The Advantage to Being Messy and not Putting Things Back Where They Belong Is:

You’re constantly surprised by the things you find in unexpected places, like old Halloween pictures in between some Christmas tablecloths. This had to have been about six years ago because Teen Angel was still growing into her Chic-let teeth. (Note the pager on my waistband.) Have I mentioned how much I love Carmen Miranda? Or how hard it is to balance ten bucks worth of plastic fruit on your head?

'Tis the Season

Here ye, here ye! The lady from the fine pollen and mold laden state of Kentucky would like to declare the following:

Whereas: The eye boogers have begun to develop in the inside corners of my eyes, making it nearly impossible to open them without a warm rag at the unholy hour of 5:30am.

And whereas: The timpani section of the Boston Pops Orchestra has set up a pounding residence inside my head for the next six months much like the Minnesota snowbirds’ trek to Florida.

And whereas: The uncontrollable high speed drip out of my nostrils (always the left first) has reached DEFCON 4 stage requiring a tissue at all times.

And whereas: The chapping of the skin between my nostrils and my upper lip has reached a shade similar to OPI’s Pinking of You.

And whereas: A cappuccino with two Splenda’s, one creamer and a shot of amaretto syrup is necessary to scrape off the layer of crud that accumulates in my throat overnight and gives me that smoky Lauren Bacall voice .

And whereas: A stiff shot of whiskey becomes necessary if the crud hasn’t dissipated by 7pm.

And whereas: I cannot leave the house for even a trip to the Piggly Wiggly without a box of Puffs Plus With Lotion, a half dozen Ricola cough drops and two, count ‘em two kinds of sinus medicine (drowsy and non drowsy).

And whereas: Bending over to tie my shoes brings on a dizzy spell that rivals anything consumed by the Grateful Dead.

And whereas: My cheeks feel like they went ten rounds with George Foreman’s fists.

And whereas: My taste buds go on vacation until the spring thaw and the only thing that tastes good is Chinese hot mustard because it opens up my head thank you Jesus I’ll never sin again if you just let one nostril stay clear.

Let me hereby declare on this seventeenth day of November in the year of our Lord 2008 that allergy and sinus season is in full bloom! (To be followed shortly by sinus infection/bronchitis season.) Boo-yah!

Fun Monday-Talisman

Our host this week, the misanthrope (Do you know what that means? If not, you should look it up.) has given us a very intriguing assignment:

Do you have a piece of jewelry or other item that holds great personal significance for you, and that you wear or keep with you every day? Show us a photo of your talisman, and tell us why it is so important to you.

Hints: Your talisman could be your wedding ring…or your lack thereof! Maybe it’s a bracelet or watch that belonged to a beloved relative or friend. Perhaps your item is significant in your faith, if you are of a religious persuasion, or maybe it is a proud symbol of your ethnicity. Maybe it’s something silly, that makes you smile every time you look at it! Maybe your talisman is actually part of you - perhaps you got a tattoo to mark a significant event in your life. I’m also thinking about our recent observation of Veterans’ Day here in the USA: Perhaps you have a loved one who is far away - in the military or otherwise - and you carry a memento of him or her with you every day.

Hmmm. I've never really thought about this before, but I am a creature of habit in some ways, especially when it comes to jewelry. I love jewelry, but I'm kind of a no fuss gal, so I tend to wear the same old pieces over and over, and they are pieces I really enjoy. I have a couple of necklaces featuring blown glass made by local artists, four silver bracelets, a gold bracelet, gold hoop earrings and silver hoops that I rotate. In pondering this assignment though, I realized there are two pieces I'm never without, and they are special to me. So I grabbed the camera, gave my best effort at a hand model pose and snapped away. Try not to notice how dry and chapped my hands are this early in the cold season. Here we go:

A few things to get out of the way first.

A-Scrawniest hands evah! If you've ever wanted to be a skinny girl, let me warn you, besides bird legs that never fit snugly into boots, you will have gnarly, bony hands that show every vein because they have no meat on them. Rejoice if you carry any weight at all in your hands.

B-OPI's Cha-Ching Cherry. Quite possibly the closest thing I have to a signature nail polish, and it's not really that close because I tend to change colors as often as the wind blows. The manicure is courtesy of my nail tech Cindy, who makes me look as if I know how to polish my nails..and file them...and have any sort of semblance of the girly girl gene. Too bad she can't do my makeup every morning. Or my hair.

C-This is my favorite Geoffrey Beene long sleeve 100% cotton shirt. I loved this shirt so much that I bought six of them last year in various colors and wore them to a nub. I had planned to buy more this year. I went into a panic last month when I heard that the Geoffrey Beene stores were going out of business, and I called around the country trying to locate more of these shirts to stockpile. Alas, they were gone since they were last year's item, and after wailing for ten minutes in the ear of the nice gentleman who answered the phone at the Gatlinburg, Tennessee store, I gathered up my dignity, quietly said "thank you" and hung up defeated. If you find these shirts, call me.

Now, on to the important stuff. I am never without my wedding ring. This is the beautiful diamond and band Hubby surprised me with last Christmas. Oh, how I love this ring. I never take it off because I believe if you're married you should wear your ring. It is a symbol. It tells the world something about you, and it keeps you honest. I had to leave mine at the jeweler's last month to have it resized, and I felt completely naked without it. I wear my original wedding rings on my right hand.

The ring is important, but the item I especially want to focus on is this bracelet. It is probably the one thing that comes closest to being a talisman.

