I entered the 4-H Public Speaking Contest back in the early 70's and won County (Carroll County, Maryland) with a speech titled: Pollution, Pollution, What's The Solution. I competed with the other County winners for State, but did not win. I don't remember much about the speech other than the catchy title. Fast-forward to October 2017 and I'm still waging war on pollution.
When Daniel and I started our daily walks last month, I couldn't help but notice all the trash in my neighborhood and decided to carry along a bag and grabber. Every day, I'd collect a bag of trash. It's the usual stuff thrown from car windows and dropped from busy hands: cans, plastic bottles, candy wrappers, cigarette butts, and the many containers and bags that once held fast-food. From what I can tell, litterers (especially my neighbors) are unhealthy eaters. I've yet to find a hummus container or an apple core. I suspect my neighbors secretly call me the crazy trash lady. Come to think of it, maybe they throw trash in the street to keep me busy, so I don't try to engage them in conversation or borrow a cup of sugar.
I've never understood people who throw trash anywhere but in a container made for that purpose. If you do, please don't tell me. I'd still love you, but I'd probably nag you and tell you the world is not your garbage can and stop being trashy.
I will continue to pick up trash as long as my neighbors continue to throw it. It's not all bad, so far I've found a dime, a nickle and four pennies!
Pollution, Pollution, What's The Solution? Come to find out, it's me...at least in my neighborhood. Don't be trashy people.
Friday, October 27, 2017
Sunday, August 27, 2017
Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
I started smoking when I was 14. Since her parents were out of the country, a relative was staying with us for several weeks, waiting to start college. I stole one of her cigarettes and smoked it behind the barn. That was my first cigarette and by the time I was 16 I smoked daily. My dad quit smoking when I was 5 and my mother never smoked. They did not allow me to smoke so I hid my habit from them. It was many years after I had left home before I would smoke in front of them.
In my high school, there was a "smoking area". Students could smoke there if they were 18 or with parental permission if they were younger. Since I turned 18 right before graduation, I smoked in the girl's bathroom. When a teacher would walk into the bathroom, cigarettes went flying because unless they caught you with one in your hand, they could not prove it was yours. We'd get stern looks as we shuffled out, until the next cat-and-mouse game. I got caught once. I was smoking alone between classes that day and my HomeEc teacher walked in. Our eyes met and my heart sank. If she turned me in and my parents were notified I'd be dead (well not literally dead, but I'd wish I was), but she didn't. She told me to get to class and never spoke of it again. I was thankful, but kept on smoking.
In my high school, there was a "smoking area". Students could smoke there if they were 18 or with parental permission if they were younger. Since I turned 18 right before graduation, I smoked in the girl's bathroom. When a teacher would walk into the bathroom, cigarettes went flying because unless they caught you with one in your hand, they could not prove it was yours. We'd get stern looks as we shuffled out, until the next cat-and-mouse game. I got caught once. I was smoking alone between classes that day and my HomeEc teacher walked in. Our eyes met and my heart sank. If she turned me in and my parents were notified I'd be dead (well not literally dead, but I'd wish I was), but she didn't. She told me to get to class and never spoke of it again. I was thankful, but kept on smoking.
I was a heavy smoker; almost 3 packs a day. It was the first
thing I did when I woke up in the morning and the last thing I did before I
laid my head down at night. Bob smoked too, but not nearly as much; a
pack a day perhaps. I'd buy at least two cartons a week. I remember
when cigarettes were 50 cents a pack and I'd say when they got to be $1 a pack,
I would quit. Liar.
I smoked through all 3 of my pregnancies. I am very ashamed
of that and still feel guilty for having subjected my children to that.
Heather suffered the most since she was 13 when I quit; Bobby was 5.
When Bob was preparing to retire from the Navy, he suggested we
quit smoking before he retired. At the beginning
of 1999 we made a pact and I promised him I would quit. He left on a 6-month cruise and he would be
separating from the Navy when he returned so I had 6 months. I wasn’t sure I could do it. I had tried in the past, but had never made
it more than 3 days before I’d give in to the cravings. I had made a promise and since I always kept
my promises, I quit before he returned. I am an all or nothing type of person so I
knew I would not be successful tapering off, so I quit “cold turkey”, not one
cigarette since June 1999.
It still amazes me that I was able to quit after smoking 28 years. I’m thankful Bob made the suggestion. I’m thankful my children have forgiven me
choosing my selfish indulgence over their health. I’m thankful it appears I quit before any
lasting damage was done. For several
years after I quit, I would dream I was smoking and wake up terrified, it
seemed so real and I never wanted to smoke again.
Friday, August 25, 2017
She Works Hard For The Money
I've been thinking about work lately. I started working in 1972 at age 15. I've had 14 paying jobs. Here are some work memories:
Rus Joy Inn, Waitress. I made 60 cents an hour plus tips. Working weekends and some evenings I saved enough money to pay cash for my first car, a used grey Mazda for $2,000. I sold it before I moved to Virginia to a young guy who saw the "for sale" sign and said God had told him to buy the first grey car he saw.
Manchester Sewing Factory, Sewing Machine Operator. I sewed pockets on the outside of men's leisure suits and disposable clothing used in hospitals. It was piece-work meaning you were paid for the amount you sewed. Most of the other employees were middle-aged ladies with bee-hive hairdos. One girl was my age (18). She was deaf and taught me sign language.
Westminster Shoe Factory, Sewing Machine Operator. I sewed shoes, mainly the seam down the back. This job was also piece-work. My fingers would crack open and bleed because the leather and suede dried out your skin. Bee-hives ruled here too. To this day I can't buy a pair of shoes without looking at the sewing.
Fleet Accounting & Dispersing Center, File Clerk. Civil Service! This was a temporary job I knew would only last 4 months, but I took it in hopes of securing a full-time position. This was my first job in an office setting. I sat at a desk and pushed buttons and a file drawer would come out of the wall on tracts until it reached me and I would either file documents or remove them for other workers. In those short 4 months I learned Government work was probably not going to be a good fit for me when my supervisor pulled me aside to tell me to slow down because I was working too fast and making the other workers look bad.
Colonial Chevrolet, Executive Secretary. I was hired as a Title Clerk and later was promoted to Executive Secretary. This job was pivotal for me. Up until this time I had mostly worked in factories. I wanted an office job and I knew I could do it, but without experience it was hard to get your foot in the door. I knew the girl who was leaving as Title Clerk (she was my future step-mother's, sister's, step-daughter - ha, ha...I can't make this stuff up!). She put in a good word for me so when I went in for my interview with the Vice President he told me usually he wouldn't hire without experience, but since I was recommended he gave me a shot. I will never forget him and what he did for me that day. I worked for Colonial when I met and married Bob. When Bob got orders and I had to give my notice I cried, I really loved that job.
