My "AHA" moment.

And it only took me 5 years....

You see, my husband has no sense of smell.
Zero.  Nada.  Zilch. 

So when I say "honey, it's been so hot and humid... the garbage can in the kitchen smells nasty, so could you change it for me, while I finish doing the laundry?"

I get: "I don't smell anything... I think it can last another few days"...

 and he doesn't touch it.

When I say "Honey, Frankie's cat box needs changing - can you do it for me, while I cook supper?" 

I get:  "I can't smell it, I think it can last another day or so."

Even though you can see "kitty tootsies rolls" right on top!

When I say "Babe, your  Levi's smell like manky old grease and oil, snot and blood and whatever else you've wiped on them this week... why don't you throw them in the hamper so that I can wash them?"

I get:   I can't smell a thing. And besides, I don't want to waste water.

  

And he'll wear them for another week.  
(but he'll shower every night and change his t-shirt daily, because he says it smells of perspiration.  Go figure.)

In the middle of the night, when I say, " Honey,I smell a skunk, and the dogs are carrying on like we've been invaded... could you go look?"

I get:  "I don't smell anything.  You KNOW I have no sense of smell" 

.... and he'll roll over, go back to sleep and leave me to deal with it .

So tonight, when he asks what's for supper, I'm just going to say...

I'm not hungry.  I think it can wait until tomorrow.

Losing Our Deliverance

Losing our Deliverance

The accepted meaning of "deliverance" is:
 "the action of being set free.

Freedom."

To me?

That means that the tried and true things that have always defined us as a people, and as a nation, will keep us on the right track.  

We create our own deliverance.

And yes, I do agree that not all things in the past were perfect, but to tell you the truth, most of "who we are" got us through, for generation after generation after generation...

 and in my humble opinion, we're the better for it. 

I grew up knowing (or knowing of) my great grandparents, as well as my grandparents - all 3 sets of them. 

(my Dad's first wife died in childbirth, along with his only son -
and he eventually married my Mama 5 years later.)
But we "kept" his first in-laws, Grandma and Grandpa Clifton as "Grandparents"  

Then we had Daddy's parents - Grandma And Grandpa Simcox, and my Mama's mother - our Nana Wainscott.
 
Grandpa Wainscott was a bit of a scoundrel, and unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on how you look at it - he was in prison for most of my growing up years, but I still heard stories of his running with the likes of Pretty Boy Floyd, as well as robbing trains as a way to help support his family.  A family that he pretty much abused and to tell you the truth, I never really heard anything "nice" about the man, other than he kept a roof over his family's heads, until he went to prison anyway.

But I digress...

Back in those years, people worked hard for what they got.  They served in the Civil War, World War1 and World War2, the Korean War, etc.  They knew strife, and they knew hardship

  My Mama became a "butcherette" (which was what they called a female butcher back in those days) during the World War2 because most able bodied men were off fighting overseas in Europe.  My Daddy fought in World War2, and he was transferred off the USS Arizona just days before Pearl Harbor.  He then served on the USS Chester until the end of the war.

Money was tight, and there were hardships aplenty back in those days.
Families that were having a hard time getting by, were given something called "relief" during those hard years, as a way to keep food on the table, because the money you earned from working, sometimes just wasn't enough, and food was rationed to help support the ward effort.

And no one was proud to be on "relief" either.
People took pride in supporting their families, and when you couldn't...  well,  you had friends or family who were willing to give you a helping hand, or there was "relief" from the government, that would help fill the gaps, until you could get back on your feet
.
And they always did get back on their feet.
By hard work, and determination.

Then we - the Baby Boomers, came along after World War2, and life became a lot easier for most of our elders. 
As well as for us.

  Jobs were plentiful.
People were buying new houses, new cars, and enjoying unheard of luxuries for the first time ever, because the economy was booming.

And even though we now had access to material things that would have amazed our ancestors, we were still instilled with a work ethic.
If you wanted something?
Then you were encouraged to go out and earn it.
That bicycle, Barbie doll, Hula hoop, matinee movie tickets etc that we wanted, had to be earned, because it was never just given to us.
So we had chores.

