An excellent source of candy

Get Grace, Give Grace

2012-01-26T21:05:00.003-05:00

See a chance to belittle someone -- and not take it. This is what it means to be gracious. =>>"Overlook an offense and bond a friendship; fasten on to a slight and-good-bye, friend!" http://bible.us/Prov17.9.MSG

TechnoPoop

2012-01-26T17:38:00.000-05:00

You know technology has taken a bizarre turn when I use my the bright light on ny heart rate app to see if Jack has pooped in the potty. (He did!)

Casting Stones

2010-06-20T06:16:00.000-04:00

Ms. Lea Morris is quick to condemn, but did she write her "open letter" in air conditioned comfort? Did she drive her gasoline-powered automobile that day, or eat food that had been refrigerated by electricity? Are YOU reading this now on anything other than a solar-powered computer? Although we should rightly examine BP's incompetence in the oil leak, she -- and we -- should examine our ownership of this disaster. Anything less is hypocrisy.

Dogs and Toyotas

2010-05-11T07:48:00.000-04:00

Note to self: never have two vehicles the same age and never have two dogs the same age. They'll leave you broke and break your heart.

R.I.P. Bailey, 2000 - 2008. Her sister, Bijou, is starting to look old and gray.

The '04 4Runner and Tacoma both have new timing belts.

Cheese, glorious, melancholy, cheese

2010-04-25T20:36:00.009-04:00

No one is more aware of the power of food to evoke a memory than a recovering food addict, like myself.

Food can be associated with love, approval, caring and even a time or a place.

Tonight, I ate a small wedge of Blue Stilton cheese labeled STILTON ENGLAND. I purchased it at Your DeKalb Farmer's Market on Friday, and I don't know if it was actually imported cheese or just an imitation. Either way, it tasted pretty good.

I became acquainted with the real deal when I lived in Central London in the late 1990's. I lived in the section called Holland Park, which had the most marvelous cheese I had ever seen and tasted. I love cheese and have declared to the world if I had to pick just one food to live on, it would definitely be cheese.

I did live on cheese and potatoes during one particularly broke month of my life, but although I was put off by potatoes for a while, my love for cheese never wavered.

The Holland Park cheese shop (I don't remember the actual name) had a kaleidoscope of English cheeses, which they do very, very well. Fresh French goat cheese was also available from across the English Channel, and I could not get enough of it. Memories of that time in London, as well of some of my favorite taste experiences, came flooding back as I ate my Blue Stilton tonight. London does have an abundance of incredible food, though little of the tasty stuff is actually English in origin.

Watch me run away from kidney pie and mushy peas. Run away very quickly.

The typical cheese section in my area grocery stores makes me weep with the awareness of lost possibilities. Velveeta is a sin against culinary creation. Packages of American cheese slices should be relegated directly to the trash bin. Or as the British would say, "rubbish bin."

It is with melancholy that I nibbled on my fine, gourmet cheese tonight. I might have to give it up for my health.

A fellow sufferer of liver disease was telling me how dairy and cheese increase inflammation in the body, just as my latest blood work shows my inflammation levels are off the chart. Auto-immune diseases (as well as a number of others) do their damage through inflammation and that's what causes a lot of the pain. My autoimmune hepatitis is rearing its ugly head again with raised liver enzymes, and my energy level has dropped three inches below the floor. The inflammation in my brain clouds my thinking and makes writing a chore. Finally, the Sjogren's always makes me feel bad, though my dry eyes are doing somewhat better.

So, do I give up my favorite food in the whole world, cheese? It might become necessary. I've heard Sjogren's patients also do better on a gluten-free diet, so is there another whole category of food I must surrender?

A dearly departed relative used to sneak forbidden milkshakes though he was diabetic and and on kidney dialysis (that much sugar and dairy are a no-no.) Though he wasn't doing his health any good, the milkshakes did help him enjoy his last days.

What price, then, is cheese? I've seen people in wheelchairs with oxygen tanks still puffing on forbidden cigarettes. Will I be like that when it comes to cheese? And what about ice cream and yogurt? I guess those will have to go too. I am in mourning.

My dog Bijou helped eat some of the cheese rind earlier and now she's licking my fingers as I type. I think that's a pretty good excuse to end this blog.

And a good excuse to stop dwelling on the importance of cheese.

Greetings

2010-03-08T18:46:00.006-05:00

Wow.

I just checked the dashboard on my blog for the first time in months and discovered I have seven followers. Seven! I'm still amazed that anyone would follow this blog at all.

You may have found it when it popped up on Google, (I got the most comments on a post about Countrywide bill pay changing to Bank of America.)

And I know some of you are friends and family. Hugs and ♥ to you.

If you're just stopping by, Welcome!

I have no idea what I might write about next, but I'll try not to stay away so long.

Writing is good exercise for the brain and I'm grateful for what I have left.

The blog's title, An Excellent Source of Candy, still works for me because it makes me think of Forrest Gump's comments, "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get!"

And the great thing about a box of chocolates is there's plenty to share, so dig in.

Background Noise

2010-03-07T18:20:00.003-05:00

OK, I know I haven't written in a while. If blogging were a New Year's resolution, I would have failed miserably.

But I wanted to write this down before it escaped brain again. Every time I've mentioned "this" to someone I hear, "That explains it perfectly" or a nod of understanding.

Here it is:

When you live with chronic pain, on a good day, it's like background noise.

You can push it into the background and try to focus on something else.

On a bad day, the pain is deafening.

Imagine turning the TV up to full volume, then the remote breaks and you can't turn it back down. Intense pain is like that. It overwhelms everything else and any thoughts trying to compete with the pain, usually lose.

I'm thinking about this today because first the first time in forever, I slept all night without waking up in pain. My medicine usually knocks me out for a few short hours, then I wake up and toss and turn trying to get comfortable. I wait for the time to get up.

Lately, the pain has been concentrated mostly in my back. The "ouch" really is everywhere, but whatever hurts the most screams the loudest. My doctor says it's the arthritis and the back pain will ebb and flow.

Lately, the pain has been flowing like a broken fire hydrant. But not last night.

People at church could see a difference today. My eyes were sparkling, my smile was wider. Yes, having a good day made everything seem more wonderful.

Thank you, Lord for letting a ray of sunshine peek through the clouds.

I'll remember this.

Morning Meditations

2009-12-28T05:48:00.002-05:00

Awesome is the God Who protected me from the things I thought I wanted. (Psalms 30:3,)

Mighty is the God Who saved me the very moment I realized I couldn't save myself ((Ephesians 2:-9)

Merciful is the God Who carried me through the toughest times and never let me weather them alone, (2 Corinthians 1:1-7)

Loving is the God Who let me fail because is was the only way I could grow. (Romans 8:28, Hebrews 12:11l Romans 5:3-4)

Patient is the God who freely reveals Himself to me when I look for Him. (James 4:8)

TRYING AGAIN

2009-12-25T18:40:00.002-05:00

I may be back in the blogosphere, or rather, I will make an attempt.

I've been putting most of my spurts of writing energy into Twitter, but I have a new netbook and that means mobility. I need to have something to do while I wait for doctors' appointments, right?

Funny, it was the neurologist who suggested the netbook to help me stay organized. I'm not brave enough though to try to write it off as a medical expense on our taxes.

I know there is nothing lyrical about this post and who knows, all inspiration may now evaporate. But I'm concerned less about perfection now than I've ever been in the past. You may lose, but overall, I'll win because I'll be more relaxed about living my life.

Merry Christmas to you and happy new leaf to me!

Katrina and Aunt Liz

2009-08-29T13:45:00.006-04:00

Four years ago, Hurricane Katrina devastated portions of the Gulf Coast. One of the hardest hit areas was New Orleans and its suburb, Slidell, which is located on the northeast shore of Lake Pontchartrain.

Of one the Slidell residents who chose to ride out the storm, was my Aunt Liz. She decided to batten down the hatches with my Uncle Bob a WWII veteran, who was diabetic and on dialysis. The storm with a fury. Then we waited anxiously for four days to hear if they had survived.

Aunt Liz is received the Underwood gift of dramatic storytelling and has enthralled us all with her account Katrina and the ordeal afterward. I asked her to write it down for this blog.

Here is Part One of her story:

"The Not So Calm Before the Storm"

To prepare, I braved the long lines at several stores making purchases of bottled water, batteries, canned food and several lanterns. The shoppers were frantic, the shelves were almost bare and it was every man for himself.

By Aug. 4th the TV weathermen were whipping everyone into a frenzy to evacuate . Tina, Georgia,Mike, Laine, Hannah and Kyle were heading to West Monroe to stay with the Rays in West Monore, about a 5 hour drive.

They pleaded with us to leave with them almost to the point of kidnapping us, but we stood firm. About 11 hours later, they called to say it was "bumper to bumper" and they'd just arrived in West Monroe. Bob and I smiled smugly nodding that we had indeed made a smart decision in staying. Bobby called from Hawaii late that night saying "Get Out" and go to Kellly's folks in Baton Rouge. This suggestion planted a seed that would later be a godsend to us a refugees.

After watching the last dire TV warnings, I turned the AC to 60 in order to store up extra cool for when the electricity went out. We went to bed , said some prayers and settled in for a good nights sleep in what would be the last time we sleep in that bed.

"The Storm"

Noisy winds awakened us around 5 a.m. Aug. 5. I cooked a big breakfast of eggs and bacon, biscuits and lots of strong coffee, knowing we'd soon lose power. Anne called to check on us, and I happily replied that we'd watched a few trees topple, but all was well. I called my friends who live near us in a very wooded area to check on them. They are in our age group ,and over their children's wishes had also decided to ride it out. All was well with them, except for a few downed trees. They were going back to bed to get some sleep before the AC was lost !!! They later had to be fork lifted out because of downed trees.

After breakfast, we went upstairs to get dressed and do a little paper work. Soon trees were toppling at a faster pace on the golf course and in our yard. I suggested we'd be safer staying downstairs. Guess I had an "Underwood premonition." The AC was out, but the coffee was still hot, so we sipped coffee, listened to the radio reports of the severity of Katrina's havoc and watched our huge 40 year old Magnolia gracefully topple over, missing our house by a few yards.

Suddenly our house shook like a Mac truck had hit it. We felt like we had whip lash. It was the gigantic pine tree that had fallen on our patio . It had smashed in the roof, but the fallen boards had created triangular protection over Bob's golf cart and he was euphoric of this. Little did we stop to think that this gigantic pine tree had a top that had to land somewhere.

A few minutes later I went upstairs to get a book and was greeted with the sight of pink insulation flying everywhere due to tree limbs in the upstairs hall. Stepping into our bedroom, the shocking sight an exposed attic, a tree in our bed, caved over walls, a window knocked out with the back wall hanging on by a thread.

Very, very gingerly I made my way through the wrecked bathroom to the closet which was missing half a wall. Rain was pouring in from every opening in the bedroom and closet roof and walls. Some of the debris would have surely fallen on us had we not been downstairs. My reaction was to scream," Oh, no, Bob come up here carefully."

His reply before going up was "Liz, aren't you overreacting a bit". Upon seeing the destruction, his blood sugar went haywire and he "Said Liz, get a broom and clean up this mess". He then tried to push a piece of wall back into place . The results being more wall fell on him , knocking him into a big pile of insulation and sheet rock.

Thankfully, he sustained only a few cuts and bruises. After settling Bob into what we hoped was a safe corner downstairs, I went back up where clothes were rain saturated papers from our desk were flying everywhere. I tugged our two filing cabinets our of the closet and pulled them to dry ground downstairs. I also tossed clothing from the closet,papers from the desk and wet clothing from the chest of drawers downstairs.

After that ,we huddled in what we felt would be a safe area downstairs and listened to radio reports. More bad news was to happen to our old house. Soon water from above came pouring out of my oven, light fixtures and ceiling. I went into the garage to get some buckets to catch the water to use to flush with as we had no water pressure.

Oh, oh. there was a tree poking out of our garage roof with water pouring in. I got the buckets and some heavy duty hedge clippers and a saw,to use in getting out after the storm as all of our doors were blocked by downed trees.

I also got the shotgun, but couldn't find the ammo. It was a very long day and night. At one point we heard wind of a different sound and watched as the huge holly tree in our circle was split in two and lifted up. Some of the few remaining trees were being twisted in all manner of directions. Guess it was a small whirlwind of sorts.

We continued to listen to radio reports which kept stating that it would soon pass over Slidell. Not so. It would be about 1 the next morning before the winds left us. By bedtime it was unbearably hot, so we opened windows in the front of the house and tried for a little sleep on the sofa and floor.

I had the unloaded shotgun handy because the radio warned of looting. Our neighbor worked his way into the street with a chainsaw the next day and he and his boys stood guard the next night at the entrance to our cul de sac. He actually did fire a few warning shots in the air at a group walking down the street that night. They quickly heeded the warning.

Coming soon: "After the Storm"

Don't Miss the Bus; Don't Miss the Point

2009-07-12T00:03:00.000-04:00

The message wasn't just on a sign, it filled an entire billboard:

Don't Miss the Bus!!! Apple Realty, Inc. Henry County Foreclosure Tours.

It even had a picture of a cute little bus, complete with an Apple Reality logo and a sticker declaring: Henry County Foreclosure Tour.
I bet the cute little bus is even a hybrid, so you can ride around the county sipping your skinny decaf, dreaming of luxury home ownership, and feeling good that you're not leaving a big carbon footprint in your wake.

Only there's nothing to feel good about.

The thrill of getting a great deal on a fabulous house is tainted by the misfortune of the person who used to own it.

Getting a $300,000 house at $215,000 should make you feel great, right?

Suddenly, I'm not so sure.

I have this weird thing about not wanting to live in a house where someone has died. To me, living in a foreclosure would be nearly the same thing. Somebody's dream has died. Hope has run out. The only alternative was to leave or be kicked out.

Enter raw humility.

When my brother and his wife were looking for a house, a realtor gave them the lock box combination of a freshly foreclosed house. The owner's belongings were in the front yard, soaked with dew.

Inside were remnants of the previous occupants. Unused diapers. An ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The smell of haste was still in the air.

I know I'm guilty of saying "greed" is behind the burst housing market bubble. People bought homes they couldn't afford with money they didn't (yet) have, with loans pitched by people who were more interested in commissions than matching people with a home they could actually pay for.

I want to say now I'm sorry for making such assumptions. Forgive me, for judging.

There are many, many stories behind the foreclosures that have nothing to do with greed. Long term unemployment, illness, divorce and exes who don't pay child support are a few I can think of.

Proverbs 18:17 says, "The first to present his case seems right, till another comes forward and questions him."

What seems one way on the surface, might actually be something else entirely.

For example, look at my and my husband's situation. We have two houses. Are we the evil rich with a mountain home, five pontoon boats and a gold-plated Cadillac?

No. When we got married, we each had a house. More than two years later, we still have two houses, two mortgages, two sets of utility bills and two lawns to maintain. This summer, the air conditioners in both houses broke.

We're got the extra house for sale and won't make a penny profit. But in this market, only prayers will sell it. And yes, we're praying fervently for a buyer.

And we THANK GOD every day for providing enough to keep us afloat.

Years ago, I went on a "Graveline Tour" of Los Angeles. An out-of-work actor in a hearse drove us by the homes of dead Hollywood celebrities and the seedy places they died. I think the Apple Foreclosure tour would give me the same feeling. A dull feeling of exploitation.

It's OK to go on the Apple Realty Foreclose tour. I'm not saying it's wrong. After all, Realtors have to make a living too. And the faster the foreclosures are off the market, the faster other homes will start selling again, including our "extra" house in the country.

Just be careful not to feel too smug when you find that deal of the century. Exorcise the ghosts of broken dreams. And remember to say a prayer for the family that used to live there.

Pray that better things are ahead for them.

Make that all of us.

Puppies!

2009-07-03T18:30:00.004-04:00

If you love puppies, like I do, check out the new litter from Karowood Goldens. So cute, you don't mind the puppy breath!

If you're thinking about buying or adopting a Golden Retriever puppy or adult dog, click here for useful info.

Now my dogs need a belly rub...

Pause

2009-07-02T14:33:00.003-04:00

The need for rest has overwhelmed my desire for blogging lately. I have a really good idea for one today, but am just too sleepy. I'm so close to sleeping, I'm peering through my eyelashes as I type this.

I am also having trouble logging into Google with my Foxfire browser. It just reset the page each time I try to log in. If you've had this trouble too and know how to fix it, I'd appreciate the info.

P.S. I am doing some "microblogging" on Twitter when I feel up to it. Look for me there as ExcellentCandy.

Remembering Bailey

2009-06-30T18:07:00.003-04:00

Bailey Underwood Lyons

August 25, 2000-June 30, 2008

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part IX

2009-06-26T05:00:00.001-04:00

The Winsor Gallery exhibit is tonight and I think, I hope, it will include a painting of mine that has never been exhibited before. It was too controversial for another local art group that I once belonged to, because it is a nude. Gasp!

It's the most innocuous nude possible and could even be a swimsuit if you ignore the belly button. The art group wouldn't allow nudes "because children might see them." And I gather, because parents might be upset.

I remember seeing nude paintings and sculptures when I was in school and giggling about them. It's a matter of opinion, but I don't think they harmed me. And as a grown-up, painting nudes has only increased my awe of what an incredible artist and engineer our God is.

I call this one "Figure Envy" and I think you can figure out the meaning, given that I painted it green. I did this one in art class back when I took them at the Atlanta College of Art, back when the ACA existed. We had figure models on a regular basis and I think I painted this one in the last 30 minutes of class. It was the best one, of course.

If you go to the opening reception tonight and it's there, let me know. I'm curious. Click here for your invitation. Tell them I sent you.

I'd also love to hear your feedback on any of the paintings. Enjoy the show!

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part VIII

2009-06-25T05:00:00.000-04:00

These next two paintings are similar in theme, but are rooted in two different realities.

"A Pocketbook Full of Posies" was painted from an Ann Taylor ad in a magazine. You may not realize it's a purse without being told, but then it's obvious. I think I added the birds to give it some life and painting unreal birds is delicious fun.
This is also one of my most textured paintings. I used loads of oil paint and it took months to dry. You really want to touch it and consider permission granted. If someone at the gallery says something about you touching it, tell them it's OK and to check my blog.

Click on the painting if you want a closer look at the texture.

The other painting is also oil and floral, but it's based on real roses that I painted at another art student's rose garden. It was early summer and scorching hot. I completed the painting while I was there. I was stiff from staying still that long and in a lot of pain but I loved the end result. And yes, the roses really looked like that and were clumped that closely together.

