Nurture A Feeling of Love to Last All Year Long #Valentines

♥♥♥ Happy Valentine's Day ♥♥♥
"Love~ an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired."

Last year, I believe I posted that it's my belief that Valentine's Day isn't just for lovers. It's for anyone who has love in their heart for their fellow man, woman, parent, child, siblings, friends, even strangers. It's the one day that we all agree upon to shower those we love with things "from the heart."

Some people absolutely adore and relish the idea of this day of love while others resent it with a mad fiery passion. I prefer to enjoy it as a day that just serves as a nice reminder to always be my kindest, always show love and compassion to my family and friends and strangers and try to remember to nurture these relationships with the love and respect they so deserve, all year long.

Life is an extensive journey, if we're really lucky, and we spend it with a variety of people, who come and go, throughout that lifetime. I'd never want any of my family or friends to think that they were alone in this world. I hope that when it boils down to it, they all know that there is someone out there who loves them dearly, even when they feel they've hit rock bottom or when it feels like no other soul on earth understands or cares.

I am lucky to have a husband who sees the nurturing side of me and who thinks about that quite often when he gets me flowers for special occasions. Below in the picture are the begonias he got me last week for my birthday and next to them (on the right) are the mini roses he got me yesterday for Valentine's Day.

Both flowers need nurturing, though the begonia is going to be difficult- not too much water but not too little and it seems to be a very sensitive plant. My mom said she never had luck with them because she always killed them and by what I found out when I looked them up, I might have a hard time with these, but I'm willing to give it a chance.

When my husband brought in the mini roses yesterday, they were puny and sad looking, full of old dead leaves and very dry soil. He said, "These looked like they could use some love." 

So he brought them to me. We'll see. I hope I have a heart full enough of love to nurture both these plants and keep them alive. Maybe they'll even bloom so beautifully, I'll have to share them again some time here on the blog.

Nurture those you love, not just today, but everyday~

I wish you great love, laughter and joy this

Valentine's Day.

May it fill your heart to overflowing.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥  

Merry Christmas

 Merry Christmas!

Today I wish you all the best-

Wonderful times and the companionship of Family & Friends

Delicious food that doesn't just satisfy your hunger, but also warms you through and through because of the time and love that has gone into its preparation.

The stories of loved ones past, shared around with laughter and tears.

In memories perfect, they are still celebrating this holiday season with us as we carry them with us, always.

 

Whether it's sunny or snowing, here's wishing you a beautiful Christmas!

 

Tuesdays with Taryn- Losing my Kitchen to the Man of the House

I'm writing this on Monday, as I listen to the thunder and rain and hope that the power doesn't go out before I need to fix supper. As of tonight though (actual Tuesday) the kids will be off school for their break for two weeks. Stepson will be going to his mom's until Christmas Eve and then after that, who knows.

As a family we have a very busy week coming up. Hubby has to work nearly every day, but this coming Saturday he will be off and intends to spend his time baking Chess Cake and Lemon Drop cookies. I figure Girly-Girl and I will tackle the peppermint bark, peanut butter fudge, chocolate cookies, dipped pretzels, and spritz cookies sometime later this week, as we head into the weekend. Too many chefs spoil the soup, or well, get under each others feet and, frankly, on my last nerve. This will be round 2 of the treat making for family and friends. I did the majority of it for my family and friends before Thanksgiving, but now we're doing the 2nd batch for hubby's family's side.

Besides all that, I have a few other things I need to work on- hubby wants sausage balls (Bisquick, sausage and shredded cheese), I'm going to attempt my very first pumpkin log/roll and I've had a hankering for a chess pie. Hubby's cake tastes very similar, but it's just not chess pie, which I haven't had in years.

We need to lay out the turkey in the fridge to thaw on Thursday, the ham on Saturday. We have Christmas breakfast with hubby's dad's side and though I was going to try making homemade cinnamon rolls with bread loaves, I couldn't find any in the frozens, so I'm just going to make a pan of cinnamon pull-aparts, aka- Monkey Bread. Then I'm going to have to convince hubby to fix the turkey on Christmas Eve afternoon because I don't think he realizes how much room it will take up in the oven when we have all kinds of other dishes to fix on Christmas Day that need to put in the oven. There is also the little detail that, no matter how well prepared, I'm not a fan of hot turkey. It doesn't cut well and to me, it seems "spongy."

