I'd like to thank my producers, um, if I had any.

You guys know how to make a girl feel special.

The other day, Linda said she nominated me for the Rockin Girl Blogger Award, then Tammy, and today, His Singer also nominated me. Before I had time to post a real thank you, you know, between the poopy stuff and the dumpster diving, I was overwhelmed with specialness! YOU guys Rock.

My husband is gonna crack up if and when he reads this and sees that not one, but three people out there think I rock. He still thinks I like to square dance.

I'd like to award a few of you out there...

First of all, my entire blogroll deserves this award, which is why they are in my blogroll.

I'd also like to nominate a few other bloggers I have visited from time to time.

1. Sista Cala @ Timeless Text Messages. I have a deep respect for her courage and her candor in sharing her faith in The Lord. She also manages to slide a little humor in between the lines. Take a minute to read through her archives. You'll soon get to know her voice.

2. Karla @ Looking Towards Heaven. She is a Christian mom trying to be the best she can be with His Help, just like the rest of us. I recently learned she had plum hair and wore white lipstick in high school. That's Rockin'! I love the little curly parentheses around her name when she leaves a comment.

I'm gonna go out on a limb here ('cause that's where the fruit is) and say that any woman who has the courage to share her faith in Jesus totally rocks.

And now I shall play my air guitar.

The truth is...

I love VBS.

Vacation Bible School gives me a chance to tell a child about Jesus, my Savior and my best friend. Every child needs a best friend. Every child needs a Savior.

"Then little children were brought to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked those who brought them.
Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Matthew 19: 13-14, NIV

It ain't over 'til every kid has cried. Or someone requires a visit to the eye wash area.

Today was the last day of VBS. In the words of Gloria Gaynor, I survived.

Let me tell ya about today. You thought poop was bad...

Our kids painted some really neat shirts on Monday and the plan was for them to wear them tonight for Family Night. There's one thing I've learned through the years of helping with VBS- plans are just an innocent attempt at organized chaos.

The very thorough craft teachers put the finished shirts neatly in small plastic bags, labeled them, and placed them nicely in each room so that we could pass them out and our kids could look really cool and VBS'y in them. Then a very sweet and helpful youth helper went to each class to gather trash bags and helpfully throw them in the dumpster out back.

Y'all know where this is going. Funny thing about small bags of shirts. They look a lot like small bags of trash.

Some very sweet and helpful older boys volunteered to look through the dumpster for our class' shirts. They came back empty handed.

They're sweet kids, but they are no match for the Olympic champion of dumpster diving. I rolled up my sleeves, and with the help of another brave teacher, I WENT IN. The shirts were rescued. The tiny bag of painted shirts was inside a big bag of garbage containing lots of red Kool Aid. Why does it always have to be red?

I felt a little bit like the marathoner who rounds the corner, swiftly crossing the finish line. I entered the building and the crowd cheered.

All was right with the world- after a really good scrubbing. (And I don't mean just the shirts.)

Rated G for All Guests

We invited one of my daughter's friends to come home with us from VBS. They have known each other since their toddler years. The little girl's mom and I have been close friends as well and we've worked on many ministries together, including directing VBS one year. (Mental note- save that story for another post.)

After a trip through the drive-thru at the oh-so-tasty-and-not-so-nutritious fast food restaurant that serves Joyful Meals, the girls came home and played. At one point, they were just plain tired from the summer heat and I suggested a movie.

I offered for our guest to select the movie.

In a matter of fact statement of clear conviction, she said,"I don't know. Let me see. You might have some movies here that I'm not allowed to watch."

*Swallow Burst of Laughter*

"I think we're OK."

:>)

It's like a little checklist that you never want to complete.

Updated to add-
I give Grafted Branch the Great Scooper Award for the Best Comment Ever.

1. Woke up this morning to a coffee pot that stood up on the counter, raised its Folgers fists at me and refused to work.

