UPDATED: So We Were Talking About Food . . . .

09 Aug 2012 7 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Home Improvement, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus Tags:

A quickie to get us started:  I babysat Pooh and Tigger this weekend.  I took them out to lunch Sunday after church.  Tigger had eaten her sandwich and was making her way through a bag of Cheetos when abruptly she’d had enough.  Halfway through a Cheeto she said, “I’m full” and threw the other half of the Cheeto back into the bag.  Who does that?  Who leaves half a Cheeto uneaten?  It was like Pee-tah was sitting right next to me and I almost cried, I miss him so badly. 

Anyway.

Remember me telling you about my garden I had a couple of summers ago?  I think it was three.  Yes, three summers ago.  I planted all kinds of things, some of which did well (those damn jalapenos) and some of which didn’t (I grew about 12 green beans from 6 green bean plants, total).   That garden was the result of a lot of hard work I did with a specific someone in my life.  We tilled and planted and weeded that garden together, at least for a while.  But then, like all good things, it came to an end and I was left to tend alone a giant planter full of vegetable plants, some of which produced actual fruit. 

Lord, how I cried over that stupid garden.  One day I got tired of crying over it, though, and I ripped every single plant out of the ground.  The Brussels sprouts, which had grown into tree-trunk like proportions were nearly the death of me but I wrestled them into submission finally and threw them, along with all the other plants, away.  What plants fit into my compost bin went there, and all the others went into the garbage can that someone kept stealing.  I honestly didn’t think about what went where until last summer when I realized that one of my tomato plants was actually thriving in the compost bin.  I saw all kinds of fruit budding but never really took the time to pick it, and so fed the birds for an entire summer.

Also, remember last year when someone stole my hose and I was all mad because I couldn’t water my lone lethargic and disgraceful tomato plant?  I barely got any tomatoes out of that plant which upset me a little bit.  I’d really like to think I have some of Madre in me but I reckon I don’t.  At least not when it comes to green thumbs.  This year, though, I got a new tomato plant, a roommate who is interested in growing things, and specific instructions from Madre on how to grow very good tomatoes.  You’d think I’d have done well yet would you lookit the stupid thing? 

 

Have you ever seen such a scraggly mess in your whole life?  I don’t get it.  I spend lots of time sweet talking into its leaves.  I prune it.  I give it water.  I bought extra special dirt that smells a lot like manure for it.  WHY? It’s been growing since May and this is all is has done.

Now would you lookit this? 

 

My tomato plant in the compost bin that is now three years old has produced all these tomatoes, more tomatoes than Kasi Starr and I can eat.  This crop is just from today!  What is going on here?  What is the lesson I am to learn?   That I should just leave stuff alone? That I should quit messing with all the stuff I want in my life and just let it happen?  I gotta tell you, I have trouble with that.  Control issues?  Yes, please, I’d like a double order. 

In other food related news, let’s revisit my spend-the-night-dance party with my nieces this past weekend.  I like to give Martie and Coach a date night every month.  We all get excited about it:  me, because I love those girls, those girls because I’m Cool Aunt Jimmie, and Martie and Coach because they get special married people time.  We exchanged the children from one vehicle to another and I asked with great expectations what Martie and Coach would be doing on their date night <eyebrow waggle>? 

Their reply:  “Going to Kroger!” 

I’m going to pause for a moment to let that really sink in before I ask this.  Is this what I have to look forward to if I really want to start dating again?  This right here?  A trip to a grocery store?  Is this what you kids do nowadays in the dating world?  Look here, man who is 6’5” with really nice teeth who can fix toilets and the like, I’m going to be ticked when you finally come along and ask me out on a date and we go to Kroger.  Unless it’s special. Is it special?  Ima let Martie and/or Coach and/or any other married person weigh in here and explain to me, in detail, why a trip to Kroger constitutes a good date.  I mean, I’ve had some doozies in my lifetime, sure, but I’m pretty sure a date to Kroger would have topped the list as “all time lamest date ever”. 

Perhaps I am missing something? 

UPDATE:  I forgot to include this and I really meant to because I laughed so hard! 

Email from Lynnette:  GAG! Plain Greek Yogurt is horrible! It is better for me, it is better for me, tell me!  GAGGG! 

