My granddaughter, Sweet Stuff, takes birthdays seriously. Last year when she heard that my birthday was approaching, she immediately told her mom, my Stinkeroo, that they needed to give me a princess birthday party. Which they, OF COURSE, did. Which, OF COURSE, absolutely thrilled me. Complete with a crown, feather boas, a princess cake and princess hats for everyone. For my last birthday she insisted on getting me a baby doll for a gift. When her mother tried to steer her toward something else, she insisted that Grandma Carol really wanted that baby doll. She was right. I love it and will treasure it always. Then this year she planned a Spiderman birthday party for her PawPaw. My son, Scalawag, turns 27 next week. Once again, our resident social planner is hard at work. For him, there will be a Power Rangers party since “boys like Power Rangers.” Sometimes when I look at Sweet Stuff and Sunshine - or even think about them, I am overwhelmed by the power of the love I feel for them. Two little girls who have so many people who adore them and would do everything possible to protect and nurture them. At Scalawag’s birthday party next week, there will be six adults and two children with Power Rangers hats, Power Ranger plates and napkins, and a Power Ranger birthday cake. Sweet Stuff will sit back and smile her sweet smile as we all laugh and talk together - secure in the knowledge that she orchestrated the party.

I actually posted this last week - for about five minutes - but then deleted it because I wasn’t sure I wanted to put it in my blog. It’s a poem, and poems are personal. I mentioned to my children a couple months ago that after moving last year I had only recently located my notebook of poetry. I had written poems for each of them many years ago and when I found my notebook, I emailed their poems to them. Both of them had the same reaction: “I didn’t know you wrote poetry!” The operative word is “wrote”. Past tense. All of my poems are at least 10 years old. My sister, Joan, posted a poem in her blog, and that made me feel that if she could post hers, then I could post mine. She gave me the courage. Her poem is about our father. The one I’m sharing here is about him, too. After going through every poem in my poetry notebook (which isn’t a tremendous undertaking since there are only eleven of them), I didn’t see a single one that I’m completely comfortable in sharing. But the others are all either too depressing, too personal, or just plain too strange to post. However, I’ll share the one about my father, Charles. It’s a stream of consciousness, freeform poem. I wrote it almost thirteen years ago.

To Daddy
Are you up there, Daddy?
Sitting up in heaven
Watching us here on earth?
Laughing at us, wondering about us,
Or crying?
Life is such a crazy hodgepodge
Happiness - sadness - exhilaration - depression
All put together
Are you there? Seeing . . . and caring?

I miss you
I miss telling you about my victories and defeats
You always were interested
And wanted to know more.

Where are you?
I don’t understand death
I remember dreaming about you several years ago
In my dream, we were at the Flea Market
I heard your voice, your laugh
I saw your face - you were alive
I want that dream again

Mother told me that when she was nine years old
And her father died
She prayed that she would dream of him
Because she knew then, and only then, she could see him.
I’m so much older than nine now
Yet I still want to dream of you
I want to experience again the peace of your unconditional love.

I remember one day I visited you - I was a parent myself then
I had the flu, and you tucked a blanket around me
Set me in front of the fire and cared for me
One brief evening so many years ago
And yet I remember - with longing.

Maybe you were the only person who was completely on my side
No judgments. No expectations. Just acceptace - and love.

When I was a little girl
You were the one I wanted to comfort me when I was hurt or sad
I was special. I was Cabbie.

You were the one who told us stories
Of growing up with four brothers
Your adventures skinny-dipping in the Yellow River
Your near-miss in the lightning storm with Uncle James.

We children would crowd around you
In your little office behind the house
“Tell us more,” we’d plead,
And you’d oblige.

One Friday in 1986, you were visiting us
And we were at the Grand ol’ Opry laughing together
The next Friday we were gathered around your grave.
Life changes forever too quickly
No time for a final “I love you”
Or a smile, or a good-bye.

I want to drive up in your driveway again
And see you waiting for me
“There’s my Cabbie,” you’d say
And I would be a little girl once more
Safe, protected . . . in the arms of fatherly love.

