Tobacco - A Vanishing Crop

As long as I can remember coming to visit my grandparents and family who lived in south Georgia, tobacco was always a big crop. However, through the years with I've watched the amount of tobacco being grown diminish since there aren't as many people smoking anymore.

Lots of my cousins grew up "working in tobacco" and it was their way of earning good money during the summer to buy new school clothes or a car. I think the pay was about $25 per day. That was a lot of money at that time. More than I would make babysitting. Being a "city girl" I had no idea what it was like to work in tobacco. I got a chance after my family came back from Japan. According to an entry in my diary dated July 24, 1965...Dear Diary, I got to work in tobacco. Stood in the truck and handed it down.

The reason I probably didn't write anymore was: (1) I was way toooo tired to write anything more; and/or (2) I could never explain what torture I had been through that day. I was staying with my grandmother at the time and she thought it would be a great idea for me to have the experience and I could make some good money! Let me just say that at the end of the day there wasn't enough money to EVER work in tobacco again.

My experience as I remember (and I may have to go into therapy after recalling this day) - I had to get up at some ungodly hour of the morning since we had to be in the field very early. I got to ride on the back of a pickup truck and stack sticks as they were handed to me when the tobacco had been "strung" on the stick. One of the problems was that the leaves were damp and the nicotine from the leaves started to stick to you and your clothes. It wasn't like you could just wipe it off and you couldn't wash it off since you were out in the middle of a field with no water.

Anyway one of the other things I did that day was hand off the tobacco that had been strung and was ready to be hung in a barn to be dried. There were lots of leaves hanging on a single long wooden tobacco stick (clever name, huh?) that had been piled on the back of the pickup truck. I had to hand these sticks down to someone on the ground who then handed it to someone else who hung it in the barn. By now the sun is high in the sky and it is hot! Especially hot to someone who has never done this type of work before. I was only 13 years old and apparently a wimp!

One of the next jobs was the worse!!! We went to a drying barn where the tobacco had already dried and cured. I stood in the bottom of the barn and the sticks (which were very light now since the moisture had been sucked from the leaves) were handed down to me. No problem you say - wrong. The leaves were now full of dried sand and nicotine particles that fell into your eyes. It didn't matter if you had a hat on your head or not - you had to look up to get the stick and all that dried stuff fell into your face and eyes.

By the time I made it back to Grandmother's house that night, even she didn't recognize me. I was covered in black/brown nicotine, dried dirt, sweat streaks, etc. As far as I remember that was my first and last time ever working in tobacco and I never plan on doing it again in my lifetime!

My Memories of the Apollo 11 Moon Landing

Since yesterday was the 39th anniversary of the "first step on the moon", I thought I'd share what I had written in my diary during that time period. (Has it really been 39 years!?! Wow, I am getting old)!

July 16, 1969

Dear Diary,
Today the astronauts took off for the moon. I heard the blast off and it just sent chills all over my body. It was a perfect lift off and they are still going towards the moon. They are Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins. It just seems impossible for someone to be going to the moon. I'm happy too that I'm living in this phase of history.

July 18, 1969

Dear Diary,
The astronauts are still okay.

July 20, 1969

Dear Diary,
I'm now listening to the broadcast of Apollo 11. They landed on the moon just perfect. They are going to step out on the surface of the moon soon! Well, they did it! At 10:56 EST, Armstrong stepped out on the surface. I was downstairs in the living room with Nancy, Susan and Mom.

July 21, 1969

Dear Diary,
The astronauts got off the moon safely and caught up with the ship "Columbia". It still just seems incredible about man going on the moon.

These pictures are from a newspaper I've saved since 1969. I was almost 17 years old and about to be a senior in high school. We were living in Valdosta, Georgia where Dad was stationed in the Air Force at Moody AFB. As you can see by the article on the right-hand side, the Vietnam war was in full swing. Unknown to us at the time, in a little less than a year, Dad would leave for Saigon, Vietnam for a one year tour of duty. (It would be interesting to follow-up on the guys in the article and see what became of them - did they make it back stateside, are they still living, what did they do once the war ended, etc.).

(Click on the link below and you will see the footage as we saw it on TV).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMINSD7MmT4

Happy 76th Birthday Dad!

“Your birthday is a special time to celebrate the gift of "you" to the world".