2. VBS Week. Need. Coffee.

3. Spent the better part of the day trying to stay conscious so that I could supervise a room full of preschoolers and prevent injuries (to me, not them.)

4. When exiting (and I mean quickly) the Bible story rotation, I smelled poop.

5. In an effort to help the Bible study teacher, I returned to the room to, excuse the pun, sniff out the source.

6. Left the room bewildered.

7. Was later informed by the Bible study teacher that the odor was coming from the carpet. Yep. I said CARPET AKA Cannot be bleached and oh my word I feel sorry for the poor soul who is scrubbing the spot.

8. Spent the last part of the morning investigating the original source.

9. Preschool class.

10. Poopy smell.

11. Scary.

12. Ended the day scrubbing poop from the bottom of a tiny, Tinkerbell tennis shoe while gagging over the commode in the nursery and not even trying to guess where the poop came from. Or who. Or what.

Where's a good airport dog when you need it?

There's nothing worse than a floater.

When my husband and I were in college, he told me about a death investigations class he was taking. I was all enthralled and intrigued in the entire subject being that I was a psychology major and completely in love with him.

He could've been taking a course on styrofoam and I would've been rivoted. Rivoted, I tell ya!

One thing I remember about the class is when they talked about the different situations in which a law enforcement officer would discover a body.

The professor said,"There's nothing worse than a floater," meaning someone who had been submerged in water. To limit the gagging and heaving that may ensue if I explain what he meant, let's just say that a person who has been in water for a long time is very unpleasant.

For some reason, that phrase has stuck in my mind over the years, which is why it became the title of this post. I also have a strange way of connecting the "unconnectable."

Like, um, dead people and Vacation Bible School.

I'm not sayin' religion is dead. BADA BING!

I volunteered to help with VBS this year. Over the last few years I've worked as assistant director, teacher, props painter, miscellaneous and now floater.

And there's nothing worse than a floater.

Last year I got stuck, I mean I was blessed to help with the preschoolers. I love kids. I do. I just didn't think I had the gift to work with that age group. God, being the Awesome God that He is, gave me the strength and the stamina to work with the preschoolers last summer. It turned out to be a great week of real miracles for them and for me as a worker. If we are willing to work for God, He always takes care of the rest.

This year I said I would float where needed. Long story too boring to explain, I was not able to prepare as a lead teacher would and should, so floating seemed appropriate. I had only one request.

Please, for the love of Peter and John, don't put me with the preschoolers.

Yesterday I worked with the Kindergarten class. The entire day, the lead teacher and I would look over at the preschool class and, in sincere sympathy, we would comment on how we felt so sorry for the teachers and how they looked soooo exhausted.

So, of course, this morning when the Kindergarten teacher had plenty of help, I volunteered to help the Pre-K class AKA The Class That No One Wants and Everyone Fears.

I knew God would help me through. I had asked Him to put me where He needed me most. I had only hoped He needed me in snacks and crafts. :>)

Let me tell you something about God. He is full of pleasant surprises.

While we were in music, a little boy who had screamed during half of the morning breaking stained glass in churches within a 10 mile radius decided he didn't want to sing. He wanted to sit off to himself and pout. I sat with him and asked him to sing.

He said,"I don't sing very good."

I said,"God thinks you do. He loves to hear your voice, especially when you are singing to Him."

Still, no singing.

I said,"If you want to, just sing quietly to Jesus and He will hear you. I won't listen if you don't want me to."

He said softly,"Will Jesus hear me sing when I go home?"

"Yes, He will. He hears you talk to Him or sing to Him no matter where you are."

"Is He on a cloud? I want to jump up and go to Him."

"No. He's in Heaven, but, anytime you want Him with you, just say His Name and He will be right beside you. You won't see Him, but you will know He is there."

And with that, the little boy nodded his head, put his tiny thumb back in his mouth, and contently watched the class sing aloud.

And Jesus heard him singing softly in his heart.

