For those of you who read these......

Hi, My name is Blue and I am Linda's youngest daughter. I found the log-in for my Mom's blog and thought that I would post a little something. My Mom (Linda) died June 20th, 2011 at 10:30 am from complications of her COPD. She has fought this disease for along time and could not do it any more. As much as it pains me, I feel some relief for her as she was in constant pain, both physically and mentally. She got to enjoy some great moments watching my kids(Alexis, Ashlyn, Aubrey, and Lil' Eddie) grow. She watched me turn into an amazing woman, mother, and wife. She watched my husband grow into a man, husband, and a great father. I do believe she is smiling at me for the joy and happiness me and my family brought her. I miss her more everyday and find it hard to find the strength the continue. I feel so lost without my best friend to talk to. Here I am rambling.......thank you all for being there for my mom.....~Blue~

Sweet Zzzzzzzzz.........

Once again it's.....

Masaic Monday at the Little Red House.

 

Sometimes, a good Z is the only way to go.

 

Teaching Ethel to drive the mower.

It's been a while since i have done this!
Linking to ...

Mosaic Monday   

Ethel is the Old Guy's cat. He rescued her from an un-caring family with rotten kids and big dogs. 

She would hide out on our deck every day, and she was a mess. Matted hair, ribs showing, weak and pitiful. I named her and he loves her.
She loves him right back. She follows him around, to the bathroom, where she will sit outside the door until he comes out, to his shop where he uses saws and all different types of noisy tools. She doesn't care about the noise, just as long as she can be close to him.
One day, while he was out mowing, he came knocking on my window, all excited...."come watch this!"....and lo and behold, the silly cat was playing chase with him, running after the mower, hiding behind the kids playhouse then rushing out after him. He was so proud!
Then a few days later, as he once again was mowing, he comes knocking at my window again, "get your camera!".... and there she was, on his lap, on the mower, riding around with him. Will wonders never cease.

He even built her her own deck outside his shop.

I don't have my own deck!

My Old Guy and his cat. Such simple sweet things can bring such pleasure.

Sniff sniff.

Is this national 'poor me' day? Or maybe it's 'self pity poor me' day.

It wasn't when i first got up. I felt ok.

But then........

this 'cold' hit me. Oh argh.

With COPD, having a cold is not just a plain ole 'sniff sniff' deal. It's a 'huff puff wheeze' deal. Which is basically my life everyday without the 'sniff sniff' part.
And there is a good chance that i may have to go to the doctor, again, and be put on antibiotics.
Again.

So, here i am, feeling put upon and picked on. Poor me.
In the last 4 months i've had this three times already, and now i'm going for #4.

I would really like to feel good for a day.
Instead of crying because i get out of breath just getting dressed.
I could just lay around in my jammies all day i suppose. But i really don't like doing that. It makes me feel lazy and worthless.

This morning i cried getting dressed. I cried putting Daisy out to pee. I cried pouring a cup of coffee.
It's a cry day.
BooHoo.

I get so mad at myself. I hate, detest, really get mad at self-pity. I am not a self-pity kind of gal. I learned at a very young age, self-pity is a weakness. Crying is a weakness. Don't cry.
But, sometimes i just can't seem to help it. Sometimes this crushing sorrow washes over me and leaks out my eyes.

I know that this horrible sickness i have is my own doing. I smoked for so long. I should have quit years ago, but i didn't.
My mother died with COPD, a sister died with it. And i kept smoking. And here i am. Paying the consequences of my choice.

But yet...i had plans and dreams, and none of them included having a hose coming out of my nose for the rest of my life. None of those dreams included sitting on the sidelines watching my family play and laugh, chasing and running and dancing. Nowhere in my dreams and plans did i see me having to lean on the counter so i could stand at the stove to cook. 

And so i cry.

I cry because i want to laugh without coughing.
I cry because i want to dance and play. I want to walk the streets of our little town, looking in windows, talking with people i don't know.

I want to live. I want to be alive.

There. That's done.

Strange lanquage

Have you ever paid attention to the 'word verification' words that you have to put in to comment on some of the blogs?

Very strange.
  I know they are not really words, just jumbles of letters, but if they were words, what would they mean?

I made a list of a few.

I'm kinda strange too.

How about 'OVEMIS' ?  Something to do with ovaries? ovens? over the mississippi?

Then there's ' JOLLOUS'. Most jolly? jealously jolly? Jolly louse?

Let's go ' MSHME'. Mush me? Mash me?  MightSheHaveMineEngine?

