Welcome Home!

                                                   

                                                 Presley waiting.

                                   Why I love my four-legged friends. 

I'm Back, Again

First things first.  I have missed blogging.  Yes, I have been very busy (more on that later), but there is no excuse for not checking like like I promised.  I'm happy to be back!

Rule #48  When trying to work two part-time jobs, remember not to move your business and oh yeah, your home.  That's right.  We have moved and I still have boxes stacked around me like a cardboard fortress in my small computer room.  I literally have to climb out of my chair and weave through a small path to the hall. 

The good news is that I'm back to only working one part-time job.  The bad news is I'm really missing that extra small paycheck.  The good news is I'm back at the computer.  The bad news is I'm back at the computer and not unpacking these freaking boxes!

I've made some changes to my blog and expect additional changes in the very near future.  I decided that I really like the title Random Morning Glories, so I dropped the Pine Trees &.  I'm still in Middle Georgia surrounding by my pines, but shorter is better.  What do y'all think?

Now, about that busy part.  I'm still busy, just not as structured.  I plan to tell y'all more about my temp job and I will definitely keep y'all updated on our wonderful new place (with pictures)!  Just not right now.

Right now, I'm signing off, but I will be back here soon.  Promise.  And I mean it.

Perpetual Writing Prompts - Notes from The Blue Ridge Writer's Conference

The Blue Ridge Writer's Conference held a few weeks ago was smaller this year than previous years, but was a wonderful learning experience.  Due to traffic in Atlanta, I missed the opening reception, arriving just as everyone was leaving.  I hated to miss the opportunity to meet and greet the various speakers, but I arrived at the conference first thing Saturday, ready to learn.

I'll skip the keynote speaker for now and go directly to my first workshop, 'The Greatest Writing Prompt Ever', led by Scott Owens.  Scott is the author of 6 collections of poetry, editor of Wild Goose Poetry Review, Vice-President of the Poetry Council of NC, and founder of Poetry Hickory.  He also teaches at Catawba Valley Community College in Hickory and has been nominated for two Pushcart prizes.  He has read his work on NPR, the Writer's Almanac, the Joe Milford Poetry Show, and WordPlay.  Whew!  He is an amazing speaker and teacher.

He asked us to jot down a list of noteworthy moments.  Hmmm, I stared off in space as I fast-backwarded through my life.  Suddenly I channeled Charlie Sheen.  Winning.  That was it.  Winning is good.  I always felt good winning especially because winning did not happen often enough that it became old hat.  In my youth I won blue ribbons at several horse shows.  Winning.  I know the feeling.

Then Scott Owens made some suggestions to help us making our noteworthy list.  "Think of something so one else noticed."  Hmmm.  "Did it make you sad?  Happy?  Was it ironic?"  He gave us a few more minutes to finish our list. 

Now, a few weeks later, as I glance of my hastily written list of 12 moments, I agree with all of them and I could spend days adding to it.  Try it.  Write your own noteworthy moment list.

OK, then he ask us to list all the places where we lived/occupied/stayed.  Add specific details.  Describe it in physical and spiritual terms. 

Now, I hate to say, but I had to leave his workshop because the critique of my novel was scheduled.  I would like to thank Scott Owens for his excellent workshop and encourage you to check out his poetry.  He read a few to us that were powerful.  I'll post some of his web-sites at the end.

In another excellent workshop I attended which I will discuss at a later date, Robert Lee Brewer suggested that as writers we should share in our web-sites, blogs, tweets, and social networking sites any tips that other writers might find helpful.  So here is my tip, based on the writing prompts offered by Scott Owens.

Go back through your list and think of the smallest, most quiet moment you experienced during that noteworthy moment.  What thought crossed your mind?  What were you doing?  Who was with you?  Now, write about it.

For me, winning that blue ribbon and trophy was a noteworthy moment, but it was during a practice ride a few weeks before the show when everything clicked.  Instead of just riding, going through the motions of guiding my horse around the ring, I figured out the key to that particular horse.  I could set his head up by slightly jiggling the snaffle rein and bit.  With just a small touch he responded, rising up to march down the straight-away, like a winner. 

Macon Horse Show, Sept 1974, Happy Holliday & me, 1st place, 3-gaited amateur.  That's my trainer Temple Stephenson holding Happy's head.  Can anyone ID the ribbon girl?

Before I saw my wonderful trainer excitedly jumping up and down, before I was close enough to hear his encouragement, I knew I could show this horse and win.  That confidence has carried me through many situations and I still call on it today. 

Winning.  For Charlie Sheen it is the catch-phrase of the week.  For me, it was a life-altering experience that I pull out and use when I write.

Please check out these web-sites for Scott Owens. 

http://www.scottowenspoet.com/
http://www.scottowensmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.wildgoosepoetryreview.com/

Thoughts from the Blue Ridge Writer's Conference

April 2nd I attended The Fourteenth Annual Blue Ridge Writer's Conference, billed as 'a meeting in the mountains for readers and writers'.  This was my third Blue Ridge conference and I was very excited to be able to attend and to be back in a town Sweetie and I call our adopted home.

As I sat through the opening remarks and welcome, I thought back on how I got to this point.  I want to share a little of my background today and I will continue my conference experiences and notes over the next few weeks. 

