Just for the Halibut

Once upon a time I caught this lil' guy. Other kids came back from vacation with a tan... I came back with a fishing story I didn't have to exaggerate. Thanks Mom for choosing Alaskan fishing camp instead of Disney cruise.

98 pounds of pure muscle. And the fish was pretty strong too :) But seriously. That halibut was 98 pounds.
(And yes, this is me brushing my shoulders off.)

I should also mention that we flew into the fishing camp in one of those planes that land in water, the entire island only had one family on it, there were whales that would come up beside the fishing boats, there were grizzlies on the island, and once while we were fishing, a neighbor radioed in (aka a family who lived on a nearby island) and said they were having problems with grizzlies and needed some assistance. So we went.  Alaska. Go big or go home right?

What's one of your most memorable childhood vacations??

mae

PS: Don't worry, we packaged that guy up and shipped him home.  We eat what we catch people.  Nothing that grand should die just for the halibut. *Badum.* (that was a drum cymbal)

You're welcome. 

Happy Thursday!

Norman- my 25 year old cat.

When I was 3 years old my mom got this cat.

He was as cute as he was mean.  He lived at my mom's art studio and when you came in he would hide behind shelves and then jump out at you last second and attack. We named him Norman.

The older he got the more ornery he got.  If you tried to kiss him he did this...

That's my mama.

He was moody... and entertaining. 

Somehow I taught Norman to bite you on the nose if you got in his face.  It was a pretty fun past time.  I often told friends to give him a kiss on the face just to watch them get nipped on the nose.  It was mean... but hilarious.

As an adult cat he developed an odd problem in his tail... he would attack it.  Not chase it, not play with it... chew it raw.  My mom (being a devoted and loyal animal owner) took him to a university hours away to have him treated.  Eventually the problem stopped.

Then, he lived another year... and another year... and a-n-o-t-h-e-r year.  He is now 25 years old.

(and the reader gasps.)

Those "scales" aren't due to neglect... they're simply an inevitable byproduct of being ancient.  He walks with a sideways stiff limp... he announces himself at the front door whenever he wants to come inside... and he has his very own heated home in the garage that he can retreat to if he wishes... Anyone who has ever met Norman doesn't forget him.  He is from the ice age.  He represents a different era.  He is officially 117 in human years.  Not kidding.  Just ask calculatorcat.com.  To my friends who love their cats, he represents a beautiful future... to my friends who aren't crazy fond of their feline friends... he represents a depressing next few decades.  For me, he's a legend.  Cheers to you Norman and may you live to see another year pass!

 We're rooting for ya.

mae

That time I was on BET...

This is gold. Pure gold. 

Many years ago (think 1996) I found myself in one awesome predicament.  A Bebe and Cece Winan’s video was going to be filmed at our farm and for whatever reason, the director told my mom (weeks in advance) that they would love it if there was a kid at the farm willing to be taped going down our zipline.  So, naturally, my mom asked me if I was interested in the role and I proudly accepted.  For weeks I thought about my big break, what my zipline scene would entail, what I would need to wear and how far this little job might take me.  I would walk up to the hill by myself and practice my best zipline posture (back straight, legs lifted high, big smile…)

Well…  the big day finally came and it was better than expected.  Not only did I get to be on my own zipline (on my own farm) in a big fancy music video, but the director also unexpectedly donned my zipline with an assortment of fancy ribbons.  Not too shabby… Then, to top it all off, they asked if I wanted to be a part of a little “touch football” scene.  (My football moves didn’t make it to the video but just know I was having the time of my life running to my spot like a true champ.)  

Months later, I was at my dad’s house, scanning through the tv channels one Sunday morning, when low and behold, I spotted ME on BET.  It was quite unexpected (for a number of reasons) and it was a moment that was branded in my brain forever.  However, as the years passed (16 to be exact) my memory got fuzzy and while I would occasionally mention to Sean and friends “the time I was in a gospel video” nobody had ever seen the video and even I hadn't seen it since 1996.  Well, tonight friends, through a series of short miracles, I managed to find that video… and it is better than I remembered.

Minute 3:34.  You’re welcome.

I have literally not laughed this hard since my grandfather accidentally said the word titties (instead of cities) at dinner one night in '98.  There is quite possibly nothing more random in the world to me, than 11 year old me, zooming down that zipline in the middle of a BeBe and CeCe Winans’ video...  Throw in the ribbons and I’m a mess.

