Ahhhh, Earl.  Your name rolls off the tip of my tongue like a salt and vinegar cricket.  You are something I really don’t want but apparently just might taste.

Here in Hampton Roads we are watching Hurricane Earl with great interest.  Will it hit us?  Will it not?  And even worse… THE BEACH HOUSE.  My mother’s house in the Outer Banks.  The one with picnic tables, benches and chairs simply waiting to become flying missiles careening towards the glass windows and doors of the living room and kitchen.

Should my mother go down and secure things?  I have to work so I can’t go down with her.  How would she move the heavy furniture?  These are the things we’ve been talking about today.

So far the storm is predicted to remain offshore, bringing us only strong winds, riptides and some potential flooding.  But the Outer Banks might get more of a direct hit.  Tomorrow I’m filling up my gas tank and getting much needed pet food.  All the prescriptions are filled and there is a sufficient amount of food in the house.  I haven’t gone the “bottled water route” yet, but time and the weather just may change that.

In 2003 we weathered Hurricane Isabel with gusts up to 83 mph.  One gust was strong enough to push me into my mother’s porch window, breaking it with my back.  If this storm stays 100 to 150 miles out to sea, we should be perfectly fine.  Isabel nicked from 25 miles away, which is significantly closer than the predicted path.

So stay tuned, my friends.  In a few days you may see pictures of a washed out Outer Banks.  I pray this won’t happen.  You may not hear from me simply because the power is down due to moderate winds.    If that is the case, you can find me on Twitter!  Or everything might be perfectly wonderful, with my house and the beach house completely intact.  Let’s go for the latter, shall we?

Update September 1 a.m.: As of this morning, better news!  However, my mother’s Outer Banks house will get some good winds. Cross your fingers that this is the correct forecast and that Earl will stay out to sea!  The kids will NOT be happy with this prediction, considering it means school is in session!

The drive last night to Corolla was a long one.  My tire light came on, dinner took 45 minutes and I had to stop and get gas.  But at 10:00 we were finally pulling in to the driveway of the beach house.

With our usual excitement, we opened the doors and took in the distinct smell of the salty ocean air. My 17 year old carried the cooler upstairs while I opened the back of the car.  Within two minutes of our arrival, my daughter and her friend raced to me yelling, “David broke his ankle!  Come quick!”

I looked around the car and saw my son on the ground.  That kid is tough.  Silent with a bit of sarcastic laughter.  I could tell it was bad.

Think back to your childhood.  Remember grabbing the rails of the stairway and flipping your body up and over about 6 sets of stairs?  David has always done this successfully.  Until last night.  When he failed.

I couldn’t get him up and he certainly couldn’t walk.  There is always that moment before you call 911 when you say to yourself, “Do I really need to do that?  Is it necessary?”  I deemed it necessary because it was either that or make the poor kid sleep in the sand writhing in pain.  I would call that a no brainer.

Fifteen minutes later the amazing Currituck Rescue Squad arrives, including a man that could have been a rival for Hulk Hogan.  My GREAT thanks to this amazing EMS team.  THANK YOU!

I have to tell on myself here.  He began to ask David questions and for the first three I answered for my son.  I know I know, but my kid was hurt and I had to call 911 for heaven’s sake!  I finally “got it” and let David answer so they could keep his mind off the pain and gage his physical and mental state.  Nobody’s perfect!

They splinted his foot and helped me get him in the back seat, elevating his leg on a lowered seat in front.  Just down by Mile Post 14, they said.  The emergency room.  Do you know where it is?

I had already been driving for two hours.  I had been up since 5 a.m. and had worked a full day.  But off we went.  Every turn, every bump I heard quiet mumbles through gritted teeth.  David did that too!  But we finally arrived near midnight.  I got him a wheelchair and the process began.

One hundred and fifty dollars later, we pulled in once again to the beach house driveway.  Only this time we unpacked with an air splint, crutches and Percocet.  And a whole lot of swollen foot.