Prescription For A Heartbreak

26 Jun 2012 5 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends, Imparting Wisdom Tags: ,

Is there anyone out there who has never had a heartbreak?  I doubt it.  I was the last one, I thought. The last man standing.  I never had any of that gut-wrenching pain happen to me.  Never in high school which is unusual as everyone knows that high schools are rife with mooney-eyed teenagers moping around over lost loves.  Never in college which is also unusual as everyone knows you are supposed to give your heart away to a poet wearing a beret and a very spindly goatee.  I escaped all that, even through a myriad of serious boyfriends and even through a five-year marriage. 

It wasn’t until I was 38 that I really got the full experience of having my heart ripped from my very chest and trampled into bits.  Doesn’t that sound dramatic?  It was.  I got shredded and it was awful and may I say I don’t recommend it.  Do that mess when you are 18 or 24 but don’t ever wait until your late 30s for your first (perhaps your only) heartbreak.  Having never built up any resistance for it, I was a raw open wound for far, far too long. 

I’m not writing this now to be morbid, though.  You know that, right?  That isn’t really my style.  No, I learned some lessons through all that, and I’m here to Impart Wisdom today.  I haven’t done that in a while.  I felt like it was time. 

The first thing you want to do when you get your heart squished is to call Martie.  You wail a lot into the phone.  I mean a lot.  And you listen to Martie when she tells you that you will feel better in two weeks.  When the two weeks are up and you don’t feel better, you call Martie back and wail a lot into the phone.  Listen to her when she tells you that you will feel better in two weeks.  When in two weeks you don’t feel better, you call Martie.  You get the picture.  Do this for a full year.  Eventually the space between those calls will get longer and longer and then perhaps in time you will only have one of those calls per year, possibly even less. 

After you get off the phone with Martie, you get on the phone with Woney. You wail a lot into the phone to Woney and say yes when she asks you if you want her to fly to Nashville. Pick her up at the airport and spend lots of time just being with someone who lets you cry and takes you to movies and to historic places you have never visited to help take your mind off things. 

You are only allowed one phone call to the ex during this time.  In that phone call, you tell him that he needs to come get his stuff out of your sight and out of your house.  Give him a timeframe, say 20 minutes or so, to arrive.  During that 20 minutes, you inform him, you will be dragging his stuff (including the boat he’s been working on in your garage) out into the street.  If he has not arrived by the time you have everything in the street, you inform him, you will soak it all in lighter fluid and set a match to it.  Mean it.  This will ensure a swift removal of all of your ex’s personal items from your home which is necessary for your healing. 

The next thing you want to do is listen to some Alicia Keyes.  You can do this for approximately one day, maybe two, but you need to do it.  This will enable you to really turn on the water works.  So much emotion packed into a four minute song.  You should lament the lost love through the entire song and then switch over to a different song to really get the anger in.  Alicia Keys is fantastic for both sides of the coin.  Then, after one day (perhaps two) realize that there is far too much emotion in a single Alicia Keys lyric and immediately put that CD into the glove box.  Leave it there for a year.  Do not touch it.

The logical next step is to order a Billy Idol CD from Amazon.  You really want the Greatest Hits album.  You listen to this CD on repeat at top volume for the next two to three months.  Be sure to sing along with it.  There’s not a lick of emotion whatsoever in those lyrics and eventually, you will find that you can’t help but dance to them.  He’s just that kind of guy.

This little tidbit is always helpful:  go to lunch with Bootsie, Lynnette and Kindle.  Go to a cheesy little Mexican place for chips and salsa and Diet Coke.  It will surprise you, given that you think happiness is such a foreign concept and a dream long past, but you will be gifted with a single hour of happy that you can cherish for the next few months. Those hours of peace and happy are few and far between in the beginning. Take them where you can get them.

Aside from the occasional Mexican joint with friends, do not drown your sorrows in food!  This is a time for absolute rigid control.  Your food intake and your exercise are the only things you can fully control during this time so take advantage of that.  When you feel pretty good about your body, go to Buckle and spend an exorbitant amount of money on a single pair of jeans that make your butt look awesome.  This step is crucial.  Everyone needs a pair of jeans like that. 

Do not even consider dating anyone for a very long time.  Makes lists of qualities that you want in the next dating partner but make them so strict that almost no one will meet the criteria.  That way you don’t have to make excuses for why it has been so long since you have dated. 

Finally, you wait.  Everyone likes to tell you that time is a great healer.  You will look at them in disbelief and scoff at them when you have the energy or take a break from the crying because you know that time will never heal this wound.  Spend a lot of time with yourself, though.  Try it.  You will learn amazing things about who you are, and you will know yourself better than you ever have.  Wait for a year.  And if that isn’t enough, wait some more. 