James Edward Cattell was born 76 years ago in Thorn Hospital in Hudson, Lenawee, Michigan, the first born son and second child of Louise Dora Hammond and James Harold Cattell. From the time he was born until December 1939, he lived in the area of Onsted, Michigan where my grandfather worked mostly at farm labor. As it was in the midst of the great depression, my grandfather took whatever work could be found. He would work all day husking corn by hand for .50 cents a day. They had a goat or two to supply milk for the kids. In December, 1939, they moved to the Ed Kelley farm, about three miles south of Hudson. His dad was paid $90 a month, plus two hogs each year and a gallon milk daily. They lived here until September 1947 until they moved to Mountain View, Missouri.

In the words of my dad..."we older kids went to Catholic Hill School which was the typical red-brick one room school. My teacher was Lucy Monahan Hartly. Lucy had begun her teaching career in September, 1939 after graduating from high school only three months before. I give her the credit for my love of reading and learning. After a break to raise four children of her own, she returned to teaching and was a very positive influence in many lives. I particularly remember our "field trips" which were really trips to the fields and woods near the school to visit Leland Parks' sugar bush to watch him make maple syrup, cut the school Christmas tree or study the wildflowers blooming in the spring. We walked about a half a mile to the school.

October 1947 was the BIG move to Missouri. In July, shortly after Patty (his younger sister) was born, Mom and Dad went to south central Missouri and bought a 150 acre farm about three and one-half miles northwest of Mountain View. Dad had had several heart attacks in the several previous years and they felt that a small subsistence type farm would be better for him than the demands of a large Midwest general farm. On their return, plans were made to end out large farming operation. Because of a heavy frost the night before, the crowd was much less than expected, so the income from the sale was only about half what we hoped for.

One event that stands out in my childhood was my entry into 4-H Club and the showing of livestock at fairs. When I was ten years old, Dad bought a registered Guernsey calf for my project. By late summer, that was certainly the ugliest pot-bellied, skinny calf in the county. However, my 4-H leader insisted that I take it to a show. There were twenty one entries in my class and I was ranked twenty one, mostly because the judge felt sorry for me. Things got better from there one. I had great success showing Brown Swiss cattle and fat hogs. In fact, I have many times bragged about sleeping with the hogs.

My first year of high school was at Hudson High, in the old building, which has since been demolished. Even though my mother was valedictorian in the class of 1924, my greatest accomplishment was in living through the year.

Attending school my second year in Mountain View was quite a change for me. The building in downtown now being used an as elementary school was used by all grades. Teachers did their best, but in many cases they were not qualified for the subjects that they taught or else they had been in those positions so long that they were stale and dull. I was totally bored and dropped out at the start of my junior year.

Since I was not bothered by school, I was free to roam through the fields and wood on the farm. The area changed with each season. I hunted with an old .22 caliber rifle and my companion was a three-legged mutt who had been hurt in a machinery accident. I don't remember his name, but I do remember that he loved to chase squirrels and rabbits. Since the farm had several abandoned homesteads and blackberry patches, there was lot of cover for game".

He continues:

"Evelyn's daughter, Linda, called March 24, 1993 to tell us that her mother had just died of breast cancer. She had had a radical mastectomy in August 1992. When she visited us at Thanksgiving she wasn't feeling well and needed a cane to help her walk. I called her on March 7 and that was the last time I was aware of the seriousness of her condition, so her death came as somewhat of a shock to me. Being the oldest of us children, she led us into mortality and has now passed through the veil we call death. With her visit at Thanksgiving and an earlier one in June 1991, we had really connected for the first time.

In order for her to attend high school, since it was in the days before busing, she went to work as a nanny and housekeeper for a family who lived close to Hudson. She was only home about every other Sunday or less. Then, in 1944, she married Robert Wayne Mills who was a very dominating person who would only allow occasional contact with her family. Our family moved from Michigan in 1947 and I enlisted in the Air Force in 1950 so in the next 40+ years we had only been together a few times. As we get older and realize the need for family, we realize the loss we have suffered.

