Category: Jeanne Marie

How many of you almost froze your fingers off trying to get the neck and /or giblets out of the dang Christmas turkey? Well, my bird was as thawed as thawed could be. Except for inside, where the stuff was wrapped, in a plain white wrapper, which wouldn’t budge. After thirty minutes of spraying hot water into the cavity, much yanking, a few curse words, and one screwdriver, (non-liquid) I triumphantly jerked the stuff out of the turkey, whom by this time, I’d begun to feel sorry for. As I pulled it’s neck and body organs out from under it’s own ribs, I couldn’t help but think; this bird had been alive, hopefully, not so long ago, and what a sorry way to end it’s life. Undignified, to say the least. (As if I ever say the least!) Then I got to wondering—why can we send a man to the…

It seems to me that when I have time to write, my mind doesn’t cooperate and I don’t have a thing to write about anyway. Yet; when I’m busy, I have so much to write about and I don’t have the time.
I’ve been thinking about it because I have been extremely busy this past year, flying all around the country at least once a month and sometimes more often.
I’ve met three great grand-babies in two states, attended my nephew’s funeral, driven my daughter (who lives in Oklahoma) to court three times and then one more trip to deliver her to serve her sentence, reconciled with a sister and a daughter I have been separated from for about ten years, made several long over-due visits to family and my adventures have included numerous miracles.
I also had a miraculous operation on my right shoulder three years ago and I…

Although I would really like to win the lottery to help my family and friends, have money to fund shelters for the homeless, find ways to help women just released from prison and to be able to donate to dog rescue organizations, I am already rich.
I have flowers, fruit trees, a pink and yellow porch, the love of a damn good man who is sometimes cranky but accepts my crazy, three beautiful kids who at this minute are all speaking to me, fourteen grandchildren who think I’m Santa Claus, three great-grandchildren who will learn that I’m not Santa Claus, two funny angel Chihuahuas, a heated pool, an awesome house, my angel daughter-in-law Jessica, two incredible sisters, one whacked-out funny brother, a blue tooth speaker, a karaoke machine, butterflies who come when I call them….and I live in Florida.
I have thinkingpinkx2 to keep me on the Pink road and my wonderful friend who is the best…

I am my father’s daughter.
He taught me about reality, insanity and how to find crumbs of love beneath the rubble.
I listened to him for so many years, ranting and raving against society, the government and his bosses.
He was a mason.
He wouldn’t build fireplaces if the contractors didn’t build the houses to his standards and he always fought with his bosses until they would fire him or he would quit.
The excitement we all felt as he found each job and the despair we felt when he lost them was a roller coaster ride of emotions. Do we eat hamburgers versus do we eat saltines and peanut butter.
What he said when he was screaming and yelling was not always crazy. He was equally intelligent and creative, such a hard combination to juggle mentally. Very confusing.
When I first went to AA he was there during one…

Broken shoulder, crippled girl. Always in pain, always aware of every muscle and every bone, every bump in the road, every slight movement which jars her shoulder.
I know her. She is safe, familiar and predictable. She is not who I was, but she is who I have become over the past ten years. It started so innocently, shoulder pain I couldn’t manage. Then, two botched shoulder surgeries, rotator cuff torn twice, arthritis, the shoulder of an old woman. A fall off a porch which completely tears the rotator cuff off the bone. The doctor’s assistant says, “Your arm is f—–and she does nothing. Orders no tests, has no solution. She says, “Why bother, we know it’s destroyed.”
Broken shoulder, crippled girl spends thousands as she visits three more doctors in three different states and they politely tell her that they can’t help her. Two more doctors in Florida. (Four states total.)

FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS
PIECES OF THE PUZZLE

What type of man was your father when you were growing up? According to therapeutic folklore, every choice we make as women, every man we choose to love, stems from our relationship with our father. Whoa boy, if that’s true, then I’m in trouble! How about you? To all the daughters who had caring, nurturing and supportive fathers—congratulations!
To the other 95.9 % of my readers, keep reading.
Don’t get me wrong–I love my dad. I’m not quite sure why, but I think it’s probably quite simple–he’s my dad and I have been able to wring some sweetness from the most bitter of childhood memories even though Dad was a self-centered, angry, paranoid, schizophrenic, insane alcoholic.
He began going to A.A. when I was eleven but he continued to drink.
I was twenty-six and had been recovering from my own alcoholism for about…

Are you crazy? Not yet? Well, you can always try motherhood! It worked for me. Okay, so most women love babies. Women are attracted to babies due to a very basic, maternal instinct. Reason and logic are only slightly involved in this picture. The longing to have a baby is so strong in most women that those who can’t conceive are devastated. Babies are so precious, all soft and cuddly, and they’re even more adorable when they start to smile and coo.

Additionally, there’s no sweeter fragrance than the aroma a baby sends forth, fresh from his bath, swaddled in a Downy soft blanket. Combine that with the essence of Johnson’s baby powder and rare would be the woman whose hormones could resist the “maternal urge.” You visit your friend and her new baby one afternoon. When your husband comes through the door that evening you say, “Oh honey, I…