We're The House On The Corner -- Part One: We're Blessed?

It wasn't the house of our dreams.   It wasn't even the house that we really, liked.   

It was one of the last houses that we looked at because the owners of the house, that we thought that we were getting, had messed up the sale big time.   And it was the house that we HAD to take because we were running out of time and money, and we needed something soon!


SOMETIMES YOU TAKE WHAT YOU CAN GET AND HOPE FOR THE BEST.   

At the time, we had NO idea what the Lord had planned for this...blessed mess on the corner.


It was the least ugly of all of the HUD/repo houses that we had looked at.   And boy, had we seen some...winners.      

Not all of the rooms of this last house, had been painted in LOUD, Primary colors, like most of the other houses we had looked at.   Not all.   Just one.   

It was neon turquoise with a FuNkY, psychedelic border around the top of the walls, that I swear, you could see shining out the windows at night.


I refuse to discuss the Pepto Bismol PINK master bedroom with the matching? yellow master bath, or for that matter, the open loft area just outside of the master bedroom, that was painted the most delicate shade of pink with matching fru-fru border.   I guess it was to gently guide the eye into the awaiting horror of The Great Pepto Abysmal bedroom.  


The downstairs and the rest of the house was still the original flat white walls, now dingy and scuffed, from several somebody's who lived there previously.  The fake Pergo floor was WELL worn, as was the carpet that used to be steel blue but was now a dirty, stained, light gray , and all of it complemented the dingy, scuffed walls, and the no-appliance kitchen.


Oh, and let's not forget the fabulous "handcrafted" stairway handrail...made out of two slapped together 2 x 4's and HAMMERED into the stairwell.  Well, it just took our breath away.   

Seriously.    I think I lost consciousness.


The outside of the house was just as...blah.   Of course it was late April, and the light gray house with sun-worn black shutters, was nestled in a rather large receding snow bank, outlined by an icy blue, late winter sky, making the total picture rather depressing.   


EYES THAT CAN SEE PAST THE OBVIOUS.   
YEP.   THAT'S WHAT WAS NEEDED NOW.
 
EYES OF VISION AND HEARTS FULL OF HOPE.

"Ehh, I guess we'll bid on it and see what happens."    Were there EVER such words of faith spoken before?   Yeah, well...


When you bid on a repo house, you never know who you're bidding against, or IF there even IS somebody else bidding.   
So we prayed, wrote out our bid, and waited.   And waited.  And waited some more.   And found out in about two weeks that we had won the bid!   


Yea!   The incredibly homely house on the corner was ours!   ALL ours!   

From the ratty downstairs with empty kitchen, up the "handcrafted"-HAMMERED-in handrail,  to the girlie-pink family room, and from the turquoise, Reefer Madness bedroom, to the Pepto Pink master bedroom....the house was ours...and the bank'$.   


THE HOUSE ON THE CORNER NEEDED US AS MUCH AS WE NEEDED IT.


AND LITTLE DID WE KNOW...THAT SO DID THE NEIGHBORHOOD.

(I hope to post Part Two within a couple of weeks.  You KNOW how I am...)

 

My, My, My! Where DOES The Time Go?

Here it is, well over 2 months since I've been here.   Sorry...

Here's the deal.   It's not that I cannot multi-task--well, at least multi-task life's daily minutia--THAT I can do; like an Ed Sullivan plate spinning-sword-swallowing-torch/chain saw/glassware/dull axe/apple eating juggler.   That I can do.   AND to music!  (Cue: "The Sabre Dance")

What trips me up is trying to di-vide my attention.   My FULL attention to details.  I absolutely stink at dividing my attention.    

This is one of my personal double edged swords; it cuts surgically to bring life when I can CREATE something; it hacks things to pieces when I FLAIL at things.   

And I hate FLAIL-ing.   It's uncomfortably close to FAIL-ing. 

Failing is fine.   Those are teachable moments.   But when you want to CRAFT something, breathe life into it, and see it be able to stand on it's own and then BE LIFE to others--failing ain't so grand.

I don't mind failing.   Privately or publicly.  Both are positions of learning.   I've learned more with my face in the mud than I have with my face in the sun.    

What I don't like is involving someone else in my...my...my machinations of creating or moving forward with a still yet unformed idea.   I don't want them hurt. 

