In the twinkling of an eye

August 9th, 2008

On a sunny Saturday afternoon, my seventeen year old nephew Josh called and begged to come over. His brother was already here after having spent the night Friday night. I almost said no since Branden was here, but Josh said "I'm so bored! I'll come clean your house, and do laundry, and anything else you want if I can just come over, Pleeeeeeease?" How can you say no to a free house cleaning?

I finally said "Ooooh Kaaaay....but you have to really do some cleaning, not just sit around and play games all day."

"I really will, I promise."

He arrived only a few minutes later, and true to his word, went right to work. He picked up, cleaned, and vacuumed, and fixed my little girl some macaroni.

Then his "other" aunt called. His "other" aunt is the same age as he is, his Mothers little sister. Her truck was broken down and she wanted Josh to go with her and her friend to try and get it to a shop. They were going to come get him pretty soon. He came and told me, said he was sorry, and said he would come back later today or maybe tomorrow to help me get some more things done.

My little girl, who adores him, asked him to watch a movie with her until they got here. I gave my permission, and made them some popcorn. They sat together in her room, eating popcorn and watching "Arthur and the invisibles" until it was time for him to leave. Branden decided to go to my Moms house to spend the night since the "other" aunt was supposed to bring Josh back there when they were done.

She never brought him back.
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August 10th, 2008

It was a normal Sunday morning. I woke a little after 9:00 am, which is actually a little late for a Sunday morning, but not necessarily unusual. My husband had to work, and when he works I usually skip the 9am Sunday service and opt for the 11am instead.

As was also normal, I sat thinking about how I really didn't want to have to shower and dress and get the kids up and ready. I sat in front of my computer, staring sleepily at the screen, trying to think of a reasonable excuse that wouldn't leave my little girl having a fit about missing "Sunday class." I did that every Sunday morning because I am lazy.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE church. I just hate having to get ready and then drive there. If I could just snap my fingers and be dressed, have the kids ready, and be there, I would never miss a Service.

As I sat there in my stupor, my cell phone rang.

I picked it up, saw that it was my ex-sister-in-law, and almost didn't answer. I was tired of hearing about that "wonderful" new boyfriend (who was usually either married, fresh out of jail, or homeless) or about some new horrible thing someone did (usually her Mother) or how she had no money but was dying for a coke and a pack of real cigarettes. That's all another story entirely. In fact, it could be it's own blog. I love her, I really do, but I rarely answer when she calls any more.

I don't know why I opened the phone. Maybe because I was still tired and wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe because it was Sunday. Or maybe because I knew I should answer this time. Whatever the reason, I opened the phone and coughed out a "Hullo."

"Have you talked to anyone yet?"

I tried to remember if I had. "Uh, no. About what?"

"Josh wrecked my Mom's car and is at Presbyterian hospital"

I was WIDE awake. "WHAT???!!!!"

She proceeded to tell me he had taken his grandmothers car (her Mother), without permission, and had a wreck early in the morning, around 6:30 am. She said as far as she knew, he only had some bumps and bruises, but they were checking him out at the hospital.

Then came the normal "I have a new boyfriend....he gave me a car but I don't have it yet......." I have no idea what else she said. When the "noise" on the phone stopped, I politely hung up and called my Mother.

My mind was racing as the phone rang in my ear. Just a week or so ago, I had jumped all over him for doing the same thing; taking his grandmothers car to go pick up friends in the middle of the night. There is so much more background to this story as well, but that again would be another entire blog. He is a good kid, in spite of how things may sometimes sound.

The phone rang one more time. My Mother answered on the other end and was hysterical. She was at church, in the lobby. All I could understand of what she said was "Tyra, he broke his neck."
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The kids were still sleeping. My husband was working. My Mom was hysterical. I felt faint. I got some more jumbled information from my Mom....something about going to Harris Methodist in Forth Worth to see a neurologist who was on stand by. He was still here in the e.r. for now....he can move....

I got off the phone, jerked some clothes on, called my husband, and went in search of any pair of shoes that would fit, no matter whose they were. My groggy children protested when I tried to wake them, and in frustration I shouted "Joshua broke his neck, GET UP!!!!!"

They both were up in a flash, jerking on their own clothes, asking what happened as I did my best not to panic. We stopped for a moment and said a prayer, then loaded into one of our trucks and drove to the hospital.

My husband met us in the parking lot, grabbed me and squeezed me, and we cried for two seconds before wiping our faces and heading inside. My Daughter was crying, my son was sober, and all of us were in shock.

Inside, I went to the desk, told them who I was, and they took me straight back. My Mom was already there. I entered the room and saw my nephew laying on a gurney, a brace around his neck, cuts and bruises here and there. I went straight to him, kissed him, and took his hand. He squeezed. I breathed.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead again, and he quietly whispered "Aunt Tyra, I don't want to be paralyzed."
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My Nephew was the "first" in our family. The first Grandchild of my parents. My Brothers first child. He was also MY first child.

He and I had been close since the day he was born. I was there for his first steps. When he was sick or hurt, he wanted me. I taught him his numbers and colors.

As he grew older, I fought to get him assistance with his ADHD and dyslexia. It was MY name first on his school papers, me who attended the AARD meetings, me who was his champion through some difficult times, even after I had children of my own.

His Grandparents love him, his Parents love him, but me....I not only love him, I fight for him. I will stand against Hell and it's minions for him. He knows it.

Through the years, he's lived with me and my husband a few times, because that was what was best for him. In 17 years, he has never raised his voice to me, gotten angry with me, or disrespected me. I am not easy on him. I have dressed him down many times, with or without witnesses, when it was needed. He takes it, he listens without a word, because he knows I won't do it unless he needs it, and that it is ALWAYS because I love him.

Even laying in the hospital, with a collar on his broken neck, I cannot be silent when a lesson is to be learned. While holding his hand, with tears in my eyes, I said "Do you know why I came down so hard on you the last time you took that car?" (I had made him call everyone in the family and confess, and apologise. Then he was "grounded.")

He looked back at me with tears in his own eyes. "Because of this." He whispered. "And because you love me.......I'm sorry I let you down."

"You let YOURSELF down. Don't do it again." I squeezed his hand and he smiled. "You know God sent his angels to protect you in your stupidity, don't you?"

