Monthly Archives: July 2013

Why do I care?


I find myself mourning the loss of someone who was not very good to me or my family. I’ve been asking myself all day why would I care that she left this earth? Is it only because she was in our lives for so long? I’ve tried to think of a good quality she might have had. A little speck of something she may have left on this earth that I should care. Maybe it is only pity I feel for her. That is what she always desired; pity. She told too many lies to count and neglected everyone and everything around her in order to be successful in her only goal in life. Her goal was to be a victim even if she had to lie to do it.

Harsh words, I know. Is it wrong to speak ill of the dead even when it’s the truth? I am sorry that she never chose to live. I am sorry that she refused to take care of herself or her family. I am sorry that she got angry every time someone called her on her lies or laziness. I am sorry for her immediate family. I am sorry that she refused to do the things that the Doctors told her to do. I am sorry that she loved being a victim. I am sorry that she wasted the life that was given to her. I am sorry that she never even tried.

Maybe I’m just hurt that she wouldn’t put forth effort. With a little bit of effort, things could have been very different.

Conversations with Pearl – Hold me please


Pearl: Sigh….

Me: Huh?

Pearl: SIGH…..

Me: What?

Pearl: **stomps front paws** AHEM, SIGH….

Me: Are you having a problem Pearl?

Pearl: Me? No, I’m fine. Carry on with your typing.

Me: Ok then.

Pearl: **puts front paws on my leg and stretches** SIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH…..

Me: I’m trying to work Pearl. I have to get this done.

Pearl: Oh, it’s OK. I will be fine. Eventually…

Me: Good then, go lay down please.

Pearl: **goes back to bed**growls at Jasper**

Me: Pearl! Why are you being mean to Jasper??

Pearl: What? It’s warm where he was laying. I want the warm spot.

Me: You can’t be mean to him like that! Stop it!

Pearl: If you would give me the attention I need and deserve we wouldn’t have this problem now would we? It’s just like you to always blame me for your neglect!

Me: Neglect? What neglect?

Pearl: Clearly I have been trying to get you to show me the tiniest bit of attention all morning but no. You can’t possibly do that. You have put your typing before me yet again!

Me: I have to do this work. It is why they pay me to be here.

Pearl: See what I mean! You just admitted that you are a poor human and do not attend my needs very well.

Me: Umm…I don’t think that’s what I said.

Pearl: Oh, so you’re going to call me a liar also? Why don’t you just kick me while I’m down? ***sobs into paws***

Me: Ok Pearl. I will hold you while I type.

Pearl: **sniffles****climbs into chair with me** Hey! Scooch over! I need room to sleep here!


Pearl: I thought we just agreed that you were going to be a better human and take care of my needs. What happened to that?

Me: Sigh….I don’t know what I was thinking Pearl. Surely I can type from three feet away.

Pearl: Thank You! Sheesh!

Yes, that kinda makes your butt look big


Honesty is the best policy; sometimes, on occasion, when polite society allows. I have grappled with this concept my entire life. As a child I caused great embarrassment for my Mother as she sold Avon cosmetics and drug me with her. Upon entering a rather filthy home of a potential buyer I kindly assisted my mother in her sale of beauty grease and fancy smelling renderings. When it was time to go I decided to do a very good deed and offered to help this poor lady in the cleaning of her dirty house. I have no idea why my Mother blushed. The house was in fact very dirty and she should be proud of me for offering my services free of charge. Adults make very little sense. I have an Aunt that will tell you how I mentioned her sticky floors as a child. I just wanted to be helpful and was also being honest. I had yet to learn the art of ignoring the elephant in the room. I’m still not very good at that much to the chagrin of my Mother.

Why is honesty considered a bad thing in our society? I understand that you do not want to hurt someone’s feelings but if you knew I was coming to visit and didn’t bother to rake off a spot on the sofa for me to sit why is it improper for me to say something?

When I am shopping for new clothes and I ask the sales associate how a dress looks on me I expect her to tell me the truth. That is why I asked. If it makes my butt look big please tell me before I wear the thing to church. It actually makes me angry when someone placates me. I really want the truth. If I didn’t I wouldn’t have asked.

