The White Before Christmas

I like snow.  I don't say that real loud because there are many people that loathe snow.  But, I love snow. 

During the past 24 hours, there's been a blizzard bearing down on Iowa.  Therefore, it's time for me to make bread.  I equate homemade yeast anything (rolls, bread, cinnamon rolls) with snowstorms.  Mom always would bake when there was bad weather...so I have been conditioned to think that if it's nasty outside, it's time to warm up the oven and get out the flour.

Snow storms could either be really good =electricity, plenty of food in the pantry, lots of family and friends, board games, jigsaw puzzles, toboggans, hot cocoa, warm fire, the snow beautiful and airy.

Or snow storms could be bad  = No electricity, no food (one time I college I had a carton of stale cottage cheese and a six pack of skunky beer- that was it), no friends or family, no wood, heavy snow where the trees get weighted down and the limbs break off,  so cold you don't want to go out (I remember negotiating with one of the family pets--I had to make a little area where the dog could potty.)

But, there's part of me that wants to be looking out the front door window in the house in State Center.  From this window, we could see the street light and judge the quality of the snow.....heavy, fluffy/ strong winds, no wind/ big flakes, ice pellets.  We used to be our own "Al Rokers"-- the caterpillars were especially numerous with thick coats-- a bad winter for sure-- the barometer was falling like a rock--here comes some precipitation.  12 inches of snow fell in State Center today-- goodness sakes!  Here's my brother, Dan Malloy, cleaning his driveway in Des Moines.  All of Iowa felt the effects of the storm.

But, it was the magic of sitting by the radio listening to KFJB in Marshalltown waiting to hear if we had school that was the most fun.  Yes, we had to make up snow days, but having a day off at an odd time was like finding a frozen Snicker's candybar in the freezer--it wasn't the norm but it was sure good. I loved hearing that there would be no classes held in the West Marshall District.

I even liked snow days as an adult.  I especially loved snow days that cleared up by noon so I could go shopping.  One evening (when Bill and I lived in Centerville, Iowa, and I taught fourth grade), there was a forecast for a bad storm that would hit in the middle of the night.  I stopped by the local grocery for the necessities-- toilet paper and cat food.  I ran into the president of the school board that evening at the store-- he had toilet paper and cat food, too.  He looked at me and said, "I can see where our priorities are."

As a teacher I liked to get to school early.  One morning it was snowing like crazy but I felt sure they would still have school  I left home in my little red car and promptly got stuck.  The snow wasn't too bad, so I just walked to Lakeview Elementary.  It was about a mile....I got to work and the janitor met me at the door and told me school had been called off.  I turned around and just walked home.

So, I'm having my own "snow day" here in Central Georgia.  I have the Weather Channel on, I've baked bread, and I haven't left the house...and the thermometer still says 62 degrees.   I've loved the snowy photos on Facebook-- I'm showing you one that Jeff Merrill took of downtown State Center early Thursday morning.  It is a picturesque town and it means the world to me.  Nothing is prettier than a small town covered in a blanket of fresh snow!

I need to go take the bread out of the oven.

A Parent's Worse Nightmare

Twenty sets of parents were told today that their young children were killed.

I can't breathe.  I can't think about anything else.  I have a headache.  I have heart ache.

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I loved teaching.  I never felt unsafe in any of the schools where I worked.

Oh, God, please hear my prayers for all of these sweet families.

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Gun control has never been a issue for me.  I believe that hunters should be able to hunt.  I believe that people should be able to protect themselves.  Guns don't kill people; people kill people.

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I believe the Ten Commandments.  Thou shalt not kill.  Thous shalt not kill.

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Why do criminals think the way they think?  A wise judge told me that criminals are not 
NORPS-- Normal, Ordinary, Responsible People.  Is it mental illness, is it a sense of entitlement, is it a deformity in the brain?  I don't know.

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I have read the book, "When Bad things happen to Good People."  And I have read it again.  And I have read it again. It will be started again tonight.


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I keep thinking about the school secretary.  She would have known everyone.  School secretaries are the "point" people in a school.  A great school secretary is the "top of the key"-- she sees the plays and makes sure the team follows through.  Secretaries keep track of everything and everyone.  Please pray for the secretary.

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There's been lots in the news about the fiscal cliff.  I'm more concerned about the moral cliff that we have obviously have not only gone over--we are free falling into the abyss of extremism.  The individuals that I meet that have the "I'm right- you're not because you don't have the same _________(values, beliefs, religion, race, gender, sexuality) as I do.  I am right....because I'm me.  AND I'm always right" seem to be growing in number.

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Please pray for all of the people who were at Newtown's Sandy Hook Elementary School today. Please pray for our world.  Your prayers got my family through the nightmare-- now, we have more people to help.  I know that your love and kindness made us get up in the morning, put one foot in front of the other, and kept us living.  Proverbs 17:17

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Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.

General Petraeus, 9th Graders and Sir Isaac Newton

Pick any Monday morning in a high school........it's too darn early for life to start.  The weekend is always brought to school.  Always!  ALWAYS!

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7:00 a.m....The front desk secretary brought me three students.  She handed me a cup of black coffee and the write-ups, raised one eye-brow and said, "This is a wild one.  Call me if you need a refill."  She looked at the students and said, "Sit down.  Dr. Weaver will be helping you now."

