Butts and Ashes

Pushing My Buttons

2012-01-08T20:47:00.000-08:00

When I first started this blog adventure, I noticed something interesting. Lots of blogs have these things called buttons. Each button is unique to that blog, hopefully making some type of positive statement about it's content. The goal, I suppose, is to get the reader to see the button, grab the code and place it on their own blog. Free advertising. Of course, this only works if you love the blog, think the button is worth grabbing and you're smart enough to cut and paste the code. I usually don't grab buttons because I frequently struggle with that cut and paste smart part.

Anyway, last January my buddy Jessica over at Two Shades of Pink wrote to me suggesting I needed a button. Jess, being the brainiac she is, offered to make the button for Butts and Ashes. What could I say but, yes please and thank you!

Then I got this.......

Now, I am not a completely ungrateful oaf but let's be real. This button is sweet. And pretty. And girlie. And normal. Who in their right mind is going to believe for a nano-second that this button accurately and sincerely represents Butts and Ashes? I'd be sued for libel, for sure, if I enticed unsuspecting masses to visit Butts and Ashes with that button. The poor slobs would read the first three sentences of a post and demand a refund.

Anyway, I had to gently inform Jess that although the button was so sweet it made my teeth hurt and I totally appreciated all her hard work, I didn't think I could use it and still look myself in the mirror. I mean, I do have some integrity. Some.

That's when Jess tried a few more before finally settling on this one.....

Isn't it awesome? Isn't it so me? Vintage, black and white with just a hint of color where you least expect it. And the font? Perfect! No curly cues or girlie swirlies just plain and to the point. I love it! And so, a year later, I have added this little piece of perfection to the blog. Grab it if you like.

One last confession. My new button, although awesome in every way, was not my first choice. Jess, thinking herself a comedian for the moment, sent me a button hoping to shock and surprise my unsuspecting self. Obviously, the girl forgot who she was dealing with. I still say this should have been my blog button. Jess still says something about R ratings, children and common decency.

My first choice?

Wait for it.....

Wait for it......

Wait for it.......

Butts and Ashes. The Woman. The Myth. The Legend.

One last thing. I just heard Jess broke her arm. Please take a minute to stop by her blog, type a well wish or two and let her know you saw the evidence of the day she lost her mind last year. It'll drive her insane. Again. bwahahahahahahaha

Disgusting, Tasteless & Desperately Sad

2012-01-07T14:17:00.000-08:00

No, that is not a description of this blog or of my life, although I can guarantee my sisters would beg to differ. It was actually a statement I heard made regarding casinos. Of course, the moment I heard those words, I thought of my long lost blog and all the crap I had written over a few short years. I decided to go back to the beginning, read through for one last time, then hit delete. The truth is, however, once I read through, laughed and cried, I realized something. I like this freaky blogging chick and always look forward to what she has to say, even when it's pure crap, which is more often than not. I still think she is funny and I wonder where her thought process comes from. It's so different, meaning freaky strange. Apologies to my sisters, children and dead parents, but I simply cannot delete that which reminds me of how amazingly unique, translate weird, the writer of butts and ashes is. So, rock on disgusting, tasteless and desperately sad.

Let's talk disgusting. Wanna know the most disgusting thing I can think of right now? Too bad because I'm going to tell you anyway. AT&T. It doesn't get more revoltingly disgusting than that. After 32 years of total loyalty to a company that could care less, Bob was downsized, outsourced, reorged, blah, blah, blah. Call it like ya played it, you big, godless, spawn of Satan of a corpaoration. When you let 52 managers go, all middle-aged, all within striking distance of retirement, I believe that is not called downsizing, outsourcing, reorging. I am pretty sure it's more along the venacular of age discrimination.

Dear AT&T,

I hate you.

Sincerely,

A middle-aged, fat, white woman who saw her husband cry because of you.

PS....You suck.

Then there's tasteless. I met my sister in Houston a few months back at MDAnderson. The news was not good. Dammit to hell.

"I probably won't even be here next Christmas, Marla."

"Awesome. Can I have Mom's mink coat and her blue chip stamps?"

"Moron."

Yeah, go ahead and cringe while you shake your heads in disgust. I have to be tasteless to avoid crunbling to the ground in a blubbering heap. So go ahead and judge if you must. It won't stop me. Believe me, tougher people than you bunch have tried.

Speaking of desperately sad, thak you Jesus that 2011 is a mere memory. I am not sure I could have taken one more day of it. Seriously, if it had been a leap year, I would have been committed. No, really.

I lost one of my most favorite aunts in the world. She was my last living aunt. My aunt Lillian. She was southern, genteel and made the best tacos in the world. Aunt Lil loved to dance, missed my Uncle Ray every day since his death decades ago and loved her daughters fiercely. She is a major part of my childhood memories and I am sad she is gone. I'll miss that fancy footed redhead every day this side of eternity. I truly will.

Soon after, we received the news that our dear friend, Dick van der Woerd had died. I still don't want to believe it. Dick was a giant of a man and not just in stature. He was a Christian pastor unlike any other I have ever met. He loved everyone, refused to judge anyone and lived every day in a way that made a difference. I know he made a difference in my life. I love him. I always will. I know I will see him again and I look forward to that day. Until then, I will think of him and smile. I hope people will be able to say the same of me when I'm gone. Is there a better tribute than that?

Just a few weeks later, I got the call I dreaded for months. One of my oldest and dearest friends, Lori Parsons, lost her husband Mike. We knew it was coming but that makes the sting no less painful. I continue to cry for and dream about Lori on a regular basis. Thinking about the day Lori called to tell me the news, I have to smile. Of course, my first response when I heard her voice was to blubber like a baby Beluga. But then, in that strangely wonderful way that has always defined our relationship, we began reminiscing and ended up laughing uncontrollably. Any sane person listening in would have been disgusted at the tastlessness of our remarks and remembrances. We were healed if but for just that moment. So I smile.

Anyway, like I said, good riddance 2011. One last thought, if any of you gets the bright idea to die this year, do not call me, because I will never speak to you again. I mean it.

Long May You Run

2011-11-06T10:59:00.000-08:00

There are some tough things about breathing. Really tough. Things like people you love struggling to breathe and people you love no longer breathing. Those two things alone make breathing for me harder than it should be, in my opinion anyway. Another reason, I am thankful I am not God, even though I think I am most days. Rambling thoughts, I know.

Anydiddle, my little sister Kelly continues to struggle to breathe. Over the last few months she has been hospitalized twice, had her lungs drained three times if I remember correctly and is generally feeling not so great. That’s the crapola part of it. The awesome part however is, she still has a completely bad ass attitude, a wicked sense of humor and a tongue that will whip any unsuspecting bystander. Oh yeah. I am talking like a frog on a fly. Zap! I so love my baby sister.

I am rarely happier than when I am on the phone with her, trying to outdo one another with our sick comments, laughing like the demented bad seeds we are known to be. I am meeting her in Houston in about a week. It’s a trip she is not looking forward to. She is sick and feeling it. She is expecting more bad news. She has nothing to look forward to from her view of it. I am looking forward to every minute of it. Why? Because I will be with her. I will be able to see her, kiss her red hair from a bottle and annoy the crap out of her the entire time with my aggravating ways and stupid observations of life in general. She, in turn, will pretend I am a pain in her ass while trying not to laugh. But she will laugh. I will make sure of it. No matter what.

Kelly brought up the possibility of what might be said by Dr. Gloom at this next visit. It was nothing good. I am not discounting any of her ponderings. She knows her body best and I am sure she also knows the best way to prepare for whatever is coming next. All I know is this. I get to see my sister. That’s all that matters to me.

Bob is sitting here as I type, playing his guitar, singing Neil Young songs to me. He knows I am feeling punched in the gut lately. He also knows Neil always makes me smile. Like now. The song he is crooning makes me think of Kelly.

Long may you run.
Long may you run.
Although these changes
Have come
With your chrome heart shining
In the sun
Long may you run.

I know it was written about his car but it still makes me think of Kel and smile. Long may you run, sister. Chrome heart and all. See you in Houston. You have been warned.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nszR0tfp4Es

Mommy Wisdom

2011-08-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

So, I stopped on by to check my email only to find a bazillion emails from people worried about my mental state. Seriously, now you worry? If you have ever read this blog in the past you would have surely realized that crazy runs all through these veins of mine. What I’m trying to say is, thank you and I’m fine. No need to worry about me. Feel sorry for my sister, my friends, that poor guy that’s married to me. As for me, I am fine and dandy and moving along. My last post was nothing more than a momentary mental meltdown that I had to expunge from my head before exploding. Seriously. Life is good even when it’s not.

I noticed something interesting. People felt really bad for me or they kicked me in the ass. Which do you think made me feel all warm and fuzzy the most? Now, I am not saying kind words fell on deaf ears. I truly and sincerely appreciated every one of them. They made me cry because people care and that’s always a good thing. It’s just that I am ashamed I made people feel bad for me. Like I said, feel bad for the people I love that are truly suffering. They deserve all the love, prayers and compassion this world has to offer. I deserve a straightjacket. Just ask my sisters.

I started to wonder, why is it that kind words shame me and kick in the ass words comfort me? The answer was easy to find. My mother. My mother was a kick you in the ass person. It was how you knew she loved you. She was the first one to tell you the truth you didn’t want to hear.

“Have you gained weight?”

“Those people are not your friends.”

“Is that a pimple on your nose?”

“You are too big to wear that outfit.”

“You can be very funny when you’re not being ridiculous.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can be such a martyr.”

Yeah, my mom had the gift of encouragement. Even so, the stinking truth is, she was always right. I hated that about her when she was breathing. I miss her desperately now that she‘s not.

Anyway, I am still working way too much but I do have a plan to make some changes. Ok, I am planning on a plan to make some changes. Hey, we martyrs have to take things slowly. It’s how we roll.

Better Than A Hallelujah

2011-07-15T05:47:00.000-07:00

There’s a song by Amy Grant titled Better Than A Hallelujah. It’s a good song in my book. It speaks to my heart these days. A few of the lyrics really speak to me specifically right now.

“The tears of shame for what's been done
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah.”

Those words say it all for me right now. They speak to my heart and speak my heart. I just have no words of my own. Not to speak. Not to write.

I have been completely overwhelmed by the kindness of so many who have written to me and called wondering where I am. Why I am not writing. Asking how my sister, Kelly is. Thank you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not writing back. I’m sorry for not returning your calls. I’m just sorry.

I am living in silence because the words just won’t come. I honestly work 12-14 hours every day six days a week. Partly because I am trying to succeed but mostly because I am trying to hide.

My sister is not well. We speak very little. I have changed from the caregiver of the family, the one everyone asks for when they are not feeling well to the one to avoid. I am a miserable mess, no help to anyone including myself. So I work. I am good at working hard. I can hide there. I am funny and witty and nobody knows the truth of what a beautiful mess I am inside. That’s all I have to say about that.

In the last six weeks, I have spoken to one of my best friends in the entire world once. Just once. Why? Because her husband is dying and I can’t take it. I can’t take the pain of losing him and seeing Lori hurt.

In the last six weeks, I have learned another friend, Dick is dying. Have I called or written? No. This man is a brother to me. His daughter is a daughter of my heart. I love them. I want to call. I want to write. All I hear is the silence of my heart so I do neither. He may never know the truth of how he has affected my life because I can’t find the words or the courage.

My dog died suddenly a few weeks ago. Just up and died. She was only three. Fat and healthy, driving me crazy one day and dead the next. I sat in the darkness of my closet and cried. I cried like I haven’t cried in a very long time. I cried that my stupid dog died before I knew what was happening. Before I was ready. I cried because I can’t talk to my sister. I cried because I can’t talk to Lori or Mike or Dick or Janneke. I cried because I am a coward and not ready. I am not ready.

God, is this a melody to You? Is it? Because this is the honest cry of my breaking heart.

Paying It Forward

2011-05-25T21:18:00.000-07:00

Twelve years ago, we were hit by a tornado on May 3rd, 1999. It was a life-changing experience and one we will never forget. I wrote about it once and once was enough so I’ll post the links if you’re interested in reading about it.

This Place Looks Like A Tornado Went Through It

The Morning After

Sometimes Stupid Has A Name

Anyway, yesterday a terrible tornado blew through our little town, destroying one hundred homes and killing some of our neighbors just a mile or so north of us. It was déjà vu at it’s worst.

Piedmont Tornado, May 24, 2011

Today, I took half the day off hoping to help in some way. I am so thankful to be able to say we found a way to help. We met a couple that has no family in the state and lost everything including most of their pets yesterday. They will be staying with us while they try to figure out how to walk the path before them. It won’t be easy for them, but I can say without a doubt, they will make it. I know because I did.

As this husband and wife drove through our gate for the first time, I immediately recognized the look on both of their faces. It was the same look Bob and I wore for weeks after May 3rd, 1999. It’s a mixture of shock and pain and disbelief. It’s a look I’ll never forget and yet I am thankful for that because that means I can understand it in others now. There was a time I would have begged to forget. I am grateful to remember now because I know there is a way through it all.

When they exited their car, Bob and I hugged them and cried with them. It’s such an interesting thing to meet strangers and yet have an immediate connection with them. Shared pain can be a strong bonding compound I suppose. We showed them the farm and held their hands as we walked and talked. They both cried and thanked us repeatedly for our hospitality. That’s when it hit me like a sledgehammer. They saw our offer of help as if it were some big act of kindness. But it wasn’t and isn’t. It is the beginning of healing for them and the tail end of healing for us. We are being given an incredible gift. One we never asked for and didn’t see coming. We are being given the gift of paying it forward, of doing for others what was done for us. The days ahead won’t be easy but they will be worth the journey. I'm absolutely sure of that.

I Have A Sister

2011-05-22T07:24:00.000-07:00

I have a sister named Kelly. She is my younger sister. She is my first memory.

My mother lays my newborn sister on her back on my parents bed. I am laying on my stomach, head resting in hands, repeatedly criss-crossing my bent legs with excitement. I am positioned at the top of her head, nose buried in her tiny wisps of hair. She smells like freshly baked sugar cookies to my three year old nose and I cannot stop myself from repeatedly kissing her head. When she looks at me and smiles, my heart races and I report this amazing feat with the typical toddler glee of a new big sister. My mother says she is too little to smile yet and it was gas. I know better. I know I made my sister smile and it sinks deep within my heart.

There have been fifty years between that memory and today. Fifty years of growing up and immaturity, laughing and crying, fighting and defending, standing and stooping. Fifty years that seemed like a hundred on some days and only a few moments on others. Fifty years.

Fourteen years ago, Kelly was diagnosed with Hemangiopericytoma. An extremely rare cancer. So rare in fact, the best doctors in California misdiagnosed it as a benign brain tumor. It wasn’t until ten years later, they finally realized what it actually was. The news was not good. They had only seen minimal cases due to it’s rarity and no one had survived past ten years. There was really no known treatment that could change that. Or so they said.

My older sister Char and I jumped online and researched Hemangiopericytoma, hospitals that dealt with it and doctors who specialized in killing it. We found MDAnderson. So, for the last four years we have met in Houston every three months. There have been major surgeries, clinical trials, tears, fears and laughter. Oh Lord, has there ever been laughter.

Last week, I flew to Houston to meet my sister Kelly at MDAnderson. She had a bad feeling about this trip. She kept saying it every time I called beforehand. I did what I am known for doing. I made light of it, changed the subject, made her laugh.

I called Kelly last night on my way home from work. I wanted to know if she had heard anything yet on the test results. She had. I knew before I even asked. I knew. I knew in Houston. I told my brother-in-law when we were walking over to get Kelly from her MRI.

“David, something just isn’t right. Maybe I’m just tired and I can’t put my finger on it but something doesn’t seem right.”

I made David promise not to tell Kelly what I had said as if that would make it go away.

Last night on my drive home from work, I called Kelly like I almost always do.

“Hey Kel, how ya feeling?”

“Fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

The radiation in March had worked well on her spine. The brain tumor had grown but not drastically. She could have a seventh brain surgery to remove the tumor…again. That was the good news she said.

“ Weinberg said my lungs are bad. They couldn’t handle a surgery.”

“What? Your lungs are bad? Your lungs aren’t bad.”

“Marla, the tests say my lungs and liver are bad.”

“Ok, so what are they going to do. How are they going to fix this?”

“Three more months of chemo, then back for results. If that doesn’t work, there’s nothing more they can do.”

I rarely cry. It’s the hand my sister dealt me awhile back. Everyone was always crying over her and she did not want me crying. She wanted me to make everyone smile again. So I did. For the last fourteen years. Until last night.

I screamed at my baby sister on the phone last night. I pulled my car over to the side of the road and I screamed through burning, hot tears.

“You cannot leave me here alone! You cannot! I can’t do this without you!”

“Marla, you’re not helping.”

“I don’t care, you can’t leave me here. I can’t talk to you right now.”

We both hung up without another word.

I dreamt about Kelly last night. It was a dream about something that had happened in Houston last week. We were in the hotel room getting ready for one of her appointments. She was having trouble with her right hand and said she thought one of the doctors was probably right. She believed she would be paralyzed and unable to write one day.

“Whatever Kelly. You never could write anyway.”

Kelly started to cry and said, “You just don’t want to hear the truth.”

I dreamt about that conversation last night. I dreamt about how I felt punched in the stomach at her words because they were true. I saw myself in the dream, doing what I had done in reality.

As I stood next to her wheelchair with my arms wrapped around her, I buried my nose in her red hair and kissed the top of her head repeatedly.

See Ya Later, Alligator

2011-05-16T22:20:00.000-07:00

Well, like I said yesterday, here I am in Houston with my sister Kelly and her husband David. Today was the usual: blood specimens, MRI and CT scans and lots of paperwork. Oh sure, there were the typical moments of ridiculousness like when they attempted to coerce her into the rectal CT again. She wasn’t going for it this time either. Party pooper. As for running her into the elevator wall, well, it wasn’t totally my fault. The man that held the door open for me smelled really good and I lost my sense of direction for a moment. Old men that smell good remind me of my dad and then I get all melancholy and forget things like stopping before I walk Kelly and her wheelchair into the elevator wall. As for the laughing, I could have stopped if Kel would have stopped telling me to stop. Telling me to stop laughing only makes me laugh more. It’s a common physics fact, or something. Besides, it’s not like she got hurt and even if she had, we’re in a hospital. What better place to get hurt? Duh!

Just another little pet name my sister has for me?

Anyway, that’s not what I want to write about tonight. No, I have something much more riveting to tell you. I have discovered one of the most amazing, incredible, fascinating studies of humanity ever known to man. No really, stay with me, you won’t regret it. Ok, you probably will but stay with me anyway.

Not having cable TV at home, I find myself flicking through all the channels every time I am here at the Rotary House. They have a bazillion channels full of foolishness. It can be quite entertaining. So last night as I was flicking away, I came across this show.

If you have never seen Swamp People, you don’t know what you’re missing. This show is brilliant. I mean, seriously, any show that has to use English sub-titles when the people being filmed are English speaking so to speak, well, that is my kind of entertainment.

Now, before you PETA family members of mine go psycho on me for watching this show, I will admit the shooting of the gators made me sad. Especially when they show the little gator paw slowly dropping down into the boat as the pre-historic beast gives up the ghost. Poor humongous, slimy creature that would eat my face off in a nano second if given the chance. All you wanted to do was munch a stray dog or two, attack an unsuspecting Cajun fishing on the bank now and then and maybe grab a bunny snack once in awhile. And for this, they shoot you. Well that and the big bucks the ladies will pay for a purse made out of your hide.

Rest in peace, monster gator. Not one inch of you will go to waste. As for tasting like chicken, I’ll just have to take the Swamp People’s word for it.

Pass The Prozac Please

2011-05-15T21:12:00.000-07:00

It has been 26 days since I last blogged. When I finally stopped by to see my long lost blog, I was actually shocked to realize so many days had passed. If you would have asked me, I would have thought it might have been a week since I last wrote some amazing piece of crap to post. This got me to thinking. What in the world could I have possibly been so consumed by over the last 26 days that I would neglect my love of writing?

In the last 26 days I have:

~ been promoted

~ been trained and trained and trained and trained on my new position until my head is ready to EXPLODE!

~ worked 1373 hours

~ laughed until I cried

~ cried until I laughed

~ worked 1373 hours

~ read two books

~ paid 17 bills

~ worked 1373 hours

~ brushed my horse three times

~ screamed at the dogs 48 times

~ had a daily conversation with Harley the African Grey 26 mornings

~ worked 1373 hours

~ done 13 loads of laundry

~ dropped 2 van loads of treasures at the thrift store

~ made dinner 6 times

~ eaten 26 granola bars for breakfast

~ drank 103 cups of coffee

~ worked 1373 hours

~ watched late night Star Trek reruns 26 times

~ watched The Office late night reruns 26 times

~ watched the ceiling 26 times because I couldn’t stop thinking late at night

~ lost three pounds

~ gained three pounds

~ lost three pounds

~ gained three pounds

~ lost three pounds

~ run on the treadmill once

~ been thrown violently from the treadmill once

~ left the house by 8 am 20 times

~ walked back in the door by 9 pm 20 times

Oh yeah, and worked 1373 hours!!!

