God Bless Y'all Real Good

Pssst. Pssst. Got any flu vaccine?

Tony and I have both managed to score the seasonal flu vaccine down here in Calvert County (Tony at Walgreen's and me from my physician, who had just a few doses left on Saturday morning), but the H1N1 vaccine remains elusive.  I swear, it feels like looking for street drugs or trying to procure toilet paper in the Former Soviet Union.  Where can we find some?  Who has it?  How much do they have?  Will there be any left when we show up?  How long will we have to stand in line?

 

I was off work the week before last, and Little Old Lady (whom I serve as caregiver, jester, pill pusher, chief cook and bottle washer, etc.) was supposed to get the seasonal at the Senior Center while I was gone, but I got an email from her daughter telling me that she did not receive it, after all.

 

The daughter informed me that there would be a walk-in clinic at the same location last Thursday, but when Little Old Lady and I arrived, we were informed that the clinic had been canceled because the Senior Center was unable to score any vaccine at all.

 

I also got a letter from my mother's (not to be confused with my liege, Little Old Lady) assisted living facility informing me that they were not going to be able to provide flu shots this year because of the shortage of seasonal flu vaccine.  So, I called her doctor's office and was told that they had some, but it was all spoken for.  However, they were expecting another shipment soon, so I put Mom's name on The List.

 

***************

 

Well, so, I had a pretty good week off from work.  I had originally planned to take Mom over to Rehoboth Beach for a few days, but after searching the internet for motel accommodations and downloading a map of the discount shopping mall she talked about visiting, I said to myself, "NO FUCKING WAY IS THAT GONNA HAPPEN!"

 

(Traveling with someone who has Alzheimer's is like traveling with a toddler.  If you don't keep your eye one them 24/7, they might get up in the night and open the door to their hotel room--AND FORGET TO CLOSE IT--or use their host's trash can as a toilet and think nothing of it.)

 

 So, Mom gamely agreed to come down to our place for a few days, and immediately upon her arrival began asking when she would be going home.  Earlier this summer, she visited for three or four days, and everything went splendidly.  This time, not so much.  I noticed more problems with incontinence, which Mom acknowledges by using those useless, ultra-thin mini-pads.  Meanwhile, I laundered her urine-soaked pants and underwear several times over two days.

 

I suggested giving the adult "protective wear" a try, but she doesn't really think that it's necessary.

 

Her appetite is beginning to diminish, too, and it was hard for her to finish a meal.  She would usually finish if I coaxed her, but there was something just OFF about her eating.  Maybe it was the slowness--the even-tempoed-ness--of the process--of the way she stabbed at her food with no particular interest--and the way she seemed to just gaze off into space periodically throughout the meal.  I dunno.  But it was OFF.

 

Mom loves to go for drives, so I took her over into the next county to see if we could find some Amish people to ogle.  We also drove to St. Mary's College, at her request, but she asked me later why we'd driven there.  Maybe that was her way of telling me that she had to go to the bathroom.

 

Oops.  Too late.

 

***************

 

For a few days after Mom left, I watched TV and twirled my hair.  Then it was time to go to The Wedding.

 

Tony's nephew got married at the Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore on Saturday evening, so we drove up Saturday afternoon and, eventually, checked into the Peabody Hotel.  I say eventually because our room wasn't ready at the appointed time, which got us into an agitated state.

 

While waiting for the furniture to be rearranged in our room (Why did they have to rearrange the furniture?  Was there a murder?  Bodily fluids which needed to be covered up?), we visited the hotel bar where I slammed a double scotch whiskey--NEAT--thus doing all of my alloted drinking for the entire weekend before even checking into the hotel.

 

It was the best--the BEST--wedding I ever went to.

 

There was a blessedly brief ceremony in the main gallery hall, including some lovely music selections, one of which sounded like a German polka.  We then all repaired to another area of the gallery where we were (some of us) plied with alcohol and hors d'oeuvres and allowed to meander through the exhibits of ancient Greek/Roman artifacts.  Man, the sarcophagi were unbelievable!

 

After a while, we were invited back to the main hall, which had been transformed into a lovely dining area.  All the formal staircases, columns and statuary made for a really dramatic stage as the wedding party members were introduced.  We enjoyed a really tasty dinner, good music, funny and sentimental speeches and dancing by the young 'uns.