Warrington Baptist Church, Secretary. This was the first job I took after Ricky died. I had not worked for several years and wanted to find something that wasn't stressful.
Jerry Pate Turf & Irrigation, Service Coordinator. When I interviewed for this position with the Service Manager in 1995, I didn't receive a call back and after 2 weeks figured they hired someone else. I did receive a call 3 weeks later asking if I had found a job yet and when I said no, he offered me the position. He had hired another girl, but she only stayed 2 weeks. He told me later that I had been his first choice, but he was leery to hire me since I had worked for a Church and was afraid I'd try to save his soul. I spent 22 years there. So many stories that I'm sure will be the subject of future blogs. I'd still be there if it wasn't for a higher calling. These people are my second family and I love them.
Now I'm Granny and I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing. I'm humbled at the opportunity. "Already knows, these are the good times."
Monday, August 21, 2017
Home Is Where I Hang My Heart
When someone new asks me where I am from, I hesitate. I don't really feel like I'm "from" a particular location. My answer depends who is asking and how much time I have.
My Dad being career Marine and Bob career Navy I've moved quite a bit. My locations from birth:
Danville, VA
Jacksonville, NC
Buford, SC
Charlottesville, VA (1st grade)
Jacksonville, NC (2nd grade)
Sandusky, OH (3rd grade)
Manchester, MD (4th grade)
Oceanside, CA (5th grade)
Manchester, MD (6th-12th grades)
Norfolk, VA
Patuxent River, MD
Pensacola, FL
Carrollton, VA
Pensacola, FL
I was born in Danville, VA, but have no memories of it since we left before I was 2 so it seems odd to say I'm "from" there. My parents were both from Carroll County Maryland so that is my usual response when trying to explain my origins. I always seem to throw in that Carroll County borders Pennsylvania and that the majority of my relatives live in either MD or PA.
I've always considered myself a "southern" gal, having lived in the south until 3rd grade when we moved to Ohio. My school promptly placed me in speech class because I "talked funny". Bob calls me a Yankee because my family is from Maryland, regardless of how many times I explain Maryland is BELOW the Mason-Dixon line. I remind him I was born in Virginia, but since he's from South Carolina, even Virginia is "north" to him.
I feel so very blessed to have seen so much of the U.S. and met so many different people. I cherish the friendships I've made along the way and love reconnecting with them through Facebook. I'm thankful my Mother always made sure we had a "home" wherever we were stationed. Even though Dad was transferred every year, Mom unpacked every box, hung every picture, made every house a home for us. We may not have been "from" there, but I always felt at home. I continued that tradition with my family. We did not have to move every year, but when we did move I made sure to set up our home quickly.
I've lived in Pensacola, FL (27 years) longer than anywhere, almost half my life. When Bob first received orders in 1987, I had never heard of Pensacola, but I had been to Fort Meyers as a child and remembered I loved everything I had seen there - lots of hot sunshine, palm trees, alligators, oranges you picked in your backyard! Bob was sent to C-School so just Heather (not yet 2) and I drove from Norfolk, VA to find our new home. As I turned off of Interstate 10 and headed to the Navy Lodge aboard NAS Pensacola, our new location didn't look like the Florida I remembered. If you're not familiar with Pensacola, we're as far west as you can be without being in Alabama. Locals fondly refer to Pensacola as "LA", Lower-Alabama!
Even though Pensacola didn't look exactly like the Florida I knew, I fell in love. When Bob retired we could have moved anywhere, but Pensacola was home. Bob said I had followed him wherever he went and now it was my turn, and I chose to stay. I have lived here long enough that I usually see someone I know everywhere I go. That's a novel feeling for a quasi-nomad and I love it.
I may have trouble explaining where I'm from, but I always know when I'm home.
My Dad being career Marine and Bob career Navy I've moved quite a bit. My locations from birth:
Danville, VA
Jacksonville, NC
Buford, SC
Charlottesville, VA (1st grade)
Jacksonville, NC (2nd grade)
Sandusky, OH (3rd grade)
Manchester, MD (4th grade)
Oceanside, CA (5th grade)
Manchester, MD (6th-12th grades)
Norfolk, VA
Patuxent River, MD
Pensacola, FL
Carrollton, VA
Pensacola, FL
I was born in Danville, VA, but have no memories of it since we left before I was 2 so it seems odd to say I'm "from" there. My parents were both from Carroll County Maryland so that is my usual response when trying to explain my origins. I always seem to throw in that Carroll County borders Pennsylvania and that the majority of my relatives live in either MD or PA.
I've always considered myself a "southern" gal, having lived in the south until 3rd grade when we moved to Ohio. My school promptly placed me in speech class because I "talked funny". Bob calls me a Yankee because my family is from Maryland, regardless of how many times I explain Maryland is BELOW the Mason-Dixon line. I remind him I was born in Virginia, but since he's from South Carolina, even Virginia is "north" to him.
I feel so very blessed to have seen so much of the U.S. and met so many different people. I cherish the friendships I've made along the way and love reconnecting with them through Facebook. I'm thankful my Mother always made sure we had a "home" wherever we were stationed. Even though Dad was transferred every year, Mom unpacked every box, hung every picture, made every house a home for us. We may not have been "from" there, but I always felt at home. I continued that tradition with my family. We did not have to move every year, but when we did move I made sure to set up our home quickly.
I've lived in Pensacola, FL (27 years) longer than anywhere, almost half my life. When Bob first received orders in 1987, I had never heard of Pensacola, but I had been to Fort Meyers as a child and remembered I loved everything I had seen there - lots of hot sunshine, palm trees, alligators, oranges you picked in your backyard! Bob was sent to C-School so just Heather (not yet 2) and I drove from Norfolk, VA to find our new home. As I turned off of Interstate 10 and headed to the Navy Lodge aboard NAS Pensacola, our new location didn't look like the Florida I remembered. If you're not familiar with Pensacola, we're as far west as you can be without being in Alabama. Locals fondly refer to Pensacola as "LA", Lower-Alabama!