Me n Glo

I have one friend in particular that I can always count on to be honest with me. If she doesn’t like something she will make this face. She doesn’t have to say a word. We don’t always agree but I know how she feels about any matter. She actually did it to me last Sunday when I showed her my tattoo.  I knew she wouldn’t like it before I showed it to her. I think I just like seeing honesty. Even when you don’t agree with me.

My unacceptable behavior

Oops! Road Sign

I don’t like shrimp – I have tried. Really I have. It looks so pretty and appetizing but I just can’t do it. I’ve tried it every way that it can be prepared. I’ve tried it at really nice restaurants and in fast food. I’ve tried it boiled, fried and grilled. I tried it many times because I am supposed to like it. I finally just had to face the facts. I just don’t like shrimp.

I don’t like the ocean – I know, that is un-American. We are all supposed to work hard at our jobs then run to the beach on our vacations. But I don’t like them. I don’t like salt water. I don’t like not knowing what kind of creatures are going to come up and nip my ankles. I don’t like looking at the water. It is depressing to me. It seems to go to nothingness. It’s supposed to be peaceful but it just makes me want to cry. I don’t like lying on the ground with a bunch of nearly naked people while staring at all of that water that seems to go nowhere. I don’t ever want to go on a cruise. The thought of being completely surrounded by water with no land to stand on sends me into a panic attack.

I don’t like chocolate chips – Everyone loves a chocolate chip cookie right? Not me. Don’t get me wrong, I like chocolate. I just don’t like chocolate chips. They are waxy to me. When they are in a cookie you get these little bursts of excessive sweetness and lose the flavor of the gently prepared flour, sugar and butter combo. I need to taste the sweet dough in a cookie. I don’t like losing it to an overpowering chip of chocolate.

I don’t like sermons to be preached at funerals – I need a funeral to be about closure. I need to remember the person we are saying goodbye to. I don’t understand why a preacher would compose a Sunday morning sermon for a funeral. I just don’t get it at all. A few comforting scriptures are nice but leave your sermon for a time when we are in a mindset to learn. When I am staring at a casket I want to remember the person in it. I want to think about their life and what I learned from them. I want the words spoken to be about the person in that casket.

I don’t like watching TV – I know, you are asking yourself “Are you really American”? I do like a good movie but most television programs do not keep me entertained. I get bored. My attention span is short. Sometimes I will try to watch a program with my husband but I rarely make it through an entire episode without getting up to do something else. I make a lousy couch potato.

So, there is my confession for all the world to see. You may shake your head in disbelief but I have told the truth.

One Little Pot

Little Pot

I don’t usually get attached to material things. For the most part I could have an estate sale tomorrow and it would not faze me but there is this little pot. Sometimes this little pot makes me angry and sometimes it makes me smile. This little pot is a reminder of the person who gave it to me years ago. She has long since passed away as has her husband. I really miss them sometimes.

To understand this little chipped pot you must know where it came from. It was a gift to my friend from her cousin Ola. Cousin Ola was the epitome of success and was greatly revered because she had married a railroad tycoon and lived in the big city of Little Rock. Well, it is a big city if you’re from rural Arkansas.

My friend used this pot for many years to hold her ball of yarn while she crocheted. Financial success was very important to my friend so she placed great value in this pot. Not for its monetary value as it has little but for the reminder that her dear cousin captured success. When Cousin Ola came to visit everyone jumped through hoops to make the house and themselves in presentable order worthy of such a special visitor.

I’m not sure why my friend was so obsessed with financial status. In her stories about her Cousin it became clear that this was instilled in her as a child. It may have something to do with living through the depression. This is the one thing about my friend that I did not like and I would often do my best to steer her away from conversations of wealth.

For years I went to visit Mr. and Mrs. Friend every Sunday afternoon at 3:00pm. I loved our visits. Mrs. Friend had Alzheimer’s and could not remember what she ate for lunch but she could tell me about the homemade dress she wore to graduation and subsequently tore while climbing a fence on that very same day. She told me of her Father taking the diamond out of his ring to give it to her and filling the empty prongs of his gold ring with gum. We spoke of her youth when she played basketball and how Mr. Friend courted her all the way through school. We never had a dull Sunday afternoon. My Friends were in their 80’s and had so very many stories to tell. My favorite story from Mr. Friend was the Halloween that he and his buddies disassembled a local merchant’s wagon and reassembled it on top of his store. Oh how I loved their stories.

