SPEAK ONLY WHEN SPOKEN TO

I'm currently on verbal communication restriction. This is like one of those "use your vacation or else" kind of gesture. My best friend who avoids my lengthy Q&A sessions to make a doctor's appointment, or answer natures call just experienced her first one-way conversation with me. I was forced to listen under protest and was unable to deny her request to update this blog due to my "Silence of The Hams" syndrome. Just to get a better feel for her, this same friend was just asked by her Fortune 500 company to go ahead and get in those vacation days. To my shock and horror she actually consulted "The Moron's Guide to Over-Achievement" (her calendar). In future blogs I think I will refer to mine as "The ADD Drug Free Helper" (ADDDFH). "Friend" wanted to be sure that she spent all that free time with her offspring. Not exactly a vacation, but whatever pulls the trigger. Staying on topic, I predict that after said holiday, she will be calling and imposing a different kind of "barrier laryingitis" on me to describe those precious moments with the kids.

Seriously, spring has sprung and has wedged a golf ball sized pollen choking hazard down my throat. First the runny nose, the itchy throat, the water retention (Oh, that's PMS), the drowsiness and finally the laryngitis. One day your the laugh of the party and the next you can't even make a noise when you burp.

It occurred to me that this might be one of those messages from The Big Man Upstairs. It would not be a total overstatement to interrupt me to say that I talk too much. I've got complete unheard orations on subjects that have absolutely no relevance to a "conversation". I often find myself in an hour-long chat with a telemarketer who accidently dialed my number. Don't knock it- you can meet real nice people that way. I LOVE hearing myself talk and I ASSUME that you love it too. It's kind of like that song by Toby Keith when he sings "You". If you haven't heard the song-- shut up and go listen to it. Of course, when I get my voice back, I'd be glad to sing it to you. Remember, I'm a talker. I'm suspicious that a few times a year God toggles my Run Mouth Switch to the "OFF" position. I can roll with that. I'm a big girl. A big quiet, lonely dry-mouthed girl. The last twenty-four hours has given me a chance to be introspective and bummed out. I'm not quite so interesting with my mouth shut. My body language skills have wasted away whilst I was flapping my lips. I can't point without shouting "Look where I'm pointing, it's over there". I can't express a need to a family member without whispering. For those of you who have been afflicted with laryngitis, you know what the whisper gets you. Here are your two responses: 1) Nothing, nada, zippo, 2) a whispered back "why are you whispering?", and finally 3) a total invasion of personal space with a nose to nose attempt to hear you better through your nostrils). Don't even get me started about answering the telephone. There may have to be a series on this topic. You'll be alerted with a life-guard whistle if I need you. With no voice I am still able to talk to the One who really listens. You don't need sound-waves to get through to Heaven. Case closed. Let the healing begin.

Don't Screw This Up For Me

Just when I thought I was forgettable, worthy of being thrown on that family scrap heap with weird uncles, the Aunt with cats, and the courting cousins, someone screws it up. There is a secret event that occurs in families all over the world. Not to get all up in your kool-aide, but you have already signed up by having any relatives or friends who count as family. I'm loaded with 'em. If the idea of the word "contest" gets you feeling froggy -- don't even think about it. There is only one deserving person and I am she, it, her....? It's Mine! THE WORST MEMBER OF THE FAMILY award is mine for the taking. I'm already on the backstretch and I don't need anyone slowing me down. My work is done. I'm on coast......... Whee! I can look in my rear view and you are all there. Yes, your trying, but you ain't got the stuff. It takes one tough cookie to get here and your a little squishy. I've got it in the bag. My names already engraved on the trophy. Wonder what beverage refreshment comes with this title? Anyway....I digress.


Any well trained racer knows that you have to be every watchful of speed bumps, gum on the side walk, kittens and stuff like that. I am dodging, spinning and ducking my way forward, but somehow I am T-Boned.

What can scew me up you might ask yourself? Remember the Aunt I mentioned with the cats? Yes, I really have one except that her cat is no longer with us. Remember her...........she's very much a part of this contest and can't be ignored.

I'm refining my strategy. Pulling on the shirt tails of others in front of me and heaving myself to the front I have given an insensitive reply to a mother who counts on my advice. (Scarey, huh)! I have responded to E-Mail during self-initiated question/answer time with my mom More importantly, I have forwarded those horrible E-Mails that say "Gutwrenching, Horrible and Totally Unnecessary" to all of my friends and family.


Enter the Aunt. Although she is not actually competing against me, her keen ability to cause a spin out is real and is no laughing matter. She has somehow managed to encroach on my position and is making an attempt to cut my lead by more than a comfortable margin. Warning. Her secret weapon comes in the form of an average, non descript E-Mail.

As I opened this "E-Card" I realized my mistake too late. It says "Fly Away, but not too far from me". Yipes! I know a true champion of the aforementioned reward should have just hit delete or forward to "LIST" I'm falling for it. From out of nowhere comes a cartoon picture of brightly colored paints. I reluctantly clicked on one vile as requested. The little paint droppers, one by one, unscrew their little tops and drift over to a little blank card. Little.......but HUGE. Here's where I lost concentration. First pink, then blue, purple and finally black a simple butterfly is assembled inside your card. As soon as you cock you head to one side to admire it --- it flys away. I watched it go and forgot all about the contest. My sister had lifted my spirits ever so slightly so that I could no longer focus on that checkered flag.

