Matters of the Heart

If these heels could talk they would say that, "sometimes the heart may not always be what is wrong with us, it could be a matter of the mind."

Years ago, let's say about thirty, my family and I lived right beside the Flint River in a two bedroom, single wide trailer. Now I know that I have told the story of this lovely home before but for those that didn't read that one, let me paint the picture again.
My dad bought the trailer for $500.00. He hooked it up to a tractor and pulled it to it's resting spot where it was put on cinder blocks. It was actually very unstable and when my brothers would start fighting my mom would yell, "stop fighting younguns before you knock the trailer over!"

We did have well water that we tapped into via my uncle's well but there was no septic tank. Just a pipe that ran for yards and yards that only the Good Lord knows where it ended. I never looked for the ending because I figured that's would be just another  shitty ending I really didn't want to see.

As you can imagine, this trailer had no central heat and air.  In the summer, either a box fan in the window or a window AC unit was used for cooling off. And during the winter we had a wood burning stove/heater for keeping us nice and toasty. 

That wood burning heater could really put out some heat.  My mom also cooked a meal or two on that heater during a snow storm or power outage.   Yes it was just like something out of Little House on the Prairie.  At night time the heater would often burn out because we would all be sleeping and there was no one to put wood on the fire.  For these times we would utilize electric blankets to tie us over until we could stoke the fire back up the next morning.

One winter my mom started complaining with what she believed to be heart issues.  Day in and day out she would tell my dad that she felt like something wasn’t right.  She would say, “ole man every night when I lay down I hear a buzzing noise and then I have this weird feeling come over me.” 

As with all matters that my mom would bring up to my dad, he quickly told her she was losing her mind or in his words, “you are crazy as hell woman.” But then it finally happened; my dad laid down one night and caught exactly what my mom had been hearing for weeks.  He started laughing uncontrollably and then he said to her, “damn ole lady that ain’t cha heart, that’s the electric blanket and it has a short in the wires.” 

What my mom thought to be her heart buzzing was the electric blanket.  The weird feeling she was getting was from the anxiety she had thinking it was her heart.

Moral of the story:  we are all going to have a moment in our life when we feel discouraged and we feel like our heart is no longer in it and we feel weird because we have let anxiety about not knowing effect us.  (Whatever the IT is) Maybe it isn’t our heart that isn’t in it any longer, maybe it is our minds allowing outside elements to affect our thinking and that negative thinking is changing our heart. 

A positive mindset goes a long ways in all things in life. 

I never went looking for the end of that poop pipe but I bet at the end of it the grass was super green.  Sometimes a shitty start can have an amazing ending.  It is all a matter of perspective and mind set.  The grass can be green exactly where you stand.   Stop looking for reasons to not be happy and instead spend a little time daily looking at your blessings.    

Just Dance

If These Heels Could Talk they would say:

In Angie’s world everything would be as Angie wanted and in a way that made only Angie feel comfortable.  But I know that this world doesn’t revolve around Angie and the only person living in Angie’s world is me.  Honestly, some days I find it hard to even live with myself so I could either venture out , choose to live in this world alone feeling as though something is missing.  Or I could chose to embrace those around me with open arms, compassion and understanding; live it up and laugh it down.   

A few weeks ago I made a visit to a precious 95 year old lady at her home.  On most days I am a very cold natured person however as I entered her home I immediately felt heat and humidity slap me in the face.  In other words I started sweating the minute my feet hit her living room floor.  It was hotter than two hells in that house.  Since I know everything and always want to fix stuff I said to her, “Mrs. Blank…. You need an AC in here.”  Her reply was, “Oh no, I do not like it cold.”  And I thought, “No shit.”  This was her domain, not mine.

She sat in her little rocking chair and immediately explained that she can’t see well and her hearing was really not up to par so I made sure that I sat close by her and spoke as loud as I could without offending her or damaging my ear drums, sweating the entire time.   Now anyone that knows me knows that I LOVE TO TALK, but more than that I LOVE TO LISTEN.  I love to hear stories of survivors and people that walked straight through hell and came out on the other side shining like a new penny.  It encourages me.  It reminds me that my problems aren’t really problems; just obstacles or small detours. 

I sat there and listened to this young lady tell of her 95^th birthday party.  She spoke of how her family started to play music and how she told them that she could still shake a leg and knew they would be amazed and then she said, “but you know my knees just aren’t what they used to be and my balance is off and I didn’t want to fall so I sat that dance out.” 

I was mesmerized.

I left there thinking.   Why do we sit out dances when our legs are so strong?  Why do we refuse to love and be loved when our heart is beating our minds are so strong and we are still breathing?  Why do we choose tears over laughter?  There will be a day when our legs give out. There will be a day when our minds forget. There will be a day when our heart stops beating. 

Wearing Confidence Like a Lady

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "One thing I do not lack is confidence."

I believe every woman is beautiful in their own way. I just believe that some of them have not yet discovered how to radiate their beauty. I don't believe that beauty is skin deep either.  True beauty is something that we don't always see but can always feel. It can come in the form of a tear drop, a smile, or silence. 

I grew up in the country and although my mother and father both worked, they didn't make a lot of money. We never went hungry but there were times we went without electricity.   One year our well went dry and we went the entire year without running water.  Although we didn't have running water, we were always clean, the house was always clean and we knew how to have a good time.  My mother made sure that we were loved and felt loved.  I really am so thankful for her. 

I can't be mad about the struggle because it helped mold me today into the strong, confident, independent, hard working woman that takes nothing from no one and only dishes out that which I could handle myself. That doesn't mean that what I dish out others always handle well, it means that I realize that I can't complain or get mad when I encounter a strong personality just like mine. 

I am a straight forward, tell it like it is, matter of fact kind of lady.  I do not see the need in "beating" around the bush.  "Beating around the bush"  is time and money wasted.   I am passionate about everything that I encounter and do not take no for an answer.  If I want it I am going to get it. And if I don't get it I am going to embrace the reason for my not "getting" it.  Live and learn I say.  (and I am sure other people say this too, they took the line from me, just saying)

Around this neck of the woods I have become famous in my own sort of way.  With three kids in sports, I have more often than not arrived at the ball fields straight from the office,  still wearing my high heels and pencil skirt. Yes I realize this  not your typical game day attire but if I am being honest I am most comfortable in my high heels and pencil skirt.   If I were to attend a game now without donning the heels, I  really think I might let a few people down. 

So what exactly I am so confident about?  Well...  I am confident in my own skin.  I am confident that I do not have to compare myself to any other person. I am confident that I am unique in my own special way.  I am confident in my ability to not meet a stranger. I am confident in my high heels and pencil skirt. I am confident that there will be people that I encounter that do not like me and that is good with me because the ones that do like me far outweigh the ones that don't.  I am confident that there will be let downs and set backs, but I can never stop.  Stopping kills people.   I am confident that all that which I have been blessed with could be gone tomorrow and as hard as that would be I would still be okay.  And there would be a blessing in me losing it all. 

Confidence doesn't happen over night and at times is compared to vanity.  I find that tragic. I believe every woman should wake up in the morning and sprinkle a little confidence in their coffee,  cup of tea, or diet Sunkist. Then they should  put on their favorite pair of matching bra and panties before sliding into their favorite pair of heels,   (or tennis shoes or flats, whatever you are confident in), then head out into the world with their Confident, Beautiful selves.  