I don't want someone to be trying to follow me while I'm going through my disconnected, frenetic movements of birthing an idea.   It can be more gross and much longer than the act of giving birth, and definitely more hazardous to those standing close to me.   

Plus, it just flat pisses people off.   That, I can do without.    

So here I am, months later, trying to explain why I haven't been here.   Thankfully, my TWO faithful readers, they already know this about me...and still love me.   

When I finally get my first book finished, y'all know you will be first on my dedication page!

And to the others who check in secretly...thank you, too.   

It'll pay off.   One of these days.

Just keep hiding in the bushes and watching...with patience...and snacks.

Welcome Back, Sunshine!

The sun has returned early, here in central Indiana, from his long winter vacation and I made darn sure to welcome him with as much bare skin as the neighborhood could bear!  

I had my hon to drag out my new chaise the night before so all I would have to do is just go out the door, sit, and enjoy my sunshine's embrace.   And I'm NOT talking about my husband!     

It was probably on the third day of our public love affair in the front yard, as I was dancing in my chaise to the i-pod tunes thumping through the ear buds and being totally immersed in Sun's yummy, yellow warmth, when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't blogged for several weeks.   

Oops!   What can I say...it's been an exceptionally long winter for me.

You see, the combination of sunshine and music has always had a way of reawakening my hibernating creativity, allowing me to crawl out of the cave--both physically and mentally-- where winter holds me captive until well after the snow has left and warmth unpacks to stay.   

Once I feel the sun on my skin, my brain floods my body with those glorious endorphins, which in turn blasts Old Man Winter's icy grip from off of my synapses, and they start to fire back up.

Simultaneously, music pours into my ears, my spirit explodes up and out of this frozen-earth-body that I have been trapped in, and in a milli-nano-second---I'M FREE!   And more importantly...I'M ALIVE AGAIN!

Of course, this is all an internal combustion issue.    The only way to tell that something might be going on inside of me is by seeing how much chaise-dancing I'm doing with my Sunshine, on the outside.  Again, NOT my husband. 

With every new song being directly downloaded into my being, comes new thoughts, ideas, and ways to implement them.   I smile, hum-sing, and move to every instrument's note and beat.  It's a glorious symphony of synchronicity within!   And without...well...not so much.

Without,  I suspect that I have the appearance of a great, white, flailing fish that has flopped out of it's water-source and is being baked alive by the sun while moaning.   It can't be a pretty sight to the neighborhood passers-by.    So much for personal decorum.

Ah, but it's a price I'm always willing to pay every Spring, just to be able to fire up the old synapses, get the creative juices flowing again, and dance La Lambada Del Sol: The Sizzling Sun Dance.   

Okay, I made that last part up, but you get the picture.

Or maybe you would just rather avert your eyes, too, and drive on by.   Either way, I will be Lambada Del Sol-ing in my chaise until my husband has to rip my flip-flops from off of my feet and drag me inside, kicking and screaming.

Today...I think I will spend with my love.   NOW I'm talking about my husband.   I'll share the sunshine with my honey and leave the chaise at home.   But just for today.   

For tomorrow I will LAMBADA DEL SOL TILL THE VACAS COME HOME!         

I Want To Be Holy, Too. (Part Two)

"I used to live in those waters..."

As I begin to slowly turn my pain racked self towards the waters, I am so gently reminded of my before-life in those waters, and the warmth draws me to them.   The waters are seething before me and I know that means that they have been specially prepared just for me.  But I stop.

The waters are as angry and deep as my anger is deep.   But it's not tit-for-tat.   It's not a reflection of my anger or even God's anger.  

It is that Deep calling out to Deep.    And where the waters are the deepest, they also move with more power, more...violence.   And violence IS a Kingdom quality.        (Psalm 42:7--"Deep calls unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.")

The violence of the things of the Kingdom of God that lie deep within me are struggling to get up and out, as is that Heavenly violence that is equally waiting to meet me at just the right time/moment so that healing can be accomplished.

It is a terrible battle within the depths of the soul.   The Hand of God comes twisting and tearing through the gnarled, deeply embedded thorny roots of long ago planted barriers.   Reaching through wild thickets of pain where dark thoughts dart in and out, desperately trying to hide from The All Seeing One's grasp.  And all the while, longing to be caught, trying to be caught.   

Caught, healed, redeemed...

