It’s Ladies’ Night by Valerie J. Patterson

It’s ladies’ night!  Oh what a night!

Last month I invited the ladies from the office over for a little dinner and some poker.  I expected it to be a good night.  I expected us to have a couple hours of playing cards, eating, and talking.  I expected everyone to have a good time.

I was wrong…

It was a great night!  It was several hours of non-stop laughter and shenanigans!  And everyone had a fantastic time!

I can’t wait to do it again!

Oh my!  Put five ladies in a room together, add a deck of cards, some poker chips, food, snacks, wine, and dessert [and a charming male who makes intermittent appearances throughout the evening] and you have the recipe for an exceptional evening!

We ate.  We played poker.  We ate again.  We played poker.  We ate again.  We played more poker.  We talked about everything under the sun, laughed at ourselves, discussed work for perhaps 30 seconds, and then went straight into carrying on again.

Did I mention we played poker and ate?

It’s good to get together and get away from the stress of the job, the worries of the family, and just relax and laugh and share…and be with other women who understand that we all need to escape once in a while, let our hair down, and be completely at ease being who we are individually.

The time passed so quickly that evening, but oh my how fun it was to be there in the midst of it all as one of the gals!

Until next time, may you gather your friends together, laugh until the cows come home, and play a little poker!

Give Me A Hammer! by Valerie J. Patterson

I need a really big hammer–but not so big that I can’t lift it!  Must have a smooth, flat surface and be easy to swing with near-perfect accuracy.  I’m thinking I need Thor’s hammer!  Or perhaps Thor and his hammer!

You may be wondering why I would need such a hammer.  Have you ever heard of the video game Whack A Mole?  That’s why I need such a hammer.

You see, there seems to be a family of moles residing in my beautiful backyard.  I mean, it has to be an entire family, right?  Everywhere you walk there are holes evidencing their intricate subsurface tunnel system.  Everywhere you walk there is loose earth that gives way beneath your feet so that you sink into the lawn.

They’ve taken to tunneling beneath my beautiful stone patio and are leaving mounds of earth behind causing the stones to rock and shift.  They’re tunneling–apparently they’re very hungry while digging tunnels–and they’re eating healthy plants along the way because two of my Azalea bushes have bit the dust.  Among the other plant casualties is one of my thickest grape vines that they’ve managed to eat through and kill.  This does not make me happy.  I used to have a lovely apricot Azalea tree, too.  There are only a few remaining live branches left because they’ve eaten through the roots.

So, I need a very large hammer so that when they venture to stick their vile little heads above the surface of my once beautiful lawn I can whack them on the head!  It might sound a little drastic, but I’m frustrated and nothing else has worked!  Besides, unless you have better solutions to suggest, I can get a good workout whacking them on the head!

Until next time, I hope the only pests in your outdoor space are butterflies whose fluttering wings add grace and beauty to your world!

PS…no moles were harmed during the writing of this blog!

Wedding Report

I’m back from my trip to Texas for my cousin’s son’s wedding. It was a great time but I came home to two cases that caused me a lot of stress. Grr. It makes me mad that I can’t seem to have a minute without some crazy lawyer getting spun up and filing junk while I’m gone. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you!

The bride and groom are an awesome, fun-loving couple and we had so much fun, it should be illegal. LOL.  Now, don’t get me wrong- nothing against the law was done but their friends sure do party hard. A few times, I found myself wondering if these people were really almost 30. They were having a ball but I have no idea how they were going to feel the next day.

The rehearsal dinner was fab. It was at a place called Vincent’s in downtown Houston. It was Italian and I had to very best filet I’ve ever  had in my life. It was done to perfection and so very, very tender. *swoon*

The wedding was gorgeous. It took place at a renovated horse farm in Tomball, Texas. The ceremony was outside at a replica cantina and the reception was in the renovated barn. The bathroom area was made from some of the old stalls. Super cute.

During the ceremony, the bride’s veil came off and she called out, “Man down.” We all laughed as her mom and a bridesmaid fixed it. When she was set, she said, “Time in.” I love, love how she didn’t even hesitate and was so comfortable being herself in that environment.

