I have no idea how Dawn became Pussum Cat. I think James was trying to say Pussy Cat and it came out that way. Anyway, Dawn was mostly called Pussum. He loved it. Yeah, that’s right. HE loved it. Two small kittens were curled up in the flower bed in front of our house one freezing rainy day. James was three I think. Mama Cat wasn’t around. Snell ran to the vet and bought special milk for kittens and we put it as close to the babies as we could. Long story short. James named them. Kissy and Dawn. Kissy never warmed to us but would wander through periodically. Dawn was a bright young kitten and knew a good thing when she saw it. She stayed and let us pet and humor her. Finally, one day Dawn started getting into our laps and letting us really hold her. She had to be neutered. We didn’t need any more cats to take up with us. The vet said Dawn was male. Well, gender identity was never one of our stronger traits. Don’t believe us…Delilah became Samson, Lilac the rabbit became Smokey, Figaro looks like she has a pair but is female and the Queen of the house. We need to choose genderless names. Dawn knew his name. He and Puddles, the Puppy-Dog (oh I know, but …) loved each other. He made his way into the house and there he stayed. Forever. Dawn was an amazing cat. Tolerant of a toddler who loved him. Answered you when you asked him a question. “Want some chicken, Pussum?” ”yaa,” he answered.” “Want some turkey, Dawn?” “Nah”. He didn’t care for turkey at all. He and Snell loved to watch baseball and football. Really, Snell loved to watch the ball games. Pussum loved peanuts and potato chips. As long as Snell watched the game and would hold a peanut or chip down for Pussum, he sat right there. I had to buy one particular brand of potato chips because Pussum loved them. Snell would eat anything, but the cat had to have Lays regular potato chips. He would eat a bar-b-que chip every now and then, but that wasn’t his favorite. Dawn went in and out of the house. Our fenced yard kept Puddles from going out, but Pussum did roam a little more. Out backyard neighbor had a small farm with a few cows. Dawn visited there. When it was time to come home, all we had to do was open the back door, clap three times, and before we could yell Dawn, we’d see the white shadow headed our way. Before coming into the house, he shook his feet. A clean kitty, was he. Have you ever tried to give a cat medication? How many stitches did you get? I put his medicine in a little milk and he drank it. A pill? Hold him and put the pill against his lips. He swallowed it. This was a cat in a million. We love our pets because they are our family. We grieve over them, continue to miss them, and write little stories about them to keep their memories alive. Our four legged family members usually live around 18 years. We have our own cemetery. And yes, he is buried in the front yard cemetery and his complete name, Dawn, Dawn the Pussum Cat, is engraved on his tombstone. So lift a saucer of milk to Dawn, Dawn, the Pussum Cat. Long may his memory live. My husband has been in the hospital with pneumonia and a fracture T-12 vertebrae. He is hard of hearing. No, I take that back. He is deaf as a post. He wouldn’t hear the thunder if lightning struck him. I am the official hearing aid. I go where he goes. I am the official interpreter. Being an interpreter means I have been known to do odd things to get the message across. While in the hospital, Snell was having a great deal of trouble understanding. He mostly reads lips. The medical staff wear masks. Yep, might as well have been blind as well as deaf. He has pneumonia so every other syllable is punctuated by terrible coughs, followed by a moan of pain from the broken back. He was unable to answer their questions. I am invaluable, yes I am. I know all the answers. I walk in with a two page report of all of his doctors, medications, and medical history. I hand it over and the medical staff are like “Oh WOW. This is great.” Do yourself and your family a favor. Create a report for each family member. In a crisis you might forget a medication. Hand them the paper and your crisis is averted. I also have a 3 x 11 sheet of paper in each family member’s wallet that lists all our medications, medical contacts, and emergency contacts. I am also much more talented than I ever realized. Young people are more ignorant than I had realized. I told