I wear it nearly every day. I bought it from the Margaritaville catalog back before everyone had a piece of jewelry with a flip-flop on it. It's my little reminder each day to live life to the fullest. To dance, even when no one else is. To sing out loud, even though I can't carry a tune, and to look for paradise no matter where I am. I bought this not too long after my nephew died and I had promised myself to not take life for granted anymore. This little silver bracelet is a gentle nudge at the end of my arm to keep that promise. And as odd as it sounds, it also helps me to remember during the long dreary winter months that summer is always around the corner. It keeps me hanging on until warm weather returns. It also helps me to dream that maybe one day I'll be able to afford a little cottage in Aruba where I can retire and live out my senior years on the beach...in my flip flops. Now then, I've rattled on enought. Trot over to misanthrope's and check out what everyone else is baring...I mean sharing.

Hula's Theory of Stupidity

Theory #1-The number of stupid people asking stupid questions and doing stupid things correlates directly with the visible size of the moon.
Anyone who works directly with the public knows exactly what I’m talking about because they can tell when there’s a full moon without ever looking at the sky.

Example: From the mouth of the gang banger wannabe in line behind me at Long John Silver’s today—“Dude, I bet it’s hard workin’ here cookin’ fish AND chicken.”

*Image courtesy of nightskyinfo.com

Greetings from Mexico

The Hula-gen's love mail, good mail that is. Letters, cards, catalogs, a free shipping coupon from J.C. Penney's. We especially love postcards. We rarely get them, so it's exciting when we do. Lo and behold Teen Angel got one yesterday from her buddy Cheryl. Cheryl took a trip to Cozumel and took time to jot T.A. a note.

Cheryl's having a great time. According to her message, she's soaking up the sun and dodging water spouts. Wish we were there with her. That way we could figure out who the heck she is, 'cause even though it was mailed to Teen Angel with the correct name and address, T.A. doesn't know a Cheryl. But we're glad she wrote 'cause it sure did add a little fun to OUR trip....to the mailbox.

What the Smell?

What do you do when your house smells like poo? For a couple of weeks our house has had a faint, stinky smell. Not the knock you down good Lord what died in there did your father go to the bathroom can we get a courtesy spray of Glade kind of smell. More of a musty wet can’t quite put my finger on it what IS that smell. It definitely has a robust bouquet and a poo piquant aftertaste. The first thing we did was blame the dog. Isn’t that what everybody does when there’s a stink in the house? Our poor pooch gets blamed for everything from rotten produce left in the crisper too long to every poot expelled where two or more Hula-gen’s are gathered. He’s an easy scapegoat, especially for that flatulence thing, because no one can prove it WASN’T him. Naturally, he was the first source we looked to for this particular smell.

I’ve always tried hard to keep our house from smelling like a dog, but I figured we’ve had a dog long enough that it was bound to happen sometime. The scent seemed strong in the areas where Jack lays every day. This theory earned poor Jack a trip to the groomer for a good scrubbing and haircut and a visit to the vet for that lovely maintenance procedure called “anal gland expression” or as we like to call it “poppin’ the poop glands”. I’m sorry, were you eating breakfast? Well, that didn’t change a thing. I cleaned out the refrigerator. Nothing in there aside from a soggy cucumber and some leftover pasta with marinara cream sauce. “Are you sure it’s not the dog,” I asked. He got a squirt of doggie perfume. We decided that perhaps the area rugs needed cleaning. We doused the rugs in that fragrance in the vacuum cleaner stuff and looked up the number for the Rug Doctor but didn’t call because we weren’t convinced the smell was coming from the rugs, and I’m not paying out the wazoo for rug cleaning unless I’m absolutely sure they need it. Jack got another squirt of perfume. I checked the dishwasher for sour water. Nothing there. “Are you SURE it’s not the dog,” I asked. Jack got his ears cleaned and his bedding washed, much to his annoyance. He hates it when his peeps mess with his bedding. He’s pretty attached to it. See? We were starting to panic when Teen Angel made a breakthrough Sunday and realized she only smelled the stench whenever the heat came on. Aha! It must be in the heating and air system, we thought. We called the heating and air company, and while their guy suspected algae in the drip pan, it was dry as a bone. Nothing, nada, zip. He searched for an hour and a half and found nothing. Back to square one.

Hubby crawled under the house (only because the snakes are probably in hibernation) and searched at length today and found no moisture, no water leaks, no dead animals. Nothing. But still. It smells. He called his plumber friend who suggested a backup of sewer gasses, so now we’re waiting on the sewer folks to come check us. For gas.

In the meantime, we’ve taken to avoiding company. No one is invited inside until we figure this out. Sorry neighbors. Sorry band kids selling fruit. Sorry Mama J.. Everybody is banished to the front porch until we figure out why it smells in our house. And if somebody slips in on us, well, I’ll just have to blame it on the dog. Sorry Jack.

Pass me a Tissue

Y'all know I'm a sap who will shed a tear at anything sentimental, including a good Hallmark commercial or a toddler's hug. Well, you know what makes me smile and tear up, all at the same time? Fifty school kids who take a forty minute bus ride to stand in the cold rainy weather, line the block and shout "thank you" and "we love you" to veterans marching in a Veteran's Day parade.With their homemade signs.
And you know what made two tears slide down my cheek? When the veteran in this Jeepwho thought I was with those school kids, slowed down and said solemnly, "Thank you for bringing the kids." Lord help me, it's a good thing no one played Taps or I would have puddled up and slid right down the storm drain.