Before we knew it, we had a good old-fashioned conundrum on our hands.  One wanted to take it to a hospital and give it to people with sick loved ones.  Another wanted to give it to a woman who just moved into a Habitat home.  A third person thought we should find someone who was homeless.  At one point, we actually debated whether one of the families we were considering was “misfortunate” enough since they recently bought a flat screen.  Who knew doing something nice could be so wrought with questions. 

     Eventually, we decided to enlist the help of Aimee Fortney, “Not the Perfect Cook” (since we’re clearly not).  She gave us six idiot-proof recipes.  Instead of cooking the meal, we’re all going on a field trip to Kroger on Sunday night to buy the ingredients.  Hopefully we won’t get into a brawl in the aisles over whether to buy name brand or generic. 

     Once we’ve secured the loot, we’re going back to my house to package up each dish separately with the ingredients and the recipe tucked neatly inside.  I thought I’d share those with you in case you’re feeling altruistic, or you’re just an idiot in the kitchen and need some help figuring out what to take to your sister in-law’s.  Happy Thanksgiving! 

THANKSGIVING TURKEY

10 – 12 pound turkey
1 stick of butter, softened
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon sazón completa (I don’t have the slightest idea what this is… so don’t ask)
1 teaspoon seasoning salt
dash of cayenne
pinch of salt 
pinch of pepper
freshly squeezed lime juice
1 lime, cut in half
1½ to 2 cups white wine

Remove neck and giblets from turkey.  Set turkey in roasting pan and pat dry with paper towels.  In a small bowl, stir butter to soften completely and add all seasonings and lime juice.  Stir together to make a paste.  Lift the skin from the turkey, and rub underneath the skin with the butter paste, as well as on top of the turkey.  Sprinkle a little bit of salt and pepper on top of the turkey.  Stuff limes inside turkey.  Pour white wine in the bottom of the roasting pan.  Place in a preheated 325 oven, and baste every 30 minutes.  After about two and a half hours, when turkey is golden brown in color, cover with aluminum foil.  (if it is not golden brown, do not cover with foil yet, wait until the color is there.)  Roast for a total of about 3 ½ hours.  Let turkey rest before carving, to keep it moist.

CORNBREAD DRESSING

1 stick of butter, melted
2 cups diced celery
1 cup diced onion
4 cups crumbled cornbread (cornbread that has been prepared prior; either homemade or from a mix)
1 ½ Tablespoons sage
1 teaspoon salt
½ to 1 teaspoon celery salt (use amount to your taste)
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper (again, use amount to your taste)
dash of cayenne pepper
1 ½ cups to 2 cups chicken stock
1 egg

Mix all ingredients together in a large bowl.  Lightly grease a 9 x 13 casserole dish and press all ingredients into bottom of dish.  Bake at 350 for 30 to 40 minutes.

Mashed sweet potatoes

3 large sweet potatoes
 2 tablespoons of butter
spoonful of brown sugar
1 tablespoon of cinnamon
a couple of splashes milk drizzle of honey

Pierce the potatoes with a fork, and bake at 350 for 40 minutes.  Remove from the oven, peel, then add to a mixing bowl, and mix all ingredients together until it’s creamy. 

Aimee’s Corn casserole

2 cans cream style corn
1 small box ( 8 ½ ounce size) corn muffin mix
1 small container ( 8 ounce ) sour cream
 2 eggs, beaten
3/4 stick butter, melted shredded cheese

Beat all ingredients together in a medium-sized bowl. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes.  Top with shredded cheese, and continue cooking until the cheese melts.

CRANBERRY SALAD

2 cups fresh cranberries; (use the whole bag, actually)
2 packages of red jello; raspberry, strawberry or cherry
2 cups boiling water
2 cups sugar
make jello with the sugar, following package directions
2 oranges, cut into pieces or 1 can of drained mandarin oranges
2 apples cubed
small can crushed pineapple, drained
1 cup of pecans 

Pulse cranberries in the food processor.  Dissolve jello in hot water, then add sugar.  Mix all ingredients together and let it congeal in the refrigerator.

Broccoli cheese Casserole

1 (10.75 ounce) can condensed cream of mushroom soup
1 cup mayonnaise
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup onions, chopped
3 (10 ounce) packages frozen chopped broccoli
8 ounces shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
salt and pepper to taste
1 dash paprika

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Butter a 9×13 inch baking dish.
In a medium mixing bowl, whisk together condensed soup, mayonnaise, egg and onions.   Place frozen broccoli into a very large mixing bowl. (I like to use my large stainless steel bowl to mix this recipe thoroughly.) Break up the frozen broccoli. Using a rubber spatula, scrape soup-mayonnaise mixture on top of broccoli, and mix well. Sprinkle on cheese, and mix well. Spread mixture into prepared baking dish, and smooth top of casserole. Season with salt, pepper and paprika.   Bake for 45 minutes to 1 hour.

