NerdDom
It’s true. You’re always the last to know. What is apparent to all your friends and family. The thing that is whispered behind your back. The one character flaw trait you go through life blissfully unaware of. It’s official – I’m a nerd.
Always the last to know. The first hint of the possibility came from Fiddler one day when he said, and I quote, ‘Mom, you’re a nerd.’ What???!!! I don’t even remember the conversation that prompted such a statement. I just laughed it off – after all what does he know; he’s just a teenager. Then my evil self said, ‘Who better to know a nerd when he sees one than a teenager? They have builtin radar for this kind of stuff.’
And there I was. Not wanting to believe it, but having to admit the facts after careful analysis. But wait! Perhaps I wasn’t really a nerd. Maybe I’m a geek or a dork. No, I don’t want to be a dork. And which is worse, being a geek or a nerd? Time for some research!
It didn’t take me long to run across this little test. The results were astonishing! But not unexpected. I scored a whopping 89% on the nerd-o-meter with a little bit of dork thrown in, but I’m definitely not a geek which is a relief, because those people are weird!
So, it’s official, and I am trying to embrace my nerdiness, get comfortable in my nerdy little brain, accept my nerditity for what it is. And now that I think about it, it explains so much of my teenage angst.
Here is the poster child of NerdDom, and if you enjoyed this movie as much as I did, you might just want to click on that link above and take that test. It’s time. You must acknowledge your true self.
And just for the record, after reading this post, Fiddler says, “Mom, this post is nerdy!”, and he immediately wanted to take the test. His score? Less than 50% in any of the three categories, thus he is Joe Normal. So, there is hope for all you nerds in the childbearing years. Nerds don’t necessarily beget nerds!
I hold you in high “regard”
Be assured, dear readers, I do indeed hold you all in high regard. When I post these little tidbits of wordly wisdom, don’t be fooled. I make plenty of my own vocabulary/grammar errors. If you ever see one in a post, please tell me about it, so I can correct it immediately. And if you run across a word or phrase you’re guilty of misusing, don’t take it too hard. English is a very complex language to master – even for native speakers.
Since I hold you all in such high regard, today we will discuss the word, irregardless. Let me tell you – it isn’t a word. The word to use is regardless. Actually, I guess if you used irregardless, you would really be saying ‘with regard’ since it would be a double negative. But, I digress.
For example to say, “The game will be played regardless of the weather.” is correct. To use the word irregardless is incorrect. As a matter of fact, irregardless is always incorrect, because it’s not a word. Some dictionaries say it may be a combination of irrespective and regardless. I just say it’s wrong.
Childhood Food Memories
I read about a food memories meme over at Farmgirl Fare. Memes (pronounced meem) is an alteration of “mimeme” and is defined by Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary as “an idea, behavior, style, or usage that spreads from person to person.” This will be a list of five of my childhood memories involving food. I hope you will join in by leaving five of your memories in the comments. I think it’s a fun way to get to know you all better. Here are mine:
1. The first thought that came to mind when I read about this meme was my mother’s Cabbage Casserole. It was one of my favorite dishes that she made, but I don’t remember her making it very often. It seems like she made it for church suppers – maybe my dad didn’t like it. It had ground beef, cabbage, and tomato soup. I’m not sure what else was in it, but I can’t replicate it.
2. Ice Cream Suppers – each year at church we had an ice cream supper in August. Everybody brought either homemade ice cream or homemade baked goods. It was basically a sugar orgy – and I loved it!
3. TV dinners were special. When my father was out of town, which wasn’t very often, my mom would let us eat tv dinners. You know, salisbury steak or fried chicken. I thought they were delicious and looked forward to them even though we didn’t get to eat them in front of the tv.
4. Eating sugar sandwiches. We never really had food available to eat between meals, but there were times in high school that I was so hungry after school that I would take a piece of bread, spread margarine on it, sprinkle sugar on top and eat it.
5. Having to choose between a soft drink or ice cream during snack time at summer camp. We had to choose one. We couldn’t have both, and it was always a struggle whether to get an Eskimo Pie or fudgesicle or a Dr. Pepper or YooHoo.
