Grandma Got Run Over by a Wii Dear

When I was a child, we had one television and one telephone in the house. The television had three channels IF the wind was blowing just right. If you wanted to know what was happening in Memphis, instead of Little Rock, someone had to go outside and manually turn the antenna. Someone else had to stand at the door watching the screen and shout when the picture came in. Of course, a bit of fine tuning and colorful language was usually exchanged before the picture was clear enough to watch. We were rarely allowed on the telephone. It was a party line, and good neighbors did not tie up the line with chit chat. No computers. No video games.


We did have books to read. Back then a book was a lot of pages of paper bound together – about 4 inches wide and 6 inches long. Sometimes they had a paper cover with a nice picture, and sometimes they had a hard cover. They were much thicker than a Kindle and could be 300-400 pages long. The great thing about the old-fashioned books is they needed no batteries. No power source required.

We climbed trees. We swam in rice wells and creeks. We rode bikes and horses. I spent the majority of my summers in a tree with one of those 4”X6” block of pages bound together with a glue spine. Treats were whatever fruit was in season, usually right in the field or orchard with no washing. Every great once in a while, my brother and I were allowed to split a coke and a candy bar between us. Sometimes we got homemade ice cream, but you had to expend a lot of energy in churning it. I am certain that torturous exercise burned more calories than the ice cream provided! The majority of children were fit and happy. We learned through discovery, not computers.

We entertained ourselves.

Today’s child has to be entertained. They cannot ride in the car for 30 minutes without a DVD. Our cars come equipped with all the gadgets to entertain the child, which has become much more important than comfort for Mom and Dad. Some children still have bikes, but they hate to ride them because it takes 30 minutes to get strapped into the helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, shoulder pads, chest padding, and mouth guard.

Video games are the main form of entertainment for children today. They have televisions in their rooms equipped with video games and dvd players. They have cell phones with video games on them. They have computers with video games on them. Some of them are “educational games,” but where are these kids getting their exercise? They aren’t.

At least they weren’t. Now we have Wii. Wii Sport comes with bats and tennis rackets, so our children can get their exercise in front of the television! What a marvelous idea!

My grandson got a Wii with Wii Sports for his birthday. I am staying with him for a few days, and he is really getting his exercise. I tried to get him to go for a walk with me or ride his bike while I walked. No way! He wants to play with his Wii. Lucky for me, I still have a few of those 4”X6” books that I carry with me when I travel. I decided to curl up in a sunny spot and read while Christian got his exercise/entertainment. That was fine when he was bowling.

I was deeply engrossed in Silas House’s newest novel, Eli the Good, when the Wii Dear decided to play tennis. My daughter has a nice large living room, but tennis is a very active game. I thought I had been hit in the face with a virtual ball when the Wii Dear stepped backwards and popped me in the eye on his back swing. Who would have thought that a video game could be so dangerous?

The last time we got better technology, parents had to rush out and buy a new car with a dvd player and charging stations for PSP, cell phones, and other gaming devices. I foresee a booming real estate market as parents rush out of find houses with large dens or play rooms to accommodate their Wii Dear’s gaming needs.

I will finish my book when the swelling in my eye goes down a bit.

Song of Grasshopper

For Melissa

There is no sweeter music than the Song of Grasshopper. Only the female grasshopper sings this song. The male grasshoppers cannot sing it at all because they do not know the notes. The song is passed from mother to daughter throughout the generations. Should a grasshopper daughter lose her mother to some tragic force of nature before she learns the song, her eldest Auntie Grasshopper is responsible for taking the young daughter under her wing until she learns the song. Because grasshoppers have terrible body odor, it usually doesn’t take very long for the young orphan to learn the song because that is the only way she can escape the under wing odor of her Auntie.

It was most unfortunate for Gabriella Grasshopper when she lost her mother, Ginger, when she was but a few days old. Gabriella had many aunts, but none of them could remember for certain which one was the oldest. Truth be known, it was most likely that Auntie Godiva was the oldest, but she suffered from Grassenheimer Disease and was not in any shape to carry a young orphan under her wing.

The other aunts argued about who should be responsible for Gabriella. None of them really wanted her because they all wanted to hop around in the all-night gardens at the nearby college. All of the young handsome male grasshoppers lived in the campus dorms at Grassy State University. The aunts were hopping wild in those days and could not be bothered with young Gabriella while so many young men were strutting about their long spindly legs. For many years, Gabriella was tossed from one aunt to the next, but none of them could be bothered to take the young orphan under her wing. That is why Gabriella Grasshopper grew up without any supervision.