Even though Pensacola didn't look exactly like the Florida I knew, I fell in love. When Bob retired we could have moved anywhere, but Pensacola was home. Bob said I had followed him wherever he went and now it was my turn, and I chose to stay. I have lived here long enough that I usually see someone I know everywhere I go. That's a novel feeling for a quasi-nomad and I love it.
I may have trouble explaining where I'm from, but I always know when I'm home.
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Dance Hall Days
Ask Bob how we met and he will tell you we met in a bar. He says that mainly because he knows it will get a rise out of me, but since alcohol was served there, I guess he's not far off. It was a club. It was 1982 and we had disco fever.
The evening started innocently enough. I was relaxing in my bachelorette pad with my roommate, when she suggested we go dancing. I initially balked, reminding her the next day was a work day, but without too much arm twisting we were on our way to the Portsmouth, Virginia Enlisted Club. We liked going to the Navy Base clubs because there were always young men ready to dance and they were generally more polite and respectful than the non-military area honky-tonk crowd. We found a table and got ready to dance the night away.
It wasn't long before a handsome man approached and asked if I'd like to dance. Tall, dark hair, handsome. He was dressed the part; silk shirt, flared polyester pants, side-zipped ankle boots. This guy had style. This guy had class.
There on that dance floor in Portsmouth, VA, as we danced our first dance to Ebony and Ivory, our story began. Chapter One, Page One. Some chapters read like a mystery while others are more horror-filled. There is drama, comedy, adventure, romance, and we continue to write. It may never make the Times Best Seller list, but it's our story...and we're sticking to it.
The evening started innocently enough. I was relaxing in my bachelorette pad with my roommate, when she suggested we go dancing. I initially balked, reminding her the next day was a work day, but without too much arm twisting we were on our way to the Portsmouth, Virginia Enlisted Club. We liked going to the Navy Base clubs because there were always young men ready to dance and they were generally more polite and respectful than the non-military area honky-tonk crowd. We found a table and got ready to dance the night away.
It wasn't long before a handsome man approached and asked if I'd like to dance. Tall, dark hair, handsome. He was dressed the part; silk shirt, flared polyester pants, side-zipped ankle boots. This guy had style. This guy had class.
There on that dance floor in Portsmouth, VA, as we danced our first dance to Ebony and Ivory, our story began. Chapter One, Page One. Some chapters read like a mystery while others are more horror-filled. There is drama, comedy, adventure, romance, and we continue to write. It may never make the Times Best Seller list, but it's our story...and we're sticking to it.
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Just Say No To Donuts
I could tell by the story headline in yesterday's newspaper, "Doughnut Flakes In Car Test Positive For Meth", it was going to be an interesting read. A 64 year old man was arrested during a traffic stop when officers spotted four tiny flakes of donut glaze on his floorboard and thought they were pieces of crystal methamphetamine. The man told police he had eaten Krispy Kreme donuts in his car, but somehow the flakes tested positive for meth in the roadside drug tests. I'm not making this up. He spent ten hours in jail before being released and three days later the charges were dropped.
Whoa, hold the phone! I have inhaled my share of glazed Krispy Kremes in my car and to think that could get me a stint in the pokey is unreal. I tried to tell you people I had an addiction!
If you've ever had a glazed Krispy Kreme donut when the "Hot Now" neon sign is flashing, you know where I'm coming from. For those of you poor souls without a KK, there is a conveyor belt that carries the lushious lovelies through their sugar glaze bath. Once you score your fix, the melt in your mouth, hot, gooey goodness is dangerous. A half dozen can disappear in an instant and before you know it you're on a sugar high and as if that's not bad enough, now you have to be on the lookout for the Fuzz?!?! I've heard of the food police, but since there is no such thing as pig-out prison or junk-food jail, I didn't really worry about it. Now that arrest is actually possible, I'm going to have to give up the junk or resign myself to a life of crime.
It looks like I'll have to give up the Krispy Kremes for good. I'm not cut out for the thug life.
Whoa, hold the phone! I have inhaled my share of glazed Krispy Kremes in my car and to think that could get me a stint in the pokey is unreal. I tried to tell you people I had an addiction!
If you've ever had a glazed Krispy Kreme donut when the "Hot Now" neon sign is flashing, you know where I'm coming from. For those of you poor souls without a KK, there is a conveyor belt that carries the lushious lovelies through their sugar glaze bath. Once you score your fix, the melt in your mouth, hot, gooey goodness is dangerous. A half dozen can disappear in an instant and before you know it you're on a sugar high and as if that's not bad enough, now you have to be on the lookout for the Fuzz?!?! I've heard of the food police, but since there is no such thing as pig-out prison or junk-food jail, I didn't really worry about it. Now that arrest is actually possible, I'm going to have to give up the junk or resign myself to a life of crime.
It looks like I'll have to give up the Krispy Kremes for good. I'm not cut out for the thug life.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Buttercream Dreams
I'm a dreamer. No,
I'm not walking around with my head in the clouds, wearing love beads and
singing Kumbaya. I dream when I sleep. Vivid, realistic dreams. Not every night, but often.
I still remember dreams I had as a teenager. Once I dreamt I was at my town's swimming
pool. It was a place where I spent lots
of awake time, so it wasn't odd I would dream I was there. Except in my dream I had on a full length fur
coat. Everyone one else was splashing
and swimming and tanning; and there I was, walking around in my coat. In my dream it was not odd or unusual. It just was.
For a good while now my dreams revolve mainly around
food. Not just any food. Decadent, sugary, sinful, forbidden
food. In my dream I'm eating cake, or
cookies, or some sweet treat. I'm not
sad or glad; not wallowing in guilt or giddy with excitement, just methodically
eating. I am aware of the taste of
it. In my dream it tastes just like it
does in reality.
When I wake up for a moment I'm confused and a little
panicked. Did I really just eat that
cake? It seemed so real.
Perhaps you're thinking I should just eat the cake, or
cookies, or whatever, and maybe these eating dreams would stop. It's not that easy. If you know me, you know sweets are my kryptonite. Sweets are my addiction. Sweets are to me as alcohol is to an
alcoholic, as heroin is to an addict.
It's my drug. I'd mainline it if
I could, and not weigh 300 pounds. There
is no such thing as a bite or a sensible portion of a sweet to me. It leads to a binge and that is no dream,
it's a nightmare.
So let me sleep as sugarplums dance in my head. My buttercream dreams are delicious
sleep. Sweet dreams.
Monday, July 25, 2016
It's a Girl!
Today I am richer. Today I am blessed.
