Wicked Witch of the West

Yes, this would be me.

I have a certain philosophy that I have carried with me throughout my life. Call me tainted by my upbringing or slightly odd, but there is no grey. I see things as black or white. There is no grey area. For instance, for the next three days, they are slurry sealing the streets in my neighborhood. Everyone in the 'hood had a notice placed upon our door informing us not to park on the street between the hours of 7:00am to 5:00pm on these three days, or we would be towed at our expense.

The big ole slurry seal machine just went down the side of the street that my house is on. Guess what? Three doors down, there are not one, but two cars sitting there unmoved! Further, guess what!? The machine went around them!!! Is it bad that I want those cars towed, and towed NOW? Is it bad that I want to be standing right there as your cars are being towed and laughing maniacally?

See what I mean? What is grey about being told that if you didn't move your vehicle, it would be moved for you? Am I the ONLY person who has to suffer consequences when I choose the wrong thing?



I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too!

My funny girl.

I'm tormenting my daughter. I do this lovingly, of course. You know how when girls are little they pretend to be the bride and put towels on their heads for a veil? Most little girls have been planning their wedding day from the time they could walk and talk. The only detail left is who the prospective groom might be.

Enter Brittany.

Since she is engaged to be engaged, I decided to pull up some web sites with wedding dresses for her to look at so that she would formulate some idea of what she might like for the big day. "Isn't this a little soon, mom?" she asked. No, dear darling daughter, it isn't. So, she looked.

I have a friend from high school who does the most beautiful cakes that I have ever seen with my own eyes. I pulled up her photos of some of her cakes. "Isn't it a little soon, mom?" No, my dear darling daughter, it isn't. She is so good that she gets booked up. So, she looked.

She brought home an invitation from a co-worker who is getting married next month. "Do you like this invitation, or do you want something else?" I asked. "Isn't it a little soon, mom?" No, my dear darling daughter, it isn't. Would you like homemade invitations or something more formal? So, she'll look.

I love this young woman with my whole heart. She gets more beautiful to me each passing day. I think I've gotten her thinking about what her once-in-a-lifetime day will be. Now, if I can keep her from feeling dread everytime I say, "Brittany, come here and look at this."

Engaged to be engaged.

This is my girl and her Mister. Her Mister's name is Nate Trull. For this Valentine's Day, she was given a promise ring.

Brittany and Nate. Nate and Brittany. It's funny how my two oldest children have been dating people with my siblings names.

Back to Brit. She and Nate are so stinkin' cute together. He gave her a promise ring, she made him homemade pasta for dinner. You know, MADE the noodles from scratch. One thing is for sure, they will always eat well. Nate served his mission in Italy, just like her Aunt Dartell. He cooks for her. He's a very good cook, and we have been blessed by some of his food around the ranch here.

Nate is an ASU student. He will graduate with his Bachelor's in Exercise and Wellness in May. Brittany is a massage therapist. Isn't that cute? Their educations complement one another.

I love the cute little smile she gets on her face when I mention his name to her. So stinkin' cute.

I've fallen...(don't help me!).....and I can't get up!

Mark thinks I need a Life Alert button. After yesterday, and even though I'm only 42, I might have to agree with him. But, I only agree with him to a degree. I certainly would not want to become the reason that rescue personnel laugh hysterically.

I fell. Not just any ordinary fall. A naked fall. A naked fall out of the bathroom. It was like someone ripped the floor out from under my feet.



I put my hands out in front of me as best I could and went down like a Vegas hotel being leveled for a newer and better one. I thought for a moment that I might have broken one or more of my wrists. And then I cried. Not a cute little whimper, but an all out wail.

The backstory at this point is that Andrew was home and in his room with headphones on and the television too. About 5 minutes later he heard me and attempted to come to my rescue.



When he realized my predicament, and then, his, he made a hasty retreat and shut the door and called out, "Are you okay, mom?"

I'm thinking to myself, "no, I'm not okay, but there is no way you are coming in here to pick me up!" Long story short, I finally got up, assessed my level of injury, and got dressed.