Gabriella was a true child of nature. She was left to hop about as it pleased her. For a long time she was content to stay in the flower gardens near Auntie Godiva’s house. A nice sprinkler went off and gave Gabriella and Auntie Godiva a delightfully refreshing shower in the late afternoons. Gabriella enjoyed hopping through the water as she tried to jump over the tiny rainbows that shone behind the waters. Sometimes Auntie Godiva joined Gabriella in her afternoon games, an act that made the neighbors hopping mad as it was not fitting for a lady of Auntie Godiva’s age to hop about like this. Most of the time, Auntie Godiva stayed in the shady shadows and left Gabriella to raise herself.

As a teenager, Gabriella grew a wild leg and passed through a rebellious period. She grew tired of nibbling on the bountiful crab grass and started munching marigolds, which were only supposed to be consumed on Saturday with the sweet dew of fresh Miracle Gro. Gabriella had not learned that treats should be consumed in moderation. One day Gabriella noticed that her back legs were a bit larger than the other grasshopper girls her age. Auntie Godiva warned Gabriella that she would become overweight if she continued to over-indulge in the marigolds. She thought a little extra hopping about would prevent weight gain. Besides, she had heard that you would not gain any weight at all if you drank from the muddy ditch 3 times a day. She was to learn better.

One day a gang of grasshopper gals asked Gabriella to spend the day with them, and she was delighted to join them! The girl grasshopper gang took Gabriella to the corn fields. Auntie Godiva had sheltered Gabriella from the wicked ways of grasshoppers who frequent the corn fields. The girls of the grasshopper gang soon convinced Gabriella to nibble on the corn. She had never been high before and fell off the ear of corn into the hollow of the corn stalk after just one kernel. After only 2 visits, Gabriella Grasshopper was hooked on corn. She enjoyed the delicious high of the delicate kernels. After she ate herself high, Gabriella napped in the folds of the leaves until the big irrigation machine drenched her with sobering water. Then she went home to gorge herself on marigolds.

One day Gabriella paused over her reflection in the goldfish pond, and she could not believe what she saw. “When did I gain all this weight,” Gabriella asked. “How could this be?” For the first time in her life, Gabriella experienced depression. She knew just want to do for such a low feeling. Off to the corn fields she went. After that she ate marigolds until she fell asleep in the marigold bed. Very slowly Gabriella got into a terrible habit of eating at odd times and for comfort. She grew larger and larger until it took a great effort for her to get up the stalk to gorge herself on the corn that brought her a temporary bliss. Eventually, Gabriella became so overweight that she had to drag her huge back legs behind her. She lost her hop. She became known as Gabriella the Grouch because she was mean to everyone around her.

One day Gabriella heard a low scratchy voice from the side of the row as she slowly made her way to the corn field, dragging her heavy legs behind her. It was the voice of a huge spider. “Hey there, Hoppin Hunny! Come on over here. Old Fat Arachnid has something for you .” Gabriella had never seen such a creature as Fat Arachnid, and she was fascinated with him. He motioned for her to come back behind the corn rows with him. With an excited trepidation, Gabriella started his way.

Suddenly, from out of no where, jumped a ethereally tall and thin lady grasshopper. Gabriella had seen photographs of the all woman Grassazon tribe of grasshoppers before, but she thought they were long endstink. She was in shock to see this valiant warrior here in the corn rows. The tall grasshopper warrior jumped right between Gabriella and Fat Arachnid.

“What DO YOU think you are doing?” the tall one asked Gabriella.
“Not that it is any of YOUR business, she is going for a walk with me,” Fat Arachnid interrupted as he dangled a plump kernel of corn before the two grasshoppers.

Gabriella made an effort to jump past the Grassazon warrior, but she could not move as quickly as she used to. She could not get around. The warrior kicked Fat Arachnid backwards with the swift action of her back leg, and he was knocked unconscious for several hours.

The Grassazon warrior gave Gabriella a stern look and said, “I was a friend of your mother, Gabriella. We learned to sing together and were inseparable until Ginger’s unforeseen and untimely death.”

“SO?” challenged Gabriella.

“ I am here because your Aunt Godiva called with the Song of the Grasshopper. She told me that no one has ever taken you under the wing, and I am here to fix that problem. First, though, you must lose some weight. Your back legs are much to big to fit up under my wing.”

Gabriella started to back away from the Grassazon warrior. She needed corn.