the nurses that I was having to do my Marcel Marceau impersonation to communicate. Clueless. Had no idea who the most famous mime and interpretive movement actor in the world was. I educated each of them. Then it hit me. These adults probably have no idea of the people who made the entertainment industry truly great. They only know artificial acting and computer generated creativity. Sad. “Do you know who Cary Grant is?” I asked several of the staff. They all said no.” Bette Davis? Ingrid Bergman? Alfred Hitchcock? Humphrey Bogart? At least, please tell me you know John Wayne?” I was quivering at the ignorance and innocence before me. Okay, maybe they don’t watch the great ones on the Classic movie channel. “Do you know who Harry Truman was?” When that one got a no, I said “ever heard of the atomic bomb? Or Hiroshima? How about World War II? “Some of them had grandparents that served in Viet Nam. Okay, this was my time. They knew doodly squat about Viet Nam. I wasn’t exactly frothing at the mouth, but it was close. Folks, you need to know a little about history so you don’t keep making the same mistakes over and over. So people, if you don’t know Cary Grant or Humphrey Bogart, watch a few black and white movies. You might learn what acting really is… You know where people learn the words and create a character and provide knowledge and entertainment without using a computerized brain. Watch some old movies. Expose yourself to something besides car crashes, foul language, and green screens. Maybe you will learn something about the history of our nation. No, the movies aren’t exactly accurate, but it is better you know something than nothing about how your world has developed. I am now going to get myself out of this invisible box and watch a Cary Grant movie, where intelligent conversation and a love stories without filth and nudity can entertain me. I have to use MY imagination. And Marilyn, diamonds are a girls’ best friend. Marcel Marceau was a master of silence who used his skills as a mime to save Jewish children from the Nazis during World War II. Marcel Marceau was a legendary mime, who survived the Nazi occupation and saved many children in WWII. He was known for his peerless style of pantomime, moving audiences without uttering a word, and creating his famous character Bip. He was also a multilingual speaker, actor, director, teacher, and public figure. Cary Grant, British-born American film actor whose good looks, debonair style, and flair for romantic comedy made him one of Hollywood’s most popular and enduring stars. Among his most notable films are Bringing Up Baby, The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, Notorious, and North by Northwest. Marion Robert Morrison (May 26, 1907 – June 11, 1979), professionally known as John Wayne and nicknamed The Duke or Duke Wayne, was an American actor who became a popular icon through his starring roles in films which were produced during Hollywood's Golden Age, especially through his starring roles in Western and war movies. Marilyn Monroe (born June 1, 1926, Los Angeles, California, U.S.—died August 5, 1962, Los Angeles) American actress who became a major sex symbol, starring in a number of commercially successful films during the 1950s, and who is considered a pop culture icon. She was the secnd woman to own her production company, unheard of in the male run world of movies. Ingrid Bergman (29 August 1915 – 29 August 1982) was a Swedish actress. With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Harry S. Truman (May 8, 1884 – December 26, 1972) was the 33rd president of the United States, serving from 1945 to 1953. A member of the Democratic Party, he previously served as a United States senator from Missouri from 1935 to 1945 and briefly as the 34th vice president in 1945 under Franklin D. Roosevelt. Ended World War II by utilizing the atomic bomb in Japan. I write the Anything Goes column for Inspirations for Better Living magazine.
(www.inspirationsforbetterliving.com) The parent company has a radio show Every Wednesday. I was interviewed for this Wednesday's feature. (www.FromMyMamasKitchenTalkRadio.com) I hope you will be able to listen in. I would appreciate it very much. The link is below.
Interview with Marlene Rutledge Buchanan and Lynn Hesse at the S. SinC meeting, Monroe Walton County Center for the Arts.
"Getting old is not for Sissies."