The three 9th graders sat in straight chairs right in front of my desk.  The boy was "boohooing" like there was no tomorrow.  Both of the girls on either side of him looked as mad as wet hens.  No, they were madder.  They were ANGRY and that boy kept up a noise that could be mistaken a howler monkey caught in a trap.

As an assistant principal, I saw students who, shall we say, have made bad choices.  I rarely saw students for something good and I could tell from the volume alone, this was going to be a doozy.  

The three had been causing a loud ruckus in a hall before an early morning class and the teachers had wanted me to get to the bottom of it.  The teachers wanted it stopped.  Now.

I handed each student a clipboard with lined paper on it.  "No talking to each other.  Write your side of the story for me to read before we start discussing this,"  the standard  message came out of my mouth.  "Write the truth as you see it and then we'll compare your stories."  

Furiously the girls began writing and writing and writing.  AND writing.  The boy was still gulping and crying.  I handed him a box of tissues and he wrote one sentence and handed me the clipboard with his statement.  

"She said my ding-dong was small."

I read that sentence at least three times.  I looked up and the boy was still sobbing.  

The synopsis of girl number one was that she was the boy's girlfriend.  AND he was showing his tallywacker to other people.  AND she didn't think he should show his wiener to anyone else.  He was her boyfriend.  AND he had done this weekend.  AND she didn't think that was very right.  

Girl number two had looked at his private parts and declared them "SMALL".  She wrote that all she was doing was telling the truth.  And he shouldn't have been showing it to everyone after the movies Saturday night if he didn't want people to talk.  She was telling everyone before school because it was so tiny and it looked like a miniature Johnson.  She'd never seen such a teeny weeny peeny.  

(I can't make this stuff up.)

The students were interfering with the orderly running of a public school.  I sweetly called the secretary and asked her to get me a refill on my coffee.  "Yes, Ma'am."   At this point I said a quick prayer in my head for wisdom and not to laugh right out loud.

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The punishment was simple.  I had each of them call their mother and tell their own story.  All three of the moms came and got their children.  All three of the mothers were aghast.  All three of the children got more punishment from their parents that they could ever get from me.  All three of the families hide from me whenever they see me.

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I'm going to tell General Patreus what I told those children.  If you show your privates to someone, they will talk.  If you are in a relationship, you don't need to show your privates to anyone else.  If you do show your privates to outside parties, you  have made a choice and you need to live with the consequences.  It's physics.  Just like Sir Issac Newton stated, "For every action, there's an equal and opposite  action."

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It's all about the academics, isn't it?

  

Confessions of a Midnight Cat Wrangler: Laughing in Church

Confessions of a Midnight Cat Wrangler: Laughing in Church: I turned 62 last week.  I'm ready for social security.  I have been a high school principal.  I am responsible, mature, kind, and orderly. ...

Laughing in Church

I turned 62 last week.  I'm ready for social security.  I have been a high school principal.  I am responsible, mature, kind, and orderly.

My mother has banned me from ever sitting by my brother, Jim, in church.

I don't mean to laugh.  I just do.

It is awful, it is embarrassing, it is the type of laughter that shakes the pew.

He doesn't have to do one thing.

I start laughing.  AND if he eggs me on, by say, lifting one eyebrow, I completely lose it.  I laugh silently until my insides shake and hurt.  I laughed when he was being sworn in as a judge because he smirked at me.

I have been known to cover my face with my hands and pretend I'm weeping-- WRONG!  That is so, so wrong.....but it worked at my grandmother's funeral when it looked like Uncle Justin had a flame sprouting from his head.  Jim shouldn't have whispered, "Uncle Justin, the Candle."

My mom had a stare that could wither a grown man.  It never helped.  This ban has been in effect 50 years.

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I think God understands.  I hope he understands.  I know he understands.  He made me.

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I have laughed at inappropriate times my entire life.  Graduations, births, funerals, weddings, superintendent meetings, faculty meetings....I have an ultra-sensitive sense of humor.  Some people say that it's nerves.....nah, I think I just like to laugh.  I can't blame it on anything except poor self control.

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Yes, I laugh at tv shows and movies that are funny-- but to me, real life is 100% funnier.

I was having a focused reading group with a bunch of 10 year olds.  I asked, "Do any of you have any questions?"

A little guy looked at me and said sweetly, "Have you ever seen moth balls?"

I answered, "Sure."

 Without missing a beat he piped up, "How did you get his little legs apart?"

I excused myself.  Got up.  Walked into the hall.  And howled.

I rest my case.

The Sky

When I was in the fifth grade, our second floor classroom had windows that opened to the western sky.  When I started teaching sixth grade, my first classroom at Milford Township had windows that opened to the west--it was on the second floor, too.  I love the western sky.

I have had a "thing" for windows my entire life.  I like the outdoors. I like watching the clouds.  I love the Weather Channel.  I'm impressed by the stories the sky can tell me.

I love looking at the Iowan sky.  Remember, I grew up on the land of the prairies.   The trees that dot our town were purposefully planted by the settlers.

I had a wonderful view of the western sky at Lakeview Elementary in Centerville, Iowa where I taught fourth grade for six years.  I loved seeing the heavy gray clouds lumber towards us bringing snow.  Snow clouds are full....they look like feather pillows bursting at the seams....snow.....an automatic, "Put up the books and put on your coats.  We're going to catch fat snowflakes on our tongues."