One last bit of advice, but probably the best one:  make new friends like Freddie, Kindle, Spike, Felix, Lorne (Ty), Roxanne, Jane and Quan. Cultivate existing friendships like Phranke, Lynnette, Woney, Billie, and Dammit Todd.  Use your Martie.  She’s your best friend.  Find other people to hang out with that encourage you to do things for yourself, to cry when you need to, and to put on your big-girl panties already and move on.  These people are incredibly important.  Your life, while empty of a romantic partner, will be full beyond measure and really, really nice.  The nicest of all. 

The anticipated end result is indifference.  Not love and not hate, but indifference.  One day, after enough time has passed and you have completed the full prescription dose, you will be on the Greenway running in the heat and panting like a bear when you will be hit with a realization that it’s over.  It’s really over and your heart beats just fine with all pieces intact.  You are indifferent and if you cared enough at all about it anymore, it would be the best feeling you’ve ever experienced.

But you don’t and so you just continue to run. 

Signed,

Dr. Jimmie

(Birthday) Wishes Do Come True

23 Jun 2012 3 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends Tags: ,

It’s been over two weeks since I celebrated the 19th anniversary of my 21st birthday.  It has taken us that long to stop celebrating.  I think I shocked everyone by not crying even a little on my birthday.  Freddie sent me a text that morning that said, “Happy Birthday, pretty lady!” and I responded with “Thanks! Forty is going to be a great year.”  She, understandably, responded with suspicion yet we were all pleasantly surprised that I meant it. 

Remember how I made my list of stuff I wanted from each of you and you all thought I was crazy and made fun of me?  I’m telling you, it worked!  I’m totally doing that again next year. 

Pictures are worth a thousand words, right?  Here’s just a sampling of my birthday goodies. 

Private eyes (clap, clap) they’re watching you . . . .

If you don’t recall why I needed it, go read this post for significance.

Do my friends know me or what?

If you don’t recall why I needed them, go read this post for significance.

Well, hello there Tony.

If you don’t recall why these are an amazing gift, go read this post for significance.  This here is a picture of Tony encased in a coaster.  This is way better than getting up at four in the morning to work out (see his abs).  Now I can simply take one of these to the gym with me, set my girlie cocktail on it, strap myself into the fat shaker machine, and have a peek at Tony and his abs every time I take a sip.  Perfect!

From Felix I got my hug (that man smells divine) and this, painted just for me:

I don’t need to tell you that I cried, right?  Isn’t it gorgeous?

From Jonquil, I got the best rainbow card of all time and a box of rainbow stuff that made my living room look like a unicorn threw up in it: 

There are exactly 40 links in that rainbow chain.

Pooh and Tigger confiscated these immediately.

Madre made me this, even though she didn’t have to:

We had to QC it before serving. That’s why that corner is missing.

After all this bounty, I am fully confident that you just need to put out there what you want in order to get it.  I was pretty sure of it before, but since this little experiment, I am certain.  See, I wanted Miguel to dance for me for seven minutes this year instead of the six minutes I asked for three years ago.  I felt we were good enough friends to take it to the next level, to step up our game.  But I forgot to write about it, and do you know what he got me for my birthday?  This:

!!!

Lesson learned people.  Do not leave men to their own devices. They will get it wrong every time.

A final gift, this one from Javier.  He promised me Wolverine sideburns.  I got them.  Ladies, this here, while originally meant for me, is now for you.  You’re welcome.  P.S. Tony, you now have a run for your money. 

You see how the sideburns really draw the eye? Yeah, me too . . .

MEOW!

 

P.P.S. Boss, you promised me a gift.  I am waiting, impatiently, with my foot tapping.  Send it already. 

P.P.P.S. Quan, we need to have a word about the cupcake situation. 

 

Birthday Wishes

17 May 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus, This Will Probably Get Me In Trouble Tags: ,

Perhaps this will come as a shock to you as I know I have never mentioned it here, but I’m having a birthday soon.  A doozy – the big four oh.  You’ll be proud.  I didn’t cry at all as I typed that.  I don’t plan on crying on the big day either but as I’m learning lately, my plans almost never turn out the way I planned them.  More to come on that but maybe not today.

I’ve heard rumors that 40 is a great place to be.  I’ve heard rumors that your 40s are the sexy years, and quite frankly, I could use some sexy in my life.  I’m looking forward to new chapters, to new maturity, to more wisdom, definitely to a better job.  And some sexy.  Woo!