On July 2001, Hazel and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary with a reception at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints social hall. About 175 friends and relatives were in attendance. Possibly the greatest part of it all was that 21 of my Cattell relatives were here to celebrate. Those who came from a long distance were Uncle Lorin and Aunt Mary, my brother David with Erma, Paul, Rhonda, Stacy, Jennifer and Tina; my sister Joyce with Bob, Ron and Brenda; Lorin and Mary's son Doug and wife Susan, daughter Laura and husband Joe; my sister's daughter Karen, husband and daughters Kelsey and Grace. Hazel was surprised to get the ring she wanted for several years. I made her wait until the reception to get it.

Carol and Susan decorated the tables and were responsible for our "memories". Susan handled arrangements for the food and servers and in general was the "right hand man". Nancy was in charge of lining up families for photos. Tara helped with the food and was a very gracious hostess while Jimmy got re-acquainted with family that he had not seen in many years.

David and his group arrived on Thursday with all the rest coming in on Friday, except Doug and Susan who drove down from Goose Creek, SC on Saturday morning. It was such a wonderful weekend! It seemed as though we all had lived close together all of our lives and were having a family party. All of our kids acted more like brothers and sisters than cousins. They especially enjoyed the swimming pool. Only problem - it all ended too soon.

Mom died quietly in her sleep about 2:30 a.m., December 22, 1994 at her home in Mountain View, MO. Dave called me soon after. We called Donald and Nancy in Jacksonville and since they were coming for a Christmas visit, they went with us to Missouri. All five of us remaining children were together from Friday until the following Tuesday. It was the first time we had all been together since 1949, just before I enlisted in the Air Force. Even though we buried Mom on Christmas Eve, it was such a warm and satisfying feeling that we enjoyed in each others company. A special treat was to have Uncle Lorin and Aunt Mary with us. They are the last of that generation. We were entranced by his stories of his early life, his work and of our older family members.

August 15, 2006...Several of my grand and great grandchildren have recently asked about their "family tree" and some of the events in my life so I have put together a "family tree" book with pictures of Hazel and my ancestors.

Other writings/thoughts of Dad's:

In the summer of 1958, my squadron of CK-97 tankers were deployed to Thule, Greenland for three months. While there, we flew reconnaissance flights, listening for Russian radio transmissions and monitoring their flights in the area. On one of these flights, we descended below one thousand feet and circled the North Pole. our magnetic compass went wild as we flew over and around the Pole. I didn't see Santa Claus or a red-striped pole, nothing but snow and ice with occasionally some open water, not even a polar bear.

I remember Pearl Harbor and many things from World War II. The Pearl Harbor attack was on Sunday. As was their habit, Dad's parents came out to the farm from Hudson. They told us about hearing on the radio about the attack, so we turned on our radio and tried to listen to the reports as they came. Of course, in 1941 long distance radio reception was poor at best. It wasn't hard to understand that this was a very major event. Dad was too old for the Draft and was also the father of five children and also a farmers, so he escaped the draft. Many family members (Uncle Lorin), friends and neighbors were drafted and some of them died in the war.

Sunday, September 23, 2001 - It is now twelve days since the attack on the World Trad Center in New York, the Pentagon and the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania. It has been a very difficult time. I had just arrived at Carol's house in Omega when she told me of the attack. We watched the second plane hit. I commented to Carol that this was not an accident, but an act of terrorism and that the world changed at that moment.

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The top picture is of Grandmother and Granddaddy Cattell and Aunt Patty. The other picture is of the barn that is on the property of the Missouri farm.

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Just remember that birthdays are good for you. Statistics show that the people who have the most live the longest.

Friends Are Like Chocolate Chips In The Cookie Of Life

It's been very humbling and gratifying in the last few weeks to discover who our friends are. We've been so blessed by the numerous phone calls, emails, prayers offered in our behalf, hugs, visits to the hospital, priesthood blessings, visits to our home, gifts of food, gifts of company and offers to do more. It's also been a great blessing to have my family support by shuttling and caring for Joe and their love for him.

The night before Joe's surgery, I got a phone call to meet a friend of mine who lives in McRae. Jill and her family were done in the area for a short family vacation. She called and wanted to meet so that we could get together to catch up on our lives. So, after telling a groggy Joe that I was off to meet Jill, I headed to Adel. While driving down the road, I spotted a rainbow and I took it as a good omen for good things to come in the next few weeks.




