A Day On the Farm

Last Wednesday evening the members of the digital photography class I am taking had a field trip. We went out to Lantern Lane Farm.

Lantern Lane is a great horse farm in Rutherford County (even though you think you are in Mt. Juliet... you aren't). I know the owners. I knew them before they purchased the farm. They are great people! Joni is a real estate agent and one of the sweetest people I have ever met. She loves people... but she loves the Lord more. The best thing about her is that she lets the Lord love people through her. She is an amazing woman. AMAZING. Makes me wonder why she hooked up with Ralph all those years ago.

Ralph. What can I say about Ralph? Probably not much that is printable. :)

Oh, I'm kidding. I love Ralph. He's a fun guy. He tells it like it is and doesn't really let you throw a pity party. I worked with him when I was on staff at Two Rivers. He was the children's choir director. Those kids just did not mess with Mr. Ralph. He wasn't a Nazi about it, but he was firm with them and they respected him for it.

I don't really respect him. Just ask him and he will tell you. Kinda hard to respect a man who cheats at cards.

Seriously. He cheats. He will tell you he cheats. Again... he tells it like it is.

At any rate, they have a great place and they have horses. I love horses. I love taking pictures and I was very excited that our first field trip was going to be at Lantern Lane.

By the way... if you want more info about Lantern Lane, check out the website here:

http://www.lanternlanefarmtn.net/

The website is going to be updated soon, but that will give you an idea of where we were. If you are interested in volunteering with the animals, you can contact the Cooks through that website. Or, if you need a weekend away or have family that is coming into town and need a place to stay, the cabin in the perfect place! (Yes, that was a shameless plug for Lantern Lane Farm)

These are some of the pictures I took whilst I was there:

This is a picture of Dolly. She is a beautiful walking horse that was in foal with Apostrophe when the Cooks bought her. She was very patient with me and let me get in pretty close in order to take this shot...

This is Scooter. He is a precious guy who was really, really good with all the children that accompanied their parents to the farm for the photo shoot. Every so often Scooter would get a little nervous. So, he and I bonded that evening. I hung around Scooter and let him know what a great horse he was. He enjoyed the attention and snuffled the hands and shoulders of the little children who thought he was just as great as he is!

I also took some odd pictures. Because I like to take odd pictures. I loved the texture of the wood on the barn.

And here is the barn itself. It is a lovely shot of a lovely barn on a lovely farm. A lovely barn on a lovely farm owned by lovely people. Well... at least Joni is!

Oh, okay Ralph. You are lovely too!

These Boots Are Made For Walkin'...

I own a pair of lace-up ropers. Did you know that about me? It does not really fit my typical shoe mold. I purchased them for a specific reason and I made a friend of mine who had lots of years of horseback riding/working cattle help me pick them out.

See, I wanted to take horseback riding lessons. I have always loved horses. ALWAYS. I never owned one because when I was little we moved from base to base because my father was in the military. When we finally settled, we really did not have the means or the acreage to host a horse. But that did not mean I gave up my love of these magnificent animals.

Finally, I determined that I would take horseback riding lessons. My first instruction was to purchase a pair of boots that had a heel on them. I was pretty sure my four inch black knee boots were not going to work. So... I hit my very first country and western gear store to find a pair of cowboy boots.

I apparently do not have the ability to wear cowboy boots. I have pretty large feet for a girl and I just could not cram them into pull on cowboy boots. My friend then introduced me to ropers. These boots were great! I could cram my feet in them and then lace them right up as tight or loose as I wanted.

I survived all my horseback riding lessons. I survived a six hour bona fide trail ride (even thought my jeans did not) and when all was said and done... I retained my ropers.

I have not had a need of them over much these past few years. I will pull them out occasionally and wear them. I have friends with horses that I have been able to visit more lately. I have really enjoyed going out and petting the babies and spending time with my friends.

The other night, I was there with a group of people who I am taking a digital photography class with. I knew there would be much walking about. Therefore, I decided that it would be a good time to pull the ropers out of my closet and wear them for the day. I discovered something rather odd.

I walk differently when I am wearing ropers.

I am wondering if it is my inner cowgirl trying to come forth.

I would think this... except that I am not a cowgirl. Really. Not. One.

But I do walk differently. My stride is longer. It is almost a more confident stride. It borders upon a swagger.

I have never swaggered in my life. Unless you consider a few parties I attended, okay... hosted, in college.

No... that wasn't so much a swagger as stumbling.

So. I'm thinkin' I'll be wearing those ropers a little more often.

Maybe I'll catch me a cowboy! :)

... And Then I Woke Up.

I have apparently developed very bad sleeping habits. As you will recall from a few posts back… I have awakened in the morning with the mouth guard I occasionally wear in varying locations in my bed or on the floor.