My son had dislocated his ankle, tearing a ligament to top it all off.   The ER staff explained this is often more painful than a broken bone in the ankle.  On Monday, the poor kid will be hobbling along the corridors with his crutches on his first day of school.  And this weekend?  He didn’t even get to try out his new birthday flippers for body boarding.  Dang.

Monday morning we were saddened to hear that our warm glistening ocean dropped twenty degrees over night.  At a freezing 54 degrees, swimming was now out of the question.

So my daughter and I brought down our cast net and threw it a few times, pulling out a tiny bait fish who posed for a picture and was immediately returned to the briny ocean.

It was then that we spotted a school of baby blue fish churning the ocean’s surface in front of us.  “I’m going to go get my fishing rod!” my daughter exclaimed as she raced up the beach towards the steep wooden stairs.  I called out, “Don’t go!  They will be gone before you get back!  Elizabethhhhhh!”

I knew it was too late as her tiny little hind-end disappeared over the dunes.  Ten minutes later she reappeared with a fresh water rod, a hand towel, needle nose pliers and one single rubber bait.  “Honey, the fish are gone…”  “No they aren’t!  I see them up there!”  And off she flew.

I raced behind her until she finally stopped far up the beach, directly in front of the same school of fish.  That’s my girl.  I watched her toss in the line a few times, and I even cast it out further at her request.

It was then that we saw the first fin.  And then another.   We dropped the rod and stood mesmerized with a growing crowd of families as we watched the dance begin.

Just fifteen feet from where we stood, a pod of dolphins began feeding on the baby bluefish.  They shot through the trough directly in front of us in the most majestic dance I have ever seen.  Dolphins burst through the surface of the water and completely in to the air as small fish exploded around them.  They swirled, turned, jumped and danced to a crowd of people who could not even speak.

The dolphins were so close we could see bits of seaweed hanging from their fins.  Just a few steps in to the water and we could have touched them.  My daughter slowly wrapped her hand inside of mine and tears welled in my eyes.  No one spoke for those few minutes of shared wonder.

It ended almost as quickly as it began.  You could hear a shared breath of air as the waters instantly stilled.  People began to disburse, whispering at the magic we had all just shared.

Elizabeth and I began to head back, nearing another school of fish that was causing another crowd to assemble.  “I’m going to fish!” she exclaimed as she tossed in her fresh water line.

Before I could cross my fingers she exclaimed, “I got one! I got one!” as she reeled in a baby blue.  I think by then my heart was pounding out of my chest.  I gently wrapped the fish in a towel to unhook it as the crowed looked on.  I let a few small children take a peek at him before we put him back in the ocean.

I hugged my girl, wiped a tear and began to walk back towards our gear.  We were both speechless.

As we walked I said a quiet prayer of thanks to God.  Thank you for letting my daughter’s persistence override my initial answer about the school of fish.  Thank you for her eagle eye and her uncanny connection to nature and its wonders.  Thank you for giving me the skill to teach my little girl how to be a rocking fisherman.  And then I whispered out loud to my daughter, “Thank you God for this magical morning.”  She squeezed my hand and smiled.  Thank you God.

If you could only see this moon.  Full with a deep orange hue, slowly rising over the dark ocean water.

Just a few days ago I was at home crying, overwhelmed at just how out of control things have gotten.  At how I am so behind on bills that I know I will never catch up.  At how I am driving a dangerous car, at how I can’t afford to send my kids to Catholic school anymore, and at how the bill collectors are memorizing my number as we speak.  At how I need $1,500.  FAST.

At how my house is so beat up that I can’t stand living in it anymore, much less having other people over.  I miss inviting friends for a home-grilled summer dinner.  I miss being proud of my house.  I hate the fact that I can’t even buy a can of paint.

At how my children have no clothes that fit.  At how simply buying a bag of socks for one of them is a huge triumph.  At how my clothes are faded and worn, my hair is horrendous because I can’t pay to get it cut and at how every pair of socks I own have holes in the toes.

