Donna Doty

When I was in high school, I had a great friend named Donna Doty. She was a hoot. I loved being around her and laughing. She came up with some of the most insane ideas.

We used to do some dumb stuff. She was especially amusing during thunderstorms. She had learned in Mr. Chumney’s science class that rubber does not conduct electricity. [That very well may have been the only thing that she retained.]

So, the minute she heard thunder or saw lightning, she’d run to her closet and fetch her rubber-soled tennis shoes. Since she slept in an iron bed, she’d sleep in her tennis shoes to protect herself from electrocution by lightning. What a kookie idea! However, she did it every time without fail. Love ya, Dote.

Reindeer Sleigh

Sometimes, I just love silly stuff. I bought a Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer costume for my car and put it on last Saturday. It consists of khaki antlers attached to my back passenger windows and a big round red nose attached to the grille. Since my car is fawn colored, the costume really makes it resemble a reindeer.

I like the joy and marvel on people’s faces when they realize what they are seeing. Sometimes people point, others grin, some just shake their heads when they notice the decorations on my reindeer sleigh.

Spreading Christmas cheer is contagious and I so enjoy it.

Disappointment

Joseph Addison (1672 ~ 1719) wrote, "Our real blessings often appear to us in the shape of pains, losses and disappointments; but let us have patience and we soon shall see them in their proper figures."

We all deal with emotions in different ways and to differing depths. One of the emotions that affects me the most is disappointment. I struggle with it often.

The word disappointment is made up of DIS and APPOINTMENT. DIS means separate, apart, or asunder. So, disappointment describes a feeling of dissatisfaction or anguish, which is experienced when I am torn apart from my expected appointment with fate.

Whether the disappointment is in someone else, in myself, in a situation, or in missing an engagement, I really grapple with it. I have to break it off bit by bit, chew on it for a while, separate the digestible, and then swallow it. Each stage takes a long time to process.

Whenever I am disappointed, it seems that my past disappointments bubble to the surface. Things get stirred up, and my accompanying emotion often has more to do with the cumulative effect of my lifelong disappointments than this particular one. I tend to catastrophize and consolidate it all together into one big lump.

I often jump into action—-retaliatory or self-protective—-without gleaning the most important lessons from disappointment so I’ve decided to confront disappointment by taking one giant step back. I am going to step away from the swirl of thoughts and emotions and simply look at it in a sort of interested bystander way. It's as though I’ll have a clipboard and I’m taking note of the underlying factors, my responses, and how I follow through.

God often ministers to my hurts through other people. It is tempting to put up walls when I’m feeling especially vulnerable, but if I shut out friends and loved ones, I would be sealing off healing and hope. Thank God for those who help me survive disappointments and learn life lessons from them.

Success

To laugh often and much;

To win the respect of intelligent people

and the affection of children;

To earn the appreciation

of honest critics and

endure the betrayal of false friends;

To appreciate beauty,

to find the best in others;

To leave the world a bit better,

whether by a healthy child,

a garden patch,

or a redeemed social condition;

To know even one life has breathed easier

because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882) American Essayist & Poet

Nutt House Bunch

When I was in college, I ran around with a large group of kids. My best friend and I often visited a group of cowboys who lived together in the Nutt House (literally). One of the resident’s of the Nutt House had gone to high school with us. The other four were from all over North and West Texas (Muleshoe, Plainview, Quanah, and Breckenridge).

They were your typical fun-loving countrified college kids. Because I only lived about thirty miles or so from campus, they would often come down to our house just to visit and get a home-cooked meal.

My family lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Therefore, we had lots of wildlife. Nothing excited the Nutt House Bunch more than hunting coons and rabbits.

One night when they came down for supper, we all went down to the bottom in a pickup. With two of us in the cab, the rest rode in the back with their rifles resting on the cab roof. We would zoom around Daddy’s fields spotting rabbits and they’d fire a shot. They usually hit their target.

After we tired of that, we drove over to the creek and shined for coons. Sure enough, we found some and they took aim at them, too. They never missed a shot.

