In Other News... Snot Cars!

"Scientists and Engineers are corroborating with Doctors to develop an alternative fuel made of snot. With flu season upon us, there are plenty of donors willing to sneeze in to a specially designed tube in exchange for lower fees at their ubiquitous doctor visits. The common cold doesn't have a cure. Instead of fighting the inevitable, we should harness this plentiful source of raw material to solve the energy crisis. When you are at your least energetic, you can still be a productive citizen. Think Green!" Ok, I made it all up, but really, people, someone needs to think outside the tissue box! April Fool's!

Comedy Quotes

If you're not familiar with the work of Steven Wright,
he's the famous erudite scientist who once said: "I
woke up one morning, and all of my stuff had been stolen
and replaced by exact duplicates." His mind sees things
differently than most of us do, to our amazement and
amusement. Here are some of his gems:

1 - I'd kill for a Nobel Peace Prize.
2 - Borrow money from pessimists -- they don't expect
it back.
3 - Half the people you know are below average.
4 - 99% of lawyers give the rest a bad name.
5 - 82.7% of all statistics are made up on the spot.
6 - A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts
feel so good.
7 - A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
8 - If you want the rainbow, you got to put up with the
rain.
9 - All those who believe in psycho kinesis, raise my hand.
10 - The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse
gets the cheese.
11 - I almost had a psychic girlfriend, ..... but she left
me before we met.
12 - OK, so what's the speed of dark?
13 - How do you tell when you're out of invisible ink?
14 - If everything seems to be going well, you have
obviously overlooked something.
15 - Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
16 - When everything is coming your way, you're in the
wrong lane.
17 - Ambition is a poor excuse for not having enough sense
to be lazy.
18 - Hard work pays off in the future; laziness pays off
now.
19 - I intend to live forever.... so far, so good.
20 - If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her
friends?
21 - Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into
jet engines.
22 - What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
23 - My mechanic told me, "I couldn't repair your
brakes, so I made your horn louder."
24 - Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?
25 - If at first you don't succeed, destroy all
evidence that you tried.
26 - A conclusion is the place where you got tired of
thinking.
27 - Experience is something you don't get until just
after you need it.
28 - The hardness of the butter is proportional to the
softness of the bread
29 - To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal
from many is research.
30 - The problem with the gene pool is that there is no
lifeguard.
31 - The sooner you fall behind, the more time you'll
have to catch up.
32 - The colder the x-ray table, the more of your body is
required to be on it.
33 - Everyone has a photographic memory; some just
don't have film.

And an all time favorite-

34 - If your car could travel at the speed of light, would
your headlights work?

(Thanks to Tracey for sending me these! They kinda make you go "Hmmmm..." don't they?)

Eating - Healthy Vs. Delicious?

I've been giving a lot of thought (and even some effort!) in to what I should eat for optimum health, versus what I too often want to eat. Despite the food pyramid, the 5-a-day plan for fruits and vegetables, the 3-a-day plan for dairy products, and the endless diet advice, I sometimes am forced to conclude that there are really only three food groups. These are convenience foods, comfort foods, and foods that are good for me.
Convenience foods are inevitably outrageously priced, but I buy them because I am tired, or in a hurry, or both. Sometimes they are packaged at the grocery store. Just add a microwave and I have something hot to eat. What, exactly, I’m not always sure, and reading the box definitely does not help. Other times I go to a drive-through restaurant and yell into a box, pay a fortune, then pick up my bag containing a meat-like substance on a bun. I woof it down and head to my next task. Although billions of advertising dollars are spent to try to convince me that I am eating a delicious meal, I recognize it for the unhealthy compromise that it is. I can always tell when I am eating convenience food because it tastes like sawdust, and there is nothing left in my purse to buy good food with.
Comfort foods, the ingredients of which often include cream, butter, sugar, and quite possibly chocolate, aren’t usually that expensive. It takes some time to prepare them, and involves considerable clean up as well. But, oh, the smell of cinnamon buns baking in the oven makes the time well spent! A large bowl of mashed potatoes with a pool of melted butter, light, flaky biscuits with home-canned jam, and crispy fried chicken makes me think of my grandmother. Spooning cool ice cream bathed in hot fudge sauce into my mouth brings back my childhood. Biting into a macaroni noodle with cheese oozing out the side is a soothing treat. I lovingly concoct special meals for my family to give them pleasure and to show my love for them. But all that delicious comfort food comes with a price, and with a sigh of regret, I turn to food that is healthy.
For some reason, the term “healthy food” seems to conjure up whatever I hate the most. Hot, smelly spinach, tasteless, naked vegetables, or a tiny piece of broiled, skinless, spiceless chicken seems virtuous. If it is awful, it must be good for me, right? Well, maybe not. I think back to a perfect apple I once ate. I was in Washington, D.C. and apples were abundant at every roadside stand. I bit into one, and I’ve measured every apple against it ever since. It had a thin, red skin that broke crisply under my teeth to reveal firm white flesh crossed with red veins. Bursting with flavor, it was tangy, but not tart. The best peaches were found in Georgia. Perfectly ripe, juice dripping off my elbows as I ate, there could be nothing better. One memorable summer vacation in Indiana, the corn was ripe on my grandparent’s farm, and the tomatoes were huge. I went and pulled the tassels back to reveal the golden kernels underneath, and then I picked as many as I wanted. My family and I husked them, and, stripping off the corn silk, we dropped them in large pots of boiling water. While they cooked, we sliced the juicy red tomatoes and put them on a platter. Some bread and butter rounded out the meal, and we ate our fill, knowing that if we wanted more we had only to go out and pick it.
Perhaps healthy doesn’t have to be tasteless. Most of the healthy foods aren’t that hard to prepare. If I’m willing to wait until something is in season and buy it fresh, I know it will taste wonderful. On reflection, I see that healthy food can be convenient, comfortably delicious, and good for me, too! I'm thinking maybe it is time to begin a vegetable garden...

You Might Be a Floridian If...

You know the four seasons really are: almost summer, summer,
not summer but really hot, and Christmas.

"Down South" means Key West

"Panhandling" means going to Pensacola.

You think no-one over 70 should be allowed to drive.

Flip-flops are everyday wear.

Shoes are for business meetings and church.

No, wait, flip flops are good for church too

Socks are only for bowling

Orange juice from concentrate makes you sick

Sweet tea can be served at any meal.

An alligator once walked through your neighborhood.

You smirk when a game show's "Grand Prize" is a trip to Florida.

You measure distance in minutes.

You have a drawer full of bathing suits, and one sweatshirt.

You get annoyed at the tourists who feed seagulls.

You never use an umbrella because you know the rain will be over in
five minutes

All the local festivals are named after a fruit. (Although we do have a Shrimp Festival, and I'm not sure Swamp Cabbage is a fruit...)

A mountain is any hill 100 feet above sea level.

A good parking place has nothing to do with distance from the store,
but everything to do with shade.

Your winter coat is made of denim

You can tell the difference between fire ant bites and mosquito bites

You're younger than thirty but some of your friends are over 65

It's not "pop." It's "soda" or "coke."