Oh, why keep to the easy ones? Let's get serious here.....' VANEADERS, SPHICTRI, GAMUNC, MITYPERS' for golly sakes.

'BOODSTI' has got to be one to describe me at this instant...why? no idea. Thats why.

Now that i have let out my secret, that i am a closet 'word verification' crazy person, it's time to go.

So, DIGHO all my blog friends. May your day be BOFACQ, and my you find all the MARDR you want.

giggle.

Faux curls.

Head on over to Jenny's for 

Mosaic Monday

In one of my "i'm bored" days i got to goofing around with one of my editing programs. I thought we ladies needed some curls. Goofy, but fun.
This is my mosaic for today, me and my 4 girls in curls.
Going left to right.... me, Leslie, Joyce, Lisa and Blue.

Sepia Saturday 60 : 5 February 2011

It's  time for Sepia Saturday again.....come see.    

Sepia Saturday 60 : 5 February 2011

 

I think i'll continue with Iva... 

this is Iva, her mother, Mary, and her 6 sisters. She also had 7 brother's, but i have yet to find a photo of them.

The second photo is Iva in her later years. It is my favorite photo of her, standing there with her hand on her hip. She was a pistol. 

Her hair hung to her knees, i remember sitting watching her brush it at night before bed. She would brush 100 strokes, then braid it.

 

"Q" is for Quince.

 Here we go, Alpha-Thursday again. Today it is "Q"....
Come on over to Jenny's and read more...............

Alphabe-Thursday's Letter Q

The house we used to live in had a quince tree growing just outside the backyard fence. Every spring it would bloom, and grow big yellow fruit.
I didn't know anything about quinces.

One day, some of the 'city crew' were out cleaning ditches and such, and i noticed two men out by the quince tree. One of them was giving the tree the once over, he turned to the other, said something to him. The other man smiled and said something back, gesturing towards the quince tree. Then the first man reached up, picked a fruit, rubbed it against his pants and proceeded to take a big bite.

Next thing i knew, he was bent over, spitting and cursing up a storm. The other man was just standing there laughing like a loon.

That kind of gave me the idea that quinces were not good to eat. So, i forgot about the quinces tree.
Until one morning a knock came at the door. The man who knocked wanted to know if he could pick some of the quinces for his wife to prepare. I told him to go ahead and pick them all they weren't good for anything.

He did pick them all. Over the next week he came back again and again, until he had picked every fruit the tree had to offer.

A couple of days later there was a knock at the door. There stood that same man. He handed me a pitcher of some red liquid, it was still hot from the stove. He also handed me two jars of jelly. Said thank you for letting him pick the quinces and left.

Lesson learned. Not all is always as it seems. When i saw that man spitting and cursing i took it for granted that a quince was just worthless and didn't think of them again. But, let me tell you, since then, i have tasted some of the finest jelly's , punches, and pies imaginable. And i didn't have to cook a thing.

Every year that man came back. Sometimes he brought his wife and kids. They kept that quince tree busy.
That went on for about 9 years i guess. Until the city decided it was getting in the way of power lines and cut it down.

No more quince goodies for us. And i sure miss them.

My grandparents.

This is going to be linked to  Sepia Saturday , along with other fine photos to enjoy and read about, come see at         Sepia Saturday 60 : 5 February 2011


..I really don't know a lot about my family, but i do get tid bits now and then when my big sister gets to talking.
I am the youngest of 5, so by the time i was interested in hearing the stories, everyone else was tired of them. Now there is only me and two of my sisters left. I'm slowly learning all i can about the family past, so i can pass it down to my kids, they to theirs and so on.
I'll start with my maternal grandparents, Frank and Iva Green. She was 29 when they married. In those days that was OLD to still be single. My sister Judy believes she married him because of her age and the fear of forever being alone...but i believe she loved him. When you think about him being an full indian and her being white, and what that must have meant for them in those days. A white woman with a red man!
He was killed at the age of 35 when a brick wall fell on him. He left behind Iva and 4 kids, my mother being one of them.
There is one story that says he was a train robber once...which is really funny, as Iva's father was a U.S Marshal.
These two have been a mystery for a long time. Many in the family have tried to find more of their story, but too much time has gone by and taken their story with it.

Women from my past.

 Here we go, Mosaic Monday again at The Little Red House. 

Come join us, enjoy the beautiful mosaics.

Mosaic Monday

These are some of the women of my life. Mother, grandmothers, aunts and great aunts. Each a wonder and story in herself.
I love these old photos.

