Me Questions (If you care. If you don’t, I totally get it.)

The Lupie Momma nominated me for a question/award sesh. I really like these. It’s fun and a great way to know me, see my blog and see other people and what they’re writing about. I’m breaking the rules a bit and just tagging her. Go check out her stuff! Thank you, BTW!! I love these questions!

Here are my answers.

1: Who do you consider a role model (celebrity or not) and why?

Jesus. He’s the only one who got it right. Right?

2: If you only had 1 week to live what would you spend your time doing?

Cleaning. LOL No. I would go lay on the beach and imagine heaven. Which isn’t hard on the beach. So I guess I’m already doing that mostly?

3: What is your guilty pleasure?

21 Pilots. ๐Ÿ˜€ “…don’t know half of the abuse…”

4: The greatest thing youโ€™ve ever done for someone without them asking?

Giving birth? LOL “I didn’t ask to be born, Mom!” JK She does not say that. She does not say that seriously, I should say. LOL She does say it in a dumb, emo teen voice tho, as a joke.

5: What are the Top 3 things on your bucket list?

Mop, Lysol, rag. Oh, you mean a pre-death wish list…um, Mile High Club?? LOL I would like to go to one of those open outdoor pools that are warm like the thing in Iceland. Is it Iceland? That would be cool. Or go to the Bahamas or some place even more tropical than Florida. I would like to be a missionary before I die.

6: Team Iphone or Team Galaxy?

Team Cheapest Smart Phone-Sunrise LG from Walmart. LOL

7: What is your favorite thing about this time of year?

The beach. ๐Ÿ˜€ I do miss leaves, warm drinks and the campfires of Missouri. :*

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My past DOES define me.

I hear the buzz phrase, “Your past does not define you.” Even I thought this sounded like a good mantra. At first. I might have even said it a few times. But, my past DOES define me. For better or worse.

Running from your past is like that old saying, “Going nowhere in a hurry.” You can’t forward your future until you address the past.

I grew up poor. Near a small town, in the country on 20 acres, graduated from a class of 65 people.

Maybe not poor. Maybe just so far in debt that I had to choose between difficult things. And, I didn’t wear name brand clothes. My mom made most of my clothes by hand. That, at least, put me in a different category.

Other category pushers:
My father was emotionally and physically (infrequently) abusive. I was overweight (of course). Often teased. Often at the bottom of some chaotic, emotional barrel of feelings. Struggling to have a voice of any kind in a farm community full of rednecks and intellectual infants. I was (am) a girl/woman (not always a plus).

These things define me. They are my etymological birth. The source of all my words. I can write today because of what happened or didn’t happen in the past. I thank God for my past.

My whole youth can be summed up as the jump ball for the tip off of my adulthood/writing career. A frantic scrambling to find my voice in the elbows and sweaty armpits of rural America.

Now, I am free-throwing and making it swish from the top of the key. Thank God I had to scramble.


I lost my voice, the strength of it anyway, a coupla years ago when I had my thyroid removed. They cut through muscles and nerves to get through to the organ. It can effect your vocal cords. I was hoarse and genteel for months. Totally unlike me.

From a young age, I have been identified as the loud laugher, talker, whiner, live-r. When others tittered, I guffawed. When others whispered, I announced. When others went about their feelings in a shy, reserved way, I emoted all over the place.

So. To be made relatively mute for months on end? THAT was a struggle.

I joined a local community theatre production, even when my voice wasn’t fully healed, to exercise the shit out of said vocal cords. I struggled again, this time for my literal voice.

I honestly thought my voice was ruined. I had no volume and no ability to inflect. But it came. My voice emerged. I rebuilt my annoying, distinctive, loud, full-flavored signature.

But that’s what I was doing all those years ago. Fighting for air, time, attention, my voice. I certainly found it by exercising my mind. Flexing my writing muscles. Clearing my thoughts. Coughing up all the bad stuff to get to the sweet, well-trained music of good writing.

If you met me in person, you might think, she’s pretty tame, dull, quiet, shy. But that’s just the surface. That’s just the public wall that’s been graffiti’d by others. There’s a garden behind those gates. A well-tended garden kept by me. Plunking away at the keyboard, digging out rows, mining for richness, turning up the past. Seeds of words flowering into thoughts, emotions and ideas–volumes of deep-rooted life. This is my courtyard. The sign says WELCOME.

You have to push past that gate. Be patient enough to know me.

Welcome to my past. It defines me. All that you read here is real, honest, beautiful. Though some starts out as dirt, hurt and manure.

Sympathy, But No Admiration

I skimmed an article the other day about a woman with 5 children. It started with her morning routine and I couldn’t make it past bed-making. It looked like an attempt for recognition for her task-filled day as a working mother.

She began with, “After making 5 beds…” She has 5 children and not one of them can make a bed?

