I just keep getting older...

... my kids are too quickly reaching adulthood - and the perils that lay in wait for them.

My Katy has attended her senior prom. In just 12 more days (Good Grief!) she will be a high school graduate! How can this be?!

Where is the little linebacker that was born oh so many years old? I always called her a linebacker because as a toddler, she was just rough and ready! Throwing her weight around and not kow-towing to anyone!

As an infant, she was quite a handful. Literally! She reFUSED to go to sleep... fearing, I am certain, of what she would miss. It fell on me, more often than not, to get her to sleep. I would wrap her up tightly in a blanket and take her into an area of the house that was the darkest and quietest and walk with her until she finally gave in to the sleep that was so desperately needed.

She had problems with her eyes as a little one and was given glasses to wear even before she was completely potty-trained - I think. She was never one to suffer those glasses for long and she had corrective surgery that took care of the problem.

Wasn't that just yesterday? I am certain that little one should not look as grown as this now:

Ah well... I think I'm off to purchase a rocker at Cracker Barrell to ease my way into senility!

I'll Have Fries with That

Well, it is official. I have been minus an organ for one year now. It is hard to believe that my gall bladder has been gone for that length of time... and I can still think fondly of my hospital stay and surgery experience.

That says a lot coming from a chicken like me!

So, how does one celebrate the one year anniversary of the removal of one's gall bladder? Why, one heads to the nearest Burger King and orders a Number One Meal - medium sized - with a Coke! (That's a Quarter Pounder with cheese, for those who don't know)

You see... I have not had a hamburger (or red meat for that matter) in the past year. I have nibbled on a meatball in sauce a couple of times, but I don't think that really counts. I have not had a steak, or roast, or anything else that resembles a cow.

Well. Milk. I drink milk. But that's not the same.

So, I hit the LaVergne Burger King at about 3:30 on the 18th (the official day) and placed my order. Did I want the whole meal, or just the burger? Well... if I'm going to do this - let's go all out!

I ripped into that bag like I had been fasting for 40 days. The fries were gone by the time I got back to my house. Then, it was time for the real deal - and my teeth sank into that meat and the ANGELS SANG!!! I had forgotten what a charbroiled hunk of meat tasted like. Sigh.

The even greater joy is that this dash to debauchery didn't ripped my tummy up. Some would argue that this means I can indulge in the joy of fast food burgers to my heart's content.

Alas - I believe I will leave it to a celebration on April 18. But at least now I have something to look forward to during tax season!!!

You Could Grow Crabs Somewhere

Girlfriends are great. They lift you up when you are down. They humble you when you are proud. They have insight beyond wisdom and they will eat chocolate with you until you puke.

I have had my share of great gal pals during my life. When I was in elementary school, my buds were Laura and Connie. We went through school together from fourth grade on. We were all SHS Bulldogs and proud of it. We parted ways once college hit - although I did have a number of classes with Laura. But Laura got married and we lost touch. Connie went to work while I stayed in school and we lost touch for a number of years, but we see each other now on a weekly basis and I am honored with her abiding friendship.

My best friend Mary (that is her official title - because whenever I reference her name, it is always "my best friend Mary") did not come into my life until I had graduated high school. She is a year older than me and already had a year of college under her belt when tragedy brought us together. Her father was the youth director at the church I attended. He was killed much too early in life in a motorcycle accident and I met Mary while we were both grieving his loss. Hers being much greater than mine, of course.

Mary is a person who you can go for months without talking to and pick right up where you left off. Mary lives in another state, married a great guy and named her only child after Jerry's grandmother and me. How cool is that?! The family was in town for Easter recently and I got to spend some time with them. I have determined Mary & Jerry are the BEST.PARENTS.EVER because Lora Cathryn has turned out so well. I'd like to take LOADS of credit for this by way of some sort of osmosis... but that really isn't very fair. Needless to say - if the phone rings in the middle of the night and it is Mary - I will do whatever needs to be done. No questions asked. No hesitations. Done. And I know Mary would say the same for me.

Lisa was my first roomate after college. We spent a couple of years laughing hysterically at life and people we watched do stupid things. We lived in an apartment in the middle floor of a complex. That was a big mistake. Mostly because we were certain the middle-eastern man below us was a terrorist manufacturing some sort of explosive device (What in the world can one person do with THAT.MUCH.FERTILZER?) and drug dealers living above us. (Are they playing FOOTBALL up there?!) We were grateful for the night that Lisa heard something scratching outside her bedroom window and found a huge extension ladder leading to the floor above. Garbage bags filled with who-knows-what peppered the ground and people made their way up and down - and then we never heard or saw those people again. Lisa is now a school teacher and works with community theater here - and is a darn fine actress!

Lou and Amy fall in BFF category because of their wit and ability to roll with the punches. We make annual treks either to the mountains or the beach for girl time away from the hassles of work and other monotonous daily grinds. We accept each other for what we are and we move on ahead. We can and do disagree at times, but we typically don't let those disagreements snag our friendships.

And then... there is Requelle.

Requelle is a girl that when I first met I never thought would be in the BFF category. Mostly because we are both controllers and we were thrown together (the fault of Carey Dean - as are most things in life) in a working environment that really embraced unity and teamwork. That looked great on paper, but in the real world - there were two chefs in the kitchen. Both wielding large knives at the other one. Both trying not to kill Carey Dean on any given day... for any given reason.

We worked together a good year before we really started to click. We finally began to see the other's strong points and weak points and how we could best relate to each other. There were plenty of times of asking and receiving forgiveness and we lived through productions and conventions and hours upon hours of light settings! Once you have been down that road - you are BFFs whether you intended it or not.