I lived in Blue Ridge several years before I knew about this conference.  Honestly, the first time I heard about it, I did not think of myself as a writer.  I was not quite yet to the point of even believing that I could put words on a page.  I had spent my life reading and 'escaping into books', but writing had been pushed way back in the recesses of my mind.  It wasn't even a dream, just fragmented jigsaw puzzle pieces of ideas with the corners missing.

Yes, I do have a degree in Journalism and Agriculture and I took several news and magazine writing courses at UGA, but in my mind, that seemed like a world away from writing stories, fictional accounts of life.  Immediately after college I did some free-lance writing, but I seemed to gravitate toward public relations.   

Then as life usually does, my path veered off to another then another and I forgot my youthful dreams of a writing career.  Every so often, sometimes daily, Mama would mention my journalism degree and why didn't I pursue that career.  Sometimes I listened, mostly I didn't.

My step-daughter and her then year old son were living with us and I noticed she was keeping a journal.  As I encouraged her writing my brain suddenly woke up, like I had been zapped by a bolt of lightening.  I kicked the muddled emotional coma I had been in off like a winter blanket in an over heated room.  It was simple.  Something really important had been missing in my life.  I stumbled down the few steps to our closed-in carport where my computer was set up.  I sat down in front of the screen and touched the keyboard.

A story moved from my brain down through my fingers and words appeared on the screen.  OMG.  I did it.  I wrote a really bad opening to a potentially bad novel.  Bad might be a little harsh, but when I re-read some of my first efforts, I see multiple problems.  But I kept going.  I kept creating a story, building a life story for my characters, learning their quirks and their dreams.  They became my friends and soon as close as family.

I was writing.  I am a writer.  I could go to a writer's conference and actually admit to the world, I am a writer.  I decided to come out of the closet.

The first Blue Ridge Writer's Conference I attended, I took a deep breath and barged head-long into the opening night reception, carrying as much confidence that I could stuff in the little tote bag of goodies they handed out.  I was that proverbial mallard.  Cool and calm on top of the water while inside, underwater, I was furiously churning, kicking my way across the pond.  I took a deep breath and worked the room.  I met various authors, editors, conference speakers and other attendees, remembering to shake hands firmly and look them in the eye while smiling and laughing. I could at least act like a writer.

The next day at the actual conference, I walked in and knew I was in the right place.  I was not alone in my efforts to accomplish the impossible.  There was (and still is) security and insecurity in the fact that I am just one of millions of budding authors. 

And so I have a dream.  A dream that now, with several completed manuscripts under my belt, and with the help and encouragement of myriad friends and family, I am not afraid to tell y'all about.

I am a writer.

Hello Again!

clerical workers circa 1950

I'm back.  I didn't mean to stay away so long, but before I knew it, hours had turned into days and days into weeks.  I missed writing and I missed y'all too. 

I've started another part-time job and the first few weeks have totally consumed me.  It is a temp job at Georgia College in the Financial Aid department.  Strictly clerical work, Monday - Wednesday, 8 - 5. 


OMG!  My brain almost exploded the first day.  I don't know if I can explain how I heard the words the woman was saying, but it was like she was speaking in Greek or Turkish or Hungarian...yes, Hungarian was more like it.  The language of Financial Aid is spoken in garbled, lack of vowel words and phrases that made no sense to moi.

By the third day, the words were slightly less garbled and by the second week, I was actually accomplishing simple tasks they assigned me.

I'm still working Thursday - Saturday at my other part-time job over at Lake Oconee soooo my time is limited...but I will check in on a regular basis.  I promise. 

On my next post I want to share some tidbits I learned at the recent Blue Ridge Writer's Conference last weekend.  It was great to be back in Blue Ridge even though I was only there twenty four hours. 

Please stay tuned...

Abandoned Camellias

On my morning walk with Presley, I wind my way through a section I call the dark woods.  It's not really a woods, it's a densely wooded lot between two houses.  The tree shaded road is a welcome respite in hot Middle Georgia summers. 

Before I walk into the wooded area I pass this vacant lot.  Unknown vines, trees, weeds, and what have you grow over what I believe was the foundation of the former house.  There are derelict signs from a former life.  A junked car is behind this mound covered with it's own green blanket.  There is an old charcoal grill parked next to pre-fab concrete steps that must have led to a mobile home at one time.  The green grown hides litter and provides a safe haven for various wildlife.  I do not let Presley venture into the green mounds.

Years ago this was someones country home.  I wonder what happened to the family.  Did they sell their surrounding land, take the money, and move away?  It is a vacant lot, but it is green and lush with growth and not really an eye sore.  Imagine my delight on a chilly, but spring-like day last year I made an important discovery.  In what would have been the side yard, I noticed a bit of pink peeking out over a small hill of Georgia clay.  Here, in this abandoned, unloved acreage, I found these lovely camellias. 

Sheltered by towering pine trees, there are several camellia's blooming up a storm right now.  This particular one is called Pink Perfection, one of my favorites.

I clip these blooms and bring them home.  Yes, I am probably trespassing, but I feel it is a shame to waste these beautiful blooms.

 Camellias remind me of both of my grandmothers who grew magnificent specimens.  I don't have camellia's in my lake yard, but I claim these abandoned shrubs for my own.

Are You...Sick?

As small business owners, Sweetie and I like to support other local businesses when at all possible. That was easier when we lived in Blue Ridge.  In a small town there are not as many large chains.  Our favorite hamburger joint was a local place called Sue's Sweet Shop, but the sign on the building read 'Sue's Best Burger in Town'.  That was the truth.  Yummy.  Miss it.