I could possibly be hitting the point of pure exhaustion however I am too tired to be absolutely sure.

One last thing I might mention. I flew to Houston today and you know what that means. Three days with my sister. Things could get interesting. If I can stay awake, that is.

Potpourri For $1000, Alex

2011-04-20T22:54:00.000-07:00

I have so many things to tell you but who’s got time to write a meaningful post these days? Not me, that’s for sure. Oh, I can write meaningful crap, believe you me. My writing has made grown men cry. Just ask my husband. Anyway, I just don’t have the time right now to be meaningful so instead, I am writing a potpourri of a post. Yeah, that’s it. A post full of flowery this and that sprinkled over all the stinkiness of life. And like potpourri, this post will make you think I have spent hours working on this mess when actually, it’s just a pan of lavender scented Lysol slid under the couch. I may have just given away one of my many cleaning tips but anyway, here is what I thought you should know today.

My sister is trying to kill me. No, seriously, she is. I want it in writing for all the world to see so when she succeeds there will be witnesses to the crime. Remember, you read it here. She is trying to kill me. How do I know? Simple. I hate to fly. She keeps making me fly to Houston to meet her at MDAnderson. She even buys my plane ticket for me. On Southwest Airlines.

This Southwest Airlines. The one with the moonroof.

What? Airplanes aren't suppose to have moonroofs?

TELL MY SISTER THAT!

When I called her after the news hit the airwaves regarding Southwest’s “mishap”, I very clearly stated that I hated flying, did not want to fly ever again and definitely not on Southwest Airlines. Then I got this in my email today.

Another round trip ticket to Houston.

Or is it a one way ticket? Hmmmm?

I’ll show her. I am going to take out a million dollar life insurance policy before they drag me kicking and screaming onto the plane. That way, Bob will have money to prosecute. You have been warned, Kelly Jeanne.

Call me a chicken. I don't care.

They don't fly without a lot of squawking either.

Speaking of my sisters, they have informed me I am not funny. They have also informed me that my writing is not appreciated as it is mostly a crock of something or other. Oh yeah, well I beg to differ. I have received a precise message from above clearly disputing these false allegations.

Read em and weep girls. You can’t fight Confucius.

The fortune cookies have spoken.

Dear Diary ~

2011-04-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary ~

It’s been three months since I started my new job. Can you believe it? Three months. Time really does fly the older you get. The funny thing is, I feel younger the older I get so time flying by must wipe away some years from your mind. Just another one of my deep thoughts.

Anyway, this job has really opened my eyes to so many things. Having been raised in the church most of my life, including nine years of Catholic school, well, let’s just say I may have been a bit sheltered to certain parts of life. Oh sure, I have volunteered plenty, worked with the homeless, fostered children, you know, the usual fairly safe sort of things. But no, this job has taken me to an entirely new level of dealing face to face with humanity.

Did I ever mention, dear diary, that I am working in the inner city? No seriously, it’s what us white folk refer to as “the ghetto” thanks to Elvis. Other folks refer to it as “the hood”. My customers refer to it as home. Interesting people, my ghetto, hood, homie, customers. I should probably be quite frightened of many of them and yet I am anything but scared. I actually find myself relating to them more each day. Take for example the other day.

Bob had stopped in to take me to lunch. Seconds before he walked in the front door, one of our regular customers entered the store and stomped up to the counter demanding my immediate attention.

“Hey! Here yo money! I aint buying nuttin else from y’all neither! Y‘all discriminatin me!”

“Well, hello Shemika. Thanks for bringing your payment in. Now, tell me about the discrimination that is leading you to no longer do business with us.”

Shemika then went on to tell me how although she desperately needed an 82” television, our store manager would not sell her one. The unreasonable reason he gave? She had no money. I immediately empathized with her in regards to the obvious unfair treatment she had received and offered her a bottle of water and some cookies to help calm her nerves. I also told her I would be happy to sell her an 82” television as I steered her towards the 19” version. By the time she left the store, we were besties forever.

“Dang girl, you a crazy white girl. I gonna tell all the sistahs bout you. We stick togetha. We gonna buy all our @&%* from you.”

She then turned to the other two male managers who had been watching the scene unfold and yelled,

“Yeah, that right. We gonna buy from the crazy, white girl. We all done with you two.”

As my new bestie walked out the door with great, triumphant attitude, I turned to my manager as a line from Tyler Perry slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

“That’s in the playa handbook.”

Yes, dear diary, it’s a new day for this Catholic school girl. I think Bob is a bit concerned about this new colorful side of me. I just hope the gangsta don’t get up in my grill about all dat.

XOXOXO,

Marla

So Much To Write, So Little Time

2011-04-06T05:59:00.000-07:00

I am having a terrible time finding the time to write these days. My new job is kicking my butt. Six months ago that would have been a good thing but now that my butt is thirty-five pounds smaller than it was back then, well, there is just not as much to kick as before so I am feeling the effects more profoundly. Have I mentioned I've lost thirty-five pounds? Oh yeah, I am awesome now. Men fall over when they see me. Women want to be me. Children marvel at my lack of girth. I'm amazing. How amazing? I'm glad you asked.

I am so amazing now, that one of our biggest customers finds excuses to come into the store just to "visit" with me. I am unmercifully teased by my co-workers about this gentleman's obvious crush on me. Take for instance what happened on Monday.

"Well, hello Mr. X! I didn't expect to see you back so soon. How can I help you today?"

"Hey there sugar! I thought I would just stop in and have a look around."

That's when my boss stepped in with this brilliant line.

"Look as long as you like, Mr. X."

Upon hearing this invitation from the general manager of the store, Mr. X stood and stared at me, smiling adoringly, to which I stood and stared back, smiling crookedly as my manager and co-workers walked off snickering. Idiots.

Let them laugh, I say. They are just jealous. I mean, what girl wouldn't want an older, toothless, long-haired, hippie calling them sugar and smiling adoringly at them at least three times a week?

Jealous, I tell you.

You Smell Like A Monkey

2011-03-29T07:20:00.000-07:00

Well, she did it. My little sister turns 50 years old today. Plenty of people said she couldn’t do it. Most of those people were doctors. Idiots! They watched her go through six brain surgeries, a total hip and femur replacement, brutal back surgery including rods and bolts and who knows what else. Then there was the chemo, the radiation, steroids and drugs that would have surely killed a person with any sense. Luckily for us, my sister never had the sense to give up. She is, after all, a Casas/Walter. What is a Casas/Walter, you ask? A fighter!

Speaking of fighting, here are some of the things I am thankful for today on Kelly’s 50th birthday.

~ I am thankful for a sister that is well enough to drive me insane with her constant interfering and bossiness.

~ I am thankful for a sister that is well enough to answer the phone when I call, give me advice I don’t ask for and get mad at me when I don’t take it.

~ I am thankful for a sister that refuses to give up whether it’s about getting her point across, getting people to do things her way or living through another day.

Kelly, I cannot imagine my life without you in it. I know I have threatened to never speak to you again, smother you with a pillow as you sleep and crimp your oxygen hose. Ok, I know I have also posted unflattering photos of you on this blog, written things about you that make you look beastly and maybe even exaggerated a time or two in regards to your fangs. In my defense, I just can’t help myself. You make it way too easy to do. Stop playing right into my evil, blogging fingers and I’ll quit. Maybe.

Anyway, I love you and hope today, your 50th birthday, is everything you want it to be and more. I hope you find nothing but happiness in the days ahead with the people you love the most. I hope I’m one of those people. Most days.

Kelly Jeanne Walter Casas Pittner Sewart Hansen

One last thing! Please send Kelly a birthday wish.

Make sure and tell her I sent you.

It will ~~drive her crazy~~ make her day. :-)

kcsewart@yahoo.com

http://kcsewart.blogspot.com/

Sundays In My City

2011-03-27T08:12:00.000-07:00

Sundays in my city is about

hanging out with the people you love.

It's about playing inside when it's chilly

and outside when it's not.

Sunday means telling the same old stories,

singing the same old songs

and loving every minute of it.

Sundays in my city is about hugs

and dinner,

laughing

and relaxing.

The best part about Sundays in my city however is the napping.

Stop by Unknown Mami's blog

and tell us what's happening in your city.

We Got It Goin' On At Least Eight Times A Day

2011-03-26T22:27:00.000-07:00

I work in a store where there are a bazillion televisions, all playing the same video all day long. That means that whatever is being played that day will repeat approximately eight times while I am there. Not only will I see the video eight times a day, I will also hear it eight times a day. The last two weeks I have seen and heard Bon Jovi Live at Madison Square Gardens eight times every stinking day. My brain has been Bon Jovied at least eighty times in the last two weeks. Eighty freakin times, people.

The first few days of listening to Jon and Richie were great. My co-workers were even making fun of me because of how much I was enjoying the music. I was constantly movin and a groovin to the tunes. For a few days anyway. Then I started wanting to scream every time the dang thing came on. I mean seriously, I get it. The boys are pretty and great to dance to but please, enough already.

Jon Bon Jovi, you are a middle aged man. So shake your money maker all you want, you are still old. The women who have been throwing their undies at you all these years now wear Dr. Dentons. Do you really want those flying through the air like massive parachutes? I mean, come on already. Face reality, man. And Richie Sambora. Please. You give love a bad name, bad name.

I might just be tired and cranky. Yeah, tired of listening to two wrinkled, old men try to convince me I was born to be their baby. All I want to do when they start singing is Runaway. When I heard Whole Lot of Leavin for the fifth time today, I could only nod my head in agreement. Please, leave already. I really try to Keep The Faith but It’s My Life and having to listen to this day after day is no Bed of Roses. This constant diet of Bon Jovi is Bad Medicine. I may be Livin On A Prayer right now but I have to hope there is a Disney movie in next weeks line up.

Anyway, Have A Nice Day.

Time Waits For No Blogger

2011-03-25T21:05:00.000-07:00

One of the really tough things about having a blog is that I am constantly writing posts in my head. I write them in bed late at night while Bob snores like a freight train next to me. I write them driving to work, on my lunch break, at the bank, in the bathroom and while counting down the drawer at the end of the day. I also write them in the middle of family conversations, while taking my shower, visiting the dentist or just about any and every other scenario you might imagine. It’s maddening but I have not a clue on how to stop. The truth is, I have always written in my head like this, since I was a kid. The only difference now is that I post many of these musings on the Internet for all the world to see. I wonder what Freud would say about that? Probably not much since the guy is dead. Just pointing out the obvious, folks.

The other tough part about being a mental writer is …wait, that doesn’t sound right. Anyway, the thing that drives me madder than I already am is that I have some pretty interesting things going on in my life and in my head. Stuff some people might actually want to read if only to say, “Can you believe the crap this chick writes? Unbelievable!” There is where the difficulty begins and ends. Actually living this insanity on a daily basis, writing it down in my brain and then not being able to find the time or energy to actually write it down. I am honestly not whining about not having time to write. I honestly don’t have time to write lately. It’s starting to annoy me because of all the stories being written in my brain. It’s seriously getting crowded in there.

Anyway, I have been thinking of ways to find more time to write.

1. Hire a servant. He must cook, clean, do farm chores and laundry. Grocery shopping is expected. He would also have to do all the extras like remember birthdays and throw elaborate dinners because that would also be expected. It would be crucial that he be ready, willing and able to jump in the car and take the soon to be 13 year old and her friends on their constant excursions. And listen to their ear-splitting laughter while driving without driving off the road or into a brick wall. Although he may consider both options just to shut them up, he would not be allowed to exercise either option. He would also have to keep a smile on his face at all times while making sure everyone in the house is clean, fed and happy. I would want him to be sort of like a wife, that way I wouldn’t have to pay him either.

2. Clean out our bank account and run away to Europe where I can sit at a little sidewalk café, eating hunks of cheese and bread while writing the memoir of my life. This might not be a viable option however as I believe a ticket to Europe might possibly cost more than $83.47, so scratch that.

3. Get up two hours earlier every morning so I can be alone with my thoughts and write. The only problem I can see with this option is the getting up at 5 am part. I sincerely doubt my brain would be awake. Although, now that I think about it, my writing might be a whole lot better if I wasn’t actually there when it happened. This could work.

For Japan With Love

2011-03-17T21:13:00.000-07:00

Who Needs Disneyland?

2011-03-16T20:03:00.000-07:00

A few nights before Kelly left Oklahoma to head back to Houston, she took us all out for dinner. She is extremely generous like that. You never want to say you like something or need something because sure enough, the UPS man will be at your house a few days later. Anyway, we all went to Mimi’s Café and had a great time eating, visiting and laughing as usual. When it was time to go, we realized the infamous Oklahoma wind had kicked in and Kelly had left her jacket in the van. Bob, being the best husband/bro-in-law ever, took his jacket off and slipped it on my sister as she sat shivering in her wheelchair. Finally ready to face the quickly cooling air, I ran to the van, pushing Kelly in front of me. I am not saying I pushed her in a straight line exactly because, well, if I was in a wheelchair I would want it to at least be a fun ride while being pushed so I did unto my sister as I would wish done unto me. She did not appreciate my extreme sense of kindness and willingness to emulate one top notch rollercoaster ride. Some people have no sense of humor.

Anyway, once at the van, we realized Bob had the keys and was nowhere to be found. We also realized his flimsy little windbreaker was not breaking the wind. We came to this realization through hearing Kelly’s teeth chattering during her tirade about me trying to kill her by pushing her off the curb or something along those lines. Whatever. Being the amazingly kind, considerate and selfish, I mean, self-less sister that I am known to be, I took off my heavy coat, wrapped it around my poor, little, shaking, baby sister. That’s when it happened. As I dug through my purse, trying to find an extra set of keys that would hopefully open the van door, Kelly began to slowly roll away. Towards the parking lot. With moving cars in it. As soon as I realized, through her shrieking, what was happening, I turned and made my way to her before she entered any actual danger zone.

“Oh my gosh! You just tried to kill me!”

“Whatever. You’re fine.”

“If I had rolled into that passing car, I could have been killed. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I better get my coat back before it gets blood on it. That’s the only coat I own.”

“When is my flight home?”

Possibilities

2011-03-15T21:53:00.000-07:00

This week has been one of extreme highs and lows to say the least. The lowest low is what has happened and continues to happen in Japan. Watching the news and seeing the faces of suffering is more than my brain can comprehend at times. I cannot begin to imagine living through what the Japanese are now dealing with. Every time I turn the news on and see those beautiful, stoic faces, I think of the multiple Japanese exchange students who lived with my parents and with Bob and I through the years. I cannot help but wonder where Noriko, Yoshi and all the rest are today. My heart aches for the entire country as I know many other hearts do as well. I especially find myself sad when I see the elderly, so confused and alone, having lost everything. How I wish we could go rescue them and make it all ok again.

So what to do? Having gone through our own loss in the May 3rd tornado of 1999, I remember all too well the incredible kindness of so many. One group stands out in my mind and that is the American Red Cross. They were there from day one providing for all our immediate needs and continued to be there for months after. Looking back, I really don't know what we would have done without all their help and the help of so many others. I bring this up in the hopes that you might consider giving to the Red Cross as a way to help those in Japan. Please consider it. We can all make a difference together.

American Red Cross

Now for the highs of this last week. Kelly spent the entire week here in Oklahoma with my family. It was wonderful. She was wonderful. I didn't want her to leave. Ever. She did leave however, yesterday. Her husband, David, flew in late Sunday night and they both flew to Houston early Monday afternoon. Then late this afternoon, Kelly went through her clinical trial radiation procedure. My stomach was in a knot all day and I had a bit of trouble thinking about anything else. Anyway, finally this evening, I was able to get David on the phone and immediately asked how Kelly was.

"She's great!"

"Really? Great?"

"Yeah, we just got back to the room and everythings good."

I told David I would call Kelly tomorrow and hung up the phone feeling relief flood every pore of my body. This was a high well worth waiting for.

MDAnderson is the only hospital worldwide running this particular trial at this time. Kelly is only the fourth person to undergo this procedure. The risks were explained to us as definately there but the possible positive outcome is where our focus remains. Where it will always remain.

Anyway, this last week with Kelly provided for some very entertaining moments. Who knows, I just may tell you a few of them in the days ahead.

Goodnight.

It Just Keeps Getting Better and Better

2011-03-08T11:09:00.000-08:00

Sorry I didn't get the promised update posted yesterday. Seems the hospital had Butts and Ashes blocked as I could not get on no matter how many ways I tried. I actually found this rather amusing. I mean, seriously think about it. This place is brimming to the rim with butts and, well, you get it. I understand I am often found by people searching for pictures of butts. I could verify that for my readers by telling you some of the search phrases used by people. Oh yeah, it's all here on my dashboard. But then you would all be completely disgusted with me instead of the usual tolerably disgusted and I wouldn't want that to happen so let's just say there are some sick minds out there on the web and obviously MDAnderson thought I was one of them so they blocked me. Until today anyway.

So anyway, if you don't mind, I will update you on The List tomorrow because I seriously need to update you on Kelly today. I mean, this is not an opportunity that comes around just any old day and I don't want to miss this chance to ~~make fun of~~ update the latest on my poor, little, helpless sister. Yeah, that's it.

Ok, so Kelly is no longer considered a candidate for surgery on the cancer that is eating away her vertebrae so dangerously close to her spine. This whole scenario has been quite distressing, of course, to all of us. Then last week, MDAnderson called and informed Kel that she had been selected to participate in a clinical trial. She would be the fourth person to go through this procedure and they felt she should see good results from it. She agreed and so here we are back in Houston.

This time it is just Kelly and me. Why our family would entrust my baby sister into my hands is inconceivable to the sane mind. Like I said in this post:

Let’s think for a moment about all the people who have moved in with me or I moved in with them so I could take care of them:

Aunt Sisi ….dead.

Bob’s mom, Lucy….dead.

Our mom….dead.

Uncle Louie….dead.

Our dad….dead.

Face it. My track record for keeping people alive is nothing to brag about.

Anyway, they still picked me to be her traveling companion/caregiver/hospital jester/slave. I can proudly say, I have not killed her. Yet.

So this morning she went in to be fitted for her full body sling and face mask. No seriously, she really did. She had to wear nothing but a pair of socks, biking shorts and a sports bra. Then they placed her on this special foamy pad thing, molded it to her body, wrapped her in plastic wrap, sucked all the air out of the wrap until she looked like she was shrink-wrapped and that's when the real fun began. They then placed this warm, wet mesh looking thing over her face and upper chest and let it harden until it looked sort of like this.

That's when all the crying and hyperventilating started. They thought it would be better if I waited in the other room at that point since I couldn't stop. I'm kidding. I was just fine. Except for the wanting to drag my baby sister off that contraption, run down the hall screaming and hide her somewhere safe. Other than that, it was all good.

Anyway, an hour later she was all fitted and fine and ready for her actual treatment next week. So, here we are getting ready to head back to the airport to fly to my house for the next week. Did I mention I HATE FLYING??

Oh, one other thing. Her newest doctor, the one over this whole clinical trial thing, is a big, tall, drink of Chemo. No seriously. We thought McDreamy was all that until we met McSteamy.

Dr. Blue Eyed, Six Foot Five, McSteamy

What a great personality. What a good sport when I told him about the blog and McDreamy. What a guy to do a little happy dance when he heard he would now be crowned McSteamy of Butts and Ashes. As long as he didn't kill my sister. She added that part to the deal. He agreed to her terms so it's all good.

Amelia Earhart Flew and Look Where It Got Her

2011-03-06T09:00:00.000-08:00

I am running around this morning like a headless chicken, trying desperately to get ready in time to head to the airport. My sister Kelly is heading back to Houston today and I am meeting her there. It seems like just weeks ago that we were there because we were. Have I mentioned how much I hate flying? How it makes my hands and feet sweat, my head swim with vertigo and my stomach turn to knots and that’s just thinking about flying? It gets worse once I am actually on the plane. Let’s just say, I am the gray-faced, white-knuckled, hyperventilating woman you never want to sit next to when you fly. You’re welcome.

Um, yeah. I already feel better about flying. NOT!!!

So here is the latest dealio with Kelly. It has been determined she is not a candidate for surgery after all. She has, however, been accepted into a clinical trial. Remember, this is MDAnderson, the nations #1, best and brightest, cutting-edge, top shelf, yada yada yada, leading cancer research hospital in the Universe. Or something like that. The fact is, four years ago when every “leading” doctor and hospital in California was telling Kelly, “There’s no hope. You are history, sister. Buh Bye”, my older sister, Char and I were researching like crazy, desperately trying to find another answer. We found that answer at MDAnderson. Not only have they kept Kelly alive and kicking these last four years, they have also given us hope in some of the most hopeless situations. God bless em. Oh, and God bless Dr. McDreamy, too.

The actual McDreamy of MDAnderson. I hear he has skills, ladies.

MRI skills, Gamma Knife skills, brain surgery skills.....

