**Coming Review** Lenovo Yoga 9i 14" 8th Gen (and discounts!)

 (Go to the bottom of this post to learn more about discounts via LifeMart. I'd never heard of it until recently, but... it's a money-saver.)

The Lenovo saga continues.

Because I have an amazing family and because my current laptop keeps dying on me, I have a Yoga 9i coming.

When I was trying out the Flex 7i (refurbs), I did dream of the Yoga laptop. There was no way I could swing it. It's too pricey for me and I thought of it purely as a dream machine. When I posted online about a super-slick dual-screen laptop I saw, my family was like, "Do you want that?"

Uh, yes. Duh. Right? 

But wanting and needing are not the same. And I told them that I would much prefer the 2-in-1 style that I've gotten used to. I mean, dual-screen laptops are very James Bond-ish but my life is not. 

For me, I need something I can use during long appointments at the clinic and for those days when I am stuck in bed feeling like crap. And the 2-in-1 style suits that. I can use it as a notebook when I'm in bed or I can tent it to fit the tiny tables attached to the infusion chairs, and I can use it in almost any part of my apartment. My laptop is my life. I use it to track reminders and calendar notes and, yes, I blog with it.

Blogging is the one thing I do that keeps my mood up and gets me through my sick days. So, would I like to have that fancy dual-screen setup? I'd have loved to have it when I was busy working and dealing with a normal life - and could buy it for myself. But, for now, I have to be realistic.

What I asked for: the Yoga 7i. What I'm getting: the 9i with more RAM and more storage. How blessed am I? 

As I wait for the laptop - and, as I write this, it will be 5 weeks of waiting! - I couldn't help but read some more reviews. And this is where I got frustrated.

When searching for reviews of "Lenovo Yoga 9i", I had to weed through reviews that had nothing to do with the Yoga 9i 2-in-1. There were reviews for the dual-screen Yoga; the slim Yoga; and, Yoga of earlier generations. I mistyped a couple of times and got results for Yoda and for (Hindu) Yoga.

Finally, I found several reviews that applied. Okay. New frustration and a new rant:

Why do so many reviewers try to compare Windows to Mac? Almost every review I saw tried comparing the Yoga to the Macbook. Why? I am not a Mac user. Mac and Windows are two different systems. It's as if I was looking for reviews of hiking trails (that will never happen!) and got comparisons of that with frontage roads.

If reviewers are going to do comparisons, they should stick to comparing Windows machines against Windows machines. Since I was looking at 2-in-1 setups, maybe even just compare those types of setups.

One of my brothers is a Mac-head (?) and I respect that. However, I have always been a Windows user. I'm not interested in switching operating systems. I don't care how fast, pretty, smooth, all-wonderful, blah-blah-blah the Mac is. I just don't care.

Okay. Rant over.

From reading several reviews and watching a ton of videos, I learned that the Yoga 9i is/has...:

• The best keyboard ever (or else it's not the greatest)
• A super display - even with just the 2k version (or, nope, get the 4k!)
• An amazing speaker system (but maybe kind of "tinny")
• A genius-designed speaker setup (but still doesn't sound quite as good as the Mac.
• A beautiful-looking laptop (but not as beautiful or thin or light-weight as the Mac)
• Great hinges that are sturdy and just stiff enough (or might break if you look at them)
• (Unlike the great and wonderful Mac) a stylus. (But the Mac is still a superior machine.)
• 2 nice color choices (but not as many color choices as the Mac has)
• "Benchmarks" are better than most laptops (even the Mac in some areas! But we won't focus too much on that...)
• Is a wonderful machine that is perfect for most users (you know, the ones that don't have a Mac.)
• A good touchscreen (but a bit too "slick".) And a stylus that writes as smoothly as a regular pen. Of course, until Mac comes out with these features, they are not all that important! LOL.

Windows or Mac?

Overall, I think this is going to be the perfect machine for me. The only things I can tell for now that I might not love:

• There are not a lot of ports. I never paid much attention until now but my Dell has enough ports that I can plug in my wireless mouse and my printer at the same time, and charge some other devices. Though to be fair, there are a couple of ports (or whatever) on the Dell that I have never used. I have no need for HDMI or card readers. I barely know what they are.
• Lenovo's support. I tried my hardest to find the model I wanted on Amazon. Especially because the family is paying for the machine, I could afford to get one of those amazing 4-year Asurion warranties. With Lenovo, I got the 1-year Accidental Damage coverage and the basic 1-year courier or carry-in warranty.
• I have no idea how good or bad Lenovo support is. I do know that I've heard some "iffy" things.

That's about it though for any negatives. Right now.

Some of the negatives that reviewers pointed out don't bother me. A lot of pros and cons about any laptop depends on the user preferences. For instance, some reviewers weren't in love with the pen/stylus but that's not unusual. I love the stylus for my Dell but one of my nieces tried it out once and declared that it was "kind of weird". She's a Windows user but has never used a stylus. It can be weird until you t used to it.

A couple of reviewers liked the graphics for everyday use but don't think they are great for gamers. So what? The most gaming I do is a bit of Solitaire and Farmville. What I do like the graphics for is watching Netflix or YouTube. I'm not over here freaking out on Fortnight (or whatever it's called).

A lot of reviews kvetched about no "on-board" storage for the pen. (One guy actually used the term "on-board" like he's a Navy specialist.) Maybe if my Dell had "on-board" storage for the pen I'd feel let down but... I know how to carry my pen in my case or purse or whatever without losing it. And I lose my glasses while they are on my head! People, just tuck your pen in your shirt or purse or something. (By the way, the sides of the Dell are magnetized to hold the pen but... weak magnets!)

By the way, I didn't realize this until after the laptop was on order but it comes with a sleeve. Not that exciting for me but, hey you pen-losers, there is a spot for the pen on the sleeve. So there you go.

When the ordering was all done and I was thanking my family for the laptop, my Mac-using brother said that I could have spent a bit more and gotten the James Bond dual-screen one - or maybe even a Mac, I just laughed. I'm happy-to-pieces with this Yoga. Let's not forget that I could be rocking a refurbed $300 machine. Instead, I have something that I absolutely don't even deserve. So I have zero complaints. Even the Mac-loving brother admits that, if he did use Windows, he'd choose a Lenovo.

Since my family sprung for this lovely machine, I truly realize that, with gifts. it really is the thought. Just the idea that I am so loved in this crazy clan of ours is my biggest "forever-gift". My family is always there for emotional support and they put up with my depression and anxiety without conditions. If that is all they ever did for me, that would be more than enough.