My Dear Fallon:
Since he was a little boy
I knew the day would come
When he would finally say these words...
"Mom, I've found 'the one'".
It was so easy for me to see
Right from the very start
The special way he looked at you
I knew you stole his heart.
All these years I prayed for you,
The one who'd share his life
Now I thank God for sending
My new daughter, his new wife.
Welcome to the family.
Love,
Gina
My Dear Fallon:
Since he was a little boy
I knew the day would come
When he would finally say these words...
"Mom, I've found 'the one'".
It was so easy for me to see
Right from the very start
The special way he looked at you
I knew you stole his heart.
All these years I prayed for you,
The one who'd share his life
Now I thank God for sending
My new daughter, his new wife.
Welcome to the family.
Love,
Gina
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Wigging Out
In case you hadn't heard, I wear wigs. I don't have to, I choose to. I was blessed with hair like my Grandma Baust, thin and sparse. To make matters worse, my hairline starts waaaay back on the sides. It didn't recede, it would have had to begun farther up in order to recede. Instead it chose to remain far back, like it was afraid to meet up with the front of my face.
I've never particularly cared for my hair which is why I've had more hairstyles than Carter's got liver pills (what on Earth is a liver pill and why does Carter have so many of them?). I've had hair below my waist as well as a few inches long. I've permed, teased, dyed, gelled, moosed, sprayed, highlighted and layered, all in search of those lovely locks that graced other's heads. Finally I decided if I can't grow it, I'll buy it.
I had been thinking about it for years. I talked it over with Bob to see what he thought (he's the only one who had to be ok with it...he was by the way), but what really put me over the top was when I found out someone I knew wore wigs...and I had no idea. I admired her hair every Sunday in Church and one day asked her who did her hair (I was thinking maybe they could do something with my mop). It was then she confided in me it was a wig and she wore them all the time. I thought WOW! that's not at all how I remember wigs...you know those pitiful things that looked like a possum had crawled up on their head and died. It was beautiful and looked real.
So in October of 2012 I bought my first wig and now have 5. I still have my own hair that I keep cut short and colored. I don't wear a wig when I'm at the gym, beach, pool or around the house. I love my "hair" and finally in my 50's have the hair I've always wanted.
I don't care if people know I wear wigs and have to control myself from telling complete strangers when they compliment my hair. My daughter said, "Mom, you don't have to tell everyone you wear a wig!" I have to learn to just say, thank you.
A few weeks ago I bought my newest wig which is shorter than all my other ones and in the style I keep my "real" hair. The first time I wore it to work several people thought it was my "real" hair. That made my day since I don't want to be the crazy lady with a dead possum on her head...not yet anyway.
I've never particularly cared for my hair which is why I've had more hairstyles than Carter's got liver pills (what on Earth is a liver pill and why does Carter have so many of them?). I've had hair below my waist as well as a few inches long. I've permed, teased, dyed, gelled, moosed, sprayed, highlighted and layered, all in search of those lovely locks that graced other's heads. Finally I decided if I can't grow it, I'll buy it.
I had been thinking about it for years. I talked it over with Bob to see what he thought (he's the only one who had to be ok with it...he was by the way), but what really put me over the top was when I found out someone I knew wore wigs...and I had no idea. I admired her hair every Sunday in Church and one day asked her who did her hair (I was thinking maybe they could do something with my mop). It was then she confided in me it was a wig and she wore them all the time. I thought WOW! that's not at all how I remember wigs...you know those pitiful things that looked like a possum had crawled up on their head and died. It was beautiful and looked real.
So in October of 2012 I bought my first wig and now have 5. I still have my own hair that I keep cut short and colored. I don't wear a wig when I'm at the gym, beach, pool or around the house. I love my "hair" and finally in my 50's have the hair I've always wanted.
I don't care if people know I wear wigs and have to control myself from telling complete strangers when they compliment my hair. My daughter said, "Mom, you don't have to tell everyone you wear a wig!" I have to learn to just say, thank you.
A few weeks ago I bought my newest wig which is shorter than all my other ones and in the style I keep my "real" hair. The first time I wore it to work several people thought it was my "real" hair. That made my day since I don't want to be the crazy lady with a dead possum on her head...not yet anyway.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Heather
11/30/13
Happy Birthday Heather! 28 years ago at 6 a.m. I was admitted into the Navy Hospital at Patuxent River, Maryland in active labor and at 6:46 a.m. you were born. My first child. My only daughter.
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to get married and have children. As a child, my favorite toys were dolls and all they encompassed. I knew I wanted more than one child and I knew I wanted at least one girl. I did not know you were a girl when I was carrying you. I'll never forget that moment when I heard the words, "it's a girl!". I cried tears of joy. My heart was full and overflowing.
I had decided not long after I had met your Daddy that your name would be Heather, since I loved the way Heather Hodges sounded together. Your middle name, Rochelle, came from a baby book. Your Grandma Ethel pointed out your initials, HRH, stood for "her royal highness". When your Grandpa came to see you the day you were born and you opened your eyes he said, "She's so smart! She opened her eyes already!" I reminded him that babies could open their eyes and maybe he was thinking about puppies, but he was convinced you were the smartest baby ever! He wasn't wrong.
I'm sorry, but you didn't get any presents your first Christmas (you were not even a month old). We didn't have any money for presents, but I felt like the richest person alive. You were the sweetest, most agreeable baby. You slept through the night at 7 weeks. As you got big enough to move around and reach things, I only had to tell you no once. A stern look from Daddy or me would usually be all it took to correct you. You made us look like fantastic parents...but I know better.
Some funny things I remember:
When Bobby came along you were 8 and like his second mommy. He was born on Groundhog's Day and when you went to school to tell all your classmates, they laughed and teased you that your brother was a groundhog, which made you cry. I'm so thankful you two are close as adults.
I wrote this poem when you were 7:
Ribbons and bows
Short, stubby toes
Sweet button nose
My little girl
Dressed up in pink
Bracelets that clink
Learning to wink
My little girl
Mud pies for lunch
Weeds in a bunch
Cookies to munch
My little girl
High heels and make-up
Tea in a small cup
Loving your new pup
My little girl
Giggling happy
Boo boos on your knee
Singing "Jesus Loves Me"
My little girl
My heart wants to soar
I couldn't love you more
I thank God that you're
My little girl
Heather, you are the daughter every mother dreams of. I am so proud of the kind, caring, loyal, thoughtful, strong, hardworking, determined, sweet, funny, compassionate, loving, smart, woman you are. I thank God for you. On this day, and everyday, I am blessed to be your mom. It may be your birthday, but I get the best gift - you. I love you.
