Thursday, November 16, 2017

Love Our Learners - My "Chapter One" Story

Once a year the bloggers I know and whose blogs I read set aside a special day to welcome readers that don't normally leave comments on the posts we write.  We celebrate you even though we don't know who you are, because we remember being right there, too.  I adamantly refuse to call you "lurkers" as this always sounds rather seedy and furtive to me.  In fact Webster still gives the original definition of lurk as "to lie in wait in a place of concealment, especially for an evil purpose."  I certainly didn't feel that way when I was first reading spanking blogs, but I ached in my heart to learn how I could have a relationship with my husband like the personal stories I read online.  So, today I post for all of you out there that aspire like I did, and my LOL is an acronym for  

                                         "Love Our Learners."

I was trying to decide how I wanted to speak to you all this year.  A fresh approach, if you will.  A new angle.  There is a dear friend who has had me thinking of writing a letter for the last few days, and suddenly, I knew what my topic would be.  I wasn't going to write to you alone.  I was also going to write to your partners, your husbands or your wives.  I will probably use a husband as the intended recipient because that comes from my own experience.  However, I know that there are couples out there who have created their own paradigm of This Thing We Do, and I would love to hear from you, too.

When a new blogger or reader pops up and catches my fancy, the most fascinating question I can ask is, "How did you get here?" 

        What part does spanking play in your psyche? 

I call these your "Chapter One" stories.  If you are now in a spanking relationship, your story has more of an "Ever After" component to it, even though the dynamic between the two people who practice ttwd never remains static.  It is always growing and changing.  But I see that as your Chapter Two or Chapter Three stories.  

Chapter One has to do with everything that formed you into being a person who both desired and NEEDED spanking in your life.  Some refer to it as being a "spanko."  Not my favorite moniker,
but as of yet, I have not thought of anything better.  I put NEEDED in capital letters because that's the way it feels when you want something so badly.  You don't just want, you NEED.  Your husband should emphatically know that this is like breathing to you.  It is such a part of you down deep in your heart and soul that you will never be quite fulfilled without it.  Never be quite as happy as you could be. 

So this year my LOL post is meant for those out there who desperately want to be spanked.  How do you make him understand?  Perhaps you don't even know how to begin talking about it with your husband or perhaps you have explained and discussed this with your man, but he just isn't comfortable or in any way eager to enter into what many call a domestic discipline relationship.  I have been there, too.  There was no magic wand that made my "ever after" come true.  It was a long and hard road.

I think the first thing a husband needs to know from you is where did this overwhelming desire for spanking come from.  

                           "What's the matter with you, anyway."  
                           "Why would you want to be spanked?"

Telling my story to Sam that first time was one of the hardest things I ever did.  I really don't have many early childhood memories at all where I wasn't already fascinated with spanking.  Don't really know what triggered it for me.  It was just always there in my head. Like I had blue eyes and freckles when I was 5 years old, I also had spanking in my head.  Surely you are all familiar with the companies who advertise to analyze your DNA.  They are all over the television these days.  What if I did that?  Besides being Irish, Scotch, and French Canadian, would they find a spanking gene in my DNA?  It feels that intrinsic to who I am.  And truthfully, if I could pay a fee of $79.95 and find out why I am the way I am, I would pay it in a heartbeat.  I have always wanted to know WHY.

My parents were loving, and I was well cared for as a child.  Even if we earned their displeasure over something we did or said, there was just one quick whack on the bottom and we went to our room for a few minutes.  That was not anywhere near my coveted spanking fantasies nor were my mother or father ever in these little musings that floated around in my head.

Right from the start the spankings in my head followed a very set pattern.  In my fantasy, I had misbehaved in some way that showed a flaw in my character.  My vanilla self had a temper that did land me in trouble many times (still does), but that certainly wasn't the
only flaw that colored my dreams of spanking.  Then someone in a
position of authority over me would decide that I needed to be spanked and that this would teach me a lesson that would, in the future, keep me from doing or saying whatever had landed me in hot water.  For my fantasy it was always over the knee.  Sometimes I had to fetch the implement with which I was to be spanked, sometimes not.  The spanking was always on the bare, never over clothes.  But somehow, the spanking was always a token of love. 

