Posts from the ‘Memorable Quotes By My Mother’ Category

A Plea To Miranda and Hilary

I gripe often about the current state of Country Music. So much so, I know it’s quite redundant and it makes me sound like I might possibly be running low on my Geritol.  Brace yourselves…for I am about to embark on a positive pontification about a couple of current Country Music people. This doesn’t happen often, nor can I predict when it will happen again. Soak it up, y’all.

I actually LIKE Miranda Lambert. There, I said it. She writes her own songs and chooses songs that have substance, a good beat and are easy to dance to. She can play a guitar. She’s from Texas.  She can harmonize. (Not everybody can. This brings large points with me from any singer)

I looove that Little White Liar song she sings. There’s some other song I’ve heard of hers that I can recall its title at the moment but I like it. I LOVE “The House That Built Me.” First time I heard it, which was not long after my mother died, I proceeded to burst into controllable tears and sobbing.

Admittedly, I have an issue with Miranda and Sheryl Crow singing with my Loretty on “Coal Miner’s Daughter”, namely because she doesn’t say “In the summertime we didn’t have shoes to waaaaaar; but in the wintertime, we’d all get a brand new paaaaaaar” like it was intended by the Good Lord to be done. (I am saying this in the same tone Loretty tells Doo in the movie that “You don’t put no salt in chocolate pie…you jess put shigger”)

Songs like “Coal Miner’s Daughter” should not be sung by anyone who is not the offspring of a coal miner.

Now, Patty Loveless was a Coal Miner’s Daughter as obviously was Loretta’s sisters Crystal Gayle and Peggy (PAIG-gy) Sue.   The kids of all those Chilean miners could sing it and I would be tickled! 

I have come to terms with Miranda and Sheryl singing on Coal Miner’s Daughter just because Loretta wanted them to sing it. That’s that.

Anyhoo, back to the newly crowned CMA Vocalist of the Year-Miranda is a beautiful young woman. One of the things that makes her so gorgeous to me is she is not anorexic like her pal here and looks like she’s eaten this week.  You can’t count the bones in her shoulder area. She looks healthy.

Her pal here looks pale and perhaps a little dehydrated. Somebody give Taylor some beans and cornbread!!! Stat!

Look at the gorgeous Hilary Scott of Lady Antebellum, who I ALSO like.

Something about Hilary that stands out is she is a brunette! She has curves. She can sing. Why she thinks she needs those other two guys to have a career, I do not know. 

I implore both Miranda and Hilary…please, PLEASE do not destroy your faces with plastic surgery.  And regardless of what your likely overweight publicists/handlers may try to tell you, you do not need to lose weight.  Even ol’ Reba is starting to get that scary, Mary Tyler Moore-look. Just don’t do it. Reba needed a little help. You girls do NOT. 

I did not watch the awards at all last night. I purposely skipped them. I realized late last night why I really didn’t have a desire to watch and it wasn’t because I feared upchucking over the off-key singing I knew I would hear.

Reason I didn’t want to watch was I knew I wouldn’t get multiple phone calls from Mom saying how much she misses Ernest Tubb and asking why that Sugarland girl kept showing her armpits.


Tap Tap: Is This Thing On?

Hey Y’all….

We’re still alive and kickin’ over here.  Mom is doing ok.  She had a little “spell” and had to make a detour back to St. Tom’s last week for some chest pain.  An arteriogram was done and she had some blockage but they’re going to watch it for the time being.  She’s back at the Rehab Place.  She’s bored outta her skull.  I tried to get her to go find her a rich widower.  She’s not enthused.

She has a couple people over there at the rehab place that are just the coolest.  One is a nurse named Sandra and the other is a feller named Insa who is from somewhere where they have beautiful accents.  Even when he says the word “Diarrhea” it sounds pretty.  Heh.  Dia-dee-uh.   Insa is the color of black ink and is unbelievable.  Mom calls him her “Pool Boy.” 