"Yep, he sure did." We both laughed a little.

I stayed with him until they were ready to transport him to Harris. I told him I would see him there, and I watched as they loaded him into the ambulance and drove away.
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His neck was broken in two places. The Doctors at Harris admitted it was a complete miracle that he was not paralyzed. He spent about three days in intensive care. They put on a halo vest. They first told us that he may have to stay for a couple of weeks.

My Mother and I both have medical training, so the Dr. decided it was safe to release him early, only five days after the accident. The day they released him, I drove down to pick him up. (It's about an hour from where I live.) I took him home with me. He then stayed with my Mom at night, and with me and my family in the day for the following weeks.

Since it was to be his senior year in High School, Josh did not want to fall behind, so we got him set up for his schools "home-bound" program. When school started, a teacher would come to my home several times a week. After seven weeks, he was doing well enough physically to attend classes at the school. He is right on track to graduate with the rest of his peers.
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November 18th, 2008

The Halo vest was removed at about 2 p.m. He has to wear a support collar for several weeks, there is still therapy to come, and possible surgery if there are damaged ligaments, but the neck is healed, and Josh feels great. I got the very first hug without the vest, and what a hug it was! He spent the night with us. He took a hot shower and slept with his head on a pillow for the first time in months.
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The day of the accident, my Mom was at church when she got the news. He had attended with her many times and often volunteered there. The entire congregation prayed for him. My husband called his friends, and I called my friends, and to call it a "prayer-chain" would be an understatement. Congregations in churches in towns my nephew had never even heard of were all praying for him.

One week later, with a Halo 'round his head, my nephew attended church with my Mom, and the first Congregation to start praying for him got to see with their own eyes the power of prayer as my nephew stood up to witness.

~*~*~*~*~*~
I sing because I'm happy,

I sing because I'm free.

His eye is on the the sparrow

and I know He watches me

~*~*~*~*~*~

(The day of the accident)

(Right after the HALO was put on)

(First day home from the hospital)

(The HALO is removed!)

(My two first children)

Our God is an Awesome God!

Beauty down a lost road

When my husband and I were teenagers, long before we married, we went to an out of the way, but still visited, place on an "adventure." Shortly after our outing, the entire area was "closed" and all but forgotten.

Twenty years later, my husband and I were driving in the afternoon, and we found ourselves at the entrance to memory lane. Won't you take a stroll with us?

This is memory lane.....

Objects on camera are as close as they appear....

A beautiful old tree along the lane...

An unnecessary sign....

....as you can tell.....


but there is beauty, still.


Texas sun dancing on the water.


Green grass stands gracefully among fallen leaves.


Roots, tangled and odd.

You have to admit it is interesting.

This could be Mom or Dad to the little one before.

And too soon, it is time to go.....

I like Neal Boortz

Go to my "Rant" page to find out why. I double-dog dare ya!

Be not afraid...

This was a response to a myspace friend request.

Just a thought here-I was so depressed last night and so worried for the future. Today I got up and knew with certainty that God has a plan. I don't understand it, and right now I don't even like it, but there it is. He has one in spite of me or my wishes.

The democrats treatment of President Bush, their hatred and failure to support, has had disastrous consequences. We Christians, We Conservatives, We Republicans, are better than that.

If you cannot support Obama, then try at least to refrain from the Liberal hatred shown so well by the left. We ARE better than that, and there is only one way to prove it. If you can do nothing more supportive than pray, pray with all your might that God will touch and change his heart, that God will rule this Nation with his own will. That is what I am going to do. I am not defeated, I am not downtrodden, I am not afraid any more. Prayer can do anything. God can change the heart of a man.

God Bless Us All, and God Bless America.

A unique perspective....

The photo on the left is my mother in 1959, at age fourteen.

This is a photo of my mother (right), taken on a bridge in Georgia, when she was almost three years old. She was born in Texas in 1945, and she and my grandparents lived in a little two room rock house with a dirt floor until she was about two years old.

My Grandfather served in the Army during WWII, and met my Grandmother while stateside on furlough. My mother was born two months after the end of the war.

My grandfather became ill not long after she was born and he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. After having most of one lung removed, he went into remission. The heat of Texas was hard on him after he returned home from the V.A. hospital, so he decided to move the family to Georgia, where he was born and raised, and where most of his family lived.

They moved into a little house on a tobacco/cotton farm, and they all picked cotton to make ends meet, even my mother. She remembers having her own little child-sized sack in which to put the cotton. She also remembers how sharp the cotton bolls were. When she turned five years old she started first grade in the only little school for miles, and only had to pick cotton on weekends.

My mother didn't have a lot of friends her age before she started school, but once she entered first grade, she made friends with a couple of little girls in her class. Within a few weeks, one of those friends invited her over to play, and she was so excited. They ran together all the way to her friends house and played until the little girls father came home.

When the father walked in the front door, he took one look at my mother and took his wife by the arm into the kitchen. He did not look pleased. The kids, being kids, eavesdropped on the conversation. All my mother remembers hearing was something about not wanting a little "ni**er" kid in his house. My mother was promptly sent home, and she cried all the way there.

She had been a little "sheltered" living on the farm. Most of the people she had spent time with until then were the other "cotton-picking" families, or relatives. She didn't understand why the little girls father didn't like her. It didn't take long to find out, and in subsequent years she came to know all too well the inexorable sting of racism.

The 50's and 60's were the height of the civil rights movement. Her black eyes, dark skin, and short, coarse black hair made her a target of discrimination by many whites. By the way, did I mention my mother is not black?

My Great Grandmother, (her Dads Mother,) was full blood Seminole. My Great Grandfather, (her Dads Father,) was European, Seminole, and Cherokee. My Grandmother, (her Mother,) is Scotch-Irish (from Great Grandpa McDonald), Cherokee, and Apache (from Great Grandma). That's a lot of Indian blood. Enough Indian to produce a black eyed, black haired, dark skinned little girl.

So what does all that make me? I refer to myself as a "Mutt." I like it. Did you know a pure-bred anything is usually less healthy and more prone to genetic defects and extreme temperaments? Google it.