That brings me to the title of my post. I think I'm losing my kitchen to the man of the house. Ever since hubby's attempt at baking a whole turkey turned out really good, he believes we MUST have turkey AND ham for Christmas, that he needs to be in the kitchen like a head chef and I find myself feeling like I've been reduced to a sous chef. I think hubby forgets that the cooking used to be MY thing on Christmas Day and I fear he's on the fast track to kicking me out of my own kitchen.

Of course, I do the cooking nearly 95% of the time during the rest of the year and I don't mind taking a load off, but I'm still expected to make homemade mashed potatoes and his favorite- mac & cheese (can I honestly admit that mac & cheese is one of my LEAST favorite foods? I like it okay, but I can live without it, especially when I have to make it.). Hubby's Mom is bringing green beans and punchbowl cake and my mom is bringing a plethora of things that are "necessaries" with a turkey dinner- cranberry gel, stuffing to go with the turkey (I'm planning to make gravy from the drippings and we'll have yeast rolls); baked beans and potato salad- for those of us who'd like something a little different with ham and fruit salad, per my dad. Oh, and hubby is insistent that he must make deviled eggs, like my grandma showed him how to make last year (when I was sick and they booted me out of my kitchen- see the pattern?)

The table will be laden with plenty of food and our home will be filled with lots of love and laughter, I'm sure. I guess, if I lose my kitchen for a short time, it's all good. Maybe I won't be the one who's so exhausted at the end of the day. ::wink::

One Blessed Momma~ Tuesdays with Taryn

This week is busy busy. Today is my stepson's 14th birthday. My daughter will be 10 two days from now and I find myself trying to pull back a little, to find balance because life seems to be zipping by- especially this month and the rest of this year.

It seems like it was only yesterday that I moved here, eager to begin my new life with the man I now call my husband, and in that move, I also became a step-mom to a little 2 1/2 year old boy with a big smile and a quiet disposition. He loved his "Doodle Doo" (as he couldn't pronounce Scooby-Doo) and because he also couldn't pronounce my name, he took to calling me "Yoohoo." It's a label I will take with me till my dying day. He STILL calls me Yoohoo and in some ways, I hope he always does.

I can hardly imagine that he's nearly an adult....already. It doesn't seem possible, but here we are, standing at that precipice, knowing we're going to have to let him take flight one of these days. I miss my little man who would fall asleep in my lap or on the couch beside me, and sometimes even under the coffee table. I still remember the fights over lunch and the grumpy refusals at nap time until he wore himself down. I remember changing bedsheets every morning as we struggled to learn to bed-training and rocking his feverish body back to sleep when he was sick or after he awoke from a nightmare and singing to him low and sweet.

I remember many a night sitting at the kitchen table helping him learn his letters and words in kindergarten and the thrill I feel that all the reading I did with him when he was little has turned him into the avid reader he is nowadays. (I know for a fact that my hubby didn't spend a lot of time reading with him and from what my stepson has told me, his mom hardly kept children's books at her house for him)...He currently reads at an adult level in 8th grade and he's already read all the Harry Potter books, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings books. He loves Christopher Paolini's Inheritance series, Naomi Novik's Temeraire series and Brian Jacques' Redwall series.

I've said it for years now, but I'll say it again~ He might not have been mine by birth, but he is mine by heart and I love him dearly. 

And then we have my daughter. Ten years have never been so long and so short at the same time. She's my precious gift, my brown-eyed girl, who looks so much like her father, there's no way he can deny her and as far as I'm concerned, she's one of the prettiest things I've ever seen on the planet (but then I'm biased.)

Pregnancy wasn't the highlight of my life- had a lot of nausea, etc, but the resulting bundle of bouncing baby girl was my reward. She's spunky and sharp as a tack. She excels in school and loves it (a blessing). She works hard, and also loves to read, but then why wouldn't she? The hours of reading I've put in for both the kids isn't even a drop in the bucket, from There's a Monster at the End of This Book to Turtle Time and The Story of May, my 10 year old 4th grader reads at a 6th, nearly 7th grade level.