Anything under 70 is chilly.

You've hosted a hurricane party.

You go to a theme park for an afternoon, and know when to get on the
best rides.

You pass on the right and honk at the elderly.

You understand the futility of exterminating cockroaches.

You can pronounce Okeechobee, Kissimmee, Withlacoochee, Okahumpka and
Loxahatchee.

You understand why it's better to have a friend with a boat than have a
boat yourself.

You've driven through Yeehaw Junction.

Bumper stickers on the pickup in front of you include various fish, the
NRA and a confederate flag.

You were 8 before you realized they made houses without pools.

You were 12 when you first met someone who couldn't swim.

You've worn shorts and used the A/C on Christmas. (We actually ran the A/C once, trying to make it cold enough so we could have a fire in our fireplace).

You know what the "stingray shuffle" is and why it's important!

You could swim before you could read

You have to drive north to get to The South

You know that no other grocery store can compare to Publix.

Every other house had blue roofs in 2004-2005

You know that anything under a Category 3 just isn't worth waking up for.

You dread lovebug season.

You are on a first name basis with the Hurricane list. They aren't Hurricane Charley, Hurricane Frances...but Charley, Frances, Ivan and Jeanne.

You know what a snowbird is and you hate them. (Well, that might be a bit harsh. We only hate the sheer volume of them clogging the roads!)

You know why flamingos are pink.

You think a six-foot alligator is actually pretty average.

You haven't seen snow.

Tornadoes/Tornado warnings don't scare you, and you laugh when your friends from outside of Florida get scared by lightning.

You eat ice cream cones in the winter, because it's finally cool enough so that it won't melt instantly down your arm

You save your sweater for summer when everyone's A/C is so cold, you are freezing in their houses or cars

(Thank you to my youngest son for sending me this! My sons are true Crackers, not transplanted Hoosiers like me, and will never let me forget it...)

Eating Roses

I was at the grocery recently and found a new little section featuring foreign foods. The one that caught my eye was a small packet labeled Sultan's Turkish Delight! Being a "Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe" fan, I had always wondered what would make Edmund choose Turkish Delight when he could choose anything he liked. This tiny package was a bit expensive, both in price ($1.59) and calories (200), but, like Edmund, I simply couldn't resist.

Later, after lunch, I opened the package and found a small rectangular candy covered in milk chocolate. I bit slowly in to it, revealing a jewel tone raspberry colored filling. I recoiled a bit from the texture, which resembled something between figs and gummy bears. Or maybe gumdrops. Not something I am at all fond of. But at the same time, my mouth filled with the unmistakable fragrance of roses! I read the package. The filling, mostly sugar, was also suffused with rose water. It was hard to discern whether I was truly tasting it, or smelling it. I took another nibble. The chocolate joined together with the roses to form an irresistibly unique sensation. The filling's texture didn't seem so bad. Really, it was almost... good. Another nibble. This time I just let the roses waft through me, the texture setting it off perfectly. I had never eaten anything like it!
Perhaps it is magic food after all. Legend has it a certain sultan, trying to amuse and please his harem, had been experimenting with perfume. Then he decided to turn his hand to candy, and created this seductive delicacy. Perhaps there is more to the story. Perhaps a genie, owing one more wish, was pressed in to service and the candy had special, magical ingredients ideal for soothing the fretful. Maybe you grew up on Arabian Nights, but never truly believed them. If so, you had better avoid anything labeled "A Product of Turkey." Or else you, too, may end up, mouth full of roses, and under the Sultan's spell!

Things I've Done Pictures

I promised I would show some pictures to go with the Things I've Done tag, so here they are. Above is my Grandpa with the small plane he flew for a while. I loved going up in it!

Below I am playing my snare, in about 7th grade. I hated those glasses, but now they are "in."

In 1976, the Bicentennial, my family went to Washington, D.C. Back then you could tour inside the White House, which we did - we toured everything! Below is the Lincoln Memorial.
This is the overnight train, in our case from Florida to Indiana. I am in front. I look scared, but I had a blast.
This isn't the elephant I rode, but it is at Lion Country Safari, passing in front of our car. You drive around through a nature preserve while all these wild animals run free. It's amazing. At the end, there is a park, where you can ride elephants, see baby wild animals, and all sorts of things.
Here's my little brother getting "patted" by Pluto at one of our many Disney trips.
When I was 8 or 9, my step-dad took us out to a hunting cabin he and some friends had deep in the Everglades. Mom loved to drive the swamp buggy. One time she raced my step-dad; he was driving the Land Rover we'd come in. We were so far away from anything, and we had a wonderful time. I'm in the yellow shirt.
We took an amazing trip when I was 14, camping for weeks and hiking through the West. Here is Old Faithful.

Reminisce Tag

Stevie tagged me to do a Things I've Done meme. I bolded the things I have done. This was really fun! Care to reminisce with me?

1. Started my own blog (obviously!)
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band (drums!)
4. Visited Hawaii (my son and parents have)
5. Watched a meteor shower (once right before we got married and once right before our 25th anniversary!)
6. Given more than I can afford to charity (You can't outgive God)
7. Been to Disneyland/world (Disney World, lots of times. It's only a few hours away, we can go up in the morning, stay all day and get home to bed).
8. Climbed a mountain (hiked and camped in the mountains though)
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sung a solo (or maybe it was a duet. Whatever it was, I don't plan to ever do it again!)
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea (I was at the beach and the lightning storm was at sea! Or maybe that doesn't count?)
14. Taught myself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child (had a foster child)
16. Had food poisoning (and heat stroke)
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown my own vegetables (my son did for Science one year)
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitchhiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset (Both!)
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of my ancestors (within the U.S., but my mom went further back and visited Germany)
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught myself a new language (Tried, anyway)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (yep, lots of times, because it doesn't take much at all).
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa (my son has, and my other son has been to Greece and Bulgaria, and a third son has been to Las Vegas. I've only been to Canada).
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance (too many times!)
47. Had my portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling (my hubby used to scuba dive)
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie (my dad and my uncle have both been in movies).
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma (tried, they never will let me)
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi concentration camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter (no, but I've flown in my Grandfather's small airplane!)
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten caviar (no, but I've eaten escargot and frog legs)
72. Pieced a quilt (my mom does)
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades (in an airboat, swamp buggy and Land Rover, as well as on foot)
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone (2 bones! My son broke 2 at one time).
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle (no, I don't think we were speeding).
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book (not a whole book, but I have been published several times).
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had my picture in the newspaper (and had things I wrote in a newspaper)
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (I have shot guns, though)
88. Had chickenpox (No one in my family has. I think we're all immune).
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous (Margaret Goff Clark, that wrote the children's books. She was at our tiny writer's club because someone knew her, and she liked my story!)
92. Joined a book club (Nope, but did join a writer's club!)
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person (planned to, but ended up in the hospital for 2 weeks instead)
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Ridden an elephant (twice!)