Back then, coon skins were worth something. They’d retrieve them so that they could skin them and market the pelts. Rabbits, on the other hand, were not worth anything. So, the boys would take the rabbits by the tails, sling the rabbit really hard, and pop their tails off. Once the tails were free, they’d stuff them in their shirt pockets. At the end of the night, they pulled out the rabbit tails to see how many each one had. The one who had collected the most was pronounced the “winner” and won a can of snuff.

Now, that’s a redneck adventure isn’t it?

Sponge Candy

Grandmother Johnnie taught me how to make homemade candy when I was young. Every year thereafter, she and I would make candy at Christmas time. Once she got in ill health, it was up to me to make it. So, one year, my husband and I went over to my mother’s house to make a new candy recipe. The new recipe was called Sponge Candy. The recipe sounded pretty much like peanut brittle, but without the peanuts. I knew I would like it because I objected to the peanuts in the brittle anyway.

My husband, my Mom and Dad were watching TV in the den just off of the kitchen. They were within easy earshot.

I mixed up the ingredients in a heavy saucepan on the stove and cooked them to the right stage. The last step was to add baking soda (which is exactly what I do when making peanut brittle). The soda makes the sugar combination bubble up and makes little air holes in the brittle.

I expected the same from this recipe. I had prepared the jelly roll pan (notice that is singular) to pour the Sponge Candy in when it was ready.

I slowly added the soda and stirred it in. The candy began to quickly expand. I poured as much as I could fit into the prepared pan, but it continued to grow and grow and grow. I called out to my husband to grab another pan for me. He came running and quickly got another pan. I poured more into it, but the mixture still kept growing. We then called out for Mom to get another pan ready. She did---—four more times. We kind of felt like we were in an “I Love Lucy” episode. That recipe for one pan of Sponge Candy actually filled up six large baking pans.

It set up real well and was crunchy just like it was supposed to be. It did resemble a sponge, hence the name. I don’t know whether the soda was super-duper or whether the candy was just supposed to turn out that way, but we didn’t envision that much of it. It was tasty and my Dad loved it. He ate for days from that one batch.

Christmas Stress

I’ve been trying to get in the Christmas spirit for a month now. I just can’t. There’s a downer at every turn. I’ve played Christmas music non-stop. I’ve worn Christmasy clothes. Nothing helps.

In my mailbox this morning, I got a School Bus Emergency Evacuation Training meeting plopped right down on top of our annual Christmas party preparations. What is up with that? We start at 6:30. For those of us who are bringing food, 4:45 to 6:30 is not enough time to get ourselves and our food ready. Plus some of us have to decorate it.

I’m also worried about how I’m going to get everything done at Christmastime. Not getting out until December 21^st is a major stressor. I won’t have enough time to prepare my home--clean it and cook meals . Then, I must have all my Christmas shopping done (because we don’t get paid until the 21^st), wrapped, sorted, and delivered before Christmas Eve because on Christmas Eve, we start a 2-day celebration extravaganza with both sides of the family.

Imagine my frustration! I’m sure I’m not the only one. I know, I know, plan ahead. But, when I have a UIL meet and a shower on one weekend, going for an out-of-town visit another weekend, and having flare-ups in between, it’s hard to plan ahead with any confidence. On next year’s school calendar, I hope they look at giving us more time before Christmas Day. It will make the lives of those of us who prepare for Christmas’ much easier.

Thanks for letting me “vent”. Now with the weather colder, maybe Christmas Spirit will come knocking. I sure hope so. I miss him/her/it. Tomorrow will be a better day, surely.

In Our Home

We believe in living deeply,

laughing often and loving always.

We believe we were brought together

to support and care for each other.

We believe in celebrating together—our faith,

our heritage, our traditions.

We believe that everyone’s

feelings count and that the uniqueness

of each of us strengthens all of us.

We believe in the power

of forgiveness to heal

and in the power of love

to carry us through.

We believe in one another,

in this family, in this home.

Murphy's Law

Murphy’s Law. . . if anything can go wrong, it will. Sometimes I think that Murphy’s Law really does exist. Take Thanksgiving Day, for instance. Brit and I had prepared as much of the Thanksgiving meal ahead of time as we could. She had diced the onions and celery. I put the hen on to cook and baked the cornbread. The pies had been assembled. In fact, the only thing left to do was to bake the dressing.