But I am.   I am already caught, healed, redeemed.   So why the futile fight?   

Paul's words echo through my being and rattle me to the core:    (Romans 7:15-25, verse 24,"O wretched man that I am!  Who shall deliver me from the body of this death!")

"Dear God.   I've been here so many times before and I know only too well the cost and the pain.   And I do not want to pay it.   I don't.   God forgive my weak, cowardly heart.  I just don't!   Not again."  

But...I must.   His Deep calls to my Deep.   

And the power of that Deep pulls and pulls AND PULLS until 

I can no longer hold on.

. 

No...longer...hold...on.

No longer holding on, I let go.   Limp.   Disabled.   But, I am still tethered to the wreckage of my dead man's image.  Tethered still by one last cord of fear. 

. 

Dead-Man-Floating in The Violent Deep of God

I have no strength to move to cut it.   I bob in God's Stream; not alive, not dead.   Caught by fear.  "Lord, cut the cord.  I cannot."    He cuts, and I begin to move lifelessly through the flow of His Violent Waters, up and finally out. 

Exhausted, I find myself in the troubled waters of healing He has prepared just for me.   The very waters that I could not lift myself towards, He has released me and has brought me to the ordained moment of holiness.  

I wanted to be holy, too.   Just like Sister Blogger.   But...I'm not like Sister Blogger.   I'm MY own holy, conformed to His Image, daughter.

Thank you, Sister Blogger for a life lived well and shared well with the rest of us.  It is not my life, nor was it ever meant to be.   I am my very own book to be read by others.  Granted, my book is more like a comic book or Gary Larson's "Far Side", for not everyone can read Shakespeare.   

Holiness is not what others see you DO that is like Jesus.

Holiness is just seeing Jesus in who you are.  Warts and all.

And maybe being holy is all in the hidden becoming.   Being holy is what happens in the dark night of the soul in our personal Garden of Gethsemane.   Glory comes after resurrection.   Holiness is formed in those places where only the individual and the Father meet...alone.

Thank You Lord, for making me holy, too.

I Want To Be Holy, Too. (Part One)

There is a certain Christian woman, who has an incredible blog, that I follow daily.   And for ME to follow anything DAILY, is pretty close to a miracle.  

It's the way that she writes, expresses herself, and meshes her life into black and white type, that continually draws me to her.   And it's not as much being drawn to her as it is being drawn to the Holy Spirit through her.      

As I  ''tune in daily''  for whatever awaits me, and after I soak Him in through her words, I come away both blessed and---troubled.   Yes, 'troubled' is a good word here.  

It reminds me of the Pool of Siloam in the Bible where the angel of the Lord would come once a year to stir--to trouble--the waters of the pool for healing.   (John 5:1-4)

 

The Lord through her 'troubles' me.   He stirs up the deep waters within me.  The waters belong to Him and are the waters that are meant for my healing.   

And just like the story in John 5:7,

I find myself in need of someone to lower me into the waters, for I, too, am crippled and cannot get into the waters without help.

But another part of this is that sometimes, no, most times, I drag my crippled self away from the waters when they are being troubled, because...I don't want the troubling to trouble me.   

It hurts to move away and it hurts to move towards.   It just hurts.   I hurt.   And, I just don't know if I can do what I need to do to fix the hurt.

"Trust Jesus!", my Christian friends say.   They mean it in the most tender way.  

But their words have to force their way through my pain, which distorts and mangles the wavelength on which the words ride, and by the time it reaches me, it just makes me angry. 

No, it stirs the anger that is already there, 

and 

I just want to

hit something, or someone.

"Well, duh?!  Yeah, 'Trust Jesus', ya think?  What do you think I'm TRYING TO DO HERE?!!", my mind SCREAMS out through one of the smiles I keep in my pocket for such times as these.

And I think,  "Oh God!  Just shut them up!!!"

And then I think, as I walk away from them in my mind, "I want to be Holy, too.   Just like that sister who blogs such wonderful things everyday.   Just like Sister Blogger."

But that, THAT, takes a willingness to be troubled.   
And I know it.   
I know it full well.

I've been here too many times before and....I know.

I KNOW.  

And I know that I cannot run away or scoot away or turn away or scrunch my eyes up tight and pretend that I'm not here!   There is no...away.  There is only...to.   Towards.   Face it.   Face up to it.   Face...down.    

