My heart echoes with the silence.

It continues to beat

But I am not alive.

I have friends, relatives and acquaintances that have blogs. I read them from time to time and it floors me that some people write posts that are incriminating, inflammatory and contain way more information than the general public needs to know. Before I post, I try to think about the people that will read my blog and what effect it will have on them. It’s not just blogs either. Have you READ some of the Facebook posts that people make? I really don’t want people to know what my financial condition is, how my personal relationship with my spouse or children is, what my address and home phone number are and tons of other personal information that really has no business on the internet.

I don’t post that often to my blog and I was thinking that I needed to update it. As I went through the myriad of things that run through my head, I decided that it was better to leave my blog blank than to post some of the things that I allow to run through my brain. If I were to post some of them, there would be a line at my front door.

First in line would most likely be the men in white coats to subdue me and put me in restraints to transport me to the booby hatch. Directly behind them would be a police officer waiting to cart me off to jail for the illegal thoughts I have. On the officer’s coat tails would be a lawyer with his hand out, waiting for a retainer to secure his services and try to get me out of the mess with as little jail time as possible. Behind the lawyer would be a bodyguard offering his services to protect me from all the people that I antagonized with my posts. Hopefully behind and not in front of the bodyguard would be a hit-man, hired by the people I pissed off in the post. Trying to push his way to the front would also be a bill collector trying to collect some of the money that I bragged about in my post. In the middle of that shoving match would be the con man trying to get his slice of the pie. Lurking in the background would be the pedophile waiting for a chance to get a hold of the small child that I have given him the name of and what school he goes to. And since it is me, there would be MANY posts about food, so there would also be a chef standing in this line, waiting for me to hire them to fix the food I dream of in my posts.

I have a very small front porch and there would not be nearly enough room for all those people. So, I think I will continue to limit my posts to the funny things that happen in my life and light anecdotes thank you.

I have lost 5 pounds. YEAH ME! I am going on a mini-vacation this weekend so I went clothes shopping. BOO ME! I have come to the conclusion that there are only two kinds of clothes. Those made for the 16 year old girls who are over six foot tall and weigh less than 100 pounds and those made for the women over 65 who are five foot and weigh over 200 pounds.

I tried on several tops from the Junior department. They were cute and spunky and hip. Just what I was looking for. They all said “L” on the tag which I assumed meant large. Obviously I was wrong. It must mean “Lanky”. By the time I had wiggled and pulled the shirt over my chest, it sat there and taunting and challenging me to pull it over my waist. Mean shirt!

So I gave in and went over to what they called “Women’s” clothing. These were not women’s clothes. Not the women I know. They had no spunk, no hip (or any waist that I could see..lol) and no shape whatsoever. A potato sack with flowers. I didn’t bother to try any of them on. It depressed me to even think of myself in any of those.

I know they have some decent clothes in some of the higher end department stores, but I just cannot bring myself to pay $50 for a shirt. I am not that fussy. I just want a shirt that looks nice, has a little bit of life in it and doesn’t remind me of my grandmother.

So, I have decided that I need to open a chain of discount stores called “ChubMart”. A place where someone with a little meat on their bones and is over the age of 16 can find a decent outfit without paying a week’s salary. Anyone want to buy stock? LOL

Ok, I have come to the conclusion that the reason I don’t post very often is because my blog has no FOCUS. It’s just sort of a mishmash of things that come across my mind. Since my mind is a veritable wasteland, sometimes there are HUGE gaps in my posts. So, in one of my more lucid moments, I came up with a thought. Yes, a genuine thought came through my mind! My blog has “Categories”. I can use them to get a semblance of order and focus for my posts. Problem solved. Until I looked at the empty categories and tried to come up with ideas to fill them.

I am trying to lose weight. THERE is a category. In fact, there is a never ending story. I have struggled with my weight ALL of my life. If you have ever seen a professional Yo-Yo master, they have nothing on my waistline. In my adult life, I have weighed anywhere from 105 pounds to 214 pounds and every point in between. Due to my physical restrictions (I hate the word “disabilities”) I cannot pop in a DVD and jiggle and wiggle with the weight gurus of exercise. So, I have to limit my intake and increase my outgo as best as possible. Perhaps if I feel like even one reader is following this blog, it will encourage me to drop this extra weight I lug around all the time. So, I hope to post more often and keep some sort of record of my weight loss. Yes, I am being optimistic. LOL

My daughter has to be to work before the day care opens, so she drops my grandson off with me in the mornings. At 6:30 am, a 4 year old child staggers into my room and crawls back under the covers. My daughter turns on the cartoons for him and usually he will go back to sleep.

This morning, he was wide awake. In my semi-conscious state, I hear him get up and run out to the kitchen. Grabbing his stool, he climbs up and grabs some peanut butter crackers off the counter. I feign sleep and keep my fingers crossed that he will go back to sleep. To my dismay, I feel a light tapping on my shoulder.

“Mamaw. Mamaw. Can you open this, please.”

Eyes still closed, I reach over and open the package and keep my fingers crossed that I don’t have to clean too many crumbs out of the bed. Crunch…crunch…crunch. Throw package in trash. In my twilight sleep, I keep my eyes closed and hope he will go back to sleep.

Then, feeling like I am in the movie “Groundhog Day”, I hear a repeat of the pitter patter of little feet going back to the kitchen. Stool in place, he climbs up and grabs another package of peanut butter crackers off the counter. Back to the bed.