The green skies of the tornado season puts fear in my heart.  I'm cautious on those days when the clouds start building skyscrapers with their anvil tops.  You can watch the clouds bubble and gurgle as their height increases.   "Bring In the laundry from the line.  Hurry!  Rain is coming."

The true tornado sky in my book of "Erin's facts that she has proven herself"is one where the sky looks like hundreds of large marshmallows.  Somewhere someone is going to have a twister.  Betcha' a dollar!  Shoot, I'll bet you a ten-spot!  And if you do see a sky like that, head for cover and grab a flashlight.  Don't worry about hearing a warning....your eyes will tell you faster than the siren can sound.  Beware of the marshmallow sky!

Tonight I stood on the front porch of the house where my father was born.  I watched the sun set in the western sky.  Pinks, purples, and periwinkle clouds on the horizon......yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows in the sky.

When Mary Met Sally

"Little fingers, little toes, little eyebrows, little nose."



I haven't held Sally much but I've held my little buddy a great deal.  I think MM is doing well.  Sally Weaver Patterson was born on October 19, 2012, at 11:53 a.m., 8 lbs. 4.5 oz., and she was 20" tall (or 1ft. 8 in.).    This past month has been a blur....a really good blur.  Sally has gained two pounds and Mary Michael has gained a sister!


Molly Michael is intrigued with Sally.

"Cooking and cleaning can wait 'til tomorrow
'Cause babies grow up we've learned to our sorrow,
So settle down cobwebs, dust - go to sleep,
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep."

Thanksgiving was a family affair.  Terry and Jim Patterson came from Concord, NC, Janie Weaver-Sobel was here from Charlotte, NC, Dan was home from Atlanta, and Brad, Molly, and the two girls came from McDonough.  Everyone brought something-- the turkey came with Jim and Terry in a big cooler.  Aunt Lisa and Uncle John Brewington were at their home in Cincinnati-- but our hearts were with them.

MM likes Sally.  We have seen the ugly head of jealously raised once; FYI-- do not let the baby use MM's pinka (blanket).  MM threw a fit of major proportions.  (and she didn't shed one tear as she was shrieking, "My pinka!  My pinka.")  It was an exiting from the  interstate, finding a place to regroup, laughing  Nana, howler monkey type of fit.  If there was  a "fit throwing category"in the Olympics, MM could have won a gold medal that day.  It was a true Southern hissy fit!

But, the next day, the true colors of the sisters' relationship emerged.  

At play group, another child bent down to look at Sally reclining in her baby carrier.  He decided to pat Sally gently on her head.  From the midst of a crowd sprang Mary Michael, "No, no, my baby.". She took the handle of the carrier and started to drag Sally away from the boy.  Ownership had been established, lines had been drawn, blood is thicker than water AND the Patterson girls were forged at the hip!

Elf on a Shelf

"Doda", the elf at the Patterson house, creeps me out.  He moves around.  Does weird things.  Drinks syrup out of the bottle with a straw.

I grew up with the "bathabees" and the goblins of Ireland scaring the stew out of me.

The nuns scared me.

Walking in front of people scared me.

Talking in front of a class scared me.

Flying monkeys scared me.

Loud sounds scared me.

But, elf on the shelf -- I stand up straighter and I keep me eye out for him.  He has the same grin as "Chuckie".  He shows up where I least expect it.  I am on my best behavior when I'm at the Pattersons.  I don't want to get on Santa's naughty list.  I think Doda would enjoy turning me in.....

Bill should probably get an  "Elf on the Shelf."

I Am Not the Easiest Patient

I am going to the doctor and the dentist this week.  God help us all.

I don't like going.  I am fine.  I will be fine.  I will go.  I will not back out.

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I went.  I am fine.  I showed up.  I was pleasant.

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Dr. Ridley and Dr. Burns are my doctors.  I like them and trust them.  Period.  They are the horse whisperers for patients like me.  Kind.  Quiet.  Competent.

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I would use salves made from the root of the sycamore tree and burn the eye of a newt in the light of the full moon if I had my way about medical care.  I would go to the ocean and breathe the air and cleanse with the salt water.  I would drink the dew on the magnolia tree and dance with the cats under the stars.

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You could offer me the winnings of the Powerball and I couldn't tell you the names of the medicine I take daily.  I trust Chip Ridley.  He says, "Do it."  I do it because he keeps me well.

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"Keep up the good work," says my dentist, Dr. Burns.  I brush and floss.  I like my teeth.

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I am working on my weight.  I don't want to be known as that fat lady with the bad knee.  (I don't want to be known as the skinny lady with the bad knee either--FYI)  I want to be able to walk the bridges of Venice and roam the museums of  Florence .  Walking is a good thing.  For every pound I lose, I am taking 4 pounds of pressure off of my knees stated Dr. Lee, the orthopedist.  I like him.  He's kind, quiet, and competent.  He has made my knee feel better.

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I did try rubbing my knee with WD-40.

Ladybug, Ladybug

You know that rhyme?

Ladybug, ladybug,
Fly away home....

Well, what they don't tell you is the "home" is our house.  We have ladybugs everywhere and I love them.  I've always heard that they're good luck so I might need to play the lottery this week.