I Could Have Been A Rap Artist

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "I really think I could have been a rap artist, my poetry from high school proves my point."

Today as I was moseying my way home after a long day at the office, I had a revelation. 

My commute is about a forty minute drive.  Some people cringe at that thought and although at times it can seem a little lengthy for me,  I take that forty minutes to reflect on life and all the mysteries that are surrounding us and to take a selfie or two.   

In that forty minutes I will either turn the music up loud or turn the music off, it really all depends on my mood and where I want my mind to go.  Today, the music was up loud.  As I channel surfed looking for one pick me up song after another, my station landed on a rap station.  Now I like most any kind of music and I love artistic, creative individuals and every genre of music has it's good and bad songs, but today it seemed like every song on the rap station was bad. 

Here is why I thought they weren't that great....... the people kept repeating the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over again..... Not only did they do that but the words seemed to lack meaning and depth.... and they seemed superficial..... Each song either talked about a load of money, getting some arse, or bitches be balling.  What the hell does that even mean? 

I like the beat to these songs more than I do the words.  Those words that are repeated over and over again about slapping someones arse, getting high in the club or making it rain on all these hoes are so useless.  I know there are some rap songs that have meaningful lyrics behind them and I welcome them.  The others not so much. 

So that got me to thinking about a poem that I wrote my high school year.  My teacher graded it with an A+++ and wrote at the bottom to "put this in a bible to keep and treasure."  I didn't understand why at the time and not that my words are so much more meaningful than the next person,  but it did seem to touch her in some sort of  way.  . At the age of 18 I was still trying to figure out life and what direction I wanted to head, at the age of 38 I am still trying to figure out a few things, except this time I know what direction I want to head.  I might even become a rap artist. 

Here are the words that I wrote over twenty years ago and not realizing how true they would be still to this day.

I do not see myself as an exact replica of my parents.  However, I do contain certain characteristics that I obtained from them through the process of life:  their eyes, nose, hair, and maybe even their smile.  I even resemble my brothers a little.  But no matter how much my physical characteristics may resemble them, my inner soul is different.  I possess characteristics that set me aside from everyone else. I am: 

The learner of many lessons
The confessor of many confessions
A mourner for the lost 
The money for every cost
The loner of countless days
A person with numerous ways
                             
The light of many paths
The laughter of many laughs
The tears of my friends
The sinner of many sins
A witness of love
The wing of a white dove
The victim of pain
A accumulator of gain
The lover of life
A fighter of my strife
A carrier of burdens
The mender of many ends
A traveler of today's journeys
A worrier of many worries
A forgiver of many souls
An obtainer of my goals
The sunlight of the sunrise
The clouds of the skies
The dawn of the daybreaks
The maker of yesterday's mistakes
The words of every song
The child wanting to belong
The dreamer of many dreams
A mender of my seams
The heart of my people
The waves upon the sea
A believer of many lies
The shouts of many cries
A reminder of the past
The love wanting to last
But most of all I am a gift from above
Sent down with lots of love.
 
I am not just a shadow of my peers; I am myself.  I am only an example of something created through the wonders of love.  I am a speck of hope and wisdom of generations to come.  I am free!!!!

I was proud of that A+++ then and I am proud of it now. 

 

     

The Things Southerners Do When It Snows

If these heels could talk they would say, "boy a little bit of the white stuff and people start to get crazy around here."

Wow, what can I say? 

Living in Georgia you really don't expect to get much snow, much less twice within a thirty day period.  Well yesterday as I sat with my drinky drink, doing nothing much but reading Facebook posts and laughing my arse off via text with one of my best gal pals I got to thinking, this snow really freaks us out in the South. 

Here is my interpretation of what Southerners do when it snows.

1. Freak Out
2. Stock up on eggs, milk, bread and toilet paper.
3. Freak Out some more.
4. Constantly post updates on every social media page about the snow flake that just hit their windshield.
5. Immediately lose every driving skill that they have ever known.
6. Freak Out even more.
7. Take pictures of random ice cycles.
8. Call their friends that live right next door to ask if their power is out. 
9. Call relatives to talk about the weather as if we can't see what the hell is going on.
10. Get in your car to survey "the damage" as if it is a freak show.
11. Freak Out for the fifth or sixth time and post more random pictures of ice cycles and post more updates of the weather via every social media page.
12. I take pictures of myself wearing heels while getting in my car to go survey the damage of random ice cycles that may have formed into the shape of a high heel shoe.

The snow is truly beautiful however I do not do cold weather at all and will leave with this thought.  I NEED SPRING AND SUMMER WEATHER. 

Girlfriends Are The Best

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "Girlfriends are the freaking best thing since sliced bread."

As young girls we truly do NOT value the worth of a golden girl friend.   We let our insecurities, territorial behavior and jealously ruin perfect friendships.  We let the male species consume our thoughts and actions and change our opinions of some of those female species that would die for us. 

When I was in the Navy I had an AWESOME friend and her name was Rachel.  In good ole Angie fashion I ruined our friendship.  It was not by jealousy or insecurities rather it was by this survival mode I had placed my self in. 

We were room mates and we were inseparable.  On more than one occasion we were asked, "are you two  together?"  And of course that always came from a curious male that always followed the question up with, "if you are I would love to watch."

Freaking perverts!!!! 

We weren't that kind of girlfriends, although there was this one time in Tijuana a guy was hitting on me and wouldn't stop so Rachel thought it would be the perfect time to tell him, "hey we are together" and then gave me a big kiss on the lips.   That really did not detour his efforts.  As a matter of a fact I think it made him more aggressive.

But that is what I am talking about.... the kind of friend that will do anything for you.  I screwed that friendship up.   She had orders to Japan and I was pregnant which meant I wasn't going anywhere. 

She was scheduled to leave in a few weeks and instead of doing the right thing and valuing every freaking minute I could with her, I separated myself.  I pretended as though we never were friends.   That is by far one of the biggest regrets of my life. I knew her leaving would hurt me, so I did the one thing I knew to do and that was to pretend that our friendship didn't exist.   To this day I wish I could talk to her. I have looked for her all over the Internet with no luck.  Her last name was Kelly so you can imagine the difficulties in searching for that name.  I would say she was Irish...... hahahaha  I loved that girl and still do......

Fast forward now and I am still blessed, but this time I am not screwing it up.  I have AWESOME girl friends.  They call me, the text me, and they  want to be in my presence.  They are all different and yet they value
all of my personalities.  They know when I am up and they know when I am down.  I will never ever put up a wall and shut them out.  I need them more than they will ever know. 

Memories Can Be A Blessing or a Curse

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "Memories can be a blessing or a curse."

 

I had a wonderful friend that was taken from this Earth way to soon.   I remember the first time I ever saw Jennifer. It was 6th grade. She was beautiful. She had long strawberry blond hair, it was pulled up with a clip and was covered in long curls.  She had the bluest eyes you have ever seen on a person. Perfect can't even begin to describe her beauty. 

 

 I ...on the other hand was freckled face with a haircut that even a boy would cringe at having. (I may post pictures to prove). I was in awe of her. We immediately became friends. Over the course of our school years we became closer and closer. I don't ever remember her and me ever having the typical girl fallout. We just did what friends do.