Thanks for your prayers, good thoughts/karma/vibes.

Barbara Jean’s Ghost

My mother, in her advancing age, continues to shock the heck outta me. 

When she shacked up (briefly, before she and her late husband Charles married) and had wine in her fridge?  I sorta went “Do what?”  But that didn’t make me go all Wile E. Coyote like this conversation I had with her the other day. It went a little something like this:

“Well, the Ghost showed up at work again.  I heard her”.  Now, she said this like she was telling me she had gone to Walgreens and picked up her Premarin.  (ALL my life, I’ve heard her talk about that.)

I thought I was hearing things. 

The same woman who always spake of how dangerous it was to mess with such things, was telling me about the Ghost at Work.  Do whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?

She went on and on about the flickering lights and odd happenings at her office building.  She even said….”Well, you know…somebody died there one time.  AND where that building is was a Confederate battlefield.” 

I’m not saying there is not ghosteses over there, I was just SHOCKED to hear my mother talking about it like that and then she was saying how she likes to watch that Ghost Hunter show.  Again, do whaaaaaaaaaaat?

There, she and Biff wouldn’t let us watch James at 16 or Three’s Company because of sackshul references.  Least there wasn’t no references to the Unexplained?

She was saying she didn’t want to go in a certain hallway or something and I found myself saying “Now, Mom…what you do is tell them to get on outta there cause you got work to do.”

It was just odd.


sunglasses.jpgI think when my time comes for cataract surgery, I will look awfully hot in the sunglasses, don’t you?

I had never had my eyes numbed before.  Ick. And. Ick.  The eye doctor pronunced my retinas pristine and said nothing about no funky nerves.  I don’t have glaucoma neither.  Praise!

All three of my offspring pronounced me as reminding them of Mimi wearing these things. That blessed me tremendously. 

 Which reminds me of when my mother had  cataract surgery done.  Most people don’t have complications with that surgery.  No.  Except my mother.  I don’t even remember exactly what the problem was but she was in a lot of pain.  I had to go get her and take her all the way out to Franklin…lead her in the office.  She was moaning and groaning.  It was great.  Even with her Grandma Collie Glasses on, the light was bothering her. 

l never forget leading her into the office and there was some little kid there with his grandparent and he ran and hid cause he thought Mimi was a monster.  Ahahahahahaha….it was all I could do to not lose it.  It was tragic because there was nobody there to share in my entertainment of the whole scene.  I texted my sister to try to share some of the humor in the moment, but, she didn’t find it so funny.  Well, it WAS funny.  It just was.

I’m curious as to whether there will be funny moments this Thursday when Mom has to have a surgical procedure.  She asked me the other day…”You didn’t tell your Blog (like my blog is its own person) about my bladder, did you?”  Not yet.  She has some polyps on her bladder, it seems so she’s going to get those taken care of.  Mom doped up is always entertaining. 

I’m not worried about her outcome yet.  I’m not going to worry until I need to.  So y’all who pray or do karma or whatever …throw some at the Meem, would ya?

A Note To Myself

 Dearest Sista…

In about 30 years, when you’re pushing 70, if you fall down and find yourself in pain and your grown child says “Y’know…you might arta go see about that”, just go. Why?

Cause, like, if you call your grown kid a week after said fall, at 10:38 on a Saturday night, just as she’s finally getting around to engaging in watching “A Donny & Marie Christmas”(I didn’t get around to watching any of my favorite Christmas movies til after the 25)  and say “I’m hurting” whilst making gasping for breath noises and grown kid says “Ok, I”m coming” and then you say “Well, come on and we’ll see when you get here” and Grown Kid says “Uh, no…if I come all the way out there, there will be medical attention” and then when GK arrives to take you for medical attention, you’re all like “I have to fix my hair” (like you’re going to be seeing anybody?) and then sit back and smoke a cigarette, choking GK so that she has to go outside (this will not apply to you then because you will never smoke again) and lollygagging in general while moaning and groaning and saying you don’t know if you want to go and then GK reminds you “You have a friggin’ stent in your chest and you are hurting there….you don’t mess around with that stuff now get in the car and come on”.

