Toto, I Don't Think We're in Kansas Anymore

But our family is safe--thank the Lord. Our daughter who is in school in Atlanta had just made it home on Friday when the tornado hit there (Atl)--she lives in the heart of downtown not far from where the tornado touched down. We are so grateful that she was already home for Spring Break. Atlanta traffic is scary enough without the threat of bad weather! :)
On Saturday there were reports of tornadoes spotted all around our little town and we were under several different tornado warnings throughout the day. So I spent most of the day glued to our weather radio. It didn't help that 2 of my kids were in 2 other areas where the tornado warnings were being issued also and I was stuck at home with the weather radio -- one was with a friend at a track meet, and the other was at work at a golf course. They're both fine and were able to find shelter before any really bad weather came their way. Thankfully, most everyone around here only experienced some strong winds and lots of hail, and one church not far away lost a roof.

Our hearts go out today to those west and south of us where the damage appears to have been much worse.

Our little community experienced a direct hit from a tornado a few years ago--it's really amazing and frightening how much damage can occur in just a few seconds. I was in my car and actually saw it go over head and didn't realize what I was witnessing. I remember looking at a grove of pine trees and marveling at how far they are able to bend with the wind--Duh! It was only later that I realized what had happened when I saw trees down, mangled metal wrapped around an electric pole, a tractor trailer overturned, a path of woods mowed down like grass, roofs off of many buildings, and the home of one of my neighbors completely gone. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries in our area. And everyone rallied around those whose property was most affected. So many folks helped and I didn't even see my husband for close to 3 days, because within minutes after the storm cleared he (and so many others) and his truck and his chain saw went to work clearing trees and debris.

Go Ahead, Make My Day

Annette of Huckleberry Arts gave me this award a few days ago. The rules for the “You Make My Day” award are to re-present it to those whose blogs bring you happiness and inspiration and make you feel happy about blog land. Let them know through email or by posting a comment on their blog so they can pass it on. Beware you may get the award several times, and if you do, consider yourself really, really loved.

I'd like to pass it along to a couple of ladies I've met recently through the blog world. One is Niki at Jo Kaniki's and another is Marilyn at The Cutest Cottage Lamps. I hope you'll find time to stop by their blogs for a fun treat-- they are both very talented!

The Bunny's Out of the Bag (Don't look if you haven't opened your box yet!)

I think I can post this pic now since mine was supposed to be the first box opened today in Heather's Hippity Hop Swap. It's a papier mache "chocolate bunny" with crepe grass and vintage paper flowers. Can't wait to see what everyone else did. And thanks so much Heather for organizing such a great swap.

Blast from the Past -- Part 3 (Guest Appearance)

[Editor's note: The following was written a few years ago by my middle daughter. I thought it would be cool for you to read about our boring life here in Georgia from the perspective of someone else in our family-- which really translates to just sheer laziness on my part. Plus, I've got a mountain of really important stuff to do today like blog surfing. . . er. . . keeping up with current events.~c.n.]

Last summer my dad bought my family a golf cart. We have a lot of land to ride it on and he said it would be easier to get around. About the second day we had it, I was giving my little sister driving lessons--things like how to brake, how to steer, when to brake. I had just told her that she needed to slow down on this one hill because we don't know if my mom or dad's car is parked at the bottom. I don't think she listened to me though, because she went really fast and the next thing I knew was BAM. We had hit my dad's car! We sat still for a second, then I went to get my mom. My sister started crying. My mom told me to go get my dad. [Editor's note: Yep, that's what I did--surveyed the crunched bumper, then promptly sent for the Big Guy to handle it. After all, he's the one who gave the golf cart to them anyway, and then in perfect wisdom decided to let our 12 year old teach our 9 year old how to drive. Stellar. Or. . . maybe it was just payback for letting a "moth" into the house. ~c.n.] I told him that mom wanted him outside, quickly. He didn't know about the accident. When we got outside, and my sister saw him, her eyes got huge, and she ran up to him crying, "I didn't mean to, Daddy!" She went on and on. My dad was so confused he didn't know what had happened and why she was crying so much. He began to laugh, until I told him what happened. He looked at the wreck and I backed up the golf cart for him. His bumper was dented and the golf cart's windshield fell off, but he was glad that we weren't hurt. You may think I'm crazy, but I still let my sister drive me around. I think she learned her lesson. At least, I think.

Friendly

I was tired of seeing the fashion pics so heeeeeeeeere's Friendly (and no, he's not) . . . no doubt plotting something to keep me on my toes.

Which reminds me of an incident early in the Friendly Occupation of the Nash house. If you remember, I had quite a handful of kids born about 7 years apart and Friendly was a stray cat who "found" us and lured my husband into bringing him home by pretending to be "friendly." In that time there was never a dull moment, and for close to 12 years I cannot remember a single day when I was in our house completely alone--ever. So, on the very first day of my new-found independence, when my youngest was finally old enough to go to kindergarten, I decided to have a little "me" time and savor a long, long, long hot uninterrupted shower. No one banging on the door to ask me something very important like "Where's the milk?" or to tell me that someone was bleeding, or that someone was cleaning the toilet with my toothbrush. I almost felt guilty. . . almost. As I was just finishing the luxury of actually completing the "repeat" part of the lather, rinse, repeat cycle of my shampooing (something I can't say I was able to do very much for those 12 years prior), I opened my eyes to see the shower curtain suddenly begin throbbing toward me reminiscent of the shower scene from the Hitchcock thriller Pyscho. Imagine water and shampoo and arms and legs and slipping and sliding and my heart skipping about 18 beats as I screamed. I cannot tell you all the thoughts that flashed through my mind, but when I was finally able check to see if I was still alive, and carefully peek outside the curtain-- there sat Friendly in all his smugness, something like the picture above. Somehow in all the hustle and bustle of getting four kids and one husband dressed and out the door on the first day of school, he'd sneaked into the house and decided to keep me "company."
Very big of him.

