Beefs.

Does it make any sense to anyone out there that in most homes, the laundry room is by the garage and the kitchen? If it's a mud room, that's one thing...but my thought is this...you get dressed in the bedroom, undressed in the bedroom-(unless you've got something really FUN going on :) the sheets, comforters, towels for the most part come from that area...so why are the laundry rooms always somewhere in the house that you have to lug the baskets a half mile to get to the washer and dryer? And let's not even talk about if your laundry room is downstairs from the bedrooms. It's crazy. 

I've already bitched about the toilet paper dispensers in public restrooms in a previous post...but here's another beef I have with the public toilets. If you are a builder and you are putting a door on a stall in a restroom and you can't stand in the stall and open and close the friggin' door without straddling the toilet...don't you think that maybe an adjustment should be made so that you can actually get in and out of the stall???? Like...make it open to the outside, or add a foot or two to the surrounding stall walls so that someone can piss in peace without worrying about dragging their pant legs across a germ infested toilet seat. Maybe if their tool belts would fall into the toilet along with their cell phones while they are putting the doors on they'd get a clue. I'd love to see a big ol' sweaty guy trying to bend over while fishing his drill or hammer out of the toilet while the door he just installed was keeping him from moving around in the crapped space...oops...cramped space. That would make a great submission to America's Funniest Videos. 

I would be willing to bet that most women carry some kind of purse or bag. I HATE it when there isn't counter space or a hook to put my purse on- both in the stall or when I'm trying to wash my hands! I mean really...do you expect me to put my purse on THAT floor while I'm washing my hands? Hanging it on my arm or shoulder doesn't work while I'm scrubbing under the water because it falls down and jars my arm which inevitably makes me jerk and splash water all over myself. Just put a freakin hook next to each sink, please.

Another thing...people who have kids in their cars SHOULD NOT TALK ON THEIR CELL PHONES! First of all, NOTHING you could be talking about is as important as the safety of your children...and I mean NOTHING. John and I don't have children but we've been educators for a long time and I have to tell you this is a sore subject with me! Get off of your phone and drive your kids safely!!!

I'm very disappointed to find out that one of my favorite jewelry manufacturers - Brighton - is a company that at least some of their jewelry is made in China. I don't know how much of it...if it's all or what...but I'm still disappointed. I won't go into a political rant here, but just know that I'm upset. I still have several charms to put on my bracelet...and now...I'm reconsidering!

This is a random pic of me messing around wearing Teresa Sherrill's coat in my bedroom about 1985

Before I had RA, I really took things for granted. Like...oh...walking. I can't believe that when I was able, I didn't continue to exercise, work out and make sure that I was doing what needed to be done to lead a healthy lifestyle. Now, all I can think of is getting back to at least part of that. I'm on my way...in fact it's Yoga time here...so I guess this verbal rampage is coming to an end, but know this...I'm not finished. OH NO...I'm not even close...there will be more tomorrow!!! :)

Old pics of my Dad. :)

I figured since I posted old pictures of Mom yesterday, that Dad should be today! There are also a couple of Mom and Dad with my three older brothers. There are plenty more to come in the future! The handwritten note was to my Grandparents Sullivan on the back of his US Navy Company picture July 31, 1945. I had to scan it half and half which is the reason there are two pics of it. Dad wrote his buddies names on their hats in the picture. Dad passed away on February 8, 1992 the day before my 25th birthday. Dad was 64 years old when he died. He suffered with Liver Cancer.That was 19 years ago and I still miss him every day.

Bobby Lee Sullivan about age 14

U.S. Navy  Co. 901 W.B. Riley, SP. (A) CO. CMDR. July 24, 1945  U.S. Naval Training Center Great Lakes, IL

Mom & Dad with my brothers Bob and Mike with their new car! Not sure of the year yet!

Dad and two of his navy buddies. Dad is in the center. 1945 or 1946

Dad holding my oldest brother, Bob. Looks like a proud Daddy to me!