 

Thanks to Jennifer I got my first heart break. Well not really her fault the boy was an A double S hole, but she did date is brother and encouraged me very persuasively to date the guy. Anyway, I wasn’t mad at all at her, he was the jerk. 

 

One memory that sticks out for me is from the 8th grade. My family and I were going to West Point Lake camping for a week. Jennifer wanted to go, I believe not so much for the camping experience but because she had an eye on my cousin. I tried to prepare her up front to the ways of how the Garner's camp. When we went camping we went camping; tents, no running water, week at a time, bathe in the lake kind of stuff. 

 

 As we were driving to the lake, Jennifer is rummaging through her bag and I notice that she has a curling iron and a hair dryer. “Hmmmm, Jennifer we ain’t staying at the Holiday Inn darling, there is no electricity.” She was mortified. But we had the time of our life. I chipped my tooth on a beer bottle, thanks to my cousin Jamie a.k.a mudcat. And I still haven’t got it fixed. Maybe when I do I will send him the bill. We got in trouble by the park ranger for being rowdy teenagers (there was only about 15 of us running ramped through the park). 

 

 I had to go to the well nearly every day and pump the water so she could wash her locks. Jennifer was 14 and looked to be 21, here I was flat chested and she is looking like a Victoria’s Secret model. But she never made me feel less than what I was. She embraced our family and our craziness and rolled right along with us. We swam, we ate watermelon, we stole our parents beer, (we didn’t smoke so be proud of that), we fished; we did what teenagers are supposed to do. These memories are definitely a blessing. I would share more, but some things I must keep to myself.

A Red Neck Christmas Tree Story

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "there will be no expense spared when looking for the perfect Christmas tree."

On Sunday my three kids and I ventured out to find the perfect tree.  We muddled our way through multiple trees looking for full limbs, the prettiest green  and just the right height.  Every tree we came to we inspected thoroughly and each one of us had our reasoning for why that tree was not the perfect tree. 

Finally after inspecting several trees we reached the tree that we all could agree upon. My oldest son cut it down and then we stuffed into the back of my BMW.  Yes I know that is redneck at it's finest.   The truck is being repaired and so we improvised.  We didn't have string to tie it to the top so we did the next best thing and let it hang out the back window.  I posted a picture on Facebook to share with my FB friends.  And in return I received this awesome story about my mom and dad and one of their Christmas tree adventures.


you see what had happened was....

My mother had seen and picked out "the perfect tree."  So my dad called one of my uncles to take a ride with him to assist in the fetching of this tree.  When my uncle hopped into the car he was quickly briefed on the situation at hand.  Apparently the location of this "perfect tree" was on some private property.  My uncle quickly replied, "I don't know much about stealing a Christmas tree."

They scurried on to the spot via my mother driving the get away car and my dad and uncle quickly exited the vehicle, like two bandits in the night.  As they were making their way over some barbed wire fence (that should have been the first clue that this was a bad idea)  they dropped the most important tool; the much needed saw.  It took them a few minutes to locate it in the dark but once they found it they set out in the direction of the "perfect tree." 

Now if anyone knows my mother they know that at moments she can be a little on the nervous Nellie side and so it should be no surprise that she came back only a few minutes later honking the horn.  My dad quickly yelled at her, "get on outta here!" So she high tailed it away from the scene while my dad and uncle continued to work on getting the "perfect tree." 

Finally they arrive at their destination and my dad instructs my uncle to hold the tree while he cuts it down.  My dad proceeds to saw the tree down and when he has accomplished his mission my uncle lets go and the  "perfect tree" falls into three pieces and was the ugliest thing you had laid your eyes on. 

Apparently the "perfect tree" was three trees that had grew together but to the common person appeared as one "perfect tree."  My dad and uncle made their way back to the road and my mom where my mother was waiting in the get away car and she quickly asks, "where the hell's my tree!?" and my  dad yelled, "the damn things out there in three pieces!" and my uncle replied, " I guess that's what we get for trying to steal a tree."


All that glitters isn't gold.......

Home Is Really Where the Heart Is

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "home really is where the heart is."

I am going to share something that some may not believe and then again some may can relate.  There is not one single house/trailer/dwelling that I CAN REMEMBER  living in that is still present.  In other words all of the places that I grew up in and can still remember are gone. They were torn down, pushed over and demolished. 

The interesting thing about this is although the structures are not there I can close my eyes and be right back in those places.  Each one of them were so much more than walls, floors, bolts, joists, paneling, tile, carpet, etc........ They were home but they were home because of the memories that were made there. 

One in particular housed a lot of memories.  I have written about it in some of my other stories.  It was a single wide trailer that sat on cinder blocks.  It was two bedrooms and one bath.  I shared a room with my two brothers. The room was just big enough to hold their set of bunk beds, my twin bed and a four drawer dresser.  It had two front doors but one of them we considered a back door because it was at the back of the trailer.  When my brothers would start to tussel my mom would panic and start yelling, "stop it before you turn the trailer over."  I was always freaked out about that. Mainly because we had no real "septic" tank just a pipe that my dad referred to as the "poop" pipe that ran several feet out the back into the woods. There is probably oil there now. 

There was no grass around this home just Georgia red clay.  We never had to worry about cutting grass because there was none to be cut.  There was a washing machine broken down that sat out side the back door and then there was a broken down refrigerator that sat outside the front door.  Sometimes you could find a "plant" or two growing on that refrigerator.  This home sat only a few hundred feet from the Flint River. 

The bathroom was well adorned with a few holes from the shot out plumbing that we had.  But my mother always made sure that the holes were covered with the prettiest Kmart throw rug.  We knew to straddle the holes in order to prevent injury.  The door to the bathroom was off the hinges however if you wanted any privacy while doing the do you just leaned it up against the wall.  Let's face it there was no privacy because well it was a single wide trailer. 

My dad paid $500.00 for that trailer and pulled it there with a tractor.  So that right there tells you the quality and value of the structure itself, however the memories are priceless.

This is where I lived the day my dad got caught running moonshine.  Talk about embarrassing.  I was in the sixth grade and it wasn't bad enough that my brothers and I were called Swamp Rats already, now throw that in the mixture and we were true Swamp Rats. 

This is where I lived when I found out there was no Santa Claus. 
This is where I lived when my heart broke for the first time because of a stupid boy. 
This is where I lived when my grandmother passed away.
This is where I lived when I learned how to swim. This is where I lived when I learned that sometimes a friend to your face is not a friend behind your back.
This is where I lived when I also learned that a true friend doesn't care what you live in they like you for who you are and not what you have. 
This is where me and my brother drove barbies in a truck around the tree out front.
This is where I lived when I learned how to fry fish all the while standing in a chair. 
I watched my mom cry here and I watched my mom laugh here. 
I witnessed many family gatherings under that same tree out front and watched my dad work on an engine there. 

The memories go on and on..... they are never ending some are good and some are bad..... nevertheless they are there and they are valuable yet priceless. I can't wait to share some of the stories with my grandchildren one day. 

I Was Redneck When Redneck Wasn't Cool

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "my family was rednecking it long before Duck Dynasty came along and they continue in their redneck ways."