I wish that was all they had to tell. The wonderful stories that is. The problem with being a friend is that you have to listen to the unpleasant stories as well. You would think the most unpleasant stories would be the ones about the times they each had survived cancer. But no…this was a different kind of cancer. A soul eating cancer. This was the stories about their immediate family and how they had allowed money to come between them. They would wield the family inheritance around like a sword. I’ll never know what really happened in these stories of greed because I only heard one side of the story. I hope to never know the truth. I’m afraid it is uglier than I can bear. I do not wish to believe that either side could ever think that money was so important.

The day Mrs. Friend passed away I got the call very early in the morning. I threw on some clothes and ran to the nursing home as fast as I could. Mr. Friend was sitting there alone with her body. We sat together for a long time not really knowing what to say. Her last words were the first and middle name of her beloved husband. She called for him and the lady sharing a room with her tried to calm her. Then she was gone. Mr. Friend and I waited hours for the funeral home to show up. They put her on that metal gurney and covered her with a red velvet cloth from the funeral home. I miss my friend.

So, I keep her pot beside my bed on a shelf below the alarm clock. I look at the little pot each night when I go to bed and each morning when I awake. Sometimes the little pot reminds me how unimportant “things” and money are. Sometimes it reminds me of a homemade dress that was torn while jumping a fence.

Eh? Say that again? No, still don’t get it.


“I believe in being real.”

I actually read that on someone’s page but I don’t get it. Are there people out there that believe in being fake? How would this conversation go?

Hilda: I believe in being fake.

Gertrude: Why is that Hilda?

Hilda: Well, people don’t really like me so I try to be fake as much as possible to ward off haters.

Gertrude: What a brilliant idea! I think I shall be fake also. I’m super excited about the number of friends I am about to acquire!

Hilda: I know. If we pretend to be what we are not then maybe we’ll be invited to more social events about things we don’t like. I’m so smart I impress myself.

Gertrude: Oh yes Hilda. I have never really liked you before but now that I know you have decided to be fake I’m thinking we could be FBFs.

Hilda: Fake Best Friends? What a marvelous idea!

“Just keepin it real dawg”

Ok, so I don’t get this one either. Apparently it is supposed to mean that you are not being fake and are being true to yourself…… opposed to what? Being untrue to yourself and not following your own beliefs/values? Why would anyone do that? Are there people that do that?

Hilda: I’m just keeping it real.

Gertrude: What? Your beliefs and values are not like mine! Why on earth are you following your own beliefs and values?

Hilda: I don’t know. Just was in a mood today I guess.

Gertrude: I am appalled. You know that in order to be my friend you must consult me on all things so that you are following MY beliefs and values.

Hilda: Not today Gertrude. I’m going to step outside of the box and do what I know in my heart to be right.

Gertrude: Oh Hilda, you will fail miserably.

Hilda: Just keepin it real dawg.

Sir Jasper otherwise known as Sexy Beast

Aye Chihuahua

Aye Chihuahua

Single Black Male seeks Single Black Female of any sort. I am 5 pounds of sexy and I will rock your world. I have left my scent around several blocks in Lonoke and around the barn in Cabot if you are available. I have the heart of a Rottweiler but I can sooth you with the song of my people. Please, no fly swatters or loud noises. That chit is scary.

Sigh, I caught Jasper trying to hookup on the internet again. He keeps spreading his scent around town so the ladies will know his where-abouts. His “where-abouts” were removed a few years ago but he hasn’t figured this out yet. In essence all of his scent marking is as useful as those guys who like to hang their fake “fruit basket” from the trailer hitch on their trucks. (I was going to post a picture of those truck accessories but they are so hideous I just can’t do it.) When I see those I always assume the owner of said truck has as much real “where-abouts” as Jasper. I believe the technical term for this sickness in men is called “Itty Bitty Pee Pee Syndrome”. It causes them to purchase oversized trucks, tiny sports cars and loud motorcycles. You will recognize them by the quantity of black leather they wear in August and their chain drive wallets.

