Empty Nest #AtoZ

Today, April 6, means it's been 23 years since I gave birth to our first child--and to think, I was only six at the time. My husband and I have vivid memories of bringing that sleeping baby boy home from the hospital, setting his car seat on a table, looking at each other and saying, "What the heck are we supposed to do with it?"

Happy Birthday, Danielson! 

We figured out what to do after dipping the poor kid in cold bathwater and sticking the snot snatcher up the baby's nose then squeezing. It's okay, the son is no longer cross-eyed and eventually we figured out how to suck his buggers out. In fact, we did such a good job at this that when Daniel woke after surgery from a soccer injury, he even asked me to pick his nose.

Judy Woo

Soon we added two female bundles of job (yes it's a typo, but I thought it was fitting) to the mix to create a full house of, "Mmmoooooommm! She looked at meeeeeeee!" Ah the pleasures of raising children! And of course big brother became a master at egging the little two into a fight then stepping back to watch.

Erica - Baby Bear

Yes, we've had many wonderful years of joy and vomit, but those days are quickly coming to an end for the youngest of the crew is now a Senior in High School. She has chosen to attend the furthest school possible, Zhejiang University in China. Just kidding, but she is going to UCF in Orlando, which is quite a jog from little Memphis.

Seriously, we will miss our baby as we do the older two, and once again my husband and I will look at each other and say, "What are we supposed to do now?"

D is for DOGS -What else? #AtoZ

Being that I have multiple dogs sniffing all over my site, I had to take advantage of the D day. Let me introduce you to the crew.

The Swaz

Alpha Dog is The Swaz. He's an old, white-faced retriever who likes to spread his enormous body across the entry ways of dark rooms. I've almost ended my life by tripping over him quite a few times. Swaz has never been what one would call an active dog. When I throw the ball, he knows I'm not going anywhere, so what's the rush to get it back? He'll simply stroll to the ball, place it in his enormous jaws, and eventually I may see it again. He's a love but at 12½, I worry about him.

Millie & Erica

Millie the Rescue Dog: She's a Terrier Mix who probably hasn't seen a pedigree in the family for many years. Her tongue is too big for the mouth, so it sticks out but dries quickly. She hops into bed between my husband and me every night and makes odd groaning noises. My kids enjoy her squeaky toy gadget. Touch her belly and she grunts.

Goofy Ruby

Ruby the goofy grand dog: No longer my problem! I say that because the son took her back to Charleston after she chewed up every pair of my daughter's underwear. When we go to see her, she lets us know she still loves us by peeing on the floor or taking a flying leap to give us a sloppy kiss. She's a Dino dog (Flintstones) for sure.

I do not know the cute puppies on my site; however, if Erica has her way, we just might. Catch my words tomorrow when I explore the Empty Nest with Letter E.

That Closet Did It to My Clothes Again! #AtoZ

Back in the good old days, Mom would wash our clothes and hang them outside on a laundry line stretched between the house and a tree. Not only would our duds come back smelling fresh, but also they stayed the same size. Never did I have the experience like one has with dryers. You know it. You stick your shirt in the dryer and in the morning you have new Barbie clothes.

Which brings me to my latest problem--my closet.

We live in the south where when the temperatures break into three digits, the horses sweat, men perspire, and I glow. So living in such a hot and humid climate, why did our builder leave out an air conditioning vent in the closet? My closet has gotten so hot that every summer I go to pull out clothes, and dag-gummit, they've shrunk. It's a definite dryer effect. Why just the other day, those jeans wouldn't zip! And what's worse, the longer the clothes stay in the closet, the smaller they get.

 Now comes the problem of what to do with the shrunken clothes. At first I didn't have a clue, but after going to The Memphis Grizzlies game, I've figured it out. Those poor Grizzly Dancers wiggled on the basketball court in their underwear. Then they switched out of their underwear into some stretchy outfit that must have shrunk too because their butt cheeks were hanging out of the back. I think I'll send my little clothes to those poor naked dancers, then I'm going to call my builder and ask him to install a vent. This clothes shrinking business has got to stop.

See you tomorrow when I tackle the letter D. If you look around my blog, I bet you can figure out what this one's about.

Basement Phobia

So Fun!

It was the place where yellowed stuffing spilled from tattered couches and humming heaters sang mournful duets with spinning dryers. I'm referring to that musty, spider-infested basement. That place I crept into only when forced to retrieve Mystery Date. All that bravery just to end up with the Dud at the door. After all, if I was going to risk my life to get that game, at least I could've found the stud muffin in the white tux.

That light bulb dangling from a cord was never enough to give me the peace of mind to be way downstairs--at least not alone. What was it about the basement that would scare the Buggy Man, Phantom of the Opera, or even the millions of famous dead people who we've ooed and awed over throughout history? Tackle the basement, suckers!

The shadows reflecting from the dull light gave me the tingling feeling that something eight-legged or the Mystery Date Dud was crawling on my forearm. While downstairs, I'd often hop into a hula hoop spin without the plastic because, I'd felt something creepy.