Let me back track by stating that I am a night person. I really do not enjoy mornings at all. I would never have survived in the wild days of yore when womenfolk woke at the crack o’dawn to work the fields, birth the babies and fight off outlaws. (Okay, I might have been able to fight the outlaws, assuming they were not morning people either!) I understand they went to bed at sunset and were therefore awake and fresh as daisies by the time the sun rose. That still would not be me. I could still sleep until 9 or 10.

But, I live in the modern era of alarm clocks and all night cable television/internet access. Because I am susceptible to hitting the snooze button for an hour or so, I have devised a second alarm. My cell phone will put forth a hideous sound about 15 minutes after the alarm clock. The problem is there is a snooze option on the phone two. I essentially spend about 30 minutes rolling from alarm clock to cell phone (each on opposite sides of the bed).

Now, in order to GO to sleep, I set my television on a timer. I will set it for about 30 minutes and I am usually asleep within 5-10 minutes. I never hear the TV click off. EVER. I do not have bedside tables. Instead, I have two short pillars on either side of the bed that serve as tables. There is really only enough room on one for a very small lap, my TV and cable remotes and my cell phone. The other side only has the alarm clock. Nothing else will fit there.

Side Note: My TV is old enough that it has to have a separate cable box. The option for the time is on the TV remote but I can use the cable remote to change channels and monitor the volume.

The alarms started going off this morning. I started my morning practice of rolling from one side of the bed to the other and hitting various snooze buttons. At whatever point I actually “woke up” I found myself in bed with various devices. (Oh. That doesn’t sound good). I not only had dragged the electrical CD/Radio/Alarm clock into the bed with me, but I also had my cell phone and BOTH television remotes.

Amazing. I hate to think what would happen if I were actually married. I mean, er…

Wow. That didn’t sound right either.

Grilling Observations

So... I decided that I would venture into the heat and humidity of the day in order to grill chicken. Yes, Brent, I grilled chicken. ME. A Woman. In the grilling area!

For those three people who read this blog, let me 'splain. My friend Brent has forever deemed that women were not allowed in the grilling area. Not. Allowed. The only time a woman is allowed in the grilling area, per Brent and various other male figures in my life, is if they are bringing grilling utensils to the men folk or are wiping the brow of the studly men what are cooking the meat over the open fire. It's a little chauvinistic, but for me it has been true for many years.

Until now. Now I AM in the grilling area. I am the grill master. Okay, I am the grill mistress... but that almost sounds a little dirty.

I purchased a charcoal grill for my father for Father's Day. Why? Because that is what he asked for. Has he used it? Not. One. Time. Many years back I purchased him a small gas grill. He used it once, I think. That should have been my first clue that the charcoal grill would not see much action. Since I did not want to waste the money, I determined to put the grill to use myself. Here are some observations from the grilling area:

1) When lighting a pile of charcoal, one should begin lighting towards the back of the grill. That way, when you realize you have lit the front and you attempt to light the far end, you will not burn yourself. You will probably only do this once, as you will learn your lesson quickly.

2) If you see one portion of the coals are not lighting and decide to blow the flames toward that area, you want to be careful not to stick your face too close to the coals when you blow. Charcoal is a funny little substance. It may shower you with bright and pretty sparks. You will move away quickly and will be grateful that you did not catch fire. (Not that I'm speaking from personal experience here. It's just common sense. Yep. That's what it is.)

3) If you use a cookie sheet to place your "hot-off-the-grill" meat/chicken/fish/pork, you will not want to put your hand directly under the sheet. That hot off the grill meat really IS quite hot. You'll burn your hand and then almost drop the food you have spent quite some time cooking. It is lively entertainment as you are juggling food, utensils and a hot sheet.

There will be other points to determine I am sure. Stay tuned!

I Run... therefore I Ache...

So, here I am... a dainty, fresh, spring-like flower determined to run off the pounds.

Oh, okay. I am not fresh and I don't believe I was even born dainty. But, determined I am.

As we all recall (you know... the both of you who actually read this) ... I hit the streets (literally) on Monday and ran the equivalent of a full lap around the track that is across the street from where I live. I survived that night's adventure. Came home. Cooled down. Showered and went to bed.

I woke up on Tuesday thinking I was not going to be able to move. But... I could! I scampered right out of bed (okay, I rolled) and skipped to the bathroom (crawled) and started my day on a high note! (An hour late to work). But there was NO PAIN. None.

And then, my friends, Tuesday evening appeared. Apparently the muscles were happy to move as I willed until approximately 24 hours post exercising event. Then, they rebelled. Oh... the ache. The inhumanity of it all! I wisely determined that it would be very BAD if I were to attempt to run again. So, I exercised in the house instead, doing some simple ab work, etc. Nothing too strenuous... just enough to let my muscles know who was in charge!