Speaking of McDreamy, do you think it’s wrong that I recently told him we call him McDreamy and that I blog about him as such and that I post his picture on the web for all the world to see? Kelly got all weird and embarrassed when I spilled the beans to McDreamy about my two, old, wrinkled sisters obsession with him. She also turned three shades of red when I told him how much I appreciated their obsession as it made for great blog fodder. His reaction? The dude was excited. Absolutely giddy, I tell ya. He loved it. Couldn’t wait to tell his wife. Wanted to know how many readers I had, etc. So McDreamy, if you are reading this, I would like to say thank you for keeping my little sister alive. I am grateful, even on the days when I would like to strangle her, I am still thankful. I would also like to say you’re welcome for the free advertising on this blog. You may want to remember that when you invoice her next bill. I’m just saying.

Ok, so I need to go finish the laundry and get my bag packed. Then I need to find a valium or two. Oh, and by the way, I will be updating The List on Monday. I have a thing or two to tell you all on that front. Life is never boring when you’re me and that, my friends, is the truth.

Two Days Late But Not A Dollar Short

2011-03-02T20:54:00.000-08:00

Ok, ok, so I know I was suppose to post this on Monday and today is Wednesday. Working these long hours is not conducive to blogging. They aren’t fitting in so well with eating, sleeping or laundry either right now. I may need to get a real life one of these days but for now, I’ll just be thankful I have a job.

So without further ado, let’s get to the winner of the $45 CSN gift card. My sister Kelly read through all the great comments and called to announce the winner. I knew the minute I answered the phone who she had picked because she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. As a matter of fact, she mentioned something about losing control of certain bodily functions upon reading the winning comment. Of course, I reminded her that at our age, not much was required to produce that effect. I’m just saying. Anyway, take a gander at the winner and see if you can keep a straight face. I mean this gal makes me look normal. I love her.

I post this knowing full-well I'll probably suffer the wrath of PETA for it....

My sister (who is 4 years younger than I am) and I were often left to our own devices growing up since my mom was divorced and working full-time and going to school. Both of us really wanted a dog but my mother refused and finally compromised and let us get gerbils.

Being little girls (I was 10 and she 6) we were afraid to pick them up with our hands and would often grab them by their tails when we took them out of their aquarium. One day we were playing with them and my sister grabbed one of the gerbils by his tail and said "Hey, watch this" and proceeded to swing Mr. Gerbil around like a lasso by his tail. All of a sudden Mr. Gerbil became a tiny furry missile and shot across the room landing on the wall. I looked at my sister and she had this stricken look on her face and was holding one skinny gerbil tail in her hand.

Both of us were speechless and horrified. I ran and picked up Mr. Gerbil who was quite stunned by the sudden smack into the wall and probably feeling quite a bit of painful remorse at the loss of his tail. We took him in the bathroom and I cleaned his little stub and we used Band-Aids to fix his tail. My sister cried the entire time, these big honking sobs, and I kept telling her "see, he's fine, he'll be okay". He actually was...of all our gerbils, "Stubby" lived the longest.

My sister and I both work in the same place now...she's a police sergeant and I'm a dispatcher. I'm actually known as the "instigator" at work...they call me "the pot-stirrer" and the "liar" because I often tease my coworkers.

SHEL,

YOUR COMMENT ROCKED MY WORLD

AND

MADE MY SISTER PEE HER PANTS.

FOR THAT ALONE, YOU DESERVE THE $45 CSN GIFT CARD.

ENJOY!

This Could Explain A Lot

2011-02-27T21:22:00.000-08:00

I spoke with my sister Kelly today and she is ready to pick the winner of the CSN $45 GIVEAWAY tomorrow. She is especially ready now that I finally told her she is picking the winner. Maybe she should read this here little blog more often so she can keep up with the things I am volunteering her for. Anyway, remember to enter as tomorrow is your last chance. All you have to do to enter is leave a comment telling me the craziest thing you and your sibling, (they can be actual, inherited or chosen), have ever gotten yourselves into. Come on, you know you want to.

To finish off this tell all contest, I thought I would repost something I wrote way back. It's a little story about something horrid I did to my sisters. It's still one of my favorite and all time best practical jokes ever played on them. So far. Here ya go....

Have you ever done something that you knew you really should not do, but you also knew if you didn’t do it, you would always wish you had? Yeah? Me too!

A few years ago, one of my aunts passed away. It was very sudden and sad for so many reasons. One of those reasons was her husband, my dad’s brother. When I got the call that Aunt Audrey had died and Uncle Louie had been taken to the hospital because of his heart, I got on the first available plane to California. My sisters and I were responsible for Uncle Lou since he and Aunt Audrey had “adopted” us in their will, not to mention, we loved that crazy, old couple. As I flew out the next morning, I wondered how my uncle would ever live without his wife. Eleven days after arriving in California and bringing Louie home to live with my dad, my uncle passed away in his sleep. I remain thankful to this very day for being able to spend those last days with him.

Surely, you can imagine the stress of dealing with two deaths in twelve days, not to mention having to clean out a house full of fifty years of junk. Then there was selling the house and closing accounts, notifying family and friends. It would have been overwhelming at times if my sisters and I had not had one another. Even so, we did get a bit crazy here and there along the way. Case in point:

I had taken care of Aunt Audrey’s cremation but had not picked up her ashes yet. I was too busy taking care of my Uncle Louie, who was obviously not doing well. When he passed away so soon after Aunt Audrey, I ended up having to retrieve two boxes of ashes at once. My sisters would have no part of the ashes thing, so they did all the administrative stuff. Driving back to my dad’s house with my aunt and uncle buckled in the backseat … hey, I did not want to take any chances of a Stephen King type event on the freeway … I started to get irritated. How come my sisters always get to look good, smell good and take care of the easy crap, while I am always wiping butts or driving dead people around? That’s when I began to devise my plan.

My aunt and uncle did not want a funeral. They specifically stated in their wills that they were to be cremated and the ashes sprinkled at sea. I had taken care of the cremations and my sisters had made the arraignments for the sprinkling at sea with the Neptune Society. When I arrived home and found my sisters had gone out … probably for a nail or hair appointment or some other stupid girl thing … I placed my aunt and uncle in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and went to work.

First, I ran out to the front garden carrying a plastic bowl and big spoon with me. I quickly filled the small bowl half full with the fine, powdery dirt in my parent’s front planter. Next, I ran back into the house and dug through my mother’s junk drawer finding exactly what I was hoping would be there … chalk. I placed the chalk in the bowl with the soil and grabbed a potato masher out of the pottery crock on the counter. As I mashed the chalk into the soil being careful to leave just the right size and shape pieces, I literally began to sweat with anticipation. For a split second, I imagined my mother standing next to me ready to thump me upside my head in the hopes of knocking some sense into me. Luckily for me, my mom had died two years earlier or she would have killed me right then and there.

Once the bowls content was the exact color and consistency of what I imagined people ashes might look like, I grabbed three plain, white envelopes from the desk drawer in the foyer along with a blue, ink pen. Carefully writing each of my sisters names along with my own, one on each envelope, I could only imagine their faces when this was over. I then slowly scooped a few spoonfuls of “ashes” into each envelope, sealed them and placed them in the bottom drawer on top of my aunt and uncle. I laughed out loud, knowing Lou and Aundrey would have loved this! I quickly cleaned up all the evidence and ran upstairs to change and wash up.

No sooner had I come back downstairs, when my sisters walked in the kitchen door. They were happy and chatty as always and had even brought back dinner for all of us. As we sat eating in the kitchen, my older sister asked if I had picked up Uncle Lou and Aunt Audrey. When I said yes, through a mouthful of coleslaw, both their faces dropped.

“Where are they?”

“In the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.”

“Why are they there?”

“Where would you like me to put them?”

“I don’t know but somehow the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet just doesn’t seem right.”

“Ok, I’ll go get them and we can put them anywhere you two would like.”

At that last comment, they both began screaming, “No! Don’t bring them in here! Leave them there!”

That’s when I did it. I went into the dining room, opened the bottom drawer, took out the three envelopes and took them into the kitchen. I placed one in front of each of us and sat back down.

“By the way, the people at the mortuary gave me these. They are for the service on the boat, you know, when we go to sprinkle the ashes.”

As they each reached for their envelope, my oldest sister asked, “What are they?”

“They’re part of the ashes.”

Both my sisters literally threw the envelopes on the table screaming.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two. It’s not like they had cooties. All we have to do when we go out on the boat is stand at the railing, say something nice, tear open our envelope and pour. Simple.”

My little sister sat staring at me shaking her head. My older sister looked completely horrified and made it clear, that was not going to happen. That’s when I grabbed my envelope, ripped it open and poured some of the “ashes” into my left hand.

“Look! It’s no big deal. It’s not like they’re going to bite you.”

My sisters jumped up and looked at me like I had completely gone mad, yelling, “Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?”

I replied, “Crap, now I have ashes all over me.” I then reached out and wiped my hands on the front of my oldest sister’s sweater. I truly thought I had killed her by the look of terror on her face.

Falling to the ground, unable to breathe from laughing so hard, I believe I heard “Idiot” right before I heard the front door open and then slam shut.

Decisions, CSN Giveaway and Childhood Mayhem Revisited

2011-02-23T06:07:00.000-08:00

I spoke with my sister Kelly yesterday. It looks like some decisions are close to being solidified. She has pretty much decided to go ahead with more chemo and with the surgery. I am happy. So happy I could cry. Ok, I did cry after we hung up because I surely was not going to cry on the phone with her. No way. As I have said many times, crying is a sign of weakness between us sisters. The underbelly of the beast. Cry and the other sisters will go in for the kill. I'm no fool so no crying until that phone hit the cradle then it was Niagara Falls. I hate that my baby sister has to go through more of this cancer crap but I am happy. There is hope again.

Speaking of my baby sister, don't forget she will be picking the winner on Monday for the CSN $45 gift certificate. From Legos to LCD TV Stands, CSN has it all with over 200 online stores to browse. All you have to do is leave a comment telling me the craziest thing you and your sibling, (they can be actual, inherited or chosen), have ever gotten yourselves into. The comment that Kelly fancies the most will be announced Monday the 28th. How easy is that? Well, easy until your sibling finds out you told the world about them. Then it gets really interesting. Believe me, I know. Anyway, to kick this into gear, I am reposting a story I wrote last year about a little incident when Kelly and I were kids. Enjoy!

I was thinking about my mom today. I was remembering how mad she would get at my sisters and me when we were little. I never could understand why she made such a big deal out of things. I mean, seriously, we were just little girls doing little girl stuff. It wasn’t like we were biting the heads off of bats and knocking down old ladies on the street. That came much later in life. Although, there was that one incident with the new furniture.

My mother was very frugal. My dad was just the opposite. While my mother sat at the kitchen table for hours clipping coupons and planning the route to the seven stores she would hit to save a dollar, my dad was out buying the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos the world had to offer. My mom wanted to drive her car into the ground while my dad was off to London on the Concorde. They were quite the pair, those two.

When my father finally talked my mother into new living room furniture, it was an event in our home. The green scrolled velvet high backed chairs with matching Mediterranean couch and fancy hi fi in the cabinet that matched the end tables which matched the coffee table which matched…. Well, you get the picture. Then there were the new lamps to complete the ambiance of the place. There was the giant round ball looking thing on one side of the room but on the other side, are you ready….on the other side was the three foot naked angel lamp. Yeah, you read it right.

This amazing creation of a living room was really more like a museum to us. We were not allowed in there. It was for company. Adult company. Not us. “Do you girls understand?!?!?!?!” Now think about that. You have a room in your house with all new stuff in it including a three foot naked angel lamp and then you say stay out. What do you think is going to happen the first time you leave your little darlings home alone while their dad is on the Concorde and their mom is hitting seven stores to save a buck?

So we decided to build a fort in the museum living room that fateful day. First, we got rope from the garage. My sister Kelly tied one end of the rope to the giant round ball looking thing on one side of the room while I tied the other end of the rope to the three foot naked angel lamp. Once we got the rope just the right height, we ran to our bedroom and pulled the blankets off our beds. Running back to the museum living room giggling with excitement, we each grabbed an end of the first blanket and threw it over the rope. Imagine our surprise when the giant round ball looking thing on one side of the room and the three foot naked angel lamp on the other side of the room flew off their matching Mediterranean tables and came crashing down onto the coordinating green shag carpet.

By the time our mother arrived home with her value crammed grocery bags, the blankets were back on the beds, the rope was back in the garage and the giant round ball looking thing on one side of the room and the three foot naked angel lamp on the other side of the room were back on their matching Mediterranean tables. It was years before she ever noticed the glued back together body parts. That is the very good thing about a room rarely used. It buys you time to live.

What made me think about this story today? As I was putting away the last of the Christmas decorations, something caught my eye in the nativity. Baby Jesus is missing an arm and I am pretty sure his head was not on backwards before Christmas.

Darn kids!

Week Seven of The List, My Sister the Instigator and A CSN Giveaway

2011-02-21T20:43:00.000-08:00

On my drive home from work tonight, I had decided to quit blogging, slink off into the real world and pretend I had never started this whole writing thing. Of course, as I was thinking this through, I was writing the blog about it in my head. I fear I am doomed to continue to write the crap that ferments within my brain which means people somewhere are doomed to continue to stumble upon said fermented written crap and read before they realize how deep the fermentation is. For this, I apologize.

The List

7. Volunteer to tutor a kid at your local elementary school.

(Try to get to know the kid’s family.)

Well, I had this one all figured out until tonight. A few weeks back I met a teacher who works in one of the inner-city schools. When I mentioned The List and specifically wanting to find a kid to tutor she was thrilled and said to call her as soon as I was ready. Then tonight when I got home, my 12 year old told me about one of her new friends in the neighborhood who is having a miserable time with life right now. Actually, the entire family is suffering through more than any one family should have to face at one given time. Now I am thinking maybe this is the kid and the family I am meant to reach out to. So, that is the plan this week. I am going to march myself right over there this week, introduce myself with some home baked goods (bribery, I know) and see what happens. Have I ever mentioned that I am an extremely outgoing person on the outside but on the inside I am a constantly, quivering coward who just wants to stay home and hide from hard stuff? There, I said it. Now you know the truth. However, I am also one of the most competitive people I know and failure makes me miserable so in order to not fail at this mission I have undertaken, I will be door knocking later this week. Oy!

Now about my sister, the instigator. Kelly is home resting and feeling better now that she is back in her own bed. I call her just about every night on my way home from work. Most of the time the conversation revolves around the insanity at my workplace. Kel and her husband are franchise owners of the same company I work for only I am in a corporate store. You would think that would automatically mean I am in one of the good stores and it’s a crap shoot with a franchise. I mean seriously, some of those store owners are whackos, I’m sure. (Remember who I said owned a few? hint hint) Anyway, the truth is, the corporate store I am in could seriously be perfect fodder for a reality show about humanity at it’s strangest level. Oh yeah, I know I’m in that mix but still, you wouldn’t believe the half of it. Again, ask me about the cockroach guy. Seriously I dare ya.

As usual, I digress. The short of it is this: there is some drama unfolding in my store right now with me as a key player. Shocking, right? My sister, the instigator, has decided to get involved in a sneaky sisterly, keep your mitts off my sister or I’ll poke your eye out, kind of deal. Oh yeah, this could get interesting. I’m hoping all that blood boiling cures her cancer and we can open our own store together and finally show these people the right way to do things. I mean, Kel might be sick and I might be tired but think about it. Two sick and tired women are a deadly combination not to be taken lightly.

Which brings me to THE CSN GIVEAWAY! CSN is an online store that knows how to roll. From Legos to LCD TV Stands, there is no drama involved in shopping the aisles of CSN’s more than 200 online stores. One lucky Butts and Ashes reader will win a $45 CSN gift certificate. How you ask? Leave a comment telling me the craziest thing you and your sibling, (they can be actual, inherited or chosen), have ever gotten yourselves into. No siblings? You can have mine. You’ll have plenty to write then, I promise. Anyway, my sister the instigator, will then read through them all and pick the one she fancies the most.

Here’s your chance to pretend your me and put it all out there for the world to shake their heads at. Come on and spill the goods. It could earn you $45 to buy a gift to send with that apology letter you‘ll owe your sibling for spilling the beans.

The winner will be chosen next Monday, February 28th. Only US whackos can win. If you are an out of the US whacko, and I am not naming names ~~glen~~ comment anyway. Kelly is easily impressed and could possibly be moved to send you something as well. I’m just saying.

The Meaning of Significant

2011-02-20T08:23:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about the word significant a lot these last few days. Webster’s says it means important, noticeable, caused by something other than mere chance. People use the word to describe the person they are sleeping with this week, the raise they hope to get next week or the weight they need to lose by next month. Doctors use the word to scare the holy hell out of you and help you prepare for what lies ahead. All I know is I have come to hate the word. I find significant an absolute insult to my psyche.

Brain tumors show significant growth.

Tumors on the spine show significant growth.

Lung and liver tumors show significant growth.

The only significant thing that has come out of this last week in Houston with my sister is this: I cannot imagine going through what she has gone through. I cannot imagine what she now faces. I cannot imagine my life without her.

I am significantly sad.

Dr. Doom has recommended “trying” more chemo of a different flavor with a side of radiation possibly. Dr. McDreamy feels more surgery on the spinal column is in the cards. Kelly is not sure what she will do. She is home with her husband and her menagerie. Life is good for her there. Beyond that, the rest of us are waiting for her decision. Waiting and praying and hoping for a miracle of significant proportions.

Kelly and McDreamy

Inappropriate Conversations Continued

2011-02-15T14:27:00.000-08:00

We had to be up and out by 6:30 this morning for Kelly’s brain MRI. Amazingly enough, they found one. Anyway, when we got there, Kelly had forgotten her glasses so I had to update her medical record for her. Every single time she goes for a test, she has to update. This place is such an amazing place that it is weird they can’t seem to update through the intranet here but whatever. I’m a team player. I’ll fill out the form 27 times a day for the next few days. And that’s when it happened.

“Ok Kel, yes or no. Pregnant or breastfeeding?”

“Very funny.’

“Siblings?”

“One too many.”

“Psychiatric illness, high blood pressure, alcoholism?”

“Only when I’m with my sisters.”

“Whatever. Penile Implant?”

Kelly covered her face to muffle her laughing as the woman sitting across from us looked up then quickly buried her face back in the magazine she was pretending to read.

“Ok, I’ll take that as a yes.”

When we got thrown out, I mean when Kelly finished her MRI, we went back to the room to relax. Kelly immediately got on the phone even though she didn't call her friend Nicole back. (Just stirring the pot, folks.)

Since she was not calling Nicole back, I decided to catch up on my reading as I strongly value keeping my mind sharp as a used nail file.

That’s when Cher decided to try and get a photo of the three of us together. This meant she set the camera to click a pic after 10 seconds and made a mad dive onto the bed.

She did this move several times which had us in hysterics but it finally paid off. In the words of Cher, we have the three pigs in a blanket for all posterity.

Like that’s a good thing. Blog fodder for weeks, I tell you.

Who Writes This Crap?

2011-02-14T21:26:00.000-08:00

Here I am in Houston, Texas with my sister Kelly and our cousin, Cher. Even though Cher is our cousin, she is really more like a sister. So much so that our kids call her Aunt Cher. Anyway, having the three of us here together has been great and exhausting all at the same time. Staying up half the night and then having to get up at 6am to schlep Kelly to her bazillion tests is tough. For one thing, all these tests are cutting into our gossip time not to mention our afternoon ice cream and nap time. Stupid cancer tests.

Kelly is doing her best to get through all this craziness with as much diplomacy and decorum as possible. So imagine her dismay when after blood work, xrays, infusion and cat scan behind her, she prepared for her first of about four MRI’s only to be informed the doc also wanted to have a barium enema done. When she refused and started to cry, the nurse wheeled her back out to me so she could talk it over with her big sister.

“I’m not doing it, Marla. I have had enough of this crap.”

“Crap. Bwahahahaha!!”

“It’s not funny!!”

“Then why are you laughing now?”

“Idiot!”

“It’s ok, Kel. Just get through the next few days of tests and tell the doctor he’ll need to give you a good reason for wanting to do the barium enema.”

“He doesn’t have a good reason. It’s like he pulled that test out of his butt.”

“His butt. Bwahahahahaha!”

“No really, you are an idiot.”

The conversation unfortunately went on for way too long and at a volume that was way too loud and involved both of us trying to outdo one another with butt jokes and then laughing hysterically. We finally realized the packed waiting room had become fairly quiet with multiple eyes and ears turned in our direction.

“Kelly! Behave yourself. I can’t take you anywhere. Butthead. Bwahahahahaha!!”

Check back tomorrow. There will be photos. There will be tell all stories. There will be trouble. I guarantee it. Next Monday, I will be back to The List and also there will be a fabulous giveaway. I promise this one will not involve pooping chickens or card shark parrots. Other than that, who knows what will happen?

Cancer Sucks Much Like My Writing According To My Sisters

2011-02-12T07:40:00.000-08:00

My butt is being kicked on a daily basis these last three weeks. I started my new job as a sales manager which means 50+ hour work weeks. Add grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry and trying to be a wife, mother, grandmother, friend, chicken farmer and good Samaritan on top of it all and you have the perfect storm. I keep waiting for this ship to sink and yet, it continues to bob along the tops of these waves without taking on too much water. The one thing I truly have missed is my blogging time. You know, where I sit and smoke cigarettes, eat bon bons and blog. Ok, I don’t actually smoke although this job has the possibility of changing that. I also don’t eat bon bons any longer. Did I mention I lost 27 pounds? Anyway, I refuse to give up blogging so stick with me. There’s more to come. For instance, ask me about mice or cockroaches. No really, go ahead. Those are stories you won’t want to miss.