Because of my Mothers experiences in life, I believe she has a unique perspective compared to many. She was/is Native American, which came/comes with it's own set of preconceived notions. She was considered and treated "black" as a child during the civil rights movement. She is also considered "caucasion." Needless to say, my brother and I were raised to not only believe, but to LIVE by, the fact that "content of character" was the only acceptable, unfailing way to judge a person. That, my friends, is a very very GOOD thing.

Thank you, Mom.

40!!!!!!!!

Today I am 40 years old.

I don't care, because most people guess I am 30.

Muahahahahaha!!!!!!!!

God Bless the U.S.A. and Happy 4th!

Tomorrow is July 4th. For we Americans, that day holds special meaning. It is a celebration of our declaration of independence, an independence brought about by war.

Throughout history, war has shaped the world, for better and for worse. I tend to believe, as many do, that it has ultimately been for the better.

Some Christians struggle with the idea of War. Contrary to popular belief, Jesus was not a pacifist, and God certainly is no pacifist. War is mentioned over 350 times in the old testament.

In the New Testament, Jesus said "Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn ‘a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law---a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household’" (Matthew 10:34-36). "From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been forcefully advancing, and forceful men lay hold of it" (Matthew 11:12).

While war is rarely a desire, it is sometimes a necessity. Pacifists will argue there is a never a reason for war, but I beg to differ, and would ask them to read on. To those who think you may only fight a "just war", see below.

Is there such thing as a "just war"? I believe there is.

Now the big question; Is the war in Iraq a "just war"? I think, biblically speaking, it is.

(1)We have a "just cause"...freeing an oppressed people, protecting ourselves and/or others from continued or future harm;

(2)We have the "right intention", our motive was stated before - freedom from oppression, and for protection...you silly gooses who think it's for oil, go to your local gas station.(DUH);

(3)We have "Proper authority and/or declaration", our authority came in more than one way, but I will address only one...the U.N. and Husseins refusal to abide by his agreement(s), and yes, we gave fair warning, and made a declaration of our intent (just keeping this simple);

(4)"War as a last resort"; "Do what you agreed" "No" "Do what you agreed" "No" "Do what you agreed, we mean it." "No" "Do what you agreed, or else" "No" "do what you agreed or else we will make you" "make me" "Ok."
'Nuff said.

(5) "Proportionality, or proportionate means" Hmmm, we have enough nukes to blow Iraq off the face of the Earth, yet we didn't. We take great pains to try to target only military/combatant targets, sometimes to our detriment.

(6) "Noncombatant immunity" Hmmm, again. Not only do we NOT target noncombatants, but we feed them, fix their houses, schools, electricity, supplies, government buildings, train their military, et cetera. et cetera. et cetera. (Thank you Yule.)

Is the war in Iraq a "just war"? Abso-tootin-lootly.

Next thing on my agenda today; if you are reading this, don't thank Hewlett Packard, Microsoft, Bill Gates, or Al Gore (you know he invented the internet, right?) Thank a Sailor, a Soldier, an Airman, a Marine. Thank them all. And one more thing....GOD BLESS AMERICA!!!!!

"Thus may the 4th of July, that glorious and ever memorable day, be celebrated through America by the sons of freedom, from age to age, till time shall be no more. Amen and Amen." Virginia Gazette, July 18th, 1777
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"It is common observation here that our cause is the cause of all mankind, and we are fighting for their liberty in defending our own." -- Benjamin Franklin
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"Place me not with those who are weak of mind and willingly give up the rights of others, for these poor ignorant souls know not that the rights they give up are their own!" -- Warren Friton
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"In Germany, the Nazis first came for the communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a communist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me, and by that time there was no one left to speak for me."-- The statement was written by the Rev. Martin Niemoeller, a German Lutheran pastor who was arrested by the Gestapo in 1938. He was sent to the concentration camp at Dachau, where he remained until he was freed by the Allied forces in 1945. (who did speak up for him; Note added by ME.)
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"The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it." -- Albert Einstein
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"The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in a time of moral crisis, maintain their neutrality." -- Dante, The Inferno
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"In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." -- Martin Luther King, Jr.
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"People who fight may lose. People who do not fight have already lost." -- Bertold Brecht
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"A people that values its privileges above its principles soon loses both." - Dwight D. Eisenhower
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"A nation which can prefer disgrace to danger is prepared for a master, and deserves one!" -- Alexander Hamilton
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"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling that thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself." -- John Stuart Mill
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"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat." -- Theodore Roosevelt
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"The things that will destroy America are prosperity at any price, peace at any price, safety first instead of duty first, the love of soft living and the get rich quick theory of life." -- Teddy Roosevelt
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Behind every scheme to make the world over, lies the question, What kind of world do you want? The ideals of the past for men have been drawn from war, as those for women have been drawn from motherhood. For all our prophecies, I doubt if we are ready to give up our inheritance. Who is there who would not like to be thought a gentleman? Yet what has that name been built on but the soldier's choice of honor rather than life? To be a soldier or descended from soldiers, in time of peace to be ready to give one's life rather than suffer disgrace, that is what the word has meant; and if we try to claim it at less cost than a splendid carelessness for life, we are trying to steal the good will without the responsibilities of the place.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr - May 30, 1895
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IT IS THE SOLDIER

It is the Soldier, not the minister,
Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the Soldier, not the reporter,
Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the Soldier, not the poet,
Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer,
Who has given us freedom to protest.

It is the Soldier, not the lawyer,
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the Soldier, not the politician,
Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the Soldier
Who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

Charles M. Provence -1970

Why is it when you gripe at your husband for being late he's actually doing something nice for you!?!

My husband owns/manages his own company. He does heating and air conditioning. During the summer, work days can be long and unpredictable.

My husband is also a social butterfly. He likes to know what's going on, when, where, and with whom. He sometimes gets distracted by his "quest for knowledge", which irritates me, because I am stuck at home in the "office" doing the job of ten people AND taking care of the kids, and the kids friends, and the house, and the dog, the cat, three fish, a frog, and on any given day up to three toads. Grrrrrrr. (I have my own business to run, too, but that's another story.)