Mary Michael and I were watching them.  They seemed quite content.  MM asked if they were my pets.  I told her, "No, they are house guests."

It was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.  A two year old, a nana, and a whole lot of house guests.

How to Give Some Ooomph to Your Christmas Letters.

A dear friend stated that she hated getting Christmas letters.  "They make me feel bad because my family isn't like that.  Our family doesn't do anything special,"  she said.

I've been thinking about the "Christmas letter spin" that lots of people use.

It's really simple.   People lie.  Fudge.  Omit.  Fib.  Exaggerate.  Delete.  Embellish.  Leave out.

We state only the good things that have happened to our families..and then stretch it out.  Really stretch it out.  We sound like the Brady Bunch, the Cosby's and the Cleavers all rolled into one.

I'm encouraging all of us to write a truthful letter this year.  People would read these.

I have taken the best stories from close family and friends to give you some ideas for spicing up your own letters.  For example:

1.  Our eighth grader didn't get caught smoking cigars at school.  We only caught him because he accidentally caught the woods on fire on his way home smoking the "said" cigar.  We're lucky that his college fund will cover most of the fine and damages.  (Not really, we used his college fund for a new Big Green Egg.). (Not really, we didn't even have a college fund.)

2.  Decorating the house for Christmas a been a bitch.  The cat keeps trying to crap in the Christmas tree holder.  Meow!

3.  We certainly had a fun tax season.  Hopefully, I'll look good in stripes.  Who knew you were supposed to keep receipts?  I think that the IRS agent was impressed with my shoebox full of sales slips.  He kept saying, "Really?  Really?"

4.  Our baseball season lasted an eternity.  No one on the team had sense enough to carry guts to a bear.  I was always happy when the batter ran towards first instead of third.  They had cute uniforms though.

5.  Bouncing checks is sure a lot easier than it used to be.  Too much month at the end of the money is more than just a song title.  Ka-ching, ka-ching!

6.  All I want for Christmas is a little relief from gas.  And I am not talking the price at the pumps!

7.  Uncle Rolly got his Rogain mixed up with his Viagra.  His hair is so stiff he can't keep a hat on his head.

8.  We were going to go to Disney World this year for a family vacation but we thought the Indian Mounds would be more fun.  Stay-ca-tions are another way to say "B-R-O-K-E".

9.  My husband threw a stinky diaper out the window.  He said that a $500 littering fine would be better than that eye- watering Huggie.  You want to stop a war?  Drop a load of those diapers on a country- everyone would be begging for mercy.

10.  We were so tickled that the new parish priest came for coffee and cookies one Sunday afternoon.  He was a sport when the dog came in the living room chewing on a jock strap from the dirty clothes.  Bon Apetit!

11.  We knew the priest was a keeper when little Jimmy asked him if he knew what you called a constipated dinosaur?  Father said in his rich Irish brogue, "Ah, no son, I truthfully have no idea.". "Well, Father, you call them a collossil fossil with a plugged up aussil."

See, interesting, impressive AND somewhat truthful.  Ho! Ho! Ho!

Does My Butt Look Big?

I love food.

I had a "weight loss specialist" ask me, "Do you eat to live or live to eat?"

I had the wrong answer.

Thanksgiving gives homage to butter in my book.  It is a gastronomic day of yum.  Gravy, potatoes, creamed corn, desserts, dressing, dressing, dressing.

This year is it going to be somewhat different.

I hurt my knee in June.  Babied it all summer.  Gave in and went to an orthopedist in September.  I've got terrible arthritis in my right knee.  Cortisone shot--check.  Physical therapy -- check.  Specific exercises-- check.  Weight loss--

Weight loss......oh, my!  I have started Weight Watchers online and I can now say---CHECK!  I have a long way to go.  Dr. Lee, my orthopedist,  is pleased.  He is encouraging.  Yesterday he talked about how the more weight I take off.....less pressure.....knees.....ankles.... "physics speech" to me, I nodded and grinned.  NOTE:   This technique, nodding and grinning, will get a person through most situations--unless you have been accused of a bank robbery-- don't nod and grin then).

Weight Watchers will be with me this Turkey Day.  I have been saving my weekly points and I know I won't overeat.  You know why?  My knee feels so much better.  And my jeans fit.

Call Me Irresponsible

Confession Time:

I haven't done squat since I moved.  Oh, I do the crossword everyday.  Yep, that's it.  I do the crossword.  Except on Sunday's-- Sunday is a day of rest...and that crossword is too hard for me.

No, I threw responsibility out the door.  After over 39 years of being a professional, daily responsible human-- I quit.  Flat out stopped dead in my tracks.  Moved.  Painted.  Arranged furniture.  Sewed.  Raked leaves.  Spread pine straw.  Cleaned the paths.  I didn't look in the rear view mirror at my professional career.  Rocked on the porch swing.....read to Mary Michael whenever she asked....dozed in the hammock.

I took a sabbatical of caring about the norms of this world.  I should feel bad-- I don't.   My responsibility meter was on empty.  I didn't have one more ounce of "I'll take care of it" to give.  School had sucked me dry.  My family had never complained and I felt like it was time to put them first.