And the noise of the heater with the glowing orange light added to the drama. I'm with you Kevin, my Home Alone heater came to life when doing laundry too. In real life, we don't need  Hollywood scare music to add to the tension. Haunted houses on Halloween, nah, just find the basement.

Now that I'm a grown up, I live in a state so humid that the ground would swallow those dirt dwelling rooms. Not many basements in Memphis--only attics. Yikes! That's another post.

I'm leaving you with a fun link for those too young to remember Mystery Date or old enough to enjoy a nostalgic look back to the fun we used to have. Tune in Monday, and I'll tell you all about my closet.

Please click the Picket Fence. Thanks!

Agent Harold Baer is Looking for Writers!

As aspiring authors, it's exciting to learn about new agents who are actually looking for clients! I was blessed to interview Mr. Harold Lyon Baer about his unique practices that are sure to escalate him to the top of the publishing world.

Joyce: It's always interesting to know what people do before becoming agents. I mean, have you always been a part of the book world?

Harry: When I was young, I traveled a lot. In fact, I was part of an expedition in the Arctic Circle. During that time period, we did a lot of hunting and ice fishing.

Joyce: Really? That's fascinating. So tell me Harry, what sort of books are you interested in?

Harry: I love books about animals! I especially love the Berenstain Bears.

Joyce: Well, who doesn't? So you're interested in picture books?

Harry: Picture Books, Middle Grade, YA--anything will float with me. Listen, Joyce. I need to cut this interview short. My wife's calling. You know, the cubs are getting restless. But please have your readers call me if they'd like to give me a pitch about their books.

Joyce: Wait a minute? No query letter? Just a phone call?

Harry: Sure. I like to get to know potential clients. If they turn out to be like honey, we just might gel.

Joyce: You sure are a rare species, Harry!

Harry: That's what they keep telling me. Please tell your readers that I'm located at:

64th Street and Fifth Avenue
New York, New York 10021

Come visit or call (212) 439-6500 and ask for Harry Baer. Also, if anyone is interested in knowing more about me, here's my website: http://tinyurl.com/4vveqsm

Thanks, Harry!

A is for Agent! Tune in tomorrow to read about letter B -- Hmm? Beer, Barbecues, Babies -- Are you curious enough to click?

A-Z Challenge Starts Tomorrow!

My friend Rhonda at http://www.laugh-quotes.com asked me to participate in the A to Z Blogging Challenge where we will post a blog every day (but Sunday) in April. Each post will progress through the letters of the alphabet. It'll be tough, but I'm willing to try, so be on the look out for my interview with Mr. Harold Lyon Baer, a super, awesome literary agent!

Half-Donkey Job

Everyone's heard the saying that March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, but in the south we take it a bit further. If March enters like a lamb (it did), it goes out like a lion (yep). So how can that be? It seems to go in and out in opposite ways. Off course if you get a lot of rain in March like we're getting now, it should help the grass grow. 

 

This healthy grass theory might work, except my husband planted grass seed on only half of our lawn. So the left grows luscious green blades while the other side bares brown stubble. He claims it was a good move because we lost the lake in the backyard; however, it looks goofy.

Just think how great life would be if we did a half job with everything. Shaving's a pain, so I think I'll shave one leg from now on. Okay, it's late. I'll go tweeze my right eyebrow then climb in bed.

Oops, what if I missed and plucked the eye instead?  . ⠅⠅⠄⠎⠂⠒⠁⠉⠌⠌⠅ I'd be in trouble because reading Braille doesn't work for computer screens--dang it! Oh, wait. I'd only be blind in one eye. No problem.☺

The Eighth Wonder of the World

 

As I drove down Poplar Avenue, I noticed red and green lights in the Exxon window which wished me Happy Holidays and flashed a chubby Santa at passing traffic. Maybe "flashed" is the wrong word since St. Nick was fully clothed, thank God, but why was that goofy Christmas icon still waving at me?

 

Being that it's late March but not quite April Fools Day, I figured this wasn't a joke. So Santa still graced the window for one reason or maybe another. Here are some possibilities:

 

•  Exxon wants to spread the Christmas spirit year round. 

     During the Christmas season, people tend to be more generous. Maybe if they leave the lights up, people will think it's still the season of giving and buy more gas, junk food, lottery tickets, or Cokes.

• The Exxon employees forgot to change the message, don't care about decorations, or never noticed the Christmas message was still up.

      I called Exxon. Miss Gas Queen knew the message was up but as to the reason why, she said, "I have no idea, Baby." Maybe that means they don't care. But then again, she said all the stations have the lights up. So does this mean it's a national con to sell fuel? Yeah, that's it. Or maybe after the BP oil spill knocked down the competition, every day is Christmas at Exxon!

• Those folks know how to change oil, give tune ups, and maybe even rebuild a motor but they haven't a clue how to work display lights.

       I guess it's possible, but highly unlikely. After all, how complicated could it be? Confuzzle it because maybe . . .      

