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The BOMB

Welcome to the BOMB.



The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...

About Me

My photo
My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my thirteen year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my two year old gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”

Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)

  • Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
  • Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
  • Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
  • Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
  • The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Warning Signs: Ignored (part one)

Everything is good now, but this past weekend I chose to ignore several warning signs before I blew my heart out.  I ignored the signs because surely they were meant for someone else. They could not be meant for me. At least that's what I told myself.

They recomended I arrive 15 minutes before my routine appointment time. But I hate to wait, so I rarely arrive anywhere early.  My time is just as valuable as anyone else--even a doctor.  If I'm late, start the meeting without me, leave for our destination and I'll catch up later or I'll just miss it, or move on to the next appointment. I know the consequences I face if I'm late.

While I did not arrive 15 minutes before my appointment, I did arrive five minutes early.  For me, that's mega-early. It probably was a good thing I was MaryLouMegaEarly because it placed me in a good place when I faced the first warning sign.

I had been rushing around in the schizophrenic Texas weather that had decided to return to near-freazing temps just before I popped in for my appointment.  A furnace, an oven, several small burning fires, and even an outdoor patio heater  kept the various rooms toasty. The change in temerature didn't feel too extreme or dangerous. In fact, coming in from the freezing cold,  the toasty heat was quite welcome even though I love the cooler weather.  I also know cooler weather  can be dangerous. It is no coincidence that the majority of heart attacks occur during the winter months. Especially to normally inactive people who suddenly participate in physical activity.

I didn't even get checked in before I noticed the first warning sign.  It actually was almost tiny enough to overlook. But in my heart  I recognized it for what it was, and I knew I should not ignore it. I'm a Registered Nurse.  I know the importance of warning signs.

But did I heed  it?  Of course not.  After all, I rationalized, it's not my warning sign--it applies to someone else--not me!

But the warning signs became more prominent.  Finally, I was forced to acknowledge they actually were for me. I may have gasped or paled with the final warning sign.

Whatever I did,  I   drew attention to myself because the girl at the check-in counter suddenly expressed concern for how I felt and quickly ended her conversation with the couple ahead of me.  She checked me in, and settled me in the other room, and then she gave me verbal instructions much like the previous warning signs.

But by then it was too late for warning signs. 

I had already picked up several fragile and expensive pieces of artwork, and petted one of the gallery cats.

Yes, this past Saturday I went the The Salado Glassworks. 

I've blown ornaments before, but this time I blew a heart. And while the signs warned me "until you're ready to buy, please only look with your eyes," I "looked" with my hands.  How else am I going to see the price tags on the bottom of the pieces to know if I would make additional purchases? 

I also petted the gallery cat.
Without asking.

What can I say--I'm worse than a rebellious two-year old when it comes to touching things--warning signs or not.

(Part Two will outline the  process I participated in to blow a glass heart.)

Sunday, February 4, 2018

How Late is Too Late?

My delima this morning:  how late is too late to walk into a Church service? 

Yep, I was later than usual.

Driving to church I contemplated going to breakfast and skipping first service.  But I really like getting out early, and I prefer the traditional service music over the praise songs of second service, so I stayed on my course.

I decided I'd drive to Church and see if I was too late.  

Arriving at the rear entrance, the only activity I saw was a lone car making a door-side drop.  The little devil on one shoulder said, "They are probably early for Sunday School." (We offer a shared  SS in between the two services--that way it doesn't feel like too different Churches meeting in the same building.)

The little angel on the other shoulder reminded me of the guy who walked in about 10 minutes before the invitation a couple of weeks ago." At the time my self-righteousness reared its ugly head and my first thought was, "I'm glad I'm never THAT late." I regreted the thought instantly. It was quite judgy. I didn't know if he was returning from the bathroom, or comming in after dealing with an emergency. And frankly,  it really didn't matter.  What mattered was he was there.

That's what decided it for me. 

When I arrived at the vestibule doors and  peeked into The sanctuary  the special music was about to start, so I etiquette  dictated I would wait until they were through. 

But they never started.  They were experiencing tech difficulties. So I slipped in during the wait. Which meant instead of waiting in the vestibule  and missing it, I got to hear it without a door between us muffling the sound. ☺

Even when I don't deserve His favor, I receive it. I wasn't too late after all.