(The following I've added)
101. Been on t.v. several times
102. Swam with and touched a manatee
103. Seen 2 sitting U. S. Presidents in person (saw Roy Rogers too, he was adorable!)
104. Ridden on a float in a parade
105. Been waterskiing and snow skiing
106. Done Chinese Fire Drills on a bus
107. Been through hurricanes (and an earthquake)
108. Ridden bareback with no bridle/reins
109. Homeschooled all 3 sons from K-12
110. Graduated on the same day from the same college with my oldest son
111. Lived in a house with no indoor bathroom - we had an outhouse
112. Married Prince Charming and Lived Happily Ever After

Ok, I've done 40 of the 100. I might even have some pics of some of them that I can post later. How about you? If you've read this far, you know you want to do this! Let me know if you do so I can come see it.

A Charles Dickens Aficianado

My hubby and I just finished watching the entire BBC production of "Bleak House" by Charles Dickens. It was on 3 DVDs in roughly 15 episodes, and we enjoyed every bit. (We had it compliments of Netflix). I am a big Charles Dickens fan. I had seen "A Christmas Carol" in every form known to man, from Albert Finney to Donald Duck, but never read any Dickens, until 9th grade English, where we were compelled to read "Great Expectations" for class. I expected to hate it when I saw that the protagonist's name was Pip. I mean, really! But soon I was lost in the story, and when we had the daily quizzes about such trivia as the color of the vase on the mantel in Chapter One, I had trouble answering because I was pondering Pip's fortune and who supplied it, many, many chapters further on.

When I had finished that book I went on to read, on my own, "Oliver Twist" and "David Copperfield". I began "A Tale of Two Cities" but for some reason never read more than a chapter, and then I was on to another author for a while. But when our youngest son got old enough for Dickens, he was as taken with him as I had been at his age, and he begged and cajoled me to read "A Tale of Two Cities" all the way through. I did, and WOW, what a story! I proceeded to read "A Christmas Carol," "Bleak House," "Nicholas Nickleby" and "Our Mutual Friend," along with a slim volume Dickens had co-written with someone else, called "A House to Let", and I thoroughly enjoyed them all. I intend to continue reading more of his stories, but they are best savoured and not devoured, so I'm taking a breather. But that doesn't stop me from enjoying the theatre productions on DVD or PBS when the chance arises!

Some people seem a bit intimidated by Dickens because his books are usually long, peopled with multiple fully fleshed out characters and often of a somewhat sombre nature. But when he was originally published, it was in the newspapers in the form of serial stories, a segment at a time for weeks and weeks, and not meant to be read all at once! And although the subject matter can be grim at times, it is relieved by humor and a deliciously sly sarcastic wit that shows the best and the worst that humankind has to offer. These books are great character studies, as well as windows in to cultures at different times in England's history. They are very good reads, but also mini-educations! For instance, "Bleak House" exposes the justice system, "Oliver Twist" the charitable institutions, and "A Tale of Two Cities" gives an inside view of the French Revolution in chilling prose to rival any suspense story written today! Every time I go to the library I discover a "brand new" (to me!) treasure left behind by Mr. Charles Dickens and slowly I hope to sample them all. Any other Dickens fans?

Sisters

We've got each other's back...
(My sis and I circa 1971. Yes, I'm the one on the bottom... that time, anyway!)

The Other Victims

(I wrote this in 2003. Sadly, it is still relevant today).

