Worry


I have met women from all over the world over the years. They came from different cultures, countries, religions, and spoke different languages. They were single, with or without children, married with or without children, elderly, and of various levels of education and walks of life. But we all have one thing in common, other than loving others; we worry.

We worry all day, or late at night, or both. We worry about our lives, our children, or careers or lack thereof, money, paying bills, and if that odd noise is something important breaking on the furnace, or someone breaking in.

We worry about meeting the love of our lives, or if we have, if we are letting our relationship get stale. We worry about our weight, our hair, our clothes, and our abilities. We worry about making decisions and if we have made one, if it is the right one. We worry about our parents, especially if they are elderly, and we worry about our health too.

Depending on where we live, we worry about feeding our children, making sure they get the medication they need, and if we are good mothers or not. We worry about our teenagers and the choices they make, and we worry about letting them make mistakes without rushing to rescue them. We worry about their grades in school, or how they are doing in their work – even if they are in their forties and long since on their own.

We worry about life, death, our pets, and what to do next. Even if the choices are clear and the road laid out before us, we still worry. Sometimes worry paralyzes us, keeping us from moving forward or backward, keeping us in a holding pattern until something forces us to make a decision.

Sometimes we worry because we have no regrets and wonder if we missed a step or not. Sometimes we worry when we look back and realize how happy we are, and wonder if we deserve to feel so good about our lives and our choices. All of us worry, even if we never show it, act like it, or share our worries with others. It is simply something we, as women, have coded into our DNA.

As we age, we worry about different things, but we often reach the conclusion that we need to pick and choose what we worry about because we can’t change what other’s choose to do, and we can’t change the past, we can only accept life is what it is and keep on moving forward. At my age, I can’t be bothered to worry too much or I would make myself even crazier than I already am. I simply learn what I can change by changing myself or my choices, or I can look forward to seeing the outcome of those choices in the future. Worry is a part of life, but it is my choice to allow it to consume or control me, or I learn to control its influence on me heart and mind.

To all the women in my life, take a deep breath and a step back from the worries and love yourself a little more before taking on the day. After all, the worry will still be there tomorrow, or something new will crop up to worry about, that is a given fact. Just don’t let the worry get in the way of unconditional love and joy. Give your friends a hug, and ask for one on the hard days. We all need to stand together in this world of worry.

Armchair Critic


Lately I have become addicted to cooking shows on the Food Network. I have learned a lot about food that I didn’t know, and I have become the armchair critic about how I would make a dish out of the contents of a basket or the crazy items from Guy’s Grocery Games. And, yes, I have made some of the recipes from various shows. They were pretty darned good too.
I have learned other things too:

For instance, never try to bake a cake of any kind in 30 minutes. The majority will not bake in time.
Never, EVER try to bake a bread pudding. You WILL NOT get it done 99.9% of the time and you will lose the game.
Do not make the mistake of using oils like Sesame oil or Truffle oil as a garnish or last minute sauce, it will over power the entire dish and you will lose the game.
Don’t get in front of the camera and brag that you KNOW your dish will win the game because nine times out of ten, the braggart ends up being the one chopped from the game. It happens all the time.
Do NOT be the cocky smart ass chef with a holier than thou attitude. The judges don’t like that at all, neither do the other contestants, get ready to lose the game in one or two rounds.
Learn to be humble and listen to the judges comments on your cooking without getting defensive and copping an attitude. It annoys everyone, including the audience. It makes me shout at the television to tell off the contestant even if it makes me look silly.
Work hard, or at least make it look that way, right up to the last second. Don’t get done early and stand there with nothing to do, you can always make an improvement. Just don’t use fancy oil to do it.
Learn plating techniques. Choosing the right plate is vital to serving a perfect dish.
Learn to make your plate or bowl pretty. The contents need to look like a magazine photo. The kind that makes a person drool and want to make your recipe.