I'm sure I'll be back in the game by morning, but that little reprive was actually pretty restful and reassuring. Leave it to the cat lady....as clevor as every. Still on her toes, she does not seem to be breaking a sweat because she's not in the race as I said. She's standing on the side lines holding that little dixie cup full of water and as I run hysterically by, she give it to me. It's gonna be a little harder to get that second wind.

Everything in Moderation

Do I need a moderator? I looked up the word moderator in the dictionary. I felt a need to look up this word before I used it in a sentence. Meanings to everyday words have changed over the last few years. You know the song.....back when a hoe was a hoe, a screw was a screw....and when I said I'm down with that it meant I had the flu (sorry Tim McGraw). But really, you can't feel safe to use everyday words in todays conversations or e-mails because they might have a totally different launguage function. My blog says my comments should be moderated. Heck, no kidding. I have no idea what I'm doing or who is reading it. But just for fun, let's look at this. Mirriam Webster says this : Moderator - One who arbitrates; mediator. I think all the problems of the world might be solved if everyone had an arbirator. Think of it..a person to make all decisions after considering all relavant facts. Cooooooooool. Imagine.....Kids: "Mom, we're hungry. What's for supper"?Mom: "Let me consult my magic moderator......hmmmmmm.. Looks like we are having peanut butter sandwiches and Doritos." Kids: "We don't want that. We want..........Mom: "I'm sorry. The moderator is always right. Peanut butter it is."I was introduced to my personal moderation powers when I opened this blog. When you send me a message to post, it goes into cyber-space pergatory until "I" say print. Cool, huh? Somewhere out there in blog socety I have an opinion that matters. One that can not be disputed or questioned. Man, I don't even have to deal with the eye-ball roll, the sudden burst of exhausted air from the mouh, or hear how unfair this whole thing is. I like a moderator. THIS IS MY BLOG SPACE AND YOU MAY NOT ENTER UNLESS I SAY SO. I will no longer regret not getting a college education, living out on my own, or not standing up to that guy in 5th grade who whittled my ego down to a stump. Kevin, if your out there......Your hair was frizzy and you might write me back to complain, but I don't have to print you or even look at you. Sick...I know what your thinking. You may even want to respond

One Year Ago

One year ago:

* My oncologist said my tumor numbers were outstanding. He asked me if I could go an entire year without seeing him. Scary, but it has been over a year. I go today for a "check-up". I am nervous, I'm shingled, itchy, quivering from the inside out, blurry, my teeth are set tight, my shoulders, back and neck are set tight. My eyes are are swollen from tears that flowed freely yesterday. I did my best to make everyone miserable. I succeeded. I don't like this person going in for a check up today. I dont' feel like being checked. Going into that waiting room used to be a source of strength; I was one of them. Bald, nauseous, proud, strong, hopeful. Those were the days. I was at the top of my game then. Today I'll be a "visitor in my own home" and it's really wierd. I hope the Angel of Inspiration and New Found Spirit comes to visit me there. They are probably not expecting me, I haven't shown any interest in flying high with them lately. Anything can happen.......or nothing. It's not just a check-up for me. It's medical validation that I'm good to go. I want to make this my last day looking over my shoulder. I'm missing what's in front of me right now.

That "Depression" Commercial

T

TAILS ARE FOR CHASING

There are people who have this thing they do. It works for them. Their lives run a little more smoothly than mine. Their kids are more successful. Their husbands are more satisfied. This mystical unattainable thing is so far removed from my belief system that I can only stand in awe of those who do it. I've bought so many books and read so much information about this. Heck, I've bought a package that explains how to schedule this into your life day by precious day. Yes, I paid money for it. The more I learn about it, the more sure I become that this is not for me. I am, admittedly, scared to death of it and deem myself emotionally and physically unfit to try it.

Okay...enough of it. ROUTINE!!! Even the word as it is written is unattractive to me. It sounds like a high-wire circus act or a rinse you would use for bad breath. I can't have any part of it and don't mesh well with those who do well with one. If you actually tried to start one, I'll bet you five dollars that some "thing" would sabotage it that very day. Like today, my car is sitting in my driveway. I have black garbage bags over the windows that were left rolled down. It is pouring down rain and my battery is dead as a hammer. See.....I tried to schedule ahead. Make an appointment...Venture out into the world as if..............WHAM! oh no you don't. Get back in the house. Chase your tail! Chase your tail! Chase your tail!

Camelot.........or not!

Yesterday my 16 year old had some questions: 1) Have you seen how much grey hair the President has since 9/11? 2) Why is the media only focused on the negative side of humanity? 3) Why does our desire to be "uncensored" make things worse? 4) What is wrong with this country?
I wanted to cry.....She was livid. Obviously, a button had been pushed and there was no turning this heart-broken Crisis Vigilante around. I wanted to tell her to click her heels together three times and say Coca Cola commercial.....Coca Cola commercial. She was pacing and ranting and I wondered just how burdened she actually felt. She repeatedly questioned our success at democracy and fairness in the United States. It was a conversation/debate on whether this was something new or old. My younger daughter chimed in that each generation had its way to express filth and disrespect and their own way of justifying it. Everyone agreed that not one particular generation was to blame and the media was an untrustworthy source for truth. I was rendered without a cure, or a band-aide to fix this festering boo boo. Momma could even get special cartoon character band-aides but they are "pornographic and half-naked because of our lack of moral standards".