June 24,2010

 I am not a fashionista. Not from a lack of trying--more from a lack of money.  My style these days is more a loose comfortable skirt and a feminine t-shirt.  Even though I consider myself a girly girl (I really do love to mess around with clothes, shoes, jewelry, oh my!) I actually have to put money out on other things (lights, rent, gas, food-you know, bills).  I also don't have the time to devote to really enjoying fashion as it should be enjoyed because of other things--God, family, the future and work.  So I was kind of surprised when I got an invitation to join a fashion and style blogsite.  I went back through all my blogs and it was just as I suspected--not a single blog entry about fashion.  So, maybe they were thinking of my Avon blog--but no, that can't be.   I only have one entry because I realized right away that no one-and I mean NO ONE-has ever been there.  I actually asked people I know what they thought of it and they had no idea what I was talking about.  It's funny.  I have two fan pages.  And I have a mere handful-not even-of fans on these two fan pages.  (I think it's the same people).  Yet, they never know what I'm talking about when I ask them what they think of whatever I've posted.  Do you think maybe they 'hide' me?  Why would you be a 'fan' of something you're gonna end up hiding?  Because this way they can 'support' me without actually supporting me.   

 Anyway, if I were really fashion active I would have jumped at the opportunity--if indeed it were an actual thing.  There was a time, back in the day, when I was up on everything-knew all the designers and their histories, names and histories of the different styles, modelling and run way shows--I even helped to put one on.  I loved fashion.  I was excepted into the Boulder School of Design in Hotlanta, Georgia.  But, my life being the poop hole that it was, I was told point blank to get my head out of the clouds, no one was going to pay for me and if I thought I could get a grant that just showed how ignorant I was.  Ok then.  So much for my 'new' family.  However, I really did not have any real hope of doing anything with my life--other than to be some guys wife and have his kids.  And, realistically, that's all anybody else expected of my life.  Except that one teacher (my Fashion Merchandising teacher, Mrs. Gaines) who tried very hard to get me into the Boulder School of Design in Atlanta, Georgia.  She even found a way for me to get a government grant because I was in foster care.  And I admit, I did get a glimmer of hope right before I was laughed at.  So ended my love affair with fashion. 

 I never really got into the modelling thing though.  I had the body for it--I was just too short.  I was thin but very curvy and very 'hippy'.  I really looked good back in the day.  I just didn't know it.  Really, did not know this.  But I lacked two very important criteria for modelling: Confidence and Support.  In fact, I think you need these things to be successful in any aspect of life.  You need to know that you can do something and you need other people to remind you that you can do something.  But I believed that I was homely and skinny and just awkward so I always felt better behind the camera.  (The above photograph was taken in 1987 I think--I was twenty-two and the mother of one).

  Ah, well.  These days I don't really have the time to study fashion trends and designers--even though I run a company where I make and sell tote bags and clothing.  (Wearable art my ass).  And as for the body, well let's just say when I talk about back fat and muffin top I'm NOT talking about food.  I'm shorter now.  I still have the hips but now I also have the butt, the belly, and the boobs to match.  Ain't life grand!  But on the upside, getting dressed in the morning is a whole lot easier--I only have a few things that still fit.

Peaks of Otter-2009-Jimmy and My fat self.

Not a good picture!

June 22, 2010

More Doggie Wisedom

"Always guard your masters plate so you can get first dibs on 'pre-washing'."

"Always wag your tail more furiously than the other dogs when you see your master.  You will get more attention and 'special' treats."

"If you wake your master up with lots of 'kisses' they will let you go pee first."

"And finally, NEVER sleep directly at your masters feet unless you know how to fly."

                                                         ~Words of Wisdom from Elvis the Terrier

June 17, 2010

  I am not a highly political person.  You will not find me debating policy or spewing propaganda.  I live by my own doctrines, my own philosophy, my own gut.  I love my God, my family, my state (VA) and my country.  But I also love the diverse world we live in--from Canada to Brazil, from Ireland to India to China.  God created this fantastically beautiful and endlessly fascinating Earth and we have been given the privilege of being it's caretakers.  We have failed miserably.  No doubt our latest ongoing catastrophe will have far reaching effects on our planet and our lives.  I'm sure by now everyone has seen the latest scenes of the Gulf.  I thought I might post some photos that I took of Orange Beach, Alabama before all this--2006. This is what it use to look like:

When I was a kid I was always told:

"If you don't take care of what you have you will never have anything."

May 31, 2010

  Those who know me know I grew up in foster homes.  The first home that I remember was the Schmidts (from 15mns to 7 1/2 yrs.).  Mrs. Schmidt whom I called 'Momma Dear' came from a large family-I think there were seven kids.  The youngest I want to call Jason for some reason-I know his name started with a 'J'.  I believe it was during my fifth summer--about 1969--he came by the house late one evening.  It was always 'special' when he came by because it was so rare him being so much younger than her.  In my little girl mind I thought he was just so good looking with his long hair and his pretty blue eyes. He stayed for dinner and then he told us he had inlisted.  I had absolutely no idea what that meant.  It wasn't until sometime toward the end of summer that he returned.  His appearance was so altered that I did not reconize him.  I remember he had on a green uniform and a funny little hat.  It was a weekend day, it was hot and Wesley (my foster brother) and I were playing Monopoly on the front porch.  He came by himself.  I can still see him walking up the walk to the porch, me staring at him, he reached in his pocket and pulled out two Hershey bars handing us both one.  He reached over and gave my head a rub (the only person who ever could do that) and said, "Hey, kiddo" and walked into the house.  Wesley and I kept playing while I ate my candy bar.  Notice I said 'I ate'.  Wesley waited me out and when I was done he ate his real slow teasing me.  But half way through Momma Dear, Uncle Dick (my name for Mr. Schmidt) and her baby brother came outside.  She was trying not to cry.  In my childs mind I did not understand what was happening but I knew it was not good.  I remember the stiffness of the uniform as he bent to hung me and kiss the top of my head.  Little did I know it would be the last time any of us ever saw him. 

