weekly photo challenge: sunsets

From the quiet isolation of my cabin’s veranda on the Queen Mary II, I was indeed lucky to glimpse the setting sun make its slow descent into the vast ocean beyond. I felt special, bearing witness to the magnificence and grandeur of the sun as it traveled on…bringing the dawn of a new day to another part of the world.

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…almost too sacred…to behold………hugmamma.

reconnecting…a necessity

Often times in our busy lives we have difficulty meeting up with others who make us feel good about ourselves. But when we do, they provide a much needed shot in the arm. I’ve returned from just such an appointment. Exactly what the doctor ordered…my chiropractor, that is.

I didn’t make it to exercise class this morning. I’m not an early riser as my classmates know, and after having been up at the crack of dawn to go touring every day while on vacation, I’m taking it nice and slow now that I’m back into my normal routine. Sleeping in…and burning the midnight oil. Some may not understand my schedule, but anyone who’s spent time in Hawaii knows that the natives like to take their sweet old time. I think that’s true of islanders anywhere. “What’s the hurry?” That’s our motto.

Starbucks on Briggate

Image via Wikipedia

I did meet up with the ladies after they were done exercising. At Starbuck’s we chatted about this, that and the other. In the mix…vacation experiences while on cruises…Kauai being the island of choice to visit…the charm and beauty of the British Isles…biographies about rock stars…lumbar aches and pains…rotator cuff exercises to alleviate pain…an upcoming fashion extravaganza for which one of the women would be applying makeup for all the models…the real reason for closing the doll museum in Bellevue. You name it; we talked about it. Women do that.

A skateboard

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Upon exiting the coffee shop, good friend and exercise instructor, Kristina told me of repairs she was making to a condo her family owns. She installed a new garbage disposal. Imagine that! It seems there’s nothing she can’t do if she sets her mind to it. We also spoke of our children. Her son, in his early 20s, is a professional skate-boarder. He tours the world competing, as well as doing exhibitions and promotional gigs for his financial backers. He’s even had a skate board named for him. Like my daughter, he began his career path at the age of 16. Kristina and I agreed that our kids jumped into their passions feet first, learning as they aged how to manage the real world of adults. And they’ve both done a heck of a job!

After Kristina and I parted, I trotted over to visit my lady friends at the nearby gift shop, Look’s. Shelley and Shelley, one the owner, the other her right-hand employee. They’ve been a welcoming twosome during the years I’ve frequented the store. We’ve shared anecdotes about our lives, our children, our concerns. On one occasion, they couldn’t have been nicer to my daughter when she accidentally broke a wine glass while reaching for an item nearby. She offered to pay for the breakage, but both Shelleys explained that it was an accident, that my daughter owed nothing. Well! That confirmed my loyalty to Looks from then on. Treat my offspring kindly…and I’ll be back again and again, with my business.

Driving home, my spirit felt refreshed. My reservoir of compassion had been replenished. A sisterhood, my friends and I support one another’s efforts to carry on…

…in our daily lives………hugmamma.

popping pills…not for the skittish

The other day when I stopped into my friendly vet’s office, Melody reminded me of what she’d said previously. “Sitka is sooo easy to pill.” And I replied “That’s because he’s in a cage when you do it. It’s not so easy at home, where he has the run of the house.” My little bud just proved me right…again.

In our efforts to isolate our 3 cats while they eat the food solely prescribed for their diets, Sitka is shut in the laundry room with his dishes of wet and dry food in the morning. After a little while, he’s let out to roam…play…and snooze with his fellow felines, Juneau and Sunkist. Later in the day I’ll put their respective containers of dry food down on the floor in the main hallway, where I can monitor their comings and goings to make sure one’s not eating another’s food…as I do my housework.

Twice a day I have to give Sitka a pill which helps keep his colon flowing. The past couple of mornings I’ve given it to him in the laundry room, before letting him out. When I opened the door today, he eyed me warily before running behind the dryer. Blocking his escape out the other side with a ladder, I peered down the back of the dryer. Sitka was nowhere in sight! Checking the side and back of the nearby washing machine, I found no trace of the little bugger.

