Friday, September 15, 2017

Roses and Gatorade


To miss a dream vacation once because of a health issue is a major disappointment.  It happened to me last fall, and I can't tell you how miserable I was for many weeks.  Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and couldn't care less if people thought I was over the top.  Ignored consolation from family and friends and wallowed in self-pity.  The illness was so awful, and I just couldn't put the sorrow aside.  Sam ached to help me get over being so sad and so sick.  I finally started talking to people again.  It even helped when I was able to go back to work.   Didn't really come around until my guy propped me up in front of the computer and said we were going to plan our trip once more.  That was when I started being me again.

Self Pity - ...the grave you're digging for yourself.

Unfortunately, the health issue cleared up before the gastroenterologist could get it properly diagnosed.  Of course, I was overjoyed that it was finally gone after almost 7 weeks, but the thought that it would ever happen to me again left me as twitchy as a canary with a cat staring into its cage.  The doctor calmed me down with a plan to have a "miracle" drug with me anytime I planned to go farther that the city limits.

Slowly I began to travel again - always with my miracle medicine in tow.  Never a hint of a recurrence.  But as Sam and I prepared and packed for our 2nd go at our dream trip overseas, the symptoms started up again, albeit milder at first.  "Not to worry," I thought.  Went to the doctor immediately, had several tests done, and was directed to begin the medicine I had in reserve as well as another med she prescribed.  There seemed to be a stronger connection between two of the symptoms this time.  After some internet reading, I also added a homeopathic treatment.  I was confident that I was improving quickly and that with plenty of refills on hand, it was a sure bet that we could leave on schedule.

Well, we did, but it all came to a screeching halt in the international terminal of a large east coast airport.  The horrible condition from last year was back in spades.  I just didn't want to believe it.  This couldn't be happening again a whole year later.  Sam took charge as I deteriorated physically.  As the illness gained momentum, I was more than willing to sit back and let Sam get us back home.  There were tears for sure, and Sam took care that I was on board with his decision.  He was the pilot.  My heart was broken, but I knew he was right.

We arrived home almost exactly 24 hours after we left.  The luggage was lost in 2 different cities and did not make an appearance for another 2 days.  In some ways I was more afraid of falling into depression than of the illness itself.  That mental state is a downward spiral that is difficult for me to stop.  As Sam gathered me into a big bear hug of comfort, I whispered that I was scared that it would happen to me again, like it did the previous year. 

                                         He whispered back, 
                   "Don't be afraid.  I will not let it happen this time."  

Even so, the tears started a dozen times that night.  The trip I had dreamed of for so long was not to be again .  By the next morning I was barely talking at all.  A hot shower felt good, but did nothing to improve my mood.  Knew I should try to eat something, but I had no appetite.  I forced myself to put an English muffin in the toaster and just stood there, head down and waiting. 

Sam came up and took me gently by the shoulders so he could look at my face.  "How is your stomach this morning?" he asked.  I told him that for now it seemed to have stalled for a bit.  

"But you are crying again, aren't you?"  I nodded my head even as the tears came back to my eyes.

"The moping isn't going to happen this time, Ella.  I won't let it," he said quietly and took my hand.  He led me to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled me across one knee.  There was no anger, and Sam was very matter-of-fact as he lifted my nightgown.  He spanked with his hand, but it was not soft and sweet.  It was not meant to comfort me.  Each spank was a way for me to release a bit of the sadness that I didn't want to let go of.  Sam's way of pulling me back from the abyss of depression.

He talked about what he expected of me and what I could expect from him.  There was to be "no mopey stuff."

"Do you understand?" and he continued the spanking and paused for my assent with each point he made.  I could count on him for all the encouraging hugs and all the support I would need to get through this same horrible thing again.  Doctors visits and medications and tests.  But there was to be no pity party going on at all.  I was to call family members to explain what had happened, and I was to write to friends that were expecting us to be off on our vacation.  No building of walls.  No silence.  No days and nights of crying.

When he pulled me up, I practically gave the poor man whiplash as I grabbed to hug him and to feel his strong arms around me.  There was a soft "thank you" whispered in his ear.  I felt safe from the overwhelming sadness, and I could walk away from the edge of that pit.  He wasn't going to let me fall.  He was right there, and he wasn't going anywhere.