“My name is Gay Gisella Grasshopper. Most people call me Gisella, but Ginger always called me Gay. She said I brought happiness to her life. It is time for me to do the same for you my dear. Come away from the corn with me.”

Gabriella was overcome by the maternal kindness of this stranger and agreed to go with her. Gay Gisella took Gabriella to a cool place under the shadow of a large rock. She showed Gabriella photographs of Ginger when Ginger was a young girl, peeking from beneath the wing of her own mother. She also had photographs of Ginger singing the Song of the Grasshopper.

“You know, Gabriella, your mother was very excited the day she laid your egg. She tried for several years to lay an egg, and you were a dream come true to her. Ginger spent many hours planning out your grassette and dreaming about taking you under her wing. I’m sorry you never knew her.”

Gabriella softly cried. “It is too late for me to learn the Song of Grasshopper now. Why did this happen to me?”

“Shoosh now,” crooned Gay Gisella. “We cannot question the Grass God. There is a reason for everything. “ Gay Gisella gently wiped Gabriella’s tears away. “I should have come to you a long time ago, Gabriella. I did not come because it was not my place to step in. Your aunts should have taken you under the wing. Auntie Godiva did what she could, but she is not able to take you under the wing. I cannot undo what is done, but I can take you under the wing now.”

“No you can’t! My back legs are too big now,” sniffled Gabriella.

“This is true my dear. However, this is not a problem that cannot be fixed. You just need a good diet and extra exercise. We will have you hopping again in no time.”

“Oh no. I cannot do it. I love corn and marigolds. I cannot give them up. It is TOO HARD!” Gabriella was already looking back towards the corn patch.

“Oh yes you CAN do it, Little Missy,” Gay Gisella said sternly. “And did you even hear anyone say you cannot have corn or marigolds? You can have them. You just need a plan. My own mother was a grassitition, so I can help with this.”

For 3 months, Gabriella had a breakfast of 1 dandelion bud with a little milkweed. She had another dandelion with milkweed and a nice cup of honeysuckle nectar. The fiber and protein filled breakfast and lunch satisfied Gabriella most days, and that allowed her to have a scrumptious dinner of corn and crabgrass. Every Saturday she was allowed to munch marigolds after her exercise.

After 2 weeks, Gabriella was making small and not so painful hops again.

After 2 months, Gabriella was hop hop hopping around the block.

At the end of the 4th month, Gabriella had lost enough weight to fit under Gay Gisella’s wing. The comfort from winged nurturing was something that Gabriella had longed for all of her life. Gay Gisella the Grassazon Warrior taught the orphan the Song of Grasshopper.

Two short years later, the graceful Gabriella Grasshopper won the Entertainer of the Grass Award for her heart-wrenching performance of Song of Grasshopper. Gabriella sang the song in memory of her mother and dedicated it to Gay Gisella.

The next day Gabriella took Gay Gisella aside and explained that they were about to embark on the slow process of whittling the excess crabgrass from Gay Gisella’s back legs. This was an enormous task for an old grasshopper like Gay Gisella, but Gabriella knew she could make losing weight fun for her friend.

This happy story, my grasshopper friends, end with a hug and large love.

The Soon To Be Slim End

Blessed With Bad Hair

I always start feeling sorry for myself about this time in the summer. I did not get to do half the things that I wanted to, and the summer is gone. I spent too much time doing “whatever” that I don’t even remember, and now I have to catch up all that work that I should have been doing in June. My hair has gotten so long that it just hangs limp and looks dirty, even when it is barely dry from washing, and hangs in my eyes, and the only time I had to get it cut, they were closed. It looks like I might have to start school with a bad haircut, and what will my students think? I haven’t even had a chance to visit with Daddy since Sunday. Now I don’t even have time to schedule sleep because there is too much for me to do before school starts on Monday, so I just stay up and feel sorry for myself.

Let’s add to that a summer cold. A really rotten summer cold with a sore throat. It has been 4-5 years since I have had a cold. I am certain that colds avoid me because I am such a horrid person to be around when I get one. I want to crawl into bed and have someone take care of me. Now I go and get one when taking off work is not even an option. If you can’t take off work and stay in bed, no one can possibly respect the intensity of your illness. We are much too busy at work for me to call in sick, so I just go in and feel even more sorry for myself.