I got up early and baked a pumpkin pie. Chad loves pumpkin pie. I noticed that the heating element in my oven was ablaze. I thought that something had probably been spilled on it and it was just burning off. Then, I noticed that the oven was losing heat. Hmmmm. Seems as if my oven had gone out. It was 10:00 a.m. Thanksgiving day.

Murphy’s Law? Yep. In force. So, I quickly thought of a plan B. I remembered a place where I could cook the dressing and one remaining pie and the yeast rolls all at one time.

By 1:00, Thanksgiving dinner was on the table. I had defeated Murphy’s Law. I never even entertained a negative thought. I always knew that things would work out perfectly. So, I think that the power of positive thinking trumps Murphy’s Law. Ha! Ha! Murphy, take your law and go.

Parenting

I used to think that raising “good” kids meant that they were sensitive, considerate, pleasant, responsible children who made good decisions. To some extent, that is true. However, society dictates that if we want them to be successful in sports and business, these qualities do not make them competitive which I learned is also very important.

Although I know people who possess those desirable qualities and who have also been successful in both athletics and business, it is not as common. Perhaps those successful people were not surrounded by negativity, but a more nurturing environment.

I may have done my children a disservice by teaching them to “turn the other cheek”. . . “grin and bear it”. . . “be nice, don’t be rude or spiteful”. . . “don’t talk back”. . . “be cooperative”. . . “don’t hit”. . . “say nice things or don’t say anything at all”. . . because those qualities were meant to make them congenial, but instead, it contributed to making their lives more difficult among their peers.

Maybe they became too sensitive. Their feelings get hurt. Maybe they are too considerate. They think about how others are affected by their actions. Maybe they are too pleasant. They typically flash broad smiles to people they meet and they converse affably. Maybe they are too responsible. They do what they say they will do when they say they will do it in the manner in which it should be done.

Naively, they expect those same things from other people.

Those qualities in young people are not found extensively today. Because they possess them, they sometimes don’t stand up for themselves and let others run over them. But if giving up those qualities means they can be successful in life, I’d not encourage them to relinquish them.

Having taught teens for nearly thirty years, I should have recognized that their generation is changing rapidly. Kids are no longer taught the old-fashioned values of integrity. Nowadays, kids will say and do just about anything. Adjustments probably should have been made, but just as they progressed through each stage of their lives, my husband and I were parents new to dealing with those stages so we had a learning curve as well.

As they have matured, they have learned life lessons about getting along in the world that I did not teach them. They were hard lessons, but necessary ones.

I still think that teaching them the right values was best because those are the ones they will hold dear as they leave adolescence and grow into adulthood.

Coon Dog Story

There was a time, long ago, when I was asked to do the impossible. The people-pleaser part of me wanted to comply. I made every effort. Try as I could, though, I could not keep Rick’s coon dog, Sandy, from killing that coon.

You see, I always tried to please Rick. I’ll never understand why. He tormented me, but I still would try.
He had this ’50 green Chevrolet step-side pickup. He built a little white platform cover for the bed out of boards. The cover only stood about an inch off of the bed and the siderails of the cover only extended upwards about two inches above the bottom of the cover. There wasn't much wood to keep things in place on the top of the bed cover.

For some reason, we were going to Lamkin to my grandmother’s house. It was about a five mile trip by dirt roads. Rick was driving, of course. He had a live coon that he wanted to take over to her house. I don’t remember why. He also wanted to take Sandy, his black and tan coon hound.

Instead of putting Sandy under the white cover into the bed of the pickup and closing the tailgate, he insisted that Sandy ride atop the white cover. He also put the coon on the top of the white cover. He was adamant that I sit slap dab in between the two and keep them apart.

He said, “Now, don’t you let Sandy get to that coon!”

Naively, I took hold of Sandy’s collar with my right hand and held him as best I could. He was a strong, muscular hound. I talked to him continually and told him to “Stay. Be still. Sit.” It was all I could do to hang on to him.

