First blog post

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I am guilty of making assumptions about people. I’m such a hypocrite!

That’s probably the worst part of being in my situation.  Strangers have come up to me and talked S-L-O-W-L-Y A-N-D D-E-L-I-B-E-R-A-T-E-L-Y, assuming that just because I’m in a wheelchair and need an iPad to speak, that I’m slow or incapable of thinking for myself.  It takes a while for me to type, so I can’t express what I’m thinking quickly, which, in hindsight, is probably for the best.  My parents or one of my sisters will come to my defense.

As I said, I feel like a huge hypocrite when I’ve thought how it’s what you have insidethat counts, but spend $200 or $300 at Anthropologie, or comment on someone’s lack of fashion sense. When someone is wearing horrible clothes (or at least, what I would consider horrible clothes), I assume lots of things: maybe they lost their job or maybe they have just given up.  But then later I remind myself of the old saying, When you assume, you make an a** out of you and me! So actually, I’m now doing what so bugs me when other people do it to me.

Yes, sometimes I’m made an a** out of!

Move Over, Haikus!


I had found a website, Six-Word Memoir, and wondered what you could possibly say in six words. But then I thought about it, how it might be a good challenge for me.  I did one and had so much fun!  I was hooked.  The website says the Six-Word Memoir is considered the American version of a haiku.  I hate poetry, so good thing I’m an American!  I wrote some of mine below, but I challenge you to do some.  I’d love to hear them!

New school year. One word: Yay!

Dogs are trouble, but our trouble.

I feel odd.  But I’m glad.

Life is hard.  Life is wonderful.

Sick of cold. Summer come soon! (Let me explain: to me, anything below 85 is cold).

My brain is messed up. Love!

I hate computers. But too bad.

Time to Change


I remember learning to tell time.  It was kindergarten, on a huge wooden clock, primary colored.  Mrs. Gibson would move the hands and the class had to guess which time she was showing.  I hated times like 9:23 and 2:14.  Even today, I round; 1:56 becomes 2.

Learning to tell time is almost a right of passage.  Only “grownups” know how to tell time.

You might have seen this on Facebook, how British schools are doing away with analog clocks in because the kids couldn’t read them.  It will be all digital.  ren’t kids at school to learn!?!

I bet American schools are next.  One of my Facebook friends is a teacher and said her kids can’t read an analog clock either. I’m sure my sister’s students are the same, too.

As for England, what’s next?  Will Big Ben become digital?


Nancy always dreaded this part of her walk to and from work.  As an animal lover, the cur she passed by every day broke her heart. With a chain around its neck and its extreme skinniness, it was obvious that it hadn’t felt love in a while, if at all.

On numerous occasions she had called animal control, only to get the same answer.  That there were hundreds of dogs like Eliza, a name Nancy and her daughter had given her, in Los Angeles.

On dozens of occasions, her daughter had begged to keep Eliza, but Nancy wasn’t so sure.  A dog like that has to have issues. Fleas being one, but what if the dog hadn’t had socialization in a while?  She watched Animal Planet and knew how important that was.

Over the next week Nancy carefully tested things out, first leaving food, then trying to pet her through the chain link fence—Nancy felt a warm tongue when she did that, and realized she was harmless.

She gave in. Over the weekend there would be a dog rescue, but Nancy was racking her brain on how to get Eliza there, since the dog was behind a low chain link fence.  On her way to work Friday she tried to open the gate, relieved when it opened.

Saturday it was easier that she though it would be.  Nancy slipped Eliza’s collar off while her daughter stood watch.

The first thing she got was a bath.  Though she seemed unsure, Eliza was patient, as though grateful.  She curled up in her brand new bed, love and gratefulness in her eyes.

Nancy only had had pure breads growing up, and had been sort of nervous around mutts—for one, you don’t know their true personality. But Eliza changed that view.  All a dog needed was to be shown love, whether a fancy show dog or a complete mutt.

Sorry, Son

Like any seven-year-old boy,my one-year-old (“That’s all!?” I often hear from my family) Jack Russell spends most of his life bored. A bored young dog is dangerous! From bringing in things from the yard that barely fit through the pet door, to chewing shoes, to bringing out Dad’s unmentionables to the living room, in full view of anyone coming into the house.

Henry’s shenanigans get him into trouble often, and he spends most of his life in the doghouse (no pun intended).  We have tried different things to wear him out. For instance, Mom took him running.  He laid down and called it quits in the middle of a busy intersection (luckily it was in the crosswalk), slept for a few hours when he got home, then returned to typical Henry.

Being a loving mom, I got tired of my family yelling his name (I’m surprised he doesn’t think his name is, “No, Henry!”). And I feel somewhat responsible when my son is being “ typical Henry.”

I saw a commercial that could solve our his boredom problem. Barkbox! Readers unfamiliar with it: it’s a subscription service and every month your canine children receive very cute toys, treats, and chews.  Every box is a different theme.  Last time it was King Arthur’s Court and this month it was Bluebeard.

Henry’s love for these goodies is definitely not vague.  Full and bright!

Actually, over the weekend I got an Amazon delivery, which was shoes, so the box looked like a Barkbox box.  My son went hysterical.  You would have that it was Christmas!  His Grammie actually had to put it down and prove that it didn’t contain anything fun!

I ordered an air fryer yesterday from Amazon, too (isn’t Amazon wonderful!) and it will be here Wednesday.  I am hoping the box is bigger, or it will be déjà vu!

The Work of the Devil

IMG_3034I know for a fact I’m not alone in my disdain for the dentist. For me, it’s everything: The stale smell of the waiting room, the People magazines from two years ago, and entering the room, the chair of torture. Attached are scary instruments that you have seen as the latest machines-taking-over-the-Earth movie. The best is the spit sucker. Why do dentists insist on keeping it in one place, while the rest of your mouth fills up with saliva? Sorry, I just had to vent.

As bad as the dentist is, the whole practice of orthodontics is worse. Using sharp wires to straighten sharp things in your mouth whose sole job is to chew your food? It’s medieval! They use rubber bands to do this, varying the strength. Your mouth literally has to develop callouses to have a comfortable mouth. You get used to it, but next appointment the orthodontist decides to tighten them again! For probably two years.

I probably got mine off 15 or 17 years ago and still need a retainer! A nice smile is a lot of work, pain and EXPENSE.

Summer Is Around The Corner!


I’m taking a break from my usual posts, and taking one of the WordPress classes. This is “Introduction to Poetry.” Poetry has always scared me, but I have always to learn. I figured now is a good time as any. Assignment one was a haiku about water.

The water is cold

The air is hot, no breeze now

Shocking when I jump