     O… M… G!!!!!  Despite all prep work and studying I had done over the years to answer this very question… I completely froze up.  I pulled a Rick Perry right there in the middle of I-65.  Before the stammering and stuttering became any more awkward than it already was, I did the only thing I knew to do.  I answered her question with a question.  “Gosh!  What would even make you ask such a question.”  Really?  That’s the best I could come up with? 

     When you remove the emotion from the situation and think about it rationally… what self-respecting 10 year-old WOULDN’T be curious as to how a grossly obese man with the gift of omnipotence delivers toys to the entire world in a mere eight hours on a flying sleigh???  I mean it sounds completely plausible… right? 

     In my defense, I may have been still been a little shell-shocked over how the whole Tooth Fairy deal went down.  I loathe to admit this, but my former husband and I were closet smokers.  No lectures!  I know it’s disgusting, but back when I was married… my husband and I would bond at the end of the night by having a cigarette.

     We were so self-conscious about our dastardly deed we were committing that we always smoked outside and were very careful to always flush the evidence afterwards.  Unfortunately, one of the cigarette butts escaped our sewer one night… only to be discovered the next morning by our then five year-old. 

      I can still remember her blood curdling scream from the bathroom.  “Mom!  There’s a CIGARETTE… in our toilet.”  She marched out and looked me square in the eye as if to demand an answer.  I feigned a look of shock and said, “What?  That’s weird!”  About that time her dad walks by and says, “You know… the tooth fairy was here last night.”  (Yes… he did.)  Our daughter had this look of complete horror on her face.  With tears welling up in her eyes she said, “The tooth fairy SMOKES!”     

     Realizing the horrible turn this was taking, he quickly assured her that the Tooth Fairy did NOT smoke!  Clearly, some degenerate had left the cigarette butt out on the sidewalk, and the Tooth Fairy, being the good citizen that she is, merely picked it up and disposed of it for us.  Needless to say, we aren’t exactly experts in the imaginary hero department.  All I could think last week is how I was about to blow it for a second time. 

          I should have seen this coming last year when she refused to sit in the guy at the mall’s lap and called him a “faker” under her breath as we walked by.  I still remember the year I figured it out for myself.  My 5th grade year, I got over ambitious and asked Santa for a horse.  Of course I knew good and well there was no Santa Clause!  This was emotional extortion plain and simple.  My parents had already refused to get me a horse.  In my mind I remember thinking, “Whatcha gonna do now?  Huh?  You gonna blow Christmas for me?” 

     I underestimated my parents.  When confronted with the prospect of purchasing a 300 lb. live animal, they had no problem whatsoever destroying my dreams and telling me the gig was up. 

     I guess I was just hoping we could get a few more years out of it.  I envisioned us having this discussion the summer after high school… as we were getting her things together for college.  Why do we have to cross the Santa Claus bridge a mere six weeks before Christmas? 

     For now, my stall tactics have bought me another week at best, but I know the dreaded question could come at any time, like a thief in the night.  The one thing I am sure about… is that I’m not ready.

    Have you ever noticed how fantastic everyone’s life seems on Facebook?  I can hardly get on-line without noticing that someone just got a new car, earned a promotion at work, or received a letter saying their kid got accepted into Mensa.  Some days, it’s enough to make you want to puke. 

    This week, I went to a charity luncheon that reminded me what true happiness really looks like, and let me assure you… it has nothing to do with all this self aggrandized nonsense we all tend to get wrapped up in (myself included).  Happiness is an elusive state of being that most of us have a hard time finding in this chaotic world of ups and downs, but this week, over a plate of chicken cordon blue, I saw it… right there in the flesh.      

     First, let me back up and explain how I even ended up at this shin dig.  A couple of weeks ago, my boss sent me and the other anchors at the station an invite to the Community Foundation’s Humanitarian Award Luncheon.  Candidly, I thought to myself, “Oh great!  Just one more thing to squeeze into my already jam-packed life.  Like I have time for lunch!”  (By the way, this is a fantastic example of how most of us miss the precious moments in life.  We’re too busy!!!!!)

     The honorees this year were Vince Gill and Amy Grant.  No surprise there!  They do stuff for the community all the time.  Good choice!  Let’s get the show on the road.  This is what I was thinking on my way to Lowe’s Vanderbilt.  By the end, I found myself moved to tears by all the lives they’ve helped change, and looking for the nearest hole I might be able to crawl into for not doing more to help my fellow-man. 

      I had no IDEA all the things these two people have done, not only for Nashville, but for people all over the world!  They do more charity work in a month than I have in 40 years combined.  At one point they were saying things so profound I started taking notes on my program, and I decided to share some of those with you in this week’s blog.  They were some good life lessons for all of us.    