Let’s add another layer to the madness and paint the office. I have never had a problem with paint before, but I did today. I could not breathe. I broke out in a rash. I got high as a kite. I am fairly certain I suffered depression as I came down off the high, and that made me REALLY feel sorry for myself. I haven’t talked to Daddy this week. I need a hair cut. I need sleep. I need 4 more hours to work every day. I need to slam that phone across the room if it rings one more time. Yes, I feel sorry for myself.

Then the phone rang one more time. It was one of my students. Rather it was a young lady who was scheduled to be one of my students beginning Monday. That makes her one of mine, just like my own child. Call her Jane, for the sake of privacy. Jane was calling from Le Bonheur Hospital in Memphis. She had been transferred around the University 3 times before she found my card and called me. Jane won’t be here next week because her 2 year old son is in critical condition. He was in a car accident on 351 last Monday. Jane’s mother and 20 year old brother were killed in that accident, and her son is in critical condition.

The rest of the afternoon I was mad at myself and mad at the world, I guess. How can life be so unfair? Why does this child, who is raising a child, have to suffer this horrific loss just as she is trying to put her life on the right track? What purpose could possibly be served in a 2 year old in ICU . . . critical condition? How does a young woman mourn her mother and brother while she sits by her child praying for his life.

I thank God that my appearance is my worst problem today. Tomorrow I shall rejoice in my rash, baggy eyes, and bad haircut because I am blessed that these are the problems God gave me for today.

Alien Invasion: Convincing the World

You know how the sky looks right at the end of summer when the heated haze has cleared? The blues and whites are crisp and clear. They are well defined and no longer blend together the way potatoes and gravy do when you have squished too much food on your plate. I love watching the sky when it looks like that.

That’s the kind of day it was. The air was as crisp as the colors of the sky. I walked through a town that looked like it came right out of the past. All the houses were white, and they were all 2 or 3 stories. The front porches were wide and long. I stopped in front of a house that had 2 rocking chairs and several ferns arranged on the neatly swept front porch. It looked like a picture postcard. The life of the house, though, was around back where there was another porch. This one was screened. It wasn’t as neat as the front porch. The glider was covered with an old worn quilt and 4 discarded throw pillows. It looked mighty comfortable to me. A small basket of apples sat perched on one of the wooden steps to the back porch. A larger basket was full of potatoes . Each side of the screen door was decorated with strings of fresh onions and garlic hanging out to dry. A large pile of purple hull pea hulls was right beside the steps. The gentle wind teased the dried and hardened hulls and threatened to blow them all over the back yard, which was decorated with bikes and trikes, as well as ball bats and other remnants of childhood.

The houses seemed to belong to another time, but the people living there were familiar. I saw friends, family, and a few acquaintances from work. Beyond the happy chirping of birds, I could hear children laughing as they played around the corner. It was a happy day. A lazy happy day.

Then I saw something strange in the sky. It looked like a train of hot air balloons. Very odd balloons, though. A covered wagon and team took the lead. A castle brought up the rear. The balloons in the middle looked like an apple tree and a boat. I told you it was strange!

It looked like the balloons were going to land, so I cut out running in that direction. They were descending over a freshly cut rice field just outside of town. I stood watching them in awe as they slowly came closer and closer. Can you believe no one else was around? Where were all the people? Surely someone besides me had seen this curiosity in the sky! No one else was about, though. I was all alone, but it never occurred to me that I should be frightened.

Until they landed.

It turns out that they were not hot air balloons at all. They were alien spacecraft. The doors to the castle opened first. Out stepped Dorothy and Toto. I wanted to rush towards her in excitement, but something was not right. Dorothy’s face had no emotion, and her eyes were dull - like a robot She was quickly followed by another Dorothy and Toto. And then another. Soon there must have been 50 of them standing in the field, facing the town.

The Scarecrow stepped down from the driver’s seat of the covered wagon and team. Immediately after Scarecrow joined the first Dorothy, many more robot-like Scarecrows disembarked from the back of the covered wagon. Dorothy, Toto, and Scarecrow were soon joined by Tinmen jumping from the apple tree and Cowardly Lions climbing out of the boat. As soon as the group assembled in teams of 5 (Dorothy, Toto, Scarecrow, Tinman, and Cowardly Lion), they began a slow march towards town. All of them had emotionless faces and dull blank eyes. They advanced with a slow methodic pace.

I don’t know how I knew it, but I knew they were evil. I knew they were coming to kill us all, and I knew it would not be painless. I ran back to town harder than I have ever run in my life. My legs were shaking. My chest ached with every single breath. My throat burned from screaming.