-Bette Davis Talk about a true statement that is one. "If I had known I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself." -W.F. Woodard I fall down. Go splat. Me. Yep, I am officially old. I fall down a lot. And this time I won the big prize: fractured upper orbit eye socket, concussion, scratched cornea, bruised knee caps, and lovely, colorful patches all over my face. I guess it was good thing that I do like color, because I am a rainbow. I had gone under the house to find Snell. He had turned off his hearing aids and he can’t hear the phone and went under the house to change the filters on the pool. I was supposed to call him when the water level got to a certain point. No hearing aids, no phone and deaf as a post. I had to go under the house to find him. When he'd been gone a long time and didn't answer his phone. I got worried and went looking for him. Mistake No. 1. I swore if I didn’t get a full basement under this house I would NEVER go into the crawl space. I didn’t get the basement. I got a crawl space, in which I have been exactly four times in 27 years. This was the fourth. Mistake 2: Trusting Snell to NOT turn off his hearing aids. I was supposed to call him for heaven’s sake. He can’t hear the phone and the vibration isn’t strong enough to give anyone a thrill. So here I am, searching for an 85 year old man with no hearing aids working and a puny vibrator. I go all around the house. I stand at the crawl space door. I yell. I scream. I wave my hands in a please don’t be dead manner. Nothing. For the fourth time in my life I go under the house. Mistake #3. Over in the corner, way over in the corner, is Snell. “I thought you were going to call me.” Me “What is wrong with your phone?” Him“Nothing, I guess. I had to turn my hearing aids off because the pool motor was making so much noise. Mistake 4: Putting the pool motor, etc. under the house. (I didn’t’ vote for that either) Mistake 5: Telling me he turned off the hearing aids and looking puzzled at my concern. Mistake 6: Telling me later in the ER he discovered he had accidentally turned off the vibrator to his phone. In exasperation I turned and started walking/crawling to the door. The space is 4 feet high. I am 5 feet 3 inches on a good day. It was not a good day. I was mimicking the Hunchback of Notre Dame in walk pattern. The crawl space floor is concrete. I’m not sure if I won the fight, but I beat that concrete floor into submission with my face. I hit left eye first. My hands are not even scratched. I didn’t even try to break my fall. I just hit the floor and skidded on my face, filling my left eye with concrete dust. “What’s the matter? Did you fall? Are you okay?” No, I like laying on a concrete floor in a claustrophobic crawl space that I both resent and hate. I just lay there. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t think. All I could was hurt. I had a baby. This pain was so much worse. I was covered in concrete and other dust. My eye was filled with blood and dirt. My knees would not support my weight. I was gasping for air and inhaling dust, dirt, any critters that had died under the house. And it had started out as a very pretty and productive day. After several minutes, Snell was able to help me get out in the blinding bright light and fresh air. I tried to wash some of the dirt off my face. I washed my eye out with a saline solution repeated. Finally the majority of the dirt was out of my eye. My eye is swollen shut and the knot on my head could be used to carve one of the busts from Mt. Rushmore. Snell dropped me off at the ER entrance and I walked in. I thought I was doing okay by then, except for blindness and the headache. “Excuse me. I need some help.” One of the nurses looked at me and said “You sure do, Honey. What is your name and social security number?” Admission and fee paying always comes before treatment and/or death. I remember looking at her and thinking “Social Security Number.” I know I was in shock. I remember starting to say something and then I am falling backwards. Before I hit the floor someone caught me and then a chair was slamming under me and my sore knees. The next thing was a very bright room. I couldn’t see it was so bright. I had to shield my one open eye. The lights dimmed. “I’m Dr. whose name should not be mentioned for his indifference. How badly are you hurt?” Duh. What do you think, Doc.? I have an ostrich egg on my forehead. My eye is swollen shut. I just passed out in your entrance way. “Gee, Doc, I bumped my wittle head.” I could have strangled him with his stethoscope. Now this is the truth. When someone for whom I care goes to the emergency room I am there. I know enough about medicine to be dangerous but I am great at emergency care. I can butterfly a gash as pretty as any ER doctor. I can even to do Madison Bandage on an open torso wound. I am never hysterical. I am never nauseated. Blood is just interesting. I make sure that every wound is checked, treated and it is right. That doctor never came fully into the room. No one cleaned the concrete out of my facial wounds. My knees were never touched. I was skinned from in my hair line to my chin on the left side. My shoulder was painful and I couldn’t lift that arm well. I was just one bigopen dirty strawberry burn. Except that some places were very deep. The space above my left eye and on my left cheek bone were deeply raw. He ordered a CT scan. That was it. Oh someone gave me a barf bag. I remember being very nauseated. CT scans revel I do