Monday, June 21, 2010

Will work for food..........

It’s been a long time since I've had to look for a job. I have decided that it is a full time job in its self. It's pretty painful preparing a decent resume, looking through the want ads in the local newspaper, faxing and e-mailing resumes in hopes of getting a call for an interview. Not only that, but spending days on end hand delivering resumes to every location that looks like a potential place of employment.  By the time I'd  been in and out of the car fourteen times the other 100 degree weather, I started to  linger a little longer in each office just to take in the cool air.  I could visualize the staff talking about the sweaty street bum with a red face and soppin' wet hair, hanging out in the waiting room......I'm sure they considered calling security.  But, on the positive side....maybe I will be the very one they remember!

Then there is the interview process.  My first interview was with a staffing company who told me there would be a test.  I thought, no problem.  After finishing in about three hours, the smart mouthed little receptionist said, "It was only supposed to take about forty five minutes to an hour!"  I just wanted to slap her silly!  I've had to try really hard to be on my best behavior during this process!.....hoping not to do or say anything stupid.....knowing that unrehearsed words may escape my mouth, and the spirit of my mother may come over me!

Sadly, I’ve already been horrified by my spur of the moment stupidity when a possible employer said she would shake my hand but she’d been coughing.  I ever so stupidly said, “Okay…air shake!” and stuck my hand out in a pretend hand shake!  As I left her office, all I could say to my self was, “Air shake????……..AIR SHAKE!!!!”  What am I …...a twelve year old!

While I could blog a whole story about each interesting and memorable interview I’ve had so far, I will refrain.….in fear that somehow the very place that wants to hire me, won’t …..because they read my blog. I’m just sayin……………..

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Super Hero................

In most every little girl is planted the idea that her dad is a super hero. I’m one of them. My dad…..John Wayne. Yep, that was my dad. He wore boots and jeans, a big felt hat. Strapped on his leg was holster with a real pistol in it. He's a pistol alright!

I remember when I was about fourteen, my boyfriend came over riding his motor cycle. We were outside talking when my dad came out in his John Wayne attire. With his arms wide at his side and his right hand over his pistol, he looked like he was going to snatch that gun right outta the holster, twirl it around, and then take down the punk that was messin with his daughter! In seconds, my boyfriend saddled that bike, spun out….and left me in a trail of dust. And John Wayne???…. was laughing his head off! Oh, yes he was! That’s my dad! Super hero…..not exactly perfect timing for me ….but, none the less a Super Hero he was and is.

More than his mischievousness, though, my dad had a serious side. I remember one time getting in trouble and my dad, my Super Hero, gave me a whippin!….with a belt. Now, normally, my mom was the one to discipline me, but that time I must have done something really awful for her to bring in the big guns! You see….if I was in trouble with mom, she’d have to chase me around the table and catch me before I got a spanking. By the time she caught up to me, she would be laughing too hard to spank me. Therefore, all was forgotten. Oh….but not my dad!

I’ve seen my dad grab a snake by the tail and pop it’s neck, then hang it on the barbed wire fence. I’ve seen him saddle and ride a horse like a real cowboy. I’ve seen him come home from work at midnight, covered with black suet and read letters I left for him because he worked long hours and I didn‘t get to see him much. More admirably, I’ve seen him on more than one occasion, witness to someone at a garage sale. That’s why they call him a Garage Sale Missionary. What an amazing man he is.

So….this Father’s Day I wrote him a song…..My Hero, My Dad.
Here are the lyrics.  Copyright 2010.

My Hero, My Dad

There is a man who warms my heart
Who’s always loved me from the start
There is a man with calloused hands
Hard working man, my hero, my dad.

If ever there were knights in shining armor
Superman, Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers
They couldn’t hold a candle to this man
I call my hero, my dad.

No matter how old I am
Daddy’s little girl I’ll always be
He’s always there to stand by me
My hero…..

If ever there were knights in shining armor
Superman, Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers
They couldn’t hold a candle to this man
I call my hero, my dad.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Stuffed Turkey............

The tradition for many families at Thanksgiving is having “stuffed turkey”. My family has turkey, of course, but as far as I know our turkeys are not stuffed. As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen a stuffed turkey. So tell me this……what does that mean exactly? Does it mean that the turkey, prior to it’s execution, is fed it’s last meal? It’s given every food it could possibly want to eat before hatchet day…..causing the poor bird to over eat, and therefore he’s stuffed?

I feel that way after every meal! I seem to push myself to the limit when certain foods are concerned. I don’t know why I do it!! Take Mexican food, for instance. I generally start off by eating chips and salsa, ordering my favorite enchiladas, drinking 2 or 3 diet cokes then, if anyone else wants a sopapilla, I will have one, too. Now I know there must be at least 500 fat grams in this meal alone, but tell my brain that it’s off limits and I will act like fool if you try and keep it from me. Therefore, I leave with the feeling of being overly “stuffed” and call myself a pig for doing it…..oink, oink!