 

Oh, Tony and I took one turn on the dance floor to a slow number, but after that I had to fly solo.  You see, Tony's just not as comfortable in the role of spectacle as I am.  That being said, I did just mostly sit in my seat and enjoy the dancing of the younger set, which was sooooo much fun!  Also, because of my shoes, my feet had a splitting headache.

 

Dance-wise, I saw a new variation of The Stroll.  The dancers formed a circle and someone would step into the center and dance across to someone else in the circle, who would come into the center, as well.  The two would dance for a minute or two and then go back to their respective places in the circle, while the members of the circle clapped and hollered.  Then, another person would dance into the center, pick a partner, and the process would be repeated.  It was so COOL!

 

The other thing I noticed at this wedding, which was different from the last wedding I attended almost 10 years ago, was the role of technology.  Everybody, EVERYBODY, was taking pictures with their phones or whatever devices they had.  I swear, it looked like a Hollywood red carpet event, with all the flashes going off.  The best man (groom's brother) had his speech typed into his hand-held device (I say device, 'cause I have no idea what it was), and read from, or referred to it, scrolling the text with his thumb throughout.  Meanwhile, the older people (like my age), read their comments from ACTUAL pieces of paper! 

 

The wedding cake was unbelievable and made by the cake business which has that show on TV, Ace of Cakes.  They even had someone come out to film it for one of their shows.  Since the couple has an interest in The Classics (which explains the choice of wedding/reception location, I guess), the cake was designed with classical motifs seen on a piece of pottery supplied by the groom.

 

That is all.

 

 

 

 

An Afternoon at Brookside Gardens

 

Meet Little Old Lady.  We spend weekdays together, gadding about, visiting thrift stores, shopping malls, doctors and dentists, and the grocery store, among other destinations.

On a fine day earlier this week, we passed a few lovely hours at Brookside Gardens.

 

 

We found the gardens in various stages of Fall.

 

 

The day was a bit hazy and, from a distance, everything looked very dreamy.

 

We sneaked up some stone steps . . .

 

 

and enjoyed the shadows and shade of the Japanese Tea House. 

 

 

We spied a bride . . . and her groom.

 

 

There were grasses . . .

 

 

and berries . . .

 

and amazing views in every direction!

 

 

There were memorials . . .

 

 

and monuments . . .

 

 

and stone sculptures, all around.

 

This is a Ginkgo biloba tree.  I met a woman from Korea underneath it, and we chatted while her young daughter stomped on the fruit which had fallen to the ground.  The woman explained that the nuts, or seeds, from the Ginkgo are very expensive in Korea because it is not very common there.

The aroma wafting up from the flattened Ginkgo fruit was quite unpleasant.

I asked the woman if I could take a picture of her daughter.  When I raised my camera, the girl ran away, laughing.

 

When we reached the Fragrance Garden, Little Old Lady was ready to rest on a bench in the sun, while I continued to take pictures nearby.

 

This garden was more seasonal and changing, more labor intensive, than the rolling hills, ponds and mature trees we had seen earlier.

 

 

Ornamental peppers.

 

 

Gigantic blooms, probably 8" long.

 

Pansies and kale, I think.

 

It's time to gather up Little Old Lady and head home.  She's really made herself comfortable, hasn't she?

 

Little Old Lady will be 90 years old on her next birthday.  Isn't that amazing?

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 

 

 

Hello? Hello? Is Anyone Out There?

I know.  I've been gone a long time.

 

Honestly, my job up in town and, mostly, the commute have been kicking my ass.  Plus, I've been plagued by a plethora of procrastinated projects here at home.

 

I've been in a funk all summer and paralyzed by the sheer volume of stuff I SHOULD be tackling in my quest to be super organized and freed from the constraints of TOO MUCH STUFF.

 

Hopefully, now that the ghastly summer weather is behind us, maybe I can get motivated to get something done.  Also, beginning in another month or so, I'm going to go from a five-day-a-week work schedule to just four days.

 

In the meantime, let me leave you with this image of a sign I plucked off the roadside a month or two ago.  It just struck me as hilarious, that's all.

 

Time Warp

My mother writes everything down.  Everything.

This is both a blessing and a curse for me.

On the one hand, I've been able to track the machinations of a**hole family member, who continues to badger Mom about her money and to manipulate her thoughts and feelings about another member of the family.  Me.

