We are all placed in a position where we have to make a choice.  We weigh the pros and cons, the possible outcomes, whether or not we should do something.  When it’s something small we take it in stride and if it turns out bad, we mark it up to a learning experience and move on.  Then there are the bigger ones.
Those are different.  We will roll them around in our minds for a lot longer and even after we finally decide on what action we will take, if any, we will second guess our decision.  Yes, I have had to make several such decisions recently.  It will take a few days if not weeks to know if I did the right thing with any of them.  What they are isn’t important here, just the fact that I made these choices on some things that could have repercussions down the road.
Now I have to wait to see what happens.  It’s not just a matter of deciding to do something but also not doing something.  Either way, you will be asking yourself if you shouldn’t/should have done something.  When you’re faced with anything like that it can eat at you.
Here’s the thing.  Whatever you decide to do most of the time you can’t undo it.  You’re going to have to accept what you did either way you go.  Just remember, learn from what happens but also don’t let it keep you from making the same choice should you be faced with something similar in the future.  Also remember, regardless of how great or bad your choice turns out to be, it doesn’t mean the next one will turn out the same way.
Always take the time to think things out and weigh the options.  I seem to have been hit with several situations over the past few months that have required me to make hard choices.  Also remember that little voice inside your head doesn’t always know what it’s talking about.

I went to the gym today.  For most of you that’s not any big deal but the last time I was at a gym Dwight D. Eisenhower was still president.  OK, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but you get my drift.  It’s been a while.
My daughter called me this morning and told me I was going, and she was picking me up.  Evidently, I didn’t have a choice in this.  To be honest I had been considering joining one anyway, but today hadn’t been the day I had planned to stick my toe in to that little puddle.  Walking through the door I realized this wasn’t just some little body of water, but I had been dropped in the middle of an ocean and told to sink or swim.  After an hour of intense bodily torture my daughter took pity on me and we left.
Understand something here, for a lady of my advanced years and lack of serious exercise I rocked it.  I even managed to surprise my daughter.  She’s an excellent trainer by the way.  We did start out by what I’m assuming she considered baby steps.  Bikes, rowing machines, things you push together with your legs, things you push apart with your legs, things you push out on with your arms, some crazy contraption you just kick out behind you, and a rope that never ends.  At this point you would think I would have had enough.  No.  Then came the stretches.  Yeah right.  When you get to be my age your legs will only separate so far and then they’re done.  I think I may have dislocated a hip joint.
I did find out I can still pull one leg up to my chest and lay face down on the floor with the other leg stretched out behind me without too much pain.  Hey, I consider that a win on my part.
Gina has warned me that I will be sore as crap tomorrow and I have her permission to call her and say F. You.  Believe me if I feel the need to do that, I won’t just be using the letter F.
The question is, will I go back?  You bet your sweet patootie.  I had a ball, pain and all.  That is how I feel right now but I’m told I may have another opinion regarding that tomorrow.  Oh well, I’m going back.  I may take up body building.  If I’m going to have lumps at my age they might as well be little balls of muscle and not flapping folds of sagging skin.

No, I haven’t taken it up but consider the latest picture.  It’s a good thing I haven’t decided that is my new calling.  Take a good look at the pole.  It’s square.  Leave it to me.  I’m the only person I know who would grab a square pole.  Get your mind out of the gutter William.
I mean there are all kinds of round poles in Memphis, but I grab a square one.  A square one.  I not only grabbed a square one, but what on earth possessed me to take up a pose that looks like I’m about to break out in a dance.  And in those boots too.
I can just see it now.  I go to wrap a leg around that damn thing to start a routine and I end up on my ass posthaste.  No pun intended there.  Not only that, I’m in all white or some variation of that light color.  The ground around that location is still damp from all the rain we’ve had lately and if I had been lucky enough to land on the ground, I would have gotten up looking like I had messed in my britches.  Like I said that was if I was lucky enough to land there.
If I had managed to hit the concrete, I’m sure I would have broken my tail bone at the very least.  Have you ever broken your tailbone?  I have.  It hurts like hell and to do it twice…I don’t want to even think about it.
So, note to self.  The next time I decide to rock an outfit remember to choose my location with a little more common sense.  Hey snow may be coming our way.  The only thing I would have to worry about there is a wet ass, I hope.