And I wouldn't trade that moment for passing out Kool-Aid or gluing Popsicle sticks or for anything in the world.

All this time, I thought I was a Delta Mom.

Have you heard the buzz about the New Mommy War? It's The Slacker Mom vs. The Alpha Mom.

I never knew I was even fighting someone, much less in a war. Did you?

You know how it goes. The media jumps on a crusade about extreme moms and then they decide to lump us all into groups, much like how the select teams for dodge ball.

And I HATE dodge ball.

Then the Merediths and the Katies who, ahem, do not have a clue about my life, invite two extreme opposite mothers to "discuss" their viewpoints about the opposing "teams." Hey, Today Show execs, I don't play team sports and I never appointed anyone captain.

I really believe that most moms support each other. We may disagree about potty training or whether or not to bottle feed, but for the most part, we try to support and lend a helping hand to other moms.

Unless they are, ya know, really weird or something.

These Mommy Wars are interesting to me just as a sociology/psychology nerd and I love looking at descriptions and trying to figure out where I would fit. When I first heard about Slackers and Alphas, I assumed I was kind of in the middle. As it turns out, I lean a little more to the Alpha side because of, but not limited to, the following traits-

1. I have themed birthday parties and make treat bags. (Because I enjoy it.)
2. My kid's socks match. (It ain't tough when they all came from Old Navy and are all the same color.)
3. I send real snacks to school when needed. (Because, as for now, I don't work outside of home and also enjoy making cupcakes. But I have been known to purchase an entire box of Little Debbie's at the last minute.)
4. I keep up with my kid's lost tooth. (I only have one kid, and she hasn't lost that many teeth yet. Give me a few years.)

So this makes me an Alpha Mom? OK. I can handle that. And why Alpha? What's up with that? I thought Alpha was usually followed by Dog, not Mom. And why is it that a mom who is not even heavily medicated with nerve pills and takes life as it comes is called a Slacker? I don't think they are slackers. I call it Organically Relaxed.

All of this Mommy War hoopla is mildly entertaining at most. Let's not take it too seriously.

Now, car seat safety and protection from child predators- that's something to fight for.

Thank you, Mr. Inventor of Sprinkles

You are my hero.

So the birthday party was a success. I'm no expert in the matter, but no one got hurt, no one fell into the lake out back, no one was bitten by a venomous snake, and only two kids cried. I don't know about you, but that sounds like a throw down to me.

And speaking of which...

I interrupt this post to make an announcement. I just checked my site meter and I've noticed that I have a lot of readers from Texas. I have one thing to say- Don't mess with Texas. Thanks, y'all, from the Yellow Rose State, for stopping in here from time to time.

Now on to other pertinent things like foam craft thingies and sprinkles. You just can never go wrong with sprinkles. I have many varieties in my cupboard because I have become the Cupcake Mama. I have pink sugar, red sugar, flowers, dots, stars, orange beads, blue beads, yellow beads... Should I go on?

I also love the guy who invented foam crafts. He is a genius. Or maybe it is a She. I don't know. Anyone who can combine cheapness with stickers and eliminate the need for messy glue, to me, deserves the Nobel Peace Prize.

But then what would Jimmy Carter do with his?

The girls made hula skirts with craft foam. Two very sweet and helpful (not "chatty and in-the-way") moms stayed for the party. They pitched right in and helped with refreshments and the various foam craft thingies. Hubs was here, too. He is always the Life of the Part-ay. Kids love him.

It turned out to be a fun party without any lawsuits. TEE HEE

I have to share a great punch recipe with y'all. I had planned to make Linda's punch, but at the last minute I decided to make strawberry lemonade. It is my daughter's favorite drink and I found a very easy recipe on the All Knowing Internet. (Thanks, Al.)

Here is the recipe. Go ahead and make some for your family. It has more of a lemonade taste than a punch taste. You could have it with lunch one day for a treat with the kids. And look out how little sugar is added!