Now let me ask you, how easy do you think it is to convince folks that the town is being invaded by aliens from the Land of OZ?

I wish they would come loosen these straps. My arms are aching.

I never have any visitors . . .

Energy

Energy.

Sometimes it eludes us. Sometimes it is there, and we do not even know why. We suck up vitamins, smoothies, and caffeine hoping to boost our energy. If you asked me from where I draw my energy, I would probably say my family. Daddy, my children, my GRANDchildren, my brothers, my BEST friend. My energy comes from the love we share.
There is little truth in that, though. These people give me a reason for living, not the energy to do so.




We had a retreat at work today. I might mention that I will soon be celebrating the 1 year anniversary of the BEST job I have ever had. Unlike all of the other events of this type that I have attended before, this one energized me. Why? I am working with energized and HAPPY people. I think my Director and Dean sleep in little pink bunny suits. They keep going and going and going. They don’t run off and leave you eating their fluffy pink dust. They prop you up on their little drums and carry you along with them. They make you WANT to live your life WITH them, as opposed to FOR them.

We are all responsible for our own energy. We cannot buy it in a bottle at the drug store or on the beverage isle of the supermarket. Energy is contagious. We get it from other people, not from things we put in our mouths. I don’t believe that I have ever had so much enthusiasm about a job. I am excited about every day. I am happy to help out my colleagues, and I know I can count on them if I am in a bind. At the end of the day, we might be tired, but we leave laughing and happy. Full of energy. . .

A long time ago I heard the expression, “if you hang around with bank robbers, you become a bank robber.”

I want to be an Energizer Bunny!



"You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."
– Robin Williams

It's Time to Soar

When I went out to open up The Outhouse today (which only means unzip the screens), I discovered a hummingbird trapped inside The Outhouse. God had a good idea when he blessed us with the hummingbird. They are beautiful creatures, but they are so frail. It looks like it would take no more than a strong wind to change, if not destroy, the life of a hummingbird.

This soft creature was panicked, as she flew up and down the screen walls of The Outhouse, trying desperately to escape. The room is large, so the little bird had plenty of room to fly. She instinctually knew that she must escape her rather large prison if she ever wanted to soar again. There was no happiness in the middle of the room for her.

I have lived most of my life in the safety of the middle of the room. I have been content with the restrictions that security place upon me. There is nothing wrong with that, but like the hummingbird, people have an instinctual need to soar. God gave us that. It would be a shame not to fight for it.

The hummingbird is a timid and frail creature, yet she knows soaring is worth risking her life.

I feel the gentle wind beneath my wings.

It is time

For

ME

To

SOAR!

The Jewels in My Life

It is Sunday night. As the week begins, my floor is covered with jewels of many colors. There are piles of pearls, mounds of rubies, stacks of sapphires. From my throne (a blue recliner) I see a small heap of emerald, and there is a new copper color this year that my grandson argues is red. I think it may be a shade of topaz.

My dear cousin and beloved friend, Suzette, lives in New Orleans. Every year Suzette sends my grandchildren a big box of Mardi Gras goodies -- beads, coins, cups, stuffed animals. The children have no idea what Mardi Gras is. The girls see fine jewelry. The older boy sees a coveted pirate's booty. Undoubtedly, the 2 year old boy will soon join the older one as a team of pillaging pirates. Look out Captain Jack!

My grandson has been visiting for a few days, so the plastic jewels have been pirate booty this weekend. We have sorted and examined each piece carefully. I have worn most of these beads at various times over the weekend and have been scolded for making the mistake of calling a strand of pearls beads. How silly of me!

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When I started writing this post, I had been looking for a different type of jewel for nearly two months. Sometime over the Memorial Day weekend I misplaced my mother's sapphire college ring, my grandmother's Eastern Star ring, and a watch that my daughter gave me one Christmas. I had a "throwing out" that weekend, and I had just about decided that my jewels had accidentally been tossed. I have searched every nook and cranny, under furniture, in the vacuum cleaner bag. I even put on the heavy armor and cleaned out my truck. My precious treasures were no where to be found.

I shed many a tear trying to think of places that I might have stuck my jewels. I felt like a part of my soul had been lost forever. The cherished treasures turned up in a most unusual place as I contemplated the importance of the jewels that painted my carpet with color.

The tears I shed were wasted ones. The missing rings and watch are not a part of my soul at all. They are a part of my memories. For the time being, those memories are still intact. When I lose the memories, the rings and watch will be meaningless to me, and it is not likely that my soul will be lost with the memories. At the end of the day, my precious jewels are worth about as much as the ones that turned my living room floor into a Jackson Pollack.

