ONIONS: BOTH A CURE FOR THE COMMON COLD & FLU PLUS SOME OTHER INTERESTING FACTS

ONIONS! I had never heard this!!! PLEASE READ TO THE END

In 1919 when the flu killed 40 million people there was this Doctor that visited the many farmers to see if he could help them combat the flu... Many of the farmers and their families had contracted it and many died.

The doctor came upon this one farmer and to his surprise, everyone was very healthy. When the doctor asked what the farmer was doing that was different the wife replied that she had placed an unpeeled onion in a dish in the rooms of the home, (probably only two rooms back then). The doctor couldn't believe it and asked if he could have one of the onions and place it under the microscope. She gave him one and when he did this, he did find the flu virus in the onion. It obviously absorbed the bacteria, therefore, keeping the family healthy.

Now, I heard this story from my hairdresser. She said that several years ago, many of her employees were coming down with the flu, and so were many of her customers. The next year she placed several bowls with onions around in her shop. To her surprise, none of her staff got sick. It must work. Try it and see what happens. We did it last year and we never got the flu.

Now there is a P. S. to this for I sent it to a friend in Oregon who regularly contributes material to me on health issues. She replied with this most interesting experience about onions:

Thanks for the reminder. I don't know about the farmer's story...but, I do know that I contacted pneumonia, and, needless to say, I was very ill... I came across an article that said to cut both ends off an onion put it into an empty jar, and place the jar next to the sick patient at night. It said the onion would be black in the morning from the germs...sure enough it happened just like that...the onion was a mess and I began to feel better.

Another thing I read in the article was that onions and garlic placed around the room saved many from the black plague years ago. They have powerful antibacterial, antiseptic properties.

This is the other note. Lots of times when we have stomach problems we don't know what to blame. Maybe it's the onions that are to blame. Onions absorb bacteria is the reason they are so good at preventing us from getting colds and flu and is the very reason we shouldn't eat an onion that has been sitting for a time after it has been cut open.

LEFT OVER ONIONS ARE POISONOUS

I had the wonderful privilege of touring Mullins Food Products, Makers of mayonnaise. Questions about food poisoning came up, and I wanted to share what I learned from a chemist.

Ed, who was our tour guide, is a food chemistry whiz. During the tour, someone asked if we really needed to worry about mayonnaise. People are always worried that mayonnaise will spoil. Ed's answer will surprise you. Ed said that all commercially-made mayo is completely safe.

"It doesn't even have to be refrigerated. No harm in refrigerating it, but it's not really necessary." He explained that the pH in mayonnaise is set at a point that bacteria could not survive in that environment. He then talked about the summer picnic, with the bowl of potato salad sitting on the table, and how everyone blames the mayonnaise when someone gets sick.

Ed says that, when food poisoning is reported, the first thing the officials look for is when the 'victim' last ate ONIONS and where those onions came from (in the potato salad?). Ed says it's not the mayonnaise (as long as it's not homemade mayo) that spoils in the outdoors. It's probably the ONIONS, and if not the onions, it's the POTATOES.

He explained onions are a huge magnet for bacteria, especially uncooked onions. You should never plan to keep a portion of a sliced onion.. He says it's not even safe if you put it in a zip-lock bag and put it in your refrigerator. It's already contaminated enough just by being cut open and out for a bit, that it can be a danger to you (and doubly watch out for those onions you put in your hotdogs at the baseball park!). Ed says if you take the leftover onion and cook it like crazy you'll probably be okay, but if you slice that leftover onion and put on your sandwich, you're asking for trouble. Both the onions and the moist potato in a potato salad, will attract and grow bacteria faster than any commercial mayonnaise will even begin to break down.

Also, dogs should never eat onions. Their stomachs cannot metabolize onions. Please remember it is dangerous to cut an onion and try to use it to cook the next day, it becomes highly poisonous for even a single night and creates toxic bacteria which may cause adverse stomach infections because of excess bile secretions and even food poisoning.

Please pass this on to all you love and care about.

NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS

It’s time once again for the annual swearing of the New Year’s resolution - that time honored tradition where we solemnly make all kinds of wonderful pledges to both ourselves & our loved ones. But all the good intentions and big plans mean naught because deep down in our pudgy little cholesterol laden hearts we know that we’ll never follow through on any them. Those extra 10, 20, (hell admit it) 50 pounds aren’t going anywhere any time soon and even the thought of giving up smoking has you fumbling in your pocket for a light like a drowning man grabbing for a life preserver.

Big business is well aware of all this. January is the prime month of the year for gym memberships while sales of athletic wear and home fitness equipment are higher than at Christmas. Health food stores tout the latest cure all and TV informational push the latest diet/patch/pill that makes the fat melt away and somehow magically makes you look 15 years in the process. Who knew that losing weight would make your gray hair, wrinkles & eye baggage go away?

Get real people. If you DID lose all that weight you’d look like a Shar-Pei with all that excess skin drooping down - although you could save on underwear because that floppy skin apron where your gut used to be is going’a hang down & hide your punanny/pecker from view. Which won’t be an issue because you KNOW that you are not gonna give up Big Macs & Snickers and the only time you’ll lace up your Nike’s will be to go buy goodies at the store.

Loose skin, jingly butt cheeks, drooping jowls, chicken wing upper arms. Wait I’ve got all those already! Damn it all, I’m gonna have to do it, make a resolution and count on y’all to keep me honest.

RESOLUTIONS:

1. Get Healthy

2.....

'Heck, one is enough for me',

CHRISTMAS SURVEY

Stolen from Jackie Sue: The Christmas Survey

1. Have you started your Christmas shopping? All except stocking stuffers. What do you get a 10 year old boy who only hunts & fishes?
2. Tell me about one of your special traditions. Both the son & grandson get tack Christmas boxer shorts in their stockings

3. When do you put up your tree? haven't had a tree in years, too much trouble to take it down. Last time I put one up it stays till July 4th. However I do have Christmas Weebles on the bookshelves
4. Are you a Black Friday shopper?

Hell No

5. Do you travel at Christmas or stay home? I always have to work

6. What is your funniest Christmas memory? The year I got a chemistry set & made a stink bomb

7. What is your favourite Christmas movie of all time? Animal House's Christmas Vacation.

8. Do you do your own Christmas baking and what's your favourite treat?I never have much time but I do love all the "failed" stuff we get at work. If the cake falls or the cookies scorch all the wives send the results to the plant. Put it on the table & it'll get ate, no matter how sad it looks

9. Fake or real tree? I've had both. Love the real tree but not the mess

10. What day does the actual panic set in to get it all done? Panic?...you'd have to give a shit to panic..and I don't give a shit. Ditto for me Jackie

11. Are you still wrapping presents on Christmas Eve? I use bags if at all possible!

12. What is your favourite family fun time at Christmas? Watching the present unwrapping & the smiles if I get it right

13. What Christmas craft do you like the best? I don't craft.

14. Christmas music, yes or no? If yes, what is your favourite song? Only in small doses.

5 When do you plan on finishing your shopping. I'm done...

SWEET TEA

Do you take your tea sweet or not? Cold or hot? Sweet tea is a Southern staple, our Mamas put it in our bottles when we're wee babes and the addiction starts there. Go up north and the yankees swear that you're ruining a good thing. Seems that everyone everywhere has an opinion; but we Southerners will fight to the death over how to properly prepare and serve tea.

I just had to share this article, AMERICANS AT THE TABLE: REFLECTIONS ON FOOD AND CULTURE (it's kinda long but it tickled both my funny bone and my interest). I ran across this culinary tale in E Journal, USA:U.S. Society & Values, put out by the U.S. Dept. of State/Bureau of International Information Programs.

Damn, that's quite a mouthful!

You should go and read the whole paper, it's got tons of recipes and history about how different foods became staples in the USA.

INCLUDE ME OUT:

A REFLECTION ON “ICE TEA"

by FRED CHAPPELL

The author, though a native of the American South,disdains the region’s signature liquid refreshment, iced tea. He sees perversity behind the popularity of the highly sweetened drink, which he calls an “insipid banality,” but that doesn’t stop him from offering the reader guidance on how to prepare it.

