%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  My Blog....Pearls of wisdom and/or foolish mutterings.....You be the judge.... |
|
A little of this, a dash of that......epic mood swings.......A LOT of foolish mutterings and occasionally a few words of wisdom. It's a crapshoot. You never know what you'll find in here... |
| Here I am sitting in the airport in Midland/Odessa. Our 6:00 pm flight has been delayed and delayed and delayed once again. It is now scheduled for departure at 7:45 pm (at least it was last time I checked - I'm afraid to look now.) I've been waiting it out in the bar so this entry comes dangerously close to drunk blogging, so if I say anything too outrageous, blame it on the Crown and Coke. Hubby is asleep on the floor - I am using his legs as my footrest, actually. I just hope we get out of here sometime tonight. I have my heart set on sleeping in my own bed tonight. So, how was my trip? It was really good. I enjoyed myself in spite of my injured foot and my battle with Walgreens. But I am definitely ready to go home. Just call me Dorothy - there's no place like home, there's no place like home..... I've discovered that I am a creature of habit. I like getting up in the morning and knowing that I will be doing pretty much the same thing I did the day before. But I also know that I am much more likely to go visit friends and family than they are to come and visit me. I wonder why that is? Maybe because I am more willing to put up with the inconvenience and fork out the money to see them? I don't know, but whatever the reason, I am more often the visitor than the visitee. You know, it's really not much fun to fly now. Not with all the stupid regulations and the safety checks and the fact that you practically have to undress completely to go through security. Mark my words, it's only a matter of time befrore they have us stripping down and going through the metal detector wrapped in nothing but Saran Wrap. (Oh crap, I hope nobody from TSA is reading this - they will probably suggest that at the next staff meeting.) Can't think of anything else right now. But since I'm stuck here, I may very well be back on here later blogging about God only knows what. Later............... |
| I don’t sleep. Not without a sleeping pill. It’s been this way for years and at first, I argued with my doctor about it. I don’t want to take yet another pill, I told him. He stood firm, telling me that a good night’s sleep is as crucial to my health as anything else. So, I relented and after the first night of sleeping all the way through the night without waking up every hour on the hour, I decided that my doctor was a pretty smart guy and probably knew what he was talking about. Now, after having experienced the benefit of restorative sleep for quite some time, I am a big fan of sleeping soundly. I don’t take sleep lightly, especially my sleep. It’s fair to say that when I travel, I may forget to pack non-essential items like makeup, clothing, shoes, etc., but there are two items I never forget to pack – my laptop and my sleeping pills. When it came time to pack for this trip, I noticed that it was time to call in a refill for my prescription for sleeping pills. I called my local Walgreens, which, though it is very conveniently located less than 2 miles from my house, is the single most inept, mismanaged Walgreens in the entire nation with a staff that has the customer service skills of a bunch of baboons. The automated system informed me that my prescription would require extra time to fill as there were no refills left, necessitating a call to my doctor’s office for approval. Great. I’ve been down this road before with this particular Walgreens and it’s not an easy road to traverse, requiring unending persistence and a great deal of prodding on my part. This was on Sunday, so I couldn’t start my campaign until the next day when I would be flying to West Texas. Fine, I had my assignment. All day Monday, I made phone calls to Walgreens, each time speaking to a different baboon, each time receiving the same answer. We’re still waiting on your doctor’s approval. I still had one pill left at that time so I knew I would be sleeping that night, so I didn’t panic. But I stupidly gave them the benefit of the doubt, thinking that surely they could handle getting the okay from my doctor in the space of two days time. Note to self: always remember what they say about never assuming anything. Tuesday morning, not too early in order to give them time, I made another call to my local Walgreens. Here’s how the conversation went: Me: I’m calling to see if my prescription is ready yet. I called it in on Sunday. Baboon: No ma’am, we’re still waiting for your doctor’s approval. Me: Have you tried contacting the doctor’s office since you haven’t heard back? I really need this prescription. Baboon: Uh…………. I hung up. Called my doctor’s office, left a message at the nurse’s station asking her to please call Walgreens and approve my prescription. Two hours later – 1:00 in the afternoon, another call to Walgreens, same conversation with a different baboon. I called my doctor’s office back, spoke with the nurse who told me Oh yes ma’am, I took care of that this morning right after your call. Another call to the baboons at Walgreens. Different baboon once again. Same conversation as earlier. Then this: Me: I just spoke with my doctor’s office, she told me they approved it early today. Please check again. Baboon: (long sigh) Okay, hold on. ……….. No ma’am, we don’t have it. Me: Can I please speak to your Head Baboon? Baboon: (another long sigh) Hold on. Head Baboon (or someone posing as Head Baboon) gets on the phone and tells me she will call right now and speak with my doctor’s office. Call back in 15 minutes, she says. This goes on all day, until