Happy Birthday Heather! 28 years ago at 6 a.m. I was admitted into the Navy Hospital at Patuxent River, Maryland in active labor and at 6:46 a.m. you were born. My first child. My only daughter.
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to get married and have children. As a child, my favorite toys were dolls and all they encompassed. I knew I wanted more than one child and I knew I wanted at least one girl. I did not know you were a girl when I was carrying you. I'll never forget that moment when I heard the words, "it's a girl!". I cried tears of joy. My heart was full and overflowing.
I had decided not long after I had met your Daddy that your name would be Heather, since I loved the way Heather Hodges sounded together. Your middle name, Rochelle, came from a baby book. Your Grandma Ethel pointed out your initials, HRH, stood for "her royal highness". When your Grandpa came to see you the day you were born and you opened your eyes he said, "She's so smart! She opened her eyes already!" I reminded him that babies could open their eyes and maybe he was thinking about puppies, but he was convinced you were the smartest baby ever! He wasn't wrong.
I'm sorry, but you didn't get any presents your first Christmas (you were not even a month old). We didn't have any money for presents, but I felt like the richest person alive. You were the sweetest, most agreeable baby. You slept through the night at 7 weeks. As you got big enough to move around and reach things, I only had to tell you no once. A stern look from Daddy or me would usually be all it took to correct you. You made us look like fantastic parents...but I know better.
Some funny things I remember:
- You were about 5 and I had been dieting and you overheard me tell someone I had lost weight. You said, "I can tell you lost weight Mommy!" Just as I was feeling all proud of my accomplishments, you continued, "your toes look skinnier!" Thanks sweetie...thanks a lot.
- I think you were 4 when someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up and you said, "a skeleton!" I don't know what prompted that, it was probably around Halloween. I'm glad you chose Dental Hygienist since I hear Skeleton doesn't pay that well.
- Speaking of Halloween, the year you were 9 you wanted to be a Power Ranger and wouldn't be happy until I made you the Pink Power Ranger costume. Well, it had four billion different pieces to sew together out of pink and white felt which took me forever to make and when you put it on for trick-or-treat, you hated it because, "it was hot and scratchy." Uhhhhh...you're welcome?
When Bobby came along you were 8 and like his second mommy. He was born on Groundhog's Day and when you went to school to tell all your classmates, they laughed and teased you that your brother was a groundhog, which made you cry. I'm so thankful you two are close as adults.
I wrote this poem when you were 7:
Ribbons and bows
Short, stubby toes
Sweet button nose
My little girl
Dressed up in pink
Bracelets that clink
Learning to wink
My little girl
Mud pies for lunch
Weeds in a bunch
Cookies to munch
My little girl
High heels and make-up
Tea in a small cup
Loving your new pup
My little girl
Giggling happy
Boo boos on your knee
Singing "Jesus Loves Me"
My little girl
My heart wants to soar
I couldn't love you more
I thank God that you're
My little girl
Heather, you are the daughter every mother dreams of. I am so proud of the kind, caring, loyal, thoughtful, strong, hardworking, determined, sweet, funny, compassionate, loving, smart, woman you are. I thank God for you. On this day, and everyday, I am blessed to be your mom. It may be your birthday, but I get the best gift - you. I love you.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Bobby
Today, our family celebrated Thanksgiving. Bobby will not be here on Thanksgiving since he leaves early Monday morning for Navy boot camp in Great Lakes, IL so we held it early. I know in my heart that holidays will never be the same. I was used to spending many holidays without my husband throughout his military career, but I've never had to spend a holiday without Heather or Bobby. I guess I will learn a "new normal".
Bobby is my third child, second son. I was 36 when he was born an he'll be 20 in a few months. Bobby was an easy baby, but happiest when he was finally moving. It seemed like he went from crawling to running. I don't remember much walking. What a busy little fellow he was. I wanted to share some of my sweetest memories.
Bobby is my third child, second son. I was 36 when he was born an he'll be 20 in a few months. Bobby was an easy baby, but happiest when he was finally moving. It seemed like he went from crawling to running. I don't remember much walking. What a busy little fellow he was. I wanted to share some of my sweetest memories.
- When Bobby was about 10, he and I were flying from Florida to Virginia to visit my dad. Our plane had climbed above the clouds and the sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the clouds below and they were sparkling. It was such a beautiful sight, he turned to me and said, "Mama, are we in Heaven?!?" I still find that precious to this day.
- I have a card at work Bobby made me when he was about 9 that says, "I love you more than video games".
- At about age 8, he informed me I made "the best grilled cheeses in the whole world". A degree from Le Cordon Bleu, would not mean as much to me as that statement has.
- Bobby was 12 when we visited my brother, Danny and his family in Pennsylvania one year. We were spending the day in Amish Country and had stopped at an Amish Market. As we were crossing the street and Bobby was running (go figure!) across, he fell flat into the only pile of horse doodie for miles! Bob cleaned him up the best he could, but it was quite a stinky ride back to my brother's house.
- At age 6 the young son of a black family down the street used to come to our house and play and one day after the boy left, Bobby said, "he is my favorite brown friend."
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Act your age
I've been thinking about age lately and what it means to "act your age". I'm 56. I don't care to be any other age than that. I love being 56...which really works out well.
I know vibrant, active 80 year olds and idle, dull 30 year olds. Age is a number assigned to the years we've been allowed. At 56, I'm on the downhill slide. I'm past middle age, meaning I'm not likely to live to be 112, so I'm more aware of making my remaining years worthwhile. I don't have a bucket list, things I feel I must accomplish before I die, but each day I'm allowed I strive to:
I know vibrant, active 80 year olds and idle, dull 30 year olds. Age is a number assigned to the years we've been allowed. At 56, I'm on the downhill slide. I'm past middle age, meaning I'm not likely to live to be 112, so I'm more aware of making my remaining years worthwhile. I don't have a bucket list, things I feel I must accomplish before I die, but each day I'm allowed I strive to:
- Be kind. I learned that it's usually more important to be kind than be right.
- Learn something new.
- Forgive others and myself.