Strawberry Lemonade Punch (Food Network)

2 cups boiling water
1/2 cup sugar
2 (10-ounce) packages frozen strawberries, thawed
5 cups cold water
2 (6-ounce) cans frozen pink lemonade concentrate, thawed

Combine the boiling water and sugar in a large container and stir until the sugar is dissolved.
Let the sugar mixture stand for 5 minutes. Add the strawberries, stirring well. Using a big spoon, press the strawberry mixture through a large strainer (I used a colander) into a pitcher or punch bowl until nothing is left in the strainer except for the strawberry pulp. Discard the pulp. Stir in the cold water and lemonade. Mix until well blended. Makes almost a gallon.

Side note- I didn't mind some of the strawberry pulp in the lemonade. Some of it strained through and I just left it. It tasted fine. This drink has more of a tart taste than you would expect. It was very good. The kids liked it, too.

Oh, the anticipation of it all makes me just giddy!

I have been planning a birthday party.

Let me be specific- an all girls little girl birthday party.

Can you hear the squeals and the glass shattering?

I can just picture the blogging material that will be readily available to me tomorrow evening, once I clean up cupcake frosting and teeny, tiny remnants of water balloons and then collapse on the cold, tile floor from utter exhaustion.

But don't worry, Internets, I shall pick myself up and dust off the sprinkles just to share the entire event with you.

And we use to walk uphill to our one room schoolhouse, both ways.

When we moved into our new house, we really didn't know what to expect.

Snakes. Turtles. Great bird watching.

And some of the sweetest neighbors anyone could ask for.

The day we first arrived with our aching backs and our rented truck, one neighbor brought us spaghetti dinner. It was so delicious. My husband and I could have rustled up just about anything to eat that night, but I was so thankful that our daughter had a homecooked meal.

We woke up the next morning to the smell of a warm, cinnamon coffee cake made by another sweet neighbor. It's like I moved next door to Martha Stewart and Paula Deen!

Since we've been settling in, both of our neighbors have expressed genuine hospitality. They have been so sweet. One of them (I'll call her Mrs. Coffee Cake) has the most wonderful children, including two girls close to my daughter's age.

The girls hit if off right from the start. They have similar temperaments and interests and I couldn't ask for sweeter playmates for my daughter.

Today they came over to play on the Slip N Slide. If you were a kid in the 70's, you know what I'm talking about. But let me tell ya, friends. The new Slip N Slide is totally rocking. It is inflated for cushioning so that you don't run and land flat on your stomach and knock the breath out of yourself. It also has a little pool at the end so you slide into a shallow, refreshing pool of water instead of onto the itchy grass.

If it didn't read "Not for Adult Use" I would seriously be putting on my suit and doing some sliding myself.

Today I overheard my daughter tell her friend, "My mommy said that when she was little, her Slip N Slide was boring. You had to slide on the hard ground and there was no pool at all. It wasn't fun."

Yes, we kids from the Stone Age didn't have these new-fangled toys. No, m'am.

We had toys that literally stopped us from breathing or caused the collapse of a lung as we fell forward, flat on our face and slid off into the grass or the hard ground.

We had a toy spring falsely labeled as "Fun for a girl or a boy."

We had Barbie with tan lines.

We had plastic, boxing robots.

We had Atari.

And we didn't even wear a helmet when we rode our bikes.

GASP!!

;>)

See, shopping is good for blogging.

Overheard in the craft store today...

"How did your sweater turn out?"

"The one with the blood on it?"

"Yeah."

"It came out fine."

Writer's Block Remedy

Hubs is off today and I am seriously in need of a Mommy/Wife Day Away of doing nothing productive and possibly swiping the debt card.

And who knows? Maybe I'll return this afternoon with some new material so that those cat urine Google Ads will GO AWAY.

;>)

Please Paula, for the love of White Lilly, just turn away.