Sometimes, on a particularly stressful day, I get really bitchy. Since many of my husbands customers would be considered the "upper echelon" of society, I cannot simply call him up and complain. It does not look good to have your wife griping at you on the phone in front of the president and CEO of a billion dollar company, for instance. On a really bad day, that doesn't keep me from trying.

Yesterday was one of those days.

Yesterday my husband was working with the owner of a multi-million dollar development in a town called Southlake. His family owns several apartment complexes for which my husband does all the service, repairs, and replacements. It's a bit of a drive from our location to Southlake, and my husband likes to drive our Avalanche (which is a beautiful truck) when working with these people, as opposed to the big white service truck. The Avalanche gets 10 miles to the gallon.

I gripe about that, not only because of the gas, but because it gives him the option to "seek knowledge", if you get my drift. I never get mad when he gets in late in the service truck, because I KNOW he is working if he is driving it. That's not always the case if he is in the Avalanche.

Last night he got in late, in the Avalanche. I had been periodically calling for four hours. I was tired, annoyed, had a headache, and was certain he was out goofing off while I was home being miserable. Boy was I in for a surprise.

My 40th birthday is next month. He already started the gift-giving. The first gift was last Tuesday; front row seats at the Boston/Styx concert. It was awesome. I'll blog about that later.
The second came last night.

I love antiques. My husband has found me some beautiful things through the years. He also knows I have a real love of antique steamer trunks. While I was griping, he was out getting me this.......

It's a turn-of -the-century victorian steamer truck, professionally restored. I love my husband.

Shave and a hair cut.....

Before and After shots of Sassy.

She will be a really pretty girl when her hair grows out. The first picture was the night she came home. This was after a LOT of clean-up. Her little ears were solid mats of hair, and sore.

This picture is after I shaved off 50 lbs of hair. She acts (and looks) like a new dog. She doesn't even resemble the Cocker Spaniel she is, but I don't think she minds.

Sassy

Life is strange.

I should actually start last year for this story, I suppose, or perhaps the year before. I have two children, now ages 13 and 5. My Mother-In-Law, their Grammy, passed away two years ago. It was hard to understand for my then 3-year-old. My then 11-year-old understood all too well.

There was a giant void in all of our lives, and for the adults, my husband and I, there was no filling it, not even a way to soften the fact that the void existed. For the children, however, we tried to figure out something to make it "not as bad."

Fast forward a year.

We decided that the children needed a dog. We already had a cat, but cats don't run around and wag their tales, or bring you balls to throw for them. A dog does.

We talked for months about what kind of dog, what size dog, where to look. We went to shelters, we searched the Internet. We knew we didn't want to spend much money, and we don't support puppy mills, so we knew it would have to be a rescue animal.

We went to the local petsmart one weekend when we knew they would have rescue animals. We got there as the van arrived, and my husband helped the people unload all the cages and all the animals. My eyes immediately settled on a beautiful, bossy black lab pup. He was the only one, and I scooped him up before his big paws could hit the floor.

At almost the same time, my son was reaching into a group of coon-hound pups, and scooping up his own "pick of the litter." I had decided on the lab. Period. As we made my son put his pup back, he burst into tears and sobs. I was NOT giving up the lab, but my husband and I couldn't stand the tears. What to do?

We arrived home with two new puppies. Then the nightmare began.

Long story short, the little coon-hound had a congenital defect and couldn't hold down food. We spent hundreds of dollars and drove hundreds of miles. She got smaller and weaker, the lab got bigger and stronger. We finally had to find a new home for my beloved lab, who I called "Sarge", (he was an alpha male that "barked" out orders.) We concentrated all our energy, and all our money, on saving "Scout." Thousands of dollars later, there was simply nothing else we could do. We were all devastated.

So here we were, just a year and a half later, and a brilliant idea had become a disaster. We swore no more dogs for years. We still haven't paid off all the vet bills on the credit cards.

Life is strange.

My children really wanted another dog. A healthy dog to play with. My five-year old wanted a new pet so much that she found a phonebook, and flipped through the pages, found a telephone, and somehow made a call.... to a PET STORE. I heard her say to the telephone "Hi. I want a pet." She then handed the phone to me. I looked at it in disbelief (she can't read yet), and said "hello?" A lady said "Fish n Chirps, may I help you?" I did what any normal person would do in that situation. I hung up.

It wasn't long after that I got some interesting news. My best friend of "muffled number" years does not like dogs. Let me rephrase. DID not like dogs. Then along comes Sam, the most adorable Beagle mix you have ever seen. You can read all about Sam on her site. Sam had a hard life before he was "rescued," and believe me, he was rescued.

Time passed by, then late one evening my husband called. "I found something. Can we keep it?" I knew whatever it was was living, or he wouldn't have asked that. I cautiously asked what it was.

He did not tell me. Instead he told me how he was driving in the middle of nowhere on his way home from a job. He saw a furry, muddy black thing laying in a field with sticks and wire sticking out of it. He went to get a closer look and it got up and came towards him dragging a three-foot-long stick that was stuck in the hair of a hind leg. He removed the stick, and some of the wire and trash and whatever else he could remove, and put it in the truck. It was with him, looking at him with big eyes.

Gee, whatever could it be?

He brought it home and snuck it into our bathroom. It was the dirtiest smelliest thing I had ever seen. It had enough mud on it to grow a respectable garden, enough wire wound into its curly black and gold hair to make a small cage, and enough mats that had to be cut out to stuff a small chair cushion. And it had the sweetest golden brown eyes.

We did the best cleanup job we could and dried it off. It ran around like crazy when we got it out of the tub. It was a she. We opened the bathroom door, and she took off in a happy run. My husband and I looked at each other and waited.

"A DOG!!!!!!!!! A DOG!!!!!!!" the children yelled from the other room.

This dog then went on a hunt around the house. It found a ball we didn't even know existed, brought it to us, and waited. I threw it. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, grabbed it, and brought it straight back. The kids squealed with glee.

We named her Sassy. My husband came up with the name because his Mothers initials were s.a.s. We all agreed it was a good name, and that Grammy would have gotten a kick out of it.

My husband told me he thought God had him drive that way, had him find that dog. Her personality is perfect for our family. She even gets along with the cat. She is sweet, and smart, and playful. We could not have searched the world over and found a better fit.

I called my best friend of "muffled number" years. "Guess what we have."