Currently she's reading one of the Harry Potter books for her AR (Accelerated Reading) at school. Some of her favorites are the Ramona Quimby, Ivy & Bean, The Magic Half and The Spelling B series and a couple of her most recent favorites were Karen Kepplewhite is the World's Best Kisser and Dancing Shoes. She's getting Ballet Shoes in her stocking this year (The book, not the shoes. The one mentioned in You've Got Mail). I started her early though on classics like A Little Princess, Anne of Green Gables and The Secret Garden.

I'm sure I'm forgetting some of her other favorites, but these are ones that I believe have shaped her as a reader. (If only for the reason that she has had me reread them to her, if she hasn't reread them on her own.)

She's a lazy bones on school mornings, but on weekends, her crooked sleepy smile brings me pure joy and even though she tried to smother me with love sometimes, I wouldn't trade her for anything. She's artistic and loves music, has a real stubborn streak (though I'm torn who she gets that from- me or Daddy). Her stubbornness though isn't always a bad thing- she's braver and more outgoing than I ever was growing up. She auditioned for Chorus and got in and she's also in the Gifted and Talented program at school, too.

I'm one blessed Momma to have two wonderful babies.

Thursdays with Taryn- Happy Thanksgiving to Everyone!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving mornings when I was growing up were usually a rush shortly after sunrise for my family to pile into my dad's cold work van or our car so he could deliver my mom, my younger sister and myself down to my grandparents' house. He'd usually have some work-related job to do until lunchtime, so he'd drop us off and head back home to do some wood-working thing in the basement. Sometimes I think that was what the men in the family did anyway to stay out of the house and away from the womenfolk so they weren't asked for any help. My grandpa and uncles could usually be found piddling around down in the junk yard or in the mule lot. :)

In the meantime, my mom would set to work with my grandma and my aunt in the kitchen, preparing the Thanksgiving meal which always consisted of the majority of items in the picture above- turkey, dressing, gravy with bits of turkey in it and sometimes there were bits of giblets (blech). Homemade mashed potatoes and green beans, brown and serve rolls, and can shaped cranberry gel as well as the other kind. My mom and aunt would sometimes make a separate pan of oyster dressing for them and my one uncle who loved it. And then there was my mom's pumpkin chiffon pies. She still makes those and OH MY! They are goo--oood!

My sister and I were usually underfoot, but Grandma would often give us the job of taste-testing the dressing once they had it mixed up and we'd basically stuff our faces while sitting in front of the boob tube watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade near the potbellied stove, keeping toasty. When mealtime came, everyone gathered around, grown-ups at the big table and us kids at the old rickety card table...the same one that I would try to build houses of cards on.

I don't remember any tradition of going around and saying what we were thankful for, but to my way of viewing it, I think it was because we all knew we were thankful for each other and for time together. It was a given, we spent every Saturday at my grandparents' house anyway, but Thanksgiving was a warm time that was filled with family and good food and lots of voices talking over one another.

Afterwards, when it got dark, Grandpa would flip the switch on the outdoor Christmas lights and we'd all gather out there, bundled up, with cold breath and warm hearts, staring in awe at the multicolored lights that ran the length of the junkyard fence on either side of the house and the old plastic lighted hoot owls in the tree and Santa in his sleigh with his reindeer on the roof. (My mom made Grandpa a wooden painted set with her jig saw). I have no doubt it's where my love of Christmas and decorating with lots of bright lights comes from. It was magical and inspiring and made me appreciate my life, my family and the love of those around me.

A lot has changed though, since those bygone holidays. Now my mom does Thanksgiving at her house and I go up so that she and my sister and I can put together the meal at my parents' house. Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Kenny and Aunt Carol and Aunt Debbie Roses and Aunt Faye are no longer with us. This year is especially hard after losing Debbie, but we're gathering together and we'll remember them with all the love in our hearts and give thanks for all the times we had with them, as well as give thanks for each other- even if we don't say it....we don't have.