Learn time management under pressure. Focus, focus, focus.
And most of all, don’t be a poor loser. After all it wasn’t the judges who cooked and plated the food, it was you. No pouting or bad mouthing the judges, it makes you look childish and petty.
Many people will watch you. They will know where you work and many will vote not to go there because you want to be a star and you are simply nothing more than a moon.
There are more things I learned about people who are in a cooking contest, some good, some make me want to reach through the television and smack the contestant cross eyed. But, at the end of the day, I learn more about cooking in every episode and that benefits my family because I have new and better ways to cook things that they like. Works for me, the armchair critic.

Small Town Living


Today’s Blog: Small Town Living
 
You know you live in a small town when the fire officer who came and inspected our storm cellar greeted us like old friends when we went to the same local restaurant. He is also a neighbor, just down the street and around the corner.
We were having breakfast at Mother Juggs and I sucked up the courage to go ask the guys at the Overall Millionaire Table if they knew anyone who would sell us half a butchered beef to put in the freezer. They greeted us like old friends too. Chatted about who our people were – one of them is from Atoka County too and was happy to chat about the people we both knew. Then two of them offered to find out about the beef for us. Raymond got there first but there was a short verbal tussle on who would do it.
I called him by his last name and he got offended, I am to refer to him as Raymond. And he would call me Karron. The other guys gave him a hard time, teasing us both. All the time I was dealing with that, Hal was talking to the other guys and making in roads to being friends. You know, folks around her might seem standoffish, but all you have to do is start a conversation and they take right too you like you have been here all your life.
When I told them we moved here because we fell in love with the house, they nearly laughed themselves right out of their chairs. “Well gal, you need to take a look at some of the land around here and buy some beef of your own, then you will really know what it is like to be and Okie.” He may be right, but I am done with living on dirt and muddy roads. Too old to start that all over again.
I feel more at home now that I know I can walk into Mother Juggs and say good morning and get a welcoming howdy back.  Oh, and the cook at Mother Juggs knows what we like and has an order of Cinnamon Toast hot and ready the second we sit down. Gotta love living in a small town in Oklahoma where everyone wants to know your name.

Two Stop Lights


We finally retired. Something the Mr. has looked forward to doing for the past three years or so. We packed up everything we felt was important to keep with us, loaded up a big old moving truck and moved to our final home until we take up our plot in the cemetery near our son and my mom and day.

We lived in a pretty big place, just south of Memphis, Tennessee. Lots of traffic, loads of school buses and a constant hectic pace was normal for us. We lived there for twelve years, and it became the way we lived. The Mr. had his morning commute into Memphis from the neighborhood we chose to live in, and then would reverse the trek every evening. I hated it, he hated it, but it meant we had a pay check every pay day. And, like most folks, we got used to it and it became part of our life. But as time went by, we began to yearn for a life where we could spend time together and with our family without rushing anywhere.

We have been retired for about a month. Our new home is in a small town in Oklahoma. There are two stop lights, one at either end of town. The only fast food is a Sonic Drive-in, and there are two restaurants, one traditional southern food, the other Mexican. Both are quite good, but we had to learn the times they are open because the hours are erratic compared to some place like Chili’s. Mother Juggs breakfasts are great (bisquits and gravy are highly recommended.) The Mexican place has great fajitas. The only grocery in town is a very small family run place that always has a place to park and they even carry out your groceries for you if you are old like me.

Our house is in the ‘nice’ side of town. Read that the houses cost more that the average home in this town. The town was founded by the Black Seminole Indians after the Civil War. Their reservation runs right along the road that goes past our house. On our side is the Creek Reservation, on the South side of the road it is fully Seminole. One of the most asked questions is what tribe we belong to. Doesn’t really matter, the Mr. is a card carrying Creek, so he is more than welcome. We love our house, it is exactly like the kind we used to visit when we were first married. We never dreamed we would be able to afford one, but here we are, living in one, unpacking boxes, and slowly making it our home.

It is interesting the things we find, like a very fancy restaurant just out side of town with amazing food. It may be fancy, but we can afford to each there several times a month if we want. There is a museum about the Seminole Tribe in town, a library, and a genealogical society available to everyone. This is the county seat for Seminole County. The old part of down town and much of the old neighborhoods are run down and empty. But new growth in the county is making a difference. The folks in charge are welcoming and friendly. Looks like we might get a bit involved with the local activities.