I finally resign myself at 4:30 to a sleepless night. On the way to dinner, on a whim, I gave it one more shot, calling the Baboon Center just for grins. Me: I’m calling to see if my prescription is ready. Baboon: Yes ma’am, it’s ready for pickup. Thank God! I was happy. I should have known it was too easy. We went on to dinner, a very nice affair with family at an Italian restaurant. Lots of fun, lots of merriment, great food, great company. Hubby and I left there and headed for the nearest Walgreens to get my prescription transferred there. Oh, silly me. The clerk at the Odessa Walgreens was such a nice young man, very helpful and professional, so unlike the baboons at my local Walgreens. I told him what I needed and waited patiently while he did his thing. Then it happened. He came back and apologetically told me that they couldn’t fill my prescription because it was too soon for another refill. I thought about leaping over the counter to wrestle him to the ground. But my foot was still hurt, so I didn’t think I could make it over the counter anyway. I got out my cell phone, called the Baboon Center, explained what I was trying to do and the baboon on the other end told me, I don’t see anything here for you. I told her, through gritted teeth that I had spoken with someone there just two hours earlier who told me the prescription was ready to be picked up. To which she replied, I asked everyone here and no one talked to you. By this time, I was ready to get on the next plane, fly back home and personally strangle every single one of the baboons at the local Walgreens. I could already see the headlines: BABOON MASSACRE AT LOCAL WALGREENS. POLICE SEARCH FOR CLUES While I was on my way to meltdown, the clerk here – a wonderful young man named Josh – was busy taking care of business, calling my insurance company and then the Baboon Center back home. In just 10 minutes he had everything straightened out, had set the baboon straight at Baboon Central and had my prescription ready. I wanted to kiss him, or at least throw money at him. I settled for shaking his hand, thanking him profusely and telling him that I wish he worked at my Walgreens back home. I also got a phone number to call to give him a huge “atta-boy” to his superiors. And I did get a good night’s sleep last night, thanks to Josh. In the clear light of morning, I am thinking that when I go back home, I will forego the convenience of the Baboon Center less than two miles from my house and try out another Walgreens further away, but hopefully with fewer – or, dare I hope? – possibly NO baboons and maybe, just maybe, an employee or two like Josh from Odessa. |
| Here's the update on my injured foot that I know you've all been waiting for with bated breath (what kind of phrase is "bated breath" anyway and who came up with that?) Anyway, here we go. I hobbled through the airport yesterday because no matter how early you start out, it always ends up in a rush when an airport is involved. Hubby was very accomodating and made sure I didn't have to carry anything heavier than my purse - he managed all the bags and we did curbside check-in. But then I had to hobble my way over to the security check-point, which in Houston is something akin to a line at DisneyWorld, snaking around for miles (well, at least hundreds of feet) and everyone standing on their tip-toes to see what's going on up at the front, why aren't we moving?! - hundreds of people, all anxiously waiting as we shuffle along a few feet at a time (at least that part was easy on my foot.) Finally we got through security; well, at least I got through security. Hubby set off the alarm because he forgot to take his money clip out of his pocket and therefore had to be strip-searched, wrapped naked in Saran Wrap and walked back and forth through the metal detector, then "wanded" numerous times. Then one of the security guys patted him down - several times - then I had to wait as they both had a cigarette. By then, we had to hurry to get to the gate. Hurrying is not something I do well with an injured foot. So Hubby was charging along with all the carry-ons slung over his shoulder and I was limping along wa-a-a-a-a-y behind him. He kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't getting too far ahead and every time I was further behind. He kept shouting something along the lines of "Do you need a wheelchair?" and "Hey, Gimp, you gonna make it?" Ha ha - I wasn't laughing. "We did finally make it to the gate and on to the plane. Repeat same scenario at the next airport, except for the searching and wanding part, thank goodness. I didn't have to do a lot of walking after that until we went to dinner last night and then my injured foot made for great joke fodder as we stood in the line at Furr's Cafeteria with my sister-in-law, brother-in-law and my BFF Shari. BIL asked why I was limping and Hubby told him, "I finally got her to help me on one of the rehab houses and got three hours of work out of her and now she's on workers comp!" We got to the cashier to pay and SIL asked me, "Y'all aren't old enough to qualify as seniors are you?" To which BIL replied, "Well, she sure is walking like one." And it went on like that the rest of the night. I've only been out of bed this morning far enough to retrieve my laptop from its case, so don't know how my foot is faring this morning. I can only hope that it's better, because I feel a great hankering to do some shopping today. Looking through my suitcase last night, I realized that I totally hate all of the blouses I brought with me to wear, so what's a girl to do? I have to shop. I have no choice. |
