Many men can't hold their liquor.

My husband can't hold his Ginger Ale.

Twice now, he's dropped a can of Ginger Ale on the kitchen floor and it's burst to high heaven.

The first time it went straight up like Old Faithful. I was finding drops of Ginger Ale inside cupboards for months. It even got the ceiling and it's 11 feet up!

Needless to say, I was not amused but helped him clean it up because he was getting a migraine and I pitied him.

The second time, I chose to not attend the pity party. He aimed it a little differently and it sprayed my dining room like a bottle rocket... the table, the chairs, the chandelier and the carpet. He even got the cat. That was the closest I've heard him to cursing in years. There may have been some, but it must have been in Klingon.

Today was the day the big carpet cleaner got pulled out to remedy the carpet.

The kicker is that, although I don't drink sodas and was not the room when these incidents occured, it's my fault.

Apparently I need to buy Ginger Ale that is packaged in a quality can so as not to burst when he drops it from 4 feet onto a hard surface.

I think I'll go buy some now.

If anyone is looking for me, I'll be shopping. I'm in charge of buying the Ginger Ale for the next pity party. And I need a new outfit for it.

Who are you??

I am Polly's daughter.

I am Hazel's granddaughter.

I am Katie's great-granddaughter.

I come from a long line of strong women. Tough, hard women. Women who live forever.

Katie married her cousin in 1890 and went on to raise her own family. Then, when they were grown, she raised two of her granddaughters... my mother and my Aunt Doris.

She taught them how to cook, how to be good wives, and she taught them about Jesus. She was tough in a gentle way... my mother adored her.

Hazel was a hard, hard woman. She lived hard and she played hard. She was divorced in a day when it was a scandal; she had a child with a common-law husband, and then buried two more wedded husbands. We thought she'd live forever, and she darn well tried.

She chased us, waving her metal cane. She cursed at us and made us afraid of her. She was tough. She also loaned me $80 for my electric bill when I was the only one working and had trouble making ends meet. She also doted on my children. They still didn't escape the cane, though. :-)

My mother would have lived forever if she had seen that SUV. She was 79 and in good health for her age. She looked like she was about 60 or 65. She lost her husband when she was 48 and finished raising her youngest kids.

I miss her every day and wish I'd been a better daughter. I've learned to look at the blessings rather than the emptiness.

She was blessed in that she never knew the sorrow of losing a child. We were blessed in that she never forgot one of us, either. Her death was instant, so she didn't suffer. And we know to be absent from here she was instantly with her Lord. Many blessings.

She adored my kids, too. She liked to be sneaky and trick them-- she'd play Hungry Hungry Hippo with them and position herself downhill because her floor wasn't level, and all the marbles would just roll to her hippo while the kids were frantically trying to get marbles. Then she'd cackle. I heard that cackle come from my daughter a few days ago. It was comforting. :-)

She's never far away from me-- I see her every time I look in the mirror.


My fathers mother lived to be 93. Another tough old bird, but I know little about her, except for what I've heard from my oldest sisters.

I've got really good genes. If I'd thought about how long the rest of these women lived, I'd have taken better care of myself earlier. Now it's time for catch-up.

With genes like this, I'm barely middle-aged. :-)

This blog could have longevity. Sit back and start a pot of tea. You could be here a while.