You go to local, Catholic hospital, giggle because there is a huge, life-size portrait of a late physician that used to treat your parents and whom you had a not-so-pleasant experience with back in Reagan’s first administration, that the ER is named in honor of.  You giggle because late physician with the ER named after him was Jewish and his face on one wall and Jesus on the other just makes you laugh.

The GK notices the waiting room is full of other Sandwich Generationers who have brought their parents in and you know that you are in for a long night.  You are escorted back to the room at 12:15, where you begin to fuss  and the GK tells you you must behave.

After waiting, and waiting, finally at 3:30, the doctor pronounces you as about to have an attack of Shingles and that chest xray looks good…no rib fractures, no lung problems (amazing because you do like your Marlboros).  GK lectures you on how you should’ve quit smoking 20 years ago and you tell about how you wish you’d have never started and that it was a dentist who gave you your first cigarette. (WTF?)  Ahh…but it was a bonding time in the ER, yes indeed.

The GK has to get home and doesn’t want to sleep on your couch because she has two boys at home alone, plus, she’s just plain wo’ out, but, she doesn’t mind at all seeing that you’re ok because you are her mother. The GK is also relieved that you didn’t have a heart attack, get a weird diagnosis of some sort of lung funk because she worries about you living alone 35 minutes away, not having neighbors who speak English and all.

The moral of this little love note in advance to yourself….just go see about whatever is ailing you when it’s daylight. Just do it.

Love, 39 38 Year Old You

And now, I am going to bed.


My mother, ever the pessimist who believes the glass IS empty and that computers are of the Devil,  is known for her stern safety warnings to her grown daughters, such as “It’s Friday night…all the drunks are out” and her famous “Watch out for lesbians in Atlanta.” 

She’s brought down another wise warning, this time, to my sister who is on vacation in New York City (New York City?) this week.  I think this one might be better than the lesbian warning….it’s pretty good:

“Don’t let the subway doors close on you.”

Like they’re going to get on the subway and just stand in the doorway?  I think they’ve watched enough movies to know that maybe one should move at a quick pace when boarding a subway in the Big Apple. 

Something else funny about this New York trip and my sister is going to kill me, and you might think you are smack dab in the middle of a Dry Spot post, but, that’s what she gets for texting me at 3:50 a.m. to tell me.  I usually wake up for a bit between 3 and 4:00 in the morning.  I don’t know why, but, I do.  I heard Nat King Cole on my cell phone (Nat announces my text messages) and wondered who in the world would be messaging me at that hour and it was my sister telling me that she had a gigantic hemorroid, that should be perfect for traveling. 

She texted me a little later telling they were on the ground in New York, along with some snow.  I asked her if the hemorroid enjoyed the flight and she said her everything felt good thanks to the Ativan.  Heh.

Sho’ Nuff

I called my mother tonight.  I had asked her earlier in the day if she had a specific document of mine that I need.  I knew she’d have it because unlike her youngest child, my mother keeps excellent records and is very organized. 

We chatted a minute about this and that when out of the blue, she says: 

“I’m sitting here reading Mama’s autopsy.” 

“Oh?” saith the Sista, wondering why she would be spending the evening reading her mother’s autopsy.

“Yeah….Mary (her sister in law) always said Mama had a hysterectomy.  I knew she never had one and right here it says Mama still had her uterus and ovaries.”

I will sleep really well tonight knowing Maw Maw still had her female parts when she crossed over to Glory.  I’m sure that got her some extra points at the pearly gates.  She bore a houseful of chirren and certainly earned whatever stars she got in her crown just off my Uncle Byee alone.  Stars or not, she still had her uterus, by golly.