It's not that my dear Sister Blogger is oh, so holy.   She just allows herself to be placed into the troubled waters of her soul, of her deep places, so that the Lord is then able to first heal, and then to draw out of those deep places within her, the sweetest waters and give them to others to quench their thirst.

This used to be me.

I know this place.  This place of The Troubling, for I have lived my life here once before.   Before, in that other life.  That life as co-pastor with my husband.  Co-leader, co-feeder of the Lord's flock, His dear lambs.   Sister-Pastor.  That was me.

In that former life, I was so tender before the Lord, so pliable and malleable, that I LIVED in those troubled waters because I didn't want to miss an opportunity to be healed so that I might bring that healing to others.  

 

Dear God.   What has happened to me?  

I was Holy... 

I want to be Holy (again), too.

(end of part One)

Need To Check In!

Just a quick note to everyone...all THREE of you!   *giggle*   

Because of having quite a bit of dental work done a few days ago, I've been out of it...literally!   

I will be back on here soon.   Just need to heal a bit more!

Love To All!

Patti

What Makes A Friend?

Today I have decided that I am not a good friend.   At least not by the standards of the day. 

I don't call once a day, week, or month, or even year.    I don't write letters, at least not the old-timey, conventional put-a-stamp-on-it letter.    Although I do send cards when I can afford them.   I might as well cut down a tree for the price of what they cost now a days. 

I do not Tweet on Twitter even though I have an account.    Nor do I  text message on my cell phone.    (This will most likely change once Steve goes back to Afghanistan since I will most likely have a new cell phone and most importantly...have the bucks to do it with.) 

I do not play well with others on Facebook.   I'm sincerely sorry for that.

I would LOVE to take the time to play "Farm" or what-ever-the-heck it's called.

I would like to play "Mafia", too.  (Now THAT is something that my personality would enjoy!)

I would like to help you bake, or cook, or whatever it is that you want me to do in your kitchen, but shoot!, I don't even like to do that FOR REAL in my own kitchen!   Just ask Steve! 

Honestly, I would love to help you build your farm, or bump-off someone, or bake something pretend with you, or go to lunch with you at a fancy Cybercafe, or find out which mass murderer I resemble.

Really!  It would be fun!

 And I would love to take a quiz to find out if my favorite color red means that I'm a sexed-up psycho killer who looks like Captain Jean Luc Picard in drag who loves kittens but can't express himself because he really wishes he were Spock who likes the number 0 BECAUSE IT UNLOCKS THE SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE TO WHERE ALL OF THE BEST KITTENS ARE HELD BY SOME COSMIC STAR RAIDER WHO'S FAVORITE COLOR IS RED!!

AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!  (Le Pant!   Le Breathe!   Le Heave!   Le Whew!)  Sorry for raising my voice. 

Calming back down now...

...I do e-mail.   Well, in the kind of if-you-send-it-I'll-send-it-back/on e-mail.   And I do actually write personal e-mails...occasionally.

I'm sorry.   Really I am.    It would seem that I just don't play well with others.   Of course, in my heart I know that is not true, or else I wouldn't have so many friends strung out all over creation.     Actually,  I play too well with others.   I LOVE TO PLAY!!!    I do-I do-I do!!!   And I think that's where some of the problem lies.

Having soooo many friends all over the world, well, makes me miss them terribly.   And not being able to be with them for years on end is just...painful.    So, I feel that if I cannot be WITH you, to share the same SPACE with you, to TOUCH you and to just to BE, is empty and void of any real life.  

But I know that is not true.   

I know that's not true when my friend take the time to send me anything through e-mail.   My face and eyes light up when I see their name in my "mail-box".   Just seeing their name sends an endorphin rush through my body, that reminds me of THEM and the times we have shared together.

And for the moment, even though they are not here and I cannot touch them, we're together again, even if only for a few moments.

Maybe that's why I've been invited to play "Farm" and "Mafia" and all of the other goofy FUN things on Facebook.

Maybe that's why I'll be glad to get the Text Package on my next cell phone so I can jump into Tweeting and talking with my thumbs!  (I already talk with my hands...)  

Maybe that's why I need to make the time to play more with all of my friends out in Cyberspace.

Because it's about them...not me.   

It's not that I don't know that I'm not the center OF the Universe, it's that I haven't known that I truly am a needed player IN the Universe.  