     Instead of giving them another award to sit on some shelf, they gave them a quilt, and Amy Grant made one of the most profound statements I’ve heard in a long time… “I always felt like quilting was the original recycling, and just such a picture of all of our lives.  You know, how we all get torn apart, and put back together.  It’s always more beautiful and ALWAYS endlessly more interesting… when it’s put back together.”

     Wow!  What she said is so true.  No matter who you are or what your status… life is filled with a lot of painful moments.  You can sit around and grumble about it, or you can view those situations as something that are producing maturity and adding texture to your life.  The next time I face a challenge, I’m going to consider it just another swatch on that amazing quilt that is my life.          

     When it was Vince’s turn at the mic, he said this about his wife, “She inspires me to be better… be a better person.  I couldn’t ask for a better partner to show me and teach what the art of giving really looks like.”  This statement provided a lesson as well.  Whether it’s a mate or just your circle of friends… surround yourself with people of strong character who make you want to be a better person.  Look closely at the people you’re hanging out with.  If they’re not adding to your life in some way, there’s a good chance they’re taking away from it.      

     Vince also read the words to a song he recently wrote for Amy called “The Red Words”… a reference to the words in the Bible spoken by Jesus.  These are just a few of the lines I jotted down for thought. 

“She’d take a bullet for her children.  She’d give them all her last breath.  Always there and always willing as a mother’s love never rests.”

“I know that black’s her favorite color because without it there’s no depth.”

“Show some kindness for a stranger.  And be grateful for today.  Open up your family bible and read what the red words say.”

     Though all of those lines were great, my favorite was the one about the color black.  Other than my go to LBD, I’ve never really given much thought to the color black.  In fact, if anything, I usually associate it with darkness… something I’m not particularly fond of.  As I thought more about it though, I realized what Amy sees in black.  Without darkness, there is no light.  Without sorrow, there is no joy.

     There was one last statement that I loved, and I hope it gives you all some food for thought.  Amy said, “Your focus in life comes from a combination of your passion and your pain.”  The person who can find that focus is someone who is truly happy indeed.  Have a great weekend!

It’s Friday.  I figured you could all use a good laugh, so I might as well provide one at my own expense.  You may remember, a couple of years ago I wrote about the demise of my triceps.  It was a dark day, indeed, when I looked down and discovered they had somehow morphed into a sagging blob of chicken-like skin.  Mother Nature is a cruel, cruel operator, and unfortunately… she has struck again.

Last month, the station brought in a consultant to give us all a once over, and advise us on how we might “improve” ourselves.  In the course of a half hour, I discovered that my hair was too blonde, my clothes were too casual, and I needed a set of fake eyelashes to make my eyes “pop” on camera. I’m pretty sure that’s code for, “we need to create a distraction so viewers don’t notice the dark circles under your eyes and enormous crow’s feet that are starting to appear next to them.”

I can’t say that I’m offended by her suggestions.  She’s almost always dead on, but I still manage to walk away feeling like one of those people in the DON’T section of Glamour magazine with a shameful black rectangle covering their face.  I always wonder if those people get a heads up they’re going to be featured in the magazine?  Do the editors get permission, or do the people just flip to that section one month in hopes of making fun of someone… only to find themselves a target?     

Because I’m so obsessive compulsive, I spent weeks asking everyone I came into contact with if they thought my eye lashes were falling out.  Trust me when I say… you don’t want to be around me when one of these revelations takes hold.  My friends are used to my neurotic behavior so they ignore it, but the guy bagging my groceries didn’t seem nearly as amused.  In fact, I’m pretty sure he quit after I forced him to inspect my eyelids on the way to the car.

I spent the better part of September testing out every fake lash on the market.  After gluing my eyes shut several times, nearly failing to make the 4 o’clock show altogether on occasion, and scaring the bejesus out of my cleaning lady with all of the spider looking leftovers laying around my house… I finally mastered the art of the fake lash.

For weeks, I basked in the glow of my new secret weapon.  All was perfect in the world… until two weeks ago, when I discovered that my lids were nearly bald without their camouflage.  Apparently, my real lashes got their feelings hurt and started dropping out of the race one by one.  What started out a thin lash was quickly turning into no lash at all!

I did what every girl does in a situation like this.  I texted one of my bff’s.

Me:  Hey… where are you?  I’m having a crisis.

Ursula:  I’m at the Dr.’s office.  What’s up?

Me:  My lashes are falling out!   (Mind you… I’m standing 2 inches from my magnifying mirror counting while texting.)

Ursula:  I just need an antibiotic, but they won’t give it to me unless they see me… so I’m wasting my whole day here.  Wow!  Kacy’s interviewing someone named Ursula.  There are two of us!

Me:  What are you babbling about?  Did you not get my text?  I said my lashes are           FALLING OUT!

Ursula:  I got it. Are they down on your cheek or something?  Just put more glue on!     