So what is a non email, email?  Just this.

Honestly this isn’t a social issue, at least I don’t think it is.  Then again, maybe it is.
I don’t know how many of you may have read the lovely little grim short story ‘The Steadfast Tin Soldier’ but if you have you know what I’m talking about when I say grim.  It is tragic, sad, and I have to say gruesome.  Yes gruesome.  If you haven’t read it look it up and take the time to please read it.
This story was handed, in a shortened, although not to watered down, version to a group of second graders to read.  First that something this complicated was handed to a bunch of small children to read was surprising to me.  I don’t know about you, but the story isn’t something I would expect a second grader to be able to easily read.  You add to this the fact that such a grim story was handed to a bunch of second graders blows my mind.
In the story you have a self-aware little toy soldier as well as a self-aware little ballet dancer who ultimately end up burning up in a fire.  What the hell folks.  The people I’ve talked to have found this a horrible thing to hand a small child.  My husband is holding on to the fact that at least the children have no idea about what the story is saying, yes, he is one of the ones upset over it, but I say a lot of them do.
I know one of these children does have some idea of what the story is saying, she was burned as a child when she crawled across a floor heater and she remembers it.  She also has a parent who is a first responder.  She is also a very empathetic individual.  I guarantee she had some idea of what the story was saying.  These two self-aware toys ended in the fireplace being burned to ashes.  What the hell?
What the teacher doesn’t know is that one of the students in her class has a parent who is really close with someone you don’t want to make mad when it comes to teaching because of what this person does.  I’ll just say she is much higher on the food chain when it comes to education and she is pissed.  Yes, she is going to pursue this.
Pay attention to what your children are being taught and that means being aware of what they are being handed as homework assignments.  Our children are traumatized enough with just day to day life and the last thing they need is some teacher handing something to them that could cause them to have nightmares and or ending up making them hate to read.  Mutilation, pain, and the total destruction in such a story isn’t something I would have handed one of my daughters at that age.  I know things have changed over the years, but God help us if it has changed that much.
You want to hand them something that helps them understand people being handicapped, heroic, with different family grounds, or ethnic differences, great.  I’m all for it.  Handing them a story of something being viciously destroyed because of handicapped isn’t what I would consider appropriate for second grade students.

I’m a very small dot in the population maps of this country.  Depending on the size of the map I won’t even show up.  Well, let’s face it, I probably won’t show up on any map because I doubt that they even make one big enough for every person in this country to appear, even as a small dot.
I’m not a philosopher.  I do not hold a doctorate in politics, religion, or social development.  I’m not a wise old sage with all the answers to the universe.  I’m just a people no different than any other single people.  Yes, I know the correct word would be person, but I don’t want to use it here so deal with it, who is a little smarter than some and a little dumber than others.
I will on occasion express an opinion on something but that is rare and when I do, I’m smart enough to know that it means exactly squat.  As a rule, I do try to stay away from anything that involves any of the for mentioned subjects.
The reason why I do this is simple.  What the hell do I know?  Yes, I do have an idea of what is going on in most of these subjects but not enough to think that what I say can and will make a difference.  I get real tickled when you have well known people, such as actors, who seem to think they do have these answers and get up there in front of a camera and express their opinions and then I’m appalled when what might be normally intelligent people think they should follow these high profile individuals like they are the profits of some all knowing deity and they need to heed the calling.
Why?  Why is it that someone who has money and has a face or body that is well known to most people is considered to be a leader?
It’s true, I don’t have a lot of money nor is my face, and at this stage in life I sincerely hope my body, are not well known.  I write.  That’s it, I write.  I’m not a well-known writer, I wouldn’t mind it if I were, I think, but that’s it.  I write what I hope, and been told, are scary stories and I’m told they are good.  This does not mean I have any answers to anything.
Yes, I do have an opinion on all these things, but they are mine.  Here’s the thing.  I’m smart enough to know that no matter which side I lean toward, any personally opinion, my stand on any issue is going to be in opposition to about half the people in this country, even the world.  If I want to sell my books why then would I want to alienate half the population?  Does this mean I won’t stand up for what I believe in?  You bet your sweet ass.  I’m just not going to do that on social media and believe me sometimes that’s hard   All that is going to result in someone coming back and saying something stupid, and they would, and allow them to piss me off.  I see enough post on different social media sites to prove that point.
The nice thing about standing up for what you believe in, when you do it in person in a crowd, as an unknown individual you have a louder voice and that voice has more meaning than the lone individual.  You are heard in unison with all the other voices and there is power in that, that has a meaning that goes beyond, because you were a major box office draw last week or on someone’s bestselling list.
Then you have the person sitting alone in their houses posting their opinions as if they are the wisest of them all.  Seriously?  You’re ever bit as small a dot as me and you think what you say sitting there in front of that little machine with access to the whole world, supposedly, through the internet and people are going to think you know more than all the rest of us.  Get your head out of your ass, you don’t.  What you usually do is open a caustic dialogue with you and one or more people going back and forth in a negative narrative.  You end up with everyone involved angry and driving a bigger wedge between a bunch of people who don’t know one from the other.  All you’ve accomplished is to make the gap between the two sides even bigger.  When all is said and done, each person will go on their separate ways and your little post is forgotten.  You are forgotten.  That’s really sad because you might have made a friend that would have stood beside you no matter what you believed in.  Oh well.
So now you know why I stay away from those subjects.  I much rather build a friendship than start a mini war over a stupid post.

