Scrabblemaster Joe Famous Pancakes

A few weeks back, I attended a family reunion for the family on my mom's side. My main motivation was to see a beloved uncle that is dearer to me than he will ever know - Uncle Joe. I used to stay at his house when the family would go down to M-town at Thanksgiving to visit Grandma. Uncle Joe would play Scrabble with me and show me how to make hash and eggs. Best of all, Sunday mornings, Uncle Joe would make, what he called, his "Joe Famous Pancakes".

Uncle Joe was one of kindest men I ever knew. I never knew him to get angry or pessimistic. Rumor has it when he was pulled over for speeding, he would thank the officer for keeping the roads safe. Somehow, coming from Uncle Joe, it sounded sincere. And he managed to get out of several tickets that way. Knowing Joe, he meant what he said!

Uncle Joe had a Purple Heart medal hanging in his office. I used to go in there to look at it. Even then, I knew a Purple Heart was something special. I asked my mom about the story behind it and this is what she shared:

"Uncle Joe was a medic in the army stationed on the island of Luzon in the Philippines in WWII. They were marching...I think single file...through a narrow opening. The first man got shot. Then I think the second man through got shot. After that they called "Litter bearers forward." Being a medic, that meant Joe and the likes. He started through and was shot in the arm. I asked him once what he thought at he started forward, and he said, "I thought this was "it"."

I'm so glad God spared Uncle Joe's life that day because he went on to create an amazing legacy of faith in his family and throughout his life. He always made you feel special just being around him and had this slightly mischievous twinkle in his eye.

His eyesight is faded now and his hearing is starting to go as well. He doesn't always remember names and gets around with his walker now. His family tells me that he is sad to know the "end is near" for him as he'll miss out on the lives of his great-grandkids growing up even though I'm sure he looks forward to seeing Jesus face-to-face.

Here's what I wanted to tell Uncle Joe when I saw him but I was too choked up to do so...

That though he will someday, possibly soon, be absent in the body, he will always be present in spirit. He is a giant of a man who I count as one of the best of human beings. And when, Lord willing, someday we all join him beyond the gates of splendor, I'll be looking forward to another Scrabble game and a plate of his Joe Famous Pancakes.

Turkish Bumps and Whiplash Collars

I am on my newest Get Fit campaign - I think this is # 4,567 - after seeing a picture of me on Facebook in which (from the side) I resemble Sponge Bob Square Pants. I just can't face climbing on the Treadmill from Hell again so this time, I DVR'd some "fitness classes" off of FiTV. My newest endeavor? Belly Dancing.

Ah yes, you're shaking your head because you know I have locked hips like most white people raised on a farm in Iowa but I am trying to get them to unhinge so that I can work on my abs and flexibility.

The first night saw me down in the basement learning the basic moves - the first of which was putting my hands up on either side of my head (a la the 80s Madonna "Vogue" videos) and swiveling my head left and right. It was the sideways version of "Walking Like an Egyptian" and I quickly had it down.

Then I was to move on to the "Turkish Bump" in which you put one leg forward and pop a hip out without moving your upper body. I call this move "shutting the kitchen drawer while my hands are full".

Then on to "Figure Eights" in which my hips were supposed to hit four points (back, left, right, front) alternating from hip to hip. A few fancy arm movements and I was on my way to beginner's belly dancing. Much turkish bumping, figure eighting, and head swiveling later, I figured I was good enough to show Husband.

"Look," I said, poised and ready to Turkish Bump. He glances over from one of the three thousand episodes of "UFC" he watches. "I am learning to belly dance." I pop a hip out and he gives me a smirk. "Are you trying to turn me on?" he asks. "Nope," I say, "Just my good looks does that. I'm trying to get in shape." He returns to his show and I call it a night, realizing I need one of the those skirts and scarves with jangly things on them to make this belly dancing thing really authentic.

The next morning I wake up and I feel like I have spent the night at a junior high dance...you know, the one where you have one dance move which is to put your arms on your partner's shoulders and shuffle, straightlegged, from leg to leg while slowly turning in a circle and not looking at your partner. And my neck is in need of a whiplash collar.

I don't know about my abs and my flexibility but much more of this, and I may need a titanium double hip replacement. Getting old is not for cowards. Or for belly dancers.

Redneck Botox

I had a doozie of a weekend. I was determined to tackle some long overdue items on my mental TO DO list - one of which was to stain the extension we had put on our deck. Halfway through my violent flailing with a stain brush, I was perched on a hill underneath the deck, trying to stain up underneath one of the support posts when all of a sudden, I felt like someone drove nails into my forehead. I let out a blood curdling scream as I realized I had literally jammed my brush into a wasp nest. I had at least two wasp sting sites and a blinding headache the rest of the day while Husband went racing for the can of Raid and sprayed the snot out of our deck.