I haven't read the best sellers much.  I reread Jane Erye.  I haven't mailed thank you notes that are almost a year old-- they're written, I just don't go to the post office.  I sleep until I wake up and I go to bed when I'm tired.  I have worked on our house.  I look at Pinterest.  I watch "What Not To Wear" and am thankful Stacy and Clint haven't come to my closet.

I have had a year of moving at my own speed and doing my own thing.  Frankly, I think I could become a hermit.  I sneak into town wearing my "butter bean picking" outfit and I blend into the features of the store.  I am a person of WalMart.  I enjoy my second cup of coffee.  I listen to the creek.

My garden has become my refuge.  I plant.  I weed.  I water.  I feed.  I tend those things that ask for nothing in return.  I enjoy looking out the window at the pansies.  I sit on the porch everyday and I watch the birds.  I marvel at the colors of the sky, of the trees, of the animals.  I am proud of my banana tree.  My elephant ear plants continue to thrive.  I do like my blue bird bath.

I have done physical work instead of mental work. I have chalk painted bookcases, helped Bill on home improvement projects, and read tons of magazines.  No one has lied to me about where they live, who they live with, or why they don't have their child's birth certificate, social security card, immunization form....no one has yelled at me or muttered under their breath at me.  It has been quite refreshing.

Mr. Biggles, Norman, Jack, Pawley, and Raggs have benefited from walks, feeding and general good will.  The pets have become personal friends and we have all enjoyed our daily walks.  I like playing with them.  They are loyal and true.  They're happy to see me.

Bill's  "chief cook and bottle washer" is back.  He's had hot meals, clean clothes, and buttons sewed in the same year he lost them.  I go to the store with a list and a plan.  I have learned to mow.  We have been eating healthy.  I am not as grouchy as I was.  The bags under my eyes aren't suitcases.....they're small backpacks.

I have felt "responsibility" luring me back to the real world.....just like the Sirens  singing to the sailors, I hear the world calling my name.  I wonder if I'll fight those impulses or if I'll go on to more adventures in the big world.  I have a new, snazzy pink and green agenda/planner, I have opened it, and I have four appointments in the next two weeks.  Number one on my to-do list is going to the post office.

I think she's back.

Model T'ing*

Do any of you like Little Big Town's song, Motorboatin'?  I do.  It's got great lyrics.  If I was on American Bandstand I'd say, "It's got a great beat and you can dance to it."  I've really never boated much but I do have a new way to travel that's even better than Motorboatin'-- it's Model T'ing.

I love country music, great food, fires, knitting.  I love cats and dogs.  I love coffee.  I love listening to a creek.  I love black cars.  I love shrimp.  I love the day the dogwood trees open their blossoms.  I love the color pink.  I love books with twisted, turning plots.  I love Keats' poetry.  I love Christmas cookie baking.  I love a brand new magazine.  I love how a school smells the day before the school year starts. I love to dig in the dirt.  I love Toms.  I love the smell of freshly mown hay.   I love having a pedicure.

HOWEVER,

I found a new love this week.  Bill and I went on part of a Model T tour in Savannah.  It is the ultimate field trip and, as someone who expounds the benefits of experienctial learning and sits at the feet of John Dewey (and no, he didn't invent the Dewey decimal system for the Central Class of 2001), it was fantastic.  I love touring in a Model T car.

Bill and I drove to Savannah Wednesday evening after he got off work.  We checked into the hotel and found a gazillion Girl Scouts and some personable Model T enthusiasts waiting for us.  Mike and Nancy Weaver Roach (Bill's brother in law and  sister) own a green Model T built in 1911.  It is comfortable, fun, and brings the joy back in taking a ride.   Nevie Clark [a Savannah native who met a student exchange girl from Sweden when she came to live with their family (Nevie's dad saw her first and told his son that she was really something), got a degree in forestry from NCState, married his Swedish girl, moved to Sweden for 30 years, changed his career into men's clothing,  came back to Savannah, has one child still in Sweden and one in the US,  enjoys his beautiful grandchildren]  planned the tour.  This is just one example how you can get to know complete strangers as you visit during the tour rest stops/venues/dinners.  (No, lie.  Everyone loves their cars, and then you find out the rest by listening and answering their questions with questions of your own!)

The tour consisted of carefully planned driving trips around the Savannah area.  Model T's scoot along at a good clip-- fast enough to get you places, but slow enough to see what's going on.  Bright and early Thursday, we traveled to see a wildlife refuge, an air force museum where we had a great lunch and toured  JBC (a large machinery manufacturing company.)  That night the four of us went to the Pirate's House for dinner before the next scheduled activity.  Most of the group went to the Savannah Theater (you must go if you visit Savannah-- great songs from the 60's, 70's, and 80's) for a musical review.  The day was jam packed with activities, knowledge, and visiting.

Friday morning started with a jaunt to the Byrd Cookie Company.  YUM!  They handed out mugs of hot coffee and then they encouraged us to sample all of their cookies and candy.  Note:  If you want people to buy cookies give them a cup of coffee....really good coffee.  Yes, I did buy some of their merchandize!  We then motored to Wormsloe,  a former plantation with the longest continuous planting of live oak trees in the world-- 404 trees were planted to honor the owner's first son.  The young man that was guide was wonderful-- he made history come alive for all of us (he was an anthropology major and his favorite part of his job was shooting the musket for tourists.) The word for that day was midden.