Last night we went to Mother Juggs for supper. As I tried to get out of the booth to leave, my legs gave out and I nearly fell. The lady in the booth behind me got up and helped me stand. She didn’t know me, I had never seen her before. It didn’t matter, she just got up and helped. As I thanked her, embarrassed that I couldn’t just stand up and walk out, she just shrugged and said she would help anyone in need. She patted my hand and told me I would be better soon and to take care of myself. The Mr. came back from paying the check to see me and a strange lady holding hands. As I hobbled to the car, I told him what had transpired. He was pleased someone offered help. I realized that people in Oklahoma stand back and watch the new folks with a bit if suspicion, but if in they are truly in need they will step up and make a difference in their day.

We live in a small, quiet town filled with the under privileged and poor, but they have pride, traditions, and a sense of community that is admirable. We may only have two stop lights, but folks here have a lot of go.

Looking At The Past


As I was packing up the bookshelves, I found several Junior High and High School year books. I started looking through them, boy did we have ugly hair styles and uncomfortable clothes in Junior High, but by the time we were in High school, the hippie look of long hair, peasant blouses, and jeans were in style. It was definitely a solid change in how one style changed the way we dressed. In fact, I know many people my age who still live in jeans and peasant blouses. Guys still wear long hair and jeans and T-shirts too. Although I think any guy over forty needs to rethink the long hair and bald spot look.

One think that was clear in the yearbooks was who the popular crowd was. Their faces were plastered all over the books. Cheerleaders, class president, football players, all were involved in every sort of club and activity. Well, there were the nerdy groups like chess club and the motor heads (aka greasers) who were big in things like shop and band. But it was always the popular kids, those that were the favorites of the teachers and administration who were front and center, even in crowd photos.

I remember that there was one table in the cafeteria where they gathered and spent lunch putting down the rest of us pathetic losers who simply didn’t measure up to their beauty and power. And they did have power. One hint from them that someone in their group no longer belonged and that person was immediately personae non grata. The girls were much more vicious in this behavior than the boys. It was a sad thing to observe.

I wasn’t part of that group, I was a nerdy kid who stayed in the background and simply observed the world around me. I didn’t exist in their world, I was a total non person to them. Fine with me, I didn’t have to deal with their behavior and attitude. I wondered, as I flipped though the pages of the yearbook, what happened to the school leaders and popular crowd.

The internet is an amazing thing when it comes to finding people. A few stokes of the keyboard keys and low and behold, they are found on various sites. Interestingly enough, most of them had their glory days in High School and haven’t really done a great deal since then. Thye mostly still live in the same area, working regular jobs, married with kids. Some went to college and hold white collar jobs doing the mundane white collar things. Not a one of them has burst out of the shell around them and become an outstanding policeman or woman, a military hero, or a political leader in their home town or state. What a waste of potential and ability. Not that I am all that different.

However, I have met most of my dreams and items on my bucket list. A college education, living abroad, traveling the world, raising children, and staying married to the love of my life. I’ve written two books and published them on Amazon (under the name Jo Calhoun). I have lived every day to the fullest, and in my aging days I am still trying to learn, grow, and make a difference in my world. When I look at folks who never tried to fulfill their potential, it makes me sad and a bit frustrated.

Not that there is anything inherently wrong with staying home and raising kids, I did that for years. Not that there is anything wrong with being a hands on kind of guy or woman who stays at the same job for years. It is a comfortable way of life. But there is so much more to see and experience in the world. Sometimes, all it takes is one step out of the comfort zone and the power of discovery takes over.

Now that most of the folks my age are retiring, it is a great opportunity to step out of that zone and step into discovery of a whole new world. Maybe I will see you there, Mr. or Miss Popularity, and this nerdy girl will be able to enhance your life too.

How the Hell Did This Happen?


Today, according to government stats., I am officially old. I am 65 and yesterday I was not old at 64. Statistics do not always add up to a happy ending when everything changes over night, I didn’t think it would bother me, but it does. Just like turning 31 made me upset because I was over 30.