On Wednesday morning, my muscles let ME know who was in charge and I found myself crawling up the stairs at the office (Okay, I really took the elevator) and was VERY happy that I was unable to exercise that night because I was going to a small group meeting that was at the church I have been visiting.

Fast forward to this evening. The muscles had repaired themselves and the weather was nice enough (not too hot and humid) to hit the streets again. As I was making my second walking lap (to warm up) I found a few hoodlums had perched themselves on the playground and I didn't feel all that secure being by myself on the track (dainty, fresh flower that I am). So, I modified my route a little bit to stay closer to civilization and decided that since the length was shorter, I could make the run a few more times.

So what if the track sloped downhill for the most of the way? I was still running. My heart was still pounding, my lungs were still bellowing (can your lungs bellow? I am thinking of an old-fashioned bellows that people had next to a fireplace) and my muscles started screaming at me again.

I have survived night two of the running. Survived. Night Dos!

And when I looked up, the Lord blessed me with my very own rainbow. Just. For. Me.

Thanks God!

Just a Few Observations

I was pondering a few of life's little details when these thoughts hit my brain and I thought I would share them with you (you know... both of you people who bother to read this blog):

1. Why do you think that when Goldfinger (of the famous James Bond "Goldfinger" movie) had Jill Masterson killed and her body completely painted gold and left on the bed for James to find, that they did not paint her hair gold? Maybe is it because she was already a blonde. I can almost overlook that fact, but then you notice that Jill is gold EVERYWHERE. Everywhere except for her lovely and perfectly coiffed hair... AND her eyebrows and eyelashes.

Yes, ladies and gents, Jill's face is completely painted, including her lips, but she has very BLACK eyebrows painted perfectly on and long UNreal eyelashes. Kinda makes me want to find the person who was responsible for this faux pas and smack 'em in their noggin.

2. I think the reason the Sham-Wow guy kinda creeps me out is not because he is (a) WAY too skinny or that he has (b) one perpetually lifted eyebrow. It is more because of the permanently attached HUGE microphone attached to his face. I have worked in productions before. I have seen the technology and PEOPLE... there are smaller, less noticeable microphones in the world. Let's invest!

3. I received my textbooks in the mail today. One textbook is a hard cover book that reminds me of a history book from my 8th grade Social Studies class. Very, very odd. But, it has that "new book smell" to it, which makes everything all better again.

Now, I'm just waiting for class to start. Countdown is less than a week away.

4. Those muscles that I worked out with last night are speaking very clearly to me tonight. Okay, they are not really speaking so much as they are SCREAMING at me. It's okay muscles! I hear you loud and clear. You are in pain. You hate me. Get over it and get ready to get back to it tomorrow!

Yes... I took the night off from running/walking because I need to return to work tomorrow and if I pushed it two nights in a row, I would be investing in a sequeway or some other mode of transportation.

5. There is a nice shaded area in the parking lot where I work that EVERYONE wants to park their car in. I used to be one of those people, until my office hours changed. Now, all the good spots are taken. What to do....? Well, I realized that most of those people head out to lunch between 11 and 11:30. So, at about that time, I take a break from my work day and move my car to the shaded parking lot.

Then I laugh manically as I return to my desk to work.

I Know You're Wondering...

I am certain that both people who read this blog (I am grateful that two people actually read it) have been sitting on pins and needles and wondering how I am doing with the weight-loss plan. Well, let me tell you. It stinks. Probably because I have not been true to it.

You know, that first week I drank enough water to fill a bathtub. The next week I just did not. I would forget to clean out my 64 ounce container. Or I would clean it and forget to bring it to work.

I had a friend who promised to start this journey with me as well. But, they were not "ready" to begin right away. They needed a week of self-indulging carnivorous eating. Not that I have planned to become a vegan. Nosiree. Give me a big hunk 'o meat and I will revel in its protein-ness.

Is proteinness a word? I think not.

At any rate... my friend then left me high and dry for a few days and I found that it was easy to put off my own plans for someone else. Actually, that was just my own veiled excuse to eat whatever the heck I wanted. And I did.

Then I used Kristin's wedding shower as a crutch. I HAD to eat that CAKE. It would waste! It would mold! It would take over The World!

Then I used my period as an excuse. Yep. I said it. Period. I can eat my weight in anything that is essentially edible during that week. It's pretty hateful.

So, today, I realized that I was tired of coming up with excuses. I needed to take some control. I called that friend who was going to take this journey with me, but they were unavailable. So, I came home and changed clothes and hit the outdoor track that is across the street from my house. I walked a couple of laps and then decided that I needed to try and run a little bit. I need to get my heart rate up. I need to exercise that all important muscle.

