The Procedure.

I went today for the epi steriod injection in my back. It wasn’t bad at all. They gave me something to relax me which knocked me out, so I woke up after all of it was done and didn’t feel a thing. The whole thing was over before I knew what was going on, but I do remember I was damned cold in there. The doctor said it would take awhile for me to see any difference and that he had scheduled me for another on at the end of next month. He talked to me about the MRI that was done prior to this. He said that it showed a lot of bulges in the lumbar area around the discs. So I don’t have anymore fractures of the vertebrae and as far as the vertebrae that was broken last year, he said looked fine now. I also told him about the problem I had been having with my right foot. After examining it, he said that it didn’t have anything to do with my back. So they set me up with an appointment with a Podiatrist for tomorrow. When I got home and checked my calendar I saw I have another appointment at the same time. So I’ll have to cancel the Podiatrist appointment. As the old saying goes, you can’t be in two places at one time.

We’re expecting in some bad thunderstorms this afternoon and tonight. So it will be another night of Fmom up and going back and forth from room to room. I was just thinking I wish I had some of that stuff the doctor gave me this morning to give to Fmom. Instead of her being all frightened and worried, she could be saying she didn’t care and that she’s going back to sleep. Oh well, you work with what you have.

Hope everyone’s day is going good and the w/e will be here soon.

The Bridge Part II.

In my previous story I told of how I was almost killed by a carload of people on the bridge. These people purposely tried to hurt me. Four years later and just about in the exact spot I was almost killed again, but this was by accident.

My first new car was a little Ford Pinto. I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of something I was buying than this. After having only a 10-speed bicycle for a long long time, that little Pinto was like a dream. Back in the early 70s I had to move away from my hometown to start college. I had started at a nursing school because I wanted to go into anesthesia, and at this school there were no dorm rooms for males. So when I moved I had to find myself a very cheap apartment, buy a car for transportation and I had to work full time to afford school and the necessities. I look back at the cost of things then and I just cringe sometime. My car payment was $86.00/month, my apartment was $100.00/month and the rest of my paycheck was spent on school, food and the other stuff you have to have to live. To say I wasn’t living the life of luxury would be an understatement.

It was during Christmas break that I went home to see family and friends. I was meeting an old roommate (OR) of mine over at a mutual friend’s house. We had sat around talking, and my OR said that there was still some stuff of mine that he had found in the cabin. He was leaving and asked did I want to come over and pick my stuff up. I said sure, I would drop by in a little while. As I’ve told everyone before, it hardly ever snows down here. In the time my OR left and when I finally got ready to leave we had like a mini-blizzard here. I didn’t think anything of it and proceeded to head to my OR’s place.

It was dark as I approached the bridge, but I could see a county truck on the bridge with two guys behind it shoveling sand on the bridge. I slowed down and stopped waiting for a chance to pass them and head on. I’m sitting and waiting, when all of a sudden a car crashed into the back of my Pinto. The force of the impact was so hard that it broke my seat and I was basically lying on my back pumping the breaks and trying to see over the dashboard. My car was approximately 10 yards from the sand truck, but the impact propelled my car toward and under the sand truck. I can remember seeing the two guys shoveling sand jump out of the way just before my car went under the truck. I can also remember while going under the truck that a 18-wheeler passing by on the opposite lane. It took me a number of moments to collect my wit and to see if anything was broken. I was extremely lucky in that nothing was broken and not a scratch on me. However, my poor little Pinto was totaled.

After the dust settled the two sand guys came running to my car and got me out. Then an old man approached me, and I could see he was extremely shaken. He was the driver of the car that hit me. After checking to see if I was all right, we looked at his car. I forget what make of car it was, but it was one of those early 70s behemoth cars. We looked at his car and the only thing wrong with it was a part of its grill was broken. The man kept apologizing and in between apologies I got his insurance info and found out a few other things. He told me that he was on his way to work and something like this had never happened to him. I asked him what type of work he did, and he told me he was a Greyhound bus driver.

So my car was towed off the bridge and it was as I said – totaled. What really got to me was I only had three more car payments until it was paid off. I won’t even go over how I was screwed over by the insurance company, or how I came to acquire another new car with the payments being twice as much as my old one. After this incident it was pretty much down hill from there for trying to work full time and go to college.