I mentioned once that I had my first and only hangover at age 37.  I have no idea why I waited so long but after I experienced it, I wished I had waited 37 more years.  It was not a pleasant experience.  I recall trying to get out of bed and realizing instantly that upright was no place to be.  I recall crawling slowly from my bed to my bathroom and moaning the entire way while my friend laughed hysterically from the sofa where she was experiencing her own hangover.  I recall eyeballing my friends in disbelief when they told me that I really needed food, that food would make me feel better as would a Diet Coke.  I recall that they were indeed correct.  I recall going to the pool that afternoon and I recall that when Dammit Todd came over to join us, I was filled with shame and embarrassment, so much so that I could not even look at him.

See, the night before was my birthday.  And I had made demands of all my friends with which they complied.  Shut Up Marc had to dress as Wolverine.  Miguel had to dance for me for six minutes. April had to make me a jell-o shot birthday cake (with whipped cream).  Billiam had to bring me a store bought present wrapped in birthday paper.  Bootsie just had to attend.  Pee-tah had to be my wingman.  And Dammit Todd had to be my shirtless bartender.  I was really going for a cummerbund and bowtie look but I settled for baby oil, a Sharpie and a shirtless Dammit Todd.  When Dammit Todd came to the pool the next day, I had flashbacks of me rubbing the baby oil all over him the night before and writing MINE across his chest with the Sharpie, which incidentally did not come off in the shower.  I know because he took his shirt off at the pool, too.

HOWEVER, I have grown up now. I am no longer that person who wants those sorts of childish things for her birthday.  This year I’m more mature.  And I’m celebrating with a giant 80s party .   See, totally mature.  You all are invited but only if you come dressed for the part.  I want big hair and lots of black eyeliner.  I want some neon.  I want some jelly bracelets and shoes.  I want white lipstick and George Michael.  I want foofy prom dresses.  And for crying out loud, I want some Billy Idol. Dancing with Myself, woo!

Also, I’ve been working on a list of things I want from you people.  It follows:

Freddie – I’m gonna need a cake from you

Felix – your choice of either a hug (whilst you are wearing yummy cologne) or a painting (done just for me).  Also, I will take both.

Phranke – I get a whole day with you, preferably at a spa

Quan – you need to buy me a GiGi’s cupcake and NOT EAT IT before you give it to me

Martie – I’m gonna need a cake from you

Coach – please fix my broken toilet

Dammit Todd – you are a lucky, lucky man this year.  This year I only want to meet your girlfriend.  I say that because I do not believe she exists.  Why else would it take you so long to introduce us, your two favorite people?  If you do not produce such girlfriend, I require you to be my shirtless bartender, this time with bowtie and cummerbund and black eyeliner and Flock of Seagulls hair. 

Madre – you get a pass because you birthed me, although I will take a cake from you

Daddy-O – I really don’t want to tell you this but you need to get me a new pink pocket knife (story later)

JiJi – I’m gonna need a banana pudding from you

Daddy-O – (because I forgot earlier) a stir fry and some spaghetti (these are to be separate occasions)

Javier – Wolverine sideburns.  You had better already be growing them out. 

The Squirt – I need for you to write something for me

Kindle – lunch, just you and me and possibly Phranke

Lynnette – a pedicure day

Jane – a pedicure day

Woney – a training session or five with you and Tony

Jonquil – a card with a rainbow on it

Aunt Judy – I’m gonna need a cake from you, a red velvet one

I have one final request.  This request is for the anonymous person who read my entry about how I’m overly concerned with running out of toilet paper and sent me this, right to my front door: 

Hahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!  I love it.  Thank you very, very much.  Anonymous person and other assorted persons who have interest in my well-being, please know that I am inordinately concerned with running out of this now and am making a request for:

  • A man, of the Christian variety which means simply that his heart beats for God
  • This same man is 6’5” or so and has nice teeth
  • This man knows how to fix toilets and such
  • This man does not wear old lady cologne
  • This man does not live at home with his mother
  • This man does not sleep on NASCAR sheets
  • This man eschews excessive garlic, onions and coffee
  • This man prefers a woman with curves (see above: all the requests for cake)
  • This man has nice taste in shoes

I’m pretty sure I saw one of these on Amazon so if any of you are stuck with no ideas for a good birthday present for me, you can take that as a very subtle hint.  Just point, click and buy.  Free delivery is included for orders over fifty bucks. 

P.S. – Jonquil, seriously, thank you for the potty paper.  I truly have the best people in my life. 

 

UPDATE: * Names NOT Changed To Protect The Innocent

16 Apr 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Imparting Wisdom Tags:

John Dye was a man of his word.  He made it right.