have a brain, perhaps a big jiggled up. It did not show the fracture of my upper left brown bone. Another doctor a week later determined that injury. I do not have a personality eyebrow any more. I cannot lift my scolding, loving, quizzical eyebrow. That brow is very important to my demeanor and my ability to communicate. Two weeks later my left eye opened. Dizzy spells have continued for all that time with a headache that simply pounds. Light is an issue and so is noise. The headache lasted off and on for nearly four weeks. I have saved quite a bit of money on make-up. No spackle is strong enough to cover this colorful face. People are nice to me. I get lots of kindness. It was all Snell's fault. I don’t care what he says!!! Make September 9 a World Wide Holiday!Nancy Maria Donaldson Johnson (28 December 1794 – 22 April 1890) was awarded the first US patent for a hand-cranked ice cream freezer in 1843.[1] Sainthood may not be good enough an honor! Ms. Johnson invented the hand cranked ice cream churn as a way to reduce the time required to make ice cream. Ice cream was originally made using very intensive labor over several hours. Johnson essentially created a way to make ice cream faster and easier. Originally, there were many steps to creating ice cream. President Thomas Jefferson had an eighteen step recipe. Johnson’s brilliant idea changed ice cream making into a much easier and faster route to happiness. On September 9th, 1843, Patent numberUS3254A was issued for the. Artificial Freezer and antedated on July 29th, 1848. A Philadelphia housewife married to Walter Rogers Johnson in Medfield, Massachusetts. Walter was a scientist and first secretary at the American Association for the Advancement of Science. Nancy, herself, was a very successful inventor. This was very uncommon in her days, because women’s legal identities were taken away when they married. Under the laws of coverture, women were not allowed to control their own finances, own property, or sign legal agreements. Men represented their wives, mothers, and daughters. Nancy was a bold and determined woman who empowered women, teaching them they can make their own way for themselves. In 1843, she filed for her patent for the first hand-cranked ice cream churn (US3254A). Her invention was called a “disruptive technology” because it made it possible for everyone to make quality ice cream without electricity. This technology changed the way that ice cream was made forever and portions of her patent continue to be used today. Johnson received $1500 during the course of her lifetime for her Artificial Freezer. She adapted her original patient and refiled September 9th, 1843. She sold the rights of the patent to William G. Young, a Baltimore native, who improved some on the ice cream freezer on May 30th, 1848. Johnson sold the rights of the patent to Young for $200. People erroneously credit Young as the inventor, but it was a Nancy Johnson who made the world a better place. There are some people who should receive sainthood for the amazing deeds they do. Heroes should receive awards. We need to recognize the people who have made a difference in this world. September 9 should be celebrated around the world! Nancy Maria Donaldson Johnson should be known universally for ice cream. You scream. I scream... We all scream for ice cream. And scream most loudly for Nancy. Nancy Maria Donaldson Johnson, thank you, thank you, thank you. You made my life and the lives of so many better. (Information derived from Wikipedia) Marlene is available for her speaking engagements. She is an award winning author and her books are available through amazon.com and scribblersweb.com. Join www.MsRatWrites.com for her monthly newsletters. We have just returned from our vacation to Alaska. We went 21 years ago with our son, friends John and Margie Sawyer, their daughter Mylinda, and husband Chris Moore. It was the trip of a life time. But our lifetimes do change. This trip was a little different. Mylinda, Chris, and their 19 year old daughter joined us. They brought her mama, Margie. One of my dearest friends, Cece (Cecelia Landress) also took the trip. John, who is legendary in Georgia for his baseball coaching skills, can no longer travel. Things I learned:
The trip was good. We had a great time. It is our last adventure with Margie. Our families have traveled many places together. This was our last hurrah. Know what? The airport, lost luggage, and diarrhea (Yeah, I left that part out), money hungry retailers, and everything else... I wouldn’t trade that trip for anything. One last great thing. I taught high school art was called Art Woman or Ms. Rat. One of my former students, now friend, lives in Seattle. We have stayed in touch over the last 50 plus years. Richard Kromm came out to meet us. We had a couple of hours together. Richard and being with Margie and our extended family is what made the trip priceless. I’d do it all again, even the airport. My father, James E. Ratledge was born November 21, 1916. After he died, Mama said he never left. He was still sitting in his recliner, waiting for her. I believe it. I think Mama is sitting on my right shoulder and Daddy is on left one. Both are whispering in my ear. I can still see them walking hand-in-hand. Daddy was over 6’4” and Mama was about 5’5” in her prime. They almost always held hands. As Mama would shrink, she would have her arm bent even higher and Daddy would lean over a little more. They met on a blind date at the Atlanta Water Works while