In Baldwin County, we have a much larger community, but we still tend to seek out local businesses to spend our hard earned dollars.  I love going to downtown Milledgeville.  It is a hip, due to the colleges, but quaint, historic area where you can park and walk from shop to shop, restaurant to restaurant, bar to bar. (OK, we
don't really frequent the bar scene here, but we read about it, thanks in no part to that football guy)

Downtown Milledgeville

I recently found a new place to get my hair cut. Located in a really neat older building on West Hancock Street, it is a cool, hip place. I am usually the oldest person when I am there, but Amanda at ExtraordiNailry Salon & Spa always makes me feel welcome and maybe not so fuddy-duddy.

I don't quite feel like a complete fuddy-duddy...yet.  I think I am probably just at fud.  I wanted to use just the first two letters, f and u, but then my fuddy-duddiness took over and I didn't want y'all to think I was a fan of the letters f and u. 

The Odd Couple, 1968

                                                                      

Those letter, f and u, are part of one of the funniest scenes in the movie The Odd Couple, starring my favorite actor of all time, Walter Matthau.  Playing Oscar Madison as only Matthau could, he yells at Felix, played by Jack Lemmon, about notes Felix had been leaving for him in the apartment.  For six weeks it seems Oscar thought Felix was ending his notes with the letters f and u, until he realized it was Felix Unger's initials... hysterical!

Imagine if you will, why my sweet and funny hair stylist stared at me in surprise when I mentioned a character on the TV show Law & Order, SUV.  I had been watching the episode on the salon's flat screen as she trimmed my hair.   Amanda and I had been discussing the episode as she worked on me.  I knew the outcome because I had seen it before.  It turned out that the mother of the brainy, but kinda geeky teenager was discovered in bed with her daughter's secret crush, a cute guy who was a really big jerk.  Amanda was shocked when I said, "that is really sick."

All right, I meant 'sick' as defined in Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, copyright 1973, sick, definition 2. spiritually or morally unsound or corrupt, c. filled with disgust or chagrin.  Not 'sick' as found in the Urban Dictionary online, sick, definition, 1. crazy, cool, insane.  So I quickly added, "and I mean that in the strictest, old fashioned way." 

She looked at me and I felt my fud level ease over into fuddy.  She gently patted my shoulder and nodded, as if she understood.  Then she handed my glasses to me, helped me out of the chair, placed my cane in my hand, and draped my crocheted shawl around my shoulders.  I wobbled out.

P.S.  There is no cane or shawl and my new hair cut ROCKS!





Hearts, Sting, Botti, & Supper

Happy Valentine's Day Y'all!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHYImlfwpN0<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tHYImlfwpN0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Not usually a Sting fan, but I have to say, he tugs at my sentimental streak when he sings to his wife, Trudy. 

Chris Botti, man oh man, what else can I say? 

Special Valentine Supper for Sweetie tonight.  On the menu, poached salmon, angel hair pasta with a sun-dried tomato alfredo sauce, and steamed green beans.  For dessert, heart shaped brownie with black walnut ice cream on top. 

p.s.  I wish I knew how to make video appear in this post instead of all that stuff you have to click on...sorry about that, but I hope you do click on it...it's a good 'un.

Super Bug

Did you watch the Super Bowl last night for the football game or for the commercials?  If you watched for the commercials, well here is my first ever, Super-duper, commercial critique. 

Super Bowl XLV.  Forty-five.  I figure I have watched a hefty number of Super Bowls over the course of my life.  Some I actually remember watching.  Like the time I sat on a piano bench for hours it seemed, in a law student's small apartment with a bunch of guys.  Yeah, it was fun. 

I've been to a few Super Bowl parties too.  Some fun, some not so much, but what else would you be doing on a dreary Sunday night in the middle of winter?  Right. 

This year Sweetie and I watched together, no party, no booze, just chile nachos and a lot of Tums.  Man, I hate getting old!  Oh, we did bring the little kitty in that I've been feeding outside.  I've been calling him PJ Leggs.  He's mighty cute, but Miss Kitty, our elder cat, is not so amused.  Presley and Itty Bitty are resigned to the fact that this little one might be joining the clan.  I am well on my way to being the crazy lady with 40 cats.

OK, so out of all the commercials, I found myself writing the words lame or stupid on most of them.  Where are the clever and funny ones I remember over the past few years?  Did imagination get lost as the price for a 30 second ad climbed? 

I found several ads violent and gross.  I realize I am not the demographic these advertisers are targeting, but I do spend some hard earned cash on products.  The Doritos finger sucking ad sunk to the lowest of the low, in my humble opinion.  I'm guessing thirteen year old boys laughed their heads off. 

And Budweiser, always one of my favorites even with some silly ads over the years, lost me this year.  Usually, any time the Budweiser Clydesdales are in the ad, I love it.  This year, not so much.  Both Sweetie and I thought it was stupid.  Tiny Dancer? Come on, you can do better than that.

Most of the Bud Light ads wavered between lame and stupid.  I'll admit to enjoying the dog-sitter one, but I'm a sucker for dogs playing poker.  Again, I think they can do better.