Martie thanks you, as do I.

Finis.

Heartburn

06 Mar 2012 4 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Family, Health, Imparting Wisdom Tags: ,

That title is not a euphemism for a romance gone awry.  Nothing that complex here. This post really is about heartburn and since it’s the only thing of note I have experienced lately, this is what you get. For those of you who have gently reminded me that I have not written anything since Feb 20th (and I luff you guys for it), you are welcome.  We now all get to hear about my stomach.

To begin, I’d like to present a list of things that cause Martie heartburn:

  • Little Caesar’s pizza
  • Beans
  • Krystal’s
  • Do-si-dos and milk
  • Mexican food
  • Chinese food
  • Olive Garden
  • Alcohol
  • Grandma’s spaghetti
  • Meatloaf

As you can see, Martie suffers from heartburn a lot.  Because she suffers from heartburn a lot, she generally has a nice supply of antacids stashed at every home she regularly visits (much like me and my toothbrushes – I have one at every house I regularly spend the night in).  My house is no different which is lucky for me.  See, recently I found myself in need of an antacid or two which is really weird because my list of things that cause me heartburn is as follows:

  • Bananas

I have eaten no bananas so I’ve been a little concerned about my new condition.  Maybe I have some underlying stress that I’m not fully cognizant of or maybe there has been some profound hormonal shift in my body, but whatever it is, I’m now a proud sufferer of heartburn.  (An FYI – the first person that suggests to me that my excess acid production is a symptom of getting old gets a box in the kisser.) I’ve raided Martie’s stash these last few days which has helped tremendously but I remain puzzled.

Used to I suffered from heartburn all the time.  I spent lots of days feeling burny and uncomfortable, and I took lots of over the counter remedies for it.  My list of heartburn causes back in those days consisted of:

  • Bananas
  • An unfortunate combination of 75 pounds of excess weight and an unwise choice in marriage partner

Eventually I ditched the weight, both 50 pounds of fat and 180 pounds of husband, and eventually all things seemed to regulate.  But before that, there were days of acidic agony that I just never seemed to conquer. 

One day in particular, I could feel the acid bubbling around in my stomach.  It felt black and lively, and I distinctly remember thinking “Oh, so this is what hydrochloric acid feels like as it eats through your stomach walls.”  I was miserable.  We had no money and I had no remedy.  I tried milk, water, everything.  You know what I remembered, though?  I remembered that Poppa had a home remedy for acid indigestion.  I’d seen him use it a thousand times and it always seemed to work.  See, Poppa’s list of thing that causes him heartburn includes:

  • Everything

Poor man.  He’s always got something rumbling away in his tummy and when you find yourself awake in the middle of the night with no easy access to a store, you find what works in your house.  His remedy was to mix baking soda and water into a thin watery mixture and then suck it down.

Now baking soda is used for loads of things.  It makes cakes bake up nicely.  It whitens your teeth when you brush with it.  It cleans out funky smells in your refrigerator.  All of these things relate in some fashion to stuff that goes in your mouth but generally the taste is masked by sugar or minty toothpaste or something.  Drinking it mixed with water is  . . . . interesting.

Yep, interesting.  But let me tell you, that stuff works.  I mixed up a batch of Poppa’s home remedy and I swilled it down.  The absolute moment it hit my esophagus, I could feel it start working.  I felt it go all the way down into my stomach and I could feel it surrounding all that acid in there.  It was the strangest feeling, like the bubbles were racing to the top of the liquid and those bubbles were ANGRY.  It only took a few seconds for my baking soda to make its way all the way down to the bottom of my stomach and for me to feel like something big was going to happen and happen soon.

Suddenly, I burped.  That sounds so innocent and small.  Let me tell you, it wasn’t.  Not this burp.  It came up from the very depths of all my internal organs and made its way forcefully and urgently all the way through my body and out of me.  It literally felt like I had ingested an entire Coca Cola and shot the full acidic, bubbly can of liquid out my nose.  I thought my head flew off and was never more shocked in all my life to find it still intact when the belch ended.  My eyes were watering and my nose was running and my stomach . . . . well, my stomach was completely settled.  Nary a drop of acid left.  Not one.  It was amazing. 

So there, boys and girls, is my story about heartburn.  I hope you all enjoyed it immensely and learned something new today.  Clearly I am having some writer’s block issues but I’ll be back just as soon as those clear up.  Anyone got a home remedy for that?

 

Musings and Amusings, by Jimmie

20 Feb 2012 5 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family, Friends, Pets Tags: ,

It’s Monday.  It’s felt like Monday all dang day. 