So.

When I get the new laptop, you know that I will review the crap out of it!

Peace

--Free

DISCOUNTS

I don't want to forget to mention that there were coupons involved in this purchase. I wanted to save my family every nickel I could. 

When you get ready to buy anything - travel, products, services - be sure to know that my Medicare (UHC) gives access to LifeMart. It's available in several ways, apparently. Do some searching and ask around. Perhaps you have a credit card or insurance or something that will grant free access to LifeMart?

Via Lifemart, I got a coupon there that saved around $250. Then the salesman found another coupon that saved around $45. Every bit adds up. So, please, please, please, check for any coupons you can find. When you can, ask the salesman for any other savings that may be available.

Teachers, students, and seniors can get discounts for many purchases - as can former and current military personnel.

All told the coupons and benefits saved us around $322. That's dang near the price of the refurbed laptop I tried out.

Shop around and shop wisely!

Vegas Memories

Just a bit of a memory stroll today. 

I ran across this and thought of a fun December trip to Vegas a few years ago. 

What a show these guys put on! One of my older brothers and favorite SIL (Psst! They all are my favorites!) had such fun. 

This is what I remember from the day and night we were there: 

• My SIL (from Arizona) was wearing a freaking mini parka because she was cold (what?) in the 68-degree weather. My body was still Alaska-nized/Iowa-ized so I was wearing shorts and drinking anything that had ice in it. 
• I got drunk off 2 drinks) at the bar in Crush with the SIL.
• After Crush, my cheap drunk self thought I was hallucinating when we walked past the Jabba's store and the "mannequins" suddenly came alive for a moment.
• The SIL and I drank some more and drinking made me want to smoke again. I paid something like $15 for a single pack of cigarettes - because I bought them in the hotel instead of going to a convenience store outside down the street... I was more than happy to go back off the tobacco immediately after that trip but I smoked like a hooker's coochie for 2 days.
• The show we had bought tickets for was canceled while we were standing in line to board the flight to Vegas. We decided to go ahead and make the trip. Since we were staying at the Grand where the dancers were being featured, I chose to see the Jabbawockeez Jreamz show instead. We stopped at a street kiosk on the Strip to find another attraction, and...
• the 3 of us tried hard not to laugh out loud on the street as we watched a couple of 80-year-old women who'd been on our flight hilariously cuss out the artist who'd pulled the no-show.
• I (again, coming from Alaska - home of the best pot in the world - or so I've heard) got absolutely wasted just breathing the weed fumes while walking down the Strip. My brother practically had to hold me up. And it's Vegas so no one noticed. 
• I couldn't help myself and started crying (probably cos I was still unintentionally high) while watching the Fountains of Bellagio synced to "Oh, Holy Night".
• The Jreamz show was amazing. I got my hand kissed by a Jabba who came through the audience pre-show and I am to this day trying to understand what is so sexy about a man who can dance even when you have no idea what they look like.
• My brother tried not to show it but he liked the show as much as the SIL and I did - and we were dancing in our seats through the whole show.
• Even at my age, I love being with my family. Being with any of my brothers always makes me feel safe and loved. Being with my SILs makes me feel like part of an exclusive group of crazy-sexy-cool ladies.

This is not the first nor will it be the last time I say this: the best gift my parents ever gave me is my sister and brothers. We don't always like each other but we love each other always. Watching that newer video from the Jabbas brought back a lot of good memories. 

Peace

--Free

Milestones, Markers, and Guideposts

 A credit card company sent me an "anniversary" letter today. I applied for their card to save on my flight when I was moving here 4 years ago. Four years? Already?

Thinking of the stupid credit card anniversary had my mind sliding right into corners I try to avoid at times. I start to think of my life's milestones as mile markers. Let's mark the year this person died or that person. Let's mark the year since this or that. And when I am in a certain kind of mood, these markers that dot my life don't make me feel better.

I moved here a couple of years after my sister died. Another "anniversary" reminder. 

There is a piece of notepaper taped to the inside cover of my Bible. When I put it there about 2014, I started adding dates I was having trouble remembering because of the sarc that was creeping into my body. I had the marriage, birth, and death dates of my parents and grandparents. Birthdays of some of the nieces and nephews. Not too long of a list, really because I was adding things as I could recall them correctly.

2015 was the year when my list began growing. I had to add my sister's death, then a "play" sister, then aunts, uncles, ex-husbands... 

I hate to even look at that list now. I play a pointless and silly game with myself called "If I Don’t Look at It, the List Won’t Grow". I feel so faithless when I play that game.

Today, I caught myself about to play the game again and I stopped by asking God for comfort. When I made the brief prayer, I realized that not all is said and bleak. There are those wonderful points in life called Guideposts.

We saw this SOOO many times!

Guideposts - or what my dad used to call Travel Signs or something like that during the days we drove so much. We drove a lot. Whenever Daddy was given a new assignment, we drove from one Air Base station to another. We drove to visit family in Texas, Louisiana, South Carolina. I remember (very vaguely and with a dreamlike haze) driving through Wisconsin, Utah, and maybe even Florida? 

In those days of our family travels, there were no Google Maps or GPS. Mama was the navigator for Daddy, reading maps and watching for exits and turn-offs and signs that might be hidden behind branches or something. We ate bologna sandwiches from meat kept in a cooler and sometimes were given little sweets that Mama pulled out of her purse and handed around. It was during these years when I fell in love with Honey Buns. The Honey Buns back then were not the pitiful and puny little additive-laced things I sometimes pick up these days from around the store's checkout aisle. The packaged, ready-to-eat Honey Buns of my youth were never as good as what my mom and aunties could bake but they were so danged good. Thick and rich and gooey. The closest thing I can come to the taste now is packaged butter cake treat that Walmart sells.

So we would ride and eat bologna sandwiches and honey buns and get road-schooling. Daddy gave history, geography, and math lessons using scenery, locations, and travel mileage. He would often point out a marker or guidepost and tell us something about a place off to the east, west, south, or north of our location.

Even with my poor short--term and not-much-better long-term memory, I can recall some of the guideposts of that time. And I realize that my life - all our lives, really - are marked like any other journey.

What life sometimes feel like: 
beautiful and scary

I can't go in reverse to any of the markers in my life. I sometimes wish I could. For now, I just think back on them. 