Me:  My REAL ones you idiot!

Ursula:  OMG… LOL  You need to steal some of your mom’s Latisse samples!

Me:  Already on it.  Bye!

    For those of you who aren’t self-absorbed enough to spend your life fighting the aging process… Latisse is like miracle grow for lashes.  It works like a charm, but costs about $200 a tube.  My mother managed to get her hands on a sample two months ago, and her eyes have looked like caterpillars ever since.  Soon she may have to trim them! 

     Back in the day I used to fight the idea of turning into my mother.  Tonight, I’ll sneak into her medicine cabinet like a teenager just hoping that in another 27 years… I might actually look that good!

      Growing up, I was a big fan of fairytales.  For many years I actually lived my life under the pretense that some Prince would sweep me off my feet and we’d live happily ever after.  At the very least I figured I’d become an independent career women who could keep a dozen balls in the air seamlessly without ever breaking a sweat.  Eventually I discovered… both scenarios are fiction.      

     Unfortunately, life is a series of unexpected twists and turns that even the most methodical type “A” planners on earth could never anticipate.  Instead of a fairytale, I’ve decided life is more like a mechanical bull.  The best you can do is train hard, saddle up, and hold on for dear life.  Even then… there’s a good chance you’re going to end up with your arm in a sling.  I was recently reminded of this fact with something as simple as my phone service going out.

     This should have been a fairly simple problem to solve.  You’re phone’s not working, so you pick up your cell and call the repairman.  Little did I know that something that should have taken an hour, at most, to resolve was going to usurp my energy for the better part of two weeks.

      After discovering my dilemma, I called Comcast which provides my phone, internet and cable service for “convenience”.  This was a little frustrating because it’s only been a month since I spent some quality time with the Comcast repair man over the very same issue.  If you’ve ever had to schedule an appointment like this you probably already know what a mind numbing experience it can be.  I’d rather be gut punched by a mixed martial artist than place one of these calls. 

     First you have to actually get a human being on the other end of the line.  Once you’ve crossed that major hurdle, the person usually proceeds to spend the next half hour having you run all over the house jiggling and unplugging cables and wires before concluding that you need a repair man… which is why you called in the first place. 

     After you’ve finally convinced the unidentified guru that you’re up a creek without a paddle, you then have to find a three-hour ”block” of time when it would be “convenient” for the repairman to show up.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a three-hour “block” of time free in September… let alone in one day. 

     Less than two minutes after making the appointment, I got an automated call on my cell phone from Comcast asking me to confirm that I still had a problem.  Really?  Could the passage of 120 seconds have really changed my situation that drastically? 

     The day of the service call, the robot checked back with me again to make SURE my stuff was still broken.  I patiently pressed two, assuring the inanimate object that I was still helplessly without a phone or internet service.  Before leaving for work, I wrote out a list of detailed instructions for my girlfriend who had agreed to be there and work with the cable guy when he showed up.

     Well imagine my surprise when I stepped off of our news set on Tuesday and received a voice mail from the repair man saying he wasn’t showing up because I didn’t answer his call.  Apparently, I’m supposed to keep my ringer on at all times and just put you guys on hold out there in t.v. land whenever  the cable guy calls.  I’m not kidding when I say, this message was the adult equivalent of being told… “there is no Santa Claus”. 

     I frantically dialed the number on my caller ID to beg for mercy.  Of course, instead of reaching him, I was re-routed to the robot and eventually a human being who informed me that if you don’t answer your phone you’re basically dead to them. 

    How can this be?  What if I were a heart surgeon?  Do they expect me to put someone’s transplant on hold to chit-chat with the cable guy?  What about when President Obama’s cable goes out?  Does he say, “Pardon me Mr. Netanyahu… it’s the cable guy.  I absolutely must take this call.”  It’s preposterous!  Have a little faith Comcast.  I’m already begging for help and giving you a three-hour window.  Do you really think I’m going to stand you up? 

     After debating this for several minutes with the nice guy from Comcast, I finally booked another three-hour window of time I don’t have to get it fixed last Friday.  Everything seemed fine.  The phone was working.  My internet was lightning fast.  I actually found the cable guy to be quite endearing. 

     My daughter spent the weekend with her dad, but on Monday she bolted up to her room to watch a little Spongebob.  Imagine my surprise when she said, “Mooooooom… my t.v. isn’t working.”  Anyone know a good mixed martial artist?

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve spent several decades of my life on a personal quest for wisdom.  The bookshelves of my home are cluttered beyond recognition with the mounds of self-help books I’ve consulted during this never-ending search.  I’ve read the  Bible into the wee hours of the night trying to unlock the secrets to a happy life, and paid for endless trips to the therapist in an effort to get in touch with that “inner child” that might release the mystic secret to wisdom.  At the end of that quest, I have learned one thing.  Having common sense is equally if not more important, and there are a lot of people out there lacking it. 

