p.s.

One more thing.

If I hear or read again that by having her chests lopped off Angelina Jolie has somehow miraculously and singlehandedly "empowered women," I will simultaneously scream and spit up.

I felt it prudent to point that out.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Weekend

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Dear Angelina, allow me to get this off my chest

I'm about to wax exceedingly snark-castic. If that has even a one-percent chance of offending you, kthnxbai. 

You have been warned.

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OK. Wow.

Have you, like, heard?

Angelina Jolie -- nutcase extraordinaire -- is the newly-minted hero of all womandom.

Because she had a double mastectomy and breast reconstruction done by what I am sure were the finest surgical teams money can buy.

And she broke her big "news" the day after Mother's Day, just about the time the hot water in which Dear Leader finds himself, reached his shifty eyeballs.

Why would Angelina deem it necessary to publicize her very private health information at all?

She failed to tell her own father. He found out with the rest of us. 

And Mr. Voight -- now in the loop -- is so proud. Just speechless with admiration for his little girl's bravery.

Is the mere knowledge that a fabulously wealthy, relatively young, undeniably narcissistic, consistently immoral woman had both breasts removed in order to avoid contracting breast cancer, supposed to help someone?

Anyone? Bueller?

It's not like this type of preemptive surgery is a new concept or anything. I've been hearing and reading of women making this momentous decision for years.

But from the media hype and fawning which began the millisecond Angelina's New York Slime Op-Ed hit newsstands both real and virtual, one would think she had not only pioneered the idea, but that she is the only woman who ever had the nerve to go under the knife.

Let's get one thing clear: Angelina Jolie decided on the double mastectomy in order to save not the world, or her sistahs, but her own skin.

And while that's a perfectly good reason, it doesn't make her a hero.

Angelina Jolie can afford any test, any treatment, any procedure, any length of recuperation, and any combination of all of the above that you and I can imagine.

What she spent having the test that purportedly "proved" she had an eighty-seven percent chance of dying of breast cancer and a fifty percent chance of dying of ovarian cancer, didn't even rise to the level of chump change for Angelina.

Several thousand dollars dumped into lots of ordinary, hard-working people's bank accounts, however, would make a difference.

Take me for example. Even if I had the money, I would not have the luxury of spending it on the BRCA1 test.

Also I have news for Angelina, global darling and brightest-ever incarnation of Wonder Woman: Girl, you're still going to die of something. And you don't know what, and you don't know when.

And afterwards you will meet your Creator, for which inevitable experience there is no genetic test, no treatment modality, no foolproof charm, no exotic remedy, no preemptive strike.

It's just going to be: Did you believe on the finished work of My Son Jesus Christ for eternal life, or didn't you?

Period.

I hope Angelina-oh-goddess-of-all-womanhood fares well on that day but I have my doubts.

If my saying that bothers you, please do click out.

Because if weird-gelina were ever going to be my hero -- highly unlikely -- on any point, it most certainly would not be because she had the "courage" to submit to multiple completely elective surgeries.

People undergo surgeries every day, often in the midst of dire and frightening health crises. They put faith in doctors; they endure pain and inconvenience; they smile through their tears and fears.

If they are fortunate enough to have loving families, they hope and pray and grieve with those devoted individuals.

Countless courageous women have faced, are facing now, and will face breast and ovarian cancers. 

The women I admire are those who, cancer diagnosis or no cancer diagnosis, value and promote decency.

Angelina Jolie is not one of those women. Not even close.

Women of all ages need to embrace once again more than just technology. For starters, teach your daughters and granddaughters what it means to be a woman with morals.

It will serve them better in the long run than any genetic test or procedure or treatment or constellation of surgeries ever could.

And yeah. Yeah, I feel better now.

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Happy Wednesday

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Happy Happy Happy

H E Y !

Just stopping by to say I had a pretty spectacular Mother's Day and I hope you did too.

If the sentiment applies, that is.

I didn't have the joy of being with my own mother on the day, but I'll see her soon. I sent her a present.

Or rather, TG mailed my present to her last Wednesday -- because I was out of town all week -- and my mother has yet to receive it.

We live in the same state.

Leave it to the USPS to mess up the delivery of a Mother's Day present less than a two-hour drive away.

At any rate two of my own girls, Erica and Audrey, arrived on Saturday to spend Mother's Day with me.