I never expected to be this old, and I have one burning question, How the HELL did it happen so fast? Seems like a few days ago I was living in Harrison, Arkansas raising my boys and going on hikes with my friend Candace Lovelady and hanging out with scouts and the kids from Church. And now I hang out with folks at the dialysis center and the farthest I can hike is the limit of my oxygen hose. This was not what I had planned for my retirement.

But my plans and God’s plan aren’t always the same. There is a lesson in all of this illness and aging thing. I don’t know what it is yet, but God always has a plan, and I just need to figure out what he wants me to learn or needs me to understand. I have always been a bit slow in letting go and letting God lead me. It’s the stubborn Neanderthal genes in me that causes me to be so bossy.

So Happy Birthday to me, and everyone else turning 65. Now we can take our opinionated selves down to the senior center and gossip, argue, and debate with all the other old farts – while we get a free lunch. For today, however, I am going to dialysis then out to dinner with the love of my life. It isn’t exciting, but it is what it is and I am thankful for that much. Still, I want to know how I got this old so darned fast!

WHAT?


I stopped growing at the age of fourteen. For the past fifty years, I have been exactly five feet three inches tall. I took pride in the fact that I was taller than my sisters. I wasn’t tall, but I was secure in my place in the family. Until last week. The Home Health Nurse measured me for the first time in years. I was, to my shock and disbelief, five feet, two and a half inches. I was so astounded, I could only gasp out, “What?” Then resorted to deep slow breaths to calm my nerves.

Not that I have anything against short folks. It is just that I already had enough trouble reaching things at 5’3”. Counters, cupboards, the top shelf in a grocery store were already out of reach. Now they are half an inch higher, so unless I have a step ladder, I will never reach the last bottle of Diet Doctor Pepper on the top shelf of the grocery. Not without asking for help.

Not that I won’t ask for help, but when I do the taller person acts like her or she wants to pat me on the head and pinch my cheeks because I am so cute. Cute is for bunny rabbits, not old women with an attitude and bad temper. But it happens all the time now. I can hear the carefully suppressed, “Aww, she is so cute,” every time I need someone to hand me something I can’t reach. It makes me clinch my teeth when I tell them thanks for helping. I may be old, and I may be short, but I am not cute.

I can’t change what is, even if I don’t understand how this happened. I am old, truth in that. Can’t change it either. There are so many frustrations that come with being short. Ever try to buy a pair of sweats? They come in one length, generally, and unless I get the trousers with elastic in the legs, they are always two inches too long or longer. So I have to hem them, or resort to wearing high heel tennis shoes. The shoes don’t work too well in a gym, or even for walking far. Vastly vexing. Even more so is the shirt sleeve issue. Just because I am short does not mean I have arms like an orangutan. Finding a long sleeve shirt that fits in the arms is very rare. I have to resort to rolling up the sleeve, or pushing it up on my arm to be able to use my hands. Short arms, short legs, short person. How hard is that for manufacturers to understand?

The hardest thing about being short is being in a crowd of people. Folks who are taller than me fall into two groups, those whose elbows hit me in the chest and those whose elbows hit me in the face. I am always dodging an elbow because people simply don’t see me, just like they don’t see a child in a crowd. No one remembers to look down when checking out a crowd. It is all about looking ahead at shoulder height. Not only am I over looked, I am totally dismissed by the tall as I fight my way through the chaos. No wonder I hate Christmas shopping so much. In fact, I hate crowds and will only face one for something like an Elton John concert. (Brilliant performance by the way.)

So here I am, unable to change being old and short (and cute apparently). I have few choices left in this mess. I can be hateful and mean to those around me, or I can use the situation to my advantage by being the helpless little old lady that inspires the young and tall to want to pat me on the head, pinch my cheeks, and think of me as (gag) cute. Meanwhile, I am going to go educate my cussing corner with a few choice words it has never heard before. Cute being one of them.

Later people.