The opening reception for the show is tomorrow night and you're invited but you have to call to make a reservation. Here's the info. I really wish I could be there but I have another commitment that was scheduled long ago. I hope my blog helps put me "there" in a cyber sort of way. The exhibit will be there for a few weeks and I'll definitely be stopping by to check out the other artists' work.

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part VII

2009-06-24T05:00:00.000-04:00

I'm going to show you two paintings in the exhibit, which were done back to back and are linked in theme and emotion.

The first is called "Bella Ballerina" and it's of our puppy, Bella, who just turned a year old. Bella is a Chow, German shorthair pointer, Shar pei, Afghan hound, and Labrador retriever mix (at least according to the DNA test.)

Bella was billed as a "Golden Retriever" but didn't look like one. But her joy and energy were irresistible when my husband and I met her. We had lost one of Goldens, Bailey, a month earlier and the house was so empty. Our other Golden, Bijou was sad and moping. Bella, who was named "Kudzu" at the time, also had the kindest, gentlest eyes I'd ever seen in a puppy.

But what sealed the deal was the "flop" for a belly rub. She flipped over and "demanded" a belly rub. Now! Bailey did the exact same thing, which I captured in the painting below, called "Bailey's Bliss." The belly flop seemed like a message from above from Bailey that Bella was the puppy for us.

"Bailey's Bliss" isn't in the exhibit, but you can see it at Beagle's Landing Dog Daycare in Stockbridge.

Before I started painting "Bella Ballerina," I had planned to do a final painting of Bailey. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to Bailey, at least until after I did one painting of the new puppy.

After "Bella" was in the can, I was ready to put Bailey to rest in "Bailey Angel: Someone to Watch Over Me." I used a medium with glass beads to paint the wings and silver paint to give them a translucent appearance. I used angel wings from a Chagall painting as a model.

Underneath the watching Bailey, I sketched scenes of Bailey and Bijou playing in the back yard when Bijou was a puppy. They used to play hard and wear each other out, as Bella and Bijou do now. Bottom left is our house and on the right is the 4Runner we've used for many fun dog trips to playtime and the dog park.

It's been almost a year since Bailey suddenly dropped dead. After my husband went to work that morning, I went back to bed and invited Bailey on the bed to be patted. She wasn't eating well and had even refused her favorite treat that morning. I went back to sleep, with Bailey tucked under my arm. When I got up to take a shower a couple of hours later, I whistled for her to come in the bathroom like the old days, before I got married. She didn't come and when I looked for her a few minutes later, she was still, by the side of the bed. She had apparently died while on her way to answer my call.

Bailey had an undetected case of colon cancer and apparently died of a blood clot. I learned a couple of days ago that one of Bailey's canine friends, Lily, is gone too. Lily was also Bailey's half-sister. Here's a painting I did of Lily that belongs to her human mom. I can picture Bailey and Lily up in heaven together reminiscing about the good times and telling us it's going to be all right.

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part VI

2009-06-23T05:00:00.001-04:00

You met Roody the cat a couple of blogs ago when he was strolling past my collection of paintings. He's 19 years old and doesn't move too much, so getting an action shot of him is a rare event. I liked the picture so much, I'm posting it again even though your memory is probably better than mine.

When I tried to take a photo of him to paint a portrait, all I got was a lot of sitting poses. If I'd been able to get him in motion then, I would have been thrilled.

My then-boyfriend, now husband, had asked me to paint a portrait of Roody for his daughter's 23rd birthday. There's a lot of pressure when you paint someone else's pet so I wanted it to be perfect. I used a projector to do the base sketch, which is something I rarely do. I just found a photo of that sketch, so I can show you a little of my "process." I rarely do any sketching at all and just dive into a painting with the brush, so this was a little tedious for me. Well, a lot tedious but I still liked the result.

Here is the finished product. I added the purple and yellow, which were the colors of her room. The flag stripes are the reason I named it "Red, White and Roody." By the way, Roody was named after the Rooty, Tutti, Fresh and Fruity breakfast at IHOP.
I'm no natural at cat paintings, so I had to show you one from my art teacher, Eula Ginsburg. I have two of her paintings and I love them both. I'll show you the other sometime and tell you about her fascinating life. In the meantime, go to her web site and look at some of her other wonderful works. I've asked her to add her comments to my blog, if she's able to find it. So hopefully you'll see them soon.
Reminder, if you'd like to see my paintings and those of several other University of Georgia artists, visit the Winsor Gallery in McDonough. You're also invited to the opening reception Friday. Click here for details.

Exhibit Chronicles Part V update

2009-06-22T20:56:00.005-04:00

I found the "sweater dogs" photos I used as the basis for today's "Bad Dogs" painting.

The one on top is the model I think I used.

I found 41! photos in the session, so the bad dogs were very good dogs indeed. I'll include several so you can see what a challenge it was to get a great shot.

Towards the end, notice Bijou (right) left a puddle of sleep drool in her spot. She can sleep anywhere, anytime. Bailey is on the left. Boy, do I miss that dog!

RIP, Bailey. Sweet dreams!

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part V

2009-06-22T05:00:00.003-04:00

This "Bad Dogs I: Stay Off the Furniture." The premise is "what if" the dogs did mischievous things while we are away from home. Like...sit on the furniture, eat treats on the sofa and watch TV? I wonder if they are watching "The Dog Whisperer?"

The painting is taken from a series of photos I did of the dogs in their Lands End sweaters. I can't find the one the photo is based on, but one that is both awkward and silly is below. The sofa was red so I changed the color of the dogs' sweaters to blue, which is my right under "artistic license." I added touches like a box of Milk Bones (I used an actual box as a model) and dog-themed paintings on the wall. This was also one of my first experiments with painting sheer fabric or lace. The lace on the front door is not my best effort, but gets the point across. FYI, Bailey is on the right and Bijou is on the left in both photos. You're invited to attend the opening reception or drop by the Winsor gallery while the exhibit is running. Click here for details. I think there will be at least five artists exhibiting, so if my artwork is not your thing you might find something else you like. If I've managed to get you to think critically and artistically, I've done my job.

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part IV

2009-06-21T05:00:00.002-04:00

This painting is gigantic, for me at least. It's the biggest painting that will fit in the back of my 4Runner. It's 4'x3' and it's usually hanging in our living room. I was inspired to start using big canvases after attending Matisse/Picasso exhibit at the MOMA in New York.

I started the painting years ago, but I just finished it on Wednesday. The dog on the left, Bailey, died before I could complete this painting so I hung it 'as is' in the living room as a tribute to her. I couldn't display it unfinished, so I added some "light" in the dogs eyes and painted the edges of the gallery wrap canvas in raw umber. I mean to use black, but I didn't have my reading glasses on when I pulled the tube out of my art bag. I liked it anyway and left it "as is."

It's one of a series of whimsical paintings I've done of our dogs. This one is named "Pollen Nation" because the dogs have morphed into two bees sitting on a flower. "The Bs" is a nickname I gave our Golden Retrievers, Bailey and Bijou, because it was more fun to call them "the Bs" than "the dogs."

They'd answer to it too. Or anything with a B name.

"Here, Bs!", "C'mon Bobos", "Bird, are you hungry?"

They'd also answer to each others names so if I called one, the other one came too, to see what was up.

I'm still sad about losing Bailey. She passed away suddenly at age seven. She had an undetected case of colon cancer and apparently died suddenly of a blood clot. But I have many paintings and many memories to remember her by.

Bijou is still around and is frisky at age eight. She tried to interfere with my photographs of this collection and below you can see how she and our other dog Bella ruined a couple of shots. (Actually Bella was tired of her mischief and ready for a nap.) Even the cat, Roody, couldn't resist. And you can probably understand why I don't do much painting at home.

I think Roody was checking out his portrait. And I'll write about the painting you see the video in tomorrow's edition of The Exhibit Chronicles.

If you're reading this, you're invited to the Opening Reception for the artists showing at the If you're reading this, you're invited to the Opening Reception for the artists showing at the Winsor Gallery in McDonough on Friday, June 26th. Click here for detail s and to make your free reservations.

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part III

2009-06-20T05:00:00.001-04:00

I've named this painting "I Dream of Gardenias." I wrote about my gardenias in a blog just before I picked some to take to my art teacher, Eula Ginsburg, for her birthday. She put them in a pretty vase and of course I had to paint them.

The advantage of taking an art class is your work is always examined and evaluated by the teacher and fellow students. Sometimes I take their advice, but often I don't. Usually the best advice is to "stop" when a painting is done. Artists often over think their works and keep painting when it would best be left alone. In other words, they ruin their own painting.

I've done it a few times, but I'm less prone to it than a lot of artists. I have no trouble stopping and saying a painting is "done" while some never finish their works because they are never satisfied. I don't aim for perfection because to me, human attempts at perfection always fail. Perfection usually equals plastic.

This painting, which I originally named "Blue Gardenias" was about three-quarters done when the class and teacher's consensus was that I should stop. "But I'm just starting on the flower on the left, just the base coats," I protested. "And I need to ground the vase with a table or a pedestal."

Later my mother made the same comment about grounding the painting, pointing to one my great aunt had done, which was displayed on her wall. A vase of peace lilies was sitting on a vague swish of white, and it was definitely grounded.

The others at art class were seeing people's faces in my unfinished gardenia, and commented on the contrast between the abstract flower and the flower in the foreground, which was finished. They also thought it would ruin the feeling of the painting to put it on a base.

I had no particular vision for the painting (I had come prepared to start on the "See, Anemones" painting) so I decided to "stop" when others felt I should stop. Sometimes peer pressure can be a positive thing.

When I brought it home, I got to thinking the vase reminded me a genie's bottle, perhaps because it seemed to be floating in mid-air. Once I gave it the right title, "I Dream of Gardenias," it all seemed to fit.

Was "stopping" the right decision. I've decided. Now it's your turn.

***************

I dropped the paintings off at the Winsor Gallery on Friday. You can visit the gallery or attend the opening reception on June 26th. Click here for details.

See, Anenomes.. another view

2009-06-19T06:57:00.003-04:00

Yesterday's photo didn't turn out as well it as it could -- the sides of the painting were cut off. Here's another view of it in the frame but it's a little dark. If you really want to see it, come to the show!

Art, Interrupted

2009-06-19T06:42:00.003-04:00

I am interrupting this art show for a liver update.

I can't get in to see the specialist at Emory until July 23rd. So now I have another month of waiting and feeling depleted. But I'd rather get the treatment right from the start than launch full steam ahead on something that might not work. Maybe I'm putting too much trust in the doctor at Emory, whom I've never met.

OK, I feel better now that I've talked about it.

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part II

2009-06-19T05:00:00.002-04:00

I have a hard time now doing more than one thing at once. Since I'm getting ready for an exhibit, blogging about my artwork makes sense, so thanks for indulging me. I'll try to post one daily through the start of the exhibit on June 26th.

This next one is very personal, it's a self-portrait! I was about a year old, I guess and the photo that I based this on was taken at a rental house in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. I can't find the original picture to show you (two car accidents have forced me to move my art supplies out of the back of the 4Runner and I haven't been able to find some things since.) The original was in black and white, but painting from B&W photos never seem to bother me. It just frees me to use my imagination and choose which colors I like.

The setting is typical of many family photos from the 1960s: a child getting ready for bath time. (Although I think I had just gotten out of the bath and was watching the water drain.) I even had the trademark Kewpie doll pointed hair in the photograph and I included it in the painting. People don't take pictures like this very much now because it's not p.c. (or they print them on their home computers. ) Too bad, I think they are adorable. And this picture brings back great memories of a wonderful childhood. I even remember some of the bath toys I had as a kid.

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear, Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair...

I did have some fun when I finished this one. I had it turned backwards and announced to family that I had finished my "first nude self-portrait" and was proud to show it to everyone. They were stunned into silence but had a good laugh when I turned the painting around.

I took the picture below of my nephew when he was a baby. He's now in his 20's. I know I want to paint it someday. Adorable, adorable! (But then, I'm prejudiced.) He has a little boy now who looks just like that.For your invitation to the opening (free!) click here.

The Exhibit Chronicles, Part I

2009-06-18T17:19:00.008-04:00

As promised, I will give you a guided tour of my paintings that will be part of an art exhibit featuring alumni from the University of Georgia. Since I can't be there in person, I wanted to tell you the history and the inspiration behind each painting. They look a lot better in person, so if you like them here, you'll probably even like them better when the exhibit opens on June, 26th.

This is my newest painting, See Anemones. (Click on the painting for detail.) It was finished less than an hour (and barely dry) when I took it to Sam Flax on Northside Ave. for a framing. I found a beautiful antique white frame for just $10. The framer charged me another $23 to mount it in the frame. It looks a lot better than my home framing jobs, and if you know me, you know I love a quality bargain. But I'll stop because I'm telling you the end of the story first.

I was inspired by the photo a friend's son had taken at the Atlanta Aquarium. I hesitate to show it to you because it's so beautiful and perfect on its own. But here it is anyway. There was no way I could improve it, but I can tell you how I see it, and that's what art is about isn't it? How I see it and how you see my version of an object. The style is called "figurative painting" because the painting actually represents something real. If you want reality, take a photograph. If you want an to see inside the artist's eyes, look at her painting.

What I saw here was serenity, perfect stillness that comes from life underwater. The sea anemones, the starfish, the rocks and the gravel all meld together in a gorgeous underwater tapestry. The pinks, purples, golds and grays aren't bleak but instead vibrant, expressing an "inner life" marked by the graceful, swaying motion of the anemones.

I don't do landscapes well; I've never liked a single one that I've done. But I don't see this is a landscape or even a seascape, but an animalscape, teeming with life. I've always had a connection with animals that I can express in painting, and I think that's why I loved doing this painting so much.

For your invitation to the opening (free!) click here.

Bike Ride Round Three

2009-06-16T20:04:00.003-04:00

I almost didn't finish this time. It's was 92 degrees at start time and I was feeling tired at the outset. But I hung in there.

I learned something cool too. Mayor Copeland wants to make McDonough "the bike capital of Henry County." The city has some land behind Alexander Park that will be cleared off to make bike trails. He resumed his history spiel before I could ask "when."

Never Say You Weren't Invited to Anything

2009-06-15T21:55:00.004-04:00

The UGA Alumni Association Henry/Clayton Counties Chapter
invites you to a

UGA Alumni Art Exhibit
Opening and Reception

The Henry/Clayton Counties Chapter, in conjunction with the McDonough Arts Council and Lamar Dodd School of Art, presents a showing of fine art by UGA alumni artists. The night will begin with a reception followed by viewing the exhibit. This is a great opportunity to support fellow Bulldogs!

We are still in need of artwork by UGA alumni in the Henry, Clayton, Spalding, and Rockdale counties. If you are interested in participating in the exhibition, click here (pdf).

Friday, June 26, 2009
6:00 p.m. - 8:00 p.m.

The Winsor Gallery
34 Macon Street
McDonough, GA 30253
770.957.7292

Free Admission.

Please click here to register for this event.

For more information, please contact Tami Gardner at tgardner@uga.edu or 706.542.2251.

Not a member? Tell the world that you're Proud to Say Georgia! Join Now!

I'm going to have several pieces there, some of them brand new (I finished one of them today.) Alas, I won't be there myself but you can see the paintings and meet lots of cool people. If you're reading this, you're one of those cool people.

The Time Machine on Two Wheels

2009-06-13T18:50:00.004-04:00

I'd smile, but I might get a bug stuck between my teeth.

That was my thought as I coasted downhill on my hybrid bicycle. There was a feeling of freedom as the stiff breeze created by pedal-motion provided relief to the heat of the day.

I was on a two-wheeled time machine. I felt like I was nine again, riding the 5-speed bike I won in a cereal box contest.

I lived on a quiet residential street that had a horseshoe-shaped curve at the end. The bend was close to a river bank and took a deep plunge right at the U. When I rode my bike, I could coast down that steep drop and have enough speed leftover to coast up the hill on the other side. I would repeat that circle, that ride, over and over and over again.

No roller coaster has ever matched that sensation. Sometimes, I'd dare to ride the downhill part with no hands.

Thanks to the City of McDonough's Wellness Program, I feel like a kid again. The month of June has been devoted to bicycle rides through the city. They continue each Tuesday in June at 6:30pm and last about an hour. The ride starts and ends in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church on Macon Street.

The rides are at a brisk pace, but there are at least three stops built in the course. I have arthritis and several other health issues and could keep up fairly well. Even a few little kids, joined in with their parents.

The first week, Mayor Billy Copeland gave mini-history lessons at each stop. I've lived in the city's historic district for ten years and learned a few things I didn't know.

When I first read about the Wellness Program, I was a little puzzled. Walking in April, yoga in May, cycling in June and tennis in July. Why is the City of McDonough concerned with my health and well-being? Then I realized the brilliance of the idea. If the citizens of McDonough can get moving and get healthier, our area will be even more attractive to businesses thinking about moving into the area.

The city won't get any tax revenue from my bike ride, but they can from businesses and families who move here because they like the idea of my bike ride. A healthier work force means fewer absences and lower medical insurance costs, especially for big companies that are self-insured.

Now my head is hurting because I'm trying to think like a politician. I'll stop now.

More activities will be planned in August and September and I'm looking forward to finding out what they are. And according to the city's web site, the walks are continuing by popular demand. They start every Tuesday morning at 6:30am at Jonesboro and Atlanta Streets and if I can pry my eyes open in time, I might join them.

I did a few yoga sessions too at the Hazlehurst House. Lovely. I want to say here and now I want the bike rides to continue by popular demand. If you like them too, speak up!

My exercise forays in the city of McDonough haven't always been so pleasant. I was struck by a van while using a crosswalk on Zack Hinton Parkway and Turner Street in 2006. I was just using my two feet as transportation that day. The top of my right tibia was crushed in like a pothole. Surgery, plate, screws, pain, physical therapy. Ouch.

I used to run with abandon through the streets of McDonough. You might have even seen a blond lady with a ponytail running with two golden retrievers throughout the city. That's me. Or that was me. I haven't run lately and only one of the goldens is still alive. And now I usually confine my outdoor exercise to one block around my house.

But on the last two Tuesdays, I was set free again. I felt safe. Tim from Epic Bikes checked out my long-parked bike to make sure it was still roadworthy. McDonough police (including Chief Dorsey) were on hand to lead the ride, direct traffic and make the route for the riders safe. At the halfway point, the McDonough fire department greeted us with a cooler filled with chilled bottles of water--from Moye's. Everyone was rolling out the red carpet, so to speak.

