Wyoming

This is Devil's Tower -- it's in eastern Wyoming, a four-hour drive from Cody.
Here you also see Alan buying another hat -- cowboy Bob!


This is the view from the back porch/deck of the home in Cody where we stayed. What a view, especially at sunset.
Here we are at Yellowstone -- Laura is sitting between Alan and me.

This morning as I was drinking my a.m. coffee out on the sun porch, I was thinking about last summer (it is getting warmer) and our trip out West. We spent two wonderful weeks (at least I did -- Alan was suffering with shingles and didn't want to move) with our friends John and Laura in Cody, Wyoming.

What a great town. We happened to be there during their annual "Wild West Days" week, which included a really long 4th of July parade -- it was held on the 3rd and 4th of July, but we only went on the 3rd.

It gets dark really late in Wyoming and the sun comes up fairly early -- must be because it's so far north and on the western cusp of mountain time. Anyway, we had long days which was great, because John was such a great tour guide, and he arranged his work schedule so he could host many tours for us. Alan and I will never be able to thank Laura and John enough for such a wonderful time.

Anyway, I guess the warmth of the porch got me meandering back to last summer in my mind. I don't think I've written much about that trip because, really, it was a disaster. Alan got sick after three days on the road, spent 6 days total in various hospitals in the southwest, and then was immobile for the last three weeks of our trip. I had to cancel several of our housing spaces and the times we had planned to spend in Nevada and Utah and Idaho. But, God blessed us and enabled us to see much of his magnificent creation in both the southwest and up in the Yellowstone area.

The Grand Canyon is GRAND, but Brice Canyon is more beautiful and magnificent. I enjoyed that canyon much more than the Grand Canyon. We were able to see the painted desert -- painted in muted tones of lavender, tan, and gray. I suppose if we had viewed it at sunset the colors would have been more vivid. But Alan needed to get to bed.

I enjoyed Gallup, New Mexico -- Alan was in the hospital and then in bed for our three days there -- and want to go back because it's not fun nor is there much incentive to drive around the area alone. I liked the town of Gallup as well. The people were wonderful and treated us so well and were so helpful with Alan.

Sedona was a lost trip for us. We had two days there before Alan was back in the hospital, and so we saw very little of what was in the area because one of those two days we were traveling to Grand Canyon where Alan collapsed and needed to be taken by ambulance to Flagstaff for treatment which lasted the rest of the week. So what I saw the along the drive from Sedona to Flagstaff, about a 2-hour drive each way, along a winding two-lane road was mostly rocks.

After Sedona we hightailed it up to Cody -- two days drive -- and then spent the rest of our trip there. Coming home, I hotfooted it (I mean I sped a lot) because Alan was in so much misery, so our planned stops along the homeward bound route were abandoned as well.

I guess we saw what God wanted us to see. And we saw more than my parents ever saw. I know daddy would have loved to see the Canyons up close and person, and Old Faithful as well. We were able to see these places and a few others along the route, and I am glad we took the trip.

We hope to go back west -- not as long a trip as before -- next summer. Alan and I both want to go back to New Mexico and Southern Colorado. So we hope to take a two-week trip back in 2009.

Kentucky Derby

I have been watching the Kentucky Derby on TV for as long as it's been televised. Yes, my father enjoyed this particular race. Why? I don't know. But I did enjoy watching it with him.

So, today is Derby Day here in Kentucky. Derby parties will be held this afternoon and early evening all over the state. It's a big deal. We have attended a party every year since we moved to Kentucky and there is always a hat contest. Alan has won that contest twice. I just wear my only hat -- it's a straw hat. Ugly as can be, but it's all I have, and I don't have the ambition or desire to make something silly for the party.

Here where we live, Alan and I will attend the community's annual shindig, lose five bucks, and enjoy camaraderie with our neighbors.

I still enjoy watching the Derby, rooting for my favorite (usually I pick a jockey, rather than a horse), and hoping that I picked the right one. That hope of picking the correct horse is not because of any bets on that particular animal, but because I like to think I can "pick 'em. I can't. I don't think I've ever picked the right horse, even when the winner was the favorite. Therefore I don't bet on win, lose, or draw.

I rarely want the favorite to win. I prefer to pick as I mentioned by the jockey, but second choice is by name, and that name can't be the usual name. I prefer odd names. I don't even know who is on today's list, but I can guarantee that if some horse named Brownie is on the list, that horse will be panned by me, even if it is the favorite. I like names like "She's so sweet" or "Born of the 4th of July".

Are there any horses with those names? I don't know, but I think you can get my drift.

So this afternoon, Alan and I will shut down our computers, head over to the clubhouse, enjoy the company of our neighbors, and I will be rooting for some horse that has several words in its name, and Alan will share $5 with someone else in our community hoping his horse wins, so he doesn't have to share it. But he will share it. He always does. So silly, you know. You know you're going to be out five dollars, but you still put the five dollars in the pot anyway. Dumb, dumb, dumb!