Usually, the big ticket items like bicycles, and roller skates were received as birthday or Christmas gifts,  but by doing our chores (dusting, vacuuming, dishes, making our beds, weeding the yard, feeding the animals, babysitting siblings and the like) we usually ended up receiving a portion of the things that we wanted.
Or the things that we were absolutely convinced that we would die without having, anyway.

We earned them, by virtue of working for them.
And if we didn't... well, to tell you the truth, no one actually died.

But somewhere along the way, we lost that work ethic.
We lost our pride and determination to better ourselves, step up to the plate and take our own swing at life...

And somehow, someway, we eventually became dependent on others, or we expected the government to take care of us.

From the "Greatest Generation" to Baby Boomers, to Generation X, we've moved on to the Millennial's and now the post Millennial generation.
And we've gone from knuckling down and doing it the hard way, to somehow embracing and celebrating the welfare system... which has eventually led some folks to feeling entitled to have what everyone else has.

Free healthcare.
Free college.
Free contraception.
Free abortion on demand.
Free phones.

And they always have an excuse.

I need this.
I can't survive without this.
It's not fair that I should have to work my ass off to get what everyone else already has.
If they cut my EBT, I'll have to do without my favorite foods!
I have to have a cell phone!!!
Cloth diapers?  Oh heck no!!! I'll only use disposables, even if I'm dependent on someone else to help pay for them!
And what about Starbucks?  I can't function without my Starbucks!

Okay, I'll admit, I've listed some "gross generalities" there. 
But I'll bet most of you will understand what I'm saying.

When I was growing up, us getting to have McDonald's for dinner was an exciting "treat".
 Seriously. 
It was a treat!!
 We got it as something special once in a while, or maybe even a couple of times a year. 
It wasn't expected, no matter how much we may have desired to have it more often.

That's just the way it was... and if we begged or pouted for something?
All we managed to do was guarantee that we wouldn't be seeing it any time soon.
And then your brother or sister would whoop you when Mom wasn't looking, because you had just ruined it for everyone else.
I got my share of whoopin's from my sisters at times, believe you me!
And sometimes, I gave as good as I got.

Families sat at the dinner table almost every night, and we talked about our day.
We talked about what happened at school or work, who we played with, or what we wanted to do after dinner.
( which usually meant we wanted to play outside with our friends until the streetlights came on.)

Everyone in the family knew what page they were on, and where they stood... and they all knew what was expected of them.

 When a sister or brother got to the point of being able to get their drivers permits or licenses, or when they graduated from high school, and got jobs or went on to college,  it gave us younger kids the incentive to strive to do the same things.

We knew.... or thought we knew... what we wanted to be when we grew up. 
We wanted to be doctors or nurses, accountants or lawyers, work in a bank, or be a clerk in a department store.  Fireman, policeman, a surfer dude, or a wife or Mommy...
 Our options were endless.

Sometimes, our dream jobs eluded us, and we ended up with jobs that had never entered our heads when we were younger, or we ended up doing jobs that we didn't really like.
But they were the means to an end, and we just knuckled down and did them without whining! 
Babysitting, ironing for the neighbors, mowing the neighbors grass...
  We all did it.

My first "outside the house" job was as a telemarketer, when I was about 16 or 17, selling magazine subscriptions.  I hated it, and I sure as heck wasn't very good at it... but it brought in a paycheck.  And that paycheck - as minuscule as it was - helped pay for my first car... and a killer pair of Go-Go boots.

As far as I know, almost all of the kids I went to school with, eventually prospered at something.
Except for the ones who died in Vietnam.
But we ALL did our duty.

And we not only showed respect for,  but we also paid homage to our prior generations.
Disrespecting, or talking back to our elders was simply unheard of - and if you rolled your eyes? 
Oh man... your parents would usually give you something that would really make your eyes roll!


There are times when I look back at what we had for so many generations before us...
and my heart just hurts.
 
We gained so much in such a short time, that we've lost just about everything.
 