High gas prices and concerns about safety halted my solo rides on the Arabia Mountain trail near Stonecrest Mall. It is wonderful to be able to ride again, close to home, in a group of about three dozen, and totally without fear.

Both weeks, we rode past the spot where I was hit three years ago and lay on the roadway, writhing in pain.

I didn't even think about it as I pedaled by. I was having too much fun.

Savior of two girls who limp

2009-06-03T22:15:00.000-04:00

Twitter is a strange mess.

Little blips of opinion, drudgery and nonsense described in 140 characters or less.

Occasional flashes of brilliance and inspiration.

If you've read this far and you're already lost, bone up here, then return to this blog.

People "follow" people they like, then "follow" the people they follow.

After all, if _______ thinks __________ is interesting, I must see what __________ has to say.

I've been adding a lot of names to my "follow" list lately. My follow-a-thon began when I looked at the profile of Entertainment Weekly columnist Michael Ausiello, and poured over the list of people he felt he needed to follow.

I think what's so appealing/intriguing about Twitter is knowing I'm (probably) reading the actual words of people I like or admire. And if I respond, they read my words. And sometimes tweet back!

You can communicate directly with someone famous without having a bodyguard intervene.

I'm also following people I can barely stand, like Joy Behar JoyVBehar, or Twitter kings like Ashton Kutcher aplusk, just to see what all the fuss is about. I like to have a balanced diet of information, even it includes a few brussel sprouts.

I noticed Rainn Wilson rainnwilson, an actor from the TV show "The Office" was appearing on an awful lot of "follow" lists, so I added him. I don't watch the show, but he's famous enough that I know who he is, and I have friends who are fans.

The first tweet I saw on his page made me lean forward and refocus my eyes:

rainnwilsonNice! RT @giannajessen Faithful, Savior of a girl who limps, comic, mysterious, Lord.

RT, by the way, means "re-tweet", which I learned on the tutorial above.

The original tweet was in response to this question:

rainnwilsonWhat God IS or ISN'T in 10 Words or less.

I recognized the name Gianna Jessen immediately. A survivor of a late-term abortion, she is now a singer, pro-life speaker and marathon runner. I've seen/heard several of her interviews.

You can't help but be moved by her story and her testimony.

I thought of her on Sunday, when the news broke of the murder of an abortion clinic doctor. This is how she responded to the story:

giannajessen i've just heard that george tiller (late term abortionist) has been shot. i oppose murder of any kind, and i survived an abortion @ 7 months2:48 PM May 31st from web

According to her web site biography, Jessen's biological mother was seven months pregnant when she had a saline abortion. Gianna was "burned alive for approximately 18 hours in the womb" before she was delivered alive in the abortion clinic that was supposed to kill her. Baby Gianna had medical issues, such as Cerebral Palsy. She wasn't expected to walk or even sit up. But she survived...and thrived. And today, she runs marathons in defiance of the original prognosis.

I think it's important for pro-life Christians to take a stand against the murder of abortion providers, and I'm glad someone with the high profile of Jessen is boldy speaking out.

If revenge is needed to right what we see is a wrong, that's God's job, not ours.

Never pay back evil with more evil. Do things in such a way that everyone can see you are honorable. Do all that you can to live in peace with everyone.

Dear friends, never take revenge. Leave that to the righteous anger of God. For the Scriptures say,

“I will take revenge;
I will pay them back,”
says the Lord.

Romans 12:17-19

People who know me, know where I stand, but this seemed like the right time to write about it in the blog. It's what we used to call in the TV biz, a "news peg."

I used to be "pro-choice" until I figured out that was my own excuse for weaseling out of making a choice. "Just let every woman decide for herself, " was my thinking. I'm sure many women have felt like they had no choice. It didn't occur to me that the baby had no say in the matter.

In another state, in another time, I sat silently as I drove a friend to her second and then her third abortion procedure. She had abortion #1 before I met her, so she knew what to expect. I just waited in the car.

I don't remember what I thought about as I waited, but I'm pretty sure I avoided thinking about the questions, "Is this right? What would I do?" In the years since, I've thanked God over and over that I never had to make that decision, because there's a time I might have made the wrong one.

And I certainly don't condemn anyone for making it. I've seen statistics that show 43% of women have an abortion before age 45. That figure is staggering.

Still, I've never known anyone who was glad she did have an abortion or a woman who didn't have one, who wishes she had made a different decision.

One of the former is co-worker who went public with her own abortion experience, then became a passionate spokesperson for a statewide pro-life group. She now is a spokesperson for a national organization that makes a case against abortion and embryonic stem cell research.

I know that for a lot of people, there's a big difference between the two. But to many who are pro-life, including me, the tiniest human is still a human.

Or as Dr. Seuss's elephant Horton put it, "A person is a person, no matter how small."

However real change in the pervasiveness of abortion will have to be the result of a heart change and not merely a legislative change. Slavery, segregation, oppression of women and even smoking in public buildings all used to be acceptable. Time and enlightenment have changed all that. If there are 42 million abortions worldwide annually, that's the equivalent of seven Holocausts in just one year. Hopefully one day our country, our world, will look back and ask, "How did we tolerate abortion, even condone it?"

Gianna Jessen's web site has a wonderful prayer from Mother Theresa that I'd love to see answered in my lifetime:

" God is using Gianna to remind the world that each

human being is precious to Him. It is beautiful to see
the strength of the love of Jesus, which he has poured
into her heart. My prayer for Gianna, and for all who
listen to her, is that this message of God's love will
put an end to abortion with the power of love."

Until that day, the power of politics is making decisions that are literally life and death.

I saw a video clip this morning of President Obama thanking Nancy Reagan for her work promoting embryonic stem cell and Alzheimer's research.

I wonder what the late Ronald Reagan would have thought of that, considering this was his view on abortion:

"I think all of us should have a respect for innocent life. With regard to the freedom of the individual for choice with regard to abortion, there's one individual who's not being considered at all. That's the one who is being aborted. And I've noticed that everybody that is for abortion has already been born. I think that, technically, I know this is a difficult and an emotional problem, and many people sincerely feel on both sides of this, but I do believe that maybe we could find the answer through medical evidence, if we would determine once and for all, is an unborn child a human being? I happen to believe it is."

-Ronald Reagan, Presidential Debate, September 21, 1980

"Maybe we could find the answer through medical evidence?" There's no doubt medical evidence is much more developed that it was in 1980. Have you seen an ultrasound lately? We can clearly see the face of a baby while she is inside the womb.

I would love for a cure for Alzheimer's to be found, but not at the expense of another human life. That price is too high. If I were told that a cure existed for my own auto-immune diseases because of research on aborted fetuses or "unwanted" embryos, I'd have to say "no" to treatment.

I had a less weighty decision to make when my leg was broken and needed disfiguring surgery. A Physicians Assistant at my dermatologist office suggested I try a certain skin cream to help with the healing of the six-inch surgical scar. What he didn't tell me was the cream was developed from an aborted fetus, or as the product's web site describes "a one time medical termination." Basically, that's an abortion that uses a drug like RU-486.

After I brought the cream home and read the formulation details online, I was livid. The next day, I went to the office to return it. My voice was shaking as I tried to calmly explain why I couldn't use it. The office wouldn't accept a return. "Policy," I was told. So to make my point, I left behind both the unopened package and the $80 it cost me.

That scar is with me always now as a reminder of my mini-stand for life. It will help my resolve if the mini-stand ever becomes a major one. If I catch someone staring at it, it gives me an opening to tell the story behind it.

And yes, I limp a little when I use it too much, and that includes running. I don't do marathons like Miss Jessen, but I've run a few 10ks and 5ks. Doctors told me I probably wouldn't run again after my accident, but I can and I do when I have the energy. God healed my crushed tibia so perfectly that the surgeon gasped when he saw how beautifully the bone had knit together.

I wish Gianna Jessen the best with her work to inspire others and save lives. Maybe one of the babies she saves will grow up to help her with the limp she has from Cerebral Palsy. Or even cure my auto-immune illnesses. And yes, solve the mystery of Alzheimers.

I'm now following Jessen on Twitter and will be checking regularly for her posts. Some are quite hilarious:

giannajessen just stepped on a scale. praying my way into outfits is always helpful.

giannajessen my cat was sitting on my lap and yawned and wheeew! stinky. very stinky. those mice must cause really bad cat breath.

And yes, most of what I find on Twitter is not too deep.

I just got an email telling me that Lee Ann Womack was now following me, even though I'm not following her (yet.)

Twitter is a strange mess.

And yes, I like strange.

The next video to go viral

2009-06-02T21:16:00.001-04:00

Share the love..

Doing the math

2009-06-01T20:06:00.009-04:00

I went to art class today. I painted some of the gardenias that were in our garden.

OK, I know the photo is a little crooked, but I'm letting things slide today. I don't feel very good.

Everyone else in the class is in their 70's and above and I was the least chipper one there, except perhaps the lady who just got back from New York and may have been exposed to the swine flu.

If I start feeling that sick, I'll let you know.

I rarely paint, except when I'm in class. At home, there a lot of things to drag out and set up and I worry about the dogs swallowing a tube of paint.

Bijou actually stole a tube of Burnt Sienna once and chewed the top off before I caught her. She's the reason I have Animal Poison Control stored on my cellphone. It's 888-426-4435.

It seems like I have an unlimited store of artwork to post here, but I have a lot backlogged and some that I haven't even photographed yet.

I've been taking classes for seven years and paint an average of one painting a class, so that makes about 112 paintings or drawings I've completed. Only eight of them are actually hanging in our house.

I budgeted for two sessions this year of eight art classes, which means I'll probably paint only 16 days this year.

That also means I'll have another 16 or so paintings to hang, give away or put in the garage.

I used to show my work a lot in Henry County and entered several competitions. I never won anything. The favored pieces were flowers that look like photographs and roosters that look like roosters. Mine don't fit that category, and I really don't want them to.

I did have a couple of pieces in a gallery once, but it closed before they were sold. The gallery owner liked my profile portraits of a model in my art class:

Right before I took them to the gallery to be displayed, the frame of another painting cut a half inch gash in the canvas of the one on the left.

I was just sick about it. But another coat of paint sealed the repair.

Crisis averted.

I even had the fun of attending a gallery opening reception. I can't remember the names of the other artists I met, but I remember there was a double rainbow that night and everyone forgot about the artwork for a few minutes and ran out to see it.

Now, for the first time in five years, I'm going to display some paintings in another McDonough gallery. It's an exhibition of artwork from University of Georgia alumni from Henry, Clayton, Rockdale and Spalding Counties.

I hadn't bothered with the gallery before because there are paintings of landscapes, fruit and flowers that look like photographs in the window.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Some people wonder why artists charge so much for a painting. I haven't kept a running total of the cost of classes and supplies, but the tab would easily run into the thousands.

No one questions how a doctor can charge $110 for a five minute exam. It's the years and experience behind those five minutes that count.

Painting is more than a skill; it's an art. You're actually taking away a piece of the artist's soul if you buy a one-of-a-kind original painting. At least it should be that way. And it's hard to put a price tag on that.

I haven't thought of bartering a painting for a doctor's bill, but I did give my neurologist one of my paintings as a "thank you" gift last year.

Ironically, it's based on a photograph I took in Mexico five years ago.

No one is going there now. No one is buying paintings either.

But art is all around.

It's free to look. Just open your eyes.

And you can even "travel" to Mexico without getting sick.

Raisinette

2009-06-01T20:01:00.003-04:00

"Writing is mainly perspiration, not inspiration."
--Roald Dahl

Our first "Betazoid" Supreme Court Justice?

2009-05-30T09:53:00.003-04:00

Sonia Sotomayor has the potential to become not only the first Latina Supreme Court Justice, but possibly the first one from another planet.

No, I'm not talking about some of her supposedly "out there" statements reported by her opponents and the media.

I'm talking about the fulfillment of one of President Obama's requirements that a Supreme Court nominee have "empathy."

Just so we're on the same page, here's how the Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines it:

em·pa·thy
Pronunciation:: \ˈem-pə-thē\

1: the imaginative projection of a subjective state into an object so that the object appears to be infused with it
2: the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner ; also : the capacity for this

I think we can agree number two is the definition Mr. Obama had in mind.

One of the most famous "empathetic" characters in the world of science fiction is Deanna Troi, a half-Betazoid/half-human woman who serves as ship's counselor in "Star Trek: The Next Generation."

I had to wiki Betazoids to refresh my recollection of the species. Human/Betazoid hybrids are emapths, meaning they have the ability to sense someone else's feelings, even those of other species.

So how much are Counselor Troi and Judge Sotomayor alike?

See if you can tell which of the following statements were made by Sotomayor or Troi:

1. The aspiration to impartiality is just that — it’s an aspiration because it denies the fact that we are by our experiences making different choices than others.

2. I am the goddess of empathy....

3. However, to understand takes time and effort, something that not all people are willing to give.

4. Higher emotions are what separate us from the lower orders of life... Higher emotions, and table manners.

5. I can and do aspire to be greater than the sum total of my experiences but I accept my limitations.

6. Timeline? This is no time to argue about time, we don't have the time!

7. I am an ordinary person who has been blessed with extraordinary opportunities and experiences. Today is one of those experiences.

8. Words are here--on top. What's under them, their meaning . . . is what's important.

9. Whether born from experience or inherent physiological or cultural differences our gender and national origins may and will make a difference...

10. That's the problem with believing in a supernatural being . . . trying to determine what he wants. .

11. I was just counseled not to be nervous. That's almost impossible.

12. Almost everyone has a moment in their lives when they exceed their own limits . . . achieve what seems to be impossible.

13. My... identity also includes, because of my particularly adventurous taste buds, ... pig intestines, ...pigs’ feet with beans, and ...pigs’ tongue and ears.

14. I never met a chocolate I didn't like.

Bonus question.

Is this...
Troi to Barclay: I feel your confidence, your arrogant resolve. It excites me.

-or-

Sotomayor to Obama:I feel your confidence, your arrogant resolve. It excites me.

Not so easy is it?

I wonder if any of the Senators will bring up this comparison in the confirmation hearings?

Stranger things have happened.

Scroll down for answers, underneath the sources.

Sources:

http://www.memorable-quotes.com/deanna+troi,a1555.html
http://www.sjtrek.com/trek/quotes/S_TheNextGeneration/
http://tvsothertenpercent.tripod.com/startrek/troi.html
http://koti.mbnet.fi/neptunia/movies/troi1.htm
http://www.time.com/time/politics/article/0,8599,1900940,00.html
http://ac360.blogs.cnn.com/2009/05/29/in-her-own-words-sotomayors-2001-raising-the-bar-address/

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Answer key:
Odd quotes are from Judge Sotomayor. Even quotes belong to Counselor Troi. The bonus question is: Troi to Barclay.

A "Crib" we can afford

2009-05-29T17:12:00.003-04:00

I got a link to this video from the Dave Ramsey people. Actor Seth Green spoofs the ultra-luxe TV show "Cribs" with something a little more realistic:

Un-Broke: The Seth Green Cribs Edition - watch more funny videos

This airs tonight on ABC's special, UN-BROKE. Here's info on the special:

Friday May 29th at 9/8c on ABC the one-hour special UN-BROKE: What You Need to Know About Money" takes an unconventional look at the fundamentals of everyday finance featuring Will Smith, Samuel L. Jackson, the Jonas Brothers, Christian Slater, Cedric the Entertainer, Seth Green, Sesame Workshops Oscar the Grouch, Rosario Dawson, the E*Trade Babies and more!

It's nice to see celebs urging us to live within our means and be responsible with money. I hope this economic "wake-up call" that we're having creates permanent change in our "buy now, pay later" mentality. I know I needed to make the transformation myself.

Gumball Encounter

2009-05-28T15:50:00.005-04:00

I read more about local TV news these days, rather than watching it.

And I'm just catching up on some of the changes at WGCL-TV thanks to the blog Live Apartment Fire.

Some of the news staff members are gone, including the station's only meteorologist.

The blog shared a video of Laura Huckabee and a hiccuping incident that has gotten over 23-thousand hits on youtube.com.

My husband and I got a chance to meet Ms. Huckabee when we visited the station last year.

I saw her get a giant gumball from a machine seconds before our host spotted her and introduced us. Her mouth was filled with a giant unchewed gumball when she greeted us and shook our hands. She was gracious and kind despite the awkward situation.

This was about three months before the hiccuping incident. Maybe she didn't get her gumball that day, as I know swallowing sugar is a known cure for hiccups.

I hope Huckabee gets another gig soon, without any, er, hiccups.

Bijou vs. Bella

2009-05-28T08:07:00.000-04:00

After wrestling for dominance of the new rug, one of them threw up on it.

I guess that works.

Bijou, the Golden Retriever, effectively "claimed it."

I wonder what Cesar Millan would say about this?

I'm following"The Dog Whisperer"on Twitter.

I'll ask him to take a look and he responds, I'll post it here.

I can spot a rug a mile away....

2009-05-27T04:05:00.000-04:00

No, not really.

But if you're visiting someone's house and the rug is bad, you can't ignore it.

It's the decorating equivalent of having spinach stuck between your front teeth.

You don't want to talk about it, but it's just there.

But when you have dogs, it's not so easy to keep the rug looking nice.

Witness the two wet dogs, Bijou and Bella taking a nap on their favorite spot: the living room rug. Click on the photo and you can really see how ragged it is: pulls, rips, missing yarn.

At least the color blends in with Georgia clay so it doesn't look dirty. But you still wouldn't want your baby crawling on it.

Too bad the rug is only nine months old.

I bought it with my birthday money last year to replace a nine-year-old rug that had lost its fringe. It has paisley and for some reason, I love paisley.

It was billed as an indoor-outdoor rug. Great for dogs right? But it was trashed in two days. Their claws snagged on the loops and it has numerous pulls. One section has even come unraveled.

I do love the dogs more than my birthday present. I never yelled at them for tearing up the rug because they didn't even realize they were doing it.

But I should have known better to buy a hook rug. Again.

I used to have this great lemon-patterned hook rug in the kitchen. The dogs, then puppies, loved it too. The picture on the right, is our late great Golden Retriever, Bailey. She only acted like she wanted to eat the rug, but she left it alone.

Bijou (below) came along six months later and posed for a pretty picture on the rug, but waited until I was out of sight to unravel it. Completely.

Isn't it funny that when humans and animals do something they know they're not supposed to be doing, they do it in secret?