Dad after we had been working in the garden. Had to be 1986 or 1987- he was sitting in the kitchen breaking green beans!

Mom's pictures from her youth! 1930's & 1940's

These are pictures of my mom, Alpha Jane Dunn-Sullivan, from back in the 1930's and 1940's. There are plenty more...these are just the ones I've scanned recently! She is 82 years old now and still as funny as she was then!! :)                            

Sunshine, storms and RA

It's crazy to me how this freakin' disease works. I had hardly any pain yesterday except in my fingers. Today, I woke up and felt like someone had beaten the shit out of me with a bat while I slept. I knew it was coming...every time I rolled over in bed I was jolted by a lightening bolt of sharpness somewhere in my body. I hate taking pain meds, but sometimes I have no choice. This morning was one of those mornings. I know it's a combination of things...there's a storm front moving in, which means the barometric pressure is changing which equals pain...ALWAYS...and tomorrow is the day I take my Methotrexate and Humira injections. I can always tell a couple of days away from injection time that it is approaching because the stiffness and pain levels do increase slightly a couple of days before the meds get into my body. So, it's kind of this perfect storm...the weather and the fact that it is time for injections makes for a painful day.

I sat in the sun yesterday. It is the one thing that takes some of the pain away. Especially if I'm laying on a raft in the water with the sun beating down on me. It's truly the only time I'm 100% comfortable. No pressure on any joints, and the warmth of the sun penetrating into my joints (or at least that's how it feels) is such a relaxing and freeing sensation. Free from the stiffness and pain! 

If there are any Rheumatoid Arthritis patients out there who read this, please share with me! I'd love to know how others with RA cope with all of the symptoms, drug side effects, and just everyday things that sometimes seem impossible to do...like holding a dish to rinse it off or buttoning or unbuttoning a shirt. I've developed my own strategies...we all do, but...I'm curious about others!

This isn't an interesting or funny blog post. Just my thought process at this moment in time.

Bird poop during recess.

 It's Friday, the birds are singing, it's humid, warm and everything is blooming!!! I love it! I'm so sick of winter that I was about ready to come undone! It's so nice to be able to sit outside on the deck and enjoy life! I was watching a bird in the road this morning and it reminded me of a story that takes me back to 1st grade!

In 1st grade, our playground had several big trees on it. The big roots had grown up out of the earth and made great places for little bodies to sit and talk! On this particular day, I was sitting on one of the roots talking to Gretchen McWilliams when PLOP!!! I felt something wet and warm hit my head. I reached up and there was something gooey in my hair and on my fingers...it was...black...and white....and gross...."SICK!" A bird from up in the tree tops had just shit in my hair! I went to the teacher on playground duty and she sent me inside to have another teacher help me out. So, I begrudgingly, gave up the rest of my recess time to go inside and have the poop cleaned out of my hair. I timidly walked into the center room where the teachers all gathered on their breaks. They were all sitting at the table talking and drinking their coffee and I felt like I was interrupting some kind of private ritual. Of course, I didn't think in those terms as a kid, but those are the feelings I remember having. The teacher that cleaned it out was from the "older class". You know, the 2nd graders! She was Mrs. Eunice Oliver, who incidentally, is my best friend's aunt! I can remember standing in the bathroom with her as she used wet paper towels to clean it out of my locks...laughing the entire time....that made me feel much better about the situation, because she made it funny instead of weird. When I got home that day and told Mom what had happened...she just laughed...and immediately washed my hair! There's some kind of profound lesson in here somewhere, I'm sure...but the only thing I can think of is: Being a music educator is much like being a 1st grader...I have to deal with shit and it's usually on my free time!

Methotrexate Intolerance/Tolerance!

