Wordless Wednesday...I'm Way Cooler Than Zach Whatshisname

....Oprah too!

Sweet Dreams?...Maybe Not!

In a recent conversation with Friend, we got on the subject of strange and unusual dreams. The problem with having an unusual dream is remembering that you actually have had an unusual dream. (I forget my dreams usually.) I don't have the same dreams that I had when I was a child. Luckily, I wasn't one of those kids that had night terrors or dreams of the Boogie Man trying to grab me from underneath the bed. I wasn't scared of the dark and I was able to sleep peacefully without the aid of a nightlight. When I went to bed, I usually slept like a rock. However, there is one occasion that I do remember from my childhood of having an unusual dream; it wasn't so much that it was strange it was just scary. There was a mini-series on television called How The West Was Won when I was growing up that we watched every time it was on. From the title you can probably guess what it was about: the settling of the American Frontier. In my mind as I remember it, there were two different characters and scenes involving snakes. Have I mentioned before that I'm not very fond of snakes? The first scene involved a minister, preacher or reverend that used snakes in his worship service as a way to prove his faith to his congregation. The second scene involved settlers sleeping on the ground and because of the coolness of the night waking up with snakes in their bedroll. Now, I'm not sure about you, but this is a situation that I never want to in--whether sleeping or in real life! My dream went something like this: I awoke in my little twin bed and was too petrified to move; my bed was filled with snakes. I was dreaming that Mom had tucked me in so well the night before that I couldn't pull the sheets from the side of the bed and I was stuck with the snakes--in bed with me. Wowza! I still get the heebie jeebies just thinking about it today. I remember that it took me several moments to awaken and convince myself that, indeed, no snakes were in the bed with me. Looking back that must have really been some dream for me to remember it 35 years later and it taught me something that I adhere to still today: I don't watch anything that has a snake in it!

Are Ruffles Making A Comeback?

I was watching The View this morning and was completely mesmerized by the busyness that surrounded co host Elizabeth Hasselbeck's face. It looked liked something was trying to strangle her or maybe a torn ruffle off of a 1980s tablecloth. Woof! I need a brain! Bow Wow! I'm not much of a fashion goddess or anything but I know better than to wear something that is suitable only for washing the dog or stuffing a scarecrow on national television. Can someone recommend a stylist or something? Now, I'm not being mean just to be mean. I did say, Well, bless her heart, as we say in the South before poking fun at someone and I do remember being the proud owner of a blouse like the ones shown below. The year was 1984 or something like that, but I owned several ruffled shirts and I'm sure Mom has a picture somewhere. So that makes it about 25 years since ruffles were the "it" thing; I guess that's long enough ago for them to come back in style. I better get myself down to the new Walmart and see if they have any in stock. Or better still, I'll check Mom's closet; I'm sure she still has a whole collection of ruffled attire straight out of 1982.

Father's Day Without A Father

Father's Day isn't quite as enjoyable as it used to be since we lost Dad; in fact, it's down right depressing. But since I was visiting Sister, up north of the Sweet Tea line, we decided we would have our own celebration; something that Dad would have enjoyed tremendously: Good food and a Western. We had slept late after our fun and exciting evening at the beauty salon the night before (story to come) and decided we would cook something from scratch. MAFW: You want biscuits and gravy? Sister: Yessss. MAFW: I know, me too! They were his favorite. Sister: You gonna fry taters? MAFW: Yessss. I'm not putting any onions in them either. Sister: When are you going to outgrow this whole onion thing..... MAFW: I'm NOT cooking them with onions. I'm not peeling them and I'm not touching them. Sister: You just ate a whole bag of Herr's Sour Cream & ONION chips... MAFW: Don't matter; I'm still not messing up my fried taters with your nasty onions. Sister: Okay. You can cook the onions separately and then I'll add them to my potatoes. MAFW: I don't even want to smell them... Sister: Gee whiz, you're killing me. Just cook the blasted onions. Dad liked onions in his fried potatoes, you know. MAFA: Oh, all right! After a breakfast of fried potatoes, (onions for Sister) biscuits and gravy and scrambled eggs, it was time to settle in to watch the new version of the movie True Grit starring Jeff Bridges and Matt Damon. I was pleasantly surprised at how good the movie was; most remakes are not very good. What I liked about the Western was that it wasn't overdone. Many of today's movies have such unbelievable special effects that the story sometimes gets lost; this didn't happen in True Grit. Once the movie was over, Sister and I both agreed that we had enjoyed a really good Father's Day; one that Dad would have appreciated. After an hour or so reminenscing about the old days we looked at each other and both tried to stifle a yawn as the realization hit us at the same time: The only thing missing from this Father's Day (besides Dad) was a nap! After all, that's what he would have done...