I know most women, and a few men too, know where a variation of that comment came from.  I have to admit that the first time I heard it I thought it was stupid but what do I know.
Me, I want to be in a corner.  I like the feeling of security that it gives me.  I especially like it if I’m dining out.  I feel like I have a bit more privacy and I’m not getting hammered with as much noise.  I never ever want to be sitting in the middle of a restaurant if I can avoid it.  If I can’t get a corner at least give me something against a wall.  You would have to really know me to know why I feel this way.  No, it’s not some psychosis or anything that simple.  I simply hate a certain something that I won’t get into.
So, what is this about?  A wooden deck.  Yes, you read that right.  In our back yard we have this huge concrete patio and that’s great I guess, but it runs from the back of the house to a third of the way into the yard.  Another words, it’s out in the middle of things pretty much.  I don’t feel like I have any privacy.
I got this idea to ask my husband to build me a deck.  There is a space at the back of our house that forms this L-shaped little corner that I thought would be a great place for it.  I wanted a rail around it with balusters and a little gate so that when I’m out there and our dog is out as well, I could sit out there without our dog in my lap.  Sorry animal lovers but I don’t feel the need to have constant contact with my four-legged friend.  Also, there will be times when I simply want to work out there.  Laptops and animals don’t often do well together if you’re trying to get some serious work done.
Anyway, hubby being hubby said yes and got right on it.  Great.  Well I thought it was.  Right now, I’m concerned that I may end up with something that rivals the Sistine Chapel.  That’s an exaggeration of course but still, what he is talking about doing is a far cry from a little deck with a railing.  The whole point in this was to be able to be outside in a little corner and be reasonable comfortable, weather conditions all taken into consideration, and have a cup of coffee in the morning and or do a little work.
Buddy told me that he was going to extend the roof down to cover the deck.  That’s when I came up with the idea of maybe putting screen around it but that’s when I found out that things were going in a whole different direction.  Buddy started talking about closing it in with windows and walls.  What?  The point is to be outside not build another room to hang out in.  Regardless, he has had me out looking at windows and such and I’m still telling him I just wanted a deck.
I get it, I really do.  He loves me and wants me to be comfortable and I do appreciate it, but I don’t want a damn sunroom.  Hell, I’ll forgo the screen even.
I love being outside but that means outside.  For some reason I love it when the wind is blowing and the idea of having some place I can sit out when it’s raining and can stay dry makes me happy.  With a small front porch and an uncovered concrete patio that’s not something I can do right now, but I don’t need a glass room.
I know most of you are sitting there thinking that I’m am one ungrateful bitch.  No, I’m not.  This is the type of thing that makes me love this man so much.  He can do things that get on my last nerve but when all is said and done, he is one of the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful men I ever met.  I also know that not putting a stop to this means he will work himself into exhaustion trying to give me what he wants me to have.
I feel like I managed to put a stop to the craziness however without hurting his feelings.  One of the walls that will border that deck is to a small spare bedroom.  I told him that we could turn that into a sunroom, and he can then cut a doorway from that spare room to the sunroom and we can run ductwork for the heating and air.  I can then turn that little bedroom into my new office, and we could start work building built in bookshelves and build a desk in there to suite me.  He got really quiet really quick.
Finally, he responded.  “Maybe we need to think about this a little more.”
Yeah, it was a little manipulative on my part, but come one.  I think I’ll end up with what I asked for with a few minor upgrades, namely the railing and roof and he will stop there.  He doesn’t need to be spending the time worrying about making this perfect for me when I know he already does so much.  So, to my dear sweet hubby, thank you but let’s stick to keeping this simple and I’ll be happy.
Remember, I’m going to be in my much-loved corner with brick walls on two sides of me with a roof over my head.  I’ll be out of the direct sun, protected from the rain, no doggy to disrupt my thinking, wet or dry, what more can I possibly ask for or need.  Hopefully my husband will continue to be happy and not working himself into a tizzy trying to make me a small luxury sunroom.  Who knows, once he finishes it, I may even let him sit out there with me.