Moving


In the first thirty-six years we were married, we moved, on average, every two years. We lived in Arkansas, Oklahoma (multiple times), California (also multiple times), Nottingham and Debden in the UK, Hong Kong, Karori and Pukekohe in New Zealand, Virginia, Missouri, and the last twelve years in Mississippi so it doesn’t count in the averages. Now we are retiring and moving one last time to our final home. We are moving to a small town (read that, blink and you miss it) in Oklahoma. Our home backs on to a golf course, which means a small yard to care for but a great view of rolling hills, grass, and trees. It is ironic we will live next to a golf course because neither the Mr. nor I care at all for the game. But the house is exactly what we want, so we are off on a new adventure.

After all the years of moving, I had it down to a science and lists of how to do it. Now, I have to start all over because it is shocking how much stuff, read that junk, a family can collect in twelve years living in one place. Over the past few weeks, I have said over and over, “What is this? Where did we get it? Who bought it? Why do we have it? Keep it, dump it, or sell it?” Honestly, we have stuff that we have no clue concerning any of that. On the other hand, I have things that mean the world to me, things that mean little in monetary value, but I simply can’t part with them. Baby blankets for kids who are now in their 40’s. Art, music, books, and trinkets that my children and grandchildren have given me, easily replaceable, but not if they gave it to me. And I collected things, from all over the world, not giving those up either. Decisions, decisions, a royal pain in the backside.

In all the years we have lived here, I have made very few friends. I could count them on one hand, but they are the kind of friends who will still be friends in twenty years from now. The new term for this kind of friendship is bonded. I just call it true friendship. I made many of those kinds of friends over the years and all over the world. I will miss my friends here, even though we will keep in touch. But, I will get to see my forever friends in Oklahoma, some of whom I have known since junior high school. (For you youngsters, that means middle school.) And that is a good thing. I will also be closer to grandchildren and my mother.

On the one hand, I am not upset about moving since it will bring us closer to family. On the other, I am still not excited about all the work involved. I have no idea how long we have left to live our lives, I have to wonder if we will get bored living in the same place for years like we did here in Mississippi. The only way to know is to suck it up and do what has to be done. Back to sorting and packing. Grumble.

You’re WHERE?


Old people complain about how things have changed all the time. I used to let it go in one ear and out the other, never really registering what they were really complaining about. That is simply this, the loss of manners, traditions, and common sense values.

It used to be, when we got a chance to take a bathroom break, as soon as we sat down the darned phone would ring. Back in the day, the phone was on the wall in another room, so we figured whoever it was would call back if it was important. Then we got the phones we could carry around in the house and yard, and it would still ring on our bathroom break but it would have the phone number of the caller and we could call them back at our leisure.

Now we have cell phones. When they first came out, we didn’t take them into the bathroom, it was rude and tacky to talk on the phone while doing our business. We weren’t attached to the phone at the hip and many of us could actually not rush to answer it day and night as if our life depended on it. It was a tool, a convenient tool, but nothing more than that.

At this point, we have a second and third generation who grew up with cell phones in their hands. And God forbid they miss one second of phone activity. It is no longer unusual to hear a phone go off in a bathroom, even in a public place, and someone answer it. And the tacky part, they tell the caller they re in the bathroom. Instead of getting off the phone, they carry on a conversation as if they are sitting in the car or in their home. What the hell happened to manners and common sense values on phone etiquette? Since when is it imperative that the phone be answered or a text be sent immediately, no matter where we are or what we are doing?

Back in my day, (there is that awful phrase that makes the younger generations stop listening) no one wanted anyone to be aware they were in the bathroom, let alone what they were doing. It was rude, immodest, and well, gross. Those of us who were raised in that era of modesty and morals generally will not answer the phone while in the bathroom. Generally, because there are always exceptions to the rule. I won’t even answer my house phone while in the bathroom, nope, not happening.

Other than technology, what has changed to make even the most old fashioned manner driven people do something so low class? Is life so hectic and busy that the only time to talk on the phone is while you are in a compromising situation.? Is that the only time folks have time to simply talk on the phone? I don’t understand that sort of behavior.