A funeral doesn't stop the show.

- If you excuse yourself from the funeral procession that is on the way to the grave site to make a pit stop at the store for a case of beer in hopes of making it back in the procession without being missed, you just might be a redneck.  

 - If you excuse yourself from the graveside service because nature is calling and you head to the trees to relieve yourself only to be seen coming out of the woods zipping up, you just might be a redneck.   

       My 38 year old cousin  passed away unexpectedly earlier this year.   He had suffered many ailments throughout his life and was not in the best health; however his death was a surprise to many. It was especially surprising to those who were the closest to him; his two beautiful sisters, his mother and father as well as the rest of his extended family; cousins, aunts and uncles.  

 

       When I paid my respects that Friday evening, his sisters were speaking with the Pastor about some of the many memories that they shared with their brother....... For a brief moment you could see a little twinkle in their tear stained eyes and a smile brighten up their faces. Of course in true Angie fashion I had to put my two cents worth in and we all started talking about “when we were kids.” We talked about how our awesome Granny would cook EVERY weekend, Saturday and Sunday for the entire family. On any given Saturday or Sunday there could be at least 30 or more people at her house (single wide trailer with no central heat or air and no dishwasher) She would cook chicken, fresh beans or peas, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, soup, biscuits, cornbread, corn on the cob, pot roast, meat loaf, collard greens or turnip greens or both, and the list goes on and on. Needless to say her cooking would put any buffet to shame. Everything was ALWAYS homemade and most of the time from Papas garden. Don’t even get me started on her homemade desserts.

         It was during these gatherings that the small army of cousins could most of the time be found getting into some sort of mischief. We would walk to the river, go fishing or swimming or both, try to walk on a frozen beaver ponds, play endless hours of softball in our dirt yards (we really didn't have that much grass), pretend to make moonshine, play hide and go seek, jump out of poison ivy drenched trees into the river, play with turtle eggs (yes turtle eggs, they bounce), cuss, steal beer out of unsuspecting parent's coolers, cuss some more, argue and fight, but most of all, love, laugh and make memories. We made memories not realizing that 20 or more years later we would be sharing them because one of our own would be gone. Thank God for those memories.

       Now you are probably wondering what all of this has to do with how this story began, with the redneck jokes. Well I shall enlighten you all. My family that would be mainly my mom and brothers think I put EVERYTHING on Facebook. Well that is simply not true. There are tons of stories I could share, however as with everything else in life, it is all about the timing. And God has a funny sense of timing..... I unfortunately could not attend the service on Saturday due to a prior commitment that  could not be broken  that I actually had forgotten all about…. However I was quickly told about the day and as with most Garner gatherings, there was some sort of shenanigan occurring, not even a funeral can stop them.

             My cousin sent me a message  to tell me that even through their tears, they have found laughter and it was because of another cousin and an uncle that they have been able to find that laughter. (I am omitting the names only because I didn’t ask them for permission and I know I could ask for forgiveness later, just trying to do the right thing just this one time though, don’t get used to it people)

             Apparently as the funeral service was wrapping up one of the cousins found it a prime opportunity to head out in front of everyone to make a stop at the store for a little fuel and a drinky drink. The problem is they just weren’t fast enough. As he is making is exit from the store with a case of beer, there goes my cousin in  his final ride to his resting place along with the rest of the family. Then as the family is gathered at the grave side paying their last respects one of the uncles is spotted coming out of the woods after a quick trip to relieve himself, his bladder just could not wait a minute longer.

 

          Now there are some people that would think, how redneck and I can’t say that I would not disagree. But it’s that kind of redneck that my cousin  lived and loved. After all, he was a simple man. His sister said, "this is exactly as he would have wanted it and it was the perfect way to send him off."   She went on to say that her sister wanted to share this story for the world to know about  the family that they love so dearly. And since I love telling stories, I volunteered to help her with the story.

           In my lifetime, I have found laughter in some of the most painful situations. The laughter to me was truly the medicine that I needed. And the laughter that my cousins, his sister  have found is just how their brother wanted it and is what they needed. They have laughed until they cried which is much better than crying until you laugh. As the weeks go by, they will not miss their dear brother any less, they will however be able to look back and reflect on his final days and know that even in his death memories were made

I Am Really Thankful For This Stuff

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "I kind of slacked on a few days of the thirty days of thankfulness so I am going to sum up a few things I am really thankful for."

During the thirty days of thankfulness people posted mostly the obvious things that they were thankful for; family, friends, jobs, food and a roof over their head.  I too am thankful for those things but I thought I would let you in on a few things that I know I have at times taken for granted until I didn't have them. 

1. Central Heat and Air -  If you have never went without central heat and air then you can't appreciate this, however I have been without both and there is nothing like CENTRAL HEAT AND AIR.  My grandmother was the mass collector of them sticky fly traps.  You could walk into her single wide trailer on any given 100 degree summer day and see at least twenty of them things hanging around.  Even with central air she may have had a few flies enter her home, but not enough for twenty sticky fly traps hanging from the ceiling.

We had a wood burning stove or a kerosene heater most of the times for our heat at my houses.  There is nothing worse than heating the front half of your body to a good toasty level only to have the back half of you frozen solid.  You just have to keep turning and turning like you are a piece of fish being fried  until you get a good toasty feeling on both sides and then by that time the wood has burned down and you have to go outside to get more.  I've never really had that problem since central heat and air....  I am blessed.

2. Dental Floss -  How can anyone go without flossing?  I seriously think I could compare it to crack for me, although I have never tried crack. Hence if I had I probably wouldn't care about the flossing.  I have to floss at least three times a day.  And I am thankful for those little pickers that have the floss on the end.  HEAVEN in my mouth I tell ya. 

3. Make-Up -  Yes I know not everyone wears makeup and not every woman needs it, I however love putting on my make-up.  I do not feel complete without my make-up.  It is just another accessory for me and I rarely leave the house without it. There is  only one other thing makes me feel more like a woman and that is number four. 






4.  High Heel Shoes - Anyone and everyone that knows me knows my love for the high heel shoe.   I feel taller, more slender, more powerful and sexier in my high heel shoes.  There is no other explanation needed.  I love the person that invented them.  I can look at shoes like some people look at, well you know... cough cough.....

5.  Bubble Bath - What lady doesn't like a long bubble bath?  Have a drink in hand, feet propped up, pondering on the day's issues and planning tomorrow's escape.  I can sink in bubbles for hours, at least until the kids need something, then it is party over.

6. Pencil Skirt -  Now not all figures should attempt the pencil skirt and I am not saying that I am all that and a bag of chips or that I will be winning any of The Next Top Model episodes. But just as my make-up and high heels give me a little pep in my step, let me put on a pencil skirt and I will conquer the world.  I no longer fight the battle of my curves or try to hide them.  I will never be the size of a pencil so I embrace the next best thing.


7.  Laughter - Everyone laughs for different reasons, I laugh for a lot of reasons.  I am very thankful for my coping mechanism of laughter.  I think it is much better than crying especially since the crying can affect my number three. 

Now as I stated these are just a few things that I am thankful for and I really wouldn't want to have to go without them.  I have been without all seven of them and that is what makes me appreciate every single one of them. 

