Tuesday, December 22, 2009


It happens every single time. Hubby and I agree that we will spend the long cold winter months getting rid of our crap on Ebay. He really gets into it and uses the funniest descriptions in his auctions that make me laugh—out loud! He is focused and nothing gets between him and depositing into his PayPal Account.I, on the other hand, am much more impetuous than that. In fact, my usual M.O. is to
1. Locate my crap
2. Take photos in all ways to make it look great and desirable
3. Search it out on Ebay to see what it’s worth before I list it…and this is where the system goes haywire.
For example: I have these absolutely beautiful vintage perfume bottles--Evening in Paris. Cobalt blue glass, tassels, fragrant, vintage…do I need them? NO. I picked them up at some auction somewhere and have them only to dust. I search them on Ebay …there’s a nice listing of them, some of them are selling…for more than I realized my collection of useless bottles are worth…and the next thing you know…I’m not selling…I’m buying!
If they’re selling, then they must be worth something and if they are, I better add to my collection rather than get rid of it. Makes perfect sense…to Ebay that is!
Recent purchases: vintage rosaries, silver butter knife, more Navajo jewelry????, old pillow cases that smell like my grandmother’s house, and a new (old) magnifying glass with jade handle to read my fine print on my new (old) snuff bottle.Recently Sold: one plaid shirt for $.99.
And FYI…who knew my 1970 Frye Boots were something I should have held on to…current bid….$172.51…I’m in!

Tuesday, December 15, 2009


Marriage is like a silver sugar bowl.If you just leave it in the cabinet and take it out from time to time you will find it tarnished.Polish Polish Polish and it will shine again, just like new.But what if you take it out each day, use it, and polish it while you hold it? Each day?Your sweet little sugar bowl needs to be polished to shine. And it needs to be polished by everyone who takes the sugar out of it. So polish it every day and it will shine every day.The more you polish it, the shinier it is.And don’t forget the spoon. That’s part of it!

Tuesday, December 8, 2009


Frosty December Sunday afternoon, just the perfect kind of day for staying home in front of a cozy fire watching football and HGTV. But instead…..

Button mushrooms: stuffed and topped with mango chutney--ready to bake
Nails: painted festive hot pink
Silver and green turquoise green bear: polished
Outfit consisting of gray hoodie cable sweater, black tights, combat boots, lime green rabbit pompom scarf: thoughtfully put together
Hair: poufed and sprayed in place
Lips: lined
Car: warming and loaded with snackie poos, scarf gift, and fizzy water
I get to BFF’s driveway at designated hour and I am the only one there. I usually am early, but her door was closed. I dial BFF and ask her where everyone is including her. “I am here in your driveway,” I say. She lols and says, “It’s next Sunday.”


I felt a little like one of those people who looks down and realizes they have two different shoes on.

At least I haven’t done that yet.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009


My life didn’t start out this way. In fact, I really am quite a private person who doesn’t like to gossip or get in people’s business and sure don’t want anyone in mine.And then one day I turned into a one man paparazzi…well not one man because I have some free lance contacts that call me up and say, “Hey, there’s a flock of turkeys in front of the Catholic Church,” or “Hey you need to go take a picture of that old chubby man sliding down the slide at the pool,” or “Hey, they’re roasting Hatch chilies in the mall parking lot.”The funny thing is that I do it. I grab my camera and off I run…not quite quickly enough to catch the turkeys on the church porch, but in the lot across the street is almost as good.And the fat man on the slide? I would NEVER post his butt crack because I have integrity and besides he might kick mine.But because of my newfound line of work, I can honestly say I know a little bit about everything. I know who’s meeting when, who got good grades, who had a baby, whose rocket shot the highest in the science experiment and the minutes of most meetings. It’s a weird life I have going now. It seems now that I view every single situation, happening, and photograph in terms of a “story”, and so do other people--(view that for me.) But you know? Life in the raw really is a story…life as it unfolds is a story. And life as the paparazzi in a small town? A very good story indeed.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009