Thankfully, Bijou's out of that stage now (she's eight, and is the top dog in the big photo.)

I also hated to see that lemon rug go because it's sort of famous. That rug used to belong to Bobbie Batista, the former CNN Headline News anchor.

Ten years ago, she was getting rid of quality junk and I was trying to decorate a new house, so I bought several things from her. The rug was the big prize. And I'm still using almost everything else that I purchased. At the time I didn't have dogs. My sixteen-year-old Cocker Spaniel had died a few months before, and I wasn't ready for another dog.

I was single at the time, and that pretty, clean, nicely decorated house soon got awfully lonely.

When I told my mom I was getting a puppy, she gasped, because she knew what would happen. "The house..." she said. She didn't have to finish, but I knew what she meant. Paw prints, accidents, fur on the furniture. Rugs with stains that won't come out. Landscaping displaced by industrious digging.

Still, I knew I wanted a dog. I needed one. I was ready to love a dog again.

I got one puppy, then another and they were worth every bit of trouble they caused, which really wasn't much.

I have a website that I made in 2000 dedicated to the two original dogs (we lost Bailey last year then adopted Bella.) I'm about to shut it down as I cut non-essential expenses, so if you like dogs a lot, click here and take a look. If you've got insomnia, this page might help you feel sleepy. And if you want to laugh at silly excess, this is the page to check out.

My husband is at work now, and the only sounds I hear are the clicking of the keys as I type and the dogs snoring.

It makes the place feel like home. A little messy, a little too fuzzy. Not just a house, but a home.

American Idle

2009-05-26T06:03:00.000-04:00

I'm going to miss American Idol when it turns 8:00 tonight. The competition is over. Kris is the champ and Adam has won legions of fans of his own.

I didn't watch every minute of every episode this season, but I'd been rooting for Kris for a long time. He's the kind of singer that I would have had a huge crush on when I was a pre-teen and I would have purchased Tiger Beat magazines with his picture the cover. I liked his singing too, of course.

But I gotta hand it to Adam though. WHAT A PERFORMER! And what I admired most about him is that he was exactly himself every single performance, even if he knew it would cost him snide comments from Simon and votes from the audience. It is a risk to do that, and I think it will make him millions.

I'm not very good either at trying to be something I'm not. Thirty (30!!!) years ago, I decided to enter a competition to give an address at my high school graduation. The valedictorian would give a speech (I was 13th in the class of 500+) and so would another talented student with a well-written and crisply delivered speech.

I tried soaring, uplifting speech after motivating speech and none of them rang true. They were all fakes.

Crumple->toss->trash can.

Like most of my high-achieving fellow students, I had spent most of my senior year sloughing off. English, newspaper, band, French, history. Driver's Ed: I took all of my favorite subjects (well not French, but I liked the idea of French.)

I prided myself on the fact that I did not do any studying or homework at all my senior year. I could finish any assignment in between classes or during lunch. Not one book home all year! And I still made mostly A's. I was definitely not challenged.

I also saw classmates who expected to sail through college to their dream job to living their dream life, whatever that was. We were all lazy and I was angry.

I was to give the speech before a panel of teachers the next day and time was running out. I had to work the night before, in the concession stand at Southlake Cinemas. I wrote the following poem during my 30 minute break:

"Ballad of a High School Graduate"

When it's time for Bill to graduate

With Sue and Tom and Ben

You KNOW that he will be a success

But not how or where or when

He broke "13" on his SAT

And got a scholarship to Yale

He was quarterback on the football team

And was voted the best-looking male

He was in every club and sport and group

That he could possibly be

He was strong in leadership in clubs --

He was President of three

Now it's June and Bill takes the time

To be lazy and rest and sleep

It turns out that he likes it so much

That it becomes a habit he'll keep

When college comes along in the fall

And he's on to something new

He's convinced that his past record

Will be able to get him through

Bill becomes a slave to complacency

And life is turned to grey

So then he flunks out of school

And is on the streets by May

And then he realizes that

He is stagnant in the stream of life

And that to sit and let the world go by

Can be as fatal as a knife

He tried again to build his dreams

And reconstruct his plan

After he got on his feet once more

He had turned from child to man

Although Bill IS fictitious

His story still rings true

Don't let yourself be like him

Or it may happen to you

The moral of this story is

That you must start anew

After Graduation or

THE WORLD WILL CATCH UP WITH YOU!

I knew going in, I wouldn't win the competition, but that's what I had to say and I wanted to say it. There was polite, but deafing silence after I read my poem. I'm sure that would have been the case if I'd read it to a crowd of parents at Tara Stadium. Too cynical, too radical. A message no one wanted to hear.

The poem was a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. When I arrived at the University of Georgia that fall, I was unprepared and undisciplined. I did not know how to study.

By that spring, I had been kicked out of the Honors program and got a flat "F" in Honors French and a "D" in Classics.

I still managed to pull up my grades high enough to get into Journalism school, but it was painful. If I'd been more disciplined, I wouldn't have been in that boat to begin with. And I knew I shouldn't have listened to the person who advised me to take "Honors" French when I struggled with it in high school (probably because I didn't study.)

I always mess up when I don't listen to my gut. The gut knows!

I have a Mary Englebreit calendar with this saying: "If you can't be a good example, then you'll just have to be a terrible warning." Let me serve as that terrible warning, nieces, nephews and young cousins.

I did make it through college, and actually got on the Dean's List my senior year (I loved the classes--all Journalism!) But I almost washed out.

Like the Bill in my poem, I had to grow up.

I'm just glad it wasn't too late.

*************

POSTSCRIPT: I know some of my fellow classmates from 1979 and family members are now going back to college, and I admire you so much for that. I could barely hack it in young adulthood, so mortar board hats off to you for doing it "at our age." Well done!

DOUBLE POSTSCRIPT or THE E! HOLLYWOOD TRUE STORY: I thought I'd lost this poem shortly after I wrote it. Even though it was totally inappropriate for the graduation ceremony, my English teacher loved it. (She was on the judging panel and I think she probably fought for me to win.) A newspaper photographer came by to take a picture of some graduates for some reason, and the teacher gave him what I thought was the only copy of the poem and suggested "The Clayton News Daily" run it. They never did. But there was one hand-written copy and I discovered it when I was cleaning out a storage unit I'd kept for nearly five years. I still haven't found my High School diploma though. Maybe that was just a dream....

Cringe-worthy

2009-05-25T13:45:00.000-04:00

"It makes me feel better when I see other people in so much worse shape that I am," said the Woman.

It does?

I heard this recently and I cringed.

I hear this often. Too often. And only once or twice it's been about me. This time it wasn't.

I don't think this particular Woman really meant the message it conveyed: "I feel good when other people hurt."

I never feel better seeing anyone worse off than I am.

If you're thinking anything like that, please don't say it out loud!

Of course, I have no right to tell you what to think, but if the idea that someone else's misfortune gives you a spring in your step and helps you soldier on, something is seriously wrong with you.

Here are some things it's OK to think:

Boy, that really makes me count my blessings. So much we hold dear could be taken away in an instant.

This makes me feel so much empathy. But I can only begin to imagine what it would be like in that situation.

I have no idea what it would be like to be in their shoes. So that's one more reason I can't judge the way they're coping.

I can see they're really hurting. My heart goes out to that family.

And if you pray, then pray for them.

Deep questions to ponder:

What's helping him get through this struggle?

Why am I having more trouble accepting ________ than she is?

There is a man named Mike that my husband and I give a ride to church on a regular basis.

I don't even know what's the cause of his medical problems. I just know he has trouble speaking clearly and has to have kidney dialysis three times a week.

He also loves his two turtles, Love and Faith. He talks about how they are always glad to see him.

I am too.

I have never, ever seen him without a smile or heard him complain about pain or his situation.

He is always upbeat and cracks some really corny, but funny, jokes.

He is an inspiration every time I see him.

Not because I see how much worse I could be, but how much better I can be if I'm more like him.

Another inspiration is Contemporary Christian singer Jeremy Camp. He became a widower at age 23 when his wife died of ovarian cancer.

There is a depth and tenderness to people who have suffered great loss. You can't replicate it or get it any way but the hard way.

No one ever wants the pain and would usually undo what caused it, if given the chance. But what's gained is more priceless than gold.

I heard one of Camp's songs at one of the many funerals I've been to this year. I'll let it speak for itself:

Next time you see someone with severe financial, health, work, etc. problems or they've suffered some other great loss and they're smiling, it's definitely OK to think this:

I'll have what he's having!

A Moment of Liver Appreciation

2009-05-25T09:56:00.000-04:00

Did you know...

"...if approximately 85 percent of the liver stops functioning, practically every other organ in the body would eventually deteriorate."

--From Dr. Melissa Palmer's Guide to Hepatitis and Liver Disease

Giddy with "Glee"

2009-05-24T19:11:00.000-04:00

I finally got to watch the entire episode of "Glee" today.

Sitting upright for an hour, frankly, doesn't feel good, so I managed to connect the internet to the laptop in the living room and watched it on fox.com.

It'll be one of my "must see" programs when it runs this fall.

I have to admit I laughed out loud at the last line in the extended promo:

"You think that's hard, trying living with hepatitis like I do. THAT's hard!"

It's kind of like when I got a silver BMW, I started seeing them everywhere. Or a Vera Bradley bag. Or when I was a teenager, a "Tennille" haircut.

The word "hepatitis" is popping up everywhere.

I went to Books A Million after church today and actually looked for a "Hepatitis for Dummies" book but didn't find one.

But I did pick up "Dr. Melissa Palmer's Guide to Hepatitis and Liver Disease."

It's actually quite helpful. It includes a whole chapter on autoimmune hepatitis.

I haven't found anything funny yet. And I just checked the index in the back and "humor" isn't listed.

I'm still hoping for a laugh.

Sophomore Slump?

2009-05-24T18:12:00.000-04:00

It turns out Susan Boyle is a hard act to follow, even for herself.

Off key, and wobbly, Boyle still advanced to the next round in "Britain's Got Talent." But you could see by the look on the judges' faces, they were worried her entire performance would be terrible.

Fortunately, it got better as it went along.

Alas, her song selection didn't help. It's from "Cats", in my view, is the best song from the worst musical ever.

Bravo for her getting over her nerves and hopefully she'll be rid of them next time around.

STOP, REWIND, PLAY

2009-05-23T19:03:00.000-04:00

5I had so much optimism about today.

I could go to the gym, do my Centergy class, which I've missed for weeks due to doctors' appointments and mini-surgeries.

I even brought my bike shoes in case I also felt up to a Ride class.

The class was small, just three of us, and it felt good to move. It felt good not to think of anything but following the lead of the instructor.

I have to sit out the second song in the routine because I can't put a lot of weight on my right arm. I usually just lie back and stretch.

Today, I decided this would be a good time for a rest room break, put on my Skechers and headed downstairs.

A few minutes later, I quietly slipped through the back door, ready to rejoin the class.

But then I noticed someone, a woman, was using my mats!

Plank, step forward, fold, reverse swan dive, lunge.

I blinked, then stood motionless.

Plank, step forward, fold, reverse swan dive, lunge.

She finally noticed me, "Is this your mat?"

"Yes," I replied

************

This is where I stopped writing yesterday.

I was soooo tired. Physically and mentally. I needed to lie down.

I wanted to finish, but not that day

The words just wouldn't come. My thoughts were cloudy.

Maybe tomorrow...

*************

I had so much optimism about the day.

I could go to the gym, do my Centergy class, which I've missed for weeks due to doctors' appointments and mini-surgeries.

I even brought my bike shoes in case I also felt up to a Ride class.

The class was small, just three of us, and it felt good to move. It felt good not to think of anything but following the lead of the instructor.

I always sit out the second song in the routine because I can't put a lot of weight on my right arm. I usually just lie back and stretch.

This day, I decided this would be a good time for a rest room break, put on my Skechers and headed downstairs.

A few minutes later, I quietly slipped through the back door, ready to rejoin the class.

But then I noticed someone, a woman, was using my mats!

Plank, step forward, fold, reverse swan dive, lunge.

I blinked, then stood motionless.

Plank, step forward, fold, reverse swan dive, lunge.

I was thinking, "She doing what I'm supposed to be doing, moving the way I'm supposed to move. She's taken my place!"

It felt like what I've always heard an "out of body" experience should feel like.

I was standing outside my own body watching it move. Beautifully, with grace and strength.

The spell was broken. The woman had noticed me.

"Is this your mat?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

Embarrassed, she scooted away and grabbed a fresh mat from the closet.

I laid down on my violated mat and waited for the song to end, the images of what I'd just seen replaying in my mind.

Grace, beauty, strength, health. Not me. Someone else.

Sjogren's Syndrome has robbed my eyes of tears. Without those tears, I'm also missing the healing properties of tears shed in sorrow, tears that release both toxins and toxic emotions.

My eyes remained dry.

It was just then I realized my inner parts were overflowing with uncried tears.

My body was broken, but for the first time I also realized, so was my heart.

**************

If it's even possible, I think I went a whole week without taking a full breath.

Last week's liver biopsy makes it feel like a staple gun perforated my side and it hurts to fully inhale.

But more than that, the wait for the results was agony. It felt like the world was m o v i n g i n s l o w m o t i o n.

I couldn't write anything meaningful for the blog. I had several good ideas, but my thoughts always turned back to the waiting, and I wasn't ready to write about that.

My follow-up appointment with my doctor is next week, but I couldn't wait until then.

My sister, a nurse, told me that you can usually get the results directly from the hospital much sooner. She has battled breast cancer, so her disease-coping skills are finely tuned.

My biopsy was on a Thursday, so I showed up Monday and Tuesday hoping for the results. Nothing.

The surgeon said they would be ready in two or three days. What was taking so long?

I wasn't able to make it back there on Wednesday (and therefore continue to make a spectacle of myself) so I returned Thursday afternoon.

The pathology report was ready. The clerk sealed them in an envelope and didn't pass it through the window like she normally does.

She walked out to personally hand the results to me. Her expression was grim.

I didn't want anyone to see me read them, so I walked out into an isolated hallway.

The words jumped out at me, CHRONIC ACTIVE HEPATITIS. My liver is inflamed and some cells have already died.

That's what I expected, thanks to blood work that showed my body was attacking my own liver.

All viral forms of hepatitis had already been ruled out. I'm not contagious and not harmful to anyone but myself.

Auto-immune hepatitis seemed to be the likely diagnosis. Not just likely but expected.

Knowing what it might be and knowing what it is are two entirely different things.

I started shaking.

There are a lot "at leasts" to be optimistic about. At least it's still in the early stages, at least there is no cirrhosis, at least the bile ducts aren't damaged, at least there is no sign of cancer.

But I'm already thinking, if I feel this tired and listless now, what's it going to be like if it does get worse?

I'm preparing for a lifelong battle, but there are some weapons to help me fight.

My doctor has already told me the treatment for auto-immune liver disease a powerful immunosuppresant drug and prednisone.

One of my earliest blogs described my wonderful week on prednisone for a neck injury. I didn't beg for more, but came close.

I think real-life irony is an expression of God's sense of humor, sort of a spiritual wink.

My request for a refill was refused because the drug is dangerous and has some pretty scary side effects. Some would just harm my vanity, others threaten my health. But you can't live without a liver that doesn't work so I choose to treat it.

From what I read, auto-immune hepatits patients can be on prednisone for years. Years!

I'm looking forward to feeling good, even great even if it's a false sense of well being.

My rhematologist said that "Prednisone can bring dead people back to life." I think that's an accurate description of how it feels. I look forward to doing a lot more writing when I'm on it.

I might even feel up to straightening up the house.

Meanwhile, I know I have to work through the stages of grief that immediately began to consume me: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I think I went through all of them yesterday in that Centergy class.

Writing about all of this makes me feel better. Few people have the time or desire to listen to me talk about them and I don't have the energy. And if you've read this far, thanks for reading. It makes me feel better somehow, reminds me that people really do care.

I went to another Centergy class this morning. I didn't step away this time, and didn't have any visions of someone in my place doing what I was supposed to do.

It's becoming clear that I'm doing what I'm supposed to do, right where I am now. Some days it's just surviving.

And to remind me that He's in control, God sent me a bush of gardenias, which bloomed for the first time today. They are one of my favorite flowers, and a favorite scent. I also love to paint them.

The bushes next to the back door were completely green when I left the house this morning, but now they are in gorgeous bloom.

I drew closer, to inhale the fragrance. A deep inhale. My side didn't hurt anymore.

I looked closer and saw what most would probably call raindrops. But to me, they are the tears shed in my behalf.

I was wilting just a day ago, but today, a new day, I see signs of life.

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5

"Open" Oops

2009-05-18T05:55:00.000-04:00

President Obama's "open hearts, open minds" quote from his address at Notre Dame is being widely reported in the news today.

I wonder if he realizes that's also the slogan of the United Methodist Church?

It's actually: "Open hearts. Open minds. Open doors. The people of the United Methodist church."

That church has a position on abortion that's a little closer to his own. But not much.

I doubt Mr. Obama was suggesting that the Roman Catholic Church adopt the UMC's position on abortion.

But his staff would be wise to Google key phrases from any future address.

The Human Bean and Multiple Pangs

2009-05-16T17:54:00.000-04:00

A person shouldn't get so stressed about a can of green beans.

When asked what I could bring to a covered dish dinner on Sunday, I impulsively answered, "green beans."

I was thinking that I could dump the two cans in a casserole dish, microwave, then wait for the compliments to pour in.

It was nothing. Really.

Now these aren't any two cans of green beans. They are GLORY Seasoned Country Style beans. They taste as good as my mom's green beans which sit simmering on the stove for hours.

You see, I was born without the Southern mushy vegetable cooking gene.

If you want your vegetables steamed, lightly seasoned and crisp to the taste, I'm your woman.

But if you want your veggies so mooooshy you can eat them through a straw, forget about it.

And if the recipe calls for ham hocks or anything like that, it's the part of the meat that I probably threw away before I served it.

An infamous family story has to do with the time my grandmother frantically dug through the trash to find a Thanksgiving turkey carcass, after she discovered we'd thrown in away.

The day I promised green beans for the covered dish, I had just served the last can of GLORY beans in the pantry. No problem getting more.

The trouble was, I couldn't remember where I bought them.

Time to go shopping.

3:36pm Publix: Not there. I didn't even browse the aisles. I was on a mission.