This information is for anyone out there who suffers from Rheumatoid Arthritis or knows anyone who suffers from it! The drug Methotrexate is a commonly used medication for RA. Many people think that they can't take it because of the awful side effects.  HOWEVER, here is an experience you may learn from!  When I started taking Methotrexate orally 7 or 8 years ago, it made me sick. When I got to the highest dose I could take orally and switched to injections...I had no side effects! But here's the crazy part...when my pharmacy switched drug manufacturers and I started getting one that had a few different ingredients, I started getting very sick...to the point that I was dreading taking the injection because the nausea, swimmy-wooziness, fatigue and weakness that came with it were almost too much to bear and it lasted for 2 or 3 days...by the time I was feeling better it was almost time to take the injection again! I figured my body was reacting to it after having taken it for so many years. So, my Rheumatologist said to split up the injection into two- so that maybe it wouldn't be quite so bad...I've been doing that since January and it hasn't helped! Last week, I filled my prescription and I noticed that the vial was different. It was a big vial instead of several small ones and so I thought maybe I'd try it one last time before I called my Rheumatologist to say get me off of it! I took half a dose...no problem. I took the other half...no problem. So, last night....I decided to try the full dose in one injection...this morning...I am very happy to say that I'm not sick whatsoever!!!! It has to be one of the ingredients (probably an inactive ingredient) that I was reacting negatively to. I'm going to call my Rheumatologist, my pharmacist and anyone else I know to let them know...BECAUSE...there are so many people who can't take Methotrexate...or think they can't because of the terrible side effects....but if you can tolerate it, it is such a wonderful drug in the treatment process in combination with other commonly used RA meds. MAYBE PEOPLE WHO THINK THEY CAN'T TAKE IT ACTUALLY CAN IF YOU GET IT FROM A DIFFERENT MANUFACTURER! 
I certainly hope this helps someone!!! I'm a very happy camper this beautiful day. 

The First Day.

I'm not sure how many of you remember your first day of school, but I was thinking about mine...my very first day of Kindergarten. I don't actually remember the school part of it, but I can remember getting ready and the time that lead up to the actual moment that we left to go to school. Isn't that strange???

I recall Mom getting me ready-helping me get dressed, brushing my hair, eating cereal, and then I brushed my teeth and Mom double checked them to make sure I'd done a good job. Then...I remember this...the most vivid part of my first day...standing in the door of our living room looking out at the front yard through the storm door. Mom was bustling about trying to get Michele and her things ready to go, and I was in a trance. I remember that it was beautiful outside. Sunny, windy, green grass and blue skies. The leaves on the trees were being whipped around by the warm breezes and I was amazed that they didn't fly off. They seemed so delicate. As I stood there, I noticed the daisies that grew by our front porch steps. They were almost as tall as I was. They gently swayed back and forth as the air currents rushed through their little patch of the flower garden that Mom had planted with the help of our little hands. I wanted so much to be able to pull those little, tiny, white petals off so that I could see how they were attached to that pretty, bright, yellow center. I watched as purple and white petunia blossoms in Mrs. Smith's pots that she had on old tree stumps in her front yard reached for the sun to touch them. It seemed as if EVERYTHING was in slow motion. I was experiencing everything at once. The toys in the yard, flowers, leaves, the tree bark, the sandy dirt was being swept into dirt devils in the baseball park field at the end of our street... It was all right there. My world. My house, my yard, my toys, my mom, my little sister, my daisies. All I really wanted to do was stay there...in my world...and play with Mom and Michele. My tummy was all butterflyie (I coined a new world) but I knew that if Mom said it would be okay...that this Kindergarten thing...whatever it was, would be okay. I heard Mom say..."What are you thinking about, honey?" I don't remember what I answered, or even if I did answer her, but I knew things were about to change in my little world. My daisie daydream was interrupted when Mom said, "Okay, girls...let's go!" I can remember each of us on either side of Mom, holding her hands...my little 5 year old self and tiny 3 year old Michele. Mom had her sunglasses on and her purse was on her shoulder. Her hand was so soft, I never wanted to let it go. She was chewing her signature Wrigley's Spearmint gum I could smell that sweet scent as she bent down and kissed my cheek. I must of looked at her with big eyes, because she said, "You're going to make a lot of new friends today, and you'll be home in just a couple of hours!" With that, we walked out the front door, and the wind softly blew across my face, ruffled my hair, and ballooned my dress. We walked across the porch, down the steps and as we went by the daisies, I reached out and touched all of them that I possibly could without being too obvious. Maybe my way of taking them with me. That's the last thing I remember. I don't remember getting into the car.  I don't remember getting to school, or meeting new kids, or meeting Mrs. Tatum, my kindergarten teacher...just the time before. It must have turned out okay, because I loved school. But, I remember the daisies.