Was I very lucky in not being killed a second time on the same bridge? Well of course I was. If you remember about Pintos, the gas tank was a big problem. When hit from the rear, they had a tendency to explode and catch fire. Was I very lucky that the gas tank didn’t explode and catch fire? Obviously that is a resounding yes!

So you can see, whenever I have to cross this particular bridge, there is a little bit of apprehension given my track record on this path of doom. OK it’s not a path of doom, but………..

The Bridge.

For years now, I always get a little bit nervous when I go over this bridge. This is one of the reasons for that.

There’s a bridge going out of our town. It goes over a river with an unpronounceable Indian name, which only the locals think they can pronounce right. Since the town was founded in the early 1830s, there have been different bridges located in the same place, but this story is about the bridge in my time, the one I was almost killed on twice.

I moved out on my own when I was 17 and had to find a job and a place to live. Across the river out of town were two cinderblock cabins by a large house. The cabins were built back in the 1930s for travelers. Back before there were chain motels, these cabins were spread throughout the countryside and were the only overnight rest stops people had available. By my time, these two cabins were converted to small cottages for rent. Since they were bare minimum the rent was also in my price range. I didn’t own a car at that time, but I did have a ten-speed bicycle. I used it everyday to peddle the five miles to work. On my way to and from work, I had to cross the bridge twice a day. The bridge is a little over a quarter of a mile long and back then it was one of those narrow two lane bridges. Whenever I was crossing the bridge, if I heard a car coming up behind me, I would stop peddling and stand on the side of the bridge until the car had passed.

One day after work, I was peddling back home and I was on the bridge. I heard a car behind me and did my usual stop and stand, waiting for it to go by me. I hear the car coming closer and knew it was way over the speed limit. As the car speeds past me, I hear a big whoosh by my head and my eyes follow the sound. Someone in the car had thrown a coke bottle at me, which missed my head by inches. If the bottle had connected, I would have been either killed instantly, or I would have died from the 30-foot fall down into the river.

It took me a number of seconds to realize what had happened and then I got mad. Although I didn’t know who the people were, I did know I had seen the car before. The next day I stopped by the local police office and talked to one of the officers. I told him what happened and the description of the car. He told me there was nothing he could do, and unless something had happened to me, his hands were tied. I told him that if something had happened to me, I would be dead and he would be conducting a murder investigation. He told me to forget it and to go home.

Shortly after this I obtained my first new car and moved to a nearby city to work and start college. I never did see that car or people again, but up to this day, I still count myself lucky I wasn’t killed that day on the bridge. Four years later in just about the same spot, was the second time I came close to being killed. But that’s a story for another time.

FMom

FMom had to go to the Emergency Room (ER) today. She’s fine, but I was worried for awhile. This morning she woke up with very bad asthma, and she called my sister before she woke me up. My sister told her to get ready and she would take her to the ER. FMom didn’t ask me because I’ve been having a really hard time with my right foot. FMom said that if I took her, she knew that I would have a hard time walking from the parking lot to the ER. So she called my sister who took time off from work to do the honors.

She was up there just about all morning and they did numerous tests on her. They got her breathing under control and then sent her home. She has a doctor’s appointment this coming week with her lung doctor. I’ve been home all morning keeping my foot up and fielding calls from all the family. When FMom got home, I asked her how she felt and she told me she felt fine now. However, I know she must have felt really bad, because she won’t go to the doctor or hospital unless she feels terrible.

I don’t know what it is with old people and going to the doctor or hospital. I’ve known quiet a few that just refuse to go. I came to the conclusion that they feel if they go to the doctor that the doctor will tell them something they don’t want to hear. I’ve also been told by some old people (FMom included) that they’re afraid to go to the hospital because they might never come out.

Anyway FMom is fine now, and we’ve got everything under control.

BTW we got snow again. Just a few flakes, but it’s still snow!

Just A Normal Conversation.

Andi and Olivia said I should expand on this story and there wasn’t that much to tell, but here goes…..

While living in Germany I was lucky enough to rent a one-bedroom apartment from a very nice German family. My landlady was 72 at the time and her husband was a little older than her. My apartment was an attic apartment and to get to it, I had to walk through their apartment up a flight of steps to mine. Their apartment was over a shoe shop that they ran, so they lived on the second floor and I lived on the third. When I first moved in, I thought OK I’ll stay here six or seven months and then look for another place where I don’t have to walk through anyone’s home. Well that never did happen, and I was there for about four years. The family sort of adopted me, and I spent holidays and vacations with them.