Why is it that on the weekends I leap out of bed at the crack of daylight when by rights, I should be lounging around in the bed, sweet talking my pillows for hours?  I love my bed. We are very close.  Yet on the days when I can demonstrate how much I love it by spending quality time with it, I’m up moving around and giving it the cold shoulder as if it forgot my birthday or something.  And then on Monday mornings, when I don’t have time to demonstrate how much I love it (because I have class with Lynnette, y’all and she’s a demanding mistress), I cannot leave it.  I cannot tear myself away.  I give up friends (Lynnette and Jane and Body Pump and Spinning) for it.  I give up quality time with my razor (I should be spending time shaving my legs even though it is winter) so that I can cuddle up with my yummy duvet.  I give up my easy drive to work even though I know that the longer I lie around, the smaller the window I have of “good traffic drive time”.  Why is it so hard?

Eh, it’s a conundrum.  I should be wiser and all that now, now that I’m facing forty.  Unfortunately, the biggest change that comes with age, I’ve noticed, has nothing to do with wisdom but everything to do with the fact that now that I’m older, the longer I lie around being lazy, the puffier my eyes are.  Yay. 

For your Monday, which I hope was less blah than mine, I’ve included some pictures of things that made me laugh.  It will look like Christmas threw up in here, but trust me, these pictures are worth it. 

This here is my neighbor’s tree.  We had a big old windstorm come through a few weeks ago and I noticed his newspaper up in the tree afterwards.  He blames it on “those damn kids” in our neighborhood, but I disagree.  You see the newspaper way up there in the top?  It’s still up there and it’s been two months.

 

This here is a ceramic pig Phranke and I saw when we were out shopping one day.  It was just too cute to ignore.

 

Speaking of pigs, this here is the only Christmas decoration Madre has every year.  She has no tree. She has no wreath.  She has no bows or lights.  But you see how she put a hat and beard on that big old concrete pig?  That’s how Madre rolls, y’all.

 

And speaking of Christmas, will you believe that I took this picture just days ago? This here is my neighbor across the street and every night when I come home, it still looks like this.  Y’all, it’s nearly St. Patrick’s Day.  I am going to see how long they keep these lights blazing.

 

And speaking of holidays, I got a Valentine!  It was the only one I got this year, so I cherish it.  One guess who it’s from . . . .

 

If you were to guess Dammit Todd, you would be correct. 

And finally, this here is a lazy Sunday afternoon, where it seems that Murphy and Seamus have no issue spending quality time with my bed All Day Long. 

 

Lucky little varmints. 

Girl Meets Boy – A Love Story

14 Feb 2012 7 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family Tags:

Once upon a time there was a little girl.  We will call her Girl.  When she was in the third grade, she fell in love with a little boy.  We will call him Boy.  He was a nice boy and lots of girls in the third grade liked him.  We will call those other girls Others. 

Boy took turns “going out” with Girl and Others.  He would “go with” one for a while, they would break up and he would “go with” another one for a while.  He wasn’t being mean, he was being fair.  It was the third grade after all and he was very popular.   

Girl would take it particularly hard when Boy wasn’t “going with” her.  Sometimes she would come home and cry, saying “Boy doesn’t like me.  He’s going with one of the Others.  That hurts me.” Her sister, called Sister, would say, “Don’t worry, Girl.  One day you will knock his socks off.”

That year for Christmas, Boy bought Christmas presents for Girl and Others.  He bought necklaces.  One of the Others got a Strawberry Shortcake necklace, another got a CZ chip necklace and Girl got a Smurfette necklace.  Girl was overjoyed with her gift.  She called Mother at work and worried the mess out of her until Mother agreed to take Girl shopping for a Christmas gift for Boy.  They had to go right away.   

After much deliberation in the toy aisle of Wal-Mart, Girl decided on a Donkey Kong piggy bank.  Girl got home with her gift and insisted that she wrap it herself.  She labored over it for a long time, her tongue poking out in concentration.  There was a lot of tape on it, a lot of air between the layers of the wrapping paper, and she finished it off with a Styrofoam glitter-covered heart that she ripped off one of her headbands. She stuck it on the gift with a stick pin and was determined to leave it there even though it kept popping off because of all of the air in the wrapping paper.  Mother drove Girl over to Boy’s house very late because Girl would have it no other way.  Boy loved the gift and all was well.