That email from the credit card company bummed me out until I started writing this post. I came here to whine and then all the sad stuff in my head got knocked out by all the good stuff I can recall. There are going to be more markers in my life - good and bad. But isn't that beautiful? Isn't it just life? Even though it makes me sad sometimes, I'm glad for my life. One day, there will be Heaven and I won't even mourn the mortal markings and ditches and tears,

Peace

--Free

P.S.: I'm not the only one missing food from the '70s. I found a recipe here for a honey bun. I am going to have to call my almost 90-year-old auntie to see if she has a For Dummies recipe I can use! I couldn't even find one in my reliable cookbooks - 2 of them fairly ancient!

The top one is a heritage cookbook; the middle one (blue-ish) was given to me by a neighbor born and raised here in Iowa, and the bottom one is my favorite because it has so many dishes from before my mother's time.

**REVIEW** Hamilton Beach 2 Lb Digital Bread Maker

 As mentioned in a prior post, here is my review of the breadmaker that I got for Christmas.

The machine, the bread pan and
2 kneading paddles

You can see the controls beside the LED
and 12 usage options along the 
top left side

I chose this one after looking at a bunch of others because:

• The features, especially being programmable and being able to make a variety of items.
• The price was reasonable & I didn't want or need the fanciest, priciest machine from my family.
• Things mentioned in less-than-glowing reviews didn't really put me off.
• It looked easy to clean.

Now that I have the machine and have used it, I'm really pleased with my choice. I can add these to the positives:

• Incredibly easy to use. I was sweating and stressing but as soon as I started, it was a snap.
• Even though it's quite large and my kitchen is small, I have found a counter for leaving it out on and a space for storing it away. And, believe, me, my kitchen is almost too small to cuss a cat in.
• It's very quiet. I have one annoying and noisy neighbor who I always complain about. I didn't want a machine that made me look bad. I can use this thing at night and it wouldn't wake anyone in the apartment.

There are some things I wish were better, but they don't ruin my experience. These include:

• The LED display doesn't show where in the breadmaking cycle the machine is at. I have to pay attention to the alerting beeps if I want to add seeds/nuts or remove the prepared dough for baking in the oven. (I sometimes want a loaf made in the cast iron or fixed into a particular shape.) I also like to remove the bread after the last kneading so that I can remove the paddle. That way, I don't end up with that hold at the bottom of my finished bread.
• Since my recipes include a lot of seed/nuts and mixed flours, I do have to open the machine sometimes. I do this to see if I need to scrape down the ingredients. For my thinner doughs, I have not had to do this.
• Hamilton Beach does not have one of the silicone-scraper kneading paddles. As a matter or fact, there are no accessories for this machine as far as I know.

Not much to complain about there. Also, the beeping is fairly loud so I can listen for when to add things or remove the paddle.

As I said, this is a pretty quiet machine. Here is what it sounds like (and you can see that I am standing right above it filming):

Basically, I can run this machine in the kitchen and just barely hear it from the bedroom about 12 feet away with the door open. Tiny apartment living can be challenging so this is a Plus.

Here is one of my first loaves of bread because I ate the 2nd loaf without getting photos!

Whole wheat & white flour; turmeric, chia seeds, sunflower seeds, 
and flax (seed and ground).

My play on an Ezekiel Bread type of loaf. With a twist!

I got the basic recipe online. and added the turmeric.

 Now that I have gotten comfortable, I will be modifying all recipes with nuts, ancient grain flours, and as much healthy stuff as I can think of. I don't want to live by bread alone, but I want to enjoy every piece of bread I eat.

I have not even thought about how to use all of the functions yet but here are the choices:

Glad the option is there but I 
won't be using the gluten-free...

The Basic cycle is what I used to make my first loaves of bread. I plan to try doing a Brioche-style loaf soon though. But the thing I am most excited about is that Jam setting. 

I first thought that the Jam setting is the one I would never use (I mean, after the Gluten-free option), but I have watched videos showing how easy it is to make jam in these things. Of all the methods I watched, the easiest recipe was this one:

• Fruit (fresh or frozen but I am going to use unsweetened canned pineapple)
• Sugar (anywhere from 1 to 4 cups. Apparently, sugar thickens the outcome if you aren't using pectin)
• Lemon juice. 

I have seen some recipe videos where people acted pectin to thicken the jam. Since I plan to make very small batches, and I don't want a lot of sugar, I will use either no pectin or a sugar-free version. Also, I am cutting way back on sugar - which is why I'll use pectin at all. This lady here had the most no-nonsense recipe for beginners, in my opinion.

One of the best marmalades I ever had was one I found back home in Anchorage. It was a pineapple-orange marmalade that I've never found yet in Iowa stores. 

Oh, and this machine makes both jam and jelly...

Thanks to Spruce Eats, I understand the differences between jam, jelly, and marmalade:

The more you know...

So that's is all about this amazing bread machine.

The price has been swinging all over the place for the past year. I started looking at this one about 6 months ago when the price seemed to hover between 80 to 90 dollars. When I sent my family the link, the price was around 90 bucks.  I almost changed my mind and when I made the final decision, the price was down to 80 and some change. Not bad, right? Well, when I just now went over to grab the link for this post, the price was sitting at 70 dollars. Crazy.

Still, it is worth what it cost. If I was able to buy it for myself, I would not have been mad about paying $100. If you have priced Ezekiel Bread (or any other good quality bread) lately, you will see how fast the machine pays for itself. And with the jam? Shut UP!

Next time, I will be reviewing the Stand Mixer that was my second gift.

Peace

--Free

Something About Being Connected

I have this weird feeling all the time of being slightly disconnected from the rest of the world. Probably because I don't have children. I don't know, but recently I've been digging into the family roots. I've talked about this before and about how tough it can be to track your genealogy when you keep running into a slavery wall. Thankfully,  I have some older relatives who can fill me in on certain things.

I just got copies of some old obits in the mail from a dear aunt. Just seeing the names and information about people who belong to me (or I to them) moved me to tears.

I turned 7 the year she died

For many, many years I've had this memory that I wasn't sure was real. I was telling my aunt that I very clearly remember meeting these two old ladies and had always wondered if one was my great granny. She said that I would have been no more than 7 when Granny Rosie died. I have no idea why this memory remains so vivid, but when I described it to my aunt, she confirmed every detail.