We rested up from the airport ordeal for almost 2 days.  I ate some and drank as much as I could, especially drinks with electrolytes.  We quietly enjoyed being together.  We smiled and talked and even laughed.  I called and wrote the people I most love in this world.  I got through conversations with hardly a tear.  Slept a lot and read a lot.

Finally, Sam went back to work one morning.  The house was too quiet, and I felt a little down for the first time since that spanking.  I was on the phone with a dear friend who had lots of good advice concerning the health issue that had returned.  I paused and asked her to hold for just a minute.  I heard the key in the front door unlock and knew it was probably Sam.  I met him coming down the hallway.  He held a beautiful bouquet of a dozen red roses in one hand and a 6-pack of Gatorade in the other.

                                "Love you, Ella," he smiled.  
            "I will check on you again.  Call me if you need me."

There was a quick kiss and he was out the door again.  I finished my conversation with my friend.  She couldn't see me, but I wager she could tell there was a big smile on my face.  Later there was an unexpected dedication that touched my heart, and I really thought about how lucky I was.

I would love to end with a happily ever after.  That is the name of my blog, after all.  But this is real life, and that didn't happen.

Just so you don't get all gushy about a happy ending, I fell from grace with Sam big time again last Monday.  Feeling so sorry for myself and thinking only of what adventures we were missing.  Of another special friend with whom I wasn't going to get to collect any hugs or laughs or silly times together.  Sam was patient with me at lunch that day but not when he arrived home that evening.

                         "Not going to happen.  I mean what I say."
                                       "Come with me, girl." 

My roses were still lovely, and I was still drinking lots of fluids, but this time there was a paddle doing a lot of the talking.  

                          The kisses came later with a warning.

               "There will be NO mopey stuff around here.  Got it?" 
           "Yes, sir," was all I said and stepped away from the edge.

Friday, September 1, 2017

The Devil's Hand !

I am heartily sick of fireworks this summer.  The constant question in my mind is, "When will the people in my neighborhood run out of cherry bombs!?"  It started the Friday night before July 4th and continues still.  The racket stops for a night or two, and I am lulled into a false sense of security.  Then "Boom!" it begins again.

Cherry bombs and aerials are illegal in our city, but the next county over has huge tents along the highway with all the fireworks you could ever want.  Please, don't get me wrong.  I love the 4th of July, and I love a good show with lots of boomers.  But almost 8 weeks later, I was so hoping they would save their leftovers for New Year's Eve.

When these stalwart supporters of our national freedoms start up after I am asleep, I get really grouchy.  Our older dog could care less and snores right through the blasts on the next block, but our younger rescue dog is literally petrified.  If an unexpected explosion disturbs the night, she shakes uncontrollably and tries to burrow in back of the furniture, regardless of electrical cords and my lamps.  It can go on for several hours.

Anyway, I was already asleep when Sam took both our dogs out to do their business before coming to bed.  All the windows were open because the evening had cooled down and was very pleasant.  Suddenly, I was jolted out of my sleep.  There was a horrendous boom that rattled the glass in the windows, and then every dog in the whole neighborhood started barking and howling - ours included!  The cacophony went on until I finally gave up and got out of bed to stand at the window.

Yes, some temper was showing.  I yelled out the window at our dogs to "Shut up!" and then heard Sam's voice in the darkness.  And there was an edge to it.

                 "I am handling this and don't need any help from you."

It was the tone of voice that made me realize, without even seeing his face, that I had crossed some line.  When he came to bed, I apologized for the incident.  He drew me over to spoon but whispered that I needed to "Butt out," when he was taking care of a situation.  I agreed, and we both went off to sleep.

The next morning I was writing an email , still in my nightgown and drinking coffee, when Sam went to get ready for work.  My fingers were flying over the keyboard when he suddenly appeared in the doorway to the office.  His eyes were narrowed (never a good sign,) and he was crooking his finger. 

                                         "Come with me," he said ominously.

I followed him down the hallway.  I could see that he had closed the bedroom windows and was rustling in the bottom drawer of his dresser.  In happier times, I refer to it as the "Toy Box."  When he came up with the rice paddle, I knew he was dead serious.

                                          "Close the door," he said quietly.