Anyway, tomorrow I fly out of Oklahoma City and head down to Houston, Texas. I will be meeting my sister Kelly there at MDAnderson for her quarterly battery of testing. She says she goes there every three months for the last 4 years because she has to in order to keep her cancer under the gun. I am no longer buying that story. I am pretty sure she goes for another reason.

Dr. McDreamy.

I expect my time in Houston to be one full of complete and total mayhem. Why, you ask? Because every time I meet my sisters down in Texas town, it is like stepping into a Tim Burton movie. No really, it is. Think Edward Scissorhands, Beetlejuice and Big Fish all rolled up into one week. Oh yeah, it’s craziness at it’s finest. The good thing is, I will have so much blog fodder, I will be writing like Hemingway. Maybe even while drunk like Hemingway. Who knows? It should be worth checking back for, that’s all I’m saying.

Now about week six of The List. The assignment was to mow my neighbor’s grass. There are just a few small problems I have to overcome like the fact that it is February in Oklahoma and we have had nothing but snow for the last two weeks. Those three points do not bode well for grass mowing. No fear however because spring is right around the corner promising green grass, torrential rainstorms and tornadoes galore. I’ll get the mower out then, I swear. Well, as long as a tornado doesn’t take it out first.

This whole mow your neighbors grass idea is not new to us. It is also one of the simplest things on The List. Bob has mowed the neighbors lawn in the past. It actually brought another neighbor out of his house, asking why. That's a long story but here is the condensed version. The lawn being mowed was owned by a less than nice person. The questioning neighbor along with a few others despised the less than nice neighbor. Seeing Bob mowing this guys lawn not only brought neighbors out of their homes, it got them talking. To each other. Kindly. Nicely played, Mr. Bob. You are a smart man. I think I want to kiss you when you get home. Yes, I believe I do.

Like I said, it is one of the simplest things on The List. You should give it a try. Unless you live in California. I am pretty sure you can get sued for random acts of kindness there. Check with your attorney first, just to be on the safe side.

Adoption and The List: Week Six

2011-02-07T06:04:00.000-08:00

As an adoptive mother of four beautiful girls and a birth mother of three unruly boys, I am pretty sure I have been asked just about every question and heard every offbeat statement the human mind could possibly muster. These questions and statements have not only come from friends and family but also from complete strangers. Allow me to list my top five favorites and save the rest for my book.

"Where are their real parents?"

I never cease to be amazed by this question. I understand people have a "National Enquirer" curiosity about things but please. As if asking this question itself isn't enough of an invasion of privacy it has been asked in front of my children. I learned early on to forego the right to be offended and instead attempt to educate the offender. I say attempt since it has become obvious through the years that there are those who refuse to be educated. Their loss. My simple answer has become, "You're talking to them!" For those foolish enough to push the question further after that response, I have found a direct, "…and you need to know because...?" usually changes the direction of the conversation. We are not ashamed of our children's birth families however we believe this information is for them to share with whomever they choose if and when they choose.

"Those girls are so lucky you adopted them."

Really? Why? Not one single soul has ever approached us to let us know how lucky our boys are that we birthed them. Believe me, that was no easy task! We adopted the girls for the same reasons we birthed the boys. We are selfish. That's right, selfish. We wanted children to love and care for. We wanted a chance to raise children and maybe make the world a better place because of it. Ok, maybe we also wanted lots of kids so when we are old there will be people around to love and care for us. Like I said, adopted or birthed, it was all selfishness on our part.

"Aren't you afraid there could be something wrong with them?"

The truth is, we were never afraid there might be something wrong with them. We knew there would be. Just like we knew there would be things wrong with our birth children and just like we know there are things wrong with us. No matter how much you know about your genealogy you will never know it all. Life will surprise you. Sometimes with illness. Sometimes with character flaws. Sometimes with biology. Sometimes with environment. But sometimes life will thrill you with what lies beneath the surface. It will amaze you with a child that has a hidden talent you could have never imagined. It will leave you in awe of a child's character trait you could only hope to find in yourself. Who has time to fear when you are watching with wonder as your children become more than you could have dreamed for them?

"I could never adopt. They wouldn't be my blood."

Guess what? Your spouse isn't your blood. Many times neither is your best friend. Sorry to burst your blood bubble but there it is. The truth is, you CHOOSE to love and who to love. Love is not always a feeling or blood-based. Ultimately, love is a choice.

"Don't you worry they will go looking for their birth family?"

No more than I worry I might go looking for mine. I am not adopted but I have a curiosity about who my relatives were and are. I know a lot of them but not all of them. There are times I have sought out the unknown and then there are times I have been content with what I have. As an adult, this is one of the joys and prerogatives of my life. Why would it not be the same for all my children? Just as my family has helped in the search for answers to our families questions, I would count it my privilege to help my children to find their answers if they so choose.

Ok, so I know I am a smart alec. I come by it naturally I suppose so blame it on my birth parents. Anyway, one of my reasons for sharing our adoption stories this past week was with the hope that maybe, just maybe, someone reading this blog would have an “AHA” moment. Every person is different and called to follow their own path. But what if even one person reading this last week suddenly saw their path open up? A path that would change their life forever. A path that would lead them straight to the heart of a child through foster parenting or adoption or being a mentor or... What if…?

Adoption Blogs

Now, onto week six of The List.

6. Mow your neighbor’s grass.

Surprise! It’s A Girl!!

2011-02-06T09:01:00.000-08:00

Moving to Oklahoma from California sixteen years ago was surely going to be the biggest adventure of our lives to date….or so we thought at the time. When we embarked on that journey, our vans were filled with every item we owned including our six children and more animals than should have been legal. I am quite sure our traveling caravans made people think the circus had come to town. They weren’t far from the truth on that one. Where we had lived in a small California beach town, population 17,000, we now lived in a small farming town, population 1,000. School started the day after we arrived, so to say we were thrown into small town life quickly would be an understatement.

That first year was really hard for me emotionally. I missed my family and friends and often wondered what could have possibly possessed us to do such a radical thing. That is another story, however. Probably the worst part of the move for me was the lack of social interaction. The people in our new little town were friendly enough but definitely different than what we were use to in our home state. Although we handed out dinner invitations on a regular basis, very few were accepted and even less were given to us. I began to seriously wonder what was wrong with our family that made people not want to get to know us.

During that first year, a woman in her eighties named *Emma, knocked on my door one morning. She introduced herself as a neighbor from around the corner. Of course, she had heard all about the new family from California and wanted to come meet us. Thankful for a friendly face willing to enter my home, I invited her in for coffee. That morning coffee would begin a life changing friendship for both of us. As we visited, I learned this amazing woman was raising two of her great-grandchildren, a twelve year old girl and a ten year old boy. She had little to no help with this daunting task and yet she did not regret a moment of her decision to care for them. She had even legally adopted them. I sat in amazement listening to her story. Our friendship began to make sense to me. We were definitely the oddballs in this little town of “normal” families.

Over the next few years, our two families formed some very deep bonds. We loved and cared for one another’s children and did the best we knew how to help each other through some trying times. One of those times came after we had moved to our farmhouse out in the country. Emma called and asked if she could come for coffee. Of course, I was delighted at the thought of a visitor so I put the coffee on and prepared a coffee cake. The moment Emma arrived at my front door, I knew something was terribly wrong. She immediately broke down and cried; something this old, German farm woman was not known to easily do. As we sat at the kitchen table, she explained that her now fourteen year old great-granddaughter had confided she was pregnant. She didn’t know what to do or how she was going to get through this. As I wrapped my arms around her, I assured her that Bob and I would do everything we could to help and that we would be there for both of them. I never imagined what that would eventually come to mean.

The next six months went by quickly. When I got the call that the baby, a little girl, had arrived, I drove to Emma’s home filled with thankfulness that mother and daughter were both well and also sadness at two young lives that were facing a challenge that statistically, could turn out less than positive. In all truth, when I finally held that new little one and smiled at her mother, I really wanted to break down and cry for both of them.

Over the next three months, I stopped by to visit now and then, checking in on Emma as much as on baby and mother. During one of our visits, I was asked if I would be willing to watch the baby so mom could finish high school. I didn’t even need to think about it. I immediately said yes. In my mind, if there was going to be any chance of making it in this world, education was definitely one of the main keys.

By the time Miranda was six months old, she spent half her life with us, including many nights and weekends. At a year old, she lived with us full time. Shortly after, we took full guardianship. It was during that second year, that we asked her mother to move in with us. We felt strongly that she needed to be mentored if she was to have any hope of raising her daughter someday. She turned us down, eventually dropped out of school and out of all of our lives for the most part. I was forty-two raising a two year old. I saw where this boat was going and I began to freak. I was too old. This wasn’t fair to Miranda. She deserved younger, fresher parents. We were old and worn out. I argued with God for a solid week. At the end of the week, I clearly heard this, “Ok, so imagine your life without this gift I’ve given you.” I knew I had lost the battle right then and there. I had been given something so wonderful, so amazing and yet somehow, I never saw it coming.

Miranda is turning thirteen this May. She is my joy, my heart, my gift. Loving her is more than I could have hoped for, more than I could have imagined, more than I deserve. Thank you, God, thank you.

Miranda Nicole Hansen ~ 2009

Oh, one last thing, God. I know you are fully aware that I am turning fifty-three next month. I also understand that you know what I am capable of more than I do. However, I am pretty sure I have reached full capacity at seven. Pretty sure. But then, you're God and I'm not. So, I'm ready for whatever lies ahead. But if there are more children coming, could they come with a maid this time? I mean, it never hurts to ask, right?

The Parent Trap

2011-02-04T05:19:00.000-08:00

Adopting our first two daughters took a little over two years. They had been in the system their entire lives so getting them out took some doing. While we were going through the process, the state of California required us to become foster parents. It was explained that even though we would not be required to take in any other children, we would need to do this for legal reasons until our adoptions finalized. Of course, we fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

Going through the process of becoming foster parents was not difficult at all. We took classes, filled out paperwork, had a home study and received our official titles of Mom and Dad Foster Parent in just a few months. Once that was done, we figured we would go on with life as normal while we waited for the girl’s adoptions to finalize. Looking back, I now realize Child Protective Services probably saw us coming a mile away and set the trap catching themselves two wide eyed and bushy tailed parents. Seriously, after going through all the training, how could we not use it to benefit some little kid? How much trouble could one little temporary kid be, right?

Our first few foster children were very young, under two and with us for short terms: the first for two weeks and the second for a few months. It was so wonderful to be able to love these little ones during such a difficult time in their lives. Being able to comfort a small, scared child and see them eventually smile and laugh was worth the pain of any goodbyes we would say later. Then came Lizzie.

I received a call from a social worker one morning asking if we would take a thirteen month old baby girl. She didn’t eat, only drank bottles of formula, wasn’t walking or talking and had just begun crawling. I was told she did not smile, play with toys or show much emotion. She lacked socialization and would need special services to learn how to interact with others. The placement had the possibility of lasting as long as a year. The social worker knew we did not want to take any long term commitments, so he promised if we would keep her for just a few weeks, he would be able to find a long term foster home by then. I called Bob to get the ok and called CPS back agreeing to the placement.

As I loaded our five children into the van, each one was buzzing with excitement over the new baby we were on our way to pick up. I explained that it was only for a few weeks and there were some things they needed to know. I went through the checklist of known issues with my kids just as the social worker had done with me. Of course, there were lots of questions, most of them I had no answers to. We all agreed we would just do our best to be kind and loving to the new baby, trusting that God had a plan for her life just like He had for each of ours.

Once we got to the office, we were taken to the holding area where we would wait for our caseworker, David, to return with the baby. Before leaving the room, he explained her name was Liz and that it was important we remain fairly quiet when he returned with her. He was concerned she could be overwhelmed by six of us attacking her with kisses like we were known to do. We all promised to wait quietly and follow his lead.

When the door opened and I saw David standing there, holding the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, I was not shocked by my kid’s oohs and ahhs. Liz was commercial baby perfect in appearance. David stood calmly, holding this little piece of life that stared straight at me, giving no reaction to anything around her. As he entered the room and sat down, placing her on his knee, Liz squirmed to get down. Once settled on the floor, never once taking her eyes off me, she crawled as fast as any baby I had ever seen straight into my arms. Picking her up, I couldn’t help but cover her with kisses unleashing the other kids from their confinement. Within seconds, our new little short term placement was covered with kisses, head and belly rubs. Though she never smiled or cried, she accepted it all in stride. We left before David could wipe the look of shock from his face.

Within two weeks of bringing Lizzie home, she was eating regular table food, laughing, walking and beginning to talk. This kid never needed special services. She just needed a plain, old family to love her to life. Two years after bringing our “short term placement” foster baby named Liz home, we made it her permanent forever home.

Lizzie Ann Hansen is turning twenty years old in five days. I still remember the first time I held her in my arms, like it was yesterday. It scared me, because I knew from that moment, she was in my heart to stay.

Lizzie Ann Hansen ~ 2008

Three boys. Three girls. We were so done. Our quiver was more than full, it was overflowing. Until.....

This Isn’t The Chocolate Factory and I Am Not Willy Wonka

2011-02-03T06:02:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the delay in posting, folks. We had no internet for the last two days due to the crazy blizzard that blew through Oklahoma. Love the snow, hate losing internet. Anyway, the story continues. Like I said earlier, I am going to do some reposting. If you have already read these, go take a nap. If you're new here, read on pretty please. Either way, consider getting involved in the adoption option. It will change your life for the better. It did mine.

When we adopted our first two daughters, I had it all figured out. Since the little one, Belen, was only four years old, she would have an easy time bonding with us. I was prepared for our ten year old, Rachel, to possibly have a more difficult go of it. I quickly learned two valuable, life-changing lessons: I will never have things all figured out no matter how sure I am that I do and God has a plan that is usually very different from mine.

The first words Bel ever spoke to us were these, “Do we have candy at our house?” Seeing that beautiful brown face enter the room for the first time, watching as she climbed onto the couch and snuggled close to me and then hearing those sweetly funny words escaping her mouth should have told us something. We were headed for trouble with this one!

Once the girls were home with us, we quickly moved from the honeymoon period to reality. I am thankful for that now. It wasn’t a week since moving the girls in that Bel began to show what was hidden in that little broken heart of hers. She would scream and throw temper tantrums if I tried to give her a bath, brush her hair or take her picture. Shopping for clothes was a nightmare. The girls arrived with almost nothing so I was thrilled to have a valid excuse to spoil them rotten while shopping for new clothes and toys. I never imagined the scenes Bel would create however.

One of the first times we shopped together, Rachel shyly and quietly would pick out clothing and ask if she might have this or that. Of course, I was beyond happy to get her whatever she wanted. Bel, on the other hand would lay on the floor screaming that I was trying to make her wear “ugly clothes.” My boys were little monsters but rarely in public places so I felt instantly like a failure with Bel. I had no idea how to handle a four year old girl that rejected me on every level. Fear began to creep into my heart. I had taken the classes, read the books, even taught some of the classes for DHS. How could I be so clueless?

Over the next fourteen years, I am ashamed to say that I found myself avoiding Bel on many levels. I was a good mother in that I provided all the things necessary for a decent life. I guarded my heart closely though. Time and time again, when I would reach out only to feel rejected, I would escape deeper into hiding hoping to protect my heart. I never blamed Bel. I knew I was the one failing her, she wasn’t failing me. We even sought counseling. Prayer at church. Fighting it out at home. Nothing seemed to help.

Right before Bel’s nineteenth birthday, she had a medical scare which landed her in the hospital for a week. The thought of losing my baby girl was more than overwhelming to me. It took my focus off of me and my pain and placed my eyes where they should have always been from the beginning, on Belen. The night we rushed her to the hospital, I sat in the backseat of the car, holding my daughter in my arms. I don’t know that I have ever wept the way I did that night. The only words I could say over and over were, “I love you, Bel!”

It’s an amazing thing what vulnerability can bring to a relationship. From that night on, as I opened my heart again, no longer worried about being rejected but focused on what was best for my daughter, each day has brought more than I could have hoped for. More than I deserve. I learned to be honest about my feelings but more importantly, I learned and am learning to listen. Bel has opened up about her fears from the past and her fears of the future and you know what? As we have opened ourselves up to one another, most of those fears have suddenly faded away. Light seems to do that to darkness….melt all the boogie men you just knew were laying in wait to get you someday.

Bel just turned twenty-five years old. She is one of my favorite people in this world and definitely my favorite Belen. She and I have so many things in common. She loves the poor and needy. She cares for others with her entire heart not just a piece of it. She is funny and witty and kind of weird. She is one of the most amazing and strange people I have ever known. She is just like her mother.

Belen Marie Hansen, doing just one of the things she does best.

and the story continues.....

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

2011-01-31T05:55:00.000-08:00

As we reach week five of The List, I am going to do some reposting. If you have already read these, go have a donut. If you're new here, read on pretty please. Either way, consider getting involved in the adoption option. It will change your life for the better. It did mine.

5. Adopt a child.

When we first decided to go forward with adopting a child, things were very clear and simple in our minds. We had three great little boys and wanted to add one sweet little baby girl. We talked for days about how incredible it would be to have a daughter to love and raise as our own. It had been a topic of conversation on and off for several years and finally, it was going to be a reality.

I remember how, early on that Monday morning, I called adoption services in our state and informed them of our desire to adopt a baby girl. I'm sure I sounded positively giddy. Our lives would never be the same from that moment on. The social worker took a little information from me and then kindly but firmly let me know we would never be given a baby girl. We already had three children and baby girls rarely went up for adoption anyway. If we were interested in older boys she could help us out right away. Of course, she let me know the children would be delivered with lots of baggage and not the kind that come in pretty colors. I hung up feeling shell-shocked.

Not one to quickly surrender, I began looking into international adoption. Two years later, all we had to show for all our efforts were two adoptions that never materialized and a loss of thousands of dollars. As I allowed the sadness to go deep within me, it began to bring up thoughts and feelings from when I was small. I remembered something! I had wanted to adopt a little girl. She was always Mexican in my mind and her name was always Rachel.

That night when I sat down with my husband, I told him of my memory. Surely this must be God's way of telling us to go to Mexico and find our baby girl. Bob was tired from the last two years and less than enthusiastic. He wanted to wait a bit before we spent any more time, money or emotion on the whole adoption thing. The sadness hit me harder than before.

Several weeks later, a friend of mine called. Jean was a birth mother, a foster mother and an adoptive mother. She said she had just come from a meeting and had seen a picture of three little girls the agency was trying to place for adoption. They were sisters, all under six years old and of Mexican descent. She had thought of us immediately and really thought I should call and ask about them. I thanked her but told her there was no way we were going to adopt three older children. I never mentioned it to Bob.

That next week, I was miserable. I couldn't eat or sleep. I was having trouble concentrating on anything but those three little girls. I began to dream about "Rachel" just as I had when I was ten years old. I finally explained the whole thing to Bob and his first response was "Call!" I was shocked by his change of heart but didn't wait around to ask questions.

I called the agency and explained who I was and told them we were interested in the girls. The social worker was friendly and talkative asking questions about our family for almost an hour. Finally I heard her say, "Well, those three little girls have been placed for adoption." I immediately began to cry. She then continued, "However, I have two other little girls that I think would fit perfectly in your family." I felt as if my heart had stopped and I wasn't breathing.

Arraignments were made for Bob and I to take our three boys to the agency the following Monday. It would be a two hour drive for a one hour meeting. We went with more excitement than could be contained, literally. The meeting was a nightmare. Our boys, who were normally fairly well-behaved in public, had lost their little minds. They were noisy and wild, fighting over toys and acting sillier than we had ever seen before. We left there knowing this was probably the end of the adoption trail for us.

The next day the social worker called to ask if just Bob and I would come back up the next afternoon. She wanted to spend some one-on-one time with us. Being thankful for another chance, I told her we would be there. That meeting was much quieter to say the least. We learned the girls were four years old and ten years old. The younger was of Mexican/African American heritage and the older was of Mexican heritage. She gave us their records to read. It was brutal reading what these two little ones had been through. She warned us of all the typical things you hear about with older children. They may not bond with you ever. They may have serious emotional issues. There could be hidden health problems. On and on she went until our heads were swimming with what ifs. Finally she handed their pictures to us. As Bob and I sat next to each other holding those photos, we both began to sob. Something entered the room at that moment. It was the same something that had been there when each of our boys was born. I don't know what to call it other than it is that thing that happens when you first see your child. That overwhelming, all encompassing emotion of your past, present and future being laid in your arms. These girls were our babies. Though we had never held them in our arms, our hearts had held them for years.

Sylvia, the social worker, asked us to come back again the next afternoon. She wanted us to meet the girls and they wanted to meet us. The next day we arrived almost an hour early. When the girls walked into the room the feeling was overwhelming. We spent thirty minutes in the office talking before Sylvia suggested we take the girls out for a few hours. As Bob and I helped buckle the girls into the car, our oldest daughter looked at me and asked, "When you adopt me can I change my name?"