It really seems to me that even as a child I instinctively knew that this NEED was something I had to keep private.  I was very curious if other children I knew were spanked this way, but I was careful not to appear too interested.  If the other kids were talking about a spanking, I was zeroed in on the conversation.  Sounds strange but I can still remember the words that were used.  Then there were pictures from comics or magazines that I would cut out and save to pore over once in a while.  I kept them at the bottom of a pile of little treasures in a small wooden cedar chest.  And stories in books!  Or even just the word "spanking" was enough.  I knew them by heart, and I have heard other bloggers mention the same obsession with a passage in a childhood book. 

At this time of my life there was not anything sexual about my spanking thoughts, but as I grew into my teens, I think the fantasies centered more on a man or even an older boy doing the spanking.  I met Sam when we were both 15 years old and there were times I did think of him spanking me, but I never confided in him in any way.  There were several times in college when we had the privacy that I tried to goad him into spanking me, but I still maintain that at that time it never had a sexual connotation. 

Soon I was a busy young wife and mother, and while the spanking thoughts never went away, it was easy to suppress them.  After all, I was old enough to have an uneasy feeling that there was something perverted about it all.  I think I felt rather than knew that if I ever told anyone, even Sam, they would think there was something wrong with me.  Maybe Sam would not love me anymore.  I believed I was a good person and that this part of me was something that was a little shameful.

Don't believe that the sexual component of spanking came until I was almost 30.  Sam and I were having sex, and I was slow to orgasm.  That wasn't a normal thing for me, and I was used to achieving orgasm regularly.  I honestly can't remember if he asked me or I asked him but he gave me several whacks with his hand and I had a skyrocket orgasm straight away.  Eureka!  There were other benefits to spanking.

You would think in a marriage that has lasted decades, I would have told Sam about this desire, but I never did.  We loved each other; that has never changed.  But there were so many times over the years that there was just no way to solve a difference or to defuse the anger of one or both of us over a perceived slight or disagreement.  We spent days or weeks living with silence or a begrudging truce.  What a stupid way to settle a quarrel.  What a waste of our time together. 

I started out with my Chapter One story because at some point, if you really want your husband to understand who you are, you are going to have to tell him your story.  He needs to know this isn't a passing fancy.  You didn't just read Fifty Shades of Grey and want to give it a try.  He has to know how deep this goes.  As I have made friends with other bloggers, I have learned that there are remarkable similarities in our stories.  As I began to be more comfortable with exploring on the Internet, I have read the stories of others and always hear them recall their early memories that were so much like mine.

There was such a loneliness all those years of my life when I thought I was the only one in the whole world with this NEED.  Surely there couldn't be anyone else.  Many years later when I found the blogs that spoke to the spanking part of me, I felt such joy that I would start crying, realizing that I wasn't the only one.  I was so timid that for a long time I wouldn't even look online for fear Sam would somehow find my browsing history. 

Funny how things work.  It wasn't even the Internet that gave me the courage to talk to Sam.  It was a tiny little sex advice column in a magazine.  Just like in times of old, I cut it out and carefully saved it, determined to finally tell Sam who I really was.  At that time I thought the most I could hope for was a spanking as a prelude to sex.  And that is where I started.  I also found a short list Sam had written long ago of sexual fantasies he had.  We were still a very young married couple when we went through a tough period and saw a counselor once or twice.  He suggested several things to help us communicate better.  Oddly enough, most of them included writing to each other and listing things that we wanted to be different between us.   Sam had written that list almost 35 years ago, and I had saved it all that time.