That's all I have to say on this subject. NOT!

We're back from the community party and as I stated, Alan lost $5, but that's okay. I just couldn't get into the Derby at all this year. No great names for me to choose from. I guess the best unusual name in the lot was recapturetheglory -- all one word just like that. But recapturetheglory did not win.

Sounds sort of like a dot com should follow the name, doesn't it? (recapturetheglory.com.) Well, I did check it out and guess what -- it is a dot com site about the derby and Louisville, KY. It's not about that particular horse, though.

So, Derby Day 2008 is finished. There was a winner, and there were 19 losers. Horses, that is. I'm sure there were millions of people losers as well -- I mean Alan is one of them! And, I'm not bitter, but why do the same folks win every single year?

Politics and my father

My father was a Republican, as I've mentioned before. Prior to his death, however, he admitted that Harry S. Truman wasn't such a bad president, even if he was a democrat.

We are coming to the "convention" season. Back in the 40s and 50s all conventions were what is known in today's politcal-eze, as brokered. I don't recall any of the conventions in the 50s and early 60s being cut and dried -- that is you knew who the presidential candidate was going to be before the convention began.

I don't know if that was because there were no primaries, I just don't recall, and I'm too lazy to dig it out on Google. But I do recall the 1952 conventions. We BORROWED a TV so that daddy could watch the two events. And back then, it wasn't just a prime-time TV happening, it was all day long for six days -- how boring is that? Well, I was required to sit and watch this stuff because my father wanted me to experience history in action.

Even when Dwight David Eisenhower was nominated to be the Republican candidate, it wasn't a shoe-in. And then the vice-presidential candidate had to be nominated and elected. Again, Nixon was far from someone they wanted on the ticket.

Eisenhower was the Republican candidate, and the Democrats picked Adlai Stevenson, and I think his vice-presidential running mate was Hubert Humphreys, but I'm not sure about that.

So they had these "brokered" conventions --both parties did -- and it was interesting, actually, mainly because there wasn't too much "punditing" about what happens if they choose this person, or what will happen if they chose that person. Why is Candidate A better than Candidate B. And there certainly was no "operation chaos" -- efforts by the opposition to upset the whole process.

My father sat spellbound watching those conventions, and from time to time he would yell at the TV (like the TV could hear him?) and tell those folks what idiots they were to even think of nominating so-and-so, and then when his candidate came on and was being heralded, he was so happy.

Daddy was very much in favor of Eisenhower's nomination. He thought he would undo a lot of what FDR had done (get rid of a lot of the socialism that had crept into the government because of FDR-induced legislation). And he KNEW that Eisenhower would get us out of Korea pretty quickly. We had lost two of our own church men in that war by 1952, and in a small town that is a lot to lose.

So, Eisenhower was elected, and we gave the TV back to whomever we borrowed it from, and were living in a TV-free, peaceful home again until 1953 -- one year later -- when dad gave in and purchased us a TV.

So, if the Democrat convention is "brokered" it isn't the end of the world, it's just the way it was back when.....

Now that's April gold!

Now, that's what I mean!!! That's April Gold. All those bulbs were planted by one woman who began in 1958, and this is what the result is in 2008. Isn't that something?

This picture was sent to me by a friend. The lady lives in California. 50,000 bulbs. That figures out to 1,000 bulbs per year. That's a lot of kneeling and digging. But, what a result. Amazing!

Old Ladies Clothes

I remember growing up that older women, I don't know what they're ages were, but they were older than my mom, wore different clothes from my attractively dressed mother and other women who were the mothers of my friends. These women were the "church ladies" of the era. They were the ladies who were there first thing Sunday morning, and the last ones to leave on Sunday night. They were the ladies who always were around whenever there was a church "food" social.

Don't misunderstand, the women of my mother's age also helped with church socials, but it was these older women who did the most work and cooked the best food.

These are the women who wore the "old ladies clothes." I figured it out. It came to me out of the blue. They wore these clothes because as they aged, their bodies didn't shrink after having babies, they didn't care that they had gained weight -- at least I suppose the didn't. Being "overweight" back in the 40s and 50s wasn't something that women worried about.

I wondered about "old ladies clothes" all through my 20s and 30s because I saw some of my older family members beginning to don these misshapen clothes; and then in my 40s I found that I, too, was wearing, "old ladies clothes." And here's what I recently figured out.

Once you get over a size 14, there is nothing available but "old ladies clothes." They are polyester, shapeless, overly long, and have dark, ugly colors -- mostly brown, olive green, and navy blue with polka dots. The example picture is put on a beautiful young woman, and even on her it doesn't look good! And notice the print of the dress? Also, it's polyester. Do you know how polyester CLINGS to your body. Those of us who are amply endowed with flesh, do not wish something that CLINGS to that flesh as the material used in our clothing. That only reinforces what we're trying to hide. Also, notice the length. Now, this is long -- at least longer than I prefer -- on the model, who is probably 5'10", so that particular dress would come down to my ankles.