It seemed like every other commercial was for a movie or for Fox Network shows.  Can some one please tell me where Glee started and Chevy ended?  The line seemed blurred.  I did like some of the House commercials, especially the send up of the famous Coke/Mean Joe Green ad.  Sweetie doesn't like House, so he gave it a thumbs down.  Disregard his vote on this one.

Many, many automobile ads, so little of interest.  In the automobile division BMW, especially the BMW Diesel with cha, cha, cha, change.... was a standout. The 'designed in America, built in America' was patriotic and also got my vote because a former customer of ours worked in their South Carolina plant and we love our customers!

I also liked the Audi prison break commercial but Sweetie rolled his eyes which surprised me.  He is a big Kenny G fan.  Me, not so much.

Several prominent advertisers were missing this year.  Hallmark should have run one ad targeting the male viewer.  Here's my pitch.  Handsome, professional, thirty-something man rushes into generic mall.  The first store is a hip, young, clothing store.  A hip teen holds up a ripped and torn, but expensive pair of jeans.  He shakes his head and dashes out.  The next store is a fancy lingerie shop.  A beautiful, curvy young woman holds out a tasteful, but sexy negligee.  He ponders it for a moment, smiles, but shakes his head no, dashes out.  Then he finds the Hallmark store.  An attractive older woman nods and lead him to the racks.  Closing shot.  Handsome young man standing a  front door with an armful of long stem roses, a box of candy and a card.  The door slowly swings open.  "Hey Granny!" He exclaims as her face lights up with joy and love.  The end.

Also missing in action: Viagra and Cialis.  Their target audience was parked in front of their big screens.  Did Fox Sports block ad for impotent, I mean important male medicines?  Hmmmm.

Alright, so which ad did I pick as my favorite?  Overall, I think Volkswagen took the prize.  The Passat  young Darth Vader one was cute and funny and seems to be one of the fans favorite.  But I pick....drum role please.... the Volkswagen Black Beetle commercial, bam-a-lam!  Clever, imaginative, and a catchy tune.  A winner!
http://msn.foxsports.com/video?vid=f93a6bb6-44ff-407f-ac4c-dc5bbd26269a&from=foxsports_en-us_videocentralhttp://msn.foxsports.com/video?vid=f93a6bb6-44ff-407f-ac4c-dc5bbd26269a&from=foxsports_en-us_videocentral

A Good Book is Hard to Put Down

Note to readers:  I am not a Jane Austin scholar, 'nuff said.

Every night I like to read in bed when the house is quiet and still.  If I'm reading a good book, I will stay up until the wee hours, telling myself, 'just one more chapter, then lights out'.  Usually it is Sweetie who rolls over, groans, and mutters about too much light.  Even when I know I have to get up the next morning, I will continue to read knowing I will regret it when the alarm rings.

Some people believe reading puts them to sleep.  I am just the opposite.  A good book keeps my mind racing long after I finally turn out the lights.  NyQuil and Tylenol PM do the same thing with me.  Instead of getting drowsy and drifting off into a restful sleep, those so-called nighttime over the counter medicines rev me up.  Just like a good book!

Exception:  Over the past year, I have been reading Jane Austin.  It had been years since I read Pride & Prejudice and I've only seen bits and parts of the movie version.  A few months ago, I reread Emma and this week I'm reading Mansfield Park for the first time.

Maybe it's the language, maybe something else, but for the last two nights, I have barely been able to get through twelve pages.  Twelve pages!  It took me two weeks to reread Pride & Prejudice and I knew the story!  I don't remember how long Emma took this time, I guess I erased my memory drive. 

I'm a fast reader.  Always have been, without any speed reading courses.  Of course, reading fast can mean that I don't recollect certain passages or even an entire book.  I started an Anne Rivers Siddons novel a few years ago and was halfway through when I realized I had already read it. If time is on my side, I can and will read a book a day.  Usually vacations are the only time that happens, in the real world, late at night is my reading time of choice.

I hate it when a good book is over.  Yes, I'm glad for the resolution, but it's over...sometimes I'll start back over or at least, reread the final few chapters.  There are several favorites that I reread and reread, easing them into the unread pile of books.

I am not a quitter, so I will muddle through Mansfield Park.  In the six page forward, the Jane Austin expert warns that many readers do not empathize with Fanny Price as they do Elizabeth Bennett and even Emma, so I am somewhat intrigued to learn about this little creature.  Fanny is thrust into a situation she is completely ill prepared to handle.  I'll see where this goes...slowly, I'm afraid.

I know there are thousands, nay millions of Jane Austin fans who will wrinkle their pretty little noses and shake their fair heads as I admit this.  I'm sorry, but I prefer contemporary fiction.  I'm getting way too much sleep!


two nights, too few pages



Subsitute Cook

While Sweetie and I were dating, while we were still learning about each other, I might have mentioned that I liked to cook.  Cooking is part of daily life, but there is no law about enjoying it.  So maybe I stretched the truth a bit...I was trying to put my best foot forward.

Alright, truth be told, I don't mind cooking and I do enjoy preparing certain dishes for my Sweetie.  Thank goodness he is not a picky eater.  One day early in our marriage, he suggested I fix cubed steak for supper.  I nodded, but didn't pursue it.  I had never fixed cubed steak.  It reminded me of lunch rooms and thick, greasy gravy.  And what exactly does "cubed" mean?  It sounds like a math problem and math was not my strongest subject. Is it three times removed from steak?  Or, is it pounded three times with that funny kitchen hammer thing?  I don't really know...