One thing that they taught me, and I picked up from living in Europe is that nudity isn’t looked upon there as it is here. From seeing it on German TV (they don’t blank out the, ahem, good parts) to having nude areas on their lakes and ponds, it wasn’t unusual to go to a lake area and seeing people with nothing on.

My landlady’s shoe shop had a tanning booth in the back of it. It was always, and I mean always, booked. My landlady told me I could use it anytime I wanted to, so one day I decided to give it a shot. I told her I would be using it and went to the booth and shucked all my clothes, set the timer and got in. About five minutes later my landlady comes in and raises the top and starts talking to me. Now I’m lying there without a stitch on and she talking to me like a normal conservation. I later looked back, and I was kind of proud of myself. I didn’t freak or try to cover myself, I would nod and say yes or no as if a conversation with me naked was a normal thing. The conservation was pretty one-sided because she did all the talking, and mostly I just smiled and kept turning redder and redder from embarrassment. As I said, I looked back on it and it wasn’t that big of a deal.

About six months later, they along with their whole family were going to the beaches in France for a holiday. They wanted me to come along, but I couldn’t get off from work. When they got back, I was in their apartment for supper one night and they bring out the pictures of their vacation. I’m flipping through the pictures, and I start seeing pictures of her entire family with no clothes on. They had forgotten to tell me when they asked me to go along with them that they were going to a nudist beach. So I’m looking at pictures and there’s my landlady, her husband, her daughter and s-I-l, her grandson and his girlfriend without a stitch on. I started shuffling through the pictures faster and my landlady is laughing at me. She saw I was getting a little embarrassed by it, and she told me I was a prude. That in itself made me laugh, and I stopped being embarrassed.

While I was there, I never went to a nudist beach or lake. I did however make it to an indoor swimming pool one afternoon where everyone was doing the clothes optional thing. Of course this was purely by accident. How was I to know that a local swimming pool had a nudist night every Tuesday starting at 5:00 pm? I mean the pool schedule taped to my fridge doesn’t mean a thing. Really, I never even noticed that on the schedule. ;~)

Well after reading all of this, I guess there was a little to tell.

M.

Some people in your life you don’t forget. Whether they were friends or someone that treated you badly, you’ll always have a memory of them. This is about someone I wasn’t that close to, but I counted him as a friend. We worked together for about two years.

Back in the mid-80’s I was in the military and was working in an office in Germany. It was a small office with one officer and five enlisted. We had one guy named M who did a good job, but our officer hated him. It got to be where there were daily battles between them. Back then before computers, we wrote our technical reports out on the long legal pads and usually they were twenty to twenty five pages long. Well M didn’t like using the legal pads and the officer insisted on us using them. So M get his legal pad and cuts off the bottom to where it’s the same size as regular sheets of paper. The first report he turned in we were all waiting to see what would happen. The officer goes to M’s desk and starts yelling at him and pounding his fist on his desk. He told M he was going to write him up for wasting government property. M reaches into his desk and pull out the extra paper he had cut off the legal pad and told him he uses it for messages. I thought the officer was going to blow a vein in his head. I had trouble with the officer because he was pretty much an ass to everybody, but I liked M because he was pretty much nice to everybody. This story leads to another one of why I’ll never forget M.

Back in the mid-80’s little to nothing was known of AIDS, and people were almost afraid to be in the same room with others that had been infected. The military had handed down a decree that everyone had to be tested for AIDS. I can remember the long lines at our little clinic and everyone waiting for their blood to be drawn. The results finally came back and M was positive. Before anyone in the office knew, one of the doctors called M and told him to report to the clinic. Another doctor came to our office and informed us of what was going on. They had 24 hours to get M out of the country and back to Wilford Hall Medical Center in San Antonio, TX. Until that time he would not be left alone. M had an apartment, a car and many other things that normally people are given time to take care of. M wasn’t given any time to do anything. They notified M that morning around 9:00 am. Someone went with him to his apartment to pack just one bag. They bought him back to the clinic to wait until they got him a space on a jet. They got him one right away, but needed someone to drive him to Wiesbaden, GE where he would be checked in and sent out. They asked for someone in our office to drive him there, so I volunteered. It was a two-hour drive and I don’t remember everything we talked about, but I did let him know how sorry I was this was happening to him. We finally get to the medical center at Wiesbaden and get him checked in. I remember shaking his hand and telling him to take care of himself, and he reached over and gave me a big hug and thanked me for everything I had done. I looked over and saw this medic with the most horrified look on his face and thought how stupid the medic was. You have to remember that back then nothing was known about the disease, and it was thought at the time, you could almost get it by touching. I don’t know why I was never afraid, but I wasn’t. I had worked with M for so long that I counted him as a friend. When I left M was crying and that’s something I’ll never forget.

