Journals and the Randomness

I've been blogging here for so long that I sometimes forget why I started or why I keep going. My reasons change with my moods. Currently, I'm in the middle of one of my "years that ask" moods.

Being in this kind of mood prompted me to look back over some old posts (I deleted a few lots of them) and to open up some of my pen-and-paper journals. Oh man. What a walk back through the tangled madness that is my inner life.

Part of me is pleased that I blog and keep journals. Part of me is alarmed at things that I have written down. I might regret it later but I destroyed some of my entries. I'm talking shredded the pages and soaked them in bleach before vac-sealing them and putting in the very bottom of the dumpster. Shit.

Some of my worst (and most cruel) entries were about my ex. And here's the thing:  I can try blaming him all I want but that man never did anything I didn't allow. I'm ashamed at the pure hate I directed at him in my journals. Hate mingled with self-righteousness. One line would be pure hate and the next would be about my intentions to pray for him. WHAT???? I'm telling you, love is its own form of madness...

My journals document my procrastination and head-in-the-clouds attitude. I realize that I need someone or something to ground me. In the past, I was rooted in reality with a lot of responsibility. For a long time, I only ever spent energy swimming against the tide of taking care of kids and a home and an aging parent, and then a sibling. Then, suddenly, I was "in love". And just like all money ain't good money, all love ain't real love. That was one of my mother's sayings. So much truth. One of my now-destroyed journal entries questioned whether I was actually in love at that time or if I was just reacting to the last hoorah of my then soon-to-be-extinct ovulation cycles.  That belated realization made me feel torn between laughing and crying.

I spent a few hours reading back over those journals. I almost can't believe how many of them I've packed around with me all these years. I'm undecided about whether I will be destroying any more of them. It's a little scary to have a written record of my deepest thoughts around. Deep thoughts, dark thoughts, deliriously happy thoughts, and hopeful thoughts. Some thoughts that should only be shared with the person who keeps your name safe in their mouth.

An interesting thing I learned about myself is what I am okay with and not okay with baring to others. I'm a lot like the society I live in. It's sometimes easier to share what should be kept private than it is to share what matters most. I think that is true of this time we live in. People are often more comfortable discussing their sex life with strangers than they are about being raw and open with a loved one.

Note: I'm in free-flow mode and can't be sure if any of this is making sense. Just hang with me for a bit.

I think I've mentioned here before that this blog is my passive-aggressive way of expressing myself. You readers are out there but not entirely "real" to me.  What I mean by that is I don't have to look into your eyes and see your shock or disapproval or condemnation. I just get to share. If I met you on the street, you would not even be able to guess at everything going on in my heart.

Warning: Some rough segues ahead. Really rough.

I wonder if it's true that when you die your life flashes before your eyes? I just googled this and, apparently, there is some evidence reported. I don't know if I want that to be a thing. I barely survived reviewing my old journals.

When I was deleting parts of my journals, the main thing I considered was someone finding them after I'm dead. Yeah. I think about that kind of stuff a lot. Not the dying part, but the part where someone goes through all my personal effects. Not that I would be here to die again of mortification but if I could, I surely would.

And all my paper journals!

And it's not like I have a lot of nasty-girl stuff stashed in the backs of closets and dresser drawers. My fear is that someone will find one of the journal entries I wrote right after I got mad at them about something. One of my worst personal traits is that whatever I feel, I feel deeply.

This right here is not just a joke, on a wrong day, it's my life

my feelings are easily hurt

Thankfully, the balance of this trait is that I have learned to channel any negative feelings into writing/journaling until it's safe to deal with them any other way.

So keeping a journal is healthy to a point. As long as you don't keep all of the feelings on paper where they do no one else any good. Blogging is a whole other thing. Blogs go out into the world. Even if you delete posts, they can be retrieved. Yikes.

I guess I currently feel that journals and blogs are great for general sharing. However, if you love someone or are worried about them or just need to tell them something they really need to hear, you have to be braver. Do that in person - and in private. To paraphrase something my mother tried to teach me: love out loud, argue in whispers, and never, ever let the sun set on your anger. That's one of the things I pulled from my journals.

Let's all just be good to each other.

Peace
--Free

Nightmares and Ramblings

Well, it's 1:34 in the morning here and I'm so awake right now that I might never sleep again. I just had the worst nightmare. I figured since I'm up, I might as well post about it. Lord knows I'm not going to be able to shut my eyes even to blink right now...