nnn    Women have been slighted in any genre other than romance and children’s books for far too long.  Even now we seldom get any recognition until we sell so many books we can’t be ignored and only for that one author.  Women are so accepting of this we hide behind our initials in hopes that someone will pick up our books and read them.  Why?  Because as women we know that our chances of being read improves if the person buying a book doesn’t see an obviously female moniker on it.
There’s a video making it’s rounds on facebook regarding books for little girls.  I know that the people who published this video are trying to sell their book and I applaud their efforts but not quite factual in their representation I don’t feel.  But again, I salute their effort and what they are trying to do.
What we don’t have are enough books written by women in all genres of writing.  How many of you will pick up a science fiction book written by a woman?  How about a thriller?  A true crime novel may not put you off if it is written by a woman but how about a fictional crime novel?  And of course, my favorite, horror?  You are far more likely to pick up a book with a man’s name on it or just the first and or second initials than you are one with a woman’s name spelled out across the cover.  Don’t believe me, pay attention to which books you’re drawn to the next time you’re shopping for a book.  The cover may grab you, but I’d be willing to bet you don’t take the time to turn it over or open the cover, to read what the book is about.  Chances are you’ll stick it right back on the shelf.  I’ve seen it myself.  Hell, I’ve done it myself.
So, if you’re reading this, the following two excerpts of two different books I want you to think about which was written by a man or a woman.  Actually, they could both be written by a man or both by a woman.

And the first entry is:

‘Again, he thought he heard his name being called but there was no one there.  His name came again and this time the sound was louder, yet it had a softer tone to it.  When he heard it the fourth time, he was drawn to it.  Slowly he began to move in the direction he thought the sound was coming from.  The soft sweet voice continued to call to him drawing him ever closer.  He now could see the little dancing lights ahead of him.  He thought they looked like brilliant little stars dancing in the wind.
Marcus was unaware when his foot stepped into the beginning edge of the lake.  His mind didn’t register when the water level reached his knees.  He continued to march steadily forward edging toward what he suddenly thought was paradise.  If he could make it to that wonderful voice all his troubles would be over.
By the time the water was up to his chin Marcus was so withdrawn from his surroundings that anyone seeing him would have sworn that the man was out of his mind.  They would never have known what to think when he suddenly stiffened and then screamed as something under the water reached around his legs and pulled him under the surface.  For a couple of minutes, you could have followed the bubbles along the surface as the air left his lungs and filled with liquid.  Actually, it wasn’t drowning that finished Marcus but the long deep gash that was torn down his middle.  His intestines floated out from his body and rippled out behind him like the streamers at the end of a child’s kite as he was drug deeper into the depths of the lake.’

Now the second entry, I have to admit I shortened one word in it, I felt as a woman, some people might find it offensive.  On this one I really leave you hanging because it only goes downhill from there for this poor Walter guy.