working at White Provision Company in 1943. The old Atlanta Water Works was a favorite picnic place. Mama said he was the handsomest thing she had ever seen. She first saw him as he was approaching where she and her friends were. He was over 6 feet 4 inches, had beautiful blue black hair and a golden olive completion. He was wearing a white suit with a black shirt and a black sling supporting his injured arm. She said that was it. He was too beautiful to forget. They married May 1, 1944. Daddy never forgave World War II for separating them. I have 746 700 love letters he wrote during WWII reinforcing his love. Mama and his brothers called him Bob. When he was young in the early 1900’s male children wore their hair long. When it was time for James to get his big boy haircut, his two older brother teased him and called him “bobtail.” He was Bob ever since. Daddy was a perfectionist and could do just about anything from electricity to plumbing and wood working. He even did a little black smithy on the old forge at my Grandparent’s place. Daddy and his mother flipped houses before there was such a thing. Mama’s family place didn’t have electricity or running water. Daddy put in their first furnace, stove, running water and bathroom. You name it, he did it. 185, later changed to 585 was Daddy’s radio code number for the City of Atlanta Police Department/Atlanta Board of Education School Detectives. In 1947 Atlanta developed specialized detective units within the agency. In 1952, The Atlanta Board of Education and the Atlanta Police Department joined forces and created the Atlanta School Detective Unit. In 1953, my Daddy and Julian Stephens were the second and third officers to join Sgt. J. D. Nash, Commander. There was another School Detective Department being formed about this same time in another state. The only two in the nation. The School Detective Unit was the fore-runner of what we now call School Resource Officers in Georgia. Daddy was good at his job. I don’t know about now, but he held the record for the most cases solved for over 15 years. I have all of his old reports. Someday I am going to write that book I promised him. Now he is gone and I only have his paper reports to rely on. I regret we never found time to write his book. He did some interesting things in his life. During WWII he escorted military prisoners. I have his secret identification and name that he used. One night while hospitalized, the nurses on duty asked Mama what Daddy had done for a living. She told them about his having been a police officer. One of the nurses was one of my former students and spent a lot of time visiting with all of us. Ellen told Mama that Daddy was talking about having a different name. Daddy had been part of the Secret Police. The night Ellen was checking on Daddy, he was the other military policeman taking a Nazi prisoner somewhere “special.” Once it was learned that his father, Luther Edward Ratledge, had been a train engineer before becoming a police officer, and Daddy could do medical core and train repair, he was reassigned. Daddy built the first hot water shower on one of the medical trains in Europe. After that when they would be in a station somewhere Daddy teach other train personnel how he had run the lines so their trains could also have hot water showers. One night when he was so sick and on morphine, he was back on that train. I spent the entire night, rebuilding a train engine with him. He would tell me what tool he wanted and I handed it to him. In his drugged imagination, all those machines in that room were part of the engine. We did a good job, too. By about 4:30 in the morning, he told me to “fire her up and let’s get moving.” When the Allied troops captured Adolf Hitler’s private train, it was damaged. Daddy and his medical train happened to be in the same location. One of the officers on Daddy’s train suggested they ask my father to look at the damage on Hitler’s train. Rat could “jury-rig” anything. I don’t know what was wrong with the train, but it couldn’t be moved further into Allied territory because of the problem. Daddy went over and did whatever was needed to get it moving again. While Daddy was working on the problem, a team of US and other Allied personnel were cataloging every item in the train. Daddy reported the repair had been completed to the officer in charge. That officer was part of the team cataloging Hitler’s belongings. He was in Hitler’s private dining car. The officer picked up a small cream pitcher from Hitler’s table and handed it to Daddy thanking him for his help. The pitcher has the swastika emblem and Mama wrote a note about what Daddy told her and stuck it in it. The cream pitcher is marked with the Allied catalog number. Daddy could do anything. Daddy was the builder, Mama was the painter and designer. He built his grandson an airplane swing with a 6’ wing span and working joystick, rocking horses, and any other thing he thought his namesake James could want. Daddy made a table that was James’ height and the legs could be extended to grow with him. They did a lot of drawing and coloring on that table. He and Mama refurbished old houses to rent or sell. Daddy made the entire kitchen set, stove, refrigerator, cupboards and even a sink with a turning faucet for the Kindergarten class of H.O. Burgess Elementary School (1955). That set was still in use some 10 plus years later. Our class had wooden animals to paint that he cut from scrap lumber, too. One of my classmates mentioned remembering them. I have several still. He and Mama created the most beautiful gardens outside of Calloway Gardens you have ever seen. He worked hard. And he adored Mama. He and Mama taught me to be independent and self-reliant. I learned how to lay a wooden floor, to use most any kind of tool, paint a room, fire a gun, swim, and defend myself physically and mentally. He made sure Mama and I were loved and well taken care. Rat accomplished all kinds of things and best of all, Daddy was mine. And I miss him. Mama used to say there will never be another one like Bob Ratledge. No, there won’t. I bet Mama and Daddy are holding hands right now. 1950 Daimler DE 36 Convertible