We KNOW it.

Hope your Thanksgiving is FILLED with festive holiday gatherings, lots of good food and the abundance of LOVE that surrounds you. I'm thankful for those of you who take the time to come by and visit my blog. There might not ever be a lot of chatter on the comments, but I do know when I've had visitors and I'm so VERY thankful and appreciative that you've been here.

Happy Thanksgiving- Have a wonderful day with your loved ones and enjoy this day of rest!

#MemoryLane Mondays- Where lil' ol' T is From...

I've been wracking my brain for something to post today. I have Karen Stivali visiting tomorrow for Tuesdays with Taryn and I have an idea for what I'm going to maybe do for Writerly Wednesday, but today had me stumped on what I might be able to share memory-wise. As I told my sister, I can only tell the cat in the Christmas tree story only so many times!

So then I stumbled across fellow Triberr tribemate Pauline Baird Jones' blog this morning and it seemed fitting that I should do THIS- to revive the old noggin of things I remember about who I am and where I'm from...so away we go-

~~~~

I am from old cars bodies stacked high in the back lot of the junkyard, from fried chicken and homemade biscuits and Coca~Cola. I'm from pigs in the stalls and mules in the mud. I'm from fresh chicken eggs and stray dogs and cats. I am from riding bareback and tromping through manure in my uncle's galoshes. I am from Queen of the coal pile to junkyard adventurer extraordinaire. I am from a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll. I am from a small town.

I am from the suburban brick house with the white picket fence racing around the backyard, of living the American dream, from burgers over charcoal and hot summer days spent beneath the sprinkler. I am from sweltering days spent on the Banana Slide to hand-cranked banana ice cream. I am from the 80's generation, riding my Huffy until after dark and not worrying about being abducted in my own neighborhood. I'm from rocket pops from the ice cream truck and cotton candy from the county fair. I am from afternoons spent playing badminton and wiffleball in the front yard, to chasing fireflies with a Miracle Whip jar with the neighbor kids.

I am from the lilacs that perfumed the spring air through my bedroom window, from the crisp autumn scent of woodburning stoves. I am from the bitter cold snow and the night my dad tunneled a path down the slope in the back yard so my sister and I could go sledding.

I am from my Momma's wild pink roses that smelled so good, to the peppery deep red ones my grandmother grew that almost arched over the entry to their front porch. I am from a life filled with beauty and flowers in the spring and summer months- of snowball bushes and moonflowers and angel trumpets and the sweet taste of honeysuckle.

I am from a wonderful stay at home mom who loved to paint and do crafts, who sang along to her Alabama and Air Supply into drinking glasses while doing the dishes, who always made popcorn and Kool-Aid for me and my friends when we were in the backyard in our tent made with blankets and chairs. I am from a woman who overdoes the holiday decorating, especially Christmas decorations, making cookies and treats and being drawn to sparkly bobbles and clothing. I also overdo it.

I am from a talented carpenter who was married once before my mother, had no kids from his first marriage, but who met my mother via his ex-sister-in-law because she was dating my uncle (my momma's brother). I am from a man with a stoic attitude and a wicked sense of humor, who could pinch you with his toes. I pick things up with my toes just to wig people out and I get my attention to details, the bills, the checkbook and my chicken-scratch handwriting from my dad.

I am from a two child family and spend much of my time laughing so hard I tear up with my sister Shannon. From the awful jokes we tell one another to the daily text messages just to see how the other is doing, or to gross each other out, we're finally learning what sisters are good for, just like our mom and our aunt did. I am from a childhood that saw its fair share of arguing and bickering, but an adult friendship and kinship that's coming into it's own.

I am from the gossip and serious-minded- from my mother the talker, who believes in the importance of family and my father, who is studious and intelligent. I am from the dreamer and the cynic, who have walked this world together, in balance. I am from 37 years of marriage. I am from LOVE.

I am from the parental guidance of "wish in one hand and shit in another" and when trouble pops up- "what goes over the devil's back comes under his belly." I am from "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" and "you gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything."
 