WYYZ In Cincinnati

No, there's no Howard Hessman or Loni Anderson floating around, just me, living it up big in the 'Nati as we used to call it back in the day. I was 20 when I left Ohio and moved south. I had only had my license for a few years and had only ventured out into parts of the city that had a softball field or shopping mall. I never really knew the difference from Blue Ash (where everyone worked) or Over-the-Rhine (which everyone avoided) and I knew I was always close to good shopping when I saw the "Florence Ya'll" (I thought it was a typo and read Florence Mall) sign. I still want to listen to Q102 which in my childhood was the rockin' station. Nowadays, or so I'm told, it's not what people really listen to. Since I've been here, I've made my sister drive. You have to get on I-75 to get anywhere and the road still has parts that have been under construction since I left in 1987--and I thought Atlanta was bad. There is one section that is down to two lanes and is filled with truckers and has concrete barriers on both sides. Throw in a rain storm and four singing (screaming) kids and you got one Middle-Aged Fat Woman with a butt puckered so tight you'd have thought I'd been eating cheese for a week. In the next few days, I'm meeting up with some old friends from my childhood. Luckily for me, we're friends on Facebook so they already know that I have become a MAFW and can get past that first awkward moment of "What the hell happened to you?". Of course, I on the other hand do not have that luxury and will try not to say that if I see anything shocking. I've had my Cincinnati style chili, got heart-burn as expected and enjoyed the frickin chicken wings at Frickers. I'll be off to Cherry Fork Road in a few days to pay my respect to my ancestors, have a pizza burger and then set the GPS for home. As time has passed and the longer I'm gone from my childhood home, the less time I spend there. I don't really know who is married to whom and where everybody now lives. And that's okay because I have a new home now that is almost perfect; if only I had a Cincinnati style restaurant next door....

Zero, Five Or Whatever...What Do You Stop On?

I was pumping gas the other day and had left the nozzle on automatic. After it had clicked off I began my usual battle with the pump dispenser to get the dollar amount just perfect. Here are my preferred choices: 1. I like the amount to be a nice round number. When filling up the Mustang these days, that amount is $50.00. 2. I like the total to end in a zero. 3. I can handle it if it stops on a five. When gas is as high as it is, it is nearly impossible to get the pump to stop on a zero or five. It always goes past to 01 or 06 and I end up with $47.46 or $48.01. Before you know it, I've put an additional two or three bucks in the car because I can't get the blasted thing to stop. My mom thinks it's hysterical when she sees me doing this. Why don't you just let it stop wherever, she says, or better yet, pay with cash and they do the stopping for you! So, is it just me? Zero, five or whatever, what do you stop on?

Not An Option For Me

Recently, I visited with an old friend to celebrate her child's first birthday. We had only seen one another a few times over the past couple of years and it's amazing the changes that can occur in such a relatively short amount of time. Over time, the friendship has gone from daily interaction, to infrequent phone calls, to a hurried text message every few months. This is nothing unusual about what can happen over the lifetime of a friendship. However, what is shocking are the physical changes that you hear about but until you see it with your own eyes, it's difficult to comprehend. What I am referring to is weight. My friend went one way and I went the other. I've mentioned before that I quit smoking almost five years ago and packed on the pounds. (That's how I became the MAFW.) I have been trying (halfheartedly) to lose the weight almost since day one. I usually make it to about 17 pounds until something happens: I lose interest; I get bored; I go on vacation; a major holiday or whatever. And before you know it, I have gained it all back. Over the last month, I have changed doctors and had my current insulin regimen turned upside down: three times. I've been threatened with blood pressure medicine and other dire predictions if I don't lose weight. All the same things I was told when I needed to quit smoking. I did that and then I got fat, for whatever reason. In my mind's eye, until recently, I didn't really see the person staring back at me in the mirror; I still saw my before stop smoking self grinning back. One day, I was walking behind a large person and saw our reflections mirrored through the front window of a store and was very surprised: In my mind, I had thought to myself that I'm glad I wasn't that big. On seeing the reflection, however, apparently I was. This all brings me back to my friend. My friend had decided to combat a recent weight gain and an early diagnosis of diabetes by having weight loss surgery. This is something I had considered as well. I had only seen her once since the surgery and that was when she was pregnant. I was totally shocked at how thin she now was (size 6) and commented that she looked almost frail. What surprised me even more was her response: When she looked in the mirror, instead of the person she now was, she still saw the large, overweight version. Holy crap! To go through all that and still see your old self; that's not acceptable at all and definitely not an option for me.