So many twists to this déjà vu yarn…you know that dreamy hazy feeling of “I’ve been there before?” Or more to the point…. “WHOA.I. Have. BEEN. HERE. Be-fore.”Allow me set the stage for you….TML Convention Fort Worth Texas…we pop into Grace, a sophisticated little hotspot that serves the most excellent dirty martinis… Guest Bartender Night…nearing Halloween…also Guest Artist Night…Jill Johnson (photographer for Glamourpuss) is there for a book signing…hubby just celebrated his birthday and received a card featuring a cat with a Zen rock cairn on its head…(which he cut out and placed on the top of a pumpkin and a blog all it’s own)….and I’m pretty sure I saw someone wearing a very comprehensive mullet….I can only hope because it was “kittywig” night.Lol-ing yet?More….to prove the déjà vu phenomenon to myself I get home and dig through my baby bible to find a photo of me--6 years old…Cinderella dressed in yellow…my first modeling gig…in one of my mom’s many many patent pendings of which I was often exploited for…to the best of my recollection, this one was MOPWIGS…mopwigs and me… forlorn poutylip model look, just like the kitty in the blue wig…yes oh yes…I had been there before! Kitty, I feel your pain.For a peek at what might have been for me if A. My mother was not so ahead of her time orB. I was a cat click here

Tuesday, September 8, 2009


***UMERO NUMERO DISCLAIMERO***I am NOT prejudiced. BUT…over my life in my little town, things have changed and I don’t think it’s about demographics, you might agree that it’s about courtesy.My husband laid on me it was his turn for dessert in food group and he had decided that he (we) would make Flan…a Spanish Style Custard.So off to the store I go to pick up Flan in a box…like Jell-O. I was at least together enough in this interruption to my day that I knew I might need other ingredients so I tried to read the directions on the box. It was all in Spanish. Now, I am not opposed to the fact that our little grocery store currently includes a double totally Hispanic isle, or that over 80% of the checkers chat in their language and probably laugh at my sunglasses held together with a safety pin…or that even the Flan box is all in Spanish.Well actually I do care about that…I just needed to know if I needed some milk…eggs…perhaps some key ingredient that I don’t want to have to rush back to the store for after golf.So…when I asked her to, this sweet and courteous little checker read the instructions to me..in Spanish…leche…for sure…dos tasas.Ok…When I get back home, I realize when I take off my sunglasses and put on my reading glasses…there in almost plain sight were the directions in English. Dang. I bet she thinks I’m some kind of American dork.But all that really matters is that we were really really nice to each other. And his Flan was the hit of the food group!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


I am so glad that when I am forced against my will to ride the ferris wheel that I have someone to hold onto so I won't be scared out of my wits!

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


"What a difference a year will make," my in the know friends tried to tell me while consoling me last year as my last one flew the coop.Empty Nesterville? Empty Nesterville, I like you. I can’t believe it, but my friends were oh so right. This house got crowded….one too many cranky princesses and I might not mean me.The good thing that I know is what lies ahead. Two are not only gone but their plates are completely broken…they have their own houses and their own plates and they are F.U.N. We visit each other, eat out from time to time, spend the night at each other’s houses, make travel plans, talk on the phone, email, and rarely do we argue about whether a headboard is a queen or full. And they hardly ever gripe me out.Miss C.P., I will miss you, don’t get me wrong. I love you and I will miss you but I don’t have room anymore for your luggage in the doorway of my new dressing room aka your old bedroom.Update August 18, 2009:Uh oh....melancholy is back...just got back from the longest trip with the longest truck with the longest wait in line Houston traffic back to Empty Nesterville.That bright blue suitcase that I brought home to refill is sitting in my new dressing room without all the mess and chaos and it kind of gave me a lump in my throat when I passed by the hallway and saw it sitting there. Empty Nesterville is kind of empty today.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009