Again when you think about how to tell your husband who you are, I might suggest writing it down.  Sometimes it is easier to get all your thoughts down on paper just the way you want to explain them, without the fear of him saying, "You want me to what?!?"  I wrote to Sam a lot in the beginning.  He could take his time to digest it before we sat down together, and I had to look him in the eye.  The morning I first brought up the topic of spanking, he thought we were going to make love.  Instead I made myself look as pretty as I could and first handed him his list from long ago.  The look on his face went from confused to recognizing his own handwriting to wondering why I would have ever saved such a thing.  He asked me something, but I quietly shook my head and handed him the little spanking clipping.

He read it, and his look was serious for a moment.  Then he looked at me with a big smile.

"Is this what you want?" he asked.  I nodded and dropped my eyes.  There was already a warm feeling of dominant/submissive that day.

"Well, why didn't you tell me this before, Ella?"  I couldn't answer right then, but I did get the first spanking of my life, and the lovemaking was incredible.  It was a big day, and I still celebrate August 11th.  As long as the spanking was connected to sex, Sam was all about it. 

                            It was kind of like a button that read 
                                      "For Sex, Press Here."  

Sam pressed the button quite often.  He was scared to hurt me, but it was a spanking.   That sort of opened the gate, but there was so much more to tell him, to explain, to hope for.  The difference was that I didn't feel so ashamed anymore, and there was suddenly this intense connection between Sam and I.  I was not expecting that at all.

Now, too, there was a freedom of sorts because I dug into spanking books and websites and blogs like I was trying to drink it all in as fast as I could.  I was as thirsty as someone stranded in the desert; I couldn't get enough.  I wasn't afraid of Sam finding out anymore.  In fact Sam was happy to order me anything I wanted to read.  After all, he loved pressing that button.  So here I was, perhaps just as you are now.  I knew what I wanted, but I did not know how to have Sam and I take that leap to This Thing We Do.

It probably came from being an English major and all that "the pen is mightier than whatever...." stuff, but when I found an article or post that talked about a domestic discipline relationship, I printed it.  I had stacks and stacks of paper.  At least one poor tree died when Ella was born.  I read and reread the ones that touched me most.  It was almost four months to the day before I sat with Sam for.... the big talk.

I didn't want to look him in the eye this time either.  I sat next to him on the sofa sort of entwined with my head on his shoulder.  I could feel him breathing and smell his scent, but both our eyes faced forward.  The car worked well for a lot of later discussions, too.  Eyes on the road.  First I told him 3 or 4 things about myself that I did not like.  These were not any big surprise to Sam.  He probably could have listed those same 3 or 4 things himself.  He was not sure where I was going with this discussion.  Maybe he stuck with it thinking it might end in sex.  I don't think Sam is much different than other guys with that train of thought.

Then I asked for him to help me be a better person, to overcome some of these faults I hated about myself, that I didn't seem to be able to change on my own.  I described a structure of a sort where he was the boss about these certain things and made his expectations known to me.  And where there was a consequence when they were not met.  I could feel his body shift and stiffen, and I knew he was uncomfortable. 

"You want me to spank you for losing your temper?" he questioned and pulled away enough to look me in the eyes.  Again the submissive thing.  I dropped my eyes and nodded.  We talked a very long time that night.  Several hours.  I went on to tell him this was part of who I was.  Part of what I had wanted all my life.  I wanted to please him.  I wanted to conquer my faults and know he was proud of me.  I wanted him to help me be all I could be.  The spanking with sex was fun, but that is not what I craved, what I NEEDED.  I needed for him to be the boss and to make some of the decisions for me.  I needed to feel he was stronger and willing to...

                            Care for me, not just care about me.

He didn't think he could do that when we first talked.  He couldn't ever "hit" me.  I was a grown up and should be able to make all those changes by myself if I really wanted.  In the end all I asked of  him that night was to agree to talk further and read together and even on his own.

I started asking him in a submissive manner if it would be OK to read and talk when we got home from work.  Those saved posts and articles were what I drew from.  For some reason Sam wanted me to read aloud to him.  That ended up working well because he could stop me at any point and ask me a question. 

                    "Do you feel the same way as this woman?"  
                   "I would not be comfortable with that, Ella."
           "There isn't going to be any chains or leather, is there?"