He persisted, asking again and again for cubed steak.  So I finally confessed and said I had never fixed it and had no idea how to cook it.  "Fry it," he explained.  "Umm, I don't know how to fry and anyway, it's not very healthy," I said.  He continued to request it.  I continued to resist.

About four years ago when we lived in the mountains, a friend gave us some venison cubed steak.  It sat in our freezer for awhile until Sweetie finally offered to fix supper.  I agreed.  He would do all the work, what ever it involved.  I would watch and learn.  I was skeptical.  Sweetie didn't really know his way around the kitchen, just straight through it. From the chair in den to the fridge, then back.  A bee-line.

Sweetie did an excellent job.  I really liked it and was pleasantly surprised, but I still didn't add it to the grocery list.  A few months ago, one our cousins here at the lake gave us a package of beef cubed steak from a great butcher shop in Baldwin County.  Sweetie offered to prepare it.  I let him and again, it was delicious! 

Cousin Edward gave us another package of meat the other day.  Isn't he just the nicest second cousin ever?  Cubed steak.  Yummy.  Since Friday is one of my work days, Sweetie offered to fix supper last night.

 Sweetie in our tiny kitchen, frying the cubed steaks. 

Presley, sitting on the edge of the kitchen, wondering what the hell he is doing in there.  You can't see me, but I'm sitting in the arm chair with my glass of wine, watching and learning.

Oh, by the way, it was really delicious with whole grain rice, reduced fat gravy, and steamed green beans!

Spring Signs?

 On my morning walk with Presley, I noticed two particular things that I took as a sign.  Could we be heading out of this hard, cold winter?  Is it too early to begin dreaming of spring?

Sign #1 - It rained off and on all day and night yesterday.  This morning I found not one, but two earthworms on the pavement.  Now, I'm not a scientist, but I don't recall ever seeing earthworms up on the ground during the winter months.  I decided it was a small sign that winter is on the wane.

Sign #2 - In a large puddle left from the rain, three plump robins were bathing.  I tried to get a photograph of it, but Presley decided to act like a bird dog and tried to flush them out.  It worked.  They flew up into the tall pine tree.  I'm sure they were fussing at us.  I found this stock picture that captured the moment my camera missed.

I will have to wait until Groundhog day to be completely sure, but in my mind, I'm going with the hope that the worst of our winter is behind us.

The January sun rose over the pines and chased away the gray dawn mist. We turned toward home as daylight invaded the dark woods. I caught a whiff of spring...

The Not-For-Two Dollar Gray Slippers

Last weekend, I went shopping.  This is news because I rarely shop for myself but I needed a few things.  A new dressy blouse, maybe some dressy, flat shoes, and pantyhose.  Not very exciting, but I was looking forward to spending a few hours traipsing around the stores with a friend.

It had probably been four or five years since I had been to the Mall in Macon.  The one on Eisenhower, I'm not sure what they call it now.  I rarely shop for anything that can't be purchased at Kroger or Walmart.  Mama suggested that Macy's was having a sale (imagine that) and I might find what I was looking for...blouse, shoes, panty hose.

I didn't find those, but I did find a pair of gray bedroom slippers, the good kind with soft, fleecy insides and a thick rubber sole.  Slip-ons.  In my size and on sale.  Originally $24, now half off.  I decided to get them.

I handed the item to the clerk who immediately told me that I could get an additional 10% off  IF I opened a Macy's charge account.  Let me back up and tell you that I have not had a Macy's charge in years.  I paid it off and closed the account.  I do not want a Macy's charge, even for an extra 10%.  I nicely, I thought, declined the offer. 

The clerk repeated the offer, this time slightly incredulous that I would refuse such a deal.  She said, and I quote, "You can get dese fo' two dollars!"  She pointed to the slippers.

I did some quick math in my head...OK, maybe not real fast, I usually prefer a calculator instead of my poor ol' tired brain. Anyway, 10% off $12 comes to $10.80 not $2.  I looked at my friend who probably did the math instantaneously while I multiplied and subtracted, trying not to move my lips or fingers.  She rolled her eyes.

"No thanks, I'm fine paying $12," I said firmly and handed over my cash money.  As I walked away with my change and my small Macy's bag, the clerk told the next woman in line about the offer.  That woman nodded excitedly and took her up on the deal.

The  Slippers

I Resolve to Break Resolutions

A belated Happy New Year y'all!  It is January ninth and due to the impending ice storm and what have you, I have busted all of my resolutions.  Yes, there is ice cream in the freezer and it has been sampled, because, well, what if the power goes out?  I would not want to lose all that delicious, cold, sweet Moose Tracks ice cream.  That would be a crying shame plus a huge waste.  Waste not, want not...Mama's words echo in my head.

The ice cream resolution was going to be broken sooner or later, so why wait?  Am I ashamed of my weakness?  Sorta, but it sure was good! 

I succumbed to the pressure pressing down on me due to the impending ice storm and rushed to the Kroger yesterday morning, early, before the crowds that I'm sure stampeded down the aisles to get beef, bread, and beer (the 3 B's of ice storms when you are shut inside with others and only a grill to cook on).  As I perused other early shopper's carts to see what other provisions they would purchase, I noticed one primary thing...vegetables were not high on any one's list. 

