Fun Monday-Independence Day

Our Fun Monday hostess this week is the lovely Grace. She's all over the holiday. She wants to know how we spent the Fourth. Specifically:

Please tell how you spent your Independence Day either this year or in the past. Do you have a July 4th funny story you would like to share? Do you have a family tradition for this day? For those who are not US residents, please tell us when your country’s Independence day is and share with us how you celebrate/spend it. We would love some pictures too, you can share your stories in pictures too.

Our July 4th can be summed up with this picture.

Or maybe this one.It rained. And rained. And rained. It always rains here on Independence Day, no matter how hot or sunny it's been in the days prior to the holiday, we can always count on a good shower, and this year was no different.

Every year we do the same thing. We grill steaks with Mama J. and Papa T., stuff ourselves silly, make homemade ice cream and try to blow off a finger lighting some fireworks. This year, the downpour started just as I was putting the food on the grill. It rained and blew so hard I was sop and wet by the time I got the stuff on the grill, pulled the ice cream freezer out of the rain and ran inside. I literally had to change clothes. I meant to get a picture of the ice cream making but didn't get a chance once the hurricane started. You'll have to settle for a picture of the recipe.

It's the recipe that Hubby's grandma used for years. Making ice cream was a big deal at her house, and it took me about three years to patch together the recipe because when I asked her for it, she said, "Oh, a pinch of this. A little of that." I had to watch and learn. Make and tweak. One thing's for sure, she was adamant that you use Watkins vanilla, and I almost screwed up this year and used all of my Watkins in a cake before I put together the ice cream mix.It's the Pioneer Woman's strawberry shortcake cake. Hubby and Mama J. really liked it. I thought it was just a so-so recipe.

We feasted indoors on steaks, baked potatoes, pickled cucumbers (from the garden-yippee skippee), sliced tomatoes, cake and homemade ice cream. And then two of us rollie pollies rolled into the car and downtown where we met Special Delivery, SuperCop, Mrs. Scrubs and Mrs. Scrubs' family for some fireworks.

But mostly some of this.

We opted for the public fireworks this year instead of setting off our own, and I'm glad we did 'cause I can't thing of a better way to end the day than with a little sizzle with our little sparkler.

Sometimes You Can't See the Forest for the Trees

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been plagued by chigger and mosquito bites on my ankles. Get it-plagued? Ha! I slay myself. Anyway, my legs look like a toddler’s. I’d show you, but some of you probably don’t enjoy seeing pus. I couldn’t figure out where I got all of those bites and then while I was going through some recent pictures I’d taken, I suddenly smacked my head and said doy! It appears I’ve been standing in ditches. A lot of ditches. Apparently, I’m going to have to either break a bad habit or pack insect repellent in my camera bag.

Not that anyone asked me but......

-John and Kate? Don’t know ‘em. Never watched ‘em. Can’t believe they’re shocked that selling their souls to the reality TV devils led to fame and the demise of their privacy and their marriage. Mostly, I’m just sad for their children. And annoyed that TLC doesn’t have the decency to pull the plug on that train wreck.
-Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael. What a mess. When someone dies, most families will fight about who gets the money no matter if there’s a fortune or just a nickel left. The fallout has just begun in his circle. The guy obviously had problems, and I could go on and on about this topic, but mostly I’m just sad for his children.
-I can think of no celebrity that I would stand in the street and cry over if he died. What’s up with that?
-I’m constantly amazed at how our society builds people into mega-celebrities, pushing them into a vice filled isolated existence and when they die too early because of the stress of it all, we act surprised. What is WRONG with us?
-A long time ago, in a land far, far away, I could moonwalk. While watching some MTV videos the other day, I tried some of my old Thriller moves when nobody was looking and thought I popped my hip out of joint. Don’t tell anybody.
-Note to self: Spending all day at an amusement/water park with a group of small children should be done near the END of the work week, not on a Monday because no amount of sleep on the three hour bus ride home prepares you for work on Tuesday morning.
-The heat index around here last week and the week before was around 105 each day. It was hotter than Guam. I ran at eight o’clock at night instead of during the day, and it was still unbearable. I have never been sweatier in my entire life, but I’m not complaining because I made a deal with God during the ice storm that I wouldn’t gripe about the heat and humidity this summer if he would just make the ice and cold go away. Boy, did He.
-The most interesting news at our family reunion this past weekend? My 70-something aunt is on Facebook. She confirmed me as a friend this morning, and I suddenly remembered I’ll have to explain those pictures with the flamingos on my head.
-We’ll plead the 5th if a certain cousin of Teen Angel’s starts sticking out his tongue soon.