One of the best parts of our relationship - as far as I am concerned - is our ability to laugh together and dream together. If I can make Req laugh until she pukes - I consider my day a huge success! If I can say or do something that embarrasses the smack out of her - the bonus comes from watching her blush - followed by laughter that will make her hurl. I love that part of my relationship.

We are two single girls who have never been married - but would still like that privilege. We have conjured our individual dream men (Emerson and Jonas) and what traits we would like said men to embody. Mine would be a tall, wealthy rancher in Montana (horse ranch, BTW, not cows) who already has kids and doesn't want any more. Said children are pre or newly teens who love me just because I'm me.

Req doesn't share this dream. She needs to be near a large body of salt water - and Utah's lake just doesn't count.

While we were talking about this the other day, I was attempting to figure out what my saltwater friend could do in the wilds of Montana and still be happy. I remembered that everytime she goes home to Maryland, she returns with pounds and pounds of crabmeat, which she then turns into some sort of delicacy that I simply don't get behind. But that's just me. It was this thought process that forced the following statement from my mouth:

"You could grow crabs somewhere"

There was the shortest breath of a pause before we both burst into laughter and I visualized Requelle pulling her car over to save her upholstery from a fate worse than... well... you get the pictures.

Best Friends Forever.

Be that way...

I called to wish my friend Req a Happy Birthday today. I asked if she liked her birthday present... as we had some snow on the ground and I was taking complete credit for it. She gushed on and on and ON about the purity and loveliness that is snow and how blessed her day is because of it.

Then I realized my birthday is in August. The most I could hope for is a tornado or hurricane passing through.

Req's birthday gets a pretty blanket of fluffy white stuff. My birthday gets death and destruction.

Life is so not fair.

Happy Birthday Req!

Why Are You Dressed...

... like a dead country music icon?


1) Because its Valentine's Day

2) Because I am having a bad hair day

3) Because my face has broken out

4) Because I started my period

5) All of the above

So BACK OFF before I hack you to pieces with a kitchen knife AND feel good about it!

"You're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat"

In the summer of 1975 I was 11 years old and there was the newest sort of horror film on the big screen. It was horrific not for men dressed as women and stabbing through a shower curtain, but because the film depicted something that the 11 year-old brain could conceive as a possibility.

Especially in the summer. Especially right before a family vacation to Daytona Beach, Florida.

I am talking about the movie Jaws. Like most young people, I watched the commercials advertising this movie – complete with the creepy music – and wondered at the mysteries of the deep blue ocean. I never thought my father would actually deign to take my family and me to this film, but away we went.

We traveled to the old Belle Meade Theater in Nashville one evening and plopped ourselves down in the cushioned seats with soft drinks and popcorn perched precariously between my younger brother and myself. The theater darkened. The creepy music began and film life was recreated for me in an instant.

I watched an almost-nude woman swim through the ocean as her drunken boyfriend passed out on the shore. I sat transfixed as said woman thrashed about and clung to a buoy for dear life and my eyes widened when she went under and never came back for air. I laughed at the dialogue between a group of fisherman and Matt Hooper and came out of my seat when the disembodied head popped out of the hull of a stranded boat. (I think popcorn went flying through the air).

The following week my family was indeed on Daytona Beach and I flatly refused to enter the water. My father, never one to cower to fear, promptly threw me over his shoulder and marched to the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. And. Dropped. Me. In. It. He stood in my way and did not allow retreat and I accepted that while I could indeed become shark bait, perhaps Jaws would see my father’s bulk and determine that I was not worth the trouble when there was such meat food to eat. Selfish of me, I know… but it is a shark-eat-shark world when you are up to your neck in the briny deep.

However, I loved the movie. Loved it, loved it, loved it. I will still watch it to this day if I am surfing the channels and happen upon it. I have my own DVD whenever the mood strikes to relive my childhood or to quote a movie. Thus began my love for this film and for all the actors and characters attached to it.

I loved the sarcastic, yet intelligent wit that was found in Matt Hooper’s character. My favorite line of his:

“I think that I am familiar with the fact that you are going to ignore this particular problem until it swims up and BITES YOU ON THE _____!!”

I loved that Robert Shaw appeared in this film (as I had seen him as a villain in a James Bond movie) and he gave a stunning performance as he described having been on the Naval vessel Indianapolis that sank during WWII:

“… until he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'.”

But the most memorable quote from that film (for me) comes from Chief Brody, who has finally seen the shark for the first time (with the rest of the audience)

“You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

Roy Schneider, Chief Brody, died today of a staph infection. He was 75 years old. He had been treated for cancer over the past years and the acting world as well as the community at large will surely miss him, as he was a proponent for arts in education. He was a fine actor who received a couple of Oscar nominations, though the trophy itself eluded him.

A well-loved actor left his mark on the world and the community around him. His talent will certainly be missed.

Gotta Love Super Tuesday

While I was huddled in the hallway of my home praying the storms away, I had family members in Arkansas oblivious to my pain and fear.

But, at least, they stood close enough to be caught on film. The bottom left is my cousin, who is standing in front of my aunt (hogging the limelight! Ha!) The little boy on the front row is her oldest son and the man in the denim shirt behind him is her father, my favorite uncle. (Of course, he is also my ONLY uncle.)

But where, oh where, is her youngest son? He'd be right about here:

Not even the promise of a political landslide victory will keep him from snoozing away.