What Am I Missing?

These are the latest fashions from France. And I promise I am not joking. I saw it on Yahoo recently. [By Japanese fashion designer Junya Watanabe for his Fall-Winter 2008-2009 ready-to-wear collection presented in Paris.]

And I think my daughter summed it up when I asked her if she was ready to go shopping : "Dude, [she calls me "Dude" sometimes, even though she knows I'm not a dude.] that's what I want. . .to look like a mugger with a massive tumor on my panyhose-clothed face. Lovely. Just lovely. I give it a solid 10!"

It might do for a bad hair day, or bad face day, or bad arm day--I could give up my makeup, my mousse, and my free weights. On second thought. . . there just might be something to these new designs.

Here we go (part 2). . .

Some of my new things which will be available at Glitter and Grunge starting today. Be sure to check out the others represented at G and G while you're there: many, many talented artists with wonderful Spring items for sale.

[And one note: we must have passed the tight Little League security screening because today my daughter was allowed to participate in the official softball tryouts, and not a single person asked for my i.d., the top secret softball password, or where we lived. Ahhh, the world is right again.]

Bond, Jane Bond

I don't think that Homeland Security is involved with Little League, but on Saturday it sure felt that way. We signed up my 13 year old for what I hope was Spring softball; but given the extensive security screening, one of us may now be part of the Secret Service.

Our adventure began innocently enough at a table in our small town's elementary school gym where I was asked to present my daughter's birth certificate. Oh, snap, I had forgotten to bring it, but I assured them that my girl had indeed been born and the evidence was standing right next to me in her Converse shoes and sweats. (Since she'd played softball last year, thankfully the certificate was still on file. I was quite relieved--I'd hate to have to show them my C-section scar and stretch marks to prove a point.) Next, I was instructed to hand over my driver's license. Wow, carded by the Little League board! I told them how flattering it was to be mistaken for a teenage softball player, but that I was not the one who was going to be playing, only watching. But according to the LL authorities, I had to prove that I also had been born, or at the very least, that I was a resident of our county. The license was taken to a top secret area where it was photo-copied, or fingerprinted or scanned by the FBI or Secret Service or something and then returned.

The next step involved providing our address--no problem there. We're not in the witness protection program (yet) and I do remember where we live. After passing that test, I was given a small copy of a map of our county on which I was instructed to locate and circle the exact location of our home. As a 40-something who is in major denial about my failing eyesight, I couldn't even see the lines on the map, much less find my street. And since I had no idea I was going to be required to have microscopic vision that day I hadn't brought my special secret spy gear. . . er. . . $2 Wal-mart reading glasses. So to cover all our bases (pun intended) I drew a really large circle (probably at least a 30 mile radius) in an area on the map I thought was reasonably close to the location of our home. I'm not sure why, but apparently all of this must have something to do with national security or global warming or whether my daughter can hit a softball or not, at least in this county.

On to the uniform fitting station. While we were deciding upon the appropriate sizes, someone else approached me and asked for my driver's license, again. I thanked them (again) for mistaking me for a teenager, and begrudgingly handed the license over, explaining that I'd already proven my existence earlier, and drawn my circle and that I was still only going to be a spectator. Somehow the copies they'd made earlier had already disappeared they said, and they needed to make more. Disappeared. . . yes. . . disappeared. . . They were probably half way to Washington by now. Signing up for LL this time had more security checks than when my husband and I went to see the President in Atlanta a few years ago. Could I really look that suspicious? Has someone on the LL board read my blog and discovered that I once harbored a fugitive baby white owl named Bird Reynolds? Was I being featured on "Punk'd"? Was I a punk? Was Friendly somehow involved? These questions and more have yet to be answered, but after paying the required fee, we were allowed to leave the premises. It was then that we noticed the number on her jersey--007. Hmmm.

(Just kidding about the 007 part ;-)

Here we go. . .

. . .March updates on The Primitive Gathering available March 1. Also, check out the other talented artists represented there!

This. . .

. . . . is why you always replace the top of your paint. Especially when you're in a hurry. And especially when your floors need vacuuming. [Warning: Professional klutz. Do not try this at home. Individual results may vary.]

Have you ever been up to your eyeballs in glitter and paint and glue and paper and deadlines? I feel like one of those crazy cartoons with blurry arms flying about in a giant cloud of craft materials frantically flitting from one pile of stuff to another. And sometimes it even feels like I'm working in a pile of quicksand: it seems the more I work, the deeper I find myself sinking with a mouthful of sand, or in this case, glitter and paint. And I've even been seen (in public, no less) walking around with paint on my face and glitter in my hair, or was it glitter on my face and paint in my hair. Probably both. Inevitably interruptions happen. . . Mom, I don't have any clean underwear. . . What's for supper?. . . Oh, I forgot to tell you we're supposed to go to So-and-So's anniversary party today. . .I saw Friendly licking that spoon you're using to stir the soup. . . I'm supposed to bring cupcakes to school tomorrow. . .I surprised you and came home for lunch. . . Honey, do you smell smoke. . .

. . .Yada, yada, yada I'll have some new things to post soon. And hopefully the paint will be on the papier mache and not on the floor.