I am from a mixture of non-churchgoing and churchgoing alike, but to be quite frank- I don't know a lot about my family's religious background. I am from a grandmother who taught me in childhood to memorize Psalms 23 and she also taught me the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer. Otherwise, I am from denominations or beliefs no one will talk about, though the importance of family seems more important. I am from parents who gave me the freedom to figure out my own beliefs without someone else's influence or opinions, so I am from the Spiritual. I am from the earth and the heavens and the seasons in their turn. I am from the school of "do unto others as you'd have done unto you." I am from my own personal belief certain we are supposed to love all others as equals. I am from the church of it's okay to have differing beliefs and still be friends. I am from the idea that we should COEXIST. I am from the notion that I am free to choose for myself because I live in the United States and I have freedom to believe what I want to believe because it's personal to me.
 
I'm from Kentucky, Indiana, Ireland, England, Germany, Holland, Scotland, North America (and probably more that I'm not aware of). I am from a melting pot of backgrounds too deep to fathom, too rich in history to encompass it all in one thought. I am from sugar popcorn and oyster soup. I am from down home country cooking where my grandfather raised his own pigs for slaughter, where chicken eggs were gathered daily, where it wasn't uncommon for my uncle to bring home a turtle he found on the road so he could nail it to a stump so they could eat it for supper...

I am from the fact that I have never eaten turtle in my life after my grandmother had me hold a turtle heart in my hand as a kid. I would never eat it at all after that. I am from cornbread battered fish, bass we caught when we went fishing and cornbread battered fins and tails and fish eggs. I am from a childhood of never having worried about the West Nile Virus, especially when my summers were filled with mosquito bites and soothing them with rubbing alcohol every night.

I'm from sweaty summers spent mostly outside, riding my bike or sitting beneath the tree in the front yard with my boombox and my cassette tapes. I'm from scribbling in notebooks and drawing illustrations of my happily ever after stories that my friends read. 
 
From my grandfather's time in WWII, when the love letter he sent my grandmother made her think he'd found someone else, but it turned out he hadn't. That love letter was from around the same time that my older half aunt was born, who I knew nothing about until was grown and by then both my grandparents had already passed away, so we'll never truly know what happened.

I am from the grandparents who were missionaries in South America when I was a baby, who built homes and taught the children. I am from a musical background on both sides of my family- with piano and guitar and the French harp, though I do not play instruments myself, I do love music. 
 
I am from hazy faded photos on the walls and shelves, in photo albums and tucked away in my trunk, from old letters and birthday cards and crisp old sheets of papers in the bottoms of dresser drawers that haven't been opened in years. Who I am is capture in those things because it's where I'm from...

I am from Anderson County. I am from Lawrenceburg. I am from Kentucky. I am from a place where my roots run deep and my heart belongs, where family means everything, friendships don't fail you and love lasts forever.

Here are the questions if you'd like to do your own Where I'm From...

#MemoryLane Mondays- Make Those Moments Count

Life and death are on my mind right now and I keep thinking about how to make moments count in my own life as I'm growing older and beginning to lose loved ones close to me. I understand that death comes to us all, but some deaths hit harder and closer to home than others. Growing up I lost a great-grandmother, two grandfathers, a grandmother, my aunt by marriage and an uncle. I've lost distant relatives and close friends and that loss still hurts because I keep those who are gone close in my heart at all times. They might be gone, but they are not forgotten. I know of course that, inevitably, I will lose others as well who are closer to me, but I don't relish the idea and try not to dwell on it. We are all given just so much time and this matter really makes me stop and think about how wisely I'm using mine.

So often, I believe that we forget to make moments count as we live them. We don't intentionally take it for granted, but as we go about life, there are things that fill us with joy or sorrow and we carry it with us and remember it with fondness or regret later. There isn't always a a camera to freeze-frame the Kodak moments, there isn't always video, other than what plays out in our minds.

Life is such a precious gift. The relationships and people we encounter who have been blessings as well as curses. The ones who shaped who we are or taught us lessons that helped us move forward into becoming the person we're meant to be, or inspire us to be more than we think we are.