I have a thing about sleeping with the bedroom door open. It was so hot when I went to bed earlier that I left the door open to let the AC circulate better. Never again. I'd rather sleep in a hot sauna. I haven't had a bad dream in so long that this one left me shaking.

Don't you hate not being able to remember a dream? Not me. Not this time. I can remember every detail of this one. In the dream, my little nephew was visiting and we had fallen asleep watching television. I woke up (in the dream) at one point to catch the kid eating chips. I made him put them away and we went back to sleep. I woke up again to the sense of being in danger. I get up to check out that windows and doors are locked and that there isn't a crazed killer lurking anywhere. When I go into the living room, the dogs (because, in the dream, I have 2 dogs) are cowering on the couch and watching the sliding patio door. Of course, it's in my nightmare that I have cute dogs and a patio. I'd love to have a patio. I could have indoor and outdoor plants if I had a patio... Anyway, I go over to lock the patio door and notice that there are a couple of strange snarling dog-wolf-kangaroo-looking predators outside. They look like they are trying to sneak up to the door. Now I'm really creeped out. I'm trying to lock the door but can't. I open it a little, slam it, and try locking it again and can't. Leave it to me to finally have a patio only for it to have a busted lock. I decide that just having the door closed will have to be enough (maybe somewhere in the back of my brain I realize that the weird animals outside probably can't open a door) and I go check out the rest of the house. In the bathroom, I can tell that the shower has recently been running but there's no one in there. Also, my nephew is now not in the dream. This is a good thing because I feel like I'm about to run, piss myself, and lose my mind all at the same time and I couldn't add the task of protecting him on top of all that. I get the idea that turning on lights would solve all my problems so I start going around, flipping on switches. And, oh goody, in addition to having a raggedy ass patio door, apparently I have lights that no longer work. Of course. All that I can think to do now is pray but I can't make my voice work.

At this point, I wake up from the dream. And, trust me, I wake up praying.

Now, I know what triggered the nightmare. For one thing, I had gone to sleep right after listening to some horrendous details in a crime podcast. Also, I think my subconscious was freaked out by having that bedroom door open. The first thing I did was get up and shut it. Then I texted my niece - mother of my nephew - and make sure that he is okay. She was kind of pissed that I only asked about him and no one else in her home. Doesn't she understand that she was never in danger of my crazed dream?

So now I am up and drinking coffee and I can't stop thinking about this nightmare. I wish I was talented enough to draw the images I dreamed of. Or maybe not. I don't need reminders of crap that scares me.

I will not be going back to sleep anytime soon. When I finish this post, I'm going to find the most colorful, cheerful, and childlike movie I can. I wish I could watch the old Zoobilee Zoo videos we had when the kids were small. I could really use a good Ben Vereen strutting around as Mayor Ben in that crazy costume he wore.

Does anyone else remember Zoobilee Zoo? Our kids used to love it. I once took my 3-year-old twin niece and nephew to work to babysit them while I finished a three-hour assignment. Popped in the video and they never bothered me for more than snacks and potty breaks. When my sister found out that I let her babies watch that much television I thought she was going to disown me. Man, I miss Zoobilee Zoo. I just found out that the videos are on YouTube!

I just watched that video and realized that Zoobiliee Zoo might actually give me nightmares...

Well, later today I have to attend the high school graduation of another of my nephews. Maybe that's what triggered my nightmare? All the "babies" of the family are growing up. I have this nephew graduating and a niece who is getting married later this year. Maybe I'm just a little freaked out by all this growth and change going on within the extended family? Or it could just be that I went to sleep with that damned bedroom door open.

It's nice and cool now because it's started raining outside. I think I'm just going to open the window and sleep with the light on.

Peace
--Free

**GRIOT** Bacon Grease Lotion

This is about one of the stories my mother liked to tell about her youth. (I lost part of the old notes about this one so... some things might be skewed. Forgive me, Mama.)

When my mother was a girl of about 14 or 15, she and her cousins had to walk quite a way to school. They took shortcuts through alleys and people's yards. Once when my one of my mother's cousins (I can't recall which one) had taken too much time getting ready for school, the other kids had gone ahead and left her. When she was almost ready to leave, she realized that there was no skin lotion around. There were a lot of girls in the home who all slicked up with moisturizer every day. Jergens was a household favorite but, when they ran out, they would use Crisco (which my mother still sometimes used as an elderly woman). This cousin noticed that not only had the lotion been used up but she couldn't even find the Crisco. Her skin was dried out from her bath and she needed to at least take care of the ash on her knees and elbows.