Motoring again, the Crabbettes, a dandy all woman band, entertained us on the Isle of Hope.  Tubby's in Thunderbolt was the next destination-- fresh shrimp salad sandwiches and homemade banana pudding....if it sounds like I ate my way through Savannah....that's because I did. We then started driving to Bonaventure Cemetery.  This is the final resting place for who's who in Savannah.  Johnny Mercer's grave was so moving.  We spent the remainder of the day wandering Forsyth Park with our cappuccinos-- we met dogs, introduced ourselves to a couple getting married, learned how to make a Gullah Confederate Rose, watch some beautiful fountains, and see how skateboards can grind on a marble bench.

The Model T allowed me to observe mankind.  I like looking at porches-- I enjoy seeing how people arrange their furniture.  I like looking at yards-- I visualize my garden and see which plant looks great with which plant.  I like looking at trim, at paint, at fountains, at gates....I get ideas when I am a passenger.  A Model T is my perfect speed.  Slow enough to see, but not slow enough to be accused of being a peeping Tom.

I started the blog today with a Little Big Town song.  But, I'm going to end my thoughts on a song from Alabama that applies to me some days:

I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why

It's time for all of me to sit back and take stock of who I am...but even more important WHY I am. So WHY am I?  I'm know I'm going start to answer this question by being more of a Model T and less of a Motorboat.  

Thank you, Nancy and Mike, for introducing me to a whole, new, slower-paced world.  

Midnight Cat Wrangler-- Meow, Meow Y'all or How this all began......

How the Blog Began-- 11/4/2012

So, I'm sitting at the vet's office.  I've signed in, stated that Raggs needs his shots, and I've settled in to watch people.  I'm about ten down on the list so it should be a great afternoon.  I love going to see the different animals and their people.  We are an odd group-- diversity at its finest.  There are old, young, black, white, rich, poor owners with all types of pets.

Dogs that need surgery,  a cat with an abscess, puppies that need shots, a pair of pit bulls that scare me to death and I really don't find out what is the matter with them-- we are a cross section of mankind.  But, my story is about the little lady that I'm sitting next to.  She's old.  Maybe 90.  She has a great big cat carrier.  We start visiting.  

"I can't see much anymore, but Kitty's eye is bad."

Okay, you know me.  I visit.  I want to know about kitty.  

"Oooooo, what the matter?" I ask innocently.  

"Well," she begins,  "I can't see either well but Kitty's eye done swole up.  He don't let me touch him."

"How did you get him in the carrier?"  (I wanted to ask her how she picked the carrier up....she was a teeny, tiny woman and that was a huge carrier.)

The carrier's occupant keeps a low, steady growl going the entire time we're visiting.  

"That was easy," she smiled.  "I know Kitty likes raw meat so I just threw some in the carrier and I waited till  he came to eat supper.   I din't feed him til late.  He comes every night to eat supper with me but I waited til midnight to feed him.  He was real hungry.   I just slammed the door behind him and I brought him to see the doc today.  Kitty's got a bad eye."

The growl gets louder.  That is one spooky sound, I think.  I can't wait to see this animal.  Raggs is quivering in my lap.  He's whimpering, too.

I bend around and take a look at the cat.  Let me rephrase that-- I got a good look at the bobcat in the cat carrier.  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, pray for us all!" I think.    Raggs is now trying to climb up my arm.    

With a gray to brown coat, whiskered face, and black-tufted ears, the bobcat resembles the other species of the mid-sized Lynx genus. It is smaller on average than the Canada lynx, with which it shares parts of its range, but is about twice as large as the domestic cat. It has distinctive black bars on its forelegs and a black-tipped, stubby tail, from which it derives its name.

"Kitty"

                                                             Domestic Kitty


"Ma'am," I ask, "Where did you get that kitty?"

"Oh, honey, he found me.  I started feeding him and he just grew and grew.  He's a fine cat but he won't let me touch him anymore.  Look at his eye."  

I'm no vet, but that cat had cat pink eye.  It was almost "swelled" shut.  Kitty was emitting a guttural growl that resonated in the waiting room.  

"Yes, ma'am.  Kitty does look like he needs to have the doc look at him."

The growling continued at a pitch that caused everyone in the waiting room  to stare at the cat carrier.  "He don't like coming here."  She smiled at the entire waiting room as she proclaimed her love of the vet and her love of Kitty.  By this time Raggs is wetting himself and the pit bulls are quivering.  Everyone in the room had figured out their own emergency management plan if that "kitty" got loose.   Her name was called, "Mrs. Smith, you're next.  Do you need help with Kitty?"

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As she exited the examination room, she announced to all of us, "Doc gave me some medicine to put in his food.  He didn't even have to take him out of the carrier.  He took one look and said some of these free antibiotics would make him right as rain.  No charge either.  This is Kitty's lucky day."

Frankly, it was all our lucky day.  The bobcat got medicine, Raggs didn't wind up as "Bobcat Chow", the little lady was tickled pink that she could fix her kitty and it didn't cost her a dime.   Life was good.  

