Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Minnie Me

When I say Special Delivery is the spittin' image of Super Cop, I'm not joking. Like father:
Like son:
Well, except for the 1970's v-neck shirt. Thankfully, fashion genes aren't necessarily inherited. If they were I'd likely have elastic waist pants in my future.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Look Who's Two!

We celebrated Special Delivery’s birthday this past weekend. I can’t believe he’s two years old. (Insert Old Fart voice here.) Where does the time go?

I’m proud to say he apparently shares his Aunt Hula’s love of cake.

Although I can’t remember ever stealing any off of someone else’s place. When she was watching.
Special Delivery is the spittin’ image of his daddy at this age, except Super Cop had red hair.

And can I just say that since Hubby and I are pretty far down the pike in the child rearin’ business, it’s terribly fun to watch Super Cop deal with the joys and frustrations of living with a toddler. Sorry, it’s the big sister comin’ out in me.
Oh, and if I had cheeks this cute, I’d smile too.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Homecoming 2010

Will she really be eighteen in just a couple of months? Great Googly Moogly.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Word of the Day-"Perturb"


PERTURB


Definition: to disturb greatly in mind : DISQUIET
2 : to throw into confusion : DISORDER
3 : to cause to experience a perturbation

— per•turb•able\-ˈtər-bə-bəl\ adjective

Origin: PERTURB
Middle English, from Middle French perturber, from Latin perturbare to throw into confusion, from per- + turbare to disturb — more at TURBID
First Known Use: 14th century

Used in a sentence: "Hula was greatly perturbed to realize that three of the pieces of clothing her daughter wore to school today for "nerd day" came from Hula's closet."

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Thanks, Victor and God Bless You

I have watched with fascination the rescue of the Chilean miners. I’ve been able to catch only bits and pieces of the coverage between sleep and work, but I finally stopped long enough to watch miner number fourteen emerge from the mine and out of that coffin like tube this morning to his awaiting family. It was worth the ten minute break I took from work. And I shed a tear. Or two. Okay, twenty six. Wow. It almost leaves me speechless when I stop and think about that ordeal.

Having worked in television news, I have strong opinions about the use of live television. In my opinion, it’s usually misplaced or overdone. We are bombarded with “breaking news” that isn’t and “live” images which do nothing to complement the story. However, I thought this morning as I watched Victor Zamora’s journey from the belly of the earth and onto its surface that this kind of story is exactly what live news coverage should be used for because all around the globe people were glued to televisions and computer screens watching with the same wonder and fascination that I did. Didn’t we all get excited to see the men make it safely to the top after 69 excruciating days of wondering if they’d make it out alive or die a slow death in that cavern? Didn’t we rejoice with their families as they hugged and kissed? I figure the best job on the planet today was being that woman in the red jacket that stood by the wives and children, holding their hands and giving them support during their wait at the edge of the tube shaft and then watching over and over again their joyous reunions with their husbands and fathers.

I tried to put myself in the shoes of Victor’s wife who seemed to be trying so hard to contain her emotions while that tube was rising to the top of the mine. What had the past two months been like for her? Did she ever give up hope? Had she begun to plan his funeral? And did she wait until he reached the top before she finally let herself believe he was going to be okay?

What about Victor’s son? The poor little fellow looked to be maybe five or six years old. What a burden for such a young person to carry for the past 69 days. His mother let him kiss and hug his dad before she stepped forward, probably understanding why it was so important for the little boy to be first. It was at that point in the coverage that my tears began to seep from my eyes. I just can’t imagine what that must have been like. Their lives will never be the same, and that child will never forget that moment.

And then I put myself in Victor’s shoes. What must it have been like down in that hole, surviving on meager rations and hope. What goes through your mind when all you have to do is to think about life and death? When you have no contact with the outside world for seventeen days? And goodness gracious, could I withstand that half mile claustrophobic ride in that rescue capsule winding through the rock? Would I be strong enough to survive something that takes such mental strength and will to live? I would hope so. According an MSNBC report, “Victor’s stream of humorous patter in the mine earned him the nickname "Babbler." His comrades say he laughed even at the aching molars he has suffered for weeks.” What a testament to his character, and let's hope someone fixes his teeth free of charge. Soon. The poor fellow deserves it.

Some of the miners have been dropping to their knees in prayer as soon as they hit the surface, giving thanks to God for their survival. You bet I would have been on my knees, too. As I watched the coverage, I couldn’t help but think about our preacher’s sermon this past Sunday on giving thanks. What an exclamation point to his message. I am thankful for the miners’ rescue, and I am thankful for the reminder of how blessed I truly am. There isn’t much good stuff on TV these days that I take the time to watch. The ten minutes of coverage I saw this morning was better than a full season of just about anything else on the tube this season.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Photo Friday-"Burgundy"

It IS five days late, but as daddy says, nobody wants to be the first pea in the dish.
For the other great entries, go here.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Praise Jesus For Gel Pads

The Hula-gen’s went horseback riding last Friday. It’s the first time Hula’s been on a horse in nearly twenty years. Her goal was to not fall off. Goal accomplished. Whew. Don’t laugh. I have strong memories of a certain runaway horse from my childhood and a clothesline. It was also the first time Hubby had ridden in about twenty years and the first time Teen Angel had ever ridden, unless you count a few fair ponies. So the fact that we made it through the day with only one tumble (a spectacular fall from Teen Angel about thirty minutes before we quit for the day) and no injuries other than sore bottoms was a dadgum miracle.

We drove about forty-five minutes south of here to a campground that is designed just for horse folk. It has stalls, Ferrier facilities and other amenities to make it easy to camp with horses. Everyone there rides.


And those who have lost the physical ability to ride still use horses to get around.


My brother in law and his wife have camped there for years and have helped to develop the campground into what it is today. They have owned and ridden horses their entire marriage, so we toddled on down to their site and spent the day with them and their horses.


We rode for about three and a half hours in the morning and another two and a half hours in the afternoon. It was absolutely wonderful. The cell service was non- existent there, so we weren’t bothered by any real connection to civilization. And we rode along trails that wound through the hills and woods and are accessible only by horse and foot.


That particular area used to be home to scattered residents who were displaced when the federal government forced them out many years ago to bring the Tennessee Valley Authority and electricity into the area and to create a large recreational area for the public. It was a very controversial move back then, and scattered throughout the area are remnants of homesteads and small family cemeteries. This particular one bears the stone of a young man who was a drummer in the Civil War.


This used to be moonshine country, and it’s easy to see why. You could get very lost in there, very quickly. Fortunately, my sister in law knows every little nook and cranny of that place. This photo, although not very good, pretty much sums up the day: her leading the way, and me trying to take pictures without running into anything or falling off.


The best pictures were probably to be had on the first ride we took because of the lakes and eagles we saw, but Hula left her expensive camera at the campsite the first time around because she thought it best to have both hands available, given her lack of equestrian skills. I did take it the second time out and managed a few shots, but mostly I was mesmerized by the scenery. It was a spectacular fall day, and even the blandest of fields were lively with color.


Teen Angel’s fall came near the end of the ride when her horse took an unexpected jump over a log that she wasn’t prepared for. She was actually very lucky she wasn’t seriously hurt, but thankfully her pride and her fanny were the only things bruised. I was proud of her though because she got right back on and rode to the campsite.


We wrapped up the evening around the campfire with some good conversation. All in all, it was an excellent day. We even had a great sunset.


It was a badly needed day of rest and regeneration for us and a reunion with family we haven’t seen in a very long time. That alone was worth the sore bottoms.