(written in February 1993)

My sister, Janice, sent our family group an email today about preparing for an emergency. Here is what the email contained:

During the Rita evacuation, many coastal residents headed inland without food, water or extra gas, thinking they could buy what they needed on the road. They were wrong. Everyone should have a “grab-and-go” backpack with water bottles, medicines, cash or traveler’s checks, and other necessities, along with a three-day supply of food.
Maps, planned-in-advance escape routes and destinations, and an extra 5 gallons of gas can also come in handy. Those in hurricane, tornado and earthquake zones have the most obvious need, but the next terrorist attack could be anywhere.

Now that is something to think about. Immediately after the 9/11 attacks, I recall reading about how everyone should have a gas mask. I immediately got on eBay and bought myself a gas mask. I THINK I know where it is. It makes sense at the time, although it is sad to think of having to have such things on hand. I already have a backpack and everything except for the 3-day supply of food - but a box of granola bars and dried fruit would take care of that. I’m not likely to be directly affected by a hurricane, but tornados and earthquakes are a definite threat around here. And of course there are no safe areas in regard to terrorism.

I recall about 10 or 12 years ago - maybe more - there was a big hoopla in the press about the New Madrid seismic zone and how someone had predicted that THE BIG ONE would occur that year. We had drills with the kids at school, and everyone was just waiting for the big earthquake to happen. It didn’t. It still hasn’t. I did a websearch for “emergency preparedness”, and the results were interesting. There are entire businesses and websites devoted solely to selling provisions for emergencies.

I’ve been looking online to see houses that are available in my area. This afternoon after work, I drove around the area for an hour or so just looking at what’s available near my school. It comes down to how far I’m willing to travel to live in the house I want. Well, on second thought, that’s wrong. It comes down to the fact that there’s no way I can afford what I really want, and so it then comes down to how far I’m willing to travel to get to one I’d love that I can afford. I don’t really want to go through moving again anytime soon, but if I find what I really, truly, honestly, without-a-doubt want and can afford, I’d be willing to move again. In the past eight years I’ve moved six times. After the third time, I swore I’d NEVER move again…and look what happened…another three moves.

This could lead to a discussion of the value of moving. It’s incredible how much JUNK and unnecessary “things” accumulate over time. Moving is great in forcing a person to get rid of excess. I keep waiting for the IRS to audit my tax return because of all my contributions to Goodwill over the past eight years.

I’ll look at more houses this weekend, and I’ll keep it all updated here.

For someone who has used a computer for many years, I have only in the past few months started banking on the computer. Why did I wait so long? It’s wonderful, and it only took me about 30 minutes to learn how to do everything I need to do. No more having keep a register. I can check my account online anytime and see what checks have cleared and what my balance is. I can transfer money from one account to another. The best part, though, is paying bills online. It takes literally minutes - maybe 5 or 10 - to pay all my bills each month. No envelopes, no stamps, no trips to the post office, no writing checks by hand. I open the bill, make a few clicks on the computer, and then shred the bill. It helps me not spend money I don’t have because I can see the actual balance whenever I want. It works out so much better for me than keeping a handwritten register.

Not much point in this post - except to express how great it is to be sitting here at the end of September and able to spend about 10 minutes on the computer — and all the bills are paid and done. YEA!!!

I was talking with a fifth grade teacher today, and she was working on an author study of Jane Yolen. She mentioned a book by Yolen that I hadn’t read before - Miz Berlin Walks. She loaned me her copy, and I read it immediately. Only took a few minutes since it’s a children’s picture book. Different books produce different reactions. This book made me want to get outside and walk for an hour or two.

Last night I watched The Biggest Loser on TV. I think it’s a great show, and it inspires me to work at being healthy. There are parts that are cheesy, but maybe that makes it a little more human. I like it. The show has one serious flaw, though. The creators of the show copied other reality shows and decided to stick with the same old strategy of having one contestant voted off each week. Yawn…Couldn’t they have come up with something different? I wish they had been more creative and come up with something that would allow everyone to stay until the end. I’d like to watch everyone as they work through the process of changing their bad habits. The show’s method of voting out people has nothing to do with who actually lost the most weight. Like most other reality shows, it has to do with politics and personality. Nick was the person voted out last night. In his “Where is he now?” interview at the end of the show, he said The Biggest Loser was the worst experience of his life, and he refuses to weigh himself anymore. He deserves to feel resentful. The guy lost the most weight and still got shipped out. So it’s not really The Biggest Loser. It’s The Most Popular Loser. It’s interesting doing a websearch of the show title. There are lots of blogs devoted to the show, you can shop for products like those seen on The Biggest Loser, the trainers on the show have their websites where they’ll be glad to sell you their diets, and of course there are the official show webpages. Guess the show is not the biggest loser cause it’s making lots of money.