I thought that was it for the party crowd until ten o'clock that night when the door opened and I heard the clanking of dog tags.

That was Rambo, who had accompanied Andrew over the mountains from Knoxville, to surprise me.

Talk about happy. Three out of four. Not bad at all. And I'll see Stephanie for Memorial Day, two weeks hence.

So anyway what with TG and me, three of the kids, and two dogs, it was lively around here.

On Sunday Andrew treated all of us to Mother's Day brunch at my favorite restaurant here in Columbia: Harper's in Five Points.

We all had chicken and waffles except for TG, who enjoyed a hamburger.

Then we came home to rest up for Sunday night and lo and behold, my kids came forth with all kinds of gifts.

I received a beautiful piece of luggage, which I needed and had been wanting.

Inside the suitcase was a completely awe-inspiring pink-and-camo Duck Commander hat, which I shamelessly model for you above.

Yes: Believe it or not, I along with millions of others have become a fan of Duck Dynasty.

I also got two gift cards to my preferred retail haunt, TJ Maxx; a book; a giant fragrant bar of bath soap; a new coffee mug; coffee; and strawberry preserves that came all the way from FRANCE.

Mercy.

Take that, Smuckers.

But perhaps my best gift of all (besides the nearness of three-fourths of my children) was that for the Sunday evening service at our church, my son had been asked to sing a solo.

And special for Mother's Day he sang his mother's favorite hymn: Zion's Hill.

It made me cry for many reasons, not the least of which is that unless God intervenes with miraculous healing -- which I am aware He can do, if He so chooses -- we will not have my beloved Aunt Linda with us for much longer.

Linda is my mother's younger -- and only -- sister. You may recall they lost a brother last fall, the first of the four children to pass away.

Earlier this year my aunt got a diagnosis as dire as anyone ever dreads to hear. The situation was so far advanced, Aunt Linda decided against traditional treatment.

She is on palliative care and doing pretty well right now -- and looking beautiful, I am sure you will agree -- but she needs your prayers.

Last week when I was in the Atlanta area visiting Erica, we took an evening and went to visit with Aunt Linda.

We also had the opportunity to see my cousin Lori, who had flown in from Ohio to spend some time with her mother.

Lori has been deaf for her entire life. She is the sweetest, most loving person you'd ever want to meet.

I talked to Aunt Linda again today and she had a wonderful Mother's Day, including a special photo session with all four of her children.

Their father, my Uncle Don, passed away in 2001. So there are four more -- and their children, and grandchildren -- who need your prayers.

I made a book for my Aunt Linda last week, of pictures I've taken put together with hymns and verses and poetry.

This was before I knew my son was coming home for Mother's Day and that he would be singing Zion's Hill in church.

Naturally, it being my favorite hymn, I included the lyrics to Zion's Hill in my aunt's book. 

I'm going to share it with you here, along with my favorite verse in the Bible:

But the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.

~Proverbs 4:18~

Also included in her book, along with a funny picture of Rambo, was one of my most treasured Yogi Berra quotes:

It ain't over till it's over.

And it ain't.

And for my aunt, a committed Christian, it will never be over. 

So enjoy your life, enjoy your mother if you still have her, enjoy your children, and enjoy everything you possibly can.

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Zion's Hill

There waits for me a glad tomorrow

Where gates of pearl swing open wide

And when I've passed this vale of sorrow

I'll dwell upon the other side.

Someday, beyond the reach of mortal ken

Someday, God only knows just where and when

The wheels of mortal life shall all stand still

And I shall go to dwell on Zion's Hill.

Someday I'll hear the angels singing

Beyond the shadows of the tomb

And all the bells of heaven ringing

While saints are singing "Home, sweet home."

Someday my labors will be ended,

And all my wand'rings will be o'er

And all earth's broken ties be mended

And I shall sigh and weep no more.

Someday the dark clouds will be rifted

And all the night of gloom be past

And all life's burdens will be lifted

The day of rest shall dawn at last.

Someday, beyond the reach of mortal ken

Someday, God only knows just where and when

The wheels of mortal life shall all stand still,

And I shall go to dwell on Zion's Hill.

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Happy Monday ~ Happy Week

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You really are

I'll be back on Monday. Until then, grab a tissue and watch this.

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Happy Mother's Day

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The answer is NO

So you won't believe. Yesterday, for the second day in a row, I had to go to the dentist.