Today I have decided that I am a good friend and need to get back into the world.   Are you really ready for this?   Because, I do like the color red...

Love and Hugs,

Patti 

Does Anybody Have Superwoman's E-mail Addy?

What's up with all of these unbelievable super women who have time and energy to be a wife, mother, teacher, cook, baker, Mary Poppins, vet, nurse, teach Sunday School, get sick and are still able to do full blown, crazy-awesome blog-sites all at the same flippin' time?  

I mean, come on!

       

Now, I have been known to look and act like Superwoman from time-to-time.   Key words here: "time-to-time".  

Especially when I was younger and every now and then when I feel really, REALLY good, like in the summertime when the joint-sap was freely moving through my body.   

(Think of The Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, squeaking out, "Oy-can!  Oy-can!")

But today I am sick.  Perhaps I should say, still sick.   

Or even better yet, I was getting better until I just HAD to go out into the freshly powdered woods to take photographs of the Snow White, Wooded Beauty that was calling to me like a Siren's song. 

      Maybe I should have told the snowy old witch to shut up. 

    SHE started it all...    

...because  I also went snow sledding later that same day with my Grizz and with the neighbors and their kids.  "Oh I'll just go and take pics of the kids",  I said.   "I'll be just fine!"   

Umm-hmm.

Within 20 minutes I couldn't feel my nose or move my shutter-finger to snap shots, as my hands were froze to the camera; leaving me unable to deal with the snot-sicles forming into Walrus tusks protruding over my upper lip.

But my Grizzly husband was just fine and ready to go!

(Here is Grizz and Cade right before going down the BIG hill, as opposed to the Bunny Hill.  More on that in a bit.)

After going to the vehicle and warming up, I was all better, and sure that I could go back out to play.   Which I did at the giggling requests of our neighbors kids.    I mean, who could resist little Kali's, "Pweese Patti.  PWEEEEESE!"

You try to resist THAT face and Elmer Fuddish accent! 

(This was at their house while getting ready to load up to go.) 

 My incredibly, amazingly patient husband agreed to help me go UP the Bunny Hill (I can hear you laughing!) so I could once again enjoy the sledding part of my childhood. 

He deserves medals and parades. 

I should be locked away so I don't harm myself or others.

I only fell down four times trying to get to a point where I could slide down the hill.   It was on that fourth fall when I decided to just roll over into the sled-thing and enjoy whatever ride awaited me. 

 

Anything was fine at this point.

 

Just for the Record: not all of "my" poofy-girth is me.  A good part is layers of clothing. 

 

 

 

There. 

I feel better and self-defended.

 
 

WHEEEEEEEE!!!!!  I'M QUEEN OF THE BUNNY HILL!!!!!"

                                                             

Not much longer after I got to the bottom of the hill, peeled myself away from the sled-thing, and hauled my Arctic-A** to the vehicle, and my Mighty Grizzter took me home to thaw out and warm up.

Chilled-to-the-bone doesn't quite describe my condition.    

But now, for some odd reason, I felt much worse than before
I had succumbed to the Siren Call of the Snow White Woods and her evil twin, Hell Hill.  

And all I could think of is how very, very much I would like some homemade soup.   ANY kind would do.

But when you're sick...

...even IF it's from daring to enjoy a snatch of fun and glory in the snow...

...you wish that your mom would just bring you a piping hot bowl of noodley love from the stove. (This is, of course, stock footage of some other mom's homemade chicken noodle soup.)

Yeah, well, welcome to MY world.   You know the one where you have to sometimes make your own noodley love?


 



     

Mmm-Mmm-mine looks like this.......  

 At least it was hot and tasted like chicken noodle soup.   

Minus the lovin'.  

When you're not really Superwoman and can barely sled down The Bunny Hill in a single bound, but you still are able to get back to home where the stove, pan, and can opener are, ehh, it's okay.   It's better than okay, actually.

And who needs Superwoman anyway.   

When you are married to Superman.

Hugs From Under The Blankets,

Patti    

         

What A Sweet Valentines Day!

Another Valentines Day has come and will soon be just another memory to press between the pages of my mind, as Elvis sang so well.   This was our 32nd Valentines Day.  And out of all of them, this one is noticeably different.   Not because of what was or wasn't exchanged, but because of the news my husband got just a few days ago.   The news of him deploying for his third tour of duty: Afghanistan again.