When we encounter those who shape us, mold us, inspire us- those who love us, it's hard to be reminded of our mortality and it's something most of us refuse to face- that someday that person might be gone- gone from our lives or perhaps gone from this world. And yet there is the hope that we will encounter them again in some distant future or space in time.

Remember to tell those you love how much you love them. Now. Share with them the things you don't want to go left unsaid. Hug them and kiss them and remind them that they have a friend in you and that you love them in return. We're not alone in this world, so show your kindness- share your heart and try to make those moments count.

This post was slightly inspired by one of the new songs from Ben Taylor's Listening Album, but also because of the failing health of a few people I know and care about who may not be long for this ol' world. Be a blessing to those around you. Love them deeply and never let them forget it!

Happy 4th of July from me & mine to you & yours!

May you and yours have a wonderful Fourth of July. Enjoy this time with family and loved ones and celebrate what our freedom means!

#TuesdayswithTaryn We Interrupt the Regularly Scheduled Program

We interrupt the regularly scheduled Tuesdays with Taryn to wish you and yours a very 

Enjoy, safe safe and cool and have a great time with family and friends.

#MemoryLane Mondays- Family, Home and Writerly Things #writing #inspiration #author

Every summer I visit my parents, sister, family and friends for a week, or two, or three. Part of the reason lies in the fact that I live nearly 3 hours away from my hometown and I miss the people who made me who I am. It’s also because I want my daughter to know her grandparents and aunt and where her momma comes from. Summer vacations and breaks from school are our only opportunities for these kinds of visits.

The other day a fellow author was talking about having shady places, where you can take rest, away from the sun, the world, from life. Cozy alcoves. My mom and I were talking about it and I realized my hometown is one of my “shady” places. It’s where I come to recharge, to decompress and gather my thoughts. Without it, I might lose touch with who I am because this is the place that molded me, that nurtured my writerly roots.

As I’ve pondered over this the past few days, I’ve found myself feeling more inspired and emotional about my childhood home, my memories and the woman I’ve become. I’ve slept in my old bedroom in a small twin size bed. Its not the bed I had—mine had an old faux brass headboard that jingled when the screws wiggled loose and I always kept a screwdriver nearby because the rattling every time I turned over in my sleep annoyed me, but it’s still reminiscent of my youth. The dark plum walls I painted are still there along with the sponged-on white ivy pattern. My mom insisted on painting in my room years ago while I was at work one day because she hated how dark the walls were so she did the two opposite walls with an ivy patterned paint roller.

The room looks tiny now, with all the shelving and cabinets my dad built and put in there after I moved out. He stores eBay items he plans to sell, shipping boxes and my mom’s sewing machine and bookcases and lots of other bits and pieces. It’s a “junk room” now, a catch-all, and I lay on that tiny bed, staring at the flowery white plaster pattern on the ceiling, letting my mind wander over the past decade since I left and further back in time.

I've known I wanted to be a writer from around 10 or 11 years old, playing with an old upright Royal typewriter in our basement on hot summer afternoons pretending to work for a newspaper as a reporter, or handwriting my "high school sweethearts happily-ever-after" stories and illustrating them in pencil and crayon or colored pencils.

I wrote a lot of angst-riddled (horribly embarrassing) poetry in my teens and I remember staying up late on weekends, scribbling short stories and the beginnings of YA novels in Lisa Frank notebooks on pastel pink and blue colored pages. My parents got me a Smith Corona typewriter/word processor and 3 1/2 inch floppies for Christmas the year I was 17. That was also the year they gave me "The Romance Writer's Pink Pages" and a package of typing paper and a good long talk from my logical dad about how "hard" it is to be a writer. I remember him sitting on the end of my bed beside me, extolling the facts that I might not ever be able to do it for a living without a backup plan and a regular day job and that not everyone can break into the business, just like artists and singers...it's lofty and inspiring, but not always practical.

That room was my world for years- my safe haven, my Fortress of Solitude- I learned and grew in that room and I cut my teeth on writing in that room. It was my shade for a majority of my life.

And it’s funny though that I talk about shade from the “sun”—

