Yesterday, I went to a funeral for a friend. I went with a friend who had been widowed before the age of 30 and Saturday night, for the first time in ages, I will be going out with another friend widowed way too young.
Having nothing to do with any of that, I watched this video on YouTube a bit ago. It's not a sad video, in fact it's very inspirational. But it made me cry. And it made me smile.
'Make the Most Of Your Time Here"
He, like me, doesn't really care what you call him.
I slapped by hip "Come on Boy! C'mon!'
He lifted his head and surveyed the area around him, then behind him...then dropped his head back down.
Thirty feet away, I knelt down and smacked the side of my leg "I am talking to you, now...C'mon!"
His big ears flopped like long hair on a little kid chasing after an ice cream truck. I could almost hear him squealing out with sh
ock, surprise and joy..."She's talking to me! Somebody wants me! Maybe somebody l-o-v-e-s mmmmeeeeeeeee!"
Aw, but his young, excited energy was quickly spent and he found rest quite heavily in the front room of my brothers house.
Instinctively and immediately, he fell in love with everything and everyone he came in contact. He'd gladly go anywhere with anyone of us
So there we sat...
Four adults, four households and between us 54 feet, pads and paws.
Not a one of us had any business taking in four more paws.
Nope, no business what-so-ever.
Oh, but we ALL wanted to.
There's something about this small south Georgia town...you either come with dogs, leave with dogs or both.
I named him 'Striper' but often times just find myself calling him 'Striker.' Had I thought about I would have named him 'Community.' Really, he's OUR dog. Not mine.
I brought him home and the next morning took him to the vets, where he was diagnosed with a couple of different types of worms, including the dreaded heart worm. He stayed a couple nights at the vet and came back here to recuperate from the arsenic which they had to treat him with. That was a little over two weeks ago.
Yesterday, the sun was out and so was he. He had a new found light about his eyes, a swifter wag of the tail and a quicker pace to his step. He's finally starting to feel better from the first of his three treatments.
It will be close to Christmas by the time he is completely treated for all of his worms and then, bless his struggling little heart, he's gonna go transgender.
Come the New Year, he will be like a new dog.
Top Photo: Dogs, not mine, at brotherlove's place.
Center Photo, on Right: What Striper has looked like 90% of the time, the past 2 weeks...very tired, very weak.
Bottom Photo: What Striker looked like yesterday afternoon & today. We can see the light!
Working retail, I understand that I won't be home for the holidays.
It's a choice and I am OK with that.
But make no doubts, I will terribly miss the twinkle in the little ones' eyes and the after midnight laughter of Santa's helpers trying to put together Part A with Part B.
But again, it's a choice and I am OK with that.
We all make choices in life....big and little
And all of our choices carry a butterfly effect...
Tuesday is election day... may all of us that are able, get out there and rock our votes.
Thanksgiving will quickly follow. May we all remember the little things for which we should be thankful.
Christmas is right around the bend and will be upon us before we know it.
I have a dear friend of twenty years or so, whose young son made a choice to sign into the service and he won't be home for the Holidays...
So here's to the Butterfly Effect...
May The Gift Keep On Giving...
Thank You Josh for the choices you make and may you make it safely home...
If you would like to send Josh and his comrades any goodies for the holidays, I know he would greatly appreciate it. He is a thoughtful, generous and not very picky...
"Sooooze-aye-en! Now, we have all heard this cock-eyed story of yours 100 times... now just stop."
"Well, I don't think everyone has heard it and it's not cock-eyed...it's true."
"Jeezy-mah-neezy... I don't believe a damn bit of it. You have worn it out. And how is it that after 50 years I have never met, nor heard of this man, except from you? A band named after your first date?!?"
After 54 years of marriage, my parents have heard each others tales, stories and recollections a thousand times over. Each, having to grin and bear it, or not, anytime anyone new gets into the mix while they each re-hash their own distinct recollections of yesteryear.
Flash back to the late 1940's.
A beautiful young woman on her first date ...
with an older boy, at that!
A big occassion.
Big enough for her grandmother to relinquish the window coverings to make a special dress, form fitted just for her.
Big enough for her to wear a coursage, freshly picked by her mother.
Big enough for everyone to forget that she might need shoes to go with that new dress.
