see the real God we serve??? How do they miss Roman 5 about Christ being the only - the ONLY way to have peace with God? (If He was so sappy, what's all that about???)

Maybe I need to just chill. Maybe I'm too church of Christ.

. . . then again, the question remains: is that possible?

I don't get it

A question out into the void . . . why do people choose to be mean and say hateful things when they have the chance not to?

Case in point: In the mini classes, most of the people who show are kids or first time adults - never been to a show, nervous, scared . . you get the idea. They always ask for a walk through (that's when you go through each step of the course so there will be no mistakes about what the judge expects) While I don't need a walk through, still, (because I was and guess ever will be a teacher), I always go with the kids and answer questions. So here I was, going over the pattern for obstacle when the show 'manager' came up to me and demanded (I'd like to say he asked, but that would be a lie), demanded to know why people had to have a walk through. He was very vocal about hating the whole thing . . .hating the time it took, and 'Why are people so stupid they can't read a legend???'

Now, while I understand and even agree with him that it is way simple and is time consuming, still, being that this is an open kids show, what is the big deal? And even if it was, why did he have to come at it with that hateful angle?

I don't get it. Do people really like being so unhappy? Do they detest seeing others happy and feel it is their duty to squelch it? Can they help it, or is it so ingrained that they are past redemption? How in the world do they enjoy life? And how can others enjoy being around them? How horribly lonely is the path they walk, right?

Couldn't he have simply accompanied us on the walk through and seen the fear these kids had? Wouldn't that have made the whole thing more than worth the 2 minutes it took? At the very least, why didn't he go into the mens room and bang his head against the stall wall quietly, leaving the scared kids to their task?

I don't get it. But then, I already said that.

The show

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I have written a book and am in the process of getting it published with the working title 'If You Wanna Learn Humility, Buy a Horse'. If I have learned nothing else, I have learned that I am a prophetic kind of sap.

Hercules, my . . uh . .'handful' of a miniature horse, has done obstacle 87 thousand 458 eight times. In fact, Rachael and I practiced with him and he was so calm and good I considered taking him to the vet. This was not my snot nosed, biting, head tossing, bolting little skeeze wad of a horse I have always known and periodically thought of selling. He was so good, he had to be ill. Very ill. And when we practiced jumping . . man, I away so happy I hadn't sold him. Perhaps . . prayerfully, he had finally matured into a calm, sensible horse.

. . . and then . .

He refused to turn for the back up, backed up all over the poles, kept bumping into me as we trotted. There was a point where you were supposed to lead them into a box, drop the lead and then walk around the box while they 'ground tied' waiting for you. I saw that and told the ground steward to shut the gates to the arena. Sure enough, he bolted for it, the lead flying behind him like something off a disney cartoon. I could only laugh at that point. This was, after all, the Hercules I knew (who was back on the 'I need to think about selling him' block).

And his jumping? He said, "you must be on drugs, chick. I ain't jumpin nothin!' and then when he finally did, he hopped. It was like he was a flea.

Well, at least he wasn't sick.

The end of the matter is this - If you wanna learn humility, buy a horse.

Gotta 'mini' worry.

Don't you hate doing something for the first time in front of a crowd???

Tomorrow is my minature horse, Hercules, fist show where he does hunter - that is to say I take him around to jumps and he hurls his fat little body over them. We've been practicing, and he's done really really well (considering the jumps are at 22 inches and he's only 28 inches - put that into human perspective!) but he's never done it with the kind of jumps they use at a show and he's never done it in front of a bleacher full of people.

Well, gulp - a- rama!

If I survive, I'll blog about it. If not, remember, Amy Brymer gets the Tesster.

Scrapbook cutter

So there I was, 4 in the morning, still looking for my cutter I use for scrapbooking. Ok. There's only one place in the house I use it . . It's absolutely vital to my work and it just isn't there. I tore that place apart - 4 or 5 times! And it's not there.

How could it not be there? This is insane! There is absolutely no place else it could be in the house - but I still looked throughout the house anyway!!!! - and I am paranoid about keeping it super handy because scrapbooking is like writing - when the mood hits you, you gotta go for it or you'll lose the creative thing.

What??? Did someone break in, bypass the tv's, computer, laptops, guns, money and go straight for the cutter?? Is there a run on the black market for paper cutters? Although you can measure easily, and it has a new blade, still, I can't see why it would be a target.