My in-laws left this morning after a nice visit. It was the first time they've been to our new house. As soon as my mother-in-law put her purse down, my daughter had to give them the Tour de Grande.

"Here is my room that Mommy hasn't painted yet, except for the test spots of green vibe on the walls."

"This is your room, where you will sleep."

"That's the room where Mommy has pretty much thrown everything that hasn't been put away yet in an effort to swiftly make this place look presentable to family, friends, the UPS guy on the porch and Newman, when he occasionally makes an appearance."

The above quotes subjected to paraphrase.

We had a good time. There were games and shopping, playing, and a lot of spoiling (the good kind).

My father-in-law and husband painstakingly assembled one of those cedar fort/swing set structures designed by architects who flunked architecture school and now design cedar fort/swing sets.

When my husband tried to estimate the time it would take to build the fortress, he said rather confidently,"It'll take about three hours."

They woke up early Saturday morning and referred to the fifty-something steps it would take to complete the torture, I mean, construction.

About 9 hours and who-knows-how-many Big Gulps of water and Gatorade later, they finished the project, kicked off their shoes, came in to the cool AC and then collapsed, while our daughter, full of energy and sugar, tugged at her Daddy to "test it out."

Nothing like a full blown construction project with a million bolts (minus one missing bolt which required a trip to the home improvement store) to celebrate Father's Day weekend.

Which brings me to the sad title of this post- the even sadder Father's Day breakfast.

In an attempt to celebrate my husband's fine job of Daddyhood, I thought I'd make one of his favorites- homemade biscuits.

Sunday morning I got up, had a swig of coffee, and started breakfast. It wasn't anything fancy. Just biscuits, ham, scrambled eggs, and fruit. Something happened between the sifting of the flour and the pouring of the buttermilk and my biscuits turned out to be more like scones.

And I LIKE scones.

But only when I am wanting scones. I was wanting biscuits. I know what happened. I kneaded too much, and you biscuit makers know that kneading dough is a lot like teasing hair. One extra motion of the hand and there is just no turning back.

You have just ruin't your hair. Or your biscuit. Depending on whether you are at the kitchen counter or the bathroom counter.

The only time my biscuits were worse was the time we were first married and I accidentally used all purpose flour instead of self-rising. Can you say Hockey Pucks??

Lucky for me, we've been married 13 years and my husband, and my in-laws have had some of my better-tasting biscuits.

I'm so glad I wasn't the one building the fort.

Hey, Linda! I have a plan!!

And I must use exclamation points!

!!

I'm thinkin' that my snakes and your foxes should do lunch. Seriously, we could just put them together in a small, fenced area and let them fight it out.

Is that legal?

Disclaimer: No foxes or venomous snakes were harmed in the writing of this post.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things I Should Be Doing Right Now Other Than Blogging

1. Cleaning house. I shudder to think how many times I will have to empty the gift from above called Dyson. The dust bunnies have reproduced like, well, rabbits, while I have been trotting up and down the Interstate.

2. Grocery shopping. The kids next door came over the other day and all I had to feed them was PB & J. And I'm Southern.

3. Laundry. So that I can wear something other than pajamas at the grocery store.

4. Catching up on some sleep. The daughter decided she wanted me to sleep on her trundle last night, then decided to fall on me while I was in a deep sleep. AND SHE STAYED THERE.

Very comfortable. But whoever said Motherhood was comfortable?

5. Since #1-3 are a priority, #4 will have to wait, so I guess I should be drinking my second cup of coffee. Shout out to Linda! :>)

6. Seeking snake repellant or therapy for my husband.

We have a small lake out back and it seems it attracts snakes. Go figure. Being a southerner, I don't mind snakes as long as all the bad ones are, you know, dead. I just know when to get the hoe. I also told daughter where they like to hide and find food. We took a little snakey tour of the yard, clapping our hands and making lots of noise.