I think this is actually my 1st grade picture...funny...I don't remember!

Camping with Gang Members.

For those of you who don't know us, this is my husband, John. This was our very first AND last camping trip the two of us ever went on together. Notice he's READING about fly fishing?! He's reading in his hammock. The hammock has a rope attached to it that he tied to a tree so that he could pull it and rock himself. The tarp over him - he adjusted depending on what time of day it was, and where and how much the sun was shining on his little patch of campsite. He has very fair skin and is constantly bitching about being in the sun even when driving or riding in the car and it is coming through the window!  We've both been on many camping excursions, just never with each other before this one! Now, don't get me wrong. We had a great time. Well, except the fact that this was during the time we were trying to find out what was wrong with me physically, and I was in a lot of pain. This trip was a way for us to kind of try and forget about all of that, however, the pain didn't really allow that to happen. But, we made the most of it! This camping area is down by Fairfield, Texas. I just thought it was funny...John, the hammock, the fly fishing books, and the rope.

The first evening we were there, in the brush around us there were so many raccoons, I couldn't believe it! I'd shine the flashlight into the woods, and all you'd see were these glowing eyes staring back! I was sitting in my camp chair by the fire and all of a sudden I hear something next to me...I look down and about 3 feet away from me is this messed up looking coon that was staring up at me. He wasn't right. (Insert laughter here from my family...that phrase is an inside joke!) He stared at me with this cold, crazy, calculating look on his face as if to say "Give it up, bitch." He looked as if he hadn't slept much...had these dark circles around his eyes...and a snarl that revealed sharp, yellowed teeth. I yelled and stomped at him to get him to run away...but he just stood there and then slowly sat down in the dirt all the while eyeballing me. I hadn't even startled him. By this time, John was at my side with a big-assed stick that he brandished with much enthusiasm at the crazy coon while yelling "Get outta here, you crazy son-of-a bitch!" and that nasty, half-witted, furbag slowly stood up and turned and strutted to the edge of the woods all the while looking back over his matted furry shoulder at us with those beady, devilish eyes. The rest of the night, Tardo Coon, as we came to call him because everything about him was slow...the way he moved, stared, thought...visited us frequently. Along with some of his gang members. I kept expecting to see little colored bandannas on their heads with their ears sticking out and bling hanging from their necks in the shape of trash cans adorned with acorns. 

John and I stayed there for two nights and that was enough for me. Too much pain and too many gang members. I was afraid of a trot-by that would end up with one or both of us being pelted with nuts, sticks and pebbles. So, we left and headed home for the comforts of civilization. Good Bye, Raccoons. And as for your gang leader...Good Riddance.    

Lovely Love Letters

Whenever I watch shows about history, I'm always consumed with these feelings of awe, gratitude and warmth. Inevitably there is a love letter of some kind-either read by the narrator or actually shown as it is being read. What always strikes me are the lovely ways in which these people poured out their hearts to one another. In particular, I adore they way that people would sign their letters to the adored one. I did a little research and found a few for you to peruse, however, I've only posted the final salutations from the letters. We've really lost the ability to express ourselves in this honest, revealing and beautifully flowered way. Our emails, texts, tweets and instant messages are convenient, to the point, abbreviated and blunt. The love letters of long ago, make me feel very comfortable. I think I have a very old soul. I don't think I've ever received a love letter. I've had notes in birthday and anniversary cards, but a love letter...to me...alas, it is not in my collection of writings between lovers.