"Abortion 1. The expulsion of a human fetus within the first 12 weeks of pregnancy, before it is viable."
"Viable 1b. (of a fetus) having reached such a stage of development as to be capable of living, under normal conditions, outside the uterus."
"Victim 2. A person who is deceived or cheated, as by his own emotions or ignorance, by the dishonesty of others or by some impersonal agency; a victim of misplaced confidence (Random House Dictionary, 1967.).
Women are being duped. When they are at their most vulnerable, they are lied to about a procedure that can steal their peace of mind, their health and even their lives. They are being cheated out of their children's lives. They are abortion's other victims.
I was twelve years old in 1973, when Roe v. Wade passed, and I remember all the slogans. The biggie was that a woman should have a right to choose what happens to her own body. Unfortunately, no one seemed concerned with responsibility for her body. Up until now a woman had the right to choose whether to have sex or not. She did this with the full understanding of the potential consequences, and when the inevitable happened, she took responsibility for the child that resulted, too. But someone started thinking it wasn't fair for the man not to have to be responsible for his part of the party, and rather than deciding the price of casual sex was too high, women decided there shouldn't be any consequences for anyone. So definitions began to be rewritten. Suddenly this child growing within her was no longer a child. It was a fetus, a product of conception, a part of her body that she could do with as she chose. And now the woman could be free, too, right?
But that has not been the reality at all. Women are still the ones who get pregnant, but now a man doesn't have to decide whether to marry her and support her and his child, or just pay child support for 18 years. No, now the man has a choice! He can use his considerable influence over her and insist she get an abortion or he's leaving. Far too often it is not the woman, who often is a very young woman, who chooses what happens to her, her body or her unborn child. I was discussing this concept with a classmate in one of my classes, and she unexpectedly said, "Yeah, I know all about that. When I was 17, my mother forced me to have an abortion. Two days before Christmas! I'm 34 now, and I'm just starting to be able to deal with it" (personal anonymous communication, February 20, 2003).
"Hey, that happened to me, too," the girl sitting next to her spoke up. "I was 16. My dad said he'd disown me if I didn't do it, and my boyfriend said he would have nothing to do with me or the baby otherwise. And they were so mean to me (at the clinic)! They didn't counsel me, and they said it would be no big deal, but it hurt! Really bad for a long time" (personal anonymous communication, February 20, 2003).
"Yes," added the first girl, "and not just physically, either," pointing to her head significantly.
The truth is that abortion is big business. Those "back alley butchers" of the past were just bad doctors making a little money on the side. Now they can make a lot of money legally. That doesn't make them better doctors. It seems when money or power is involved many people forget about the people they are hurting. Planned Parenthood used to be against abortion. In 1963, they put out a pamphlet called 'Plan Your Children' that stated, "An abortion kills the life of a baby after is has begun. It is dangerous to your life and health." Just when did it become a safe procedure that simply disposed of the product of conception? The politicians sway with the winds on what they 'believe' about abortion, too. Al Gore used to be staunchly pro-life, and now he hotly denies his past voting record. Rep. Richard Gephardt (D-Mo.), Sen. Edward Kennedy (D-Mass), President Bill Clinton, and Senator Jesse Jackson all wrote letters, gave speeches, and even wrote an article for National Right to Life (J. Jackson), supporting life beginning at conception, opposing government funding for abortion, and talking about the dangers of abortion. This was as late as 1986, but all of them turned their back on it when it didn't suit them politically to support life (2001).
Women going in a clinic to get an abortion are not told the truth about what's going on there. They are not told about the developmental stage of their baby, or even the fact that it is a baby. No one explains that this baby is implanted in the uterus long before they even know they are pregnant, and it depends on its mother for nourishment and safety in order to grow to full size. They are told how much trouble it would be to have a baby, and how easy and sensible it is to just get rid of it now. They aren't told how beautiful this little baby is, just that it is a blob. I know firsthand that this is not true, because I saw my perfect, tiny, dead baby after I miscarried at 18 weeks. This was a baby, like a child's doll, small and perfectly formed. Nathan's tiny eyes were still sealed shut, and his skin was translucent, with blood vessels showing through. His ears were like little pink shells, and he had a tiny rosebud mouth, like Cupid's bow. He had ten little fingers and ten little toes, and he had the sweetest face. He was big enough to hold. He was not ready to live outside of my womb, and that is the whole reason he was in there. Not viable is not the same as not living. We are not viable if taken out of earth's atmosphere without a spaceship, which is why we have the spaceship!
But the women are not told any of this. They are told they will have a simple procedure and the problem will be solved. The reality is that the procedure is very invasive, scary and painful. Sometimes they can hear the vacuum, and they can certainly feel it. It is psychologically horrifying. They hurt, inside and out, and it suddenly hits them just what they are doing. But it's too late and then its time to go home. Often the women are in severe pain with cramping, nausea, and severe bleeding. Sometimes they can't even walk for a day or two, and it can take weeks before it doesn't hurt physically anymore. Mentally, it takes much, much longer. And for far too many women, there are serious complications.
Women are told that abortions are safe now, but that is not entirely true. In 1983 the U.S. Bureau of Vital Statistics provided data showing that the advent of penicillin in the 1950's and 1960's correlated to a dramatic drop in maternal deaths, well before abortion was legalized. Abortions did not become safer with legalization, but instead with the advent of penicillin to fight infection (Wilke, Dr. & Mrs., 1998). And still, there are many complications that no one seems to want to admit to. If most women realized the severe consequences that can occur from an abortion they might think twice about it. Even the big medical centers have complications regularly, and most abortions take place in free-standing clinics with a much lower standard of care. One doctor wrote in the OB/GYN Observer that "87% of 486 obstetricians and gynecologists had to hospitalize at least one patient this year due to complications of legal abortions" (Bulfin, 1975). Bleeding can be severe, and women can become anemic and even need blood transfusions. Infection is a common complication, and so is perforation of the uterus, or scarring of the fallopian tubes. These things are not only painful, but often lead to sterility (Wilke, Dr. & Mrs., 1998).
One pro-abortion professor of OB/GYN did a follow-up study of 50 teenagers that he had performed abortions on. He pointed out that a teenager's cervix, with a first pregnancy, is always small and tightly closed and very easy to damage with forced dilatation. He said the results of his study were dismal, considering what happened with their 53 subsequent pregnancies. "Six had another induced abortion. Nineteen had spontaneous miscarriages. One delivered a stillborn baby at 6 months. Six babies died between birth and 2 years. Twenty-one babies survived" (Russell, 1974).
But many doctors point out that for a teenager under 16 there are no more complications of pregnancy than for older women, and for 15 to 17 year olds it may even be safer than for those in their 20's (McAnarney, 1978, Hopkins, 1980, Sutton-Smith, 1979, Sukanich, et al., 1986).
Some doctors are beginning to find a possible correlation between abortion and breast cancer, with one doctor on the news noting that breast cancer used to be a disease mainly for older women.
But there are other complications that are just as devastating. Many people, truly compassionate people, want to help the frightened young mother so badly that they convince her that abortion is no big deal, and will take her out of her seemingly impossible situation and restore things back to the way they were. And she, desperate, wants to believe them. So she closes her ears to the voice screaming inside her that this is her child she is killing, and she has the procedure, often being told it is the only responsible thing to do. Sometimes, she even feels relief at first that she no longer has to try to figure everything out, like where to live, how to survive, and how to get through school on her own with a baby to raise. But the long term effects can lead to self-hatred, anxiety, anger, and substance abuse. And it leads to violence against children.
"There is a clear statistical association between increased rates of abortion and increased rates of child abuse. Indeed, statistical and clinical research support not only an association, but a causal connection between abortion and subsequent child abuse" (Burke & Reardon, 1998). Remember the slogan, "Every child a wanted child!" Somehow killing the ones we didn't want would make the lucky ones that we wanted better off somehow. Since so many babies have died, I wish that slogan were true. It would be nice to think that some kind of good had come out of all of this. Unfortunately, the rate of child abuse has risen dramatically over the past 25 years. Experts say that between 1976 and 1987 alone, 330% more child abuse was reported (Burke & Reardon, 1998). It is tragic, but not all that surprising. Did we really think that cheapening the life of children, so that they weren't even safe in their mother's wombs, would make us more caring and willing to sacrifice for the ones we let live? Parenting is about the hardest thing we commit to, being totally responsible for a weak, dependent, ever-present child. It takes self-sacrifice and that is the opposite of what abortion stands for. Women and men, even grandparents, who are not willing to make any concessions for one child cannot be depended on to have developed enough responsibility to give another the enormous amounts of care he needs. And the inhibitions have been broken down.
But there is another, less obvious, reason for the rise in child abuse. This is from guilt. Sometimes it hits right away, at the clinic even, and the woman feels guilty, empty, shamed and terrified. I can understand how this might happen. I had a miscarriage and I spent an awful lot of time blaming myself. I must have done something wrong, or my baby would be alive. Is it because I was worried about how I would cope with three babies at once (my other two were only 1 1/2 and 2 1/2)? Didn't I want it enough? Did I eat the wrong thing? Lift something heavy? What? I was angry, too, at the doctors, for not realizing what was going on when I went in that day. I felt I had to make it up somehow, help other children, something. We took on a foster child, partly because I was "supposed" to have three boys, not two. I still feel guilty sometimes, still think that he would be 19, wondering what would he be like, wishing I could have held him,thinking what it felt like when I was carrying him. So I can only imagine if I had deliberately caused his demise. I don't think I could live with myself, and many of these women can't either. They sink into depression, and have trouble relating to their surviving children. They see other babies and cry. And sometimes far worse things happen.
Psychiatrist Phillip Ney, M.D. has done a great deal of research into the link between abortion and child abuse. He has seen that abortion disrupts the bonding with other children and weakens the maternal instinct. Also, there is reduced inhibitions against violence, particularly against children. There is heightened levels of anger, rage and depression among post-abortive women (1988). Sometimes this is recognized as the trauma of abortion and counseling has been offered. Through this counseling, disturbing things have come to light. Counselors have recognized a syndrome, known as PAS, or Post Abortion Syndrome, that is very similar to Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, seen up to ten years after the war in Vietnam vets. (Wilke, Dr. & Mrs., n.d.). Counselors are beginning to see a clinical reliving of the cause of the pain. While the mind tries to deal with it by reliving it over and over, it also tries to protect you from it by hiding the cause. What this has led to is women playing out scenarios of hurting their children, and the ensuing shame and punishment, and it horrifies them. One woman kept thinking about poisoning her children, and when she was asked to describe her abortion, she described it as poisoning the fetus. Yet she never made the connection. Many women feel a need to "make it up" to the baby by helping other babies, and open daycares, only to fantasize about or even hurt by shaking, these children, then feeling the guilt again like when they had an abortion. (Burke, T. & Reardon, D., 1988). It is only through grief counseling that these women are able to get through this so that their children are not in danger. But those who don't get counseling can carry through in ways you've heard about on the news. One woman killed her three year old son, and in court began talking about how she'd known the abortion she'd had the day before was wrong, and she should be punished. Another woman jumped off of a bridge with her children, and said later that she was trying to reunite her family (Burke & Reardon, 1998). Suicide is a result of PAS also, since symptoms include guilt, regret, shame, remorse, lowered self-esteem, insomnia, dreams and nightmares, flash backs, and even hostility and hatred toward men, including her husband. This can lead to hopelessness and suicide (Wilke, Dr. & Mrs., n.d.).
"The suicide rate after an abortion was three times the general suicide rate and six times that associated with birth...the rate for women following a live birth was 5.9 per 100,000; following miscarriage 18.1; following abortion 34.7" (Gissler, 1996).
Abortion, touted as a necessary choice to help women with their lives, leads to nothing but death. Thirty million babies have died, with all of their contributions to society silenced with them (Stevenson, Dr. K, 1998). Countless other babies have never been born due to sterility caused by abortions. Mothers die, too, emotionally and physically. The Centers for Disease Control grossly underreported these maternal deaths for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is "that a large percentage of CDC employees have direct ties to the abortion industry" (Crutcher, M., n.d.). Also, most abortions take place in clinics, but if there are complications such as hemorrhaging, infection, perforated uterus, blood clot, blood transfusion, salt poisoning, amniotic fluid embolism, drop in blood clotting ability, or even suicide, they are sent to hospitals, and the attending doctor lists the complication as the cause of death. Some of these deaths take place a while after the abortion and the connection is not always made (Wilke, Dr. & Mrs., 1998). And there are other kinds of death: the death of trust between other children and their mother, the trust between a woman and the father of her baby, and the trust a woman had in her own parents. Whether the woman decides to go through with the abortion over their protests or whether they force her into it, someone has lost a child or a grandchild, and other children have lost siblings.
Women have been lied to, causing great harm to them. They have been tricked into having even less choice than before. They have been cheated out of their own children. Abortion is not a solution. It is a destroyer, and women are its victims. But it doesn't have to stay that way. We can't undo what we have done, but we can certainly stop inflicting this pain on so many millions. We don't have to keep lying to our young women. We can take responsibility now and tell the truth about abortion. There are many caring people and organizations that not only oppose abortion, but spend a tremendous amount of time volunteering to help counsel and heal women who are suffering from the results of abortion. I am proud to say that a great many of them are Christian, but those aren't the only voices opposing abortion. The horror this is causing has come to the attention of groups as diverse as Priests for Life to the Atheist and Agnostic Pro-life League, and they are all starting to band together against the devastation. Abortion doctors have recanted their profession and are speaking out about the truth of what is really happening in those clinics (Priests for Life, n.d.) Brave, sad young women have begun writing their heartbreaking stories for others to read, so that maybe someone else will be spared their incredible pain. I believe women should be able to make informed choices about what they do, both with their bodies and their children, and they can't do that without knowing the truth.