So, in starting off slowing, I picked a place that would be my starting point, and I had a goal in my mind for the ending point. I started off slowly and about 1/2 the way through the run, I wanted to stop. I was breathing VERY hard. I wanted to drive home and get in the recliner and not move for another month or so. But, that was not going to help me. (I couldn't drive home either, since I walked to the track. My car was at home. That's just the desperateness of the moment speaking)

So... I kept running. I saw the goal and I would not allow myself to stop until I made it there. When I did make it, I thought about doing the happy dance... but realized that I would have passed out if I tried to do the happy dance at that point. Instead, I kept walking.

As I was nearing that starting point again, I decided I could make another run. I did. I hurt. I wheezed. I sweat. I did all those things that an overweight girl who is running does! And yet... I persevered. I made it back to my ending goal and began to walk again. My breaths were sawing in and out and I hoped that the Firefighters across the street didn't think I was dying and rushed over to perform CPR.

Oh. Hang on there. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad after all.

I digress.

So, I have effectively run the equivalent of one full lap today. Not too shabby for someone who has not run in close to 10 years. I thought that was what I would tell Mr. Fireman if he asked what the Sam Hill I was doing.

Who is Sam Hill anyway?

I came back to the house and drank a gallon of water. Then I called my friend to see if they were interested in working out with some weights. They declined, but said maybe tomorrow.

I'm not waiting on anybody else for this anymore. It is now Woman versus the Scales. I will be triumphant.

Game. On.

It's a Great Dress... but...

I bought this really cool purple tie-dye dress over the weekend. I am planning to wear it to my niece’s rehearsal dinner in July. She tells me I should wear jeans, because she is going to wear jeans. She is going to wear jeans because the groom’s family is bringing in Blue Coast Burrito for the rehearsal dinner.

But, I am going to wear a dress. I can’t wear jeans to the rehearsal dinner. I just can’t. It is not in my make-up to do that. I don’t want her to wear jeans either, but it is her rehearsal and she’s a big girl and she can do what she wants.

Just like me.

Here’s the dress:

And make no mistake... the dress is purple. It is NOT blue. My mother thinks it is blue. My mother has cataracts and SWEARS they do not affect her daily life.

My mother cannot differentiate between colors. It slays me sometimes. To her purple is blue and brown is purple.

At any rate, I am wearing the dress today, because I wanted to make sure I LOVED it as much on as I do on the hanger. I do love it because it is INCREDIBLY comfortable. I doubt that Stacy and whats-his-name from What Not to Wear would like it on me. But I’m okay with that too.

There is only one problem. The dress is made from a silky/smooth material… which is one of the reasons for the comfort level… but my office chair is leather. Which means my booty is sliding all over the office chair. Every time I sit down, I slink a little further than I intended. It is okay to slide my chair BACK from my desk, because my chair has a really tall back and arms. But sliding UP to the desk? That’s another story all together.

If I fall out in the floor, I will laugh hysterically and use it as an excuse to file a worker’s comp claim or something. My attorney bosses will LOVE that!

Taming of the Shrew

Last night Brent, Heidi and I met up at Centennial Park in Nashville for the 22nd Annual Shakespeare in the Park. This year, there are two different performances. The first was Taming of the Shrew and was performed by an apprentice troupe. They did a very fine job.

Everybody just shows up and brings their own chairs, or blankets and picnic baskets, etc. They have some concessions there, but it is just easier to lug everything in from your own kitchen. Some people bring enough to share with their neighbors. That's typically what we do... although we decided at the last minute to make this show. We didn't go all out as we usually do. Still, it is a nice sense of community. Just hangin' with a few hundred of the closest friends you've never met!

These are Brent's feet. I took pictures of both Brent and Heidi, but they made me swear an oath and sign my name in blood that I would not print them ANYwhere. Since I work for an attorney, I didn't want to mess with the legal hassels they would no doubt inflict upon me.

I didn't say I wouldn't post a picture of Brent's feet.

I am not exactly sure this was the context that Ole Will had in mind when he penned his works lo those many, many moons ago. Then again, I doubt tye-dye had been invented then. I love tye-dye. I don't think I'm spelling it correctly. But I love it nonetheless.

That was one confident actor who could perform Shakespeare in bright yellow spandex with hot pink hair.

Heidi and I loved it. We laughed and clapped and thought he was great.

Brent... not so much.

This was intermission. I took this picture so you could understand how many people were there to enjoy the show. And, enjoy it they did. We sat behind the man who started Shakespeare in the Park 22 years ago. He loved that we have been to more than 10 performances over the years. He thought we were so cool. We thought he was so cool because he came up with the idea in the first place.

If it weren't for him... these guys would never have taken a bow before hundreds of people last night.