What is the purpose of a chain drive wallet? Does it keep would be thieves from stealing your money? If this is true then why don’t you see rich men with chain drive wallets? The only men I’ve ever seen wearing them are poor as dirt. Maybe it is a sign to thieves that they actually haven’t any money and attempted robbery would truly be a waste of energy.

If Jasper had money he would soooo wear a chain drive wallet. And leather chaps, he is definitely a chaps kind of guy.

I would like to insert an apology here to all of the men that I know with “fruit basket” accessories and chain drive wallets. Oh, never mind. Who am I kidding? Guys please! Those things are hideous! Let it gooooooo.

Queena the Warrior Blogger!

Me n Pete

Having a blog is a great torment for my family. Every conversation ends with “You’re not going to blog about that are you?” Why yes, I think I will! Every flub is met with panic. I have a new super power!

I hear my Mother cringe in panic. Is she going to pull out our skeletons and wield them around slowly slicing the false persona our family has tried to maintain to itty bitty bits? Why did I let her befriend some of my co-workers? ** Cries into hands**

My dear Husband provides the most fodder but I’m afraid to speak of his antics. My reasons are quite selfish. I just don’t want to go visit him in jail. Seriously, it takes up your Saturdays and there’s the whole “Don’t bring weapons into the facility” thing. Come on! My whole purse is a mobile container of potential weapons. I haven’t cleaned that thing out since I bought it. Is visitation that important? Next they’ll want me to shave my legs!

Then there’s poor Pearl. We’re out walking and she is having pooping “issues”. I can just hear her: “Seriously? I got poop stuck to my butt and you stop to take a picture so you can blog about it? STOP LAUGHING WHEN I DRAG MY BUM ACROSS THE YARD!”

My own Brother doesn’t want me to sit with him in church anymore. I think he’s trying to convince people that we’re not related.

Ok, so the truth is I am scared to tell all. I do have to live with these people. Well, actually…I only have to live with my husband and pets so….

Put on your cape and bust out your best Chuck Norris moves

Clear The Way

Clear The Way

I do not like fear. It raises its ugly head to interrupt our lives and prevent what could have been. I suppose fear has its purpose as in – don’t stick your hand in the fire because it’s going to hurt. The problem is that fear won’t stay where it belongs. It creeps up into situations where it is not welcome. It is then that fear is no longer useful and needs to be slapped around a bit. Really, that’s the only way to overcome it. Just walk right up to that ugly beast and kick it out of the way. (You may have to wear your cape for this process as fear is a mighty fine fighter and often uses dirty tactics to keep you in its hold.)

When you try to rationalize fear its power seems to dwindle. Seriously, what is it that we’re afraid of? Rejection? Failure? Well, that’s just brilliant. Legend has it that Walt Disney was turned down 302 times before he received financing for Disney World. Albert Einstein didn’t speak until he was four and didn’t walk until he was seven. Would you encourage him to be the face of modern physics?

Fear is deceptive. Never trust it. I am a firm believer in the words of Henry Ford – “Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you are right.”

Chihuahua Business


Hi, my name is Pearl and I am an avid floor licker. I lick floors for entertainment purposes. Sometimes I lick the rug too. I get fuzz stuck in the back of my throat then I cough and hack endlessly trying to dislodge said fuzz. I don’t care if this is irritating. Sometimes I find little things on the floor like tiny rocks and I roll them around on my tongue while bouncing my head up and down. I look like I am having a seizure but no, I am just playing with a rock. When I find something that tastes nasty I stick out my tongue and make funny faces. Then I lick it again to make sure that it was indeed nasty. Yes, it definitely was.

I have developed a very delicate palate in my floor licking practice. I am offended by most dog foods and will starve before lowering myself to eat such a thing. I also do not like processed meats. Again, my palate is very delicate so do not bother to try to entice me with a hot dog. No one knows what’s actually in those things.

I must go now. I think I see a spot that my human missed while mopping this morning. Never pass up an opportunity to refine your palate.