I would teach the child to make their own bed. And if they can’t? Unmade beds are the least of your problems.

I would admire you more if you taught your children how to care for themselves rather than ask for attention in doing for your kids. Or you taught them a lesson and one to yourself about leaving and accepting the unmade beds.

“Want a made bed?” I would ask my child. “Let me show you how.”

Yes, sometimes I make my child’s bed. But she’s one child and I’m happy to do it. She works hard at school, makes straight As, and doesn’t always have time. And if it doesn’t get done? That’s ok.

She knows how to make one and can do it if I ask her. One can also just shut the door.

One day your kids will care about the way their room looks and until then, it doesn’t matter. As long as there’s no pizza or soda actively attracting ants under the bed, right??

Joy is found in the wrinkled, wrestled sheets of bedtime tickles and snuggly stories of the day. Don’t sweat the small stuff. You have 5 kids, you should know this.

At the end of your life, do you want to say, “All the beds were made, every day”?

Or do you want your kids to know, “Mom loved me.”


Zen-like enlightenment or peace does not originate from a made bed. If anything, it is the opposite. The acceptance of impermanence. It’s strange that some humans endeavor in a lifelong attempt at domesticating Earth and they made an entire website devoted to it (looking at you, Pinterest). Peace comes at the realization of bed-making futility. The temporal tool of Bed should be put into perspective. It’s for sleeping, not decorating. It can be enjoyed, not fussed over.

It’s also home to several million bed mites. I’m sure they like it neat. The bed mites appreciate your hard work, Mom. LOL


When we wake up, we should greet the day with awe at the rising sun. Not worry about the messy sheets. It’s a process. I get it. I’m talking to myself as much as anyone.

Who makes their kid’s bed? Just curious.

I am, in fact, employable.

I got a job. Finally.

After months of looking and trying different things, I found a job. A good one. It’s only part-time, but it’s a start.

I’m driving for a medical courier company. Locally owned company and super friendly people to work with, even at the medical facilities.

I rode for the first time yesterday and everyone seems nice. You basically pick up bodily fluids (blood, urine, what have you!) from the doctor’s office and deliver them to a main lab, downtown, at a hospital. I won’t mention names since it’s confidential. And everything is sealed, bagged and kept in a cooler, so totally safe.

I’m not thrilled about being in a job that uses so much plastic, non-reusable bags and gas-powered vehicles, but this is the job. It’s super easy, flexible and pays well. I wish I had an electric car, then it would be even more lucrative and better for the environment. Maybe in the future I can afford a gasless car. That would be great.

But in spite of the impact on the environment, I am providing an essential service for patients. I can’t believe there isn’t a better way to transport lab work, but I don’t know enough about the industry yet to say. It’s 2017 though. Where’s the jetpack lab service we’ve all been dreaming about? Or on-the-spot blood and urine analysis with micro-biobots? Is that a dream everyone’s been having?? LOL

It’s something to pay the bills, get us by, and not have my soul slowly sucked out of my body in a mindless corporate atmosphere.

Plus, I start tax school in just a few weeks and that I’m looking forward to. I don’t support the current tax structure, but it’s what we have and I can’t wait to understand it better. I can still attend the school for free and it fits with my new schedule. Awesome!

And, of course, I’m going to still try and get Crafty B Designs off the ground again, start my party planning adventures, write my socks off. ๐Ÿ™‚

It feels good to be productive again. To have my brain and body back. To find my determination and exuberance as well. I had them in my 20s. I missed you, Life.

I do have some really bad ear and jaw pain right now, but not enough to slow me down. I have a doctor’s appointment September 28th to rule out thyroid cancer residual nodules in my lymphnodes or such. Fingers crossed. Hopefully it’s just some weird sinus/ear tube thingie that’s easily treatable yet annoying as heck. And hopefully they won’t require a lab sample! LOL They would make me take it to the lab myself, I’m guessing.

So I’m no longer Taxi Beaver for people, just their fluids. ;D

Do something stupid.

Okay, I’m about to do something stupid!

I’ve said this way too many times in my short adult life. But I’m going to try and start my own business.

I haven’t been able to find a job down here in Florida. Nothing. So I’m going to try and start a small event planning company and throw murder mystery salon/spa parties for rich retirees (I wrote an adult role-playing game for ladies that takes place in a spa. It’s a murder mystery, The Updo Salon and Spa!) And try to drum up business for my graphic design as well.

I’m going to a women’s business and professional dinner next Tuesday. I’m scared to death.

I think I’m good enough and smart enough to do this. I just don’t know if I have the energy. I was sick for so long. I’ve been sick for 5 years. Where did my moxie go?

At 44, I don’t know if I have the stamina to keep up with a growing business. Can I throw a party? Can I handle the emotional toll it will take? I’ve tried to start my own endeavors before, but not something this big and not something this important. This would be my income. But what do I have to lose, right?