"There are people who eat cold pasta salad. They enjoy despoiling their greenery with gummy, tasteless squiggles of tough, damp bread dough that are usually made palatable only when heavily disguised with hot tomato sauce and a stiff mask of Parmesan cheese. This salad does have the virtue of economy. Wednesday leftovers can be marketed to Thursday customers of perverse taste.

It is probably perversity also that accounts for the prevalence of ice tea in our American south. It was Edgar Allan Poe who first diagnosed this immitigable contrariness of human nature in his short story, The Imp of the Perverse, and he undoubtedly saw it as a normal trait of Dixie character. But please include me out. I am one southerner who detests that dirty water the color of oak-leaf tannin and its insipid banality. When I am offered ice tea by one of our charming southern hostesses, I know I’m in for a long afternoon of hearing about Cousin Mary Alice’s new babe and its genius antics in the playpen.

Hot tea makes sense. It can relax as well as stimulate and in fact may be sipped as a soporific. It can offer a bouquet pungent or delicate and causes us to understand why the Chinese designated certain strains of flowers as “tea roses.” It can be a topic of conversation, too, as southerners revive the traditional English debate as to whether the boiling water should be brought to the pot or the pot fetched to the water. Such palaver reassures us that all traces of civilization have not disappeared under the onslaughts of video games and e-mail.

But if you ice the stuff down it cannot matter in the least whether the water or the pot has journeyed. Any trace of the tea’s bouquet is slaughtered and only additives can give this tarnished liquid any aroma at all. There is, of course, plenty of discussion about these added condiments. Even the mildest of southern ladies may bristle and lapse into demotic speech when they consider that a glass of ice tea
has been improperly prepared.

Notice that we say, “ice tea.” Anyone who pronounces the successive dentals of “iced tea” is regarded as pretentious. And if you say “Coca-Cola” you will be seen as putting on airs, just as obviously as if you employed “you” as a collective pronoun. Down here we say “you-all,” “CoCola,” and “ice tea” and collect monetary fines from strangers who misspeak. Ignorance before the law is no excuse.

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In recent years some enterprising women have seen the futility of the pot/water controversy and have begun making “sun tea,” a beverage that is never acquainted with either stove or teapot. They simply fill a gallon jug with water, drop in a flock of tea bags, and set the collocation out on the back porch to brew in the broiling August sunshine. If this method does not make the kitchen more cheerful, it does at least lessen the hypocritical chatter about proper procedure. Ice cannot harm sun tea; it is created beyond the reach of harm or help.

Now as to the recipe for ice tea: Lemons are essential and should be of the big thick-skinned variety, cut into sixths. They are never – repeat: never – squeezed but only plumped into the pitcher, four or five slices. Extra slices are offered on a cut-glass plate six inches in diameter. Mint may be added, but it is always submerged in the pitcher and never put into a glass where it would glue to the interior side like a Harley-Davidson decal.

And sweetening is the soul of this potation. The sugar bowl passes from hand to hand at a pace so dizzying it is like watching the rotating label on an old 78-rpm record. Southerners demand sweetness. The truly thoughtful hostess shall have already sweetened the tea for her guests with a simple sugar syrup that excludes the possibility of unpleasant graininess from bowl sugar. Sugar syrup for ice tea is concocted by adding one pound of Dixie Crystal sugar to a tablespoon of water. In the south sweetened ice tea is taken for granted, like the idea that stock car racing is our national pastime and that the Southern Baptist church is a legitimate arm of the Republican Party.

If you order ice tea in a restaurant it will arrive pre-sweetened. If you want it unsweetened you must ask for it. Actually, you must demand it with pistol drawn and cocked. And you will have to repeat your demand several times, because tea unsweetened is as abstruse a proposition to most servers as a theorem of Boolean algebra. Even then you can’t be sure. My wife Susan once ordered unsweetened, but it arrived as sweet as honey. The waitress pleaded for understanding. “We couldn’t figure out how to get the sugar out,” she said.