Wow. Once I got going, there were so many more than five and it was hard to decide which ones to record. I still have a tremendous sweet tooth if there is chocolate involved. Now it’s your turn – who’s next?
Welcome to Heather’s Blog
(This is a “sticky” post, so if you’ve read it before, scroll down for the newest posts).
Well, here I am. Reviving my long-dormant personal blog.
Same blog, different direction.
When I was a blogging neophyte, I tried to be everything to everybody and tried not to offend anyone. But that’s not real life – at least it’s not my real life – and making the effort to be what I was not was draining.
It took too much effort and was no fun.
So now I’m back having learned a thing or two about blogging.
This blog will be pared down (I’m going back and deleting all my not real life blog posts from the past) and focused. I don’t mean focused in a narrow sense, but focused in a way that is Heather.
I plan to write about the things I think about. The things I do and feel. The things I dream of doing, but may never do. A dear diary if you wish, and if nobody but Google and I read it, so be it.
I hope that if you read something here worthy of a comment, please take the time to leave one, and let me know you’re out there. I don’t bite, really.
Heather’s here.
A Drunk + A Car = Life Interrupted
The call came mid-morning Saturday as I sat browsing the internet (probably Active Rain, though I don’t remember) sipping a cup of coffee. I had been scheduled for phone duty at 9:00, but a co-worker had called the afternoon before asking to switch. No problem. My husband, RenRed (short for Renaissance Redneck), would be glad to hear that. With two teenagers and only three cars on the weekends, vehicles were in short supply.
“Hey, honey. I don’t have to go into work until 2:30, so I won’t need the car. You can use it if you need it.” I knew he would take advantage of the opportunity to go down to his dad’s rural East Texas hunting camp. How I wish I had that 9:00 phone duty slot back.
So, as I was saying, I’m surfing the ‘net. Ring. Ring. I pick up the phone, look at the display, but don’t recognize the long distance number. No big deal. We’ve gotten so many political survey calls lately….
“Hey, I’ve been in a bad accident…. No, I think I’m gonna be okay…. They’re gonna take me to the hospital…. I think the other guy’s dead…. The car’s totaled…. No, it wasn’t…. He crossed the center line…. Yeah, meet me at the hopital.”
The hospital – 30 minutes away. “FIDDLER, I need you!!!”
“What do you want?” from Fiddler, the 16 year-old.
“I NEED YOU! NOW!! Here, look up the directions to the hospital and print them out for me. Then get me the Shelby County sheriff’s office phone number.”
I dash in a daze to the bedroom – I’m still in my pajamas, haven’t had a shower. Do I take the time to shower? How long will it take him to get there? He said the ambulance wasn’t there yet. He’ll have to talk to the police….”
I hurriedly get ready, then call my father-in-law and tell him the news. He wants to follow me to the hospital. No, no. Can you find out where they’re taking the car, and go get all the stuff out of it?
“Fiddler, look up the number of the insurance company.” My mind is so muddled right now – I know I have it somewhere, but can’t think where.
In the car, down the highway. Pray that RenRed will be okay and that the other guy will live. Call the insurance company. Gave the robot the wrong member number and keep getting bounced back to the same message. Dial again. Finally get through the maddening phone robot maze to a human voice.
Off the phone. Oh, no! Have I passed my exit? Yes, I think I just passed my exit. Great, I’ll have to turn around up here. Oh, this is it. Yea.
At the hospital, there is nobody to be seen. Not a solitary soul at the front desk. I walk around the corner. Nobody. There’s a door, and I figure if I open it, someone will come popping out to tell me I can’t do that. Door opens. I see a friend and he waves me in. Yes, he’s a nurse who works at this little hospital ER on the weekends. Thank you, Lord.
“We’re just taking him into x-ray. You can come see him. He’s gonna be okay” He’s pale, quiet, shaken. But he doesn’t seem to be in too much pain.
Life interrupted.
Diagnosis: Avulsion fracture of the left tibia. Treatment: None. Recovery period: 6-8 weeks.
Diagnosis: Seat belt abrasion, contusions and swelling on both shins, laceration on left shin, burn on right thumb, neck pain, soreness all over. Treatment: Rest. Recovery period: ??