All my affection embraces you.
James Madison to Dolley Madison 1805


Henceforward I am yours for everything....
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning (to Robert Browning)
(1806-1861)

Believe me your very devoted
Peirre Curie (to Marie Curie)

Adieu--Dearest, most beloved little wife-- Take care of your health-- and don't think of walking into town. Do write and tell me how you like our new quarters-- Adieu. I kiss you millions of times.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart 1790 (to Constanze)

Dear Molly I am tenderly, passionately, faithfully thine, Richard Steele
(Sir Richard Steele to Mary Scurlock - August 1707) They were married shortly after this letter was written!

Harry, bag lady, and me.

Inspiration comes from many different people for me. I have always loved John Denver and his languid, melodies and poetic, natural lyrics. I also love to listen to AC/DC, Maroon 5, Mozart, Michael Buble, James Taylor, Ratt, Rod Stewart...I like all kinds of music. For those of you who know me, you know that Harry Connick, Jr. has rocked my world since the 80's when I saw "When Harry Met Sally". This was the movie that really shot Harry to stardom...he did the arrangements for it and it's all great musical history! Bernard Laiben and I drove up from Cape Girardeau while we were in college to hear an early concert of his in St. Louis. After the concert, we hung out for a very long time, bought a bunch of stuff we couldn't afford and then we were walking around the corner going to the car and saw Harry's tour bus at the side of the building. So, we waited a little bit, posters, t-shirts and Harry paraphernalia in hand, when all of a sudden...there he was...walking out of the side door of Powell Symphony Hall. I took off running and yelled at the top of my lungs..."HARRY!!!! Can we get a picture, please??!!" He stopped right before he had to step up to get in the bus. He turned and looked at me and said "sure!" I put all of my Harry stuff in a pile on the sidewalk so I could run faster...I got about half way to him and this bag lady who had been across the street was now perched over my Harry bags and bobbles poking through them! I quickly yelled "Hey....those are mine!" She turned quickly and left...meanwhile...Bernard is still at the corner taking it all in and laughing his ass off at me. I very excitedly turned back toward Harry, his tour bus and his entourage, and started back into my mini sprint. By this time...Bernard was running too and was almost to us...I said...."Thank you so much...sorry about yelling at you!" He smiled and said in his sexy New Orleans drawl..."Oh...that's okay." Then...it happened...the moment I will spend the rest of my life cherishing...he put his arm around my shoulders, gave my shoulder a little squeeze as we faced the camera and click...my moment in time with Harry was forever put into a photograph. Of course, Bernard got a pic too! Many times I've thought about what could have possibly been going through Harry's mind at that time...it was probably something like..."Who is this crazy girl hollering at me and the homeless woman? It's all good...my boys are here and they'll take 'er down if need be." Now let me put this all in perspective for you. Last night as I was driving to meet my husband and some friends for dinner, I heard "Photograph" by Def Leppard. I had it on a classic rock station and they were playing some great 80's tunes! Anyway, I was thinking about all of the photographs that I've taken through the years...and it dawned on me that I don't know where that photo of Harry and myself is! So, I'm on a mission this week to find that photograph! I may have to ask Bernard if he has a copy of it if I can't find mine! Anyway, that is my story...the story of HARRY and my shoulder squeeze! By the way, being a music teacher, a musician and a music enthusiast gives me some clout to say this next thing...Harry Connick, Jr. is one of the biggest musical talents as we'll see in this century. I admire his musicianship and his southern drawl. His smile isn't bad either.  :) I have other Harry stories from college...but they'll have to wait for another time. When I find the picture....I'll post it! Thanks, Harry...you made college and my music degree a lot more fun!