Well, dear readers -- if there are any of you left, it has definitely been awhile since I’ve been here, hasn’t it? So what’s happened in the three or four or so years since we last visited?
Let’s take a little stroll down memory lane…
First, just let me say that I have not been hospitalized. That’s an achievement! What I am saying is that my health has been fairly stable, and that’s always a good thing.
Now, here are a few of the big things that have happened.
Jonathan made me a grandmother, and the little guy will be two this summer. He’s incredibly bright, he’s talking in both words and sign language, and he makes me so happy. I flew out to Oregon to meet him when he was 5 months old, and I was fortunate to be there for his first Hanukkah.
Jordan got married, gave me a granddaughter, and moved an hour south of Nashville. She just turned a year old, and she’s a bright one as well. She’ll be walking soon, and she knows quite a few words. She’s just very selective about when she says them, which reminds me so much of her daddy, who was never one to perform on command. She’s also famous for her “model face.” This little girl smiles and laughs all the time, but you point a camera at her, and she will not smile. Instead, she gives you the most serious, deadpan stare, just like a model on a runway. She nails it every time.
I've asked the grandbabies to call me Marmee. That goes back to my love of Louisa May Alcott.
Dad gave us a scare and required open heart surgery. Thankfully, he’s bounced back and is right back to working full time in his business.
Yvonne’s son gave her a grandson as well. He was born just three weeks after my little granddaughter, and he’s just about to turn one. He’s a pistol, whose favorite pastime is chasing his best friend, his dog Roxie.
I did some writing and had a couple of pieces published in some of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books: “A Cousin’s Love” is #85 in Messages from Heaven and Other Miracles and “Mama’s Little Doll” is in Life Lessons from the Cat. They’ve accepted a couple of others as well, but they won’t be published until later this year or next. Corona has screwed up a lot more than the toilet paper supply.
I was doing some occasional dog sitting for friends, so I thought I’d sign up for Rover.com. Yep, that turned into a job. Last September I was home all of about 4 days. The rest of it was spent in different homes sitting with different dogs. It’s no way to get rich, but it’s some nice extra cash every now and then. Plus, I get paid to play with dogs. How bad is that?
Just this year:
- My dad turned 80, and we surprised him with a nice little party and mini family reunion. Only one grandchild couldn’t make it -- he was on the road, but all of the great-grandchildren were there, as well other family and friends.
- A tornado just missed us here in Nashville, while it did a great deal of damage in other parts of the city. We heard it roar by. Then it went along I40 until it ran headlong into Cookeville. That’s where it became an EF4 and really did a number on my hometown. It tore up the area I grew up in and where I had my first apartment. In fact, the woman who lived in the apartment that we brought my older son home to after he was born was killed.
- And now I’m sheltering at home thanks to COVID-19. Yvonne won’t let me leave the house, so I sit here, watch movies, read, and try not to be so thoroughly bored that I start crocheting clothes for the dogs again. I have rediscovered my genealogy work, and I’ve found that fascinating for quite a few years, so that’s been a nice little thing..
Okay, that’s enough of an update for now. I know I’ve left out a ton of stuff, so I’ll address that in later posts. I’m guessing it may not have been too interesting, or I would have recalled it.
Either I lead a very quiet life, or I’m getting really forgetful in my old age.
Hello, my name is Donna, and I am an addict. I try to resist the urge, the siren's call, but I just can't stop myself. I'm not strong enough. I need a fix. I must have a fix. I know it's wrong, but I just have to do it.
Just when I think I'm out, they pull me right back in -- cheesy disaster movies.
Saturdays are particularly difficult. So many channels seem to play them. Just today I've seen tornadoes destroy the Midwest, asteroids threaten the Earth, and Vesuvius take out Pompeii -- again. I tried not to watch them. After all, I've seen Twister so many times that I can practically quote it line for line, but I had to watch. I really had to. It's all about... The Suck Zone.
They suck me right in every time.