Life interrupted.
The other driver had already been convicted of 3 DUIs, has no driver’s license and no auto insurance. He was airlifted to a major trauma center where he remains in ICU. He had a broken leg requiring surgery and probably numerous other injuries. He is 42 years old and is well-known in his small town for his drinking and his driving while drunk. There was an empty bottle of vodka in the car. After being convicted in 2007 for his 3rd DUI, he was sentenced to 6 months probation.
Life interrupted.
We paid our insurance premiums. We will pay our insurance deductible. We paid for his helicopter ride to the ER and his treatment at the state-funded trauma center. We will not receive enough from insurance to pay off our less than one year old vehicle.
We are not angry at him, we pray for him, we are glad he’s alive. We agonize over someone whose life is so bad that they must anesthetize themselves on a daily basis with alcohol. Who can help a person like this? No rehab progam can do that. There’s one thing he needs and we pray that this will draw him to the Lord.
No, we’re not mad at him, but we are angry at the system that would let him back on the street to use his vehicle as a weapon and endanger other people. There are no easy answers to the problem of drunk drivers. There are no quick solutions for a system that has no room in its jails for these repeat offenders.
Life interrupted, but life goes on. I have my husband. He will heal. We’ll get another car, though perhaps not as nice. We are not slaves to alcohol.
His life will go on. We pray that it will not go on in the same way, down the same path. We pray that he will change. Please pray with us. His name is John.
Life goes on. Thanks for “listening”.
How I Survived Hurricane Ike
Those of you who read Bayou Woman’s blog, know that I followed her home right after Hurricane Ike made landfall. She had been gone from home for about 2 weeks having had to evacuate prior to Hurricane Gustav making landfall.
We hightailed it south from my house to BigSis’s house, helped along the way by the strong winds as Hurricane Ike moved northward. With tornado warnings all around, we kept a watchful eye out for funnel clouds and held our breaths on the overpasses on I-49.
Sunday morning, the day after the storm, we left BigSis’s house early to meet Cap’n Droopy, a friend of Bayou Woman’s, who was to take us by boat to view her house and the cypress cottage, both of which had flooded. We had to go by boat, because the road at the head of the bayou was closed due to high water. It was impossible for most vehicles to pass.
As we pulled up in the bayou across the street from the cypress cottage, we could see the front yard filled with water and a muddy waterline above the front porch. I waded through knee-deep water, went through the front door, and was greeted by floors covered in a thin veneer of dark brown mud and water marks about 8 inches up the wall.
There was nothing we could do right then, and just as we were about to embark to head back, BW’s friend, Mechanic, happened by in his truck. He was headed down the bayou and would be going right past Bayou Woman’s house to check on another friend’s camp. He obligingly let us make the ride with him. Once we surveyed the house from the road (there was going to be no wading through that hip-high water!), we continued down toward his friend’s camp.
I want you to try to picture this. And if you’ve seen the pictures BW has posted, you’ll understand. When Hurricane Gustav came through there was a lot of wind damage. That means trees down, limbs down, debris tossed around. Most of the people who evacuated north before Gustav did not have time to come back down before Hurricane Ike struck. Hurricane Ike brought the high water which washed all of the downed limbs and debris and anything that would float and wasn’t tied down whichever way the water was flowing.
So, when I say we got in a truck and went down the bayou, it wasn’t like we were on a high and dry road. Travel was very slow due to the deep water on the road and due to the fact that nobody was sure what was under that water. There were times when we were all peering out the windows down at the road just to make sure we kept the yellow and white road markings in sight. We didn’t want to lose sight of those lines and drive off the road. As it was, we ended up with one flat tire and a nail sticking out of another one.
So, as we were creeping along watching carefully, we happened upon an entire family packed into the cab of a front end loader methodically trying to clear the road of debris. The family consisted of father, mother, and three children. I don’t know how much of the road they had attempted to clear before we caught up with them, but it appeared to be an exercise in futility.
We must have sat there for at least 20 minutes (there was no getting around them) while they scooped up debris and deposited it on the side of the road only to have it wash right back where it was before. Basically, they were just stirring the soup, not making much headway at all.