Poor little guy. Ah well...

Be Careful of that 75th year!

I am typically not one to warn people of impending birthday doom; however, if your 75th birthday is even remotely comparable to my mother’s 75th birthday… you are going to want to plan ahead.

1) Plan ahead to "fake out" your true age.
As my maternal unit approached her 75th birthday, it appeared she wanted to make sure the world didn't "realize" she had reached such a milestone. So, two weeks prior to the birthday she felt she needed to move a microwave and a stand-alone freezer. By. Herself. She did pretty well until she twisted the wrong way on the knee she'd had surgery on. This found her propped up in the bed with a large amount of pillows under her knee and ice packs over her knee. She hobbled along for a few days with a goodly amount of determination that she was "better" and had no need for a physician.

Having finally achieved her walking status, the week prior to her 75th day found her moving a large space heater from one room to another. With. No. Help. This became problematic when she dropped said space heater On. Her. Bad. Knee.

Strike Two. Back to the bed for a few days. Alternating between ice packs and heating pads and swallowing Advil, as if it were the finest chocolate. No plans for medical treatment in her future.

Never let them see you age.

2) Plan ahead to receive pornography on your computer.
Considering that she has recently retired, the maternal unit made a decision to cash in her 401K plan. About two days prior to her 75th birthday, she made an online request for the necessary forms from her 401K provider. So, when she received an email with the subject line "Here's What You Requested" she logically assumed she was receiving her requested forms.

Never assume.

What she received instead is nothing that she has ever requested online before. Namely still photographs of writhing bodies in various stages of ecstasy and completely unclothed. Those artistic works also attached a virus to her computer and now she cannot seem to get away from said writhing bodies. Nor can we seem to remove them from the hard drive. (Attach tacky comment here)

This wasn't the most disturbing of developments for me; rather, my father's interest in said writhing bodies. My father, who is only eight months younger than my mother, never comes near the computer.

"What kind of porn did you get?"

"What do you mean, what kind? It was porn."

"What did it look like?"

"Nekkid people."

"What were they doing?"

Silence.

"Were they still pictures or was it moving pictures?"

"Still pictures. It was pictures of (_______)"

"Oh."

Thankfully the discussion ended there before I had to intervene with a lecture to my very adult parents. Some things I remain grateful for.


3) Plan ahead for Home Repairs
A 75th milestone is not one to move about with stealth or guile. It will smack you in the head with the reminder that you are not invincible... and neither is your 40 year old home. Gremlins will attack and they may head for the electrical system.

I have warned my parents of the inevitability of our failing electrical system at Casa De Bell for some time now. I said this because we have replaced the roof (thanks to a hail storm), replaced the plumbing (thanks to some frozen pipes), and replaced the heating and cooling system (thanks to the age and condition of the old unit). It only stood to reason that the next phase would be the electrical wiring.

Our home is very old. I believe it was originally built in the 50s. Then, the owner built onto the original structure two more times. We are powered with fuseboxes. Five of them. When we first moved into the house, we went through and mapped out which fuses went to which lines and we keep a piece of paper with notes telling us which fuses operate which rooms, etc.

We replace fuses all the time. We could probably take the amount of money we have spent on fuses for the past twenty years and build another addition on to our home. Or a swimming pool in the back yard. One was never certain what caused the fuse to blow. Perhaps you were running a load of laundry and decided to make a pot of coffee. Or you were watching TV and turned on a lamp. The fuse would blow. There was no rhyme or reason.

So, when the lights in the living room started flickering recently I said that all encompassing phrase: uh-oh. (It stinks to be a prophet, when you know said prophecy is going to cost a lot of money!) We lived with flickering lights for a couple of weeks before we actually lost all power to the living room and kitchen.

On. The. 75th. Birthday.

The maternal unit did not take this latest blow very well. But, she was able to do an internet search (beyond the porn) to find an electrician.

Mr. Sparky.

(Insert bad attempt at humor over the name in light of the recent pornographic material here)
Mr. Sparky is a company that does work on electrical problems for the home. The representative we had was a wonderfully nice fellow who braved hurricane conditions to travel to our home and see what he could do. We had a number of problems, all of which were fixed in a goodly amount of time, and Mr. Sparky left with the intention of returning the next day to give us an estimate on what it would take to bring our electrical system into the 21st century.

It will take a lot. It is taking place even as I type. It will take an electrical crew an entire day to complete. But then we will love life and everyone in and around our circles of influence as the gremlins will have been exorcised back to the pits of hell.

The youngest of the siblings took the 75th celebrant and his two older siblings out to dinner to celebrate. He took us to a Sushi bar/Hibachi grill for good food and relaxation for the maternal unit who was inundated with emotions from having received porn and a large estimate for electrical work. But, all was well with the world as our Grill Master sliced and diced before us.

Until the cell phone rang.

The power was back off at Casa De Bell and Mr. Sparky was nowhere to be found.

But, we have held the gremlins at bay for the past two days. Our freezer was emptied and foodstuffs were taken to the church for storage, and we figured out how to keep the power on in the two affected rooms.

Turn on the stove.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. When the lights and power go out in the living room and kitchen, simply turn the knob of any stove eye and the power will return. For approximately 15 minutes.

Gremlins. You gotta love 'em.

Happy Birthday Mom.

The snow gods are Laughing

There is something to be said for the rush of exhilaration that courses through the body of a young person faced with the possibility of a snow day. That same exhilaration has the power to overwhelm adults on occasion, if they are not in control of their emotions and/or their sensory functions.