It was a great visit with Jill, Bob and the boys and a reminder of how great it is to have friends that are there for you if you need them. They were some of my friends who gathered much needed supplies for the Hurricane Katrina victims. With the help of their families and church members, they collected so many things that we took with us when we went to Waveland, Mississippi.

Joe + Outpatient Surgery = More Fun Than Humans Oughta Have

Nothing seems to be simple with Joe anymore when it comes to his health. He went in for his outpatient surgery last Wednesday to insert a catheter in preparation for his dialysis. It was supposed to be an uncomplicated surgery and I had fully expected to be back at work sometime after lunch. He was going to stay at Mom and Dad's and rest until I came back for him. Yeah, right.

We were supposed to be registered at the Outpatient Clinic by 8:30 a.m. We arrived on time and waited and waited and Joe was finally called back to begin his preparations. I was told I'd see him again in about 45 minutes. Yeah, right. Luckily for me I had someone to keep me company for awhile. Tiffany Stewart, a friend of mine who I worked with in Valdosta, came and spent some time with me catching up on anything and everything. When she left, I got to spend some time with one of my old daycare moms.

When I finally got to see Joe, He was prepped and ready for surgery complete with a happy pill to make him wander off into la-la land. He had enough strength and clarity of mind though to throw me a kiss. However, after attempting to have continuous, understandable conversation, he finally gave into the drugs. Yeah!!

Finally it was time for him to be wheeled off for his operation and off he went.

Some four hours later he returned looking like: (1) the newest member of the Teletubbies; or (2) someone imitating a butterfly cocoon. Actually he looks snug as a bug in a rug, huh?

After a couple of hours, it was time to make his break...

After finally making it home after picking up a medication for Joe, changing sheets and fixing dinner, I finally got Joe in bed about 7:00 p.m. When I went to check on him about 10:30, I discovered that he'd "sprung" a leak around his incision and was spurting blood. Needless to say, I wound up taking him to the emergency room. We finally arrived back at home around 1:30 a.m. after some incision repair and finally made it into bed around 2:00 a.m. Waahoo! So much for routine outpatient and making it back to work. But, thus far all is going as well as expected for someone with a 3 inch incision below his navel.

(Don't you know that Joe just loves having these pictures made of him? That'll teach him to be high on hospital drugs and not know what's happening around him, huh)?

Only A Woman Could Understand - Part Two

Sometimes you receive those emails that just make your roll with laughter. This was just such a one for me sent by Nancy. And no, this did not happen to me - thankfully! Warning...this may be unsuitable for anyone who is not female and is not old enough to shave her legs and armpits.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, and play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet". So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those 'cold wax' kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!) So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ('Cold wax,' yeah.. Right"!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. IT WORKS! Ok, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching down the inside of my butt cheek (it *was* a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself.... RRRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPP! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!!.....OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP! Another deep breath and RIPP! Everything is spinning and spotted. I think I may pass out..must stay conscious.. must stay conscious. Do I hear crashing drums???? Breathe, breathe. OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip. There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX????

Slyly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip.. It's not!! I touch. I am touching wax. I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake... remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. Sealed shut! My butt is sealed shut. Sealed shut! I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do next and think to myself 'Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!' What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???? *WRONG!!!!!!!* I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.

Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub..in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cemented myself to the porcelain!!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!! I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - 'So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!' There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal, but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, 'are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?' She's laughing out loud by now... I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!! RIGHT!!!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.

While we go through the various solutions, I resort to trying to scrape the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than having your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event. My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace..the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. 'IT WORKS!!!! It works!!!!' I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair..THE HAIR IS STILL THERE..ALL OF IT! So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point. Next week I'm going to try hair color!
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This slightly reminds me of the time that I was rehanging mounted (stuffed) bass from one wall to another. My ex-husband, Les, had added a large hook which had hang out of its mouth. To remove it from the wall, I had to stand on a stool and while pushing up to dislodge it from the wall, the hook swung out and actually hooked me on the underside of my right arm. I could not dislodge it, so I had to carefully remove the mounted fish not wanting to stick it in even deeper and step down from the stool while holding onto the fish. This was all done while I had six small daycare children watching and continually asking me what I was doing. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to remove the hook - I really was caught by the fishhook. I thought about calling the local police department or fire department, but didn't want the embarrassment of being "caught" by a fish and being the butt of small town conversation. I thought about walking around my neighborhood trying to find someone who was at home during the daytime, but then thought better of that. I would look like a small parade...me at the head of the parade clutching the fish to my chest, who by the way looked like it was trying to give me a "hickey", and then having six little ones follow behind me. Finally reason took hold and I called the one person I thought should be at home and who wouldn't laugh at me. I was right about one thing, she was at home and said she would be glad to help after I tried explaining to her what had happened to me. But I was wrong in thinking she wouldn't laugh. It took longer to tell her about what had happened than I expected as she kept laughing so loud and long, but promised she'd be right over. She was still laughing when she arrived. In fact, she was wiping her eyes from the laughing which got worse once she saw my predicament. But at least I didn't have to call the police or the fire department. She was able to release me, I used a disinfectant, the hook came out of the fish's mouth and it was rehung. At least I didn't become the topic at the monthly fire department meetings!