I told her the whole story and emailed a picture or two. We laughed at the fact we were both dog owners. We laughed at the way we got them, rescuers that we are. We laughed because dogs are work. We laughed because we already had too much work. We laughed because there was really nothing else we could do.

Life is strange, indeed.

Texas-Part deux

Two days after my last post, one day after another 70 degree day. Record snowfall.

I LOVE TEXAS!

Texas

Short, sweet, to the point.

Sunday the 2nd was beautiful, around 70 degrees outside. The air conditioner ran all day. I wore shorts and a tank top and felt quite comfortable.

Monday the 3rd it snowed.......... 2". The heat ran all day. I wore sweats, a heavy jacket, and was still cold.

Tuesday the 4th was beautiful, around 70 degrees outside. There was still snow on my roof at 8:00 am. The air conditioner kicked on at noon. I wore a tee-shirt and jeans and had to run the air conditioner in my truck to keep from having a heat stroke when I picked up my son from school at 3:30 pm.


I love Texas.

What does Peter Piper Pick?

My little girl.
My funny, funny little girl.

I try to spend time with her doing a variety of things to get her ready for school. (I could blog for DAYS on my feelings about school and my daughter.....but I'll wait until I have much more time and energy than I do at this time!)

ANY-who, one of the things I do is teach her tongue-twisters, which is very good for enunciation, as well as good exercise for my funny bone. The other day we tackled Peter Piper.

Poor, Poor Peter.

My little girl just could not get the "peck of pickeled peppers" part. Peter picked peppers, Peter picked a lot of peppers, Peter picked a little peppers, and Peter picked a little bit of peppers, but my little girl just could not get poor Peter to pick that peck of pickled peppers. It was so amusing I decided to record a bit on my phones voice notes.

It was serendipity.

Angels Among Us

I worked in health care for many years. My specialty was Geriatrics, more specifically Geriatric Alzheimer's and Dementia. There are a million stories I could tell about the many wonderful people I cared for, but there are almost as many stories I could tell (good and bad) about my co-workers. This is a co-worker story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I worked with an angel.

She was an older lady who wore large, old-fashioned coke-bottle glasses and still had to tilt her head and squint to see sometimes. She kept her hair short because she "didn't have time to fuss with it." She was slow and methodical.

Everyone loved her, but not everyone could work with her. As I said before, she was slow and methodical. What I didn't say was the emphasis was on the slow. She wasn't slow because she didn't want to work, she was slow because she was exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. We worked the night shift.

She worked at night because her husband worked all day......... separate shifts for twenty nine years.

They had three children, a boy and two girls. The boy and oldest girl were healthy, grown, and out on their own. The youngest, however, was still at home. She was still at home because an institution was unthinkable. She was twenty nine years old.

When Lisa was born, the doctors said she wouldn't make it past two. She had mental and physical problems serious enough that the doctor recommended she be placed in an institution, to be "made comfortable until she passed." She would never walk, never communicate, never be aware of anything. The angel said "No, God gave her to me for a reason." A few months later, the angel took Lisa home.

The angel and her husband were not rich people. They had two other children and a modest home. The angel had not worked since the birth of their first child because her and her husband believed the best people to raise their children were, of course, themselves. All that had to change after Lisa.

Lisa had to have a special, expensive bed. She had tubes everywhere because she couldn't eat, or use the bathroom. She was on many different medications. Everyone and everything had to be clean and sterile, the slightest illness could be fatal. Lisa had to have medication, or breathing treatments, or feedings, or something else every two to three hours around the clock. For the first year of her life, she did little more than occasionally open and close her eyes. That was enough for the angel.

By the time I met the angel, Lisa was twenty five years old. That's twenty three years past two. Twenty five years of around the clock care. Twenty five years of sacrifice. The doctor had been right about only one thing; Lisa couldn't walk. The doctor would have been right about everything though, if not for the angel.

For four years I listened to the stories, about the first time Lisa became "aware," the first time she talked, the first time she tasted ice cream, how she learned to read, and she even eventually learned to use the computer and made "friends" with people online. She also became "healthy" enough to go out now and then without fear of getting sick. She loved old movies, and music, and animals. I heard so much about her I felt like I knew her.

I was working a double-shift, night-shift and morning. The angel called and asked if her check was in. I told her it was and she said "I think I'll bring Lisa with me to pick it up, so you can meet her." I told her that would be great.

An hour later the front doors opened, and the angel wheeled in this little tiny girl. She was surrounded by pillows on each side because she was oddly shaped and curved and couldn't sit up without them. She had little pillow things against the sides of her head because she had a hard time controlling her neck. Her arms and legs were all different lengths. She had big coke-bottle glasses......... and she had one of the biggest smiles I have ever seen.

I went over and knelt down in front of the wheelchair. She met my eyes and said in a clear voice "Hi, I'm Lisa. Do you have any dogs or cats?"

For the next hour I sat and talked to her about anything and everything. She told me about her friends, her pets, her favorite books. She asked me questions about my life, my friends, my likes and dislikes. We talked about her mom and dad and siblings. She asked if I thought there were dogs and cats in heaven. I told her I didn't know, but I'd like to think so. It was one of the most memorable hours of my whole life. When it was time to leave, she didn't want to. She took my hand as we went toward the door and she said "You're my moms friend. You're my friend now." I said "I sure am!" Then they left.

It was only a few months later that Lisa passed away. At the funeral, the pastor who did the eulogy knew the family well, knew Lisa well. He talked about her amazing life, and her amazing parents. Lisa, and her mother, were an inspiration to all whose lives they touched. There were so many lessons to be learned from them, to learn still, about who and what we are supposed to be in our own little part of the grand scheme.

Down here on earth walks an angel among us. Because of her, I had an unforgettable hour spent with a special person who might not have been. Because of them, I saw first hand that there is true joy in sacrifice. Because of them, I know that one can smile in spite of hardship, if only one wants to.

If there are dogs and cats in heaven, Lisa, I know for certain who cares for them.

My Nap-O-Tee

My five year old girl is hilarious. There is not a day that passes without her saying or doing something that makes me laugh out loud, or smile so big that my cheeks sting. The other day, she swore to me that she heard a herd of spiders. I asked her what they sounded like. She said "Sssst ssst sssst ssst-like that."