Why southerners are so sugar-fixated may be a mystery, but it is an indisputable fact. We are a breed who makes marmalades of zucchini, tomatoes, onions, and even watermelon rinds. Our famous pecan pie (“puhKAWN pah”) is a stiff but sticky paste of boiled Karo corn syrup studded with nuts. Since this is not sweet enough, it will likely be served with a gob of bourbon whipped cream dusted with cocoa powder and decorated with vegetable-peeler curls of milk chocolate.

“Do you want ice tea with that?”

“Oh yes. Sweetened, please.”

Well, I’ll confess that, though born in North Carolina, I make a poor example of a southerner. I don’t even capitalize the name of the region. I’m a Democrat, a non-Baptist, and don’t care what kind of car I drive. To me, adding broiled marshmallows to yams is like putting raspberry jam on porterhouse. I once spotted a recipe in the magazine Southern Living for CoCola cake and had to fight down a surge of nausea. I flee as if pursued from fatback, spoon bread, barbecue, grits, and – ice tea.

Susan tells me I need sweetening.

Fred Chappell is a professor of English at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, and is North Carolina’s Poet Laureate. He has written numerous books of poetry and fiction, including First and Last Words, Midquest, More Shapes than One, Brighten the Corner Where You Are, and I Am One of You Forever.

HONEY, I'M HOME

It’s been one of those weeks, and not in a good way. My allergies have been kicking my ass from all the pollen in the air (yellow dust all over the place, I had to run the wipers to clear my windshield before leaving the house). I’ve got bloodshot eyes and I’ve blew my poor nose so many times that I’ve suffered nose bleeds a couple of times, plus the constant tissue contact has made me look like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer! Scarlet laced eyes, crimson nose, not a good look for an old woman; plus they don’t go well with the double chin and chipmunk cheeks.

Now that the rain has hit maybe my ruby colored snout will get better. I went grocery shopping in the sunshine and just as I walked out the exit the heavens opened and a solid sheet of rain poured down. I looked like a drowned rat by the time I got to the car and was dripping wet after getting everything in the trunk. The pollen was making golden ripples on top of the water running across the parking lot; I’m hoping that the air has been washed clean as well. I’m home now; the thunder is rolling, the rain is pounding on the roof and the TV is ranting about hail and possible tornadoes. Ah, life in the glorious South.

Tuesday I went to the funeral home for 2 different neighbors. They lived right across the road from each other and died on the same day (who would have thunk it). One had been sick for a long time and the other guy broke his ankle and died from a blood clot. I grew up with their kids and renewed several friendships at the funeral home, not the best place to run up on old friends but what can you do?

I need to go do some housework now, gotta go back to work tomorrow night and when I’m working all I do is work and sleep. I usually cook a lot on my off days and load the fridge so I can grab and go and not eat a lot of takeout. Hope y’all are all well and I’ll try to do better at the blog posting thingy.

WORSE THAN WE THOUGHT

Forget third world countries, this article in Fox News is scary and happening right here on our very own door step. The opening paragraph says it all:

WASHINGTON — Some 691,000 children went hungry in the U.S. sometime in 2007, while close to one in eight Americans struggled to feed themselves adequately even before this year's sharp economic downtown, the Agriculture Department reported Monday

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Go and read the rest for yourselves. With the economy failing, companies closing all over and people losing their homes no matter how hard they try going hungru is something one might have expected to hear, but this report was for last year and things are much worse now than it was then.

Here's the holidays knocking on our doors, and while most of us are buying turkeys and planning menus "Tiny Tim" down the street is scraping the bottom of the peanut butter jar while his mom cries in helplessness.

Wonder how many little ones are going to bed hungry tonight?

YELLOWDOG GRANNY, WESTFEST AND HURRICANES

I reached West ½ an hour before Jackie was due to get off of work, so I decided to cruise around on my own and check things out. One of the first things to catch my eye was the Family Dollar sign and a light bulb went off over my pointy little head saying: “Hey, didn’t Jackie say that she worked at the dollar store?” So I parked, walked in and the first thing I see is Jackie at the register holding court with 4 or 5 people surrounding her. So there I stood in the middle of the store waiting for her to notice me.