About a month ago my daughter broke her arm in two places.  It was ironic because it happened during a game of “Fruit of the Spirit” freeze tag at church… just another reminder that the devil is always lurking in the shadows, trying to steal our joy.

Like all good mothers, I practically ignored the situation.  I strapped an ice pack on her arm, crammed an ibuprofen down her throat, and told her to go to bed.  The next day, when things still weren’t better, I asked my mom to take her to the doctor, who promptly made an appointment for her to get an x-ray at Vanderbilt early the next morning. 

Their famous last words were, “You’re appointment is at 7:00.  It won’t take ten minutes.  You can still have her to school on time!”  Check me on this, but have you ever known of a hospital that has people in and out in ten minutes?  It usually takes me ten minutes to find the right entrance.  If I ever have a life threatening situation at home I’ll definitely pay the ambulance bill instead of driving myself the two blocks to Vanderbilt because I’m convinced I’d bleed to death while trying to find my way in.  Getting into a hospital without the aid of GPS is like trying to navigate your way out of a 7 acre corn maze.  You better have PLENTY of time on your hands.   

The reporter in me started wondering if Vanderbilt had installed a drive-thru x-ray machine in the parking lot that I was unaware of.  Surely we would have done a story on that!  If not… we should.  Unfortunately there will be no story.  The magic drive-thru x-ray machine is the subject of folklore, and as expected, we were there for three and a half hours.  What struck me most that day wasn’t the absence of the magic machine, but the lack of common sense we have running around among us.  It’s truly worse than I thought.

As we were standing at the check-in rattling off information to the super nice lady behind the counter she asked me if my daughter had ever been there before.  I proudly said no, only to have her look at me like I had somehow escaped from the nearby psych ward.  She lowered her glasses to make sure we were making eye contact and said a second time, “So you’re telling me… your daughter has never been admitted here before.”  To which I reply, “ah… not that I’m aware of.”  To which she pauses for what seemed like forever and responded, “You’d be surprised,” before dismissing us to the lobby.

What exactly would I be surprised by?  Is it possible that people take their children to the hospital and have no recollection of it?  Do people sneak other people’s children to the hospital on overnight stays and never reveal this information to the parent?  I was really stumped by this, as was my daughter when I began interrogating her in the bathroom as to whether she had ever been here without my consent. 

A half hour later the nice lady called us up to the counter where she asked us to repeat our information.  After putting it into the computer database she looked up and said, “I’ll be darn.  You’re right.  She’s never been admitted.”  I KNOW THAT.  This is my child… flesh and blood.

I know I should have just moved along with my day, but this was just too much to ignore.  So I said, “I’ve been thinking about this the whole time we’re sitting here.  Do you mean to tell me there are parents out there who bring their children to the emergency room and somehow DON’T remember?”  To which she said, “Honey… you’d be surprised!” 

That’s it.  I’m sold.  Humans, as a race, are unconscionably stupid.  There’s no need for further evidence.  The whole thing actually reminded me of a bumper sticker I saw a while back that said, “If ignorance is bliss… why aren’t there happy people in the world?”  At the time, I thought it was funny and posted it on Facebook, but now I’m somehow depressed by the revelation that the bumper sticker was profound.  King Solomon might as well have uttered it himself. 

So I leave you with this on this sunny September day… in our constant pursuit of wisdom let’s not forget the little things, like turning your car off when you get where you’re going.  Just start there and build.  The path to greatness is achieved one step at a time.

 
Recommended Reading:  The Bible: Ecclesiastes

     I’ve decided that dogs should come with some sort of warning label.  They should say something along the lines of, “Beware.  No matter how much you think this dog is not going to jump on your Z Gallerie couch, use your hardwood floor as a bathroom, and chew up your favorite pair of Nine West pumps… he/she will.”      

     For at least three years, my daughter has been begging me for a second dog, and for more than a thousand straight days, I’ve held my ground like a well-trained Army General.  Not only have I said No, but I always cheerily remind her that she never so much as lifts a finger to take care of the dictator, named Prince Charming, that we currently have living with us. 

     Somehow the idea of having to pick up our miniature dachshund’s turds has always been enough to keep her at bay, but two weeks ago… after our second  break-in… she finally convinced me to adopt a Doberman from the shelter for “security” purposes.  Only now is it dawning on me that I might have been better off investing in a good set of motion lights or maybe some cheap surveillance equipment.

    High tech gadgets don’t spend the entire night howling from the garage.  They don’t bite your neighbors Pyrenees through the fence… requiring a visit from police, and more importantly, they don’t slip through the iron gate while you’re at church, take a nap on the yellow line of the street, and get hauled off to the pound.  You think I’m kidding?  I’m not.  I have the police report to prove it.