I think that there are people who live in like this other dimension who come in and move things minute to minute in our lives - we never see them because they're not on our plane, but they must be there, rearranging. And they took off with my cutter . . AAAAGGGGRUH!!!

Baby Whisper

I was one of 5 kids growing up in the tiny country town of Knob Noster Missouri. In the pecking order, I was #4 and (not on a self pity kick here) not the favorite of anyone, much less my parents - looked like mom so dad didn't like me and acted like dad so mom didn't like me. A lose/lose situation . . Let's not go there.

Christmas's were sparse because of us 5 kids, but I didn't realize it then. Christmas was magic . . a time when I actually got attention from my parents (hey, you go for what you can, right?) One Christmas when I was about 7, I got a doll called 'Baby Whisper. She was so cool. She was all soft, and her eyes closed when you laid her back and if you pulled the string on the back of her neck she would whisper to you. Stuff like; "I love you, mommy." and "Can I have a kiss goodnight, mommy?" For a little girl who didn't know she was a girl (I was a TOMBOY - all caps because let there be no doubt about that.), this gift was like a small piece of heaven. I could cuddle and kiss and be soft/feminue and it was ok. I adored that doll - the first one I ever received.

Maybe it was because I liked her too much that my sisters and brother couldn't resist, or maybe it was because they were jealous that they didn't love something with the intensity I had for Baby Whisper, or maybe they were just cruel. What ever the reason, my sisters and brother grabbed her from me one afternoon. My sisters held me back as my brother took her and buried her somewhere. I didn't find her for months and when I did, she was in shreds and couldn't whisper anymore. Funny, but I can still see her when I dug her up to this day. 37 years have passed and it's stayed with me. I also remember how my siblings laughed while I cried that day.

Ok, so it's a bummer. Ok, so I would have rather lived my whole life and not learned what I learned that day about my family. Ok, so I guess this is one of those things that shaped my life. But it's not all bad. Baby Whisper gave me the first insight into what 'girl' meant. So no matter what, I look back and smile at her memory, the first and only doll I have ever owned.

Pee-uuuuu

K, I'm back and settling in. The jet lag is pretty much past. The dogs are fine (try to get a friend to watch your dogs when you go on vacation. Surgery is less expensive than boarding!) The horses are fine, the house is fine . . Hey, even the grass didn't die.

About the house . . ever notice how funny your house smells when you're gone for a while? Sorta like when you were a kid and went to visit friends. Their houses smelled wired. That's what hit me when I got home yesterday. A sickey 'old' smell. Like some old guy has been working in the back yard with no breeze and no deodorant. This must be a smell that is ingrained into the sheet rock. Robert and I certainly do not have that less than attractive odor.

I made dinner really quick to kill it. And I'm gonna bake cookies or bread today. This place is supposed to smell like me, not like some old guys dirty tee shirt.

Home

Home. Long flight. Saw a lightning storm over San Angelo, got rained on in San Antonio. And I looked out the window into the black and cried because I could see Julie smiling REAL big and heard Jah's 'Ah, Cuul'.

Long long flight.

Ruby

Two posts in one day? What? Am I sick? Or am I hooked?

Just got to thinking about my oldest, Rob. As usual, we're involved in one of those "I'm grown up now, Momma. Let me make my own decisions." - - - "But, baby, you'd be so much better off if you'd just listen to, adhere to, chisel in stone every single thing I say and then never make a move without me" kind of things. (So what's his problem???)

So here we are, back and forth, and Rob comes out with this; "I love you so much, Momma."

I love you so much, Momma.

He's always said that it is his goal to be just like his daddy. He's so on his way.

And he's called 'Ruby' to me because he is, and always has been my priceless gem. I've called him that since infancy.

Pretty prophetic, huh?

Winding Down

Time in Hawaii is winding down, and of course there are 9065 and a quarter things undone. Oh well, if it all gets done, you're dead, right?

Anyhow, Julie now likes Robert as much a she likes me, BUT James is liking me almost half as much as he likes Robert - hey, that is quite the improvement! He even hugs me!

Also, I'm learning to speak Jah. He's got a good vocabulary goin, if you pay attention. Julie has begun to really coo. And Jaci is goin 90 to nothin on the quilt. There's a lot to miss here.