I read today about Cindy Sheehan being arrested for not following the guidelines for protesting outside the White House. No one denies that she had the right to protest this war. Her son supported what the United States is doing in Iraq strongly enough to risk his life to fight there - and he did indeed lose his life in Iraq. Now his mother is using his death as her platform to give hope, aid and comfort to the enemy that killed him. I watched a few minutes of the TV coverage of the anti-war gathering this past weekend. I wonder how many other young men have already died and will die because of the invigoration and encouragement the insurgents must surely feel when they see the anti-war protestors. The anti-war protestors are short-sighted in their world view. They want world peace, but aren’t able to stomach the difficult and heartbreaking work necessary to achieve it. The citizens of our country should support the president and the war until the war is over. Then they can protest and do what they need to do to make sure it doesn’t happen again. We are in a war, though, and each protest gives more fuel to the enemy — and causes more death to our soldiers and innocent Iraqi citizens. Each protest give more fuel to the barbarians who will take a knife and slowly saw off the head of someone who disagrees with them. Each protest gives hope to the leader of the insurgents who said that he makes no distinction between soldiers and citizens of the United States. All of us are targets of his hate. To me, Cindy Sheehan is trampling on her son’s memory, causing the deaths of more U.S. soldiers and betraying the very country that gives her the right to protest.

A friend of mine told me that George Strait’s new song, She Let Herself Go sounded like it was about me. She wouldn’t tell me anything else about it, and so I bought the CD (George Strait, Somewhere Down In Texas) and listened to the song. It put me in a completely happy mood. Here are the lyrics:

He wondered how she’d take it when he said goodbye.
Thought she might do some cryin’: lose some sleep at night.
But he had no idea, when he hit the road,
That without him in her life, she’d let herself go.
Let herself go on a singles cruise,
To Vegas once, then to Honolulu.
Let herself go to New York City:
A week at the Spa; came back knocked-out pretty.
When he said he didn’t love her no more,
She let herself go.

She poured her heart an’ soul into their three-bedroom ranch.
Spent her days raisin’ babies, ironin’ his pants.
Came home one day from the grocery store and found his note,
And without him there to stop her, she let herself go.
Let herself go on her first blind-date:
Had the time of her life with some friends at the lake.
Let herself go, buy a brand new car,
Drove down to the beach he always said was too far.
Sand sure felt good between her toes:
She let herself go on a singles cruise,
To Vegas once, then to Honolulu.
Let herself go to New York City:
A week at the Spa; came back knocked-out pretty.
When he said he didn’t love her no more,
She let herself go.
To Vegas once: Honolulu, New York City.
Came back knocked-out pretty.

Another great song on that CD is By The Light of a Burning Bridge. Here are those lyrics:

Oh, I’ve been stumblin’ through the darkness,
Tryin’ to feel the ground beneath my feet.
Afraid of movin’ much in any direction:
Stuck where the past and the future meet.
But I fin’lly got my first good look:
A little fire was all it took.
An’ as the flames grew brighter,
I saw everything that I’d missed.
Once you get your courage up,
You light a match an’ your eyes adjust:
It’s amazing what a man can see,
By the light of a burnin’ bridge.

An’ there were things I saw that I’m not proud of.
Things that I’d do diff’rent now from then.
But when I really make myself get honest,
It’s over and I can’t go back again.
‘Cause I fin’lly got my first good look:
A little fire was all it took.
An’ as the flames grew brighter,
I saw everything that I’d missed.
Once you get your courage up,
You light a match an’ your eyes adjust:
It’s amazing what a man can see,
By the light of a burnin’ bridge.

It sure is hard to let go and to leave the past behind,
But there ain’t no other way that you can find some peace of mind.
When I fin’lly got my first good look:
A little fire was all it took.
An’ as the flames grew brighter,
I saw everything that I’d missed.
Once you get your courage up,
You light a match an’ your eyes adjust:
It’s amazing what a man can see,
By the light of a burnin’ bridge.
It’s amazing what a man can see,
By the light of a burnin’ bridge.

And so that’s my contribution to the sharing of music for the day. Great songs, aren’t they?