You Are Who You Were When You Were Eight
Yesterday I was golfing with my husband and we had a discussion about ant beds after coming across one on the course. He told me when he was a kid, he would stomp in them, put firecrackers in them, pour gas in them, and fry the ants with his magnifying glass. And with his softer side he had a multitude of home made "ant farms"; various "ball" jars with holes poked in the top where he could watch the ants make their tunnels, feeding them, playing with them.
I asked him if he ever got stung by the ants and he said, “yes, when you mess with ants, that’s just part of it.”
The more I thought about it, I began realize that I too was curious about ant beds and so began my comparison to ant bed play and personality types.
My sister who is today’s drama queen would stand in the middle of an ant bed and when they began to crawl on her and sting her, she would scream bloody murder but remain standing in the middle of the action until someone came to rescue her. I’m pretty certain she did this more than once.
My older brother was much like my husband…find, destroy, and enjoy.
I on the other hand would be very curious about their tunnels under ground, could they swim, what did they eat, where were they going and why were they going so fast all in the same direction? Why are some red and some black and some big and some little?
My youngest brother would steer completely away from them knowing of the consequences that play would create…so back to my sister…why would someone stand in the middle of one and become frozen with fright? Her actions probably had something to do with the younger ones steering clear and thus the fact that others’ actions persuade us.
So, perhaps the quote “you are who you were when you were eight” could most certainly include “and the way you play with ants tells it all.”

Tuesday, July 28, 2009


Itsy Bitsy Spider? Today is your lucky day. You have beaten all odds. You scare me, but I admire you more. When I found you in my kitchen sink this morning, I washed you down the drain with my handy dandy faraway from the spider squirter, and then I chopped you up in my garbage disposal. But when I got back from the post office, there you were. You are one tough daddy with long legs. So, I got a stick for you to crawl on and I let you go on Trent’s porch. He took our bat to show and tell so I thought he might enjoy you too.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009


Don't we all seek green? Grass that is? So...we look across our yard and mostly find green...and then we notice it...it's just a little ole' teeny tiny patch of green that doesn't quite have the look we're going for, but green still.
So...we leave it...seemingly harmless, able to ignore it, turn our back to it...let it grow...ignore it some more...pay attention to something else and oh my...the next time we look...it's HUGE! A huge patch of invasive green crab grass taking over our otherwise perfect lawn.
The remedy...one bottle of chilled Kim Crawford, 8 gallons of water, backbreakingfingernailpolishchipping effort to get rid of that little patch of green that seemed so bitty and harmless when it began.
And what's left? A hole that looks like a moon crater that will take the rest of the summer, if not more to fill in and become whole.

Why didn't I just dig it up when I knew it didn't belong there? And chunk it over the gosh dang fence?

Monday, June 15, 2009


hurry go get the matches!

Fupa: to be expected

Wrinkle cream budget: refriggindiculous

Cello lessons: humbling

19-year-old cello teacher: enchanting

Herb garden: heavenly

Laundry with no kids: time for herb gardens

Cooking: NOT

Blowing bubbles with Betty: O Yea!

Nancy Grace: compelling

CNN: blah blah blah

Fall Trip Plans to Machu Picchu: wowsy

Spring Trip to my back yard: wowsier

8-minute sex against the wall: overrated

Drinking sauvignon blanc in a chair by the pond: underrated

Thought of dentures: scary as heck!

Flossing your real teeth: critical

Connecting with others: boring

Getting to know myself: exciting

Knight in Shining Armor: Jesus

View of life: relaxed

52 birthday candles instead of 25: most excellent!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


There are so many jokes floating about concerning Methodism…covered dish luncheons, believing in everything—just a little bit…it got me to thinking one day…. “Why am I a Methodist?” Is it only because my father came from a long line of Methodists? Probably, but what I have recently concluded is that it is about the church in my heart that has become the important thing. Being a Methodist or a Baptist or a Catholic could all suit me just fine as I appreciate elements in all of them. But over the years, my little Methodist Church on Haney Street has become so much more than a building where I try to go on a regular basis. I go back to a thing that happened many years ago that secured in my heart my love for my church that will last my lifetime.

It was Communion Sunday and I had my two small children with me, which is probably when I began my routine of sitting in the back. I don't "need" to sit back there anymore, but the truth is, I like it back there. I like to see all the people in church sitting in front of me. I like to wonder how the sermon is speaking to them, what their prayers or needs are. I also like to say the Lord’s Prayer in my mind only, which allows me to hear the voices of those around me saying it out loud. I like the stain glass windows and the stories they tell. I like the “ hat lady section.”…where the grandmother widows sit together…the true chord of love and sweetness in our church that I hope to rise to the level of one day.