Later that evening, we had a pretty good laugh about it. Brittany thinks I need one of those nurse pull strings like they have in the hospital bathrooms. She also thinks I need OnStar for my bathroom. It's great that my family is always there with the humor quick recovery program.

But, I am so sore today.

New Year

I anticipate that I am only writing this post for myself at this point. I figure enough time has gone by, and people will have quit checking to see if I have updated my blog.

I have had a hard time recovering from the last year of my life. Having a lifelong battle with depression has not helped me succeed in recovering either. I didn't even send out Christmas cards for the first time in 22 years. I would tell the story of why, but, I can't.

Admitting that you suffer from depression is a double edged sword for the sufferer. You can be going along living your life, and the minute something is amiss, there must be something wrong with you, the sufferer. "Are you taking your medication?" is the frequent and oft asked question. As if because you take medication you aren't allowed to get upset ever or that people can crap all over you and you stand there and take it with a smile.

Doesn't quite work that way.

I am trying to dig out. I am irretrievably behind in everything that I do. Let's call a spade a spade. I am imperfect in all that I do. I don't need someone to tell me that I'm not that, it won't help. Don't break into my blog and write for me what you wish I would write. My blog is just that. My blog. If you want to say something, start one for yourself.

This was a spot where I used to feel pretty darn creative and I have lost that. I want it to come back, but it hasn't yet. I still feel really raw and beaten down.

So, if you're still with me, welcome. I anticipate writing something worth reading real soon.

Thanksgiving and other fairy tales

For those of you with a weak stomach where this possibly feminist blog entry is concerned, please feel free to exit........now.

I have had some time to consider this holiday that we call Thanksgiving. I am convinced that quite possibly this was a holiday made up by men, for men. Humor me, won't you? I have spent the better part of two whole days cooking a meal that will more than likely be devoured in 15 minutes flat.

The man of the house's job in all of this? Show up. That's right, all they have to do is show up. These men get to sit in front of the television set or nap all day, whatever suits their particular fancy, and then the little woman announces that the meal is ready. Yep. Show up.

As if standing on your feet and slaving over counters that are way too short for your particular frame wasn't enough, now that the meal is over, YOU get to clean it all up! There are no offers of help. It's like attending a party you never wanted to go to in the first place. You show up, make a little face time, and then you leave.

Christmas is the next big show of the year. It starts the day after Thanksgiving. The little woman is charged with the responsibility of making the home festive. She will be decorating while the men are watching TV or sleeping.

The idea of Festivus is becoming much more appealing to me as the years go by. This is a holiday I might be able to get on board with. You put a plain metal pole, the Festivus pole, in the middle of the room and the participants take turns airing their greivances and reciting their disappointment with family members. Co-stan-za!

Hans Christian Anderson I am not. I'm difficult to speak with too. Happy Holidays, fellas!

Autumn is finally here.

Went for my walk with the doggies tonight, and for the first time it felt a tad brisk. I am LOVING the cooler weather. Oh how I miss the changing of the color of the leaves of my childhood in Washington. Of course, this weather is why people live in Arizona. We live through four months of hell fire just for this, and we never have to shovel the driveway.

I've been thinking alot about my Grandma Hedberg. She died when I was 12 years old at the very young age of 50. I miss her. I loved the holidays when I was young and we would go over to her house to eat. She always used real butter.

My grandma smelled of Pond's cold cream and coffee. I have never drunk coffee, but I absolutely love the smell of it. I use Palmolive dish soap because that was what she used and the smell always brings me back to her kitchen.

She, in my opinion, was the glue that held our extended family together. After she died, no one seems to get together anymore, or talk to each other anymore. It's sad really. I equate the holidays with family and well, I just don't have that. I love watching big families get together and see how they interact with one another. Silently wishing and hoping that it was mine.

I've been trying very hard to be thankful. Even though, most days I have a hard time thinking up something. This has been and is probably one of the worst years of my life.

Anyway, autumn is finally here, and I am thankful for that.