You would think that having lived the majority of life in middle Tennessee would dampen my spirits to the possibility of a snow day. I remember praying to the snow gods above to pour out their blessings upon the earth to get me out of school… specifically if there was a test looming on my horizon. It never failed to work against me. If I studied and crammed for the test, we would not go to school. If I slacked off, we got not one flake of snow. The snow gods hated me as a child.

The snow gods, as a matter of fact, apparently hate middle Tennessee in general, as they have not visited our area in some time. (I am certain that Al Gore has a scientific reason for this… but I digress)

The snow gods do get a pretty good chuckle out of the actions of middle Tennesseans faced with inclement weather. If the words “snow”, “sleet”, or “frozen precipitation” are even vaguely mentioned on local newscasts, the Volunteers set out en masse to the nearest grocery store to “stock up” on supplies that will allow them to brave the fiercest of storms. You will not find a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, or a roll of toilet paper in the city. National Guard troops will have to drop load from C130 aircraft in order for Nashvillians to endure the first 24 hours of snowfall. The local television stations will suffer the elements to broadcast in front of the local Kroger whilst mass hysteria erupts behind them.

And the snow gods laugh quietly to themselves.

As an adult, snow days held less ability to affect my personal life. I was raised by a military father who, when faced with even the remotest possibility of a snow day, set his alarm for three hours before he normally awoke in order to examine the state of the road conditions. If there was snow, he dressed quickly and got on the road before the rest of mankind had a chance to awaken and bring the greater Nashville area to a standstill. His little Chevy hatchback never missed a beat, and my father never missed work. I learned that missing work on a snow day for a Bell just was not acceptable. I either caught a ride with my father at the crack of dawn, or I followed in my own car at the same time.

My dad also had about 15 different snow routes he could take to work. These were less traveled roads where his little front wheel drive would not encounter traction issues. As I think back on this, it is probably why I have a good five or six different ways to get to work myself. I am always prepared to make a detour if an accident shuts down the roadways.

My dad is retired now and does not have to watch news reports or set an alarm clock. I am not retired. I am my father’s daughter. There was a possibility of a snow day just this morning.

My alarm went off early (5:00 am) and I pushed the power button on my remote to turn on the television. I gazed through bleary sleep-crusted eyes at the local weatherman and the map behind him. It was a map of the school closings in the area. The map was all the same color. Oh My Goodness! All the schools were closed! The exhilaration kicked in as I jumped from the bed and quickly dressed. I have a toothbrush and paste at my office, so I will simply brush my teeth when I get there. A couple of quick swipes of deodorant and I was out the door.

The roads were not slick yet, but it was only a matter of time. The temperatures were dropping and the rain was pouring down. I quickly arrived at my office (one hour before my normal arrival time) so that I could answer the phones in the event that my boss was trapped by the weather and could not make his appointments.

I waited by the phone. I manned my desk. I breathed deeply in and out. I logged onto the internet to check the school closing listing for further updates and my brain finally kicked in.

The weather map was all one color because none of the school systems were closing for rain.

The snow gods are still laughing at me.

You Can’t Keep a Good Bell Down!

It amazes me on an almost-daily basis, that I am as normal as possible, given my upbringing. We are a family of dichotomy on the best of days. We have varying degrees of maturity, salaries and expenses, political stances and musical tastes. We also have what most Americans would view as a rather “reactive” stance when it comes to health care.

Which is amazing considering my father worked in health care his entire life and retired from Baptist Hospital in Nashville, Tennessee.

We as a family don’t really embrace the medical profession, as most people should. We typically wait until we are upon death’s door before seeking medical help. I am trying to do better in my personal healthcare life, but I admittedly have some way to go. Having had a gall bladder removed will go a long way in quickly putting to rest some essential fears (i.e. needles, anesthesia) I have found that my derision for the healthcare world must come from my maternal unit.

Today the Mom had an appointment with a new-to-her doctor. She has seen this doctor a couple of times. The first time she saw him was for a knee problem that ultimately resulted in knee surgery for her. A not-so-great experience that I felt may have rung the death knoll for future medical procedures for the Mom. At her next appointment with this doctor, she was advised that she need to have a physical and that her cholesterol was up. This young doctor (everyone is young to my almost 75 year old mother) suggested that she begin taking medication to keep her cholesterol down; however, the Mom didn’t want to take a medication and felt that a daily regimen of oatmeal for breakfast would work wonders, since that is what the commercials promise (and they never lie in advertising). She was given a six-month prescription for a daily mediation she takes and was instructed to return for another visit after six months.

Six months ended today. The Mom went back to the doctor today. The Mom may never return!!

The young doctor examined the Mom and told her that her heart sounds good, her lungs sound clear, her eyes are bright and the runny nose is something everyone else is dealing with right now, so just suck up that snot and move on. He wrote her an 12-month prescription for her daily meds and then came the kicker.

“Mrs. Bell, you owe me.”

“Okay. I’ll be happy to pay the bill once you give it to me.”

“No… you owe me a bone density scan, a Pap Test, a mammogram, an EKG, a tetnus shot and you need a booster for Typhoid and Smallpox. And oh yes, a colonoscopy.”

He may as well have asked for a Partridge in a Pear Tree and Ten Lords-A-Leaping while he was at it.

“Why do I need a smallpox booster? I am never around that disease”

“You are behind on your booster. It is always a good idea to keep up with those”

“I don’t have a lot of time to do all these things.”

“I tell you what, just make an appointment on your way out for one or two of them. You can pick which ones.” (What?! Are you kidding me? You never give the MOM that kind of option!)