We did this for well over a month, and there was no spanking except for the sexy kind.  In the end there were certain things that we talked about during these discussions that finally made sense to him.  The idea of him embracing his maleness and me embracing my femaleness touched a chord.  I never stopped asking his permission before I started to talk about TTWD and spanking as part of a relationship.  Actions speak louder than words.  It wasn't all serious.  There was lots of laughter and hugging and kissing, too.

It boggled his mind, but I think he finally came to believe it when I told him that his spanking me would be the most important way he could ever tell me that he loved me.  Gifts and flowers and fancy dinners would never mean even a tiny bit as much to me or make me as happy and fulfilled as spanking me when I strayed from who I should be to him and to the rest of the world.  This would never be a game or a fad.  It was a basic a human NEED for me just like eating and breathing.

If I had given up when he first said "No way, Ella,"  we would have missed the best years of our marriage.  Obviously demanding would have defeated the whole purpose.  Better to be the Tortoise, slow and steady, than the Hare.  So any advice I leave with you learners out there today, starts with be sure of what you want and be sure he loves you.  Then take it slow and steady.  

Be ready to not only stand in front of your husband naked for a spanking or for sex but to bare your heart and soul to him.  It is a monumental step for any couple to make.  I don't believe I have ever been happier in my whole life, and the bonus to a ttwd marriage is that I have never seen my Sam any happier either.

                                             Write Your Own Chapter One


Monday, November 6, 2017

Veterans Day - Remembering All Who Served

For all the years I can remember, Veterans Day was a day for me to especially honor and thank all the men who served our country in any of the branches of the armed services.  However, I take my gratitude seriously every day of the year.  Never miss an opportunity to tell a veteran thanks for his service.  Sam and I are both that way.  I try to live it all year long, and I could tell you stories of the many men whose faces have lit up when I walked up to them. Whether I was teaching school, doing an errand at Lowe's, or waiting in line at a restaurant or the grocery store.  Our city has a huge military installation, and there are always lots of guys to thank.  There were a few soldier moms around our school.  I thanked them, too, but I didn't know any of them personally.  Some of the best substitute teachers we ever had at our school were ex-military.  The kids loved them and absolutely no behavioral problems.  Yessir!

After teaching for many years, I started a second career in a huge medical facility.  I worked for a group of wonderful doctors in a specialized division of the OB GYN department.  Although, I did not deal with pregnant women, my job called for me to work with many female patients over the years.  I met some incredible women as I gathered needed data for my medical division.  Much of my time was spent right in a standard clinic setting assisting doctors and nurses who were dedicated to helping women who had significant medical issues.  It was a very fulfilling job, and I came to know women of all ages.  Some were still in college, some active in their own careers and raising a family, and some retired.

Over my time in this position, there were a good sized group of veterans accompanying their wives to the doctor's office for support.  I always thanked them before we got down to the data I was recording from the patients themselves.  I thanked the women, too, because when a man is in the service, the whole family is serving.


When I started that job, I never thought about meeting a woman soldier, but my Veterans Day post this year is to share with you the stories of two women veterans that I came to know very well over a period of several years.  Most of their medical care was available at the Veteran's Administration Hospital here in town, but there were certain specialty doctors for women that were not available there.  We collaborated with the VA to provide the appropriate care.

Sheri was actually close to my age, and she was already retired.  I never met her husband, because he was also a veteran but with considerable physical impairments.  Sheri had her own set of medical problems that stemmed from her service in Vietnam in the 1960's, but she had cared for her husband for many years.  Although she had not served in combat, this woman had been seriously hurt during her deployment in Nam and suffered a list of medical problems including some brain damage.

She was quite a character.  Bubbly and happy and outgoing.  None of her clothes ever matched, and she had a huge fanny pack (or bum bag for our British readers) because she didn't like purses and always lost them.  She had significant memory issues and became confused easily.  I think she was comfortable talking with a woman near her own age about the medical issue that brought her to us.  We thoroughly enjoyed each other.  I found her to be a delightful person and always thanked her for her service at every visit.  Once she knew how I felt, she proudly wore her Vietnam Veteran's cap to her appointments.  Always felt wonderful that our doctors could help her even though she lost her medications on a regular basis.  Sweet woman who made me laugh.