3:50pm Dollar Tree: So much for the mission. I didn't really expect to find the green beans there, but wanted to see if any new books had arrived. I considered purchasing one and starting a regular review of books I find at the dollar store. I would read just $1 worth of pages, based on the original retail price, then post a review. I realized just thinking about that slowed me down and so put the books down and left.

3:55 pm Wal Mart: Lots of GLORY collard greens to be found, but not my beans. Collards were going to be the backup plan. Or maybe a green bean casserole. I was good at casseroles.

4:10pm Michaels: Sorry. A 40% coupon was expiring today and I needed to stop and buy some palette paper.

4:20pm Target: Not a single can of GLORY vegetables was on the vegetable aisle. Yankees!

4:3pm Kroger: Lot of GLORY, but the closest thing I found was string beans with potato pieces. Then I looked down on the bottom shelf and shoved back in the corner, were about half a dozen cans of my green beans.

Cue the heavenly music.

Then I looked closer. These were string beans. I've always called them green beans. Have they always been string beans and I never noticed?

I looked around for more GLORY vegetables. The cans that caught my eye first were blackeye peas. Blackeye? That's not what I called them either.

I looked at other cans for confirmation. Blackeyed. Blackeyed. Blackeyed.

All Blackeyed Peas.

Then I looked at the label, already knowing what I would find.

GLORY FOODS, INC. has a Columbus, Ohio address.

Carpetbaggers!

**********

I don't have anything against Yankees, mind you, after all I married one.

And few people in Georgia actually know West Virginia fought on the side of the Union, so I don't get any grief about it.

My husband would say his favorite vegetable is "salad," so I was a little surprised at how delighted he was with the selection of sides on Mary Mac's menu.

Squash casserole. Sweet potato souffle. Fried okra. Yum.

Mary Mac's Tea Room opened in Midtown Atlanta in 1945 and serves Southern-style cooking that Paula Deen herself might endorse. In other words, it has lots of grease and tons of butter.

They even have the nerve to call the leftover juice of turnip greens "soup." Mary Mac's doesn't charge you for the "Pot Likker with cracklin' bread" the first time you visit. Like me, my husband won't turn down much that is free, so he ordered it.

The waitress suggested my husband crumble the piece cornbread into the juice and add some hot sauce. He wanted the bread but not the sauce. He offered me a spoonful and it was delicious. My husband concurred.

He won't eat either of those foods if I serve them at home.

Hmmmmn.

He also raved about the selection of thirty-seven side dishes and was worried that he couldn't narrow it to just two.

Double hmmmn.

Who is this Mary Mac and why am I feeling a pang of jealousy?

Or is that just a hunger pang?

I told him that I would give him one of the four vegetables from my vegetable plate, so what would he like to try?

He wanted the salad.

I'd feel better now if not for one thing.

My husband will be home from work in an hour and instead of cooking a meal I've been writing this blog.

But I did get him something Southern and something I know he likes.

A takeout meal from ChickfilA.

Was that a hunger pang? Or a pang of guilt?

Most Clickable Link of the Day

2009-05-16T07:25:00.000-04:00

Certain Speculation: Horror On Page 219 . . . .

The Most Clickable Link(s) of the Day

2009-05-15T07:23:00.000-04:00

Two links from the main page of ajc.com

Sexy mascot can stay if curves covered

Dating: When he calls out the wrong name

Maybe he was thinking about the sexy mascot?

Tinker Bell Shops at DSW

2009-05-15T07:20:00.000-04:00

A liver biopsy feels like...

Tinker Bell just put on a new pair of stilettos, aimed between two ribs and then stomped. Really hard.

Most Clickable Link of the Day

2009-05-14T15:28:00.000-04:00

OK, I'm marching right back to bed after I post this.

I found this on my friend Joel's Facebook page:

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/

Enjoy! (Oh, it hurts to laugh...)

A Nice Chianti and Fava Beans

2009-05-14T06:25:00.000-04:00

Hannibal Lector made the liver famous in "Silence of the Lambs."

And I had an insatiable craving for duck liver myself before I was diagnosed with a B12 deficiency.

But now it's my own liver I'm worried about.

I have auto-immune liver disease.

There, I said it.

My body is attacking my own liver as though it were chicken pox or a staph infection.

It's the biological equivalent of "friendly fire."

Blood work shows my body has antibodies to my own liver, and my liver enzymes have been on a roller coaster of high and normal levels.

This morning, I'm having a biopsy to see how much damage there is, so I'm not sure when I'll feel like posting again.

My grandmother died of cirrhosis of the liver when she was in her 30's. That was in 1940-something and there wasn't much they could do back then. And I doubt there was any way to test if it was caused by an auto-immune illness.

It's usually assumed that cirrhosis is caused by alcohol abuse, but that's not the case.

I haven't had enough alcohol in my lifetime to fill a bathtub.

Autoimmune diseases tend to cluster in families. My sister has one too.

And if you have one, you're more prone to get others. I have Sjogren's (SHOW-grins) Syndrome and pernicious anemia.

I hope the biopsy doesn't show much damage. It would be even better if there's none, but the tests are showing otherwise. I know I have a lot of people praying for me. It may not change the outcome, but it changes how I feel about the outcome.

I have peace.

I have a dear friend with another type of auto-immune liver disease and I see how she struggles.

Yet she has a closer walk with Jesus than almost anyone else I know. I know I'd rather have that than anything else.

She's also a prayer warrior and I'm comforted that she is praying for me!

I'm not sharing this because I want you to feel sorry for me. That's the last thing I want.

I just want you to know there's hope even in our struggles.

Everyone has them. Maybe not every minute of the day, but they come. It's inevitable.

Just don't give up. Fight.

I'll be in there fighting with you.

A Scam Email from Someone who watches too much "Lost"

2009-05-13T11:48:00.000-04:00

Maybe the money is actually coming from Hurley's bank account?

FROM THE DESK OF MR.ROY FRANK
AUDIT/REMITTANCE DEPARTMENT OF
AFRICAN DEVELOPMENT BANK (ADB)
OUAGADOUGOU BURKINA FASO
PHONE: 00226-71191557

SIR/MADAM,

(CONFIDENTIAL)

I KNOW THAT THIS EMAIL WILL BE A BIG SURPRISE TO YOU, BUT I WANT YOU TO CALM DOWN AND READ VERY CAREFULLY.

I HAVE A BSINESS WHICH WILL BE BENEFICIAL TO BOTH OF US. THE AMOUNT OF MONEY INVOLVED IS ($ 5,700:000:00 FIVE MILLION SEVEN HUNDRED THOUSAND US DOLLARS) WHICH I WANT TO TRANSFER OUT OF THE COUNTRY TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, ALL TO MY FINANCIAL BENEFIT AND YOURS TOO. AND ALSO TO TAKE MY WIFE ABROAD FOR TREATMENT OF LIVER DAMAGE.

THIS MONEY IS OWNED BY A MAN CALLED JIN SUN, A BUSINESS COMMERCIALIST IN WEST-AFRICAN REGIONS. HE HAS BEEN DEAD SINCE SIX YEARS AGO AND SINCE THEN, NO CLAIM HAS BEEN PLACED ON HIS BANK ACCOUNT BALANCE.

I WANT TO TRANSFER THIS MONEY OUT OF THE COUNTRY BUT SUCH FUND CANNOT BE TRANSFERRED WITHOUT A NEXT OF KIN ATTACHED TO THE FUND.

THE FUND COULD BE TRANSFERRED IN THESE WAY; YOU SHALL PRESENTYOURSELF AS A BUSINESS ASSOCIATE TO THE DECEASED PERSON[JIN SUN] AS DETAILS SHALL BE THAT YOU ARE THE CARE-TAKER BUSINESS ASSOCIATE TO MR. JIN SUN AND HIS PROPERTIES.

I SHALL MAKE AVAILABLE TO YOU MATERIALS AND INFORMATION WITH WHICH A SUCCESSFUL CLAIM SHALL BE PLACED ON THE FUND.

I SHALL ALSO BE YOUR GUIDIANCE AND INSTRUCTOR THROUGHOUT THE DURATION OF THIS TRANSACTION SO AS TO ENSURE A SWIFT AND SURE TRANSFER OF THE FUND TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT.

AS TO YOUR BENEFITS, YOU SHALL BE ENTITLED TO 40% OF THIS FUND FOR YOUR CO-OPERATION IN THIS TRANSACTION WHILE 5% WILL BE SET ASIDE FOR EXPENCES INCURED DURING THE COURSE OF THIS TRANSACTION.

SO IF YOU ARE INTRESTED, SEND A REPLY TO ME IMMEDIATELY AND IN YOUR REPLY PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR [PRIVATE PHONE AND YOUR FAX NUMBERS] URGENCY HAS TO BE IMPLIED AND THIS BUSINESS MUST STRICTLY BE A DEAL BETWEEN BOTH OF US.

WAITING FOR YOUR URGENT RESPONSE SO THAT I CAN MOVE AHEAD AND GIVE YOU THE INDEPT DETAILS CONCERNING THIS TRANSACTION AND ALSO THE STEPS TO TAKE FOR A SMOOTH TRANSFER OF THE FUND INTO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT.

BEST REGARDS,

MR.ROY FRANK

PLEASE REPLY ME HERE; roy_frank01@live.com

The Most Clickable Link of the Day

2009-05-13T08:05:00.000-04:00

On ajc.com

Zinkhan buried, shot himself | Photos

Photos? I'm sure they don't live up to the possibilities that the headline in front of it implies.

But still...

Miss-Information

2009-05-12T13:42:00.000-04:00

Donald Trump says Miss California gets to keep her crown.

So why did Carrie Prejean get so much heat for stating her position on gay marriage anyway?

After all, it's the same as President Barak Obama's.

Prejean gave a hearfelt answer to the question in the national pageant. It looks like she meant it.

The problem with liberals is when candidate Obama said he was for marriage "between a man and a woman", none of them believed him.

They thought he was just saying it to get elected, to appear more moderate.

What else did he "just say" to get elected?

I'm sure we're going to find out.

The Emotionally Unavailable Man

2009-05-11T22:15:00.000-04:00

I remember when I started crushing on Spock. It was a teenybopper type crush. I was only in junior high.

I was not alone. Women love Spock. Then and now.

I haven't seen it yet, but I hear the pointy-eared Vulcan brings sexy back to the Enterprise in the new "Star Trek" movie.

Google "sexy Spock" and see what I mean.

The original Spock made women swoon too. He shared intellect and bad bangs with Bill Gates. But Spock could step in and command the Enterprise if he had to. And he could do it without showing an ounce of fear, concern or other emotion.

I can change him. I can make him feel love. I can make him love me back.

Alas, in real life that's the kind of woman who will stay in love with an abuser.

Luckily, I grew up and saw such men for what they are: toxic.

The book Safe People: How to Find Relationships That are Good for You by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend describes a woman trapped in a relationship with an emotionally unavailable man. Here's the cycle:

Feel attracted and excited by an emotionally unavailable man.
Experience his stimulating come-and-go game as "being in love.
Experience his hurtful behavior as creating more longing in her.
Begin to try to "win" him over by compliant behavior.
He gets more self-centered the more compliant she becomes.
Can no longer stand it.
Tries to break up.
Is unable to stand the separation so she returns to the relationship.
Repeats the cycle.

I just thought about the idea of trying to even hold hands with Spock and shuddered. It would be a cool, flabby hand that doesn't hold back.

Does not compute. Does not compute. Does not compute.

I mean illogical.

The yin to Spock's yang is FOX-TV's misanthropic doctor, Gregory House.

He has superior intellect and diagnostic skills, but shows a total lack of empathy for his patients.

In the romance department, he's no prize either.

House uses excesses of emotion to drive women away. Make them run away, screaming and shaking their heads.

***DON'T WORRY, THERE ARE NO SPOILERS AHEAD****

House and his supervisor Dr. Lisa Cuddy's romantic entanglement is either a measure of growth for House or desperation for Cuddy.

It looks like she wants to rescue him. Bad idea. See numbers 1-4, above.

But should we blame House? Of course not. He isn't real.

To paraphrase Jessica Rabbit, "House isn't bad, he was just made that way."

TV series about Marcus Welby-style doctors just aren't interesting anymore. And who hasn't come across some really vile doctors in their lifetime? They make House seem vibrant and real.

That's why we like to watch him at work and see how outrageous he will become.

We women, just might want to "fix" him, a little teensy entsy little bit.

But a paramour that mixed up belongs only on TV.

Certain Speculation: Outrage . . .

2009-05-11T22:12:00.000-04:00

Certain Speculation: Outrage . . .

My dogs came running when I played this.

2009-05-11T20:35:00.001-04:00

New blog: What Lies Beneath (follow up on John Oxendine story.) http://ping.fm/azEgq

What Lies Beneath

2009-05-11T19:45:00.000-04:00

Once an investigative reporter, always an investigative reporter so it makes sense that Certain Speculation blogger CB Hackworth would be asking questions about Sunday's AJC report on John Oxendine's campaign contributions. Some of them may be illegal.

Not a fan of Oxendine, but an advocate for fairness, Hackworth raises questions that needs to be answered, and the main one being, "Is someone framing John Oxendine?"

One thing that troubles me is the PAC donations seemed to be hiding in plain sight, begging to be discovered.

"The reporter found 10 political action committees donating the exact same amounts of money on the exact same dates. The PACs were all located in Birmingham. Records of The Alabama Secretary of State's Office showed the PACs all had the same addresses and the same chairperson, the son of lawyer and businessman Donald V. Watkins."

It's like watching CSI Miami and the crime seems to be solved a little too quickly. Look at your watch and it's only 10:30pm so you know the airtight case is about to unravel. The real culprit has yet to be caught.

This campaign story may just be starting to unfold. Is there a culprit here, one who is trying to derail Oxendine's campaign?

Unlike Hackworth, I do support Oxendine and I like what he has to say about running our state. I also like what he's done as Insurance Commissioner.

His campaign should not be tainted without proof Oxendine knew about the contributions, when it's just as likely he may have been set up.

I want the truth about those contributions to come out, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Whatever it may be.

2009-05-11T19:42:00.001-04:00

The House finale is on tonight. Cellphone set to "stun." (Oh got it confused with that movie thingy.)

2009-05-11T19:33:00.001-04:00

I'm linking all of my social networks with ping.fm This is a test run.

The Dark Side

2009-05-10T19:00:00.000-04:00

I've spent 90 minutes trying to look for a story about a former television news colleague, but I don't have a Lexis-Nexis budget and much patience so I'm giving up. My memory is now unreliable so I'll change the names, most of the facts and just call this fiction. It's based on a true story, but a true story loosely remembered.

"Dirk Conroy Simpson" was a phone buddy. We talked daily because our television stations exchanged video and news reports. He was a television assignment editor in Birmingham and I was one in Montgomery. Dirk was in charge of the "Alabama Video Network" and he basically ran the show.

Engaging, charismatic and entertaining, he made the morning conference call a pleasure instead of a chore.

I did meet him during quick visit to his station and later at an AP Broadcasters conference. While friendly in person, we didn't talk much. Phone buddy friendships usually work better over the phone.

In 1990, I left the state for my Atlanta "dream job" and he moved on to a station in Florida. We didn't keep in touch, there was really no reason to. Our common point of interest was the "Alabama Video Network" and that was it.

The next time I would hear about Dirk I was so stunned my knees buckled under me.

He had committed suicide. After committing a murder.

His stripper girlfriend was found dead, rolled in a rug and discarded in a dumpster. The evidence was mounting against my old friend. Dirk said he was ready to turn himself into police and before they arrived, he took a pistol, walked in his back yard and shot himself in the head.

But he was so nice, so friendly. A GREAT guy.

"He was a mean drunk," I was told. I couldn't imagine it. Whatever dark side he had, he kept well hidden beneath an amiable veneer.

So what's making me think about Dirk? One name: George Zinkhan.

Zinkhan's body was discovered late Saturday afternoon in a heavily wooded area outside of Athens.

Reports about circumstances were especially bizarre: he had apparently dug his own shallow grave, covered himself up with debris then shot himself in the head. He apparently didn't want to be found. The specter of his possible return would have kept the community on edge for years. Maybe it was his last act of revenge.

Dirk Simpson's and George Zinkhan's apparent suicides have some things in common. The first, is avoidance, cowardice, whatever you want to call it.

Simpson would have been nailed for killing his girlfriend and trying to cover up the crime. University of Georgia professor Zinkhan was wanted for killing his wife and two other men in a downtown Athens theatre.

After the shootings, Zinkhan reportedly dropped off his two children at a neighbor's house, telling her he "had an emergency."

The other similarity is the calculated natures of their suicides.

Here's a memory of one that was not thought out:

When I lived in Jonesboro, a neighbor two doors down impulsively grabbed a gun during the high point of an argument and shot himself in the head.

Clayton County's version of the Sunshine Cleaning Company arrived later to clean the blood-soaked carpet. The run-off created pink suds that swirled down the storm drain in my cul de sac.

There go the property values, I thought gruesomely.

But both Dirk and George Zinkhan went outdoors to commit their last act. There was evidence of planning, at least several minutes of pre-meditation. Did they have a sense of pride in their homes that made them not want to taint them? Did they want to spare relatives from the horror of seeing a house that was the scene of a violent death?

I'm sure a criminal profiler might have some good theories.

So what darkness lurks in men's (and women's) souls?

I had a News Director ponder the question out loud, "Are men basically good or basically evil?" His conclusion was basically good.

But most students of the Bible would disagree, believing that humans by nature desire to do wrong, to rebel. No one is not good, not even one. (12 Psalms 14:1-3; 53:1-3; Eccles. 7:20, Romans 3:12.)

Twenty years ago, I got a momentary glimpse in the the dark deeds my own soul was capable of, not limited to the acts of Dirk Simpson and George Zinkhan. I've never been so frightened. But I consider that vision a gift from God, a chance to see what I did not want to become.

That was a turning point for me in my walk of faith. It was a hard truth, but a transforming one. I knew I wanted to be changed, but I knew I did not possess the power to do it on my own.

The tragedy of suicide is there is no chance for redemption, no chance to express remorse for unthinkable deeds, and yes, pay for crimes committed. And for those left behind, the question "why" can never be fully answered.

There are some things you can't take back, and that's one of the most heartbreaking.

Twizzler

2009-05-10T07:11:00.001-04:00

Since I did a celebrity post last night, I'll give you two links today to another friend's blog with one Mother's Day awwwwww story and another one for American Idol and dog lovers.

If you comment, tell 'em I sent you.

Candy Corn

2009-05-09T23:11:00.001-04:00

I'm not supposed to call attention to the ads on my blog (so look away) and I'm not allowed to click on them.