So I tossed in a bag of frozen baby lima beans just because I decided I could boil baby limas in a pot on the grill.  Last night Sweetie informed me that our grill is almost out of propane.  OK, so the ground beef and hot dogs will have to be cooked on the small charcoal smoker grill.  I picked up a bag of charcoal, just in case...

Today, January ninth, the weather is currently cold, but clear.  There is not a cloud in the sky.  I peek out the window again as the television weatherman, umm, I mean meteorologist, speaks of the worsening conditions, due to move in later today.
http://www.13wmaz.com/news/local/story.aspx?storyid=108296&catid=7


OK I'm ready...

Farewell 2010

Times Square, New York City 

It is that time of the year.  A time for reflection and deep thought about what the heck happened over the past year.  Since I am a glass half full kinda girl, I'd like to reflect on mostly good things from 2010.

The very best thing about 2010...drum roll please...I actually got a paying job!  Yes, it is part-time and yes, it is an iffy situation at best, but gosh darn it, I love getting a paycheck (even a small, measly one).

Just a joke y'all!

The absolute worst thing of 2010...I had to get a part-time job.  Sigh.  Small mom and pop businesses are struggling all over the country and we are no different.  We hope and pray things pick up, but we have changed our business plan in an effort to adjust to the circumstances we find ourselves in. 

Another good thing...I attended the Crossroads Writer's Conference in Macon and wormed my way into a great local writer's critique group.  I have learned so much from this group and have met some wonderful writers.  Even though I have missed some meeting recently (see above worst thing), I look forward to joining them in the new year with the revised revision of the second draft of my novel (just the first five pages...y'all don't worry).

Sweetie joined a hunting club in the next county which was a really good thing.  We have met some really nice friends and he has a home away from home during deer season.  Their covered dish dinners are yummy! Sweetie hasn't seen a live deer in his hunting area yet, but he assures me they are out there.

I discovered Myron Bolitar, Harlen Coben's amazing character quite by accident and now I am devouring Coben's delicious books.  I have also been re-reading Jane Austen and can't believe how much I had forgotten.  Every so often I re-read my favorite novel, A Woman of Substance by Barbara Taylor Bradford.  I like sweeping family dramas about strong successful women. 

Ad Hudler's novels made me laugh out loud, especially Southern Living, which is set in a fictitious Southern town suspiciously similar to my hometown of Macon.  He is working on a memoir that, after hearing him in person, I know will be a hoot!  I can't wait for that.  I'm also anxiously waiting on Mary Kay Andrews latest novel.  Rick Hutto's recent book, A Peculiar Tribe of People, about a nefarious Maconite unveiled a seamy tale of murder and mystery...can't wait to find out who and what he wants to write about next!

On the down side, a little story I wrote a few years ago about Christmas was officially rejected several times over.  I've put it aside for now because I know it needs a lot of work.  The bitter, biting sting of rejection from numerous little pinpricks slowly eased into my soul in an effort to suffocate my creativity.  But I put on my big girl panties and with the help of Chunky Monkey and booze (not necessarily in that order), I survived each assault.

I will keep writing daily.  That is my number one resolution.  I will refrain from Chunky Monkey UNLESS two rejections arrive on the same day.  Resolution number two.  There will be no mention of cocktails on my resolution list.  I will share my other resolutions on another post in the new year.

Back to the best, maybe the bestest yet...starting this blog!  I have thought about it, dreamed about it, and finally, buckled down and just did it!  I plan to make some changes in the new year to Pine Trees and Random Morning Glories, but I will continue to post. 

I continue to surprise myself by learning new ways to communicate  Who in the world thought I would ever tweet?  I love to tweet!  And I am a proud Facebook friend, happy and thrilled to find old and new friends across the country. 

I wish a Happy and Healthy New Year to all of you and I want to thank y'all for reading my posts.  My blog has been visited by folks from across the world.  I am amazed, truly humbled, and much obliged. Thank you so much for visiting with me and I do hope y'all will come back again real soon!

Welcome 2011 and please have a safe and happy holiday!

Merry Christmas Y'all!

Every day is a holiday with the Hollidays! 

My family used that phrase often, especially during the holidays.  One Christmas we received a message on the answer machine.  It was a man singing, "Happy holidays, to the Hollidays," in a deep, Frank Sinatra-style voice. We never found out who it was.

This will be a short post...Mama's here visiting and she's about to drive me crazy (and it's only been 30 minutes)!

This is my dog Presley.  I think her expression says it all...

Merry Christmas y'all!

Santa's Coming!

I worked for Belk-Matthews at the Macon Mall in the mid-1980's.  I started in the visual merchandising department as a temporary Christmas employee and went on into their management training program.  I became a buyer in the Vidalia store, then a department manager in the Macon store.

Working in retail means working a heck of a lot during the holidays.  It means working at night and weekends right up to Christmas day, then back again the day after.  But this is not about the hours or the weird customer problems encountered.

This is about Santa.

As a treat during the holidays, I would splurge on lunch or supper at the mall, usually going over to the Macy's store when there was a restaurant in the department store.  A group of us would meet there and relax for a while until it was time to face the shoppers in our store.

As I crossed back over to Belk's one day, I noticed the mall Santa walking toward us, headed for his throne which that year was on the lower level between Belk's and Macy's.  I smiled and waved to Santa, laughing with my friends.

"Hey Santa!  I've been a good girl this year," I grinned as he waved back to me.