With my left hand and leg, I kept the coon at bay. Rick had him at the end of a long pole with a loop on the end. The loop went around the coon’s neck. I had to keep the pole with the coon on the end away from Sandy.

Although that may sound easy, it was not. A coon hound has only one instinct when it comes to a coon. That is to kill it. For more than four and a half miles of the five mile trip, I struggled feverishly to keep Sandy at the back of the white cover and the coon at the front.

About the time that we got to my great-grandmother Massingill’s old home place (about half a mile from grandmother Johnnie’s house), Sandy finally broke loose and took hold of that coon in his mouth. His powerful jaws crushed the life out of the coon. Blood squirted everywhere. It was all over me, the coon, Sandy, and the white cover of the pickup. It nearly made me sick.

I began to scream and cry. I pleaded with Rick not to be mad at me. I told him that I had done my very best, but that Sandy was too strong to keep away from the coon. I apologized profusely. Of course, Rick could not hide his amusement. He grinned and said, “Aw, that’s okay. He was gonna kill him after a while anyway.”

I was relieved that Rick was not mad at me. What I should have been was furious at him for putting me in that position knowing what was going to happen. Brothers!

Keeping My Mouth Shut

One of the hardest lessons I have learned is when to keep my mouth shut. After years of practice, I have become more skilled at it. It has taken a long, long time to apply those skills consistently, though, because I just naturally like to interact with people. But, there are benefits to keeping my mouth shut and not telling everything I know.

Don't misunderstand. gossip intrigues me as much as the next person. I just don't like to perpetuate it.

When I was a little girl, Mom used to say that she could tell me anything because I would never repeat it. I’ve pretty much remained that way.

However, as I grew older, there was a time when I would speculate about answers to questions when I really didn’t know the answer. I relied on my intuition to reply and that certainly proved unreliable. Only after my instincts demonstrated inaccuracy on numerous occasions, did I learn to not hypothesize.

Initially I felt compelled to defend a baseless rumor I had heard a while back. To do that would have meant alienating people and forcing them to choose sides. Instead, I decided to keep my mouth shut. Although it was very difficult, it turned out to be the best. That was a hard lesson, but one well worth practicing.

Grandmother Johnnie used to teach me that if I couldn’t say something nice not to say anything at all. I guess I took that lesson to heart.

Like everyone else, I have opinions, but I try not to express them unless I’m asked. But then, I give my frank views and just hope that no one is offended. After all, they sought my opinion and it is just that, my opinion.

I can also truthfully say that I don’t get in other people’s business either. I don’t want anyone interfering in my business, so I steer clear of theirs. Whenever people around me have differing viewpoints, I usually don’t take sides. I try to listen with an open mind. If necessary, I advise all parties involved where I stand so that there’s no misunderstanding.

Like we’re taught in the Bible, if I have a problem with someone (and if my relationship with them matters to me), I go directly to them to discuss it. We may go away from each other agreeing to disagree, but at least we have had a dialogue and we understand each other’s ideas and we’ve made our points.

I also believe in second chances. That’s the right thing to do. Once I’ve been wronged, I allow a second chance. But, when someone has blown the second chance, it’s like putting my hand into a box of rattlesnakes, I’ll not do that again.

Spite

Have you ever heard someone say, “I just did it out of spite?” I have. Why would anyone want to be spiteful? What purpose does it serve? Do they really feel better after being vindictive? Does getting even make them feel better about themselves? I doubt it. Why would someone possess malicious ill will prompting them to hurt or humiliate others? I don’t keep company with negative, spiteful people because I don’t understand spiteful people. Maybe if I were spiteful, I could understand their desire to harm others or to see others suffer, but I’m not a spiteful person so I don’t understand them.

Is it posturing like, “I’ll show you.”? Is it a control factor? I can only think that they choose to be spiteful because they feel powerless to control other people any other way. Is revenge really that sweet? To take revenge requires planning, tenacity and skill. All of which are learned traits. They don’t come about naturally. Some families come to mind as being especially spiteful because it is manifested over the generations.

I suppose I could ask a spiteful person these questions, but I doubt that they could answer them because they probably don’t recognize themselves as being spiteful. It’s hard to believe that some people actually revel in others’ personal anguish. I just can’t understand such unkindness and I never will. I wasn’t raised that way.