At how my dog was dying in front of me, unable to eat or drink – and at how the vet wants to run tests that I can’t afford.  At how I may have to make a very hard decision very soon.   And at how this all happened the day before we all left for vacation at the beach house.

I had not slept for a week.

So here I am in Corolla.  It’s Sunday and I am blessed to have four more full days here before leaving Friday night.  I’ve got my children with me, my mother, her cousin, my brother and his two wonderful girls.  It’s a full house alright.

For now, pain pills are allowing my dog to eat and walk again, if not with a little spring in her step.  The time away from tree pollen and grass is a blessing.  As is the view of her sitting on the deck literally smiling as the breeze blows back her sweet soft ears.

And I am temporarily away from THE BAD.  Every once in a while the thoughts creep back in to my head.  When they do, I immediately run them out by breathing in a chest full of salty air.  I grab my daughter’s hand and in to the amazingly clear and beautiful ocean we run.

How lucky I am to have three healthy children, a wonderful family and an escape that is about as close to heaven as you can get.  My daughter and I have literally thanked God out loud daily for the warm waters, the white sand and the glorious sunshine.

I am officially on my escape.  And it could not have come a moment too soon.  Briefly I was disappointed that I was starting a vacation with so much on my back.  But then I realized this is probably exactly when it needed to be.

So I plan to embrace every day.  Every hour.  Every minute.  Every second.  And I’m going to hold this time close to my heart for as long as I possibly can.

If you could only see this moon.  Full with a deep orange hue, slowly rising over the dark ocean water.

Corolla Orange Moon from shootmenowblog on Vimeo.

Three people were murdered last night, a teen died in a car accident, the BP spill is spreading and 26 abused animals were taken out of a local home this week and are currently in cages at the pound.

And this is only the teaser for my local station’s full half hour program.  THAT is why I don’t watch the news.

I remember my father having the news on when I was a child.  To me it was the most boring bit of television that was ever put on the air.  Picture me rolling my eyes, sighing and walking out of the room as the anchor’s voice droned on and on.

But in those days, it wasn’t all doom and gloom.  It wasn’t “news for ratings.”  It was simply news, good or bad.  If I knew then, right?  I might have sat to listen for a bit.

Today there isn’t a single positive story on any of my local television stations.  Every story is about murder, rape, abused animals or even worse, children.  You don’t see any news reporters exclaiming, “Yowsa!  I just got a great scoop on a large donation to the food bank!”  Instead it is more like, “Hot DAMN!  I have a murder-suicide on the peninsula!”

Furthermore, I have heard on many occasions a family member asked, “We just heard your son was killed.  How do you feel?”  Yes, that is a real question repeated often.  “So your loved one is dead.  How do you feel?”

What do they expect?  “Well, kinda sad Junior is gone, but at least things will cost less at McDonalds!”

So I refuse to watch the news.  I truly believe, “Garbage in, garbage out.”  They can keep their garbage.  I would rather be outside walking with my daughter anyways!

Do you watch the news?  If so, do you watch local, CNN, World News, all or some?

Here are the preliminary results…

BEFORE:

AFTER:

My April picture has been a great help to me.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood by my garden pondering, “What the heck IS that thing!”  Looking at the before picture I now know that the mystery plant on the right is going to give us long Asian beans.  I have lettuce growing underneath the squash.  I can’t eat the lettuce but my rabbit and guinea pigs love the freshly grown greens.

I use my cilantro in ground turkey along with lime juice, jalepenos, garlic and olive oil.  The rosemary is put on grilled food and sprinkled on spaghetti.  No really, try it!

We’ve already enjoyed three tomatoes.   Well, my daughter and I enjoyed two while Mr. Squirrel enjoyed one of his very own.  And the peas?  Oh the fresh, warmed by the sun peas!  They never make it to the pot.

So as of now, my garden is indeed a mirror of my life.  The best of intentions, some chaos, a little hope, warm sun, love, luck and something beautiful grows!