Here are some of the texts that ensued after I sent a copy to my friends. 

Friend 1) “This is the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m seriously crying I’m laughing so hard.”

Ten minutes later… from the same person: “I’m still crying.”

Friend 2) “ Don’t mind me CeCe, I’m just swinging on through.”

Friend 3) Nate is upset you didn't share this when he told you he was on the Jerry Springer show.

And then two friends (separate from one another) put it on their big screens, freeze framed it on minute 3:36 and sent me this picture:

 So there you have it friends, turns out I’m famous. Or as I told my husband tonight, “Some people were just born to shine.”  

Zelvis the Zebra

I grew up with a zebra named Zelvis.  My mother rescued Zelvis from a life of small cages, stupid cowboys, and 2 angry cougars (the dangerous animals- not the good-lookin’ ladies.)   It's a long story...

In deep contrast to his previous life, Zelvis found a safe haven, an adoring family, and a happy life on our farm. 

Here is my mother with Zelvis.

How beautiful is my mother?!??  Unbelievable.

Living with Zelvis was incredible. He was sweet and moody and wild and awesome and we loved him very much.

Cheers to you, Zelvis!

You were one heck of a beast and I love you. A. Lot. 

mae mae


PS- This post was originally published in October of 2011, but was republished today in response to Mama Kat's writing prompt about rescued animals.  

Happy 4th!

This picture was taken of me on the 4^th of July, 25 years ago.  I’m sure my mom said, “Hey Mary Susan, let me take a picture of you.”  At which point I promptly turned, proudly put my flag in the air, and started singing “God Bless America” at the top of my lungs. 

I hope you have a Happy 4^th of July, celebrating our country, honoring our troops, and blowing up a bunch of stuff. 

Be safe J 


*****




linking up with

The night my mom scared us.

This post is a response to Mama Kat’s writing prompt: Describe a time you felt startled.

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During my latter years of grade school I was obsessed with being scared...(the fun kind of scared when someone surprises you or finds you unexpectedly at hide-and-seek.) The thrill of the “startle” was addictive and occasionally I'd ask my mom to "scare me".  It normally resulted in something super simple but surprising and we'd all laugh. Well one Friday night, I was having a sleepover and my friend and I had been begging my mom to “scare us” for hours.  Occasionally she’d give in and jump out behind something when we least expected it or make a loud noise and we’d jump and all get tickled.  Unfortunately for her, every new scare brought an even stronger desire to be scared again and by the end of the night my mom had heard “scare us” one too many times.

If it was a movie, our mouths would be blown up screaming “Scare us” in slow motion and our tiny 5^th grade voices would be replaced by deep men’s voices.

Needless to say, my mom had reached her limit… but we didn’t know this and as we screamed “scare us!” for the 80th time, she quietly said, “okay” and that was that.  My friend and I went to my bedroom, lounged on the twin beds, played school, watched tv… who knows.  But after 10 minutes we hadn’t been “scared”  yet so I went looking for my mom.  Had she forgotten our deal?

But as I looked around I couldn’t find her.  I recruited my friend and we both started searching the house.  No mom.  She wasn’t under the beds… not in the closets... every room was empty… At this point my feisty imagination and serious fatigue became a powerful hallucinogenic and I secretly wondered if she had become a genie and shrunk herself… in which case, it was going to be very scary and difficult to ever come back from.  I became so convinced of this possibility that when my friend wasn’t looking, I timidly looked in large vases, planters, and other things I thought genies would appreciate.

Eventually, we were spent. No mom.  We were scared.  This was different.  She had amped up the game.  Wherever she was, whatever she was doing… it was for real. 

After what felt like an eternity of running back and forth between bedrooms, up and down stairs, (me looking in vaces) we stopped at the top of the landing to catch our breath and reevaluate the situation.  Suddenly,  we both saw the tiniest spark of light and when we turned to see what it was, we saw my mom’s head floating outside our second story balcony window. 

We both screamed out of true, unimaginable, shocking, blood curdling terror.  My friend ran into my bedroom and I collapsed on the floor.  My little brain couldn’t grasp it.  How was her head FLOATING?  Come to find out my mom had changed into a black sweat suit and then quietly stepped onto the balcony and then watched us search for her from outside.  (Even creepier).  Then when the moment was just right she flicked her flashlight on under her chin.