I finally get back to my office and everyone is still there along with a doctor from the clinic. The doctor was telling us how rough this had been on all of us, and he would have a counselor down to talk to us if we wanted. We all declined. I kept thinking that this hasn’t been anything as compared to what M was going through. He had to leave friends and everything he owned and he didn’t know if he would ever see any of it again. With the whole process, by the time M was notified to being flown out didn’t take more than 8 hours. The biggest thing that got to me was how horribly bad the military treated anyone who was positive. Once out of the country the military wouldn’t pay or help the person to come back and get their stuff.

About one month later, we hear the door open and M comes strolling into the office. We’re all excited to see him with the exception of the officer. As we’re all talking to M, the officer leaves and goes to the clinic. We ask M what had happened to him and how he got back here. He tell us of going to San Antonio and staying in a ward in the hospital that was set up just for AIDS patients. He told us how horrible it was there, and how a majority of the people were getting discharged. He told us the discharges were basically so the military wouldn’t have to pick up the tab for the treatment of all these people. He told us that he had to buy a round trip ticket himself because the military wouldn’t help him to get back and take care of his business. He was there maybe fifteen minutes and then he left and I never saw him again. About five minutes after M left, the officer comes back with a doctor from the clinic and wants to know where M is. We tell him we don’t know where M has gone and that’s the last we heard of it.

I’ve wondered many times over the years about M. I don’t know whatever happened to him, but I know I’ll always remember him.

WE GOT SNOW!

I really didn’t believe it would happen, but it has finally snowed down here after probably more than a decade. We’re in a narrow band where there’s no snow north or south of us. It’s been snowing since about 6:30 am here and supposed to stop around noon. The pictures don’t do it justice, but the housetops are white and the ground is covered. The streets are starting to accumulate some snow, but not much. The news is saying we’ll get a hard freeze tonight, so everything on the streets will turn to ice.

I had to run uptown to get some batteries for my camera and Fmom insisted on going. She wanted to see how the snow looked around town. Now we’ve had cold weather down here. I think the lowest so far has been 17C. But I told Fmom when we went out to the car that the air and cold just felt different. It reminded me of years ago when I used to live in areas that got a lot of snow. Well here’s the pictures.

Top of tree in front yard.

Click to enlarge

Backyard toward pond.

Click to enlarge

I'm enjoying this because it will be another 10-15 years again before this happens again, if ever. So all of you people that hate snow - send me some more!

The Genealogy.

My niece called me the other afternoon and needed my help. She had a school project to where she needed the family genealogy. Years ago my b-I-l became interested in genealogy and did a pretty extensive work-up of our family. It goes from my oldest sister back to the farthest date being 1543. I don’t know how far off this genealogy is, but he’s usually a pretty through person, so I feel comfortable that the names and date are accurate.

So I emailed my niece the whole thing and then Fmom wanted me to print out the entire thing for her to look over. I set it up to print, and it came to a whopping 42 pages. It was hard for me to believe it was that many pages, but it was. I called my niece and told her that if she was going to print it out, she’d better have a good bit of ink and a lot of paper.

I guess the thing I like about having a written genealogy is that it brings a lot of the older and oldest relatives more to life for me. In our family cemetery is buried the patriarch and matriarch of my family. They first arrived here around the mid or earlier 1800’s. I’ve walked by both of their graves when I was younger and didn’t know who they were until the genealogy was made. Through the genealogy, I’ve found out that my great grandfather was called “Blind Bob”, well because he was blind and his name was Bob. Pretty descriptive I’d say. I found out also that my first relative to arrive from Ireland was a wheelwright (or wainwright), and fought in the revolutionary war. I’ve seen how the family has branched off, and how I’m related to a lot more people from around here and the United States then I ever imagined.

I still get mixed up after the fourth or fifth cousin, and I don’t even go into something like fourth cousin removed. I have no idea what the removed thing means. I do know down here the term “cudin”, instead of cousin, is used for someone like my grandfather’s first cousins. They’ve passed away a good while back, but I used to have a cudin Velma, cudin Jake and cudin Frank.