| Boy oh boy! I am the biggest wimp in the world. I went along yesterday to help Hubby work on one of the houses we are re-habbing. My job was to sand the walls that he and my sons have been "mudding", as they have torn down and rebuilt/redesigned walls in several rooms in the house. Other than being a really messy, sweaty job, it didn't seem all that bad. We worked for about three hours and then I started whining that I was really tired and needed to go home. So Hubby took pity on me and brought me home, then he went back to the house to work for several more hours. Let me just put this right out there on the table - I do not like physical labor. It sucks. At least I did feel like I got some exercise yesterday and I felt good about working on the house, but other than that, I can find nothing that I like about physical labor. I made a promise to Hubby that I would help him every Saturday at the house until we get it to a livable stage, at which point my sons will move in there and finish the rehab of the house while living there. Holy crap! What was I thinking? I'm just not a physical labor kind of girl. I'm a "let's go shopping" kind of girl. And here's the really sad part of my phyical labor saga. This morning I had to go shopping for a couple of new suitcases for our trip next week (Did I mention that I am going back to West Texas for a week? Well, I am. Hubby has to go for business - I'm tagging along.) Anyway, back to the shopping. I was forced to shop this morning sporting a physical labor injury! Yes, it's true! I actually even had to walk from store to store with a noticeable limp. Don't even ask me how I managed to injure my foot, because I have no idea, but the outside of my left foot is excruciatingly painful to walk on. Well, okay, maybe it's not excruciating pain. That might be a slight exaggeration, but it was painful and it did cause me to noticeably limp. And that limp did make me curtail my shopping excursion. Not until after I managed to push through the pain and find two lovely new suitcases - I'm selfless like that - but I did have to come home a lot sooner than I intended and it was all about the foot pain. So, yes I will say it loud and say it proud - I am a wimp. I have a week to recover before I have to go back to the house and engage in more physical labor. I just hope I can recover sufficiently while I am in West Texas because I feel certain there will be shopping to be done there. Kay Jordan ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| This man wants to be your President. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
I've been a bit behind on my reading lately, so I just now made my way to
Thank you, Scarlett, once again for putting it all together and making it happen. And a million thanks to all the contributors this month - every article, without exception, was .... well, EXCEPTIONAL! Read it - JUST DO IT.  |
| I haven't been writing much lately that I would consider to be of much importance. Oddly enough, I just haven't had much to say. Those of you who know me well, know that this is an unusual occurrence for me, as I always have something to say. In fact, I have a plaque, given to me by someone who does indeed know me quite well, that says Everyone is entitled to my opinion. So, it is the exception rather than the rule, when I find myself with nothing to talk about. I don't like to write unless there is something on my heart; words that are aching to spill out on to the paper (or the computer, as the case may be.) I'm the kind of person who likes to "wing it" and I can always find something to say. Put me on a stage and hand me a microphone and suddenly I will have words to say. Give me a spotlight and I will perform - oh yes, I will perform. I like to be seen, I like to be heard, I like to be in the spotlight. But I always rate quality well above quantity. Therein lies my problem of late, I guess. I've had nothing of real quality to talk about. Better yet, I've had nothing that has really been on my heart. No words just waiting to break through my fingertips on to the keyboard. I haven't even had the desire to write any additional chapters for my book. This state of being has felt foreign to me, given the fact that for the better part of several months, I've been completely addicted to writing - writing in my blog, writing chapters in my book, just writing, writing, writing. I've had an idea playing around at the edges of my mind for a few weeks, though. I've been tossing around the idea of writing a short synopsis of "My Life, So Far. Revealing myself a little more deeply to the people who read my blog and have become friends, throwing caution to the wind and assuming that the whole idea isn't just a narcissistic urge that I'm tempted to give in to. Today I read Dan's blog about "our audiences" and it really spoke to me. So much so that I wrote a little mini-blog in his comment section. And now, thanks to plannerdan's always eloquent words, I have words of my own that want to tumble on to the page. I hope you won't find this too self-indulgent but that you'll forgive me if you do. I have a rather strange family history. The short version is this: I have one brother and two sisters. My brother, Mike, and I grew up together. We never knew that we had a sister, Kathy, who was born after me and before Mike and was given up for adoption. We didn't meet her until we were all in our early twenties. Mike, Kathy and I share the same mother; we all have different fathers. But Mike and I were raised by the same mother and father - our natural mother and Mike's natural father, my step-father. I also have another sister, Kris. We share the same father. I didn't meet Kris or my natural father until I was 30 years old. Are you completely confused? Don't worry, it's even more confusing than that, but I won't hit you with all of it at one time. My sister Kathy, my brother, Mike and I are all very close. It's a relationship that we have forged over the past 