The cutting of the groom’s cake was also amusing. The bride and groom pretended it was super difficult. So funny. They are going to have a wonderful marriage full of love and laughter, I know  it.

Here’s a few pictures: including the “man down” one. 

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar…Part Deux by Valerie J. Patterson

You might recall that back in 2012 I regaled you with a tale about using power tools, namely the power washer.  I’m sure it was one of those purely unforgettable stories that you then repeated many times around a campfire, the dinner table, and at the office water cooler!

When you’re done either laughing at my recollection or scratching your head while trying to recall what I am talking about, let’s move on to today’s “Roar”.

I am woman hear me roar…with a mower too big to ignore!

Steve and I bought a new lawn tractor and I am the operator of said tractor.  My first ride, I could feel the power as I zoomed up the driveway toward the front lawn.  I turned toward the lawn, lowered the blades, and smiled as thousands of pieces of grass confetti shot out the right side of the cutting deck.  My hair was pulled back, the wind was blowing across my face…and so was the grass I had just cut!

Note to self:  never mow into the wind unless you LIKE the taste of cut grass!

These days, I whip around the yard and zoom up and down the driveway.  It’s fun!

I’ve made good use of that power washer, too.  My porch furniture never looks better than after a fresh power washing!  It has a way of making everything shiny and new!

Plus, I can also add the snow blower to the list of power tools I have mastered.  Had plenty of opportunity to use that baby this past winter.  Kind of glad it’s been exchanged for the lawn tractor, though!

Until next time, may there be power tools in your life that make your life easier, comfier, and more beautiful!  Happy Spring, Y’all!!

Showing Your True Colors by Valerie J. Patterson

I’m certain we’ve all heard the saying, “She’s showing her true colors“.  And I’m also certain we all know that it means to show one’s true self.  But did you know that this saying originally referred to ships in the heat of battle?  Warships would often fly multiple flags, each a different color, hoping to confuse their enemies.  However, rules of wartime dictated that prior to firing, the ship had to hoist its real country flag, hence showing its true colors.

I was thinking about the phrases and sayings we have grown up with and how each generation–it seems–has their own sayings, but that there are phrases that remain regardless of the passage of time.  I decided to look into the origins of some of the sayings and phrases I have always heard, and I was shocked by some, grossed out by others, and somewhat surprised to realize that I knew more about some than I would have thought.  Not sure what that says, but…here are some sayings and their origins.  Enjoy!

Spill the beans–of course, this means to tell a secret.  In ancient Greece, voting for candidates was conducted by depositing either a white bean (voting yes) or a black bean (voting no) into a container.  The candidate never knew who voted which way nor did they know the outcome until the beans were counted.  Occasionally, a clumsy voter would knock the container over and reveal the votes to the candidate, thus spilling the beans.

Waking up on the wrong side of the bed–of course this is often said of a grumpy person.  However, in “old times” the left side of the body and anything dealing with the left side was considered evil.  In order to ward off evil spirits, innkeepers would push the left side of the bed against a wall, giving guests only one option: to wake up on the right side of the bed!  As a left-handed person, I find this idea offensive! (wink)

No spring chicken–refers to someone past their prime, but it actually does refer to old chickens.  New England farmers got more money for chicks born in the spring rather than those born in the wintertime.  When times were lean, they attempted to pass wintertime chicks off as spring chicks and the wise buyer would reply, “That is no spring chicken!”.

Here’s one that surprised me:  Rule of Thumb–this means a benchmark, a go by.  It is said to have originated in England when 17th century judge, Sir Francis Buller ruled that husbands could beat their wives with a stick providing the stick were no wider than his thumb!  [Someone should have beat Sir Buller!]

Go the whole 9 yards–means to give it your best, your all, and try your hardest.  Fighter pilots of WWII were issued a 9-yard ammunition chain.  When a pilot used the entire chain on one target, he was said to have given it the whole 9 yards.

Here’s one that simply grossed me out: Cat got your tongue–obviously this means someone is at a loss for words.  But it actually originated from the practice of cutting out the tongues of liars and feeding them to cats!  Yick!!!!