I might not have gotten into the family history if my b-I-l hadn’t written up this genealogy. For me, it has been pretty easy. We have the farmhouse that the patriarch and matriarch started building when they first moved here, and though the years, has been built onto to look as it does today. Then there’s the family cemetery that they are buried in, of which I have no doubt I will be too. So as I’ve said and keep saying, I’m surrounded by family history. Many people never knew their parents much less their grandparents and beyond. There are many people who don’t care to know much about their family beyond themselves. I’ve been lucky in that I want to know more about my ancestors and that my pursuit of information has been so easy. So here’s to our ancestors and the people who desire to know them. Here’s to getting to know them and maybe in that respect, getting to know ourselves a little bit better.

BTW does anyone out there know who their fourth cousin removed would be?

Hello All!

Sorry I haven’t posted in a awhile. I haven’t been feeling that well lately. Not only have I had problems with the back, but a couple of days ago, my right foot went completely numb. I’ve been staying off of it, but even with it numb, putting weight on it hurts like the dickens. (Question – where did the term “hurts like the dickens” come from?) After I get it elevated, it feels like it’s burning. So I guess another trip to the doctor is in order.

This coming week I’ve got a lot going on. I’m supposed to have a MRI on my back, and later I’ll have a Transformational Lumbar Epidural Steroid Injection done. In other words, they’ll be injecting cortisone into my spinal canal. I looked it up and it sounds kind of intense. I have to have a driver to take me there and bring me back. They said they would be giving me something to relax me before the procedure. I told them that there was no way in hell they would do the procedure unless I was very relaxed. The doctor I like so much from earlier last month told me this would help out my back a good bit. I’ll be really interested to see what the MRI will shows.

Now on to something different. I’m not a clotheshorse and never have been. You can usually find me in a V-neck pull over shirt and jeans. I’ve worn the same pair of top-siders for 10 years and just last month got a new pair. I’ve got different clothes, but I just never wear them. Why am I writing this? Well I’m from a big family and passing around clothes is not a big deal. Both my younger brothers were by this weekend and the first bought a couple of bags of shirts, a nice leather jacket and four suits that look new to me. My second brother bought two big bags of shirts and pants. Both told me to take out what I wanted and what I didn’t to put back in the bags and they would take them to Goodwill. I know some of the clothes they’ve gotten were presents, because the tags aren’t even off them. I do appreciate them doing this because I hardly every buy clothes. So I’ll go through them, try them on, and what fits and I like I’ll keep. What doesn’t fit, I’ll send to my nephew-in-law. But with my brothers helping out, now they’ve made my life harder. I thought the three new shirts and two new pairs of jeans I got for Christmas was going to be a lot to take care of. Instead of the usual shirts I wear, I’ll have to make decisions now. I’ll have more clothes to wash and hang up. I’ll have to buy more coat hangers. They don’t realize that with my total life of slackatude, that this presents a big problem for me.

Bad Weather!

We had some pretty bad weather last night. Tornadoes around, but none here, thank goodness. One thing that got me was a tornado touched down in a little town I used to live in. I told about the house I lived in here - My Old House.

This house is about two blocks away from the town’s school. When I looked on the Internet this is what I found:

Tornado did hit Caledonia High School. A bus is on its side on top of the school. Cars tossed in a nearby field. The old gym is damaged. (Amazing - this just shows the power of this storm). THERE ARE NO INJURIES and all children are safe. DO NOT GO TO THE SCHOOL. Emergency crews are on site and getting the students out safely. School is getting a head count, then children are being bussed to their homes.

I just found the first pictures of the damage and it shows the school bus.

We’ve been lucky in where I live now. There always seems to be tornadoes North or South of us, but none have hit here in a long time. Now in Caledonia and Columbus, MS where I used to live, there always seemed to be tornadoes and straight-line winds happening all the time. I lived in this area for about seven years and twice straight-line winds just destroyed the town.

I don’t know why, but it seems like some places always get the brunt of bad weather and others don’t. I’m just thankful no one was seriously hurt there.

My Uncle Joe.

My Uncle Joe fought during WWI. He was in the trenches and he was gassed. Besides the gassing, I sure he came back with what is now called PTSD. He came back from war to live with his sister, my great aunt (GAN), and Fmom whom GAN was raising. I had overheard GAN say one time that Uncle Joe had so much promise before the war. Being very young at the time, I didn’t understand what they were talking about.