Single Wide Trailers Are Not for Santa Claus

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "living in a single wide trailer makes it difficult for Santa  to fulfill his mission without getting noticed."

I remember being around ten years old and it was Christmas time.  This particular year I suppose my parents had a little extra cash to spend on Christmas and therefore my mother and I made a trip to Roses Department Store. 

We walked through the store looking at all the Christmas decorations and the different toys that they had on display for the children to pitch fits about wanting from Santa. My mom and I strolled the aisles taking a look at decorations first then moving on to the toy section. 

Of course as a ten year old little girl I looked at the dolls,  barbies and play make up.  But then as we kept walking my eye caught the vision of something so magnificent that it took my breath away.   

There it was..... the prettiest bicycle that I had ever seen.  It was purple and white and it had a banana seat with a basket on the front and tassels hanging off the handle bars.  I remember telling my mother that I wanted Santa to bring that to me.!!!

Of course she went through the usual spill about she wasn't sure if I had been good enough that year for Santa to bring such an elaborate gift.  She continued to say that most likely I would be getting a bag of switches.  (well as long as I don't have to pick them out myself was my thoughts)

The next few weeks leading up to Christmas day were excruciating for me. It seemed a life time had passed before the day arrived.    I remember laying in my twin bed at night dreaming about that bike.  I asked my mom daily if Santa was going to bring it to me and every single time her response was, "probably not, Santa has been watching you and you probably will get a bag of switches."  Was I really that bad.??? Oh the agony. 

Now some may not know this but even at ten years old I was a people pleaser and the thought of me making Santa mad, well it just didn't sit right with me. The thought of me getting a bag of switches made me sick.  I didn't want switches. I wanted that bike!!!

As many that have read my stories know, at this particular time in my life  we lived in a single wide trailer.  It had two bed rooms and one bathroom.  There was a front door and a back door, however they were both on the front side of the trailer.  I shared a room with my two brothers.  The room had their twin bunk beds, my twin bed and one dresser with four drawers.  Our room was right beside the living room which was beside the kitchen. 

In the living room we had a wood burning heater. This heater caused great concern with me. I was very concerned with how Santa was going to fit down that pipe.  I guess city kids with real fireplaces never had to worry about that. We had a small Christmas tree about four foot tall that my mom always tried to adorn with the prettiest ornaments. It was placed on top of an end table and in the corner in order to try to give us enough room to function. Needless to say the trailer was not extravagant, but it was home.

Christmas finally came and as with most children I found myself not able to go to sleep. I really tried everything that I could.   I flipped the pillow at least twenty times to get the cold side.  I hummed. I closed my eyes and counted sheep. I went to the bathroom to pee and was yelled at.  I really did try to go to sleep. 

I guess my parents waited until they thought we were sound asleep and then my dad ventured out to his destination.... toy storage....

Within minutes I could hear one of the two front doors squeak open and I could hear voices and rambling of paper.  Then I heard my mom say, "Lawd she is going to be so excited, she done made herself plum sick worrying bout that bike."

What????  Did I just hear what I thought I heard?  I am getting the bike!!!!. After all I am the only she in the house besides my mom and I have never seen her ride a bike. 

Excited as I was, a slight disappointment overcame me.  I knew what I was getting.  But now I didn't want to disappoint my parents by letting them know that I knew.  I could hear it in their voice how excited they were to give me what I had requested.

Now I am in a different turmoil.... How  will I pull off acting like I don't know what "Santa" has brought me.  Morning came and as I sleepily stumbled into the living room I shrieked with excitement at the sight of my new bike.  I was pleased and my parents were pleased.

That was a great Christmas. 

Veteran's Day and TAPS

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "when it comes to the military service of our men and women I am forever thankful."

As with every year, this year I attended the Veteran's Day Celebration they have at the local Middle School.  I have been attending it for quite some time now since I have three children that have attended or is still attending that school.  This year my seventh grader seemed especially excited for me to attend.  That made me proud. 

As usual as I sit through the ceremony and the various components are presented there are instances when a tear or two will come to my eyes.   I try to fight back any tears in order to avoid smudging my mascara. 

When people ask me about my service I am always proud to tell them that I did serve in the United States Navy as a Hospital Corpsman. Then the next question comes; "How long did you serve." And I always reply, "well I just did my four years." 

I am not sure why a part of me feels as if those four years weren't enough.  I almost feel that because I only did four years, never was deployed and pretty much remained at one duty station my entire enlistment that I somehow am not a true Veteran.

The truth of the matter is that,  I am a Veteran  and I am proud to be called a Veteran.

However I will say this, , I realize that my time served is nothing in comparison to the time served  by countless men and women of our great country.  As I stood there and they called out each conflict in which you stood and received your certificate, I was in complete awe of some of the men and women.  There were some that had served during multiple conflicts, was in the line of fire, had been injured, sent back into the line of fire,  and was still alive to be recognized on this day.  They received their certificate as if they were receiving the Purple Heart. 

I felt a sense of peace and pride  knowing that these individuals paved the way so that when it came my time to serve I had the freedom to do just that and I did it to the best of my ability. 

During the ceremony a young boy was prompted to play TAPS and he did it well.   As with every time I hear TAPS a tear trickled down my cheek.  I looked up in the bleachers and knew immediately that my son would be looking at me.  He was.  He knew that TAPS got me in the gut.  Now prior to enlisting had I heard TAPS, I would not have been nearly affected.  However I know the cost and I know what TAPS represents now and I will cry every time I hear it.

I stood there listening, with hand over my heart, trying to fight back the tears and I thought to myself, "I wonder if this young boy realizes the importance of this piece that he is playing?"

Twenty-four notes. It's a simple melody, 150 years old, that can express our gratitude when words fail. TAPS honors the men and women who have laid down their lives and paid the ultimate sacrifice for the cost of freedom. 

I am not sure that all those children in that gym knew that day what they were listening too. However I know that me and all the Veterans that were present knew.  Freedom does not come without a price.

I am thankful that I made a decision twenty years ago to join the United States Navy.  I learned and experienced things that had I stayed in this one horse town I would have never known.  I also met a lot of people that to this day I still call friend.  Many are Veterans now and some are still enlisted.  I say thank you to them all. 

November 11, is Veteran's Day.  Be sure and thank a Veteran.

Their Words, My Voice

If These Heels Could Talk they would say that, "sometimes we have to speak for those that can not speak for themselves."

As you may or may not know, October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month and domestic violence is something that I take very serious. I myself having been a victim of domestic violence in more ways than one and I find the numbers alarming.   I am a huge advocate about empowering those that are victims to be brave and speak up.  But I also know that sometimes even the bravest can get to the point where they no longer have the spirit to "fight" back. Or maybe they have spoken up only to be told to be quiet. 

I struggled as to whether I wanted to write this story or not because it is not a funny story at all and I most of the time try to stick to the humorous side of things.  If for nothing else but the simple fact that this world is already full of evil and everyone needs a good laugh.  This story will also reveal a part of my history that has never been told. 

However as I  put more thought into it and God whispered to me like he does sometimes, it was evident that I should go with the flow and do what I do best and that is write about my experiences.