So as not to leave you with that image, here’s one more.  I just found this one very odd:  Butter someone up–we take this to mean flattery, but it’s actually an ancient Indian custom of throwing balls of clarified butter at statues of gods to gain their favor.

I don’t know about you, but I doubt I will ever use the phrase cat got your tongue again!

Until next time, have a great weekend, and may your blessings always be more than you can shake a stick at!!!!

White Rabbits

A bit late for the first of the month but the nearest I could come to saying “White Rabbits” and “A pinch and a punch, the first of the month, and no returns.” Why? Well, in the UK these two … Continue reading →

True Confessions of A Dizzy Blonde by Valerie J. Patterson

It’s okay—and some would even say healthy—to take a serious look at one’s self and see the humor in your own life or even in your own behavior.  So, that being said, I thought this month’s blog should be about poking fun at myself.  I am—after all—a natural blonde who has a tendency to do funny things.

First, it’s true.  I am a dizzy blonde.  I suffer from bouts of vertigo that render me completely motionless because my surroundings are spinning at a high rate of speed.  This is not anything meant to humor you.  I just wanted to explain why I am a dizzy blonde.  <smile>

But, you came here to laugh.  Hopefully, after reading some of my, erm, happenings, you will have laughed out loud.

Let’s start with high school since this is as far back as I can remember having what my husband affectionately calls “blonde moments”.  All through high school I worked for a florist.  It was a way to stay out of trouble and earn a few bucks.  Every Christmas season, the florist would hold a giant open house at its corporate offices, and I was usually one of the hostesses wherein I worked in a certain room selling products, packaging them up, etc.  After working one of the open houses, I left the florist and went to my regular Friday night babysitting job.  I got the kids tucked in bed and went downstairs to watch a movie.  All of a sudden there was a loud crash behind the house.  I called 911 and they offered to send a patrolman to my address to take a look around.  Minutes later I saw the flashing red lights in the driveway and saw an officer with a flashlight go around back while his partner checked the front.  They came to the door and rang the bell.  I opened it and ushered them inside.  They proceeded to tell me that the wind had knocked over the metal trashcans and thrown them against the house, which was brick, thus explaining the crash I’d heard.  One of the officers was younger than the other and he leaned in and asked, “Is there anything else we can do for you, Valerie?”

Okay, I’ve seen enough horror flicks to know if a policeman you’ve never met knows your name, he’s not a policeman, he’s a serial killer.  Right?  I mean, isn’t that the most logical explanation for why he knows your name?  So, I began to slowly back away, turning my head to gage the distance from the front door to certain safety.  I was all prepared to flee when he cleared his throat and pointed at the name tag I was still wearing from my shift at the open house!  Color my face red!  But surely this has happened to you, too, right?

Should I wait for you to stop laughing before I continue?

Next up would be entertaining some friends at my house.  I was trying to impress a certain guy, and my close friend (also a guy) knew that I was nervous about this little party I was having.  Everyone arrives and I pass out some food and beverages and then decide to take the seat across from the guy I wanted to impress.  I’m positive I’m graceful as I sit down.  Next thing I know, I’m sprawled out on the floor because not only do I lack grace, but I also missed the chair completely!  Thankfully, my friend throws himself on the floor beside me and says, “You’re quite right, Valerie, it is much cozier down here on the floor!”

By the way, that story won me first place in a radio contest for most embarrassing moment.

Everyone’s heard the joke about the blonde who goes into an auto parts store and asks the clerk for a 710.  Turns out, she was looking at her oil cap upside down.  While I’ve never done anything that, well, dumb, I have had some memorable car moments.  Most recently, my husband and I purchased a new car.  I was in a parking lot one day and when I used the remote to lock the car, the trunk lid of the car parked beside me popped open.  I looked around expecting to see the car’s owner approaching ready to place some packages in the trunk.  Nope.  No shoppers in sight.  I looked around and discretely closed the trunk lid.  Apparently, I had opened it with my remote.  Either that or someone from Candid Camera was playing a trick on me.