I know I have mentioned the rice paddle before, but I am not sure I have explained that it was me who bought it.  Long ago, I had read a story that mentioned such an item.  I had never heard of it before.  About 2 years ago I was out antiquing/junking when I spotted this utensil in a display of old kitchen utensils.  When I remembered the spanking story, I thought it would be a fun implement to have in our toy box.  I shall tell you sincerely that I rue that day.

With the handle included, the entire rice paddle is probably 14 inches in length.  The paddle portion is a slightly oval shape with a concave dip in which to pick up the rice.  Sam says that it is exactly the size of one rear cheek.  I believe it is made of bamboo and is as deadly a weapon of ass destruction as I have ever experienced.  After "playing" with it once or twice, I convinced Sam to leave it in the drawer.  This thing is simply not conducive to an erotic spanking.

It stays at the bottom of the drawer and has only made an appearance once in a great while.  When Sam gets really riled up about something, he will dig to find it.  The tears start before the paddle ever hits its target.

"Oh, Sam, not that one.  Pleeease."  This came out as a bit of a whine, which was probably not the right thing to do at the time.  

           "Yes, this one.  Next time you will remember to butt out."

                              And then he just stood there 
                          waiting for me to put my butt out.

This did not seem one bit funny at the time.  Perhaps if we had been playing, I would have seen the humor.  Good god, my friends, that thing is the devil's hand!


The spanking lecture was all about knowing that Sam was in charge.  That if there were fireworks, then the dogs were going to bark.  That's life.  My yelling out the window for all the neighbors to hear was not only useless, it was just as irritating as the rest of the noise.  The fireworks on my butt continued until Sam's message was crystal clear to me.

The loud explosions in our neighborhood continue to go off every few nights.  I have not even been tempted to complain.  Adjectives that could describe the change in my reaction would be serene, peaceful, calm, and even tranquil.

                               Halo restored and that's a wrap.


Thursday, August 17, 2017

Naked Cleaning ?

Sam is a man of many talents.  Besides being a great lover and the HOH around this house, he enjoys working on vintage cars and can build beautiful furniture.  He is an excellent grill master and very tech savvy.  He restores rifles and is quite an accomplished marksman.  Before the days of digital photography, he built his own darkroom.  As his wife, I brag that he is very handy with repairs of any kind.  When the boys were small, they believed there was nothing "Dad" could not fix.

So that is what Sam "is."  What he is NOT is "tidy."  The man never throws anything away, and his office at home becomes unmanageable after a while.  So does his office at work, but I do not have to live with that.  Papers and books piled everywhere and stuffed into every available nook and cranny.  Asking him nicely to sort and discard just doesn't work.  He will spend 5 minutes and tell me he is done.  Of course, it doesn't look a bit different.  So every few years we clean "together."  This is one of those activities where we used to be ready to kill each other in a matter of an hour.

Post ttwd-adoption, I know I have to tread more lightly.  No barking orders or hands on my hips.  No raising my voice.  Believe me, it takes much self-control to stay positive and patient.

We had made progress, and we were both pleased.  Almost done, in fact.  I was off work on a Friday, and gave Sam a hug and kiss as he got ready to leave for work.  He patted my bottom as I headed to the bedroom to get in the shower.  As soon as I had stripped down, I remembered that I had wanted to ask Sam if we could PLEASE finish cleaning the last section of his office on Saturday morning.  It is better to plant the seed early.

I raced back to the front door before Sam could leave.  His hand was on the door knob when I came around the corner into the entry.  He turned and then just got the biggest grin on his face.

"Sorry to hold you  up, Hon," I explained.

"No problem." he smiled and took a step toward me.

"Before you go, I just wanted to ask if we could finish in your study tomorrow."

"Well, we most certainly can, especially if you don't wear any clothes."

Now it was my turn to smile.  "Maybe."

"Wouldn't mind a little French maid outfit either," Sam countered.

"That probably won't happen, mister," and now I was teasing, "but the naked might."  I kissed him again and turned to head back to the shower.

There was a mighty smack on my bare ass, and I squeaked a little protest.  After checking out my bottom in the mirror, I waited for the water to warm up.  

"Hmmm," I thought.  "Naked cleaning?  There are probably pros AND cons to that idea," I pondered while rubbing my rear end.   After all, the study has been a mess this long.  Surely the cleaning will still be there the next day.  And it was. 

