1) It’s a good thing that my dad and his buddies (as well as most people I know) don’t watch MSNBC.

2) Andrea probably best keep her bony ass out of the Bristol Mall.

Sheesh. Some people marry a Fed Chairman and think they own the world.

(Okay, three thoughts came to mind.)

Hat Tip to Short Like Yoda!

43 years ago today, a baby boy was born in a Chicago area hospital. It was a very tough beginning for this child. Born addicted to drugs to a Mother who could not properly care for him and soon decided that she could not keep him.

43 years ago a child was born and God knew him and loved him and watched over him and protected him until he was delivered into a proper home and loving family. He was raised up by God fearing parents who believed in tough love and stood beside him, and prayed for him and showed him unconditional love. No matter where this child went, he always knew that God was with him, that his parents were praying for him and that he had a home.  (Reprinted without permission but with only the best intentions….)

Happy Birthday, my much beloved Kilo.  May you have many, many more….each more spectacular than the last!

Normally, I don’t endorse or support any candidate for the presidency. Namely, because my endorsement is the “kiss of death” to a candidacy (as well as to mutual funds). The last time “my guy” won the White House was 1984 and Ronald Reagan was the incumbent. Even my support couldn’t keep him down.

This year, I’ve quietly been pulling for Fred Dalton Thompson. Two reasons:

1. He entered the race later than the other candidates so there hasn’t been as much time for “the dirt” to come out but primarily because

2. He’s a Dalton. I’m a Dalton. Daltons are good people. Chances are, Fred and I are related because Daltons love to marry other Daltons. My grandfather and Judge Ted Dalton became aware of this when they first met and started tracing their ancestry to see if they were related. Genealogy wasn’t as popular back then and they didn’t have the internet to guide them. Once they realized that Daltons do indeed like to marry other Daltons, they decided to claim each other as kin. That concept has pretty much continued through to the present. If you’re a Dalton, we’ll claim you. And if you’re a Dalton that wants to be president, we’ll support you.

So why, despite our bloodlines, have I decided he won’t get my vote? I’ll gladly tell you - and it’s not pretty. The man dropped me as a friend on facebook. That’s right. Blood is obviously NOT thicker than water when you want to be president. What was my crime? I invited him (Dalton to Dalton) to join the Vote Ham Sandwich for PWC Commonwealth Attorney group. And he dropped me - just like that.

Fred’s obviously fickle and can’t be trusted. One day he’ll say Ahmadinejad looks tacky. The next day you’ll see them suit shopping together at Barneys.

If Fred doesn’t have the courage and conviction to back Ham Sandwich (who has the toughest stance on crime I’ve ever seen** - one I agree with COMPLETELY) then I don’t have the patience to back Fred. I may vote for Ham as a write-in candidate.

Your vote is yours to do with what you will. But remember: Fred dropped me like a bad habit. He’ll drop you, too.

**Ham Sandwich on Criminals:

* Criminals belong in jail.
* Only people who actually are criminals should be in jail.
* If you’re not a criminal, you should not be in jail.
* If you are a criminal, we should put you in jail.
* Jail is only for criminals.
* If there are criminals who are not in jail, we should find out who and where they are and put them in jail.
* Jail is good, but only for criminals.
* Criminals are bad. They belong in jail.
* Felons belong in jail, too.

Next Monday, April 16th, the Missoula Children’s Theatre rolls into Martinsville.  For those not familiar with MCT, it is a non-profit organization based in Missoula, Montana that travels around the country giving children an  opportunity to perform in plays.  Auditions are open for all students in the Martinsville/Henry County area, kindergarten age through the 12th grade.  About fifty-five kids are chosen.

It’s a very fast-paced week for those who earn parts!  Auditions are held on Monday with the first practice held afterward.  The actors rehearse every day, 4:00 - 8:30 (with small dinner break) Tuesday through Friday, and then two “Grand Performances” are held on Saturday.

Last year, my kids were cast in The Jungle Book.  Chad was appropriately Hathi, the frantic little elephant in desperate need of a Xanax and Bug, of course, was a monkey.  It was amazing to see the shows on Saturday, complete with elaborate settings and costumes but most of all, to see how the children absorbed their lines and cues.  Very, very impressive when you stop to consider the fact that all of this magic rolls out of a little Toyota truck with two MCT members at the helm and constructed in less than a week!

The Martinsville/Missoula performance is made possible by the Charity League of Martinsville & Henry County.  If you are fortunate enough to have the Missoula Children’s Theatre roll into your town, please support it.  See a show, you’ll be glad you did!