(See, I interfered with some secret plans a**hole family member was working on related to my parents' will.  Others, like the mortgage he had my mother take out on her home for his financial benefit, I couldn't do anything about.  As a result of these incidents, I've been involved in a long-running legal battle to have a guardian and successor trustee appointed for my mother to protect her assets for her OWN future use.  A**hole family member is enraged, and we have been estranged for nearly two years now.  Sad.  Very, very sad.)

Whenever I am able, I rummage through the mess of papers and little notebooks in Mom's room at the assisted living facility.  If I find anything of particular interest or of a very damaging nature, I often tear the pages out of her notebooks and take the material home.

I have built up quite an extensive array of damning evidence of a**hole family member's attempts to influence Mom--money-wise--and to alienate her from me.

(Mom was diagnosed with dementia--probable Alzheimer's Disease, early moderate stage--in December, 2007.)

(Well, I'll save this cautionary tale for a later date.  But, I will say this . . . after everything I've learned, I could write a book!)

On the other hand, Mom's scribblings give me tremendous insight and awareness into what's going on in her mind.  What's there and what's lost; what's bubbling around just below the surface.

I found this note on a recent visit.  It refers to her home, which was sold on June 15, 2009.

 

Well, her math is good, anyway.

Olney is a town in Maryland, about 15 or so miles north of Washington, DC.

I was born in October, 1955 . . . in Alexandria, Virginia.

My parents were married in 1952 and lived at two or three rental addresses before purchasing their first home on N. 23rd Street in Arlington, Virginia.  Number 3807.

(Isn't it amazing how some small detail, like a house address from one's youth, can still be remembered decades later?  How long will that last for me, I wonder?)

By the time the first reference appears about the N. 23rd Street house in a letter written by my father to his mother, the date is November 3, 1956.  He tells his mother that he and Mom have found a house to buy, and that they are deep into decorating daydreams.

By then, my parents had two children already, me and my older brother, with a third expected the following spring.  (Sadly, my two brothers would die within a decade.)

Another letter to my grandmother indicates that we are living at the new home in April, 1957, and that the third child had been born.

We lived there for roughly six years, until the summer of 1963, when our family moved to Frankfurt, Germany.  Earlier that year, in January, a fourth child was born.  He grew up to be known as a**hole family member.

We lived in Europe for just about one year (it's funny . . . it always felt longer to me), and returned to the DC metropolitan area in July, 1964.

After some months of living in temporary, short-term housing, my parents bought a home in Silver Spring, Maryland.  Letters indicate that we were installed there sometime before December, 1964.

My parents owned this home for the next 18 years.

In 1982 or 1983, they purchased their home in Olney, Maryland, and it is this residence to which my mother refers in the above-pictured note.

When I was reading the note in my mother's room, she looked at it, too.

A look of confusion crossed her face, as she recollected living in a few other places, in addition to Olney.

She remarked that the family couldn't have lived very long at those other places, if she had lived in Olney for 54 years!

 

Tchotchke Challenge: Letter K

KEYCHAIN

A more bizarre, disturbing and disturbingly hilarious keychain I have never encountered.

 

We have here a clear plastic woman's pregnant torso, complete with a fetus, floating . . . bobbing . . . in clear liquid.  Embryonic fluid?

Why does this item appeal to me?  Is it because I don't have any children?  Is there a psychiatrist in the house?

   

I purchased this keychain on a website that sells oddball trinkets--things like camouflage golf balls, actions figures of famous people like Jesus and Einstein, and wind-up toys, like Nunzilla.  (I love mechanical wind-up toys, but I don't own any.)

It's weird . . . and kinda gruesome.

But, wait!  There's more!

 

Yep.

The keychain actually gives birth.  Sort of.  The embryonic sac pops out of the torso, leaving a gaping hole in the torso.

I just don't know what else to say about this.

Oh, and just so you know, I've never taken it out of the house, 'cause I think it might rub people the wrong way, and they might wanna key my car or something.

Tchotchke Challenge: Letter J

Junk!

 

You're probably thinking, "Gosh!  God Bless Y'all certainly drinks a lot!"

Truth is, I don't drink much at all these days, ever since alcohol became a no-no with my husband's diagnosis of heart failure.

But, I do get all my empty boxes at the liquor store.

I'm winding up a kick-ass couple of weeks, cleaning houses (mine and Mom's), moving furniture, dealing with real estate types, contractors, lawyers, paperwork and general junk-busting!

Whoopee!