I awoke the other morning with a thought when I saw it was daylight already- how I still remember the bright golden sunlight beaming through my back bedroom window on summer mornings. Even now, I felt the salutation of its warmth soaking into the room, into my being. It made me smile to think the sun still remembers me here and still greets me just the same, even when hidden from it. But then, the shadow and light know me here- know that writing is at the heart of me, that poetic words reside within me and that it’s one of the things that define who I truly am.

♫Stranded at the #drive-in...branded a fool..." A #family fun first...

 

Franklin Drive-In Theatre in Franklin, Kentucky

(image linked to their website)

This past Saturday night my husband and I did something together we've never done. It was actually really special and different. Of course, I'd never done it before at all with anyone, but he had a lot of times in his life. I mean, he did it with his parents and his friends, and now we've shared the experience with our kids.

We took the kids to see movies at the drive-in. 

(Yeah, I can't get "Sandy" or John Travolta's falsetto whining out of my head now either, much as I love Grease)

My parents first date was at the Twin Hills Drive-In in Harrodsburg, KY in the 1970s. My mom said she didn't eat before they left, so while my dad tried to smoke a pipe to impress her, she snuck off to the concession stand and wolfed down a burger to quiet her rumbling stomach. But, in all the time I was growing up we never went to the drive-in, which was closed in the mid-80s. Truth is, we never went to the movies when I was growing up.

The first movie I ever saw in a theater was on my first date when I was 18 or 19 years old- We went to see "I Love Trouble" with Julia Roberts and Nick Nolte. It was the longest, most horrible movie I'd ever seen and it could have tainted my view of going to the theater altogether except that my date and I got the biggest kick out of laughing about how horrible it was and how it was the longest 2 hours of our lives.

My next experience was better- "Billy Madison" with my friend and her boyfriend. That movie went over much better and after that, going to the movies became more commonplace for me. I went with friends or on dates. And then there was the time period after having my daughter that we didn't go to the movies much at all. Taking little kids to the theater just does not happen. Now that my stepson is 13 and our daughter is 9, we go a little more often, but not a lot because we have to weigh the cost of the tickets and concessions against what's in the bank and what bills need to be paid. Indoor theaters are not cheap.

BUT- this past weekend when we realized we'd have both kids (stepson stayed the weekend with us instead of going to his mom's) we tried to come up with something that we could all do together. At first, we thought about going to the zoo. Nashville's not that far, nor is Louisville, but the idea of walking all day long was a bit daunting, especially if it were hot. And then the idea of whether there were any old-fashioned drive-ins still around these parts came up.

We did some online searches and there was one in Tennessee we were looking at but then we discovered there was one open a county over from us and they only charge $15 a carload. Not too shabby and the movies playing were suitable- The Pirates: Band of Misfits and Men in Black 3, which hubby and I'd been wanting to see.

 We got there just before the gates opened around 6:30 and soon they began allowing the cars through, so we found a good spot and headed to the concessions to get supper. My stepson said their chicken poppers were great and their tator tots. Hubby, daughter and I got cheeseburgers- the good kind like you get at the fair- the kind  you just can't get anywhere else. Daughter's fries were great as were the spicy wedges hubby and I got. We ate in the car and relaxed until it got dark.

The family next to us had teenaged daughters, so they blew bubbles to pass the time. The only thing that might have been better was if we'd brought some folding chairs to sit in outside the car, but it was a cool evening, so sitting in our car worked all right, other than my daughter not being able to see while my seat was in the upright position and she overdid it eating Junior Mints and cotton candy during the movie and felt a little sick on the ride home around midnight.

At intermission, my husband went to the concession stand and got himself a couple slices of Domino's pizza and got me a warm powdered sugar plate of heavenly goodness I call a funnel cake. YU-U-U-MMY! Overall, it was a great family outing, and also a first for myself and both the kids, so it's an experience we can always say we shared together as a first and hopefully it won't be our last time. The movies were good. The Pirate movie was okay, in my opinion but I was way more interested in seeing if the MIB 3 movie would be better than it's predecessor (the 2nd one) as I loved the first one, but wasn't that impressed with the story in the 2nd one and I personally found the 3rd one to be laugh out loud funny, it was nice to see those characters again and I have to give props to Josh Brolin for his Tommy Lee Jones impersonation and it also had a very heart-warming part that made me love Agents J & K even more. I truly enjoyed it and I can't wait until we can go again!