- Love people. Not just the easy people...all people.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Little Miss Stuffit
Little Miss Stuffit
by Gina Hodges
Little Miss Stuffit sat on her tuffet
eating her cakes and pies
When she overate, along came more weight
which went straight to her hips and her thighs.
by Gina Hodges
Little Miss Stuffit sat on her tuffet
eating her cakes and pies
When she overate, along came more weight
which went straight to her hips and her thighs.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Gym Class
I never cared for Gym Class. Take an overweight teenager, stuff her into a hideous, one-piece, red gym uniform and ask her to perform feats of strength and endurance. Oh how I envied the girls who could run and jump and glide gracefully with their ponytails flowing...while I huffed and puffed like a river dancing hippo.
It's hard to narrow down which part of Gym I disliked the most. Each semester held it's own misery. One semester was Field and Track and gave us Field Hockey, Archery, and Cross Country....oh, the torture that was Cross Country. I think I may hold the school record for slowest time running Cross Country. Running may be an overstatement.
Another semester was dedicated to Gymnastics. Trampoline, balance beam, the horse, parallel bars, un-parallel bars...all torture devices waiting to maim and kill. We also did tumbling in Gymnastics. My worse day in Gym was during a tumbling class. The Coach explained what we were going to do. One girl would be on her hands and knees on the mat. We would take a running start and when we reached that girl, we would spring over her head-first, doing a forward roll. A running forward roll. Over a live person.
As soon as the Coach explained it, I did not know how I could possibly perform this act. I watched as girl after girl sprinted up to the human barrier, floated over her, rolling gracefully on the other side. I told the Coach I could not do this. I had never done a running forward roll in my life. She said I had to try it. So off I galloped toward the waiting girl (I pray she wasn't looking) I leaped up in the air and crashed down right on top of that poor helpless child. My pride was bruised, but my neck wasn't broken. And that girl...I think it was her worse day in gym class too.
It's hard to narrow down which part of Gym I disliked the most. Each semester held it's own misery. One semester was Field and Track and gave us Field Hockey, Archery, and Cross Country....oh, the torture that was Cross Country. I think I may hold the school record for slowest time running Cross Country. Running may be an overstatement.
Another semester was dedicated to Gymnastics. Trampoline, balance beam, the horse, parallel bars, un-parallel bars...all torture devices waiting to maim and kill. We also did tumbling in Gymnastics. My worse day in Gym was during a tumbling class. The Coach explained what we were going to do. One girl would be on her hands and knees on the mat. We would take a running start and when we reached that girl, we would spring over her head-first, doing a forward roll. A running forward roll. Over a live person.
As soon as the Coach explained it, I did not know how I could possibly perform this act. I watched as girl after girl sprinted up to the human barrier, floated over her, rolling gracefully on the other side. I told the Coach I could not do this. I had never done a running forward roll in my life. She said I had to try it. So off I galloped toward the waiting girl (I pray she wasn't looking) I leaped up in the air and crashed down right on top of that poor helpless child. My pride was bruised, but my neck wasn't broken. And that girl...I think it was her worse day in gym class too.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Happy Birthday Ricky
Warning..what you are about to read might make you sad. That is not my intention.
25 years ago today our second child was born. Our first son, Richard John Hodges, "Ricky". During a routine ultrasound when I was 5 months pregnant with him, they discovered his urinary tract was blocked, which resulted in severe kidney damage among other things. We were told he had no chance of survival. The doctor told me I would carry him to term and he would die soon after he was born so we should plan for his funeral...it would be easier they said. So we did. Instead of a crib, we bought a casket.
The weeks dragged on and then on August 23, 1988, Ricky came into this world. He wasn't crying, he wasn't even breathing. The Neonatal team at Sacred Heart Hospital whisked him away to do what they could. The day passed and Ricky was still with us. A week passed and it was time for me to be discharged. Ricky had to stay, but he was still with us. A month passed, then two. After four months, Ricky was finally discharged and came home. We had already returned the casket and bought a crib by that time. Months turned into years. There were many doctors and hospital stays and procedures and surgeries.
Then on March 22, 1991, at Wilford Hall Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas, while I held him in my arms, Ricky left us. 2 1/2 years after he arrived...2 1/2 more years than we ever imagined. While there have been tears shed, our hearts are full and overflowing. We feel blessed beyond measure. We were allowed 2 1/2 years of his smiles, his laughter, and we are eternally grateful.
What I know:
1. Doctors are not God. They don't know everything.
2. Bad things happen to good people. Rain falls on the just and the unjust.
3. Without my faith in God and the comfort of my Savior, Jesus Christ, I would not be able to tell you Ricky's story with joy in my heart.
4. It's important to be kind to others, you never know what they are going through.
5. People sometimes say the wrong thing when you're grieving. Forgive them.
6. Life is short and precious. Tell the people in your life that you love them...better yet, show them.
Happy Birthday Ricky.
25 years ago today our second child was born. Our first son, Richard John Hodges, "Ricky". During a routine ultrasound when I was 5 months pregnant with him, they discovered his urinary tract was blocked, which resulted in severe kidney damage among other things. We were told he had no chance of survival. The doctor told me I would carry him to term and he would die soon after he was born so we should plan for his funeral...it would be easier they said. So we did. Instead of a crib, we bought a casket.
The weeks dragged on and then on August 23, 1988, Ricky came into this world. He wasn't crying, he wasn't even breathing. The Neonatal team at Sacred Heart Hospital whisked him away to do what they could. The day passed and Ricky was still with us. A week passed and it was time for me to be discharged. Ricky had to stay, but he was still with us. A month passed, then two. After four months, Ricky was finally discharged and came home. We had already returned the casket and bought a crib by that time. Months turned into years. There were many doctors and hospital stays and procedures and surgeries.
Then on March 22, 1991, at Wilford Hall Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas, while I held him in my arms, Ricky left us. 2 1/2 years after he arrived...2 1/2 more years than we ever imagined. While there have been tears shed, our hearts are full and overflowing. We feel blessed beyond measure. We were allowed 2 1/2 years of his smiles, his laughter, and we are eternally grateful.
What I know:
1. Doctors are not God. They don't know everything.
2. Bad things happen to good people. Rain falls on the just and the unjust.
3. Without my faith in God and the comfort of my Savior, Jesus Christ, I would not be able to tell you Ricky's story with joy in my heart.
4. It's important to be kind to others, you never know what they are going through.
5. People sometimes say the wrong thing when you're grieving. Forgive them.
6. Life is short and precious. Tell the people in your life that you love them...better yet, show them.
Happy Birthday Ricky.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
My Brother
My Mom named him Danny after the singer/actor Danny Kaye. Two and a half years older than me, I thought he was the greatest thing ever. I was never happier than when he let me participate in whatever it was he was doing at the time.