Off to the Vet!

Dottie was thrown over a pound fence late at night in Georgia.  She was covered in scars from what looked like regular abuse.  The lovely woman who ran the rescue called them her “scars of life.”  She had very little fur and her skin was in bad shape.  I fell in love with her and adopted her within a month.  DOTS brought her to me.  DOTS?  Dalmatian Overland Transport Service.  Amazing folks.

I soon found she had a flea allergy, seasonal allergies and is allergic to chicken.  My kids had food intolerances so why not my dog, right?  Actually I feel she was put in my hands for this very reason.  I knew food allergies and discovered within a few days that she needed special food and care.

Dottie is fine in the winter, but as the weather warms she begins to develop bumps under her fur and the occasional hot spot.  I have to be diligent with flea medicine to keep her as comfortable as possible.

Over the last week Dottie has gone downhill.  She has open sores, a red paw and terribly itchy skin.  Did you know that as dogs age their allergies can become worse?  I know that now!

I borrowed some money for a vet visit and took her in after work.  Two hundred and fifteen dollars later, she is now on antibiotics and steroids.  If those don’t clear her up, we go further down the road with a more specialized treatment plan.

I made a promise when I rescued her that she would have an amazing last half of her life.  I will pay back tonight’s money and find a way to continue any treatment she needs.

In the meantime, my dog is on steroids.  I dare any robber to even LOOK at my house.  I DOUBLE DOG DARE THEM!

• What is your earliest memory?

That is easy.  My brother and I shared a room in the house we had at College Point.  He had a bed and I was in a crib.  I looked out of the crib and saw my parents through the door at the kitchen table drinking coffee and talking.

• What did you want to be when you grew up?

I always wanted to be a Rockette.  I also planned on being a cowgirl with a white horse and my name would be Kate.  I had passing thoughts about being a movie star but I decided against that because movie stars were always shown on screen in their slips and I knew I would be too embarrassed for that.

• If you could do anything now, what would you do?  Why?

I think I’m doing pretty much what I want to do now.

• When did you first find out that you’d be a parent? How did you feel?

I thought I might be pregnant and went to the doctor.  Your father was very excited and raced home, but I had to tell him they wouldn’t give me any information and made me schedule a second appointment.  I found out I was expecting during my second appointment and was excited for your father to get home so I could tell him.  In those days you didn’t really say, “I’m pregnant.”  So when he came in I said, “We are going to have a baby!”  He picked me up and danced me around the room.

• How did you choose my name?

I wanted to name you after my mother and luckily I loved her name. Her name was originally spelled with a “K,” which was the German way to spell it.  But it was hard to be a foreigner in those days, so she changed it to a “C” to fit in.  She later told me she wished she had left the “K” on her name.

• What was I like as a baby? As a young child?

Most of the time you were easy going and a very good girl as a baby.  But you had a curl on your forehead and you were just like “the little girl who had a little curl.”  When you decided you were done being good, that was IT.  As a child, you always woke up with a smile on your face, which your Dad loved.

• What are you most proud of?

Other than my children, the fact that I can be independent.  Having grown up at home and gone to college at home, I was still able to be independent when your Dad was on cruise.  Now that he is gone I have managed to keep taking care of myself.

• How would you like to be remembered?

Of course I want people to remember how much I love my children and grandchildren.  And again, that I was independent.  I didn’t stay home to be a “poor old widow.”  Rather I keep busy, always seeking new knowledge.  I am never bored because there is always something to see and do and be curious about.

And tease they did.  “Freckle Face!”  “Carrot Top!”  “BOZO!”  Each name was like a slap in the face.  “Mom, why do I have to have red hair!”

Through all this, the adults tried to reassure me.  “You are so lucky to have red hair!”  “You are beautiful!”  “You will appreciate your hair when you are older, TRUST ME.”  The “Trust Me” had an overtone that as a child I failed to recognize.  But now I do.