 Please don't forget that I'm also visiting at

Teresa Reasor's My Muse's Musings

this week and would love it if you stopped by to chat or say hi!

Memory Lane Monday

♫You musta been a beautiful baby♫

(I honestly don't know what happened. LOL)

As an exercise in futility, I'm making a blogging schedule and tentatively, Mondays are now going to be "Memory Lane Monday." Each week, I'll post either, pictures from my childhood along with stories of things I remember fondly from my past, or perhaps favorite toys, foods, experiences, places, etc. Some things will probably be fairly obscure, possibly non-existent anymore. Most the toys I grew up with have faded like the old Polaroid photos and book pages, but I want to share things about my life with my readers, fellow writers, family and friends. Sometimes things from childhood disappear for a while, when they get stuffed into the files that represent "non-essential" memories once you're grown. I believe though, that even those memories are part of what shapes us and makes us who we are.


The 70's were good to me I suppose and I used to get compared to Shirley Temple a lot as a child because I had a lot of curls in that red hair. My mom repeated the "There was a little girl, who had a little curl" often. I remember being asked to sing "On the Good Ship Lollipop" a lot, as well. Of course, I remember standing on my grandparents couch and my grandmother smiling at me as I sung my version of "Here Comes Petter Hoppingtail." Somehow cotton and hopping were equivalent back then to me. ;)


At this very young age, we lived not that far from my grandparents, just down the road really, though from my perspective, it felt like we lived miles and miles away. We had to cross a bridge for goodness sake! It was a small bridge over a creek, but hey, that seemed huge at the time. Even when I was a baby/toddler, we went to my grandparents every Saturday. When I was big enough to run around and talk and my grandma would take us home, I'd run out to my swing set and beg my grandma to "Watch me slide, Grandma! Watch me!" as she got in her car and left.


The place we lived was called "The Ripy Place" to us, as it had belonged to the Ripy family. My mom loved her moon flowers and I remember my dad mowing the yard in a circle once. Meanwhile, my cousin Bubba (who was a grown up) and I gathered the grass clippings and built rooms and walls so I could play with Little People or something, pretending it was a house with lots of rooms. Maybe we used our fingers to "walk" through like the legs of the people. I can't remember it that clearly, but I do remember it. I remember my cousin Ray(also a grown up) falling off my swing set (though I have seen the home video my dad recorded from that day, though you don't actually see him fall), while I was splashing around in my pool and my mom was nearly due with my baby sister. I had a bunch of little wind up toys that "swam" through the water- fish, dolphins or something- you wound them up and their flippers paddled them through the water. My mom says we got those that day at the Dish Barn. I also had a fat plastic fish and what I remember most about it was that it was bright yellowish orange and red with big puckered up lips and fancy flashy eyelashes.

I have a lot of memories from The Ripy Place, even though I only lived there until I was 3 or 4 years old, including the night my mom sat on her bed, which was covered by a chenille bedspread and explained that I had to go stay with my grandparents because she was going to have my sister. I wasn't even 3 1/2 yet, but I remember sitting in one of my little red chairs- it was either the red swivel plastic one or the small red wooden rocker, when she told me the baby was coming soon. That night it stormed that night. Because it was the end of July, my grandparents didn't have any of their winter stoves out, so they simply had a tin pie pan covering the chimney hole. One of my uncles got drenched in rainwater and black soot when it flushed through the chimney and spewed out the hole because of the downpour.

I picked wildflowers out by the road near my grandparents mailbox with my aunt, and even all these years later my mom still teases me about the fact my dad took them to her but they were filled with fleas! The brightest memory from that time? Going with my dad and my grandma to the hospital the day my mom and my sister were coming home. I was too young to be allowed in the maternity ward, so my grandma and I went to the snack machine and got a Hershey's candy bar and a Coca~Cola while we waited and then once we were in the car, I held my sister all the way home in the front seat.

It was 1978 after all- children's car seats were available but the laws were not strict at all.

Till next Monday~ Have a great week!