The true jewels in my life are in the eyes and smiles of my family. Of course, Daddy is a diamond, & his brilliance lights the way for the rest of the clan. Without him, the rest of us would lack luster. Amanda is a garnet. Shell is an emerald. While Roger is a tangerine topaz, his wife, Jessie, is an aquamarine beryl. Asia is a pearl, and her sister is a pink topaz. Christian is a peridot, a paler image of his mother. Katelyn is an amethyst, and her brother, Madden, is malachite. My brothers Mal, Craig, Greg, & Lance are various shades of agate. My best friend, Cathey, is a star sapphire. Suzette, the family jeweler is a ruby. Me . . . I am like the Mardi Gras beads, with lots of flash but simple plastic underneath all the flash.

My life has been blessed with the most precious jewels and gems God put on this earth.


"You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."
– Robin Williams

The Obese Turtle

When my son was 6 or 7 years old, he had the delightful experience of turtle-sitting. The 2 little boys had gone to visit their Daddy for several weeks, and they asked Roger to keep the turtle while they were gone. You have seen this tiny cute turtle. Maybe you even had one as a child. They crawl out of the ditches in the Spring. This one was just about the size of a quarter.

I had a 4th of July "feast" in the back yard for my children, my neighbor & her son, and anyone else who might happen along. The boys kept feeding the turtle the rolls. After repeatedly telling them to stop, I told them that little turtles like that explode when they eat too much. They did not believe me.

After lunch, the boys took a nap. My daughters, Amanda & Michelle, agreed to baby-sit (a task that also involved turtle-sitting) while the boys tood a nap. While they were sleeping, my friend and I headed for the country in search of a large turtle. We found a very nice speciman that would just barely fit into the baby turtle's bowl. The well fed baby turtle was hidden safely out of site. When the boys got up, they ran in the kitchen to wake Turtle from is nap. Roger's bright and happy smile vanished, and his face turned to cold fear. The boys were certain that Turtle had overdosed on bread and was about to explode all over the kitchen.

The 4th of July might not be the first day of summer, but it signals the onset of Summer for me. As an adult, most of my 4th of July celebrations have been right in my own back yard. I still cook a big meal for anyone who might happen along. After lunch we feel like the obese turtle. I don't quite understand how we can associate "comfort" with something that makes us feel so miserable. I ate too much fried chicken today, and once again I feel like the obese turtle.

This year I spent the day with my daughter, Michelle, and grandson, Christian. We had a jolly happy time. We had a picnic, went swimming, and enjoyed the fireworks of Freedom Fest. I did most of the cooking for today's celebration last night. The simple menu included fried chicken, mashed taters, bean salad, and baked beans. I am not quite sure why I still call them baked beans because I cook them in a crockpot these days. It is ironic that we can associate "comfort" with something that makes us feel so miserable. I ate too much chicken today. It was delightful, yet I feel like the obese turtle tonight. A comforted obese turtle.

God blessed Americans with good food, loving families, and innocent children.

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Your only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.

-- Robin Williams

A Little Spark of Madness

Writing a blog should be easy for me. After all, I always have something to say. Nonetheless, it has taken me a long time to commit to blog. I like my freedom, and I never wanted to be tied to a blogging obligation.





Most people who know me will describe me as crazy . . . nuts . . . unpredictable . . . happy . . . and perhaps tetched with a little spark of madness. I talk to leprechauns. Well, actually, it is just the one leprechaun -- my sometimes friend, Lester (aka Little Green Dude). Come mid-September my yard will look something like this because I love Halloween.

Halloween gives adults an excuse to play dress up again, and I dress up and terrorize the neighborhood. I have a "crystal" ball and tell fortunes. My alter ego is named Esmeralda. Life can be entertaining at my house for certain.
As odd as it may seem, the madness keeps me sane. I rarely get stressed out because I refuse to be unhappy. I might have to do something outlandishly crazy to lighten the mood, but I am good at breaking stress with laughter. A person has to be at least a bit mad to pull some of the stuff I do for stress busters. When I mess up, I blame it on the Little Green Dude. Hey, if he didn't do it, he was most certainly thinking about it. :)


I am never lonely because I have imaginary friends.


It is only a little spark of madness, though.
Not enough to get me into trouble.
At least not very often.


Just enough to keep me sane.



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"You're only given a little spark of madness. You musn't lose it."

--Robin Williams