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So why do I call the blog "Confessions of a Midnight Cat Wrangler"?  I want to be like that little lady.  She loved the unlovable and saw the potential in her free pet.  She helped things get better and was appreciative of people did for her.  She was crafty, clever, and full of joy.  I want to remember who I am and who I want to be.  AND I want to share the day to day stories that have been given to me.  I've always said that working at Central was like being part of an ensemble cast of a comedy/drama.  Being a wife and mother have given me stories to make you wet your pants laughing or wet your eyes crying.  Everywhere I go I see the the humor, the love, the ridiculous, the sorrow, the hope and the sublime-- and I write them down so I can enjoy them again and again.  

I'm willing to wrangle those stories into this blog on a regular basis.  I'm willing to confess my inadequacies, fears, and foibles.  I'll share those minutes of clarity that make me want to proclaim, "Life is good."  I want to be able to put my "bobcat" in a cat carrier and get 'er fixed for free.  So welcome to the world of the "Midnight Cat Wrangler."  Meow!

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Faith Can Move a Mountain, or Get a Donut

Oh, my!  Bill and I had Mary Michael for 48 hours.  I really believe my momma's adage that God knew what he was doing when he gave young people the task of raising children.  She's a good girl....but she's 28 months and is on wide open throttle most of the time.  I'm 62 and the only thing I run is my mouth.  We have quite a time!  We played outside for four hours on Monday-- I remember loving to be outside when growing up.  We picked flowers, walked the dogs, and chased the cats.  We watched the clouds, rolled on the ground and rocked on the swing.  

Monday afternoon she told me that Grandpa was bringing her pink donuts when he came home from work.  I hadn't heard that, so quietly I called Bill during her afternoon nap and asked him if he had lined this up without my knowledge.  He hadn't heard about it either, but Grandpa said, "If she wants pink donuts, she'll get pink donuts."  Bill had Touchdown Club Monday night so it was close to 9 when he got home.  Mary Michael and I were upstairs reading when we heard the dogs bark.  She looked at me with those big blue eyes twinkling, clapped her hands, her entire face lit up and she said, "Grandpa's home with my pink donuts."  She was up and out of bed and sliding down the stairs admonishing me to be careful, careful.

By the time I got to the first floor (after being careful, careful), Bill had her sitting at the table picking out a donut.  The box of Dunkin' Donuts was full.  Pink with sprinkles, pink without, and chocolate donuts were spread in front of her.  She told Grandpa that sprinkles were the best.  He let her pick one and she proceeded to teach him how to eat the sprinkles off first then the frosting.  He then showed her how to eat the soft center.  It was wonderful watching them.  She had some milk, came back to bed after brushing her teeth again, said "Night, night, Nana" and went straight to sleep. 

Mary Michael had faith in her Grandpa to get her a donut (even if he didn't know he was supposed to get donuts!)  

Matthew 17:20 

New International Version (©1984) He replied, "Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."

I wish I could say that I'm teaching Mary Michael everything I know about living.  The fact is, she's reminding me what life is all about-- love.  I knew she was ready to go home when she asked me about Mommy, Daddy, and sister.  Then she added, "Doggie went to camp with Grandma and Pap Pap."  

I'm still resting up for the next visit.  

Womb with a View

Alrighty,  let's get something straight.  I am not planning on writing more than once a week-- but this week is special.  AND I usually don't steal-- but I'm taking this straight off of Bill Weaver's Facebook and posting it.  I'm not saying it's mine.  I'm just saying that, I know when he says something so much better than I could ever say it, I'm taking it.  (Don't get upset, I'm giving him full credit for this.)

 Here's how my day went:  Friday, October 19, 2012

The phone rang at 4:21 a.m. As I reached for it I couldn't help but remember the last time it rang at about that time of night (it was 5:11 a.m.). That call was every parent's nightmare. This call was every grandparent's dream.

Molly was on the phone and said she'd been awake for nearly an hour, and she thought she was going into labor. Erin was apprised of this and Plan A was put into action. She got dressed and headed out the door, driving through the darkness to Molly and Brad's house. With Brad's parents 5 hours away, Erin was the designated babysitter for the soon-to-be-big-sister Mary Michael, aged 2 years, 3 months.

After Erin arrived and they had counted contraction durations and their significance (there's an app for that), the Pattersons drove off to the hospital in Atlanta. It was my job to pacify the dogs and cats for a little while before leaving, since we didn't know how long they'd be home alone. (Molly's first labor was an extra-inning affair.)

I waited until about 8:45 a.m. and hit the road. Brad soon texted and said not to hurry, as it appeared it was going slowly and it would be a while before much happened. After a stop along the way I arrived at the hospital room at about 10:15. Molly looked tired, exhausted and (of course) uncomfortable. She looked like she'd been up all night. We visited for a little while, then she tried to lay on her side and rest. No luck. She said she wanted to get up and take a walk.

At that juncture -- it was about 11 a.m. -- I said I was going to go get some coffee. The doula (a birthing assistant) walked me to the door and explained where the Starbucks was located. I asked how quickly Molly was moving along, and she said slowly. She guessed it could be late afternoon, "but you never know." I headed toward coffee and stopped to text and tweet about the late-afternoon timeline.

A Chik-fil-A sandwich later, I arrived at the waiting room in the labor and delivery area at about 11:45. I wrote a few text messages and thought I might see Brad. I thought Molly might have gone to sleep, so I texted him in the room, asking if I could do anything or if he wanted me to bring him lunch. No response. I went to the room and knocked on the door. No response, and I wasn't about to enter without being let in. I went back to the waiting room. After a few minutes I called Molly's phone, thinking that maybe Brad hadn't heard the beep of my earlier text message.