No lotion? No Crisco? The next best thing was some of the bacon grease that Grandma Jack collected in a tin can that sat on the stove. Bacon grease - aka fried meat grease or "seasoning grease" - was only mostly from bacon. Sometimes it was from ham drippings or some-other-part-of-the-pig drippings. People are more health conscious these days but back then, it joked that Southerners would eat everything on a pig but the toenails.

source in the photo

Anyway, this cousin had no choice. She dipped out some of that bacon grease and put a shine on her legs and arms.

I don't know how she was bothered by being ashy for one day but didn't mind smelling like a country breakfast. Maybe she had a poor sense of smell? Maybe but by the time she got a couple of blocks from home, she was reminded that dogs have a great sense of smell. It's not like they had to be bloodhounds. She was wearing pork grease. I smoked for a lot of years and to this day, I can walk into someone's house and tell if they use bacon grease to cook with...

Mama always got so tickled at the point of the story when she'd tell how her cousin had to sprint and leap a couple of low fences when some neighborhood dogs caught the smell of her on the wind. Apparently, despite her girly vanity (I mean, she could have waited to borrow lotion at school!), this chick could move like Wilma Rudolf and leap like a superhero.

The cousin made it to school in one piece but by the time she got there, she was a hot sweaty, stinking mess. Literally stinking. Bacon grease only smells good on bacon.

So that is one of the stories my mother used to tell. I'm glad that I had some notes in one of my old journals to remind me of it.

Peace
--Free

GRIOT: Big Mama, Big Food, Big Love

Originally posted on Tuesday, April 05, 2016

I'm taking a couple days' break from reviews. I've received so many EOs for cleansing and moisturizing, I need to let my body (and skin, and hair) rest! I've washed my hair so much that I've rid myself of future dirt.
Today, I want to talk about memories. I've been in that mood. I was telling my niece the other night about the times I used to spend around Big Mama. My memory sucks so I probably tossed in memories that were handed down from my older brothers and sister.

We talked about how Big Mama would fix these huge and amazing breakfasts. When I say that breakfast at Big Mama's was an experience, I mean that even my mother (the Texan) was impressed. There were no simple, egg-and-bacon deals at Big Mama's. There's not a fast food chain around that could emulate these meals without adding a buffet line.

The first time I had a Big Mama breakfast, I thought I'd migrated in my sleep and woken up in the planet of No Freaking Way.

First, there was the food: slices of ham, fried pork chops, pan-fried potatoes, thick slabs of bacon, grits with salt and pepper, and biscuits that so huge and buttery-good that I think they are what the Israelites called manna. There were also eggs - scrambled eggs, sunny-side up, boiled and sliced - but who the heck could think about eggs with all that other food? One of my brothers used to joke that just two of those biscuits could feed half of a small continent.

When I say there was a lot of food, I mean, there wasn't just a dib of this and a dab of that. I mean, there was a lot of food. That was the first amazement.

Then there was the fact that there were so many people at the table. Family that lived two and three blocks away showed up for breakfast at Big Mama's. Talk about getting a start to the day, right? It was like a daily family reunion before folks went off to school or work or back to their own homes for the day.
The most impressive thing to me about those breakfasts - the thing that I never got over, even after I was used to all the food and family - was that they happened while dawn hadn't even thought about breaking. Seriously.

For a time, when my father moved our family there while he went overseas, we had to look for temporary housing. In the meantime, my mother, my siblings and I stayed in Big Mama's house. I'd feel like I'd just gone into REM sleep when I'd hear Big Mama walking around doing her morning wake-up calls.

"Rise and shine, everybody. The Lord has blessed us all to see another day!"

I'd just be wishing that the Lord would bless us to sleep another couple of hours. But, in Big Mama's house, no one was allowed to lay around in bed unless they were sick. Big Mama believed in that early-to-bed and early-to-rise thing. Super early. Crazy early. Early to bed like a narcoleptic wino, and early to rise like a rooster with anxiety issues.