Time marched on.  Boy and Girl would “go together” for a while and then would break up and then “go together” again.  Eventually, though, Boy and Girl grew up and moved on to other boys and girls.  They became interested in other things and although they were friends, they no longer “went together.”   

One day, after Boy and Girl became Young Man and Young Woman, someone threw a party. We will call the party a Class Reunion.  Young Man and Young Woman both attended the Class Reunion and while there, discovered a mutual affection for each other.  They began dating and from the first date, were inseparable.  After some time, Young Man bought a ring, offered it to Young Woman, and Young Woman accepted the ring.  They began planning a wedding.

Young Woman made sure that she had something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue for her wedding day.  They said their vows, Sister cried, Mother cried, everyone cried, and as Young Woman walked down the aisle a married woman, she showed Young Man her something blue.  She had kept the Smurfette necklace Boy had given her in the third grade.  It was in her jewelry box the whole time.  The chain had broken and the metal had tarnished but Girl pinned that Smurfette to the inside of her dress and wore it proudly to say “I do.”   

Sister cries every time she tells that story. 

This is not my story but I am Sister.    Martie and Coach, Girl and Boy, will be married 13 years next month.  I guess you could say now they “go together” all the time.  Isn’t that the best love story?  Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!  I wish you a nice love story of your own.

Reposted In Honor Of My Best Friend: Happy Birthday, Martie.

03 Feb 2012 2 Comments

by Love, Jimmie in Family Tags:

Happy Birthday

A million memories are not enough to cover the expanse that is sisterhood.  I’ll share a few today, in honor of one of my favorite people. 

I don’t really remember when Martie was born.  I was too little.  But I feel like I remember it because someone took a picture of us:  me sitting up in an armchair holding this tiny baby with gigantic eyes and a shock of black, explosive hair.  I was grinning like a loon and you can see someone’s arms hovering around me to prevent me from dropping her I guess. If my feelings about Martie now are any indication, there is no way in the world I would have ever dropped that baby.   

I remember when Madre took Martie to the beauty salon and had that explosive hair permed into an afro.  It was the cutest afro you’ve ever seen on a tiny girl. Her kindergarten picture shows a little girl with giant eyes and a curly mop wearing my favorite Winnie the Pooh dress that I handed down.  I love that picture. 

I remember having a fight with Martie in high school.  We were mad at each other (I think I’ve told this story before), and I was grandstanding in front of our friends.  I spit my gum in her face.  In retaliation, she went into the house, grabbed my purse, stuck it under the tire of her VW bug and ran over it a few times.   

I remember when Madre married Poppa and we got two brothers.  (Let me say in aside here that my family is complicated.  I have step siblings and half siblings and full siblings and four sets of grandparents plus some grandparents that we adopted.  But you know what?  My family is only complicated in terminology.  They are my family – full blooded, fully loved, full hearts, all the way.)  At first, the transition from three females living alone to six people living together, three males, three females (we were the Brady Bunch, sort of) was tough.  We had growing pains.  I had always been the peacemaker and the quiet one.  That was until one of the brothers took Martie’s sand dollar and broke it open after she expressly told him he could not do that. Her eyes teared up and as the youngest of us, she got trampled on a lot.  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I was so mad.  So I hit him, really, really hard.  And I think I knocked him out a little bit.  Apparently you don’t mess with my little sister, I don’t care who you are or how much I like you.

I remember seeing Martie’s face when she was in the OR and they put Pooh on her chest, right after she was born.  That is one of my favorite faces of all time.   

I remember graduating from high school and after I got my diploma, I looked up and saw Martie’s face covered in tears.  It was the end of an era – we would no longer share a room.  We would no longer share clothes.  We would no longer fight over the radio or the light in our room or our makeup.  We would no longer stay up all night talking about boys.  We never again listened to Thriller in our pajamas and ate giant Hershey’s kisses.  I was leaving for college and that moment, when I saw her face, my heart broke a little. 

I remember the moment that I realized that there was nothing Martie could do, ever, that would make me stop loving her.  Of course I probably realized it early in life but this particular moment was one that I could articulate.  Right then I called her. I told her that.  I told her that there is not another person on this earth who knows everything there is to know about me and loves me anyway.   I know everything there is to know about her and I love her anyway, love her because of it, love her because she’s Martie and she’s awesome.  I can’t imagine my life without her.   

I remember Martie calling me once.  She was so upset, so heartbroken.  Someone had hurt her badly and I remember the anguish in her voice when she said brokenly, “I don’t love a little bit.  I love all the way.  There is no little bit for me.”   That’s who Martie is.  She is full of life.  She does nothing halfway.  When she’s in, she’s all in.  It’s beautiful. 