Wish me luck! Mainly with the women I will be leading. It will be like trying to herd drunk cats through an adult costumed role-playing game. Lord, help me!

Irma: Lucky

The photo above is from just before the hurricane hit. You wouldn’t have known anything was happening. We were in a well-protected school, rated to withstand a Category 5 hurricane. We chose that shelter by luck.


We had our power restoredย  by the first day after Irma hit. We were lucky, so very lucky. But we didn’t have an internet connection, so I’ve been jones-ing for blog time. I’m back, baby!

First, let me say, thank you, Florida Power and Light! You are working hard to restore everyone and you had us back up the next day. Thank you so much!

Second, everyone we encountered during Irma was safe and as kind as people in a crisis can be.

Third, when we got back to our place, everything was just as we left it. The only damage was a few eaves blew out and exposed the attic/under-roof. No big deal. The condo association will repair. We were so very lucky. Luckiest McLucks-a-lot. Unbelievable.

Had Irma not swerved at the last minute up the coast and taken a hard right, we would have lost everything, undoubtedly. I can’t express how thankful I am.

I am troubled by the undeniable climate change. I am troubled at our growing dependence on things and phones and computers. I am troubled by the chaotic world around us. But at the same time, I am deeply humbled. I am appreciative of those people in a dark world who carry light with them. The people who try to make the world a better place. The people who try to make sense of the world around them. The people who rush to the trouble, and carry out the survivors.

We met a Red Cross volunteer. He seemed to be our personal angel. He would check on our family, update us with news, and even brought us cookies. ๐Ÿ™‚ He was truly the embodiment of Christ. So thankful for him. His wife is 7 months pregnant. That is quite a lady to let her husband help hurricane victims when she’s about to give birth! Donate to Red Cross if you are inclined.

Our daughter had to spend her birthday in a storm shelter/elementary school. On the cold, hard cafeteria tile. Surrounded by strangers. No one even realizing someone had a birthday. (I thought about finding a treat and lighting a candle, but decided not to embarrass my 14 yo, LOL) Everyone just hoping to live through Irma. We tried to make it as good/fun as possible for her, staring down the threat of a potential Category 4 hurricane. But it was tough.

But we are here. We are alive. And we have interwebs! No injuries, no damage, no problems.

Irma hit at around 8-9 pm Sunday night.
We left the shelter around 7 am Monday morning.
Got home around 9 am Monday morning.
Had water to shower. (Had gone without shower since Friday morning, gross!)
Got power back on around 7-8 pm Monday night.
Got internet back today at around noon!
We are whole again. Still praying for anyone who is still out of something.

Tonight, we make up for cafeteria tile and storm sheltering. We’re going rollerskating! Her favorite. Happy birthday, Lil. You made it to 14! and then some. ๐Ÿ˜‰ I couldn’t be prouder or more thankful than I am for such a wonderful young lady. โค

Irma-geddon

Blogging from my phone. Ok after Irma. No injuries. No damage. Miraculous!!! Praise God. No internet.

Wanted to post some haikus.

 

Water drops on glass.

Hurricane outside our door.

Longing in my heart.

 

Sigh. Soaked in boredom.

The storm is at my door now.

Relief that it’s here.

 

In my opinion,

You’re not a Floridian

Until your first storm.

Yabba-dabba-doo!

I made this neck-a-less last nite. Another one! Crafty B is in da house!

necklace 3.jpg

It’s twine for cord, big ol’ Wilma Flintstone polka dot beads, a salvaged key chain dangle, and a beautiful snaggle-wad of turquoise. All things I found or bargin-binned. Boho, baby!

Would you wear this? Is it too weird? It hangs super low which I love, but I also made the cord slide-able so you can adjust the size. I love shabby chic/different-looking jewelry. I love it when I get compliments from people.


Stranger: Love your neck-a-less!

Me: I made it!

Stranger: *looks at me like a necklace-making bohemian goddess* You made it??! No way. Cool! Let’s be friends.


LOL I live for those conversations. I would make jewelry for a living, but my husband might kill me. Strangle me with one of my homemade necklaces. Because of the craft space required for such an endeavor. Plus, doesn’t everyone make jewelry now? Pinterest-loving housewives across the country making enough jewelry to choke a bedazzled pony.

Can’t wait to wear my new belly bouncer!

YuleTIDE: A Very Beachy Christmas

We found this when we arrived at the beach yesterday! Love it.

beach christmas.jpg

Some vacationers must have found this washed up drift wood and fashioned this temporary art. So funny! Love the shell ornaments. It’s even got pine cones! LOL

No presents under the tree though. This beach offering is present enough, I say! What a great Christmas Labor Day on the coast.

This is what Florida Xmas looks like, I guess! LOL