And speaking of cool... the weather last night was PERFECTION for an outdoor theatrical event. There was very little humidity and the temps were in the low 70s, high 60s. Wonderful. All of our friends who didn't come (you know who you are) really missed a great evening out.

But don't fret. Next weekend through Sept 13 the real Shakespeare troupe will be doing a 3-man show entitled the Complete Works of William Shakespeare (abridged). I can hardly wait. I will try to let people know when that excursion will be.

Random Thoughts...

1. Why does morning rush hour traffic irritate the smack out of me, but afternoon traffic is not that big a deal? My mood getting out of the car first thing in the morning is most likely directly related to the amount of time it took me to get to work.

2. I passed a man who worked for a landscape company as he was sitting on one of those large commercial-type lawnmowers. It was raining. But, he was wearing a garbage bag over his shoulders. JUST covering his shoulders. It reminded me of my baby brother when he tied a bath towel around his neck and ran through the house acting like Superman. Or Batman. The gentleman on the mower was completely drenched. Except for his shoulders. Those were, apparently, nice and dry.

3. I'm officially a junior in college. However, at this rate, I will be graduating about the same time that I am eligible for Social Security.

4. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, there is a song in my head. Actually, most days when I wake up in the morning, there is a song in my head. The problem is the song is never the same and completely runs the entire spectrum of music that is out there in the galaxy. Everything from old hymns or praise choruses, to full-out symphonic pieces or Broadway show tunes. There is no rhyme or reason. One day last week, the music from "The Music Man" stayed in my head so long, I was forced to come home and watch the DVD. Twice. It did the trick and I don't have that music in my head. Now, it is "Oklahoma" with the wind sweeping down the plain, and all that.

5. Here's a bit of advice for those people planning to make a video/DVD tape of your most intimate moments. SOMEONE, Somewhere is going to find that footage and happily post it on the internet. They will probably make a lot of money off of it too. So, stop being sooooo surprised, Hollywood, when your private moments are made public. I'm just sayin'....

Kristin's First Bridal Shower!!

My baby's first bridal shower was yesterday. I call her my baby because I don't have any kids of my own... so I adopted my nieces and nephew. Unless they are being bad. Then, I had absolutely nothing to do with them. BUT... when they are on their best behavior... I take all the credit for it. I'm sneaky like that.

Here's my baby when she played dress up bride:

And... here she is now, with her Nana putting on her bridal shower corsage:

She looks happy, doesn't she? She has an unhealthy fear of being stuck by a pin!

We would not have put together such a fine shower/spread without the help of these two beautiful women: Aunt Sisy and my cousin Dawn. They jumped right in the midst of things and cut out heart-shaped sandwiches and arranged fruit, etc. They were mucho fun!!

It was a great day! The only problem was the temperature. It doesn't matter how large your home is... if you have 30 people crammed into a space, the body temp is going to affect your thermostat. If it is in the 90s outside... your AC is going to run CONSTANTLY just to keep the indoors at 80. We broke out a fan to help keep the air flowing, but it was still quite a task! I think the temp in the house finally came down around midnight last night.

But a lovely time was had by all... and Kristin's kitchen is now fully stocked with appliances and cooking utensils. And... some recipes as well. We wanted to give her family recipes she enjoys now as well as some from family members long removed from this world. (Some made as copies from their very own handwriting. Precious)

So... here's to Kristin & David's kitchen! Bon Appetit!

That's what friends are for...

So... after having lived with the Klampet kitchen faucet for a couple of weeks, it was time to take action. Specifically, I wanted the faucet fixed BEFORE the bridal shower here on Saturday. My friend Brent has exchanged faucets of various shapes and sizes and therefore I knew he would be up to the task.

I called him on Monday and made arrangements for him to come out on Tuesday night to determine whether this would be beyond his ken. He called back to tell me our mutual friend, Joel, from Michigan was in town and would be coming along to help. Or jibe at him. Or just generally make us laugh out loud... Joel is really good at that.

After perusing the current faucet situation, and determining that they were more than capable to complete this task... we went off to Lowe's to purchase a new, shiny Price Pfister kitchen faucet. We picked Price Pfister because Brent refused to touch a Moen faucet... he being a Price Pfister man, and all! So we return home with the new faucet and without Brent's tools.

Did I mention that the last thing I said to Brent before he left his house was to bring his tools? Well. I did. Did he respond by telling me he would bring his tools? Yes. He did. Did he actually bring his tools? No. He did not. Was this a problem? Yes, it was. Mostly, because I am a girl and I don't have a good tool set.

This will be remedied in the VERY near future, by the way.

