Turning 50

Hey there......come here often?

Like me? Tolerate me? I'm like a car wreck and you just can't help looking?

Would you help me hit 50 followers today? I'm trying to get to 75 and when I do I'm rockin' a fun contest. Maybe you'll be the winner. Send your friends over. I'll be giving away two $50.00 gift cards to Amazon.com and I'll choose from among the followers. Help me help you. Please let me know you're out there and click on the button right above the group of pictures. Just takes a sec! I already love you. Let's make it official.

The Other Woman

My husband is in love. I'm not sure I stand a chance.

We've been down this road before....with Debbie.

Now it's Sylvia.

He was busted about Debbie by my daughter, when she was seven. She had overheard him talking about her, asking for her, even linking her name with Christmas. She told me she wanted to "out" him. I gave her the green light. What can I say? I'm a terrible mother. We planned it all out. My three-year-old son wanted in. We didn't think he could hang on to the information but he did. We thought we would hit husband/daddy while he was vulnerable. Right after church. We all tucked in to the minivan and, with the kids firmly buckled in the backseat, we heard a tremulous little voice.

"Daddy?" daughter said.

"Yes honey?" he replied, smoothly.

"I found out you have....a....a.....girlfriend." This was killing me. You could hear the emotion in her voice. Should I let this go on?

"I DO?" He tried to sound surprised. Cool. Cool as a cucumber.

"Yes," she quavered. "And I know her name."

"You DO?" Oh, he's just filled with snappy rejoinders under pressure.

"Yes, I do." She was hitting her stride and spoke with feeling, but also resolve. "Her name is Debbie. "Little" Debbie!

Hysterical laughter from the junior sector, which included me. The cad. Even he cracked up.

He passed this horrifying addiction on to our son who, to this day, cannot pass a Little Debbie Snack Cake without pining and begging for her plastic-texture-artery-hardening goodness. At least Grizzly Adams got over his attraction when he matured, last year. But only because she was replaced in his affections by someone more worldly, mature, exotic: Sylvia.

You think I'm going to tell you something cutesy again like he's in love with his car (though there is undying passion between him and the Jeep), or dog, or lawnmower. Huh. I wish he was in love with that lawnmower. How I long for true romance to spring up between them. Oh no. Too Terra Firma for Romeo, too mundane.

Sylvia is the new woman. She inspires him. He buys her presents. Well, truth be told he actually makes ME buy her presents that he has carefully thought out. Flavorful presents. He pets her, coddles her, attends to her every hygienic need. When he travels he longs for her. He has even been known to sneak her into hotel rooms. And to think I bankrolled this passion for our 20th anniversary. I gave him money I'd been squirrelling away for a couple of years. Here's what he did with it:

And "Rancilio" is just her last name. The company actually gives the different "models" (need I say more?) these special names.

Hey, at least she makes my coffee, too. Oh my gosh! Did I just say coffee? That's a bad word that must never be uttered in Sylvia's presence. She does NOT make coffee. Ever. She makes ESPRESSO. Her espressos can facilitate an Americano which, to the untrained palate, might TASTE like coffee. Oh sure. Just like Gallo Box Wine can taste like Dom Perignon.

She also makes cappucinos, macchiatos, and la-tee-dahs, as Grizzly calls them. He doesn't really drink those. He's an espresso/Americano man. Puts hair on your chest. And your back.

He shopped very carefully for her.....months, in fact, and settled on her because he thought she was a good value while providing extremely high-quality performance and endurance. And her parts are replaceable if they go bad. He still wonders why he didn't look for these features when choosing a wife.

But I must say she pulls her weight. Grizzly was a two-Starbucks a day man, and I dropped in there a couple of times a week. Do you know how that adds up? Well, of course you do. Most of us could have vacation homes and facelifts if it wasn't for Starbucks. Six months into this relationship Sylvia paid for herself and started making us money. So, as sister-wives go, I really can't complain. And there is something to be said for that concept. Solomon might have been on to something. Can you imagine all the writing I could get done with someone else to run the errands and clean the house? Heck, every Christmas when he asks me what I want I always request a wife. I guess Sylvia's it. She's kind of square and cold, with a hard edge to her, but her soul is stainless.

As long as she doesn't expect the same of me, we'll get along.

Life on the Farm Ain't Kinda Laid Back

Well, life on the farm is kinda laid back,

Ain't much an ol' country boy like me can't hack,

It's early to rise, early in the sack,

Thank God I'm a country boy.

Well, a simple kinda life never did me no harm,

A raisin' me a family and working on the farm,

My days are all filled with an easy country charm,

Thank God I'm a country boy.

When John Denver penned these now famous words to his song "Country Boy" he had, apparently, never spent time out at my mother's place.

She and my step-father live in the country. They moved there when they married. I was nineteen and on my own for years. This was their exclusive hideaway. They intended it to be just the two of them and a variety of animals for food and companionship. And they achieved their goal. It just wasn't exactly from the pages of "Country Living" magazine.

I started thinking about it when I saw two dead opossums on the road this morning. 'Possums and city life don't mix well but two is a lot in one day. I wondered if they were escaping my mom's place.

Critters come and critters go and my mother has never been incredibly sentimental about separation. In the fifteen years I lived at home we moved fourteen times. Animals came and went as the wind blew. If they were a problem, they were gone. If we couldn't have them at the next place, they moved on and so did we. She was well suited for the life-and-death decision making that sometimes comes with country life.

It served her well.......I guess.

One country-charming, pastoral day, she awoke to find a coyote had broken in to the hen house. Feathers and squawking chickens were fluttering everywhere. One old girl had gotten the worst of it and the outlook was decidedly Colonel Sanders, if you know what I mean. Mom grabbed her up and, with the expertise of a washer woman, wrung her neck and dispatched her to that big frying pan in the sky. Round One.