(References provided on request)

Swimming Lessons

I stood shivering in the morning sun, eagerly awaiting my turn to get in the pool. Would this be the day? Would I finally do it?
“Listen to your teacher, Tracie,” my mother reminded me as she went to sit with the other parents. My sister was already splashing in another section of the pool with her more advanced class. My teacher gave me some last minute instructions and then it was my turn! Swim cap firmly in place, I slipped into the cool, shallow water with a sense of nervous anticipation. Would I finally be able to swim to the other side of the pool without stopping?
My mother, who couldn’t swim, insisted on lessons at the age of five. My sister had begun her lessons in Madison, Indiana at a pool within sight of the Ohio River. Sometimes we heard the calliope of the Delta Queen, an opulent paddlewheel steamboat. We would all go running down to the banks of the river in our swimsuits to watch it go by. But by the time I was five, we lived in Florida. We often played in Lion’s Park. From the top of the giraffe ladder I could see children splashing in the public pool across the street. That’s where my mother signed me up for my swimming lessons.
On the first day, my teacher had me get in the shallow end. “Okay, now hold on to the edge of the pool and lie down in the water. Gently, now, just let the water hold you up!” The sensation of the cool water licking my sun-warmed skin in random patterns was delightful! “Okay, good. Now kick your legs!” my teacher instructed. This I did with vigor and abandon, until my teacher got my attention again and began teaching me the finer points of straight legs and flexible knees. I worked hard at making my legs into useful tools. “Legs close together,” my teacher said, and I pretended I was a mermaid.
“Great, Tracie. Now it’s time to put your face in the water!” she said with enthusiasm. I wasn’t quite as enthusiastic. She taught me to hold my breath, turn my face from side to side, and breathe. I soon got the hang of it, still holding securely to the edge of the pool. This wasn’t so bad! At least as long as no one kicked or splashed too much, which made the water rock against me alarmingly. And then she was telling me to let go of the edge.
The moment of truth. Could I let go of the edge of the pool without sinking like a great, wet ball of fear straight to the bottom? With a good deal of coaxing from my patient teacher and the success of the other children giving me courage, I found that I could. I floated like a jellyfish for awhile. Then I began to learn to paddle.
The days flew by and the time for our final test came. I must swim from one side of the pool to the other without stopping. Swelled up with confidence in my hard won skills, I plunged in and started across, not listening to my teacher or anyone else. I got about a third of the way before realizing to my great surprise that I could go no further.
When my second turn came I was humbled and a little demoralized. This caused me to listen more closely, but secretly I was sure I couldn’t do it, so of course I couldn’t. I got about half way before I gave up. I felt I was letting everyone down. I didn’t care for the slightly contemptuous pity my sister offered!
The time came for a third try. I listened carefully to my teacher’s instructions. As I and all my butterflies slid into the water, I was aware that my swim cap was too tight, the rubber squeezing my head and tilting my eyes back slightly. I didn’t dare adjust it. If any of my hair escaped I’d have to get out of the pool. Soon it didn’t matter anyway. It was nearly my turn and I was listening to everyone screaming encouragement to the child in front of me. I noticed my mother, smiling sympathetically at me as only a mother can, and I resolved to see pride in her eyes when I was done. Then it was my turn.
As I breathed deeply, my teacher shouted a few last instructions. I slid down on my stomach into the water and began to swim. Sound dimmed as I concentrated on moving my arms in the prescribed manner, pulling myself through the water. Kick, kick, propel. Legs straight! Breathe, breathe, turn my head. Suddenly I touched the other side and sound burst back into my ears. People were cheering, rushing over to me, the sun was warm on my skin. I had done it! My sister was grinning at me, and my Mom looked - yes, proud!

(I thought now, while everyone yearns for spring, might be a good time to share this story about my childhood swimming lessons. Hopefully this will remind you there are warmer days to come!)

Waving at the President

See that car right there? It holds the President of the United States of America. A second after this picture was taken, he was right beside my husband and me, waving at us!