But I noticed one that was very interesting, a blog-writing workshop hosted by Hollis Gillespie. I heard about her on my favorite Atlanta blog, Certain Speculation, so I typed in the url directly to take a peek.

It costs $175, which is probably a bargain for a budding professional blogger, which I'm not. I just checked and my blog has made $.02 in the last month. If it continues at this rate, I'll be able to pay for the seminar in 729 years.

I wonder if Hollis offers scholarships?

The Celebrity Next Door

2009-05-09T20:13:00.000-04:00

When I walked through the doors of Michael's this evening I had a sense of deja vu.

And it wasn't because I was about to use another 40% off coupon on a watercolor pad.

Suddenly, it hit me like a slow-flying bug intersecting with a fast-moving car.

I remembered what happened there last year on the day before Mother's Day: my very first McDonough celebrity sighting.

I was all sweaty wearing a ridiculous pair of pink foam bunny ears that I'd picked up at the Susan G. Komen race at Atlantic Station. My hair was sticky and wet, pulled back in a ponytail. Any makeup I'd been wearing had melted off.

Then I saw Mark Hall.

For the uninitiated, Mark Hall is the lead singer of the Contemporary Christian sensation, Casting Crowns. They've won two Grammys and a wagonload of Christian music honors since their first album was released in 2003. Just two weeks ago, they came home victorius from the Dove Awards.

What makes Casting Crowns so unique is many of their songs aren't about how good it is to be a Christian, but how hard it is to be a Christian.

The title song on group's latest CD, "The Altar and the Door" lays it out plain and simple:

Careless, I am reckless

I’m a wrong-way-travelin’-slowly-unraveling shell of a man
Burnt out, I’m so numb now
That the fire’s just an ember way down in the corner of my cold, cold heart

Lord, this time I’ll make it right, here at the altar I lay my life
Your kingdom come but my will was done, my heart is broken as I...

Cry, like so many times before
But my eyes are dry before I leave the floor, oh Lord
I try but this time, Jesus, how can I be sure I will not lose my follow through
Between the altar and the door

There's a bounty of quotes from Hall about this on the group's web site.

"When we're at the altar, everything makes sense," Hall says. "We know what we're supposed to do. We know how we're supposed to live. Everything's black and white. But somewhere between the altar and the door, when we leave and go out into our lives, it all leaks out, and everything gets gray again."

The genesis of the album began when Hall read some of his youth group's posts on their MySpace pages. Their words weren't matching the truth they were proclaiming in church.

"The Christian life is the journey between the altar and door, trying to get the things you've got in your head, into your hands, feet, into your life," Hall says. "The Altar and The Door is all about the journey. The realization on the journey, the struggles and the victory of seeing it as possible."

Hall captures this idea better than any Christian artist I've ever heard.

Sure, there are soaring vocals like these Word is Alive from the Lifesong CD:

The Word is alive
And it cuts like a sword through the darkness
With a message of life to the hopeless and afraid
Breathing life into all who believe

But there's also the devastation of a family torn apart as told in the video Slow Fade. It's also about how close we all are to fading away:

The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you’re thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking

Check out the lyrics and scriptural references on castingcrowns.com. Better yet, buy the CD. It's even better with the vocals and music. Promise.

Flash back to 2008: Hall had brought his kids to Michael's to buy supplies to make Mom something special for Mother's Day.

My brother and his wife may be even bigger fans of Casting Crowns than I am. I called their cellphone to tell them about the sighting.

I said, "You'll never guess who's at Michael's? Mark Hall!" I didn't have to say "Mark Hall, the lead singer from Casting Crowns." "Mark Hall" was enough.

They happened to be in the same shopping center, so they packed up their two girls and joined me at Michael's in less than five minutes.

My sister-in-law is bolder than I am and she walked up to Hall and introduced herself. The rest of us were waved over and we talked with him briefly. That's how I learned about the construction of a Mother's Day gift. I mumbled something unintelligible about running past McDonough First Methodist (where they filmed the video Does Anybody Hear Her?) when the song's lyrics "She was running.." played on my IPod.

He was friendly and humble and patient and didn't try to rush us away. I used my cellphone and my brother's cellphone to take a picture of Hall with my brother and his family.

After we said goodbye, I wanted to see how the pictures turned out. They weren't there! I was new to camera phones and I didn't know you had to select "save" after snapping a picture, otherwise it would disappear.

I was sick. I wanted to find Hall again, take the picture over and undo my mistake. But my sister-in-law didn't want to bother him again and I agreed.

I kept beating myself up about what I'd done. I almost wrote him to ask for a signed photo but didn't know where to begin.

Remember the sweaty lady with the pink bunny ears?

I was with my husband at Chevy's Diner for lunch when I saw Hall again. He was with a group and it didn't seem right to interrupt. I told one of the owners who he was, and pointed out that Casting Crowns had songs on their jukebox (I had recently played them.)

We briefly conspired and thought it would be fun to play one, but the owner decided against it. Let them eat in peace.

My husband and I have seen Casting Crowns perform at their home church, Eagles Landing First Baptist Church. (If this sounds familiar, the Henry County swine flu cases are the adjoining school, Eagle's Landing Christian Academy.)

It amazes me that despite mega-fame in the sphere of Christian music, Hall is still 100% committed to his day job there as a youth pastor. It's all about the kids.

If my husband and I were to pick a church solely based on the music, we'd probably go there. Casting Crowns debut single, "If We are the Body" is partially responsible for us being together. I was so disarmed at how touched a certain guy in my Sunday School class was by this song, that I really began to notice him for the first time.

We were married four years later.

If we were to go to a church just because we are fans of the band, then we'd be going for the wrong reasons. Our church, Community Bible Church has given us so much that we're privileged to give back. We wouldn't be any other place until God decides that we're needed somewhere else.

Until then, we'll relish the few opportunities we get to see Casting Crowns live or even see Mark Hall around town.

And maybe I'll get another shot with the camera phone.

A Good Story is Hard to Find

2009-05-08T23:22:00.000-04:00

Dear Flannery,

I know you're dead, but I have a few things I need to talk to you about.

My life keeps intersecting with yours and I'm not sure why.

First of all, Miss Mary Flannery O'Connor, you may have saved me from flunking out of the seventh grade.

I had just transferred from Louisiana to Georgia and was failing English. I got an "F" on my very first test. I had never got an "F" before, nothing even lower than a "B" and I was mortified.

I hid the test and never told anyone.

Thankfully, we moved from grammar to literature and I was hypnotized by the dark themes in the short stories in our textbook. Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" and Richard Connell's "The Most Dangerous Game" were chilling.

Then I read your short story "A Good Man is Hard to Find." I knew I had found the true Georgia, or at least a Georgia I wanted to get to know. It was grotesque and gorgeous and wonderfully fascinating.

I also knew you were writing about me and every car trip our family had taken.

"The children began to yell and scream that they wanted to see the house with the secret panel. John Wesley kicked the back of the front seat and June Star hung over her mother's shoulder and whined desperately into her ear that they never had any fun even on their vacation, that they could never do what THEY wanted to do. The baby began to scream and John Wesley kicked the back of the seat so hard that his father could feel the blows in his kidney."

That would be me kicking the back of my father's seat. As the oldest I was positioned behind the driver. My sister sat next to me, within poking distance, and my two brothers were in the back of the station wagon.

If we'd start whining like that, my dad would yell, "Don't MAKE me pull over." Usually that was enough. If not, my dad would swat his hand over the back seat and smack me on the right leg just for the sound effect it made. That always stunned everyone into compliance.

Our 10-hour car trips to Louisiana (before I-85 was finished) were so tedious that my dad started the trips at dark so we'd sleep through most of it and give my parents blissful silence. Shaking off the sleepiness was worth the sacrifice.

There were other familiar bits in the story:

"June Starr said her hair was naturally curly."

My mother often repeats a story of me emerging from a discarded appliance box in which I'd been playing. I patted my sweat-drenched ringlets and declared, "I have the curliest hair in the house."

Well I did!

And the part of the story where the family turns down the wrong dirt road and is brutally murdered by a man called "The Misfit," still resonates with me today.

My husband is quite an explorer and we've driven around lots of back roads in rural Georgia. Lots of dirt roads.

I won't go down a dirt road if I don't know what's on the other side. But I'll willingly ride along if my husband is at the wheel.

But I always get a catch in my throat when a car is coming from the opposite direction.

Flannery, when I saw your photo, I felt a kindred spirit as another girl trapped behind an ugly pair of eyeglasses.

I wore mine from age three until I was liberated by contacts in the tenth grade.

Although, lenses are difficult to capture on canvas, I decided to include your eyeglasses when I painted your portrait for Henry County's "Women of Substance" exhibit. Your glasses are your visual signature.

For the "WOS" exhibit, we could paint whichever well-known woman we wanted, and I chose you because your writing had been such an inspiration to me.

My fascination with Georgia was honed into a fascination with Atlanta, and it inspired a non-fiction book that I co-wrote. I'm sure I would have included you in it if you had spent the end of your days in Atlanta instead of your family farm near Milledgeville.

I painted the farmhouse, Andalusia, as well as one of the many peacocks that inhabited the property. The apple tree wasn't in the photo I used as model. It was added in at the suggestion of another artist to "balance" the painting.

It would be unforgivable for a journalist to add something that wasn't there. But this was artistic license and I'm sure as a writer of fiction you would understand.

And my own memory is so faulty that I need to call anything I write fiction just to cover my mistakes.

In my research for a short biography I needed to write, I learned some fascinating things about you.

You were known to be a meticulous editor, writing and re-writing each story until it was perfect. No word was wasted.

I know your lupus slowed you down. You were bed-ridden and couldn't write for months at a time. Yet you wrote at your typewriter when you felt well enough and your works were published up to and even after your death at the criminally young age of 39.

I too have an auto-immune illness. More than one in fact. I have Sjogren's Syndrome, a connective tissue disease that's a sister of lupus. I was just recently diagnosed with auto-immune liver disease and a biopsy next week will determine how much damage there is.

It's sapped so much of my energy, my strength and my mental powers. I know I press PUBISH POST on a blog before it's really ready, just because I've grown tired of writing and fatigued by the editing process. I've wondered how you were able to write up to your own standards feeling as weak as you did.

I found my answer in the introduction of my copy of Flannery O'Connor, The Complete Stories.

"'If I were well," she wrote,"'there is a lot of rewriting and polishing I could do, but in my present state of health, [the stories] are essentially all right the way the are."

So you cut yourself some slack and let "good enough" be good enough for publication. That's a relief to know.

I also read that you took cortisone for you lupus. I was on prednisone, a type of cortisone for just one week for an auto accident injury and boy did I feel great. I started this blog and began a flurry of other writing, the type of writing I haven't done in years. I lost most of that surge of productivity immediately after I went off the drug. Only the tiniest bit lingers.

I asked the doctor for a second week and she refused. Too dangerous, I was told.

When I learned about my liver, a different doctor told me the preferred treatment includes prednisone.

I almost applauded, but the too dangerous part echoed in my head. At least I'll probably feel like writing. I wonder if the cortisone helped you write?

Another thing my research uncovered was your deep faith and the biblical and Christian themes in your work. They are just there. You don't try to teach a message or weave in allegory.

In 2005, The Washington Post wrote, "... religion never descended into religiosity with O'Connor, and it certainly did nothing to ameliorate a sharp sense of humor or tart literary opinions."

I could learn a few lessons from you.

But you would know, as a student of the Bible, I believe I can't communicate with you directly so I'll just have to ask God to pass along the message.

Well, I've been working on this for two days and I'm tired of writing and editing. Time to PUBLISH POST.

Thanks for listening. Oh, and most of all, thanks for writing.

Kim

Spin Cycle

2009-05-07T12:50:00.000-04:00

Who is this BACH-O-ME who has just taken over $1,000 out of our checking account?

My thumb was on the speed dial to the bank.

BAC-HO. BACHO-MLO. B-ACHO-MELOA.

What's the meaning of BACHOMELOANSVCLP?

I'm terrible with anagrams.

Bank of America Home Loans! I still haven't figured out the SVCLP.

So Very Coveted Loser's Pockets?

Our home mortgage was with Countrywide for the last ten years. The service was nearly flawless and the website extremely easy to use.

I rarely needed to talk to an actual live person.

So when they buckled under the sub-prime mortgage mess, I was dispirited.

For about five minutes.

Last summer, Bank of America bought Countrywide and now they're getting around to re-branding the company as Bank of America Home Loans.

Oh yikes, this is the same Bank of America that took $45 billion in federal bail-out money. What should I expect?

Well the news about BAC is expected to be fairly good this afternoon. The bank's stock has surged in the lead-up to a federal "stress test" report that will be released after the market closes.

I don't know what's so great about the bank needing to raise another $34 billion in capital to weather the recession. But it's less money than expected and that's how spin works.

Lower expectations, then the sort-of bad news seems like great news.

The Associated Press reports that it's believed the bank can easily raise this kind of money.

I just hope they don't come after me.

ME-NOT-HOME-GO-AWAY.

From "The Flying Nun" to the Envoy

2009-05-05T12:01:00.000-04:00

I keep looking for the Aim here and accelerate sign on the back of my Toyota.

For the fourth time in two years, the 4Runner is going back to McDonough Collision for repairs. I asked them if they have a rewards program for frequent customers.

I got a smile and a free ballpoint pen.

These accidents are interfering with my 200-thousand mile plan. I want to keep that truck until the rims fall off and I pray that's going to be a very, very long time in the future.

Careless drivers are trying very hard to keep that from happening.

I remember learning in school about something called planned obsolescence. Pantyhose are designed to run, washing machine agitators are designed to stop agitating and freezers are made to stop running just so you'll have to replace them. The idea is to keep consumers consuming.

It makes me wonder, does the American automobile industry build planned obsolescence into their cars?

The first car I had was a white 1961 Ford Falcon station wagon that my friends nicknamed "The Flying Nun." The fenders had wings plus I got quite a few traffic tickets because the speedometer didn't work.

(Catch a glimpse of the "Nun" behind me and a souvenir from my TV reporting days.)

My dad bought the wagon for $300 in 1982. The Falcon rolled off the assembly line the year I was born and it was already 21 years old when I started driving it.

The engine was so simple a boy scout with a band-aid probably could have fixed it if it broke down on the side of the road,

I'd still be driving it if my fear-stricken parents hadn't bought a 1977 Monte Carlo one of their friends was selling. They let me have it if I made the payments.

I was excited for about 60 minutes. That is until the speedometer cable broke on the drive home.

The Falcon was still solid and running just fine when I sold it when it was 25-years-old.

Today, we have a 6-year-old Cavalier that looks like a junkyard zombie. It's so ugly that one of the neighbors posted a copy of the "no inoperable vehicles allowed" clause of our neighborhood covenant on the window when we were out of town on vacation lat year.

Mechanically and structurally, it is not much better. The interior light won't turn off, some of the dashboard gauges don't work and it takes a well-toned bicep to open the passenger door. It gets great gas mileage but my husband doesn't trust it to get him to work or to visit his parents in West Virginia.

By contrast, the 2004 4Runner has nearly 100-thousand miles and still rides like it's brand new. The only "part" I've had to replace was the battery.

Before that, I had a 1996 BMW 318ti, which was the tiniest and cheapest car that BMW made at that time. It had 20-thousand miles when I bought it and was still pristine when I sold it to neighbors with 100K on the odometer.

It was still in great shape when they sold it a couple of months ago.

Today, Enterprise Rentals put me in a shiny black 2008 GMC Envoy. It still has the new car smell and is pretty and solid. But what will it be like three or four years from now? Will it be a piece of junk just like the Cavalier?

There's a reason rental companies dump their domestic inventory when it's of couple years old. Get a few miles on it and it begins to feel rickety.

And yes, all the evidence in this blog is purely anecdotal and is my own opinion. But apparently a lot of auto buyers out there share it.

I don't have anything against the American auto industry. I want them to succeed because they are the best, not because we are made to feel guilty if we're not buying their cars.

I bought a vehicle that I'd like Detroit to meet then beat in quality. It's "setting the bar."

American athletes rose to the challenge when they started competing against Olympiads from China, Japan and Russia. Why can't the qualities that make German and Japanese vehicles successful and reliable, be a model for the United States to better then beat?

I know, I know, if they start making cars that last, then we won't need to buy as many. There will always be a market for new cars. Some people are addicted to them.

Domestic automakers need to get a headlock on the customers who will buy a car and then hold on to it for ten years.

Detroit is already downsizing. Why not narrow the market to buyers who are looking for durability and quality since they are making fewer cars anyway?

The bankruptcy reorganization that Chrysler is doing now and the one that GM could forced to do should give the automakers a chance take a close look at the quality of the cars they're making.

They also need to honestly ask themselves why so many people aren't interested in buying them.

Do they want to make something we'll want to replace in two years, or do they want to earn the loyalty of consumers by making something that will last?

They used to do it. They can again.

And I have a feeling that "the Flying Nun" is still out there on the road somewhere.

Certain Inspiration

2009-05-03T13:09:00.000-04:00

I think I must have a fear of fame, because my hands are shaking and my heart is beating rapidly after reading a very generous and favorable review on my blog in Certain Speculation.

Does the author, CB Hackworth, have the power of mind-reading? My secret ambitions, from childhood, which I've never mentioned to anyone, include: growing up to be Bat Girl, Miss America, Olga Korbut, Dr. Doolittle and a columnist for the AJC.

First, the blog.

This blog probably would not exist, if it were not for Certain Speculation. Sure, I had written one lonely post back in November back when the blog had the generic name "Kim's Sjogren's Blog." I had a grand plan to educate the world about Sjogren's Syndrome, an auto-immune disease that has pretty much stopped me in my tracks. Physically, maybe, and my brain has a few loose wires, but I've never lost my creativity.

That creative side of me has been bubbling up inside and has started to boil over.

Painting hasn't been enough. I've started writing again. I'm a little startled to find out that I remember how.

I began to emerge from the isolation of my illness about three months ago. I began posting on social networks, renewing old friendships and making new ones with past acquaintances. I even made a personal visit to my old employer, CNN. It had been nearly six years since I walked through that newsroom.

One of my former WXIA-TV colleagues suggested I add CB as a friend on Facebook, which I did without much thought. I worked on the overnight shift for years and didn't get to know very many people outside of the morning crew.

In fact, when I left, the only other person at my goodbye party was an assignment editor who was also leaving that day.