-Teen Angel and I practically tripped over each other Sunday when the ice cream man came rolling through our subdivision. I would have snapped a better picture, but I was too busy making sure I got a strawberry shortcake bar before reaching for my camera. On a positive note, I set a new world record for dashing out of the pool and grabbing a towel.

-Last night we got the first rain we’ve had in days. It lasted about thirty seconds and blew through so fast the sun didn’t have a chance to disappear. It left us with a marvelous rainbow, the most vivid I’ve ever seen. This picture doesn’t do it justice because it literally faded in a matter of seconds right before our eyes and had already lost part of its color by the time I took this picture. It was so cool I didn't care that our neighbor drove by while I was standing in the intersection in my ratty old blue pajamas.

My Town on A Saturday Morning

My town is a river town. The murky Ohio River flows past my town, rushing toward the nearby Tennessee River and the mighty Mississippi. It powers the local economy with marine jobs and gives life to recreation in these parts. About 30,000 people live in this city. By most accounts that’s a small town. Not single zip code small, but small enough. My town is here because of the river and has a special spirit because of those brown waters. Because it seeps into our daily lives in so many ways it’s easy to forget how much it defines our community.

Early Saturday morning I had to take Teen Angel downtown near the river to work at the bakery. The twenty minute drive across the county was quiet as the sun climbed silently upward, tugging people out of bed and into the sticky heat. Taking a cue from my pastor’s most recent sermon, I made an effort to pay attention to the little things during the drive, taking in the accessories that dressed up the morning. As I pulled away from the bakery I turned the corner and drove past our riverfront for a look at the water as people often do, and I found more than I expected in my town on a sleepy Saturday morning.

Apparently, the river is an early riser, even on the weekend, pushing and slapping around with glittery energy. And moving the fisherman who had long been at work by the time I stepped on the shore.They buzzed and glided among the waves, wrapping up their business in the humid cloudy air, and I soaked up their sounds as I walked along the riverbank.

The humming of the motors. And the swearing that sometimes accompanies failed attempts to drive the boat back onto the trailer. The splashing dogs that retrieve a driftwood stick for as long as their master will throw it.The far away toots of tugs and barges moving farther up river where the barge companies dot the bank. And quiet to my left.Except for the small splashes of a child sticking her feet in the cold water. The floodwall that wraps around our riverfront partially hid the treasure of our performing arts center: which sits on the other side of the concrete and beckoned me to climb the hill to see what was on the other side.There the city trolley was already clanking around its downtown route.Past the colorful murals that cover the floodwall. And tell my town’s history.
And lo and behold, Teen Angel came puttering down the cobblestone street on her way to take bread and cookies to the farmer’s market.Cars were sliding into parking spots on the shady Market Square.Bringing groggy customers to the bakery and the coffee shop for frittatas and scones and lattes. And gossip.

I walked around the riverfront and downtown for about thirty minutes, taking a really good look at the little things. And I marveled at how often I forget that small doesn’t mean quiet. And that big is in the eye of the beholder because my town is big. Big in spirit and in character. I like it. I like it a lot. This is my town.

Hula's Photo of the Week-Still Life

In the key of "C" everyone...