Sitka had gone from behind the dryer to the nearby storage unit of shelves, and crawled inside a large backest filled with vacuum cleaner tools that sat on the bottomost shelf. When I bent down to get a closer look, I could see his eyes peering out from above the brim. As I got him out, we toppled backwards onto a nearby floor pillow with me chuckling…giggling…and laughing. I don’t think Sitka saw the whole situation as a laughing matter, however.

As I struggled to pry open his clenched teeth, insert the pill toward the back of Sitka’s throat, and close his mouth firmly while stroking his throat with my free hand, I cooed “I know…you probably want to stuff the pill down my throat. I know. I don’t like doing this any more than you like having to swallow pills, twice a day. Poor kitty. I know.” Sitka’s eyes were bugged out as if to say “Get off me…you #$%&* so and so!” Who could blame him?  

Last night I observed to my husband that Sitka no longer trails me looking for me to “uppy…uppy” him. In fact the night before as he was relaxing in his favorite chair, I stepped out of the kitchen to spy where he was. He looked up; our eyes met. I returned to the kitchen island to prepare his medication. When I stepped back into the living room, Sitka had disappeared like a “bat out of hell.” I found him huddled downstairs on the bed that he and Juneau share.

…i may have to put sitka in a cage…so i can have it as easy…as melody…


aol and wordpress…failure to communicate

WordPress Logo

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Have been in touch with WordPress Support Staff who tell me that the problem has been resolved for some bloggers. Unfortunately I’m not one of the lucky ones.

macmanx wrote:

It looks like the fix only worked for a few folks. We’re still looking into

Read this post on the forums: http://en.forums.wordpress.com/topic/all-emails-from-wordpress-showing-up-blank-in-my-email-and-my-subscribers-emails?replies=5#post-708502

Not sure if the issue originates with AOL, my web server, or WordPress. Other Internet servers are not experiencing this communication hiccough…as far as I know. Facebook readers continue to read my posts, as do visitors from within the WordPress community. So too do those from Stumbleupon.

designsimply wrote:

Thanks for reporting this. We’re looking into what may be causing the trouble
and we are working to get it fixed. It’s not spam. It does seem to be limited to
AOL or even Internet Explorer users.
Please also see http://en.forums.wordpress.com/topic/blank-email-for-posts?replies=8#post-707277

As an AOL subscriber, I can’t even read messages from WordPress. The messages arrive in my email, only to show nothing when they’re opened. I’ve been getting lots of blank email messages in the last couple of days. They are constant reminders that there’s a problem. Very frustrating, especially when I’ve no control whatsoever. How and why the glitch occurred is a mystery to me. It seems to be something of a mystery to WordPress Support as well. They’re still scratching their heads for an answer.

Image representing AOL as depicted in CrunchBase

Image via CrunchBase

AOL subscribers won’t be able to read this, obviously. If they’re not Facebook users or Google searchers then they’re left out in the cold.  


Not a comfortable place to be, nor one to which I would want them subjected. But until WordPress Support figures things out, I’ve no suggestion for those affected. I can only hope that they’ll chill in other wonderful ways…

until hugmamma’s mind, body, and soul…returns for their reading pleasure…


life lessons…from a ballerina

I’m always amazed by the wisdom of my ballerina daughter. Not that I should be, but she is after all, still a young ‘un at 25. I’ve no doubt that her personality and her chosen career have proven a winning combination.

For a long time I’ve maintained that my daughter is well-suited to her profession as a dancer. She’s selfless, always has been. Envy isn’t something that sits well with her. She battles the green-eyed monster every chance she gets. Granted, it’s not always easy. But my daughter chooses to like, rather than dislike, people. And that goes a long way in keeping her out of the clutches of “Mr. Green.”