As Brent stood around a watched, Joel crawled up under the sink and began removing the faucet hardware. Wait! Wasn't BRENT changing the faucet and Joel there to help? Yes. That's right. But... it takes a village to raise a child and it took the concerted effort of Brent AND Joel (plus a trip to the older brother's house for a vice grip... because there is apparently a HUGE difference between that and a monkey wrench) to remove the most STUBBORN of bolts from under the sink.

Two hours and many drops of sweat (and another run to Lowe's for some sort of tubing, whose purpose truly evades me) the new faucet was in place. Brent and Joel did a fabulous job and my house won't look so hillbilly-ish come Saturday.

Hillbilly-ish. Is that a word? Well, it is now.

I drink... ergo I pee.

My friends are constantly amazed at my ability to “hold it” for hours at a time. I believe this trait arose from many long-distance trips while my father served in the Air Force. My father was not one to pull over for a small child’s bladder to empty. I developed “holding it” patterns for years. Therefore, I typically go three times a day. Yes. I know. I’m a freak. Get over it.

However, with the pending nuptials of my eldest niece and her beloved, I realized that I really, REEEELLY need to lose some weight. I drink far too many soft drinks and not nearly enough water. So, I am intentionally drinking more water. Because the tap water in our office tastes a little funky, I come in with a large container of water from my house. (NOTE: I am not spending thousands of dollars on bottled water. There’s just no need)

So, every day I am now ingesting 64 ounces of water. Sixty. Four. Ounces.

And even my bladder cannot contain that amount of liquid and “hold it”. This, of course, means now I’m racing to the bathroom every other hour. Seriously. I am going to have chapped hands from all the washing at the sink.

SIDENOTE: Ladies…. What is it about us/you that leaves drops of water EVERYWHERE in the Ladies’ Room? There are water drops all over the counter and on the floor. Do you wash your hands and then just FLING them dry? A little consideration. Please.

So… I drink, ergo I pee. I figure the racing back and forth should be my cardio for the day as well.

Shark Week? Seriously?

I was perusing along my Facebook page over the weekend when I came across my friend Dave’s Facebook status, all excited about the fact that we were in the beginning throes of Shark Week 2009. My friend Dave lives in Orlando with his beautiful wife Vickie, their baby Mason, and baby-in-the-oven… along with Gracie the faithful family Dalmatian. I suppose since Dave & Company live in Florida, one gets more excited about Shark Week than say those of us who are living in middle Tennessee. Sharks just aren’t that big a deal.

I can take or leave Shark Week. I may even be surfing along the television channels and momentarily stop on the Discovery Channel to watch some huge, frenzied eating machine jump out of the surf and chomp down on its prey. Whatever. My problem with Shark Week?

Well. It is my birthday week.

That’s right ladies and germs… my birthday is fast approaching. I am getting older, and it is likely that my brothers will enjoy ribbing me about this fact. It’s okay. I can take that in stride. But… to have my birthday correlate with Shark Week is bothering me somewhat, and I cannot for the life of me, figure out why.

Maybe it is that some sharks have rather silly names. Everyone has heard of the Tiger Shark or the Hammerhead Shark (the only shark I can actually pick out of a line up!) and of course, the Great White Shark (thanks Steven Spielburg). But did you know there was a Cookie Cutter Shark? I imagine it floats around the great blue deep wearing a frilly apron and oven mitts.

Or, there is the Silky Shark. Do you think it longingly wishes it posed for Victoria’s Secret? But, because it over-indulgenced on that baby seal, it has been shunned as being too hippy?

I think I like the Gulper Shark best. I can see it stopping by the closest 7-11 to grab a Big Gulp of freshly brewed seawater.

Maybe it is because these animals are removing the focus of my yearly celebration from… well… me! Or maybe it is because my birthday is now sandwiched between Shark Week and ELVIS Week.

Makes me worry that I have something in common with sharks and Elvis. I swim. I can sing. But I don't want to thrash about and eat baby seals and I don't want to die on the potty of a drug overdose. But that's just me.

So, go ahead and celebrate sharks and Elvis in the days to come. I am going to slink away somewhere with friends and overindulge in chocolate and be lavished upon in my own way.

I have a new camera... and I want desperately to get a book on how to work it. I have read the little manual, but it does not help me UNDERSTAND the camera. I am going to budget to get the Dummies book for SLR digital cameras. It is out there. I have seen it. I will have it. Later.

TMJ... it's not just for breakfast anymore.

I have lived with TMJ since I was a teenager. It developed while I had braces and unfortunately, I was not intelligent enough at the time to know that my orthodontist had created in me a chronic problem that would last for the rest of my life. As a matter of fact, I remember telling him about the problem and he seriously just shrugged his shoulders at me and essentially told me that these things happen sometimes.

Oh... but for the statute of limitations...