But back to that particular Sunday…Grace was 8 and Charles was 4…I was always trying to teach them manners, independence, and all the life lessons that you try to teach children. Charles was a bit bored and asked for permission to visit the men’s room and so I let him go “all by himself”. When he didn’t return for some time, I left the sanctuary to go check on him and finally found him in the kitchen.

I could not believe what I saw! He had climbed up on the cabinet, gotten himself a plate, and had the refrigerator door flung wide open. I rounded the corner just in time to see him gobbling a big bite of cherry Jell-O salad that he had helped himself to, with a substantial amount left on his plate.

Obviously for one of those covered dish luncheons we’re so famous for, or worse yet, a funeral.
I don’t remember now. But I do remember that I quickly shut everything he had opened, covered the salad, and grabbed his little four year old body up and he said with his little Jell-O covered mouth, “Mom, I was just so hungry!” I said, “Do you think you’re at home or what?”

And with my own words, I realized…yes, he absolutely thought he was home and you know? He was! He felt so very comfortable in his church that he never gave a second thought to helping himself to what was in the fridge because he was hungry. I was horrified that day, but today, it’s one of my fondest memories. He was a little boy at home in his church.

I was a Baptist where my grandmother played the piano in Pleasant Valley, but I became a Methodist when my mother married my dad. My sister and I were baptized on Easter Sunday when I was 8 and she was 5. We wore matching dresses, hats, gloves, ruffled socks, and shiny white shoes…the Easter Works. We walked down the isle of the First United Methodist Church on Haney Street in Spearman, Texas, together. We knelt at the altar with our family, and we two little sisters gave our lives to Jesus.

The comfort that I feel can be expressed in the same way that my small son felt in the kitchen years ago…it is my sanctuary, it is my back pew, it is my isle, it is my church…I am a Methodist.

I have walked down that isle many times over the years…as a small child accepting Jesus, as a born again Christian to state my faith, as a graduating senior with my class of 1975, as a bride, as a mother to dedicate my own babies, as the mother of the bride, and soon as a proud grandmother of a potential little red haired girl named Betty who will visit my church often. I have even walked down that isle to bury my friends, and someday it will be my last journey down that very same isle when I am laid to rest.

Yes, I have made many trips down that isle for many reasons. And while the trips are all worthy in themselves, there is so much more that defines them. You see, what I love about being a Methodist, is that you walk down that isle only two times that really matter…once as a sinner, and once back forgiven…

...and so life goes on…fried chicken in the fridge, carols at Christmas, Easter Sunrise Service, a new set of hat ladies in the middle and a new set of babies in the back…all of us…loving being a part of First United Methodist Church on Haney Street in Spearman, Texas.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


"I saw Jane looking innuendo" were the words that slipped from his lips. 1973, Mr. Benton’s Junior English class, class leader Roger Brown using his word in a sentence. It was his turn. He stood at his desk. His word was innuendo. I feared he would be in trouble until I saw the gleam in Mr. Benton’s eyes as he tried to hide his amusement. 30 plus years ago and I still remember that day and it still makes me laugh.
In your end-o….always remember that you have the ability to impress unforgettable things on people…why not make them fun?

Tuesday, April 21, 2009


It’s tough being a woman in a woman’s world.
Why is it that a woman, girl, babe, can walk in front of a mirror and see F.L.A.W.S.--yet a man with a beer belly, not enough hair on the head, too much in the nose, double chin, aging hands, and/or any stage of varying degrees of imperfection look into the same mirror and say “loookin’ goooooooood!”…and quite mean it?
To all my sistas who:
Have a bit of gray at the templeA little bit of cellulite on the thighsA laugh line or twoA butt that fell, or a A bust that went from 36 C to 32 long….
UNITE! Let’s don’t look in the mirror…let’s look at each other and say--
….and for those of you who are at your prime…well power to you GF…flaunt it while ya got it and catch up with us later. We’ll be waiting on you…we’re the ones with beautiful eyes and kind faces as we redefine sexy ….a tummy that pooches because we’ve born 1 or 3 kids, a lingering gaze--with creases--that rests upon the daughter of your daughter, and soul that runs deep enough to know what lookin’ good really means…deep enough…. to quite mean it!