Notice me she did but didn’t know who I was, thinking that I was there to see Inky. She pointed me out to Inky and he was “Who’s that?” when Jackie finally figured out “That’s Junebugg” and ran around the counter to hug me. I hung around Family Dollar until time for her to clock out and then we met Babs for get-to-know-each lunch where I had my first skunk egg (a wonderful tennis ball sized wad of ham, chicken, bacon, cheese and who knows what else that's been breaded and deep fried). Then it was on to Jackie’s house where I met and was approved by Queen Annie, one of the most regal felines on the planet.

Let me tell you people, Jackie fed me like a queen while I was in Texas. Country fried steak with all the fixings, ring bologna & cheese, the woman cooked up a storm; when she wasn’t cooking we were going out for kolaches (wonderful things, kolaches, I do they’re addicting). She made me feel pampered and spoiled and I dreaded going home where I’m the one doing all the work. It’s a good thing that I don’t live in West or I’d weigh 300 pounds!

The next few days were spend getting to know each other with Jackie taking me on a grand tour of West, pointing out all the highlights and giving me a running commentary on every building’s history and introducing me around to the local citizens. I believe the woman knows everyone within a 50 mile radius! The town’s not that big and traffic is almost nonexistent, at least until Friday. When the crowd showed up for Westfest Jackie would sit at a stop sign waiting to pull out going “Fucking Tourists, fucking tourists, damn it go home!”

We both got to march in the Westfest parade but I kept losing Jackie. She was handing out the candy instead of throwing it and stopping to talk to everyone (I told you she knew everyone!) Babs had put me in charge of making sure that Jackie didn’t overdo because of her high blood pressure but when I tried to fuss she told me “The hazard pay ain’t high enough and I don’t need a MAMA." so I gave up and let her be. We had made “Obama Mama” t-shirts the night before when she had made signs for the democratic float, but the markers weren’t waterproof. So I look over at Jackie about half way through the parade and she’s got black streaks on both arms from sweating and rubbing her arms across her boobs (big boobs are a bitch sometimes). We both about melted in the Texas sun and afterwards went to get some water but all the stores had already sold out.

Gady (another one of Jackie's blog buddies) drove down to go to stay with Jackie and go to Westfest with us. Lucky feller, staying all night with two women and all. So off we go and he keeps losing one of us in the crowd. First I wondered off and then we lost Jackie. I almost chocked when he panicked and told me that he was an “Alpha Male” and it was his job to take care of the women. I can’t remember the last time that I needed taken care of and I don’t think that Jackie was ever helpless, but men can’t help being men what with all those male hormones messing with their brains. Besides, it was kinda sweet.

I learned to do the Chicken dance, drank 3 Pevos (beer) and had a great time. Who knew that polka was such a big draw? The place was packed and everyone seemed to be having a blast, I even ran up on a guy from Alabama! I watched in amusement as an older gentlemen went around kissing all the young girls on the hand as he leered down their cleavage and there was a young man dressed in costume leaning on a tent pole holding a sign that said “Will dance for pevo” who Jackie tried to give some money to.

After Westfest we dropped in at a bar that Jackie knew. Gady was a little hesitant about going in because the lot was almost empty and dark and the building was “rustic”; but we females started in without him and you know that an “alpha male” wasn’t about to let the females go alone. Of course Jackie knew everyone inside and we all shot several games of pool. Jackie kicked my ass and then she played Gady. He won but I’m almost positive that she was sandbagging so as not to hurt his delicate male pride.

Home again; me on the couch, Jackie in the recliner and Gady in Jackie’s bed. Wonder how long it’s been since there’s been a man in Jackie’s bed??????? He leaves out first thing the next morning and we girls laze around and gossip about the night before (ain’t that what women usually do after a night out?)

I leave West in the leftovers of Hurricane Gustav. The weather doesn’t get bad until I’m leaving Dallas (thank Goddess, I hate driving in Dallas) and I had serious doubts about making it home that day. But all the rooms are taken up by refugees from Louisiana and the radio keeps promising that by the time I reach Memphis the rain will quit so I drive on. Visibility is nil, 18 wheelers are throwing up sheets of water and the interstate is flooded so I’ve got a death grip on the steering wheel driving while peering through the monsoon. I call Jackie at a rest stop to let her know that I’m OK so far and I can tell that she’s worried but I’m a stubborn cuss and keep on driving.