At any rate, I have lived with popping and clicking jaws for more than 20 years now and that has really been the only issue I have had. Until a few months ago.

I began to experience what I first thought was an earache. I went to the doctor, who determined my ears were just fine. My next thought was that I was beginning to have problems with my wisdom teeth.

Yes, America... there are still adults in the world who have kept their wisdom teeth. Mine came in without any problem... straight and true. I even have an extra one for good measure, that has never come through, but makes an appearance whenever an x-ray is taken and all the dentists and hygienists ooh and ahh over it and I feel very, very special. At least for those 30 minutes of teeth-cleaning.

However, before I could get to the dentist to determine if my wisdom teeth were doing me in, I developed almost a numbness in the cheek muscles of the right side of my face. Back to the doctor, who was afraid it was the beginning of Bell's Palsy and therefore started me on steroids and treating me for same.

As long as the steroids were flowing... I was doing fine. However, once the dosage started wearing off, the ache was back with a vengeance. Therefore... back to the doctor I went. I was then referred to an ENT to make sure this was not a neurological problem and the first thing he said upon his examination was.... you guessed it... TMJ!!!

Seriously? I have lived with this for many, many years without actual PAIN. But he likened it to having a trick knee that would just one day go out on you. Then he patted me on the head, referred me to a TMJ specialist (who did not take my insurance and whose 3 hour consultation was going to cost me $250) and sent me on my way.

Just to rule out the wisdom tooth mystery (because I really do like to dabble in my own self-diagnosis - just so when I am right I can point my fingers at the closest physician and do my I-told-you-so dance) I headed to the dentist and determined that my wisdom teeth were just fine (thankyouverymuch - oh you naysayers) and this was indeed a TMJ problem.

My new dentist told me he could fit me for a bite guard that would help me in the evenings, but it would take a few weeks to determine what, if any, my insurance would pay for the cost. (The answer... big, fat NOTHING). In the meantime, I could avail myself of an over-the-counter bite guard from Walgreens.

After standing in the aisle and reading all the labels (and how you were NOT to use them if you have TMJ... Don't.Do.It!) I picked out a brand and proceeded home to boil it and bite down on it and create my own mold.

I used it for a few weeks while I waited to see what my insurance would pay and am now using it in order to save up the money to purchase a real one. (These things ain't cheap, honey!) But the funny part of this story happened a couple of weeks ago. At some point during my REM cycle, I apparently was having nothing else to do with the bite guard because when I woke up in the morning it was not in my mouth.

I had no memory of removing it during the night. I looked around and finally found it hiding out under my pillow.

Seriously.

The next morning, I woke up with it no longer in my mouth... but clutched in my hand.

What the...?

The last time this happened I woke up and found the appliance was not in my mouth and nowhere could I find it in the bed. It was not on the bedside table. I stripped the bed and it was nowhere to be found.

Because it was on the floor, on the other side of the room.

It is probably a good thing I am still single.

Is it Munchkin Land??

Recently a dear friend experienced gall bladder surgery. Having already survived that surgery (my one and only) I made sure to visit with her to generally be a beacon of shining light... as well as to give her sister a break from staying at the hospital. My friend had a pretty rough go of it as her gall bladder was gangrene!!! Who knew that was even possible? She certainly outdid my gall bladder... as my surgeon only named it "the worst gall bladder EVER". He may have passed out if he'd been the doctor who removed my friend's organ.

At any rate... we had plenty of company at the hospital with various friend stopping by and checking on Lou and making her feel oh-so-much-better with just their very presence. As we were taking our leave, our friend Joni walked out with me, we said farewell in the parking lots and headed on to our respective homes.

There had been a really bad wreck on the interstate as an 18-wheeler apparently forgot how big he was and ran his load under an underpass and subsequently got stuck... closing down the interstate! I knew better than to go home that way. So, I thought to take the long way home, through the dark and winding roads.

About 10 minutes into the trip the wind began to blow as if Dorothy and Toto were flying by. Because it was already dark outside (and because tree branches were now hitting my car) I called the parental units to see if there were any warnings out that I needed to be aware of.

Sound of phone ringing and the Maternal Unit answering:

Mom: Hello?

Me: Mom? Hey... are there any weather warnings out I need to be aware of?

Mom: Where are you?

Me: I am driving home from visiting Lou in the hospital, but it has gotten really windy and there is some pretty bad lightning flashing. Are there any warnings?

Mom: I don't know. I'm not watching TV.

Pause for effect

Me: Can you ask Dad?

The Paternal Unit is always watching TV. He knows EVERYTHING.

Mom: Jack... are there any weather warnings? Mumbling response. He's not watching the local news. He's watching a ballgame.

Me: COULD YOU TURN THE CHANNEL TO SEE IF I'M ABOUT TO BE BLOWN AWAY BY A TORNADO?!