For more information about the Charity League or the Missoula Children’s Theatre, please visit their websites.

Like Rick Sincere, I fell behind on reading blogs while enjoying my Spring Break. I did browse through BlogNetNews on a couple of occasions, though, and I could’ve sworn I was looking at Gurney’s seed catalog!

I’ve never seen so many daffodils and cherry blossoms in my life! Call this news? My big fat granny. It’s just a silly waste of space by bloggers with nothing to blog about.

But then I came home and . . .

Have you ever seen such beautiful Bradford Pear trees? I didn’t think so! Ha!

Now (and this part is newsworthy) if you know much about Bradford Pear trees, you know that while being breathtakingly beautiful when in bloom, they are also fragile and often succumb to ice storms and high wind. Because of this, seldom will you see one that reaches the height and age of this beauty:

To give you an idea of how tall this tree is, that’s a Southern One-Pounder (works like a charm keeping golfers and Yankees out of my backyard) which stands about three feet high.

Ahh. Spring is here and there’s no prettier place to enjoy it than right here in the commonwealth. Now go get the lawnmower ready . . .

Eighty-four years ago today, Fannie Virginia Wimmer was born in Pigeon Creek, West Virginia. Almost the youngest daughter in a family of eleven children, she was known as being shy with a meak voice, thus being dubbed, “Peeps.”

Fannie grew up in Pigeon Creek with her large band of siblings, including three sisters to whom she was particularly bonded. It was on Pigeon Creek that she met and married her husband, a man who had only achieved a sixth-grade education. While your eyebrows may be arched at this, it wasn’t uncommon back then. Children often had to miss school to help their families put food on the table and would fall behind. As he once told me, “I was fifteen and still in the sixth-grade. It was time to leave and I could make good money working in the saw mill.”

Fannie and her husband soon welcomed a daughter and a son to their family. Fannie’s third baby, a little boy, was born with an abnormal Rh factor. He could be saved with our modern medicines today but back then, all Fannie could do was hold him while his little life slipped away from her. Instead of weakening her faith, it made her stronger. She was later blessed with another son, this one healthy as a horse!

Her children were aged eleven, seven and two when her husband walked out, leaving the family in a tiny three-room cinder block house with no indoor bathroom. She and her children saw little child support, few visits and even fewer birthday cards.

Going on welfare wasn’t an option and she would never do that, anyway. Even though there were times she worried that they might starve to death, her sisters stepped in to help. They didn’t have much but what they had was priceless - courage, determination, love and faith. Fannie’s strength and faith was once again being tested and once again, she would rise and conquer. She went to work in the cafeteria of the local school and became mother to hundreds instead of only three.

Fannie’s children grew up. Her oldest child has a doctorate degree, the middle child holds a master’s degree and the youngest has proven time and again that you don’t need fancy paper to be successful in life. Fannie, however, chose to get her fancy paper and she became an ordained Church of the Brethren minister. Now she was officially spreading the word of her Lord every Sunday in her little white church on the banks of Pigeon Creek (as well as at many times in between.)

When I first met Fannie, she was with her three sisters, affectionately known as Tham, Angum and Ebb. Being with them, I regretted having been an only child for the first time in my thirty years on earth. While they could and would (and usually did) disagree with one another, they would always be right there to defend and help each other.

I was fortunate to meet the sisters when I did, because a few short months later, Ebb, the fiestiest of the bunch, passed away. We all gathered at Fannie’s little white church to say goodbye and celebrate a remarkable life. Fannie grieved heavily but was comforted by her faith that Ebb had gone to be with God and that they would be reunited again someday.

When my first child was born, Fannie was an invaluable asset. While I often felt overwhelmed and underprepared for motherhood, her support and advice carried us through. When she held my baby son, she still recalled holding her baby son, the one that didn’t make it. Her voice would quiver from time to time but never falter. Just like her faith. Fannie was funny, too. Probably the best advice she gave me was to quit belly-aching and be thankful that I had indoor plumbing and disposable diapers. I needed that perspective.

My best times with Fannie have been these “quiet times” the ones where we are alone and she reflects on life and God.

Five weeks after the birth of my son, Fannie lost another sister, Tham. Once again we gathered in Pigeon Creek to pay tribute to a woman who had contributed so much to her family. It was a cold and blustery day, so, appropriately, my son wore his only hat to the funeral - a Pooh hat complete with little Pooh bear ears sticking out of the top. These little ears served as a source of laughter through our tears and his presence reminded us of the continuous cycle of life.