My other female veteran was a much younger woman in her early thirties.  She had served in combat in Iraq.  Karen was very shy and soft spoken; one might even say "meek."  She had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and the doctors suspected she had also been raped.  The medical issues with which she dealt were conclusively related to her time in the service.

It took many months of working with Karen before she became more open with me.  Finally she would tell me about her therapy and how she was progressing.  I could see the changes.  There were more smiles and laughter.  Her body language was that of a whole new woman   She was working part time and going to college full time.  She shared stories with me of her time in the service, and I always felt so honored.  Perhaps it was my teaching that made me a good listener.  Karen so appreciated that, and, of course, my gratitude for her service as a soldier.

On Veteran's Day last year, I took the time to write Karen a lengthy email to thank her for her service to the citizens of the US.  Just like I did with my students years before.  Since she did not ever wear anything that would clue people into her years in the armed forces, I can imagine she did not receive much notice.  She wrote me back a lovely thank you note for remembering her and said that it was the only greeting she received that day.  How much it meant to her.

Unfortunately, her treatment did not produce the results for which  both she and the doctors so hoped.  To my surprise this did not bother her in the least.  She thanked us all profusely and said how far she had come in the year and a half she was under care at our facility.  We had a bit of a teary farewell, and I wished her my best.

This was what I wanted to share with you for Veterans Day this year.  My personal interactions.  You don't really know someone's story until you make the first move to greet and thank a vet.  I met my first World War II veteran this year, too, and it would not have happened if I felt self conscious about going up to a perfect stranger.  People think, "Oh, I don't want to bother him," and they are so wrong.  I have never had a vet brush me off.  They are always gracious and grateful that people remember.


Sam and I have attended many gatherings at which WW II veterans were being honored.  We even were present to sing Happy Birthday to one.  If I remember correctly, he was turning 96 years old.  Everyone stood for that birthday song.  We are running out of time to thank the veterans from that war.  Every day, 372 of them die.  The last figure I saw was that there are only about 558,000 left of the 16 million men and women who served from our nation.  In the UK the figure is much smaller - only about 100,000.  Of course there were the Canadians, the Australians, and the French, as well.

Some veterans went into battle and many more served in other ways.  What they all have in common is their willingness to sacrifice for their nation and its people.  Many will share that they see this as their duty.  I believe the rest of us also have a duty, and that is to thank and honor them in a personal way every chance we get.


Saturday, October 28, 2017

this thing "WE" do

Once in a while along comes a really thoughtful post out in blogland.  For me it can be a springboard for a deep discussion with blog friends or even with Sam.  Last month Meredith wrote such a post.  

                                      Her Question was, 
              "Who carries the responsibility in a ttwd marriage?"

Back years ago now, when I convinced Sam that ttwd was something I had always wanted, we both had a lot to learn.  For a very long time, I would find a post or article that spoke to me and read it aloud to Sam.  It gave us a place to begin to shape our own version of ttwd. 

  • What were our roles?  
  •  How do we identify the components that will carry us to where we want to be?
  •  Do we have to be perfect for it to be succussful?

I don't read Sam very many posts anymore.  He has a lot more confidence in himself now.  He knows how he wants things between us and takes care of business when there are troubled  waters.

But Mere's post really got me thinking, especially when she invited her readers to ask the same question of their husbands.  When Sam and I sat relaxing together after he got home that night, I read her post aloud to him.  It came at a good time for us.  Due to my health problems recently, ttwd could easily have been something that got pushed to the side, to be picked up whenever we both felt things were "back to normal."  Instead, it was the pillar and strength that held us up as we struggled with the disappointments of another ruined vacation and the reality of searching for a diagnosis with a new doctor and a myriad of tests.