That was twenty years ago. Her name today? Rachel.

Me and my girl, Rachel Patrice Hansen-Gerber

and the story continues......

If Only I Could

2011-01-30T10:22:00.000-08:00

It’s been almost a week since I have written or read anything. I can’t think right now. Yes, I am working a new job, ten hours a day and obviously have to “think” during those hours but the truth is, I am on auto-pilot while there. Everything looks fine on the outside, but on the inside, I am numb, silent, frozen.

Thirty-three years ago, I was barely twenty years old, married for two years and pregnant with our first child. Two months before Matthew was born, Bob and I moved four hours north of our family, to a very small beach town where my mother was born and raised. All my maternal family was still there so it was really like going home for me. One we settled in, I realized that although I had tons of aunts, uncles and cousins, I had left all my friends when I moved. I began to wonder how I would ever meet people my age in such a small town when I could barely walk with my huge baby belly. I didn’t have to wonder for long.

Just days after moving into one of my cousins rent houses, a darling wood cottage painted red with a killer view of the ocean, there was a knock on the front door. I waddled my way over to answer the rapping and was pleasantly surprised by the blonde woman on the other side. Elsa was just a few years older than I was and lived across the street. She came over to introduce herself and to bring homemade treats. We spent about an hour talking and then walked across the road to her home where she fed me lunch and fed my soul with friendship. I will never forget her for that.

The next day my cousin dropped me off at home after taking me to my doctors appointment. As I walked up to the door, there was a jar of homemade blackberry jam sitting on the front doorstep. I picked it up and went into the house smiling, assuming it was from Elsa. It wasn’t but an hour later that Lori knocked on my door. She introduced herself as a friend of Elsa’s and asked if I had found the jam she had left. I quickly invited her. She had her two year old boy with her and we spent a wonderful afternoon visiting and getting to know one another. Meeting Lori that day changed my life forever.

For the last thirty-three years, Mike and Lori have been more than our friends. They are our family. We have been through births and deaths, parties and partings, girls nights and boys weekends, couples vacations and times of pure vacancy. When we moved to Oklahoma sixteen years ago, one of the most difficult things for me was leaving Lori. She is my sister, my kindred spirit, the person most like me in every way imaginable. I love her and her husband Mike, beyond words. When I think of Lori, I think of laughing until we are crying and crying until we are laughing. That last sentence really sums up our relationship perfectly.

This week, Lori sent me an email. I won’t go into it all because it is deeply personal. I will only share this one line:

“…..he only has months to live.”

Of course, I immediately called and spoke to Mike for a minute and then Lori for much longer. I wanted to be encouraging, to laugh with her, to tell her things that would bring her comfort. I couldn’t so instead we cried together. A lot. I am still crying. Bob has had to wake me up from crying in my sleep as I dream of Lori and Mike. I cried all through worship at church last night. I have cried in the bathroom at work and on my way home. When I am crying, I am also pleading with God for an answer, a miracle, for peace and comfort for Mike. I am pleading for the same and more for Lori and their family. I am also asking Him to teach me what it means to be a friend in the face of such incredible pain for the people I love.

Only months, possibly weeks to live. I can’t understand this. My heart won’t allow me to. I want to go home. I want to live in that little red beach cottage and find blackberry jam on my stoop. I want to stay up all night laughing with Lori and the other girls in our group while the guys are off backpacking with all the kids. I want a do-over. I want more time.

The List Goes On

2011-01-24T22:28:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are heading into week four of The List. Mind if I do a little recapping? Too bad because I am going to, like it or not.

1. Fast for the 2 billion people who live on less than a dollar a day.

Our three week Daniel fast ended yesterday. I am completely amazed that Bob and I both made it through 21 days of fruits and vegetables only. I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am of that guy I am married to. I have watched Mr. Meat and Potatoes, Mr. I Hate Veggies, Mr. Don't Ever Try To Make Me Try Something New Or I'll Throw A Hissie, transform into a deeper, more focused, more open individual than I could have ever imagined. Believe me, Bob has always been a wonderful person, my best friend, the kindest soul, an amazing kisser. I think even the kissing has improved. I'm just saying. But really, what we gained over the last three weeks was worth every bite we gave up. I am truly thankful for the experience.

2. Contact your local crisis pregnancy center and invite a pregnant woman to live with your family.

We have received our home study package and will be spending the next few months getting everything done on their list. When we first made the offer to Deaconess regarding inviting a pregnant woman to live with us, the thought of a pregnant teen never crossed our minds. When they asked if we would be willing to foster a pregnant teen we were reminded of our goal to be open this year to wherever God wants to take us so, time will tell where this road leads.

3. Ask your pastor if someone on your church’s sick list would like a visit.

Like I said a few posts back, the opportunities to do hospital visits have been there and quite positive. I have another friend in a physical pickle that I will be stopping in to see this week also. I may just take some balloons with me. Have you done it yet? Have you taken balloons or cards or flowers to strangers in the hospital or nursing home? I'd love to hear your stories.

That brings us to week four:

4. Join an open AA meeting and befriend someone there.

I went to an orientation at the City Rescue Mission last Monday night with my daughter Bel. We signed up to be mentors to women in the Bridge program there, which is their AA meeting. We were told we should hear something this week so here's to the crazy Hansen women waiting for the next adventure.

Bel and I had dinner this evening and I can honestly say I am really excited at the thought of taking this challenge on with Bel by my side. She is such an amazing girl. At 25 years old, she has made the decision to focus on things bigger than herself and has moved into a renovated warehouse across the street from the Rescue Mission. Where she lives is called The Refuge. This once abandoned warehouse was a well-known hang-out for drug dealers and prostitutes. It now houses men, women and families with children who all have a desire to change the world one broken soul at a time. These people all have jobs and lives and they live them well. I love stopping in and visiting, getting to know such amazing young world-changers. I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am of my little girl. She amazes me.

As I drove home after dinner, I couldn't help but smile thinking of the conversation at her kitchen table tonight. It was Bel, her roomie, another neighbor and myself. I listened to Bel speak about her outreach to the homeless women that hang out in the parking lot wanting to talk to her when she gets home from work. She truly loves them and you can see in her face that she will be one of those people that will mend a heart along the way because of that love.

Her neighbor told of her upcoming move to Uganda with a group of young people. They are going there to bring hope and help to the hopeless and helpless. When I asked about the danger, she admitted they all had faced the reality of their decision and still felt called to go. It was hard to look at her and not want to hold her and cry motherly tears.

Bel's roommate is focused on bringing girls out of the sex trafficking industry that has become rampant in the USA. She is determined to see the organization she is a part of, open more safe houses for these young girls. She is absolutely fearless in the face of this atrociousness.

Looking at these three young woman tonight, I prayed for three things: for their safety, for their success and for their fierce determination to spend their lives well to spread like wildfire to others, including myself.

That's all for tonight. I started a new job today and will be in training 10 hours a day all week. I'm tired and thankful and satisfied with all that I have been given in this life. I can hardly wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

Goodnight ~

Sundays In My City

2011-01-23T14:44:00.000-08:00

A few months ago,

this blew through on a Sunday.

Welcome to Oklahoma

Be sure to visit Unknown Mami

to see what's happening

in other cities around the globe.

I Love Meeces To Pieces

2011-01-22T19:55:00.000-08:00

Have you ever thought about the important place mice hold in our hearts? Take for instance, Mickey Mouse. That delightful fellow and his sweet companion Minnie have brought the world nothing but joy and harmony for decades. What would the world be like without these two amazing mice?

Then there are the darling mice of Beatrix Potter fame. I mean really, could they be any cuter? Plus, they sew. I could use a few of those around the farm.

Speaking of sewing mice, who can forget Cinderella’s pals? That little Gus was part of the charm of the entire movie with his fat tummy and ill fitting clothes.

What about Speedy Gonzalez? Te quiero Speedy como un niño gordo ama un pastel. No, seriously.

Who can forget afternoons spent laughing and playing with this guy? Without him, our kids birthday parties would have been cheap, easy and over in an hour. Thank you Chuckie for the amazing memories of hard earned money quickly spent.

And Ratatouille. Now there’s a movie for ya. A kitchen filled with filthy rats cooking food that will then be served to unsuspecting human beings. Human beings that were simply trying to live their lives and enjoy their dinner out.

But can they enjoy their dinner out? NO! Because they know, waiting at home for them is a colony of these. That’s right, all the aforementioned mice apparently have relatives that decided Hollywood and the big city life wasn’t for them any longer. So they loaded up the truck and they moved to Oklahoma. Our house to be specific.

Aren’t they just freaking darling? So cute I could just squeeze em until their little eyes pop out. Oh, yeah I said it. Go ahead and beg for mercy you stinking little rodent.

I thought about getting one of these because our two precious kitties are simply too busy to be bothered with helping us out with this little problem. Yeah, our cats have other more pressing concerns like eating the cat food in their bowl until they are so fat they have to roll themselves over to their fluffy little bed and nap in front of the heater.

I have decided to put my anger and anti-PETA sentiment aside and play nice with our new houseguests. See the sincere, animal loving, PETA supporter smile? I am so sincerely sincere. Would I lie?

Dinner is served fellas. Invite your family and friends. There’s plenty for seconds.

Bwahahahahahahahaha!!!!!

Disclaimers and Full Disclosure

2011-01-19T21:20:00.000-08:00

Some readers have reported changes in behavior, agitation, and depression when attempting to digest this blog. Butts and Ashes may increase the chance of serious skin reactions or stomach and intestine problems, such as rectal bleeding and ulcers.

Sleepwalking, overeating and desiring to drive over a cliff after reading this blog have been reported. If you experience any of these behaviors contact your local mental health provider immediately.

Reading Butts and Ashes may cause you to fall asleep without any warning, even while doing normal daily activities, such as tending chickens. Hallucinations may occur and sometimes you may feel dizzy, sweaty or nauseated upon reading this blog. Butts and Ashes has also been linked to amnesia and gambling addiction.

Readers are urged to avoid pregnancy before, during, and one month after reading Butts and Ashes.

Reading this blog can decrease the activity of your immune system to fight infections. People reading Butts and Ashes may have an increased chance of getting serious infections. Some infections in people reading Butts and Ashes have become serious and in rare cases these have led to hospitalization of the reader and their pets.

Butts and Ashes likely increases the risk of getting Progressive Courtney Love Syndrome, a rare brain disease caused by a virus which usually results in severe bad hair. Other serious side effects experienced by readers included new or worsening psoriasis, new or worsening arthritis, and nervous system disorders.

You have been warned.

Duck, Duck, Goose

2011-01-18T18:39:00.000-08:00

So I am sitting here warming my toes by the fireplace as Foghorn Leghorn croons Neil Young love songs to me. Did I mention he likes to wear his jammies when he croons to me? Did I mention they say Chicks Dig Me all over them? Did I also mention they are covered with roosters? Yeah, this guy I am married to is one class act all the way. I am seriously in love with him. Ok, the Neil Young songs don't hurt but even without Neil, I'd still dig him because I too am a chick.

Speaking of chicks, I would like to introduce you to one of my all-time favorite people in bloggy land. The Duck Herder is someone I would like to live next door to other than I have a feeling next door would mean 20 miles down the road. She hails from Canberra, Australia and is the real deal earth mama. I mean, the name alone of The Duck Herder should have given you the first clue. The gal raises fowl, has bees, makes her own hooch and even the wild critters hang with her. I must warn you, she does have a tendency to have a nip or two of that hooch now and then but still, even a drunken Dr. Doolittle is still pretty darn cool in my book. Take for instance this comment left recently:

The Duck Herder said...

oops, too much wine this evening. And even in this state I could see there were way too many spelling mistakes......

try again......

thats you on the left, right?

and, can we PuRLEASE use the correct terminology - a "bed" should always be referred to correctly as one's "personal power center", OK? Get it right lovie.

one withdraws to one's personal power centre. One never just sooks in bed.

loving you.
duckie

did they really lock you out?

there, I think that is slightly more coherent.

Now, I am not totally sure what sooks means but obviously it is something I shall never want to do in my personal power center. I am forever indebted to TDH for pointing out my fopaux.

Oh and lest I forget, she talks really, really funny too. Just take a peak at this comment.

The Duck Herder said...

Would you just stop making me cry already!!!!!

You are living berloody in ya face kick up the whoopah proof that it is the stupid little free things that make the difference - stuff that costs nothing except a little time and a little random act of kindness or compassion and just being slightly present to someone's pain.

Marla - the avalanche of love.

Again, I have no idea what a whoopah is but apparently I have one and you don't want this avalanche of love up in your face kicking yours so get on over and have a cup of tea with The Duck Herder. Just be careful if she brings out the homemade hooch. Things could get jerrabomberra.

Week Three of The List: You People Are Sick

2011-01-17T13:40:00.000-08:00

Two weeks of my journey on The List are down and rolling along smoothly. I am going to the City Rescue Mission this evening. The plan is to attend orientation although some days the thought of moving in there doesn’t seem half bad. Oh relax, I am just pulling your leg which by the way is better than pulling your finger. That is just wrong. Anyway, onto week three.

3. Ask your pastor if someone on your church’s sick list would like a visit.

I didn’t need to ask anyone because as such is life, two people I love ended up in the hospital over the last two weeks. I won’t go into details because they are their details to share or not. I know, it’s so unlike me to be so considerate. Even so, I was able to go in and visit with both of them. To be able to hear the challenges they faced and pray with them was a real gift to me. I am very thankful for both of these friends and am happy to say that all is well.

I do have another story to tell you in the hopes of throwing a challenge out there to anyone willing to take it. Ready? Ok, here it is.

A few years ago, I worked for AOL as a rewards and recognition program manager. It was quite exciting and I seriously loved my job. I was a glorified party planner and got to give things away and make people happy. I’m telling you, Santa Claus had nothing on me. It was awesome. Anyway, after one of the big events I had put on, there were close to 50 balloons left over. These were not just any old balloons. These were super fancy mylar western balloons. They were big and in the shapes of horses, cowboy hats and boots. Roy and Dale would have been drooling over these things.

At the end of the evening, Bob and I and another manager loaded our three cars with all the leftover balloons and headed to the hospital. The plan was to drop them off at the front desk for the pediatric ward. When we all walked in carrying the ginormous balloons, the little gray haired lady manning the front desk told us to go ahead and take them up to Peds. Finally, we made it to the nurses station and let them know we were donating the balloons. Several nurses had gathered by then and we were told to go ahead and knock on each patient’s door so we could personally make the deliveries.

I will be totally honest here. All three of us were scared. Not one of us wanted to go any further. I have no idea why we were such cowards but we were. When the nurses kept insisting, the decision was made (behind my back, I might add) that Bob and Rick would hold all the balloons and I would be the spokesperson entering each room with the single balloon. I was freaking out but just wanted to get it done by that point.

As I knocked on the first door, my heart pounding in my chest, I heard a mother say, “Come in.” When I opened the door and stepped in, I saw two very worried parents standing by a sick toddler in the bed. All three of them looked at me, then looked behind me at the sea of balloons before finally staring back at me with a big question mark. I nervously explained I was from AOL and just wanted to drop off a balloon to wish them well. That’s when the tears started to flow for the parents as the little one in the bed took the horse and smiled. I quickly walked out and fell apart.

Of course, after seeing what happened, Bob and Rick wanted in on the action, to which I said, “No way! Hand over another balloon,” and booked it to the next room. Each room was pretty much the same scene. I cannot even begin to tell you the feeling of seeing sick kids smile because of a balloon and parents crying over seeing that smile. I will never forget that night. Never.

So, here’s the challenge. Go buy a few balloons, head to the hospital and knock on a few doors. You will receive more than you give. I promise you that.

Sundays In My City

2011-01-16T08:31:00.000-08:00

Oklahoma City Food Bank

Making A Difference Every Day

Looking for an opportunity

to make a difference?

Call your local Food Bank.

You'll be glad you did.

Food Banks:USA

Be sure to stop by and visit Unknown Mami to see what's going on in other cities around the world.

Assembly Required

2011-01-15T21:35:00.000-08:00

The last two days have been very quiet with just Miranda, our 12 year old, and me in the house. Bob is in New Mexico helping those turncoats get settled in their new digs. Not that I care or anything. Anyway, last night was ok. I let Miranda and all 5 dogs sleep with me. That should teach people to leave me in this house all by myself. Well, except for the 12 year old that is.

When I got up this morning, I decided I needed to keep busy in order to drowned out the deafening silence that has settled into this morgue of a house. So I got back in bed and slept until 9:30. That kept me busy. Then I dropped Miranda off at Rachel's so I could go have breakfast with my friend Jana. We met at the little local diner, ate and talked and I even made her cry. Yeah, I'm gifted like that. Then I went and picked Miranda up so we could head over to the Food Bank.

I was a bit nervous, having never been there before. That passed quickly once they stuck us on the assembly line. Miranda was in the middle of the line, filling bags with food items that would eventually be placed into backpacks. The backpacks are then given to low-income school age kids to take home on Fridays. Many of these kids would have little to eat on the weekends otherwise. Miranda and I were talking about how great it felt to help people. She suggested getting our entire family together and going back to the Food Bank to volunteer. Sounds like fun to me.

Anyway, I was at the end of the line packing the boxes. The bags were passed through the entire line and filled with different items from each volunteer. When it got to the end of the line, it was pressed with a machine that sealed it closed then pushed to the end of the table. That's where I was waiting to tightly pack six of the bags into a box, close it up and carry it to the scales where the next volunteer weighed and stacked the boxes on pallets. It all sounds quite simple, right?

It started out well enough.

Until the other volunteers got the hang of things

and picked up the speed.

Then it was knees and elbows flying.

Ok, maybe a granola bar or two flew also.

After 2 hours, the Food Bank coordinator called for a break.

That's when I got the great idea to go outside and take some pictures for tomorrow's Sundays In My City blog post. Miranda and I strolled around for 10 minutes, taking pictures, talking, laughing about how fast the assembly line was moving and how much fun we were having. Then it was time to go back in but lo and behold, the doors were locked. No, seriously, we were locked out. Accident? You decide.

Buh Bye Fly Boy

2011-01-14T21:34:00.000-08:00

Seven months ago, our oldest son and his family moved in with us. They were going to build a house on 5 acres we gave them. Matthew would be flying full time for the Army Natonal Guard and Molly would complete her Masters. As is the way of life, things changed, the guard job dissolved and Matthew spent the last 6 months looking for another pilot position. He finally found one last month but not in Oklahoma. So, today Bob helped Matt, Molly, Addee Mae and Mikey load up the U-Haul and head to New Mexico where Matt will fly civilian Medi-flight and National Guard counter drug. They are one year contracts and the plan is to get back to Oklahoma and build their home. Whatever. Anyway, for the last few weeks, Matt has been driving me crazy.

“You’re gonna cry when we leave.”

“Yeah. Tears of joy because the reign of terror is ending.”

“Whatever old woman. You’ll see. We’ll be driving away and you’ll be crying.”

“Don’t hold your breath bucko.”

I mean really. Why would I cry? I will finally have a clean car that isn’t filled with maniacs and Disney movies.

I can finally get to the fireplace without having to swim through sticky faced gremlins.

I won't have baby chicks in the shower.

I won't have trouble figuring out which one is the monkey any more.

I can go outside without getting buzzed by this.

I can camp in peace and quiet without hordes of goonies.

And finally, I can sit at my table and drink my tea alone. With nobody to talk to. Without this one having deep, intellectual discussions with me. Or praying with me. Or telling me how much I am loved.

Yep, it will be great and I won't shed a tear. Not one single tear. I will be smiling because they are finally gone and I can sit back and relax without having to plan anymore dinner parties or get-togethers or cheese and whine girls nights. Not one tear.

I'm going to chop more onions now. The end.

The Rest Of The Story

2011-01-13T07:03:00.000-08:00

Quite a few of you asked what happened to Ann so I thought I would tell you what I know.

Ann lived in her apartment with her son for several years. She found a job, made new friends and came over to our house every Thursday to play Canasta and every Sunday after church for lunch. Sadly, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor and had to have surgery. She moved back in with us so we could help care for her and her son. They stayed for about 6 months. During that time, she was on quite a bit of pain medication which was necessary at first but unfortunately led her back to drug addiction. She turned away from all who loved her and was lost again for a few years. Those years were miserable and many of us tried to help but it is a hopeless situation unless the person wants help. Eventually we lost all contact.

Several years passed with no word from Ann and then I received a letter from her. Through a series of events, she ended up in a year long rehab. She wrote about her journey and the part we had played in her life. It was a raw, emotion-filled letter that brought me to tears. I still have it and will never forget her words. There was no return address so I assumed she wasn’t ready to re-connect and might never be. That was ok because I had her heart in that letter. How could I not be forever thankful for that?