See the Light

This past summer as every summer, I had a lot of routine medical tests done just to keep a check on my health. Except for the Crohn’s and its symptoms, I don’t have a lot of other issues. My blood pressure is fine, as is my blood work. But, my doctor noticed something and ordered a sonogram to follow up. That test revealed that I needed a bit of corrective surgery. . . nothing life-threatening (or so I thought).

During the week prior to the surgery, I met with the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, had an EKG, blood work, chest x-ray and other tests in preparation for the big day.

On August 1, I went in for this little day surgery at 7:00 a.m. They had told us that it would take about an hour to an hour and a half. By 8:00 a.m. I had been prepped and given sedatives so that I was ready to go to the OR. Once in the OR, I greeted three familiar nurses who routinely give my Remicade infusions, the anesthesiologist, and the surgeon.

Soon, I went under (just like I had numerous times before). Of course, being “under”, I didn’t know anything that was going on in the OR around me. I do remember being awakened and the nurse saying to me, “Be really still. We’re giving you an epidural.” I vaguely remember thinking that this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go, but of course, I went right back out so that thought didn’t last very long.

Once in recovery, I grinned at my two ACS nurses partly because I knew them so well and partly because they were teasing me. I was glad that the operation was over. I wasn’t in any pain.

Before long, their moods changed and I noticed that their questioning was more serious. Soon, three other familiar nurses, the anesthesiologist and my family practitioner were all around me just kind of inspecting me. I was still too loopy to be concerned, just kind of impressed that I was so important.

Come to find out, there had been an incident in the operating room. I had stopped breathing. They couldn’t intubate me because the tube wouldn’t go down my windpipe. They tried several times in different ways, but to no avail. A nurse had to “bag” me and keep me breathing while they woke me up and gave me the spinal so that the surgeon could complete the surgery. Both the anesthesiologist and the nurses were alarmed. The surgery had taken almost three hours instead of the one or so they had anticipated.

As I began to come out from under the sedation, I noticed that my neck, shoulders, jaws, and yes, even tongue were quite swollen, bruised, and sore. My tongue rubbed against my front teeth and they felt like they were chipped even though the tip of my tongue was numb. I suspected I had been beaten from my shoulders upward.

By this time, numerous cell phone calls began to come in with people checking on me. The news spread like wildfire and even my school administrators called for news. Now, I’m thinking, “Dang, this is a really big deal, after all.”

Late in the afternoon, I was released to go home. It took me days and days to recuperate. My tongue didn’t return to normal for over a month.

I got a lot of teasing about my “near death experience.” Of course, I could joke about it because I didn’t even know it had happened so I had not been concerned at all.

Leave it to kids, though, to ask the most poignant questions. One asked me if I had seen the white light while I was near death.

My answer was “No, no I didn’t.” Finally, I began to worry and ponder the question, “Wonder why I didn’t?”

Pride

Like most everything else on earth, pride can be virtuous or it can be adverse.

To take pride in work, school, family, and faith, is a beneficial attribute. Taking the time to perfect work, to cultivate a rich tradition of excellence, to raise a strong, loving family, and to nurture faith, are all examples of pride as a positive asset.

On the other hand, pride can hinder the accomplishment of our goals. Being proud can make us high and mighty, selfish and spiteful. I’m sure you’ve heard the old adage, “Pride goeth before the fall.” It's true, spite gets us into trouble; pride keeps us there.

How we practice our pride dictates whether it is a virtue or a vice.

Suzy Q

J. P. is a tall tale-teller. Britney is naive. That background sets up the story she tells about when they were first dating. He had taken her to the ranch to show her around.

Going through the pastures, he pointed out each cow and told her a little story about each one. He knew them well because he had been alone on the ranch for about two years, so he was very familiar with the cattle.

He drove near one and said, “That’s old Suzy Q.”

She asked, “Why do you call her Suzy Q?”

“Aww, she’s real special to me. Why, she saved my life. Last spring whenever we had a lot of rain, I went down to the creek to check out the water gap. I slipped and got stuck down there. She came over to me and grabbed my britches leg with her teeth and pulled me up to the top of the bank.”