Dad: Well... there's something going on around Summit. Where are you?

Me: I just left Summit! Is it a tornado?

Dad: You might want to stop and go back before you hit that bad weather. They are saying there are strong straight-line winds. You know those can be pretty damaging.

Me: I'M HITTING THE BAD WEATHER NOW!!! Am I going to DIE?!

After about three minutes of explaining what I was doing and why I was in a car in bad weather, and didn't I have enough sense not to go out in that weather, even though the weather was perfectfly FINE when I left the hospital, I hung up the phone and prayed.

Ahhh... those parental units. What would we do without them?

I didn't die. I called my friend Joni who was also on the road, and whose home I was going to pass before reaching my home. Joni was just as concerned. The stoplights had all gone out as well as the electricity... but I knew I could at least reach shelter at her cabin at the farm.

Two hours later and the storms had passed and I made my trek home safe and sound.

Yes, I know... it's been a while...

I cannot believe I have not updated since the Derby. Goodness Gracious! We made it through the Preakness and Belmont without a Triple Crown Winner - AGAIN!!! -- since the last time I posted. I PROMISE... I will do better!!!!

I will blame my status on the fact that I have gone back to college, and was therefore studying and generally doing every piece of extra credit work available in order to pass the class. What class? American History, part Uno. (I had three general ed classes yet to fulfill - and two history courses are included in that packet).

I passed the History class. Actually, I didn't just pass it - I ACED it - which made me do the happy dance for days and exclaim my good fortune to any living creature that stood still long enough. The bunnies living in the backyard were so excited for me, they went forth and multiplied! I was a bit jealous... as I was unable to celebrate in the same way. But that did not hamper my celebratory spirit!

Instead, I signed up for a summer class - Appreciation of Theatre. I Aced that bad boy too! I only had to write one paper for that class and was very pleased with my resulting grade. I also had to read several plays - and be able to understand the difference between a fly loft and a flat. Since I have built flats and helped install a fly loft in my not-too-distant past... well, let's say I was happy to have taken one more step on the way to bringing up that pitiful grade point average I had when I was much younger and less apt to actually attend class.

So far for the fall, I will be taking a communications course as well as a course in Classical Mythology. That's going to be some fun reading! I am pretty pumped about it. I'd like to get that last History course in too (American History, Part Deux) but I am not sure that I can get it online. If not... there may be some discussion as to my ability to change my work schedule in order to actually sit in a classroom with 30 or so students who will be young enough that I could have given birth to them.

How interesting, and yet completely frightening would that be? Hmmmm????

135th Kentucky Derby

Yes, it is the first Saturday in May, which means that everything stands still while I watch hours upon hours of pre-Derby events and attempt to pick the winner before "My Old Kentucky Home" is played by the U of L band. I picked the winner last year, but not this year.

I let my emotions rule my choice of horse this year. Yes, I wanted General Quarters to win the big race, mostly because he was a beautiful horse, and who could root against a 75 year old retired school principal who is the owner, trainer, groomer, etc. not to win?

Maybe the sheik. But his horses traveled around the world to not fare all that well.

I actually considered picking Mine that Bird, for the simple fact that I think Calvin Borell is a fun jockey to watch. But I looked at the odds and stuck with my emotional favorite.

And the unthinkable happened... the longshot won by a landslide and while my pick crossed the finish line 10th in the race... there is something extremely wonderful about a longshot flying by all the big shots and winning the roses.

Smells like chicken... or not

I walked into the back door of my home today and began frantically searching for my parents, whom I could only assume had died of smoke inhalation, as the house smelled quite like a fire had just recently been extinguished.

I was wrong.

Instead, the maternal unit had started boiling chicken for a chicken salad she had planned and then made the mistake of beginning to read a good book. The book was good enough for her to become so engrossed in it that she forgot all about the chicken.

You would think that the smell of scorched and burning chicken would bring her from her stupor. However, you must remember, if you didn't already know this, that the maternal unit has no sense of smell.

The paternal unit apparently does not either... unless of course he was smoking his pipe, in which case he might be off the hook. Once the rolling black smoked started pouring from the kitchen, the maternal unit ran to turn off the stove and open all the windows to air out the house.

This happened three hours before I came home. The smell was still VERY strong when I arrived.

Plan B was to make more chicken (yeah!) with mixed veggies and baked potatos.

And bread. She made bread too. Cut and sliced pieces of bread - buttered them and put them under the broiler.

And. Forgot. Them.

When I arrived in the kitchen to see dark smoke rising from the oven... well... let's just say that the smell of burning bread is just about the only thing that will cover the smell of scorched and burning chicken.

I am pretty sure that's why she burned the bread.

At least that's our story... and we're sticking to it!