I in no way view myself as a Pulitzer prize writer, I am just a simple person that carries a lot on my mind and in my heart and have found that writing helps get this out.  However, it was brought to my attention that sometimes what I write about others gain inspiration from.  I never in 100 million years have looked at myself as an inspiration. I was just doing what I needed to do for me, for my therapy. 

Recently I had a chance to audition for an upcoming movie that will be filmed near and surrounding my community. The name of the movie is Virtuous and is based on the lives of five different women and their different traumatic life  experiences and how they worked through them.

There were a couple of roles that I was interested in, however with the help of a friend (Jenny)
I ultimately came to decide on one that I thought would better suit my personality.  It was during my evaluation of which character I wanted to audition for that it was revealed to me that I should indeed write this story. 

There was a specific line in the script that spoke volumes to me, it read speak for those who can not speak for themselves; ensure justice for those who are perishing.

Now flashback to me when I was eight years old.  I remember loving to wear dresses every chance that I got.  I also remember this one particular day my mother, daddy and myself went to visit some of their friends.  On this day I wore my wedges with the strap and a cute little dress.  This memory sticks out like yesterday for me. 

The friends of my parents had an older son.  I do not remember his exact age but I remember that he was a teenager. And I remember hating him after that visit.  While we were there I made my way back to the restroom that was off from one of the bedrooms.  As soon as I came out he was standing there and he said to me, "I see that you are all dressed up for me and I see how you are looking at me." 

At eight years old I was terrified.  I had no idea what he wanted to do or what he was going to do, but I knew that he was up to no good.  I looked over and could see that he had shut the door to the bedroom. In the blink of an eye he had pinned me down to the bed and covered my mouth so that I could not make any noise.  The next moments went by so fast and I remember squirming with every bit of muscle I had to get him off of me. I remember kicking, twisting and fighting to get him off of me. And then I remember biting him so hard that he stopped what he was doing and I got the hell out of there. 

Now I tell that part of the story to say this.  I never told a soul about that day, until I just typed it out.  I didn't tell because I was scared I would get in trouble. I didn't tell because I thought that I had done something wrong.  I didn't tell because I felt terrible.  I didn't tell because I was embarrassed. 

Now that I am older,  I realize I should have told someone.  I should have told someone until someone listened.  By me not speaking up, I am almost certain that others were affected by this sick person.  Had I spoke up others could have been saved. 

So why do I tell now? It is simple.  If one person can read this and be encouraged or inspired enough to speak up about any type of domestic violence against them, then that is one person that can be saved. 

If others read it and think, I really didn't need to read that or if they wish they never knew that part about me, then so be it and I wish them well.  I assure you the pain of anyone reading a story like this has no comparison to what pain a person that experiences it carries. 

We have got to stop the cycle of domestic violence and abuse.  And the only way to stop it is to confront it and the people that are committing these crimes. 

I am a very vocal person now. And for a very good reason.  I will never not tell my story again for the fear of embarrassment.    I fight for those and what I believe in and I will never be quiet about anything that I know is wrong.  And if I see that someone else can't speak up for themselves then I will do it for them. I will use their words but my voice. 

Spoons Forks and Switches Oh My

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "even as a kid OCD can be a pain in the rear."


My mom and I made our way to the Roses shopping store. I guess that is what you call it.  It is hardly an upscale department store. I was around 9 years old. 

My first memory of this store was on the kitchen utensil isle. This memory stands out not because we racked up on some shopping but rather because of the mess I made.  Little ole Angie was fiddling with the serving spoons, the forks, knives, etc.  And my mother had already told me one time to stop it and like any other kid that listens well, I kept fiddling. 

I took notice of a set of forks/spoons that were tangled and made an effort to get them straight.  OCD can start as a child. As I tugged and pulled and twisted on those utensils the entire shelf came down.  I am not talking one shelf, I am talking the entire wall. Utensils went flying everywhere.  The noise itself would have woke the dead.  I looked at my mom fearing for my life and she looked at me and said, "now what are we going to do about that?" Then she grabbed my hand turned with the buggy/shopping cart (depending on which part of the world you are from) and we walked away. 

 I was scared out of my mind. All the way home all I could say was,  "please don't tell daddy."  I wasn't sure of much but I was sure I didn't want my legs switched.  She confirmed that she was going to tell my daddy and that he would be the one handling the punishment, especially since she had already told me to leave them alone.  My failure to listen and my OCD was going to be my downfall. 

We arrived home and parked the Nova on the hill to ensure we would get a good roll back for the next adventure since the transmission was shot to hell.  I slowly got out of the car and made my way to the trailer with the two front doors, dragging my feet in the red dirt (grass wouldn't grow), with head hung low. It was definitely a walk of shame. I made it last for as long as I could. 

I entered the trailer and made my way past the bathroom with the door off the hinges and mine and my brothers room with the set of bunk beds, a twin bed and one dresser.  I plopped on the couch that was directly across from our wood burning heater.  And waited......

Once my dad came through the other front door he made his way to the recliner beside the couch across from the wood burning heater.  And my mom began to tell him the story.

I immediately felt very nervous and a lump came to my throat. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and my heart was pounding so hard I was certain the mice could hear it.

As she finished telling him the story they both looked at me and started to laugh.   They laughed that uncontrollable laugh that makes your belly hurt.  I was a little confused. My dad looked at me and said, "now from now on do what you are told or the next time I will get cha ass."

I looked at him and nodded. I left the room wondering what just happened. 

Twenty seven years and three kids later I know what happened.  Kids can and will do some outrageous things.  Some are those moments when they deserve a harsh punishment, maybe a spanking and then there are those moments when the punishment is the fear of the father itself and a spanking isn't necessary.

They weren't laughing at me as much as they were laughing at the situation with all the utensils flying off the wall, people staring and me and mom getting the hell out of dodge. They knew I had suffered enough on the ride home and that itself was my punishment.

Me personally,  I am okay with that.  I never liked my legs getting a switching. It stings.


p.s. These heels have no relevance to this story. I just happen to like them.

Deer Season In and I Am Sleeping In

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "I might be from the country but childhood trauma cured me of ever wanting to hunt."

Thank you dad I am still paying for those therapy lessons.

You see what had happened was.....

Growing up my mother never let me and my two brothers go anywhere with our dad.  Well they would get to go hunting and fishing for the most part, but me I always stayed at home with my mom to do our womanly duties: cook and clean.

It wasn't that my dad was a bad dad, my mom was just protective of us and knew that my dad on most occasions was unpredictable and subject to show up at a poker game or some other shenanigan at the drop of a dime.

However, my mom made an exception one Sunday afternoon, the first and only time.  Now that I am a mother of three, my thoughts are that she was just shy of losing her last nerve before a complete nervous breakdown and therefore said, "what the hell, let them go."  So we went. This is my first and last hunting story. 

My dad never traveled anywhere without having at least two different kinds of riffles in his vehicle of choice.  On this day, it was no different.  I was ten years old.

It was a  bright, sunny, yet bitterly cold Sunday.  I was wearing my favorite purple and white sock cap and scarf.  Actually it was my only sock cap and scarf, nonetheless it was my favorite. It was soft and fluffy and kept my head and neck warm.  Since my hair was in the style of a little boy's this attribute of my apparel was especially important to me even at ten years old. 