This, and a very intense, vivid dream that I had but two days before the news came, helped the force of that news and it's impact upon us.   It wasn't scary.  It carried no fear.   Been here and done this so many times now that it's almost commonplace to say "Good-bye" every other year.   

Yet, my already tender husband, is even more so this time.   I happen to be fighting an upper respiratory infection with all of the sneezing, etc. that goes with it, but even that doesn't explain the "extra" that is happening around the both of us, surrounding us, moving us, touching us, touching one another.  

How do I begin to explain the love that we have for one another after all of these years together?   And how can I ever begin to try to explain the noticeable difference that has enveloped us?    Obviously, the Lord is even now beginning to prepare us for this next separation and is ever so gently reminding us how much we enjoy the simple joys of our life together.

So for our simple Valentines Day today, as so many before, we did just the normal things of life: we went grocery shopping.   I know.   How romantic!   *giggle!*   But it's just those everyday simple things that we share together that I love so very, very much.   Most years we have not had the money to do or to get something for one another.   So when we are able to, it's just all the more meaningful.    But like I said, it's different this time.

I would like to share a photo of my Valentines Day with you.  The pink tulips are from my Grizz (hubby's nickname.)   And the mixed bouquet of red tulips are from my best friend, Martha.   I'm a sucker for flowers, but tulips are my most favorite to get as soon as they show up in the stores. 

Also, Grizz gave me a necklace that I've wanted for months and months!   It says, "by grace alone" on a silver disk.  And I gave my Grizzter a manly necklace that is a silver shield with a cross cut-out in the middle of it, and it simply says, "God's Soldier".  You can see both items at http://store.dayspring-store.com/jewelry.html .

Thank you for letting me share my day with you.   I hope that your V-Day was a good one, too!

With Love,

Patti

I Can't Believe I'm Doing This...

I really can't believe that I have actually started a blog.   And to try to find a point to begin....oh my.

Okay.   "Let's start at the very beginning.   That's a very good place to start."   Or so sang Julie Andrews in "The Sound of Music".   If I knew where the beginning was, believe me, I would start there!   But it has been so many years since I have written anything and actually submitted it for publishing...sigh!...I feel very out of practice.  And honestly, humbled by the truly awesome blogs out there. 

Now, don't go Google-ing my name on any books; for they're all piled in another room waiting for money to fall from the heavens so I might publish one or two.   My main writings have been commentaries that I would write for several of the state newspapers in Arizona back in the '90's.   I told you it's been awhile.   

It was just a 'natural' thing for me to do as co-pastor with my husband, of the little church we pastored during those years of thin-living.   I never drew a paycheck for writing, but I certainly was well compensated by the Lord for being obedient to sit and write.

Which, gulp!, brings me right back to why I'm here, blogging (dear God!) for the first time; obedience, once again, to sit and write.   

First and foremost I'm stepping out in bare, butt-naked, obedience.  Secondly, and just as meaningful to me, I'm stepping out because of the loving, nagging of my best friends telling me that I have things that others need to hear.   

Everyone has a story to tell, right?   It's okay.  You may roll your eyes as you wonder, "What on earth could another woman have to say that I have not already heard."   Can't blame you.   

But maybe over the months as I share things like how I was given 6 months to live after finding late stage 3 ovarian cancer, there will be something there that you need.   And by the way, that death diagnosis will be 12 years ago this coming May.

Or perhaps the story of my husband's suicide, death, seeing Jesus, and coming back to life, and our amazing journey might grab your attention.   

Then there are the stories of ministry and experiencing things that would make your hair fall out after hearing the places we've been and the things we've seen.

Now before I end this, my very first entry, I must warn you: I am the owner of a very warped sense of humor.  I'm the kind of person that sees humor when everyone else is crying their eyes out.   If Gary Larson would come back and make a new Far Side and call it something like, The Way Darker Side of The Far Side, that's where my humor hangs out, along with talking cows and sheep who smoke.

Life is way too funny not to laugh as you go through it.   And it's sure much cheaper than therapy.

So!   I guess this has been my beginning.   I will try to learn what to do technically so that I might get on here as often as I can, and let my mind out to play amongst all of you.   

Just remember: you've been warned!  

Much Love and Laughter,

Patti