25 or so years and now it seems as if Kathy has always been there. But we had completely different childhoods. Kathy was adopted by a couple who were not able to have children. She had what I would describe as a normal childhood. My brother and I had a hellish childhood, so much so that to this day, even though both of my parents are now dead, I still struggle to make sense of the reasons behind it all. Kathy and I have tried for years to unravel the mystery behind why she was given up for adoption only 6 weeks before our mother married the man who would become my step-father and Mike's father. We have searched, theorized, questioned and pondered every possible scenario, including the many different versions given by our mother over the years before she died. We have yet to come up with what we believe to be the whole story, but our relentless research has brought us much closer to a deeper understanding of our mother. It has also birthed in each of us an insatiable desire to know who we are and where we come from on a much deeper level. We are no longer satisfied just in knowing who our ancestors were. We want to know stories, motivations, reasons. We want to know the why. Kathy found a box in her adoptive mother's garage containing fifty years' worth of diaries that her mother had kept over the years. She has been "checking them out" like library books and poring over them for the past several weeks. In those diaries, she has found clues not only to her own past, but also a prompting of memories long-buried in her own soul. Kathy has begun journaling her own life, spurred on by the excitement and joy she found in reading her mother's diaries. She has found the same richness in delving into her past that I have experienced in writing my memoir. While writing my book, I have unearthed memories of my own that had been lost (or nearly lost) to the passage of time. And between Kathy's, Mike's and my own shared memories, we have begun to put together a sometimes beautiful, sometimes tragic mosaic of our lives and the lives of our ancestors. In its own way, that mosaic is helping each of us come to terms with the ghosts of our pasts and in so doing, has enabled us to look forward to the future without fear or trepidation. The words we write here (or in journals at home, wherever) will indeed echo across the years. The fact that our words may someday speak to future generations is a priceless gift, but the knowledge that we ourselves gain by seeking to understand from whence we came is what drives us. And if we're lucky, it's the catalyst to a better "here and now" for ourselves as well as our children. Then, maybe someday, the searches done by our children's children will be done simply out of curiousity and not as a desperate search for healing. And so, we write...... |
| My grandkids, Aiden and Olivia, were here yesterday. Their parents dropped them off so they could go Easter basket shopping for them in peace. I'm pretty sure that before they dropped them off, they hooked the kids up to an IV after feeding them a diet of chocolate ice cream, Mountain Dew and Pixie Stix. Neither Aiden nor Olivia could ever be classified as quiet children by any stretch of the imagination, but yesterday neither of them had a quiet bone in their bodies. They were like little miniature tornados twirling around my house, never touching down anywhere, just pinging from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. I swear, it was amazing to watch. I was exhausted by the time they had been here for fifteen minutes. God really knew what He was doing when He gave children to young parents who have lots of energy. I bought a membership to the YMCA on Saturday. My thinking is that I have to get in shape if I intend to have a prayer of keeping up with these grandkids. The only one I can manage to keep up with for any length of time right now is my other daughter's 3 month old. He's a very laid-back baby, easy to handle. Of course, he's only 3 months old and he's getting more active by the day. He'll soon catch up with his 3 and 5 year old cousins, so I need to get prepared. Looks like some strength training is in order, in addition to whatever course of action is necessary to build stamina. Of course, that's not my only plan of action. I've also started teaching Aiden and Olivia card games (board games are next). That's been fairly successful so far. Aiden loves playing card games with me - he's particularly fond of Go Fish and Slap Jack. After spending a few hours with my grandkids, I often wonder at how I managed to handle raising 4 kids at one time. Maybe that's why I have so little energy and stamina now. I used it all up back then. Hope everyone had a wonderfully blessed Easter. |
| WHEW! What a relief! The CPA had good news for us - not only do we not owe the IRS any more money, but it looks like we may actually get some back. Woo Hoo! It wouldn't matter if it was only $1, as long as we don't have to pay. Looks like we should have hired this CPA a long time ago. I hope everyone has a great Easter weekend! |
| Well, I'm off to see the CPA this morning with - hopefully - the last of the information for our taxes. I can't tell you how much I have dreaded this and still do. That man only has to say a few words to make me very happy. You don't owe more taxes Yep, that will do it. I'll be holding my breath until I hear those words. And praying that I don't hear something entirely different. Since I've done the ostrich routine for as long as is humanly possble with this tax thing, I guess I'd better hit the road. Let's just hope I'll be back on here this afternoon singing a happy tune! Here I go..................................... |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
I'm so far right the Tea Party looks like a bunch of hippies!