During one of our family visits back to Arkansas, my father, mother, and I (not sure if any of my siblings were with us), drove out to "the country". We went to this really small house that was set back against some woods. These two old ladies were out front like they had been expecting us and they were excited and happy to see us. We stood in the front yard for a while, while they hugged and kissed my parents and inspected me. Both ladies were small and dark like me. They wore neat and pretty dresses that reminded me of Sunday's best. One of them wore really red lipstick. The other lady was a deaf-mute and she had a beautiful smile. The house was cute - very plain but neat. There were flowers running along the front. There was a well out front on one side and on the other side in the back, there was an outhouse. My mother was looking forward to drinking some of the well water because I guess she'd had it before and knew it to be really cold and delicious.

My aunt was kind of amazed that I had described my great-grandmother Rosie and her sister-in-law Irma. Irma was the deaf-mute with the lovely smile. My grandmother was wearing the lipstick. They had lived together ever and took care of each other since they'd been widowed. I had all the details right about the house.

I feel better now. Seeing the obits of my great gran and my grandfather reminds me that I'm not supposed to get too attached to this world. This is a tempory home and I don't want to get comfortable. A hundred years from now, someone might be looking at my faded obituary. I hope that they will realize that we are all just someone's memories.

Okay, now that I'm finished being morose and maudlin, I'm going to go look up some more ancestry info. Our family tree is deep-rooted, top-heavy, and very twisty. This is going to take some digging.

Peace
--Free

I just picked this song because I like the way it makes me feel

Big and Beautiful Moments

One of my nieces got married this past week. I stream-shared the service with our extended family by recording a Facebook Live video. The one thing I can love about Facebook is that it was a way for our family spread all over the world to witness the service.

A wedding ceremony is such a beautiful event. And I'm not talking about the clothes or flowers or all the other ornate things. It's just such a big moment with big consequences that I always feel like life is suspended for that little while. A wedding is, just by itself, such a holy and sanctified event that, as a guest, I always feel like I'm sitting in the presence of angels.

Actually, I love all kinds of ceremonies for deep and meaningful things. I remember vividly the christening of my sister's twins. That was just the most amazing thing - to see those babies sleeping so peacefully while we had them blessed and prayed over. They weren't even aware that, no matter what happened all the rest of their lives - long or short - people had asked God to bless and keep them.

And funerals are the hardest ceremonies to experience. It's like the very public acceptance of the reality of death. Sad but, I believe, necessary. Funerals are never for the dead, but only a way for those left alive to begin dealing with their grief. A way to force us to deal with our grief.

Weddings though, there is just something so special about them. It doesn't matter if the couple is rich or poor, royal or common. The location and surroundings don't have to be exotic or formal. The biggest thing about the wedding is that two people are about to start a life together. That's a really big deal.

While I was watching my niece go from being a single person to becoming a family with this person she loves, I kept thinking of her as the little girl she used to be. When she was young, she could be shy, she could be daring, and she could tapdance on your last good nerve by pushing the rules. To paraphrase Stevie Wonder, she had once been a little nappy-headed child. Now suddenly, she was this grown woman standing at the wedding altar with this aura of joy radiating out of her. Just unreal. And the groom couldn't take his eyes off of her. He looked mesmerized and I wondered if he was remembering to breathe. I can't even properly describe how happy they both looked. They found something that not everyone does.

I don't care what modern vibes dictate, I still believe in old-fashioned commitment so I love everything about taking vows and coupling up. That's why I was fascinated by something the officiating minister did during this ceremony.  Before reciting the traditional rites, he handed the bride and groom cups of sand, each of a different color. He spoke about what it means to be two separate and single people, each with their individual thoughts, ideas, and emotions. He said that marriage was the act of those separate people willingly coming together, joining their hearts and goals to become as one. He then had them pour their cups of sand into a single bowl, explaining that, like the sand, they were now coming together to make something new. That was the nicest illustration of marriage that I have ever witnessed.

You need to know that the groom is already the father of a young child who stood next to the best man during the service. So, while I am already tearing up at the whole pouring of the sand thing, the minister went next level. He called the child forward and explained that was an extension of this new union between the bride and groom. Then he gave the kid a cup of sand to pour into the bowl.

Listen, at this point, I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Not just me, but everyone in the church is sniffling and snuffling. I'm trying to hold the phone up to keep recording while I wipe my eyes and nose. I'm a complete mess. People watching the video are commenting that they can hear me crying. Yeah. Like they weren't all crying right along with me. We can, on occasion, be an emotional bunch of folk.

Anyway.

It's a week later, and am still thinking of the wedding. What a big moment for those two young people. Huge moment. I hope they cherish the magnitude of what they have done. I wish that I had appreciated my own ceremony and what it meant. I was so young and foolish. Thankfully, I truly believe that my niece and her new husband get it. I could almost see her shining with happiness and gratitude as she was escorted up the aisle by my brother. As she and the groom came down the aisle, on the way into their new life, they both looked so happy and giddy. Almost like they were thinking, "Did we just do this?" They were so dang adorable. And now there are even more people in my family to love.

So, yeah, that was a big, big moment. For the couple and for their child. I don't think I can take any more ceremonies of any kind for a while. I'm still feeling the emotional high from that wedding. I just wish so much that my mother could have been here to see her youngest son's youngest daughter getting married and becoming all in one day not just a wife but a mother too. Mom would be so proud. And she would have right there, crying with me.

Now I am over here, holding my breath, waiting for the next beautiful thing to happen, whatever it may be.

Peace
--Free

It's a little sugary sweet, but it's also perfect for this post

**GRIOT** Named and Loved

Okay, so I was chatting online with some of the nieces and nephews about these Griot posts. They love hearing about their 'grandpeople' and I love sharing what I can remember. Since the cousins are all about the genealogy these days, I thought that I could talk about some of the names that run in our line.

A name is a special thing. Your surname can be a kind of placeholder in history. Your first names sometimes are meant to reflect the hopes pinned on you. In the Bible, names are very important. God would change people's name or bless their names. Today, we honor our Adamic past by giving children Bible names. I watched a documentary the other day where the presenter noted that you won't find a lot of children named after Judas Iscariot. I had never thought of that before. Personally, I have always believed that the name a child grows up with can have a serious impact on their personality and attitude, not to mention in how the rest of the world might see them. That's why we make cruel fun of people by calling them a "Becky" or "Shanequa" - and I have been cruel in that way...

In my family, nicknames were kind of a big deal. My mother had an older brother named Eber but everyone called him "Mutt". Uh, yeah. Don't ask because I don't know. There were other male relatives or close friends known as Sonny, Sonny Boy, Snookie Boy, and Bugs.