Several years later, Ann showed up at our front door. I hardly recognized her from the last time I had seen her. She was absolutely beautiful, clean and sober. We spent the entire day together, laughing, crying and catching up. She was getting married and wanted us to attend which we did. Shortly after the wedding, we moved out of state and lost touch with one another. I heard through friends that Ann passed away about four years ago. I have tried to find out what happened but can’t find anyone who knows. Here is what I do know:

I have recently found an address for her son and plan on writing to him. I also have contact information on her son that was adopted. I have heard he has a lot of questions about his birth mother. I would like to share her letter with them both. Ann was a wonderful human being whose spirit was broken at an early age. So many only saw that broken spirit. I want her boys to see the heart of the woman that was their mother.

A Little Less Talk and A Lot More Action ~ Part Two

2011-01-12T06:47:00.000-08:00

Originally posted 11/30/2009

Just like clockwork, the front door to our home opened at six in the evening announcing the love of my life was home. From the moment I met Bob, when I was a mere fourteen years old, I knew he was the person I wanted to grow old with. He was, and remains to this day, the most honest, loving, loyal, decent man I have ever met. I am blessed. When I heard the front door open that night, however, the thought that I may not get the chance to grow old once he saw Ann and her son, flashed through my mind. I should have known better.

Walking into the kitchen, Bob looked from face to face, starting with Ann’s and ending with mine. He was not smiling. I quickly walked over to him and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. I heard Ann get up from the table and walk out of the room.

“Marla, we need to talk.”

“I know, I know. Please don’t get mad. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”

We both walked silently to our bedroom and closed the door behind us.

“She needs to go. I don’t want her here. I have to protect you and the boys regardless of what anyone thinks. She has to go!”

I knew he meant what he said and that he was right about one thing. He was the best protector and provider for the boys and me. I desperately wanted to honor Bob the way he had always honored me, but I also felt helping Ann was the right thing to do. I felt like crying because I had created such a mess of things. I asked Bob if Ann and her baby could stay for dinner since it was ready and maybe we could figure out an alternative plan for them during our meal. He agreed, out of his love for me, not because he thought I was right. I am sure of this.

As we all sat at the dinner table, Bob said grace and we ate, silently at first. Eventually, Bob began to ask Ann questions about her little son’s health and her life in general. By the end of the meal, everyone at the table was laughing and talking at the same time just like our usual mealtimes. As Bob helped me clear the table, he leaned over and whispered, “You win. Where are we going to put them?”

For the next twelve months, Ann and her son lived in our home as a part of our family. Her boy gained weight, played with my boys and slept in his very own bed. Ann also did really well. There were moments she would slip up and make a bad choice but she always came back to center because she had found a safe place to fall. She had found the Lord.

When Ann’s baby was born, I had the great privilege of being her labor and delivery coach. I was the first to hold her newborn son, the first to give him a bath and feed him a bottle and the last to hold him before placing him in the arms of his adoptive parents. Ann had decided adoption was the best option for this little one she loved so much. It was one of the most bittersweet moments of my life. I could only ever imagine what it was like for Ann. I remain in awe of her for that act of love.

A few months after the birth, we found an apartment close by for Ann and her first son. My girlfriends, who had all circled the wagons around Ann during her pregnancy, once again showered her with love and kindness. The day she moved into that little apartment, it was completely furnished and had a stocked pantry not to mention broods of people stopping by with treats and well wishes.

Was this an easy journey for me or my family? Not always. Would I do it again? Today! I would do it again today.

Well, that's the end of that story but I am sure there is a new one right around the corner. As I have been reading through the comments left, I asked myself, "Why am I doing The List? Why am I putting myself out there, telling the world my story?" I want to honestly answer those questions for myself and for anyone reading this blog.

When I write the ridiculous stuff I write about myself and my sisters and my family, it is with one purpose. I want you to laugh, to think I am funny, to be a part of the stupidly ridiculous fun that is my life. I have also written about times when I am quite down. That is more for me, to get things off my chest and be able to vent. But what I am writing now, this journey I have chosen, this is about more to me.

There are things I have done and continue to do that I will never write about. These are things that I do in secret. Why? I suppose it's because I believe what it says in Matthew: “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them."

But this journey is different. I have spent much time searching my heart and praying about this before starting again. My goal is not to hear what a good person I am or anything else along those lines. My focus is simple.

""Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven."

That's it for me. Plain and simple. I want people to see Jesus when they see me. I don't want to preach at people. I want my life to be my testimony. I love people. I really do. It is not a chore for me to do these things. It is exciting and fulfilling and one of the greatest gifts I could ever imagine to be able to reach out to another human being and love them. I learned this from my parents. They never, ever told me any of these things. They lived it. So now, I am living it for my children in the hopes they will live it for theirs. That's it.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for your encouraging and kind words. Until tomorrow....

Week Two May Make You Weak Too

2011-01-11T07:08:00.000-08:00

This Saturday, we will be working at the Food Bank. Having never done this before, I am looking forward to the experience. Although, I seriously hope they don’t put me in charge of anything having to do with meat. Or bread. Or candy. Could you imagine me on this fast being placed in a room full of meat, bread and candy. It would be a scene right out of Willy Wonka I tell ya.

What? I didn't eat any of it. Honestly.

Anyway, as long as all goes well and I don’t completely humiliate myself, I will post pictures on Sunday. Also, Monday night we head down to the City Rescue Mission for another volunteer orientation. I am loving life right now. Oh yes I am!

So, onto week two of The List.

2. Contact your local crisis pregnancy center and invite a pregnant woman to live with your family.

I did it. Yesterday. I called Deaconess Adoption Services here in Oklahoma City and had a grand visit with one of the adoption specialists there. We are signed up and on our way to who knows what. When Trista and I were discussing this decision, she asked if we would be willing to take an underage girl. Truthfully, the thought had not occurred to me before I called but of course I said yes. How exciting would it be to not only provide housing for a young woman but also to mentor her? I am all in baby! Through the years, I have been a birth coach for numerous woman. I really thought those days were over but now, well only time will time.

While we wait, I thought I would share a previous post on this very subject. So, I will. This was first posted November 29, 2009.

A Little Less Talk and A Lot More Action

I did a short stint as a counselor in a crisis pregnancy center way back in the day. I went through extensive training, attended debates hosted by the local University and read every book I could find from both sides of the issue. I also spent hours upon hours hashing out the details involved with friends who had chosen abortions. What I came away with was this: I still believed, as I do today, that abortion ends a life and harms women. I also believed then and now that each person has to choose what to do with their life and then live with their choices, good, bad or indifferent. The biggest thing I came away with from that experience though was this. Picketing peoples homes and offices while showing pictures of aborted babies (count me OUT on this one, then and now) will rarely if ever change a persons heart or mind. Usually, it just throws gasoline on an already smoldering fire. This is the story of my journey through that fire.

I received a call early one morning. It was from the crisis pregnancy centers director. There was a woman in my town scheduled for an abortion in a matter of hours. She had called in, wanting to talk to someone before she went through with the procedure. Would I go speak with her?

As I drove the few, short miles west to meet Ann Baker (not her real name), I prayed for the wisdom to really listen and the right words to say. I wasn’t interested in convincing anyone about anything. I was more concerned about seeing someone hurting and finding the best way to be there for them. This was exactly the attitude that had kept me from remaining long in the center’s office but it was the only one that I could live with and have a clear conscience.

When I finally arrived at my destination, I found a woman, almost thirty years old, holding a very thin, unhealthy looking one year old baby boy. Ann carried her baby out to my car, where we sat and talked for a very short twenty minutes. She explained that she had already had multiple abortions before delivering the son she now held on her lap. She didn’t really want to have another abortion but felt there were no other options. She was a drug addict who prostituted for drug money. The man who owned the house I was parked in front of had agreed she could sleep in his car in exchange for sex. I felt sick to my stomach. How could this be true in the town where I lived? As I sat and listened to Ann tell her story, I prayed to God for an answer. That’s when this thought went through my mind.

“People say they are Christians everyday. BE a Christian.”

I knew what I had to do. I told Ann, if the only problem she was facing in going through with her pregnancy was food and shelter, she could come live with us. I told her I was married with three little boys and we could rearrange rooms so she and her little son would have their own room. I also explained, we wanted nothing in return other than to see her and her children healthy and able to stand on their own. I was honest about our house rules: no drugs, no men, no drinking or smoking inside. What she did outside the house was her business. I was not going to be her mother or her warden. What she did in my house would be my business, however. Ann looked at me like a scared rabbit. She said she would think about it and got out of my car. As I watched her walk back into the house, I felt my heart sink deep into the pit of my stomach.

Driving home, I just knew I had said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. I really wanted to BE what I said I believed, I just wasn’t sure what that should look like. Thirty minutes after arriving home, the phone rang. It was Ann. If I was really serious about what I said, she and her boy would move in. Could she come over and talk about a few things first? I said yes, gave her my address and hung up the phone shaking. I immediately called my husband and told him what I had done. He was not happy to say the least. For the next fifteen minutes we went round and round, having our own private abortion debate.

“I don’t want some strange drug addict moving into our home. Marla, be serious! What about the boys?”

“Bob, the boys will be fine. Are we Christians or not? I don’t want to beat people up who are different from me hoping to change their mind. I want to be the one that is different and really love people right where they are. Please understand!”

Bob stood firm and said “NO!” in a very clear and definite way that could not be mistaken for a maybe. Before I could argue my next point, as if I had one, Ann knocked on our front door. I quickly ended the conversation with my fuming husband and ran to answer the door.

As Ann and I sat and talked she asked me some very direct questions, some which made me laugh out loud.

“Are you in some kind of cult and you're going to try to brainwash me?”

“No, Ann, we are not in some kind of cult and we hadn’t planned on brainwashing you. Were you hoping to be brainwashed?” I don’t think she laughed at that, if I recall correctly.

“So what do you get out of this?”

“ We get to see you and your children happy and healthy. That’s really it, I suppose. Isn’t that enough?” She didn’t answer.

Ann and her son spent the entire day at our house, just hanging out, eating lunch, playing in the backyard and starting dinner. I had a wonderful day with them other than the nagging thought of the awful dilemma I had created. Bob would be home any minute. I didn’t have a clue what to do.

To Be Continued ...

Week Two of The List With a Side Of Tabouli

2011-01-10T08:16:00.000-08:00

Week one of our 21 day fast is done. As I begin week two, I am pleased to report that nothing but good has come from this fast so far. I was expecting it to be difficult and it really hasn’t been. Oh sure, I miss eating certain things and I feel hungry now and then but the benefits have far outweighed any small difficulties.

A few days ago I received this email from my friend Deborah over at Fashion Plate:

Marla - why does the meal have to be vegan? Curious here in MN.

Don't forget your protein! {nag I am}

It was such a good question and had me thinking. I wanted to share my response just in case anyone else was wondering the same thing.

Good morning Deborah!

In scripture, Daniel gave up all wine and fine foods for a 21 day period in order to seek God. I suppose this has translated into vegan in our time. It is definitely a plain and simple diet to say the least. We are so thankful for every dinner we have eaten so far however it is nothing like we normally eat. I never realized how much I think about food and what a central role it plays in my life. The last few days have really helped me to think about and pray for the things that concern me instead of planning my next bite of something delicious. My focus is truly on God and doing business with Him right now.

The other thing is this: Number 1 on The List is to fast for the 2 billion people who live on less than a dollar a day. This fast has really helped me in two ways where they are concerned. I have come to realize how ungrateful I am, how much food I waste and how I have no idea what it means to be hungry or poor. It has really opened my eyes and sent me to my knees for others. It has also put me on my feet and shown me the necessity of volunteering at places like the Food Bank and Rescue Mission in order to help those that have few choices in their lives when it comes to food and most everything else.

Anyway, I didn't mean to write a novel but I am so excited about this, it's hard to not share the journey with anyone willing to listen. This is a link that concisely explains the fast as well. http://www.ultimatedanielfast.com/2009/10/what-is-daniel-fast.html

Have a great day, my friend. I am off to do laundry and later try to come up with something amazing for dinner that has to do with rice and butternut squash. ;-)

Marla

Yesterday, I was thinking about this fast and journey that I am on. I was asking God and myself for the deeper meaning behind this. Was I missing something? I mean, shouldn’t it be harder, have more suffering, cost me more than a meal or two? I suppose what I was really asking was, “Does this really matter in the bigger picture of things?”

Then I read this:

Isaiah 58

6 “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?

7 Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

10 and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.

That’s it folks. That sums it up for me. I want my life to be spent. I want it to purchase something of value. I want to be someone that stands against injustice and sees people set free from the things that are destroying them. I want to share my food, my home, my personal possessions and myself with those that have lost it all. I am even done wanting. I am ready for the doing.

I don’t care if they believe like me, look like me, or lost it all because they deserved to. I deserve nothing I have. Thankfully, I have not received what I deserve most of my life. I would probably be divorced, alone or dead if I had. If this fast has done nothing else, it has clarified that for me.

So, onto week two of The List.

2. Contact your local crisis pregnancy center and invite a pregnant woman to live with your family.

More on this tomorrow. Until then…..

Sundays In My City

2011-01-09T08:42:00.000-08:00

Here in Oklahoma, we grow em big.

Big enough to choke a horse.

Stop in at Unknown Mami so you can visit other cities around the world this Sunday.

If You Can't Say Something Nice, You Might Be a Casas (Repost)

2011-01-08T20:08:00.000-08:00

After my post yesterday, I received some very sweet emails from some of you fearing I might be traumatized by my parents last words to me. Nothing could be further from the truth. I thought I would go ahead and repost the story of my mom from October 10, 2009. It should give everyone a clearer picture of how truly sick and twisted this family is. It will also explain why I fit in perfectly.

My parents, sisters and I have a rare and strange disorder. We all love one another desperately. We would take a bullet to save the other. God help the soul foolish enough to treat one of us unkindly because the others will maul you without mercy. Having said that, why in the world do we show our love to one another through insults and put-downs? Yep, strange disorder, indeed.

Now, before I go any further, I need to publicly state this disclaimer. Not all Casas familia have this disorder. Truth be told, every aunt, uncle and cousin I know on my dad's side of the family are incredibly wonderful and kind human beings. I can honestly say, I have never heard an unkind word from any of them. As a matter of fact, just the opposite is true. They are some of the sweetest people on the planet. Then there is my mother's side of the family.

Therein may lay the answer to this disorder. My mother's side of the family is loud, proud and obnoxiously fun-loving.… exactly like me! Maybe this disorderly love fest of put downs came about when my parents decided to marry and intermingle those Spanish and Swiss genes. The outcome ..... my sisters and I ...... have made for some very interesting history. Take for example when my mother was dying:

In the last week of my mom's life, she was comatose. It was really difficult to stand over her day after day hoping and praying she would open her eyes one more time, only to see nothing happen. How I longed to hear her say she loved me, she was proud of me, say anything, just one more time. I had moved into my parents home to care for my mom the last six weeks of her life. My sisters came daily to spend time loving and caring for her also. Whenever they would show up, things would always get interesting.

That last week with my mom, one of my sisters showed up early to find me standing over mom's bed crying. For reasons I am still unsure of, crying seems to be a sign of weakness in our family and is greatly discouraged by my sisters. The answer to a sobbing sibling has always been and remains to this day .... sarcasm. I admit, I am often the chiefest of sinners in the sarcasm department. That's correct. If you see your sister suffering, make fun of her. After all, it's for her own good.

So there I was, standing on the left side of the bed, crying over my comatose mother, when my sister, who was standing on the right side of the bed, starts harassing me about something or another in order to get my mind off the situation laying before me. When I started to argue with her, telling her she was wrong, my sister says, "You're a big, fat liar." I immediately countered with, "I am not a liar!"

What I am about to tell you is 100% the gospel truth. At the very moment the last word exited my mouth, my comatose mother opened her eyes, looked straight at me, and clear as a bell said these words. "Well, you are fat." She then closed her eyes and never uttered another word.

Now, I understand for normal people, these last words would be a devastating statement regarding a mothers disdain for their child. Not so, in my case. To be slammed was to be loved in my house. We might not have had the kindness thing down but we could go up against Seinfeld any day of the week. My sister and I, upon hearing those last words of our mother's, looked at each other and burst out in hysterics. We still laugh about it today, almost nine years later.

Living Large

2011-01-07T22:20:00.000-08:00

Most of my adult life I have been on the healthy side. When I say healthy what I mean is a bit plump. Who am I kidding? I am fat and have been for the last 20 years. Just ask my sisters. They have taken great delight in pointing it out in their celery stick eating, skinny girl ways.

“Mar, should you really be eating that cookie? Have you seen yourself from the backside?”

“Why yes, I think I should. Thanks for noticing.”

Then there are my parent’s last words. No seriously, I was with both of them when they died. I am not kidding when I tell you my mom’s final words were, “Well, you are fat” and my dad’s were, “I’ll be ok. Then we’ll get that weight off you.”

Now do you understand my constant and urgent need for cookies?

Anyway, I have now lost 25 pounds over the last few months. That’s right celery stick eating, skinny girl sisters of mine. Twenty. Five. Pounds.

So today I was talking to my sister Kelly. She is heading back to Houston next month for her 3 month check up at MD Anderson. I am going with her this time. Of course, I had to tell her about my 25 pound loss.

“So, you are going to be so bummed when you see me.”

“Why would I be bummed?”

“Because I’ve lost 25 pounds and I’m eating healthy. No more making fun of me. Ha!”

“Oh please. Get as skinny as a rail. Char and I will still have plenty of material.”

It should be an interesting trip.

God Bless Blogger With Warts and Happy Birthday Old Gal

2011-01-06T07:17:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was my sister Charlene's birthday. I had a post all planned and ready to go however Blogger decided my writing stinks and wouldn't allow me to even type into the posting box. God bless Blogger. Anyway, I got up early this morning hoping the Blogger people might still be asleep and I could sneak this post in. I am a freaking genius because obviously, it worked. So onto a one day belated birthday post for my sister Char.

Dear Charlene,

I know you hate when people call you Charlene instead of Char therefore I shall refer to you as Charlene in honor of your birthday and in the hopes of further driving you insane.

It's hard to believe Charlene, that January 5th, 1946 was the day of your birth. I mean, it seems so long ago. Like, when really old people would have been born. But alas, it has been verified through your dentures as the actual day you arrived. Kelly and I still can't believe we have a sister old enough to be our mother. Don't get us wrong, we are thankful to have an elderly sister, you know, with mom being dead and all. You have been a fine replacement. Mom would be proud of you. Finally.

As I was thinking about January 5th, 1946 , I realized Diane Keaton was born on the same day. Boy, that gal really did something with her life didn't she? Isn't it funny how two people born on the exact same day could turn out so differently. One a successful actress and the other only having that one starring role in her high school production of Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? Speaking of Whatever Happened To Baby Jane, you really freak Kelly and me out whenever you start singing and dancing like Bette Davis from that creepshow. I am sure you don't mean to but all the same, stop already.

In honor of your big day, here are some interesting facts from 1946. Don't think of them as just my way to get cheap laughs, consider this my gift to you. You're welcome.

Joe Louis defends heavyweight title for 23rd time. Imagine that. Dad would become friends with Joe Louis through his involvement in boxing and you would actually get to meet him. Who would have thought being so old would have such a cool bennie?
Zip-a-dee-do-dah was the big song that year. It remains one of the most annoying songs to date. What a strange coincidence. You were big news to our family that year and today, well, I'm just saying.
Strapless bras become popular. Lucky for you that you have those big breasts to hold the strapless thing going on. I will never forget asking you what those two scars on your boobs were. You know, where you had moles removed. When you told me that was where they had inflated your boobs, I spent my entire pre-teen years terrified of going to the doctor to have my boobs inflated one day. Yeah, you always were a great big sister like that.
The Philippines gained independence. What a lucky break for us. That meant that when dad was old you were able to hire that nice lady from there to live with him after mom died. Remember her? The one you had such a great feeling would be the perfect caregiver. Of course being your younger sisters, Kelly and I deferred to your wisdom because you, being so much older, can read people so much better than we can. Imagine our surprise when she informed us a year later that she had left her husband and was going to marry dad. It wasn't the 50 year age difference that bothered me. I am sure she was genuinely in love with ~~his wallet~~ him. I just couldn't get use to calling someone 15 years younger than me, mommy.
The breathalyzer was invented. That's all I'm saying.
Cher was born. Char. Cher. Char. Coincidence or fate? We may never know.

As I was writing this birthday tribute for you, I remembered how mom was five months pregnant with you and had no clue. When she went to Doctor Kelley because she was feeling so crummy, he took an xray, worried she might have a tumor. May I just say Charlene how very glad we all are that you turned out to be you and not some tumor. Most days.

Happy Birthday Old Gal. We love you, Char.

I love when you make this mom face. No really, it's so you.

Two Days Down and I'm Not Dead Yet

2011-01-04T22:31:00.000-08:00

Well, day two of fasting has gone exceptionally well. These last two days have presented some amazing and unique opportunities and insight. Instead of thinking about food, I have spent my days meditating on the Lord and focused on others. I have some great stories to tell in the days ahead but today I want to tell you about a blogger I found. Well, actually, she found me.