This was a dream restoration, but health and age has prevented completion. Hey Y'all, Well, I am a day late and dollar short once again. Things have just been demanding and time has fled from my grasp. I hope you all are having a wonderful Easter Sunday. My next book, Tips, Tricks & Techniques. A Self-Directed Search for Easier Learning should be available within the next two weeks. I think this book did not want to be written. I have been trying now since the first week of December to get it out. I seem to be the only person really thinking it should be printed and available. If you are a female in the arts field (music, dance, visual arts, writing) look up National League of American Pen Women, Inc. (www.nlapw.org). We have and Atlanta Pen Women chapter and meet monthly (second Wednesday at 10 am). Pen women is very encouraging to artistic women. If you would be interested in joining, send me a note (mrat30052@aol.com). Founded in 1897, the National League of American Pen Women, Inc. (NLAPW) is a 501 (c) (3) nonprofit organization that supports and promotes professional women in arts, letters, music, and allied professions. I have just accepted a position on the Board of Directors for Southeastern Writers Association. they have the best conference each year at Epworth by the Sea (St. Simons, GA). If you are a writer, check out this group. It is wonderful. Here is a little piece I wrote this morning. I hope you will enjoy it. Now I need to go water all my indoor flowers, the orchids are blooming! Antique or Vintage? It is my birthday. I am not sure which category I fall into, antique or vintage. I suppose if something has to be 100 years or older it is an antique. That makes me vintage. Like a fine wine, but a bit tangy, occasionally sweet. Perhaps even a tiny bit bitter. I suppose it could be worse—dried up bottle of dust.
Our tractor is celebrating its birthday, too. It is one year older than me. So is my husband Snell’s favorite car, a Cadillac Sedanette. Both were born in 1948. Snell has kept all three of us going for years. 1949 is really the year of my birth. Easter Sunday at 5:05 pm. Piedmont Hospital, Atlanta, GA. I am not sure where the Ford tractor or the Cadillac were born. Anyway we have all arrived in Georgia, the land of slow vowels and beautiful springs. 1949 is the Year of the Ox on the Chinese calendar. I thought I was a hog or a rat, but I am an ox. Well, I guess I am kind of shaped like one now in middle-old age. I am going for longevity here. 74 is middle aged if you live to be 150. Oxen are described as “industrious, thrifty and clever, and they make careful calculation and strict budgeting for everything. Also, they never do the things beyond their capability, so they seldom suffer losses; they attach great importance to the fairness of benefit distribution. They are destined to have average luck in early years, favorable luck in middle age, and excellent luck in old age.” Still waiting on some that to mature! I need to learn to say “no, thank you” more often. And I am an Aries. According to the information I found Aries are the trailblazers. Passionate, independent, loyal, smart, and impulsive. They always have multiple projects on their mind, and won't be satisfied until their work, social life, and personal lives line up exactly with the dream life they've envisioned. Aries are all about initial attraction. They can sense chemistry in the first sentence uttered by a potential partner. (This is true. I knew on our first date when Snell kissed me goodnight that I would marry him. That was in 1975, still together. I had to work on him though!) Forthright and unabashed, an Aries will do everything in their power to go after someone they want. A combination of an ox and a ram. No wonder I am who I am. Another truth, I am a liar. I lie about my age. Lots of people do. When I first started teaching I had a student who was only a year younger than I. When asked about my age I lied. Sometimes I would be ten years older, other times twenty. I haven’t formally taught in many years and trust me there are no students even close to my age now. No reason to lie, you think. There you are wrong. I add ten years to my age. I look good for some in their mid-eighties, not so hot for mid-seventies. So middle-elderly aged, fat and sassy, blessed with a wonderful husband, a great son, who is regular middle aged, dear friends, and an old tractor that still works—happy birthday to me. In researching this I found a quote in the Aries description. It is my new motto. "When you know yourself, you're empowered. When you accept yourself, you're invincible." (Marlene is an award winning author who is available for speaking engagements. Her books are available on www.scribblersweb.com and www.amazon.com. You can reach her through www.MsRatWrites.com or MsRatWrites@gmail.com) |