• Changing display lights is so frustrating that they decided to never do it again.

      Which brings me to my former neighbor Pat who spent so much time putting up her tree that she swore she'd never take it down again. Five years later it was like, yeah, our house is the one two doors down from the huge Christmas tree in the window.

 So folks, let's just call this the Eighth Wonder of the World!

Mom Taught Me How to Laugh

Honeymoon, 1949

On March 27, 2002, I accompanied my son to Italy for a soccer tournament. In the middle of the night, an odd alarm that we hadn't set woke us up with a single beep. I call it a good bye because early the next morning, our phone rang to tell us that my mother had unexpectedly died late that past night. Although she'd been sick, she was getting better, and no one expected a heart attack to steal my beautiful and witty mother away from this world after only 75 years of life. So, in memory of my mother, I dedicate today's post to her because her sense of humor helped to make me who I am today.

During my grade school years, my mother would often become frazzled by her "friend" Five by Five, as Mom called her. Mrs. Five by Five, five feet tall and five feet wide, had a homely daughter who she swore looked just like me. My mother's mama claws would flare as she'd spit out how I was so much prettier than the daughter of five by five.

Mama Claws

I must not have been too terribly ugly because a few years after that a carload of boys stopped next to us and cat called from my passenger side window. At least I think they were hooting at me, but maybe not. For my mother hoisted her left hand into the air and yelled, "I'm married!"

"Darn it!" The boys promptly said.

  

Florence Paull

 Mom didn't lose her humor with age, nor did she lose her ability to spit out anyone's birthday after hearing it once. In her wheelchair, she sat in the middle of the dance floor at my daughter's Bat Mitzvah party. Goofy neon necklaces covered her head and neck but she didn't bother to remove them like most elderly people would have done. Yeah, that was Mom. She was also the lady who taught my kids how to shoot straws out of paper so they could misbehave in restaurants.

I miss you, Mom, even though I sometimes sense you telling me to be careful not to trip over broken sidewalks or other messages straight from you. Are you still here or was that one bleep of the alarm your final salute? None the less, today is the anniversary of your death, so here's to you. Did you know my mom? If so, what do you remember about her?

Broken TV - Go Fish

If you were to replace the most expensive item in your house, what would it be? For us, it's that sixty inch mega giant television in our family room that has just bit the dust. We saw its demise coming with its occasional popping sound before the screen would go blank.

We interrupt this program for an important news announcement **POP** 

or

Detective, we've just figured out who killed Isadore, it was **POP**

Now everytime we turn on the TV, we hear one jar of mus- **POP** or guilt- **POP** In other words, the television broke, and we will be broke too once we purchase a new one. If you've TV shopped recently, you understand this concept.

Last night, we ventured into Best Buys and found a very helpful and very pieced saleslady. Okay, I exaggerate, but she did have the rod through the cartridge, a knob on the tongue, and a few empty holes that probably no one but the earring Nazi (me) noticed. The store walls were covered with flat screens, Plasmas, High Def, LED, 3D, and of course the bibbity-bobbity-boo-I-don't-know-what-to-do type. Long gone are the days of just picking up a box.

Now with a new TV comes the question of what to do with the old one. After all, this gigantic piece stands to my chin but thank God, it's much wider. Erica, my beautiful and brilliant youngest child wants to turn the television box into a gigantic fish tank! We'd clean out the insides, fill it with water, and have sixty inches of aquarium.

Interesting idea because this is not the first time this box has held life. Years ago, a brown recluse got trapped behind the glass. We enjoyed watching her crawl over the face of the annoying Head On lady with her repetitive commercial designed to give us a headache so we'd buy her product. Finally, our friend turned to dust and we can still see her shriveled corpse on the bottom ledge. *sniff*

Interesting idea about the fish, Erica, but no. Instead, I've placed a fun fish tank at the bottom of this blog. Move the arrow, and my fish will follow. Click the mouse and food will drop! Have fun kiddies, and we're off to look at more high tech TVs.

I'm Going To Be A Millionaire!

I'm going to be rich. How do I know? It's simple. Everyday Publisher's Clearing House sends me an e-mail and tells me so. Today's latest says, "There will definitely be a major prize winner in the Memphis area." With only a million people, it's got to be me! But here's more exciting news. My prompt entry will also activate a chance for me to win a life-changing $10,000,000.00 SuperPrize from Giveaway No. 1400. 

Now wait a minute? Wasn't 1400 the prize they said I'd win last year? Surely they wouldn't write it if it weren't true. Plus, I've received those notes that say someone with the initials JL is a winner. Yep! No doubt about it; I'm going to win.

I can see it now. The Prize Patrol drives down my block and rings the bell sometime after I get home from work. We know the moment, I've removed that uncomfortable piece of ladies lingerie. After all, we must free those puppies. Anyway, the doorbell rings and the television cameras show me jumping up and down on NATIONAL TV. Wow! Uh, err, maybe I should put the bra back on.