As I said, I am doing the Daniel fast with Bob and three of our adult kids. I suppose that is making it easier however I am still the one cooking the evening meal and that's where it gets dicey for me. I love to cook. Most everything we do in this house with family and friends is centered around food and my cooking. I know how to throw on the feedbag in a way that leaves people moaning, groaning and begging for mercy. Eating healthy? Cooking Vegan? I am at a loss. I thought we ate healthy and in fact we did. Mostly. But this Daniel fast has taken it to a new level.

Anyway, today I found this comment on my blog:

I just read your post about starting the Daniel Fast and wanted to let you know about two encouraging resources:

Book: The Ulimate Guide to the Daniel Fast http://www.amazon.com/Ultimate-Guide-Daniel-Fast/dp/031033117X

Blog: http://www.ultimatedanielfast.com

I pray that the Lord will bless you richly as you hunger for Him!

Kristen Feola

Author, The Ultimate Guide to the Daniel Fast

So, I surfed on over and read about ten of her posts, watched some of her vlogs and looked through her recipes. Let me tell you, this little gal is the real deal. Even if you have no interest in fasting or healthy eating, go read her posts about a woman named Georgia. If they don't inspire you nothing will.

Thanks Kristen for stopping in and being such a great resource for us. I can't wait to read more about Georgia. Oh and by the way, thanks for having enough recipes for me to plan all our dinners for the rest of the fast. This is an amazing journey and you helped make it even better.

Ultimate Daniel Fast

What are you waiting for? Go check her out. You can thank me later.

Insane Ideas: Take Two

2011-01-03T05:54:00.000-08:00

Back in November of 2009, I stumbled across a list. This was not just any list but an insane list of insane ideas on ways to be a better neighbor. Of course, I immediately loved it and decided to live it out for a year. Here’s the original post I wrote if you have time to waste or you are a shrink trying to analyze exactly what is wrong with me.

One Order Of Crazy, Coming Right Up

I think I got through the first five of the fifty ideas before realizing, I just wasn’t ready for the journey. My dad had just died the month before and I was doing everything in my power to live through the pain of having two dead parents. It was much more of a brutal reality than I had ever expected it to be.

Anyway, time has passed and my heart has healed a few beats. I am ready to dive back in and take on The List. One other interesting thing that happened when I tried this back in 2009 was the backlash I received from some family and friends. There were those that were shocked and sickened by the idea that I would actually do some of the things suggested by the writers of The List. All I can say is, you might want to close your eyes because this time I am all in. I am not doing it for you. I am doing it for me as unto the Lord. I know, I’m a freak but I am an honest freak who needs to make a difference in this world. Deal with that or don’t. Either way, here goes.

This is The List. Go ahead and have a read if you are interested. If not, thanks for stopping by. If you choose to read on, I’ll tell you about the first 21 day plan later in the post.

50 Ways To Be A Better Neighbor

1. Fast for the 2 billion people who live on less than a dollar a day.

2. Contact your local crisis pregnancy center and invite a pregnant woman to live with your family.

3. Ask your pastor if someone on your church’s sick list would like a visit.

4. Join an open AA meeting and befriend someone there.

5. Adopt a child.

6. Mow your neighbor’s grass.

7. Volunteer to tutor a kid at your local elementary school. (Try to get to know the kid’s family.)

8. Grow your own tomatoes–and share them.

9. Ask a small group in your community to meet regularly for intercessory prayer.

10. Build a wheel chair ramp for someone who is homebound.

11. Read the newspaper to someone at your local nursing home.

12. Plant a tree.

13. Look up the closest registered sex offender in your neighborhood and try to befriend him.

14. Throw a birthday party for a prostitute.

15. When you pay your water bill, pay your neighbor’s too (they’ll let you… really).

16. Invest money in a micro-lending bank.

17. Ask the next person who asks you to spare some change to join you for dinner.

18. Leave a random tip for someone who’s cleaning the streets or a public restroom.

19. Write one CEO a month this year. Affirm or critique the ethics of their company (you may need to do a little research first).

20. Start tithing (giving 10%) of all your income directly to the poor.

21. Connect with a group of migrant workers or farmers who grow your food and visit their farm. Maybe even pick some veggies with them. Ask what they get paid.

22. Give your winter coat away to someone who is colder than you and go to a thrift store to get a new one.

23. Write only paper letters (by hand) for a month. Try writing someone who needs encouragement or who you should say “I’m sorry” to.

24. Go TV free for a year. Or turn your TV into a pot where flowers grow.

25. Laugh at advertisements, especially ones that teach you that you can buy happiness.

26. Organize a prayer vigil for peace outside a weapons manufacturer such as Lockheed Martin. Read the Sermon on the Mount out loud. For extra credit, do it every week for a year.

27. Go down a line of parked cars and pay for the meters that are expired. Leave a little note of niceness.

28. Write to one social justice organizer or leader each month just to encourage them.

29. Go through a local thrift store and drop $1 bills in random pockets of the clothing being sold.

30. Experiment with creation-care by going fuel free for a week – ride a bike, carpool, or walk.

31. Try only reading books written by females or people of color for a year.

32. Go to an elderly home and get a list of folks who don´t get any visitors. Visit them each week and tell stories, read the bible together, or play board games.

33. Track to its source one item of food you eat regularly. Then, each time you eat that food, pray for those folks who helped make it possible for you to eat it.

34. Create a Jubilee fund in your Church congregation, matching dollar for dollar every dollar you spend internally with a dollar externally. If you have a building fund, create a fund to match it to give away and by mosquito nets or dig wells for folks dying in poverty.

35. Become a pen-pal with someone in prison.

36. Give your car away to a stranger.

37. Convert your car to run off waste vegetable oil.

38. Try recycling your water from the washer or sink to flush your toilet. Remember the 1.2 billion folks who don´t have clean water.

39. Wash your clothes by hand, or dry them by hanging to remember those without electricity or running water. Remember the 1.6 billion people who do not have electricity.

40. Buy only used clothes for a year.

41. Cover up all brand names, or at least the ones that do not reflect the upside-down economics of God’s Kingdom. Commit to only being branded by the cross.

42. Learn to sew or start making your own clothes to remember the invisible faces behind what we wear. Take your kids to pick cotton so they can see what that is like (and then read James).

43. Eat only a bowl of rice a day for a week to remember those who do that for most of their life (take a multivitamin). Remember the 30,000 people who die each day of poverty and malnutrition.

44. Begin creating a scholarship fund so that for every one of your own children you send to college you can create a scholarship for an at-risk youth. Get to know their family and learn from each other.

45. Visit a worship service where you will be a minority. Invite someone to dinner at your house or have dinner with someone there if they invite you.

46. Help your church congregation create a Peacemaker Scholarship and give it away to a young person trying to avoid the economic draft, who would like to go to college but sees no other way than the military.

47. Eat with someone who does not look like you. Learn from them.

48. Confess something you have done wrong to someone and ask them to pray for you.

49. Serve in a homeless shelter. For extra credit, go back and eat or sleep in the shelter and allow yourself to be served.

50. Join a Yokefellows ministry at a prison close to you. Remember that Jesus said he would meet you there (Matt. 25).

List Authors: Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Hartgrove

1. Fast for the 2 billion people who live on less than a dollar a day.

I am starting today with fasting. Actually, Bob and I and three of our adult children are beginning a 21 day fast today. It’s called a Daniel fast out of the book of Daniel in the Bible. Our purpose in doing this is to be reminded that prayer works, God cares and He has things for us to do this year. I believe this list is one of those things. I hope you’ll follow along if for no other reason than to just watch what happens and harass me along the way.

I will be fasting through the day until dinner, then eating a mainly Vegan diet. I’m not a Vegan and have always thought my Vegan cousins were crazy. Well, whose crazy now? I will also be calling the Food Bank and Rescue Mission to set up schedules for us to go and work over the next 21 days. Fasting is good. Prayer is good. Putting our hands and feet to it all is also good. Not that we will be putting our feet in anyone’s food. That would be gross.

One last thing. Mondays will be The List day. It’s when I will update you on the happenings of the last week and give you the info on the upcoming week. Who knows, maybe you’ll find yourself feeling a little crazy along the way too. Hey, it could happen.

Sundays In My City

2011-01-02T10:31:00.000-08:00

Most Sunday nights in my city end up the same way, no matter what the day was like. Everyone gathers at our table for a big meal then the guys go off and hide in the barn pretending to work on the tractor, or down to the pond fishing, or locked in the other room watching some worthless time wasting sports game on tv. Since when is WII bowling a sport, anyway? But the girls gather at the table with cheese, crackers, margaritas and sippy cups to play UNO.

But not just any old game of UNO. This is Whoopee Cushion UNO.

Did I mention it involves a whoopee cushion?

And cheating. Yeah, ya gotta have blatant cheating for whoopee cushion UNO to be any fun at all.

It always ends well even with the cheating.

Now go visit Unknown Mami so you can see what normal people around the world do on

Sundays in their cities. Go on. Get!

Happy New Year

2011-01-01T09:56:00.000-08:00

Well, can you believe it is 2011? Where does the time go? Of course today will be filled with resolutions to do all sorts of good and mindful actions for many people. I, on the other hand, prefer to be honest with myself. Let's face it, all those years of previous resolutions just left me fatter, poorer, more selfish and self-serving all leading to increasing amounts of shame and guilt. So I finally figured it is just better to be honest about what I will do in the new year and then deal with it. I also refuse to use the word resolutions and choose the more easily digested term, goals. I mean, seriously, if I fail at my resolutions then I have no resolve and am a complete loser. But if I don’t meet my goals, I can just move the deadline, blame the other team members, or switch companies. I learned a lot from corporate America.

So, here are my realistic goals for 2011. Hey, it could happen.

Weigh less than my husband

Earn more than my husband

I think that about sums it all up. Ok, there might be a few more goals here and there, such as love God more, love people more, choose integrity over all else and be the best me I can possibly be (without having to join the armed forces). Stuff like that. Anyway.....

HAPPY NEW YEAR Y’ALL

William

2010-12-22T09:18:00.000-08:00

Last night, Bob and I went out to pick up a few stocking stuffers for the grands and load up on groceries for the week. As we left our rural property heading for the city, we were happy and fairly carefree, talking and laughing about finally getting out on a date, even if it was about picking up groceries. Ten miles from our home, we finally approached the Kilpatrick Turnpike which would take us another five miles to the shopping center. We had decided to take the turnpike instead of the usual back way hoping to avoid traffic congestion at some of the intersections. That decision would change our evening dramatically.

As Bob merged onto the turnpike, I was chattering away about our Christmas plans, who was coming, what the menu was, what presents were already wrapped and waiting under the tree, when we both noticed what looked like a cloud of smoke less than half a mile ahead. We quickly realized that a car had just driven off the frontage road that parallels the turnpike, crashing through the chain link fence and rolling down the twenty foot embankment. We quickly arrived at the scene, joining several other cars that had also pulled over at about the same time.

Pulling over, I noticed three things: the mangled car on it’s side with it’s contents scattered about, a man walking in circles looking dazed and another man laying completely still on the side of the road. Once we were off the road, I jumped from the car and sprinted back to the man on the ground. All I could think about was getting to him and praying.

I knelt down in the grass, laid both my hands on his legs and began to gently stroke him, pleading with God to bring comfort, to show mercy, to do a miracle and heal his broken body. Within seconds, another woman was at his head carefully caressing his face and another man laid his coat over the man and spoke comforting words. I wasn’t really aware of much else for the next five minutes but later Bob would tell me that he saw others standing in the background and he could hear their prayers. Once the fire department, police and ambulance all arrived, they performed their jobs with excellence and had the man ready to transport the few short miles to the hospital.

Here is what I will never forget.

I will never forget that a man named William was surrounded by so many strangers who, at that moment, were united in bringing him comfort.

I will never forget that William was distracted from driving while using his cell phone.

I will never forget that William’s decision to text, talk and drive caused an absolutely horrific and life changing event to happen to him.

I will never forget that I don’t need to talk to anybody so desperately that I cannot wait to pull off the road before dialing or texting.

Please pray for William.

Harley Presents The CSN $45 Giveaway Winner

2010-12-20T21:38:00.000-08:00

Well, I finally did it. I got my act together and have a winner for the $45 CSN Gift Certificate. Here’s how it all went down.

First, I decided that every single one of you that left a comment since the giveaway was announced would automatically be entered. As I read through all your comments, I was really touched by the kindness, sincerity and outrageously funny comments you left. In all truth, the last few weeks have been a bit of a challenge but knowing there are complete and total strangers who care, well, it’s made me think. Things like, “Do these people sit at their computers in their underwear?” and “Do prison inmates have access to computers because I sort of wonder about Glen?” and “Should I have lied about my location because having an escaped prisoner in underwear show up at my house could be a bad thing.” Seriously, I love you bunch of strange strangers and I am thankful for every single one of you. Even you Glen.

Glen looking pretty and normal but he is seriously not pretty normal.

Ok, so the next thing I did after I composed myself from blubbering in gratitude was this. I wrote each entry on a playing card. Wanna know how I got that idea? Well, do ya? Ok, I’ll tell you anyway. I was crying while baking Christmas cookies because I miss my parents and it’s Christmas and I am a crybaby. Then I opened a drawer to get an oven mitt and what should I spy but an old deck of my parents playing cards. Then I got mad and I said this right out loud for the whole world to hear. “Fine! If you insist on being dead, I will use your playing cards to pick a winner for my giveaway. I will write a name on each card and completely deface your cards. So there.”

Then I did.

Then I spread all bazillion cards on top of Harley’s cage and told him to have a party.

Then he stared at me.

Then I begged.

Then he turned his back on me.

Then I thought I heard my parents getting the last laugh.

So, I had to rethink my strategy and offer Harley small handfuls to pick a card from. Then I took Harley’s picks and had him pick from that final pile for the final ultimate winner.

You people have no idea what I go through to show my gratitude.

Anyway, the winner is

TWO SHADES OF PINK

Jessica at TSOP is one of my favorite human beings. I love her. She is a strange and twisted creature with a heart the size of Outer Mongolia. The woman is creative and inspiring and amazing and well, check out her blog and see if I’m lying.

Congratulations Jess!! Enjoy your $45 CSN shopping spree.

As for possible future giveaways, if I ever get asked again, I can promise you this much. No. More. Birds.

I'm thinking Olivia would be much easier to work with.

Sundays In My City

2010-12-19T16:14:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, our family spent a wonderful evening in the park. There were only fifteen of us in the group because, well, some of our slacker kids had better invitations elsewhere. Like our son John, for instance. He was invited by the USN to go overseas on deployment. Which remnds me, there is a post all about our son, Popeye, coming up next week. Yeah, you might not want to miss that one. I'm just saying.

Anyway, the fifteen of us bundled up that Sunday night and headed over to Braums for chili. Even though it was a bazillion degrees below zero outside, we finished off our dinner with ice cream. Hey, it's Braums! Then it was off to the park.

Our giant 12 year old and her mini 25 year old sister. These two are nothing but trouble. All. The. Time.

Our youngest granddaughter practicing her Christmas solo.

Loading up and getting ready for the fantasmical train ride through the park.

All Aboard!

The Not Mormon No Tabernacle Who Are You Kidding Choir

And finally, I would like to leave you with this. Be sure to watch it to the end because it is pretty darn cool. We figure we have enough people in our immediate family to pull this off at the Christmas train next year.

Now go visit Unknown Mami for more Sundays In My City around the world. Go on. Get!

I Am A Total Loser

2010-12-16T19:43:00.000-08:00

I am a loser. No, really, a total complete loser. As in twenty la di freakin da pounds loser. That’s right, my blocked bowels gave me the Christmas gift of my dreams: a twenty pound loss of blubber-rama. Oh yeah, I am doing the happy dance and I can even do it without as much huffin and a puffin as a few months back. Yeah, doggie!

See for yourself. This is me just a month ago during the entire pooping chicken scandal. Had I no shame? No sense of decency? No deodorant?

This is me minus TWENTY FREAKING POUNDS! Get thee behind me blubber butt and hence forth never to return remain in the realm of blocked boweldom forever. Amen and amen.

So, if a rubber hose up one side of my nose was good for twenty pounds, I was wondering if two rubber hoses up both sides of my nose would be good for forty pounds? Hmmmm. It could work. After looking around the house, I have not been able to come up with any kind of hoses that will fit up my noses so I supposes I might try two straws.

I am so excited! I looked on the internet and they actually make FAT straws. I'm shoving two of these puppies up my nose and sitting back while they suck the fat right out of me. Oh, I will so do it.

Have I mentioned I LOST TWENTY POUNDS??? Do you have any idea what twenty pounds looks like? Well, do ya?

It looks like this.

And this.

And sometimes this.

And even this.

But on me, it looked like this.

But now it has gone and that means I look like this.

You may now applaud my blocked bowels.

The end.

This May Explain Why I Am So Fowl

2010-12-13T20:35:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, I have not posted in a few days. And I have not put Harley to work on picking a winner for the giveaway that should have ended a week ago. And I haven't shaved my legs, plucked my eyebrows or told the whole truth this last week either. So here goes.

I am scheduled to be back at Mercy Hospital tomorrow morning at 7:00 am. I had to swallow ten pills tonight in preparation and ten more tomorrow morning. Then once at the hospital they will start yet another IV in order to administer the Iodine drip that I had a reaction to last time. My hand still hurts from the last IV. I still remember feeling freaky from the last Iodine reaction. I am not happy right now.

Then there is my sister Kelly. My baby sister has been through literal hell over the years. She has had five or was it six brain surgeries, a complete hip replacement due to cancer eating her bone away, a massively intrusive back surgery. Need I go on? The girl is a freak of nature with all the titanium in her body. So why do I bring this up?

Because I have watched and supported my sister go through things no living person on this planet should have to endure and for the most part she has held her head high. Well, other than when it was in the toilet as she barfed her brains out from chemo. Now I need to go have some tests done involving a needle and machines and whatever and what do I do? I internally whine and shake in complete fear.

Kelly, you are my hero.

Please send drugs quick. I am a chicken.

Popeye's Got Nuttin On Me ~ AR AR AR AR AR

2010-12-10T21:29:00.000-08:00

I went to the doctor today and he shot me full of steroids so I could breathe again then he scheduled all my tests for next week and the next thing ya know I was feeling great so I came home and cleaned my house for like a million hours and I wasn't even tired but I strangely seemed full of more energy than I have ever had in my life like I had just downed a million cups of coffee and then Bob came home and was blown away by how clean the house is and how happy I am and how great dinner was and how all the Christmas presents are wrapped and under the tree but he mentioned he thought I might need to have my battery removed for the night because I was scary with this much energy and all my incessant chattering was making him feel like his head might explode but that just proves how weird he is so I think I need to go clean the barn now. The end.

Large Marge Speaks

2010-12-09T17:53:00.000-08:00

I’m sick. Ever since they pulled that rubber hose out of my nose, my head has been full of snot, I can’t breathe and I sound like I smoke three packs a day. And drive a semi. And probably have a CB name like Large Marge. I want my mother.

Anyway, I was talking to my sister Kelly the other day. She called to check on me and give me some phony baloney story about flowers that she and our other sister Charlene supposedly sent that never arrived. Whatever. Way to save on your flower bill, girls. That’s ok because I got some really beautiful bouquets from other people.

Our cousins, Jack and Barbara sent me these with a note saying I was their favorite out of the three of us girls. Ok, they didn’t use those exact words but I read between the lines. I’m good at that.

Then our youngest boy sent me these with the following note.

It reads: "I know I've always been your favorite child but now I'm also the best child because I am the first one who sent you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I love you, Mom! I can't wait to see you. Love, Andrew and Tori."

The kid knows how the game is played. Well done, Andrew.

So, back to the conversation with Kelly. As we were talking, she points out the usual stuff. How her cancer trumps my puny blocked bowel and how her survival is being played out so much better than mine. Oh yeah, it was our typical maximum security asylum conversation.

“So you had a blocked bowel. I have cancer. I saw the Doc today and he even said he couldn’t believe I was still alive.”

“Well, yeah he said that. I was there three years ago when he told you there was no hope and he was an expert on these things. You’re ruining his RBI.”

I then made the mistake of telling her that photos had been taken of me in the hospital and that I would be using them in a post.

“What? Have you lost your mind?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t post those photos. They probably make you look worse than normal.”

“Kelly, seriously, do you not read my blog? Have you never seen me in person? Do you really think I am worried about how I look or what people will think?”

“That’s my point. Marla, listen to me. When I have been at death’s door in my treatments, I still had a brush in one hand and a mascara wand in the other and you know what I was thinking at those times? Do you?”

“Um…”

“I was thinking, where did I go wrong with Marla. Mom and Dad were beautiful. Char and I put a lot of effort into looking good. I mean, what happened with you?”

“Um…”

“I’m serious.”

“I was adopted and really come from the land of Oompa Loompas?”

“Goodbye!”

Oh yeah, one last thing Kelly. Your friend Nicole wrote to me wondering why you are not answering her emails. Don't worry, I didn't tell her about you being jealous of her fabulous body and fabulous house and fabulous life while you have to live in the hollers of Prunetucky with your dogs and turtles and sadly small bosom. You’re welcome.