I made it home in 12 hours and 15 minutes, not too shabby for driving so far in a hurricane without any “alpha male” to hold my hand. I’d love to visit Jackie again, but I think that next time I just might fly.

It's time to embrace being Miss Average

This article in The Daily Mail really hits home! I think all women should read it and take it to heart. Here's one highlight:

After all, some of the most contented women I know are average in the
nicest possible way.

They are attractive enough to avoid weeping when they look in the mirror and to acquire a nice boyfriend, while being not quite beautiful enough to make other women hate them and to be shackled to maintaining their look well past the time at which they might have the energy to do so.

They are blessed with enough nous to navigate their way through life relatively smoothly without the pitfalls inherent in being a tortured genius, and they earn enough to pay the bills and finance the odd luxury mini-break, even if they will never hold a platinum card.

In short, they're ordinary.

You don't have to be the youngest, richest, thinnest, prettiest woman in the world to be happy; so all of us "normal" women have something to celebrate. Don't wait until you lose 10 pounds or the house is perfect to do the things that make you happy. Go on a trip, wear that red dress and enjoy life. If you keep waiting, it may be too late before you have the time/money/looks to do what you want.

BIRTHDAY SNOW

Yesterday was my sister Donna’s 50th birthday (she's next to me, I'm the oldest of we 5 sisters) the big FIVE OH that women dread so much, but she couldn’t go out and celebrate because of family obligations; so today Karen, Donna and I became “ladies who lunch” and went to Ryans/Fire Mountain (the local all you can eat buffet) where you can pig out on wonderful food and a dessert bar to die for. Hey, it’s a party; I can eat cake and ice cream and not feel guilty, right?

When I turned 50 I came home from work to find that Donna and her kids had decorated the entire yard with black balloons and crepe paper and a huge sign (painted in glitter paint no less) proclaiming that I was over the hill and my age for all the word to see; but since I was working on her birthday I couldn't return the favor. Of course posting her age on the web is the next best thing. So there ya go Donna, I got you back on the age advertising thing.

We wound up sitting next to an older couple and a young woman who were either Amish or Mennonites, I can’t tell the difference. They were dressed the part with the women in baggy dresses and the man in his black suit, long gray hair and beard. The young woman looked pregnant, but it could have been the sack of a dress that she had on. Karen said a cuss word and then instantly felt bad, blushing blood red and slapping her hand over her mouth while Donna kept lusting after those little white bonnets the women wore. Not sun bonnets like my grandmother wore to work in her garden but close fitting gauzy cap deals that tied underneath the chin.

Then Karen noticed some big guy who she claimed kept watching her eat, she said that he wanted her food but after he made three trips back to the buffet I tried to convince her that he thought the way she was eating was erotic and wanted to stuff something of his own in her mouth. Of course Donna jumped right on that, telling her how what he offered would be all hot and creamy, but Karen refused to play along.

Yeah, we’re goofy but hey, we had a good time. Of course people keep looking at us as we giggled and laughed and had a blast but the hell with them. What’s wrong with 3 women over the age of 50 sounding in high spirits? Besides, I’ve always heard that when you get older you can do anything that you want; it’s one of the few perks of aging.

Afterward, we hit the Dollar Tree where everything is $1 and you can load up a shopping cart for $20. While we were inside everyone started running to the windows and yelling “It’s Snowing!” The white fluffy stuff is rare here in Alabama, my 8 year old grandson can only remember 1 other time that it snowed, so it’s a big deal.

When we checked out and walked to the car it was snowing heavily, big fat flakes falling straight down. By the time I got to the car the shoulders of my coat were frosted white and I was wishing glasses came with windshield wipers. The drive home was almost a white out, you couldn’t see but a few car lengths in front of you, but the ground was warm and it melted as soon as it hit. It’s stopped now and they’re predicting sleet and rain tonight so I guess that today was our one snow for the winter. I guess you could say that Donna got snow for her birthday.

While I’m on the subject of birthdays, today’s Bitchitude’s, go tell her and Donna both ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY” if you want.