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

The Scarlet Knickers

Chances are, if you attended high school here in the States, you read The Scarlet Letter by Nathanial Hawthorne.  If it's been too long or if you are domiciled somewhere "Across One of the Ponds," I will explain.  It is the allegorical story of Hester Prynne that deals with the themes of good and evil, the human condition, and society vs individualism.  In Puritan Boston, Hester is forced to wear the scarlet letter "A" to brand her as an adulteress.  Other than being a vehicle by which to introduce symbolism and theme to teenagers (who for the most part could care less), it is heavy and dull.  However, it reinforces the belief that "scarlet" is somehow sinful.

                                       Think of the phrases:
                                           - the lady in red
                                           - the red-light district          
                                           - red-hot mama

On our trip to the UK last year, dear Ami took me shopping one day.  I wanted to buy honest to goodness English "knickers," and Ami said that Marks and Spencer was the place to go for pretty underthings without breaking the bank.  And, boy howdy, was she right.  We left our guys in a pub and off we went knicker shopping.  I was also ecstatic to find so many gorgeous unlined lace bras and in my size!  I despise foam cups on bras.  Once I checked the sizing on one set of knickers and matching bra, I scooped up one more set in another color.  The lace on the knickers was just lovely, and I must say, the bras made the girls just sit right up where they used to be.  There was a dreamy pale taupe and my favorite - a true scarlet.

Later, when we were alone, Sam asked me what was in all the bags.  I held up the scarlet ones.  There were several good reasons that I did not wear them for him right then and there.  Foremost was my being quite ill and next because I make too much noise with an orgasm.  Not something I feel comfortable doing as someone's house guest!

Weeks after returning home, the scarlet knickers finally made their debut.  Sam's eyes lit up like it was Christmas.  Of course, in the wise words of Meredith, they did end up on the floor.  But in Sam's mind, they had handily won the top spot on the lingerie hit parade.

One day recently, Sam mentioned that the scarlet knickers had not made an appearance in a while, and he was right.  Very soon, I remedied this lapse, and my husband was appreciative.  He did not take them off and told me he wanted to enjoy the view for a bit.  The knickers really didn't cover much of my bottom, and as Sam pulled me over his knee, I was fairly certain that they would not offer much protection either.  

                                             TIME OUT 

                       "We are interrupting this post to bring you 
                                     this important message." 

Am going to pause here to ask you if you think you can predict the outcome of this "Scarlet Story" before it ends.  If this was Las Vegas, what sort of odds do you imagine the bookie would be willing to give?  
               about a sure thing!

             "We will now return to our regularly scheduled post."

Sam spanked me lovingly that morning.  He likes to report the color stages happening on my ass.  Some artists work in oils.  Some in pastels.  Sam works in hand prints on a lily-white background. 

"Now we are starting to see some pink."

"I surely do love your pretty pink butt, Ella."

"No, be still, we are not nearly done.  But the pink is deepening."

"Ahh... that's more like it, we are approaching the finish line."

"Today I want your ass to match your knickers!"

                             A lovely time was had by all.  

                 And I would like to thank Mr. Michael Marks 
                        and Mr Thomas Spencer for having 
                   one of the nicest lingerie departments ever.  

                 We will be heading back to the UK very soon, 
            and you can bet M&S is on Ella's list of things to do.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Summertime and the Meming is Easy.....

1.  Name a tender song that can almost make you cry. 

"Remember When" by Alan Jackson.  I know every word and every note.  I had tickets to see him last September, but it was just one more thing I missed that month because I was so sick.  There were lots of tears.

2.  What is your favorite shade of lipstick?  What about nail polish?  If you do not wear lipstick or polish, what do you like or dislike about the shades you see others wear?

My favorite lipstick is called "Canela Necar" and is a shimmery pinkish tan.  As far as polish is concerned, if I do wear one, it is usually a soft champagne color.  However, I have to be pretty consistent using a nail hardener or they split.

3.  Name a children's nursery rhyme or song that you loved and to which you remember all the words.

There was a ragtime song called "The Washington Waddle" that we used to sing at girls' camp.  There was a prelude to it, though, that was  a variation of a very old song titled, "Desert Blues."  We sang it in the dining room after meals and also around the campfire.  I always taught it to my school kids every year, and they loved it. 