  The following poem I wrote in 1987 during the Gulf war.  I thought of him when I wrote it though it is a fictional account.   And it is to his memory and all those who gave their lives protecting ours that this is dedicated.

A Rose For Jason

    The day that Jason went away many tears were shed.  Momma just kept praying to herself, burying her face in her tissue.  You see Jason was the baby of the family.  Just shy of eighteen, he was called to serve his country in the war.  I remember the roses were in full bloom, bright beautiful red.  Jason had picked the prettiest one and gave it to momma.  He told her not to worry, God will take care of him.  He also told her he loved her--she could always count of that.

    It was gray with smoke and dust on the field the day Jason died.  He took a bullet in the heart; in an instant his life was gone.  Blood poured from his chest, bright crimson red.  In that moment, no one noticed; no one cared.  He was alone.  Just another one down for the count of bodies on the ground.  The life that was once my baby brother is gone now forever.

    It's been three years since momma got the news about Jason's death.  You know she greives still.  Sometimes at night when I lay awake, I can hear her crying.  I miss my brother like I've never missed anything before but I think I miss momma more.  The sparkle in her eyes has gone.  She used to sing as she did her work but now she doesn't sing at all.  She never mentions his name; she never looks at his pictires.  I remember how she used to perk-up whenever he walked into the room.  She would get a bounce in her step, her eyes would twinkle and her face would glow with love and pride that only a mother could feel.  It's not that she doesn't love us; it's just that Jason was her baby.  He was special to us all. 

    Now each summer when the rose bush is in full bloom we grown kids go out and pick just one bright, beautiful, crimson rose for Jason.

    We love you, Jason.

May 16, 2010

 More Doggie Wisedom:
     
       "Never sniff another dogs butt and growl at him when he sniffs yours."

       "Never examine your neighbors trash if he's watering his yard."

       "And always 'mark' your stuff so no one else takes it."

May 14, 2010

 Doggie Wisdom:
    "If you're hot, find some shade.  If you're thirsty, find some water.  If you're tired, sit down.  If you're scared, bark like mad.  If you're hungry, check your bowl.  If it's empty, check the other dogs bowl.  Never bite the hand that feeds you.  Or scratches your belly.  Pee on everything and you will never get lost.  Never hurry and always take time to smell the pee."

                                                                                                  ~Elvis, the Terrior

May 3, 2010

 On Wednesday, April 21 Miss Fretwell aged 73 died.  She had graduated from Farmville High and Stratford College (in Danville) somewhere in the middle of the last century.  She had worked for the State Disability Dept. in Richmond, went to the local Methodist Church, was on the seniors bowling team, the Farmville Lions club and was one of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  Well, that's what the paper read anyway.  It also reported that she was survived by a sister and two nieces.  That friends could come view the deceased that very same night and she would be buried the next day.  What it did not say was that she had a stroke, fell into a coma and her sister (who had to travel all the way up from Georgia) pulled the plug.  That her part time gardener, Earl, had been with her when it happened.  And thank God because she lived alone.  She never married and never had any children.  The paper doesn't say whether she ever had a great love or lover.  What kind of girl she may have been, what kind of things she had done as a young woman.  Did she ever want children?  Did she even like them?  Other than bowling, what did she like to do?  The paper never tells these things.
  It also didn't mention that she was always neatly dressed, perfectly coiffed, and very well groomed even when she was working outside.  I only really knew her as a neighbor-even though I lived two blocks down and one block over.  She always stopped to comment on how cute the dogs were or how pretty my hair looked today.  She was the one who told me about the $500 dollar fine that Longwood would impose if they caught the dogs pooping on the field before they ever put the signs up.  She was kind-hearted but would most certainly tell you what she thought.  She did not mince words.  She was very honest and yet there was something about her you just couldn't help but like-or maybe you just felt a little sorry for her.  She could be a bit stubborn and very oppinionated  but if you had to do battle with some unsavory faction such as the electric company or the town offices she was the one to go to.  She was a staunch Republican-a John McCain supporter.  I know this because I got my McCain sign from her-though I'm not really a Republican I did not have the heart to tell her-or the nerve!  You see the papers never really tell you about the person or their relations leaving those of us who bother to read it wondering about the people we don't know.  Or maybe it's just me wondering. 
 So to the memory of Miss Fretwell and all the Miss Fretwells out there Bon Voyage!  I will remember you. 

 Miss Fretwell died Wednesday, April 21, 2010.  Her house went on the market Friday, April 23, 2010.