Several hours later one of the ducks was looking decidedly dejected. She moped and laid and leaned. Mom was resolved that the suffering could not continue and the most likely issue was an impacted egg. With shovel in hand, her make-shift guillotine forever separated Ducky's mind from her problem, so to speak. My mother proceeded to perform an autopsy. Yep. Egg impaction. Round Two.

As the evening wore on, she and my step-dad turned in for the night. They were awoken by a beastly ruckus in the backyard. The dogs had cornered a 'possum and had gone completely hoodlum with it, bullying it and tossing it to and fro. By the time my mother showed up, well, the grim reaper even paid attention and started taking notes. She felt a .22 would make the quickest work of it but it was the middle of the night and that might alarm the neighbors. She surveyed the yard for options and landed on it: a barbeque skewer. I'll spare you the details but suffice it to say, chicken-neck-wringing and duck-head-detachment are practically children's bedtime stories in comparison. At least the poor thing was long gone when she went back to bed and left it for the dogs. Round three.

All I have to say is this: Whenever I'm not feeling well, I steer far clear of my mother's place. I'd advise you to do the same.

Copyright 2009

Australian Wild Fires

Australian Wild Fires - Requesting Prayer

For any of you visiting my site for very long, you may have seen a blog on my sidebar by "Tatersmama." She is a transplanted Californian living in Australia and is surrounded by news of suffering and death right now. She is not directly affected by the fire itself (meaning the flames are not on top of her but they aren't very far away), and there is some involvement, she says, which she will post about when she can. We will just have to wait and see.

There have been so many deaths (update: 180+ as of Wednesday) and injuries. Whole towns have been wiped out. People trying to flee in their cars have been unable to outrun it at times. One survivor, recounting his experience last night on the Weather Channel News, described it as "raining fire." The horror and swiftness of this inferno is almost too much to comprehend. You can read one of the latest stories here.

We are keeping them, and Tatersmama, in our prayers and just asking those of you who would, to do the same. So many are suffering. I don't feel I can post about anything else right now but will resume my regular post tomorrow.

Thank you all for caring and I'm sure Tatersmama would appreciate any words of encouragement you would want to send her way. She is an incredible woman. She wouldn't want me to say so but it is true. Her daily life includes caring for autistic and developmentally disabled children in her home. Additionally, she has contacted the Red Cross to see if she can offer shelter to victims of the fire. We are grateful for you TM. You don't talk about compassion and caring, you live it. Our prayers are with you.

With Love,

Robynn

News of the Day and Tidying Up

Dognap Alert:

I have been beseeched by Libby, at Neas Nuttiness, to help bring home her pooch. It would seem his little plastic canine self has been dognapped! To frighten the criminals with fiercesome threats go to: http://www.cliffdevries.blogspot.com/

There, you will see photos of poor Percy and his perils. And you'll be able to leave a message on behalf of his release and Lib's request that they also recompense her with bagels and cheesecake. Really, it's the least they can do.

And this just in.........

I visited Humor Bloggers, a small little group, and decided to try and join. I have been rejected. Apparently, I am not funny when compared to their scintillating wit. I encourage you to go here http://www.humorbloggers.com/ to decide whether I should be dejected or delighted. Then please advise and I will emote accordingly.

Lastly........

Please check out the new button to your right - 5 Minutes for Giveaways - to give you an opportunity to enter great contests. I do not make anything for your clicks but I thought it was such a fun idea to have this quick link. Enjoy the rest of your weekend!

Observational Twitter 10

Esoteric:

"The pen is mightier than the sword." Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Exoteric:

"Were the pen mightier than the sword 'Pirates of the Caribbean' would have been a very different movie."

Jack Sparrow: "See here, Barbossa! I'm going to write something unkind about you on the gang plank!"

Captain Barbossa: "You worm, hold fast! I shall poke you in the eyeball with my pen!"


Copyright 2009

Sleep Survival and Angels of Mercy

Meet the Wild Man on a Normal Day

Must look Confident and Serious

Show them you have Teeth, my son, so they know we've left our Ditchbank Trailer Days behind

Dear Deborah - our Lovely Angel of Mercy

Frankenstein preparing for the Launch of the Space Shuttle
(notice the ratty pillow which has lost it's covering and the tag still attached so as to prevent risk of arrest if ever removed)


Wild Man is in survival mode and loving the challenge. Only the strong overcome. (And does this kid rock, or what, for letting me take and post this picture. I owe him now.)

And though you may find it hard to believe, I may have overstated my potential sufferings at the sleep clinic.

While I wouldn't recommend this as a hotel, I have certainly slept far worse places. My hospital informants who contacted me knew not of what they spoke concerning my sleeping accommodations. My bed was, in fact, the very type I slept on when my son was three. It was a chair that folds completely flat. You wouldn't have any desire to purchase it from an infomercial, but it beat an airline seat on a red-eye flight, all to heck.

I slept. My son slept. Our technician, Deborah, couldn't have been nicer and more helpful. She chatted comfortably with us and was incredibly knowledgeable. I did a little clock watching and following of my son's monitor through the night. Fascinating to see your precious child drawing peaceful breaths and observe what is happening in his body. And yes, he has sleep issues. Has to see an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist about those overly large tonsils (forgot to put that in the singles ad - had mine out when I was 25).

We both fell into deep sleep around 5a.m. - when they were supposed to kick us out - but Deborah, our angel, took mercy on us and let us sleep until 6:30. We walked out to a beautifully rainy day. The StonePowellReillys love weather. Must be our English/Scottish/Irish roots. Ah! thunder just now! And POURING rain!! Gotta go....the tradition is porch swing, hot chocolate, and stories on rainy/thunder days and I must heed the call! Thank you for all the prayers. They were answered!