Moms always want the best for their children. I’m no different. I’m worlds away from being a stage mom, but that doesn’t make me invulnerable to wanting everything for my daughter. She’s taught me that not every great dance role should belong to her. That’s not to say she wouldn’t love to grace the stage as the lead now and then…Juliet to her Romeo…Cinderella to her Prince Charming…Maria to her Nutcracker…or even the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Miyako Yoshida and Steven McRae as the Sugar P...

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What my daughter has learned is that each dancer has her strengths and weaknesses. My daughter also understands that the artistic director is looking at the broader picture when he casts roles. She gets that he’s the boss and that what he says…goes. She knows she’s free to leave if she desires.

The greatest lesson my daughter seems to have learned is…balance. Keeping the scales of life evenly weighted. No obsessions…about roles…weight…what others think…or say…or do. What keeps her so grounded? Her unbreakable love of people. Her desire to be a good friend…colleague…and member of society.

Religion is still a mainstay of my daughter’s life. She attends church as best she can. Kneeling in God’s presence provides her solace…a reprieve from life’s rat race…time to be thankful…the opportunity to shed any negativity that has attempted to undermine. I’m sure my daughter gets to church more often than my husband and me. That’s quite an accomplishment for someone educated in public schools, while her parents were born, raised, and educated as Catholics.

My beloved daughter is living proof that depression is manageable, that it need not sideline her from living life to its fullest. Perhaps the disease in itself is a lesson. Perfection is an illusion…not to be touted…and not something for which she should strive. Being the best she can be, given the gifts with which she was born and those she’s acquired, is my daughter’s life-long goal.

Having been allowed to travel with my daughter as she’s journeyed toward a career in dance, I too have wised up to life’s lessons. Along the way…

…the teacher became the student…and i’m still learning…from my lead ballerina…

Eadweard Muybridge's phenakistoscope

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bayeux…as i imagined

Map of Normandy

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The town of Bayeux in Normandy‘s countryside was exactly as I pictured…narrow, cobblestone roads…gothic cathedrals…whimsical store fronts…Hansel and Gretel houses…folks dining outdoors…precious children darting ahead of parents…and flowers…flowers everywhere. “I could return here,” I thought to myself. I’m sure I even suggested to my husband that we retire to Bayeux. And I’m just as certain that he most emphatically said “No.” So I’ll have to content myself with owning a chair there.

My daughter and I decided that since I couldn’t own a home everywhere I desired, that I’d settle for owning a chair instead. I’ve lost count of how many chairs I mentally own around the world. Rather innovative, don’t you think? And more befitting our family’s budget and lifestyle. We’re not related to Bill Gates or Oprah Winfrey, and we’re certainly not jet-setters. Chairs are definitely more our style. One per country will suit just fine.

A Medieval tapestry dating to 1066, depicting the defeat of King Harold of England by William, the Duke of Normandy, later known as William the Conqueror, is what enticed us to visit Bayeux. We were not disappointed as you can see by viewing this Youtube clip. But beyond this exquisite relic from the past, the surroundings in which it is secreted away, are the stuff of this traveler’s long-held fantasies.

In another life, I would relish being an inhabitant of this idyllic village. But at the very least I’d love to return to Bayeux with my daughter in tow. Her eyes would sparkle as mine did while I wandered the alleyways, and popped in and out of quaint shops here and there. Needless to say my “point and shoot” camera, always within reach, worked overtime.

Come visit Bayeux with me………hugmamma. 

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daily post challenge #262: what wouldn’t i tell my best friend

Lady Gaga performing

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The first and only thing that comes to mind is that I wouldn’t want to tell her anything hurtful. But by the same token, I wouldn’t want to be the recipient of a barb as well.

The media is rife with coverage of bullying these days. Lady Gaga has interjected herself into the milieu in support of a young fan who was a victim, who decided suicide was preferable to the ongoing hatefulness of others.

Saddle Wrasse, Thalassoma duperrey feeding on ...

