Archive for May, 2013



When the lovely children were young, I would buy classic children’s books at garage sales cheaply so that I did not need to worry about their getting torn up. At first, I read them aloud. As the lovely children grew older, they read some of them again for themselves.

Recently, CPI’s 12th grade English class read “Gulliver’s Travels” and we were obliged to buy a new copy. Marsh, our aged Labrador, had chewed up the first one we had in his puppyhood. CPI left the book in the back seat of our car until I was sure that he had forgotten it. Finally, I brought it up. “Oh,” he said, “I apparently remembered enough from your reading it to me as a child that I made an ‘A’ without reading it again.” Score! I win! Hurrah! Etc……..!!!!!


Little Saint Elizabeth and Other Stories by Frances Hodgson Burnett

This volume contains several stories by the author of “Little Lord Fauntleroy”, a book which is highly under-rated due to its association with an unfortunate boy’s fashion of the Victorian Era.

The title story is a tad preachy for today’s youngsters, but the others are retellings of fairy tales that I had not heard. They were quite charming and I enjoyed them greatly.

“Prince Fairyfoot” is about a child born with small feet in a place where big feet are valued.

“The Proud Little Grain of Wheat” details the adventures of that character.

Most enchanting is “Behind the White Brick”. This is the adventures of a little girl who is pulled up her chimney to investigate the world behind the single white brick in its interior. She meets many interesting characters there and is sad to leave.

This book can be accessed at:



Mad is Bad?

As I have mentioned, I will turn 50 later this year. Considering my family history, the day will mark approximately the midpoint in my journey here. I have begun to think about some of the things people have tried to “teach” me through the years and wonder if I should have listened.

Most of my life, people have told me I should be quieter. A lady, they said, always speaks quietly and does not call attention to herself. I am beginning to believe that I have never been a lady after all. I can act like one, but I am not one at heart. At least not the kind some people would like me to be. I don’t want to spend energy trying to “modulate” my voice. It seems like a lot of effort for something that is not very useful. I think the problem was not the volume of my voice. I think it was the fact that I was venting emotion. I was usually upset about something when I was reminded that I was supposed to be acting like a lady.

I have never heard a man reminded that gentlemen are not loud. Angry men yell at will. Is there something dangerous about women’s anger? I am not sure. I have certainly never actually attacked anyone while angry. I have made my point, sometimes loudly, but no one has ever been hurt. This may require some more thought while I decide whether or not I want to be a lady in this way.



A Word to Our Sponsors

Today, I slept in late because I don’t have work. Many people will be having barbecues and picnics. Some will be thanking our veterans or visiting the graves of their loved ones who died on our behalf. Others will hit the stores to take advantage of the sales. However you choose to celebrate the holiday, remember those who have sponsored your freedom of choice:

Those lying in honored state in the Tomb of the Unknowns and those lying unburied, but not unmourned in forests, jungles and deserts.

Those enshrined in the USS Arizona and those lost at the bottom of the sea in places known only to God.

Those who came home to die in hospitals of their wounds and those who died under torture, refusing to the end to give up secrets that would endanger our nation and freedom.

Those whose families had the opportunity to bury them and those whose bodies will not be seen until the last day.

Those of my son’s friends who died in Afghanistan and those of my father’s who died in Vietnam.

Those who died with comrades rushing to render aid that arrived too late and those who fought on knowing that no help was coming in response to their pleas.

These and others whose manner of serving in death I do not know of sponsored our way of life. They gave everything so that we could have everything. Every day, others stand ready to give their lives to defend the greatest nation and best way of life this planet has ever seen. We have our flaws, but still no one has found a better way. God bless America!


No, Thank You

This blog is meant to be an honest record of what I think and feel as well as about what is going on in my life. With that in mind, I feel very cranky and unhappy today. For those who want to comfort and/or chide me about this, I am not interested. I want to be this way for awhile. So, I will be ignoring all comments of the above nature.

I am hot. The whole world is hot and I am not sure it is ever going to be cool again.

The house is a wreck. It has always been a wreck and always will be. My children make messes and don’t clean them up. Then, they act like I am killing them when I suggest they do so. They certainly could not make any more noise if I actually were.

I am bored. Nothing interesting has happened in some time and may never again.

I am never going to finish writing my book. I spend too much time working for that. And, when I do have time off, I have to work on the house.

I don’t fit in most of my vintage clothes right now. This makes me very unhappy. I like them and think I may never get to wear them again. There are very few vintage clothes available in my current size.

I am most angry about the years wasted by the cancer and its side effects. Some two and a half years of my life were spent dealing with this. Years I could have spent doing things that would have moved our family forward. Things that might have left us in a better position. I don’t even remember most of those years. Yes, they are almost totally a blank in my mind! Only small scenes peek through. What could I have done if this had not been so? In addition, these were the years in which medicinal side effects put on the current weight that I cannot seem to lose. I would be much healthier and more active if this had not happened. (No, I am not interested in reflecting on the fact that God spared my life–please see the first paragraph). I want those years back. I want to feel the ages I should have felt during those years and do the things I should have been able to do. I want revenge.

This is ridiculous! The cancer was ten years ago and it is still wrecking my life. I cannot get back what I lost and I cannot retrieve what I would have had. I am mad, mad, mad! And there are those who think “Save the Tatas!” is a light-hearted way to show support. Why don’t you have both your breasts removed and reconstructed (no, I will never feel anything there again!) before you are forty and then tell me how “cute” that is. I am quite sure that we will not see “light-hearted” support for testicular cancer patients reading, “Save the Family Jewels”. Men’s testicles are too “important” to be made fun of in that way. Women’s breasts are not, though. We are tired of this. Find a solution to the problem and quit running around “showing support”. I don’t want support, I want to be sure that this will not happen to someone else.

I really want my breasts back. I want to feel something there. I want to know when I am about to hug an acquaintance too closely before they pull back in alarm. I want to feel it when FMP casually walks by and gropes me. I even want to feel it if I accidentally hit myself there while trying to catch something. Surely, our neuroscience has advanced to such a state that I need not have totally lost feeling. This is the very worst part for me.

I am cranky and unhappy today and I intend to run with it. I may run with it tomorrow, too. I may run with it until someone does something about it. Do something, people! Stop just saying, “we are sorry”, “we support you”, “you are so brave” and other junk. Give me back my life! And don’t let breast cancer take anyone else’s! Get to it! NOW!


Hippo birdies, two ewes

Happy, happy birthday to IRP! We are so glad that you made it!

Love forever!

Mom (aka TSG)


The Pollen Farm

I am convinced that we live in the middle of a pollen farm. As you know, CPI put off dying of allergies to attend Prom. Yesterday, however, he had to stay home since they were still in force. He has gone to school today since he is now merely coughing loudly as opposed to shaking the house. FMP was not so lucky. He spent most of last night getting rid of the gunk in him by a much less pleasant process than coughing it up. I, on the other hand, am the Queen of Sneezes. The only one not affected is IRP. I guess God thinks she has had enough to deal with this year already.

Last night, when the door was open, Whiskey decided to take himself for a walk. He had never even tried this before, so no one thought he would do it. We had to go in search of him since apparently his map did not include return directions. I had this problem with a GPS I once owned. It kept wanting me to go up non-existent ramps. It is now in FMP’s possession. We found Whiskey and brought him home. We do hope he doesn’t subject us to that type of panic again. I guess we will have to be careful when we open doors.