Still, I loved being around my Big Mama - Miz Minnie Lee to a lot of people, but always Big Mama to me. She had her ways though...

Big Mama had a lot in common with most people of her generation when it came to how you raised and treated children. I always think of this image when I think of my Big Mama:

After she fed us all to stuffing before the crack of dawn, Big Mama made us face the day with prowess. During the school year, Big Mama could get 30 kids out of the house - on time, nourished, clean, looking good and feeling like there was nothing they couldn't do. She was like a fierce wind that pushed you out that door and into the world like all your dreams were just waiting for you to collect them. Even with all that freaking food in you.

Side note here about my aunties: I have the best aunties in this world. One of my aunties was a lunch lady at the elementary school. Who always got a fresh cinnamon roll for school breakfast? And who never had to worry that all the chocolate milk was gone? Me, that's who! (And I want to find that lost cinnamon roll recipe because I have never had one like those since childhood.)

One of my other aunties was our lioness. She'd run off bullies with a broom (true story), chaperon teen socials, carpool kids all over the neighborhood after the weekend get-togethers, and make sure that any stray kid was looked after.

Big Mama raised those aunties of mine. No surprise that they are all women to be reckoned with.
I guess I'm just glad that I have so many good memories of my Big Mama. I wish that many of the younger people I know could have experienced that kind of love.

Today, people like to call my Big Mama's kind of love "tough love". It wasn't tough love, it was just big love.

Peace
--Free


NOTE: I did make a couple of needed corrections that I only noticed when re-posting this. 

Crime (on my mind) & Time (on my hands)

It's almost time for my weekly injection. I've been playing fast and loose with my health and skipping shots. That's not good so I'm going to stay on schedule for a while. One of the reasons I hate my injections is that, even when they don't have me feeling sick and nasty, they zap every bit of energy from my body. I usually just spend time on the couch watching TV. Sometimes I just plug in the earphones and catch up on the podcasts I bookmark. And, of course, because I am a big scaredy cat with an overactive imagination, true crime is my favorite genre of podcasts. This is why I boobytrap the windows when I leave them open at night. This is why I almost had a heart attack when I woke up in the middle of the night for a potty run and saw this:

Of course, I had to Instagram my scare

I thought for sure a tiny serial-killer goblin had come to get me. (By the way, I also listen to eerie, weirdy, and slightly paranormal podcasts.) Mainly though, I listen to crime-focused stuff. People gone missing without a trace, spouse-killers, monsters who masquerade as the nicest persons ever.

What does it say about me as a human being that I enjoy hearing about the unspeakable things that happen to some other people? Thankfully, I can say that I don't get off on this kind of thing. Mainly, I'm just nosey and interested in the details of crazy crimes. When I say that I'm nosey, I don't mean that I openly get all up into people's business. I'm shame-facedly, sneakily, and pathetically nosey. Like a Gladys Kravitz, peeking through blinds when I hear a commotion on the street or suctioning my ear to the walls if I hear an argument. So, yeah, I think I like being able to belatedly rubberneck at the scenes of horrific or mysterious happenings.

Anyway, the last time I was listening to or watching a crime show, I noticed how often the victims are so deeply loved and venerated. (I have to pause and tell you how good it feels that I didn't have to stop and think of how to properly use the word 'venerated'. My sarc is in time-out for real today!)

No matter how human and flawed a victim is, you mostly hear from their friends and family about how sweet they were or how they always just lit up any room. That's great but I know that if I ever end up on a milk carton (if that is still a thing), my family is going to say all of that too - but they will be thinking of a few other descriptions they won't be able to say out loud.

I'm such a hermit crab that, if not for my best friend who I talk with all the time, I could go missing for a good two weeks before anyone else noticed. This is no one's fault but my own. I have a clear view of any visitors about to enter this building and I have sat right here and not answered when my door. Depends on how I am feeling. I've been like this for so long that most people who know me would not be surprised to know that I ignored them. I just have to be in the mood for company...

My best friend and I have talked about the whole missing person scenario. She's decided that if she came up missing, her family would assume she was just on a really long shopping excursion. (It's true. She has fabulous taste and loves hunting down new "pretties".) Her family and I would probably tell the world about her generosity and warmth. I might have to tell though about the time she spent 3 months trying to find just the right lamp to go with her living room furniture and ended up just having one made. 