The Mom makes her way to the appointment desk.

Receptionist: “Now, Mrs. Bell, you are supposed to make an appointment for some tests.”

“I’ll call you when I get home”

At which point the Mom escaped via the front door and with her 12-month prescription in hand and can breathe relatively easy… except for that runny nose.

New update in approximately 12 months! Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night!

Circle of Life

I have learned many things in my lifetime and the newest tidbit o'wisdom I am going to share is to never, EVER visit with your friend right before surgery.

Why? Because if you do... you will be cursed!

Case in point: remember my friend who had knee surgery back in the spring? Remember how a few weeks later I was having my gall bladder removed? Well, it appears that we (the friends who were at Requelle's surgery in the spring) have been somehow tied together with medical conditions that are freakishly similar.

Our friend Jon had his knee operated on just about a month ago. His wife Suzanne had her gall bladder removed a few weeks later. The connection? We were ALL at Requelle's bedside to give her support during her knee surgery.

Coincidence? I think not!

Jon had what were termed as artifacts floating in his knee. It makes me think of Indiana Jones... except that Jon doesn't look much like Harrison Ford (no pierced ear... yet). I see a fedora and whip dangling and Jon running before a huge boulder. But, since the surgery, Jon isn't really up for running as yet.

Suz has been dealing with pain for some time now and sure enough... that old gall bladder struck again and out it came! Suz was at Requelle's bedside with me too! Suz actually helped to nurse Req back to health! It was only a matter of time before Suz fell prey to the Circle of Surgery that befell Jon and I.

We think it may have been that Requelle had surgery cooties that we were not prepped for! Darn the luck.

So, my word to the wise... careful of who you visit and support in a medical crisis! Get that cootie shot!

Quite Thankful

We had a house full of people at the Bell homestead for Thanksgiving this year. It was the annual family gathering, and this time the Arkansas contingent had to travel to us! My cousin finally understood what it means when I say that I-40 from Nashville to Little Rock is the LONGEST STRETCH OF ROAD IN THE WORLD!!! I'm pretty certain that I am right about this.

The family began arriving Wednesday night with a Honey-Baked Ham in tow. We enjoyed that ham almost as much as Mom's turkey and other fixins'!

Our home is not truly serviceable for seven adults and two children to reside in. Mostly because we have a rinky-dink hot water heater and if someone takes a shower (a true necessity with that many people) it will be about an hour before the next person can shower. Since the YMCA was closed on Thanksgiving... I drove over to a friend's house and showered there.

There was sooooo much food eaten! Great discussions to be had. Lots of football to watch and those brain-damaged members of my family were planning their Black Friday shopping strategery with the same passion I am sure General George Patton planned his WWII tactics! Ads and coupons and lists were strewn about and my three brain-damaged nieces decided to stay at our house AND stay awake all night for fear they would fall asleep and not wake up in time to be at a retail outfit at 4:00. AM. In.the.morning. What is wrong with this picture?

At any rate, we had a great time. Took loads of pictures. Watched a lot of football - Darn that 4th OT Kentucky loss to UT. Man. and were thankful beyond measure!

It's Only a Flesh Wound

The sisters are continuing to enjoy the sights and sounds of the tropics and Hawaii has not moved to secede from the Union... so all is well. Relatively speaking.

The sisters have not stopped their antics since they arrived in Hawaii. No, indeed. They go from tour bus to tour bus, stopping and enjoying the scenery, only to reload said tour bus and start again. They have traveled the island far and wide. They have gone to Pearl Harbor and the USS Arizona. They have island hopped to the Big Island and toured the volcanoes. They have attended luaus... and they have eaten flowers.

They don't taste like chicken, by the way.

I did receive a phone call on Saturday evening as I was walking into my nephew's football game. It was my mother and she was laughing so hard, she could barely speak. This always bodes for some new and exciting adventure... and some sort of upset as well. This time was no different.

Apparently the sisters were headed to some sort of show they had paid good money to see. One of those floating boat shows where the hula dancers move gracefully over the water and the men twirl flaming batons about. It was something to behold.

My aunt hates water. Have I ever mentioned that before? She does. She has a less than healthy fear of the water and I'm not exactly sure where the fear originates, but it is there. Can she swim? Yes. But she would rather not. She doesn't mind being near and in the water, as long as it is no deeper than her ankles.

Saturday night the sisters were instructed by a well-meaning gentleman that if they crossed a small body of water (via stepping stones) they would have better seats with which to see the show. He did not instruct that said stones would be slippery and of course, who would fall in the water and fear drowning? My aunt.

Before you berate me for my lack of sympathy here at my aunt's fear and her worry of drowning, let me advise you that the water was about two feet deep. Once her baby sister's demise was less than imminent, my mother began laughing her fool head off, took said baby sister to a first aid room to see to the scrapes and swelling of her knee, and promptly called me to explain what had happened... except she was laughing so hard I couldn't understand anything that was being said and she cut off the connection anyway.

I am certain that I do not have all the details of the story right... as it was difficult to understand between the gasps of laughter that were exploding from both sisters. But, all is seemingly well. They will not be stopped. They have since purchased an Ace bandage for my aunt's knee and hopefully some Ibuprofen to help with the swelling... and they march magnificently onward...

... laughing all the way.

So Far So Good...

Thelma and Louise have been officially in Hawaii for two days now and nothing catostrophic has occurred. At least, nothing that has been reported via cell phone or made the national headlines. I am certain that many things have occurred, but the island is still safe for habitation and it appears the plant life is still in tact.