But I saw the temps are beginning to drop in Texas. Amy said my grass is looking tired. Cheri said the pool is cloudy. I have a horse show a week from today. I have to get to training Chief and reprimand Tess, I have a room to get ready for my exchange student, Nellie needs attention, have to be ready to get to Missouri for Barbara (can't do that from here), Brymer needs cuddling, and I have GOT to get Tornado goin under harness. Time to go home.

I'm Too Fat for Egg Shells

Isn't it rotten to have to spend your life walking on egg shells?

Don't you hate to be in a relationship that requires you to watch not simply every word that you speak, but the tone in which you speak it? I'm not talking about tact. I think we should be careful to make sure we're as uplifting as we can (at the risk of sounding Christian), but to have every sound that you speak - - have every facial tick scrutinized for the slightest possible negative intonation? I mean, how can you enjoy being around a person who does that??

ok, so it goes without saying that you can't be close to every single person you come in contact with. Fine. Still, I hang with a few people who I thought were close friends/family, but then realized (ironically through my little sister) that if you have to be that careful all the time, are you really as close as you thought?

But more importantly, is the relationship worth it? Is it possible to be happy to see that person coming without dreading that you might slip and pay for years?

I don't think so. I really think I am finished with pretending close ties with those who can't handle it.

To quote a song . . "I'm Movin on..."

This from a Howlie

You know how it is when you think something about someone and it isn't a nice thing to think, but every time you come in contact with them, your negative opinion of them is only reinforced? And you hate yourself because not only are those feelings self destructive, they're also totally fatal to any chance you have of showing positive Christian attitudes - - or even showing positive human attributes?

Been there?

I have. For about 3 years I have hated coming to Hawaii because of the people. They are less than nice . . uh . . personality challenged . . uh . . royal creeps. I hate being viewed as scum, hate the 'Great. Here comes another Howlie' smirks I get everywhere, the wait staff hawaiians who think a tip is like air - from God therefore born of grace, not merit and I especially hate the "I live in paradise. And what? You're from . . Texas?"

But today all that changed. All day I was around Hawaiians who laughed, and joked and were so glad to see me. Yeah, I was giving them money, but that didn't even bother me. I saw a whole different people. I loved learning culture. I was in love with the talent of this people. The Pacific was bluer and the mountains were higher. The plumeria smelled sweeter. I mean, how cool is that?

I have been proved wrong -AGAIN. (Happens so often, I don't even blink an eye anymore). And it is with some regret that I leave knowing this is my last trip to this island.

Always leave while you still want to stay. Leaves a better taste in your mouth.

The music man

Robert was so funny today. Jaci and I were working on a quilt and I asked Robert if he would help download some music from my ipod, mp3 - -whatever.

He was like a kid in 10 candy stores. I don't remember ever seeing his eyes so bright as he was when he found songs from years, years years ago. "Hey, baby! Rmember this one?" he kept hollering, making me come in to hear songs that just rol years back with impressive force.

But the main thing was the little boy inside the man I married was out to play today. And he was just as cute as JAH.

Silence

Forgive me, guys. I feel the need to wax poetic.

Silence is sometimes this comforting quilt. It's peace when it visits after times of great turmoil, or hurt, or anger. All that is needed to give it the 'comfortable' status is reason. Silence is a gift.

. . and then . .

Then again, it can be a cold, merciless master that sleeps in it's apathetic stupor, unaware or uncaring that it's in charge. It can cause more pain than anything that has come before it, because it's existence proves it simply doesn't care.

I'm finding that there is no way to have peace when it reigns.

Fear

The Hebrew (OT) and Greek (NT) defines fear (ie:'Fear the Lord . .' etc . . .) as a 'trembling, running away from, shoot with arrow' kind of emotion. It's not simple respect. It's just minding your p's and q's. It is a picture of all encompassing, 'the world revolves around it' fear. Much different from what I'd studied up until now.

In Church yesterday we were told about how the muslims handle the quran (did I spell that right?) . . how they treat it with fanatical respect. The preacher told about a Christian man who had a muslin friend and he asked that friend to see the quran. The guy went into the back room and came back holding a book with gloves on. He had another pair for the Christian friend so he wouldn't disrespect his god's word.

The preacher went on to say that our Bibles are torn, or door stops or dusty. We have no respect for it. Compared to the muslim faith, it was, he said, pathetic.

ok. See his point.

. . . and then . . .

Then I think, why in the world shouldn't our Bibles be ripped to shreds? Anyone who knows me knows the condition of my Bible. (No, Suzie, I can't give it up! I just can't! I know where all the scriptures are on each page . . how can I live with a different one?)