One of my mother's sisters - the one who passed before I was old enough to know her - had a beautiful name: French L. The "L" didn't stand for anything, it was just part of her birth name. I do remember that some of my folks would pronounce her name as "Frānch L.", going long on the 'a'. Apparently, she was as beautiful as her name. She must have been a riot though. I heard one story about her once being a little tipsy and admonishing a child for having their shoes on the wrong feet. The child knew better than to mention it, but the adults who were there cracked up laughing because Aunt French L's shoes were also on the wrong feet. Aunt French L's granddaughter was named after her but we mostly called her just "French" or "Frenchie".

Some of the adults I knew as a child were always referred to by their initials. To this day, I can't tell you what Aunt French L's husband's real name was. We just called him Mr. J.B.

My father always called my mother Hon but most of her other family and friends called her "Tootsie" (or, as they pronounced it, "Too-see"). This is because she was very dark complected but, as a child and teenager, had fire-red hair. Being so black-skinned with that red hair, she looked to them like a Tootsie Pop. She dyed her hair a deep brown for years until it started to grow in as a darker auburn. Here's something crazy: I'm very dark-skinned like my mother and my hair also tends towards auburn if I don't keep it dyed. In addition to that, I inherited from my father blue encircled irises. It's a harmless condition and not a totally uncommon thing although it can freak people out when the sun hits my eyes the right way. Without the sun shining into them, most people don't notice anything different about my dark brown eyes.

Back to the wonderful nicknames, one of my favorite uncles - formally named a Jr after his father, Oscar Sr - was always called Hot Shot (or 'Hah-shot'). My grandfather was known to his friends as "Bud". Oscar Sr's wife (my step-grandmother) was "Miss Ollie" to everyone, including me and the other grandchildren. By the way, young Rudy Cosby sounded just like Miss Ollie did when saying "Bud".

Granddaddy Bud's first wife, my grandmother, was named Gretchel but, for some reason, everyone called her "Aunt Jack".For the longest time, I thought her first name must have been Jacqueline or Jackie.

I had a cousin we always called "Yogi". Whenever a teacher in school used her birth name of Saundra, everyone - including Yogi - would look around to see who she was referring to. Other cousins and peers of mine had names that had to do with sweetness: Peaches, Cookie, Sugar, Candy. I use those names for characters in my stories because I loved the real people.

Now that  I think of it, my Texas family were the ones with nicknames. Not so much with my Arkansas relatives. I'm going to have to think about that a little bit. Actually, my dad's father was never called George; everyone called him Mr.Tampa and I don't know why that is since "Tampa" was no part of his actual name... Now I'm going to have to get in touch with one of the aunties! I need to know what was going on with my grandpa's name!

Remember now that my paternal grandfather - Mr. Tampa - was a Louisiana man. His relatives did have nicknames. I remember a distant female cousin (?) that was called "Big'un". I really am going to have to talk to my paternal aunties because I cannot remember some of the other nicknames for the Lousiana family...

My oldest brother was called "Chubby". When he was younger, he was, in fact, kind of chubby. My sister who I've talked so much about over the years was nicknamed "Mike" and there's a story behind that. I was Penny to my parents and siblings up until I became a teenager. One of my older brothers still calls me by that nickname on occasion and I had one uncle who called me that until he died a couple of years ago. Apparently, as an infant, I was copper-colored like a new penny. As I got older and my skin darkened, one of my older brothers started calling me "Black Knight". Yeah. Cute... In high school, I went through a phase where I used only my middle name: Michele. Some of my closest friends back then called me Bones because I was so rail-thin. Oh, the good old days of carbs without consequences!

Names are not just an identity. Your name belongs to you in a way that can help shape your identity. When you love someone - through kinship, friendship, or romance - their name on your tongue has the taste of your relationship with them. You might remember that favorite quote of mine is by a child who defined love as keeping someone's name safe in your mouth. That's so real.

Thinking back to some of the first people, Adam's and Eve's names had meaning. Even God has several names and they each have a special meaning. I personally like to think of Him as El Shaddai and Elohim. To go further, even love has different names. In reference to my faith, Agape (or Agapao) love is the one that most comforts me.

So, when you think of your loved ones and speak their names, remember what the Bible teaches about the power of the tongue. Keep those names safe in your mouth. Speak their names with love and peace and hopes for their well-being. Even when speaking of your enemies, be careful not to use their names in ways you wouldn't want anyone to use yours.

Peace
--Free

And since I am in a praising the Lord mood right now, here's some Third Day with beautiful lyrics

**GRIOT** Devil Beating His Wife

Being the child and grandchild of Southerners, I grew up hearing a lot of odd phrases. To be honest, my relatives just talked plain funny. They had weird phrases and they painted the English language with a beautiful array of colors. My people used language in their own way, just as they put a unique spin on living life.

my mother in her late 20's-early 30's (?)

 For the longest time, I thought that only my mother said things like "You don't believe fat meat's greasy". That was for when I was being warned that my misbehaving was about to get me a whooping. Modern mothers threaten to start counting to ten, my mom had more colorful ways of warning me.

 While a lot of the phrases I heard had to do with consequences of my behavior (for instance, my butt was constantly in debt from all the checks my mouth wrote), there were some to go with everything from the weather to someone being sick.

I remember whenever it rained while the sun was shining, my mother would say that the Devil was beating his wife. I was surprised to learn just now how commonly that saying is used - and in a lot of cultures. I'm going to have to go take a closer look at that website.

one of the aunties

When my Yankee friends were "about to" do something, I was "fixing to". When Yanks were not paying you any attention, I wasn't "studdin" (or studying) you. You might be going to Heaven, but I'm going up "yonder". We also go over yonder, back yonder, or way yonder.

I'm not sure if this one is Southern or not, but where others might say someone had you wrapped around their finger, we'd say that they had your nose wide open. Another way to put that is to say that someone has your drawers (underpants) hanging on a bedpost. That, I think, had something to do with voodoo (or "hoodoo"). Another one from the voodoo files is to say that someone must have "worked a root" on you.

an uncle with a church group

Maybe right here is where I can get into my Big Mama's fear of all things pagan. Big Mama wouldn't eat food if she didn't know who cooked it. If she didn't know you, she wouldn't eat your food unless she had watched you prepare it. Why? Cause she was scared of hoodoo. For that same reason, she never left her comb or hairbrush laying around where just anybody could get to it. As Christian as she was (which is why she didn't like voodoo/hoodoo), she wasn't ashamed of her superstitions. She was one of those people who, after accidentally spilling salt, would toss some over her shoulder. Yes, my Bible-believing grandmother could be so unconsciously paranoid that it was kind of hilarious.