Free Marriage Advice ~ Worth Every Penny

2010-12-08T21:39:00.000-08:00

I love encouraging words. I find them everywhere: In fortune cookies, driving along the highway on billboards, in books, magazines, conversations and famous quotes. All you have to do is listen to each day with an open heart and you’ll hear that still small voice speaking to you through the most unexpected avenues. Take tonight for example.

I had a wonderfully witty post all ready to go, then Bob came home from work. From the moment the love of my life walked through the door, I had this unexplainable urge to smother him with a pillow. Don’t get me wrong, I truly love the guy. If you have followed this blog for more than a minute, you can attest to my seriously high mush level for the man. But sometimes, well sometimes, I just want to off him.

I am sure it is because there is something seriously psychologically wrong with me. There is no way it would have anything to do with the constant shadow behind me, picking lint off my clothes, asking me if I feel ok, chattering on and on about car engines and automotive oil and prostates or some such things. I am absolutely positive it has everything to do with me constantly moving the emotional lines in the relationship and being moody and not being able to ever take a joke. Yeah, that is definitely it. Not the lint picking.

Anyway, after an absolutely delightful evening together, I decided to place my previously prepared post on hold and instead look for wonderful, happy, completely uplifting and true quotes on marriage. After all, with the 34 years we have invested in this gig, it is our duty at the least to encourage the younger generations that marriage is sacred, holy and not to be taken lightly. So without further ado, please feel free to print this amazing post out, have it enlarged and framed and mounted prominently on your living room wall because, yeah, it’s that valuable.

“All marriages are happy. It's the living together afterward that causes all the trouble.” -Raymond Hull

My advice would be to skip purchasing a house and go for the condo option. They can even be next to each other. Let me know if you’d like my agent to contact you when she finishes my deal. You’re welcome.

"Marriage is an adventure, like going to war." -G. K. Chesterton

Adventure is good. Look what it did for Alice in Wonderland.

"It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.” -Rita Rudner

Of course, finding that one special person is only a small part of the equation. Practicing and then perfecting the art of annoying, now that, my friends, takes time and planning.

"The man who says his wife can't take a joke, forgets that she took him." -Oscar Wilde

Well said, Oscar. Well said.

When Ruth Graham, wife of Billy Graham, was once asked if she ever thought about divorce she said, “No, I've never thought of divorce in all these 35 years of marriage but I did think of murder a few times.”

God Bless Ruth Graham. A woman after my own heart.

That is all.

Bodily Fluids, Functions & Other Foolishness to Gross You Out

2010-12-07T20:14:00.000-08:00

Come on, admit it. There is a blog somewhere out there taking bets on whether or not I would ever come out of this hospital alive. If I would have been able to prove my hypothesis, I would have definitely placed a bet of my own, believe you me. My grandmother died from a blocked bowel. Ok, it was 89 years ago but she’s still dead, y’all.

So, last Thursday, December 2nd, I worked a full day, made a grand dinner which I enjoyed with my family, cleaned up the mayhem they left behind then headed to our bedroom to enjoy a quiet evening with the Bobster. Once showered and snuggled into our comfy bed together, we did what we do almost every night. That’s right. Every. Single. Night. Oh, I can hear your jealous sniggering already. That’s right, we watched Star Trek, Bob started snoring before the Borg had a chance to assimilate the last victim and I grabbed my laptop to write. By the time I was to the grab my laptop stage last Thursday, I was a hurting unit. My gut was in knots and I could barely type. Ok, I can barely type normally but this was different. This was why do I want to drop to the floor and crawl around whimpering so bad I can’t type? After hours of bathroom runs, floor crawling, whimpering, getting back to the laptop, crawling into the bed just long enough to crawl back out of the bed then repeating the cycle again and again and again, I finally woke Bob up at 1:35am, Friday morning. Yes, as a matter of fact I do have an aversion to being sick and even under the imminent threat of death, I still choose to live in complete denial regarding the possibility there could be something wrong with me. Hey, don’t judge me unless your name is Judge Judy, Alex or Marilyn Milan. Ok, maybe I watched too much daytime TV in this place.

Anyway, once I woke Bob up and told him I thought I needed to go to the hospital, we were in the car in less than 5 minutes. Of course, I vacillated between crying out my last wishes and arguing there was nothing wrong with me on the 15 minute drive to Mercy. Once inside the ER, I was whisked into a room, quickly evaluated and then drugged to high heaven. No, seriously, I am pretty sure I saw Kurt Cobain. I seem to even remember having a deep and meaningful discussion about life and death with him. Well, it was either with him or the Cat in the Hat. It’s hard to sort it all out at this point.

"You should not be here, Kurt Cobain. You should not be about. You should not be here when our mother is out."

The next three days are a bit of a blur. I do remember some very lovely, young nurses coming into my room, shoving a rubber hose down my nose, through my throat and into my stomach. I also remember them telling me what a great patient I was, how they had never had the procedure go so well and how much they liked me and my family. I am pretty sure it was at that point that I smiled a drooly, crooked smile and thanked them, all the while thinking how differently they would feel when they one day realized I was a famous writer and would soon be composing a horror trilogy about beautiful, young nurses who take captive a rather overweight, middle-aged famous writer only to perform unspeakable atrocities upon her person whilst sing songing, “Up your nose with a rubber hose.” Oh yeah, I thought it.

Yes, I asked for my laptop, or so they say. Yes, I sat with fingers ready, or so they say. Yes, I was stoned out of my mind, eyes closed and never typed a single letter, or so they say. I'd like to see them try and prove any of it.

I also remember constant visits and phone calls from my children and grandchildren, including our son in the Navy. When I realized that the United States Navy had made special arrangements to put a call from Popeye’s ship all the way on the other side of sanity through to a hospital in Oklahoma City, I knew for sure I must be on my way out. All I could think at that point was, “I wish I had finished the laundry and cleaned out my office better. Oh well.” Oh yeah, and how much I loved God, my family and blogging. Whatever! I was dying people.

Oh sure, I look like the picture of health in my red Christmas jammies but I was on the brink. I could hear angels singing. Ok, maybe that was me snoring but I was still on the precipice people.

Finally, Sunday night when they dragged the rubber hose back out my nose,…now that is an experience you sure don’t want to miss…I knew I was on the right side of the bright light. Speaking of bright lights, some people might need to have it explained to them that when a person, like say, their wife, is laying in a hospital bed dying with a rubber hose up their nose, it really isn’t that funny to turn lights on and off behind the bed and ask the hosed spouse if they can see the light. I’m just saying.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like...

Anywho, here I am sitting in my hospital bed, coherently drinking a caramel macchiato and typing away on my laptop. Cat scans, upper and lower GIs, blood work and other bodily invasions behind me. Behind me. Get it? Nevermind. There are more tests scheduled for next week . Something about lesions on my liver. Sounds like a country drinking song to me but whatever, I’ll play along. Soon Bob will be here and I will be headed home. You know the first thing I plan on doing when I get there? The laundry and cleaning my office. Right after I thank God for my family and friends.

Poor little stoner. You seemed so normal one time long ago. Or not.

PS…Molly is a little, skinny liar. I did not cry when she read all your comments to me. I had a rubber hose up my nose people. It would make your eyes water too.

Free at last!

2010-12-05T13:56:00.000-08:00

Molly here, Marla's favorite daughter-in-law. Ha ha, Amy and Tori! I only get to say that because I'm the one writing and you can't stop me! I'm blogging this afternoon to update everyone on Marla's condition. She is still hanging in there, enduring what is becoming a lengthy hospital stay. She hasn't complained once, but I know it's driving her crazy having to lay in that bed and be still. Resting and staying put is not something she does well. At any given time you can find her up and around, waiting on everyone hand and foot. She is always doing, always giving, always loving. She is both the life and heart of every party. And she has a gift of making every day a celebration. I'm not kidding. My family and I have been living with her and Bob since July. Yes, those blogs she wrote about the chaos in her house...we heavily contribute to it daily. I am also the one she claims said that I felt like I was in a Mexican prison. Let me just take this opportunity to set the record straight, I have no recollection of saying that. Maybe she was on pain medication then too....hmmmm, makes me wonder. Marla, when you read this later, after the drugs have worn off and you are back to your wonderful self, remember you asked me to write this...and show mercy! =) Anyway, back to what I was saying. She makes every day special. Dinner time is a party just about every night. Even when it appears to me that the fridge is empty, the cupboards are bare, and the only thing to do for dinner is go out to eat, she comes into the kitchen and within half an hour has prepared a feast! It is amazing! I really miss that when she's gone. Mostly because all of a sudden everyone starts looking at me to produce the same miracle she does everynight. Only, I don't have the superpowers she does. When everyone has settled down to the table and takes a look around at what I have prepared Bob never fails to say what everyone is thinking..."(sigh) I sure wish Marla was home." Me too, Bob. Me too.

All kidding aside, she is doing very well. The nurse just came in and removed the tube from her stomach. She is free at last! She looks like she feels better already! If all goes well she will be out of here in no time! Please keep praying for her. It means so very much. When I told her that you were all praying for her, she got tears in her eyes. She truly loves you all. Thank you for loving her in this way. God is listening! Someone must have prayed for her comfort and ours because thanks to Joel (another one of us lucky ones who married into the family) we just got moved to a suite! It's awesome! More like a nice hotel room than a sterile hospital room! So thanks to whoever prayed for that! =) Anyway, one of us will continue to keep everyone updated until she can resume her job of delighting us all with her thoughts! Until then...

No Rest for the Wicked

2010-12-03T16:42:00.001-08:00

This is Marla’s middle, and might I say most loyal daughter ,Bel, blogging for her tonight. For the last two days she was admitted to Mercy Hospital for a bowel obstruction. They also found 2 lesions on her liver. Because of all the pain medication she is unable to blog now, let alone keep her eyes open. A decision on surgery will be made in the next few days. Knowing that this wasn’t life threatening was a comfort. I just knew I would be able to go in her room like a breeze and with a smile on my face, bring a little comfort…I was wrong. To see my mom who is so strong in spirit and quick to take care of everyone and everything, now knocked off her feet, left me speechless. Her eyes were constantly rolling back into her head trying to carry conversation, as she kept repeating how horrible her head and throat hurt. As my Dad, Miranda and I were in the room with her, we kept looking at each other trying to hide the tears from her, that kept watering up inside of us. We know this won’t keep her down but there’s nothing anyone can do take her pain away. Until then keep her in your prayers, and for anyone who doesn‘t pray much, ask God to show his power and heal her body, that he would bring comfort and rest to her….actually, scratch that thought…it sounds like a prayer you’d send someone to the grave with. So in your own words, from your heart, talk to God on her behalf- for his healing hand over her entire body and that you might soon enjoy her devious and yet very entertaining thoughts and feelings on life that we so crave to read.

P.S. If your wondering why the title doesn’t match my words it because I had no thoughts so decided to ask my overly sedated mother…hence her view point and mine not :)

Death and A Holiday Giveaway By Harley

2010-12-01T21:11:00.000-08:00

Can you believe it is already December 1st? Time sure flies when you are old and closer to death than ever before in your life. Speaking of death, I had the most interesting conversation with one of my three year old granddaughters yesterday. Ahni and Corina spent the day with me yesterday because of strep throat, pink eye and boogers. Theirs not mine. Anyway, since the school and daycare both have these crazy rules about no sick kids welcome, the girls got stuck with me for the day. I think, in all truth, they were pretty happy to hang out with their Nona. I can be quite entertaining at times.

Ahni the Strep Throat Kid and her side kick, Corina the Booger Head

So, we had some homemade chicken noodle and veggie soup which even picky eater Bob said was extremely delicious. Ok, he didn’t say extremely delicious but he did say something about it being good.

Booger Head and Mr. Picky Pants. Aren't they cute?

Anyway, the girls ate and chatted with us even though they were not feeling all that well. After lunch, while I was cleaning up the kitchen, Corina, the three year old, came up to me and had lots to talk about.

“Nona, I want to die when you die.”

“Um…what?”

"When people get old they die and then I would miss you so I want to die when you die.”

“Well, I am not old and won’t be dying any time soon so you don’t have to worry about dying, Reenie.”

“Well, grandpa died and so when you and me die we get to see him again and that will be fun.”

“ Well, that’s true. I still think I want to live a bit longer if that’s ok with you.”

“Yeah but when we die we get to see God and my teacher says He’s a nice guy so that will be fun.”

“You know what would be fun right now? Cookies!”

Seriously, these deep thinking three year olds scare me.

Anyway, let me tell you about a giveaway that Butts and Ashes is hosting and just in time for the holidays to boot. The good folks over at CSN Stores have offered to give one of my readers a $45 gift code good towards anything offered in their more than 200 stores. Looking to update your bathroom cabinets before the in-laws come over for the holidays? They’ve got you covered. Need a beanbag, bar stool or bedspread? CSN Stores has them. Desperate for one last toy to go under the tree? You’ll find it at CSN and at a price that makes sense. Check them out for yourselves.

So how do you go about entering this fabulous giveaway and what does Harley have to do with it anyway and why am I so constantly long-winded instead of getting to the point? Glad you asked.

To enter the contest all you have to do is tell me your family’s favorite Christmas tradition. Something that sets your family apart from all the rest. Come on, spill the beans. Go on, I’m waiting.

The winner will be hand chosen by Harley himself. Ok, actually the winner will be beak chosen. That’s right, Harley the amazing African Grey will pick the winning name from a bowl, or something like that. I’ll even take a video of it for you to make sure he doesn’t cheat.

Harley, the Amazing African Grey

As for the long-windedness part: It’s a gift.

Marla, the Amazing Long-Winded Woman

Oh yeah, a few last things:

Contest is open to those living in the U.S. and Canada.
Last day to enter is December 7th.
Why are you still reading this. Comment already, will ya?

~ Happy Thanksgiving ~

2010-11-25T19:05:00.000-08:00

We had the best Thanksgiving this year. I didn’t cook a turkey, bake a pie or candy a single yam. There was no linen, china or crystal on our table. The fireplace had no fire, the wine remained in the cabinet and no family or friends showed up at our door. It would have been a shame if they had because we weren’t home.

We left at nine this morning and headed over to the City Rescue Mission where our girl Amy had signed us up to have Thanksgiving dinner with the homeless. We arrived at ten, decorated the table that had been reserved for our family and then waited for our four guests to arrive.

Miranda, Cavan, Amy and Hannah waiting for our guests

Our girls, Bel and Hannah getting excited

Nona and Hannah discussing seating arrangements

Finally, Bob and Bel saw our guests arriving

Meeting Laura and her family was absolutely lovely. They are wonderful people and we look forward to seeing them again sometime soon.

We also met Jeff. He and my husband Bob spent the entire three hours they were together talking military. Jeff is ex-Navy and with two of our sons in the military, that gave Bob all the incentive he needed to talk for hours.

Hannah was yelling for more pie for Jeff. She kept giving him hugs and I think it broke his heart a little.

Tonight, I am thankful ~

For friends and family that love and support me.

For food and clothes and a home.

For our jobs and the money they provide.

For having more than I need or deserve.

Life is good and I am thankful.

~ Happy Thanksgiving ~

What About Bob?

2010-11-24T12:21:00.000-08:00

My husband and I have a wonderfully strange relationship. We are best friends, partners in crime, kissy face huggy bear pals, and all the rest that goes along with having a pretty darn good marriage for the last 34 years. One of the things I noticed lately is the way we converse with one another. It seems maybe a bit less than normal when compared to some of our family and friends. Then I realized, this is our normal.

They look so normal and yet...

“Bob, why do you put the trash bags on the can so tight? I can never get the dang things off without fighting my way through the entire stinking process. You know I’m the weaker vessel.”

“Whatever! I use to believe that weaker vessel crap but not anymore.”

“Smart man.”

Then there are the constant jokes. Every day. Constantly. All the time. For the last 38 years. With promise of at least another 38 years. Jesus, Mary and Joseph pray for me.

I dig your pink guitar, Baby. No really. It's so, so, so, YOU!

“♪♪ Wasting away again in MarlaRitaville. Looking for my lost shaker of fart. Some people say that there’s a woman to blame but I know, it’s my darn wife’s fault ♪♪ . You know, honey, there is something seriously wrong with me.”

“Yes, I believe there is, Bob.”

I hate to even bring up this next Bob subject. I really do but in the hopes of possibly helping someone else out there, I will share this piece of our life. My darling, my sweetheart, my luvah, has the worst sense of timing when it comes to certain things. I am not going to say what things specifically but let’s just say, “things”. For instance, Bob is on vacation right now which means he is here. All. The. Time.

Constantly.

All. The. Time.

“Hey Baby. Wanna snuggle? Hehehe”

“Wow! That is a great idea. Tell ya what, as soon as I get the 5 loads of laundry sorted and started, something taken out for dinner, the grandkids in front of a movie, the horses, pig, chickens, dogs, cats, geese and Harley fed and watered, the bills paid and Ebay listed for the day, I will be all about snuggling with you. It's all about you, baby.”

“Awesome. Thanks for always putting me first, darlin.”

“Smart alec.”

Anyway, I noticed something else lately. When I post things about my husband, there are some of you that actually feel sorry for him. You leave me comments or send me emails saying you are worried about him or how hard it must be for the old man to be married to me. Stuff like that. I want to thank you for taking the time to look out for the guy and for giving me a good laugh along your worry journey. So, I was thinking maybe I would turn this little old blog over to the man himself. You know, to defend himself, defend my honor (oops! too late for that) and other nonsense. So here is your chance. Send me your questions and I will interview the man, the myth, the legend in his own mind, the white guy extraordinaire, Mr. Robert E. Hansen.

Mr. and Mrs. White Guy

Sundays In My City

2010-11-21T10:27:00.000-08:00

Sunday in my city began like this

Yeah, the photo is fuzzed out but so were we. It was too early for picture taking. We needed our coffee and newspaper. Leave us alone already, will ya? Why were we so tired this morning, you ask?

Partying with Santa til all hours of the night on Saturday was hard work but hey,

somebody had to do it.

Now go visit Unknown Mami

while we drink our coffee.

Sundays In My City

2010-11-14T12:01:00.000-08:00

This Sunday in my city, fall has finally arrived here at Hansen Farm. In all it's glory, with all it's frosty chill filling the air, it's here.

Time for a fire in the fireplace. Life is good.

Now go visit Unknown Mami and see what's happening in other cities this Sunday.

Thanks Boys

2010-11-11T19:08:00.000-08:00

These are two of our children, Matthew and John Hansen.

They are both helicopter pilots, Matthew with the Army and John with the Navy. On this Veterans Day, we want to make sure they know how much we love them and appreciate all the sacrifices they make on a daily basis to ensure our freedom and security. You both are amazing human beings and we are proud. If we had any idea you two were going to turn out so well, we would have never grounded you for all those cars you totalled when you were teenagers. Anyway, thanks boys. We love you both. We won't say which one more but one of you might want to rethink flying that Chinook so close to the house all the time. I'm just saying.

Sound Bites

2010-11-10T19:26:00.000-08:00

I love conversation. For instance, one evening when my oldest daughter and her family were over for dinner she had this to say:

"Mom, this is one of the best dinners yet. How do you make it look so easy all the time?"

"It’s not hard. Cooking is fun."

"I think I would love cooking if I didn’t have to go into the kitchen."

My daughter Rachel is the one at the head of the table. She looks scared and confused because she just realized she is in a kitchen.

Then there is my youngest daughter Miranda. She is incredibly funny only she doesn't know it which makes it even funnier. Just listen to this recent conversation between Miranda, Rachel and myself:

"Hey mom, my teacher sent this paper home for you to sign. It says I can take some cultural classes because I’m part Cherokee."

"Miranda is part Cherokee?"

"Yeah, she is on the Cherokee Nation rolls. She’s even got a card."

"Hey mom, I’m also part Mexican. Do I have a Mexican card, too?"

Yes, she is part Mexican however, to my knowledge, she does not have a Mexican card to prove it. Not yet anyway.

Hannah is my youngest granddaughter at three years old. She is here visiting and I couldn't be happier. One of my favorite parts of the day is having Hannah conversations like this one:

"Hannah, look at all those birds on the telephone line. How many do you think there are?"

"One…two… a lot!"

The kid is a mathematical genius. She gets that from our side.

Of course my conversations with my sisters are always memorable. They usually involve one of them trying to tell me what to do and me not doing it, mostly to annoy them. Such was the case last night when Kelly called.

"Hey, you need to call Char and thank her for sending you a photo of dad’s headstone. It hurt her feelings that you never acknowledged receiving it."

"Yeah, well it hurt my teeth having to receive it. You guys know I am still upset about him leaving me. How selfish is he anyway? I bet he didn’t even think about what this whole dying thing was gonna do to me."

"Are you crazy? What about Char and me? You think we don’t miss him too?"

"Whatever. This dead daddy thing is not working for me."

"Seriously, seek therapy. And medication. You may be certifiable."

Hey Char! Hey Kel! Did I ever mention that Dad liked me best?

Finally, there's that guy I am married to. Oh he is a real laugh riot. I especially like his jokes after the bazillionth time. They never lose their hilarity. Like the way he introduces me to people I have never met before. Like, say...his boss. Yeah, this is how he introduced us the first time.

"Brenda, I'd like you to meet my first wife, Marla."

Yuck it up, funny boy. You'll get yours...or not.