Best Served Cold!

One of my favorite things in the world to do is laugh. I don’t just mean a smile or a chuckle. I’m talking about laughing til I can’t talk, til tears are running down my face; the kind that will cause crow’s feet if I do it often enough (and it’s worth the trade). I hope this story makes you laugh.

My cousin, Paul, was born and raised in the great state of Texas. He was the baby of his family and, until my birth, was the youngest grandchild in the Cook family. While it was only for a couple of years, he’d obviously reveled in it.

Although we lived over a thousand miles apart and were only together a couple of times a year on family visits, we had a rivalry that must have begun in the playpen.

Virtual Office Challenges!

I met a manager for a large, successful radio station recently. First we talked broadcasting and then, as lots of parents do, we were way deep into talking kids.

Jeff said when he and his wife got the great news that she was pregnant, discussions began about one parent taking a career sabbatical to stay home with the baby. I gave him great kudos right then and there.

He said they were basing their decision on who had the best insurance. His wife, a teacher, had great benefits but then so did he. The verdict was made straightway when, one month before their baby was born, Jeff unexpectedly lost his job. Alas, he was instantly promoted to stay-at-home dad.

Mommy! What's this?!

     Bobby and Mark Chappell were brothers that attended high school with me back in Georgia. Typical siblings, one was always trying to outdo the other. One year the rivalry hit an all-time high as they made a bet between themselves that we all had to endure.

     You see, the Brothers Chappell were quite the casual sort, wearing jeans every single day. At the beginning of this particular year, however, they upped the ante and one bet the other (I don't remember which brother came up with the brilliant idea) that only he was daring enough to wear the same pair of jeans every day for the entire school year. I knew their mother; she worked full time. Knowing what I know now with years under my belt as a mom, it was a close-to-impossible task for her to wash and dry two pairs of jeans and have them clean for her sons every morning. My healthy olfactory nerves proved this wasn’t happening. 

     Being a teenage girl, all I could think of was who in the world would do such a preposterous thing on purpose? I remember being appalled as we watched the brothers day in and day out wearing the same jeans over and over and over.

A Wonderful Healing Place to Call Home

My husband, Doc, and I moved to Bainbridge Island two years ago after four months in Seattle. We actually credit the ferry and the Fourth of July parade for the introduction to this beautiful place we now call home. That scorcher-of-a-day from Paradise, probably in the 80s, made a great impression on us to say the least.

     Our opportunity to move to the Great Pacific Northwest came as a complete, unexpected surprise. A shock. Untimely and unwanted to be quite blunt and totally honest. But then so was the bankruptcy of my husband’s employer in Denver; however, the survival instinct of liking to eat (and the fact that it takes money to do so), prompted us to say yes when the job presented itself in Seattle. We made our way up here with our teeth chattering at what lay ahead (it had nothing to do with temperature).

The Male Shoppers Club

I love to shop. I love to buy presents for people just because. I love a bargain! It’s almost a sport for me. And if I can accomplish all three things simultaneously, it’s a moment of glorious celebration. Obviously Amazon equals fun for me.

     Then comes Christmas. Ah, a hall pass to shop. I’m not so interested in Black Friday and our money tree has seen better days but I do enjoy seeing what I can do with a dollar.

     Enter Doc, aka My Most Amazing Man and beloved husband. He’s fine to follow the advent calendar, get and decorate a tree, see A Christmas Carol, sing along with Handel, send cards to those near and dear, light some candles, and sing Happy Birthday to Jesus.

     I do enjoy all the above and then some including sending Christmas cards to every friend and family member we know. Add a picture, maybe a newspaper column, big hugs and then hope to hear back from those scattered hither and yon.

Semper Fi - A Thank You to My Brother and All Troops

I was the lastborn child in the Cook family of Winder, GA, the baby in a series of four: three girls and one little blue-eyed boy. My mother declared I was planned as long as she was on this earth and I let her think I believed her. Somehow though, with my oldest sister being 20 years old when I made my debut, my next sister 16 and my brother, 14, I doubted the story. In fact, I teased Mother that she and Daddy were surely rusty at best, that being the reason for my red hair!

     The absolute shining star in our family though wasn’t this little redheaded surprise child. It was that precious only son, his daddy’s namesake, the apple of his mother’s eye and the third born, Jimmy. From parents to grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and, of course, his sisters, we all felt the same way. Brother, as I always called him, was my hero.

I Hate Cancer!

  A nagging pain developed in my right side recently. A dull, unexplainable ache in the breast area. One of those places that I check often but hope to find nothing.  My last mammogram was fine, thank God, but this ache became annoying enough that I scheduled an exam. Because my mother had breast cancer at age 83, my doctor sent me straight for repeat tests. I dread it every year but I go because I hate cancer more.

     I hate it because it snuffed out the life of my daddy, just retired with a new granddaughter he adored (my firstborn) and plans to travel, explore and enjoy life with my mother. He died only months after the diagnosis. I held his hand as he passed from this life to the next. How I hated seeing this gentle, quiet man suffer. I hated the disease even more.

     I hate cancer because it ripped my precious friend, Diane, from me. Joined at the heart, we did everything together from decorating and redecorating houses to singing to shopping to traveling to laughing so hard we cried. I climbed into the hospital bed with her right before she died and we celebrated the too-few years God had allowed us to share. She promised she’d send me ideas when I get into a hard spot creatively. I believe she does. I miss her. I despise that wicked disease.