I especially like the movies based on natural disasters. Aliens are cool, but I prefer tornadoes, volcanoes, tidal waves -- you get it. I've put my poor boys through them to the point that they just hear "Twister," and they groan. I don't think they have the appreciation for a fine disaster flick quite like I do, but maybe it's best that they didn't inherit my... problem.
Just so you grasp the severity of my problem, here's a list of a few of my favorites.
As you can see, I have a very, very serious problem. If you know of a support group, please let me know. My sons and roommate would truly appreciate it. I'm not sure how many more times they can sit through one of these movies.
It seems that some missed the link out of yesterday's blog to the story of The Swinger Incident. Here it is, in all of its glory.
When Jonathan was 14 & 15, he would spend his summers babysitting his little brother Jordan, 10 years younger. It was a huge help financially, and, while it was a headache for Jonathan, who still swears, over a decade later, that he’ll never have children because of it, their antics provided my coworkers and me with more than a few laughs from the daily phone calls. This is the story of one of those calls.
Late one morning, Jonathan called me to say, in a very droll voice, that Jordan was upset and needed to talk to his mommy. Of course, my mind was skipping from one disaster scenario to the next with occasional stops at the not-so-huge scenes that involved a simple “My favorite cartoon isn’t on!” Nothing I could imagine, however, prepared me for what followed.
Jordan was quickly put on the phone with me, where he proceeded to sob, huff and stumble through some unintelligible mash of words. All I understood was, “Jonathan … killed … Swinger … dead…” I knew Jonathan wasn’t dead because he was the one who had called, so I did the only thing I could think of – told Jordan to put his brother back on the phone.
I asked Jonathan what had his poor little brother in hysterics, and he told that Swinger, Jordan’s beloved stuffed monkey and best friend, had committed suicide by hanging himself from the ceiling fan in the dining room. I did what any mother would and told Jonathan I wasn’t buying that story and asked him why he was torturing his brother that way. “It’s not me, Mom. Honest! Swinger was depressed, and he killed himself.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, so take him down and put your brother on.
I tried to console Jordan. I told him Swinger wasn’t really dead, his brother was just playing a nasty joke, but the poor little boy would have none of it. Swinger was spinning around the ceiling, so he must be dead. Wait … Swinger’s spinning? Put your brother back on.
Okay, so the stuffed monkey was depressed, hung himself from the ceiling fan and then managed to turn the fan on??? No, Swinger just hung himself. He started whirling around when Jonathan flipped the light switch to get a better look. Good Lord! Turn off the fan, take down the monkey and put your brother on.
I believe this is about the point where all work in the office around me ceased. Everyone was too busy laughing to get much done anyway.
So here’s the deal, Jordan. Your brother is to take Swinger down and fix you some lunch. How’s that? No deal. Swinger was still twirling. *sigh* Put your brother on.
Jonathan, seriously, take the monkey down and fix your brother some lunch. “Shouldn’t we wait for the coroner?”
I’m pretty sure I started banging my head on the desk at this point.
No, there’s no need to wait for the coroner. I told your brother you didn’t really kill his monkey. *blah, blah, blah* “But I didn’t kill him. He killed himself.” Stuffed monkeys don’t kill themselves!!! “They do if they’re depressed.” Why would a stuffed monkey be depressed? “He was spending too much time cooped up inside with Jordan.” Please … just take down the monkey. “Okay, but we should probably wait for the coroner.” Put your brother on.
Jordan, your brother is taking down the monkey. He’s fine. Try to calm down. Eat your lunch. Don’t try to get even or anything like that. Just behave until I get home. Etc., etc. etc. Now put your brother on, so I can finish this up and get back to work.
Is the monkey down? Good. Fix your brother some lunch, and try to behave until I get home. Please. I’m going to attempt to get some work done.
It was a while before the office got over that one.
Well, dear readers -- if there are any of you left, it has definitely been awhile since I’ve been here, hasn’t it? So what’s happened in the three or four or so years since we last visited?