Just hit the “keyword suggestion tool” sites and type in redhead.  The first on your list will simply be “redhead.”  But move down a bit.  You’ve got redhead, readheads and then HOT redheads.  Now you’re talking.  Sexy redhead, naked redhead and busty redhead follow.

It gives me great pleasure to look at this list.  Sometimes I will type in redhead just to see those dirty redhead overtones.  And then I picture that one boy in particular who would constantly torment me with redhead slams.  “Yea buddy, I’m not so bad NOW, am I!”  <spit, scratch!>

Much to my chagrin, my hair became more chestnut colored as I grew older and had babies.  But even knowing the teasing I received as a child, I dreamed of having a daughter with red hair.

My dream came true on baby number three.  And oh what a redhead she is.

But why do I say it that way?  What is the stereotype for redheads?  At first thought, don’t the words “temper” and “hothead” come to mind?  Just go back to The Quiet Man to see this stereotype in action.  Yet we still hear John Wayne say to Maureen O’Hara, “Being with you pleases me!”  Maybe that brings us to the second stereotype – hot redhead?

So why are us redheads deemed as outcasts in so many circles, destined to one day die out with our decreasing gene pool?  Why do my sons constantly taunt my daughter with “GINGER!” and “DYING BREED?!”   If we are so beautiful as adults, why are we just so UGLY as kids?  At least through the eyes of other children?

I’m proud I was a true redhead.  And I’m even more proud I have one of my own.  Of course I will be locking her up when she turns 16.  She can come out when I’m ready for redheaded grandchildren.

What stereotypes do you think of when it comes to redheads?  Did you ever tease a redhead when you were young?  Are girl redheads acceptable while boys are not?  Or has Conan changed all that?  What do you think?

Tomorrow at 8:30 a.m., my youngest child – my only daughter – will be walking down the aisle in a white dress and veil for her First Holy Communion.  For those who aren’t Catholic, this is a huge HUGE deal.  And for me, an amazingly emotional one.  My children have laughed at me for years about this.  I see one little girl in her veil and dress and I am brought to tears as mocking laughter begins behind me.  How I will make it through this ceremony, I will never know.

One ceremony does not equate to a weekend though, does it?  So what comes next?  My boy is coming home to me.  For a few days, but still coming home.  To understand the situation, you need to read my post about saying goodbye to Vincent.

It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen Vincent.  And yes, he seems to be doing well in Connecticut.  I knew he would adjust, because he is strong and resilient.  My oldest son, not so much.  Since Vincent left, my boy has been distant, sad and has almost resisted making friends and hanging out with others from his school.  It’s broken my heart.  More than it broke when Vincent left last year.

But to our surprise, we found out this week that Vincent and his family will be visiting for his spring break.  AND HE IS STAYING WITH US UNTIL WEDNESDAY!  They are leaving TONIGHT at midnight, and should be arriving just before the First Communion ceremony.  I told him my car would be unlocked in the parking lot at church.  “Throw your stuff in there and come in to the church – we will have a spot for you!”

So picture this.  I’m sitting in the church, butterflies in my stomach as I wait for my daughter’s First Communion to start.  Just as the children are about to walk down the aisle, in walks Vincent – the other source of my butterflies.  Start the violins playing.  The emotion of seeing him, of my son having him back for a while, and of the ceremony about to take place – it’s just too much for this overly sentimental mother to handle.

It is very possible that Vincent doesn’t arrive on time, or chooses to go right to our house for a rest.  Either way, we get to have him all to ourselves for a few happy days.  I plan to spoil him rotten.  The boys have already given me the list.  “You have to make brownies, homemade bread and beef jerky.”  You got it.  Anything.  ANYTHING.

I’ll tweet when I can, in between smiles, sobs and a mother’s happy contentment.  Cross your fingers for me and pass me a Kleenex.  I’m gonna need a lot!

Does anything get YOU right in the gut?  A song you hear at weddings or funerals?  A ceremony, movie or book?  Or do you have a poker face that can outplay anyone during the heat of battle?