They left Little Rock at the crack of dawn (literrally) to take a puddle jumper to Chicago where there was... surprise, surprise... an almost two hour delay. It appears that the original plane was having maintenance issues and they were sent to another gate to board a second plane. The sisters had to move quickly as the seating was on a first come-first serve basis... and they were not the only people headed to Hawaii.

There was a gentleman who had taken their picture whilst waiting in line at the first gate and so the sisters thought to follow him, assuming he knew where he was going. He did know where he was going, and thanks to Janelle, my mother did not follow the man into the men's room. As she started to walk in, Janelle grabbed the back of her shirt and kept her from scaring the pants off any number of men who were in the business of doing their business.

As it seems, their 9:15 plane finally took off at about 11:05 and they were on their way to paradise. The flight took close to nine hours and they were appalled and dismayed that there was no food service on the flight. Oh, don't mistake... there was food... you just had to pay for it and the sisters dished out $10 for two turkey sandwiches during their flight.

Papa Bear and I kept an eye on their whereabouts via http://www.flightstats.com/ which allow us to see where they were located, their altitude, and other wondrous information that was meaningless to us. The sisters did not sleep on the plane and when they landed, it was 3:00 in the afternoon. They were quite hungry and managed to get themselves in to the hotel and get some dinner... at which point they both crashed and burned and slept the rest of the day/night away.

Which was a good thing since they were up again at the crack of dawn to load onto a tour bus for a day-long sightseeing trip that took them all over the island of Oahu. They called in the evening and let me know they had seen some surfers and to remind me that I really do need to go to the island at my earliest convenience. Yeah. I'm all about that!

Today they plan to tour the USS Arizona and Pearl Harbor. So far, they have fought the desire to eat any of the plant life... but there is plenty of time for that!

Is that a Tsunami? No... It's the Sisters!

Watch out Pacific coast! Hang on to your surfboards all you North Shore-ers... the Lovitt Sisters are headed to Hawaii for their next great adventure. The natives will be restless until they leave the islands in tact... and it is doubtful there will be much tact once these two hit the south pacific!

After a weekend roller coaster of emotions, Papa Bear was proclaimed in good health and so Thelma and Louise did not have to cancel their vacation after all and will be leaving out tomorrow morning bright and early to start their newest journey.

So far it has been pretty good. KT and I took Nana to Memphis on Sunday to meet up with the other side of the family.

KT regaled us with her own brand of "KT Science", namely the fact that when she gets goose bumps, or chill bumps, the hairs on her legs grow at an astronomical rate. Nana and I laughed so hard as to almost have to pull over, but we made it on to Memphis where we joined up with Little Sister and my cousin for some shopping (I mean, come on... there's a MALL there) and eating out at Chili's. KT was appalled to know that Nana can fit everything she will need for 10 days in Hawaii in a carry-on bag with only two pair of shoes. KT needs a different pair of shoes for each day she will be on vacation. Little did she know that Nana packed and repacked her bag so often she may end up in the Guiness Book of World Records. Word has it on good authority today that they have repacked four more times... though Lil Sister repacked six, because twice she picked up her bag without closing it and had to put everything that was dumped out back in. Nothing but good times ahead.

Not to think that Thelma and Louise would be outdone by KT's Science, their minds have worked their own type of knowledge... namely dealing with my mother's lack of sense of smell. That's right... Ma Bell can't smell nuthin'. I always told her that was why she could eat cooked cabbage... because she couldn't smell it.

Lil Sis hates that Big Sis will not fully enjoy the magic of the islands... that is, the floral smells that permeate the air. They have, therefore, deduced that since my mother's taste is not affected by her sense of smell... perhaps she would appreciate the scent of the island if she were to taste the flowers there... instead of sniffing away at nothing at all.

Of course, you can't plan to experiment with science of this magnitude without testing it first... so once they returned from running errands today, Mom sat down and munched on a magnolia blossom.

I am praying they will not be arrested for chowing down on the Hawaiian state flower.

There is nothing like a dame... unless it is these two!

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, Back to the ER We Go...

Ahh... the joys of the ER. I must say, I have seen the inside of the ER at Stone Crest Medical Center more this year than I have EVER seen in my life. Katy was there once. I was there once and now my father has been there twice. We love the ER there... and the personnel. They are fabulous and we couldn't be happier.

Well... I guess we'd be happier if we weren't going to the ER every so often.

That's right, girls and boys... the Bell family made their way back to the ER on Saturday night with Papa Bell to make sure that a little problem he was having wasn't a BIG problem.

After the maternal unit forced me to see the Jungle Book version that Cirque brought to Nashville (pretty costumes and sets... but honestly how many times does that little Mongolian girl have to turn herself into a pretzel before I'm heading towards the door?) we returned home to find Papa Bear in the recliner and waiting to tell us "THE NEWS." I won't fill you in on the details, but suffice it to say, THE NEWS was enough for us to take him back to the ER with a piece of toilet paper in a Ziploc baggie. 'Nuff said? I sure hope so.

We arrived much the same way we did the first time... me paving the way and requesting the assistance of a wheelchair and this time the nurse who arrived was taller and bigger than me (no small feat... get it?! Ha. I crack myself up) and she whisked Dad into the admitting area again where the same little nurse took his vitals, etc. and he was settled into a room.

The eldest of the Bell offspring was with me this time and we waited in the waiting room for them to get Dad settled and then we hung out in Room 20 to get our groove on and the party started whilst waiting for the doctor.