Only A Woman Could Understand

I recently received an email about women and public toilets and thought I'd share it, with some added commentary from my own experiences, since it is so true...

When you have to visit a public toilet, you usually find a line of women (especially at the airport just when your flight has just landed), so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall seems to be occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by a Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would wring your neck if you put it on the FLOOR !) down with your pants and assume "The Stance". In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay toilet paper on it, you hold "The Stance". And, Mom told you to NEVER sit down on the toilet seat!!!

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. Great! In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Carol, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse (the purse around your neck, that now you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your stall door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Excuse me, but I'm in here" you scream in your nicest voice, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, while losing your footing altogether and sliding down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be just die if she knew, because you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get".

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, not just once, but twice, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bottom and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted and now have sweat forming at the back of your neck. (Also, you don't remember it being this warm when you first entered the stall). You try to wipe with a candy wrapper or a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it?) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this".

As you exit, you spot your husband who has long since entered, used and left the men's toilet and been waiting and waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your purse hanging around your neck? Wouldn't you just love to take your purse and wrap it around his neck until his face turns a bright blue?

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). This should finally explain to men why it really does take us so long to use the restroom. It also answers that other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so the other girl can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex or paper towels under the door.

BTW...my favorite thing to do when I'm in a restroom by myself is whistle "Memories" from the Broadway show Cats and check out the acoustics. Try it sometime. Also, why is it that when someone walks in on our unlocked stall and they say "sorry", we always say "that's okay"? Is it really okay? Heck no, but at least we are showing our good manners, huh? And, if you're a woman and you're laughing, this has probably happened to you.

Another Chick Flick Worth Watching

http://video.aol.com/video-detail/ladyhawke-trailer/1341664069

It's A Good Thing Joe Is Cute and Funny or else...

Last night while surfing through the TV channels I suddenly stopped and proceeded no further. I realized I had just reached the high point of my day when I saw that the movie "First Knight" was just beginning! I've loved this movie every time I've seen it. If I believed in reincarnation, I know that I lived in medieval times in England since I am so in love with that time period and country. I knew what I was going to be doing for the next many, several, numerous minutes. Drooling and loving every minute of it. How could I not? Richard Gere and Sean Connery in the same movie. Richard is so fine a man to watch in any movie I've seen him in, as well as Sean. Don't you just love his voice? I could listen to him read the telephone book and never move a muscle. Anyway, back to the movie...

The movie opens with Lancelot fighting in small villages for money. While traveling to the next village, he chances by the carriage of Lady Guinevere, and helps spoil an ambush meant to kidnap her. Afterwards, Lady Guinevere refuses the advances of Lancelot.

Later, he arrives in Camelot and successfully navigates an obstacle course called the "Gauntlet", which wins him an audience once again with Lady Guinevere, and her husband-to-be, King Arthur. While staying in Camelot, Guinevere is kidnapped by Malagant's followers. In a daring rescue attempt, Lancelot feigns the role of a messenger only to escape with Guinevere and return her to Camelot. Once again, Lancelot tries to win her heart, but is unsuccessful.

Overflowing with gratitude, Arthur makes Lancelot a knight of the round table. Moments before swearing loyalty to his new queen, a messenger from Lyonesse arrives, with dire news that Lyonesse has been attacked by Malagant.