This trip that we set out on came about when my dad got a hankering for something to wet his whistle.  And as you may or may not know twenty years ago they didn't sell any whistle wetting beverages on Sunday in Georgia. So off we go, venturing out for someone or  something that might sell a fine brew. 

We make our way via every possible dirt road that we could find to wherever it was we were going.  Traveling on the paved roads would have been too much of a luxury. The first stop was to pick up my dad's friend Bo.  There was just enough room in that Nova for the five of us and the artillery that my dad elected to carefully stow away just for rides like today.  He was always anticipating the kill.  The kill meaning, the kill of anything that could be cooked, fried, boiled, stewed, baked or grilled. Nothing was an exception. 

As we continue on this journey in search of the finest brew that could wet a man's whistle on this Sunday afternoon, the car comes to a sudden halt on that dirt road we were traveling. And there she was....... looking out into the pasture all ten eyeballs was on one of the prettiest female deer that I have ever laid my eyes on. "oohhh look!" I squeal in my ten year old voice.

"Shhhhhhhhhh" All four males in the vehicle say to me at once.  I was immediately scared to silence.

"You will scare her off with all that chatter." My dad quickly explains. 

So I sit there along with my brothers in silence.  My dad takes one of the rifles that he always has in tow and slowly raises it up out of the driver's car window and the next few minutes are a blur. 

I hear the gun shot, feel my ears ringing and I see the deer fall to the ground.  The next sounds were some of the most God-awful noises any ten year old has ever heard.  The deer was wailing out in pain. My dad had shot her in the right hind leg, injured but not killed her.  He quickly hands one of my brothers the gun and tells us to take the gun and hide in the woods. 

Well this Sunday ride has really turned into a dramatic sequence of events.  "My momma is gonna be so mad." Is what I was thinking. 

So my brothers and I make our way over the barb wired fence and lay down under some brush and bushes and we wait for what seemed like an eternity. 

As we are lying there we suddenly hear what sounds like another car drive up and then I can hear the squeak of a brake and then we all hear a lady's voice yell out, "I am calling the law, this is private property and you are trespassing." 

My little heart was pounding out of my chest, I immediately start to cry.  My brothers are loving every minute of this less than desirable turn of events. They both tell me to,  "shut up with the crying."

All of a sudden I hear my daddy's voice saying, "c'mon young'uns get cha asses in the car."

Hmmm why is he mad at us, I never wanted to get out of the car.... anyway we make our way out of the brush and bushes and my brothers clear the fence.  Of course they do they are boys.  I get to the fence and immediately panic at the site of the prickly things sticking up ready to rip my flesh.  I really was not up to getting injured on this Sunday. 

I continue to slowly try to clear the fence without injury and then feel a hand on my pants at my waist  and shirt and the next thing you know I am over the fence thanks to my dad's super human ability to "snatch my ass over the fence."  I did make it without injury but not without loss.

My scarf, my favorite scarf, my only scarf got hung on that damn fence and I could see it hanging as I looked out the dusty rear view window.  I could suddenly feel a chill on my neck and all the events within the last half hour took control of all my emotions and I began to cry. I was sad for that deer and I was even more sad that I had got my scarf caught on that fence and my dad left it there. 

I don't even know if my dad and his friend Bo ever got that deer.  If I had to guess they did.  They didn't bother getting me my scarf though and that just doesn't sit right with me.  To this day I will not hunt, don't care to hunt and you will not find me hunting.  I am not against anyone else doing it because as a matter of a fact I love me some deer meat.  I will however let someone else do the dirty work and  bring me the deer meat.

My mother never let us go back on a Sunday ride with my dad again.  I can't say that I don't blame her.

Concert Attendance Can Teach You A Thing Or Two

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "I never let a day go by without learning something new.  A trip to a concert was no different." 

This past weekend me and some of my  friends headed a little south to take in some tunes at a concert of one of our favorite, fine as wine, country singers, Mr. Luke Bryan himself.  All but one of them had ever had the pleasure of partaking in adult shenanigans with me and I was not about to disappoint her. 

First of all, in true Angie fashion I wheeled it up in my girl's driveway at fifteen minutes past the time I was due to arrive.  Hey it wasn't my fault the lady at the nail salon had a malfunctioning swipper machine and I had to drive to the bank, get money out and take it back to her... just saying.... 

So I scramble out of my car, grabbed my necessary adult beverage, my purse with everything but the kitchen sink in it and head to get in my friends vehicle.  All eight of us packed it in like a can of sardines and set off to make a few memories.

Within ten minutes of the trip I am politely asked, "Hey Angie do you have any more stories about Cooters Catching on Fire?" In which I respond, "no however when I do you will be the first to hear it."  Of course those that had not heard the story had to be filled in quickly.  p.s. if you wish to know that story read about it in my blog....... it is a knee slapper.

So we continue on our merry way, and within twenty minutes, as I am telling a story I drop the F bomb and my girlfriend politely nudges me in the arm. This was just her way of reminding me of my ability to use this F bomb more often than I probably should.  I think we even said something about getting me a shock collar or something.  Well the young lady and a new found  that had never been around me said, "and here I was worried about my foul language skills, I don't feel so bad about myself."  It is always a good day when I can make someone else feel good about themselves.




After a stop at the gas station for a top of  fuel and my adult beverage and a stop or two for me to pose with a pallet and a truck since apparently I could not find any other photo props, we arrive at our destination.





The place was not short of teenagers and young twenty some things.....All dressed in their concert attire, drinking their beer, wearing their boots, smoking their cigs.  The guys trying to impress the ladies and the ladies sticking their nose in the air. 

I like to watch these creatures in action and I will say that they did not disappoint me at  and taught me a few things.

THE THINGS I LEARNED FROM THAT TRIP

• A lot of young people and I refer to anyone that is younger than myself, have no sense of humor. I find someone with no sense of humor repulsive.

• A lot of young people have no sense of direction.  When I ask, "hey do you know where I can find a good corn hole game?"  then by George I want to know.  There was only 1000 games of corn hole being played at one time.  Point me in the general direction.  They just looked at me like a deer in the head lights.  Clueless I tell ya.  

• Some young men can be quiet handsy.  If I have to say to you, "touch me one more time and I am going to punch you, and don't cry like a bitch when I do", then you best not try to pinch my ass.  Just saying.

• Most of these same young people do not know how to seize the opportunity.  Yes security was around but there was also a stage there calling my name saying, "jump up here Angie, you apparently don't have enough excitement in your life."  So that is what I did and I have the picture to prove it. See it is right there. ------------->>>>>

• Some young people have no manners.  If you want to be by the stage then show up early with the rest of us. But do not expect to show up late then push your way to the front with out even saying excuse me.  If they would have at least said, "excuse me" I would have let them by.  Manners go a long way people. 

• And finally something I already know but reaffirmed it at this concert, heels, holes and gravel don't mix.  That deadly combination will twist an ankle in a heart beat.

This concert trip had it all.   I laughed and I sang and I laughed and sang some more.  I spoke to complete strangers as if I had known them all my life.  And yes I wore the heels.

Conversation Detour Is Not Always A Bad Thing

If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "never compromise who you are for what anyone else wants you to be."  

Wow......

I looked and saw that it has been 16 days since I last posted anything.  I guess I just haven't had anything come to mind that I wanted to share with the world.  Well maybe not the world, maybe just a few faithful followers. On second thought they are my world so it all works out.