Image via Wikipedia

Teasing has always been a sore spot for me. The youngest of 9, I  was always the butt of sibling pranks. I most detested being chased the length of a sandy beach, my brother and sister threatening to throw a slimy sea urchin at me. They laughed hysterically. I wailed for my mom to stop them. She did. I so often solicited her aid, that my siblings taunted me with “You’re a spoiled brat!” “You’re a big baby!” They didn’t think it unfair that they were two, to my one. I had to bring in the big guns to even the playing field. But of course, my mom was more like a cannon.

It took me some time to convince my husband, the eldest of 12, that teasing is hurtful. For those who tease it may not seem so. They make a remark in the moment, tossing it out there like a discard. What they don’t realize is that the recipient may not be cut from the same cloth. Because of his or her own life experiences, “personal baggage” like low self-esteem, such teasing is like a lash of the whip. It stings, and often leaves scars. Those are a constant reminder of the hurt felt in the moment. And that hurt can last a lifetime…I know.

As my wise mother-in-law has said on more than one occasion, “Be careful what you say, for you can never take it back.” I heed her advice as best I can. More times than not I walk away from someone’s ill-placed statement. But it’s difficult to do so with someone I consider a loved one, a good friend, a confidante. It’s then I’m inclined to have my say, and make a clean breast of what bothers me. And it’s then, and only then, I say something I wouldn’t ordinarily say…to my best friend.

defense mechanisms…not something i use…or enjoy using…unless i have to…


dr. conrad murray…life or death

Two years after the death of Michael Jackson, Dr. Conrad Murray is now on trial for his life. A sad statement, really, in our civilized, American society. Death, and more death. We pride ourselves on being nowhere akin to Third World countries and the Middle East where life and death are so prevalent…and matter-of-fact. But death is a part of life, no matter where it occurs.

Michael Jackson, cropped from Image:Michael Ja...

Image via Wikipedia

I am a devotee of Michael Jackson’s talent, not so convinced about some of his personal, and professional, choices however. But I’m not here to judge the man. He’s at rest, thank God, and no longer subjected to global scrutiny. And yet if he were able to have his day in court this go round, I’m certain he would ask that Dr. Conrad Murray be released.

Yes, I think the doctor is guilty of negligence, and catering to the whims of a celebrity without professional concern for aiding and abetting in Jackson’s eventual demise. Murray should not have gotten involved with someone whose charisma is legendary among those who knew the icon, as a loved one or as an acquaintance. Jackson’s aura was obviously more than his physician could resist.

Yes, I think Michael Jackson was complicit in his own death. His lifestyle paved the way for what happened. A 5-year-old catapulted into fame, without sufficient mental and physical preparation, who could afford anything his vivid imagination dreamt…with few, if any, boundaries. Unfortunately life for one so revered by masses of fans world-wide seemed one of invincibility and perhaps, even infallibility.


MJ was like the fabled King Midas. Everything Jackson touched turned to gold. But just as the myth of Midas was a children’s fairy tale, so too was the life that Michael Jackson led. He was just a kid who…wanted all the candy he could eat. Propophol was just another treat in Michael’s “candy shop”.

Someone interviewed by a news pundit said she felt that Dr. Conrad Murray was very much like Michael Jackson in his humanitarianism. I agree, without having met either man. But from all I’ve read and heard, I don’t think the icon would’ve entrusted his life to anyone with whom he wasn’t in sync…in terms of compassion and empathy for the plight of human beings.

It’s my hope that the jury will find Dr. Conrad Murray guilty of not abiding by his Hypocratic oath, as a provider of medical services. Beyond that I hope the man’s personal integrity as a good human being is not destroyed. Assassinating someone’s character is akin to death. And we don’t need to add another one to the heap.

Memorial - Michael Jackson star on Hollywood W...

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 …for the loved ones of both men…i pray…for peace…



daily post challenge #261: what home means to me

Four letters that connote tremendous meaning. My simple answer is that home means my husband, my daughter and those whom I love and who love me. All the rest in life amounts to trappings. They can be substituted one for another anytime, anywhere. But those who mean the world to me can never be replaced.