 These are some random photos from an old
photo album of my mother's

I don't know most of the people except that they are aunts, uncles, extended cousins, or 
very close family friends.

 I thought it would be cool for my younger nieces & nephews to see these photos. I just now started posting links to this blog of Facebook because that's where the kids hang out!

 

 I love the hair & clothing fashion of the '30s, '40s, and '50s.










Maybe because of their cultural ancestry, or maybe just because they were very practical and thrifty people, my relatives even dealt with health issues in their own ways. I've already talked a lot about my grandmother using asafetida poultices to deal with chest colds. I suppose there's a reason 'fetid' is in the name, but I just learned another thing: that asafetida gets its name from being funky. Wow,. At any rate, my mother never tortured me or my siblings with it but our Big Mama made up for it by giving us daily tablespoons of Castor oil. You might want to throw up every morning after your dose of oil but you were never constipated around Big Mama.

On my mother's side of the family, it was less about the countrified 'slanguage' and more about the Texan lifestyle. Where back in Hope, Arkansas where our Big Mama took us fishing with worms for bait, my West Texan grandfather let us enjoy his walnut and pecan trees. My mother would make homemade, fresh-churned ice-cream right in the front yard of Grandaddy Bud's house. Back in Arkansas, we ate bacon from pigs my grandmother's husband, Mr. Brown owned. We had fresh eggs and meat from his chickens.  In Texas, we ate peaches and apples and crab apples fresh off Granddaddy Bud's trees.

My granddaddy Bud always owned a pickup truck of some kind. My cousins and I would ride in the back while he went around to different homestead's taking care of business and sharing the goods from his trees. I remember one time when he took us on a long ride out "in the country" and showed us fields of cotton ready to be harvested. He told us to ask our mothers about their time spent picking cotton as kids. My mother told me that it was one of the ways she and her cousins made money as young girls. They would spend hours in the field, filling bag after bag with the cotton. I was absolutely horrified, but my mother had good memories of the time spent with her cousins and friends out in those fields. Even though she explained to me that there was a difference between being forced to pick cotton and being given a choice to get paid for doing it... I never could handle it. Years later, when I went through my stage of being a junior revolutionary and idolizing Newton and Seale for being bravely defiant, I would just cringe when I thought of my mother picking cotton.

Back when I was young, church and religion was a different experience depending on which grandparent I was visiting. My dad's mom (Big Mama) was deeply religious but didn't attend church on a regular basis. Nevertheless, if there was a heavy storm, she made everyone (kids and adults) get still and quiet. If there was any lightning or thunder involved, well, forget doing anything but taking a nap. You weren't going to disrespect the Lord in Big Mama's house by doing much of anything until the storm passed. To this day, during a heavy storm, I will sit my tail down and try to be still until the weather calms down. Unlike Big Mama, I don't go around unplugging everything, but I'm not trying to party down.

I didn't realize it until I was writing this post, but apparently, I carry a lot of my recent ancestors around in my behavior. Yesterday, I was cooking some sausage in my new cast iron and I flashed back on my mother standing in front of the stove, cooking something in her cast iron. I understand that people we love don't go ever completely away. They are in our memories of them. They are in the lingering memory of their touch or the sound of their laughter. They are here with us in the ways they affected us, changed us, or made us love them.

Peace
--Free

For the video pick, I think this one is just about perfect.

Deep Roots

Does anyone remember Alex Haley's Roots? I read the book when I was a teenager. When the movie came out, my family was right there in front of the television set from beginning to end. It was a very emotional thing for us. Years later, I tried to trace my ancestry and only got a few generations back before I hit a slavery wall. Once I ran out of census records, I ran right into slave records that were murky and random. I got further than I expected because I had some older relatives who had oral genealogies to share.

I have carried around with me the notes and "trees" I started. Every now and then I pull them out just to refresh my fading memory. A few months ago, a young nephew asked me to send what I had collected. That's when I realized that I have all that information still packed away somewhere from my last move. Frustrating. This is part of why I started doing the "Griot" posts (which I have slacked on lately... But here's one and the other that I did.)

Today, I spent a little time online halfheartedly looking at different ancestry sites. In the process (and this is maybe because I have been doing Bible study with an Orthodox Jewish Bible) I wondered just how far back anyone has managed to trace their roots. Mormons are wonderful about keeping genealogical records, but it was the Jewish people I was curious about.

Like most people who have read the Bible all the way through, every time I do it, I speed-read through the genealogies. I used to think of them as the "dratted begatteds" (only because they seem tedious to read through). Today, though, I suddenly found it all very interesting.

Did you know that there are people who have traced their families all the way back to King David? That's just insanely amazing to me. I worked over a year during my spare time just to get back to my maternal grandmother's father!

Gretchel

She died just months after I was born so all I have for memories is that one photo. Beautiful woman with a shadowed past. Something about her parents not being happy with her choice of a spouse. Thanks to the disagreement, she never talked about the parents to her own children. My mother never met her grandparents and I now have very little information about them. Yeah.

Anyway, when I found out about those people tracing their bloodline back as far as King David I was stunned. Then I read this about people who can (kinda, sorta) trace their line all the way back to Adam. Yes, that Adam. Garden-of-Eden Adam. Eve's husband. 

Mind. Completely. Blown.

By the way, there is a possibility that proving Davidic roots may entitle people to ownership of some seriously prime real estate. Seriously prime.

As for me and my house (see what I did there?) all I ever wanted was trace my roots back to before they got planted in Louisiana, Texas, and

Arkansas. Even for the relatives I did manage to trace, there are gaps from when they moved around during a census year. I think I might have to figure out a way to get an Ancestry.com membership back into my budget. Back in the day, the price was reasonable, but those people have lost their minds with the high prices now. Yikes. To be honest, Ancestry only made things slightly easier for me. So maybe I will just have to do some digging on my own. I better get to it.

Peace
--Free

My Beautiful & Silly Family: The Ladies

(One of my play nieces told me that it would be cool if I put up a video for each post. Sounded cool. Go support an artist.)

I can NOT dance but I fell in love with Kinjaz & Jabbawockeez

after seeing the Jabbas' "Dreamz" show in Vegas. 

The choreographer for this performance

 is Keone. He and his wife are some badass dancers.