     Last Sunday, we pulled into the garage still basking from a great sermon.  Within thirty seconds, our lives had erupted into complete pandemonium.  The worst had happened.  Contrary to my words that Rocky Balboa was waaaaaay to big to get out of the fence, he had somehow escaped… thrusting us into the world of the lost dog.     

     Every cheesy kid’s movie I’ve ever seen flooded my memory bank.  Would we have to make posters and affix them to area street posts?  Do we walk around the neighborhood in the drizzling rain… yelling his name?  yes and yes.  My daughter wailed for a half hour as we tried desperately to locate Rocky Balboa to no avail. 

     At one point we even accosted a passerby with a similar dog.  We darted across a busy street in our flip-flops CONVINCED that she had stolen our prized shelter dog.  By the time we got close enough to see the can of mace in her hand, we could clearly see that the dog on her leash was not, in fact, Rocky.  Shouldn’t it have been a sign that a dog nabber probably wouldn’t be walking by our house parading him on a leash?  I digress.

     Thank God for the magnetic chip they implanted in his back at the point of purchase.  Once I regained my common sense from all the drama, I decided to call the Humane Society.  The lady on the other end of the line chuckled as if she spent hours waiting on my call.  “Hey…” she yelled in the background.  “It’s the t.v. lady.  It’s their dog!”  Apparently, Rocky had made quite a name for himself while living at the shelter. 

     Someone who lives in our neighborhood had scooped him up off the pavement, where he was taking a nap, and taken him to a family reunion in Cookeville before promising a safe return later that afternoon.  Not to worry… I thought!  The caper would come to a close once these kind people were finished with their chicken and dumplings, and sure enough… it did. 

     Who knew something so cute and seemingly harmless could be so all-consuming?  I can’t help but think that I should have seen this coming well in advance.  After all, our dachshund was nearly bald on both sides before I took him to the vet to investigate.  We’re already cramming Benadryl down one K-9′s throat two times a day for a skin disorder and saving up for a hair transplant.  What on Earth ever made me think we were equipped to join the ranks of animal planet?

     This week, I resorted to strapping a doggie life jacket onto him to keep his sleek physique within the boundaries of our fence.  He looks completely ridiculous running around the yard.  On the bright side… the jacket has a handle on top that allows us to carry him around like a cooler for outdoor parties and functions.  He’s become quite the conversation piece.   

     In the month he’s lived with us, Rocky has slowly started become like a member of the family.  Right now, he’s sort of like that drunk cousin you have to go bail out of jail a couple of times a year, but we’re working on his behavior and accepting his mistakes.     

     As he hauled all 60 pounds of himself into my lap over the weekend and fell asleep like a baby, I couldn’t help but think… dogs are like every other relationship.  They’re only as good as the work you put into them.  One day, he may get a chance to save our lives or protect our belongings.  Until then, we’ll keep making deposits in his love bank and hoping for the best. 

 
Suggested Reading:  5 Love Languages, Gary Chapman

http://www.5lovelanguages.com/

     Sadly, the reason I’m so familiar with the benefit of mistakes is that I make so many of them.  Fortunately, I don’t usually make the same ones twice, and I’m getting close to maxing out.  Now I’m starting to wonder happens next.  Do I have to start over?  If so, I’m going to have to slack off a little bit.     

     It sort reminds me of that scene out of “The Great Outdoors” where John Candy volunteers to finish the old 96′er in exchange for a free meal.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with 80′s movie trivia, the 96′er is a 96 oz. side of a beef.  When he finally finishes it, gristle and all, his brother in-law, Dan Aykroyd, asks, “If he chokes down a couple of desserts, can we get you to throw in some hats and t-shirts for the kids?”  That’s my greatest fear in life… that I’ll somehow choke down the gristle only to find out… there’s more.    

     Some of the mistakes I’ve made have been just downright absurd.  For example, I once bought an item my daughter didn’t want for Christmas when she was 3 years-old because it was on sale the day after Thanksgiving.  (Just for the record, they’re too young to know what they want at three, so go cheap.)

    Unfortnately, I found it a week later at an even CHEAPER price, so I marched back into Target and demanded my money back.  Of course they obliged!  Sadly, I lost the receipt, and they never credited my account… meaning I ended up buying the discounted Little People barn my daughter didn’t want not once, but twice. 

    My mother is notorious for these kinds of “mistakes”.  She’s run out of all the big ones, so now she has to resort to ridiculous ones.  For example, she recently bought one of those things you may mayave seen advertised on a latenight infomercial called ”tape yourself slim.” 

     Let me just point out that…. if this product trualy existed, there would be no need for a commercial.  Word of mouth would trhrough the mom blogs like wildfire, and people would be rioting in the streets trying to get their hands on one.  It would be like Armageddon, and it would definitely be retailing for more than $19.99, even on the black market… but I digress.