It's a slippery slope

 

Things have (mostly) settled down for us, since our move to Georgia in mid- 2016.  Even though with one thing or another, it took us much longer than expected.  Mainly, because I suffered a debilitating knee injury a few months after moving - resulting in a heck of a lot of things falling by the wayside. The main one being unpacking.  I did get a lot of "immediately necessary" things unpacked, like clothes and foodstuffs etc., but a lot of the "bonus items" like my trusty Yaktrax and  some of my favorite kitchen pretties, have yet to be found.
And man, let me tell you.... I needed those Yaktrax in the worst way, a few days back!

I may still be missing so much of my stuff.... but I do have chickens again!  Our current flock consists of 7 beautiful girls, and a cranky but lovable rooster, and oh the joy they bring me!  I could literally sit out by their chicken yard and just watch them acting all chicken-y for hours every day.... in spite of our current "well below freezing" temps!  I have to admit that at this time of year, feeding, watering, and letting them out of the coop first thing in the morning isn't my favorite thing to do... but it's all so worth it, when they decide to come outside for a little visit and natter with me, before starting their day! 
 Or maybe with them, it's just about the meal-worms.  I dunno...
 
My watching, and learning their rhythm as they go about their day, has shown me my own rhythm.  Some things are important on a daily basis, and some things simply aren't.

Nowadays, most mornings start out  with me cooking them a warm breakfast of oatmeal and greens, and of course their water is changed out daily, or as often as needed - especially since the freezing temps now turns their water bowl into a solid block of ice within a few hours.

So... mid-afternoon, two days ago, I grabbed a fresh water bowl and a jug of water and headed down the steep driveway on my way to replenish their water... and just to spend some time watching them.  We had had some light powdery snow for a few days, but it had mostly all melted off, so I didn't think twice about the condition of the cement on the driveway.
  
But I should have.
  
About halfway down the driveway, I slipped on a patch of ice, and proceeded to slide downhill for the next 15-20 feet.  I dropped the water jug as I tried (and failed) to break my fall, and it went spinning and sliding downhill faster than I did - and somehow it stopped by the garage door, ending up in a upright position.
  
Now, all I could think of as I got closer and closer to that bottle of water, was that this felt like a human game of bowling, and I was about to steeee-rike!

As I laid there halfway down that slippery slope, one car driving past the house slowed down, and then honked before continuing on their way.  Another stopped, and asked me if I was okay, and being the polite person that I am, I laid there on the ice, and said "oh, yes I'm fine, but thank you for stopping".... and off they drove.  Once they were gone, I continued to lay there, freezing my arse off... but since I was on a slope, and everything was iced over, I had no way to get back up on my own.
   
So I proceeded to bellow for my husband.
  
Time, after time, after time.  

I was making enough noise bellowing for my husband, that the young girl who lives on the other side of our creek (about an acre or so away) came out and yelled up the hill at me, asking if I was alright.  Still in my "nice girl polite-mode", I again said "yes - I'm fine, but thank you!".  

But my husband - who was no more than 50 feet away inside the house, heard nothing.  No cars stopping, or slowing down, no horn honking... no yelled conversations from either the driver of the the truck who stopped, or the girl across the creek.  Nothing... Nada.... Zip!

So at this point, figuring that no familial help is forthcoming, and knowing that I can not get to a standing position on my own... my next move was to do an "elephant seal maneuver" and flop across the ice until I reached the grass.
  
And that worked.

It was probably as unsightly and ridiculous looking as could be... but I finally managed to crawl back UP the driveway, by using the frozen grass at the edge of the driveway as a handhold.    Once I got to somewhat more level ground, I managed to stand upright, and I limped back into the house.  Limping, because even though I had landed HARD on my left side, my right ankle was the only thing that hurt - and it hurt bad!!   
At that point, anyway.
 By the next day, I felt (and looked) like I had been beat all over with a baseball bat, but I was thankful that no real damage had been done.
To anything other than my pride, that is. 

And you know what my husbands reaction was, when I came inside, limping and crying and dramatically telling him about my fall?  
The first words out of his mouth were "why weren't you wearing your Yax Trax? 

I may never find my old Yaktrax, but you can bet your bottom dollar, that I now have a new pair saved on my wish-list!!