‘January 3, 1898
Walter was awakened by the sound of the door to his cabin being smashed in.  At first, he thought that maybe a bear had crashed through it but the angry male voices that accompanied the deafening sound of his cabin being torn apart put that thought out of his head.  Before he could get completely out of his bed, they were on him pulling him from it along with a tattered old quilt he was now entangled in.  They tied his hands together and then taking him by the legs and ankles drug him out of the tiny alcove he used as a sleeping area and then through the rundown living space of the small cabin he called home.
He was hauled out the door through the carnage that had been the man’s humble home into the freezing night air leaving a deep rut in the thick layer of snow that had been falling all day.  His only garment, his long johns, did nothing to protect him from the bitter cold as the heat from his body melted the frozen mixture as he was drug through the ice and snow.  He didn’t even struggle against his captures because his brain still hadn’t caught up to the fact his life was truly in danger.  He kept thinking that this was some kind of horrible joke or maybe even a mistake.
He recognized the man who was leading this insane attack.  It was Jacob Smyth and he kept yelling something about Walter having killed his Becky Lynn.  Becky Lynn dead?  No, that wasn’t possible.  He had just seen her not long ago when he had passed her and Jacob’s cabin earlier this afternoon.  This had to be a joke.
“Jacob what are you talking about?  What do you mean Becky Lynn is dead?”  The snow now coated the worn cotton material that covered his body like another suit of clothing because the melting snow had begun to freeze to the long johns as his body temperature had started to drop.  The consequential condition of his long johns helped to intensify the mind-numbing cold that was beginning to penetrate into his bones.  His mind tried to rationalize what was happening to him still wanting to believe this was a bad joke these bungle heads were playing on him or a bad dream that he would soon awaken from.
“Shut your fucking hole you murdering bastard.”  Jacob turned and spat on him.
That was when Walter understood for the first time this was no joke.  He began to struggle and struggle hard then.  His cries of outrage only serving to agitate the four men hauling him through the cold dark night.  It was taking all four of them, two on each leg, to keep their prisoner from kicking free.  Walter kept fighting not only his captures but the freezing wind that was sapping his strength more than the struggle with his crazed assailants.  Somewhere off in the distance he heard the eerie sound of an owl making a screeching sound in the trees.  He didn’t remember it ever sounding so loud before.  The shrill call of that night bird seemed to pierce his eardrums and added to his misery.
By the time Walter had been drug for over a mile the cold was beginning to get to him and parts of his body were beginning to succumb to the abuse his body was taking from both the men and the cold.  Even the thick blanket of snow didn’t protect him from all the broken tree branches and jagged rocks that lay below the surface of the wintery mix.  At times his body would get caught or wedged into one of these objects and Walter’s abusers would jerk on his lower limbs until he was free.  He had fought every inch of the way and now he was starting to feel the energy leave his body and lethargy was setting in.
“Come on you jackasses it will be here soon, and I don’t want him to die or pass out before it gets here.”  The rage flowing through Jacob only served to give him more determination to continue with his murderous journey.
“Is Becky Lynn really dead?”  Walter asked, his voice weak from the abuse to his body and bone chilling cold.  The heavily falling snow that threatened to cover his face got sucked inside him every time he took a breath.
Jacob didn’t bother to answer.  Yes, Becky Lynn was dead, but Walter hadn’t done it, he had.  Jacob worked on the train and he was gone often days at a time on a run.  When he got back into town this afternoon someone had told him that this “MF” was sticking it to his wife every time he was out of town.’

Yes, I have permission to use both.  What's sad, the vast majority of the people who read this will not leave a comment.