I thought that would be the end of my adventure but starting on Sunday afternoon, I noticed the left side of my face swelling up. Pretty soon I had a bulbous forehead, a smunched left eye, and a reddish haze creeping up my cheek and ear. Monday was even worse as I felt like my cheek was pushing up into my eye (think "Hitch" when Will Smith's character has an allergic reaction to nuts) and it itched like CRAZY! I made a run to CVS and came up to the counter loaded up with hydrocortisone and Benadryl.

It was about the fifth application of my anti-itch, anti-inflammatory, knock me unconscious treatments when I realized I MAY BE ON TO SOMETHING HERE! All that inflammation removed any hints of crows' feet starting around my eyes. I mean, if people pay good money to have their forehead injected with botulism toxin or to have their colon cleansed, why not offer my own "Redneck Botox" out at my ranch?

After a discussion with my brother, whose mind is as warped as mine, we determine we could issue burqa-style outfits with cutouts strategically placed over the area that you would, um, inflated. Then you get your very own paintbrush with a map to all the wasp nests and you can poke away.

That will be $60 and gratuities are always appreciated.

Sisterhood of the Ugly Pants

I have undertaken a project that has gone from mole hill to mountain in a hurry...I am scanning old photos and slides in order to share childhood photos with the rest of my siblings. In all my digging, I have uncovered the fact that we fell off the fashion tree and hit every branch on the way down when it came to pants. I submit the following as evidence:The extra bad news is that these were hand-me-downs...so not only did one sibling look ridiculous, the ridiculousness passed on down the line like the chicken pox. The good news is we were too clueless to know the difference.

My Life as a Zookeeper

I don't know when I became the activities director for the household but trying to keep two ADHD squirrels occupied this summer is going to drive me to drink! My day goes like this:

Shortly after breakfast, Elisabeth announces she is going to jump on the trampoline and wants Kate to go with her. Kate whines that she does not want to go. Elisabeth whines that she has no one to play with. I tell both of them to get their hind parts out to the trampoline and jump until they are out of breath. They go racing across the morning dew grass, jump for two minutes, then come trailing grass into the house announcing that they are bored.

I tell them to go play in the sandbox. They get all the sand toys out of the garage. They dump sand over the side and then decide to take buckets of water from the pool to the sandbox and turn it into a swamp. They are now covered from head to toe in sandy mud including mounds of sand in their hair. They come trailing in two minutes later declaring they are bored. They forget to take the sand toys out and the two hounds have buckets and shovels lodged in their jaws and are chewing like mad. Never let it be said that the hounds miss an opportunity to feed their oral fixation.

I tell the girls to go play downstairs. Elisabeth puts on her favorite pink princess dress. Kate puts on her pink leotard. They escape out the walkout basement and are in the pool. I tell them to get out of the pool but they whine that they want to go swimming. I tell them they need swimming suits. They come in, trailing water and wet grass and tear apart their swim drawer. They need help getting their suits on, I put their swim caps on, find their goggles, locate their swim toys, and spray them head to toe with sunscreen. They gleefully frolic in the pool for two minutes, then a ruckus ensues when Elisabeth dumps water on Kate, who could win an Academy Award for Best Actress in a Dramatic Screen Play with her alligator tears and wailing. They both come busting into the house, Elisabeth justifying why Kate is crying, Kate wailing at the top of her lungs. They tell me they are done swimming.

It's now 9:05 AM and I am ready to go back to bed. They are constantly "bored" despite having sidewalk chalk, a pool, a sandbox, a trampoline, roller skates, jump ropes, bikes, DVDs, books, Barbies, dress up clothes, an arts and crafts table, puzzles...need I go on?

So much for lazy summer days. I drew up a schedule for them today and told them I am running this like a school...only MUCH longer recesses in which (God help me) if they tell me they are bored, they will be pulling weeds by the driveway. We made up a list of "fun things to do" and they are to consult that if they need ideas. Somehow I grew up on a farm with no TV and yet, I don't ever remember whining to my mom all day that I had nothing to do. I had to can and freeze every fruit and vegetable known to mankind and walk beans and mow the lawn. I tell my hard luck stories to the girls but they fall on deaf ears (sigh).

I will be so happy to see that big yellow bus lumbering to the end of our driveway, I may just plant a big one right on Marvin the Bus Driver's kisser. He'll probably skip my stop from then on but oh well.