One day, I got on the elevator and pressed the button.  Nothing happened.  The doors didn’t even close.  I pressed the button again and waited.  Nothing.  Doors still open.  I stuck my head out of the elevator and looked around.  No one else there.  No one pushing the elevator’s call button.  I go back inside and press the button again.  Nothing happens.  Getting frustrated, I virtually pound the button into submission.  That’s when I realized I was pushing the button for the 3^rd floor, and I was actually on the 3^rd floor.

Lastly—because I’m out of time and not because I have no other blonde moments to share—I’ll tell you about a home remedy that probably works for everyone but me.  I was feeling poorly, doing battle with a horrible cold.  I hadn’t had any sleep in a couple of days because I could barely breathe.  A friend of mine told me about rubbing Vicks-Vapo-Rub on the bottom of her children’s feet when they had a cold because it somehow allowed them to breathe easier and cough less.  She instructed me to rub some on my feet and then put on a pair of white cotton socks and lay down covered up.  So I go home, change into my pajamas, and scoop out some Vicks, give each foot a solid rubdown, put on a pair of socks and hobble to the sofa with my favorite blanket and cuddle up expecting to be able to breathe and nod off for some much needed sleep.

About ten minutes later my feet started to tingle.  I snuggle deeper into my blanket and think, “Wow, this is really going to work for me.”

Another ten minutes later it’s like my feet were in a sauna and the temperature gage was set to boil!  I threw off the blanket, shot off the sofa and blew past my husband yelling, “My feet are on fire!  My feet are on fire!”

He’s following me down the hallway as I am shedding clothing left and right all the while yelling, “My feet are on fire!  My feet are on fire!”

I make it to the bathroom, turn on the shower and jump in—because by now I haven’t a stitch of clothing on—and scrub my poor little feet in hopes of removing every last trace of the Vicks.  By the time I emerge from the bathroom clean, dry, and clothed, my poor husband asks what in the world got into me.  I explain my friend’s home remedy and he suggests that one of two things happened:  I’m either allergic to Vapo-Rub or perhaps I should not use half a jar next time.

Either way, I slept like a baby, but I tend to think it was due to sheer exhaustion from hobble-running down the hallway while doing the striptease and throwing myself into the shower and scrubbing vigorously at my feet.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this month’s blog, and I hope my little anecdotes provided you with some humor.  I apologize for being late this month, but I thought today was Thursday!

Until next time, may there always be laughter in your days, and may you have compassion for the blondes in your life!

Amazing Maize and Other Halloween Traditions by Valerie J. Patterson

I’m trapped.  I can’t get out.  I see no exit, and there are no windows.  I’m surrounded by, well, corn!  And it was a great experience!

A couple years ago I took my Sunday school class to a fright farm—not to see ghouls or goblins, but rather to go through a maize maze.  Have you ever been?  Yes?  Then you know how much fun they are.  No?  Then search for one in your area and go!

The Maize Maze I went to was 7 and a half acres of corn, 2 and a half miles of trails, and had one way in and one way out.  The brochure said to allow 4 hours to get through the maze.  Throughout the maze, there were food and beverage stations, tuba phones (for getting help from farm employees), bridges used to gain a vantage point to search for your next step forward, and clues to solving the puzzle, the mystery of the maze.  It was an excellent adventure!  Just when you were certain you were headed in the right direct, BAM!, you hit a dead end and have to retrace your steps.  The stalks of corn are taller than you are, so you have no choice but to press on and follow the path not only looking for the way out, but also searching for the next clue that will allow you to solve the mystery of the maze.

Before you know it, you’re so engrossed in your endeavor that hours fly right by and you find yourself at the exit.  As you step across that finish line, you turn and peer one last time at this humungous maze and you know that you’ve achieved success.  You conquered the maze and solved the mystery.

I really enjoy autumn, and Halloween can be and should be a fun holiday.  I’m not much for fright houses, horror movies, or monsters, but I enjoy searching for the perfect pumpkin and then carving it.  I like hayrides and bonfires.  I like the rich earthy tones associated with autumn gardens and decorating, and I adore masquerade parties!  I like the appeal of the mask hiding your identity until someone figures it out and gives you away.