Instead of dumping ttwd for the duration, Sam stepped up to be sure that I stayed focused on the positive and the belief that this would be resolved.  No crying, no silence, no distancing, and no depression.  He was kind and sweet and thoughtful, but he meant what he said.  There were several very serious spankings over the bed, I can tell you.  They were not fun events, although the hugs and kisses afterwards were wonderful.  As we look forward now with a firm diagnosis from a wonderful doctor and the prescribed medications, things are looking much rosier for us both.

Our discussion that evening went on for close to 2 hours.  Sam's response was different than Jack's, but just as quick.  It took him about two seconds for him to launch into an answer.  

                             "It's right in the title, for god's sake," he said.  
                             "It is called This Thing We Do."  

He talked about it being a joint proposition and a shared responsibility - like raising our kids.  If it is not shared, then any blame for it not working would be on just one partner's shoulders.

He said, "We both screw up and we both adjust.  It is my job to figure out what is needed, and sometimes that takes me a bit of time.  I am much better now at recognizing when you are in a funk, Ella.  Like sunny days and cloudy days, there are instances where I know giving you a longer leash, so to speak, is the right thing to do."

Sam went on, "I ask myself is this a hurricane or just a few clouds?  If I know that it is a superficial blip that will be gone in the morning, I do not need to spank you.  I need to hug you or make you laugh."

He said to me, "Ella, one thing about you is that everything is either black or white.  There is never any gray area for you.  Ha!  Grey! Just like that book you like.  Except, for you, it is 50 Shades of Funk!"   

That one really made me laugh, but Sam was far from done.

He continued, "I think I am slow to anger, but there is always an element of anger when I take a correctional course."   

Believe me, I nodded my agreement here.  

"It is your job to listen and obey and to watch your temper.  We are so lucky.  If I was a religious man, I might say we should count our blessings.  Nothing pisses me off more than when you look at the dark side of things.  I watch so I can prevent small bumps in the road from becoming potholes."  

He reminded me that most of our "weekend adjustments" need to address bossiness.  If I lose track of my responsibility to let him be the boss, then it becomes his business.


Sam was almost ready to wrap up this discussion, and there was a lot of humor here at the end.  He told me that he is not telepathic.  He laughed as he referred to Spock on Star Trek.  

"Not able to mind meld, El.  You have to talk to me."

"I will never understand why self-image is so important to women.  I know you need help with that, and I am just the guy to do it."  He laughed again, "Ha!  I don't know about other men, but as long as the old torpedo of love can get a hard-on, I am just fine."

Long before ttwd, I always appreciated our sex life, but there is simply no comparison to the intensity of the passion and the joy it brings us now.

      Sam totally agreed with Jack about never giving up ttwd.  
                                         It is here to stay.  

                                      For better and worse,
                                       For richer or poorer,

                                    In sickness and in health,

                                     Until death do us part,

                                        This Thing We Do.


Thursday, October 12, 2017

Spit Medals

When I was a little girl, I started helping my dad in the family business by the time I was 5 years old.  By the age of 8, I had a steady job for 4 hours every Saturday morning.  He was a tough but huggable boss.  He loved to tease me with really silly phrases and a healthy dose of gentle sarcasm.  I would laugh so hard, the milk would run out my nose.

One of his favorite jokes was that instead of giving me a standard warm and fuzzy compliment on a job well done, he would grin and tell me to give myself a "spit medal."  This meant that you were supposed to lick your thumb and wipe it on your shirt right over your heart.  If you giggled and didn't give yourself your medal, he would break into a big belly laugh, lick his own thumb, and take a step toward you.

            "OK!  OK, Dad.  See, I gave myself the spit medal!" 

I have never heard of anyone else ever talk about spit medals.  My dad was a crazy Irishman, so maybe somebody reading this post will know of this silly game.  I still give myself spit medals but for a much different purpose now.

Several weeks ago, Meredith wrote a post about -
                            "Going On and On and On...."

I loved it, and her story about nagging reminded me of how I use spit medals these days.