It used to be that if we wanted privacy on the phone, we would stretch the cord as far as it would go and sit in a place with a door we could close. Generally it was a closet or a small room next to the phone, but it was never the bathroom while we were using it. I still spend more time searching for the house phone that I left in an obscure place when I need to answer it then I do talking on it. But you won’t see me running to answer any phone, I am not a good study for Pavlov’s theory. ( Go look it up kids, I imagine there is an App for that somewhere on your phone.)

A phone, to me, is a convenience, nothing more. I am not a slave to the darn thing, and most of the time they annoy me with all the ringing and such – especially phones with irritating songs as ring tones. To many of today’s younger people and to some old folks like me, they are a life line of some sort, like oxygen is to heart patients. Life cannot go on without their phones attached at the hand. And as such, folks are becoming slaves to the technology around them. I expect we will soon have tech built into our bodies from birth. But I still want to know why common sense is gone when it comes to private things like bathroom breaks. I don’t like how things have changed in this area. Not one bit. It makes me feel old and cranky about things.

Was It Really Worth It?


There was a shooting at the local Walmart this week. Two men were killed, a police officer was wounded, and the killer was shot by the police and is in the hospital. Last I heard he was expected to survive.

Since I live just south of Memphis, Tennessee, one of the most violent cities in the country, I hear about shootings all the time. The news reports anywhere from one to five shootings a week, or more. But there aren’t many in Southaven, Mississippi, so the shooting was big news. It is still big news, days later, because the Walmart still isn’t open for business.

The reason for the shooting was based on revenge. The shooter was placed on suspension from his job at Walmart because he had an altercation with a customer that resulted in him pulling a knife. He had not been fired from his job, as yet. He stopped the manager outside the store and shot him, then he shot and killed another employee who was simply going in to work. When the police showed up, he exchanged gunfire with the police and wounded one of them before he was shot. So, this guy does something totally unacceptable in the work place, refuses to take responsibility for his behavior, and decided it was the manager’s fault he was without a job. In the vernacular of the young men today, he was “disrespected” by the manager, and to regain his man card, he had to kill him. How utterly immature and ignorant can a grown man be?

What he doesn’t seem to understand is that what he has done will effect the families of the people involved for generations. Let’s start with his family. He has a wife and three small children. He will go to prison, and Mississippi has the death penalty. For a cold blooded, premeditated murder, it is most likely he will get the ultimate penalty. His children, if they ever see him again, will have to do so in the prison. They will grow up knowing their father was a killer, who shot three men in a fit of rage. They will grow up knowing that their dad had no respect for human life, and he allowed his immature feelings to dictate his actions causing unending pain to the families of his victims. And, they will worry about being as violent and emotionally immature as he was for most of their lives.

Then there are the families of the victims. The parents, spouse, children, siblings, and friends of those innocent men will be in shock, pain, and then have to go through all the stages of grief, and I can guarantee that getting past the anger with be the longest and hardest battle they will have. The funerals will come and go, sympathy will come and go, and then the wives will be left widows with children to raise on their own. And that is when the deepest sorrow and loneliness will hit the family. The emptiness in the lives of the families will never really go away. All the suffering was brought upon them by the purposeful actions of a man who refused to accept responsibility for his behavior. Like a two year old throwing a tantrum, he acted out in violence without an ounce of self control. The results of that may have given him back his self respect for all of two minutes, because he then tried to commit suicide by cop through forcing the officers to return fire. Was it really worth it?

Three families destroyed, a police officer left to deal with having to draw his gun and shoot at another human being, and the killer ends up in prison for life, if he doesn’t get the death penalty. The community has to deal with yet another senseless act of violence, creating even more issues around public safety. All because a male didn’t bother to grow up enough to take accept the consequences for his actions. Why. you may ask is this so important to me? Because I am a parent of a murdered child, and friend to the family of the man who died with my son. I know what the families will suffer, what the children will suffer, and that it will go on for generations, because I have seen it in my own family. May God bless the survivors, and may the killer obtain his just punishment – the death penalty.