When you go to a steak place you generally order a steak.  On rare occasions I will order chicken, salmon more often, even at times simply a salad, but usually a steak.  This evening was no different.  I ordered a steak.  That is where this story takes a turn for the worst.
One thing I hate is fried steak, well from all but one place that is.  Outside of this one place I honestly do hate country fried steak.  I’m such a nut case that I will go into a restaurant and order a country fried steak to see if my past observations have been correct and they always are.  I never ordered country fried steak at a steak restaurant, until this evening.
Oh dear God in Heaven, why did I do that?  Of all the bad country fried steaks I’ve had this one was the worst by far.  Please understand that this restaurant is someplace I’ve been to often and the food as a rule is good.  Not a five star by no means but it pushes well into the upper side of three.  So, I figured what the hell.
My first indication that this was a bad idea was when the waitress put it down in front of me and then asked, ‘this is what you ordered right?’
I was assuming at the time was my slight note of surprise when she placed it in front of me.  Now I wonder if it wasn’t more to do with the fact that she knew this was a bad idea.  First it was the size of a boogieboard, hell the damn thing was shaped like a boogieboard for that matter.  The second thing I noticed what the fried coating on it.  It resembled one of those tannish yellow brown shingles that some people put on top of their houses.  The tiny drop of white pepper gravy, as they call it, also didn’t bode well for my dining experience.  That I couldn’t get through half of it shouldn’t be surprising due to the size alone.  Hell, that thing would have filled the jolly green giant if he could have gotten past the shear distaste of the damn thing.   The roof, wait didn’t I mention shingles, of my mouth and my tongue feel like I’ve chowed down on sandpaper and it extends back to my throat.  I’m wondering now if I’ll be able to swallow anything at all tomorrow.
So, to sum it up, I had a boogieboard size and shaped shingle with extremely heavy-duty shingle, with whatever they put on those things that look like tiny little pebbles, of a less than appealing color, with a drop of something called white pepper gravy.  I think this has terminated my fixation on ever ordering one of those culinary torture devices again, except at tat one restaurant.  I have learned my lesson.  If you can’t get a good country fried steak at a steak house, then it’s a safe bet that I have discovered the only place on this earth to get one of those gut-wrenching main courses where it is not only eatable but quite tasty.  I will pursue this quest no longer.

Why the hell am I up at three thirty in the morning?  I could try to explain that but it would just be too embarrassing.  No, I didn’t wet myself or anything else of that type.  I will tell you that again, thanks to a small person or two, I’m sick and woke up after my fever broke.  OK, you wake up feeling like you’ve just been in a wet t-shirt contest and you get the idea.
Now before anybody out there gets the idea that’s something they would like to have seen, you don’t.  Remember I’m old.  A wet t-shirt on me is like you spreading a wet flour sack over a big bag of potatoes and if you think that might be a lovely sight then kudos to you.
Once awake you find yourself so stopped up and miserable that the idea of going back to bed it just too much to deal with.  I think I’m going to start taking a page out a certain part of the world’s population and start wearing face mask every time I go out.   I’m going to have to replace the hand sanitizer I carried in my purse because I gave my last one to someone I thought needed it more than I did at the time.  Boy was I wrong on that one.  Kick me for not replacing it when I should have.  So here I am now at 3:43 in the morning, not getting any sleep, a box of tissues close by, giving a whole to meaning to the term mouth breather, and feeling like crap.  Go Me.
No one should be drinking coffee this time of the morning, unless their headed to work really early, but here I am.  Maybe I should have put something a little stronger than just the coffee in it. 
Right now I’m wondering how much sanitizing can my new laptop take before it says screw you and jumps ship.  It certainly didn’t sign on for this.
I like everyone else hates being sick.  It sucks.  I have to applaud all those grandparents who can’t seem to get enough of their lovely grandchildren when, for me it seems like sometimes I get too much.  I don’t remember it being like this when I was just a parent.  Maybe because I so too busy taking care o a sick child I didn’t have time to get sick too often.  Boy, that present a serious conundrum.  Do I prefer to take care of one and not get sick or not take care of one and ending up sick as a dog?  Neither at my age sounds like a great option.
Seriously though, I’ve had to go and take care of one of my daughters while she was sick a couple of times in the past two years and I never even got the sniffles.  If you think of caring for a small child who is sick is a job, try taking care of a grown one.  They get mean and because they are sick thinks it’s OK.  I mean what is the parent going to do, spank them?  I was tempted a couple of times.  I didn’t, but I was tempted.
Looking back on it maybe it isn’t such a hard choice after all.  I actually got to spend time with her and she had to be a captive audience, mean or not.  Thinking back on it, it wasn’t so bad.  Somehow it made me feel young again, go figure, and like a mom in a way I don’t get to do much anymore.  I guess we never stop being a parent.
Anyway, I think I’m going to take my pity pot and try to lay back down.  I probably won’t, but I’m going to try.  Now I have an old series on TV, really old, and I may end up watching a few episodes of that.  If you’re interested the old series is Dark Shadows.  Most of you will only be familiar with the movie with Johnny Depp in it.  It didn’t even come close to the series I’m talking about the one from 1966, so yes, I’m old.