I promise to write about the wonder years at 11Alive sometime soon, but that's a separate story for its own blog. Perhaps many.

I started to read CB's inspired blog, which includes razor-sharp critiques of the AJC, insightful analysis of state and local politics, celebrity tidbits that I actually want to read and much, much more. The reporting has clarity, the commentary bite and there's humor at every turn.

I had already created a blog, so I was motivated to try again. I've written earlier about "Writer Osmosis" and I happily picked up some of the energy and crisp writing style of Certain Speculation. At CB's suggestion, I started writing about other things beside my health. I also threw in a good dose of the tart along with the sweet.

CB graciously recommends other blogs that he likes, and introduced my fledgling blog last week.

And I'm little woozy at the praise in today's blog, "[An Excellent Source of Candy] is the kind of column that the AJC badly needs and doesn't have. The kind of column that entertains while letting you get to know and care something about the writer."

Blush.

It's funny that I do keep typing "column" when I write and have to change the word to "blog."

I absolutely agree Atlanta's newspaper needs to have some local "appointment reading." The Atlanta Journal Constitution hasn't had a compelling column since the premature death of Lewis Grizzard. And that was back in 1994.

Rheta Grimsley Johnson succeeded him, which was like finding a replacement for University of Georgia icon Vince Dooley. The replacement was set up to fail.

First, Johnson was born in Georgia, but has grown up and lived elsewhere in the South. When she moved here for her new job, she was just another transplant.

She felt as authentic as a can of Pillsbury biscuits. And I hate canned biscuits.

I was Louisiana-born, but I grew up here. I listened to Slim Whitman songs on WSB-AM. I got a tan at Stone Mountain's beach. My prom was in the Egyptian Ballroom at the Fox. I learned how to drive in the parking lot of Clayton County's Tara Stadium. I liked that gubernatorial candidate Joe Frank Harris was "a work horse and not a show horse." I read the family's copy of the Atlanta Journal, which arrived in the afternoon. I always turned first to page one of the metro section to read Grizzard's column and planned my weekend after reading Eleanor Ringel's movie reviews.

There's a sense of "Atlanta" that you only get by osmosis. You can't parachute in and pick it up.

Flash forward to 2009: I picked up my copy of the AJC Sunday paper at 7 this morning, but I still haven't read it. I already know the news of the day. The rest of the paper can wait. Now my planned a.m. reading includes Certain Speculation, and a few other select web sites.

Although the politics of Certain Speculation are often contrary to my own conservative views, we're at least given credit for having a brain:

"Look, I'm not a Republican, but at least I am well aware that they are out there -- and that they need to be heard. Despite last year's extraordinary, historic election, this country is still divided -- about 50/50. And many of the conservatives are intelligent people."

I'm an advocate for understanding the views of liberals, and Certain Speculation is at the top of my list of suggested reading. It's nice to read the opposing view feeling respected and acknowledged instead of insulted or ignored.

Some other gems from the blog:

ON THE ELECTION:

"When Americans voted for "CHANGE" in the last election, they wanted to kick a bunch of scallywags out of the White House. They wanted America to stop torturing prisoners. They wanted a president who could speak in complete sentences. They wanted to win back the respect of the rest of the world. They wanted to be inspired. They wanted their country back.

"By and large, Americans did not think that voting for "CHANGE" meant a different form of government."

ON AJC COLUMNIST JAY BOOKMAN'S DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF A GRADY GRADUATION THAT HAD NOT YET TAKEN PLACE:

"On Thursday, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution -- which normally lags a day or two (or more) behind television and the internet -- started reporting, in vivid detail, on events that have not yet transpired.

"Perhaps this is Julia Wallace's secret weapon, and perhaps it will save the industry. A newspaper from the future will be a handy thing indeed."

HUMOR IN EVERYDAY FRUSTRATIONS:

"Power was out for hours here at Lost Forest last night, even though I managed to pay the bill, so Saturday's updates here at "Certain Speculation" are running a bit late.

"Georgia Power is pretty smart about these things. They know you are mad when you call, so you never get to talk to a real person."

RANDOM FUN:

Bill Hartman's Squirrel Video

Donut Girl

And Star Trek fans should not miss a series of interviews on classic Trek and the upcoming J.J. Abrams movie.

Certain Speculation has set the bar high. The blog is so densely packed with interesting and relevant information, you would think CB has an entire staff putting it together. But it's a writing army of one.

I hope the AJC is paying attention to his critiques, and maybe it can be saved. The rest of us should just be paying attention to what he's writing.

Oh, if the AJC is looking for a new columnist, my email is kimunder61@gmail.com.

The True Identity of Danny Gans

2009-05-02T20:00:00.000-04:00

I'm a little behind on the news (again) but I just read about the death of Las Vegas "Entertainer of the Year" Danny Gans.

If I hadn't been to Las Vegas, I probably would have no idea who Danny Gans was. A few years ago, my mom, who knows a little about a lot of things, just like me, told me his act was a must-see on an upcoming Vegas trip. He was a superstar on the strip, but not well-known elsewhere.

It was March 2003. I remember the date because the Iraq War had just started and CNN was canceling all vacations. The catch was they'd have to pay for any expenses you'd already incurred for the vacation. Either they decided it was too expensive to reimburse me or I wasn't important enough to keep around and they said GO. And I did with only the tiniest shred of guilt.

I went with a friend I'd known since Junior High. We were both single women in our 40's and had no clue what we were doing in Vegas, but we had a ball. We bought tickets to Blue Man Group in advance, but we'd gamble (tee hee) on getting into other shows.

We saw two different Cirque du Soleil shows (I slept through one of them-best $100 nap I ever had) and decided to try to get in a Danny Gans show. We were standing in line for returns when a sharply dressed "shark" walked up and offered us two prime seats that he couldn't use. We graciously accepted and took our seats about eight rows back, right in the center. The shark and his wife were seated next to us.

Well Gans was a wonderful singer and impressionist. His show was fast-paced, funny, entertaining and as clean as Windex. This surprised me in sleazy Las Vegas. Pleasantly surprised me.

I found out why. Although Gans could skillfully get in the skin of singers from Frank Sinatra to Rod Stewart, his identity was as a believer in Christ.

Gans talked about it briefly on stage. He had released a Contemporary Christian album called "Brand New Dream."

There are some copies available in the lobby if you'd like to buy one.

I did buy one. I'm listening to it now as I write this. And I scanned the CD jacket for this blog just so you know I'm not making this up.

A small handful of successful entertainers have made Christian albums. Broadway star Kristen Chenoweth is another one of them. There may be more but they don't get a lot of publicity.

There's a list on Wikipedia of famous people who say they're Christians . It's interesting and a little surprising.

Of course you'd expect Kirk Cameron to be on there. But Eddie Murphy? Renee Russo? Axl Rose? And those are just the R's.

It's not too cool to tell Jay Leno, "And by the way do you know that I am a Christian, have you heard about Jesus?"

Well thanks to people like Danny Gans, who openly proclaimed his faith and humbly asked his audience to consider buying his album, Word has been getting out.

The Daily Dollar

2009-05-02T17:52:00.000-04:00

I don't shop at the Dollar Tree daily but "The every other week or so Dollar" just didn't have the same ring to it.

Dollar Tree is the Mercedes of dollar stores, if there were such a thing. My mom has shopped there to decorate for every holiday from July 4th to New Year's Eve. It's my "must stop" destination for gift bags for Christmas and birthdays, and Mylar balloons of every sort. Just be careful to warn the recipient that drifting balloons are apt to set off alarm-system motion detectors. A "Congratulations" balloon I got my dad summoned the police once after they left the house for an evening out.

Some of the things I've bought there recently: a night light so my husband doesn't trip over the dogs if he needs to get up in the middle of the night, a tiny bag of assorted Jelly Belly beans, and "The Discomfort Zone" by Jonathan Franzen.

One of the last full-length novels I read was Franzen's "The Corrections", which won the National Book Award for fiction in 2001. To go from the heights of literary success to the book shelf at the Dollar Tree would certainly be humbling, if Franzen is aware of it at all.

My own expectations are much smaller. When my book, Archival Atlanta, was published in 1996, my personal highlight was to see a stack of them at my local Sam's Club. I did three book signings, but none of that compared to the feeling that the book buyer for Sam's thought people would actually want to read my work.

It went out of print last year, but new and used copies are still available on Amazon.com. The cheapest ones are $3.39, still higher than a new copy of Franzen's 2006 Memoir.

The Corrections was about a dysfunctional and destructive family. And looking at The Discomfort Zone's inside cover flap, it looks like his own life was pretty much the same. It says "...[Franzen] was the kind of boy who was afraid of spiders, school dances, urinals, music teachers, boomerangs, popular girls--and his parents."

It describes him as "uber-sensitive", which pretty much describes every awkward, self-conscious teenager I've ever known, including myself. But it has me thinking, how many "artistic personalities" are "messed up?"

Holding up my hands in mock surrender.

I freely admit I am. After all, I lead a food addiction group at Celebrate Recovery. I am at a healthy weight now, but I'm still tempted by the lure of yes, Jelly Bellies and Cadbury Creme Eggs. It's a challenge I deal with every day.

I have trouble reading print that doesn't have a light behind it, and I still struggle with that because my eyes frequently blur. But I still have a habit of buying books, books I may flip through but never read. I'll give this one a crack though, and I give up, then I've lost only a dollar and gained a donation to the church yard sale.

I must admit, I'm a little afraid of reading it. I suffer from a little bit of what I call "Writer Osmosis", picking up the style of any writer that I read. It does help me choose only "the good stuff", the same way an athlete chooses the best foods to prepare for a contest. And Franzen is talented enough and an engaging writer.

I think I'm starting to find my own voice as a writer, and I'm concerned the plaster hasn't set quite yet. I don't want to any other literary voices to visit my head, then stay, pushing out what has become me.

I'm thinking.

Mangled Masterpiece

2009-05-02T10:13:00.000-04:00

I needed to change the photo of my painting, "A Pocketbook Full of Posies" on this blog. The first one I posted was a little blurry, the colors were dull and it was taken for the Visual Artists Collective web site and I wasn't sure I even had the rights to a photo of my own painting.

This morning, I tried to take another one. The colors are much better but I couldn't get the framing quite right. A petite blue bird on the left side has been completely cut out. Until you try, you can't realize how difficult it is to take a photo of a painting.

Frustrating.

Photos never do the paintings justice no matter how good they are. Photos are flat. Paintings are texture. They cry out to be touched.

Though some artists pride themselves on painting completely flat canvases. To me, that would be no fun. I like to go mad with a paintbrush.

I was awed the first time I saw Matisse's giant cutouts at the Pompidou museum in Paris. I have a print of one of them, The Beasts of the Sea, hanging in our bedroom, but when you see them in person expect your jaw to drop in awe.

What intrigued me so much was how flawed they are. If Matisse didn't like the way one looked, so he'd cutout another slice of paper and just glue it on top of what was already there. Up close, it looks like a random mass of construction paper glued on a giant board by a third-grader. Then you step back and see the wonder of it all.

Matisse called this "painting with scissors." He was ill and bedridden and had to create his giant works with the help of assistants. I can see him say "Move it to left, now up, higher, higher. No! Just throw that piece away! I'll start over"

That perseverance inspires me, because I have little energy for painting and going to an art class helps me, makes me do it. And when I start, I love it.

Life, up close, is messy and flawed and fixed with tiny patches. But step back and look at the big picture, and it's a beautiful mosaic.

I think that's probably God's point of view. Hopes, dreams, both broken and fulfilled are woven together in such a lovely way that we can't see with human eyes.

Until He lends us His own.

Killing Cancer with a Pea Shooter

2009-05-01T22:15:00.000-04:00

I just got home from Henry County's Relay for Life, tired but wired, wanting to share what I saw there tonight.

It's probably the fifth or sixth time I've been to one, and I've been on a Relay team a few times. But I get the most out of it as a "drop-in" observer.

I "dropped-in" the Survivors group, snagging a left-over purple t-shirt after all the pre-registered survivors picked up theirs. I don't like to plan ahead too much, not knowing how I'll feel from day to day. But I know many of the Survivors who are in the midst undergoing treatment, planning ahead takes a lot of faith and a gigantic dose of optimism.

I always feel like a fraud walking the lap with the Cancer Survivors when "all" I had was basal cell carcinoma, the least lethal form of skin cancer.

That was ten years ago and I diligently see my dermatologist once a year and have a few things frozen off before they can cause any trouble. I had already forgotten about my mini-scare that played itself out just last week. I had a marble-sized tumor removed a few inches below my rib cage. It was benign.

I was so glad to see it gone I promptly forgot about it.

My dad, mom and sister have all faced the Giants: melanoma, endometrial and breast cancer. Surgery, radiation and chemotherapy are the three horsemen of the apocalypse that cancer is. I've been there for all of it and watched them survive. I purchased luminaries in their honor tonight.

I also purchased one in memory of my friend Christi's mom, who lost a short but excruciating battle with pancreatic cancer in March. Since then, Christi has been working like dervish raising money for her school's team. They were closing on thirteen-thousand dollars when I left.

Probably well over 100-thousand was raised tonight, I really don't know the exact number. Even with all that effort and all that money, it sometimes it feels like trying to kill a cougar with a pea shooter.

Yet David killed Goliath with a sling and a single smooth stone.

The first time I joined the Survivors group about five years ago, I saw a lady from church that I had no idea had survived cancer. Her name was Bunny. We chatted and I forget now what kind of cancer she had, but I do know it returned this year. It was in her lungs this time. Bunny had surgery in February to remove the tumor, but she didn't make it out of the hospital alive. All of her friends just expected that she was in for a fight, but would be OK. But not this.

I thought of her as I rounded the track with the other survivors. I wondered who else wouldn't be around next year. Which of these survivors wouldn't survive?

But also, who will be around thanks to early detection and the research that the American Cancer Society and the Relay for Life supports? Relay for Life by Relay for Life, in communities all over the country, are making a difference. Saving lives. Extending life spans.

All together now, let's take all our pea shooters and point, aim, fire then watch that cougar fall.

Obama Steeped

2009-04-30T07:48:00.000-04:00

President Obama finally talked about, er made a swipe at the Tea Party protests across the country.

The short soundbite I heard on Fox News this morning was edited so tightly it made it seem like people at his Town Hall meeting were actually waving teabags, which is an excellent reason for Conservatives to watch/read/listen to multiple news sources. This is the only way to make sure we hear our politicians in context. Youtube is a great place to watch long clips of a speech.

Or watch C-Span, in you can stay awake.

Another reason to keep tuning in all political spectrums across the dial is we want to know what the other guys are thinking.

As best as I can remember, here's the quote Fox News used: "You see folks waving tea bags around. Let me just remind them that I am happy to have a serious conversation about how we are going to cut our health care costs."

Of course the TEA (Taxed Enough Already) Parties were nothing about out of control health care costs. They were out of control government spending. The Presidency of George W. Bush was not spared any of the ire. We (I can say that because I attended the TEA Party in Macon) are startled that Obama has come out of the gate spending so much on government programs.

And he continues to keep a straight face when he calls this a "stimulus package."

Ironically, Mr. Obama's arguments in favor of government health care are the best argument against it. At the town hall, he said that Medicare and Medicaid are "breaking the bank" and Obama said that one day the government wouldn't be able to spend money on anything else. Medicare and Medicaid are government programs. How would creating more government health care programs save money if the ones we already have are breaking the bank?

I'm willing to listen to the President's ideas on how to reduce health care costs, but I don't think they include creating more government programs.

There also needs to be time to debate any changes in health care as we know it. Yes, the Democrats have the power to push almost anything they like through Congress. They can pass just about anything they like without reading it because of the "urgency" of the situation. But it would be a mistake and a miscalculation to do so.

Webster's online definition of steeped includes this: "to saturate with or subject thoroughly to (some strong or pervading influence)" TEA Party participants hope to continue to press the government and the President for accountability and cry loudly when our tax money is spent unnecessarily. They will be steeped in our message.

I know it's a little late, which makes it seem disingenous and partisan.

Well you have to start somewhere, and President Obama has provided the opening.

He would be wise to pay attention.

**Unfortuately my Sjogren's blurred eyes have prevented a close proof-read of this blog. Please let me know of any spelling or grammatical errors and I will correct them. Thanks!

Gumdrop*

2009-04-28T20:41:00.000-04:00

If more government involvement in health care is either your wildest dream or your worst nightmare, read this.

*"Random Thought" was deemed too dull by the writer of this blog, so from now on mini-updates will be named after various types of candy: gumdrop, Starburst, circus peanut, etc.)

"Barack You" and Dave Ramsey who?

2009-04-27T18:54:00.000-04:00

You may have heard about it already, but for anyone who missed this, it's worth repeating.

A gushing mash letter to President Obama is making the rounds on the radio talk shows. OK, at least the Neal Boortz show. That's the only one I got around to listening to today.

Sam Fulwood, III oozes with admiration at Mr. Obama's "hipness." Read it for the entertainment value alone.

The most priceless excerpt:

"Those in the know at Albany High greet each other by saying: “What’s up, my Obama?” and they respond to a sneeze with “Barack you.”

So I guess if the swine flu spreads in the U.S., we can expect all sneezes to be accompanied by a chorus of "Barak yous."

The media adoration of President Obama usually isn't this blatant. Mostly they're just looking to give him credit for any shred of good news that comes along.

Today on the Atlanta Journal Constitution editorial page, Jay Bookman crows that "Slowly, Americans are daring to hope." And "the fact that 48 percent now say the country is headed in the right direction is an excellent example of hope triumphing over economic statistics."

Should Mr. Obama get the credit for this? Well.. he's in charge....so maybe. Too soon to tell. But Bookman writes "The instinct to rally around a leader is genetic, a tribal survial mechanism honed over generations.

So Bookman is now a genetecist? I knew he could predict the future, but this guy is versatile.

Well do you know who should be getting at least some credit for a small wave of hope spreading through the country?

Dave Ramsey, that's who.

The radio talk show host (the one I spend the most time listening to) hosted his Town Hall for Hope at over six thousand locations across the country last week. One million watched the live feed in churches and other venues. Even more listened on radio and watched on the Fox Business Channel.

Ramsey is urging listeners to "Stop Listening to Loser Talk" and www.townhallforhope.com urges people to get involved and take personal responsibility:

"You are the cure, America. No one else is going to solve your problems for you—that's your job! Find out how you can take control of your money, turn back the fear in your community, and hold your representatives accountable for the decisions they're making on your behalf."

I say "Right on!" I'm feeling better already.