I can see how the pig could be described as being “stuffed” since it doesn’t know when to quit when it comes to the slop it eats. But the poor turkey?  He’s stuffed BY someone…. and baked with his stuffing that was crammed into him… and then eaten by someone who has the intention of being stuffed himself…. by the very turkey HE stuffed. Mind boggling, I know!

And every time I use the phrase “I‘m stuffed“, I think about the pig who has no self control and then I picture myself in his body. I complain about gaining weight only to stuff myself again. I have come to realize that humans did not come from monkeys like they taught us in school.  We may act like monkeys sometimes but I think we must have come from pigs. Think about it! Our world is centered around food. We have breakfast and then a snack. We have lunch and then a snack. And for entertainment…..we go out to eat and have a 500 fat gram meal! Before we can count the little piggys on our footsies, we’ve fixed ourselves a midnight snack and wonder why we can‘t sleep. Now tell me, this……doesn't this sound like pigs to you?? time someone asks you if you want stuffing, just say, “no thanks, I'm stuffed already!"

I'm just sayin'.......

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Only my hairdresser knows.......

Why do women color their hair?  Is it to impress someone or is it for self gratification?  Magazines are full of colorful advertisements that suck us in to the theory that hair color will make us look younger and more beautiful.  It's true, people!  Even the younger girls have determined that hi-lites will make them more popular and more in trend.  The first young girl to color her hair will in essence.... start a trend.  It's the parents that will have to deal with the consequences of beginning the whole hair experience that will continue for the rest of their lives.

Going to the hair salon is a day I look forward to.  In that hour and a half, I am pampered and transformed.  It's a miracle, in my opinion!  If only in that hour and a half my body was transformed, too.  Unfortunately, there's not a color that can cover up the damage age has done to that! 

Today I passed by a Hair Salon called MANNA HAIR, APPOINTED AND ANOINTED.  Somehow, thinking of my hair as being manna from heaven leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.  No one wants to think of hair relating to food!  My daughter told me about another hair salon called, CURL UP AND DYE.  I love that name, but sometimes that's exactly how I feel when my hair is a mess!  How many times have we used the phrase, "I'm having a bad hair day!".......only a woman could relate to that!

One thing I have learned for sure....once you start the process of coloring your hair, you are more than likely in it for life. It's not only addictive, it's costly. But none of us want to see how many more gray hairs are under that gorgeous head of colored hair.

The Bible talks about God loving us so much He knows the number of hairs on our head...and what color they are!  I'm guessing God is really good at math since everyday there are multiple hairs left unaccounted for.  The Bible also talks about a womans hair being her pride and joy.....yep, it's in there!

In conclusion, if a woman's hair is her crown and glory, then our trips to the hair salon every six weeks are not only a necessity, but an expense well worth budgeting!   I'm just sayin'..........

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Butch Cassidy................

In my criminal years, I managed to pass as a precious 7 year old girl.  I began my career as a bonafide thief as early as 5 and by age 8 I was completely rehabilitated.  I now live as a normal, trustworthy citizen.

One incident I remember vividly, just like it was haunts me even now.  My grandparents, who were pastors of a little church I often write about, had a dog named Butch.  I played with him every time I was at their house and considered him to be my best friend.  He was a sweet and loving pet.   Little did I know, Butch would be the one to take me down!  It was for my own good, I realize now, but at the time I accused him of being a traitor.  Here's the story.

One Sunday morning after church I was invited to spend the afternoon with one of my friends.  She had the cutest Barbie doll I'd ever seen.  You see, I didn't have many Barbie's back then.  I mostly had baby dolls.  As we were leaving for the evening service, I packed my play clothes and carefully wrapped Barbie up in them.  After hearing my Granddaddy preach that night I began to feel conviction.  By the time we got in the car to head home, the kidnapped Barbie became a flaming reminder of my sin.

When we got to my grandmother's house and everyone had gone in, I lingered long enough to dispose of the body.  My trusted friend and playmate, Butch, must have seen me when I threw Barbie over the fence.  I think he must have been on to me because.......

The next morning....relieved to have destroyed the evidence of yet another crime, I was off to school.  What I learned from this experience was "Crime does NOT pay!"  When I got home, my mother confronted me with a gnarled up Barbie that Butch Cassidy retrieved, chewed up and turned in to the authorities!  It was then that I realized the dog could not be trusted.  May he rest in peace!..........

Monday, June 7, 2010

Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.......