And the trappings I prefer to surround myself with…are my memories. Special moments…irretrievable occurrences…and feelings…of happy times, perhaps some bittersweet. These are the only furnishings I can take with me to the end of my life. All else…conjured of material substance…even flesh…will disintegrate.

The only obstacle to keeping my treasure trove of reminiscences safe will be Alzheimer’s. No matter my destiny as far as that’s concerned though. I will cherish, for as long as I’m able, every breath that I take…every memory that I make…surrounded by my husband, my daughter…and those whom I love and who love me.

…home…my own special place in the grand scheme of things…


good advice…always welcome

Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb

Image by Save the Children via Flickr

Not one for morning TV, I seldom see Today with Hoda Kotb and Kathie Lee Gifford. Of the two, my favorite would be Hoda. She seems down-to-earth and sensible. Kathie Lee’s a little too flighty and chatty for my taste. But again, I don’t usually tune in to watch them. So my vote probably doesn’t count.

I read an article about Hoda Kotb in the USA Weekend insert of our local newspaper. It confirmed my impression that she is indeed a very likeable personality. Despite having gone through a mastectomy and a divorce 4 years ago, Hoda was able to rally, once again regaining her positive outlook on life.

I started  doing little things to help me feel better. I played music in the mornings; I wrote in my journal; I surrounded myself with only people who fill me. Suddenly you’re halfway up and fearless, because you almost lost everything.

Getting sick and divorced was probably the worst chapter of my life. I never would have imagined that the best chapter was right behind it.

Life is like that. One day it’s great, the next it’s terrible, and the day after you’re in love and on top, saying, “It’s great again.”

And so Hoda shares some very good advice about getting to that next chapter in life.

1. Surround yourself only with people who fill you up. Get rid of the toxic ones.
2. Don’t sweat the little stuff–90% of what you worry about won’t happen.
3. If you’re still standing after surviving an illness or death of a loved one or whatever your cross to bear is, you get four words: You Can’t Scare Me. Use them.
4. Don’t hog your journey; share it to help others.
5. Allow yourself dark days to stay under the covers watching Law & Order reruns and eating junk food.

A Nine-banded Armadillo in the Green Swamp, ce...

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Now that’s my idea of a great BFF (Best Friends Forever). Hoda and I are in sync 100%. Chuck the sour grapes…too much vinegar. Don’t worry about stuff beyond your control; it’s probably somebody else’s baggage anyway. Grow an armadillo‘s hide…it’ll come in handy for those tough times. Blog so that others might learn. And sleep in once-in-awhile…

…the world can wait…until you’re fit as a fiddle again…

………hugmamma.  🙂 





resolving a glitch

Am writing this post as a means to discovering why my last 2 postings were not communicated in their entirety to email subscribers. I’ve seen for myself that only the titles have transferred, while the entire bodies of the published posts were missing. Have sought resolution through WordPress Forum. While I await an answer, I thought I’d try addressing the problem myself…through trial and error. Bear with me as I try this, that, and the other…

…these things happen…i guess…

………hugmamma. 😉 (Wish I knew how to make a “frowny face.”)

daily post challenge: talker’s block? writer’s block?

Writer's Block (album)

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As regular readers of hugmamma’s mind, body, and soul can attest, I’ve never been stricken with writer’s block.” It’s not something I’d brag about though. I’m probably a prolific writer because I’m also a non-stop talker, when given the opportunity. Some might think I’m doubly gifted because I never experience “talker’s block” or “writer’s block.” The truth is…these so-called talents can be a royal pain in my behind, my touche, my backside, my rump, my hynie, my booty, my (Hawaiian) okole, my arse…and yes, my ass! 

Let me list some reasons why I sometimes wish I had “talker’s block.”
1. If allowed I babble endlessly, switching topics effortlessly, leaving listeners wondering what we were talking about in the first place.

Wonder Woman as she appeared in the 2009 anima...