Mom's house finally, FINALLY, went to settlement last Monday.  Friday marked my 12th day in a row trekking up to Olney to work and to move out Mom's remaining furniture, organize and get rid of all the debris no one chose to take and clean the house from top to bottom before the pre-settlement walk-through on Monday morning.

I went in the mornings before work.  I went on the weekends.

My mantra was "Get 'er done!"

And I did.

(Why, oh, why did my parents buy a house with five bathrooms when they were 60 years old?)

 

Every gal needs a red purse, a can of diet Coke and a go-cup of strong coffee, dontcha think?

 

I love these itty bitty tiles.  We replaced all the other bathrooms' tiles with larger ones, but these were in pretty good shape.  Tony spent hours on his hands and knees cleaning them up and scouring the grout.  This is before we knew about the heart failure!  Thank you, honey.

 

See that can of paint?  A week before settlement, when one of the pieces of furniture was removed, I discovered a gaping hole in the wall which needed to be repaired . . . PRONTO!  When did the contractor finish the job?  Monday morning, before the walk-through.  Thanks a LOT, Mr. Contractor Man!  I hate you.

 

That pipe in the corner is a recent addition.  Apparently, my parents were living with higher-than-acceptable levels of radon gas in their home for 27 years.  Hmmmmm . . . . .

 

We had to have some masonry work done on this fireplace in the basement family room.

The house looks pretty good, yes?  Neutral, modern, clean?  Well, it wasn't always that way.

Like with most old folks, my parents clung to what was familiar--even if it WAS 25 years old.  There was the brick-patterned kitchen floor vinyl . . . there were the bathrooms which still had the original sinks, toilets, hardware, etc. . . . there were the TCHOTCHKES . . . there were the sofa and matching drapes, which my mother made back in the 1980's when big, tropical florals were in vogue (think Golden Girls).

OMG.  It's so hard for older people, especially those with dementia, to transition.

In one of those liquor boxes are Mom's heavy, floral drapes.

She asks about them all the time.

Since I still haven't gotten over my parents selling my childhood home in Silver Spring when I was 27, I don't feel too sentimental about this house.  To me, its sale marks a rather sad ending of a chapter in my folks' lives.  Then, again, it is a new beginning . . . a new path.

It Was Time

 

A decade or so ago, I noticed a little dog roaming the neighborhood where I live.

I spotted her here and there for several weeks.

I tried to catch up with her on a number of occasions, but she always managed to elude capture.

At the time, a new home was under construction just up the street.

One very rainy day, I drove by the house and saw the little dog peering out of one of the unfinished windows, looking very wet and very forlorn.

I had a box of dog biscuits in the car and desperately wanted to get some nourishment to the little dog.

I grabbed a handful and jumped out of my car, leaving the door ajar.

I walked back to the unfinished house, and threw a few biscuits about the grounds and inside the shell of the house.

But, the little dog had quickly disappeared.

As I turned to walk back to my car, I saw the little dog sniffing at the open car door.

I watched as she leaped into the car, searching for the open box of biscuits on the seat.

I tip-toed back to the car and quickly slipped into the seat and closed the door.

The tiny, elusive dog was now mine.

 

Okay, so I didn't really think about the fact that we already had four dogs and four cats.

The little dog stayed on some steps in our unfenced-at-the-time back yard for three days.  I fed her and fretted about what to do with her.

She clearly wanted to belong to someone.

A year or so earlier, my parents had lost a much-loved little dog who had been with them for only a short while.

I though perhaps they might be willing to give the new little dog a home.

They did not disappoint me, and the little dog was installed as a resident in my parents' home.

Cindy, as she was named, lived there for many years, up until Mom moved to assisted living about 15 months ago.

She came to live with us at that time.

Already a mature dog when I found her those many years ago, Cindy's hearing and sight deteriorated in the latter years at my parents' and were completely lost over the months at our house.

She also developed the habit of walking in circles in these last months, and took a few tumbles down the cellar stairs when we were careless.

After a while, her appetite began to diminish, and she started to lose weight.  A small dog to begin with at just 13 pounds, she weighed in at under ten pounds earlier this year.

Cindy was having more and more accidents in the house, and needed to be continuously monitored for her own safety.  She often woke in the middle of the night and spun in circles until she simply exhausted herself.

In her younger years, Cindy was not an easy dog to love.  She was snappish and not in the habit of being petted and handled.

As she aged, however, and became weaker and more frail, she allowed (or simply didn't have the strength to resist) more physical contact.

That's when I was really able to come to love her completely.