                    "Let's all go down to Washington DC, 

                 That's where they play that ragtime melody, 

4.  What outfit would you put on in the morning if you wanted to feel happy and well dressed?  Something in which you think you look pretty damn good!

Cream sleeveless tank under an olive green jacket.  Favorite jeans on the bottom.  Little metallic ballet flats.  Brass earrings and a big pile of stretch bracelets.  Practically a uniform for Ella.

5.  If you had enough money to buy just one, would it be a cottage by the ocean or a cabin in the mountains?

Hard to decide that one.  I think I would buy the cabin in the mountains. That is where I think the sunrises are the most beautiful.  Then I might just rent a cottage on the beach for a week.  Best of both worlds, especially since this dream is being funded by Monopoly money. 


6.  If you are old enough, which one of the Beatles did you have a "thing" for?  If you are not that old, tell us a musician that really did it for you.

Has to be Paul McCartney.  OMG, I thought he was sooo pretty.  I hardly gave the others a glance.  This infatuation eventually wore off.  "I Want to Hold Your Hand......"   

7.  Name a smell that you love - could be kitchen, outdoors, person, your choice.

Oh, what I would give if we could still burn leaves in the fall.  I loved that smell.  We would rake and rake until we had a huge pile and then jump in them and laugh our little asses off.  Then Dad would start them up with a lighter.  My little green corduroy jacket would smell so wonderful for a whole week.

8.  How often do you defuzz your legs.  Wax, razor, or electric?

I am pretty consistent with three times a week.  I do not have pretty legs, and my feeling is that at least they should be smooth. 

9.  How/why did you choose your blog name?  

Ella was my grandmother's name.  She was a very straight-laced  lady who never missed church.  Boy, could she cook and bake.  She shopped for fresh food every day.  She used to buy me paper dolls at Ben Franklin whenever I came to visit.  We would cut them out together and watch Lawrence Welk. 

10.  What do you like to eat for breakfast?  To drink?  Coffee or tea?

Fruit, especially grapefruit, is a must.  Then it could be a whole wheat English muffin or bagel.  Decaf coffee is an all day thing for me in the winter months.  Several times a week, I will have scrambled egg whites instead. 


11.  How many siblings do you have?  Or are you an only child?  Are you the oldest, a middle, or the youngest child?

I have 3 siblings - one brother and two sisters.  I am the oldest and certainly the bossiest of the four of us.  Sam will attest to the truth of this answer.  

12.  What is your favorite salad dressing?

Has to be Caesar dressing.  Adore a chicken Caesar salad.  If there is fresh Parmesan and garlic croutons, it is a bit of heaven.


13.  If you could sit next to anyone (alive) on a long plane trip, who would you pick?

Well, I always have a good time with Sam, but if this was a once in a lifetime wish from the Travel Fairy, I think I would choose Benedict Cumberbatch.  He is a fascinating actor.  His portrayal of Hamlet was simply amazing.  And I am a huge fan of Sherlock.

14.  Have you ever gone shopping just to cheer yourself up?

Sam would probably answer this question with another question.  "Ella, have you ever not gone shopping to cheer yourself up?"

15.  If there is one thing that can make you lose your temper, what would it be?

Oh, my friends, the list here could rival the length of War and Peace.  My temper is infamous.  Most consistently it is other drivers or stupid people that waste my time.   I am really working on this fault.  Seriously.

16.  Tell us about the best photograph you have ever had taken.

I usually take an awful picture, so there are not that many photos vying for the coveted first place position.  There is an informal one of Sam and I just as we turned around as man and wife to all the family and friends in the little chapel.  I have a very self-satisfied grin on my face.

17.  Have you ever gone skinny-dipping and where?

Damn, this is one of the great disappointments of my life!  I have never been and have always wanted to very much.  As I face retirement, I have started a formal bucket list, and this activity is definitely on it.  For sure! 

18.  What do you like on your pizza?  What don't you like on your pizza?

Sorry to be so boring, but I most like Italian sausage and extra mozzarella cheese.  I love a deep dish true-blue Chicago pizza.  Home Run Inn is a favorite "pie."   I abhor Canadian bacon and pineapple. 

                  Can't wait to hear from you.  :)

                                             The last time I did a meme, I left out 2 items.  
                                                Just didn't want to share that information.  
                                         Please feel free to skip a few questions if you choose.