My husband isn't quite as comfortable with the subject. He isn't afraid of them. Let's just say he has brought home some print outs to identify the bad snakes and has shared that a neighbor just killed a rattler. One could say, it's on his mind.

7. Doing a puzzle as I am being paged by the offspring who falls on you in the night and still wakes up chipper.

8. Learn to be a morning person.

9. Get my third cup of coffee.

10. Give up on thirteen and just shoot for ten. I'm not a quitter...

11. Plan menu for family visiting today.

12. Start on #3

13. So I can move on to #2.

;>)

My new favorite blog

Have you met the Slowskys?

I found their blog while visiting my sister-in-law and brother-in-law.

Be sure to click on the link to watch their TV commercials.

Very. Clever.

And slow.

;>)

Tagged for 8 Random Things

Sista Cala tagged me to share 8 random things about me. Let's see. Hmmm... what have I not revealed so far?



1. I always wanted to be a Rockette.



2. I like the smell of swimming pools and play dough, but not at the same time.



3. I have an uncanny ability to remember stuff, not important stuff, just stuff.



4. I love to fish.



5. My husband says I have a high-pitched snap. It really gets on his nerves.



6. When I am old, I want to be one of those ladies who wear a big hats in church and old pins with pearls.



7. I don't eat Miracle Whip.



8. I'm not afraid of snakes, but I don't like them.



Hey, it's biblical. That Eve!

When I am weak, He is strong.

I know you've been up at night losing sleep wondering why I haven't updated in like forever, so for the one person who is biting her nails trying to figure it out, here goes.

(I love run-on sentences.)

Forgive me if my grammar is off or I seem a little loopy. I'll just confess. I am a LOT loopy.



I just returned from a visit with my mother in Georgia. She had major surgery- double knee replacement. Let me say to you now that she is the bravest person I know. I am not sure that I could have one knee replaced, much less two at once. To CHOOSE to have this procedure is, to me, a very courageous decision.

That being said, the last few days have been very taxing on all of us. My daddy, Aunt Barbara, and me. But most of all, Mama.

I've learned a lot about my mother's courage, her frustrations, her hopes, her fears, and her God.

I am so grateful that He is my God, too.

I've learned more than I ever cared to know about speaking up for the ones you love when they cannot speak for themselves, about trusting in a new doctor, a new nursing staff, a new floor, and a new hope.

I found out that I am stronger than I ever imagined, and that His Strength is made perfect in my weakness.

And when we cannot physically or emotionally take another step, He holds our hand and takes that step for us.

When you feel all alone, even with a family member at your side, He is there.

When you press the nurse's call button and no one comes to ease the pain, He comes running.

He's there when the doctor shakes his head.

He's there in the darkness.

The cold.

The pain.

The desperation.

He is there.

He will come to your bedside and take your hand. He'll hold your hand as you hold your mama's hand.

Through all the pain and exhaustion, all you have to do is whisper "Jesus" and He will come.

And when your lips don't have the strength to form the words, He will hear you call Him from your heart.

And He will come.

He is my ever present hope, my strength, my strong tower.

And I love Him with all of my heart.

My cat is Cujo.

Some people have cute and cuddly kittens who mew and purr.

Some people have sweet, old cats who sleep on sun drenched sofas.

We have Maggie.

I picked her up from the kennel this afternoon and I felt a little like the parent who gets a call from school in the middle of the day. A call that goes something like this-

"M'am? This is Mrs. Peabody, the school principal. You need to come pick up Maggie right now. She has terrorized the entire school."

Maggie hates the kennel now. When she was a kitten, she loved it. The staff actually looked forward to her staying. Small children would drop by after school just to pet Maggie. Seriously, she was the belle of the ball.

Now, when we get out of the car with the carrier, the kennel staff peers out the office window and gasps in sheer terror. One time I walked in with Maggie, and I promise you, I think I saw one of them pop a nerve pill.