The death of two sisters, especially so close together, was very traumatic to Fannie. I’ve read studies that link trauma to Alzheimer’s disease and it makes perfect sense. I observed the early traces of this hideous disease as it saw an opportunity to seize Fannie. As it tightened its grip, it became apparent that this fiercely independent woman could no longer live alone. Now it was time for the three children whom she had nurtured to step up and care for her. And they did. Especially her daughter, Dawn.

While I’ve written previously about the special bond between mothers and sons, there is an equally strong yet different bond between mothers and daughters. Maybe it’s inherent in our biology as caretakers, but most often it is the daughters who serve as primary caretakers when roles are reversed. We see to it that our mothers and grandmothers are well accompanied as they enter into what Ronald Reagan best described as the sunset of their lives.

Sadly, it was time to break up housekeeping for Fannie in her little cinder block house, the one that had over time been remodeled and included an indoor bathroom. Her possessions were boxed and the little house later sold. Fannie went to live with Dawn, who, despite still rearing two of her five children while also working a full time job, was exemplary in providing for Fannie’s needs. Dawn made this difficult task look easy because she had the same courage, determination, love and faith of her mother and aunts.

Years later, as her Alzheimer’s progressed, Fannie’s children were faced with the heart-breaking realization that they could no longer provide the safest environment and Fannie went to live in an assisted living facility. By this time, Fannie often did not recognize us when we visited but if she was asked about her life, she would tell you that she still lived and preached back in Pigeon Creek. It was like God took the happiest slice of Fannie’s life and put her there, permanently.

Alzheimer’s disease, while cruel, is also stupid. While it delighted in its success at apparently stealing Fannie’s memories, it didn’t know that tons of her memories were stored safely in my garage. This is where I would now go for my cherished “quiet times” with her. Fannie’s three children blessed her with ten grandchildren. There were photos and newspaper clippings of Marcia dancing, football pictures of John, cheerleading pictures of Laura, certificates of various achievements earned by Chris, Juli’s hair ribbons, plays written and performed by Emily and Alex, as well as word puzzles she had worked with Cody.

Among the Christmas and Birthday and Mother’s Day and “Just because” cards, were Fannie’s sermons, old bank statements, canceled checks and her many little notepads. These little notepads could be textbooks for even the tightest of money managers. She budgeted every penny she earned each month so that her bills were paid, her church was tithed, presents were bought and there was always just a little bit left to set aside for a rainy day. Often, mingled in with her figures, was a Bible verse or two that had come to mind. I even found them scribbled on her old shopping lists. These archives bear witness to how she managed to do so much with so very little.

Yesterday, we all gathered in Fannie’s little church on the banks of Pigeon Creek to say goodbye to her. I pitied the young minister who had taken Fannie’s place at the pulpit, thinking he couldn’t possibly give a fitting eulogy for such an incredible woman. He fooled me and he did it with two words: God and Family. These two simple words defined Fannie’s entire life. Her faith in God and love of family enabled her to overcome the many obstacles and hardships she encountered.

There’s only one of the sisters left now, Angum. I’ve decided that Angum must be latin for angel that lives among us because if we truly do have angels living among us, she’s one (possibly the leader angel). Angum turned ninety-one years old on the same day that Fannie passed and was too frail to attend the funeral. Her daughter (yes, yet another strong woman in this family) told me that several years ago she asked her mother, “Mom, when you get older and your friends and family start passing away, do you want me to tell you?” Angum’s response was, “No, it would make me sad and besides, I’ll see them soon enough when I get to Heaven . . . the ones that make it to Heaven!”

It’s hard to say goodbye. Especially when what you really feel like saying is, “Way to go! What a great life you had!” I did feel like cheering when I realized at her funeral yesterday that Fannie hadn’t died, her body had just given out. Her courage, determination, love and faith is still here with us. Now I’ll see it every time the Bug wins another blue ribbon.

You worked hard for these and you deserve them . . . but you know what? I was just as proud of you when you won the sixth place ribbons. You threw them in the trash because they weren’t blue but I fished them out to put in my “little cherished memories box.” When I look at them now, I’m reminded of your determination and perseverence that led you to achieving your goal. Never lose that fire. (I know you won’t.)

Even though I’m “Big Mama” and your boss, I want you to know that I learn important lessons from you every day. You are an inspiration and I’m so very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very proud.

Congratulations, Bug. I love you.