When my daughter, Stephanie, was about sixteen, I played the piano for a kids choir that she sang in.  It was directed by Iva Albright, who died a few years ago.  She was an amazing woman.  The little choir she directed had about 25 students and they were pretty good.  They sang at Opry Land one year and that was a fun trip for us.  We stayed at the Opry  Land Hotel and all expenses were paid!  Of course there were many rehearsals prior to this trip. 

One evening, before rehearsal, Steph and I went to eat at Mercado's.  I wore a long sleeved shirt and a denim straight skirt that was to my ankles.  You have to understand....that was the style back then. While we were there it started to rain.  Since we didn't have our umbrellas with us, when time came to leave, we had to make a run for it.  Stephanie was the first one to the car and I was close behind her.  It was hard to run in a straight skirt. 

When I reached the car and unlocked it, I put my right foot in first.  Because my skirt was straight, my other leg slipped out from under me and down I went.  Flat on my back with raindrops falling in my face.  It happened so fast that it took a second for me to realize I'm laying on my back in the rain.

At the same time that happened, Stephanie was opening the door to get in.  One minute she saw me and the next minute she was wondering where I went!  I was no where in sight......until she saw my foot in the floorboard.  Of course she started laughing and laughing and laughing!  Leaving me flat on my back in the rain never occurred to her.  Hellur....Steph, help your mother and make sure she's okay!  Nope, she just laughed her head off.  A man and woman, who were leaving at the same time we were, saw me fall and ran over to help me.  They looked at Stephanie like she was the meanest brat they'd ever seen.  That in it's self was hilarious!

After I pulled myself together we headed to rehearsal.  I was drenched and sore and embarrassed and I was laughing hysterically.  Every time Stephanie and I looked at each other we laughed until we cried.....literally!

From that point forward I never...ever....ran in the rain again.  Yesterday........Stephanie did!  You'll have to ask her what happened!  Lessons are hard to learn sometimes!

Friday, June 4, 2010

Don't be chicken.......

When I was a little girl I stayed at my Grandmother Wallaces' house a lot.  I remember how hot it was when I played outside.  The grass was brown and dry and there were a million grass burs.  I mostly stayed in the back yard where there was some shade and the dirt driveway saved me from the grass burs.  I would pretend the butane tank was a horse and I would ride it through the hills and vales of my imagination.  Grandmother would bring out a basket of wet clothes and I would help her pin the clothes on the line.

I'll never forget the time Granddaddy brought home several crates of live chickens.  I watched as my grandmother, who I thought was so sweet, reach in that crate and pull out a chicken by it's neck.  I assumed that was the way to do it if you didn't want to get pecked to death.  What she did after that would haunt me for the rest of my life.  I saw that chicken twirl around and around......with Grandmother's hand firmly around it's neck.  She looked like she was cranking an old hooptie car!  It looked funny at first until the body flopped away from it's head.......that was still in her hand!!  I was mortified!!!

We helped pluck the feathers from the chickens and they were cleaned, butchered, and prepared for the freezer.  After that, eating fried chicken was a bitter sweet experience.  I visualized myself coughing and feathers flying out of my mouth.  Or going to sleep at night by counting flopping, headless chickens instead of sheep.  A giggle would turn into a wide eyed sleepless night.

There was an old saying back then when someone was misbehaving, "I'm going to wring your neck!"  Seeing that headless chicken put a whole new meaning to that phrase.  If I didn't like fried chicken so much I think that experience would have made a vegetarian out of me!  I'm just sayin.......

Thursday, June 3, 2010

You're so vain...........

It's amazing how we learn at an early age to be conscious of our looks.  I remember as a child dressing up in my mother's clothes.  I played the part of a doting mother to my baby doll whose name I don't recall.  For kids today, dressing up has taken a different turn.  You'll find almost any costume at any toy store or toy department.  You'll find an assortment of costumes for whoever you want to be.  Whether a princess, a Barbie, Batman, Batgirl, Superman, a character from Toy Story, Star Wars or many others, there's a costume for you.

When my daughter was a little girl, the only time you could get a costume was at halloween.  The costumes were cheep and ugly, so one year I made her one.  An hour before trick-or-treating, I searched the house and found some red and white checked fabric for a dress, a white sheet for an apron and red yarn for hair.  With a little make-up and creativity, she turned out  to be the cutest raggedy Ann doll I've ever seen.

I never realized my daughter cared so much about her looks until, at a very young age, she was studying her great-great grandmother, who we called Momma Baker.  She was in her 90's and was the most precious and sweet lady I've ever known.  However, she had the deepest wrinkles I've ever seen....on her face, arms and legs.  I guess the years of picking cotton and gardening were not kind to her.  Stephanie asked her granny,(my mom), what  was wrong with Momma Baker's skin.   Granny said to her, "That's what happens to us when we get old."  Stephanie, who was mortified, said in all seriousness, "I'd rather die first."

..........out of the mouths of babes.