One of my favorites was when she asked for a pet "hump-a-denia" after watching Animal Planet one day. I almost never figured that one out. She kept telling me "Hump...A.....deeeen...ya" very slowly, as if that would help me suddenly know. Finally, after becoming very frustrated with me, her eyes lit up. "I forgot! It's a laughing hump-a-denia!" I probably sounded like one for the next ten minutes.

This morning we returned from church and as we entered the door she paused, closed her eyes and sniffed deeply. She turned around, smiled at me and said "Ahhhhhhhh....the sweet, sweet smell of home!"

Moments ago, we were in the kitchen making macaroni, or as she calls it, Macanonri. We added all the "gredients" and stirred with our separate spoons as she chattered away. She got a spoonfull of macanonri, but as she started to raise it, my spoon bumped her spoon, and all the macanonri fell off.

She gave me a stern look and said "Hey! You made me lose my nap-o-tee!"

I laughed and said "Your what?"

"My nap-o-tee! You made me lose my nap-o-tee!"

I searched my mind for a possible related word but came up with nothing, so I finally asked "what is a nap-o-tee?"

In a very serious voice she said "You know, it's something chefs say when they start to eat their food. My nap-o-teeeee."

I laughed until I hurt.

Remember Me

I did not produce this, but I wish I had.

Space Invaders

My best friend of *muffled numbers* years and I were on the phone this morning, (yes, if you haven't noticed, we pretty much talk on a daily basis, and usually on multiple occasions throughout the day. So often in fact that one of her biological sisters - she knows who she is - has nicknamed me "the other woman.") Any-who, we were on the phone trying to have a conversation, and as always happens, our collective five children decided that was the exact moment they all needed to say something, ask something, do something, chit-chat, or whatever. Our conversations tend to go something like this;

Me: "So as I was thinking about my blog-----no, honey, I cant help you with the video game right this second, I'm on the phone---Where was I? Oh yeah, the blog, I was thinking I would-----no, son, I said no company today, give me a second to talk on the phone---OK, I'm back, sorry. What was I saying?----stop honey, you're going to get in trouble and have to get off the computer.....

Meanwhile, on the other end of the phone;

Her: "yeah, I was thinking about mine too---no I already told you you couldn't have anyone over today, can't you see I'm on the phone-----yeah, blog, that's what you were saying---you're going where with who? We'll talk about that in a minute, let me finish this conversation---you were saying you were thinking about----what do you think you are doing?.......

And thus goes almost every conversation we ever have. Why? It's the space invaders.

The moment my hand touches the phone, they go on red alert. They don't even have the courtesy to start off with the slow, alternating "BUMP bump BUMP bump" (you 80's children will hear that sound in your head right about now.) NOOOOOO, they jump right into the "I'm about to smash through your defenses and there's nothing you can do about it" rapid cycling "BUMPbumpBUMPbumpBUMPbump" with their little alien pincher thingies opening and closing as they do that rapid crab-like sideways approach!

That doesn't just apply to phone conversations either. When I sit at my computer and simply look at it, they will leave me alone. When my hand reaches for the keyboard, however, here they come. BUMPbumpBUMPbumpBUMPbump. Mom, I'm hungry again----just one second, let me finish typing this sentence----Mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom----WHAT sweetie---can we have three dogs and four cats?-----hold on just one second, let me just----Hey Mom, can *insert friends name here* come over? I haven't had anyone over today, pleeeeease---just let me---mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,------sweetie, just a----but cant we have four dogs and three cats then?----

It doesn't stop with bathroom boundaries either. You would think that would be a safe place at least, but nooooooo. Ah, the quiet, peaceful bathroom. A moment to sit and reflect and plan and dream...... but the second the cheeks hit the seat, I am effectively trapped. BUMPbumpBUMPbumpBUMPbump. knock knock knock---who is it, what do you want----Mom, *insert friends name here* just called, can he come over for a few hours?-----I'm in the bathroom, we'll talk when I get out---mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,---WHAT?!?!?!?!?!---can we have a turtle and a bunny and four cats and three dogs?----Go----A----WAY---knock knock knock---WHAT! WHAT! WHAT!----can *insert friends name here* please please please come over. If he doesn't come over now he will be stuck at his grandmas for hours and hours and he really doesn't want to go but his dad said if he cant come over here now he has to go over there and he will be bored to death and he said please please please------*FLUSH*---- mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom,mom----so much for peace and quiet and reflection.

Some of you might say I should simply ignore them until I am finished doing whatever it is I am doing, but that does not work. The last time I did that, my barely five year old daughter found a phone book, looked up pet stores and called one on the phone. The lady answered and my little girl said "I want a pet!" She then handed me the phone and said "I called a pet store.....here." I could hear the lady talking. I looked at the phone in disbelief. I did what any normal person would do..... I hung up.

Because I am a mother, I have effectively lost all peace and privacy privileges. If only I had known! Bah, that isn't true. They may drive me crazy, but I wouldn't trade them for all the peace and privacy in the world. For every moment they drive me nuts, there are a million that make me smile, that entertain me, that make me proud beyond my wildest dreams. Still, it would be nice to go to the bathroom alone once in a while, to talk on the phone uninterrupted now and then, to get on my computer and.....wait........whats that sound in the distance?......

BUMPbumpBUMPbumpBUMPbump

What the HELL is non-hispanic?!

Okay, somebody somewhere besides me has got to wonder why the hell the designation "non-hispanic" was created to describe every race except, well, "hispanics.". Google "non-hispanic." You will see studies of "non-hispanic whites", "non-hispanic blacks", "non-hispanic american indians"...WHAT THE HELL?! Have the "hispanics" so invaded every race that each race must now have the designation of "non" attached if they have no "hispanic" ancestry? I don't call myself a "non-asian white", even though, as far as I know, I have no asian ancestors.

Can you imagine creating a job application that encompassed everyone?

Check one of the following;
non-hispanic white
non-hispanic black
non-hispanic american indian
non-hispanic asian
non-hispanic european.....
non-asian hispanic
non-asian white
non-asian black
non-asian american indian
non-asian european
non-white american indian
non-white black
non-white asian........skipping to page 35.....
non-hispanic non-black non-american indian non-asian european
non-hispanic non-black non-american indian non-european asian
non-............. you get the idea.