“Really? Well, I can see why she is so special to you.”

Hmmmmm.

Baby Cats

I admit it. Go ahead. Laugh. It’s okay. You won’t be the first nor the last to laugh at the fact that I am afraid of baby cats. I don’t know what the name of the phobia is, but I have it.

I react to baby cats the way that some people react to a snake or a spider. Oooohhh! Chill to the bone.

I am only afraid of a very few things: among those are mice, rats, and baby cats. I’m not afraid of bugs. . . not even spiders. I’m not all that afraid of snakes either.

So why am I afraid of baby cats? I don’t really know. I do remember the cat my grandmother had named Sam (the Siamese) that would jump on my back. He scared me, but he was a fully grown cat.

I remember a time many, many years ago, when I went shopping at the local Wall’s Outlet Store. I was alone and I was in our maroon Chevrolet. As I got out to enter the store, I noticed a little baby cat on the steps. I slipped back into my car and waited for him to walk away. He went on the south side of the steps and hid under some bushes.

I hurriedly went inside to make my purchases.

After completing my shopping, I approached the exit at the double glass doors only to find the skinny little kitty just outside. I observed him meandering down the south steps. I saw my chance to get out of the building. I quickly opened the door and rushed outside.

I thought I had escaped unscathed only to look down and see the skinny little kitty just beneath me. He looked up at me showing his little milk teeth and said “Meow”. My heart stopped. I had difficulty breathing. Terrified, I ran and jumped on the hood of my car. Hysterically, I began to scream.

The ladies who worked at Wall’s hurriedly came to the door to peer outside and see what was the matter. When they saw me on the hood and the little kitty looking up and meowing at me, they began to giggle—then chuckle—then laugh out loud. I know it looked so odd. . . a little baby cat treeing a grown woman. But, it’s the truth and I can’t help it. Maybe I need therapy.

Gator Grand Tour

Last Sunday afternoon brought a pleasant surprise. My son-in-law invited me to tour the new ranch with him on the John Deere Gator. It’s named the 6 x 4 All Terrain vehicle. It was, in fact, the almost-all terrain vehicle.

The weather was absolutely perfect for the outing. It was cool with an overcast sky and just enough breeze to keep us cool.

He drove down to the barn and shop to see the tractors, four-wheelers, shredders, feeders, plows, and other equipment. Beside the barn is a coastal field where there were numerous cow/calf pairs grazing. We spotted several deer near the creek. They stood and watched us a while before scampering into the woods. At least one was a small buck.

We checked out the tanks, the water gaps, and the watering troughs to be sure that they were up and full. He took the gator to places that would be difficult for us to walk. We went up and down hills, through brush and weeds, and we criss-crossed the creeks flowing with water no fewer than five times. The gator’s All-Terrain name was well deserved.

We toured some exceptionally scenic land that was covered in different varieties of Bermuda grass and fat, sassy cattle. Several fields of green winter grazing create a patchwork on the landscape.

On the other hand, we also weaved our way through some very rough land badly in need of attention. All in due time said J. P. He’s been working hard since the July move to enhance the appearance of the place. He’s made tremendous progress already.

There are three creeks on the ranch. He showed me one creek that had about a quarter of a mile of rock bed and several small waterfalls. It was simply breathtaking with the fall leaves coloring the tranquil countryside.

Another creek had a waterfall flowing across a dam onto a flat rock ledge. The rustling water was very soothing. It would be a perfect picnic spot. There were quite a few deep holes of clear water where big catfish swam. Good places to fish. One of those creeks runs directly behind their house. When we’re outside and all is quiet, we can hear the water rushing. The quite solitude is amazing.

Most of the land is highly improved with the cedars and mesquites removed and only oaks, elms, and pecan trees remaining. I didn’t know that the land in that part of the country could be as pretty as it is in God’s country of Lamkin, but it rivals it.

There are rolling hills with long vistas. Huge houses dot the hills on all sides. I assume those are occupied by weekenders.

Since J. P. often feeds the cattle range cubes from the gator, they were eager to check and see if we had any goodies for them. They came right up to us and put their heads over the gator as if to ask, “What did you bring us?”

