I'm having my first cup of coffee for the day, waiting for my brain to wake up, so I've been browsing the lastest blogs. I ran across a comment that Coloconnect made to Ice's blog and it included the words "It takes a village to raise a child". I've been hearing those words for years and something about it always bothered me. For that matter, I'd say it has gone further than that...it irritates me. After a little pondering, I realized that, to me, the phrase is okay, except for one word.....village.

I think of a village as a town....a small town or neighborhood in a bigger town or city. In that town, there are the usual things that make up the same. Such is my home town or perhaps the town my mother grew up in and her parents stayed in. I wouldn't want to raise a child there, and didn't.

Then I think of another town, 20 miles from where my mother grew up....it's where my Dad grew up and his parents stayed until they died. And I WOULD raise a child there and did for a couple of years. In fact, it's the town I lived in when my first embarrassing moment occurred, but that's another subject.

Okay, my mother's home town is small and full of good people, or should I say "proper" people, following what they believe to be "proper" rules of living. The only thing they do is go to church and most belong to the "proper" church. That's it. Their means of entertainment include t.v., the telephone, and the men get in a little hunting and fishing. So these good people don't even realize that their ultimate form of entertainment is keeping an eye on their neighbor's current "proper" status and talking about that same thing when the men go to the post office every morning and women head down to the beauty shop. There's an undercurrent here that doesn't bode well.

Then, 20 miles away is my Dad's home town. It might as well be across the world, it's so different. In this town are folks that work together, play together, worship together (in whatever church they choose) and congregate often in whatever means and occasion that is called for, which is often. And other than the normal few trouble makers, get along really well and enjoy each other's company. They have social functions down town around the beautiful historic old court house and welcome visitors with open arms. Even passing through on those old brick streets, all one has to do is stop and take a stroll down the sidewalk. It just FEELS friendly.

What is my point? I guess my point is to that either of these towns can be called a village.....but only one can be called a community.

So.....in my mind, I would never raise a child in a village. I want a COMMUNITY raising my child, because as I see it....THERE'S A DIFFERENCE! But let's face it, those communities are few and far between these days, so I guess the entire "phrase", one way or the other just doesn't fit the times. And that is a shame.

So much for my useless tidbit... Time for another cup of coffee. :)

About ten years ago, my sister gives me a call and asks me to drive her to the next town to get her car because it had broken down and she had to leave it there. She needed me to take her back to get it and then follow her to the mechanic's shop back here in the home town just in case it broke down again.

Well, it was gonna take a chunk out of my day that I hadn't planned, but that's what family is for, so I resigned myself to the task. I picked her up and off we went to the next town and she filled me in and gave me endless instructions on the way there (she's a very detail oriented person). It went kinda like this: The car would start okay, but would probably act up shortly after takeoff and might stall completely. So...here's what she'd do...get in, start it up, pretty much floor the thing to keep it from stalling and I was to stay right behind her. If she had to stop at a light, it might die, so I was to push her if it did. "Okay, got it", I says. She had one of those ugly maroon Taurus that was so popular back then, you know the one that the back end stuck way up in the air like a cat in heat.

Anyway, we get to the destination and sure enough, that ugly Taurus was sittin right where she left it. After a quick recap of the same instructions, she thought I was ready. I'm rolling my eyes at this point, but keeping my tongue.

Okay, she got in, started ugly up, put it in gear and practically peeled out of the parking lot. I'm right behind her, both hands on the wheel, watching her like a hawk and totally focused on my task. A truck cut me off, so I had to fall back a little before I could turn on the the main road thru town, but I caught up with her a block down the road where she was stopped at a light. Okay, I'm thinking that will hopefully be our only hitch for this all-important mission.

I pull up behind her and roll slowly almost to her bumper just in case she stalls when the light turns green. Well, the light turned and she drove on just fine, but there were other lights thru town, so I made sure I stayed right on her bumper just in case. So that's the way we go thru town, her making the rest of the lights green and me right on her bumber. When she changed lanes, I changed lanes.