As we sat waiting for them to make a path, we spotted this…
We don’t know how long this puppy had been sitting on that crab box. She wasn’t wet and she wasn’t dirty. Nobody was home at any of the houses around her. Mechanic kept telling me that she surely belonged to somebody and that if we took her, we would be stealing her. I kept pointing out that somebody left her and that she was probably hungry and thirsty. Then we saw this…
This big fella was on the other side of the road in the bayou. But remember there was water covering the road. That didn’t really matter though, because alligators can travel by land…
And they’re fast when they wanna be fast. This, to me, looked like a tempting gator meal…
Well, Mechanic wasn’t as hard-hearted as I thought he was. As we pulled up alongside the puppy, he hollered to one of the guys in the back of the truck to get the dog. Asking no questions, said guy hopped out, sloshed through the water (with boots on), and retrieved the pup who was only too glad to come along.
We finally made it back up the bayou having been stopped short of Mechanic’s goal by a herd of cows. Once we reached the patient Cap’n Droopy to retrace the ride home, and convinced that neither BigSis nor our niece at whose home we were staying would take kindly to having a stray dog in their home, we put the pup out of the truck, gave it some water, and promised to return the next day with dog food.
We kept our promise, but the little pup was nowhere to be found. We kept an eye out as we traveled between cottage Camp Dularge and the house hoping to find her, but no luck. Then on Tuesday, as we were coming back up from the house, there she was on the side of the road wandering around in a field not far from the where we had put her out. Well, we immediately pulled over, but she was frightened and reluctant to come near.
Remembering the puppy food, I poured some out on the side of the road. That was all it took. She couldn’t resist, and as she ate the food, I picked her up and put her in the truck. So, let me introduce you to…
Ishi is a sweet, sweet dog. She had hookworms and an eye infection and she was skinny, but we’ve taken care of all that. She sits on command and has learned to shake – with either paw, she’s ambidextrous! She is full of energy like any puppy, but she rides well in the car and gave me no trouble at all on the 6 hour ride home. I’m not sure if I can keep her. I’d love to give her to Termite, but they need to repair the fence around the backyard at the cottage for her safety. Hmm, sounds like another project to go back down south for! I’m willing to provide the labor – anybody willing to donate money to help with the fencing materials?
Fiddler Catches in State Championship Game
After a somewhat frustrating baseball season as a sophomore this year, Fiddler was called upon to catch in not only the semifinal game for the pitcher he was used to catching, but the coach put him in the final, championship game catching a pitcher he had never been allowed to catch before. And as a proud Mama, let me say he did a fine job keeping control of a ball that was coming at him 90 mph on some pitches.
Tuesday and Wednesday of last week were very exciting for this baseball family. Fiddler’s high school team went to the semifinals on Tuesday praying (literally) for a win. I can’t remember when I’ve been so nervous prior to a game. I knew Fiddler would probably catch, because he usually caught for the pitcher they were starting that night, and they needed the other catcher in left field.
He did a good job and it was a great game, but I was in shock when we won it! That meant another trip the next night to a stadium two hours away to play a team from our own city! It didn’t make sense to us, but off we went. Again, I thought Fiddler might play, but I wasn’t certain. I knew the coach probably wanted the other catcher in left field again, though, so I had my fingers crossed.
You see, for the whole season, when the team’s #1 pitcher was pitching, the coach would use the other catcher. I never could figure out why, but that’s the way it had been all season. This pitcher has a hot fastball and a mean curve and had already signed to play at LSU in the fall. Maybe the coach just figured Fiddler couldn’t handle it.
Well, I thought RenRed would fall out of his chair when he realized that Fiddler would be catching in the championship game. And what a game it was! We ended up winning after five innings due to the mercy rule. We had gotten ten runs ahead and they just couldn’t catch up.
When that left fielder caught a fly ball for the third out in that last inning, Fiddler charged the mound and jumped into the pitcher’s arms for a big bear hug. By then, the rest of the team had run in and began piling on top of them. My baby was on the bottom of that pile!!