I'm too sexy for my hat, too sexy for my hat, too sexy for my farm store hat. Guess who likes to pretend he isn't napping when he's in the pool.

Fun Monday-My Purse

This week's Fun Monday hostess is the Church Lady and she wants a peek inside of my purse or my pocketbook as grandma used to call it. Here is the assignment:

Post a photo of your purse and if you care to share, describe what's inside your purse. Do you carry everything but the kitchen sink? Or, do you prefer to go light and carry only the necessities, such as your money and cell phone. For the men who would like to participate, post a photo of your wallet and describe what's in your wallet.

Well, isn't she a brave one. I've seen women that carried some scary things in their purse. Hubby's grandma used to pack a pistol in hers. It just terrified us to know she dragged that thing with her when buying new shoes or picking up a gallon of milk at the U-Tote-Em. Trust me, if someone had tried to steal her purse that 83-year old granny would have shot him once between the eyes and never blinked. And then she would have prayed for his lost soul, gone home and canned some peaches.

My purse is pretty simple. I just don't have time to swap them around all of the time to match my outfit or shoes. I carry the same one day in and day out until it falls apart, and then I buy another. It's almost always leather and is a shade of black or brown. I figure if I keep it simple I don't have to worry about it. This is the one I'm carrying now.

I think I paid $28 for it at J.C. Penney's. God bless J.C. Penney's. I keep my purse crammed full of stuff and had to dump it all out to take a picture of the contents because they were squeezed in there so tightly. There really weren't any big surprises in there.I found 3 tubes of lip balm. Burt's Bee's is my favorite. I'm not a lipstick kind of girl. I'm a chap stick girl. Lipstick is one of those girly girl things I've never quite gotten the hang of. It's always a mess on me. I've tried all of the tips that Glamour, Vanity Fair and the Avon Lady recommend, and I still look like a clown when I wear it, so I tend to stick with chap stick. I had 28 cents in change, some pens and my billfold, which I've had about four years. Again, I buy one and carry it every day until it wears out. I have two pair of sunglasses. One pair makes me look cool but doesn't fit well. The other pair fits really well, works great and makes me look somewhat Nascar-ish, so I trade them out. Nascar-cool. Nascar-cool.

I also had some fingernail clippers, a note from the house cleaner on some cleaning supplies she needed and a rubber band. There was my cell, which is about to fall apart, and a recipe for Red Rock margaritas that a friend gave me Thursday. The bottle of OPI "Pinking of You" nail polish is from my nail tech. She had to travel back to Vietnam recently because her dad is dying of cancer, and it will be five weeks before my next appointment, so she sent me home with the bottle and told me to layer on another coat as needed. Note that I picked a light color so it wouldn't show if I screwed it up. I'm not good at nail polish either. And finally, you'll notice a tube of Benydryl anti-itch medicine. I'm carrying that because I have a monster case of chiggers on my ankles, and they won't go away. Daddy thinks they're turkey mites. I don't care what they are. I'm just ready for them to GO AWAY.

That's about it. Oh, there was one other item tucked away in the side pocket.

I never go anywhere without Sweet 'N Low. Every day I drink a large iced tea in the afternoon. I'm probably the only person born below the Mason Dixon line who doesn't like my tea as sweet as honey. I order mine unsweetened and lightly sweeten it with Sweet 'N Low. Half the drive-thrus I frequent either don't carry it (You know who you are, McDonald's) or forget to give it to me. Therefore, I carry it with me. It's just one of those quirky little things that make me...me. If this were winter, I'd also be carrying around six brands of sinus medicine and some tissues. Now, follow me over to the Church Lady, and let's see what everyone else is toting around to the U-Tote-Em.