I agree with Mere and others that nagging or trying to have the last word isn't really conducive to a happy ttwd home.  It is tempting, though, and Sam tempts me on this fairly regularly.  There are so many times I want to put my two cents in or suggest a better way to do something (that would be my way.)  Sam will always hear my ideas, but he does not need or want me to tell him....

  •  a better way to drive to our destination.
  • why he should google something to check his accuracy.
  • the reasons my idea should be reconsidered.
  • how to cook my steak.
  • what he forgot to do when we clean.

 Now days, when I open my mouth to say anything that might be construed as nagging, I really try to close it again and give myself a spit medal.  I don't do it ostentatiously, and (up until now) I don't think Sam has really noticed.  Just a little lick on my thumb and a quick tap on my shirt.  In my head I congratulate myself as well as bestowing the deserved medal.


    "Well done, Ella.  You kept your mouth shut.  I'm proud of you." 

  • Sam chooses the route with the most traffic at this time of day - Ella does not make a peep.  "Give yourself a spit medal, girl."
  • For the third time this month, Sam forgets to finish in the dining room......Ella bites her tongue and earns another spit medal.
  • Company is over for dinner, Sam is manning the grill, and Ella does not offer any advice.  You guessed right; she collects another spit medal.

Actually, this little ttwd wife has swept the Olympic event in keeping one's mouth shut.  It may sound silly, this little game of mine, but it has become a way for me to see real improvement in the battle against bossiness and nagging.  I think Sam feels the improvement, too, even if he doesn't know about spit medals.  Whatever works, I guess.

      Always love to find a reason to include a quote from the Bard.

I have a quote for everything.

                              "But no perfection is so absolute,
                           That some impurity doth not pollute."

In the interest of honesty, I confess that even regular awarding of spit medals does not make me perfect.  When the inevitable happens, Sam has a favorite quote, too.

                                 As he takes my hand, I hear
                                      "Come along, Ella." 

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Meredith Says For Me To Get Off My Ass and Write Something!

These were not Mere's exact words.  She said it much more nicely, but that was basically the message.  It made me laugh anyway!  Besides, she is right.  I need to write something before I forget how to type.  Ella is alive, just not that well. 

Still dealing with lots of medical issues here, so there is not much new happening since I wrote Roses and Gatorade.  Dr. Sam is ready to step in at any time I start to get "mopey," as he calls it.  I am staying as positive as I can.  Sam says we are only 

                                      "Looking forward."

So, I have decided to complete the popular meme floating out there in blogland these days.  It is my turn to purloin and join this band of meme rustlers. Yeehaw!  Here goes.


Marriages - 1
Proposals - 2
Divorces - None, Nope, Never
Sugeries - At least 7 - Too many!
Tattoos - Not gonna happen, ever
Piercings - Just my ears


Shot a gun - Quite often.  Sam and I go out to a private range.

Quit a job - Twice

Been on TV - With my 4th graders

Fallen in love -  Only once, but I got it right the first time.

Driven cross country - Well I have been to both coasts,
                                      but not on the same trip.

Hit a deer - Yes, on our wedding night.  Sam always said if
                    we survived our first 24 hours of marriage, we
                    could get through anything.

Watched a birth - Just kittens.  Didn't get to see my babies
                             because they took away my glasses.  
                             Yes, I was pissed off.

Ridden in an ambulance - Twice

Sung karaoke - Goodness, no.  I can't even stay on key
                          for the Happy Birthday song.

Ice skated - I tried many times, but I was much better at 
                    drinking cocoa by the heater.

Been surfing - Absolutely not.  Couldn't even water ski.

Seen the ocean - I love the ocean - doesn't matter which one.

Ridden a horse - Did this as a kid at camp.  I sucked.

Almost died - Drank insecticide when I was 4 or 5 years old.
                       Had my stomach pumped.

Been punched - Quite often as a kid.  My nickname could
                          have been Scrappy-Doo.

Punched back - Most assuredly.  Must confess - it was me
                          who threw the first punch once in a while.
                          Don't pick on my baby brother!


IN LOVE NOW? – Oh, my.  The answer to this one has been 
                                "yes" since I was 15 years old.