     The idea is that you can get rid of that unsightly jiggle that most of us over 40 have noticed appearing under our upper arm… perhaps while salting a burrito on the deck of a mexican restaurant with your best friend, prompting a blog I wrote last year called “What Happened to my Arms”.  Go back.  It’s worth the read.

     Anyway, you’re supposed to be able to somehow capture that skin with an adhesive tape and pin it to your back (I’m assuming).  After purchasing this product, you will reportedly be able to break out all those sleevless tops that have been hiding in the back of your closet since 1995.

     I know this is going to come as a shock, but… it didn’t work.  By boyfriend even tried using duct tape to manufacture the same effect.  That doesn’t work either.  I’m just telling you so you won’t find yourself in the bathroom tonight with a roll of it after the kids are in bed.

     Over the past year, I’ve made more mistakes than I care to count.  Fortunately, even the big ones didn’t cause the world to stop spinning on its’ axis.  It may have FELT like it for a while, but it didn’t. 

     My best advice is this.  In the face of a huge bungle, maintain your sense of humor.  I’m not even going to go into some of the things that have happened to me this year because I value other people’s privacy… but suffice to say, my life could have been on an episode of Springer. 

     Now when that happens, you have two choices.  You can either pick up the chairs and go to war, or you can sit back and enjoy the show.  I tried both.  In the end, the show was much better, and for the record, I never actually broke the chair over someone’s head.  I just held it in the air in a threatening manner until I could figure out the best course of action.  You know this is true, or it would have been on the front page of the Tennessean!  LOL

     My next tidbit of advice is this… just forgive yourself.  I spent 39 years dragging around a semi full of baggage filled with all the things I screwed up over the years.  Sometimes when times got tough, I’d sit down in the floor and figuratively spread it all out on the floor to pour over and beat myself up.

     Three words… LET IT GO!  You can’t change the past.  All you can do is learn from those mistakes and do life different the next time around. 

     As I learned one year ago today with the death of my dad… life is short.  You have to decide how you want to live it.  Do you want to feel beaten down and defeated all the time because you promised to make ten fudge pies for the bake sale in 11th grade and couldn’t get them all done?  I didn’t think so.

     I dedicate this blog to my father who was the inspiration for my blog in the first place.  In his disabled state, it was one of his last joys in life, and he read it from his hospital bed each week religously. 

     I have grieved this past year.  I have learned, and my silence is broken.  If you’re wondering why I never credit my mom it’s because a) she’s still alive, and we’re never supposed to say nice things about people until their dead, and b) she’s still teaching me every day.  Her antics entertain me on a regular basis, and who better to teach me the value (or lack thereof) of $19.99?

Recommended Reading:  “How to Forgive Yourself Totally” by R.T. Kendall   

     When I was growing up my mother had a little saying she repeated often.  “Pretty is as pretty does.”  Her tone was sugary sweet, but the warning underneath all that was crystal clear.  Translation: You may be traveling around this earth in a nice exterior shell, but you better hope you find some character and substance to back that up or your screwed. 

     It was good advice!  Unfortunately, like everything else in my life, I took what she said to the extreme and then multiplied it.  In case you haven’t figured this out about me from my previous blogs, I’m obsessive compulsive with an addictive personality to boot.  If one’s good… two are better.    

      One time I nearly plucked off my entire eyebrow in an attempt to get them to “frame my face” like the ones in Glamor magazine.  Nevermind the fact that they were working on Brooke Shields, and I’m nearly bald of eyebrow hair to begin with.  I was convinced that if I just plucked long enough… I, too, could look like Brooke Shields.

     This summer I bathed my long-haired dachshund so often he developed a skin disorder, lost the hair on both sides, and is now subjected to daily medication to compensate for my behavior.  The first time I chopped up an onion it took me two hours (even with the expensive Pampered Chef contraption) because I spent the last hour with a magnifying glass picking out the little pieces of onion skin I forgot to remove before getting started. 

    Do you see where I’m going with this?  Some call it mental illness.  I call it eccentric.  Either way, I took this little tidbit of advice from my mom, put it on steroids, and spent the next 39 plus years trying to earn favor with everyone I came into contact with.  I was a “pleaser”, and when I didn’t please… I was thrust into a major depression.

     I remember back in the late 90′s, during the income tax debate, I was sent to the state capitol to cover people protesting the proposal.  When I got there, there was a line of state troopers standing arm to arm in riot gear and holding batons.  Two feet in front of them was an angry mom of protestors spitting and screaming in their faces.  My 5’4″ body was the one cowering between the two with the microphone in hand. 

      I went down to the street and uttered five words that will live on in infamy, and they were, “It’s a madhouse out here.”  What?  Did she say madhouse?  Madhouse… seriously, MADHOUSE!  How dare you!!!!