I'm sure that at my memorial, people will stand in front of everyone to say al they right things about my love of the children in our family. They might even be able to tell some really funny stories about my phobias. Then, when they go home for the private family-only memorial... Oh boy. If my sister were here, she would talk about the time I got drunk and danced so hard at the club that I was sore for the next week. Or she might talk about how when I was young, I got mad at her and razored some of her favorite clothes right down the seams. Yeah, that really happened.

My oldest brother, if he were still here, would likely talk about what a horrible cook I was up until after I turned fifty. At one of our family dinners, he was really enjoying a dish made with pinto beans and ground beef. He kept talking about how he'd be damned if it didn't taste just like Mama's had. When someone told him that I had made that dish, he looked them dead in the face and swore they were lying.

What I am trying to say is that I wouldn't want anyone broadcasting what my family might say in private about the Trudy they had known and loved.

Public memorials are not the place to criticize anyone. Just like with flowers, they should only be given to the living when they could have made a difference. My mother used to say that flowers to the dead are usually just guilt offerings for the living.

I suppose that everyone has public vs private remembrances of loved ones who had tragic endings. Maybe the families and friends of those people keep the true - and funniest, real-ist, and bestest - delicate memories to themselves. Maybe that's the way it should be. Someone, please remind my family of this if I ever go missing.

Peace
--Free

Blessed, Stressed, a Little Bit Depressed

February is not my favorite month. For a couple of reasons.

 First, there is Valentine's Day (or "Galentine's" for the defiantly lonely) which I don't hate for itself but for all the whining that comes with it. For a few days, I have to listen to ungrateful lovers (he or she isn't this or that), singles who just don't appreciate enough else about life (I'm taking the day off work so I don't have to see all the flowers and gifts), and the greedy people who use the day to guilt their S/Os into spending money on them. What about spending a little extra time instead of money? What about just being thankful that you woke up knowing that someone loves you more than they love anyone else in the world? I'm simpatico with a comedian who joked that the best thing about Valentine's Day is all the candy that goes on sale right after. Last year, up until November, I still had a stash of those red heart-shaped boxes of Almond Roca from Walmart.

The real reason I don't like February is that, in 2015, I lost my big sister.

When you lose your parents, it hurts. When you lose any family member, it hurts. Losing your big sister - your only sister - hurts in ways you can't even explain. My sister was my best friend. She's probably the only one in this world who knew almost everything - good, bad, and embarrassing - about me.

For over 2 weeks, I sat with my sister, "Mike", in her hospital room, not thinking I was going to lose her. She'd been so sick for so long that hospital stays were normal. We had spent a lot of time she and I, getting to know nurses, doctors, and lab techs. There was one sweet little woman who had worked janitorial duty on two of Mike's hospital stays. She would come by on her break just to chat with us and offer to pray for Mike. Up until that last stay, Mike and I would make a game of trying to guess which staff member was which among a crew: the funniest, crankiest, newest, most outgoing, etcetera. We made up nicknames for the staff. There was one doctor that tended to a patient across the hall from Mike and we called him "Chief". He was young and energetic and had a long ponytail. He was an indigenous Alaskan and he proudly wore a necklace made of leather and ivory. I had a little crush on him so, of course, I always looked the other way if he paid me the slightest attention. Mike thought that was hilarious and threatened to rat me out to the hot doc. Of course, she was having severe problems keeping a clear head so she forgot the threat about 5 minutes after she made it.

Mike seemed about to get better. She was still not doing well cognitively, but the doctors had figured out why and they were going to fix it. She had to have another couple of procedures - one surgical - and then would be able to go home. I was already planning to treat her to a Starbucks coffee.

Life is better enjoyed than planned. I'm so glad that Mike and I enjoyed most of those last days. I'm so thankful that she came out of her brain fog every now and then to talk about something good - her kids, our nieces and nephews, and things we were going to do once the weather got better.

What still amazes me is that I knew but didn't know. That Mike wasn't coming home that time. That she was never going to sit in the passenger seat and critique my nervous driving. That we were never going to buy both wafer Nutter Butters and crunchy Nutter Butters so that we could split and each have some of both kind. That I was never going to call up from the kitchen to say I was making coffee and did she want a cup. That we were never going to trade that secret sister-glance because someone said something weird. That I was never going to be able to call her when I felt like I just needed to hear my sister's voice.