Big enough for her mom to give her two special rings to wear on her toes, so that when she danced there would be a tippity-tap upon the hardwood floors.
Big enough for her father to look the other way as she trapsed out the door.
Big enough for her to never forget his name.
So, years later when her children started bring vinyl home with a name so similar home, she had to wonder...
Nearly fifty years after that date, Momma and Pops were perched on the fifty yard line of an FSU game... hooting, hollering, reveling and cheering.
A man three rows down looked over shoulder and Mother caught a glimpse of him as he turned back to the fields. He spun back around and bellowed out...
'Suzanne?!?'
'Leonard?!?'
'Yes! Oh My! It has been years!!!'
'Yes...this is my husband, he has heard stories...'
And my Father never questioned Mother's story again...
The sounds from inside these four walls.
Two confused and excited, but mildly jealous dogs thump their tails on the hardwood floor. They have to touch me, constantly touch me. Labored breathes come from the sleeping one sprawled out upon his new-found makeshift throne, here at Skinny's House of Healing.
Sounds from outside ripping and whipping their way inside.
The wind is howling making the oak trees sound like an excited ocean... the wind chimes sound like a carnival gone mad ... together they muffle out the train in the background.
The phone rings and I pick it up....'Hello...'
S-T-A-T-I-C.
'Hello?'
.......Welllllll, I can't quit you baby......
echoing through the telephone lines.
I set it down & hit the speaker button.
I can hear the laughter, the clutter, the clamoring, the static and the blues and I wished I could climb right through those virtual telephone lines....
ARTWORK: Telephone Lines by Sister Singleton of Just Give Me Peace...my favorite hippie, my favorite artist...
Ok, so it's fair to say that the worlds economy is a little effed up right now.
Some folks are panic-stricken... others, seem not to care.
I care, but I am not panic stricken... I have lived a lifetime working hard and no matter how much or how little I make, I always seem to find myself in repeated states of being broke.
I have learned to expect the unexpected and to know that when you have two nickels to rub together it is a sure sign that at minimum, one to three things are bound to happen...
maybe it will be a root canal
or an oak limb that crashes through the roof
maybe it will even be the transmission on the car
hmmm, there's always an ill-time for an emergency vet bill
and water-heaters go when the time is right for them, not you.
Sooooooo....
enjoying the fact that I do not have two nickels to rub together and relishing in the hope, belief and faith that surely this means I will not have any emergency vet bills, root canals, car repairs or home repairs to deal with most immediately... I found myself galloping around the WWW.
What I found was https://www.quizzle.com/
Might I suggest that all of you check it out. Not only is it free, as in totally free, no gimmicks, no contracts, no 'cancel within 3 months,' but it is also informative and best yet...it is all about YOU and everyone likes to learn about themselves.
They basically offer a very user-friendly view of your credit report, along with score (both numerical and the simpler letter grade) as well as a letter grade for your home value, your savings, your debt/income ratio and such. I was surprised to find out that I have one B, one D and the A's in everything else. It also gives you tips and hints on ways to improve your ratings.
Lol...me? I have to get another job...one making more money, or a secondary job to supplement the sometimes close to seventy hours a week I work... Funny, even they didn't propse I take on a room-mate!
Twelve years old and yet again at another new school...I shuffled from class to class.
Fourth period...last class before last lunch, my lunch.
I recognized her from homeroom, but we still did not speak.
She sat in front of me & I noticed she carried her lunch in a brown paper bag.
Every two or three minutes, she'd pivot around, lock eyes with me and carefully place one small round tinfoil ball in the carved out notch for holding pens and pencils in my desk.
I spoke not.
Once there was five or six tinfoil balls, she stopped.
Close to the end of class, as our teacher was etching out mathematical equations on the chalkboard and everyone was hand-cramped frantic jotting notes from the board, she spun around and locked eyes with me one more time.
I watched.
As Mr Reeves, our teacher, spun back around to face the class a tinfoil ball bounced off his cheek.
Ninety percent of the class didn't even see it, but I did.
Before I had time to think, I let out a belly-laugh of astronomic proportions.
The class sat in silence.
New to the school, new to the class, I covered my face, not giggling but undeniably laughing, ''I am sorry, I am so sorry. It wasn't me. I am so sorry.''