As older brothers often do, he delighted in teasing me. If he came up with a clever idea, he'd always let me try it first to work the bugs out. If things went wrong, he'd always say, "I'll give you a quarter if you don't tell Dad". I wouldn't have told on him anyway because I didn't want him to stop letting me hang out with him; the quarters were just a bonus.
I was probably 11 and Danny asked me if I wanted to try out the parachute he just made. A parachute?!? WOW! Of course I wanted to try it out. No kid I ever knew had flown in a parachute (do you fly in a parachute?...jump?...sail?) and I was going to be the first! We proceeded out to the barn where he had one of Mom's sheets with rope tied to the four corners. He tied the ropes securely around my waist and instructed me to climb up the ladder in the barn to the highest point. When I reached the top he told me to hold the parachute out and jump into the bales of hay about 40 feet below.
Now, I was not the least bit afraid. After all, this was my brother. He had invented this parachute and he was letting me take the maiden flight, what an honor! I stepped to the edge, held the ends of the sheet in both hands and jumped off; fully expecting to float gracefully down to Danny waiting below. Instead I dropped like a rock and ended up falling head first with my head stuck between two bales of hay.
I think I deserved two quarters that day.
As older brothers often do, he delighted in teasing me. If he came up with a clever idea, he'd always let me try it first to work the bugs out. If things went wrong, he'd always say, "I'll give you a quarter if you don't tell Dad". I wouldn't have told on him anyway because I didn't want him to stop letting me hang out with him; the quarters were just a bonus.
I was probably 11 and Danny asked me if I wanted to try out the parachute he just made. A parachute?!? WOW! Of course I wanted to try it out. No kid I ever knew had flown in a parachute (do you fly in a parachute?...jump?...sail?) and I was going to be the first! We proceeded out to the barn where he had one of Mom's sheets with rope tied to the four corners. He tied the ropes securely around my waist and instructed me to climb up the ladder in the barn to the highest point. When I reached the top he told me to hold the parachute out and jump into the bales of hay about 40 feet below.
Now, I was not the least bit afraid. After all, this was my brother. He had invented this parachute and he was letting me take the maiden flight, what an honor! I stepped to the edge, held the ends of the sheet in both hands and jumped off; fully expecting to float gracefully down to Danny waiting below. Instead I dropped like a rock and ended up falling head first with my head stuck between two bales of hay.
I think I deserved two quarters that day.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Jiminy Christmas
I lived on a Thoroughbred horse farm in Maryland from age 11 until I left home at 18. My dad trained horses for our landlord and also had his own Thoroughbred, Jiminy Christmas.
Thoroughbred horses are working animals, not pets. We could not ride them, that was only for the jockeys. They are very feisty and you always had to be on the lookout since they loved to bite and kick.
There was always lots to be done on the farm. I helped with the hay baling by riding on the wagon. As the bailer spit out the bales, my brother and I would stack them up neatly. We also cleaned the stables. Danny would be in one stall and me in the one across from him with the manure spreader backed up between us. We cleaned the stalls with pitchforks, throwing the manure into the spreader. I remember Danny being very strong since his forkfuls of manure would travel through the air, completely missing the spreader, usually landing somewhere on me!
I thought the worse job was feeding them. To me, they were giant, biting, kicking machines and I remember easing their stall doors open quietly, throwing the feed in their buckets and slamming the door shut quickly before they knew what happened.
My dad has a picture from the 70's in his apartment of the winners circle. Danny is standing there in his striped bell bottoms and newsboy cap, holding Jiminy Christmas and Dad is standing beside of him with his stogie and handlebar mustache and I can tell my the look in that horse's eyes, he couldn't wait to get home to bite me.
Thoroughbred horses are working animals, not pets. We could not ride them, that was only for the jockeys. They are very feisty and you always had to be on the lookout since they loved to bite and kick.
There was always lots to be done on the farm. I helped with the hay baling by riding on the wagon. As the bailer spit out the bales, my brother and I would stack them up neatly. We also cleaned the stables. Danny would be in one stall and me in the one across from him with the manure spreader backed up between us. We cleaned the stalls with pitchforks, throwing the manure into the spreader. I remember Danny being very strong since his forkfuls of manure would travel through the air, completely missing the spreader, usually landing somewhere on me!
I thought the worse job was feeding them. To me, they were giant, biting, kicking machines and I remember easing their stall doors open quietly, throwing the feed in their buckets and slamming the door shut quickly before they knew what happened.
My dad has a picture from the 70's in his apartment of the winners circle. Danny is standing there in his striped bell bottoms and newsboy cap, holding Jiminy Christmas and Dad is standing beside of him with his stogie and handlebar mustache and I can tell my the look in that horse's eyes, he couldn't wait to get home to bite me.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
A Children's Book
I wrote this back in 1994. I entered it into a contest for a children's book, but did not win.
Little Patty Puddinhead
Little Patty Puddinhead
never cleaned beneath her bed.
When her mom said, "Clean your room",
Patty'd run to get the broom,
and then she'd sweep with all her might
'til everything was out of sight.
But while her room looked good as new,
the mess beneath her bed just grew.
Patty didn't seem to mind,
even when she couldn't find
her favorite doll or ruby ring.
In fact, she'd lost most everything.
"It isn't lost, it's beneath my bed".
She'd stomp her feet and shake her head.
"I told you once, I do not care.
I am not cleaning under there!"
All was fine until the day
Patty went to her room to play.
As she walked past her bed, much to her wonder,
she slipped and fell and rolled right under!
She struggled and kicked and tried to get free,
but there was just too much stuff under there you see.
She started to scream, holler and shout.
"Someone please help me, I cannot get out!"
Her mother came running, she saw Patty's plight.
She grabbed hold and pulled with all of her might.
Patty popped out and along with her came
every lost book, all her video games!
Her favorite dress with a bow on the sleeve,
and there was her stuffed hippopotamus, Steve.
A marble, four hair bows, a piece of dried cheese.
The necklace Aunt Ruth gave her when she was three.
Her doll that could wink and say mama too.
Her two favorite hats - one was pink, one was blue.
Balls, blocks and buckets for sand.
There was even the flute she once played in the band.
The dog's half-chewed bone, the cat's rubber rat.
Her brother's ball glove (he's been looking for that).
There were crayons and markers and green glitter glue.
A duck that went quack and a cow that said moo.
Six cups to her tea set (there may have been more).