She came inside DYING laughing.  She helped me off the floor and made sure my friend wasn’t permanetely scarred.  Meanwhile, I thought my chest was going to explode.

Needless to say, we didn’t ask her to scare us again.  Ever.  Until of course my b-day party the next year when she took all my girlfriends on a midnight ride through the woods on our “mule” (some call it a gator… looks like a mini truck used on farms) and then halfway through the trail she pretended that the vehicle broke down… and that she spotted bigfoot in the distance… But that’s another story for another time.

Enjoy your Thursday :)

Mae Mae

Daisy, the deer, at Christmas

One day when I was about 9 years old, I was spending the afternoon with my grandmother when my uncle walked in with a tiny box.  He explained that inside the box, there was a baby deer, whose mother had been shot.  The fawn wasn't going to survive unless someone intervened. He asked my mom if she could take the deer home and tend to its needs.  As I peeked into the box, I could not believe my eyes.  This baby deer, covered in bright white spots, was smaller than a cat... It was unbelievably cute (equally as cute as that tiny giraffe in that commercial), and I was immediately smitten.  One minute I was playing dominos by myself on the living room floor and the next I was holding a baby deer in my lap with one hand.  Pure childhood magic. 

My mother agreed to help and we took the deer home and named her Daisy. For months we bottle fed Daisy, rubbed her bottom with a warm paper towel to help her go to the bathroom (simulating what a mama deer would do) and helped Daisy learn to stand and then walk.  She lived on our back screened in porch where she got used to all the sounds and smells of the outdoors, while being protected from lurking coyotes and other predators. (We lived on a farm.)

Before long, Daisy had lost her spots and had grown into a large, strong, beautiful deer.  Daisy was free to go.  We had many deer that would come to our house in the mornings and occasionally Daisy would run off with them.  But before long we'd see her trotting back from the woods and running beside our car with the other puppies.  At night the other dogs would come inside and Daisy would stand outside by our door.  We couldn't bare the thought of her feeling "left out" so we eventually starting inviting her in every night with the other dogs.  She had her own dog bed and would sleep through the night and then go back out the next morning. 

Daisy was a part of our family.  Here's Daisy one year at Christmas. 

As a kid, having a real deer cuddled next to me by the fire on winter nights was almost too much for my tiny heart to take.  She was the best.  She was sweet and quirky and would occasionally try to get you to play with her.  (Beware of sharp hooves.) Every second with Daisy was like being a part of a really great Disney film... except she wasn't a cartoon... she was a real-live-5 foot tall (when she wanted to stand on her hind legs) animal with a super sweet demeanor and a deep affection for us.

While Daisy is no longer with us, she had an amazing life while adding a very special chapter to mine.

I keep this picture in my "December" section of my calendar each year and as November rolls away and December begins I'm always so excited to put it up on the frig.

Glad I get to share it with you!

Enjoy your holiday weekend everyone!

Merry Christmas!

mae mae

The Time I Cut My Finger Off...

Last week I answered Mama Kat's writing prompt and made a list of 22 things I had done. You can see that list HERE. This week I'm answering her prompt again by taking one of those 22 things and elaborating.

I chose #2... "The time I cut my finger off and they sewed it back on."

So here goes…

The time I cut my finger off, I looked something like this:

Coincidentally, I had just broken my arm falling off of a crazy "on-the-loose" mule... but that's another story.  On this day, I was running late to school and as I trotted in with a book bag twice the size of my body, I had a feeling someone was behind me.  Being a courteous southern gal, I flung open the large metal doors and put my hand behind me to hold it for the next person.  Unfortunately, my eyes were playing tricks on me and nobody was actually there, and when I put my hand back to hold the door, it slipped into the open hinges... and then the heavy metal door slammed shut.

When I realized my hand was stuck, I yanked it out. Thus, causing the sever.  Having just lost a nail from the slamming of my pinky in the car door, I told myself, "It's OKAY.  Don't get upset.  We've gone through this before... your nail is going to turn black and then it will fall off... no biggie."  But then I looked down and all I saw was RED.  Frightened, I began running to my second grade classroom to get help, but I was quickly interfered by another teacher.  She grabbed me by the arm and rushed me to the school clinic.  She asked me if my mom was near and I told her she had just left, but that she had one of those super nifty bag phones... Miraculously, for the first time in my life I remembered the number.  As the teacher spoke with my mom, someone wrapped my finger in paper towels, and my principal carried me in his arms to my mother's car.