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2. As I’m speaking I begin to detach myself, listening to what it is I’m saying. Sometimes I cringe hearing the moronic stuff spilling forth from my mouth. Yikes! Is that me talking??? 

3. I hate pregnant pauses. You know, when no one speaks. And it feels like the minutes are ticking by as if loaded down with sandbags. Because of this, I’ve taken to being the Wonder Woman  of the talk show circuit. I break out with all the blah, blah, blah I can muster and keep the dribble going, only stopping if someone else feels the urge to break in. Otherwise…it’s me, me, me…and more me. Yuck! 

4. Believe it or not, when I’m speaking and all eyes are upon me, I feel as though I’m physically shrinking so as to avoid being the center of attention. I can feel myself on the verge of menopausal hot flashes, sweat beginning to bead under my armpits, hairs standing on end at the nape of my neck. I’d prefer substituting a speaker box  in my place so that I could be “heard, and not seen,” unlike childhood days when I was told to be “seen and not heard.”

Aiwa loudspeaker enclosure

Image via Wikipedia

5. Finally…yes, there is an end to this in case you were wondering…when I plunge headlong into a conversation, I’m inclined to spit out the words as fast as I can. My fear? That if I dally too long, eyes will begin to roll, butts will start to squirm, and then the final trump card… “I think it’s time I got going. I’ve got lots to do.” 

“Writer’s Block?” Why would I wish it? Read on…
1. I’ve an addiction to writing, or haven’t you noticed? I’ve even written about it in https://hugmamma.wordpress.com/2011/07/16/task-reward-task-reward/ and https://hugmamma.wordpress.com/2011/07/15/addicted-me-nahhh/. And we all know that addictions are taboo. I’ve not seen research studies denigrating writers’ needing to pen their thoughts 24/7…yet. But give the naysayers time. They’ll get around to us sooner or later. We needn’t fear being overlooked. Trust me! They’ll get around to ripping the pens from our fingers, and the keyboards out from under our frenetic grasps. Hey! I might start the ball rolling and have public pressure move me to have “writer’s block.” Hmmm…a thought…

2. Insomnia’s another reason I’d cozy up to “writer’s block.” At my age sleepless nights are usually guaranteed. So it’s a double whammy to be kept awake at night, ideas bouncing around inside my head, wanting out…now, now, now!!! I’ve posted of this in https://hugmamma.wordpress.com/2011/08/01/daily-post-challenge-204-does-your-mind-go-blank-when-you-close-your-eyes/, and in  https://hugmamma.wordpress.com/2011/01/13/cure-for-insomnia-blogging/.

3. Apart from loving to write, I love being a homeowner, a gardener, a pet owner, a friend, a wife, and, of course, a mom. But somehow all the rest take a backseat to writing. The fluidity and speed with which I can knock off post after post far surpasses my ability to dust, scrub and vacuum…weed, water and rake…pop pills and rotate feeding dishes for 3 special needs cats…socialize…pamper…and smother with love.

Work It Out (Beyoncé Knowles song)

4. Life is about balance. Tell that to “hugmamma.” She needs a megaphone secured to her ear through which Beyonce’s never-ending voice screams Balance! Balance! Balance!”

5. I’d like to take up another hobby. Not sure what it is yet; haven’t had the time to peruse the possibilities. Maybe I’ll figure it out in an upcoming post. At least writing things down puts them front and center, for my consideration. Now if I could only move my bones in a new direction afterwards.

…so don’t talk to me about “talker’s block”…or “writer’s block,”…be thankful you can “pull the plug”…


where you find them…friends

One of our greatest pleasures while sailing on the Queen Mary II to France and the UK, was meeting Scots Michael and Jackie, and South Carolinians John and Kathy. To say that we lucked out in our choice of dining companions is understating the fact. From the get-go we all fell into an easy, comfortable camaraderie. How amazing is that? 