“Mamaw. Mamaw. Can you open this, please.”

Still hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep, I quickly open the package and hand it back to him. (I know…Bad Mamaw!) I figure I have about 5 minutes to pretend to be asleep. Between the cartoons on the television and the slow munching next to me, who needs an alarm clock.

He’s finished. He leans over me and puts his face up to mine. Playing possum, I keep my eyes closed and pretend I don’t notice.

“Mamaw…..Time to get up!”

Ahhhh, the life of a 4 year old.

So many things are circles in life. Some are vicious circles. Some mundane circles. And some happy ones.

I look over at the sink and view the pile of forgotten, cheese encrusted dishes in the sink. I drag my tired body to the kitchen and begin to scrub the hardened mess off my dishes. I place them neatly in the dishwasher that requires me to wash my dishes first because it is so “economic”. Eventually I see the bottom of the sink and watch the drain smirk at me as it chokes on the smallest of tidbits. Placing the useless packet of dishwasher soap in the little cup, I manage a small smile as I have completed my task.

I schlep on back to my seat and log back onto my computer. From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of my loving husband depositing the connector for my circle of life into the once clean sink. A milk glass with a ring of solid milk around it’s bottom and I sigh. Here we go again.

But…not all circles in my life are this intense. I have found one I adore.

My favorite circle involves my daughter. I get to watch her interact with my grandson and have to laugh. She asks him to pick up his plate and take it to the kitchen and out of his mouth comes another connector for one of my circles. From the other room comes a small voice…”In a minute Mom.”

Ahh…another beautiful circle complete!

Run out back for a quick smoke. Only half a smoke because the cold is making your eyes tear up. Run back inside and shut the door, leaving the frigid air behind. Turn out the lights. Head into the bedroom to don that comfy, soft sleep shirt. Slide under the covers and snuggle up to your significant other.

Click…click…hummmmmm…click…click…hummmmmmmm.

You have GOT to be kidding. Once again, the heater is throwing a temper tantrum. This is NOT the time for the heat to quit. It’s COLD out there.

Click…click…hummmmmm…click…click…hummmmmmmm.

Thirty minutes have passed. Still no heat. OK, my last house burned to the ground. There is NO way I can sleep with this thing acting this way. I attempt to wake the dead body sleeping in the bed next to me. I tell him I am going to turn off the heat because it is acting up. All I get is a mumbled, “OK”.

Heat is now turned off. Breaker is off. Run and jump back under the covers and hope it doesn’t get much colder. Ahh…sleep takes over.

Until morning. I hear the formerly dead body next to me slide out of bed and call the repair man. I wait. Snuggled under the covers and embracing the warmth under my sheet, comforter and heavy wolf blanket. I stick out a foot and immediately pull it back in. It is way to cold out there to attempt to rise this morning. I lay there, hoping that my loving husband will have turned on the oven or put some water on to boil in an attempt to take the ice off the walls.

I finally rise. Slide a sweatshirt over my nightshirt. Then don the sweat pants. Time for the woolly slippers. Hmmmm…still cold. Grab a robe and skate out to the kitchen to see if there is any warmth emanating from the stove. No such luck. The man who constantly calls me an Eskimo and complains about the cold is sitting in his chair, on the computer, with just a sweat shirt and flannel pants on. Perhaps the cold has deadened his ability to feel this cold that is seeping through my pores and turning my blood to slush.

Turn on the oven, open the oven door to allow the warmth to escape and wage war with the frigid air. I turn on the hot water and grab a pot to place on the stove. Even the water is having a hard time battling the arctic air. It finally warms and I fill the pot.

A sharp knock on the door, dog barking frantically….my savior is here. The repairman is bundled in a gigantic pair of coveralls. Mind you, this man would have to run around in the shower to get wet. In his present garb, he reminds me more of Mr. T. He turns everything back on and click…hummm….HEAT. I’ll be a SOB! He turns it off and on several times. Like a child caught misbehaving, the heater put on an angelic smile and purred like a kitten. With every hum, I could hear it mocking me and laughing at me. With nothing more to do, the repairman looked at me and told me to call him back if it quit again.

My children are grown and gone…so my heater has now taken up their cause. Much like making a doctor’s appointment for a sick child and watching them heal instantly as you pull into the parking lot of the office, my heater is a child. How many minutes will pass before it mocks me again with it’s click…click…hummmmmm…click…click…hummmmmmmm only to sing like a canary when the repairman gets here.

My daughter works for a veterinary clinic. She is an RVT (Registered Veterinary Technician). The other day, she was sitting at the front desk and her hand slipped under it. As she caught herself, her thumb pushed in a little button under the counter. She thought it was odd, but went about her business and quickly forgot about it.

In a minute or two, the police were calling the clinic. It seems she had set off the silent alarm.

Everyone in the clinic was laughing and surprised that she didn’t know what that was. One of her co-workers asked her, “You mean to tell me that no one told you that was there?” No, no one had. They all had a case of “I figured someone had told you”. One of the vets at the clinic told her that since she was one of the people that were “on call” late at night and on weekends, it sure would have been nice to know.

Luckily she had never needed it. But that is sure one tough way to find out. LOL

I started this blog becuase there are days that I wake up and just KNOW that it is going to be one of “those” days. Writing about the insanity that prevails in the world helps me to cope with it. If it makes you smile, laugh or even give a light chuckle, then it is worth it. If it makes you roll your eyes at me…that works too.