"Old ladies clothes" are clothing where the back is shorter than the front -- mainly because the designers don't consider that the backside of an over-size-16-woman hikes up the clothing causing the front to droop and the back to lift (I'm talking about dress or skirt here).

I know slacks/jeans have become the standard now for all women, but frankly, I still prefer dresses, especially now that stockings or pantyhose aren't a requirement. I mean, if TLC's What Not to Wear ladies don't have to wear hose, why should I? Aren't those women, in their final make-over condition, the epitome of style today?

"Old ladies clothes" became my mainstay when I blossomed to a size 16. Clothing manufacturers just don't make "pretty" clothes for those of us who are vertically challenged.

My friend -- she's 65 like me -- but she a size 2 -- and she wears young person's clothes and looks good in them. One of my neighbors is 80 and she is a size 8, and she wears "teen age" clothes as well but doesn't look like a teenager. At least these women can wear what's in style.

I have to admit, that finally they do make jeans for those of us who have matured into larger sizes, but the tops we have to wear -- yikes! I know that no matter where I go, I'll never find the cute top that my neighbor's daughter was wearing on Sunday -- and it would be a style that would be very flattering to me, and the colors were so nice.

This is not a negative BLOG, but a statement of fact -- those of us who have gained weight, for whatever reason, wear ugly "old ladies clothes" because that's what's available. And, yes, I was called on the carpet by a former boss for my dress -- and I was buying expensive clothing at that time, but all I could get for my girth was "old ladies clothes".

I remember when I was in my late 30s Alan asked me why I wore such ugly clothes. Well, first off, we had no money, so I was stuck with whatever Goodwill had on their racks, but second it was because no matter where I would have gone to purchase clothes, they would have been "old ladies clothes". After he asked me that self-esteem plummeting question, I started making my own clothes, and for a spell, I was able to get patterns that while too small for me, I could expand and make clothing that was youthful and pretty, and I had control over what fabric they were made from. But child rearing and a full-time job to boot, took away the time I could have to sew for myself.

So where am I going with this? Well, for those of you who are svelte, slim, and smaller than a size 16, be thankful, so very thankful. Take a gander in the Women's clothing section at Macy's, see what clothing is available, and be thankful for your slimness. Also, learn to sew, because you never know when you, too, will blossom, and become eligible for "old ladies clothes".

I have a "yen"

Another family saying -- sort of.

I recall my mother just blurting out any old time of the day or night -- I have a "yen" for .... fill in the blank.

It could have been cheese and crackers -- a family favorite. Now you have to have the right cheese and the correct cracker; that would be white American cheese (one slice, cut into 1/4s) and Saltines -- one cracker. You see, one-quarter of a slice of white American cheese just fits on a Saltine.

It could have been the longing for a chocolate and orange sherbet ice cream cone.

It could have been the desire to watch an old movie.

It could have been the yearning to walk in her garden -- "Come on, Judi, walk with me while I pinch some blooms. I just have a 'yen' to do that right now."

She (mom) often had a "yen" for a cuppa tea. Lipton's. Always Lipton's tea. Plain old Lipton's tea.

Mom also had a "yen" on occasion for a cookie -- the name of which I don't know, but it was like an oreo only it wasn't chocolate, it was a white cookie.

Mom loved the Girl Scouts' chocolate mint cookies. And she would hoard them. We'd find her satisfying her "yen" in the middle of the summer on a mint cookie she had hidden away. Of course, she shared with us when she had this kind of a "yen." We were given one mint cookie to enjoy while she satisfied her "yen."

"Yens". Not the Japanese money, but a sudden want to do something, a wish, a longing, a craving.

Remember that word. Use it. Especially now that spring is in full swing -- say to someone -- I have a yen to see a robin, will you come search with me? See what kind of a reaction you get.

Datsa my dode

That's my daughter. Datsa my dode is the way my grandmother Sbaraglia said, "That's my daughter." I grew up hearing that line many times. It was my father's mimic of my grandmother, because I never met my grandmother Sbaraglia.

But datsa my dode is a line I have had with me all these years. It's a statement of pride. When daddy was proud of something I did, he'd say, "Datsa my dode." Apparently, that's what my grandmother did as well.

Well, today, I was doing my weekly errands and passed one of my son-in-law's trucks (grammatically it should be son's-in-law, but that sounds terrible) for the veterinary clinic he runs -- and there on the side of the truck was a picture of my daughter watching one of the mobile clinic procedures. This as a form of advertising. And I thought, "Datsa my dode."

I understand there is a bill-board with that same picture up on I-75 (or is it I-71). Since I haven't traveled that way for over six months, I haven't actually seen the board, but if I did, you'd hear me shouting, "Datsa my dode."

Way to go, Cyndi. And thank you Shandon for putting your beautiful wife (and my beautiful daughter) in that picture.