OR, even better, here is mine;
non-hispanic non-black non-asian european (scottish, english, irish) american indian (blackfoot, seminole, chiricahua apache, cherokee and honorary comanche.)
I am insulted that there is no designation specifically for me!

In light of the above, calling myself non-hispanic makes as much sense as saying I am "non-male." I am also non-rock, non-piece of furniture, non-cloud, and non-liberal, among innumerable other "nons." The last I knew, you were defined by who or what you were more than by who or what you were not.

Many people define themselves and others by color. My best friend of *muffled number* years and I discussed this moments ago, and we agreed that you cannot truly define someone by a "color". Take 500 "black" people, and you will not find two with the exact same color of skin....none if them will truly be "black." Take 500 "white people", and you will have 500 different colors of skin, none of which is truly "white." Same with red, yellow, or any other color ever used to describe someones skin color.

My natural, non-sun exposed skin is considered "olive." Let me get in the evil sun for more than two hours, and I become a beautiful golden brown. (Oh it's really pretty, thanks to my american indian ancestors!) Give me a few hours a day for a week, and I resemble a raisin in color, sans wrinkles. (Okay, I have a few, but they're really small and you have to look close, so they don't count!)

The term "Hispanic" was coined by the federal government in the 1970's to describe people who were born in any of the Spanish-speaking countries of the Americas or those who could trace their ancestry to Spain or former Spanish territories. I am certainly non-hispanic by that definition of hispanic. Once upon a time I would have said I was "caucasian"......but that was the "name" given by some man named Blumenbach to describe the races that lived near Mount Caucasus, and basically encompassed the chief races of europe (where I've never been), North Africa (does that mean I can say I'm african?) and southwest asia (damn...there goes my non-asian identity!) Don't that beat all? Some invisible all knowing source knows what I am better than I do! Perhaps that leaves my best description as non-hispanic. Dammit.

From an actual job application:

Check one of the following:

Hispanic or Latino A person of Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Central or South American, or
other Spanish culture or origin, regardless of race.
White (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person having origins in any of the original peoples of Europe, the Middle East, or North America. *my entry-middle east? Wth?*
African American or Black (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person with origins in any of the Black racial groups of Africa.
Native Hawaiian or Other Pacific Islander (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person with origins in the any of the people of Hawaii, Guam, Samoa, or other Pacific Islands..
Asian (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person with origins in any of the original peoples of the Far East, Southeast Asia, or the Indian Subcontinent. This includes, for example, China, Japan,
Korea, the Philippines, Cambodia, Malaysia, Pakistan, Thailand and Vietnam.
American Indian/Alaskan Native (Not Hispanic or Latino). A person with origins in any of the original peoples of North and South America (including Central America), and who maintains cultural identification through tribal affiliation or community recognition.
Two or More Races (Not Hispanic or Latino). All persons who identify with more than one of the above five races.

Notice the (Not Hispanic or Latino) beside everything except Hispanic or Latino? WHAT THE HELL? TAKE it out, take IT out, take it OUT! Put in a blank line to write in a specific race or races if someone wants to write it in! Seriously though, how the hell are people supposed to define themselves any more? I don't have the space, time or energy to attack everywhere that "non-hispanic" appears, so I will finish with this. I don't believe how liberal, how "inclusive", how humanist, centrist, etc this is going to sound from a highly conservative right-winger. If race is not an issue, at least when it comes to hiring people, then if only for the sake of shortening an application, why not this:

Check one of the following:

Non-human
Human

Just call me NPC.

No, gamers, not a "non player character." It means "Non-Politically Correct." In a world gone mad, don't you all think it's time to call things what they are again? For instance (some of you will hate me for this) the phrase "mentally challenged." Aren't most of us? If not all the time, I do know I am mentally challenged on a regular, no, a daily basis. True, it is mainly to do with my five year old, and how to get her to stop yelling every time I'm on the phone, or to do with my sons math homework. (Whoever invented algebra should be shot! Yes, I said SHOT. With a GUN. I am pro-second amendment. *sticks out tongue*) Where was I? oh yeah, mentally challenged.

That phrase came about because "mean people" started shortening the word retarded to retard, emphasis on the re. Retard is a perfectly fine word when the emphasis is on the tard. "Do not reTARD my progress by taking my keyboard!"

According to the dictionary:
v. re·tard·ed,
v. tr. To cause to move or proceed slowly; delay or impede.
v. intr. To be delayed.
n. A slowing down or hindering of progress; a delay.

Also according to the dictionary;
Main Entry: mentally challenged
Part of Speech: adj
Definition: a euphemism for mentally retarded or disabled

And yet again, in the dictionary (this one is scary):
euphemism [(yooh-fuh-miz-uhm)] An agreeable word or expression substituted for one that is potentially offensive, often having to do with bodily functions, sex, or death; for example, rest room for toilet, lady of the evening for prostitute. The Nazis used euphemism in referring to their plan to murder the world's Jews as "the Final Solution."

The folk at "America Heritage New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy", Third Edition, wrote that, not me.

Retarded is an appropriate word for someone born with a mental handicap (get over it, do I need the dictionary for handicapped, too!) which causes them to learn or develop at a slower pace. I would not simply describe someone as "retarded," because it leaves too much open to interpretation. For instance, I am retarded at least three times a week on the way to pick up my son by the lady in the red SUV with the goofy mouse sticker on the back window. To clarify, I would not be a bad, mean person if I referred to someone as "mentally retarded" if they had a mental handicap which caused them to be developmentally slow. And what is this "handi-capable" thing? That is just silly. They are handicapped people who are capable of doing *insert what they are capable of here.*

Has anyone here read 1984? Quote: "It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words." In a very, very short synopsis, the goal of the government is to use "newspeak" to remove any creative, logical thinking/speaking ability and reduce it inevitably to "yes." No ability to think or speak freely, no ability to disagree.

How about Demolition Man, anyone? A great spoof of political correctness, "have a joy joy day" or "her life force was terminated" or "You have been fined one credit for a violation of the verbal morality statute." Rent it! Watch it! Laugh at it! Peer into the PC future. Ok, not really, but it could be! Only Taco Bell is actually Wal-Mart. Watch the movie.