By this time, we're out on the highway, which is four lane, heading back to the home town and things are going great. I'm still very focused, slowing when she does, speeding up when she does, and still on her bumper.

We were about halfway when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a car in the left lane had come up beside me and was just staying there! That's irritating, isn't it? After a minute or two, I'm thinkin, "why doesn't this moron either go on or fall back and get in the right lane?", so I glance over to see who this moron is.

Well........

I found myself looking at my sister in her ugly Taurus and she was looking back at me, laughing her head off. I looked back to the front of me at what must have been one very terrified woman driving an identical ugly Taurus.

OH MY GOD!!!!

I had been stalking a total stranger ever since the stop light many miles back there. No wonder she had been slowing down and speeding up, and still I stayed practically glued to her bumper! And I had been SO intent(as I learned later), that I had passed up my sister in town where she had pulled over to wait for me. She saw me go by and had been trying to catch up to me in her sick ugly car ever since.

I decided the best thing at this point was to back off, let the lady go on her way, and try to keep with the RIGHT car. I finished the journey to the mechanic shop in one of those semi-shock states that comes when you realize you've been an idiot and there are witnesses. Sis left her car with the mechanic and got back in my car so I could take her home and she was literally doubling over laughing. I wasn't amused! I mean, was it my fault that there were a coupla thousand of those damn maroon Tauruses in town? But then I started thinking about the spectacle I must have made of myself. Before long, I was laughing so hard I had to pull over and it took us both a while to get ourselves under control.

I still wonder about that poor woman that I was stalking that day. I hope she got over it, lol.

Yeah, I was blonde then too. :)

Another fast and furious business trip that involves nine hours of driving for a four hour meeting. I feel like I've been around the world, but it's so good to be back home. And REALLY good to see Hubby again. All the dogs are okay and no puppies due til next week.

I want to get over to see my Dad this weekend, because he called today to tell me he is heading to Alaska in about 10 days to work for nine months. I'm excited for him because he's excited about going, but part of me wants to scream "NOOOO"! Funny how roles start to reverse as you get older. He's 74 years old (or I should say young), has bad knees and I just worry about him. He's developed diabetes the last few years and fights high blood pressure. Otherwise, he's healthy, but I still worry.

I have to remind myself that the most miserable thing to my Dad will be to not be able to work and I certainly don't want him to be miserable. So I just squelch my concerns and support him.

I know I'm not alone in my concern. This man is the glue that holds a large extended family together. He loves all and is loved by all. He's been role model to two daughters, four step-daughters, all the sons-in-law and so many grand and great-grandkids that I don't have time to count.

He's retired several times only to get tired of it and go back to work. Construction is a good profession for him since it's usually temporary and since he's excellent in his field, he doesn't have to do the actual work any more, just supervise.

So....we'll probably go this weekend and see if there is anything we can help him do to get ready for the trip, then send him on his way when the time comes. All I can do is smile, say a silent prayer, and tell him I'll miss him.

I'll save all the "outward" concern for when he thinks he needs it, which will probably be never. At this point, he would be insulted.

I love you, Daddy

I overheard those three words in a conversation today and it got me to thinkin about some of my most embarassing moments. I remember one in particular that I would like to forget, but you know how those things go...they just hang with you the rest of your life, clear as a bell, whether you like it or not, right? Well, here goes.

MANY years ago (gee has it been that long?) when my kids were small, I think 3 and 4, we lived in west Texas. It was July or August and not just scorching hot, but humid as hell. Not very good conditions, to say the least. We had an old swamp cooler in one window that didn't do any good, because as most folks know, they don't work very well without water. Well.....this one wasn't getting enough water and I had been complaining about it for a while. Mr. No-good (my husband at the time) was too lazy to fix it or even care.

I'd been getting in the shower, fully clothed, all day and wetting myself down just to stay cool enough to get some housework done and my temper finally got the best of me.