So I say this:  I don’t love you a little bit, Martie. I never did.  There is no little bit here.  I love you all the way, as full as you can get.  A million memories for us.  A million smiles.  A million tears.  A million hugs.  A million of all good things for your birthday because you deserve it all, as full as you can get, and once we get to the end of a million, we’ll start all over again.  Happy Birthday, my forever friend.  I love you. 

Laugh

 

Vegas, Baby!

Martie

This One Isn’t For Everyone. Also, Happy New Year!

01 Jan 2012 Leave a comment

by Love, Jimmie in Aack!, Family, Home Improvement, In Which I Throw Myself Under The Bus Tags: ,

Happy New Year, everyone!

I fully intended to write a more serious Christmas post and had one started.  I worked at it a couple of times but it never came together and on one of the most special of days, I didn’t want to turn in shoddy work.  Jesus deserves better than that on His birthday so it will wait until next year when I can hopefully get it right. 

I trust that if you are reading this, you survived the holidays and the ball drop.  I almost didn’t, you’ll be happy to know, because there is a story and I’ve written it up for your entertainment.  However, this post is not for the faint of heart.  If talking about blood makes you squeamish you should probably skip this one.  Seriously.  I won’t be offended. 

On my About page, I told you all about why I started writing in the first place.  I received a Christmas letter a few years ago that could most likely be classified as the worst Christmas letter ever.  One of the topics was “Illness” and in it, the author discussed in minute detail all the sicknesses her family had over the past year.  I got all arrogant and thought that I could do a far better job and write something that people would want to read so three years ago, I began that tradition.   

This year I wrote a beautiful letter detailing all that I had learned over the past year about home maintenance and the injuries I received in that learning process.  In all fairness, I only lost one toenail and had only one pretty serious bout of nausea when I learned how to snake a drain for the first time.  Still, I think Daddy-O and JiJi realized that I was going to continue to make small home improvements on my own and bought me two really nice gifts to help me along:  an electric screwdriver and my very own pocketknife (a pink one) which I had mentioned wanting more than once. 

With great excitement, I realized that my new pocketknife would be helpful in opening the mountain of gifts I had.  See, JiJi likes to use the curling ribbon on all her gifts and getting that off the package is no easy feat.  (She also likes to shop. See: mountain of gifts.)  I whipped out my knife, cut off the ribbon and promptly sliced my finger open.  The blade was so sharp and the cut was so clean that I barely felt the cut so it took a few milliseconds for my brain to catch up.   

“Oh,” I said and then realized that I really had quite a lot of blood to contend with.  Like really a lot.  I had cut the index finger on my left hand and so when I cradled my left hand in my right, I started collecting a nice little pool of blood in my palm. 

JiJi immediately sent Pooh and Tigger into the bathroom to get me something to compress the wound and off they went after staring for a moment in total fascination at the blood that was nearly fountaining from my finger.  From the bathroom we heard all manner of clanging and banging and opening of cabinets yet no child appeared with a wad of gauze or a box of tissues. 

Overall, I’m very good in a crisis.  I’m calm and level-headed when catastrophies happen.  I rarely panic until it is all over.  But this time we all became slightly panicky as the pool of blood became harder to contain, you see. I was starting to worry for the state of the couch and my clothes when someone, I can’t remember who, asked in exasperation, “Girls, what are you doing?” 

Tigger innocently replied, “Getting the first aid kit.”  Aren’t they the cutest?  They have learned all the safety rules and will be the first to yell “STOP, DROP AND ROLL!” when the smoke alarm goes off.   

Anyway, JiJi roared, “Just bring something,” and Pooh, after another enormous clang, ran into the living room with two squares of toilet paper. Two tiny little squares for the fount of blood that was now gushing forth from my finger and pouring down my arm.  Tigger finally dug out the first aid kit and brought me a tiny band aid.  I couldn’t help but think it was like someone set me in front of a full bathtub and gave me a single cotton ball and instructions to soak it all up.

We finally got me all squared away.  JiJi and Martie had a look at my injury, told me I wouldn’t die and slapped some band aids on it so tightly that I could feel my every heart beat.  Daddy-O said jovially from his perch in the living room, “Well. She’s bifurcated her finger.”  It was such a statement; it spoke volumes.  I don’t think anyone expected any less of me.  I do know that for the next few months, I will explain away every dumb thing I do with my new electric screwdriver by saying, “I lost a lot of blood that one time.  I can’t help it.” 

 

 

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