A seashell she'd found on her trip to the shore.
All her lost things were finally found.
Then Patty declared after turning around.
"My room is a mess!", and then Patty said,
"I'll go get the broom!" Her mom just shook her head.
Little Patty Puddinhead
Little Patty Puddinhead
never cleaned beneath her bed.
When her mom said, "Clean your room",
Patty'd run to get the broom,
and then she'd sweep with all her might
'til everything was out of sight.
But while her room looked good as new,
the mess beneath her bed just grew.
Patty didn't seem to mind,
even when she couldn't find
her favorite doll or ruby ring.
In fact, she'd lost most everything.
"It isn't lost, it's beneath my bed".
She'd stomp her feet and shake her head.
"I told you once, I do not care.
I am not cleaning under there!"
All was fine until the day
Patty went to her room to play.
As she walked past her bed, much to her wonder,
she slipped and fell and rolled right under!
She struggled and kicked and tried to get free,
but there was just too much stuff under there you see.
She started to scream, holler and shout.
"Someone please help me, I cannot get out!"
Her mother came running, she saw Patty's plight.
She grabbed hold and pulled with all of her might.
Patty popped out and along with her came
every lost book, all her video games!
Her favorite dress with a bow on the sleeve,
and there was her stuffed hippopotamus, Steve.
A marble, four hair bows, a piece of dried cheese.
The necklace Aunt Ruth gave her when she was three.
Her doll that could wink and say mama too.
Her two favorite hats - one was pink, one was blue.
Balls, blocks and buckets for sand.
There was even the flute she once played in the band.
The dog's half-chewed bone, the cat's rubber rat.
Her brother's ball glove (he's been looking for that).
There were crayons and markers and green glitter glue.
A duck that went quack and a cow that said moo.
Six cups to her tea set (there may have been more).
A seashell she'd found on her trip to the shore.
All her lost things were finally found.
Then Patty declared after turning around.
"My room is a mess!", and then Patty said,
"I'll go get the broom!" Her mom just shook her head.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Walk This Way
I must confess I'm not a big fan of exercise. Oh I do it, but I do it so I don't have to ride in one of those scooters when I go to Wal-Mart since they all seem to be in use when I'm there.
Through the years I've partied off the pounds, sweated to the oldies, disco sweated, and boogied down the pounds with Richard Simmons. I've thigh-blasted and butt-busted. I've Jazzercised and Zumba'd. I've even joined a water aerobics class with a pool full of seniors (don't you EVEN say I should have fit right in!). I was clearly the young-un of the group. They didn't care an awful lot about the exercise, but used the time to discuss Myrtle's latest bout with bunions and bursitis.
Four months ago I joined Planet Fitness and go for an hour every weekday. My torture device of choice currently is the treadmill and I give it all I got without breaking into a run. I read in a fitness magazine years ago about the "correct" way to walk...with your arms bent at the elbows...pumping them as you stride to get the most benefit. So here I am, headphones on (yes, those big hulking noise-cancelling headphones that cover your whole ear, to which my daughter says..."you wear THEM at the gym?!?", while secretly thankful she belongs to a different gym), treadmill speed 3.6-3.8 depending on the tunes on my MP3 at the time, arms bent at the elbow, chugging along like The Bushwhackers marching out on the World Wrestling Federation (watch "The Bushwhackers WWF Full Entrance" on YouTube to see what I'm talking about). I'm sure it's a sight, but I don't have time to worry about that. Myrtle looked pretty feisty and I don't want to have to fight her for a scooter.
Through the years I've partied off the pounds, sweated to the oldies, disco sweated, and boogied down the pounds with Richard Simmons. I've thigh-blasted and butt-busted. I've Jazzercised and Zumba'd. I've even joined a water aerobics class with a pool full of seniors (don't you EVEN say I should have fit right in!). I was clearly the young-un of the group. They didn't care an awful lot about the exercise, but used the time to discuss Myrtle's latest bout with bunions and bursitis.
Four months ago I joined Planet Fitness and go for an hour every weekday. My torture device of choice currently is the treadmill and I give it all I got without breaking into a run. I read in a fitness magazine years ago about the "correct" way to walk...with your arms bent at the elbows...pumping them as you stride to get the most benefit. So here I am, headphones on (yes, those big hulking noise-cancelling headphones that cover your whole ear, to which my daughter says..."you wear THEM at the gym?!?", while secretly thankful she belongs to a different gym), treadmill speed 3.6-3.8 depending on the tunes on my MP3 at the time, arms bent at the elbow, chugging along like The Bushwhackers marching out on the World Wrestling Federation (watch "The Bushwhackers WWF Full Entrance" on YouTube to see what I'm talking about). I'm sure it's a sight, but I don't have time to worry about that. Myrtle looked pretty feisty and I don't want to have to fight her for a scooter.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Friends
I wrote this poem in 2008.
Friends
My diet isn't working
The pounds upward, they creep.
Do you think it could be caused
By the company I keep?
There's my neighbor, Betty Crocker
She's really quite a gal.
I invite her over every day
She is my special pal.
Mrs. Paul lives down the street
And stops by whenever she can.
But if she's busy, I just call
The Gorton's Fisherman.
Hungry Jack and Peter Pan
And those cute little Keebler Elves
Keep me company when I'm lonely
They live there on my shelves.
Oh, and I can't forget my relatives
They moved here from 'Carolina.
They just showed up and wouldn't leave
My Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima.
Sara Lee stops in from time to time
And along with her she carries.
Her husband, Famous Amos
And their bad boys Ben and Jerry!
So I guess you see my problem
I now must make amends.
If I'm ever going to lose this weight
I need some different friends.
Friends
My diet isn't working
The pounds upward, they creep.
Do you think it could be caused
By the company I keep?
There's my neighbor, Betty Crocker
She's really quite a gal.
I invite her over every day
She is my special pal.
Mrs. Paul lives down the street
And stops by whenever she can.
But if she's busy, I just call
The Gorton's Fisherman.
Hungry Jack and Peter Pan
And those cute little Keebler Elves
Keep me company when I'm lonely
They live there on my shelves.
Oh, and I can't forget my relatives
They moved here from 'Carolina.
They just showed up and wouldn't leave
My Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima.
Sara Lee stops in from time to time
And along with her she carries.
Her husband, Famous Amos
And their bad boys Ben and Jerry!
So I guess you see my problem
I now must make amends.
If I'm ever going to lose this weight
I need some different friends.
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