I knew enough that I didn't leave her except for one night during that last hospital stay. I knew but I didn't know. I knew enough that I prayed every time I got a quiet moment. I knew but I didn't know.

Mike came out of that last surgery well enough, but something happened during recovery. She never did wake up and after a couple of days in ICU, she died.

I have this one photo of Mike. It was taken right after we had said a prayer and right before she went into that last surgery. I don't often look at this photo but I keep it for her kids and grandkids.

She ALWAYS had a smile on her face

I hate February so much. I don't even like to look at the calendar during the month. I don't have to. My heart knows that I lost my sister on the 28th.  I miss her so much that today I feel like I can't take a deep breath. I am sad and lonely and depressed to the point of curling into a ball on the sofa. I miss my sister,

Still, I am blessed. I am blessed that I had such a sister. I am so very blessed.

Peace
Free

This Kid Here

I already posted once today but...

One of the neighbors asked me the other day if I was missing Alaska. Answer: Nope. But I do miss this kid. She wanted to see pictures. Now I can't quit looking through my files.




This is him with a puppy that belonged to an older nephew. They could sit like this together for hours. Quietly.

I took him with me to the mall one day. While I was talking with a clerk, he found the sunglass rack. The ladies' sunglasses rack.

He loves taking our sunglasses - his mom's. mine, Daddy's. If you're looking for your glasses, just check with him.

A costume one Halloween. The most adorable Batman EVER.

One of his "thinking" faces when asked something.

His Godparents were in town and I went with them to get his hair cut. He loves his barber and I couldn't believe how still he sat for the session.

He cracks me up. One morning, I heard cartoon voices in stereo. This is how I found the little maniac.

I love, love, LOVE this kid. I had a chance to see him when he was visiting Arizona this week. I declined. I don't think either of us can take another goodbye this soon. I'm still getting over the last goodbye.

His mom got him this shirt and my heart melts every time I see it.

This is how we spent a lot of hours. Just sitting together. We'd read or watch one of his kid shows or just talk about this amazing world.

I miss my little guy.

Peace
--Free


**All photos in this post are copyrighted by me and not to be reused in any instance.**

What a Vacation!

I just finished the first vacation I've had in about 15 years!

Let me clarify that statement. I've had the first time of relaxation to spend with my family and friends when it wasn't for a sad occasion. The last few times my family and friends got together was to bury a loved one, visit a loved one who was dying, or to let a loved one see the rest of the family for the last time.

This vacation was an actual vacation - courtesy my generous family. I'm thankful every day, but this Thanksgiving, I felt truly and extra special blessed.

The weather was awesome - not too hot for me because it's what they call "winter" (ha!). My doctor let me take an alternative to my methotrexate just long enough so that I could enjoy the time there and not spend it sick in bed. I'll pay for that, I'm sure, but it was worth it just to have at least a little it of time with the loved ones.

Now... Let me tell ya! No. Let me show you:


First, I had to take a couple of gifts to my oldest brother and his wife. They are first-time grandparents and you know I had to do this...

I spent most of the time in Arizona where my two oldest brothers and one of my nieces lives. Then there was to 2 nights and 3 days I spent in Vegas with one of the brothers and sister-in-law. I hit every black beauty supply store we passed and I made sure to eat at Famous Dave's so that I could have some of that yummy bread pudding they are famous for. Mostly, I just spent time with my family and friends. We laughed a lot, talked and caught up on chit-chat, and... yes, there was drinking involved!

We had an amazing Thanksgiving. We started celebrating the day before because that happens to be the birthday of one of the sis-in-law father. There was preparation for his special day. It involved wine.

Thanksgiving Day was awesome! There were about 30 to 35 of us together in my second oldest brother's house. We fit and we had a lot to be thankful for.

Appetizers and mingling while waiting for the main event

Me with the 2 oldest Conway men <3 td="">

With one of the niece's. My sister would be proud!

These 2... Crazy-fun.

The men getting impatient for the main meal

Annual Turkey Bowl game

Everyone got banged up but had lots of fun

One highlight of the season was going to see the Christmas light display at the Mormon Temple in Mesa. My poor photography skills don't do the show any justice.

The lights were amazing, but my favorite thing to see was the nativity displays in the Visitors' Center. There were displays representing states and nations from all over. Alaska was represented. Yay!

And, of course, Israel.