Mr. Reeves face was the color of crimson tide as he charged down my aisle and eyed the pile of tinfoil balls lined up in my pencil holder.
The wide eyed girl in front of me never laughed and never turned around.
I didn't even bother trying to explain.
I took the punishment that came my way.
Then, day after day, I sat silently behind that girl and one strand at a time, one day at a time I commenced to tying her hair in knots.
Tiny little knots.
Finally, one day, she spun back around...'Are you doing something to my hair?'
'Yes.'
'What are you doing?'
'I'm tying it in knots.'
She bellowed out in laughter...
I joined her.
Thus began the first of many detentions she and I would ultimately serve together and of course, our friendship.
We should never be afraid to laugh ;)
Outsider Hippie Art Compliments of Sister Sing and Just Give Me Peace
'Excuse me, Flossie!'
'Hey. Rapunzel'
'Alright, Twiggy'
'What else Skinny?'
and more traditionally...
'Thank you Dear'
'Sure, Darling'
'No problem Love'
'Here you go, Honey'
'Okay, Sweetheart.'
'Thanks, Angel'
Terms of endearment bestowed upon me from strangers.
Doesn't matter, baby-love.
I'll answer to anything.
I guess in a more traditional than my faded Levis' who-could-be-bothered with curling the hair much less the eye lashes world, 'Maam' would be the appropriate & respectful term of endearment for a stranger to use. Sure enough SweetPea, 'Maam' doesn't really seem appropriate over here... but I'll answer to it too.
A mother silently pushed her terrible two-something toddler through the store, screaming every bit of the way. Each aisle seemed to be sheer torture for the young boy. Momma pushed on. After about 40 minutes of pretended peace, Momma pushed her buggy to the counter to check out with screaming child strapped in.
'Hey Pumpkin! Why are you crying? You have the coolest red truck on your shirt! You gotta like that!'
A sniffle, then back to the tearless screams and an eye-cut from Momma...'Well, for one thing! He don't like being called pumpkin!'
Smiling back at scrowling Momma...'Hahaha, welllllllll...... let him live to be my age and he'll realize there are a lot worse things to be called.'
A term of endearment, whether we personally like it or not, is still a term of endearment....right, rockstar?
The house I lived the longest in as a child had the gift of time on it's side. Located just a few blocks from the downtown district of our community, our little street kept (and still keeps) a red brick road.
The nostalgia 
I have for growing up under expansive oak trees and on the ripple-ly, dipple-ly brick road led me to buying my little chateau under the oaks and paving my own driveway and walkways out of brick today.
But the street I live on now, long ago went from dirt to pavement....laying a path for new experiences for the child in me.
For thirty cents, I picked up the most entertaining twelve pack a girl could possibly scoop up. There were reds, blues, purples, yellows, greens, pinks and more.
Last weeks message, left at the four way stop was 'Stop In the Name of Love.'
This weeks words were 'Let the Love Light Shine On'
Oh....How much fun to play in the streets again!
(Pixies for Peace Artwork by my Hippie Love ... Singleton)
My Aunt Georgine wasn't really my Aunt, she was my mother's aunt. She was a historian and a publisher with an admirable amount of knowledge on the state of Florida. She
had a dry, witty sense of humor & her common sense was deeper than that of the biggest sinkholes in the state. She and her husband had no children and at the time of her passing, I was well into my thirties, unwed and with no children.
I can hear her in my head now...'Paige hasn't gotten married, give this to her when she does. Wait a minute...hold old is she now? Hell, she might not ever get married! Give it to her now.'
I was given her wedding band and have worn it on the only finger it fit since... the ring finger on my right hand.
Last year, 
I was diagnosed with Raynauds Syndrome....a weird syndrome that basically means there is mis-communication between the circulatory system and the nervous system. It causes hand pain, weakness, numbness and most notably a lack of blood flow to the fingers.
A week or so ago, I had my first flair up since the weather changed. It impacted all of my fingers and the bulk of my hand.
Then I had a slight accident at work resulting in a tiny razor cut in the webbing between my ring finger and bird finger.
In the night, as I slept, my hand swelled and well, I haven't been able to get Georgine's ring back on ever since.
Besides the obvious...such as I need to quit smoking & stay out of the cold, I can't help but wonder if there is some under-lying, profound reason that I no longer can wear Aunt Georgine's ring...
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