As I sat in my mom's car about to drive to the hospital, I said, "Mommy?  Am I going to still have a finger?"  She carefully unwrapped the paper towels, wrapped it back up and said, "I don't know honey. I don't know."  I was so appreciative of her honesty. I would rather be prepared for a missing finger than be surprised by it's absence and shriek in horror, "But my mommy said I would always have all my fingers!"  

After that... things go blurry.  I remember bandaging and cleaning and stinging and bandaging and cleaning and stinging and bandaging and cleaning and stinging ... for the next few months. Don't forget I also had a broken arm in a sling that year to tend to as well. Also, I was repetitively constipated... but that's another story.

Let's just say it was a year to be proud of. I remember kids whispering, "That's the girl who cut off her finger." and then I'd turn and say, "And broke my arm on a mule too!" and then I'd look at them like this:

As in, "Take that suckas. I've gone to battle and lived to tell about it. Where are your glory scars?"

Long story short, they sewed my finger back on and everything healed.  All in all,  it's a great conversation starter... and for that, I'd cut my finger off any day.  Just kidding.  But seriously...

City Life...

After eating lunch with my dad, stepmom, and sister today, I started thinking about when I used to share a house with the three of them... Here are some special memories that come to mind...

I always loved staying up late and watching episodes of the Twilight Zone...
It was creepy, but not too creepy, and the endings always left me stunned.
 "Dididoodoo-Dididoodoo"

My dad surprised me with a box of Cheeze-Its everytime I came to visit.  (Which in hindsight shouldn't have surprised me... if it was there every time.  You can see, now, how Twilight Zone blew my mind.)

Cheeze-its + Twilight Zone =  One gooood night

Courtesy of www.book-by-its-cover.com

I always enjoyed endless games of Thumb War... first with my dad, then with my sister.

Despite my double jointed thumbs and impressive left-hook, my sister still beats me now.  

Courtesy of everythingfab.com

I loved long conversations over coffee at the kitchen table.  I LOVE that kitchen, I LOVE that coffee... 

My step-mom even steamed the milk... Yummmmm

Courtesy of http://followstudio.blogspot.com

Everytime I visited, my favorite type of ice cream magically appeared after dinner.

Then, money for a cone at Maggie Moo's magically appeared on my dresser the next day :)

Thanks Daddy!

Courtsey of eastmanimages.com

A visit to the big city meant a visit to the movie theater.  

One memory that stands out was when I put a Reese's cup on my lap and then got so engrossed in the film that I crossed my legs and forgot.  On my way out of the theater, I hopped on the escalator and as I slid up the 50 foot incline (with a hundred movie-goers behind me) the case of the missing Reese's dawned on me, and I looked down to discover a massive amount of melted chocolate covering the rear and legs of my light-colored khakis.  As I realized the large crowd behind me must be looking up and drawing their own conclusions regarding this mysterious brown stain, I froze.  When my girlfriend turned around to see what was holding me up, she immediately noticed the giant issue at hand, and looked at me with wide eyes. "It's chocolate... it melted." I said quietly... to which she gasped and died laughing.  I, of course, was horrified.  

But somehow, (with nothing less than a miracle) I managed to climb out of my teenage-egocentric tunnel vision and realize that, yes, the situation was quite humorous.  And by the time we reached the house, we were both laughing hysterically. This is now one of my favorite memories, although I have not bought chocolate at a theater since, and never intend to ever. again. 

Courtesy of inchmark.squarespace.com

This is the Memory Game.  Some call it Concentration.  

I loved playing this game with my sister. 

 I loved it so much that I bought a version for my phone last year and play myself 2 or 3 times every week.

9 times out of 10 I score "Genius." 

It's like what-evs.

Courtsey of emmas.blogg.se

Lastly, one of the best things about this house was my room.  The bed was super comfortable and the room was dark and cold and quiet, and if it weren't for the sweet pitter-patter of my little sister coming to wake me up, I would probably still be sleeping.  

Thanks family for the great memories!  Love you!