Arthur leads his troops to Lyonesse, successfully defeating Malagant's forces in the process. Upon returning to Camelot, Lancelot feels guilty about his feelings for the queen, and in private announces his departure to her. She grants him a kiss, which turns into a passionate embrace, just in time for the king to interrupt.

Lancelot and Guinevere are charged with treason. The open trial in the great square is interrupted by a surprise coup by Malagant, ready to burn the town and murder Arthur if he does not swear loyalty to Malagant. In his final moments, Arthur commands all present, "To fight! Fight like you've never fought before! Never surrender! Never Surrender! Fight as you never..." and is struck in the chest by four crossbow bolts, after which he says, "Camelot lives!" A battle between Malagant's army vs. Camelot's soldiers and citizens ensues. Lancelot and Malagant face off amongst the crowd of people battling one another. Just as Lancelot is about to be killed by Malagant, he grasps Arthur's fallen sword, Excalibur, which grants him the strength and power to gain the upper hand and kill Malagant.

The soldiers and citizens of Camelot win the battle, but Arthur dies of his wounds. On his deathbed, he asks Lancelot to "take care of her for me" - a double entendre referring to both Camelot and Lady Guinevere. The movie closes with a funeral raft carrying Arthur's body floating out to sea.

Aaaahhh, be still my beating heart!!! And, kudos to Joe for putting up with my sighing and drooling.

If you like, enjoy the music from the movie. It was great also.

First Knight by Jerry Goldsmith

Our Independence Day Weekend

Since gas is so high (I filled my car up for $57.00 on Friday at $3.93 a gallon) and we had a crazy week with Joe getting out of the hospital, we didn't go anywhere out of town even though I didn't have to work for three whole days. Oops, I lied, we went from Omega to Tifton but that's as far as we went out of town. We didn't go to the beach, we didn't hang an American flag, we didn't go to a parade and we didn't go to a fireworks display. Does that mean we could be deported to a non-American country? I say no, since I did grill a couple of chicken breasts outside.

During the weekend, I did something strange - I got to take a couple of naps and loved that, Joe got his "store bought" haircut (see pictures below on Smilebox), I did a little (very little) yard work cause I cut the hedge trimmer cord, it was getting hot and it was time to shower and take Joe to town for his haircut. I have already developed swollen spots from embedded stickers from blackberry bushes growing in amongst my gardenia bushes (darn pooping birds), mosquito bites and scratches. Now, we'll see if I break out with poison ivy rash in about four days.

Joe watched his NASCAR races (his main man, Tony Stewart, was sick on Saturday and didn't drive - shucky darn) and Omega has a fireworks display that I saw through the bushes outside our front door. We had to bring the dogs in because the sound of the fireworks was scaring them to death. Boring, huh?, but I don't care I loved it!

This afternoon after church, Joe and I took the furry kids for a ride to James and Jerry Walker's house. They are B.J.'s grandparents and they hadn't seen how big he's gotten in a while. And the furry kids LOVE to go for a ride. They would go for more rides if I let them. However, I don't want my car smelling like some new car fragrance named "Dirty, Nasty, Smelly Dog".

B.J. (bottom three pictures) doesn't hang out the window like Blaze does. He just likes to stick his head out and do some major smelling with his jowl flapping in the breeze. Maybe it's because he didn't grow up riding around in the back of a pickup truck like Blaze.

Blaze (top two pictures) HANGS out the window and goes back and forth between the left and the right hand windows. Every time a truck passes by, she lunges at the back window at the truck goes by. The larger the truck, the louder and longer the growl. 18 wheelers really drive her crazy. Cars and people don't seem to bother her at all.

I got B.J. for Joe's Christmas present a couple of years ago from Jerry and James Walker. (Jerry was one of my former directors while at the Child Care Resource and Referral Agency. Jerry is a very multi-talented person and one of the things she does is paint. One of her paintings is of Bryson, her grandson, with four puppies. B.J. is the black puppy being petted by Bryson in the painting.

One of the reasons I enjoy visiting with Jerry and James is their bee box. It's a large rectangular box that sits in their den and is built so that bees can come in and out of the box at will through a PVC pipe front the outside of the house into the bee box. It rotates so that you can also see bees busy at work making honey through the Plexiglas cover like the two pictures below. It's fantastic to watch - even better than an aquarium.