Isn't that what Consumer Confidence Index is? A guage on how consumers feel things are going? A wave of optimism is going to end the recession sooner than later.

Where was the mainstream coverage on this? The Google hits I'm getting are mostly small town newspapers and church web sites.

Cue the cricket sound effects.

For weeks, Ramsey has declared he was "not participating in the recession" and has been urging his listeners to do the same. His catchphrase is "Debt is dumb, cash is king, and the paid off home mortgage has taken the place of the BMW as the status symbol of choice."

There is evidence that America is taking his advice. Credit card use is declining as people tighten their belts and *gasp* live within their means. Good idea.

My husband and I just wrapped up Ramsey's "Financial Peace University," a 13-week course on personal fiscal responsibility. A major component of the course is paying all consumer debt, buying cars with cash and paying off the house before the mortgage papers say you have to.

How radical.

I heard Ramsey say on his radio show one day that if everyone in the United States followed his plan all at once that yes, it probably would crash the U.S. economy.

But maybe if we all follow it.. eventually.. even the politicians.. it could permanently fix it.

Random Thought #4

2009-04-26T22:04:00.000-04:00

Posted to a friend's Facebook page: Do you think House and Spock could be friends? House would keep trying to push Spock's buttons and Spock just will not respond...

Random Thought #3

2009-04-25T21:38:00.000-04:00

If you pray for God to give you an interesting life, don't be surprised when crazy things happen.

Random Thought #2

2009-04-24T12:25:00.000-04:00

I realize that most people buy paintings to match the decor in their living room. Why not match the decor to the colors in your favorite painting?

Random Thought #1

2009-04-24T10:41:00.000-04:00

If a blogger blogs and no one reads it, at least no trees were killed.

Mind candy

2009-04-24T06:58:00.000-04:00

I got invited to the dance after all.

A few days ago, I applied to join HuckPAC's official list of bloggers. My step-daughter's purely Conservative, definitely political blog was accepted immediately. Mine was not.

The blog police probably looked at my rambling epic on prescription drugs and were scared away.

We don't want anyone who's obviously on drugs, even if they're legally prescribed.

I wrote a couple more blogs with a Conservative/Christian bent, changed the color and format then applied again. And today I'm on the list.

I probably scared off some of my liberal friends in the meantime, but if I did, thanks for coming back and giving me another shot. You'll see a wide variety of content here, and some of it might be interesting even if you don't agree with me.

A blog named "An excellent source of candy" is intriguingly hard to categorize. And that's the way I want it. I'd click on the name just to see what it was there, being half afraid of what I would find. The TV news producer in me couldn't resist reeling you in.

There are no limits to the array of categories I'll write about. However, the content will always be family friendly because I have family members who will be reading this.

So why join the HuckPAC roll of bloggers? First of all, I am a supporter of Mike Huckabee. I gave money to his campaign, turned up at one of his campaign events and put his sticker on my truck.

I became a volunteer and I actually made calls on behalf of his campaign. Cold calling strangers has been a phobia of mine since I worked for Olan Mills (I was fired after a month of low sales.) I did something I hated because I thought it would matter. Huckabee did win Georgia, and for my money would have been a much more effective national candidate than John McCain.

So what's HUCKPAC about? I'll let them tell you:

Our Mission

Huck PAC is founded on the principles that make America great: Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. Our Republican Party embodies these ideas and is best suited to lead America forward.

Huck PAC is committed to helping Republicans regain control of the House and Senate, regain a majority of governorships and supporting conservative principles around the country.

Huck PAC will support Republican candidates who are passionate advocates for tax reform, a strong national defense, real border security, life, the family, less government, and individual liberty.

As part of our effort to support strong Republican candidates we have formed Team Huck. Team Huck is a grassroots volunteer organization devoted to helping Huck PAC find, endorse, and elect Republican candidates who share our principles.

Huck PAC will identify candidates who hold firm to these principles, promote their campaigns and financially support their efforts.

I'm for all those things and the candidates who support those issues. I'm out of money to give, but at least I can support them in this blog. Blogging (so far) is still free. Candidates should also be wary if they promise the above then do the opposite. I won't let them get away with it.

So I had to wait a little longer for my invitation to the dance. I missed the first couple of songs, but at least I'm still going.

Despair 1, Perserverance 2

2009-04-23T06:30:00.000-04:00

I don't know if it is deliberate, but there are two contrasting stories below the fold on the front page of the AJC this morning.

One reports that the acting CFO of Freddie Mac hanged himself. The other is about a 35-year-old former Marine and ex-police officer trying to make Georgia State University's new football team.

One is about despair and the other is about perseverance.

Neighbors told reporters that CFO David Kellermann had dropped a lot of weight under the strain of his new job at the financially ailing "mortgage giant." They urged him to quit, but Kellermann wanted to stay on and "help."

Those neighbors didn't want their name to be used "because they didn't want to upset the family." Sounds to me that they didn't mind giving information that upset the family. They just didn't want to be called out for doing it.

In contrast, Kenyatta Ashley had to give up his job as a police officer after hand injury kept him from pulling gun magazines from his belt. He didn't despair. He went back to college and now he's trying out for GSU's football squad.

Ashley wants to make the team and is willing to subject himself to the physical pounding that football requires. He wants his wife to wear a "Wife of the Old Dude" t-shirt at their games.

That could happen. Coach Billy Curry is planning to invite Ashely back to tryouts in August.

What makes Kellermann different from Ashley? I can only speculate on the reasons for Kellermann's suicide. But I can make one conclusion: he didn't see any other way out. For him, there was no other answer.

On the other hand when Ashley hit a dead end in the maze of life, he backed up and went another direction. Call it resilience, perseverance or buoyancy. He was down and defeated by having to give up a job in which he excelled. But Ashley didn't give up, he just went a different direction.

There is always a way out of whatever troubles are weighing you down. If you think there isn't you're believing a lie.

The best piece of advice I ever got from a supervisor is this: "No matter how much you love your job, it will never love you back."

When I had to give up my job for health reasons, I remembered what she said. It helped. It still helps.

Happy Creator Day

2009-04-22T11:22:00.000-04:00

The new Disney nature documentary, "Earth" is now in theaters. The pictures are gorgeous and should be magnificent viewed on a large screen. The release was timed to come out on Earth Day, a celebration of the planet and a touchstone for eco-activists.

The one thing bothers me about all the festivities is the Creator is left out and forgotten. Think about what happens on birthdays: the child is honored but the mother who carried him for nine months doesn't even get a nod of recognition for her part in the actual "birth" day.

We should stand back and admire the beauty of a mountain or landscape, while giving credit to God, who designed and created it. The apostle Paul wrote a letter to Roman Christians with a warning not to worship created things:

They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator-- who is forever praised. Amen.
Romans 1:25

I know some people think Christianity is incompatible with environmentalism. Not so.

In scripture, it's clear we've been given the job of caring for the earth. Genesis 1:26-28

But we have to remember who the earth ultimately belongs to.

The earth is the LORD's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it Psalms 24:1

This is my brain and this is my brain on prescription drugs

2009-04-22T09:01:00.000-04:00

I've spent a moment or two wondering what it would be like to write while on drugs.

Now, I know and I don't like it.

I'm in a haze that's either a holdover from the anesthesia I had yesterday, or the combination of Flexeril and Tramadol I took before I went to bed.

I'm not allowed to drive for 24 hours and I probably shouldn't be writing either. When I'm in my right mind again I might delete this post because I suspect the writing will be both clumsy and rambling,

I'm having trouble putting a coherent thought together and my spelling is more atrocious than usual (thank you, Spell check.) I am floating an inch off the seat of my chair.

Now, where was I?

Oh yeah, you can research virtually anything on the internet and I found a site which lists famous people and the drugs they admit to using: click here.

I'm not surprised to see Edgar Allan Poe or Salvador Dali n there. But George Washington and Queen Victoria? I don't want to put my energy into doing research to see if it's true, but it's still interesting.

My own drug-impaired state makes me wonder how much more brilliant the people on this list would be if they had avoided taking drugs. The prescribed drugs I'm on has turned me into a light-headed zombie. I think it would be 100 times worse with cocaine or heroine.

When I was in college, I had no trouble saying "no thanks" when a bong was passed around in a party. In fact, I've never tried any illicit drugs. I recognized early on that I had an addictive personality and I didn't want to go down that road.

But I can't recall ever saying "no" to a doctor who offered a prescription, especially free samples. I rememberl some scary side effects like having vivid dreams when I taking a certain high cholesterol medicine.

My heart is pounding at just the memory of one of those nightmares. I dreamed that I had just gotten into my car when a serial killer jerked open the passenger door, sat next to me and tried to slash my face with a knife. I fought back with all my might and squeezed the killer as hard as I could with my thighs. Then I woke up and found my legs wrapped around my Golden Retriever Bailey, who was sleeping at the foot of the bed. The poor dog was in a headlock and scared to death. I don't think she slept on the bed for about a month.

I've also had audio hallucinations. I wasn't "seeing things", I was hearing them. When I was resting in bed after one surgery, I heard a cat meowing. It sounded like it was in the room.

Meow, Meow, Meow.

I was single at the time and had only two dogs and no cats. I convinced myself it wasn't real because the dogs would have jumped up and chased a real cat. I stopped taking the pain killers after that and just lived with the pain.

I also have two relatives who have an allergic reaction to morphine that causes vivid visual hallucinations. Morphine doesn't even work on me. I wonder why?

Uh oh. Just now I'm starting to see tiny skulls with crossbones floating in front of the computer screen. At least they're mostly transparent so I can see what I'm typing.

Now what was I writing about?

Oh yeah. I'm finding that drugs are not enhancing my creativity but diminishing it. I've seen people who've used drugs for a long time who are empty shells even when they're not using anymore.

But I've also seen motivated, gifted and creative people who use drugs casually who are great at their jobs. Maybe they're just in that group that doesn't get addicted. But you don't know which category you fall in until you try it. I've decided not to try it.

Maybe now I should get to my point.

I called my orthopedic specialist yesterday to ask if I could have a second week of the prescription steroid Prendisone. It made me feel incredible. Not only did it help with my neck pain and nerve problems, I felt like I could climb mountains and swim oceans.

I got more done in a week than I've done in the last six months.

But the answer to the request was "no." I told the nurse how much it was helping and she talked to the doctor again and got a second "no." I pressed for an explanation and was flatly told that the drug was not good for me.

If it wasn't good for me, why was I given it in the first place?

And for the first time I felt like one of those celebrity addicts like Elvis or Carrie Fischer who got their fix from drugs prescribed by a doctor. I came really close to begging for a refill.

I just counted the number of prescriptions that are on my bathroom counter. There are eleven. The majority are used to treat symptoms related Sjogren's Syndrome, the rest are non-narcotic pain meds.

Monday's last dose of Prednisone has already worn off. I feel like a deflated tire. I'm Cinderella at the ball and the clock has struck midnight and my dress has turned to rags.

I'm craving a drug that I cannot have. I hope this yearing wears off because I am not going to get it illegally.

And I feel like a bad person for even asking for a refill.

I do, however, recognize that how dangerously close anyone can get to addiction. The line that divides addiction and non-addiction is razor thin and very fragile. Not only that, it moves.

When you're hurt, angry, tired or empty it moves closer. I've decided to take a step back away from that line and take a step away from the danger.

So help me, God.

Now do this and "cluck"

2009-04-20T16:14:00.000-04:00

You should take this act on the road.

That's what I told the physical therapist this morning after a remarkable demonstration of the power of properly aligned neck. I think my Chiropractor would sell tickets to this because it succinctly shows how our nerves affect our whole body, and what vile things can happen if spine is misaligned.

Back story: I was hurt in an auto accident nearly two months ago. Last week, I saw an orthopedic specialist who determined my neck was the medical equivalent of scrambled eggs. My neck would have hurt eventually anyway. The accident just sped things up -- a lot.

My arms also go numb without warning and it sometimes feels like an electrical current is shooting down my fingers. Time to call Georgia Power or see an expert.

I went for my neck therapy evaluation today. The therapist first tested my strength in my arms and hands. I tested like a 98-pound weakling.

Next, he asked me to slowly pull my neck in backwards as though I were balancing a book on top. I could could use my fingers to gently push on my chin to increase the range of motion.

Tests again. Suddenly I was Arnold Schwarzenegger! I was channeling Superman!!

Now he asked me to do the reverse: move my head forward like a chicken, or a giraffe craning its neck for a tasty top leaf. I wanted to say "cluck" by the tenth repetition.

Tests again and I had been struck down by Kryptonite. I was weak again.

I was staggered by these results. This was no magic trick or hoax. And what Chiropractors have harped on for years about nerves was true. My skepticism was finally erased.

The therapist explained that I likely crane my neck forward while sitting at a computer, driving or painting. I've probably been doing this for at least 30 years. Jutting my head forward causes my discs to bulge, which presses on nerves and cause my numbness and tingling.

Think of a car running over a garden hose, cutting off the water supply. In the body, the blocked nerve cuts off the supply of information my brain sends to my arms.

The "reverse chicken" (my name, not his) is the antidote to this. I have to do it ten times each hour I'm awake. I'm bracing myself to do this at church, at the movies and when I'm on a date night with my husband. And if a numb arm wakes me up in the middle of the night, I can even do it lying down.

The therapist even said it would probably help with my general upper body weakness, even my tendinitis. He said it's cured carpal tunnel syndrome for people on the verge of having surgery. I'm raring to go with my new therapy if I get these results in just one session.

But I have to break some old habits first.

As I write this, I suddenly notice I'm slouching and my neck is protruding forward...again.

Cluck.

A weird name for a blog

2009-04-18T18:32:00.000-04:00

OK, I've decided to expand my horizons and the scope of my blog. I also picked a strange name for it, but that frees me up to be strange and sometimes that comes quite easily.

The name, "An Excellent Source of Candy" is explained in the header. An email from one of my former TV colleagues and Facebook friends inspired the change in focus. You'll still hear about the auto-immune illness drama, but hopefully mixed with a lot more interesting stuff if my life remains as interesting as it already is.

Here is part of my reply to that email, with a couple of minor edits.

"I think you're right. Writing about only Sjogren's would get old pretty fast, for me and the readers. Maybe that's why there were six months between my first and second posts. I didn't have that much interesting to say. And I'm already trying to think of another name for the blog.

Alas, I think the steroids I'm on for my neck has resurrected my ability to put more than two coherent words together. I used to find writing easier than most people can talk. However, in the last few years its been a struggle. I start many projects and they just wither away due to loss of ability and lack of stamina. I only have two more doses of the prednisone, so this may be my last coherent paragraph for a while.

But the blog thing is worth a try. No deadlines and I can write as much or as little as I'd like. (Who cares about word count, not me!) I can fulfill my long buried desires to be a columnist, political commentator, movie critic, comedian, theologian, Ann Landers and philosopher. "

So here I go, with what hopefully is the last name and destination change. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Guinea Pig vs. Lab Rats

2009-04-18T07:58:00.001-04:00

My appointment to start a clinical trial for dry eyes just got canceled. So here I am again. At the computer. Blogging.

I was just thinking about the term "guinea pig." I've never actually seen a guinea pig in a lab. Only mice. I've never seen a "lab rat" either.

And come to think of it, the mice were in the biology lab in school and I don't think anything actually got done to them. Except maybe getting fed Cheetos or something else unhealthy.

So why am I doing this anyway? Why am I risking the possible bad consequences of a clinical trial. For me, it's the desire to make sense out of something bad. Or help others not suffer as much as I have.

If this drug can help people with dry eyes, particularly Sjogren's patients, I can help alleviate a lot of suffering not to mention my own.

Blurry eyes keep me from the computer a lot of the time. I have a hard time reading the newspaper because there's no "light" behind the words. And forget about books.

I think it's a God-given human desire to turn tragedy into triumph, pain into perseverance and loss into gain.

I think of John Walsh and his crusade to bring criminals to justice after the brutal death of his own son Adam. There are "Amber alerts" created in memory of nine-year-old Amber Hagerman, who was kidnapped and brutally murdered.

I even started running in Susan G. Komen events after a friend developed breast cancer. When my sister was diagnosed, I ran even harder.

The Sjogren's Foundation sent me the flier about this particular clinical trial. I know there are risks involved, but it's not life or death. I want to help. I can help. So I'm stepping out to do it.

I've even thought about donating my body to medical research, if someone will have it.

It doesn't bother me to be sliced and diced. I know I won't feel it. I also believe my body will be resurrected someday and all my pieces will be put back together.

I just hope our resurrected bodies come with clothes because I doubt there will be anything other than a sheet on the slab.

I'm also a thrifty sort so saving my family burial costs sounds good too.

So here I am, blogging, in hopes someone else gets something useful from my missives.

Life goes on and so will the clinical trial. The appointment to begin mine has been rescheduled for the 29th.

Pitfalls and the Wonders of Facebook

2009-04-17T14:24:00.000-04:00

How do you write a blog about coping with a chronic illness without being self-indulgent and self-pitying? If that's what it's going to be, I'm not going to waste my time.

I notice I haven't written anything since my initial post in November. Since then, I've discovered "Facebook" and have reconnected with friends from virtually every phase in my life. Some of them are just casual friends, people that I barely knew and sometimes only vaguely remember.

Yet I've found that some of those "fringe" friends are the ones I can relate to most now. I have found two others who share that dreaded mystery ailment, "Fibromyalgia." It's even harder to diagnose and pinpoint than Sjogrens Syndrome. I want a disease that can be defined with blood tests, x-rays or other tangible evidence. Fibromyalgia doesn't fit the bill.

Fibromyalgia is another one of those "invisible chronic illnesses" where you don't look sick, but you feel miserable. (However, sometimes people can tell just by looking at your expression that you feel like crud.)

It's great to have support from friends who actually understand how I feel, friends who don't have to ask 20 questions to find out what's going on. They just know. That's part of the "community" of Facebook: finding out you have new things in common with people you know, or just thought you knew. It's connecting, at a deeper level. In our IM society, that's a remarkable thing.

You Don't LOOK Sick!: Living Well ... - Google Book Search

2008-11-13T09:56:00.000-05:00

You Don't LOOK Sick!: Living Well ... - Google Book Search

I'm buying this book! The section in "Ladies Who Lunch" describes my life. Just like the author, I find it hard not to over-react when people make misinformed and hurtful comments about my condition.

It's also convicting. I know I've told other chronically ill people how good they look, not knowing it can be taken as "You're faking. You aren't sick because you don't look sick." I hope I've learned my lesson.