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

DANG 101

When I graduated from high school I hardly even said the word butt. College certainly changed that and my cussing habits got a little out of hand. When I had my children, I stopped cussing and started biting my fingernails. Then I started letting those bad words slip more and more as they got to be teenagers…(mostly under my breath and outside behind the pecan tree)…but nevertheless, I let the habit creep up on me again.
Most years, my resolution was to quit. I don’t do it that much anymore because it’s important to me that I have better control of myself and let beauty grace my lips.
So, I came up with Dang 101, which simply put is to see how many ways can you say dang.
First of all, and most simply.
I challenge you. Let your mind get a little creative and give it a whirl.
DANG. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaang. Danguh. Hecky Dang. Dang It. Dangggggit. Gosh Dang. Gosh Darn Dang. Ding Dang. Well I’ll be dang. Well, I’ll JUST BE DANG. Whoooohoooodang. Dangahangadangdangdang. Dippity Dang. Dang Ya’ll. Frickin Dang. Dang a Mercy. And my favorite of all. Damn Dang. Oops!

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


Well poop
I’m pretty sure I placed fifth in the HGTV home giveaway. That prize includes:
1. winner winner chicken dinner2. watching, live, from Florida….the person who won first3. and playing shopping at home game…see below
The economic climate looms over us all. I think for the most part, our country has enjoyed a plentiful season over the past years and the thought of an uncertain future is scary.
When I get a little blue and think I don’t have enough, there is a thing I do called “shopping at my house.” It goes something like this. Find your beginning point and work your way around the room you have selected and pretend you could have anything in the room you want as if you don’t.
Example: My purple living room.
I begin at the front door where Brian with his own two hands removed the partitions so that our friends could linger with their good-byes more comfortably. On to the antique china cabinet that I bought about 25 years ago for next to nothing in Guymon, Oklahoma--inside it are six lidded pumpkin bowls that I like to serve the first soup of the fall—my purple 100 year old rocker--next three large picture windows where I can see my great big pine tree sway in the wind--that now have quite a few little baby handprints where someone is waiting for someone to drive into the driveway-- one very large carved wooden angel Brian bought me for my birthday—my blue Herend rabbits with the droopy ears..one big one, two middle ones and one baby one--the chair that I bought from Coretta Ralston and had recovered in cheetah linen--an oil on canvas called “The Director’s Chair” that was given to me by my friend Debbie Hagerman because I told her I liked it—a large pedestal that we bought at an auction for a dollar that has a vase of flowers in front of a mirror--my large, cushy, ruby red lipstick couch!!!!--the small spot on my border that was left by what I thought was a very large miller that turned out to be a bat that Trent took to show and tell--the grandfather clock that will someday belong to Charles--the glass curio cabinet my mother bought Grace when she was born currently filled with our collection of sextants, compasses, and kaleidoscopes--the large wooden giraffe Brian traded for soap while he was in Africa—a picture of leaves from our trip to New England to celebrate our five years of marriage--the water color painted by Koko the Gorilla that looks like a pink heart that was my gift to Brian one Valentine Day--my cello resting on his piano. And probably my favorite thing of all…the paint by number picture of Brian and me that I cut in half one sad day. If you look closely, you can see barely see the gray tape on the backside holding it together. We all know how strong that gray tape is.
So you get the idea…don’t spend your time sitting and wishing and hoping for things and stuff. Go on a journey around your own house and take a moment to remember how much you wanted all the stuff you already have before you got it. It’s a big fat lie that you can have it all, but it’s a big fat truth that you can have a lot!

Tuesday, March 3, 2009


If I could find you Mr. Smarty Pants, you wouldn’t feel so smart when I got through with you.
You have messed around where you shouldn’t be messing…in my computer and I imagine from some place very far away..maybe India.
It took me a week or so to realize it was you. At first I thought I just had a sniffle from all the forwards and surveys about “me in one word” my peep Paula sends me all the time. And then strange things began to happen. A different look on my monitor. My documents disappearing while I was gone to town. My whole system shutting down. Why, there was even one day that my TV channel changed by itself. Did you do that too?
I just want you to know that what goes around comes around Mr. SP. Believe me…if I know anything I know that! And I may not be the one to give you what you have coming, life’s not fair that way…but someone will.
You might have a flat tire in the snow and no one will stop…or a mouse poop in your green curry chicken….or someone might get your credit card number from your dumpster and when you go to pay for that sexy pleather jacket, you will be declined in front of a long line of cute girls...or you may be doing the SNL walk all over the mall and be so sure everyone is looking at you because you're so cute and check yourself in the mirror only to find the reason they are looking is because one lense is out of your cool sunglasses. Count on it. You will live the frustration you have given me. And I’m ok that I don’t get to see it because I know it will happen.
I sit here smug as a bug in a rug at my newly secured PC and smile thinking about how you will get what you got coming Mr. Smarty Pants.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