It all started last night when my husband came home from work and saw barricades being left at each intersection on his route home. We knew the President was coming to our town, but no one on the news was permitted to say which of several routes he might take from the airport to the convention center for the Town Hall Meeting. But we were pretty sure we knew, so this morning we went down to a main intersection from the airport, and sure enough, there was this large flag!

We parked across from it, got out, and waited for an hour or so. A policeman with a dog came and checked for explosives in the ditch, and confirmed this was indeed the President's route. Other people began gathering as well, all talking excitedly - then my husband spotted Air Force One coming down low and circling around to approach the airport! Soon policeman began barricading the roads, giving instructions to the crowd. "Don't step out in to the road for any reason," we were sternly warned. Then suddenly, here came the entourage!


Then the Presidential limo passed just a few feet in front of us, flags flying, President inside waving right to us! The election is over - now he is our President. And it was an honor we will not forget.

Football Magic Eye

Hey, remember those Magic Eye pictures? You stare and stare at them and they don't make a lick of sense - then suddenly the picture pops in to focus. Everything is crystal clear and you can't understand why you couldn't ever see it before. After this weekend, that's how I feel about football!

I've been watching football most of my life. Watching to see if the last 2 minutes will ever end and release my step-dad to come to the table for Thanksgiving dinner. Watching for half time so I could perform with the high school band. Watching with my husband while I am curled up with a book, only looking up when everyone starts cheering, to see the replay; or when I am bored, asking a lot of random questions during the game, which no one who actually knows anything about it wants to answer due to the fact that they are watching the game! But recently, all that changed. I finally decided I was ready. I wanted to know what all the fuss was about.

I began asking my husband quasi-intelligent questions, when he was relaxed and not otherwise engaged. He gladly answered them, and taught me the basics. Like the difference between quarters and downs, for instance. I watched a game and for the first time ever, it made a little sense. I swear, in the past, it was just a bunch of guys tying themselves in knots, untangling, high-fiving, and doing it again. But this time I began to untangle the knots of my spotty knowledge, picked up in bits and pieces through the years. I mentioned this on my blog, and a friend, Ruth, graciously sent me a "cheat sheet" with the basics spelled out. The next game I watched, sheet in hand, someone attempted a blitz. I didn't have to interrupt my husband, I had only to look up "blitz" on my little paper.

Then came the Super Bowl - the acid test! I reviewed my notes, watched the game so carefully that I got a headache, and asked well timed, intelligent questions. It's a good thing I wasn't watching for the commercials this time, because with one exception (the one where the boss is in the lush office with comfortable furniture, book-lined walls and a moose head, the "worker bee" is on the other side of the wall, working through the legs of the hind end of the moose in a crowded, noisy mail room. Cracked me up), they stunk. The game, however, was really good! I guess you really can teach an old dog new tricks.

Gator Glen

My brother has a rather unusual and interesting job. He's a licensed trapper for nuisance alligators. The other day he helped trap two. One was 8 ft. long, discovered in a sewer drain by city workers. The other was a 10 ft. long gator in a canal. If you go here you can see the news report and video. Be sure to watch the second video, it's the coolest! He's the guy sitting on the gator's back at the end.

You may notice the mouth is taped shut. Guess who taped it? He doesn't kill the gators unless they have killed a person - this one is headed for a gator farm in Lake Placid. He used a boom box playing baby gator sounds to attract the gator in question, then uses a loop to catch it, or sometimes a gaffe gun of some sort. Once he wrestles the madly fighting alligator to shore (they roll over and over, once breaking his finger in the process!), he has to sit on its back and tape its mouth shut. Then he can load it on the truck.

It's not that surprising that he would end up doing something like this. His first camping trip was when he was one month old, as you can see above. My sister and I are 9 and 12 in the picture. We hiked, swam, fished, canoed and camped and he was always included. I remember once my step-dad (his dad) asked us if we wanted to see an alligator when we were near a swamp or pond, probably in the Everglades. We said sure, so he began making soft "unh, unh, unh" sounds that he said were the sounds baby alligators make when they are in distress. Then he got a wicked little gleam in his eye and said to my mom, "Hand me the baby! If I dangle his tender little toes in the water, the gators will come right over!" She squealed and held my brother tighter and my step-dad grinned from ear to ear.

His dad taught him everything he needed to know to be an outdoorsman, and he always has been comfortable in the great outdoors. He hunts, both with gun and bow, fishes (and cooks an incredibly delicious fish dinner with his fresh fish, even though he doesn't eat fish himself), canoes, hikes, and camps.

And now he's added gator trapping to his repertoire! Kinda cool, don't ya think?
He wants people to know that what makes an alligator a nuisance is feeding them! I have been swimming, fishing and canoeing with gators, but when they are wild they mostly leave people alone. We had a gator in the pond near us that people wouldn't stop feeding - my son used to go stand on the bank and when the gator headed his way, he'd bean it between the eyes with a rock. That way it didn't know whether it was going to receive food or pain. It's possible he saved a few neighborhood kids that way! If you are concerned about alligators hurting people, or even if you are concerned about the gators themselves, the best thing you can do for them is leave them alone. People are killed by gators all the time, so you could save lives by not feeding them. Not to mention that the gator will have to be destroyed if it eats someone!
Luckily if someone has a problem, they can just give my brother a call!

Go, Sierra!!!

Sierra Minott is a beautiful girl from our church, who just happens to be the reigning Miss Florida. She's sweet, intelligent, talented and a wonderful Christian young lady - she's also competing for the title of Miss America tonight in Las Vegas. This will be aired at 8 o'clock tonight on TLC. We wish Sierra luck and know that she will be a wonderful role model for the nation's girls!

Update: We had a big "Miss America Party" at church to watch the pageant. Every time Sierra made it through another level, the cheering would be so loud we could never hear what she said! She did really well, though. Sierra was 4th runner up! We are all very proud of her.

I'd Like to Thank My Producer, Caterer, My Mother...

A while back, I received this lovely award (above) from Sparky, having to do with how blogging makes us feel close to each other (Proximidade) and friends with people we may never meet, but get to know just the same.

About the same time I got the Lemonade Stand award from Sassy Granny, also in the name of friendship and community, and I think it is really cute.

Around Christmas, I collected the Christmas Award from Merle and Sparky, but I was supposed to say what I love about Christmas. Well, what's not to love about Christmas?! I love it all. The lights, the carols, the nativity scenes, the parties, the food (sugar, sugar, sugar!!!) - especially the way everyone is so loving and gentle and compassionate with everyone else. I was too busy enjoying it all to tell about it, but now you know, I'm big on Christmas! What could be better than celebrating the birth of our Savior? I think the award is really classy looking and pretty.

More recently, my friend Ruth passed on this Friendship Award, below. Isn't it darling? I love hearts. And friends!
I really like awards. They make me feel special and happy, and they make my blog look pretty. But I am dreadful at following all the rules, linking everyone, passing them on in a timely fashion, and getting them posted before the givers give up on me! So I want to say a heartfelt thank you to all my lovely friends who took the time to bestow these lovely awards on me. Please forgive me for not taking care of them in the manner in which they (and you!) deserve. And anyone who visits here who really, really likes one of them, I want you to have it, in the time-honored tradition of sharing the bloggy joy!