I have a wonderful dentist whom I trust implicitly. He had been insisting for a whole year that I needed to get a certain thing done, but I was loath to endure it both physically and financially.

On Monday at my routine thrice-yearly cleaning, it was decided amongst me, Doctor Dubya (my dentist) and Beth, an adorable and excellent hygienist who is also my dear little buddy, that the moment had come.

To bite the bullet, as it were.

A time was set for Tuesday morning at eight thirty. I was given a prescription for valium to take when I arrived at the office, to calm my nerves.

I am a complete sissy when it comes to dental work. 

During my appointment on Monday, Beth advised that I also opt to breathe a combination of oxygen and nitrous oxide throughout Tuesday's procedure.

"You'll love it," she promised.

And I must say I did love it. I have had sedation dentistry before -- that's where you don't remember anything -- but never nitrous. Another name for it is laughing gas.

I don't remember laughing but I remember feeling no anxiety -- or pain either, thanks to several injections of novocaine -- and I recall saying some funny things.

For example, I know that several times I mentioned wanting jelly doughnuts. I could just taste a lemon kind and a cherry kind.

The dental practice is situated within spitting distance of a Kroger supermarket and I assured Christina, the assistant who watched over me when Doctor Dubya was out of the room, that after they cut me loose I was going there to secure jelly doughnuts.

Christina, who is most affable, agreed that it sounded like a good plan.

And I did do that, and I got some glazed and some old-fashioned cake and some chocolate with sprinkles too. 

This is not, after all, a dress rehearsal. This is it y'all. Carpe the jelly doughnuts.

Doctor Dubya's procedure rooms feature window walls that look out onto trees and bushes and bird feeders. Naturally there is a constant flow of cute, colorful, and clever birds of many shapes and sizes, from dinky wrens to plump doves to poky pigeons.

When you're not spacing out on nitrous oxide and valium, your eyes stay open and you can watch the birds come and go, interacting on and around the feeders.

At one point through my nitrous fog I heard Doctor Dubya remark that a certain cardinal -- male, flame red -- habitually flies into the plate glass windows of the dental practice, practically knocking himself unconscious.

And he accomplishes this without benefit of pharmaceuticals.

Maybe he's in the market for veneers, I volunteered sleepily.

Doctor Dubya must not have heard me because he next opined that for his own good, the cardinal should weed himself out of the gene pool.

I wanted so much to laugh but I couldn't find the energy. I was that relaxed.

Next, Doctor Dubya told a story about going to a dentistry-type conference and hearing a colleague brag that he could make a patient's choppers "better than God designed them."

Doctor Dubya asserted that his dentist friend, while undeniably skilled, perhaps was suffering from a trifle more ego than was good for him.

But he stopped short of suggesting that his esteemed peer be culled from the gene pool.

I thought but didn't say, the doctor with a god complex may be exhibiting more hubris than the directionally challenged cardinal. Think about it.

Then I heard myself reveal, from the midpoint of a ten-mile tunnel: "It's so Hunter S. Thompson the way you are giving me such good ideas for writing."

Maybe I didn't say it out loud because neither Christina nor Doctor Dubya answered. They may however, have exchanged a lifted eyebrow over my head.

I'll never know for sure because I was studying the insides of my eyelids, which were paisley.

Then I had an epiphany and because it was important, I projected my voice as though I were onstage at Radio City Music Hall:

"The answer is NO. N-O!"

That got a reaction from Doctor Dubya. He chuckled and said: "You mean nitrous oxide?"

"Yes: NO," I agreed silently and meditatively.

The coolest thing is, once they nix the nitrous and deliver only solid oxygen through the nose mask, in no time at all you can see straight again and you're no longer obsessing about jelly doughnuts or contemplating your gonzo writing style.

And you can drive yourself home without colliding with a dumpster or a hamster or even a single red bird who has strayed from his flight path.

I went straight to Kroger and got those doughnuts. Then I went home and got my camera, and before the novocaine wore off, I took these horse pictures for you.

Because I promised.

The takeaway? Next time you visit the dentist, even if it's only for him/her to glance inside your mouth?

Just say NO. It's worth every penny.

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Happy Wednesday ~ Happy May

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Many thanks to the folks at Wescott Acres Luxury Pet Resort for allowing me to shoot their splendid animals.