Farewell Farrah

When Ed McMahon died earlier this week I turned to my husband and told him celebrities always go in threes so I didn't think it was looking very good for Farrah Fawcett and Walter Cronkite this week. I was surprised that Michael Jackson was the third celebrity to die. Well, I wasn't surprised in that anyone who has watched a loved one with an addiction or mental illness could see that the pop star was in serious trouble. I WAS surprised that he died on the same day as Farrah. It all makes me feel a little old since all three were icons of my youth. However, I smiled when I read about Farrah's passing. I smiled because it reminded me of the boys of my youth and how that famous red poster propelled some of them into puberty with the speed of a rocket.

You know the poster. Red swimsuit, no bra. N*pples blazing against the red lycra, pulling your eyes below that thousand watt smile and bouncy blond hair.In today’s world where boobs and hoo-hoos are put on display daily, that picture seems pretty harmless now, but back then it was a big deal. A really big deal. Every boy in America, and several men, had that poster. I was somewhere between fifth and seventh grade when it came out. I can't remember the year for sure, but Madd Maxx will because he was the first boy in our class to get that poster. He scored it from TV Guide before the rest of his buddies and for a while was king of the neighborhood playground where he proudly shared that poster like a marine with a new tattoo. His popularity soared among his hormonally charged buddies, and he basked in the glory. And suffered the wrath of his aunt for hanging it on his bedroom wall. Males weren't the only ones to fall under Farrah's spell. All of us girls pretended to be offended by the poster but secretly longed for Farrah's body and clamored to the beauty shop in search of luscious feathery curls. For us girls with thick, stick straight hair it was a difficult time.

Later that year, Farrah's famous pose would create one of the biggest controversies of the school year for the Franklin class of '78, the great T-shirt debate. It didn't take too long for the poster image to get slapped onto T-shirts. Men everywhere were wearing them, but in those conservative days it was rare to see someone younger than eighteen in one. One boy in our class, Jackie, was kind of quiet, so I was surprised the day he showed up in the famous Farrah shirt. We were all surprised. And impressed. We were impressed with his boldness, his bravery and his defiance of the school dress code. Personally, I was in awe of his parents’ endorsement of the n*pple display. If my brother had wanted to wear something like that to school my mother would have swatted his backside and signed him up for military school. Anyway, Jackie's move was so progressive I don't think the dress code even addressed something so scandalous. When the school day began, we immediately knew a showdown was imminent.

Looking back on it now, it reminds me of that scene in A Christmas Story where the entire class wears the fake teeth with great optimism and is quickly defeated by the teacher's firm hand. We were thrilled with Jackie's dress code defiance and indignant when the teacher immediately sent him to the office. As I recall a couple of boys made feeble Atticus Finch-like protests on behalf of Jackie and his shirt. The rest of us were too scared to say anything but supported Jackie in our hearts. As Jackie trudged silently to the principal’s office, we all waited anxiously for the result. It was like watching a lamb going to slaughter. We had an “old school” principal too, who hated to be challenged. He wielded a mean paddle, and any trip to his office could result in a flailing with the long board. Jackie returned a short time later. Again, my memory is faulty but I think he was either made to turn the shirt wrong side out or was wearing a shirt from the lost and found box . Charlie’s Angel was covered up. Our martyr in the fight for Farrah lost his battle, but we were proud of his challenge. It makes me laugh now to think about it and how much times have changed. Oh, I sound like my mother today.

Speaking of my mother, she did let my brother, SuperCop, have a Farrah puzzle. The puzzle showed Farrah in a light blue tank top, again without a bra, and I thought it was pretty progressive of her to let him have it. It was no t-shirt, but it was still pretty suggestive to a young boy. Teen Angel stumbled across that puzzle at Mama's house a few years ago and thought it was cheesy looking. She had no idea the significance that photo and the others held to so many young boys a long time ago. Poor Farrah didn't really get her due respect yesterday with all the Michael Jackson hoopla kicking in just a few hours after the announcement of her death. But while the streets of L.A. and Hong Kong are filled with folks mourning the loss of a quirky megastar, the homes of middle America are full of men who are remembering a certain red poster that carried them through puberty....and they're smiling. I'm so sorry for your loss Madd Maxx.