Why today? What do I all of a sudden feel like I need to share with the world, my world?

Simple but often forgotten. 

The minute you begin to compromise who you are for what someone else wants you to be,  you immediately  start losing a part of your identity and what you were truly put on this Earth to become.

Couple of rules:

1. Rudeness is not acceptable

2. Dishonesty is not acceptable

3. Laziness is not acceptable.

So if these attributes are a part of your core, then I would suggest a little self-evaluation and a plan to change them in order to get yourself on track. And I am speaking to myself as well.

A Few more rules:

1. Politeness is always the best route

2. Be trustworthy and the friend a friend would like to have

3. Work hard, be productive, keep moving and stay focused

I was recently told by an individual that I have an energetic personality.  She proceeded to say that I had the IT factor. She said, "you know what it means when people say she has IT." She also told me in this same conversation that people are either going to gravitate toward my energy and love it or people are going to gravitate toward my energy, like what they see and become less confident with themselves and do their best to bring me down.

What she told me was unsolicited.  I hadn't asked her what her opinion about me and my personality was at all. I hadn't asked about how I looked or felt.    We were actually speaking about business matters when this topic came to surface. 

After the conversation I thought about why on Earth would she feel the need to tell me these things. 

Then it hit me........

I do love life. I love to laugh. I love to sing. I love to dance (although I am not great at it).  I love to work. I love my family. I love my friends. I love people.  I love high heel shoes.   

All of these things that I love bring me so much joy but at the same time have brought me sadness.  I don't like to disappoint people at all and I have realized after 38 years that I will never be able to please everyone. 

My goal is not to please everyone. My goal is to be who I am and be good to those that are in my life.  And at moments I have tried to change who I truly was in order to prove my goodness to these people because that is what they wanted.  In the end, I lost a little bit of me.  The goodness was there all along and it just would have been greater coming from the real me. 


I think my friend must have seen the twinkle in my eye start to fade and maybe felt the need to remind me that the person I am is who I am supposed to be.  That doesn't mean that I think I am perfect with no room for change for the better.

I know that I have room for improvement.  I am impatient, moody at times, and a little bit hard-headed.  But I am also accepting, spontaneous, understanding, and willing to listen when the time arises.  If I call you friend then I damn well mean it. I will not go down without a fight and I fight for those and what I believe in.  And yes I am energetic on most occasions.  I can't help it, I am a passionate person. 

I am grateful for that conversation that took a detour from business to inspiration.  It was just another way of reminding me to not compromise who I am in order to be what someone else wants me to be.

So I will continue on this journey of life with it's little road bumps but I will be wearing high heels and laughing the whole way. 

Beer or Food - It Really is About the Heart

If These Heels Could Talk on this day they would say, "who am I to say the one with their hand out in need is really not in need."

Most of my days are exceptionally busy and it is a given that at some point there will be some level of stress that I encounter.  Of course it is all up to me whether I handle that stress like a champ or a chump. I will not say that the time of the month may or may not play a factor in the champ or chump part.  Yes I admit, we get moody. Just no need for anyone to point out the obvious.

I have three children in which I have equipped with cellular devices   Yes I am aware that 10 years ago this was not necessary and we all lived perfectly fine during this age.  I will admit I do like being able to text or call one of my kids when they are out and about.  One of my pet peeves is for them not to answer the phone if I call, especially when I pay and provide them with this privilege. I own it and I am just letting them borrow it, I just request that they use it responsibly.

As with most days, my youngest did not have his phone with him. And just like true Angie fashion I was running a little behind to pick him up from practice. Of course I have no way of contacting him to let him know this very important detail. 

Suddenly I received a text from a random number and it read: "this is Jacob where r u."  In which I reply, "on the way who is there."  He responds, "McNutt".

I know Coach and I trust Coach so I think I will see if he will just drop Jacob off at the track or field house since I have to go there anyway to pick up Victor and I really don't want to hold the Coach up any longer.   So I text back, "Can you give Jacob a ride to the track and I will be there to pick him up."  

And I get........ nothing.....

So I call Kayla and check to see if Jacob came home since sometimes he will catch a ride, nope not there.  So I call Coach and get no answer.  By now I am a little on the irritated side that my little lad does not have his cellular device. Oh my bad, that is for Candy Crush anyway.......

I get to the school and they are there and Coach checks his phone and says, "oh yea I see where you call and text, I never check this thing." Well I can't be mad at him, after all he was watching over my little lad and I don't pay for his phone. 

I then venture to the pharmacy to pick up my much needed meds, only to encounter a middle aged lady in what appears to be a needful situation. As I am pulling in she and a man are walking in the middle of the driveway, I refrained from yelling out the window or honking the horn and politely smiled.  MISTAKE...... That was her GO BUTTON.

I pull into the drive through and since my little lad and I had the windows down letting our hair blow in the wind she walked right up to the passenger window and asked for seventy five cents to get a drink.
  It was a little hot outside and her eyes were a little blood shot, she might have had the cotton mouth.  Lord knows some know that feeling.  I felt compelled to give her some cash and handed her a dollar bill.

Mind you I still have not received in hand what I was really there for, my needed meds.  I handed my little lad a twenty dollar bill and said, "run into the store and get you a snack and I will be right around."  Meanwhile our new found friend pounced on that and said, "do you have a little more cash, I am hungry too."  Well, she did look a little frail and her hair was disheveled.  I know when I get hungry I too can  look a hot mess.  So I proceed to hand her two more dollars, she replies, "thank you Jesus", and begins to walk.

"Well okay ma'am but I am not Jesus is what I was thinking."

As she is walking off my sweet little lad sprints out of the car and says as energetic as he could, "I have twenty dollars I can buy you something to eat."  She seems very excited about this.  He turns to me and I started shaking my head and mouthing  "no".  But by then the damage was done. He was on a mission and so was she.

By now the lady at the window has witnessed what just went down and has decided to kick her ass in high gear.  I thanked her for being expeditious in her process and pressed the gas.  My little lad had already rounded the corner and was in the store. 

I arrive at the counter to find them both alive and him standing there preparing to pay for the chicken that she had got from the deli.  My heart was relieved and my heart was full.  Neither was harmed and he was being a little man.

Most adults know just as well as I know what she probably really wanted.  But my little lad wasn't thinking anything like that, he heard her say, "I am hungry" and felt a desire to fulfill that need, of course at the expense of me, but nonetheless his heart was right. 

Once we got into the car I turned to him and said, "she probably really wanted beer." And I immediately felt like the cigarette butt stuck to the gum on the bottom of a shoe.

I was taking away from his blessing and her blessing by the words that I had just let roll off my tongue. 

I then said, "you know what son, you did the right thing." "You listened to her and you fulfilled a need and if she was lying about her need then that is on her and not you." 

I could see how happy that little deed for the day made him. Maybe, just maybe in my daily routines of rushing here and there and trying to be everything to everyone that I have taught my children something. 

We can't let other's deception and cruel intentions sway our decisions to do the right thing.  Not everyone is lying and not everyone is out to get you.  Yes I teach them to be smart, make the right decisions and know the difference between trusting and being trustworthy.  My little lad made me proud.

All three of us received a blessing today.