When I was a sophomore in school my youth group had a masquerade party.  I worked and worked on my costume.  My mom helped me.  I sewed a hula hoop into the waistband of a pair of men’s trousers, then sewed a dress shirt to the outside of the waist of the trousers, making a one piece outfit.  I pulled my hair into a bun and scrunched it under a work hat.  Added a pair of work boots, and took some ashes from the fireplace, which I smeared on my cheeks.  I left my eyeglasses at home and had my dad drop me off a block from the youth center so no one could see me with him and gain access to my identity.

Inside the center, I walked over to a group of my girlfriends and waited.  They each turned and looked at me.  “Great costume.” I heard from several of them.  I nodded and smiled, but didn’t dare speak.  I was out to see how long it took them to figure out who I was.  Eventually, they wandered away from me and I heard, “I thought Valerie was coming tonight?  Anyone see her?”

I smiled and refrained from squealing.

One of the cute guys asked me to dance, which completely took me by surprise because I was not wearing an attractive outfit by any stretch of the imagination.  Plus, whenever I danced, the hula hoop sort of caused my costume to go in every direction at once.

He kept asking me questions, which I kept refusing to answer.  A slow song came on and he actually reached an arm around me, somehow avoiding the hula hoop.  “You’re really tiny,” he said, and I tried not to beam with pleasure.  He said something about the hula hoop being between us, but I didn’t hear it.  I was trying to keep my composure.

The song ended and he asked, “Not going to tell me who you are?”

I shook my head and he shrugged as he went back to join his friends—our friends.

That night I won most original costume, and I was pleased with that.  Then the end of the evening came and the award for most mysterious was still up for grabs.  I was called to the stage along with three others.  When the youth pastor came to me and handed me first prize, I was thrilled.  I’d pulled it off.  Then it happened.  A deep voice called out from the crowd.

“Hey Swanson?  Is that you?”

My head snapped up and my eyes darted to my left, locking with my earlier dance partner.  I’d been found out.  I got to keep my prize nonetheless, plus it was the end of the night, so I was fine.  I left the stage and headed toward my friend.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Your eyes.  There was something familiar about your eyes when we were dancing.  It was while you were up on stage that I realized I was used to seeing them behind glasses.”

When my dad came to get me, he asked me how it went.  I told him it was one of the best parties I’d been to, but that it was also one of the loneliest evenings I’d ever spent while in a huge group.  My refusal to speak for fear of giving myself away proved to alienate me from my friends.  No matter.  It’s all about being mysterious.  It’s all about the masquerade!

What’s your favorite autumn activity?  Bobbing for apples?  Trick or Treating?  Hayrides?  Regardless, I hope you have fond memories of the activities and the people who were with you.

Until next time, I hope you have a little mystery in your autumn days, and plenty of blessings to warm you at night.

Slop’s On! by Valerie J. Patterson

My mom is an excellent cook.  Just ask anyone she’s ever fed, and they’ll tell you the same.  No matter what she fixes—unless it’s liver and onions—it’s bound to be fabulous, and you’ll be determined to make room for seconds.

Growing up, if we had a favorite teacher, Mom would occasionally make a couple jars of her homemade spaghetti sauce and send it to school with us to give to the teacher.

My fourth grade teacher comes to mind.  That was the year I was mauled by a big dog and was out of school for a while recovering.  When I finally came back to school, I came sporting a giant bandage that covered nearly the entire right side of my head.  When I got on the bus, the kids were great, but when I got to school, my teacher made a joke and I cried.  I was homeward bound before lunch.  He told my mom I wasn’t feeling well and maybe came back to school too soon.  I told my mom what he said, and my best friend Debbie from across the street told her mother the same story.  That night just happened to be parent/teacher conference night, and my mom was like a lion about to rip into the beast that hurt her cub.  Let’s just shorten this story by saying my teacher didn’t receive any of Mom’s homemade spaghetti sauce, and is in fact fortunate he wasn’t wearing a jar of it home that night.