Back to "mentally challenged." Why, oh why, did I do this blog on that subject? To be true to my NPC self, that's why, and I do my best not to be a hypocrite. The word retarded even makes me a little uncomfortable, because so many today have been taught that it is a disparaging word. No, retard is a disparaging word. I do not like euphemisms as a general rule, and I do not like Dysphemisms as a general rule. They have their places, certainly, or they wouldn't have their own names, but society as a whole should not adopt them in place of perfectly good words which generally relay the true meaning in shorter time and with less effort and more clarity.

One other quick point to the fast-food places. THERE IS NO MEDIUM WITHOUT A SMALL!

In short, say it like it is.

P.S.
Example of PCness run amok compared to NPCness

My Greeting;
Happy New year!
May God bless and keep you and yours,
Love, Me

Politically Correct Greeting;
Please accept, with no obligation, implied or implicit, our best wishes for a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling, and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2008, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great (not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country or is the only "AMERICA" in the Western Hemisphere), and without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith, or sexual preference of the wishee.*

*(By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year, or until the issuance of a subsequent greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.)

SEEEEE!?

How NOT to lose your mind

Yeah, right.

If you knew me, you would already know that title is an obvious joke. Those who do know me.....Breathe! Lack of oxygen causes dain bramage. See, truth is, I think I lost my mind long ago. So long ago, in fact, that I wouldn't know where to start looking if there were even the remotest chance of actually finding it. Besides, I wouldn't really know what to do with it anymore anyway.

My best friend of *muffled number* years and I have had this discussion before. I call it the "Edith Bunker" syndrome. For those who don't know, Edith was married to Archie Bunker- HINT: google "All in the family." Archie was chubby, grouchy, opinionated and bigoted. "Oh, how horrible!" you exclaim! No, the strange thing was, he wasn't horrible. You couldn't help but like him in that "bless his chubby, grouchy, opinionated, bigoted little heart" kind of way. He wasn't malicious, just a product of his times. Still, I would have had to kill him if he were my husband.

Edith, however, was the opposite of Archie. The "Anti-Archie," if you will. She always had a smile. She waited on Archie hand and foot. She loved everyone. When Archie called her a dingbat (which was often) she would giggle in her dingbat way, smile and say "Oooooh Arrrrchiiiiie," then do whatever he wanted, with that same old smile on her face. Nothing seemed to phase her, ever.

Edith's life was Archie and her family. She lived to serve. She lived to cook and clean and do laundry and bring beer to Archie. That's what she did, that's what she was, and she was perfectly content in her tiny little house with her chubby, grouchy, opinionated, bigoted husband who called her a dingbat.

I am not content. I have too many important decisions to make every day. I have too many people who turn to me for assistance, for guidance, or to just plain do things for them that they could or should do for themselves, or worse, they can't do themselves. If it's broken, I'm supposed to fix it. If it's lost, I'm supposed to find it. If it's not done, I should have done it days ago. If theres a question, I should have or find the answer.

And, unlike Edith, I actually have interests of my own. I like to write, to paint, to read books, to build things. I like to be creative. There is little time for creativity between the routine duties of Mother and house-wife, and all those extra things that come at me from every direction. I haven't read a book in seven years, and it bothers me immensley.

I sometimes catch myself longing for "dingbat-itis." To be able to smile no matter what, to have my most dificult choice of the day be "chicken fried steak" or "fried chicken" for dinner. (Sorry, back to the fried stuff....But I'm from Texas! We fry everything!) To have no one ever ask me anything except "do I have any clean socks?" If I could be "mindless" like Edith, then I would have no mind to lose.

But....

I wouldn't have that cool five foot painting done on a scrap piece of wood hanging over my desk, or that "uber awesome" entertainment center I built for my kids (who adore me) to put their video consoles in, or that cute paper mache elf that everyone exclaims "you MADE that?!!!" or a nephew that says I'm the coolest Aunt ever, or parents that proudly brag "I must have done something right," or a best friend of *muffled number* years who is so much like me we know we were separated at birth.

Perhaps I have the answer after all. How do you not lose your mind?

Perspective.

Grits - the RIGHT way to eat 'em.

First of all, NO, I will not be writing about grits and eggs after this. At least it is highly unlikely. However, being about as southern as you can get without having come from Tara, (not necessarily in my writing style, but in my God-Family-Country loving way), it behoves me to inform those less fortunate souls who have tried, and disliked, grits on the proper way to eat a grit. True southerners, please skip the next sentence.

It does not matter if you use instant grits, they can still be very, very tasty.

First of all, the grits must be neither too runny, nor too dry. Runny grits are like grit-soup, and I just can't imagine why anyone would want to eat grit soup. If you must err, err on the side of dry, but if you can actually slice the grits into cakes, they are too dry.

Second, bacon grease. Any true southerner will have a handy supply, most likely in a jar, but possibly in an empty can with a piece of tin-foil over the top to keep the dust out. You must add enough to give your grits the bacon flavor without the grits looking greasy. Scoop some grease on a spoon, stir into hot grits and taste. If you taste a hint of bacon, good job. If you only taste grits, scoop again. If you happen to be one of those people without bacon grease handy, that's easy to remedy. Take a pound or so of good fatty bacon, fry it up crunchy, and pour the grease in a jar or can, whichever you prefer. Keep the bacon, too, it's good on the side.

Third, fry (yes, FRY) an egg or too (depends on how many servings of grits you have) and it/they must be over-easy or sunny-side-up. In fact, you can fry the eggs in bacon grease for a little extra bacon flavor! Do NOT break the yolk while frying, a cooked yolk is useless for grits!

Fourth, put the egg(s) in the grits, chop them to pieces with your spoon, and mix in the yolk until the grits are a nice, pale yellow. (This is why the grits can't be runny!)

Serve with a couple pieces of toast, that bacon if you had to fry some, and a hot cup of coffee. Mmmm Mmmm. A bit of southern heaven. If you still don't like them, you did something wrong. Do it again. Repeat until you get it right, and you'll know you got it right when you love them!

'Til next time.