We all rushed onto the field and I snapped pic after pic of Fiddler and his teammates and the trophy. It was so much fun! Indulge me while I share some of it with you.
Dogpile on the pitcher’s mound! Can you find Fiddler’s head?
My attempt to get a team picture with trophy. You can see Fiddler’s head under the arm of the coach in the green jacket.
The pitcher, Randy, and Fiddler
Fiddler and best friend, Phillip, the third baseman
It was great fun. I was so happy that Fiddler got to be an active participant. I hope we can do it again!
Hormonally-Induced Senior Moments
This really should probably be a dually-authored post, since Bayou Woman and I are co-discoverers of this malady. Well, we came up with the acronym anyway. But since I seem to (in my opinion) have had an earlier onset and a slightly more sever case of it, I’ll claim the right to post about it first.
Before I tell you what the acronym stands for and to help you determine if you also suffer from this blight on humanity, see if any of this sounds familiar.
Scenario 1 – Laundry time! I hear the buzzer on the washer go off and dutifully pad into the laundry room to transfer the clothes to the dryer. Wait, I have to put the clothes from the dryer into the laundry basket first. There. With dryer door ajar so that I can efficiently toss the wet clothes in with one deft motion, I raise the lid of the washer only to find it — EMPTY! I had washed a whole load of nothing! I had gone through the motions, put the detergent in, closed the lid, turned it on, but I had forgotten to put any clothes in.
I was so embarrassed I didn’t tell anyone for a long time. What was happening to me?
Scenario 2 – It was a beautiful day outside I thought to myself as I crossed the parking lot. I was glad to have gotten some errands behind me. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself as I walked up to the passenger side door and opened it to get in. That’s when I realized I was alone. I had come shopping by myself; there was nobody with me. As nonchalantly as possible, I closed to door and surreptitiously glanced around as I walked around the back of the car to get in the driver’s side. Fortunately, there were few shoppers out that day, but I felt like a complete idiot.
Scenario 3 – Now this one happens all the time in one variation or another: I go into the laundry room where the deep freeze is to get something out to thaw for dinner. As I walk in I see that the clothes have finished drying, so I begin folding them and hanging them up. As I take towels to put in the hall bathroom I notice that the counter needs to be tidied. That done, I pop into the office to quickly check my email and you know where that leads. Finally back in the laundry room to finish up, I suddenly remember my original purpose in coming in there in the first place – to take something out for dinner. I do this one all the time except that I don’t always remember the original task that I had intended to do.
Does any of this sound familiar to anyone? Just this morning, as I was getting ready for the day (I had decided to work from home), something interrupted me, and I forgot to put on my makeup. It wasn’t until this afternoon when I went to get my jacket from the closet and I passed through the bathroom that I realized I didn’t have any makeup on! And the only reason I knew that was because my eye shadow was laying on the vanity counter just waiting for me. I glanced in the mirror and sure enough. No makeup. I am still puzzled as to why I didn’t put it on. I simply can’t remember.
So, what do Bayou Woman and I call these lapses of memory? I’m sure you’ve all heard the phrase “senior moments”? Well, HISMS are Hormonally Induced Senior Moments. And we named them this because I had just experienced the change of life, and that’s all we could deduce might be causing such memory gaffes. I was still young. What other explanation could there be?
We laugh, Bayou Woman and I, because it’s better than crying or worrying about it. But I wonder sometimes if it’s not the effects of living life today in a society that is wound just a little too tight. The scary thing about HISMS is that you never know when you’ll have another one. They can’t be anticipated because you don’t realize they happen until they’ve happened.
We’ve had many HISM laughs over the years. How about you? Experience any HISMS lately and want to share?
Another Etsy Delivery!
Look what showed up on my doorstep the other day! Another littel jewel from Etsy. This time from Ivan and Lucy. And surprise of surprises, they live in my town. What a coincidence!
Let’s unwrap our package. Here’s the envelope that arrived just one day after I paid for it.
The box prettily tied with a bow.
The unveiling.
My new little pendant called appropriately enough…
TIME FLIES!
Isn’t it cuuuuuuuute? I feel so special and can’t wait to wear it!
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