HOLIDAY MOOD

Last night I got to watch my 8 year old grandson play basketball for the first time, this is his first year to play and I’m usually at work when he has a game. I’m proud to say he got two baskets, two rebounds and one stolen ball; not too shabby for someone who never played before (Yeah, Nana is bragging). Wish I had thought to bring a camera so I could bore y’all with grandmotherly type photos, maybe next time my mind won’t be blank and I’ll do better. He’s a head taller than all the other kids but so skinny that he has trouble keeping his pants up. Yep, I have a tow headed beanpole with big feet for a grandson, but dang he’s a pretty thang.

I’m finally getting into a holiday mood (bout time don’t ya think); there’s a turkey in the oven (who knew that it takes weeks to thaw one of those suckers out, after 5 days in the fridge it's innards were still frozen solid and I had to shove my hand up the turkey's butt and dig 'em out) and the car trunk is loaded with presents for our family get-to-gather tomorrow. I’ve been watching sappy holiday movies on Lifetime TV and humming Christmas carols all day. Lady Scrooge has left the building and Grandma Christmas has made her belated appearance.

I’ve had the hardest time putting myself in a holiday frame of mind: our parents’ wedding anniversary was Christmas day, Mom died just before the Christmas that would have been their 50th, and Dad passed 10 months later. Although we still have our family shindig at the home place, it’s just not the same. The house is packed with relatives; inlaws and outlaws and dozens of kids running around yelling and screaming, but there’s still an empty space that you can feel in your heart. It’s been several years since Mom and Dad left us, but I still expect to see them both when I walk in the door. They say that time heals all, but it’s going to be a long long time before the home place feels like Lana’s house and not my parents’.

Gotta go and check on the bird, nothing worse than a dried up old turkey, so Happy Holidays to everyone and I’ll be by to check on y’all soon.

FUNNY

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REUNION

Family reunions; that quintessential mixture of love, laughter and loss. Relatives hold forth with the same verbal sparring that they’ve mastered over the years, but now there’s more gray heads than sparkling eyes in the mix. Hugs encompass the shoulders of loved ones present and accounted for, making the black hole of deceased family members all the more obvious and heartbreaking. Oldsters catch-up with each other while youngsters ask “Who are you?” “Whose your Mom/Dad?” before adjourning outside to toss a football as if they’ve known each other forever. Old memories are shared and new ones made as long lost kin reminisce and new babies are introduced to strangers whose genes they share.

Saturday was the first reunion in years of The Curnutt Clan, my Mom’s family. It was hosted by my Cousin Danny at CR Mechanical (his company) in Tanner, with Danny furnishing hotdogs and hamburgers and the rest of the relatives bringing covered dishes. Of course there was an overabundance of food; 2 tables groaned beneath the weight of casseroles and desserts of every kind (ain’t it always that way at reunions!) All the cooks urged everyone to “Try some of this, I brought it!” as paper plates were filled to overflowing and frost-bitten hands dug into coolers searching for the beverage of choice. Several cameras snapped at odd times, capturing candid photos of bulging cheeks and wide open mouths with food being shoveled in for all prosperity. I can see my grandson years from now asking “Who’s the old man with half a hotdog hanging out of his mouth?”

One of my cousins walked by, patted me on the tummy and asked “Getting kinda fat, aren’t ya?” Later I told my sister Donna that our sisters and kids were the biggest bunch at the reunion (meaning there were more of us) and she replied “Yeah, in more ways than one” and it’s true. Most of Mom’s relatives are on the slender side while we Waters Women take after our Dad’s family (a much sturdier stock). Kinda funny when you consider the fact that my Grandmother Curnutt was known to all as “Big Mother”.

The reunion was held just down the road from the old Curnutt home which had been condemned and is being torn down. Of course everyone had to go look and recall stories about our growing up in and around the ancient two story house. When we were kids it seemed gigantic, but as adults it’s hard figure out how the heck they got so much furniture in the tiny rooms. Donna got several hand-made cinder bricks from the old fireplace as mementoes, but I prefer my memories to solid objects which will only catch dust. You can take memories out and play with them whenever you want and they don’t take up space in my already cluttered life.