Accents abound as we six engaged in active conversation. No shrinking violets, we. Amidst the yada, yada, yada, and the blah, blah, blah, there were laughs galore. I took to teasing Michael about “tieing the knot” with his beloved Jackie. And chided John for being the “red-neck” he proclaimed himself to be. All in good fun; all in good humor. Both were gentlemen, for they didn’t haul off and smack me upside the head for my witticisms.

The ladies were sweeties. Soul sisters with heart, we got along swimmingly. Great news, in case we had to jump ship. Of the three, I was the only one still wedded to the same man. Not that it mattered, for the others seemed smitten with mates with whom they were meant to be. Near our age, they were great role models of relationships that work outside of Holy Matrimony. Proof-positive that one size doesn’t have to fit all!

We learned that Michael only ate beef…not poultry, not pork, not fish. We discovered that Jackie’s 20ish-year-old daughter had recently moved to Australia. Or was it New Zealand? And because she feared flying, Jackie was trying to figure a way to cruise to see her daughter “down under.”

Together Michael and Jackie had sailed the Queen Mary II 8 times, and been on more than 30 cruises. When we docked in Scotland, they remained on the ship luxuriating in all it had to offer, while most of us mucked about in the wind and rain trying to see what they could see whenever they wished. Lucky, lucky them, not to have to rush about like chickens with our heads cut off trying to squeeze Scotland into a few hours of viewing pleasure.

John and Kathy made me think that southerners have healthy egos. They speak their minds, very eloquently. Right or wrong, they hold forth on their opinions. Not the least bit shy, they spoke of their dislike for Obama. Not until our last night together did Kathy ask how I felt about our President. I said I liked him. And that was that. No debate ensued as to our difference of opinions. She and John were probably the first people I’d ever met whom I liked immensely, despite their having proudly declared themselves to be die-hard Republican Conservatives, and ardent devotees of the Fox News Channel. They didn’t try to sell me their bill of goods, and that was more than alright with me.

John was a teddy bear disguised as a “red-neck.” He admitted to letting 2 ex-wives walk away with nearly everything. He just wanted out. Obviouslyly crazy about Kathy, John is great friends with her ex-husband, who blesses the relationship between his ex-wife and his good friend. Go figure! Must be southern hospitality at its best.

Cover of

Cover via Amazon

Kathy, an avid antiques collector and dealer, has acted in several movies that were filmed in her hometown of Buford…The Big Chill, and The Prince of Tides, starring Nick Nolte and Barbra Streisand. In the latter, Kathy played one of Barbra’s girlfriends. Evidently the great Streisand is a very nice person to be around…not diva-ish at all. So too it seems is Tom Hanks, whose film Forrest Gump was also made in and around Buford. Looks like small, southern towns are where the Hollywood celebrities feel most at home. After meeting John and Kathy, I can see why.

I hope we run into our shipmates again, whether on their home turf or ours. It’s obvious that when we allow ourselves to open up to one another, beautiful things can, and do, happen. Whether via the Internet, or sailing the ocean blue…

friends truly are…wherever you find them…



in need of some humor

Sunday (2008 film)

Image via Wikipedia

I’m sharing the following with you from blogging friend nrhatch. Witty, well-versed and pretty as well, she’s got an impressive following of readers. You won’t be disappointed if you decide to float on by to check out her blog.

A minister decided that a visual demonstration would add emphasis to his Sunday sermon.

He placed four worms into four separate jars.

*The first filled with alcohol.
*The second filled with cigarette smoke.
*The third filled with chocolate syrup.
*The fourth filled with good clean soil.

At the end of the sermon, the Minister reported the following results.

*The first worm in alcohol – Dead.
*The second worm in cigarette smoke – Dead.
*The third worm in chocolate syrup – Dead.
*The fourth worm in good clean soil – Alive.

The Minister then asked “What can you learn from this demonstration?”

An old woman in the back of church quickly raised her hand and said “As long as you drink, smoke, and eat chocolate, you won’t have worms!”

That pretty much ended the service.

…you must be chuckling into whatever it is you’re drinking from that jar…

………hugmamma.  🙂