"The Other Shoe Dropped" or Joe's Luxury Vacation In The Hospital

Waiting for an announcement or event to occur after an initial announcement or situation. When waiting for the other shoe to drop, one expects a pending situation to occur that is dependent upon an initial event.

This definition describes the Weaver household. I had a conversation with Dad a couple of weeks ago, and I've even stated in one of my earlier blogs, that life has been great for Joe and me in the last few weeks. I even went further and said that I wondered how long this would last - "when would the other shop drop"? Well, the other shoe dropped. It began last week... Thursday, June 26 - I came home from work and found Joe asleep in the bed. That wasn't unusual as he had become quite fatigued in the last few weeks with little energy to do much of anything. I had even tried to contact his doctor that morning thinking Joe might be coming down with the summer cold I'd been nursing. What was frightening to me was the way Joe looked. His entire face was severely swollen, as well as his eyes. His breathing was extremely labored and he could hardly move. I wound up calling Dad and asking him to find someone to come out and give Joe a blessing. Glen Ritchey and Dennis Thibault came and gave Joe a wonderful priesthood blessing. I am convinced that that blessing allowed both Joe and I to have our best night's sleep in a very long time. It was as though his body went into hibernation and,therefore, his breathing was not a problem during the night.

Friday, June 27 - I called the for an appointment. Found out the doctor was swamped and no way to see him. Took him to the walk-in clinic where he was seen in less than five minutes after arriving. After stepping on the scales, it was discovered Joe had gained 24 pounds in 4 weeks. The doctor perceived almost immediately that Joe was in trouble with congenital heart failure brought on by possible kidney failure. He started paperwork for hospital admission and we were off to the hospital. After receiving a catheter and an IV in his hand, Joe was eventually moved upstairs for an extended few days stay. Originally, there was another person sharing his room, but within 30 minutes that person was moved to a private room. So, Joe had his own room for the night. Yeah!!!

Saturday, June 28 - Due to drugs and the catheter, Joe eliminated massive quantities of fluid. (Did I say massive as in a bajillion bunch of fluid)? He gets another roommate - this guy has heart troubles and is brought in by EMT's from Nashville. He has a long ponytail and is wearing dark blue "whitie tighties" complete with his very short, very small blue hospital gown. I saw it more times that I wanted since he had to pass through our side of the room on his way to the little boy's room. (Come to think of it, I've seen waaaay too many men's backsides in the last few days). We were also paid a visit by the hospital dietitian. She discussed the Diabetic Diet, the Low Sodium Diet and the Renal Diet. What it amounts to is that Joe will never get to eat his favorite "good" food again such as ice cream, pizza, bacon, bran cereals, etc. Come to think of it, Joe may never eat again other than green beans and jello.

Sunday, June 29 - Spent part of the morning with Joe and then slipped into Sacrament meeting, taking Mom and Dad home afterwards. That's when Joe called me and life began to change for us. He had just been told that he was going to have to begin having dialysis as soon as possible. That's when "the other shoe dropped". Life was no longer going to be the same for either Joe or me.

Monday, June 30 - Joe and I got to watch an Oscar nominated video about the different types of dialysis. Bring on the popcorn and the soda water and where was the red carpet? At the conclusion of the film, Joe got to pick from a veritable smorgasbord of fantastic dialysis options. After discussing the various options and asking any questions we had, he opted for the peritoneal method. This is done through a catheter implanted near his belly button and hooking up a couple of bags. This is done while sleeping at night. Cool, huh? He is going to look so cool wearing his Darth Vader breathing mask and having his tummy tuned up while sleeping. I can hardly wait to hear the symphony of sound that will be emitted from his side of the bed. Later on the doctor came in and told Joe that next Wednesday his surgery will take place. Did I hear someone say it was time for Joe to pack up and leave? Not yet. Bummer! By the way, his roommate left for open heart surgery in Albany this afternoon. I commented that it looked like he'd be sleeping alone. Not 30 seconds later, they brought in a new patient. Forget any sleep for Joe tonight unless they dope him up multiple times. The new old guy came in from ICU and was somewhat confused (that would be an understatement) in his mind. He kept asking me to tell him when the ambulance arrived to pick him up. If they didn't show up soon, he wanted me to call the police or the Sheriff's Office. He kept moaning and groaning and tried climbing out of his bed. Not a good idea since he had lots of tubes. He wound up being restrained and given some type of painkiller which knocked him out for a while. Yeah!!! Maybe Joe will sleep tonight after all especially since he was given multiple sleep aids. Good night darling. Maybe you'll be home tomorrow night.