Thanks again!

Totally Random Update: 1)We are enjoying our bookcase. Our son lent us a couple of very cool display shelves for the other side, too! 2)After reading my football comments, my friend Ruth sent me a Woman's Guide to Football she wrote, with the basic basics, so now I have a "cheat sheet" to use during the game (I got it out this weekend when the announcer mentioned a blitz and I couldn't remember just what that was!) Ruth might be persuaded to publish this handy-dandy guide in time for the Super Bowl; let's encourage her to do that. Husbands everywhere will thank her! 3)I remembered the other anniversary destination we killed. Well, wounded, since it has since reopened. But there is a lovely little resort on Sanibel Island called "Song of the Sea," (isn't the very name beautiful???) where we went for almost a week to celebrate our 25th anniversary! Such a romantic, beautiful spot. Hurricane Charley put quite a hurtin' on it the summer after we were there. I know a lot of the trees have been destroyed entirely, which would definitely change the ambience. 4)As for the wedding photo I showed for our anniversary where I'm peeking out the door - I had heard my beloved's voice and laughter and had to sneak a peek! My mother made the dress, from a picture in a bridal magazine of a dress I wanted. Well, actually, my hubby to be chose it, which I thought was incredibly romantic! I don't know how she did it. She cobbled together a pattern out of other patterns and newspaper. It turned out beautifully. The veil was the one my mum-in-law-to-be had worn and she put new lace and, but it had her original orange blossoms... 5)Last but not least, I finished Pilgrim's Regress. It was pretty good, but I recommend reading C.S. Lewis' afterword FIRST because I think it helped with understanding it. Next, I am supposed to read, per my son's request, "The Great Divorce," also by Lewis. (Ok. It's over. You can go home now :)

Totally Random

This bookcase for the den is our latest project. My husband designed and built it, and like the old Shake and Bake commercial, I helped! I sanded some, painted all, and helped fetch and carry. We built it in the driveway and brought it in piece by piece, but with 11' long boards, that's some big pieces! We really, really love it, though, and we'll also have good memories of building it together. As you can see, we are bookaholics.
See how big we grow our grapefruit here??? Seriously, it is called a pommelo. I don't know what that word means, but what it IS, is a really big grapefruit! It tastes really good! It's also a blast to feed to cows! I threw half of one to the cows, and that is a show. They fight over it, and whichever one gets it, turns and bites hard, spraying all the others with juice! It's so funny to watch. (on the back right is a normal grapefruit).
In other news, my husband is teaching me football. We play it in the den - no, really, we watch it in the den, and he explains it. Which I think is really nice of him. To his credit he's tried to teach me before, but I was a half-hearted learner. When I was in college getting a Business degree, one of my assignments for Marketing class was to watch the Super Bowl commercials. Well, I got really bored in between commercials and starting asking my husband a lot of apparently very silly questions about football. During the game. No, he didn't really appreciate it. He was seriously contemplating having a talk with my Professor. But now I really want to know what in the world those guys are doing out there, and the explanations are starting to make sense. I actually understand the difference between the four quarters and the four downs! Never got that before...

We killed another anniversary destination! For some reason, everywhere we like to go for our anniversary ends up closing. We used to go to the Naples Dinner Theatre. We actually saw several really good shows there, like "Show Boat," "South Pacific," "The King and I," and "Fiddler on the Roof." But they closed. Then for a couple of years we went to a restaurant called "Casa Lupita," but it closed too. So we started going to the smooth jazz festival, Jazz on the Green. It is isn't dead, but definitely wounded, in that it wasn't SMOOTH anymore! But it might be recovering. Then the other day, we went to Smokey Bones for an anniversary dinner - it had closed 2 days prior! I am getting very concerned about Sea World...

I am currently reading C. S. Lewis' "Pilgrim's Regress." Our youngest son asked me to read it; he'd read and enjoyed it, and we like to discuss books we've both read. It is something along the lines of "Pilgrim's Progress." Only different, of course. Oh, just an aside, but if you could never quite get through "Pilgrim's Progress" and wanted to, there is a book called "Little Pilgrim's Progress" that is much easier to read and still gets the point across nicely.

And that's enough randomness for one post!

Blogaversary

One year ago today I began this blog. I had been talking about starting one; talking but never doing. Finally my husband sat me down in front of the computer and said it was time. We both felt it would be a good bridge to more disciplined writing habits. Even though I'd been thinking about doing it, I'd never really thought out the details, but it was crunch time. I decided to name it All About Whatever so I wouldn't be locked in to one subject. The next day I discovered my header verse, one I had always liked, but now the 'whatever's' jumped out at me. When my husband asked me what my screen name would be, for some reason a conversation with my son about a rose bush came to mind. I have a McCartney rosebush that has large, fragrant and prolific pink blooms. If I had known this particular rosebush had ambitions to take over the world, I would not have planted it so close to the walk and the porch, but I had no idea it would get so big. It is at least 8 feet tall as well as wide. I nicknamed it "Rosezilla" and my son joked that he kept Round-Up in his room in case it snuck in to murder us all in our beds some night! I had a perfect picture of a double bloom from it that I chose for the Profile picture, and I decided to use the psuedonym Rosezilla for my blog, with the whimsical idea in the back of my mind that it would be as if the rosebush had it's own blog. I didn't really think anyone would be reading anyway. I had no idea I would meet so many lovely people, so many new friends all over the world who honor me by taking the time to read what I am writing, and who write such interesting things of their own. Following is one of my earliest entries, written in January of last year. But it's just as true this January!

Winter in Florida.

The sun is shining down like a benediction from a flawless sky, sapphire-blue and cloudless. A variety of small birds sing their hearts out from sheer happiness. Several larger birds ride the wind currents, strong and powerful daredevils breathtaking in their freedom. Squirrels are clowning around on the power lines like tiny performers in a circus highwire act. Butterflies flutter by, weaving among the roses in tantalizing flashes of orange and yellow. The roses lift their faces to the sun, perfect buds in pink, red, white or yellow slowly opening, gently releasing their soft perfume into the beauty of the day. It is winter in Florida once again.