Uncle Joe was lucky in a sense that he came back to a large loving family that took care of him, and Lord help anybody that made a joke or said anything bad about him. Fmom told me the story of her and Uncle Joe in a local store one time. She heard the storeowner making a joke about Uncle Joe being slow. She was 9-years old, and she said she tore into this adult. She wouldn’t tell me what she said, but I’m sure she used some verbiage a 9-year old shouldn’t have. Uncle Joe came from the other side of the store and put his arm around her, and told her it was all right, and led her out of the store. Fmom said she was so mad she couldn’t stop crying, and it was Uncle Joe who finally soothed her enough to dry her tears.

I first got to know Uncle Joe when I was very small. When we would go to GAN’s house, and Uncle Joe would be there waiting for us. I can still see him sitting on the front porch in his rocking chair. Once we drove up, he would be like a rocket out of the chair to the car. He would do the usual hello and hand shake to my father and hug to my mother, but once that was done, he was all of ours. All of your relatives love you to a certain extent, but with Uncle Joe, his love for us was boundless. One of the reasons we loved Uncle Joe so much was because he took so much time with us. GAN was an old maid schoolteacher and didn’t take any gruff, but Uncle Joe no matter what we wanted to do, he was there with us.

I was still kind of young when Uncle Joe died, but I do remember it hit me hard. Today we only have an old blurred picture of him, and it’s hard for me to remember what he looked like. However, I’ve never forgotten his kindness and how I wish he could be around for each new generation of kids in our family. Uncle Joe was one of those people who make coming home and childhood so special. I think each family needs an Uncle Joe.

Timing.

My timing is really off. New Years Eve I was asleep by 9:00 pm and the night after I was up until 2:30 am. Now why couldn’t I have done that New Years Eve? I’ve always wondered if that’s the difference between people? Say you have the right timing and you invest or start a business. You’re rich. You don’t have the right timing, and you’re living out of a cardboard box.

I think the timing has to do with work also. Back in the day before I retired, I was one of those people who got to work extremely early. I could always get more done without people in the office and phones ringing. However, I had a boss that didn’t count that extra time. One month when I was filling out my hourly time sheet he bought it back to me. He said it was wrong. I asked him how, and he told me that all the extra hours I put in didn’t count because they were UNDERTIME. He explained that since I came in before the work hour began it was undertime, but if I stayed late into the night it was overtime. I told him that was the craziest thing I ever heard, plus if I stayed late, I’d have to be around him that much longer and I wasn’t going to do that! At that time I was in the military, so it really didn’t matter how many hours I put in. The job had to be done, so 12-14-16 hours a day wasn’t unusual. But my timing was off and I had a crazy boss, and it was never looked at that I put in a lot of extra hours.

So I was wondering, does anyone else ever feel his or her timing is off? It can be on anything. From relationships to work to just waking up. Plus if you have the right timing, how did you get it? It seems my timing being off is a life long thing.

Twitches!

Used to, when I first started this blog I was listening to music when I wrote. I got away from that, and I noticed that I don’t write as often as when I did when I was listening to it. The one thing I liked to listen to was Irish traditional music. My ancestors came from Ireland, but it’s not in the genes. I grew up listening to John R on WYLS in Chicago and soul music. The Chicago station was only when the weather was right and only on AM.

I’m getting away from what I started. Everyone has a little thing they do that helps them think. I saw part of the original “Mr. Deeds goes to Washington” yesterday, and in court, he pointed out each little “twitch” everyone had. I guess for me when trying to write about what’s going on with me, if there’s that Irish music, I don’t think about so much the writing, but how I feel. I’ve been lucky enough to know some real writers. They amaze me still, and I would so love to be like them. Well almost like them, I’d want to be rich. :)

OK back to what I was saying. We all have our own little twitches. One of the many I have is listening to music when I type. So who has the twitches? Who bites their fingernails, or toenails for that matter? Who can’t help but curl their mustaches, ladies you’re excluded – well some. Who can’t but help put their little finger in their ear and shake it back and forth, and then look to see what came out! Hah, I dare anyone of your to tell me you’ve never done that!

OK, OK again it’s getting gross, but……………………..

Hah, and Hah again!

BTW, I hope the new year ahead is a good for ya’ll. And BTW I know that I misspell y’all everytime, but it’s sort of my way of rebelling.

Have a good year and get your finger out of your ear, or nose if it applies.