I could tell that all the cattle knew him well because they willingly approached him while they were a somewhat leery of me.

Touring the new High Oaks Ranch was such a joy. Being outside on such a perfect day enjoying nature with my son-in-law is a pleasure not to be missed.

Infusion Day

Today is infusion day. I've been looking forward to it for a while now. I became symptomatic again about two weeks ago. That's a little earlier than normal. I usually don't have problems until a few days to a week before. After today, I will begin to feel like myself again and not this sickly, lethargic person I've been.

I compare the infusion to filling a gas tank. I've been running on fumes and my body needs to be refueled with liquid gold. I call it that because it is so expensive.

Today, I will see old friends at the hospital. There are five of them who rotate. For more than three years, every eight weeks like clockwork, I go in to the ACS for my infusion. The treatment setting has evolved over those years. The first time I went in, I sat in a straight back chair and watched a small tabletop television that only received 3 fuzzy channels. Over time, that situation has changed. Now, when I go in, both my husband and I have nice leather recliners to sit in. The nurses (my friends) have the wall-mounted remote controlled cable TV on and tuned in to HGTV because they know that's my favorite at that time of day.

They start the IV and after two hours of visiting and catching up, I get to go home. I schedule my next infusion for exactly eight weeks later and so the cycle begins again.

This afternoon I will be very tired and sleepy. Tomorrow, I will begin to regain some of my strength and most of the symptoms will begin to subside. By Wednesday, I should be good to go. Mostly, when it it is time for my infusions it's like a little bump in the road, but this time, I've had more symptoms earlier. Who knows why?

By Thanksgiving, I'll be refueled, recharged, rested and ready. Bring it on!

Gaining Respect

Ironically, yesterday's blog was about losing respect. After last night's football game, there is a new-found respect for the Hamilton High School Bulldog Football program.

As the 3rd place team out of District 21-AA, we played the #1 Defending State Champions, the Mart Panthers at Glen Rose ISD stadium. Probably no one gave our Bulldogs a chance. After all, we were the 3rd place team in our district. After all, they were the #1 team in the State. After all, they won the State Championship last year. After all, they presumably had the best quarterback in all 2-A football. However, they didn't have the winning score. We did, 43 to 21.

Mart had won 23 straight games entering the contest. With that being said, they probably had not been behind in many if any of those games. Our Bulldogs came out and scored hastily on a 65-yard touchdown run. We made the two point conversion. Quickly, we scored again and held a 15-0 lead. That may have been our saving grace.

Knowing that Mart had several big-play offensive weapons, we were uneasy. At halftime, the score was 29-13. We thought that after the intermission, adjustments would be made and we might be in trouble. That was not the case.

We just kept running up the gut gaining 4 or 5 yards per carry and wearing down their defense. We controlled the ball for 34:04 of the 48:00 minutes in the game. That is a coaching success.

Mart’s fans began leaving the stands at the beginning of the fourth quarter with the score 36-13. To me, that says a lot.

My hat is off to Chris Wilde, Sonny Galindo and the entire coaching staff for putting together such a wonderful game plan. Our Bulldogs executed well and only made one mistake (a fumble) which they quickly reversed just two or three plays later by intercepting the ball.

Our Bulldogs played with an intensity I’ve not seen this season. They WANTED this win. They didn’t leave anything on the sidelines. They played their hearts out on the field and it showed. We haven’t had the pass coverage in previous games that we had in this game. It was awesome. We intercepted 2 passes and hauled in catches that we might otherwise not have.

There were no injuries to our players and I am sothankful for that. Our boys ran for the locker room immediately after the school song not realizing that the Bi-District trophy was to be presented. They had to come back to the field to accept it. It was kinda cute. I guess that the excitement overtook them.

I know the heart that our Bulldogs showed reinforced my respect and I suspect much of the state of Texas, as well.

Good job, Dogs! Way to go, you’re number one!

We play Corrigan-Camden on Friday night at 7:30 at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville. I can’t wait!

The respect that our Hamilton Bulldogs have gained was totally earned—one play at a time.