It was wrenching, then, to make the decision to let her go.

But, it was time.

 

(Cindy's just sleeping here, people.)

 

Cindy was euthanized on May 15, 2009.

Her absence has left a big void in my daily life, and I miss her.

Tchotchke Challenge: Letter I

What caught my "I" last week?

 

While driving to see my mother at her assisted living facility a week or so ago, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

Could it be?  Was it possible?

I didn't have my camera with me, but vowed to return at the earliest opportunity to take some pictures.

But, first, I needed to do some sleuthing on Pamela-J's blog . . .

I found what I was looking for here and here.

So, the red elephant is back . . . but the mystery of its comings and goings endures!

 

 

 

(For those who've missed me, I've got lots to tell you.  I hope to do quite a bit of writing this weekend, so check back in.)

Tchotchke Challenge: Letter H

Honduran Dog

Okay, well, I suppose our Honduran dog, Pilot (named for Mr. Rochester's dog in Jane Eyre), is not TECHNICALLY a tchotchke, but . . .

 

. . . we have so many pets laying about the house (and in the yard) that they really COULD be considered tchotchkes, don't you think?

Over the years, Tony and I have vacationed in Honduras, on a small island off the north coast called Roatan.

I first went there in 1999.  Still somewhat undiscovered, it was a lovely Caribbean spot--clear, blue water, coconut and palm trees, jungled mountains, white sand beaches, and world-renowned reefs for snorkeling and diving.  Overall, very quiet and peaceful.

The first time I went to Roatan (it was also my first trip to the Caribbean), I was entranced.  I was so taken by the beauty--and novelty--of the island that it was easy to turn a blind eye to some of its less-than-stellar characteristics.  There was brutal poverty, against which American and European visitors and investors spent large amounts of money vacationing or purchasing land and building lavish vacation homes.

There was also the issue of stray, semi-wild dogs on Roatan.  Periodically, the government would undertake ridding the island of this unsightly problem by simply shooting them.  The ones that escaped the cruel culling were left to reproduce at will.  So, the problem was never really solved.

I also enjoyed my second trip to Roatan a year or two later.

I think a third trip was undertaken.  By then, I was becoming inured to Roatan's beauty and more mindful of the ugliness and problems which were bubbling just under the surface.

Our last trip was in the fall of 2006.  Roatan was undergoing a boom in building, the cruise ships were overrunning the small island, the reefs were experiencing a severe health crisis, and islanders were growing more resentful of the tourists and interlopers, whose money they coveted and came to need.

It all was beginning to feel like a type of colonialism, you know?

During that last trip, the stray dog problem was as pronounced as ever.  Naturally, a dog wandered into my field of vision, seeking food.

Soon, he was sleeping on our porch at night.  He was infested with fleas and suffering from a painful ear infection.

Much to the islanders' amusement, we gave the dog a bath while we were there, and attempted to treat his ear problem with medicine from the pharmacy, to no avail.  We even bought a collar and leash for him, and walked him with us along the beach.  It was obvious that he had never used a leash, and he leaped and danced about whenever the leash touched his legs.

As the week drew to a close, I began to worry about what was going to happen to him when we left.

Soon, the day arrived for us to depart.  The dog, after having stayed on our porch overnight, had disappeared that morning, and I despaired of him returning to find us gone.

In the taxi, on the way to the airport, I wept and wailed about the dog.  Tony's desire to just get us off the island as quickly as possible was slowly eroded.

At the airport, as we were standing in line to check-in, Tony turned to me and said, "Okay.  I'll stay and see if I can bring the dog back with me."  Tony is an excellent problem-solver and is always up for a challenge!

So, I boarded my flight alone.  Ordinarily, I would been irritated by this, as getting from Roatan to Miami involved hopscotching all over Central America first.  But, my mood was buoyed by the thought that, perhaps, we could save this one dog.

I named him Pilot.

Over the next week, I went back to work, and Tony kept in touch by email or phone, when services were available.  He was busy taking Pilot to the visiting vet, who came only occasionally to Roatan from mainland Honduras.  Tony arranged for shots, vaccines, a roomy carrying cage and numerous other details for Pilot's trip.  All these things are no small accomplishments, even in the capitals of developing nations, never mind on remote islands.

But, the thing we really had to worry about was the weather.  The airline had a strict policy of not carrying animals in the baggage compartment when the temperature reached a certain degree.  I knew this because I researched it on the Internet.  Ta da!