And guess what!? The doctor was the same ER physician that I saw when I had my gall bladder removed. (Insert song: It's a Small World After All) We reintroduced ourselves and I told him he had seen me back in April, and he was pleased to know I was still living. He took the Bear's history and listened and when Dad said he was eating Pepto Bismal tablets (a fact I didn't know at the time) (because the GI doctor told him too) he stopped us right there and called me over to see his chart.

"Can you read?"

"Um... yes..."

"Come here and read what I have written on my chart."

Looks at the chart and tries to make out the doctor's hand-writing.

"Pepto Bismal."

"That's right. When you take a lot of Pepto, the acids in your stomach turn it black, and it makes your poop black too."

Dad: "Do you mean, I came to the ER because of Pepto Bismal?"

"Pretty much."

Because of Dad's previous issues, they went ahead and did lab work and the doctor tested the poopy toilet tissue... all the lab work was normal and no blood in the poopy... which means Mom gets to go to Hawaii on Tuesday after all.

Dad got to go home and eat a cheeseburger. All is well again in the world.

... as far as we know.

Only in my Family...

Friday morning was a bit of a scare here at the Bell house. Upon awakening, I found that my father had been sick during the evening and had thrown up. You must know that I can remember no time in recent history that my father had been ill enough to actually worship the procelain god... but he was doing so in the wee morning hours of the day.

This is not a typical cause for concern, except that my father has been on blood thinners for 12 years because of previous blood clots, and what he was throwing up bore a striking resemblence to old blood. We'd rather not think that my father is bleeding internally, and therefore after much cajoling, and a second round at the procelain altar, my father conceded to go to the ER here in Smyrna.

I paved the way. I left right before they did so that I could arrive at the hospital and have a wheelchair to assist my father in through the hospital waiting area. I also knew that if he were in a wheelchair, he would be seen quicker. I was right... and I wheeled him right in to the ER admitting area where the RN took his vitals, history and asked why we were here.

Once all the paperwork was underway our RN took over wheelchair operating duties and Mom and I stood to follow her down the hall. And we waited. And waited. And waited some more as our RN slllloooooowly made her way pushing my father. I wondered why she was moving so slow. At first, I thought she was just being very sensitive to my father's nausea and didn't want to jar him. I was a bit chagrined knowing that I acted like Dale Earnhart, Jr. whilst I was wheeling him about, not thinking of his upset tummy at all... but just wanting him to get medical care as quickly as possible.

But then I realized we were moving so slowing because our RN walked with a fairly noticeable limp. And, upon closer examination, it almost appeared as if the wheelchair were holding her up and doing her as much good as my father. I don't mean to belittle her at all, because she was wonderful... albeit, my father could have walked on his own to the room quicker than our nurse was pushing him.

But, we got in the room and got Dad settled and into a hospital gown and waited for the doctor to appear. Mom made a joke about not having her camera to commemorate this moment, and since I had the technology, Dad insisted that I take a picture of him with my camera phone. Yep... we live to make memories here in the Bell home. Once finished, I stepped outside to make various and assundry phone calls and when I returned, the rather young physician had already been in and talked with the parental units, performed a rectal exam (OUCH!) and declared there was no bleeding in that portion of the anatomy, for which we were very grateful. Dad's nausea had calmed by this time (mine would too if a doctor had put his finger you-know-where) and we were watching the Today show when two new RNs appeared. One male, one female.

They came to draw blood and start an IV solution of saline, which is standard operating procedure in a hospital (I know this because I have been in the hospital now and I lived to tell about the IV experience) What we didn't know was that apparently the girl was a newbie... as she asked a question to the guy about something as simple as "do I wipe the vein before the stick" (an answer I could have provided would be something like "YES!!! And get those gloves on!"), he answered her... and I realized that it all made sense to have a fresh-out-of-school nurse, since we had still-in-school doctors when Mom was at the Vandy ER a couple of years ago after her knee surgery.

The IV issue was pain free and Jack & Jill RN left the room and left the door open so we could be heard in the event that we broke into song and dance, or Dad got sick again... and thankfully neither happened. Now that Dad was hooked up to the IV, it was time to break out the camera phone again and snap another shot. He insisted. I complied.

Dad, by the way, is completely in his element in a hospital situation. That makes sense since he worked in one all his adult life. When the nurse asked questions, my father proudly rattled off protime numbers that could have been lottery winners, for all I knew... and the nursing and doctor staff were adequately impressed with him, which made everyone happy.

Since the door was open, we got a clear shot of people walking up and down the hallway. An immigrant was running a mopping sweeper machine, doctors and nurses were going to and fro... and then out of nowhere, there was a little guy in a motorized wheelchair who paused at the door and said Good Morning to us. We replied Good Morning back and he moved on... wearing his SECURITY ball cap and we began to hope and pray that no gang related shootings appeared in the ER forcing us on lock down with a crack security staffer such as that at our beck and call.

Dad's blood work looked pretty good, and so there was no reason to admit him, but the doctor felt like we needed to see a gastrointerologist to get further results, and so off I went again to pave the way to the new doctor's office. He asked Dad to put on the paper gown... which meant camera phone photo #3, performed the exam (minus the rectal... much to my father's happiness) and scheduled us for an endoscopy on Tuesday.

I can only imagine what memories will be made then. I will keep you posted!