      Within ten minutes, it was all over Steve Gill’s radio station that I had uttered the word “madhouse”, and the crucifixion was on.  Listeners labeled me as anti-American, an idiot, too stupid to be on television… a liar.  By the time I got back to the station my boss was already waiting for me in his office.  After the door slammed, he said, “Jennifer, we’d like to talk to you about this usage out there of the word ‘madhouse’.  Are you even aware that you said that word?”

      All I could think was.. Am I dreaming?  This is the twilight zone.  I have crossed into the next dimension.  Where’s Robert Stack.  Come on…. the gig’s up.  Play the music.  “JENNIFER!”  My boss shouted!  (Ok… not a dream.)  “Are you even aware of the damage you have done to this station’s reputation out there?”  Me: “Ah… not really sir.  I’m not really even sure what we’re talking about.”

     Apparently, the Golden Girl was no more.  The whole town hated me for portraying them as “lunatics”, and I was given a verbal warning.  I spent the rest of the week asking to do stories in Macon County just to avoid the angry stares all over the city that were greeting me at every turn. 

     Steve Gill was like a dog with a bone.  His show droned on for hours and hours about me every day for a week.  On Sunday night, before I was scheduled to go back to work, my ex-husband had to scoop me up out of the bonus room floor where I was disheveled and had been mindlessly watching back to back episodes of “I Love Lucy” for two straight days.   

      Like all good scandals, this one was eventually faded and was replaced by some people irate over the abundance of stray dogs in their neighborhood.  It was Metro Animal Control’s turn to run the gauntlet.  YES!

      Unfortunately, I continued to live this way for approximately another decade, always trying to make everyone like me, volunteer for things I had no business being involved in, and working extra shifts at the expense of my family to please the bosses. 

      The trouble is, the world’s a big place.  There’s a LOT of people to please!  Most of the time I would bury my own wants, needs or opinions just to please everyone else and retain my status as the “non” squeaky wheel.    

     Here’s my word for the day, and listen closely… YOU CAN’T DO IT!  JUST STOP!  Do the best you can, and move on!  Some people are NEVER going to like you… ever.  Process that for a minute… EVER! 

     I’m reminded of this weekly.  In case there are any of you out there who are still unconvinced… this next part is for you.  I received an e-mail from a viewer on Wednesday.  Actually, it was to my boss, and I’m assuming this guy wants me beheaded, instead, my boss sent it to me as “food for thought”.  Here goes: 

If you must have Jennifer Johnson read the news, please dear god do not let her ad-lib after stories. She is not smart enough to banter with intelligent people. Make her stick to reading the teleprompter and being cute – that is all she can handle. Following a story about a local radio station changing formats, she said she doesn’t listen to the station because she has satellite radio. PLEASE GET THIS IDIOT OFF THE AIR!  Your newscasts are unwatchable with her on them.

     Now the old me might have used my investigative skills to find out where he lived, monitored him for weeks, and firebombed his house when he least expected it.  Thankfully, that person learned a lot last year.    That was a joke!

     I included this as merely an illustration that life is full of people who will never like you, so invest your efforts in those who already do.  Have a great weekend!

     A lot of you have e-mailed (or berated me openly on our website) over the past 6 months for abandoning my blog.  Frankly, I just haven’t been inspired.  Much of what has happened to me over the past year has either been embarrassing, tragic, or so boring that I didn’t want to waste your time on it.  Much like he Titans, my 2010 season was a character builder, and one that I don’t wish to repeat.

    Over the past 12 months my father died, my 12 year marriage imploded in divorce, I was involved in an accident that removed the skin off both hands and left me incapacitated for a week, mother nature pelted my car with hail to the tune of $3,000, and the dream home I bought to lift my spirits in the aftermath of it all has been broken into… twice.  One more major change, and my mother was going to have me institutionalized.

     Unfortunately, there isn’t enough medication, therapy, self-help material, or liquor in the world to lift your spirits in the face of that kind of back to back human drama; but there is one thing you can cling to in the face of that kind of adversity… and that is your faith.  Somehow, like a Phoenix from the ash, God has fully restored me in mind, body and spirit.  I have emerged a much wiser human being, but those lessons have come at a tremendous cost.

     I’ve decided that the one thing I can do is share those lessons with you guys.  Believe me when I say, it’s a lot more fun learning from someone ELSE’S mistakes.  Each week for the next year, I’ll share one lessons I learned this past year.  For the time being, my blog will be re-named, “Everything I Learned in my 39th year on earth”.  Whatever you’re going through or whatever your faith, I hope you’ll gain some insight from my mistakes and missteps. 

     Below are two of my favorite quotes.  One is a bible verse, and the other can be found in a fortune cookie.  Both are fantastic.

Proverbs 4:6-7

“Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you; love her, and she will watch over you. Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get an understanding.”

Confucius

“By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest;  Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.” 
           
     I hope you’ll join me on this year-long journey.  I promise you there’s lots of humor to be had along the way.  If not, I’ll give you your money back!