As it turned out, we learned that the airline did not typically transport animals off the island because, you know, they don't have to.  Tony somehow brought it about, though, with the help of someone, who knew someone else . . .  In the end, Pilot was rather surreptitiously loaded onto the plane, under the radar, so to speak.

A week later, I got a call late one night.

"We're in Atlanta."

I got out of bed and drove to Washington National Airport, where I picked Tony and Pilot up around midnight.

I was reminded of a scene in the movie El Norte, when a brother and sister from, oh, I forget . . . Guatemala, maybe . . . finally get their first glimpse of the U.S., after a dangerous, grueling journey to enter the country illegally.  Their view is from the hills overlooking Los Angeles at night, with lights as far as the eye could see.  It was a far cry from their small village in Central America.

It must have been so for Pilot, as well, in a dog-way.

So, Pilot has been with us for about 2.5 years now.  Frankly, it seems like longer, because, although we didn't know it at the time, he came with a number of serious health problems, which we've been working on over the years.

First, the ear infection, then a heartworm infestation and, finally, a type of venereal tumor (not seen often in the U.S. and for which he received chemotherapy) which took a year to diagnose.

 

But, Pilot's doing well now . . . too well, even!

 

Pilot is a plump-ish, silky sweetie, and we love him.  Does he love us?

Well, he certainly loves Tony . . . and he tolerates me!

 

(That's Brownie next to Pilot.  He was lost to us in January, 2008.  He was such a wonderful dog!)

(OMG, you gotta check out Nyack Backyard's entry this week!  It's freakin' amazing!  And Pamela-J has written a lovely entry about some items which tug at her heartstrings . . . )

 

Tchotchke Challenge: Letter G

GOD STUFF

 

I hope I don't get anyone's knickers in a knot here!  You know, religion is such a touchy subject, but the presumption, more often than not, is that we are all believers in God.

Guess what?

Loads of people are doubtful about the existence of God, but can't quite bring themselves to settle, in their own minds, the question once and for all.  Cause, you know . . . what if?

 

I don't really see any difference between the God of today and all the gods of yesterday (yes, those very gods who have been stripped of their power and authority over the millenia), except maybe in the personality of the deity.  Angry God, forgiving God, vengeful God, playful God . . . or gods.

I'll admit that contemporary God has some good messages for us . . . empowering messages and messages which can help us get along with others.  (The notion of possession of free will is certainly better than feeling like the plaything of a vindictive god, I suppose.)  Honestly, though, we should be able to figure these things out for ourselves.  Personally, I think we DID figure them out, but gave all the credit to . . . God.

 

Once in a great while, I find myself in church.  I am swept along with the family members of my husband, who would be horrified if I demurred and stayed away.  To my surprise, I usually find myself experiencing a sense of peace and serenity.

I think it comes from the architecture and acoustics.  Oh, and the dim lighting.

Truth be told, I get that same feeling from taking a long, quiet walk.

 

Here's Mary.  She's the Mother of God.  She's also the mother of Jesus.  She became pregnant but told everyone she was still a virgin.  How is that possible?  Hmmmmm.  She even got her husband, Joseph, to back her up.

Except for God, I know all these people really lived and some did wonderful work.

I just can't wrap my brain around these metaphysical relationships, ya know what I'm sayin'?

Here's Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, the environment and Italy.  He looks rather worried and sad.  No doubt he's fretting about vet bills.

 

Saint Martin De Porres, an animal advocate through vegetarianism, is the Saint of the Broom.  Yes, the broom.

 

Married ladies, if you follow the rules below, your husband will be very happy in his marriage.  Never mind about YOU!

(It's worth noting that I did NOT see a card for Ten Rules for a Happy and Successful HUSBAND!)

 

I'm so bummed that I couldn't find my little plastic bag of Holy dirt, from a New Mexico chapel, to show you, along with these other God-related items.  Considering my views, why do I have all these things?

I don't know, but I'll pray for an answer and get back to you.

God forgive me, I am a heathen.

Can I get an AMEN?

 

Pamela-J and Nyack Backyard are the other Tchotchke Challengers.  Won't you join us?  We are making our way through the alphabet, one letter at a time.  We post on the 1st and 15th of each month (except for me, because I am chronically behind schedule in recent weeks).  The purpose of the challenge is to photograph and write about objects of any kind (tchotchkes) from our homes, gardens, garages, etc., which will give a small glimpse into our interests, personalities and lives.