After all, aren’t good memories kept bright and shiny from constant use the best tribute that you can give a loved one, whither they’re alive or deceased? To all my family, I love y’all and I’m proud to be a part of the clan. I hope you feel the same way about me.

A special thanks to Cousin Danny for the use of his time and business place. Love Ya.

PS: The computer censer at work has blocked this website and any other with the term "blogspot" in the address, so I don't have as much time to visit my blogbuddies. Sorry for not getting around to everyone as much as usual

REDNECK WEDDING

After all these weeks I've finally gotten around to developing the pictures I took at my nephew's Redneck Wedding. It's a bitch when real life interferes with the pleasures of life but I gotta work to eat, so what's a girl to do.

I have to admit that this was the best wedding that I've ever been to. It was outdoors, they served pintos and cornbread at the reception, the bride's relatives provided live entertainment and everything came off without a hitch (bad pun; hitch, getting hitched. Oh well, you get it).

My sister Teresa (mother of the groom), 3rd of us 5 girls, and her husband Randy.
Both the groom and groom's man wore high top Converse sneakers.
Whispering sweet nothings
Told you it was redneck! Brock, the groom's man.
Paul and Erica, the happy couple


The bride and bride's maid buck dancing at the reception.

I wish Paul and Erica all the happiness in the world. If their mariage goes half as well as the wedding did they'll be an old couple holding hands while they watch their grandchildren play. We should all be so lucky.......

THE HARDER I TRY.......

It came out of the dark and hit me like a ten pound hammer. That damn craving, the one I thought was gone for good. My mouth filled with slobber and I strangled the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. I gulped air, practicing those deep breathing exercises that’s supposed to help and all the while hungered for a smoke with every atom of my being.

Thank whatever deity that was looking after me, at 3:30 AM on rural highway 33 as it wound down Courtland mountain with moonlight sifting through the woods and coyotes' eyes gleaming in the dark, there was nowhere to buy a pack and no one to bum off of; I was safe from temptation. After checking the mirror to make sure I wasn’t foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog I drove the rest of the way into work and hit the gym, hoping to sweat out this devilish hankering for a cancer stick.

I’ve been soooooooo good for so long. Why now, after weeks of being smoke free, do I crave the damn things? When will I be free from this weakness? I haven’t even attempted a diet, just tried to stay smoke-free and away from the lure of other smokers.

I come from the age when smoking was considered "grown up" and "romantic". You know, back in the stone ages before Uncle Sam let us all know that tobacco was a killer. Watch any old movie, the hero always lights his lady love's cig. Then you have the gratuitous dual "smoking in the bed after sex" scene. Hell, back then smoking was cool and sexy and almost everyone lit up. Now old folks like me are fighting the habit, and some of us are fighting a losing battle.

Almost my entire family smoked back then, most of them still do. The habit contributed greatly to my Mom's death; so I know it's bad for me, that it stinks and is a nasty habit. But damn it's hard to give up!

Work opened a really nice gym on the plant site and I’ve been going in early on days and staying over after midnights in the hope of gaining a little muscle and thinking perhaps my gasping for breath on the cardio portion would help me resist the siren call of tobacco. I usually do 10 minutes of stretches, 20 minutes of cardio, 20 minutes of weight training, 20 more minutes of cardio and then a final 10 minutes of stretches. I've even conquered the incline sit-up bench! Not too shabby for an over-the-hill old broad who sits on her arse 12 hours a day for a living.

The plan was to get off of tobacco, get in semi-shape and then work on the food portion of my “get healthier.” plan. When you pass the age of 50 you have to work a lot harder on getting in shape. Plus I’m a hedonist so I’ve been putting off the diet part; I didn’t think I could give up good food and smoking at the same time.

Oh well, I guess it's back to one day at a time. I've resisted Demon Tobacco, now if I can just kick my honey bun habit.......

PICTURES

It's been a busy weekend so I'll just leave you with some pictures from Karen's birthday party, plus one of Rufus doing his thing.
Karen and her husband Joe.

Karen's son Brock and me.


Me and Sweet Thang


Rufus doing his "You know you want me" kitty porn pose.