Dance Lessons (True Story Time)

Christmas morning! After all the presents had been opened and the candy eaten, Mom told Leslie and me that we had one more gift. "You are going to begin dance lessons," she said.
“Dance lessons!” squealed Leslie. “Ballet?”
“Ballet if you want, or you can take tap,” Mom answered.
“Whoopee!” I yelled, jumping up and down. “When can we start?”
Very soon the day came. After school we went to Studio Bochette. Through a large picture window, we could see girls in leotards and tights practicing in a sunny room. Some stood at a barre, watching themselves stretch in a mirror. Those girls had toe shoes and were learning ballet. Another group of girls, in tap shoes, waited their turn.
“Okay, girls, what’ll it be?” a cheerful lady asked us.
“We haven’t decided yet,” answered Leslie with dignity. “But we think we want ballet.”
“Well, while you think about it, come look through these toe shoes,” she offered, leading us to a small room with a large box of ballet shoes. We dug in eagerly, but all of the shoes were so big! After trying on every pair, and feeling like Cinderella trying on her step-sister’s big shoes, we gave up. The lady looked at mom and said, “Well, I know we have tap shoes to fit them.”
That’s how we decided to take tap dancing. We went in to a small dressing room and changed into our leotards and tights. They were both black, and so were the tap shoes. These shoes weren’t soft like the ballet slippers. They were like dressy church shoes, only they had heavy metal taps affixed to the bottom front. After we got them buckled on, we went into the studio with our class. The wood floor shone softly, polished by generations of dancing feet. We all stood in a line, wiggling with anticipation. Our teacher began our lesson.
“Watch and then do,” she instructed and she moved her leg quickly, flicking her foot and producing a tapping sound like a shod horse on cobbles. We all moved our legs quickly and all our shoes made sounds too - like a herd of elephants on steroids.
Laughing, the teacher showed us again, slower, and this time we sounded better. We learned to point our toes down slightly and “scuff” our feet quickly, almost floppily, against the wood floor. Every movement of our foot produced certain sounds, some heavy, some light and soft. Sometimes we moved quickly, sometimes slowly, toe, heel, toe, turn! This was fun!
All too soon the first lesson was over. And then we got a serendipity! We took our shoes off, but then our teacher said, “Come in here!” and led us all into a new room, one with mats on the floor. We got to do tumbling, too! Now we had two new teachers. They showed us how to tuck up like a cat and roll forward down the mat. I felt like a bowling ball as one teacher held me together and rolled me gently toward the other. I thought I could do it by myself. First I rolled off to the side and then I came undone, but they patiently tucked me back together and I rolled along straighter this time. After a bit of practice, our lesson really was over. We changed to our regular clothes and rode home with Mom, bubbling over with excitement and eager to return.
The next couple of lessons improved our technique. At the end of the third lesson, the teacher began talking about a recital. We learned we would wear costumes, like little Hawaiian girls, with flower leis and grass skirts. We began learning the steps, tap, cross the feet, turn. “Good, now your hands,” the teacher exclaimed. “As you cross one foot over the other, reach up, as if you are picking flowers off of a tree, and then gently put them in your imaginary baskets. Gracefully, girls!” Very gracefully she demonstrated, her hands moving gently. We practiced over and over, adding the hand motions as we tapped our way across the floor.
In tumbling we were learning to do back rolls. Leslie was much better at tumbling than I was. She could tuck up tighter and roll straighter. I wobbled more. I resolved to do better the next week.
But when the next week came, the phone was ringing as we rushed in from school. It was Mama saying she couldn’t leave work. “Oh, no!” we moaned.
“Listen,” she soothed, “it will be fine! I’m calling a taxi to take you to your dance lesson. When the taxi comes, go out and get in. The taxi driver will know what to do. Then I’ll be there to pick you up after your lesson.”
Wow. We were impressed. Neither of us had ever been in a taxi before. We heard a “beep-beep-beep” and looked out to see that the taxi had arrived. The driver was a very big man. If I’d been by myself I know I couldn’t have gotten in to that taxi, even if I had to miss dance lessons. I don’t know, but I think Leslie felt the same way. She looked at me and I looked at her and we looked scared. The taxi driver was in a hurry. “Come on, you girls, your mom said to take you to the dance studio.”
Well, he knew where we were going. That was reassuring. We got in the back seat and that helped some. We sat very close together. The taxi driver ignored us and that helped too. Then we were stepping out at the familiar small, white building and we were happy again. “We rode in a taxi cab!” we bragged to our new friends.
“Hurry, girls,” our teacher admonished, “you’re late!” The other girls were already going into the studio. We hurried to change and hurried out to practice. I looked at Leslie and she looked fine. But the teacher looked at me, and she laughed! Then everyone looked at me and they all laughed. I was bewildered. I tried to decide whether or not to cry.
“You hurried so fast you came out backwards!” the teacher explained, showing me the inside seams on the outside of my leotard. In the mirror I could see the tag sticking straight out on the back. The teacher took me back in the dressing room. She very kindly helped me to get my clothes on right side out. When we came back no one laughed at me anymore. Our music started and we worked on our routine. We knew what we were supposed to do, now. We had to tap, tap, toe, heel, reach slowly, turning all the way from one side to the other, all together.
I began to feel like a small Island girl. I could feel the sea breezes on my skin as I moved. The fragrance of the exotic flowers wafted to my nose as I gracefully picked them, placing them gently in the basket I’d woven from palm leaves. I couldn’t wait to wear a grass skirt.
Tumbling was still a challenge. We were learning to do a backbend. Leslie could do it by herself. She would stand with her legs slightly apart, arms up above her head, and lean her head back. Slowly she bent back until she could see the ground beneath and behind her. Gently she lowered herself backward toward it, palms stretched out. Over, over she’d lean until her hands were flat on the floor and her body made a bridge. She could walk slowly on her hands and feet, then bring her head and hands back up until she was standing! It looked fascinating - until it was my turn. At first the teacher helped me by holding me, her hand on the small of my back. But sometimes, when I leaned back, my feet would come up off the floor! I kept working until I learned to do a back bend too.
As the weeks passed, the recital moved closer. Now we practiced at home too. Our costumes were being made! Tumbling continued as well. We were learning cartwheels. I never quite mastered cartwheels, but Leslie could do them if she held her mouth just right! I could do about 3/4ths of a cartwheel. But you should have seen me do forward rolls! Even backward rolls. And I never put my leotard on wrong-side out again.
Finally the day came when our costumes were ready. We had to put them on and do our entire routine in them. This was called a dress rehearsal. Now we were as ready as we’d ever be. The night of the recital arrived! We didn’t go to the familiar studio. We went to the local High School. That’s where all the big productions were held. We had gone to rehearsals there for community plays in which Mom and Dad acted. Then we were waiting around, getting into mischief, learning “Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater” on the piano, watching Mom and Dad in plays like “Fireman, Save My Child!” and “Charlie’s Aunt.” But this time Mom and Dad would be in the audience and we would be performing on stage! We had our costumes on, our flowers and our tap shoes. Giggling, we waited for our turn.
Teacher came and lined us up, reminding us that it was time to get serious. We were all in a line, smiles pasted on, when the curtain rose. It was a big, heavy, red, velvet curtain. As a man pulled a long cord, slowly the curtain went up. We could see rows of people looking expectantly at us. Where was Mama? Before we could find her and wave, our teacher was making “Phtt, phtt” noises to get our attention. We all looked at her and our music started playing - the same music we had practiced to over and over at our lessons. We began to tap out the rhythm of our routine. Tap, tap, toe, heel, reach high, turn. We smiled, danced, picked the imaginary flowers and placed them deep in our imaginary baskets. We were concentrating so hard, trying not to make mistakes. We danced our very best, trying to make our audience feel the ocean breezes of our island home. As we took our final positions, our music ended. Everyone clapped and cheered. We took our bows. We were dance recital stars!