P is for Piggy Tails....

• Well, here it is, another alphabet day.....we are doing 'P' this week.  Come on over to Jenny's for the fun. You'll be amazed at the 'P's' you will see!         
• Alphabe-Thursday

P is for 'Piggy Tails'... Jamison had two.

 Or, maybe P is for 'Pink'. Alexis is so pretty in pink.

   
P could be for 'Playtime'.... Ashlyn has so much fun being silly.

 

Bottles of Beads

I haven't been here for a long time!
Come on over to Little Red House for

 Mosaic Monday

 I love beads, here are a few of mine.

 

A dream.

Years ago, about 30 i think, i had a strange dream.  Well, not to say i haven't had strange dreams before, or since, but this one has stayed with my all this time.  In other words, it has followed me through time, dogging my steps and gently pushing it's way into the front of my mind at odd times.  I have often wondered where the dream came from, and why it has stayed with my so long.

Here is the dream.

I was an indian, an old man, the storyteller of the village. In my mind and soul i stored and carried the stories of our beginnings and life so they could be passed down to the younger ones. So that we would always know where we came from and who we were.  I protected the history of our people, and told the glory of our ancestors.

I was dressed in robes of leather and fur, sitting on the ground by the center fire. Around the fire were many people, old and young, male and female. I was telling the story of the river turtle and how he carried our first ancestor across the raging water.

I was also the old woman sitting next to me, and the young people listening to my words. I was each person there. I was the story teller, and i was every listener. I was the story telling itself.
My voice said words, and my voices sighed in amazement and hissed in fear.

I was the sparks of the fire, exploding and shooting to the stars.

I could smell the hot sap as it bubbled out of the burning wood.

I could smell the sweat of the me next to me. Over and over again. I could feel each heartbeat and every breath taken.

I could see out of a hundred eyes.

It was all joy, beauty and grace. Gentleness and sorrow.

Then i woke up.

The dream never changes in my memory, it is always the same.
Today it came to mind as i was watching a fat robin playing tug-a-war with a large worm.
Somehow, that little battle for survival brought that dream forward in my mind.
How strange is that?

Happy dreams.

Remember that boy at the lake?

Here we are again, having fun with Jenny.
The prompt is 'Beam me up Scotty', and it is in blue.
Go on over to Jenny's and read some more fun tales.

Saturday Centus 

"Hey ma! I'm home." yelled the teenage boy as he came slamming through the back door.
No answer.
'She must be sitting around gossiping with her old lady friends again', he thought as he opened the refrigerator door, searching for something to eat.
Nothing.
He stomped up the stairs to his bedroom, opened the door.
"Phew!" 'It smells bad in here, she hasn't cleaned my room! My buds will think i live like a pig!'
Just then he spotted a photo pinned to his pillow.
 A photo of his mom, lottery ticket in hand, holding up a sign that read,

"BEAM ME UP SCOTTY'

Bye.

"O" is for oops!

Come on over to  Jenny's for Alphabe-Thursday

Oops is a word used often here in this house.
And everytime someone says it, little dog Daisy runs to see if some cheese has hit the floor.
You see, the Old Guy has got her spoiled. Whenever he is getting cheese for himself, he drops little bits on
the floor and says "OOPS" to let her know she can come get it.

Then theres the "oops" followed by a bad word usually uttered by me as i trip and stumble over my oxy hose.
Or the hose gets looped over a cupboard door knob and yanks the door open, or loops around the Old Guys feet as he goes by (giggle).

Theres those times when i'm coming out of the bathroom and the hose gets stuck under the door, which of course means the door won't open or close and i'm standing there getting really riled trying to yank it out, when all i have to do is gently slide it out.  Oops.

Some days the "oops" come one after another. And there are days when not one happens. I like those days.
Those quiet "no oops" days.

But, "oops" can often turn into laughs and giggles too. Like the Preperation H on the toothbrush. Or the pants on backwards or wrong side out, or forgetting to rinse the conditioner out of my hair and trying to figure out why it feels so weird.

"Oops" says a lot in our home.

It's gone!

 It's been quite a while since i  have been blogging....too long. And it's been too long since i've played at Jenny's.
And, wouldn't you know, for my first time back in forever, for Saturday Centus
  this week we can use only 25 words, minus the prompt which is.....
'the lottery ticket'. 
So, here goes.

Where is it? The lottery ticket is gone!
She sat, head in hands, watching the boy float tiny paper boats in the lake.
Paper boats? TINY PAPER BOATS!