It was no shock to me when my husband came home the other day and said he had to get Maggie out of the carrier and put her in her cat cage. She hissed and arched her old lady back in her kitty cat protest. So I knew when I went to pick her up today that the news would not be good.

The lady at the front desk showed me Maggie's chart. These were the entries-

"Hissed."

"Not happy."

"Caution."

"VERY MAD."

"Ask owner to take her out and put her in her carrier."

Not what a mother wants to hear when she walks in the Principal's office. I apologized profusely. The sweet staff member reassured me that there were many cats just like Maggie. In fact, she owns one of them.

She said,"The last time my cat was here, the last entry in her record was 'Spawn of Satan."

This is supposed to make me feel better?

I went back and got Maggie out of her cage. As soon as she heard my voice, she meowed her pitiful "meow" and climbed right into her own little carrier. The kennel technician was in awe.

Some people are frightened by the sight of a white doctor's coat or a nurse's uniform. My cat is terrified of colorful scrub tops decorated with happy kittens and puppies.

Sweet. Mercy.

Sweetness in a onesie. That about sums it up.

If she were a cute pair of shoes, I'd ask the clerk to wrap them up so I could take them home with me.

We just returned from our first visit with our niece. She is a sweetheart. I could sit and hold her for hours as long as someone could bring me a Diet Coke now and then and hand me the remote so we could watch HGTV together.

"Look, Molly, at what you can do to a room with only one day and $500!"

Well, maybe when she gets a little older and can, you know, hold her head up.

Seriously, it was a wonderful visit. My daughter met her cousin for the very first time. She had been anxiously awaiting the day she could see and hold her. Watching my little girl hold her tiny cousin and gently rub her sweet, baby head was just precious.

Just. Precious.

"World's Best Aunt"

Go ahead and make me a t-shirt, Brenda.

I'm just sayin.' LOL

I'll be gone for a few days, internets, because I am going to see my sweet niece, Molly before she grows up and goes off to college.

There's going to be a lot of "Ain't she precious?" and "Gimme sugar."

That child just has no idea.

One day, years from now, she'll be tugging her mama's skirt saying,"Mommy, is that the crazy aunt who drools all over me and pinches my cheeks?"

"Yep. She's the one."

;>)

In America

I was in the home improvement store today picking up the usual "just moved in" stuff like duct tape, and I saw The Spool.

Remember The Spool?

When we were in college, we would have died to have The Spool in our apartment. It's a coffee table. It's a kitchen table. It's a foot stool.

It's trash.

But we didn't care. It was cool and it was free.

When I saw The Spool, I thought about college and how Mama and I shopped Dollar General for inexpensive kitchen items, discounted towels and sheets, and blue and mauve home accents. Hey, it was the end of the 80's. I took what I could get.

I remember graduating from college and making more than minimum wage. I thought I was rich! I could even purchase furniture on credit and make monthly payments "same as cash." I bought Lean Cuisines instead of the 99 cents entrees and, get this- I actually drank real Diet Coke, instead of the off brand stuff!

I KNOW! I was a regular Krystle Carrington.

So I was thinking today about how a person in this great country of mine can really dream anything, do anything, be anything. It's in America that a person can start out with The Spool and end up in a home improvement store looking for duct tape to hook up his dryer vent.

It's in America that a person can own a piece of land, cultivate its rich soil, and sow corn, or oranges, or Christmas trees, and reap the benefits of the long, hot days in the field.

In America, you can come from a family who can't even read and end up teaching literature at a university.

It's in America, that a woman can be Speaker of the House, Secretary of State, The President, or a Stay At Home Mom if she just puts her mind to it.

In America, a person can work hard all of his life, lose everything he owns to a storm or a fire, and still have help from his neighbors, his friends, his church, and sometimes, his government.

Then start all over again.

And still succeed.

In America.

All you have to do is dream.

*I'm going for nostalgia mixed with a little patriotism. Democracy breeds dreams no matter where you live. ;>)