"I know Fran, I've been watching you," Santa called out as we all stopped in our tracks, my friends staring at me.  He kept going toward his area where the elves and a long line of parents with excited children waited.

Was it a case of Santa stalking...or...is he real?

Road Trip - Part 4 A Nice Ending

Beautiful, huge, pine trees

Oregon is a beautiful state.  The interstate scenery is quite majestic.  We finally made it to Oregon City, which is a suburb of Portland and is where Chuck and his wife live.  Our first stop was to his workshop to unload the big truck then on to his home decorated for Christmas.

Oregon City was also the end of the Oregon Trail, the trail that many settlers took across the country.  We had a couple of days to tour Portland and we thoroughly enjoyed the visit.  Chuck took us to a vibrant, bustling shopping area which reminded me of the way Ingleside Avenue used to be in Macon.  This busy area was several blocks long, filled with shops and restaurants.  We saw many sweet refurbished, older bungalow-style homes on the small streets surrounding it.

Portland, Oregon skyline

There were several antique shops and as we checked them out, I found my Christmas present.  In one of the shops, there was a salesman's sample of an Empire chest.  Sweetie and I collect Empire furniture and I immediately knew I had to have this. 

Sweetie agreed, but asked how was I going to get it back to Georgia.  No problem, I assured him, I'll carry it on the airplane.  Now, let me add, I had just spent fifty plus dollars at UPS to ship my books, pillow, and additional presents I had purchasedduring our trip, in a really big box to ship to Georgia. We planned to travel lighter on the flight home.  Really.

Sweetie paid for the chest and when we got back to Chucks, I gently wrapped bubble wrap around my little chest and slid it into a large Boston Market tote bag with handles that Chuck's wife found.  Perfect fit!  I was good to go! 

And ready to go.  I'm a home body and we had been away from home a long time.  Hello Delta, take me home.

Not so fast.  First thing, we were flying standby on a 6 AM flight from Portland to Atlanta.  Which meant we had to get to the airport by 4 AM.  Which meant I had to get up at 3 freaking AM.  We are not morning people.  Since we were running slightly late, I did not have a chance to get my coffee.  Yikes!

Chuck said not to worry, Portland's airport is not really large and usually is not so busy.  Well, he was wrong.  When he dumped us out at the Delta check-in, the line was out the door.  We finally made our way to the kiosk, figured out how to validate our tickets, checked our suitcases (thank goodness this was pre-bag fee), and rushed to go through security (pre-revealing x-ray and/or touchy-feely search).  As our coats and my pocketbook, briefcase, and Boston Market/Empire chest went through the x-ray and Sweetie and I stepped through the metal detector, they called our flight.

We grabbed our things, shoved our feet in our shoes, and headed for the gate.  Then Sweetie asked if I had his boarding pass.  No, I did not.  He had it when he went through security, but somehow had lost it.  Great.  We turned around and dashed toward the security desk.

Right when we arrived back there, someone had turned his boarding pass in.  Hallelujah!  We high-tailed it back to the gate.  Everyone had boarded except us and eight others flying stand-by.  The ten of us huddled around the gate agent while he perused his computer.  Then he told us to have to seat while they did a head count on the plane.  Very scientific, I must add.

By now, I'm fine with taking a later flight.  I knew the next flight left around noon.  I envisioned a big cup of coffee, maybe a Cinnabon or even a real breakfast. Sweetie paced around the waiting area.  He was really ready to get home.  Well, we were called and inched our way through the plane packed with people.  We found an empty overhead bin and stuffed the chest inside with our coats around it. 

A few minutes later, a flight attendant, looking for additional overhead space, pulled the Boston Market bag down and loudly asks who did it belong to.  I raised my hand and she handed it to me, nicely ordering me to slide it under the seat in front of me.  Well honey, it would not fit.  So it sat on my lap while they made their final walk-through.

"Ma'am, your bag will have to go under the seat," the flight attendant stopped at our row and frowned.

"It won't fit," I smiled nicely as the man sitting on the aisle rolled his eyes. 

"Let me take it," she demanded as I handed it over.  "What is it?" she asked, realizing it's not a bag of food.

"It's a salesman's sample of an Empire chest," Sweetie explained.  I knew he was thinking he might sell it before we touched down.  Wrong.

"It won't squish down," I added nicely, again.

"No problem," she whisked it away and I craned my neck to see it go into Business Class.  Damn, we're stuck in the back, packed in like sardines and my little chest is riding home in Business Class.  What's wrong with this picture?

We arrived in Atlanta, no worse for the wear, and we waited while the pack of other sardines made their mad dash off the plane.  We gathered our belongings and headed toward the exit where several flight attendants and one of the pilots anxiously waited for us to leave. 

"Bye-bye," one said blandly.

"These are the ones," another said as she handed Sweetie the Boston Market bag.  "The nice ones," she  said, "our best passengers today!"

"Thank you!" I smiled my most charming, Mama raised me right, smile. 

We finally made it home!

Mr. Itty Bitty posing next to salesman's sample Empire chest

Road Trip, Part 3 California Dreamin'

California is a really big state.  Well, duh!  It took our small caravan three days and two nights to transverse the state, heading for Oregon.  Sweetie Pie and I in the big Budget truck following Chuck in his truck pulling a small enclosed trailer.  Somewhere near Los Angeles, Chuck calls to say he needs to pull off Interstate to refuel. 