Molly answered her phone.

"Hi, Pop!"

"Molly! How are you? What's going on in there?"

"We've got a baby in here!"

Of course, I was incredulous. Late afternoon? A baby already? What happened? Are you OK? What is it? (They purposely had not wanted to find out; they wanted it to be a surprise.)

"It's a girl! Do you want to know her name? ... (whispering: Brad is it OK to tell him her name?) ... Ok. ... Her name is Sally Weaver Patterson. ... You are the first to know. We haven't spoken to anyone else yet."

I couldn't speak. How special was this day, this time, this moment? I mumbled some sort of congratulatory message, and Molly admitted she was a little busy (baby was born at 11:54 a.m.), so she handed the phone to Brad.

"My God, what happened?"

He said that right after I left they took a little walk around the nurse's station. Four laps, and then her water broke and that baby wanted out -- now! Things moved along unexpectedly quickly, but he said Molly was doing great, the baby was great and he'd be out to the waiting room to get me in a little bit. I asked if I could tell anyone; he said to wait. I said I've got to tell Erin, and he said, "of course."

I called her at 12:03 p.m. I told her what had happened, the name, what I knew about what had happened -- how we thought we had several hours of waiting ahead of us, but not so. She prepared for Plan B -- getting MM dressed and ready to come to Atlanta to meet her new little sister.

Brad's parents had driven in from North Carolina and went to M&B's house, thinking there was plenty of time to get to the hospital. But Brad had called them and gave them the news. So, Erin, MM, Jim and Terry headed north to meet the newest member of the family.

They arrived, and Uncle Dan arrived, at virtually the same time, about 2:30 p.m.. It was a grand reunion. Mary Michael was the first non-parent to hold the little baby. She kissed her on her nose. A little while later when a nurse had to take a little blood from the baby, MM said, "My baby brave." She soon learned how to say Sally. She soon learned it was OK to touch her fingers and toes.

It was all just magic. It was such an incredibly lovely day that started out with such a start (and fright) in the night. Welcome to our world Miss Sally. We are so very glad to know you.

The Room with a View!

First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage

Blue Bird Hill was transformed Saturday, October 13, 2012.  Carol Keys and Clay Gledhill got married on the lawn in front of the creek.  Low humidity, great music, happy families, and a whole lot of love was felt as they exchanged their vows.  Gosh, it was so, so nice.  Carol's sister-in-law, Peggy, commanded her crew of helpers as she transformed our home into a wonderland.  It was so nice; family and friends of the couple came together, shared their talents, and made the venue into a paradise.

Those of you that know me understand that I'll hang a picture where I FIND a nail.  I don't arrange.  I just do.  I am a good helper though.  The entire experience reminded me of being responsible for prom-- but it was at my house.  Thankfully, these people have vision...they  told me what to do and I did it.

One of the highlights of the entire experience was getting to mow with Bill's little tractor.  Now, I can pull weeds, I can run the weed eater, the leaf blower and I are on a first name basis....but I have never been allowed to drive the tractor.  We were really trying to get the grounds looking good for Carol.  GUESS WHAT?   I'm good at mowing (large, vast spaces).  Bill gave me some lessons and critiqued my work.  He has also imposed some harsh rules:  1.  I am not to go near the road.  2.  I am not to mow hills.  3.  I should not mow rocks.  I think I am progressing nicely.  But back to the wedding....

The wedding was wonderful and the reception was something else.  After the ceremony, there was a cocktail hour.  Next we moved to the barn for dinner and dancing.  It was a feast -- Kudzo Katering is amazing.  Carol and Clay had picked a Southern Sophisticated Menu....one of Carol's cousins wrote food review for their newspaper in Starkville, Mississippi.  I am going to gush about the cake...it was phenomenal-- it was shaped to look like three baskets sitting on top of each other.  Each layer was delicious.  I had part of a pound cake layer and part of the spice cake layer.  No, I didn't eat the cheesecakes-- too full.

At about 8 p.m., Bill, Molly, Mary Michael and I walked back to the house through the tunnel of teaky torches.  Molly and Brad's second child is due in about a week and Mary Michael had given me permission to give her a bath in the big bathtub.  Once the girls were asleep Bill and sat on the porch and listened to the music from the band.  The band stopped at 10 and we saw a brightly lit balloon rise over the barn-- it was a bright orange Chinese lantern.  Fire makes the balloon rise and immediately I thought, "Gee, I hope we don't burn down the trees."  The balloon kept rising and floating high in the sky.  It was a magical way to end a magical weekend.

Mr. Biggles, one of the two cats that came with the house, attended the wedding.  He strolled through the crowd.  Jumped up and sat with both sides of the family during the wedding and then he casually attended communion.  He also went to the reception.  The night before he had attended the rehearsal dinner and really wanted some of the barbecue.

Carol was an absolutely gorgeous bride.  I'm prejudiced but she looked radiant.  It was fun getting ready the event, it was fun attending it, and it's fun that it is over.  I can't wait to relive the wedding when all the pictures are gathered together.

Corinthians 13:13 And now these three remain:  faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest of these is love.