But the real subject of my story is one my dad was fond of telling.  It’s about the little boy who lived across the street from us.  One evening he had dinner with us because his parents had to visit someone in the hospital and they didn’t want to drag him along with them.  My mom fixed a pasta dish that really was a combination of spaghetti and chili complete with the red kidney beans and all.  It might not sound delicious, but she served it over a heaping pile of mashed potatoes and with a side of bread buttered to perfection and there was rarely any left over.  It was also a meal that stretched when there were extra mouths to feed like that evening.

So we all sat down, and the neighbor kid exclaimed what a delight dinner was, which always tickled my mom when someone complimented her cooking.  When his parents called to say they were home, my mom was going to walk him across the street—deliver him safely.  When they got outside, his mom was waiting on their porch.  She called over to him, “What did you have for dinner?”

He beamed with pleasure as he yelled back, “Slop, Ma.  She fixes the best darned slop I ever ate.”

My mom’s face was about as red as one of those kidney beans and so was his mother’s face!

She met my mom at the edge of the yard, face still as red as could be, and asked, “Did you serve chili?”

Mom nodded.  “Sort of.  I make a spicy tomato sauce, add kidney beans and ground beef and elbow macaroni.”

“That’s what we call slop because there doesn’t really seem to be a real name for it.  It’s not the best name for it—and I certainly didn’t expect it to ever be called that at someone else’s house—but that’s what my older son called it when he was little.  It sort of stuck.”

Mom smiled, glad her neighbor didn’t think she served her son something unfit to eat like he was a barnyard animal.  From then on anytime she made that meal, she’d call us all to the table by yelling, “Slop’s on!”

I don’t know what made me think of this incident today, but it made me smile, and I thought you might smile as well.

Hope you’re all well and enjoying the fresh start of summer!

Until next time…

A Wee Bit O’ Fluff by Valerie J Patterson

I thought it would be good to just write a fluff piece this month, so I hope you enjoy the lighter side!

I find it amazing how different my day is if I wake up with a song in my head.  I have found out that there are mornings the song in my head is apropos to whatever I have to face that day, and other mornings it’s completely bizarre.  For instance, one day last week the hymn You’ll Never Walk Alone played on an endless loop in my head all day, and that evening I found it to be a comfort.  Some of you may recall, I have an elderly aunt with Alzheimer’s who I moved down to an assisted living residence near me after it was determined she could no longer live alone.  This day, I went to see my Aunt Sis and she wasn’t able to use my name.    This particular visit, she recognized me but was unable to tell one of the nurses there that I am her niece and that my name is Valerie.  That evening, while we visited, she struggled to converse with me as well.  So, on my way home while I was lamenting the fact that her Alzheimer’s is progressing, I once again could hear the lyrics to the hymn in my head, reminding me that neither my aunt nor I were walking through this storm alone.

Then there are those songs which seem to be replayed over and over simply to torture me!  They have no relevance to anything going on in my life, but merely seem to be stuck there either because someone planted the song in my mind or I heard it on the radio and it got lodged there.  For instance, not long ago the lyrics to I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas were playing in my mind as soon as my feet hit the floor one morning.  At first I thought, “Cool, I really like this song.”  Never mind that Christmas had long past and it was springtime.  However, by mid morning I was like, “Get out!  Get out!  Get out!”  I would hear myself singing it or humming it and those around me would frown and respond, “Thanks!  Now it’s stuck in my head!”

I rather like when that happens because then I’m not alone in my madness!

Songs centered around a female name are generally complimentary and are usually popular.  There is an older gentleman who frequently has business in my office.  Instantly upon seeing me he breaks out into song, and the song he is singing is Valleri by The Monkees.  He really belts it out, and I always, always smile or laugh and instantly feel my mood lighten.  He’s been serenading me with this tune since 2007.

One day I asked him how come he never sang Valerie by Steve Winwood and he said because The Monkees’ tune was better.  So, a debate ensued, but was never settled.  He was just in my office a few days ago and still we have not reached a conclusive end to the debate.  So, here are videos of both songs.  Please have a listen and cast your vote and the reason for your vote.  I’ll take my findings to work for the next time he serenades me!

Oh, and what’s the wackiest song you’ve had stuck in your head?

Until next time…may the song in your head brighten your day and lighten your mood.