Charred Retinas

How Britney Spears killed my vision

I admit it. I was suckered in by MTVs boast of Britney Spears’ comeback as she was slatted to open this year’s Video Music Awards Show. I figured the Execs at MTV had so much confidence of this comeback that it would be stellar. It would be off the charts! It would be so out-of-this-world it would demand its own moon man trophy for Best Opening Performance By An Almost Sober Single Mom of Two Kids Who Is In Desperate Need of Rehab And/Or Therapy.

Instead, it was lackluster.

And that is being kind.

Britney appeared with bed head and a not figure friendly stage costume and attempted to lip synch her way through her newest single “Gimme More”. The term “attempted” is key here, because she did indeed attempt. I think she was thrown off by her need to count the dance steps instead. Her dancers looked good though. Up until that time toward the end of the number where she fell back into their arms and it appeared as if they were going to lift her… but then thought better about it. That was a bad move and one that should get your favorite choreographer fired, as it looked as if Brit’s extra poundage was the deciding factor in the dancer’s decision not to lift her. Britney herself only moved her body enough to make its jiggly parts jiggle and make me peer at the television set through my fingers. I sat as a deer in the headlights and found I could not turn my head away. It was the classic train wreck scenario where you really don’t want to look, but cannot help but look.

I’m pretty sure that is how I will explain the Britney Spear’s image that is forever imbedded in my brain file entitled Moments I Wish I Had Never Seen Before to my optometrist. The next time they map my eye to check for diseases I fear they will find Britney in her two-piece studded ensemble fondling a male dancer in front of her.

I am hoping the first meeting of the MTV Execs this morning will include a written apology from their Executive Producer to the world… but I am not holding my breath.

Friends with Lofty Aspirations

I had a really bad night last night. It was the second night in a row that I was awake at 4:00 a.m. I am not the type of person who enjoys waking up at 4:00 am, and I don’t usually think it is because the Lord had decided He needed to talk with me at that time of day. The Lord knows better than to talk to me at 4 am, because I’m grouchy in the mornings. He being both omnipotent and gracious, allows me to sleep in those early morning hours. For which I am ever grateful.

Night before last I woke up at 4 am because my digestive tract thought it would be a good idea. I did not agree… but woke up anyway for fear of the consequences of remaining abed with your stomach sends sharp messages to the brain that differ with your sleep patterns. I was not a happy girl.

I wasn’t any happier last night when I shot straight up out of the bed yelling, “Ow, Ow, Ow, Ow…” because apparently my sleep-induced brain believed that something had bitten me. I started looking through the bed sheets trying to find the culprit that accosted me, but there was nothing there. I looked at my upper thigh for a bite mark and found none. Somehow I believed that I was going to lose the use of my right leg and be paralyzed for the rest of my life. I am hoping I was in the midst of a dream. However, since I was awake I had to go to the bathroom. Sigh.

I searched for a bite mark again in the glaring bathroom light and found none. I hate my subconscious sometimes.

As I was apparently dreaming of sharp stinging bites on my body, my friend Req was dreaming about me too. Req and I used to work together and there are many people who think we are joined at the hip. Not so. But we let them think it anyway. Maybe they know something we don’t know because here we both are… subconsciously dreaming about things happening to me. Is it a sign? I’m not sure.

Req’s dream involved seeing a large freight plane from China crashing at the Nashville Airport. Where do I come into play? Apparently my old job as special event coordinator at TRBC qualifies me to head up the rescue team at the Nashville Airport in the event of an emergency. Since my younger brother works with TSA at the same airport, I think perhaps I will enjoy running about with a headset on and a clipboard and bossing him around. It has been a while since I’ve done that… but I like to make the most of all bossy situations that I can.

I’m waiting for Req to dream that I head up Fred Thompson’s presidential campaign next. I figure since I met him a few days after 9/11 and put a microphone on the man, I am highly qualified to run a national campaign.

Just give me a 3-ring five inch notebook and I’m good to go.

Viva Viagra?

Growing up as a teenage girl is never easy. I daresay there were days when I wished I were a boy... simply because I felt that girls were getting the short end of the stick when adolescence reared its ugly head.

I remember being HORRIFIED to know that sanitary products were going to play a major part in my life... at least every 28 days or so. I also remembered the first time I saw a television commercial for sanitary products and how mortified I was that one could be in the midst of determining who shot JR when out of nowhere, Tampax began boasting of their super absorbency.

Was nothing sacred?! Did the advertising executives have no couth whatsoever? Are these people INSANE?

Now that I am a mature woman, I realize that marketing and advertising is a lucrative field and one must go the extra mile to capture the mass public's attention. Super Bowl Sunday is not nearly so much about football anymore as it is about the 1.2 million dollar 30 second commercial for Bud Light, or Cadillac, or Coca-Cola. I have learned to embrace the marketing Einsteins who develop new and unique ways to entice me to purchase a particular product.

But I would love to meet the nimrods who developed the latest Viagra commercial.

Viagra is apparently such a wonderful product that men will gather together in an empty bar area and rewrite Elvis Presley tunes to sing its praises. Does anyone else find this unusual at the least and disturbing at best? Not that there is anything wrong with Viagra... I am sure there are millions of men who are overjoyed that such a drug exists.

But, do they really sit around and stare into each other's eyes and sing its praises? Do they grin at each other whilst strumming a guitar, thumping a bass, playing piano or drums and exclaim "Viva Viagra!" To the world?

I believe this is, by far, one of the worst television advertising campaigns I have ever seen. Does it make me want to rush out and purchase the product? No. Does it make me want to gather these men together and have them discuss their feelings with a trained counselor? Yes.

Perhaps their penance will be to watch 24 hours of nonstop Kotex commercials.