Tuesday, July 1st - Stopped by the hospital about 6:30 a.m. to drop off clothes and shoes for Joe just in case he got to come home today. While there, Dr. Graham stopped by and it appears that Joe would finally be cut loose. Waahoo! I went on to work and received a call later on from Joe saying that he was trying to get dressed. Unfortunately, someone brought a pair of shorts that was way toooo big considering Joe has lost 30 lbs. in four days with no belt to hold them up and oh no, there was no undersquare either! What was a man to do? Just stay in the hospital? Borrow the gown promising to return it when he returns next Wednesday? Put on the shorts sans undersquare and just stuff your shirt inside hoping you can escape the hospital without a wedgie and/or plumbers butt? Bingo!!! So, Nancy came to Joe's rescue and spirited him away to Mom and Dad's house where it is reported that he take a very, very, very, very l-o-n-g nap.

So, it's more excitement for Joe when he returns as an outpatient next Wednesday to have his catheter implanted near his belly button. Yuk!

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Disclaimer: No person named Joe was harmed while photographing took place by unknown patient paparazzi. The purpose of the pictures was to show that Joe tried to maintain a hygiene regime even while incarcerated, oops meant vacationed, at Tift Regional Medical Center. The photographs also document the exuberance and excitement Joe felt while a gues of TRMC.

Joe would also like to thank his many fans and friends for their candlelight vigils held on his behalf and all those who made the long trek from the parking lot to his room number 352 in the heat or rain. He would also like to thank the excellent staff who continually cared for him at ALL times of the day AND night.

The Naked Cowboy

I was watching CNN News today and all of the sudden my ears perked up and I recognized an old "friend" being talked about on TV. Apparently he'd won a suit again Mars, Inc. who makes M&M's. It was The Naked Cowboy. He was upset that M&M's had been using a likeness of him in their ads and he didn't like it.

In November of 2002, I went to New York City to do a childcare provider training. While exploring Times Square, I saw people running towards something and there was a big commotion. Though I tried to pretend to not be curious, I slowly raced to where the group of people came to a dead stop. Then I saw him - The Naked Cowboy. Here was a guy standing in the middle of Times Square in his whitie tighties with snowflakes falling down around him. There he was wearing his cowboy hat and boots and playing the guitar in his underwear. And the police were driving around watching him, but not arresting him. He would pose for pictures and people would drop money into his boots which meant you had to bend down to donate money. Talk about up close and personal! Only in New York!!

Did I mention that I LOVE covered bridges? I have been known to ride back and forth across one multiple times. I have been known to drive miles out of my way to be able to see one. I always roll down the windows and drive very slowly across the bridge and no one is allowed to speak while doing so.

Good News

A few blogs ago, I wrote about my latest mammogram. Today I came home and discovered a letter addressed to me from Tift Regional Medical Center - Women's Imaging. The letter began...

Your spot compression bilateral performed on June 18, 2008, appears to be normal. However, we would like you to return in 6 months for a bilateral follow-up diagnostic mammogram to do a short term evaluation and to confirm that nothing has changed.

Wahoo and Bummer! So, it looks like "the girls" and I have an appointment with the "crepe maker" again in December.

Dear Diary (excepts from my old diaries)

January 26, 1966

Dear Diary, I wore hoses for the first time. In the end I had a run in one.

(Boy have times changed. Pantyhose was one of the greatest inventions since sliced bread. No more having to wear a garter belt and attach the nylons while bent over in some grotesque shape, sweating cause we had no air conditioning. Now even pantyhose hardly get worn anymore).

March 4, 1969

Dear Diary, So many things happened today. Most important is that I got my driver's license. The test was really easy but boy was I scared.

March 9, 1969

Dear Diary, Elder Sterling W. Sill was at conference today to dedicate the chapel in Pensacola. He is really a good speaker. The poor man though, he was feeling sick today and had a case of nausea. He had to excuse himself when talking in the first session and in second session, he didn't even come back he was so sick. The thing about it is that he was going to Birmingham, Alabama to a conference later this afternoon. I got his autograph, shook his hand and talked to him.