Since we had just been inching along in late afternoon California traffic, it was time for a potty break too.  We exited into a business area that had seen better days.  By the time Chuck found a filling station that sold diesel fuel too, I had changed my mind about leaving the truck.  Potty time could wait.

He pulled into a very small station and Sweetie squeezed the truck past a woman sitting in a car blocking most of one side who glared at us.  We had to wait for a pump, so Sweetie tossed me the keys and told me to move the truck when the pump was available.  Yikes! 

I jumped down and dashed around to the driver's side.  A bevy of young men standing behind the small store were yelling at someone, hopefully, not me.  Since I couldn't understand yelled Spanish, I sat there and waited to inch forward so we could fill up. 

Sweetie came out and motioned to me to go around the building.  The young men had been trying to tell me the diesel pump on the other side was open.  Ohhhhh!  Boy oh boy, was I embarrassed by my instant, wrong judgement call.  Proves the point that people are nice just about everywhere, if you pay attention.  I smiled my best and charming, little ol' Southern lady smile as I waved and backed the big truck up and pulled on the other side. 

We finally made it through suburban Los Angeles and headed North on Interstate 5 where we stopped for the night at one of the nicest Ramada Inn's I had ever stayed in.  Comfy mattress, nice, thick towels, and a working television.  What more could I ask for? 

Day two in California found me amazed, simply amazed at the vast agricultural acreage that stretched for mile after mile.  I had forgotten that California produces a lot of the fruits, vegetables, and nuts we see in our Kroger in Georgia.  We also followed the aqueduct system that serves most of Southern California as we headed North. 

I love farmland, farms, and anything to do with farming.  I guess that's why my major at the University of Georgia was Agriculture-Journalism.  I bet y'all didn't know that about me!  There is something about freshly plowed dirt and acres of green pastureland that speaks to my heart.  Can't explain it.  I was not raised on a farm, so no one can explain why I can get teary when I drive past a beautiful farm.

Later that afternoon, we took a slight detour and drove toward San Francisco.  We followed Chuck across a bridge as he called back and told us to look to our left.  The Golden Gate Bridge in the distance was on our left.  The thing was, well, it was foggy that day on the water, so we didn't really see it.  I guess we took about an hour or two and who knows how much fuel to not see the Golden Gate Bridge, but that's alright.  It was fun seeing how the houses seem to grow out of the hills and mountains around the city.  There were lovely flowering vines spilling over walls and down the mountains as we rumbled past.

We made it back to our planned route and kept truckin' on North.  The landscape had changed in the course of two days from the arid, desert area of Southern California to a lush, green, heavily wooded Northern California.  It was breathtakingly beautiful!

We finally stopped for the night in Yreka which is almost to Oregon.  It was FREEZING.  Literally.  The small swimming pool at the motel was frozen over.  We were in the mountains, dark, looming mountains that I knew were right outside of our motel window, but I couldn't see in the darkness.  Then the motel clerk said they were expecting snow in the next few days.  SNOW! 

More to come...

Road Trip, Part 2 - Signs of the Times

Texas is a darn, big state.  Two years ago this week, Sweetie and I drove a big Budget rental truck across this country, headed for Oregon.  There were two things in Texas that stood out.  First of all, in the rest stops along Interstate Twenty, there were tables set up around the restroom area where American Indians were selling jewelry.  Not just one or two Indians, but a dozen or so.  Entire families at some tables.  Several generations, babies to grannys.  But the jewelry, and I am no expert, looked to me like any jewelry you might see at Smiley's Flea Market in South Bibb County.  I'm just saying....

Of course, Sweetie and Chuck did not let me linger too long for my research.  It was back in the truck and keep on driving.  Interstate Twenty dead ends into Interstate Ten and before I knew it, we were in New Mexico.  Here's my second thing about Texas.  I did not see a single cowboy riding the range as we drove through mile after mile of open range.  I did not see a cowboy anywhere, and believe you me, I looked.

I love cowboys.  My life-long romance began when I first saw Roy Rogers on TV.  It was love at first sight.  I guess it's something about a man on a horse or maybe I fell in love with Trigger.  I've always loved horses too.  My parents always believed I would out-grow my obsession with horses.  That did not happen, sorry folks.

By the time we got to Phoenix...yes, I'm a big Glen Campbell fan but Sweetie made me stop singing out loud in the truck.  I started looking for something a little different.  We stopped at another rest area on the interstate.  (With the big truck and another truck pulling a trailer, we rarely left the interstate other than fuel stops.  The easy off and on rest areas worked best for potty breaks.)  I had just jumped down from the truck when a small sign next to the sidewalk caught my eye.

"Please watch out for rattlesnakes"

"What?" I pointed to the sign, as Sweetie and Chuck dashed toward the men's room.  "Y'all, look!"

Needless to say, it was hard for me to enjoy that bathroom break.  My head rotated back and forth as I searched the stall, under the sink, behind the trash can, and around the rocks for a snake.  It was probably the fastest bathroom visit in female history.  For once, I was thrilled to climb back up in that truck!

We finally made it to California!  It was a rocky, desert, deserted desolate stretch, not the swimming pools and movie stars I expected.  As we headed toward the Los Angeles area, where we would pick up Interstate Five to go north, I noticed a sign.  "Chuckawalla Valley State Prison, next exit".

About a half mile past that sign was a small sign along the road.  "Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers".  Really.

To be continued...