Most beautiful was the large Christ in the entrance to the Visitors' Center. Just glorious.

The Mormon Temple is large and every part of the grounds was lit up with displays. I loved the reflecting pool but didn't get decent photos.

I spent a couple of really fun day with my second oldest brother. Had so much fun, I didn't get photos of anything but my food. Isn't that the story of my life?

Just look at those rib tips!

 One day, he and I were in a mood for some good music and a couple of drinks. We hit up a place that served catfish so good that I almost hurt myself eating it.

That catfish... You just don't understand!

The fam in Arizona is trying to do a monthly get-together. I missed the family fishing day event. That sounded hilarious since none of the Alaska fam was there to show the Arizona clan how to actually fish! I was there this time for the day at Top Golf. We all suck at golfing but we had a ton of fun trying.

Yeah. He only looks like he knows what he's doing!

Wow. We really do such at this.

When it got time to go to Vegas with the oldest brother and sister-in-law, I was worried I was going to be too worn out. I was tired but really excited. The plan was to see Lionel Richie. That was the plan.

Just as we were in line to board the plane, my brother got the alert from TicketMaster: Concert canceled. Turns out the band members were affected by the fires in California.

We decided to make the best of the Vegas trip and, boy did we.

It was on the plane that I learned how liberal a town Vegas is...

I was thinking, "No WAY!!!"

Yes, way. As soon as we hit the Strip, I could smell that people were taking advantage of the liberalism.

Also learned that the NFR was in town at the same time we'd be. That meant out hotel was going to be full of cowboys. Even the lion was decked out for the festivities.

LOVE it!

First, let me laugh at these two for being bundled up like it was winter in Alaska! It was, at the lowest, maybe 55 degrees! I just shook my head and enjoyed the balmy weather...

 I was such a tourist! I loved all the different themed hotels. New York, New York was so cute. The whole strip was great but would have been more fun without the street hustlers ganging up on you every 5 feet... Thankfully, my brother is 6'3" and can be grim looking, I just walked in his wake.

The M&M store

Sammy Davis Jr's suit was like for a little boy

somewhere in New York, New York

 My one sister-in-law loves the trick pics

 I could not get over how expensive the food was. If my brother had not been paying for everything, I would have starved. The buffets I remembered being around $9.99 were in the $50 range. I kid you not. For the first time in my life, I ate a $25 hamburger. Almost couldn't enjoy it. Ugh.

But let's get to the reason we wanted to be in Vegas. Lionel Richie had canceled and my family has been to Vegas so much that they are jaded with it. They let me choose a show to see. There's a story behind this...

So, my sis-in-law are walking back from spending a little girls-only time in a bar downstairs. As we are walking back to the room to meet my brother, I pass this:

It's the Jabbawockeez storefront in the hotel. I LOVE the Jabbawockeez but have only seen them in videos. I'm a little bit drunk (it only took one drink!) and as I pass the storefront, I see that there are four mannequins instead of the usual two. I pause to think about this and one of the mannequins moves. What??? I move closer and concentrate. He waves. I'm so excited! I'm seeing a couple of the actual Jabbawockeez! I catch up to tell my SIL and she's laughing at me. Another lady passes by and asks if she might be drunk or did she see the mannequin wave to me. It's great. And, guess what? I didn't get a photo...

That decided me about what show to see. Jabbawockeez!

It's Jreamz! 

There was no filming/photography allowed so my fam didn't get the photo of one of the Wockeez interacting with me right before the show started. I loved that but am SO glad I didn't get pulled in front of the audience like a few people did.

Another thing I loved best about Vegas was watching the dancing waters at the Bellagio. I couldn't get enough. I can't decide which is more moving - the music or the waters. Every time, we walked by, my camera battery was running low. I did get a short clip.

 

So, I didn't miss Lionel Richie that much. I prefer the Jabbawockeez. Loved my couple of days in Vegas but it wore me out.

My family is so funny and sweet. My second oldest brother sent me home with a whole pound of See's candy and a winter coat.

He heard it was 30-some degrees here in Iowa! LOL

 He was worried about me coming back to an Iowa winter!

Sometimes, I want to feel sorry for myself. Times like this remind me of how much I have to be thankful for. I have people who love me and I'm so blessed to be a part of this big, crazy, loving, family of mine. We might be a little nuts, but we know how to put the FUN in dysfunctional.

Peace
--Free