Too much beer, not enough beef jerky. Lips and words lacking grace. One small thought that has nothing to do with anything crescendos into an ugly soliloquy that is unnecessary and quite dumb. Funny….all that piss and vinegar comes pouring from two hearts that at their core love…love very much and very deeply. How? It makes little sense, except that maybe sometimes you just say stuff to cleanse the gutter so the whole house can look better. One thing I know…the opposite of love is not hate…it is indifference. Another thing I know...I love that man!

Tuesday, February 3, 2009


I got a fortune in my cookie that says, “You will become an accomplished writer”…cool…because since I’m the editor of online newspapers and since I have absolutely no formal training other than Mr. Mitchell’s English IV class…I might need that piece of good fortune to come my way.

I am an entrepreneur and I have done a lot of things. I have raised ostrich, I have sold exotic animals via worldwide satellite, I have owned and operated a bed and breakfast, I have owned an art gallery and offered the fine world of art to my tiny town, and several other entrepreneurial things…but you know? This is the best!

I love to write and while I do possess fundamental skills on how a person should write and talk, the best thing I have going for me is my imagination.

I want what is written in my HPOs to do some good in the world of the people who read it. Plant the right kind of tree for our zone, catch a criminal, get a stray dog adopted into a loving home, give some folks a laugh….you know…be accomplished.

I have that fortune taped to my monitor and I read it every day. I’m glad that my kookiness has paid off and that I can consider myself “accomplished” simply because I have a fortune that tells me so…every day.

And just so you’ll know…when the flowers bloom there will be great joy in my life. Oh good.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


I cried a river more than once before my last one left for college. I have been a mother a very long time and I admit, not that great of one in the cooking category, but certainly right up there in the loving category.

My experienced friends told me that when she came home for the holidays I would be glad when she left and I just politely smiled and said no way…NO!WAY! Her Christmas break was 40 days. Lent is 40 days. Jesus was tempted 40 days…why do all tests seem to be 40 days?

She left Friday and I am caught somewhere in the middle of glad and sad.
After tripping over her laundry that she has left in a pile for me to do; after getting the gripe out for getting up early to exercise, dress, and begin my day too loudly and before noon; after the 18 year old routine that I have lived without for 5 months…yep…it’s time for her to go.
Someone was right and it wasn’t me.

I’m not sad about her leaving, I’m sad about the fact that things have really and permanently changed. This will never really be her home again, at least not in the same way. That unsettled feeling, not ready to stay, but nowhere really to go. That change is just one of those things in life you never really get quite prepared for…they slip up on you even though they’re glaring with a red blinking sign…curve up ahead. Sentimental sadness for the way things were because they were so very good and scary excitement for life ahead because of the potential for all it will be.

Life is good like that.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009


My sister loved Fredrick John Meno IV more than I’ve ever known her to love someone. She married him. He cheated on her and she divorced him. She says today she wishes she’d been more patient during their reconciliation.
I stood beside her at the Tarrant County Courthouse while the judge dissolved her marriage with the tap of his gavel. I went with her to her house to get a few things to come stay with me for a day or two after. I wrote on Fred’s mirror in her red lipstick the following words: “Losing you as a brother is truly one of the saddest days of my life.” We left.
Tracy met Tim and they have Claire and Mary and Eleanor and Joseph.
Life is like the Tilt-a-Whirl…you stand in line to ride. You do your level best to lean a certain way to make the ride spin fast enough to take your breath away. The out of control motion scares you half to death. You laugh but sometimes it spins so fast it makes you sick. It’s over. You tumble out and if you are brave, you rush down the ramp and stand in line to ride it again.
The Tilt-a-Whirl is my favorite ride.