Today I feel especially blessed to have such a wonderful family. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have some family that I am embarrassed to claim, but... family is family and I could have done worse.

say "Cheese"

I think that the one thing my family has been blessed with is a sense of humor. The women in the family are definitely funnier than the guys, in my opinion.

This morning, I was talking with one of my nieces who still lives in Alaska. We talk almost every other day. She drives me crazy, I drive her crazy, and we love each other to pieces. She is also one of the funniest people I know. When I was telling her about the little mayflies that swarm around the back entrance of the building I live in, she teased that I was missing the Alaskan mosquitos. I asked if they were already getting bad up there this season. Her response: "One of them is knocking on my car window right now."

One time not too many years ago, this niece and I were at Walmart (as we were just about every other day) and somehow we got onto the subject of cheese (don't ask) and how many different varieties there were. She started goofing around and saying the word "cheese" with an accent somewhere between classy and drunk. I cracked up every time she said it until people around us probably were wondering if they needed to call Security. We carried on like that for at least half an hour because giggles never get old.

I have another niece who is just as hilarious. I always love to hear her tell about the first time she went to meet her then fiance's family. His whole entire family was there - from a great-grandmother down to a pre-teen cousin. It was a family get-together kind of situation and even though my niece is used to large gatherings because of our family, she was still nervous. I mean, this is the family of the love of her life, right? At dinner, my niece was glad to see that apparently, her future family-in-law could cook good food. Eating would give her something to do other than be nervous and she dug right in, picking up a dinner roll and dipping it into some gravy. She tells how, just as she had her mouth full with the first bite, she realized how quiet it had gotten. She looked up to see that everyone was waiting for her to join hands with them and say grace. She says the worst part was she had to finish chewing before she could join in. She and her husband are still together all these years later.

My other niece - who is the mother to that little piece of my heart that I call DJ - tends to have a potty mouth. She and her family were still in Alaska when I was about to move here. In the weeks before I left, I would remind my niece to watch her mouth in front of DJ and warned that he would start to repeat her swear words at the worst possible time. She was a stressed mom of two, trying to hold down the wife gig while working parttime in real estate. She was not doing well with cleaning up her language. I was over storing some of my things in their garage one day when I hear DJ getting scolded for something. I was too busy to pay much attention but when I went into the house, he ran over to me, just sobbing his little heart out. When I asked what was wrong (because I'm the fun lovable aunt this time around) he admitted to whatever bad thing he'd done. To quiet him down, I told him there was no reason to be so upset. These are the exact words he said to me in a very earnest voice: "Uh huh because when daddy gets home, he's gonna tear my ass up." I know I am a strong-willed woman because I managed not to fall out on the spot laughing. My niece heard for herself and couldn't deny that she was famous for using that threat. By the way, DJ's dad is a big old softie who only has to use his "daddy voice" to enforce the rules. My niece did learn a lesson that day though.

You've heard me talk about my sister. She was such a hoot. I have so many stories about her I don't know where to start. She was one of those people who could make you laugh just by the way she changed her expression. And whenever we were people-watching, she could look so innocent while she had me cracking up with comments she'd make. She also made up words that somehow made sense. For instance, she'd describe a fussy person as being "persticular" or a "sticular". Makes sense, doesn't it? She was also brutally honest. I remember once when I was wearing long braids and made the fashion choice to tie a bandana around my forehead one day. I really thought I was cute as could be until my sister asked why I was walking around "looking like a pirate." On the other hand, if my outfit was on point, she'd be the first to compliment me.

My sister and I had a mutual girlfriend (let's call her Liza) who was always doing something different and daring with her hair. You could see her wearing a short bob cut in the morning and by dinner, she might have curls down to her butt. If someone asked, she always said it was her hair. She rationalized that it was her hair since she'd paid for it. One time when my sister and I were out and walking somewhere downtown with Liza, my sister suddenly got so tickled about something that she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and doubled over laughing. She was laughing so hard, she could hardly breathe. Liza and I had no idea what was so funny and we had to wait while my sister got herself under control. When she did, she stood up holding up one of the weaved in braids that had come loose and fallen from our Liza's head. That set it off and there we were, three grown women, standing on a street corner in downtown Anchorage laughing like loons. I'm pretty sure we made an impression on the tourists.

Liza once shaved off all her hair except for a little tuft at the very top that she (having been 3 shades darker than I am) dyed bright yellow. I don't know what style she was going for but my mother started calling her "Baby Buddha". Liza didn't care and I always admired her confidence.

My best friend (and surrogate sister) is unintentionally funny. When she gets excited or mad she has trouble finding the right words. She called me one day to tell me how busy she had been taking care of some business downtown. She was telling me that, to top everything, she'd had to use an inconvenient parking spot. She couldn't find one on the street and had to use (her words here) "You know - that place where they stack the cars". We are so connected that I knew right away that she was thinking of a parking garage.

My friend and I have cellphones and landlines. We call each other on whichever phone happens to be most convenient. Once when we were talking I could tell that she was distracted and rummaging around for something, She said she has lost her cellphone. She went on and on about not replacing it if she couldn't find it because she hated her service provider anyway and she was always losing the damn thing and blah blah blah. As she went on and on, I glanced down to see which number she was calling from. She was looking for her cellphone while she was talking on it. I almost didn't have the heart to tell her.

I can't tell you how much I love that I have (or had) these women in my life. Just thinking about them today has made me feel happy inside. I think I will go call my best friend now because we have a lot to laugh about.

Peace
--Free


NOTE: Mentioning "today" is not accurate since I am having to rearrange the scheduling of this post. My bad.

Where the Loved Ones Go

Does anyone else get in a mood where they just sit and think about the people they've lost touch with or just lost? I don't mean in a sad way - like when you start grieving all over again like you never got a chance to in the first place. I mean, like when you just thought about one of the people you've loved, then think of another and another until you go ahead and give in to all the memories? That's the mood I was in earlier today.

It dawned on me long ago that I do my best thinking when I'm not trying to think. This is why I have notebooks and pens scattered all around my apartment. It's also why I have notes scribbled on pieces of scrap paper. If someone ever cleaned out my purse and tossed out all the gum wrappers and receipts, I'd break down and cry. Every now and then, I do have to go through my purses and backpack just to collect the bits of my "thinkings". I'll either transfer them to one of my journals or put them into a folder to be dealt with later. What's crazy about this is that, when I move, I have to make a box just for all that paper and the journals. Too many memories and story ideas are buried in them. I sometimes fantasize that when I die and someone is handling my belongings they will read those scribblings and think, "She wasn't crazy, she was trying to remain sane."