Yes, it's holy, but it's also study material. It's vital for day to day, minute to minute life. Why shouldn't it be falling apart? I cling to it, depend on it, quote from it, let it condemn my actions, let it comfort me, and sometimes, I just hold it close. Because it's the one tangible thing that's stable in my life as a human. (yes, even above Robert.)

God, I have learned through the Word, is not a Person to be feared like the Hebrew/Greek define it - - - - as long as there's Christ to get between us. So, in essence, Christ took away the fear I read about in the Old Testament. Make any sense?

I say all of that to say this: What in the world do we hold up to the fear we are commanded to have? Really? What do we fear? No, you can't say spiders, or rats or whatever. I'm talking spiritually.

The preacher couldn't come up with a thing. Neither could I.

Now that's scary.

It's really just a song . . .

Listening to 'When I get where I'm goin' and even though I realize that it's just a song, still, it astounds me how this song seems to get into the very center of me, find that place that is not tired, is not depressed, is not dead . . and it wakes it up, making me cry with the physical ache to get where I'm goin.

There are no words for how grateful I am for that fire that still, somehow, still lives in the middle part of me.

How do people live without that hope?

The Shower

Oh the days of getting ready for Church with babies! Man! I've forgotten so much!

Last night we were at Ceal's (Jaci's mom) for dinner, (and that chick can beat the pants off me at spaghetti. Kinda humbling, let me tell you.) and got home so late that James was already asleep. So we decided to wait until the next morning for baths.

So here we are this morning and I told Robert to just bring him in while I showered. We only had about 10 minutes to get ready to make it in time. So this was a 'time saver', 'kill two birds', you get the picture, right? So we're just showering away, and James is so interested in the spray that he is squirming all over the place trying to play. When I finally put him down to get to serious cleaning, he starts running around, laughing. I have to almost hog tie him, but we get'er done. Rinsing the hair brought on a whole other spasm of play.

ARGHHHHH!

It was 10 to nine when we got out. Class started at nine. So, we put her into high gear, Robert going Mach 8 on the dressing. James is sitting there, shivering in the cold . . Wait a minute. He shivered when he looked up and saw his granma coming out of the shower. I was in a crumpled towel, my hair all everywhere, headed right for him.

Yeah, I'd shiver too.



Robert is in the next room putting Jaci's sewing cabinet together with the mpc player in his ears. Way WAY off key. Love to be taping this.

Home

You know, I'm loving these babies and Jaci is too cool (I didn't know that. Jarred picked a winner . . .hmmmm imagine that), but still, I find myself thinking of Texas. If I could start a list of people I miss, the list would be long.

But the silly things? The things people roll their eyes about? Oh man, oh man, . . .

I SO miss the Tesster and Chief because they keep me moving, make sure I don't grow lax, and give me a job that requires boots, and jeans and muck rakes.

I miss Brymer, because he is so possessively in love with me and only me. I miss Nellie because she is the definition when you look up devotion in the dictionary. I miss Beulah, because she's so young and I'm afraid I'll miss something.

I miss my house, because you know, when you're visiting, you can't do the things you can do at your own house . . have gas, burp, scratch inappropriate places, pick inappropriate places . . You know . . . (bet Jaci can't wait to do all those things again.) . . . Home is home, after all.

be it ever so humble.

The Power of a Granpa

Well yee ha and amen! Robert's here! He's seen the babies and now knows they're even cuter than I said. And, man, did I miss him. Good to have him back where he belongs . . with me, wherever that is.

When I got off the plane 11 days ago, Jah gave me a less than encouraging look, and flat out pushed me away when I tried to kiss on him. I took my time, trying to coax some affection from him, but he would have none of it. (In fact, if he didn't do what I asked I threatened him with kisses. He always obeyed fast with that looming.) But finally, FINALLY, on Monday, he came to me on his own, and by Thursday, I was holding him and tickling him without the hollering.

So Robert comes through the door. He grins, giggles and laughs when Robert swoops him up into a hug and kiss. They then proceed to play while Jaci and I watch. (Jaci is amused, I am just this side of a good whine.) Robert has been here under 7 hours and he's done more with James than I've done in 11 days! I mean, how wrong is that????

. . . and then . . .

Then I remember, Julie still likes me best.

Until tomorrow.