I knew the problem was from the water faucet outside from which the water was piped to the swamp cooler. I gotta give Mr. No-good a little credit, because he had actually purchased a new faucet. But that's as far as it went and the damn thing was still resting comfortably on the kitchen counter where it had been for a month.

This is where it get's interesting.

I'd had enough, so in a fit of temper, I grabbed the plyers and the new faucet and out the door I went, kids in tow. I tackled that old faucet like a mad woman and was doing a good job of getting it off until all of a sudden....SWOOOOOOSHHHHHH!!!! The faucet blew off with incredible force and I had a 20 foot geyser on my hands.

Now, this is where I began to feel really stupid.

Ever notice that when angry, you tend to forget important things like: turning the water off before removing whatever's holding it back? Well, too late for that. What do I do now? Thoughts race through my mind at this point. Do I call the city? No way, I'd be the laughing stock and the local small town newspaper was hungry for something to write about. It's bad enough that all the neighbors are already either out in their yards or peeking out their windows at this spectacle.

So....determination kicked in, since there was no other viable option. I shook off the initial shock of the situation, grabbed the new faucet and tried to screw it on. No luck...too much water pressure. I had water spraying everywhere, was soaking wet and couldn't see a thing. Okay, now let's see...what to do next? Aha! I grab the faucet in both hands, get it as close as I can, then proceed to sit on my hands til I can get the thing down to the pipe. Water is still going everywhere and I still can't see, but it's where I want it, by George! Now, I'm sitting like a frog on my hands which are on this faucet, but I still had to find a way to screw it in, so I did the only thing I could do at that point...I started slowly crab walking in a circle while sitting on my hands. After about three or four revolutions, I felt like it was safe to let go, but did a couple more just to be sure. Sure enough, it held enough that I could get the plyers on and finish it off. Phew!!!

There I stood, totally exhausted and soaking wet. That's when I heard it - uncontrollable giggles. I had just provided the best entertainment there is to my kids and all my neighbors. I tried to gather up what dignity I had left and get the kids back in the house, but they were laughing so hard they were limp on the ground and couldn't move, so I just left the little traitors out there.

Did I mention I'm a blonde? :)

As of this month, I've been cancer free for ten years. Talk about mixed emotions!! Although I'm extremely glad I don't have it any more, I'm one of those that never really accepted it in the first place, so I guess that subconsciously I feel that celebrating and making a big deal out of it somehow gives cancer a little too much credit. Lots of people believe I went into denial, but I feel more like I simply rejected it. There's a difference, you know. Two colon surgeries, 8 gruelling months of chemo and 10 months with one of those god-awful colostomy bags and I hated every minute of it. I wasn't taking it lying down, in fact I was furious! I hated my Oncologist because he matter of factly told me that the odds were not in my favor. What the hell did he know anyway? Turns out, he didn't know shit. Makes me mad just thinking about it. And who knows...maybe that anger got me through it...or maybe it was just my way of dealing with it. But I've known a few folks that have or have had the "big c" and I always wonder why they aren't mad as hell. I certainly was. I feel for my family....I must have been awful to live with.

Another reason I'm not that comfortable with celebrating is because I can't celebrate surviving when I know those who haven't. My surgeon did another surgery the same day as mine for the same thing..colon cancer. Her name was Nelda and she was 41 while I was 40 at the time. We went thru identical treatments, one room apart every week, so we got to know each other and became friends. She died New Year's Eve three years ago, leaving behind a husband and two kids. That bothers me.

A dear friend of mine and a formerly confirmed bachelor found the love of his life and married her two years ago. Three months ago, he sent me an email and said he was scared out of his mind because the love of his life had gone in for gall bladder surgery and they didn't find a bad gall bladder...they found a very rare, very aggressive liver cancer. She passed away two days after my ten year mark. That bothers me too.

I'll never apologize for beating it. I just wish everybody could. I don't dwell on it, in fact I would have forgotten it all together if my sister hadn't sent me a gift as she has every year for the last ten years. Life is for the living, as they say, so I have no problem getting on with it. We're all survivors of something, right?