A lot of the notes I have are about the people I love. If I remember a story my mother or father told me, I'll hurry and write it down. My memory is bi-polar reliant so I've learned to take mental snapshots and then print them out of my brain onto a note asap. Anyway.

This morning when I was cleaning and gathering up laundry, I thought of my Auntie "Lenore". I had a scarf turbaned around my hair so I wouldn't mess up my twists. My aunt never wore a scarf like that but something about it reminded me of her. I used to call and talk with her at least a couple of times a year, then it was once a year and then it was once every other year. I hardly ever call anymore. That's because we have the exact same conversation that lasts about 3 minutes. We run through this checklist of how I and my siblings are doing, then she tells me she's doing fine, and then she wants to get off the phone because she thinks it's costing me too much money. I don't think she gets the whole AT&T gouges me really good once a month so I can make all the calls I want. The gouging does not get any more gentle if I never even touch my phone. And don't think I am heartless for not calling Auntie any more often. I have younger aunts who use social media and keep me up to date.

Once I thought about Auntie "Lenore", I thought about another of my aunties. I'm going to run out of fake names here, but let's call my other auntie "Rosa". She was killed about 15 years ago when a drunk driver ran her down. She was one of my favorite younger aunts. She was sweet as southern tea and so shy that she practically whispered when she spoke. She had a beautifully innocent smile that I will never forget. I remember how she had a habit of ducking her head if anyone paid attention to her. She was that shy. I already have some notes tucked away that I scribbled about her.

Of course, I also think a lot about the mother of one of my SIL's. I remember feeling so broken when I was leaving Alaska once because it was right when she was suffering from dementia. (By the way,  but I didn't mind sharing Marie's real name because her daughter and I decided that she would have wanted me to.) People use the term loosely but Marie really was so "full of life". I'm happy to say that if I concentrate, I can clearly hear her voice right now. I have not forgotten her sense of humor or the way she and my mother got along just enough to drive the rest of us crazy.

Anyway, there's something I started wondering about while I was in this mood. Do you suppose that when we are dying we are already glimpsing whatever is on the other side? And what do you think it feels like in your heart or soul as you realize that "this is it?"

I have very distinct memories of watching at least 2 people die. One was my mother and the other was my sister. Neither was awake for a while before the machines flatlined but they had been so still and peaceful for so long that I always wonder if their souls hadn't already gone on. With my sister, I know that at least for a while she was somehow aware of me sitting next to her. When I held her hand and talked to her, she squeezed my fingers once. But that was early in her last hours. Just before I dozed off on the night she died, I had combed her hair and talked to her. When I held her hand then, she didn't squeeze back. Like we had done with my mother, I told her she could let go because I would be okay without her. I'm such a liar

Are you afraid of dying? Why? I don't mean do you want to die. I don't think that anyone does on most days. I want to know if you are afraid of what it will mean to be dead? I have always joked that I'm more afraid of getting dead than being dead. That's true. I really would rather not see it coming. I don't want to have to stress about things left unsaid, undone,  or finished. If I had a say, I'd want to just be here one minute and gone the next. Let's make that the next second. No need stretching things out even a little bit.

On the other hand, there are times I think I'd like to get a chance to take care of a few things. Say that last "I love you" or "I'm so glad you were in my life."

Never mind. I take it back. I'd rather not have time to plan or think about it.

I also wonder what it must be like "on the other side" (and I hate that term!). I've read the Bible and some other books about the afterlife. I've never been very clear on the whole subject. Once I asked someone if they thought we were going to be instantly "aware" after death. They made a point that maybe only Christians will find interesting. They reminded me that the Bible teaches that the thief hanging next to Jesus was promised that he would be in paradise with the Lord "this day" - meaning no sleeping in his buried body or anything like that.

No matter what you choose to believe, I want to have all this stuff sorted out in my head and in my heart before I die.

When I think about sudden death, I remember one friend and former co-worker who died of a brain stem stroke. She was in her forties and had just fallen in love for probably the first time ever. "Sue" was damn near family because a cousin of hers was dating a brother of mine. She had this maniacal laugh that was freaking contagious. It sounded like Dudley Moore playing "Arthur" - only more feminine. She'd had some difficult times in her personal and work life and just when everything was coming together in a positive way, she was taken. There wasn't any time for her to ponder the situation. She woke up for work not feeling especially well but just assumed she was coming down with a cold or virus. She made it to work but developed such a bad headache that she returned home to sleep it off. And she died.

Sue and I had discussed more than once how sometimes life just didn't seem worth living. We were both dealing with heartache and disappointment. You go through enough of that as you are getting a little older and you start to feel like all your chances for happiness have passed you by. Sue struggled to live during the times she felt like dying would be better and then she died just when her life was getting good. This will make you examine your beliefs.

I always imagine that "Sue" probably laid down with that headache thinking of all the things she'd do once she felt better. Maybe she worried about the work that would have piled up on her desk in her absence. Maybe there was even one particular client she knew would be impatient about the holdup in their paperwork.  I wonder if she had gotten to kiss her boyfriend or lay down with him in love one last time. I wonder if she got to tell him she loved him before he left for work that last morning. These are not things that are easy to ask the ones who remain behind. These are things that we can only wonder about and hope the best for.

When my father died, he was almost 5000 miles away from me. On the morning he died - a couple of hours before my aunts called to tell me - I had mentioned to my mother that I thought I heard him calling my name. Of course, we knew he was sick and I had just come back from visiting him. My mother told me that it was probably just because I had him so much on my mind. I'm not sad about my father today (like I can sometimes be). Today I am thinking of his smile (much like his sister/my auntie) and how he pronounced "either" and "neither" as "eezer" and "neezer" because he never lost his Arkansas countrified accent. I inherited his flat fingernails and these nappy assed curls that have to be tamed with all kinds of products. But I also got his long-for-our-height legs and decent metabolism. And If I really get to missing my daddy, I can always go look in the mirror or visit my little brother who looks "the spitting image" of him.

So, yeah, I get in these moods where I can't help thinking about the people I've loved. I think about them and I wonder if they know how much I love and miss them even when they can't hear me saying it.

And not because I am sad today, but because I love this song and forgot to add it to my list. It's by Dani and Lizzy. Please go support them for sharing something beautiful with those of us who grieve the loss of loved ones.

Peace
--Free